#If there's any mistakes we can all just ignore them and that's cool and fine!!

[bongo-clash]

Even when you don't know what it is your job knows what it is

DP/DC week prompt: There was something off about them

'Danny Phantom, alleged several-thousand year old ghostly entity, has a feeling something’s not quite right with Captain Marvel, alleged several-thousand year old champion of magic. He reckons there's no time like the present to confront his hunch.'

-

Look, Danny’s been working with the Justice League for a while now, and he likes to think he knows them all pretty well. Some of them are more open about their civilian identities than others, but even if he doesn’t know who everyone is behind the cowls, he’s got their personalities down pat at least.

Everyone except, perhaps, Captain Marvel. 

Maybe that’s not fair to say. Captain’s a friendly enough guy- nobody’s ever had a bad conversation with him that Danny knows of- but he’s weirdly flaky. The longest he’s stuck around post-mission is probably about five minutes tops, and no one actually knows anything about the man; the League have a habit of hanging around after missions for drinks and talk, and the Captain’s been offered a place with them several times and not taken it once. In all fairness, neither has Danny, but he has an excuse. They think he’s about several thousand years older than he actually is and also a full ghost, so they’d probably expect him to drink and he doesn’t want to have to go through the awkward process of refusing and nor does he want Jazz to go ape on him for giving into peer pressure. 

…That’s another thing; Captain Marvel is allegedly several-thousand years old, but when Danny looks at him there’s a strange sense of camaraderie that makes him think maybe they’re both liars. 

The longer he’s spent thinking about it, the more sense it makes. Their behaviours probably have a lot in common from an outside perspective: coming across awkward around the other members of the team, passing on every event outside of work, sharing very little about their personal lives least of all a civilian identity- which neither of them are even suspected to have. After all, Phantom’s a ghost, and Captain Marvel’s the champion of magic, it seems reasonable to assume their have some other plane of existence they return to when they’re not in the Watchtower. But Danny just goes back home to Illinois and tells his parents he was at Tucker’s again, and he really doesn’t believe that the Captain just sets up shop by the ‘Rock of Eternity’ or whatever he’d mentioned it was called. 

He doesn’t know how to bring it up, though, because what if he’s wrong? There’s a non-zero chance that he’s just projecting his own issues on the man (and that sounds so much like something Jazz would say that it physically hurts), and if Danny tries to confront the man about a lie that isn’t there, then the Captain will know he’s lying, and he’ll totally get booted off the team or placed with Young Justice. There’s nothing wrong with YJ, but it’d just hurt to have worked side-by-side with them proving his reliability for so long only to get pushed away because of his age. 

So he doesn’t say anything, figuring there’s not much choice other than to wait for some kind of confirmation. Until, of course, the opportunity for confrontation arrives in the aftermath of one mandatory League check-point meeting. 

-

Check-point meeting with the Justice League are really just contractually obligated gossip sessions regarding their recent heroic endeavours that quickly descends into normal conversations. Contrary to the usual progression of these meetings, however, Green Lantern is prodding at Captain Marvel to tell him about what it was like visiting ancient civilisations before they fell. 

It’s one of those weeks where the other members are being a bit more insistent on finding out more about the Captain. They’ve made their peace with the fact that they’re not going to get much in terms of a civilian life out of him, but every single member of the League (with the exception of maybe Martian Manhunter) is invariably nosy, which obviously leads to their more mysterious members coming under scrutiny every now and again. This also includes Danny on occasion, but Phantom has a brilliant out for interrogations in the form of making people uncomfortable about the fact that, even if he’s an ancient entity, he clearly died young. All he has to do is pull out some wistful bullshit about wishing he’d lived long enough to experience mortal romance or something equally upsetting and he’s home-safe. 

The man across from him, however, taking the form of a very much full-grown adult, has no such excuse. 

“Come on, Captain, surely you can tell us something! I thought you were around for ancient Egypt?” Hal exclaims, leaning just slightly over the meeting table to scrutinise his colleague. The Captain is looking increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Of course I was!” Marvel agrees quickly, accompanied by a nod of the head that could almost be described as frantic. “Ancient Egypt was around for ages, probably couldn’t’ve missed all that if I tried! I wasn’t around for all that much of it though, I- uh, I caught the tail end of it- when Cleopatra was pharaoh, if I remember right- but I was… I was a little busy somewhere else during that, uh, era.”

Green Lantern raises an eyebrow behind the green domino mask. “Busy? Busy doing what?”

“Well-“

The Captain is making a very particular face, the kind that Danny imagines he himself makes when he’s scrambling for any reasonable excuse to get out of the hole he’s dug himself into by lying. And Danny looks at him from across the table, the man catching his eyes with a look he can only describe as odd and desperate, and he makes a decision. 

“That was around the time all those conferences were being held to sort out the mess between the newly-formed undead societies and the natural ghosts, right? There was some involvement with living mages, if I recall correctly; I’m sure I saw you at one of those.”

In terms of lies he could’ve told, he figures this one is pretty low-risk. There were a lot of diplomatic meetings held between natural ghosts and the ones existing post-mortem when proper civilisations first came about and people from them started dying, after all (though he knows for fact the living weren’t involved in any way), so it’s not like he’s pulling it out of his ass. If he’s wrong about the Captain and the man admits he doesn’t have a clue what Danny’s talking about, then he can just say it must have been a realms-exclusive thing- hard to remember the finer details when it was all so long ago- and they’ll be none the wiser. 

But if he’s right, and he’s really beginning to think he is, then-

Sure enough, the man across from him nods vigorously, clicking his fingers together as if his memory’s just been jogged. “Right!” He chirps, sending Danny a brazen smile. “I don’t know how I forgot about those! Man, those conferences dragged on, didn’t they?”

Bingo. 

“Don’t even worry about it- I honestly would’ve thought the first ones were around the revolution at the end of the Qin dynasty in China if you hadn’t reminded me- my memory was way off. Speaking of that though, have you spoken to Pandora since? I figured you two would get along pretty well, but I know there wasn’t much time for small talk and dimension hopping wasn’t half as easy as it is now.”

Captain Marvel shakes his head with pursed lips. “Can’t say I have; not a lot of free time between everything, like you said. Would love to be introduced properly though!”

“Well, I did say I would- couple thousand years later than I thought it’d be, but better late than never.”

The tension easing from Marvel’s shoulders is probably obvious to everyone in the room. Superman looks to the both of them curiously. “You never mentioned knowing each other?” The Kryptonian questions. Phantom laughs the way he sees his mom do during those weird adult get-togethers. 

“Oh, we’ve crossed paths a lot,” He declares with a wave of his hand, brushing the notion to the side, catching the gaze of the Captain in his peripheral even as he keeps his eyes on the other superhero. “Can’t say we had the opportunity to get to know each other properly between it all, though. Relations between the magic living and the restless dead have always been a little… fraught. I was just planning to keep things professional on my end unless the Captain wanted to seek a friendship outside of work since I wasn’t sure how appreciated it would be, especially given how much fuss ghosts have been giving the mortal plane recently.”

Marvel’s laugh mimics his own. “That’s what I was thinking! I guess no amount of time can time will change how weird it can be trying to made work friends.”

-

Surprisingly (or unsurprisingly), Captain Marvel is waiting outside the hall for him when the meeting is adjourned and each member of the League goes their separate ways. Wordlessly, Danny follows him deeper into the Watchtower, floating behind before phasing them both into one of the locked rooms everyone knows there’s no cameras in, for the sake of being allowed confidential discussions in at least one area of the place- when approved, of course, but these walls don’t hold Phantom just yet, given that the ghost-proofing paint doesn’t quite stick over the lead-lining. 

“So.” Danny starts, when they’re both inside the office and the silence begins to creep thick into the air. 

Captain Marvel looks nervous. “So.”

“You weren’t at those conferences.”

“No, I wasn’t.” It seems almost painful for him to admit, hands flicking slightly like he wants to fidget with them but doesn’t want to be caught doing it. “I’m grateful you, uh, that you said I was there- thank you, Phantom- but why’d you cover for me?”

For the first time today, and maybe even the first time in the Watchtower, Danny levers himself down from the air, putting both feet on the ground. He hopes beyond hoping his face comes across sincere. “Because I wasn’t there either.” He admits gently, watching for a response. 

“I- what?” The man doesn’t appear to know what he’s meant to say. Well, time to rip the bandaid off. 

“Captain, you’ve not been around for six thousand, have you? I’m willing to bet you haven’t even been around for 18.” The reaction is immediate. Marvel’s eyes widen, pupils shrinking with alarm, arms coming up as if in defence as he splutters some kind of excuse, and Danny interrupts before he can spiral too hard. “Dude, don’t worry. I seriously won’t tell anyone if you are- I’m not a snitch.”

The Captain’s expression looks utterly lost. “Why?”

Danny thinks it’s probably best to just bite the bullet here. He stands still as the transformation washes over him, bright silver-blue rings parsing over his form, exchanging gravity-defying white hair for scraggly black, hazmat for jeans and a sweater, and Lazarus-green eyes for a gentler blue. When the light finally dissipates, he gives the Captain a second just to process, before sending him a wry grin.

“Hi, Captain Marvel, I’m Phantom- otherwise known as Danny Fenton- Ambassador for the Infinite Realms and sixteen year-old half-human-half-ghost boy.”

The other hero stands still for a long, long moment, mute with shock, before muttering a quiet ‘Shazam’ and allowing the room to fill with the sudden crackle of a lightning bolt. Where the hulking form of Captain Marvel once stood, a boy is left in his place- eyes and hair the same, if a little less put together- but only just coming up to Danny’s shoulder, wearing clothes that have clearly seen a few years go by. If Danny had to guess, he looks about eleven or twelve

“Hi, Phantom,” He says, a little quieter but with more confidence than he’d had before, staring him resolutely in the eyes. “I’m Captain Marvel- also Billy Batson- champion of magic and twelve year-old and world’s mightiest mortal.”

Danny cannot resist reaching over to ruffle the kid’s hair. “Amazing to meet you,” He beams. “And if anyone asks, we’ve known each other since the Early Dynastic period of Egypt and are in no way human or related to any living humans. You good with that?”

Billy looks up at him with a gap in his teeth and mischief in his eyes. 

“Phantom, I am more than okay with that.”

[vivwritesfics]

"You Did It"

Something short in celebration of me passing my dissertation! I didn't think it would happen but I fucking passed!

She'd been staring at the keyboard of her laptop for a good ten minutes now, fingers itching to dance across the keys. But the words just weren't coming to her.

"I hate this," she mumbled. She'd said it at least once a minute for the last few minutes.

And one of her boyfriends was getting bored of it.

"Stop then," said Lando. He was laying on the sofa beside her, head propped up on the cushions, legs stretched out in front of him and his arm slung over the back of the sofa.

Suddenly, Oscar raised his head. He looked like a meerkat on sentry duty, searching for any danger. "Nope," he said as he stood up and walked over to his partners. "Don't listen to him, not when you're so close to being done," he said as he leaned over the back of the sofa.

Immediately, Lando was begging for his attention, but Oscar ignored him. No, Oscar was focused on their girl. "Promise me you'll try and do as much as you can tonight," he said before he leaned down to kiss her.

"I promise, Osc," she said and tried to get back to it.

And she really did try. She got maybe a few more sentences done, but that was about it. Still, it was progress.

She worked on it for the next week, on and off until it was finished. Concentrating wasn't easy with Lando and Oscar around. But then they headed off to the next grand prix and she was, admittedly, grateful to be alone.

It was easy to get it finished now that she was alone. She worked in silence, maybe to some music as she checked for any kind of spelling mistakes.

But no, it was perfect and it was ready to go.

As soon as she hit submit on her final essay of her final year of university, she called Lando and Oscar.

They couldn't answer right away, not with them both being on the race track. But as soon as they were out of the car, as soon as they had debriefed and as soon as they were back in their hotel room, they called her back.

She picked up almost instantly. "Hi, baby," said Lando as he held Oscar's phone. She could hear the shower running and could only assume that was where Oscar was. "Sorry we missed your call earlier."

"I forgot you guys were out on track," she mumbled as she laid herself in the bed the three of them shared. Her head was on Lando's pillow, half of her face squished against it. "Osc in the shower?"

Lando nodded.

"Surprised you're not in there with him," she said with a small grin.

Lando let out a chuckle as he ran his hand through his curls. "You know I would have," he replied. "But I wanted to call you back."

She and Lando made idle conversation as they waited for Oscar to return from the shower.

And, once she had both of her boys on the screen in front of her did she tell them the good news. "Boys, I did something pretty cool," she said to them as she sat up slightly. They could see her properly now, could see that she was dressed in one of their hoodies (it had originally belonged to Lando, but all three of them wore it so often that it had no owner).

"What did you do?" Oscar asked as Lando settled against his chest. She could have done anything to be there with the two of them, cheering them on through the weekend and cuddled up in bed with them.

She was unable to keep her grin from her face. "I submitted my final essay," she said as that grin grew wider.

Lando sucked in a gasp and Oscar's grin matched her own. "Well done, Baby!" Lando cried.

"We're so proud of you," said Oscar.

They were so fucking proud of her. The final year had been a mental struggle for her, they knew. But they'd encouraged her, kept her going through it. She could safely say that she wouldn't have been graduating without them.

"I wish I was there with you guys to celebrate."

Lando let out a laugh. "It's fine, baby. We'll make it up to you when we're back. Plus, I'll throw in another win on top."

"Or maybe I will," Oscar said as he looked at their boyfriend.

A laugh bubbled up from her lips. That might have been the only thing that would have made this weekend better.

"I love you boys."

"We love you too!"

[giuliettagaltieri]

A Hundred Sleepless Nights

Pairing: Husband!Coriolanus Snow x Wife!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Beloved

Warning: perversion, explicit smut, unprotected sex, sexual euphoria

Word Count: 3988

5 of 7

Coriolanus thinks he might have made a mistake in choosing your honeymoon destination.

Mrs. Plinth apparently owns a private beach down in the south. She insisted that you spend your honeymoon there as it was more private.

Private.

A scowl made it to Coriolanus’ face the moment you arrived in the secluded beach town. He was still in his suit and you were still in your wedding dress.  Anybody with eyes can see that you were just married.  But the locals knew no shame.

The men, their skin bronze from being on the coast, fit from constantly moving, their faces sculpted manliness. And they seem to have taken a liking to you.

“May I help you with that, Miss?” A man asks you for the third time that night, referring to the handbag you carried. It has your personal effects, you would not trust anyone with it.

“That would not be necessary.” Coriolanus quips, his arm circling around your waist.  The man straightens up and looks Coriolanus up and down before he grins

“Her other baggage, then? You won’t be able to carry them all.”

Coriolanus scoffs and you politely smile at the man. You know Coriolanus is more than capable of lifting baggage but there is too much of it, it seems unreasonable to make your husband carry them all.

“Oh, we have more than enough help. Thank you.” You say sweetly and as if on cue, peacekeepers and porters appear to start putting your bags in the yacht.

The man frowns, his mind whirring before he comes to a realization.

“You’re those politicians who just got married.”

Coriolanus looks at him, his eyes now sharp.

“Does the Capitol news not reach this part of Panem?” He raises a brow.

The man chuckles as he rubs his stubble. “Nah, just don’t watch any of that bullshit.”

“You watch your words very carefully.” Coriolanus grins, the iciness in his tone not matching his charming face. “The Capitol is not very kind to those who call our affairs ‘bullshit’.”

You look at the man with much fascination. You have to commend how he stands his ground, now sizing Coriolanus up, but his lax posture was breaking apart on the surface. Ignorance really has a feeble power to it.

Despite the burliness of this person, you are not too worried about Coriolanus as he had his fair share of training. And the peacekeepers are just waiting for the man to cross that fine intangible line, their postures tight and ready to spring.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us. My wife and I have other places to be.”  Coriolanus leads you to the yacht where your luggage has been placed.

“The impudence of some people.”  Coriolanus spits.  “He does not even recognize the President.”

“I will talk to the mayor.” You attempt to soothe him but he clicks his tongue.

His jaw tightens before he takes a deep breath. “We agreed not to work while we are on our honeymoon.” He says but you can see how excruciating it was for him to say.

You grimace before breaking to a smile.

“If you say so, my love.”

You glance behind you and see the man still staring at you. You turn away when he sends you a boyish smile and a wink.

Coriolanus grunts when you cling to his arm tightly.

“Hurry, Corio.”

He straightens his back and slows his pace. “I see no purpose in rushing.” He’s not running away from anything.

It makes you roll your eyes but you match his pace anyways.  You enjoy the night stroll, the cool breeze refreshing your skin that is trapped in your wedding gown. You wanted to get out of it the moment the reception ended but Grandma’am almost dropped her turban when you mentioned a change of clothing.

Perhaps it was an old Panem tradition but she said only the groom must free you of your bridal gown.

Again with the superstitions but Coriolanus and you both decided you’d listen. A way to apologize after that stunt you pulled in the middle of the reception.  Coriolanus tightens his hold around your waist as you board the yacht.

“I’m hungry.” You tell him. 

He nods. “So am I.”

With the pressure of the ceremony and reception, you did not get to enjoy the food served despite them being of the finest qualities.

“I’d love to have that filet mignon again.”  You sigh as you sit on a sofa.  Coriolanus watches you with a smile.  Your face was full of disappointment and you looked adorable as your poofy gown swallowed you. “And posca.”

“Mhh, agreed.”  He sauntered over to the glass windows. Watching how the hydrofoil cuts the waters below.  The ruffling from your gown makes Corio turn to look at you once more.

You have occupied the entire sofa, now lying on your back as you stared into the tall ceiling. Your eyes have glazed over and he can see how your fingers picked at your gown.

“Tell me what you are thinking.”

Sighing, you close your eyes. He’s always so commanding.

“Nothing.”

He walks over to sit on the armrest. You look up to meet his glacial eyes with your own.

“There is definitely something in there, wife.”

Wife

You bite your bottom lip to contain your smile. Coriolanus raises a brow, his lips quirked up.

“Wife?”

You giggle as you reach up to pinch him but he easily swats your hand away.

“Are you regressing to your teenage self?” He pulls you up and slots himself under you so you are sitting on his lap.

“No.” You answer quickly. Too quickly.

You play with your ring as he watches you, still waiting for you to talk.

“I will hold you the entire night if you refuse to tell me.”

You shrug.  “I’m comfortable.”  His nimble fingers slip to your waist and your breath hitches.

“Yeah?”

You nod hastily.

“Tell me what is going on in that head of yours.”  He whispers against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver to crawl up your spine.

“Corio!”

“Yes?” He flashes you that charming smile again.

“Stop it.” You say, your cheeks are now bubbling.

He tilts his head to the side.  He is fooling nobody with this pretense.

You try to get off but he keeps you in place with a hand.  He is looking around the room now, acting nonchalant to your struggle.  He looks at you with his face passive and you eventually settle.

“Stop making me flustered.”  You raise a finger at him and he grins lazily at you.  The glint of those rather sharp looking canines had you retreating your finger back.

He sets a steady bounce of his leg, jostling you and you click your tongue at him.  “What are you doing?” You grab at his coat to steady yourself.

“Trying to calm your tantrum.”

“I am not a child.” 

His eyes return to the carpeted floor and now just leans back on the sofa.  “I can see that.” You ignore how his eyes roam to your bosom.

“If you must really know, I was thinking of having a new signature.”

A perfect blonde brow was raised. “Signature.”

“I want to keep my maiden name in it but I also wanted to add yours.”

“Ours.”

“Ours.” You echo as you smile at him meekly.

“You are a Snow now.” He reminds you sternly and your cheeks warm up as you nod.

“I know that, Corio.”  You shift in his lap and he rubs your waist.

The air shifts, making it difficult for you to keep still. 

A knock pulls your attention to the door.

“Mister and Missus Snow, we have arrived.”

Coriolanus looks at you and raises both brows briefly as if making a point.

You roll your eyes and get off, he lets you this time.

The private beach.  Well, more like a private island.  It was like how every beach shown in brochures is.

The staff is already waiting by the docks, standing tall and in uniformed clothing.

“Don’t worry, Missus Snow.  The staff will be here only until seven in the evening.”  The head butler tells you as he escorts you and your husband off the yacht.

“The security?”  Coriolanus looks around the island, taking in every face that was present.

The butler nods, a proud smile on his lips.

“Stationed just in this dock and on the ocean.”

You would love to have privacy but not if it meant compromising you and your husband’s safety.

“Peacekeepers are also stationed on the coast.”  The head butler reassures you.  “This island is also being covered by the most recent security offered by District 3.  We have sonars covering the waters.  There is no need to be uneasy.”

It was these kinds of over the top operations that reminds you that it is the President you have married.  His security can easily topple the peace that the retired President Ravinstill tried so hard to maintain.

“The staff will come to prepare your meals and leave after the dishes are cleaned up.  The day after tomorrow, the cleaning crew will take care of the linens and your laundry.”  The staff bows at you as you pass by them.  “Should you need something else.  We are a call away.  We are stationed in the ocean to respond right away to your every need.”

You share a look with Coriolanus.  It was a bit overkill, you both can agree.  But nothing less for the Presidential couple.

“Food is being prepared right at this moment.”  The head butler continues.

The villa is nice and airy.  Spacious and a perfect place to relax in.  And the smell of food, oh it is divine.

“The gods heard you.”  Coriolanus jests and you scan the table to see a glistening filet mignon.  Coriolanus pulls a chair for you and you thank him.  The head butler pours you a glass of posca and you smile gratefully.

Coriolanus and you eat your dinner quietly.  Giving compliments to the chefs who are standing in anticipation behind you.  You are generous in your praise, just to help in easing their anxiety.

You bid them goodbye as they all board a boat to take their leave.

When they are a considerable distance away, you and Coriolanus are able to drop the pretense. 

“Ugh.”  You groan as you grip your gown up to head inside the villa.  “I refuse to see anybody for twenty-four hours straight.”

Coriolanus follows after you, his hands clasped behind his back in a relaxed manner.  “Does that include me?”

You look at him briefly.  “What a stupid question.”  You link your arms to his and he glances at the clam expression on your face.

Now that he is standing so close, he notices just how much your childhood features remained in your face.  Your eyes and lips stayed the same.

“There was this one time I found you under the tables during a banquet held by our fathers.”  Coriolanus tells you and you don’t look up to him.  “I accidentally kicked you.”

You only hum to acknowledge him.

“I slipped under the tablecloth and joined you.”  He recalls.  “And you stole my first kiss.”

“Corio, stop talking.”  You groan.

“You told me you will be my wife.”

You purse your lips, not knowing how to respond.  

Sighing, you finally say,  “You were distraught.”  

“I was five.”

“In the Academy.  You hated me.”

“I envied you.”

Coriolanus opens the door and lets you pass first.  You continue to walk until you find the bedroom and he follows suit.

“Is that why you preferred Clemensia Dovecote’s company?”  You say sharply and Coriolanus looks at you as he leans on the vanity to undo his coat.

“She was pretty.  A nice accessory.”

You walk over to him, throwing your arms on his shoulders as you look deeply into his eyes.

“You think she’s pretty?”

He shakes his head.  “Not anymore.  She’s more of a snake than a dove now.”

“But you thought she was pretty.”

Coriolanus places a hand on your waist to steady you.

“That was because I did not want to admit my attraction to you.”

You pull away, doe eyes looking up at him meekly as your brows raise hopefully.  “You were attracted to me?”

“I am attracted to you.  How could I not be when everything about you tells the entire Capitol that you are mine?”

With utmost shyness, you focus your attention on his tie, not quite able to meet his eyes.  “You didn’t care.”

“The rosettes you used to wear in your hair were pretty.”  He smiles as he tucks your hair to the side.  “And so were the rosette patterns on the lace of your panties.”

Your movements have gone still.  Your eyes wide as you feel like a bucket of ice was dumped on your head.  Your eyes are frantic as you look up at him.  His face was passive, not betraying him.

“You think you were sneaky?”  He taunts as he starts to pull at your dress.  “You thought I would not know about your naughty little secrets?”

You gasp when he rips a stitch of your dress as he tugs it.

“Corio.”  You say breathlessly.  “How did you-”

“That initiation we had in our first year.”  He says gruffly as he pulls your gown once more until your breasts come spilling out.  “You were to exit the academy with just your skirts and blouse.”

Your face flushes.  “Y-you saw?”

“Everybody did.”  He tells you and you bury your face in his chest.  “It worked in my favor.  No boys came after you in the Academy.”

You cursed the wind that day.

Coriolanus pulls your gown and his fingers hook on the dainty fabric that cupped your innocence.

You place your hands on his shoulders as he tugs them down.  You cover your face as he gets the fabric off.

“Oh, will you look at that?”  He chuckles as he examines the lacy fabric.  “Still adorned with rosettes.”  He twists the fabric in his long fingers and you swallow as your throat has gone dried up at the sight.  You grab his arm when he brings it up his nose.  He looks at you sternly.  “Smells like roses too and feminine musk.”

You have had enough.  After securing your gown, you turn your back to him and head to the closet, muttering angrily but he chases after you and pulls you to the lounge instead.

“You are a…a sick man!”  You say angrily as you pull away.

“If I am sick, then so are you for liking it.”  He laughs as he finishes his work with your gown until your torso is bare but he never quite got it off you just yet.  “Come here, my love.”  He sits on a plush chair and beckons you by patting his thighs.

You attempt to sit sideways but he clicks his tongue and with much reluctance, you straddle him instead.

He keeps his eyes on you as he holds your hips, his fingers digging in the large poof of your gown.

“You look so bridal.”  He says.  “I’d want nothing else but to ruin you while you still have the dress on.”  Coriolanus noses your cheek. 

“You’d let me, won’t you?”  He asks in a deeper voice, making you nod your head with your eyes closed and lip caught between your teeth.

He chuckles at your startled gasp as he prodded at your petals.  His fingers spread to your lips, creating a wet noise that had you wrapping your arms around his neck once more as you hid away.

“She’s wet.” 

You buck your hips against his when his thumb presses flat on your pearl.

“You like it?”  He smiles against your hair and you hum.  “Words, darling.”

“I do, Corio.”  You murmur against his chest.  “More please.” 

He swallows thickly as he lets a finger slip between your folds and he winces lightly when you bite his shoulder.  His finger was met with resistance but he pushed it further, willing you to relax.

“There you go.”  He says as you start to grind against his hand.  You throw your head back as your hands grip his shoulders.

“Mmh!”  You mewl, your eyebrows pinched as hot puffs of air escape your lips that have bloated after being nibbled.  “F-feels sooo good!”

Coriolanus watches your face as you move above him, his fingers dripping with your sweet honey.

The thickness of his fingers nudged at your quivering walls, it had soft sighs spilling from your lips.  He curls his fingers upward and you melt as it massages the sweet spot inside you.

You suddenly gasp, bowing your head as your hands grasp at his hair.  “C-Corio…I’m-…Oh!”

Your body seizes up as you pull him close, your walls pulsating around his fingers as you cum.  Your honey stains your thighs and he revels at the look on your face.

Coriolanus carries you to your bed as he dips his head to kiss you.  You are mewling his name through the kiss as his fingers keep massaging your walls.  He gently slips his fingers out of you, the sensation most frustrating.

He slips out of his coat and you admire him for a while before trying to tug your gown off but he glares at you and your hands retreat from doing it.  The gown is soon tugged from you and you find yourself covering your feminine parts as his eyes roam around your body. 

Warm rough hands cup under your knee to part your legs further.  You whine in embarrassment and you make an attempt to pull your knees together.  Still so shy from him seeing your body.

“Don’t.”  He warns and your bones turn weak, you feel shameful with how much your body responds to him.

“I’m sorry.”  You say meekly.

Both of you are thrumming in anticipation as he unbuckles his pants and you wait with bated breath as he frees himself.

Coriolanus grunts as he grips his cock, pumping until you feel a warm dribble land on your stomach.

You watch his face contort with concentration as he guides his leaking tip on your entrance and you bite back a moan as the tip catches, the head slotting itself between your petals.

“If you hold back on your sounds, I would get upset.”  He says pointedly and you nod at him, your hand running on his arm to soothe him and to get him to hurry.

Coriolanus hooks your legs over his arms, he holds your waist as he slips himself inside you.

Your pained gasp had him gritting his teeth. 

“Just a bit more, darling.”

But that was a lie.  He was barely in.

Your nails are biting at his arms, forming red angry crescent moons.

“Almost there.”  He groans and you let out a choked sob, feeling the burn from the tight stretch.

Coriolanus inhales sharply as your tightness keeps him from filling you.  He places your legs back on the mattress and he clicks his tongue at how your walls reject his size.  He glances at your face before he tongues his cheek.

“I’m sorry, my love.” 

You don’t get to ask why when he crawls on top of you, his corded arms slipping under you so he can grip your shoulders.  He pulls back slightly and your juices, now painted pink with the mixture of your broken innocence, slips to coat your inner thighs.

Coriolanus murmurs apologies on your hair and makes shallow thrusts, your hands gripping his nape with the conflict of pleasure and pain, making you wetter and wetter.  And in one full thrust, he sheaths himself.

Your eyes shot open as you clawed on his back, feeling yourself tipping before you came crashing down.  Your flower clenches as it pulses around him, your slick overflowing with his tip kissing your cervix.

You are making noises that Coriolanus never thought you were capable of.  Your words were more of like babbles as wet sobs spilled from your lips.

The sight of you, so debauched, makes Coriolanus laugh.  “You come from just being stuffed full?”

Your glare up at him but your tongue is still unable to form words as pleasure makes tears leak from your eyes.

“Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it?”  He chuckles while he rocks his hips against yours.

He watches with amusement at how you throw your head back when he pounds on you.  He can see your pulse jumping and he wonders if you know how vulnerable you are right now.  He grazes his teeth on the thinness of your skin and to his surprise, you mewl wantonly, only tightening around him.

“Naughty girl.”  He chuckles but you look at him, offended.

“I’m not.”

He kisses your pouting lips.  “Hm?”

You shake your head.  “I’m not.”

“You’re not naughty?”  He snickers and you nod.  You are acting no different to a drunk.  “That’s right.  You’ve been a good girl, haven’t you?”

Coriolanus wonders if the look you are giving him are what they say heart eyes are.  

He realized that he feels most powerful when he is on top of you and making you feel good. 

Your feet absentmindedly slide to caress his leg and he smiles at your adorable display of affection.

Nobody would believe the sight of you right now.

So docile, so submissive.

The damp fabric under you was uncomfortable and it was too warm, but such tiny discomforts flew over your head when Coriolanus was making you feel too good.

Your big teary eyes look at him as your brows curl in pleasure, you were too adorable he had to kiss you.

You break the kiss with a whine, your heels digging on the mattress as your back arches off the bed.

Coriolanus understood and fucked into you rougher, trying to keep a steady pace but it was getting harder and harder for him to do when your soft wet walls rub against his sensitive cock.

“Corio, Corio please!”  You beg him as your hands cupped his face in desperation.

He seethes through gritted teeth, his hands leaving a red print on your shoulders as he crushed you with his weight.  You were sobbing, just needing him all to yourself.

And you cum once more.  You are lost as every coil in your body snaps.  You are unraveling beneath him and Coriolanus grunts, chasing his own high and he slots the tip of his manhood deep inside you and spills his seed.

You wince at the warm spurts of his spend and you pull him to share another kiss.

Coriolanus breathed heavily against your lips.  He felt invincible yet ready to go down on his knees for you.  No wonder why so many empires collapsed for women.  He would gladly die if you asked him to at this moment.

Your sob pulls him from his thoughts and looks at you with concern.

Coriolanus tucks your damp hair to the side as he kisses your cheek.  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?  Did I go too rough?”

You shake your head as you pull him closer, your legs crossing over his posterior, burying him deeper inside you, making him groan, the tendons on his arms popping in an attempt to control himself.

“I love you.  I love you, Corio.  It felt so good.”

He chuckles at your words and he nods, dipping low to kiss your lips once more.  “I love you too.”  He looks deep into your eyes and starts moving his hips once more, determined to make love to you again.

You give him a tired smile but you encourage him by tracing his nape sensually with your manicured nails.

You share a look of pure fondness, so in love and lost in pleasure.

It was then you realized that you need nothing else but each other and you would do everything to protect this love you found.

Quest for Happiness

[yanderecrazysie]

Rhododendron (Yandere Android! Oikawa and Iwaizumi)

Part 2 of the Flower Language Series

I got these meanings from the internet, so some may be wrong. Sorry if that is the case, but please ignore my mistakes.

Please do not request the Flower Language Series.

Title: Rhododendron

Pairings: Oikawa Tooru x Reader; Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, murder

Flower meaning: Danger, beware

Summary: There’s something off about your husband’s new androids.

“I know you don’t like me bringing home work, but this is going to blow your mind,” your husband said, one hand on your shoulders as he led you through the apartment to the living room, one hand over your eyes. 

You had a half-smile on your lips, “This has to do with your ‘top secret new project’, doesn’t it?” 

You came to a stop and he removed his hand from your eyes, saying, “You tell me.”

A gasp left your lips. In your doorway stood two tall, rather attractive men with their eyes closed. After a moment, something struck you as off about them, though you couldn’t put your finger on what it was. Maybe it was the way their skin shone under the fluorescent lights. Or maybe, the fact that their skin had no flaws whatsoever and their faces had perfect symmetry.

You spotted your husband’s company’s logo on their matching blue shirts and realization hit you.

“They’re- they’re robots, aren’t they?”

“Androids,” your husband was practically glowing, “I designed them myself. What do you think?”

“They look so real…” you left out the part where you found that to be very creepy.

“Just wait until they open their eyes,” your husband replied eagerly, misreading your hesitation, “The one on the left is called ‘Oikawa’. His model is designed for housekeeping and basic chores. The one on the right is ‘Iwaizumi’, and he’s kind of like an android guard dog.”

“And they’ll be… staying here?” you murmured, unsure of how you felt about their presence.

Your husband finally noticed that you were less than enthusiastic and began to squirm a little, “Well, yeah, just for a little while. They need to be tested so we can work out any bugs. They aren’t dangerous or anything, I promise.”

“And no one else can take them?” you asked in a small voice. You couldn’t help but shiver when you looked at them- something about them frightened you. Some part of you needed them gone.

The pained look on your husband’s face told you all you needed to know, and your heart sank. His voice was quiet when he spoke next, “I’m the lead designer on this project, so it’s required that I test them in a natural environment… I’m really sorry, honey.” 

You squared your shoulders and forced a smile to your face, “It’s fine. It’s totally fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

“Well, like you said, we don’t really have a choice,” you said, unable to keep the sourness out of your voice this time.

“I’ll turn them on,” your husband said softly, “Maybe you’ll warm up to them.”

“I hope so,” you sighed. You didn’t mean to be so unsupportive, but you had both agreed to keep your work at the office and, sometimes, it felt like only you held up your side of the promise. Not to mention, his “work” this time around was very unsettling.

“Oikawa, Iwaizumi, turn on,” your husband commanded.

Their eyes opened at the same time- one pair brown and playful, one pair green and serious. Both androids turned their attention to your husband instantly, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were somehow watching you at the same time.

“I’m adding another authorized user,” he continued. He pointed at you and the androids’ eyes snapped to look at you, making your stomach twist in displeasure, “This is my wife, (Y/n).”

Iwaizumi nodded and said, “Understood.” 

Oikawa, on the other hand, crossed the distance between you and held out his hand, a charming smile spreading across his face. You reluctantly let him take your hand in his and he lifted it to his lips. You shuddered at the coolness of his lips against the back of your hand. There was no warmth in his hands and lips. His “skin” was soft, but it lacked life.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sweetie” he said, his voice as sweet as honey.

You took your hand out of his and drew it against your chest. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, so you merely nodded, a shiver crawling up your spine at his pleased smile.

You noticed the eager smile on your husband’s face and felt bad that you couldn’t match his enthusiasm. However, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the androids standing before you. Oikawa’s smile was unsettlingly perfect and Iwaizumi’s green eyes seemed to pierce through you. 

“Why don’t I show you what they can do?” your husband suggested excitedly, “Oikawa, clean please. Iwaizumi, check all the doors and windows please.”

“Yes, sir,” the androids said in unison. You watched as Oikawa began tidying up the kitchen, his movements as fluid as a human’s. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, began to check the house, locking the windows that you had forgotten about.

Your husband placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “See? They’re very helpful and you’ll barely notice they’re around.”

You highly doubted that you wouldn’t notice them, but you forced a smile, “I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------

As the days passed, the androids seamlessly became a part of your household routine. Oikawa kept the house spotless, prepared meals, and engaged in small talk that was so eerily human-like that it unnerved you. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, rarely talked and guarded the front door and kept things locked up with military-like precision.

But the feeling of unease never stopped. Oikawa’s gaze always lingered on you for too long, and Iwaizumi seemed more interested in protecting you than your husband. You did your best to avoid being home when your husband was out.

One evening, you returned home from work to find the house unusually quiet. You were surprised that Oikawa was the one to let you in the house and lock the door behind you. It had always been Iwaizumi who did that.

“Good evening,” Oikawa said with a blindingly white-toothed smile, “How was your day, (Y/n)?”

“Good,” you replied, “Where’s Iwaizumi?”

“He’s outside, making sure everything is safe,” Oikawa said pleasantly, “What would you like for dinner?”

“I’m just going to rest, actually,” you said, “Is my husband home yet?”

“No, he is staying late at the office,” Oikawa replied.

That was odd, considering his big project was at the house and he was usually home early, working on the androids.

Oikawa’s head tilted, “You seem tense. Would you like a massage?”

You swallowed uneasily, “No thanks. I just want to rest. Alone.”

Oikawa nodded, but his intense gaze didn’t leave you as you hurried up the stairs and into your bedroom. You locked the door behind you, heart pounding. Something felt off, but you couldn’t figure out what it was.

Moments later, a knock sounded on the door. You froze, praying it wasn’t Oikawa. “Yes?” you called.

“It’s Iwaizumi,” the reply was muffled through the door, but his voice was steady, “I just wanted to let you know that you are safe now.”

“Thank you,” you said, feeling as though the words meant something deeper, “Good night.”

“Good night,” Iwaizumi replied. You listened for the sound of retreating footsteps down the stairs but the sound never came. He was still standing outside your door.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and sent a text to your husband, asking when he’d be home. The wait for a response was excruciatingly long, but a reply finally came.

I’m still at the office, sweetie. Is everything okay?

You stared at the message for a full minute before you realized what it was that seemed off. He had never called you sweetie before. Suddenly, a memory resurfaced in your mind of Oikawa.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sweetie.”

As you stood there, trying to make sense of it all, the door handle turned slightly, as if someone was testing it to see if it was locked. You stopped breathing for a moment before shakily calling out, “Iwaizumi, what are you doing?”

There was a long pause before he answered, “Please do not be alarmed, (Y/n). I must ensure your safety.”

Gathering your courage, desperate for answers and plagued by unease, you opened the door. Iwazumi’s eyes widened at the sight of you as you demanded, “Where is my husband?”

Iwaizumi’s gaze didn’t leave you, “Your husband is at work, overseeing additional development.”

You frowned, “Iwaizumi has anything… changed in your programming recently?”

A flicker of something crossed Iwaizumi’s face, “Our job has always been to ensure your safety and happiness.”

“And what about my husband’s safety and happiness?”

Iwaizumi’s eyes narrowed, “His safety is secondary to yours.”

A shiver shot down your spine and you quickly pushed past him, hurrying down the stairs. There was something you needed to know.

Oikawa was standing in the kitchen. Not cleaning or cooking, just standing there as though he were waiting for you to come down the stairs, a smile plastered on his face.

You headed for the door, ready to get in your car and get the hell out of your house and away from the androids, but Oikawa blocked your path.

“Out of my way!” you snapped.

“Where are you going?” Oikawa asked sweetly, “You aren’t safe out there, you know.”

“I need to talk to my husband, in person.”

Oikawa’s smile twisted into a victorious grin, “Why don’t you video call him right now?”

You shakily pulled out your phone, “Why a video call?”

“Then you’ll know we aren’t changing our voices to pretend to be him!” Oikawa said with a small chuckle. 

You weren’t even aware they could do something like that. At least he’s being honest. You reassured yourself.

You pressed the video call option on your husband’s contact page and waited. It took a moment for you to comprehend what was on the other side of the screen.

When you did, you screamed, mind branded forever with the sight of the remains of your husband.

Behind you, Oikawa began to laugh.

[sim0nril3y]

Seaside

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: You both spend the day down at the seaside Note: Set in 2014 Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), teasing, eating, smutty smut smut, sex, p in v, creampie, canon-typical swearing.

It was a surprisingly nice day, the sun was shining, the sky was completely clear of any clouds and there was even a gentle breeze to keep things cool. Added to the fact that it was a weekend and you didn’t have any plans it seemed like some miracle. Whilst you sat and ate breakfast you mentioned. “Maybe we could go to the seaside?” You suggested and from where Simon was making a tea behind you, he hummed in agreement. Honestly you had expected more resistance but he seemed just fine with the idea.

“Oh, that is exciting.” You giggled happily. “Do you want me to pack some food or should we get something down there?” You quizzed with a pinch in your brow. “Babe, I’m not driving all the way down there without having fish and chips.” He smirked, sipping from his tea. “And ice cream?” You looked up happily. “And ice cream.” He confirmed. “Now, go on. Go get ready.” He coaxed softly watching as you finished your toast in a big bite and then rushed to go get ready.

It didn’t seem to take long. You finally decide on an outfit and then were waiting as Simon approached his keys in hand. “Where’s your jacket?” He asked, his own fleece hung over his arm and arch in his brow. “I won’t need one, Si. It’s a nice day out there.” Gesturing to the window beside you as the sun beamed down. “What about when it gets chilly tonight?” He replied evenly, making a fair comment but not one that you were willing to listen to. There were times when you would do this, act stubborn or rather blatantly ignore his suggestions and typically you would always come around to his way of thinking only after the disaster had happened.

“Simon, I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl.” Then shaking your head and opening the door briskly. “The sooner we get there the sooner we can soak up the sun.” A tired sigh left his lips watching as you walk away from him. “Fine.” He huffed, closing the door and locking it behind him. It was your mistake to make.

The drive down wasn’t too long, but it seemed like everyone had the same idea of heading down to the beach. It was like a fight for a parking and earned the glares of several families when he finally slotted into a space. “Oi.” He growled as you were about to climb from the car. “Look here…” He took your face in hand and took some time applying sun cream to your face, taking his time massaging it into your skin. “I get the feeling you just like putting cream on my face~” You purred which earned you a look of caution.

“We only just got here.” Simon’s voice was even and he saw that cheeky smile that pressed to your lips. “Behave yourself or I’ll drive you home.” He commanded and you laughed and nodded. “Promise~” Then leaning forward to kiss him and he smirked. “You smell like a holiday.” He noted, it was a pleasant smell, one that he wanted to savour for a moment longer before climbing from the car and announcing. “It’s never too early for ice cream, is it?”

It turned out that it really was never too early for ice cream, the two of you took a couple cones down to the stony beach and sat down watching the ocean. Even on a roasting day like this the water would be shockingly cold and still there were people playing in it. You smiled happily as you watched them before turning your attention to Simon, eyeing his frozen treat and he huffed as he held it in your direction to take a lick. “Mmm…” Then holding out your own for him to taste too. “That’s nice, babe.” He approved softy.

A loud calling of music and flashing lights drew you both over to the arcades next. They were crammed with kids and adults lining up to play the penny machines, claw machines, shooting games and anything else that was hidden in there. You even convinced Simon to toss a couple pennies into the machine, whilst you exchanged almost all the change in your purse to win a plastic ring and a lollipop.

Proudly you kept holding your hand out for Simon to observe it. A smirk played on his lips as he observed it for a moment and then said. “Very nice… you put about £5 into that machine to get a 50p bit of junk from it.” “Ah-ah. I won this junk.” You corrected with a big grin playing on your lips. “More than you won, Si~” You teased and this caused him to smirk before pulling you into his side and continuing to walk through the arcade before hearing the roar of laughter and cheering.

The two of you glanced over to see a group of lads gathered around the punching machine, a bag swung down and you would test your strength by hitting it as hard as you could. They were clearly trying to beat the record that was into the high 800s. “Bet you could beat that.” You coaxed softly, hand caressing the strong ink-covered bicep. You both observed for a moment before the group grew bored with not being able to beat it and the second it was free you rushed towards it and placed a few stray coins into it. “You go first.” Simon smirked taking a step back and watching you curl your fist. “Ay…” He caught your wrist before you could swing. “You’ll hurt your hand like that… like this…” He fixed your fist and then stepped back. “Go on. Hard as you can.”

You threw a punch and laughed as you watched the numbers fly up. “Ow~” You shook your hand from the impact Simon gently held it and brought it up to his lips to kiss softly. “Not bad, you know.” He nodded at the numbers that flashed on the screen, proudly announcing your score which didn’t beat the record. “Now, out the way…” He struck your rear in a firm slap. “Let me show you how it’s done.” Pressing the button, the ball swung down again and Simon eyed it for a moment.

His punch was loud, making the ball bang loudly as it swung back. You laughed and watched as the numbers rapidly climbed and climbed. A squeal of delight found your throat as the record was beat and then some. The text of the screen flash proudly the new record way into the 1000s. “You did it!” You squeaked and rushed towards him. Simon laughed collecting you into his arms as if a prize he’d just won. “I’m so impressed.” “You should be.” He laughed and held you close for a moment longer and then settling you back onto your feet.

“Well, you’ll really impress me if you can win me something from that machine…” You pointed over to the claw machine and he huffed. “Fine. But you’re paying.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead and then stalked over.

As the sun was setting Simon brought the two of you fish and chips, you sat happily munching away with the stuffed toy he had won from the claw machine between your legs. A cold shiver ran down your entire frame then. Now that the sun had set a cold breeze was setting in. From beside you Simon observed the way your skin prickled and your shoulders shook softly from the chill.

“Bloody hell…” Simon knew that you’d be too stubborn to speak up and instead of fighting you on it just removed his fleece and handed it on your direction. “Here… before you get hypothermia.” You were quick to climb into the warmth of his fleece, enjoying that way that it smelt of his strong cologne and just of him. “Thanks.” You mumbled softly as you continued eating your chips.

You knew the comment was coming and simply smiled when he said. “Told you to bring a jumper.” Then glancing in your direction. “Just knew that you’d get cold.” A giggle slipped from your lips. “You’re always bloody cold. Like being next to an icicle at night, one that puts their bloody cold feet on you.” It would always rile him up when he was just dropping off to sleep and your cold feet you find their way onto his body. It was jolt him right back awake. “S’not funny.” He grumbled as you giggled and leaned into his side.

“I am always cold and I’m so lucky to have someone so warm and caring to snuggle up to.” You giggled and glanced up at him. “Besides, I knew a really good way of warming up~” There was that same playful lilt to you voice which let Simon know he was in trouble. “How much space do you think there is in the back of the car…” Simon smirked and responded. “Why don’t we find out?”

Night had drawn over completely and the car park was practically empty as you bounced on his rigid cock, from this angle you were hitting all the right spot, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with every slam down against his lap, whimpering and mewling into his throat as Simon clasped desperately at your waist. “C’mon pretty girl…” Those strong hands clawed hard to slam you down filthily onto his cock. “S’fuckin’ tight… Fuckinghell…” Simon’s voice was practically a growl as his fingers dug into your soft flesh.

By now your thighs were burning, but you didn’t care. It was a perfect ending to this amazing day. The two of you wouldn’t have been able to survive the journey home and besides now you would avoid the traffic.

“S’close, Simon~” You cried softly, burying your face into his throat. “S’fuckin’ deep… Ohgod… C-can I… can… I please…” “Yes, baby.” He confirmed, his hand disappearing between your body so his thumb could rub your swollen clit so softly before grunting as he felt your body swiftly fall over the edge, walls pulsing and body shuddering hard in his grip, even as you body tried to lock tight his hands continued to use your body, bouncing you and extending your pleasure as much as he could. “Goodgirl… good girl… give me everything, babe… goodgirl… Such a pretty girl when you cum…” He praised in your ear causing you to mewl and moan sweetly. “My sweet little thing… cumming of my fuckin’ cock… makin’ such a mess… goodgirl…” He coaxed his hand down your back soothingly.

There were little noises of effort as you continued to bounce on his cock and Simon smiled at how beautiful you looked. “Need your cum…” You whispered breathlessly, using what little effort you had left in your body to try and milk some from him. “Yeah, you need it?” Simon grunted out, glancing down between your bodies to watch his cock disappearing into your tight hole over and over again. “Need it…” You whined, gripping at his shoulders and pressing down harder. “Use me… Give it to me…” You whimpered leaning in to kiss him. “Please~”

He took that as permission to grip at your hips and begin to slam you down recklessly on his cock, using your sweet body for all his pleasure. “Feel… fuckin’ good, babe… won’t last… long…” He warned and sticking true to his words only lasted a few moments before beginning to shoot his seed into your accepting walls, pulling your frame close so he could hold you as he exploded inside. “F-fuck…” He grumbled, seating you fully on his lap and panting against your throat. “Fuck… that was… fuck…” He chuckled lowly. “You’re perfect~”

“So are you~” You giggled into his throat and he stroked his hands slowly up your back, soothing you sensually. “Let me… just stay here for a bit longer and then… then I’ll drive us home~” Turning his head he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Just rest, love.”

Masterlist | Ask | 23-09-2023

[captain-hawks]

BRIGHT AS THE MORNING/SOFT AS THE RAIN.

jean kirstein x f!reader

Jean Kirstein may have sharp teeth—but he seems to forget that you do, too. 

wc: 3.9k tags: 18+ only, wolf shifter!jean, witch!reader, little witch as a pet name, enemies to lovers, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, multiple orgasms, semi-public sex, outdoor sex, sex against a wall -> requested

No turning back now.

The glass vial is cool against your fingertips when you pull it from your back pocket, uncorking the stopper before bringing it to your lips and tipping its pale green contents onto your tongue. You fight back the full body shiver that threatens to wrack through you as the bitter liquid burns its way down your throat.

It tastes awful. 

Flicking the empty container into a nearby garbage bin, you hastily wipe the back of your hand across your mouth, making a mental note to include a neutral additive next time you find yourself thumbing your way through your grandmother’s crumbling grimoire. The old coven never did pay any mind to the foul taste of their ancient elixirs. 

Eyes darting to the neon sign hanging above the building across the street, its colors reflecting in the puddles strewn about the sidewalk out front, you sigh. Now for the annoying part. 

You dog-eared the page on this vitality spell years ago, intrigued by the rejuvenating properties of the concoction that your grandmother’s gnarled old hands had once made use of in days long past. Most of the ingredients were easy enough to procure, and the elixir need only be saved for the full moon for maximum potency. A moon that hangs bright and heavy over a blissfully clear, star-speckled sky tonight. 

But the reason why you’ve put off this tempting spell for so long is the final ingredient that you’ve now begrudgingly come to collect—shifter saliva.

Wolf shifter saliva, to be exact. 

When you step through the front doors of the bar, you wrinkle your nose at the decidedly canine scent that invades your nostrils. Not that it can be helped, given that you’ve purposely chosen an establishment frequented by them to make this as quick and transactional as possible. 

It’s not particularly ideal—traipsing around in a building full of wolf shifters on the full moon. While the waxing and waning crescent does not dain to dictate their transformations, their power finds an apex, just as yours does, on nights like this. You can feel the buzz of it in the air, licking against your skin, the tendrils of magic bearing an earthen touch. 

It takes you all of ten minutes spent perched on a stool at the end of the bar to find yourself confidently approached by what appears to be an easy contender. A shifter who introduced himself as Eren now sits beside you, his dark brown hair half pulled back into a messy bun, knee lightly brushing against your own in a way that treads the line between a polite mistake and a subtle invitation. 

He’s cute, and he’s caught your interest enough that you might even be willing to let him get a hand or two up your shirt when you inevitably stumble your way into a bathroom or alleyway to make out and swap spit. Nobody said you couldn’t at least try to get some enjoyment out of this, after all. 

That is, until the last voice that you’re expecting to hear on this fine evening unceremoniously interrupts your conversation from somewhere behind you.

“And what do we have here?”

Stiffening, you turn to face none other than the head of the Trost pack in all of his annoyingly handsome and insufferable glory—Jean Kirstein.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath.

Jean ignores your comment, though there’s not a single doubt in your mind that his wolfy hearing picks up every word loud and clear.

“I think Armin’s looking for you,” he tells Eren.

Eren raises a brow, taking a slow sip from the glass in his hand. “Nah, I doubt that.”

He returns his gaze to you, but Jean steps closer, putting an arm around his shoulder as he leans in. “She’ll eat you alive, Jaeger. You know what she is, don’t you?”

Eren smiles, canine teeth on full display; it’s less friendly and more of a challenge. “I’m a big boy, Kirstein.”

Jean’s eyes flash, and he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, “Take a fucking hint.” 

There’s nothing remotely cordial in his tone now. 

The two men are quiet as they stare at one another, the air thick with tension, and you can almost feel the shift when Eren’s hackles finally drop as he seems to think better of challenging Jean’s dominance. Looking at them side by side, you can’t say you blame him, though you’re loath to admit it. 

“Whatever man.”

Eren offers you an apologetic nod, shooting Jean one last annoyed look before he disappears into the din of the bustling crowd. Meanwhile, the pack leader slides into the now-empty seat without preamble, all long limbs and unnervingly bright eyes, the sight of his messy brown hair and the hint of stubble on his jaw bothering you for reasons you have no desire to examine. 

“Really?” you bite out. 

Jean doesn’t answer you right away. Instead, he picks up Eren’s cup and takes a sip, lips immediately curling downward in disgust as he puts it back down and makes a brief gesture in the direction of the bartender. It’s only once a glass full of something else is placed in front of him that he finally looks at you.

“Hm?”

You wonder just how much trouble you’d land yourself in for punching a pack leader right here in the middle of a shifter bar. He takes a long pull from the glass, clicking his tongue against his teeth in satisfaction after.

Yeah, you’re definitely going to punch him.

“What the fuck was that about?”

Jean shrugs, smoothly dragging a coaster toward his drink with his middle finger and wiping away the ring of condensation left behind on the dark wood countertop with the side of his hand. When his eyes meet yours, the light brown of his irises nearly gold in this light, something hot unfurls in your chest. 

“Believe me when I say you don’t want to fuck Eren Jaeger,” he replies evenly.

You scoff. “I wasn’t going to fuck him.”

He raises a brow and says nothing.

“I was just going to…why the fuck does this even concern you anyway, Kirstein?” you snap. 

Elbow now placed on the counter, he leans his cheek into the palm of his hand, like he has nowhere better to be than mercilessly cockblocking you on a Friday night. 

It’s ironic, really, given the origin of your perpetual disdain for him. 

Maybe it’s a bit immature to hate a guy for turning down your tipsy advances on a night out with your friends. 

They were all convinced he’d been staring at you from across the room for the better part of the evening. But the rough scrape of his words against the shell of your ear when you finally found the courage to approach him still echoes in the recesses of your mind all these years later—”Go home and sober up, little witch.”

It’s always bothered you more than it should, the sting of that casual rejection. Like he couldn’t even be bothered to entertain a moment of your company, if not a drunken kiss that would have very well been a dime a dozen at a place like that anyway. 

What made it worse was all of the subsequent times you’ve had the misfortune of running into him after. He makes a game of it, flirting with you. Calling you little witch. Like he wants to subtly remind you of how you embarrassed yourself that night, to toy with you just for the sake of driving you to the brink of the relentless, burning ire you feel in waves every time you see him now. 

“I know you have some problem with shifters, and you’re here on a goddamn full moon of all nights. So I’m just trying to make sense of this,” he says. 

You narrow your eyes. “I have a problem with you.”

He puts his shoe on the metal rung of your stool beside your right foot, voice dripping with sarcasm as he replies, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you can feel the tug of the unfinished spell swirling restlessly inside of you. Waiting. “I need wolf saliva.”

Jean’s brows shoot up, and it would almost be comical, if you weren’t so goddamn annoyed. He recovers just as quickly. “So you thought you’d waltz in here, suck face with some poor, unsuspecting pup for a bit and then break his little heart when you skip off back to your coven with your special ingredient?”

Well, he’s not wrong, per se. 

“Oh, is that why you barged in on my conversation? You were worried about me hurting Eren’s feelings after I let him cop a feel in one of those dingy bathrooms over there?”

You swear Jean’s eye fucking twitches.

“Jaeger’s a bastard, and he’s not worth your time.”

A flash of hot anger prickles over your skin. “Why is who I kiss suddenly any of your concern now, Kirstein?” 

You place emphasis on the ’now’ without quite meaning to.

Jean’s nostrils flare as he inhales. Without another word, he gets up and walks away.

And for whatever godforsaken reason, you stalk after him, fists tightly clenched at your sides.

After weaving through the crowd, you find yourself standing in the deserted back alley behind the building. You quickly regret your decision not to grab your jacket from the hook beside the door on your way out of your apartment, the air much more brisk now than it was when you left. 

Jean whirls to face you, the look on his face softening a fraction when he sees the way you’ve wrapped your arms around yourself. He tugs off his leather jacket without fanfare, draping it around your shoulders before you have a chance to protest.

You hate how good it smells—the rich, woodsy scent that you’ve long-since come to associate with him, its musky notes almost dizzying at this dangerous proximity.  

And as you unconsciously finding yourself soaking in the residual warmth that lingers in the material, you’re reminded of just how very hot shifters run. 

“Walking away in the middle of a conversation is generally considered rude amongst most species,” you mutter, leaning on the brick wall and bending a knee to press a foot flat against it.  

Jean drags a hand through his hair. “There are some conversations I prefer to have beyond the vicinity of a bunch of nosey wolves with good hearing.”

“What, you didn’t want your friends overhearing a witch tell you what a gigantic asshole you are?” you drawl. 

Sighing heavily, he runs a hand over his face. “I find it mildly infuriating that you have zero fucking sense of self-preservation and thought that fooling around with a shifter you don’t even know during a goddamn full moon is somehow a good idea.”

He makes finger quotes at the last two words, and for whatever reason, that’s your last straw this evening. 

Jean Kirstein may have sharp teeth—but he seems to forget that you do, too. 

“Go fuck yourself, Kirstein,” you grit out. “I’m not even going to pretend to understand whatever kind of twisted amusement you get out of mocking me at every given chance. But do me a favor and go stick your mangy nose in someone else’s business, and maybe I will go back inside and fuck a shifter after all. There sure are plenty in there to choose from.”

Between one breath and the next, the space between you and Jean rapidly dissipates as he crowds you against the building, one hand resting beside your head.

“I don’t give a shit about whatever witchy little spell you’ve got cooking. I’m not letting any of those moon drunk idiots touch you,” he rasps.

His words do something to you, something that has rogue electricity expelling its way down your spine. Something that has you biting the inside of your cheek. 

Something that makes it difficult to breathe.

“I already drank the elixir. I’ll probably get sick if I don’t finish the spell,” you retort. 

The now-golden shade of Jean’s eyes up close is mesmerizing in a way that has your heart trembling against the shackles of your ribcage.

It makes sense right now—why your grandmother used to warn you about the wiles of shifters. 

He huffs a small laugh, a warm puff of air filling the space between your faces. “You sure are confident.”

You glare at him, at the jab that you know the comment is meant to be. “Can you just let me go take care of this? It’s a harmless spell that’s the equivalent of a witchy energy drink. I’m sure you can point out at least one half decent shifter in there for me to chat up.”

Jean tucks part of his plush bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”

You can’t help it—you bark out a laugh right in his face. “You’re fucking joking, right?”

Something that can’t possibly be hurt flashes in his eyes. “No?”

“Why would I embarrass myself like that again?”

Jean blinks, tilting his head sideways in confusion. And the gesture would almost be cute—

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Exhaling in annoyance, you cross your arms. “You’ve already shot me down once, Kirstein.”

He straightens. “Are you…what? Seriously? You were drunk.”

A fresh wave of embarrassment prickles over you. “You shot me down and told me to go home like some child.”

“Because I didn’t want any of the shithead shifters that were lurking around that night to take advantage of you.”

Now that you’ve broken the dam, the words just keep on spilling out. “And you take advantage of every opportunity to make me feel stupid for coming on to you in the first place, even now years later.”

Jean looks taken aback. “Is that what you think I’ve been doing this whole time?”

You frown. “...yes?”

He pushes his hair back, and the way the brown strands relent and fall against his brows when his fingers move away has no right to look as attractive as it does. And yet—

Jean takes your wrist in his own and tugs you forward, until your positions are reversed, and he’s the one backed against the opposite wall of the alleyway while you stand before him. He doesn’t let go of your hand, and you find your fingers pressed to the soft fabric of his shirt. 

The soft fabric and the feeling of his hot skin beneath—

“I turned you down because I don’t entertain drunk witches who think a night with a shifter is a novelty,” he says slowly, eyes never leaving yours. “And I flirt with you now because I like you. Even if you’re hellbent on hating me.”

You can feel his steady heartbeat beneath your palm. 

“I don’t hate you,” you whisper, not quite certain if you’re more shocked that you said the words, or that you actually meant them.  

You’re not sure what compels you to do it, to reach up and brush back a rogue strand of Jean’s hair. But it’s worth it for the way his eyes momentarily fall shut, his throat bobbing as he swallows. 

“No?” he breathes out, voice a little rough. 

You’ll marvel at the memory of this later, this sight of Jean Kirstein bathed in moonlight and bending to your touch. 

“No,” you tell him. 

Jean laughs quietly. “Then finish your spell already, little witch.”

There’s an odd sensation that ripples over you, a tug. Like the fire and brimstone of your magic feels the wind and earth in Jean’s, like it’s begging to touch—

Jean meets you halfway when you cup his face and begin to lean in. 

And when his lips find yours, your magic sings. 

It’s instant—the way you can feel the spell’s completion ripple through you as Jean’s mouth slots against your own, a sunny sensation fizzing in your veins. 

It’s instant—and it’s how you know everything that follows has nothing to do with the elixir and everything to do with Jean. 

Jean, Jean, Jean. 

Your blood pulses everywhere Jean’s touching you—one hand cupping the back of your head, the other curled at your waist. 

Your magic surges and shivers, cresting higher as he parts the seam of your lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss. A moan slips out of you of its own accord, and Jean growls softly. 

As a shifter, Jean can’t wield the power that lives inside of him with his bare hands, not like you can. But you can feel every tendril of it as it curls around your own, as your magic grasps for his almost desperately. 

Jean flips your positions, pressing your back to the wall once more, and his fingers press into the small of your back. 

And his magic is hot and wild as it seeps into you, as he drags hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, as he groans rough and deep at the little keening sounds that tips out past your lips when his hips press into yours. 

“Jean,” you whimper. 

A plea. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, mouth hovering near the damp patch of skin he was just sucking at below your earlobe. 

He’s so hard against you, his erection straining against the front of his pants. 

You shake your head, pressing forward into him, and he groans, cupping your chin. His eyes bore into yours as he drags his thumb along your lower lip. 

And then he’s dropping to his knees right there in the alley, thumb pressed to the swollen bud of your clit through your stockings as he pushes your skirt up out of the way. 

“Were these expensive?” he asks casually. 

You blink down at him in confusion. “No? They were like—“

Jean doesn’t wait for you to finish your answer before he nudges your thighs slightly further apart at the ankle and tears a hole in the stretchy black material right between your legs. 

“It’s too cold for you to take them off,” he murmurs by way of explanation, as if your brain is capable of focusing on anything other than the feeling of him tugging aside your panties and dragging two fingers through your slick folds. 

“Oh,” you gasp, knees already threatening to buckle. 

Jean grasps your hip to steady you, eyes glinting in amusement as he stares up at you while he slides one thick finger into your tight channel. 

“What kind of spell was that?” he teases, as if you’re not dripping fucking wet from him and him alone. 

“N-not that kind,” you gasp as he sinks in knuckle-deep. 

Jean seems pleased with this answer, slowly pumping the digit in and out of your aching cunt. You bury your face in his jacket to stifle your moans as you tremble in pleasure. 

“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps, the lewd squelching sounds only intensifying when he stretches you even further on a second finger. 

Part of you wishes you were somewhere soft and horizontal, so you could feel the slide of his tongue on yours in a messy, spit-soaked kiss while he fingers you deep and slow until you’re a whimpering, sobbing mess. 

You wish you were naked and pliant beneath him, feeling the touch of his burning hot skin against your own from head to toe. 

But the fantasy is short-lived, tucked away for another time when Jean brings his mouth between your legs and laps a firm, broad stroke through your slit. When he groans at the taste of you, large hands tugging your legs even further apart as he buries his tongue in your cunt and begins to devour you whole. 

Because when he pauses to look up at you, to marvel the way you can hardly hold back your keening sounds as he fucks you with his tongue—he looks just as wrecked as you. Just as desperate and unwound with his mussed hair and golden eyes and your slick, sticky arousal painted all over his face. 

It’s what has your hands winding in his hair before you can even reach your impending climax, dragging him upward for a filthy kiss as your fingers scramble for purchase against the button of his pants. 

Jean hisses when you get your hands on his cock, and your now-empty cunt spasms around nothing while you stroke his girth. 

“Jean, please,” you pant against his lips. 

You can feel your stockings rip even further when Jean hoists you up, the bricks pressing into your back as you wrap your legs around him. The material is soaked with spit and arousal as he pushes your panties aside once more and lines his cock up with your dripping entrance. 

And it’s all encompassing—the way your magic explodes in a burst of heat and energy as his cock plunges into you, every cell in your body vibrating with searing hot pleasure like nothing you’ve ever felt before. 

“What the fuck—“ Jean chokes out, groaning as he kisses you hard, his grip on your hips tightening beyond measure. 

You know he feels it, too. 

“I know,” you gasp, and he takes your lower lip between his teeth. 

The pleasure surging inside of you begs for release, your muscles tensing harder with each deep, thick stroke of his cock against your slick walls. 

He’s all you can see. All you can smell and feel and taste. You want to feel him everywhere, want to let his magic sink so deeply into yours that you lose where you end and he begins. 

You’re so fucking drunk on Jean Kirstein, you might laugh—if you could do anything but moan and whimper and sob his name right now, that is. 

“Jean I’m close—“ you whisper, voice breaking. 

“Then come on my cock,” he murmurs. “Let me feel you come all over my cock, pretty witch.”

Your pleasure erupts in a gushing flood of euphoria, and your walls expanding and contracting rapidly on the stretch of Jean’s length as he fucks you through your orgasm until his own thrusts grow sloppy, too. 

“Come inside of me,” you breathe out, feeling the way Jean tenses and growls at your plea. 

“Fuck,” he groans, cock still pumping into your fucked out hole in deep, rough strokes. “You feel so good, fuckfuck—“

Jean comes hard, burying himself to the hilt when his cock begins to pulse inside of you, filling your cunt with rope after rope of sticky, hot cum until it begins to leak out and drip down your thighs. 

—and without warning, your pussy spasms as you climax once more in an unexpected surge of pleasure that has you whimpering and shaking in its wake. 

There’s a exhilarating, magical edge to it. 

Jean stares at you, lips slightly parted as he marvels at the sight. 

“Was that—“

“Well the spell called for spit, not cum,” you exhale shakily, cunt fluttering as he pulls out, and you whine. 

He watches you closely as he brings a hand between your legs, slowly rubbing your swollen, over-sensitive clit. 

”Oh,” you breathe out, fingers digging into the front of his shirt. 

You rock your rips into his touch, and all it takes is the tease of the pad of his fingers circling around your tight hole to have you coming again on his fingers. 

“Wow,” he murmurs against your lips, lazily slipping a digit back inside of you to feel the sloppy mess of cum that’s dripping out of you. 

And it still feels so good. 

“I think I fucked up the spell,” you gasp, already on the edge of another orgasm. 

“I think I can help you take care of that,” Jean rasps, kissing his way down your jaw to sink his teeth into the soft, plush curve between your shoulder and neck.

[fangirl-writes]

Sick Day

JJ Maybank x GN!Reader

Warning(s): Sickness, fever.

Request:

Hi!! I've seen you account recently and I was thinking maybe you could write jj maybank x reader when the reader is always so guffy and childish, like they always jump from excitement and love weird things. So reader is sick like have really bad fever and is weary weak, almost fainted because of that and jj take kare of them and maybe lullaby them to sleep by singing them and rocking them please.

Also English isn't my mother language so please forgive me for any mistakes love you.

Feel free to ignore me if you want to byee

Notes: JJ would absolutely listen to Arctic Monkeys don't @ me.

"But JJ," you whined as he carried you into your house.

"No buts, Y/N, you can't put other shit above yourself. You're sick and you're going to be sick until you get better."

You pouted, burying your head in his shoulder. "But what if you get sick?"

"Don't worry about that, I literally never get sick. It's like some superpower I have," he replied, walking towards your bedroom. "One time John B. got the flu, like shit from both ends bad flu, and I spent the whole day with him anyway and never got sick."

"But you're gonna miss a pogue day off..."

"I think I'm willing to sacrifice one day just for you,"

A blush spread across your cheeks and you said, "...thanks."

You'd woken up feeling like shit, with a fever and an aching body, but you were never one to let anything bring you down so you popped some Tylenol and went on your way.

But the pogues knew something was wrong right away because you were usually the life of the party, bouncing uncontrollably all the way down the dock and talking animatedly about whatever it was that had piqued your interest that day.

But not today.

Today you were relatively silent, refusing a beer and a puff of JJ's blunt.

You'd had off days before, they all did, so none of them pushed you to tell them what was up.

Until you stood up too fast and nearly fainted.

Thankfully, JJ intercepted your body before it could hit the water and laid you down on the floor of the boat. Everyone fanned your face and Kie pressed a cool water bottle to your forehead.

"Y/N, you're burning up," she said. "I think you have a fever."

"What?" JJ said. "Seriously?"

You couldn't help but cry a little bit at the statement, the concern in everyone's eyes making you feel worse.

Which JJ could tell. "Come on, I'm taking you home."

"What? No-" you sat up quickly - too quickly- and had to catch yourself before you fell back. "Seriously, don't let me ruin your day, I can walk home."

"Y/N, you can barely sit up, let JJ take you home," Pope said.

"No, come on, he probably doesn't want to be around me anyway. You'd much rather stay here and drink and smoke with the pogues, right?"

JJ was silent for a moment, narrowing his eyes at you before he leaned over, grabbed your wrist and hip, threw you over his shoulder and hopped up onto the deck with ease.

"JJ!" You protested, but he'd trapped you. You had no escape in this position.

"See you guys later," JJ said, throwing a peace sign to his friends with his free hand before continuing his trek towards your house.

"JJ!" You tried again, pounding against his back. "Put me down!"

He swung you around, making you shout, but he didn't put you down, simply holding you bridal style instead.

You must've turned green because he winced. "Sorry."

Eyes squeezed shut, you said, "It's fine. You should really put me down though."

"Nope."

A few minutes of bickering later and well-

"Here we are," JJ said, setting you down carefully on your bed.

Having resigned yourself to sickness at this point, you immediately crawled under the covers and groaned.

JJ chuckled, running a hand over your forehead. "You really are burning up. I'm gonna go get you some water."

"J-"

"I'll be right back," He said, smiling at you as you looked up at him.

He pulled a water bottle from the fridge and the bottle of Tylenol from the cabinet before heading back to your room.

Your eyes were still open when he came back.

"What?"

"Nothing," you replied, smiling weakly. "Just never saw you as the nurse type."

"Never had any sexy dreams about me in a nurse's uniform?" he joked.

"You wish."

Instead of replying, JJ set down the water and Tylenol on your bedside table and picked up the thermometer that was already there.

"You had a fever before and you still came?"

You groaned. "Don't lecture me."

He didn't but he still stuck the thermometer in your mouth.

"101, wow," he said. "You are sick. And you definitely need to sleep."

You tossed your head against your pillow. How were you supposed to sleep in the middle of the afternoon with the sun shining right in your window?

Then an idea struck you.

JJ looked up from where he was surveying the thermometer and noticed your gaze. "...What?"

You made grabby hands at him. "Cuddle me?"

He shook his head. "You're sick."

"What happened to all that bravado about not ever getting sick?"

"I mean you need to sleep."

"I'll sleep better if you're with me," you replied.

He rolled his eyes but joined you in your bed anyway. "If you wanted me in your bed, you didn't have to get sick to do it."

"Shut up," you mumbled, tucking yourself into his arms with your head against his chest. "You know you've always wanted to be here, too."

He hoped his heart wasn't hammering too hard with you so close. "Maybe so."

You sighed, face scrunched up as you tried to will yourself to sleep.

JJ bit his lip.

His mother always used to sing him lullabies when he was sick as a kid. Course that was before she left.

Still, maybe he could turn that painful memory into a good one.

He started humming softly, just loud enough for you to hear, and raking his fingers through your hair.

"You call the shots babe, I just wanna be yours," he sang softly.

Sure he wasn't the most musically gifted person, but he could hold a tune and the way you snuggled further into him told him you were enjoying the serenade.

"Secrets I have held in my heart, are harder to hide than I thought. Maybe I just wanna be yours, I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours."

Forgetting the other words, he returned to humming.

You were so beautiful, lying in his arms, half-asleep. Even sick, you were one of the most beautiful people JJ had ever seen.

"I just wanna be yours," he sang one last time, assuming you'd be asleep by now.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead and went to get up but you tightened your hold.

"Don't leave," You whispered sleepily, almost slurring. "I wanna be yours, too..."

A little stunned, JJ slunk back into his former position, holding you close. "Really?"

You hummed, nodding.

JJ absolutely got your fever the next day but he'd claim it was worth it to hear you sing the same song back at him and to kiss you whenever he wanted.

[lamemaster]

The Soulless One (Part 2)

Pairing: Maedhros x Reader

Genre: happy ending (Yay!)

Word Count: 2k-ish

Summary: Giving away your soul for a bloody battle? Pfft, you were fucking in for good.

AN: I tried. I'm sorry. Can we just ignore the cannon fea dynamics and roll with this? Please 🥹

Part 1 |

You pin him to the bed that creaked dangerously for an Elven creation. "Is this not enough?" You pull him closer by his collar. "These stupid braids, talking in riddles elegantly like you wanted, enchanting eyes, birthmarks right under my lips, and for so long I haven't allowed a damned curse to fall on these lips." And for once you can hear his heart clearer than ever. A skip in his beat that your human senses couldn't have caught.

But your own heart beats louder than him. "Is this not enough? Do you know how uncomfortable it is to dwell in a body my soul can never accept? And you...you never came looking for me. Did you not feel a pull in your soul?" You hold back the tightness behind your eyes that threatens to spill your tears at any given moment. "What else must I do my lord?"

Much to your annoyance, he stays quiet. And then it happens. In a flick of the moment your fist meets his cheek and you stare at the elf beneath you. A blooming bruise covers his face and a throbbing pain pulses in your fist. "Fuck!" You bunch up your gowns and rush out of the room which to run back to, just to drop ointment before running to your grandmother.

“I messed up,” you follow behind Melian who seems to be taken by the task of watering the garden, uncaring of your heart’s inner turmoil. “Can you hear me grandmother?!” You snatch her watering can blocking her path. 

“You did nothing wrong,” Melian replies with her unnervingly wise eyes boring into your soul. “Son of Feanor needed that wake-up call.” Of course, she knew! Nothing escaped your grandmother’s eyes. 

“I punched him!” Now you were not the one to not trust Melian, you weren’t repeating your grandfather’s mistakes. “How could he be fine with that? He probably thinks I am the same old brute.” You, much to your annoyance, find yourself watering the plants in her steed.

Melian had always known your truth. The half-human soul in your body that clung to the memories of your past life and your entanglement to the eldest son of Feanor. 

Perhaps, your soul that matched that of her daughter’s endeared you to her. Or maybe it was just a simple fondness for her grandchild. But you saw it in her gaze, a longing unfulfilled by you. Luthien Tinuviel lived in her mother’s eyes even ages past. 

Even now, parts of Tinuviel remain as your grandmother shakes her head fondly, “Nothing ever is unchanged honey, even the winds that brush the shores come back bearing brine in them. So how is it that you expect yourself and Maedhros to remain unchanged?” Plucking a swaying Lavender your grandmother tucks it behind your ear. “Love will come to you, General. Have faith.” Like a prophecy, her words imprint themselves on your heart.

Jumping into the blazing pits of his end, Maedhros had expected agony worthy of his crimes. It was supposed to be an end deserving of the likes of him. He did not wish for an existence beyond repenting the crimes of his acts. It was fitting for someone like him.

Yet, surrounded by devouring flames of his own choice, Maedhros felt nothing but a soothing stillness. It was wrong. He reached out his hand to feel the burn only for the cool sensation to ward off the flames with his movement. 

He knew. He had known it all along. Even in death, his General would stand by him. A soul so fierce that even the flames of Earth’s chasm could not diminish it. 

That could be the reason that Maedhros smiles softly before he closes his eyes. In the end, you found him. No…you’ve always had him. It is now that he can accept it free of the burdens of his life. 

Surrounded by you, Maedhros closes his eyes. His death is easy. It is most peaceful. He is undeserving of it. But it is a present he accepts. A courting present, he has accepted ages later after it was offered.

All that is left is to relay his reply. To tell you, that he is yours.

Reborn, Maedhros finds himself in the land of bliss. Surrounded by his brothers, mother, cousins. All who marvel at his recovery from a death so painful. 

He returns with a complete soul and a remaining fragment of you, that made it to his rebirth. All he has to do is wait. Maedhros awaits your return. Something that will come to pass no matter what. Because his General, never backs from promises. 

And when you do return, he will kneel to you and beg for the affection you once vowed to him. He will offer his heart, his soul, and his body which is now unmarred from the scars of the past. 

But what Maedhros did not expect was to encounter you, on the shores of Alquanlonde, dressed in finery, speaking with the tact of a skillful diplomat.

A form brighter than any other. The radiance of Maia blood was not unhidden. Such was to be expected of the daughter of Daeron, and the granddaughter of Melian herself. He knew it to be you, yet you were so different from the General of his past. 

His heart stutters at the first instance of your eyes meeting his. But he looks away from the glimmer of recognition in your eyes. Even the fragment of your soul, he possesses seems to remember its owner.

But Maedhros’ heart drowns in the waves of dilemma. 

His love for the General was warm, cozy, humble despite its depth. Yet, the person who now stood before him was different. 

His own words of the past where he jested with you, revolve in his mind.-

"Someone more refined perhaps…Someone who restrains from cursing after every other word…Enchanting eyes, long braided hair, a beauty mark or two placed by their lips, elegant nose, supple lips-".

He remembers them well. And it was as if, his General had taken every single word and made it real. 

But he is no longer worthy of a love like that. He wasn’t worthy back then and he isn’t now. A sinister part of his heart had bargained your human imperfections as a bargain for his own insecurities.

But now that too was lost to him. 

That is why he reigns his heart and lowers his eyes from you. At war with his own desires, he avoids, the one he had promised to confess to.

He does well until you find him.

It is then that he sees the spark of the past. His General who pinned him to bed, who cursed, whose hands were no less than ones of Tulkas' Maia.

His General, who does not remember to offer him ointment despite even as she rushes out of his room embarrassed.

You almost cringe when Maedhros shows up in front of you with a bruise on his face. Why were you heavy-handed even as an elven princess was beyond you…but when he asks for a private conversation you, follow him thinking of ways you could make up for how you had treated him.

Trying to ignore the wayward vine that rested on Maedhor’s head, you prepared to apologize as you should have done hours ago. Closing your eyes you push yourself in a bow, “Iamsorryishoudn’t-” your words pause when Maedhros’ speech interrupts you. And for once you let him speak as you straighten from your bow.

“I did not want you to ever think that my love for you is a result of this form or beauty.” Maedhros sighs. “I may have said things…but I loved you back then, and I love you now. How can I not love you?” He chuckles as if the thought was of fleeting mirth to him. 

“A woman reckless enough to give her soul to me, how could I not give her my heart?” His hand tentatively cups your face and you let him. “I was scared that my acceptance of this form would undermine the General. That it would make you feel less about the woman I have loved. But that is not true. And hurting you was never my intent.” His eyes look down in shame, you never intended to subject him to his hand falling down from where it rested on your cheek. 

“I let you die without ever caring for you. I have been nothing but selfish in return for your selfless affection. I treated you poorly for a crime you never committed. I always desired you but never held myself accountable to be worthy of being desired by you. Even now my heart is full of cowardice. Despite vowing to wait for you, I could not even summon the courage to look you in the eyes once I found you.” much to your surprise, the mountain of an elf kneels at your feet with his head bowed to the ground. “I am flawed. Greedy and self-serving even in my love. How can I ever ask more of you?” His hands fall emptily next to him in defeat. 

“Maedhros,” you try your best to avoid an overly sentimental choked up voice. Instead you crouch next to him gripping his slumped shoulders, that seemed unnatural for someone as prideful as him.“You are a fucking fool of an elf.” You tilt up his chin and look into his eyes. “Since when did love become a trade? When did it become so tangible as to weigh it in our actions?” Your thumb caresses the tilt of his jaw as you find yourself spilling all that had been left in your heart. 

“Even as a human General, I knew that my love for you was enough. I did not need to measure it with sweet gestures or sickeningly sweet words. I knew that I was born to love you and on the battlefield, I found out that I would die to love you. It is a fate I have chosen of my free will.” It is not for the first time that you marvel at the innate Elven skill to make up the poetic declarations out of most simple conversations. 

“I have forced the hand of doom itself to join me to you. So who are you to deny me?” You could not stop the smug smirk forming on your face. Arrogance, too perhaps was an Elven trait. 

Like an obedient pup, Maedhros sits in front of you, leaning into the touch of your palm. “You make me into a pathetic elf, General,” much to your surprise Maedhros’ voice cracks as you swiftly wipe the tears on his face. “But I am nothing but an absolute wretch without you. How unfair is that.” With a broken sob, your beloved pulls you into a hug.

And by the fragrant gardens of your grandma’s palace, you found love again. While being pretty sure, that she could very well be listening to your idiotic words but you allowed it. She deserved the show after being a part of it. 

And that is how, you a General from the East, became the first one to create a soulmate of your choice.

[thiccpersonality]

Do you, mayhaps, mean Ramadan?

It was a beautiful morning in Gotham, surprising every individual of the usually smoggy and dull city. Today the weather decided to treat all Gothamites kindly with a very spring feeling day! The sun was out, the weather was warm enough to feel comfortable and not too hot while the breeze blew just enough to feel a pleasant kind of cool, and the Wayne family has decided to take advantage of such gorgeous weather.

Bruce and his cousin Kate Kane sit under a large umbrella, the woman sipping on her ice cold lemonade while she gets Stephanie to slather some sunscreen on her.

Bruce himself sipping on his strawberry lemonade while watching his children have fun, his youngest child curled up next to his chair while sitting on his pool towel and finishing up homework so he can-in his own words-"demolish his siblings in pool games."

Bruce sighs in contentment while situating his sunglasses on his nose and reaching a hand down to gently pat Damian's head, the boy unconsciously leaning up into his hand while writing down more stuff into his workbook. Bruce is just glad that his youngest was able to enjoy himself today, the young boy was disappointed at not being able to go to boxing classes today, his two teachers couldn't make it today.

The small, peaceful moment is interrupted by Damian gasping softly as if he's remembered something. The boy sending a quick glare Jason and Richard's way when they start splashing water the youngest boy's way. Bruce quickly lowers his glasses so he can look at his baby son properly and look at him curiously, "What's wrong? Is everything alright?"

Damian finishes up the last of his homework and looks up at his dad while nodding. "Oh, yes father. Everything is just fine. I just realized the reason my two boxing teachers couldn't teach me today."

Kate sips at her drink and waves her hand at Stephanie, signaling to the girl that she can finally leave to play in the pool, the redhead ignoring Bruce's small glare at her for using his kids as personal servants. The woman focuses her eyes on Damian and smiles, "Oh, yeah? And what reason is that?"

Damian looks up in intense thought, "It's because they are celebrating Muhammad-uh...Muhammadan? Muhammad Ali day!"

A loud burst of laughter comes from the edge of the pool, the three turning to look at Tim-who has leaned over the edge of the pool-curiously. "Damian, do you mean Ramadan?"

Damian blushes and looks down embarrassed while his siblings bust out laughing at his cute mistake. Bruce holding in his laughter long enough to wait for his baby son to dive into the pool and out of hearing range with the threats of drowning his siblings for daring to mock him.

(I totally head cannon that Kate Kane uses Bruce's many children to help her as personal servants 😂. Not in a mean way, but she takes advantage of the free help since he has so many, she gets annoyed at how he keeps such good track on them though...it makes it more difficult to steal them away lol.

And this was based off of something me and my twin's baby brother said. He was trying to think of and say Ramadan, but he said "Muhammadan" and "Muhammad Ali Day" instead. We had a good laugh at that one.

You darlings please stay safe, happy, healthy and of course lovely as always and I hope all and any were able to enjoy this short and simple mini-fic thing? 💛)

[physalian]

A Case Against “Redemption = Death”

“Redemption = Death” is, in my opinion, one of the laziest “telling not showing” cop-outs you can write, and it happens over and over and over again. It’s manipulative, it’s cheap, it kneecaps the character’s development, it undermines the meaning of a true redemption, and it promotes a message that some people are so evil, the *only* redemption for them is the ultimate sacrifice.

**Taking an aside here to plainly ignore religious connotations and focus on the success or failure of a satisfying character arc**

I hate this trope. I have never seen a flawless execution of this trope in its basest form: Evil bad guy is evil for 99% of their story, and in the 11th hour has an out-of-character realization that they’ve done wrong and sacrifices themself for the heroes, whom they don’t actually care about, for ~drama~.

Today’s writing advice is pretty straightforward: Please stop doing this. It tends to happen in action movies like the superhero genre, but also in action-heavy sci-fi and fantasy where rich character development is sacrificed for spectacle and cool battles. I love action movies, even the stupid ones, and I firmly believe that they can do better.

1. It’s manipulative

A malignant evildoer who shows zero remorse for their entire story, commits heinous acts of violence and abuse, who murders, steals, beats, cheats, betrays, and uses other characters does not earn any shed tears over their ultimate sacrifice.

Time and time again, the big bad will do a 180 and leave the protagonist distraught over how to react to this, often with lines like “maybe he was a hero all along,” or “you know he really wasn’t that bad”. (a la Snape before we all woke up and realized he's a whiny Nice Guy)

Nope. He was actually that bad, and his final act of terror was convincing you to give a damn about him and regret not being able to save him (and it is always male characters. It’s always men. Find me a story where it’s a woman and I will gladly read it and complain about her, too).

This character has only themselves to blame for their Tragic Backstory. They were never a tragic hero, they didn’t fall from grace. There was never any hope or expectation that they could do better, the hero isn’t even trying to redeem them, it just happens in an attempt to engineer depth where there isn’t any.

2. It’s cheap

A hastily-written “redemption” tips the author’s hand, showing that they didn’t plan for or can’t conceptualize how to fix the mess they’ve made. Now, maybe the villain dies in the last chapter of the book and the story has no room for the aftermath anyway—that’s fine. It’s only a problem when the villain gets an unfounded “he wasn’t so bad” reflection by the survivors to scribble a deeper meaning and message for the story in the final lap.

If you’re planning from the start to have your villain be “not that bad,” provide any evidence other than them deciding maybe they don’t want the world to burn as the clock on the nuke counts down to zero.

This would be like if Gandalf told Pippin Denethor was actually a decent guy as the man flings himself off Gondor's tallest tower after nearly burning his son alive.

3. It kneecaps the character’s potential

Character deaths, whether they’re permanent or not, are generally treated by the other characters as permanent and final in the moment. There’s tears, there’s funerals, there’s grief and regret over what could have been, what might’ve been, what should have been.

And all of that development goes straight to the surviving characters, not the one that died.

Your dead evildoer can’t prove they’re trying to do better once they’re dead. They can’t show their remorse, they can’t show how they planned to fix all their mistakes, they can’t follow through with choosing the path of “good”. They’re dead.

You killed them to avoid the hard work of having to write them as a good guy.

4. It undermines the meaning of a true redemption

Self-sacrifice is a noble end, but self-sacrifice because a character can’t imagine actually committing to the long and bumpy road of fixing all their mistakes is cowardice. The people they hurt are still suffering, the wrongs they committed still need answering for, the damage they’ve done still needs rectifying and dying leaves all that work to those who survive them.

They’ve done nothing to prove they’re worthy of redemption except to stop digging their hole deeper and at that point they’re not “redeemed” they’re only marginally defined as a “tragic hero” by the skin of their teeth, depending on what catastrophe they prevent with their death.

5. It argues that some people aren’t worth redeeming

Ironically, “redemption = death” proves the exact opposite of the case you’re trying to make. They die because they’re convinced they must, because not a single other character could either talk them out of it, or cared enough to show them death wasn’t the only option.

“Redemption” is only for those who everyone thinks aren’t worth redeeming. But he’s irredeemable! Is he? Or do you just want to see him punished and have zero faith that he can’t at least try to right his wrongs?

This would be like if Zuko showed up at the Western Air Temple and instead of becoming Aang's fire bending teacher, he died fighting Combustion Man or Azula in a blaze of glory, all because Katara would not budge from her "he's evil and always will be" stance.

Or, if Zuko died in the last agni-kai, taking Azula down with him, as if the story said "yeahhhhh, we just gotta go clean slate here and expunge the whole Fire Family, but hey, Zuko did stop Azula in his blaze of glory".

—

But what happens when “redemption = death” is actually satisfying? Aka, not a redeemed villain, just a tragic hero. So let’s look at a famous example: Darth Vader.

This is a character that checks two boxes: He has one pillar of light determined to save him, and he’s shown before his moment of sacrifice to have some remorse. It doesn’t come out of nowhere.

He’s not redeemed, though, because his one act of murder-suicide may end the war (ignoring the sequel trilogy) but doesn’t undo all the damage and lives lost and planets destroyed. He’s just a tragic hero.

Sometimes, however, this character knows the only way all the evil ends is with their death. They know they’re doomed because by their continued existence, evil persists, and they literally cannot live on to fix things because things will never be fixable so long as they’re still breathing. Or, they’re terminally ill and incurable through their own machinations with the Big Bad and will die no matter what they do, might as well go out swinging.

Greed, from Fullmetal Alchemist fits here. He spent more time as a reluctant good guy occasionally doing bad and selfish things because his essence is chained to a good guy, but he cannot survive the story, because by his very nature, he’s a piece of the main villain.

But even then, Greed’s redemption comes *before* he dies, we all already love his character, this is just the tragic icing on the cake. His realization that, in his final act, he becomes the most selfless character in the show—the antithesis of his entire being.

Your mid-redemption character redeems themselves as much as they can while they still breathe. They help the other heroes, they teach the team everything they know, they show their plans for a better future and have even built tools to help the survivors thrive. They’ve dreamed about being a part of this future that’s barred from them. They’ve fully understood and accepted the consequences of their actions. They understand that their final punishment is never living to see the paradise they nearly destroyed.

Even if they can’t change the world with their actions, they’ve done all the emotional and personal labor they can manage with those that they’ve hurt. They’ve made friends, allies, even romantic endeavors.

And when they die and the heroes mourn, they mourn the hero that this redeemed villain became, not who they imagined this villain could be if they tried, if they'd made different choices. At that point, redemption didn’t even equal death for them, redemption was the short road to recovery before the consequences of their actions finally caught up with them.

[killugon-truther]

“gon didn’t even know kite for very long/that well.” [hxh CAA analysis]

one criticism i’ve seen a few ppl have abt gon during his actions during the CAA is that he didn’t know kite for very long or very well, and so it doesn’t make sense that gon would have lost himself so quickly and entirely.

and ofc it’s fine for ppl to have this opinion, but i disagree, bc i feel like it’s a blatant simplification and misunderstanding of gon’s character, what his development during the CAA was rly caused by, and what it meant; this is what this analysis is abt.

while it’s true that gon didn’t know kite for very long or very well, that’s not really relevant when it comes to what’s affecting gon so deeply.

firstly, let’s not forget that kite saved him from a foxbear mother who was trying to protect its cub all those years ago. and when they meet again years later, he saves him & killua (along w killua pushing him out of the way) from an ant that was nearby.

while these scenes can be easy to gloss over, they’re also both definitely important, esp the first save; i believe gon idolized kite the moment he did, cementing him as a “golden figure” in his life/mind, and why wouldn’t he? he was a very little boy who was in life-threatening danger and then was swiftly saved right before anything fatal could occur.

at the same time, he was negatively affected by kite’s actions and words (but more his words than anything), which were to punch and chastise him bc his own ignorance has caused kite to have to take the life of a creature’s life. i believe that this, along w gon alr feeling abandoned by ging (ik gon often plays it off well, but i feel like he’s been displaying he’s insecurities surrounding that since the beginning), the other “golden figure” in his mind/life, encouraged his feelings of weakness and lack of self esteem.

those feelings of admiration of kite, probably thinking “wow, he’s so cool and strong!” and feelings of disappointment towards himself, probably thinking “and i must be anything but”, had been festering inside of him for years, the same way the effects of ging’s abandonment had. from the beginning, gon has felt the need to prove himself using his own strength, or else he’s weak and unworthy; it’s a dangerous and destructive cycle born from his black-and-white mindset.

the same way gon blamed himself for kite’s death, he blamed himself for the mama foxbear’s death. if he had known better, if he had been stronger, then that animal wouldn’t have had to die bc of him. kite wouldn’t have died bc of him.

so, basically, it’s not just kite dying that set gon off, it’s how it made him feel abt himself; personal insecurities and doubts that he alr had since early in the series began to bubble and overflow before eventually erupting entirely.

secondly, as i mentioned before, kite and ging are gon’s “golden figures”: the mentors he admires, the ppl he sees as being sm above him, and he needs to reach them in order to be worth what we wants to do in the first place, his over-arching life goal; successfully meeting ging. to him, kite’s worsening state and then eventual confirmation of death all say that if he can’t do smth as important as saving and fixing his friend, fixing his own mistake, then he’s definitely not worthy of meeting ging. he’s not worthy of anybody or anything except suffering.

thirdly, while their time together was fairly limited, it wasn’t like it was devoid of meaningfulness; kite served as an important mentor to both killua and gon when they rly needed it, and he helped them survive through his actions, words, and influence (such as the time he saved gon’s life again, this time from centipede, and when he advised gon to stay focused w his eyes open & to always destroy the head).

if i have any criticisms, comments, or anything u wanna add to my analysis, pls do!! hope you enjoyed it.

[mj-iza-writer]

Deaf Whump... I've been watching a lot of YouTube shorts from the deaf community lately. I love exclusivity in my writing and making my characters human. Please do forgive any errors I've made in representing the deaf community in this story, I also have two others in the works. I am not hearing impaired, but I support awareness for the deaf community. I hope you enjoy. -MJ

It started with frustration.

Whumper had found out their hearing loss was progressively getting worse. They had months before hearing would be next to impossible unless something was done.

"Hearing aids", Whumper sighed, "and those may not even help."

Whumper wanted to punch someone, hit something. Maybe that would help.

They drove past a clearly homeless person.

"That could work, they won't be missed", Whumper turned around. Without a second thought the person was in Whumper's trunk.

Once home, Whumper left the person in a spare room and got ready.

Whumper walked into the room they could partially hear them yelling... the person was..... signing.

"Shit are you deaf?", Whumper signed as they turned pale.

"Yes" the person fearfully signed, "are you?"

"Almost", Whumper looked down in defeat, all fight left them.

"My name is Whumpee", the person signed, still panicked, "please don't hurt me."

"I'm sorry, I'm Whumper. Please forgive me. I've made a terrible mistake", Whumper looked up tearfully, "I'm so sorry."

Whumper learned that Whumpee's expenses for their hearing loss were what landed them on the streets.

"If you're okay with it, you can stay here", Whumper offered, "it's unfair that we have to pay for our disability, but I'll help as much as I can."

That was a few years ago, and boy did Whumpee liked to poke fun at Whumper with that reminder. They now loved bickering back and forth like it was a game.

"Whumper can you....", Whumpee spoke and signed.

Whumper grinned as they reached for their hearing aids.

"Don't you dare", Whumpee signed frantically.

Whumper pulled their hearing aids out and set them on their lap.

"I don't want to hear you right now", they grumbled.

Whumpee frowned, "then look at me", they signed.

Whumper pulled out their phone and completely ignored Whumpee.

Whumpee picked up a tennis ball and threw it at Whumper.

Whumper just laughed as it bounced off their leg.

"Watch out for my hearing aids", they signed with a smirk.

Whumpee rubbed their temples out of frustration and left the room.

Whumper watched them leave and chuckled to themself.

Whumpee came back after a few minutes carrying a spray bottle.

"Don't you dare", Whumper signed as they watched Whumpee inch closer.

"Put those aids in or sign to me then", Whumpee threatened.

"Fine", Whumper sighed as they placed the aids back in their ear, "what do you need?", Whumper signed.

"I need to go to the store or have a few things ordered", Whumpee signed.

"Okay, well, I need to go to the store anyways", Whumper stood with a sigh, "let's go", they signed.

At the store Whumpee grabbed the few things they needed before they dragged Whumper into clothing.

"You don't need any clothing", Whumper signed.

"Yes I do", Whumpee grinned as they looked.

Their eyes got big as they noticed a display for deaf awareness.

"Look, look", they signed happily.

"Okay, that's cool", Whumper looked over some of the display, "pick out a few things."

A few people walked by and pointed out the display.

"They'll celebrate anything nowadays", someone commented.

Whumpee was too busy to read their lips, but Whumper unfortunately heard the comment.

Whumper tapped Whumpee's shoulder and started signing. Whumper glared at the group as they watched them turn and quickly walk away.

Whumpee looked at them confused, "why are you telling me about a dog driving to the ocean?", Whumpee signed.

Whumper laughed not realizing what they were actually signing, then told Whumpee what had happened.

"Morons", Whumpee signed.

Whumper nodded, "I'm taking a hearing break", they signed, "let's use signing for right now."

Whumpee picked out two ASL (American Sign Language) hoodies, then their was a small statue that they had to have.

Later as they were leaving the store, they saw the group again.

Whumper and Whumpee both glared at the group.

The group held their head low trying to ignore the glare.

Whumper turned up their hearing aids.

"Hey", Whumper called, "keep in mind awareness is important for many groups. What you said was extremely rude and hurtful, and I hope you've learned your lesson."

One person from the group turned and apologized while the rest kept walking.

"That's why we need awareness", Whumper called again, "because some of you just don't get it."

Whumpee nodded.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

[nytfythfhtyf]

what’s your damage about “gifted kids”?? i mean, i was a nightmare in class but i don’t see any reason to have issues with them

please read this im begging you. i put off breakfast for an hour writing this bc i really care about it

i even capitalized stuff and did punctuation to make it easier to read.

The biggest thing that bothers me is that there is so much content for and about ppl who are “gifted kid burnouts”. It’s literally everywhere on every website, there are thousands of posts and everyone on this site reblogs them. It’s inescapable. And because this subset of people gets so much attention, anyone who didn’t have the “gifted” experience who also wants to talk about their struggles in school gets. Basically ignored.

(Sorry this is long I just wanna explain it as well as I can) On tumblr the “gifted kid problems” thing is extremely popular bc this is the ppl-who-read-books-instead-of-talking-to-people website. Which is totally fine, and I wouldn’t mind it if it didn’t feel like I was the only person out of millions who wasn’t gifted. If someone makes a post about being a burnt out gifted kid it gets thousands of notes. If I make a post about how being the “stupid kid” my whole life fucked me up, it gets three likes from my mutuals and then dies and is never seen again.

I think it also has a lot to do with the idea that overworking yourself, and getting straight As (even if you’re not actually learning anything!), is highly praised in Society. Because schools need good test scores if they want to keep getting money. Bad test scores, while literally being part of the learning process because we learn from mistakes, don’t bring in the funds. So the “dumb” kids get treated like shit, and teachers have to teach kids how to pass tests, instead of actually getting the material into their brains in a meaningful way. If you skip meals and don’t sleep to cram for tests, you’re considered a better student than someone who prioritizes their mental and physical wellbeing.

So you get the culture of kids who brag about sleeping three hours every night and having an iced coffee as their meal for the day, and the less you take care of yourself the more cool and relatable you are. Which I don’t really blame them for. When the school system is this fucked up and you’re struggling this much, of course you want to tell people how much it’s hurting you. I think a lot of people just want someone to tell them that’s not okay, and they shouldn’t have to neglect themselves so much. But unfortunately, it’s usually impossible to graduate college without overworking yourself to the point of exhaustion and illness. So it continues.

I think it’s good that people are posting and sharing their experiences and trying to unlearn the bad habits and mentality. But unfortunately a lot of the “gifted kid” people still think or at least act like they’re the only ones who struggled in school. Because they worked the hardest, they deserve more attention. (I also think being constantly praised by teachers as a child and being the favorite plays a part in the attention seeking behavior).

So anyone who physically couldn’t overwork themselves to the point of earning the “gifted” label, because of disabilities or any other reason (don’t even get me started on the expectation that all autistic people are great at school (((non-gifted non-savant autistic kids are treated like worthless failures their whole lives)))), those people don’t deserve to have the whole internet feel bad for them. You couldn’t see them working themselves to exhaustion studying or doing homework, because their everyday lives were already exhausting, and they literally couldn’t spend any more energy on school.

So, if someone makes a post about how hard it is to do any schoolwork at all, and how their school experience was torture because the classes weren’t made to actually teach them and they weren’t good at test taking, you ignore it, because you “worked harder” and still struggled just as much. Or you comment and say “Oh same but I got all A’s and can write an essay in 5 minutes without even trying and I can read books at the speed of light” or “Oh and did you know how many gifted kids are autistic and adhd. I’m autistic and adhd and it made me so good at school” because you’re so used to having everything cater to you.

My goal isn’t to minimize burnt out gifted kids issues and trauma, it’s to get people to understand that they aren’t the only ones that deserve pity and sympathy. School fucked everyone up in different ways and it sucks no matter how good your grades were.

So no I don’t hate gifted kids themselves just for being gifted (although I will admit I absolutely have a grudge of burning jealousy bc I wish society liked me as much as them, which is where my urge to insult them comes from), I hate the way they act, on social media and in real life. You can post about your struggles and that’s totally fine, but if someone makes a post about how hard school was for them because they weren’t good at it, instead of commenting that your experience was different, or literally just ignoring it, maybe reblog it. Because school sucked and you both had it hard. Maybe even leave some sympathetic or understanding tags (without making it about you) if you’re feeling it.

but if they go on here and make fun of ppl who arent good at school or any academic skills and call them stupid then i hate them and im hitting them with my car

[silviakundera]

Lighter and Princess ep 3

Ah, this is where reality finally gives us a wave and departs completely. Young ML the super genius master-hacker freshman that builds an extra special genius virus in like 30 minutes while the FL watches, interfering with school property, and the entire IT department and then his professor marvel at his brilliance, not at all threatened or irritated or threatening disciplinary action. And we were doing so well.

Gotta say, I think FL isn't entirely wrong when labelling ML a poser. He's authentically not socialable and contrary, but he's trying it on a bit too hard like kids do PLUS he obviously isn't as disinterested in her as he's trying to front. She's a very pretty girl and he could simply ignore her. But he takes multiple actions to get her notice, after that 1st fateful cafetaria mistake.

Gao's fixation on ML seems suspicious and creepy but tbh that might be just my bias since I know in the future/present he's sketchy.

Episode 4

yeaaaaah he's so into her. Oh you're way too cool and counter culture to be interested in pretty girls. Everyone believes you.

I love how fried his hair looks. That's really the look of a university kid who just bleached his hair in the bathroom. And the long sleeves striped shirt under the black tshirt 👌. Kudos to the stylist.

Zhu Yun the FL and these over achiever students starting to get on my nerves now. I'm not even distracted by FL's luminous beauty because I'm buying into her student persona too well and it's not my type.

ML flipping the script and pretending (?) to hit on her at the school assembly whatever was pretty ballsy of him. Sometimes he tries so hard to be 'different' that he's actually not much more original than these other kids (just mimicking a different role) and it's endearing but a lil dorky to my 40-something self. But other times he's actually got the spirit and I'm feeling his sullen & mischevious magnetism. The type of kid I would have hung out with at that age.

lolololol pretending so hard not to care but if she had gone for it you know he would have dated her.

The invest in the band girl scene from the flashbacks! Kinda exciting to fit a piece together. Don't really know what their connection is, maybe I missed it. but nice to see him relaxed and smiling without putting on an act for once. idk maybe there really isn't a backstory. I tended to know a lot of the other counterculture people in my district, at least enough to say hi to. why not?

Episode 5

I'm so done with the past RETURN ME TO HOT GRADUATE FL 😭😭😭😭😭

I did like the lil scene with Future Villain Gao and FL where she really rejects Gao's reasoning of quitting to save face and not get humiliated. Being like, nah that's fine if we're the only 2 people and no one else wants to join us. See, that's actually dgaf i do what i want energy and you can see why she is ML's type. Oddly reminiscent of the Thousand Autumns otp - demonic sect leader realizes that the uber good, incorruptible cultivator is actually just as unbending and iconoclastic as he is... It's just that they are standing for different things.

dear asian drama writers, we truly madly deeply do NOT require female extras to dramatically fawn over a male character to indicate they are desirable. Just write them that way!! This shit is too ridiculous and knocks me out of the story.

tbh Gao may be Potentially Evil but ML Li Xun is insufferable when he starts pontificating about what a special programmer snowflake he is.

lmao I wonder if any instinctive part of him feels uneasy that he's the one in the crowd. She's comparatively going against the grain.

but kids, you obviously like each other. making all these excuses to hang out all night together smh. Just give it up and kiss.

THE PIG KEY MOMENTO from the future. another piece slots in!

I see, so mom makes every decision for FL. That's why she's so stubbornly rebellious against ML's percieved takeover of their class. She's instinctively rebelling against his leadership. She's reacting against him acting as the authority on comp sci and dicating the 'right' way to learn and be a programmer -- become she can't rebel against her mother.

[thatradfailure]

Came across a post today.

I want to be clear about the mistakes of my past: I have drawn the w-nd-g- before out of ignorance, and I don't condone those past actions. But after trying to find the posts where ACTUAL natives try to explain that using the creature is deeply insensitive, as is calling it a cryptid, and just seeing a lot of people who aren't native just throw their pleas aside, I just need to say it. I'm frustrated. I've seen the posts before but now I can't find any but one of them. I know I've reblogged them (because I've grown as a person and will be editing the caption of the art I posted to remove the link to the creature) yet they elude me now and I'm not sure how to find them again.

I think it's more important to listen to the voices begging us non-Natives to stop than to listen to the ones who aren't offended. If you're not offended, cool, that's fine. But it's also not your place to say that just because YOU aren't offended, that it's perfectly ok. It's literally like a black guy or a gay guy telling their cishet white friend that it's ok to use slurs, period. It's not. Are they slightly different situations? Slightly, because I think you can reclaim slurs and give others the ok to use slurs to refer to only you, but maybe not the w-nd-g-. Then again, I am white and have no affiliation with any Native cultures, at all.

Still. We NEED to uplift Native voices about the appropriation of their cultures because it is still INCREDIBLY rampant. We need to listen to them, assess our own biases, and hear out how to best support them and their cultural practices.

Their legends and mythology are not our toys.

[drawingducktalesducks]

Can you tell a little more about the future AU May and June and their adoptive parents?

feverish and not even sure where that doodle came from. here's some odds and ends tho

people assume the fashion designer would like everything Just So, all neat and tidy, and the long haul fisherwoman who's off sailing for moths would be fine with controlled chaos

dead wrong

the INSTANT May docks in Duckburg her anxiety spikes because she can just FEEEEEL June's messy work space

May dropping off a bucket of sea serpent scales, filling the bucket with soapy water, whipping out a mop and dust pan, and attacking her little sister's room with all the wild, furious intensity of someone trying to bail out a sinking ship

Donald likes helping but usually gets tangled up in the vacuum cord at some point

June hides booby traps for May to find in her messes. Just to have a little fun

You know how much she's been missing her sister by how many and how complex the traps are

While May is busy cleaning (and clearing) her room, June has a tradition of going on May's ship and hiding nice little nick-knacks all over it- a cool rock, a candy bar, a cursed knife Webby brought home from her last adventure... just fun surprises to break up May's extremely regulated life at sea

Daisy knits May a new wool sweater every year, and May always tears up when she get it

Donald not only has a dozen pictures of all his kids in his wallet, he also has pictures of May's first catches and allllll the clothes June has ever designed.

He talks to May about sailing to make sure she's being safe and doing okay- He listens to June talk about clothes design and construction afterwards, to calm down and distract himself from thoughts of May fighting sea monsters.

June understands that fashion trends are a thing but since they're a thing that doesn't often align with her interests she chooses to ignore them and just make what she likes

She never gets super well known as a result and doesn't mind at all

Miss Glamour admires her confidence and ends up hiring her as an assistant after Daisy starts up her own business- which nobody understands, since June doesn't cater to Glamour at ALL and the vibe is more "doting grandmother happily has tea with her headstrong and irreverent grandchild"

Daisy and June do mother-daughter martial arts exercises every morning and evening, before and after work, to stave off the carpel tunnel, and Daisy still has no idea how she survived so long without it

May tries keeping a logbook while out sailing but usually ends up writing another paperback spy novel instead (penname: Gray Gullson) 

Beakly is a BIG fan

Beakly has no idea why May keeps wanting to have teatime chats with her about the old spy days but enjoys them quite a bit in any case

June kindly pretends not to understand why her sister needs to know if you could sew secrets or poisons into dress

and she puts May’s latest novel draft back into its hiding place when she accidentally finds it

...

she also edits the draft for spelling mistakes and leaves suggestions in the margins, in May's own handwriting, knowing it'll freak her sister out when SHE finds it

they make an effort to be together for the anniversary of Black Heron's "disappearance" (June paradropped onto May's ship from the Sunchaser once) but still aren't sure how they're supposed to spend it

they always call or visit with Daisy and Donald the day afterwards though

"...you ever think about what we would do, if she came back?"

"Disappoint her, probably. We're not exactly super villains."

"Yeah...."

"..."

"I hope we'd fight her."

"I think we would. I mean, if she tried to hurt mom or dad..."

"Or Webby or the Sabrewings."

"The boys too."

"Ducks and McDucks. Beakly."

"Launchpad."

"Gyro?"

"I guess pretty much anyone, really."

"We do have a lot of people to fight for these days."

"Maybe she'd be proud of us for that?"

"..."

"..."

"Probably not."

"Well I'm proud of us."

"Yeah. Me too."

"And I wouldn't trade Donald or Daisy for anything."

"Never."

"Ever."

"..."

"...I miss them."

"Same. Let's go home."