#and all of it is so cherry picked and poorly thought out and often times so obviously just another attempt to jab the other side

[roostertuftart]

I don’t even care about this discourse anymore I just wish it wasn’t constantly being shoved down the rest of the fandom’s throat as this full blown “actually you’re wrong for thinking this isn’t canon” bullshit that’s so needlessly cherry picked. So much for fanworks not having to support canon.

[thefrontofmymind]

Ice Cream and Jelly (matty healy x reader)

You get your wisdom teeth removed and Matty takes care of you in the aftermath.

WARNINGS: hospital and surgery talks, mentions of teeth but no gore

When you woke up everything was hazy. So hazy, in fact, the instant a minute ended, you’d completely forgotten it. The nurses around you did their job, making sure you were coming out of the anaesthetic alright, but one of them just couldn’t help but giggle when you immediately asked to see your four wisdom teeth that had just been removed–she handed them to you in a sterile plastic-sealed bag and you held them close like a good luck charm.

Finally, you began to gain proper consciousness; you were still a little loopy but at least you could hold your head up by yourself. One of the nurses gave you a small tub of ice cream to eat post-surgery–actually two tubs, since you were the last surgery on the ward and she knew there’d be another shipment of food the next morning.

“Right, well I’ll call to get you picked up,” she said in a cheerful tone after watching you eat with no issues. You couldn’t hide your smile at the thought of Matty picking you up and taking care of you.

In your delirious state, you quickly forgot all about him and turned all your attention to closely studying your four teeth. You just couldn’t believe they used to be in your mouth. 

You could’ve been staring at them for hours for all you knew, but before long you heard the pleasant call of the head nurse, Jodie, telling you that there was a visitor for you.

You saw his smile and his full head of curls and instantly felt grounded–Matty was home for you, a comfort.

“How are you, darlin’?” He asked in a gentle tone.

“Sore,” you managed to slur out. “And tired.”

Matty and Jodie both let out a soft chuckle. “You’re looking all good, I’ll just get a copy of your discharge papers for you and then you can get out of here,” she said with a grin.

As soon as she left, Matty slowly lowered to sit on the side of the thin hospital bed. On instinct, you grabbed his hand and softly played with his fingers–he realised you were still quite drowsy.

“Baby, my teeth!” You said to him, shoving the small plastic baggie from your lap into his face.

“So they let you keep them, then?” He asked, amusedly.

You lazily nodded. “What time is it?”

“Just passed 5,” he answered. 

You let out a discontented groan, your entire day has disappeared. 

“I’m sorry,” Matty laughed. “You look like a chipmunk!”

“Am I really that swollen?”

He nodded, still with one of those cheeky smiles he donned so often. “I put an ice pack in the freezer before I left, and I made that cherry jelly you bought.”

“I love you.”

In a blur, you were driven home and tucked into your and Matty’s bed, all cosy. In your absence Matty had changed the sheets to a new set of soft flannel sheets and fluffed your pillows to make sure you sunk into them as easily as possible. He’d also set up an old kid’s movie you told him that you were obsessed with when you were young on your laptop, something you could easily drift off to–something Matty was hoping on so you wouldn’t feel when your pain killers wore off.

Every so often he would sneak away from whatever work he had to do to check on you, still half-lidded and watching the cartoon about princesses or fairies or the power of friendship (Matty couldn’t really follow when you tried to explain the plot to him one night out).

“C’mere,” you said to him after one of the times you caught him popping in to check you were still breathing.

“I have work to do, sweetheart,” he replied.

You blew a raspberry at him. “What’s more important? Work or your poorly, vulnerable girlfriend?”

With a sigh, he launched onto the bed, landing with an ‘oof’. You leant into him as best you could without putting pressure on your tender jaw. You both settled with his arms around your shoulders, never so comfortable.

“Thank you,” you said after a minute of silence–only interrupted by Thumbelina professing her love for Prince Cornelius.

“For what?” Matty scoffed.

“Just…taking care of me.”

“I love you, there’s nothing I’d rather do.” He kissed the top of your head, noticing your eyes flutter closed every few seconds. “Try to get some sleep, baby.”

“Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

“Of course.”

[auorafics]

Perv!SKZ- Part 2 (M)

Warning: Contains mature content. Readers discretion is advised. This is pure fiction and is in no way related to the actual idols. This is just a point of view

Pairings: OT8 x female!reader, perv!skz, perverted thoughts

Note: This is the beginning of 2 new series: The MTL series and the perv!skz series. Requests are open

Word Count: 1K

MTL: Perverts among Stray Kids

Jisung

Felix

Hyunjin

Chan

I.N Lee Know

Changbin

Seungmin

I feel like I.N is the most intrigued by your waist area. He keeps hugging you by your waist, keeping his hands on them and squeezing them slightly. Whenever you wear cropped tops, it would definitely be a feast for his eyes. But he will also be very grateful if the wind happens to lift your flowy crop top up, exposing your bra. He is not much of a photo guy, but how could he resist taking a pic of your boobs cutely tucked away in your bra? He also loves your sweet voice and keeps imagining how good you would sound moaning under him, as he shoves his big dick into your cute pink pussy. He also went as far as to record your voice when you were excited about food, to imagine you talking like that about his dick.

His most memorable incident of his life is when he stumbled across you, masturbating to something on your phone. Your door was poorly closed, so he could hear you very well. He also caught a glimpse of your swollen red core. He badly wanted to be there, touching you, but all he did was palm himself and hope this moment lasted forever.

Lee Know is the possessive perv. He would never let any man come near you. You were all his, without your knowledge. He always keeps an eye out for other guys near you, but half the time, he would catch himself staring at you plump ass. He loves it when you wear tight, skinny jeans around him, as it makes it easier for him to imagine every curve of your ass. So he sometimes insists on taking you out for shopping, always recommending outfits that enhance your body. But when you wear skirts, he goes crazier. His attention will always be on your thighs. He will definitely imagine himself fucking your thighs and coating you with his hot cum. Whenever he sees other men eyeing you, he’ll pull you by your waist and give you a hug out of nowhere, throwing you off track. He makes up a lame excuse and continues hugging you until the guy leaves, and he is satisfied 

Lee Know thinks he was the luckiest when he was at the changing room the other day. He accidentally dropped his phone in front of your stall and as he bent to pick it up, he could see your thong covered ass through the gap. And as you turned around, your naked thighs right at his face, he couldn’t control himself. He swore he could have came, if you hadn’t moved to the side to pick up your shirt. He hastily clicked some pics and shoved his phone away, before anybody passed by

Changbin is also a little possessive of you, and he shows that through his strength. He’s always around you, his hand over you with a tight grip. Sometimes, that grip could slip down to your ass, or squeeze your waist. Changbin believes that spending time with you is far superior than clicking pics of you for later. So he tries to spend most of his time with you. He especially loves the 2 hours of his day when you go to the gym together. It's the only time he can see you in a tight sports bra and leggings. He feels he’s in heaven when he sees your tits and thighs jiggling as you run on the treadmill. He is always helping you out with your stance, even when you are doing it right, so he can touch you. He also loves looking at your sweaty body after you are done. The sweat dampening your sports bra makes his dick go hard in record time. The cherry on top is when your nips are accidentally stimulated and perk up through the fabric

When he recently shifted to your gym, Changbin often got confused between the men’s and women’s changing rooms. Once such time, he happened to see you taking off your clothes for a shower. My man was stuck to the ground, unable to take his eyes off of your body. The way your tits jiggled as you took off your tight bra, your legging-clad ass and sweaty thighs, all made him rock hard instantly. His hand immediately reached for his phone. As he clicked photos of you, he did feel a pang of guilt, but nothing was going to stop him from now on

Though Seungmin is ranked as the least pervy, he is definitely a huge pervert. Like Jisung, he’s also a panty stealer, but it takes it up a level, as he sometimes takes some of your toys. He’s also a meany, so he likes to see you suffer when you can’t find your toys and are needy as fuck. But it also serves him another purpose, as he can smell and suck onto your toys, enjoying the remnants of your release on them. He is also a hoarder, so he will not return any of your clothes. Instead, they go into a secret box hidden in his closet. Whenever you tell him about your clothes going missing, he cracks stupid jokes like the washing machine eating them and so on. He also clicks a lot of pics of you. He prefers printing them on paper so he can soil them with his cum later

One time, you were at Seungmin’s place and wanted to use the shower. Unfortunately for you, and fortunately for him, the door knob lock was broken. That time, Seungmin took so many pictures of your butt and boobs that half of his phone storage was full because of your pics. He didn’t stop there, also stealing your panty, after offering to do your laundry

[idk-bruh-20]

Hi! I had this one-shot idea for a while. Then I found your page so just thought why not give it a go (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Being spiderman often leaves Peter with several cuts and bruises. Moreover, if you look carefully, you’ll notice several scars on his body.

When Mr. Stark asks Peter to pick up Morgan from Preschool, the teen agrees to do so. When he arrives many of the parents who are also picking up kids from daycare, observe the little Stark and what follows, notice every single thing suggesting Parker gets into some kinds of fights all over Peter’s body. 

Despite the fact that Peter is listed as a person authorized to sign Morgan out and take the kid with him, and doing his best to look as polite as possible, people are reserved toward the teen and constantly give him the look

This situation happens a few more times, and rumors about Morgan’s apparent babysitter being a teenage dirtbag who allegedly attends fight clubs smokes weed, and gets drunk on a daily basis appear.

Peter is well aware of the rumors because of his enhanced hearing, but he doesn't do much about this. He is concerned Mr. Stark wouldn’t want him to go through the trouble of picking up Morgan if he found out, and he really doesn’t mind if it eases his quasi-parent’s schedule even a little bit.

Ok, Peter might have a little bit of a problem with his self-image because of the rumors. He could try to hide the marks under hoodies, maybe start hiding his bruises under some poorly matched make-up he stole from his aunt?

One day Morgan overhears other kids telling each other what their parents said about morgan and her babysitter. Morgan might be confused a little bit because she doesn’t have a babysitter, she has a big brother she adores. She doesn't want to confront her playmates about this, but she does tell her mom what happened

Pepper of course goes to tony with what she hears from morgan, and the billionaire is PISSED. While he couldn't blame anyone for having concerns, the following worst possible conclusion and rumors were a whole other thing. The fact people had concerns about little miss’ safety and didn't notify him about any of this was just a cherry on top.

The drama is up to y’all. I can imagine so many ways it could go and I simply refuse to choose…

Have a nice day!

this is awesome thank you for sharing it!!!

lowkey I'm getting close to the point where I need to ground myself from tumblr again, but I'm really glad you sent this idea before I made any drastic announcements so we can get it out there into the World <3333

[nanfms]

NAME  :  nanisca  tiana  albright

MEANING  :  nanisca  of  ghanaian  origin  meaning  highly  protected  ;  tiana  of  russian  origin  meaning  princess  ;  albright  of  european  origin  meaning  illustrious

NICKNAME(S)  :  nan

DATE  OF  BIRTH :  september  21  1997  ( 25 )

ZODIAC  :  virgo

PLACE  OF  BIRTH  :     enchanted  falls

SEXUALITY:  bisexual

RELATIONSHIP  STATUS :  single

(  +  )  positive  traits :  confident  ,  generous  ,  thoughtful

(  -  )  negative  traits  :  single  minded  ,  closed off  ,  indecisive

｡*    ❪       📂   ›    BASICS.

╰     cis woman , she/her     ☆     𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍 𝐀 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 …   we’re introduced to NANISCA  “  NAN  ”  ALBRIGHT , the 25 years old SERVER at THE PRINCESS AND THE PIE & ZIPPITY DOO DINER from enchanted falls who bears a striking resemblance to COCO JONES. the whispers in the wind tells us of their DUTIFUL and RIDGID reputation, that’s why the townsfolk often are reminded of the smell of freshly baked pastries , the jingling of change in pockets , poorly timed jokes and cherry chapstick slathered to lips that have never been kissed .  they are often haunted by dreams of a life lived as TIANA ( PRINCESS & THE FROG )

｡*    ❪       📂   ›    BIOGRAPHY.

CLICK  HERE  TO  READ  HER  LONGER  INTRO  .

CLICK HERE TO READ HER WANTED CONNECTIONS .

nanisca  albright  has  always  known  one  thing  ,  if  you  want  something  you  have  to  work  for  it  ,  and  from  the  moment  she  could  dream  she's  ever  had  one  .  financial  freedom  .  tired  of  falling  asleep  to  the  sound  of  her  stomach  rumbling  at  only  thirteen  years  old  she  started  selling  the  thing  she  knew  best  ,  food  .  starting  with  cupcakes  and  quickly  expanding  to  include  all  manner  of  sweet  treats  nan  was  able  to  use  the  extra  money  this  provided  to  start  a  garden  for  her  and  her  mother  .  at  sixteen  she  got  a  second  and  third  job  .  often  times  spending  all  day  working  ,  sometimes  even  on  her  days  off  ,  all  the  while  putting  as  much  of  her  paycheck  as  she  possibly  could  in  savings  in  the  hopes  of  one  day  buying  her  own  restaurant  and  later  a  home  .  though  all  of  that  was  placed  on  the  back  burner  when  her  mom  was  diagnosed  with  cancer  .  all  the  money  she'd  saved  was  immediately  diverted  to  nellie's  treatment  .  despite  all  of  her  mother's  protests  ,  nellie  would  have  much  rather  nan  spent  her  money  on  her  restaurant  ,  but  there's  no  way  on  earth  nan  is  ready  to  face  life  without  her  best  friend  by  her  side  .  

｡*    ❪       📂   ›    PERSONALITY.

on  the  surface  you'd  never  know  that  nan  has  little  to  no  interest  in  people  .  she's  loud  ,  funny  ,  bubbly  ,  charismatic  and  fun  to  be  around  .  at  least  until  she's  off  the  clock.  it  can  take  a  bit  of  time  to  get  to  know  the  real  nan  because  she  doesn't  often  feel  inclined  to  speak  to  strangers  ,  let  alone  get  to  know  them  ,  she's  almost  always  working  so  she  doesn't  really  see  the  point  .  most  of  the  people  she  considers  her  friend  went  out  of  their  way  to  get  to  know  her  and  even  for  them  ,  she  has  to  remind  herself  to  make  an  effort  ,  otherwise  she'd  literally  be  alone  all  the  time  .  in  truth  ,  she'd  be  just  fine  with  that  .  since  she  doesn’t  have  siblings  her  friends  have  become  an  integral  part  of  her  family  ,  because  of  that  she’s  incredibly  generous  nan  is  the  type  of  friend  who  would  bend  over  backwards  to  help  you  .  tends  to  make  little  homemade  gifts  for  her  loved  ones  :  think  infused  oils  /  lotions  with  your  favorite  scent  ,  candles  that  she  made  with  specific  intentions  just  for  you  or  bits  of  jewelry  that  she  made  . 

｡*    ❪       📂   ›    LIKES  AND  DISLIKES.

likes :  lemonade  /  purple  nail  polish  /  the  smell  of  bread  baking  /  fingers  tainted  pink  from  picking  strawberries  /  being  right  /  white  wine  /  arguing  /  crispy  french  fries  /  a  fresh  twist  out  /  gold  rings  /  powdered  sugar  /  dragons  blood  incense

dislikes :  under  seasoned  food  /  stories  that  drag  on  and  on  /  being  the  center  of  attention  /  dirty  kitchens  /  black  coffee  /  wasted  produce  /  meeting  new  people  /  sitting  down  for  too  long  /  tea  in  bags  /  superstitions  /  people  touching  her  /  customers  who  don't  tip

｡*    ❪       📂   ›    ON  REPEAT.

jump  out  the  window  by  big  sean  /  weeks  by  kevin  gates  /  pick  up  your  feelings  by  jazmine  sullivan  /  mad  at  me  by  kiana  lede  /  nobody  by  jhene  aiko  /  weight  in  gold  by  gallant  /  special  by  SZA  /  charlene  by  anthony  hamilton  /  next  lifetime  by  erykah  badu  /  switch  by  6LACK  /  new  black  by  goldlink  /  that’s  what  she’d  say  by  ceraadi  /  brown  sugar  by  d’angelo  /  video  by  india  arie  /  ain’t  shit  by  doja  cat

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

Rhett's laugh twists through the air like a melody, the plastic chair squeaking as he all but falls into the poor thing. One of these days, he's gonna do that, and it'll snap in two, but today doesn't seem to be that day. 

That broad man (affectionately) could break a plastic chair in two easily just by sitting down to tired one day

"I thought you didn't like cherries?" Your head tilts to the side, curious.  "I don't." His brow furrows, all too focused on something that you can't see. "But I like doin' this." Before you can begin to process what he's just said, his mouth opens, a tied cherry stem resting on top of his tongue. 

This is so hot for no real reason 🤤

"Look at all the junk we got!" Opening up one of the bags for him to see, as if he wasn't there when you both picked out and bought these things. But Rhett just shrugs, "Don't see nothin' wrong with it."  

I 100% agree with Rhett😌

Those Western romances always talk about the allure of a stoic, gunslinging cowboy, weathered by the elements and the human definition of fearless. They always fail to mention the cowboys who blink up at you like a puppy, too shy to verbally beg for a piece of your snack. 

🤭🤭🤭

"Need help?" Words firing off your tongue before you can process what they mean. The black and yellow can lifts to his mouth, poorly concealing the upward turn of his lips. "I ain't never said no to you undressin' me, doll."

How could one ever deny him help?

It's easier to see the awkward hang of his left shoulder from down here, tense and lifted higher than the right one, like someone's wound the muscle too tight. Maybe that dislocation would have healed correctly if he agreed to that hospital visit. But...here you are.

🥺🥺🥺

It's a shame that you don't need to undo the buckles around his thighs, too; you wouldn't mind the tedious process of helping him buckle them back up, either.

Yes yes, more thigh buckles please😌🤲🏻

But you do have time to reach for his flannel, dragging your finger through the buttons, audibly snapping apart at record speeds. He needs to wear pearl snap flannels more often.

He sure does 😌

Rhett's eyes snap shut, squeezing so tight that his forehead wrinkles with the effort. "What hurts?" You already know that look. Already have a vague idea of what could be bugging him. "Shoulder," speaking through gritted teeth, not bothering to ease up, as if relaxing his jaw could bring on another wave of pain. "moved it too fast." Slower this time, he leans forward, hands falling onto either side of you, and— "This isn't gonna work," you whisper, chasing the dwindling hope that your words will reach his ears but not his already sore ego. 

Poor baby 🥺 first the shoulder, then the ego on top

You've already got an idea. "Lay on your back." Your hands find his chest, gently pressing until he gets the message, limbs awkwardly tangling as you exchange positions. Straddling his plush thighs, settled a little bit lower than you'd intended. It's not quite what you originally had in mind, but you've never been one to complain about riding a cowboy, already beginning to reach for his belt buckle.

As they say: save a horse, ride a cowboy (and with that save a cowboy)

His hips jerk, thighs smacking into your ass. "Not that I'm complainin', darlin'," there's a weakness to his voice that wasn't there a moment ago. Like he's run a marathon in the time it took you to blink. "'s there somethin' rilin' you up?" "No." Then, smiling, "Just you."

🤤🤤🤤

 "You're just as bad as I am," Rhett's laugh is so much bigger than any of that distant thunder, rumbling through you in delicate waves.  "Like this hasn't been a known fact for years," and for that statement of his alone, you're stringing this out even longer.

A perfect match 😌

"I should ask you the same thing," your voice comes out weaker than what you anticipated, "why are you so damn big?" And all that's done is make him laugh again. Nose nudging your cheek as he leans in to press another kiss to your lips, his smile too big for it to be anything more than a peck.

So cute 🥰

"Didn't think I was gonna be the one gettin' ridden tonight," there's no reason for Rhett to be grinning up at you like this, with that healing split in his lip and those glistening eyes. Mesermized. As if he's taking in the sight of a precious painting lost for centuries. If you didn't know any better, you would think he was looking at the stars behind your head. But he's only looking at you. 

🥰🥰🥰

Stupid cowboys and their stupidly pretty whines.

This!!

You hardly feel yourself reaching for his wrists. Only recognize the feel of them in your grasp, thick and strong from years of manual labor, yet so willing to be pinned over his head. Falling into place like they always longed to be there.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

"And here I thought you were marveling at the storm," panting into the open air like a damn dog, breathless all too quickly. As if the slow rise and fall of your hips is simply too much for you to handle.  Rhett's biceps flex, muscle visibly rippling as the thunder crackles. "Nah," grunting, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, "could watch y' ride me all fuckin' day." God, what is it about sex that makes him so fucking talkative?

Saying stuff like that?! Keep talking 🤤

"Did you grab every towel in the closet?" You laugh as you pull one of them around your shoulders, hugging it to yourself like a blanket. It's too damn cold in this house. "No," then, grinning, "I left one behind."

I love how silly he can be 🤭

ride the lightning | rhett abbott x reader

Word Count: 7,200 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, slice of life, Rhett's shoulder injury, showering together, outdoor sex, unprotected sex, food, absolutely zero plot to this one. Brief Summary: What's more fun than a post-rodeo party? Running off and having your own personal rodeo right before the storm hits.  

"You've got to quit eyeing those cowboys," Autumn's already chiding you, her words distorted by the glass resting against her bottom lip. 

Hesitant, your gaze drifts back to her. Weren't quite done scanning the room, but if you don't stop now, then you'll lose the luxury of feigning stupidity. "What do you mean?" 

"You're not slick!" She pauses, taking a sip of the liquid gold that fills her cup, the taste so bitter that her nose wrinkles. "I see you looking over there." 

"Because I'm looking for someone," you chirp, your nail tapping against the table as you begin to look around again. 

There was no way that wasn't his truck out in the parking lot. You'd know that aftermarket lightbar anywhere. But you don't see him. Not by the jukebox or the pool table. Hell, he's not even with his buddy Archie over there beside the empty water trough. 

"It's that bull rider from the rodeo, ain't it." Autumn's hit the nail on the head, and she knows it. Swirling the ice in her glass, grin growing wider with every second that passes. "You sure have a type."

It's not as if you could ever defend yourself from that accusation, but you're leaning forward, voice low as you whisper. "Yeah, like you don't have a thing for blue-eyed blondes."

"Blue-eyed blondes with money." She tips her glass at you as if to further her correction. It's not until after she's downed another greedy gulp of beer that she opens her mouth again.  "At least we have the eye thing in common."

All the men in the world, and here you two have picked men that happen to be neighbors. Arch enemies at that. Classic, century-old feud stuff. At this point, they don't hate each other for a reason; they do it for tradition.

You reckon a family hobby would be healthier, but that's not your dog, and it's certainly not your fight.

...not yet, at least. 

"At what point are we obligated to hate each other?" Dipping a finger into your drink as you speak, mindlessly swirling the ice until it forms its own little whirlpool. It's pretty to look at. Blue in color, with a little cherry and framed in a dainty glass, but whoever mixed this gave you all tequila and no juice. 

She hums, looking at something behind your head. "Whenever someone coughs up a half-mil."

Your finger stops, feeling the alcohol keep spinning past your finger. The cherry stem scrapes your skin. "Our friendship is only worth half a million to you?" 

"No," her eyes finally dart back to you, glinting in the light, "but that's how much is in Luke's checking account."

You don't even want to know how or why someone would have that much money ready to spend at a moment's notice. Or, better yet, where the hell that money came from.

Whatever is behind you, Autumn seems pretty interested in it, and you've got a good enough guess that it's the face of a man you're not interested in seeing. If you make eye contact, he'll take that as an invitation. 

Music sparks to life, blaring from a pair of cheap speakers somewhere on your left. You vaguely recognize the start of the song, but you're too busy scanning the crowd to pay attention to the lyrics. There are so many cowboy hats that you can't even cling to your usual method of finding him. Fuck, and hardly anyone has taken off their rodeo chaps. How are you supposed to—

There he is, beside the coolers. Red solo cup in hand, full of what you can only assume is more cheap beer. 

He's already looking at you, the corner of his lip lifting as you meet his gaze. 

"Speaking of," Autumn's already beginning to get up, the plastic table jolting as her hip bumps into it. "I just found who I was looking for."

"Have fun," pausing to glance at who she's so focused on. You're not sure why you expected it to be anyone other than Luke. "Try not to show up on the Abbott ranch with another hangover."

"No promises!" And just like that, she's left you. 

If history is anything to go off of, she'll charm him into driving her around in one of those fancy sports cars again. You've got a feeling that she's gonna be up in Jackson before sunrise, nestled in a fancy hotel for the weekend. 

"'s this seat taken?" 

You recognize that voice.

You've got to tilt your head to see him. Towering over you like some kind of giant, all broad shoulders and scruffy as can be, rodeo dirt still decorating his unshaven jaw. He hasn't even bothered to change out of his flannel, the ripped upper sleeve falling open to reveal the thick bicep lurking underneath. The left one sits a little awkwardly. Higher. An old injury aggravated by tonight's ride.

You want to climb him like a damn tree. 

"Maybe it is." Coy.

"Oh really?" His head cocks off to the side, hair falling into his face. "Who's it for?"

You've already got an answer brewing, but you hold it on your tongue for a moment, feigning thought. "His name is Rhett."

He hums. "Never heard of him." 

Silence. 

And then—

Rhett's laugh twists through the air like a melody, the plastic chair squeaking as he all but falls into the poor thing. One of these days, he's gonna do that, and it'll snap in two, but today doesn't seem to be that day. 

His hand motions toward the lone drink resting on the table, with its obnoxious blue color and lone cherry still swirling from when you toyed with it. "What's that?"

"Something terrible," you're already lifting the glass, holding it out for him to take. 

It's strange seeing him sipping from a dainty cocktail glass. Looks so much smaller when it's in his hand. You're not even sure if he notices the severe lack of juice, entirely unphased by the tequila that greets him. The cherry slips between his parted lips, the stem catching between them. 

"I thought you didn't like cherries?" Your head tilts to the side, curious. 

"I don't." His brow furrows, all too focused on something that you can't see. "But I like doin' this." Before you can begin to process what he's just said, his mouth opens, a tied cherry stem resting on top of his tongue. 

And here you thought you'd seen it all from him. "Is this your new party trick?" 

"Somethin' like that," the stem falls, landing somewhere that you don't see. Maybe you would know if you weren't too busy watching him lean forward, eyes sparkling with something he has yet to share. "Hey, do y' wanna get outta here?" 

"Not having fun?" Your answer is yes, but you're not sharing that yet. 

"I am, but..." then, lowering his voice, as if there's a risk of someone hearing him over the booming music, "'s more fun when it's just us."

You don't know where he's planning to go after this, but you're sold.

"I still can't believe you!" The squeal of the passenger door nearly drowns out your giggles, plastic grocery bags rustling as you climb out of the truck. 

You haven't the slightest clue which bag has the popcorn and which contains the chips, but the weight of the drinks is painfully obvious, the plastic handles rubbing uncomfortably against your arms. Curse the cashier for cramming all the bottles into one bag.

"Yeah, like you ain't never distracted me so you could pay for somethin'." Rhett's still laughing, that big cocky grin plastered across his face.

"But I never pretended I lost my keys!" Raising your voice for added effect, rounding the back of the truck. 

He's already beaten you here, opening the beaten tailgate. "Maybe ya should've." Wink.

Your eyes roll so hard that it hurts. "I'll remember that for the next time we get snacks."

Rhett's shoulder nudges yours, pushing just hard enough to make you sway. "You'll forget." 

"I'll forget." Immediate acceptance. You've sung this tune so many times that even you know that you never follow through in the end. 

The back of his truck is a damn mess; square bales of hay, two empty gas cans, the shredded remnants of a flannel, a handsaw, and you think that's a bag of chicken feed over there in the back corner. The tailgate is the only open space for you to set the bags on, and it's only now that you realize how many snacks you've actually gotten.

"We probably should have gotten dinner at Odessa's instead," you find yourself saying as you poke through one of the bags. Where in the world are those candies you got?

He reaches past you, plucking a stray screwdriver out of the mess that is his truck bed. Something tells you that he's been looking for that. "What makes ya say that?" 

"Look at all the junk we got!" Opening up one of the bags for him to see, as if he wasn't there when you both picked out and bought these things. 

But Rhett just shrugs, "Don't see nothin' wrong with it."  

Hypothetically, it shouldn't take you that long to find your candy. There are only five bags, but even as you poke through them all, you don't see that brightly colored packaging anywhere. But you know they were rung up. They're on the damn receipt! So where the hell...did you miss them somehow?

By the time you find them sitting in the front seat, nestled up against Rhett's lost bag of sunflower seeds, he's already set up the blankets. Thick, old things layered on top of each other as a makeshift cushion, protecting you from the rocky ground lurking beneath the grass. One of the downsides of choosing a pasture to lounge in, you suppose. 

He's already sitting on the corner of his makeshift blanket nest, half-lidded eyes drinking you in as you settle down next to him, your knee clumsily knocking into his thigh. You'd pay attention to him if you weren't too focused on this box of candy, pushing your thumb under the thin cardboard edge, forcing it open. 

Weight appears on your shoulder. 

Those Western romances always talk about the allure of a stoic, gunslinging cowboy, weathered by the elements and the human definition of fearless. They always fail to mention the cowboys who blink up at you like a puppy, too shy to verbally beg for a piece of your snack. 

"Do you want something?" Dipping your fingers into the box, pulling out one of the candies.

Rhett hums. Not quite a yes, but not quite a no, either. It's one of those sounds that you've heard enough times to know what it means, already lifting the first piece of candy to his lips. The scruff of his chin tickles your skin when he takes it.

Blind, your hand feels along his face, stealing away the overwhelming warmth residing there, drinking in the soft drag of his facial hair, finally at that perfect length where it no longer feels like sandpaper but has yet to begin looking like the beginnings of a beard. His tongue presses on the soft inside of his cheek, pushing against your fingers.

"Quit that!" You squeal, yanking your hand back.

"'s it really feel that weird?" His head tilts, and you don't need to look to know that he's peeking up at you.

"Yes!" And there might be more to add to that, but you're pushing one of the candies into your mouth, the sweetness effectively shutting you up. Remaining quiet even as he tilts his head to press a prickly kiss to the side of your neck, such a simple gesture that should not have your lower belly twisting with something familiar.

You've got to think about something else. Something that doesn't involve jumping on and biting him like a flea. Sucking hard on that little piece of candy, eyes scurrying for something to look at. But all you're finding is darkness and more darkness.

No lampposts or porch lights or flickering campfires, just the pale glow of the moon and the speckling of stars hanging in the sky. There are so many of them up there. Almost looks as if someone has dumped a bottle of glitter atop a roll of never-ending black velvet fabric, twinkling proudly against their backdrop of nothingness. 

The weight on your shoulder disappears. Leaves behind an absurd sense of coldness as he gets up to fetch something from the truck. Odd, how you never seem to realize how warm he is until after he's gone. 

Even the poor lighting can't hinder you from taking him in. The rodeo spurs clinging to his muddied boots. The leather chaps that hang low on his hips, with the thin little buckles in the back that squeeze the thick meat of his thighs. You know there's a reason for them to be there, but the irrational part of your brain reckons they exist solely to make you dizzy. 

"Are you ever going to take those chaps off?" You find yourself asking, after a moment, dragging your gaze away from his ass. 

Rhett freezes, his hand still wedged in the plastic bag as he looks down at his own two legs. "Eventually," he pauses, cracking open one of the cans. You haven't a doubt in your mind that it's one of those spiked lemonades he's recently discovered. "Whenever my shoulder loosens up enough t' let me mess with it."

"Need help?" Words firing off your tongue before you can process what they mean.

The black and yellow can lifts to his mouth, poorly concealing the upward turn of his lips. "I ain't never said no to you undressin' me, doll."

One little sentence, and you've forgotten about your candy entirely, letting it fall onto the blankets without any care for whether or not it spills. You've hardly got to move; settling onto your knees is more than enough. He steps forward, standing right on the edge of the blanket, that oversized buckle glimmering in the moonlight. Your fingertips brush over the edge of it, dented from the hoof of last week's bull.

"I thought the clasp broke on this?" Audibly tapping a nail against it as you make your way to the much smaller buckle hanging underneath. Not thin or frail by any means, but the contrasting sizes isn't doing it any favors. 

Your fingers hook beneath the belt, tugging on the tiny strip of leather until he gets the hint.

He grunts, boots shuffling as you drag him forward. "Nothin' a little weldin' couldn't fix." 

It's easier to see the awkward hang of his left shoulder from down here, tense and lifted higher than the right one, like someone's wound the muscle too tight. Maybe that dislocation would have healed correctly if he agreed to that hospital visit. But...here you are.

All you've got to do is pull the leather strap backward, and the prong pops out of the hole. For such tough-looking chaps, they sure come off easily. One weak tug is all it takes to have them falling down his legs, falling as quickly as you'll let them, hands gliding down the sides of his thighs and past his bony knees, eating up as much time as you can.

It's a shame that you don't need to undo the buckles around his thighs, too; you wouldn't mind the tedious process of helping him buckle them back up, either. But it's too late for that. You've already gotten the leather past one of his boots, working it over the other just as quickly. 

Even as you set those old chaps to the side, Rhett doesn't make much of an effort to move, standing idle as you fold them. Eyes locked with yours, transfixed by the simple image of you on your knees, right in front of him. You know what he's thinking. You're thinking it, too. Memories so prominent in your mind that you're already beginning to act on them.

Something booms in the distance. A deep noise that rolls through the pasture like a warning of something more to come. You think that's lightning, you see, flickering in the corner of your eye, but you're not paying attention. You can't. Not when your hands are moving on their own whims, gliding up the sides of his thighs. 

Rhett's hum echoes into his half-empty can. Seems to carry for miles. "Didn't realize we were gettin' another storm."

His breath hitches. Eyelashes fluttering. 

Your hand drifts across the tent in his jeans once more. Warm. Growing heavier with every passing second. "Think we have time?" You ask as if you don't already know the answer. As if there isn't a sudden heat flushing between your legs, the voice in your head impatiently demanding that you hurry up and pinch open his belt.

"'n here y' say I'm the one with a problem," but just like that, he's sinking to his knees. Face to face, all too quickly. 

"It's not my fault that you look like...that!"  Floundering for an escape from the situation you've created all by yourself. 

One side of his mouth quirks upward, that lopsided smile so bright that it ought to put the sun to shame. Wind rips past, nudging his hair out from behind his ear and into his face, but it does nothing to hide his pretty face. Scruffy as it may be.

It must be the breeze that nudges you forward because you don't feel yourself moving. But you're leaning forward, mouth blindly clashing with his. A little too far to the right at first, and then his hair is in the way, and...

oh.

You've missed this. 

It's hardly been a few hours since the last time, but your heart argues that it's been a lifetime and a half. One little chaste peck, and then another, and another, and another, until you cease to part ways altogether. Those big arms wind around you, his palm pressing into the small of your spine, drawing you up against him.

And you're melting into him like ice cream in the summer sun, any semblance of control vanishing alongside it. Hands roaming up the broad expanse of his chest, tickling against his neck, curling around his prickly jaw, tangling in the curls resting at his nape. Your touch is nothing special, and yet he groans into your kiss anyhow. 

Callouses catch on the soft skin of your lower back, his hands shamelessly wandering beneath your shirt. Pulling it off is tempting, but Rhett's lemonade-flavoured tongue is licking into your mouth, and the wind whispers that you don't have the time for that kind of luxury. Not if you don't want to get rained on by another one of Wabangs popup storms. 

But you do have time to reach for his flannel, dragging your finger through the buttons, audibly snapping apart at record speeds. He needs to wear pearl snap flannels more often.

"Shit," he's gasping against your lips, breaking apart for the slightest of seconds, "'s a lil cold."

The world spins around you. Back hitting the ground with all the grace and ease of a newborn deer. A bolt of lightning tears across the sky, set off by the burning hands that appear on your hips, tugging at your waistband. Your body lifts, and they're gone. You're not even sure what has become of your shoes. Don't recall feeling them come off, but your socked feet are sliding against the blanket, fighting for purchase. 

Rhett's eyes snap shut, squeezing so tight that his forehead wrinkles with the effort. 

"What hurts?" You already know that look. Already have a vague idea of what could be bugging him. 

"Shoulder," speaking through gritted teeth, not bothering to ease up, as if relaxing his jaw could bring on another wave of pain. "moved it too fast." Slower this time, he leans forward, hands falling onto either side of you, and—

"Shit." He's hissing under his breath. Sounds more like a snake than a man. There's no way that he's going to be able to put weight on that left arm, not with his shoulder visibly twitching, sent into an angry spasm. 

"This isn't gonna work," you whisper, chasing the dwindling hope that your words will reach his ears but not his already sore ego. 

Rhett hasn't even opened his eyes, but he's already shaking his head. Stubborn to the end. You know what he's going to say before it even leaves his mouth. "Hold on, if you give me a second..."

You've already got an idea. "Lay on your back." Your hands find his chest, gently pressing until he gets the message, limbs awkwardly tangling as you exchange positions. Straddling his plush thighs, settled a little bit lower than you'd intended.

It's not quite what you originally had in mind, but you've never been one to complain about riding a cowboy, already beginning to reach for his belt buckle. You don't know how you found this difficult when you first got together; all it takes is the slightest motion, and it pops open. Then comes his belt and the crooked zipper that struggles to run down the tracks.

His hips jerk, thighs smacking into your ass. "Not that I'm complainin', darlin'," there's a weakness to his voice that wasn't there a moment ago. Like he's run a marathon in the time it took you to blink. "'s there somethin' rilin' you up?"

"No." Then, smiling, "Just you."

Blue eyes dart away. Looking off to the side. "Oh."

If it were lighter outside, you think you'd catch a whisper of a blush coloring his cheeks, but your vision has been reduced to dark blobs of color. Can't even tell what color his boxers are, even when your hand dips through the front of them, blindly reaching until—

Rhett sucks in a breath. 

It's hardly been a few minutes, and yet he's already so damn heavy. Thick in your grasp, a bead of precum running down the underside of his tip. Your thumb swipes across it, dragging it back up to his plush cock head.

"You're already so wet, cowboy," you muse, lazily tracing circles around his slit. There's so much of it. Dripping like a damn faucet, so much precum that you can see the glisten of it in the darkness. 

Thunder rumbles to your left. Closer now. But you just can't help yourself. 

Your mouth finds the underside of his cock. Pressing kisses onto the vein that runs along there, working your way up from his base. Tongue lazily poking out to swirl around his head, so used to the saltiness of his precum that you hardly even notice it. One of those advantages that comes with knowing him like the back of your hand. 

Like how you know that the delicate scrape of your teeth will make him—

"Ah!" Sharp. Pitchy. The closest thing you'll get to a squeal, the kind of sound that has your thighs trying to squeeze together, suddenly warm. 

Something in your jaw pops as you take him into your mouth. Sucking lazily, like you're savoring a piece of candy, not even making an effort to stop the drool from slipping past your lips. The wetter the better. Because you're pretty sure you know the answer to the question you're about to ask.

"Condom?" Pulling off of him with a soft 'pop.' 

Rhett's head tilts toward the truck, brow furrowing, visibly thinking for a moment. Then, his lips flatten into a line. "'s in my jeans at home."

Thunder rumbles once more, urging your already racing thoughts to scramble even faster. Pulling out could be an option if not for the fact that it's never worked out for you in the past, always seeming to forget in your final moments. Riding in that bouncy passenger seat with his cum leaking out of you has never been the most comfortable thing. Cleaning up is the worst, but...

Fuck, you really can't seem to make yourself care about any of that.

Rhett's belly flexes with the effort to sit up, his right elbow bracing his weight. A familiar blob of black peeks out from beneath his open flannel, that old bucking bull tattoo. Under the thin veil of darkness, it's easy to convince yourself that it's brand new. That the poor-quality ink hasn't caused it to fade quicker than it should have. 

A kiss presses to your cheek. "What're ya thinkin'?" 

"A little mess never hurt anyone," you don't know if you're talking to him or yourself. Maybe both. 

You don't realize how close you are until your noses clash, knocking together as you squirm up to settle in his lap. His left hand finds its way to your hip, burning against your chilly skin. Doesn't do anything more than rest there, touching you for the sake of touching you. 

It's a bit crude, reaching down to pull your underwear to the side rather than pulling them off entirely. But then you're guiding him up, and his dripping tip is dragging through your folds, and you can't think about anything else. 

"You're just as bad as I am," Rhett's laugh is so much bigger than any of that distant thunder, rumbling through you in delicate waves. 

"Like this hasn't been a known fact for years," and for that statement of his alone, you're stringing this out even longer. Bringing him back up before he can begin to sink into you, selfishly rubbing him against your clit, sensitive from lack of attention.

Lightning flickers. Rhett's hips shift, slipping back down your cunt, stubbornly nudging against your entrance. Manages to lift himself enough to create a blooming pressure there, the very tip of him slipping inside. 

Fuck, you're still aching from the bit of fun you had before the rodeo. Tangled up on the couch, too wrapped up in each other to pay attention to the rapidly ticking clock. Or maybe the discomfort is from the severe lack of lube. Nothing but spit, precum, and your own wetness to soothe the drag of him as you begin to sink down on him.

"Mmph," Rhett's head tilts back, pale throat exposed. "How're you so—shit. How're you still so damn tight?"

On its own, something in your lower belly loosens, almost as if it didn't realize it was doing it in the first place. Allows you the fleeting courtesy of a breath of air before his tip fully slips into you. Heat jumps up your spine, swirling around in the back of your head. 

"I should ask you the same thing," your voice comes out weaker than what you anticipated, "why are you so damn big?"

And all that's done is make him laugh again. Nose nudging your cheek as he leans in to press another kiss to your lips, his smile too big for it to be anything more than a peck. But you want more, chasing after him as he tries to lean away, helpless to do anything but fall forward. 

Gravity quickens the glide of your body, his cock sinking further into you. The curve of him rubs into a set of nerves, never has taken very long for him to find them, thick length incessantly dragging against it. 

A heavy fist strikes the land to the west, the resounding boom washing over the surprised grunt that wrangles its way out of Rhett's throat. The only reason you catch note of it is from the way it rumbles against your bottom lip, pulling the corners of your mouth up into a giddy smile. 

All too quickly, you're fully seated in his lap, fitting against him like a puzzle piece. Bodies carved to fit seamlessly against one another, lost in the blending of limbs, tangling until you can no longer tell where one of you begins and the other ends. A shiver races up your spine, pussy involuntarily spasming around his thick cock. 

"Didn't think I was gonna be the one gettin' ridden tonight," there's no reason for Rhett to be grinning up at you like this, with that healing split in his lip and those glistening eyes. Mesermized. As if he's taking in the sight of a precious painting lost for centuries. 

If you didn't know any better, you would think he was looking at the stars behind your head.

But he's only looking at you. 

It's got you lifting yourself a little too quickly; haven't even begun to adjust to his size yet. "You'd better hope it lasts longer than eight seconds."

Something sharp digs into your knee as you lift yourself, but it's impossible to pay attention to. So fucking full of him that your every racing thought has wrapped itself around the shape of his name. Oh, and it's not helped by the burning drag of his cock; a little too big for you to be riding him without lube. 

You're sinking back down when his hips lips, snapping up into you midway. Fuck, you're burning alive out here. Growing wetter from that little motion alone, that tingling heat climbing your spine and settling into your cheeks. 

"Impatient," you're huffing, lacking any bit of the conviction you'd hoped you would have.

"Them bulls buck, y'know," that smug grin of his falters as your hips swivel, readjusting yourself, "'m just playin' my part."

So annoying. 

So, so annoying.

Something about the change in an angle has him rubbing up against something he hadn't before, air catching in your throat as he presses directly into it. Shit, it's too early for your thighs to be shivering like they are, and it's all you can do to flatten your palms against his chest, forcing yourself to remain upright. 

"Keep—mmh keep doin' that." Stupid cowboys and their stupidly pretty whines. Has no right to be squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head back and forth like he's trying to shake the feel of you out of his head.

And he just keeps rubbing against those little nerves, over and over and over. Stars sparkle across your vision, so many of them that you can no longer tell which hang high in the sky and which stem from your own imagination. Whether or not that's thunder or the hammer of your own heart, you're not even remotely sure. 

A stray hand meanders up your back, his touch so feather-light and ticklish that it's got you arching away from it. Unintentionally angling him into those soft little spots even more, your pussy clenching around him so tightly that you nearly freeze in place. 

You hardly feel yourself reaching for his wrists. Only recognize the feel of them in your grasp, thick and strong from years of manual labor, yet so willing to be pinned over his head. Falling into place like they always longed to be there.

"Fuck," Rhett's teeth sink into his bottom lip, stifling a noise that you wish you could have caught, "so fuckin' pretty on top of me." 

"And here I thought you were marveling at the storm," panting into the open air like a damn dog, breathless all too quickly. As if the slow rise and fall of your hips is simply too much for you to handle. 

Rhett's biceps flex, muscle visibly rippling as the thunder crackles. "Nah," grunting, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, "could watch y' ride me all fuckin' day." 

God, what is it about sex that makes him so fucking talkative?

Your hand darts out to the side. Blindly patting the blankets until you find one of the candies that spilled out of the container, shoving it past his parted lips before he can utter another word.

His mouth wobbles. Torn between a smile and something he wants to say. Neither manages to win the upper hand, instead beaten by a secret third thing. Because now he's sitting up, wearily bracing himself on that good arm, eyes falling shut midway as he leans in to kiss you. Knocking into each other so abruptly that your teeth audibly clatter.

But the wind is twirling past you with a kind of ferocity that wasn't there before, and in the back of your mind you're convinced that you've inadvertently caused it to happen. Distant storm falling into a rage as you tumble forward, forearms resting on either side of his head, hands in his hair, drowning yourself in the lemonade and candy that paints his tongue. 

Something sparks behind your eyes. "Rhett..."

He doesn't respond. Doesn't need to. The lift of his hips is more than enough of a reply, so sudden that it rips a sharp noise out of your throat. A decade of bull riding has made him too fucking strong for his own good, pushing up into you with devastating ease. 

This...thisis something. His breath tickling your skin. Your chest against his, nails scraping at his scalp. Helpless to do nothing but whine as he brushes against those little spots once more. Long, heaving motions that jostle you with every thrust, your eyes already struggling to remain open. 

"Rhett," repeating yourself like a broken record, panting into his ear like you're getting paid to do it.

The ground shakes. Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, volting through the soil, up through your knees, and into your belly. Or maybe it's not lightning at all, simply the dizzying sensation of his cock driving up into you with a sickeningly wet noise. You can't help the way your legs squeeze impossibly tight around him. Can't stop the familiar tingle from settling into your core, spreading down into your thighs. 

You don't remember when the babbling started, but you can hear the sound of your name twisting through the air, chanting beneath his breath like a melody. His prickly cheek rubs against yours, and you just know that it's going to leave your skin raw, but you can't bring yourself to pull away. 

"'m gonna..." the rasp of his voice has you clamping tighter around him. A whimper slips off his tongue. "I—"

He doesn't need to finish that sentence. One look is all you need. 

You are, too. 

There's no need for you to reach down and touch yourself. His cock alone is enough to have you crumbling like a house of cards, burying your head into the crook of his neck, unable to muffle every little noise he punches out of you. Downright merciless as he rubs into those sensitive little nerves over and over and over and—

A ghost of wind is enough to push you over the edge. Tumbling over the edge and into the abyss, the world around you going quiet as you cum around his cock. Not a sound breaking past your lips, head swirling round and round until you can no longer tell which way is up. 

You're only distantly aware of the sudden stalling of Rhett's hips, pushing up into you so hard that he lifts you up. Can't miss the sensation of his cock twitching, his cum spilling into your pussy, rope after rope of it, so much that you think you can feel it pooling inside of you.

A drop of rain hits your shoulder. Cold. Biting into your skin with its sharp little teeth. 

The storm is so much closer now, thick clouds hanging overhead, blocking out the stars entirely. Electricity arcs across the sky as you begin to lift yourself up before your body is even ready to move. 

Rhett's cock slips out of you with an awkward noise, slapping audibly against his belly. Shit, you can already feel it beginning to spill out, don't know how you plan to get home without making a mess of your clothes. 

A groan sounds from below you. "So fuckin' full of it," the soft tip of his cock presses back into you, and you don't need to look to know that Rhett's eyes are fixated on the obscene sight of his cum leaking out of you. "God damn."

"Well, don't...mmh, don't keep pushing it in," but your complaint is futile, and you're making no effort to try and stop him. No point in it, you suppose; it's not as if you can clean yourself up out here. 

He chuckles at that. You think the stars have secretly gathered in his eyes, sparkling in those deep blues. "Can't do nothin' 'bout it now."

"Hold on!" Your giggles echo through the kitchen, wet feet stumbling across the tile. "I can't move that fast!" 

But Rhett's hand keeps tugging you along, sliding around the corner and into the hallway. Water pours from his hair and shoulders, speckling across the floor, leaving a trail in his wake. A mess that you'd complain about if not for your own soaked clothes, so cold that you've gone entirely numb. 

Lights flicker overhead, power fading in and out as the storm rages on. Rain striking the windows so hard that you can hear it, even as you fumble down the hallway. Wet socks slide against the tile as you try to turn, your shoulder bumping into Rhett's. His hip smacks into the door frame. Your feet tangle. 

"We ain't never doin' that again," he's stumbling toward the shower, reaching for the knobs. Twists until he can't crank the hot water up any hotter. Something, anything to melt away the ice that's about to freeze over your skin.

You reach for the hem of your shirt, the fabric clinging to you like a second skin. "I thought you liked having sex outside."

"I do," he pauses, pulling the material over your head. It audibly hits the floor, the beginnings of yet another mess. "I don't like downpours 'n hail!" 

The red mark on his forehead is only just beginning to bloom, sure to darken as the night rages on. It's a little too high up to be blamed on a bar fight, but you're sure he'll find a way to play it off when his momma asks about what happened. 

Your pants are on the floor before he can finish getting his flannel off, not a care in the world for where they land. Your mind only has enough room for one thought at a time: hot water. A cloud of steam greets you as you step into the shower. The water has yet to hit your skin, and yet you can already feel yourself melting, the heat eating away at the invisible frost that has long since settled upon you. 

It's almost too hot, the spray seeming to burn little holes straight through your chest, and your toes sting. Such a sharp contrast compared to the heat that you wonder if it'll eat you alive.

A firm chest presses against your naked back, familiar arms settling loosely around your waist. "Y' jus' gonna leave me behind like that?" His attempt at sounding irritated doesn't miss your ears, but it dies before he can finish the sentence. Isn't helped by the kisses that appear on your shoulder.  

"If you can ride bulls, then you can climb into the shower by yourself," leaning back into him, your eyes fall closed. It might be the first time you've blinked since the rain began to fall, starting the moment you'd begun gathering the blankets into your arms. Mother Nature's punishment for not taking her warnings seriously.

Rhett hums, the vibration tickling the side of your neck. "Then." Kiss. "I should probably." Kiss. "Tell you." Kiss. "That we didn't bring any clean clothes..." Kiss. "Or towels."

...the towels. 

Your groan bounces off the tile walls and out into the hallway, probably even ventures past the closet and out into the living room. Why did it never occur to you to grab towels and clothes before you climbed in here?

"We'll rock paper scissors it after we rinse off," it's the same solution he uses for every conflict, but you find yourself agreeing with the idea anyway. 

He loses. Never deviates from playing rock, even when he knows full well that you will forever play paper. You're not sure if he's waiting for the day that you crack and play scissors or if he's intentionally losing, but you've got the sneaking suspicion it's the latter. He's way too content to dart into the hallway for towels, returning with more than either of you could possibly need.

"Did you grab every towel in the closet?" You laugh as you pull one of them around your shoulders, hugging it to yourself like a blanket. It's too damn cold in this house.

"No," then, grinning, "I left one behind."

He's gone before you've finished drying off, comes back one more time with your favorite pajamas in his hand, then disappears into the darkness of the house. Where he's gone, you're not sure; it's hard to tell when he never turns any of the lights on, navigating based on muscle memory alone. 

But you can hear the television turning on, your forgotten movie picking up right where it left off. 

"Rhett?" Calling out as you mosey out of the bathroom.

Damp carpet squishes beneath your feet, frigid and not at all what you expected to find yourself standing on. Only seems to get worse as you make your way down the hall, hopelessly soaked with rainwater. The old fan is already out, cool air blowing across the worst of it, licking at your heels when you step past.

Rhett's pale shoulders stick out like a sore thumb in the living room. All too visible as he moves around, hands audibly patting something down on the couch. Blankets. The ones off the bed, out of the closet, hell, he's grabbed the decorative one off the rocking chair. All to build an oversized nest, high around the edges, like he's trying to keep something out. So focused on the task at hand that he doesn't notice you until it's too late.

"Jesus!" His naked back jumps away from you as if burned by your kiss.

"Watcha buildin'?" Your speech mimicking his just a little more than usual, already leaning in to press a second kiss in between the knobs of his spine. Rhett twists in your arms before you can land a third, the swell of his chest mere inches from your lips now.

You'll smooch him here, too. 

"Our last line of defense," his giggle rides on the coattails of another roll of thunder. "Jus' in case that storm knocks out the power 'n steals our heat."

You don't realize his arms are around you until he's falling toward the couch, taking you right along with him, landing in a messy heap on top of the blankets. A box of candy rattles behind your back. Someone bumps into the remote, the movie pausing on the television screen. 

A piece of the candy bounces off your chin, narrowly misses landing back in Rhett's hand. You find it squished between your chests, pushing it between his parted lips. 

"Y' gonna keep force feedin' me candy?" He asks, that little candy rolling across his tongue as he speaks. Wonder if you'll be able to taste it if you kiss him. 

You lean in, nuzzling your noses together. "It's my new party trick."

His eyes roll so hard that you hope they'll get stuck. 

[mt-words]

TLDR, because of preexisting biases and subtleties in story telling methods, c!Philza was set up to fail from the start. Whichever direction he took his character, a big chunk of the fandom was going to hate him. Props to Philza for choosing an interesting path and getting himself there as gracefully as possible. I’ll use everyone’s names to refer to the content creators unless specified otherwise. If you feel like I overlook or misinterpret anything please give your opinion in the tags, comments, or wherever else you like!

My first thought is with how he came into the story. c!Philza is the only character on the SMP to have plot points and head canons set in stone by other people before the creator even got to develop their storyline. He was set up as a paragon hero dad who would just solve all the problems in the story. To live up to that role he would need to protect every member of the SBI (and whoever else the fandom decided) from any form of conflict. That’s like if Gandalf flew with the eagles to destroy the Ring as soon as Bilbo found it in the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings just never happens. Sure, great, Frodo isn’t psychologically tortured by the Ring for three books, but where is our story?

That argument is only looking at the extreme end of the spectrum. A less extreme argument is that even if he isn't perfect, Philza should have tried a little harder to protect “his kids.” What does that phrase mean? c!Wilbur? He was dead, and there have been a lot of posts on whether c!Phil had to kill him, but from a creator point of view, Wilbur wrote that in. Philza could only decide how he was going to work with it. Philza had his character struggle with how to deal with those emotions and guilt over whether what he did was right. He tried to figure out what had broken his son so terribly and when he found the source he tried to stop a tragedy like that from ever occurring again. He still isn’t over it, but he has taken steps towards trying to make things right as he understands things. Tommy didn’t even know people thought Phil was his dad until either Tubbo or a donation brought it up weeks after November 16th. Philza has said before that as far as he’s aware, his only canonical son is c!Wilbur.

My only complaint about c!Philza is that some of his motivation feels cherry picked to end up on the same side as Techno. Can you blame Philza, though? Techno is the person Philza knows best on the server aside from Wilbur (who wasn’t actively in the plot at that point), and they love working together. I think we underappreciate Philza’s story telling skills in getting from point A to point B, and I think a lot of people missed how he got there.

Philza’s story telling is very subtle compared to what we’re used to on the SMP. Tommy will tell us every stream that his current motivation is to get his disks back or to build a hotel. Techno will give us soliloquies about his current feelings and speeches on why c!Techno thinks he’s right. Philza does some of these things, but he also frequently uses little aside comments and builds things up gradually enough that if you’re not paying attention you miss things. In addition a lot of the details are cleared up by questions in his donations, and most people who dislike his character probably don’t watch his whole streams. This leads to confusion about what c!Philza wants and why he does things that ends with people concluding that he’s just a bad person or a poorly written character.

The last point I want to make is the amount of hate he gets in comparison to characters with similar values (namely c!Techno). Because of the story telling differences even people who don’t agree with c!Techno have an easier time understanding his reasoning and are less predisposed to hate him. Techno also explains when certain head canons don’t line up with his character and is very assertive when fandom needs to stay separate to make the story work. There are more people ready to defend Techno because his fanbase is bigger. c!Philza comes with a more complicated backstory, and he’s an easier target for anyone who is upset at the destruction of L’manburg or that he didn’t come in and fix everything like they wanted him to.

Philza was given a difficult foundation to build his character off of, and c!Philza isn’t perfect but he shouldn’t be. The nuance is what makes him and his story interesting. If you dislike the character for his flaws, I’m glad you’re able to be invested in the story and I hope you continue to enjoy it! But there’s a line between analysis and bashing, and I think people could cross it a little less often.

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 5

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

GET. READY. This is a bigger chunk but I really think it’s worth it. 

Title: Dreams, Chapter 5

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5343

Summary: Dean’s birthday proves easier than expected in some ways and harder in others. 

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, alcohol, s l o w  b u r n

           Sam pulled back from you, opening one eye drowsily. “Are you okay?” he says, voice gritty with sleep.

           “Yeah, I…he didn’t die,” you breathed, confused.

           He cleared his throat. “What?”

           “He always dies. He fell off of Bobby’s roof, but he just broke his ankle, he, he didn’t die.”

           Sam rubbed his face with his free arm, trying to wake up more in earnest. It was still dark, so it couldn’t have been later than 7:30. You hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours but suddenly felt beyond alert. “That’s good, right?”

           “I—yeah, it’s good. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

           “Do you want to talk about it?”

           The reflex was to say no, usher Sam back to sleep. But your reflexes had already been wrong once today. “Can we?”

           The way Sam kept the surprise off his face was admirable. It was the first time you’d agreed to talk about the nightmares that plagued you since losing Dean. He propped himself up on his elbows and flicked on the small lamp beside the bed. “What happened?”

           You told Sam all about the dream, sparing only the details you couldn’t really remember or only made dream-sense, like the way you knew it was 4th of July weekend without having been told. He listened thoughtfully, the focus obvious in his expression. He waited a long beat when you were done, sure not to step on your moment of vulnerability.

           “What do you think it means?” he asked gently.

           You thunked back onto your pillow to gaze up at the popcorn ceiling. “I don’t care, to be honest.” The almost-dark made fuzzy static pulse in your vision. “I think I’m going to write about it, actually,” you said, and startled yourself.

           “Oh, uh, okay,” Sam said encouragingly. “Do you want me to—” he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

           “No, no. I’ll be back in a little bit, see if you can go back to sleep.”

           Sam nodded with more than a little concern and you climbed over him, yanking an old sweatshirt out to throw over your wilted tee and scampering off to the kitchen table.

           The house was ice cold and dark aside from the ever-present Christmas lights and you could feel the needles that had begun to drop from the tree under your bare feet, rapidly cooling on the cheap flooring. You picked up the notebook and pens Sam had gotten you and sat down at the kitchen counter to write.

           In the days that followed, the constant and varied nightmares of Dean’s deaths returned. When you woke up, more and more often making it to the morning, you kept writing to Dean about them and sometimes your day as a way of processing. You never ‘told him’ about exactly what happened and tried to focus on the sweet things you remembered that made the worst dreams a tease, moving them to your daytime memory and trying to wash away the despair the nightmares left you clawing through.

            By the middle of January, you and Sam had fallen mostly back into old patterns. The Christmas lights were still up, a sort of night light against the long Midwestern nights, and you couldn’t help feeling a small sense of despair sweeping up loose pine needles when Sam was in the shower every day. You didn’t want the winter to end, as weird as that sounded with the ice and chill and fingertips that never warmed all the way. It felt like if you moved into spring that you were leaving the time-out that you’d created and would have to figure out a longer-term solution than this rented cabin, all thin drywall and poorly insulated ceilings. Even your jobs didn’t feel permanent, the summer vacationers sure to come back and reclaim their spots in the town as it came back to life with the plants.

           The ‘mostly’ was that the boundary you broke with Sam never truly came uncrossed. When you were washing dishes he would come stand behind you, the heat of his lips seeping into the shoulder of your old sweatshirts. You’d intertwine your fingers with his while he drove, realizing only when you went to open the car door and found yourself tangled, or running your hands through his hair while he read next to you on the sofa. You never met Sam’s eyes in these moments—somehow it felt like a secret, private thing that would collapse into dust if gazed upon, some sweet, small creature you were protecting. Neither one of you talked about it in the time since that tequila-soaked night.

           As much as you’d needed to be close to him before, you began craving Sam in a way that scared you. You’d always found him beautiful in the way you admire someone you love, but you caught yourself taking notice of the pillars of muscles along his back when he broke down stock boxes and the dark swoop of his eyelashes. The comments about how lucky you were to have him that used to make you nervous your cover was about to be blown started to make you ache a little with fear and something you couldn’t place. You felt a bizarre flick of jealousy when some twenty somethings drinking White Claw dragged their eyes over him at the bar before leaving on their snowmobiles, like he really was yours to claim. It seemed like a manifestation of your fierce attachment and unresolved grief not only for Dean but your old life with the Winchesters, when they sort of were: your teammates and no one else’s. You resolved it had to be and explained it away without inspection, even when these ‘isolated’ moments became less and less isolated.

           Before you knew it, you were hurtling toward Dean’s birthday.

           “What should we do on Sunday?” you asked early on a Thursday afternoon, trying to keep your voice light and easy while you and Sam got ready for your last day of work for the week.

           “I don’t, uh, I don’t know.”

           “Did you guys ever do anything when you were little?”

           “I mean, not really. Sometimes like a cake or whatever I guess, but Dean was always better at that stuff. By the time we were in our 20s, he only wanted to go meet girls and play up the ‘kiss for the birthday boy’ schtick.” Sam grinned sheepishly as though you didn’t know who Dean had been.

           You couldn’t help but smile, remembering the cocksure half-boy you’d met all those years ago. “Okay, well, if you didn’t have anything in mind, I have a couple ideas.”

           “Oh, yeah, I had only really come up with a cherry pie and a bottle of whiskey.”

           You stood up from the kitchen table and grabbed Sam’s empty plate, leaning into his drying hair for long enough to inhale the minty earthiness of his shampoo. “I mean, that’s a given.”

           In Sunday’s late morning you slipped out of the house while Sam was in the shower, leaving a note behind that said you’d be back in a few minutes. You careened down the road to the quaint main street, running through the list in your head. The grocery store was first for the only bottle of scotch they kept in a tiny plastic container and the fixings for bacon cheeseburgers, then the coffee shop had a cherry pie that looked better to you than whatever pseudo-Entemann’s they had in the limited grocery bakery section. The hardware store had everything else you needed and some extras; you praised the cold climate necessity of having multiple places in town to get gloves and thick woolen socks as you threw a couple on the checkout with the rest of the haul. It was awkward to get everything in the trunk, and you were thankful in this moment that you weren’t trying to drive the little sedan you’d had years ago when it was just you, even as annoying as it was to park the Impala sometimes.

           Back at the cabin Sam was solemnly cleaning up, his eyes red as he wrung out a mop. You took the pie and whiskey out of the bag and put the other groceries away without removing your coat. In truth you only took off the boots you were wearing as a concession to Sam’s mopping, feeling itchy to get back outside and let the complexity of your emotions explode into fresh air unencumbered.

           You tossed a pair of new woolen socks to Sam, who caught them against his chest. “You’re going to want these.”

           “What? Where are we going?”

           “Somewhere I think Dean would’ve liked. Put on some layers, too.”

           Sam obeyed with a crooked eyebrow, coming out of the bedroom a few minutes later looking like a lumberjack catalogue model. You didn’t say anything when you realized the hoodie he was wearing used to be his brother’s.

           “Ready?”

           “I’m not sure, I don’t know where we’re going,” Sam answered honestly.

           You gestured toward the door and he followed you out to the car. Thankfully it had snowed that morning, and tiny billows of powdery snowflakes blew up around each car that you passed on the way.

           The hill was massive. It was a little surprising considering the flatness of the majority of the Midwest, and you’d had to remind yourself that there were some small skiing outfits in the upper half of the state when you’d found it, sure that it was a garbage dump that had been covered lazily in grass seed and left to its own devices. Less impressive surrounding slopes reassured you when you’d scoped it out a few days earlier, and the fresh glittering snow made it look even more spectacular now than you’d remembered. You decided not to push it taking the Impala onto the snow, instead parking at the dead-end you thought was closest.

           “We’re here?” Sam asked, obviously still confused.

           “Yep. Come on,” you said, enjoying the surprise more than you’d thought you would.

           Popping the trunk made it obvious when the bright plastic sleds were wedged in alongside the miscellaneous weapons whose permanent home it was. You watched Sam’s face as recognition dawned, closely followed by a smirk you knew was in large part to humor you. Yanking them out in one big pull, you handed Sam the green one and one of the pair of gloves you’d gotten that morning.

           “These are huge, where did you even find them?” he chuckled, popping the plastic tie between the gloves and sliding his hands into them.

           “You’re huge, it’s not like I can put you on a kid’s one. Besides they must be pretty serious about their sledding up here, these were just from the hardware store.”

           Sam shook his head and waited for you to put your gloves on. They were comically big on you, but you knew you’d regret not wearing any and tried your best to grip the sides of the plastic sled through them as you took off toward the hill. After a few steps, Sam took the sled from you without a word, able to hold it easily with both his well-fitting gloves and the many extra inches between his arms and the ground.

           The walk up the hill was somewhat of a trudge but the way the crisp air sliced through your lungs was a welcome distraction. Snow dampened the ambient noise so all you could hear was Sam’s rhythmic breathing like a mantra, and with one foot in front of the other, by the time you got to the top you felt like you’d been meditating. The view was amazing from the top, a painting or old illustration with its tiny homes and cottages over meandering fields, the snow washing everything out as if you were watching someone else’s dream.

           “Should we race?” Sam asked, the swirled pigment of his irises lit up by the reflection off the snow.

           The next thing you heard was Sam’s laugh behind you as you took a few big strides and jumped onto the sled. Careening down the hill, your hair snapped around, tiny whips cracking into your wind-tenderized cheeks as you tried in vain to steer the sled in slices across the straight pass. Sam’s cackle was distant but comforting over your shoulder. You closed your eyes to feel the speed underneath you and the wind across your face; listen to that laugh that you’d heard so little recently, an old favorite song to be put on repeat. On January 24th of all days it felt like you were being baptized in the clear crystal sound of it.

           When you came to a stop, Sam was only a half second behind you. You fell over in a fit of giggles listening to him play-whine about cheating and “Totally not fair, after I carry your sled all the way up for you!”

           “I’ll beat you again with no head start! Unless you’re chicken,” you taunted, brushing snow off your legs to start back up the hill again. Sam scrambled to his feet, passing you up quickly with his huge strides as you started to run after him. Gasping with laughter and exertion, you and Sam half-wrestled and chased each other to the top, collapsing to your backs like snow angels. After catching your breath, you propped yourself up on your elbows to look over at him.

           “Rematch?”

           Sam’s smile, all straight pearl teeth and cold-flushed cheeks, was as breathtaking as the icy wind as you tore down the run, this time on your stomach with your head low like a bullet, trying in earnest to win again. The front lip of the sled in your fingertips rumbled against little imperfections in the snow. You glanced to check how much of a lead you had on Sam and had barely turned your head before you realized you were also dipping your shoulder, tilting the sled on its greased-lightning path and therefore you with it. Sam was right on your tail and narrowly missed crushing you when you fell off the sled by bailing out of his, your legs tangling together with misplaced velocity. You tried to hold still so you wouldn’t catch his face with a flailing limb, only moving after a beat when it seemed like the collision was over. Sam’s fall seemed to have been more graceful than yours, as he still had a hand on his sled and only a left arm and hair full of snow that he shook loose like a puppy.

           “Are you okay?” he said, getting to his knees to reach out to you.

           You could feel the scrape on your cheek before you got up, but Sam’s wince was only minor when he saw it which was reassuring. He snatched off his glove and brushed snow off your face gently, barely grazing the broken skin. The warmth felt so nice and you would’ve curled up in his palm like Thumbelina if you could. “What’s the damage?” you asked, trying to think about the way your breath puffed up in clouds around you rather than the snowflakes caught in Sam’s eyelashes.

           He was analytical as he took it in, tilting your head carefully in the light. “Doesn’t look too bad. Does it hurt?”

           “Nah. Did you think I’d get soft that fast? I used to get stabbed like once a month.”

           Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Do you want to go home?”

           It didn’t feel as odd as it should’ve, knowing exactly what home meant in this context. “And let you think I only won by cheating? Fat chance!”

           “You don’t even have a sled anymore!”

           You glanced around you and saw your sled sitting smugly an easy 30 yards past the base of the hill. “Gimme a ride?”

           It was a little awkward until Sam sat down on the sled with each heel straddled and digging into the snow, allowing you to crawl between his legs without unintentionally sliding down the rest of the slope. He seemed unsure of himself as he wrapped his arms around your torso, and you hooked your hands around each of his legs to do your part to hang onto him. “Ready?” he asked, his breath warm on your neck.

           When you nodded, he unstuck his heels and you shot like a racehorse down the hill. Sam’s chest was solid as a rock behind you, cushioned with his layers and fastened with his seatbelt arms. You could feel the muscles in his legs moving against your hands, trying to balance the weight of the two of you on the flimsy material. Despite your fall only moments ago, it was safe in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. The ride came to a stop only a few steps away from your cast off sled.

           You turned into Sam to get to your knees before standing up and slipped on a wet patch on the plastic, the melted snow turning the surface impossibly slick. It made you fall forward into Sam, his seated position not giving him enough stability to stay on balance—the sled shifted back underneath the both of you and brushed your lips across his as you ended up with your scraped cheek against the rough canvas of his jacket.

           “I—oh my god I’m sorry,” you stammered, springing back gracelessly.

           Sam looked somewhat like a little kid or a doll, sitting wide eyed with his legs still spread out around you. You stayed back on your knees feeling like you should move slowly, that maybe you could back away unscathed yet. Sam reached his hands out and you thought it was okay, he understood you wouldn’t cross yet another line with him, that it was a simple mistake and he was going to move past it or ask for your help up, and then his heavily gloved hand slid into your hair and he was leaning toward you, the breath that had felt so comforting on the back of your neck as you flew down the hill now on your bottom lip. Your needle-sharp inhale drew that air from him, and you started to feel dizzy. He waited for a moment, searching between your eyes for you to pull back, to turn it into a joke, but you couldn’t. Something in the light pressure of his hand was an anchor and you found yourself glancing at Sam’s lips and slowly, agonizingly, Sam closed the distance between you.

           His lips were so soft and gentle that it made you feel like you were going to cry and then you were crying, just one hot salty tear that stung the fresh abrasion on your cheek as you moved against him, this foreign and scary part of the person you knew the best on this earth. Somehow kissing Sam was exactly how you would’ve guessed it would be—tender and sweet and reverent. The sound dampening of the snow amplified your other senses: the feeling of the cheap Gore-Tex catching one or two hairs as Sam supported your weight, the small brush of Sam’s breath through his nose, the tight flick of the wind against your coats. It was over as quickly as it started, leaving you and Sam staring at each other bewildered while your hair tangled around you.

           You could feel that your eyes were as wide as Sam’s. Completely unable to formulate a thought or feeling, much less something to say, you silently extricated yourself from the sled. Sam did too, staring at it like it was some complicated spell, even turning away from you as you crossed over to your own store-bought chariot. You could read his tension even in his back, the tight stretch of his shoulders as he clutched at the scruff of his neck, and just wanted to make it better.

           “Okay, rematch for real this time? I would say I won’t fall again but, no promises.”

           Sam looked scared when he turned back to you, his voice gruff when he choked out a halfhearted, “yeah, sure” and followed you up the hill. He was far enough behind you that you couldn’t hear his breathing anymore and it took him a little bit to reach you at the peak. His body seemed like it was cracking around him, aging in moments as he shakily got into his sled beside yours. You wanted so badly to tell him it’s okay, it’s just some dumb mistake, we were just goofing off but you knew it wasn’t true and you didn’t want to lie.

           The only thing you could fix your mouth to say was, “Count us down so you can’t say I’m cheating again,” and hope he heard the apology and forgiveness in it.

           Sam obeyed dutifully and you kicked off down the hill, trying to use the speed you gathered and the clarity in the way it split open your lungs to try to understand what had just happened. The same trip that had felt like glorious ages before was over in a second and you were up out of your sled before you remembered you were supposed to be measuring whether you or Sam had gotten down faster.

           “Tie, we’re going again!” you yelled over your shoulder as you did your best to bound through the deep snow up the side of the hill, not waiting to see if he was following you.

           Once again at the top, ragged and out of breath and only a few steps ahead of him, you took a second to collect yourself before putting your sled back in the snow and holding it in place with one foot.

           “I’m sor—” Sam started before you cut him off.

           “Okay, third time’s the charm!” you said with panicked cheerfulness that you knew instantly was too much, but Sam stopped talking and dejectedly sat on his sled next to you.

           You and Sam spent probably an hour more sledding, your legs turning to jello underneath you as you ran up the hill over and over again and your cheeks getting more and more wind chapped, before Sam finally smiled, exasperated at some joke about still beating him up the hill with legs that were half as long. It was all the fuel you needed to keep chipping away at him until the sun started dropping and the chill broke through all your layers.

           The two of you plodded through the snow back to the car together. Gloves and sleds in the trunk, you flopped into the passenger seat with that sudden too-hot feeling of getting out of the wind and tore at your coat to desperately strip some layers. Sam threw his own jacket in the back. Without giving him a chance to protest or hook up his phone, you turned on the tape deck and Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here pounded out like rocky silk.

           “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmured. You looked over at Sam, who burst into a kind of frantic laughter that you completely understood. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing either, because of course this was playing during the tense peace on Dean’s birthday in Dean’s car, and then you and Sam were cry-laughing in the rapidly humidifying air of the Impala while Syd Barrett waxed poetic. By the time the second chunks of Shine On You Crazy Diamond started, you were gasping for air and clutching at your sides.

           You drove home after that in relative silence, the fatigue of fresh air and running all afternoon catching up with you. Sam took a shower while you put together burgers, switching spots with you to cook them while you washed up. They were pretty good due in large part to how seriously Wisconsinites take their cheese, bacon, and beef, and you wolfed yours long before your hair had stopped dripping onto the collar of the threadbare sweatshirt you’d changed into.

           The first shot of scotch burned like it always did, offsetting the sweet tang of the cherry pie and reminding you of the way Dean used to taste when you kissed him at the end of a long night. You looked out the window at the last purple glow of the sunset as it turned the evening into deep, endless inky blue.

           “I’ve gotta—I’m so sorry,” Sam spat out like the words were beating their way out of his mouth.

           “You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured, unable to immediately meet his gaze and looking down at your pie.

           “I just—I can’t—I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” he stammered.

           You couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the whole thing. “Join the club.”

           Sam smirked but it was mirthless. “No, I know, but it’s just…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He stabbed a deflated cherry with pursed lips, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. The fork clattered to his plate. “It’s not getting any easier. Every day I wake up and I’m so mad. It’s so fucking unfair that I have to stay here without him because I know that’s what he fucking wanted, and I feel like there’s no point in trying to have anything like good or normal because I’m just running out the clock. And then today’s Dean’s fucking birthday and I kiss his girlfriend—what is wrong with me?”

           The outburst hung in the air, a toxic smoke that excluded everything else. You slammed the rest of your glass of scotch, relishing the way it scalded. “So I’m just Dean’s girlfriend?”

           “No, that’s not what I—I mean I guess—it’s not like you aren’t—I don’t know, it just seems like you’ll always be his girlfriend.”

           “Are you still Jess’s boyfriend?”

           It was the absolute most cruel and wrong thing to say and you regretted the words as soon as they left your tongue and crashed into Sam, not even really knowing why you’d thought them. They distorted his face in incredulity and betrayal but you didn’t back down, maintaining eye contact until he snatched the bottle and refilled both glasses. When he spoke again his voice was gravelly and broken.

           “I guess I deserved that.”

           “Sam, this is fucking weird. It always has been, us being alive without Dean, and if you’re just now getting that then you’re not as smart as I thought you were. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s going on either, but I know that you’re the only thing that’s keeping me from ending up with a bullet in my skull or in a locked ward, so if you’re waiting for me to forgive you for something, for anything you’ve ever said or done, it’s already forgiven. But we’re too tied up together for every tiny redrawing of the boundaries to send us over the edge. Please.”

           “Tiny redrawing of boundaries? I kissed you!”

           “And I kissed you back, Sam! What do you want to do about it? What’s the absolution here? If you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you. Take the Impala and I’ll find some other car, I’ll borrow the Kaisers’ other one or something. Or maybe you want me to go and I’ll go; I’ll do anything you want me to. I’ll leave right now, you never have to see me again if that’s what you want but I know Dean loved you and loved me and I don’t think he would’ve wanted you to torture yourself all the time so what is it that you want?”

           “I want us to be fucking normal and I don’t want to feel like I’m cheating with my brother’s girlfriend! I don’t want to have a cover story and I don’t want to keep running away!”

           “Then fucking stop! Stop feeling guilty and talk to me about this stuff!”

           Sam laughed, hard and bitter and choked off.

           “I’m serious. We can’t keep doing this shit, at least I can’t. We need to start talking—about Dean, about everything. It’s like this lump of decay and we’re just spraying Febreze and not dealing with it.”

           Sam’s mouth popped open as he tongued his molars. He bit his lip in frustration before crumpling up his napkin and threw it on top of his half-eaten pie. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

           You weren’t expecting that. For all the ways it had seemed like Dean had been the more emotionally closed off, he was always much easier for you to read than Sam, who managed somehow to talk about things without actually communicating how he felt. It was good if you needed to be supported but made it extremely hard to be there for him. Refilling your glasses a bit more conservatively, you offered up an open palm to let Sam go first. His jaw tensed and he swallowed hard.

           “No bullshit?” he asked.

           “No bullshit. What’s the point of bullshitting anymore? After everything?”

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 6

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[silkylious]

Safe (Kaminari Denki x Reader)

Warnings: slight angst/insecurities, comfort, fluff Pairing: kaminari denki x reader Prompt: #58 “You make me feel safe”

A/N: idk why but i hc that kaminari is actually very insecure but jokes around and shit as a coping mechanism. can you sense the self projection here. hope you enjoy this, it was very fun to write!

You sprung forward, eyes wide awake with alarm. Your mind struggled to catch up with your body; phantom sensations still lingering on your skin, static scenes of vibrant blue flames scorched into your brain as your heavy breaths died down into a slightly more regulated rhythm. This was the fifth time this week. It’s been two full months since the training camp, two full months since you’ve moved into the dorms and you still weren’t over it yet. The nightmares just wouldn’t stop.

You plopped back down on the mattress, exasperated and thoroughly annoyed at having your precious slumber cut short. Again. Honestly, for such a prestigious school, U.A. has probably the worst counseling team you’ve ever seen­– or haven’t seen, because despite several of your classmates showing painfully obvious signs of trauma, the school staff has barely stepped in. You huffed at the administration’s incompetence, turning on your side to glare at nothing in particular. A ping interrupted your train of thought, drawing your attention to the device laying on your nightstand. You snatched your phone, unlocking it and immediately squinting at the brightness before checking the time. Three in the morning. Who the hell would text you at ass o’clock in the morning? You knew who.

Pika pika⚡: [image] [image] [image]

some maymays for when you wake up 😌😌

You: they’re called memes ffs

Pika pika⚡: you’re awake??👀

You: no.

The message was left on seen, though the interface of the messaging up was replaced by that of an incoming call. You rolled your eyes, though a slight smile stretched your tired features at the picture of you and Kaminari grinning at the camera. You accepted the call.

“Why are you up?” His voice came through mildly distorted but still as loud as ever, too loud for three in the fucking morning.

“Can’t sleep,” Your answer was slightly muffled by a yawn, betraying just how exhausted you were. The silence that proceeded was deafening, neither of you uttering a word, but you could faintly hear his even breathing. It was oddly calming. You sigh, lids blinking to fight off your drowsiness.

“…You’re still having nightmares?” Words tinged with worry, his voice was much quieter now, gentler. If anything, Kaminari was a great friend. He’d proven that to you time and time again. He was the only one that could tell when you were drowning in hushed misery, seeing through your well-constructed front like it was second nature to him. For someone so astoundingly moronic, he was extremely socially intelligent, and even observant when he wanted to be. And for the umptieth time, he’s showing you just how easily he could pick up on the small traces of discomfort in your voice, the silent plea left unspoken from your lips.

“Yeah…” The reply didn’t come out as resolute as you’d wished it would have been. But it couldn’t be helped. No matter how hard you willed yourself to level your tone in hopes of fending off his concerns, you knew it would all crumble at some point. Go figure your strong façade would fall apart in front of him. It’s always been him. For some reason unknown to you (yet), confiding in him just felt right, secure.

More silence ensued.

Denki was a natural at detecting people’s emotions, but that’s as far as his expertise would go. Sure, he knew how to encourage others, pushing them past their insecurities was as easy as breathing to him. With bright, golden hues and an obnoxiously dorky grin, all he had to do was utter a few optimistic words and that would get the job done. But comfort? Vulnerability? That was so far beyond the shallow waters he’d grown accustomed to. Sentimentalities weren’t his thing, he simply didn’t posses the wisdom and eloquence needed to deal with such situations. His immediate reaction would be to crack a joke, fruitless attempts at lightening the mood but he knew there was a time and place for jests, and this wasn’t one of them. Awkwardness and half-hearted jabs were his immediate reaction… because that’s how he dealt with his own problems too.

“Hey… can I come over? We can play animal crossing or something,” You sure as shit wouldn’t be able to sleep, not in this state. You needed a distraction. A friend.

“What if we get caught?”

“Would you even care if we got caught?”

A light chuckle. “No,”

“Exactly. I’ll be there in a bit.”

The line went dead, he stared at the blank screen of his phone before flopping onto his back. Why you’d be so open with him of all people when he saw just how uneasy around his other classmates, he didn’t know. The list of people he thought were more deserving of your trust was almost unending, and he wasn’t even close to the top of it. One thought brought forward another, each one getting progressively more deprecative, and the sloppily sewn patch over his self-doubt started to tear, ripped off its poorly embedded stitches. He was confident in himself, until he joined class 1-A that is. He just felt… there compared to his peers. His body was nothing to laugh at, but his build was still considerably lean compared to the people he was around. The fact that such a talented, hardworking person had taken interest in him was frankly baffling. He wasn’t as flashy as Todoroki, or as powerful as Bakugo, or as brainy as Midoriya. He was just him. Lackluster, average him. It only added insult to injury when he’d witnessed how they looked at you. They pined for you, and he couldn’t blame them. He craved you too. But god, the nagging thought that you were wasting your time hanging around someone like him, that he was stealing you away from people who were (in his opinion) glaringly more worthy of cherishing you than him, it just wouldn’t go away. You had so many stronger, smarter, better options out there that he couldn’t help but be reminded of how lacking– inadequate he was compared to seemingly everyone else. And yet you chose to get close to him. In a superhuman class full to the brim with prodigies and workaholics, you picked him. It didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

He was fished into reality and away from his sea of self-doubt when he heard three consecutive knocks on his door. Just how long had he laid there, wallowing?

The door creaked open and you were greeted with the glorious sight of Kaminari in a Pikachu onesie, a ruffled (adorable) tuft of electric, blonde hair peeking out from under the hood. You snorted.

“Nice pj’s,”

Denki blinked, looking down only to realize that he hadn’t changed out of his onesie because of his overthinking session. An embarrassed chuckle escaped him as he scratched at the side of his cheek, a lopsided smile and a cherry tint creeping up his complexion.

“What can I say, I always have to be on brand.”

You loved that about him. He seemed so laid-back, uncaring, willing to roll with whatever punches were thrown at him, playing off jocular comments and rude insults alike with practiced ease. Giggling past him, you situated on his bed, ready to forget about your nightmares and just have fun with your friend. And if Denki was a genius at anything, it was having fun.

Hours flew by at the pace of minutes, it was now six in the morning, the sun had begun to show its yellow glow and you’d spent the entirety of dawn kicking Kaminari’s butt at Mario kart, sharing laughs and fleeting touches. He liked this, you liked this. Despite knowing that he wasn’t by any means the best suitor for you, he couldn’t halt the need to monopolize you. How could he, when your very presence (unbeknownst to you) shoved his insecurities unceremoniously into the backseat in favor of enjoying the moment with you? He hadn’t a clue how you did it, but you always managed to shoo away his doubts just by being there, and he selfishly couldn’t (and wouldn’t) let go of that. You immersed him in riveting ventures of the now, miles and acres away from his overbearing thoughts. All without even trying, without even knowing it.

It was the weekend (thank fuck) and sleeping in sounded like heaven on earth right now. If it weren’t for your nightmares. The fear of recounting those horrid memories in horrific detail again barred your eyes from sleep, regardless of how spent you were. Apparently, Denki’s spidey-friendship senses kicked in again, because he immediately noticed the apprehension on your face, the stiffness in your movements as you were preparing to leave. He knew exactly what was up with you, and he couldn’t let you leave like that, it would eat him up for days. He grabbed your wrist as you turned for the door.

“Do you wanna stay?”

Maybe it was your exhausted mind finally turning into mush, or maybe it was the softness in his voice, the docile concern in his eyes that made you agree on staying. Your compliance surprised you both, honestly. You were both very aware that you wouldn’t have accepted the offer had it been anyone else. But in retrospect it seemed rational. After all, throughout the whole night, not once did you think back to the horrors that would visit you in your sleep, not once did you feel the crippling anxiety clawing at the frayed edges of your psyche. Instead you felt secure, sound. Safe. And you came to an epiphany. Maybe it wasn’t the idea of sleep that scared you, maybe it was the impending loneliness, isolation and uncertainty that you’d often experience without him.

“Yes,”

You laid there, facing each other, a considerable distance between you. No words exchanged, yet you could tell there was a lot on his mind. He decided to voice it all in one question. He knew you were smart enough to catch the underlying self-doubt in his vaguely worded inquiry. Whether you pointed it out or not was entirely up to you, however.

“Why did you say yes to me?”

The articulation caught you off guard, you’d never seen him so… unsure before. Your mind raced with the different possible implications behind his wording, though you decided to quell them all with one single sentence. You smiled, soft and lazy, moving closer to seek out some of his warmth.

“You make me feel safe, Denki.”

And he really did. Even though you came to the revelation mere minutes ago, you accepted it swimmingly, it felt right to do so. It startled you how ready you were to embrace the newfound feelings, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Kaminari was stunned, to say the least. He hadn’t expected that response from you and he honestly still couldn’t rationalize it completely either. But for now, the budding feeling in his heart trumped over his ever-present uncertainty, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cursebreaker-lilith]

HC List #4-Wands

Wand HC’s! Mostly focused on the wood since there’s more variety than with the cores.

Also if you have any suggestions for Ismelda, Skye, or Murphy please tell me, because I don’t have their characterizations down as well and I’m not 100% sold on my choices for them!

Rowan

Hornbeam “with a single, pure passion, which some might call obsession (though I prefer the term ‘vision’), which will almost always be realised.”   Unicorn hair

I had a lot of trouble with Rowan. I considered, duh, rowan wood, and I believe the former head writer said Rowan had a rowan wand, but I think hornbeam fits. Rowan has a clear ‘vision’ and goals with which to get it, so it seems fitting.

Ben

Black walnut “If the witch or wizard is unable or unwilling to be honest with themselves or others, the wand often fails to perform adequately and must be matched with a new owner if it is to regain its former prowess. Paired with a sincere, self-aware owner, however, it becomes one of the most loyal and impressive wands of all, with a particular flair in all kinds of charmwork.” Phoenix feather

This is sort of inspired by someone who had done a wand wood post then deleted it :’) Anyways, there’s the good at charms bit (Ben’s specialty) but also it just fits Ben’s narrative. He is not someone honest with himself and that affects how he lives his life hugely, so a wand that reflects this problem makes sense. Then a phoenix feather core, because again, Ben’s problem is he has a lot of talent but is held back by himself. If he were to shake off his fears, i think itd be a good match .

Penny

Alder “not stubborn or obstinate, but often helpful, considerate and most likeable.” “whence comes its reputation for being suitable only for the most advanced witches and wizards.” Unicorn hair

Saw the first quote and was immediately like Penny! Then saw the second quote and knew it was Penny’s wand wood. Unicorn because she’s pure .

Merula

Red oak “You will often hear the ignorant say that red oak is an infallible sign of its owner’s hot temper. In fact, the true match for a red oak wand is possessed of unusually fast reactions, making it a perfect duelling wand.” Dragon heartstring

She fits that first part. hot temper, a good dueler, fast reactions, all very Merula. And she pairs it with dragon heartstring for extra power and ease to do darker spells.

Bill

Poplar “‘If you seek integrity, search first among the poplars,’ was a great maxim of my grandfather, Gerbold Ollivander, and my own experience of poplar wands and their owners tallies exactly with his. Here is a wand to rely upon, of consistency, strength and uniform power, always happiest when working with a witch or wizard of clear moral vision.” Dragon heartstring

It’s like Penny, I saw the description and immediately went Bill! Literally everything about that description fits Bill very well. Dragon heartstring, as its considered to do more powerful spells. As for some hc’s, I feel he’s one of the few Weasley’s to get his own wand just because he’s the oldest so he kind of gets everything new.

Tulip

Dogwood “Dogwood wands are quirky and mischievous; they have playful natures and insist upon partners who can provide them with scope for excitement and fun.” “when paired with a suitably clever and ingenious witch or wizard, can produce dazzling enchantments.” Dragon heartstring

I wavered between giving dogwood to Tonks and sycamore to Tulip but in the end I put dogwood for Tulip because I saw “clever and ingenious” and immediately thought of Tulip over Tonks (not that Tonks isn’t clever, but Tulip is more proud of her cleverness). Plus I thought of a wand much more known for mischief would delight her in rebelling against her parents. (I know the former head writer said her wand is meant to be cherry wood and a hand me down from her grandmother, but I like Tulip having her own wand. Fits with her sense of independence better.)

Tonks

Sycamore “The sycamore makes a questing wand, eager for new experience and losing brilliance if engaged in mundane activities.” “As may be deduced, the sycamore’s ideal owner is curious, vital and adventurous,” Unicorn hair

Like with Tulip above, both could fit either girl, but certain words made me choose these woods. for Tonks, it was the use of “curious” and “adventure.” Tulip rebels to break rules, but Tonks just likes fun and adventure, so this felt a better fit.

Barnaby

English oak “A wand for good times and bad, this is a friend as loyal as the wizard who deserves it. Wands of English oak demand partners of strength, courage and fidelity. Less well-known is the propensity for owners of English oak wands to have powerful intuition, and, often, an affinity with the magic of the natural world, with the creatures and plants that are necessary to wizardkind for both magic and pleasure.” Dragon heartstring

Another one where I instantly put the wood to a character. With perhaps the exception of the “intuition” bit, every part just screams Barnaby. Loyal? Yes. Strong? Yup. Courageous? Deffo. Loyal again? Mhm. Affinity for natural world? Totally. And dragon heartstring for extra power.

Ismelda

Yew “Yew wands are among the rarer kinds, and their ideal matches are likewise unusual, and occasionally notorious. The wand of yew is reputed to endow its possessor with the power of life and death, which might, of course, be said of all wands; and yet yew retains a particularly dark and fearsome reputation in the spheres of duelling and all curses.” Unicorn hair

I had a lot of trouble with Ismelda. This probably isn’t what i’ll settle on tbh but it’s good enough. It’s sort of like her. Has a dark reputation but is much lighter on the inside.

Charlie

Ash “Those witches and wizards best suited to ash wands are not, in my experience, lightly swayed from their beliefs or purposes. However, the brash or over-confident witch or wizard, who often insists on trying wands of this prestigious wood, will be disappointed by its effects. The ideal owner may be stubborn, and will certainly be courageous, but never crass or arrogant.” Unicorn hair

Charlie does have a canon wand for this period, which is Ron’s wand. Probably coincidentally, but the ash tree description fits him well, so I do like to think that the second wand he gets after he graduates was also ash. And a hc note, I like to think the wand Ron had was also a hand me down to Charlie. No way that wand got that bad in only 7 years, even if Charlie is a bit rough and tumble. Plus if it was a personal wand, why would he give it away? So, yea, he graduated, got enough money for a new wand and Ron received his old one.

Andre

Spruce “The spruce wand requires a firm hand, because it often appears to have its own ideas about what magic it ought to be called upon to produce. However, when a spruce wand meets its match – which, in my experience, is a bold spell-caster with a good sense of humour – it becomes a superb helper, intensely loyal to their owners and capable of producing particularly flamboyant and dramatic effects.” Unicorn hair

I had a hard time with Andre, but this called to me best with him. I thought adjectives like ‘bold’ ‘good sense of humour’ ‘flamboyant’ all fit well with him.

Jae

Redwood “redwood wands are not themselves lucky, but are strongly attracted to witches and wizards who already possess the admirable ability to fall on their feet, to make the right choice, to snatch advantage from catastrophe.” Dragon heartstring

I struggled a lot with Jae unable to decide if I wanted him to have Redwood or Fir. He always had dragon heartstring, but I couldn’t decide on a wood type. I liked them for pretty much the same reason in that both have an emphasis on coming out on top despite the odds which I think fits Jae. Anyways, I eventually picked redwood because I just liked the description in regards to Jae better aha.

Badeea

Walnut “Highly intelligent witches and wizards ought to be offered a walnut wand for trial first, because in nine cases out of ten, the two will find in each other their ideal mate. Walnut wands are often found in the hands of magical innovators and inventors; this is a handsome wood possessed of unusual versatility and adaptability.” Unicorn hair

I had another one originally, but “innovators and inventors” just fits Badeea much better than what I originally had. Not much else to say.

Liz

Apple “They are powerful and best suited to an owner of high aims and ideals, as this wood mixes poorly with Dark magic. It is said that the possessor of an apple wand will be well-loved and long-lived, and I have often noticed that customers of great personal charm find their perfect match in an applewood wand. An unusual ability to converse with other magical beings in their native tongues is often found among apple wand owners” Unicorn hair

One I took from that post mentioned above as I was rather stuck on Liz. But I do feel it fits. Liz is a Slytherin but is against the idea that Slytherin = dark, so that bit fits, plus she’s all about the magical beings and I wouldn’t be surprised if she was good at speaking mermish and such.

Diego

Red oak ”In fact, the true match for a red oak wand is possessed of unusually fast reactions, making it a perfect duelling wand. Less common than English oak, I have found that its ideal master is light of touch, quick-witted and adaptable, often the creator of distinctive, trademark spells, and a good man or woman to have beside one in a fight. Red oak wands are, in my opinion, among the most handsome.” Unicorn hair

So this is the same as Merula, but I feel he fits the second half of the description while she fits the first. A dueler, quick witted, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a distinctive spell, and I’m sure he agrees that his wand is as handsome as him. He however has a unicorn core as hes much lighter and nicer than Merula.

Talbott

Chestnut “The wand of chestnut is attracted to witches and wizards who are skilled tamers of magical beasts, those who possess great gifts in Herbology, and those who are natural fliers.” Phoenix feather

There was another I considered entirely bc it had like “mysterious loner” in it, but honestly this one sentence screamed Talbott to me. Like, he’s mentioned being great at comc, loves herbology and is one of the best in the class, and I would definitely say he’s a natural flier lol Now with chestnut wands, they change a lot depending on the core. But the description mentions only unicorn hair and dragon heartstring alongside specific descriptions, while the one above is standalone. So I’m assuming its meant to go with phoenix feather, which I would’ve given him anyways. Bird core for a bird boy.

Chiara

Willow “Willow is an uncommon wand wood with healing power, and I have noted that the ideal owner for a willow wand often has some (usually unwarranted) insecurity, however well they may try and hide it.”  Dragon heartstring 

It took me a while to decide between willow or hawthorn, both of which mentioned healing and insecruties. Eventually I decided on willow entirely because it’s a paler wood and fits her whole silvery aesthetic.

Bea

Fir “There is no doubt that this wood, coming as it does from the most resilient of trees, produces wands that demand staying power and strength of purpose in their true owners, and that they are poor tools in the hands of the changeable and indecisive.” Phoenix feather

While Bea has a big change, I wouldn’t call her changeable considering she’s sticking with her new style and outlook. And I would call her a survivor. Poor girl’s survived a lot already and she’s only 12. : (((

Skye

Spruce “which produces wands that are ill-matched with cautious or nervous natures, and become positively dangerous in fumbling fingers. The spruce wand requires a firm hand, because it often appears to have its own ideas about what magic it ought to be called upon to produce.” Dragon heartstring

I used this for Andre, but I feel it fits Skye too. She’s very brash and confident (or appears that way) so I feel she would have that firm hand needed.

Murphy

Ebony ”Ebony is happiest in the hand of those with the courage to be themselves. Frequently non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of outsider” Unicorn hair

Murphy is very open about how he is who he is, so even though he isn’t an outsider, I feel he has that “courage to be themselves” bit down.

Orion

Beech “The true match for a beech wand will be, if young, wise beyond his or her years, and if full-grown, rich in understanding and experience. Beech wands perform very weakly for the narrow-minded and intolerant.” Unicorn hair

Yet another one where I read one sentence and was like oh that’s them. 

[random2908]

@ac-ld [hopefully tumblr’s tagging worked, it was being kind of weird] asked:

   thank you for your insight! i read your other comment about screwy carbon dating. i don’t wanna impinge on your time but im totally intrigued by your comments about scifi physics being rooted in 1920s memes and kip thorne interviews. im not a huge consumer of the scifi genre and would love to know more about some of these tropes! this is absolutely not an assignment if you don’t have much to say--i can also just google shit. idk what "crap science" muir's using as inspiration here, if there's a universal trope or many tropes for her to cherry pick from. regardless, it'll be interesting to see how/if any of this comes into play in atn

Ok, so, I was being kind of flippant. But it often seems to me like science fiction that takes quantum mechanics relatively seriously is pulling from exactly two things: the Schrodinger Cat “thought experiment” and the Many Worlds interpretation of quantum mechanics. I’m not even going to get into Many Worlds-ism because we’d be here all day, I’ll just say: it’s not science (if anything it’s probably closer to religion). But the Schrodinger Cat thought experiment was, actually, just a joke meme to make fun of how badly people misinterpret the concept of “observation” in physics. The concept is poorly named because for the first decade or so of experiments, physicists, too, misunderstood what was going on; a better term would be non-coherent interaction, or coherence-breaking interaction, or something along those lines. But people outside of physics continue to take the word “observation” literally, and even back in Schrodinger’s day that was good for a laugh.

And then the other vaguely physics-y concept that comes up all the time in sci-fi is FTL travel and communications. There are a number of ways proposed by science fiction to achieve FTL travel, but some of the more common ones--particularly the ones that have any roots in real physics whatsoever--seem to have come out of Kip Thorne’s public outreach attempts. Especially wormholes, and black hole/white hole combinations, but I think (and it’s been like two decades since I saw a documentary about him so I might not be remembering right) he might have also talked about “warp drives.” To be fair, warp drives didn’t really enter the public consciousness through Kip Thorne, but rather through Star Trek. It’s kind of funny: physicists named the concept after Star Trek, not the other way around. Star Trek, meanwhile, originally just used technobabble to handwave away what was happening, and then later came back and described it the way physicists were describing it.

I guess a third thing would be teleportation, which has its roots neither in old memes nor in cosmology ramblings, but rather in sci-fi itself, and probably fairy tales and other magical stories before that. But the existing physics concept of quantum teleportation doesn’t really have much to do with the practical teleportation of sci-fi anyway; it’s more like physicists gave entanglement a fanciful name to drum up public interest in their work.

[cuddlepilefics]

could you pretty please with a cherry on top🥺🥺🥺 do a fic where felix from skz is a little and none of the others really know because he's really shy about it. While the group is out shopping they pass the baby section of the store and he sees a rattle he really likes. felix tries so hard not to slip in front of the members but when they get back home he like shuts himself in his room and closes off from the members. Bang chan or changbin (your choice cause i cant choose) notices how theyre acting and earlier saw him looking at the rattle so he buys it in secret for felix and then eventually felix has to come clean about being a little

i love your work but try to stay happy and healthy during these hard times in the world😊😊

Changbinnie-hyungie

 Fandom: Stray Kids

Little: Felix

Caregivers: Stray Kids

 No one’s POV.:

Stray Kids had just finished their dance practice for today and wanted to go for lunch together before splitting up for their individual schedules. They went to the food court of a close by mall, chattering while eating. When they were done eating, it turned out that they still had some time left before they’d have to be back at the company, so they decided to just visit some of the shops. Since they were quite many, they decided to split up as to not form a too large crowd. Felix wasn’t really looking for anything in particular, so he just trailed some random aisles to pass the time till the others were done or they had to get back to work. To his misfortune, the Aussie managed to end up in the baby section of the store. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid. Felix was a little and being around toys and pacifiers often made him feel very young. It wouldn’t have been that much of a deal if his members knew about this. They could help him try to hide his secret from the public and get him home safely but they didn’t know. Not only needed the dancer keep up perfect appearances for the public, he also needed to hide his age regression from his friends, who knew him better than anyone and who would know something was up.

The Aussie turned on his heel, ready to make his escape when something caught his eyes. There on the middle shelf was a sky-blue baby rattle, decorated with a smiling sun. Not able to stop himself, he picked it up to get a better look, immediately smiling back at the sun. He gave the rattle a few light shakes and barely managed to suppress an excited squeal. Things like this always made him feel giddy. His exhaustion had vanished as he felt himself slowly slip into his headspace. He wasn’t fully little when a realization hit him and he quickly pulled himself together. He couldn’t be little now, people would find out, his friends would find out. If they couldn’t find out, that also meant Felix would have to walk out of this store without the pretty rattle he had discovered. Just the thought of it broke his heart but it couldn’t be helped and right when he put the rattle back onto the shelf, there was a loud voice a few steps away, startling him: “Hey, Lix! We’ve been looking everywhere for you. We really need to leave now or we’ll be late.” The Aussie nodded and walked stiffly towards Changbin, who ruffled his hair. Meeting up with their group, they went to the company building together before splitting up again into their units.

With one final smile, Changbin said good bye to Felix and followed Chan and Jisung to their production studio. As soon as the older was gone, the fake smile Felix had plastered on his face vanished. His anxiety was high after almost exposing himself at the store and to make matters worse, he still didn’t feel fully big. He was trapped somewhere in between, not fully big, not fully little. It was confusing and it made his head hurt. It usually wasn’t this bad when he felt like slipping because his little side was just a bouncy, giggly ball of cuteness and excitement, so nobody thought much of it. Today was different though. When he was little, Felix felt all emotions much stronger. That’s fine if he’s happy and excited but right now, his little side still mourned the rattle he couldn’t buy because he was too much of a coward to tell his friends. While Felix big self tried to be as professional as he somehow could, his little self was hurt and upset. Upset at himself for not being braver and getting himself what he wanted and scared that, should he ever find the courage to come out to his friends, the rattle would be sold out and he’d never see it again, never get to smile at the cute sun again and never get to hear the exciting sound it made.

The dance-line maknae felt his eyes burn and bit the inside of his cheeks to get his control back. He managed not to cry but his headache steadily got worse as the battle between little and big became more and more desperate. “Hey, you okay, Felix? You keep missing steps”, Hyunjin frowned. The younger nodded but the tears in his eyes betrayed him. Minho carefully guided him back to their bags and decided: “Let’s take five and have some water.” Felix slid down the wall next to his bag and buried his head in his hands. A futile attempt to hide the tears making their way down his freckled cheeks. His two hyungs had moved the bags around and now sat down on either side of him. “What’s wrong?”, Hyunjin tried again. Felix sniffled and rubbed at his face, admitting: “Head hurts.” Minho worriedly pressed his palm against the younger’s forehead to feel for a fever. Yeah, the Aussie was a bit warm but he had been dancing for a while. “You don’t have a fever. Did it just start to hurt or did you have a headache all day?”, the oldest dancer examined. “It started on the way back from lunch”, Felix replied, wiping his tears. The older two cringed in sympathy. During the short moment Felix had lifted his head, they had both seen the pain in his eyes and the slight furrow in his brows, indicating he was tense but trying not to show it.

Hyunjin pulled him into a comforting hug and Minho rubbed his back, asking: “Do you want to go back to the dorm to rest, Lixxie?” Being cared for by his hyungs, along with the use of his nickname made the Aussie feel incredibly soft. With that his little side won and he slipped, crying harder due to the increased sensibility. He nodded his head, if he didn’t speak, they’d hopefully not notice. Hyunjin pulled him to his feet and steadied him on their way back. Minho quickly threw everything into their bags and slung them over his shoulders, following the other two members. Felix remained quiet for the entirety of their walk. He let Hyunjin walk him to his bed, while he tried to pull himself out of littlespace. “Here, I got you some medicine and water. Do you need anything else?”, Minho smiled. Shaking his head, Felix managed to at least become big enough to talk to them properly. He thanked his hyung but assured them he’d just go to sleep and they could go back to the practice room. The older two were reluctant but they knew Felix would feel even worse if they stayed back from work for him. They said their good byes and told him to get some rest. With one final hair ruffle they were gone.

As soon as he heard the front door click, Felix slipped out of bed and locked the door to the room he shared with Chan and Changbin. Then he pulled out a box from his closet and retrieved cute yellow pacifier. Popping it into his mouth, he crawled back into bed and hugged his plushie. Not having to hold back anymore, he cried freely, sometimes rambling to his plushie explaining what a cute rattle he had seen and how happy he had been but that he’d never be able to get it. At some point, he had cried himself to sleep. When he woke up from his nap, he noticed a few missed calls and multiple texts from various members. He had still about two hours left till the others would come back, so he ignored the messages and huddled deeper into his fluffy blanket. Despite still being little, his thoughts had cleared up a bit, so he went on his phone and searched the internet. Maybe he could find the rattle online and get it delivered discreetly.

An hour later, that hope was also shattered and Felix threw his phone on his bed, tearing up again. It was almost another hour till his friends would get back and the little made a decision. He would tell the others about his littlespace and maybe he was lucky enough to be able to go buy himself that rattle that he yearned for so much tomorrow. Sitting down at his desk, he pulled out a blank paper and started writing with a purple crayon. He’d write down exactly what he was going to say, so he wouldn’t just forget everything and make it even more awkward. Covering the paper front and back, he included an explanation what littlespace was and his personal reasons why he needed to slip once in a while. When he was done, he was satisfied with the short speech but mostly he was nervous. Would they accept him? He heard the front door open and different voices chatter. Not to long after, there was a knock on his door before somebody tried to open it. “Lix, you okay?”, Chan asked, his voice muffled by the door. The younger pretended to be asleep, feeling a bit guilty for locking his hyung out of their shared room but he wasn’t ready to confront anyone yet.

Chan luckily bought it and decided to grant his dongsaeng some more sleep, if he was really feeling as poorly as Minho and Hyunjin had told him. The next time, he went to try the door was when he wanted to wake Felix for dinner. This time he wouldn’t just walk away again. If need be, he’d pick the lock but he needed to see with his own eyes that the younger was okay and just sleeping. That’s what he ended up doing and Felix barely managed to hide his pacifier under the pillow in time. Chan carefully sat down on the edge of the bed and when he saw the younger blinking up at him confused, he asked: “Hey, how are you doing mate?” Felix shrugged, not trusting his voice. “Dinner’s ready so I was going to wake you, plus if you sleep much more, you won’t be able to sleep tonight”, the leader explained. Felix cringed, he really didn’t want to face all his members and he was to nervous to stomach anything at the moment, so he asked: “Hyung, I really can’t eat right now. Can I stay here? I won’t go back to sleep, I promise.” He was almost fully big by now but that didn’t mean he’d want his members to see him. Chan sighed but nodded, not before settling that Felix would have to eat something later that evening and that he wouldn’t go to bed without dinner.

Felix listened closely and when he heard the table being cleared, he took a deep breath before exiting his room. If he didn’t jump over his shadow now, he’d never do it. “G-Guys, can – can I talk to you? All o-of you?”, he asked shakily. They nodded and gathered in the living room before Chan stopped him: “Changbin’s not here yet. He took a detour earlier and should be here soon. We should wait for him.” Felix nodded and bit his lip, growing more anxious as time passed. After what seemed like an eternity, the door swung open and Changbin gave them a confused look. He didn’t know there’d be a group meeting. He only kicked off his shoes before joining them and every step he took was accompanied by a weird noise. With trembling hands, Felix unfolded the note he had written and started to read it out. He was stuttering, stumbling over his words before pushing the paper into Chan’s hands, a silent plea for the older to continue. The leader complied and finished the short speech his dongsaeng had prepared. There was silence, except for Felix soft sniffles. Chan pulled him into a hug and assured him that it was fine and that he was grateful the younger had trusted them enough to open up about such a vulnerable thing. Seeing how much their silence scared the young Aussie, the others were quick to follow their leader’s example and tell their friend that they didn’t judge him for it.

When Felix had calmed down a bit, he was ready to answer their questions. “Yeah, when I try to suppress my need to slip, I get a really bad headache, which is what happened today. I didn’t think I could go on like this, so I needed to tell you”, he explained. Minho gave him a questioning look: “Are you little right now?” – “No, I’m not. Though I feel really close to slipping, just not yet. I was little earlier when you took me back home, that’s why for a while I wasn’t talking”, Felix replied. Hyunjin admitted: “I’m scared guys. He’s so cute already, I don’t think I could handle it if he was little.” That brought a smile to Felix face, happy that they had taken him the way he was. Changbin got up and made his way over to Felix. There was that weird noise again and when he reached for the pocket of his jacket, Felix could see it was bulging slightly. “I saw you looking at that rattle earlier at the store, you really liked it, right?”, the rapper asked, “Now I understand why you do. It makes you feel little.” Felix nodded, growing sad. He avoided the older’s eyes by looking at the floor. “Then it’s a good thing I went back and got it for you, hmm?”, Changbin smiled, pulling something from his pocket, “Your eyes were literally sparkling earlier but then you looked sad when we left, so I thought you must have really wanted it.”

Felix face lit up when Changbin handed him the toy he had been wishing for so badly. Looking at it again, he slipped in an instant. Beaming at the sun, painted on it, the little gave it a good shake and broke into giggles when it made the noise he liked so much. Changbin felt his heart beat faster and he smiled widely at the excited little in front of him. There were muffled squeals from the members around them, as they had to realize being little multiplied Felix cuteness. “Changbinnie-hyungie!!! TANK CHU!!!!”, the little squealed and threw himself into his hyung’s strong arms. Laughing, Changbin caught him and hugged back. The two stayed cuddled together, with Felix occasionally shaking his rattle, eyes wide and innocent, until Chan spoke up: “Cutie, can you let go of Binnie for a while?” – “Nuh! My Changbinnie-hyungie!” – “I’m not taking him away from you”, the oldest chuckled, “but I know that neither of you have eaten yet. You can cuddle again after.” Felix seemed to be thinking about it. “Come on, Lixxie. We saved you some fried chicken and Channie-hyungie is going to feed you. When Binnie is done eating and took that shower he has been looking forward to for hours, you can cuddle again.” – “Lixxie wan’ cuddle with Channgbinnie-hyungie and Channie-hyungie.” – “Okay baby. We will but first. Food?” – “Foowd”, Felix agreed before being picked up by his hyung.

[maribabyart]

Do you have any Demon Martha headcanons? How do you think her reunion with Mrs. Mayberry (The teacher who paid for her assassination) in hell would go?

 OK YES I HAVE HEADCANONS FOR THIS HERE WE GO --

MARTHA HEADCANONS <3

So, I’m gonna start with her before she died so I can fully get into why every part of her is the way she is as a demon.

Martha is light skinned Latina woman with family coming from Venezuela. Her mother has a much darker skin tone than her, but her father is far more light-skinned, where she gets her complexion from. While she was raised in America, her parents were immigrants. She was born at home, and she didn’t get a birth certificate until she was four, the year before she started schooling.

She has three older brothers. They were very rambunctious with Martha as a child, pulling pranks on her/with her, taking her hunting, etc.

She was raised out on a farm in the middle of a forested area in Kentucky. They raised cattle, sheep, chickens, and horses. Martha’s main job on the farm was to groom/ride horses and feed chickens.

She learned her sharp-shooter skills in a more intense version of something like 4H unique to her area. She was fantastic with a bow and arrow, and even better with her firearms.

Cannibalism was normalized in Martha’s life from a young age. She knew that it must be kept secret from the outside world, and that it wasn’t accepted. However, it wasn’t something she found to be horrid.

Her family -- and their close friends -- came from a long lineage of Satanic cultists that practiced cannibalism to purge any bit of, “soul” remaining in the corpses of their sacrifices. Due to this, Martha had evolved to be able to be immune to the ill side effects of cannibalism, along with the ability to not feel repulsed by the idea of eating human meat.

Her favorite part of the body growing up was the brain, and it still is to this day. She loves the frontal lobe slathered in spices and hot sauce.

She began her cultish killings at age fourteen, when she officially joined the cult of her family’s descent -- Compañerismo de la Fruta Prohibida (Fellowship of the Forbidden Fruit, a refrence to their following of Lucifer)

Martha didn’t love Raphael Peterson, or, “Ralphie”. She was married of to him at age sixteen, when she became a, “Woman” in the cult’s eyes. They were both meant to appear as an ideal couple so that people wouldn’t suspect them, as their parents before them have.

Ralph and Martha always saw each other as friends with benefits.

They moved to Dayton, Tennessee to start their family when they turned eighteen.

In Nashville, Martha started singing to music her husband played in Taverns. Think Dolly Parton style music. She sounded a lot like that.

Their first child was born when Martha was eighteen: Their daughter, Jolene Peterson. Two years later, they had their son, Beau Peterson.

Martha was always really involved with her kids’ school activities, and she was always volunteering to work events, and her kids were in every activity they could be.

She used her physical attractiveness to seduce and kill men.

While sex favorable, Martha is on the aspec -- greysexual (sexual pleasure is irrelevant to her, and she only engages in it to appease her partner generally. She only finds sexual attraction in people while in the act.) Because of this fact, Martha only has affairs for the sake of gaining trust to bring the men home so they can be killed and eaten.

When Martha was shot, the community villainized Mrs. Mayberry because the town darling, Martha Jane Nunez Robles-Peterson, would NEVER cheat, right? The situation was misread: Martha was just talking to Jarold Mayberry that night about t-ball-related things, right? He WAS the the little league captain for her 6-year-old-son’s league, wasn’t he?

Martha was gifted millions by the community, and people were insanely supportive of her. They wanted the sweet Martha they, “knew” to get better soon. They loved her so -- such a darling woman!

Her music became more well known, and soon, Martha was all over TV. Her big musical break came from when she auditioned for American Idol and made it. Her sob-story propelled her, and she eventually won.

Martha was a hero to everyone around her -- surviving a traumatic event that was uncalled for, while also being so damn chipper and kind.

Hell, did you guys see the background in one of those scenes?! Martha was canonly proclaimed a SAINT! People loved her that much.

She used the public trust to lure in more victims and never be suspected.

Martha was 28 when she died. Ralphie was 28 as well. Jolene was 10, and Beau was 8.

Ralphie managed to survive the explosion, albeit he was completely paralyzed, and the two children went to heaven. Ralphie repented during his last month alive, and confessed to his crimes. He was sent to heaven as well.

Martha and the children were declared to have died in a bear attack, as Compañerismo de la Fruta Prohibida covered up their true demise with ease.

People were heart broken -- Martha’s music was used in sad collages on Youtube, Tik Toks had Martha’s face in them for memorials.

No one ever realized her crimes.

Now! As a demon....

In hell, Martha picked up the alias Hero -- it’s what she was in life, right? I’ll be calling her Hero from now on.

Hero is both different and similar to how she was when she was alive. She’s still the got her kind-hearted, southern mama vibe going for her: She tends to be able to fit into any demonic crowd well, either by attractiveness or by sheer, overwhelming allure -- she’s a very magnetic personality.

As far as powers go, Hero’s are mostly related to firearms. She’s acquired these powers through deal making and soul dealing, as most demons do. Her charming aura very quickly lure people into thinking she’s naive or really just being honest with them.

Her nails can peel back to allow her to shoot from, “finger guns”. Each finger is a different gun, besides her middle and index fingers. They are both shotguns. Together, they make a double barrel shotgun.

When in full demonic form, Hero’s bandages become sentient. They peel away from her wound, revealing a minigun like weapon in the hole in her head. This can rapid fire while the bandages can grab onto things or hoist Hero up. She can make this last for five minutes -- ten at the longest -- before she gives out to sheer exhaustion and needs to eat demon meat to replenish herself.

Within her first week in hell, she was known to be powerful. Not quite an overlord, but powerful enough to hang around overlords. 

She hit overlord status three months later, during the terf war seen in Hazbin Hotel’s pilot: She took several areas of land, and was seen to have several lesser demons flocking to be on her good side.

Hero used her land to build up a bar and grill that serves strictly demon meat and blood, where demons can play music and dance. It’s like a fucked up country dinner. It’s an insanely popular addition to Cannibal Colony, where she lives.

The place is called La Cocina de la Calle Kuru (The Kuru Street Kitchen)

Hero REALLY wants to get her hands on exterminator tools, but she’s not really a fan of black market deals -- it’s too “trashy” for her.

Hero knows Alastor pretty well, as he’s came in for meat and to watch the music. They’ve had pretty decent conversations while she was on break, seeing as they were both influential  southern, cannibalistic serial killers. It’s a running gag between them where they jokingly talk about who was more iconic -- “I bet I took out more belles in a lifetime than you could in your entire afterlife!” “Well hon, at least I could eat the brains without gettin’ Kuru!”

She talks to Rosie a lot about business, and has met Niffty and Mimzy before. (Al hooked a bitch up with some friends lmao)

She REALLY likes Mimzy. She reminds her of Ralphie, and they became super fast friends. 

Vox and Hero have a confusing sort of friendship, as neither really wants to be seen with the other -- In his case, because she’s much lower on the overlord spectrum than him, and in her case, because she’s no stranger to Alastor and Vox’s hatred for one another. However, she often finds herself consoling Vox on sleepless nights after closing up the bar, trying to convince him that Valentino is NOT worth his time. Beyond that and him occasionally paying her back in tech at random hours of the morning, they don’t talk often.

Hero LOVES dancing! Like, a lot.

She’s seen Charlie’s ad for the Happy Hotel. Her and Mimzy watched it, and they both thought it was the stupidest damn thing they’d ever seen. However, Hero said she was happy Charlie got up there, because she was just, “Cute as a button, that lil’ sweatpea was!”

Hero’s best friends are Mimzy and an unnamed demon who specializes in black market, extermination tool selling (the one seen in in Addict -- Cherri Bomb’s former lover).

These two people, and these two people alone, can call her “Martha”

Hero cooks whenever she’s stressed. She also adores sewing and binging soap operas and reality shows on Voxflix.

Hero’s Instagram would be, “HeroicMelodies” in reference to her music career and name.

Hero gets hit on A LOT, and she despises it. She doesn’t need to seduce people anymore to get away with murder, and she doesn’t want to. She dresses the way she does because she LIKES that clothing. People can fuck off.

The reason Hero is white and pink is to show how innocent she looks. Her pitch-black eyes show her dark soul.

Hero sings in Spanish to herself when cleaning up.

Sometimes, Hero and Rosie spend holidays going around with ground demon meat to throw to the hell crows and other critters. They find it peaceful.

Hero, shockingly, holds no hatred for I.M.P., and commonly jokes about how the I.M.P.’s, “Did her a favor” by sending her somewhere she can actually be her. She has no idea who called for the hit, though. 

Hero finds Blitzo’s Instagram posts being poorly spelled to be, “Damn near precious”.

She thinks he’s a teenager, and probably would think it less adorable if she knew he was a grown man with a grown kid.

Hero doesn’t care about Mrs. Mayberry at all. Like, at all. She honestly assumes the woman is in heaven. She knew Mayberry wasn’t bad -- she probably wouldn’t care if she was in hell, though. Oh well. Sucks to suck, bitch.

Husk frequents La Cocina de la Calle Kuru to drink and engage in the gambling scene. Hero finds him trashy, but can’t say she hates him. She finds him funny as hell, and enjoys the business. Just not someone she’d personally hang out with.

[toplinetommy]

You Bring the Moon and Stars to Me (Part Eight) - Tyson Jost

Synopsis: A Soulmate!AU where your soulmark only appears once you fall in love with your soulmate

Words: 6.8k

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, poorly written smut

a/n: here’s a link to the song in the second part, which is essentially the inspiration behind this love story (even tho his entire discography played a part). there’s one more part after this plus the epilogue! again, thank you for reading along :)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

September 2019 - Denver, CO

You can see it on his face. Tyson’s clearly trying not to panic, and you’re kind of unsure why. He was fine the first two hours you were over at his house, helping him pack. But now, he’s folded and unfolded the same crewneck sweatshirt at least eight times and you’re about to yank it out of his hands and tell him that you’ll just do it. 

His room was a mess. His large set of hard-shell suitcases open and scattered on the floor, a pile of garment bags on his bed filled with his suits, and a box collecting his random knick-knacks by his bathroom door. His alternative playlist was playing through the speakers on his laptop that sat on his bed, filling the periodic silence between you two. You were both sitting criss-cross applesauce on his floor, packing up his dresser, when you decided to finally cut in.

“Tyson,” you call out. “You doing okay there? You’ve been folding the same sweater for five minutes.”

He folds the sweater one more time before finally placing it in his suitcase, “I’m fine.”

Your heart sinks a little and your lips form a pout at his mumbling, knowing instantly it was just him not wanting to talk. Your hands stop folding the pair of jeans in your hands and you drop them to your folded legs. You sit up, bringing yourself to your knees, and crawl over to kneel behind Tyson’s sitting figure. 

“Hey,” you whisper, wrapping one arm around his torso and resting your head on the back of his shoulder. You run a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp and twirling some of his curls through your fingers. Tyson leans back into you, taking in the extra weight you’re putting onto him. “Talk to me.”

“I’m just anxious. I’ve never lived by myself before,” he admits. “I’m excited, but still.”

“It’s all a part of growing up,” you sigh. He’s probably already heard that statement from his family members and even guys on the team, but you knew that when you heard that, it helped. “Besides, don’t the older guys always check in on the younger guys when they start living on their own?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Tys. Living on your own is refreshing, trust me. You’ll find out so many new things about yourself and it’s not like you’ll be by yourself 24/7. Especially with how social you are,” you reassure with a smile as you rub his shoulders. You could tell he was nervous prior to packing. Every time he had called you to talk about a new place he found over the summer he just rambled and nit-picked the place apart. His pros and cons list looked more like a maybe and a no list by the time he finally settled on the Cherry Creek apartment. 

“Can we take a break? I think it’d ease my mind a bit.” He asks, gesturing to the mess in front of him. 

“Sure.” You twist your body around Tyson’s. “Only if I can have a kiss.”

Tyson playfully scoffs and rolls his eyes before leaning in and placing a smiley kiss on your lips. The kiss is quick, and you pull away to stand, pulling him up with you. 

“You want to figure out plans for dinner? I don’t know about you but this packing is making me hungry,” Tyson says, changing the subject.

You two end up deciding on getting sushi from your favorite place, a spot where you knew the owners by name at this point. You spend the time sharing your favorite stories from the Rookie House, Tyson not missing a chance to chirp JT about his Fortnite addiction. Your favorite memory being the one time you and Tyson were in the living room and Kerfy and his girlfriend had set off the smoke detectors while trying to cook.

“I think my best memory was move-in day,” Tyson swallows. He grabs another piece of sushi with his chopsticks. “I was on cloud nine knowing that I had made the team and then I crossed the street to go meet my neighbor and I just about shit my pants when you walked in.”

A strangled cough comes out of your mouth in response to Tyson’s statement. You grab your drink next to you and try to swallow down the remnants of your food that you’ve swallowed incorrectly.

“Actually,” Tyson ponders, changing his mind. “That might not be my favorite memory, but it definitely led to a fuck ton of my favorite memories.”

Your stomach churns at the thought and you turn your head to look at Tyson. He’s not even looking at you and is focused on the container of sushi in front of him. Your eyes water and you blink at the thought of all of his favorite memories in this house over the past two years all stemmed from you. More specifically, stemmed from the off-chance that the two of you even reconnected in the first place. You smile softly, blinking away the tears in your eyes, setting your chopsticks down and tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention. 

He turns to look at you, and the expression on his face shows that he doesn’t even fully understand the weight those words had as he spoke them to you. Looking into his eyes, it hits you. This was fate. Tyson Jost sitting in front of you was the universe’s doing. All of the comments you got since meeting Tyson flow through your mind as you stare into his eyes silently. One sticking out more than the others.

I knew you two would somehow find each other

“What?” Tyson asks, breaking you from your thoughts. He’s chewing the last bit of his sushi roll, and you bring your thumb up to wipe at the soy sauce that gathered in his mustache. 

“Nothing, nothing,” You shrug. “Just really happy is all.” You turn your attention back to your sushi, finishing the last few pieces before Tyson’s up and throwing away the containers.

Once he makes his way back over to you, he pulls you into his chest, placing a kiss on your lips. 

“Your breath smells like seaweed,” you chirp against his lips.

“Are you gonna stop kissing me because of it?” He asks, pulling away slightly.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so,” He laughs, pulling your face back to his to reconnect his lips with yours. His lips move along yours softly, your hands moving against the expanse of his chest as he moves his hands along your torso until one lands on the side of your face. The hand on your waist finds its way underneath your t-shirt, squeezing the bare flesh lightly. He’s pulling you tighter against his body, crowding you around the counter behind you. As the kiss deepens, his groin brushes against your pelvis, causing a growing heat in your stomach and between your legs. You twist your hands under the cotton of his shirt to feel the warmth of his back.

“So now that we’re moving out you’re gonna start making out with people in the kitchen?” 

A voice, you recognize as JT makes you pull away. You drop your forehead to Tyson’s shoulder before lifting it back up. You give JT a tight-lipped smile, heat rising to your cheeks. His jaw drops open and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead before he stutters over his next words,

“Oh. Hey, y/n.”

“Hey, JT.”

He disappeared up the stairs just as fast as he entered the house.

“Sorry, I thought he had already finished moving to his new place,” Tyson apologizes, pushing a hand through your hair.

“Does he know anything about what’s going on between us?” You ask, sheepishly. 

“Uh, yeah,” he responds, scratching at the back of his head. “I might’ve called him a few days after you left Canada to tell him and get advice.”

“And what did he say?”

“That’s a secret.”

You playfully shove at his chest and he stumbles backward. “Fine. Let’s get a move on this packing. We’re almost done.”

You playfully slap at Tyson’s ass before pushing him towards the stairs, a task made difficult by the brunette due to his size and unwillingness to move. After a few more shoves and the promise of a kiss, he’s finally heading down the stairs so he can finish packing up the remainder of his clothes.

--

“Hey,” you shout as you walk through the front door of Tysons’ apartment, announcing your presence. Tyson’s sitting on his couch, watching something on the tv. “I texted Kacey and-“

“Wait. You texted my sister?” Tyson asks a hint of awe and confusion in his tone.

“Yes, but that’s not the point. I texted your sister for your grandma’s almond butter cookie recipe and now I’m here because I thought we could bake them together.” You had known he had already started to miss St. Albert even after only being gone for a little over a week. This was the first time you really got a taste of what an NHL off-season was like and when you were in Kelowna, you could start to fathom how hard it was for Tyson to leave home every summer. The least you could do was help make that transition a little easier for him.

Tyson joins you shortly as he watches you fill the contents of your canvas grocery bag onto his kitchen island. He picks up the jar of almond butter before setting it back down. 

“You know I don’t bake.”

“There’s always time to learn, Tys,” you state. “And now’s a perfect time!”

A laugh slips out of Tyson’s mouth at your eagerness. He goes quiet after, thinking back to the comment you first made about how you texted his sister. His heart swells at the thought of it, at the thought of you and his sister possibly becoming friends. His heart swells, even more, knowing that Kacey didn’t really have an older female influence in her life that wasn’t their mom or a relative, or even her teammates at school. He wants to ask you how often you talk to her, but he decides against it, not wanting to intrude.

The last thing you pull out is a plastic mixing bowl and utensils to properly make the cookies. Tyson laughs at the extra tools, to which you reply with a scoff,

“I literally helped you move, I know you don’t have the things to bake.”

He throws his hands up in defense before poking at your side, causing you to squeal. You slap his hands away, telling him to focus. The two of you get through making the cookie dough pretty easily, as Tyson was attentive to your directions for once. It’s moreso you mixing the ingredients together as Tyson hands you what you need while he tells you about the start of training camp. You let him press the almonds on the tops of each cookie and you hop up onto the counter as he puts them into the oven. 

“I have a question to ask you,” Tyson announces as he shuts the oven door.

“Shoot,” you answer.

“So every year in November we have the Mile High Dreams Gala. It’s this huge charity event all of the Denver sports teams host,” he starts, moving to stand in between your open legs. He places his hands on your thighs, rubbing his thumbs softly over the exposed skin. “And I know it’s not for another two months, but I’d love for you to come with me.”

“Like one where you wear a nice suit and I wear a fancy dress?” You ask curiously.

“Yeah one like that,” he chuckles. 

You ponder the idea for a minute, puckering your lips in thought. “On one condition, you come with me to the Dermot Kennedy concert in a few weeks.”

“I thought you and Caitlyn were going?” He asked, confused.

“She was supposed to, yeah, but Jack’s brother is getting married that weekend.”

“Sounds like you’re gonna need to start shopping for a new dress then,” Tyson smiles.

A comfortable silence falls around the both of you as you scrape your finger on the side of the mixing bowl, picking up the remnants of the raw cookie dough before plopping it into your mouth. 

His thumbs continue to rub small circles on your thighs before he breaks the silence, “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Okay,” you start, hesitantly. When Tyson usually wanted to talk to you about something specific, he usually just came right out and said it. The fact that he’s asking you first makes you avoid his gaze, and you look at the small, potted plant behind him that’s sitting on his tv stand in the distance. You swallow thickly, trying your best to suppress the burst of anxiety coursing through your veins. 

“You asked me the other day if JT knew about what was going on between us, and he does, but -” Tyson takes a deep breath, stopping himself. His thumbs stop moving on your thighs, and you grab his hands in hopes of giving him comfort. “But, I’m not even sure what’s going on between us. You came to Canada, and I don’t know, there was just this huge shift between us and we haven’t really talked about it. I know I’ve only been back for a week and it’s always a hectic first few weeks back for me-”

“Tys, you’re rambling,” you interrupt. “Take a breath.”

“I really don’t know how to talk about it because it’s so new and intense. You’re my best friend and I don’t know how to even talk about taking it further or even how, really.”

“I don’t really know either,” you admit, playing with his fingers where they’re joined with yours. “But I really like this and it doesn’t even feel that different than before.”

“I do know that this is what I want. I want to sit here and talk about the universe with you. I want you to help me prank my friends and for you to tell me when I’m being immature. And at the same time, I want to be there to tell you when you need to let loose and be the one you go to about work even though I don’t understand a thing that comes out of your mouth when you do,” he explains. His nervousness seems to be gone as he focuses on your reaction. It was a lot for him to come out and admit these things, and you know that. 

As he spoke, the feelings you felt from the last day at his old house came flooding back. The man in front of you was fate, and he clearly felt that you were put in his life for a reason as well. All of the little things with him like napping, cooking, going to his games, and the bigger things like meeting his family, and spending time with him outside of Denver really meant just as much to him as it did to you. You’re finally starting to see it and the way he’s talking to you has perfectly mirrored his previous actions. 

“Tyson,” you start, your voice cracking. You take a deep breath and sniffle, holding yourself back from letting any tears out. Tyson lets go of your hands quickly, bringing his up to your face, grasping your cheeks.

“Hey,” he says leveling his head with yours to get better direct eye contact. “What we’re not gonna do is cry.”

“You can’t say things like that to me and not expect me to cry,” you sniff, a few tears escaping from the inner corners of your eyes. Tyson catches them before they can even leave mascara smudges. “Ever since you walked into that study room at school, you were all I wanted. I just wasn’t ready.”

Tyson looks at you in a questioning manner. You can see it in his eyes, he wants to ask you if you’re ready now, if you’re ready to dive head-first into being with him romantically. You lift one of your hands and place it on where his hand is still on your cheek. Looking at him, you feel the same way you think you’ve always felt about him-- a way you were too scared to admit to yourself, a way you sometimes even avoided feeling. However, in this moment,, you know you’re ready for more with him.

“I want you, in every way possible.”

Tyson leans further in, his hands still on either side of your face. The intensity combined with the softness of his gaze has your body feeling weightless, the warmth from his hands keeping you grounded. He leans in all the way, capturing your lips with his in a passionate, heated kiss. He slides his hands from where they were on your cheeks to the junction of your waist, pulling you to the edge of the counter and closer to him. 

You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles and digging your heels into his ass, urging him to come impossibly closer. Your hands brush over the expanse of his chest, and up to the back of his neck, where you lightly scrape your nails. He bites at your lip, letting out a small moan when his groin brushes over your clothed center. Pushing your hands up his torso underneath his shirt, you tug on it letting him know you want him to take it off. He pulls away, just for enough time to peel his shirt off, before latching his lips right back on yours.

Your hands travel around his torso, your fingers dipping into the curves and definitions of his muscles. You’ve never felt so connected to someone with just kissing, and you’re trying to memorize where every line is on his toned torso because you never want to forget this feeling-- the feeling of pure elation and pure want deep in your bones.

His lips traveling down your jaw and to your neck pulls you from your thoughts. His lips kiss lightly against your warm skin, adding a coolness before he softly bites down when your neck meets your shoulder. 

“Tys, baby,” you moan out. He hums against you, not wanting to take his lips away from your skin. “We can’t keep doing this on kitchen counters.”

Your request has Tyson pulling away from you and he picks you up, hands squeezing at your ass as he walks you to his bedroom. When he drops you onto the bed, he crawls over you, eyes dark. You lick your lips as you look down his torso once more, fully being able to appreciate his athletic build with no shame for once. He smiles widely as he leans further in, reconnecting your lips.

His hand pushes your shirt up your torso, revealing your lacy bralette. He pulls one cup aside, exposing your hardening nipple before wrapping his lips around it. Your hips buck up at the feeling and when he pulls away to switch to the other nipple, you take the opportunity to pull your shirt off over your head. You’re lost in the scent of his shampoo, a combination of sage and lemon. Once he gives your nipples ample attention, he leaves a trail of kisses down your stomach, kissing above the waistband of your running shorts. Hooking his fingers under the material and his eyes flick to look at your face, making sure he has the okay before he’s pulling them off your legs.

“You need to tell me that you’re sure you want to do this,” Tyson breathes out heavily. “This is so much more than-”

“I know. I want this, I want you,” you interrupt, reassuring him of your intentions, running your hands through his curls. He smiles up at you, before dipping his head down between your thighs. The warmth of his breath combined with your view of him has you rolling your eyes into the back of your head. 

His tongue peeks out of his mouth as he licks at his lips, looking up at you. His eyes focus back onto your center, and his tongue sticks back out again, this time licking a stripe up your folds. His hands rub along your thighs, pushing your knees to the bed, leaving more room for his torso. The heavy grip on your thighs disappears and you feel his thumb find your clit. The new pressure eclipses a moan from you as he fucks his tongue into you.

His thumb continues to rub your clit, your hips grinding up against his face to get as much friction from him as possible. His other hand comes to lay flat against your lower stomach, pushing your down to keep you from moving. He lifts his face up, thumb still on your clit.

“Stay still,” he demands, looking up at your face. You lift up to rest on your elbows, giving yourself a better view of Tyson’s head between your thighs and nod in understanding. Your eyes stay focused on him, as he looks back down at your pussy and lets spit drop out of his mouth. The action has your eyes rolling to the back of your head and the cool sensation on your hot folds has you gasping and throwing your head back onto the pillow.

He spreads the wetness around, this time focusing his tongue’s movements on your clit. He pumps a finger into you, curling his finger to find your sweet spot. He adds another finger, and you focus on the wet sounds coming from your center.

“Tyson,” you whine, threading your fingers through his hair once again. Your grip tightens as you feel the familiar pressure start to build. Tyson groans against your clit and wraps his lips around the small bundle of nerves, bringing you to your high. He licks at your folds through your orgasm, only pulling away when your grip on his hair loosens. His lips are redder than normal and swollen and his beard is glistening from your juices. He wipes his chin with the back of his hand as he crawls back over you, setting some of his weight on your body as he kisses you.

As your lips move against him, a whine escapes your mouth when you feel the outline of his dick through his shorts. You reach your hand down to wrap your fingers around his clothed member, and Tyson moves one of his hands to push both his shorts and underwear off. 

“Fuck,” he curses against your mouth as he feels your thumb swipe against the tip of his cock. His hips buck into your hand, and you start to push at his chest to make him flip over onto his back. He’s hesitant to follow your movements, and you pull away from his lips,

“I wanna blow you,” you mumble against his lips.

“You can do it another time,” he asserts. “Just wanna be inside you.”

You nod, kissing down his jaw, sucking marks across his neck and shoulders. He leans up on his elbows, pulling away to grab at his nightstand.

“No, no condom. I’m on birth control.”

“You sure?” Tyson asks, hand still on his nightstand drawer. You nod your head yes, and he groans, presumably at the thought of him being inside you, bare. Finally, he crawls back over you, pushing one of your knees up into your chest. His lips leave yours, his forehead resting on yours. Gripping his member, he spreads his tip through your folds, gathering your wetness.

“Please,” you whine, squeezing one of your hands around his bicep as his tip catches against your clit. His eyes caught yours once again as he pushed himself inside you slowly. Your mouth drops open at the feeling, a choked out moan coming out. 

He picks up a slow yet steady rhythm fucking into you, one arm hooking under your thigh keeping you spread open for him. His lips move roughly against yours, your mouth silencing his moans. 

His lips detach from yours and he brings his other hand to rub his fingers at your clit. His eyes focus on yours and his pace slows down slightly. He’s hitting inside you deep and you can feel every part of him against you. You bring your hand to cup his jaw, your thumb brushing against his bottom lip. If you thought the connection when the two of you were kissing was a lot, the connection you felt now, with him buried deep inside of you, was a million times that. He pauses his thrusts, his member buried deep in you. 

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” you whisper. Tyson, a man usually of many words, opts for a silent response and kisses you deeply. With one hand on his face, you hold him to you as he starts moving again. Trailing his kisses down your neck he finds your sweet spot where your shoulder meets your neck.

“You feel so good, fuck.”

He picks up his pace, fucking you slowly, yet hard, as you both try to savor this

movement between the two of you. The finger rubbing your clit picks up speed and your fingers around his bicep tighten, leaving crescent marks behind. 

“I’m close,” you breathe out. Your walls tighten around his member as you tightly close your eyes. Tyson brings his mouth back up to yours, kissing you until you’re pulling away with a loud moan as your orgasm rushes over you. He fucks you through it, leaving some pressure on your clit even when your high has passed. His orgasm follows yours soon after, his cock twitching as he spills deep inside of you.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, too.” He says. You kiss him fully, whining against his lips as he pulls his member from you. He flops down next to you, pulling your body tight into his chest. Your hand falls over his heart, the skin there sticky and shining from sweat. Your breath falls in line with his, and your eyes close briefly. His fingers push through your hair, trying his best to smooth out the knots that were previously created. He tugs a little harder, tilting your head up so you’re looking at him.

He opens his mouth before his face twists. He inhales deeply, his eyebrows furrowed as he turns his focus away from you.

“What’s that smell?” Tyson asks. You waft some of the air around you towards your face and that’s when a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“The cookies!” You shriek, jumping up and detangling your limbs from Tyson’s. His booming laughter fills your ears as you run to the kitchen to inspect the damage. Turning the oven off with a beep, and taking out the burnt cookies, Tyson’s body appears behind you. 

He places a kiss on your bare shoulder where the blanket started to slip, “God, I could get used to this.”

His whisper against your skin causes a shiver to run through your body. Once the burnt cookies are on top of the oven, you turn around in Tyson’s arms, leaning up to brush your nose against his.

“Me too.”

September 2019 - Red Rocks, CO

 “Tyson, I don’t think you understand how excited I am!” You exclaim as you go to hug him hello at the door. “I’ve literally been looking forward to this since I got the tickets in February!”

Tyson chuckles into your neck. Letting go, you walk back into your kitchen. Tyson follows closely behind, watching you grab your water bottle and your purse. 

“Hey, I didn’t know this picture was taken,” Tyson gestures to the photo of the two of you hanging on your fridge. You smile as you look at the photo he’s pointing to. It’s from a home playoff game in the second round, a few days prior to them being knocked out. The picture in question is you and him after the game outside the locker room. He’s dressed in his navy game-day suit,holding his tie, phone, and headphones in one hand, while the other arm is wrapped around your torso. Your hand is squeezing his cheeks, forcing his smile to be somewhat squished. 

“Yeah, I went through the pictures on my phone after I got back from Canada to see what I wanted to get printed and saw that one.” You answer with a smile. “It was too good a memory to not put somewhere.”

Tyson’s smile slightly widens, remembering the night in question vividly. He was on a post-game high. He had scored a goal that game, helping propel the team to force a Game 7 in San Jose. You had gone to the game by yourself, sitting with some of the WAG’s and family members of the team and enjoyed every minute of playoff hockey in the Can with people you normally didn’t attend games with. 

“It’s a nice picture,” he compliments quietly, dropping his hands back down to his sides. He follows you to your front door, watching you as you slip on your Doc Martens. You’re wearing a one-sleeved bodysuit, paired with a pair of patchwork jeans.

You let him know you’re all ready to go, standing up and placing your hands on his chest and placing a kiss to his lips. Your eyes are wide and bright when you pull away, emphasized by your long eyelashes, and he doesn’t think you’ve stopped smiling in the few minutes he’s been here.

“Thank you again for going to this concert with me so last minute. I know you don't really like this type of music,” You say, referring to the Dermot Kennedy concert you’re getting ready for.

“He’s your favorite artist, I’ll be fine, Y/n,” Tyson reassures. “Besides, it’s an excuse for me to dance with no judgment.”

Hopping into Tyson’s SUV, you snatch the aux cord before he can protest and play your driving playlist on Spotify. The 45-minute car ride to Red Rocks from your place is spent with all the windows down, your feet up on the dash, enjoying the cool, Denver summer, and its almost fall-like air. Your playlist is bouncing through the speakers for most of it, both of you singing at the tops of your lungs. Joyful laughter keeps interrupting both of you, too excited and infatuated with the other.

As Tyson pulls into the amphitheater parking lot, you turn the radio down, taking in the sights around you. The bright oranges and reds of the canyon rocks shock you - you had looked at plenty of photos of Red Rocks Canyon since you had moved here, but none of those did justice to the sight in front of you.

“Holy shit,” you exclaim, settling onto the ground next to the wide-open car door. “This is breathtaking.” 

Tyson meets you on your side of the car, leaning on the side of the hood, “Yeah, it really is.

And you know he can’t even really see the vibrant coloring of it, but when you turn around to look back at him you notice he’s looking more at you than the canyon surrounding you. Tyson opens the trunk of his SUV, you going to sit down on the ledge once it’s fully open. The two of you sit there for a while, enjoying the view and each other's company, waiting for the doors to open for the show.

“Okay, so you can’t get mad at me for not singing any of the songs.” Tyson makes you promise, with a laugh.

“I won’t. I promise.” You assure, putting your pinky up to intertwine your pinky with his. He pinky promises you, and you kiss your thumb, him following suit. A somewhat childish tradition you made him do with you every time you made a promise to one another. As you drop your hands from in front of your faces, Tyson leans in stealing a kiss. You pull away with a shy smile, still not used to the new dynamics of your relationship.

Not too long later, you’re walking into the venue and down to your seats. Tyson leads the way, your hand in his as he leads you through the large crowd. Once you reach your seats you take in the sights around you and the ethereal atmosphere. The pre-show playlist is playing through the speakers as you tell Tyson everything he needs to know about the show that’s soon to start.

The lights go out, and the darkness of the canyon surrounds you until the show starts and Dermot Kennedy enters the stage through a cloud of smoke. As the set continues, Tyson has moved his focus from the stage to your dancing form next to him. Your eyes seem to be closed more often than not, letting yourself get lost in the environment and dance along to the beats of the heartwarming music. He’s swaying his body next to yours, not as lost in it all as you are.

The soft intro of ‘For Island Fires and Family’ starts and a small shriek leaves your mouth. You turn to Tyson, yelling to him that this is your favorite song. His smile replicates yours, eyes crinkly, as he pays more attention to this one than the ones that came before. As the chorus comes and the guitar starts to pick up, Tyson focuses more on the lyrics. 

Tyson takes this chance to pull you into his side. His arm slings over your shoulder and you turn your face to him smiling, grabbing the hand draped over you.

“But she's bringin' the moon and stars to me, damn permanent reverie. And even though this life, this love is brief, I've got some people who carry me” You sing softly, swaying your head to the piano and strums of the guitar. Tyson hums next to you at a quieter volume, nodding his head to the beat. Every time the chorus passes, Tyson squeezes you a little tighter into him. 

Once the show ends you make your way back to the parking lot and as you reach his car, he meets you on the passenger side with you. You thank him again for coming with you, giving him a hug and a quick, gentle kiss.

“No problem. I had a lot more fun than I thought I would.” He admits, pecking your lips once more. 

The drive back to your house is quiet, mostly because you’re too awestruck at the show you were just at. As he’s pulling into your neighborhood, you turn the music down, continuing to sing along softly. He turns to look at you, grabbing your hand and placing a kiss to the back of it. He rests your joined hands on his lap. You stick your hand out the window, feeling the wind against your skin, the streetlights bouncing off your jewelry, and creating an almost ethereal glow on your skin.

He pulls into the parking lot, parking his car next to yours. He meets you at the back of his car and stops you from walking up to your front door.

“I love you,” he blurts out. He realizes then how unromantic this moment is, with how the two of you are standing in a parking lot full of your neighbor’s cars. “I love you so, so much.”

“Tyson, I -” You stutter, pulling away from him. His admission shocks you and it all feels too early for it to be happening. You had only just talked about your feelings in the past week and were just starting to feel fully comfortable being in this new relationship with him. You hadn’t even told anyone other than Caitlyn about the new aspects of yours and Tyson’s relationship. “Do you have your soulmark, what, when -”

“I don’t - I don’t know, it just hit me,” He stutters. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. He takes a step towards you, effectively canceling out the step you had taken away from him moments prior. Your feet are stuck to the ground and you’re having trouble focusing on any of the thoughts running through your brain. What if he truly does love you, but doesn’t have a soulmark? What if he does have a soulmark, but you never get yours with him?

Tyson can see that your mind is running a mile a minute and he grabs your shoulders, pulling you into him. He runs his hand in a comforting manner over your hair before placing a kiss there. He pulls away, and gives you yet another quick kiss, in hopes that it calms both of you down.

“I have no idea about the soulmark, I just know that I love you. It came in waves throughout the night, and then it just hit during that one song and at the end. The one you were singing with your whole chest and I had you in my arms.”

“For Island Fires and Family?” You ask, thinking back to how tightly he held you to his chest during that specific song.

“Yeah,” He breathes out.

“Tyson,” you start, looking down at your shoes to avoid his gaze. “I can’t say it back.” 

It breaks your heart to even say that to him, especially with the amount of love you already have for the brunette. He already had a piece of your heart, but looking back up at him you couldn’t find the words to say that you were in love with him.

“That’s fine,” Tyson assures, his tone light letting you know that it really is in fact okay.

“It’s just really early and there were so many changes so fast,” you explain further. “But, I can tell you right now that I have love for you already, and that I am falling for you. You just have to give me time.”

He nods his head in understanding, taking yet another deep breath. You stand there in his embrace a moment longer before he leads the two of you up to your door.

Tyson’s in the bathroom finishing up while you’re already in bed, under the covers. When you hear the bathroom door open, you set your phone down and look over at Tyson. He’s smiling widely as he scratches his head. He sits at the edge of your bed and pulls his t-shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere on the floor.

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, sitting up further in bed.

“What?” Tyson asks, twisting around to look at you.

“Your fucking arm!” You exclaim, reaching out to touch at the ink adorning his once bare arm. 

Your jaw drops at the revelation, staring at Tyson, whose eyebrows are knitted in confusion. Opening your mouth to speak, nothing comes out but a choked noise. You point at his arm, not able to find your words, hoping he takes the hint and looks at his arm.

He glances between you and where you’re pointing and he sees the black ink just above his elbow. He jumps up, running to your bathroom to get a better look at it in the mirror. He examines it closely. He doesn’t notice your presence until your hands land on his bare chest, and he turns his focus from the mirror back to you. He doesn’t hesitate to grab your face and bring your lips to his in a heated, passionate kiss. 

“I am so fucking in love with you,” he announces once he pulls away. Looking into his eyes you notice the glossiness in them. 

“Let me see it,” you whisper, dancing your fingers along the back of his right arm. 

He turns his body enough for you to get a clear look at the brand new ink. Just above his elbow is a half-sun, surrounded by the phases of the moon, adorned with various small dots and lines to make it look more complete. The lines are delicate, which is something your mind links to the way you treat one another. You place a kiss in the center of it, before wrapping your arm around Tyson’s waist turning him around.

“It’s gorgeous,” you compliment.

A blush rises to Tyson’s tan cheeks. His eyes are sparkling in the harsh lighting of your bathroom and his smile is bright as he looks down at you. Your heart is full and your hand stays wrapped around his bicep, almost like if you take your hand away the mark will disappear. 

“I guess this means I’m your soulmate, huh?” You smile.

“I guess so,” He smiles back, wrapping his arms around you to fully embrace you.

The two of you make your way to bed eventually, only after pulling away from Tyson long enough to get there. The two of you don’t fall asleep for hours after getting in bed, too caught up in one another’s body, and the connection between your souls. He’s snoring above you and you smile to yourself before dozing off. You may not be in love with him yet, but you knew in your heart that you were a few steps from falling.

tag list: @reavenedges-lies​ @oilers2997​ @quinnsbxtch​ (let me know if you wanted to be added!)

[tjwritesstories]

The broken Ace (Tsukishima x reader)

Chapter two- froyos and broken fingers

A/n I am so sorry😩🤚this is so bad but I got caught up with my first quarter ending that it turned out poorly🏃 uhhh next chapter y/n and Tsukishima are reunited😻 anyways- ignore every mistake🙄🤚 I promise to start actually trying and not procrastinating 😩

Anyways chapter one can be founddddd here!

•••

Y/n put down her phone as her coach began talking about the team’s match against Niiyami the next day. She slowly put her stuff away as she listened to the same lecture her team had heard a million times.

"I want everyone on their game this weekend. It shouldn't be that hard but Niiyami's Ace is pretty fierce so be ready. See you all tomorrow. Rest up." Y/n picked up her gym bag and quickly changed in the locker rooms so she could meet up with the boys.

  "Finally! You took forever." Tendou whined as she finally appeared after a good ten minutes of sending her last text.

  "Okay Mr. I take twenty minutes to get dressed and another twenty to gel my hair up." Y/n taunted causing  Tendou to jump on the smaller girl's back while Goshiki attempted to ask Y/n for tips as she struggled to stand up straight.

  "Goshiki-Chan! Why don't you ask me!? I could help!" Tendou said dramatically as y/n threw him off her and lightly stepped on his fingers causing him to whine despite the minimum pain.

  "Tendou-San... I think Goshiki wants advice from the number one Ace of the prefecture. Not her best friend." Semi teased as Y/n teased her fellow first year.

  "Oh you wound me Semi semi." Semi scowled at the redhead but before he could do anything Tendou ran over to Y/n and wrapped an arm around her.

  "Oi we'll see you later! Baki Baki and I are going reminiscing!" The two waved goodbye to the others and took off in a different direction.

  "Ah it's been awhile since we've been here." Y/n said as they made their way into the old Froyo shop that they had met at.

It had been closed for a few months due to the owner , who was a friendly old man with the heart of an angel, having to go away on a family emergency.

  "Ah I remember the first time we met here." Tendou sang as he walked up to the counter with a grin. "My brave knight in shining armor!" A familiar chuckle came from behind the counter causing the two (pretty) best friends to look up.

Y/n gave a soft smile to the elderly man who admitted a warm aura that made everyone feel at home. The man had been one of the first people to treat Tendou with kindness unlike the other adults who criticized younger Tendou for the things he couldn’t control.

  "Mr. Hayashi. How are you?" Y/n bowed out of respect as Tendou made their orders at the customizing end of the shop.

  "Great! Always a pleasuring seeing you Y/n. How's volleyball?" Y/n grinned at the older man who gave her a warm smile with soft eyes.

She twirled her fingers subconsciously as she shrugged.

  "Good. We have a match tomorrow against Niiyami. Care to come?"

  "It would be an honor. You better be keeping those grades up young lady." The last part was said with a stern but playful glare as Tendou came over. Y/n was always making sure her grades were passing.

Sometimes.

Y/n gave a chuckle as they each payed  for their frozen yogurt.

  "It should be Tendou over here you're worrying about." Tendou's eyes widened as he chuckled nervously.

  "Nice seeing you again Hayashi-San! See you tomorrow!" And with that he dragged Y/n out of the shop as they laughed.

They made their way over to a bench and took a seat across from each other before beginning to eat their frozen desserts.

Everytime they came to the store they sat in the same exact place where they first met. It was sort of a tradition.

With a soft smile she fondly remembered the day they met.

“Y/n? Your order is ready." Y/n grabbed her cup of froyo before whispering a thank you and going to sit down outside on the benches since it was a nice breezy day.

It had been four months since she had moved and the only thoughts on her mind were the two boys she left behind. The pain in her heart was heavy as she took a bite of the sweet treat.

Her mother had assumed it would be good to get out and had given her money for a treat. Some sort of bribery Y/n suspected.

Although she was thankful for the savory treat, it didn’t change the fact that she would do anything to go back home.

Her wallowing was interrupted by a group of boys circling a redhead boy with a bowl cut.

‘Seriously? Do people not have respect?’ She thought to herself as she walked over to them to see what was going on, her curious nature taking the best of her.

“Well Well Well of it isn’t the little freak.” Y/n raised an eyebrow and made her way past the group and stood in front of the victim who held a strong composure with the slightly noticeable tremble.

“Six against one? That’s pathetic.” The boy who seemed to be in charge scowled at her as she, who was hardly phased by his glare, took a bite of her froyo. “Why don’t you go home and cry to mommy about your poor life?”

“Why you little bitch-” he went to say something but before he could she turned and handed her froyo to the redhead and as she turned around she used the momentum of her turn to wind up.

With a sickening crack, her first connected with the older boy’s face causing his nose to bleed and the group to run away.

“You okay there?” The boy stared at her with wide eyes causing her to grin and shake of her hand as he handed back her froyo.

“Are YOU okay?”

“Please... I was built for protecting people.”

In reality she wasn’t. That punch had broken two of her fingers but she didn’t mind at the time. She had gotten a new friend to spend it with. Although Tendou constantly reminded y/n that she infact did despite her denial.

“Y/n I wish I could hit you with a bat right now.” Y/n rolled her eyes as she took the cherry off of Tendou’s mountain of whip cream.

“Cry about it.”

“You little-”

•••

Fun fact of the day- Tendou and y/n often get mistaken for a couple and their response is always “that’s my mom....” and Vice versus

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[eatmysmellyfeet]

behold I present to you a naive poorly thoughtful out political opinion/book review wee woo jail time;

lotstimes people act like having problems with radical feminism means like uh being a misogyner or something, but even that's kinda understandable because "having problems with radical feminism" often is had with a side of slightly to moderately misogynistic rhetoric.

I'm on this because I stepped on one of those ugly giraffe Discourse™ post's and it was like rad fems and "the havers of problems" talking around each other like the sneetches in that one Dr. Seuss story and like some one brought up like two books and was like "see what meannnn, I've made my point" and i was, what no what? you didn't say anything!

and like there's also like slightly to moderately misogynistic rhetoric from both sides??? somehow??? the two books that the problem haver brought up were SCUM manifesto (but no content just cover, there's probz an extremely well known idom about that) and woman hating a book I had to look up clif notes for because I have not read and the haver™ was ~~~clearly~~~ picking outrage bait.

I read scum manifesto as satire, because it's just the current system but wemen dealing. and uno reverse freudian psychology. it made some good point I think and APPARENTLY the author tried to like kill Andy Warhol?!? mmm?! and was

[/smug] read my manifesto [/smug]

so uhh I don't actually know if it's ~supposed~ to be satire.

woman hating is... uhhhh ¡mixed feeling! I got fuckin mixed ass feeling. I have not read this soo ii thought the

H

was cherry picking pickling for a pickled cherry pie and ii left a

[/smug] ad hominem; I win [/smug] comment

(I cannot find I want to edit soo real bad)

according to the vast impossible cliff the book makes good point, but gets a lixttle craxzy wixth itx at the end.

I am off topic, anny ways terfs don't call themselves terfs mostly. they think themselves radical feminist (it's in the name, whatdoyouknow) and because like a core part of like the whole radical feminism thing is with the barrier between men and women, with the uhh, ~veracity of it's animation~ a core contention within radical feminism.

leading to a...... terf, war (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

if you will...

god

I am so funny.

I'll be here all week

this is the only website I use.

any avenues this barrier between "the sexes" is "made up bull shit" and big criticism towards the SCUM manifesto I got is that the book 100% treats this barrier as an impassable wall. and not the "made up bull shit" that we know it is in our hearts 💕

woman hating makes some really good points and is a provider of a thought provoking perspective but also belly flops off the deep end in the literal last chapter and uhh here have a screen shot of a book review i found that sums it

gextting craxzy wixth it puts it mildly

I don't know how end things so bye

I've got a buffet ham in the fridge with my name on it peace out 🚑