#anyway don’t worry this isn’t about anyone in particular

[favroitecrime]

posts on this app where people are like “i would’ve reblogged this important thing but the op said i had to or they said i suck if i ignore it so now i’m not gonna” are just so?? like yeah clearly you DO suck if you straight up ignore the importance of spreading vital information just because what? your feelings got hurt? you got called out for your lack of interest?

“i would’ve but you weren’t nice” i really, really, really shouldn’t have to be nice for you to maintain your morals and integrity.

[notjustjavierpena]

Hello, i hope this isn’t too much but i really admire your courage to write the hard stuff that goes on between javi and his wife. would you ever write something about the struggles they had about conceiving lucas?

Crazy

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Hiya, anon! This was such a rollercoaster to write but thanks so much for giving me the needed push. Also tysm for the compliment 🥺

Summary: Thoughts of infertility take a toll on you and Javier's marriage.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: Infertility, arguments, apologies, hurt/comfort, angst, emotional sex, lots of kissing, pussy eating, piv sex, mating press, creampie, pillowtalk, aftercare

Word count: 6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64569853

Crazy

You can’t help but count the months. Seven long ones with still no baby growing in your belly. Seven and counting since you went off your birth control, a ridiculous thought that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth since it turned out that you hadn’t needed it anyway in the first place. Okay, maybe you had but it is your exhaustion talking, whispering it in your ear.

You remember the conversation that Javier and you had in the kitchen that one time a while back, where he promised you that if everything else failed, you would let Steve and Connie set an example and find your own Olivia. Yet neither of you has dared go into the discussion of exactly when it’s time to stop trying, or if you’d truly be ready to adopt. 

However, now as you anxiously pace around the kitchen, waiting for Javier to come home and cleaning off stains that aren’t actually there from yesterday’s dishes, you wonder if you should call Connie to hear her opinion. 

You stop halfway to the landline to stare at the calendar on the door to the refrigerator. The red circle around today’s date mocks you and you lift your hand up to flip it off, giving it a roll of your eyes now that you’re at it. Seven fucking months of anxiously charting your cycles, tracking ovulation windows, and feeling hope slip away with each negative test. 

What if it never happens at all? Connie hadn’t seemed to entertain your worry the last time you brought it up, had shaken her head with a smile you wanted to wipe off her face, and pulled out her authority as a nurse to reassure you. There’s still plenty of time before you need to start worrying, she keeps saying, and it feels like it is the only reason you are still taking vitamins, avoiding caffeine, and doing your exercises. 

You’ve reached the phone now, your hand hovering over it in midair. It would be so easy to ring Connie right now and tell her every worry that is constantly going around in your head, every frustration of being in a battle with forcibly loving your body when it isn’t working the way it should. But then you think of Javier and decide against it, convinced by the guilt that nags at you. It feels like a betrayal to begin that particular and very tough conversation with anyone else but him. 

You stand there for a moment longer, staring at the phone, silently hoping it will ring and Connie will be on the other end of the line. It would make it easier to justify running your mouth to her. 

“Don’t look at me, it just happened,” you would say and still know it wasn’t okay.

Keys being inserted into the front door and the handle rattling makes you tense up in nervous anticipation. Javier is home from work. This is the day you’ve been waiting for a whole month, the one you’ve rearranged your entire schedule around and taken off work because if there’s any chance of being a mom, it has to be now.

“Baby?” He calls when he’s inside the house. You can hear the thud of his bag hitting the floor and the sound of his footsteps going towards the living room. 

“I’m here,” you answer through the house. You peek into the living room and see him shrug out of his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the couch and letting himself fall into the cushions with a contented sigh. You know you’re supposed to go in there and spoil his relief. 

“Come in here,” he says and taps his fingers on his knees, eyes soft from hoping to see you materialize in the doorway. He always tells you he misses you at his job.

Carefully, you enter the room and approach him with urgency in your body. You have a single mission today and it is a delicate matter. 

Get pregnant. 

Getpregnantgetpregnantgetpregnant. 

Get fucking pregnant.

“Hey,” he says with a tired smile when you stand right in front of him, glad to see you. He holds out his hand for you to take. You don’t reach for it and his smile fades.

“We should have sex,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, staring down at him as he reaches for his tie instead. 

“Baby, I just walked in. I just sat down,” he says softly and tugs at the knot on his tie, pulling it loose with a small noise. There’s an underlying emotion to his voice, a hint of frustration to his tone even if he doesn’t want to upset you. 

Your focus, your tunnel vision, makes you ignore his complaint as if it isn’t a ticking bomb right between your hands, “If I’ve calculated right, it’s been twelve hours since we last had sex, Javi. I’ve read that it’s a good idea to—“

“We have sex all the time, baby. Three times yesterday. Once at night. We fuck a lot,” he reaches up to run both hands over his face, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands afterward. He does a quick inhale and then sighs.

“Yes, but we have to do it today too to be sure. Connie said that—“ you quickly argue but his jaw muscles flex as you talk. Javier pushes himself to stand with exasperation in his next breath.

He pushes past you as if he cannot take being in your presence for a second longer despite just having arrived home, doesn’t even look at you as he throws back a sarcastic comment, “Oh, Connie said? Really? Wow, you really know how to turn me on.”

“That’s not funny. Hey, come back here,” you say as he starts walking towards the kitchen instead, leaving you with your mouth a thin line. You follow him but don’t go any further than standing in the door, “I’m the only one who initiates sex lately. What if my ovulation is peaking right now? The day is over soon.”

He leans against the kitchen counter, reaching back to grip the edge of the table, “The day isn’t over yet. It’s five in the afternoon. I just got home. We can have sex tonight.” 

You finally step fully into the kitchen now and it feels almost like you have crossed enemy lines. You can feel your tears build inside of your chest, crawling steadily up into your throat till they burn but you don’t allow yourself to cry. Why doesn’t he understand the pain of losing another month to grief? Why is it not as important to him? You look desperate, “Connie said it’s best during the day.”

“Stop,” he suddenly commands, causing you to flinch. He looks angry at you, unable to register the impact of the tone of his voice because of his own state of mind but it makes you tremble. He is never this way, “I can’t fucking take another fucking word about eggs and sperm and fertile windows. It’s too much now. You’re being crazy.”

Something breaks inside of you at those words, a beast that’s been hidden inside a cage in your chest threatening to escape and go for the kill. You watch him carelessly turn away to open the fridge, detachment on his face as if he has just argued with you about what you’re having for dinner. He leaves you feeling in complete disbelief and disarray, your heart ticking like a bomb. You need out right now or you might suffocate in the large, childless space that you moved into with the idea that you would be a family of three soon. 

You leave the room with your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The walls feel like they are closing in on you, close to trapping you here in this feeling forever if you don’t hurry up and reach the front door quickly. 

You slam the door behind you, no shoes on your feet, and then suddenly you are close to running down the street, breathing harder and harder while your arms swing along your sides in your haste. 

He has never called you crazy before. The word feels like he has just spat in your face, wrapped you in barbed wire, as if he sees you as just one more woman suffering from hysteria. Dismissible and unserious. Crazy. You swear you can feel all of the women before you right behind you, giving you the wind in your back to run faster than ever even with no destination. You don’t even feel your feet hurt from being bare against the harsh ground. 

However, you are barely a few blocks away from your home when you hear Javier’s voice calling out your name with the same desperation that you have felt since the first negative pregnancy test. 

The second you hear him, you automatically start running faster, determined to escape something you can’t quite pinpoint what is, but it only lasts a few seconds. Eventually, you finally slow down. Not because you want him to catch you but because your chest is heaving and your eyes are burning with tears, blurring your vision and disorienting you. 

He grabs your arm firmly when he reaches you and tries to pull you into an embrace. You resist at first, stiffening against him as he wraps you in his arms. 

“Stop!” You sob violently but he doesn’t let go even when you start crying loud enough to attract attention. Instead, he tightens his grip around you to calm your nervous system. How odd it is to want comfort from the man who also made you cry.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he says repeatedly, his cheek against yours while you try to hit his chest. You can hear the regret in his voice but your pride makes you unwilling to soften. 

You struggle further, almost like a panicked animal, wanting to kick and scream to escape a trap, but the fight is going out of your body quickly, gripped by exhaustion and making you sag. Another sob rips itself from your throat, “If I’m so crazy then there’s no reason we should be together let alone have a baby.”

When you’re less resistant, he cradles your head in his hand to make you look at him, “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean any of it. You’re not crazy. Dios, soy un pendejo (God, I’m an idiot). I’m so sorry, mi amor (my love).”

You sink to your knees but he catches you before they hit the sidewalk.

“I’m not crazy,” you insist weakly as you slump into his embrace.

“You’re not crazy,” he confirms quietly, “I’d take that back if I could.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too… You were frustrated and tired,” you sniffle and your bottom lip trembles, “I shouldn’t have pushed you the second you walked through the door. I’m just worried that we have to wait a whole month before we can try again because we’re too lazy to have sex. And I hate that it is ruining our sex life because I love having sex with you.”

Javier says your name but it’s clear that it has caught him off guard.

You pull back to look up at his face. His brown eyes are soft and full of apologies, like the impact of his words only hits him now, “Now I’m scared that this is all responsible for you not finding me sexy anymore. I know it’s stupid but what if I’m the reason why we never get there? What if all this pressure makes you stop wanting me? What if I–”

“Now that’s crazy,” he says in an attempt to smooth things over with a joke but that one crease in his forehead, the one that he gets when frustration hits, is back because it doesn’t work.

You compose yourself enough to step back and give him a warning look, a look that says don’t you dare say that word again. He holds his hands up in surrender and then just reaches for your wrist, tugs it until he can entwine your fingers.

“What?” You’re the one to bite now, "I'm serious. I don’t want to lose you in this."

"You're not going to lose me,” he groans in exasperation. A few heads have popped up in the windows of the houses surrounding you. 

“Then why aren’t you upset like I am?” You ask harshly and pull your hand away to hug yourself. You avoid his gaze. 

Javier looks at you as if you’ve cracked him wide open right there on the sidewalk. He furrows his brows, opening his mouth without any words coming out. He turns away then, needs to gather himself without staring at your face. 

You know immediately that you have crossed a line, that you have hit a nerve that wasn’t supposed to be as exposed as it suddenly is. 

“Javi,” you murmur shamefully. 

“Is that what you think?” He turns back to you, the look in his eyes frantic and desperate. He also looks furious but for some reason, you can tell it isn’t directed at you, “That— That I’m not scared or upset enough? I’m terrified all the fucking time but if I let myself be as scared as you are, I’d be fucking useless to you.”

The realization hits you like an oncoming train, making tears start falling from your eyes again. You don’t know why it hadn’t occurred to you. Javier feels the exact same way as you but he simply hides it better.

You want to say something but he beats you to it, pointing at you to stress his point, his chest heaving, “And for the record. There’s no fucking universe where I stop wanting you.”

You don’t know what to say, so you do the next best thing and show him. You reach to cup his face, your thumbs stroking along his cheekbones, and then you kiss his lips. 

He sighs against your mouth, his broad palms finding your waist and tugging you as close as possible until he can wrap you in the harbor of his arms. Then he kisses you deeper, several times too, each brush of his lips releasing more of the tension between you. 

You’re here. In the same boat. And you love each other so much. That should be enough, even when it doesn’t feel like it is.

When the kiss is over, you don’t draw away from each other. Instead, he pulls you into a tight hug, holding you protectively close to his chest and stroking the back of your head. You link your arms around him, clinging tightly to him with a few tears staining his shirt because you have hurt each other so much. 

“I want to go home,” you murmur softly into his shoulder while he strokes your hair, “Por favor (please).”

“Okay,” he answers just as gently, placing a kiss on your forehead before drawing back, “We’ll go home.”

You walk home side by side, no words spoken between you. The tension is still there, sizzling in the air but it is charged with something else too. You almost feel like a teenager again, back when you were too scared to speak to the person you’ve decided late at night that you’d go through fire for. 

The first block is spent with your hands brushing as they hang by your sides and the both of you holding your breath when it happens but then Javier laces your fingers together and a quiet understanding settles over you. 

When you enter the front door together, none of you even glance in the direction of the kitchen or the living room. There's no hurry to move on from the storm of intense emotions that you have just been through, no hurry to busy yourself with anything that’ll simply push it down or bottle it up. 

The only urgency now is that storm, your hearts tense but only with the need to reassure each other. His mouth finds yours again, his body pushes you against the wall and the intensity behind his kiss grows from how he had kissed you in the street. Your lips meet in a kiss so deep that Javier coaxes a moan from your mouth. 

For once in all of this, you’re not scared of the outcome of being together, entwined. The need to conceive a child with your husband is still very much there but right now, it is overshadowed by a need to connect fully, to lick each other’s wounds even if you caused them. 

You reach to untie the knot on his tie completely. He hesitates for just a breath, a hand on your wrist to gain your attention. 

“Are you sure?” He asks despite how you still pull the tie out from underneath his collar. 

“Yes,” you don’t hesitate a second and drop the tie on the floor, desire ignited in your belly, “I’m so sure. I want you.”

He lets out a shaky breath with a smile, nodding his head while you move in to kiss his throat where his pulse thrums. His eyes close at the contact, his head tilting back just a little until a soft moan escapes his mouth. Your body grows warm from hearing it and you take it as a cue to move in silence, sharing searing kisses all the way to the bedroom. 

When you get there, Javier closes the door behind you and turns the lock, not because there’s any chance that you will be disturbed but just to keep the outside world at bay for a little while. It feels more intimate like that, like you are the only two people in the world.

You stand by the end of the bed, watching him do it and feeling your heart pounding in your chest from anticipation. You smile softly when he approaches you, too afraid that words might mess up the way that air crackles with intimacy and tenderness. 

He reaches out first as if promising to take the lead of you, curling his fingers around the edge of your top to lift it up. You raise your arms in the air to let him peel it over your head, goosebumps erupting on your skin where his knuckles brush you. He drops your top on the floor. 

You finally reciprocate by moving to undo the buttons of his white shirt. Your hands tremble slightly as you do it but Javier is patient, just reaches to gently steady your wrist by holding it. 

When you have reached the last one, he takes over and shrugs the fabric off his shoulders to reveal his warm and safe chest. You step closer, hands finding his shoulders as you lean in to kiss along his collarbone. He takes the opportunity to unclasp your bra while you’re at it, a palm skimming up your back while the other rests at your waist. 

When your breasts are bare, your nipples have hardened at the sudden exposure to the colder temperature. He undoes his belt and jeans, and when he bends slightly to take them off along with his boxers, he presses a tender kiss right over a nipple and skims his nose and lips across your chest to do the same thing with the other. 

You moan softly. He grabs around your waist and helps lowering you down onto the bed. You sit on the edge but not for long, moving back until you can lay down spread out. He follows you like a magnet, ends up kneeling between your legs so he can undo and yank down your pants. 

You help kick them off and then bend your knees briefly to let him drag your underwear down too. His mouth is everywhere he can reach; your ankles, your calves, knees, and thighs. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs softly on his way down your inner thigh, breaking the silence, and while he says those words a lot, there’s something different behind them today. It is almost like he is telling you something else; you’re not broken, not defined in your femininity by your body’s ability to carry his child.

You hold tears at bay and run your hand over his hair, looking down at the top of his head as his face disappears down between your thighs. Your mouth falls open in a soft gasp when he first mouths along your cunt. 

“Javi,” you sigh a moment later, your head knocking back into the bed so you can look up at the ceiling while focusing on the velvety feeling of his mouth. 

He eats you slowly, the flat of his tongue gently moving over your clit until you can’t help each sigh and moan that falls from your lips. His fingers spread your cunt open, his other hand squeezing your thigh as he pulls your legs further apart to dive in. 

“Please,” you hear yourself say. It’s the moment you realize how long it has been since you last were together like this; he hasn’t gone down on you for months because it doesn’t make a baby. The room is quiet except for your labored breaths and the filthy wet sounds of his mouth teasing you towards the edge. It feels so good to be wanted like this, reassured of how sexy you are without all the pressure to procreate. 

Hearing that soft plea makes Javier wrap his lips around your clit to kiss it repeatedly. He moans into you when your legs start to tremble in his peripheral vision. He switches it up and sucks. It makes you whimper, your back arching off the bed as he worships you between your thighs.

You are sure that he’ll pull away when you lift your pelvis up to meet his mouth further, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he just slides the hand on your thigh down under the small of your back to hold you there, then breathes heavily through his nose and hungrily continues to make you inch closer to the edge. 

Like always, he can hear your orgasm knocking by the way you begin to hold your breath between small gasps of pleasure. He intensifies the pressure and the precision just so, and you slide both hands through his hair - something he has clearly been waiting for with the way he groans - while your toes start to curl. 

When you actually come, it drags a sinful groan out of the both of you. Your thighs lock around his head and you pull at his hair. It’s not pretty and polite. It’s pure release, and it is ripped out of you like it has been buried under your prickly skin, underneath heartbreak, forever. 

You say his name until it makes no sense anymore, swallowing down desperate gulps of air. He lets you ride it out on his tongue, making sure to tease out every little aftershock before releasing you from his grasp. Yes, you needed this but it is almost like he needed it more. 

“You don’t know what it does to me,” he breathes heavily while you come down. He trails off and rests his forehead against your thigh, “You don’t fucking know what it does to me… when you look at me like you did earlier… Like you’re done.”

“I’m not,” you whisper in reply, voice shaky with tears that have finally found release. You cry softly, “I’m not done. Never done.”

“Don’t cry, baby,” he looks up at you with those brown eyes that are so hard to resist because of the silent plead within them. It hurts your chest to watch him so full of remorse, hurts to be loved this much. 

“Come here,” you whisper softly and hold your arms open for him but he wants to take it slow. 

He kisses his way up your body instead - a kiss to your hip, your belly, one right beneath your ribs - and you use the opportunity to slide your fingers through his hair. His mustache is slick with you, scratching just slightly as he treats you like you might not be in his bed tomorrow. 

But while he wants to savor you, you feel the growing impatience within your chest. You need him closer, your hands going repeatedly from his hair to his shoulders and then to his back because you are unsure of where to touch him when you want all of him. 

When he has his knees between your thighs again, he doesn’t crush you with his weight. Instead, he hovers above, eyes roaming over your face to check if you’re still letting him have you. In response, you settle on cupping his face. He automatically turns his face to press a longing kiss into the palm of your hand. 

You pull him to your mouth in a kiss that steals his breath away, his hand cupping the side of your neck. You kiss him like you should have done the moment he came in through the door and he meets your mouth like he needs to feel forgiveness in his very bones. Maybe a kiss like this would have avoided the pain that you inflicted upon each other. You cry in his arms. He wipes tears away with his thumbs and doesn’t rush you. 

Eventually, you are panting from the intensity of what feels like one of the deepest kisses of your life. Your lips are swollen and sensitive, and his cock is hard against your thigh to the point where you think he must be aching. The occasional kiss to your throat makes your whole body tingle with want, your cunt fluttering in interest. The pressing issue, however, is that you need to put all of these feelings somewhere. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper with your fingers in his hair, breathing hard against his mouth, “Please, baby. I need you inside of me.”

Javier swears quietly under his breath as if he has been waiting for those words, nodding repeatedly with his stare fixed on your lips before giving you another desperate kiss. 

He reluctantly pulls away, your hands slipping out of his dark locks, to sit back on his knees. You let your palms lay flat on the sheets and stare up at him, his face full of determination while he slides his hands around the back of your knees. 

At first, you think he wants to drag you down on the bed and closer to himself but then he lifts your legs and you gasp because you immediately know what he is doing with you. He pushes until your thighs are pressed against your chest, your cunt on full display and at his mercy. 

He doesn’t speak as he moves over you again, not stopping until his chest brushes the back of your thighs and your ankles are resting on his broad shoulders. He folds you even further in when he leans down to kiss your throat, the soft sound that escapes you vibrating underneath his lips.

You grip the sheets and hold on for dear life as he enters you slowly, giving you the full length of his cock inch by inch. He holds your gaze as he bottoms out and it makes you so aware of everything he does to you. There's no space between you now. Not physically. Not emotionally. He looks at you as if telling you that you and he belong together, like he is ready to rewrite the last seven months of your sex life. 

You can’t speak, can’t even think because you’re still trembling and sensitive. The stretch of his cock is almost too much inside of you but he is gentle with you, letting you adjust while kissing his way to your mouth again. 

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips. 

You nod as if to reciprocate and then whimper as another tear escapes, “I love you. I missed you.”

“I know, I missed you too,” he whispers and gently kisses away the salty tear. 

The ache of need catches up to you as you get used to feeling him inside of your cunt so fully, the thick head of his cock resting against the spot where you need him the most. An impatient flutter of your walls makes him give in and move inside of you. 

You moan feebly while he takes you slowly and full of precision. The angle of this position has you breathless in seconds, your back arching with each stroke against your g-spot. Your moans mix together with the sound of skin slapping against skin in the otherwise quiet room. You hold onto his biceps, feeling the muscles of his arms flex beneath your touch as he strains his body to give you everything he has. 

“I’ve got it now, mi amor (my love)” he lets you know through ragged breaths, resting his forehead against yours, “You don’t have to start it anymore. No need to ask.” 

“Don’t stop. Javi— oh, don’t stop,” you plead him with a steady stream of teardrops falling from your eyes. They roll down into your hair faster than he can kiss them away but it doesn’t matter, you think to yourself, because you want him to see what he does to you; that his words move you, that you needed to hear them because you’re exhausted and fuck, he loves you so much. 

“Shh, don’t cry, baby, you’re okay,” he coos with another soft kiss to follow. You turn your head afterward to press your face into the side of his head, brows furrowing as the first hints of your climax being within reach show. 

He barely pulls out anymore, just grinds down into your cunt and hits the right spot repeatedly. There’s no talking either. Instead, just the sound of your sweat-slicked bodies moving together, your breath hitching in your throat as your belly tightens even more, and his growls every time your cunt squeezes around him.

“You feel so fucking good, baby. You’re making me come,” he grits out, sweat gathering on his brow and concentration all over his face. 

“I’m close,” you gasp with your thighs starting to tremble from how intense it is going to be. You let your head bump into the mattress, your spine arching in a bow as it creeps up on you and your breathing begins to stutter. 

You come with a silent cry towards the ceiling because all air is knocked out of you. It takes a few moments before noise catches up to you but when it does, you absolutely sob underneath the weight of his body. The intensity makes you clamp down on his cock, your walls going into rhythmic squeezes that make Javier hiss and his pace falter from how you milk him. 

“I’m coming,” he near-whimpers before going off into a satisfied groan while his hips stutter, “Fuck, baby. You’re— I’m coming.”

He buries himself to the hilt before spilling inside of your wet, oversensitive heat. You gasp at the feeling of it, the weight of it settling inside of you. He trembles above you, enough for you to slide your hands up to his shoulders and cup his face. 

He holds himself up with one hand and holds one of yours with the other, breathing rapidly. His chest is broad and glistening with sweat, warm and nearly suffocating but he is yours. You want it like that, want to drown in the intimacy that you feel. 

Without a word, he straightens and pulls out his softening cock. It makes you tense up, looking down where you have been connected with worry on your face. You don’t want it to slip, to not work this time either, but he guides your legs together and then shifts slightly on the mattress. He lays them gently on one shoulder, making sure that no drop spills from you. 

“I’ve got you,” he coos, almost shushing you like a child. His arms cradle your legs, “Don’t worry.”

You can do nothing but whimper. He rubs your belly with his free hand and you place your palm on top of it, an unconscious gesture of hope between you. 

“This is the most important thing,” he says after weighing his words for a moment, “You and I.”

“Javi,” you protest but there’s no exasperation building up beneath the surface this time. He shakes his head to stop any words at the tip of your tongue. 

“I will give you anything you want. A house, a baby, anything you want,” he tells you, whispering it as if there are other people in the room besides the two of you and he wants privacy. It feels safer to hear him lower his voice, “But not if it costs me you. We are not meant to fight like that.”

Your bottom lip trembles because he is right. You’re not meant to fight like that at all, chests heaving with adrenaline and bloodlust from grief over the fact that something is getting the better of you. It feels as unnatural as snow in August and rivers running dry. 

“I want to give you a baby,” you say quietly and feel a tear slide down your cheek. Javier reaches to brush it away with his index finger, shushing you once more with the gentleness in him only reserved for you. 

“And you will,” he promises and cups your cheek afterward, his thumb stroking your face where another tear has fallen, “It’ll happen. This way or another.”

Your eyes flutter closed. You nod. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” He asks and lets his mouth graze the side of your ankle. 

“I love you too,” you say back without much thought that he is actually asking a question. 

“Yes, but do you know how much? Look at me,” he waits for a moment.

Your gaze locks onto him, your eyes big and teary.

“I don’t think you know how lucky I am to have you in my life after all the stupid shit I’ve done back in Colombia. I hurt people. I watched people die. No wonder I wasn’t all here when I came back. I thought I was just gonna float through the rest of my life being angry or drifting in some bar like a ghost. You were the first thing that felt like… like the world could be soft again. And now you think I could ever stop wanting you?” He shakes his head in disbelief, “You’re the only place I’ve ever felt like I could put my feet down and not run. When everything starts to weigh down on me, you breathe life back into me. Whatever happens next, I want it with you, okay?”

You cry with your heart feeling too big for your chest, words lost on you because how can he still love you when this takes such a toll on you that it brings out the worst in you? Probably just how you can love him just the same too.

You sniffle, “Yes, me too.”

He looks serious and soft, “Even if it’s not how we imagined. Even if we gotta go knock on Connie’s door and ask for the number of that adoption agency… or do IVF… or whatever the hell else it takes.”

You nod. When you speak, it is nothing but a squeak, “Yes.”

“But right now,” he caresses the skin of your calf and murmurs into another kiss to your ankle, “I just wanna stay here. In this bed. With my wife… and let the world wait a little while longer. Can we do that?”

“Can I get my legs down, so we can cuddle?” You shift a little, still slick between your thighs and sore in the best way, but there’s no rush to clean up or face anything other than the rise and fall of his chest against yours.

He smiles, “Of course. Lift your legs, I’ve got you.”

He does. He always does.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[unluckilyimnot]

Could you please do a the bofurin boys (especially sugishita) with a reader who's nonverbal with everyone except them?

no verbal s/o except with them - suo, sakura, kaji, sugishita, kiryuu, umemiya

asked by @lost-in-thought-bookworm

Note: hiiii it’s been such a long time I haven't written with them, I’m happy ! i hope it's not bad tho, I'm rarely going non-verbal myself so I hope it's ok

Suo

he teased you at first, saying you were very shy to not even say a word

but when he realized it’s with literally with everyone and that people still interacted fine with you, he got protective around you

if anyone mess with you, they mess with him as well

He knows it immediately when there's something wrong with you, because you're rarely silent around him. He's never obvious about it, gently guiding you where there's less people and keeping you close. You can feel his fingers slowly brushing on the back of your hand. 

“What is it ?” his voice is sweet but commanding, letting you know that you're not moving before he hears about it. Taking your phone out, you're stopped in your motion by his hand and he's shaking his head. 

“I want you to tell me,” he asked furthermore, his face closer to yours now, his nose only a few centimeters away from yours. 

“I'm tired,” you whispered, after a moment and collecting your strength. “I wanna go home.” 

You're rewarded with a soft smile, not the kind of silly smile he gives to most people and kiss your nose. “Then we're leaving.” 

Kiryuu

he’s so happy when you first start talking with him, it’s an understatement, and he doesn’t hide it

you’re his favorite person to talk with and fixate on your voice 

shopping got ten times easier and he’s here for it

“Look ! This one would look so nice on Sakura, don't you think?” Nirei pointed out a shirt while looking at you with big eyes, waiting for you to nod vividly because you usually agree with him. Not this time though. You were out in a store with him and Sakura, waiting for Suo and Kiryuu to come back after they spent some time at the tea’s store. Pointing a particular color on the shirt, you then point at Sakura and make a cross with your arms, signaling them that this color was a no-no for him. 

It was hard to make them understand sometimes, and based on the face Sakura made you were sure he was lost. Before you could take out your phone, the boys came back and Kiryuu passed an arm around your shoulders lazily. “What is it ?” 

Nirei asked them what they thought and, just like you thought, Kiryuu agreed with you. “This color is awful for him, no offense,” said Kiryuu, hoping that Sakura wouldn’t take it harshly. 

“Right ?!” you shouted, smiling his way. 

“It's so much easier when you’re there, Kiryuu,” whined Nirei, not that he hates to go out with you without him. You still type angrily on our phone, ‘you didn’t leave me anytime !’ it showed with your frown, making them laugh. 

Sakura

he’s taken aback because why wouldn’t you talk ?

But he’s sure you didn’t have it easy to be like that so he’s very gentle and patient with you

he talks for you anytime you need

You always get a weird look when the waiter turns to you for your order but Sakura places it for you, that’s something you don’t really get used to. You can’t blame them, they just saw you talking with him but never talk to them or anyone else around the table – if it isn’t just the two of you. Sakura never seems to mind though, well he’s used to being looked at weirdly too. 

“You alright ?” You blink a few times at the question before nodding energetically, but he’s sending you a suspicious look already. “Don’t worry about that, it’ll never change anyway,” he shrugged before going on about last night's event at his school. He goes on for a few minutes, waiting for your answers with a close eye. He's rarely disappointed but when you suddenly look down like that, he's extra careful, just in case you need anything. 

Kaji

he doesn’t hear anyway so it didn’t really matter at first

your friendship was easy thanks to that

but he loves that you talk to him now, it means you trust him enough

Your eyes always light up when you see him coming, it’s like you’re waiting for him all day just to catch a glimpse of him – and he still doesn't know how he feels about it. He takes his headset off, and he knows he’s gonna hear about your day until he walks you home. Giving you a lollipop as well, you tuck your arm with him as you two walk out of the school to nowhere in particular. One hand holding your phone while the other holds the lollipop, just so you can still talk with everyone. 

It always gets him how annoying it might be to talk with him but type for his friends when they ask anything, you could just act like you were talking with him ; but that wouldn’t be welcome from him who spends half of his time with music blasting in his ears. He knows it’s not that easy, but he’s still happy that you answer them and not make any discussion only about you two when they’re around. Plus, it's a little too obvious how happy they are to have you around, hearing you talk even if it’s never to them. He wants all his favorite people to get along.

Sugishita

no need to say that you’re more than compassionate and understand his situation

it took time for you to open up and talk to him, even if he doesn’t always answer

it’s so comfortable for him

He’s not much about talking either, so he never minded at first when it wasn’t really a thing. Then, even when you started talking only with him, it didn’t seem so out of place. He understands it the best, he gets what’s going on in your mind. Hearing your voice isn’t really special anymore, it’s part of his routine and he likes it better that way – why wouldn’t he love hearing your voice when he loves you so much ? 

Mostly, he loves how you can formulate your thoughts despite not doing it much. Deep conversations with you are the best, he likes how well you can formulate your thoughts despite not doing it much or with everyone. It’s hard for him, but he’ll gladly listen to you talk all you want, since it’s specific to him. It’s comfortable, even if you’re not really related to Umemiya – it helps him trust others.

Umemiya

never ever mentioned it, it never mattered to him

he wants you to take your time and talk when you feel safe or feel like it’s the time

even if it never comes

He can't get it out of his head, you actually telling him goodnight yesterday. You stayed a while longer on the rooftop with him, talking about life and anything that comes to his mind until late. You didn't simply waved at him, you told him goodbye. It was the first time he heard your voice and, if he wasn't sure how precious you already were for him, now he's sure.

He doesn't get carried away anyway, maybe it was a one time thing – which was fine. Deep down, he can't wait to see you, just to see if you’ll talk to him or not. His heart flutters when he sees you making your way to him with Toma on the rooftop. You're typing on your phone, showing him quickly before you smile with a nod at his answer. You turn his way once closer and wave at him. 

“Hi, Ume,” you say softly. A small gasp can be heard but nobody mentions it otherwise. He swears his heart was beating a second ago. He smiles at you, holding back from crushing you in his arms. 

After that, it became normal to hear you talk around Umemiya. You never answer without your phone to others, even next to him, but your soft whispers can always be heard – to everyone's pleasure. And for Umemiya, it's a victory. It got him holding his breath every time, full of joy to see you this comfortable with him. 

Let me know if you liked it !

[fellshish]

Imagine you had to larp as an evil demon and everyone thought you were bad even though you can’t exactly remember what you did wrong but it must’ve been very bad and if you don’t keep pretending to be evil then you will get tortured or worse. So you keep on playing the game and actually while larping you kind of do hurt people even though you try to minimise the hurt. And through the years, an estimated 6,000 years by the way don’t worry this isn’t about anyone in particular, you meet someone who’s larping as an absolute good person but along the way you find out that hey, they’re not always sure what the right thing is, and you’re not always sure what the wrong thing is anyway, and maybe you can sometimes meet up, and hang, but never touch, never say you’re friends, never admit what feels good. You’re both the two biggest imposters on earth. And you are terrified constantly, of asking too much, of being too much, absolutely terrified. These are thoughts i have about good omens, comedy

[blood-smiles]

I REALLY ADORE YOUR STORIES, IT UNIQUE AND FUN TO READD RAGGGRH delicious ♪⁠～⁠(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠), do you have any fun facts or side story about yuuto if you feel comfortable or have time to share? Love youu (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

THANK YOUUUU AUUUUUUG!! My heart is like bursting, I am so happy when people send me asks like AAAA!! I haven’t talked about my sweet mamasito in like EVER. 

YANDERE! NURSE HCS AND INFO UNDER CUT!

💊English is not his first language, he dislikes spelling, he just isn’t very good at it, so therefore he will avoid trying to write much in English!

💊He was actually the very first yandere oc I thought of making, I can’t actually remember his first design though!! This was my main idea board for him!

💊He is part of a family of 5 children, being the only boy in the family he has had to grown up only surrounded by women! All his sisters are girls!

💊His father passed away from unknown causes and his mother was left on her own with her children.

💊growing up around girls he has been exposed to more female knowledge than anyone, he knows an unnerving amount of things about menstrual cycles, it’s honestly a little bit too much.

💊Almost everyone in his family has some kind of career in nursing or medicine, 2 out of his 4 sisters are attending nursing school, the other two are in Japan taking care of his mother.

💊his mom approves of you.

💊Many of his more feminine qualities are because of his upbringing, many may criticize this but he really doesn’t have any fucks to give (TдT)

💊He has a lot of piercings, his mom did not approve nor did his sisters but he did that shit anyway, they don’t really care anymore but would rather have him take them out.

💊There are some that you can’t see unless you see him without clothes.. Ehem.

💊Has unbelievably pretty hands, if he was allowed to grow his nails longer they would be the envy of all tbh, has the perfect amount of veiny and bony to be just pretty.

💊Somehow has soft hands??? No skin care or anything, he works with bleach on the daily yet still has the most perfect skin you have EVER SEEN.

💊 The fact is really strange but he has no business being so damn tall??? Rumors say that his father was just slightly above average and the genes just blessed Yuuto in particular

💊Okay, it’s probably too late to say this but he has like a HUGE mommy kink, he may be more submissive but he will actually have a system reboot if he hears you gently calling him “mommy”.

💊Can hold his liquor extremely well, if you just keep drinking and drinking and getting drunk he is your guy to drive you back home. 

💊if he does somehow get drunk he is a cozy, silent type of drunk. The yap button gets turned off and he just kinda.. stares? And touches. A lot. He gets this cuteness aggression and just goes eerily silent while actually nuzzling you like a cat would, a very big cat.

💊Had a childhood plushie that was a pink bunny, he still has it and takes care of it like it’s actually a sacred item. The reason he cherishes it is because he somehow named it your name when he was a little kid, probably thinks it’s a god sent message. Puts it beside your little shrine.

💊Sleeps like a huge cat. A cat with a favorite toy. He hugs you in the most restricting way possible, like meaty thighs wrapped around your own legs and biceps locking your arms into place while he just snuggles into your hair.

💊If he was a fruit he would be a peach!

💊If he was any mythical creature I would say he is a kitsune or a drider. No questions asked. 

💊If you are a chronically ill person he immediately transforms into your own care taker and you won’t have to worry about medication or anything ever again.

💊Doesn’t matter if you are sick or not, he WILL make you drink disgusting smoothie blends, he claims it’s for your own good and will get mad and give you the silent treatment if you don’t drink the very last drop of celery and carrot juice. He will praise you and cradle you afterwards though.

💊If he was a Pokémon trainer he would have a blend of fairy types, psychic, poison and dark types. (You know well that his main Pokémon are a Sylveon and a sneasel.)

💊Is like *really* emotional towards you, like will cry if you scrape a knee and he wasn’t there to kiss your boo boo better.

💊Let me know if you want more!!!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Fiquei completamente apaixonada pelo imagine que você fez do Logan/Wade/Reader, queria muito outro assim, nada em especial, só mais sobre o relacionamento dos três (I'm really bad with requests, sorry)

(Rough translation by google: I was completely in love with the imagine you made of Logan/Wade/Reader, I really wanted another one like that, nothing in particular, just more about the relationship of the three) if it’s translated something within the request wrong, let me know.

Emotional support isn’t either Wade nor Logan’s strong suit. one made a massive joke out of everything, even his own feelings, while the other suppressed them unhealthily.

So needless to say if emotional comfort is what you were after, you were unfortunately out of luck but that didn’t mean that the pair were about to leave you to suffer alone during such a rough time in your life. Wade and Logan will find a way to help you anyway they could.

Wade would insist that you both have a spontaneous day where you’d do anything that came to your mind without judgment. You may or may not end up making dick cookies together in the kitchen whilst wearing your matching unicorn onesie pyjamas, covered in flour and other stuff.

Ass slaps -consensual of course- are a common occurrence between you, Wade and Logan…well mainly you and Wade…but Logan will gently tap your ass before kissing your forehead, meanwhile giving Wade the hardest slap that would leave a hand shape bruise that would last a week.

Cuddles are something that’s also frequent in your relationship with Wade and Logan but most -if not all- of the time you were in the middle of the both of them, leeching off of their warmth like the parasite you were but you were living the life.

Wade doesn’t care whether he’s the big or small spoon as either way he gets to be close to you in some capacity, where as Logan likes to be the big spoon so he could keep you safe and protected, always sleeping with his back to the door so that if anything were to happen they’d have to get through him.

Wade’s petnames for you are:

Cutie patootie with the booty

Peanut (something he also calls Logan)

Pookie/pookie bear

Sexiest person alive

Logan’s petnames for you are:

Darling

Sweetheart

That’s pretty much it as he’s not too overly worried about petnames, where as Wade has a thousand more up his sleeve that he pulls out of nowhere.

You and Wade would sometimes blatantly check out Logan whenever he’s shirtless and doing his one thing while you and Wade laid on the floor, feet kicking in the air as you both admired your hot partner. (Logan is very aware of what you two were doing but didn’t have it in him to say shit)

Dog pool is basically your, Logan and wades child and she is spoilt the fuck by the three of you for being the cutest dog you’ve ever seen. You dressed her up as Mary Poppins once for Halloween and now you have albums upon albums filled with pictures of dog pool in cute doggy costumes. This is her cannon event.

Logan has nightmares and would often act all cold and distant afterwards but you would gently grab his arm and pull him in for a comforting hug. ‘Don’t walk away,’ you said, ‘please we can figure this out together okay? You’ve been alone long enough, don’t for yourself to fall back into old habits when you’ve got two people who care deeply about you and want to see you okay.’ You add as you rub your hand up and down his back reassuringly until you manage to ease him back into bed and fall asleep on top of his chest so he doesn’t move.

You press kisses to Wade’s face and call him handsome, gorgeous, cutie, all sorts of names that have him feeling soft and fuzzy within his chest because he’s aware of how he looks, but you loved him unconditionally and would even help him with toupees and whatnot, though not before telling him that you find him attractive how he is and wouldn’t want him to change for anyone.

You got a lot of kisses and cuddles from him later because you had no right being that fucking cute!

[emchant3d]

part 2 of the steddie fight steve whump - now with as-promised eddie whump 💕 part 1 here

Eddie isn’t a good man.

Steve thinks he is, Eddie knows. He says it all the time. Eddie thinks that good men don’t need to be announced as good men, that their goodness is obvious enough without anyone pointing it out, but he doesn’t want to argue about it with Steve. He hates when Eddie doesn’t see himself like Steve sees him, so he just does his best to be the person Steve thinks he is.

He did a spectacularly shitty job of that today.

He took it too far. Cut too deep. Knew it the second the words came out of his mouth, didn’t even need to see the color drain from Steve’s face as the blow landed, but he was treated to the sight anyway. He watched the angry flush fade into a sickly pale pallor as those long pretty lashes fluttered and that plush mouth parted in surprise, in shock, before Steve’s jaw had snapped shut so hard his teeth clacked.

And then it was gone. As quickly as the hurt had been written all over Steve’s face, it disappeared in the blink of an eye, and Eddie hates when he does that, when he hides how he feels and refuses to share his hurt and sadness with Eddie, but can he blame him for concealing it? Can he demand to be shown it when he’s the one who put that expression on Steve’s face in the first place?

And the worst of it is - he’d felt a sick kind of satisfaction at the sight. And he hates himself for it now, with hindsight and self-awareness, feels disgusting for the way he’d reveled in the sense of victory he’d felt. He’d won. He’d hurt Steve and he’d won the argument by doing so, at least that round of it, had stopped their back and forth with one sentence, and he’d seen him fold in on himself and go ice-cold in a way Steve hasn’t been with him in a long, long time, maybe ever, not since they started this whole thing between them.

He’d taken the win while he had it, heard Steve say something about the guest room and rolled his eyes, Steve can be so dramatic when they fight. He’d turned tail and done the worst thing he could have fucking done, can’t even claim hindsight for this one because he’d known even as he was doing it that leaving then, when he’d been asked what he’d been asked and answered like he’d answered - he’d known it was cruel. Known it was salt in the wound, and he’d ground it in with a perverse satisfaction, slammed the door behind him and everything.

He took a couple walks around the block, chain-smoked half a pack of cigarettes, debated going to Gareth’s to rant and ramble and try to get somebody on his side even though he knows Gareth likes Steve more than he likes Eddie some days - his boy is too charismatic for his own good, won over all of Eddie’s friends with the slightest bit of effort.

He sat on the fucking curb and lost track of time quick, watched the darkening sky deepen until it was black and the streets were barren and his hands were frozen, until he’d thought himself into and out of every scenario possible, until all that was left to do was admit to himself how badly he fucked up.

Anger kept the guilt from setting in immediately, because he’d been so angry, so furious with Steve for - for–

He can’t even pick out what in particular pissed him off so much, and isn’t that rich? Because deep down, he wasn’t angry. Not really.

He was terrified.

Eddie’s been distant lately, he knows. He’s been taking more gigs and staying out later after them, he’s been working more shifts, he’s been hanging out with the band and saying he has ‘practice’ when really they’re just sitting around getting high and wasting time. Sometimes he doesn’t even give an excuse, just turns up late and acts like he can’t see the mix of worry-anger-hurt painted all over Steve’s face, he just wraps him up in his arms and covers his face with kisses and acts like they’re fine, like there’s not a tightness squeezing his heart so hard he’s afraid it’ll stop beating altogether.

He’s been pushing it too much. Disappearing too often. But he just doesn’t know how to explain it - the fear that settles bone-deep in him when he thinks about how happy he is for too long. If there’s one thing Eddie’s life has taught him, it’s that happiness and safety - all that shit is temporary. He’ll lose it eventually. It’ll get damaged somehow, he’ll piss someone off or do something wrong, he’ll break the delicate balance that’s afforded him a safety net and that net will disappear, and he’ll be left in a free-fall and forced to pick up his own shattered pieces when he lands, alone and hurt and starting all over yet again.

He’s so, so tired of starting over. 

So he’s been trying to…delay the inevitable, maybe. If he’s not around, Steve can’t be tired of him, right? And that’s not fair to Steve either, but Eddie’s selfish at the best and worst of times and he’s been prioritizing getting himself through this, has switched to survival mode so thoroughly that he’s not been able to recognize the only threat he’s trying to protect himself from is him.

Self-sabotage is a habit that’s deeply ingrained in Eddie. It’s the only thing he knows sometimes, the defense mechanism that feels like coming home, but when you grew up in a home like he did, sometimes familiarity isn’t safe, not like it should be.

It blinds him to everything and everyone, makes it so he doesn’t recognize he’s even doing it until it’s too late. Until he’s pushing everyone away and hurting the people he loves, until the person he loves most in the world is standing in front of him and yelling in their living room asking if Eddie wants to be here with him.

And that’s another thing, isn’t it? Of course Eddie wants to be with Steve. Of course he wants the comfort that comes with loving someone and being loved, but he can’t deny that that’s terrifying in its own right - that the idea of being tethered to something freaks him the fuck out. And he knows, he knows that’s part of the whole avoidance thing too - his heart searching for freedom where it can find it, loving Steve but being terrified of Steve at the same time, of what he means, of that string that keeps them together always, no matter what.

Usually the thought of that is wonderful and welcome and fantastic. Sometimes it’s something he absolutely cannot think about. And that leads him right back here, not fucking thinking and leaving Steve alone and acting like he’s done nothing wrong when he knows damn well he’s the fucking problem here.

Steve was yelling because Eddie hadn’t considered him. Eddie hadn’t thought of Steve, or his life with Steve, and Steve was angry about it. And he had every right to be. But all Eddie could see, could feel, had been a noose around his neck, a tie to something - to someone that felt like it was taking control.

Eddie had panicked, and he did what he does best - he ran.

Scorched earth, feet to the ground, bolted away from the issue the best he knew how, let himself sit in that self-appointed righteousness of finding an escape except he’d run from the one thing, the one person, he’d promised never to run from.

This is the downside of loving someone you know inside and out. This is the result of baring his soul to Steve and having Steve bare his back - he’s seen the delicate, vulnerable bits of that man and knows exactly where to strike.

Regret eats at him. How could he say that to Steve? How could he do this to Steve? Eddie knows his temper is mercurial at the best of times, knows his moods can change with the weather, but there’s no excuse for allowing them and his fear to take over like they had. It’s something he has to work on, he’s known it for a while, but this is the final nail in the coffin.

He’d thought he was past the worst of this, of his anxiety eating him alive and taking things from him, thought interdimensional monsters and almost dying and falling in love in the aftermath of it all meant that the mundane normal life shit would be easy, but the universe does so love to prove Eddie Munson wrong.

There’s nothing in the world worth losing Steve over. And sure, Eddie can be a coward, has cowardice in his goddamn blood some days, but if there’s anything worth being brave over, it’s the man waiting for him at home right now.

This is fixable, he tells himself. He’ll apologize. He’ll grovel and make it up to Steve and he’ll be glued to his goddamn side for the rest of their fucking lives if that’s what it takes. Anything to show him that Eddie didn’t mean it.

He wanders his way home with his metaphorical tail between his legs, hoping that he’s right - because Steve would be well within his rights to be tired of his shit by now. Steve would be more than justified in calling it quits over this - because it isn’t just one fight. This one fight was a culmination of issues and he sealed the deal with a fucking calculated attack and he has no idea what he’s about to come home to, not really, he’s just hoping that home still feels like home when he walks in the door, and he only needs Steve for that.

He doesn’t know what time it is when he makes it in. Just knows that the apartment is dark and shadowy and the only light in the place is in the hall, so he doesn’t call out to Steve. 

For a moment he’s terrified that maybe Steve isn’t here, maybe he left, but he knows that’s his modus operandi, not Steve’s, and besides, the guest room door is closed. He remembers what Steve had said, stone-faced and monotone, ‘I’m staying in the guest room tonight,’ and Eddie hates that Steve isn’t in their bed, but at least he’s here. Hopefully he’s asleep - and he feels like a piece of shit for hoping for it because he knows he just wants to avoid this conversation, even if Steve getting some rest would be a good thing. His baby doesn’t sleep too well. Neither of them do.

He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it up by the door, forgets to take his shoes off like always and desperately, desperately hopes that Steve will still be willing to bitch at him for it in the morning.

His heart is a stone that’s sunk down to his stomach. He doesn’t have words, had tried to craft something pretty to say on the walk home, but his theatrics won’t help him now and his sincerity is drowning in his guilt and he doesn’t know how to fix this. How does he apologize for this? Not just the fight today, but all of it? He’s got nothing but he knows he can’t let this sit like this, can’t stand it, can’t leave the two of them in this limbo and abandon Steve to whatever awful thoughts are swimming around in that pretty head.

He knows Steve. He knows his fears, his insecurities. He knows he hit them all like a fucking bullseye with a single sentence and the rest of his actions would have taken him down the rest of the way.

He left. He’s spent so long promising Steve that’s the one thing he would never do, that he’s a runner but never from Steve, and yet he’s slinking his way through their apartment after doing exactly that, hesitant and quiet as he can be but he’s terrible at being quiet, and he winces at the volume of the thunk that sounds when he pauses in front of the guest room and leans on the closed door.

He can’t hear Steve through it, but that doesn’t mean much - he could be lying awake, hoping Eddie just continues his path down the hall, hoping to be left alone and spared the groveling that Eddie knows he has to do. Could be that Steve doesn’t want to see him, doesn’t want to deal with him, just wants some peace after all the shouting they’d done earlier. Eddie wouldn’t begrudge him that.

But a bigger part of him, a worried part of him, knows that it’s unlikely.

No, the bigger part of him, the bit of him that’s tied to Steve Harrington’s heart, knows with almost certainty that Steve is lying on that unfamiliar bed wide awake. He knows he’s hurting, knows he’s upset, knows he wishes that Eddie would just come in and fix things. 

He presses his forehead to the door like he can transfer his thoughts through osmosis - he thinks it’s osmosis, he isn’t sure, science was the least strong of his not-strong suits, okay - and have Steve just know everything he wants to tell him, and then he shuffles the rest of the way down the hall to buy himself some time.

He changes into pajamas as he goes over everything he wants to say, trying to work it into something coherent and level-headed, but at this point he’s debating just falling to his knees and begging Steve to not leave him, which, well - he’s had worse ideas.

He doesn’t want to lose Steve. But he knows he might. Has to accept that as a possibility. Has to face that and resist the urge to deny it, to own that he’s royally fucked up and might lose the most important person in the world to him, even if the very idea makes him want to rip his heart out of his goddamn chest.

Call him dramatic. It doesn’t make it less true.

He pads his way back down the hall, the familiar orange glow from the dimmed light less a comfort and more like he’s walking down to a fucking gate to hell, and comes to a stop outside the guest room. He takes a breath, braces himself, and then raises a hand, knocking gently.

“Baby? You in there Stevie?” he asks, and he doesn’t get an answer, but when he quietly opens the door he catches the motion of Steve ducking his head down. He’s awake, then. Pretending not to be, but that’s okay - Eddie can work around that. 

He can’t make out anything but the rough shape of Steve in the bed - his own body in the doorway is blocking most of the light trying to illuminate the dark room. He knows the shape of that lump on a mattress, and he walks closer, almost reaching out - but he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he touched Steve and he flinched, or if he pulled away from his reach. So he pulls his hand back, and sinks down onto the edge of the mattress, and takes a deep breath, letting the silence sit between them.

And Eddie’s a goddamn coward, can’t even look at his baby, keeps his back to him in the dimness of the room so he doesn’t have to see the anger and the hurt as he tries to apologize for a hurt that he never should have caused. And he can’t see him, but he can hear him - he can hear the little hitches in his breath, the stutters of it, the soft trembles that Steve is trying to keep steady, and each one is like a stab to the fucking heart, and he really cannot fucking take this anymore, so–

“I know you’re awake,” he says, and Steve goes silent behind him. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. “Let’s just hash this out, huh? Get it over with.” He wishes Steve would yell. He wishes his baby would get all his anger and his frustration out and they could move on, he wishes Steve would get so fucking mad and lash out because Eddie deserves it– and he tries to stop that train of thought before it gets too off track because that’s mean, Steve isn’t like that to him and it’s not fair to expect it from him. Even if it would make things easier if he could just hope for an easy way out.

He takes a breath, and starts where he thinks is best, the only starting point he can really think of.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Steve says, sharp voice a little rough, but it’s strong and it’s steady and something in Eddie relaxes a bit. Steve’s still mad. Eddie can work with mad.

“So you are awake,” he tries to joke, and it lands about as well as he thought it would.

“Yeah,” is what he gets back, and he lifts his head, tries to pick out the vague pattern of the popcorn ceiling above them in the dark. He can feel eyes on him, knows Steve’s staring him down.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and Steve makes a soft, gutted sound from behind him. “What I said - what I did–” he shakes his head. “It wasn’t right. I should have never–”

“If you’re going to break up with me will you just get it over with?” Steve interrupts, snappy and frosty but his voice cracks something fierce, and hold on, what.

“Hold on, what?” he says aloud, like a dumbass, but sue him, he doesn’t know how else to express the utter confusion taking him over right now.

Steve scoffs at him, and there’s a shuffle behind him but Eddie’s moving too, finally turning and - oh.

Oh, no. Steve pushes himself to sit up and Eddie takes him in, his reddened puffy eyes and the tense set of his jaw, clenched so it doesn’t shake.

“I don’t need you to apologize for breaking up with me,” Steve says, crossing his arms over his chest, defensive, shoulders up to his ears, weight shifted back like he’s two seconds from lurching away from Eddie to wedge himself in the corner like that’ll keep him safe. And it’s so odd - it’s so wrong - to see Steve, the fighter, the one who punches first, so defensive, but he supposes it makes sense when the enemy is Eddie, and god, doesn’t that just feel like a kick in the fucking teeth. “If you don’t wanna fucking be with me anymore I get it, okay, I don’t need the spiel, I don’t need the whole it’s not you it’s me thing, just - just do it and get it over with and I can - I can move out, I’ll get out of the way and I’ll leave you alone and–”

“Shut up,” Eddie says sharply, and then cringes at himself because come on Munson, a little gentleness would be good right now, but he’s off-kilter in a way he didn’t expect. Steve flinches a little, but he stands his ground, eyes wide as he keeps them on Eddie. “Shut up, I am not - you thought I was breaking up with you?” 

Steve flails his arms a little, tossing them up. “Well - you - I mean–” he stutters, “why the fuck else are you here!”

“To apologize!” Steve freezes and stares at him like he didn’t know that option was even on the table. “Baby,” Eddie says, achingly soft, and he doesn’t stop himself from reaching this time, catching hold of Steve’s arm and pulling him close as he closes the distance between them both.

They’re on their knees on the mattress, crowded into each other’s space, and Steve won’t look him in the eye. “Steve,” he tries, but he just gets a minute shake of his head for his efforts. Steve isn’t touching him, fingers curling into tight fists in the space between them like he’s trying to keep himself from reaching out, but he isn’t pulling away from Eddie’s touch either so he keeps going. He skates his fingertips in a soft touch down Steve’s bicep, over his elbow, brushing along his forearm and feeling goosebumps pop up. 

He takes hold of Steve’s hand, rubs the back of it with his thumb, watches Steve’s gaze dart to where they’re touching as Eddie maps out the familiar pattern of Steve’s moles. Freckled even here, on these warm hands Eddie loves so much, these hands that are shaking faintly in Eddie’s gentle grip.

“You don’t gotta look at me,” he says softly, and he squeezes Steve’s hand tighter, “but please - please, angel, just listen to me, okay?” Steve’s breath hitches again, but he nods, and Eddie will take what he can get as he clasps Steve’s trembling hand between both of his own.

“Steve, I’m sorry,” he says, watching what he can see of Steve’s face, orange light slicing over his features from the doorway. Those eyes he loves are fixed on their hands and he can’t tell if he’s watching in fear or hope or both. “What I said…I didn’t mean it, okay?” And it sounds hollow to his own ears, so he tries again. “I just - I wanted to hurt you, and…” 

Steve gives a bitchy little eye roll and Eddie’s heart skips a beat, staring at his pretty, tear-stained face and clinging to that small glimpse of normalcy. “Well mission accomplished, I guess,” Steve says, bitter and sad, and Eddie groans softly.

“I know. I know, I’m sorry. Baby, I’m so fucking sorry. I can’t…I tried the whole time I was out to think of the right words to say but I just - I dunno how to explain it,” he says, frustrated with himself, and he feels the smallest little squeeze to his hand.

“Try,” Steve says, quiet, “...please,” and his voice cracks again and it feels like a fucking knife in Eddie’s stomach.

“I was scared,” he blurts out, and finally, finally Steve looks at him.

“...What?” His brows furrow, his mouth turns down, “scared of what?” “Of you,” he says, and that’s not quite right, and Steve’s face falls even more, looking nauseous.

“I’m sorry,” Steve croaks, and he tries to pull his hand away but Eddie just grips it tighter, “I’m sorry, Eddie, I shouldn’t have yelled like that or gotten mad and - and I would never hurt you, Eds–”

“Nonono, baby,” Eddie scrambles to interrupt, shaking his head so hard his hair flies around a little, “no, that’s not - I wasn’t scared of you like that.” He raises a hand, grabbing hold of Steve’s face, keeping their eyes on one another while he has the chance, “I meant - I was–” he makes a little frustrated sound, “...I was scared that I’d lose you,” he says, and God, fuck, thank God Steve is who he is and he knows Eddie how he knows him, because understanding starts to bloom in those bloodshot eyes.

“...And so you lashed out,” he whispers, and Eddie nods again.

“And so I lashed out.” Guilt paints his words. “And I’ve been avoiding you. Avoiding home. Staying away because - because if I’m not around then you can’t get annoyed, or tired of me, right? And that’s so fucking stupid, okay, I know it is, I’m a fucking idiot, really, biggest moron in the world, and a goddamn coward–”

“Hey,” Steve says sharply, and Eddie’s words die with a little whine in his throat. “You are not a coward. You’re the bravest person I know.”

“Dustin would like a word,” he shoots back, and Steve huffs, narrowing his eyes at him. Eddie gives him a small, self-deprecating smile.

“I just mean,” he soldiers on, “I’ve been doing wrong by you.” Steve looks away again. “And I’m sorry. I know I’ve been hurting you and I want to do better, Stevie, I do.” He squeezes Steve’s hand.

He watches as Steve rolls his lips in, biting them hard, his brows tight and his shoulders going tense again. Eddie wants to fill the space with his own chatter, pour out even more apologies, but he lets the silence sit - he lets Steve have the space to collect his thoughts, to think of what he wants to say.

Finally, he speaks. “It felt like you didn’t love me anymore,” Steve says, and Eddie can’t help the heartbroken little sound he makes.

“No,” he says fiercely, and he crowds into Steve’s personal space, takes his face in his hands and cradles his cheeks in his palms. “Absolutely fucking not, baby,” he insists, and Steve reaches up, covering Eddie’s hands with his like he’s trying to pull all the warmth from Eddie and into himself.

“What else was I supposed to think?” Steve asks, “you were just - you were gone all the time, and you never wanted to talk about it, and you were always busy with stuff that didn’t involve me and it was like you didn’t want to be around me anymore. And when we fought tonight I thought - I.” He cuts himself off, squeezes his eyes closed tight. “...I really thought that you might not come back,” he confesses, and Eddie pulls him even closer.

“You listen to me,” he says, soft but fierce, “and I know my word probably means shit to you right now, because I’ve been the biggest dumbass in the world and broken it, but I need you to hear me when I say this.” Steve opens his eyes, and Eddie stares into them. “I will always come home to you. Even if I’m being a fucking idiot. Even if I’m pulling a runner, if I lose my mind and bolt out of here again, I will come home.” Steve’s eyes go all watery, and Eddie gently catches the tears with his thumbs, brushing them from Steve’s cheeks.

“Swear,” Steve says, and there’s a desperation in his tone that Eddie wishes he could smooth away, but he knows that will take time. That will take dedication and patience and perseverance and goddammit, Eddie will use every ounce of all that he possesses if that’s what it takes. But for now he holds Steve’s gaze and he nods slowly, their faces just inches apart.

“I swear,” he tells him. “I swear to you, Steve Harrington, I will come home. And I will always, always fucking love you.” 

Steve gives a little sob. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Eddie shushes him.

“No, angel,” he tells him, shaking his head. “You got nothing you need to apologize for, okay?” Steve looks like he’s going to protest, but Eddie just shifts, pressing his lips to Steve’s forehead and lingering there as his baby works to catch his breath.

“Can we go to bed?” Steve asks, and he sounds exhausted down to his bones. Eddie nods.

“Of course, baby,” he says, and he pulls Steve from the guest bed - fucking terrible thing that it is, taking Steve from their room, from their space, the safe little corner of the universe that they’ve carved out together between their sheets. He guides Steve down the hall, tired and stumbling a little, his pretty hair in disarray - his baby didn’t even change first, seems like he just curled right up after Eddie left, he’s still in his jeans and everything. 

Eddie watches as Steve changes, stripping his clothes off with slow, lethargic movements, and for once they land in a heap on the floor - on top of his sneakers, and that makes Eddie’s heart do a funny little flip as he catches Steve’s hand to keep him from tripping over the damn things. A fond smile is teasing at Steve’s lips, and Eddie returns it.

They curl up together, close as they can get, unsure where one starts and another begins. Relief washes through Eddie as he gets Steve settled into the right bed this time. He buries his hand in Steve’s hair and Steve noses at Eddie’s throat, turns his head side to side in a slow rhythm that drags his lips over the same little sensitive spot on the underside of Eddie’s jaw. It’s not a kiss, not quite - just a touch. A reminder that Eddie’s still here. He’ll allow Steve to take as many reminders as he needs for as long as he wants.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Steve whispers, and Eddie wants to tell him once again that he doesn’t have to apologize, but he knows this is important to Steve. So he just nods a little, careful not to dislodge him from the warm space he’s settled into at the curve of Eddie’s neck. 

“I forgive you,” he tells him, and a bit of tension leaves Steve’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I left,” he whispers, and he feels Steve’s lips part– “don’t say you forgive me yet,” he says before Steve can speak. “I got a lot more groveling to do, babylove, don’t you dare let me off the hook that easily. I was a fucking jackass. And I’m gonna make it right, and that’s gonna take time, and I know that, and that’s okay, because I’m in this for the long haul, alright?” 

Steve is silent for a few moments, weighing Eddie’s words. Eddie can feel the brush of eyelashes against his skin as his baby blinks slowly a few times. Then, gradually, the last of the tightness in Steve’s frame melts away.

“Actually I was gonna say I’m going to get one of those toddler leashes,” he says. “That way if you try to bolt I can just yank you back.” Eddie snorts out an ugly laugh, and Steve’s chuckle echoes his own, and he rolls them both until he’s got Steve under him. He just stares at him in the darkness for a few moments, watching his smile fade into something small and private.

“I love you so much,” Eddie says, and Steve’s hands come up, slipping beneath Eddie’s shirt to rest on the bare skin of his back, fingertips tracing up and down the dip of his spine. “There’s nowhere in the world I wanna be than right here with you.” Steve hums softly and closes his eyes, and Eddie knows it’s going to take more than just a few pretty words to prove this to Steve. That’s okay. Eddie’s stubborn. He can stick with it as long as it takes.

“I love you too,” Steve says back, and Eddie leans down, nudging his nose gently into his baby’s. Steve’s scrunches up, and Eddie presses a quick kiss to it just to hear him laugh, then shifts, brushing his lips against Steve’s. 

Steve sighs soft and warm into it, lips parting, and Eddie kisses him slow, devotion pouring out of him and into Steve. And he takes it all - gasps and moans quietly against Eddie’s mouth, lax beneath him, letting Eddie nip and bite and suck and soothe at his lips, his tongue, hand slipping to Steve’s side - not to start anything. Just to touch. Just to feel. To prove to himself that he’s still able to touch this beautiful man, that he’s still allowed this wonderful, dizzying love that he’s stumbled into.

They fade like that, both tired, Eddie’s weight slowly sinking down until he’s resting atop Steve. Steve’s arms come around him fully until he’s hugging him around the waist, and their mouths slip from each other’s to land in the spaces of their shoulders and throats instead, nosing into the warmth and familiarity of the person they love.

And things aren’t fixed - they aren’t perfect. But they’re working on it, and that’s enough.

[moonlesslights]

Miguel O'Hara x Reader.

a little lovely thing for you, loves <3

any comment about it is appreciated!

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After a long day dealing with all of the problems being the head of the Spider Community brings with it: catching bad guys and having to be realistic with the good ones just in order to protect them, even if the truth hurt them when he whispers it in a harsh voice after he looses all patience; Miguel found himself, looking at his reflection on the screen of one of the computers, tired.

His eyes wander to the wall next to him. 10:37pm. It is still rather early, most of the people and creatures in the building are probably still awake, and it is still three hours away from the hour he usually goes to bed too. But right now he knows he won’t make it till then, he has so much stuff to do, so much to worry about but his brain can only focus in one thing, can only tell him he needs one and only one thing right now. And it’s your fault.

He grunts when he jumps from the platform all the way to the floor, fighting with his own emotions and his desperation to get out of there. He is mad at himself for the way he’s acting, for the feeling of his body looking for yours… But he can’t do any more today, he knows what he needs and if he stays here like this he knows he won’t get anything done anyway.

Miguel walks out of his “cave”, as you used to call it, and goes on his way, swinging around a couple of times on his web and crawling some more across the diagonal pillars of the building to get where he was sure you were going to be right now. Because it wasn’t like he would often turn on the cameras on one of his holograms and played to look for you till the point of unconsciously knowing your favorite places to hang out by now. Of course not.

He’s so deep in his thoughts that when he finally hears your laugh just a few meters away, his heart skips a beat. And although his face doesn’t show any particular emotion when he walks up to you and your friends, he’s internally fighting with himself again for the whole situation. What was he doing here? Why is he acting this way? What was he thinking?

“Miguel?” You raise an eyebrow at him, he can see the confusion on your eyes but he especially takes notice of how you smile still, happy to see him. Happy to see him.

“Night.” He announces his presence, walking closer to you. The people around, which isn’t much, smile nervously at him, while some others seem unbothered by the new arrival. He looks at you for a moment and he doesn’t say a single word before taking you by the wrist and announcing again: “Night.”

“No, what? Wait… Miguel!” You look back, confused at his actions. You try to plant your feet on the ground and stop the both of you, but he easily continues to drag you across the floor and soon enough, taking you by the waist despite your insistence in questioning where were you’re going, swings you around in quick and confident movements till the noise of the whole building starts to be left behind.

You sigh and let the right side of your face rest against his shoulder. Surrendering to his actions and judgement.

He appreciated that, he liked it so much more than he wanted to admit. How you relax when you’re with him, how you trust him almost blindly, how you know, without him having to say a word, that he won’t hurt you. No matter what he did or how he acted without giving you an explanation, you trusted he would always have a plan. And even if he said to himself that he didn’t need anyone, he can’t deny —he can’t understand— how much he enjoys looking around a room after a particularly hard situation to find your eyes on him, the only ones that are never scared, the only ones that keep shining in trust… He doesn’t know what he would do if that ever changes.

If he reaches to touch you and you step back. If he calls your name and you don’t turn back. He has imagined, a couple dozen times, different scenarios, with you covered in blood, with you inside this very building, with you alongside someone else, but always the same eyes: like a rabbit staring at the fox baring his teeth, terrified, trembling. He always has to look for you after that image takes over his mind, almost convincing him it could be real. He can’t find himself at peace as he erratically opens and closes his hands, until you appear before him, smiling with so much warm that he can’t imagine, he won’t imagine, another emotion in your face than this one, where he reaches out for you and you don’t step back, where he calls your name and you turn around, where he can have you in between his arms for as long as he wants now, closing the door to all of the problems of the world outside.

You take his hand when he finally steps you down, guiding you across the dark hall to his room. You remain in silence but you can hear the thud of his heart beating inside his ribcage. You’re sure he knows you can hear it. You’re sure he can hear yours too.

As he opens the door and lets you get inside the room first, you relax almost instantly. His scent fills your lungs, making the air feel lighter at the very second your take in the first breath.

“Get comfortable.” He says in a neutral voice without even looking at you, and you know exactly what he means.

As he takes off his suit you walk to his closet. You take one of your favorite t-shirts of him to put on once you got rid of your own suit. It was fresh and it brushes your skin deliciously when you put it on, like cold water after a warm day under the sun.

You jump in the bed the moment he removes the cover, humming in content when you feel the cool blankets under you. Miguel lifts one of the corners of his mouth, his eyes are still tired but you can see that soft glimmer one can only take notice of in the dark, if you pay attention, where you can see how much he’s trying, how much hope he’s still guarding inside his own heart.

He climbs onto the bed with one knee, and lets his weigh fall onto his elbows first before finally letting himself rest on top of you with a soft grunt caused by the sore of his muscles. He buries his face on your chest, right between your breasts, closing his eyes almost immediately, easing in the feeling of your skin against his own. One of his hands lifts up, waving its fingers in the air. You laugh at his action, shaking your head.

“You could use your voice to tell me what you want.” You chuckle right above his ear, sending a pleasant shiver all across his body.

“Please?” He asks like he’s not sure of the use of that word.

You smile, lifting your hand and intertwining it with his. Only then, his brows relax, letting both of your hands fall back onto the bed, caressing your skin with his thumb running up and down in a tender swing.

“How are you?” You ask in a soft whisper.

“Better now.” He answers and you can’t not even begin to comprehend how much he means those words. He doesn’t know if he wants you to do it. One step out of the door and he looses the only thing that makes him human. “How are you?” He asks back, this time turning his head up to look at your eyes.

You chuckle. “Never better.” You tilt your head, allowing him to see that warmness in your eyes only reserved for him. His jaw clenches at the sole thought of someone else holding you like he does. He can’t allow it. He knows the implications of your having a whole life on your own universe, of someone waiting to steal you from him. He doesn’t think he could go over the fact of seeing you marry someone else… Well, now the thought of you walking down the aisle in white holding someone else’s hand has ruined his mood again. He frowns, looking down again. You laugh. “What was that face?! What is it?”

He doesn’t answer and you don’t wish to push him. He spends all the time being responsible of this whole place, having to be the voice of reason among all the others. You can’t blame him to act out all his foolishness when he’s alone with you.

After a couple of minutes with you running the fingers of your free hand along his hair, he finally drops out the words stuck on his throat:

“Choose me.” Not ‘stay’, not ‘don’t leave’, not ‘don’t go back’, but ‘choose me’. Even if you’re in another universe, even if we don’t see each other in months or years, even if we shouldn’t, choose me. “You’re free to leave, I would never ask you otherwise. But come back to me every time you do, please.”

“Miguel…”

“I know what I’m asking, but I promise I would never interfere with your duties in this organization nor anything in that matter. So choose to keep me by your side. So I… Fuck.” He buries his head even more, till the point his words are muffled by the t-shirt you’re wearing. “I might not survive. If… If you go. Y’know?” He says and you can tell how red his face probably is even without seeing it. “It won’t end well for me if you never come back from home.”

“Mhm…” You hum. “I see that that talk we had about opening to your feelings wasn’t in vain. You’re really putting on on practice…”

“Oh, c’mon.” He groans, turning around and trying to get up from his position, but your arms are quicker when you wrap around him, laughing out loud at his face.

“Come here, I’m kidding.” You smile, giving him a soft kiss on his forehead. Your hands start to draw figures on his back, with such tenderness he doesn’t have the strength to try to back up again. You take his chin and, after a few attempts, he finally gives in and looks at you. “This is home, Miguel.”

His eyes slightly widen at your words and his hands fight to cling to your body again, to bring your against him. Because it’s just never enough.

“Any love I have showed you, any love I show and give you from now on, is yours to keep.” You sigh. “I will not turn away, no matter how ugly things get. I will always find my way back to you.”

Miguel didn’t answered, three words were still dripping from his tongue, but what he felt for you was higher than what his voice could express, so he fell silent and took your face with his right hand and asked for permission with his eyes before kissing your smile. His lips against yours felt heavy and soft, you can feel his fear to hurt you in his careful movements, but you open your mouth, letting those three words slide in with his tongue brushing against yours like the sea crashes on the shore.

He drops his head to your neck, pushing with his thumb your jaw up, opening space for him to kiss and lick up in straight lines with his tongue. You wrap your legs around his waist, feeling him press against you. You haven’t taken this step yet, your intimacy grew from long nights talking and soft brushes of skin caressing skin, from mornings waking up beside each other, from the urgency to run to each other's arms, to hear your voice, to have his arms secured around you.

Miguel refused to take it any further because he thought, months ago, watching you sleeping curled against his chest, that if he tasted you whole, there wouldn’t be no turning back. It would be his perdition.

But now he realizes that even without doing that, his life would never go back to the same as it was before you appeared in front of him for the very first time. He doesn’t want it to be like that ever again. He knows, that from the moment he saw you, maybe even before that, one part of his soul tangled around you, and has refused to let go ever since. It belongs to her now. It had belonged to her since she was born. To be hers, to be his.

Maybe, he thinks as he takes both of your wrists above your head with one hand while the other caresses deeply on your hips as his fangs tease above your skin alongside his tongue and hot breath, it is time to go all the way in.

[fumifooms]

Analysis of Laios’ succubus and theories on what it means - deep dive on Laios’ desires in human connections

Laios’ succubus is a very odd incident. I have some particular interpretations of why it was Marcille, and why things went down the way they did.

We know that a succubus shows what one desires, stated in canon as “an alluring form”; yes often in a romantic or sexual sense, as seen with Chilchuck’s succubus being entirely set on looks and seduction, meanwhile Marcille’s does have a focus on chivalrous noble demeanor as well, showing romantic behavior and personality. BUT with Izutsumi we also see that the liaison doesn’t have to be romantic or sexual at all, either, in Izutsumi’s case it’s a familial bond she craves. So perhaps we can say that the succubus exploits a desire based on connection, in whichever form that takes. Marcille wants an emotional connection foremost(which is also reflected in how it’s a character she knows very well and not a stranger. Perhaps romantic.), Chilchuck wants pleasure(a simple pleasure not unlike alcohol, perhaps such a connection is free of the more risky or unpleasant parts of a relationship, he doesn’t have to worry or to think and can just let himself go. Sexual.), Izutsumi wants a mother figure that can offer her warmth and comfort with who she doesn’t have to be tough (Familial), and I believe Laios’ is platonic and centered on his desire to have people with who he belongs and can be himself with…

But Laios’ case is more complex, it has layers. The thing is, even if Laios wanted to have someone able to turn him into a monster—which it didn’t even have to be, could straight up have just been a monster with such powers—, it didn’t have to be someone he knew. You could say the succubus wanted to disarm Laios’ suspicions with someone he knew and that was nearby, but the succubus seem very direct in every other case, simply appearing with someone’s greatest appearance even though both Marcille and Chilchuck were fully on guard and the succubi knew it. "Believability" isn’t an important factor. No, his succubus being someone he knew was important. It being Marcille was important.

There’s a TLDR at the end of this if you want to cut it short. For everyone else, strap in everyone, if you don’t know me hi I’m Fumi and I made this 3k words long analysis and theorizing bc I am autistic much like the character in question and I think this is both fascinating and has a lot to say. In this I offer both platonic and romantic reasonings and I do go rather in depth in Laios’ psychology and relationships to dissect what ever could this damn cryptic event MEAN. Spoilers for the succubus chapters obviously and also the last few arcs of the series so… Spoilers for the series as a whole!

—

So attraction wise it’s kinda unsure where Laios stands. He does sort of logically list off aesthetically pleasing traits of the orc’s wives, but besides that… Not really, or he never voices it anyways. He and Marcille never share like “omg you’re pretty” moments or anything. Senshi gets more compliments than either of them through the series lmfao. Maybe Laios is asexual, maybe he simply doesn’t show outwardly his attraction much or even maybe isn’t self-aware about it, regardless… Laios HAS implied preference for Marcille’s looks in the past. With the orcs, he said that “tallmen like long ears”. Laios’ shapeshifter of Marcille has her hair down just like her succubus, which by Kui is explained to be because she had it down when she revived Falin and it really marked him, though it could also be interesting to see it as his mental image of her as her most authentic self, I’ve seen it theorized that it’s a preference too but I think that’s disproven. But of course the most damning evidence itself… The succubus scene. It could have been anyone else in the party, certainly Senshi shares Laios’ interest in monsters much more already. We shouldn’t discredit the way Laios was blushing madly once she revealed she was a monster, that made her more attractive to Laios for sure, but he still wouldn’t have reacted that way if it was just anyone. The contexts are very different, but we can compare it to how Laios reacted when Lycion turned into a wolf man in front of him for instance. Laios certainly doesn’t act that way with Izutsumi- and it’s confirmed like a page later that he does see Izutsumi as a monster already. AND!! Laios starts blushing madly BEFORE she says that she can turn him into a monster- and we can safely assume that the blush isn’t out of simple fluster but out of desire/infatuation since he clearly wants her to bite him in the next page and his blush does not relent at all.

There’s something we could say about Laios’ liking of Marcille being born out of companionship rather than aesthetic attraction, on familiarity and intimacy. As members of the same party they’ve spent a lot of time together and we’ve seen that Laios trusts in her and relies on her for her skillset and avice. If Laios’ interest in her developped more naturally and gradually, valuing the familiar bond they have, I don’t see why he’d be acting all blushy and lovesick every time they interact or whatever, which is the explanation I have for Marcille genuinely being Laios’ most alluring form but him not freezing at the sight of it. That could also be a reason why he physically rejects succubus!Marcille instinctively, because something about her feels off or different (which is sorta the most direct interpretation of the scene, since Laios’ first thought is that it can’t be Marcille and must be a monster).

 [Edited in: Oh my god. The picture above is the last page of the dullahan chapter, chapter 57, a chapter that centers around Laios and Marcille’s relationship through flashbacks as Laios is on the brink of death and sees his life flashing before his eyes (he remembers how they first met, etc, which is also interesting to note that on the brink of death he reminisces about her the most). The last page of that chapter, more or less the thesis of the chapter in which we see Laios opens up about the real reason he and Falin go dungeon diving to her after them having a rough meeting but she turns out to also have an interest in dungeons, has Laios go "she starts out frowning but she ends up smiling! Wether its’s about eating monsters or about me :)”. That chapter is the one right before th succubus chapters. Laios’ most alluring form wasn’t “just” Marcille, it’s a SMILING Marcille. Which is why the succubus had such a weird and off demeanor right away (which gets knocked off once it doesn’t work and becomes a more Marcille-like Marcille)! It was only focused on smiling because it was the angle it was working from.

Oh my god it makes sense. It’s a direct narrative link, it’s as explicitly put with its story structure without Kui just stating it, besides, you know, the many times Laios says how precious her smile is to him. He’s like “I love her smile” and right next chapter the succubus is like “yes this is what he likes seeing most”. But… This also does mean that the focus might be less romantic, like Marcille’s significance doesn’t diminish, but then the alluring form might be less about her and more about the smile itself. About having a friend who looks at him like that, about someone who smiles after eating monster dishes or surpassing obstacles together… Or it can actually be so much more romantic. Like, maybe the smiling Marcille doesn’t work is because well, it’s not like Marcille, she wouldn’t just be smiling like that and behave like that (esp since his musing is about how her smiles are sort of “earned”, that she doesn’t smile right away but it’s sort of like a rewarding sight when she does). So then the most alluring form of Marcille doesn’t work because she doesn’t convincingly BEHAVE like her. His most alluring form isn’t a Marcille-lookalike, it’s her as a whole. More on the succubus shifting/switching in its approach later.]

Anyways.

Where was I. Ah yes, “It could have been anyone else in the party, certainly Senshi shares Laios’ interest in monsters much more already.” But then that’s the point isn’t it. I think Laios’ succubus being Marcille is because his wish isn’t so much focused on her, or on becoming a monster, but on not being alone. On being understood. On having others finally share his interest. On not only becoming a monster, but having someone to share that with. A trusted friend, a companion, or a lover, it matters little in my interpretation, the bedrock of it stays the same. And this is why it’d be someone he already knew instead of someone new, because it’d defeat the point, and it was maybe Marcille because she’s the most vocal about finding monsters disgusting: it’d have finally been a shift in her that she now liked monsters. And again this brings back to when he talks about her smile, when he says that she starts out unhappy with eating monsters, but ends up smiling by the end of it. Her smile itself represents that though first impression or reflexive dislike, someone can turn around and end up liking it anyways, it’s hope for his interests to be liked and perhaps for him to be lovable as well, that it’s possible to be accepted.

But I do think it would be a mistake to say that there’s absolutely no romantic interest, that it’s plainly platonic or another kind of interest misplaced and idealized in her. What we saw with the other succubus is that they 100% act in ways that the person desires, sure Izutsumi’s start attacking after a while, but that was after pushing them over the edge, and succubus Marcille wasn’t being agressive nor did she have a reason to be (even when she could have with Laios’ choking, she didn’t turn to violence, so she was 100% still in seduction mode). Ultimately the goal of the succubus is to make physical contact to be able to suck their essence, but the way they go about achieving that is tailored to the individual’s desire, Marcille’s kissed her hand and Izutsumi’s offered a hug.  The succubus can identify and embody complex desires, often subconscious ones, shown with Izutsumi’s. They go straight to it without complex subterfuge either. Chilchuck’s succubi were very direct because that’s what he wanted, Marcille’s was courtly because that’s what she wanted, Izutsumi’s offered motherly comfort and affection because that’s what she wanted, and Laios’ is Marcille attempting to kiss him. Let that sink in.

Laios why are you choking the supposed key to your heart?

Ok so the theory that Laios’ desire is to have a deeper companionship from an existing companion is pretty tame and surface level I’d say, but strap in… The way Laios reacted violently to Marcille trying to kiss him is VERY interesting. The first thing he thinks about is that she isn’t Marcille so she must be a succubus, then confusion at to why it’s her. He’s even afraid of what the others would think, feeling… Shame? With how he imagines Marcille would be horrified that he likes her that way. Fear of rejection?

But no no, what interests me is the shift that the succubus makes. It seemed very confident at first, went straight in, but when overpowered shifted the direction it was going in- shifted from a desire for Marcille to a desire for a monster Marcille and whatever deeper desire that hides. But??? Succubi did not make mistakes as to what someone wanted thus far, possibly that has never ever happened before by human records. Could the succubus truly have miscalculated what Laios desires? It’d be hard to imagine that the succubus would misunderstand what type of companionship someone wished for or what approach to take, since it’s done complex cases before too, Izutsumi being very much in denial before it & at first. In Izutsumi’s case, even with her complex feelings over it and her two souls desiring different things, the succubus did not miss its mark, and ultimately it was having a second soul for who the succubus wasn’t alluring that allowed her not to be frozen to the spot. But with Laios the succubus fully switches strategy.

The thing is that succubi don’t usually need to switch strategies, because the form and approach they take always work and always leave the victim frozen. Izutsumi bypassed this because of her two souls, but was still frozen and struggling to reject the succubus at first. And yet? Laios did. A succubus’ victim is supposed to be instantly frozen, and yet Laios acts on instinct and defensively agressive as soon as his reaction time allows. And well, it’s hard to really come to a logical conclusion as to why, since we have no idea of what rules can override a succubus’ temptation besides multiple souls… C’mon regular Marcille can’t be the winged lion/kenksuke’s desire bc of the loose hair being Laios’ mind-Marcille we’ve gone over this /hj Although, since it’s confirmed that the winged lion was watching with the dream Laios gets induced right after, maybe he’s what allowed Laios to be moving? It’s possible that it’d have frozen him otherwise, even if Laios with his full rationale wouldn’t have accepted the kiss faced with supernatural allure he might have gotten paralysis from being overwhelmed, similarly to how if Chilchuck had his full rationale he wouldn’t allow a woman like his succubus to kiss him (he’s always stayed faithful to his wife even after 4 years of separation, give the guy his earned credit). Getting somewhat offtopic, but something to say about how if that’s the case once again the theme of ‘irrational desire you crave vs what you truly want/need’ that is present throughout the manga would be reflected.

My best guess however on why Laios reacted so quickly and forcefully is: trauma. The more recent arcs with Laios suggest that Laios has deep-seated trauma over humans. He dislikes humans as a whole, that was like, pretty much stated, though perhaps exaggerated. As a kid he fantasized about monsters wiping out human towns. We know Laios has been ostracized for most of his life by others, in his village and in the military, and beyond social rejection it’s shown he got beaten in group too and it was implied that it happened regularly. But damn, disliking humans to the point of wanting to be a monster and murderous genocidal reclusive envies and all of that stuff? That is massive trauma, massive identity & belonging issues and hint at massive trust issues.

So then, the negative reaction could be because of Laios’ deep trauma with humans. Because of trauma getting activated, not due to a miscalculation on the succubus’ part but due to a contradicting dislike of the desire that makes the form inherently and straight out of the gate un-alluring, Laios’ repression being so strong that he’s able to affect his own desires in that way, or an instinctive defense response to the trigger (a human).   Even though Laios hides it well, once again recent arcs (and some other moments) make it clear that Laios still has some innate dislike of humans, which in canon is a term that all races like elves fit in. He has a bias against them, perhaps even an innate distrust of them. Who knows how aware he is of it, or how much control and will he has over it. What if Laios reacting agressively to it was his defense mode tied to this kicking in, a survival and security instinct, stopping any possibility of Laios wanting a romantic relationship with a human? Any chance of that human getting close and being hurt by it, either rejected or stabbed in the back? It’d then make sense if Laios is unaware and doesn’t understand his attraction to Marcille then, if it’s a sort of self-made blockage, denial. And that’d make full sense with how, when Marcille is suddenly a monster, then all of Laios’ reluctance is gone and he’s fully enthralled, all that it took was taking away that one blockage for Laios to be utterly charmed. It takes away the trigger element, humans, and replaces it for something safer. A desire for connections, but connections with people that are ‘safe’, people who also don’t fit in with society, who are part of his interest in monsters, who would accept and understand him. I think that Laios does desire human connections, specifically, but can’t allow himself to pursue them either from conscious or unconscious trauma, so though he does desire it he can’t accept that he does/can’t accept the relationship even if it’s handed to him on a silver platter.

Conclusion

The succubus’ shift could then be either that it switched from one wish, a wish for Marcille, to another, a wish for companionship in monster-liking, or that it stayed on the same fundamental wish, but had to improvise with the new information (that Laios is human-averse)(not bc it didn’t exist previously but bc it wasn’t manifested) to take out of the equation the thing that was holding Laios back (from giving in).

But well, the fact that the rest of the party is included does lean towards the former, but in any case that doesn’t erase all I’ve spoken about, all about how Marcille is 100% the focus of this whole thing. It could still be a bit of both. But it is interesting that he worries about the party’s reaction to seeing his succubus being Marcille, and when she shifts into monster Marcille he *still* worries about the others: “b-but what about the others?” He’s a mess, with his most alluring form seducing him, and he still has a shred of resistance in him to question how the others would react, and it’s only when she says that they’re already monsters too that he truly gives in. Is he really so afraid of ostracization? Of losing the people he cares about due to judgement? Then the mention of the others in the party can simply be something the succubus added on top to unlock another “blockage”, the same way she added Marcille being a monster on top of the basic premise of Marcille; Take out the immediate dismissal of humans first, and then the fear of loss and judgement from other friends so Laios can finally stop worrying and give in. That worry/framing I’d say makes the latter more credible, because it’s not the premise of the alluring form but an extra.

In the end, like the recent arcs kind of spell out, the thing central to Laios’ character is less so a love for monsters and moreso a dislike for humans, and this is what this puts on full display.

Laios’ most alluring form is Marcille, a human that doesn’t understand his interests and thus him, and regardless of everything else that Marcille is, that is so traumatic to him that all of his being immediately rejects it.

—

Thanks for coming to my ted talk! I’ve spent so much time thinking about this and wording and rewording this same train of thought, also it’s the end of my college semester and I’m going crazy

Tldr: My personal fav theory for Laios’ succubus is that Laios really values Marcille’s smile a ton like it’s often mentioned, and that’s what his most alluring form centers on. I’ve got a ton of different interpretation on the why it’d go for a kiss? Since it tailors its approach to the person’s desires, but obviously something goes wrong with Laios’, which is really interesting because even with Izutsumi who resists because she has 2 souls so one part of her can always remain unaffected, the succubus hit bullseye on her most alluring forms. But regardless of that, I think his desire for Marcille (either her or what she represents, wether as a platonic ideal or something else) isn’t wrong/untrue perse, but that Laios has such a complex with humans and intimacy and connecting with others that his defense mode kicks in and that’s when the succubus has to shift into a different, safer desire: one that doesn’t involve humans but that still shows connections and acceptance and belonging. Also Laios realizes that it isn’t Marcille when she goes in for the kiss, which if his allure for her is based on familiarity since they’re friends and all could make sense that it’d break him away from it, or since it’s a liking based on familiarity he doesn’t freeze, or maybe it’s because the winged lion has its eye on him. I think that’s so much more likely with how Kui makes even her jokes be character moments or at least consistent, and also with the tension of the scene, than just the scene being a gag about how Marcille doesn’t mean much to Laios actually.

I think there’s a lot to be said about why Marcille is special to Laios, why her smile means something to him, etc, and I don’t think saying Marcille is special to him is exaggeration or reaching at all. Laios, Marcille and Falin are the golden trio, she’s the deuteragonist, she’s the only other character in the main party whose goal in going back for Falin is Falin and who has a bond with her and Laios outside of being coworkers, in post-canon they live together, happily, in the anime’s ending they’re emphased on by dining out all three together... I could go on.   Marcille has the benefit of being very trusted by Laios, not only with the time they’ve spent together but how she was Falin’s friends first, the person he himself feels so protective of and has been so consistently ostracized throughout her life. Marcille represents a positive odd one out that’s like, the good example of "humanity can be good and safe and warm actually".  Which is a big reason why imo Marcille is like, the secondary protag and with Falin they form the golden trio. She’s central to the story in many ways including making Laios see that humanity is worth saving and sticking with, but that’s a topic for another analysis. One such reason is how his first meeting with her went: it started really badly but ended with her coming around and unexpectedly sharing their interest in dungeons, which made him and Falin open up about the real reason they go dungeon diving, perhaps for the first time. There is just so much that goes into it but Laios seems generally very expectant of rejection: in the climax chapters after he transformed back as a human and was hiding out in the woods, pre-canon in an extra where we see him battling himself on if he should suggest eating monsters or not. But another one, the one I truly want to bring up in this post, is how genuine Marcille is! And funnily enough, how dramatic she is, and how her elf ears change position depending on her emotions. Like, let me compare her affectionately to a dog for a second, but dogs move their ears and use whole body language to communicate, and I think that part of Marcille, really strong emoting, with her ears and body language on top of her often dramatic facial expressions, reassure him. Like ok, maybe he can’t tell when Shuro and Kabru would lie to him, but Marcille? She wears her heart on her sleeve and her feelings on her whole self. And that takes away some of the stress and trauma he has with humans, explains why her smiles would “put him at ease”, doesn’t it?

I don’t remember wether I’ve mentioned this somewhere or just in my reblog linked at the end of the post, but while at first I thought the succubus going for a kiss on the lips heavily implied a romantic desire in Laios,  now I have a couple different theories on why the succubus would have gone for that approach. I think the most likely is that, if the principal allure of his succubus is her smile, the succubus is like "as long as he sees her face right up until i can suck up his blood and he passes out I’ll be gucci", so it’s not about the kiss but about him seeing her face all the while until the very last moment, so he stays charmed.

Btw chapter 34 explores Laios’ relationship with touch too imo, and we see that he is uncomfortable with touch to some degree, very unsure and hesitant and tense. I feel like it’s something more shown in a bigger picture sense with his whole struggles with humans and extras, than just in any one page so go reread the beginning of that chapter if you want I’d say, but putting a page below as example anyways. I think it’s notable that it’s a character moment shared with Marcille too, she acts sort of like a bridge to humanity with social propriety and being extroverted in many cases. In the chapter Chil and Marcille point out how awkward he is with touch, but he learns to be casual/comfy enough about touch to do healing magic with her (something that was also enforced through him having to practice magic on Marcille turned to stone, he got a lot of touch exposure and magic practice done in those days. Dammit Laios, MArcille and touch is worthy of a whole analysis of its own). She’s just like, his human comfort zone, even if they aren’t that close at least at first, besides Falin he has literally like no friends and I think that itself shows how he doesn’t fit in well socially and that it’s a significant struggle for him. But yes what I was saying here is I believe there’s setup for him recoiling from touch like he did with the succubus (due to an instinctive aversion to touch made especially intense due to the succubus’ oddness and forwardness).

I have even more theories and rambling on details on the succubus here in a reblog, but unless I want to put in some pictures of Laios repressing himself around others and such I don’t think I’ll be touching this post again in a while

[matcha-milkies]

Married Life Worldbuilding Lore Drop ♡

❝ Bill has changed the cultural landscape of romance in some pretty sad ways. ❞

I’ve been rambling in my Discord server and wanted to do a lore dump about the post-Bill culture of Dimension 13’\ (the official designation of the Married Life AU). I want everyone to be on the same page, since some server members have expressed wanting to create fan content surrounding this lore!

It's no Chapter 10, but I hope it's fun to read all the same. Big walls of text under the cut:

♡ Despite outward appearances, Bill is terribly insecure about his relationship with Ford (part of the reason he keeps him locked up so tightly).

♡ You can imagine Bill would hate seeing anyone in a relationship happier or healthier than his. He may not even be consciously aware of why looking at happy couples fills him with so much visceral, inexplicable envy anger, but it does.

♡ At first, this might manifest in him favoring the torture of happy couples he comes across in his domain. Singles are more likely to get off scot-free. This is why Bill flesh-sculpted Jonathan and Lucy and then made Ford eat them. They were truly in love and committed to each other, and Bill couldn’t stand the sight of them.

♡ This insecurity in Bill escalates. He needs more control, but he also needs to be Mr. Nice Emperor. He appoints himself the arbiter of romance/marriage. Because he knows best on the subject of course! And he just doesn’t want anyone to get hurt, getting into a relationship they shouldn’t. All non-Bill-sanctioned relationships of a romantic nature are illegal and punishable by neverending torture (which Bill might subject you to anyway, for funsies, but unsanctioned romance is a surefire way to rocket you to the top of the list of candidates, and Bill has an ever-growing number of enforcers and loyalists). But don’t worry, it’s still for your own good! Very 1984 I know. If you’re actually in love, good luck getting that approved.

♡ This leads to one of two major culture shifts:

Either A) 13 adopts a hypersexual culture (much like the Hand of God AU for those familiar, although for very different reasons in this case). Romantic love becomes a sort of nigh unobtainable virtue reserved for God and his beloved, and a select chosen few. People resort to sex to satisfy their need for intimate connection.

OR B) 13 becomes hyper asexual for fear that anything bordering on passion will anger Bill. This however does create a conundrum in the lack of reproduction, at least for species who procreate via sex. Could still work if people still have sex but it’s a very… businesslike transaction and possibly organized/ordered by group leaders. Literally “I only have sex in missionary position for the sole purpose of procreation.”

^ I have not yet fully committed to either of the above routes, though I’m leaning more towards B.

♡ The heart and other romantic symbology such as roses and swans become sacred and divine. (Designs of Married Life Ford from later in the story will feature a red heart tattoo under his left eye).

♡ This monopoly on romance is of course extremely authoritarian, but literally in every other aspect of life, Bill is like “Go nuts, do what you want.” It’s just this one thing in particular that he fixates on and becomes obsessed with controlling.

♡ This also forces people to vicariously enjoy Bill and Ford’s love story, as it becomes one of the only ways the average person can experience romance at all. It tends to create some very obsessive fans. Bill turns their life into a sitcom called “Married Life” and broadcasts it across the dimension as daytime television. Some tweaks and edits are made of course, to make for better TV and not at all to give Bill the most flattering angle possible. However, Bill doesn’t always understand what does or does not register as disturbing to humans, and something is still very obviously wrong with this relationship. Anyone who isn’t a delusional Ciphertologist knows full well what’s going on here, but you should really keep those thoughts about domestic abuse to yourself if you know what’s good for you.

This TV series even makes it beyond Dimension 13’\ as VHS tapes. There are a few lost episodes and a lot of behind-the-scenes trivia that you’d have to dig pretty deep to find.

The sitcom aspect of the lore could honestly be an entire post on its own, and I look forward to developing it further and incorporating it into future chapters as well. It just might be a while before it can come into the story in any significant way, and it is helpful to have this context when understanding the wider culture of 13’\, so I wanted to get the lore out there.

**clicks button that brings us to the final PowerPoint slide which says “Thank you! Any questions?”**

[monstersinthecosmos]

kacy i need ur thoughts on marius and dom drop

Oh! My friend! I have several. 🤗

I have a lot to say and I’m not sure how to organize myself so be patient with me. But !

I think a lot about both the in-universe and non-diegetic kink in VC but also Marius’s own admittance that he lies to himself, and what that says about both his role as a dom and what it means, and his ego as a defense mechanism and what it means to his actual level of self-assuredness.

Like the short answer here is like: I LOVE thinking about a soggy Mawwius who feels really bad and goes back to his lair at sunrise feeling like a nervous wreck because there wasn’t enough time for aftercare LOL. I think it ties in really nicely to his hatred of anger/the humiliation around identifying with anger, and I wonder like in a moment of dom drop does it feel too much like he was being an aggressive brute, and does he lose sight of the fact that Amadeo (or whomstever) was into it?

Is he so ashamed of himself that he doesn’t even ALLOW himself aftercare? He takes the shame with him to be alone and punish himself, maybe! :D

WHAT A BARBARIAN!

And like I know I bring this up from time to time but the whole idea of non-diegetic kink/DOYLIST KINK IF YOU WILL, is that it’s kinky to the reader, on purpose, but not necessarily following “good” BDSM rules in the text, right? Like the whipping scenes in TVA are intended to be kink to the reader, but they’re not negotiated. So I wonder like, what does a dom role mean to him if he’s not slipping into it in a traditional/realistic way? If they exist in a world where negotiation isn’t warranted, how much aftercare do they need? And speaking to dom drop—there’s aftercare in both whipping scenes in TVA, but they’re focused on Armand, not Marius.

In some ways that feels appropriate, too, like, I don’t know man! What’s the etiquette when one of you is inhuman and there’s a 1500 year age gap? In real life we’d see BDSM as a consensual roleplay where the sub might want to check in, too, and is just as responsible, but in a situation like this, is it Armand’s job to take care of him after?

That’s the tricky thing about the non-diegetic setup that I’m getting at. As the reader, the EXTREME power imbalance is supposed to be tropey and entertaining and titillating, and it’s interesting trying to tease that out from like, how sincerely we take the actions on the page. (ie: the timeless discourse about whether or not the BDSM in TVA is abuse blah blah). So like, we can chose not to worry about it and write it off as Not That Deep, or we can say like, maybe it wasn’t Amadeo’s fucking job to care for the ancient creature that just beat the shit out of him lmao.

We have to ask, does proper etiquette exist/matter in this universe? (Either answer still works, it’s just like, what are we focusing on for this particular moment, like is it for meta or a fic or what, your mileage may vary). And like on that note, what was the BDSM etiquette in the 1490s, anyway? LOL Like does anyone give a fuck anyway? (This might be an ask for YOU, apoptoses!!!)

So it’s kind of interesting to think about this.

I mean!

Like, Marius can still have dom drop, whether or not Amadeo (or anyone else) cares to aftercare him. And that kinda feels appropriate with the no-rules non negotiated scenes in the first place. It’s appropriately messy if he’s torn up about it and then just goes back to his lair and stews and panics about it. Love that for him lol.

It also occurs to me like, if AMADEO also needs more aftercare, if Marius knows that but has to leave, I wonder how guilty that makes him feel. Like, I remember you and I talked about this LOL because I wrote this into Gallows Bird, that he woke up Riccardo to go sleep with Amadeo so he wouldn’t be alone, and you were gonna write some Riccardo/Amadeo about it!!! Like, how often did that happen?

We can say if there’s no negotiation and shit poor BDSM etiquette in universe, maybe he just left Amadeo to fend for himself at sunrise and that was that LOL and it layers into the extreme way it’s built for the sake of the story and exaggerated for the sake of the reader, but as always, I know that you and me both as fic writers like to think about this stuff on the ground floor because we try to envision more of a 360° view of what these scenes looked like from the inside and I simply have to ask all these questions to develop my understanding !!

And I have to ask how purposeful these scenes & roleplays are within the universe: is he slipping into the dom/disciplinarian role with intention? It asks that question like, what does this person need and how does the BDSM role help them? We can say that Amadeo is a brat, and that by necessity Marius must become a disciplinarian to take care of him. But is that something Marius would choose for himself? For Marius I can only imagine him thriving as a dom in the sense that it feels good to have control, but it’s an odd thing to need to express in the Venice era in particular where he is so very in control anyway. Is his paterfamilias/daddy kink already served just by their 24/7 dynamic and his control of the palazzo, and does he still need to top it off with impact play? There’s so many options here!

Option A is like, he’s basically service domming for Amadeo’s pleasure, and the dom drop is going to come from the idea that he’s so completely self-loathing as a monster!  People give Louis credit for being like the OG Self Loathing Vampire but Marius has him so so beat, imo. God he hates that shit. He has such bad vampire dysphoria constantly, he feels like a monster, he uses his powers sparingly to feel like a person, every time he grows a new strength he’s disgusted by it. He hates the idea of violence and anger!

Option B is that it’s therapeutic for him to exercise these powers with someone who appreciates them? Does it feel nice to indulge in his violent nature for a little while in a space where he knows he’s not hurting anybody for real? And like, for all the ways he has control in Venice – Amadeo will grow up and leave, the boys will leave, Vincenzo will die soon, he cannot keep them, he cannot join society in the way he wants. I think when you break it down, most trauma comes down to “a time I did not have control” and it’s natural for people to want to play with control to unwind, but for Marius in particular, his turning was SO traumatic and fucked up and I think really set the tone for his entire life. Not just being turned against his will but the way it was prolonged, that he did everything he could while he was alive to rebel against Roman society and maintain personal freedom, only to have that taken away for a YEAR! Being held captive is so fucking dehumanizing, and I wonder if he never really got over it.

Option C is that it just genuinely also gets him off and he’s playing with his food because taking little sips from Amadeo for years is giving him insane blue balls lmao

I also would be remiss not to mention my sincerely held belief that Marius is more of a sub on the inside, too, and so roleplaying as a dom or being so stressed that he needs to control SOMETHING is not natural for him. If he rose up to be a dom by necessity here—whether to meet Amadeo’s needs or because he’s become so violent and inhuman and needs to relieve stress—I can definitely see him having dom drop after and struggling to reconcile it when he’s lying awake in his sarcophagus panicking about it.

Everything in Venice is designed to be the exact opposite of his experience in Gaul. He spoils Amadeo with gifts, gives him a beautiful place to live, all the food he wants, wants him to have a worldly education, encourages him to go out and experience the city and meet people and have sex and take advantage of everything the modern world has to offer. And I think he likes that Amadeo sees him as a savior and not a captor. He even knows pretty quickly that he loves Amadeo too much to go through with turning him, anyway, and is willing to let him live.

So it’s interesting to me like, this is actually something I’ve tackled in Sheith fics LOL but like how to overcome trauma in a way that allows you to be violent for fun again, and how to find it cathartic and safe when your instinct is that it isn’t, or when the idea of it feels triggering. We don’t know about Marius having any other relationships like this before Venice, but he’s rejoining society for a while and finding a healthy outlet for his hunger, perhaps.

Especially off the heels of his thing for Bianca and Botticelli, and how he knew he’d kill them if he didn’t distract himself. The entire reason he HAS Amadeo at all is as a plaything and a distraction/rebound, so it’s interesting that controlled violence plays into what they do together, and how Marius loves him.

What’s interesting about it too is that like, again in the sense of it being the actual text—it seems like after both whipping scenes that they both have sort of emotional breakthroughs and can be more honest with each other. We know that Marius is a person who keeps his feelings inside until he explodes, and this is how that looks when he’s with Amadeo. He comes away from it with a sense of catharsis that he needed. No matter how they get here, it does seem like it’s something he needs.

But yeah anyway. This was all over the place LOL but those are some of the angles I consider when I think about this topic. I genuinely can’t imagine a version of Marius where he DOESN’T experience dom drop, honestly, it’s just that I think there’s a very different routes of how we get there. In the end, no matter how intentional the roleplays are, I think he’s going to go isolate himself after and go “what the fuck why did I do that oh my god” and the curse of their interspecies relationship is that he has to leave in the morning and they can’t cuddle their way through it until it feels better.

[shineonyoucrazyyandere]

One thing I love to day dream about is the yandere and their darling doing beauty treatment 💕 In my case it's Kakyoin. He is definitely the type of boy really care about beauty stuff like having a skincare routine or doing his hair in perfect curve shape. He is expert in this field although he is a boy (completely opposite me, I don't know how to do it although I'm a girl 😭)

I'm sure he will this advantages to be touchy with darling. Here, let he help you putting on the face mask. This nail color is suit you, let he pain it for you. You need help with your hairstyle, don't worry, he is a pro.

I believe he use lip balm cherry flavor too. And when darling joking ask him does it taste good, he will immediately kiss them and pretend nothing wrong with that action "What, you ask about how it taste so I just let you taste it."

Kakyoin is certainly the most thorough when it comes to beauty/haircare/skincare. Of course if he’s going to find a way to slip you into doing something with him no matter how small. Just the slightest extra amount of time alone with the redhead has him thrilled. Why don’t you try a little face mask? They’re not difficult to deal with in the slightest.

He’ll fixate on anything you seem to fancy yourself towards, that’s his primary objective firstly. Just your hair? Perfect, let him brush/comb, or even trim/cut it (it doesn’t make a difference how short or how long it is) He’ll even manage to get you a nice scent of shampoo/conditioner to use. It just happens to be something that he loves on you fragrance wise, but he keeps this to himself.

No make up or a make up every day kind of person doesn’t matter to Kakyoin, he always seems to come up with something to keep you around him longer. Little things that any person should keep up with. Helping with lotion to keep skin from drying out (or sunscreen). The way he does anything with you feels rather nice, gentle even. His heart is practically drumming out of his chest every time he touches you. Yet there’s a firm, focused face, seemingly concentrated on your form no matter the area.

Every little thing Kakyoin does well from painting nails to even simply massaging your scalp, he has the slightest hope to keep coming you coming back. If not he’ll keep coaxing you back, and making the experience pleasant as possible. Let’s not mention if things go south and you run off, that he wouldn’t eventually tie you down acting like nothing happened before proceeding with your usual routine. Even fawning over you right there as if he isn’t terrifying you right there and then.

Somehow he might figure out your favorite color of nail polish, he gets real particular with anything you do to take care of yourself honestly. (He won’t forget a single step no matter how complex either)

As for his own routine of going a little more into things most men don’t usually incline themselves to. He sees it as a good thing to go the extra effort of grooming to keep a presentable appearance. Honestly he didn’t care about any outside opinions on how he takes care of himself anyway, the insults slide right off of him. He won’t judge you either for not really wearing make up (why would he? That would be ridiculous)

If anyone trashes your appearance however, he’s going to make sure they’re taken care of personally with hierophant green.

Now if you compliment him that’s a completely different story, he’s ecstatic. Practically sealing your fate, as he’ll coast off your cute compliments for years to come.

+ Bonus

When out shopping, he doesn’t really mind. He’d likely be the first to volunteer (practically no one else is able with how quick Kakyoin is). Offers to buy something nice to try if you hadn’t done it before, (or just need more).

[novelconcepts]

Honestly…I’m not thrilled with this. Even setting aside that Van was one of my favorite characters, I just don’t think this is a great direction to take the show in? I felt the same about Lottie’s death and she’s not one of the characters I feel super-strongly for.

This show shines when the survivors are together and when it’s exploring the trauma of the wilderness. Killing off characters willy-nilly before they get a chance to settle into the story (IE interact with a wide range of character and actually get some damn character development *cough cough*) feels like the antithesis of that—especially considering the ways by which both characters died. (And the introduction of Melissa felt particularly sloppy, too, which didn’t help.)

I also read an interview with Tawny and Lauren; they made it pretty clear they didn’t feel that Van’s death had been earned, and Lauren in particular expressed confusion about the direction of the show. They 100% have my agreement there—like, what are we doing? From what Lauren said, it also seems as though she was misled a little in terms of the size/time-frame of the role. And if so, that’s…not great. If it’s true, it definitely contextualizes a lot of what Simone Kessell was saying a few weeks back. (Though I acknowledge that, as the audience, we aren’t privy to the full truth and never will be.)

I really wish I had the vocabulary to discuss this more eloquently, because right now it feels like I’m coming off as someone who just doesn’t like the direction the story went and is using that as an excuse to call the show bad. So I’m sorry for that, ha ha. Please believe me when I say that’s not what’s going on here! I genuinely believe that the quality of storytelling on this show has declined in some aspects and this death was the cherry on top of a bummer sundae. Yeah, damn, I really wish I could articulate this better LOL.

It’s a whole mess and it’s really soured me on this show going forward. I’ll still watch because I have a completionism problem LOL but certainly not with the same enthusiasm. I just feel so frustrated on behalf of all these actors, who have done a beautiful job bringing these characters to life and don’t seem thrilled with the direction of the story either.

Anyway, I don’t know anyone else online or IRL that watches this show, so that’s why I’m here. My apologies for dumping this whole essay into your inbox; that being said, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this, as you seem to be pretty chill about Van’s death. (Hella impressive, by the way.) For now I’ll be living in your amazing fluffy fics!

Hey, your feelings are valid. So the way I’m looking at it is this: I wouldn’t have written this season this way. My version would have included a lot more time with the survivors, a lot less murder mystery, not having lost Lottie or Van, and not worrying about Jeff’s whole furniture thing. Like I do want to be clear. My version of this story doesn’t look like this.

The thing is…it isn’t my story. It’s a sandbox I sometimes play in for fun, but otherwise, it’s a roller coaster I’ve agreed to ride. And I’ve always enjoyed the part of the ride in the 90s more than the adult bit, because I love the “how we got here” narrative. So the adult timeline doing things I sometimes blink at doesn’t shock me; it’s always been Iike that for me.

I don’t know that I agree the writing has gone downhill so much as that the kind of story they are telling is shifting season to season. For both good and ill, this show has always played cross-genre sport, and it’s really trying to lean right now into the murder and mystery and paranoia. I don’t think it’s being unsuccessful, exactly, but I do think we are in the dead middle of the arc, and I dunno about you, but I always tend to find the middle unsatisfactory compared to the beginning and end of a story. Because we’re in the middle, we know what the glory of the beginning was, so we’re going to hold everything up to that standard. And this show probably WILL be like Orphan Black, in that the first season will always be its strongest. Which is okay. I still think, even at its weak points, it’s the best thing on TV (I’m not watching the Big Hit Loves, and I won’t be, so this is entirely subjective opinion. But hey, what isn’t?).

I’m not happy about Van’s death. I’m not happy about Lottie’s, either. I think both actors expected to be on the ride longer, and I’d have loved to keep them. But I do believe this is a story about trauma and hauntings and death chasing you down even when you think you’re free. I think death is inherently unfair, and that life is sometimes crueler in comparison. I think those are points it’s making, and making well. That what you survive doesn’t ensure anything, doesn’t shine up your story; it just means you survived that thing. And then you face wherever is next. Do I want to watch Swank instead of Ambrose next season? Not particularly. But will I, because I love this show, because I’m obsessed with the narrative, because I need to know what these cryptic plane death sequences are leading to? Hell yeah, dude. And I’m not gonna spread my disgruntled feelings about specifics too far, because like…in the end, it ain’t my story. And I want to see where it goes.

(Also, we always get to keep Liv and Thatcher and Courtney, and that is immensely important to me. We get to keep the characters we love. We just know they have a tragic ending—like every character who won’t make it out of those woods. I do believe this show will end with most or all of them gone. I think that’s the point.)

[chin-chilla-7]

Getaway

Summary: Carlisle and Esme plan a trip for just the two of them. Word Count: 940 For @morgandrawssstuff as part of the @twilight-secret-gift-exchange

There was quiet in the Cullen residence. A state that didn’t often occur. Save for the soft ticking of a clock, some fumbling of papers, and hushed words shared, the Cullen’s house was currently a place of peace.

Carlisle and Esme took the day off, something they didn’t often indulge. But after a few too many times of coming home stressed, they both agreed that something must be done. And this was the first step to that something.

With the kids in school, Carlisle and Esme had used the solitude to gather their thoughts and plan something for themselves.

“What about Paris?” Esme asked from the kitchen counter, flipping through another travel book. The surface was covered in a variety of country information pamphlets, brochures, and books.

Carlisle hummed in response, sitting across from Esme, looking over his own stack of information pamphlets. “Paris?” he repeated, a smile on his lips, “Romantic.”

Esme returned his smile, a small chuckle on her lips. “And I’ve heard the night life is quite wonderful.”

Nodding along, Carlisle grabbed a book on France, quickly flipping through to find the page on fauna. “There isn’t much large game close to the city, is there?” he asked, eyes grazing over the words on a particular page.

Esme shrugged. “There’s most likely rats in the city.”

The response earned a disapproved hum from Carlisle. “I don’t think I could do rats again.”

“You did it on our trip to New York.”

“Exactly.”

Despite the fluttering disappointment in her heart, Esme still managed to laugh at Carlisle’s response. “I thought you enjoyed our New York trip.”

Carlisle looked to Esme, gaze soft. It seemed he could tell by her tone that she was disheartened. “I absolutely enjoyed the trip. It was the rats that I didn’t love.” Esme hummed, seemingly about to say something, but Carlisle continued before she could. “You can’t deny it, either. Remember how we both felt sluggish and stiff a week in from our change of diet.”

After a moment, Esme sighed and nodded. “You’re right… rat blood is not ideal…” She trailed off, tapping her finger against another brochure. Carlisle was the one to speak up next.

“Why not just spend the month at Isle Esme?”

This was often a recurring point of conversation in any travel planning they make. Esme looked up at Carlisle, giving him the look that made him know she meant business.

“I go there when I want to relax and unwind. Where I don’t have to worry about anything. And I love it. I love going there. But for  this trip I want an adventure. I want to do something. There’s only so much of Isle Esme to explore before you know everything about it. I want something new.”

Carlisle hummed, looking back down at the papers in front of him and nodding. “Okay, okay, I understand..” he said, half in his thoughts to come up with a better offer. “We could still go south? Explore the rainforest?”

Esme hummed, sitting up in her seat at the offer. “Oh, that could be wonderful!” she said, reaching over to grab a book on the Amazon. “Tree coverage means we won’t have to worry about time of day.”

Carlisle nodded along, a smile on his face as it seemed they were settling on something. “And it’s large enough that we might not even run into anyone there anyway.”

Despite the initial excitement, there was a moment Esme wavered. She set the book down to look at Carlisle. “I don’t know about hunting in such a preserved location.”

That point made Carlisle hum in consideration. “That is fair…” he thought, furrowing his brow. He wanted to make this work. “We could bring our own? Preserve it for the trip and.. eugh-” Carlisle cut himself off, disapproving of his own solution. He shook his head, leaning back. This trip was supposed to help them de-stress. Instead, it seemed to be causing more of it.

Esme reached over again, this time taking Carlisle’s hand in hers. “Hey,” she said softly, causing Carlisle to look at her. Immediately, he began to relax again, the tension falling from his shoulders. “We’ll figure it out, okay?” she assured, giving his hand a squeeze.

Carlisle managed a smile back, nodding. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out,” he repeated, sitting forward again to look over the options. A comfortable silence fell between the two of them for a few moments, both considering what to offer next. Then, Carlisle spoke again, though this time, hesitantly.

“You sure you don’t want to spend our time on Isle Esme?”

The question had Esme sighing, though there was a fond smile on her lips. She began to nod, quiet laughter leaving her lips. “You know what, yeah. I think Isle Esme might be the best option,” she agreed, pushing the brochures and pamphlets away. Even she had to admit that this planning was going nowhere.

Carlisle smiled, seemingly more at ease. “Oh, perfect. And we can still have our own little adventure on the Isle.”

That comment made Esme smile, looking to Carlisle. It felt as if a weight was  lifted now that they decided and agreed on a location to vacation. “I love you,” she said, hand still holding Carlisle’s.

Carlisle stood up from his seat, pulling Esme toward him for a kiss. When he broke away, he answered, “I love you too,” wrapping his arms around his wife to hold her. He swayed the two of them for a moment, looking down over the myriad of papers. “Now we just have to tell the kids.”

Esme hummed. “One thing at a time.”

[teafangirl]

🌹—————

Angel

—-

reader X Castiel from Supernatural

Summary: you weren’t anyone special , you prayed, hoping it was enugh, that GOD, could hear , not that you thought he would solve all your problems right then, you knew his path had challenges you had to face , but you started to lose confidence in yourself. one night when your life had gotten really rough , you found yourself in tears the ones above heard you , and someone came to your side !

Warnings: fluff, this isn’t set in any particular season of Supernatural! Use of “Y/N”. I don’t mean to disrespect anything. Now please enjoy! Comfort, healing!

A./N: This is my first Supernatural fic. I apologize if I write Cas wrong or any of the other characters. I don't own the rights to supernatural, obviously, so all rights are reserved to their owners. Furthermore, I also apologize for any spelling errors, if you enjoy this one and want more let me know. Anyway without further a due enjoy! Lastly the three pictures are from the web and belong to their original owners!

————

Context

it had been a long, stressful week! Your emotions had been put through the ringer, like mainly it was something you could handle, but sometimes it felt like no one quite understood what you here going through, all together you’ve had many challenges, been through many hard times. You were raised on the religion of Christianity, you believed in GOD, prayed, when you felt it would help. But sometimes it all overwhelmed you, your mind seemed compacated to say the least !

———

It was Friday night, around 9 pm, you had finished your dinner, taken a nice hot bath. Everyone else in the house was already asleep, it was just you and silence, there was the occasional sound of cars passing by your bedroom window, or a dog barking away, but those sounds never lasted long. You normally went to sleep around this time of night, but tonight was different, you found yourself sitting on your bed, hands folded and elbows on your knees. It was a ritual that you grew up doing, it did help, “take away my stress, help me to rest” that sentence was always said when you performed your prayers. “May your will be done, lead me from temptation, away from evil “ . you knew these lines , you always said them it was a routine but tonight was different.

you found yourself unable to utter a single sentence as tears broke from your eyes, you had tried to hold all the emotions in , to stay happy , to be there for others since most needed you to be happy. tears continued falling, you closed your eyes, and broke the potion your hands where in and brought them to your face , your mind subconsciously ignored the sudden sound of wings flapping, and the gust of wind that knocked a few items of shelves and made your hair a total mess! suddenly you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, it felt grouping. you opened one eye, thinking it was a family member who had heard you crying but instead you saw the tip of a trench coat . as your eyes fallowed the trench coat upward you found yourself met with blue eyes !

“Hello Y/N”

the sudden voice startled you a little. it sounded soft, gravelly calm. your mind knew you should probably be scared or worried about the person who probably just broke into your house and is now standing in your room but something told you the man before you had no intention to hurt you!

“who are you ?”

your voice came out soft , filled with ceriouisoty. you fallowed the man as he walked over to the space on the bed in front of you and sat , facing you . you got a better view of his black hair , trench coat , blue tie and his blue eyes which you couldn’t help but look directly into .

“i am Castiel , an angel !”

your eyes widened at the last word he spoke , you believed in Angels like you believe in the divine . however you never thought you would ever see a Angel, a real Angel sitting before you. Castiel sighed before he continued speaking.

“i was in heaven , and heard your prayer, you where crying so i thought i would come help !”

That wasn’t far from the truth , Cas had been in heaven looking for a Angel in particular, it had only been a few months since he had the honor to grip Dean Winchester tight , and raise him from perdition, he had been working with the brothers ever since. un known to them at this time, they had graced the Angel with a new outlook on everything including a small growing love for humanity, and them! Cas had told Dean a few days prior to this that he , had thought about disobedience from heaven , in order to help them stop the apcalips. Cas still wasn’t sure about where he fit yet but when he heard Y/Ns cry’s he knew the other Angels where to busy to help not that they would , except him of course. he was pulled from his thoughts when Y/N spoke once more. her voice was soft, and calm .

“why me ?”

Castiel took a moment to decide what to tell her , he soon decided on something he thought would make her feel heard.

“i felt your pain, you needed someone , i am here for you!”

Those words made “Y/N” smile , it was true she did need someone , however she didn’t expect what Castiel did next , he moved a little closer to her , she gave him a smile.

“are all Angles as nice as you ?”

“many take their jobs too seriously “

Cas had decided to twist the truth , something he had seen Dean or Sam do a couple of times so far however the brothers usually out right lied or didn’t tell each other at all a perfect example was Sam and Ruby . Sam had neglected to tell Dean about Ruby , soon he would find out about that and the demon blood as well!

“do you wish to talk about what’s troubling you Y/N?”

you took a deep breath as you nodded to the Angels question. you let the tears return to your eyes, as you spennt the next hour or more talking about your problems. time seemed to sit still , Cas never took his eyes from yours , sometimes you wondered if he was actually listening but something told you he was taking in every word, no one had ever done that for you , you felt yourself unimportant but with Castiel you felt heard , safe , warm , peaceful like all your troubles were fading, you felt comfortable telling him everything, and he listened! you once thought of yourself as just a girl floating through life but this Angel was giving you exactly what you needed. when you took a deep breath indicating you where finished, Castiel extended his arm , inviting you to come closer to him , you did and felt a warm bunch of feathers touch the other side of your body as what you guessed could only be his wings folded around the two of you.

His wings felt light , warm , soft , like a blanket or really a Anglic blanket next thing you knew your head was leaned against Castiel’s shoulder, his arm was wrapped around your back while his other hand grasped your hand. your mind felt clear.

“is that better?”

you nodded to Castiel.

“your wings , their so pretty soft .”

that earned you a smile from Cas who rubbed his thumb against your hand , while you took deep breaths , you felt your entire body relaxing, you felt like you could fall asleep.

“you should rest Y/N, you’ve had a long week!”

“you should rest Y/N, you’ve had a long week!”

you moddded at his point, but you didn’t want this moment to end , you didn’t want to wake up and castiel to be gone ! this handsome Angel made you feel safe safer then you had felt in a long time .

As if he could read your mind he smiled .

“i will still be here!”

you looked up into his blue eyes and smiled , Castiel bent down and gently placed a kiss on you in forehead , a kiss which sent your heart racing, and with that your eyes cloerd , you felt the Angel holding you tightly before you fully surrendered to sleep !

“i will come, when you pray , you will always have me !”

you herd whispered in your ear , making you smile in your sleep , knowing you had a Angel watching over you , quite literally!

The end 💙

☕️

[bluebelly-sun-serpentine]

If a swallow’s nest is natural then so is a craftsman bungalow. If a termite mound is natural then so is a brutalist skyscraper. When we talk about nature, or about things being natural versus unnatural, it really lets us avoid the specificity of harm. Is a cat being outside natural? It’s kind of beside the point. What harm can the cat being outside do (to the cat or anyone else?). What good could it do, and how do you weigh that against the potential harm? Whether pesticides are natural or not is not as relevant as what kind of benefits or harms those pesticides (or their production) have in particular and in the aggregate. Do the extractive and labor costs linked to building skyscrapers outweigh the harm done by building suburbs? Is peet somehow natural while petroleum somehow is not, and does “nature” prevent either from fucking up your lungs when combusted as fuel?

I know I post pretty photos of flowers and birds and trees but I’m also an animal and a home to billions of tiny lives. I live in an animal house and talk to my animal friends and read news about suffering, animal or not. Worrying too much about whether something is natural or not will make you vulnerable to snake oil salesmen, ecofascists, and bigots. Better to ask what something does, and how it does it, and whether and how that affects everything around or upstream or downstream of it. Probably takes more work but it’s worth it.

Anyway I’m not saying anything Haraway and many others haven’t said long before I came around but I’m thinking about this a lot as we slide into a period of immense collective suffering brought on by people obsessed with the idea of some kind of natural order. They don’t know what nature is, and nature isn’t really a thing you can photograph, if it exists at all. That’s not what I’m taking pictures of. It’s not what we should be seeking out.