#and if that's not enough then know that in the first book

[readwritealldayallnight]

You had never seen him look so utterly human before

Laid up amongst the scratchy, thin sheets of the hospital bed, with only a plain surgical mask covering the bottom half of his face, everything else above Ghost’s shoulders exposed to your eyes for the first time, while his own eyes have been shut for nearly four days straight now

You had never seen your Lieutenant without the signature mask that haunts the dreams of even the deadliest foreign mercenaries, had never seen him look anything less than intimidating, commanding, powerful without so much as even trying to, his presence alone striking fear into those who’ve heard whispers of the fearsome Ghost

Now however, with an IV hooked up to his arm and a nurse that comes to check on his vitals periodically, it’s hard to picture him as such a gruesome soldier, rather than a simple man who bleeds like any other human

In spite of the evident vulnerable position he finds himself in, his pale skin appearing nearly translucent under the harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital, there was no denying that Ghost remained someone to be feared

A particularly nasty blow to the head during a field op gone wrong had knocked the burly soldier out cold, and though doctors were optimistic he would make a full recovery, they couldn’t exactly tell the extent of the damage done until he woke up

You and the men that made up the remainder of the 141 had been taking turns remaining by his side, not wanting for Ghost to wake up alone, whenever that would be exactly

You wonder how he would feel about this, the fact that you are currently the one on shift for the unofficial rotation of visitors who’ve stuck by his bedside throughout his injury

You’re well aware of the fact that the Lieutenant doesn’t like you, has never liked you, and probably never will, though you’ve never been able to get a straight answer as to why

From the moment you’d met him, he’d been cold to you, distant, making no effort to get to know you nor welcome you to the team, opposite to the way the Sergeants and Captain had welcomed you with open arms and hearts

No matter how much you poked and prodded at them for an answer, some sort of inclination as to what you could possible have done wrong to have Ghost dislike you so much, the men always bit their tongues

You saw the way they exchanged knowing glances and sly smirks, believing they were being more cunning than they really were, insisting to you with carefully chosen words that it wasn’t something you should worry about too much, that the LT had a different way of expressing his feelings than most

“So long as he doesn’t wake up and want to ‘express his feelings’ by punching me in the face for being the first thing he opens his eyes to.” You thought to yourself, glancing up from your book at his still sleeping form, shaking your head at your silly thought

No, he’d never been particularly kind to you, but he’d also never gone out of his way to be cruel to you either you supposed

Perhaps he found you to be more of a nuisance than anything else, a pest he couldn’t seem to swat away hard enough, an annoying pimple he couldn’t quite pop

Your eyes scanned over his face once more, cursing whatever Gods might be listening that the man hiding beneath that Ghost facade had to be so … intriguing

You could see old scars running across his face, some of them peeking out from under the surgical mask while others ran across his brow, his crooked nose evident even under the fabric of the mask

He was handsome in his own, rugged way, a fact you were displeased to learn when you first saw him laying here, switching off with Soap who’d been sat at his side earlier

Ghost may not care for you, not that he had given you many reasons or chances to care for him, but you cared about your remaining members of the task force, and knew how important Ghost was to them, and so for the 141, you’d do your duty and care for a Ghost who apparently wanted no such love and tenderness from you

You looked the large man over, brows furrowing when your eyes landed on his neck, noting that the pillow supporting his head was getting a little flat

You stood from your chair, setting your book down, and approched him carefully, almost as though any sudden movements would somehow wake the comatose man from his slumber

As gently as you could, you attempted to adjust the pillow behind him to hopefully be more comfortable, quickly realizing just how heavy he was when he was nothing more than dead weight

You slowly slipped your hands behind his shoulders, pulling him forward as best as you could until you were able to adjust the pillow one handed

Slipping your hands back down his shoulders to ease him back into the bed, your palms naturally ending up sliding onto the back of his neck, the tips of your fingers brushing against the hair at the base of his skull, an involuntary shiver running through you at what you realized too late was a bit of an intimate touch with a man who’d been touch starved for years

It was hard to say who was more stunned at first, with how quickly things transpired, when you suddenly felt a pair of strong hands reaching up to grip your wrists and hold them in place

You hadn’t even realized you had let out a gasp as your eyes flicked down and met none other than Ghost’s own wide open orbs only inches away from you, staring right at you as though he was seeing a ghost

Stunned into silence, worried that you truly were about to end up on the receiving end of Ghost’s anger for having invaded his space like that, you barely had enough time to process that he’d somehow woken from his coma when his grip on your wrists tightened further, and somehow, whether it was a trick of the light or you imagination, his gaze softened before his scratchy, out of use voice said:

“Love.”

Your ears were ringing, hardly taking notice of the way a flurry of alarms and bells had gone off as soon as Ghost had woken up, his heart rate soaring through the roof and alerting staff

Medical personnel rushed into the room before you could wrap your mind around any of what was happening, Ghost’s grip on your never loosening until the doctor finally approached you both, sensing the tension in the air

“Lieutenant Riley,” the man said, gently landing a hand in Ghost’s bicep to hopefully help him ease his strong grip on you. “Let her go.”

His grip on you disappeared instantly, as though your skin had suddenly burned him, but his eyes never wavered from your own, even as he began mumbling unintelligibly beneath his medical mask

“What was that?” The doctor asked, trying to bring calm back to the room and ease Ghost into a state where he could be properly examined

“My girl.” The Lieutenant’s gravelly voice echoed throughout the sterile room

“Pardon?”

“My girl.” Ghost repeated, never once breaking eye contact with your now widened eyes

“Do- do you know who this is, Lieutenant?” The doctor posed the question, slowly gesturing towards you with a confusion that was spreading amongst you all

“‘Course I do.” Ghost spoke with certainty. “That’s my love.”

[mariasont]

A Puddle in Running Shoes A.H.

summary: your boyfriend finds out you have a praise kink and is having way too much fun with that information

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: some suggestive content, hotch being a menace, reader having a praise kink, end suggests something may happen but nothing explicit in this one folks im getting my libido under control swear, also count how many times r refers to hotch's face as stupid im crying

wc: 1.9k

You hated running. No—loathed it. Detested it. Despised it with every fiber of your being. If there was a stronger word, one that captured the burning, irrational rage you felt whenever someone suggested going for a jog, Spencer might have known it, but you couldn't bring yourself to care enough to ask. Simply put, running was not your thing.

But when Aaron—your boyfriend and somehow the most persistent man alive—asked you to join you on a run, you couldn't exactly say no. He didn't beg—Aaron Hotchner did not beg—but his version of asking, that soft it'd mean a lot to me paired with an encouraging smile, was close enough to begging in your book. Besides, you figured there'd be some sort of reward when you got back home. Aaron was good at those.

So here you were, contributing absolutely nothing to your marathon-obsessed, fitness-loving FBI boyfriend's training. Sweat coated every inch of your body, your legs felt like lead, and your lungs burned with every ragged breath you managed to suck in. The sun blazed overhead, making you feel more like a roasting chicken than a willing participant in this so-called fun activity.

Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he'd stepped out of a fitness ad—shirt clinging to him in ways that felt outright scandalous. Even the sweat on his face somehow made him look even more attractive.

He was at least ten paces ahead of you and every few steps, he'd glance over his shoulder, probably checking to make sure you hadn't spontaneously combusted or snuck off to find an air-conditioned cafe. Honestly, both were real possibilities.

Aaron's pace slowed until he was running beside you, throwing you a smile so unfairly handsome it made your legs feel weaker than they already did.

"How are you feeling?" The question felt retorical—anyone, profiler or not, was sure to be able to read you like an open book right now. "Still alive, or do I need to start figuring out the best way to carry you home without breaking any traffic laws?"

"I think I'm alive," you managed between gasps, wiping sweat from your brow. "But if carrying me is on the table, I'm not above playing dead to make that happen."

"Not necessary—I'd carry you anyway, if only to reward you for keeping up this long. You're doing great."

You foot caught a crack in the pavement, nearly hurling yourself into it, but Aaron's hand was there quicker keeping you upright as you tried to ignore the terrifying way your body had reacted to his compliment.

"Okay you can't just say stuff like that while I'm trying to run," you blurted out, avoiding his gaze. "You're trying to kill me, I swear."

You planted your hands on your hips, still trying to catch your breath, secretly relieved to have a break—even if it almost involved a face-first meeting with the sidewalk.

"Stuff like what?" He tugged at your ponytail and you swatted his hand.

"Nothing," you said way too quickly, shaking your head like you could physically toss what you said aside. "Forget I said anything. Let's just... keep running."

You quickly realized your mistake as soon as you started jogging again. You would never willingly suggest to keep running. Unfortunately, Aaron was actively aware of this, moving to come up beside you. You didn't need to look at him to know he had the stupidest smirk on his face.

He didn't say anything at first, to your immediate relief, just kept jogging beside you. The silence stretched on, his calm breathing only seeming to make your wheezing sound worse.

"You're breathing too shallow," he said after a moment, his tone completely casual like he wasn't even winded. "Try to take deeper breaths—match them to your strides. It'll make it easier."

You glanced towards him out of the corner of your eye before attempting his suggestion. You had no intention of letting him know that it worked. His ego was far too substantial for that.

"See? You're a natural," he said, shooting you a sidelong glance. "Atta girl."

Your brain flatlined and you almost tripped over your feet again, every rational thought replaced by static. What was wrong with you? You vaguely remembered reading somewhere that people with unresolved daddy issues were prone to developing praise kinks. Was that what this was? Whatever the reason, hearing Aaron talk like that shouldn't make you feel all gooey inside, but here you were, a puddle in running shoes.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, yup, fine!"

You stared at the ground so intensely, it was a miracle you didn't bore a hole into the pavement. Your voice had betrayed you, far too shaky and way too rushed, and you knew Aaron was probably filing away every bit of your reaction.

"Hey," he said softly, his hand brushing against the back of your neck as he spoke. "Stop staring at the ground. You'll run better if you keep your head up—it'll open your chest so you can breathe easier."

His hand lingered for a second too long than what your body could handle, leaving you completely flustered and fighting every urge to do exactly the opposite of what he said.

"There you go," he murmured, a small, approving smile tugging at his lips. "That's good, honey. Just like that."

His voice—his god forsaken voice—was like a jolt to your system, and not in a good way. Or maybe it was a good way, which was the problem. It was bad enough to hearing it out here, on the jogging trail, but your brain decided to replay it in an entirely different inappropriate context: one that involved you, him, and a bed.

Your face burned, and you couldn't tell if it was from the exertion, or the very real possibility that your body was too receptive to those words. And now, not only were you fighting for every breath, but you were trying to figure out if the dampness between your legs was entirely from sweat. Surely it was sweat. Right? Gods, you hoped it was sweat.

You stopped so suddenly that Aaron jogged a few steps ahead before he realized you were not longer beside him.

"Okay, I'm calling it. I'm done. Can we please go home now?"

He jogged back to you, an easy smile on his face, and placed his hands on your shoulders as he reached you.

"Alright, we can be done," he teased, thumbs brushing lightly over your collarbones. "You survived, and you did great. I'm proud of you."

He leaned down then, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips that made the ache in your body a little easier to ignore.

When he pulled away, you barely managed to keep standing.

Aaron let out a low laugh, his hands squeezing your shoulders. "Alright. What's going on? What's wrong with you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said over your shoulder, practically power walking towards the car.

Aaron's laugh deepened and you ignored the funny feeling curling in your chest.

"Sweetheart," he said, gently tugging your elbow to slow you down. "Come on, talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about, I'm fine!" You avoided his eyes as you tugged your elbow free. "I'm just tired, and, uh, need a shower."

A cold shower, your brain screamed, but you shoved the thought down.

"I know, I know you're tired," he said, lips curving into a smile, "but that's because you actually pushed yourself. I'm proud of you for sticking with it."

You were pretty convinced you were you were about to go up in flames. Your obituary would read death by too many unnecessary compliments. When your heart inevitably gave out, Aaron would have to explain to Rossi and the others how his dumb smile and sweet words had resulted in second degree manslaughter.

But then you saw it—the smirk. The one that said he absolutely knew what he was doing.

"Oh my gosh, you know!" You groaned and threw your hands in the air. "You know, and you're enjoying this!"

Spinning away from him, you stormed to the car, and slammed the door like it might shield you from his stupidly smug face.

You barely had time to exhale before the passenger door swung open, revealing Aaron, casually leaning against the car.

"You know," he said lightly, his tone far too casual for your liking, "slamming car doors isn't a great habit. You could hurt yourself."

"And you know," you snapped back, pointing at him, "torturing your girlfriend isn't a great habit either!"

He leaned in slowly, his fingers brushing against your shoulder as he grabbed your seatbelt. As he clicked it into place, his face lingered close to yours.

"I wasn't trying to torture you, baby. Just wanted to give you the chance to admit it—that you liked it."

Before you could muster a reply, Aaron's hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb moving along your cheek. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was so deep, leaving you no choice but to sink into it, even as the faint remnants of your annoyance tried to surface.

By the time he pulled back, you felt like you were under his spell. Then, without another word, he shut your door and headed to the driver's side.

"That's not fair," you muttered, crossing your arms and pouting as you stared out the window.

Aaron's hand found the back of your neck as he backed out of the parking spot, rubbing gently into smooth circles.

"I don't mean to be unfair," he said with a small smile. "I just needed to hear it, because sometimes people don't even realize what they need until they say it out loud. And I wanted to make sure I didn't misread anything—though I'm rarely wrong, as you know."

"Trust me, you remind me every chance you get." Your tone was dry, but you were well aware that the twitch in your lip was giving you away.

"Alright, smartass," he said, chuckling as his fingers pressed a little firmer into your neck. "Now tell me—how does it make you feel when I say those things to you?"

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I don't know, okay? I just... like it! Do I have to explain it?"

"You don't have to explain it if you don't want to," he said, "but I'd like to know what it is you like so much."

Aaron's hand moved from your neck to your hand, his fingers sliding between each of yours while his eyes stayed glued to the road, a thing that only came from months of familiar motions.

You let out a long breath. "I don't know. I just like hearing it. It makes me feel good. Special, I guess."

"You are special, sweetheart." His eyes flicked to you before returning to the road. "You're my best girl."

Your stomach flipped violently. You shifted again, trying to disguise the way your thighs pressed together tightly as your face burned hotter than ever. The debate earlier in your head was officially over—absolutely not just sweat, you thought miserably.

Aaron let out a soft chuckle, fingers brushing over your knuckles. "Something I said?"

You swatted his shoulder, your glare losing all its bite thanks to the flush all over your body. "You're enjoying this way too much."

"I can't help it," he murmured, voice dipping just enough to get you on edge. "But don't worry—I'll take care of my best girl once we're home."

You slumped in your seat, muttering something unintelligible that made Aaron chuckle again. And even though you wouldn't admit it, you found yourself smiling, already dreading and anticipating whatever he had planned when you got home.

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[suiana]

fellas, have you ever wondered if a man could ever be as adorable and cute as a baby kitten? well now you can experience and love on in real life! suiana presents to you innocent! yandere and smitten reader ❤️

your very own innocent boy who doesn't even know what NNN or OF means. his instagram feed is full of baking and and clothing ideas, he goes out to help stray animals, and he goes on daily walks to the park to reconnect with nature. he has no idea what a skibidi toilet is, brain completely nourished with the books he borrows from the library. yeah, this guy smells like bread and cookies too btw, he does lots of baking. and cooking. have i mentioned he's completely skilled in the kitchen? yeah, he is.

by some stroke of luck, you meet him one day and... look, he's just the cutest thing ever! i mean, he's fashionable, smells good, and was even defending a stray dog from being bullied by some kids. so you ask him out on a date, but the second you ask him the question you swear you could just die on the spot... because tell me why his entire face is red and he's genuinely so happy??? all smiley faced and blushing like a tomato???

oh it's his first time getting asked out and he's flustered??? he's never been approached by anyone before??? he thinks you're really attractive and he would like to go out on a date too??? oh my god guys, he's even asking if you're comfortable with him rambling like this and not trying to get too close without your consent😭

anyway the two of you go out on a date and you think you just might marry him on the spot with how much of a gentleman he's being??? INSISTING on paying for your meal, respecting your distance and being genuinely curious about you on a deeper level. no mention of hooking up, being casual fwb or anything like that. he's... actually looking for a serious relationship unlike your previous partners? holy shit? so you asked him his thoughts on cheating and some other stuff...

"so what are your thoughts on cheating?"

"cheating?"

"yeah, like when you get with someone else when you're dating."

"isn't that illegal?"

HELLO??? he thinks cheating is ILLEGAL??? you had to spend the rest of your date trying not to cry or hug him because he ended up finding out some devastating news.

"yes... cheating is illegal unfortunately."

"I don't know why. it should be illegal, that is a very bad thing to do 😦 do people actually cheat? really? no way."

UGRHGRGR you two end up dating and he's the sweetest guy you've been with. cute date nights, reassurance that you're perfect and enough, handmade gifts and deep talks into the night that deepen your bond together... the only problem is just that maybe he's a little too sweet.

he's constantly buying you gifts, telling you how much he appreciates you and just... being the perfect boyfriend? the perfect clingy boyfriend.

at first you found it cute. but...

why is he so in love with you? why is he so nice? you don't know what to do with a man as sweet as him and can only give into his seemingly harmful actions. you used to think that he had an ulterior motive but... you don't know whether you're being deceived or not. why would you? he's not being manipulative. how could he ever be manipulative? he's just a sweet and nice green flag!

asking you to always be with him? that's just a romantic thing everyone else says. chasing away any people who shows the slightest bit of interest, even if it's not confirmed to be romantic? what kind of boyfriend would he be if he didn't do that? asking for your location if you ever try to go out without him? silly lover, why would you worry him like that?

no no, he's not being possessive. okay, maybe he is. it's just a tiny bit though! surely you're fine with that. after all, he's still treating you like the royalty that you are. he should be allowed some grace for his unwillingness to share.

you're not sure whether or not he's truly innocent or not. was he even innocent to begin with? maybe, maybe not. perhaps it was all just an act...

but you shouldn't think that. why would you think badly of your boyfriend who's only ever been sweet to you? even during fights, he doesn't raise his voice and actively listens to you, trying to resolve the issue. he could never want to hurt you.

after all, he's your innocent boyfriend that you're smitten with, right?

[msfbgraves]

First of all, does he think there were no non US news outlets filming that day? Filming footage he does not own and can't erase? Does he really think nobody in the US speaks any other language?

Whether or not he manages to erase the salute in American eyes, it's going to be pretty obvious that you are in a Nazi country anyway. What with the book banning, censorship, deportations, the mysterious deaths of any disabled people who were first institutionalized to receive "better care"; they will call this "heart failure", because "executed by lethal injection after having their organs harvested" makes people iffy. You won't be able to claim their bodies, that will have been "cremated per their request". Trump already says the disabled should just die, and beware, there's a lot of scientists who will want mandatory testing on bad genes before you'll be allowed to breed; maybe the sterilisations will become mandatory. A shame, but maybe better this way, people will agree. It's in God's hands. Or maybe your gay friends will be re-educated in a remote location now. Maybe if they just restrained themselves? Monitoring of your whole life will be mandatory but if you have nothing to hide you'll have nothing to fear! Then there's the paramilitary militias, and the mass firings of POC or maybe for some reason, they'll come for the Amish. But as long as you go to work and keep your head down, things will be OK. Watch what you say. Swear your personal allegiance to Trump. Things will calm down eventually, won't they, and you never watched Drag Race anyway. Or Queer Eye. Or Kpop. And no, it won't kill you to buy American....

Oh shit, birth control is illegal now. Now listen, you don't wanna rock the boat, but it isn't a good time right now. No, you have nothing against government. You're not like that! You've reported someone to ICE just last week! It's only with the quota on female employees, you're not bringing in enough. No - You're not - listen you're not like ... You simply have a problem. Just - no! You're a good one. You just need - wait. Fuck. Fuck! Does anyone know - you'll pay of course. What? Busted? Officer, there's been a mistake!

You're gonna notice with or without seeing this, peeps!

what do you mean elon musk did a nazi salute on live tv at the united states presidential inauguration twice and is now erasing the evidence off the internet by replacing the footage with the crowd cheering instead?

would be a shame if people reblogged this, wouldn’t it?

[ninikrumbs]

things he'd never admit

Sukuna x femreader. Just pure fluff. modern au. Soft Sukuna. Sukuna is bad at emotions. first time writing for sukuna so this could be bad.

The smell of rain reaches your nose first making you look up at the dark and gloomy clouds in slight panic, "Damn, its gonna rain soon."

Quickly, you run to the bus station, but apparently not quick enough as you made it halfway through before the soft pitter patter of rain slowly turns louder.

Lady luck was not on your side today. After long tiring day at University, you're now about to turn into a wet rat. A cute wet rat, but still a rat.

It was probably a dumb thing to do, especially when the pouring rain was now blurring your vision, yet you still continued running down the slippery pathway anyways, trying to salvage your books and papers inside your gradually dampening bag.

A low, annoyed grumble made you halt in your step, "Are you trying to kill yourself, brat?"

You could recongnize that rude voice anywhere. You look up to the large form now blocking your way, and quickly noticing the dark umbrella covering your head, "Kuna?"

He scoffs and let out an irritated sound, "Who else?"

Suprise and something warm flits through your body, your eyebrows raising, "What are you doing here? I thought you were busy all day today?"

Your mind recalls his blatant reminder that he couldn't come see you today because he had some school shit to do. Hence why you didn't call him to pick you up which he usally does. Because despite his semi aggressive personality, he does take his studies seriously so you didn't want to disturb him.

And Sukuna was busy, unbearably so. Not that he would admit it, he loved spending time with you thats why he chose to spend the entire day to do his papers and essays due this week was so there would be no interruptions during your time together - which was another thing he would never admit to you- and he could just focus on you.*simp

But when he saw the weather forecast and knowing your bad habit of always forgetting to bring an umbrella, he was already out the door with his keys in hand.

He was right to trust his gut cause here you are almost soaking wet, like a stray kitten left out in the street. Not mention your clothes that were now almost translucent.

It makes him grit his teeth, no one else should see you this way other than him. He holds out the umbrella to you. "Hold this."

You take it without question and hold it above the both of you as Sukuna removes his coat and puts it over your wet clothes. The annoyed look still plastered on his face as he keeps grumbling under his breath of how much of a spoiled brat you are.

It makes you grin cheekily. Other people might take Sukuna's surly personality the wrong way but you knew better. You spoke fluent in Sukuna Itadori.

And you knew, regardless of his complaints and rumblings, he cared. He cared so much even if he wouldn't admit to you or to himself. But you felt it every second you're together.

"Watcha smilin about, woman?" He grouses, annoyed, his eyes locking in on your smile, the type of smile that makes his pathetic heart stumble.

You shake your head still grinning innocently, "Nothing."

He glares at you, not believeing you for a second, but he can roast you about that later. Right now he just want to get you home to make sure you don't come down with a cold or a fever.

With a shake of his head, he takes the umbrella from you and starts walking you to his car. He tries to be subtle about it, but you didn't miss the way the umbrella tilted more on your side getting his right arm soaked from the rain.

"Kuna, your-"

"Leave it."

"Are you sure?"

"Im fine, brat."

You bit back a grin, his words were so jarring yet with no real bite behind them. It could be his jacket that envelops your entire frame and his comforting scent emitting from it, but you feel so warm and cherished. Only Sukuna can be so grumpy yet somehow affectionate.

The car finally comes to view and he ushers you into the passenger seat, placing a practiced hand on the car door frame as you sat down.

You bumped your head into it once but the grimaced you wore is forever seared into Sukunas brain. He realized then and there that he didn't want you in any form of pain, not that you'd ever know when he called you a clumsy idiot as you rubbed your sore head.

He drove extra slow that day.

Plus he stared at that door frame for a hot minute like it was his biggest enemy when he got home.

The moment you got inside his apartment, he immediately demands you get into the shower. His voice holding no room argument.

You comply without complaints of course. After a warm shower, you change into his baggy shirts and make your way to the kitchen when you hear the kettle boiling, and surely enough he has your favorite tea ready in the favorite mug that you bought when you first started dating.

"Oi, your hair's still wet." He notes grimly by the kitchen counter, crossing his arms in displeasure. Though you don't miss the way his eyes flits across your figure in his shirt apprciatively.

You wave him off, grabbing the mug off the counter and breathing in the soothing scent of the tea, a content smile on your lips, "It'll dry off on its own, Kuna."

He tsks at your carelessness and disappears to the bedroom, he comes back a few moments later with a towel and hair dryer. "Sit on the damn sofa"

You gaze at him with exasperated affection. If only people could see through his rough exterior and notice how much this man dotes on you.

Finding no reason to argue, you plop down on the sofa with your legs crossed and he finds his place behind you, fluffy towel in hand.

Gazing down in the mug in your hands, you smile secretly to yourself. Your boyfriend may not be the most expressive when it comes to declarations of love, but you didn't need words. His actions spoke more than any kind of heart trembling confession or lovesick poem.

And you felt everything he would never admit outloud in the way his rough, calloused hands are so uncharacteristically gentle as he weaves through your hair with the towel. Handling you like you were some precious china.

You clasps your hands over his, making him stop. You turn your head and look up at his questioning gaze. Smiling softly, your kiss one of his palms. "Thank you for always taking care of me, Kuna."

His eyes widen slightly before his mask of nonchalance returns, huffing,"Dunno what yer talkin about."

"You know exactly what Im talking about." You grin.

He rolls his eyes feigning irritation in order to hide the small smile tugging in the corner of his lips, "Don't get too used to it."

But he did want you to get used to it. Needed you to need him. This way maybe you'll ignore how shitty he is at emotions or how he can't do all the lovey-dovey stuff that makes you swoon in those crappy rom-coms you're always watching. He'll never hold a boombox over his head outside your window.

"Too late." You say, snuggling your cheek into his palm.

Sukuna falters a bit.

He's a confident man, women would beg for just a single glance from him despite his abrasive nature, it was all part of what Gojo called his charm -and once again he'd never admit it to you- but your words eases the insecurities he didn't realize were there. He grumbles under his breath somewhere along the lines of you better not taking that back.

You laugh at his mumbling, the sound like music to his ears, "Oh, Kuna."

[fishnapple]

How will they protect the relationship

(lover/partner/future spouse) - Channelled message

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost

Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

GROUP 1

Sometimes, I fear that you will get used to our relationship to the point of boredom, that our relationship will become just a habit, a routine that you do everyday, mechanically, without enthusiasm or passion. That fear crept in my mind, taking roots, and there will be moments when I let it grow and poke its branches out. Imaginary scenarios swirl in my mind, threatening to spiral out of control.

But I will snap out of it in no time. I'm a master at bringing myself out of the dark, I'm a good runner, running in the night long enough, and you're bound to see the sun rise again. I will try to look at myself first, from an objective lens, to find where I can change, what baggage I need to get rid of. Then I will look at our relationship, I will find a way to lift it up, make it exciting again. Do you like puzzles? Do you like sculpting? Would you like to try a new recipe? Let's forget for a moment all our adult responsibilities and be free. To be excited teenagers again, falling in love for the first time again. I will write you love letters full of typos, sending you half-baked cakes and cringy T-shirts, you will laugh and you will join me.

I do notice that there are some people around us, people who shouldn't come that close, who shouldn't be there at all. They don't understand the concept of respecting other people's boundaries. They will try to turn a blind eye to our commitment, pretend that it doesn't exist. Blatantly coming in without knocking, thinking that they can just take you away from me and me from you. They think that their tactics are subtle enough, that in time, they can corrode our bond. Little touches here and there, the gaze, the "innocent" banters. I can see them all, I will try to put a distance between me and them, so I hope you will do that too, I also hope that you will patiently listen to me when I warn you of those people. Yes, sometimes you will have to call me a possessive person. I just want to shut out everyone dare to threaten us, to find a place where only us exist. But that's impossible, I know, so the best I can do is tell them off as clear as possible, trying to show that we're together, there's no space between us. Let them be jealous, we just need to focus on us and walk away, hand in hand.

GROUP 2

I know we have a lot of unspoken words stuck inside. The silence between can sometimes grow to such a suffocating weight, pushing us down, deeper and deeper into our own abyss.

We both will be so uncertain of our future together, where will we go, is there a place strong enough to shelter us, are we strong enough? We hope for the same things, we are so alike, even our fears are alike, and I don't know whether to be happy or sad about this.

Our bond will be tested numerous times. There will be a time when we've almost given up, but fate or whatever higher powers are at play here, will bring us back together, anew and ready to try again. I wasn't a spiritual person, but by being with you, being in this relationship, I began to believe in something intangible, in the unknown, it scared me, but all I can do is to move forward, with you, and that's where our fears begin. We move forward together, into the unknown future that holds no concrete promise.

Then I realised we've forgotten to remember where we've put our wishes in, what we've wished for. If we can just remember, then there's no point in worrying. I will give you a hint: it's a wish that spans from the past to the future. We felt like we've known each other for a long time when we first met, and I believe we will be in each other's lives for the far future to see. That belief alone is enough for me to feel brave. And I will sit down, take out my pens and notebook, and begin to scribble down the plan, the path for us, give voice to the stuck words inside, air them out. I will show you that plan and tell you to not worry about the future, instead just focus on this current life in front of us, we got this, believe in us.

GROUP 3

Sometimes, I think that we are two pieces of puzzles fit perfectly together. If not, then there's no way to explain how you have everything I lack, and I, in turn, have an abundance of things that you don't. We have our fair share of issues that alone, we seem to lack the strength to tackle them, but together, they seem so silly and easy. You can be the wind and I will be the pipes, you can be the water and I will be the pump. Now that sounds silly, but you get my gist. There will be times when you cry, I will be there, holding you close and being the cool headed one to make logical decisions. There will be times when I'm so down, you will be there, holding me close and being the soft pillow that raises my head up.

There will be problems, from inside and outside, but I believe we can weather them all. The problems will mainly come from the place of insecurities and misunderstanding. People's words can be cutting and unintentionally hurtful, sometimes intentionally. They sow the seeds of doubts inside our minds. But let's believe in the visions of ourselves and of each other. We see ourselves best. We will sit down, talk it all out, there's no barrier between us. I'm proud of our direct and open way of communicating. I can always count on us to be rational and discuss things until we can reach a solution. Yes, there might be tears and angry voices here and there, but they are the minority and will go away quickly. We're too sure of our commitment and ourselves to let those bother us for too long.

Whatever action needed to be taken, it would be taken swiftly. If it's required of me to be cutting something, somebody out of our life, I will do it, no hesitation. Because I trust in our judgement. And if it's required to move, I will move. I'm afraid distance will be our biggest hurdle. But we will find a way to be closer. Many things will need to be changed, our jobs, our homes. But we won't fear changes. Because changes will bring us to a better future.

GROUP 4

I want to prepare you beforehand, our relationship will be scrutinised by a lot of people. It's not like we are celebrities or anything. Why do they have to care so much? I honestly don't know and don't care either. Our bond just attracts a lot of jealousy and objections. The idea of us together will piss people off. They want something, a fixed future for us, they expect it, but then they have to watch a totally different outcome, surprises, surprises.

Particularly those who have authority over us, they're supposed to be the wise guidance, the benevolent power that can protect us, but they will turn their backs on us, worse, they will turn their sneering gaze and contemptuous words on us. That can't be helped, I guess, we're the rebels, we go against their rules and expectations. I know you will want our bond to be blessed by those around us, I want it too, but reality is something we will have to face. At first, we may even have to hide our love, it's frustrating.

Don't worry, I will be strong for us, you won't even have to fight anything, just let me take care of it. I have enough strength to do that. Don't picture the image of me making a foray against them like a bull thrusting its horn angrily. I have enough wit not to do that, just like how I've charmed you with my words, I can do it too, to other people, the people who are against us. If it doesn't work, then I will just be my best, showing them how much of a good life I'm having with you. In the end, I just don't really care. We have our love and that's enough. We can always move away, to a better place. You will be surprised just how much freedom we do have.

[beaucate]

WITHERING PETALS.

SYNOPSIS. you weren’t normally as sensitive as withering petals, but balancing school and a personal life seemed harder said than done. . . (poly!marauders x reader) response to this request.

WARNINGS. angst. hurt/comfort. muggleborn!reader. reader is mentioned to be of a different house but not specified. reader described as fem but not specified. leg injuries. jealousy. ooc!sirius? Idk I made him a bit whiny here lol

A/N. Sorry this took so long :( life is always so busy and I’m forever grateful! But had to slow down since my creative juices kind of ran out for a moment. I put this through a website similar to grammarly to correct any mistakes and enhance descriptions; tell me if you like it!!

“No, darling. Quidditch has taken its toll on me this week.”

“Can’t do, angel. I love you, but I would rather not spend my weekend on studies.”

You didn’t even bother with asking Remus, knowing that the approaching of the full moon in a week would make you selfish to do so.

The skin of your nails was sore from the constant pulling and fidgeting; you weren’t normally so agitated. But you felt so helpless, as if nothing could possibly stick to your head — as if you were eleven again and seeing spells for the first time, knocking your thoughts unconscious.

They were blameless though, at least in your books. How could you possibly point an accusing finger at them for wanting to be alone? Even if it came at your own expense. But you couldn’t help but detect the sting that placed a home at your heart.

Blinking once, twice, your eyes grazed over the words on the thick book, fingers tracing each syllable with a mouthing of your lips. The atmosphere within the library was as heavy as the documents splattered carelessly over the table, and you wanted to scratch your head red at the sight.

“Are you alright?”

You jumped at the sudden calling, turning around to stare at a blond boy who’s gaze was heavy on you.

Dillon Abbott.

A male Hufflepuff who shared little to no classes with you, you only ever recognised him from his broom clashing against James’ from the quidditch games.

You nodded with a solemn smile, and you almost let the glazing of tears overwhelm your reddened cheeks. “Just a tad bit tired, is it obvious?”

He mimicked the tightness of your lips with amusement, eyes wandering over your tired features. Your hair was unkempt, strings and coils pointing to different directions despite the hair tie clenching them together. Two days worth of mascara clumped up beneath your eyes in a dotted manner, and your lips were plump and dehydrated.

And yet, Dillon could not stop staring.

“Beautiful as ever though, need some help?” He furrowed his brows as he read over the text near you, and you inwardly cringed at the proximity to which he’s near you.

You didn’t hear the cracks of the old wooden floors, nor the scent of herbs and chocolate that hadn’t registered through your nose yet.

And Remus found himself furious.

Days ago was when he’d last seen you. When any of the boys have if he were to be serious. They’d missed you, so dearly it ached their heart.

Sirius was the first to notice.

He’d woken up late as he normally does, and normally he’d be greeted with a sappy smile, and reddened cheeks that heated even further when he’d place a sloppy skin on the soft skin. But three days ago the sky seemed to be as dull as their dorm, and he’d pouted the whole 30 minutes it took him to get up from his bed.

“‘Anyone seen my darling girl? I’ve missed her face all day.” He grunted his way through the hall, a puckered lip and crinkled nose that had lily questioning if he were half dog.

No one bothered to answer the Black’s pleas, not even the whine that was present in his voice was enough to raise the other two boys’ awareness.

Sirius kept huffing till the next day, only seeing glimpses of you to which you dismissed him quickly of. He stood below the stands, watching as James’ jaw clenched and unclenched as he slammed a foot among the metal poles.

James was the second to notice.

His glasses were fogged up from the heat that has stretched itself on the apples of his cheeks, and so he deluded himself into that being the reason he could not see you when his match had started. The boy looked around, and the team stripped in yellow had taken advantage of his curiosity and slammed onto him with the tip of their brooms — splintering his ankle.

And yet, he held hope that he simply didn’t recognise you that day. It wasn’t until they’d tied with their opponents, a tick of his jaw present and eyes wandering aimlessly, did he take full notice of the stadium; your absence loud.

No teasing smile awaiting him, or cherry painted nails in his support to poke his ribs amusingly.

Sirius planted a hand on James’ back, squeezing it with a pitiful look. “Didn’t think we’d lose to the puffs, Merlin.”

James rolled his shoulder, shaking his head, a tantrum willed tone tracing his voice, “is she mad?” He huffed, casting a spell on his bruised ankle, “haven’t spotted her all week, and now she’s missed the game. Don’t think we’ve done anything to warrant that.”

The long haired boy scoffed, “she’s been studying her arse off for that test. She’s real smart, don’t know why I can’t get a hold of her.”

Remus furrowed his brows, watching them walk into the common room with misery carpeted on the lines of their faces. James’ eyes were welled up, and he’d harshly rubbed at his cheeks to gain awareness — refusing to succumb to tears. While Sirius’s bottom lips were puckered, though the tension planted in his fists was evident of his concern.

Remus stood up suddenly, grasping the wrinkled paper from the coffee table before leaving to where he knew you’d stayed. And that’s when he found himself glaring at the boy whose face inched too close to the rose coloured dangling earring he’d gifted you on your birthday.

Your jaw was clenched, and your glare was prominent as it landed on the three boys.

Remus had caused a scene, of course he did. He got the three of you kicked out after his voice aggravated beyond means. The librarian had sent a sharp glare at the three of you, dismissing you out of the library with a snarky remark that left your cheeks as bright as the gryffindor flag. Her pointed finger toward the door made your chest feel heavy with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything as the boys silently filed out, Remus giving you one last, apologetic glance before turning towards the door.

The common room was silent except for the heavy breathing of the group of you, filtering out the sound of the cackling fire.

Sirius’ brow furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line. He caught your eye for a moment before looking away, lips curling into a soft, unsure smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Once the door closed behind them, you slowly turned back to the table, your fingers lightly brushing over the map Remus had thrown carelessly onto the table.

You patted down the small portion of matted hair straying from your ponytail, a tired sigh slipping from your lips. The common room felt oppressive now, as if you hadn’t belonged there and the silhouette reflecting off the fire was highlighted onto the deep aches of your face, as if it had noticed that your discomfort was trying to swallow you whole.

There deep silence only bothered you for a temporary second, and then it was the sting. The hot, uncomfortable feeling of humiliation that rose across your chest, and how you felt as if you were caught doing something you shouldn’t have —despite their pitiful gazes saying otherwise.

There was so much unspoken tension, and it was beginning to eat away at your insides.

They cared. You could feel it when they were near you—the way they watched over you, the small twinge of James’ eyebrows when your legs shook from exhaustion. But when they pulled away, when they’d gotten distracted by quidditch or their own issues, it felt like you were just... left there, even if their intentions were as pure as daylight.

The desperation clung onto your throat like a mantra begging for its freedom; You wanted to call them back, to beg for their presence, to remind them that you still needed them—but you didn’t. You couldn’t. Something held you back, a small, nagging voice in your head telling you that maybe, just maybe, they needed to learn how to see you. Really see you. Not just as someone to check in on when it was convenient or when they noticed your absence.

“Merlin,” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your eyes with your thumbs and palms resting on your flushed cheeks. This was unfair, you knew that. It had to be. But it didn’t make the ache in your chest go away. The loneliness that was felt when you were surrounded by them, or worse, when you were ignored by them.

The couch dipped, and this time you didn’t even need to crane your neck to know who it was. The familiar scent of wood of gel made your stomach flip, though it was more from frustration than anything else.

"Hey," James' voice cut through the silence, soft and unsure. He wasn’t quite sure if he should approach you— he hadn’t exactly been the most present lately. "Do you want to talk, lovey?"

You didn’t respond at first. Didn’t exactly know what to say. Instead, you leaned back into the soft pillows, crossing your arms over your chest in a quiet challenge. You weren’t angry at any of them, it was selfish to do, but you were tired — so terribly tired.

James lingered for a beat before moving closer in an awkward manner. The concern that was drawn on his face was unmistakable. His hand hovered near the edge your knitted sweater, his eyes searching your face for any sign of your thoughts.

"Listen, we’ve been stupid," James started, and you could hear the guilt that trickled in his voice. “We’ve been so wrapped up in ourselves-”

“we didn’t even stop to check on you. We shouldn’t have left you hanging like that.” Sirius interrupted, kneeling before you. His hands were rough, dry lines etching his palms, and yet; he grazed your bare knees with a softness that had your heart fluttering.

Your eyes flicked briefly to Remus’ observing eye, then back down to your lap. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not,” James countered, now so close to you, head lightly pushed down so that your eyes were at level. “It’s really not. And I... I don’t want you to feel like you’re carrying all of this on your own.”

Remus’ voice called from the chair he sat on, his usual sharp tone present, yet was laced with an undeniable gentleness. “James is right. We’re sorry. I’m sorry. We should’ve noticed sooner.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Not this genuine, earnest apology. You felt the knot in your chest loosen just a little, though it didn’t completely untangle from the fragile touch of your bones. Their behaviour still nagged on until it hurt, but his words were a buffer, a reminder that they did care — even if they hadn’t always shown it.

“Don’t apologize,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You didn’t want to feel this vulnerable, as if you were a burden, when you knew they would go to the ends of the earth if it meant being back your smile. “I’ve been... I’ve been difficult, too.”

"Don’t ever think that," Sirius said, his hands cupping your chin tenderly, thumb caressing your hot skin. His eyes softened as they met yours, voice taking on that deep, sincere tone you rarely heard from him. "You’re not difficult, love. You’re… important. And we should’ve made more of an effort to show you that. To make sure you’re okay. You deserve more than... than this."

There was a pregnant silence that followed, the tension slowly melting between the four of you as they each found their way to be near you. Remus, who had followed after the others, leaned against the hand of the couch, palms grasping yours, and his eyes dark with concern, though there was a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips.

“We’ve been idiots, and we’ll to make it right,” Remus said gently, his words a soft promise. “But we’re here now, and forever and ever, and we’ll stay as long as you need us.”

It was the first time in days that you felt like you could breathe again. You didn’t feel so alone, and you could feel your lips tugging upwards when James’ frames made contact with your fluttering lashes, lips leaving a wet tinge on your brows. “You can start by brushing my hair.”

[crimsonnsstuff]

Warnings: perv In-ho, P in v, public sex

You first met In-ho in the most mundane of places, the local library. He was the new librarian, with a smile that seemed too eager and eyes that lingered a bit too long. From the moment you walked in, his gaze followed you like a shadow.

In-ho, with his seemingly innocent charm, had a darker side. He was a pervert, through and through, hiding his true nature behind a facade of politeness. He knew your schedule, knew which books you liked, and even knew when you preferred to sit near the window to catch the afternoon sun.

One day, as you were browsing the shelves in the back, you felt a presence behind you. It was him, In-ho, his breath warm against your neck as he whispered, "Found something interesting?" His voice was low, suggestive, making you shiver.

You turned, and his hand brushed against yours, not by accident. His eyes were dark, filled with a hunger you couldn’t ignore. "I've watched you," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "I know what books you like, what makes you... curious."

You notice he was being a bit..different? You hold up the book you were looking at. “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to read this for a while,” you say. He smirks and takes the book out of your hand, examining the cover. He chuckles and sets it back in the shelf

Your heart raced, a mix of fear and an unexpected thrill. In-ho leaned closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. "What I said a bit ago..I want to explore that curiosity with you," he murmured, his hand now resting on your waist, pulling you slightly closer.

Before you could protest, his lips found yours in a kiss that was neither gentle nor hesitant. It was possessive, claiming, and you felt his other hand slide down your back, pressing you against him. The library was silent, but your heart was anything but.

In-ho guided you to a secluded corner, hidden by shelves. His hands roamed over you, under your shirt, feeling every curve as if mapping out forbidden territory. "You're so perfect," he whispered against your skin, his kisses trailing down your neck.

His fingers worked deftly, unbuttoning your shirt, his touch sending waves of heat through you. In-ho was relentless, his desire palpable as he whispered dirty little promises into your ear, each word stoking the fire between you.

You found yourself responding, your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper into this forbidden dance. In-ho's breath was ragged, his control slipping as he pressed himself against you, letting you feel the extent of his want.

There, amidst the quiet of books and knowledge, you and In-ho crossed lines, lost in a haze of lust. His every touch was calculated to drive you wild, his whispers turning into moans that echoed softly in the confines of your secret corner.

He quickly crashes his lips back into yours. The kiss was so hard you were sure your lips would bruise. He desperately reaches down and unbuttons your pants, yanking them down. He doesn’t bother to take your panties off, pulling them to the side.

He unbuckles his belt and pulls his jeans down, just enough so he can take his cock out. He’s quick to slam into you, not giving you time to adjust to his length. He slams in deeper, making your legs shake.

He had your back against the wall as he thrusted into you, one of your legs hooked over his arm so he could get even deeper. You moan softly. “Don’t be shy..we’re about to close, no one’s here.” He grunts.

You let out a yelp as he punches your nipple. He lifts your leg up higher, hitting spots you didn’t even know you had. “Oh my god, oh my god!” You shout as you cum on his cock. He quickly cums in you shortly after with a low growl. “Fuck, I love this slutty little pussy..”

When it was over, you both were breathless, the world outside the library seeming distant and irrelevant. In-ho looked at you with a smirk, his eyes still dark with desire. "Next week, same time?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

You left the library with your mind reeling, your body still tingling from his touch, aware that you had just started something you couldn't easily end. In-ho's obsession, it seemed, had only just begun.

[skele-bunny]

Do y'all ever think about how fucking creepy quintessence ghouls are? It all seems so innocent at first until the more it starts to get recognized.

Aether laughing as he prevents someone from tripping and falling, having already seen the incident play in his head due to a chair being left crooked. Playing off catching a heavy book falling from the shelf that would've fallen on Copia.

How Omega will finish anyone's sentence or know what they're looking for, so many times he's handed his pack mates the remote before they can even say anything for the TV to be changed. Knowing true intentions.

Phantom suddenly wincing and doubling over, whining as he lets go of Cumulus' wrist; feeling her period cramp in his own body. Who simply can't work in the infirmary as he's too sensitive and begins to feel so much pain and illness.

Delta, in all he has left of his mind, slowly turning to Alpha who cares for him. "Someone will die in four days. They'll be impaled." And they'll go quiet again, comatose and unresponsive like usual. He's never been wrong before.

Swiss, though he doesn't have much, is ADAMANT that he and Rain shouldn't sneak out tonight. They should stay in, instead. It's a gut feeling. Come to find out next morning, their "spot" had caved in due to water damage and killed a sibling that was hiding there.

Aurora doesn't have much either. She wakes up bawling her eyes out, telling Cirrus her dream of one of the guitar techs putting in a cord wrong, and the moment Dew plugs his in — he gets electrocuted. Sure enough, there was a bare wire and a water bottle too close.

[tinum]

Can I request a fix where reader had heart surgery and they are kinda loopy after the anesthesia and just flirt with harumasa??? Ok it's not realistic to meet someone directly after surgery but I think it would be cute XD

Heartbeat - Harumasa x Reader

Warnings: Little bit of angst, probably incorrect portrayal of heart surgery, errors WordCount: 966 Notes: I felt like readers personality was closer to his in this fic but its okay because he was just worried!

When Harumasa first heard about your surgery from Soukaku, he could barely contain his anxiety. Thoughts of all the complications swirled in his brain, prompting him to reach for his phone with a shaky hand. He immediately texted Yanagi that he would not be going in to work for the day. She understood your situation, and though she wanted to respect your wishes, she knew Harumasa wouldn't back down. Not when it came to you.

Harumasa was no stranger to hospital visits; in fact, he was quite friendly with the staff. He knew the ins and outs, the sterile coldness, the checking in, the waiting. He sat for what seemed like hours, his leg bouncing in place and a deep pit in his stomach. Whenever a door opened, he would snap out of his trance, hoping it would be your doctor.

When the time to visit came, he was leading the doctor. The halls were practically mapped in his mind. A few turns down hallways and up an elevator would lead you to the recovery ward.

This ward in particular always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. The walls seemed to be painted with such a vibrant hope: to heal and never return. His eyes had grown used to the colors; they'd grown dull and hope seemed like a foolish notion. Could it really be classified as recovery if coming back was the only outcome?

"We already administered them pain medication so they should be resting. Try not to do anything that'll increase their heart rate," the doctor advised. He nodded, not fully listening. It's not that he didn't care about protocol; no, he quite understood the importance of it. He just couldn't bear another moment wondering if you were okay. "They're strong. A full recovery is likely."

It was as if the doctor could sense his worry. Maybe he noticed his shaky palm reaching for the doorknob, or he was just doing his job. Either way, he had to see you.

Upon stepping into the room, a wave of frigid air struck his cheeks. It was dimly lit, the only light coming from the lines on a nearby monitor. You were lying on your side, slowly twisting upon hearing someone enter the room.

"Haru?" Your voice was hoarse.

He cringed at the weakness coming from you. In a way, it was painful to see you like this: frail and sick. "Hey, how you feeling?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

"Like I just had surgery." He smiled at that, he supposed it was a good enough sign. You weren't the type to hide your struggle behind a cheesy joke like he did. He admired that about you.

A few moments pass before he speaks again. "I didn't know."

"I thought I hid it well enough. You weren't supposed to find out." You look up at him; his brows are furrowed and his eyes hold some sort of pain behind them. Maybe it was just the meds, but he seems more beautiful than ever.

"Soukaku told me," he lets out a sigh, "you can tell me anything, you know that, right?" Pulling a chair from the wall, he sets it next to your bed.

"I know. I just didn't want to worry you." Why at this moment did you decide to be selfless? Though he couldn't fault you. It was as if you had taken a page from his own book.

"I'd be worried either way," he murmured, letting his gaze fall under the weight of something tender. "I care about you."

"I don't get it, why are you so worried? It's just surgery." You laugh, a smile rising to your lips. It was rare that Harumasa was this soft. Usually, his tenderness would be waved off by an onslaught of jokes.

"I already said I care about you. You're practically family." His eyes analyze your face. He couldn't quite tell if you were being serious or just fishing for more heartfelt words.

You place a palm to your heart in mock hurt. "Ouch, Harumasa! Did you just family-zone me? That hurt more than the surgery!"

"Oh, c'mon. You know what I mean." His hand wraps around yours, nuzzling it into his cheek. He is warm, or the room is getting hotter. "I care about you. More than just a friend."

Harumasa doesn't miss the way your cheeks flare up or the sudden beeps from the monitor. He retracted his hand in a swift motion and stood up, his expression showing worry. "Are you all right?"

"What's wrong, Harumasa?" you smirk, wiggling your eyebrows at him. "Did you do something bad?"

Running a hand through his hair, he stares at the monitor. Your heartbeats slowed down and no doctors seemed to be rushing in. He was sure he was going to faint, the thought of possibly hurting you fresh in his mind.

"So, was that a confession?" You snap him out of his trance with your teasing voice. His eyes snap to yours, giving you an unimpressed look. You were going to give him a heart attack one of these days if you continued like this. The more he thought about it the more he didn't mind, maybe they'd put him in the room next to yours.

"You," He scoffs, flicking his finger against your forehead lightly, "need to get some rest."

"Aw, running already, Asaba?" As much as you tried to stifle it, a yawn slipped it's way out your throat. His gaze softened when he realized he was making the correct choice. You needed rest.

"Nah, just leaving before you make me do something that'll get me into trouble with your doctor." You didn't catch it from your angle, but his cheeks blushed with a quiet warmth of his own.

[hacash]

'I don’t know enough LOTR to know if he’s a villain or just an asshole, but the important thing here is HE THINKS OF HIMSELF AS NEITHER'

the big thing here is YES. this comes across particularly in the books: where it's made clear that Denethor is fundamentally not a Villain (he's not a great dad to Faramir but that's not the same as being allied with Sauron), he's a man who has been doing a very difficult job and has flawed ways of thinking and has been mislead by false information to think their situation is hopeless - and, because of this has, tragically, fallen victim to absolute despair

(there's a post somewhere that points out his arc is very similar to Theoden, who when we first meet him in the books isn't actually magically enchanted by Saruman, he's merely fallen under the emotional influence of Saruman/Wormtongue and succumbed to grief over his dead son, which similarly makes him a leader crippled by despair and pain. the difference is that Theoden actively chooses hope, while Denethor sees hope as a fool's choice and rejects it, and is a poorer leader for it)

(lot of stuff about despair and hope as weapons in Tolkien's work, if you can tell)

anyway the point is that you're quite right - even though by his despair-fuelled actions Denethor ends up hurting people more than helping them, he isn't actually a villain. he's not the most pleasant person in the world, but that comes from a particular cultural and emotional stand-point. and he very sees himself as the protagonist here - the Last Sane Man, if you will - dealing with crap choices.

I don’t think any movie will make me feel the same ethereal sense of otherworldly sorrow and disembodied awe as that scene in Lord of the Rings where the loyal son is sent off into a doomed battle to please his vindictive father while Pippin sings a mourning song of his people

I was like 12 and high off this shit

[floraltypes]

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅ through and through (🪽)

pairing - meret manon bannerman x fem!reader

synopsis - fellow fans reminisce about the moments when the love between Y/N and manon appeared to grow stronger and more vibrant. through a collection of tweet from passionate fans there is a glimpse into key on-camera relationship moments, along with a sneak peek at what was happening behind the scenes as their bond developed.

"You really want to get the flower?" Manon sat at your side as you were laid out on the covered seat, right arm extended while the tattoo artist began to place down the outline of a small, vibrant flower. "You don't have to."

"Is this a worried Meret?" You softly questioned, looking up at the girl with teasing eyes. "I want to," you reminded her, a soft glittering red gloss smeared and sparkling on the outer corner of your upper lip.

"It'll look really good on you," she grinned back, pinning some of her braids behind her head, allowing the girl to move her head whichever way with no fear of hair in her face. "You're such a flower girl after all."

"What does that mean?"

"They have such an undeniable beauty, easily entrapping those who care to look," she winked, her hand beginning to wind itself with your own.

"Those words sound a little familiar; are they from the song snippet you sent me the other day?" You questioned, tilting your head against the crinkle of plastic as a beam of sun came into view.

"Might have to call the song Flower Girl," she said with such smoothness of her tongue, eyes filled with confidence before concern as she caught you with your lip between your teeth, the buzzing beginning as the machine neared closer towards your skin.

The Ghanaian girl pouted out her own, red gloss catching it's on glimmer from the sunlight, and winded her thumb in tiny circles as it caressed the crease between your own and your pointer finger.

One camera stood prompted right at her face, another further off to the side, ready to catch a different angle of the possible reactions of the Ghanaian girl. She sat calm and collected, flipping through pages of her beloved journal as the cameras caught her eyes, lightening up and a downturning smile when they caught different portions.

"So, Manon," the voice behind the screen began to speak, deeper yet with a gentle tinge as they took in the girl hurriedly flipping further, brief scribbles of dark ink catching the camera's lens. "What is it like to look back at your journal now near the end of the competition? You've made it to the top ten."

"Uh," and an uncomfortable chuckle leaves the girl's glossed lips, eyes widening with clear shocked energy as she looks over towards the person. "Reading this back was shocking."

"What were your journal entries like back when you first arrived with the girls?"

"It's filled with a lot of nervous energy back then," she scrounges back tens of pages to get to the beginning moments, the first few pieces apart of the book. "I got this to help to personally document my experience through all this, so it definitely includes irrational and frantic thoughts." There is a brief pause, her eyes looking and reading throughout the pages as one braid falls to the front of her features. "But a lot of the girls were nice in the beginning; it did not start out with a lot of drama. I remember meeting Nayoung, who was fairly new and Daniela! She had made some joke that didn't go over really well but the fact that it didn't made it funnier. Soon enough, I was introduced to Y/N; she made it like a duty to make me comfortable."

"How so?"

"She helped me unpack and listened to me blab on about my life at home while she shared some stuff about her own and a bit about her fears of coming. Leaving everything behind is really frightening when you don't even know if it will be worth it in the end. I had thoughts like those sometimes, but I felt deep down that I would make it so it didn't come up much." Manon brushed her braid back, sticking a nail between the pages to bring about a random page. "There was a time with some drama; I remember being so nervous but she just held my hand and walked in as if nothing bothered her, keeping me along with her. I feel like since then, especially, we've just always been side by side."

"Would you say you're closest to Y/N here?"

"For sure, she is one of the ones I'm closest with; I can't even think about not debuting with her. It'd be so weird, like wrong."

"Come here!" Sophie whined, the liquid in her glass swishing about as she wobbled on the larger heels, rushing to pull Manon over to the chairs. "No more talking; it's time for drinking!"

"Sophie," Manon laughed, itching the side of her face as she looked her friend up and down. "Might want to start slowing down, Soph."

"Thanks, Mama Manzanita!" She laughed, one that was so short it turned into a whole laughing attack that she nearly dropped her glass; more than half of its contents completely spilled upon the floor at this point. "Get in the party mood, I am!" The music is blasting all about; Manon could barely hear her close conversation with you only minutes earlier. The place is filled with vibrant twentysomething year olds bumping to the pounding beats with different colors of streams of lights seeping through every which way.

"I can't leave Y/N," Manon tries to tell her friend, sitting her on the torn cushion to then take the glass and put it on the wobbly table in front. "I was not expecting it to be crazy tonight. I was thinking something more simple."

"But it's always Y/n this and Y/n that," Sophie grabs both of Manon's arms, almost pulling her on top of her. "What about me? I miss you; you're going to forget about me soon." She whines in her drunken stupor, clearly emotions heightened from the extra liquor.

"Never," Manon shakes her head, a smile now creeping up on her lips as she brushes away a few baby strands from the girl's face, makeup losing its vibrancy. "Y/n is a different kind of friend, like a different kind of feeling, Soph," she winks.

"Oh?" Sophie looks heavily perplexed before she lightly hits her cheek. "Oh! Trust me, I'm going to be the best wing woman ever," she whipped her head around, ponytail smacking Manon in the face. "Y/n! Y/n!" She repeatedly yells, "Get over here."

With uneasy hands, Sophie tries to halt herself up, stealing one of the drinks from the table with a quick gulp before basically falling into you.

"Go get by Manon on that bench right now!" Sophie demands, standing back away from you and pushing you off into the distance. "I need a good picture out of tonight, so Y/N, sit on the bench, good, and Manon, sit on the top behind her! Yes!" The photographer in her takes over the wasted part, guiding you two into the pose that could've taken over the internet, one where Manon slides her hands to lie on your shoulder with your face looking up and hers looking down.

The shot that the girl gets starts wobbled, but one out of the ten ends up clear, clear that either you two are true professionals or truly have a special extra feeling for one another.

"It's so crazy in here," you whisper, your eyes still keeping their steady gaze on the woman above you. "Sophie sure likes to party."

"I mean everyone does," Manon adds, her head moving ever so slightly down towards you, lips reaching closer and closer, and eyelashes filled with the darkened dye that is more noticeable now. It's like a rush of flames that wanders about your skin, leaving goosebumps in its trace. It's addicting the way you subtly try to lift your head ever so higher, a bit closer, just a bit more.

"Bro, everyone is asking about the other girls!" Dani turned towards Manon, shaking her head at the comments that she read off the screen, different ones asking about all the different members. Asking where they were, if they could join, if they were working on new music.

"Just appreciate us!" Manon pretended to fake crying, dragging her hands down her face in a ploy of being distressed. "We clearly serve more with the lives. People always want more."

"Some of the girls are out, and some are at home," Dani answered, dragging her finger down the phone to scroll through more comments. "We are going out soon to meet up with some of the others. That's why Manon has to hurry up with her hair already!"

"Chill, beauty takes time," Manon swished her ponytail in Dani's face, picking up the brush with a helping of gel to smooth back some hairs.

"Y/N is here, probably lounging around in her room," Dani replied, sitting back from where she once sat on her knees. "Who do you think pulls the most?" She read aloud.

"Easy," Manon scoffed.

"Me." They both spoke at the same time, heads quickly spinning towards one another with incredulous looks.

"Yeah, right, you can't even pull the g-" Manon clamped a hand over Dani's mouth, which Dani's own hand followed in tandem. "Anyways," she smiled once both were removed.

Manon let her eyes glide through the comments, now seeming to flood in quicker at their little stunt but she ignored the speculations and tried to keep to ones that would not get her yelled at by her manager or worse, Sophia. "I love watching the edits and seeing artwork; it's all so good. You guys are truly talented."

"Oh, that painting of Y/N and Manon goes crazy," Dani points out the comment mentioning a painting of the two; it had recently blown up all over their Twitter, watching different fan pages go crazy over the quality and seemingly the deeper feelings behind it.

"Don't get me started," Manon chirped up, leaning over excitedly as she panned the phone a little more towards her. It was seriously so gorgeous! They had me looking so valorent, and Y/n looked stunningly soft."

"And it was a huge ship post," Dani clarified, trying to keep her voice lower, yet instead, it seemed to come out at the same tone.

"Wait, really?" Manon whispered back, shock etched into her features, before imagining the piece again and the different details apart of it. "That's actually crazy how the eyekons can-"

"Be quiet!" Sophia swung the door open, shaking her head in the background as both girls fell silent. "You two should not be on live!"

"We're having fun, mom," Manon whined, placing her hands together in a pleading motion while looking back up to her. "Please!"

"Sophia is freaking out in our room," you popped your head into the bedroom. "She's going to pass out from fear."

"Baby y/n!" Daniela cheered, standing up to try and drag you into frame. "Everyone's asking how one of the youngest in the group is doing."

"I'm not even the youngest!" You quickly reminded everyone, crossing your arms at your waist in faux frustration. "This is silly."

"Ever since that clip of your pout went around, you're being called baby," Manon told you, allowing you to sit in the middle of them both, one leg practically over Manon's. "My baby y/n," the girl taunted, squeezing at your cheeks.

"Our baby!" Daniela corrected as she squeezed at your other one.

The phone was carefully angled to hit over your features instead of the girl who sat a few feet away tapping loudly at her own computer playing a new game on Roblox. The redhead completed such actions with a lot of spunk, music blasting from the headphones that wrapped around her ears, as this was her choice to spend her downtime. You just laughed occasionally as she muttered little things to herself, letting your eyes take a peek at her form before finding their way back to the screen.

"Yes, there will be new music before you know it!" You responded proudly, picking up the mascara that lay haphazardly at your desk. Other makeup products spilled about as you comfortably took your time getting ready. "I cannot say more; I am not Manon," you laughed, a fellow comment talking about how the said girl always seemed to be on the brim of revealing more than needed.

You screwed open the pink tube, lightly dragging the brush against your eyelashes, fingers clad with golden rings as the jewelry part of your outfit had already been assembled. Once you were finished, you used your unoccupied fingers to flick through the comments. "I do know Sophie; she is funny," you laughed in remembrance of hectic times with the sporadic woman. "Her and Meret make a good pair," you smiled lightly. The comments seemed to speed up slightly, questioning if that was a subtle move to ship the two women, an action you definitely were not trying to portray.

"No! No," you raised your hands up in a type of defense, frantically trying to clarify what you had previously meant. "It makes sense why they are good friends, that is all." Yet a comment from a certain 'Ynonlvr' caught your eye, writing, "See how she defended that one quick, possessive Y/n peaking through.". It was a comment you couldn't help but softly smile at, a memory of just how much this specific woman played a toll on your heart.

A specifically patterned knock was placed at the wood of your door, creeping you away from such thoughts but just enlarging the smile on your features. You scooted in closer to the camera, hands cupped around your lips as you leaned in. "You are all going to be excited to see who is here!" you turned towards the door, raising your voice "Come in! I am live."

"Hello gorgeous!" Manon swung the door open, dropping down to her knees so that she could lightly push you, fitting herself into the frame. "Oh no, I was not speaking to Y/N. I was obviously speaking to you, eyekons," the Ghanian girl spoke, winking towards the camera before throwing one arm around you to pull you close again. She turned her head to the side, leaning up to her ear so that you could feel the soft, hot breath that was let out before she spoke. "Let's go get going; I've got a surprise!"

"Oh?" You looked over at her, eyes glancing up and down in faux disbelief. "Really now?" Her eyes, though, were captivated by the comments, ones rolling in explaining that the scene was somewhat sensual and fulfilling their Ynon addiction.

"Well," she stood back up on her feet, outfit all glammed with a stunning pair of shoes to match. "I am glad you eyekons are feeling the outfit, as am I." She placed a hand on your head, looking down to make sure you got the unsaid message to hurry up. "I gotta go now, and soon will Y/N!" She placed her attention back fully onto you, removing the hand. "See you soon; love you through and through," she stepped out the door, peeking her head back in once again. "Hurry!"

You scrounged around with your makeup products, trying to put some back in their respective places while looking for the needed ones. As the brush bristles of your bigger brush danced against the pink pigments of your Fenty blush, you tried to answer some last remaining comments.

"A lot of people actually ask about that," you dragged the makeup brush against your skin. "The whole 'love you through and through' is like how people will say 'love you to the moon and back'; it is just a little more personal addition. Like throughout it all, we will be there; our love will be there."

katseye masterlist

[redwingstan]

"you know what we are. you just want to hear me say it." with bucky please!

debts paid - bucky x reader insert

author's note; thanks for your request, anon! hope you like it! (I may make a part 2 with this one!)

"So, what are we?"

Bucky grunted, a response you got when he didn't know what to say, or when he was just playfully annoyed. This time you couldn't tell which one it was.

"What happened to not asking questions?" He said as his back remained to you. He was hunched over the balcony, looking below at the bustling streets filled with people heading to their destinations.

"The same thing that happened to no secrets," you mumbled, shoulders dropping as if the miniscule book you held in your hands weighed a ton.

There was a rule you both had agree upon back in the day—a two for one special that kept your relationship—friendship, whatever—thriving: If you were both honest from the jump, there was no need to ask questions, no need to harbor secrets.

Looks like you both were breaking the rules tonight.

Bucky did a double-take as you stood next to him and nudged the little black book against his bicep. It took him a second or two to realize what it was. When he did, he took it before as if you hadn't already read the contents inside.

You sighed and looked straight ahead at the skyline. "I don't know whether to be relieved that you didn't forget about me," You sighed. "...or offended that I'm the last person on that list."

Granted, you didn't even bother skimming the list hard enough to recognize any of the names. You didn't even know what the list meant. You only managed to see your name—your first initial and last name scrawled at the very bottom— and that was enough for you to confront him about it.

Gently, he settled his hand on yours as he shoved the book into his back pocket.

"You weren't supposed to find this—"

"To be fair, I didn't have to go looking for it. You don't have much furniture."

Bucky's apartment was desolate save for a tv, and whatever bundle lay in the corner of what was supposed to be the living room. No furniture, not even a coffee table was in sight. The book happened to be laying on his makeshift bed made of disheveled blanket and jacket.

Bucky sighed as you pulled your hand away from his. You turned to head inside, but he made another quick attempt at your wrist. This time with a more firm grip. You spun around, though made no effort to close the space between both of you. Bucky took it upon himself to step forward, his grip on your wrist transferring to your hand. His thumb ran over the back of it in remorse.

"Okay," he said with a heavy sigh, eyes softening as he looked down at you. "I'm sorry. I know I should've been more honest. I know I should've found you sooner." He lifted your hand and gave it a soft kiss before lowering it. "Forgive me? Please."

"Under one condition," you said, appearing unphased on the outside in regards to his gesture of affection. He knew it was one of the things that worked to settle your nerves.

He lifted a brow in curiosity before lowering your hands, though he didn't let go of them.

"I get to ask three questions," you stated, chin lifted in defiance.

"One," he argued.

"Two," you countered, taking a step forward with a subtle grin on your lips.

Bucky's brows furrowed. "One."

You narrowed your eyes in defeat. "Then my question still stands." Your eyes traced his tired face. He looked beaten, like he had gone more than hundred rounds with the world. The bags under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep. The rough stubble crawling across his jaw made him look more rugged. His hair was cut short—a stark contrast to the longer dark locks you were used to. Six years had certainly done a number on him.

With a sigh of your own, you gave his hand a squeeze. "What are we, Bucky?"

He groaned in internally, though it wasn't out of annoyance, you knew. He wasn't the best at talking about his feelings, but you never held that against him. At least after years of not seeing him on account of The Blip and a year after, you believed you were owed an explanation to this question. A question you had been holding on your tongue since the moment he told you he might not be coming back.

His gloved thumbs traced your hands as he gently tugged you towards his chest. "You know what we are. You just want to hear me say it," he said.

You grinned. "I do," you said tilting your chin upwards with a lifted brow.

With dark eyes, the infamous Winter Soldier stroked your cheek. He placed a kiss on your temple.

"I can't be the only one to say what we are," he sighed, "but I know that you're one of the only people I can trust, and losing you again would be another devastation I wouldn't be able to bear." He stroked your cheek gently, eyes looking everywhere but at you. Your fingertips migrated over his stubble and guided his eyes back to your face. The Winter Soldier gave you a look of surprise before his lips settled into a subtle smile.

He kissed your temple once more.

"Does that answer your question, doll?"

[emptymanuscript]

XD!

So, laugh rule but also:

What’s kinda throwing me is that I think this is actually pretty close to the central thesis of the actual mystical/religious tradition/lineage I’m actually in.

Like, the belief is absolutely that the god we call God is real (as are many other gods and other things) but that the fundamental idea of Divinity vs Mortality is not real. That the fundamental purpose of most religious thought is so the Divine can keep us in our place, even though we’re perfectly capable of doing what they do and achieving apotheosis into being without a difference. The problem with God is that He thinks He’s it and the problem with people is that we think we aren’t.

And, yeah, the fundamental task of the novitiate (initiate? I’m always fuzzy on those. The person just starting out who knows enough to look but enough, yet, to do. Early level apprentice who is learning the ropes sort of person) is to Self Create.

Like that’s the most necessary part of the tradition. You’re supposed to study your little butt off (obviously why I am drawn to it XD, studying everything as a religious devotion? Sign me up! I am a B+ child and I want you to love me teacher XD). But the purpose of the study is to find the hidden resonances, what is actually true, that is not actually recorded in full anywhere because you are divine so only you can fully define you.

It’s self definition by using the other. I am that. I am not that. I am like that but not in this way, etc. Just using metaphysical principles rather than your social group.

Or, I suppose, in ADDITION to your social group.

My actual biggest criticism of my tradition lineage is how often we’re inconsiderate assholes. Not just that we’re not nice people but that we’re not nice people in and on principle. For whatever reason (some I know and some I don’t) the first thing we seem to say we’re not is good, kind, and caring. Like, the exact thing we would want in our own deities and berate the Demiurge (the god who thinks He is God because He was the deity that did all the original creating as far as He is concerned) for not being is what we’re not going to do, too.

Which I get as an act of anger and provocation and boundaries. But I really don’t understand as a mature decision for the path of one’s life. I hear it’s better to reign in hell than serve in heaven but nothing I see demands that that is the actual choice at hand.

There IS a lot of worship. And, yeah, I think part of the draw to my tradition/lineage is that it speaks to lonely weird people who are happier surrounded by books than crowds. But there’s nothing actually NECESSARY to the path about starting a cult, claiming that you’re evil, and then proving it by manipulation and lies. But somehow, those are all the famous people writing the influential texts.

Like, why not be the sort of person you wish that a deity would be. Be your own dream fulfillment. And instead of putting yourself up at the top of a pyramid of something icky, just be the sort of person that other people like hanging around.

Of course, that may just be me being a novice. Wizards aren’t exactly known for their EQ. We know the forbidden names of gods and a whole mess of trivia. My current joke is that if you want to find one of us, go looking for a party. Go to the weirdest one you find. Like, these are not the cool kids, you get me? Look at the people who are up against the wall, not partying. Find the most boring person out of them. That’s your most likely candidate to be a Wizard.

If they are, the questions to ask are ones that lead you to awareness of their humility and sure confidence in themselves.

The more confident they are that they know the secrets of the universe, as a whole, for everything and everybody, the farther back toward initiation they are. The more they need to fight for their own self definition and boundaries, the closer they are to being in the “middle” of their journey. It’s not really the middle it’s simply that you’re very self confident at the very start and very self confident at the end. But the majority of the journey is taking a hammer to the ego when we’re often the sort of people who don’t have a lot of ego defenses to spare.

Which means defensiveness and love/worship cravings are rampant. A great area to promote Narcissistic impulses.

That’s actually a big warning I’ve run into a few times now. That a lot of people simply break and become these megalomaniacal monsters who are just completely full of themselves and their arcane power. They become Demiurge like. They think they’re it. You’re just a prop to them and their power trip fantasy.

Mostly, I hear the solution to be this gray ascetic humility. That the world is illusory and transitory and that includes me and my feelings. So you become this immovable, unimpressable center point. Nothing bothers you. It’s why I talk about my own lineage as shit-eaters. Because that’s a literal example from them. That you should be able to have the same experience and same emotional impact whether you have the best meal of your life or eat literal feces. All that matters is your will and willpower and, yeah, power… so you can enact your will.

Can’t say I like the idea. I do not particularly want to eat feces. I like enjoying food. And this dichotomy strikes me as false. You either reject life or are conquered by it. Meh. I like dialectical thinking not dualistic thinking. And the entire point is to make something new. Something you. Not to simply repeat the old lies and oppression.

If you’re a god, great. Namaste. In all humility and seriousness. I see and acknowledge the divine in you. I welcome it. But as a living, breathing, experiencing person who participates in the world with other people, I would ask some questions:

What are the benefits of your worship to you?

What are the benefits of your worship to your worshippers?

How are you the same as your worshippers?

How are you different from your worshippers?

What are the drawbacks and costs to you that come from your being worshipped?

What are the drawbacks and costs to your worshippers from worshipping you?

If you put yourself in the place of one of your worshippers (pick a few at random) would you feel the benefits and costs weighed out in your favor?

If you put one of your worshippers in your place (pick a few at random) would you come to the conclusion from the outside, with a godlike view of the whole situation, that it weighted out to an activity that was ultimately favorable to them?

For the worshipper you have put in your place, would you be satisfied with how their worshipper’s lives would work out for them in the care of that other?

What would be the benefits to you of rejecting the idea of being worshipped all together?

What would be the costs to you of giving up that particular place at the center for just being one of that particular group you get along with?

DO you actually get along with your worshippers when they aren’t worshipping you? Or do you only like them for their worship? Are they the people you would surround yourself with if you weren’t in this group together?

What benefits might they get from being let go from worshipping you? From being let go from the group?

What would it cost them if they were to stop worshipping you? What would they necessarily lose if they left the group?

Looking at the balance of your answers to these questions and comparing it to likely possible alternatives (NOT the best, NOT the worst, NOT the strangest), is worshipping you the best thing for your worshippers?

Looking at the balance and considering the likely possible alternatives for yourself, is being worshipped in this way the best thing for you?

Looking at all the answers that you’ve written out, and being honest with yourself, with the full divine view of what is and what could be, is this situation what you actually want? Would that answer change if it was for someone else? WHY? WHY is this the best arrangement? Or WHY isn’t this good enough? WHY does it matter who the worshipped is versus an alternative versus the worshippers? WHY? WHY? WHY? There is a reason that children demand this endlessly. It is the most necessary question to understand their lives. That doesn’t really change when a child grows up and realizes their own divinity.

They say you gotta worship god because he created stuff, but I created myself, and my epic boobs, and I'm real, so aren't I better than god? Maybe I should be worshipped. Much to think about

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Electrical Wire Vigil

No one knows what to do with the angel tangled in the power lines. The poor thing’s body was wrapped around and around the sparking wires and twisted-up into a ball. The face was obscured by its bent halo—a golden glow that sometimes oscillates like bad television signal. The wings float loosely in the air, all twelve feet of silken bits of light, ragged and torn at the ends.

A storm had felled the trees and the poles and anything taller than a chicken coup in one swoop. Anyone who dared cross the puddles and debris had to risk being electrocuted by the live wires or blinded by the angel’s weakly pulsing light.

The creature would periodically make a break for it too—wings going taut and rising in a flurry of trumpet sounds and frantic flapping. The electrical wires held fast, twisting against the angel’s soft flesh and pushing back. It fell, it always fell, back into the nest of tangled wires and would make weak cooing noises. I was an ornithologist before all this town and couldn’t help but think, pigeon.

The chaplain went to pray under the angel’s bent bod first, getting close as he dared. Everyone knew he wasn’t but a few weeks off the drink and his hands still shook when he lifted up the cross. The nun, she was retired but we still called her just that, caught the 921 bus to the next town that same day.

Some said she was going to the next town over to get a proper priest. Others said she had crossed herself and high-tailed it out of there. What bad luck it was going to be to have a dead angel in our backyard.

All this debris and only the birds can get close enough to it, flapping around the angels head and perching on its mighty back. They call to each other.

Davie, who I had once loved, offered to fetch his shotgun and put it out of its misery. The youngest one there, a girl named Clara, cried so hard she had to be walked back and forth down the lane three times. We opted to put “shooting a messenger of the lord” on the back burner. We gathered up wire cutters, holy books, rubber boots, and a good tree-cutting ax from the messes of our homes and piled them up. We'd wait a day or so at least, watching the angel and all silently hoping it would make it out on its own. 

I wasn’t a praying woman anymore. My house was a testament to a lot of broken things before it was ever leveled by the storm. But I didn’t have any little ones to walk up and down the lane and my car had survived just fine and I owned the best pair of binoculars out of anyone. So, I kept vigil–it was the least I could do. 

I sat and watched and sometimes cooed back when the angel let out long melancholy ooo's. Days of misery in exchange for just a few hours of wind and rain and fury, I thought, the relief trucks would be a while. The chaplain came at sundown and he passed me a drink from his flask. I wasn’t a praying woman anymore so I took a long sip and passed it back.

“Think it’ll make it out?” I asked, nodding at the angel, and the chaplain took a longer drink. I gave him a small smile and elbowed the man. “Glad you stayed, at least.” He nodded again and began to pray, never taking his eyes off the wires up above.

The girl came when the day tucked behind the trees into full dark.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” I told her tiny form at the edge of the puddles. She drew her knees up under her big sweater.

“I have to make sure he doesn’t try anything . . .” she said and I knew she was talking about Davie, who I could no longer love.

 “Does your mama know you’re out here?”

She mumbles from inside her little hoodie, “I can’t let ‘em do it.”

I sighed. “He won’t, not with me here,” I said and waved her over. I made the little girl climb into my lap to stop her shivering and the chaplain gave us all a long blanket to huddle under. The angel flapped those dirty wings and cooed.

“Can I see?” I let the little girl use my binoculars to make out that bent halo and loose curls. She got fingerprints all over the lens and I tried to ignore it.

“I want to be a meteorologist one day,” Clara said, unprompted. “So I can warn people about stuff like this.”

I snorted. “And I want to be a poet.”

“Hush,” Markus says to me and then to the little girl, “I’m sure you’ll make a great weather lady, Clara.” The chaplain gave a punished smile and it made me want to make fun of him just enough to stop it. Clara frowned.

“Did you always want to be a chaplain?” she asked in return and the chaplain didn't answer.

I cleared my throat. “Do you think that’s what it was trying to do? Trying to warn us?” “Or maybe it was just unlucky,” Markus says, rubbing a hand down his long face.

I snorted. “A bad day at work, for sure.”

“Does god allow for bad luck?” asked the little girl.

“Why don’t we ask it?” I say, and we laugh, weakly. We call out to the angel–questions and praise and hopes for tomorrow that we’ll get it out. Or maybe we'd have to get the shotgun tomorrow. The glow of the creature is so weak. Near midnight, the girl suggests we go looking for its horn. If it had been there to warn us, it might have carried a horn, and if it had a horn, we might be able to summon help. 

We search, feebly, avoiding the sparking wires and the upturned wood and metal. We go around in the mud on our hands and knees until we match the trapped thing. Though, we never do figure out what to do with the angel tangled in the power line. The night was long and bitter and we didn’t have anywhere else to be, the drunken chaplain and family-less woman of the birds and that little girl.

Before dawn, I am asleep, we are all asleep, dead to the world like the day will never come. And in the morning, the wires are loose on the ground and quiet. The angel is gone and a truck has come to pick us up. A part of me hopes it made it out. A part of me is relieved to see that Davie is here and he has all his supplies in the back. The trucks are here and the power company remembered us enough to cut off the power.

I have nowhere to be, and walk the little girl home. Gloria is happy to see her and offers me a place to stay the night even though I tell her my car is just fine. Still, she says, just a night.

The window in the guest room faces the electrical wires. They’ll rebuild them one day because you can’t waste the material all the way out here. Clara will go off to college one day. The chaplain will leave the drink for good, he will, and the church in the same breath. I will write a poem one day and it won’t be any good.

It’ll be about the electrical wires outside my windows. About how I don’t know if the angel made it out, but the birds still perch there. They preen and sing and fluff. I count them one by one in the pre-dawn light. Some are flesh and blood and they clean the feathers of the ones that aren’t. Pearly blue jays that sing forgotten songs from yesteryear, and there are fewer ones by the morning light. The angel wire they call it. Year after year, the birds return with their bodies or without them, to sit on the wire and preen their grandchildren and sing to lost mates, and I close my eyes and listen to the ghosts.

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My book! 🧡 Newsletter

[universalcas]

Dean wakes up and it's the 24th of January. His 46 yo body aches in new parts that he knows were fine last year but it's nothing he really minds nowadays. Sometimes he can't even believe he made it that far, so if the punishment these days for defying Chuck and Death several times in the past is backpain and some aching joints, that's more than welcome. 24th of January it's like any other day for him. He hasn't celebrated his birthday in years, maybe since he was eight and just because he stole a biscuit and some candles that clearly didn't add up to the right number. A birthday celebration is something Sam always had because he damn well made sure of it. So this year, the 24th of January lands on a Friday that looks like every other Friday when you are (finally) retired from hunting and you live in a big house with your now husband that came back from the Empty and decided to stay for good after a very heart-touching reunion where everyone cried like a baby (including Sam). Said husband is now missing from the shared bed and his side is slightly cold but since he put all the cards (and his heart) on the table, a missing Cas isn't something that scares him anymore.

Sam's in the kitchen, drinking something that's doesn't look like coffee but fortunately isn't a smoothie either. The rays of morning sun that enter from the kitchen windows reflects on his face, his skin looks healthier as it does his own since all of them left the bunker, and Dean is so glad he got to live enough to see his little brother grow and become the man he is today.

"Hey! Where's everyone?" He asks, ruffling Sam's hair quickly enough to avoid retaliation.

Sam huffs and closes the book he's currently reading. Something on civil rights that probably has to do with the online degree he started to pursue a year ago but maybe it's Sam's morning lecture because that's what lawyers-to-be like to read. Dean prefers novels and fiction in general and his growing library is a testament to that.

"Cas and Eileen went grocery shopping" he says. "They took Miracle for a walk and Jack tagged along".

Jack has been spending some time in Heaven these days. There are a lot of things to be fixed and rebuilt under God's supervision but most days, when he isn't needed, he loves to stay in his room reading some comics, gardening with his Dad or going fishing with Dean (the first time he said "Dad! Look what I caught!" Dean cried so hard he couldn't stop for what felt like hours, scaring all the inhabitants of the lake and the poor boy in the process). So, yes, Jack has things to do Upstairs but he wanted to be at home when Uncle Sam and Uncle Eileen came visiting and decided to stay for the night.

He hears Baby's rumble accompanied by a happy bark soon followed by a soft crack of the main door. Both Cas and Eileen carry an excesive number of grocery bags for a single meal for today and Dean doesn't understand why since he know the pantry is more or less full but that feeling is quickly forgotten when Cas makes a beeline (bags and all) to put a kiss directly on his lips. It's quick and chaste, just a brush of lips on lips, but Earth-shattering anyways. Some form of a ritual between them, kissing the other one every time one of them come back from an errand or from just staying outside gardening or giving Baby some maintenance. The kiss means I love you, I'll always come back to you, and it hasn't lost his meaning after all these years.

Dean's voice comes as a squeak after that and he tries to mask it with a manly cough that fools exactly no one. Less alone Cas, whose big smile holds the brightness of a thousand lights.

"Do you need some help with that?"

"We are fine", Eileen says at the same time that Sam says "We should continue fixing the basement, don't you think?"

And that's a weird thing to say because the basement has been Dean's work in progress since he and Cas bought the house four years ago and the second thing Dean's hands love doing the most after touching Cas (out of the bedroom that means everywhere whenever he wants but inside most of the time there are rules) is fixing things. And Dean loves his brother's company, he really does, but he can't do jack shit in that regard so Dean works on it in his time alone. But he follows Sam anyways and lets Cas, Eileen and Jack do their thing since, after coming from the Empty, Cas discovered an interest in cooking (with varying degrees of success) and probably he wants to handle that today.

And ok, maybe being retired from active hunting (not from training new recruits, mind you) has softened Dean's instincts because he should have suspected that there was a plan behind everything because, when they go back to the house, the dining room has been decorated with birthday paraphernalia and the table is full of food and the people he loves the most are wearing a small party hat (even Miracle!) and matching smiles. He doesn't cry when a big pie is placed in front of him with two candles shaped in the form of a four and six and Jack proudly announces that all of it was made from scratch by he and Dad. He doesn't cry when Miracle comes with a box in her mouth that contains a ticket "to anywhere in the country, just you and me, Dean". He doesn't cry either when Sam and Eileen give him a gift of their own in the shape of an envelope that contains an ultrasound of who's going to be a future Bobby or Mary Ellen. And he definitely doesn't cry when he is suffocated in a big hug by his whole family and Cas whispers "I love you so much, Dean" and Jack says out loud "I love you, Dad!".

The question that has been trapped inside his chest the whole day escapes from his mouth only when he and Cas are alone in their room at night.

"Why all of this?"

Cas kisses him. Soft, languid and slowly, like the passage of time.

"I can remember you been proud of us everytime we achieve something" he says. "When Jack built a chair for his room without using his powers, the first time I changed Baby's oíl without your help, when Sam announced he wanted to study Law again, when Eileen got the job she wanted. You were so happy for all of us, Dean, but you should be celebrated too".

There are a lot of things Dean wants to say but none of them come to mind. He's also at lost for words when Cas produces a small box with a ribbon from a lingerie shop he recognises.

Cas's smirk and raised eyebrow are full of dirty promises and sexy rules he's more than happy to follow. But that's, well, that's a story for another time.

"