#and like‚ sometimes the answer is 'yes' and if it is you have to keep fighting for your cause

[leftoverghosts]

'til death

art donaldson x cheating wife reader. mentioned you x pat.

"I don’t think I could survive seeing you with someone else."

warnings: nsfw!!! some curse words. use of she/her for reader. no use of y/n. dom art. smut. art is a munch. finger in butt. cheating reader. more gross than i usually write. not beta read.

nori says: please!! please!! read my warnings! xoxo. i have a few more asks to get through for my xmas game! but besides those (and ones pending from sof) i am closing it!! thank you so much for playing!!! here is a little gift of what i would have selected!

word count: 1,400~

"Tennis Legend Art Donaldson’s Wife Seen Kissing Mysterious Man."

The title elicits a scoff from you, while Art's teary eyes gaze at you as if you've castrated him.

Yes, you kissed Patrick. Yes, things went further than just a kiss. But for some asinine, no-name fucking blogger on Instagram to refer to you as "Art Donaldson's wife" is the real travesty here. That's libel, that's slander.

Your knee throbs with pain.

"Why didn’t you tell me Patrick was in town?" Art weeps, and you drag your eyes back to his face before cringing.

Martyr, martyr, martyr. It’s his favorite role. You want him to be angry, to be calculating like he used to be. You want him to manipulate his way back into your good graces.

"Art," you sigh, "ask me what you really want to know."

“Did you fuck him?” He asks it almost as soon as you finish speaking.

"Twice." You shrug, wanting to wound, longing for the real him to shred through the flesh of the docile facade he's hiding behind and fight with you.

He sucks in a breath, fingers drumming against the table before he...smirks?

"I don’t think I could survive seeing you with someone else. Especially not him.”

“You’re barely surviving as is, Art. Sometimes I feel like if it weren't for your blinking, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between you and a doll. I have to sit you here, change your expression there. Fuck. Who are you?"

He blinks at you. "I am who you made me."

"I want you to be who you used to be."

"If I change, will that make you stop seeing Patrick?"

You pause, confused. "Patrick doesn’t matter to me. He's not the man I chose to marry. But when I'm with him, I can pretend it's the real you again. I like the familiarity of it, like we're back in that hotel room and he fucking listens. Having to explain this is beneath me.”

"Mhmm," Art takes a moment to process your words before getting up and walking around the table to stand beside you. He hovers over you, waiting for you to face him, and when you do, his hand is in your hair, yanking.

Art pulls you out of the chair with little effort. It crashes to the ground with a loud clatter before he kicks it aside. He steps behind you, needing even less effort to press the side of your face against the table's wood grain. His hand grips the back of your neck, firmly holding you in place.

"You don't just want me to listen, you want me to fucking snap, don't you baby? It's not like you to work backwards.” he sneers. “And if anything is beneath you, it’s still sneaking off with Patrick Zweig in your thirties. He’s ranked two hundred,” your skirt is pushed up to your hips, “and seventy fucking fifth.”

Art rarely curses, but you've pushed him over the edge and caused him to reveal that he's been keeping track of Patrick's rank.

This was what you wanted all along.

You start to complain when he rips your expensive pantyhose, but Art silences you with two quick slaps on your ass and rips enough of your underwear to have access to you.

“Shut the fuck up. You’ll use my Amex to buy new ones anyway.” He lets go of your neck and swipes his pointer and middle finger across your wet center like a credit card, squeezing your labia and working at your clit. You can't see his smirk but you can feel it. “Don’t you have any self worth? Or are you that bored with the life I bankroll for you?”

When you don’t answer, he pauses, peering down at you as he restrains himself. His expression is tinged with fear when your eyes meet, as if questioning whether he’s gone too far. Consent has always been important to him; even after five years of marriage, he never touches you without asking for permission.

“I’m okay, Art. You’re doing well.” You reassure him, not lifting up from the table, but turned on by how quickly the apprehension in his eyes transforms into lust.

"Okay." He nods and drops to his knees, "open your legs for me, baby." You oblige eagerly, yearning for his touch. His strong hands grip your soft flesh, spreading you open before him. Your heart races with anticipation as you feel his hot breath against your most intimate area. He teases you with a long, slow lick, his tongue warm and wet as it glides from your clit to your asshole.

A moan escapes your lips as he begins to work you over with his mouth. Art points his tongue and probes at your ass, prodding and swirling around the rim. He alternates between flicking his tongue rapidly across your hole and pressing it inside you, wiggling it deeper.

You're drunk on the vulgar slurping sounds as he laps at you, greedy and insatiable. He sucks and nibbles at your rim, taking you apart piece by piece.

He pulls back to spit thick gobs of saliva over your fluttering hole, the crude act making you clench and shiver. Rivulets run down your crack and over your thighs. He dives back in, sealing his mouth over your entrance and sucking hard, his tongue writhing against your walls.

You cry out and push your ass back into his face, desperate for more. Art’s hands grip your hips as he tongue-fucks your hole with abandon, plunging in and out, swirling around your rim. He devours your ass like a man who has been starved for days, moaning with pure bliss at the taste of you.

Your thighs begin to tremble, overwhelmed by the unrelenting pleasure and his grip is hard enough to bruise as he feasts on you, giving both your holes the attention they crave. He knows just how to please you, taking care of your every need before indulging in his own desires.

You would laugh at how even in his dominant role, he still prioritizes your pleasure first, but the sensations are too exquisite to do anything but feel.

Art works you over with his tongue, bringing you to a shuddering climax before standing and shifting his sweatpants down to free his throbbing erection. He fucks into you and one hand grips your ass cheek while his thumb circles and probes your puckered entrance, slipping inside to the first knuckle.

"Does Patrick fuck you like this?" Art pants heavily as he thrusts into your slick heat. "You think he could afford a woman like you? The jewelry you're wearing right now costs more than that piece of shit's entire car. And he thinks he can put his hands on what belongs to me? Fucking tell me."

"No, never!" You babble incoherently, grasping at the table for purchase as the dual stimulation threatens to overwhelm you. The sensations aren’t new, but this tension is. "I only keep him around because I miss you so much, Art. It's always been you."

“Lying. Fucking. Whore.” he grits out, each word punctuated by a sharp snap of his hips and a twist of his thumb buried in your ass. "You miss someone you were trying to get rid of? But you'll never be rid of me. 'Til death do us part, say it!"

“Til’ death, baby.” You eagerly agree, tears flowing from your eyes pool on the table under your cheek. It feels like a baptism, like you’re coming back to your religion.

“Cum for me. Slut.” He dribbles a little more spit down onto his thumb and quickens the pace of thrusting it in and out of your asshole, matching the rhythm of his cock inside your pussy. “Show me what you did for him in that cheap hotel room.”

He's always vocal during sex, but the degrading words are hitting you in all the right places. Your legs start to tremble and you tighten around him, signs that you're close to orgasm. Just as you think you're about to come, he pulls away, stroking himself until he finishes and ejaculates all over your backside and legs.

“What the hell, Art?” You whine, turning to glare at him. But he shoves the same thumb into your mouth and when you recoil, he laughs. His expression is deadly serious.

"If I catch you with Patrick again, I'll divorce you. Don't test me."

[darqx]

[It's going down] I'm yelling timber

Several doodles in this one!

❗️For commonly asked qs please see my BTD FAQ

Everything is similar but she wears a dress version.

Yes (after becoming a Royal) but it's more of a "formaility" as he hasn't had any reason to use it yet. There's a lot of gaps since he relies more on mobility than brute force, and he can also rapidly fill in any areas with harder ichor if need be.

He used to work for the previous King as a Collector.

I think it depends, since he's a Royal now they tend to use some variation of their demon signs as an official "signature" so it might look like the first pic. His prior signature might look something like the second (fancy cursive).

Base: [x]

Rire's ichor tentacles are directly controlled by his consciousness/sub-consciousness so yes technically they could do such things XD But that is something that would have happened more when he was a child/learning how to use the ichor powers - he has such fine control now that the likelihood of it happening anymore is negligible.

...you could kiss them if you want I suppose, he does have some feeling through them lol.

I once described Rire's ichor as existing but not existing at the same time (ah, dichotomy haha). Basically if the ichor is not connected to the manifestation point on Rire's back all trace of it will eventually disappear. So that's handy in more ways then one :d

This post goes into more detail about the ichor consistencies:

Rire was born 973 years ago and was primarily raised by his mother after both his father and then later his stepfather died when he was a child/teen.

He would raise a child similarly to how he was raised. 🤔 YMMV whether this would be considered good parenting but he does have affection towards his own parents so there's that.

Well i did draw the baby!BTD in that same picture so...however i drew them as lol XD; Thanks muchly and keep at it!

Yes the years are the same. As stated in my BTD FAQ "I don’t know if you could classify what he feels as “love” in the same definition we are used to…" :d

Short answer: no.

Long answer: if you consider real world biology it would be like this

SOME species of demons are close enough to humans that they could reproduce with them. If the offspring is viable it's usually infertile like a liger (cross between a lion and a tiger) or a mule, though sometimes/rarely it could result in fertile offspring.

This works similarly between different demon species (different ones are more compatible with certain species compared to others etc), though the likelihood of fertile offspring is greater. Also depending on the species some genes are way more dominant so a child might end up basically being more or less one species type.

[An excerpt from a World War letter. Several similar letters have been documented from both Allies and Central/Axis Powers]

My dearest, I witnessed the most peculiar scene several days ago. Honestly I am not sure if it actually happened or if my mind was playing tricks on me. I was on my evening sentry duty over No Man's land when I saw him - a man, standing alone in the fog past the razor wire and amongst those poor souls neither side had managed to retrieve. Dearest, I swear that man had not been there a second ago! At first I thought this was enemy activity, but his uniform was clearly not German and neither was it one of ours - maybe the oddness is what stayed my tongue at the time. Out of a morbid curiosity I watched as he crouched near several bodies for a long moment - perhaps to pay his respects? - before walking off and disappearing out of sight. I am honestly surprised no one had shot at him! The next day there was a large shout as a grievously injured Johnson - whom was lost in No Man's Land after a failed trench raid - was suddenly within reaching distance just over our trench walls! It was a miracle! He was delirious and had no idea how he had made it back by himself, but mentioned a "General" who had offered help in his lowest moment. Clearly he was unwell as there were no Generals around...but dearest...I can't help but wonder --

[Johnson would survive his injuries and go on to become a well decorated soldier before returning home a hero. He would die 10 years later from "idiopathic anaphylaxis" with an odd look of fear on his face.]

I'm not sure why some of you think this but to put it as clearly as I can (since this is not the first time I've been asked this):

Cain is not my character.

I would hope that you guys understand that just because someone doesnt seem to be on the internet anymore it doesnt mean their character is suddenly an adoptable/up for grabs???

No - I have enough of my own characs I dont need to actually steal someone else's. (Also see above answer)

IMO in any universe Rire and Cain are like oil and water. So, i would say yes there is a way that they could get together but it would probably involve kidnapping and criminal confinement on one of their behalfs :d

I never read Warrior Cats so I have no particular thoughts about this lol.

Demon!Strade is a Gatoverse creation XD; - meaning Gato created him and so it has no correlation with my demon types. He would probably be like a level 4 or 5 maybe (aside from being LARGE, idk about his other power sets lol) and a clear case of needing an exorcism :d

Both of them are naturally charismatic (though, Demon!Rire can dial his up to noticeably unnatural levels). Human!Rire can be considered more manipulative and subtle than the demon version since in his 'verse "real world" consequences are actually things he has to consider. He is also a bit less interested in mind games than Demon!Rire.

-...gestures at humans, which he prefers to mess with for the sheer variety of reactions-

That is not part of his skill set, no :d Also much in the same way that animals with sharp teeth don't willy nilly bite their tongues off, demons with sharp teeth are like...used to having/biologically designed to have sharp teeth.

THANKING YOU \o/

It wouldn't lol. Also if i saw Rire IRL i would immediately pretend to have NOT seen him because that would mean that I've somehow had a hand in creating a tulpa.

[old-fandom]

I love the idea of Dipper and Mabel being so suspicious of Stancest but always being wrong in their conluscions.

Like, Stanley and Stanford leaving in the middle of the night when they think the twins are sleeping and don't come back till an hour or two, usually very happy and sometimes disheveled. Mabel is the first to notice when she wakes up from the car leaving the driveway but falls back to sleep almost immediately. She tells Dipper in the morning, who writes it off as some old man thing, but they keep catching it at random times. Dipper and Mabel end up confronting them about it and the Stans think they've been found, only for Mabel and Dipper to accuse them of going on night time adventures without them. Mabel specially believes they are also going to ice cream afterwards. (Stan and Ford leave at night to drive to a town over and park at their version of make out mountain and get into some hankey pankey. They do this to make sure they don't get caught by the twins and because making out in a car makes them feel like teenagers again.)

Another time, Dipper and Mabel catch on to an increasing amount of lovey dovey sickening pet names that Stan and Ford use on each other. It's always at random and always elicits some kind of glare and blush from the other. Dipper categories them all up, which names gets which response, how often each one is used, where they use it, what are they doing. Mabel puts the pet names on a Love Dovey scale ("Yes, Dipper, Baby goes above Honey, everyone knows that!") When they confront the Stans, who believe they have actually been found out this time, they reveal their findings. They believe that they are teasing each other in some secret code and each nickname is associated with some kind of failed romantic story, one that the other is embarrassed about. Mabel demands to hear the backstories to the pet names while Dipper wants to know where this teasing originated from. (Stan and Ford just got overly mushy on the ship and decided to kick cringe out of their lives and live it to the fullest. Ford likes using Beloved, My Love, Darling while Stan likes using Sweetheart/Sweetie, Doll/Dollface, Honey. However, they do use Baby to tease each other, though it is still a pet name,)

Then there's the horrible, god awful moment where the Stan Twins truly, honestly, terrifyingly believed they got found out. Mabel and Dipper to yelling at them, demanding answers, screaming at them, "How could you, you're brothers!" Both of them red in the face, angry and hurt. The Stans feel so sick about it, thinking they hid it so well and now they were going to lose everything. However, that feeling breaks when the twins reveal that they believe that Ford and Stan are still fighting, physically fighting. Dipper points out that sometimes one of them is hurting more than normal, usually after they all go to bed, and it's hard for them to walk. Mabel says she's even heard them yelling at each other and is in tears at the idea of her Grunkles fighting and hurting one another. Stan rectifies the situation immediately, telling the kids that they caught them red handed. They were fighting, consensually. He tells them that Ford wanting some old Boxing lessons and that the best time to do them is at night so he can focus and not accidently hurt one of them if he lost control of his swing. He also knew how much it hurt the twins to see them fight, so they thought it was better to hide it from them, but he says that he was wrong. The twins take this for what it is and spend the rest of the day asking to see them practice, which the Stans do happily. (They were boinking. Ford's a bottom.)

I love them so much. It's going to be a *10 years later* Dipper with a spoon of cereal half way into his mouth and Mabel dipping her pancakes in syrup. "It wasn't boxing lessons."

[kiarrahatesboys]

Realistically, today had been a good day. Most of Lena's technology worked perfectly, and any tweaks she needed to make went smoothly. Nia had bought her coffee. At a private moment around noon, Kara had kissed her cheek before flying off to do rounds on the city.

Lena, however, stands in the hallway of Kara’s apartment building wishing she could punch a hole or twelve into the drywall. Her keys - including the spare key to the loft that she had been given - fall out of her hand to the floor, and she feels the tension in her chest build.

It takes an eternal four seconds to pick them up, unlock the door, and step inside.

Kara stands by her kitchen sink, sipping from her purple water bottle. “Hi, baby.”

There is no will to look over and smile in response. Lena drops her purse on the floor and trudges straight to the bed. She falls face-first into it, feet dangling in the air.

All the blankets and abandoned clothes from this morning smell familiar. Lemon and woodsmoke – Kara. Lena likes to joke that the woodsmoke smell is because she flies so fast she burns up.

She can feel the furrow in her eyebrows, and what's worse is that she has no idea why it's there. It was a good day. She didn't even have to make a pit stop at Luthor Corp to put out any fires. There's nothing wrong.

The lack of explanation for her frustration makes her even more frustrated.

“Hey.” The mattress dips as Kara sits down. “Rough day?”

“No,” Lena says into blankets, suddenly near tears. She rolls over onto her back. “That's the thing, it was good. So why am I in meltdown territory?”

Kara’s hand is in her hair – soothing, home, safety. “I’m sorry. Let me help you?”

Lena nods, toeing off her shoes. They clatter to the floor. Kara offers her hands and pulls her into a sitting position. She helps Lena out of her day clothes and expertly offers the right pajamas. Good texture, good match, good breathability.

It takes a moment for her to start pulling them on as she prepares to go from stationary to in motion. The clean air surrounding her body after she changes helps to lessen the dread in her shoulders. Kara knows the little details to make her comfortable - hood up over her head, a fresh pair of socks. Once dressed, Lena flops over onto her side and curls up tight.

Kara leans over to kiss her head. She draws the curtains. The room becomes dark, and Lena feels her eyebrows relax. It’s a warm summer day outside, and the sun has made its presence clear. The darkness now dampening her vision offers peace.

“Do you want me around?” Kara asks, voice soft.

“Yes, please.” Lena sounds childlike. Her voice is fragile, muffled under her hands.

“Okay, scooch. Make room.”

Lena falls limp as a smile ghosts her face.

“Wow. Okay.” Kara heaves a dramatic sigh.

She feels Kara’s arms snake under her body. For a moment, she’s weightless, and then she’s gently set a foot or two over from where she was before. The mattress bounces again as Kara settles.

Lena reaches behind her to pull Kara's arm over her stomach and takes a deep breath.

“Good girl,” Kara says innocently.

“Hmm?”

“The deep breath. Proud of you.”

Lena’s body feels warm with love. “Thanks.”

The conversation lulls. Lena keeps breathing. Cool air keeps her temperature regulated under a hoodie and Kara’s body. Tension still weighs in her chest, but the accommodations matter. Kara doesn't even ask what she needs, she just knows. Lena barely has to move. She's surrounded by so much love.

“I wish I knew what was wrong.” she says into silence.

Kara hums, sounding sleepy and content.

“Like, nothing bad happened. I had a good day. Why do I feel like I want to implode?”

“You’re autistic, love.” Kara slips her hand beneath Lena’s hoodie to hold her tummy. “That happens. Sometimes there's no answer. I know you don't like that, I’m sorry.”

Lena hates how whiny she sounds. “But I want an answer! I want something to fix.”

“I know, baby.”

She sighs, then rolls over into Kara’s embrace. Having nothing to blame makes the situation feel unresolved. Agitation swirls in her gut, but she knows there's nothing to be done. Sometimes there are just days where the world is too much.

“Too much world.” Lena mumbles.

Kara puts a hand in her hair. “I know. I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

As much as the lack of answer makes things unfinished, the hoodie helps. Having the hood up helps. She has clean socks and a dark room. Her girlfriend loves her, and is warm and solid against her.

Despite it all, she's loved. And that’s important too.

"Thank you." she whispers into darkness.

Kara scratches gently at her scalp. "Always, baby."

Always.

[knivestothroats]

Last minute Christmas special for The Professionals

I originally wrote an excuse for why this is going out at like 9pm on christmas but we dont have to explain ourselves. Enjoy. cowritten with @victimeyez as always

Tommy woke up late.

The pale light of day was already filtering through the gray winter sky. 

Tommy leapt up and threw some clothes on quickly, hopping as his feet touched the cold wood floor. He dashed to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, running his fingers through his hair the best he could.

Two of the trainees were already up and about, engaged in a heated game of slap jack.

“Hey, uh, sorry, have you guys seen Fletcher?” Tommy asked, flinching as Caldera’s hand hit the table.

“I saw them dragging a carcass out of the forest earlier,” Barlowe said as they flipped a card. “So they’re probably out there on all fours eating it like a wild animal.”

“They’re processing a deer in the shed,” Caldera clarified.

“Okay, thank you.”

Tommy slipped on boots and a coat and ventured outside, the cold air scraping at his face. He pulled open the door to the shed, and was immediately hit with the metallic tang of blood and raw meat.

Fletcher was standing beside the body of a stag that was hanging from its hind legs, stomach torn open, blood dripping onto a tarp beneath. Their coat was smeared red, and there was a knife in their hand. A small speaker was playing music for them to work to, and they had to raise their voice over it. 

“What’s up?”

“I just wanted to check in, um…” Tommy pulled his eyes away from the animal. “...About what you wanted me to do today?”

“Isn’t it your day off?”

“Oh, uh…” Tommy had a hard time keeping track of the days here sometimes, but if Fletcher said it was his day off, he wasn’t about to argue. “I suppose it is.”

“Unless you want to help me skin a deer.”

“Um,” Tommy swallowed. “Is it optional?”

“This time, yes,” Fletcher said. “I like to have my alone time with the blood and guts. It’s like meditation.”

The next day, everyone loaded up into the truck.

“You’re riding shotgun, Thunderbird,” Fletcher informed Tommy, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Aw, come on,” Williams complained. “So the three of us have to squeeze into the back together?”

“Three people have to squeeze in the back either way,” Fletcher said. “So suck it up.”

Tommy shrank into his designated spot as the trainees piled into the bench seat, their bags stashed in the bed of the truck.

The trees had blocked much of the snow accumulation, and the roads were plowed, so they had no problem getting to the airport. All the trainees were going home for the holidays, meaning Fletcher and Tommy would have the lodge to themselves.

“Alright, I’m not getting out of the car because I don’t want to be on camera,” Fletcher said as they pulled up to the drop off zone. “Have a nice holiday, tell your families and bosses I said hi, don’t get nabbed by airport security.”

Tommy watched through the window as they disappeared inside the building. It was somewhat daunting to be alone with Fletcher while the rest were gone, but it wasn’t like the trainees provided any sort of comfort or safety for him. If anything, it was less people to worry about. 

“We’re going out to the rez before we go home,” Fletcher said as they drove away. “I have to offload this deer hide. Maybe one day I’ll teach myself to tan but… ehh. It’s enough effort as is.”

It was a while before Fletcher pulled up outside of a house and put the truck in park. They got out without a word and went around to the back. Tommy fiddled with his seatbelt, but since Fletcher hadn’t told him to come along, he opted to remain. 

He watched Fletcher heft a duffle bag over their shoulder and knock on the door. A man with greying braids answered, and Fletcher handed off the bag. He waved Fletcher inside, but Fletcher said something and jutted their chin in the direction of the truck. The man looked at Tommy, gave a wave, and disappeared into his house. He returned a moment later and handed Fletcher a much smaller bag. Fletcher dug around the contents. They pulled out a pair of yellow gloves and felt the material between their fingers.

They said their goodbyes and Fletcher returned to the truck, tossing the bag in the backseat.

It began to snow as they drove home, small flakes dancing down from the sky.

Fletcher opened the door to the lodge and let Tommy inside. They stood outside the threshold and fiddled with their keys for a moment.

“I’m gonna be doing some stuff outside for a bit. So. Behave.”

Before Tommy could ask if they needed help, Fletcher shut the door.

Two days off in a row seemed odd, so Tommy tried to find something to do. There were a few dishes in the sink from breakfast that he washed and put away, before starting to wipe down the counter and clean the stove.

The back door opened and Fletcher walked in, carrying a sapling fir tree in a large pot. They locked eyes with Tommy, paused a moment, and set the pot down before and walking back outside, closing the door behind them.

Fletcher reappeared a couple minutes later through the front door. They kicked off their boots and walked back to retrieve the tree.

“Follow me,” they ordered.

Tommy put down the sponge and quickly wiped off his hands before following Fletcher into the living room. They placed the tree a comfortable distance from the fireplace, then picked up the bag they had gotten earlier. After pulling out the gloves and a spool of sinew, they placed the bag under the tree.

Fletcher gestured to the little setup they had created and said, “Merry Christmas.”

Tommy just stared at them.

“That’s yours,” they nodded to the bag.

“I… I didn’t-”

“Yeah, obviously you didn’t get me anything,” Fletcher cut him off. “I don’t usually do anything for Christmas. I don’t want to make a big deal out of this. It’s just like a nice little thing to do, since it’s just us here together. So open your gift.”

Tommy picked up the bag. Inside was another pair of gloves, made of soft deerskin leather. Beneath that…

Tommy pulled it up slowly. A hoop wrapped in suede with a web of cord stretched across the middle, feathers hanging down from the bottom.

“Don’t worry, you can still sleep in my room sometimes,” Fletcher assured him. “I just thought it’d be nice if you had your own dreamcatcher.”

Tommy held it up to look at it in full. It was beautiful, woven with care. He touched the webbing, feeling the very slight tackiness of real sinew, no cheap plastic or dyed feathers. He stroked them gently, smoothing them into sharp points.

“Fletcher…it’s really beautiful. This is…this is very thoughtful of you.”

“Well, you know,” Fletcher shrugged. “I have a trade worked out where I give him my skins and he gives me some of the stuff he makes and I usually don’t need much, so I just asked for a couple extra things this time. No big deal. Let’s watch a movie or something. I can make hot chocolate.”

Fletcher walked off to busy themself in the kitchen.

Tommy dashed off to his room, his hands a little sweaty. He dug through his sketchbook, flipping through the poorly bound pages until he found what he was looking for. 

When he got back, he found them finishing off the hot chocolates. 

“I, um - I actually do have a little something for you. I might clean it up a little bit more, but…here.” He held out the page of his sketchbook.

Fletcher wiped a hand on their pants and took it, tilting it to the light. The page was filled with a pencil drawing of the lodge, a slightly stiff Fletcher standing in front.

A genuine smile grew on Fletcher’s face.

“Huh.” 

Fletcher plucked a magnet off the fridge and hung up the drawing. They picked the mugs and handed one to Tommy. 

“You can pick a movie off the shelf,” they said, giving his hair a ruffle as they walked back into the living room.

Tommy figured that was about the best it was going to get. He looked at his drawing on the fridge, and felt a sense of pride he hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn’t just cleaning, it wasn’t just being used, it wasn’t pretending to be anything he wasn’t. It was a drawing he did because he wanted to, a drawing no one else would have done quite the same way. Maybe not the greatest, but…it was his. Totally his. And that felt really good. 

He offered a few choices he liked to Fletcher, and they settled on a fun action one. The hot chocolate was rich and warm. Tommy held his new dreamcatcher in his lap while they watched, fiddling and petting it. He was excited to have something that was his, as “his” as something could be, here in the lodge. Fletcher gave him a look for it, but didn’t say anything. 

When the movie was over, Tommy was still awake, and a little restless. It was getting late, but… maybe it was the holiday, but he felt like there was something he was supposed to do. Some kind of ceremony that would make it all real. 

Tommy slowly made some tea, being methodical and slow as if the meditative practice would bring him a sense of closure to the day. As he was pulling out his tea bag, Fletcher found him. 

“Wanna see something?”

Tommy did. Probably. He followed Fletcher out the front door and onto the porch, looking out on the grounds. Snow was falling softly, dampening sound for an almost eerily quiet night. It was peaceful, the low light cast from the lodge illuminating enough that they could see out almost to the forest edge.

They watched in companionable silence, and Fletcher even accepted a sip of his tea. Tommy wasn’t sure what he had been hoping for, but this did it. This would do. 

“Merry Christmas, Fletcher. Or…you know. Atleast, a nice night.”

“Merry Christmas or at least a nice night to you too, buddy.”

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

[astronicht]

we talk in the fandom so much about if marc got amnesia (waking up with broken a broken body and SEVERAL broken personal and professional relationships) but i often think about what an insane well of drama it would be for vale to have amnesia. would marc just SHOW UP with all his insane person confidence like well this time i can just do it better….

I’m answering these both at once because oh mein gott dot meme. I angled more towards the second one i think?? I also played a liiiittle fast and loose with the usual type of amnesia in the trope. The core trope tenants are still there!

“It’s like,” someone says, “Like when you should always agree with dementia patients.”

“And psychosis,” says Marc, smiling.

“What?” says Uccio.

“Psychosis,” says Marc, very slowly, in very clear Italian. It’s the same word in Italian and Spanish, almost, so no one can be misunderstanding him. Still, he bites down on each S, sharp as glass.

“Oh, okay.”

Yeah, okay, thinks Marc. You try dealing with it, then.

What no one in this house knows, excepting possibly Valentino, is that Marc has kept this successfully quiet for a week. It was a tour de force. The only thing he didn’t succeed at was getting Valentino to the Marc’s neuro specialist, because Marc, deep down, did not want to know. Wanted Valentino here, with him, saying yes yes if it makes you feel better before he made it real with a doctor.

Valentino does, sort of, remember the concept of Marc Marquez, because he remembers up to about 2008. Marc was fighting for the 125cc championship that year. He lost a baby tooth, and his mom told him not to tell anyone about it, because people fighting for the world championship shouldn’t be losing baby teeth. He had understood, and tried not to smile too wide. Fifteen was sort of old for that. But he’d been a late bloomer. Hadn’t been able to properly jerk off till the year before, either.

“He thinks I am Marc Marquez’s older brother,” Marc tells one of Vale’s assistants, perfectly calm, furiously even. She’s the one woman in the room. Her name is Laura, and she looks like any woman who has been working in racing all her life: straightened hair, weathered face, tight expression.

She’s the one who gets Uccio out of the room and two hours up the road by telling him someone needs to fill in for Valentino at the meeting with Ducati in Bologna tomorrow. Marc, cold, realizes he doesn’t know for sure what Vale has missed.

He doesn’t particularly like Laura, even though she got Uccio out. That doesn’t mean much, just that she knows that to handle Marc she must first handle Uccio.

And she has to handle Marc, because they ended up at Vale’s neuro guy, not Marc’s and he said to reduce confusion. Yes, like how you agree with dementia patients. Vale thinking Marc is Marc’s older brother — some fabled first son, some larger creature, who can have Vale when the younger Marc he remembers or has made up cannot yet — is not making the neuro guy happy.

They make Marc point out all of the things that are Marc’s. Marc pulls it out for them, but leaves it in piles on the floor. They can put it away.

*

“Marc,” says Valentino down the shitty phone line. Marc wants to sit down and scream. He is at the grocery store. He is in Madrid. Valentino is not better, because fifteen minutes ago one of his assistants was texting Marc to ask where Vale might have put the pill box they gave him for all the vitamin supplements, to help his brain recover.

Marc had texted back, Try the coffee cabinet, knowing with absolute clarity that Valentino would have thrown it out. Valentino hates pill boxes. Marc sometimes has to use one, and Valentino can’t even stand to have it on the counter. Marc keeps it under the bathroom sink, along with his migraine meds.

“Hi,” Marc says. He doesn’t say Valentino’s name because he is in the pasta and rice aisle of a Mercadona. His hand shakes on the phone.

“Hello, hello, ah. You’ve moved my black t-shirts.”

Marc’s number is no longer in Valentino’s phone, for Valentino’s own neurological health. Did Vale remember the number? How? Did he get the contact from somewhere?

“Your black tshirts?” Marc repeats. They are, Marc realizes with a jolt, speaking Spanish. Marc can speak Spanish and usually Catalan to Valentino anytime, who understands perfectly, but Valentino never speaks in Spanish. Never. Except that he just did.

“Yes, my black tshirts, and my favorite sweats. Are they in the laundry? I need them today.”

The Spanish is throwing Marc off. Whole sections of Marc’s life exist in Italian. Work, for example. And, largely, Valentino.

He overthinks it, tangles. Says, “You don’t own black tshirts, do you?” in Italian. A woman walks around him and sighs and says, “Fucking tourists.”

Valentino, if he were here, if he really were on this phone line, would find this very funny.

“No, no, I’m certain. Did you send them to get washed? All, today?”

Valentino is wrenching them back to Spanish. He’s harder to read like this, but suddenly Marc hears the panic under his tone, the high tight paranoia. There are other people in Valentino’s house. He does not trust them. He has found a way to call Marc.

Marc drops his shopping basket on the floor. “I’ll come look,” he tells Valentino, still in Spanish, smooth now. “The cleaner must have moved stuff again.”

Valentino, plaintive, relieved: “Yes, yes come look. I’ll go complain at someone for you.”

“Good,” says Marc, with tightly controlled, bloody-mouthed fury. The tshirts aren’t even with Marc. He has another full closet at the house in Madrid. Why take them? “But ah, I’m out at a few appointments I can’t get out of, so it will be a few hours,” Marc says. The flight to Bologna is two hours and twenty minutes.

He pulls his phone away from his ear to start texting, and sees that he has a text from Valentino’s assistant. He swipes it away unread. No point when he already has Valentino on the line.

His phone says, “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” says Marc, already out of the grocery, on the hot street. A car is going to pull up for him very soon. “Yes, I can stay on the line.”

“Hm,” is all Valentino says, and a TV switches on. But when Valentino sighs into the phone, Marc can hear the relief. Marc wants to lay down on the hot sidewalk and not get up.

The car comes. Marc gets in. He cries perfectly silently in the backseat. Eventually, and with no obvious reason, Vale says, “Okay, I’m going to go now,” and Marc pulls his phone away from his ear, damp with sweat. The heat wavers on the cars taking the airport exit. The driver sighs.

Marc thumbs open the text from Valentino’s assistant, the one he ignored earlier. It reads, Found his pill box, thank you! It was in the cabinet under the master bath sink, with his migraine meds.

Marc smiles, sharp and awful. Above the car, a plane screams across the street through the smoggy air.

[i9messi]

can you do an ollie bearman comfort fic?? Maybe reader is stressed and overwhelmed by uni or smth else you do whatever you want with that

Peace — Ollie Bearman

Focusing too much on your finals had made you feel anxious, so your boyfriend Ollie comes to your bedroom to help.

Word count — 1,3k

note: ollie calling baby to reader makes me feel things. feedback and reblogs are appreciated!

MASTERLIST

The smell of candles made the room smell incredibly good, but nothing was useful to calm your own destructive thoughts. You were very close to a final exam and the anxiety made you feel like the worst. You could hardly sleep well and rest as you deserved.

You had cancelled your dates with your boyfriend and your meetings with your friends. Your final was important and you were too focused on it. Who cared if you were nice, if you failed your finals?

You didn’t totally believe in fate or good vibes. Yes, you could trust that fate would be on your side and manifesting a passing grade might be important, but it was also important to study until your eyes were tired and you fell asleep with pure tiredness. As extreme as it sounds.

Your phone started ringing and that made you lose focus from the screen. You read the name on your cell phone, it was your boyfriend, Ollie. Knowing it was perhaps important, you answered the call before it rang a second time.

“Ollie? Something happened?”

“Hi, baby. I just missed hearing your voice.”

You smiled. Lately you were being a little mean with him, canceling your plans and dates with him. His voice brought a moment of peace when you needed it most. Ollie gave you peace.

“I also missed hearing your voice but I’m studying, I have a final.”

“Stress about Uni won’t do you any good, baby.”

You knew it, you also knew your boyfriend wanted the best for you.

“Ollie, I have to keep studying. Can we talk later?”

“When will I see you again? I miss you badly.”

“I don’t know. I miss you too."

“Okay. Call me if you need anything.”

When the call ended, you continued studying. Time passed, that same night you fell asleep on your desk and woke up with an incredible neck pain. Sometimes it was most useful for you to study at night, so it was barely seven pm when you locked yourself back in your room to study. Your roomie was in her room getting ready to party.

You heard the bell ring. You assumed it was a visit for your roommate. A couple of seconds later, you heard footsteps and a noise in the door. You got up and came to see who it was.

Right there was Ollie, with a teddy bear in his arms.

“Ollie, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, Ollie, I'm so happy to see you.” He joked, a little sarcastically.

“I love seeing you, really. I just didn’t know you were coming. Come on in.”

He came into your room and you realized it was a mess. The only thing that was tidy was your bed, since you had not spent the night sleeping peacefully on the mattress. Your desk was a combination of Red Bulls, empty coffee cups and snacks that was useful to you to keep you awake. The rest were books, notes and sheets of paper with the content you had to study for the exam.

“You need to take this easy.”

“I know, but you know me and you know I become a little too obsessive when I'm studying.”

He grabbed your hand and led you to bed, where he sat you on his lap.

“Listen to me, baby.”

“I listen, Ollie.”

“I know you’re a good student and you will get a good grade, but you have to remember that it’s just an exam. You are much more than a number on a piece of paper, you are more than what your professor thinks you are worth. I know how hard you work for your goals and how brave you are. So, please, at least for a few hours forget about your final and stay with me.”

“Ollie…”

“I brought you a bear.”

He offered the teddy bear to you. You grabbed it, it was brown and adorable. It wasn't the first bear your boyfriend gave you, nor would it be the last. Ollie loved to give you bears of all colors available and types, in your room you had a lot of them.

“Thank you, it's so cute. Cute like you.”

Ollie smiled and you grabbed the bear, it smelled like your boyfriend.

“Can we just lie down in your bed and cuddle?”

His brown eyes looked at you. You couldn’t say no, not when your body was so tired and you had missed him so much during those days when you barely talked.

“You don't need to ask, yes.”

And you did, you laid on bed and he hugged you from behind. You also hugged the teddy bear.

“Tell me what’s bothering you.” He muttered in your ear.

“I guess I’m just scared to forget some important information and go blank.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“What if it happens?”

“I don’t think your professor is a ruthless being who feeds on the blood of the innocent.”

You laughed.

“You should see how he gets when someone says a wrong answer, sometimes he scares me. I swear he gets more and more bold every class, all because of his poor nerves.”

“You will pass your final, silly.”

You turned, getting face to face with your boyfriend. You saw him so close and you came closer up to his mouth and left a sweet kiss on his lips. Ollie smiled in the middle of the kiss.

“We could watch an episode of Glee. I know you're watching it.”

“Uhmm, interesting proposal. I accept.”

With a smile on your face, you took your laptop and searched until you chose the episode you wanted. You put the computer in a comfortable place, where you and Ollie could see it quietly.

“Baby?”

“Yes?”

“I love you and I don’t want you to think for a second that you’re alone in this. I’ll be here whenever you need me. If you need someone to talk with, someone to watch tv shows or even someone to cuddle after studying. I'm here, always.”

You couldn’t stop yourself and kissed his lips. Ollie put a hand on your cheek.

“I love you so much.”

The episode of the show continued, you were so excited to be with your boyfriend that you forgot for a second the pressure of the exam. With Ollie by your side, caressing your hair and leaving kisses on your forehead was enough to be at peace.

“Go bathe and I’ll bring you food.” he suggested, once the episode was over.

“Are you saying I smell?”

Ollie just laughed.

“I’m not implying anything.”

“Fine, I’m gonna go take a bath.”

You went to your bathroom, while your boyfriend left the bedroom to cook something fast. The shower served to relax you, the pressure that you had on your shoulders felt much lighter. You put on your favorite pajamas and left the bathroom, where you found Ollie in the kitchen finishing up his food.

“Your roomie has already left, she said please don’t forget to water the plants.”

“Okay, alright.”

He brought the food onto the table, “I made pasta.”

“Smells incredible.”

Both ate in silence, something you liked about your boyfriend was that he respected the moments when you didn’t want to talk too much. Now that you were in a period full of exams, your mind was too busy to want to talk a lot. With the right words, you and Ollie dined in peace.

When you finished eating, Ollie stood up and put everything in place. Your eyes suddenly closed with exhaustion.

“Let’s go to sleep.”

You walked to your bedroom and you went to bed, repeating the same sequence of before. Ollie hugged you from behind and you hugged the teddy bear he gave you.

“Get some rest, you deserve it.”

“I feel like my mind is going to keep solving exercises while sleeping.”

“We can study tomorrow morning, I’ll help you.”

Knowing him, you knew he would keep his promise.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ollie. I was so stressed— I love you.”

“And I love you, baby. You're not alone in anything.”

[illaisland]

Hi @catharsisxf ! Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays, pal (affectionate)! I am not much of a writer (or a visual artist tbh), but I tried to make a few things I thought you'd like based on your secret santa survey answers. My apologies for not being very consistent with the daily well wishes, but I hope these past few weeks have been easier/lighter for you. <3 Gifts for you are under the break...

Gift one:

I made a series of images based on a line from a scene you liked in "The Unnatural" where Mulder is encouraging Scully to forget about her worries and focus on hitting the ball/having fun/enjoying life. I found a manip where they are kissing in that scene and modified it further.

With the quote:

Without any text:

And i also made a terrible picmix version for giggles. The watermark covered the quote cuz I didn't how picmix works. 😅🙃

Gift 2:

I also made you a video based on a Jeff Buckley song, however, Kapwing decided to cockblock me and wouldn't let me download what I created for you. So I had to screen record it. Which means the audio is *TERRIBLE* and the already iffy resolution quality is also not good. So, I apologize again for such a macaroni fridge art ass gift, but I tried, friend. 😬 😓 The video I made:

The song and lyrics that inspired it:

Lover, You Should've Come Over

Jeff Buckley

Looking out the door I see the rain Fall upon the funeral mourners Parading in a wake of sad relations As their shoes fill up with water

Maybe I'm too young To keep good love from going wrong But tonight you're on my mind So... you'll never know

Broken down and hungry for your love With no way to feed it Where are you tonight? Child, ya know how much I need it

Too young to hold on And too old to just break free and run

Sometimes a man gets carried away When he feels like should be having his fun Much too blind to see the damage he's done Sometimes a man must awake to find that Really he has no one

So I'll wait for you, love And I'll burn Will I ever see your sweet return? Oh, will I ever learn? Oh-oh, lover, you should've come over 'Cause it's not too late

Lonely is the room, the bed is made The open window lets the rain in Burning in the corner is the only one who dreams He had you with him

My body turns And yearns for a sleep that won't ever come It's never over My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder It's never over All my riches for her smiles When I've slept so soft against her It's never over All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter It's never over She is the tear that hangs inside my soul forever

Oh, but maybe I'm just too young To keep good love from going wrong

Oh-oh-oh, lover You should've come over, yeah, yes Yes, I feel too young to hold on And much too old to break free and run Too deaf, dumb and blind to see the damage I've done Sweet lover, you should've come over

Oh, love, well I've waited for you Lover, lover, lover Lover, love, love, love, love, love, love! Lover, you should've come over 'Cause it's not too late

[mytherapyisreading14]

Magic Tricks

Summary: You are celebrating Henry’s birthday but when Spencer shows some magic tricks, his hands quickly become a distraction to you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Category: Fluff, Smut (18+ MDNI)

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, kissing, dirty talk, hand kink, praise kink, choking, fingering, oral sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex (stay safe y’all)

Word Count: 3,5k

Authors Note: This is the first time I wrote smut, so please let me know if I forgot any warnings/ if there’s anything to improve! Hope you enjoy :)

It's a sunny afternoon, the garden is full of life and everyone came to celebrate Henry's birthday today. Henry is currently sitting on a small wooden bench surrounded by his friends while Spencer shows them his favorite magic tricks. He lets cards slide through his fingers, pulls handkerchiefs out of the air and amazes the children - especially Henry, who sits there with his eyes wide open almost the entire time.

"What do you think, Henry? Ready for something you've never seen before?" Spencer stands in front of the boy and raises his hands, which start to intertwine in a fluid movement. “Yes, definitely!" Henry says enthusiastically.

Spencer quickly brings one of his hands down and pulls a glittering ring out of the air, which immediately appears in his other hand. "Look here, Henry, it's really easy,” Spencer says with a wink. “Wooooow!" the children shout in unison and Henry claps euphorically.

You, sitting next to Penelope on another bench, are also completely fascinated - but you're not just looking at the ring or the tricks. Your gaze keeps wandering to Spencer, to his hands to be precise, which performed the magic with such precision. It's not just the art of magic that captivated you, but also the man himself.

How skillfully his fingers move, how naturally he juggled the small objects - all of this makes your thoughts drift away. The fact that you’ve been in love with him for years now makes it even worse. You imagine how his hands would touch you, how he would hold you when...

You suddenly hear your name and flinch. You didn't even really hear him talking to you, as your thoughts were far away from the magic trick. "Are you even listening to me?" Spencer asks. "Why are you staring at my hands all the time?" You freeze. Suddenly you are so aware of the situation that you almost feel like everyone in the circle is watching you.

Your cheeks turn red. "Uh... I... I just wanted to know how the trick works," you stammer. Penelope, who is sitting right next to you, couldn't help but giggle and whispered to you: "Sure, that must have been the reason..."

"Yes! Exactly," you answer way too quickly. "I... wanted to find out how you did it!" Spencer looks at you for a while, then nods. „Sometimes, it's better if you don't understand the trick," he says with a mysterious smile. "Otherwise the real magic is lost." You try not to blush any more. "Of course, that's true," you murmur and try to relax. Penelope, who is watching the whole situation with a grin, giggles quietly.

Spencer turns back to his magic tricks, but his gaze keeps wandering over to you. You try to look away from his hands now, but unfortunately it's all to no avail. You find yourself looking at his hands and your thoughts wandering in another direction, and Penelope, noticing this, nudges you teasingly with her elbow. "Looks like our genius is enchanting you even more today than usual," she says.

To get out of the situation and keep a clear head, which is never possible around him, you stand up. "I'll get a drink," you mutter. "Good idea," Penelope says with a cheeky grin as you walk towards the house. The other children are busy watching the magic tricks again, but you can't shake the thought of Spencer.

His hands, which unleashed the magic so precisely and elegantly, preoccupied you much more than you would like to admit. You wonder what else he could do with those hands - if it wasn't just about magic tricks.

Spencer, who is busy with the children and their enthusiasm, casts a quick glance at Penelope, who looks at him with an amused smile. He goes over to her while the children continue to marvel and chat. Spencer casts a glance in the direction you went and then wonders if he missed something. “Tell me, Penelope,” Spencer begins, “do you also think she was acting a bit strange just now?”

Penelope laughs. "Oh, come on, Spencer. She was completely distracted." Spencer raises his eyebrow. "By my hands?" he asks, now slightly amused and curious. "Why?" Penelope looks at him and then grins widely. "Well, because she... watched pretty closely how you used them. She was completely fascinated," she explains.

“Fascinated?" Spencer repeats, now even more confused. "And what's so fascinating about that?" Penelope shakes her head and laughs softly. "Come on, you genius, do you really have no idea?" She clicks her tongue and looks at him with an expression that was almost too good-natured to be serious. "Um... no, not really," Spencer replies, looking at her confused. "Explain it to me."

Penelope raises her hands in an innocent gesture. "You're a genius, you should be smart enough to figure that out on your own." She winks at him and then stands up. "I'm going over to the others. Use your clever head properly," she says and then walks towards the house. Spencer ponders, the explanation has triggered something in him, but he still can't quite figure out what exactly Penelope meant.

Then he decides to tell Morgan - who is standing on the other side of the garden - about the previous conversation. He had no idea what had just happened, but something told him that he had to understand it. He walks quickly towards Morgan, who is just getting a beer from a cooler.

“Hey, Morgan," Spencer says, stepping next to him. "You didn't happen to notice what just happened, did you?" Morgan looks at him with a grin when he hears the question. He laughs quietly and takes a sip from the bottle. "Yeah, I noticed. She couldn't take her eyes off you the whole time.”

Spencer suddenly feels a little embarrassed. "What exactly do you mean by that? She was just a little distracted by the tricks. That's all." Morgan raises an eyebrow and then shakes his head, still grinning widely. "So you're really the only one who doesn't notice, huh?" Morgan asks. "Notice what?" Spencer replies. "Well, if you don't understand..." Morgan says, laughing again. "She's in love with you, pretty boy. That's what's going on."

Spencer is so surprised that he just sits there speechless for a moment. "You really think she's in love with me?" Morgan laughs again. "Um, yeah? Have you never noticed how she acts when you're around? How nervous she gets?" Spencer blinks as he thinks about it. He actually hasn't noticed that you sometimes act differently around him.

He thought about the tricks and the magic all the time, but never about the fact that you might be interested in him for another reason - something much more personal. He tried to push the thought away, but something inside him wouldn't let it go. He wanted this - you - for years and he doesn’t want to get his hopes up now. This has to be a misunderstanding, there is no way you are actually interested in him like that.

Deep down, he's wondering if he was really that blind. And what if Morgan was right? What if you actually feel more for him? He looks around again, glancing at you. Spencer puts the thought aside for now - but he knows he can't shake it off so easily. He feels like he can't ignore the whole situation any longer. After talking to Morgan, he realized a lot of things, but he really needed to talk to you to understand them. He has no idea how you would react.

You, on the other hand, try to avoid Spencer for the rest of the evening. You can't be near him without imagining what his hand would feel like around your neck or between your legs. But since Spencer is so popular with the kids and they can't get enough of him and his magic tricks, it's fortunately easier than you think to avoid him. But you still often feel his gaze on you and it makes you nervous.

Later that evening, after most of the guests have already left, you help JJ bring in a few glasses and bottles. You are just about to go back outside when Spencer comes towards you. "Hey," he says, but before you can even reply, Spencer pulls you aside and into the small guest room at the end of the hall. The door closes behind you and the atmosphere in the room is suddenly much more intimate.

“What's wrong?" you ask, still a little confused because he took you aside so suddenly. "You avoided me today," he says. You avoid his gaze so he doesn't see that you are blushing again and start babbling. "Henry and his friends were so impressed by you and your magic and it's his birthday, I didn't want to disturb you. JJ also needed help and I agreed to do that. We were both busy, so it's clear that we don't run into each other that often," you explain hastily.

“That's not true. You deliberately avoided me. And your mind was somewhere else. As if something was distracting you,” he says, taking a step closer to you. “Why don’t you want to tell me what distracted you today?” he asks, looking down at you. Your heart is beating faster and faster and you are a little overwhelmed by the whole situation.

You didn't expect Spencer to confront you with it. "Now you’re quiet. That's uncharacteristic of you. I think I'm making you nervous," he says. "I...uh," you start, but you're unable to form a sensible sentence. "I was just talking to Morgan and… now I know why you were looking at my hands like that." You look at him questioningly. "What?"

"You were looking at my hands," he says, "because you're in love with me." A laugh escapes you. Your reaction leaves Spencer startled, his voice suddenly uncertain. "Why are you laughing?" he asks, and for a moment he looks as if he's not sure what to make of it. "Is it because I'm wrong? I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable -"

But before he’s able to continue, you quickly grab his arm and pull him towards you. Your lips meet his, and for a moment everything else is forgotten. The kiss is gentle and at the same time full of emotions - as if you want to tell each other everything you never put into words. When you pull away from him, you look deep into his eyes and whisper “Morgan is right... I'm in love with you."

Spencer stares at you for a moment, as if to make sure he heard you correctly. But before he can say anything, you quickly add, "But that wasn't the only reason I was staring at your hands," you tell him. "No?" Spencer raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "What was the other reason?" he asks, and you can see in his eyes how eager he is to know. "I want to know."

You can see the sparkle in his eyes, the mixture of relief and curiosity, and for a moment you feel your heart beating a little bit faster. There's something you haven't told him yet, something you need to explain to him. But the look in his eyes melts your nervousness.

"I was looking at your hands," you begin, "because you use them in a way I've never seen before. Your movements are so precise, so... controlled. It's not just magic, Spencer. I want to know what else they can do." Spencer is silent for a moment, and then you see a slight smile appear on his face. “So, you're looking at my hands because you want to know what else they can do?" he asks. "Yes," you answer quietly, "but also because I just can't get enough of you."

“I don’t want you to get enough of me. Ever. Because I am in love with you too. For quite a while now. Since the day you sat down on the jet next to me and challenged me to play chess, to be more exact,” he says and leans forward to kiss you again, his hands grabbing your hips to pull you closer.

A gasp escapes your mouth and Spencer takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss and explore your mouth with his tongue. You can feel the heat rushing through your body and you press yourself even closer against him, reaching for his hand. His eyes follow every move with a curious look. You take his hand and slowly guide it to your neck.

His mind slows for a minute and then he finally understands. “That’s what you‘ve been fantasizing about earlier. My hands exploring your body. Me choking you. Haven‘t you?“ he asks and you nod. His eyes darken and you can see the lust sparkling in them.

His hand now wraps around your neck entirely and he squeezes gently. “More,” you whisper. “You tell me if it’s too much, okay?” Spencer says with a concerned look on his face before he tightens the grip on your neck. “Yes Spence, of course,” you breath out before getting distracted by his hand sliding up your inner thigh.

His hand is now under your skirt, running over your panties. “Can I touch you?” Spencer asks and you pull him down by his tie to whisper in his ear. “Of course you can, Spence. I need you to touch me. I’ve been dreaming about this since forever. I’m all yours.” You kiss slowly down his neck, then nibbling on his skin to mark him with a hickey.

That’s all Spencer needs to hear. His hand pulls your panties to the side and he grazes your clit with his finger to tease you. “Spence, please. Touch me,” you whimper and he chuckles. “Someone’s eager. Fantasizing about my hands got you worked up, am I right, sweetheart?” he asks, finally touching your clit with his thumb. Your only respond is a moan and you press down on his finger to show him you need more.

“I barely touched you and you’re already soaked,” he says as he runs his finger through your folds. “Only… only for you, Spence,” you manage to say and slide your hands up to his shirt to open the buttons, taken off guard when he pushes a finger inside you. Your knees are trembling and you have to hold yourself against his body in order to stay up.

“Spence, that’s so - it feels so good… I - I need more, please,” you whine and he pushes another finger inside you. He reaches all the spots you never could and you’re a moaning mess, rocking yourself against his hand. “Good girl,” he praises you and it takes you off guard. You clench around his fingers and he chuckles. “You like that, didn’t you? Me calling you a good girl. So praise kink and hand kink, let’s find out what else you’re into.”

You didn’t expect to hear such words from him. He is always the sweet, gentle and unassuming genius when you are around him, but now, that both of you snapped, finally giving in into your desires, he shows you a completely different side of him, one you’re more then excited to discover. It turns you on immensely.

He squeezes your throat more and pumps his fingers faster, rubbing your clit in circles with his thumb and it doesn’t take long for you to come on his hand. You hold yourself steady against him with trembling knees while he is busy running his hands down your shirt, tugging at your bra and squeezing your breasts. You help him taking off your shirt while he’s guiding you to the bed.

He unclasps you bra skilfully and pulls down your skirt and underwear in one motion, before he pushes you down onto the bed. His gazes wanders over your body and he licks his lips. “You are gorgeous, sweetheart,” he says before he leans forward to kiss down your neck to your breast. He takes one of your nipples in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth while squeezing the other one.

You arch your back and slide your hands up to his shirt again to go back to unbuttoning it, after you got interrupted earlier by Spencer giving you so much pleasure that you were unable to continue your actions. You pull his shirt off and run your fingers over his body.

Spencer slowly kisses down your tummy now, reaching your inner thighs where he sinks his theeth into the sensitive skin, sucking the spot to leave a hickey there before he gently kisses it and leans back to admire his work. It earns him another moan from you and he and grins. “So you like marking me, huh?” you decide to tease him back. “You are in no position to tease, darling,” he says with a mischievous grin before he presses his mouth against your cunt, licking a strip up your folds.

Your hands reach for his hair immediately, pressing him closer to you while he devours you like a man starved. Your whimpers are music to his ears and he can’t get enough of you. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he says before he dives back in. You lift your hips to press more against his mouth but he holds you down with his arm. “No, you have to stay still and take what I give you, do you understand?” he asks and you nod.

He shakes his head in disappointment. “Words, sweetheart,” he simply says and you need to concentrate to form a sentence. “I - oh… yes, I understand,” you manage to breath out and he goes back to eating you out, his grip firm on your hips to keep you still. You never felt this kind of pleasure and when you look down and see him devouring you completely, it becomes too much, you come again moaning his name.

Spencer comes up between your thighs with a satisfied smirk on his lips and you pull him down to kiss him again. You taste yourself on his lips and he pushes his tongue into your mouth. Your hand slides down to his pants and you open them with shaky hands, pulling them down. “Need you now, Spence. Please,” you tell him. “You need me that badly?” You nod. “Yes, I want to feel you inside of me.”

He takes off his boxers and your eyes widen, he is bigger than you expected. You watch as he pumps his cock a few times before he lines himself up at your entrance, sliding through your folds a few times to tease you. Then he pushes in and you moan his name. He claps his hand over your mouth to shut you up. “Shh, as much as I enjoy hearing you moan my name, you have to keep quiet,” he says.

From the lack of movement you are feeling right now you were sure he’s giving you time to adjust. When you feel ready you lift your hips to show him. He starts to slowly thrust in and out of you, hitting your G- spot with every thrust. “You feel so good, so warm and wet just for me,” he says and feels you clenching around him.

It feels even better than you imagined. He’s big, but it’s not uncomfortable and you want more. “Harder. You can - you can fuck me harder now,” you say and he chuckles when he hears how eager you are. He starts thrusts in and out of you faster, his hand wrapping around your throat again.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what you imagined every time you looked at my hands?” he asks, squeezing until you see stars. “Yes, oh god - Spence. Feels so good,” you moan, already feeling another orgasm building up, gripping the arm around your neck for support.

Spencer, who can feel how close you are increases the speed and thrusts even faster and deeper inside of you. Your body is on fire and when Spencer starts to apply pressure to your already sensitive clit, you feel like you’re going to explode. “Come for me, sweetheart. Come around my cock,” he says and his permission is all you need to let go.

Spencer fucks you through your orgasm, also close to reaching his own now. “Fuck, I need to come inside of you. Can I, Sweetheart?” he asks, his thrusts getting sloppier. “Yes, in- Inside me,” you say and he finishes a few thrusts later. When he pulls out you can feel his cum dripping down your thighs, but you don’t mind. He collapses next to you on the bed and pulls you into his arms, placing a kiss on your head.

“Are you okay?” he asks you while he plays with your hair. “Yes, that’s was amazing,” you say and give him a peck on the lips before you cuddle closer to him, gently stroking his hair. He looks down to you. “Do you have to get the morning after pill? I can get it for you,” he says and you smile. “I’m on the pill, Spence, but thank you anyway,” you say and give him a kiss.

You stay in bed cuddling but after a while you speak up. “I would love to cuddle with you all evening, but I think we need to go back out soon, the others are probably already looking for us,” you say and he nods. “A few more minutes. I don’t want to let you go just yet,” he says and you smile. “I love you,” you say and he smiles back. “I love you too.”

[seventeenlovesthree]

What it means to be "chosen" - burden, fate, acceptance

This is not going to be a full analysis on the whereabouts of why and how "The Chosen One" trope is being executed in the Digimon Adventure series, because frankly... The lines have pretty much been blurred throughout the different iterations. Even the question of why some children in particular were chosen has been answered differently depending on which source material and which person you'll ask - and thus, there are different interpretations out there. Whether it's because of their potential (in regards to certain attributes, the subject of friendship or in general) shall not be discussed in full, but let's say... The very first Chosen Ones were chosen out of necessity, even if chance may have been involved.

If you ask me personally, the main premise one can and should take away from all of it actually boils down to a cheesy quote from the dub version of the first Pokémon movie: "I see now that the circumstances of one's birth are irrelevant; it is what you do with the gift of life that determines who you are."

Replace "birth" and "life" with "Chosen Child status" and it fits again - regardless of what characters you apply it to. The only difference here is - that they may not refer to it as a "gift". Because this is something they all handle differently, depending on what version you look at, once more. So I wanted to make a little, very inoffical ranking on how the status is being perceived by all of them. Keep in mind that, by the end of 02, you could say that ALL of them have accepted it as a part of their lives, some more willingly than others, but the general tone is the same:

"Being chosen is nothing special and yet we all understand that there is a necessity, that we have a duty to fulfill."

After characters like Sora or Yamato had already questioned being chosen in Adventure, Ken was the first character that challenged the idea of it being a "burden created by chance".

"It could have been anyone but me, so why was I chosen, why did I have to suffer and get punished?"

This theme is being explored in similar yet different ways through the protagonists of the later movies - Meiko (and Maki), Menoa and Rui all represent tragic figures in a somewhat twisted "game of chance", used by higher forces. We know that the number of Chosen Children doubled each year - whether due to Homeostasis meddling mingled with Rui's wish shall not be subject of this post, but overall, we can say: They all received the "gift" of partnerships. However, neither of them were meant to last, due to different circumstances. Which includes Ken as well - because once corrupted or unable to fulfill a certain "duty" any longer, all these partnerships were (sometimes temporarily, sometimes permanently) ripped apart.

Long story short, for the sake of the following ranking, I will include Tri onwards for completion sake - however, it's just a temporary state, because "Adventure Beyond" may fix some of these views.

Rejects it as a burden (temporarily): Sora

This one is, sadly, quite self-explanatory due to the current state of Sora being "out of the loop". She had been among those who initially (Adventure) fell into despair due to the burden of having to save the world - and while she temporarily accepted it (02), it all played into her trauma of not knowing who she was and how to define herself outside of "labels that were externally assigned to her". So yes, despite her clearly loving her partner... We shall wait and see how she will deal with this in the future.

Ambilvalent, had to get through several stages of contemplation, but overall knows it's part of who they are (still ongoing): Yamato & Taichi, Miyako & Iori

These two "groups" are here for different reasons. The entirety of the Adventure-verse spends a lot of time telling us how torn Taichi and Yamato are basically all the time - they're more than willing to save the world whenever it's required, but struggle with the "Chosen Child identity" and what it means for them as "normal people". Because as strongest fighters, they know they shoulder a lot of responsibility, for themselves, their friends and families, but also for the worlds out there. Fighting yet causing sacrifices when they themselves still have to deal with heavy childhood trauma not only causes them to clash, but also to (subconsciously) reject their duties, hence causing their partnerships to (temporarily) vanish. Which is very similar to the tragic figures talked above - which is also why they all suffer from depression, fear of abandonment and identity crises. They're perfectly aware of the duty and see it as a necessity they HAVE TOO choose for themselves in order to succeed. But the latter is a lesson they had to learn the hard way first - while also remembering how important their partners (and this kind of life) really are to them, because it's literally all there inside themselves. They just have to discover it again.

Miyako and Iori are a bit harder to decipher - they used to struggle strongly with the idea of having to make sacrifices due to their Chosen Child status and I would argue that this is still something that, if they think about it for too long, keeps them up at night. But I would still put them on the outer part of this scale - for the simple fact that they were able to integrate their partnerships into their daily lives. There may absolutely be times when they see it as a chore and annoying - but begrudgingly accept it due to the bond they share with their partners and friends.

Accepts it after coming to terms with it, transforms it positively: Hikari & Takeru, Jyou, Mimi & Ken

The viewer doesn't spend as much time with these two when it comes to how they define themselves. Hikari and Takeru, similarly to their brothers, can be assumed to be aware of their special status among the group. They're the enabling angels - and know that's why they could never quit. On the other hand, despite suffering from childhood and family-related trauma that causes them to fear darkness and separation, they seem to learn not to see it as a "burden" in itself. Unlike their siblings, they have an easier time integrating their partners into their daily lives - maybe because they hadn't been separated for as long, maybe it's because they perceive it differently due to their ages and being surrounded by people who also make it look easy. They are aware of the responsibility - and despite their strong opinions on injustice, they're still able to see the gift in it all.

Jyou, Mimi and Ken are purposefully separated from everyone, due to the fact that they were all at a point in their lives at least ONCE where they were about to quit it all for good - but eventually learned that it was something about themselves they couldn't change. Something they had to live with, if they wanted or not, even if they were ALL heavily affected by watching beloved people/mons die. Mimi loathed the idea of fighting and causing unnecessary death, Jyou repeatedly asked himself why he couldn't just live a normal life aside from outside expectations - but unlike Sora or Taichi, they actively embraced the idea that there were things only they were capable of that nobody else could. This seems to be in contrast to the idea that "being chosen is nothing special" - but these two were capable of making it work in a more casual, less spectacular way and, just like the likes of Miyako, Iori, Takeru and Hikari, were able to keep their partners as active parts of their private and/or career lives all around.

And so was Ken! Ken's journey is that of repentance, wanting to make up for what he did in the past, even if it meant sacrificing himself for that. He could easily have collapsed under that burden - if he hadn't had the right people to surround himself with, showing him that he was valuable despite his wrongdoings. And it feels like - Ken learned that lesson so thoroughly that, even though one can be sure that he still suffers from nightmares as an adult, he's also capable of helping others (just like Rui) to understand that message.

These three chose to embrace it eventually, even if there were temporary doubts.

Embraces it as part of their lives without question: Daisuke & Koushirou

I'm not saying that Daisuke WASN'T having temporary doubts of whether or not he was worthy enough to carry a digivice or even the goggles at first - but he also turned out to be the one who just "winged it" all eventually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. For him, having a partner, being chosen, meant just that - it didn't make him any more or less special than any other person on the planet with aspirations, goals or all the various life paths. Sure, he may have been flabbergasted and in awe at first, but in the end, meeting V-mon was nothing more than getting another brother AND having the ability to be badass and doing the best he could while saving the world. Despite his mask of self-importance, who knows him also knows that he's down to earth like that and just accepts it all how it is as a side gig to getting his Ramen business going.

Koushirou may be a little bit less casual about it, but for him, being chosen isn't a burden or fate or any magically connected miracle - it is a part of his identity. Yes, he may have been just as irritated by File Island and being surrounded by weird monsters as everyone else was - but he was basically the first one who just questioned it all because he simply wanted to figure it out, NOT because it was a chore. Yes, he may look exasperated at times after having helped to support saving the world(s) countless times, but for him, that is his life. He has committed himself to researching the whereabouts of the Digital World, his tech company is primarily aimed at creating gadgets to support his friends and that serve the initial cause - and his partner is basically with him 24/7 anyway.

[katerinaaqu]

Many have commented when it comes to adaptations/retellings "don't watch it, don't read it, if don't like it ,don't engage".

The point they don't realise is that, these issues continue happening, so commenting on that isn't an issue, but apparently for them is. Like they are saying "keep your mouth shut".

Why? 🤔 What's so bothering with saying facts that these adaptations simply are mocking Greek culture?

Nolan's version had sparked a debate again and unfortunately won't be the last to make such.

And the problem is that these versions gain so much popularity which makes one sad to think how amazing would it be instead of these twisted up versions or oversimplified versions (like Epic the Musical or PJO or Miller's books) were not as popular and instead we have had projects like "L'Odissea" or "Iphigenia" "Trojan Women" etc be the top of the top at fans preferences how much better would people understand mythology!

But yes I find this notion of "if you don't like it don't watch it" interesting because I could answer the same to many people who say that "if you don't like my critique don't read it" or "if you don't like my comment don't read it and delete it from your page". Why do you feel the need to point the obvious to me? Another interesting thing that I get all the time is "why don't you see them as different like I do to like them both?" Like for starters me seeing them as different is exactly my problem. I find the notion of something being "different" especially to THAT degree when they claim to adapt or retell material is exactly my problem and second please show me the part of moral code where it says that I have the moral obligation to like them all?

I love Nolan's work before but even him I feel they are up for disaster. Many times over we have the same talk. Ironically people are trying to give FANTASY books the attention they deserve (successfully or not is another story) by making trilogies or tetralogies etc. They made a majestic production for Lord of the Rings with three movies spanning over 3 hours each in order to adapt the book properly for example but when it comes to epics like Odyssey they just go like "fuck it we shall squeeze everything in a movie" with the rare exceptions of some writers and even then the budget wouldn't allow them to unravel everything they needed to unravel. Makes me feel that if they gave the same attention to the mythological movies as they do to fan material we would have great things going on but nope. They just refuse to do it.

And yes they make monstrous changes to the material or the story or the cast and then somehow people who point the harm this has done for decades out are somehow the bitter bad guys who should shut it and turn the other way like okay dude then you too shut it and turn the other way when I express my opinion. I find it tiring how sometimes people play the self-righteous card but suddenly YOUR opinion doesn't matter because YOU have no right to speak and your problem is as easily solvable by "looking the other way". And it is the same type of people that for OTHER projects would be screaming first like that "ENOUGH WITH LOOKING THE OTHER WAY! WE MUST DO SOMETHING AND FINALLY DO THIS RIGHT!"

Apparently Greek mythology is not entitled of the same courtesy. Sweet irony how it seems that the mythology material was greatly adapted till the 60s or 70s (of course not without their problems but the projects were great)

[grinchwrapsupreme]

oh the executive producer of From said that people don't watch tv to get answers to the mysteries that are set up in said tv? yeah that tracks things are starting to make sense

[just-a-little-unionoid]

You know I think we can resolve a lot of our problems and moral dilemma by asking ourselves "does this really matters that much?"

[not-brionnnne]

hey has anyone ever considered doing shinjiro smut for after the fade to black but he lays you across his lap, like has anyone ever considered the canon praise kink with him more—shinjiro who scolds you, calls you trouble and tells you to stay close to him like a "good girl", shinjiro who acts tough, pretends to be fed up with you pushing him around (he loves it, but that doesn't mean you're not gonna hear about it), ignoring what he wants, so two can play that game, and you think, god, he's not holding back anymore, he's going to kiss me, finally, we're going to— but no, he settles on his bed and pats his lap and tells you that you need to "take responsibility" for teasing him like that, messing with his feelings — "be a good girl." remember, you started this.

[coldjustness]

TAG DROP 001.

[ ooc. ] one. one thousand. two. one thousand. three. and now my patience is up.

[ ic. ] chase the right bastard through the wrong ritual it'll knock you right out. of course. you might wake up with a new accessory.

[ answered: ooc. ] it is better to ask a question than to sit on your hands and let it fester.

[ answered: ic. ] most papers don't say much but read between the lines you pickup a thing or two.

[ psa. ] hear ye! hear ye! use that thing on the inside of your head or be doomed!

[ saved. ] i'm like a dragon with the things I like. I'll horde them forever.

[ prompts / memes. ] im not picky. i got a cup and it does the job. that's all I ask.

[ reflections ] I'm fighting rook. sometimes it feels like the city itself stabs me in the back.

[ introspection ] its not what keeps me up at night. its not the quiet. I never could sleep once work gets in my head.

[ crack. ] sing your praises and you still want something! I'll find you a treat if you don't tell davrin. have we got a deal?

[ salt. ] that's the worst-case scenario. but all too often; the most pessimistic speculation turns out to be the closest to the truth.

[ birthday. ] it's my hatch day! Im allowed to be happy and irresponsible.

[ self promotion. ] apparently I could something clever here but I am too lazy for that.

[ promotion. ] I like this blog. I think it's neat. it deserve attention. everyone! look here!

[vermin-fangs]

Being condescending to poor & disabled people who have less than you is definitely a good way to get donations, I'm sure that's really working out for the people you are trying to help. What's the exchange rate exactly for superiority points