#and this is the first time I'm having these problems

[thatforkedroad]

could this mean that I'm coming home

summary: Luke Skywalker’s relationships with other Jedi as he builds his new order and academy.

------

It takes some time for the festivities on Endor and in the wider galaxy to fizzle down, and even longer still for anything to even slightly settle long enough for both of them to rest. There’s always some new problem arising, some new political drama or skirmish with remnants who don’t take the Emperor’s death well or don’t believe in it at all. But Luke and Leia have always been good at adapting and they always manage to squeeze time to talk to each other, whether it’s in the corner of a peace gala or in a dropship headed to the frontlines. 

For those first few weeks, their conversations always seem to circle back around to the fact that they’re twins, and what this means for them both.  In some ways, there’s not a lot to discuss; their bond goes deeper than blood or friendship, it runs through the songs of the Force, stronger than anything Luke has ever felt.  One night, they spend hours comparing and trying to work out what was coincidence and what were actually latent Force abilities. They talk about childhood dreams of each other’s planets and how — despite both losing all they had once called home only hours before and the imminent threat — everything just felt right when they reunited on the Death Star. Like a small part of them had been missing until then, tied by invisible string to something very far away. 

Outside of it connecting her to new twin, Leia does not seem interested in the Force. She listens intently when he tells her what he knows of the Force, but Leia has never wanted to be a Jedi. She is a politician, like the mother and father who raised her were. She spends her busy days on Coruscant and Chandrila and wherever else she’s required to go to build the fractured Republic her parents tried to save. She finds as much time as she can for him , but she finds time inside of that only to learn the basics of Jedi training, nothing more.  

Luke understands. It’s alright. He’s sure more Jedi will resurface soon, now the Empire has been defeated. It’s just a matter of time...

>> READ THE REST ON AO3

[katsu28]

hiiiii... first off, i wanted to say that i love your work so so much. i'm usually a silent viewer but i wanted to come out and tell you that your work is absolutely stunning. secondly, i was wondering if you were still taking requests from that prompt list in the pinned post. i was thinking 3,26 and 24 for the absolute comeback lando made during jeddah. if not, all good. do not feel pressured at all to write this ❤️

i appreciate u so much thank u!!! <33

3. hiding face in neck, 24. whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin + 26. kissing the top of their head. lando norris x reader, 1.2k. request something from here :)

Tenth on the grid isn’t near where Lando wanted to be for tomorrow’s race. Crashing out of qualifying definitely isn’t what he wanted either, not for him, but especially not for the team. 

Jeddah is a tricky track, so full of tight corners and narrow straights that it could’ve happened to anyone. It just so happened that he was the unlucky one this time around. 

He’s already beating himself up even before he gets out of the car. Fucking idiot, were his exact words on the radio, echoing through your headphones in the guest area of the McLaren garage, marking the exact moment your heart sank for him. It had already nearly jumped out of your chest as soon as you saw his car wobble, nearly stopped when he slammed into the barrier coming out of a turn. 

A little later, after the session ends and Verstappen has taken pole, you finally find Lando. His feet drag along the floor, helmet dangling from his fingertips as he trudges into the garage looking far from happy. 

His eyes find you immediately after he sets his gear down and you smile at him with what you hope is reassurance masking your concern, waiting for him to make his way over to where you are. He buries himself into your arms as best he can with the box wall between you, hiding his face in your neck like it’ll let him hide from the world. 

Things like this are inevitable in every driver’s career, but Lando has always taken the setbacks rather hard. Always blaming himself, getting in his head about all the what ifs and could’ve beens. You can’t solve his problems for him, but you can help in other ways. 

You squeeze him tightly, as if all your worries and his disappointment could melt away the closer you hold him. He’s here, he’s okay.

“M’okay, baby,” Lando mumbles, words muffled against your skin. Your fingers comb through the damp curls at the nape of his neck, palm splaying across warm skin just so you can feel his pulse under your touch. Lando pulls away just a bit, enough to speak clearly. “I’m fine, I promise. No damage—to me, at least. Car’s fucked.” 

“The team can fix it. They will fix it,” You insist, bringing one hand up to cup his face. Your thumb strokes over his rosy cheek, eyes boring into his with such firmness you want him to feel it too. “Everything will be fine tomorrow.” 

“Promise?” 

You can’t promise him anything—not really—but you nod anyway, sealing when you hope isn't an empty promise with a kiss. “I promise, Lan.” 

-------

You swear you haven't blinked since lights out. 

Your eyes have been glued to the screen above you the entire race, headphones clutched to your ears so you can hear exactly what's going on with Lando. You’ve even got the F1 app open on your phone to track live timings so you don't miss a thing from the depths of the garage. 

With every overtake, every gained position, your heart pounds a little faster. You’re even sweating a little bit, which would be odd given that you’re not actually the one in the car. But when your boyfriend is racing for his life out on track with only a handful of laps to go, you’re a ball of nerves. 

You mutter encouragement under your breath the whole time like Lando can hear you, fingers crossed so tightly it’s starting to hurt as the laps tick down to the final one. Anything is possible until he flies by that checkered flag. 

Lando crosses the line fourth. 

He’d put up a phenomenal drive, fighting his way past seven very impressive opponents, managing his tires, keeping up the pace. In your eyes, he’s a winner all the time, but especially now. With what happened yesterday, a P4 comeback is sure to put some confidence back in him. 

You find him chatting with Oscar after his post-race media duties, completely unaware of your appearance as you start to creep towards him from behind.

Oscar does notice, but doesn’t say anything when he spots you over his teammate’s shoulder, just tries his best to hide his grin so as to not blow your mission. 

Lando's still going on and on about tire degradation when you pounce on him from behind.

“Fucking hell!” He screeches, nearly keeling over backwards before he manages to get his hands under your thighs for support. At the excited kiss you smack to his cheek, he lets out a loud exhale. “Baby, don’t do that! I thought I was being mugged!” 

“In the middle of the paddock? Seriously?” You giggle, both feet back on the ground. You smile at the younger boy across from you. “Hi, Oscar! Mega drive today, congrats on the win.” 

Oscar’s cheeks tinge pink and he grins, rocks back on his heels a little. “Glad you thought so.”

“Alright, mate, don’t you have your own girlfriend to bother?” Lando huffs dramatically, hooking an arm around your shoulders. You roll your eyes playfully at his change in demeanor. “Go on, get out of here, kid.” 

“See you on the plane, old man,” Oscar shoots back, sidestepping the halfhearted swipe Lando takes at him. He holds his fist out towards you for a bump. “Great to see you again.”

“Likewise. Say hi to Lily for me.” You wait for Oscar to disappear into the team hub before turning your attention on your boyfriend, hands on your hips, brows raised. “Why are you like this?” 

“Me? Baby, he was seconds away from giggling like a fucking schoolgirl. I’m telling you, Oscar definitely has a crush on you.” 

“He has a girlfriend, Lando. You’ve met Lily, you’ve seen them together. He’s head over heels for her, and you’re being ridiculous.” 

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s stop talking about him now.” 

You drape your arms around his neck, tilting your chin up at him with a smile. “You’re lucky I find your weirdness attractive.” 

“Luckiest guy in the world, I always say,” He hums, beaming back at you. “So, what’d you think of the race?” 

“You did amazing today, Lan,” You say, nearly squeezing the life out of him with your hug. He pushes in closer to hear you over the bustle of the paddock and you do the same, putting your lips right against his ear for your next whispered praise. “I’m so proud of you, d’you know that? I'll always be proud of you, wherever you finish, whatever you do.”��

“Yeah, I know,” He says bashfully, grinning ear to ear. His arms wrap tighter around you. “Thanks to you. My lucky charm.” 

“Nuh uh, that’s all you, baby,” You reply with a shake of your head. Lando can only smile bigger, kissing the top of your head four times in succession, four lucky kisses for his lucky charm. “Ready to go home?” 

“Ugh, beyond. I need a fucking shower,” He groans, tipping his head towards the night sky. His gaze snaps back to you just as fast, this time with a mischievous glint in his eye. “Wanna join?” 

“Way to ruin the heartfelt moment, you horndog.” 

“Don’t act like you weren’t thinking the same thing!” 

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[ruusawa]

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ Mark Grayson pregnant reader headcanons₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

♡➔ he won’t admit it, but he absolutely shit himself when he found out you were pregnant. ♡➔ he was definitely more panicky than you about the happy accident ♡➔ he held your hair back when you got morning sickness (“It’s not morning, why are you puking up?!” he’d ask frantically, the glare you’d reply with would promptly shut him up) ♡➔ he attended every appointment, even if it was just a simple blood pressure and weight check (“you don’t have to come, Mark.” “What do you mean? I’m going to be there every step of the way.” “What if the world ends?” “Sounds like a Cecil problem to me.”) ♡➔ he cried at the scans, seeing the tiny baby inside you was truly magical ♡➔ his phone wallpaper is now the ultrasound, he stares at it all the time ♡➔ he spent hours with his ear pressed to the swell of your stomach, simply listening to the baby inside (super hearing is weird) or just talking to the bump ♡➔ he would recommend names from his favourite comics and shows (“I think Dinah is a great name!” “I’m not naming our baby after a comic book character you have the hots for.”) ♡➔ his hands are always on the bump, he’s able to hold his whole world that way ♡➔ he was so excited when he first felt the baby kick that he started floating (“Mark, come back down,” you’d laugh at him.) ♡➔ sometimes he would look at you, heavily pregnant, and his eyes would get all misty because how amazing are you? Growing a whole new life? You’re incredible. ♡➔ he nearly missed the birth due to a kaiju attack (“I really don’t have time for this!”) ♡➔ he made it before you reached active labour (thank god), he apologised so much for not being the one to drive you to the hospital, he swears there and then he’s not leaving your side for anything at all, he’s here with you and your baby ♡➔ it was simultaneously the best and worst time of his life, because wow, you’ve grown a whole new life and that’s amazing, but oh my god, you’re in so much pain, and he hates that ♡➔ he cried when he saw your baby, full on choked up tears in complete disbelief at how perfect the little bundle in his arms is ♡➔ he’d place the softest kiss on your forehead as your baby is placed on your chest, murmuring how proud he is of you (“You’re the Invincible one today.”) ♡➔ he is on it, you need a nap? Hand him the baby, he’ll wake you when they need feeding. Dirty diapers? Let him do it, you need to rest. Stitches itching? He’s already got ice wrapped in a soft towel ♡➔ he’ll just stare at you when you feed the baby, because wow, you grew that baby. A little bundle of you and him. He looks at you both like you’re the most precious things in the world, because to him, you are. ♡➔ “Hey babe?” You look up from your newborn’s face to Mark, who’s looking at you with the most adoring look you’ve ever seen on his face. “Yeah?” “I want another one.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚���｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

this was supposed to be dad!mark hcs but the idea got away from me. i'm thinking of turning this into a drabble at some point but i needed to word vomit the headcanons first. i will write girl dad mark one day, i promise!!

[christinaroseandrews]

I have two mundane super powers.

The first, and least useful, is that I always look at the clock at 1:23 or 12:34. Doesn't matter if it's a.m. or p.m. I'm really good at telling you if it's 12:34 or 1:23.

The second, and much more useful, is that I have an inherent ability to get what I call "The gatekeepers" to like me. This includes people like gate agents, receptionists, flight attendants, customer service representatives, etc. I instinctively know the right thing to say or the right way to say it to get these gatekeepers to like me and want to help me. This includes both in person and on the phone. I routinely get seat upgrades, more attention, and exceptions made for me and the people I am often with through this ability.

And the funny thing is I generally and genuinely don't ask for these things. I just get them. In some cases, I've actually had to go up to the person and say, "I can't take this really cool thing that you just gave me because it's actually going to give me problems." This mostly happens with seat upgrades since I have a specific illness that requires me to sit in a certain portion of a plane but it's absolutely happened with other things as well. 90% of the time when I'm talking to these gatekeepers I'm just wanting to ensure that I have a smooth experience and my needs are accommodated. Additionally, I well and truly do not want to be "that customer." I don't make this person's life worse than it already can be. I want to be kind & respectful while also making sure that I'm taking care of myself without being a dick about it. And I suspect that desire to not be an asshole comes through. Having been a gatekeeper in a previous life, I understand just how stressful and how shitty most people treat you. I also know that I instinctively adjust my accent and way of speaking to mimic that of the person I'm talking to. The thing is: I don't realize I'm doing this in the moment; I just do it. It's only looking back or if others have told me I've done it that I made aware that I'm doing it. Other people have seen me do this and they find it hilarious. However from a psychology standpoint, it tends to mean that the people I'm talking to consider me one of their tribe, and we tend to want to help people we consider one of our own.

So yeah I'm the person you want to take if you want to know about when midday or midnight are, but also you want me around to help you with dealing with talking to essentially gatekeepers / customer service reps.

They say everyone has a mundane superpower

Small things, little things, things you might not even notice if the circumstances aren't exactly right. Like, someone out there always manages to wake up right with the alarm. Someone never, ever sprains their ankle. Someone has never assumed there was one more step in the staircase. That kinda thing. Personally, I'm immune to the hazards of those giant retail mazes. like. I go to CostCo. I get my toilet paper or paper towels. I get my basil butter salmon. I eat my hot dog and chocolate chip cookie. I leave. I go to IKEA. I get my bookshelf. I glance at a few trinkets without leaving the path. I eat my meatballs and slice of Daim cake. I leave. I go to the Labyrinth. I fight the minotaur. I walk directly to the exit. I give Ariadne a hug. I eat my gyro and baklava. I leave. It's very simple, I'm very efficient, and you should always take me with you.

[keirareidss]

father figure - a.h

♡ summary: reader has never had a good relationship with her father, so when hotch shows up for her, she's not quite sure what to do

pairing: father figure!aaron hotchner x fem!artist!reader (platonically!)

warnings: reader has a bad relationship with her family, crying, tooth rotting fluff, inspired by the episode in the office where Michael goes to Pam's art show

wc: 1.5k

You sat on the plane wringing your hands anxiously. The team had just finished a big case in Orlando. It wasn't as bad as usual, leaving the team tired but not traumatized. You were nervous for your art show coming up at the local exhibition hall. You wanted the team to come and see your art because you didn't have anyone else to show up for you. Your family never supported your art, your mom claiming that it just distracted you from your schoolwork and your dad saying that you'll never go anywhere in life. Just ask them. Just ask if they want to go. Just ask.

"Hey-" You cut yourself off, clearing your rough throat. "Uh, does anyone want to come see my art show this weekend?" You asked the team.

"I can appreciate good art." Rossi smiled, reliving some of the tightness in your chest.

"Ooh, I am definitely in." Penelope chimed in.

"I'll try to come." JJ said, glancing at you for a second before going back to typing on her phone.

"Great, I'll uh- I'll text you guys the time." You said, feeling a lot lighter than before. Your team would support you. They were like your family. Of course they'd say yes, they're all great people.

You couldn't wait for your art exhibit. You've been doing art since you were young, a way of coping with your... family problems. It was, as your therapist said, a way to process your emotions. You expelled what you felt onto the canvas and once you were done, being able to step back and look at the piece as a whole, it felt good. Relieving.

Once you got back home, you texted the BAU group chat the time and place of your exhibition. You could barely sleep that night, anxious for the weekend.

It was crowded. Crowds make you anxious. You couldn't help it. Maybe it stemmed from the time your parents left you at the mall and you waited in the crowds of people for them to come back. It took over an hour for them to realize you were even gone.

You looked around the art exhibit, hoping for any glimpse of your friends. After an hour had gone by, you were leaning against the wall, insecurely tugging at your dress. Were you too dressed up? Everyone else was wearing jeans. Was the hem of the dress too short? You were feeling entirely self conscious and it sucked. So far, only two people have come up to completely see your work. One, a sweet old woman who complimented you art and the second, a couple whose conversation you overheard when coming back from the bathroom.

"It just feels bland. Like, there's no emotion."

"Yeah, I get that. Like if you're not even going to try, then why make art in the first place."

"Honestly." He rolled his eyes and they walked away from your art. You crossed your arms over your body.

After nearly three hours and no other visitors, you decided to give up. You pushed off the wall, turning to take down your failed art exhibit when you heard a voice behind you.

"Am I late?" You turned to find Hotch, dressed more casually than at work but still made up nicely. "I'm sorry, Jack didn't want to go to bed." He gave you an apologetic smile. "Did everyone else already leave?" He asked when you didn't say anything.

"Um..." His gaze moved to the art pieces behind you.

"Wow. Are these yours?" He asks, stepping closer to look at your art.

"Yeah." You said dumbly.

"They're amazing. I bet Rossi liked this one, huh?" He chuckled, pointing to one of your pieces. You stayed silent. "These are really good. You're very talented." He said, turning to you with a soft smile.

"Thank you." You stammered out. His expression fell slightly.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, noticing your shifty demeanor.

"No. No, I'm fine." You said. Hotch looked around, noticing how empty the exhibit seemed, many of the guests having cleared out by now.

"Has it been this empty the whole time?"

"No, it was a lot busier earlier in the night."

"Did you get a lot of guests?" He asks, his head tilted slightly.

"Uh... a few." You lied. Hotch stared at you for a few seconds and you immediately knew he was profiling you. Before you could tell him to cut it out, he spoke.

"None of them showed up, did they?" He asked and you knew he was talking about the team.

"Um..." You trailed off and Hotch sighed.

"I'm sorry." He began to apologize and you shook your head.

"Oh, no, it's fine."

"They shouldn't have stood you up-"

"No, really, it's- it's fine." You said, crossing your arms as if to shield yourself from his pity. He says your name in that gentle way of his that always makes your eyes well up with tears. "I'm used to it."

"That makes it worse." Hotch said, his voice incredibly soft.

"I'm fine." You chuckle wetly, surprised at how quickly you started to get emotional. He steps closer, putting a gentle hand on your arm. "It's okay." You said, blinking quickly to push the tears back. You look down at your shoes, avoiding his gaze.

"Oh, honey." Aaron pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you. Your arms circle his torso, burying your face in his chest.

"I'm sorry." You cried.

"Sweetheart, why are you sorry?"

"... I don't know."

"It's okay." Hotch holds you tight, letting you cry into his chest. Once your eyes were dry, you pulled away, wiping your cheeks and looking guiltily at the small stain on his shirt from your tears.

"Sorry." You mumbled.

"It's alright. I'm sorry no one showed up. They're missing out." You just waved him off but he continued. "Really. Your art is extraordinary."

"Thank you." You murmured. "But, um, I think I'm just going to go." You said, moving to take your art down.

"Let me help you." Hotch said. He was extremely careful when peeling your pieces off the wall. You packed them all up and carried your bags out, Hotch insisting to take some of them. He held the door for you like a gentleman and stood on the sidewalk with you. "Did you drive here?"

"Uh, no, but I'll get an Uber or something." You said, attempting to get your phone from your purse.

"No, let me give you a ride. Please."

"Oh, Hotch, no-"

"Please. It's the least I can do." He was already putting your bags into his backseat. You sighed and got into the passenger side. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Aaron spoke up again. "If I may... why didn't your family come?" He asks, wincing immediately as he realized how nosy he was being. "I'm sorry, that- you don't have to answer that, I shouldn't have-"

"No, no. It's fine. Um... my parents haven't always been very supportive of my art. They always said it would take me nowhere in life."

"I'm sorry."

"No, please, it doesn't matter. They were right." You stared out the window, avoiding his gaze. Hotch didn't know what to say. He'd had his fair share of family troubles, sure, but they were his. He could deal with them internally. He hasn't had much experience with comforting other people in this area. He'd always wanted to make sure that his own son, Jack, never felt that way towards him. He needed to be better than his own father.

"I'm sorry." He says your name reverently. "I'm sorry that you had to deal with that and I'm sorry you don't think you're good enough. You are. Your work is amazing. Excuse my language but, it was shitty of the team to not show up for you when you needed them."

"It's fine. They're probably just busy." Aaron shakes his head.

"You don't always have to brush everything off. I know you think that if you act like you don't care it won't matter but I also know that you still feel it. Deep down, you're still disappointed." Your eyes were welling up again. Hotch reached over the console to take your hand in his, squeezing it. You stayed silent until the car pulled up outside your place. You got out, grabbing your stuff from the backseat. Hotch got out as well, pulling you into a hug. "I'm proud of you." He murmurs into your hair. "I'm so proud."

[midnightshindig]

i hope that’s not too distressing of a scenario but i wanna know how would mark, cecil, donald, rex and allen react to accidentally making you cry during an argument! god knows they’re capable of doing that lmao

Allen, Cecil, Donald, Mark, and Rex x Reader: Making you Cry

ngl if a man ever made me cry during an argument i'd hit him with my car

hcs under the cut!

Allen

like legit the most gentle dude alive

He fucks up sometimes because he treats you like an equal, and forgets that not everyone can take a verbal lashing like he can

You probably get into an argument about his job, telling him that you don't like him almost dying all the time

"What? You think I should let thousands of people die for YOUR comfort?! You don't get how much bigger this is! This is more important than you!"

it sends you over the edge, tears spilling down your puffy cheeks

It hurts to have something true said so hurtfully

he immediately caves, apologizing profusely and putting an arm around your shoulder

"Heyyy.... heyyyyy shh shh shhhhhh, I'm sorry- I'm so sorry baby I shouldn't have said that-"

he hates seeing a pretty person cry <3

Cecil

lowkey a menace ngl

He doesn't like making you upset but he's RIGHT and he's not willing to lie for the sake of your feelings

Like Allen, you probably fight about his job

"Y/n, let me make it crystal clear, if it comes down between my job and my relationships, you're welcome to leave."

"So what? I'm not allowed to have problems without you disregarding them?! That's not a relationship, Cecil. I'm not convenient for you."

He groaned, leaning into his hands "God don't I know. Trust me, Y/n, you're the furthest thing FROM convenient with these tantrums."

his words stung, coming from the man who was usually so kind. Who was so good at balancing the demands of his life and the demands of his love

you bit back tears, welling up in your tear ducts but holding their place due to your unwillingness to conciet

buuuuuut he noticed nontheless, and softened momentarily

"Y/n..... I'm.... I shouldn't have said that." he reached out for your hand, but you snatched it back and turned on your heel

"Fuck off, Cecil. Go do your important work." and with that you left the room, storming off somewhere else to cool down

Donald

Type of dude who doesn't get heated often

He's literally js a chill guy

Probably pulls a Devil Wears Prada and yells at you out of stress

"Y/n- Fuck- do you have those papers copied? Cecil needs them now-"

"Oh, sorry honey I thought I told you, our printer is out of ink." You replied casually, leaning against the dining room table

This sent Donald into a stressed panic as he raced around the room

"You didn't think to TELL ME?!!" He cried out, more aggressive than he intended

You'd never heard him yell before

CERTAINLY not at you

and the waterworks began

You sniffled and wiped at the tears with the backs of your hands

But Donald was too busy to notice, let alone console you

Nontheless, once he resolved with Cecil, the first thing he did was call you from work

"Y/n, I am SO sorry for yelling at you this morning. It was out of line and I apologize."

he topped it off by making dinner for you from scratch as an apology

Mark

He's so nice but he's SOOOOO stupid

you're probably arguing about something hypothetical, like a comic book morality issue

and he takes it too far

"Aghhh Mark, it's totally fucked up for Superman to have that much unchecked power! What happens if he turns evil or something?"

"Y/n, the point of superman is that he's a good guy!! He fights the bad guys!"

"Okayyyy but we see sometimes his idea of whats right differs from the government, who gets to make that decision? The government? How do you govern the ungovernable when the ungovernable is the one who governs you? How do you checks and balances a god?"

"Oh my god- If you're good, you're good. You don't need checks and balances if you're a good person!!"

"But what if someone with that kind of power WASN'T good?!" your argument increasing in heat, you jokingly feeding into his very real anger "You NEED kryptonite to ensure Superman doesn't go off the deep end!"

Marks eye twitched "And who is someone like YOU to decide what a SUPERHERO should and shouldn't be able to do?!? HUH?!"

"Mark you're taking this too seriously-"

"GAh- NO! I'm serious, Y/n!. What business do regular people have telling me how to use my abilities? The government?! What a joke!"

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Mark, I love you, but you're starting to sound like your dad"

Marks eyes widened as he shot up from the bed, breathing heavy with anxiety at the accusation "SH- SHUT UP!!!"

The room shook a little, the bed shook harder, causing you to briefly lose your seating and rustling you a little more than you would've liked

You stared at him, wide eyed, afraid, and furious

tears silently streaming down your face

You quielty stood up and dusted yourself off, walking over to Mark, who had begun panicking when he realized what had happened

"You need to get it the fuck together. That was pathetic. I will not date the equivalent of a frat bro who punches walls when his girlfriend won't fuck him."

He reached out to wipe the tears from your cheeks, his eyes widening when you flinched

"Oh- Oh fuck- Y/n, I am so sorry that was so horrible oh shit oh shit- are you okay? babe I'm so sorry" he wrapped you up in a hug, levitating off the floor slightly as he did, pulling you to your tiptoes

Rex

honestly he's such a dick i'm not surprised

You probably catch him ogling your waitress or smth and tell him off

It escalates from there:

"You were totally eye fucking her, Rex! What the hell?" You hissed, trying not to cause a scene in this Olive Garden

He scoffed, eating an olive off YOUR martini skewer "Babe please, I'm appreciating her boobie-I mean beauty!" He grinned, hoping his hilarious mistake would make up for his bullshit

You grimaced in response, rolling your eyes "Rex you're being a jackass. If this is how you are no wonder Eve left your ass."

He responded by spitting back "At least Eve was hot."

It hit him how stupid he was the second it left his mouth, and regret filled his expression as you slowly started crying

It was a restrained sob, only louder as you attempted to choke it back

Only made worse by the realization people were staring at your ugly, puffy, crying face

and Rex had caused it

he reached across the table for your hand "Hey- I didn't mean that. You're SO hot, you're like- gorgeous. Way prettier than the waitress."

He didn't get it.

You stood up and grabbed your bag, walking to the restroom as Rex followed suite

"Rex, go away."

"No! I apologized, why are you still crying? hey-" He tried to calm you down, following after you and cooing at you

"GAh-" you spit out, turning to face him "You think I need you to remind me your ex is a hot superheroine I can't compete with? And that you fumbled HER. If she wasn't enough for you how could I POSSIBLY be?!"

Rex softened, pulling you into the family restroom for some privacy

"I've grown up a lot since that, and even though I fuck up-" he took both your hands, looking at you through his eyelashes "I would NEVER cheat on you. Nobody deserves that. Especially not my gorgeous, amazing, patient, skilled, precious, unfathomably hot and hilarious, and perfect partner. You're all I want. My eyes wander but my heart-"

he put your hands on his heart

"My hearts all yours, babes."

[heavyhitterheaux]

Make Me

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: Just as every other argument in the Burrow household, it ends with you telling your husband to "make you."

Pairing: Husband!Joe Burrow x Wife!Reader

Requested by: a beautiful anon

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Tensions were still high in the Burrow household because of an argument that had taken place mere hours before. Your husband was currently getting the silent treatment from you as well as an occasional eye roll here and there any time he said something.

It was getting closer to ten at night and it was a known fact that in this particular household, no one goes to bed angry or mad at their significant other. It was a rule that you two had established once the engagement ring was placed on your finger by Joe.

All you wanted to do was go to sleep, but you had to get past your husband in order to be able to do it and he was currently staring right at you.

Noticing this, you once again rolled your eyes and asked him what his problem was.

“Why are you in my face? Take a picture, it lasts longer.” You told him as you went back to playing on your phone.

“You still have that attitude I see.”

“I wouldn’t have it if my husband would listen to me. All I'm going to do is ask you over and over again. If your answer is no, I'll keep repeating myself because obviously you didn't hear me the first time. But now I'm finished asking. I've been doing it for literally two weeks.”

“Too fucking spoiled for your own good. If I tell you no, it's obviously for a good reason. And I never actually told you no! I hardly ever tell you no! I said not right now since I had so many things to do. When did you actually hear me tell you that my answer was no?”

“And WHOSE fault is that!? And no is not in my vocabulary. I don't know what that word means so it doesn't matter. You probably said it and I blocked you out.” You replied as Joe sighed while making a face at you.

“We aren't going to bed until we fix this and you lose that attitude. Because it's unnecessary at this point. We can still do both.”

“Not on the same day and the same time! My attitude stays until you fix that part.”

“Well it's going to be a long night then for the both of us. It's not like I can cancel this, its been planned for months.”

“Hmph.” Was all you said in response as you curled yourself tighter into your Bengals blanket.

“Baby, come here.”

“No. Don't try to sweet talk me. I just divorced you for five minutes. I'll let you know when your time is up and we're married again.”

“Why do you have to do all this? We can do both.”

“Joseph Lee, I will give you THREE seconds to reword that sentence. I have been asking you for two weeks to go to this restaurant and when you finally told me yes, I booked the reservation only for you to have an event on the SAME day and at the SAME time. THAT YOU KNEW ABOUT AND FAILED TO TELL ME.”

“Princess, I'm sorry. It was an honest mistake and I'm going to make it up to you. Now bring your spoiled ass over here. We're both tired and don't have time for this.”

“You still have three minutes until we're married again.”

“I'm only going to ask you one more time.”

“Come over here and make me because I'm not moving.” As soon as those words left your mouth, your eyes went wide as Joe raised his eyebrow at you.

“Uh oh.” You quietly said underneath your breath as you saw the look on his face.

“What did you say to me, Mrs. Burrow? I didn't quite hear you.” Joe asked as he got up from the couch opposite of you.

He was towering above you after three strides and was waiting for an answer.

“Oh, so we're quiet now? What happened to all that mouth you had before?”

“Two minutes.”

“Fuck all that. Repeat what you said.” He told you while still peering down at you.

“I will kick you in the forehead if you don't get away from me. And you know I'm flexible and can get my leg that high. One minute and thirty seconds.”

Joe grabbed his phone out of his pocket and opened up his clock to the timer and set it for one minute and thirty seconds as the two of you were having a stare down.

As soon as the timer went off, he promptly ripped the Bengals blanket off of you and threw you over his shoulder as you let out a yelp and a protest to put you down.

“Hey! Put me down!” You said as you were dangling.

“No.” Was the simple answer you got as Joe started climbing the stairs.

“It seems like you only listen when I'm in you so if it has to be like that then so be it.”

“Keep your dick away from me. I'm still pissed enough that I'll bite it.”

“I highly doubt that.”

The only response you gave was slapping his butt as hard as you could which made him stop halfway up the stairs.

“Oh, so that's how you want to play?”

“Don't know what you're talking about, Burrow. I'm innocent and you are now holding me hostage.”

“You are not hardly innocent and be careful what you wish for because I will tie you up and really be holding you hostage as I make you cum over and over again.” He told you as he gave your ass a slap in return making you hit his back.

He continued to walk up the stairs and once the two of you were finally in your bedroom, he gently threw you onto the bed and you sat on the edge of it as Joe stood in between your legs and leaned down to kiss you.

“Mrs. Burrow?”

“Yes?” You replied as you gazed up at your husband.

“Strip.”

[atlantaasterism]

I said it was not an excuse in, hey, the first sentence of my post. Also, even if you choose not to say the pledge, you get to hear all the other drones of the state chanting it around you, so I'm not seeing a meaningful difference.

My point is that there are TWO problems:

Many Americans are incurious about other countries, and frequently about the accurate history of their own country.

Public education in America includes literal propaganda and excludes topics that contradict the overall message that America is the bestest country to ever enslave a whole group of people based on the color of their skin. Indoctrination in white supremacy is real.

If someone is pointing out problem #2, shutting them down by accusing them of problem #1 doesn't do much besides satisfy your Americans Suck impulse (and I sympathize: Americans do suck.) You are also absolving the US government of any responsibility to supply true and accurate information to school children, because apparently that 14 year old should have looked that shit up on the internet on their own time.

im american and i knew that like in kindergarten so i think some of you are just stupid sorry

[a-hermit-pining]

LaDs as Hotel Staff

AN: I get writing zoomies sometimes. This is the result of that. It started as White Lotus au but derailed to Hotel Del Luna.

Ingredients: 100% Fluff and found family ish??

My Fav: All. I love them all.

Xavier: The most sleep-deprived hotel manager in the known universe. He greets the guests of Philos with a perfect, practiced grin, even when the presidential suite brats call at 2 a.m. demanding fresh coconut water.

(And guess what? They'll get it.)

You’re his unofficial work best friend. The staff member everyone marvels hasn't been fired yet. The one who pulls him back from the brink of snapping.

No one needs to meet the berserk Xavier. Truly.

You grab the ringing phone from his hands, smooth as ever. "Yes, sir," you say sweetly, "we'll have your coconut water first thing in the morning. Sweet dreams." Click.

You turn to Xavier, smug. "See? Not that hard. He’s piss drunk. We’ll be fine."

Xavier looks like he’s questioning all his life choices. Again.

Rafayel: The siren of Philos, or, as some TripAdvisor reviews mysteriously mention, "the ghost by the shore."

Helps you "handle" the problematic guests. The ones who threaten Xavier with bad reviews. By "handle," you mean... well. They stop being a problem. Permanently.

You skip the breakfast rush, stealing a moment by the sea to watch the sunrise. Rafayel surfaces from the water, sleek and shimmering, flopping onto the shore with practiced drama.

"Sup?" you greet him with a nod. "You're early, fish."

He glares. "For the last time, I am not a fish." He scoffs folding his arms, his tail thumps in annoyance. "Must I drown you again to teach you proper titles?"

"Yes, yes, High Prince of the Seas, forgive this poor mortal," you laugh, bowing low.

He preens, fixing the scales at his throat. "Besides," you ask, watching the sunrise, "you drowned another cruise?"

Rafayel smiles, wicked and unrepentant. "They trespassed into our grove. I'm merely an agent of natural selection."

You really should warn Xavier. Maybe.

Zayne: The resort's fitness trainer, seasonal worker. Come winter, he’s here. Come summer, he disappears into the mountains like mist.

Rich, middle-aged guests are smitten by the quiet, broody "Dr. Zayne."

Good thing you’re nosy enough to herd the overly touchy clients into "submersion tanks", a.k.a. the safest way to soak off the raging hormones of fifty-year-old teenagers.

You lean against his table after yet another close call. "She was halfway onto your lap, dude," you say dryly. "If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked it."

He lobs a pen at your head. You duck, laughing. "Hey! I could have lost my eyesight. I’m not rescuing you next time, Dr. Zayne."

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like the rumbly murmur of one of the snow leopards before they rip someone's hand off.

Sylus: The owner of Philos Resort. Ex-mafia (maybe). Semi-retired, mostly unhinged.

The one who decided it was perfectly reasonable to staff a resort with sirens, mountain leopards, and occasional revenants. (Yes, the sirens get paid in... alternative compensation.)

You’re halfway through losing your weekly pay in a messy game of cards with Luke and Kieran when Sylus strolls in, all wolfish grin and casual menace.

"Good to see my employees working hard," he says, sliding into the game like a shark in still water.

You try not to sigh too loudly. Losing your paycheck and your pride in front of your boss? Great.

Caleb: The ancient herald guarding the outer gates of resort. The one who slipped your resume under Sylus' nose and said, "This one. Get them."

His tiny hut, just outside resort boundaries, is the unofficial venue for staff parties, close enough for the sirens and leopards to join, far enough that Xavier doesn't have a nervous breakdown over property damage.

You’ve only seen Caleb use his staff once. A massive, glowing relic that appears from nothing. And it was to banish a screaming Karen into the Void after she threw hot coffee in your face. (Her son wept for hours. Not helpful.)

Caleb remains the hardest to anger, and the hardest to cool down once the ancient fury is lit. You’re still finding new strategies to convince him to release guests... eventually.

[lazy-ahh]

ONG DUDE CAN YOU PLEASE WRITE GOOGLE-LESS/LENSLESS MARK PLS I'M BEGGING I LOVE YOUR WRITINGS 🙏🙏

HOW TO (NOT) CONFESS YOUR FEELINGS VIA ATTEMPTED MURDER

pairing goggle-less! mark grayson x gender neutral reader

they say violence is a love language—and yours is practically poetry. mark grayson knows this better than anyone. (or: the one where you punch him in the face daily and he still looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

the sun is barely up, casting a weak orange glow through your half-open curtains, and you already want to punch mark grayson in the face.

it’s not even his fault this time (which is rare, because usually, it is), but the way he’s sprawled across your bed like some overgrown golden retriever—limbs everywhere, taking up way too much space—grinning at you like he knows exactly how much he’s getting on your nerves, it’s infuriating. his hair is a disaster, sticking up in every direction like he just flew here at top speed (he probably did), and oh look, he’s stretching out another one of your favorite shirts because now he’s got more muscle on him, thanks to his stupid viltrumite genes and training. he’s got that look in his eye, the one that means trouble, the one he’s had since you were both dumb kids throwing rocks at each other in second grade.

back then, you hated him. or at least, you told yourself you did. he was loud, obnoxious, always pushing your buttons just to see how far he could go before you snapped. but even then, there was something about him—the way he never backed down, never flinched when you shoved him, punched him, kicked him, just laughed like your anger was the best thing he’d ever seen. you told yourself it was annoying. you told yourself you couldn’t stand him.

(like that one time in fourth grade, when your parents forgot your birthday—again. you sat alone at lunch, picking at the sad little cupcake your nanny had packed for you, trying to ignore the hollow ache in your chest. then he showed up, grinning like an idiot, elbowing you hard enough to make you drop your fork. "what’s your problem, grumpy?" he’d teased, and something inside you snapped.

you don’t even remember who threw the first punch. all you remember is the scuffle, the way your knuckles stung when they connected with his jaw, the way he laughed even as his lip split open. the teachers dragged you both to the principal’s office, scolding you for fighting, but you didn’t care. you were too busy simmering in your own misery, glaring at the floor like it had personally wronged you.

then, out of nowhere, mark nudged you. when you didn’t look up, he nudged you again, harder. 

"hey," he whispered. you finally glanced over, ready to snap at him—only to freeze when he dropped something into your lap. a small, slightly dented action figure—the limited edition space knight you’d been obsessing over for months but could never afford. its paint was chipped at the edges, one arm loose in its socket, but it was unmistakably yours, the one you’d pressed your nose against the toy store window for, the one you’d never admitted out loud that you wanted.

your breath caught.

mark’s grin was crooked, his split lip still smudged with dried blood. "saw it at the thrift store last week," he said, like it was nothing. like he hadn’t remembered. like he hadn’t carried it around in his backpack just in case. "figured you’d wanna beat it up or whatever. y’know. since you like breaking my stuff."

you stared at it, your chest too tight. idiot, you thought. absolute idiot.

(you still have it, tucked away in your desk drawer where no one can see. even now, you’ll sometimes take it out when you’re alone, turning it over in your hands, pretending you don’t smile.)

his smile was bright, warm, completely at odds with the bruise forming on his cheek. "happy birthday," he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

you never asked how he knew. you never thanked him either—just scowled and jammed the figurine deep into your pocket before the principal dragged you in. but that night, alone in your room with the door locked, you carefully glued the loose arm back in place, smoothed out the chipped paint with your thumb, and spent way too long arranging dramatic battle scenes on your bedsheets. you told yourself the wetness on your cheeks was just from yawning too hard.)

now, at seventeen, you know the truth: you never stood a chance.

the memory fades like sunlight through closing fingers, leaving you staring down at mark where he’s still sprawled across your bed, grinning up at you like an idiot who’s won some secret game. he waits, smug, until the silence stretches too long—then he chuckles, tilting his head just enough to make his stupid hair catch the light. "did you even hear what i said?"

you roll your eyes so hard it aches, turning back to your homework like the scattered papers and dog-eared comics might save you. your desk is chaos—pencils chewed at the ends, textbooks splayed open to the wrong chapters, a half-finished doodle of (embarrassingly) mark in the margins. it’s as messy as the thoughts in your head. "i’m sure it wasn’t anything important anyway."

your brows furrow deeper, teeth gritting just slightly when mark laughs—that laugh, the one that starts low in his chest and spills out like he can’t contain it, bright and reckless as a car crash you can’t look away from. it hooks under your ribs, warm and irritating, like sunlight burning through closed eyelids. you hate it. (you crave it.)

mark's laughter settles into quiet huffs, but he doesn't look away. no, it's worse than that—he's studying you like you're some priceless artifact behind glass, his gaze tracing the curve of your frown, the way your fingers twitch around your pencil, the barely-there flush creeping up your neck. it's not piercing. it's reverent. the way morning light memorizes every detail of a landscape it's about to paint in gold, the way a poet lingers on a favorite verse, committing each syllable to memory. it makes your skin prickle, makes you want to both hide and lean closer.

then,

"how do i know if i have a crush on someone?" casual as anything, like he hasn't just turned your room upside down with his presence yet again, like he hasn't made himself at home in your space, in your head, in the quiet places between your ribs where you store all the things you'll never say out loud.

you glare hard enough to bruise, knuckles whitening around your pencil. "not my problem," you mutter, but the words lack their usual bite. when he just keeps looking at you with those stupid hopeful eyes, you cave with a growl. "fine. you can't stop thinking about them. you feel all...weird when they're around. and then you want to—" your voice catches as you finally register his expression, the softness there that wasn't there before. "—why are you looking at me like that."

because he is. looking at you like you're the last firework of summer bursting against a midnight sky—all spark and glow and unbearable brightness. that stupid, lopsided grin cutting across his face like he knows a secret, eyes crinkled at the corners and focused with terrifying intensity, like you're the only thing in this messy room, in this entire city, maybe in his whole damn universe that matters. it makes your stomach swoop like you're falling from a great height, makes your pulse stutter in that traitorous way you'll never admit out loud, and you hate it. you hate how warm it makes you feel. you hate how much you don't hate it at all.

"no reason," he says, but the words dance with barely contained laughter, too light and too amused and too everything. he props his chin on his palm, fingers drumming an absent rhythm against his cheekbone, still watching you with that infuriating focus. "just thinking."

"thinking is dangerous for you," you snap automatically, your hand already moving to flick his forehead hard enough to sting. but he doesn't even blink—just leans into the contact like a cat seeking pets, his laughter bubbling up like carbonation in a shaken soda can. ever since the viltrumite blood decided to make him near-indestructible, he's become absolutely insufferable, turning every shove, every punch, every irritated smack into some twisted game where the prize is the way your hands linger a second too long against his skin. (and you know he loves it. the freak. the absolute, irredeemable, beautiful freak who makes your chest ache with something terrifyingly close to affection.)

if people knew this was invincible—son of omni-man, earth's 'golden boy', the living weapon who could level city blocks before breakfast—they'd piss themselves at the thought of laying hands on him. they'd tremble at the idea of shoving him, of snapping at him, of treating him like anything less than the walking natural disaster he is. but you? you've never been normal. and this isn't invincible. this is mark. the same mark who used to eat glue sticks in second grade, who cried during disney movies, who still sleeps with that ratty old seance dog poster above his bed. you knew him when he was just a scrawny kid with scraped knees and too-big dreams and questionable morals, and that knowledge makes him somehow more terrifying than any superpower ever could. maybe that's why you're like this—two fucked-up puzzle pieces that somehow fit together despite all the jagged edges.

"c'mon," he says, rolling onto his back with that infuriating, effortless grace that shouldn't belong to someone so stupidly powerful. his arms stretch above his head, muscles flexing beneath golden skin as his stupid shirt (your shirt) rides up—revealing the sharp v of his hips, the tantalizing trail of dark hair leading south, that unfairly sculpted abdomen that looks like it was carved from marble by some greek god with too much time on their hands. you can see the way his sweatpants sit dangerously low on his waist, the faint outline of—nope. absolutely not. you swallow hard, throat suddenly dry, and pointedly focus on your homework like it holds the secrets of the universe instead of just random scribbling.

"you're the expert on this stuff, right?" he continues, completely oblivious (or more likely, completely aware) of what he's doing to you. his voice drops into that teasing lilt that makes your stomach do backflips. "so tell me more."

"expert?" you scoff, digging your nails into your palms just to feel something other than whatever the hell his smile is doing to your insides. "what, because i've rejected every loser who's ever asked me out? because i don't fall for cheap lines and emptier promises?"

"because you're you," he says, simple as breathing, easy as gravity. like it's the most obvious truth in the world. like you hung the stars yourself instead of just being some messed-up kid who never learned how to love gently.

(it makes your chest ache something fierce, a dull throb beneath your sternum that feels suspiciously like hope. you crush it immediately, shoving it down deep where it can't ruin you.)

"shut up," you mutter, grabbing the nearest pillow and swinging it at his face with enough force to knock out a normal person. but mark isn't normal—he's mark, so he just lets it smack into him full-force, the impact sending his stupid hair flying in every direction while that infuriating grin never wavers. if anything, it grows wider, like you just handed him a gift instead of attempted assault with a throwable object.

"see, this is what i mean," he says, voice muffled by the down-filled fabric still pressed against his face. when he finally pushes it aside, his cheeks are flushed pink from the impact, eyes sparkling with something dangerously close to affection. "you're so violent with me. it's kinda cute." he says it like it's a revelation, like he's just now realizing how your sharp edges fit perfectly against his soft spots. because that's the thing about mark—he's invincible to the world, but for you? for you, he's always been vulnerable. he loves the way your punches linger a second too long, how your insults carry the weight of inside jokes, how every shove and smack and pillow-to-the-face is just your fucked-up way of saying 'i care' without having to say it at all.

"i will end you." the threat would carry more weight if your voice didn't crack halfway through.

"you won't." his reply is instant, smug, accompanied by that look—the one that says he knows you better than you know yourself.

you growl, grabbing another pillow and launching it at him with all the pent-up frustration of a thousand unresolved tensions. but this time he catches it, his laughter bubbling up as he yanks it toward him—and because the universe hates you, the momentum sends you stumbling forward until suddenly you're way too close, noses almost brushing, his stupid warm eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that steals the breath from your lungs. his grip on the pillow tightens just slightly, and for one terrifying, exhilarating moment, you think he might actually close the distance between you.

your heart does something unforgivable—a traitorous somersault that leaves you breathless, your pulse hammering against your ribs like it's trying to escape. you can feel the warmth creeping up your neck, the way your palms suddenly feel too clammy against his stupidly firm chest.

"...you're the worst," you mumble, but the words come out all wrong—too soft, too fond, lacking their usual venom. your voice betrays you, cracking just slightly at the edges like it always does when he gets under your skin like this.

"you love me," he counters immediately, that smug, shit-eating grin spreading across his face like wildfire. he says it like it's fact, like it's written in the stars or carved into the fucking constitution, and the worst part is he's right. he's always been right.

you shove him away with more force than necessary, desperate to put space between you before he notices the way your face burns hotter than a supernova. "in your dreams, grayson," you snap, but the effect is ruined by how your voice wavers.

he just laughs—that bright, unrestrained sound that makes your stomach do backflips—before flopping back onto your bed like some overgrown golden retriever, limbs splayed out like he owns the place. and you could kick him out. you could scream, could throw his stupid jacket at his head, could pretend he means nothing to you like you've done a thousand times before.

but you don't.

(because the truth is, you'd rather die than admit it, but he's carved out a space for himself in your chest, nestled right between your ribs, and you can't remember what your heartbeat sounded like before it learned to sync with his. the truth is, you're terrified of how empty the world would feel without his laughter echoing through it. the truth is, you're so, so fucked.)

2.4k of my FAVOURITE INVINCIBLE VARIANT and GO AHEAD AND CALL ME A BASIC BITCH but look at this little guy i love him and his little twisted(?) sense of love and how he thinks that reader's love language is violence and how he takes the hits but never EVER gets violent with reader and AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[theprismaticvoid]

So, reblogging this with a question: Does anyone have a source for this? I see this claim parroted a LOT, but nobody I've asked has ever been able to give a source for it beyond vaguely remembering hearing about it. Someone who read through the Anniversary interviews said this isn't there either.

I even asked a friend of mine from Japan and they'd never heard of this info - they knew about Shirou being compatible with Spartacus because that's from the Apocrypha material book, but none of the rest was anything they'd ever heard of.

I searched Asterios and Nightingale's Japanese names on Japanese Twitter in the years from 2016/2017 (post says this was during "season 1 of FGO" which I take to mean the first year or so on the market) and found no mention of this being something Nasu said at all.

In fact, from what I could find, "Nightingale would be a good servant for Shirou" was a fan theory among some Japanese fans during early FGO, but it was never talked about in the context of it being confirmed by Nasu. I saw a lot of discussion about how fans think they would work well together, but again, no mention of it being canon.

(Asterios being Sakura's servant was similar, but with a LOT less posts - most early mentions of him seem to have been either people talking about their gacha roles, or a meme going around where one of those random generator websites would assign you a family of Fate characters and a lot of people got Asterios as their brother?)

Obviously Twitter's had many mass-exoduses over the past few years and a lot of accounts from that time period are either privated or just outright deleted- but still, I can't find a single mention about this info that says it's canon at all. And it seems incredibly unusual to me that people would be talking about Shirou and Nightingale being paired up as a fan theory if Nasu had outright said "yeah those two WOULD make a good duo and he WOULD be able to summon her"

So, saying this here to ask if anyone has a real source for any of this. If not, I'm leaning towards this not being true. The Fate fandom has a big problem of misinformation spreading around the fandom because Type Moon won't give us goddamn official translations, so I want to make sure this is true before spreading it around.

(also this isn't a callout or insult at OP. If this turns out to be true, hell yeah. If this turns out to be false, I believe OP genuinely believed it and maybe got swindled by someone spreading lies to push their headcanons)

FSN Most Compatible Servants

Hey, did y’all know that Nasu confirmed early on during FGO who Shirou Emiya’s and Sakura Matou’s most compatible servants would be? It was a long time ago, but I just find myself still wanting to talk about it. When he said “most compatible”, he was very clear about explaining that compatible =/= “the best for them”, it just means “the servants who would pretty much understand them to a T. The selection is limited/out dated since this was early on during Season 1 of FGO, so newer servants are not accounted for, but I still agree with Nasu that these servants ring true to their FSN Master counterparts!

Keep reading

[spidercatweb]

Your Embrace and My Collapse ★ Spencer Reid x reader

Warnings: fem!bau!reader, migraine!reid, angst, hurt/comfort, tiny bit of fluff at the end, established relationship, Spencer is snippy and a little mean but it's because of migraine, Spencer yells at reader, reader is sad for a bit, non-specific case details, mentions of women being murdered, a hint of misogyny from a suspect, one single swear word, umm nothing else I don't think? lmk if so. this is set in s6 :)

Description: Spencer has a migraine, he yells at r when it gets too overwhelming, he regrets this later, calling to apologize.

Word Count: 3.1k

Request: Hi! First off I loveee your blog!! Second off could I get a spencer reid x fem!reader where they r having an argument about literally anything and then a lot of spencer groveling? thanks for considering

A/n: thank you sm for the request, anon!! I am just now realizing that what happens in this isnt much of an argument 😬, but i quite like how it turned out. I hope you enjoy!! <3 Is it obvious i got carried away w this one?

After four years of working with Spencer, and nearly two years of dating him, it wasn't surprising that you were the first to notice that something was wrong. 

The past few days, Spencer hadn't gone on as many long rambles as usual. Maybe he was just tired this week, cases have been very time consuming lately. Not that they usually aren't.

You figured out what was wrong when you saw him squeeze his eyes shut and rub them with the base of his palms. Three times in an hour. Unusual. 

After the team finished delivering the profile for the current case, you took a moment to pull him aside. 

"Are you feeling okay?" Concern in your voice, you reached gently for his hand. 

He pulled away. "Yeah, I'm fine." His face scrunched up, he shut his eyes tightly and his nose crinkled up. You'd find it cute if it wasn't obvious he was in pain. He pressed into the bridge of his nose with two fingers,clearly trying to ease a headache.

"Okay," you gave him a small smile and nod, "let me know if you need anything, I've got Advil in my bag." 

"I know, thank you." He made an effort to return your smile.

"Reid, Y/l/n, we've got a lead. Garcia's about to fill everyone in." Hotch's commanding voice cut through the calm, quiet bubble around the two of you. 

The team filed into the briefing room of the BAU. Thankfully, the case was local. You were glad to be in a familiar place. 

Garcia was already seated at the small round table, tapping away on her laptop. You sat down next to Spencer, Prentiss sat on your other side.

"Lovelies, we have a small problem. I've found two men who almost exactly fit our profile."

"We'll bring both of them in for questioning, then. What do we know about them, Garcia?" Hotch directs the attention back to her.

"I was just about to tell you that, sir. First up, we've got Landon Adams, 27 years old. His childhood was... less than nice. Plenty of trips to the hospital, poor thing. Lots of injuries consistent with abuse. And I'm assuming everything going on at home was related to the multiple reports of violence towards his fellow students at school. Multiple suspensions, and he was expelled from his highschool." She takes a quick moment to switch the information on her screen.

"Second guy, Cole Parker, 29 years old. Similar childhood to Adams. Frequent hospital trips for supposed accidents, bad behaviour at school, suspensions, an expulsion. Oh and get this! They both work in construction! Different companies, though."

"Do we have home addresses and places of work?" Rossi chimes in.

"We do, sir, I've already sent them to you all." Garcia smiles proudly, always one step ahead.

"Thank you, Garcia. Alright, Prentiss, Morgan. You two go to Adams' home. Rossi and JJ, you go to his workplace. Seaver and I will go to Parker’s home. Y/l/n and Reid, you two go to his workplace." 

Everyone nods at Hotch as they receive their placements. The team splits up accordingly, each pair heading to a different SUV. Exiting the Quantico building, you see Spencer wince at the brightness of the sun. You sigh quietly. You don't like seeing him in pain, but you have a job to do. You'll talk more later.

The car ride is quiet. You drive, Spencer sits in the passenger seat. The silence isn't exactly comfortable, but it isn't awkward. You roll down his window just a little, to give him the fresh air he so obviously needs. You take the time to theorize about the suspect. Will he even be at work? Will he run? Put up a fight? You hope not.

As you pull into the small, gravel parking lot of the construction company, you sit for a moment to prepare yourself to talk to whoever is managing the place. In your experience, people in this line of work aren't often eager to talk to FBI agents. You look over at Spencer, he must have put on his sunglasses when you weren't paying attention. He now looks a little less irritated without the sun in his eyes. Good. 

You gently place a hand on Spencer’s knee, catching his attention. “You ready to go?” 

He brushes his hand over yours, giving it a light squeeze. “Yep.”

You both step out of the car into the bright sun. The sunlight reflects off of tiny, glistening specks in the gravel, and right into your eyes. You squint as you head to the front entrance of the building alongside Spencer, now wishing you’d also brought your sunglasses.

The inside of the building is similar to the outside. Concrete, dusty, smelling strongly of diesel. You noticed how Spencer scrunched up his nose at the pungent scent. 

The only other person inside is an older man who introduces himself as Mark, the manager of the building. 

“You two are FBI? Really? Well what are you two doin’ out here?”

You ignore the man’s questioning of your authority. “We’re here to ask you a few questions about one of your employees, Cole Parker?”

“Ah. Well, he called in sick today, and I’m not one to judge, but he didn’t sound very sick on the phone. If you ask me, he’s ditching work to be with that new girlfriend of his.”

“Girlfriend?” Spencer asks. He glances over to you, the unsub had been killing young women. If Cole Parker was your guy, this new girlfriend of his could be in danger.

“Yeah. He’s been yammerin’ on about her for the past week. Her name is Carol… or Christine? Somethin’ like that. Hard to keep up. He gets tired of em’ fast.”

Interesting.

“Have you noticed any shifts in his behavior lately? Short temper, violent outbursts, things like that?”

“Hm. Y’know I’m really not sure, I’m not around him long enough to notice. Might be better to ask some of the guys. I can give you the address of the site they’re workin’ if you’d like.” He offers.

Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose again, his vision beginning to blur. “We’ve already got two other agents headed there right now, but thank you.” 

The man notices Spencer’s clear discomfort, “You alright?”

“Yeah. Fine, thanks.” He runs his hands through his hair anxiously, further tousling his already messy curls.

“Thank you for your cooperation, sir.” You hand him a card with your work phone number, “Please call me if you remember any important details about Cole.”

He puts the card into his shirt pocket. “Of course. Have a nice day, you two.” 

As you both exit the building, Spencer stops right outside the door, running his hands over his face with a sigh.

You turn to look at him with concern. “Spence-”

“I just need a minute. I’m fine. I’ll meet you in the car.” His eyes are squeezed shut as he faces the ground, rubbing his temples.

You respond with a quiet “okay”, and silently head back to the car, where you wait for him. You put the air conditioning on blast as you pull out your phone to call Hotch.

“Hotchner.” He answers quickly.

“Did you and Seaver find Cole?”

“Yes, we’re just about to bring him in for questioning. How’s it going over there?”

“His boss told us that he can’t keep a girlfriend for too long, always switching between girls. He didn’t notice any other odd behaviors though. We’re just about to leave.” You spot Spencer walking over to the car.

“Alright, thanks. See you at the precinct.” He hangs up the call.

Spencer slides into the passenger’s seat, looking slightly calmer than before. “Who was that?” 

“Hotch. Him and Seaver are bringing Cole Parker in for questioning.” You turn the air conditioning down a little, so it’s still cool but not as loud, not as irritating for Spencer.

“Good.” 

***

Spencer leans his head back on his seat and closes his eyes. The drive back is just as silent as the drive there. By the time you get to the police precinct, Spencer is half asleep. He opens his eyes slowly. Squinting at the light coming through the windshield, he turns his head towards you.

“Hi.” You huff out a small laugh, earning a small quirk of his lips. “Feeling a little better?”

“Mm.” He sighs with a nod, “a little, I’ll be fine.”

You reach over and comb your fingers through his hair, he leans into your touch. You fix a few stray hairs that stick out, then give him a peck on his cheek. “Let’s go.”

***

The lights in the precinct are bright, filled with the chatter of nosy police officers. They flock around the team as you all enter with both suspects. Hotch and Rossi take on the task of interrogating, with the rest of the team on standby if needed. You stand behind the two-way mirror with Seaver and Reid. You listen intently to every word, you note mannerisms, you profile. That is your job after all.

Cole is becoming frustrated after only thirty minutes of interrogation. Hotch stays calm and collected as Cole’s volume rises. 

“I’m telling you! I was nowhere near there! I was out with some guys from work. Ask ‘em, they’ll tell you.”

“We did. They all had pretty different stories. We also got security camera feeds from the alley that night. Are you telling me that isn’t you?” Hotch slides a grainy photo across the table. The lighting is dark and the quality is less than ideal, but it’s clearly Cole in the photo.

He groans and mumbles something under his breath, “those bitches deserved it.”

“Pardon me?” Hotch prompts him to repeat himself.

“I said they deserved it! Every last one!” He yanks hard at the cuffs grounding him to the table, lunging at Hotch.

Hotch doesn’t move a muscle. “Alright, that’s enough.” He nods to the two officers standing at the back of the room. They move to restrain the man and bring him to a holding cell.

You look up at Spencer, who at first glance, seems fine, like he’s just thinking. But you notice his glassy eyes and flushed face. He tries to inconspicuously shield his eyes from the flickering fluorescent light above his head. Seaver notices this too, she gives you an “is he okay?” look, you give her a shrug and a worried look that says “I have no idea.” She exits the room to go check on Rossi and the others, leaving you and Reid alone.

You hover beside him, not wanting to worsen his pain any more. After a few moments of watching him silently suffer, you hear a sniffle. He’s crying. You get a sinking feeling in your chest, all you want is for him to be okay. 

“Spence,” you whisper. No response. “Do you want to sit down? I can get you some water,” you offer kindly. 

He shakes his head, massaging his temples again.

“Are you sure? The case is pretty much wrapped up. I’m sure Hotch wouldn’t mind.” Your voice stays soft, gentle.

He raises his voice “God, I’m fine! It’s fine! Nothing will help, just… Just stop trying to help me. I don’t need help.” You spot him wiping a tear from his face as he storms out of the room.

You don’t follow. Maybe he needs some time alone. You respect his wishes. You don’t help. Though you’d really, really like to. Instead, you follow Seaver’s trail to the second interrogation room where Rossi is still digging deep into the other suspect’s mind. You watch through the two-way mirror.

“Really, Landon? Were you really stopped on the side of that road for a nap? You were on your way home, weren’t you? Why not wait until you got back?”

“I was tired. I didn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Alright. You’re sure you didn’t see anything suspicious? No … man lugging around a woman’s corpse? Burying her?”

“No, man! I was sleeping!” He throws his hands up in the air, as much as one can while cuffed to a table. He sighs defeatedly.

Hotch slides past you and into the interrogation room. He lets Rossi know that while he’d been interrogating, Cole Parker had fully confessed to the murders. He spared no detail, including  ones the police and FBI hadn’t yet shared with the public.

Rossi gives Landon a half-hearted apology and a pat on the back as the officers uncuff him.

***

You help Hotch to get a written confession from Cole, which takes longer than usual, because his handwriting skills aren’t exactly the best. But you sit in the room with him, waiting, as he drops the occasional rude comment directed towards you, his victims, or the police.

While sitting silently, you think about Spencer. You wonder if he’s okay. You think about what he said. He doesn’t need help from you. He doesn't want help from you. Leave him alone for once.

You shake the thought out of your head. He’s in pain. He didn’t mean it. This does little to ease the anxiety spinning in your mind.

“Hey, lady. I’m done writing.” He drops the pen down onto the metal table with just enough force to express his annoyance.

“Good. Did you sign it?” 

“Of course I did. What? Do you think I’m stupid or something?” He’s clearly looking for a fight.

Unamused, you respond. “No. I think you’re a serial killer with a severe lack of respect for women. I was just checking. A lot of people forget.” You slide the paper towards yourself and look it over before placing it into a file folder. You give a nod to the officers in the room and they take him away. You leave the room after them, meeting up with the rest of the team except Spencer, who’d reluctantly gone home per Hotch’s instruction. Thank goodness someone else noticed.

Hotch pulls you aside for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind if you left to help Reid. There’s not much left for us to do today anyway. You’re free to go.”

You hesitate. He doesn’t want help. He doesn’t need you. 

“Okay. Thanks Hotch.” You give him a faint smile as you go to grab your things.

***

Instead of heading to Spencer’s apartment, you go to yours. You want to check up on him, but don’t want to pain him with a blaring ringtone, and he was most likely staying away from screens, so he wouldn’t see a text. You keep him in your thoughts as you change out of your work clothes and settle down for the night. 

***

Spencer lies on his bed in complete darkness. At this point, the pain had brought him to tears. He hadn’t eaten anything due to the nausea looming in his stomach, which only made the headache worse.

He needed something. A distraction. Nothing loud. Nothing bright. Nothing that would irritate him further. He wanted you. He needed you.

He thinks back to what he said to you earlier. Why would I say that? Well, he knew why he said it. Scientifically. Higher sensitivity, more pain, more irritability, this leads to outbursts. He just wanted it to stop. He didn’t mean to yell at you.

He sighs, shifting to be face-down in his pillow. He just wants to feel okay. Why won’t it stop? What’s wrong with me? A pained whine escapes him as he decides to try to get some rest. 

***

Your phone’s ringtone pulls you out of your sleep. You grab it from your nightstand, checking the time first. Who’s calling me at 12:30am? Spencer. You answer with some hesitation, anxiety still whirrs in your mind, residue from hours ago. 

“Spence?”

“I really- I’m really sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it. And I know that’s not a good excuse but-” His voice is quieter than usual, strained.

“I know you didn’t mean it. You weren’t acting like… you. I was worried.”

“I said I didn’t need help but I’m um- really rethinking that right now. And I’d completely understand if you didn’t want to but um- could you maybe come over? I just really want someone here with me. I want you here with me.” 

You could tell from his voice that he was still hurting, he was scared. You get up without a second thought. 

“Of course, Spence. I’ll be right over.”

He sighs with relief. “Thank you.” 

***

Spencer hears the lock on his door click as you enter. He stays right where he is, in bed. 

You walk in as quietly as you can, leaving your shoes at the door and trying your best to navigate around in the dark. You nudge his bedroom door open and whisper a quiet “I’m here” as you spot the outline of him in his bed.

He sits up slowly with a small hum of acknowledgement. “Hi.” He reaches to turn on the lamp beside his bed.

“No, don’t, you don’t need to turn it on. It’s fine.” You reassure him. “Do you want me to get you anything? Water? Meds?”

“Both, please. Meds are on the kitchen counter.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in two seconds.” You head to the kitchen, spotting the meds once you turn on the lights. You fill a glass with ice, then water, grab the box of meds, then rush right back to Spencer’s room, turning off the kitchen lights as you leave.

You carefully hand him the glass of water, he thanks you, then takes a long sip. You hand him two tablets of his meds, and he swallows them with the water.

“You want to try to get some sleep?”

He nods, “Yeah, but these usually take about half an hour to kick in, hopefully they do kick in. I’ll probably be able to sleep then.” Your eyes have now adjusted to the dark, you can see him give you a small smile.

“You want me to stay?”

“I’d really like it if you did.”

“Alright, move over then.” You don’t wait to slide into bed next to him. It warms your heart to hear him giggle slightly from this.

***

Your next hour is spent with Spencer curled up to your chest, with your fingers carding through his hair. The room is silent, save for your breathing and the sighs he lets out every so often. You stay awake until you’re sure he’s asleep, then for a little while longer, just to make sure. Finally, you can’t keep your eyes open any longer, and you’re pulled into a calm sleep. You hope that when you wake up, everything will be okay. And it will be. Because it always is with Spencer.

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[secretneverland]

work it out | seo changbin

pairing: seo changbin x fem reader

genre: smut - 18+ only, MDNI

word count: 2,168

warnings: unprotected sex, riding

smut below line!

you had met changbin a few weeks after joining the gym just a few blocks from your apartment. he was taking a quick water break when he spotted you working out.

was he staring because you were pretty and he loved the way your pink sports bra was hugging your tits? yes — but he was also staring because your form was slightly off and he didn't want you causing any unnecessary strain to your body because of it.

he debated with himself for a moment before gulping down his water and approaching you. "excuse me? ma'am?" he spoke up politely, standing off to the side of you.

you straightened up, turning to face him. "hi, can i help you with something?" you responded, eyes taking in his appearance and noting that you had spotted him a few times before.

"actually, i think i can maybe help you with something," he began, trying to not sound like some 'gym bro' who was trying to school you. "your form looks pretty good, but if you adjust your hips and the width that your legs are apart, it will put less strain on your back."

curious, you resumed your previous form, but this time took his advice into account as well. "oh, wow, that actually is better. i didn't know such a small change could make that big of a difference. thank you." you gave him an appreciative smile.

he shyly smiled back, nodding his head. "its no problem at all. just want to help prevent people from injuring themselves. have a nice workout," he said, turning to walk away.

"excuse me!" you called out, him turning back around to look at you inquisitively. "if you don't mind me asking, what's your name?"

the man's eyes lit up and he walked back toward you. "i'm changbin," he responded.

"y/n," you hummed back, shaking his large, warm hand, "its nice to meet you, changbin."

"likewise, miss y/n."

and that was your first meeting.

from then on, he would occasionally give you tips or spot you when you were there at the same time. after learning that he was a personal trainer, you decided to sign up for some sessions with him. he was already helping you out so much, you wanted to pay him for the advice. he deserved it.

that was one of the best decisions you could've made. not only was changbin a great personal trainer, he was also just a fun person to be around in general. you had grown fond of him rather quickly and found yourself wishing to see him more often than just at your training sessions. changbin felt the same, which lead you to the situation you are in now.

you and changbin were friends, but more often than not you found yourself wishing for more. his personality was intoxicating and he had a huge ass heart..... okay, his ass was big too. and his pecs. and his biceps. and his— okay, you need to get yourself together before you start drooling.

the point being, you wanted changbin physically and emotionally, but you couldn't really tell if he felt the same or not. he was generally an easy person to read, especially because he wasn't one to hide his feelings. he was honest and didn't tend to sugar coat things.

which was why it was so hard to tell if he liked you or not. one moment you two were just laughing like buddies, the next he had his hands on your hips and was absolutely too close to just be helping with your form.

after weeks of endless torture trying to figure out his true feelings, you decided to be a big girl and just go for it. if he didn't feel the same, you would find out in a heartbeat. so you devised a plan. the next time he came over, you were going to make yourself as irresistible as possible.

the two of you made a habit of watching a movie together every saturday evening. you would go to his place on week, he'd come to yours the next. luckily, this was your week to host.

you had everything already set up: snacks and drinks on the coffee table, a fluffy blanket for you two to share, a few extra sprays of the sweet strawberry perfume he told you he liked, and most of all you were in an oversized shirt and some skimpy little shorts that might as well be considered underwear. you decided to skip wearing a bra as well, not wanting anything else to delay what will hopefully be a night to remember.

when he arrived, you greeted him with a tight hug, making sure you pressed your breasts against him as much as possible. "so glad to see you! i'm really excited to see this movie," you greeted, pulling back with a sweet smile.

"i am, too!" he chirped, holding up a small bag from the convenience store. "i brought some ice cream. i'll go put it in the freezer."

you thanked him, nodding as he slipped his shoes off before walking to your kitchen.

while he was doing that, you got the movie queued up on the television and reserved your spot on the couch, waiting anxiously for him to join you.

changbin plopped down on your right, reaching out to grab a soda. he popped the tab before taking a decent gulp of it. your eyes watched his throat, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed it.

you wondered if that was what he would look like eating you out and lapping up your cum, but quickly shook the thought out of your mind.

you couldn't get distracted. you had a plan to carry out and couldn't let your own horniness get in the way. at least, not yet, anyway.

the movie began, and you relaxed into his side, his arm curling around your waist to hold you there. it wasn't uncommon for the two of you to cuddle up to one another during your movie nights, but this time, you took it a step further, hand resting on his thick thigh.

he didn't physically react to the touch, just lightly caressing your side through the thin fabric of your tshirt as his eyes were focused on the screen. it was pathetic how much his gentle touch was getting to you.

about ten minutes later, you shifted your position just slightly so that you had an excuse to move your hand further up his thigh. the muscle in his leg tensed beneath your touch, but he still didn't say a word. since he hadn't outright rejected you thus far, it encouraged you. 

as he drew circles into your side with his fingertips, they wandered up just enough to graze the underneath of your breast. you swallowed thickly, eyes never leaving the television as you did your best not to react.

you did your best to be patient and work slow until you just couldn't handle it anymore. "binnie, i–" you cut yourself off as you turned to him, finding yourself nose to nose.

"you think i didn't notice?" he asked softly, warm hand cupping your cheek as he looked into your eyes. when you didn't answer, not sure how to, he continued. "i see the way you stare at me when you think i'm not paying attention.. they way your thighs squeeze together when i put my hands on you to help you in our workouts.. i've noticed it all, sweetheart."

"i- i didn't know you knew," was all you could stupidly sputter out, feeling embarrassed from being put on the spot.

changbin chuckled, thumb tracing along your lower lip. "i can't seem to ever keep my eyes off of you, so of course i knew. i'm actually really flattered that someone so sweet and so.. appetizing is interested in me."

your eyes widened, and you pointed a shaky finger toward yourself. "appetizing? m- me?" you knew you sounded pathetic, but you were in shock.

he smirked a little, corner of his mouth quirking up. "mhm. i've been waiting to get a taste of you, baby. won't you let me?"

instead of replying, you smashed your lips to his, fingers curling into his dark wavy hair. his lips were just as warm and soft as you had imagined they would be, and he tasted slightly buttery from the popcorn you had been sharing.

his big hands found your waist, lifting you up and onto his lap, your barely clothed cunt settling right on top of his bulge, causing you to whimper a little bit.

"i'll work you out nice and good, baby, don't worry," he promised in a whisper, hand sliding beneath your shirt to cup your breast as his tongue explored your mouth. you moaned as his thumb flicked over your nipple before he began to roll the nub between his fingers.

you began to slowly rock your hips into his, working the both of you up more as you messily made out. his mouth moved to your chest next, taking his time licking over your nipples and sucking them in his mouth. 

sure what he was doing felt great, but you needed to feel him inside of you, and you needed it now, so you told him.

"binnie, i need your cock in me. please, i need it now," you spoke up, kissing him hard between words, "wanna feel you fill me up."

he groaned, throwing his head back for a moment before nodding and shucking his sweatpants and underwear down. his cock sprang up and you were nearly salivating at the sight. his cock was decent length, but it was thick. definitely thicker than any guy you had slept with before and you couldn't wait.

quickly, you took off your sleep shorts with his help, not bothering to even remove your panties. you held them to the side while he slid his cock through your slick folds, getting himself wet. he jerked his cock a few times before you were positioning yourself over it and lowering down.

the initial stretch once his head had made it's way through caused you to gasp, mouth hanging open. he helped hold your hips, keeping you still until you were ready to keep going.

it definitely was a little painful since you had forgone any sort of foreplay where he surely would've fucked you open with his fingers first, but you didn't regret it. as you adjusted to his thickness, the pain faded into pleasure and you were overcome by just how full you were.

changbin lightly squeezed and massaged your ass cheeks while you took your time. he was desperate for you to move, but he was a gentleman and wanted you to be comfortable above all else.

when you started to bounce on his dick, he nearly saw stars. your pussy was so tight, warm, and wet; he didn't know if he was going to last too long. he held your hips, helping you rock your body atop his.

"fuck, baby, you're riding me so good," he breathed, lightly slapping the outside of your thigh. "keep at it for me."

he mouthed at your tits as you bounced, licking and sucking at your sensitive nipples, only adding to the pleasure you were already enveloped in.

"b- binnie, can you touch me? please? 'm so close," you stammered, brows pulled together in desperation. a moan left your mouth when you felt him begin to rub circles into your clit, helping push you further toward your release.

changbin's plump bottom lip was between his teeth as he focused on both of your approaching releases. he wanted to make sure you came first, so his fingers moved faster around the nub, hips bucking up into you.

you came with a whine of his name, gushing around his thick cock. his fingers slowed down as he helped you ride it out, stopping when he knew it would be too much.

"such a good girl.. cumming f'me. binnie's gonna finish now, yeah?" he spoke to which you dumbly nodded, letting him manhandle you so that you were laid on your back on the couch, him hovering over you. 

he fucked into you quickly as he chased his high, grip firm on your thighs as he held you open for him. his eyes were trained on the way he was stretching you open with each movement. as he felt that coil in his belly snap, he stilled his hips and filled you with his hot cum.

"fuck, baby," he breathed, leaning down over you, arms caging you in. "you did so good for me. the best." he peppered your cheeks and jaw with soft kisses as he was coming down.

you pulled him into a kiss, fingernails lightly scratching at his scalp as you messily made out with him. "i've wanted this for so long, changbin. wanted you for so long."

"i've wanted the same, princess, i've wanted the same."

want more? check out my masterlist!

[weaselandfriends]

youve probably already mused about this in the past but do you think cascade could work as the actual ending of homestuck? like is there a way in which homestuck could be read as a complete narrative with a somewhat satisfying ending if we were to consider cascade or its whereabouts the place where it ends? how much retooling would it need to work that way? is it even possible?

Oh now we're getting the REAL asks.

From a technical standpoint, I actually think it's totally doable to do a cut of Homestuck where Cascade is more-or-less the ending. Homestuck doesn't have nearly as many load-bearing elements as it seems to have at first glance. For instance, I think even the trolls can be cut from Homestuck altogether with minimal structural harm, as long as Vriska's game-breaking role is shifted to Rose. Hussie claimed his original vision for the story was for Cascade to be the climax, and Act 6 to be a relatively short denouement that would mostly involve cleaning up loose ends. That actually tracks with where he left the comic when Cascade ended. The unresolved stuff at the end of Cascade is:

The Scratch has created a new universe, which the players are all heading to. This fresh universe is where they will be able to complete the game.

Lord English!

Lingering mysteries about the kids in the new universe, who have been hinted at a few times throughout Act 5 (most notably regarding Liv Tyler the bunny, which shows up with a note from Jake, IIRC).

Bec Noir is still around, even if neutralized by PM.

I'm pretty sure this is it, not counting one-off lines like Rose playing the rain that are pretty structurally nonessential and could be excised easily or brushed off with some lampshading ("Wow isn't it funny we never played the rain!" -- I think Hussie actually does specific one anyway). There are also a few hints that HIC might have a role in the new universe, but I would likewise describe these as nonessential.

Looking at this list, it's easy to see both why Hussie thought he could end the story quickly and why he failed to do it. With the powers at the disposal of the main cast, going into the new universe and completing the game should be trivial. Hussie probably thought he'd quickly introduce Jake, Jane etc. in a nostalgic callback to the beginning of the story, then round up everyone for a final fight against Lord English/Bec Noir/HIC to put some fireworks on the ending. Cascade really had trimmed down the expansiveness and complexity of the story significantly, which made these few lingering plot elements seem so surmountable.

In actuality, though, Hussie quickly became mired in introducing the new characters. I think his problem was that he was struggling to reengineer the emotional stakes of the story. There's a desperate reek in the early parts of Act 6 where he is pleading for readers to care about the new kids. With the original kids, he took his time introducing them and let their personalities emerge organically over infrequent chatlogs while most of the action centered on John-as-reader-insert doing dumbassery. With the trolls, Hussie treated them like jokes and gave them over-the-top personalities with ridiculous, murderous drama, which fit the speedrunny way he introduced them. But the new kids are in this limbo where he wants to get them working (like Jar Jar) quickly, yet is giving them personalities that are at worst nondescript and at best Dave 2: Davier. (Roxy is the exception here.) They wind up having a lot of very cute, very cloying chatlogs that read super forced and I wonder if their failure to immediately get off the ground is why Hussie felt the need to spend more time with them, linger on them, until Jake winds up with one of the highest line counts of any character in the story despite saying exactly 0 things of value total.

Worse, though, is the villain situation, because it's directly tied to the story's stakes. Hussie has to make Lord English a more significant threat than Bec Noir, despite working at base with only a few references to him from Spades Slick and Doc Scratch. It's from this we get the laborious cherub stuff, the expansive dream bubble stuff (Lord English being able to double-kill ghosts is his major establishing moment of threat), and the general need to make this whole section of Homestuck feel as weighty and monumental as the first half.

The problem with Cascade is that, even though it doesn't resolve the plot, is resolves pretty much all of the emotional stakes and tension in the story. The idea of going quickly from Cascade to a final fight makes sense on paper but it doesn't make sense emotionally. That final fight would wind up as flaccid-feeling as Collide eventually did feel. Hussie's kudzu-plant expanding Act 6 reads to me as an attempt to rebuild to the level of tension that existed before Cascade, one that eventually failed because he got tired with the project and phoned in the climax anyway.

So, getting back to the original question, I think if we're to end Homestuck at Cascade then it really needs to END at Cascade, narratively as well as emotionally. Cascade does an admirable job cutting down Homestuck's plot threads from 100 to 4, but it really needs to cut them down from 100 to 0. This is a lot trickier than it seems because Cascade is, in the context of the narrative, not a moment of victory but a moment of... quitting. It's hitting the in-universe reset button. It's triumphantly hitting that button, but it cannot actually achieve total plot resolution without fundamentally changing what it actually is.

You can slim things down. Lord English can, believe it or not, be cut entirely. Prior to Act 6 he exists only in a handful of lines. Doc Scratch can be reframed as the ultimate evil himself, rather than simply its servant. He already is a pretty good villain in his own right.

Bec Noir is trickier because there's not really a good opportunity for the heroes to fight him. I wonder how necessary that is, though. It's not like Homestuck was ever a story where things got resolved by flashy cinematic fights. PM getting the ring is a satisfying, climactic moment in its own right; does she have to get locked into eternal stalemate with Bec Noir? Can she maybe just defeat him the moment she gets the ring? It's an unconventional ending, but one that makes sense in the concept of Homestuck. Given Collide, that's probably a superior way for the climax to go anyway.

That leaves the new universe kids. They can also probably be cut pretty easily. I'm fairly certain Liv Tyler is the only direct contribution they make to the pre-Cascade story. It'd take some changes to account for that, but not many. Alternatively, since we already can't get past the fact that Cascade is just a reset button press and not a resolution in and of itself, we could leave them in as characters who show up, briefly, in an epilogue of sorts, framed solely through the POV of the original kids. (i.e., forgo all the "Your name is JANE CROCKER etc.) Maybe don't even give them lines. Leave it to the fandom to come up with their personalities.

The way I'm envisioning this is that we end the story as quickly as possible after Cascade, and by that I mean literally 15-20 pages where we show everyone speedrun the new universe with their incredible god powers, maybe with a few cathartic final conversations between the surviving members of the cast. The longer you go on post-Cascade, the longer you're going to be tempted to go on, to make its new elements breathe in their own right, and when you do that it's only a matter of time before you get sucked into the Act 6 Vortex of bringing back meaningful stakes, which you have to do from Ground Zero.

I'm actually a big fan of Act 6, which is where I feel like Hussie gets a lot meaner, a lot more combative with the readership, with some fascinating results. Most of Act 6's failures stem from the failure of its ending, which is a separate issue caused by Hussie losing interest in the project after the Hiveswap debacle. But if you're doing Act 6, you gotta really DO Act 6. You can't just do it halfway. All or nothing.

[vineee2000]

Fly by wire was/is truly a primarily software innovation, and its main benefit were the ones brought by software. You can do replace all the cables and pulleys with wires without FBW, and that requires no sophisticated software in the loop - indeed, many FBW airliners have backup controls that are just that, sending electric signals to the actuators without the flight computer.

I think, as also a software engineer it is too easy to get lost in the knowledge of how sausage is made and all the problems we deal with on the daily and loose sight of how software solution can be a genuine improvement - not just a shortcut we have to put up with. After all, perfect hardware doesn't exist, and even if it did, any piece of software only needs to be more reliable than a human operator trying to deal with all of that hardware simultaneously without any assistance

And that assistance is indeed the main benefit of fly-by-wire that actually prompted its adoption! Planes are awfully complicated and counterintuitive machines to operate, and multiple disjointed modes of flight that behave differently and can change suddenly, being unaware of the true state of the plane, and certain inputs doing not what you think they'll do are all problems that can and do occur on a plane even without any computer in the loop

It is here that I need to correct myself, because when I said fly-by-wire allowed Boeing to implement their hack, when that's almost the exact opposite of truth. Boeing 737 did not have fly-by-wire, which is what caused them to need MCAS in the first place! (I look at 777 instead of 737 when writing my op)

If 737 had full fly-by-wire, the crashes probably wouldn't have happened in the first place, since dealing with complicated aerodynamics in real time without failing and without even bothering the pilot about it happening is exactly what FBW systems are meant to do.

And it is here that I want to again empathise just how reliable FBW is. Some modern planes, like A220, forgo having any sort of backup controls entirely, because the flight computer can be trusted just that much. Back in the 70s, when NASA was undertaking its digital fly by wire program, one of the requirements was no mechanical backup - this computer system had to be sufficiently reliable to be the only option they need; and they made it so, and it successfully flew over 200 of its test flights.

Ultimately, designing mission-critical, failure-resistant software systems is no easy feat, of course - but it is no easy feat for hardware systems either! And I would argue that neither is inherently easier than the other, and obviously the regulations and industry culture need to make sure the hard work is put into both.

Ultimately, what doomed MCAS wasn't the the sin of turning to software - it was lack of redundancy and integration testing, - a phrase that I'm sure made you reflexively wince in psychic pain - but so it would any hardware engineer reading this!

"Boeing’s solution to its hardware problem was software." *ominous sting*

“and then the programmers made everything work better” just isn’t something you ever hear in an engineering story.

[socksdoeswrites]

heyy! this is my first time ever requesting so I hope I do this right but can you make one of jjk boys and an overly independent reader. pls and ty <3

an: helloooo!! i sure can do that for you! i don't know about you guys, but i have had my fair share of problems being overly-independent. just remember it's alwayyyys okay to ask for help with certain things!! i did a smau for you! i hope that's alright! if you would like something different, please specify! welcome to my blog btw!!! you said it's your first time?? that's sooo exciting!! i hope you decide to request more!! i promise i don't bite, and i'm not gonna yell at you for requesting!! as always i hope you all enjoy!! socks OUT!!!! <33

participants: satoru gojo, suguru geto, kento nanami, toji fushiguro, yuuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, toge inumaki, and you!(you sly devil, you ;))))

tags/warnings: suggestive, cursing, i think i did a gn!reader, i don't think there is anything else supppper major in this, just the jjk men trying to help you out in certain situations. but of course, if i am missing anything feel absolutely free to call me out on my bs:) i care about my audience, so if anything rude, crude, or socially unacceptable leaves my mouth yall lmk!!!!

ENJOYYYYY

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