#also crack addicts tend to never make me feel like i have to step on eggshell to maintain a conversation

[jade-curtiss]

There's a distinction between telling a poor person to not guilt themselves over spending on leisure a bit and telling people that certain things they project to people as "needs" turns out to be marketing propaganda, especially if the people in question are the one trying to sell said things and guilt tripping people into convincing them to spend on something unnecessary. I mean if people can judge people for substance addiction it's okay to return the favor to people who believe fashion and mainstream entertainment are an universal needs and who treat it like it's normal.

[curlsofsagesmoke]

TMNT (2012) characters as dysfunctional family roles

here I go again analyzing a kids show that ended four years ago. anyway, I saw a tiktok by user doinbigthink where they gave a quick overview of the six kinds of dysfunctional family roles, and I immediately thought of tmnt bc it’s my current hyperfixation. so I spent almost an hour doing research and writing up this analysis, as one does.

as a preface: dysfunction in a family can be caused by anything from someone struggling with addiction to a parent being abusive or unavailable/neglectful to someone having narcissistic personality disorder (npd) etc. etc. Usually there is one person who is the root cause of this (very deep seated) dysfunction and the others in the family (often the kids) fall into these roles in order to cope.

Leo: The Hero

The Hero is often the oldest child. They cope with the dysfunction in the family by being high achievers or perfectionists, and they need a sense of control in order to feel safe within the family. They are seen as very well-adjusted, balanced, and high-functional and are often used as an example of how well the family as a whole is doing. They may allow this misconception to continue (whether consciously or unconsciously) in order to hide the family’s problems. They may be parentified as children (that is, forced to take on a parental role for their younger siblings) and usually feel a lot of pressure to solve the family’s issues. With Leo in particular, you see these two behaviors in the way he approaches leading his brothers as well as the way he obsessed over bringing Karai into the family for Splinter’s sake after discovering her true identity. As an adult, the Hero is often drawn toward romantic partners who are emotionally unavailable (again, see Leo’s crush on Karai) and tend to throw themselves into their work (Leo’s obsession with ninjutsu)

Leo: The Golden Child

The Golden Child is not a dysfunctional family role but instead describes a relationship that develops between a parent/guardian with npd and one of the children in the family. In these cases, the parent tends to favor the Golden Child because the Golden Child exhibits all the traits the parent loves in themselves. In Splinter and Leo’s case, these characteristics are their devotion to ninjutsu, their general temperaments, and their more spiritual/mystic natures. There are MANY examples of this favoritism in TMNT canon; for example, Splinter teaching Leo his reiki technique (the healing hands) in “the deadly venom” because everyone things Leo is the most capable of learning such an advanced technique (in the episode, Donnie says that he doesn’t think anyone else on the team could’ve done what Leo did, i.e. using the healing hands on himself and saving the others from karai). The parent has a volatile relationship with the Golden Child and often their love is conditional (that is, the parent will favor the Golden Child as long as the Golden Child continues to act like the parent). Because of this, the Golden Child often has trouble establishing an independent identity (see: Raph calling Leo “Splinter Jr.”, though I can’t remember if this happens in 2012 or just in the 2003 version). The Golden Child may also participate in the narcissistic parent’s abuse against the other children in order to protect themself (this is less explicit in canon, but I think that Leo’s leadership style fits this bill)

Raph: The Scapegoat

The Scapegoat is often the second child. As the name suggests, they are often blamed for things that go wrong in the family regardless of whether it was actually their fault or not. Scapegoats are often very aware of their position in the family and as a result they may feel rejected, isolated, and unlovable. I think a good example of Raph feeling like this is the fact that, early in the show, he only openly expresses his emotions to Spike. Scapegoats learn that negative attention is better than no attention (especially from a parent/guardian) and they often engage in high risk behaviors such as sex, drugs, etc. (in Raph’s case, his reckless fighting style and the way he seeks out fights, and this also explains his temper and overall angry demeanor). Because of this, they tend to get into a lot of trouble and are often singled out as the child who needs individual help (aka therapy) even though the root problems lie with the family as a unit. In cases where the parent has npd the Scapegoat is often pitted against the Golden Child. This is called splitting and it is another way to distract from the family’s deeper issues. I feel like I don’t need to explain the way that Leo and Raph are pitted against each other.

Donnie: The Lost Child

The Lost Child, as the name implies, often fades into the background. Usually this is on purpose in an effort to keep themself safe, as they might be scared to draw attention to themself or rock the boat, especially in an abusive household. They may often feel ignored or neglected and are often described as loners who have difficulty developing social skills or self-esteem. Like the Hero, the Lost Child is often used as an example of the family’s stability and success because they aren’t causing trouble. They tend to struggle when forming friendships/romantic relationships, and they are usually praised for not needing a lot of attention/being independent. Because of this, they feel safer when they’re by themselves. Although Donnie does cause trouble sometimes (see: all the times he’s blown some shit up in the lab, the Mutagen man thing, etc.), he’s not seen as the troublemaker. Raph (and Mikey, to a certain extent) definitely takes that title. Donnie is often alone in his lab---working, admittedly, but he still tends to isolate himself, and he is often seen as the most socially awkward of the brothers (see: his relationship with April). There’s also this very interesting exchange from the episode “Enemy of My Enemy” when they’re in the Shellraiser and Leo is about to take the stealth bike to help Karai:

Raph: Hey, the stealth bike’s my thing. Leo: Now your thing is sucking it up. Donnie: Hey! That’s my thing!

Mikey: The Mascot

The Mascot is often the youngest child. They use humor and goofiness to diffuse tension and distract the family from their issues, though when this works, they feel increased pressure to continue to step in when things become tense or volatile. The Mascot acts from a place of anxiety and trauma, and they may have bouts of depression. They also tend to feel as though they cannot express their negative emotions (because they often see themselves as responsible for their family’s happiness). They tend to bend over backwards for people with little regard for their own safety/comfort, and they are drawn to intense and dysfunctional relationships (whether romantic or platonic) where they will be called upon to diffuse tension. This can be seen in the way Mikey approached his friendships with both Bradford (pre-mutation) and Leatherhead. Mikey is also very rarely shown as being sad, angry, or depressed the way that the other three are, and it’s only in times of extreme emotional distress (like the season two finale) where he drops his humor. Even in the midst of tough battles or tough situations, Mikey tends to insert himself into the middle of the tension and is almost constantly cracking jokes or trying to keep things lighthearted. When he does show more negative emotions, it’s in (mostly) one of two ways. One, giving comfort or seeking comfort, usually from Raph (again see the season two finale, where he hugs Raph to calm him down after Splinter “dies” and seeks comfort from Raph in the Party Wagon as they’re driving away from the city). Two, acting combative with Donnie.

Note: Mikey and Donnie acting combative

This second one in particular is really interesting to me because both Donnie and Mikey exhibit a level of comfort/feeling safe with each other that they don’t display with the other two. Mikey only ever gets physical with Donnie (their little slap fight in “Turtle Temper” or attacking him at the end of “The Creeping Doom”), while Donnie only ever purposefully antagonizes Mikey to get a reaction (slapping him in “Turtle Temper”, which prompts the slap fight, or teasingly insulting him at the end of “The Creeping Doom”, which prompts Mikey to attack him). Mikey likes to get under Raph’s skin, but he never retaliates when Raph gets physical with him. Donnie does occasionally argue with Raph and Leo, but usually backs down after Raph threatens him with violence (see “New Girl in Town”), and with Leo it never escalates past a verbal fight (see the season two finale, “the fourfold trap”). Actually, it seems that in Mikey’s and Donnie’s relationship, they take on the roles that you usually see in Raph’s and Mikey’s relationship. Mikey antagonizes Raph and Raph retaliates; similarly, Donnie antagonizes Mikey and Mikey retaliates, but neither of them would act this way toward their other two brothers.

Splinter: The Root of the Dysfunction

I’ve made a lot of allusions by now to Splinter having npd, or at least some narcissistic tendencies. There are many times where he shows favoritism toward Leo or acts in a very stubborn or even self-absorbed manner. In the season one finale, for example, he refuses to help the turtles fight and only leaves the lair after april is kidnapped by the shredder. In “the pulverizer returns”, he makes the turtles switch weapons (for literally no good reason), they almost die in a fight and switch back, and as punishment, he takes their weapons away entirely; this isn’t addressed in the episode, but i do believe that if they’d had their weapons, they could’ve prevented timothy from being mutated in this episode. (Admittedly there are times when he apologizes, admits he’s wrong, and changes his mind, which is why I hesitate to say he exhibits fully narcissistic behaviors). There’s also the physical aspect of their relationship. He’s teaching the turtles ninjutsu, so you can expect a very physical relationship in the form of training, but there are times when he causes the turtles pain for the sake of pain as punishment (e.g. randori, which we see a few times, or when he goes for their pressure points, or when he trips mikey in the episode “monkey brains”, or when he stabs raph with his cane in the episode “turtle temper”, and these are just the examples i can think of off the top of my head). There has been discourse in the fandom about whether these characters (splinter and raph in particular) are abusive, and i don’t want to get into that. However, i think it’s undeniable that splinter raised his kids with the intent to turn them into child soldiers, and also i fully believe that this (plus his parenting style) is the root of the dysfunction in the hamato family.

[starshipsofstarlord]

The Sheriff and the Murderer

Part Five

Series masterlist

Summary | whilst spending time in the shower with you, Lee notices that there are a few things missing to the household, like any mention of your husband. And thus, he does what he originally came to your house to do, and speak with you about his strange disappearance.

Warnings | smut, shower sex, oral sex (f receiving), very slight sheriff kink, cum swapping, mention of death, swearing, some fluff, angst

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Water ran down the curves of your body, as Lee caressed your ribcage from behind, his fingertips dancing along your skin, with water showering down upon the pair of you, flattening your hair in its spray of passion upon the back of your neck. The man behind you nursed the tip of his nose along your shoulder line, pressing supple kisses upon the blades, enforcing you to hum contentedly.

This is what you had always wanted, this one individual person making sweet love to you, he was your home, not these four walls, nor the tiles that were configured around you. Lee Bodecker was the man of your dreams, but mama and papa had always told you, that dreams were not realistic, they were pits of gold that would drive you made. And maybe, you were a tad mad, after all you had murdered your husband, and gone through with burrowing his body parts in the wild.

The worst part was, as panicked as you were, in that moment, you had felt crazed, as though a true part of yourself was released as you beat his motionless form, spilling further blood around. With Lee, you felt severely calm, soothed with the quiet presence of him puckering pursed kisses down onto your spine, as he swiftly turned you around, pressing his nose against your own as he slithered his addictive hands down, probing at your waist with them to grind his cock against your stomach, fingering the dips of your body.

A stuttered breath left your lips as his tongue traced your lips, prompting you to open the oral depths of your fence of teeth, allowing him to enter the shallow insides of your conversing cavern, tangling the tip of his tongue with your tonsils, your hands tracing up to stifle upon his jaw, feeling the light and dampened stubble across the firm and well aged structure. He backed you into a corner, grasping your hips as his beverage bloated stomach pressed against your own, making your heart swell with adoration.

“Take me Bodecker, consummate me as though I were your own bride.” It was impossible not to allow the words to slip out, and it made Lee groan into your mouth, the sound echoing and reverberating around your entire body. He wanted there to be some momentous truth to support your spoken scenario, for the pair of you to wed in an instant, even if it were to be in the lack of spaciousness proximity of the bathroom shower, that had an inkling of mould brewing in the far top corner, and a few cracked tiles splintering in random placements.

“Thought you’d leave me hanging forever.” The sheriff groaned, stifling his hard cock in his hand, as he bent his knees, using his physical leverage to hoist you into his law enforcing arms, enabling you to wrap your tense legs around the curves of his behind, grasping his flesh closer against your own. “Tight, so tight baby doll.” He gritted his teeth, as he ran his teeth along your slit, just in time before he sunk his hungry cock through your folds, stretching your walls to accommodate his size.

“Lee Lee.” Your voice muffled into the crease of his neck, as you felt obscene pleasure as he stilled inside you, allowing you to adjust to his pulsating length within your pussy, whimpering lightly at the sensation of his entirety, suctioning your lips against his cleansed skin. “Fuck me sheriff, I want to feel every inch of you.” You nestled against him, sending moans directly into his ear as Lee began to rut up into you, his balls slapping against your ass cheeks, as he delivered intimate bites along the side of your neck, though nothing too harsh to leave prominent and dark marks into the canvas of your skin.

“I-“ Lee frowned, his blue eyes reeling shut as he picked up the rate of his thrusts, feeling himself succumb to an immoral pleasure that the preacher would subject against; adultery was against the beliefs within the house of the father, but in the moment either one of you could care less. In fact, it sounded like Lee cared a little too much as his next words passed through the air like a dream similar symphony, that bundled in your ears, leaving you feel conflicted with emotions. “I love you.”

And then he came, filling you with his seed, as he pulled out, dropping to his knees, watching his white gold spill down your thighs. He dragged his tongue over his source, moving closer to your lips to seep below the outer folds, devouring his flow of essence, realising that the first hand taste of himself wasn’t so bad after all. Your hands sewed around the blunt and short hairs of his head, as he swirled your clit into his mouth, the rest of his seed painting down onto his chin, content to continue eating you out until he made you revel into a spiritual space, blinding you into a hot white light, that had you falling back against the chipped dirty blue tiles.

“Oh my god.” You whimpered, eyes blurring with galactic, starry irised tears until your vision returned to vivid clarity. “Lee Lee, come up here.” He stood, his own cum still orbing in his mouth, as he began to kiss you, swapping his taste into your mouth, smirking lightly to himself as you gulped down the extraction of him. “I love- you know.” You shook your head, hardly wishing to say it aloud, considering all that had happened the last time that you had uttered those words to someone, even if you had not actually mean them.

“I need to hear you say it gorgeous, so that I know that you mean it. I’ve waited all these years, practically my entire life, so please, for the love of the law, say it.” He grasped your jaw, caressing your nose once more with his own, sharing breaths with you. His eyes bore into your own, his hand resting again the back of your neck to bring your face closer to his own.

“I love you Lee Bodecker. I really do.” You spoke softly, feeling the water spitter coldly upon your pores, reminding you of how long the two of you had been under its spay. You pecked his lips, running your hands up along his chest, your palms cascading over his pebbled nipples, as you felt him delicately tickle your flesh beneath the flow of your hair. “You were the one I should have married. It always should have been you.” Tears began to pelt out from your eyes, spilling as you thought of how much of a life you had missed out on with him.

The sneaking around had amounted to much stress, the secrecy arising pressure in your lives that felt over the top, all while whilst being worth it. “I fucked up, so bad. I married the wrong man all because I was a young naive girl that thought you deserved better, and you do. The things I’ve done, this life I’ve amounted into, I never wanted it. The one thing I’ve always wanted was you, and I let you get away, all whilst never letting you go.”

Your fists lightly began to beat against his chest as you sobbed, thinking of how previously there had been blood and dirt encasing them, serving as evidence for your unforgivable sins. “Baby girl, it’s okay. We’ll figure things out, Simon is the only thing holding us back from finding a new way to live, by chance, have you found him?” It was not only his way to ensure you with whims of comfort, retelling you that you could find a way to publicly be together, but to also uncover the destination of your missing husband.

“Found him?” You frowned, confused by what he meant. He nodded, racking his fingertips down the side of your face, as you peppered light kissed along his soft skin. “Whatever do you mean darling?” A large part of you was severely worried about the situation; it was a great secret that you did indeed know of his whereabouts, he was in deep, in a literal sense. You’d know, considering that you, along with Sally, had buried him six feet under, and prayed cursively that no one would find his remains.

“Yes, he’s been required at the police station, though none of us have been able to find him. Do you have any idea where he is, I figured you’d be the best person to ask.” It all clicked, and you stepped away, softly shoving his chest as he tried to come closer to you. The tears continued to flow, flooding your face like a broken dam, as you felt overcome with a conjunction of newfound prospects.

“This is what this all was, wasn’t it? That’s why you came here, but instead of firstly asking me where Simon was, you decided to get in my pants! How could you Lee, you made me feel vulnerable, convincing that you loved me so that you could pick my brain.” Cradling your own scalp, you felt how your head was ready ready to implode. Everyone tended to use you for their own dirty deeds, and here Bodecker was, doing the exact same thing.

“No, y/n. That’s not what-“ he realised that you were near on right, he had buttered you up physically, though he had gotten quite distracted from his original ploy. “I’m sorry, but I meant it. And I thought that we would be able to speak like this like civil adults, neither of us have anything to hide.” You did, and the only way to keep it concealed was to push him away, and thus you climbed out of the shower, grabbing a towel and covering your nude body with it.

Lee fumbled after you, grasping his clothes as he exited the bathroom, following your footsteps as you raked your mind obsessively. “Y/n/n please don’t push me away, I want you, and I just need an answer, otherwise you’ll be swarmed with strangers questioning you on Simon, and we both know there’s many things that they don’t know.” Instead, you turned and watched as he clicked his belt together, his eyes pleading at you.

There were many things that he too did not know, and such secrets you did not intend to share with him. Rubbing your eyes, you glanced at the wedding ring that was encrusted upon your vowed finger, grimacing at the sight of it. “Just leave Sheriff, I’m sure you can finish your duties elsewhere. This case better be pretty important if you’re willing to use me for it.” Crossing your arms, you tensed your nostrils, glaring hurtfully towards the man that you currently felt everything towards. “And no, I haven’t seen him, so you can write that down when you get in that car of yours, and drive away from me, for good.”

“I didn’t mean for that darling, please don’t reject me now.” His voice cracked, plodding backwards as he felt his heart stutter rapidly in his chest, cracking at the edges as he saw the brokenness on your features. “I love you, and I’m leaving. But this isn’t the end, we’re going to sort this out once you’re not so tense about all this.” He pointed at you, staring endearingly as he exited your front door, shock falling down his face in liquid pebbles as soon as it slammed behind him.

There were things that you couldn’t tell him, but there was one thing that you had already confessed. You loved him, always had, and it was sure that you always would. You weren’t y/n Priot, you were y/n y/l/n, the girl that had snuck around with him, for vast amounts of years, and had definitely married the wrong man. It had hurt you that he had not showed up at your wedding, though it had always been understandable why. He loved you too, and he would prove it, more so when he got to the end of the case concerning your missing husband.

taglist for this specific series; @charmed-asylum @tcc-gizmachine @stucky-my-ship @brynthebulldozer @acciosiriusblack @lady-loki-ren @bxnnywriting @severewobblerlightdragon @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 4

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Finally, after fifteen minutes of staring at her mostly full coffee cup, Mulder tosses both their drinks in the trash and trudges back to the Hoover building. He had plans to work late, but seeing Scully makes focusing on work impossible so he goes home to lie on the couch and stare at the ceiling instead, replaying their one-sided conversation over and over. Upon reflection, he realizes that he didn’t speak a single word to her other than her name. He was paralyzed, his feelings for her in direct conflict with his desire to never again feel the way he felt after she left his apartment that final time. He wishes that he’d asked her what she wanted from him, why she was there.

The phone rings and he rolls off the couch to retrieve it from his desk.

“Hello?”

“Will, I’m surprised you’re home. I was expecting to leave you a message.”

He smiles at the coincidence of Valerie calling him at this exact moment; she always seems to intuit when he needs to hear from her. Like he does with everyone, he had directed her to call him by his last name when they met. She did so for a while, but when things took a turn towards the intimate she informed him that she could not call a man she was sleeping with “Mulder” and sought to find an alternate moniker, Fox being out of the question. He was Maverick for a bit, then Sly, and for a brief moment Doug (he was never clear on the origin of that one). Ultimately, she went with his middle name, William, and finally shortened it to Will.

“Oh, and why’s that? My bustling social calendar?” he retorts, finding his way back to the couch and sitting heavily.

Valerie snorts. “More like your hopeless addiction to work. How are you? It’s been too long.”

Mulder sighs. “I’m...okay.”

“That bad, huh? You wanna talk about it?”

He considers the question. Talking to his ex-girlfriend about another woman seems a bit uncouth. “I’m not sure it’s something you’d want to weigh in on.”

“Girl trouble, then?” she says with a smile in her voice.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Spill it,” she demands.

He tells her everything, about meeting Scully, about getting to know her, falling in love with her. He spares some of the gory details on their sexual encounter and her visit the next morning. He finishes on seeing her that day, and the reason he begged off work early. This is the most he’s shared with anyone about Scully, The Gunmen being great friends, but not the sort you seek dating advice from. It feels good to get it all out.

“Damn, Will. That’s a lot. Shouldn’t you be happy, though, after seeing her today?” He can hear the crunch of potato chips as she speaks, ever the dedicated snacker.

“It was good to see her in a sense, but it also feels a bit like a step backward. Like I’ve lost progress in the effort to move on.” He’s lying down now, one leg kicked over to rest on the coffee table and Priscilla curled up on his belly.

“I don’t get it,” Valerie says deadpan.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You’ve been pining over this woman for the better part of a year, and she turns up to tell you she’s single and she realizes that she should have chosen you all along. That’s somewhat of a fairy tale ending, is it not? Aside from the whole cheating-on-her-fiancé-part, I guess.”

“No, Val, she said that getting involved with me was a mistake, which I already knew. If anything she was rubbing it in, which seems uncharacteristically cruel.” He runs a hand down Priscilla’s back and she cracks an irritated eye at him until he stops.

“Oh my god, Will,” Valerie replies, pulling the phone away from her cheek and sighing in exasperation. “You know, for all that fancy education your parents paid for, you’re really dense sometimes.”

“Well then by all means, enlighten me.”

“She said she ignored the signs and made the wrong choice. She’s divorced now. The marriage was the wrong choice, you dolt. That other guy was the wrong choice. The signs were telling her you were the right one.”

Mulder sits up suddenly, Priscilla clinging to his chest in a last-ditch attempt not to get dumped on the floor and piercing his skin painfully. She ends up on the couch beside him.

“How sure are you about that?” he asks, his heart starting to race.

“Pretty damn sure. The way you describe her, she sounds like a thoughtful person. I don’t see what motivation she’d have to reiterate to you that what happened was a mistake; she’d already made that clear in the first go-round. The only reason she’d want to say all that to you is if she realized she was wrong. She wanted to set the record straight, and apologize. Not for what happened with you, but for choosing the other guy.” He can hear the slurp of her eating something like soup in between sentences, the wet smacks making this revelation sound like an offhand comment.

He’s quiet for a long moment, replaying his interaction with Scully today through the lense of her wishing she’d walked away from Ethan, that she’d chosen him. He closes his eyes. Does he dare hope that Valerie is right?

“You still there, Will?” she asks impatiently.

“Yeah, yeah I’m here. I’m just...trying to wrap my head around all this.”

“Well, I gotta run, so hopefully you can do your ruminating solo. I didn’t even get to tell you the reason I called.” He can hear her up and moving about, opening and closing drawers and cupboards.

“Shit, you’re right. Sorry. What’s up?”

“I’m pregnant,” she says, and then waits a beat before adding “it’s not yours, if that’s where your brain is going. We haven’t slept together in almost two years, you may recall.”

“Uh, yeah...yeah I do recall that seeing as I haven’t slept with anyone in almost two years. Are you...should I be offering congratulations? This is a good thing?” He’s hesitant, unsure if they’ve reached a stage of life where a pregnancy is happy news.

“Yeah, it’s a good thing. I’ve been seeing this guy for a little over six months. It wasn’t planned, but we’re excited. The relationship is still pretty new, obviously, but I think I can see myself growing old on a porch swing with him.” There’s a smile in her voice, a dreamy contentedness that makes his chest ache. It’s the reason they broke up, so they might each have a chance at something like this. He hopes he’ll have his chance too.

“That’s great, Val. I’m happy for you,” he says with a tight voice.

“Thanks, Will. Sounds like you found your person, too. You just gotta go out and get her.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“What does she call you, by the way?”

“She calls me Mulder.”

Valerie laughs softly. “Must be fate.”

———

The days since seeing Mulder have been dreary, both in terms of the weather and her mood. She has already lectured Missy repeatedly over her terrible advice to see him again, opening up fresh wounds and sealing shut doors that she had previously held out hope might open again. The morose look on his face as she admitted that she wished she’d chosen him was a kick to the gut. It was too late, far too late, and he wasn’t able to forgive her. Though it’s what she knows she deserves, it still hurts.

She sits in the clean and quiet autopsy bay, filling out paperwork that she tends to reserve for the end of her days. She’s been working more overtime lately, in no rush to return to an empty apartment and be alone with her thoughts and self recrimination. The idea of dating seems obscene, and yet she can admit that she’s lonely. But not lonely for just anyone; she wants only the one person she knows she will never have.

“Excuse me,” calls out a smooth baritone from behind her, and she turns on her stool to see Mulder there. His charcoal grey suit and white dress shirt stand in contrast against his red tie, one hand in his pocket in an attempt to be casual. The cool bravado she saw in him before is absent, replaced with something vulnerable and raw. She feels adrenaline rush through her limbic system, stealing from her the ability to speak.

“I’m looking for the pathologist on duty,” he continues, and she feels a rock in her gut. He had to come here for work, and see her again. She feels guilty for existing in a space that he is forced to enter.

“I’m the pathologist on duty,” she responds regretfully.

He approaches her cautiously, taking the stool beside her without invitation, and considers her for a moment. With a look of trepidation, he holds out his hand and she gives him a quizzical look.

“Fox Mulder,” he says, his green eyes so earnest and open. There is no anger, no resentment.

“Dana Scully,” she replies, her voice catching as she understands, slipping her hand into his.

They are starting over. A clean slate. A new chance to get it right.

“You don’t look like a Dana,” he says, and there’s just a hint of playfulness in his voice.

She laughs, her mouth smiling while her eyes glaze over with tears. Their hands still clasped, he pulls her close, her stool rolling into the space between his knees as he wraps his arms around her shoulders. She should be embarrassed by this unprofessional display out in the open, but the only feeling she can muster is relief at the smell of his cologne and the press of his chest into her cheek. How many nights has she mourned the loss of this? Hundreds. Perhaps last night will be the final time.

“Would you like to get coffee with me?” he asks against her hair and she laughs again, nodding as her cheek brushes his shoulder. “Are you free now?” he adds.

She pulls back and looks at him, his eyes shining back at her with hope they’d both given up on.

“Yes, I’m free,” she answers.

[fxcking-anon]

Red Cardigan

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

TW: None :)

Word Count: 2,017

A/N: I just can’t stop thinking about how cute this would be and I’m touch starved from quarantine, what else can I say? (@random-ravings you asked and you shall receive.) Also, it has been years since I’ve written so cut me a tiny bit of slack as I get back on the horse...also I’ve never written a reader insert before lol. 

P.S. I did proofread this but I’m also tired and maybe a little tipsy so....

----------

Your eyes fluttered open, met with bright sun streaming in between the slats of your bedroom blinds. You squinted and stretched, letting your back crack as you sat up. You instantly regretted it. The covers had fallen from your chest, leaving you exposed to the icy temperatures of your apartment. Looking around, you found something red and soft folded on your nightstand. You quickly pulled it on, buttoning it as fast as you can with your numb fingers. 

As you covered your hands with the sleeves, you realized this was Spencer’s cardigan. His cologne lingered, making you smile as you took in a deep breath. You looked to your left to see him, still asleep and hugging his pillow. His face was always so peaceful when he slept. Spencer cared so much about his cases, something you absolutely adored about him. However, it did make you sad to see how he carried that stress with him. So often you caught him staring off into space, brows furrowed and fingers tapping on his thigh. Asleep, Spencer’s whole body was relaxed. His breaths were deep and even. He didn’t clench his jaw or his shoulders. He just...was. You smiled as you stared at him. It was hard not to, he just looked so soft and small. 

He let out a small sigh and squeezed the pillow a little tighter, making your heart flutter. You leaned down to place a soft kiss on his temple. He smiled in his sleep, making your heart swell even more. You glanced at the clock on your nightstand. 9:13 am. You and Spencer rarely had a morning to sleep in together. Your work schedules were unpredictable, both of you often getting called in at the last minute. So you decided to make the most of the morning. 

You braced yourself for the cold of the apartment as you peeled off the covers and stepped onto the hardwood. Pulling out the drawer of the nightstand, you pulled out your thickest pair of fuzzy socks slipped your feet into them. You then slid over to the dresser to pull on some underwear. Spencer had rid you of those early last night. When you both knew you had the next morning off, you made the most of it the night before. You glanced briefly at the bit of exposed skin on your chest, finding it littered with love bites, and giggled. Spencer had a habit of leaving marks. He would never say it, but he liked seeing physical proof you were his. And honestly, so did you. You always found yourself disappointed as they faded. 

You tiptoed your way into the small kitchen of your apartment, lightly shutting the bedroom door on your way. Knowing there were fresh blueberries in the fridge, you decided to whip up one of Spencer’s favorites, blueberry pancakes. Before you pulled out the pancake mix, you started a pot of coffee. Your boyfriend’s caffeine addiction had gotten to the point where he couldn’t function without at least two cups of coffee. Rather than try to have a conversation with a walking zombie, you learned to have coffee on hand when he rose from the dead. 

You were just about finished stirring the blueberries into the batter when you heard shuffling behind you. “Y/N?”

You turned around to see Spencer, wrapped in a cable knit blanket, standing in the kitchen door frame. His eyes were half shut, resisting the natural light pouring through the kitchen windows. It certainly didn’t help that two inches of snow had accumulated the night before, reflecting everything off of the bright white surface. 

“Good morning sleepyhead,” you smiled at him as you turned back to your batter. You quickly ran your hand under the faucet and flicked a few water droplets onto your frying pan. Hearing them sizzle, you rummaged around a drawer for a ladle. You could hear Spencer shuffle over to the coffee pot and pull a mug out of the cabinet. You ladled the first three pancakes into the pan before turning to your boyfriend again. He was in the middle of adding a fifth spoonful of sugar to his coffee when he sensed your eyes on him and turned.

“Hi,” he said, his voice raspy and low. You stepped to him and wrapped your arms around him, letting him pull his blanket around the both of you. Between the blanket, his sweater and him, his scent flooded your body. You wanted to freeze that moment and stay there forever. It wasn’t that you didn’t love the more spontaneous moments of your relationship. There, right in that moment, you were just completely at peace. You could hear the steady rhythm of his heart beat and his warmth radiated into you. This was true contentment. This was peace. “Baby, as much as I love your hugs, your pancakes are going to burn,” Spencer said, releasing his hold on you. You leaned up to give him a quick peck before grabbing your spatula and flipping the pancakes over. 

“Do you want to grab some plates? I was going to set the table before I went to wake you up. Seems that coffee went and did that for me instead.”

Spencer just hummed in agreement before beginning to set your kitchen table. You flipped the pancakes one more time, making sure they were golden brown on both sides. Right as you were piling them onto the spatula, you heard Spencer take in a sharp breath.

“Is that...is that my cardigan?” His stare was intense as he raked his eyes down your body from your semi exposed chest to where the cardigan rested at the tops of your thighs. 

You rounded the table to place the three pancakes on his plate, standing between his legs. “It is, you left it on the nightstand and it looked so warm. It’s freezing in the apartment today,” you leaned down to peck his nose when he lightly grabbed the back of your neck and guided you into a deeper kiss. Pulling you onto his lap, he started to pepper kisses down your neck. You let out a light moan as he lightly sucked on one of the marks he’d left last night. 

Bringing his lips to your ear, he mumbled in his gruff morning voice, “I knew I liked you in my clothes Y/N, but this has to be my new favorite.” You lifted a hand under his chin to pull his lips back to yours. The kiss was soft and slow, making you feel just the slightest bit lightheaded. 

Reluctantly, you pulled away, moving to get up to flip the second round of pancakes. His hands slid to your hips and held you for a second. “The pancakes,” you whined at him, shuffling a little bit to try and wiggle from his grip. He pressed another kiss to your lips before releasing you. Even as you turned your back to him to tend to your breakfast, you could feel his eyes on you, boring holes into your back. You flipped the pancakes smoothly, refusing to let yourself turn around to meet his gaze just yet. As badly as you wanted him, your anxiety was screaming that the apartment would catch on fire if you left the frying pan unattended again. So you stood there, still, feeling his eyes on you as you waited for the second round of pancakes to brown. When they finally did, you stacked them on your spatula again and turned off the stove top. 

Turning around, you found Spencer halfway through his pancakes. You deposited your pancakes on your own plate and sat down. Your pancakes, however, remained untouched. Now it was you who was staring. His hair curled around his face and stuck up at strange angle in the back. He hadn’t yet had his daily fight with his cowlick. He’d tied his blanket around his neck like a cape so he could have his hands free to eat. It amazed you sometimes how he could be both adorable and drop dead sexy at the same time. Noticing you were staring, Spencer’s eyes flitted up to meet yours. His fork hovered halfway between the plate and his mouth. It took him a moment before he decided to set it down. He sat upright and continued to hold your gaze.

“You are so beautiful,” he said. You felt the blush rush to your cheeks as you broke the gaze. You turned away from him, fixating your eyes on the grout between the kitchen tiles. “Y/N,” Spencer said, urging you to look at him again. You turned back to him hesitantly, barely meeting his gaze. You knew Spencer loved you, that he thought all those wonderful things about you. However, it didn’t make it any easier for you to accept his compliments. Years of insecurity and toxic relationships will do that to a person. 

You met his eyes tentatively. “Yes?”

“You are so, so beautiful,” Spencer said again. “Your mind, your soul, your body...they’re all so very beautiful.” You blushed even harder this time and forced yourself to maintain the eye contact. “Every day,” Spencer continued, “I’m amazed by how beautiful your heart is. You care so much about people and you would give any and everything for the people you love. It makes you radiant. You just radiate love and kindness and positivity.”

You wanted to go to him. You wanted to take his face in your hands and kiss every square inch of it. You wanted to show him just how deeply you loved him. Spencer was always better with words than you were. It certainly helped that he had every word in the dictionary permanently imprinted in his brain. 

You decided to go to him. You stood and walked around the table before perching on the edge of the table right in front of him. “I love you,” you whispered, cupping his chin in between your hands. He leaned forward to catch your lips in his again. He kissed you slowly, taking his time. He tasted like maple syrup and coffee and in that moment, that combination was the most divine taste in the world. It was your nectar of the gods. He ran his hands up your sides, once again pulling you into his lap. He chuckled into your kiss and you pulled away to look at him quizzically.

“You feel so soft,” Spencer said, chuckling again as he ran his hands over the fabric of his cardigan.

“Babe, this is yours. You wear this. All the time.” Your brow was furrowed as you cocked your head to the side to stare at him.

“I know! But I never feel the outside of it like this. I like it, it’s warm.” He proceeded to bury his face in your chest to press the soft fabric to his face. You laughed as he pulled you closer, his face settled directly between your breasts.

“Spence!” you giggled, “That tickles!” His hair was brushing lightly against your skin as you squirmed against him, just tickling you further. Somehow, you managed to slip from his grip and hop off the table. 

As you ran from the kitchen, Spencer jumped up to chase you. “Y/N,” he whined, “Baby, come back!” He caught up to you quickly. His long legs gave him that advantage in your tiny apartment. He grabbed your waist from behind, tugging you into his chest. You spun around to face him and roped your arms over his shoulders. 

“I like you in my cardigan, Y/N,” Spencer said again, softly as his lips pressed to your ear. 

“Funny, I thought you’d like me better without it,” you said, a coy smile creeping onto your face. His expression darkened slightly. You knew what buttons to push to get a reaction out of him. Spencer liked to be right, he always had to come out on top. 

“Oh, so you want to play dirty?” Spencer challenged back. Before you knew what was happening, he’d scooped you up over his shoulder and started towards the bedroom. “Fine, let’s play dirty.”

[thebisexualdogdad]

Cherrywood

It was five minutes to closing, the last of the diners patrons gone as Rosa helped Liz and Arturo clean up. 

The bell of the front door dinged as someone stepped inside and Rosa instinctively ducked behind the counter. 

"Sorry we were just closing up," Liz informs them. 

"Oh I'm just looking for directions, I'm new in town and got lost," they say and Rosa immediately recognizes the voice. 

She stands up from behind the counter in disbelief of who is standing in the entrance or the diner. 

"Y/N?" She mumbles. 

"Rosa?" You mutter back. 

Eight months ago

"So this will be your room, dinner is in an hour and there will be a group therapy session after that. All residents are required to attend at least one of the three group therapy sessions every day as well as two private therapy sessions with our counselors every week. We offer plenty of activities including hiking and yoga for our residents and crisis counselors are on site at all times whenever needed. Welcome to the Cherrywood rehabilitation center Rosa Flores." 

When the attendant left Rosa she sauntered over to her bed, dropping her bag to the floor and sighing as she sat on the edge of the bed. 

"Heard someone was moving into Sam's old room, I'm Y/N your next door neighbor," you said startling her and leaning against the door frame. 

"Rosa," she replied. 

"What's your poison Rosa," you ask. 

"Pills and booze," she states blankly. 

"Painkillers," you say back, "tore my ACL on the soccer field when I was 16 and got hooked." 

"I'm not here to make friends," she tells you. 

"No one is but rehab gets real lonely so you might as well let someone in," you say but Rosa looks away, "I'll see you at dinner." 

An hour later Rosa walks around the dining hall, tray in hand and finds an empty table. 

She's pushing her food around with her fork when you take a seat next to her. 

"The food here is pretty lame but on Friday's they order pizza," you smile at her but she just sighs. 

She stays silent as you ramble on about life at the center. 

"Carol even started a book club but everyone has to read different books because the library slash board game room slash television room doesn't have more than one copy of any book," you joke. 

"Are you ever going to leave me alone?" She finally says. 

"This is my third time here, I've seen people leave here on the road to sobriety and I've also seen people leave here and turn back to their addictions days later and those are the people who think they can go through this process alone," you explain, "you're not alone here and it took me two tries to realize that." 

"Fine, you can eat with me but just stop talking," Rosa says in defeat. 

"Deal, you going to eat your jello?" 

Rosa pushes her jello towards you and you eat the rest of your meal in silence. 

The next morning at breakfast is the same and so is the group therapy session. 

Rosa rolls her eyes as you pull a chair up next to her and gives you a faux smile in return of yours. 

New residents tend to feel awkward about sharing for the first time so when it comes to Rosa's turn you take the attention off of her. 

"Y/N, twenty days clean," you start, "uh you know, I'm doing alright, I'm not feeling the symptoms of withdrawal as much so that's great and my bedsheets appreciate not being soaked in so much sweat." 

Everyone gets a chuckle out of your joke and you see Rosa even crack a smile.

"I always tell myself I'm gonna stay clean and every time I fall back on my old ways but last month a good friend of mine overdosed and didn't make it so this time I'm trying harder than ever to stick to it for him," you confess. 

People clap like they do whenever someone finishes sharing and Rosa takes a deep breath. 

"Rosa, two days clean," she says nervously, "I don't really know what I'm supposed to say here I mean I never really saw myself here either… I guess I'm here because my sister is the most important person to me and the last thing I want to do is let her down." 

"Thank you for sharing Rosa," the counselor says and people clap. 

That night you knock on Rosa's door and she's sitting on her bed, pillow in her lap and staring at a picture. 

"That your sister?" You ask. 

"Yeah," she mumbles. 

You walk over to her bed, sitting next to her. 

"You guys look happy," you say about the picture of her, her sister and presumably her dad. 

"This was the night our dad got a new jukebox for his diner," she says. 

"Jukebox? Well that explains the 50's uniforms," you laugh. 

"Hey that jukebox had third eye blind on it," Rosa replied. 

"Oh yeah that's super impressive," you teased. 

"Whatever," she smiled. 

So maybe you weren't so bad. 

Over the next few weeks Rosa slowly began to open up to you and you somehow talked her into trying yoga with you. 

"Why am I doing this," Rosa groaned, stretching out into a lunging pose. 

"Because yoga clears your mind," you tell her, "or would you rather be scrapbooking with Jen right now."

The instructor shushes you from the front of the class making you both chuckle. 

Later on Rosa is struggling to stay upright during the tree pose and you end up catching her when she falls. 

"You okay there," you laugh. 

Rosa suddenly realizes how close your faces are and gulps, quickly getting back to her feet, "yeah I'm fine." 

The instructor shushes you again and you taunt Rosa, "yeah Rosa shush and be perfect your first time doing yoga," but she doesn't laugh. 

During the downward dog position Rosa looks over to you, there was no way she could possibly be having feelings for you. 

"So you're sixty days clean tomorrow," you say as you put your connect four piece in the plastic game board. 

"Yeah, my sister is coming to take me home," she says putting her own piece in. 

"She's going to be so proud of you," you tell her. 

"You think so?" 

"Well I know I am," you say putting another piece in, "your first day here you couldn't stand me and now look at us, we're playing connect four like civil adults." 

Rosa laughs and puts the winning piece in, "connect four." 

"So what's next? We can play monopoly but half the pieces are missing."

"It's my last day here, let's go for a hike," she suggests. 

"You got it." 

You and Rosa go hiking through the trail behind the center, stopping to take a break before heading back. 

"You won't be here much longer either, what are you going to do when you get out?" She asks as you guys sit on some smooth rocks and take in the view. 

"Go back home to Albuquerque, show my parents I'm serious about getting sober," you tell her. 

"I can't wait to see Liz again," Rosa says, "I just want her to see I'm nothing like our mom." 

"I have a feeling she already knows, you came here and that's what makes you different from your mom," you ensure her, "so are you going to tell me where you're from or what." 

"You know rehab's supposed to be somewhat anonymous right," she chuckles. 

"So that's why you used a fake last name Rosa Flores?" You crack. 

"What makes you think that's not my real last name?" 

"Because I was too embarrassed to use my real last name my first time here too." 

"I can't have people knowing too much about me," she says wishing she could just tell you the truth, "it's all a part of my mysterious flare." 

"And what if I wanted to see you again," you say looking her straight in the eyes. 

"Why would you want to see me again," she says low. 

"Because I really like you and would like to keep getting to know you," you tell her. 

Rosa is silent for a moment before leaning in to kiss you. 

It's long and slow and everything you had been waiting for for the last two months. 

When she pulls away she bites her lip and smiles, "if you really want to see me again you'll find me." 

Present time

"Y/N? What the hell are doing here?" Rosa asks.

"I could ask you the same thing," you reply, "but I got a new job here in Roswell." 

"New job doing what?" 

"Security for some government facility, they won't tell me what they do there but I'm hoping it's some super secret operation for aliens," you laugh. 

Rosa and Liz look to each other not sure what to say. 

"Well welcome to Roswell," Arturo states, "let me make you a milkshake." 

"Oh thanks but I thought you guys were closing up?" 

"The kitchen is always open for friends of my daughters," he smiles. 

"I like it here already," you say smiling at Rosa. 

[leather-and-laces]

Stevie A. Nicks Biography × History Predating Stardust Crusaders

NOTE - This bio is a HUGE Work in Progress. Certain things may change, and other bits may seem rushed.

)▬▬ BASIC INFO ▬▬(

• Name: Stevie Annah Nicks

• Nicknames and Aliases: Anna, Savannah

• Species: Human

• Powers: Stand- Isis [Egyptian Goddess Stand]

• Alignment: True Neutral

• Date of Birth: December 13th

• Gender: Female

• Hometown: Tokyo, Japan

• Relatives: Unnamed Father [DECEASED; Died from Brain Cancer], Unnamed Mother [DECEASED; Murdered]

• Occupation: Shipping Company Owner [Former], Gambler [Currently]

• Equipment: Sewing Scissors and Thread

• Status: Alive

▪︎ Part 3 - Age : 33

▪︎ Part 4 - Age : 45

▪︎ Part 5 - Age : 47

▪︎ Part 6 - 56

• Stand Name - Isis

• Stand Power - Red String Manipulation: User can create, shape and manipulate the red string of fate, an invisible conceptual string that bonds souls together. They can create an limitless amount of red strings and extend them at any distance and the strings never tear apart, as it is practically indestructible. They can make the red strings become visible and touchable for others, and also choose to apply changes to anyone’s soul, and as well control the relationship of those bonded by the strings, or even completely remove their bond.

▪︎ Stand Stats

Power - D [Not “Attack” wise; This is catered to the effectiveness of Isis]

Speed - B

Range - A

Durability - D

Precision - A

Potential - B

▬▬ PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION ▬▬

• Height: 5’9’’

• Weight: 162 LBs

• Body Shape: Hourglass

• Natural Hair Color: Platinum Blonde

• Dyed Hair Color: N/A

• Eye Color: Blue

• Ethnicity: Japanese American

• Skin Tone: Porcelain

*TOLD IN FIRST PERSON POV ONLY FIR THIS PART.*

▬▬ Back Story ▬▬

My father was a respectable man. A archeologist. And I, a archeologists’ eldest daughter and heir of his company, his golden girl. He not only owned a shipping company, he was a close relative of a museum curator, and also cared for the museum in Alaska– where we were often stayed at in the summer. As his heir, I was expected to learn much and so, I had my own private tutor once I was able to be home schooled.

When summer came to pass, we went back Tokyo. In Tokyo, I saw paintings in an art exhibit. I fell in love with their design, and took up the hobby of painting. I practiced and practiced, giving father and mother small gifts every once in awhile. He made it clear that I should not interact with the outside world all too often, as he believed it’d distract me from my studies after mother had passed away from a hate related crime; I was mixed between Japanese and American, bad blood from the second world war still remained. I, unknowst to him, was using this as a means of coping with grief, with trauma that had sparked my abilities; I always wished to alter the past, to manipulate Fate itself [though I hadn’t known it was fate at that time] to save my mothers life. I was about 6 at the time I first noticed my abilities. All the same, my father would oftentimes sneak out my supplies, leaving my projects vastly unfinished.

He did however, notice I had begun training my eye for the paint right after passing through the store on multiple occasions, and dreading with his daughter would whip up next. I could see things you wouldn’t believe; Red strings connected to every little thing with little dates etched into them, peoples lives… For as long as I could remember, I could see everything of this nature just dangling freely for me and only me to observe. I treasured these moments the most, this innocence in my abilities. Most of my paintings reflected things I saw in people’s lives.

I can remember everything so vividly down to an exact date and exact time in which my marriage that lasted a month or so, was quick to fall apart. I had just gotten into the gambling scene heavily at 24 years old and, undoubtedly so, I had made friends as well as enemies. It was no secret I was a rich mans daughter and heir that simply had too much time and cash on their hands to blow it all so I became a center of attention. My true gambling addiction began to grow from the time I was 16, as my tutor had accumulated a massive debt, and was the man responsible for sparking my true talent. Gambling. What few had tried approaching me in hopes of romantic interest, did so in groups, only interested in my cash or my body; Everyone except for him, or so I thought.

He was charming, handsome even, and he was like a god in my eyes for he made me feel special and loved… So when he proposed, I thought nothing of it and accepted him into my heart immediately. He was eager and I was nervous.

The chapel was empty on my side, save for my old tutor and an old colleague of my fathers, so his friends had spread out evenly.

My body, it was on the floor and it was oh so limp. I could feel it, suffocation as blood clogged every airway possible. So limp, yet I mustered the strength to say one name in hope someone-anyone-would overhear, no matter how faint or weak I sounded.

“Ricardo…?”

“No one is going to find your body, my sweet.”

With that, that Italian bastard left me to die, gagging on my blood. And the fool had the audacity to step over me as I was in the process of dying in my own pool of blood on the floor in the bedroom, blood slipping between my fingers from the wounds peppering my stomach and face from the bat he used to beat me with. Before leaving through the door, he stoked a flame to a scented candle given to us on our wedding… and smiled down at me “Thanks for the inhe…..”

I can remember blacking out and, somehow, by some miracle, I was alive; My ribs were cracked, left hand fractured and I had various damage to my face from the bat which he had chosen to bludgeon me with but… I was alive. It stirred something in me, like I had cheated the inevitable when in actuality a friend of his hand stopped by to drop off a box of camping supplies…

He planned to break my bones and stuff me in a trunk to better hide me in the nearby woods easier.

)▬▬ Stardust Crusaders Biography ▬▬(

A single mother turned thrill seeker, the longtime gamblers travels had landed her in Egypt; She felt seemingly drawn in, called to even, in a casino up in Cario. As a matter of fact, her exploits in gambling her brought her to make an acquaintance of the Elder D'Arby brother. The pair were rivals in the beginning; Stevie aiming to collect his thread of life, and he aiming to collect her soul, the pair would often play various card games together. It was always rather intense, but there was no success in their battles for either party, oftentimes ending in a draw.

These games together brought the pair closer, additionally, causing the duo to pair up to play games against people of interest. This also sparked the interest of Lord DIO, particularly her abilities, involving the alteration of fate on a human soul with the exception of the past; Her abilities complimented the Elder D'Arbys abilities rather well. He offered her money for her efforts, but she merely stated that she was interested in the thrills that accompanied her gambling habits, in exchange that she gets her children tended to with no involvement in this lifestyle she leads. She would oftentimes accompany the Elder D'Arby for his gambling exploits, even if she herself do not play games with him at all times, she ended up using her abilities to compliment his abilities with the soul.

She ended up, eventually, having her fair run in with the Crusaders shortly after the defeat of the Elder D'Arby. With her employ to DIO and the defeat of her friend, she challenged them to her own game of fate, before she was defeated. In a last ditch effort, she attempted to utilize her threads to grab herself a hostage for she knew her failure would ultimately lead to her potential demise. However, Star Platinum was fast, making short work of the woman and shattering all ten of her fingers, rendering her stand completely useless as she has no mobility in her hands. Her fate is ambiguous after this last encounter, but she is to be credited for helping place Anubis on that familiar path in which Chaka acquired the famous sword. Her role is minor in the Glory Gods, and ultimately, apart from complimenting the Elder D'Arbys abilities or her alteration of fate bound to a soul, she has little impact on the grand scheme of things.

She lives her life in shame as much as isolation, having been unable to raise her months old daughter properly, she had to send her child away to a relative in America until her hands recovered from their previous injuries caused by Jotaros encounter.

[rebelwith0utacause]

La Petite Mort

I started writing this a month ago, got stuck on 300 words and thought I might never finish it. Here we are, beginning of June, and it’s finally done, all 3.4K of it.

Warnings: Don’t read it if you’re underage, can’t handle smut and bad writing or if you’re Michael Clifford.

I got the idea listening to A Little Death by The Neighbourhood one day. Go check out the song if you haven’t already. It’s one of my faves.

You can also find it on ao3. Let me know what you think. and please don’t let it flop.

It was supposed to be a quiet affair, a way to get rid of their demons, to let them fly for the night. They were no strangers to it, the taboo and the darker side of their passion meant that they had to hide in the shadows. It was easier in a way, shadows cloaked emotions, making any attraction feel hazy and unsure until it completely vanished in the morning.

Not that you’d ever spent the morning with him. It was a wonder that you’d even met up on multiple occasions. That’s not how the system worked. You were given one chance at a scene, meant to be an outlet, not a dating site. But you fit so well that first time, you knew you had to see him again.

It started out with an occasional DM on Twitter, every couple of months. You would tell him what you needed, what your body and soul craved, he would tell you the location, and the time. You would show up, you would perform, exorcise your demons, go back home, rinse, repeat.

You never meant to get addicted, but there was something in his touch that liberated your soul. You knew it was one-sided, but that didn’t stop you from going back for more.

It was the end of November, an uncharacteristically cold weather had blown into town, the air smelled of snow and you decided that your fingers could use a pair of gloves. You quickened your steps. The neighborhood was neither bad, nor the greatest, but the streetlights were flickering and you started feeling the panic swell in the pit of your belly. The motel was in your sights, a flickering red sign above the main entry showed that there were a few rooms left vacant. 

Entering the lobby finally set your nerves at ease. You’ve entered familiar territory.

There was a middle-aged man tending the front desk, his thinning hair glowing under the neon light. He was flicking through the pages of an old magazine, not paying too much attention to the sound of the bell when you opened the door. Really, he couldn’t even bother to look up. 

“How can I help you?” was uttered under his nose, his eyes never leaving the glossy pictures. “I have a reservation for room number 7.” Your voice cracked at the “have”, not sure if it was the nerves or the lack of use. He swung around in his chair, grabbing the key from its allotted space and placing it on the desk, no “There you go.” no nothing.

Seen as he wasn’t very forthcoming, if you were being 100% honest, he was cold and insanely rude, you just grabbed the key and left the lobby. You pulled the lapels of your jacket a bit closer and hurried to get to your room. You only had half an hour to get ready.

You’ve done these scenes in almost any kind of environment, but the stagnant air and moldy waterpipes in motels had you feeling a certain way. You never claimed to understand why you liked the things that turned you on.

The first thing you had to do was set the scene. You were both lovers of 90’s aesthetics, so the outdated furniture and yellow lighting in the room were perfect. You took off your clothes, making sure to leave your white cotton set on. It was going to get destroyed anyway, so there was no point in wearing fancy underwear - his words, not yours. Come to think of it, it might had something to do with the fact that it made you look almost virginal, and it felt like he was corrupting you time and time again.

Folding your clothes one by one, you set them in your backpack and hid it in the bathroom, leaving your old self behind. You took the bedcovers off the queen-sized bed and the pillows on the nearby chair, you knew he might need them at one point. Hiking your knee on the mattress, you settled in the middle on your back, eyes closed, hands clasped on your tummy, waiting. And you didn’t have to wait for long.

You heard the creak as the door opened, but you didn’t dare open your eyes. It was one of your demands. You didn’t want to know who he was, it was easier that way, you could fantasize about the possibilities of it being anyone on the street. You could hear the soft sounds of his footsteps as he approached your lying form. “Up.” It was a signal for you to lift your head as he wrapped a scarf over your eyes. The bed dipped as his knee came to rest behind you, securing the knot and doing quick work of braiding your hair. At first, it freaked you out, but you soon came to realize that it meant he could do less damage to your scalp when he pulled, and he liked to pull on it quite a lot.

His cold fingers trailed from the bottom of your braid to your sides, making you squirm in your seat. He’d warm them up on your skin soon enough. You could hear and feel his soft exhales in your left ear, followed by the feel of his beard on your neck as he trailed kisses on your skin. 

“Are you ready?” The only answer you dared give him was the tiniest nod. 

Both of his hands moved between your thighs, gripping them and parting your legs as wide as they would go. His left hand found your clothed breast, roughly grabbing a handful and squeezing a moan out of you. The tips of his right hand found their way on top of your cotton panties, middle finger pressing lightly between your slit, dampening the material with your juices.

It was only an interlude, you knew that he was here on a mission to wreck you, but the intimacy of it all prickled at your soul. 

You felt his whole demeanor change, his breath evening out and his muscles flexing against your body. The hand grabbing your tit moved to grab your neck, no pressure yet, he was just using his thumb and index finger to guide you against him. The one petting your pussy moved to bunch up the material of your panties and pull it up, giving you an uncomfortable wedgie but stimulating your clit at the same time. Your only response was a strangled wheeze.

“You like that? Like having strangers feel you up?” He released your neck. “Look at you. A whimpering mess and we haven’t even started yet.” You suddenly felt a light tapping on your clothed clit, increasing in force and intervals, making your head fall back on his shoulder, moaning at the slight pain.

And that’s what you were here for, the pain. You knew that he had loads of it in store for you. He grabbed your braid, maneuvering you around until your head was pressed on the bed and your thighs were spread on both sides of his knee, ass high in the air. Same as before, he bunched the material of your panties and pulled, leaving the globes of your ass bare for his eyes only. His other hand grabbed your right cheek, roughly squeezing it upwards and away, getting a peek of your puckered hole. It disappeared and came back before you could even blink behind the scarf, the resounding thwack of his palm on your ass chasing the chill away. He repeated the same motion a few times until the bottom of your ass was rosy and you were silently begging for more.

There was a ripping sound in the stillness of the room as he roughly pulled your panties. They were left to sit in ruins on your thighs as his middle finger came to inspect your leaking pussy. The whole thing looked so bad but felt so right at the same time. You were nothing but a broken puppet in his hands and you were never sure if he was trying to fix you or fuck you up beyond repair.

The pressure was building in your lower belly, his knee pressing against your bladder and his calloused finger strumming your clit, catching it with his blunt nails time and time again. Just when you thought that you might enter another dimension, his finger disappeared only to be brought back in the form of a hard hit on your pussy.

“Not so fast.”

You were impatient, but that’s not how you won this game. You felt the bed move with him, falling flat on your belly. He, once again, used your braid as a handle to position you right. You were lying like that for a few seconds or a few minutes, you couldn’t tell. The panties were off, the bra was lying somewhere on the floor and your feet were cuffed in metal rings. You recognized the familiar immobility caused by the spreader bar, holding your feet from locking together. He bound your hands in leather and left them to rest on the bed above your head. The bed dipped between your knees as he situated his body behind you, pulling on your hips, grinding your naked ass on his denim-covered crotch. You kept rotating your hips, working yourself up and stretching lazily like a cat. It was almost desperate, the need for contact so great, you would do anything for him. But he had other plans.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop making a mess? You’re such an infuriating little slut.”

He left you on the bed, tears of frustration slowly gathering behind your eyelids as you waited for any sort of stimulation. You heard the whoosh before you felt the tiny licks of pain on your back. So he decided to use the cat this time, the tiny leather knots deliciously digging in your skin. He was warming you up, knowing you needed to have a bit of pain before you reached nirvana, but ever so careful not to break the skin.

Minutes turned into eternity. Your thoughts had fled your mind. You could only feel the warmth and produce incoherent noises in different pitch. Hit after hit like tiny water droplets before the deluge. Somewhere in that not-here-nor-there space of yours, you didn’t hear the buzzing, or maybe the blood rush to your head drowned the noise. But the tiniest vibration from the wand had you shattering to pieces.

You held your breath, the scream lodged in your throat, saliva dripping on the sheets in front of you, your entire body shaking from the orgasm, your knees barely holding you up. He could only chuckle from the side, knowing that this was only the first of many that night. 

He let you breathe for a while, seeing the curve of your back dip and flatten as you tried to get yourself together was a huge turn on, if the bulge straining against his jeans was anything to go by. The next time he approached, he decided to forego the whip, but kept the wand close by, just in case. He was back between your knees, hands hugging your lower back, bending you even further. His roughened hands traveled the expanse of your reddened back, making sure you still felt the phantom pain from the cat-o-nine tails. His face was in front of you, taking in the scent of your arousal before flattening his tongue on your lips. You felt the vibrations of his moan more than his actual voice, but it was over before it began. 

You heard a click and felt the coldness of the lube between your cheeks. He used his middle finger to spread it on the rim and started applying steady pressure. You’ve done this before so you knew that it was time to relax and push back, allowing entry. He was working you up, slowly opening your hole to fit two of his fingers. After he was satisfied with the progress he made, he took them out and slowly replaced them with a lubed up princess plug. The metal felt heavy inside of you, but not entirely uncomfortable, and if you were being honest with yourself, it made you feel special knowing that there’s a sparkly button attached to your ass. He pulled on it a few times, making sure you were comfortable with it before leaning down and giving the clear zircon a kiss.

The incredibly tender moment was cut short when both of his palms landed hard on your cheeks. He liked seeing the contrast between your fire red flesh and the cool fake crystal handle, so much so, he couldn’t stop playing with your ass, jiggling the metal device with every squeeze.

It never occurred to you that you could cum from such a little amount of stimulation, but you were almost there. You were moaning the motel down and somewhere in that sex haze of yours you thought you might have heard a thump or two from the neighboring wall, but you couldn’t care less. Not when the wand was back on your clit, and definitely not when you felt his fingers curl up inside of you. He wasn’t being extremely gentle either. He knew you thrived on the overstimulation, pressing the pads of his fingers on your g-spot harshly, almost feeling mechanical. He was a conductor and he knew how to orchestrate your body, your moans and screams the most beautiful symphony. You thought that you would end with a dramatic crescendo, but the music sheet had a few more pages left.

His fingers left you, the wand went down at the same time as his zipper. He didn’t bother to push his pants down, just opened them enough to pull his, very hard and very ready, dick out. You heard the crinkle of the condom packet being ripped and felt the latex on you. He was rubbing his cock between your cheeks, gathering as much of your juices and lube on him before he entered you. The novelty never wore off. It didn’t matter what he did to you beforehand, it was always a tight fit, the stretch bordering pain and pleasure. 

You felt full at last, the double penetration making you mewl like a cat in heat, the moan slowly rising up in volume until you did nothing but scream. Each time he moved his hips against yours sounded like thunder in your ears, the plug going deeper and deeper inside you. You tried to hold off as much as possible, but it was a losing battle.

One extremely forceful push had you collapsing on the bed, blissed out. He was chasing after his own orgasm, covering your body with his. The only indication that he was a tall man was the fact that when he laid like this, his chin would almost reach the top of your head. But you didn’t mind the weight, in fact, it almost made you feel protected. 

The bed dipped to your left, he must’ve put his hand in front of you for leverage because his other was busy shoving three fingers in your mouth. You had your eyes closed, making sure you produced enough spit to lube his digits so you didn’t notice the moment the scarf shifted, freeing a tiny sliver for your eyes to see. He took those fingers, bringing his hand to your already wrecked pussy, finding purpose in playing with your clit. The sensation was too much, revving you up one last time. One final push had you coming hard, milking his cock for every last drop, vision going black, and the sight of a familiar finger tattoo making your heart painfully clench.

--------

It was New Year’s Eve and you were on a mission. The Christmas lights were on, the finger food was on the table and the guests were about to arrive. There was no dress code, you just told them to dress comfortably. It was a small event, you didn’t have many friends to begin with, courtesy of always working, but you did have a growing circle of people who loved video games as much as you.

You were slowly becoming a tight-knit family, getting together for game nights and the occasional drinks, and you liked it, you didn’t need more interaction. You were, however, extremely happy when one of your gamer buddies gave you a bit of his attention. Where you were generally talkative and friendly, he was your polar opposite, deciding to stay in his shy shell until he felt comfortable enough to speak. You knew he had a good soul, you just never knew what to expect from him. The only time his real self decided to come out was when he was in the middle of a game.

But you did in fact know a little bit more about him than you were letting off. He was in your apartment now, scanning the place for an empty corner to hide in. You couldn’t help but admire him, a tiny ball of lust wound tight in your lower belly. He looked so good in a pair of light blue jeans and a white tee, covered by a red plaid shirt. The tattoos peeking beneath his rolled-up shirt sleeves and the whole grungy look were such a contrast to his shy self, it almost made you laugh, that is, until you realized that you might have cum a few times from rubbing yourself sore on the coarse denim of his jeans.

The advantage of playing host was that you always had an excuse to go up to people and strike up a conversation. You let him relax for a bit, though. Cornering him right off the bat might do more harm. But you were done playing this game of cat and mouse, where the cat was in fact a kitty and the mouse was a Pit Bull in disguise and you wanted to know what was his endgame.

You found him in the kitchen by himself, licking some pizza sauce from his fingers. “Oh, hey Michael, didn’t expect to see you here. Too crowded?” You pointed behind you at the party, eyes zoned in on his Adam’s apple moving as he gulped. He looked a bit startled but he wasn’t cowering like you expected him to. “Yeah, you know me, not much of a team player.” You knew that wasn’t the full truth because whenever he tried to hide something, he would try to fix his already perfectly styled bleached fringe. 

There were layers to his personality, and he was never game to show them all at once, but you were willing to unravel him. You were thankful for once that your kitchen was tiny so it only took you a couple steps to reach his side. Before you could chicken out, you grabbed his left hand and brought it up for inspection. He tried to pull it away, but you were having none of that. “You know Mikey, I never really asked you what this tattoo’s about, and I’ve been meaning to for a while now.” He still looked uncomfortable, but the way your thumb kept rubbing over the circle and three dots engraved on his middle finger was making his eyes dilate. “You like it?” His tone was no longer shy, and you could finally understand why you never put two and two together. Turned on Michael was speaking in a low, almost gravelly voice, completely unrecognizable from his usual higher-pitched tones. And now he knew you knew. And there was no escaping it.

“I liked it better when it was disappearing into my pussy.” You whispered, looking up at him through your lashes. You knew you were trying to act tough, but the moment he wound his fingers in your hair and pulled, you knew that you’d always be putty in his hands. “Don’t forget your place, pet.” he breathed out. “You don’t get to top from the bottom. I could easily bend you over the table in front of all of our friends and have your ass red if I wanted to.” And you knew that he would. He detangled himself from you, leaving you turned on and confused in the middle of the kitchen. 

The party was dying down. There were a few stragglers left, their silhouettes hazy in your vodka-Sprite-induced vision. A new year has begun and for once you dared yourself to make a wish. Little did you know that once everyone left, a certain 90’s enthusiast would make all of your wishes come true, and then some, only this time you could look into his green eyes while you died a little death.

[letsperaltiago]

i love you and i like you

Based on @stars-my-darling's adorable post: 

“When Mac starts talking he will sometimes just randomly tell Amy that he loves her, usually at the end of an unrelated sentence. They later realise that he learnt to do this because Jake is always randomly telling Amy that he loves her and Mac is copying him." aka. 5 times toddler Mac Santiago-Peralta tells his mommy he loves her

Also includes prompt #101 from the 101 fluffy prompts-list: "…They just grow up so fast."

Read on ao3

Every like and reblog is appreciated <3

Amy Santiago has so far had a lifetime’s worth of great jobs, which, she knows, isn’t that hard when you love work and everything it implies. Everything from assisting her middle school’s librarian to that brief job at a small uptown museum her degree got her to being a respected sergeant in the NYPD. She’s loved every single job but, she’s now come to realise, nothing vill ever beat her most recent employment: Motherhood. With a capital M, yes.

Mac throws her and Jake’s worlds over like the tiny miracle of a storm he is and they’ve never looked back since. It’s brand new, it’s exciting, it’s scary, and though they’re not exactly religious, he’s the answer to their prayers. Parenthood turns out to be nothing like what they’d expected, like nothing they’d ever tried before and looking past some of the rough days, which are inevitable, it’s actually even better. They get to shape and watch a human grow; a human of which they’re both the genesis and they couldn’t be any more proud - both of each other but also their son.

Everything Mac does and achieves is a moment to remember, and they take nothing for granted: every new sound, even simple gurgles, every new movement, even the flick of a tiny finger? They beam, look at each other with wide, joyous eyes and celebrate their newborn addition to their little family. They hold on to everything they can, while they can although, they swear, every other day they’ll be lying in bed with him while he sleeps or watch him begin to explore their apartment on his own and they’ll take turns breaking the comfortable silence with what they’re both thinking:

“They just grow up so fast.”

Even if he’s merely grown a tenth of an inch since the last time they brought it up.

This fact aside, before they know it, their before so very tiny and helpless son can sit without assistance, sooner than later starts crawling and before they seem to have the time to catch up with the ladder he suddenly knows how to say “mama” and “dada” - and the day Mac takes his first steps, Amy filming on her phone while Jake is squatting to entice his son? Both parents guiltlessly shed a tiny tear rewatching the video that night after their little one, who suddenly seems so big, is put to bed.

With the walking comes the talking. Mac, like his dad, is an entertainer and seizes every chance he gets to chat with his parents, and anyone else who’ll listen for that matter, and hopefully make them laugh. Amy quickly sees through the fact that her son’s mannerism is definitely inspired by her husband’s, and Amy’s heart swells at every glimt of it: everything from Mac’s tiny ‘big dramatic movements’ to him attempting to crack small jokes (that sometimes are actually super funny but also mostly make people laugh because his delivery is beyond precious). Despite the fact that his personality is absolutely a solid blend of both parents, Jake’s genes definitely conquer everything else, and Amy doesn’t mind one bit. Although she could do without the short, Peralta-inspired attention span, which can be both very cute but also slightly maddening when you’ve told your barely 3-year old toddler 6 times to finish their meal meanwhile he’s to preoccupied by his father cleaning up the water said toddler spilled just seconds ago.

All in all, Mac is a copy of Jake, and in more ways that one Amy is grateful. Especially when the little boy starts getting a grasp of the word ‘love’ and what it actually means though his parents have showered him with it since before he was born. Jake and Amy will tell Mac ‘I love you’ on the daily and, besides this, his parents themselves aren’t exactly shy of telling each other, especially Jake who often tends to do it out of nowhere or any kind of context which the boy must’ve picked up on at some point.

It starts off quite naturally: the first time he says it.

One night after getting him washed down and put into his favorite firetruck-print pyjamas (the parents couldn’t deny him it even though they were far from thrilled), Amy’s sitting with Mac in his new so-called ‘big boy-bed’. Feeling her son’s curly-haired head nestled into her chest, one hand grabbing onto the fabric of her shirt while the other holds onto his best buddy Leo the Lion, Amy reads out loud from one of the many books she’s managed to accumulate for her son. Obviously worn out from the day Mac, as being almost 3 is very exhausting, stays silent and listens carefully to the sound of his mother’s voice, dutifully paying attention to the book’s colourful drawings and even sometimes pointing at them whenever Amy reaches a part of the story that’s been illustrated.

“Then the little puppy ran through the big big field and the big big forest to get back home-“

“Shee, Mommy,” Mac interrupts her with a lisp caused by the pacifier hanging from one corner of his mouth and points to the drawing of the running dog with his index finger. “Doggy runth!”

“Yeah, I see, baby,” she smiles before pecking the top of his head. Normally she’d ask him to remove his pacifier when he speaks. Her and Jake slowly trying to make the object something Mac knows he can use to relax rather than constantly needs, but when it’s this late and right before bedtime Amy can’t be bothered to reprimand him. For now she’s just proud of her tiny, smart guy. “Where is he running?” She pulls back to look at him, encouraging him to explain further.

“He’sh going home!” he smiles proudly to a point where his pacifier almost falls out, just barely clinging on for dear life.

“That’s right. He’s running home to his family - good job,” she chuckles sending him one last smile before skimming her wristwatch quickly realising bedtime is just minutes away. It’s not that they’re following a strict schedule that depends on every single minute and second of the day: something she’s actually glad Jake’s and his more laid-back lifestyle has transferred to their parenting-style. Although Mac, his parents have come to find out, will reach a point during the evening where it’ll be too late and he becomes overtired and impossible. Therefor 8 PM is the ultimate limit (on weekdays, that is) and Amy sees it quickly approaching so she quickly finishes up their story and shuts the book closed.

“That’s it for today, Mr. Mac. Time to visit dreamland,” simply not able to resist the feel and smell of her son’s newly washed curls, she places another kiss to the top of his head before climbing out of the small bed and hears him reply with a yawn which tells her that she’s probably timed bedtime perfectly. To the great delight of the now also tired mother (a high rank full-time job and a toddler will do that to you) she’s once more proved right when Mac gets under the covers without a trace of fight.

“Roshie?” he looks up at his mother with worried eyes as he hugs Leo the Lion a bit tighter. Those stupid beautiful brown eyes he’s inherited from Jake.  

“Oh,” Amy kneels down to the bed’s side and starts running her hand all over the duvet, mattress and bed-frame. “Where’s Rosie, bud?”

Rosie aka. the pink unicorn he’d gotten from auntie Roro back when he was still a tiny baby (though he’d always be Amy’s tiny baby) was missing and they both knew very well that there would be no sleeping without it. Suddenly her hand comes across a bump, to her relief revealing the stuffed animal once she lifts up the duvet.

“Yay, mommy!” her son smiles as if she’s cracked the mystery of the century and Amy can’t help but feel just a bit proud - anything she does that makes her boy happy will do that to her.

“There you go,” she smiles and places the unicorn in his arms right next to Leo the Lion. “All good, Mr. Mac?”

He nods profoundly, eyes suddenly clearly tired and droopy, which earns him a warm smile from his mother before she leans in and kisses his forehead tenderly, all at once running her hand fingers his curls as to get her one last fix for the day. Incredible how your child can become somehow addicting.

“Sleep well. I love you,” she pulls back to take him in, the declaration of love hanging in the air for a few seconds before, taking Amy by surprise, her son answers her.

“I wuv you.”

She knows ‘love’ is an abstract feeling that a toddler can’t really comprehend and isolate as an emotion, which is probably also why Mac’s never said it back before, and although she’s told him a million times before and has never awaited or needed an answer, him saying it back definitely throws her off in the most magical, proud, emotional way in a long time. She’s constantly proud of the little things he does on the daily, slowly becoming a tiny actual human with opinions and a personality, but this is a whole new level.

“Thank you for saying that,” she can feel tears forming in her eyes and throat, but doesn’t want to confuse the small child who’s just begun to understand ‘love’, and therefor doesn’t also need to be explained that crying can also be a sign of happiness. That is an oxymoron that will surely just confuse him when, currently, crying is Mac’s way of expressing and understanding sadness and anger.

“That was very sweet of you and I love you so so much too, baby,” she manages to say it one last time, without breaking, before getting up to turn on his tiny night light and leave. “Me and daddy will be just down the hall watching TV, okay?”

A slight movement from beneath the duvet lets her know he’s heard her before she allows herself to half-close the door and walk back to where Jake is cleaning up after dinner. There she is finally able to let out a few soft cries as she lets her husband in on the small, incredible moment she’s just had with their son. Of course, it instantly makes Jake feel like crying with joy too. Their baby is surely the best.

From there on it’s just one big mess of declarations, at the most random moments and Amy is very amused but also even more enamoured.

One night Jake is away on a stakeout which leaves Amy is home alone with Mac, and to the toddlers immense joy this means he’s allowed to sleep with his mom in her and dad’s enormous bed. Jake has told him to keep mommy safe while he’s gone and of course takes this task very seriously. It’s 3 AM, they’re both fast asleep when suddenly Amy is awoken by what seems to be quite some new weight on top of her chest.

“Mommy,” promptly breaks the silence slowly bringing Amy back to consciousness.

It takes her a second to collect herself but she instinctually reaches out to figure out exactly where her son is in the dark. It’s quickly clear that he’s stretched out stomach down across her chest. “Yes, baby?” she mumbles tiredly eyes still closed hoping that her son is just being restless and will go back to sleep.

“I need pee.”

“Oh.”

This, with a power that almost no other request from her son holds, immediately dawns upon and takes over her body pushing her to sit up. Mac is pretty much fully potty trained but only day-wise. During the night he still uses a diaper, and they’ve only just recently started easing him into the night-potty by telling him it’s an option. The boy showing initiative himself is an absolutely great start and even more importantly an opportunity she won’t let slip by.

“You wanna go use the potty?” she looks at him to make sure and he immediately nods. “Okay, lets go then.”

And so they scurry out of bed and make their way across the hall to the bathroom, hand in hand in the darkness, where once the light is turned on Mac’s potty awaits him.

With a bit of help from mommy, he pulls down his pyjamas pants and diaper before getting settled on the potty. There’s no hiding the fact that they’re both very tired, especially Mac whose head hangs a bit, almost asleep while giving in to his body’s need for relief while Amy sits dutifully on the floor besides him.

“Good job telling me, Mac,” she praises, smiling tiredly but the little boy is too tired to even react.

They stay like this for a while, in silence, Amy not wanting to interrupt a probably concentrated Mac, when suddenly he, to her surprise, is the one to break the silence.

“I’m peeing and I love you, mommy,” he mumbles tiredly almost fully asleep right there on the potty, messy curls hanging in whatever which way gravity will allow.

Then, as if she’d never been tired, asleep, woken up and feeling exhausted, Amy’s body rises to a much higher level of awareness. Warmth, one that completely makes her forget about the bathroom floor’s cold tiles, spreads throughout her entire being and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was currently trying to pee, Amy would’ve pulled him into the tightest hug right there. But she doesn’t, of course, and instead settles for a gleaming smile.

“Mommy loves you too, honey,” He’s her very own bedhead, she thinks to herself lovingly running a hand through his hair. “And I’m so proud of you for waking me up to go potty.”

It’s very faint, too tired to put much effort into it but there’s definitely a small smile growing on her son’s face, When he falls asleep on top of her chest a bit later after he’s done and has been put into a clean diaper, just to be safe, the smile is still there, Amy can tell even in the dark.

Another occasion, it’s safe to say, happens when Amy leasts expects it. They’re running on ‘tantrum from hell: hour who-even-knows-anymore’, this time triggered by the banal fact that, no, Mac wasn’t allowed to play with the big knife Jake had been using to cut vegetables for their dinner.

Everyone has their bad days, the parents are well aware, but this one of Mac’s was particularly bad. All day, from the minute he woke up and went straight to the living room instead of joining his parents in their bad, he’d been extra fussy thereby not feeling content with whichever way his parents tried to fix his mood. They’d been understandable and gone easy on him all day, hopelessly trying to please him while also not just giving in to his unreasonable demands. It appeared that this was very a fine line to walk, and so far it sure hadn’t offered them the intended results. Both parents were exhausted and Mac screaming was far, so very far, from their ideal way of spending the evening in.

Both Jake and Amy have tried experimented with different tactics, some that are known to work. Picking him up to soothe him; ask him if he’s hurting somewhere; offering him to choose one of his daily snacks like a glass of milk, yoghurt or a fruit; suggesting that they play a game…  But the little boy wants nothing. Nothing but that huge, sharp kitchen knife.

“Look, you can cry all you want, but daddy is not going to give you the knife. It’s dangerous, Mac,” Amy’s voice is definitely stern but nonetheless still calm well aware of the fact that screaming as well won’t get her anywhere. Besides that she also considers herself a structured, punctual but nonetheless also a cool mom: nevertheless enough is enough. She’s really had it by now, hands resting defensively on her hips  as she feels a head ache creeping up on her meanwhile her 3 year old, who’s now lying face down on the kitchen floor, lets out yet another scream.

“Listen to mom, bud,” Jake intervenes the best he can without interrupting his wife’s operation. “She’s super right, you know? The knife is very very sharp and in your small hands it can easily slip and hurt you. We don’t want that.”

Another scream is how he’s thanked for the explanation and Jake, even though he loves his son unconditionally, has to roll his eyes and sigh. Logic is not relevant when you’re working with a toddler, he has learned but nonetheless gives it a try every time they’re back in the arena - only to be disappointed.

They try not to be the kind of parents that scold or punish their kid unless it’s necessary and they but alas this is not one of them. Amy has had it and shares a look of confirmation with her husband before proceeding - she needs him to back her up on this.

“Okay, McClane Santiago-Peralta,” Amy says strictly. Full name? This is the point of no return, Jake knows.

“If you’re going to continue to behave like this then that’s up to you, but that also means it’s time for time-out, because daddy and I don’t know how to help you, when you keep screaming like that.”

God, she hates this side of parenthood and this shade of herself, though she knows it necessary.

“Knife!” Mac cries out rolling onto his back and hitting the floor with the palms of his tiny hands in protest of now both the knife and the time-out.

“I’m not going to keep discussing this with you,” she makes up her mind, picks up her son which results in him screaming/crying even louder while also putting up a fight by wiggling his entire body in his mother’s hold. “If you’re not going to go by yourself, like the big boy I know you usually are, then I’ll have to carry you there.”

And so Amy, knowing that the most important thing right now is that she sticks to her pledges, starts walking out of the kitchen and down the hall towards her son’s room. The wiggling continues, the crying doesn’t come to quit and he even adds kicking into the air as she carries him to the mess of it all. He really doesn’t want to go, even less have his mommy take him there since it’ll mean that he’s really pushed her to the limit.

Then suddenly the next wail he lets out suddenly sends the situation down a completely different path.

“I just want the knife and I- I wuv you, mommy!” her son screams loudly through his cry, face all red and scrunched up as if he was cursing her which by nature results in Amy freezing on the spot, left to wonder what the hell had prompted that outburst.

That one was new, she thinks, and how the hell do you handle this exact situation right? On one hand his previous acts, and the fact that he’s still hysterical, means that he deserves to be sent to his room; on the other hand he just screamed, bloody murder, that he loves her… Parenthood was indeed so confusing sometimes.

A sigh leaves her body.

“I love you too, Mac,” she figures he deserves, and always will deserve, to hear it back - no matter how frustrating and crazy the situation might be.

“And daddy does too, but it’s really hard for us to help you when you scream and cry like that, baby,” she gives explaining the consequences of his tantrum one last shot, and, to her surprise, the boy actually stills in her arms and buries his face into her chest. The cries die out before transitioning to small sniffles and alas Amy sees the opportunity to, perhaps, talk some sense into her son.

“We’d much rather have you use your words, tell mommy and daddy what’s actually wrong, rather than having you scream and cry like this. Do you understand?”

There’s silence but Amy can feel Mac’s tiny head slide up and down in nod against his chest, and relief, although it might still just be a false sense of safety, floods her entire body.

“So, what is actually wrong? Why are you sad?”

“I-“ Mac sniffles trying to mould his thoughts. “I just wanted help daddy make food.”

Of course, she thinks internally rolling her eyes.

“I see,” she nods. “And you can help daddy cook, but next time you’ll have to say it like that. Use your words, okay?”

He nods again before lovingly grasping onto a strand of his mother’s hair.

“Good,” she pecks the top of his head. “Now,” she cranes her neck to look down at her son’s face where it’s half buried into her tear-stained shirt. “Do you want to be in your room by yourself for a bit to calm down, or do you want to come help me and daddy clean the kitchen and set the table?”

“I wan’ help,” he mumbles obviously lacking energy after spending it all throwing the tantrum, but if he wants to be with them and redeem himself then Amy won’t be the one to stop him. It took a while, but Amy always tries to remember that he’s still very little meaning that it’s inevitable that some social skills aren’t fully developed. So whenever he can come to his senses, with his parents guidance or not, Amy will of course be the first one to endorse it.

“I’m glad to hear that,” she walks back towards the kitchen with Mac resting silently in her arms.

A third memory that pops into Amy’s mind upon trying to remember the many random moment’s where her son has shared his love for her out loud and of the blue (Peralta-stylez), is one time (of the many) they went grocery shopping together. They’d been wandering around the big grocery store, her and Mac, targeting the cereal aisle, hand in hand with a basket in Amy’s free hand.

“Okay, since you and daddy ate the last of the Fruit Loops this morning we need to get some cereal. You think you can help me with that?” she looks down at her son who’s already looking up to meet her eyes. Mac’s enchanting glimmering eyes instantly light up at the thought of responsibility, a trait he’s definitely inherited from her, and prompts an eager nod. Before she can even say or explain further, which he probably doesn’t actually need her to, he’s let go of her hand.

“More Fwuit Loops!” he exclaims happily as his tiny legs take him ahead, down the aisle, to reach the mosaic of colourful cereal-boxes.

“Sure, if that’s what you want, babe, but maybe…” she walks towards him, "we could try something else for once?” she tries to not be too strict about her son’s eating habits, especially when she knows Fruit Loops is usually the only straight up sugary stuff he eats daily, but also, she has to admit, secretly wishes she could perhaps trick him and Jake to eat something just a bit less… candy-like.

“What?” he stops and looks at her with a frown. “Something else?”

“Yeah,” she catches up with him and looks as the many options before him. “Like… bran-flakes, maybe? They look yummy, right?”

Either Amy is a really bad actor or her son simply too smart, but nonetheless Mac looks more than quite unimpressed when his mom pulls a boring, brown box out from the shelf to showcase it

“I donno want brain-flakes ew, mommy” and the face Mac makes, a face of utter disgust, would be way more solid proof than a paternity test if one was needed - he is definitely, without a single doubt, Jake Peralta’s son - and she definitely can’t help but chuckle at the similarity he constantly carries with him.

The tiny human’s hand starts dancing across all the different packages, probably gathering himself a good dose of various germs that in the moment Amy can’t make herself care about, and every now and then he’ll stop to study a cereal that’s caught his child-brain and eyes’ attention.

“There are so many to choose from, huh babe?” she encourages but keeping her distance as to be supportive of him doing something on his own, independent like a big boy.

First he stops in front of the Cheerios, which Amy can totally be content with, but alas he quickly, to Amy’s chagrin, puts them back in their spot. Then come the Frosted Flakes with their blue box and cute tiger cartoon (the perfect child-trap) which, if possible, are even worse than Fruit Loops. Amy unconsciously frowns at the thought of having to rip the box of cereal from her son’s grip when he in a few seconds won’t let go and instead grab the Bran Flakes. But to Amy’s great relief Mac’s finger continue their trip down past the tiger-trap, mindlessly mumbling small nothings to himself that she can’t quite make out. Then, all at once seeming way more determined than with previous ones, Mac throws himself at a bright and colourful box.

“These!” he exclaims jumping up and down on the spot with the held over his head in victory.

As soon as she gets a closer look, having gently grabbed the box from her son, it dawns on Amy that Jake Peralta being the father of her child isn’t exclusively beneficial. Not when their child is asking for Sour Patch Kids morning cereal and Amy knows it’s because he’s inspired by his dad as Jake will gladly share his candy with his son whenever he happens to have some.

“Oh, baby… “ Amy tries to keep up a neutral face as to not reveal how she dreads to get something that’s somehow even worse than the king of artificial ingredients, Fruit Loops, and sultan of sugar, Frosted Flakes, combined. “You sure you don’t just wanna get the Fruit Loops then? I don’t think you’ll like Sour Patch Kids.”

“Yes I do! I eat them with daddy all the time!”

Of course.

Her son is completely oblivious to her dread and shines proudly thinking he’s pleased his mom by finding something new (which it is - Amy can’t deny that) to have for breakfast. And Amy’s mom-heart can’t get herself to contradict her son’s persuasion of the fact that he’s accomplished the mission she set up for him. No way. Not when his face flows with pride like it does now.

“Okay,” she surrenders with a forsaken smile. “We can get these, but they’re very sugary so only for weekend mornings, got it?” she puts her hand forward as to shake on the deal.

Either it’s the handshake that takes his mind off of it, or her 3-year old actually somehow understands nutritional values, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate to meet her hand with his own, agreeing with her proposed deal. Immediately after she hands him back the box, it’s a mystery to Amy how such a simple thing can make her son that happy, he beams with excitement and basically hugs the box of sugary sweetness. Amy has to chuckle and then he’s off again to do his own little thing, prancing down the remains of the aisle chanting a made-up song, Amy guesses, to himself.

“Cereal. Breakfast. I love cereal. I love breakfast. I love mommy and mommy loves cereal and me and daddy and breakfast. Cereal, cereal, cereal!”

And to her, and Jake’s, sheer luck Amy manages to snap a short video of it for them to enjoy and fuss about for years.

That same night, Friday, they’re all lounging on the couch watching a movie. Tangled as per Mr. Mac’s demand because “Flynn Eugene whatever is really cool and the pretty princess hits him with a pan and the horse and green little thing are super fun too.”

So, needing no further arguments, they watch Tangled and snack on Sour Patch Kids (the candy, not the cereal) that Jake had bought on his way home from work after Amy had texted him about their adventure at the grocery store, attaching the video of their son singing.

Although, after a long day, by the time the lanterns in the movie light up the dark sky while Rapunzel and Flynn sing to each other, Mac is half, almost completely, passed out with his head in Amy’s lap and legs stretched across his father’s. Mommy stroking your face and playing with your curls turns out to be very soothing and sleep-inducing. Jake can also, if asked to testify, agree with this fact. Guess there’s something special about Peralta-curls Amy simply can’t resist.

“Ames, I think he’s asleep,” Jake whispers discreetly throwing his wife a knowing smile when he notices his son’s current state.

She, having not noticed being too busy watching the movie, looks down and sees, indeed, a sweet angel face with shut eyes and pouty lips that indicated that her son is, if not entirely, on the verge of being asleep. Nevertheless, every 30 seconds or so, his eyes will flutter just a bit, like tiny butterfly wings, as if he’s fighting to see the end of the movie - a movie he’s seen 134 times already.

“You want to go to bed, Mac?” she coos leaning down to peck his temple.

“Nu-uh,” he fights off the urge to say yes, Amy can tell.

“You sure?” she tries again.

He nods heavily in her lap, shuffling a bit in an attempt to get comfortable enough to, Amy knows, fall asleep. But he can’t seem to find the right spot, is surely overtired too and both parents can tell it’s a matter of minutes before he’ll give in to either fall asleep on the couch or demand to be put to bed.

And they’re right.

“Mommy,” he mumbles in the most exhausted and soft soft voice that makes Amy’s heart flutter time after time. “I love you but I wanna sleep - in my bed.”

Those three words, especially coming from Mac, will never seize to send a tiny jolt of joy and dopamine through her entire being. She chuckles softly stroking his back.

“That’s okay, baby. We’ve had a long day. Let's get you to bed.”

“Okay, I love you mommy. And daddy. Love,” he passes out before he can finish the sentence and won’t even notice his father carrying him to bed while Amy gazes after them with loving eyes.

Even three years in, four if you count the pregnancy, she can’t believe this sweet, beautiful and smart boy is hers. A bundle of love that is half her and half the man she loves the most (next to Mac himself, of course). Parenthood is an irregular graph with ups and down, but they have so much love that it’ll make up for the bad days and hard cases. In the very end the most important thing is that he, Mac Santiago-Peralta with his brown curly hair, tiny nose and deep brown eyes, is here and he’s theirs. Not only is he theirs but he is his own and he loves them, his parents, so much, every day. Plus, he’s so good at actually expressing it that Amy can’t help but feel like they’re definitely doing something right. She’s proud to know her son is surrounded by so much love that it has planted a seed that everyday blooms within him, making him spill over and spread his care and love to other people.

So, yes, Amy Santiago is 100% sure: she is definitely the luckiest, most loved mom in the entire universe. Mac Santiago-Peralta will always make sure of this.  

[kkysolo]

Rhythm and Melody / The Cultist

Summary: Teaching Cultist!Kylo how to dance (and how to sing) for the first time. Oh, God, I hope you guys like this. It’s driven me half demented thinking I haven’t gotten this quite right. 

Inspired by and for the lovely @meg-solo​ 

Pairing: Kylo Ren|Ben Solo/Reader (female) Setting: Modern AU, cult setting. Warnings: None for this piece, but please see AO3 for the full list of tags and warnings.  Word count: 2K A/N: Here we are, once again, with a music inspired piece (and another Turnover song, at that). The song in this fic is Bonnie (Rhythm and Melody) by Turnover. which is just really pretty and ambient and I just think it fits. (Also, now that I think about it, the whole song just sounds like their experience falling in love? I’m soft). As well as that, I always dance to this song, and I hum it all the time, too. The humming idea for this fic comes from the lovely sparrowtail over on AO3. As always, if any of you have any ideas for more of these little tidbits that we can add to this story (where there might not be room for them in the main fic) feel free to let me know.

Available under the cut, and here on AO3

 “And even though you aren't always sweet,”

You’re singing again. 

Kylo lifts his head from where it rests in his hand, turning slowly in his chair to look in the direction of the bathroom. Your voice, along with clouds of steam, billows from underneath the door. 

“You are all that's sweet at all to me,”

Sweet, he thinks. He prods you, poking at your bond until you begrudgingly respond to him. He senses your irritation - you’re annoyed that he’s interrupted you, though the feeling fades as quickly as it comes. 

In this context it means nice, delightful. He hears the water trickle to a stop.  It can also reference how something tastes. Like, if it’s sugary. 

Kylo repeats the word ‘sugar’ questionably under his breath, though he knows you can’t hear him. He’s unsure if he’s ever tasted sugar. 

“I’ll show you one day,” you call out to him. “But I’ll warn you, it’s addictive.” 

“Does that mean it’s good?” 

“Very,” the door cracks open and he can see you now, covered only by your towel. He hates it when you do this, though he’s never been able to discern why. He thinks, perhaps, it’s because the sight makes him feel things deep in the core of his body that he quite doesn’t understand - things he wishes he  could . “Can you pass me my nightdress?” 

He swiftly gets to his feet, picking it up carefully from where it’s draped across the bed. The black silk glides through his fingertips, and he thinks about how soft it must feel against your skin. He steps toward you, placing the garment tentatively in your hands. 

“Thank you,” you move to close the door, but he quickly pulls it back open. The force of it, the way his palm almost slams against the wood, startles you. 

“Kylo,” you warn. “I’ll be out in a minute.”  “Can’t you leave it open?”

You cock an eyebrow at him. 

“Why do you want it open?” “So that I can hear you properly.”  “Hear me do what?”  “Sing,” he murmurs, retreating back to his seat. “And I don’t like it being closed, anyway.”  “Well it has to be closed sometimes, Kylo,” you say incredulously. “I need  some privacy.” 

Kylo ignores your statement, picking his pen up as he sits back at his desk. He doesn’t care for privacy. He cares only for being close to you. 

“Can you keep singing?”  “If I have to keep it open, then you can’t turn around.” 

Kylo chooses not to respond. He doesn’t quite understand the meaning of privacy, or why it’s a necessity. He’s never really had it - any moment of quiet he’s  ever  had has been quickly and brutally interrupted. Every intimate function of his body has been watched, every wash, every toilet break has been assisted and observed. At least, it was. Now that privacy is something he’s forced to face, he’s unsure he understands its purpose. Even showering by himself is still a task - he’s not quite sure how to do much of anything on his own. And though you know this, and though you know he won’t turn around now that you’ve asked him not to, you still duck behind the door, completely out of sight. 

You slip your nightdress on in seconds, tossing your towel to the corner of the bathroom floor. You don’t have the luxury of a laundry basket. But whenever you leave the room for dinner or for training, the dirty towels have disappeared, fresh ones in their place. You often wonder who takes them, who tends to your quarters while you’re out. You wonder if they have more freedom than you do. Than Kylo does. 

You step back into the room, barefoot and clean, your skin still slightly damp. You hum softly as you make your way to the bed. The notes hang in the air, magical and empyreal and oh, so pretty. Kylo sits up straight in his seat. 

“Now what are you doing?” Kylo turns to you, watching as you sit.  “What do you mean?” “You’re singing but...not.” 

You laugh softly. His naivety - his innocence, really - though tragic, is still beautiful to you. His willingness to learn, even moreso. 

“It’s called humming. It’s like, singing with your mouth closed.” 

He turns back to his paper, unconvinced. 

“That seems strange.” “Does it sound strange?” “No, it sounds nice,” he mumbles, dipping into his ink. “But why wouldn’t you just sing when it sounds so pretty?”  “I don’t always want to sing.” “Why not?” His brows furrow.  “Would you always want to sing?”  “I wouldn’t know, I don’t know how.” 

You pause for a moment, observing the curve of his back, the curls of hair that crest around his crown. You contemplate if anyone has ever told him how stunning, how wonderfully and painfully handsome he truly is. 

“Would you like me to teach you?”

He turns back to you, silently observing you with devoted attention. There’s a lot of things Kylo wishes he could do. He wonders, as he looks at you, if he’ll ever be able to teach you as much as you’ve taught him.

He nods softly, turning fully in his seat. 

“It’s easy,” you walk to him with a spring in your step, a bounce almost. His eyes remain fixated on you as you come to stand before him. “It’s like talking, but you just drag it out. Try going like ‘ahhhh’.” 

Your speech is fast, emotive, and Kylo realises as he feels it sizzle across your bond - you’re excited. You’re absolutely animated, like he’s never quite seen before. He almost smiles - almost. But once again, he settles into a half smile, instead. 

“Ahhh,” he mimics. “Like that?”

“Yes, like that!” You grin. “Now, try changing the pitch,” you make the same sound again, only lower, deeper. Kylo mimics you to perfection, the baritone nature of his voice aiding his efforts. You marvel at how quickly he learns. He’s capable of anything, you believe that wholly. He could have the world, if he so wished. 

“Okay, now try higher,” you vocalise again, and Kylo’s brow furrows, clearing his throat.  “I’m not sure I can do that, not like you can,” he says, rubbing at his throat.  “You don’t have to go as high as I do,” you smile, and your reassurance reignites his faltering confidence. “Just go as high as you’re comfortable with.” 

He coughs, and tries his best. The pitch is still low, and he chastises himself internally. 

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t-” He shakes his head in frustration, and you can feel the anger rise in his chest. “Hey, hey,” you lean closer to him, and your proximity calms him - the tenderness, the warmth it stirs in him triggers a wave of peace that dutifully extinguishes his self doubt. “That’s okay, you’re doing just fine. Do you think you can sing the words, now?”

He nods slowly.

“If you teach me.” 

“I got a little bit tired of spending all morning, really wishing that I was still sleeping,” you sing along to the melody, swaying slightly as you do.  “I got a little bit tired of spending all morning, really wishing that I was still sleeping,” He repeats the words exactly as you sang them, perfectly following your tune and pitch.  “You’re good at this!”  “You're- ” he stops. “I wasn’t supposed to repeat that.” 

The laugh you let out sets his pulse racing. He’ll search for that sound until his dying day, he’s sure of it. 

“It’s okay, let’s keep going,” you sway again, and he watches curiously as you move. “But you and me being each other feels like it’s all I’ve ever needed.” 

He copies your tune, moving in his chair as he follows your movements. You’re twirling around the room, spinning and swaying as you continue singing.

“Now all I can hear is rhythm and melody in my ears, it sounds like it feels all the time,”

He repeats your words, though his tone falters as he becomes distracted by how you whirl around. He tapers off, tilting his head to the side in question. 

“What is this?”  “What’s what?” You don’t look at him, too lost in the feeling of how the air feels as it glides between your fingertips.  “What are you doing?” “Dancing.”  “What’s the purpose of this?” he stands, observing you cautiously. “Is it ceremonial?”  “No,” you laugh, coming to a halt before him. You stumble, dizzy from your performance. He steady’s you, gripping your elbow as you tumble forward. “Well, it can be, but that’s not what I’m doing. It’s just fun.” “It doesn’t look fun, you could have fallen.”  “But I didn’t,” you smile. “Would you like to dance with me?” 

Kylo’s brow furrows, and he almost hates that you ask. He’s so completely and utterly devoted to you, to your voice, to your eyes, to your soul that’s so perfectly blended with his. He’d do anything you ask of him without a second thought. 

He nods slowly, cautiously approaching you. You hold out your hands to him, a voiceless question reverberating through the air between you.

Can I touch you?

Kylo reaches for your outstretched hands, intertwining your fingers with his in a silent answer. His body steps close to yours, and he looks at you quizzically. 

“Now what?”  “Now, we move,” you step back, taking Kylo with you. He follows stiffly as you move across the room, your hands still intertwined with his. He looks down at your feet, how quickly and daintily they move across the floor. His movements feel wrong.  “Loosen your shoulders a little,” you say, “Don’t be afraid to let yourself be more fluid.” 

He rolls his shoulders before relaxing, and even his hands become pliant in your grip. You start singing again, stirring your momentum and giving you both a tune to move to. 

“I’m balancing perfectly in between awake and a dream.”

Kylo hums quietly along with you, not quite realising that he’s doing it. He’s too absorbed, too focused on how your body moves, on how it brushes lightly against his as you guide him across the room. You let go of one of his hands, lifting the other up and twirling yourself beneath it. Kylo half-smiles again, not understanding exactly what it is that you’re doing, but revelling in the sight nonetheless. 

“You’re getting good at this,” you muse. “I think you’re a natural.” 

He moves his hand to your waist. 

“Is this okay?”

“Of course,” you smile.

He moves you closer to him, taking the lead and guiding you across the wooden floorboards. They creak unhappily beneath your feet, adding to the symphony you’ve created as you both harmonize your melodies. 

“I can't explain this new sensation,” you twirl around again, and this time, Kylo guides you. “It kind of feels like falling but what's underneath me's soft as velvet.” 

Kylo sighs happily, contentment washing over him. He watches you smile as you sing, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever lay eyes on anything so sublime. 

“Do you like this?” You ask him as you follow his lead, and he nods emphatically. 

“Can we keep going?” His tone is hopeful, and you desperately hope that he knows that you’d never deny him this, or much of anything else. Least of all something so pure, so simple. 

“Of course,” you allow him to twirl you again. He likes this, watching you spin. “But on one condition," You wink at him as you speak, and though he doesn't understand the definition of such a gesture, his heart races in his chest. "What would that be?" "You let me change with the door closed," he makes a disgruntled face at your demand, and you smile at him knowingly. "I know you want to feel close to me, but I really do need a little privacy."

Kylo relaxes his features, nodding in concession. He tries in vain to repeat your gesture, attempting a wink but blinking harshly instead. You laugh softly and his mouth turns upward only slightly. 

"I can do that," he says quietly.  "Then we can do this whenever you want." 

And when he falls asleep tonight, his limbs inches from yours, he’ll think of this. Of how your skin glows in the candlelight, of how your skin feels against his, of how you glide so effortlessly, barefoot and beautiful. And he hopes you’ll think of him, too.

[astronomicalterror]

NOTE - This bio is a HUGE Work in Progress. Certain things may change, and other bits may seem rushed.

)▬▬ BASIC INFO ▬▬(

• Name: Stevie Annah Nicks

• Nicknames and Aliases: Anna, Savannah

• Species: Human

• Powers: Stand- Isis [Egyptian Goddess Stand]

• Alignment: True Neutral

• Date of Birth: December 13th

• Gender: Female

• Hometown: Tokyo, Japan

• Relatives: Unnamed Father [DECEASED; Died from Brain Cancer], Unnamed Mother [DECEASED; Murdered]

• Occupation: Shipping Company Owner [Former], Gambler [Currently]

• Equipment: Sewing Scissors and Thread

• Status: Alive

▪︎ Part 3 - Age : 33

▪︎ Part 4 - Age : 45

▪︎ Part 5 - Age : 47

▪︎ Part 6 - 56

• Stand Name - Isis

• Stand Power - Red String Manipulation: User can create, shape and manipulate the red string of fate, an invisible conceptual string that bonds souls together. They can create an limitless amount of red strings and extend them at any distance and the strings never tear apart, as it is practically indestructible. They can make the red strings become visible and touchable for others, and also choose to apply changes to anyone’s soul, and as well control the relationship of those bonded by the strings, or even completely remove their bond.

▪︎ Stand Stats

Power - D [Not “Attack” wise; This is catered to the effectiveness of Isis]

Speed - B

Range - A

Durability - D

Precision - A

Potential - B

▬▬ PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION ▬▬

• Height: 5’9’’

• Weight: 162 LBs

• Body Shape: Hourglass

• Natural Hair Color: Platinum Blonde

• Dyed Hair Color: N/A

• Eye Color: Blue

• Ethnicity: Japanese American

• Skin Tone: Porcelain

*TOLD IN FIRST PERSON POV ONLY FIR THIS PART.*

▬▬ Back Story ▬▬

My father was a respectable man. A archeologist. And I, a archeologists’ eldest daughter and heir of his company, his golden girl. He not only owned a shipping company, he was a close relative of a museum curator, and also cared for the museum in Alaska– where we were often stayed at in the summer. As his heir, I was expected to learn much and so, I had my own private tutor once I was able to be home schooled.

When summer came to pass, we went back Tokyo. In Tokyo, I saw paintings in an art exhibit. I fell in love with their design, and took up the hobby of painting. I practiced and practiced, giving father and mother small gifts every once in awhile. He made it clear that I should not interact with the outside world all too often, as he believed it'd distract me from my studies after mother had passed away from a hate related crime; I was mixed between Japanese and American, bad blood from the second world war still remained. I, unknowst to him, was using this as a means of coping with grief, with trauma that had sparked my abilities; I always wished to alter the past, to manipulate Fate itself [though I hadn't known it was fate at that time] to save my mothers life. I was about 6 at the time I first noticed my abilities. All the same, my father would oftentimes sneak out my supplies, leaving my projects vastly unfinished.

He did however, notice I had begun training my eye for the paint right after passing through the store on multiple occasions, and dreading with his daughter would whip up next. I could see things you wouldn’t believe; Red strings connected to every little thing with little dates etched into them, peoples lives… For as long as I could remember, I could see everything of this nature just dangling freely for me and only me to observe. I treasured these moments the most, this innocence in my abilities. Most of my paintings reflected things I saw in people's lives.

I can remember everything so vividly down to an exact date and exact time in which my marriage that lasted a month or so, was quick to fall apart. I had just gotten into the gambling scene heavily at 24 years old and, undoubtedly so, I had made friends as well as enemies. It was no secret I was a rich mans daughter and heir that simply had too much time and cash on their hands to blow it all so I became a center of attention. My true gambling addiction began to grow from the time I was 16, as my tutor had accumulated a massive debt, and was the man responsible for sparking my true talent. Gambling. What few had tried approaching me in hopes of romantic interest, did so in groups, only interested in my cash or my body; Everyone except for him, or so I thought.

He was charming, handsome even, and he was like a god in my eyes for he made me feel special and loved… So when he proposed, I thought nothing of it and accepted him into my heart immediately. He was eager and I was nervous.

The chapel was empty on my side, save for my old tutor and an old colleague of my fathers, so his friends had spread out evenly.

My body, it was on the floor and it was oh so limp. I could feel it, suffocation as blood clogged every airway possible. So limp, yet I mustered the strength to say one name in hope someone-anyone-would overhear, no matter how faint or weak I sounded.

"Ricardo...?"

“No one is going to find your body, my sweet.”

With that, that Italian bastard left me to die, gagging on my blood. And the fool had the audacity to step over me as I was in the process of dying in my own pool of blood on the floor in the bedroom, blood slipping between my fingers from the wounds peppering my stomach and face from the bat he used to beat me with. Before leaving through the door, he stoked a flame to a scented candle given to us on our wedding… and smiled down at me “Thanks for the inhe…..”

I can remember blacking out and, somehow, by some miracle, I was alive; My ribs were cracked, left hand fractured and I had various damage to my face from the bat which he had chosen to bludgeon me with but… I was alive. It stirred something in me, like I had cheated the inevitable when in actuality a friend of his hand stopped by to drop off a box of camping supplies…

He planned to break my bones and stuff me in a trunk to better hide me in the nearby woods easier.

)▬▬ Stardust Crusaders Biography ▬▬(

A single mother turned thrill seeker, the longtime gamblers travels had landed her in Egypt; She felt seemingly drawn in, called to even, in a casino up in Cario. As a matter of fact, her exploits in gambling her brought her to make an acquaintance of the Elder D'Arby brother. The pair were rivals in the beginning; Stevie aiming to collect his thread of life, and he aiming to collect her soul, the pair would often play various card games together. It was always rather intense, but there was no success in their battles for either party, oftentimes ending in a draw.

These games together brought the pair closer, additionally, causing the duo to pair up to play games against people of interest. This also sparked the interest of Lord DIO, particularly her abilities, involving the alteration of fate on a human soul with the exception of the past; Her abilities complimented the Elder D'Arbys abilities rather well. He offered her money for her efforts, but she merely stated that she was interested in the thrills that accompanied her gambling habits, in exchange that she gets her children tended to with no involvement in this lifestyle she leads. She would oftentimes accompany the Elder D'Arby for his gambling exploits, even if she herself do not play games with him at all times, she ended up using her abilities to compliment his abilities with the soul.

She ended up, eventually, having her fair run in with the Crusaders shortly after the defeat of the Elder D'Arby. With her employ to DIO and the defeat of her friend, she challenged them to her own game of fate, before she was defeated. In a last ditch effort, she attempted to utilize her threads to grab herself a hostage for she knew her failure would ultimately lead to her potential demise. However, Star Platinum was fast, making short work of the woman and shattering all ten of her fingers, rendering her stand completely useless as she has no mobility in her hands. Her fate is ambiguous after this last encounter, but she is to be credited for helping place Anubis on that familiar path in which Chaka acquired the famous sword. Her role is minor in the Glory Gods, and ultimately, apart from complimenting the Elder D'Arbys abilities or her alteration of fate bound to a soul, she has little impact on the grand scheme of things.

She lives her life in shame as much as isolation, having been unable to raise her months old daughter properly, she had to send her children away to a relative in America.

[suttcnfm]

hi  it’s  me  your  least  favorite  (  and  most  favorite  )  person  hailey  back  at  it  again  making  a  bio  that’s  way  too  long  .  this  is  sutton  ,  she’s  my  whimiscal  fairy  child  who’s  endured  a  lot  please  be  gentle  with  her  !!  or  ruin  her  life  !!  whatever  you  want  !!

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊.  𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

( elizabeth lail, cisfemale, she/her, pisces, 25 ) i spotted sutton harvey at the beach today. don’t you know them? they live down by the boardwalk and usually hang out with the artists & boho clique. from what i’ve heard, they can be finicky, but they’re also effervescent. i always think of them when i hear fuck it i love you - lana del rey and tend to associate them with mom jeans stained with acrylic paint, the taste of strawberry lemonade, & white cotton sundresses

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒊. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 

sutton elise harvey

𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞(𝐬) 

her mom used to call her ellie

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 

february 22nd

𝐚𝐠𝐞 

twenty - five ( 25 )

𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 

five foot eight inches ( 5′ 8″ )

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

female 

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 

she / her

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧(𝐬)

painter and art contributor for sunhollow museum

𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞(𝐬) 

english & french

𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 

bisexual & biromantic

𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦

elizabeth lail

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒊𝒊. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜

pisces sun, gemini rising, & aries moon

𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

chaotic neutral 

𝐦𝐛𝐭𝐢 

enfp-a

𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞

type 4w3 ( the individualist )

𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 

sanguine-melancholic

𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 

hufflepuff

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 

how she loves others - acts of service, gift giving, & quality time

how she needs to be loved - quality time & physical touch

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨

cassie ainsworth ( skins )  ,  luna lovegood ( harry potter )  , bubbles ( powerpuff girls ) , claire colburn ( elizabethtown ) , bmo ( adventure time )

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒗. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲

triggers  (  these  are  all  the  triggers  as  they  appear  throughout  ,  they  will  be  tagged  accordingly  )  :  death  mention  ,  cancer  and  death  tw  ,  drug  mention  ,  sexual  assault  tw  ,  addiction  tw  ,  drugs  tw  ,  and  drug  mention

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞. 

the  first  time  warm  brown  eyes  peered  into  her  mothers  a  connection  was  formed  ,  the  eldest  daughter  to  what  would  soon  be  an  expansive  harvey  household  .  this  very  moment  would  be  the  catalyst  of  a  bond  that  formed  sutton  into  who  she  is  ,  though  i  am  getting  ahead  of  myself  .

sutton  harvey  grew  up  in  julian  california  a  town  that  carried  the  suffocating  small  town  feel  of  suburbia  despite  being  mere  minutes  outside of  the  hustle  and  bustle  of  los  angeles  .  though  it  should  be  mentioned  that  she  preferred  the  quiet  stillness  of  a  town  where  she  could  known  by  someone  for  something  .

her  parents  were  an  interesting  pair  .  her  mother  a  free  spirited  enigmatic  young  woman  who  believed  in  healing  through  love  and  nature  ,  and  her  father  a  struggling  mean  -  spirited  business  tycoon  always  looking  for  the  next  thing  he  could  exploit  .  but  despite  their  clashing  personalities  and  seemingly  opposite  morals  ,  they  were  in  love  ,  had  been  since  high  school  ,  and  they  balanced  each  other  out  almost  perfectly  . 

but  as  it  turns  out  almost  perfect  wasn’t  good  enough  for her  father  ,  who  split  when  she  was  eight  ,  leaving  behind  sutton’s  heart  broken  mother  ,  and  five  kids  to  raise  alone  .

the  family  was  hardly  making  a  enough  to  survive  before  the  sudden  departure  of  her  father  ,  and  so  this  left  an  eight  -  year  -  old  sutton  to  step  up  to  the  plate  and  help  her  mother  ,  raising  her  siblings  while  her  mom  tried  to  find  steady  work  .   

as  the  years  went  on  and  her  siblings  had  more  and  more  needs  things  only  got  more  difficult  .  trying  to  provide  for  five  children  on  one  paycheck  isn’t  exactly  the  easiest  thing  that  one  can  do  after  all  .

sutton  prayed  that  she’d  be  graced  with  the  same  mean  streak  that  her  father  had  ,  but  alas  she  was  gentle  at  heart  ,  similar  to  her  mother  an  enigmatic  personality  that  was  hard  to  pin  down  .

while  it  worked  in  her  benefit  with  most  people  ,  it  is  difficult  to  raise  children  without  practical  dreams  ,  something  sutton  had  never  been  a  fan  of  ,  there  were  times  when  this  became  a  point  of  contention  between  her  and  younger  sister  reece  ,  but  for  the  most  part  her  siblings  recognized  how  difficult  a  thing  their  sister  was  doing  .  

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞. 

DEATH MENTION  her  teenage  years  came  much  faster  than  she  anticipated  ,  and  while  life  had  been  mostly  smooth  sailing  in  her  eyes  ,  there  were  things  that  sutton  simply  wasn’t  prepared  for  .  the  loss  of  her  mother  was  one  of  them  .

CANCER & DEATH TW  unbeknownst  to  any  of  her  children ,  behind  the  scenes  sutton’s  mother  had  been  suffering  from  breast  cancer  ,  and  she’d  opted  out  of  getting  treatment  ,  something  they  couldn’t  afford  with  the  minimal  money  she  was  bringing  in  ,  and  instead  she  suffered  in  silence  so  they  would  have  a  chance  at  survival  .

everyone  ,  including  sutton  herself  ,  expected  her  to  break  .  the  bond  that  the  two  had  built  was  immeasurable  and  sutton  had  never  shown  the  ablitiy  to  be  grounded  before  .  her  and  her  mother  were  both  two  enigmas  perfectly  coexisting  ,  and  suddenly  it  was  up  to  sutton  to  figure  out  what  to  do  .

DRUGS & ALCOHOL TW   enter  sutton’s  aunt  ,  claire  ,  who  begrudgingly  left  her  life  in  las  vegas  to  come  and  watch  over  her  nieces  and  nephews  at  the  price  that  she  would  blow  most  of  the  money  the  received  on  drugs  and  alcohol  .

DRUG MENTION  there  wasn’t  a  day  sutton  could  remember  that  she  didn’t  come  home  to  her  aunt  passed  out  with  vodka  bottles  littering  the  floor  or  strung  out  on  coke  with  a  man  sutton  had  never  seen  before  on  their  couch  .

sutton’s  resilience  was  the  only  thing  that  kept  her  going  ,  she  shielded  her  siblings  from  as  much  as  she  could  ,  knowing  that  this  was  the  last  thing  they  needed  to  be  their  reality  ,  and  for  the  most  part  ,  it  worked  .

SEXUAL ASSAULT TW  then  came  another  decimating  blow  ,  on  a  day  like  any  other  sutton’s  aunt  for  once  sober  enough  to  drive  ,  pulled  sutton  out  of  school  early  and  took  her  home  .  and  what  seemed  like  an  out  of  character  behavior  for  aunt  to  exhibit  ,  became  crystal  clear  when  sutton  saw  the  man  waiting  for  her  on  the  couch  .

SEXUAUL ASSAULT TW  this  became  another  habit  of  her  aunt’s  ,  pulling  sutton  out  of  school  in  order  to  use  her  body  to  score  drugs  .  then  bringing  her  back  and  forcing  her  to  act  normal  ,  as  if  things  were  still  totally  fine  .

sutton  put  on  a  brave  face  for  her  siblings  ,  but  was  slowly  cracking  under  the  pressure  of  everything  that  seemed  to  be  perfectly  chipping  away  at  the  person  she  once  was  .

this  is  until  she  met  a  boy  ,  a  musician  with  a  similar  story  to  hers  ,  who  she  completely  connected  with  in  a  way  that  was  rivaled  only  by  her  mother  .  him  and  her  seemed  to  have  the  same  bleeding  wounds  that  could  only  be  healed  by  each  other  .

cue  nights  at  the  beach  ,  swapping  stories  ,  and  endless  road  trips  confined  to  their  little  bubble  of  bliss  .  he  fueled  the  artist  within  her  .  painting  upon  painting  of  the  way  he  made  her  feel  ,  how  his  music  moved  her  ,�� for  once  the  world  didn’t  seem  so  cruel  .

but  of  course  ,  the  world  was  determined  to  prove  sutton  harvey  wrong  .  with  a  sudden  disappearance  of  both  her  first  love  and  her  aunt  ,  the  latter  of  which  ran  back  to  vegas  with  her  new  beau  ,  she’d  felt  abandoned  just  as  before  .  and  here  is  where  sutton  harvey  finally  cracked  .

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡. 

she  and  her  siblings  moved  in  with  her  father  ,  who  living  a  more  lavish  and  childless  lifestyle  with  his  new  fiancée  in  san  diego  .  the  harvey  siblings  were  yet  again  tasked  with  raising  themselves  .

ADDICTION TW  with  her  siblings  growing  older  ,  and  sutton  having  mounds  of  unprocessed  trauma  ,  and  she  began  to  mix  with  the  wrong  crowd  .  finding  the  numbing  of  substances  felt  better  than  the  hollow  numbness  of  being  abandoned  by  every  person  she’d  ever  loved  .

art  and  school  alike  became  distant  priorities  as  she  spent  her  last  nights  as  a  senior  doing  ecstasy  on  the  beach  and  hooking  up  with  randoms  just  to  feel  alive  again  .

DRUGS TW after  just  barely  graduating  ,  sutton  spent  her  new  found  freedom  getting  high  ,  having  sex  ,  and  wasting  her  life  away  .  struggling  to  find  any  sense  of  self  in  everything  she’d  done  ,  her  entire  life  seemed  to  have  been  lived  for  other  people  .

this  only  made  her  further  spiral  ,  trying  to  convince  herself  that  even  though  this  was  having  a  negative  toll  on  her  ,  at  least  for  once  she  was  living  for  herself  .

DRUG MENTION  this  was  until  while  she  was  coming  down  from  an  immense  high  she  stumbled  upon  a  record  store  where  through  the  window  she  caught  a  small  glimpse  of  her  past  ,  of  the  person  she  used  to  be  ,  the  face  of  the  boy  who’d  up  and  left  all  those  years  ago  .

her  entire  world  seemed  to  collide  with  her  heart  at  that  very  moment  .  for  a  fleeting  moment  she  felt  like  the  girl  she  was  in  high  school  ,  full  of  life  ,  love  ,  and  most  importantly  art  .

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

after  this  near  encounter  with  her  past  self  ,  she  worked  heavily  on  getting  sober  .  and  has  now  been  clean  for  five  years  !!

after  her  first  year  of  getting  sober  she  worked  multiple  jobs  to  buy  a  small  studio  apartment  where  she  could  begin  painting  again  ,  and  even  made  strides  to  reconnect  with  her  father  and  her  siblings  whom  she’d  since  distanced  herself  from  .

soon  enough  she  became  an  art  contributor  for  the  local  museum  and  earns  her  income  between  hosting  small  art  galleries  on  the  pier  and  the  aforementioned  art  contributions  .

after  three  years  of  sobriety  ,  more  widely  recognized  art  ,  and  a  proper  relationship  with  her  father  ,  he  gifted  her  a  beach  house  where  she  spends  a  majority  of  her  time  .

what  started  as  one  cat  to  keep  her  company  turned  into  nine  because  if  there’s  one  thing  that  sutton  lacks  it’s  control  .

she  has  fully  embraced  the  person  she  was  and  the  person  she  aims  to  be  .  her  personality  is  a  direct  influence  on  who  her  mother  was  because  if  there’s  anyone  that  sutton  looks  up  into  in  life  ,  it’s  her  .  the  best  way  i  could  describe  her  personality  is  the  embodiment  of  the  quote  ,  “ i  could  never  be  the  main  character  . i  exist  solely  in  the  fevered  imaginations  of  sensitive  writer-directors  to  teach  broodingly  soulful  young  men  to  embrace  life  and  its  infinite  mysteries  .  ”

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒗. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫 

lavender

𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 

light fog because she likes the scenery it creates

𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐲 

dawn,  there’s something pure to her about the stillness of the earth at that time of  day and !! it’s when she gets a lot of her painting done !!

𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥(𝐬) 

butterflies and elephants

𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐣𝐢𝐬

🍒🥺✨😡🌈🦋🤡🥰

𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 

𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

penelope harvey ; deceased

𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

maxwell harvey  ;  alive

𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬)

reece harvey ; sister 

elizabeth harvey ; sister 

wyatt harvey ; brother 

casey harvey ; brother 

𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞 

𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

high  school  diploma

𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐬 

in  order  of  breed  :  poppy  (  scottish  fold  )  ,  milo  (  scottish  fold  )  ,  taz  (  scottish  fold  )  ,  jasper  (  british  shorthair  )  ,  archie  (  british  shorthair  )  ,  sadie  (  british  shorthair  )  ,  ginger  (  maine  coon  )  ,  hunter  (  maine  coon  )  ,  and  felix  (  maine  coon  )

𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬

painting  ,  sketching  ,  learning  languages  ,  reading  ,  photography  ,  writing  ,  sewing  ,  thrifting  ,  playing  instruments  (  mostly  the  guitar  )  ,  and  baking 

𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

a  beach  house  gifted  from  her  father  but  splits  her  time  between  a  studio  apartment  cramped  with  art  and  a  beach  house  filled  with  cats 

𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

has  a  tendency  to  not  sleep  enough  ,  has  occasional  nightmares  ,  and  is  prone  to  frequent  tossing  and  turning  .  but  when  she  does  fall  asleep  ,  it’s  almost  a  guarantee  you  won’t  be  able  to  wake  her  up  .  she’s  an  extremely  heavy  sleeper  . 

𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

honestly  it’s  a  toss  -  up  she  either  eats  junk  food  for  a  straight  week  and  has  never  seen  a  vegetable  in  her  life  ,  or  she  is  on  a  health  binge  and all  you’re  going  to  find  in  her  house  is  snap  peas  and  baby  carrots  .

𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

sunrises  ,  house  plants  ,  soft  hands  ,  fuzzy  socks  ,  the  color  yellow  , vanilla  scented  candles  ,  soft  lips  ,  rosy  cheeks  ,  strawberries  ,  freshly manicured  nails  ,  over  sweetened  coffee  ,  kiss  marks  on  napkins  ,  dewy  skin  ,  french  words ,  paint  stained  clothing  ,  midnight  conversations  ,  a  sweet tooth  ,  gold  jewelry  , warm  hugs  ,  gentle  voice  , and  dancing  in  the  rain  .

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒗𝒊.  𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

uhhhh  so  i  have  wasted  all  my  brain  power  on  this  so  some  suggestions  are  exes  ,  fwbs  ,  unrequited  crushes  ,  skinny  love  ,  slow  burn  ,  a  girl  squad  ,  ride  or  dies  ,  work  friends  or  maybe someone  who  admires  her work  ,  best  friends  ,  fake  relationship  ,  enemies  ,  ex  -  friends  ,  enemies  turned  friends  ,  friends  turned  enemies  ,  good  influence  ,  bad  influence  , old  party  friends  ,  one  night  stand(s)  , ,  neighbors  ,  secret  friends  ,  and  those  are  all  the  suggestions  i  can  come  up  with  at  the  moment  !  feel  free  to  message  me  with  plot  ideas  i  promise  i  will  scream  and  cry  over  .

[thebeauregardbros]

LFRP: Alus Beauregard | Crystal Server

THE BASICS ––– –– –

Occupation: Free Paladin | Field Medic | Café Proprietor

Hobbies: Fashion | Tea Brewing | Pastry Creation | Jewelry Making | Reading Faerie Tales

Race: Miqo’te (Sunseeker Descent)

Sexuality/Romance: Asexual / Panromantic

Relationship Status: Single; never married

Languages: Eorzean | Common. Understands all languages; possesses The Echo.

Alignment: Neutral Good

PERSONAL ––– –– –

Alias: “Alice” (💢)

Residence: The Goblet, Ward 8 : Sultana’s Breath Apartments; Wing 1; Apartment #21

Place of Work: Café Nobilitea: Lavender Beds Ward 20, Lot #8 | Anywhere his Eorzean Grand Company sends him.

Birthplace: ??? (Grew up in Eorzea; particularly in the Thanalan area)

Fears: Slugs | Failing to keep his comrades safe | Failing to save his enemies from themselves

APPEARANCE ––– –– –

Height: “Tall for a miqo’te” (5′8″/173cm)

Build: Barrel-chested, muscular; untoned muscles | Long legs, wide shoulders, slender hips.

Age: Unknown; nameday 20 yrs ago. Approximately 23 summers old.

Gender: Male

Skin tone: Tan; Gold Undertone

Eye color: Heterochromia; Deep Fuschia (Right) | Golden Yellow (Left)

Hair color: Golden Blonde

Body Mods: Pierced ears.

Distinguishing Marks: [SPOILER] Large amounts of large-scale bruises and scars all over his body. They are almost always covered up with his clothing. There are no visible scars on his face, neck, or hands.

Common Accessories: Large amounts of gold jewelry; Excessive rings, bracelets, pocket watch chains, earrings, tiaras, circlets, crowns | Large amounts of fresh and/or fake flowers; On his lapel, coming out of his pockets, warn as a flower crown, tucked in his hair, tucked amongst the buttons on his outfits, etc.

BODY LANGUAGE ––– –– –

Walk: Excellent posture; he carries his upper body with strength, while his legs nearly cross in his stride like an elegant female runway model.

Voice: His voice is often strong, clear, deep, and commanding, with the slightest hinge of huskiness. While off-guard, however, his voice cracks into a higher pitched and goofier voice. His quiet tones are very soft and sweet, like a warm fuzzy blanket wrapping you up in it on a cold winter’s night. (Voiceclaim/reference: Johnny Yong Bosch, particularly his roles as Vash from Trigun and Zero from Marvel vs. Capcom.)

Tics or Mannerisms: His speech consists of a shakepearian inspired word usage with a consistent disuse of contractions, similar to Urianger. | He tends to step-dance or become especially physically clumsy while nervous in social situations. | He will elegantly dodge all physical contact, even minor, unless he is comfortable enough with you to make the first contact.

Smell: Gardenia (Jasmine) / Cuttlebone dust

Posture: Constantly straight and erect; shoulders rolled back, chest out. Never looks truly relaxed, even while sitting. A model of good posture.

Disabilities: [SPOILER] Surface numbness on his scar tissue. Mild numbness in his left-hand fingertips.

RELATIONSHIPS ––– –– –

Romantic Partner: (None.)

Parents: Gwenneg Beauregard (Adoptive) (Deceased)

Siblings: Arc Beauregard (Twin Brother) (Alive)

Children: (None.)

Extended Family: (Unknown.)

Pets: Various unnamed wild songbirds and a fledgling Dodo that followed him home. He keeps feeding them, so they keep coming back, but he does not claim ownership of any of them. | He has also developed a relationship with a wild white horse he’s named Marion who consistently comes to his call. | His military-issued chocobo is named Erminia.

Other: Alus considers everyone he meets to be a friend.

PERSONALITY TRAITS ––– –– –

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Addictive / In Between / Nonaddictive

RP HOOKS ––– –– –

Café Nobilitea: Alus is the proprietor of a western-style teahouse with a distinct theme for elegance, royalty, and other-worldliness - His café is bright, full of flowers, and always playing soft kind-hearted piano music; the type of place a person could become lost in whence they’ve become tired of the grueling and dark outer world; a real heaven and haven. He often spends his free time there and enjoys sitting with his customers to get to know them.

Grand Company Militia: Alus is a very active member with the Eorzean grand companies in fighting against the Garlean empire and any other threats to the peace there might be upon the world. It’s very possible your character might have teamed up with him at some point in active duty.

The Prince on a White Horse: Alus patrols random fields often in order to keep the peace. Your character or someone your character knows might have been saved by the mysterious ‘Prince on a white horse’ while being attacked by bandits or beastmen, who oft leaves without giving his name.

A Fellow Warrior Of Light: Alus has helped out the Scions of the Seventh Dawn on occasion due to his status as a Warrior of Light; one of many.

LOOKING FOR ––– –– –

Long-Term ANYTHING!: Friendships, rivalries, casual familiarities, romances, anything. Alus has lived a long life without any PC RP interactions, and I feel his writing suffers for it. I want someone who will be there for the long run and get to know him. I want stories to develop. I want Alus to grow because of other people.

Open-minded villains!: Alus has the patience of a saint and will befriend the nastiest of criminals no matter what. Alus will stop them from directly committing serious crimes he may be there to witness (murder, kidnapping, robbery, etc.), but will ultimately be very forgiving and calm when dealing with these topics. He wants to genuinely make a connection with people he doesn’t understand and strives his best to soften anybody’s heart, no matter how hard. His ultimate goal is to change their ways for the better through patience and understanding.

Platonic flirts!: Alus has a lot of love to give and happy to give it to nearly everyone and anyone. He throws around the words ‘I love you’ quite easily, and if he is especially crushing on someone, he will hold their hands and hug them openly despite his normal dislike of physical touch. He is most happy when he has a large circle of queerplatonic relationships, but will be absolutely exclusive to their ‘steady’ when he has made that romantic commitment.

Distant family members!: Alus knows very little of the Beauregards; his adoptive father and surnamesake did not speak of them much. Alus is fascinated with Elezen culture and considers himself one of them. He would be incredibly happy to find anyone with the same last name who would welcome him to his adopted ancestor’s information.

ADVENTURE!: Once in awhile, let’s RP somewhere other than a unmoving place. Let’s RP in a dungeon. Let’s RP while doing gold saucer chores. Let’s RP while talking to random minor NPCs. Let’s RP while doing something other than just sitting! It can help a lot with improvisation and keep the creative juices flowing.

ABOUT THE MUN ––– –– –

Who I am: Hey, my name’s Will. I’m a 24 y/o prep cook living in Alaska. My family’s straight-up wiccan, I got 3 black cats, I love super flashy ridiculous fashion, 1980s comedies, and my favorite game’s Bayonetta. I’m a queer Aquarius with mild ADHD. Buddhism and pacifism are super important to me. I love the McElroys?? and uh. I yell in caps a lot. i WILL make you a playlist of music if you ask for recommendations, don’t fuckin tempt me. I’m a casual goofus fuck. here’s my ‘me’ tag on my personal,

Server: Balmung, Crystal Data Center

Time Zone: Alaska (GMT-8)

Availability: 11AM-2AM (subject to change)

Writing Style: Rapidfire! 95WPM. I like to RP just like I type normally - as thoughts pop up, I type ‘em, just like if I was talking. I’m not a big fan of waiting for turns; I have an anxiety disorder and that particularly makes me extremely anxious! However, I am happy to do short paragraph RP with you if we’ve been RPing long enough. Huge paragraph RP is 100% OK on Discord!

Platforms: In-game(preferred) or Discord.

Restrictions ––– –– –

No ERP!

No Permadeath! I really do not want to RP with anyone who intends to eventually kill off their character, either. This is a legitimate trigger for me.

RP Fighting...? I’ve never done this before. I’m not a fan of physical injury so it’s unlikely I would want to, either. But if the situation really calls for it, I’m open to learning. I will not allow you to permanently disfigure or disable my character - temporary injury is alright, but please talk to me about it first.

Mature Themes...? This is okay for me. Swearing, murder, prostitution, drugs.. I’m an adult! I don’t mind these themes being mentioned or being used as a backdrop to a prompt. Alus isn’t a fan of these things though! So just keep that in mind.

Sexual Assault...? For the most part, NO. However, a forceful kiss? An inappropriate touching that stops as soon as my character says no? Maybe. Ask me beforehand and be clear about what you’re thinking, no surprises.

More Info ––– –– –

Click here for Alus’ RP blog and all the memes and asks I’ve written for him!

tags;

@ffxiv-crystal-rp @crystalxivrp @mooglemeet​

[ohdearden]

IC PORTION; BASICS —

CHARACTER NAME/ALIAS: Mia Dearden / Speedy (the second)

FACECLAIM: Ester Exposito

AFFILIATIONS: Team Arrow, Teen Titans, the Nomads

AGE (physical age as well, if different): 23

SPECIES (human, metahuman, alien, etc): Human

IS YOUR CHARACTER’S IDENTITY SECRET OR PUBLIC? Secret

IF SECRET, OR YOUR CHARACTER IS A CIVILIAN, DO THEY HAVE A CIVILIAN OCCUPATION? Mia is new in town, and is currently focusing her efforts on aid work. She’s working hard at learning the language so that she can be of more assistance, and potentially work in town in the future.

IF YOUR CHARACTER LIVES IN THE FORTRESS, WHAT ARE THEIR DUTIES? Refugee outreach, and whatever else she might be decent at. She’s happy to help out, but can’t cook for shit.

DESCRIBE SIX TRAITS (3 positive, 3 negative) YOUR CHARACTER HAS AND HOW THESE AFFECT THEM: + Empathetic and caring: Mia, having been through as much as she has, has a strong push to help others. She has trouble turning people who need help away, and will often find herself reaching for a way to help them. She worked at the community center back home to help youth at a disadvantage (much as she had been herself), and found time to spare to volunteer time at the domestic violence shelter as well. + Bold: Mia is unafraid and outgoing, making her personality very loud and bold. She’s unafraid to speak her mind, and is often quite blunt and straight to the point. She speaks to people easily (though making friends is another matter) and is always one to make her presence known. Mia has never been one to slip through the cracks unless it was by personal choice. Mia is best described as an extrovert, and has trouble containing her feelings whether they’re positive or negative. + Determined: Mia more or less forced her way into being Speedy, which is a surefire show of her determination. Once she sets her mind on something, she will achieve it. Mia has no problems setting goals for herself and setting up steps to get to these goals (yet she struggled with school, ironic). It is hard to sway her away from an idea once she gets her mind set to it. - Stubborn: Hand in hand with determined goes stubborn. Once Mia has her opinion set on something, it’s hard to sway her opinion otherwise. She’s unfortunately very hard to persuade out of her opinions, and once she’s got her mind set on something it’s often set in stone. Even when she can feel herself losing, Mia struggles with letting things go. Hard-headed was the term her mother always used, along with the phrase stubborn as a donkey. - Angry and Confrontational: Considering everything Mia has gone through in her life, having a solid angry streak is something that had been more or less unavoidable. She has a temper that’s quick to ignite, and she often has trouble bringing herself down once it’s sparked. Mia has the type that can go from 0-100 very quickly, though not at all the other way around. Mia is the type that enjoys confrontation, and it’s something she thrives in. Arguments are her specialty, and not something she will back down from. She is certainly not the type to let things go, and would rather argue until she was blue in the face. She would much rather deal with things now rather than later (and cannot understand why people would rather just let things fester). - Defiant & Rebellious:The word ‘no’ is a trigger word for Mia. Being told she cannot do something makes Mia want to do it all the more, and she is even more likely to try once she’s been told she shouldn’t. Rebellion is something that runs deep, even if she (sometimes) tries to fight it. Sometimes with reasoning she’s able to understand the no, but it’s hard to swallow down the urge to do it anyway.

POWERS AND/OR ABILITIES: Mia excels in archery and acrobatics. The latter came in handy in her time on the streets, and the former is a well-honed and learned skill. Mia is quick and discreet, and able to slip through crowds with ease. Mia has become proficient in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat as well. While she is capable of close-range fighting with mixed-martial-arts abilities, she prefers to keep her fighting from a distance when given the option. She’s also a damned good pick-pocket, but well, that’s neither here nor there.

WEAKNESSES: Her immune system is absolutely garbage, and she tends to take a bit longer to heal than she’d like. She tries to be careful to keep herself in proper health, and does her best to avoid injury. As best as a crime-fighting vigilante can, anyway.  Her inability to keep her damn mouth shut can definitely be considered a weakness as well.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? Mia is a goddamn *rockstar.* She was absolutely groundbreaking for the comic book industry considering her positive status, and her persistence is something I admire. Mia has a fighting spirit and doesn’t really take no for an answer, which is something I absolutely love about her. She’s also not exactly popular in the rpc, and I adore her.

IC PORTION; DETAILS —

WHAT BROUGHT YOUR CHARACTER TO SOKOVIA? Honestly? A bleeding heart. Mia always felt too damn much, especially when it came to people in need. The events that transpired in Sokovia had made her nauseous. It didn’t take long for her to get wind of the Nomads, and Mia thought maybe she could be of use, someway or another. 

DID THEY SIGN THE ACCORDS? WHY OR WHY NOT? Absofreakinglutely not. The Green Arrow didn’t sign either, and that would be enough reason for Mia to be deterred in the first place. All in all, Mia did not agree with the Accords whatsoever. Vigilantes existed because the law was imperfect, because sometimes there needed to be a little extra oomph applied when things just couldn’t get done legally speaking. 

PROVIDE 3-5 HEADCANONS RELATED TO YOUR CHARACTER: Despite her hatred of traditional schooling, Mia is an avid reader and educated in her own way. She hated the structure of school, hated having to interact with others her own age, hated having to get up before noon (and well, she’s always had an authority problem)...but she actually likes learning. She spends a lot of her downtime reading whatever she can get her hands on. Mia also enjoys video games, and may or may not stream herself playing at times via twitch or youtube. It’s an easy way to veg out and socialize without really socializing. Mia loves boxing, and does it often. She’s found it’s a good channel for frustration as well as a good way to train. In her apartment back in Star City, she has a punching bag set up in her living room and found herself at the community center often. Mia has an adrenaline rush addiction that she struggles with daily. She left her motorcycle back home in Star City, and finds she misses the rush of riding (way too fast) more than she thought she would. She’s looking into having it shipped, or finding a local one to fix up. Semi-related, she does all the maintenance on her motorcycle herself, having taught herself with repair manuals and youtube tutorials. MIa smokes like a chimney, though is trying very hard to quit. She knows it’s not the best idea, considering her health, but she just can’t help herself. She’s tried everything - the gum, the patches, replacing the habit with something else. She’s quit several times, but has always picked it back up again. 

WANTED CHARACTER CONNECTIONS: TEAM ARROW! Roy Harper, Oliver Queen, Dinah Lance: These are Mia’s people. She might not necessarily always agree or get along with her adopted family, but Mia’s loyal to them to her very bones. She respects the Green Arrow and still affiliates herself with him, so I’m eager for interactions with a potential Oliver in the future. I’m also very eager for Arrow-lady interactions with Dinah! TEEN TITANS! Mia didn’t really have too-too much interaction with the Titans, but I’m excited for potential in Sokovia!

POTENTIAL CHARACTER ARCS: Give me Nomad things! Mia made the jump to help out in Sokovia more on a whim than anything. She’s very much a sidekick out of her element, but she wants to help. That being said, I could really see herself throwing herself into the local life? She would want to help on a smaller, more personal level. Help the kids with school, help rebuild someone’s house. She’s going to do her best to try to learn the language so she can potentially work in-town with the locals as well, maybe bartending. Maybe she can serve as kind of a liaison down the road?

CHARACTER BIO — (tw include: mentions of abuse, parental death, drug use/abuse, brief touchings on child exploitation/teen dating an older man/pedophilia, HIV)

Mia does not like to talk about her childhood. A quick overview would detail her father’s abuse of her mother, and her mother’s drug use. Her father used too, but drinking was more his style. Next would be her mother’s death when she was young. Her father’s abuse then turned to her instead, which she was forced to tolerate for several years. She was eleven when she ran away from home. Mia decided that she would sooner take her chances on the street than stay in that house any longer, and unfortunately, that was the fate she found. Living on the streets was still favorable to living at home, but it wasn’t without struggles. Mia was hungry more often than not, and often couldn’t sleep in the same place for more than a few nights in a row. A smaller-than-average homeless eleven-year-old certainly did bring in some sympathy donations, but it was never enough. The shelters in Star City were often full, and eleven was much too young to even consider a hotel or an apartment. She was twelve when she met Richard, who was over twice her age, and that was when things took a spin for the worse. She thought he loved her, he promised to take care of her, and she was too young and desperate (with very skewed feelings of what love was after all she’d lived through)  to realize this was just abuse of a different kind.She was with him for over a year - sometimes out on the streets again, sometimes holed up in a seedy motel and for a few months, a scuzzy apartment. Richard gave her a taste of the drugs that had taken her mother, and Mia suddenly understood why her mother had been so willing to do whatever it took just to get high. But before long Mia was wondering when she would escape this, when things would get better, and thought maybe it would be better to be on her own again. He wouldn’t let her, the abusive pattern she’d survived as a child returning. Dependent on him for shelter, food and drugs, Mia felt more trapped than she ever had. Until she was saved by the Green Arrow. Mia immediately had adoration for the man that saved her life, and she felt ever-indebted to him for helping to get her off the streets, clean herself up and piece together her life. While he was reluctant at first, Mia began to train with him. This gave her life a purpose that she’d never had before, and Mia found herself feeling better than she ever had. She learned she excelled at archery with a little bit of training, and the scrappy fighting skills she’d adopted on the streets became more defined as she learned hand-to-hand combat skills. When not training or in school (something she fought tooth and nail), Mia spent the majority of her free time volunteering and later working at the Star City Recreational Center, and later the domestic violence shelter in town. Mia fantasized of eventually becoming a sidekick to the Green Arrow, even though he squashed that idea from the start. She would persuade him some way, somehow. Mia had just started to feel stable for the first time in her life when things took a downward spiral. It had started with a fever and just general feelings of illness, though things progressively got worse. She finally dragged herself into the clinic in Star City, and would find that things were much worse than she ever could have thought. What she thought was the flu turned out to be HIV, a permanent reminder of the mistakes she’d made and her time on the streets. The doctor assured her that while serious, the diagnosis was not the death sentence it had once been. If Mia was responsible and took the prescribed medications and took precautions, then her prognosis was very promising. HIV wasn’t curable, but controllable. And well, Mia had already been pretty successful at taking control of her life. If anything, her diagnosis was even more of a push for her to become the sidekick she dreamed of being. It took persuasion, but Mia finally donned the title of Speedy (the second), the sidekick to the Green Arrow. She took care to extra-hone in on her long distance fighting skills in hopes to avoid close-contact fighting and end up in a potentially extra-hairy situation. With Oliver’s insistence, Mia joined up with the Teen Titans.T his was done reluctantly, and Mia did not stay with the Titans long. She did, however, feel comfortable enough with them to disclose her status, and occasionally returned to help them on missions. Her passion was with Team Arrow, and that was made even more clear when working with others. The events at Sokovia were devastating, and MIa struggled with her decision making process for quite some time. She’d always been interested in refugee work - as she’d gotten older she volunteered with the Red Cross as well as with various agencies around Star City. The innate instinct to help those in need was strong, and it was pulling her towards Sokovia. Speedy was helpful, sure, but Mia was fairly certain that her experiences as Mia Dearden might be more helpful when it came to the situation at hand. She knew what it felt like to have your world falling apart, and she was more than happy to help others put their pieces back together.

EXTRAS —

Myers-Briggs: ESTP Hogwarts House: Gryffindor Zodiac: Aries Sin: A tie between Wrath and Pride

[jackadler]

TITLE: FUNNY, BUT IT SEEMS I ALWAYS WIND UP HERE WITH YOU. SETTING: Early morning, around 6AM. TRIGGER WARNINGS: Addiction, alcohol, depression, and drug mentions.

Fate is a cruel mistress. Who said that? Jack can’t remember. He thinks he might have heard it in a movie after a lover was scorned. That notion alone seemed fitting without the quote. 

Marion Stewart was a needle to Jack Adler’s emotions that came in the shape of balloons. Blue eyes stare blank and uncertain at a gas station across the way, one where a woman with a roundish face and long blonde hair trickles down her back, pumps gas into her car. Another balloon bursts and Jack focuses on something else as the contents of this balloon clamber to the ground inside his mind. Her car is blue, dark blue, and the windows were tinted. His own car is black and the windows were also tinted. The pavement is cracked and so is Jack’s beating heart.

A neon sign beside him blinks and blinks, all bright colors. Blue and red. OPEN, it says in large letters, across the front window. Jack looks to his right, hands still white-knuckling the steering wheel. The sign says open and it’s all so daunting, the little liquor store besides him holding the contents of every ailment come and gone. But had it really gone? Perhaps not as his troubles bring him here, itching to indulge in every horrible desire that festers within the pit of his belly.

One drink. Maybe two. What’s the harm? I want to settle down.

These are the excuses he musters as he steps out of his car and heads to the front. He’s clad in his usual attire, though this time he places a baseball cap on his head. A rather lackluster attempt at keeping a low profile. Somehow, it usually does the trick. The little ding from the overhead bell sounds through the air like a siren once Jack opens the front door and steps inside. A warm smile is sent his way from the cashier working this morning. Jack examines every detail just as he did before. He’s a man, pointy face, and a mouth full of teeth that look like they’re trying to escape his head. His hair is dark and receding though it suits him somehow. 

Jack was blessed with amazing hair, is what his stepmother used to say, a manicured hand running through his brown strands of hair. It was blond when he was born, which his biological mother always points out, though she loves his darker hair. He does too. 

This all weaves through his mind and he almost forgets he’s standing before rows and rows of alcohol. It all seems to slip his mind, Jack drowning in a certain dissociative state. He could have just been overly tired but the whole situation feels like a dream. The corners of his vision haze a tad, his movements sluggish but frantic at the same time. How was that possible? Jack questions mentally, looking down at himself from above. He was floating above his body but somehow present too. 

Jack grabs two large bottles of wine. Red. He brings them to the front, resting them carefully onto the counter before him. The cashier with the pointy face was still smiling as he begins to ring up Jack’s poison of choice. They’re placed inside two brown paper bags. Then the cashier states the price and nothing feels real. Even as Jack reaches into his pocket and plucks out his leather wallet, paying with cash. He thinks he mutters a thank you as he’s leaving the store but the second the moment passes, Jack can’t quite recall if he did or not. 

The bags are placed on the passenger seat before he starts his car. The blonde woman pumping her gas was gone and so was her car. Something about that makes Jack feel empty inside. People come and go, Jack, what’s the big deal? You didn’t know her. But he cried regardless, the kind of quiet cry where nothing comes out of it but tears and silence. He can feel them sliding down his face, beard, and neck but he does nothing to wipe them away. 

The singer arrives at his home in no time and Jack sits in his driveway for what feels like hours. Really, it was probably only fifteen minutes but within this hazy state, time has a way of wrapping itself around him strangely. 

There’s also an itch all over his body. You’d think he’s broken out into a rash by the way he suddenly squirms uncomfortably inside his own skin and scratches at his arms and neck. But, really, it’s an internal itch, one he can’t quite reach. Only booze can ease it or a bump of cocaine or a couple pills. He can’t get those here, aside from alcohol. Not yet, anyway. Jack always finds a link somehow and maybe he will after downing these bottles.

Wait, are you going to down these bottles? Jack, why? The little angel on his shoulder asks, coming in the shape of himself but with a pair of white wings. They look tattered though and somehow bruised. His face too, worn down and tired. He feels bad for the tiny angel version of himself. He was trying so hard but to no prevail. Oh, can it, you stupid piece of shit. Look at him, he deserves a drink. You deserve a drink, Jack. Drink. Now the devil version of him is quite the opposite, scorned in a different way. He’s hurt too but comes in the shape of a beast. He still has Jack’s face but he’s nuzzled inside the body of a large bear. His face isn’t tired, not like the angel version. Devil Jack just seems angry and defeated. He looks for any excuse to indulge in poor behavior, that much was obvious too.

Jack spends the next ten minutes like this, going back and forth, before he reaches for the paper bags of wine and heads inside. 

Before he knows it, he’s sitting in his living room, both bottles of wine uncovered and placed before him. Blue eyes stare at them as if he’s waiting for them to speak. Maybe they will, who knows. Nothing can quite shock him anymore especially when it comes to the state of his fragile mind. He’s still crying, his bottom lip quivering every once in a while. This time it’s not as silent and comes in the form of quiet sighs, sniffs, and huffs. He can’t bring himself to wail and sob, though that might help him currently. 

He’s not sure why but he can feel eyes on him from all over. 

Or maybe that’s just the shame and guilt that pools through him. Shame that stems from more than just being a recovering alcoholic who plans to get to drunk and pass out on his couch. No, this shame also comes from the fact that he’s allowed himself to be lead on by someone he loves. At thirty-eight years old, you’d think these things would have come and gone already. You’d think he’s already endured enough heartbreak to last a lifetime. Yet, here he was, trapped in the same heartbreak he’s been tending to since he was a teenager.  

He hates that he still thinks of her even now, right as he’s about to spiral completely. Flashes of the night before clutter his mind. Jack thinks of when everything was just blonde hair, warmth, and a bed beneath them. Bliss. But was it bliss or denial? Perhaps they were the same thing in hindsight. 

It’s then he realizes his nails have been digging into his own palms, earning crescent moon-like shapes to form on the delicate skin of his hands. The pigment there has begun to fade too, just as it does around his fingers. It’s a pale white compared to his natural complexion which was a tad more neutral-toned and darker. Jack found a little vitiligo spot on his neck a little while ago too that wasn’t there before. 

God, why was he thinking about this? He might have his little angel to blame, that version of himself doing everything in his power to distract Jack from what was really about to happen. 

But even that wasn’t enough to scratch the itch. With that, he reaches out and begins to frantically peel away the wrapping around the top of the first bottle of wine. Then he unscrews the cap and brings the opening to his mouth before...

RING RING RING RING RING.

His phone vibrates and makes noise from inside his pocket. For a moment, Jack listens to it, finding comfort in the sound before removing it from where it resides. Mom is the name staring back at him now. He freezes, eyes wide and afraid. 

Jack sets the bottle down and answers, “Hello?” The brunette says quietly into his phone now pressed to his ear, “Oh, baby, you’re up? Did I wake you? I’m sorry for calling so early I just wanted to check-in. I had a weird feeling in my stomach and I thought I’d call. How’s everything out there?”

It’s then he realizes it’s Monday and Julia, his mother, always calls on Monday.

Now the two bottles stare at him this time, mocking him. He feels like they were shaking their heads at him even though they didn’t have heads. They were fucking bottles of wine. 

“I’m — I’m okay. I, um, I was awake. I haven’t slept yet actually.” At least he’s telling the truth. Not entirely but it was still something. “You see, that might be it. I always know when you’re not sleeping well. I feel it in my belly as if you were still in there. You never slept well in my stomach, you were too excited to get out!” Julia laughs on the other end and Jack does too, faintly. He can hear sizzling in the background. Samantha, his stepmother, was probably making breakfast. 

Jack was really crying now. A silent sob. He has to muffle it so his mother doesn’t hear. His hand is clasped over his mouth, eyes squeezed shut as he listens to her. “Baby, you still there?” She says, her voice gentler this time. “I’m here. I’m really tired, sorry. I’ve been um, working on a lot of things. Music. For the new album and everything. You know how I get.”

“Listen, honey, get some sleep and I’ll call you later on, okay? Me and mama love you very much. Get some rest or I’m coming down there and tucking you in myself, alright?” Jack can only nod, even though Julia couldn't see him. Though he feels like she’s there somehow. He sniffs before speaking, “Okay. I love you too. Very much. Bye.”

So, he hangs up and transports right back to where he was before. Though this time the sun is peering through his windows, casting lines of light onto the hardwood. Birds chirp signaling the start of a new day and newfound tiredness blankets Jack. He looks to the bottles and almost gags from shame. Suddenly his entire body is heavy and the lump in his throat grows and grows. He grabs them and heads for the kitchen, almost stumbling on the way there but he somehow stands his ground. With all his might, he turns them upside down and dumps them into the sink, aggressively shaking them to remove every ounce of booze inside each. 

Blue eyes watch as the crimson liquid glides through the sink and down the drain until there was nothing left. The bottles are dropped into his trashcan located inside a nearby cabinet. Jack turns the faucet on and removes any excess wine before shutting it off once again. 

Again, he stands there longer than he should before padding over to his bedroom. Along the way, he removes his pants and his shirt, clad in nothing but his boxers, and crawls into bed. His bed. Alone. Jack smells the familiar scent of himself embedded within his pillows and sheets. It’s nice, better than he remembered. He feels like he’s lived six thousand lives before settling back into his original skin, his original existence. 

Usually, he detested himself, this stemming from deeprooted insecurity. But now he doesn’t mind it. He was too exhausted to be insecure or impulsive or sad. Even though he knows it’ll come back, it always comes back. 

But, for now, new morning light leaking through his bedroom, he’s okay being his only one.

[girlgrouptrash101]

Jeongyeon (Twice) as Your Girlfriend

Request: “May I request Twice’s Jeongyeon as your girlfriend if requests are open?”

A/N: thank u to my kind friend for helping me w this, love u <3

- C

1/2 of the meme squad along with Chaeyoung and she will never let you forget that

you’re bombarded with at least 8234984 memes in your messages every day, and they’re not even good ones (sorry Jeongyeon I’m sure your memes are spicy this is just my headcanon)

also, queen of dad jokes that only she laughs at, though you secretly love them

because she’s such a dumbass, but she’s your dumbass

likes taking you on dates to arcades, fairs, restaurants, or sometimes just on late night walks where it's dark enough so she can hold your hand without you being able to see her blush uwu

You honestly got the best girlfriend because when she comes over, she just puts on her favourite music and,,, cleans??? You help her of course, but like damn that’s dedication if I’ve ever seen it

half the time you end up getting distracted by the music and turn it into a dance battle on the spot, forgetting completely about the task at hand

This girl will nEvER let you rest, she’s always teasing and poking fun out of you, but it’s just her unique way of showing you she loves you

if you ever actually got upset over it, she’d turn 180 degrees on the spot, forgetting whatever she was saying and pulling you into a hug, giving you little pecks on your temples and apologizing profusely

midnight trips to the convenience store to buy instant ramen because y’all got hungry at like 2am

The thing Jeongyeon really loves about you the most is how comfortable she feels with you, and how any worries that were on her mind leave immediately as she sees your bright smile

LOVES when you wear her clothes but will never admit it

she purposely leaves her hoodies and stuff out in hopes that you put it on, and she pretends to be surprised when you come out wearing it

When she first took you to meet her members, the other 8 girls couldn’t stop cracking up at the cool facade Jeongyeon was trying to put on for you, even you couldn’t keep a straight face at her

as soon as you left though, she’d be non-stop talking about you for the rest of her days and asking her members if they thought you were as cute as she did

one time Jeongyeon went out to the local toy shop and bought a load of lego for you guys to spend the afternoon building random shit just because she is that kid in a woman's body

you guys ended up having so much fun,,, until you stepped on a stray lego the next day and thought that you needed to get your leg amputated because the PAIN

Takes photos of you even when you’re convinced you look dead but Jeongyeon is always like ‘you look gorgeous as always’ and proceeds to take another 50 pictures of you

she has a big ass photo album that you guys like to go through every anniversary and be all soft about it

when Jeongyeon prints out a batch of photos you get the album out, decorating it with little stickers and writing your memories in it with your favourite sparkly gel pens uwu

it eventually becomes like a timeline of your favourite memories, and you always look back over it when Jeongyeon is away, it helps just a little with how much you miss her

Always asks you if you preferred her long or short hair, and she never believes you when you tell her that she looks beautiful no matter what

You and Jeongyeon never really get into fights because neither of you think it’s worth it, life’s too short, just laugh about it and make up ya feel?

Her favourite position to cuddle you is when she has her ar around you, and you’re snuggled into her side

that way she feels like she’s protecting you,, and she also has easy access to give u dem forehead kisses u know

so many inside jokes that you’ve lost count

but whenever one of you brings one up, you end up rolling on the floor, tears coming out of your eyes at the laughter

watching back all of Twice's music videos together and making Jeongyeon get all flustered when you fangirl over her being on screen

nothing makes your heart beat faster than seeing Jeongyeon barefaced and wearing her cute glasses

you just have to grab her and kiss her all over until she finally escapes your hold and calls you gross, when secretly she loves it and just hopes you do it again

NSFW From Here:

Big switch

She’s quite a shy bottom, always afraid to be too loud unless you coax it out of her

when she tops it’s passionate, making sure she takes the time to worship your body and remind you just how beautiful you are

Jeongyeon likes marking up your body in places that aren’t too obvious because it turns her on to think that it’s just your little secret

always promises to never waste a drop whenever you come, because your taste is addicting and won’t ever let it get away from her eager lips

when Jeongyeon comes, she comes way harder than she ever expects to

it’s kind of an ego boost when she looks up, shocked and her head spinning since you literally just made her see stars

the biggest turn on ever is letting you ride her thigh while you’re wearing her hoodie, something about seeing you so vulnerable and cute when you’re wearing something that belongs to her

and if you ever send her videos of you touching yourself while wearing her clothes, she’ll go absolutely crazy

gets shivers when you whisper in her ear

She gets super possessive at times, and you always know when she gets jealous because she tends to be rougher

as well as asking you who you belong to just so she can hear you moaning out her name

Jeongyeon has a lot of things she wants to try, but she’d only ever be confident to ask about them if she was like,,, super drunk

you eventually convince her to open up though, and you both find yourselves exploring things you’d never dreamed of

but it doesn’t matter what you do, because Jeongyeon always makes you feel so good, she knows your body and prides herself on making you feel as good as possible