#I'M DONE!!!!!!!! never doing this again also........

[bbokicidal]

All About You | SKZ [B.C.]

Summary: Chan as a Service Top

Headcanons Genre: Purely Smut Pairing: Bangchan x Afab!Reader Warnings: Submissive!Chan but not really.. Dominant!Reader? Neither parties are too dominant. Riding, Chan topping, Reader giving Chan instructions, etc.

The definition of a 'Service Top' fluctuates; To some it means a Top who wants to be bossed around and instructed, to others it means a Top who wants to fulfill their partners wishes even if they dislike the kink/fetish, and to some it's just a top who is softer than most dominants.

You realize after the first few times of having sex with Chan that he doesn't really like doing some of the things you've explored in the past; He's too shy to initiate anything unless he's tipsy, he's not super grabby, he refuses to pin you down or put his hand around your throat. He prefers to let you take the lead.

When questioned about it, he's so shy. He pushes his hands down between his thighs before reaching to rub at the nape of his neck, the tips of his ears pink as he gently explains to you that he's never really been an overly dominant person in the bedroom - and he's a little afraid you'll be disappointed. He's sexy, built like a God - and unwilling to take control of you.

But when you smile and reassure him that it's totally okay - that he doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to - he seems to relax. He looks over at you with the kindest, gentlest eyes and a smile that makes his dimples pop as you tell him that he's more than welcome to ask questions, tell you what he likes, etc. And he feels so over the moon just knowing you're not upset with him about it.

Chan's favorite position is you on top of him; Riding him until he's pink in the cheeks, his hands resting on your hips but not pushing or pulling at you. He loves seeing you on top, using his body just to please yourself and not caring much about how he feels (even if he is also in Heaven.) And, of course, sitting on his face. He's leaking cum just a minute or two after you begin to roll your hips down against his tongue. He's obsessed with it - loves being suffocated underneath you and letting you hump his mouth.

He gets off on you praising him. Not too much, though. He likes to hear how good he makes you feel, how you're going to get addicted to his cock because it fills you up so good - or how his body is just a toy for you to use to get off.

Actually, Chan really, really loves when you call him your toy. Only in the bedroom, of course. But he does get all blushy when you make comments like, "Think I might use a toy when I'm done cleaning up after dinner." and then spare him a glance. He knows exactly what that means and while you finish up dishes, he'll run to the bedroom to lay down and get ready for you.

He also loves being told what to do - that's the whole point of being a service top, right? Being told what to do, how to do it, when to do what.

Though, Chan prefers when you're more gentle with him when it comes to instructions. He likes when you ask him to do something instead of demanding it because it makes the moment feel more intimate, more romantic. It makes him feel more comfortable when he's on top of you.

If you're on top, he's fine with you barking at him to fuck up into you faster or harder - But if he's on top, please be gentle with your words. He's doing the best he can and he's there solely for your pleasure.

A lot of the times Chan doesn't even care if he gets off or not. If you're happy and three orgasms in while he hasn't even come once, it's totally fine! He doesn't mind because, again, he's there to please you and you only. He doesn't care if he gets to release or not.

But adding onto that, Chan can come just from you being pleased. If he's fucking you and you're whimpering, writhing, moaning out his name and creaming around his cock - Yeah, he's probably going to come. Not even from the feeling, though it is very nice, but from the fact that he's the one making you feel that good.

On the occasion that Chan does take control and takes the lead, which is mostly when you're too tired or stressed about something to boss him around, he's still as soft as ever - but he'll have sex with you in a more.. love-making manner. He wants to make sure you feel good still and especially during these moments he's more focused on your pleasure than anything else. He'll use your favorite toys, be gentler with you, kiss over your skin and whisper how much he loves you. He'll also be more vocal during these times because he knows just how much you love to hear his voice.

I really don't have much experience writing or actually experiencing anything service top related so I'm sorry if these aren't the best. I tried!

Permanent Taglist :

@dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground

@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

@jeonginsleftcheek

[keferon]

It just occurred to me (and to add more angst to the angst pile): Prowl as a lone orca being used to having to do everything for himself. Extra not having any concept of rest or taking a break because if he rested who would keep watch for danger? Where would the food come from? There’s never been any stopping or moments of peace before. Because he’s been on his own. And if he can’t do it himself then he’s dead.

But all that could change over time in reaching the ocean with Jazz. Even as Jazz learns from Prowl to build up his stamina, Prowl would be experiencing for the first time what it would be like to have someone else to rely on. Someone to help hunt. To help keep watch. To help fend off danger. Making the idea that each thinks they are holding the other back — with Prowl thinking he’s keeping Jazz from finding more company and Jazz thinking he’s slowing Prowl down — all the more tragic. Because the reality is that they also both need each other.

Yes yes yes ye s

Also I'm just imagining. At some point after the escape they would run into. Uh. Let's say a sea monster of some kind? Definitely something BIG.

And Prowl would be like. Alright this couuuld be our dinner but we need to work together.

So they come up with a strategy, agree on signals, and set up a coordinated ambush on this monster. Jazz is a bit unsure at first because he's never done anything like that before but it feels SO RIGHT. For both of them. Not just the hunt but the team work. The thrill off sharing the moment. Feeling that yeah we can defeat anything in this entire ocean because it is alone and we're in it together.

They would kill the monster and Jazz would get SO EXCITED. He would literally radiate joy and be all like WE SHOULD DO THAT AGAIN THAT WAS SO FUN

And Prowl would get a tiny 505 error in his head because not only he found someone who can follow his strategies without complaining and whining?? But also greatly enjoys it??? Hell yeah they should do that again!

Bonus points if after the hunt they just sit on a giant dead monster and laugh because holy shit Prowl missed this so much. And Jazz didn't even know he missed it until that moment

Also after some time Jazz would start to have his own ideas on how to fight with sea monsters and half of his ideas would be SO bizarre but they will try them anyway because Jazz loves to improvise and Prowl loves getting a fresh perspective on things

[supernotnatural2005]

'Happy Accidents'

Pairing: Dean x Plus!sized Reader

Summary: You haven't seen the Winchester's in over a year, but the case you're working has you scratching your head, and who better to call than some old friends. However, insecurities arise as well as the reprise of a long time crush. Little do you know, it's reciprocated.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/tags: Dry humping! (18+Only), fluff, mutual pinning, Plus!sized Reader, body insecurities, curvy girl appreciation, swearing.

AN: Okay so this is my first time writing for a more specific reader body type, but being a curvy-girl myself it was interesting to implement it into a story. And with Dean being the appreciator? Yes please! 😍 I know this might not cater to all of you, but I'm inclusive to all y'all ❤️ Also taking some inspo from @bejeweledinterludes post for this one and @zepskies Midnight Espresso series, which is honestly one of my favourite series and stories featuring a Plus!sized reader!! I do hope you guys like this one! 💕

Main Masterlist

You hadn’t seen the Winchesters in over a year.

Not since that hunt in Nebraska—the one that went sideways fast. The one that left you with a busted-up ankle and Dean with a fresh scar along his jawline. The one where, after all was said and done, you parted ways with an easy “See you around,” never expecting “around” to take this long to come back.

But when a case cropped up—one that twisted your gut with unease—you hadn’t hesitated. You picked up the phone and called the only people you trusted to have your back. If anyone could help, it was them.

And now, sitting in a dimly lit bar, waiting for them to arrive, your nerves were shot. Maybe it was the case. Or maybe it was the fact that you’d changed since they last saw you—since he last saw you.

That old, ridiculous crush on Dean Winchester hadn’t gone anywhere. That much had become painfully clear the moment he picked up the phone, his voice as deep, gravelly, and cocky as ever. But now, with time apart and the weight of your own insecurities pressing down, the idea of seeing him again made your stomach twist.

You had always been curvier, carrying stubborn weight around your thighs, ass, and middle. But in the last year, you’d softened even more. Life had been quieter, with less running and fewer adrenaline-fuelled hunts. You were still strong, still capable, but you felt different. And you knew the type of women Dean gravitated toward—tall, slim, easy.

You were none of those things, and you never would be. And that was okay. But it was a niggling fact that had always lingered in the back of your mind, that had stung each time the three of you got together and you watched him charm someone else. Someone who wasn’t you.

A warm, unexpected hand on your shoulder brings you out of your darker thoughts, with a slight gasp, startling you a little.

“Easy there, sweetheart.”

You turned, heart stuttering as Dean stood there, grinning down at you like no time had passed at all. And damn it all, he looked the same—scruffy and stupidly handsome in that effortless way of his, jeans snug on his hips, flannel worn open over a snug black tee. Sam stood just behind him, offering you a softer, more knowing smile.

“Hey, boys,” you manage, hoping the warmth creeping up your neck isn’t as obvious as it feels. You slip off the barstool, nerves buzzing, but force yourself to keep it together.

Dean’s eyes flick over you—quick, but thorough. For a split second, something unreadable flashes across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it.

“Missed us that bad, huh?” His smirk is pure Dean, cocky and teasing, slipping back into the easy rhythm of your old banter.

You roll your eyes, but are grateful for it. “Don’t flatter yourself, Winchester.”

But your voice is softer than you mean it to be, and when you turn to Sam, pulling him into a warm hug first, you feel Dean’s gaze linger.

Then you step up to him, hesitation curling in your chest—but before you can overthink it, his arms are around you, solid and warm, pulling you close like no time has passed at all.

That familiar scent—woody, spiced, edged with leather—wraps around you, grounding you, unraveling you. For a second longer than necessary, you let yourself sink into it, just this once.

The three of you settled into a booth once the bartender set down your drinks. Sam took the seat across from you, while Dean slid in next to you, his presence a little too warm, a little too distracting.

“So,” Sam started, taking a sip of his beer. “What are we looking at?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “A few people have gone missing over the last month—no bodies, no traces, just… gone. I’ve ruled out everything I know of. There’s no signs of a struggle, no sulphur, no EMF spikes. It’s like they just vanished into thin air.”

Dean frowned, brows knitting together. “And no patterns? No connection between them?”

“None that I could find.” You shook your head. “That’s why I called you guys. I was hoping fresh eyes might help.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean, both equally puzzled but already slipping into hunter mode.

“Well, we’re here now,” Sam said, ever the problem solver. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, feeling some of the weight lift. “We’ll go over everything in more detail tomorrow. Tonight…” You glanced between them, the tension of the case momentarily fading. “It’s just good to see you both.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sam agreed warmly, raising his bottle. “To old friends.”

You clinked beers with him, and Dean followed suit, but as your bottles met, his eyes locked onto yours. There was something there—something lingering, unreadable, sending a flicker of warmth through you. But just as quickly as it came, it was gone, masked behind an easy sip of his beer. You swallowed, shaking it off as nothing more than a trick of your mind.

The more the beers flowed, the easier it got. You caught up, swapped stories, and fell into familiar rhythms.

Dean was as quick with his smart-ass remarks as ever, and the two of you naturally fell into your usual back-and-forth. Sam, as always, was the long-suffering audience to your antics.

At one point, you and Dean tag-teamed a particularly brutal roast of Sam—this time about the time he’d gotten sick on a case and tried to insist he was totally fine, only to end up passing out face-first into a hotel’s continental breakfast buffet.

“Oh, come on,” Sam groaned, shaking his head as you and Dean laughed. “That was years ago.”

“And yet,” you grinned, “I can still hear the sound of your face hitting that tray of scrambled eggs.”

Dean snorted, nudging his knee against yours under the table. “Dude, you took out the whole table. That poor old lady thought you died.”

Sam huffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed his beer away. “Yeah, and that’s my cue. I’ve had enough of you two for one night.”

You laughed, but before you could say anything, Sam stood, shaking his head. “I’ll see you both in the morning.” He pulled you into a quick, brotherly hug, and you squeezed back.

“Night, Sammy,” you murmured, watching as he strode toward the door, leaving you alone with Dean.

You half-expected him to call it a night too, but instead, Dean didn’t move. If anything, the second Sam walked out, he seemed to settle in more, arm stretching along the back of the booth, fingers barely grazing your shoulder. The casual touch sent a ripple of awareness through you, but you forced yourself to act normal, reaching for your drink instead of acknowledging the way your heart had picked up speed.

“I think I’ll stick around a little longer,” he said casually, surprising you.

Your heart kicked up a notch, but you welcomed the company. “Yeah?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah. We got a lot of catching up to do.”

And so you did. The conversation flowed effortlessly, laughter slipping in between shared memories and stories of the road. Some cases were so bizarre they barely seemed real, and a few had you nearly crying with laughter. Time seemed to pass in a blink of an eye, the bar thinning out around you, and you barely noticed.

At some point, Dean just sat back and looked at you. Really looked at you. His expression softened, head tilting slightly as he took you in, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. Then, he shook his head and muttered, “Damn, it’s really good to see you.”

The sincerity in his voice knocked the breath from your lungs.

Your lips parted, a response on the tip of your tongue, but nothing came out.

Dean huffed a small laugh, eyes still studying you like he was committing you to memory. “You look good, too.”

The words weren’t rushed, weren’t casual or offhanded. They were steady, like a thought he’d been holding onto for a while.

Heat crept up your neck, and you let out a small, nervous chuckle, dropping your gaze to your drink as you toyed with the condensation on the glass. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean shifted, leaning in just a little, enough that the space between you felt smaller, more intimate. “I mean it,” he said, quieter this time, voice dipping low.

All you could think was; what the hell is happening here?

Dean had never been like this with you before. Sure, he flirted—it was second nature to him—but not like this. At least that’s what you’d always believed. Had you just never noticed? Had you missed the way he looked at you before? Or had something changed?

Swallowing, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, only to find his eyes sweeping over you—slow, deliberate. No hesitation. No teasing. Just appreciation.

His gaze flickered to your lips.

The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken, something you weren’t sure you were ready for, but part of you wanted to reach for it anyway.

Then—

“Last call!”

The bartender’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.

You exhaled sharply, the moment shattering as you snapped back to reality. A part of you wanted to stay frozen in it, let whatever this was between you and Dean unravel, but instead, you reached for the safest thing to say. "We should head back."

Dean nodded, standing with you, hands shoving into his jacket pockets. But even as you stepped out into the crisp night air, the tension didn’t fade. If anything, it followed you like a shadow.

The walk back to the motel was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the crunch of gravel under your boots. The air was cool, a sharp contrast to the heat still thrumming under your skin. You kept sneaking glances at Dean, only to find him already looking at you, eyes dark, thoughtful, unreadable.

He was close—not touching, but his presence was all-consuming. The scent of leather and whiskey clung to him, mixing with the crisp night air, making your stomach twist with anticipation.

When you finally reached your door, you hesitated.

"Well… this is me," you said, voice coming out lighter than you intended, a small, nervous chuckle slipping past your lips.

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, his lips curling into a slow, knowing smile as he looked down at you. "Yeah."

But neither of you moved.

The air shifted again, crackling with something dangerous, something inevitable.

Dean’s gaze flickered lower—tracing the curve of your mouth, watching as you unconsciously pulled your bottom lip between your teeth. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched and something in his expression darkened.

"Fuck it."

The words barely left his lips before he was on you, crashing into you with a hunger that sent you stumbling back against the door. The force of it stole your breath, his mouth devouring yours, needy, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for years and finally gave in.

A muffled sound of surprise left you, swallowed instantly by his lips, but it only took a second before you melted into him, your fingers fisting the open lapels of his jacket, anchoring yourself against him.

It was hot and messy, all teeth and tongue, the kind of kiss that left you lightheaded and aching. His hands were everywhere—gripping, pulling, claiming—sliding over your hips, your back, fingers digging into your flesh like he never wanted to let go.

You fumbled for the door behind you, barely registering how you managed to get it open before tugging him inside.

Dean groaned against your mouth as the door clicked shut, his hands already working your jacket off your shoulders. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this," he murmured against your lips, voice rough, breathless.

Your stomach flipped, your heart fluttering at the implication—the confirmation that this wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment lust. This was Dean. Wanting you. For who knew how long.

A moan slipped past your lips in response because forming actual words wasn’t an option—not with his hands gripping you tighter, not with the way he was kissing you like he was starving.

You barely noticed when you reached the little loveseat, your room provided, until the back of his knees hit it. Taking advantage of his momentary imbalance, you shoved him down onto it and climbed into his lap.

Dean groaned, head tipping back slightly as his hands found your hips, gripping tight. Touching you like he’d always wanted to. His fingers dug into the soft curve of your thighs, your ass, holding you like he couldn’t get enough.

You stiffened for half a second. The way his hands moulded to your body, the way he held you there so easily—so greedily—made your head spin.

You’d spent years second-guessing what guys thought when they touched you, wondering if they found you too much, too soft in places you’d been taught to shrink. The idea of straddling Dean, of all people, should’ve sent a jolt of insecurity through you. Should’ve had you hesitating.

But then Dean’s hands tightened—fingers pressing into your thighs, squeezing like he couldn’t stand not to have you closer. A deep, rough sound rumbled from his chest, his lips breaking from yours just long enough to groan, "Jesus—fuck."

The way he said it sent fire straight to your core.

He wanted you like this. Craved it. He wasn’t just tolerating the way your body pressed against him—he was obsessed with it.

As if to prove the point, his grip turned bruising, his hands dragging you even closer, pulling you down into him, despite the small part of you that feared you might be too much.

Dean grunted, his head dropping forward slightly, his forehead pressing to yours. "Goddamn, sweetheart."

A rush of confidence flooded through you, drowning out every lingering doubt.

And then you moved.

You rolled your hips, testing, teasing—just enough to feel the hard, undeniable evidence of how much he wanted this. Wanted you.

The friction was incredible, sending a bolt of pleasure up your spine, making you bite back a moan.

Dean’s breath hitched. His fingers dug into your flesh, his entire body going rigid.

That only made you do it again. Slower this time, deeper.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, his hands twitching on your thighs like he was trying to keep himself together.

"Fuck—" His voice was raw, strangled, almost pained.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, every muscle coiled tight as you ground against him, feeling the delicious pressure between you, the way his cock strained beneath his jeans, thick and hot against you.

Suddenly, his hands snapped up to your waist, gripping hard, stilling you.

You barely had a second to register it before—

Dean shuddered. His whole body tensed beneath you, a choked grunt ripping from his throat as his fingers dug into your flesh, his head tipping back against the couch.

He went still, and it took you a second to realise.

Dean Winchester had just cum in his jeans.

A rush of heat flooded his face, his expression shifting from shock to pure horror. He blinked up at you, wide-eyed, mortified.

"Oh, fuck." His voice was barely above a whisper, his hands still gripping your hips, as if he was trying to process what the hell had just happened.

Your lips parted in surprise. Then—a slow, wicked grin spread across your face.

"Did you just—?"

Dean groaned, head dropping back against the couch, squeezing his eyes shut. "Don’t. Just—don’t."

But you couldn’t help it. Because holy shit.

You’d just made Dean Winchester cum in his jeans.

If that wasn’t the biggest ego boost of your life, you didn’t know what was.

Leaning down, you pressed a lingering kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, revelling in the way his breath stuttered. "That," you murmured, lips brushing against his ear, "is the best compliment I’ve ever gotten."

Dean exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but he didn’t pull away. If anything, he melted under your touch, his hands hesitantly sliding up your sides, gripping your waist like he needed to anchor himself. When he finally looked up at you, the humiliation still lingered, but something warmer, something softer, began to take its place.

His green eyes flickered over your face like he was memorising you. His throat bobbed with a swallow. Then, suddenly, he let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.

"God, I’m sorry," he huffed, running a hand down his face, still half-stunned. "You’re just—" His eyes swept over you, dark and reverent as his hands followed, tracing over the curve of your hips, the swell of your full breasts, the thickness of your thighs. His fingers flexed, like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe this was real. "Fucking gorgeous."

Heat rushed to your face, your stomach flipping as you instinctively tried to shy away. But Dean was already there, his thumb pressing lightly under your chin, tilting your face back toward him.

"Hey," he murmured, his lips twitching into something wicked and sweet all at once. "Give me five minutes," his hands slid around the curve of your hips, then lower, grasping large handfuls of your ass, his fingers digging in like he couldn't help himself. He groaned, low and deep, pressing you closer, like he needed you to feel just how much he meant it. "And I’ll really show you how much I want you."

Your own lips curled, mirroring his. "Five minutes, huh?" You couldn’t help but hum as he kissed along the column of your throat, his lips soft and warm, his teeth grazing, sending a shiver down your spine.

His grip on you tightened, kneading the flesh beneath his hands, and another groan rumbled through his chest, when you shifted in his lap again and you felt the unmistakable twitch of him against you.

"Okay, make that two," he muttered, his voice rough with renewed hunger.

You laughed, and he grinned against your skin at the sound, before pulling you in and claiming your lips in a hot, deep kiss once more.

“Besides,” he mumbled between kisses, “I wanna sample the goods first, anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, about to retort, but then you squealed as he abruptly lifted you into his arms, carrying you over to the bed like you weighed nothing. With a playful smirk, he dropped you onto the mattress unceremoniously, making you bounce with a giggle.

Dean climbed in after you, hovering over you, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his expression turning unexpectedly tender. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he admitted, voice quieter now, raw and honest.

Your heart fluttered.

"Then show me," you whispered.

And as his lips met yours again, slow and deep, Dean swore he’d take his damn time proving just how much he did.

AN: So this just popped into my mind, I hadn't planned on posting, but had to get it out 😅. I know this doesn't cater to everyone it's a little more reader specific, but, it's just another reason to love Dean! 😍

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse @impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

[archangeldyke-all]

Hi Angel!! I first wanted to say that I love all your Sevika stories, they never fail to make my days better!

So, I've recently been thinking about little fucker and the twins a lot ((bc I found out I'm gonna be an aunt for twins :DD and it made me wonder how did Sev and Reader react to the news, like.. "what. WERE HAVING TWINS??? HOW." something like this lmao.

Not sure if you've already written something like this, but I've practically read all of your masterlists lmao. If you did feel free to skip cuz I have really bad short term memory ;))

oh my god that's so exciting!!! congrats auntie!!! i think i wrote a few little sentences about this in one of the first twins posts, but lets make it a full fledged story heheeh <3

(also as always with these stories, don't think too much about how the pregnancy happened. reader is trans, or has a magical strap, or it's just yuri magic. you choose hehe)

men and minors dni

for the first few days after sevika's pregnancy test coming back positive, you're both living in denial.

"how am i pregnant? i thought this was menopause! i thought i was done with all this shit!" sevika whines.

you giggle a little hysterically, then pull her into your arms. "i have no fuckin' idea." you say, blinking in shock. "holy shit. i actually knocked you up."

sevika giggles just as crazily in your hold. "congrats."

"i've been trying to get revenge on you for little fucker since you first knocked me up with her!" you laugh. sevika snorts and smacks your shoulder.

"don't say revenge. oh fuck, this is gonna miserable, isn't it?" sevika whines. you kiss her sweetly.

"it's the most amazing thing that's ever happened!"

"you're such a shit. you're just happy it isn't you this time around."

"damn right i am!" you laugh. sevika smiles at you, and then her face falls. you coo and wrap her up in another hug. "it's gonna be alright sevi-bear. i'm gonna be with you every step of the way."

"no, it's not that." sevika whimpers as she nuzzles against your shoulder. "i'm just-- i'm so happy. we're gonna have another one, baby, holy shit."

you grin and pull sevika in for a kiss.

her reaction isn't quite as happy when you get to your doctor's office, though.

"o-oh!" the ultrasound tech gasps.

"good 'oh?'" sevika worries, sitting up a bit from her spot on the paper covered exam table.

"you're having twins, mommies! congratulations!" the tech gasps, grinning up at you and sevika.

you blink.

the tech giggles with glee and turns back to her monitor, clearly handling the news better than you are. you blink again, then look down at sevika.

she's glaring at you like she's going to murder you.

it's only now that the tech's words hit you. and for some reason, you burst into laughter.

"t-twins?!" you cackle. "like, two of 'em?! how-- how the hell did we do that!?" you ask.

the tech blinks up at you in surprise, opens her mouth to speak, but you don't hear her answer. you're too busy grinning down at your wife.

"i'm gonna kill you." sevika finally whispers. you burst into another round of laughs.

"alright. just wait 'til after the pregnancy, think you might want me around these next few months, mama." you tease.

sevika's glare is deadly, but you can't find it in you to stop laughing. holy shit. two more little babies running around your house. if they're anything like their sister, they'll look exactly like sevika. tears well up in your eyes as you gaze lovingly down at your angry wife, imagining two pairs of grumpy baby eyes glaring up at you while you try to change their diapers.

"are you crying?!" sevika squawks. "why the hell are you crying, i should be the one crying!"

"you can cry too, baby!" you giggle, a surge of love taking over your body. before you know what's happening, you're smacking the tech's hand away from your wife's belly and straddling her waist, peppering her face with an endless barrage of kisses. "oh, holy shit, baby, we're gettin' two more of 'em!"

sevika's glare lessens a bit, a small smile ticking up at the corner of her mouth. you can see her softening to the idea; two more babies for you to love; but before a full smile can take over her face she forces herself back into a frown. "we can barely afford the kid we've got." she huffs.

you snort. "that's the beauty of hand-me-downs, sev. plus, silco gave you a big raise when we had the little fucker, what makes you think he'll hold back now that it's your turn?"

"we live in a two bedroom home!"

"we can move!"

"while i'm pregnant with twins?!"

"i'll start looking for a new place the second we get home."

sevika finally smiles, rolling her eyes and giggles a bit. "i can't believe you." she whispers. you grin.

"you're the love of my fucking life. i can't believe you."

the door clicks shut, and you both look up from your embrace to find that the tech has snuck out to give you some privacy.

and, finally, sevika bursts into laughter along with you.

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys @sevikasllver @runawaybaby3 @lesbones

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taglist!

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[daylighted]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤshield ! reader ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤpart one !!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤBITTER REUNIONS.

summary soldier boy's first stop in his grand return is to collect his suit and his shield, only to find out just how different & bittersweet things have become in his absenceㅤㅤㅤwarnings feminine rage, discussions of trauma, hurt/hurt because there's no comfortㅤㅤㅤword count 2.5k

ㅤㅤㅤTHE FLATSCREEN TELEVISION SCREEN CRACKLES IN THE LEGEND'S LIVING ROOM SPACE. on it, a basketball game, two teams that you've never given a shit about, but it's what the legend likes to watch, and so you sit on the worn-out couch and do what you've always done: endure other people's shit, and bite the hand that feeds you.

you would think by now that he knows you better than this. that you pick a fight every single time he flips through the channels with the device he won't tell you the name of, lest you figure out how to access the internet and learn how to use it. that you have smashed three of his televisions in your time with him.

frederick vought warned the legend before he'd handed you over. his words were slurred, tired, defeated — but they were clear enough to still be used against you, repeated by many who encountered you.

she is a cruel one, that shield i've reconstructed.

cruel, indeed.

"i do not want to watch," you shout across the empty space, making a furious reach across the sofa to snatch the television stick off of the other side's abandoned cushion. the bell to the door rang ten minutes earlier, and the old man had yet to return.

you glare at the screen, as if you could will it to silence with nothing but your mind. impossible, of course; at least, you hadn't been successful yet. you hated the buzz of high pitched chatter in the televised crowd, the way it crawled into the crevices of your mind through the passages of your ears and nested.

a furious growl leaves your lips, and you rise to your feet, steps away from the bright screen. you are cruel, and everyone thinks so, but you have kindness tucked away in your rage, sometimes. the score is 120-88. you take note of it, shoving the numbers into your pocket, before you slam the remote into the screen.

the shards of glass that embed into your hand don't hurt. your lips twist into an irritated scowl at the sight of them, plucking out each piece and littering it on the hardwood floor. the remote is in pieces, too, crushed in the tight squeeze of your hand.

you release your grip, letting each piece crumble to the ground with loud thumps. fury crackles through you, acid burning in your bloodstream. it is unlike the man you've been stuck with to abandon you to your own devices for so long. it is also unlike him to force you to watch something you do not like in his absences.

you liked jersey shore, and the real housewives. you liked seeing girls like you get to live lives you'd never get to. it was therapeutic and gutwrenching all at once, and that only added to the fuel of your anger, crackling inside of you.

the walk you take down the lengthy hallway into the part of his home that you were strictly forbidden from was punctuated by the echo of your stomping feet. these were the parts of the house that the legend kept locked. the front entrance, the actual living room, and the man's own bedroom. all places that he deemed his, and all places with quick access to the public, meaning exits.

it was not a laboratory. but it was not a home, either.

your fist slams on the wood of the door, right into the indent of it that you'd already created. this was not the first time that you'd broken down this door. it wouldn't be the last, with how many secrets he kept locked away from you, and how much of the world you were forbidden to see.

"open the door, legend, or i'm going to pummel your fucking skull—"

"enough of that." his voice is muffled when it cuts through your threats, close enough that he sounds like he is right on the other side of the wood. you slam your fist into it again, hard enough for the wood to splinter in the center of your indentation. "enough, indy. i'm comin' back."

"you left the fucking game on." you throw your hand backwards in gesture, even though he can't see it. that was easy enough to fix. you punch through the splintered wood, creating a fist shaped hole to the other side. "you know i hate watching men play games."

the legend is used to your antics by now, and so he doesn't flinch at the break. you see enough of his face to note the downward scowl, and the disappointment behind his dark glasses. "you don't much like the women playing them, either."

"because it is not fun." didn't he understand by now? you were a girl locked away, punished for being created and what you were shaped into. you did not get fun of your own, so you needed some kind of outlet to drown yourself into. it was no wonder that you were thought of as a monster. your only glimpses of the sunny skies were in the gaps of the legend's barred off windows. titanium, so it was not impossible for you to bend them, but it was not an easy feat.

he sighs through his nose, smoke curling around his face from the cigar in his fingers. "two minutes, indy." he holds up two fingers, as if he thought you could not fucking count or comprehend how long two minutes was. "that's all i need."

"who the fuck is in there?" another voice asks, deep and rough and familiar. so familiar. forty years was enough time to age someone — you knew this from how the legend looks now, compared to when he'd first had to take you in — and yet...

the legend's eyes dart over to the source of the voice at the same time as yours do. recognition comes in the form of a racing heartbeat. it builds, and crescendos, and suddenly you are shaking as you beat on the door again. "whoa, whoa, whoa—"

each time he got the door redone stronger. soon enough, he'd have a door made of titanium guarding his proper guests from the rest of his house, and from you.

no one could know about you, not when you were the makings of a sick imagination burrowed in an intelligent man's head.

that did not mean you didn't try. it was such a lonely life, locked away in a penthouse with a man that grew closer and closer to dying with each passing year, and no one knowing anything of what you'd become.

the anger flares, flames licking at the electric sparks in your veins. the door crumbles with one harsher hit, and you're standing in the space you're kept from. you've been here before, never permitted past this doorway, always whisked away before you can get a breath of fresh air.

"hi, sweetheart," soldier boy says, one corner of his mouth curled high in an arrogant smile. bold of him to still carry the same confidence he did back when you knew him, when now, he was in nothing but sweatpants and a zip-up jacket almost too small for his frame. his green eyes stay on you as he says over your shoulder, "she's young. can you even fuckin' keep up with her?"

your eyes flare. it's two steps to be in front of him, and the third is just for good measure, when you clock him in the chin. his head snaps backwards, surprise making him stumble backwards a step.

soldier boy rubs at the skin of his jaw, irritation as bright as your anger staring back at you. you know the calm he wears in his expression. it barely conceals a storm, brewing beneath the surface. you know it because you'd often been the weapon he chose in these moods of his. you know it because you adopted that ire yourself.

"that's enough." the legend steps over the broken pieces of his door, grimacing at the splinters littering the ground. "indy, enough."

you glance over your shoulder to eye the man's expression, trying to determine what he was feeling by look alone. he was not capable of hurting you, nothing was, but he knew how to weaponize words when you upset him, all of which only steeled your skin further.

there is not enough damage in the world you can inflict onto soldier boy to make up for the things he did with you. bashed skulls, took bullets, burnt her steel until she glowed vibrant orange. you expected him to be dead. you wanted him to have been dead, if only so you'd be spared from this moment. but you never got what you wanted. no jersey shore, no fresh air, and no freedom from soldier boy.

you raise your arm to deck him again, but his fingers close around your wrist tightly, tugging it harshly back down. his smirk says everything you need to know about how much he knows. he does not know that you've learned all of his weaknesses, and that he often left himself vulnerable in times when he thought he had the upperhand.

you yank him toward you in the same moment as you ream your knee straight into his cock.

soldier boy stutters on a groan, releasing his grip on you like you’d burnt him. you don’t relish in his pain, or the surprise that you could hurt him. it’s not enough.

the legend gives you the same disappointed look you’re used to getting from him, his head shaking in disapproval. “i locked the door for a reason.”

“you always say this.” you turn on your heel, jamming your finger into the center of his chest. you missed the days when he cowered under your anger and attitude, now it only seemed to exhaust him. “you always lock the door for a reason, and then it is just grace. you do not even let me see grace.”

“and look what happened the time you decided to break the rules.” the legend nods behind you, toward the man you do not turn to look at again. his footsteps are heavy as they approach. “this is what i keep you away from. the possibility of this.”

the urge to break every bone on the older man’s face is almost enough to overtake any rational thinking inside of you. he must see it, because he shakes his head again. “stand down.”

“where’s my suit?” soldier boy asks from behind you, and you still in place. he’s too close. every instinct of fight clicks into gear, the safety off as the bullets load up.

the legend nods down the hallway, in the direction of your space. you had so little that you could call your own. the bigger of the guest bedrooms was yours, shared only in the terms of the collectibles he kept in the expansive closet.

you knew soldier boy’s suit was in there. you could smell the tobacco and the whiskey from it, sometimes, from the safety of your bed. you sometimes could catch a whiff of cologne, on days where you let go of the mask that you were okay with being alone for the rest of your life. when you wished upon a star outside of your barred windows that just one person would find you again.

“you cannot go in there.” you are already starting down the hallway, eager to reach your room before any of them could.

all of your fury was gone. stand down was an order. a kill switch programmed into you to bury all of the tension that often broke free of your restraints. it was not safe, vought once said to you when you were a child, to have a girl who can’t break without a few weaknesses. a few. some of which you didn’t even know, but your mind did.

there wasn’t any electricity in your veins anymore, but there was bleeding desperation. no, they could not invade your space. it defeated the purpose of having it. it would force the legend to open the rooms he locked away from you, too, and you knew he wouldn’t ever. if you granted either of these men an inch, they’d take a mile, and crush you in the process.

“he needs his suit, indy.”

your nose twitches, fighting against the command still ringing in your head. you grit your teeth, jaw clenched tightly. “he needs nothing.”

“who the fuck is this?” soldier boy asks again, and he’s relentless in his pursuit now, coming for your space with the authority of a man who has never been told no in his life. “get out of the way, sweetheart, or you won’t like how this blows up in your face.”

he had hurt you before. you were not human then, but you remembered all of the aches of it. you knew that soldier boy did not goad before he hurt you, or make bold-faced threats. he was lying.

you tilt your chin up, holding the eye contact. he was an unkind man, cruel in every crevice — but so were you, weren’t you? how evil it was to see yourself reflected in a man you hated, who you wanted to break into pieces and burn so all of the tears you shed fizzled away with him. “you will not like what you see.”

soldier boy cocks an eyebrow. “y’think i’m gonna hold it over your head if you’ve got a pair of panties left out?”

you step back into your room, all clean and panty free, and wait for him to take the step to follow you before you slam the door against his nose. the door rattles in the frame. soldier boy, on the other side, grunts in surprise, before he kicks at the hinges.

“that is enough!” the legend’s voice rips through the expansive space of his penthouse, his cane clicking across the floor. “i am not losing two fucking doors to this childish shit.”

you’ve moved, now. you can’t prevent soldier boy from busting down your door, but you can prevent them from fully infiltrating your bedroom. you go into the closet, to the deeper parts lined with memorabilia that you tried to ignore every time you were in here, and snatch the army green suit off of the hanger.

your eyes catch on the shield, hung up on the back wall. useless now. all of its indestructibility existed within you now, making it nothing but a heavy disc of metal.

tucking it under one arm, you hurry back to your bedroom, the arguing male voices outside getting aggravated enough that you know the door is about to crumble.

you knew soldier boy. you knew he could not help but exert some sort of dominance, if he could, to feel more in control. but you would not be in there when he came in and saw the display left on your bed.

instead, you tucked away in your closet, closing your eyes to try and find any sort of solace in the solitude. as always, it did nothing but squeeze tight around you, trapping you in a cage of your own making.

you can hear the exact moment your door is kicked down, along with the moment that soldier boy sees his things laid out for him. his suit, unwrinkled and unmarred. his physical shield, dented and decimated and as light as a kitchen plate.

and his real shield, hiding away from the reality that your nightmares always seemed to catch up to you.

notes. believe it or not i did not start this with the idea that indy was going to be so rapunzel. but it makes sense </3 there's a lot of lore i'm going to slowly incorporate that is hinted at in here / spawned from this so <3 perfect starting point! cannot WAIT for the boys^tm to meet this lil thing. hope u guys love her like i do my lil evil princess !!!

tags. @titsout4jackles @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @jensenacklesballsack @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra @h8aaz

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Always Take Care

Caregiver!Agatha Harkness x little!reader

Word Count: 1.2K

Summary: You and your mother never got along, but you're giving her one final chance after years of no contact.

Warnings: Parental neglect, emotional abuse, emotional distress, regression, mentions of past trauma, implied homophobia, emotional breakdown, hurt/comfort, fluffy/happy ending

Authors note: This came from a personal place, so if this hits anyone else as hard, I'm sorry, but also, you aren't alone. This was a request.

Also, to all the littles, seeing this, please tred lightly on this blog! This is my big 18+ blog, but I do have some little!reader fics. Everything is marked accordingly!

You and your mom had never seen eye to eye, but when she'd found out about you regressing, she'd flipped her lid. Throwing all your stuff onto the street. You'd gone off on your own for a few years before she contacted you again. 

You'd been in a relationship with Agatha for a year now. She was your girlfriend and caregiver. She'd accepted you right away, taking you in without a second thought. She nurtured and cared for you more in the first week of being together than your own mom had in the first eighteen years of your life.

When you mentioned to Agatha about your mom contacting you, wanting to reconnect, she was suspicious, to say the least, but let you make the decision. She knew how you were with such a big heart. You'd open up to Agatha about the things your mom did wrong, but in the same breath, you'd compliment something she'd done for you. Agatha knew better because of her own mom, of course, but she'd never bad mouth your mom without ever meeting the woman. 

"I'll be in the office while you two talk, but if I hear her say something, I'm coming out immediately and putting a stop to it." Agatha spoke in a stern but caring voice. Her hand cupped your cheek that you nuzzled into. 

"Of course, Mama!" You looked up at her with big doe eyes that made her smile. Kissing your forehead as the doorbell rang. 

"Go on. I'll be right in the office." Agatha said before sauntering off, and you answered the door. 

Your mom stood there, a scowl on her face, same as you remember. Her fake designer bag that you knew now that you'd seen the real thing with Agatha. You try to hug her, but she pushes past you.

"Is this actually your house?" She questions, looking around. 

"Well, it's my girlfriend's place, but I live here with her." You can almost hear your mom gag when you mention being with a girl. It makes you feel sick, like you've done something wrong.

When she gets to the living room, she stops dead in her tracks. She sees the toys you'd left out this morning. Some plushies, trucks, and dinos. All things your mom never let you play with. 

"Are you still on that…What was it?" There’s poison dripping from her words. You can feel your chest tighten. 

"Regressing and yes, mom. I do." You try to steady your voice, but it cracks a bit. The scoff that leaves her lips makes you feel like your blood runs cold. 

"Go on then. Go and regress. I thought maybe you'd finally grown up, but I see I was wrong, and I should have known you wouldn't change. You're just like your deadbeat father." Each word hits you like an arrow. You feel yourself regress before you can stop it. Feeling like that little kid she'd yell at for the smallest thing. 

You sniffle, looking at your feet, feeling so small and stupid to think she'd change. 

"Hey!" You hear Agatha's voice raise in a way you've never heard. Both your mom and you snap to attention. Your moms eyes widen just a bit when she sees Agatha. She's older than you, and it's obvious to your mom. She looks like she could be your mom. "You don't get to talk to my girlfriend like that, and you certainly don't get to come into our house and make jabs at our lifestyle choices that hurt no one." Agatha seethes, her heels clicking on the hardwood of the living room. She steps and sizes up your mom, standing more than a few inches taller even if she wasn't wearing heels. 

"Who are you to tell me how to raise my daughter?" Your mom spits back.

"Agatha Harkness. Your daughter is an adult. You barely raised her. I'm helping her heal. I only allowed this because she thought you'd change, but you haven't. You still just want to tear your own and only child down. A real mom wouldn't do that. A real mom would love their child unconditionally." Agatha didn't stop or back down. 

Your mom fumed, unable to respond properly before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as the door slams shut behind your mom, Agatha’s hands are on you—gentle but firm, steadying you before you can spiral any further.

"Alright, sweetheart," she murmurs, cupping your face with warm hands. "She’s gone. She’s never coming back. I promise you that."

Your breath hitches, body trembling as you try to process everything. The words, the way she looked at you like you were something broken. You don’t want to feel this way. You don’t want her to have any power over you.

Agatha knows. She always knows.

"Deep breaths for me, darling," she coaxes, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "There you go. Just focus on me. My voice, my touch."

Her thumbs trace soothing circles over your cheeks before she guides you toward the couch, settling you into her lap with ease. The warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her breathing—it anchors you.

"You’re safe," she reassures, tucking your head under her chin. "You’re my precious little one, and I won’t let anyone hurt you."

The words melt into you, each one a balm over the wounds your mom tried to reopen. Agatha rocks you gently, humming something soft, fingers carding through your hair.

"You are not weak," she continues, voice filled with quiet conviction. "You are not pathetic. You are my sweet, perfect little love, just as you are."

Tears well up in your eyes, the emotions too big, too overwhelming. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, and Agatha is already there, pressing soft kisses over your temple, your cheek, your nose.

"Shhh, I’ve got you," she whispers, pulling the softest blanket around you both. "I always will."

She lets you cry, lets you bury yourself in her warmth, in her scent, in the safety she wraps around you like armor.

When your sniffles quiet, she shifts just enough to meet your gaze. "Would some warm milk help, my love? Maybe a bath?"

You nod shyly, and she smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. "Good girl. We’ll do both, then."

She carries you effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all, murmuring soft praise the entire way. She sets you down only to start running a warm bath, adding lavender bubbles because she knows they’re your favorite.

As she undresses you with delicate fingers, she tuts softly. "My poor baby, all worked up over something that woman said," she sighs, brushing away a stray tear. "But she doesn’t matter, sweetheart. Not anymore. You have me. And I will always, always take care of you."

The bath is warm, soothing, and Agatha stays close, washing your hair with slow, deliberate strokes, rubbing your shoulders until all the tension drains away. When she lifts you out, she wraps you in the fluffiest towel, drying you with all the care in the world.

Then, she dresses you in soft pajamas—ones she picked out just for you, with pastel colors and little stars.

By the time she’s settled you back into her lap on the couch, a bottle of warm milk in hand, the weight of the day has faded into nothing.

"You’re mine, my sweet little one," she whispers, pressing one last kiss to your forehead as you nuzzle into her chest. "And I will never let anyone hurt you again."

Safe, warm, loved—you finally close your eyes, sinking into her embrace, knowing Agatha will always be there to keep you safe.

[moonyswolfie]

The Golden Snitch

A/N: This is the first time I write for Regulus so I'm still experimenting with his character, but I hope you enjoy this fic!

TW: heights, falling off the broom (if the second can be considered a trigger)

Pairing: Regulus Black x Gryffindor!reader

“AND JAMES POTTER SCORED YET ANOTHER GOAL FOR GRYFFINDOR! TAKE THAT, YOU-”

“MR. LUPIN! ONE MORE WORD –“

“Sorry, Professor!”

Remus Lupin filled in for the usual commentator on today’s match and to say that you were beyond entertained would be a gross understatement. The guy was clearly rooting for your House and kept making snide remarks regarding the Slytherin team, thus receiving constant glares and threats from Professor McGonagall that she would never let him out of detention again if he wasn’t going to take his role seriously.

But you knew that it was all bark, no bite. She was enjoying her House’s advantage just as much.

You shook your head and turned your attention back towards the Pitch, looking for the golden specks amongst your flying team mates and opponents. It was a tight match and everyone was on edge, constantly flying around, therefore making your job all the more complicated. And now that the cheeky ball flew lower, amongst the rest of the students…

There! Wait, how did it get…nevermind. The second you noticed the flickering, you went hot on its trail…

…but the Slytherin Seeker saw it as well and now you were flying shoulder to shoulder between the house stands and under the wooden structures, nearly avoiding getting impaled once or twice. The stubborn Snitch didn’t care to make your mission any easier. You stretched your hand, nearly touching its wings, but had to retract it a moment later due to a poorly aimed bludger.

“Oi! What the hell?! I’m on your side!”

You cursed Sirius under your breath, and he gave you a sheepish look and an apologetic smile. Of course you knew it wasn’t intentional, but the force of the ball could have cost you an arm and as you remembered from last time, mending bones takes a bit of time.

You shook your head and put your game face back on, but sadly, the Snitch was gone. You groaned in frustration and flew a few feet higher in order to get a better view of the Pitch. The score was tight, a 10 point advantage for the Gryffindors, but instead of comforting you, it only intensified the pressure you were already feeling all the way to your bones. 10 points meant that catching the Snitch was crucial and would determine not only the winner of today’s match, but also who would take home the Quidditch Cup.

Easy as pie, huh.

On the bright side though, Regulus Black, the Slytherin Seeker, was also distracted by his older brother’s terrible aim, thus losing sight of the golden ball. You took comfort in knowing you would not be on the receiving end of James’ anger tonight. Not yet, at least.

James Potter was a great captain, very determined and passionate, but he also had a very short fuse. And Quidditch has been a very sensitive topic over the past few weeks. The Cup meant a lot to him and you all knew that, hence why the entire team gave their very best today. No one wanted to disappoint him…or be yelled at for the foreseeable future.

“Careful, Y/L/N, or you might spend the night in the Hospital Wing.”

Regulus’ lazy drawl made your jaw clench and your heart beat faster, but your attention remained on the game. You knew what he was attempting to do and you were not going to fall for it, no matter how much your body was betraying you.

“Why, do you need company after Malfoy’s done with you for losing the game?”

He rolled his eyes and flew past you, heading in the direction of the Hufflepuff stands. You were just about to follow after him when a small glimmer caught the corner of your eye. It wasn’t very obvious and it wasn’t in a place you’d ever spotted the Snitch before, but you had nothing to lose by chasing it. Besides, you could not be sure whether he saw anything real or if he was simply trying to mess with your head.

It was not uncommon for the Seekers to play mind games with each other during the games. Distracting attention and sometimes directing it towards a false target was a technique each one of you learned on your first day of training. Of course, it was all within the limits and rules of the game and neither of you crossed any lines in order for it to be considered cheating or foul play. But you had to have your little fun every now and then.

It didn’t help that over the past three years since you’ve been playing against each other, you developed a little bit of a crush on the boy. You never told anyone, but James and Sirius caught on one day after practice when the Slytherin team entered the Pitch to practice right after you vacated it and your eyes lingered on their Seeker for a little too long. The teasing that followed since was enough to have you sit at the other end of the Gryffindor table at meal times just so you would avoid the two boys’ jokes and kissy noises.

Careful not to catch Regulus’ attention, you headed towards the Gryffindor stands, rushing past the Professors’ box and up the length of the gallery until the tip of the flag tickled your midsection. It was high, a lot higher than you were used to, especially when it involved strategy, however you were sure you could pull it off. You had to. Your whole team depended on you. Hell, your whole House was counting on you. Looking up, you caught the same glimmer from earlier, this time a lot closer, yet not as easy to reach without the other Seeker noticing you.

It was now or never.

You darted for the top of the Slytherin stands, but you weren’t as lucky as you hoped. Regulus was hot on your trail, zooming past startled students seated in the margins. He caught up to you easily, but you knew you could lose him. You took a very sharp corner to avoid accidentally kissing the flagpole, before turning the handle of your broom up. Looking back over your shoulder you watched the younger Black very narrowly avoiding the previously mentioned flagpole, yet stopping right next to it. He saw the Snitch, you had no doubt, but confusion took over your face when he didn’t follow further up. Did he not want to win the game? Did the Snitch move in the meantime?

And was that on his face..concern?

A glance up told you that the ball remained in the same spot as when you last saw it. Then why did he stop?

 You decided not to dwell on it for too long. You had a game to win after all.

Ten feet and you’d have it. Just a little bit higher…

“Where is she going?”

You faintly heard Remus’ voice over the wind and your now plugged ears from the extreme altitude.

Five feet…three…

There!

Your hand wrapped around the Golden Snitch as you came to an abrupt stop, panting but smiling wide. You did it, you actually did it. You stood there for a moment, frozen, taking in the little ball wrapped tightly between your fingers, the cold enveloping your body and making your teeth clatter violently. You were alone up here. It was quieter than below, on the Pitch, but that didn’t erase the sinking feeling in your stomach.

You knew you shouldn’t, everyone told you this on your first day of training. Hell, James made you repeat this one particular rule every single day before practice and twice before each match.

Do not go over the limit. And if you do, for the love of Merlin, do not look down!

But you did.

And you immediately regretted your action.

Judging by the clouds blocking your view of the Quidditch Pitch and the screams that turned to faint murmurs before they reached you, the limit was a distant memory. You had to be at least twenty feet over.

You gulped, briefly registering the bile rising in your throat. What were you supposed to do in these situations?

Right. Slowly make your way back, no speed, holding onto the broom tightly, and no looking down.

Unfortunately, you were terrible at following the rules.

Gripping the handle of your broom tightly, you slowly commanded it to descend. You made it past the clouds after what felt like an eternity, trembling, yet you could not tell whether it was from the cold or the dread enveloping you. You never had issues flying with only one hand on the broom, but then again, you didn’t usually fly high enough to see the stars from your Astronomy charts up close and personal.

The Pitch came back into view and your heart started beating again at an almost normal pace. Almost. There was still quite a distance between you and the top of the stands. If you could just…

The Snitch started flapping its wings inside your fist, trying to escape your iron grip and your focus evaporated. It managed to free itself, before you caught it again, but it was too late. The sudden movement jolted the broom and you lost your balance.

And now you were free falling.

Your could not tell whether your breathing turned erratic or stopped altogether. The wind was whipping at your face, people were screaming from below you, your broom remained airborne for some reason you could not think of right now and all you could do was close your eyes and hope against hope that you will survive this very likely fatal fall. You left your wand back in the changing rooms, a decision that you now regretted dearly as you could have at least attempted to cushion your landing if not slow or stop it from crushing you like a tomato.

You were starting to lose consciousness when you felt two strong arms catching and holding on to you tight, crushing you to a strong chest. Upon opening your eyes, you looked up only to be met with a pair of beautiful grey eyes.

“You didn’t let me die.”

Regulus laughed out loud at your sudden words, the rich sound wrapping around you and calming a portion of your already exhausted nerves.

“If you died, who would I gloat to about winning with my excellent Quidditch skills?”

Your body finally caught up with your mind, processing the fact that you were still alive, and not only that, but also safe and not at all hurt. Your heartbeat slowed to a normal rhythm and your trembling subsided a little bit.

You raised a brow, a bemused smile stretching over your face at Regulus’ words.

“Oh?” you raised the hand that was still clutching the Snitch “sorry to break it to you, Black, but you lost. I caught the Snitch, so I won.”

It was his turn to cock a brow, the rest of his expression neutral save for a small, almost imperceptible twitch of his mouth.

“And I caught you. So I think I won.”

He leaned in and placed the gentlest of kisses on your forehead, before flying down towards the entrance to the Pitch where Madame Pomfrey awaited to check on you and make sure the altitude or the fall did not affect your brain or your body.

This was going to be an interesting rest of the year.

[dreamerinsilico]

I almost broke down at work reading this and had to save responding for later, because I have also been there, with graduating on the adrenaline and energy of, this isn't going to be what breaks me. (It kinda was, actually, just delayed for a bit, because my first postdoc is definitely not what fucked my brain up that badly, but that's not the point of this.)

I'm having flashbacks to 2009, when the recession and job market crash sent a lot of otherwise-industry-bound engineering graduates aiming for grad school, except kind of in reverse. There's going to be a lot of extremely knowledgeable, trained scientists with very niche specialties desperately trying to find jobs in the private sector, now. And it's so many orders of magnitude worse this time, because this was done on purpose.

I'm personally okay, for now, ironically more than a little because I had that academic-career-derailing meltdown circa 2018. But I am so, so angry for everyone who's had their lives thrown into chaos on account of this administration just going "YOLO I DO WHAT I WANT." "Get a STEM degree," they said. "Get a PhD and you'll be infintely employabe," they (someone, anyway, possible our personal demons) said.

And I'm terrified for the US and the world's resilience to evolving diseases.

Our ops director reassured us in the big meeting this week that our funding was secure enough we didn't need to worry about our jobs. Okay, great. But then he went on at length about how everyone goes into hysterics when there's a new administration and I just wanted to be like "NO?!?! LITERALLY NO?!?!?!" Even in 2016, just a few days after my thesis defense, when my labmates and PI gathered to mutually express dismay about Trump 1.0, it was nothing the fuck like this. So, well, I'll never have any respect for him ever again even though that's probably going to hurt me, because he's a rich white man with connections who nominally cares about my career development.

Gods, fuck, I don't have a thesis here. I'm so angry and afraid and I'm more angry and afraid for you and other sciencefolk whose livelihoods are directly tied to federal funding.

I've hesitated to write anything about the federal cuts and their impact on science infrastructure in the US, in part because I just don't know where to start.

How to express my rage, or my sadness, or the panic I feel as a scientist currently funded on a federal grant. Or watching the careers of colleagues, friends, and loved ones hang in the balance or be destroyed entirely.

I don't know what to say. My heart aches for those who were doing the important work not only of science but also of making it more accessible, equitable, and diverse. Some of these scientists lost their salary, benefits, and funding overnight. My heart aches knowing that the science we are still able to do will be so much less vibrant without their contributions, should they be unable to return to science.

I've watched over the last few weeks as several of my potential career paths went up in smoke. Federal agency jobs gone, slashes to funding slowing academic science to a halt and resulting in hiring freezes. What jobs there are still now have an applicant pool that tripled overnight.

I have no idea what the future holds, but there is a very real and present possibility that I will not be able to do science as a career. I'm not going down without a fight, but nevertheless it looms as a potential reality for which I have to plan.

I began my PhD in 2018. I withstood so much emotional turmoil, a pandemic, loss and grief and doubt, and I came out the other side with those three letters after my name. I knew there would be hard times again but I also believed surely that nothing would ever be as arduous or difficult as that again. I had survived a PhD; I could do anything.

If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading. If you've been affected by this, I'm wishing you well and my DMs are always open. Call your reps. Nurture your community.

[itheunknown]

odi et amo - (03) i, ghostly

negelected! meta! reader x platonic! batfam

masterlist / prev / next

(TW) : emotional neglect, self-destructive behaviour, self-harm, suicide, depression, unhealthy coping mechanisms, underage smoking, underage drinking, alcohol abuse, depression, bpd, depictions of mental illness, violence, trauma, ...

you can't tell what's louder, the thumping in your chest or the ringing in your ears. your breath comes out shaky, the smoke curling out your nose and mouth, caressing your face.

it's hard to grasp reality. you don't know how you ended up here, nothing feels certain. nothing feels real. the sting on your now dried tear streaked cheek is the only feeling you feel, a reminder.

and it's haunting. did it hurt? fuck yes. but you're used to it. you've been hurt your whole life. you are nothing more than a body that hurts.

you never expected anything from that family, a family that isn't yours. but, perhaps, it was wishful thinking that if you made yourself forgettable enough, they would leave you alone. it didn't matter anymore, the fact that they were never there - you've done this before, you've been alone before. the heart could only grow brutal from feeding on fantasies.

fantasies of loving arms, fantasies of warmth and peace. fantasies of being seen. fantasies of being wanted.

but you're never seen. and you're never wanted. expectations only lead to disappointment.

you're staring down at the deep drop, somehow finding yourself back at the same abandoned building years ago. the sharp sting of the wind barely felt through the thick of the hoodie engulfing your form, the hood protecting your identity. the pack of the nearly empty cigarettes you had burned through along with your lighter layed scattered besides you, mixing with the discarded butts.

"didn't take you for the rebellious type." a sense of déjà vu, a voice, a similar scenario and the same setting - recognition washes over you - the voice of the vigilante that stopped you from jumping. and now, now you just can't seem to find the same sense of finality and courage to do it again.

you didn't even flinch, no signs of making a move to acknowledge his presence, the burning cigarette still in hand as it nears your lips once more. a sigh and footsteps were heard before he was seated next to you, plucking the half-smoked cigarette out of your trembling hands and flicking it out the building.

"that's littering", you mutter, and he let out a surprised laugh despite your deadpan tone and the depressing atmosphere.

you're grateful that the hood makes you unidentifiable, thanks to the shadow it casts upon your face, further assisted by the blanket of the night: you don’t want to be seen right now, you just need to be heard.

he looks at you, a moment of prolonged silence as his laughter dies out. you didn't even stir, defeated. your voice was more mature, your stature taller but despite your unseen features, he can still sense how hollow you were - just like the first time he saw you. despite everything, it was still you.

he's thankful that, at the very least, you weren't making a move to jump off this time, the memory of it still unnerves him everytime he revisits it. although admittedly, smoking is just another way to achieve what you had come here to do before.

"… do you want to talk about it? ", he hesitates. a beat passes. he desperately wants to help you, but also wishes not to overstep. you asked your own question, one that had lingered at the back of your mind ever since that day: "why did you stop me?"

he's surprised. you're waiting. your head tilted slightly, the moon light barely illuminated the edges of your face.

"because your life has value. i couldn't watch you, just, throw it away like it meant nothing.” "it does mean nothing, i have nothing to live for", you reply, your tone grim and finalized.

his heart aches, the burden heavy in your voice - you sounded tired. broken. his hand finds its way on your shoulder and pats awkwardly. "i'm sure that's not true. you may think that now, but you don't have to carry this weight alone."

"but i am alone." “that’s not true, i’m sure there are people who care about you!” he nudges your arm lightly, a light and reassuring smile on his face. you stare at him, at how the moon perfectly encapsulates his presence, at the tender warmth and genuine care radiating from him - the personification of life. the opposite of you, who's haunted by the idea of death. you, who’d always remain in the shadows, remained in the desolated and dark corners of everyone’s mind, ignored, forgotten. dead to them.

“you don’t even know me,” you breathe out, “nobody knows me.” the weight of your words weigh heavy on his soul. “that may be true, but that doesn’t mean i can’t care,” he offers. “you know, kid, you actually remind me of one of my siblings. around the same age, actually.” your curiosity peaked as you silently urged for him to continue. “but they came around eventually, i think. the hurt doesn’t go away, but you have to reach out for help.” “…have you talked to your family about it?”

you scoff and stood up, making your way out of the building. he hurriedly follows you, frustration tainting his carefully crafted positivity. “you can’t just push people away like this. why won’t you let anyone in?” you’re annoyed, it’s not like you did so deliberately, had anyone ever tried to get to know you? let alone care about you? you had abandoned that wishful thinking long ago, especially after today’s events. “what’s the use,” you snarled. “nothing ever changes.” “nothing can change if you don’t try!” “sure, whatever.”

you paced hurriedly to where you left your bicycle, his presence hot on your trail. “don’t dismiss me. your life matters, damn it.” he grabs your wrist. you exhale sharply, yanking your arm out of his grasp. he falters back a bit, sensing that he crossed a line, trying to tone down how aggressive he was coming onto you. “just- just remember that people care about you.” “sure, like you do?” “yes!”

you still for a bit, looking at him skeptically. you both awkwardly stood there, the situation almost comical in a sense, especially since his eyes can't remain trained on any visible feature of your face. “hmm, thanks. i guess.” you trailed, hopping on your bicycle.

“be safe, alright?” he watches you, unsure if he should follow you to assure your safety. “i will.”

he watched you ride off into the night, unable to shake the feeling of helplessness. he wanted to help, but also didn’t want to make you uncomfortable and scare you off. he stood there contemplating before he dashed off to continue the rest of his patrol.

the distance between you both grows larger, moving in opposite directions, but your thoughts lingered on each other's words.

despite continuing his patrol, he couldn't shake off the feeling of responsibility: for you - the mystery person tonight, and then, his mentioned sibling. he recalls how they were when they first entered the manor, and how they quietly adapted to the new lifestyle, growing up with the habit of concealing their emotions behind the facade of indifference, thinking that he didn’t notice. but he did, he was just never confronted with the drastic measure it would lead to if everyone in that manor just let that feeling of hopelessness fester within them. in a way, he's thankful to you: you gave him a wake-up call. that sense of urgency nagging him to check on his family as he made a mental note to visit them after his patrol, your words lingering at the back of his head.

you retreat to the bathroom of the manor, the storm in your mind temporarily tamed. the cold water trickling down your arms, the soapy smell in the air to wash away the smoke clinging on your skin. the hoodie you wore hanging in the shower after you'd hand wash it, not wanting to expose yourself in case alfred gets a whiff of it.

despite what had happened, you can't help but want his approval - the only person who actually gave you the time of day in this manor.

your expression focused, your eyebrows knitted, lips sucked in as you scrubbed your arms raw. you feel more grounded. your eyes dart to the reflection in the mirror, reminding yourself to keep it together.

keep it together. keep it together. keep it together.

subliminally. consciously. repeatedly keep. it. together.

you release the death grip and push yourself off the sink, and sigh harshly. keeping it together, you made way to the kitchen, planning to get some tea. and then, you see him.

richard grayson. in the same vigilante suit, mask off.

your breath lodged in your throat, you stand frozen watching him wait for rbe coffee while seemingly deep in thought, troubled. anxious.

you can't believe it. richard grayson, the oldest sibling, the vigilante, was the person who pulled you off the ledge, was the person who actually listened to you. you can't describe this feeling in your chest, gripping your heart like a vice.

he was here all along. you recall the mention of the sibling, was it you? did he actually… notice your struggles? maybe he had good intentions all along, trying not to overstep, hoping you'd come to him? you don't know why you're trying to make excuses for him, but the mere fact that he saw you was enough.

you finally let out a noise, snapping him out of his trance and his eyes snapped to you. he looked a little caught off guard, surprised he didn't sense your presence.

you. hoodie off.

“oh. hey.” he rubs the back of his head. maybe he felt embarrassed that this was how you found out? but it's alright, because now he’ll finally notice you-

“have you seen tim?” “what?” he sighs and grabs the finished coffee, settled on a tray with a dish holding an assortment of cookies.

“i’m a little worried about him. i mean, since the cat's out of the bag, you should know he does a lot of work to contribute to us keeping the city safe - you wouldn't understand.”

he cuts himself off, deeming it not important enough to explain, and completely overlooks the horrified expression that now settles on your features.

your vision starts to swim, your neck feels hot - unsure if it was embarrassment or rage. embarrassed at the fact that you were deluded enough into thinking anyone in this house would ever give a shit about you, that anyone would care about what you're going through. angry at the fact that you are never the person who gets asked for, never the sibling who's struggles are acknowledged.

dick had left the kitchen in search for tim, deciding to check out his room first. you absent-mindedly trailed behind him like a kicked dog, not saying a heap.

you didn't register him knocking on tim's door. you didn't register how dick affectionately asked a tired tim to spend some time together. you didn't register them conversing while walking inside. you didn't register tim giving you an odd look and closing the door to give them more privacy.

now, you sit in your room once more, alone, back against your bed, the torn shirt bundled in your hands. the grip on the fabric tightens, your knuckles whitens, and your shoulder starts shaking. tears made its way down your face as you silently sobbed once more, occasionally chuckling at how pathetic your situation was.

you give up. you can't keep it together anymore. expectations only lead to disappointment.

despite your lethargy, you somehow made it through another school day. time started to bleed into each other, you resorted to going on auto-pilot. so it didn't matter when onlookers would sneakily glance at you and the hand print on your cheek, resting under your red rimmed eyes and heavy eyebags that no one thought could get worse. you had to keep moving. at the very least, you still had something that defined your worth - your intelligence.

so what if you had no family, no friends. your grades would never betray you, you'll continue your plan: study hard, get into a good university and then get the fuck away from here, from everyone.

no one will miss you. no one would even notice.

“hey that's a bit much. what are we, chopped liver?” the deafening ring of the bell signalling the end of school somehow fell deaf on your ears, but the sound of your friend somehow pierced through the barrier of your haze, jolting you back to reality. your eyes flickered to them, trying your hardest to offer a weak smile, but somehow failing.

they offer you a sympathetic smile, their face painted with worry. that alone almost sent you into another crying session. you find yourself in their embrace, soothing you while you try to hold it together, shielding you from the world.

yes, you're not entirely alone. you still have your friends. they would miss you. they would notice.

so it didn't matter when the students gave you an odd look, putting some distance while you stood to the side engulfed in the arms of your friends. it didn't matter. you had them. you had someone.

the path back to manor somehow the sky looked nicer, so did the grass, and the lush bushes of wildflowers - noticing the little things that you usually disregard, walking your bicycle while chatting away with your friends. they never pried on why you were upset. they knew you, they knew. they knew because you knew. and that was enough, a wordless understanding, unconditional. they had insisted to keep you company, maybe spend some time together in your room.

you really needed the company, but despite being too ashamed to communicate it, they knew. so now, even if you arrived home later than usual, the sky turned dark and cold, you felt warm. that's the safety and comfort that no one else has been able to provide you, and you're so grateful that you at least had them - your precious friends, your reason to stay.

so when you opened the door to the manor, still chattering and giggling with your friend, alfred had heard from the other room.

he felt somewhat relieved, the guilt over his actions had started to consume him, and so he had waited impatiently for your arrival that had been later than usual; but before he could fuss over you, the sound of your laughter had effectively calmed him down knowing you were safe and happy. he'd never heard you this happy before, and it hurts knowing that you had never been able to find joy while surrounded by the walls of this house.

he straightened his shirt, cleared his throat, and put on a kind smile while making his way out of the room to greet you in the doorway, your smile that could light up a stormy day, contrasting the gloomy room.

your friends shrunk back a bit, seemingly nervous of the tall and poised butler, feeling out of place. you grabbed their hands and gave a reassuring squeeze, telling them it's alright.

“oh, hey alfred! i know this wasn't informed but my friends were wondering if they could stay for dinner?” you turn to him, “we won't be much trouble, i promise!”

you beam at him, waiting expectantly for alfred to welcome your friends.

while alfred could only stare in horror at the empty space next to you.

howdy skibbidis, i am not feeling very sigma :pained_heh: lowk work has been ass and so has everything else but hey we move. i appreciate every single one of your comments and reblogs yall are so funny lol, but fr the support has been like saving my ass from burning out. grassy ass my skibbidi sigmas. (TAGLIST) closed due to limit :sadge:

@confused-they @hoeinthehouse @strwberryglass @heartjwonie @glitchmshade @bat1212 @buddee @eyeless-kun @thereeallink @icantcryicantstopcrying @bunbunboysworld @gh0str00m @wizzerreblogs @lazy-kari202 @dotomuses @gwyneveire @gh6st24 @roseapov @kore-of-the-underworld @kingshitonly @plsfckmedxddy @unknownloner1345 @moon-2232 @lilithquillete @v3vina @froggy-voidd @angrybuttooshorttofightyou @sami0169 @m3vlOvesu @pix-stuff @bunbunbread @agent-nobody-knows @cxcilla @horror-lover-69 @redkarmakai @mariadvorak @shirp-collector-of-fixations @batboygirlie @diejager @noclue-0 @sick2mystmch @novs9011 @kitkatkitmeow @crazycaoticsimp @majonla @hebaoffside @randomlyappearingartist @blueiones @shycreatorreview @simpingpandas @splaterparty0-0 @bk-4-trash-fire

[gayerthebetter]

Ok I never really talk about stuff like this but I feel like I should because this is quickly getting out of hand.

First thing first....

You don't have to buy anything you don't want, I can understand if you don't want to miss out on watching the show with everyone but (and I'm sure some if not most don't know this) the show will 100% come to youtube and we as a fandom will all get together and watch it then as well just like we did with WAD. Any bits just for the live paid showing will 100% be on tiktok or youtube or something else because someone will repost it. All you will miss is just one showing just like not everyone could see every showing on the tour. That doesn't make you any less of a fan and a lot of people for one thing or another will be with you (Like me)

It's ok for there to be a paid showing, again there will be a free one soon enough so anyone who wants to pay to see it sooner or get some things as well is 100% in their right to do that, it won't hurt anyone that doesn't want to pay and well that's that really it's not something deep to hate dan and phil over, in fact it's just a way to take their shows and try and pay off the recording so they can make it free on youtube.

Tours like TATINOF and II recordings were done with the help of youtube and the BBC but that also meant that they will always have some kind of paywall around them, but shows like WAD and TIT go behind a paywall for a few weeks and then they become free forever.

I know the idea of that may seem like a dick move because they could make it free on youtube right away and we could just watch ads but blockers are a thing and things like what happened with WAD can happen again, also it's never a bad idea to try and make as much as you can with something no matter who you are. Artists will create one artwork and put it on tops posters or even cups, I have seen them post on redbubble as well as have their own shop because you should always try and make the most out of something that's just good business.

Now the hidden fees and the mess with the payments is something to be mad/upset about and phil did post on twitter about refunds and I seen a lot of people get full refunds by messaging/emailing about the hidden fees. Tbh I have no idea why this had happened because WAD didn't have any hidden fees but I really don't think that dan and phil are trying to get one over on us, most likely it's the site that did the hidden fees and they ducking suck for it.

(also really quick but saying awful things about them because of this is just... a lot and something I think you should all think about more closely, there being mad about something like hidden fees and there saying that dan joking with a fan (who started the joke by saying they were going to miss work to watch) about missing work to watch makes him in some way evil or that he wants everyone to miss work just to pay him... he doesn't he was just joking, he made the same kind of joke when someone said they were with their boyfriend and couldn't watch a new gaming vid (something free) and dan told them to put it on anyway. It's just a joke and no one is really making you do anything and when you take something so clearly a joke to the point where you say it makes you sick to look at dan well I did a big post about that and how it goes into why I think one of the songs from the preshow playlist was picked.

[di-42]

So, I was criminally tight on time in January and really couldn’t read much at all, but fear not: as a demon friend of ours once said, I’m back. True, most of the moots on my corner of Tumblr would have already read most of these fics and poems, but if I can earn one of these wonderful works even just one more reader, that’s my job done. As always, I'm begging you, please don’t judge a fic you haven’t read by the number of kudos. And, as always, I’ll tag the tumblr usernames I know; if you are an author and want your fic taken off this list, please let me know and I’ll remove it. The rest of you, I hope you enjoy these stories and poems as much as I did.

These are the things I loved about

Winter’s Wondrous Fictions

WIPs:

That Isn't Supposed To Happen by @addledmongoose, rated T, chapters 19/22.

Aaahhh, give me Addled’s stories every day for the rest of my life, please and thank you. This is a reverse omens AU. You don't really care for reverse omens, I hear you say? Yep, neither did I, and yet here I am, daydreaming about Azira the demon and Crowley (short for Crowliel) the angel as much as I daydream about our canon Aziraphale and Crowley. This is not something new that happens to me with this great author’s stories, by the way. When writing my own fics, I have to stop and think if I'm referring to something that actually happened in canon or something that happened in Addled’s stories, they're that good. But back to this fic, Azira is just so perfect as a demon, it feels like he was born to be one. Their banter, dynamics, subtle humour and characterisation are, as always, spot on and, oh! The pining! The pining is just so, so good. Oh, and did I mention plot and mystery? I'm loving this story way more than I thought I could love a reverse omens AU, and am sad it's going to be over soon. 

Scorn And The Saint-Maker by beardo @e-rated-beardo, rated E, chapters 33/?

This story is a mystery within a mystery. I've only recently started it and am still catching up, but I am hooked. Human university lecturers AU, or is it? (That's not a spoiler if you read the summary). The plot is compelling, the narration and humour delightful, and the prose at times so touching. And, goodness me, it’s hot (all the explicit scenes are skippable). I feel like I’ve stepped into one of those universes that I would never want to leave. There is also some beautiful art by the author that I sadly can appreciate very seldom as it doesn't upload when I'm not on wi-fi, but hopefully you'll be able to enjoy it!

Wavelengths & Frequencies by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon rated E, chapters 18/?

This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Human enemies-to-lovers where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but, while we know they do from the beginning, we don't know what it is. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies.

Complete Stories: 

You're The Bad Guys by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula rated E, 91k.

Fantastic human, cold war AU. Aziraphale is an MI6 agent, Crowley a KGB agent and they're both tasked to steal scientific plans by their respective sides. It's Armageddon all over again, but with hot scenes. I loved it. 

The Last Angel by @bellisima-writes, rated E, 162k.

I don't think there is anything about this epic story that I haven't said before. The author builds an incredible plot and you wonder excitedly where this is all going. You can't stop reading because you want to know what happens and because the prose is so beautiful. Like I've said several times before, this is the most Good Omens-y fic I've read. Let yourself be captured and join Bellisima for this wonderful ride!

The Greater Tadfield Friends Of Music Autumn Concert by CopperBeech @copperplatebeech, rated E, 27k.

I love how this story communicates all sorts of feelings through a fast, concise, no-nonsense  style. Crowley moves to Tadfield and joins the local orchestra. The rest is fiction. 

As always, I'm particularly partial to The Them and Warlock making appearances. And I LOVE Zingarelli!

One Shots:

Aziraphale Gets A Clue by Serenity Stargazer, rated T, 3k.

It's Christmas. Aziraphale is in heaven as Supreme Archangel and Crowley wants to get his attention. He succeeds.

A Nice And Accurate Teen Magazine Quiz by @fellshish, rated T, 2.7k.

Fellshish strikes again with this adorable and extremely funny piece in which Crowley takes credit for teen magazines in hell. Then he browses one of the magazines and takes the soulmate quiz. Then Crowley will be Crowley. I'm sure everyone this side of Tumblr has already read it, but if for some reason you haven't yet you're in for a treat!

Poems: 

PJs, Optional by FuzzyGoblin and koala2all, rated E.

This hilarious poem is made up of a series of limericks all relating to pyjamas that might or might not be worn by our favourite angel and demon. It manages to be funny, sweet and hot, all in the space of 50 lines. I love it!

(Un)Holy Palmers by @on1occasionfork, rated G.

An incredibly beautiful and moving poem about what is like to express love for one another while hiding it from the powers that be. 

Do That Again (And Again) by AlwaysBeMyBaby @alwaysbemybae and OneDapperCat, rated G.

A beautiful through the ages poem about all the ineffable kisses that could have been.

The Demon And The Angel by Hopeless_old_romantic_67, rated G.

Gorgeous poem inspired by The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. Little warning, it is sad. But so beautiful and deep. 

A Most Peculiar Spa by AlwaysBeMyBaby and OneDapperCat, rated G.

Lovely and funny poem in which Aziraphale tells Crowley about his latest bubble bath! Be sure to read the notes!

@goodomensafterdark

December 24's list here.

[wortsandall]

YES THE SEX THING !!! it bothers me so much but i see it less so i didn't mention it. but like jazz is friendly and charismatic and his whole thing is music, so i feel like people have this idea in their head that those traits automatically = a nymphomaniac or something.

which would be fine on its own as a standalone context but in context for jazz-it does become an issue because of the connotations of a black coded character being written that way.

especially since jazz has not been depicted like that in any media that has him in it (as far as im aware) so it's an authors personal choice to add this in there for essentially the reason of...? why?

its NOT a jazz character trait. as far as i've seen anyway as i haven't seen every jazz character ever written but i also feel like if he was intended to be seen like that, they'd have no problem doing that. other characters have been written to be like that-there's jokes about certain characters flirting with earth cars and stuff. i mean knock out's entire vibe is tf prime is something like that with his voice, he canonized interface as a cybertronian word for sex, borderline flirting with starscream, etc...

where the nuance comes in here is that there's nothing wrong with a headcanon. and people can headcanon jazz to be like that. and theres nothing inherently wrong with being a flirt and liking sex, whatever.

it just becomes odd that this trait ive only ever seen be added to jazz and never anyone else. and the way its written 50% of the time is completely the 'black guy with a big dick he loves to swing around' stereotype that makes me click off.

(i read one where because jazz is a spy its mentioned he's had to rape people for interrogation purposes before and i immediately clicked off because what the hell are you talking about ???? it felt completely out of place. i guess you could write a story in which that happens-i've got zero issues with dark fic.

but using jazz of all people? i didn't like that. i know jazz is a spy and he's done bad shit before but i just couldn't believe in that.

its the whole 'he wouldn't fucking say that' thing. because people can do whatever they want (all i'm asking is to be a little more socially aware of stereotyping) but ultimately when you're writing fic and you want it to be in character you have to write a set of circumstances that would make a character actually say that. throwing it into a fic that is ultimately the same universe with the same circumstances just slightly tweaked is not enough of a circumstance to make me believe that he would do that to interrogate people. its bad out of character writing. but this is a tangent)

this is getting long (sorry!) but basically yes the "jazz is a beast in the sheets and needs sex 24/7 and we'll talk about every type of past relationship he's ever had and also did you know he's had sex with EVERYONE on the ark" is something that i find so distasteful. because its not jazz.

when i read the idw comics and saw jazz i did not see what these writers were seeing. and it feels like a purposeful choice to see him like that versus the guy he actually is. im not an expert but he's just a charming musician who's pretty laid back and uses that as an advantage for a spy stuff sometimes.

i don't think it's really an act that he's a generally nice dude who just also has the whole "i got to do what needs to be done thing prowl has" but he actually does feel guilt (which is why i don't think he would ever take an interrogation far enough to rape somebody jesus christ) and he does let emotion get in the way like when he killed that guy on earth.

its feels off putting to turn the guy i described above into the type of guy that would:

- continue to flirt with prowl after being rejected over and over again (comes up a lot in jazzprowl)

-disrespect boundaries/be sexually aggressive in general

-talk about sex all the time even when inappropriate

-run off to jerk off or have inappropriately timed sex

all things ive seen across various different fics. and if you want to write jazz that way you better create a set of circumstances that makes me believe it. because throwing it into tf animated of all continuities (as an example) just make me immediately side eye your priorities

tldr; the jazz sex fiend trend does bother me. i don't think writing him that way or enjoying him written that way automatically makes you racist. but i do encourage people to explore any subconscious bias they may have because that trait doesn't make sense for jazz. especially if you want to write in character jazz fics.

in the spirit of honesty...the way some of yall write jazz in transformers fanfic is honestly appalling. it screams ive never met a black person in my life. it screams i watched michael bays 2007 transformers and took notes, as if the bayverse hasnt been criticized for its terrible stereotyping.

yes, he has an accent. yes, he uses slang. but jesus christ. his usage is not as egregious as yall write it. yall write him like hes stupid and uneducated. the ultimate caricature of a black man. its super insulting.

and i get that he's not actually black due to not being human but he is black coded and the treatment is abysmal at times.

my advice? JUST WRITE DIALOGUE. our brains do the rest. i know what he sounds like, i can fill it in myself.

stop writing "ay, ya sure ya got shit handled, fam'? bro, i 'aint no fool, i gots that dog n' me."

ESPECIALLY BC JAZZ HAS NEVER. SPOKEN LIKE THAT ANYWAY.

sincerely, a (very) frustrated black person.

[icdrawings]

The Doughlings

Doey & Reader

Distraught, angered, and numb

Was all you could feel while staring at Doey's now dead body of frozen dough.

Throughout the factory you've learned about his past or well - their past. These poor boys, forced to be stuck together into one person. Each having their own right to be angry.

You kept looking at him, his deformed body resembling the 3 kids inside of him - 3 innocent souls. You walked over to him, taking a minute of hesitation with each step until you were right in front of him. Your legs gave out making you sit. You took off your grab-pack and reached out for one of their hands, it was cold and limp. You could only stare at that small hand, caressing it with your thumb, trying to give a little bit of comfort. Through our this journey you've never once shown emotion, never once made a sound but after meeting Doey you only wished you could have been more expressive with him.

"I'm sorry..." Was barely over a whisper as you let a single tear roll down your face.

You don't know how long you were there but you finally got up, put on the grab-pack and went to the door. Waiting for the hand scanner to load you started to contemplate your next steps 'I need to find Poppy, if she's even alive and figure out what went wrong'

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you nearly missed a cracking sound from behind you Turning fast to look at Doey's body again.

It was still there - black and frozen. You thought you were hearing things but you knew better, you've never let your guard down.

You kept an eye on it - waiting for something, anything. Then you saw it, your frozen ally's body started to crack. There was something moving inside of it, almost as if something was trying to get out.

You didn't want to stick around and find out what. Looked back at the scanner now half way done you kept listening closely to the sounds taking - note when it got louder until the door finally opened.

You were about to make a run for it when you felt something grab onto your leg.

You stood still, as if your body was the one frozen in place. It was heavy and warm and wrapped around your leg. It was almost like someone was hugging you.

Taking a deep yet shaky breath you slowly looked down to confront whatever was there. Only to be shocked that on your leg was a little Doey. You couldn't comprehend what you were seeing. He looked up at you with his hollow eyes - full of innocence.

He started to smile "mommy!"

He hugged your leg tighter with his little hands. You couldn't understand what was happening, Doey was dead, you had killed him with your own hands and yet this little Doey was here calling you his mother. You couldn't even think some more before he started talking again

"Mommy?... Mommy are you okay?..." He looked a bit sadden by your delayed reaction

You kept staring at him - intensely with a stone face. A part of you wants to be happy that he's not trying to kill you but the other half wants to just cry. In this staring contest, you to reach your hand out towards him. Your hand was shaking after what happened in the upper floors but you've done your best to keep it still.

You took your time and luckily little Doey was very patient while being excited - bouncing a bit. Gently you placed your hand down on top of his head feeling the little curls of clay. He let your leg go only for him to capture your hand instead, keeping it in place - seemingly enjoying the warmth and started to giggle.

"Mommy! Mommy!" his smile was huge

You soften a bit and knelt down to take a better look at him. He was about the size of your calf and he sounded more of a child than his original voice.

His body was covered with yellow and so was his face but looking closely his face he also had orange and red freckles.

"Do you know who I am?" You were so caught up in examining him that you almost didn't acknowledge the question. Taking another good look at him.

Only one name comes to mind

"...jack?"

[sweetcloverheart]

MLB Writers: "No no, you see - you can only destroy an Amok and kill its sentibeing if you do so with INTENTION! So Marinette never endangered Adrien or Kagami when akumas got stored in their respective amoks! He's perfectly safe as is!"

Me, thinking way too hard about the fridge horror aspects of this: "Uhuh, so that means all the Sentimonsters (including the doppelganger humans), who you established as fully sentient creatures with thoughts and feelings, that Marinette killed had that done intentionally with the desire to murder them, and could have been spared. This also means that if she has the bad luck of running into any existing sentihumans in the wild without knowing what they are and they get their amoks turned into akuma items/affectd by an Akuma, there's a good 98% chance she could kill them (as well as any future Ladybugs who aren't informed or this, and past Ladybugs who didn't know and did this)."

MLB Writers: "...Uh-"

Me: "This also means that Nathalie, Adrien's "kind and loving" mother figure who sees him as a real child despite his origins, also murdered Sentibug deliberately, with full intent of killing her despite understanding full well she was just as human as her future adopted son."

MLB Writers: "......Uh-"

Me: "This also means that Gabriel also murdered all the doppelganger Sentihumans he made deliberately, as well as needlessly endangered his own son and business partner's daughter making their akuma items their amoks ("Riposte", "Perfection", and "Ephemeral"), as there was an extremely high chance Maribug could have destroyed their amoks with the intention of breaking them, thus killing the two."

MLB Writers: "......Uh-"

Me: "This also also means that Felix not only chose to murder Storytime after creating them for Marinette in "Representation", but should he ever decide to be a villain again, there's a good chance he can simple just choose to murder Kagami and Adrien via having Snapping them or destroying their amoks via will if they don't join him."

MLB Writers: "......Uh-"

Me: "This also means that if a situation like "Werepapas" or the prev mentioned with Kagami/Adrien happens again and Maribug isn't paying full attention to her desires/intentions, there's a good high probability that she might kill one of the sentikids by accident anyways because she might one time mistakenly want to destroy their amoks rather than preserve them.\"

MLB Writers: "......"

Me: "...Well, I'm off to add this into my fanfics for horrible reasons. Thanks!"

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Vuelve a Mí Pt. III

summary: you and joaquin run into each other...there's only some progress.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 1,379

contents: 18+/MINORS DNI, angst, pining, longing, a SMIDGE of hope

an: so this series is really taking on a life of its own and will be longer than anticipated bc the angst is just...not going away? i can't control them okay, they're doing whatever the want and i'm just writing it.

vuelve a mí masterrlist

There hasn’t been much contact between you and Joaquin since the night you kissed. He’d texted you that night to make sure you made it home safe and of course you replied.

Every other week or so he would try to check in with you, and sometimes you would answer— other times you would let the messages come, the number growing and growing as you continued to isolate, not just from him but from almost everyone in your life. 

You were going to call him. You were. You’re going to call him when you’re ready, if that time ever comes. You meant what you said, and lying to Joaquin…it’s never been an option. Not when he looks at you with those deeply honest brown eyes. 

You’ve started with less abrasive parts of your old life. 

After weeks of simply walking by it, you return to your favorite cafe. It’s a place you shared not only with Joaquin but also with your family and friends. There’s so much meaning to this simple place that’s a mix of browns and creams and greenery.

As you take the last few steps to the cafe, you send prayers up to the universe, begging that no one from your past will be there. The coast is clear once you make it inside– none of the baristas look familiar and the crowd has certainly changed.

You order what used to be your regular– a dirty chai– forcing yourself to stop changing things. That’s all you’ve done since being back– change and change. You cut your hair, you darkened your style and found a new job despite your company offering you your position back. You were convinced your taste buds had changed, avoiding all the things that were your favorite. The most obvious is that you’d broken up with Joaquin. 

But, as you take the first few sips of your drink, it tastes like it always has. Light, the perfect mix of sweet and spiced. For the first time in two years you feel…normal.

Sucking in a deep breath, you let yourself sink into the feeling of being yourself, the woman before you had crumbled. Your body feels recognizable and new all at the same time. It's good, sitting in this cafe, sipping chai with scone in tow.

It’s so, so good—until it isn’t. 

You would know his voice anywhere. That is something that never changed despite the blip. His voice, the way his hair falls, the shape of his shoulders, the sharpness of his jaw; all of these are things you could forget if you tried. And you had tried, tired of the pain of not being with him.

You go still at the sound of his voice, hoping that he won’t notice you. Daring a glance, you see him at the counter. He must have just finished training– the grey t-shirt he has on clings to his skin, darker in some places than others from sweat. 

You don’t mean to stare, but he’s Joaquin and he’s here. That frozen feeling from when the two of you reached for the same puzzle floods your body and you overwhelmingly feel unlike yourself again. You’re internally chanting at yourself to look away as you watch him pay because if Joaquin were to turn around right now, your eyes would meet. 

Look down. Look down and focus on your scone. 

But it's too late– what you feared would happen does and you’re face to face with Joaquin. There’s several strides and a cafe of people between you but it doesn’t feel that way, not with the intensity of his gaze. Not with the way he makes your heart flutter a million miles a minute. You’re finally able to look away a few moments after your eyes meet, your self preservation finally kicking in.

You start to move, slipping your scone back into its bag, throwing your bag over your shoulder so you can stand. As you do so, Joaquin is already making his way towards you, though his steps aren’t as confident or smooth as you expect them to be. 

“Hi,” He breathes cautiously, hands grasping at the baseball cap in his hands.

“Hi. I was just leaving, you should be here, not me.”

“Querida, that makes no sense. This is your favorite cafe. Plus–”

“I have errands to run anyway, it's not a big deal.”

“I’m not staying– I have to meet Sam for some recon.”

Your heart beat slows a bit where it had quickened. “Oh, um– well…you’ll be careful, right?”

“Always,” He promises sincerely. There’s an uncharacteristically awkward beat before he speaks again. “How have you been?”

“I’m okay. Working on it.”

“Yeah?” It's impossible not to hear the hopeful shift in his tone. 

“That's why I’m here. I wanted to see if…if I could be in places I used to be. Enjoy things that I used to.”

“And?”

“Well, it was going okay…” You say delicately, trailing off. You don’t want to blame him– you truly believe that none of this was his fault but you wouldn’t be nearing an out of body panic attack if he hadn’t showed up.

He tilts his head in confusion, you can practically hear his brain churning to understand and you pray that it doesn’t. Much to your dismay, clarity materializes in those beautifully warm brown eyes. “Then I showed up.”

Your stomach feels heavy. When will you be able to outrun this guilt? Every time you get a head start, every time you believe that it's finally left you alone it rears its ugly head and takes grip of your heart. 

“No, Joaquin, that’s not fair to you.”

“But it's true, isn’t it? You didn’t deny it,” For the first time, there’s some bitterness in his voice, some anger. As you look in his eyes, you see the sadness that’s been rooted there since you returned.

You can’t blame him. You deserve it.

“Yes,” You admit softly, regretting allowing yourself to say it when you hear him sharply inhale. 

“Y’know, querida, maybe you were right. Maybe we just aren’t the people we used to be.” 

You frown at his words, trying to explain it the best you can. “Quino, it's not like I want this. I’m going to call when I’m ready, I meant what I said.”

“You know what Abuela says; you shouldn’t promise things you don’t believe are possible,” He murmurs matter of factly. 

“I… I’m trying. You don’t– have to be so unkind,” You grit out, trying your best to contain the tears that have pooled in your eyes. 

Joaquin realizes that he let his frustration override his patience and love for you once he sees the shine of tears in your eyes. But, just as it was the moment he turned around to face you, it's too late. His words—no matter how much or little truth they hold—feel etched into your brain.

They’re added to the pile that confirms your worst fears. 

You’ll never be the same. You’ll never figure out what’s wrong with you. Never be able to safely love and be loved by Joaquin again.

You shouldn’t have come here. You shouldn’t have thought that things could ever be the same or that some part of who you were had come back with you.

“Querida–” He begins.

“Goodbye, Joaquin,” You say stiffly, attempting to rush past him to make your exit.

His hand grasps yours– firm enough to stop you in your tracks, but gently enough that you can let go if you wish.

You aren’t sure what you want at this moment but you stop, glancing over your shoulder at him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It's just…frustrating. Quiero que vuelvas,” He squeezes your hand, running a thumb over yours.

You squeeze his hand back, trying to soothe not only him but yourself. “I’m trying, Joaquin. I want me back too. Give me time to find her.” 

"Okay," He agrees, resigned.

“Be careful with Sam.”

“I will. And you too…cuídate.”

You give him a simple nod–not trusting your voice– before you walk towards the door and make your way. Joaquin stays cemented in place, eyes tracing every detail of you that he can just in case his biggest fears come true. But he’ll hold onto hope, he has to.

must be 18+/have your age displayed to be added to the taglist!

joaquin taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @moonymeloncholymoney, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuff, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @giuliahowlett, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9, @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism

[zouislover]

hello kids i'm back again and i'm ready to be nasty. if someone who is a poc tells you that a comment you made, regardless of whatever intention behind it, was racist, then you should realise your white privilege and apologise. you shouldn't go on a rant excusing and justifying your vile actions by acting like you know louis better than the rest of us. you don't. you know as much as we know. "i meant that louis would want to play new music in the uk because he's a proud brit and is obsessed with the uk and prioritises uk and its part of his brand" no 💖 he's sung many new songs at festivals or at shows that weren't in uk or usa. moreover, what level of parasocialism are you on that you just say things like louis wouldn't want to debut a new song in india? why the fuck not? what's wrong with him doing that? what's your fucking problem if louis wants to make his show special in india? when louis himself has said a few times how he's always wanted to do a show in india and has expressed excitement for it, how vile do you have to be to rob his desi fans off that experience while you sit there with your 50 shows? i'm not even sorry, but if multiple people told you that you were being fucking racist, no amount of justification from your side can change the truth of it. you made a comment that pissed desis off because it was targeted and racist. "i also meant he'd be nervous to play in a country he's never been before and that's actually a compliment that he cares so much about you guys" you! don't! know! louis! this isn't his first time playing in a country he's never been to and sure he's nervous but not in the way you think because then truly, you can't see who louis actually is. moreover, it clearly states that the brixton show was done in support of a cause and instead of focusing on that you went ahead and made speculations about new music and how he wouldn't want to debut it in india. several people called you out on your privilege and ignorance and said you were racist and you went ahead and typed up incomprehensible sentences and not once did you sit back and check how your actions have affected others. that tells me everything i need to know. i hope louis releases the entire of lt3 at a show that's not in the uk or usa so he can finally see how much fun other cultures have at his show.

hello kids i haven't done a controversial post in a while but i am filled with rage so here goes. louis' coming to india next week and i have already seen way too many pointed comments towards that and let me say this plain and straight: you're fucking racist. this is the first time ever in 15 years that we are getting a 1d member to come to india and yes we're enthusiastic about it and we're going to be loud and going to bring out our desiness to show louis how much we love him and to give him a glimpse of our culture. if any non-asian people can't understand that vigour then you can fuck off because it's not your country nor your culture. we love loudly and we want him to see that just as much as we've waited for him, it was definitely worth a visit for him as well. i know there's main non-asian people coming to the show, which honestly is a whole other rant, but hey if you have money and wanna spend it who am i to say anything. all i'm saying is come here as a guest and leave as one. do not for one fucking second compare or comment about how us desis are different from you whites because of course we are. different cultures, remember? also to those people who have made comments like "i hate that louis might debut a new song at a show that's not mine and is in fucking india" suck my fucking dick. why can't you just accept that we deserve it too? why can't you let go of your superiority and accept that not everything needs to happen in a first world country? that is plain racist and i hope you get your privilege under check before tuning into the instagram live of louis' set next sunday.