#I think he’s just got it out for me specifically

[rafesheaven]

when stepbro!rafe comes home from college ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

warnings — stepcest, mention of reader x jj, praising, degrading, dirty talk, unprotected sex, spanking, rafe gagging reader w her panties, mirror sex, creampie a/n — (originally posted 11/20)

“gonna miss you,” you frown into your stepbrother’s chest, hugging him tightly. he rested his chin on the top of your head, “i’ll miss you too, but hey, i’ll be home for the holidays, and i’m only a phone call away. you could call me or text me anytime, i’ll make sure to get back to you when i can, alright?”

when rafe left for college, he responded to you when he could, just like he said he would. talking to him nearly every day almost made it feel like he wasn’t hours away from home. however, a month passed, and you started to hear less from him until your calls and texts were unanswered. at first, you assumed you weren’t hearing from him because of how busy he may have been with classes, and it wasn’t until you came across instagram posts from him and his fraternity brothers that he was too busy partying to get back to you.

it was his first year at college, and you knew you shouldn’t be upset; you had no right to be. especially when it was the only time he had freedom away from home, specifically from ward. it didn't stop you from missing rafe; you couldn’t help but think about what else he could be doing, and no matter how much you tried, knowing it was wrong, your mind started to wander over who he could be with.

when two more months had passed and still no communication from rafe, you sought out a distraction through jj maybank, who was unknowingly helping you take your mind off your stepbrother. the more time you had spent with jj, the less you thought about rafe and the promise of not running to anyone that wasn't him.

the promise you made was pushed into the back of your mind until one night, as you were about to sneak out of the house to see the blonde pogue, you received an incoming call from rafe. you could feel the guilt consuming you the longer you stared at his name, itching to answer. but your bitterness got the best of you, your finger tapping 'decline' before quietly leaving your house, not knowing rafe was calling to tell you he'd be home for the holiday.

a week later and yet another late night with jj, you tip-toed up the stairs, ensuring not to wake anyone up. just as you were about to reach your bedroom, you froze in your spot, looking like a deer in headlights, when the door to the room across from yours swung open. "sneaking back in?", his hand encircled your wrist, pulling you into his room and shutting the door behind you. “rafe…what are you doing here?” your brows furrow, more than confused as to why he was home.

“missed you, princess," his hands slid up your waist, walking you back until your lower back pressed against his dresser. "if you had answered when i called, you would’ve known i was coming home for the holidays.”

your palms pressed at his firm chest, pushing him away when he started peppering kisses along your jaw. "what? what's wrong?" rafe asks, "don’t tell me you’re upset cause i made you promise not to go to anyone else while i was away on campus.”

“i can't be upset over that when i’ve been seeing jj,” the words rolled off your tongue with ease, “i don't know why it matters anyway when you've been ignoring me for the past few months, probably too busy sleeping around with sorority girls every weekend.”

rafe’s nostrils flared the second jj's name slipped from your mouth, “what did you just say?” he gritted his teeth, removing his hand from your waist to grab your throat. “what?” you bat your eyes innocently, “don't act all innocent, you've been fucking around with maybank, huh?”

"what happened to being my good girl? guess your poor, needy little pussy couldn't handle being empty for a few months, hm?" rafe snickered, "and now you wanna push me away all 'cause i've been too busy?"

your mouth gaped open to speak, only for him to cut you off, "is that why you're pushing me away, acting like you didn't miss me and your panties aren't soaking wet right now?”

rafe spun you around to face the mirror of his dresser, bending you over. his large, warm hands slip under your skirt, pushing the article of clothing around your waist. his fingers hooked into the elastic of your panties, pulling them down to pool around your ankles. "step out of them," he ordered, delivering a sharp smack to the fat of your ass; when you didn't oblige, "don't make me tell you twice."

rafe bent down, grabbing your panties before standing back up. his hand reached around, cupping your jaw, your lips parting when his fingers dug into your skin as he squeezed your cheeks. rafe shoved the silk material into your mouth and his lips brush against the shell of your ear, "you want an apology? fine, here's your apology."

his free hand dipped between your legs, chuckling as he ran his fingers through your slick folds. “i’m sorry, princess…” he cooed, extending his thumb to rub circles to your clit, pulling a soft moan from you.

a desperate whine bubbled in your throat at the loss of friction on your puffy clit, your heart racing in anticipation at the sound of fabric rustling behind you. rafe nudged your thighs further apart with his knee, slotting himself between your legs. his palm rested on the small of your back as you squirmed under him, feeling the thick head of his cock sliding up and down your folds.

he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back to make you look at him in the reflection, watching your eyes roll back as his thick cock stretches you deliciously, “sorry that my poor girl was so fuckin’ needy to the point she had to run to a pogue of all people.”

“shit…missed being buried deep in this sweet cunt,” rafe groaned, "guess i gotta ruin this tight little hole; make sure you don't go runnin' back to jj, huh?" he taunted, slowly pulling back, leaving just the tip of his cock inside you.

"don't worry, by the time i'm done with you, all that pretty little head and pussy is gonna think about is how much she missed and ached for my dick," rafe sucked his teeth, your body jolting forward, biting down on the pair of panties stuffed in your mouth as he slammed himself back into your willing cunt.

your hands grip the top of his dresser, eyes barely staying open. a loud, muffled yelp forces its way through the flimsy silk fabric stuffed in your mouth when rafe harshly tugged at the roots of your hair, "did i say you could close your eyes? keep 'em open, want you to watch me fuck you like the needy little cockwhore you are."

rafe removed his hand from your hair, snaking it around your throat to hold your head upright. he buried his face into the crook of your neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave bruises on your flesh. he leaned forward, putting all his weight onto you and pressing his chest to your back, "this s'all you wanted, yeah? just wanted to be stuffed full of my cock again?"

drool soaked through the silk as his cock pounded into you relentlessly. you grabbed onto his arm, struggling to keep your eyes open, and your nails bite into his skin as the tip of his cock repeatedly hits your cervix. rafe’s eyes flicker to look at the two of you in the mirror, “look at how pretty you look takin’ my dick,” he praises.

“came way too many fuckin’ times to the thought of you…been craving feeling your pussy around my cock again since the day i left,” rafe rasped. “especially feeling you cum all over my cock,” he groaned as he felt your walls flutter around him.

“c’mon, princess, cream all over my cock and make a mess like you used to,” he nipped your ear, holding you steady as your legs trembled. your pussy convulses around him, his hand clamping around your mouth to further muffle your cry of pleasure as you cum all over his thick cock.

your orgasm triggers rafe’s, his hips slowly pumping into yours as they become sloppy. he gives you one more harsh thrust, his hips stilling, pushing his cock deep inside you, and letting out a moan as thick ropes of cum spill into you, painting your walls white.

rafe removes your panties from your mouth, your chest heaving, small pants filling the room. your breath hitches in your throat when his hips slowly rolled into yours, “how’s that for an apology? or you still need some convincing?”

taglist + moots: @anacamofficial @chrissturnslovergirlx @dollyfiles @heartsforvin @ilovefiction4lmen @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @rafesbabygirlx @rafeysangelbaby @rafeyscumangel @rafesangelita @rafesthroatbaby @rowdydevs @kild4re @rafeysvenicebitch @faiyaz555

[alchemistc]

get by (with a little help from my friends)

Eddie's "Hey man." gets completely ignored when he answers the phone, which isn't entirely unusual, considering the man on the other end.

"I need you to talk me off a ledge."

Tommy sounds like he's gone three rounds already, and that's entirely possible. At this point, he's got the same steps as Buck does any time he feels like flying off the handle: phone a friend, and then another friend, and then talk to Buck about it. Eddie always likes it best when they just fucking talk to each other, but he can see the wisdom in asking for advice first. They're both reactive fucks who love each other way too much to be rational face to face, sometimes.

"Am I qualified to give advice on this subject, or is this gonna be another Spare Key Fiasco?"

Tommy chuffs from the other end of the phone. He still hates that Eddie had had a front row seat to that freakout.

"It wasn't a spare, Eddie, I had it specifically made for -."

"Yeah, that's my bad, dude, stop taking every opportunity to change the subject. What's up, man?"

There's a noise Eddie recognizes vaguely as the breathing exercises Buck had been explaining to him a few months ago. They both use them - Buck to prevent the leap to anger and defensiveness, Tommy to prevent... whatever his reactive habits are. The pair of them have been surprisingly light on details, since they got back together. Well. Surprising that Buck hasn't word vomited all of Tommy's idiosyncrasies, at some point.

It's going on a year since he's seen Tommy in person, but he can picture the exact curmudgeonly expression he's probably pulling right now. "I bought a ring, last week."

Only about a month behind Buck. They're getting better about the whole pacing thing. Eddie's been sworn to secrecy, so this is gonna be a fucking minefield to navigate.

"That's great, man. When are you gonna ask him?" Buck has a spreadsheet already. Two, actually, if you're counting the Worst Case Scenario tab Eddie'd caught a peek at when Buck shared his screen instead of ending the video call they'd been on.

That's going in the speech whether Buck likes it or not.

"You remember that ledge I was talking about?"

Of course. Of course that's what he's worried about. Of course Eddie's been dialed in to either talk him down or throw out a rope and wrangle his ass off a cliff side.

Man's stolen helicopters, evaded military and FBI and earned medals for his reckless bravery, and yet the idea of settling down with a man he loves more than the entire world and flying is rattling him enough to need backup.

"Who was your first call?"

Tommy's huff is fairly telling. Sal, then. Eddie's only met him once and he wasn't his biggest fan, but Buck loves the guy. Says sitting between the two old friends is better than watching a UFC match. He's got weird priorities, Buck does.

("They're so mean, Eddie, you'd think they were mortal enemies, but Deluca, like, gets Tommy. Do you think he'll help me with the contingency plan?")

From what Eddie can remember, they'd only reconnected about six months ago, but they'd fallen back into their aggressively combative friendship easily, according to Buck. Eddie's of the opinion that Tommy reached out to Sal Deluca specifically to combat Buck's intense positivity when he finally cottoned on to the fact that Buck considered himself a permanent fixture in Tommy's life.

"Sal told me to woman up. And swap the ring out for a leash."

Yeah. Eddie's not sold on Sal Deluca. Considering they're most likely gonna have to plan some sort of joint bachelor party across state lines sometime over the course of the next year, Eddie's going to have to woman up himself.

"Not to make everything even worse than Deluca, but what the hell are you hoping I can help with? My only proposal came about three days after the pee stick showed two lines."

Tommy blows out a breath. Not the breathing exercises, this time. Eddie can almost see the hand he's dragging down his face, nose folding and bouncing back when the hand gets to his mouth and hangs there, for a moment. "I've proposed before," he murmurs.

Well. There that is. Eddie had definitely forgotten about that little hiccup.

"I mean, it's not like you're gonna propose, sit on it for a few years, and then decide you actually don't like dick, right?"

"Your support is overwhelming," he deadpans, and the line goes quiet. For about forty seconds, Eddie stares at the time on the call tic up and up. "But no, that's not the issue."

"No offense, buddy, but I have no idea what the issue is. He's gonna say yes. It's gonna be great. He'll cry for like an hour and then for a few weeks he'll tell every random stranger he meets that his fiance is a pilot for the LAFD." If Tommy swears him to secrecy, too, he's gonna have to get creative. See if he can coordinate a joint proposal without either one of them cottoning on.

"You ever been gun shy before?" Tommy asks, in that roundabout way he has of trying to explain the thoughts inside his own head.

He tried. He failed. He hurt someone. He doesn't want to do it again.

"Yeah, but like - besides the fact that you're attracted to and in love with Buck, they're...very different people." He'd only met Abby once. Hadn't particularly cared for her, on account of the whole leaving his best friend in limbo for months, and the Making His Best Friend Act More Out Of Pocket Than Usual At A Scene.

"Both with amazing hair, though," Tommy jokes, and then groans. "I'm going to gouge my eyeballs out with a teaspoon."

"Yeah, don't do that. You think Evan Buckley's going to decipher that as 'Lets get hitched'?"

"I resent the idea that you think that I'd use those words."

"Apologies. You gonna quote a movie he's never seen?"

"It's easy to recycle when he thinks they're all my witty rejoinders."

"He knows when you're quoting something. Tommy, your whole body vibrates, and you get this deranged smile. You are many things, my friend, but subtle is not one of them."

Christ, Tommy has a type. Drawn to whatever asshole can slice him to the bone while keeping up with his brand of sardonic banter. Eddie doesn't enjoy the new knowledge that he's basically the Buck-adjacent version of Deluca.

How the hell had he ended up with the human equivalent of a socially anxious Great Dane?

There's an easy solution here. Is it a violation of the bro code to tell Tommy to just sit on it? Carry the ring around everywhere and wait til the time is right? That's not a hint, is it?

"You're trying to distract me," Tommy observes. "What do you know?"

"I know that despite the fact that the two of you could fill Michigan Stadium with your insecurities and diametrically opposed capital I issues, this is gonna work itself out in a really good way."

"Eddie."

"Tommy."

"He already bought the ring, didn't he?" There's his typical bemused sigh whenever Buck does something that he, personally, finds adorably annoying. Annoyingly adorable. Something. Eddie doesn't know; he still doesn't quite get them. They work, and that's all that really matters, at the end of the day.

Sometimes they work because Eddie, Maddie, and Sal Deluca, for some reason, can offer the right support and the right advice at the right time.

"For legal and personal reasons I'm invoking my right to remain silent."

"Are the personal reasons to do with wanting your ankles intact?"

"I might take a vow of silence, actually."

Tommy's quiet for a long, long time. Long enough that Eddie has to check and make sure the asshole hasn't hung up on him.

"Is his plan going to cause any permanent damage to county property? We've both got priors." Stealing government property, evading police and military, technically domestic terrorism. All wiped from their records because they both have main character syndrome, so exactly zero actual prior offenses.

"I don't recall saying anything about a plan."

"That vow sure has legs to stand on," Tommy muses, and Eddie has to fight the urge to blow a raspberry.

"You can ask one yes or no question that I retain the right to not answer. If it'll help you walk yourself back off that ledge."

Tommy takes long enough forming the question that Eddie gets through three of the syllabuses Chris' school is requiring him to confirm he's read. He hates this damn school, but Chris loves it.

"Should I start carrying the ring with me everywhere, or can I assume Evan will at least make it clear we have plans, when he decides he's ready?"

That's not a yes or no question.

"That's not a yes or no question."

"Should the ring be on my person at all times, yes or no?" Eddie can't tell if he's throwing the bitchy tone in for a laugh, or because he's actually annoyed. For all Eddie knows, he could still be a little prickly about the fact that he's having to seek out the competition for advice on his love life. Buck says they're over that, but sometimes Eddie's not sure.

Sometimes Buck still encourages him to lean into it a bit because apparently "The sex is mind-blowingly hot, Eddie."

"You'll probably be fine without it at work," Eddie hedges.

"Probably is not a yes or a no."

"I never told you how I was gonna answer."

Eddie hates that he knows Buck's gonna get laid tonight on the back of Tommy's frustration with Eddie.

"So. How's that cliff looking, from over there?"

Tommy's put-upon sigh is edging on overkill. "What cliff? It's plains and valleys from here."

Eddie's well aware that Tommy can dig himself trenches a mile deep just to have a ledge to jump from. He has a good feeling about this, though.

"Let him romance you, for once, dude."

That shouldn't be such a polarizing statement, for the man who's been desperate to be loved almost as much as Evan Buckley himself, but Tommy has a nasty fucking habit of shooting himself in the foot whenever Buck makes it a point to take care of Tommy back.

Tommy groans. "None of this makes it to the speech."

"Yeah, it's absolutely going in the speech, man."

[differenteagletragedy]

Part Eight of Simon Riley x Single Mother, they're really doing this thing <3

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven

By the time Emma’s first birthday rolls around, Simon has a ring in a box that lives in his nightstand back at his apartment. He keeps it there, safe and sound, instead of slipping it on your finger like he really wants to.

It’s not because he’s still thinking about it — he knows exactly where that ring belongs. It’s because, all told, it hasn’t been all that long since you got together. And while he wants nothing more than to lock this down, to breathe a little easier with the help of a sturdy gold band looped around his ring finger, he doesn’t want to scare you off. Wants to give it time to make sure that you’re in the same place he is.

So he waits. And every day he wants it a little more.

What pushes him to act, to move past his fear of rejection, is a close call during a mission gone wrong.

It's strange, he thinks, because he'd definitely been in worse predicaments. He didn't even get hurt, just felt the whizzing of bullets flying past him, a little too close for comfort, and he can't get it out of his head. If he'd been a little less aware, even if the wind had been off, he could have died, and while that never bothered him before, it's unsettling now.

The thought of you on your own again, of Charlie and Emma wanting for anything, forgetting him ... it aches. It keeps him up at night, even when he's laying in your bed, your warm, solid weight resting against him.

He tries to sleep, but it's no use. It's his third day back after coming home, and he's exhausted, but he can't rest like this. He finds his fingers running lightly your arm, up and down and back again, and before long you're stirring, turning slowly to face him.

"Simon?" you ask, your eyes still closed. "Everything ok?"

On one hand, everything is ok -- more than ok. Everything is beautiful. He can hear a faint stream of white noise coming through the baby monitor by the bed, telling him that Emma and Charlie are fast asleep in their room. You're in his arms, too, and it's perfection.

But tonight, just like last night and the night before, it feels too fleeting.

He clenches his jaw, struggling to find the words, and at his silence you open your eyes, sleepy concern etched on your face. He lifts a finger to smooth out the crease in your forehead, then trails it down your temple and towards your jaw.

You're so delicate. Strong too, he knows that, but now ...

"Marry me."

It's not a question, but a plea. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he puts his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close.

"I ... really?" you ask. "You're really asking me to marry you?"

"Begging, love," he admits quietly. "Please."

He got the ring months ago at this point, and in all that time, he'd never landed on just how he wanted to propose. He never imagined this specific scenario. You deserve better -- than this, than him -- but he's desperate.

"... You sure?"

"Got a ring back at mine," he tells you. "Got it ages ago, never been more sure of anything."

It's hard to put into words how much this means to him, so he keeps his gaze steady, hoping you can, in that special way you always do, see it in his eyes.

And you do.

In a flash, you're pressing yourself against him, kissing him deeply. He pulls you closer, indulging you, but still, he needs words.

"If this is a 'yes,' I need to hear it," he says.

"Yes, Simon, of course ... yes."

That night, he sleeps better than he had in recent memory, and in the quiet of the morning, he slips away, just long enough to retrieve the ring from his place before you and the kids start stirring. When he's back, he slips into bed beside you, gently takes your hand and slides the ring on your finger.

It's a weight off his shoulders. He can't imagine how good it will feel watching you sign the marriage certificate.

This time, you don't quite wake up, you just snuggle up against him. But before long, he starts hearing soft sounds playing through the baby monitor: Charlie muttering what he knows are good morning rambles to his little sister. There's some rustling, and soon he hears two sets of little footsteps coming through the hall, then your bedroom door opens and Charlie and Emma are there, hand in hand, ready to start the day.

"Come on then," you mutter, still nestled against Simon.

The two children scramble up into the bed quickly. Emma tucks herself against your side, still sleepy herself, but Charlie is characteristically alert and energetic, and he throws himself across you and Simon, burrowing himself in the middle.

It's the morning routine now. The four of you stay in bed, slowly (or in Charlie's case, with minimal patience) waking up together. After a few moments, you finally notice the ring newly placed on your finger, and you smile, holding your hand up to get a good look at it.

"What's that?" Charlie asks.

"A present from Simon," you answer.

"But it's not your birthday or Christmas or anything."

"Doesn't have to be a holiday to get a present," Simon points out, and Charlie swiftly turns to look at him.

"Do I get a present too?"

You laugh, warm and happy, and tell him, "In a way."

Simon wants to do it all, and he wants to do it right. Marry you, then work on adopting Charlie and Emma. Sort out everything for all three of you, make it so that you're safe and taken care of, while he's here and, if anything ever happens to him, when he's gone.

But for now, this sleepy Sunday morning will definitely do.

[kiyawritesforf1]

THE FAN-FICTION SAGA

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

It started innocently enough. Max had never been the type to pry too much into Y/N’s hobbies. She was always so effortless and easygoing, a balance of sweet and sassy, with a warmth that made him feel at ease. But as their relationship deepened, Max started noticing something peculiar: Y/N spent an unusual amount of time reading on her phone—almost obsessively, as if there was some hidden world he wasn’t a part of.

At first, Max didn’t think much of it. She was a reader, and he’d always admired how much she loved books. But it wasn’t long before he realized that the content of her reading material wasn’t exactly what he expected. It wasn’t literature in the traditional sense—there were no classic novels or even contemporary thrillers. No, what caught his eye was the number of tabs open on her phone, filled with websites he'd never heard of, and a very specific genre: **fanfiction.**

Now, Max was no stranger to fandoms—he'd heard stories from his friends about the deep, sometimes obsessive nature of fan communities. But he had never actually met someone who was so deeply immersed in it. His curiosity got the best of him, and one lazy Sunday afternoon, he finally decided to ask.

They were lounging on the couch, sipping on coffee, the soft hum of their playlist playing in the background. Y/N had her phone in her hand, her eyes glued to the screen, a wide grin spreading across her face as she scrolled through yet another chapter of something that seemed to hold her attention more than anything else in the room.

“Y/N…” Max began, leaning over the armrest and trying to get a peek at her phone. “What exactly are you reading?”

She glanced up, her face lighting up with a mischievous spark. “Oh, just a little something.”

Max raised an eyebrow, feeling a little more intrigued than he probably should. “A little something, huh? This has been going on for weeks now. What is it? Some kind of secret novel?”

Y/N giggled, her eyes flickering back to the screen. “No, not a novel. It’s… fanfiction.”

“Fanfiction?” Max repeated, unable to suppress the confusion in his voice. “As in, like, those stories people write about their favorite TV shows or movies?”

Y/N nodded enthusiastically. “Yep! It’s amazing! You’d be surprised at how much better some of these stories are than actual TV shows.”

Max blinked, trying to process this new information. “Wait, you’re telling me you’ve been reading stories written by fans? Like… not even official writers? That’s what you’ve been so hooked on?”

Y/N shrugged, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “What can I say? They’re creative. They’re fun. Plus, there’s a certain magic to them, you know?”

Max let out a small chuckle, his mind whirring. This was definitely not what he had expected when he asked Y/N about her hobbies. “Okay, but… what’s the appeal? I mean, I get the whole escapism thing, but isn’t it kind of… well, weird?”

Y/N shot him a teasing glance, her eyes dancing with amusement. “You’re just not *getting* it. It’s not about weirdness, Max. It’s about creativity, passion, and sometimes—just sometimes—a little bit of *delusion.*”

Max blinked at the word. “Delusion?”

She nodded, her grin widening. “Yeah, like the delusional shipping, the alternate universes where the characters do things they *never* would, and the wild romantic scenarios that leave you questioning your entire life. It’s fun! It’s… it’s just the world I get to immerse myself in, you know?”

Max couldn’t help but laugh. This was not the woman he thought he knew. “So, basically, you’re living in your own fanfiction world?”

“Exactly,” she said, looking back down at her phone. “And you’re part of it.”

“Wait, *I’m* part of it?” Max asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “How?”

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. She just kept scrolling, her fingers tapping quickly across the screen. Then, she looked up at him, her eyes twinkling. “I’m reading a fic about this hot, mysterious guy who’s really into racing. I’m just saying, you might fit the role quite well.”

Max blinked, a deep blush creeping up his neck. “Wait, hold on. You’re reading fanfiction about me?” he asked incredulously.

Y/N shrugged again, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll never know.”

Max let out an exaggerated sigh, though part of him was secretly flattered. “This is… so weird. I had no idea this was such a big part of your life. I’m dating a *delusional* girl, huh?”

Y/N laughed, her voice sweet and light. “Normal girl, Max. Just a normal girl living her best delusional life. You should try it sometime.”

As Max tried to process this new layer to Y/N, he couldn’t help but feel more drawn to her. The way she embraced her passions, her quirks, without any shame or hesitation. It was charming in its own way, and honestly, kind of adorable.

But then, of course, Daniel—Max’s teammate and longtime friend—decided to pop into the conversation, his timing impeccable as always.

“Hey, I’m back from the track. What’s going on here?” Daniel asked, dropping his bag by the door and heading toward the kitchen.

Y/N grinned, clearly sensing an opportunity to tease Max. “Oh, just explaining to Max how *normal* I am. You know, reading fanfiction, living in my own little world, shipping people who don’t even exist.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow as he grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. “Fanfiction, huh? You really have him hooked on that, don’t you?”

Max, looking thoroughly exasperated, turned to Daniel. “Apparently, I’m part of some *delusional* shipping universe now. I had no idea what I was getting into.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. “See, Daniel gets it! You’re just not ready for the wonderful world of *delulu* yet.”

Max groaned dramatically. “I feel like I need a crash course or something. This is all way too much for me.”

Daniel chuckled, sitting down next to Max. “So, wait, you’re telling me you’ve been reading *fanfiction* about Max?”

Y/N’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe I’ve written a few stories here and there.”

Max turned to her, raising both eyebrows. “You’ve written fanfiction about me?”

“Maybe,” she said, her voice dropping to a mock whisper. “You’ll never know. My writing skills are top secret.”

Max shook his head in disbelief, though part of him was secretly intrigued. “I never knew dating a girl could be this complicated.”

Y/N leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “But that’s the fun of it, Max. Every day is an adventure. Who knows what you'll find next?”

As if on cue, Daniel raised his bottle in mock salute. “Here’s to being part of the delusional world. I think I’ll stay out of it, though. But, you know, if you ever want to introduce me to any of your *fanfic* buddies, I’d be happy to take a look.”

Max laughed, shaking his head. “I’m not sure I’m ready to dive that deep into the madness.”

Y/N shot him a knowing look. “You’d be surprised, Max. Sometimes the madness is exactly what makes everything fun.”

As the night wore on, the three of them continued to laugh and chat, Max becoming more and more fascinated by Y/N’s love for fanfiction and her playful, quirky nature. Despite the absurdity of it all, there was something endearing about her willingness to embrace the weird, the wonderful, and the *delulu*.

Max realized that maybe, just maybe, he had been underestimating the complexity of his feelings for her. She wasn’t just the girl he thought he knew—she was layers upon layers of passion, quirks, and humor. And he couldn’t help but fall for her even more.

As they all settled down for the night, Max looked at Y/N with a soft smile. “You know, I might just start reading some fanfiction myself. But only if I can be the ‘mysterious racer guy’ in your stories.”

Y/N grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Deal. But no promises about how romantic it gets.”

Max leaned in close, his voice low and teasing. “I’m counting on it.”

END

[chuellas]

Shut Me Up | The Housekeeper generally stays in her lane. You mind your business and run the cleaners’ division of the Port Mafia with scary efficiency. But a particular Executive forces your hand and you finally have to put your foot down.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, mentions of alcohol, cussing, term “Doll” is used, possible minor spoilers to SB if you squint, edited but who knows how well andjajsjjas, WC: 4.5k

A/N | LONG TIME NO FIC POST I AM SO PROUD OF THIS ONE I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY READING IT AS MUCH AS I ENJOYED WRITING IT <33 Stay tuned at the end for a description of readers ability !!

Working for the Port Mafia has always been messy — having a whole division dedicated to cleaning up the chaos that this organization's members create is a testament to that. Most days are busy, dispatching several teams in an hour is normal for you when you’re head of the division and work directly with the elite teams and the executives. Well, the executives minus Ace, he evidently prefers his subordinates to do the cleaning up for him. You’ve always been suspicious of the vile and loathsome snake, but that’s above your paygrade and qualifications to worry about. You’re sure the boss knows what he’s doing.

With all that being said, despite the nature of your role, you generally like to mind your own business. That’s one of the reasons why you were given this division in the first place, you’re efficient and you never asked any questions. You’ve been commended for the trait and pride yourself in not getting involved in your assignments.

But even you have your limits. 

Today has been particularly busy — obscenely busy actually. You’ve been nonstop taking dispatches for the Black Lizard and one specific Executive. He just got back from a mission in the west and apparently things didn’t go as planned. It’s par for the course, you’ve heard he’s been known to have a bit of a short temper, one that he likes to take out on the Port Mafia’s enemies but it’s never been this bad. Usually it’s an extra one or two teams being dispatched, not your entire crew. You have to wonder what set him off so badly that he’s dropping bodies left and right, much to your dismay. 

Whatever it was, Nakahara Chuuya has now successfully made it your problem too.

Your phone rings again and the same caller ID pops up for the fourth time this hour, which causes your left eye to twitch in vexation as you reach over to pick up the line. “This is the Housekeeper.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, displaying a clear signal of irritation—not that the person on the other side of the phone can tell—and you can feel the telltale signs of a migraine coming on. Your vision whites out for a split second and when it comes back, everything is rimmed in a multi-colored aura. You were supposed to go out with a few colleagues for dinner and some drinks tonight but at this point you think that plan has gone straight out the window. All you want to do now, after this dreadfully long day, is go home and rot on your couch or in your bed.

You internally curse Nakahara Chuuya for ruining your rare after work plans. You’re not even sure you’ll get out of the office at all tonight with the way things are playing out, let alone in time to meet up with your colleagues. Why do you have to pay the price for this grown ass man’s tantrum?

Men.

“Hello, Otetsudai-san.” Your mood lifts a little at the sound of Akutagawa Gin’s gentle voice, but then you can feel the way your body physically reacts, blood pressure spiking at the reminder of why she would would be calling and the pressure goes right to your already aching head—you’re officially nursing a migraine. “I’m sorry for all of the trouble you’ve been put through today, but we do have another scene that needs to be cleaned up…”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Right. Text me the coordinates and I’ll send my final team. You better let your executive know that this is the last team available. He needs to slow down. Your only other option is having myself personally come out to get my hands dirty and, trust me, he doesn’t want that.”

Gin swears to deliver your message and hangs up to promptly send you the promised coordinates. You’re quick to dispatch your only available team and sit back in your chair. You should be checking on the progress of your other teams but you need a break. A shooting pain runs through your temple when you think about the amount of reports you’re going to have to fill out just from the executive and his team alone.  

You think you wouldn't be so bothered by all of this if it wasn’t for the fact that the executive hasn’t bothered to personally call or contact you himself. He’s made his mess yours and his subordinates' problem, as if he’s too good to be bothered himself. The thought alone makes you scowl. His obvious arrogance puts you off and works you up even more than it probably should but you’re tired and annoyed and your head hurts thanks to this man. The least he could do is talk to you personally and thank you for your hard work.

You think it’s far too often that your division is taken for granted, as well as the mailmen. No one has proper appreciation for your work. No one seems to understand that without the cleaners and the mailmen, this organization wouldn’t run as smoothly as it does.

It’s insulting, you really need to have a word with the Boss about this and maybe devise a plan in which each member (including executives) takes a day to work in each division to better appreciate the hard work you all do, but before you can do that you have to get through this god awful day. You pick up your phone for the umptieth time and check in on the crews you have assigned to the several messes that have been made today and none of them have finished. You could pull some teams from other assignments but that would run the potential risk of falling short in staff for other divisions just because some ginger with questionable taste in head accessories is having a bad day. You refuse to let that happen.

Maybe you should consider cutting the executive off, for the day at least. You’ve been allowed the liberty by Mori himself to cut anyone off from your services that gives you a particularly hard time. luckily, you’ve never even considered it, let alone been forced to exercise the right to cut someone off. You cannot believe this carrot topped, below average height, freckled freak of a man is making you consider changing your stance on your right to refuse services.

Not even twenty minutes after Gin called, you receive yet another message from her alerting you of another scene that needs your attention. 

That’s it, you’ve had enough of this. If the ginger wants to throw a fit that’s fine by you but you’ll be damned if you continue to let him make it everyone else’s  problem, but more specifically your problem. You decide this man is going to get a piece of your mind whether he  likes it or not. You request both the coordinates and that Nakahara Chuuya be present for your arrival at the scene before getting up from your desk and calling for an escort.

Chuuya is irritated beyond belief, his patience is nonexistent today and now he has to wait for this “Housekeeper” person to show up. He doesn’t have the time for this. The longer he spends waiting around to speak with this asshole, the more time the Yokohama branches of the organization he met with abroad have to flee. He can’t let that happen. The traitors need to face the consequences of their actions for sloppily selling Port Mafia secured information to their rivaling organizations.

He’s already taken care of their overseas branch, now he needs to wipe out their entire domestic operations. He’s already behind schedule, he should’ve been done by this time, but now he has to send out more teams in his place because someone needs to have a word with him and apparently he isn’t allowed to leave the scene until that conversation happens in person. At least, that’s what Gin told him and she’s not one to exaggerate unlike her brother who frequently gets carried away.

The current scene is an abandoned factory building—or, the remnants of an abandoned factory, Chuuya has no time to care about how neatly things are done right now, he just needs to get them done. Although, he does have to admit, this job was particularly messy and maybe Chuuya shouldn’t have used his ability to knock down the entire structure, but again he is in a hurry and it’s not like anyone was using the building. Really, he was doing the city a favor by demolishing that factory for free. However, the ginger knows that the Housekeeper isn’t going to be happy about it.

“Is this a goddamn joke?! What the hell is all of this?!” A shrill voice pierces through the sound of waves hitting the nearby cliffs. 

Chuuya winces, he hates how right he can be sometimes, and whips around to find the owner of the voice to be a neatly dressed woman no older than himself—maybe even younger. He’s not sure why, maybe it has to do with the fact that Kouyou is the only woman of power that he knows in the Port Mafia (one thing that has really never sat right with him due to the fact that it reeks of misogyny) or maybe it’s because of how efficiently the cleaners run, Chuuya has always been under the impression that the Housekeeper was an older man. One that held the same stature as someone like Hirotsu. It makes the executive wonder who her predecessor might have been and what they did to have such a young woman set to replace them.

Thankfully Gin has intercepted her and is seemingly trying to deescalate whatever fit the division head seems to be having. Why Chuuya has to be here for that is a mystery to him. His patience is waning even further at the fact that this Housekeeper seems hellbent on wasting the executive’s time.

The division head and Gin exchange a few more words before the (possibly?) older woman’s head swivels to the side, her sharp gaze narrowed in his direction. Suddenly he feels uncomfortable in his own skin, entirely too seen, a chill running through him that he can only explain as a sort of intimidation. Chuuya doesn’t get intimidated easily, he finds it hard too when he is both the strongest fighter and ability user in the entire organization. He hasn’t felt something like this in quite some time. Only one other person that still resides in the Port Mafia has made Chuuya experience this feeling and that was Mori Ougai himself, the boss of the entire Port Mafia. Besides the older man, there is only one other person that has elicited this kind of reaction from Chuuya.

Now he has to add one more person to that list. 

She moves with a sort of elegance that the ginger would expect from a dancer or a fighter, but with her stature and fragile frame, Chuuya couldn’t imagine this woman ever fighting. So a dancer then, she has to be, with movements as calculated and light as her’s there is no other explanation. The ginger realizes he’s blatantly sizing her up just a little too late, the expression on her face tells him she notices. The deep set scowl etched onto her face gives that away pretty easily. 

She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at him in obvious contempt. “Nakahara-san.”

“Housekeeper, I assume?” You nod your head at him, confirming his obvious suspicions about your identity, clearly it wasn’t really that hard to figure out with the way you made your entrance a bit of a spectacle. 

If your outburst when you first got here wasn’t an indication, the look on your face solidifies your clear annoyance with the executive. Chuuya internally flinches at the thought, he generally tries to stay on the good side of other members of the Port Mafia, always being respectful no matter the position, unless otherwise provoked. The last thing he wants is to have offended someone so vital in how efficiently the Port Mafia operates. 

Chuuya can’t imagine the delays in assignments if they didn’t have the cleaners to sort the messes for them or the mailman division to deliver important messages that cannot be delivered through a phone. Judging by your appearance here though, he has decidedly not made a good impression on you. Your presence alone was already a huge neon sign displaying that, the scowl on your face is enough to let the executive know he has in fact disrespected you in some way or another. The thought alone is enough to make the nausea settle in, feeling physically ill as his stomach churns uncomfortably.

“…You’re upset.” Admittedly, that’s not the brightest vocal observation Chuuya has ever made but something about you makes him nervous and it’s the best he could muster at this moment.

Your jaw tightens and your left eye twitches ever so slightly. “How very astute of you, Nakahara-san. It doesn’t matter who you are, where do you get off on ordering your subordinates to do the dirty work for you? Poor Gin alone has contacted me more in one day than she ever has in her entire time with the Port Mafia. Your arrogance truly astounds me. Y’know, I have never had someone so blatantly disrespect me and my division quite like you have today, congratulations. I’m highly disappointed, I’ve heard countless people rave about how respectful you are, but I suppose everyone has their limitations, right? Your courtesies clearly only extend to members that join you on the field and not for the aftermath.”

Your words cut into Chuuya’s chest like razor sharp blades. He does pride himself in his ability to respect others so outwardly, his words and actions always carefully mapped out. He didn’t start learning about proper etiquette until his mid to late teens, going from a street rat running a gang of other children from the streets to attending high society galas was a culture shock to say the least. It was hard for him to adjust, took years of constant guidance from Ane-san to completely sand away at the rough edges that once defined him.

So the notion that he would look down on anyone lower than him in the chain of command in the Port Mafia is laughable at best. However, the executive isn’t too sure that now is the best time to bring that up. Your anger is tangible as is, maybe it’s best that he keeps his mouth shut and lets you get your frustrations out. 

The longer you prattle on about your grievances toward the executive, the more Chuuya finds himself shocked at just how much he’s okay with it. His lips are parted slightly as he watches you in awe, waving your hands around to emphasize the way you’re harshly scolding him. It stirs something inside of him that’s slightly concerning.

Is he attracted to this? Or are you really just that beautiful when you’re angry?

Chuuya decides he would like to find out.

The ginger has to find out.

“Not all of us live, breathe, and eat the Port Mafia. Some of us would like to have a life outside of this organization and what you’re doing here today is hindering me from being able to obtain that healthy work to life balance ratio. I don’t care if you’re an executive—I wouldn’t care if you were the boss himself—I deserve the decency of getting a heads up from you personally that my teams were going to need to be prepared for a tantrum of this magnitude. Wouldn’t you agree?” Your shoulders visibly deflate, the tension in your body dissipating after finally voicing your issues with the way the ginger was handling this operation, but your gaze is still sharp and expectant, clearly wanting an answer to your question.

Chuuya can’t say he disagrees, after reflecting he has acted like a huge dick, making a mockery of you by not extending any sort of common decency towards you. Instead of speaking, Chuuya removes his hat from his head with his right hand and crosses his arm over his chest to rest the head accessory over his heart. He kneels down to bow formally and suddenly all the chatter from his subordinates ceases, everything going eerily quiet.

You splutter in embarrassment at his show and look around awkwardly. 

“I deeply apologize, Otetsudai-san, for both the disrespect and for ruining your after work plans. I agree, I should have allowed you the courtesy of being prepared for this—” Chuuya can’t help himself and peers up at you with an amused grin as he chooses his next words. “What was it that you called it? Tantrum.”

You bristle at his words, already flustered as your face flushes deeper. “You’re a Scoundrel, Nakahara Chuuya. I will be veiling this mess you’ve made and any others from this point forward until my teams can finish up at the other locations. I expect a direct phone call from you and no one else. Unless you feel like cleaning up your own messes. Do I make myself clear, Scoundrel?”

Chuuya chuckles at your retort and nods his head as he raises back to his feet, placing his hat back on his head. “Crystal clear, Otetsudai-san.”

You roll your eyes at him with a huff and spin on the balls of your feet, waving dismissively at him as you walk away. Chuuya relishes in your reaction, finding it quite endearing with the way a blush blooms at the tips of your ears and travels down to the back of your exposed neck. Even in your plain clothing and slicked back hairstyle, there’s no denying the fact that you have this natural beauty that shines through all of that. Maybe that’s why you make him so nervous, the executive doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone quite like you. 

He’s utterly captivated. 

His phone ringing lifts him out of his stupor, eyes never leaving your figure as he reaches into his pocket and answers the call. It’s Akutagawa—he’d stepped in for Chuuya when he couldn’t resume with this assignment himself thanks to your request. The executive picks up the phone, only half listening to the younger man’s mission report as you activate your ability. He watches in wonder as you make the rubble from the fallen factory completely disappear. 

Dangerously captivating.

It’s been a week since you personally met the notorious executive/scoundrel, Nakahara Chuuya, in the flesh and you no longer know what to think of him.

Maybe you’d have a better chance of doing any sort of thinking if it weren’t for the overwhelming floral scent swirling around inside of your office. Thirteen bouquets, all a variety of flowers from lilies to carnations to even dahlias. This was getting ridiculously out of hand. The first few deliveries were a pleasant surprise, but by the seventh delivery, you were completely out of surface area to set the massive and intricate bouquets down onto.

You feel like you’re swimming in a sea of petals. What’s worse is that, whether it’s a specific flower or all of their scents and pollen being combined together like this, something in here is making your allergies act up. Your sinuses are either clogged or leaking like a faucet, there has been no in between, and your eyes. They were starting to become unbearable with how itchy they’ve become. You’ve tried opening the windows but the clutter in your office is masking the fresh air and hardly doing anything to help.

The clutter is so bad that you had to start using chairs to house all of the flowers that were slowly but surely infesting your work space. The absolute worst part of this all, though, is that your subordinates have started whispering about the relationship between you and Chuuya. You too would love to know what that is because as of right now you’re completely unaware of your own standing with him. Last you checked he was simply some stupidly overpowered arrogant asshole that just so happens to have a pretty smile and striking eyes. Of course you don’t tell them that last part but you’re quick to remind them of the first part. 

They clearly don’t buy it, how could they when the flowers continue to flood in, the evidence overwhelmingly stacked against you.

Treacherous flowers.

Nakahara Chuuya is truly a pain in your ass, a bug crawling under your skin, a thorn in your side. 

Your secretary scurries in with an unusually nervous look on her face and you check the time while letting out a sigh. Six in the evening on the dot. That’s when the second bouquet has been arriving every day for the past six days. 

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation, you take a deep breath but it only serves to wound you up further when the strong floral scent causes your head to spin. “Sign for the flowers and you can just keep them at your desk, I couldn’t care less.”

“Aw…You’re breaking my heart, Doll. Did you not like my flowers? Would you have preferred I sent you treats from Paris instead?”

Your eyes fly open at the sound of his smooth voice, you’re sure it’s comical how they almost bug out of your head because even your secretary has to stifle a giggle. To her credit she does catch herself but it’s too late and you give her a wilted look, completely mortified. She bows her head and backs out of the room, probably on her way to tell the others what just transpired.

He said Paris. As in, Paris, France? As in the City of Love? Who does this guy think he is? Casanova? It’s bold of him to assume you’re easily swayed by grand romantic gestures. Jokes on him, you aren’t huge on the lover girl aesthetic or mentality. You’re simply exhausted and maybe just a little emotionally unstable.

You thought your outburst and chewing him out last week was enough of an indication of that.

Your gaze finally focuses on the ginger and what he’s holding. A bouquet of red roses. You want to roll your eyes—you do roll your eyes at him, you can’t help it considering the absurdity of it all. Red roses. Seriously? And of course he’s standing there with that stupid ass smirk and a mischievous glint in his bicolored eyes.

You let out a scoff through your nose. “You expect me to believe that a scoundrel like you had these flowers flown in from France?”

You’re decidedly unnerved by the way his smirk turns into an amused grin and his eyes soften with a fondness that catches you off guard. You don’t think anyone has ever looked at you that way. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

“You think too little of me—kinda hurts, y’know?” Chuuya fakes a pained expression that’s surprisingly convincing—or it would be if it weren’t for the fact that his tone gives away his clear amusement. “No, I expect you to believe that every day for the last seven days, I have been personally going to France myself and picking out the bouquets and traveling back.”

You blanch at this revelation, eyes once again turning into cartoonish orbs on your face and mouth hanging open in utter disbelief. “Why would you go through all that trouble just for me?”

Suddenly you feel a pit in your stomach churning and it makes you nauseous. Guilt starts chewing you from the inside out as you realize all that he’s done to try and prove to you he’s sorry. You start to feel bad about ever thinking ill of him.

You looked into him. Two days ago your request for Chuuya’s personal files were authorized and Mori called you up to his office to hand the folder to you himself. You were shocked, having expected your on-a-whim request to be denied. So, when he had a strange gleam in his eye, his amusement palpable, you knew something was suspicious but you couldn’t figure out what. He sensed your hesitation and an even more unsettling grin curled at his lips.

He said something about how years ago, Chuuya’s files had been taken, unauthorized and this was his way of repaying that.

It was an odd interaction and maybe Mori was actually telling the truth. Or maybe the man was just bored. It doesn’t matter now, because either way you regret reading his file. Knowing where Chuuya came from, that he was not only a child abandoned on the streets, but he was…God you can’t even think about it without a wave of sadness washing over you. All of that contempt you held for him previously has completely dissipated.

You definitely shouldn’t have read his file.

Chuuya’s entire face softens, he almost looks embarrassed—no, he does look embarrassed. The slight dusting of blush blooming onto his cheeks and his free hand rubbing the back of his neck are all telltale signs of how flustered he is by your question. Maybe even the answer he has for it too.

“I think it’s pretty important for you to like me, or at least to tolerate me. Someone in your position deserves respect and I’m sorry my first impression was lacking. I’m also sorry for fucking with your plans. Let me make it up to you?”

He looks at you expectantly and you can’t help the incredulous laugh that slips past your lips as you shake your head, an involuntary smile creeping onto your face and brightening your features. “If these flowers were just the precursor to your apology, do I even wanna know what the real apology is? Anyone ever tell you that subtlety isn’t your strong suit?” 

“Nah, don’t think it’s ever come up. But…Let me take you out for dinner and drinks. On my dime of course.” 

You watch him fiddle with his bottom lip, scraping it nervously between his teeth, not quite biting it. You ponder on his question before coming to a realization. Today was oddly slow for you, which means it was a slow day for the mafia altogether. You can’t help but wonder if that had anything to do with the man standing nervously before you, still holding that damn bouquet of roses. You let out a sigh of defeat and tip toe over to the ginger, plucking the bouquet from his hand.

You bring the flowers up to your nose and inhale deeply, the scent of roses overpowering the rest of the other flowers. Despite never being a romantic, the scent of roses has always been your favorite. You peer up at Chuuya through your lashes and you swear you hear his breath catch in his throat.

“I suppose I can spare one night to dine with a scoundrel.”

⤷ More on reader’s ability |  Fukai Mask (Masks by Fumiko Enchi) - An ability to mask objects or a surrounding scene. This ability allows its user to also mask herself from others but she cannot apply her own ability to other living things apart from plants. The mask acts as a veil that hides things from the naked eye as well as making the objects or user permeable. When the user has the ability activated only she is able to see what’s been hidden. The ability can be activated in more than one scene at a time as long as the user has physically been there before but while the ability is being used externally, the user cannot mask her presence and vice versa.

[painsandconfusion]

Writers, here’s your reminder that you should be doing warm-ups!

Athletes need to warm up. Musicians need to warm up. Artists need to warm up. Heck, I even have to play a few matches in video games before I get into a groove every day.

Warm-ups help you get into the right headspace, give you more control of your actions and word choice, get you comfortable in your physical setting (eg: with your keyboard, notebook, tablet, or whatever you're writing with), and spark creativity.

Even if you don’t think you have spoons to write, sit down and do a couple warm-ups. If you still don’t want to, that’s alright. But. I think you’ll be surprised how often they help break that ice.

5-15 minutes is all you need. I personally set a timer for ten minutes each time and do not stop writing until the time is up. Your warm-up can be anything at all so long as it gets you writing and starts nudging those creative juices.

Here's some common warm-ups:

Journaling. Just jot down some notes about your day. Feel free to really lean into something that you noticed. We're going for description and details -- try to avoid settling into a spiral or focusing on something negative that will upset your creativity.

Short story prompts. Type that into Pinterest and pick the most ridiculous, cliche thing you can. Write a little scene, story summary, or even a rant about why you do or don't like the prompt. Just write.

Vocab challenge. If you like a bit more critical thinking to get you in the zone, have a random vocabulary word generator spit out five or so words. Check their meanings and jot down a little story or thought that includes all five. You get more familiar with beautiful and descriptive language, and it gives you a much narrowed prompt (which is lovely if you're like me and suffer each time there's an open-ended task assigned).

Character moments. Try putting your character into a generic setting and write down almost meticulously what their thought process would be. Follow them realizing they've just stepped in mud or dreading the start of the day. Pick a mundane thing and describe them working through it. This will not only get your writing going, but it will wake up the character's voice in your head.

Ongoing storytelling. Did you know that Whinnie the Poo was A.A. Milne's warm up story? He would jot down a quick little story with those very basic characters and did so every day. Whatever came to mind. He kept writing little tidbits on the same characters and eventually it turned into a series. Having that ongoing plot with isolated scenes and simple characters can help you feel more motivated to sit down and write.

Get-to-know-you-questions. Google a list of basic first-date questions (there are a million out there) and answer one yourself. Go into specifics. Where do you most want to travel and why? Let yourself ramble until the question is fully answered.

Writer's block blues. This is a favorite of mine. If you're truly stuck, write about being stuck. Eg: 'I'm supposed to write for ten minutse, but that feels so stupid and impossible. No one is goign to read this anyway. I have no ideas and the page is so overwhelming when its blank. I used to be able to write on and on and nothing could stop me. it was like breathing. but now I have nothign and do nothing and I can't even do a stupid prompt-' Even the rambling and ranting got me writing. It made things easier. It made writing this post easier. Also -- notice the typos? Yeah, don't fix those. You're in writing mode, not editing mode when you're doing this. If you edit while you write, you're forcing yourself to stay in your executive and calculating headspace rather than falling fully into creativity and dream. Ignore the mistakes. That's for future you to handle.

I've officially rambled far too much, but I hope that helps even a little bit. Live well and write often, my friends. Best of luck to you <3

[1-800-local-slut]

Hey 👋 . Hope u doing well . I got a bit of a long request that I think you will like . Imagine this with me cause the idea just came to my head as I was reading ur powerpuff girl!reader . So danny phantom inspired reader , she obviously with mark grayson but I wanna focus on a specific danny phantom episode. So like it's an average day saving lives with our man invincible and this random girl who looks exactly like reader comes needing their help . They discover that ciecil has been trying to make a clones of dp!reader incase she go's rouge and dp!reader and mark are angry as heck at this information. Now I got some many ideas on how rest of this continues but I really want the rest of ur perspective on this since you be cooking better than me .

Danny Fenton was my cartoon crush growing up, thank you for this love. Anyways, I loooove the way you think. I think I know the episode you're talking about (I'm sorry if it's the wrong one) BUT I raise you this: the reader was raised by the GDA, closely by Cecil and she never thought he would do something like this to her? Oh my heart hurts just thinking about it (I'm smiling hard asf while writing this)

Mark Grayson x Black! Ghost-powered! Reader!

Warnings: angst, rage really, Cecil sucks here guys, reader has daddy issue

Note: the main character has powers like Danny Phantom, was raised in a lab, this is written from the point of view of you and Mark so all of Cecil's actions are seen as evil even if they've been explained. We know he wasn't trying to kill Mark but to you and Mark it looks differently

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It was always awkward to sit down and have dinner with the parents. Like when you meet your friends' parents before going upstairs to hangout and they clearly don't like you at all but begrudgingly let you and your friend leave the table. It's ten times worse when it's your girlfriends' parents.

It's 20x worse when it's your ex-boss. Like when your girlfriend was a government experiment who can transform into a ghost at will that was raised by the GDA and raised closely by Cecil, who made a clone of your girlfriend in case she turned evil that attacked your girlfriend before getting beat the fuck up? No? No one else relates? Just Mark? Well okay, he has had an original experience.

It was awkward.

The Chinese restaurant was loud, with people mingling around. Mark was trying to contain himself, just as much as you were. You were shaking from rage beside him, the forks on the table trembled beside you and your eyes were now a vibrant green.

Mark kept his grip on your hand to keep you from attacking Cecil in this restaurant. You glared at Cecil, refusing to speak a single word. Cecil stared back at you looking infuriatingly tranquil.

The three of you sat in uncomfortable silence.

Not for much longer though. Cecil cleared his throat, opening one side of his scarred face and began some sentence you did not care to hear.

"Well-."

"I did not ask."

Then back to silence.

Mark had his outs with Cecil. He doesn't take kindly to a chip being implanted in his brain, and normally he'd just try to leave. He'd get up, taking you with him. But Mark knows you. He knew there was no way in hell he was getting you out of this restaurant quietly. Maybe verbally silent but you would probably throw the fish tank at his head on your way out. The moment Cecil crashed your date he gave up.

You were either going to sit silently until the check came, or you were going to curse Cecil clean out again before leaving. Luckily for everyone else in the restaurant it seemed like you were choosing to sit silently. Luckily for Cecil he wasn't going to have to hear your scathing insults again

Unfortunately for Cecil, Mark really wanted to go home instead of sitting there looking at Cecil's face. The day was long enough. You two already had dinner planned, now he just wanted to go. Take his beautiful girlfriend and fly home. Maybe stop at Mcdonald's on the way home to get you an apple pie so you could feel better. So, Cecil's wicked self was going to have to get cursed out once more if the conversation went left. Which it was going to. Because Cecil can never say the right thing.

"What she means to say is: why are you here, crashing our date after you ruined the bond we had?" Mark opened the door for the conversation to begin.

Truthfully, he was tired of Cecil, he needed to get the circus out of the way. Your teeth were loudly grinding together, as you tried to hold it together and you yanked your hand from Mark's grasp. From the corner of his eye, he saw your shaky hands grasping the edge of your dress and pulling at it. The dress yanking was almost representative of the last shreds of your self-control being torn apart

"Well. I just wanted to have a conversation. You two know what I've done. I'm not proud of it but it needed to be done." Cecil began, straightening his tie. His blue eyes avoided your glowing green ones.

"Okay. And you are here at our dinner table because...?"

With an eye roll and a self-righteous sigh, Cecil leaned back in his seat.

"Because you two wouldn't take my calls. I had to find her somehow."

Then there was a loud slam. You were standing up, arms shaking and nails scratching into the table. Other tables went silent and even the wait staff stopped moving.

"You lame bitch!"

Well, there we go.

"You funky, fake, low down, lying bitch!" You continued, cold air slipping into the restaurant. Your curls began to turn white from the bottom of your defined curls as your arms shook. The lighting flickered momentarily. A father ushered his wife and children quickly out of the restaurant while others waived down their waiters for the check.

" 'Oh! She's not taking my calls, poor me! I'm so sad, and old and nobody likes me! It's not like I'm a lying fuck who uses teenagers like pawns, I've done nothing wrong! I only stole her DNA after buying her from her birth parents and raising her in a lab as if she was my daughter then cloned her against her knowledge then trained that clone to try and kill her if anything went wrong! Poor me, poor Cecil!' You whiny bitch, how dare you?!" The mocking tone mimicked a baby crying on the steps, as you dramatically waved your hands around to make fun of Cecil.

Mark would've laughed if the restaurant wasn't quickly emptying. He was starting to think he should've just kept quiet. Green flames roared from the kitchen; chefs screamed in terror and objects all around began to float and fly about hazardously.

"You need to calm down. I came to try to talk to you," Cecil ducked as he nearly dodged a tea pot flying at his head.

"Not end up on the ten 'o clock news. You know I care about you. It doesn't have to be this way." He continued, his voice cracked. A sliver of emotion escaped.

A dry chuckle was his response as you rolled your eyes.

"Cut me a fucking break Cecil. I already told you that I don't like you! You care about me cool; I don't care about you. You lost that chance when you cloned me and then let that clone escape and try to kill me. Which failed by the way, kind of like your first and only marriage."

You sat back down next to Mark, throwing your phone and other things back into your purse. You clearly did not care to argue with Cecil. You said your piece and Mark could see you slowly coming to a brutal realization. No matter how much you cussed Cecil out you weren't going to feel better.

Because Cecil hurt you. He hurt you bad. There was a hole in your heart, where the bond you had with the man who raised you was gone. And nothing was going to heal that but time and space which Cecil did not want to give you.

A plate smashed on the ground as your nail got stuck on the lining of your purse and you pulled in frustration. Cecil let out a sigh as Mark slipped his phone and wallet into his pocket. The best thing to do to avoid a damages bill in addition to the cheque was leave.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you. It was just a precaution. Would you just give me a chance to explain?"

For a moment you stopped. there was a flicker of the girl Mark meant almost two years ago. The girl that loved her dad. She didn't doubt him; she tried to rationalize almost everything. It was her dad. He was a good guy; he did things to keep people safe. She loved him and he was supposed to love her. Just for a moment the green eyes returned to brown but quickly went back to a glowing green. Just at the idea of finally having peace of mind.

Everything in the restaurant clattered to the ground, and the remaining bystanders quickly fled the cold room. The kitchen staff sprinted for safety and made it out the door and the sound of police sirens approached rapidly. Ironically Mark's second phone started to ring.

You dubbed it the 'Invinciphone', and it was probably ringing to report a superpowered disturbance. Your other phone began to buzz inside of your purse. The disturbances being called to handle the disturbance, how poetic. Mark would've laughed if he had time too, now he had to plot your escape.

Cecil rubbed his fingers across the bridge of his nose. He was no doubt stressed, pissing off the people who he really needed as his allies and probably experimenting on puppies or some shit.

"Listen. I can get this called off. You two don't get arrested or end up with warrants out for destruction of public property." He placed his phone on the table. One phone call. But you don't need to hear out shit. Not from Cecil. Mark will take jail time over watching you destroy yourself from this conversation. Guilt seemed to possess his body, if only he just sat there and engaged in the staring contest.

"The call is on you guys. But maybe make the choice before we get tear gassed. I just want you to hear me out."

The choice was ultimately yours. Because Mark already choked the fuck out of Cecil for trying to kill him, and he choked him again that day you ended up unconscious in the hospital after fighting yourself. He had nothing else to say to the man. The choice, just like the pain you felt from Cecil's evil ass, was yours.

The gears clicked in your head slowly. Your hair went back to its original color, your eyes now their natural deep brown. No more floating items and flames erupting from the kitchen. Sadness took over your face, hanging heavy on your features like chains pulling you down.

Hands folded in your lap; you stayed silent for one minute. Then two. Your eyes trained on the phone on the table while you thought. The next emotion on your face was disappointment.

"...You set this up. You came here, you knew I would get angry. You know I can't control my powers when I get this upset. You knew how bad you hurt me then you used that to get me angry. All you had to do was wait for the police to get called. So, you could give me an ultimatum and force me to stay. Because you would let the police arrest me. If I escaped, you would let the military hunt Mark and I down.

You knew I'd be held in a prison where people with superpowers are treated inhumanely. Because you set up those systems for us to be abused in prison. And you did all this, using the pain you caused me. So, I would listen to you say a bunch of bullshit I don't care to hear."

Cecil shifted in his seat, his fingers itched on the table, and he glanced away from you. The three of you sat in a sobering silence. But things were different. As the room returned to normal temperature, Mark felt his rage heating up.

He'd been used by Cecil, and while it hurt, he didn't take it so personally. How could he? He had his own father. While that guy was a lying asshole, he was a good father. He had 17 years with his dad who was his actual dad. He didn't have to learn to trust his father only to have it broken. His entire life, up until the end, his dad loved and cared for him. Cecil wasn't his dad.

And he wasn't supposed to be yours either. He knew you were an experiment. But Cecil knows what Cecil is. So why would he even allow himself to get close to you. How could he allow himself that act of selfishness and then punish you for its years later? Then to take it further to use the love he gave you as a weapon.

Before he could speak, a chill ran across Mark. Your hand was raised in front of him in order to stop him. You needed him to just bear witness. And you're his girl, so in this situation Mark would do whatever would make you feel better.

"Call them off Cecil. Say your piece. Then we're leaving."

Cecil stood up, stepping away from the table leaving you two behind for a moment.

"...What do you wanna do?" Mark whispered, hands finding yours. He brushed a piece of your hair out of your face. His eyes found yours and a ghost of tears in your eyes.

"I just need to let him hear himself talk. If you need to leave, you can. I can get him to leave us alone, but I have to let him think I'm hearing him out."

You must not know him. No way was Mark about to disappear and leave you with this evil fuck. His forehead pressed against yours. You were tangible. Couldn't just fall through you, you weren't a ghost right now. Like most times you were tangible. The only issue was that Cecil didn't see you that way. He saw you as a weapon he couldn't fully control, the ghost girl who he could control through the human half.

"Fuck this guy, let's just leave! The police can't stop us." Mark whispered while you closed your eyes. You were giving up. Giving up on fighting, giving up on trying to stick it to Cecil. All you could do right now was play his stupid game.

"Don't let him hear you say that. He'll get the reanimen on you." You teased through the cracking of your voice and bubbling of your pain.

Cecil came back, clearing his throat before sliding into the seat across from you. You and Mark separated except your hands. He was the grounding force keeping you human here. You were his grounding force from jumping across the table and choking Cecil out AGAIN.

Instead, he sat in silence again.

"You made us stay here and did all this only to say nothing?"

"Mark."

"I can't stand this guy. Sorry."

But Cecil ignored Mark's loud disdain. He loosened his tie completely then exhaled as if he was fighting himself.

"It wasn't my intention to hurt you. You know I care about you. I raised you. But I have to look out for the people. It's my job, you know that. Yes, you were my little girl. I still care about you. I still see you as my little girl. I cloned you, because I had to be ready for the worse. Your powers are unstable. You can't control them. Tonight made that clear.

It doesn't have to be hostile between us, is what I'm trying to say. I made a mistake but I still...I care a lot about you."

The red and blue lights outside dissipated, then the crowds of people slowly melted away. You sucked in a deep breath and squeezed Mark's hand for courage.

"Okay. I don't care about you anymore. I can't. I did, and you used that and almost cost me my life by making a clone of me that was programmed to kill me if I went bad. So, I really cannot care about you anymore. I have too much pride and dignity as a young woman to let myself be disrespected by someone who has no understanding of boundaries.

It is your job, yes. Your job has consequences. One of those consequences is that you no longer have access to me. I will not come to Christmas. I will not come to dinners on Sunday. I will not invite you to any sort of milestone in my life. You have your job to do, now I hate you and your job.

I have never given you any sort of impression that I am evil. You clearly saw something in me. You made me this way. I am an experiment. I was genetically modified in a lab, you know that. I don't even know my actual birthday. My 'birthday' is the day my powers were deemed a success. My entire life was engineered by you and I refuse to have any further part of it. You made me and then punished me.

You made me, then turned on what you created, before creating something that's sole purpose was to kill me. For no reason other than you could no longer control me and you because you saw me as an object to control rather than the child you raised and said you loved."

Cecil nodded, gnawing on the inside of his cheek and looking down. Mark felt the sweat from your palms, your skin cold and clammy.

"You made the issue worse, by following us here and then antagonizing me. You showed me that when things don't go your way you will attempt to manipulate me. I can no longer trust that anything you do or say is genuine. You hurt me. You hurt my boyfriend. What we had, that bond we had is gone. You killed it. I need space and time to be able to be around you. Do you understand?"

"I don't want to lose you." For once, Cecil came out with honest emotion. He was clear with his feelings. When it didn't matter anymore, he was honest with you. When it was too late. The bond of father and daughter was long gone, and it started to die the moment he tried to kill your boyfriend.

With a sigh and a shake of your head, cold tears escaped and slipped down your cheeks.

"You already have." The conversation was done with.

Mark stood up, making way for you to get up. You got out of the booth, wiping tears from your face. Mark's arms wrapped around your hips to support you. He could feel the emotional exhaustion radiating off of you. You two went to fly towards the ceiling, instead of going for the door.

"And tell Donald to stop sending me flowers."

Then you were gone, you two went through the ceiling thanks to your powers granting you two the ability to pass through the wall. In the empty Chinese restaurant, all that remained was Cecil. Cecil, and the dead body of that father-daughter bond he killed.

[wisteria-lodge]

What are your thoughts on those who believe hp fans (fan writers, artists, and appreciators alike) should leave the fandom sphere in favor of not giving JKR any “support” even if one does not share her views, as opposed to consuming fan content (or even the original media) while understanding the separation between art from artist (even if that can’t truly be 100% done, as HP is JKR, though that is another discussion entirely)?

I can only answer for myself, but I guess I would say - I'm a teacher, IRL. And my students, they know about Harry Potter, they know the property, they grew up with the movies, they read Harry Potter fanfiction, and... they talk to me about it. I think it's *good* that they talk to me about it. They ask questions about JKR, about the problematic elements in the books, trans issues, queer coded villains. Whatever is bothering them, whatever they otherwise feel dumb about asking.

Just the other day I had a very sweet conversation with a trans student who had realized he was gay because Harry and Draco in the books were so "real" and "me coded" (and then he realized people shipped them and was like OH.) Basically, he just needed to be told that his experience was still okay and valid even though JKR is such a terrible transphobe. I had another one ask me "why are all queer people Wolfstar?" (what she meant was, why do gay couples in media tend have a masc one + a femme one. But for her, patient zero is Wolfstar, and that's how she phrased the question.)

On this blog, I'm in this position where I clearly know like, a lot about Harry Potter, I clearly authentically love it (and the fan culture around it...) but am very VERY critical of both JKR as a person, and specific choices she made while writing the books. That's a combination that's definitely got me some hate mail, but also thank-you letters, and extremely earnest questions. And, if I never touched HP meta or fandom, I wouldn't get to occupy that space.

I completely, completely understand people who never want to read the words "Harry Potter" ever again. That was me, for years. I only started writing about Harry Potter on this blog last July, but so far it's been very a interesting, rewarding, cathartic experience. I've also had a great time writing fic, and using that as a means to examine my emotions and issues around this property, and with JKR herself. I got such a kick out of matching JKR's writing style as perfectly as I possibly could, and then writing Book 4 babygay Drarry. Or making Tonks just like, super genderqueer, trans, all of the above. Or flipping the framing to write a 100% canon compliant morally grey Dumbledore, and a sympathetic Lucius Malfoy. People seem to really like the fics too, so that's a nice bonus. I've gotten a lot from fanfiction myself in the past, I think it's a fascinating and useful form of art. So, I like getting getting to continue the cycle.

[pukefactory]

May we have some Sprout x Reader headcanons?

Love your writing btw!

Thank you kindly, Anon! Here are a few lighthearted headcanons about the berry boy!

-RUSH

‎♡‧₊˚✧ SHOW SOME LOVE ✧˚₊‧♡

𖦹 Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Sprout X Reader

𖦹 Character(s): Sprout Seedly (Dandy’s World)

𖦹 Genre: Headcanons, SFW

𖦹 Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

𖦹 Image Credits: @mellosno1fan

➸ He doesn’t call you by pet names. He refuses to. If you bring it up, he just gives you a look and goes, “What do you want me to call you, ‘Sugar Muffin’? ‘Darling?’ Gross.” But then he’ll make you strawberry tarts shaped like hearts and quietly say, “Baked fresh for you. Don’t read into it.”

➸ Sprout gets weirdly quiet when you’re hurt. Like, scary quiet. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t panic. He just picks you up—no argument—and gets you out of danger before muttering something like, “You’re not supposed to get hurt. Not on my watch. Not ever.” And if you try to laugh it off, he only looks more mad. “You think this is funny? You wanna see me fall apart? ‘Cause that’s what’ll happen if this happens again.”

➸ You once caught him hand-sewing a tiny scarf. When you asked who it was for, he panicked and threw a tray of muffins at you. Later, he muttered, “It was gonna be for your birthday. But now you know, so forget it. It’s dumb.” (He still gives it to you—tied around a jar of homemade jam with a little paper tag that says “Not Dumb.”)

➸ He’s overprotective in the way a fire alarm is loud. Not subtle. “Why’re you walking ahead of me? No, get back here—what if something jumps out at you?” “That’s oddly specific—” “Happened to Cosmo last week.”

➸ He denies having a soft spot for your voice. But every time you hum while baking, he slows down whatever he’s doing. Doesn’t say anything. Just listens. You catch him staring? He scoffs. “You’re off-key. It’s cute…”

➸ Sprout will never say “I love you” first. But he says things like: “Don’t go anywhere without telling me.” “I trust you more than I trust myself, which is saying a lot.” “If anything happened to you, I’d turn this whole world into a compost heap.”

➸ The first time you got upset in front of him, he panicked so hard he gave you his scarf. Literally just took it off and wrapped it around you like it could fix everything. Then mumbled, “Y’know, you wear it better anyway… you can keep it. Just don’t… cry. I hate it. It makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

➸ He always asks “Are you okay?” Even if you’re fine. Even if you just tripped. Even if you just sighed. And when you finally asked why, he looked at you for a long time before saying, “Because if you weren’t… I don’t think I’d be able to fix it. But I’d try. I’d really, really try.”

➸ He has a whole section in his recipe book labeled “Favorites (for my love only).” Vee found it once and teased him. Sprout nearly threw the entire oven at her. “Back off, Vee, or I’m pouring water in your microphone. Again.”

➸ Sometimes he just… stares at you. Like you’re a puzzle he wants to figure out but also doesn’t want to ruin. “What?” “…Just wondering how I ended up with someone who makes me want to remember to turn the oven off.”

[twinkunhater]

No Love to Give

Karina x M! Reader (sub)

Tags : dom!Karina, non-con, dub-con, violence, verbal a!use, ab*se, angst, rough seggs, painful seggs (yeah he is getting railed hard here...), tox!c love

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"K-Karina!, n-" her hands wrapped my neck, her grip almost suffocating... "One last time, tell me... Where. Are. The. Fucking. Beer!" Her grip never loosened as you only gripped her wrist lightly, trying to push her away. But you've always promised to never harm her, in any form or way. "Fucking whore" She stopped choking you as it was replaced with a burning slap on your cheek. "I-I don't know..."

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Your sobs filled the room, every part of you shook in fear as she left. 'Is she leaving me?! Please... Dont...' You went to look outside, she's not there anymore. 'M-Maybe she just... W-Went to b-buy something, or go out to smoke a-and..." Your mind is filled with every thought of Jimin doing as she left you to yourself.

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You cleaned up and went to clean the living room, 'I made a mess...' you spoke under your breath as you stared at the broken vases and broken chairs she smashed onto you. Cleaning everything up, you heard the door and opening and some paper bags rattle. You opened the door, Jimin appeared as she was carrying some paper bags filled with groceries.

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"L-Let me help you, my love" You smiled as she handed you the groceries, you cant help but saw her eyes, eyes filled with anger and something else...

"Hey, about last night." She puts her car keys at the kitchen counter, "Hm? What about last night?" you spoke but your voice hinted at a very sad tone, "I kinda forgot about it." you added as you went and filled the pantry with the groceries, she went closer to you and reached out for your cheek, but her reaching out only made you flinched...

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Both of you were surprised and looked at each other, you looked away and she held her eyes on you. "I-I'm so-" She wanted to say something but I slowly walked towards the living room, Karina, slightly frustrated and worried. Her mind frantically looks for some way to talk to you, 'This... Ugh, why did I even marry you. Luckily you have a lot of money, and a handsome one too." She fixed her top and then followed you. While you diligently looked at the living room, you spotted the vacuum and turned it on immediately and got into cleaning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Karina though, she watched you clean, how her sweet, loving, cute and disgustingly weak husband does some house chores. You felt her stare, still doing your job and avoiding eye contact. "My love... Karina, um, I was thinking, I wanted to get a job..." Your voice sounded sheepish.

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"Why? So that I'd do the cleaning? Fuck no." Her voice sounded cold and monotone. "I-Its just t-that..." Your sentence was later cut off by her. "That what? I'm not doing enough? You're getting smart now, huh? Or you don't want me to do something good? Oh, maybe I'm incompetent?!" She replied, but her response was somewhat scary and filled with anger. She approached you, her foot stomping as she walked towards you.

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"N-No i-its not t-that" You unknowingly covered your mouth as if you said something terribly offensive. As soon as you covered your mouth, she punched your stomach, specifically at the solar plexus. Her punch was strong, it made you knelt at her heel. As you kneeled, your head is on the floor. Looking down as the pain multiplied when her foot was on your head.

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"You should remember, my dad gave me to you, for a fucking business deal. Don't act like you can do better than me. For fuck sake Y/N, stop acting like a spoiled brat." her words felt like million swords pierced into you. "S-Sorr- Guhh!" She kicked your head, making you tumble to the side. "Go make some dinner, bitch." You stood immediately and went to the kitchen, walking slowly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your head spinning whilst walking towards the kitchen, you made dinner and served it to her at the dining table. You made some wine and steak, you cooked it to her liking. But it wasn't... "What. The. Fuck. Is this shit?! Do I look like a pig to you, huh?!" She threw her plate at you hitting your chest.

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You looked down as the pain hissed at you, touching it only left you with more pain. As soon as she left your sobs filled the room, the excruciating pain that enveloped your body only made your crying worse...You stood up and cleaned after her and yourself. As the dishes were done she came back... "Go upstairs..." She ordered, I hesitated... "Don't make me ask twice, now!" She shouted, I slowly moved as her eyes were locked onto me.

She grabbed my shoulders and pulled me towards her, "Get undressed, if you still have your clothes after you arrive at my room, I'll fucking sell you." her hands tighten on your shoulder as she goes to the cellar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You went up to your bedroom, and undressed. She arrived not long after you got undressed, "Good~" her voice was deep and sultry. Her hums filled the room, her voice sent you to a weak state, your body didn't even hesitate, it remained relaxed. Her touch was gentle, yet within those touches it was uncomfortable to feel. She then slowly lunged herself towards you, kissing and biting your neck softly it sent shivers down your spine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Without warning, she touched your part. You whimpered, as her hand struck it. Sensing each stroke was enough to wring you out of breath. "M-My love..." You whispered, "Shhh, be quite slut" she bit your neck, marking you as hers. This is the only time you can feel genuine feelings from her, without a doubt she loves doing this with you. But you always feel empty after it, it makes you long for it, wanting to extend it, a never ending moment where she's genuine with you.

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"I-I love you, M-My lo-" You got cut off as she pushed you down, your part still rose, "A good slut gets a good fuck, ok? You've been tolerating my past actions, well done." Her voice sounded sweet, yet her eyes tell a different story. She looked at you with desire,strings of hunger, mixed with annoyance. She attacked your lips, viciously making you weak, your knees begged yet she kept going, your whimpering fueled her.

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"Keep making that noise, you'll end up in a wheel chair" She smirks, how you smiled when she smirked. You felt like there was a spark between you too, but then. You remembered, it's the same spark that gleams every time you both do this...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"M-My love... It feels so good... Mmhh" Finally she knelt in front of you, removing her stop, and then unlocking her bra. Which unburdened her beautiful chest, which then only contrasted how small her waist is. With her top out of the way, she stood up. Removing her pants and underwear, where you soon again see her voluptuous curves that drove your knees into a weak mess. "M-My..." She puts her fingers in front of your lips, signalling you to he quite. "Shhh, I'm just getting started."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You shiver in anticipation, as she aligns her wetness onto your throbbing member. "Be a good slut, ok?" She said and immediately pressed onto your cock smoothly, "nggghh, m-my love..." You moaned as her wetness met you, she began working. Her hips vigorously moved up and down, "S-Shit... S-So fucking good!" she grabbed your neck and proceeded to push you deeper in the bed. Your back was ingrained in the foam, as your eyes met hers. Both of you began to look at each other, her eyes filled with content and lust, at that point you just submitted to her dominance...

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Her constant degradation, torture was ingrained inside your head. As each of her touches went to the place where bruises were. Your chest, bruised by the plate earlier, your stomach where she punches, your waist where she grips it to the point her hands dented it.

Each slam was filled with raw, and pure desire. Desire to make you squirm, weak, submissive, destroyed. That's the only genuine feeling she'll be showing towards you, no love, only lust.

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"L-Love, nngghh" Your voice was getting weak, as she rode you like a whore. "More!" She said at each slam, hard and precise, deep and sensual. "P-Plea- m-my... O-Oh g-go-" Your stomach was sticky, cum and sweat mixing each other. It smelled, but you liked it, her cum mixing with yours, it gushes out from her. For hours and hours, she used you over and over again. She never took a break not once.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never spoke after the 3rd round, you were too tired. When you go limp, she'll finger your prostate to turn it hard again. "P-Please... I-I c-can't..." Your breath was shaky, you were too tired. While Karina wasn't to her this was only the 1st round, she pulled herself out. Her gates still dripping, "I'll be back" she spoke and then left you.

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Ragged and tired, you tried moving. But you can't, your legs gave up. 'If she loves this, I will give it to her... I don't care, after this she may not love me, but love doing this with me... It's fine, I can live with this...' Your thoughts jumbled and you sobbed. You knew she'll never truly love you, but as long as she's doing this with you and only you. It'll be enough...

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The END

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

sky high!au | m.g. x gn!reader

it’s weird going to a high school specifically meant for kids with superpowers, big or small, it makes the four years a little worse for tormenting. some kid got pants by a speedster, and when he tried to run his laces were tied together causing him to trip on the linoleum floor.

high school was hell.

you don’t even know why you go to the school, the ability to rearrange molecules causing them to phase shift wasn’t really great when you can only do small things. pretty sure there’s a rotting apple hiding in the science rooms walls.

at least you had close friends at the school. samantha wilkins, but she prefers her middle name eve more from peers. now that girl is a superhero, with the ability to see atoms and create limitless possibilities-such a badass. rex sloan was another…acquaintance if you could call him that. he causes explosions, big or small just by the touch of his fingers, number one trouble maker (he’s got his own seat in detention).

and then there’s mark grayson, son of omni-man. and he’s gifted with the ability to-to- no one is sure of that yet. for now he’s the only ‘normal’ kid attending the school due to his family status. and he happens to be your childhood best friend along with being neighbors, from séance dog role playing in his backyard to having him help you practice your powers at the age of seven. he was your biggest supporter.

“i feel this would make a killer magic act. maybe we could get into competitions!” mark bounced on his bed from excitement and you just smiled shyly, keeping your knees tucked close to your chest.

“i don’t know…it’s not really good if i can only do a paper clip. kinda lame power i have.” grumbling to yourself. your parents were veteran heros, always saving the world and stopping interglacial wars. you’d never raise to their level.

“hey,” mark poked a finger into your chubby cheek. you sided eyed him gently, no annoyance in your gaze just peering at him. “i think you’re cool.” you scuffed, “you’re just saying that cause your my friend. you’d understand if you had my powers compared to my parents.”

“you’re right, i’m saying that cause i’m your friend. but also i know what it’s like, comparing yourself to others. heck my dad is freaking omni-man! that’s the biggest comparison to date, but i don’t let it stop me. we’re still young, by high school things will be better.”

“hey killer.” blinking your eyes rapidly from a sudden memory, mark was walking into your space. the yellow collar of his shirt popping out to sit at the top of his dark blue striped sweater, one hand tucked into the pocket of his khaki pants. his hair was neatly combed with a bit of gel keeping it in place except for one stray hair that swayed in the wind, it made him look romantic.

“hi marky, ready for today?” talking in the courtyard as you waited for the bell to ring. today was a monthly powers assessment, there were two categories. hero and sidekick. eve and rex have been placed in hero specific classes while you and mark are sidekicks.

a crooked smile brightened mark’s pretty features, “i am actually. got a big surprise for everyone.” jumping his brows conspicuously. you didn’t have time to ask since the bell took its cue signaling the next period. you sighed, “let’s get this over with.”

-

“alright twerps! you know the drill by now. i’m gonna terrorize you and you best keep yourself intact cause i’m not calling the janitor for clean up duty. now first up…amanda johnson.”

everyone was silent, waiting to see the new meat. a young girl stepped through and onto the platform, she couldn’t be more than thirteen at least. coach just stared her down for a moment, “uh…how old are you?”

“seventeen but my powers cause my aging to turn backwards. now are we gonna do this or what?” you liked her. coach stedman just shrugged then blew his whistle loud, it was worse than a screaming cat.

a giant bus suddenly dropped from the ceiling and everyone gasped but then a cloud of smoke appeared and in amanda’s place was a giant green monster around eight feet maybe. murmurs went through the crowd at the mysterious creature, who set the dinged up vehicle to the side and turned back into the junior. she wiped her hands together, “anything else?”

coach stared wide-eyed, speechless for a moment before clearing his throat. “uh hero, but only do that when necessary. and instructed by your teachers.” and he waved her off calling up another girl.

she had short black hair and was wearing a tight purple top with a mini skirt. “katherine cha, how will you amaze us today?”

“actually i prefer kate and i duplicate.” her rhyme followed with a demonstration of five more exact replicas standing behind her, each one doing a different pose. “hero. now mark grayson, get your butt up here.”

you patted his shoulders, “be careful.” he just threw a smile over his shoulder as he walked onto the platform. coach crossed his arms followed with a deep sigh, “any new developments grayson, or are you still weaker than my eighty year old mother? at least she can lift ten pounds.” a small murmur and giggle spread through the crowd of on lookers while you just rolled your eyes at the comments.

all mark said was, “can she do this?” and started to hover off the ground then floated to the top of the gym ceiling before descending down. your jaw dropped, he got his powers, and didn’t tell you. coach stedman clapped slowly, “well well, nice show. anything else? super strength?” a mechanical dummy shot up and without a thought mark swung a fist causing the head to pop off and roll to the other side of the room.

it was silent then, “ladies and gentlemen, mark grayson, your new hero!”

-

“try grabbing a book through your locker. it’s not too thick a metal with a light object, just pretend it’s already open and there’s nothing in your way.” eve suggests while helping you practice your powers.

a deep exhale through your nose as you let the tips of your fingers rest against the cool light blue metal. you tried to make yourself feel weightless, just a simple breeze passing through the trees. you felt the spine of your book in your grasp, then quickly retracted your arm back to your side. a small paper back was your trophy.

“i-i did it. i did it!” thrilled at this achievement, small one, but one none the less for yourself. eve clapped beside you, “see just a little concentration goes a long way, in no time you’ll be joining me in hero classes.”

that got you to quiet down a bit, “apparently mark is getting that first.” a gasped followed, “no way! he finally got his powers?”

a nod, “yep. flying and strength, your typical hero package.” letting your fingers run against the aging paper, a baby frown staining your face.

eve hummed, “he didn’t tell you first did he? just gave everyone a big surprise.” understanding your sour mood.

“it’s not like he has to, but it would’ve been nice. i mean he was there when i accidentally fell through my bedroom floor thus causing me to sprain my ankle. why couldn’t he just hover outside my window?” pouting like a baby.

“why the hell did i just see grayson in my civilian protection class?” rex slides up beside you, casually throwing an arm over your shoulders. “did he finally hit powers puberty?”

eve rolled her eyes, “technically him and y/n are both biologically born with powers, while you and i have a bit of altered dna. it’s like growing plants, takes time and patience.”

“blah blah blah,” rex acting like his usual immature self.

…

a/n: just something i thought of. let me know if this is something yall would be interested in, just a more pg version of their world so more fluff less angst.

[starry-bi-sky]

Danny hurts.

That's nothing new, but he thinks he deserves to talk about it still. He hurts specifically behind his eyes, as if he's been doing nothing but stare at a screen all day, and his lungs feel shallow and stifled like he's run for a mile without stopping. There's an ache in his knees like abdominal cramps, stretching down to his calves and slightly up his thighs. His shoulder blades ache, rooting center towards his spine, snaking down to his hips.

It's bearable, but he still hurts.

It was a nightmare that brought him here, with his arms wrapped around Bruce's middle like a cobra and his ear pressed to the man's stomach. It's not a heartbeat, but he's already checked for it, and if he stops and listens, real quiet, he can hear Bruce's internal organs gurgling. So it's the next best thing, it means he's working as he should.

Bruce's curved finger draws a line down his spine, and then back up, slow and soothingly. Danny shudders involuntarily, gooseflesh popping up on his skin, and his arms tighten briefly, then loosen up. He shakes for a moment, and then tries to sigh out of his nose in a way that didn't reveal just how awful he felt.

"…Tell me about flying?" Bruce asks him after a few seconds of silence, voice quiet and low; tentative. The petting doesn't stop, and Danny blinks slowly. To think, first, and then to try and come up with a response. His jaw feels heavy and sluggish beneath the skin, the way it usually feels when he doesn't want to talk.

He cleans the cobwebs off, tightens his fingers around Bruce's shirt. Loosens it. "Incredible," he croaks, "Weird. It was— crazy. Instinctual. All I needed to do was think about it, and then not even that after I got used to it. I'd think about going up and- and I'd go up. Or down. And I'd tell myself to slow down or go faster, and- and uh, I would."

It's weird, talking about his powers to someone who isn't Sam or Tucker- or, or Jazz. Even weirder for it to be an adult. A living one, that is. And one that would just— just listen. Just like that. And ask questions with no judgement, none that Danny could pick up on anyways.

He starts drawing abstract shapes into Bruce's back with his finger, trying to think. "It was- it was so weird, and so cool. Have you ever— have you ever had one of those hyper-realistic dreams as a kid, where everything felt real? It was like that." He continues, and the tension bleeds out of him, and the grief, and the hurt, "I could go as— as high as I wanted, and since I didn't need to breathe, I didn't need to worry about choking."

Bruce keeps quiet, and it's a bit of a relief, Danny's gaining steam. "I wanted to touch the stars," he tells him, staring unfocused, "and I had this revelation one day, uh- I think the summer after my accident, that I could now. I didn't have to wait anymore. I could probably fly up and up and up, and I'd be in space." It'd been a ground-shaking revelation to him, and it'd shaken and then shattered his foundation of rules and what he could and couldn't do.

He focuses back in on the feeling of tracing the edges of Bruce's ribs, and Bruce does the same to his spine. "I- I uh, didn't. Of course. Going up- was— well— I, I'd never been that high before. I tried to, once, just to see if I could. And then I looked down, and Amity was a bunch of specks below my feet. Like an ant colony. Or a bunch pebbles." It had been amazing, and horrifying. He could see it from one end to the other, and he only knew where home was by the OPS Center on the top, sitting like a satellite.

Danny swallows the spit gathering at the corners of his mouth, "It was terrifying," he says, "I thought that if I kept going up, I'd lose Amity and never be able to find it again. I knew Earth was always rotating, I got scared that if I went up, when I went down Amity wouldn't be where I left it." He trembled the entire flight down to the ground. It'd felt like some sort of epiphany to him, or a kind of enlightenment. His mind had pushed past the borders of what it thought to be foundational, and now a bubble had popped. And he didn't like it.

"I went back down, and told myself I'd try again when I was older." And the world was less scary.

[74thcookie]

The Shroomy Brainrot

This section is just the part where I go completely rotten in my brainrot. I am anxious to share this since I’m not used to sharing this kind of content, I don’t want to flash others with it nor do I want others to be uncomfortable. Me being a chatterbox is already uncomfortable so having this mixed made me think I’m going to be scolded at. Then I realize, most of those kinds of people don’t read.

These are the contents wanted to draw related to each pair.

-Start-

Vanilla and Shamil

These two were just suppose to be an excuse for me to draw ShadowVanilla/PureMilk with cuties Sanrio materials.

After awhile I itching for drawing something fruity again. The kind of aesthetic that is both cute but also edge? If that makes sense.

The songs “Romeo and Cinderella” and “Milk and Coffee”(specifically the Itou Kashitaro cover). Got my brain itching.

So whatever happened to them at night after going to conventions or just plain hangouts, they just explore other things. Particularly related to cute “toys” and cosplay.

They became not only an excuse to draw cutesy ShadowVanilla/PureMilk stuff but also nsfw that’s cute stuff. (I only wanted to post those drawings at private when I have the time)

Vanilla here is also the freak vanilla a lot of shadowvanilla/puremilk artist enjoy giving to the awaken Pv

Anymore related to these two will just be saved for drawings since it’s hard to put into words.

Fortune and Fount

I originally just want Fount to be just an excuse for me to draw Motherly materials related to him. Milf if you will. A gentle mom with the themes of comfort.

But I know some people find that boring so I just plan to add scary stuff with him in between, like the crazy horror type. Where you don’t put d*ck in crazy

If you watch the anime Happy Sugar Life (if your younger than don’t). There’s an aunt character there, that was in inspiration for the scary side of Fount. Though shes crazy, she knows things. Her motif of “accepting all love” is what I took inspiration from. He accepts all information, from both bad and good.

He also likes games, similar to the actual SMilk where he does get bored and resorts to games. In his normal mood it’s just the simple games like truth or dare or cards. Theres mini consequences when people lose to his game but at night those consequences turn severe especially for trespassers who planned to steal in the studyhub. Think of his little games as “Other mother” style from Coraline. Tapping fingers if you wish.

Fortune was originally suppose to be added since I want Vanilla to be both the PreAwaken and Awaken Pv. Though I saw others wanted Fount to have a PV of his own and so Fortune was given since in the spire he is like his own thing.

I put a bit of Healer Cookies motifs into him since I miss the old man but also I don’t know what to do with fortune since his recluse and recluse is his own thing in this AU already. So I out Fortune Teller and Healer cookie into the blender and we got this guy. With a dash of Avatar of Destiny to counter Founts creepy horrors. Horror meets Horror I guess.

He would be the representation of the reader on navigating Founts both cute and scary side.

Fount would give second or more chances for Fortune when he loses games at night. Since he knows he is the student he saved back then and is probably messed in the head as well from the events. The chances were given to the point that Fortune actually won their games.

Fortune is also nuts in the head due to the events but also listen to the stories people have to go through just to get simple medical care in the legal way. He can’t show his frustration because he knows it will affect the safe environment they build in their clinic. Fount gave him that outlet and now they’re just enjoying each other in the most scariest yet spicy way possible.

What Fount does to the trespassers.. well have you listen to the song “A little priest from Sweeney Todd” if so, there you go.

Recluse and Sage

The tamest? Of the three.

It’s just CondensedMilkAU but in the context of this story. The context of CondensedMilkAU is that the Sage is burnt out from his duties and is now navigating how to cope with his job but also his new life/hobby. In the AU, his new life is his life as a mother of two children, living a simple life. In the context of this AU, it’s him being a vtuber mom for many tired employees and students from overwhelming works.

For some reason, drawing Sage tired gives me some sort of comfort. So most of this is just him being tired and trying to relax. As for his vtuber, I want milfs but also want to draw female SMilk. People are feral for that design, IM ALSO FERAL.

For Recluse, he is the kind of nurse that you can just hang out in the clinic to release pain.

But Recluse also represent the consequences of not thinking about your words especially if in the context of another person. Word of mouth can be muttered and the word do deceit can harm people. It harmed the Sage badly.

Recluse forgets that Sage is also a normal person. He may have suffered from the constant scolding relating to his younger brothers actions and now he just think of what was the perspective of the professor.

Those two I only plan simple angst with a bit of tension mix in since there’s also the context of Recluse being into Sages attitude after the school break.

Sages motherly attitude he presents during his livestream mixed in with his actual self. So that attracted Recluse to the Sage. It’s just frustrating that the Sage avoids him like the plague or excuses himself a lot when they’re alone.

Another Freak Vanilla was born. Probably worst since there’s one person from the replies mention that Recluse could have been the scariest. He might turn to the creepiest. Fount the second but a Vanilla.

Most of these I know I will draw one day or another but will post in private since I don’t want to creep people out. It’s a pain for others who just want to read with no restriction but I want to filter myself from time to time. I’m an anxious person but I also want to draw something outside of the simple fluff and angst. I want to give props to those artist who do post and draw weird, scary but juicy spicy art. I have no thick skin. I’m just a squishy mushroom with a green pea brain hahaha. Thank you to those artist for giving me food and to those people who are encouraging me to get out of my shell.

[captain-hawks]

somewhat unhinged thought of the day: character secretly using his thrusts to spell things in morse code when he fucks you. particularly if he's spelling 'i love you' in a fwb situation. don't even have a specific character in mind, that is up to you, the concept just came to me like a vision. anyway that is all goodnight.

-🧸

this is so oliver to me.

the thing is, oliver doesn’t even know morse code. but he does remember being nine years old in grade school when his teacher got tired of kids in his class teasing each other and passing notes. he remembers when she taught them a morse code pattern to quietly tap against their desks instead.

(he remembers the way she laughed at the end of a class period filled with the background noise of little tapping sounds. the way the boys in his class gagged when she told them the greeting they’d been teasingly directing toward the girls meant ‘i love you’)

oliver’s not sure why this has stuck with him for so long.

why he thinks of it now while he’s mid-thrust staring down at your beautiful, blissed out expression.

he starts fucking into you in a pattern that has you gasping, a pattern that guides his hips before he can stop it.

a pattern that he repeats over and over until you’re moaning his name and coming for him.

oliver knows he’s a fucking coward when he slips from your sheets after, when he retreats to the door.

(when his heart still thrums with that same pattern all the way home.)

[pankowcrumbs]

Matchmaker X Will Poulter

MasterList

If you’d told me the highlight of my week would be Joseph Quinn playing Cupid at his own house party, I’d have laughed in your face. And yet, here I was standing in the middle of his very stylish flat in Camden, clutching a glass of wine, trying not to visibly stare at Will Poulter across the room.

“So,” Joseph said, suddenly appearing at my side like he’d apparated there. “Met Will yet?”

I gave him a sideways look. “You’ve mentioned him three times already and, no, I haven’t.”

“Well, let’s fix that, shall we?” he said far too eagerly.

“Joseph.”

“What?” he blinked, all faux innocence. “You’re both tall, absurdly charming, and enjoy sarcastic banter. It’s practically fate.”

I laughed into my wine glass. “You’re insufferable.”

“But adorable.”

“Debatable.”

He grinned and leaned in slightly. “Just… be open-minded, alright?”

I rolled my eyes, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious. I’d known Joseph since our Stranger Things days. We’d clicked almost instantly he was like the chaotic older brother I never knew I needed. And when he invited me to this party, I thought it’d be a good excuse to catch up, drink wine, and wear something sparkly. I didn’t think he had matchmaking plans.

And yet… every time I turned around, there was Will. First by the drinks table. Then near the speakers. Then casually standing behind me in line for the loo. Coincidence? Maybe. But more likely, Joseph was subtly puppeteering our entire social orbit.

When I finally caught Will’s eye, he smiled and it wasn’t just a “hey, I’ve seen you around” kind of smile. It was warm. Soft. Like he already knew I’d laugh at his jokes and remember how he takes his tea.

“Hi,” he said, stepping over. “I feel like we’ve been orbiting each other all night.”

I let out a breath of laughter. “Was starting to think Joseph’s been playing Sims with us.”

He laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that made you want to say something funny again just to hear it. “Wouldn’t surprise me. He’s been giving me looks all evening. Like I’m missing something obvious.”

“Same.”

Will raised his glass. “To being pawns in Joseph Quinn’s dating chessboard.”

I clinked mine gently against his. “Cheers to that.”

We ended up finding a quiet-ish spot in Joseph’s tiny garden, away from the music and the steady rise of chaos inside. It was draped in fairy lights, a little bench nestled among a few overgrown plants. We sat down without even really thinking about it.

“So,” Will said, settling beside me, “what’s your connection to the puppet master?”

“I worked on Stranger Things with him,” I said. “Hair and makeup. We got on immediately. I think it’s because I kept telling him he looked like a Victorian poet who’d lost his pen.”

Will laughed, a proper, from-the-belly kind of laugh. “He does have tortured artist vibes.”

“Exactly,” I grinned. “What about you?”

“We just did a film warfare together. He’s one of the good ones.”

“He is,” I agreed softly, glancing back towards the house.

We fell into easy conversation after that like the kind you don’t realise is happening until you’ve been talking for half an hour and your wine glass is still half full. Will was funny. Like, genuinely funny. Not in a performative way, but in that effortless, observational way that made everything feel a bit lighter.

“I feel like I’ve seen you in a million things,” I said at one point. “And yet I’m still surprised every time you show up with a completely different look.”

He grinned. “Comes with the job. One minute I’m a Marvel hero, the next I’m in a gritty BBC drama crying in a rain-soaked alley.”

“Range,” I said, impressed. “Emotional squinting in the rain is a very specific skill.”

“I pride myself on it.”

The night wore on. People came and went. Joseph popped out at one point, glanced at us, and muttered “finally” under his breath before disappearing back inside.

“I feel like we should thank him,” Will said, smirking.

“Not yet. Don’t want to encourage him.”

Will turned slightly on the bench, his knee brushing mine. “Can I ask you something a bit forward?”

I tilted my head. “Sure.”

“Why are you single?”

It wasn’t said with arrogance. It wasn’t even flirty. Just… curious. Like he genuinely wanted to understand.

I blinked. “I… honestly don’t know. Timing? Work’s been intense. I travel a lot. And maybe I just haven’t met someone who makes me want to rearrange my life.”

His gaze softened. “Fair.”

He paused. “Is it weird that I feel like I’ve known you longer than just tonight?”

“Not weird,” I said. “Just nice.”

We sat in the soft hum of the garden for a beat. Then he said, “Would you want to do this again sometime? Just… you and me? No Joseph meddling?”

I smiled. “I’d like that.”

A week later, we went for coffee at a tiny place near Hampstead Heath. It rained halfway through our walk, and we ducked under a tree, laughing like kids. Will took off his jacket and held it over us dramatically.

“Chivalry isn’t dead,” he said.

“No, but your jacket might be,” I laughed. “It’s getting soaked.”

He shrugged. “Worth it.”

And somehow, every moment after that just… flowed. Simple. Easy. Like we’d always been meant to find each other, we’d just needed a gentle shove from our mutual chaos goblin of a friend.

That night, Will texted me.

WILL: “Still can’t believe it took a house party and Joseph Quinn’s meddling to meet you.”

ME: “And to think, I almost didn’t go.”

WILL: “Thank God you did.”

[julesnichols]

Okay bear with me here because I've got brain fog and tend to word salad but I'm gonna try my fucking best--

Everyone who insists that shipping/romance isn't the point of Severance and that anyone who ships is missing the REAL point about what capitalism does is also missing the fucking point, because it's BOTH

Because yes, it's about what capitalism does and the evils of giant corporations. But it's also about love, and specifically two things about love:

1. That falling in love when you're not supposed to, when you're trapped in hell, is one of the most revolutionary things you can do in a system that wants to crush you into dust. In a system that wants you to obey, loving somebody instead of giving in or giving up IS the most revolutionary choice you can make. This corporation can tell you that you're less than human, they can torture you, but you can still carve out a life and a family and find romantic love, too

and

2. That you cannot create a version of yourself that exists solely to do labor for his entire life so that you can cease to exist for forty hours of the week to escape your grief, and not face the consequences of that action

I think I've made my point about the first one enough as is, so let me just get into the second a bit more:

Mark Scout was choking on his grief over losing Gemma. He drowned himself in alcohol to cope, and either lost or left his job that he loved. He took a job that involved brain surgery to split his consciousness in half rather than confront his grief head on; he can choose not to exist for forty hours of his week, and spend the other hours either drunk out of his mind or asleep (the consequences of drinking being something that bleed into his innie as well).

I think that anyone who's dealt with a traumatic and painful loss can relate to why he would do such a thing. Isn't it understandable, if you had a way to not exist for a while, that you would take it without hesitation? That if you were drowning and confronting it would mean more pain before it got better, you'd run from it if you could?

But what Severance wants us to do is go beyond sympathizing with Mark Scout: it asks us to consider the consequences. Because in severing himself for a reason people can sympathize with him for, he created a version of himself that exists solely to work for his entire life, with no breaks, no rest, and torture tactics when he fucks up-- no matter how small the fuck up may be.

A version of himself without his memories, who has trickles of his grief but none of the love to go with it. Who falls in love with someone he meets down there, because Mark S. was created so that Mark Scout could avoid his grief and his love for Gemma. And thus, Mark S. moved on, because he never knew anything else.

Then Mark Scout finds out that Gemma is alive. He reintegrates without his innie's consent, because he views Mark S. as inferior to him and entitled to his memories. Their relationship is inherently exploitative.

Mark S. and Helly's relationship progresses further. Helena Eagan stalks Mark Scout. And here's something that gets me: you have to have your head buried six feet deep in the fucking sand to not see that they were flirting.

A sane person would've run when Helena awkwardly bragged about who she was and offered to bring Mark Scout to her father. But Mark Scout escalates it, turning it into a flirtatious joke about her taking him home to dad. And yes, he does ultimately go for more brain surgery because he feels guilty and spooked that he was flirting with Helena. Because he escalated the flirting.

Again, you have to be deep in denial to not see that. It relates back to the point about how he feels entitled to his innie's memories and experiences: he feels guilty and unsettled, so he tries to absorb more of them in hopes of more glimpses of Gemma to help him find and save her.

Again, can't you sympathize with that?

And again, the show asks you to consider the ramifications beyond that.

(note: I am on the side that innies and outies aren't cut and dry separate people as they are the same base people with different memories and lived experiences, akin to amnesia)

The first thing that Mark Scout remembers is Mark S. having sex with Helly, specifically as he watches her orgasm for the first time while he's inside of her. An extremely intimate moment, and it's intentional that it's that and not another flash of Gemma. Because the show, once again, is asking the audience to consider the consequences of Mark Scout's actions in severing himself.

And Mark S. recognizes that Mark Scout is exploiting him at the end! Mark Scout demands he find Gemma, save her, and be willing to die (because even if he reintegrates, NEITHER of them will be the same-- I'll come back to this in a sec). He belittles what Mark S. has with Helly and the life he's made for himself. He dehumanizes him. Because Mark Scout created Mark S. to escape, to do labor for him, and again-- he wanted to use him to get Gemma and then cast him aside, furthering how he dehumanizes and exploits him... and there are consequences to that action.

Back to the thing about reintegration I said I'd get back to: the characters within show, and quite frankly a large swath of the audience, thinks that it's Mark Scout absorbing Mark S.'s memories, and just still being Mark Scout with those memories. And yet, the show has shown us that this isn't the case. Petey says his earliest memories of the severed floor feel as far back as his childhood! What I think reintegration does, is create a new version of innie and outie, with both their memories. And that it's probably reliant more on harmony of goals and desires than forcing it; but again, the outies view the innies as inferior. Even the people in the show who claim to advocate against severance don't consider the innies human enough to consider what'll happen to them.

And so of course Mark S. chooses himself for the first time in his life at the end of the season. Because once again, the show asks you to look beyond the surface and consider the consequences.

And yet, too much of the audience also subconsciously (or consciously sometimes tbh) thinks of innies as subhuman, and miss the entire fucking point. Yes, there are obnoxious shippers; there always fucking are in large fandoms, use the block button as God intended. But you are being equally obnoxious and obtuse if you insist that the show does not want us to consider love and romance, too. Because again, it's about both the evils of capitalism and how revolutionary love can be, and how you cannot escape your actions. You cannot separate those two themes, because the show uses the romances in the show as vehicles to explore the evils and consequences of capitalism.

So stop fucking saying everybody who ships things doesn't understand the show, and actually watch it yourself, because clearly you don't either.