#and in fact I still catch myself praying these days

[the-finch-address]

After reblogging those last two posts featuring the one and only Jesus of Nazareth (beloved) I figure now's a good time to remind anyone following me that The Dog Yard is and has always been fairly derisive (for lack of better word) of modern day Christianity. Not against God or even religion as a whole, but strictly Christianity. This wip is my way of exploring and working through my past and the trauma that I've endured at the hands of Christians, AS a former Christian myself. I don't want to get into a "not every Christian" argument, I know there's a share of "good" Christians out there, but this is about my personal experiences and how I am healing from them to this day.

Anyway, that being said, please be aware that this project very well may offend you in how it approaches the topic(s) at hand if you yourself identify within the Christian religion. So...this is your official heads-up to blacklist the wip in advance (or just unfollow/block me) if that's what you feel is best.

Thanks!

[anonity]

BETTER -- drabble

been gone for a min for a last min road trip w/ friends for new years :) happy 2025! had this in my drafts after watching the paige ep on flau’jaes podcast

WC: ~1200 summary: paige catches you and your saved basketball edits

the amount of paige edits that popped up on your for-you-page was diabolical. especially considering she was your roommate.

you were waiting for her to return from practice, feet kicked up on the coffee table of your apartment, when the first of the day came up.

originally, you’d justified your ever-growing collection of edits as hype-videos: something you could scroll through before paige’s games to get you in the right mood. for a while, that checked out – you only saved her highlights, quick moving graphics with smooth transitions.

but then it had quickly devolved into what can only be described as an obsessive fan folder, filled with edits so thirsty you think you would actually combust if anyone saw them, let alone paige.

it was bound to happen.

you continued watching edits when the door opened, kept scrolling when it closed, and carried on even as paige leaned curiously on the kitchen counter. its not like she would know who you were watching – hell, you had juju watkins videos coming up on your page every couple days, too. 

this arrangement had worked perfectly for you for months. you got to indulge in your quietest delusions, and your best-friend-turned-roommate could continue on none the wiser. 

until her voice rang out clearly from your phone. you would’ve played it off, really, said it was an interview clip or something, had her voice not immediately been followed by the “or nah” audio. 

mortified did not even begin to describe the feeling clawing into your throat.

you scrolled impossibly fast and began praying. maybe she hadn’t been paying attention. maybe she wasn’t even in the kitchen anymore. maybe you’d imagined the entire thing and paige wasn’t even real and this was all some kind of awful dream you’d wake up from in 3, 2, 1…

“whatcha watchin’?”

you think your soul has left your body. 

paige is sauntering over and looking very smug. you’re wondering how fast you can make it from the couch to the balcony. 

“an interview,” you try anyway, despite the fact that not a single interview in the history of basketball has ever included fucking ty dolla sign.

paige smirks, leaning over the back of the couch. her breath tickles the top of your head and you shiver despite yourself, eyes trained on the tiktok now repeating on your phone – one of those orange muppet videos (pepe? is he supposed to be a shrimp?) stuck on the first slide. really, if it weren’t for the horrors of your current situation, you would find the irony funny. if you survived this event, maybe you would make one. you can see it now. “i’m watching edits of my roommate – my roommate walks in – i have to defend myself to my roommate –” i have to defend myself to my roommate.

“which interview?”

“umm,” you say, eloquently. you can’t think past your orange muppet spiral. “overwatch?”

paige laughs, a noise that distracts you long enough for her to yank your phone away. “overtime?”

shit.

you can barely get out a disdained “paige!” before you hear the audio repeating again. would a fall from the third floor kill you? is it still considered a fall if you jump?

you stop lunging for your phone – maybe you can just play it cool. who cares if theres a paige edit on your FYP? it's only weird if you make it weird. “you act like those don’t pop up on your for you page too.” 

paige shushes you, biting her cheeks in mock-seriousness. she shushes you! the nerve! if you weren’t so mortified you would argue with her! 

but you are mortified, and so you stay quiet.  the silence stretches on and on until your phone also goes silent. the apartment's heating unit is suddenly very loud, and for once you aren’t irritated at the noise – instead, you just think of how much you will actually miss your loud heating unit once paige processes the situation and kicks you out of your apartment in the dead of winter. 

you think it can’t get any worse, until another audio starts playing and a self-satisfied grin stretches across paiges face. “you have like 70 videos in here.”

somebody kill me.

the original silence is filled with mr. lover lover, and there is absolutely no way you can “it’s for the hype” your way out of this. she continues scrolling. you stare helplessly at the floor. after what you can only guess is six or seven incriminating edits, she pauses, her jaw clenching inexplicably. here it comes. 'get out of my apartment' – 'i can’t look at you the same anymore'. you’re so cooked. fried, even.

“whatchu got caitlin saved in here for?”

what?

you must’ve voiced that thought out loud, because she responds. “you got a thing for iowa players too?”

your brows furrow. this was not the direction you thought this would be going in. instead, theres an edge cutting through paige’s words that you can’t quite place. is she still pissed? you let out a nervous laugh. “relax, paige, it’s not like i’m making wedding plans with her.”

paige stiffens. “it’s enough for a save-the-date.”

“paige, it’s like a 30 to 1 ratio.”

“yeah, our points ratio is 30:1 too.”

what the hell? first of all, you watch enough basketball to know that's not true. second of all, again, what the hell? 

“i mean, it’s fine, i get it.” paige shrugs, suddenly uninterested in your phone. she tosses it on the couch and you (slowly) slip it into your pocket before she can change her mind. “i just think it’s funny you watch her when you literally live with someone better.”

“better at what?” paige splutters. “basketball.” 

suddenly, it clicks. you sit, quiet, stunned for a second. “paige, if i didn’t know any better i’d say you sound jealous.”

“it’s not jealousy! it’s.. like, respect.” paige gestures wildly, and you’d almost believe her if there wasn’t a flush creeping up her neck.  you raise a brow. “respect?” “we share a netflix account! and you’re saving edits of my competition!” “you’re totally jealous.” 

paige looks cornered, backing towards the kitchen. her gaze falls to the floor. “i just think, like, i dunno – i just think i care about you and i’m right here and you’re saving edits of caitlin freakin’ clark.”

you can’t help the laugh that escapes, the absurdity of this situation catching up to you. somewhere in the back of your mind, you see the orange muppet again. 

“what’s so funny?”

“you’re just –” you take a deep breath. “i can’t believe your jealous over a caitlin clark edit. you act like we’re together or something.”

“maybe i wanna be.”

paige freezes. you freeze. the heater kicks off. you're moving before you can think about it, standing in front of her. her eyes stay trained to the floor.

“i’m sorry. i just – you drive me crazy.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

she finally glances up, a smile cracking. “it’s not.”

“then what are you gonna do about it?”

her hand is on your jawline in an instant, and the nervousness bubbling in your chest is finally cut off with her lips on yours. when you pull away, she’s grinning.

“30:1 edit ratio, huh?”

your face heats, and you push your head against her chest. “not funny, paige.”

“i’ll make a new folder for you – poor decisions, filled with caitlin clark edits.”

"alright that's enough."

[recklesssturniolo]

Talk to Me - M.S

dom!Matt (ish), phone sex & reader and him are dating

A/N: idk how I feel ab this one praying y’all like it, also it’s short??? So also sorry ab that 😅

NSFW below, leave if you’re a minor

Cleaning my room, I’m caught off guard as my phone rings. Looking down, I smile seeing it’s Matt.

“Hey babe” I say.

“You got an explanation for the photo you sent?” He asks, referring to the nude I’d sent him a few minutes ago.

“What photo?” I reply.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what photo I’m talking about. Unfair you can send that when I’m not there to have you begging for me” He says, that sentence paired with the fact him being in LA was quite literally why he wasn’t able to be here but causing a heat to form between my legs.

“I mean you could’ve at least sent one back” I signed, laying down on my bed. The shirt I had on rising up and revealing the panties I had on - the exact ones that drove Matt crazy. My mind wandering off to how good he felt inside of me.

“Hello? Are you listening” Matt asked.

“Oh I - yeah sorry” I mumble back, trying desperately to ignore the wetness forming.

“What were you doing? Or more importantly what were you thinking of?” Matt asks, even without seeing him I knew there was a smirk on his face.

“Nothing really I just spaced off” I reply my hand subconsciously tracing the hem of my thong.

“You sure it wasn’t how good I make you feel when I’m fucking you? Maybe how my tongue feels on your pussy?” He replies.

My breath hitches in my throat knowing somehow he’d figured out his small comment from earlier turned me on, “Maybe” I sigh.

“Touch yourself baby” He groans, my eyes widening noticing his change in tone realizing he was jerking off.

“Matt, are you-“ I begin.

“Yeah I’m jerking off, you think I can see that photo you sent and not? Come on touch yourself, I know you’re wet at the thought of me” He responds.

Knowing he was right, I slide my panties down. My hands making their way back to my pussy, a slight moan leaving my mouth as I began rubbing my clit, “Fuck”

“There you go, feels good doesn’t it hm?” Matt asks.

“Yes but nothing compared to you” I respond.

“Yeah? You rather my fingers touching your pussy? My fingers pumping in and out of you until you’re clenching around them?” He groans out.

“Fuck Matt, I need you so badly” I whine, memories flooding my mind with each sentence that left his mouth. His stubble against my thighs while he sucked on my clit, how his fingers felt inside of me curled slightly, any memory I had of him touching me.

“Soon pretty girl, once I’m back I’ll fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk the next day. You have no idea how much I miss how you taste and how fucking tight you are” He groans out, his voice becoming raspy.

Unable to form a response, my mind still continuing to imagine everything he said, a whimper falls from my mouth as my back arches slightly.

“Sound so good moaning for me, fuck I can only imagine how hot you look touching yourself. Tell me what you’re thinking about baby” He says.

“I - just the one time in the car, when you ended up pinning me against the side and fuck how you finger fucked me until I came and fuck Matt-“ I began, my head tilting backwards slightly as I felt my high coming.

“And then what baby, keep going for me” He groans out, his breathing becoming faster.

“And then you fucked me against it and held my wrists together as you slammed into me. Matt I’m gonna come” I whine out, replaying the memory causing the knot in my stomach to grow.

“Good fuck so I am, let me hear you don’t be quiet” He replies, coming out more as a demand.

Without responding, whimpers and moans fall from myself, my eyes clenching shut as I came. Matt groaning and cursing on the other line, my orgasm only becoming better as I imagined him jerking off and coming on himself, his head tilted back and his hips buckling.

“Fuck you don’t know what you do to me” He speaks as both of us catch our breath, “That feel good?”

“Yes but -“ I began.

“I know I know it isn’t the same, trust me baby I know” He replies, his voice soothing now.

“If you don’t come straight to my house after your plane lands I swear to god Matt” I tell him.

“Trust me I’ll be speeding over, I already told Chris and Nick to figure out a ride back. Not waiting another second to be with you” He laughs.

“That was so hot Jesus fuck why haven’t we had phone sex before?” I question.

“I’ve jerked off while you spoke to me on the phone multiples times” He casually says.

“What? Just to my voice?” I asked, now intrigued at him admitting that.

“Mhm, I told you, you don’t know what you do to me”

TAGLIST: @sturnphilia @thatonekid536 @cupidsword @loveesiren @daddyslilchickenfingers @christinarowie332 @ilovemattsturn @its-jennarose @lxvlysworld @lovingsturniolo @iwantmattsobad @secret-sturniolo @mattsd0ll @soursturniolo @knowingnothingnoel

*If you want added to my taglist just comment or message me*

[exopelagic]

girl help I just wanna read pokemon fic but I have to do a mock exam :(

help I just wanna play splatoon but I have to revise :(

[call-mi-jinx]

Dave Lizewski - Limerence

summary - when you and dave are paired up for an english project, he asks you a question which makes you squirm

warnings - possible stalking? idk sorry, basic fluff,

Main Masterlist Dave Lizewski Masterlist

a/n - hiya gyals, i have been trying to find more than just 3 decent dave fanfics so i jus decided to write my own, ta ta my lovelies! xx

dave lizewski x fem!reader

Limerence. Noun. Meaning: the state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterised by a strong desire for reciprocation of one's feelings but not primarily for a sexual relationship.

This is the feeling I get when I think of Dave Lizewski. Nobody in school cares about him at all. They don't even look at him. Which I'm glad about because that means I get him all to myself. But he never looks at me. God I just want him to look at me, notice me, speak to me, something. But i get nothing.

It still baffles me how no one has tried to ask him out before. He is absolutely beautiful. In fact, ineffable. His brown curls frame his face amazingly. His blue eyes I could look into all day. And god his voice, it could lull me to sleep effortlessly. And his humour, he makes me silently laugh every time I overhear him say something at lunch to his friends.

My friends think I'm weird for thinking he's attractive. They call him a nerd and a weirdo because he reads comic books at that little cafe every day. But that's because they don't see what I see. And it's because they don't look at him as much as I do.

I have almost every class with him, because I found out which classes he chose and switched to them. And those lessons that I needed to get higher grades for, I studied as hard as I could so that I'd be able to move to Dave's classes. My friends call me a stalker but I just want to be closer to him.

Me and my friends are sitting at our usual table which I chose because it was right behind the table Dave usually sits at. My friends never noticed, not caring about anything other than their lunch and the conversations they're having. I never listen, I just look at Dave's features and try to hear what he's talking about. I see his friend turn around to look at me then says something to Dave.

Dave then leans to the side to look at me and I immediately hide my face with a book and blush so furiously you'd mistake me for a tomato. That was fucking embarrassing, I'd been staring that long his friend pointed it out to him. Fuck.

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

I was in AP English, one of the classes I had to get my grades up for. I sat a seat to the left from Dave. I don't know what Ms. Somerset was talking about because all I was doing was doodling and trying to catch glances at Dave, while trying not to be obvious at the same time. But my ears perked up when I heard about a project we'd be doing in pairs. I prayed to God or whoever is up there that I'd be paired with Dave.

"Okay, I'm going to list the people that are going to be in pairs together. First, Holly you're with George. Grace with Vanessa. Zach with Jake. Y/N with Dave..." The teachers voice faded away as soon as I heard. My prayers had been answered. Thank you God!

I turned my head to look at Dave and he was already looking at me, we both smiled at each other then turned back towards the teacher.

"The project is going to be a presentation about the analysis of any piece of literature you want to do. Do it however you want it just needs to be a PowerPoint slideshow. Now everyone go sit with your partner and begin planning your presentations." Everyone got up and joined their partner and Dave came over and sat next to me.

"I never knew you were in AP English Y/N..." He felt a bit embarrassed after admitting that. A blush creeped up onto my face, well that's a bit embarrassing.

"I changed to this class about 5 months ago, I just never talk because none of my friends are in this class." I gave him a shy smile as Ms. Somerset handed us some coloured pens and a piece of paper to make a plan.

"You're in my Chem, Bio and Physics as well now that I think about it. And my History, Computer Science and Design Tech. You're in all my classes and I never noticed you before. Except at lunch or breaks, or when we walk home the same way. Don't you live a couple blocks from me?" Fuck... What if he connects the dots? And if he does what if he thinks I'm a freak?

"I wouldn't know, sorry." I gave him an awkward laugh and looked down to the paper.

"So what piece of literature should we choose? We could do something by Jane Austen, Shakespeare, Fitzgerald, Mark Twain?" It shocked me that Dave knew all those writers, mainly because all I've seen or heard about him reading was comic books.

"I say we do Emma by Jane Austen. I've read it a hundred times and I've already analysed it anyway so we just have to put it onto the presentation." Dave agreed and we planned out our presentation for the rest of the class.

When the bell rang, I gathered all my things and exited the classroom to go home. When I was a few steps out of the classroom, I heard someone call my name. It was Dave.

"I-I thought you could have my number, so that we can arrange to meet at each other's houses to work on the project. O-or we could work on it at the library. Whatever y-you're comfortable with." My heart could practically explode. Not only was he giving me his number, he was also possibly inviting over to his house!

"Yeah that'd be great." I gave him a bright smile. "We could go back to my house now? So that we can get the project over and done with, I hate having things that aren't finished yet."

"R-right now?" His cheeks flush a light pink. His eyes dart from my eyes to everything else around us.

"Yeah, you don't have to come over if you don't want to I don't want to make you uncomfortable." Fuck, I already feel like I'm screwing it up with him.

"N-no it's fine, I just didn't think you'd want me there. But yeah, let's go now." Inside, I was practically exploding. I have never felt such happiness until now. I fucking love Ms. Somerset!

We began walking out the school when my friends saw me walking with Dave. I saw them whispering and giggling to each other.

"Hey Y/N! What are you doing with him?" I felt anger run through me, why the fuck are they taking the piss out of him?

"We have a project we need to do so he's coming over to my house after school." I fake smiled at them and as soon as I turned away from them I had a disgusted look on my face. "Sorry about them Dave."

｡ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ₊ ˚ ︶︶✩︶︶‌ ｡˚

As we came into my house, my dad immediately came into the hall and gave me a hug. He then turned to Dave and sized him up. I could see Dave squirming so I broke the silence.

"Dad, this is Dave. We're doing a project together in English." My dad narrowed his eyes at Dave and then his eyes widened with realisation and went to shake Dave's hand.

"So you're the Dave my princess talks about all the time!" I wanted the ground to swallow me whole and get the hell away from here. I've never wanted to be thrown into space in my whole entire life.

Dave looked at me in confusion and saw my uncomfortable demeanor.

"Right we're going upstairs, love you." I then dragged myself upstairs, Dave following close behind me and I led him to my room.

I sat myself at my desk and watched Dave as he looked around my room. I had vinyl records stuck to the wall along with different posters and tapestries. Fairy lights lined the frame of my bed. I also had a little table with a record player and a shelf specifically for my favourite records.

"Your room is really nice Y/N. I like your posters and lights." I looked around my room, I never actually took notice of it in all honesty.

"Thank you. I decorated it myself, I even designed the layout of my room when my dad helped build this place." Dave looked fascinated. I don't even know why.

"That's so cool, you got to choose how your room was shaped and everything?" It was cute how he was so excited about something as little as room design.

"Yeah, plus my room is the biggest in the house. My dad let me have it cause he said he's barely going to be in his anyways cause he's working all the time. Surprised he's actually home right now." Dave smiled at me and looked around my room before we silently began our project.

I couldn't believe that Dave fucking Lizewski was in my room! I've liked him ever since I first saw him when I moved here in Sophomore year. As he was doing his work, I couldn't help but stare. He was so beautiful. The way his curls fell on his face, the way he slightly stuck out his tongue when he was concentrating on reading something. I was so lost in staring at him I didn't even realise that he was calling my name.

"Y/N!" I shook my head to get myself out of the trance I was in, he caught me fucking staring. Great.

"Yeah?" He smiled as he shook his head at me, not in a misdemeaning way though, in a "I find it kinda cute" way.

"What exactly are we analysing from Emma?" I went to sit down next to him on my bed and read what he was reading.

"I think we should analyse how Jane Austen represents class types within all the characters and how they act towards each other." I then looked to Dave who was already looking at me.

"Your eyes are really pretty..." Why the fuck did I just say that? Out of everything to come out of my mouth that is what I say? Dave's face turns a bright shade of red.

"Th-thank you, I really like your hair..." I had purple streaks in my hair. My dad screamed at me when he saw, but he then found them actually pretty.

"Thank you, when I first dyed it my dad went ballistic. Eventually he warmed up to them." Dave smiled at me, in a way I couldn't decipher.

"Do you like me?... Y/N?" Those words make my heart stop. Fuck. He's realised. He probably found out about me switching classes just to be with him, me staring at him all the time, my friends call it an obsession.

"Where did that come from?" I chuckle, trying to play it off.

"I've heard your friends talk about it, Todd told me today that you were staring at me. So I thought I'd ask you." This was actually quite bold of him, he always just stuck to either being quiet or just talking quietly with Todd and Marty.

"You find me weird don't you?" I leaned away from him, I didn't want him to look at me. Before right now, that was all I had hoped for and now it's the last thing I want.

"No, not at all actually. I find it cute. At first I was worried you wanted to kill me or something but when I saw your face light up when Ms. Somerset paired us up I had a feeling it wasn't because you wanted to kill me." Dave chuckled slightly, he smiled with only one side of his mouth and he looked so cute doing it.

"I thought I could actually hide it, guess I can't. I do like you Dave, and I know you have a crush on Katie so it's fine we can just pretend this never-" Dave cut me off by pressing his lips against mine. At first I was completely shocked but then I kissed him back. Oh my god I'm kissing Dave Lizewski!

I cupped his cheeks and pulled him on top of me and his hand found place on my waist. He didn't kiss me roughly like a couple guys have done before. He was gentle, more caring than lustful.

We both then pulled away and Dave had a big goofy smile, he was adorable.

"I don't like Katie, I mean I used to. But that was until I started seeing you sit next to our table at lunch and see you walk down the hallways with your friends..." A billion fireworks were going off in my head. I have never been happier.

"W-would you wanna go out on a date with me?" Oh my god, he wants to go out on a date with me!

"I would love to." I had a massive grin on my face. My dreams had come true.

[yanderemommabean]

Hey beans! Bit of an update-

This post will include mentions of abuse so, please, don't read if that will harm you in any way!

Sorry for the lack of posts lately! With how weird my school is with testing and clinicals, I've had hardly any real time to feel like I could sleep AND create. On top of that, I am still in the unfortunate position of living with my abuser, along with the rest of my family who seem to be going downhill.

While I'm hoping I can get a job to save up to move out of this state, that's going to take time, and its time I fear I don't have some nights as just the other night while bringing home groceries, I was met with my step dads gun directly in my face, and him being mad I was "Coming home late at ten at night" when it was, in fact, only 9:15 and I made myself known as I walked up the stairs.

My grandma is also a big issue, she's draining as usual but its taking more of a toll on me by the day. I no longer get food stamps either which is a reason she wants to start in on me every day I walk out of my room. The verbal abuse is one thing but she's threatening again and if I stand up for myself I'm seen as the bad guy.

My mom who used to be a person I thought I could turn to is now down a rabbit hole about "Woke" culture and now sees anyone in the LGBTQ community as brainwashers, yet when I remind her I am bisexual, she seems to backtrack a bit and say "Well no, not you, you're a good one"

She's also back into worshipping the Christian God, which I have absolutely no issue with, but she's telling me that I cant have my tarot cards or my own craft in my room like I'm some 15 year old who doesn't understand religions, and not 24 and choosing my own way in life. She keeps insisting that I pray, that I thank God, that I'm a sinner, anything to make her feel like she's scaring me into "Changing". I keep telling her she's driving a wedge between us, but it seems to be for nothing.

Every day I feel like my support net is crumbling, and I feel like this trip to save up is going to be fruitless as I don't have my own car, I have to find a way to get the doctors I need if I even get to the state I'm moving to, and so on and so on.

Any who, I'm going through a lot and can't seem to catch a break but I love you beans! I hope you're all doing good and having a wonderful day!

-Mommabean

[rottenpumpkin13]

sepiroth passes out from exhastion how does everyone react

Sephiroth stuns everyone by collapsing during a training session in the VR room, his body finally giving out after days of consecutive missions, training, paperwork, and unfortunate visits to Hojo. Angeal immediately takes charge, catching him before he hits the ground, while Genesis rushes to cast Cure. They refuse to take him to Medical—where he would inevitably fall into Hojo's "care"—and carry him back to his apartment instead, worried for him.

Angeal:

"Honor includes knowing when to rest, Sephiroth. This isn't honorable." Sephiroth is actively passed out during this lecture.

Immediately transforms Sephiroth's apartment into a recovery ward, complete with homemade remedies and an impressive array of healthy snacks that mysteriously appear every few hours.

Makes approximately 32 different types of soup because "proper nutrition is the foundation of recovery"

Fusses over Sephiroth in every feasible way. Gives him baths, insists on spoon feeding him, and even attempts to cuddle him at one point while holding back tears because "oh you poor thing!"

Sits on Sephiroth to prevent escape.

Keeps finding hidden paperwork around Sephiroth and confiscating them with disappointed sighs.

Has to physically block the door when Sephiroth tries to "just check on one small mission"

Has perfected the art of the disappointed father look, which he deploys every time Sephiroth so much as glances at his work laptop.

Somehow acquired a sleep materia and isn't afraid to use it.

Genesis

Shows off his medical expertise while pretending he isn't worried (he is) (he shrieked when Sephiroth collapsed and immediately started praying).

"If you die from exhaustion, I'll learn necromancy just to bring you back from the dead, and then kill you myself"

Mastered Cure materia at the ready, points it at Sephiroth like a weapon.

Manages to be simultaneously the most competent medic and the most dramatic nursemaid in Shinra history.

Has hidden Masamune somewhere "where your stubborn self won't find it" (in the cost closet) and keeps leaving elaborate threats about what will happen if Sephiroth doesn't stay in bed.

These threats primarily involve burning various items of clothing and replacing them with things from the Shinra gift shop. Has developed an uncanny ability to appear out of nowhere the moment Sephiroth tries to reach for any work-related items, scaring Sephiroth half to death.

Keeps slipping sleeping powder into Sephiroth's tea. Angeal informs him that this is, in fact, a crime.

Sits beside Sephiroth and reads him poetry, and story books, an encyclopedia, and a novel, and the newspaper. Occasionally becomes a podcast and starts yapping about his opinions on anything and everything. Genesis has become Sephiroth's personal radio, and Sephiroth wouldn't have it any other way.

Zack:

Is on guard dog duty (guard puppy) and is posted at Sephiroth's door with a crowbar in case Hojo and his team try to come take Sephiroth away.

Sends hourly reports to Angeal via text, most of which are just variations of "still no Hojo! But I did see a suspicious plant..."

Tackles three different people who "looked suspicious"

One was just a janitor.

One was a food delivery person.

One was Lazard who came to check on Sephiroth.

"Angeal said to use the crowbar first and ask questions later!

Has somehow acquired a collection of chocobo plushies that keep multiplying in Sephiroth's apartment, each with a little note about rest and recovery attached to it.

Genuinely believes that doing squats outside the door creates a protective barrier against unwanted visitors. Not because of magic, but because "my thighs are so powerful, they send a message."

Sephiroth:

Tries to argue he's "perfectly fine" while barely conscious.

Attempts to escape through the window (on the 49th floor)

Keeps trying to summon Masamune but Genesis hid it. This upsets Sephiroth greatly.

"I just need to sign one form—"

Secretly touched by all the care and attention but would rather eat another batch of Angeal's medicinal Banora White and trout strew than admit it.

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: None (Yet) in chapters to come there will be smut (and lots of it) and possible violence/blood/gore

Chapter Word Count: 2803

—-MDNI—-

A/N: My first Supernatural fic so I hope it doesn’t suck ass. Only proof read by myself, so pls let me know of any errors so I can correct! Also I know at this point in the series Dean is more serious, however I love pre-Hell Dean so imma bring some of those vibes in here. This is also posted on my AO3.

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Please read the below first:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 3

The rest of that day was pretty uneventful. Charlie practically threw my sad lone duffle bag through the front door and left before I could give her a piece of my mind for just leaving me here. I helped Sam put away the groceries he’d bought, emphasising that ‘we don’t put things down, we put them away’, otherwise we end up living in filth again. I also cleared some space around the study area that seems to be the centre of the bunker, and much to my dismay, threw out even more take-out boxes and beer bottles. I arranged all of the research that had been left on the desk in a mess, organising it into piles of read and unread; or at least what looked read and unread to me. The whole time Dean sat at this very desk and was watching cartoons on Sam’s laptop whilst his brother was in the shower, letting me do all the dirty work as he just sat there and relaxed. When I was finally done, I slumped down in the chair opposite him and slid all of the neat stacks of research towards myself. Dean looked up at me, his relaxed ‘cartoon-watching’ expression fading slightly.

“What are you doing?” He asked. I looked up at him like he was stupid.

“What do you think? I’m catching up on what you guys have been researching.”

He closed the laptop and folded his arms across his chest, the cotton of his flannel pulling tight over his large biceps.

“That’s such a waste of time.”

“And why, pray tell, is it such a waste of time Dean?”

“It’ll take you days, maybe weeks to catch up on what we know - either me or Sam can give you a rundown on what’s most important in an hour,” his tone was very matter-of-fact, like he didn’t want to be argued with. I sighed, crossing my arms on the table in front of me, leaning forwards.

“That’s great, you can still do that, but the more clued up I am as to what is going on then the more chance we have of finding what you need,” I paused for a second, a thought flashing across my mind. “Come to think of it, you haven’t even told me why I’m here, other than to ‘do research’. What are you looking for that has you so stumped?” Dean sucked a breath in through teeth, shifting slightly in his chair.

“The Fist Blade,” his tone had a thickness to it that I couldn’t place.

“The First Blade? As in Cain and Abel? THAT First Blade? ”

“Bingo.”

“But surely that’s long gone by now, it’s been two millennia at least. Nothing can last that long…can it?” I asked almost rhetorically. Dean shrugged.

“That’s what we want to know too,” his eyes flicked up and caught mine, his gaze burning into mine for only a moment with such intensity I felt my breath catch in my chest. The dark purple bruising on his face around his eyes made that forest green even more vibrant and alluring. There was a pause - for some reason I couldn’t look away and I had to catch myself before glancing at his bruised lips, which I knew already were devilishly charming. Right as I gave in to temptation and saw the corner of Deans poor split lip twitch into a smirk, Sam saved the day by striding in, towel-drying his hair. He paused, looked at us and frowned quizzically, almost like he was more surprised that we weren’t throwing furniture at each other. He didn’t say anything on that topic though, because as he looked around he noticed I’d cleaned. Again.

“(Y/n) you really have to stop cleaning up our mess,” he smiled, hanging his towel on the back of his chair as he took a seat next to me, his long legs grazing mine slightly.

“Sam just say ‘thank you’,” I tilted my head up to him - he was still enormous even when he was sitting down. He laughed slightly, almost bashfully as he looked down for a second at his twiddling thumbs before locking his eyes with mine again.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I returned his smile at last, holding it for a few seconds before continuing: “So Dean has just been explaining to me what you’re looking for. Surely the First Blade is long gone by now? How would it have survived this long, and still be functional - not just some pile of dust?” Sam huffed out an already exasperated breath, slouching back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest, much like how Dean was sitting.

“I have no idea, at this point I feel like we’re grasping at air,” we all mumbled in agreement, suddenly sitting in a solemn sort of silence. It was short lived though as Sam leant forwards, pushing his damp hair from his eyes and trying to lighten the mood.

“Guys why don’t we just leave it for a few hours and get something for dinner? It’s getting late and we should really eat.” Dean suddenly sprang forwards, sitting up straight and lacing his fingers together on the desk with a grin on his stupid face.

“Good idea Sammy - I can’t wait to try her cooking. If she can cook half as well as she cleans then we’re in for a treat.”

“You son of a bitch!” I jumped up, grasping the first thing I could find (a file on God knows what) and smacked him across the face with it. Deans head turned with the force - albeit not much - and another stupid grin crept onto his stupid lips. He chuckled his deep, chesty laugh and tenderly touched his already sore face, wincing slightly.

“Just for a second I forgot you hated my guts,” he drawled, rising to his feet.

“Well you don’t do yourself any favours by talking to me like that.”

“Yeah? Well maybe if you weren’t such a hot head you’d be able to take a joke.”

“A joke? You call that a joke? Jokes are supposed to be funny, Dean, there wasn’t even a punchline,” I had started to raise my voice slightly and he gave me an extremely puzzled look.

“Hold the fucking phone - are you mad at me because I ‘insulted’ you or are you mad that there was no punchline?”

“I’m mad at YOU, because you’re just trying to rub me up the wrong way on purpose!”

There was a pause, and a smirk and a twinkle in Deans eye.

“Well I’m sure if you ask Sam nicely he’ll rub you up the right way.”

“DEAN!” Sam and I both cut in at the same time and when I glanced at him I noticed a faint pink glow on his cheeks.

“What?” He threw his hands up, “Sam you’ve been acting like a schoolgirl around her since we met her at the diner, always jumping to her aid first. Just admit you have a crush ok?” Dean gave his younger brother an ‘all knowing look’ as Sam covered his face.

“Dean I’m going to pretend you never said any of that and just move on,” Sam turned to me and said in a hushed tone “I’m so sorry,” before looking back at his brother, who was now reaching for his jacket. “And where are you going?” Sam quizzed.

“To get dinner, that’s what this whole conversation escalated from right? About what we were going to eat? Well I’m going to get takeout, what do you both want?” Dean said, throwing his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Dean sit down,” I chimed in, my voice sterner than I intended.

“What?”

“Just sit the fuck down. Both of you. Carry on researching and making yourself useful,” I said, moving away from the table.

“Why?” Sam did as he was told but Dean looked at me like I’d asked him to eat tofu.

“Because I’m not letting you boys eat yourself to death with E numbers and MSG. I’ll cook something,” and as the words left my mouth I saw Deans eyebrows raise so much I thought they might push his hairline back. Before he could get a single word out Sam spoke on behalf of both of them:

“If you’re really ok doing that, (Y/n), you’ve already done so much today-”

“Sam it’s fine, I really don’t mind. I actually enjoy cooking, and since Bobby’s been gone I’ve had no one to cook for. So yeah it’s ok,” I smiled at him reassuringly, and he smiled back.

“Ok, if you’re sure,” he paused, looking to his older brother who had removed his jacket and was taking a seat again, “I just didn’t want you to feel like you had to just because Dean-”

“Really Sam, I’m fine with it. I was planning to cook even before the jackass opened his trap.” The younger Winchester gave me a final ‘ok’ before I spun on my heel and walked towards the kitchen, not even bothering to give the older Winchester a second glance.

I guess it’s time to find out what these boys have lurking in their pantry.

*

I’d been cooking for maybe half an hour when I was finally done and called the boys to the kitchen. I set three places at the table, and placed down three beers and enough cutlery for all of us, alongside various condiments they might want. I was just serving up as they walked in, muttering to themselves about something they’d researched. As they both sat down, I placed two plates in front of them and watched their faces light up.

“STEAK!” They both had wide grins as they picked up their cutlery and immediately dug in.

“Don’t get too excited, it’s nothing special. Plus the fries were frozen and the mac ‘n’ cheese was instant,” I said, placing down my own plate and taking a seat between them.

“Don’t care, ‘s home cooked,” Dean said with a mouthful of food, reaching for his beer. Sam just nodded vigorously in agreement.

“Well ok then,” I smiled to myself, I guess a little happy that they were happy. And for once that Dean had nothing smart to say. Yet.

*

Dinner was pretty uneventful - and short - as the boys practically inhaled their food. When their plates were empty they just sat at the table in a happy silence, rubbing their full bellies.

“Considering you just used what we already had and didn’t go shopping for anything, that was fucking beautiful,” Dean said, stifling a burp. I looked at him in surprise.

“Oh… Thanks Dean,” I half smiled down at him as I stood to collect their plates. He put his hand out to stop me, taking them from my grasp and pushed gently on my shoulder, urging me to sit. He returned the half smile, standing up.

“No problem. Now let me do this, you’ve done enough for us today already. Take a break,” his voice was low and strangely kind towards me, and I was almost lost for words as I felt his firm chest brush against my arm as he took the plates from me, his body heat reaching my skin through the fabric. Was he being serious, or just leading up to be a dick in a rather roundabout way? Who knows. But I should try to appreciate the moment at least.

Dean washed up whilst Sam dried everything and put it all away, and I sat sipping my beer as they bustled about for a few minutes. Once they were done, Sam took his seat back at the table and Dean grabbed the tea towel, roughly wiping the surfaces and flinging it over his shoulder when he was done.

“And now it’s pie time,” he said suddenly, sparks of joy in his voice. I grinned.

“Oooh, can I have some?” I asked. Dean turned to look at me like I’d asked him to shoot a puppy, and Sam muttered an ‘oh boy’ under his breath.

“Can you have some?” Dean repeated my request back to me, those sparks of joy in his voice no longer there.

“Yeah…please? I saw it in the fridge earlier, there’s definitely enough to share,” I stated, starting to feel like I was missing something here. Sam cleared his throat and I turned to look at him, an unusual expression on his face.

“Uhhh…(Y/n), Dean doesn’t share his pie. Not even with me.” Dean slammed the fridge door closed, said pie now in hand.

“You’re Goddamn right. The pies mine, now back off,” he gave me a warning look as he grabbed a fork and sat back down next to me again.

“Fuck me; really? What are you, a child? Who the fuck won’t share a pie made for four people?” I asked, getting exasperated with Deans bullshit. I knew the kindness wouldn’t last.

“Me.”

“Fuck you.”

“Guys, I’m gonna go and get some sleep - I’ll be back in a few hours. Thanks for dinner (Y/n), it was great,” Sam stood and pinched the bridge of his nose, not being inconspicuous at all about being done with bickering between Dean and I. He smiled softly at me before he left, patting my shoulder as I said a quiet ‘sleep well’ to him before he exited the room. Then it just left me and Dean. Again.

“Just one slice,” I asked abruptly, watching him shovel pastry into his face.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Dean I made you dinner and tidied your shit, the least you can do is give me a slice,” I slid forward in my chair, inching closer to him in a new attempt to get him to share.

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Fuck,” I threw my hands up before leaning forwards a little more so I was now close enough to smell him. And annoyingly he smelt divine - his cologne mixed with the scent of old leather and woodsmoke, perhaps a little gunpowder too. I breathed in, trying to get to the sweet smell of the desert he had, but all I could smell was him. I tried to ignore it. He was still a douchebag.

“One bite?” He sighed and turned to look at me, noses almost touching as I flinched back, not realising how much I’d shuffled towards him. He sighed, dropping his head slightly.

“Ok, just one bite,” he said as I did a very quiet squeal of delight. I reached for the fork in his hand but he held it up out of my reach, shaking his head.

“No. Not you.”

“Dean, come on.”

“Open.”

“What are you-”

“Open your mouth,” he said sternly, those evergreen eyes finding mine.

“Wait wha-”

“Open your Goddamn mouth (Y/n)” he said, his voice turning gravelly as I felt his breath on my face. I felt heat start to flood my cheeks and I couldn’t tell what emotion it was coming from, as I had started to feel a lot of things all at once. What made my head spin a little though was hearing my name fall from his lips - he hadn’t said it before, at least not to my face. And I hated myself for liking how it sounded. I didn’t say anything to him as I eventually did as I was told; opening my mouth and instinctively sticking out my tongue a little. I wasn’t sure where to look, so I looked at him - the concentration on his face as he scooped up an acceptable amount of pie to part with was amusing to say the least. Happy with my tiny portion, he turned to me and put the fork on my tongue, to which I closed my lips around as he slowly pulled it from my mouth, leaving the amazingly sweet desert behind. With my eyes now closed, I couldn’t help but hum in delight, savouring every flavour before I swallowed it down. Slowly opening my eyes again, I wasn’t expecting to see Dean still watching me, lips slightly parted as his gaze flickered between my eyes and my sticky lips, which I was now licking clean. He seemed to catch himself quickly though, immediately scooping up more pie for himself and cramming it into his own mouth. I sat back in my chair, picking up my beer and draining the bottle.

“Next time you buy a pie, Winchester,” I started, standing and tossing the bottle in the bin, “buy one for me so we don’t have this problem again.” He looked up at me just as I turned to leave.

“No promises,” his lip quirked slightly - so slightly that I wondered if he’d even smirked at all. I scoffed, giving him one last look as I rolled my eyes before I left the room to continue researching.

“Fuck you.”

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Up Next:

Chapter 4

[spctrsgf]

rocks and faulty plans

summary: you and poe make an unexpected stop to a rocky planet. with a broken ship.

-> based off this prompt

words: 1.3k

a/n: heeeeeeeey guys 😅😅 i will be more active soon I PRAY but here is a silly drabble i wrote i miss my silly space pilot :((

You’re not really sure why you even listened to him in the first place. You knew that beside all of his cockiness, he had some sort of planning skills and a desire to not kill the both of you, but it wasn't all that apparent in your current situation.

The rocky terrain of the planet you'd landed on– an unplanned detour– was harder to navigate than you'd thought when you were back on the ship. Despite this fact, your companion was already several steps ahead, trekking along the curve of a particularly large rock.

You groan loudly, hoping he hears your disdain as you tug on the collar of your jumpsuit and double your speed to catch up to him. The burst of energy from your fiery anger is, much to your dismay, hardly enough to last for longer than twenty seconds. A burn in your leg ignites the gravel beneath your feet, sending you stumbling.

“You okay down there?” Calls that ever so taunting tone. You glare up at his figure, backlit by the red sun. Still several steps ahead. “Oh fuck off, would you?” You snap, glancing down at the beads of blood forming along the scrape of your leg. 

He laughs. “It's okay, baby, it happens to all of us. Even me.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. 

He shrugs back. How does he manage to admit fault cockily?

“Using pet names to hide your concern, I see.”

He tuts, but says nothing to dispute your claim, heading towards you. 

“I can get up myself, Poe.” You snarl at him.

“I think the rocks would beg to differ.”

“Would it kill you to not tease me?”

He grins. “In an instant.”

You roll your eyes, but grab the hand he had extended out to you and let him help you up. He pulls you forward, seemingly only letting go of your hand when he realized he had been holding it for so long. The two of you trek together to the top of the rock, not sharing anything but the oxygen during sharp breaths. 

It was a weirdly serene moment with him. Poe wasn't necessarily a man of little or many words, but it wasn't often that you saw him comfortable in the silence. Especially in your current… predicament. You’d half expected him to spend the whole adventure talking your ear off about the ten billion plans you knew he had thought of, but he remained quiet.

You suppose you could chalk it up to the view. It was nothing short of breathtaking. The small town below was bustling about, nestled among the rocks that spiked out of the ground. The light from the sun cast a loving red sheen on the whole scene, cupping the inhabitants and painting them friendly. It was difficult to even consider looking away from. 

Yeah, that was probably Poe’s silencer.

You smile, letting him bask in the scenery before you shove his shoulder, beginning to head towards the town. “C’mon, pretty boy, stop gawking and get a move on! We don't have all day.” He scoffed. “I was not gawking, it's just-” he runs a hand down his face, “it's been a while since I've seen a view like that.”

“Space just isn't quite like this, is it?” 

“Not quite. A lot more black.” He says, finally catching up to you.

You snort. “That's true. It's calming in its own way, isn't it?”

“Yeah. If it weren't for our current situation, I’d spend a couple days here. Nice vacation.”

“You deserve that.” The words leave your mouth before you can take a second to think about them. Shit.

But Poe doesn't tease, he just smiles wide. “Thank you.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “But, back to business-”

“Here we go."

“Hey!” You glare, and he quickly quiets. “What are we gonna do? Just ask one of these people if they can walk however long with whatever tools they need to fix our ship?”

“Well, that was plan D in my extensive list of ideas.”

“Oh, and what about the other ones?” You indulge, curious.

“Well, plan A was to not crash on the planet in the first place, but you can see how well that went.” He grumbles.

“We tried our best.”

“I know,” he sighs, running a hand down his face, again. “Rest of my plans weren't quite as good.”

“Doubt that. Let's try plan E.” You quip, seeing how close the two of you were to the town.

He shrugs easily. “Let's.” 

You watch him gather his confidence and paint it across his face, and with that, the two of you make your way into the town. You trail a few steps behind him, letting “plan E” fall into place. He makes his way into a bar, leaning against the counter and motioning for you to do the same.

As you copy him, he leans over, whispering, “just go with it, okay?” You nod, locking your jaw to stop yourself from yelping when his hand wraps around your waist. “Hey, bartender!” He yells, catching their attention. “What can I get for you today, sir?” 

“My fiancé and I are here trying to get to the next planet in your system, but our ship crashed. Would you happen to have something that could help us?”

The bartender tilts his head to the side. “You do realize this is a bar, right?”

“I’m willing to bet you see most of this town here. So if anyone knows of someone who can help us, it's you.”

“Sure, a lot of people come in here, but I just serve drinks. Can I get you two anything?”

“Sir, please-”

“Listen here, outsider,” the bartender leans over the counter, and you can smell the alcohol he'd surely downed earlier. “I’ve been gracious enough to not kick you two out of my bar as soon as you didn’t place an order, because you and your fiancé seem like respectable people. But this is a busy bar, so if you're not going to buy a drink, get the fuck out of my bar before I have someone make you.”

“All we need is one address!”

“Last chance, sir.” The man gnarls at you two.

“Okay,” you jump in, taking Poe’s hand off your waist and pulling him away from the bartender. “Thank you for your help!”

You drag the two of you out of the bar before either man could exchange any more malicious words. Poe struggles, clearly trying to make his plan work. It was obvious he had more things to say– or do– to the bartender, but eventually he gives in to your pulling, trailing behind you. 

“So much for plan E.” You grumble as soon as you aren't in earshot of the bar. “I could have made that work! He would've listened to me.” Poe grumbles right back. 

“You and I both know that isn't true.” 

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“What is it with him anyways?” You question, making sure your voice was low and there wasn't anyone around before continuing. “He was so much meaner than anyone else we've seen.”

“Bad day, maybe? They could not get many visitors here.”

“Or too many.” You add in.

He smiles. “Or too many. Maybe he's struggling to make ends meet.”

“That's also true,” you sigh in defeat. “But it doesn't solve our problem.”

He shakes his head. "Let's just move on to plan F. F stands for fabulous."

"The way all your other plans have worked out so far, I would assume F also stands for failure." 

“Hey!” He yelps, glaring. 

You giggle. “Joking. Plan F it is! What do you need me to do?”

His smile made what some would call a shit eating grin.

You groan. “Oh no.”

Well, the two of you definitely made it off the planet in record time. With nothing more than you came with, other than a bounty on your heads.

No biggie.

someone yell at me to write my reqs bye

[belovedspector]

Barely a Scratch

Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader (implied Marc Spector x gn!reader and Steven Grant x gn!reader)

Word Count: ~580

Summary: Jake comes home from patrol a little worse for wear. You help patch him up.

Content: Blood and injury (nothing graphic), fluff

A/N: Just a little fic to try to get myself back into writing! Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

You’re sitting in bed with a book when you hear the distinct squeak of the bedroom window opening. You should be used to it by now—you do live with Moon Knight, after all—but it still makes you jump.

You catch a glimpse of the suit before it dematerializes and know it’s Jake who’s standing in the room with you.

“How’d it go?” you ask, closing your book after marking your place.

“I got shot.”

“You what?!” You spring out of bed, panicked.

“I got shot. Only a little bit, though.”

He seems far too calm. You, on the other hand, are beside yourself.

“And how, pray-fucking-tell, does one only get ‘a little bit’ shot?!” you ask, struggling to keep your voice level.

He lifts his shirt to show off where the bullet grazed his side. “See? Barely a scratch,” he says with a slightly feral grin.

You shake your head disapprovingly.

“Hold on,” you say after a moment. “Why didn’t Khonshu heal you?”

Jake shrugs. “Dunno. Haven’t heard from him all day. It’s been nice, actually.”

“Why’d you go out if that stupid bird didn’t tell you to?”

“There’s still people who need my help,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

You nod in understanding before moving through the apartment to grab the first aid kit.

“Kitchen or couch?” you ask as you reemerge from the bathroom, kit in hand.

He considers his options. “Couch,” he decides.

“Fine, but you’d better not get any blood on the cushions this time.” You let him lead the way, sitting down in the spot next to him.

“We can just flip ‘em over, no big deal.”

“We already did that, genius,” you remind him, opening up the first aid kit and pulling out the materials you need. “Shirt off, please.”

“Oh, right,” he says as he complies, wincing slightly at the movement.

You suck air through your teeth in sympathy. You hate seeing your boys hurt. The fact that it’s such an uncommon occurrence doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. If anything, the rarity of the situation makes it worse.

You make quick work of cleaning and bandaging the wound. To his credit, Jake is a good patient. He hisses a little when the disinfectant is applied, but otherwise stays remarkably still and quiet.

“Alright,” you say, closing up the kit, “you’re all set.”

He grabs your hand as you hoist yourself off the couch. “Thank you,” he says when your eyes meet his, warm and bright and full of unspoken appreciation.

“Of course,” you say softly, smiling down at him and giving his hand a squeeze.

You return the first aid kit to its spot in the bathroom cupboard and rejoin him on the couch.

“Can you get me the remote?” he asks sweetly.

You look to the coffee table, where the remote sits directly in front of him. “You can’t get it yourself?”

He pouts. “I’m injured. You have to be nice to me.”

You give him an exaggerated eye-roll, but you do as he asks, not quite able to keep the fond smile off your face.

“You’re really gonna milk this, aren’t you?” you ask.

He just flashes you a grin as he turns on the TV.

You snuggle up against him on his uninjured side, and he puts his arm around you. You smile to yourself while he flips through the channels. You’ll gladly do whatever he asks, as long as it means he’s safe at home with you.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)

[thatruerealmwalker]

"Sometimes... When I look at the other kids playing around, unaware if what's happening here... My Stomach Hurts..."

"When one of those Toys is Near... My legs Scream at me to RUN..."

"When night comes... and the Workers look over me while I try and sleep... My eyes threaten to Cry..."

"BUT I CAN'T... I can't show that anything is wrong, That I know..."

"I'll change my chosen toy all the time, be average on every test they give me, speak nothing of what I know..."

"I'll stall for as long as I can, buy myself as much time as possible. I'll learn every weakness, every flaw, of both this factory and those horrible Toys. I'll get stronger, faster, smarter, as much as possible without anyone catching on. I'll prepare as much as I can, for every fight, every route, every danger..." "So when the time comes..."

"I'll GET OUT OF HERE"

Hello there! This is William, a young orphan within the walls of Playcare, a new OC I made for Poppy Playtime! Specifically William was inspired by and somewhat considered an OC of the blog @realizinau and their wonderful work over there! (Hello!)

William is a kid who knows far, FAR to much then he should. Aware of what the toys really are, aware of what their doing to children like him, and aware that he is not safe within Playcare.

If someone were to ask him about something in the factory, he would most likely know, but would never dare even entertain answering those questions. He knows that one wrong step, one target on his back is enough to get him selected next... so he stays as average as he can, shows himself to be not soon-to-be toy material. He has it down to a science at this point, and he won't risk his life, not yet, not for a damn question.

He considers every toy in the Factory to be both horrifying and the highest threat to his survival and chances at leaving one day. He avoids and dances around them when he can, and recites literal self made mantras of every weakness and every way to harm or escape the toy in question he knows about within his head while around them if he can't (due to not being able to write anything incriminating down). Several times in a panicked state because he doesn't have the tools and weapons on him to follow any plan he has.

He is afraid of the Smiling Critters the most for the fact that he sees them and interacts with them every day, thus being the highest risk to him. After every interaction there is a chance he may genuinely puke in the nearest bathroom from his fear getting hold of him. He silently prays that they never take notice of him, or god forbid take interest in him and spend more time then normal around him. He would wear the most perfect mask while interacting with them but be screaming his Mantras internally while mentally holding a cross, especially around Catnap (due to his red smoke) (not sure if the Realizing Au has Catnap with his red smoke still, so if not he would most likely consider Bubba the most dangerous of the critters).

William's core desire is to leave the factory and never look back. He, when he is at least 80% sure he can get away with it (it used to be higher but he's getting desperate) gathers as much information as he can, about the layout, systems, patrols, anything to give him an edge when the time of his escape comes. He has also been able to make very small stashes of makeshift tools, weapons, and items around Playcare, all either to help him escape or fight back against a Toy should he need to. The most dangerous is a Flare hand he smuggled off of a GrabPack once, which almost got him caught.

William is at the point where he genuinely does not value any life inside the Factory other then his own, and would not hesitate to kill a staff worker or Toy should he have to. Again, nothing matters to William other then getting out... but that could change depending on events to come.

I'll be throwing some more stuff of William up later, but I absolutely tore my hand up drawing all this today. Hope you enjoyed!

[00127am]

signed with love and forever yours, dejun

postage. xiao dejun & gn! reader, mentions of kissing cost to ship. 872 words

there was that time, laying in the open field behind the school, that you asked me why i always avert my gaze around you. i wasn't able to provide you with an answer. and how could i? when you were laying so close to me, nothing more than the thin separation of blades of grass between us. the same grass that i twisted in between my fingers as i fumbled for any semblance of a correct response. you weren't looking for a 'correct' answer, but an honest one, and perhaps--in the grand scheme of all things--that was worse.

it was hot that day. some week in late august, when we were skipping class. a class i shouldn't have skipped. considering the fact that i was flunking it. i had to get kun to tutor me, though i also remembering begging you too. i knew you weren't any good at the subject, but to me, at least, you could never be bad at anything.

you always loved the sound of cicadas. they were loud that day, a steady stream of their chirping that you said sounded like the melody of your favorite song. no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't figure out exactly what you meant. but perhaps that was because they were hard to hear over the beating of my heart. a rhythmic pounding that overtook all other noises beyond the tone of your voice. the up and down waver of your inflection which cut clear through everything else in its way. you sounded like my favorite song that day. though i guess your voice is always my favorite.

the answer to your question, the one you asked about me averting your gaze--if you still care for the answer, i hope you do (pray)--is one that you probably already know. or one you have figured out through my obvious yearning. or told by hendery, the most likely out of the three options. i can't look at you for long, because if i do--if i spot the reflection of myself in your irises and the utter adoration in my own--it becomes obvious what i feel for you.

if you were to look into my eyes, to return my stare with one of your own (the same one that makes my mouth run dry and my chest burn) then you'd catch every bit of longing for you that i hold in my body. the same longing that is desperate for your words, attention, touch, kiss.

if i did answer your question that day, underneath the heat of a dying summer (one which remains immortal in the grounds of my memory) and in a moment caught in time, i'm afraid that i might have kissed you. that my silly, schoolboy crush would have superseded any inkling of common sense in nothing but the sheer hope that you would kiss me back. would you have? kissed me for an honest answer?

i'm being honest now. so when you get this, and if you still care--if you would have rewarded me back then in between the blades of grass and in the lull of the cicada's song that summer--will you repay me with a kiss?

about dejun's love letters.

xiaojun's handwriting is practiced to a degree of elegancy, with swooping ends of consonants and dramatically drawn vowels. everything about him is beautiful, so it only makes sense for this to be as well, with elongated strokes of cursive that seem to be stripped from the fine pages of old prose. despite all of its intricacy and detail, it's always legible. every phrase and sentiment able to be discerned underneath all the glitz and glamor of his penmanship (something he tends to regrets each and every time ten or hendery seems to get their hands on them).

he's a nostalgic person, constantly and consistently returning to old memories to revisit them again and again and again. he loves to write about the past, to remember every detail that made his head spin and his breath catch. and he loves to relive them, though it's nearly melancholy, and to write them down with such a pretty consideration to ensure he'll never forget them. it's for this reason that he writes on white lined paper, the kind you rip out of notebooks or are handed in secondary school. it's rather pointless in the grand scheme of things, since his words transcend lines and sentences break across margins. isn't it really all for the memory, though?

like chenle, xiaojun's letters are not slipped into an envelope, stamped with an address, and signed off with your name. he finds there to be something devastatingly romantic in writing love letters that will never reach their addressee, or at least, don't have the intent too. but he hopes that one day, perhaps in the silence of a conversation or when his hand is clutching yours a bit too tight, that he'll find the courage to enunciate all of his affections. and then deliver the letters, each and every one that he has written throughout all the years he has known you, in the hopes that your love will become something that he can hold with both nostalgia for your younger years and fortune for your future ones.

your mailbox

taglist. @evilsailorsenshi @222brainrot @yangasm @jenaisnte @sour-chaos thank you for supporting me! ♡

🧾 © 00127am 2024

[lively-potter]

— moon struck ; jjk ; one

— genre ; strangers to friends to lovers/kinda grumpy x sunshine/smut/fluff/angstwithahappyending 🥹

— warnings ; body insecurities ( mentioned ), eating disorder ( in the past but mentioned ), oc deals with a severe amount of anxiety and panic attacks, violence, smut ( later ), FLUFF, love struck jungkookie 🥹

— find me on Wattpad ; @/LivelyPotter

— word count ; 2.4k

— part two

— 2024 © @LivelyPotter

river’s pov ; six am

My brother Brandon always used to tell me to make sure the walls that I built to protect myself didn't become a prison — a prison that I couldn't escape.

Ten years later, I could shamefully say that I did not listen to his advice, and now I was paying for it in the worst way possible.

Knees tucked to my chest, I panted and eyed the area around me nervously, as if I expected the man that I had been avoiding as the plague had come upon me.

Tucked inside the teeny tiny cleaning closet across from the kitchen, with the door locked and closed – it wasn't possible, but in my mind, there was still a chance.

But maybe that was just me being paranoid.

Okay, I was paranoid. Very paranoid.

Listening closely to the parents dropping their children off, I prayed to whoever was listening to me at this moment that I wouldn't be found by anyone until it was only Sang, the children, and I in the building.

I gulped past the ball that seemed to be lodged in my throat constantly whenever he came to my mind.

He nearly always was on my mind, so I was growing quite used to the clogging of my throat and the constant upbeat of my heart thrumming inside my chest.

He was here, and he crept up on me ( not really, I'm just being dramatic ) without my notice with little Moon in his big strong arms.

Once I caught sight of him – smiling kindly and brightly as he always did, a breathless whisper of my name leaving his red-bitten lips – I squeaked and ran away like a coward, ghostly pale face stained crimson.

It had been this way for seven, grueling, nerve-racking, months.

Ever since Jeon Jungkook moved to Charleston with his two-year-old daughter to live closer to his aunt, Mi Cha, my life had turned on its axis. I was living in fear every morning when the twenty-six-year-old man would drop off his daughter at the daycare center Sang and I ran.

A whimper of disparity left my lips.

My other best friends Brett and Atlas would never let me live this down. On the other hand, Sang and Wil wouldn't give me a hard time about running away from the man when he hadn't even spoken ten words to me.

Not for lack of trying, he had tried speaking to me — every day in fact, but I was the problem. I was the one who chickened out the moment I saw his intimidating, tattoo-laden figure — looking totally out of place in the yellow and lavender mellow aura surrounding the daycare center.

I didn't want to admit to the rest of my friends and family that I was scared of him. Terrified is a better word for it.

I gnawed on my bottom lip, enough to taste the nasty metallic taste of blood coating my tongue.

I cringed and rubbed over the small gash on my lower lip.

I know. I know it's unrealistic and okay, childish to be afraid of a man that I didn't know...but I just couldn't help it! I just couldn't!

Not when he stares at me, with those pretty boba-like eyes and that sweet smile on his handsome face, which for some odd reason, I find him doing a lot before my slow brain finally clicks that he's near.

When I catch sight of him, my fight-or-fly instinct kicks in and I'm gone.

It leads me to some very embarrassing moments that I'm not proud of.

Heck, even last week at the supermarket, I found him and Moon shopping and before he could find me, I hightailed it to the freezer section, and thankfully old man Joe — the resident frozen food stocker, let me hide in the freezing ice room containing huge pieces of pork, beef, and chicken hanging from metal hooks.

I could imagine Brett and Atlas laughing at my misfortune. Those two were a lot more courageous than I was, and I was still fighting past my insecurities about how in the world those two amazing people would want to be friends with me.

A girl who had way too many issues and experienced large bouts of cowardice.

Oh for dingleberries sake!

A shiver tumbled down my spine as I once again remembered that freezer room.

It freaked me out since it reminded me of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but I held strong. Being forced to be scared of ole Joe plunging one of those metal hooks through my neck and suspending my dead body from the ceiling was better than being around Jungkook and those feelings I got whenever I was around him.

Yes, I was running away from my feelings, and I didn't care.

As long as it wasn't hurting anyone, I could carry on in life with a guiltless conscience.

I wasn't hurting anyone, right?

A tremble parted my lips as a quick knock sounded on the door.

"River, he's gone now." A resounding sigh of relief left my lips at hearing Sang's voice. "Moon's been crying for you for the past ten minutes."

I licked at my chapped lips and got up off the floor, and dusted off my light denim baggy pants, and tugged at the oversized Nike sweatshirt I wore as I opened the door and skittered out.

Sang, with her arms crossed across her pink dress-covered figure, watched me sympathetically and carefully wrapped her taller self around my pixie-like frame and led me down the hall and into the children's room.

"You know you'll eventually have to stop avoiding him, right?" She chuckled and pinched my rosy cheek between her manicured fingers.

I avoided her eyes and fiddled with the hem of my shirt, "You don't see his face every time you run, Rivvy." She sighed, "I feel bad for the poor man, Mi Cha speaks about it sometimes. You ought to give Jungkook a break."

Why did it matter to him whether I avoided him or not?

Wouldn't a lot of people be put off by the sheer dominance that man gave off?

Wasn't he used to it?

I cringed, "...I'm sorry. I just can't help it." I mumbled and tucked my pale hair behind my ears as a high-pitched scream entered my ears.

Wincing at the familiar sound, a smile quirked up my lips at the tiny baby, with her gleaming, tear-filled boba eyes and wobbly lips, and cute little curled pigtails swinging back and forth as she marched towards me.

Her little white Air Force ones thumped on the ground as the tiny little girl marched towards me clumsily.

I mustered a giggle and knelt to receive the adorable two-year-old in my arms.

This, ladies and gentlemen, was Jeon Moon.

"Riv!" She cried out a new version of my name, the only part she could pronounce, and fat tears dribbled down her face as she placed her head on my chest.

"Shhh," I hushed the little child, who had begun to get the other kids' attention and before the others swarmed me, demanding attention, I had to quiet her. "It's okay, Moon." I smoothed back her silky dark hair as she calmed down and sniffled against my sweatshirt.

Sang smirked and pushed her chameleon-colored hair off her shoulders, "I don't know why she always comes to you, River." She snickered, now holding little Sarah in her arms.

"But seeing as you both prefer to keep to yourselves and avoid other people like the plague, I kinda see it." She joked.

"Haha." I deadpan at her, blinking down at Moon. My heart swelled at the adorable child and I hugged her closer to my body.

She was just too darn cute!

I wouldn't admit it out loud, but she looked like a baby female version of her dad.

Over the next few minutes, Sang and I sat on the floor as we watched over the kids who had already raided the toy box.

Being the youngest and the most interesting yet introverted child I had ever met, Moon decided to stay seated on my lap while digging into the soft strawberry puff snacks her dad packed for her.

"Oh!" Sang spoke up suddenly, causing Moon and I to look at her, lips forming an O at being startled.

My best friend stifled a giggle, "Your brothers will be here soon — they decided to bring lunch for us since you forgot to bring your own." She sent me a knowing look, more than likely knowing that I had forgotten on purpose.

I once again avoided her eyes and turned my focus to Moon who cooed, those rosy sun-kissed cheeks chubbily pooched out as she ate.

I released a laugh of my own and wiped along her lips with a baby wipe, cleaning the crumbs from her little delicate face.

"Sounds good." I exclaimed, meeting her emerald eyes, "Brett messaged me this morning and said she and Atlas may come down soon to hang out."

Sang only nodded and looked behind my shoulder, biting her lol nervously.

I felt my stomach drop and dread fill my gut. "What is it?" I gulped, fearing the worst.

Sang chewed on her top lip thoughtfully, "I was wondering whether or not you could take over pickup later today, Brandon and Corey need me back at this apartment."

The nervous tinge in her voice caused suspicion to curl along inside my chest, but knowing I would have to face my biggest nightmare, I nodded.

"Sure," I replied, my normally soft-spoken voice shaking in trepidation. I would find a way out of having to face him. I risked a look down at Moon who began to toy with my earring.

Sang had a proud glint in her eye, "Thank you, Rivvy!"

"No problem." I forced a smile and played with Moon's little pigtails.

Sang walked off to help stop a dispute between a couple of ten-year-olds while I gazed down at Moon.

"Oh, Moon." A loud sigh left my lips, displaying the fear inside my heart. "Why does your daddy have to be so darn scary?"

***

third pov ; jeon jungkook

The twenty-six-year-old man stared glumly at the table before him in silence. Using a spoon, Jungkook stirred the warmed ginseng tea within the mug.

"Did that sweet River flee from you again, joka?" Jeon Mi Cha guessed, studying the expression on her nephew's face.

Jungkook fiddled with the silver bar through his brow and sighed heavily, his expression and bodily actions speaking for themselves.

He sipped slowly at the warm drink and licked the droplets from his pierced bottom lip.

"Of course." He exhaled, gritting his teeth. "It's been like this for months, gomo. Why should I expect anything else? I...I try to speak to her every day, and it just stings when she doesn't even give me a chance to speak to her."

Jungkook felt his heart squeeze within the confines of his rib cage and resisted the urge to rub the skin above his heart.

Mi Cha frowned, "I've known that girl since she was five years old and clinging onto her brother's pant leg." She chuckled, seeing a smile erupt on Jungkook's face as he imagined a tiny five-year-old River.

Fuck, he imagined she was as adorable as his Moon!

"She hasn't got out much, Jungkookie." Mi Cha smiled comfortingly, "From what Sang has told me, the girl was homeschooled by her brothers and never really left her home. The only people that are close enough to her are family and those friends of hers that she's known her entire life."

"I know," Jungkook rubbed across his sharp jawline and tongued his cheek thoughtfully, "Since Min Jee and I divorced...I hadn't ever really tried to get back into the dating scene — honestly, I never really felt the urge to, until I saw her." He rumbled, eyes crinkled at the corners as his cheeks flushed the slightest bit.

He'd never blush because of a girl before, but since he had met River Henshaw, blushing in her presence was all he could do.

He wished he could play it cool.

Mi Cha hid her knowing smile behind her hand and continued to listen to Jungkook ramble.

"It's unbelievable to explain this out loud...but I want to get to know her so badly...it's like...she's like..." he struggled to find the right words so his aunt came to understand him. "I just know that she's something special. I just know it. We've never had a conversation, but I know I'll fall for her the second she looks into my eyes and smiles at me."

She was perfect in his eyes.

Attracted to her from first sight, and later falling in deeper the more he learned about her from Sang, Mi Cha, and hell, even his little Moon, who worshiped the ground River Henshaw walked on just proved time and time again that he shouldn't give up.

He didn't think he could.

No matter how insecure he got...when all she did was blatantly avoid him and tremble when he got near.

It was a searing blow to his self-confidence.

When she looked at him for the first time, it was like bells rang in his ears and everything around them blurred and all he could see was her.

"You'll get your chance, joka. It will take time. She's a skittish one."

Jungkook nodded, but other thoughts overwhelmed him.

"It just makes me upset when I hear her mutter 'run, River, run!' to herself." Jungkook's face fell in sadness.

What if the reason she wanted nothing to do with him was because he was older than her? Not too much — only seven years — or was it the fact that he was a dad?

The woman his mother had tried and failed to set him up with a year ago was always put off by the fact that he had a daughter. A baby.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his brain, Jungkook looked back to Mi Cha and rose that pierced brow of his.

"Because you're here at seven am on a Monday morning and not at your shop." She snorted, "Plus you have that puppy love look in your eyes. Again."

Jungkook only grunted in return, resuming his task of avoiding her knowing eyes to count to specks on the marble counter.

author's note ;  ✨

Thank you all so much for reading and I hope you loved the introduction to River's story!

Don't hesitate to let me know what you think!



[esta-elavaris]

2nd Jan '25

Discussing the less than ideal foundation that's been set for this "12 consecutive 50k months" challenge, and what it means for my fic writing going forward 💜

In the run-up to this year, I decided to do a preliminary 50k month in December. I wasn’t going to be strict about hitting the goal – and I’m not sure if I did, because I fell off of the wagon when it came to strictly calculating everything in the final week, but at a rough guess I was in the mid-forties, which isn’t bad at all. I was purposeful, too, about not being too strict with it, because I hadn’t counted words religiously at all throughout the year, and going too hard too fast (don’t be a twelve year old, babe), seemed like a recipe to fuck up my chances before they even began. So I’m cool with the fact that I probably didn’t hit the full fifty, that wasn’t the goal, and I’m pleased with how I did right out of the gate, anyway.

Unfortunately, life is life-ing. Early on in December, my grandmother was hospitalised. I’m being careful about what details I do and don’t get into because it’s not my business to tell, but she got her test results back on the 30th, and on New Year’s Eve, she sat the family down and announced that she is seriously ill. Make the worst assumption here, and you’re right. As things stand, she’s looking into treatment options, but she is in her mid-eighties, so the treatment options sound just about as good as the thing they’re supposed to treat, y’know? And this woman is the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever had. So it’s rough. We suspected as much throughout December as we waited for results, but in the not knowing there was a certain kind of comfort and an ability to hand-wave away the worst case scenario as anxiety talking.

But it wasn’t, and now we’re here.

Now, we know that I write my best when I’m under extreme stress. Catch the Wind happened while I was homeless. I’m learning, however, that the difference there was that the worst was happening to me, and not to someone that I love, so it’s slightly different here and now, and I’m left wondering what to do about this challenge. Another problem with this whole situation, although it’s far from the worst one and I feel guilty for even worrying about it, but I have to from a practical standpoint, is that if the worst case scenario happens, it could trigger a whole bunch of events that would mean I could end up homeless again. And I’ll be honest, guys, I don’t have another stretch of homelessness in me. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever been through, amongst a fucking litany of traumatic events. It’s the only thing I’ve been through that I could not face again. And if I have to, I will, but I’m very scared of it.

My gut is telling me to still go for it anyway. I think it could be a good thing, amongst it all, because I’ve found that giving myself challenges is a good distraction in the day-to-day, and one thing I can look proudly back upon when it comes to my homeless era is that I handled it well. I did two NaNoWriMos, I kept writing every day, and I did the 75Hard for 96 days (21 more than I had to), and it all kept me sane. But, again, that was all happening to me. And that had a happy ending. As much as I’m hoping and praying that this one will, too, I just don’t know. I don’t know what life is going to look like come the end of this year, and I know that even with all of this in mind, I’ll feel shitty if I abandon this challenge before it even begins, and I’ll also feel shitty if I attempt it and then immediately fail it. I’m not good at giving myself grace with these things, and there are several areas in my life right now where I want to improve, for a whole boatload of reasons, so it’s not like this is the only challenge I’d be taking on either.

All of that being said…I still want to try it.

As things stand, in the day to day, nothing is really changing right now as far as my daily routine is concerned. It’s just the mental load that’s been added – knowing what’s happening, what will happen, and what could happen. But I think this will provide a good distraction, it’ll give me a daily goalpost to focus on rather than thinking myself sick, and that’s pretty valuable right now. If the day-to-day changes, I might need to re-evaluate, but I’ll have bigger problems on my mind then.

With that being said, though, it has come as a serious reminder that I need to shift my time-spending priorities as far as my fanfic versus original writing habits go. Fanfic is easier. Maybe not in terms of plot, and it can actually be more challenging where characterisation is concerned, but you have a framework to go with. Plus, if it’s shit, it’s shit. It’s not the end of the world, if you get hate you can laugh at it, it’s fine. Novel work is a different beast. I’m building a fantasy world from the ground up, I need to make sure what lore I establish in chapter three is a) easily understandable and b) not contradicted in chapter fifty-three, and it’s just intimidating.

And honestly, I have no back-up plan, which goes against 95% of the advice that’s given to people trying to “make it” in creative fields. I’m very limited career-wise because of my health, and it’s essentially writing success (even if only minor success, which is still unlikely in creative fields) or bust. Knowing that doesn’t make the creative process easy, because you write every line with “what if this is the one that ruins it and nobody will want to publish it?” in the back of your mind.

Fanfic also has the added bonus of supportive people cheering you on with each chapter, which works wonders for the time-old creative habit of insisting every single thing you write is crap. With the novel, I don’t have that, it’s much more of a long game, and it’s honestly very scary.

But it’s the same thing I’ve been grappling with for ten years now in that regard, and it’s time to get over that and just get it done. I’m not saying there won’t be any fanfic, I enjoy it far too much for that and it’s a great way to blow off steam and keep writing fun, but I do need to stop hiding from the risks of original works by running to fanworks for comfort.

And honestly? If I am going to succeed in the traditional writing sphere…I want my grandmother to see it. This whole thing right now is standing as a reminder that she and my grandfather won’t be around forever, even if this current situation doesn’t turn dire, and I’ve made no secret of the fact that my family largely does not approve of my writing, and don’t believe it’s going to go anywhere. And I’m not even trying to prove anything to them – this isn’t a “I’m gonna miss my chance to show them that they’re wrong!” kind of thing, this isn’t the fucking time for that and I’m not that petty. But I know they do worry about me, and if I can get this thing moving in their lifetimes and, if it works, show them that I’m going to be okay and that I have something here? I want to make them proud. That’ll be worth facing the fear for.

So…yeah. I’m still going for the 50k months, as things currently stand. With a huge amount of effort to give myself some real grace if it doesn’t happen and I don’t hit those goals. I’m already behind, I won’t lie, because I was given the news on the 31st, spent the 1st still drunk from the night before, and the day that has passed since just largely feeling very numb, but I think this is something I need to do.

I have no idea how to end this post, other than to say I’m very grateful for how unfailingly patient and kind the people who read my things are 💜

[thedragonagelesbian]

durge!cyrus/wyll for holding your lover by the jaw to kiss them 🥺

oowoo kiss prompts

holding your lover by the jaw to kiss them

Avernus rings quiet. The hummed wailing of the Soul Pillars has died away, as have the last flames burn-burst from Raphael's gallery of sinners, but Wyll does not relax into the silence. Maybe it's the fleck of ash that has wedged itself underneath his stone eye, or the fact that the good one kept seeing himself in the rags left behind, but he's itchy all over. An old, inevitable self scratching up against the new, impossible one.

His companions, clustered around Raphael's smoldering corpse, seem no more at ease. All eyes drift to Cyrus as the bhaalspawn drifts away, head down, steel-bladed wings wrapped tight around his body.

"Soooo," Astarion strings the word out long enough to sheathe his shortswords, as if the exaggerated syllable will hide the tremor in his hands, "are we going to talk about the five-armed monstrosity in the room, or...?"

Cyrus flinches. The edge of one of the blades catches against his arm, but he doesn't seem to notice. Already too bloodied or too guilty--or both, blood like holy oil to anoint the guilt--to care.

It still echoes in Wyll's ears. At the very beginning of the battle, eyes, lungs, heart, stomach, all full of cinders and smoke and a cambion's brutal fury, he heard Cyrus screaming his name.

Heard the snap of Cyrus' spine as his body undid itself.

"That was duk-tak." Wyll has never known Minthara to speak with warmth, but she does so now, a scorching kind of pride in her voice and a smile on her lips as she regards Cyrus. "The unholy executioner, among the most exquisite of Bhaal's blessings: the dread aspect of the Slayer."

"I didn't realize we were accepting grotesque gifts from our fathers these days." Astarion, still laying the levity on so thick it becomes concentrated, concerned. "However did that happen?"

"I didn't want it!"

Wyll moves now, pulled by Cyrus' voice reverberating along his heartstrings. Foolish, perhaps, knowing already what blood lust the aasimar harbored, and knowing now how it could break loose in bone spurs and howls, but he steps forward anyway. Even as Cyrus shies away.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, hoarse. "I should have-- everyone should have known, I just didn't want... I thought I could control it..."

Carefully, oh so carefully, Wyll reaches through the shroud of serrated metal to touch Cyrus' face. Fingers hooked under his jaw, thumb on his cheek, wiping away some of the blood and tears. Though Cyrus will not look at him, there is no resistance to his touch. Just a tired sigh, sinking into his palm.

"I failed Isobel and Father both when Marcus kidnapped her from Last Light, but in killing Ketheric, I killed her too, and so he... rewarded me. Forced it upon me, made my body match my wickedness." Cyrus shakes his head. "I was out of my mind the first time, terrified that I would never find my way back to myself. By the grace of the gods, Halsin found me before I could hurt anyone. He calmed me down enough to transform back, and I thought... hoped, prayed, that so long as I was never that scared again, the Slayer wouldn't come back."

"What happened this time?"

Cyrus blinks. "You, Wyll. You. When I saw you almost go down, I..." Head still bent low, he touches Wyll's chest, peeling away the charred cloth of his robe to graze the burn scar beneath, still raw-magic-tender, the quick battle healing that turns wounds into bruises. "I would have seen my claws run red with the blood of each and every devil in Avernus to keep you safe."

Now it is Wyll's turn to blink, heart thundering underneath Cyrus' fingers. "You manifested an aspect of the Lord of Murder to protect me?"

"It's wretched, I know."

"It's wonderful." Wyll covers Cyrus' hand with his own and squeezes. "You took your father's curse, and despite its every foul instinct, you turned it to your own purpose. You made the Slayer serve you, as my pact once served me."

Cyrus glances away. "You should want to kill a monster like the Slayer, not turn it over looking for something better."

"I need not look any further than the kindness in your eyes."

His other hand still on Cyrus' jaw, he lifts the other man's head. Cyrus stares up at him with his mouth parted, that same constant, wordless objection that's been hanging from his lips since he first tried to kill Wyll in the Shadowlands. Wyll isn't sure if he'll ever be able to erase it completely, but he's gotten very good at swallowing it. At touching their mouths together, washing it across his tongue and down his throat as Cyrus melts against him.

They both taste like soot and blood and heat, Cyrus' mouth ever ravenous and burning at a fever-pitch like the rest of his divine body. Like every campfire Wyll ever had to light alone in the wilderness, shivering in his exile.

The hearth of a home he hadn't known in years.

When he opens his eyes again, Cyrus' wings are gone, folded back into harmless ether, the tell-tale sign of something approximating peace for the aasimar.

Rationally, Wyll knows that Cyrus could still hurt him. Without the wings, without the Slayer, with just the hunger singing in his blood. But when Cyrus flings his arms around him and hugs him tight, Wyll trusts that he won't.

"Thank you."

[theladyofdeath]

Lady Death's Lover {VI}

Lady Death's Lover Masterlist & Summary

19th Century Period AU Nesta x Cassian Secret Affair / Enemies to Lovers / Forbidden Romance Fanfiction / Characters from Sarah J Maas / ACOTAR Based on a prompt sent in by anonymous

A/N: Oh my word...I have had the most difficult time getting this up this week! I'm sorry for the delay. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to everyone who reads, comments, likes, and reblogs! x

TW: marital abuse, sexual content, language, depression, alcohol abuse

This story is for readers 18+. Mature readers only. Content should not be read by anyone under 18.

Dear Cassian,

I must admit that I am completely miserable in Adriata. It has rained all week so I cannot go to the ocean, which is the only thing worthwhile to do here. I have also found zero romantic partners which has brought the boredom to a new level of heinousness. I do not think I can stand this place for more than a fortnight. By the Cauldron, I do not think I can stand it for another day. Perhaps I will cut my trip short. 

Do have enough diabolical fun for the both of us in my absence, will you? If I know you are causing chaos, that is enough for me for now.

Your Favorite,

Mor 

P.S. Try not to attempt to philander with any more married women. It’s very ungentleman-like. 

Nesta

My gowns are lovely.

The modiste has truly outdone herself. There are four in total and each matches the other but has its own personality. The fabrics are all deep blues and grays, meant to bring out my eyes. They are the colors I am most comfortable in. In fact, most of my wardrobe consists of blues and grays but no one has complained about it thus far. 

After transferring payment, my gowns are loaded into my carriage. Before making my way back home, I take advantage of the time alone and make my way down the street to my favorite bakery. I’ve never been one for sweets but they make the best macarons in Velaris and I cannot help but buy a box whenever I visit the modiste. 

It is when I’m coming out of this bakery that I see him.

For a moment, I forget how to walk. Every elegant thought vanishes from my mind and I am suddenly all too aware of the giant box of sweets in my hands. 

I pray he doesn’t see me and for a moment I feel I will get away with it, but then he turns from where he walks across the street and halts when he catches my eye. For a moment, we both stand there, staring at one another. 

Then the world around me comes back to life.

The city streets around me resume, full of life. Carriages hurry past and people rush in and out of the shops. The sky above, recently clear and bright, opens up and the softest of rains falls down upon me and my macarons. 

He still stands just across the street, watching me, although his head has since cocked to the side and a grin has begun spreading across his lips. A sudden sense of embarrassment floods me. I must look foolish, standing here in the rain with a box of baked goods while everyone around me starts to run to safety from the turn in weather. 

Oh, gods. 

He’s coming towards me.

“Lady Nesta,” he begins when he’s halfway across the street, “your dress. You should find cover.” 

I find my voice. “Ah, Mr. Nazari. Yes, I, um…yes.” 

I go to turn on my heels but, in true Lord Cassian fashion, he steps in front of me just before I can get far. “A lady should never be caught in the rain.”

“If it were not for you blocking me I would be well on my way to shelter, my lord.” I try not to sound too demeaning, but I cannot help myself. Every now and then that tone just seeps out and there is nothing I can do to stop it. 

He finds this funny, apparently. A chuckle escapes him and he nods. “Apologies. Good day, Lady Nesta.”

Not Lady Mandray.

Lady Nesta.

I somehow like it better coming from him, like it better than the title the rest of the ton refers to me as.

Lord Cassian steps aside and I go to stroll past him, but I stop when he begins to walk behind me. Turning, I lift a brow. 

He stops and rocks back on his heels. “Do not fear, I am not following you. I walked here and now must walk home, which is this direction. That is all.”

“How far do you have to walk?” I ask, the rain picking up. I worry more for the well-being of my macarons than my hair. 

“A little more than a mile, it’s no worry,” he says, shrugging, then continues on his way.

I hesitate, knowing I shouldn’t ask what I’m about to but asking it anyway. 

“Would you care to join me?” I ask, and he freezes, his back to me. “It seems we’re going the same direction and you should not have to walk in the rain. It seems a storm is brewing. You wouldn’t want to catch a cold.” 

Lord Cassian looks up at the dark clouds, the rain falling directly onto his face as he squints. He looks back to me, his face searching mine, but then he asks, “Are you certain? I don’t mind a little rain.”

Thunder rolls and lightning strikes, and I nearly drop my macarons. I swear it’s purely for my benefit when he clears his throat and says, “It would be a pleasure to join you, Lady Nesta.” 

I nod quickly as a downpour begins and hurry to my coach up the street. By the time I throw myself inside, my dress is drenched and my hat is drooping. Lord Cassian is in no better condition as he slides onto the bench across from me, his jacket drenched and his trousers sticking to his thighs. 

My breath catches at the sight of him and I suddenly feel foolish. It should be impossible for a man to look more dashing sopping wet, but he somehow manages to. That ridiculous, shoulder-length hair of his is soaked and dripping into his cravat. I don’t realize I’m staring until I meet his eyes, and suddenly I’m all too aware of every inch of my body and his. My cheeks turn pink and I have to clasp my hands together to keep them from shaking. 

The carriage jolts as it begins its journey and it makes me jump, which makes Lord Cassian grin…although he tries to suppress it. This was a mistake. That’s what I get for trying to be nice. This very thing reminds me why I do not do nice things often. Nice things always come back to bite me in the ass.

. . . . . . . . . 

Cassian

Lady Nesta looks equally stunning and uncomfortable, although her discomfort is not the type of discomfort that causes alarm. No, it’s the type of discomfort that tells me she does not do this often.

I do not know much about this woman but I do know that she’s not exactly…personable. I’ve heard what other women of the ton think about Nesta — Mor brought the gossip to our recent Monday tea time and I have a feeling Rhys put her up to it — and it’s not good. In fact, the ladies of Velaris think Lady Nesta to be brutally honest and permanently bitter. I, however, value honesty and think a certain level of self-hatred and introverted nature can be mistaken for anger or bitterness. 

Not that it should matter.

After my last encounter with Nesta, I vowed never to be around her again. Especially alone. Yet, the second I saw her stepping out of the bakery with a box-full of what seems to be macarons, my feet decided my thoughts should be damned and acted of their own volition. Before I could fully comprehend what I was doing, I was standing in front of her.

Now, I’m alone with her yet again, stuck in a coach as it rattles down the cobblestone. Outside, it’s pouring as it often does in the spring, and all I can think about is how her eyes keep drifting to me. 

I’m trying to also be inconspicuous about where my eyes are wandering, but from the way her pale cheeks are turning pink, I don’t think I’m doing it properly. 

Her light blue dress is clinging to her skin and I can’t ignore how her breasts are even further on display behind the soaked fabric. It doesn’t help that her chest is rising and falling, rapidly, as if she’s had a difficult time catching her breath since entering the confined space that surrounds us.

“You’re having a ball soon,” I say, because I’m not sure what else to say but I know that we can’t keep sitting here in silence, me trying my best to avoid the swells of her breasts, the way I can see her peaked nipples through the wet cotton.

“I am,” she says, voice soft but firm. “Will you be in attendance?” 

I clear my throat. “Yes. Thank you for the invite.”

I neglect to mention that I originally did not plan to attend, that being in the same room as her is too tempting and I’m currently going mad, but my brothers coaxed me into going. 

She gives me a curt nod before taking a deep breath and letting her eyes wander towards the closed window. I swallow, cursing as my eyes take another dive to her chest and back up again. Once the silence becomes too heavy, allowing my thoughts to run rampant and inappropriately wild, I ask, “Do you do this often?”

Nesta’s eyes snap to mine and she blinks. “Do what?”

“Come into town on your own,” I say, and I watch as she swallows and clenches her jaw. “Not even a maid with you? Isn’t that unbecoming?”

Her eyes narrow and if it wasn’t for the quick rise and fall of her chest, the way her skin is flushed, I would think she was offended and not something else entirely. “Are you implying that I do not live my life as a lady should, my lord?” 

“I’m implying that it is simply not safe for you to be traveling alone,” I say, and she watches as I run my hands down my thighs, trying to eliminate my sweaty palms. It does not work. “You never know others’ intentions when they see a woman alone.”

“It is the middle of the day,” she says, meeting my eye once more. “And I have my driver.”

“Still.”

We stare at one another for just a moment, but that moment is filled with so much silent, skin burning tension that I feel the need to loosen my cravat, shrug off my coat, but I don’t. I let it suffocate me, let her gaze strip me bare instead. 

If I slouched in the slightest, my knees would nearly graze hers. Suddenly the space between us seems so short, too short to make any rational decisions. This was a mistake. I should have stayed on my own damn side of the street. I should have walked. 

“Is that what this is, then?” she asks, and I blink.

“Pardon?”

“Do you have poor intentions, my lord?” she asked, clasping her hands on her lap. I swear they’re trembling.

“Need I remind you that you were the one that offered me a ride in your coach?” I ask, then add, “my lady.”

Her lips part, and it’s so slight that one has to be watching them intently to have seen it, which I am.

She shifts on the bench, words seeming to have left her. It’s the silence that makes me say, only because I cannot stand silence and I’ve already seemed to have dug myself into a hole of wickedness, “Perhaps it is you that has poor intentions.” 

Her head leans to the side, which is somehow unladylike and beautifully cunning at the same time, and the smallest of smiles plays on her lips. There’s no joy in this smile, only a cruel seduction that has my trousers holding back my hardening cock. Now it’s my turn to shift, and she notes it, those dark eyes trailing down until they’ve settled on my lap. Her eyes flare before snapping back up to mine.

“I am a lady,” she says, simply. “Ladies do not have poor intentions, only charitable ones. What kind of lady would I be if I were to let a gentleman walk through a downpour?” 

“Indeed,” I say, and I cannot even help how rough my voice suddenly sounds. 

This is ridiculous. I feel like I have never been around a woman before, or like I am once again sixteen and around a woman for the very first time. Furthermore, she’s married. This is highly inappropriate, but I seem to have lost control.

No.

That’s not entirely true.

If I had lost control her dress would be torn to shreds and I’d have her lying beneath me on this bench, worshiping every inch of her body beneath. 

“I am grateful,” I add, and she nods her head politely in response. I stay in control until a wheel hits a dip in the road and our bodies jostle, and we touch.

My knee hits hers and her foot lands on mine as she tries to stop herself from toppling forward. I don’t even realize my hand is on her leg, just above her knee, until we both look down at it.

I don’t move it.

She doesn’t ask me to, nor does she move at all. All that moves is the rapid rising and falling of her chest — a chest that my eyes are in perfect line with. Mustering every ounce of self control that I have, I go to lean back, to settle myself once again on the opposite bench until this torturous ride is over, but I don’t make it far.

Just as I move, Nesta places her hand on top of mine and I freeze. She’s looking at me wildly, searching my eyes for something. I don’t think I’m breathing at all. I have no thoughts in my mind whatsoever. All I can focus on is her intent eyes, her hand on mine, my hand on her skirts, her lips that are parted and begging to be kissed.   

Neither of us says a word.

“Just—“

Whatever she’s about to say evaporates as the coach slows and when it jerks to a stop, reality steps back in.

Nesta snatches her hand from mine as if she’s been burned and I take the hint, pulling myself back just as the door opens and I’m looking at the front door of my townhouse.

Not wanting to keep the poor lad standing in the storm, I take my leave and hurry to my front door, drenching myself further. I don’t look back at Nesta. I have a feeling she doesn’t want me to.

I have a feeling that whatever she was about to say, whatever would have happened if we just kept driving, would have surely led to utter regret.

Before I shut my door behind me, I watch Nesta’s carriage roll away, gone into the storm.

Calling for my butler, I beg for a drink to calm my still pounding heart.