#and we’d love their impulse control… IF THEY HAD IT

[therighthandofvengeance]

It’s all fun and games until your doctor finds out that you directly disobeyed his orders to take things easy (you followed your husband through the multiverse while pregnant)

[foldingfittedsheets]

My paternal grandmother was a librarian. I only got to see that set of grandparents once a year as they lived out of state. I fondly remember summers spent at their house watching That Darn Cat and The King and I on loop, hunting for water skippers in the back creek, and reading the entirety of the Peanuts comics.

Because my grandma was a librarian she was delighted to foster my love of reading. We made trips to the library every week. One summer when I was seven or so I got really into this kids series about princesses all named after gemstones, each had a unique magic power.

At the end of each book was a puzzle or some extra bit of lore to decode. All of them were easily copied down in some way. Until I got to Sapphire’s book. At the end of the story Princess Sapphire was in peril! She needed a hero to come save her from a terrible fate. And there, on the last page, was a decoder device. It needed to be cut out and assembled.

I had to help save the Princess!!! In the iron grip of a fever of imagination I immediately found scissors and started carefully cutting the page. The page warned only to use scissors with an adult present and I scoffed to think I needed supervision just for scissors! I was a hero!Her plight called to me from the pages, imaginings of how I would daringly rescue the beautiful sweet Princess Sapphire ran through my little brain-

And about halfway up the page toward my goal I froze. This was a library book. I couldn’t cut a library book! What was I doing?! Even now in my memory it stands as a glaring example of the first time I mastered impulse control. Tragically, too late.

I was distraught. My grandma had a sacred duty to books and I, villain that I was, had defiled a precious tome! I wallowed for some time in abject misery, experiencing the greatest amount of guilt my tiny body had ever previously held. I’d probably go to jail. For a crime as monumental as wielding scissors against a book I wouldn’t even get dessert in jail.

Gradually, I processed my way through the grief of my vile deeds. I couldn’t have the decoder, I slowly accepted. That might be punishment enough. And I had only cut the page halfway. So it was only half a crime... It wasn’t illegal to lie when you’d aborted an evil act, right?

I didn’t know but I didn’t want to face my grandma’s potential wrath. I have no memory of my grandma ever yelling at me. I waited until the next day to approach her.

“Grandma? I finished my book and when I got to the end I saw someone had cut the page! They probably wanted the decoder because I also want that but it was very bad to cut a book, wasn’t it?”

My grandma regarded me benignly. She carefully took the book to observe it and nodded. “It’s good to see that they stopped before they cut it all the way out. Let’s go tape this together, and then I can photocopy the page and we can make you a decoder.”

I was ecstatic. Rewarded for my honesty! I created and cracked codes for the rest of summer with the flimsy paper creation we’d made. I genuinely doubt my grandma believed that I wasn’t the perpetrator, but I loved that she acknowledged that the person responsible stopped.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY TALKING ABOUT KING AEGON II TARGARYEN FOR MAGAZINE UPROXX.

AEGON IS EQUAL PARTS DANGEROUS AND PATHETIC THIS SEASON. WHICH TRAIT DID YOU LEAN INTO MORE?

"I really wanted to find every color possible to his palette."

"I wanted to make him as intricate and as complex as he deserves, I think."

"And yeah, we see lots of different flavors."

"We see a vulnerability to him this time."

"We see desperation."

"I think people can call him a villain as much as they want."

"I think he thinks he’s a tragedy — just a desperately sad story in a physical form."

THERE ARE SO MANY AEMOND APOLOGISTS, BUT WHO'S REPPING FOR AEGON?

"This has been the story his entire life."

"He’s seen as weak, he’s seen as pathetic."

"Just someone give him a hug for crying out loud!"

AEGON CERTAINTLY HAS A BIGGER ROLE TO PLAY THIS SEASON WHICH REQUIRES MORE FROM YOU THAN IN SEASON ONE. WERE THERE ANY SCENES/MOMENTS YOU WERE UNSURE ABOUT TRANSLATING FROM THE SCRIPT TO THE SCREEN?

"Every scene I did, I didn’t know how it was going to pan out, and that’s kind of the way I like to go about playing Aegon."

"There’s no part of me that wants to have a preconceived idea of how the scene’s going to play."

"It lends itself to the way he is personality wise."

"He’s very impulsive."

"He doesn’t think things through very much, and I always like to catch myself off guard and surprise myself in those scenes."

"For me, that’s how I find authenticity in a moment."

"And that just means it’s different every time, and they can just choose which one they like."

"I don’t deal with the cut."

THERE'S A TRANSFER OF POWER BETWEEN AEGON AND OTTO IN EPISODE TWO. HOW IMPORTANT WAS THAT CONFRONTATION IN TERMS OF THE REST OF THE SEASON?

"Massive."

"We start to see ’em pull back the reins."

"We start to see ’em take a bit of control and use his authority and put people in their place when they need to be put in their place."

"He finds it stimulating."

YOU FINALLY GET TO RIDE A DRAGON THIS SEASON. DID YOU GET ANY TIPS FROM YOUR CASTMATES WHO'VE DONE IT ALREADY?

"It was actually, surprisingly straightforward."

"If you’re doing a full day up there, then yeah, you’re going to be tired."

"We had a lot of sort of strengthening and conditioning work that we’d keep doing, just so we had a pretty healthy baseline in terms of our physical strength and capabilities."

IF YOU COULD PLAY AEGON'S THERAPIST FOR A DAY WHAT ADVICE WOULD YOU GIVE HIM?

"Be patient with himself."

"Stop comparing."

"Stop being jealous."

"Give yourself a break and go on holiday."

SO MUCH HAPPENED OFF SCREEN BETWEEN SEASONS ONE ANE TWO. IT TOOK YEARS TO FILM. THERE WERE STRIKES. HOW DID THAT EFFECT THE CAST AND THE VIBES ON SET.

"Yeah, you’ve got tunnel vision while you’re making this show and that’s how we like it."

"I think you sort of buckle down and stay in the zone and stay focused."

"Try and get as much sleep as you can."

"It takes its toll, but we all welcome that with open arms."

"It’s one of those kinds of once in a lifetime opportunities to be a part of a show like this and to play characters like these."

"We’re all very aware of that, and we’re all very grateful to be in the position we’re in, getting to bring these characters to life and share this fucking cool story with so many lovely fans."

IS THERE A LESSON YOU'RE LEARNED FROM FILMING THIS SEASON THAT YOU'LL TAKE WITH YOU INTO THE NEX PHASE OF YOUR CAREER?

"That’s a good question."

"I’m kind of still working that out."

"I’ve only been doing this [acting] for, well, eight years, really, so I’ve not had a great deal of experience."

"I feel like the responsibility to play a pivotal part in a project like this takes its toll, stamina wise, and you just need to make sure that you can keep up with the rhythm of everything."

"But I think taking your breaks where you can get them, surrounding yourself with people you love and trust as you’re doing it, you can be quite delicate in the process."

"And yeah, stay away from social media."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for completely ignoring a very long and thought-out apology message?

TL;DR: Abusive ex sent me apology after two years of silence and I’m not sure I want to acknowledge it.

So I was in a very abusive relationship with my ex for around a year. I’m going to try not to go into too much detail, but I tend to ramble and this is a hard topic for me so I’m sorry in advance if this ends up super long.

When we started dating, it was great for the first six months or so. I noticed certain things that made me question if she could have BPD (intense jealousy, sudden mood switches, impulsivity, self-destructive behaviour) and encouraged her to speak to her therapist about it. She eventually did and was diagnosed with BPD, but she wasn’t able to get on medication for another few months. After that, everything seemed to just… completely spiral. She started to control who I could speak to (I was only allowed to be with friends for an hour, and if I was even a few minutes late she’d be blowing up my phone accusing me of cheating etc. and ignoring me for days), she wanted me to cut off every friend who didn’t like her or warned me about the relationship and would accuse me of disrespecting boundaries if I objected, she would shout at me 24/7 (e.g. we’d be talking fine, she’d tell me she had a headache, I’d say I was sorry, and she’d suddenly be yelling that she didn’t need my pity and that I was patronising her), she constantly tracked where I was and who I was with, she lied to me constantly about things both major and minor, and by the end of it she was physically aggressive. This eventually culminated in her cheating on me, me giving her another chance (zoinks), and her cheating on me again less than a month later with a man she knew had SA’d me in the past. After that I just couldn’t take it anymore and finally got the courage to leave.

This unfortunately made everything worse. She split on me - basically a BPD thing where your opinion on someone goes from love to hate or vice versa in an instant - and she made it her mission to make my life hell. For almost a year and a half after our breakup, she was sending things to my house, to my family’s houses, she was stalking my social medias and sending me death threats from burner accounts, all of her own social medias became solely dedicated to talking about me, and then the worst part - she knew I wanted to go to college to become a primary (elementary) school teacher, and so she called up the college I was going to attend and told them I was a pedophile. She went all out with this accusation and was posting it all over Twitter, messaging my friends, getting her friends to post it - it was crazy. Thankfully it did not actually affect my education because I explained what was going on and I had evidence that things she was saying happened were false, but it was a super terrifying and stressful time.

While that was going on, she used the fact I was an SA victim against me - at one point she told me to “shut up and go get raped again”, and another Tweet she made accusing me of being a pedophile was followed up with “Shame you’ll never get that teaching job, I hear they’re not so kind to people like you in prison”.

Making everything more confusing is the fact that every few months it’s like she’d switch back - she’d send me an apology message, tell all her friends it was a lie, get back in contact with me and tell me she was on meds and going to therapy and everything was getting better, and then a few weeks later she’d be posting about how abusive I was again and blocking me everywhere. It felt like there was nothing I could do - if I ignored it, she’d step it up to get a reaction, and if I did acknowledge it, she’d step it up anyway because I was reacting.

Finally, FINALLY, I threatened to get a restraining order and everything stopped.

Almost two years pass and nothing. I’m now happily engaged to a wonderful girl who was my best friend throughout that whole relationship and knew exactly how affected I was by it. I’m going to therapy, was diagnosed with PTSD, and have been slowly moving on. I still have nightmares about her, and sometimes things will get me (e.g. a few months ago I saw someone who looked like her on TV unexpectedly and had a panic attack), but things are good. Much better. I was thinking of it all much less, I wasn’t dedicating energy to it, I wasn’t even angry or upset anymore, it was just a past lesson I’d learned and didn’t need to worry about anymore.

Then last week I wake up to a message. Again, it’s been two years.

Now, this message was LONG. It was from my ex, apologising for everything she’d done. It was a genuinely nice message and clearly had a lot of thought in it. She said she knew it was selfish to message me when I’d moved on but that she had things to say for her own peace of mind. She said she was happy to see I was engaged, that she’s done a lot of self-reflecting and healing. She said she tried to date again and ended up “karma’d “ - that the relationship was scarily similar to ours but with her in my shoes this time - and that it had made her realise just how disgusting her actions had been and how badly she’d fucked me up. She made it clear she wasn’t looking for forgiveness or to reconnect, just to apologise.

Part of me is mildly skeptical because of the fact she’d apologised multiple times before and it never stuck, but the two year gap and the way it’s phrased makes me believe this is truly genuine. She seems to have matured and changed as a person.

Thing is, I just… can’t bring myself to respond. Every time I go to do it, I remember things she said or did to me and just can’t. I feel like if I just responded and said no hard feelings and explicitly told her I have moved on and am doing better, I could give her the same closure that this apology might eventually give me. It would be closing this chapter for good for both of us and I could just never think about her again.

And yet I just. Haven’t. I’m scared to open the window of communication again in any way, I’m scared it’ll be taken back, I’m scared that this will take me back to square one because she’s put herself back in my life (even tangentially) and now I’m thinking about her again after so long of trying so hard to heal.

So WIBTA if I just… didn’t acknowledge it? If I let her essentially wonder forever it it was ever seen or read because I just don’t know what to do about it, even if I’m potentially keeping closure from her for my own comfort?

What are these acronyms?

[kennedyslvr]

YOU'RE THE CLOSEST TO HEAVEN (THAT I'll EVER BE) — CHAPTER 32 UPDATE (AO3)

this chapter is a LONGGGG one. action packed. final word count was, like, 6.3k words. not the longest chapter tho (that one is coming, and it's gonna be a good one and i'm not saying a WORD of what happens in it but i can tell u it is delicious)

this is just a lil snippet of course. if you want the full chapter, go to ao3.

also���just wanted to thank everyone for 100 kudos on ao3! it means a whole lot to me that u guys enjoy this lil (but not little) fanfic that started life as the beginning of some lore for my self-insert oc. (it still is the beginning of her lore tho, kinda. once this fic is fully done im gonna post her lil character sheet and introduce her properly.)

don't forget to drop a kudos if u haven't already, as well as leave a comment on ao3 if u want! i love reading u guys's feedback sm !!

She looked so peaceful like this. I was mesmerised by it. Despite the slight furrow in her brow, the small downturned pout and the fact her hand was still fisted tightly into my shirt, right near my rapidly thundering heart, she still looked quaint and angelic—and I was the warden of her peace.

My neck still felt warm from where her lips had been—a kiss that hadn't even been a kiss. Sometimes I found it hard to believe that she’d done that. There was a part of me that thought that after all that we’d been through—everything with Ada, how she had insisted that we were only going to be partners and nothing more—she wanted nothing to do with me. That she felt nothing for me. But then she had gone and done that—kissed my neck in the briefest of kisses, and had me utterly dumbstruck.

I was glad that she had, though. I was glad that something had started to break between us. Something had to give—I only wished that it would have been me that had broken first.

But we had something. Surely now we had something.

Her lips had felt so soft, even though I’d felt them for just a millisecond. Just a fleeting moment, before she’d yawned into my mouth—and the thought of that had me stifling a laugh, a soft smirk touching my lips as I realised how ironic it was. Every time we got slightly close, something happened that made us move apart. Perhaps it was some kind of fallacy.

As I chuckled, it shook her slightly. I froze, stilling my movements as she stirred. Nuzzled in slightly deeper, let out a soft little sound as her cheek pressed against my chest. But she didn't wake up. I breathed a sigh of relief, but my hold on her didn't loosen.

The more I looked at her, the more I thought about what had just happened between us. The more I craved it. I craved that adrenaline rush, that moment of crackling tension that felt like a livewire. I realised that I wanted to kiss her. I realised that I needed to kiss her. A part of me planned to—not now, I told myself. Not here. But at some point.

When the world was safe, when the job was done. I'd indulge then. Indulge in a moment of calm for once—just for a moment.

Just for a moment.

But then that familiar doubt crept back in again, a tiny voice in the back of my head that was reminiscent of my questioning of Ada way back when. What if she didn't actually want me? What if this had all just been a fluke, a random impulse? She had the worst first impression of me—cold, miserable, an utter bastard. I remembered exactly how I had been too, and I wished I hadn't been like that. I wished I hadn't pushed her away at every turn—I wished I had treated her like a partner, someone to rely on, other than some kind of adversary.

What if this tension between us was doctored? What if it was something controlling us—controlling her—making her act on impulse? She didn't want me at all. She couldn't want me. She shouldn't want me.

Black veins began to pulsate and swell in my arms, the parasite crawling across my bloodstream and making my teeth grit and grind against each other. I glanced at my watch, hissing as the light green digital screen flashed the numbers 03:00 in black. It was three in the morning—the suppressant would be wearing off soon. Soon enough, that thing would try and take me again. Take us both.

I wasn't gonna let that happen. No way in hell. I could fight this—I would fight this. For her. For Ashley. For myself. The pulsation got worse, my head swimming as my vision started to cloud. My adrenaline was shot to hell, and fatigue was starting to set in at the worst possible time. I breathed out slowly, sliding my gun from its holster to take stock of the rounds in the chamber. I reloaded, then tightened my hold on Dee as my other hand gripped at my gun steadily.

I set my sights on that blurry hallway.

Fifteen minutes later, there was movement up on the bed. A creak of an old mattress, and a soft yawn as Ashley stirred from her deep slumber. Her voice was groggy and deep, throaty. “Leon?”

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Max 🌕

😁

YAY THANKS!

1k for 🌕:

---

Chris frowns. “What if I break something expensive?”

“Even then,” Buck says sternly. “When she’s older, it’ll be her choice. But it’s her life, Chris. She’s not a baby we have to use. She’s a person with a weird talent.”

“Chris, that’s a big no, okay?” Eddie says. “We never pressure her into doing anything she doesn’t want to do. Not for any reason. Got it?”

“Okay,” Chris concedes. “Got it.”

“So when people come over for the party today,” Buck continues, “we’ll have to be careful. Not to mention it. If anything breaks, don’t let her get to it. That sort of thing.”

“She’s one,” Chris says.

“Yeah,” Eddie nods. “She doesn’t really have impulse control yet.”

“I know,” Chris nods. “I mean, she’s only one. This is how things are going to be for a long time, right?”

Buck’s chest deflates a little. He realizes what he’s asking. What he’s demanding. It’s a lot. It’s worry and stress and lying. Secret-keeping, maybe, more so than lying. But still. Chris might not be up for that. He said he was, but maybe he didn’t understand. 

“Yeah,” Eddie answers. “It is. But that’s what you do for someone when you love them, right? You do what you can to help them, even if it’s a little hard.”

Chris nods. “I love Maisy a lot.”

Buck smiles. “We know you do. And this’ll get easier, okay?”

“Okay.”

June, 2027

The social worker comes by with news. Eddie has a bad feeling about it. The dreams… He remembers them all. He remembers them in high definition. He remembers his thoughts while having those dreams. And despite all the therapy he’s been going to, all the instances by Dr. Truman that these dreams don’t mean anything, he can’t help but remember.

Hadn’t there been something about a custody dispute for Maisy? He remembers thinking that. A relative. But he also remembers that she’s theirs. So if it does happen, it’ll all be okay? If it does happen… Then Eddie isn’t delusional? Dr. Truman is wrong? He doesn’t know.

He has a bad feeling about it.

He wants to be delusional.

“We’d like to adopt Maisy as quickly as possible,” Buck says to their social worker. It’s Deirdre, the same woman who has worked so closely with Hen and Karen. 

“I understand that,” Deidre says. 

“We’re fully committed,” Buck continues. “She’s our daughter. We’ve had her for seven months. She’s part of our family. We’ve done a good job.”

“Yes,” Deirdre confirms. “You have. If this was simply about you and Eddie’s fitness to be Maisy’s parents, there’d be no question.”

“But there is a question?” Buck infers.

Eddie clenches his jaw. 

“Yes,” Deirdre says. “Yes, since Maisy’s biological family has been identified, someone has come forward.”

No. No, no. This can’t be happening the way it happened in his dream. It can’t. 

“No,” Buck echoes Eddie’s thoughts. “No way. They didn’t help before. She’s our daughter, she knows us.” 

“I wish that’s how it worked,” Deirdre empathizes. “But a decision will have to be made as to what is best for Maisy, considering the familial ties.”

“Who?” Eddie asks. 

“Who decides?” Deirdre clarifies.

“No, who has come forward,” Eddie corrects. He needs to know. He needs to be sure it’s not the same as his dream.

“Oh,” Deirdre nods in acknowledgement. “Uh, I believe she’s an aunt. Maisy’s biological father’s sister.”

Shit. It’s the exact same as his dream.

“Is that bad for us?” Buck asks. “What’s she like?”

No, Eddie wants to tell him. No, it’s good for them. They’ll choose Buck and Eddie. They’ll keep her. She’ll be theirs. Maisy Buckley-Diaz turned just Buckley. 

Buck and Deirdre keep talking. Eddie thinks he must zone out. He can hear a rushing in his ears. Like the entire ocean is rising around him. If this is real, if this part of his dream is real, what about the rest? What about Buck dying? What about Eddie leaving them? This can’t be their life. It can’t be. It can’t be this sad. This tragic. Eddie… Eddie can’t be so awful. So horrible to the people he loves most. And what about Chris? He doesn’t even know where Chris is, in this sorrowful future. He can’t embrace that. He can’t… No. 

“Eddie?” Buck’s voice cuts through Eddie’s panicking. “Hon?”

“Hmm?” Eddie mumbles. “Sorry, what was the question?”

Deirdre frowns. “I was just asking if you’re both up for a fight, here. But, Eddie… If you’re not…”

Not up for a fight? A fight for Maisy? Maisy, his sweet, clingy little girl, who sometimes needs him to hold her before she can go to bed. Maisy, who he’ll abandon. Who will hate him. Who will drop his name. Maisy, who is magic. Maisy, who loves mango slices and big earrings. Or who will. She does and she doesn’t yet. 

Should he fight for Maisy? When the future's so bleak? Maybe he should change things. Maybe he can prevent what happens. Maybe Maisy will be happier without them, even if it’ll crush Buck now. Even if it will crush Christopher now. It will absolutely crush Eddie now. 

Maybe he needs to let her go.

Then give up. You can give up. I am telling you it’s okay to fuck off back to Nevada.

“Of course I’ll fight for Maisy,” Eddie whispers. “Of course we both will.”

🌒

“What was that?” Buck demands after Dierdre leaves. He doesn’t understand Eddie’s behavior. Eddie’s lack of emotion. “You acted like you didn’t care!”

[crashcitycentral]

[ Concept: Bart uses the Camcorder Preston gave him to leave Preston a message vlog style that he’s given after his death, cause the concept was there but never touched and I want Preston to know his best friend didn’t just disappear. ]

Bart sets up the camcorder on the top book of the stack on his desk, angling it to face the chair he had sat in front of it. It was the one Preston gave to him, and he finally figured out what he wanted to record. A little memo for Preston to find.

He flips open the screen and presses the power button.

The video starts with Bart’s arm still outstretched to the camera, tongue stuck between his lips as he fiddles around with the controls. “Oh. The red means it’s on, right? Shoot!” The clip cuts to static for a few moments before it’s back again and this time he’s in his chair.

“Got it to work! Man, technology here is so confusing. Nothing like from my time.” He shakes his head. “Hey, Pres. you may know me as Bart, or daredevil Allen. If you’re seeing this, well, I’m guessing I’m not around anymore. But that’s okay! I probably went out super cool.”

“Man, where to start. I guess I wanted to tell you my secret but I didn’t know how. Max says I have to keep it hush hush but. I dunno, I don’t want to. Not from you.”

“Carol knows, though she kinda figured it out. It was an accident really, I ain’t never been too good at this secret identity stuff but here goes. I am Impulse.”

“Saying that finally is… wow. I’m sure you have a lot of questions so I’ll try to go over everything in this before i run out of space on this rinkidink camcorder you gave me. Er, no offense.”

“The Flash is my Grandpa and second Flash is my second cousin, once removed. I was born in the year 2980. Crazy, right? That will probably make some stuff I did or said make sense now, huh?”

It cuts again, this time to him upside down in the chair, back on the seat and feet kicked up in the air. “I want you to know you’re my best friend. Which is why I’m tellin you all this.”

“Max isn’t really my uncle, but he is my Guardian after Wally… anyways, he’s got superspeed too but he like, never uses it. Lame. He just coaches me on the sidelines. And Helen, she’s great! Like my big sister. She’s Max’s daughter but doesn’t have powers.”

“Oh! Y’know my dog, Dox? He’s got super intelligence! Not entirely sure how…”

“The first superhero I was friends with was Grant. Er- Damage. He’s cool, you’d like him a lot. I haven’t seen him much nowadays.”

“I’m on a new team now. ‘Young Justice’ they call us. Awful name, right? Like hellooo, we’re trying to get out of our mentors shadows. I’m not even a sidekick!”

“I met Rob on a skii trip before we met in the masks, can you believe that? He’s smart. Like Carol. I hope they never meet or we’d be doomed!”

“There’s superboy. He’s kinda like the block-head jocks at our school but he has moments where he’s okay.”

“Wondergirl is awesome! I saw her pick up a car a few days ago. Wish I got it on camera for you, you’d love it.”

“Secret and Empress are really cool as well. Secret is like, super nice and matches my energy. I don’t know if you’d know who Empress is, she just joined us, but she’s got a sword! Won’t let me use it…”

“There’s Slobo, he’s a pretty rock and roll kinda punk, pretty sure he’s goth or somethin. One of them head-whippin’ screamers we hear on the banned radio stations.”

“There’s this girl, Arrowette. She’s like, my superhero best friend. Or maybe I just befriend blondes.” He pauses a moment and looks up at the camera. “You’re still my number one, though.”

“Even with all these heroes and powers, you, Carol, and Roland are… different. I dunno how to describe it. It’s like… you’re normal, and treat me like I’m normal, y’know? We’re just kids when it’s us. No responsibilities.”

Bart goes quiet and the tape cuts again to him stacking cards into a tower. “I’m not really sure what I’m expecting to happen to me. Max says I’m ’danger deficit’, whatever that means. I just want you to know that.. I’m not really gone? If I have to go away for a mission somewhere far away or if I fall through a wormhole, you’re still my best friend.” He huffs a sigh, the breath knocking down his cards.

The next cut shows him juggling a rubix cube, bouncy ball, and boomerang. “Did you know I have a brother? Yeah, me neither. Remember that time my mom visit? Well, she’s from the future too, like me. She told me she had another son named Owen who’s in this century too. Think I’ll ever get to meet him?”

“I never met my dad but I heard lots bout him from Mom and future Grandma. He was killed right after I was born by my other grandpa. Sprocked up, huh?”

“There’s my cousin Jenni! You remember Jenni, right? She was my partner for the talent show last year. Her hero name is XS and she works with superheroes in space! It’s awesome, right?? That’s where I met Brainy too. He’s kinda mean but in a funny way.”

He’s back in his chair again, chin propped on both his palms and legs kicking out under him. “Grandpa says he doesn’t believe in me. Wally says I’m annoying and negligent. All I wanted..” he shakes his head and covers the camera with his hand.

He’s up again, this time wearing his Impulse suit, holding his arms out like he’s showing off. “Cool, huh? Batman named me Impulse, though he said it was a warning. He’s kinda a stick in the mud, but the whole ninja stuff is cool. Too strict for my taste though, I wonder how Rob puts up with it.”

“I guess I don’t have much else to say. I hope you get this someday and I’m not making a fool of myself, talking to a camera for nothing. Don’t tell Max. I’ll see you later, Pres.”

The video ends.

[gywin97]

I’ve been re-reading some of my favourite HP fics as I wait for HL to come out, and I love how you can tell which house the author is in based on how they’re ‘fix-it’ fic goes:

Gryffindor

-          Massive, Avengers-style epic final showdown between Voldie and Harry

-          Golden Trio + Neville

-          “Harry no-” “Harry YES!”

-          Harry Potter / Ron Weasley have absolutely zero impulse control and it’s giving Hermione high blood pressure

-          Weasley Twins! Weasley Twins!

-          The Order is like 60% Weasley it’s basically gingers against fascism

-          Dumbledore is powerful but angry Minera McGonagall is terrifying

-          Sirius Black has more than five minutes of screentime.  

-          Remus Lupin is the one responsible adult in the room

-          “There’s no need to call me Sir, professor.”

-          Slytherins are all baddies, no redemption arc for you

-          Umbridge get’s GOT

-          *Draco makes a Weasel joke at Ron* Hermione: “You were literally a ferret.”

Ravenclaw

-          Harry visits the library and learns more spells than goddamn ‘expelliarmus’

-          Sassy!Harry, Smart!Harry,

-          The fuck kinda school is this??!?!

o   *See’s moving staircases* Really, right in front of my OSHA regulations?

o   So they’re really just letting anyone teach DADA, huh?

o   Susan Bones / Kingsley Shacklebolt shows up and lays down the law

-          Callouts for every plothole, and I mean EVERY plothole.

-          Someone notices the SOUL FRAGMENT living in Harry’s forehead

o   “Harry Potter must die” “Ok but have you tried literally anything else???”

-          Using magical gadgets (Time Turners, Sneakoscope, etc) and the Room of Requirement

-          Actual pagan rituals sprinkled in for flavor (Samhain, Yule, etc)

-          Witch  Wizard Wixen

Hufflepuff

-          Everyone lives / nobody dies, Happy Endings, Found Family

-          Characters actually sit down and deal with their TRUMA

-          “My cupboard-” “Your what?”

-          Harry is a sweetheart, polite to everyone

o   This includes Filch / House Elves / Goblins

o   no one can say no to his big green puppy eyes, sorry that’s illegal.

o   Snape/Minerva see’s Lily’s eyes and have emotions

-          Someone (Often Pomfrey) notices Harry’s abuse and takes action.

o   *Smacking Dumbledunce with a rolled-up newspaper* What! Were! You! Thinking!?

o   Harry gets adopted, and his new guardians are outside the Dursley’s house holding baseball bats.

-          You get a redemption arc, you get a redemption arc, EVERYBODY GETS REDEMPTION ARCS!!

Slytherin

-          Harry is a Slytherin / befriends Slytherins.

o   “Slytherin will never accept Harry Potter!” *Ten minutes later* “We’ve only had Harry Potter for a day and a half but if anything happened to him we’d kill everyone in this room and then the Dark Lord.”

o   Slytherin kids get personalities besides ‘mean’ and ‘henchmen’

o   Blasie Zabini is always a slut. I don’t know why this is universal, but it just is.

o   Theo Nott is always the nerd.

-          “So are we just gonna just not talk about the Chamber of Secrets or…?”

-          Fuck this, Fuck the Ministry, Fuck the Wizengamot, here’s 60 reasons why

-          BAMF Narcissa Malfoy

-          Harry gets a pet snake and regularly speaks Parseltongue

-          Severitus or Mentor!Snape:

o   Severus Snape hates James Potter but he hates child abuse more

o   “So I live with my aunt Petunia-” “Tunie?!?!”

o   The Eyebrow of Doom

o   Harry learning more about his mum than her eye color

-          Severus Snape ends up with a small pack of children following him around and he’s not sure how that happened but Merlin help anyone who fucks with them

-          Dumbledore call-out

-          It’s not dark or light magic, it’s just magic

[carolinemillerbooks]

A new post (Song Of Myself) was published on Books by Caroline Miller.

https://www.booksbycarolinemiller.com/musings/song-of-myself/

Song Of Myself

Aug 17, 2023

Marie Antoinette courtesy of wikipedia.org

After a brief meeting with a woman I’d just met, I returned to my apartment and was surprised to find her email waiting for me.  She accused me of having been rude and wasted no time in telling me. Bemused, I shrugged, having had the same impression of her. The difference between us was that I chose to let the matter pass.

Judgments formed on first impressions are often unreliable. Two of my friendships arose from disagreements. Had I shut these people out of my life, I would have lost years of trusted companionship. Not wanting to slam friendship’s door on a stranger, I apologized to the offended woman who likewise had offended me.  We shall see what comes of it.

A perceived slight often kickstarts the primitive brain, sending it into defensive mode at the speed of impulse. Nature has its reasons. A quick response to risk enhances our survival.  To move swiftly at a shadow’s fall will leave the lion hungry. Unfortunately, lacking subtlety, impulse makes no distinction between self-preservation and ego.    

We aren’t to blame. The seat of Reason, the prefrontal cortex, evolved later in humans, about 400,000 years ago, making it an infant compared to the primitive brain’s 1.8 million years.  Little wonder the two authorities have little commerce with one another.  The younger brain is deliberative, not emotive.  It pursues cognitive capacities such as language, imagination, and complex decision-making.  Its capabilities enable us to create art and make discoveries in science, and technology.  

Mathematics is born of the prefrontal cortex, for example. With it, not only have we envisioned a fourth dimension but have learned to tease three-dimensional material from it.  Simply put, we are on the verge of brave new worlds where, like gods, we will control swaths of nature, including seismic eruptions.  Given what we know about the new and old brain, it’s senseless to ask what the pre-frontal cortex has in common with the primitive brain or vice versa.

Religion proves to be a frail conduit between the two. Born before science and mathematics, it sought to comprehend the universe without Reason’s higher powers. Conjoined to the primitive mind, it satisfied our prehistoric curiosity by creating a human-concentric view of the world. Unfortunately, when we made ourselves the center of the universe, we gave ego license–a consequence that allowed ignorance and knowledge to coexist.

If a loving philosophy had been the outcome of this union, what harm could there be?  But ego makes no distinction between right and wrong, so righteousness has as much influence as kindness.    

                    Christians are supposed to be at the tip of the spear in alleviating poverty, especially when it comes to other believers.  That doesn’t mean, however, that we are under any obligation to help indolent bums.  Such people are not entitled to our generosity.  They have chosen the path of poverty.

Because ego once played a crucial part in our species’ survival, we should be grateful for it. Even so, Reasn is quick to point out that because it exists out of necessity, we were never at the center of the universe nor was the earth exclusively designed for us. Nature prefers diversity. Without the honey bee, we are nothing.

As a species, we’d be wise to acknowledge that while ego serves our well-being, it also impairs judgment.  One wonders what Orwellian mind could have designed such a mixed blessing. Those who succumb to self-love are at the mercy of a rabid dog.  Those who resist find themselves consumed in an endless scuffle to keep the beast at bay. 

Over the years, I’ve engaged in many struggles with my darker self and believe I have made inroads. Today, all I ask of my fellowman is a hymn of praise for the words that drop from my pen, and a chance to nod with pleasure should any admirer choose to scurry before me tossing rose petals at my feet.

[boca-al-lupo]

I went to a Christian school in a small town in the south. After 9/11 I, a 10 year old child, was told it was a sign that the world was ending. It might have been the kick off for the rapture.

The Muslims were coming to America under the authority of the devil to enforce Sharia law. They wouldn’t stop until all Christians were dead. And of course, we better not deny God with a gun to our head, bc then we’d be sent to Hell.

9/11 was used as justification to murder hundreds of thousands and seize control of oil land. No one in my circle would dare speak out against the “war on terror” bc that wasn’t only un-American, it was unchristian.

I had lessons in school dedicated to casting the Quran as a call to extremist action. The poetry completely brushed aside to highlight murder and death and holy war. As if we were not taught to cheer for God killing the first born in Egypt, or Lot’s wife, or Job’s family or- well, you get the idea

I remember the shift in country music. I remember when everything became “Uncle Sam shaking his fist” and “we’re gonna teach you who you fucked with” and the battle cry in the name of the death of innocent civilians as if we did not slaughter, torture, and rape millions more innocent civilians. I remember the first time I heard the term “sand n*****” and how all the “good old boys” laughed at the term.

I remember believing everything that was said. I remember thinking like that too. I remember the German exchange students looking at me like I was insane when I said things to them that I didn’t understand but never questioned.

I am still unlearning the impulse to “other” someone else to justify violence against them.

I can see a direct line from 9/11 to January 6th.

Without the war on terror and the nationalist shift, Trump never would have become president. Without the propaganda and brainwashing we never would have given up our privacy like we did to the patriot act.

Without 9/11, DeSantis wouldn’t be hunting trans people for sport.

Tell your jokes. I love these jokes. I love 9/11 jokes. It’s a great way to cope with how it brought out true evil in the people of America, particularly Christian America.

But keep in mind what started the wave that created the particular hell scape we live in today.

I don’t know why it just occurred to me that a bunch of the people who joke “a second [x] has hit the towers” were not alive when 9/11 happened. Like to me that’s a transformative pivot point of my life, a before and after. And to some of you guys, it’s like. History. It’s a thing that happened to other people before you were born.

It's not that I think people shouldn't make 9/11 jokes. I don’t think that, also I'm not in charge of jokes on the internet from everyone in the world, and also some are very funny. Like with most things in the Venn diagram of tasteless and funny, the jokes in the overlap: 1) are pure art, and 2) vary wildly from person to person. But for some reason, I suddenly understood the passage of time and what September 11th being 22 years ago means, and I was like “oh. huh. HUH.” Because now jokes about 9/11 coming from someone with no memory of 9/11, who maybe wasn't even born yet? That is so weird to me. what do you mean you don't remember 9/11. what do you mean you're 19. when I was 19, I remembered 9/11.

I grew up in Bush's America, and Bush's America taught us there were only three eras in history: everything that led up to 9/11, the day of 9/11, and everything that happened because of 9/11. That's the land I'm from, that's how we were brought up back there. If you could study history like a map, then some dates would get to be the capital city. In a territory of a thousand different towns, here’s the town with the star next to its name. If you're zoomed out far enough, the only town with a name at all. It's the mandatory detail, the guaranteed example.

It’s really weird to suddenly feel moored in history, to feel yourself becoming a primary document in some future generation's history essay. I felt a magical chronal mindlink with some middle-aged New York ad man in 1965 listening to teens talk about Pearl Harbor. I felt exactly my age and exactly my nationality. I felt like a time capsule. I felt like my mother that time I asked her what it was like growing up in the 1960s, and she told me about the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.

Anyway, comedy shows kept playing in New York City. I read an article once about one of the shows, a couple weeks after or a week after or maybe a day after, maybe it was September 12. When the comedian inevitably made a joke about the events of about that bad thing that had happened last Tuesday, the crowd reacted. But I don't remember how, and it's very frustrating that I can't find the article, because I remember that the crowd booed, but I cannot remember if they then laughed. Maybe it was a really good joke.

[starlitangels]

DTR

So, between the Dinner Date video and the sleep aid video, Vincent’s title changed from just “A Flirty Vampire” to “Your Flirty Vampire Boyfriend.” But we never got the conversation in-between resulting in such a change. The DTR (Define the Relationship) as it were. This is the Vincent and Lovely I was brainrotting for and posted about two days ago! Told ya it was still coming! 1.5k words (almost exactly!)

—

“Vincent?” I called the second I stepped through the door to the house. I kicked off my shoes in the pile of both of ours that intermingled next to the garage door.

Zip! “Hey lovely. How was class?” Vincent asked.

I smiled. “It was alright,” I replied.

His expression fell a little. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just have had a lot on my mind, that’s all,” I replied.

Vincent bit at his lower lip, like he was trying to decide how to respond to that.

“Vincent—can we talk?” I asked.

If he wasn’t already so pale, he would have lost all the color in his face. “O-of course. If that’s what you want. Sure. Do… do you wanna sit down?” He gestured toward the living room. I nodded. He led the way to the living room and perched on the very edge of one end of the sofa. I plopped down on the other end, turning to face him. He twisted to make sure he was facing me too. “What… what do you want to talk about?”

I swore under my breath. “I’ve been thinking about this all day but, now that the moment is here I’m kinda freaking out,” I said.

“Are you thinking about moving out?” Vincent looked heartbroken, but I already saw reluctant acceptance forming in his eyes.

“No!” I exclaimed. I swore again, quietly. “Look. I’ve been living here for a while. And I’ve really enjoyed it. You’ve been a great person to live with.” I sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth. “I just think I’m ready to talk about…” I closed my eyes to fortify myself and opened them again. “Us.”

Vincent’s lips parted in surprise. “Okay,” he said softly.

“There… there’s no beating around the bush with the fact that I’ve found you attractive since the night we met,” I continued. That sparked a tiny smile on his face. “And our little cat-and-mouse game was fun. Teasing, flirting. I enjoyed it, before—” I didn’t finish that sentence. I didn’t have to. The way Vincent’s jaw clenched showed he understood. “Dancing around my non-belief in vampires, I wasn’t sure, back then, where we’d end up. I thought the vampire thing was mostly just messing around. I liked… God, this feels embarrassing to admit. I liked the way your little coy smirks made my heart flutter. That time I came home and you were just on my bed, the impulsive part of me would have run away with you right then if you asked.”

Vincent laughed quietly. “It wouldn’t have come to that,” he remarked. “I’m perfectly content to stay in Dahlia.”

“I know. But the fact remains that I would have. I wanted you that bad.” I took another deep breath. “And then… then Adam.” I swallowed hard. Vincent’s face turned sad. “And I had to reassess everything. I had magic I’d never known about, borne out of me by trauma that I’m still recovering from.” I licked my lips, realizing how dry my mouth was getting with all the talking. “But, in the wake of that, you… you stepped up in a different way. I know some of that was fuelled by guilt. I maintain that it wasn’t entirely your fault—if I wasn’t a dumbass and went back to the park after you told me not to, it could have been avoided. I know you don’t see it that way. And that’s fine.

“But you let me stay here. You opened your home to me when mine no longer felt safe. You’ve held me when I woke up from nightmares more times than I can bother to count. You’ve helped me take control of my life back and helped me find resources to heal.

“All while asking nothing in return. Expecting nothing. Just… giving me space.”

I closed my eyes.

“All of this to say, Vincent—I do have a point, surprisingly—I’ve really appreciated everything you’ve done for me. I’ve loved getting to know you the normal way. I’m grateful you’ve let me set the pace of this, pushing nothing on me. I can’t imagine a lot of other people would have done the same to the degree you’ve done if they were faced with the same circumstances.”

Vincent reached out as though to set a hand on my knee, but rested it on the couch cushion near my knee instead. Never touching without permission. “It’s been the least I can do,” he said.

“No, it’s not the least. It’s a lot. And I don’t want you to think it’s gone unnoticed.”

“Well, thank you,” he said, sounding awkward. “But I don’t think I deserve it.”

I put my hand on top of his. “Vincent,” I said. He immediately tensed under my hand. “We’ve started a good thing, this little life we’ve carved out with each other. I’ve loved it. Making dinner together, going out for dessert. The little things. I… I still really like you, Vincent. It should come as no surprise that I still find you incredibly attractive. You are. You’re handsome and you’re kind and gentle and sweet and I’ve never minded the flirting. I liked it before Adam, and I still do. I appreciate that you backed it up a little. I needed that. But now…” I swallowed and took a deep fortifying breath, steeling myself to make sure I was brave enough to say the words out loud.

“Now I think I’m ready to try being in a relationship with you, if that’s what you want.”

He blinked slowly at me. “Lovely…”

“I… I’d like to be your partner, Vincent. If that’s… something you’d be down for.”

His mouth hung agape. “Can… can I kiss you?” he whispered.

“Please,” I breathed.

He was beside me on the sofa in an instant, cradling my face gently in both his long, slender hands.

Delicate and tender, he brushed his lips against mine. Barely enough to qualify as a kiss. Careful not to go too far. Completely ignoring the shock of static electricity that snapped between us from my new powers.

Just that tiny speck of contact left us both a little breathless. He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. His were wide and his lips were parted. In the half-light of the living room, that we hadn’t even bothered to flip the switch to see, his pupils were dilated wide, nearly swallowing the silver of his irises. But not the same black his eyes had become when he snapped in the park and drank my blood. That had been predatory and all-consuming. This was different.

I tried to calm the raging beat of my heart in my chest, staring back at him with a similar expression. Our breath mingled in the air between us, hot and heavy.

At the same moment, we lurched toward each other and crashed our lips together. His mouth was strong, but gentle. Never pushing against me too hard. I grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him as close to me as I could get him, not resisting when his hand found my thigh and hooked it up over him until I was straddling his lap.

Tongues got involved only seconds after.

But when Vincent’s hand started to tug up my shirt, I grabbed his wrist and pulled away. “Wait,” I whispered, panting. “I… I don’t think I’m ready for more than this, yet.”

He nodded, breathing hard, and withdrew his hand. “Okay,” he said. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. You’re still setting the pace, lovely.”

Swallowing, I nodded. “Thank you, Vincent.” I rested my forehead against his. He breathed deeply as our eyes closed. The hand he’d withdrawn from my shirt cupped the side of my face, and we just stayed there. Calming down our racing heartbeats.

“I’m, uh, I’m guessing this means I get to introduce myself as your boyfriend, now?” he asked. I peeked one eye open to see a playful grin on his face. Almost teasing and impish, but not quite.

“I’d like that, yeah,” I said. He breathed a laugh.

Through my peeked eye, I saw him open his wider. “When did the… did you turn the lights on?” He looked around.

I leaned up. The lights were all on. The overheads and the lamps on the end tables.

“No?” I said.

In that moment, they all shut off. My magic caught in the Core in my chest.

Vincent threw his head back against the backrest of the sofa and laughed. “You are amazing, lovely.” He brushed my cheek with his thumb. “I’m grateful for this chance you’re giving me. I don’t plan to ever take it for granted. Nor the feelings I have for you.”

“Me neither. I’m excited to give this—to give us—a shot.”

“I am too.” He smiled that charming, flirtatious smile of his. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Please do.”

He leaned up and met my lips, his fingers gentle but firm on either side of my face. I would never get over the feeling of his lips on mine.

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose

[shujiful]

CONCEPTION

feat: manjiro sano x fem!reader

synopsis: throughout all of the losses in mikey’s life, you’ve been the only constant. terrified of losing you too, he conceives a brilliant plan that not only ensures you can’t leave him, but one that will give him his family back as well.

tw: manga spoilers for ch. 147, fem!reader, baby trapping, unprotected sex, breeding kink, forced creampie, toxic!mikey

a/n: mikey has a breeding kink and no one can tell me otherwise

word count: 2k

Mikey was always aware of the dark impulses he had. He’d even warned Takemichi about them, but that was years ago when he still had Toman to rely on. Now as the head of Bonten, he’d given into such desires, getting involved in scandal after scandal, his criminal record reaching several pages long. He was completely immersed in Japan’s underground, darkness surrounding him wherever he went.

Yet, there was one beacon of light in his life. You shined so brightly that sometimes it was easy to forget about all of the people he lost. When you were around, he wasn’t grieving and vulnerable nor was he the commanding officer of a gang. He was just Mikey.

But he wasn’t the Mikey you fell in love with anymore. He’d become possessive after losing Emma, and it’d only grown worse as time went on. The longer he went without losing anyone, the more paranoid he became in thinking it would happen. Even if it wasn’t by death, someone could leave him. 

That’s the reason he’d conceived this whole plan— to prevent you from leaving. With his baby in your womb, not only would it ensure you’d stay, but it would give him part of his family back. It was perfect in every way. Except you didn’t want to have a baby. 

At least, not at this point in your life. You’d always spoken about how you wanted lots of kids in the future, and that’s what he thought about while he dumped your birth control pills into the toilet, flushing them down and throwing away the plastic package. It was only a matter of time before you two started a family together, and he was merely speeding up the process. That’s what he told himself anyway.

He waited a couple days for your birth control to wear off before he made his move, lighting candles and setting the mood. He even bought you flowers, handing them to you once you’d walked in the door, taking your bag and setting it down on the couch.

“I missed you.” He breathed out, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. “Why can’t you just move in with me already? It’s been four years, you know.”

“Mikey, we’ve talked about this. You know I love you, but I’m just not ready yet.” You offered him an apologetic smile before kissing his nose. “Besides, then you won’t gift me things like flowers when you see me.”

The corners of his mouth twitched up into small smile. “I’ll always get you flowers.” Leaning forward, he pressed his lips against your forehead in a gentle kiss, your eyes fluttering shut. “I love you.”

“You really did miss me, huh?” You teased lightly. “I love you too, and the flowers.. thank you. You know they’re my favorites.”

“If you like the flowers that much, then you should see what else I got you.”  Withdrawing his arms from around you, his hand grabbed yours, starting to pull you down the hallway. “Don’t laugh. I just thought it’d been a while since we’d done something romantic.”

Your eyebrows knitted together but when he pushed open his door to reveal his bedroom, you understood what he meant. Rose petals were scattered across the king size bed, the lights dim with candles covering every surface. Soft music even played in the background.

Your lips parted in a soft gasp as you stepped inside, bringing your hands up to cover your mouth. “Mikey.. this is..” Turning back to him, you didn’t know what to say. He didn’t make romantic gestures like this often, but when he did, it always made your heart melt.

“Shhh.. just kiss me.” He murmured, leaning in and capturing your lips in a kiss. He didn’t need your praise to know he’d done a good job; he could tell by the way you instantly dropped the flowers so you could grab onto the sides of his face, kissing him back just as passionately.

His arms hooked behind you and lifted you up into his arms, slowly walking you over to the bed before lying you down, all the while your lips never losing contact. He only drew away to pull his shirt over his head, dark eyes watching as you did the same.

Tossing it to the side, he leaned back down to kiss at your neck, his hands already working on the buttons of your pants. Everything was falling into place; it was even easier than he had thought.

With your pants discarded at the bottom of the bed, his mouth began trailing kisses down your chest, tongue swirling around each of your nipples before proceeding lower. 

“Mikey..” You couldn’t help but whimper when you felt his fingers start stroking between your folds, the cool metal of his rings sending shivers down your spine. He was taking his time, kissing just below your navel and gazing up at you with lust filled eyes.

“Yes, princess?” His voice was a smooth as honey, low and sultry, and you could feel yourself become more aroused. “Just lay back and relax. I’m gonna make you feel good.” Dipping his dead down in between your legs, you gasped as he licked at your clit, his tongue warm and wet. 

“Ahh..” Your legs spread further apart to give him more access, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. “What’s gotten into you today?”

He merely hummed in response, wrapping his lips around your clit and beginning to suckle on it, his fingers finally prodding at your entrance. Your back arched as they started sinking into you, the sensation drawing a moan from your parted lips. 

He wasted no time working his fingers in and out of you, alternating between thrusting and curling them against the soft, spongy spot inside of you. His mouth continued to suck at your sensitive bud, the feeling of pleasure clouding your mind and causing your head to fall back against the pillows, one of your hands winding into his air. 

“Mmm... feel s’good.. please don’t stop..” You mewled, toes curling as you tugged on his hair, the sound of your cunt squelching echoing around the room. It nearly had your eyes rolling back in your head, hips grinding against his face.

“I wasn’t plannin’ on it..” He murmured against your clit, letting the vibrations add extra stimulation. He reveled in the way you were squirming in front of him, watching you as tears began pricking your eyes. “Gonna make you cum.”

A broken moan left your lips as he pushed a third finger inside of you, focused on bending them in a come hither motion. “Shit— Mikey, I’m so close..!”

Upon hearing your warning, his ministrations only quickened, tongue hardening and flicking relentlessly over your clit, fingers pressing harshly against your walls. It was all too much, and your climax ended up hitting you like a train, stealing all of the breath from your lungs. 

“That’s it, princess.. Cum for me...” He let you ride out your orgasm on his hand before drawing it away and licking up the mess with his tongue, groaning from how sweet you tasted. “Good girl.”

Pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, he lifted himself up to claim your lips in a kiss, and you could taste yourself, letting go of his hair and cupping his cheek with your hand. “I.. I love you, Mikey.”

“I love you too, (y/n).” His response was instant, dark eyes gazing down into yours with complete love and adoration. “I need you.”

With a knowing smile on your face, you pressed a chaste kiss against his lips while he worked on taking off his pants. “Where’s the condoms, baby?” Your mind was still buzzed from your climax, but you knew your birth control wasn’t in effect. 

“No..” He shook his head a bit, pulling down his boxers to reveal his hardened cock, precum leaking from the tip. “I want to feel you. I’ll pull out, I promise.”

You knew you shouldn’t take the risk. You didn’t want to get pregnant right now, but you trusted Mikey. You trusted him more than anyone in your life, and you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. That’s why you ended up nodding your head yes and giving in, shifting lower and guiding his cock to your hole. “Okay, do it..”

With his hand moving down to rub slow circles over your clit, he started to push into you, a hiss leaving him at the stretch of your walls. It didn’t matter how many times he fucked you, how long he spent prepping you— it was always a tight fit. 

Your hands gripped his shoulders as your jaw fell ajar, tears building up in your eyes again. “Oh my god..” You moaned out, wrapping your legs around him as he bottomed out inside of you.

“Shit.. You’re always so tight, princess..” He squeezed his eyes shut, regaining his composure and willing his hips to start rocking into you. The culmination of his plan was approaching and his cock twitched at the thought of you being stuck with him forever. 

His pace was slow and shallow at first, barely pulling out only to push back into you. But, the longer it went on, the harder they became. Soon, he was slamming into you, the sound of skin slapping skin loud in the room. The tip of his cock kissed your cervix with every thrust, his balls smacking against your ass. 

You were moaning with reckless abandon now, not caring if your neighbors heard you. All you could do was grind your hips up in time with his thrusts, tears leaking down your cheeks as the coil inside you winded tighter and tighter.

“M-Mikey.. ‘m gonna cum again..” You could feel your body start to tense up, getting closer to the edge, and you were sure that meant he was close too. “You’ve.. you’ve got to pull out..”

There were the words he’d been waiting to hear, stormy eyes gazing down into yours. “Shh.. it’s gonna be okay.” He murmured in a soothing tone, a stark contrast to his hips hammering into you relentlessly. “It’s all gonna be okay..”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but it was hard to focus on the situation at hand given the current circumstances. “What’re y-you talking about? Mikey.. you have to pull out..”

Despite your protests, his hips continued to hammer against your own with no sign of stopping. “Shh.. We’re gonna have a baby, (y/n)..” He let out a groan as he felt his balls start to tighten, his own eyebrows starting to furrow.

Your eyes widened as it all dawned on you, realizing that there was a reason he hadn’t wanted to use a condom. He wanted to breed you.

Your hands began to push against his chest, but it was all in vain, your climax coursing through your body. Writhing beneath him, you were rendered helpless to his onslaught, a loud moan leaving your lips as your back arched up into him.

It was the pulsations of your walls that finally pulled an orgasm out of him, a low groan rumbling through his chest as he brought his hips flush to yours, thick ribbons of cum painting your walls white. It was the most gratifying orgasm he’d ever had.

The tears that spilled down your cheeks now we’re ones of betrayal as you felt his seed flood inside you. “M-Mikey...” What had he just done?

“I know, baby, I know.” He reassured you, bringing a hand to brush away a couple tears from your face. “We’re gonna be together forever.” His stilled hips slowly started moving again, making sure to fuck his cum further into your cervix. “It’s all gonna be okay now.”

[beyondspaceandstars]

Dog Days

Relationship: Natasha Romanoff x Reader Warnings: N/A, just fluffy! Summary: You agree to accompany Yelena to the pet shelter so she can look for a dog. While there, though, you lock eyes with the sweetest golden retriever... Natasha ends up coming home to quite the surprise. A/N: Bad title, even worse summary! but what’s new.

Masterlist

When you woke up that morning, you hadn’t expected that by the afternoon you’d be standing in what felt like a sea of dogs. In fact, you knew for a cold hard fact you weren’t supposed to be in this position.

Earlier in the week, Yelena had finally announced she was committing to getting a dog, a task she had been hemming and hawing about for months. Naturally, you and Natasha were pretty excited for her. It felt like you two were becoming aunts in some sort of way. Natasha then offered to go to the shelter with Yelena and the plans had been made.

But come the morning of and Natasha was whisked away to a meeting or something. You didn’t know, you weren’t an Avenger — you only dated one.

You broke the news to Yelena that morning when she came to pick up Natasha. There was a tinge of disappointment written on her face but she did her best to keep up that unbothered persona. It never worked on you when your girlfriend did it and it certainly wasn’t working now with her sister. After a short debate with yourself, you had impulsively grabbed your purse and told Yelena you’d go with her. She didn’t fight you on it.

And that was how you ended up being pestered by dog after dog after dog. They seemed to be never-ending as you two walked up and down the aisles of the local shelter. There were big ones, small ones. Loud ones, shy ones. Puppies and seniors. Each and every one of them looked up at you with the sweetest eyes. It was starting to become concerning how much your heart ached for these little guys. But you weren’t here for yourself — no way, that was never the plan — and instead directed your attention to pointing out potential adoptees for Yelena.

She was quick to shut down your chihuahua suggestion which, well, was sort of reasonable. Yelena didn’t come off as the type. Then you passed some cages of great danes but those were a little on the too big side. Another fair point, they could be tough to corral.

Then you two stumbled upon the German shepherds. You don’t think you’d ever seen Yelena’s eyes light up so much. If falling in love at first sight was a thing with dogs, it happened at that moment you observed. While Yelena approached the cage to introduce herself to the dog, you stepped around looking at the others in the area.

That was when you had your own love at first sight moment. There, in the cage right next to the dog Yelena was looking at, was the sweetest, happiest golden retriever you had ever seen. He perked up immediately as you stepped towards the cage, tail wagging happily, mouth opened to what looked like to be a smile. As weird as that fact sounded, it felt true. This dog certainly looked happy to see you. The feeling was mutual.

Carefully, you stuck your hand between the cage bars and the dog sniffed you out. Within seconds he was licking you, a silent greeting and acceptance. It was over for you then and Yelena apparently had picked up on it.

"Natasha is going to have quite the surprise for her once she gets home," she laughed, watching you pet the dog as well as you could between the bars.

You bit your lip, holding back your own laugh. "It’s not like I can just walk away."

"Of course not."

"That’d be cruel."

"I agree."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "You just want me in trouble."

Yelena shrugged. "I do think it can be amusing hearing you and my sister bicker."

"Oh, just worry about your own dog," you shooed her away. She turned back to the German shepherd, letting out another laugh. The shepherd barked.

When Yelena found a volunteer to begin the adoption process, you followed as well. Like your feet had a mind of their own. Or maybe it was your heart. Whatever it was, you just knew you hadn’t expected your day to go as such.

***

It was very clear that Natasha also hadn’t expected the day to go the way it did.

It was close to midnight when the apartment door opened. You and the new dog, which you had found was named Sparky, were still up playing with the variety of new toys you had purchased for him. After adopting the golden retriever, you realized, well, you had nothing for him. He wasn’t technically supposed to be in the back of the car, looking around all excitedly, if today had gone the way it was meant to.

You stopped by a pet store on the way back which Sparky was very, very excited about. You found he was very kind with other dogs and got overly excited about anything flavored with bacon. You even let him pick out his own toys which led to quite the array of items.

You had just bounced a ball for Sparky to chase when you noticed a presence in the entryway of the living room. You nearly jumped out of your skin, still not used to the way your assassin girlfriend could be so stealthy.

"Nat, hello!" You exclaimed as if everything was normal and this was a very typical night. She didn’t look impressed standing with her arms crossed, eyes darting every now and then to the golden retriever who was now prancing back to you with the ball.

"What’s going on here?" She asked slowly, curiously. Sparky finally noticed Natasha and trotted over, trying to say hello. Your girlfriend looked a bit unsure, to say the least.

"Um, that’s Sparky the Golden Retriever," you explained, motioning to the dog still waiting for Natasha to pet him. She patted his head gently.

"I see that," she nodded. "I guess I’m asking… What’s he doing in our apartment?"

You stood from the floor and took a few steps towards your girlfriend. You discarded the toy in your hand, trying to figure out how to really explain everything now. "Well, you see, after you went to that meeting this morning, I told Yelena I’d go with her to the shelter."

Natasha nodded, encouraging you to go on.

You sighed. "I-I didn’t plan on it, obviously, but I saw Sparky in the cage and I just… Oh, Nat. You should’ve seen the way he looked at me. He’s so sweet. We got along right away and he seemed so excited to meet me… I couldn’t just leave him there!"

Natasha let out a light laugh, completely abandoning her angry girlfriend persona to finally kneel to the golden retriever’s height. She scratched behind his ears which earned a happy sigh from the dog. "Of course you couldn’t leave a face like this."

You let out your own sigh of relief and kneeled down as well. Hesitantly, you asked, "You’re not upset?"

Natasha shrugged. "I was certainly surprised," she admitted, "but I think I should’ve known this would happen."

"Excuse me?" You let out a faux surprise gasp. Natasha chuckled.

"Well, when I knew I couldn’t go I figured you’d step in," she explained. "You are absolutely hopeless when it comes to resisting animals. It was just a matter of time until I came home to this."

You smiled at her analysis of you. Ever the spy, can never turn it off. "Yelena was no help either in the situation. She definitely persuaded me but she was just banking on us arguing over it."

That made Natasha let out the most joyous laugh. You couldn’t help your smile getting bigger at her finding the situation amusing. "I expect nothing less from her," Natasha said.

You nodded in agreement. "Thank gosh it worked out," you said and began petting Sparky’s back. He was stuck between a shower of love and was taking in every second of it, tongue hanging out in happiness, eyes shut in content. "I was worried you’d make me return him."

Your girlfriend shook her head. "That’d be impossible." She sighed, "I can’t believe I’m now a… What do they call that? A dog mom?"

You gasped, a lightbulb going off in your head. "We could get little dog mom shirts made. Sparky could even get his own bandana. We’d have matching family outfits."

Natasha raised her hand, wordlessly asking you to slow down. "Please don’t push it, dear."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Fine," you shrugged, "but you can’t control what I get you for Christmas."

As if he understood, Sparky let out a bark in agreement.

Natasha sighed. "I’m outnumbered now, aren’t I?"

Sparky turned towards you, giving your cheek what felt like a million licks. Through your laughter, you confirmed your girlfriend’s suspicion.

[rurpleplaysmuttingtonac]

Sophie had been stunned into silence when Jordan had approached her and begun to smooth talk her. She’d been very anxious from the bus ride but now that a sexy bloke was chatting her up, she’d felt her nerves recede. He’d had the choice of two other women, two who she thought looked more beautiful than she could possibly be, but he’d picked her.

What if he was her soulmate? That one that she’d been searching for all these-?

Her thoughts cut off with a painful shock when the youngest looking woman with red hair, locked lips with her would’ve been beau.

She scowled, looking down and gulped audibly, trying not to burst into tears. She was an idiot, she should've known better than to think a man that hot would want her, for her, not because she was a woman.

Jordan was just as shocked as Sophie had been when the redhead had shyly come up to him and kissed him without even a word spoken.

“Err, hi” he said, not one to turn away a beautiful woman.

“Hey” said the quiet and softly spoken Lucy. “You’re a great kisser, you know?”

He smirked “I can do better than that, darling.”

Sophie huffed from behind him but he didn’t hear her. Sophie wanted to walk away but some errant thought compelled her to remain there, to see what the heck was happening. 

“Don’t be like that” Benedict said, taking Beatrice’s hands in his own. She was pleasantly surprised by how soft his hands and how gentle his movements were. “I’m sorry, I acted impulsively. But, you might already know this, but you’re the hottest woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on! I’d love to get to know you better.”

“I bet you would!” Beatrice said, trying and failing to roll her eyes. “Many men want to get to know me.”

She was flattered and his gaze seemed sincere and tender as he looked at her. That look was something she wasn’t used to, usually it was a look full of desire as they looked her up and down. But here, with Benedict, he seemed quietly taken with her in a - dare she even think it? - possibly romantic way?

In a bid to distract her own hope - the fuck was wrong with her?! - she tried to ignore the flutter in her chest as he held onto her hands. 

“Well usually, I would ask you out” Benedict admitted, and she was touched to see a slight pink in his cheeks. Was he blushing? 

He continued “But you lot aren’t allowed out of the premises, so unfortunately I can’t. I could make you a better offer though...if you were interested..?”

“Isn’t this against the rules?” Beatrice asked, trying to sound stern but failing. He rose an eyebrow, silently asking her to elaborate. 

“That you’re trying to seduce me, one of the participants to this bullshit experiment you say we’ve agreed to?” she explained.

“If I was only trying to seduce you, then we’d already be in bed together” Benedict told her confidently. Surprisingly, he sounded like a man in awe of her, rather than a crude remark which is what it should’ve sounded like. 

The blatant confidence and that fact that he was in charge, the leader, in control, was a turn on for her. Beatrice had to bite her lip to not drag him  upstairs herself. 

Control yourself, she told herself as she reluctantly let go of his hands. You’ve been here five minutes, no need to conform to the reputation all those city wankers think I am!

Lucy had been hoping to head upstairs with Jordan as a shocking daring had overtaken her. She wasn’t a shy girl but she felt average and boring. 

But seeing herself in a new environment, where none of these people knew who and where she’d come from, made her want to struggle free from the religious shackles she’d been in her entire life. 

All Jordan could think was what it would be like to kiss Beatrice. He now had a moment as he saw that Benedict was heading out of the front door for work.

[frodo-with-glasses]

Aragorn and Boromir, 1, 2, 5, 8, 11, 15?

1. “When I think they became friends”

As with many other relationships here, I’m not sure you could point to one singular moment as the official “starting point” of the friendship. I think Aragorn and Boromir’s mutual respect (and annoyance) for each other was more of a gradual thing, slowly building over the course of their time together in the Fellowship.

But if there was one singular Bonding Moment that really helped things pick up speed, I think it was probably that miserable hour of brute-forcing their way through the snow on Caradhras. Nothing says “brotherly bonding” like being freezing and tired and sore and soaking wet and still having to shove your way through snow together with the Power of ManlinessTM!

2. “My favorite scene of them”

It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it little detail, but I love the fact that Aragorn calls Boromir over to help him carry Frodo and Sam after they escape from Moria. Both of the hobbits are wounded and can barely stand on their feet, and Aragorn’s first thought—after apologizing profusely for not attending to them sooner—is to do what every man of Gondor apparently wants to do and Pick Up The Halflings, and he calls the only other man of Gondor in the Fellowship to help him. “You with the muscles! Help me pick up the smols.” I dunno, it’s just cute ☺️

5. “A scene I wish we had of them”

Boromir seeing Aragorn become king. I just…yeah. Boromir has a lot of hang-ups concerning Gondor and leadership and all that, but I think he would’ve been delighted, in the end.

8. “Who I think is the crazier one”

My gut reaction is to say Boromir, by nature of him being an extrovert with low impulse control and a bad case of Foot In Mouth disease—but Aragorn’s crazy is stealth crazy, and only pops up when you’re least expecting it, and that’s almost scarier.

11. “Which of the friends can I relate to more?”

Definitely Aragorn. Boromir, as aforementioned, is a big blustery extrovert, but Aragorn is an introvert and the Tired Dad and sometimes it feels like he’s the only sane man left herding a bunch of children (or feral cats) and honestly all of that is a huge Mood.

15. “If I would want to be friends with them”

You know what, I think this is the first time that I’m actually gonna have to pass on one of these characters. I feel like Boromir and I wouldn’t get along. Not because I resent him for succumbing to the Ring or anything, no; I’m old enough to forgive him for that.

It’s all his other personality flaws that rub me the wrong way. His pride. His tactlessness. His lack of sensitivity to cultures other than his own. That chronic case of Foot In Mouth disease, as I said earlier. And not that this is a bad thing in itself, but it takes me a while to warm up to loud extroverts. People like that tend to demand more emotional energy than I have available; and that can create frustrating situations where I’m cranky because I feel drained, and they’re cranky because they feel like I’m no fun.

I’d be happy to be friends with Aragorn, if he’d have me. But it would probably be better if Boromir and I keep our distance. We’d probably like each other more the less we interact.

FRIENDSHIP ASK GAME!

[ieattaperecorders]

May You Find Your Rest

Somewhere else. Two men who were not born in this reality lie in bed together, hold one another and unpack a few things. (Just 4k of cuddling and talking about feelings, really.)

Read on Ao3

---

It's dark in the small, quiet room where they sleep. Not completely, neither of them feels entirely safe in the dark anymore, so the curtain is always parted to let a sliver of light in.

Curled against Martin, Jon is warm and still and finally thinking of nothing. He's just starting to drift off when he feels him reach over and plant light, careful kisses on his cheek, on his temple, on the top of his brow. He sighs with pleasure. It would be so easy to keep drifting, to let himself sink into sleep as the one he loves kisses him softly and sweetly. But instead he opens his eyes, not really knowing why he does it.

Maybe it's the way Martin moves, slow and deliberate. Maybe there's a subtle a hitch in his breathing, something Jon senses without seeing or understanding. Something that tells him he shouldn't go to sleep. Not yet.

So he lies listening to the silence as Martin's hand moves over his side, outlining him. It nudges itself under the hem of his nightshirt, tracing the softness of his waist. Then, as if this hadn't been its destination all along, it brushes the wide, ragged scar over his stomach. A twinge (not sharp, not much more than a tingle) runs through his body. His breathing barely changes – it's not a gasp, just a slightly deeper inhalation. But Martin notices, hand hesitating, drawing back.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, and he sounds so horribly solemn.

"Not really," Jon says quietly. "Just a little sensitive. Scar tissue."

Gently, he places a hand over Martin's and presses it down into his abdomen, until it's covering the center of the scar. Jon has scars that are sensitive in other ways. Martin has learned to be careful around the thin line that cuts across his throat. Knows there are days when the chewed circles that pockmark his body itch uncontrollably, when he'll scratch himself bloody if he isn't thinking.

(In the safehouse, Martin had pulled the hand from his face and whispered don't. Had kissed his scars over and over, until he couldn't feel the itch, could only feel the gentle pressure of his lips and his kindness and love.)

He wants to say, it doesn't hurt when you touch me here. To show Martin that his body won't flinch from his touch. It wouldn't be his fault if it did. It wouldn't be either of their faults. But it doesn't, and he needs him to know that.

The hand relaxes against him. It moves in a slow arc, finding the edges of the wound, mapping and knowing it. Jon keeps his own hand in place, letting it move with his.

"I'm sorry," Martin says.

Jon brings a hand to his cheek. "So am I."

He wonders what Martin is apologizing for. For cutting the tether, letting them out? For the wound that could only be made by his hands? For not being able to let him go? No . . . Jon doubts he would be sorry for that.

Maybe it isn't an apology at all . . . maybe he's just sorry. Sorry he had to be hurt again.

"So am I," he repeats. "But it's done. We're here, now. Together, and alive. Despite it all."

Martin's head rests on the pillow, gaze turned to the side. He's subdued in a way that feels meaningful but that Jon can't identify. So he says nothing, lies still and lets his hand trail up the side of Martin's face, over his temple, around his ear. Affectionate touch, easier and less confusing than the jumble of words and questions swarming in his brain.

After a long silence, Martin says, "I wish you had trusted me."

" . . . What do you mean?"

"In the Panopticon. I just wish you'd trusted me enough to go along with the plan."

Jon frowns. "I . . . don't know if that was about trust."

"Wasn't it, though?"

"I didn't do what I did –" he pauses, rephrases. "I didn't kill Jonah because I thought you were lying, or going to betray me, or – or controlled by spiders. I didn't think your intentions were anything other than what you said. But I couldn't bear the thought of what we were doing . . . or I thought I couldn't. Clearly I could. In the end."

"Yeah. Well. Turns out both of us did things we didn't think we could," Martin says bitterly, thumb still tracing the scar.

"Funny how often that happens."

"You could have trusted that I knew what I was doing."

"But you didn't. None of us did . . . no one could in that situation."

"That includes you, you know," Martin frowns. "You kept going on about all you knew, but even you said you weren't unbiased. You don't think maybe the idea that the only way out was global euthanasia had anything to do with your own baggage?"

Another twinge, sharper this time. Without realizing, he'd pressed Martin's palm down harder than he should have, in where the nerves were still healing. He eases off.

". . . Maybe," he says eventually. "Probably. I doubt any of us were unbiased. How could we be?"

"But it was your biased plan you decided to go with. Like you always do. You always think you know better than everyone else--"

"I don't think that's entirely fair."

"It's not entirely unfair either."

He feels something stirring defensively in him. Then he stops. Assesses. "No," he says eventually. "I suppose it's not."

The hand is warm against his stomach, and he can feel the dampness of sweat just forming between their skins. It's not pleasant or unpleasant, just something he can feel, and he focuses on it for a while.

"You didn't trust me either, you know," he senses an objection coming, and he heads it off. "You were right not to. I wasn't trustworthy. You thought that I would go behind your back, and I did."

The tension that was rising deflates a little at the admission, and Martin's voice is gentle when he says, "you did."

"But I don't think you were lying when you said you trusted me." Jon adds. ". . . Do you?"

" . . . Fine, I get it. Trust is complicated and all that," Martin sighs, "it just. It hurts."

". . . I'm sorry."

Martin nods, is still for a moment, then leans forward and kisses him once. He kisses back.

"Do you regret it?"

"Which part?"

"Killing Jonah. Not waiting for us. Trying to go the other way."

Jon thinks of the hours before it happened. Of whimpering into Martin's chest, almost pleading, begging him to see. Horribly aware that Martin was as deeply set in his feelings as Jon, that there would be no budging for either of them.

He thinks of the moment he spent watching Martin's sleeping form, just before he climbed those stairs. Seeing his brow creased with unquiet dreams, and knowing that he was about to hurt him. He thinks of the terror, the dawning horror that fell over him as he saw what it all had been leading to.

"I don't know," he finally says. "I regret the pain you went through . . . I regret making you feel that."

There's a curved line trailing over Martin's forehead, just above his eye, which Jon follows with the edge of his thumb. The one on his shoulder is larger, took ages to heal, and there are more that travel down his back and arms. Places where the rubble struck him, before they both unraveled.

The scars aren't really what Jon is referring to when he talks about pain. But he supposes they're a part of it too.

". . . Do you?" he asks.

"Do I what?"

"Regret any of it?"

"I'm not sorry that I didn't let you stay in that tower and kill the entire world, if that's what you mean," he says firmly. "I'm sorry, but I'm never going to regret that."

"No . . . I wouldn't expect you to."

"I wouldn't have told the others to start if I'd known you'd already done it. But if I'd known that . . . that would've been it, right? We'd be stuck there."

"Unless the others went behind both our backs."

"What, you think Melanie wanted to stick a knife in you that badly?"

"I don't know about wanted. But I think Basira could have done it."

"Yeah . . . maybe."

". . . I'm sorry that I went behind yours."

Martin breathes into the space between their bodies, a long and expressive exhale. "I know. . . And I know you were hurting. And scared. I do know that."

"We both were."

"Yeah. Yeah . . ." he sighs. "I forgive you for it. I do. I don't want to hold onto that."

Jon finds Martin's hand in the dim light, pulls it closer to himself and kisses it. He hesitates – not sure if he should say this, should even acknowledge it – before linking their fingers together and pulling the hand back to his stomach, over the place where the knife went in.

"I don't need to forgive you for this. That is – I, I don't believe there's anything to forgive? It was what you had to do, and it was what I asked for. But . . ." he pauses, hesitates. "I know guilt can be an insidious emotion--"

"Oh, do you?" the lilt of sarcasm does not go unnoticed. Jon ignores it.

"–And I want you to know . . . if you feel like you need to be forgiven for it, you are. Entirely and unconditionally."

Martin nods, moving his hand off the scar and over around Jon's side. As he leans in for another kiss he grips him a little more firmly, his touch seems less hesitant and Jon is glad that he said something after all.

"Anyway, I was right, wasn't I?" Martin says after a moment. "We're here. We're in another world, and things are fine. It's normal. Maybe the fears are here, but it's not an apocalypse. Maybe it never will be."

That makes Jon frown. "You don't know that."

"Neither do you."

"And we never will," he says firmly. "We won't ever know the cost of what we did. Maybe it balances out. Maybe it doesn't. Either way, you and I won't have to feel it."

"At least it's normal here. You're not even an avatar," Martin says, and Jon nips back the impulse to quibble about the nature of that term. "You haven't been having the dreams, and you haven't needed a statement since we got here."

". . . I'm still feeding the Eye." It isn't until he sees the look of confusion on Martin's face that it occurs to Jon he didn't already know. "I don't have the power I once had, or the same needs," he explains. "But I feel it sometimes, using me as a conduit. It's as if the signal's fainter, but the receiver is so much more sensitive."

"Do you know it's happening, though, or are you just guessing?"

"I'm not sure how it happens, exactly. Maybe it just grazes off the fear I witness when I see something terrible on the news, or pass by someone in distress. Maybe in time it'll push me to seek out more, to force myself into other peoples' tragedies in service of the Beholding. Or maybe it never will, and I'll stay this way for the rest of my life."

Martin's brow furrows, and his voice is insistent, pushing back with some need Jon can't quite understand. "Okay, but it's not like you're actually hurting people--"

"No . . . I am," he says firmly. "And I am certain of that. It might be more subtle now . . . a lingering feeling of invasion, or paranoia. Or a trauma that would have otherwise passed leaving a decades-deep mark." He stares thoughtfully at his own thumb. "It feeds through me, and I give it strength. On some level, my existence still depends on the suffering of others. That's one consequence we can't avoid."

Martin is quiet for a long while. ". . . Guess it doesn't matter, right?" he finally says. "It's done. Can't undo it."

"No. Not any of it." He shakes his head. "It's funny, really. All my paranoia and suspicion, all my worry that the Web would slip an agent in under our nose, and the whole time I was looking in the wrong place. Seeing and seeing and never understanding."

"What do you mean?" Martin fidgets, and Jon wonders if he's said something he shouldn't have, though he can't guess what. "Looking in the wrong place?"

"I mean myself. The mark when I was a child. The lighter I could never remember. Even the tapes they sent to press on my wounds, keeping that anger fresh. All of it leading to that moment."

". . . Oh." Martin sighs. "Yeah, Jon. They manipulated you, that's what they do. They manipulated all of us."

"They did. And I was more theirs than I ever realized."

He feels Martin's fingers tapping against his side, thoughtful. After a moment, he speaks. ". . . She said that about me, too. Annabelle. That I was suited to the Web, or something."

"I imagine she'd say anything she knew would rile you up."

"She was right, though. At least a little bit . . . ." he takes the edge of Jon's sleeve between his fingers, twisting and fidgeting with it. "When we were down there, waiting, I could feel you coming through the web. The vibrations just spoke to me, I knew Basira was with you even before I saw her."

That surprises Jon. Startles him, even. He feels Martin fidget again, and in his mind he plays back what do you mean, looking in the wrong place. Notices the quiet nervousness in his voice. Considers how deep and old Martin knows his hatred of the Mother of Puppets to be.

"I always knew," he says, voice light and casual, "that there had to be a reason you'd defend anything as vile and repugnant as the common house spider."

Hearing Martin laugh, feeling that tension release in a sudden startled lungful – it's beautiful, it's a victory, and he smiles as Martin nudges into his shoulder. Halfway between a gesture of affection and a headbutt.

"Arsehole," he mutters. "It's not just that. I know I'm . . . well, I'm not always great at being direct. And maybe I can sometimes be passive-aggressive . . . ."

"Well—"

"You don't have to agree with me."

". . . Right."

"But that's sort of Web stuff, isn't it? And I – I was always good at telling Peter what he wanted to hear. I know why she said what she did."

"Mmm." Jon lifts Martins' fingers from where they're worrying at his sleeve, rolls them between his own. "You've learned that it's safer to nudge and suggest than to be direct. To make yourself look smaller than you are. I can see the . . . thematic overlap, I suppose. Imagine it drawing the attention of the Spider."

". . . Does that bother you?"

"Well I'm not worried you're some spider-controlled double agent," he says, then adds something under his breath.

". . . What was that last bit?" Martin lifts his head.

"Nothing."

"Did you just mutter ‘anymore?!"' he asks incredulously.

"My point is, we call to them in countless ways, often without knowing or wanting to," he sighs. "Besides . . . I'd hardly be in a position to judge. They had their strings on me from the start."

"That makes you a victim of them. Not an agent or an avatar."

"Martin . . . ."

"Don't ‘Martin' me, I'm right."

"Do you really think the two are incompatible? Being a victim of a power, and being a channel through which it feeds on others? After all you've seen?" his voice softens. "After all you've been through . . . after the Lonely?"

Martin goes quiet. Jon runs his fingers over his shoulder, absently stroking.

"In the end, I chose to be theirs. With it all falling down around us, I saw what they'd known I would do from the very beginning. I witnessed my fate laid out for me and instead of defying it, I ran towards it."

". . . You still regret it, don't you? Letting them out."

"I don't know, Martin. Truly, I don't," he says. A smile starts, then dies on his lips. "There's so much I regret nowadays, it's honestly hard to keep steady how I feel about most things."

A vague, hmm sound, an expression of some emotion that Jon can't guess at, though he suspects that wasn't what he'd wanted to hear. He brings both his hands up, cupping the sides of Martin's face between his palms. Martin startles, but says nothing.

"Most," Jon says, looking back at him seriously. "But I know how I feel about you. That doesn't change. And I don't regret staying with you."

The beginnings of tears form in Martin's eyes, and there is quiet in the room as Jon brings his face to his. Brushing a soft kiss over his mouth, the trails on his cheeks, the space above each closed eye. He doesn't stop until Martin shudders, swallows, and speaks again.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you too," Jon says. "And I'm glad that I'm here. I'm glad we're together and alive . . . whatever else comes with that."

Martin shudders again, a weak and pained sound coming out of him. It's all Jon can do not to pull Martin's face into his chest and let out a thousand desperate apologies, to self-flagellate, to beg forgiveness for ever allowing any pain to come to him. He sensibly quiets that urge, because he knows it's the last thing Martin needs. It's the last thing either of them need.

"Do you promise?" Martin whispers.

"Promise what? That I love you?" Silence follows, and Jon frowns, confused. ". . . I do promise that, if that's what you mean."

Instead of answering, Martin silently reaches between them, fumbling for Jon's hand and squeezing it tightly.

"Some nights I pretend to sleep," he says after a pause. "Or, well. Pretend's too strong a word . . . I just lie quietly in bed. But I'm waiting for you to fall asleep first."

Jon's fairly sure he lost the thread of this conversation, and he doesn't know where or how. ". . . Why?"

"Because I'm scared I'll wake up and find you gone."

"Oh. Oh, Martin . . . ."

"I don't-- it's not that I really think--" he shakes his head, "just sometimes can't let go of the thought of it, and it scares me." A wry smile crosses his face. "Which power feeds on that, you think?"

"I mean –"

"Not actually looking for an answer, Jon," he sighs, a mixture of affection and irritation. "Anyway, I think we both know which one it'd be."

He nods. Holds Martin's hand, rubbing the knuckle of his thumb. "I don't know what I can say . . . I can tell you that I won't leave, that I'll be here when you wake up. But I don't suppose that helps unless you can--" he hesitates, not wanting to say trust. It's starting to feel like a deeply troublesome word, both imprecise and emotionally weighted, the sort Jon tends to despise. ". . . believe me?"

"I don't actually think you're going to just vanish in the night someday. It's hard to explain."

"It's unlikely that we'll live to see another ritual for me to be the apocalyptic tipping point of."

"There's still more . . . ordinary things."

"Don't tell me you think I'm going to run off with one of the locals?" He raises his eyebrows, smiling, lets a teasing superiority into his voice. As if he considers the people of this reality to be below their station.

Martin doesn't laugh or smile. He gives him a look, like he's being stupid on purpose. Jon half wants to tell him it's completely involuntary.

"You don't need a bottomless coffin or an all-seeing eye to run off and martyr yourself. People do it with their own hands every day."

And now he understands. Now the thread comes back, winding itself directly around his throat.

". . . Come here," he says, though there are scant inches between them. Martin does so anyway, fitting himself into the space between Jon's arms, head tucked into his collar, legs twining with his. Jon's hands run over his shoulders, through his hair, down his back. He kisses the crown of his head over and over, pouring it all into touch and action until he can find the strength for words again.

"I love you," he whispers. "I'm not going to leave. Not that way . . . not in any way I have control over."

"Seeing his body there next to you . . . it felt like when I was coming back from the shop, and the sky went dark, and the ground started reaching and –" he swallows. "E-everything had gotten so horrible but we finally had a way out, a chance to start over. And then it was just gone again."

And Jon's heart is breaking, and he's afraid if he speaks he's going to start crying, but he can't be silent after that. So he tries.

"I'm so sorry . . . ."

"I know . . . I know." Martin sniffs. "It's not . . . I'm not looking for that. Honest. I just . . . ."

He goes quiet for a while.

"I know you were in pain," he continues. "The night before it all happened. I know – I knew that it was killing you, what we were about to do. It wasn't that I didn't care. But I told myself that someday – even if it wasn't right away, someday you'd be glad we'd done this. Because there'd be a someday."

". . . Maybe I would have been."

"And maybe you wouldn't have. I didn't know. I don't know. We'll never know. But I know you were hurting, and that's just it. Because I also know it . . . s-still hurts."

"I couldn't do that to you."

"We've both done things we thought we couldn't do," Martin says humorlessly.

"Right . . . I take your point."

"I know you feel guilty," Martin whispers, "and you – you just said that while you're alive others are suffering –"

". . . Yes."

"I know how tempting it can be. To just give in to it."

"I know you do."

"So . . . ."

Martin trails off, helpless. Jon feels helpless too. He clumsily feels for Martin's hands and brings them up against his own chest.

"Whatever else I feel, I promise you that I'm glad I'm alive," he says, holding their hands over the place where his heart still beats, steady and warm and living. "Even when it's difficult to bear it all, I'm glad that I'm alive and with you. I want to build a life together, here and now, more than anything. To take whatever chance we've got."

He wonders what Martin is looking for as his eyes trace over his face. Whatever it is he seems to find it, or maybe just trusts that it's there, because he takes a shuddering breath and nods.

". . . I believe you," he says.

"Thank you," Jon breathes deep, feeling the sharp heat behind his eyes fade as he blinks his own tears away. "And . . . I can hope that we made the right choice. Really it's all either of us can do, anymore."

"True."

They lie together in the silence. Martin slides his arms around Jon's sides, resting his head against his chest, and Jon feels the rhythm of his pulse next to his ear. His body is heavy and real, meat and bone, tangled up together with one that he loves. He feels the heat of Martin's breath as he sighs, the gentle weight, the tickle of hair, the hard ridge of skull beneath it. Abject, bloody systems of life.

". . . Martin?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you . . . for coming back."

In the dark he feels a smile against his body. ". . . Which time?"

"Any. All."

"I always will," he whispers. ". . . Thank you for staying."

"That's the deal."

"Yeah. . . yeah." Martin lets out a long, steady sigh. "That's the deal"

Jon feels Martin's limbs relax around him, grip loosening as eyes tiredly close. He twines his fingers through Martin's hair, stoking softly and sweetly as his beloved drifts. Jon doesn't close his eyes just yet, instead watches the face that rests against him slowly go slack in the moonlight. Thinking that maybe tonight, Martin will fall asleep first.