#I wish I was in a good place to watch and read stuff and actually enjoy them

[profoundbondfanfic]

Any destiel amnesia au fic recs to soothe my gentle heart, I read one au called two worlds apart and as much fun it was I'm also heartbroken 😭 and I want to fix it with another amnesia au where they are both are very much alive in the end, also maybe with a dash of fluff and tension?

Here are a few recs with fluff and a happy ending!

Basic Lessons in First Aid, Magical or Otherwise by stuffy_j (Explicit, 54k words)

Most people probably wouldn’t take the naked, heavily wounded man they found in an alley home with them. Most people probably wouldn’t also offer that man a place to stay and become his best friend after realizing he’s suffering from an intense case of post-traumatic retrograde amnesia. Most people probably wouldn’t then risk almost everything they know to save said man, and maybe save the world in the process. But then again, Dean Winchester, RN (with a specialty in supernatural care), has never been like most people. He may not have a magical bone in his body, unlike his brother Sam, but he’ll do whatever it takes to help. Even if Castiel has questionable opinions about Star Trek.

Here We May Be Free by FriendofCarlotta (Explicit, 39k words)

When Dean was eleven, he saw something in the ocean: a boy with blue eyes and iridescent scales. Almost twenty years later, a spontaneous detour after a hunt brings Dean and Sam back to the town where that encounter took place. And Dean can’t shake the feeling that Castiel, the owner of the local Mermaid Museum, looks familiar…

Memories Bring Back Memories (Bring Back You) by sobsicles (Explicit, 66k words)

When he wakes, he has no idea who he is. Not his name, what he looks like, or why he’s flat on his back, staring up at the stars littering the night sky. The first thing he learns about himself is that he has shitty instincts, especially if his first one is to protect the blue-eyed man currently stabbing someone in the face. Or, the story where two strangers can’t agree on much and know even less, but they’re both fairly certain that they’re in love.

Paper Moon by robotsnchicks (Explicit, 43k words)

By the time he hits thirty-three, Dean's given up on the apple pie life, accepting that a serious relationship isn't in the cards for him. But when he meets Cas everything falls into place. Now he’s happily married, hopelessly in love, and they’re about to buy their first home together. It almost feels too good to be true. It turns out it is. His world comes crashing down when he wakes to find that he’s been a subject in a virtual reality simulation gone wrong. All the years he thought he spent with Cas were actually experienced in less than a week. And when he gets out, Cas is nowhere to be found and nobody has heard of him. Ignoring the possibility that Cas may not be real, Dean sets out to find him and convince him that it’s worth giving Dean — and their relationship — a shot in the real world.

The Same Mistake, Again by zaphodsgirl (Mature, 43k words)

One night, after watching Dean pick up yet another girl while they're out at a bar, Cas heads to the local diner. Over the years his feelings of attraction have only deepened into something more, and he wishes desperately to go back to the time before he was in love with his best friend. His wish is granted in an unexpected way: he wakes up in the hospital the next morning with broken limbs - an arm and a leg- and a fractured memory with the last four years missing.

The Stars Will Remember by casblackfeathers (Explicit, 60k words)

Being a hunter was all Dean knew ever since his mother had been killed by a demon when he was four. Hunting, offing monsters, and then jumping to the next case was his life. Then he met the most alluring and breathtaking omega he had ever seen and spent the next five years loving the hell out of Cas, their life together filled with the domestic lovey-dovey stuff Dean had never thought he would dig so much. When a simple salt-and-burn goes sideways, it ends up with Cas’ memories stolen from him. Dean is left to pick up the pieces of the life they built together, his ‘make it up as he goes’ strategy to prove to his mate that Dean’s still worth a damn, his only chance at getting Cas back. He’s done a shitty-ass job at keeping Cas safe before, but he will pull out all the stops now to woo his mate again and stir the memories Dean knows are still there buried deep inside Cas’ mind.

The Story of You and Me by the_diggler (Explicit, 54k words)

Dean wakes up in bed next to a very human Castiel, and a journal in his own handwriting that tells him it’s two years in the future. The house looks a lot like Bobby’s, and Sam lives there too… He just can’t remember how they got from angels falling in the sky – to comfortable domesticity. While there is much in the journal Dean doesn’t remember, there is much of their story he’s always known. And as he settles into the routine of his new life and relationship with Castiel, it quickly becomes something he doesn’t know how to live without.

Unveil the Splendours of Your Heart by thefandomsinhalor (Mature, 68k words)

When a reporter asks Dean, a homeless man with a mysterious past, why he exclusively keeps close to the billboards and posters of a specific male model—the one Dean likes to refer to as the angel with spectacular blue eyes—in a moment of weakness, thinking it won’t change anything about his situation, Dean tells him the truth: it’s how he finds comfort and solace. Something that is difficult to come by. That is until the story reaches the ears of Castiel Novak, the model in question.

Whiskey & November by dothraki_shieldmaiden, FriendofCarlotta (Explicit, 188k words)

There is a place in L.A. where the richest of the rich can make their dreams come true. For an outrageous sum, they can hire an “angel” who is programmed to be exactly what they need: a stripper, a scientist, a temporary boyfriend. Most people don’t choose to question who the angels are, or where they came from. Sam Winchester is not most people. His brother Dean went missing in L.A. two years ago, and Sam has spent all that time trying to track him down. The trail leads him to a shadowy organization known as “Heaven” that coerces people into giving up their identities and personalities so they can be reprogrammed for Heaven’s purposes. Inside Heaven, trouble is brewing: two of the angels, Whiskey and November, are beginning to break through their programming. As they fall for each other and fight to remember who they are, they discover that they have an ally already working to bring down Heaven from within.

Not really amnesia, but they think they have it:

Found Family by Dizzybunny (Explicit, 55k words)

When Alpha Captain Castiel Novak returns to the US after being rescued from three years of captivity, he is amazed to find a family he doesn’t remember living in his house. Not just any family - his omega husband and pups. Dean had been told Castiel was MIA, and probably dead. Living in Castiel’s old house, raising his own and Castiel’s pups as a single father had been difficult, but he managed. Now Castiel is back. Can he fit into the life Dean has made? Can Dean adjust to having an alpha? Does Castiel want a husband he can’t remember?

White Lies & Winter Blues by PaperAnn (Explicit, 37k words)

When Castiel drives by a car wreck, he should’ve heeded the warning, ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions.’ He’s a nurse, it’s a record-breaking, cruel winter, and upon seeing the driver hypothermic and near-death—his instincts kick in. Cas doesn't think, he jumps into action to save the omega. Once the ambulance arrives, Castiel joins the ride. Then in the hospital room, he keeps a watchful eye over the omega's treatment and care. All under the guise of being ‘his alpha.’ Castiel’s plan was innocent, wishing for a quick recovery, followed by quicker exit. Except, he misses his shot. The omega awakes and the nurse beats Cas to the punch, with the declaration, “You’re lucky your mate found you in time!” causing all hell to break loose. There are no questions. A starry-eyed and love-struck Dean Winchester automatically believes the accident caused amnesia, that Cas is his mate. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Now entangled in his own lies—still reeling from the unexpected discovery they’re true mates—Cas feels helpless. He doesn’t know what the fuck to do! Besides...playing along. Paving his road to hell, one good intention at a time.

[braceletofteeth]

watchlist numbers going up like a chronometer these days

[kumomist]

i actually kinda like the ending... cause honestly in the end wei ying got burned way too much by the cultivation world and was through with it, and as much as lan zhan is on wei ying's side, he cant leave the sects unchecked, especially with the way they easily turned on wei ying, and then jin guangyao too without thinking of evidence and being suspicious of the scenario

essentially wei ying deserves to be free from the judgement and the societal expectations (not using a sword, crafty tricks, etc), while lan zhan is choosing to stay and keep them in check so that history doesnt happen again

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[writerfromthestars]

DP X DC PROMPT: DANNY'S AN ASSASSIN?!

So Danny gets adopted by the Waynes somehow.

Now, he's a teenage vigilante, he knows all the signs. And he can clearly tell that Damian and Tim are sneaking out under the cover of night to fight crime as Robin and Red Robin.

While ordinarily this would lead to the connection between the Waynes being Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and various other assorted vigilantes, that's not what we're here for, so instead, what happens is that Danny thinks that his two absolutely normal little brothers are sneaking out, meeting strange people dressed in spandex and Kevlar on rooftops, and punching criminals.

He has no issue with this.

The only issue he has is that Tim and Damian are inexperienced, I mean, Damian's twelve or something like that, he can't have been Robin for long. He's not particularly willing to get back into heroism himself, though, so this leads to him casually dropping random tidbits of information that only an ex-vigilante/hero/assassin/other part of the caped community, would know into regular conversation.

Like, if Tim's using bandages on his hand, Danny will suddenly drop the fact that that particular brand is very absorbent and works really well to take care of large, bloody wounds, like bullet holes in important places.

If Damian's reading a book about different knives, and their creation processes (because be real, he totally would) Danny will read over his shoulder a bit and then just point out a knife that would particularly good for stabbing someone in the stomach, or slitting someone's throat. (he knows this because of a. his rogues trying to kill him and b. Dan likes sharp things.)

The three of them are watching some superhero movie or something, and Danny goes on a twelve-minute rant about how the fight scenes would never work that way.

Tim and Damian come to the conclusion that their new brother has been trained by the League of Assassins or something.

Here's the issue. Danny hasn't.

So Damian starts dropping little hints that he knows that Danny was part of the League, for example a reference to a technique that only a League member would know. Danny, who has been trained in hand-to-hand by Dan, who was trained by dead League assassins in the alternate timeline, knows the moves.

Danny is just happy that his baby brothers are taking his advice, and opening up to him too. Damian is even starting to talk about fighting with him, and he thinks that they might actually tell him about their nighttime activities soon.

Finally, the two confront him on it. And by that, I mean that like the emotionally constipated bats they are, they utterly fail in their interrogation because they can't just come out and say it out in the open.

Tim: so Danny, I noticed how you know a lot about fighting. and first aid, and stuff.

Damian: I have noticed this as well. Might I inquire as to where you gained these skills?

Danny just thinks that they have figured out his past as a vigilante and that they are worried about him being hurt.

Danny: Don't worry about it. I don't do that type of thing anymore.

Now that's a deflection if Tim's ever heard it.

Damian, digging for more information: I wish to know. Maybe I can learn from whoever it was that taught you?

Danny grimaces slightly before answering.

Danny: Trust me, kiddo, you don't wanna learn from the people who taught me this stuff. They squash you like a bug.

Tim and Damian take this as confirmation that Danny was involve in the League. Danny just means that pitting his rogue gallery, which consists of exclusively ghosts, against living boys would be unfair.

[samsno1]

Flowers

Castiel x GN!Reader

i love his eyes. that's it, that's the tweet. guys...this is very sweet but i don't know if i'm satisfied?? tell me what you think, writing castiel is very hard, lawd

Summary: In a hunt, a flower appears over your pillow after you come back to the motel room at night. Who left it there?

Warnings: FLUFF, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, i pictured s4/5 cas in this, use of y/n, sweet confession, NOT PROOF READ, that's it? english isn't my first language

WC: 2.5k

You can learn how to change Y/N for your actual name here

enjoy!

When you started hunting with Sam and Dean one of the last things you expected to encounter was an Angel, especially after discovering they aren't “harps and halos" like in the books you read as a kid, but instead soldiers and sometimes assholes.

Castiel was an exception to the “asshole” part, he was actually very sweet when it came to you and the boys. Helped you, saved you and cared for you. In that sense, Cas was just like the Angel stories, a guardian of the humans he was in charge of.

And for you, it was fun teaching Cas about humans and how they behaved, helped him when he didn't understand Dean's pop culture references, got him to watch classic movies and listen to music and he was always very keen into doing so, curious and intrigued in what you explained to him.

Those big blue eyes always gave you his full attention, sometimes with that little frown that you started to call “The Angel Frown” while he questioned you about something that, to you, was basic knowledge. You were always as patient as possible with him, always clarifying what you could in words he could understand and that ended up always making him come to you for help.

In conclusion, you and Cas got closer and you started to catch yourself staring when he wasn't looking, admiring his smiles, drowning into his sapphire eyes and wishing that he had just more doubts about how people acted so you could spend more time with him.

You knew, from what Castiel told you, that Angels and feelings, human feelings at least, weren't compatible and that things such as love and romance weren't truly a reality for him and his siblings, they were warriors after all, created to serve their Father and that was it. 

Even when Castiel rebelled for the Winchesters, letting go of the “I don't serve men” mindset was difficult but you, Dean and Sam were there for him. You were more understandable then the brothers because you knew Cas was trying his best.

And because you fell for the Angel, but nobody needed to know that.

One night you arrived at the motel room you were staying at, after waving goodnight to Sam and Dean, them going to their separate room.

You opened the door and sighed deeply in exhaustion. It had been a long day of questioning and more questions appearing then those answered. At first you guys thought of a vengeful spirit, then cursed object, then witch. All of those possibilities were still up and it was driving you three insane. People were dying and you felt useless.

Once you closed the door and threw your stuff in the closest table you turned to your bed, where your bag was placed to get some clothes to take a well deserved shower. But, when you looked at your pillow, you noticed a single pink flower sitting over it and you furrowed your eyebrows.

You approached the flower slowly, skeptical about it, your hunter instincts telling you this wasn't good news. You slowly reached for it, as if it could bite your hand off, and picked it up. You analyzed the plant, very confused and grabbed your laptop.

You searched until you found a flower similar to the one you were holding and learned it was a Camellia. You looked between the screen and the flower and you searched up what a pink Camellia meant because, as much as you knew, flowers weren't really something you looked into.

What you found was shocking. According to the internet, a pink Camellia represents admiration and appreciation and Camellias and general represent love and affection. You widen your eyes at the flower in your hands, looking around your empty room as if someone would pop up and explain what this was doing at your bed. Wrong room?

You couldn't think of anybody that could give you this willingly. It definitely wasn't Sam or Dean because, first, they spent the whole day by your side and, second, unless they meant it platonically, the boys didn't see you like that. You loved them and they loved you, of course, but, to them, you were like a sister Dean loves you like he loves Sam, the same way Sam loves you like he loves Dean and vice-versa.

The only person that came to your mind was…No, it couldn't be, he said himself, love for him was basically unachievable but you couldn't help but wonder, even if your rational brain said it was stupid to think Cas would mean that. You smiled at the flower, that tinge of hope lightning inside you.

You looked around the room to look for something you could fill up with water and found an empty beer bottle. That'll do.

You washed the bottle to get the smell of alcohol off and filled it up with water, placing the little flower inside.

The pink color of the petals clashed with the transparent green of the bottle and you smiled at that. It looked cute in a way. You thought, even if this didn't come from someone you knew, you were keeping it, at least the flower.

You left the makeshift vase in your nightstand and took your stuff to the shower, peeling off your suit and your tie on the way, leaving it on the ground as you locked yourself inside the bathroom.

In these moments, Cas thanked his abilities of becoming unseen because you arrived just as he was leaving the Camellia over your pillow. He spent the day researching flowers, finding an interest in how humans always gave them to the people they cared about or to the ones who passed. He wanted to give you one to show you that he cared for you and also as a thank you for being patient with him for a long time.

He always felt happier around you, a warm feeling inside him always seemed to bloom. He felt the need to be close to you, like you were a human magnet. Everytime you looked at him he felt a weird feeling in his stomach, your smile was always something he felt the need to chase, he wanted to see it always in your face. He admired the way your eyes would shine when you were talking about something you liked.

When he saw you placing the flower on the nightstand with a smile he felt that weird feeling in his stomach again. He would do anything to see that look on your face again.

That hunt lasted a week, taking you three too long to figure out it was a witch and even longer to find said witch and to say you guys were fed up was an understatement. 

For that long week you dared to say you missed the Angel, you thought about calling him, praying to him, multiple times but what were you going to say when he arrived? Missed you? I just wanted to see you?

Everything you thought sounded too intimate so you discarded the idea of calling him.

But two more flowers appeared on your pillow after that pink Camellia. A Peony that you learned meant for the Chinese something along the lines of “the most beautiful” and a stunning Carnation in a light red shade that represented admiration. At this point you were very intrigued about who was the one giving you the flowers, Castiel still on your mind. You didn't want to get your hopes too high, you were probably overthinking it anyways, making your heart speak louder than your brain.

You were lying on your bed, staring at the tiny bouquet of three flowers given piece by piece to you. It was your last night in that room, Dean having insisted he needed the sleep so as to not crash the Impala from tiredness. You had offered to drive as you weren't as bad as he was but, of course, that was an immediate no from the older brother so all of you settled for one more night.

As you close your eyes and start to fall asleep, a sudden flutter of wings gets your attention. It's dark in the room so you take a peek and for sure it's Cas. You hold back a smile and close your eyes, pretending to be sleeping.

You feel the Angel approaching the bed, his presence making your heart quicken in your chest. From what it sounds like, he's just standing, watching you and you start to feel very nervous.

Castiel on the other hand arrived to see your sleeping form and couldn't help but watch. You looked peaceful, your breathing was calm and you looked…pretty. Cas thought all his father's creations were wonderful but he felt like you could top them all, literally, in your sleep.

He had another little flower in his hand which, to him, had a very self-explanatory name, a Forget-Me-Not.

He spun the blue flower on his fingers, debating if he should leave it inside the vase or besides you, over your pillow. 

He approached you and while he was placing the flower next to your head he felt a gentle hand wrap around his wrist and instantly froze on the spot.

You opened your eyes and looked at his near-horrified face. You smiled at him.

“Got you” You said, a little above a whisper and looked at the flower he was holding. That one you knew the name and what it meant and you felt warmth spreading through your cheeks, not just at that one flower, but knowing now that all those flowers you received came from Cas.

“I'm sorry for disturbing you” He said as he retreated his hand and you held the Forget-Me-Not. He was tense, not looking at you.

“So you were the secret admirer leaving me these flowers?” You asked as you slowly sat up on the bed and placed the blue flower inside the bottle with the three others. You placed both your hands over your lap, fidgeting nervously with your fingers. “Why?”

He looked around. What was he supposed to say? Himself barely knew why he was doing this but it felt right so he kept going with it. He noticed that the flower meanings resembled things that he felt or thought of you and he enjoyed collecting them for you, especially after you kept them.

“These flowers all have a meaning behind them” He started “Take them as a thank you for…being helpful with my understanding of human behaviors” 

You smiled stupidly at that. The way he said it sounded like something he had rehearsed before coming to you to say it, the words too polite. But yet, that's one of the things you liked about him.

“You didn't have to Cas…They are beautiful, thank you” You said and looked at the flowers again, biting your lip. You felt his eyes on you, it was always intimidating. You knew that it was just the way he was, look right into your eyes while you talk to show you had his full attention, his beautiful blue orbs hypnotizing.

Cas analyzed every aspect of yours as you sat in front of him, his eyes wondering over your figure and his hands moved faster than his thoughts and he reached for your shoulder, his palm traveling from your shoulder blade to the end of your upper arm and back up, tracing a pattern over your skin. He longed to touch you and be closer to you in a way he couldn’t explain so, in this moment, you both alone, he decided to fulfill this wish.

You widened your eyes and looked up at Castiel who was entranced by the movement of his hand, goosebumps flaring up on your skin.

“Cas?” You said and acknowledged your call with a hum “What are you…?”

He finally looked at you, his hand steadied on your shoulder.

“When I’m around you I always feel this need to touch you, be closer and this…” He shakes his head, finding a word to define how he felt. “Warmth comes over me everytime you smile”

His eyes bore through yours and you could only stare back at him, shocked.

“Cas, you’re saying–”

“I think I might love you, Y/N” He interrupted. The way he said it sounded like a confusion, a slight approach, as if he was tiptoeing around the thought, not sure if he wanted to grasp it or just keep his distance.

You were dumbfounded. He sounded so sincere and your heart started to beat faster, his hand over your shoulder felt like it was burning through your skin. It all made sense, the flowers, the way he was always keen on talking to you even when you did most of the talking and he just listened with a faint smile and pure interest, he just didn’t know because he never felt like this before, he didn’t know what loving was like.

You landed a hand over his cheek, your eyes practically watering with an emotional overload at his words. You thumb rubbed the light stubble on his cheek and you pulled him in for a hug. You wanted to kiss him so bad but you were on a baby steps basis with the Angel.

You hugged him tightly, his hands hesitantly wrapping around your frame as you let out a deep breath. When you pulled back, you didn’t pull away completely from him looking between his eyes and his mouth, a giddy smile on your face.

“I think I might love you too Castiel” You said and he widened his own eyes, a light chuckle coming out of you at his reaction.

Your chuckles were cut off by his lips on yours and you gasped in surprise. His mouth was as soft as you expected, his lips moving against your in perfect sync. He was impressively a good kisser, one of his hands gently holding at the back of your neck while the other slid down to your waist.

You felt like a bomb had exploded inside you, a foreign feeling of happiness spreading to every single cell on your body as your arms wrapped around his neck to hold yourself when he sat on the bed, pulling you over his lap, making you yelp.

You both pulled away, your arms still wrapped around each other and he had a light smile on his face. You one hundred per cent had a shocked look on yours, your cheeks hot and breathing heavy.

“Where’d you learn that?” You asked, absolutely knocked by the kiss.

“Dean told me a thing or two” He said and you couldn’t help but laugh, your body shaking against his as he also chuckled. “It seems like I did great?”

You stopped your laughs and looked in his eyes, drowning in their ocean blue. You gave a peck to the corner of his mouth.

“You did amazing” You said as one of your hands played with the hair at the nape of his neck and he pulled you in, the warmth spreading through both of you yet again, never wanting to let go.

A/N: Notes and reblogs encourage me to keep writing, feedback helps me make those writing better. Thank you for reading, XoXo.

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 6 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: In the aftermath of the kiss, Bob and Anna try to process their feelings. Bob works on more of his poetry while Anna hides from her friends, but neither of them can get past their attraction. When another man arrives during a night out, all Bob feels is jealousy.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, adult language, masturbation, eventually 18+

Length: 5100 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more! Thank you to @mak-32 for the beautiful banner!

Taking Anna to Chippy's was a mistake, because Bob was falling harder by the minute. She was cute and smart. Witty and reserved. And the fact that she was a little tipsy after one drink just made her more endearing. Jessica could drink more Sam Adams than anyone he'd ever seen before, and Bradshaw's wife could probably play beer pong professionally, but not Anna. She was giggling and demanding he not download a dating app. She was smiling nonstop and touching him. And he wasn't even allowed to have a chance with her.

She only lived a mile or so from campus, which was a shame, because Bob would have liked to spend more time with her. He played with the radio dials in his old truck as he drove, trying to keep his hands busy. And that's when he swore he heard Anna whisper a line from his poem.

"What did you just say?" he asked, eyeing her closely.

"Nothing," she told him as the car behind his truck honked, and Bob tapped the accelerator when he realized the light was green. He must have been mistaken. There was no way anyone actually read the stuff he posted online, let alone Anna. He just did it for a way to help him release his emotions and thoughts.

But he wanted to make sure. When he parked at the curb in front of her building, he turned toward her with curious eyes and whispered, "I thought you said-"

He was instantly distracted by the way she kept her eyes on his as her chest rose and fell a little faster. She unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted closer to him along the seat, and he froze as she leaned in and kissed him. Her lips found his like it was the most natural thing in the world. When she made a soft sound, he raised his hand up to touch her cheek, something he'd been dying to do for weeks and weeks. Her skin felt silky soft as she nibbled gently on his lip, and then he remembered everything that she'd said to him. He couldn't start down this path just to have her put up another roadblock. 

He forced himself away from her. "Anna. I don't think this is something friends do," he croaked, praying that by some twist of face, she'd end up in his arms. 

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, hauling herself back across the seat and throwing the door open. "I'm so sorry, Bob." He watched her climb down and grab her tote bag, barely glancing back at him as she slammed the door and ran inside the building. 

He was going to offer to walk her to her door. He wanted to make sure she got inside safely. He wanted to do a lot of things that would hopefully come across in a friendly way. This was decidedly not how he imagined his night would end, staring at the spot where she disappeared inside and wondering if she regretted kissing him. She really ran away from him at top speed without any clarification.

"Damn it, Bob," he whispered as he put his truck in gear. But he didn't know what he could have done differently. He just wished he didn't know how fucking good it felt to have Anna's lips on his, because it would probably never happen again. He wanted to ask her why she kissed him in the first place. Then an even more devastating thought occurred to him. What if she didn't want to be his friend after this?

He really needed Nat to come home from her deployment, because he knew he couldn't mention this to Jessica at D&D. What would he even tell her? That Anna kissed him exactly once and then ran away faster than an olympic sprinter?

Then he parked in front of his house and saw the text that made him shove his phone into his pocket and not look at it again until morning. 

Anna Webber: I'm sorry. That was a mistake. Please forgive me.

--------------------------

Anna was curled up in her sad bed trying not to cry. Bob would probably never want to talk to her again now. What kind of person told a man they just wanted to be friends and then kissed him like the words meant nothing? Anna, apparently. But it felt so nice. No. Better than that. Kissing Bob felt necessary.

Before she could change her mind, she texted him and then turned off her phone. I'm sorry. That was a mistake. Please forgive me.

She rolled onto her back and started to cry. Not for the first time, she thought about calling Kevin and screaming at him for ruining everything. She should feel a sense of freedom by now after finally leaving him in New Jersey with Alyssa, but she just didn't. It wasn't fair that Anna had no control over what Kevin did when he still seemed to dictate what she was allowed to do. But she knew she had to be a better person than him.

When she reached down to the floor, her fingers found the stack of books she was currently reading for work and for entertainment. She picked up the Vonnegut from Bob, because it wasn't even really that late, and she was in a mood now anyway. Then she took the time to find the note from him. Her new bookmark. She read through her tears until they stopped. She didn't dog ear a single page. She used his note to save her spot, and then she fell asleep with the book pressed to her chest. 

She felt awful on Friday at work. When she gave her first lecture, it felt forced instead of insightful, and her notes seemed to blur on the pages in front of her. She didn't have an appetite, which was fine since she had no money for food and forgot to pack a lunch. Instead of going to the weird tree and the nicest women she'd ever met, she sat in her office and cried with her head resting on her folded arms. 

Bob didn't text her back, but she figured he wouldn't. There was really nothing else to say. She already decided she wasn't going to mention the kiss to Advanced Calculus or Advanced Physics, but perhaps she should tell them it would be a good thing after all if Bob went on a dating app. He deserved to be happy. Someone else would make him happy. 

As Anna was packing up everything she would need for the weekend, there was a knock on her office door. It was late, and her stomach was growling loudly, but she called out, "Come in!"

The room was so small, Bradley Bradshaw and his wife barely fit on the opposite side of her desk when standing side by side, and Anna watched him shuffle around so he was standing partially behind her. "What's up, Anna?" he rasped with a grin, and she had no difficulty imagining him ten years younger in a loud fraternity house. 

"Hi," she replied, clasping her hands together. "What are you both doing here? I was just about to catch the bus and go home."

"You never came to lunch today!" her friend complained. "And you didn't text me back. I was starting to get nervous that the creeper from the sociology department got to you or something."

"No," Anna replied with a soft laugh. "I'm fine."

Two pairs of eyes bored into her, and then Bradley and his wife both blurted out, "How was Chippy's?"

"Did Bob make a move?" Bradley asked, his hands caressing his wife through her tweed blazer. 

Anna swallowed a huge lump of guilt. "We're just friends," she managed to say.

"Yeah, yeah," he said with an eye roll. "Sure. But did he? Because I've been being a dick all week about getting him on a dating app even though I know he's not into the idea. Jake and I thought it might help."

"Are you serious right now?" his wife gasped, smacking at his hands while Anna rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "I told you not to interfere," she hissed.

"We're just friends," Anna repeated a little louder over the two of them arguing. "Chippy's was great. Amazing peanuts. Sticky floors. Grouchy bartender. It was like being back in undergrad."

Just as Bradley was raising his hand, about to speak again, he took an elbow to the side that seemed to make him think better of it as his wife asked, "Then you won't mind going back on Wednesday? To surprise Jessica for her birthday?"

"It's her birthday?" Anna asked, excited by the idea of being invited to a celebration even though Bob would definitely be there as well.

"Yes. I texted you about it when you skipped out on us at lunchtime."

"Right," she replied, knowing she'd only been checking her phone occasionally on purpose. "I'll be there on Wednesday. Of course I will." She was going to have to suck up her embarrassment over everyone trying to push her and Bob together, but at least they didn't know about the kiss she ran away from. "Anything for Jess."

"And are you coming to the Hard Deck tonight?" her friend asked as her husband's hands crept back into place on her body. 

"I have a lot of work to do. Midterms are just around the corner," she replied lamely. "So, probably not."

With a sigh, her friend nodded once and said, "Please don't skip lunch next week. We missed you."

Bradley said, "I'll make extra hummus," before his wife started pushing him to the door.

The confirmation that the hummus was in fact homemade left Anna feeling slightly jealous. That feeling only grew as she watched her friend take Bradley's chin in her hand and softly say, "Oh, Beer Boy. I don't even want to know what kind of a monstrosity of a dating profile you'd make for Bob."

He smiled and waved at Anna before he looked at his wife and said, "I just want all of my friends to be as happy as I am."

She grabbed him by his khaki belt and said, "Let's stop by the library."

Anna desperately wanted to be that happy, too.

---------------------------

"What's your problem, man?" Mickey asked as he drove Bob home from Dungeons & Dragons. "You were weird all night."

"Just tired," Bob replied, and he was being at least partially honest. He'd been staying up later than usual, working on some poetry and reading the books Anna recommended. He enjoyed all of them; she seemed to know exactly how to reach his innermost hidden thoughts and ideas. She somehow understood him, and that was more exciting than he wanted it to be right now. But when he and Anna had to be together in person again, he knew it was going to be a different story. He was almost relieved she didn't show up at the Hard Deck earlier, because he had no idea how to act around her now. 

She knew he had feelings for her, and that kiss had roughed him up a bit. Even a couple days afterwards, he thought he could still feel the pressure of her lips on his and smell her shampoo. 

"Are you still hung up on Anna?"

Mickey's words made Bob laugh. "More than ever before."

"You know what I think you should do?" his friend asked as he zipped along in his sports car.

Bob cradled his forehead and said, "I'd love to hear it," even though he was pretty sure it would annoy him.

"You should tell her that you don't want to be just friends. And then kiss her."

Bob turned and looked at Mickey as the passing street lights illuminated him and then left him in darkness over and over again. "I'm not going to do that. All I can do is hope she changes her mind." He didn't mention the fact that they had already kissed; he was sure she was too embarrassed by it to want it to become public knowledge. 

As Mickey pulled up to Bob's house, he said, "Well whatever you're doing right now, it's not working."

Bob sighed and said, "Thanks. That's really helpful. See you on Monday. Oh, and don't forget about the surprise party thing on Wednesday."

"Yeah, I won't forget. Hard Deck at seven o'clock."

"Chippy's!" Bob called out as he pulled away. Sometimes he felt like the most organized one out of all of his friends, and it was honestly amazing that Mickey even managed to get to work on time. At least Suzanne's lights were off as Bob walked up to his porch and let himself inside. He didn't have the energy to deal with anyone else tonight. 

He stripped down to his underwear and got ready for bed, but he took his computer with him. He was ridiculous for doing it, but he looked at the notes he'd typed up last night and started writing. It was never as beautiful or eloquent as the things he read from others, but posting his poetry online felt like he was at least taking ownership of something he created. This poem, however, he didn't know if he'd be able to post it at all. He found himself writing about red hair when he realized it would warrant a mature rating label if he ever did decide to post it. Then he started to think about all the things he wanted to do with Anna and her red hair. 

Bob grunted and set his computer aside. She was giving him mixed signals, and he wasn't sure she'd ever change her mind about being with him, but that didn't stop his body from responding as he imagined her beautiful hair spread out on his pillow. He'd take fistfuls of it and press his nose to it. He'd tug gently on it and tell her that she was beautiful. He would press kisses to the coppery strands and then guide her lower on his body as he grasped a little harder.

"Shit," Bob panted, kicking off his covers and pulling himself free from his gray boxer briefs. He jerked off to the idea of Anna and him together. She'd kiss his hips and thighs and laugh softly before licking along his length. His name would sound like the most beautiful poetry on her lips. Her freckles would stand out in the soft lamplight. He'd guide her along with his fingers wrapped around her hair as she teased him.

He stroked himself with his eyes closed, panting softly and whispering some of his own poetry, and he wasn't even surprised when he came all over his flat abs. When he adjusted his glasses with his clean hand, he thought he'd much prefer to see Anna in his bed with him.

--------------------------

Anna was starved for conversation with another human being by the time Monday morning arrived. Forcing herself to be a recluse as a means to distract herself from her plethora of issues was clearly not the answer. Not when she'd actually managed to make some friends in San Diego. She arrived on campus early and stopped in the lounge for a donut only to find nobody else from her department was really around. Then when she gave her first lecture, half of her students looked like they were still asleep. She tucked her new bookmark of sorts into Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and counted down the hours until she could meet her friends for lunch.

Jessica seemed none the wiser about her upcoming surprise party, but that was the whole point of the thing. Anna started bracing herself to spend some more time around Bob, hoping her kiss was so forgettable that he'd already moved on. Honestly, that was a pretty good possibility. She hadn't really considered that before, but it made a lot of sense. She was boring. After another day or two, he'd have probably forgotten all about it.

This helped Anna push herself through the week. On Wednesday, she took the bus home to change, and she knew she'd never make it to Chippy's on time in her sundress and denim jacket unless she took an Uber to the bar. So she gritted her teeth and paid for the ride, wishing for so many reasons that she hadn't kissed Bob so that she could have asked him to pick her up. But when she got to Chippy's, Bob wasn't even there. And Anna was met with a different issue in the form of a very attractive man with dark hair and dark eyes.

She felt his gaze on her as soon as she arrived, surprised he was looking at her of all people. But in her rush to get to Chippy's on time, all she really got to do was say hi to Jake and Bradley before they got her into position for the surprise. It looked like the bar had been reserved just for Jessica tonight, and that made Anna inexplicably happy and sad at the same time. Even that old bartender looked excited to celebrate. Even Dr. Rosenthal showed up. 

Then Bob rushed in wearing jeans, a snug fitting tee shirt and a worried expression. His hair looked damp, and he was straightening out his glasses as he glanced around and asked, "Did I make it in time?" Anna felt like someone knocked the wind out of her as he got closer.

"Barely," Bradley replied, checking his watch. "Sugar and Jess should be here any minute. Where the fuck were you?"

Bob's cheeks turned a little pink as he muttered, "I had to help Suzanne with her car. She had a flat tire. And then she insisted I come inside for a few minutes so she could thank me properly. I lost track of time."

Anna crossed her arms and pressed her lips together as Bob came to stand right next to her. When he softly said hello, she just nodded and tried to give him a smile, but she was too overwhelmed with too many different feelings. He smelled like soap, and she knew his body was warm without him even touching her. She didn't know who Suzanne was, but she was automatically a little jealous, which was ridiculous. But now she felt like that kiss last week was as forgettable as she both hoped and feared. 

Anna wanted to cry, but even her tears had to take a backseat at the moment as the door to Chippy's opened up and both of her friends walked inside. "Happy birthday!" everyone shouted, and Anna tried her best to look enthusiastic for the occasion. 

"No!" Jessica called out, shoving at the other woman's arm as she realized it was her birthday party. "You're sneaky! You lied to me about getting just one birthday beer!" Then she rushed forward in her adorable suit and high heels, heading straight for Jake's arms. But the second person she reached out to hug was Anna.

"Happy birthday, Advanced Physics," she said with a stifled laugh.

"I'm so happy you're here," Jessica gushed, and Anna felt a lot better as she returned the hug.

But all too soon, she was left on her own. At least all of the tables were covered in dishes of peanuts. Jake was paying for Sam Adams for everyone, but Anna knew she shouldn't drink. Not again. Not after she got tipsy with Bob. 

She could still feel those dark eyes on her as she broke open a peanut and enjoyed the perfectly salty taste. Who was that guy? His arms were wrapped around Jessica's waist, and Jake looked like he was about to go through the roof as his girlfriend laughed. Then he made his way over to Bradshaw's wife and gave her the same treatment. But Bradley looked completely unfazed when she kissed the other man on the cheek and smiled. They whispered something back and forth, and he met Anna's eyes with a wink. She quickly looked away, hoping to avoid a conversation. Bob was sipping a beer and smashing open his own peanuts, and she knew if she couldn't be with him, she didn't want to be with anyone else either. 

Too late. "Hi, are you Anna?" came an unfamiliar voice followed by the spicy scent of too much cologne.

"I am," she answered, looking down at the extended hand of this handsome stranger. "Are you a friend of Jessica's?"

He laughed as their hands met. "Sure," he replied smoothly. "But it's really Bradshaw and I that go way back. I'm Dev. Dev Borah."

"Oh," she said, still shaking his hand and trying to make sense of things. Why was she so awkward? She finally released him and said, "It's... nice to meet you. Um, how do you know Bradley?"

"Virginia. Undergrad. I graduated with the two of them, actually. Nearly died of shock last year when I heard they were both out in San Diego and getting married. Can I get you a drink, Beautiful? Something other than Sam Adams?"

"Oh," Anna gasped as she looked up at him in surprise. "Um... I don't really drink much."

Dev moaned and gripped at his chest dramatically. "You're killing me. I own a brewery!"

Anna could barely tell one type of beer from another, but she wasn't about to tell him that. And quite honestly, talking about making beer sounded interesting enough; she loved learning about new things. But he just called her beautiful. She was flustered and too hot, and then she saw Bob standing off to the side with Mickey, and his expression was one of great displeasure. 

"A brewery?" she asked, trying to force her attention back to Dev.

"Beta Brewing," he said proudly. "We're currently working on a two million dollar expansion project. It's kind of a construction zone, but if you ever want to come up to sample the goods, I'd love to have you."

Anna's eyes went wide. That sounded like an innuendo, but Dev's face was calm as he sipped his pint. Anna figured he must be okay if he was friends with all of these people, but she was never going to go there without the girls. "Maybe if everyone else wanted to go, I could tag along?"

Dev laughed and said, "Bradshaw makes the drive frequently enough. I'm sure we'll see each other again. But just to be sure... I could give you my personal number."

----------------------------

Bob was seething. He'd met Dev Borah exactly one time before, and while he'd had pretty neutral feelings about him prior to tonight, now he hated the sight of him. He'd persuaded Anna to have a beer even though Bob heard her say she didn't really want one, and now he was typing something into Anna's phone. He was giving her his number, just like Bob had done so many weeks ago.

"Stop torturing yourself, man," Mickey said, handing Bob some more peanuts.

"You think she likes him?" Bob asked, voice tight as he grabbed the bowl in his shaky hand.

Mickey shrugged next to him. "What's not to like?"

Bob tossed the bowl onto one of the tables. "You're not helping." He walked away to find someone else, anyone else, to talk to. He should have kissed Anna for as long as he could when he had the chance, because it was all he could think about now. It was all he wanted. She kept looking at him; if she was going to talk to Dev all night and say that kissing Bob was a mistake, then why was she looking at him?

He needed to get out of here and go home, but he knew his friends would be disappointed. Even Suzanne would shake her head. Honestly, he'd be annoyed with himself, too. But his mood was something so unfamiliar, he was ready to force himself to talk to the woman standing next to Anna who he thought was from the science department just so he wouldn't feel like a joke. 

"You know," Bradley said as he slung his arm around Bob's shoulders, "I had no idea Dev liked redheads so much. But then again, he never was too discerning back in the day."

"What do you want, Rooster?" he asked with a grunt.

"I just wanted to make sure you're having fun at Jess's little shindig."

Bob let Bradley slap him obnoxiously on the back as he asked, "Did you invite Dev? Is he going to give Anna a hard time or anything?" His eyes trailed back over to where Dev was still talking her ear off.

Bradley chuckled. "I invited him to get Jake riled up, but I had no idea you'd be collateral damage." He finally released Bob as he said, "And nah, Dev's harmless."

What Bob wouldn't give to have Natasha back. He missed her terribly, and all the guys seemed to be better behaved when she was around. But she'd take one look at Anna and probably embarrass him in front of her even more.

"I think I'm actually going to head home," came Anna's voice filtering over to Bob as she finally cut Dev off. "It was nice to meet you."

"Let me drive you," he replied immediately, and Bob could already picture him getting Anna settled into his Mercedes-Benz, his fingers grazing her bare thigh.

"No, that's okay," she told Dev as she backed away from him. "I'm just going to say goodbye to Jessica, and then I'll get an Uber."

She made her escape to the table next to where Bob stood, and Jessica gave her a big hug. "Happy birthday," Anna told her once again, followed softly by, "I'm glad we're friends."

Jessica squealed and hugged her tighter. "Me too."

"I'm going to call an Uber and head out," Anna was saying, but Jessica was already looking around. 

"No way. It's dark out, and someone here can drive you home. Hey, Bob? Can you drive Anna home?"

He knew he was going to say yes even though part of him didn't want to. And there was another part of him that assumed she'd just say Dev offered to take her. But when Anna looked up at him, he nodded and immediately said, "Of course."

To his surprise, Anna looked a little relieved as she took a step closer. "Are you sure you don't mind?" she asked him with a little wince.

"Not one bit. I was planning on heading home, and it's on the way."

Bob accepted a sloppy kiss on the cheek from Jessica who was well on her way to being drunk. Then he dug his keys from his pocket and nodded toward the door. Anna followed closely next to him, but unlike the last time they were at Chippy's, he didn't touch her. When Bob held the door open, he looked back over his shoulder at Dev who raised his pint glass with a smile of defeat, but he didn't really care about anyone except Anna.

"Thanks," she muttered, walking out into the cool, night air.

"Did you have a good time?" Bob asked, putting a little more space between them as he pointed up the block toward his truck.

Anna laughed, but the sound was tight and forced. "It was okay. I think Jessica was having fun, which is the most important thing, you know?"

"Yeah," he agreed, squeezing his key in his hand as all of the images of their kisses returned. Everything he thought about when he wrote new poetry and touched himself to completion. He swallowed hard; even being around Anna was a lot for his senses. He couldn't blame Dev for trying, but their interactions made him jealous. "Did you get Dev's number?"

Anna stumbled a bit on the sidewalk as she looked up at him, but he kept his eyes focused straight ahead. "I didn't ask for it. He just kind of gave it to me," she said softly. "He invited me up to his brewery to try some beers. When I told him I'm not much of a beer drinker, he said he'd really enjoy teaching me about the process."

"I'm sure he would," Bob muttered, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

When he reached his truck, he wrenched the passenger door open for Anna, and she glowed softly in the dim, orange interior lighting. "He's a bit much," she said, looking up at him.

Bob nodded once, but she didn't make a move to climb in. "I don't know him very well, but I know he likes to hear himself talk." When she still didn't move, Bob asked, "Are you going to call him? Give him the opportunity?"

"I already told you..." she said firmly. "I can't be in a relationship right now, so I wouldn't want to encourage Dev. And I'm really, really sorry about last week, Bob." She fidgeted with her hands and added, "But if I were in a place where I wanted to start something, I wouldn't pick him."

"Really?" Bob asked as his heart pounded. The most depraved part of him wanted to hear her say she liked him more than Dev. More than anyone.

"Really," she whispered, placing her hand on the seat. "I like old trucks better than fancy sports cars."

That was enough confirmation for Bob. His skin was tingling with anticipation he knew he couldn't quench, but he didn't mind as much now as he did ten minutes ago. "Yeah... you could do way better than a multi millionaire anyway."

Anna's laughter in response was so genuine, Bob laughed, too. The drive to her place was quiet but not as strained as he was afraid it would be, and when he was about a block away, she took her phone out and started messing around with it. "Thanks, Bob," she said as he pulled up to the curb.

He cleared his throat. "You know how you told me you didn't think I should use the dating app? Because I didn't need it?"

"Yeah?" she asked, reaching for the door handle but looking at him. 

He squeezed the steering wheel tight in both hands and said, "Well, I don't think you need Dev's phone number." He watched her jump down and turn to glance his way, and then she smiled.

"I already deleted it. Thanks again for the ride. Maybe I'll see you this weekend?"

He nodded once before she closed the door. As she walked inside, he said, "I hope so."

----------------------------

Oh. Oh, okay. She prefers you, Bob! Now get ready for action. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls. And thanks @attapullman for all the underwear discussions.

PART 7

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@sweetwhispersofchaos

[inkykeiji]

you be my revolver, i got you in my hands

character: choso kamo x fem!reader

genre: curseless!au, smut

notes: eeee first choso piece ever!!! i had such a blast writing this and i wish i could’ve gotten it finished in time for christmas but alas! anyway, please enjoy this and as always please heed the warnings below and stay safe! | title credit: girl like me by dove cameron

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, pseudocest (reader + choso are family friends), age gap, bratty reader, rough sex, minimal prep, teasing, hints of manipulation, hints of dubcon, size kink, pet names

words: 6k

synopsis:

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.” “What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…”  “Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—” “Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.” 

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you.

You’ve known each other for a long time—so long Choso’s lost count of the years, now, having met you when Yuuji was just a toddler (and you were, too) at the bus stop on Yuuji’s first day of Pre-K, only to discover you lived a mere few houses from each other—but you haven’t seen each other in a long time, too. 

It’s not through fault of either of you; life had gotten in the way, as it has a tendency to do so, had grown busy with intricacies and obligations that demanded time and attention, tangling around you and keeping you apart. 

You had both embarked on university endeavours; him pursuing his PhD, you continuing your undergrad, had both stuffed more and more into your lives—art shows and book readings and music festivals and tropical trips—and lost space for each other in the process.

Choso can’t remember the last time he saw you, but it feels as though no time has passed at all, as it normally does with family—you’re still just as bratty as you’ve always been (some things never change, he guesses; some things you’ll never grow out of, he supposes). 

Family.

Family is not a word he uses lightly, but you and yours had quickly become his and theirs, had quickly become ours, morphing from neighbours to friends to practically kin, members mixing to form something special, a hybrid of some sort, stuck somewhere between long-standing family friends and blood relatives. 

Which is why how you’re acting—how you’ve been acting, this entire winter break—is so undeniably inappropriate. 

And although he’s lost track of the years, everything beginning to blur together, to melt and flow and shift and breathe, he still remembers the day he told you to call him onii-chan. 

That he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

Yuuji’s so lucky, you had pouted, kicking at the sandy ground with the toe of your shoe and swaying a little on the swing. He has a big brother. I don’t. I’ve always wished I had one. Sighing, you looked away, fingers tangling in the chain. But I’ll never get one; it’s impossible. 

It’s not impossible, Choso had responded gently, nudging his swing against your own. I’ll be your big brother, if you want. 

And you—well, you had been so incredibly happy, all bright smiles and sunshine eyes and breathless giggles, to have a big brother to call your own.

Never in his life did he think he’d come to regret such a decision.

But you seem to be on a mission to make him, this Christmas.

Because you’re really testing his fucking patience, this Christmas.

The term of endearment oozes from your lips as if it’s melted in the wet heat of your mouth every single time, always paired with your worst behaviour: bending over in those short, sweet, slutty skirts and flashing cute Christmas panties at him; placing a hand much too high to be appropriate on his thigh as you watch a film together, leaning close to his ear to murmur out a silky question you already know the answer to; twining your ankles with his beneath the dinner table and gazing at him with eyes full of sin, leaning so far forward on the table that your tits swell, nearly spilling from the too-low neckline of your dress, then giggling when you catch him ogling. 

As a result, he’s been meticulous about avoiding being alone in a room with you—he doesn’t trust himself, doesn’t trust what he might do, especially if you start playing your little games—but he should’ve known it would only be a matter of time until you get want you want. 

Because it always is. 

And on Christmas Eve, you finally succeed. 

Somehow, you’ve managed to get him alone in his childhood bedroom—something about wanting to flip through his old sketchbooks, to search for some doodles he had drawn for you many years ago, to rip the pages from the spiral-bound spine and stuff them in your back pocket, for safekeeping, you had claimed. 

Tugging at his heartstrings, that’s how you succeeded. 

Sitting on the edge of his small twin bed, thighs slotted up against one another and both of your arms looped around one of his, he flips through the curling pages of his drawings, smudged with graphite and pastels. 

“Oh, I remember this one!” 

A dainty finger points to a cute kitten sketched out in astonishing detail, with a pink nose and a satin ribbon tied in a bow around its neck. 

“It’s you,” he smirks. “You asked me what animal you’d be, and then demanded I draw you as a kitten when I responded with a cat.” 

“You drew a lot of me,” you lean forward, swelling breasts pressed flush to his bicep, a palm sitting high on his thigh as avid eyes scan over the spread, gaze stuttering as it sweeps from doodle to doodle. 

“I drew a lot for you,” he says, the observation entirely unthinking. “You wanted a specific page, but I might as well give you this whole sketchbook. More than half the pieces in here are for you.” 

It’s a fact that shocks him in its authenticity, a realization that sends a painful, sick thrill searing through his body, saliva beginning to collect in the dips beneath his tongue.

“I’m such a lucky girl,” you hum out in a sigh, nuzzling your cheek into his arm and looking up at him with shimmering eyes. “I have such a good big brother.” 

“You’re spoiled,” he says, but his voice holds no malice, eyes softening as he stares down at you, a small smile on his lips. 

“I dunno about that,” you frown, but mischief glints in your eye. “You haven’t really given me what I’ve wanted all holiday…” 

Blood turns to shards of ice in his veins, whole body going rigid as his breath stalls in his throat, pounding heartbeat reverberating in his ears. 

“Wh-What’s that?”

He doesn’t want to ask it, doesn’t mean to ask it, but the question claws at his tongue, pries past his teeth and tumbles from his lips in a ragged, tangled heap.

And the smile that spreads across your face is nothing short of sinister, that glint flaring to a sharp shine as your pupils breathe, pulse, swallow him whole. 

“A Christmas kiss,” you say, stare unblinking and intense as your hand slips between his legs, rubbing little circles into his inner thigh, a mere centimetre or two away from his cock. 

The motion makes him jolt, hips involuntarily twitching toward your touch, brushing his half-hard cock against your knuckles.

“That’s all I want,” you sigh almost dreamily, tits pressed harder into his bicep as you lean closer, so tight they’re practically being squeezed from your sweetheart neckline. “A kiss from my onii-chan. Though…” 

Trailing off, your hand slides up a little further, pinky and ring finger tiptoeing along the rapidly hardening lump in his jeans, squealing out a short giggle as it jumps beneath your touch.

“I’m not sure that’s all onii-chan wants.”

“Onii-chan doesn’t want anything from you,” he breathes out, but his voice is rough, unconvincing, his hands curled into firm fists on his bedspread, trembling slightly, skin stretched taut across pointed knuckles.

“Another lie,” your lips tug down, voice saturated with disappointment. “You know, good big brothers don’t lie to their siblings,” you fix him with a look, glaring through feathery lashes, expression teetering dangerously on the edges of a pout.

A shiver skitters through his bones, whole body stiffening. His jaw flexes as he grinds his molars, a slow, controlled breath exhaled out his nose, his eyes flicking down. You’re still touching him, two fingertips rubbing gentle circles into his clothed cock.

“Maybe you should stop calling me that.”

“What? Why?” you pout, blinking up at him, sugared innocence coating your tone. “I thought you wanted me to call you big brother…I thought I was allowed to…” 

“Bi-Big brothers don’t do stuff like this with their little sisters—”

“Well, it’s a good thing we’re not actually related then, isn’t it, onii-chan.” 

“That—That—” he swallows hard, dense saliva pooling at the back of his tongue. “That doesn’t matter—We shouldn’t—”

“But—” your lip juts out further, forehead crinkling. “But I want to.” 

You can’t always get what you want. 

That’s what he wants to tell you. That’s what he wishes he could tell you. But it just isn’t fucking true, when it comes to you. 

“Stop,” he says instead, and although it’s supposed to be an order, it comes out as a plead, his voice hoarse, strained, thin, the proclamation high and false and tinny. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” the tip of your index finger traces the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “Did you know that?” 

He does, he does know that. He’s a terrible liar, eyes too honest, voice too sincere, expressions too candid, always giving away his true intentions and forthright thoughts.

He’s a terrible discipliner, too, incapable of saying no, of refusing his siblings anything. You know this, too. 

“St—” he tries to force the word from his tongue again, protest sticking in his throat. Stop, stop, he wants you to stop, he needs you to stop, please. 

But that’s a lie, too, the rejection refusing to take shape, to mold into something audible, something tangible, something worthwhile. 

No matter how much he wishes it were true, he can’t will it to become true—not when he wants this just as badly as you do, his straining cock exposing his real desires to you.

You’ve already taken full notice of it, yearning for you through rough denim, hot and hard and throbbing. The pad of your finger rubs over the slit in rhythmic motions, smooth and gliding, aided by the copious amount of pre-cum oozing through the material, and it jerks beneath your touch, eager for more attention. 

“It’s so hard, onii-chan,” your hand cups the impressive bulge, rolling it in your palm, a girlish giggle tickling your tongue. “It—It’s throbbing, onii-chan.” 

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that?” he breathes, attempting to keep his tone stern and his eyes stony. 

“It’s making me want to ride it,” you whimper loudly, squeezing your thighs together, completely ignoring his question. “Oh, please, onii-chan, can I ride your cock?” 

“Fu-fuck,” the curse breaks on his tongue, eyes shut tightly, breaking away from your invasive stare. “Fuck, fuck, f-fuck.” 

No. 

“I’d really like to ride it, onii-chan.”

No. 

“Can I? Pretty please?”

No-no-no-no-no! 

He wants to say no. He should say no. It’s the right thing to do. 

He’s the older brother, the eldest brother, it’s his duty to say no, to mentor, to lead by example. 

But he can’t. 

He can’t form the word in his throat, can’t mold it into a sound and push it from his mouth. 

He’s never truly been able to, when it comes to you—and he was so fucking stupid to think he would.

Because, as always, you are making it exceptionally difficult to deny, gazing up at him with shimmering eyes like that, mouth licked raw in anticipation, bottom lip bitten puffy from the front teeth constantly sinking into it.

“I—It isn’t right—” he attempts, swallowing thickly, cords in his neck straining, desperately attempting to quell the tremor in his voice.

He knows you don’t care. If he’s being entirely honest with himself, he doesn’t, either, his morality eroded to nothing more than a farce, a thin façade, not nearly strong enough to force him into doing the right thing, not nearly strong enough to fortify his rapidly waning self-discipline.

“I—I won’t tell,” you whimper, and he can see the fine film of tears lacquering your eyes, shielding lust-blown pupils. “Pinky promise! I just—I just want you so badly,” your nose twitches cutely with a sniffle, your bottom lip beginning to waver with infinitesimal quivers, soft palm caressing his cock like you love it. “Please, onii-chan?”

And Christ, you’re so pretty, so pouty, with your glistening puppy-dog eyes and pleads dripping from your lips like thick syrup. 

How could he possibly say no to something so precious? How could anyone?

“Alright,” he whispers, defeated, eyes squeezing shut as he nods. “If it’ll make you happy.”

“Really?”

And just like that, the tears are incinerated from your eyes, gaze bright and blazing with excitement, lips molded into a brilliant smile. 

You look so sickeningly beautiful when you get what you want. 

“Yes,” he nearly whimpers, and it’s pathetic, his hips twitching up into your touch, craving, desperate. “Yes, yes, ride my cock.” 

The affirmative is all you need, squealing a little with happiness as you climb into his lap, fingers up your own skirt to push your soaked panties to the side, other hand pawing clumsily at his waistband.

“Thank you,” you breathe, the words soaking into his neck, sealed with a sloppy kiss. “Oh, thank you, onii-chan.” 

He can’t help but chuckle a little as his hands find your waist, instinctive, steadying you. 

“Eager little thing, aren’t you.”

“This is all I want,” you tell him, pulling back a little to search his face. “S’all I’ve wanted for a long time.” 

He wants to ask you to elaborate on that, confusion warping his brow, but then you’re yanking at his belt loops and pulling at his zipper and wrapping a soft palm around the base of his cock, a heavy groan vibrating in his throat. 

“Wait, wait!” he chokes on a gasp as you hover over his cock, head bumping against your hole. “Let me—”

“I don’t wanna wait,” you whine out, petulant and stringy, whole face scrunched in frustration. “I’ve been waiting! I want your cock in me now!”

Fuck, you’re such a fucking brat, he’s growling as he forces you down on his cock in one swift motion, the sudden intrusion pushing a yelp from your lips. Your forehead knocks against his, sugar-stained breath wafting across his face, his tongue darting out to mop up remnants from his mouth. 

It’s really cute, the way your little cunt spasms around his shaft as he bottoms out, pressed snug and tight against your cervix, desperate in its attempt to adjust to his girth. It’s really sweet, the way your body splits itself open for him, cracking at the core and struggling to swallow him down.

“Oh, it’s so big, onii-chan!” 

“God,” he nearly sobs. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know that?” 

Giggling, you wind your arms around his neck tighter, nuzzling your cheek into his skin, then stringing a garland of wet kisses along the line of his jaw. 

“S’really thick, Choso-nii,” you tell him honestly, nodding in lethargic little motions. “I feel so full, onii-chan.” 

A laugh falls from his lips, breathy and exalted. 

“I don’t know if it’s that I’m big, or if it’s just that your cunt is so fucking small,” his voice tapers off into a whine, raspy and gruff. 

“H-Hurts a little, onii-chan,” you admit in a whimper, hips shifting in experimental little movements, conjuring a groan from deep within his chest. 

“Yeah? And who’s fault is that, huh?” he asks for the second time in fifteen minutes. “Who was too impatient to let onii-chan prep her?”

“Don’t care,” you mumble. “Wanted you s’bad.” 

He laughs again, warm and gentle and full of love, his hands squeezing your hips just enough to make you gasp, fingertips pressing his name into your flesh in blotchy little ovals of purple. 

“You have me,” he says, his words ringing clear and true with a painful sincerity. 

The vibrations of your responding hum seep from your chest into his, and he sighs, body deflating against yours, pleasant little tingles snuggling between his ribs. 

You stay like that for a moment to two, wound up in one another, chests pressed flush, breathing as one. Your auras ebb and flow, presences bleeding, tangling together and creating something that is neither one nor the other but both, a single shared entity. 

And it’s nice, it’s real, it’s natural.

But then you become impatient, as you normally do, as he knew you would, wiggling a little in his lap, fingers twining in the strands at the base of his neck. 

“Go on, sweetheart,” he urges gently. “Ride onii-chan’s cock.” 

And so you do, hips beginning to roll in slow, languid circles, fingers still laced at the back of his skull, half-buried in messy ink.

He allows you to set the pace, allows you to take your time, allows you to enjoy and savour every rock and grind and bounce, staring at you through heavily lidded eyes, hands on your waist merely guiding you—keeping you stable, just like a big brother should. 

He’s absolutely breathtaking; gaze glittering in the dim light overflowing with awe, spit-slicked lips licked raw and shimmering as his tongue glides over them again, swollen and bitten cherry red.

You can’t help but reach out to trace his features; the strong line of his brow, the delicate curve of his cheek, the enticing bow of his lips, hips slowing to uneven little ruts as you hone your focus, his eyes observing you with a sick sort of fascination.

“Did you—Have you—Have you thought about this before?” 

The question stings his tongue, revulsion flushing through his blood as guilt pricks his flesh, his cock throbbing eagerly.

“Course I have,” you breathe out with a little laugh, as if he’s so silly for thinking you might not have. “Actually, I—I—”

A sudden shyness overtakes you, an unsure giggle on your lips fading into a soft squeal as you hide in his shoulder, shaking your head a little. 

“What? Huh?” he shrugs, nudging your face up gently, curiosity clawing at his irises as they search your face, voracious. “What?” 

“Well, sometimes I…” 

The words tangle in your throat and you choke on them, gaze fleeing his own, and you shake your head again, chest beginning to stammer.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, rubbing reassuring circles into your flesh. “You can tell onii-chan, go on.” 

There are tears in your eyes now, mouth wobbling a little with the verging confession, and God, that’s so hot, why is that so fucking hot? 

“Where’s my brave little sister gone now? Hmm?”

“M’right here, onii-chan,” you whisper, face teetering on a wince, as if you’re bracing for a blow, terrified to admit to him, fearing reprimand. “It’s just that—Sometimes I do, um, really bad things with my stuffies while—while thinking about you…” 

Dewdrops of shame glitter in your lashes as your lids flutter, nose scrunching with a soft sniffle, tears breaking free of their wispy confines to roll down your cheeks in fat, glimmering streams—so fucking beautiful in the dim light of his bedroom—but you don’t dare break his stare, gazing at him through a thick shield of water. 

“Oh, Christ,” he coughs on the curse, hands flexing on your waist, blunt nails digging into your skin. “And what—what do you think about?” 

“Um,” your gaze flits from his own, to his wrinkled bedspread, then back to his face, wide and honest. “Riding you, like this. And—And riding your thighs, makin’ a real mess all over them, and your thick fingers too, filling me up…” 

Bolts of dizziness sear his brain as his lungs deflate, oxygen eaten up by pure lust and leaving his chest buzzing, burning, some sort of response mangling itself in his throat, escaping his lips as nothing more than a cracked moan.

“Do you think about me, onii-chan?” 

Your question pulls him from the depths of his hedonism and he blinks, your face swimming into view, a peculiar mix of hope and cognizance infusing your expression, eyebrows raised with false curiosity, a smirk twitching on your lips.

Ah, there she is, that brat he knows so well, that brat he’s come to crave, every ounce of uncertainty eradicated from your face, replaced with assured confidence, contradicting the tears still staining your cheeks.

You fucking know he does. 

And, oh, how he wishes he was stronger, how he wishes he could lie, how he wishes he could devour the smugness in your eyes and complacency in your smile, to humble you, to knock you from your high throne.

He settles for a kiss instead, mouth crushed to yours as a large hand cups your head, thumb pressing into your ear, fingertips dragging across your scalp as he yanks you closer. 

It hurts, his front teeth scraping against your lip as he practically gnaws his way to your tongue, his own big and thick and so fucking strong as it overwhelms yours, shoving it further into the cavern of your mouth and forcing it to stay put as he explores. 

He’s making a real mess as he slathers over your molars, over the inside of your cheeks and the backs of your teeth, drenching your mouth in him. Drool oozes steadily from the corners, collecting along the underside of his bottom lip and leaving his chin sticky and slick. 

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes shut so tightly his whole forehead crinkles, mouth wet and sliding against your own. “Yes, yes, I think about you—much too often.”

Nose nudging yours, he nuzzles into your face a little, planting a chaste kiss to your lips, then peppering a few more, quick and sloppy, around your mouth.

“But right now, I don’t want to think about anything. I just want to feel you creaming all over my cock—you think you can do that for me, princess?” His palms cushion your cheeks, thumbs swiping across your cheekbones, then brushing strands of damp hair from your temples. “You think you can do that for your onii-chan?” 

Yes you can, of course you can, you’re nodding, blinking the last remnants of tears from your eyes, rapid movement eliminating the final stubborn drops, clinging delicately to your outer lashes. 

“S’it, baby,” he encourages as your hips start moving again, working up a steady rhythm. “Just like that, good girl.”

A mewl slips from your lips, burrowing your scalding face in his sticky neck again, his undivided attention almost too much to bear. 

“Like it when you call me a good girl,” you murmur, lips dragging across his skin with the confession, streaking him with thick glimmers of spit. 

“Is that so?” he laughs a little, pressing a few kisses to the crown of your head. “That’s because you don’t hear it often.” 

Lifting your head, you scowl at him, though there’s no heat to your glare, fury dimmed by fondness, unable to smother the smile playing with your lips.

A dazzling smile spreads across his own face in response, and he laughs again, his eyes so bright, so brilliant they almost hurt, blazing like two small suns, scorching your skin as his gaze glides over it.

He watches you like a man possessed, a man obsessed, entirely entranced by the way pleasure passes over your face, twisting your features into the cutest little winces as you grind the head of his cock against your cervix, then smoothing them out with bliss as his shaft drags along your favourite spot, bouncing in shallow little motions to rub over that fleshy patch hard and fast, a stream of mewls spilling from your lips, stitched together with his honorific. 

“You’re so pretty when you ride my cock,” he groans, words tapering off into a hoarse whimper, as if it pains him to admit it. 

His palms run up your sides, fingers counting over each rib, hands committing every dip and curve and bulge to memory, marvelled by the way you fill his grip, as if he can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re his—even if just for tonight.

“Yeah, yeah, keep going, use onii-chan like a toy, sweetheart.” 

And he tries to be patient, he swears he does—tries not to rush you, tries to relish in the moment, in each swirl of your hips and every puff of his name—except your pace never accelerates, never moves past anything but teasing as you use his now aching cock to continually edge yourself; moans building higher and higher, louder and louder, on the cusp of the crest before they disintegrate into nothing and you start the process all over again, the delicate fluttering of your cunt enough to drive him fucking insane with desire.

It has his entire form trembling with such vigour it’s quivering the mattress, muscles locked stiff and tight as he tries to keep from moving, from bucking up wildly, from forcing you to speed the hell up. Rough fingers sink into your flesh so deep it dimples, a pathetic attempt to ground himself, rapidly blooming bruises staining your flesh.

But he’s powerless to stifle the whines leaking through the gaps of his gritted teeth, hands flexing on your hips, whole body pulled taut with restraint. 

He’s sure you can feel his cock twitching inside of you, eager and impatient, begging you to move faster, to fuck him harder. 

But you aren’t going to do any of that—not unless he asks for it, he realizes dimly, after you bring yourself to near orgasm for the third time in a row, giggling a little at his crestfallen expression, his hair having fallen almost completely from its trademark spiky buns, braided fishermen sweater soaked with sweat and sticking to his now heaving chest.

He really thought it was real this time. He really thought you were finally going to cream all over him, so he could finally flip you over and fuck you properly, pound you into the mattress and stuff that pretty, cute little cunt to the goddamn brim with his seed.

He’d been trying so hard to be nice, to be the loving, doting, good big brother he is—but he’s also only human, and there’s only so much misbehaviour he can bear before, finally, he snaps. 

Because, sure, big brothers are meant to care for, to lead and to nurture, but they’re also meant to teach, to punish, to put bratty little sisters back in their fucking place. 

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing? Huh?” his grip on your hips tightens, halting you from moving. “You think I’m fucking stupid?” 

“Never, Choso-nii,” you gasp, astonished. “I would never—” 

Sincerity rings in your voice, but he can see it, the mischief tugging at the corners of your mouth, barely suppressed by your façade of innocence.

Anyone else would’ve been fooled—enchanted by your doe eyes and your dainty voice. 

But not him.

No, he knows better now. 

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off, eyes narrowed sharply. “You wanted to ride my cock, but you’re clearly incapable of it—”

“No I’m not!”

“—So it looks like I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“No! I—I can do it!” you cry, face crumpled in fury, nails scrabbling at his shoulders.

“You lost your chance to prove it to me,” he growls. 

The world flips suddenly, momentarily a blur of inks and ivories, a breath of surprise punched from your ribs as your back slams against the mattress, trapped between the bedspread and your big brother’s heaving chest.

“You have been testing me all fucking holiday,” he snarls, specks of spit splattering across your cheeks. “Onii-chan shouldn’t give you his cum—onii-chan shouldn’t have given you his cock at all!” 

A certain type of haughtiness corrodes your shock, lips spreading into a pompous smirk.

“Oh, but you just couldn’t help yourself, could you, onii-chan.” 

“You little bitch!” 

His hips shove forward, forcing you further into the plush of the mattress, cockhead ramming against your cervix. A little noise of pain vibrates on the back of your tongue, shattering your arrogance, and a grin smears across his face, glinting in the moonlight. 

“I think it’s time your big brother teach you a lesson in respect.”

“Y-Yeah? And how are you gonna do that?”

“You’re going to take what onii-chan gives you, and you’re going to fucking like it. And then, at the end, when you’ve gone stupid from the cock you don’t deserve, you’re going to thank me for giving it to you at all. Do you understand me?” 

Defiance shines in your eyes, lacquered by a thin coating of tears, nose scrunching up in a glower. 

A rough thumb and forefinger, hardened by charcoals, clamps around your jaw, squeezing your cheeks with such force that your mouth puckers, a sticky little whine squealing in your throat.

“Do you understand me?” he asks again, each word said slow with purpose, each word annunciated with intent, his eyes boring into yours, sharp and painful. 

Finally, those tears push past your bloated lashes, shoved from your eyes by rapid blinking and rolling down your cheeks in glistening pairs, a half-stifled hiccup stuttering your chest. 

“Y-Yes,” you whisper, nose twitching. 

“What was that? Onii-chan couldn’t hear you.” 

“Yes, onii-chan.” 

“Good girl.”

And then his hips are snapping, hard and fast and immediate, fucking into you with such ruthlessness that it jostles your body up the bed, sheets collecting in little wrinkled bunches beneath you. Your nails sink into his shoulders, piercing flesh through the knit of his sweater, the muscles in your thighs tensing as your ankles hook around his waist, his shirt riding up, your heels digging into the those cute little dimples that cushion the base of his spine. 

It hurts, every pound of his cock producing a dull, throbbing ache low and deep in your gut, another torrent of tears rushing to flood your vision.

“Ch-Choso-nii, Ch-Choso-nii,” you whimper, face screwed up in pain, his name stuttered by his rapid thrusts.

“What’s the matter?” he pouts, and it’s so condescending, dripping from his lips in an over-exaggerated coo. “Can’t take onii-chan’s cock?”

The question wafts across your face in a panted breath and you lick at your lips, sopping it up with your tongue.

“N-No,” you say, and that telltale brattiness is back, watered down by his viciousness. “I can do it—I-I can do it for you, onii-chan.” 

A throaty curse escapes his lips, thrusts stammering out of rhythm for a moment as his cock twitches, and a helpless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

Even angry, he’s still so fucking easy. 

He regains his composure quickly, though, face hardened to stone but beginning to splinter with pleasure. 

“Brat,” he breathes out, though there’s mirth shining in his eyes, pure and fond and full of love. “You better.”

And even angry, he still sounds so fucking pretty; cracked moans and dense groans and choked gasps, all flowing from his mouth in a single stream, fractured by the piston of his hips.

The pain doesn’t fade, of course—it barely diminishes at all, the sheer massiveness of his cock making it near impossible to be dispelled, keeping the cramping pang in the pit of your belly steady and constant—but it does amplify the pleasure, nerves gnawed raw by the agony, left hypersensitive to the sparks of ecstasy that blaze through your veins with every quick, rough pump of his hips, every deep, hard slam against your bruised cervix, every rapid drag over that engorged spot.

It leaves you feeling high, leaves you feeling stupid, brain melting in a hot haze of lust and rendering you incapable of forming a single coherent thought beyond how incredible his cock is, his name and his title the only two things your sloppy, numb tongue can fully scrape together.

It’s all so much, too much, but it all feels so fucking good—s’good, Choso-nii, y’r so-so good—sentiment vibrating indistinctly in your chest.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he asks, words gone wispy, fading into a whine. “Does your onii-chan’s cock make you feel good?”

Yes, yes, yes, onii-chan, it’s so good, you’re so good! 

Your head nods frantically, fingers curling in the collar of his sweater, a mess of affirmatives fucked from your mouth. 

“Y’know, you’re kinda cute when you’re too cockdrunk to misbehave,” he chuckles a little, biting back a moan as your cunt clenches at the compliment. “May-Maybe onii-chan should fuck you stupid more often, huh?” 

Oh, God, yes, onii-chan; oh, please, onii-chan! 

“Yeah, you’d like that a bit too much, though, wouldn’t you, you little sl—ah—slut.”

Drool dribbles from the sides of your mouth as you continue nodding, eyes wide and unblinking, encrusted with stars. 

“Y’so pretty, onii-chan,” you manage to mumble out, sentiment tangled in threads of spit, fingers flexing in the fabric of his sweater, as if they yearn to touch but can’t find the strength to carry out the action.

And he is, so beautiful it’s borderline sickening, strands of onyx plastered to his cheeks, his jaw, his neck, strung together in clumps and saturated in sweat; damp skin glittering in the waning moonlight spilling through the slits of his window, dewdrops catching delicately in the beams as he pounds into you, every drive of his cock accelerating his pace.

“W-Wan’your cum now,” you slur the demand through a lax pout, lids beginning to weight with exhaustion, heavy as they frame dopey eyes.

“Yeah?” he laughs a little, gaze shining with adoration, and it’s breathless, it’s beautiful, his affection wafting over your scalding face. “Onii-chan needs you to cream all over his cock first. Can you—” a grunt cuts him off, and he whimpers, pushing through his sentence, his voice strained. “Can y’do that for me, angel?” 

“Uh-huh, uh—uh-huh,” your head begins nodding more fervently again, pushing your lids open with some effort to stare up at him, pupils swelling with devotion and determination.

“Then show me—Show me how gorgeous my good girl looks when she’s making a mess all over her big brother’s cock.” 

Three more thrusts and your cunt is obeying, convulsing on his thick shaft as heat gushes around him, so much that you can hear it—a sick, slick squelching as he jackhammers into you, your essence coating his thighs in a shiny layer of arousal. 

“Oh, fuck,” his eyes shut tightly before springing open again, suddenly rabid, ravenous. 

The bed creaks as his hips speed up, skin sticky with arousal as it slaps against your own, the sharp sound mingling with his ragged pants and your hitched mewls.

“Onii—Nii-chan,” you nearly wail, fingers tangling weakly in the hair at the nape of his neck, nails scraping against his flesh. “Please, please, cum, gimme—gimme y’r cum!” 

“Greedy little thing,” he rasps out, voice cracking into a whine. 

But you don’t care, you can’t care, pleads spilling from your lips as your thighs tense around his waist, hips twitching in erratic little motions, crudely trying to fuck yourself on him.  

“Need it, need it, onii-chan, fill my belly with it, onii-chan, please!” 

“Christ,” he chokes on the curse, pace faltering as he finally gives his baby sister what she wants, cock throbbing almost violently while it fills you with hot, thick cum, so much you swear you really can feel it, stuffing your belly as full as it can be, tummy bulging cutely with his seed.

You must tell him that, sentiment slipping from your lips without your permission, because he moans again, his cock giving another weak spurt, hips stuttering as he tries to fuck further into you, grinding the head into your sore cervix. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you’re murmuring, hips rolling up to meet his own. “Push it into me, onii-chan, push it into my cunt nice n deep, do-don’t waste a single drop!” 

“You really are gonna be the death of me,” he whines, face buried in your hair as he collapses on top of you, hips still moving in lazy little circles, shudders of overstimulation rippling through his form. 

“Mm,” you hum, on the cusp of unconsciousness, nuzzling your face into his neck like a kitten, then lapping at a few droplets of sweat streaming down the column. “What are lil sisters for?” 

[fluffytriceratops]

I am DESPERATE for some 2k3 Donatello dating headcanons, literally give me anything PLEASE I AM OBSESSED

𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐃𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 [𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑]

notes: i gotchu bestie. <3 lemme know if you guys want these for the other 2k3 turts as well! :D also sorry for taking literal ages to get this request done for you! thank you sm for requesting i hope you have a wonderful day/night! <3

warnings: brief nsfw mentions, mature language, 

tags: @thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82 @rheawritesforfun @s-s-ironnie @post-apocalyptic-daydream @mysticboombox @drowninghell @lec743 @raphielover  @raphslovemuffin80 @squirrelfurs @bibiz82 @pheradream-15 @kikithedreamerwriter @m1dnyt3-w0lf @scholastic-dragon @moonsua1 [if i've forgotten anyone i'm so sorry please comment or dm me and let me know and i'll add you right away so i don't forget in the future!]

(if you would like to be tagged in my future tmnt x reader related work, feel free to let me know and i'll happily add you!)

i love you all sm! i'm sending all the virtual hugs and well wishes to you!! <33

---

- as usual, 2003 donnie has an obsession with coffee. so if you get this mans some coffee expect an INSTANT marriage proposal. [honestly what ver of donnie doesn't have a coffee addiction?] 

- likes to do your hair. it's calming to him and helps him think. hes watched a lot of youtube videos and stuff for it, so he knows what he's doing too. he likes to try new styles n stuff on you. everyone knows when he's particularily stressed or can't seem to figure something out because you seem to have a new hairsyle everyday until he's fixed whatever it is that's bugging him, 

- will also handmake beads and stuff to put in your hair. <3 

- makes jewelry for you, esp out of silverware and other things. it always turns out so beautifully. 

- late night drives. donnie has insomnia and his brain works a lot during the night/evening. so expect to hang out a lot with him during this time. driving at night at new york is super pretty and peaceful too. esp when it's just the two of you. [so long as you don't mind the hectic city hehe-]

- cuddling with him while he works. includes sleeping on him/in his lab when he works really late into the night. he'll later carry you to bed. 

- painting on his shell/body for funzies. and if he does the same to you don't expect it to look too great because 2k3 donnie can't draw for shit. 

- donnie will gift you homemade cards with stick figures on the cover cuz again he cant draw but he knows you'll adore it no matter what just because he made it. plus you think its funny as hell and he adores your laugh. 

- hes actually really good at photography. and he has loads of pictures of you. you two go out and take pictures together sometimes. it's always a lot of fun. and they always turn out great. 

- late night talking sessions are a normal for you. 

- donatello tries his best to get you to sleep at a decent time, but sometimes you'll refuse if he isn't coming to bed with you just to get him to go to sleep earlier. he'll probably lay with you for a while, unable to actually sleep. maybe he'll read or listen to music to help pass the time. sometimes he will also sneak back out of bed once you've fallen asleep, and when you catch him you give him a good talking to. 

- he really needs to take better care of himself. he's always putting those he cares for above himself. so you're always there to make sure he's okay and that he's doing what he needs to do to be happy and healthy. 

- you guys hardly ever fight. donnie isn't one to argue with you. he's a very gentle and kind soul. he rarely raises his voice. (but when he does you find it hot as FUCK- lets be honest--) 

- fix it felix. always fixes things for you, even if you dont ask it of him. if he's at your place and notices something needs to be fixed he'll just do it for you. even if you insist he doesn't have to, he will anyway because he loves you. it brings him joy. and honestly, you should just let him because it probably stresses him out a little thinking about how your door isn't closing properly or your car sounds funny or your light keeps flickering- 

- you like to prank him on occassion, this includes the whole "i filled my tank with the special gas-" or "i let them put premium air in my tires and they gave me a really good deal". it freaks and stresses him out, at least in the moment hehe. its very funny but keep in mind he'll get you back. 

- him reading to you sfghfdgkjhdfg (id die please-) esp if you have trouble sleeping or something. 

- coffee dates are a must. even if you dont drink coffee. 

- donnie napping curled up on your chest/on top of you. you tracing the grooves of his shell. you've learned he finds this very comforting and it helps him fall asleep. 

- hes a definite switch- lmao.

- very gentle and understanding. he's like your personal diary or therapist and you're the same for him. 

[beforeimdeceased]

I’m actually in LOVE with crybaby!!! It’s so good😫😫😫

CRYBABY! - (E.W) PT8, FINAL PART!

pairing: mean/cruel ellie x sensitive/emotional reader.

synopsis: you weren’t you anymore.

a/n: it’s so over…thank you all for the love you’ve shown crybaby! i’m happy to say i’m actually proud of something i’ve written, for the first time in a long time. thank you for reading and for all your comments and support! tags: @skylerwhitwyo

you’re a crisis of my faith

masterlist.

you weren’t you anymore. you weren’t you when abby opened the door to find you and ellie tangled together in an illicit affair. you weren’t you when you looked into her eyes, saw the pain and agony, and asked her if she didn’t mind closing the door. that you were busy doing something.

you weren’t you because you didn’t chase after her when she left. because you didn’t apologize, you just went on as you were. forgetting. you went on forgetting all the way home in her car. melting the pain away, filling the silence with meaningless conversation she was too upset to engage in. knuckles white while she gripped the steering wheel.

you’re not yourself.

at first it was fun to let go with ellie. she liked that you didn’t care anymore. that you could joke around with each other. that she didn’t have to walk on eggshells with you. or atleast, that’s how she felt. until she was missing you on tour one night.

alone in a bar, waiting for dina and jesse, she came across someone that looked as doe eyed as you used to be. her heart started to sink when she skipped over.

another bar, years ago. when you’d caught her after another show in which she’d made a mistake. you came to her with flowers from a fan and a note. “hey ellie this is—“

“fuck i’m such a fucking idiot.” she blurts. you sigh, anticipating a string of curses and insults, but she sees the note and the flowers. “what’s this?”

“it’s a note from a fan, she didn’t get to catch you before you ran off.”

she holds her hand out and you place the piece of paper in it. standing as you hold the flowers. watching her read it.

this is the first concert i’ve been to in a while and i just want to say thank you so much. i struggle a lot with social anxiety and big crowds and stuff but i really wanted to see you. i’ve been a fan since i found your guy’s cover of take on me on soundcloud and it struck a deep chord within me. you’re amazing, you know that, but i just wanted to tell you that. just in case you forget.

— your biggest fan

you hand her the flowers, pretending not to see her tears. pretending not to feel teary eyed yourself. because you’d never seen her sad cry. you’ve seen her angry cry plenty of times, but never fix her face into a frown and let the strains of tears overflow. you look away as sadness fills the space between you.

“you’re ellie williams right?” the doe eyed girl brings her back to the present. she nods. “in the flesh.”

it only took a couple drinks and ellie’s charms to lure her away from the crowded area. nestled in the corner of the bar, ellie latching her mouth onto the girls neck. imagining your body in place of hers. pretending her moans were yours. wishing that she was you.

she’d felt dirty after she finished, a feeling that was entirely new to her. you both weren’t obligated to only be with each other after that night in the bathroom, but she couldn’t get you out of her mind. maybe it was because the girl reminded her of you? then she remembered that you weren’t like that anymore. that you had completely changed.

when tour ended and the group returned home, you took it upon yourself to throw a party. the old you would have gone for a small get together at your house, with the three of them and donuts, but the new you was leaning towards some club soirée.

you were excited to show everyone more of the new you. a new style to match your new personality. a new way of living to replace your old one. completely killing the girl you’d been before.

you met them at dina and jesse’s place, ensuring you’d be there the second they got off the tour bus. excitedly rushing over to give them a hug, and ellie an awkward handshake. they look you up and down, taking in your changed appearance with concern. “new clothes?” jesse speaks up.

“new me.” you shrug, helping them carry their bags up.

when everything is settled in, they all grab a seat on the couch. you slump into their loveseat, sighing. “so there’s this party...”

dina shakes her head. “no no absolutely not. i love you, but god we’re exhausted. no party tonight.”

“it’s tomorrow. it’s your welcome back party.” the corner of your mouth twitches. “i want to sleep for atleast a week.” dina huffs. “i need to go shower right now actually.” she gets up, placing a kiss on your forehead when she passes by. jesse does the same, following behind her.

you don’t take offense to it. this might’ve hurt you a little bit in the past, feeling stupid for planning a party when it’d make sense that they want to rest. now, you didn’t care. you could party by yourself. you could party with ellie.

you look over at her, and she looks like a wounded stray. like she’s guilty of something she didn’t do. you get up and join her in place of the lovebirds. a wide smile on your face. “are you gonna come to the party?”

she breathes. “maybe. i don’t know yet.”

it’s silent for a beat. you pull out your phone and she remembers the day she took it. the agony in your voice when you were asking for it back. the day she made you cry. she shakes away the thought.

“how about we play a game?”

the peace you were experiencing in the moment felt foreign. it’s been years since you had a chance to have quality time with ellie. without her ruining it, ofcourse. it was almost like those first few weeks back when you met. playing all the board games lodged in the bookshelf of jesse’s parent’s place. before him and dina had moved in together.

these were those very same games. monopoly, sorry, connect four, and more. you settled on connect floor, crisscrossing your legs on the floor. she joins you, getting comfortable.

“i’ll keep score!” you offer, going to your phone’s notes. before you can do much about it, you realize that it’s shutting off because the battery is low. you lodge it into your back pocket and shrug, grabbing an empty envelope off of the couples counter. “my phones dead, i’ll just write it.”

then you’re making a t chart, and ellie feels as if all the air is being kicked out of her lungs. your handwriting is the same as the one that was on that letter.

but that can’t be true, right? this is the same fan who’s been writing her for years. this is handwriting that’s been on signs held up at shows. the handwriting on a small cluster of loyal groupie’s handmade tshirts.

but surely she’d have noticed this before. you’d written in front of her before, right? memories were fuzzily being put back together in the moment. your unfiltered and unconditional love for her. your kindness that you’d extended even when she was mean to you. even when she was cruel.

even when you’d had enough of the tear filled nights and decided you needed time away. you still asked how ellie was, she could hear it on the other side of the fucking phone. when you were talking to dina and jesse. when you were communicating love through them to her.

you called all those rehab centers to get her help, that’s how jesse had found one so fast. you left her meds on the table for her the next morning, not dina. it was your voice telling her she’d had enough. it was you, being brave enough to take her verbal lashings because you knew if she didn’t take it out on you, she would take it out on herself.

it was you, it was always you. she was remembering now.

“ellie?”

you look away from the paper to find her crying. crying because the you that was always there, had slipped between her nimble fingers. had melted into the cracks of hatred. she was crying because she realized why she was feeling out of sorts. she hadn’t gotten a letter this week.

a letter from—well, you.

she wanted to yell at you. to scream at you. to call you stupid for staying around when you know how she is. she wanted to curse herself for getting you to let your guard down with a fake apology, and fucking it up all over again. for pushing you past your breaking point.

“i don’t wanna play anymore.” she felt disgusting. she felt like she was going to be sick. “ellie what’s the matter—“

she’s hyperventilating now, watching as you slowly slide towards her. extending your arms while you try to catch her in a hug. she thought back to the days she called you useless. called you pathetic. called you a crybaby.

you hold her, and it’s the first time she’s ever truly felt held. the first time she’s in your arms and she’s sober. the first time she’s in your arms and she feels sorry. truly, terribly sorry.

you pull her in closer to you, turning her onto her side so you can rub your thumb across her cheek. wiping some of her tears away. she begins to cry even harder, but you don’t push her away. even when your pants are soaked and snotty. you let her lay there, and cry into you.

[sanzaibian]

I look at my watch, it’s already 3 PM. He is one hour late, although I feel that he’s not as much late as he is not coming.

I sigh, and go back to the locker room. I wanted to surprise him by waiting in the lobby shirtless, but after so much time loitering and being told off multiple times by the staff, I guess I must cut my losses. I knew that he wasn’t all that fussed about me wish for a second date in the gym, even if he seems to be a health nut, but still, ghosting me like that really hurts…

As I walk next to the mirrors in the locker room, I look at my body.

Honestly, with a body like that, guys should be drooling and yearning to be my boyfriend ! Yet, when I go on Grindr to find dates, I can only find people who will take me for a quick fuck, and never agree to anything further along… And this is why, no matter how fat my muscles are, how much hair is dusted on my body, how symmetric my face is, or just… how conventionally attractive to a gay audience I may be, I find myself waiting for a whole hour for a prince charming who will never come.

With a disappointed face, I walk towards my locker. By now, it’s no use to try and squeeze in an actual workout in addition to that whole hour full of variants of nothing – not that I really want to work out at all. However, as I reach my locker, I suddenly notice Ilham standing there in gym clothes, that he has presumably just put on.

I guess you can call him a friend ? In the barest of sense ? We do talk sometimes, only the bare minimum, but he’s always the one who leads the conversation… Well, you can’t fault me he’s so ridiculously hot without even trying, it makes me feel self-conscious even when I look how I look ! And, as if on queue, he notices my gloomy expression, and immediately confronts me about it.

“Hey Vítor ! Good workout ? Why do you look so sad like that ?” He asks, way too energetic for the situation. - Ah, it’s nothing, I had a gym date, but I was ghosted…” I answer succinctly. I don’t want to dwell on it too much. - Oh…” I can almost see the gears turning in his head, as he tries to makes sense of what I say, before he gets it. “Oh ! I’m so sorry, bro ! What a bitch to abandon you like this ! Ya know, I know a few girls I could hook you up with, I’m sure they wouldn’t do that ! - I’m sorry, girls won’t do.” I smile at his answer. “Once again, I’m gay ! - Sorry bro, I forgot again ! I swear I can make up to you !” He apologies.

He’s Azerbaijani, and due to how homosexuality is seen over there, he has a really hard time conceiving of masculine gay people. But he tries, and that’s by far the most important.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry ! But I won’t hold you up too much, especially since I already butchered my workout by waiting for him.” I urge him, as I do want to come home sooner than later. - Oh, too bad… then see you next time, bro ! Have a good afternoon ! - Have a good workout !”

He smiles to me while I wave him goodbye, visibly trying to empathize with me, before leaving the locker room in a small trot. This is how far our “friendship” goes, just simple courtesy when we see each other in the gym, which isn’t often since I don’t have a lot of time to go in the first place, and nothing beyond. I could likely try to deepen our relationship, but I feel we don’t actually have much in common, since he’s much more of a social butterfly than I’ll ever be, no matter how eager he may seem to get to know me, with all of these allusions of making me meet people or inviting me to parties.

Finally reaching my locker, I open it and find inside all my regular clothes, my phone and my other belongings, as expected. However, I also find a small piece of paper inside.

Curious, I examine it, and notice that there are actually stuff written on it. Handwritten. A secret message ? In the gym ? That’s weird…

It reads :

“You with no name and no house, do not forget who you are.”

I try to find a signature of any kind, but I do not find anything but this… warning ? poem ? I don’t really know what it’s supposed to be…

But whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to have much substance. I guess it’s not that important for me to take further notice of.

I stick the piece of paper inside my bag and take my clothes. I’m happy to have thought of taking two sets of clothing, since with loitering this long in the lobby, the staff needs to see me leaving, even if it originally was in order to have something to wear for the after-workout date. So I change, I stock everything in my bag, and leave the gym, bidding farewell to the staff at the same time.

Once I’m out of the gym, I look around to find somewhere secluded enough. I wouldn’t want to do anything in public, after all. So I walk around a bit, until I find a public bathhouse, in which I enter, since it is perfect for what I’m about to do.

See, I have quite a big secret… or rather, you know the secret, but you don’t know why it is a secret…

Suddenly, my muscles start mellowing out, my abs fading, while the rest seem to deflate. My pecs start retreating inside my body while my shoulders narrow, losing at the same time all the muscle mass making them fuse into my neck. My v-line disappears, my calves and my arms thin out, and I’m losing mass all round. At the same time, the light dusting of hair on my torso starts thinning out, just like my big beard, losing loads of length until only a few short hairs on my lip and on my chin remain. My hair also grows wildly, covering my forehead in messy coiled hair, losing any order it may have had. And as both of these processes come to an end, I lose a few centimeters of height, while my face rearranges to become more square, my facial features arrange themselves in a less symmetrical way, until it all becomes… well… not a model’s face, just a normal guy’s face.

Here is the secret : the guy that was in the gym wasn’t the real Vítor Nunes. This is the real Vítor Nunes. Just a normal guy, a bit skinny-fat, a bit twinky, a bit nerdy, but most of all an unremarkable guy. And that normal unremarkable guy gets out of his big clothes to go into his small clothes, complete with jeans and a red t-shirt. When everything is secure, I go back out to the street to head to the cafe I go to every time after the gym.

I think I owe you an explanation.

The way I look right now is the way I always looked – well, minus aging. However, one day, about a year ago if my memory serves me right, I suddenly gained the ability to transform. I still don’t know what caused it, but all of a sudden, when I concentrate, I can change my body to reflect what I have in mind.

Of course, I’m gay, so my first instinct when I discovered this gift was to give myself big muscles, and so they magically grew. God, I loved it, it was so exciting to see my muscles swell in the mirror, it’s really a one-of-a-kind experience ! However, this is also when I learned of the limits of this power : it’s actually really uncomfortable to maintain another form for too long, especially when it’s quite far from my normal form. If you have that experience, it’s a bit like when you are in high heels, everything starts to become tricky to do (don’t ask me how I know that). That’s why when I tried to become a woman, it was so uncomfortable I could barely remain like that for a few seconds before I made my boobs go away. Therefore, while I have access to a very hot persona, I can’t maintain it forever, meaning it’s not actually that useful aside from some kind of party trick.

However, the temptation was always too strong.

I used to be a virgin, both in sex and in romance, and the dream of prince charming was a reoccurring one, especially for someone as lonely as I am. However, with this power, I could spend some time in another body, in a body in which I could look like god amongst men. And so, the Vítor Nunes you saw, the one well-thought out to be as attractive for gay men as I could think of, was born. And it’s using his body that I lost my virginity in what could be its own sub-story.

But it never went beyond that, a quick one-night stand, even though I looked very hot and not very picky. I don’t even know what I am doing wrong ! Like, sure, when I’m on dates, the other guy always wants to directly fuck, but still ! Suddenly, someone hails me.

“Hey ! Vítor ! You hear me ?”

I’m jerked out of my thoughts, and quickly cobble an answer.

“Oh, er… hey, Satoshi ! I… didn’t notice you here ! - Well, I noticed.” He answers me, dryly.

He’s always been quite dry with me, and I don’t know why. We go to the same university, and are in the same curriculum in writing, although most of our classes reflect our different paths throughout this degree. So we talked in the few classes we had in common, but nothing more, really. I guess he’s the closest person I could classify as a “friend”, and even that is a stretch. Recently, though, he’s been acting quite weirdly. I know that he’s started attending the gym, and he’s also bleached his hair. I wonder if he is trying to impress someone or what...

“What are you doing in this part of town ?” He asks me. - Oh, I… I was just at the gym, I want to be healthier, you see…” I half-lie, hoping he will be convinced. - I see…” He looks at me, squinting. He doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, what matters is that you become the real you. Now, I’m sorry, but I need to go. Bye.”

What ? What was he mumbling ? I look at him as he continues his way opposite to where I’m heading. He seems to be in quite the hurry, I wonder where he’s heading… Recently, he hasn’t got a lot of time, I always find him almost avoiding talking to people, and always disappearing once class is dismissed. Is gym this much of a time-eater or does he also have something I don’t know of ? … N-not that it interests me this much, of course, that’s his own private life !

Ugh… To save myself from my own thoughts, I enter the cafe and go at the back of the file. When I’m finally at the counter, I go to order, before the woman behind the counter, Sandra, recognizes me. I’m a regular at this cafe, after all.

“Hey Vítor, I didn’t expect you this early ! - Yeah, I had something to do with someone, but he never showed up.” I once again lie by omission, though I admittedly give her a more accurate picture. - Oh, I’m so sorry for you !” She brings her hand on her mouth to empathize with me. She’s always been very expressive. “But speaking of people not showing up, I’m guessing you want an americano, like usual ? - Yes ?” I answer, unsure where she’s heading with this. - Well that’s great ! Because a kind soul actually bought you one !”

Smiling, she gives me an already prepared americano, to which a piece of paper is attached, that I take with a confused look.

“And… to whom I owe the honor ?” In ask her. - Well, that person asked to remain anonymous ! But they told me that you should be able to piece together who they are thanks to this piece of paper I attached !” She answers, radiating in glee. Yeah, she also loves drama. - Okay… well, give them my thanks if you see them, I guess…”

I wave her goodbye and take place at an outside table. Another piece of paper ? It must be a coincidence, the consequences of it not being are way too scary for me to dwell on too much. Yet, when I read it, these consequences seem more and more like reality…

“For you really have a beautiful self, especially when you show your true face.”

It’s the same handwriting as the note I found at the gym ! Plus, when putting the two pieces of paper, it really does seem to be directly talking about my transformations… But who is it, and what do they want from me ? How did they find out about my secret ? And why this sudden… flirty tone ?

I sigh, and quickly drink my coffee. Due to the fact that it has already been prepared, it means that it’s a bit colder than usual, meaning it’s easier to drink. Wait… if it’s barely colder than usual… does this mean that the one having ordered it was here barely a few minutes ago ? But if it’s so, then how could they have slipped another piece of paper inside my locker ?

The caffeine starts hitting my brain, making me mull over the facts and imagine who could be the one to deliver these notes. Whoever they are, they seem to know my routine, since they knew that I would go to this cafe after the gym. It means that it’s very likely someone I know, or at least someone whose face I have already seen. They also have been witness to one of my transformations somehow, so they’ve likely hung out at the gym… or been one of my earlier dates perhaps ?

Everything is confusing, I just cannot find a way to make sense of all of that ! And… what will happen now that my secret is revealed ? Am I suddenly going to become a lab rat, as my weird condition is revealed to all ? Am I going to have to perform weird or even illegal tasks to stave off outing of my power ? Am I going to be recruited by a criminal organization in order to perform heists as an unknown person ?

Looking at my empty cup, I understand I’ve now gone too far in my thoughts. I’m likely not going to be coerced by a criminal ringleader to commit crimes. That’s ridiculous.

I dispose of my cup and head home. I’ve seen enough today, and I really need an actual break. So I take the bus, a few connecting ones until I’m finally back where I live. Before entering, I quickly go to check if there’s anything in the mailbox. And as if on queue, there is, some random account statements and other official stuff… and another of those papers.

They know where I live ! Now I can actually be scared ! For sure they’re going to make me do crimes or intern me inside a research center, I know it ! Shaking, I take out the piece of paper, and read it. It is written with the same handwriting as the others, so it confirms the fact that they do know a lot about me, but… er… eh ? Here is what it says :

“You are always worthy of love, so never forget the above.”

Wait wait wait, from the beginning, the flirty was what it was all actually about ? It is a love declaration ? … I guess it does rule out the criminal possibility… So who could it be ?

Thinking about it… It can’t be Sandra at the cafe, her shift wouldn’t let her go in the gym when I was there, and she was the one saying that they bought the coffee and left me the message. It can’t be Satoshi, although he could have bought me coffee, he couldn’t put the message in my locker, since I didn’t see him entering the gym, and he was actually walking towards the gym when I saw him. Plus, he’s so dry with me I’d think he hates me before I’d think he loves me. It can’t be Ilham, although he could have put his message in my locker before I entered, he’s currently at the gym, so he couldn’t buy me coffee. Plus, to my knowledge, he’s straight, and he’s still learning English, so he couldn’t have written such a complicated “poem”.

And I didn’t see anyone else during my little trip, so it could literally be anyone else !

But wait… looking back at the three pieces of paper, of the sequence they put together… it reminds me of something… I open my door and quickly make my way to my computer. I need to check something. To check a certain creative writing homework I had in first year.

And finding it… yes. I was correct. This is directly taken from it. The homework we did in duo back in first year of college. It’s weird… is it… really him ?

I close back up my computer, put down all of my stuff while continuing to mull over this revelation. But all of my thinking leads me to one conclusion and one only : I need to call him. So I take out my phone and do just that.

“Hello, Vítor ? Why do you call me ?” He asks, picking up almost immediately after me calling. - I just wanted to ask… do you remember our creative homework, back in first year ? - Yeah, I do, of course I do. - And… have you recently used it for anything ?”

I hear a sigh. Of course I was right.

“So you understood that it was me. I think we both have things to say to each other, so let us meet. - I guess we do.”

And so I go back out of my house, back to where it all started. Back to the gym. I walk for a bit, take a few buses, and when I’ve finally arrived, none other than Satoshi was waiting for me in front of the gym.

“Hello again, Satoshi.” I hail him. “So, you said we had to discuss ? - Yes. Let me be clear at first : I know that you have a muscular alter-ego that you can become. I don’t know why, or how, but I know you do. - How… did you know ?” I ask, a bit anxious, while he smiles at my question. - Well, you see… since the beginning of the year, you’ve been quite absent, and it made me quite worried.” He began recounting, feeling in his way of speaking way more personal and warm. “Honestly, while at first I thought to myself that you can have your own life, and that I shouldn’t interfere with it, your presence started to feel… missing.”

Huh, I didn’t know that I turned him down this much when I discovered my power. I thought that everything was just going as usual, only talking while in public transports and all… Yeah, I guess since I started going to the gym to get hookups, I changed my route after class, meaning that it overlapped less… I didn’t consider that…

“So, one day, I decided to follow you. Discreetly, of course, until you went to that gym. I… I didn’t know why you would go in there, but following you, I saw you entering a changing room… and out left a muscular man. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that it was you. - So this is how you understood that I had powers… - Yes. But this is not the end of my tale. Because I then thought of why I cared so much about you not being available. It wasn’t the first time someone would more or less abandon me out of the blue like that, but it was the first time I was this agitated. Especially because our relationship wasn’t that deep, all things considered. This lead me to the conclusion that I… er... want to spend more time with you, and made me realize that… in truth… er…” He blushes, suddenly trailing off and having a hard time to articulate clearly. “That… that I’m in love with you.”

Although I expected it, I still blush. He’s so straightforward ! And… it’s so unexpected, all things considered ! I guess I still had in mind the possibility that he was just trying to hype me up, somehow ?

“And what really angers me most,” He continues “is that you are overt there trying to be as ‘masculine’, as ‘beautiful’ or anything else to woo people, even though you’re already great the way you are ! And how you sabotage yourself by catering to this image of yourself you invented, going to the gym and all…”

I don’t know what to say. I guess I’ve been really focused in being as much of a gym rat as I could, else my cover would be ridiculous…

“Is it like that ?” I can finally manage. “That people don’t bye the muscular self I have ? - No. I- I don’t think that’s it. It’s more that you do it too well, so they don’t see you as anything more than a gym rat. I guess it all feels wrong and not personal, because it’s not you ! You’re forcing yourself to be someone you’re not ! B-but… since I have the privilege of knowing who you really are… I want to say that the real you is more. It’s beautiful, and warrants love…” He says, blushing even more. - H-how are you saying this with a straight face…” I answer, smiling, while being swept by the wave of awkwardness he radiates. - I’m not… But I really want to tell you what things really are. Because you deserve it.” He takes a large inspiration. “So. Do you want to go out with me ?”

By now, I fully knew what was coming.

And I know my answer.

“Yes, I do.”

“Hey, I’m home !” I announce, coming back home.

However, I do not find any answer to my call, even though Satoshi is supposed to come to my house this evening. He’s likely not there yet, I’m sure taken by his work, meaning that it’s going to be at least a small while until he makes it here.

I smirk. I know what to do to him. He will hate that, but it will be way too fun an opportunity to pass up. So I go to my room, completely undress, and take out some of the special clothes I still have stashed in the corner of my cupboard. In particular, I take out a very big par of jeans, the kind that would usually never fit me.

Then, all of a sudden, I feel my muscles tense up. They’re pulsating, getting progressively bigger and bigger. My pecs are the most noticeable of all of them, rounding up and sagging down in big globes attached to my torso, but everything else gains in mass. My shoulders crack as they’re pushing apart, muscles growing between them and my neck, and a light dusting of black hair starts appearing on them. They descend all over my body, on my torso, beneath my armpits, in my crotch, and on my legs. My crotch also embiggens, the hose hiding inside taking more and more place, while on the rear side my ass cheeks firm up, and gets bigger just like the pecs upstairs.

As it all happens, my face also itches, as the little hairs that are on it start growing, elongating my face at the same time. These hair grow all over my chin into a long beard, while on my lip they only grow denser. At the same time, my face rearranges to become more conventionally attractive, more symmetrical, and my hair starts shortening a bit, and becoming more well-kept.

As the last few details of my transformation arrange themselves, I put the large jeans on, not even bothering to put on underwear before that. Yup, that’s very sexy alright, he’s gonna hate that ! And so my muscular self takes place in the living room, waiting for his beloved to come.

Because this time, I know my prince charming will come.

================================================

Hey ! A story (that was again hard to write) for the last few hours of Pride Month, if it's even still on in your part of the world ! ^^'

I hope we in the TF community can recognize all the colors of the rainbow and all the letters of the acronym, including bi (and similar identities) and trans people ! And I also hope that we can all help to build, each to our ability, a better and more tolerant world (especially in the face of the rise of hateful ideologies around the world, yes I'm quivering at the results of my elections ^^')

So yeah, happy pride, everyone !

[divinesolas]

Troubles

r.q: Hello, I don't know if you are taking requirements, but I haven't seen too many good one shots about Aegon II 😃, I really like your writing and I would like to read one where the protagonist was a Tyrell And they are both married because of all that alliance stuff and so on, maybe with a little angst and Aegon's nonsense. (Sorry for my description, I really don't know how to do this 🥲)

aegon ii targaryen x fem!tyrell!reader

wrds: 843

a.n: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE REQUEST AND I DONT REMEMBER YOUR @ IM SO SORRY BUT I HOPE YOU SEE THIS !! my take on the scene where alicent went to go comfort aegon but couldnt so you come to do it instead <3 *you only have one kid

you dont love him.

if you had known when you went to go return to see your mother in high garden you would return to this you would not have gone at all. or maybe not even chosen to return.

Aegon crowned and war on the horizon you had no clue what was going on, just quickly rushed into the keep and presented before the court. The worst news came quickly, your son had been murdered the night before you had returned. You could only stand in horror with silent tears cascading down your face as you watch your husband yell at every council man in the room for the death of his son and he did not even spare you a word as he walked out of the room.

You went to helaenas room who offered you her bed to lay on and a hand on your back as you sobbed into her pillow. you did not know what to do. You son is gone. your only son. Your only child. and now you were lost. You should go see him, even if he did not want to see you even if you did not really want to see him. You had to atleast speak to him about this.

So you went and walked your way slowly to his room. When you went to open the door you jumped back as alicent walked out. She was staring at you, you can feel the shame and guilt in her veins seeping over her eyes. she looks back at the closed door then looks at you, opening her mouth as if she wished to say something. but she doesnt merely speed walking away from you without a word as tears ran down her face.

You almost wished to chase after her. you did not ever truly get along with her well but you could tell shes taking this news badly, probably worse than you are. yet you open the door and walk into the room you see your husband trembling with sobs at his desk. the room was a mess, clothes, glass and all other sorts of stuff strewing about the room.

You stand frozen as you watch him. You and your husband are certainly not close by any means. You do your marital duty and stay apart from each other. but right now he needs you yet you have no clue how to go about this. You slowly walk over and place a hand on his shoulder he slowly cranes his head up to look at you and he stares at you as some shaky breaths leave him.

You place your hand out and he grabs it, letting you to pull him to the bed where he quickly crawls on top of you and presses his face against your chest as he cries. “ill kill them.” you shush him and rub his back. “my son, my legacy.” you ignore the fact he does not say he was your son, our son. but you say nothing. You know he is more hurt over his pride than the actual life lost though you doubt he knows that himself.

“im with child.” He freezes and his head shoots up to look at you. “what?” you look off to the side and stare out the window as the sun rises. “i was feeling sick in highgarden and went to the maesters, they say i am with child. A little over two moons they say.”

He says nothing for awhile but you can feel his stare on your face. You let your curiosity get the better of you and turn to look at him. He is staring at you in wonder. Like a newborn looks up at its mother. “you lie.” he does not want to believe you. “i do not. i planned to tell you on my arrival but obviously we were preoccupied.”

This is normally the moment where he would kiss you, tell you how overjoyed he was and how amazing you were. But he does not say anything but you can feel his grip on you tighten. “you will not go anywhere without atleast two guards presence, you are not permitted to leave the keep under any circumstances.” You are sure this is his way of expressing himself to you, he wants you safe no matter what. he grips your face and peers down at you, “do you understand?” you nod and slap his hands off your face.

He looks like a kicked puppy You understand him, his worries and doubts. you let him lay against you, him listening to your heartbeat. He falls asleep youre sure he is to be woken up soon to go take his seat at the council. Based on the bags under his eyes this is probably the first time he is sleeping in awhile so when a maid walks in you shoo her away and whisper youll deal with the consequences of it.

you do not love him. but you can see him. and that’s enough for him.

[kaesaaurelia]

soooo I just finished watching that star wars hotel video and oh my god the fire safety what the fuckkkk

BUT ALSO if you are some kind of weirdo who watched this (or the evermore video) and was like "man I wish that thing existed but was good," I... can't help you specifically with Star Wars (or generic high fantasy settings) but if you are an adult or a family with teens (who are okay with some mild references to sexuality in a coming-of-age context -- which honestly would go over the heads of most kids too young to deal with them?), don't have issues with darkness, flashing lights, or potential immune issues due to touching touchscreens, and enjoy a little light cosmic and/or implied body horror I highly highly suggest going to Omega Mart next time you are in Las Vegas. It is surreal and fun and while I definitely ran into some issues there with 1. going down the story path I didn't mean to go down and 2. LOSING MY EMPLOYEE ID CARD (to be clear I did not work there, in the fiction of the game all guests are Omega Mart employees), there were helpful (actual) employees there to jump in and help me without breaking immersion at all. They were great.

There are some pathways (physical pathways) that require an ability to climb stairs but there are ALWAYS multiple paths between two points so while you might not be able to crawl through the tunnel and then climb the rope from [spoiler place] to [other spoiler place] or do the slides, you can still physically get to the plot-important places and I think at most people who can't do stairs miss... some kind of pointless music machines? (Which I had fun with ngl but I fucked around with them for like 10 minutes more because I was in the area looking for my lost ID badge and asking if people had found it.) I haven't been to the other Meow Wolf installations but I would love to go given the chance.

And if you really want a themed hotel... well, you can't find an eldritch dimension-hopping supermarket-themed hotel, no, but if you stay on the strip there's going to be a lot of neon and trying to sell you things, and also optionally a theme, so like. That's not dissimilar.

Fire safety both at these Vegas hotels and at Omega Mart will be better than crawling into a small closet with 4 of your closest friends and hoping to not die, also. And a substantial amount of the story of Omega Mart is "wow corporate greed does ruin everything," so if you liked the video you probably will also like this.

[Edit: also to be clear I don't really think Omega Mart is small-child-friendly, but mostly because it's a lot of reading, and the bulk of it is either corporate memos or a teenage girl's diaries. A lot of the stuff I found most engaging was exploring the strained intergenerational family dynamic between the girl, her mom, and her grandfather, something that small children would find either boring or upsetting or both. It's not the sexuality that's the issue, it's some offscreen implied character death-but-not-really (that not-really doesn't make it better!) and just plain bad parenting, plus the broader theme of a greedy grocery chain turning ancient mystery and natural wonder into queasy reality-breaking horror.]

[artificialbreezy]

i was antsy about my biker folio world and just wanted share snippet of it that doesn’t really fit in the actual one shot i’m writing.

CW: indications of weed and smoking, smut, shy!reader, inexperienced!reader, nicks got a filthy mouth, flirty nick needs its own warning, lots of dialogue sorry bro, a real shit ending (why are endings so mf hard????)

it was late, the sun had gone and went. your front porch no longer the place to be reading. those solar lights in your back yard with a blanket in the hammock when just where you wished you were.

grabbing your blanket and book, you were quick to run outside. if anyone asked you your favorite part about being an adult, it was this. staying up late, reading in the dark in a big comfy hammock.

you were quickly pulled from your thoughts by the weird smell and a subtle cough from next door.

“sorry sweetheart! i didn’t mean to distract you.” your neighbor yelled over the fence. you just waved at him, a silent signal it was okay.

you don’t know what was wrong with you, you could talk to him outside of your little hi every day you saw him. he just made your brain short circuit, it was better to not speak than embarrass yourself.

before you know it, he was leaning against the fence with his hands over on your side. “ya know sweet thing, you stare a lot for someone who doesn’t talk to me. you see something you like looking at? cause i can name a couple things i like looking at and they all start with you.”

your throat was dry, eyes a little wide and face bright fucking red. words wouldn’t come from your mouth. you just stared at the man at the fence.

“what’s the matter sweets? not gonna talk to me now? i’d love nothing more-“ he grunted a little as he hopped the fence. “than to hear your pretty voice say my name again. can you do that for me, pretty girl?” he was standing directly in front of you now. there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run. you had to face him now.

“Nick..” your voice was barely above a whisper. you swear if he wasn’t watching your mouth he wouldn’t have heard you.

“don’t think i heard you fully, try it again.”

“Nick…” a little louder now.

“oh no, honey. that’s not my name. whatcha call me out in the driveway?”

“Nicky.”

“atta girl, can i touch you?”

you almost choked on your own spit.

“uh, um. yeah. yeah. okay, sure.”

his hand reached down to yours, pulling you up and out of the hammock. “come on, let’s go inside. somewhere that Janet is gonna get a free show.” he chuckled mentioning your grumpy old neighbor who hated hearing his bike rev at 10:30pm.

“a free show?”

his hand was on the slider door, opening it as he spoke. “you’re real sweet ya know? yeah honey. was making a reference to us doing something. but i won’t do anything if you don’t want too. i’m okay just talking too.” he was comforting and soft.

“no! i want too! i just, im nervous. i haven’t had a whole lot of experience with that kind of stuff. i mean! i’ve had sex. i’m not just a virgin. just, not a lot. dear god i’m gonna shut up now.”

he smiled down at me, “more than happy to do whatever you want. think you deserve it really. always such a good girl.”

he sat himself in the recliner in my den, “right here.” he was pointing to the floor between his legs. “want you to sit, gonna go over some stuff.”

“need you to know, been thinking about this alot. have been for a while too. just been too nervous to talk to you. wanna do this at your pace, whatever you want today we’ll do. and don’t fret, we can do more stuff later. don’t feel rushed. we got months and years ahead of this okay?”

“can i ask you something?”

he nodded, hand setting on top of mine that was settled above his knee.

“um, can you show me what you like? wanna do it for you. read about some things and i wanna feel that.”

he smirked, eyes brows raised a little. “read what baby?”

“just like. head and stuff. but i wanna do it how you like it.”

“happily honey. just wanna make me happy huh? wanna be just what i want you to be don’t you?” he pushed his sweatpants down just enough that his dick was leaning against his stomach.

“just gonna start slow, okay? couple kisses, hands on my thighs. then you’re gonna- fuck, your lips feel good. gonna kiss the tip a little, there you go. tongue out a second. atta girl. just stay like that a minute. wanna put this view into memory.”

mouth wide, tongue out just, cock resting against it. feeling the weight of him in my mouth was all i wanted. this was comforting.

“alright, lick the underside. all the way down and then back up. and just like those popsicles you’re always eatin. suck a little bit, relax your jaw baby.”

his hands went to my hair, gently guiding me where he wanted me to be. holding my head still, and taking whatever he wanted.

“honey your mouth is like heaven. real fucking close already. come on, off. don’t wanna make you gag right now. gotta work you up to that.”

“wanna feel you down my throat, Nicky. please?”

“open your mouth. just like before. tongue out.”

my knees were starting to get sore, but i wanted to make him proud. wanted him to come back again. watching him stroke himself was going to be forever burned into my brain. feeling his load against my tongue was gonna be there for a while.

“come on, let’s get you off the floor honey. i’m proud of you sweetheart. gonna have to tell me about your books tomorrow though. what other filth are you reading, huh?”

[olderthannetfic]

Until I read the comments on that one post I had no idea the Bechdel Test was a joke and wasn't supposed to be a serious measuring stick by which you gauged if something was feminist or not. Everywhere I'd ever heard it brought up, it was brought up as a very serious thing, and it was a failure of media if it didn't pass it. I remember the debate about Mako Mori from Pacific Rim and if she was a character you were "allowed" to like as a progressive person despite the fact that Pacific Rim doesn't pass the Bechdel Test, the discourse, the discussion of if the director was sexist for not writing in another woman for her to chat with about non-men related stuff, the camp of people trying to insist that having a fully realized character arc and being as developed as any of the male leads = good writing even if she doesn't talk to another girl...

And I've also had the remark about my writing not passing the test, just not to my face. I searched my fanfic's name once, curious to see if anyone was discussing it outside of tumblr and AO3, and found a Tiktok complaining about it not passing the Bechdel Test. The top comment was "motherfucker YOU don't pass the test but we still watch your ass". I cackled and moved on, but neither the commenter, poster, nor I had any awareness this wasn't Feminist Media Critique 101 theory and was, in fact, a goof.

Right now there's a segment of fandom debating if Blue Eye Samurai is feminist since when Mizu and Akemi talk, they do bring up men, since, y'know. Women aren't considered people with rights in their era in Japan and thus it's something they mention instead of only talking about being cool girlboss badasses who never bring up gender. If something doesn't pass the Bechdel Test, a smug segment of the internet high-fives itself and congratulates one another on being More Feminist Than Thou.

They then get really angry if you disagree, even though by this metric, Sleeping Beauty (the original animated one, where Aurora has only 16 lines of dialogue) is more feminist than Blue Eye Samurai.

--

*DYING*

Okay, so, nonnie....

Dykes to Watch Out For (1983-2008) was a long-running comic and major piece of lesbian media. I grew up buying compiled volumes at the bookstore. To be honest, that kind of 90s-ish lesbian culture isn't really my scene despite me being bi, but it was very nice to have this slice of life-y somewhat realistic, occasionally somewhat parody, look at the queer communities around me. It's up there with Tales of the City for me in terms of being a window into a particular culture and time and place.

If anybody is interested in queer history, in addition to looking up factual info, I think a read of the complete Dykes would give a really good overview of how people were thinking about things and what issues came up a lot. You'll see things like Barnes & Noble increasingly putting feminist bookstores out of business in the 90s, attitudes towards porn in lesbian circles—all kinds of cultural issues of the day.

I drifted away as I got later in my teens and found more genre fiction I cared about, but at one point, this comic was a very welcome antidote to the glurgey coming out stories that made up a lot of the more realistic media.

Anyway, here's the comic itself, reproduced in its entirety because I think it's important to actually understand the context.

This is from 1985, so the era of Rambo, Conan, and Death Wish, each of which you can see being made fun of here. It's based on Bechdel's friend Liz Wallace's actual rule for seeing movies.

That's it. That's the origin of this whole stupid test.

"LOL, fuck 80s action movies". That's it. That's the joke.

The fact that blockbusters still routinely fail to pass in the 2020s is shameful, but that was never the point of the strip.

[theoceansluvr]

Percy Jackson x Theatre Kid!Reader

warnings; nothing except maybe stage fright ??

author's notes; YAYYYYY THEATRE KID STUFF !!! literally writing this while getting ready for my auditions... so perfect timing anon ! also sorry for the constant hcs guys- i have NOOOO time to write an ACTUAL fic-

MY LOVER BOY EVER HE'S SOOOOO EXCITED WHENEVER YOU GET A ROLE !!!

like he's parading you around with a bouquet of flowers he picked along the fields

very ecstatic !

whether it's a small role a major one, he's your world's #1 stage assistant(his own words)

most of the time either his cabin/bedroom floor is scattered with your scripts covered in highlights and cues

you had to to teach him how to act read a script bc sometimes he'd read the like.. stage actions

it was very funny but it threw you off

ANYWAYS !

he likes practicing kissing scenes with you because he "doesn't want you to fall for the other guy" his words, not mine

he literally pouted for a good hour when he saw that the play had a kiss😿

he gets a little too passionate with them, so please be prepared and ready for that

but he really does enjoy helping you recite lines !

makes whole dates revolved around them with the inclusion of the famous blue cookies™

he gets super into it after all while too like he will drop his whole heart and soul into some Hamilton bro

he does NOT play !

comes to ALL your practice rehearsals !!!

and when i say all, i mean all.

doesn't matter the time nor place, he'll show up just to watch you longingly from the seats

since it's hoco season for me, i'm bringing back the good old fashioned proposal concept !

moving on, the night of a performance !

he manages to sneak back stage to give you good luck kisses and flowers :3c

gives you his best wishes before he's immediately rushed out by everyone else

AFTERWARDSS !

oh he's throwing fake flower petals he put in his pocket and being the loudest person in the room

he waits for you patiently waiting for you after the show

plasters kisses all over your face and takes you to some diner to get a milkshake