#This reminds me of the time when I was younger

[scarletmika]

Only Good Thing : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Reader

Summary: There was so much Bob regretted, so much shame riddled through his past, he didn't know what he'd see in his own shame rooms. He hadn't been prepared to see you around every corner, to be reminded of the way he'd left you behind in an effort to be what you deserved.

Warnings: angst, some fluff and happy ending, mental illness talk, depression/suicidal thoughts, violence, SPOILERS for Thunderbolts*, female reader description, drug abuse talk (if you're struggling with addiction or know someone who is, please visit drughelpline.org)

Word Count: 3,195 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

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Bob had claimed it was the nicest shame room he’d encountered yet in his head, but the second that Yelena heard the distant yelling from beneath the floorboards, she knew it wasn’t all he’d cracked it up to be.

The younger version of Bob stood protectively in front of his mother, standing between her and the raging excuse of a father figure before them as he threw plates and cups off the table. His mother cried out that Bob was doing nothing but “making it worse,” even as his father reared back and landed a blow across his cheek. What surprised Yelena then was the slam of the kitchen door, and the small body that was you that came flying in, hitting back against Bob’s father.

“Leave him alone! Don’t touch him!”

She’d turned to look at Bob, and could see the tears streaming down his cheeks as he watched it all play out before him. Memories he’d relived a thousand times over in his head, even when the emptiness of the void hadn’t consumed him.

“I’m sorry,” Bob didn’t say anything to Yelena at her words, simply hiding his face and furiously wiping at his tears. Carefully, as if not to spook him, Yelena lowered herself to the ground beside him. “The girl…who was she?”

“...my best friend,”

The way his voice cracked, the way it seemed to break even further when he said that, gave Yelena pause. She eyed him for a second, before deciding that it was a topic best left alone for the moment.

“What I told you before was wrong, Bob. You can't stop it,” he still wouldn’t look at her, even as she reached over and placed her hand on top of his. “You can't contain it all by yourself. Nobody can. We have to let it out. We have to spend time together. And even if it doesn't make the void go away, I promise you it will feel lighter.”

She watched as Bob’s gaze drifted back to that missing piece in the floor, the scene replaying over and over again below them. You flying in, throwing yourself between Bob and his father time after time.

“She always made it lighter,” Bob finally said, still staring down at the younger version of you and him. “She was the only thing that made it lighter.”

“What happened?”

“I left her…” Bob’s voice broke again, another round of tears furiously wiped from his cheeks, before he looked to Yelena. “I don’t want to be here.”

Yelena was back on her feet, tugging gently on his hand to bring him up with her.

“Then try and leave with me. We can figure out a way out together,”

Leaving the Void wasn’t as easy as that, because it simply fought back. The room felt like it had gotten smaller, constraining them, throwing objects across the room in an effort to keep Yelena and Bob trapped there. The curtains came crashing down, the fabric wrapping at each end around each of their necks, cutting off their airways as both Yelena and Bob fought to breathe.

Bob wanted to fight back, he wanted to help Yelena leave. But the sound of your voice grew louder, the sound of your screaming match with his father, and all he could do was shut his eyes and accept it.

He longed to hear your voice again, and if this is what it took, he’d stay here in his own personal hell.

Air rushed back into both of their lungs as Ava appeared in the room, slicing through the curtain around their necks. John and Bucky weren’t far behind, shielding them from the objects flying around the room, before Alexei brought up the rear, ripping a pillow to shreds in what Yelena could only call ‘dramatic fashion.’

“You came for us,” Yelena breathed out, looking around at the rag-tag team that, against her better judgment, she was coming to care about.

“We’re here together, that’s what matters,” Alexei shot the thrown-together team a grin, before turning his sights on Bob. “Now, how do we get out of here?”

With all eyes on him, Bob nervously shook his head.

“I-I don’t know. As far as I know, it’s just uh, it’s just a bunch of infinite rooms,”

“Wait, you told me this was the nicest room you found,” Yelena cut in, receiving a nod from Bob in agreement. “Well…try showing us the worst.”

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it’s all the plan they had. He led the team toward the stairs that led out of the attic of his childhood home, rushing down them. Bursting through the door at the bottom of the stairs should have brought him into the kitchen, it always had.

When the team stepped through, they were standing in the middle of the street, the sun having set already. They’d all glanced at one another before turning to Bob, who stood rigid with his eyes focused down the alleyway beside them

No more than 16, and Bob looked like a mess. He’d been propped up against the dingy brick wall of the alley in back of his favorite scoring spot, whether put there by himself or his dealer, he didn’t know, but if there had been anyone else there, they were already long gone.

The ground around him was covered in empty syringes. One of his shoes was missing, long gone somewhere down the alley, most likely. Bob could barely breathe, his chest heaving as he tried to suck in enough air to breathe, simply staring off down the alleyway before him, seeing god knows what in his own head.

His view was interrupted by you, 15, maybe 16, but still a child yourself. You were kneeling down in front of him now, doing everything in your power to avoid the syringes and broken glass littering the ground around Bob’s body. Pain and sadness were written across your face, clear as day.

“Robbie…”

“Is…is that you?” his head lulled to the side, barely being able to focus on you. He laughed through his inability to breathe, something that seemed to break your heart even more. “Thought…thought you had…had practice.”

“I left it when you didn’t answer your phone,” you adjusted your school backpack on your shoulders, reaching out for him as your hands found his arms. “God, Robbie, you’re burning up. Come on, you’re coming home with me-”

“No, I don’t want to go-” Bob struggled back against you, but your grip remained firm on his arms.

“Bob, you can’t stay out here-”

“I said I don’t want to go!”

It was like slow motion, the way Bob had shoved you away, the way you’d gone clattering to the pavement behind you, hissing as you caught yourself on your bare hands. That sound, that hiss of pain, seemed to sober Bob up for even a moment, able to fully look at you in front of him. Tears immediately glistened in his eyes at the scrapes on your hands, the slight bit of blood staining your skin.

“Okay, Bob-”

“I-I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t mean to!” he was started to panic, shaking his head wildly as his heart beat erratically in his chest. “I-I hurt you, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-”

You’d leaned forward, leaning in front of him still as you grabbed him by the cheeks, thumbs rubbing soothingly over his skin as you pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I know. I know you didn’t, Robbie, it’s okay. It’s okay…just come home with me,”

It was John’s hand squeezing Bob’s shoulder that broke him from his stupor, that tore his eyes from the sight of teenage your dragging teenage him down the alley, high off his ass on whatever the hell meth he’d scored that night.

Bob glanced up at John, and saw the flicker of sympathy float through John’s eyes, before Bob’s own mind seemed to attack them again. The wind picked up, throwing the park benches across the street their way as Alexei led the group down the road, busting through the wall of the gas station down the road as everyone fell through.

Yelena groaned, dragging herself to her knees, as she realized there was carpet below them. She heard Bob’s breath catch as she glanced over at him, at the fear in his eyes.

“Bob?”

“No…no, no, no, please. Please, not this…”

“You’re…you’re leaving?”

The crack in your voice had Bob almost backtracking on his words, but he couldn’t. He needed to do this, for himself…for you.

Bob was barely 22, and you were barely 21 in this moment. Bob knew he was holding you back, even if you never said it. You were brilliant, a genius, and could’ve had a scholarship to any college across the country, and finally leave Florida like you always told him you wanted to. Instead, you’d stayed here, attended college right here in the state you despised, all to be with him.

Your apartment was dingy, barely passing just about every single health code the state had, and Bob knew it was killing you to keep it. He couldn’t hold down a job to save his life, his last one being a sign twirling chicken for the summer. On the other hand, you were working yourself to the bone, attending classes and working two part-time jobs just to keep a roof over both of your heads.

You did it because you loved him, because you’d loved him since the moment you’d met on the swingset in Kindergarten. Bob loved you too, more than anything else in this world…that’s why he had to leave.

“It’s not fair to you,” he’d mumbled out, scratching at his arm even though his long-sleeved sweatshirt was keeping him from rubbing the skin underneath raw. It was something that didn’t go unnoticed by you. “You…you’ve done all this for me. It’s not fair-”

“What’s not fair is to be bombarded with this the second I come back from class,” there was an edge to your voice, even as he heard it break when you took a step toward him, barely in the door. Bob stood next to the couch, his backpack beside him, just watching you. “...where would you go?”

“Malaysia,” Bob answered quietly, afraid to look at you. “There, uh, I heard about this medical study. It’s supposed to help…make you better. You…you deserve better.”

Deserve better than him. That’s what he meant, and you both knew it. He didn’t believe he deserved your love, that you deserved more than him.

You stepped up to him, letting your bag drop to the ground haphazardly, as your hands came up to cup his cheeks.

“You don’t have to leave,” your voice cracked as you pleaded with him. “I don’t care what you think I deserve- I want you, Robbie. I’ve always wanted you, no matter what challenges come with it, because I love you. I’ve always loved you. Please…please don’t leave me.”

He didn’t say anything, and you’d taken the chance to bring him in for a kiss. Bob had barely closed his eyes, kissing you back gently, before forcing himself away, having tasted the salty tears on your lips.

“Don’t…don’t wait for me,”

You’d taken in a single shaky breath.

“...I’ll always wait for you,”

It took Bucky and Yelena to pull the sobbing Bob in their hands away from the scene before them, but his eyes stayed locked onto the scene until it was fully gone. The way he’d left, the way you’d fallen to your knees sobbing, and he wanted to yell at his old self to never leave you.

He’d found himself thinking about all those moments as he sat above the Void, the manifestation of his pain and depression, trying to beat the life out of it. He’d ignored everything around him, the shouts of his new friends trying to stop him, your voice and your face the only things at the forefront of his mind.

Bob wasn’t even sure when he’d stopped punching the Void, when he’d fallen back into the arms of his friends and simply cried. The only thing that got through to him was Yelena’s voice in his ear.

“We’re here, it’s okay. She loves you, Bob…she loves you. Come back to her,”

Even in the coming weeks, since being named The New Avengers, the team couldn’t help but look upon Bob with pity. He didn’t remember what had transpired that day in the Void of his mind, but everyone else did. They couldn’t unsee it, even if they tried to, but no one had the heart to ask Bob about it, to make him relieve it all.

Yelena could see it, though, every time someone on the team made a vague mention of something that was even remotely related to you. Florida, college, the team found ways to test the waters, to see if Bob would talk about it. He never did, they could just see the shadow of pain that crossed over his face, the way he slinked away from them all like a puppy who’d just been scolded.

That’s how Yelena found herself, months later, in Tampa, Florida.

“Part of your healing journey is learning that, for every ten steps forward, there will always be another ten steps back,” the ex-Widow was leaning against the doorframe silently across the room, watching the way you addressed those sitting in the circle around you in the most gentle tone. She’d heard that tone before, the same one you’d used on Bob in each of those memories. “I’ve seen it first hand…with the man I love. Every time I believed he was getting better, every time he thought he was, we fell back into the same patterns over and over again.”

“Why do we do that?” an older man across the circle spoke up, his voice wavering. “Why do we fall back into these…these patterns?”

“Because your addictions have become a part of you,” you leaned back against the table behind you, sending the man a small smile. “Addictions are self-destructive, and because of that, they become part of us. Kicking your habit, leaving it in the past, can feel like losing part of yourself. Subconsciously, you’re afraid of change, so you fall back into patterns because in order to truly enter recovery, you have to change.”

“How’d you help him?” a younger girl, one that Yelena guessed was no older than you’d been in that Florida alley that day, spoke up quietly. “That man you love?”

The room had gone quiet for a moment before you spoke up.

“I loved him. I loved him through it all. Even when he didn’t want my love, when he felt he didn’t deserve it…I just continued to love him. I’ve never stopped,”

It wasn’t long before you ended the session, saying a personal goodbye to each and every person who had attended that day. When everyone else was gone, you were left silently organizing your desk to leave for the night, and that was the moment Yelena decided to speak up.

“What kind of degree do you need to do…stuff like this?”

You’d jumped slightly, thinking everyone had already left for the night. You cocked your head when you looked back at the blonde woman behind you, and kept an eye on her as you leaned back against your desk.

“Psychology, but there are a lot of different options,” you shrugged, and Yelena could tell your guard was up around her. She was happy about this; at least you had good survival instincts around strangers. “I wasn’t sure which field I wanted to go into, but Psychology offered a lot of different options.”

“So what, loving this…’ex’ of yours sent you down the addiction counseling track?”

Yelena saw you bristle at her comment, standing up straighter as you eyed her.

“Maybe…I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Yelena Belova,” the blonde introduced herself finally, with a small smirk. “Part of The New Avengers.”

It could’ve been a lie, but something in your head clicked, having seen a headline days ago about The New Avengers. You believed her, surprisingly.

“Sorry, guess I didn’t recognize you,” your shoulders relaxed at the information, as you shrugged. “I don’t watch the news much anymore, but I thought I saw something about that. Congratulations, I guess.”

“Thanks, it’s…new territory,” Yelena replied.

There was silence for a moment before you spoke.

“And what is it that an Avenger wants with me?”

Yelena paused, trying to find the right way to broach the subject.

“Well, the simple answer would just be…Bob,”

Bob found himself spending a lot of time in the common room of the new tower in New York, the one still slightly under renovation. Most of the floors were done, but Valentina’s construction crews were still working on a lot of other ones. Bob found the common room the quietest, depending on the time of day and where the rest of his new friends were. He enjoyed the view of the city, of watching the cars down below as they moved throughout the city.

There was a knock across the room as Bob turned on his heel, smiling softly as Yelena stood in the doorway across the room. He cocked his head, seeing the grin on her face widen, before she stepped to the side.

“...Robbie?”

His breath caught in his throat the second he’d laid eyes on you. You, the only person he thought of day in and day out. You, the only good thing he’d ever been given in life.

The woman he’d left behind, his biggest regret.

Bob met you halfway across the room, as if on autopilot, and your shaking hands immediately found his face. Bob’s eyes shut for a second, leaning into the touch he’d missed for so long, before looking at you.

“Are you…are you real?”

You nodded, trying to push down the sob threatening to escape from deep inside of you.

“I’m real,” your voice was shaky, as were your hands, he could feel it against his skin. “I’m real, baby, I promise.”

“I left you,” a sob escaped Bob, his own shaky and nervous hands finding your waist as he gripped you, desperately trying to ground himself in that moment with you. “I left you- I-I’m so sorry-”

You shushed him, shaking your head over and over.

“Don’t apologize, Robbie. You never have to apologize to me,” a small laugh of disbelief left you in that moment. “You’re here…you’re okay…you’re okay, right?”

Bob wasn’t sure what the answer to that question really was. Was he okay? No, and he probably wouldn’t be for a while. But in this moment, with the only good thing he’d ever had back in his arms…

“I’m okay…I’m okay,”

You’d pulled him into a kiss without another moment of hesitation, one he gladly reciprocated as you both cried. The second you’d pulled away for even a moment, Bob had buried his head in your neck, sobbing as he held you as tightly as humanly possible, mumbling the same thing over and over.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

[itsgivingmami]

Its Got Taste

Rhea Ripley x plussize!Fem!Reader

WARNINGS PLEASE DO NOT SKIP:

Body dysmorphia, negative self talk, smut.

If you struggle or have a complicated history with these topics I would encourage you to skip over this one. Your safety is always more important that supporting my (or anyone else’s) fics!

This was originally an ask but I saved the draft and deleted it so now it’s gone… tumblr UI pisses me off.

“I was wondering if you could right a sapphic fic for me where the reader is plus sized and even though she usually masks confidence, Rhea see’s the reader picking herself apart while trying to find herself a birthday outfit. But Rhea reminds her that she is beautiful just the way she is. I want tons of fluff, an smut” -Anon

I’m sorry I lost the ask anon!!

—

The room looks like a battlefield.

Clothes are strewn like casualties—draped across chairs, pooled on the bed, torn from hangers in a slow descent from hope to hopeless. Denim that pinched. A skirt that spun too short. The black jumpsuit that felt brave until you zipped it all the way and saw your own arms reflected back.

And now, the red dress.

It’s the one you swore you wouldn’t try. Too bold. Too tight. A shade that doesn’t whisper—it screams.

But it was the last one left.

And now you’re wearing it like a dare.

You stand in front of the mirror, backlit by a golden hour that doesn’t feel golden anymore. Everything is too quiet. Too still. Just the soft hum of the fan and the sound of your breathing—unsteady, shallow.

The mirror is unkind tonight. Well, your reflection is.

It reflects everything you’ve been trying not to see. The way the fabric stretches across your midriff, the creases in your thighs. The way the dress clings, merciless and honest. Your body looks loud in this color. Unapologetic. And you don’t know how to be that tonight.

You shift. Turn to the side. Tug the fabric down. Suck in your stomach. Something you’d be upset to see anyone else do to themselves.

But the image doesn’t change.

No matter how many time you repeat the mantra—

“Would you say this to anyone else”?

Remind yourself to imagine you're talking to your younger self.

That body types don’t go in and out of style.

It’s not the dress. It’s not the lighting. It’s not the room.

You know how to wear confidence like armor. You’ve worn it before—cut from laughter and quick wit and the kind of curated ease that makes other people think you’re untouched by this kind of ache.

But tonight, the armor doesn’t fit.

Tonight, you’re just a girl in a dress she doesn’t feel worthy of.

And the worst part is—you want to. So badly. You can see the image of yourself in the dress when you cashed out at the counter and how it doesn’t match the way you look now.

You want to love the softness. You want to see what she sees. You want to feel the power people talk about when they say curves like yours were made for worship.

But all you can see is what doesn’t fit. What bulges. What folds. The fan hums louder. The sunlight fades. The room contracts like a held breath and suddenly the space you’re standing in feels like too much.

And you try not to cry.

Because it’s your birthday.

Because it’s supposed to be a celebration.

Because Rhea is going to walk in soon and you can’t—God, you can’t let her see you like this.

Except maybe you want her to.

Maybe, deep down, you want her to see all the pieces you keep hidden and still love you the same.

But you don’t know how to ask for that.

Not yet.

Not like this.

The door opens softly. No knock. No warning. Just the whisper of hinges and the quiet scuff of boots against carpet.

“Hey baby Zel said she’d bring the—“

You don’t turn.

You can’t.

You’re afraid of what she’ll see.

But Rhea sees everything.

She stands in the doorway for a long breath—taking in the scene without a word. The wreckage of the room. The way you’re bracing the vanity like it might hold you together. The red dress clinging like flame to the softest parts of you.

Your reflection flickers. You look startled, caught.

She moves slowly. Steps with the patience of someone approaching a wounded animal—gentle, but certain. The way she always is with you when something inside is breaking.

You drop your eyes. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Just… birthday nerves.”

It’s not a lie, not exactly. But the words crack too easily. And Rhea has never been one to let cracks go untouched.

“Baby,” she says—soft, low, like she’s trying not to spook you. “What’s really going on?”

You swallow. Shake your head. “I thought I could wear this. I wanted to. But I look like a wrapped-up tomato, and it’s just—fuck.” You laugh, but it’s hollow. “I feel like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s skin.”

You finally glance up—and she’s closer now.

Close enough to see that her eyes aren’t amused or dismissive. They’re full. Heavy with something unnameable. Tender. Still.

“You don’t,” she says gently, stepping behind you. “You don’t look like anyone else.”

Her hands hover at your waist. She doesn’t touch. Not yet.

“You look like you,” she murmurs. “And I love the way this dress holds you like it knows how lucky it is.”

You snort. “It’s suffocating me.”

“Then it’s got taste.”

You want to argue. You want to push her away with your usual sharp deflections and laugh-it-offs. But she moves before you can.

Her hands settle—finally, firmly—at your waist. And when you flinch, just slightly, she stills. Leans forward. Her lips brush the back of your neck.

“I see you picking yourself apart,” she whispers. “Piece by piece. I see the war you’re waging in that mirror.”

Her thumbs begin to move in slow circles against your hips.

“But all I see is the woman I adore, wrapped in red, standing like art in a ruined room.”

You press your eyes shut.

“I can’t help it,” you breathe. “I want to feel beautiful. I like my curls and my makeup but this dress— I just don’t.”

She turns you gently, guiding your body to face her. And when your eyes finally meet, she looks like she’s holding back the sun.

“You already are.”

Her hands find your face, thumbs brushing along your cheeks. “Not when you smile. Not when you’re dressed up. Not when it’s perfect. Always.”

And then, even softer:

“Especially like this.”

She leans in and kisses you—delicate at first, like a hush. Then deeper, longer. Her lips speak the things you still struggle to believe.

You melt into it. Let her hold you, let her kiss the tension from your jaw, let her fingers splay across the fabric that once felt like a threat.

And when she pulls back, breath hot against your skin, she says, “Let me show you.”

And you nod. Barely a sound. Barely a breath.

She kisses you again—this time deeper. Not rushed. Not frantic. Just that low, consuming kind of want that makes time feel like a ribbon stretched between two mouths.

Her tongue traces yours with intention. Her hands don’t roam—they anchor. One at your jaw. The other over your ribcage, fingers splayed like she’s mapping you from the inside out.

When she pulls back, your lipstick is a little smudged.

You’re still breathing hard. Still trembling slightly in the red dress that has never felt so dangerous—so alive—against your skin.

Rhea looks at you like she’s starving. But not just for sex.

For the sight of you. For the moment of this.

She guides you with gentle, firm hands—one step, then another—until you’re standing in front of the full-length mirror again. But she’s there this time, behind you, her presence a gravity you can’t deny.

Her hands slip down your hips, around your thighs. She lowers herself slowly, reverently, until she’s kneeling behind you like you’re something holy.

“Come here,” she says, voice thick.

You turn slightly, heart stuttering, and she catches you by the hips. Presses a kiss into the small of your back, then slides down until her palms are on your thighs.

She looks up at you.

“Straddle me.”

It’s not a command. It’s an invocation.

You step forward, slowly. Her thigh rises to meet you—strong, thick, already flexing beneath your weight. The red dress rides up, bunching over your hips, baring the soft parts of you to the air between you.

You’re already wet. You feel it the moment you settle onto her, heat meeting heat.

And when you look up—

The mirror shows everything.

You. Her. The split of your legs. The dark hunger in her eyes. The way her hands grip your waist like she’s grounding you there.

“I want you to watch,” she says, lips grazing your collarbone as she rises enough to pull you against her. “I want you to see what I see.”

“I don’t want to see—“ Her thigh shifts—slow, deliberate, pressure dragging over your clit through the damp fabric of your panties. You jolt. Gasp. Your hips buck instinctively.

And her voice drops.

“Look.”

You do.

And it steals your breath.

The mirror reflects it all: your flushed face, parted lips, your body rocking in slow circles over the firm muscle of her leg. The red dress pushed high. Her arms around your hips like a belt. Her mouth ghosting over your shoulder like a vow.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “Rhea…”

“Yeah, baby,” she hums. “That’s it. Take what you need.”

Her thigh flexes harder. Her hands guide you, faster now, more rhythm than reason.

You watch yourself come apart—and for once, you don’t look away. You see yourself the way she does: radiant, wild, powerful in your softness. She speaks against your skin between kisses.

“Look at how beautiful you are when you let go.”

“You’re dripping for me, baby. Look how good you ride.”

“Every inch of you… mine.”

Your fingers grip her shoulders, eyes locked on your reflection, your moans rising and falling in time with your hips. You can feel the wave coming—rising from somewhere buried, ancient, and ready to bloom.

“Come for me,” she says, breath hot in your ear. “Come watching. Come knowing you’re everything.”

You do.

You shatter against her, gasping, trembling, your body a soft earthquake. Your release soaks her thigh. She holds you through it—gripping you tighter, mouth at your neck, whispering praise into your pulse.

When your breathing evens, she doesn’t move.

She just kisses your shoulder. Then the back of your neck. Then your spine.

Still kneeling. Still steady.

“I want you to remember this,” she murmurs. “Every time you start to pick yourself apart.”

You nod against her, dazed and glowing and real.

And in the mirror, for the first time in a long while—you believe the woman staring back.

Later, the room is full of warm light and familiar faces.

Golden-hued string lights glow overhead like stars caught in wire. Music hums from the corner. Glasses clink. Someone is already trying to light the cake candles too early.

The celebration buzzes around you—laughter, low conversations, the smell of sweet spice and too many perfumes layered together.

You stand near the bar, one hand wrapped loosely around a cold glass, the other at your side—almost still. Until the press of the fabric comes back into your sensory system and you feel trapped again..

Your fingers twitch.

Find the hem of your dress.

And tug.

Just a little. Just enough to ease the fabric lower over your thighs, smooth a wrinkle, flatten something invisible only you can feel.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it. Not really.

But she does.

Rhea sees you across the room.

She’s leaned back on a bench beside Damian, boots spread, one arm thrown over the back like she owns the place—which, in a way, she does. People are drawn to her orbit without even realizing it.

But right now, her eyes are only on you.

She watches your hand twitch. Watches the way your shoulders curve in, like you’re folding into yourself just a little.

And then—

She shifts.

Just to rest her fingertips on the side of her thigh, palm open, tapping twice against the soft inside.

Pat, pat.

A signal. A reminder.

You feel the heat of it across the room.

You glance over.

She catches your eyes and tilts her head, just a little. Her gaze says, I saw that. Her mouth lifts—you’re okay. Her fingers pat her thigh again. Remember me. Remember this.

And you do.

You remember her voice in your ear. Her thigh between your legs. Her hands on your skin, guiding you into your own power. You remember her calling you divine. Her kneeling behind you like prayer. Her eyes.

The tug at your dress falls away.

You breathe.

You smile—small, private, just for her.

And Rhea leans back again, satisfied, like a lioness whose territory has just been reaffirmed.

Across the room, you sip your drink. Straighten your back. Let the red dress stay. Let it cling. Let it hug. Let it shine.

Because she reminded you.

And now, the room sees it too.

—

Thanks for reading everyone!

Likes,comments(let’s please refrain from body talk in the comments) reblogs and follows are always appreciated!

Real quick I want to say all bodies are beautiful- but that’s all because even well intended commentary and advice can have the opposite effect.

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[queenofhalloween94]

Summary: Joel wants to court Y/n

Warning: Part two will be 🔞

Part one

“I struggled for a long time with survivin’. And you– no matter what,you keep finding something to fight for.” -Joel Miller

He needs to get it together. He shouldn’t be feeling protective,attached, or even enamored. Joel tries to talk himself out of it again and again as he drops off another courting gift for the omega who caught his interest a couple months prior. She arrived in Jackson after being found half starved in a raider camp. He found out from Tommy she was from Texas as well and had been just out of high school when the outbreak hit, putting her close to his age but still quite a bit younger. It still confused him how such a sweet feisty omega could be unmated.

In his opinion she had the sweetest scent, spiced cherry with a feisty playful personality. Her eyes are what did him in hooked line and sinker. Those eyes were peering up at him from underneath her eyelashes making his breath catch. He's being an idiot, a fool, that's what he tells himself. He shouldn’t even be trying to court someone anymore but something about that smile warmed his old broken soul. With Ellie’s pestering he finally decided to get courage to personally give her this green scarf he had traded a little wood carved owl for. It was drenched in his bergamot and ginger scent. Maybe he did it as a small claim just to let the other knotheads know he was interested in her.

There he was, his brown eyes soft but intense, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “Was out on patrol this mornin’ seems to get colder every day.” Joel grumbled, trying to act casual;however, his palms were sweaty and his heart was thumping like a drum. He held out the scarf, dark green and fluffy. “Need to keep warm, darlin’ only goin’ to get colder. Can’t have my favorite neighbor all sick in bed.”

Y/n smiles and takes the scarf from Joel’s outstretched hands. “Aw, that's so thoughtful, thank you.” she says as she clutches the scarf close, taking in his scent trying hard to conceal the purr she wants to let out. “Play it cool y/n.” she thinks to herself.

Joel’s face flushes slightly, his beard hiding most of the pink tint that spreads across his wind burned cheeks. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his broad shoulders tensing under the compliment. “Don’t mention it. Just saw it and thought of you. Reminds me of your eyes. Figured you deserved not to freeze to the bone on your next patrol.” He clears his throat, his fingers absently rubbing the scarf’s soft material. His alpha instincts are preening at your response, even as he struggles to maintain his gruff exterior he's so known for.The protective scent he's releasing becomes slightly stronger, permeating the chilled air. “Want me to…help you put it on?” His voice drops lower,softer, as he looks at you with a mix of concern and longing in his eyes. “It’s getting dark, and the patrol shift changes in an hour.”

“Sure, thank you.” Y/n lifts her hair to one side. Joel’s eyes light up at your acceptance,and he steps closer. His rough,calloused hands take the scarf from yours, gently wrapping it around your neck. The warmth of his touch lingers on your skin as he adjusts the fabric. “There we go. Perfect.” He tucks the ends of the scarf in carefully,his fingers brushing against your collarbone. The gesture is intimate, and his breath catches in his throat. The scarf carries his strong bergamot and ginger scent. It envelopes you completely now, making you practically smell like his mate already.

He shuffles a little on the steps of the porch connected to the modest house you had been set up with when you arrived. “I noticed… you’ve been wearing the other gifts I left. The green cable knit sweater, Ellie told me you liked the spearmint tea, and I saw you carrying the copy of Interview with a Vampire I found in a supply search. Makes me happy to know you like them.” Y/n smiles “I really appreciate them Joel.”

His eyes soften, his alpha pride swelling at your appreciation. He leans on the porch stair railing slightly moving a little closer to where you stand. “Good, Means I’m doing somethin’ right for you.” His voice carries a hint of vulnerability as he speaks.He fidgets with his coat button, the weight of his growing feelings evident in his tense shoulders. “I want to keep courtin’ you properly. Properly provide for you,protect you…” His voice trails off unsure if he’s crossing a line. Y/n gently puts a hand on his where it sits on the railing. “I look forward to it Joel.”

Joel’s entire demeanor brightens at your words. His alpha instincts are practically rumbling with satisfaction as he shifts forward, his large hand envelopes yours. “ You have no idea how happy that makes me,darlin’. Would you…. Would you consider being mine,Y/N? As my mate? I know I’m a little older, but I promise I’ll take care of you like you deserve.” Y/n squeezes his hand “I’ll consider it. Can I give you an answer at the winter party? you ask.

Joel’s breath catches as you squeeze his hand, his rough skin contrasting with your softer touch. His alpha instantly relaxes,fingers intertwined with yours. “Yes, of course. The winter party is perfect.” He brings your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles while maintaining eye contact. His heart races at the thought of waiting that long, but he knows he’d wait forever if it meant being with you. “Just one more month…’ He whispers against your hand,his beard tickling your skin. “Y/n smiles and gently takes her hand back to grab her pack and rifle. “I’m heading out for patrol, see you later Joel.”

Joel reluctantly releases your hand, his alpha already missing your presence. He stands up to walk you to the stables. His protective instincts flaring again. “Be careful out there sweetheart. Stay close to the patrol route and holler on the radio if you need me.” His voice is serious, but there's a warmth in his gaze as he watches you. Joel watches you walk away. He calls out “See you later, darlin’” His right hand stays in a closed fist as he tries to keep the feeling of your hand in his.

The month passes slowly for Joel, Ellie delights in pestering about everything from his next courting gifts to what Y/N has to say about him to others. His patience is whittled down to a toothpick as the month progresses. Every morning he leaves a courting gift at your door- freshly baked bread, flowers he thought would look nice with your hair, even traded for a candle when you mentioned you wished you had one for your bath. He watches from his window as you find them each morning, at least till Ellie scared the bejeezus out of him calling him a creeper. Never hearing her quiet sly self sneaking behind him.

He busies himself with repairs around Jackson, but his mind constantly drifts to the winter party. He’s already chosen his nicest flannel and jeans, having asked Ellie for advice. Luckily Dina came through and helped him since Ellie was too busy making puns. The anticipation makes him restless,and finds himself lingering near your home more often than not, though he always makes sure to keep his distance to not be too desperate or be a creeper as Ellie calls it.

The day before the dance comes with a chill in the air, one that makes Joel’s old injuries ache. Joel sees you saddled and riding towards the gate. He hurries after reaching you before the gate. “The party is tomorrow, darlin’. You’re not supposed to be out right now.” His anxious alpha bursting through with his intrusive thoughts and worries coming out of his mouth before he can stop them.

“Oh I’m meeting with Jesse, he found some more books for the library we wanted to give them to the kids during the party. I’m heading out to help him with the last group of them.”I explain as I check my pack one last time.

Joel’s expression softens slightly, but he still looks worried. He runs a hand through his hair,his alpha instincts on high alert. “I’ll be okay Joel.” Y/n tries to reassure Joel seeing his wheels of his mind turning trying to figure a way to invite himself along or go in your place. Y/N reminds Joel that you have been on several patrols, trained like everyone else, and survived on your own for a good amount of time before coming to Jackson.

Joel’s eyes darken with concern and something else - pride mixed with stubbornness. He lets out a heavy sigh, knowing he’s being unreasonable but unable to stop himself. “I know you can shoot, and I know you’re trained. That doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you.” He reaches out, gently grabbing your wrist, not to restrain, but to express his concern. His thumb strokes your pulse point softly. “I just need to know you’re safe. Especially since tomorrow-” He cuts himself off, afraid to reveal too much of his anxiousness. Y/N gently smiles at Joel “I’ll see you at the dance.” Y/N leans down from her horse a little and leaves a kiss on Joel’s cheek and rides off catching up with Jesse who was waiting at the gate.

Joel stands frozen, his hand reaching up to touch the spot where your lips were. A warm flush spreads across his face as he watches you disappear. He shakes his head in disbelief, a mixture of happiness and worry swirling inside of him. “Be safe Y/N.” He whispers to himself his heart racing as he finally turns away from the front gate, though he finds it impossible to focus on anything else. Hours later after dark has descended and patrols have come back, Jesse rides in like a bat out of hell…..alone no Y/n with him.

Joel immediately tenses at Jesse’s frantic arrival as he was leaving the Tipsy Bison waiting for her to come back. He runs over to Jesse, concern etched on his face. “Jesse, what’s wrong? Where's Y/N?” Joel’s voice is urgent as he grabs Jesse’s shoulder. He notices the panic in Jesse’s eyes and feels a cold dread settling in his stomach. Panting Jesse hurriedly says “Alpha raider…. her heat triggered, killed the raider but not fast enough. Y/n is the red patrol cabin.” Jesses gets out trying to catch his breath.

[voidingintotheshout]

Thank you @drdemonprince . It can be really tough to talk to people on anti-depressants because they’ll be like “I spent the day sitting in front of the TV and I spent nine hours watching TV. I feel happy and fulfilled about how I spent my time” and I’m like “why?? How?” For the longest freaking time I thought I was missing some weird life hack on how to appreciate life where you just sit there staring at a rectangle your entire life and you’re just always loving it until I realized that a lot of these people are just on a lot of antidepressants, or have an endless stream of attention span that someone like me with ADHD does not, and they just aren’t really concerned with the passage of time. Like, the more I spend time with other people the more I’m sure that I don’t have it as not-figured-out as I thought. So many people seem to have lives like leftovers in the fridge. They spend their time chilling or hanging out. Doing nothing. Like I didn’t have a very productive day but if you asked me was my day good I would say yes because I heard at least five different birds singing outside of my window and the temperature was lovely and I felt kind of crappy earlier in the day but I feel really good now and I’m still feeling great because I finished writing a short story yesterday. It wasn’t like it was earth-shatteringly productive, but I was happy about that and I was happy that I put away my dishes. Did I blow a load because I put away the dishes? No. But I was happy that it got done. It reminds me of that old realization from when I was younger that the problem with depressed people is sometimes not that they are less happy than other people, but that they don’t actually know what Neurotypical people think of as happy. The people with regular bouts of depression or anxiety, often confuse feeling happy with feeling ecstatic or thrilled. My theory is because people with anxiety or depression can sometimes only get the happy chemicals in extreme situations and so that’s why, they associate people who feel happy in general with something akin to euphoria or mania, instead of just being satisfied with how you have spent your time, which is closer to what happiness actually is. 

Like a good example is that Fred Astaire dance from singing in the rain. They would see this guy dancing around in a rain storm, singing all by himself as an example of being happy but that’s really more of an example of ecstatic or mania than just general happiness, which is probably closer to feeling content. Like a scene where a woman is just drinking a cup of tea reading a book on a comfortable couch, would be identified by Neurotypical people as happy, but I think people with depression, or anxiety would view that scene as more neutral, but the dance from singing in the rain would be viewed as happy. Like, maybe I’m just rambling like a crazy person but I found it to be true that the problem is sometimes wonky brain chemistry or painful memories but sometimes it’s just having a very unrealistic expectation of what the general population is feeling when they describe themselves as happy. 

Are you actually happy you got (basically) divorced? Or do you ever have moments of longing for that stability?

HA! HA HA HA! the stability of WHAT? having some permanently dissociated emotionally unavailable workaholic artist who wouldnt clean a dish or pick up a sock, filled the house with clutter, could not contribute to finances, didnt fuck me, didnt want to touch me, didnt help with the pet, ruined a bunch of my possessions using them as stage props without asking, and also couldnt find the free time to do literally anything with me one-on-one for years sleeping in my bed from 4am until 2pm every day? what stability was that?

[miryum]

Doing Something Stupid Pt 2 (Thunderbolts*!Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Part 1

Warnings: spoilers to Thunderbolts, swearing, memories of torture (though not explicit), very very very small illusion to Bucky’s SA if you read between the lines

Bucky stepped into the darkness. Once Yelena had submitted herself to the Void to go after Bob, or whatever the hell his name was, Bucky found himself doing the same. He didn’t know what to expect, nor did he particularly want to think about it. As the Void formed around him, he ran a hand through his hair — a small thing he did unconsciously whenever he wanted to calm down. It reminded him of how you brushed your fingers through his hair. A memory ran through his brain, though it was a nice one unlike the ones he was sure to encounter soon.

Bucky’s head laid on your chest. He was close to blissful sleep when he heard you mutter, “you know, I think I might buy you some different conditioner. Is that okay?”

“Whatever you want, doll,” he mumbled faintly.

“Seriously, I think with some conditioning and then maybe a little blow-dry, you would look like a prince.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed together. “You want me to look like a prince?” he asked.

“I just think it would look really pretty.”

The super soldier smiled lazily. “Okay, doll.”

The first scene to materialise around him was a place he saw frequently in his memories. It would be agony to relive so vividly, but with the thought of you in his mind, he stepped forward.

Bucky watched as his own chest heaved with exhaustion. He had been given food, yes, for they would never starve their budding super soldier. Water was sparse, so he had learned to drink no matter what drugs may be in it. For now, his problem was surely a new serum they had injected into his veins.

Bucky, the one with the shiny new arm and aging lines on his face, couldn’t help but watch. A much younger version of himself was strapped down to a table. His hair was clean cut, though he hadn’t shaved in some days, and there was panic in his eyes. He wore a dirty green shirt, dog tags hanging out to remind him that if he died, at least his sister and mother would know of it. He had two flesh arms, riddled with little cuts and dirt. 

Even without the hints, Bucky could’ve easily remembered the scene. Right before Steve would save him, yet too late to stop the experimentation. 

Bucky turned away as his younger self began to scream. This was nothing new and he had long learned how to deal with his own cries, voice wailing and cracking desperately. As his memories shrieked, he began to search for a way out, fingers tracing along the cracks before spotting the glimmer of a different Hydra cell in the reflection of a sterilised tray.

He jumped through.

This time, the howls for mercy were replaced by a stone cold stare, grunts all that could escape the mouth of the Winter Soldier as he struggled against the machine he ironically couldn’t seem to forget.

Bucky stood in the corner, jaw set and unable to tear his eyes away. Why was this more painful than the last memory? He could see the way his veins pulled against his skin, the way his matted hair hung in his face, and the way his eyes seemed to slowly resign to his fate.

There was nothing left, the Winter Soldier was thinking. And Bucky knew the feeling all too well.

Could he stand to watch the way the metal arm with the red, brutal star reflected in the light? With all the hands roving over him, willing him to do their bidding and slowly stripping away what little identity he had left?

Bucky found himself thankful that this was the memory the Void had presented to him. There were far worse ones. But perhaps he had buried those too far away…

Even in the Void, Bucky Barnes was not lucky. The memories he had to trudge through to try and find Yelena and Bob were scattered, never in chronological order, but maybe that was just a testement to how fucked up his brain was. 

Hydra seemed to dominate, which didn't come as a surprise. Bucky hadn’t even tried to save his past self, knowing it was fruitless. He had resigned himself to staring around the room, looking for the next torturous memory he had to walk into.

There was when they welded the fatal arm onto his stub of a shoulder, like giving the Grim Reaper his scythe. Numerous memories were when Hydra nobodies — low level men who thought it would be good fun to show each other how they could subdue the great Winter Soldier — would barge into his cell and force him onto his knees with well placed electric shocks. Another memory pulled from the vault was the one time he tried to resist the chair. Bucky had watched with pity as the Winter Soldier struggled and roared with frustration, taking out one or two scientists. Both knew that retaliation would be long and disastrous.

It wasn’t until he pushed his way from the Hydra base to a place he knew all too well that he froze with actual terror.

In this new memory, it should’ve been blissful to see you in your bed at the Avengers’ compound, sleeping soundly with your chest rising and falling in rhythm. Bucky stepped forward, gaze softening. His eyes were stuck to you and as he crouched by the edge of the bed, he couldn’t help but reach out and brush your cheek. You looked so peaceful and lovely. This had to be years ago, given that your hair was styled differently and the laugh lines by your eyes weren't as prominent as they were in the present. How could this be a bad memory?

Bucky’s eyes flicked down to your hand that was resting above the covers. No ring yet. He hadn’t made you his. Maybe that was the bad memory part of it. That he had been stupid enough not to propose the moment he saw you.

Just then, the bed shifted slightly and an arm was slung over your shoulders. Bucky instantly frowned. That wasn’t his arm. He stood and when he saw who was beside you, his blood ran cold. He could feel his heart drop to his stomach where it was slowly digested in a pit of acid.

Tyler. The ex-boyfriend.

No. Bucky knew what was coming. He whirled towards the door just in time to hear the timid knock. No no no. Shit. How dare the Void pull this from his broken brain and present it to him. You stirred and your eyes cracked open. “No no, go back to sleep,” Bucky hushed out, rushing towards you, but it was too late. Your legs had already swung off the bed and you were pulling away from Tyler’s arm. Dressed in nothing but one of Tyler’s shirts, you made your way to the door, rubbing your eyes. Meanwhile, your boyfriend let out a groan, which Bucky cringed at. He knew the extent of super-hearing.

Bucky tensed as you opened the door, revealing himself. This younger Bucky had only been at the compound for a few months and had instantly glued himself to you, something that surprised everyone, Steve included. You weren’t an Avenger — simply Tony’s assistant, but after a kidnapping where some guys had thought you’d give up your boss, Tony had offered for you to just move into the compound.

But had that mattered to Bucky? No. You were a break from the chaotic life of a quasi-superhero and all the redemption he was trying to achieve. You were a calming base. He frequently found himself coming to you whenever he had nightmares and you would always open your arms.

Then came Tyler.

Steve always shot Bucky sorrowful glances whenever Tyler came around, making him feel pathetic. He found himself drawing away from you, which certainly didn't help his mental health. That probably had something to do with the nightmare that led him to your room.

Bucky watched as his younger self looked up from his pitiful stare of the floor to your face. The younger man’s shoulders dropped with relaxation before he noticed your attire. That only made his muscles tense again, but you were too tired to notice. “Hey, Buck,” you greeted, trying to suppress a yawn. Bucky pressed his lips together in greeting. “Did you have another nightmare?” your voice was loving and the Bucky Barnes stuck watching this unfold even felt himself breathe a sigh of relief at the sound of it.

After a moment, the Bucky of his memories nodded, but he shuffled around. “I didn’t realise you had company,” he muttered out and the invisible Bucky who could do nothing wanted to wail out in desperation.

“Oh, well, yeah, Tyler’s staying the night,” you explained awkwardly. 

Bucky, the super soldier he was, seemed to shrink into himself. “Sorry for waking you.”

“No, no!” Bucky shouted to himself, surprised at the ferocity he felt. “Don’t just leave!”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you coaxed softly. “You know it’s okay.”

The Bucky that still had the silver arm shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he apologised again. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You looked like you wanted to say something, but Bucky turned and walked away. The Bucky in this wretched Void could only have his words catch in his throat, eyes shining with tears. He urged his feet to work and ran after his younger self.

Bucky watched as he closed the door to his room, which was down the hall from yours. Suddenly, he found himself back in his old room at the compound. It must be some magic of the Void, forcing him to keep witnessing this torment. 

The younger Bucky stood in the middle of his sparse room, hands clenched to fists at his sides. His body slowly began to shake with sobs. Bucky, the older one who had already lived through his heartbreak, couldn’t help but rush forward and take his younger self into his arms, trying to console him.

“It’s okay,” he pleaded. “He’ll be gone in two months. I know, I know. It’ll be okay. She loves you. She really does, I promise. She didn’t want to turn you away. Please, listen to me!”

But he knew that the blissful sleep that only came in your arms wouldn’t find him for years to come.

The next memory was speedy, which was exactly how it felt when he and Sam went different ways. Bucky only made it in time to watch Sam stalk off, shoulders taut. Bucky was still reeling from the last memory, so seeing himself lose a friend, especially when the wound was so recent, didn’t help in the slightest. 

“Damn it. Damn it!” he found himself yelling, throwing his hands up into the air. He wished he could go back just a few months ago and force himself to walk after Sam and attempt to fix the cavern that had appeared between them.

But it didn’t matter. In the window of a shop nearby, Bucky could see the reflection of Yelena and Bob. He charged forward.

It was all a publicity stunt. That goddamn Valentina was able to play it off beautifully. And Bob just stood to the side, clapping stupidly because he couldn’t remember shit.

Cameras flashed around them and he knew his face would be splashed on every television and newspaper soon enough.

Bucky didn't have time for this. He had more important things to attend to. Like taking Alpine to the vet. He simply walked away.

Riding the subway in his tactical gear after saving Earth didn’t even make him bat an eye. He got off right by his home and walked up the steps.

You were sitting on the couch, tears streaming down your face and with the news on in the background. Bucky quickly rushed towards you, crushing you in a hug. You toppled over on the couch from the force, but simply gripped him back. “Thank god,” you whispered into his skin as he buried his face into your neck. “Jesus, Bucky. I- I saw the blackness coming towards me and then all of a sudden I’m back in my memories and I know for a fact you probably stepped into that hell by your own volition and I told you not to do anything stupid. What you then had to relive—” His arms circled around you tighter and you reciprocated. “— I’m so sorry I wasn’t there. And then I turn on the news expecting to see my husband dead but there you are, proclaiming to be new Avengers, like what the hell?!”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just needing to feel you breathing and in his arms. He would wipe the tears away later and tell you everything that had happened. He would welcome your insistence of him resting in bed and your doting cuddles. He would tolerate your rant about him running towards trouble and how stupid he was. Just after he made sure you were still his.

“You’re still taking Alpine to the vet tomorrow, right?” You broke the silence.

“Yeah, of course.”

[p-paradoxa]

thinking about how the events of rogue one started off as just another day for Cassian and the rebellion. just another mission (one with some heavy intel that had already cost lives, but that’s not really new).

and on that same tangent I think about Niya, the woman working in the Sienar test facility in the first episode of s2, and Cassian reassuring her that she’s “coming home to herself.”

and how this scene really enhances his “welcome home” line in R1, adjusting it from something almost familial and domestic, and kind of corny IMO— to something more meaningful about how Cassian understands radicalization and participation in revolution. that’s what home is to him.

and— before someone jumps me, this isn’t negative— to a point, Jyn was just another Niya to him, as well. that is not to say that they started off on the same foot, that she was already in the know and willing. but rather, that she was a younger woman, still growing into herself, observed by Cassian who was put in a position to support her and her decisions because he has already seen what it takes for people to act. it takes reassurance. he can like her and flirt with her but he may not have spent much time with her if the mission hadn’t gone that way, if he hadn’t made those decisions like the one not to shoot Galen, etc., or even if they had lived at the end. but her participation would have nevertheless been worth it all because it was for a greater cause. he’s used to interacting with people in this fleeting yet formative way, for the rebellion.

then obviously circumstances changed and they continued working together to the end and we can speculate about feelings and all that. which I am in agreement with but that’s not my point. it’s that: he’s met this kind of person before. she also reminds him of himself, and his sense of self is shaped by everyone that shaped his story and whose lives he shaped in turn. because prospective heroes are everywhere. we are everywhere. I have friends everywhere. the frontier of the rebellion is everywhere. and we can all be important parts of that, whether we are “home” just for a moment or for a few days or for years. and we are drawn to similiar people, we love to recognize patterns and rhymes, it came free with being human.

and likewise, soulmates are not a thing. but events can align just thus so that people find each other. and idk just. the way andor recontextuallzes Cassian’s relationships in R1 is much more interesting than thinking Cassian+Jyn are unique and that their politics just sprouted during the course of those 3 days and they had never seen anyone like each other and that they had never loved anyone like that before (see also: Bix) and that any one of them is singular. it’s more hopeful and realistic to me that they can be seen in anyone and anything, that they can appear again and again. real people we meet in our lives are like that, too. and like how these characters just happened to end up in each other’s arms when they did. you could argue that the Force willed them together, but if you can interpret the Force as something that drives the narrative and how the characters act, the same is true of everyone including everyone in andor leading up to R1. and what the tv show did was clarify that anyone can find their way home, too.

[orangepeelknives]

im new to sjshockey hope u dont mind me asking: warso hates smitty? their own head coach hates him?

okay anon i used to say this as a silly goofy tinhat-type joke but now i MEAN IT!!!!

warso is a younger coach but i do think he subscribes to the old school style of USA hockey coaching where seniority = status, and rookies have to earn their place, despite skill. however mack is better, FAR better, than your typical rookie, and is a loudmouthed bitch, frankly. so warso cant really treat him the same as he would a typical rookie - mack is so much better than pretty much everyone else on that team that he cant really rookie-bully him the way a coach usually would be able to. he'a already earned his place. in addition, mack doesnt listen to or respect warso much at all - this isnt even being super webweavy, he literally told warso NO when warso wanted to cut his ice time. so in my opinion, warso's lack of control over mack threatens his power as coach, in his head at the very least, but he cant take this out on mack, because mack is future face of the franchise, mack is untouchable.

you know who's NOT untouchable??

will smith hockey.

will is buds with mike grier's son jayden, theyve played on a team together before, and will is also this little duo with mack, he keeps mack happy and functional and steadies him, and this part is a little tinhatting but absolutely based in fact and observation. so will also isnt this completely bullyable rookie (maybe i shouldnt say bullyable, but like, he's not this typical rookie who can be easily threatened to be sent to the A, or who is in a position where it's do or die to prove his worth, he's already kinda done that both as a player but also as a person, re, i think it was @whirlpool-blogs who has an awesome post about will being a smart hockey player more than on the ice)

but will is certainly more bullyable than MACK, because will isnt the best on the team, he has weak spots in his game at a volume more typical of a rookie. so how can warso kind of reassert his dominance to the team, who sees how little control he has over mack (who btw i could make a whole separatw post abt that boy's authority issues)? well, warso can certainly assert his dominance over will.

he can move will up or down on lines as he sees fit, and will doesnt have the grounds to say no the way mack does. he can shuffle him around, cut his TOI, move him from wing to center and back again. and he DOES! he shuffles that boy around constantly, benches him in OT, now at worlds he just moved him to the 4th line!!! for context there, he started on the second line with beniers and gauthier with whom he had clear chemistry, racked up a big handful of assists, and then was demoted to third for seemingly no reason.

the past few weeks of the season, the tension between warso and will was actually def clear. the honorable @bliksemflitsenblog just reminded me of an incident where will told mack on the bench, like, "thats BULLSHIT," in response to warso. will was clearly startinh to get frustrated and it was clearly starting to grate on him. now at worlds, where will is one of the youngest on the team, its pretty clear warso has been picking on him a little. i made a post on here abt the kazakhstan game, where after will's line was on the ice for a goal against he sat as far as possible on the bench from warso as he could get to the point where guys were having to like shuffle past him.

anyways, that's the gist of it. NEVER apologize for hanging out in my inbox <3

[samegirldifferentworld]

Imagine Dean Winchester taking care of you when you’re injured and burnt out… 

Testing the waters of sharing fanfictions. As a taster of my writing style, here's just a short drabble I wrote while struggling with my own burnout (yay ty autism ily) - and it's the first SPN fanfiction I've written in a LONG time so I might be a bit rusty... please be gentle :')

Also I know a lot of these are usually written in the second person, but I find I'm better writing in the first person. Hope you enjoy, and if you like what you've read, I'll share more in the future!

Summary: You've been busy with multiple hunts and it's starting to take it's toll. While you've been able to hide those feelings for a while, you can't hide it from a Winchester - and luckily, Dean is able to help you out when you need him most. Cast:  Dean Winchester

Genre: fluff, comfort Word count: 1,665

notes / warnings: injury, burnout, mental health/depression talk (she/her pronoun reader)

‘Hey! Wake up!’ 

I could feel someone shaking my shoulder, trying to coax me out of slumber. My eyes snapped open, and I took a sharp gasp of breath as I was brought out of rest. I looked up to see who the culprit was… and I was greeted by a man with hair the colour of wave-kissed sand, apple-green eyes and clad in plaid.  

Dean, the older Winchester.  

I groaned lightly as I struggled to sit up and ruffled my hair. I noticed the room was slightly spinning. Why the hell was I feeling so dizzy?!  

“Ugh… where’s the fire, Dean?!” 

My voice came out slightly croakier than I hoped for, which shocked me. My head was pounding as I was starting to come round. 

“I don’t get it... why do I feel like this?” 

Dean raised his brow in concern, his eyes lit up in confusion, his hand still resting on my shoulder. 

“You don’t remember?” he asked.  

I looked around me, trying to find clues to help me recognise where I was. I shook my head, which didn’t help with the dizziness situation. I could sense I was in a bedroom of some description, but that was it.  

“Where am I?” 

Dean couldn’t believe it. “You’re in the bunker. You’ve been zonked out for a while, and Sammy wanted me to check in on you while he’s nerding it up in the library.” 

Sam was the younger Winchester, a tall and handsome man with the perfect cocktail of brains, beauty and a sprinkle of brawn thrown in for good measure. Clearly, he had taken to his books to research another case.  

I noticed my arm was starting to itch and reached over to scratch, but it was covered with a bandage. I had no idea why I could need to be patched up like this... 

“Where did this come from? Dean... What happened to me?” 

Dean lightly chuckled. “You really don’t remember… the vampires? You practically got into a Jack Sparrow machete swordfight with them...” 

The memories came flooding back at his prompt. There had been one or two insane back-to-back hunts – there were demons (one of which I managed to exorcise), malevolent spirits and a Wendigo in the woods. And now, vampires. Apparently, my machete skills weren’t quite up to par this time round. After all these insane hunts coming one after the other, I was starting to feel run down. I sighed deeply, a nauseating feeling bubbling up in the back of my throat.  

“Remind me never to do that again.” 

Dean smirked. “Yeah, alright…”  

I bowed my head, catching my forehead in my hands, trying to forget about everything. Dean clocked that I wasn’t myself and immediately stepped in. He sat down on the bed next to me, his hand resting across my back and gently rubbing it in little circles.  

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” 

“I don’t feel so good, Dean…” 

“In what way?” 

“I guess…” I took a second to collect my thoughts. “I’m feeling really tired… and everything hurts… and my brain feels scrambled…” 

Dean was quick to figure out a diagnosis.  

“I think I know what’s wrong. (Y/N). You’re burnt out.” 

“Huh?” 

“Listen, you know what makes you a good hunter? The way you can adapt and improvise at the drop of a hat. But the last case, you missed the ball, struck out, made a few careless mistakes… and that led to you getting hurt.”  

I shrugged. “Okay, so maybe I’ve been going full-out on the last couple of hunts, while I’ve been running on an almost empty tank... but I’m sure I’ll be fine. It can’t be that serious.” 

I swivelled my body to allow my feet to dangle from the bed, starting to get ready to stand up. “Maybe I should go and see what Sam is reading about-” 

Except it didn’t come out as ‘about’. It came out as a cry of sheer pain. My ankle felt like it was on fire as I stood up and tried to walk, my knee buckled, and I tumbled to the floor. Dean managed to roll over the bed and crouch beside me.  

“What the hell?!” I exclaimed, panting through the burning sensation raging through my ankle.  

Dean placed his hand on the knee that didn’t buckle from under me, his thumb tracing against it.  

“Listen to me, (Y/N). You’re not gonna like this, but you’re benched. Only thing worse than a bad hunter is a dead hunter. And I can’t take that risk with you, because I care about you too much to allow that.” 

I could feel my bottom lip begin to tremble as I fought back tears. Both Dean and his brother, Sam, cared more for me than most people I had ever known, and that meant the world to me. The dam burst as a couple of tears spilt over. 

“Okay, I admit it... I’ve not been hunting at my best lately... I’ve let you down, Dean... And I’m really-” 

Dean quickly silenced me. “Hey, if the next word to come out of your mouth is ‘sorry’, we’re gonna have a problem.” 

I let out a shaky exhale. Dean could clearly see that I was hurt, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. He took hold of my arm and threw it over his shoulder.  

“Right, let’s get you back onto this bed...” 

He helped me stand up, and while I winced in pain, Dean was careful in sitting me back onto the bed. 

“I know it hurts...” 

His eyes lit up as an idea entered his head.  

“I will be back in a minute. Wait here... and do NOT move.” 

Dean walked out of the room, leaving me alone with only my thoughts keeping me company. I threw my head back onto the pillows in despair, silent tears welling up and escaping.  

Maybe Dean was right. Clearly, I’d been pushing myself to constantly be at 100%, but now that number was dwindling, reducing further with every hunt I’d been on. Right now, I was probably sitting at about 25%, maybe 30 at the most.  

Dean returned, clutching hold of an icepack, a spare pillow and a flask of water. He set the flask down on the nightstand and came to my ankle.  

“I’ll tell you now, this might sting a little bit,” he warned me.  

He carefully lifted my ankle up, placed the pillow down on the bed and let my ankle rest on top of it. He then took the icepack and laid it across my ankle, which made me hiss as ripples of pain came to the surface.  

“I feel useless laying here... surely there must be something I can do.” 

“Yes, there is. You can stay here, rest up and make sure you’re fighting fit for the next round.” 

He picked up the water flask and handed it to me. “That includes staying hydrated.”  

After shuffling against the bed and sitting up, I tentatively took a sip of water from the flask. It was cold, but it helped to ease the burning in my throat. I looked up at Dean.  

“Thank you, Dean.” 

“You’re welcome, (Y/N). And hey, don’t beat yourself up. We all need to rest from time to time.” 

I furrowed my brow. “Even you? And Sam, too?” 

He nodded. “Yeah. Sometimes it’s hard to step back, I get it. When you’ve been doing this as long as we have, it gets addictive, almost. It’s hard knowing when you have to stop, put the brakes on. But remember, there’s nothing wrong with asking for help when you need it. Sam and I have got your back.” 

At this point, with all the terrible things I’d seen, I’d managed to toughen up. But in this moment, I felt so vulnerable... and I couldn’t help it. I’d been bottling this up for longer than I care to admit, not wanting Sam or Dean to see any weakness in me. But now, it was too late for that. I just couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. Dean saw that I was upset and reacted quickly and kindly.  

“Oh, sweetheart...” 

He sat down on the bed beside me, putting his arm around me and drawing me in so that my head rested against his shoulder. His thumb was stroking against my head as I sobbed.  

“It’s okay... I’m here... You’re gonna be okay, I promise.” 

I found comfort in his strong but gentle touch, inhaling the scent of aftershave and alcohol that lingered on him, which played a part in offering me some comfort. He carefully allowed me to break away and ran his thumb under my eyes, attempting to wipe away my tears. 

“I’ve got an idea. How about we both take a rest, right here, for a while... and then I’ll fix us something to eat when you’re feeling a little better. How’s that sound?” 

I let a smile creep onto my face. “I like that. Thank you so much, Dean. And I’m really-” 

I managed to stop myself from saying that word before Dean could react. 

“I mean... I’m really... lucky... to have you and Sam around.” 

Dean let off a light chuckle. “Alright, you saved it. Now come on, let’s get cosy.” 

I shuffled back down so I was laid against the pillows. Dean laid down beside me, his arm around me and allowing me to cuddle up to him like a child cuddles up to their teddy. Dean’s fingers started to play with little sections of my hair, which, paired with the rise and fall of his chest that matched his gentle breathing, was the perfect combination for relaxation. I felt myself sinking deeper back into slumber.  

Dean noticed that I was starting to settle, and he pressed a gentle kiss against my forehead, his slightly chapped lips warm and comforting against my skin.  

“Lay your weary head to rest, (Y/N),” Dean said quietly. “Don’t you cry no more.” 

[iplaywithstring]

I have dental phobia. It's the one thing I get real anxiety about. It was so bad that for over a decade I didn't see a dentist at all, even though I had pain. I kept up my streak until I broke one of my teeth.

That was a literal nightmare. I cried while picking bits of tooth out of my mouth. It was horrible.

That was about 18 years ago. Since then I've had my wisdom teeth removed (including the one I broke), a gum graft, and a lot of fillings (most of my back teeth). And it's all been fine! I get through it, nothing bad happens. I get a cleaning every 9 months, and it's been almost a decade since I had any issues (the gum graft being the last thing I needed taken care of). The only thing that gets me to the cleaning appointment is reminding myself I'll get at least 6 months where if I worry about my teeth I know they have just been checked and it can't be that bad.

Still, I usually start having anxiety about my teeth a couple months before my next scheduled appointment. I'll have trouble getting to sleep or nightmares, and then jaw pain because I clench my teeth when I'm stressed, and then the jaw pain makes me sure I've got an abscess or my teeth are rotting out of my face.

It's not very rational, I know this. I've gotten used to the cycle.

For my most recent cleaning, I was surprised how calm I was about it. I kept waiting for the freakout to happen, but it never did. I rearranged my schedule so I'd have nothing major planned the day of my appointment (because I generally don't sleep well the night before and then crash after). Jokes on me - the appointment was today and not Thursday. I didn't even have time to stress out!

I even mentioned to the dentist that I had dental anxiety and she was surprised! It came up because she had just done a bunch of fillings on my kid (result of steroid use when he was younger) and commented how calm and unbothered he is by the whole thing and how nice that was because so many people have anxiety. (I am amazed my kids don't - I would get anxiety taking them in when they were young but did my best to not let them know - life got easier once they could go in without me)

All that to say, after years of struggle, this might actually be getting better, and I am so very glad!

[yanderes-galore]

Romantic yandere Leo (2018 tmnt) with your prompts 8, 55, and 59!!

I struggled hard on this due to prompt 55, but I hope I can figure out something coherent. This takes place in the future after the movie.

Yandere Rise! Leonardo Prompts 8, 55, 59

"I could look into those eyes forever...."

"Now there's always a part of me with you...."

"Are those friends of yours? Are they your everything?"

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Insecurities, Jealousy, Possessive behavior, Stalking, Overprotective behavior, Guilt tripping, Human/Mutant, Angst, Delusional behavior, Dubious/Coerced relationship.

"We'll... always be friends, right?"

It's an innocent question that falls from Leo's lips. You and him were sitting on a rooftop late at night. Sometimes it was just nice to be alone and speak with one another.

In a world where mutation was becoming the norm, a human being friends with a mutant turtle wasn't new. Many humans knew about or at least heard about the mutations going on around town. It was... shocking at first.

Yet when you met Leonardo, the cheerful, confident, and carefree blue ninja turtle... You knew he meant no harm.

April certainly helped to act as a bridge between you two.

In fact, eventually you became one of the only people Leo could voice his concerns to. Which... when it came to him... there was a lot to vent. You didn't mind... Even Leo listened to your fears.

A fear that was mutual between you was the fear of losing those you care about....

"I don't see why not?" You confess with a smile, glancing towards Leo with a soft look. Such a simple gesture made Leo feel... calm. "I think we're great friends."

"Good, good! But... um... You won't forget about me if we ever... lose contact, right?" Leo finds himself murmuring, his insecurity nibbling at his confidence like some hungry beast.

"Hm... Well, what if we exchange keepsakes?" You bring up. The suggestion sends a look of confusion over Leo, making the turtle tilt his head.

"... keepsakes? What does that mean exactly–?"

"I mean personal items, Leo," You laugh, making Leo's heart flutter. "Like..."

You tug off a bracelet you always wore. Leo remembered it, it was your favorite color. You practically wore it all the time... said you made it with one of those jewelry makers when you were younger.

"What if I exchange this... with something like one of your bandanas?" You hum, making Leo scoff for a moment.

"You serious? You expect me to just give something like that away?" Leo crosses his arms, yet his gaze does drift to your bracelet in thought.

"And you expect me to give my bracelet away for nothing? It means a lot to ME too~" You chuckle, making Leo grumble. He... does have extra bandanas so....

"Fine! Only because it's you...." Leo murmurs, removing his bandana before passing it to you. You take it and slip the bracelet on his wrist.

Even that makes him feel... vulnerable? Flustered? He doesn't know but his face feels hot....

"There we go!" You hum, tying his bandana around your arm where the bracelet was. "I'd say this is sufficient proof we're best friends, right?"

Leo glances over you, the bandana around your wrist. He thinks for a long time before nodding with a soft smile. Yes... Why was he scared in the first place...?

Now you'll always be reminded of each other....

"Now there's always a part of me with you...." Leo finds himself murmuring, a foreign heat crawling across his cheeks. You just smile again and the feeling increases.

"Of course! By the way, you look funny without the bandana~" You tease, making Leo's gaze snap up to you with a frown.

"Shut up!" Leo snaps, but it was more out of embarrassment than anything.

You just respond with a laugh... making Leo flush more. Yet despite his supposed irritation...

He found himself laughing too.

....

...

"Are we still friends... or are you something more...?"

Leonardo had often thought of such a question. It has always popped into his mind when fidgeting with the bracelet you gave him. He was always careful when handling it... it was a gift from you... one that showed you cared.

You had always meant the world to Leonardo. In fact, when he was fighting the Krang, he hoped you were okay. Truthfully...

He never came out the same after nearly losing his family and own life.

When the Krang were defeated, you were quick to come to your friend's aid. You had embraced him, muttering about how worried you were. It was a rather friendly gesture then... yet to Leo, if felt like something more.

Since his near death experience and the fact he was getting older... Leo had wondered if he cared for you in a more mature way. When he was younger, it just felt innocent. But now Leo was an adult... one that was the same age as you.

He kept up with the burden of being a hero. Yet you... You moved on with your life. Well, you still saw him when you could....

Yet Leo always saw you with other people... be that coworkers or friends from college and/or work. As a human you were continuing your life. Despite the bandana you often had on you...

Leo felt himself slipping away from you.

Part of him knew it was wrong. He shouldn't feel envious when it comes to you. But... part of him was frustrated that you could move on...

While he couldn't.

He didn't want to let you go yet! He... He couldn't do that. You mean everything to him....

Sure, you're human. Technically he shouldn't have these feelings in the first place. Yet he feels like a lovesick puppy when he sees you.

Your smile... the playful yet kind glint in your eyes.... Every feature you have makes his heart flutter. That's not even covering your personality.

Nowadays though... You rarely pay him mind. Whenever he looks at you, you're always off with other friends. For a long time, he tried to tolerate it....

On the days he did see you... You felt almost like your old self. Just... more distant. It was like your mind was somewhere else...

It's like you were thinking of other friends than him.

It... breaks his heart. The fact you're spending time with others more than him. For a long time... he was fine with it because his bandana was around your arm all the time.

Yet one day, you just weren't wearing it anymore... all while giving others that cute smile of yours...

It made him... and the bracelet... snap.

"... No... You love them more than me... Am I even a friend now?"

Leo had tried to silently accept the fact that his feelings were one-sided. You were simply too busy for him... you just didn't love him like he thought you did. Normally he'd be devastated at the idea of him breaking your bracelet...

But... You've hurt him.

Do you even have a bond anymore?

At first there was anger. Then... Leo began to realize he never stopped loving you. Which... is why this hurt so much....

He can't ignore this forever...

He should just force your attention... make you remember what you two had.

Leo was careful to wait for when would be a good time to meet you. Using the ninja stealth that's been taught to him... He watches you from the shadows. Each time you speak to those other friends of yours...

His blood boils.

Soon enough, as night hits, you make your way home. Leo knew you were walking home... It was close by. He has the location remembered by heart....

So he jumps down in front of you, causing you to yelp.

"Leo!?" You gasp, a look of confusion settling on your face when he glares at you. "It's been—"

"Too long? I know." Leo snaps, staring you down. "You've been too damn focused on paying attention to other people than ME! I thought we were pals!?"

"Leo, I know, I've just... you know how things are...." You try to reason, only for Leo to ignore you, stepping closer.

"Yeah, you're right, I know how things are..." Leo growls, his demeanor intimidating to you. After all... He's gotten taller since you last saw him.

"Now... about those people... Are those friends of yours? Are they your everything?" Leo continues to accuse, not caring if you look scared. "Are they more important than me? After everything we did?"

You grunt when you feel your back hit the wall of your home, Leo too focused on venting about your supposed neglect.

"I thought you LOVED me!" Leo finds himself nearly sobbing, only for a look of realization to dawn on your face.

"... Leo, no, sweetheart..." You murmur, Leo's eyes never leaving yours. "I love you... but I don't think you understand how...?"

Leo goes quiet...

Then pins you to the wall by your shoulders.

"You're such a liar! And I know liars...." Leo barks, tears forming in his eyes. "You loved me... I know you did... Don't you DARE say we were just friends!"

"Leo, please, we were—"

"No! No we weren't!" Leo whines, pulling you close. When he was younger, this wouldn't be intimidating... but he's like almost 20 now...?

"... I could look into those eyes forever...." Leo confesses, trying to force you to hold his gaze. "I thought those eyes told me everything... I thought they said you cared...."

"I do!" You say, only for Leo to hold you closer.

"Then WHY don't you LOVE ME?" Leo snaps again, looking down at you with a hurt gaze. "You don't even wear my bandana anymore!"

"I keep it safe, Leo...."

"That was the point of our deal!" Leo counters, "It was to show we belonged to each other! Didn't that mean you loved me too...?"

You stay silent, making Leo shake.

"... you're... just overwhelmed, right?" Leo murmurs, "You love me... You're just worried about what those other people will say about us...."

"What? Leo, n—" You're quickly shushed by Leo, the turtle smiling down at you. It was probably meant to be sweet... but with the look in his eyes...

He looks deranged.

"It's okay, sweetheart..." Leo murmurs, nuzzling into your neck. "It doesn't matter what they think... as long as we love each other, It doesn't matter!"

You feel Leo tug on you to pull you with him. You stay your ground though, making Leo's dark gaze shift to you.

"Where are you taking me—?" You ask, making Leo scoff.

"Don't want you home tonight... You're staying with me! We have a lot to talk about...."

"No we don't?"

"Yes we do!" Leo shuts you down again, tugging you along to follow him. "Let's have a night to ourselves, you owe me, right~?"

You reluctantly end up following Leo. The grip on your arm is tight, preventing you from running off. You hear him hum happily... the noise eerie in the night.

"Oh! By the way... I accidentally broke your bracelet...." Leo murmurs in a guilty tone, like that was the worst thing he's done tonight.

"But don't worry...!" Leo hums, pulling you close to him."

"We'll fix it... I'm sure we can make it special again now that we're together, hm~?"

You just meekly nod... trying to keep the peace long enough to bring this up to his brothers.

[ayoooooooooooooooooo]

Caretaker burst into the room, ignoring Brawn's hisses to shut the fuck up and other colorful language. They personally did not give a shit at the moment, even though they really, really should. Everything hinged on this, but that was the problem. They couldn’t be careful when Whumpee had been missing for over a week.

A week, 8 days to be specific, of not knowing. 8 days of imagining the worst possible outcomes. They could be hurt, or dead, or cold, or alone, or tortured, or–

They were there. Right there.

Caretaker could almost cry. They probably did, if just a little, as they rushed to their teammate strung up on the wall like one of those butterfly displays. Not with needles, thank god, but with shackles that were clearly way too tight. They were dark and grimy, covered in dirt and rust and–

And blood.

“Whumpee,” they said, or screamed, or whispered. It didn’t matter, it was out, and they needed their friend to respond to it, to look up at their own name.

They didn’t. Caretaker's ears began to ring. They closed the already short distance between them, carefully cradling the little one's face. Whumpee would usually object to being called such a thing, and Caretaker hoped with all they had that they would do so once more.

“Whumpee? Whumpee, hey–hey, look at–look at me–”

Their words were garbled and rushed, tripping over each other as their mouth refused to work under such fear. But they needed it to work, needed to speak to their best friend, needed them to just look up at them.

They did, and Caretaker almost collapsed in relief. Then grief.

Their eyes, usually a bright, clear color now appeared gray with how dim they were. They were covered in blood, a lot getting on Caretaker's hands now that they were regaining some feeling in them. They couldn’t tell where it was all coming from–their face was so fucking swollen–but they could trace a lot of it to a nasty cut on their lower lip. That would need stitches, the thought reminding Caretaker that they were the medic and should probably get their shit together.

They couldn’t pull away, though. It was like if they let go, Whumpee would slip away forever. They needed to hold them, to touch them, to make sure they were still warm, still breathing, still alive. Their eyes were glazed, but they sharpened slightly after a too-long moment of staring blankly ahead.

And then.

“I didn’t say anything, I didn’t, please you have to–” their words were even more fragmented than Caretaker's had been, their voice cracking horribly at the end before they sucked in a gasping breath. “You have to believe me!”

“What–” Caretaker said without thinking because this was so far out of what they had expected. What they had expected being anger, mostly. They had been with Whumpee when the mission went south, they were supposed to protect the younger one, they had failed. Why was Whumpee asking them to believe them?

They glanced back at Brawn and Leader, looking away from their teammate for the first time since spotting them. The stoic fighter looked uncharacteristically shaken while Leader had turned their head to look away.

Whumpee was still sobbing, so Caretaker looked back at them, forcing their trembling hands to still, to hold their little one with the steadiness that they deserved.

“What are you talking about, Whumpee?” they whispered, not trusting their voice not to crack if they tried to speak any louder.

Whumpee didn’t say anything else, though, instead gasping and sobbing in the throes of a panic attack. This Caretaker was expecting.

“Hey, hey, it’s ok, you’re ok, breathe, just like me, yeah?”

They blinked away tears as Whumpee didn’t even acknowledge their words, mumbling incoherently between shuddering gasps. Wilbur thought they might be saying I’m sorry, but they didn’t want to think about that, so they shoved it out of their mind. They needed Whumpee to breathe, but they didn’t think they had the emotional strength to try to talk them down for who-knows-how-long. Didn’t have the strength to watch them pass out because they weren't good enough.

What to do, what to–

They noticed with a stab to the heart that Whumpee's arms were held up parallel to the ground, feet dangling a good couple feet from the floor. The cross position–of course they couldn’t fucking breathe–they cursed under their breath, whirling around to their teammates again, this time with a clearer mind.

“Help me cut them down!” they shouted, and the other two immediately clung to the direction. Something to do, anything to do was better than waiting around watching Whumpee have a panic attack. There was nothing worse than doing nothing, after all.

Brawn approached on one side armed with their axe, while Leader took the other with their sword. They both began sawing at the metal. It didn’t look too thick, but it was tight on Whumpee, so if they went too fast, they risked cutting their injured teammate.

Feeling a bit useless, Caretaker reached for their own sword before noticing Whumpee's shirt. It was a white button-up Leader had gotten them for winter holidays, Whumpee joking about how the old-timer just wanted them in a stuffy, lame outfit. Despite their taunts, it had become a part of their rotation, and Caretaker had a feeling Whumpee wouldn’t have taken so well to it if it hadn’t been Leader giving it to them.

The fabric had been white the day Whumpee got it.

A little grayed the day of the mission.

Completely red now.

Swallowing down bile, Caretaker went into doctor-mode. It was the only reason they were able to do their job while working with people so close to them. They carefully undid their teammate's shirt, trying not to think too hard about the missing buttons near the neckline. They gently pulled the fabric away from Whumpee's skin, wincing when they let out another stream of agonized apologies when shirt and flesh stuck together.

They reached into their bag, retrieving a clean handkerchief and using it to wipe away all the excess blood.

Well. They tried to, at least.

As soon as Caretaker touched bare skin, Whumpee's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and they began thrashing violently. They were still hyperventilating, but their words were clearer as they sobbed for the team to believe them.

“I didn’t say anything!” they repeated like that was the fucking issue. Caretaker knew it was true, even though they couldn’t give two shits if it hadn’t been, but every time they tried to tell Whumpee that, they were cut off with another broken plea. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry–please don’t–please don’t hurt me!”

They recoiled, hot tears finally streaming down their own face at the words. Leader had gone still while Brawn was sawing even faster, expression unreadable.

“Whumpee–” Wilbur whispered, hand going white as they clutched their blood-stained handkerchief as tight as they could.

“Please–please! I’m sorry!”

Whumpee was screaming now, and they all winced at the volume. This was supposed to be a stealth retrieval. They might be able to escape even if they were caught, but it would be a hell of a lot harder.

“We have to keep them quiet,” Leader said, and it took Caretaker several seconds too long to process the words over Whumpee's shrieks. Once they did, they stiffened, staring at their leader with a growing anxiety. Their face was ashen, and Caretaker knew they shouldn’t be angry, but they couldn’t help it.

“What’re you saying?” they spat, forcing themself to fold the handkerchief up. This wasn’t the time for assessment. They needed to slow the bleeding before–

Before.

Brawn broke through their shackle first, Leader picking up the pace to finish a few minutes after. Caretaker and Brawn both caught Whumpee before they could even fall an inch, lowering their wailing teammate to the floor. They were shivering, and now Caretaker could feel just how fucking cold Whumpee was.

They tried to shush them soothingly, but it came out too desperate, too harsh. They wanted to hug them, wanted to fix them, wanted to take all the pain away, but they had a job. They allowed themself a few stolen seconds to rub circles into their back before digging into their bag and retrieving actual bandage rolls.

“Gag them,” Leader said, and Caretaker's head jerked up, mouth going dry. Leader wasn’t looking at them. They were looking at the wall, although Caretaker had a feeling they weren't really doing that either. “Or get them to shut up. We don’t need them giving away our position to Whumper.”

The words were harsh and cold, although Caretaker knew they had to be to even get out. Brawn hesitated for only a moment before reaching into Caretaker's bag and pulling out a tourniquet cloth, gently tying it around Whumpee's head even as they panicked more at the movement.

They began struggling again, but they were so weak it didn’t do much good. Caretaker doubted they could escape Brawn even at full strength. Swallowing thickly, they shakily wrapped the most egregious wounds while Leader and Brawn both looked away.

***

It took them another half hour to escape the base. Caretaker found themself wishing Whumpee to pass out, as horrible as it sounded. At least then they wouldn’t be in so much pain. Whenever Caretaker looked down at them, gray eyes shone with fear and betrayal. So they stopped looking down.

“I’m sorry,” Caretaker whispered once they were out of the base, running otherwise silently through the dark night. They didn’t know if Whumpee could hear them, could understand, could care at this point, but there was nothing else to say.

And there was nothing worse than doing nothing.

“We’ll get you better, I promise.”

They had to. If they didn’t…

They had to.

Ummm something with the team finally finding whumpee and untying them.

Whumpee repeating "I didn't break, I swear I didn't, I didn't tell them anything, I didn't," while sobbing.

It's true, whumpee didn't tell them anything, but all that caretaker cares about now is trying to calm whumpee down before they bleed out even more.

A Messy Rescue

whumpee slumped over until caretaker grabs their face, desperate to see if they're still conscious

wide eyes and split lip-- a flash of recognition-- and before caretaker can assure them that its all going to be okay, whumpee panics

"I didn't say anything, I didn't, please you have to--" their sentences fragment as they gasp for air. "You have to believe me!"

At first, the team is horrified that this is whumpee's recognition. They feel sick. One teammate turns away, unable to stand it. Unable to watch. It's wrong.

Caretaker snaps out of it first. "Help me cut them down!" Then, they notice whumpee's blood drenching through their once-white shirt

As the team works to free whumpee's wrists from the shackles, Caretaker frantically tries to assess the damage. But whumpee keeps thrashing, jerking out of reach and flinching at their touch.

Alternating between, "I didn't say anything!" and "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- please don't-- please don't hurt me!"

The teammates all have these grim expressions, mouths in a thin line

A fluttering horror is embedded in caretaker's chest-- this is so much worse than they could have imagined

Even better if Leader, with real pain in their voice, says "We have to keep them quiet."

Caretaker pulls away for a second, hands half-full of bandages. "What're you saying?"

Leader breaks through the last bit of metal and whumpee slumps to the floor, shivering uncontrollably. Caretaker places one hand protectively on their back, rubbing up and down. They don't stop crying. Leader looks away. "Gag them. Or get them to shut up. We don't need them giving away our position to Whumper"

Carrying a gagged and sobbing whumpee out of the building, caretaker can't look them in the eyes. They keep whispering how sorry they are, but they have no idea if whumpee can even hear them or cares. It feels like betrayal, but they can only hope it was worth it.

"We'll get you better, I promise."

[jayinserenity]

@wyrm-clangen It didnt end up as "Technical" as you said, but here is the result of your dare for me to write that drabble of Daisysnap coming up with baby-appropriate sex ed.

How did I get bullied into this? Daisysnap wondered as he fought not to hiss when Jumblekit’s little claws dug into his flank, his weight kicking off of Daisysnap as he chased after Peakkit and Moonkit. Little Cloverkit, still getting used to playing with the older litter, was chirping to herself, batting some leaves and herb scraps she’d found in his fur. Their mothers were getting a checkup with Ferretlily, and Ferret told him since he wasn’t in training anymore, he could take on other tasks. He knew she was enjoying this a little too much.

Not that his niblings were bad. No, while he might not be vocal about it, he adored his older brother’s kits. Jumblekit’s troublemaking reminded him of Ivyshine in a way that made his heart hurt a little bit. She had the same skill to leave cats bemused as opposed to annoyed… most of the time. Peakkit and Moonkit each reminded him of their parents in different ways. Moonkit may look more like Eddymist, but her tendency to lead from the front of the gaggle of kits reminded him of his brother. Peakkit was similarly daring, but in the way that he backed Moonkit and Jumblekit up in whatever his sisters did. Jumblekit irritated Raggedspeckle? Peakkit was there to help her talk her way out of it. Moonkit claiming she’d fight a fox? Peakkit was on board without question.

He wasn’t going to admit it out loud, but he’d do anything to help his niblings have the happy childhood he and his brothers missed out on.

“Daisy! Daisy! You’re a med’cine cat!” He turned his head then from watching Jumblekit pretending that Cloverkit’s little herb pile was secretly stinging nettle, making the little molly giggle. The other two kits perked up as well when Moonkit and Peakkit bounded back into their little corner of camp. He raised a brow.

“Yeah, I’m a medicine cat… but you know that. So what do you want?” He gave his niece a suspicious look, earning a smug smirk in response. She was too smart for her own good.

“How are kits born?” His mind skidded to a halt in surprise at the brazen question, unflinching even under his questioning look. Peakkit was nodding along, eager to back his sister up, and little Cloverkit had perked up from her spot next to his tail and was looking between them.

“... why ask me? Shouldn’t you ask you mom, or your dad?” He deflected, glancing at the entrance to the medicine den where Ferretlily was talking happily with the two queens, no where near done their check up, damn it.

“We did.” Jumblekit answered, still absorbed with Cloverkit’s leaf pile, barely paying attention.

“Mama said we gotta get bigger and Papa said the mamas eat ‘em! Rain said you know what Really happens tho!” Moonkit filled in, her and Peakkit coming to sit on either side of Cloverkit, the three giving him earnest looks of curiosity, and a little mischief from the sly little molly. Daisysnap frowned, considering his options.

Option 1: Tell them to listen to their mom and get out of it, but disappoint his beloved niblings (and Cloverkit who was stupid cute and hard to disappoint)

Option 2: Tell them their dad is right, but that means saying Swish was right and lying to the kits, neither of which was acceptable

Option 3: … tell them… which meant probably confusing and maybe lightly freaking them out, but also had the benefit of mortifying his brother and sister as their kits would now go around telling everyone they know how kits are made…

“... A’ight,” He agreed, shrugging. “But you’re gonna hate it.” The kits cheered, Jumblekit leaving the leaf pile to join her littermates in encircling the younger Cloverkit, who still looked hilariously confused, if curious and eager. He glanced over at the queens and Ferret again once more, still a long checkup left if their relaxed smiles said anything, and Swish was on hunting patrol and wasn’t due back for a bit so…

“So, your dad was wrong, first off. No one eats anyone to make kittens.” He had to fight not to laugh at the outright shock on their faces at Swish being wrong and Daisysnap being so confident about it. “There is, however, a ritual.” Their faces lit up again.

“What kind of ritual!”

“This is where you Mom is right, and it’s not something for little ears, you do need to get bigger to learn about it, but-” he cut in before the older kits could whine to hard. “When you are old enough, if you still want to know, I will tell you. You’ll still hate it, but I’ll tell you.” Moonkiit and Jumblekit looked at each other, having a silent conversation, then Peakkit, confirming the answer. Then they whispered something conspiratorial to Cloverkit and the four begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

“So, when two cats want to have kits, they do this ritual, and if all the… parts are right and everything goes well, then one of them becomes pregnant, which is when the kits are growing in a cat’s belly.” He gestured to his own belly for example. “Your moms were pregnant with you lot not long ago.”

“But… what parts have to be right?” Jumblekit asked, head cocked askance and brow furrowed. Daisysnap hesitated then.

“... well, one cat has to be born a molly and one cat has to be born a tom.”

“But Papa said you guys had two Mamas.” Oh sweet Starclan he was being asked about his own conception.

“We did. Uh… theres a couple of ways that two mollies or two toms can have kits, even though you need one cat born each way.” The kits were looking absolutely baffled now, almost worried? Daisysnap was almost regretting this choice now, cause he couldn’t back down, but what was appropriate for little kits like them?

“So… you know how Wheatstalk isn’t a molly or a tom?” The kits nodded, still frowning. “Well, some cats are born a molly, but they aren’t a molly in their heart so they might be a tom or neither. Same with a cat who is born a tom but is a molly in their heart or neither. If a tom who was born a molly and a tom who was born a tom want to have kits, they can, same with a molly who was born a molly and a molly born a tom.” He paused for a bit, letting hte kits process that information and waiting for the inevitable questions.

But instead after a few moments of thinking the kits just nodded and looked back at him to continue. Stars kits were so cool. Just accepted without question.

“So if two cats who were born as mollies, or even a molly who doesn’t have a mate, want to have kits, they need to have a cat who was born a tom to help them. That’s called being a donor. On the other side, if one or two cats born a tom wants to have kits, they need a cat born a molly to be something called a surrogate.”

“How come you need one of each?” Cloverkit piped up, frowning in confusion but attention rapt.

“Well each has a job to make a kit.” Daisysnap answered, feeling more in the swing of the conversation. “Cats born as toms, during that ritual, do something that plants a seed that will grow into kits in cats born as mollies. Cats born as mollies carry the kits in their bellies until they’re grown enough.”

“Then what?” Peakkit asked.

“Then the cat carrying, like you Mama, starts feeling different because their body is ready to help them bring the kits into the world, in the clans Medicine cats will help with that too, as well as checkin on Mamas while the kits are growing. Then the kits are here.” The kits nodded then. Looking like they were digesting the information, and Daisysnap glanced over to their moms again.

Only to find a mortified looking Swishbeam staring at him in horror, a bemused Eddymist leaning against him talking happily with an equally amused and fond Chirp and Ferret.

“Anymore questions you can ask mom and dad.” He finished up, nodding to the parents and sending squealing kits scurrying to greet their Papa and Mamas and tell them all about the cool things Daisysnap was teaching them. Daisy gave Swish a little smirk when Peakkit started bombarding him with questions, but subsided a little when Ferret came over and light batted at his ear with a smile. “... I think I kept it appropriate.” He muttered. He wouldn’t tell her outright, but he was a little worried he’d overstepped. Eddymist and Chirp seemed fine with it, but he didn’t know if it was okay for him to share that with the kits.

“You did well. Maybe you should be the one to tell the older apprentices about the birds and the bees. I’m not sure my delivery fit the last batch.” Daisysnap snorted, remembering the horrified looks on Seedgorse, Marcy, and Turtlefreckle’s kits faces after Ferretlily’s lecture. It had, apparently, gotten very technical, and a little more graphic than they’d anticipated.

“As long as you talk about birth, I don’t think I can stop myself from laughing if someone makes the same face Midnightwing made, or looks as terrified as Meadowrunner did.” Ferretlily swatted at him again, soft pawed and purring, and he purred back as they padded off to check on their other patients. Maybe he would take over, if only to see Rosemarybloom and Conepaw look as mortified as the last ones had.

[l3st1b0urn3s-707]

Just finished Crooked kingdom!! I need to talk about one of my favourite chapters or else I'll probably explode. I'm obviusly refering to the one where Kaz buys Inej her boat (which he calls The Wraith!!) and arranges a meeting with her parents. It brings me so much happiness to read it, and it warms my heart so much. What I specially love about it, tho, are the little silences, the way Kaz and Inej just enjoy each other's company and staying by each other's side. And the way they hold hands is just too cute!!! Kaz still has a long way to go so he can be able to make physical contact feel less horrifying, but this time he wants to do it for Inej. Also, I love how Inej gets in Pekka's house and scares the shit out of him (technically this doesn't happen in the same chapter, but I felt it was worth mentioning). I absolutely adore these books and it felt so nice to read them again after so much time. It reminded me a bit of my younger self and how much I already loved them back then (and how much I cried when I finished them too). The Grishaverse is I book series that has always had a special place in my heart, and when the new book comes out I'll be so happy to read it. After all, the crows and Nikolai still have to save the world (again).

[witchslove]

cap anon here again for your wanda thoughts. imagine you’re working at a country club and that’s when you meet divorced milf wanda for the first time who’s learning to live again. you see her with her two family and friends and your thoughts were innocent then, until it morphed into scandalous whenever she would purposely ask you unnecessary questions or, or, when she’d touch your arms and bat her eyelashes with the most clueless expressions ever. eventually playful flirting turns into you eating her out strapping her down anything, and she of course always rewards you in the best of ways possible. if she sees something you like she’s on it but you always remind her that just being between her legs is enough for you AHHH power bottom milf wanda you live in our heads so much so let’s give you some.

also i understand that getting inspiration is frustrating and can lead to a tiring cycle. you got this! your works are amazing and you’re on the right track

-🧢

Welcome back, also I love this idea.

Your interactions with Wanda are start out seemingly normal at first, with you serving her drinks and her tipping you well. Sometimes she asks you fairly innocent questions about yourself, wanting to know if you’re in school, where you’re from, and what you like to do outside of work.

You assume she’s only making small talk, trying to be friendly, until it starts to feel like she’s flirting with you more and more. Over time, she starts giving you compliments that make you blush, opening up to you about her divorce, and occasionally finding ways to touch you while the two of you converse.

She teases you, saying things like “take a picture, it’ll last longer” when she catches you staring at her in a bikini. She loves to make you blush, which she does often.

At this point, she knows about your attraction to her, finding it both adorable and also weirdly arousing to be lusted after by a younger woman, especially when her ex-husband made her feel so undesirable at times.

She finally makes a move one day when you’re alone in the locker room, folding fresh towels for guests. It starts out with a simple conversation, the two of you falling into your usual back and forth, when Wanda leans in closer. “Tell me pretty girl, what would you do if I kissed you right now?” She asks, catching you off guard.

“I- I don’t know,” you stutter out, suddenly feeling small under her intense gaze.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t like it, hm?” She teases, lifting your chin so you’re looking at her. You can’t help but look at her lips for a brief second and she notices, smirking. “Or would you?”

You hesitate, unsure of whether to be honest or professional in this moment. Wanda raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to respond. “I asked you a question detka,” she says, her voice low.

The tension in the air is palpable, and you decide to be honest. “Yes,” you manage, trying not to break eye contact. “I would like that.” You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath, not until Wanda breaks the distance and captures your lips with her own.

“Good girl,” she murmurs against your lips just before she kisses you properly, her mouth moving against your own in a way that makes you dizzy.

The kiss quickly turns into a heated make-out session that ends with your head between Wanda’s legs, pleasuring her with your mouth on her dripping pussy. Her moans are muffled by her hand covering her mouth as she tries not to get the two of you caught, and it’s easily the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen or heard.

She cums hard, not having had an orgasm since her divorce, and you continue lapping at her wet center until she pushes your head away, smirking at how desperate you are for her.

“Fuck, you’re so good for me,” she breathes out. “We’re going to have a lot of fun together.”

Hooking up with Wanda becomes a regular occurrence - sometimes you’re at work, eating her out in one of the showers, and sometimes you’re at her house, fucking her into the mattress with your strap. It doesn’t matter where it happens, it’s perfect every single time. You’ve become somewhat obsessed with the redhead and she finds herself craving how badly you want her. It’s addictive for both of you.

Wanda starts giving you gifts too, stuff you could never afford, as her way of showing her appreciation for you. You adore every gift she picks out for you, but you’re always quick to remind her that the real gift is when you’re on your knees for her making her cum in your mouth.

Also thank you so much, I appreciate you ❤️

[initforthethrill]

First time asking kind of nervous lol

Also , for the future, is there anything you wouldn’t do? Like rules or something? Maybe I missed it but I didn’t see anything that lined out the Do’s and the Don’ts.

Anyway! What about an Ex-Wife Cate? Maybe there’s still love between you and her but it’s hard to find it because of personal stubbornness or what not.

Kind of Bitchy Ex-Wife Cate? The kind of Ex-Wife that you’d probably make a “I hate my wife” joke about. Maybe something still tethers you to her, whether it be a kid or public reputation? Maybe it’s some sort of famous messy relationship, you both swear up and down you hate eachother and yet you can’t stop talking about the other.

Idk, it’s hard to wrangle all my thoughts into one cohesive and totally not vague ask 😭, I really hope this is easy to understand but I totally get it if it’s not.

Again your bots are very fun and I like them a lot. Take your time , best of luck 👍

omg hi welcome, anon<3 don't be nervous, i promise i don't bite hehe...happy to have you here!!!

you're right, i've never outlined a dos/don'ts for requests before receiving this ask...honestly, i didn't really expect to have so much positive interaction to the point people even wanted to request anything lol but this is the perfect reminder to include a section in my masterlist FAQ for this exact reason :)

so, here is the link to my rules !

as for your request. i love love love ex-wife cate! she's kinda lowkey giving emily/hope from a simple favor...

i have a currently unpublished ex-wife!cate bot that's along the same lines :) and don't worry, i totally understand what you're saying and i'm sure i can riff off your thoughts for a few more ex-wife cate bots hehe but in the meantime—since you're so kind—have some headcanons<3

bitter and bitchy ex-wife!cate who still loves you

ex-wife!cate is the kind of ex-wife who corrects your grammar mid-argument and then reminds you—loudly—that she taught you how to hold a fork properly. she also still signs texts with your hyphenated last name just to piss you off.

ex-wife!cate who always finds a way to mention you—usually in the form of a backhanded compliment or a "funny little story" that goes viral on twitter for being accidentally romantic—whenever she's on a talkshow.

ex-wife!cate who publicly plays into the long-running pr disaster that was considered your relationship—messy, scandalous, tabloid bait—but privately still wears the necklace you gave her for your third wedding anniversary and gets quiet every time someone asks if she’s dating again. (the answer is always no)

ex-wife!cate who sends you flowers every year on the anniversary of your divorce with a fourth of july themed card that says “happy independence day 🥂”.

ex-wife!cate who still refers to you as “my wife” in conversation, then immediately corrects herself like it was an honest mistake. “my wife—well, ex. temporarily. legally. technically. you get it.”

ex-wife!cate who has never taken your last name off her mailbox. claims it’s for the kid’s sake. also claims you don't deserve the effort it would take to scrape the label off.

ex-wife!cate who texts you every time you post something vague and emotional with some variation of: “that wasn’t about me, right?” followed by “actually don’t answer. i don’t care.” (she 100% cares. her screen time report is humiliating.)

ex-wife!cate who once made a custom wine label that said “divorced but delicious” and gifted it to you at a party, in front of everyone.

ex-wife!cate whose dating history post-divorce is mostly blonde younger versions of herself, and everyone—including you—has noticed.

exwife!cate who ends up calling you every time she's drunk. sometimes to yell. sometimes to flirt. sometimes to say nothing at all. (“i hate you,” she whispered once, softer than she meant to. “goodnight.”)

exwife!cate who still calls you up whenever the house has an issue. it starts when you absentmindedly fixed something around the house when you came to pick up your kid. she absolutely abuses this, weaponizing "urgent" domestic crises that are barely inconveniences just to summon her hot, handy ex-wife like she’s ordering takeout. some of her famous hits (read: ridiculous but completely serious "emergencies")

“the faucet is dripping.” you get there expecting a flood. it’s one drop every thirty minutes. cate’s in silk, sipping wine, like “it’s driving me insane. please. i haven’t slept.” “my smoke alarm won’t stop beeping.” turns out it just needs new batteries. cate doesn’t own a step stool. or a screwdriver. or shame, apparently. “the wifi’s out.” it’s not. cate just “forgot” the password and says she can’t think straight when she’s “in distress.” (she could’ve texted. she didn’t.) “i think there’s something wrong with the window.” you arrive and cate dramatically gestures at a smudge of bird poop. “it’s ruining the ambience,” she insists. “the light bulb in the hallway died.” you're like, “...so change it?” cate blinks slowly and says “that’s not my love language.” and really that's your fault for assuming she'd have a latter when she still doesn't own a step stool. “the wine fridge is making a weird noise.” you crouch down to listen. cate sighs deeply from the kitchen island and goes, “it’s probably just lonely.” “i can’t get this jar open.” it’s pickles. she doesn’t want the pickles. she just wants your forearms and that little grunt you do. “the bed’s making a creaking sound.” you're like, “okay...?” cate tilts her head and murmurs, “want to help me test it?”

now she makes it a point to stand there in her robe, arms crossed, pretending to be unimpressed while her heart absolutely stutters at the sight of you in a backwards cap, grunting over a wrench. there's also a running list of potential fake emergencies in her Notes app. “for leverage. for diplomacy. for womanhood.”

ex-wife!cate who starts wearing the perfume you used to like. not for you. just because. (definitely not because you paused mid-sentence last week and said you remembered that smell.)

ex-wife!cate who begins keeping little tabs on your life again. just casually. an Instagram like here, a mutual friend interrogation there. she starts showing up at events she used to skip. it’s subtle. (it’s not subtle.)

ex-wife!cate who goes completely silent for a full thirty seconds before saying "don't be ridiculous" when your kid asks if mommy is in love with mama again. then she kisses their forehead and stares off like she’s in a french film.

ex-wife!cate who leans in too close one night when you co-host a birthday party, gets wine drunk, and murmurs “we were stupid good at being in love.” then she walks away like she didn’t just ruin both their evenings.

ex-wife!cate who refuses to learn your new girlfriend's name. she calls her “what’s-her-face” or “intern barbie” or—when she’s feeling generous—“your plus-one.”

ex-wife!cate who shows up at drop-offs looking ridiculously hot. lip gloss, heels, designer sunglasses. “it’s called setting a precedent,” she mutters when your kid asks why she’s wearing a blazer to school pickup.

ex-wife!cate who posts cryptic Instagram captions like “you never get over your favorite song.” everyone knows it’s about you. including you. especially you.

ex-wife!cate who is so nice it’s terrifying when she meets your new girlfriend at a function for the first time. too polite. too smiling. “you have such a…natural look. that takes confidence.”, she says, sipping wine and adjusting her wedding ring that she still wears sometimes. for fashion, of course. she eventually cracks and texts you at 1:43am: “is she good to you?” followed by “don’t answer that.” followed by “unless you want to.”

ex-wife!cate who leaves her wedding ring on during parent-teacher conferences just to see if you notice. and when you show up without yours, cate sighs loudly and says, “you always were so good at quitting.”

ex-wife!cate who insists on being called “the ex-wife” instead of “my ex.” not a wife. the wife. she earned that title and she’ll be damned if it goes unused.

[fellsparks]

If there's anything that her stubborn bull of a brother has taught her, it's patience. The ability to recognize the limits she has in terms of helping another, and though it would be so easy to be domineering and take the reigns, Nel knows that it serves nobody any good. It doesn't impart these teachings to Fogado, and it only builds resentment-- and so she knows she has to let go. It eats at her nerves, devours her bones, and the bob of her throat is enough to show that she hates doing it. But she lets him make his decision. Yet her words are not entirely spoken. "In his final moments, Alfred begged." The image is bright in her mind's eye, the tip of her spear piercing through vitality as if it were paper. He and his sister stood no chance against the strength of a Fell Dragon, and Nel barely broke a sweat in bleeding the life from their bodies-- and she didn't hesitate. There was no guilt, no remorse, and she felt no sadness even as he groveled at her feet, tears streaming down his face. "Broken and fading, his last words were to plead with me. To bargain. To save Celine's life, to spare her from the same fate he faced." Nel's fists are balled tightly, her jaw clenched nearly to the point of pain. Celine had cried too, backed away from her. Like she was a monster-- and she was correct in that perception. "I did not heed his desires. His neck snapped as easily as a twig would, and Celine had no means to deflect Représailles. Perhaps in death, they would be reunited with one another and with their dear retainers that had been sent to early graves." One breath in, one breath out. She has to remind herself what it's like to sustain life, what it's like to have her body exhale normally. "You are the only to know the final wishes of the Alfred of my world."

It's sad, isn't it? That someone that had stood beside her, albeit temporarily, had been reduced to something only she would remember vividly? "You and I- we are not without our secrets. Tonight, I had hoped I might shed my skin and revel in the simplicity of 'normal' life... yet I was naïve to think that my thoughts would not weigh me down. Regardless, my point is that you are not alone." "If the first step to loving another were truly to love yourself, then I would have already failed. And I refuse to believe that I am incapable of love off of such a conditional- not when the bonds I have exist." Nel heaves a large sigh there, a hand coming up to rub at her forehead, yet she freezes once she feels Fogado begin to move away. Those walls begin to close, built up brick by brick, and the distance feels as if it's quickly become miles. Both of them need to relax, this she knows... and pursuing this topic will only serve to send them both into a downward spiral that's already begun. "Wait." Tone firm and resolute, she takes a seat on one of the nearby rocks that seems dry enough, arms crossing over her chest. "You are a musician of sorts, are you not? I recall that your sister is." Nel nearly chuckles at the mental image of Timerra's 'songs', but she bites it back. "Indulge me." "When we were younger, on nights that seemed longer and more daunting than all the others, I would sing. I did not have any particular songs in mind, and generally followed some simple tune-- all that mattered is that it soothed Rafal enough for him to sleep." She fidgets with her hands there, unsure of where she's even beginning to take this conversation. "I have learned many in my time in your Elyos, and even more in my time here. Perhaps I am not as talented as others... but there is joy and relaxation simply in expression."

"I believe it may serve both of us well. To cleanse our minds of-- of these things. Just for a moment, before we part ways."

@losojos-decupido

against my tide

toaball2025 cont. from here