#at least she gets a bit of tlc

[thejesterstears]

Hi there! I love your fanfics :)

A few posts ago, you referenced a Pomni period cramp fanfic that you wrote. Did you ever end up publishing that? I’d love to read it!

Hello, thank you so much! I really appreciate it ;v;

I actually did post that one a bit ago! I’ll leave you the link here if you’d like to read it. Thank you for your interest!

[thegreatyin]

How would the Scoundrel react to Miss Emilia Stone, do you think? To give you an idea of who she is, the Threadbare Outrider is one of the alternate identities of Barnabus Moss, and possibly the closest to who he actually is - he's only still an egg because he's too busy with his job to give too much of a shit about being trans right now.

She is functionally the Hyde identity; open revolutionary, Parabolan wanderer, purveyor of extreme and generally unnecessary violence. I also considered naming her the Extremely Unlicensed Silverer - she has never actually fulfilled the requirements to become a proper silverer (she thinks the sunglasses look kind of dumb) but she offers equivalent services for cut-rate prices to people who can't afford a "real professional."

In terms of her actual personality, she is... frighteningly happy. To steal a phrase, she wields her joy like a hammer; judiciously and with great violence. Moss is basically drunk on life whenever he's her, and it very much shows. She is a release valve on all of his life's worries - whenever he gets too pissed off at his life as Moss or Haversham or the spy, he can just duck into Parabola and gut a few chessmen with a meathook to unwind.

Correspondingly, he gets really irritated under the hood when she has to act consistent with the persona rather than how he actually feels - for example, Emilia is the kind of person who doesn't really dislike anyone, so when someone pisses him off she can't really show it without breaking the cheer, and it is thoroughly upsetting to him.

I think original flavour Moss would probably be fascinated by the Scoundrel, from a professional standpoint - he has a degree in the Correspondence and the whole bat thing is very interesting - whilst simultaneously being deeply, deeply exhausted by the man's life choices. Meanwhile I think Emilia would enjoy doing this to him.

Thoughts?

first of all, love the OC dissertation, chewing ur little guy like a gummy bear as we speak

second of all, the scoundrel would probably react the same as they always do- with overwhelmingly smug manners and more than a little bit of "i'm better than you and i'm being generous and indulging you by existing in your presence"... at least at first.

depending on how their interactions go from there, the scoundrel would either be delightfully open to infodumping about the bat thing to the point of tedium, or needlessly spiteful for Literally No Reason aside from a vague sense of pettiness and jealousy. how dare she get to be so damnably happy all the time, how dare she act so damnably carefree about it, etcetera etcetera. whether or not they'd like to admit it, i could see them holding a grudge against emilia purely on the principle of (supposedly) having everything they've ever wanted.

which is to say, they absolutely get scrunched like a cat, and they are biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + biting her + b

[whitmore]

i also think the reason courtney’s arc always gravitates around teams and family and community themes is because stargirl is by nature a social creature; stargirl is created out of courtney’s yearning for community and understanding—something she feels she left in california, something she feels she (courtney whitmore) can’t have anymore, but an alternate version of her (stargirl) might be allowed to. and it’s kind of sad actually because if they’re not shoe-horning her into some romantic relationship, her emotional development over any given arc always follows this pattern where courtney (as courtney) feels like she can’t rely on anybody and everybody relies on her (as stargirl) and always ends with her learning to rely on someone but this narrative cycle also never ends. it repeats forever and ever. this is the only emotional plot they write for her (outside of giving her a love interest, which i could argue is just the same thing in a different font but w/e)

i don’t know when this post got so negatively charged actually i apologize i think it’s fascinating how stargirl is inherently a social creature because she was born of courtney’s need for community but i am also tired of seeing her go through the same emotional developments run after run because there are so many interesting narratives and developments that could be done with her and it feels like every issue and run just goes through the same motions. which yes. that is in fact just what comics are like i suppose. still i’d like to see something new and interesting with her. i think it’s possible that because of her genesis and the inspiration for her as a character there’s a sort of fear to take any risks with her, resulting in this endless loop of same-shoe-different-foot stories

moreover on the relationships arc point i do think it’s interesting how her love interests always fall for stargirl first, and it reinforces this ‘stargirl gets what courtney can’t have’ theme; mainly interesting because courtney sees herself as so enmeshed with stargirl that it’s rarely introspected on in any meaningful capacity and yet it’s so blatantly prevalent throughout her narrative. not to tie it all together in a neat little bow but it’s also because she’s rarely given room to be introspective; between the fear of tarnishing the memory of a real life woman and the inherently socially hungry creature that is stargirl, her arcs and narratives are almost bound to fall into the trap of being more about stargirl’s companions and the people she rescues rather than focusing on developing or even embellishing her as a character in her own right at all

[dearest-nell]

here comes your man

s. harrington x f!reader, 2.1k

summary: you go to pick up your very drunk boyfriend from the bar after a well deserved night out warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, reader uses she/her pronouns

a/n: i was half asleep when i wrote this so all i can say is my bad, and i hope my three am deleirum brings you some joy

Hey… you might wanna come pick up your Stevie-Boy. He’s a bit wrecked...

It was a phone call you had half expected, though you didn’t mind admitting that you wished it had not come at 3am on your Saturday night. Steve had been so excited for a night out with the boys – work seemed to be piling onto him more than usual, and more often than not you’d find him half asleep on the couch by 8pm, arm propped uncomfortably beneath his head and back twisting awkwardly. This night came along with the extra TLC you prescribed him this week, taking on a little extra responsibility around the house so he might relax even just for a moment. Steve was a caretaker by trade, and doing things for himself seemed to hark back to a time where he only did things for himself. It took a lot for him to rewire that belief in his brain – self care did not mean selfish, he was a good person. 

You thought that the time out with his friends would remind him of that; how wonderful he was, how loved he was. He could be without responsibility for a night and simply enjoy himself. And enjoy himself he was… you hadn’t heard such an amused lilt to Eddie’s tone for a long time. You spent the drive over pondering just what kind of state your boyfriend might be in, your eyes heavy, body cooling with the iced air that blew through windows opened in an attempt to keep yourself awake. Eddie at least had sounded coherent, so you figured you would not be alone in the battle to try and haul your boyfriend into your beat up car. 

Dressed for the comfort of your own home, it took one disgruntled look towards a stubborn bouncer to let you past without paying an entry fee. You wondered how often this happened – half asleep partners turning up moments before closing to take their inebriated darling home. The thought made you chuckle softly to yourself, body weaving through the stragglers of the night still dancing to a wrapping up DJ. 

Eddie had told you they’d meet you by the lounges when you arrived, though Steve was nowhere to be seen as you approached your tired looking friend, his face pleased, if not a little weary. 

“Where is he?” You questioned, letting Eddie lean down to wrap his arms around you tightly, his weight pressing heavier on you that you had expected under the influence of what you assumed had been many, many shots. 

“At the bar. I thought he’d crashed half an hour ago, but he’s had a second wave.” 

You felt the short burst of laughter bubble up, an unsurprised uh-huh leaving your lips at the notion, eyes drifting towards the thinning crowd collected for the last call. Eddie let you go with a shrug, stepping back to let you go. 

“Alright, I’ll go get him. I’ll wave if I need you, ‘kay?” The nod you received was answer enough, and you set off leisurely towards your unsuspecting boyfriend. 

Steve was half hunched over the bar, palm rolling an empty shot glass flatly across the sticky surface as he waited for an already busy bartender. You couldn’t see his face, but you could picture the expression with such clarity – eyes heavy, blinking slowly as they tracked blearily across the back of the bar, that sweet, contented smile plastered on his lips for no reason at all. 

Following suit, you leaned yourself up against the bar beside him, elbows propping you up to rest your head in your palms. 

“You getting another drink, handsome?” 

Steve made a soft sort of mumbling sound, his head lulling to the side as he leaned away ever so slightly. “Mm, yeah… think so.” 

You nodded, smiling at the way he swayed on his feet. “Oh, I see. You wanna have some water with me?” 

Steve rubbed harshly at his face, eyes screwing shut tightly before blinking hazily at you. “No, thanks.” 

His gaze turned away, his grip on the shot glass faltering for a moment, reflexes only just catching it before rolling over the edge. You reached slowly to pluck it from his hand, though he recoiled sluggishly at the contact, forcing your brow up into a curious arch. 

“How about I take you home, then? Seems like they’re wrapping up.” 

Steve sighed, hands running through his hair in that same familiar flustered motion you were so acquainted with. Ordinarily, Steve would have been bouncing out of his skin to see you, but right now, he seemed like he wanted to be anywhere else. 

“Look, it’s nice of you to ask, but ’m taken. My girlfriend’s comin’ to get me.” 

Oh, how sweet. You’d never seen Steve so far gone that he hadn’t recognised you, but now that you focused your own tired eyes, you could see that his own were barely open to begin with. Your smile widened, amusement settling over you at the sweetness of him. 

“Really? You’re not even gonna look at me? Maybe I’m worth breaking the rules for.” 

He scoffed at that, body straightening up as much as his addled state could allow, his feet stumbling beneath him to put another feet of distance between the two of you. 

“I’m sure you are f’someone else, but ‘m not interested.” His tone was more clipped now, friendliness falling away in the hopes of deterring you. “Not another girl in the world for me but her.” 

God, he was sweet, and more in love with you than you could have ever hoped for a person to be. Your heart ached, entirely overwhelmed with adoration for this man who was waiting for you. 

“Well that’s very lovely.” You cooed, turning sideways to look at him, one arm dropping to your side while the other hand continued to prop your chin up, helping to hide that rosy blush that seemed to stain your cheeks. “I really think you should look at me, though, Stevie.”

You watched as the thought crossed his mind, a slow understanding that something about this interaction seemed out of place. It seemed to take another moment for reality to set in, his body turning and eyes widening comically as they came into focus. 

“Honey!” 

It had you in hysterics, the way his arm gave out from under him, narrowly avoiding his torso from smacking down against the bar top as he lurched towards you. Your arms extended out to catch him, meeting him halfway until his body was pressed tenderly against yours, eager hands creeping up to cup your cheeks, holding your face towards his so he might really look at you. 

“You’re here!” 

Your laughter rang out happily, eyes crinkled at the delight mirrored in his own. 

“Yeah, baby, of course I am. Wanted to make sure you got home safe.” 

If an iris could change shape, then you were certain you saw Steve’s melt into delicate hearts just at the thought of you coming out to take care of him. His thumbs ran adoring lines across your cheekbones, trembling slightly with restraint. 

“S’good to me.” He mumbled, words drowning out within the still deafening music that surrounded you. “Missed you.” 

You felt him slump against you ever so slightly, still conscious of weighing too heavily against you even in his inebriated state, though how he was holding himself up anymore was anyone’s guess. It was your sign to wave Eddie over, though, who without fuss looped a supporting arm around Steve’s back. 

“You gonna let your girl take us home, then? I’m gonna pass out, man, I’m so wrecked.” 

Steve’s brow furrowed, alarmed to have been so suddenly pulled back from you to lean on Eddie, and he reached out a hand in a needy sort of motion towards you. “I wanna dance with her before we go.” 

Too sweet for his own wellbeing, you offered him a sympathetic look, slipping yourself under his other arm to help prop him up. 

“We can dance at home just you and me, okay? In our pjs too — won’t that be nice. We just don’t wanna keep Eddie waiting too long; he’s all danced out.” 

You watched the contemplative look cross his features, leaving him distracted enough for Eddie to start guiding the three of you towards the door without much fuss from Steve. 

“Did you have fun though Ed? Really?” Steve asked, genuine concern threading through his tone as he addressed his friend who managed an affirming nod in response. 

“Loads. We’ll all go out again soon, but I’ve gotta give you back to your sweetheart before she gets too jealous.” 

Steve’s nod was so serious as he processed the words, entirely missing the small look of amusement shared between you and Eddie as you pulled yourselves from the establishment. 

“Yeah.” He agreed, his head lulling sideways to rest on the crown of your own. “She needs me.” 

It had sounded like a joke when he said it, but even you could sense the small severity behind the words, almost reassuring himself of the truth behind them. Of course you needed him. 

“Yeah, she does.” You confirmed, kissing at his shoulder clumsily as you tried to focus on your steps, narrowly avoiding toppling the three of you right over uneven pavements underfoot. “I always need you, honey.” 

You did not need to look at Steve to know that he was smiling — you felt it as you held him, felt it in his touch and the heat of his body carefully wrapped around yours. At least this night felt like a success in your eyes. Steve was happy, and you had done your part to make him so. He’d be awfully hungover tomorrow morning, but he’d be happy, and that was all that seemed to matter to you in the moment. 

Eddie managed to hold Steve upright while you fiddled with the lock of your car door, the boy now contently distracted with regaling tales of the night to the man who had witnessed them first hand. Getting him into the car was easy enough, tucking him cautiously into the front seat, your body leaning over him to click his seatbelt into place, his hand lifting to rub at your lower back in thanks. 

“You’re the best, y’know, baby? The real best. The best best.” 

You paused to smile at him, head shaking in amusement before brushing your lips against his cheek, relishing in the way his hand gripped excitedly at you for the briefest of moments. “I could say the same about you, y’know.” 

“Nuh uh.” 

A groan sounded from outside the car, drawn out and exasperated beyond compare. “Jesus H Christ, I’m begging for someone to take me home. It’s so fucking late, guys.” 

You pulled back with a laugh to witness Eddie’s petulance, your hand coming out to gesture to the back seat. “Then get in the car, dingus, and I’ll take you home.”

“Yeah, what she said!” Steve slurred from the front seat, the battle against his weariness now long lost, eyes closed and head resting heavily against its back, unable to hold itself up any longer. 

Eddie clambered into the back with a half assed eye roll, splaying out across the work back seat until he, too, was one with the upholstery. “You guys aren’t gonna be gross and sayin’ i love you’s all the way home, are you?” 

Steve’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh shit, I haven’t said I love you yet!” 

The charming little frown that spread across his face was enough to melt you in your entirety, your hand reaching out to brush his check with affection, his nose nuzzling sweetly into the cup of your palm. “I’m not worried about it; I know you do.” 

“Yeah, but I do love you. I was thinkin’ it the whole time, thinkin’ you’re so pretty n’ all. So pretty that I couldn't remember to say it.” 

Eddie just huffed again in the back seat, his complaints overtly ignored despite the growing expletives.

“I love you too, Stevie. How about we get Eds home and get you some water, then we can be as sweet as we wanna be.” 

Steve’s lips pressed into your palm, his kiss unhurried and uncoordinated as the alcohol hindered his usual grace, a mumbled m’kay tickling your skin as he spoke. 

You looked up into the rearview mirror, dropping your hand to Steve’s knee for the boy to hold, keeping his neediness satiated for the time being as he grasped it between his own eagerly. “You hear that, Eds? You’re in the clear. Let’s get you boys home.” 

A grumbled thank god and the creaks of the backseat window being clumsily wound down was enough incentive to start your travels, a pleased smile gracing your lips to know that Steve had been given exactly the night he deserved after all. 

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: unpretty

authors note: well, this got a lil heavier and definitely longer than i intended. though, i hope at least some of you enjoy it. ❤️

warnings: angst, smut, violence, brief scene of csa, and strong theme of mental health

words: 6.5k

song inspo: unpretty by tlc

masterlist

I wish I could tie you up in my shoes.

Make you feel unpretty too.

I was told I was beautiful,

but what does that mean to you?

-----

Solana is having a good day.

A good week, she'd even argue.

A bit surprising, though appreciated.

It's only been a few weeks since she completed residential treatment, and while she was most certainly trepidatious about transitioning to being back home full time, that concern has been unfounded.

It's been wonderful being back with her husband, friends, and sweet puppy. Even with visits, more than a few from her husband especially, while she was gone, it wasn't the same.

The swell of sadness that filled Solana every time she had to say goodbye, the bittersweet kiss Roman would place on her forehead when he had to leave in the wee early hours. It was hard. She wanted to see him, but that parting portion was rough, to say the least.

However, not exactly knowing how things would play out upon her return was something that gnawed at her, created a level of anxiety, though she's beyond grateful it ended up being unnecessary concern.

Being back has been phenomenal, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Dropping her bag on one of the benches separating the set of lockers, Solana starts to pull out her water bottle and headphones. It's not a training day, but she'd decided to head over to the Warehouse and get a little session in, missing the adrenaline and strong feeling she receives from training and moving her body.

She goes to open the locker to deposit the rest of her items in said space when she hears conversation, laughter and footsteps.

Solana looks over to see two women dressed in similar workout apparel as her own, though their slim but curvy figures seem to fill said outfits out in a way that Solana's doesn't. They just fit better.

And look nicer.

Each with contrasting complexions, one a deep, rich chocolate, the other lighter, caramel in tone, though each equally stunning. They're talking among themselves when the one with a lighter complexion casts Solana a glance. She does a double take, looking Solana over from head to toe.

"You're Roman's new wife, right?"

At over six months of marriage, Solana isn't sure she'd still consider herself his "new wife," but she's also not one to be caught up on semantics, either.

"Yeah," she finally answers. "I'm Solana." She offers a small smile and then almost awkwardly offers her hand for a handshake. Both sets of women just stare at her extended hand with a hint of confusion and disinterest. Solana clears her throat, pulling her hand back, feeling a bit silly.

"That's pretty," the other one says. It feels insincere. The two turn their attention away from Solana to open their own lockers.

Solana pulls out her phone to find a playlist but also just wanting a distraction of sorts. The entire air of the locker room seems to have shifted and not in a good way.

"You're lucky, you know."

Solana looks up from her phone, surprised to see the lighter tone woman leaned back against the lockers.

Solana frowns. "I'm sorry?"

She snorts, shaking her head, looking over at her friend. "Of all the men I've slept with, Roman will always be number one on that list."

Shoulders slumped, small smile now dropped into a frown, Solana has a hard time responding. Doesn't know what to make of what was just said. "What?"

The woman sighs almost dreamily, looking at her friend. "Don't you agree?"

The other woman makes a sound. "You already know it." Solana's blood grows cold. "That man had me speaking in tongues every time."

Every time? Solana suddenly has a hard time staying present for the unexpected turn in conversation.

"Oh, you don't mind us saying that, right?" One of them asks in that same insincere tone from earlier. She then laughs and shrugs. "I mean, everyone knows how Roman was. That he only got married cause he needed an heir."

"How's that going by the way?"

"Chantel." A faux type of scolding voice, followed up with continued fake concern. "Ignore her, though you do seem….not exactly like his type, so I'm cur—"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Solana fully intended for her voice to come out significantly more assertive than it did. She sounds so small.

Another fake look of innocence. "I'm just saying, you're so…quiet and passive…and everyone knows Roman is anything but."

The other woman smirks eyeing Solana once more. "He fucks, and he fucks hard. Likes it rough."

"Kiesha," Chantel scolds, providing the name of the woman with the lighter complexion. "Stop. That's her husband. Of course she knows that already." She tilts her head to the side, twirling a piece of her hair. "Right?"

Solana swallows. The jovial disposition she had is all but depleted, replaced with a concoction of sadness, confusion, anger and a shit ton of insecurity.

"Just how he likes when you caress his balls when sucking him off."

"Kiesha!" Chantel laughs, her friend joining in, the two of them clearly getting off on this. On making Solana feel so small and insignificant. "No, I'm sorry, that's way too much."

It is. It absolutely is.

Overcome with emotion, and not wanting to cry in front of these two cruel women, Solana finds herself gathering her items, rushing out of the locker.

"Wait, don't leave," one of them calls after her, laughing once more when Solana is out of view of them, standing by the door. She goes to rip it open to leave but can't help but listen to their continued conversation.

"Oh my God, I can't believe Roman really settled with someone like her. She's so fucking sensitive. And those scars? Hello? Ever heard of plastic surgery?"

Snickering followed up with, "I know he liked his women thick, but that's not thick. She's just fat. Did you see her stomach?"

"Girl, I thought she was just bloated."

"Baby, I've seen bloated. That ain't it. Sis needs to hit that cardio 7x a week."

"I wonder if she ever feels heavy on top of him."

"You know she does. He probably had to up his workouts just to make sure her big ass don't smother him."

At that, Solana has more than enough, rushing out the locker room without another word.

My outsides look cool

My insides are blue

Every time I think I'm through

It's because of you

------------

Roman has a long, late day, which means he won't make it home until later than usual. Solana is immensely grateful for this one thing that would typically make her a little sad, a little lonely, bored, even.

But, that's not the case.

It's not the case, because having time away from him is necessary. It's necessary, because it gives her much needed time to think.

To overthink.

By the grace of some higher power, she's able to hold it together until she gets home, expertly playing off her premature departure from the Warehouse as the result of not feeling well. An excuse, thankfully, bought by Bautista.

But, the minute she's home, in the privacy of her master bathroom, that's when it all comes out. The tears. Sitting on the floor, back against the locked door, Solana cries into her knees.

She's worked so hard the past few weeks to build herself back up, to sound out the negative voices, to silent her inner demons. And, for the most part, she has. At no point does she ever consider harming herself or does she desire to harm herself, she just has a sudden, strong dislike for herself.

For her body.

And insecurity. So much insecurity. In her appearance. In her sex life.

Solana learned a long time ago about her husband's promiscuity, so that was of no surprise.

It's now the nature of that promiscuity, however, and how it vastly contrasts their sex life, that has her mind racing.

Not to mention the women. So beautiful. Their curves generous but attached to a nice, slim frame. Solana knows her breast and ass are big, but so is everything else about her figure. Slim thick is what she's sure those women would be categorized under.

Nothing about her is or ever has been slim.

It's a thought that brings about another set of tears.

Not only does she not fit the mold and standard for what Roman typically went for, the sex they have isn't even close to what pleases him.

Nothing about their intimacy has ever been rough or hard. He's always been so gentle with her, which is exactly what she needs, but it never crossed her mind as to if it's what he needs.

Has he been satisfying my needs and negating his own?

A terrible, heavy thought that only makes her feel worse.

Solana has only ever wanted to make her husband happy, the same way he's made her happy. She thought she did, or maybe she just wanted to believe it.

Believe that what she was doing was enough, but clearly, it isn't.

Solana tears through the growing lingerie collection she's compiled over the past few months, largely thanks to Naomi and Bayley's encouragement. A part of her wants to reach out to them, to ask for their advice. Even Melina and gang.

But, she doesn't. She can't. It's way too personal and between her and Roman.

Solana has to do this on her own.

Finally, she settles on a one piece from Savage X Fenty. A short skimpy dress with beautiful lacing on the bosom part and material that flows and conceals her stomach area.

It's a sexy yet modest and shows just enough but not too much, because while she knows Roman has already indicated he hadn't noticed her weight gain, she certainly has. And, she's definitely noticed it in her stomach.

So, until she can get some of the weight off, she'll just have to be a bit more mindful with how she dresses.

Dinner is easy to make, Solana opting for a less complex, less time consuming recipe, as she has to have Dulce taken care of, as well as her everything shower and her hair to complete before Roman gets home. And, she does.

She manages it all.

Has the foot hot on the plate and on their dining room table when he walks in the door. It's a bit rushed, Solana can acknowledge that much. Roman is really good with asking about how her day was, giving her the space to share. It's always appreciated but not necessary. Not tonight.

Tonight is about him and pleasing him.

So, when dinner is completed, Solana rushes to put away the leftovers and heads upstairs to get ready. She'd already cleaned the kitchen while waiting for him to get home, which ended up being a great decision.

Allotted her just the right amount of time.

Dulce sleeping peacefully in her bed in another room, Solana, dressed and nervously fiddling with her dress and hair, waits for Roman to finish in the shower.

She listens for the telltale signs. The sound of the water shutting off, the sink running, towels and dirty clothes being tossed into the hamper.

They all point to one thing.

Roman is barely out the door when she untangles her legs and moves to kneel on the bed. "Hey."

His warm brown eyes drink her in, Solana a bit self-conscious, holding in her stomach that can't even be seen through the short, opaque gown. "Hey…" He moves toward her, lifting his gaze from her body to her face. "Are you—"

She doesn't let him finish. Just grabs him by his shoulders once he's close enough and smashes her lips onto his. Assertive. She has to be assertive.

Roman naturally returns the kiss though eventually pulls back, looking down at her. "You alright?"

"Of course," she answers, not even really be paying attention to the question. "Just…just missed you, that's all." Not a lie. She always misses her husband when he's not around.

Solana grabs him by the back of the his head, pressing their lips together once more. Unlike most times, instead of his tongue entering her mouth first, she beats him to the chase.

Solana is grateful when he moves his hands to her waist, moving them so that he's laying on top of her. She's also appreciative of the way he starts to kiss her back with equal fervor and desire.

But, it's when one big hand moves under her dress, clearly eager to pull it off, she stops him.

"I—I wanna keep it on," she explains with a hint of stammering. Solana tries to play it off with an objectively weak excuse. "I've—I've been a bit cold all day."

Roman casts her a doubtful and confused expression. "Cold?"

Solana ignores him, grabbing his face and starting to kiss on his neck.

"Sol—"

Once again, he's ignored as Solana moves her hands to slide off her underwear, tossing them to the side as she switches their positions so she's on top straddling him. She goes back to kissing him, hard, borderline aggressive, body moving against his. A hand trails down his chest, going to grope him through his boxers.

"Baby, slow down," Roman breathes, though the erection in the palm of her hand would indicate he's right where she wants him.

"Why?" She questions, voice filled with innocence. And before he can actually answer, she's informing, "I—I wanna try something different tonight."

"Different?" He's frowning as she peppers kisses against his bearded face. "How?"

She licks her lips, looking him dead in his face. "I—I want you to fuck me from behind." At that, Roman's expression shifts once more to a perfect mixture of surprise and confusion. "Doggy style? That—that's what it's called, right?"

Roman is quiet at first, an unexpected, slightly discouraging response for something she hoped he'd be more excited about.

"Solana…."

She shakes her head, pulling him, once again repositioning them so they're both kneeling on the bed. Her back pressed against his solid front. "Come on," she urges, taking his big hands and bringing them to her breast. "This is what I want."

Right?

She has to ignore that question sitting in the back of her mind and instead focus on bringing one hand to the back of Roman's head, forcing it downward just enough to indicate she wants his mouth on her. Wants his kisses on the column of her neck.

Needs them.

"Please," she whimpers when Roman starts palming her chest, his thumb flickering over her hardened nipples. "Need you…"

Her words do something, Roman tugging on the thin strap of her gown, freeing her big breast from the loose confines, continuing to caress her, as her mouth falls ajar from the delicious sensations.

"Solana," he breathes against her neck, one hand leaving the swell of her breast to tease at the material of her gown, scrunching it in his hands. She places her hand over his, expertly guiding it down to the space between her legs, a preferred placement away from her stomach. "Baby, we can have sex but not—not like that."

At that, she frowns, turning her head to look at him. "Why?" No time given is for an answer, as she's already shaking her head. "It's—it's fine. It's what I want."

Solana attempts to demonstrate her readiness by once again repositioning them.

Or, herself.

Solana moves to her hands and knees, looking back at her husband to see him continuing to look just as lost and torn as he's been since stepping out the bathroom. "Let's do it," she urges. Solana has completely ignored and bypassed the instant shift of her excitement to something heavier. The way that pit in her stomach deepened, as well as the heaviness in her chest. But, it all comes to a sick boiling point when she redirects her attention to the headboard before her and feels Roman's hand near her hips.

It all comes together, trigger a horrifying, devastating flashback.

A rough set of hands holding her own, much smaller and tinier, up against the headboard. The tips of her fingers bloodied from being dug into the walls she attempted to use as anchors while being dragged. A tremendous amount of pain, a pain she's never experienced coursing through her body, and the loud, heavy panting and groaning accompanying another set of hands on her hips. Clammy, sweaty, nubby nails digging into her flash.

"Please!" She screamed and cried, her throat practically raw from the mental and physical exertion. "Somebody please help me!"

"Solana."

It's like a slow transition. The way Solana is pulled back from such a darker, heavier period of her life. The way Roman's hands, gentle and comforting, are placed on her cheeks. His gaze, concerned and worried, focused solely on her. "Baby, you're safe. It's fine."

Two words.

Safe and fine seem to finalize the return, allowing her full recognition to settle. She's no longer on the bed, instead standing to the side of said, her husband directly in front of her.

What?

How did she....

She breaks away from him, eyes clenched shut, hands on either side of her head. "I'm good."

"Solana-"

"Really," she argues, opening her eyes. "I'm—I'm okay." His contrite gaze never leaves her, even as Solana moves back over to him. "I'm fine now."

"Baby…"

Her hands are on his chest, looking back towards the bed. "We can—"

He places his hands on her wrists, gently lowering her hands. "Solana, you're not fine."

"I am," she asserts. Never mind the tears starting to blur and burn her vision. "I—I can do this."

"Sol—"

"I just needed a minute—"

"Solana." Roman's voice is loud, traveling through the room, effectively cutting through her defenses. "Solana, baby, look at me." It takes a good minute, but she eventually does. His eyes soften instantly. "You're not fine."

Profound, truthful words.

She's, in fact, not fine.

"I'm—I'm sorry." It cracks, shattering to the floor despite the best of her efforts. Her voice is low and heavy. "I thought—I thought I could do it." She shakes her head, attempting to look down. "Why—why can't I do it?"

A loaded question with no simple answer. Just layered reasons.

And, he doesn't offer her one. Just continues to hold her as she cries silently into his chest.

They remain like that for a few, good minutes before he finally breaks the silence.

"Solana, I need you to talk to me. I need to know what's going on." Roman is a man always in control, always one with his head above water. But, even she can't deny how concerned he sounds. Scared, almost. "Are you…."

"No," she responds, pulling back, wiping at her eyes. "It's…it's not that."

Suicidal.

He's asking if she's feeling suicidal.

"I promise," she whispers, taking his hand and leading them back to the bed. Solana sits down, legs crossed, only remembering then that she'd discarded her underwear.

Something Roman didn't forget, as he subtly moves the blanket over her lap to cover her bottom half.

Her heart swells for a different reason.

She loves him so much.

"I—" She starts, playing with the material of her dress. "I went to the Warehouse today, and….and I ran into these two women that you….that you used to sleep with."

Solana looks up and hates to see the flash of guilt in his handsome face. He has nothing to feel guilty about.

"What did they say to you?" His eyes read guilt, but his tone is an expertly managed can of anger. He's angry at whatever was said, and it's obvious he knows something was said, which means she can't deny it.

Can't lie to him.

"Just…." She doesn't necessarily want to verbatim relay what was said. Just a general gist. "How you like to have sex. Your…your preferences."

With that uncomfortable disclosure, she doesn't look over at him. Keeps her head down.

And keeps talking.

"I'm not like that, Roman." Her voice cracks, the tears returning once more. "I don't look like them, and I don't—I don't know how to please you like they can." She sniffles, a single tear spilling over. "I thought—I thought I could, but—I can't."

A heartbreaking realization that even after months of hard, difficult work, some shackles of her past remain locked, forever tethering her to that violated little girl she just can't seem to fully set free.

"Solana." He repeats her name for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. Except, she won't make him wait, won't ignore him like she did the previous times. Solana looks up at him, seeing he's moved closer, close enough to touch her. And, he does.

Roman is gentle with how he cups her cheek, his thumb brushing away her tears. "Solana, I love you." There's something about the way he says it that tugs at her heart. Desperate, almost. Like, he's in need of her to know and understand this.

Because, he is.

"All I see is you, all I think about is you," he continues, displaying a level of vulnerability no one outside of the four walls of their bedroom could ever be privy to. "I love you in a manner that scares me sometimes, because it's something that completely consumes me in a way I'm not used to."

It's the perfect sentiment, because it's exactly how she feels about him. Roman consumes much more of her headspace than probably what's healthy, and Gail has hinted as such in a couple of sessions. Has brought up the term "codependent" once or twice regarding her relationship with Roman. It's not something she can really deny either.

Solana knows she can be very needy with him, that she is in fact dependent on him in many, many ways, but the truth is that she's gone so long feeling unloved, unwanted and even touch deprived that it's hard to see what's so wrong with that.

What's so wrong with loving him to the extent that she does.

With wanting him the way that she does.

It feels….it feels like she deserves it.

Like she deserves to have him.

"And as far as those bitches go." His tone switches to something harsher, a sense of hatred swimming in his eyes only to settle just enough to avoid making her feel like she's on the receiving end of any of that vitriol.

"I fucked them. All I ever did was just fuck them." Solana nearly winces at the disgust imbued in the set of words, 'fuck' and 'fucked.' Not even directed toward her, but it's enough to hurt even her feelings from an empathetic standpoint. And then he's back to being that considerate, tender man who gives her life meaning. "I make love to you. Every single time, because I love you. They meant nothing to me. I felt nothing for them." A vow. "I feel everything all at once for you."

Again, shared sentiments. She feels the same way. The exact same way.

Roman's hand moves down to the strap of her dress. He must have adjusted it at some point, or maybe she did. Somewhere in between her trying to be something she isn't and him yearning to remind her she's fine just the way she is. "And as far as looks…" His finger gently trails down her arm. "None of those bitches even come close to you in that department, Sol. In any department." Her eyes begin to flutter shut as he travels his finger down to under the swell of her heavy breast. "You are the single most beautiful woman I've ever fucking seen." Head lolled back, her breathing is slightly staggered as he starts kissing on her neck, transitioning to gently caressing her breast. "Just thinking about you and this perfect ass body you have drives me fucking insane, makes me hard as fuck…"

One hand moves to his muscular bicep. "Roman…." So breathy and whiny almost, Solana feeling a shift in her emotions and an all too familiar sensation between her legs with the way he's touching her right now.

"Let me make love to you," he implores, holding her by her hips, kissing down her chest. "Let me show you how much I love you."

It's the return of that pleading and desperation. His dire need and eagerness to do away with any and all doubt and insecurity on her end.

A request she won't deny him.

Solana grabs his face, their lips centimeters apart, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes."

A single word is all that's needed. The passion and fervor from earlier is fully returned but with a sense of normalcy and them. It's so them the way Roman manages to carefully guide her on her back, big hand both exploring her body and ridding them both of the irritating clothes that separate them.

It's so them in how he, even with his hardened member brushing against her wet, velvety lips, still stops and asks if she's sure. Always gaining her consent.

The way he receives that consent and gradually fills her, both of them clutching onto one another, moaning and moving in sync. The way he pistons in and out of her, the depth and angle bringing tears to her eyes for a new, much better, pleasurable reason.

The way her nails sink into his back, her mouth open and closing on his shoulder as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.

"Perfect," he breathes into her skin, Solana's ankles locking above his ass, tethering him close to her. "You're fucking perfect, sweetheart."

Continued and whispered words and statements of affirmations, his voice praising and worshiping her the same way his body does. Because there's an almost reverence in the way he makes loves to her, like each carnal thrust of himself into her is an imprint of all his love and devotion.

An unending, bottomless supply.

Solana cries out, her back arching off the bed as he switches angles, hitting and reaching that part of her. "Oh my God…"

"Tell me what you need, baby." His hand moves up and down the fat of her hip and the back of her thigh, his mouth returned to hers. "Tell me what to do, and I'll do it." Her eyes temporarily shut from the overwhelming nature of it all. "I'll do anything for you, Solana."

Words she knows. Sentiments and loyalty she already knows. Roman has done nothing but shown her time and time again how far he'll go for her. Even from the day he decided to take her as his wife, he's protected her. Warning Xavier and Wes not to hurt her.

Even before he ever loved her, he protected her. And that protection has only grown and metamorphosed into something so pure and beautiful.

And, that hasn't changed. Even with everything that's happened. With her attempt. With her regression with her mental health. It hasn't changed. He hasn't changed.

Their love hasn't changed.

Solana moves to push his hand away, her eyes opening and never leaving his as she rolls them over, switching positions so she's on top. A small hiss leaves her parted mouth from the transition. He suddenly feels significantly deeper in the best way possible.

She leans forward, hands moving up his chest as she starts to grind against him.

"You," she finally answers. "All I need is you."

It's all she'll ever need.

Roman's hand moves to her ass, squeezing and evoking a sensual, whiny moan. He tugs her down just enough to connect their lips in a passionate kiss, one that feels like the sealing of an oath and promise.

"You have me." His eyes shut, his forehead pressed against hers. "You'll always have me."

But if you can't look inside you

Find out who am I to

Be in the position

Tto make me feel so

Damn unpretty

----------

Locks and Lashes is one of the most popular salons in the city. A full service stop that provides hair styling and various beauty services. It comes only second on the list of best salons in the state, Bayley's company, Role Models, sitting comfortably in the number one spot for the past decade.

Locks and Lashes, often referred to as L&L, is owned by Chantel Davis and Kiesha Ford, two longtime best friends turned business partners. Known for impeccable taste and only offering the highest quality of services, it's only when getting to know the two of them, and when the camera aren't on, that one becomes privy to the fact that their undeniable outward beauty doesn't extent inward.

Vain, conceited, callous, they're the mean girls one believes get left behind in high school only to be found in the workplace.

But, alas, despite hideous personalities, the women have made names for themselves.

Have done quite well. Even preparing to launch and open their third location in less than 5 years.

Quite well indeed.

Salon bustling with a plethora of customers and many more to come, the day has barely started, the clock shy of striking noon when the bell above the door chimes, signifying the arrival of another guest.

Shyla, a pretty young college student working one of her two jobs, a necessary to afford her heft tuition, looks up with a rehearsed smile only for it to drop.

"What?" Confused and slightly nervous, she sees a man, a boulder of human, dressed in all black. He's with two other men, smaller than him but still formidable looking.

Shyla swallows. "H—Hi. Welcome—" She's cut off when the biggest man says something, finger against his ear before he holds the door open, allowing another patron to enter.

A woman, short in stature, dressed in a bodycon gray dress that hugs her generous curves. Her exposed arms reveal several scars, horizontal and thin, similar to slash marks. A gray Birkin bag is on her arm, along with a stack of Van Cleef, Louis Vuitton, Tiffany and Co, along with other designer brand bracelets on both wrists. Not to be outshined by a stunning wedding ring that's practically blinding.

The woman walks forward, lifting her expensive Gucci glasses off her face. Up close, Shyla can make out the faintest hint of another scar over her right eye, though it's well concealed under her beat face.

Shyla hasn't the slightest clue who this woman is, but easily, she's someone the young Marketing major envies.

Greatly.

"Hi," she introduces, her voice sounding exactly how Shyla anticipated given her small stature. "Are Chantel and Kiesha here?"

It's not until the woman gives an expectant look that Shyla realizes she's staring. An embarrassing thing, for sure. Granted, it's pretty hard not to gawk at this woman who is clearly someone important considering her entire outfit has to easily total at about half a million dollars along with the fact that she's flanked by literal bodyguards.

"Uhhh…." Shyla has to blink and shake her head to reorient herself. "I'm sorry, do—do you have a meeting or…." Shyla can't recall either of the owners mentioning any sort of plans for today. Not to mention, most of their business meetings take place elsewhere.

Never the salon.

The woman slides off her glasses and places them in her bag before answering casually. "I'm here to return a favor."

Shyla frowns.

A favor?

Shyla doesn't have time to consider such a strange response, because next thing she knows the fire alarms are going off. She's half expecting the sprinklers to activate right away as well, but no such thing.

"Fire! Everybody out!" The large man shouts as customers begin to panic, flocking out in droves. Everyone except for the woman and the other two guards, one of which, Shyla realizes, is holding a bat.

"What—"

"Go," the woman orders, placing her bag on the counter while looking past Shyla. "This doesn't concern you."

Turning around, Shyla realizes the woman is looking at Kiesha and Chantel who have come out of their offices in the back of the salon.

"What the hell is going on!" Kiesha shouts at the same time the woman moves forward, blocking their trying to leave or, at least, see what's happening.

"Not you two."

Once again, Shyla is prevented from questioning further when the large man approaches her.

He looks at her, voice surprisingly kind. "Get out of here, kid."

Shyla looks between the stranger, her bosses, and the large men who are either intent on no good—or something worse—and for the first time, in a long time, she chooses herself.

She leaves.

Standing in front of the two women who triggered her in a way she hasn't experienced in a while is a conflicting thing for Solana. She feels a hint of confusion, some satisfaction, and a hell of a lot of anger.

The alarms suddenly stop beeping, the silence briefly interrupted by the sound of the door shutting, signifying the departure of the last innocent.

Good

Solana has no intention on causing any harm to anyone who doesn't deserve it.

Including the kind, unassuming receptionist who couldn't have been older than 22.

Solana makes a note to make sure, after this is all said and done, she's set up with another job.

Maybe Bayley can take her on.

Chantel looks at Solana, recognition dawning. "You're…you're—"

"Exactly," Solana interrupts, moving to walk past them but not out of hearing distance. She looks around, taking in the opulent design. The luxury of it all. One things certain, they have a nice place.

Or, had.

Kiesha, however, seems less shocked and more pissed. "What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

Solana ignores her, noticing the bar in the middle of the salon, wines stacked and practically full. She walks over, grabbing one, reading Domaine de la Romanée-Conti Grand Cru. Solana makes a face, lifting the bottle, "this looks expensive." And before either can respond, Solana pitches it against the nearest wall, red liquid dripping and staining the white, marble walls.

Both women shout with shock and fury. "You crazy b—"

"Finish that sentence, and I'll make sure the next thing to splatter like that bottle will be the both of you."

A small smile falls on Solana's face as the two women look toward the front door where another has entered.

Roman stands tall, dressed in all black, black shirt, dark jeans, black shoes. Even expensive black shades that he pulls up, revealing an equally dark menacing gaze that would make even her cower. But, she knows better.

Knows why he's so pissed.

Solana walks over to her husband, and the minute she's close enough, he tugs her against his chest, crashing his lips onto hers. For a second, Solana forgets they have an audience. The way he kisses her is all-consuming and captivating, trapping her in a world where it's just the two of them.

A place she loves to be.

A requirement for oxygen is the only reason for them separating, Solana certain her lips are nice and swollen. Roman looks down at her with that look. That look that lets her know exactly what awaits her when they get home.

He chuckles, running his thumb across her bottom lip, one hand planted firmly on her ass. Roman then looks over at the now seething Chantel and Kiesha. "If it was up to me, I'd fuck her right here in front of you and make the both of you bitches watch."

A blush rises up Solana's face. She certainly wasn't expecting him to say that. Just like she most definitely could never get with something like that.

Even this is a bit much for her, though well deserved.

Solana pulls away, taking the bat from one of the guards as she moves over to the register area. One look between it and them, a small smile on her face as she swings it down, breaking it instantly with one effective hit.

"You see," Roman starts as Solana smashes another register. "My wife told me what you said to her, that you upset her." Solana transitions to the shelves filled with hair products, bashing them in. "And when you upset my wife, you upset me." The other two guards, minus Bautista, also starting to destroy and vandalize the salon.

"And, it's never a good fucking idea to upset me." Roman finishes in an eerily calm voice, as Chantel starts stammering and stumbling.

"R—Roman, we didn't—" She's cut off and on the ground, Kiesha gasping to see Solana behind them, having taken the bat to the back of her friend and business partner.

"Only I can call him Roman," Solana asserts, ignoring the sound of Chantel whining and crying on the floor. "You two call him The Tribal Chief."

Kiesha swallows, watching Solana move back over to the wine shelf, throwing, tossing and smashing bottle after bottle.

"Please—" One of them cries, Solana isn't sure who, too caught up in the high and sweet taste of revenge. She's not a vindictive person, not even a violent person, but she is someone who's tired of letting people walk all over her.

Letting people hurt her.

No more.

"This is our life's work," Chantel moans, still on the ground, tears spilling down her face.

"You think I give a shit about that?" Roman sneers, doing his best to maintain his anger, focusing on his pride as his fine ass wife regains her voice and power. "That I ever gave a shit about either of you?"

It's the real issue here. The one Roman is not afraid or uncomfortable with calling out. They're upset they got cut off and are jealous of Solana, thus taking it out on her.

Big mistake.

Kiesha sniffles. "My—my Tribal Chief—"

"Be quiet," Solana mutters, walking past the two women, intentionally shoving Kiesha along the way. Looking around, Solana can't tell where the chaos starts and ends.

The place is all completely destroyed.

"You have two other locations," Solana reminds, tossing the bat to the side. All of that swinging took a lot out of her. She's tired, not to mention her chest is sore. A strange thing but also not considering her breast have been on the sensitive side lately.

Weird.

"They did," Roman corrects. Solana looks over at him, partially confused, but he keeps his gaze on the distraught women, coldly informing, "they're both currently being burned down to the fucking ground."

Chills form up and down Solana's arms. Roman didn't tell her about that part of the plan, though she can't lie and say she feels bad for them.

She doesn't.

Not at all.

Grabbing her purse off the counter, Solana bends down in front of them both, seeing how Chantel attempt to scurry backwards. Head tilted, the wife of the Tribal Chief asks in the calmest voice. "How's that for quiet and passive?"

Not wanting or needing a response, she straightens back up and walks toward Roman who initially takes her hand. The guards are all gathered, Bautista holding the door open. The door that's glass is entirely shattered.

Along with the front windows.

"By the way." Solana pulls out her Cartier sunglasses, sliding them over her eyes. Looking back at them, Roman's hand now placed comfortably on her ass, Solana smirks, "he loves when I'm on top."

[lvlybin]

hii ! i've been feeling a little down lately :( this is a sfw/fluff ask, kinda angst tho idk

could u write something with gunwook or multiple members comforting reader while she is crying from stress about her life please?

cw stressed reader, crying and mental breakdowns, little bit of angst & comfort

✉️ I'm so sorry to hear that nonie :( some days are hard, but you are so loved and things will get better <3 I'm always here if you need to chat with someone

You’d been having a hard week.

It hadn’t even been anything in particular, just little events and an icky feeling that left you feeling drained and in much need of some TLC. But no, instead, you had to finish assignments for your classes, and you had to go to work, and you had to find a good gift for your friend’s birthday, which was in two days. The list seemed never-ending. And it was overwhelming. 

You had been so go, go, go, that in this first moment you’ve gotten to yourself, you instantly break down. 

At least you were in the safety of your room and not somewhere public. You sniffle, sobs wrecking through you as you curl up on your bed. Honestly, it felt good to cry, to let everything out in a way. You just wish that you didn’t have to pull everything together to get back to work after this mental breakdown. And God forbid if anyone saw you right now–

Your phone rings.

You let out another sob, frustrated at the fact that you’re just so busy as you flip the electronic over to see who it is. The word ‘Wookie <3’ stares back up at you as you continue crying. Fuck, you were supposed to see your boyfriend today. Your thumb shakes a little as you answer the call, knowing that he’s going to be able to tell that you’re crying.

“Hello?”

The other side of the line is quiet for a moment. “YN? Baby? Are you okay? You sound like you’re upset.” His concern makes your chest ache with love, and you sniffle softly. 

“I’m just… having a hard day, that’s all. But we can still go on our date, I’ll be fine–”

“I’m already here,” Gunwook interrupts, and in turn, you hear a small, distant knock on your apartment door. You sit up, and a rush of dizziness washes over you from how hard you’d been crying and also probably from dehydration. “Will you let me in?”

“Of course,” you whisper before hanging up the call, getting off your bed to go answer the door. When it swings open and you see him–the epitome of your comfort and happiness, you feel yourself crumble again. It’s like it’s second-nature to fall into his open arms, his soft shushes meeting your ears as one of his large hands rubs up and down your back soothingly. 

“It’s okay… Take a deep breath with me, come on, baby.” He gently guides you back inside your apartment while still keeping his arms around you, and when you’re sitting back on your bed, Gunwook places one of your hands on his chest so you can feel his heartbeat. So you can line up your erratic breathing with his, slowing the air rushing in and out of your lungs and ultimately calming you down. “Now, tell me what’s wrong, okay?”

You nod weakly. “It’s just… I feel like I’ve been overworking myself. I have so many things to do and no time to do it, but it all needs to get done and– I have no time–” You cut yourself off as Gunwook takes a deep breath, subconsciously following his movements. “I’m really stressed,” you finish lamely.

He unwraps his arms from around your trembling frame, opting to hold onto your arms and to rub them softly. “You have all of the time you need. And you’re not going to get anything done if you’re so worried, baby. You need to rest.” He’s right. You know he is, but you didn’t want to rest. Resting was for when everything was done. It’s almost like he can read your thoughts. “You can rest for one night. We’ll do it together, okay? I’ll always be right here for you.”

[solsticehymns]

marauders + favorite tv shows: headcanons

JAMES would be binge watching the great british bake off on a weeknight. any kind of cooking show or other cheesy network show; real estate shows like house hunters or property brothers, TLC shows like my strange addiction? oh my god he's LOCKED IN. james change the channel wtf we are currently watching a girl eat her mattress. he's like i know.... it''s so fascinating.....

SIRIUS would pretend to watch all these deep intellectual dramas, i can see him having a big peaky blinders phase. he would be rly into game of thrones and (not exactly a show but) star wars the franchise. but his real guilty pleasure? any trashy dating show. love island us/uk/aus he's seen them all. too hot to handle, love is blind, 90 day fiance, THE BACHELOR/BACHELORETTE. he has embarrassingly strong opinions about every contestant. "no i just don't think she's there for the right reasons!" "sirius it's been two episodes." "THAT'S ENOUGH"

REMUS would watch a lot of period dramas and like historical shows you don't quite understand. typical boy stuff, some war dramas, some documentaries on the history of the printer, y'know. definitely watched a whole documentary on the sinking of the titanic and then when you made him watch titanic (1997) he smugly pointed out all the inaccuracies. his guilty pleasure? true crime, he's half-convinced he's figured out who jack the ripper was...

REGULUS honestly hates tv and mostly watches things just so you'll stop bugging him about it. he likes the darker, weirder shows more. if you're ever watching criminal minds, one of the rly spooky twisted ones? oh he's paying attention for sure. but if he ever does get bored in his own free time i feel like deep down he would be an anime guy, like the most pretentious unheard of anime. you just don't get it

EVAN would love all the crime-centric shows, i can see him loving money heist, breaking bad and its spinoffs, narcos. anything action packed and fast paced and this man is sat. also sports like duh, but he would sit and watch all the behind the scenes documentaries and after-game footage. his guilty pleasure would 100% be gossip girl or greys anatomy or one of those "girly drama" teen shows. the snippy little comments he'd make during... she's right though, serena's hair does look like trash

and last but not least, BARTY would love the dark, cynical, offbeat shows. black mirror, manifest, the boys. something that leaves you wondering what the hell you just witnessed. also unironically LOVES rick and morty and will go on unprompted rants about how genius it is. the sociopolitical themes bro. late at night when no one else is around, he gets deep into conspiracy theories. dunno, love, the moon landing footage looks a bit shabby to me. yeah, see, the shadows? totally misaligned. fake news.

☀️🌻 masterlist

[lookingfts]

If you're in the mood for some fluffy fluff...? Married or dating, or in the enemies to lover phase, tripped ankle or concussion, forced proximity and having to provide TLC?

Also fulfilling another prompt I got a while ago about how Kate would handle Anthony getting into an accident! Enjoy.

Kate’s heart was pounding in her chest as she pulled up to the entrance. Anthony was already standing there with a nurse by his side, his arm in a splint, looking exhausted and a little disheveled. She threw her car into park and stepped out.

“He couldn’t get out of here fast enough,” the nurse said with a smirk. “Here are the care instructions. You can call us if you have any questions.”

Kate took the thick packet, opening the side door and letting the nurse help him into the passenger seat. It was slow going, Anthony wincing at every small movement, but finally he slumped against the seat.

The nurse helped him into his seatbelt, making an apologetic noise as he hissed. “We’ll see you in a few days, Anthony. Take care of yourself.”

He was entirely silent as Kate got back into the car and pulled out onto the road, heading in the direction of his flat. It was almost midnight, no traffic in sight, but Kate drove cautiously anyway, not wanting to risk slamming on the brakes and injuring him further.

“You didn’t call your mum? Or Ben?”

Anthony let out a rough sigh, rubbing his good hand over his face. “I’ll call them tomorrow, I’m just…I’m too tired for it right now. Besides, I’ll need some help and you’ve seen me naked much more recently than they have.”

She might have chuckled at that, if she wasn’t so fucking tense. Kate had been coiled tight since the second he called, and despite her attempts at deep breathing, nothing was quite succeeding in helping her unwind.

It wasn’t an entirely satisfying reason for why he had called her. She was Anthony’s friend on a good day, maybe, but she was more of a situationship than anything. Unbelievable late-night hookups that none of their friends or family knew about – or at least, she didn’t think they knew. Not that there was much to know. Anthony gave her explosive, leg-shaking orgasms and she left in the morning and they didn’t discuss it much beyond that. There was nothing to talk about.

At any rate, she didn’t think they were at picking each other up from the hospital status.

She entered the code to his front door and Anthony seemed to relax a bit at the familiar surroundings of his flat. Kate already had a few clothes and toiletries lying around; it wouldn’t be a hardship to stay the night. In the morning, he would tell his family, and they could suffocate him with their particular brand of care.

Anthony stilled at the bottom of the stairs. His bedroom was on the upper level, along with two guest rooms, so it was a necessary evil. “Sorry,” she said. “I know it’s going to be uncomfortable. I’ve got you.”

Huffing out a breath through his nose, he grabbed the banister and carefully made his way up the stairs. Her heart twisted a little every time he inhaled sharply and shut his eyes, waiting for the wave of pain to pass. Finally, they were at the landing and his shoulders slumped in relief.

Once they were in his room – truly a ridiculous suite, in her opinion, though the bed was spectacular – Kate slowly helped him undress and change into a pair of sweatpants. “How did you break your arm?” she asked finally. He hadn’t said a word about it.

“I tripped down the stairs,” he admitted, gritting his teeth as he stepped into one of the legs, then the other. “I just…wasn’t paying attention, honestly. I looked at my phone and I missed a step and I just…yeah.”

The knot in her chest grew tighter, compressed by something that felt a little like panic. She couldn’t account for why she had been so sour since he called, but maybe it was starting to take shape now. Flashes filled her mind, too quick to process – Anthony with a head injury, Anthony under a sheet. They both knew how one moment could mean life and death. How one moment could break everyone who had loved that person.

Once he was situated, Kate opened the drawer and took out one of her pajama sets. Her hands were trembling, and she felt dizzy. She just couldn’t turn off the awful noise in her head – what if what if what if.

“You should rest,” she said, not missing the furrow of his brows at her terse tone. “I can sleep in the guest room, just call me if you need anything.”

Anthony didn’t respond for a moment, and she turned to leave. “Kate,” he said to her back, sounding so weary. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to pick me up. I clearly overstepped.”

An embarrassing heat pricked at her eyes. She had kept it together, focused on the singular goal of making sure that he was alright. And now that he was…her head was a mess. A confusing jumble of anger and fear and gratitude that he was still there, with her, and she couldn’t articulate any of it. Because she was just some girl he fucked sometimes, so why should she care this much?

“You were so reckless,” she spit. That was easier. To fight and claw and rage like they had always done, months before she was ever in his bed. “You can’t do that shit, Anthony. Your family – did you even think about your family? Your mum? Ben? Hyacinth? Did you even think, for one second, what it would do to them if something serious happened to you?”

There was an excruciating silence. She could hear the tears in her voice, the desperation. Could hear the confession between the lines that she had never meant to give. If Anthony hadn’t suspected anything before, he would be a fool not to know now.

His hand landed gently on her waist, and Anthony tugged her against him, careful to avoid his injured side. He was still probably bruised elsewhere, so Kate went gingerly, burying her face in his neck. “I’m sorry,” Anthony murmured. But it was his heartbeat, calm and steady under her hand, that helped her breathe. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’ll be more careful.”

“We’re not talking about me,” she said unconvincingly. As if her rebellious tears weren’t landing on his bare shoulder, as if she wasn’t making herself small in his arms and letting him surround her.

“Okay,” he acquiesced. They stood like that for a long time, Anthony’s fingers sliding up her back to stroke her curls. Repetitive motions until the haunting melody in her mind stopped.

He was alive. The moment had come and gone, and he was still there.

Kate lifted her head, wiping her face with the heel of her palm. His hand landed on the side of her neck, half cupping her jaw, his face earnest and concerned.

Anthony swallowed. “If anything happened to you…” he said, raw and aching, like she was pulling some admission from the deepest parts of him. “It would destroy me.”

She blinked at him, the words slowly settling over her. Maybe there was something to talk about, after all.

But not tonight. Anthony was swaying on his feet, and Kate found herself exhausted by the day, too. “Stay with me,” he urged, stroking her cheek. “Please.”

Kate nodded and ushered him to bed, helping him find a comfortable position on the mattress before curling up beside him. Letting his rhythmic breathing and the warmth of his hand around hers lull her to sleep.

Everything else could wait.

[slippinninque]

Hi👋🏽 This is my first time ever putting in a fic request. I’m not sure if you take requests and I didn’t see anything on your blog so please feel free to ignore this. I was wondering what Fontaine would do if he saw his girl working so hard to balance school and work that she wasn’t taking care of herself like she should or not spending as much time with him?

💆🏾‍♀️TLC

Fontaine x blackfemreader

Warnings: none, some cursing, mainly fluff. Mentions of feeling overworked and overwhelmed, before-work-post (may have some mistakes lol)

"It was tonight, wasn't it?"

You were standing in the middle of the living room, in the middle of wakefulness and the fugue that has been stubbornly following you for the past three weeks.

He saw you stare out into space as you tried to regain your thoughts. Fontaine froze when you turned wet eyes to him, the rest of your face fixed into flat mask.

Still wearing your hoodie and jeans, your cheek held the imprint of one of your text books. He normally would protest you bringing books to bed but with how thin you were already stretched so thin...

"I missed date night," your voice cracked and your hands came up to your face, "We would have been back by now...I...I really missed it...."

Fontaine was up brought you close and closed his eyes against the feel of your trembling. He gently pried your hands away from your face, seeing how your fingers began to curl into claws nearer your hair.

Fontaine hugged you tight, "Hey, hey, you're good."

Your wide eyes met his but Fontaine knew you were only seeing your thoughts plastered across his face. All the things that demanded your attention, the projects and papers and team meetings and recruiting.

He said nothing as he brought your head to his shoulder. Fontaine didn't want think too much about how you sagged against him. You felt, like a rag doll with weighted feet.

"It wasn't you, baby. You've had a lot on your plate, I didn't feel right waking you up." He admitted, "I thought maybe we could have date night at the crib this time. "

You made a quiet, hurt noise and nuzzled closer, "I'm so sorry..."

"Ah, ain't nothing be sorry fo'. I already ordered some grub, it's gonna be dinner in bed tonight. A'ight?"

"I'm sorry...."

Fontaine hushed you and wished he had more to say. Wish he could erase the nerves he could feel prickling along your skin. There was nothing he could say to you. Not right now, at least.

"The only thing I want you to be is getting in that tub for me." He cupped your face, "Bath is already made. Then we'll take it from there, okay?"

"No, that's too much." You tried to shake him off but Fontaine kept hold, "Date night is supposed to be special for the both of us--

Fontaine spoke over you just a bit, "Hush! You want--"

"Don't you hush me--!"

"-- You wanna to make it up to me?"

You nodded at once. Fontaine nodded back before he stepped back and took your hands in his. He took in the worried bend of your brow, the way you chewed and picked at at the healing spots on your bottom lip.

"I've been waiting on your ass to crash for 'bout two weeks now--ain't plotting on your downfall...just worried."

Fontaine's tone robbed you of your fight. You nodded and sniffled, the knot in your throat loosening. He was right. You couldn't keep going on like this, you were only going to get sloppier.

"Okay, good, c'mon and let me get my hands on you a little bit and you can curse at me later for hushing. Yeah?"

Fontaine tugged gently and you went after him feeling like the worse girlfriend in the world.

-----

When you finally felt like you could stand being in your skin. You washed yourself and did so again, mind humming on low as the water steamed and soothed you. There were mountains of bubbles and you could smell the lavender scented candle from its perch in the dreamy fog of the bathroom.

It was strange to feel so wrung out so soon. With the holiday season swiftly approaching, you were tied on both ends. Midterms papers and collaborations clashing with the growing seasonal demand at your Granny's catering business.

While you weren't charge of the magic of making the food you made sure the 'magicians' had their wands and their doves. Grocery orders, appliance repairs, and even down to scheduling for tastings and deliveries.

You made sure that all the elders had to focus on was doing what they loved and being as much of a mediator between them and youngin's of the staff as you could.

It was a good thing to see your grandmother be so invigorated by the rush but she ran a tight ship that felt more like a sardine can lately with all the passive aggressive wars that often came with family businesses.

You cut that thought off before it could take root. That would always be there. Instead you turned your thoughts on the man who still managed to surprise you.

Fontaine waited up for you when you stayed behind for next-day prep. He met you at the front door with a blunt rolled and the shower steaming. He rubbed your aching feet as you pounded out a essay analysis.

Fontaine, bless his heart, has been nothing but supportive. Also rightfully worried, of you had to be honest.

How could you have forgotten the one night in the week that mattered most? That's what sent you over the edge at the end of it all. Not the 11:59 deadlines and collapsing cake towers--the fact you forgot about your man.

As of drawn by the sound of your spiraling thoughts, Fontaine knocked a little on the door before you saw his free forms peek in.

"I got you all set if you're ready, baby." He came in a bit further as if he hadn't already seen your all, "If you're ready, that is?"

The water sloshed as you rose instead of answering. Fontaine came fully into the bathroom with a towel stretched and waiting for you.

"Bring yo' lil self here."

The towel wrapped you up and you were delighted to feel it was fresh from the dryer. Fontaine hummed knowingly and rocked you a bit before pulling back to dry you off in earnest.

It felt silly at first, you wanted to grab the towel and insist that you had it but....it felt nice to be out of control for once.

You were then led to the bedroom instead of the living room. There you found your nest ready and waiting. There was no textbooks or notebooks to be found, or pens to be stuck by. Only one of Fontaine's hoodies and your well-loved sleeping shorts.

A single touch made you gasp in delight, Fontaine must have tossed everything into the dryer while you were soaking.

Once you were dressed, Fontaine patted your bottom and peeled the covers back. You dove between the covers and was immediately enveloped by lilac and fresh-linen scent.

"Stay put for me and let me go get some shit together, 'kay?"

" 'kay..."

Fontaine smiled at the sound of your crunchy, sniffly voice, "That's it. Find us something good to watch. Imma be back ."

He saw right through you. Though you knew he would be only a few paces away, somewhere in the house, it still felt too far at the moment. His reassurance that he'd come back had you melting into the blankets.

By the time you settled on Antique's Roadshow, Fontaine returns balancing two styrofoam containers, cups, and a 2 liter of your favorite Faygo.

The logo on the bag with the condiments let you know he ordered from the Mediterranean spot you've been hankering for. This man could have very well unlocked mind reading in hopes of getting you to take care....

You made room for him to settle beside you but Fontaine slid in and was nearly behind you. Emotion locked your throat as you watched Fontaine settle in.

"Thank you, Fontaine. For all of this."

Fontaine took the remote and lowered the volume when the nice lady from Vegas whooped about a found white gold watch.

"You're buried, right now. Gettin' pulled in all sorts of directions. I would have seen it by now had you not told me to be ready for it. That's something we've talked about happening when you started going back to school. What we also talked about is showing up. Remember that?"

It was one evening on the back porch days ago. You were frustrated with your progress with things. Of school, of family, of life. In feeling over overwhelmed by things to do, you strangely end up feel like you aren't doing much.

Fontaine looked into your wary eyes, "We've been making it work. We make time when we can. I let you sleep in because, baby, you needed it."

"You need me too. I need you...I have to be more-more mindful. You're what really matters to me. I should do more..."

Fontaine shook his head and took your hand again, looking at where you fingers laced quickly with his before putting them both against his chest.

"What you said to me when I asked? 'Showing up is doing something. Anything you can.' That goes both ways. Understand?"

You took in the earnest look on his face and couldn't resist kissing it. You probably tasted like stale gum but Fontaine surged forward all the same.

"Mhn, nope--no..." Fontaine pulled back and narrowed an eye at you, "Behave, missy. Food first--something that ain't no damn trail mix or whatever you be snacking on..."

Before you opened your tray, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

"Can you help me do something first?"

Fontaine was reaching over to pull one of your bonnets out of the nightstand as he answered, "Of course, baby. What do you need?"

"Moral support...."

Fontaine held you as you typed out an email to your professor and your cousin.

First asking for a two-day extension to polish and submit your paper. To your cousin, you apologized but insisted you needed the rest of the week off to get some rest and refocus yourself.

Though you doubted you would take the whole week, Fontaine correct to point out that a little wiggle room couldn't hurt just in case you did need it.

While you were going to have your phone on, all that they would need to get through the week would be ready for pick up and payment.

Before your stomach could sour after you hit send, your phone vibrated where it still was in your hand.

[Girl, fuck these oldies! Get some sleep and let them learn a lesson without you for once! 💜💕💞]

Your eyes welled as the pressure in your stomach eased away. Fontaine saw the way your shoulders sagged and took the hand still holding your phone, kissing the laxing knuckles.

"See? Handled that shit like a fuckin' boss." His other hand went behind your head, strong fingers massaging the base of your neck much to your pleasure.

You released an exhale as your eyes slipped close, unaware of the shadow of a smile on your face.

Fontaine shifted closer to get both hands on you, going for your temples and the knot of thoughts at the base of your skull as he murmured, "Mm. That's sexy as hell--do it again."

"Hm? What, breathe?"

Fontaine purred when you gave a more exaggerated puff of air and a laugh danced a laugh out of you. Between Fontaine's attention and the soft comforts surrounding you, it felt like you were going to be fine.

Fontaine's voice was at you ear, "That feel good? You like when I rub your big, pretty brain like this? Hm?"

Of course you did and of course he already knew. The tension in your neck was no match for the most dexterous fingers in all the Glenn.

"Hmm...dunno. I may need a few more minutes to decide for sure."

"You ain't got to tell me twice, let me get up in that kitchen..."

Luckily for you Fontaine didn't ease up at all. Careful of your dinner, he pulled until you were back to chest and set to work massaging your neck and temples.

All you could feel was his warmness, the give of your bed. All you could hear was the soft shift of styrofoam and an explanation of the popularity of faux gold in the 70's from the TV.

All you could think of, blissfully, was how much you wished you had the HP to jump 'Taine's bones...

Your stomach growled loudly and indignantly. Fontaine chuckled when you shushed it and brought his retreating hands back to your scalp.

"A little while longer and then I want to see you go through at least half that plate." Fontaine pressed a kiss to the crown of your head before popping your bonnet over your hair

"Then I'll rub you however much you'd like..."

With a little chirp of agreement, you flopped back against your man and let him do what he did best.

Take care of you.

-------------

💜ending notes💜: a long time coming and I'm so sorry anon, I hope you see this and know to please please please feel free to submit again! This ask saved me like no other🥹💞💜💕 thank you to those who were so kind during my burn out, slow and steady definitely wins the race lol! 🙏🏾✨💕

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[therealkaidertrash21]

So, I thought it would be fun to ask some of my friends who haven't read TLC what they thought the ships were, and their answers were... Interesting...

And extremely amusing for me, too.

Also, keep in mind I didn't tell them ANYTHING about the plot or the characters. I didn't even mention the age gaps (oops)

I will be dividing it into different parts cause...it's a lot.

And I'll add my comments to her explanation in purple

First, my friend who sadly I can't tag cause she doesn't have Tumblr

(also I translated this from Spanish and I'm not a translator)

Thorne x Jacin: in my opinion they're together because Thorne looks proud and extroverted (true that), and Jacin is someone who's kind of serious and chill (again, true) . So I feel like they would be a great combination of gays.

Wolf x Scarlet: I like these two quite a lot. Wolf acts like a bad guy but he's actually dumb (adorable) (again, accurate, how does she know?) so 🤓 he fits well with Scarlet because she's brave and with a strong attitude (or at least that's how I imagine her to be like). (Maybe I told her smth cause she did too well...)

Iko x Scarlet: they're like water and fire, ruby and sapphire. They fit together super well. In my opinion, Iko is happy and energetic and Scarlet is more serious but supports her in everything. I think they look great together, and I feel like they'd be a great couple. (New ship unlocked(?)

Iko x Cress: Like I said before Iko is energetic and extroverted, so she fits well with someone who's more shy (in my opinion). I really see them together. I like them. Also, I feel like Iko would make clothes for Cress and they'd be happy. (HOW DID SHE KNOW IKO IS A FASHION GIRLIE??? also, I approve of everything she said about them)

Wolf x Winter: I don't know, I think it fits well. To me, Winter looks wise and Wolf looks a bit dumb (in the good way). They fit well because she would explain everything to him and they'd be happy forever. (Lmao)

Cinder x Kai: My hunch says that Kai is hooked in Cinder, but in the beginning she didn't pay attention to him at all, but then, with the power of love, they get together. (Again. HOW. DID. SHE. KNOW???)

I hope you thought this was fun like I did... The next are definitely a lot more brainrot than this one, so prepare.

[pokipopii]

why are the BFDI contestants getting depressed?

Why are the BFDI contestants getting depressed? When is it time to stop competing?

So, I saw the episode Seasonal Shift and I’m sure you have too. But if you haven’t, that episode is going to be referenced. 

So, in season one, BFDI, these characters seemed like they were just silly guys having a lighthearted competition for a prize. Right? And during this season, that’s all it was. Friendships were being made, alliances, and most importantly, they seemed to be having a good time. Even if they weren’t the ones winning. The problems really started happening when the TLC got involved. The area in which the contestants go when they’re eliminated. 

The failed debuters and the eliminated contestants were placed into the box for the entirety of the season, but during the season they switched to the LOL (locker of losers). But why mention the elimination area? They got fed bread, and they even got a window. But what I’d like to mention is in BFDIA, the second season, pillow, one of the failed debuters and one of the people left in the LOL. In episode “pointy,pointy,pointy” Pillow, the character known for infamously being a murder says the line “enough killing, I would never advocate for that”. But what made the shift between BFDIA and BFB? Well, possibly the change of heart is just mental issues. I mean, she was in the LOL for awhile. 

But if this was caused by going a little bit crazy in the metal box that is the LOL, than it surely couldn’t get any worse. I mean, even in BFDIA the constants still seem happy and eager to compete. Until time goes on. Because sure, in the season there’s been conflict, and fighting, with a tinge of backstabbing. At some points more literal than metaphorical. But nothing compares to the newest episode, “Airplanes in The Night Sky”. Because the competition gets way too serious. The episode started with the lighthearted simple challenge as it usually did. Tennis ball won a token to split up Pin and Coiny. During the episode, Pin jumps at the chance to kill to win, and betray her own friend.

The competition isn’t just a friendly sport anymore. It’s ruining friendships. And this is most clear with FreetSmart. Eliminations and competition are the cause of their slow fallout. Choosing who deserves to stay in the alliance, pressuring each other into situations, and expecting too much from each other. The fallout of FreeSmart, even as I loved the team, was an expected result to their circumstances. The competition even split up the bonds between Firey and Leafy, as well as Match and Pencil. I mean, Match and Pencil both spent time in the LOL and the EXIT. I’d act like Pencil too. 

But that’s the thing. Let’s take the two exitors that got into TPOT for example, Pencil and Liy. They went through the same thing, but have responded to it very differently, but yet have similar responses. Pencil has gone rogue, trying anything and everything to win challenges just to stay in the game and away from eliminations. She’s a nervous wreck and she’s very clearly traumatized from the whole thing. She wants to avoid memories of the EXIT, such as anyone who was there, and Four himself, but Liy has gone about her need not to lose differently. She’s forming bonds, making friends, and being more careful who she stays around. She’s being a supportive team player.

And this makes sense, because people who have had trauma, no matter how similar their stories may be. They respond to their experiences differently. But now we know just how damaging it is for their mental health to be trapped in an elimination area, what can we do? Even Two, the objectively better and kinder host traps people. But I’m pretty sure he’ll at least set them free after. But hey, maybe I’m overreacting to these details.

[usmsgutterson]

Nothing Feels As Good As Going Home - S.R

Okay!! My ao3 did see this one first (I had edited it late last night and honestly?? I was too lazy to post it on both platforms because I edited it on ao3 and was too lazy to copy, paste, and then write an authors note lmao) and I'm pretty unsure about this as a whole because I'm only eight seasons in and I haven't written for Spencer before, but I'm conquering my fears tonight.

Despite my bio (which will be changed at least fifteen minutes after this has been posted--I have two accounts and I want to do some maintenance for this one because it needs a little TLC I fear) my requests are currently open!! They're wide open to Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner, even though I'd also likely be willing to write for another criminal minds character if you asked.

Fic type - this one is tooth rotting fluff because I couldn't resist

Warnings - spencer might be a tad ooc because this is the first time I've written for him. This is also set either in or around season eight as, when I wrote this, I was about halfway through that season and I'm currently close to 2/3rds of the way done with it. Cats are also in this one, if you aren't a cat person.

Spencer used to hate going home. He felt like he’d never really know what would be going on the minute he opened the front door and stepped inside, and after his father left, that fear intensified bit by bit.  

After his father left, he never knew what it would mean, going home, so he stalled. He’d go to a local park and sit on a bench and read a few books in an hour, maybe two, in order to escape the fear he felt at the idea of going home when he had no idea what would be going on in that house, whether his mother was okay that day or not.  

When he went to college and was living in the dorms, he hated going back because it meant more isolation. More loneliness, more of the same, really. Only his books to keep him company and just about nobody else, unless Ethan called, which he usually did two or three times a week. Ethans calls were one of the only things that really helped him when he wasn’t looking after his mother whenever he was on break, typically around the winter and during the summer.  

After having his mother institutionalised, he feared going home because it meant that she wasn’t there, and the guilt that came with having her taken into a facility when it wasn’t something she wanted weighed down on him very heavily.  

In those last two years pre-FBI, he hated going home because it meant more of the same. More loneliness, more of the same nature documentaries he'd seen a thousand times before if he wasn't putting on the news, and more books that he’d already read several times before haunting him from wherever it was that they sat on his bookshelves, which had been scattered throughout most rooms in his apartment.  

But he joined the FBI at twenty-one and managed to meet you somewhere along that year, found out that you’d just started working with the Marshals and had lived only twenty five minutes out from Arlington, which put you about fifteen from Quantico as a whole, and he started hating going home a lot less after you guys had been together for four months.  

After four months of dates and getting to know each other, getting home usually meant going on another date or Spencer finally getting the opportunity to call you and stay on the phone for longer than fifteen minutes.  

Spencer is very careful about your relationship, though—very secretive, though he doesn’t really mean to be, to avoid teasing from Derek and, four or so years down the line, Emily and JJ, though even Rossi joined in on occasion.

It’s not until he’s on the jet, Alex sitting to his left, JJ across him and Derek diagonally so, that he has to spill the beans.  

He gets a text from you and it’s the way that he smiles that gives it away.  

Hey, Spence! I cleaned up the house a little bit and went to grab your favourite coffee beans from the bodega we both like. Also: meet Megatron. Her name deceives.  

Attached is a photo of a kitten that can’t be more than four or five weeks old, dark brown everywhere except for her paws and chin, which are white.  

“Who’s the lucky one, boy genius?” Derek asks.  

“Huh?” Spencer looks up, eyes widened slightly. “It’s nobody.”  

JJs head tilts. “You wouldn’t smile like that for a nobody,” she says. “Who is it?”  

“Is it the one with the dark blue Prius--” Alex starts before she pauses, realizing where she's fumbled. That gets Rossi and Hotch interested, both of whom come to sit in the seats across from the four.  

Alex is the only one on the team who knows about you apart from Penelope, which is pure happenstance—his car had broken down once when both she and Spencer had worked a late night, and so you’d offered to pick him up from work so that the two of you could go back to the house you shared and indulge in a shark documentary and some pizza.  

“It is,” Spencer nods. “Their name is Y/N.”  

“How long have you had a Y/N?” Derek asks.  

“Since I was twenty-one,” Spencer admits. “About a decade now.”  

“You kept a romantic partner hidden for a decade ?” Derek asks. “How? Does--”  

“Penelope knows about them because they’re in the group she goes to on Tuesdays,” Spencer says. “The one for knitting and crocheting—Y/N does the latter, mostly, but they did knit the cardigan I was wearing last week.”  

“And how did Penelope figure out about the thing you two have had going on?”  

“It’s more than a thing , Derek,” Alex says. “If it’s been going for a decade, it’s more than a thing.”  

“We’d gotten done with a case early, and Penelope had left pretty much as soon as we were on the jet so that she could make it to the aforementioned group. I asked them where they were and picked them up with their favourite tea as a surprise. Penelope saw me there, watched us hug, and just about lost her mind. Have I satisfied your thirst for knowledge yet?”  

He turns to Alex briefly, nods a bit to answer her earlier remark. “I just proposed last weekend, so you’re right. It’s more than just a thing I would say.”  

Derek and JJs eyes widen until their shock is clearly conveyed, and Spencer laughs.  

“You have a fiancee, and you just—didn't think to fucking tell anybody?” Derek laughs. “Were you ever going to tell us?”  

“I was—we've been busy with work, and it didn’t occur to me.”  

“Okay,” JJ nods like she believes it, and that’s good enough for Spencer because he’s telling the truth anyway. “What was the text about?”  

Spencer shrugs, paraphrases.  

“They wrote me to tell me they’d cleaned up the house and picked up a stray, I think,” Spencer answers. “I mean, the stray part wasn't explicitly stated but—the kitten doesn’t look more than four weeks old, so the assumption was immediate, but they know I can’t say no to cats. They’ve been hoping that they’d find a stray while I was on a case since we first moved into a condo together. We bought our house six months ago now, and they’ve joked, every single time before I’ve left for a case, that it’s the perfect time.”  

“What’d they name it?” Rossi asks. “Assuming they didn’t ask for your input. I wouldn’t--I’d have a kitten named Einstein who could never live up to that.”  

Spencer can’t help the loving laugh that bubbles up from his throat as his fingers absently locate the chain around his neck, with an engagement ring of his own weighing the chain down just slightly so that the ring sits comfortably at the middle of his collarbone.  

“They named her Megatron,” he says nonchalantly. “Smallest cat I’ve ever seen, and still, she’s got big shoes to fill. Massive ones, actually.”  

That is enough to get Hotch to crack a smile. For a second, Spencer feels like he’s winning even though a game isn’t even being played.  

“Okay, so—how did you do it?” JJ asks. “I mean—ten years and a recent engagement? With only two people on our team discovering through that entire time? How?”  

“Penelope figured it out three years in,” Spencer answers. “Alex only figured it out recently, which is kind of surprising because I’ve never exactly hidden their existence. I just haven't talked about them because nobody has ever really asked but—I don’t know, either. We kept it low key because we both work law enforcement and it was just easier that way for the first little while, and then we both decided we liked the quiet so we kept things that way.”  

“They work in law enforcement?” Derek asks, his eyes narrowing. “Are they FBI?”  

“They’re a Deputy US Marshal, actually,” Spencer corrects. “They work in the Virginia office, which is 45 minutes outside of Quantico, up in Arlington. It’s why I have a twenty five minute commute—we both like our jobs a lot, and twenty-five minutes for me one way is only eighteen minutes for them the other, but I like driving so I don’t mind. They’re in talks for a promotion right now, and they were meant to hear about it today but so far their texts haven’t indicated anything about that.”  

It’s the most Spencer has told anyone except his mother about you since you’d gotten together, and while you both normally like to keep things quiet, bragging about you to the people he routinely trusts with his life is a very nice feeling.  

“US Marshal?” JJ asks. “They pretty commonly hire ex-military,” she says.  

“They’ve never been anywhere near the military,” Spencer laughs. “They did a two year degree at a community college, went to Glynco for training, and were employed by the US Marshals by twenty-one, around the same time I joined the FBI. We met each other at a coffee shop when they were off of work and their local one was closed, so our meeting was kismet.”  

Spencers phone buzzes again, and he ignores it that time. 

Alex grins at him, while Derek tuts and JJs eyes go to his phone as it buzzes once, then twice more, the fourth buzz coming four and a half seconds after the first, second, and third.  

“Check it,” she urges. “The jet is going to land in fifteen minutes, Spencer, so if it’s good news, you might as well.”  

SPENCER!! 

I have really really REALLY good news 

Please tell me your jet is landing soon or the very minute it’s landed call me please because you work twenty five minutes away and that means I can call and order from Antonios and by the time you’re home, you’ll only have to wait five minutes for pizza.  

Also, Megatrons full name is Megatron Ichabod Reid. Just so you know. I love you so much you stupid smart handsome tall man.  

Spencer doesn’t even try to fight his laugh as he reads.

“Good news?” Derek asks.  

“I think they got promoted, but I won’t know for sure til I’m home,” Spencer answers. “Also--Megatrons full name is apparently Megatron Ichabod Reid—their texts read like they’re hyper.”  

“I’d be pretty hyper if I got news of a promotion,” Rossi says. “Let us know if they did, though, kid. I’m hosting a dinner to celebrate your engagement regardless, but if they got promoted, it’s another thing to celebrate on the roster, and all the more of an excuse to meet the person you’ve kept hidden from the likes of us for a decade.”  

“You guys ordering Antonios?” Alex asks. “You mentioned getting Antonios for dinner the day after I saw you two together. I’m assuming it’s their favourite pizza spot—you don’t really seem like the pizza type. More like a pasta guy.”  

“We both love it,” Spencer answers. “There’s no pizza like Antonios—not where we live, anyway. It’s the middle ground between Quantico and Arlington, so there’s not a whole lot to do unless you drive either way.”  

“Antonios makes a good pizza,” Rossi nods.  

“Their pasta is better,” Hotch interjects. Spencer shakes his head, tries to go back to the book that’s sitting on the table in front of him but fails miserably, waits for the fifteen minutes til the jet lands to be done whilst the rest of the team talks amongst themselves.  

The second the jet lands, as he’s walking out of it, he dials your number and you pick up on the first ring.  

“Spencer Walter Reid, light of my life and giver of astoundingly lovely forehead kisses, please tell me you’ve landed,”  

Spencer laughs. “Just did,” he says. “The team knows about us now, by the way—I smiled when you texted and that lead to Derek questioning me, so there’s that. Also, if the good news is what I think it is, Rossi wants to hold a celebration dinner as an excuse to meet you. He fronted it with our engagement first, but I think he’s just shocked we’ve kept each other under wraps that long.”  

“You like Megatrons name?” You ask, giggling a bit, seemingly in spite of yourself. “I’m sorry, Spence—I'm hyper as hell, bouncing off the walls type. I’m going to open a bottle of wine, see if it calms me down a little. Get home as fast as you can, though! I miss your handsome face!”  

“Just gotta finish a file or two and then I’ll be home,” he says. “If you order the pizza now, I’ll only be like, five minutes late—the pizza won’t be scalding, like it usually is because of their ridiculously well-working warmer bags.”  

“I love you, Spence,” you say, tone turning a little serious. “Get home safe, please.”  

“I will,” Spencer nods. “You okay?”  

“Hyper but yearning,” you laugh. “I just miss you, ‘s all.”  

“I miss you too,” he says. “I’ll be home in forty minutes, tops. I promise.”  

The phone call ends, and he doesn’t miss the knowing smiles that are on Derek and Rossis faces. JJ is looking at him mildly confused as the tone of the conversation changed near it’s end, but he doesn’t want to explain, and so he chooses not to say anything.  

He goes back into the office, completes what remains of the files he has to work on, and after he submits the paperwork in to Hotch, he just about speed walks out of the office, toward the elevators.  

Derek is leaving at the same time as he is. “Goin’ home to Megatron and the singular person who’s managed to keep up with you for the past decade?” He asks teasingly as the doors close.    

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs. “I know you guys will tease me about it til the end of my time here, but—yeah. I get to go home to a stray cat the love of my life probably found in the parking lot of a Joanns, and the love of my life themself.”  

“I’m all done with my teasing, for now,” Derek says. “I’m just a little confused—why'd you keep them from us for this long?”  

“I don’t know,” Spencer admits. “When we’d first started dating, they’d just started out with the Marshals and they were scared having a partner in the FBI would get them special treatment, and then, when the stuff with Tobias Hankel happened and I got into Dialudid, I was scared that I’d make an enemy and then they’d find out about Y/N and use them to hurt me, and it just—we’re the quiet type, so we had reasons til we stopped needing them. I was going to tell you guys before we got engaged, but stuff has just kept happening so quickly in these past couple of years, and it’s kept slipping my mind.”  

Derek shrugs, but smiles understandingly. “I get it,” he says. “Lookin’ forward to that dinner Rossi is planning, though. I can’t wait to meet the singular person who probably would let you talk their ear off because they find you handsome or like your voice or something else that’s really sweet. You have a good night, Spence.”  

The elevator dings and the doors open, and the two leave separately. Spencer drives a little above the speed limit in the interest of getting home, which isn’t something he’d ever thought he’d do but is doing that night because it’s been a week since you’d last seen each other and he misses you like mad.  

When he inserts his key into the lock, unlocks the door and steps inside, he’s not filled with dread or fear or anxiety or loneliness or anything like that—instead, it feels like exactly what it’s supposed to.  

As he steps out of his shoes, hangs his bag on the coat rack and hears the sound of your laugh, he registers just how much the place he calls home feels like the word used to describe it.  

As he greets you with a hug and a few kisses to the forehead, it feels so much like home that it almost causes an ache in his chest. As you tell him about your promotion from Deputy to Chief Deputy and he hears Megatron the cat meow for the first time, happiness swells within him. Home, for the first time in his life, truly feels like a home. A place where he can unwind and be with those he truly loves, a place in which happiness is practically never-ending.  

Going home has never felt so good as going home to you, and Spencer is unsure anything will ever beat it.  

[tafferling]

Dying Light: The Beast Demo Impression

Imagine, if you will, a Taff who finds a life saving sort of affection in a game named Dying Light, followed by nearly ten years of dedication to one Kyle Crane. If you’d told that same Taff she’d get to go to Techland HQ after Crane’s return was announced in Dying Light: The Beast, she’d have called you silly. 

And yet.

I had the privilege (the WHAT ON EARTH, how) to watch about forty minutes of Dying Light: The Beast today. It was prefaced by an in-person intro from Tymon Smektała (which was about the most heartfelt thing I’ve ever heard, genuinely), and shown to us on a big-ass screen. 

During those forty-or-so-minutes I might have shuffled in and out of this here physical realm a few times. 

The demo covered an early mission in the game. Here’s what happened:

We start in a small village and tightly forested woodland, a fading day around us. Crane is off to follow a lead, given by the new voice in our ear, named Olivia. The lead will take him to an industrial area. Eventually. But FIRST I get to feast on a gorgeous sunset, lots of smooth as heck parkour, and honestly when we ducked through a small apartment on the way, I wanted to say “Babe, pls stop I GOTTA TAKE PICTURES!”.

I don’t kid. Techland was not fibbing when they mentioned handcrafted; the attention to detail I was criminally denied the chance to rub my face all over has my hopes so far up, they’re tap dancing in the clouds. And then those very same hopes were given wings when two insanely talented artists walked us through how these environments have come together.

Seriously. I can’t wait to get absolutely nothing done in the game because I Must See All And Perceive All.

Anyhoo— back to the demo.

Night falls—as it so likes to do—and we’re warned about how the Volatiles and Freaks (at least I think I remember this right, I was often distracted by, you know, I mean, yeah) are difficult to avoid out here. All that dense woodland makes for shit sight lines and all. But Crane can be subtle and that means I will finally get to hide in the bushes with him come game release. Yay me!

One sec. Spacing out.

What was I saying?

Oh yeah. Stealth. Volatiles. 

OKAY, LISTEN— the sound design in the night-time section of the game was sublime. The snuffing and clicking of the Volatiles. The snap of twigs. The rustle of leaves. Stealth is the jam I like to put on my various bread-adjacent baked goods and this was delicious.

And pretty. Crane’ll be craning (hehe) his head up a lot ‘cause those stars need gazing.

But it’s also a night full of creepy crawlers and so we head towards the nearest safe house, which, in good old Dying Light fashion, needs a bit of TLC. Secure. Remove Infected. Find a spare fuse. Mess with a Charger and his buddies (the handgun came out at that moment and while I do not approve of wasting bullets, I approve of the reload animations). And, finally, plug the newly acquired fuse in and Let There Be Light.

The layout of the safe zone and the tasks to complete brought me back to Harran. I loved the safe zones there; each had its unique look, unique vibe; and was just different enough in what you had to do to secure it to make them their own little experiences. I hope we’ll see this make a comeback.

(Yes, I have not yet mentioned much about Crane. Stick with me. I’ll get there.)

After a snooze (well deserved), we continue to the industrial area, where the demo shifts to showing off guns even more so than before. Honestly, I liked the Dying Light (1) guns. I liked Crane with a gun. He’d always struck me as the type of man who’d know about 500+ ways to kill his fellows; and firearm mastery would’ve been right at the top. So. Yeah. I do like their inclusion.

I also fucking know he’ll keep them holstered for the majority of my game time, because pssst, the bow is right here, darling. We’re using that, quit pouting.

(Hey, she’s still not talking about Crane, is she okay? you may ask. Ha. No.)

We fight our way through a bunch of the Baron’s men, which eventually leads to one of those idiots shooting out some sorta electrical box. There’s a bit of a ruckus over something escaping, a few angry roars thrown in from a distance, and as we decide to investigate we run into a— scientist type? At least I think I’m remembering this right. 

And now I’ll talk about Crane. 

Beware: loads of personal thoughts here; not based entirely on canon. 

Kyle Crane might have once been a man who thought murder is still a big deal. Kyle Crane also might have once been a man who’d roll with the punches, always coming up swinging, but, you know. First he rolls. Then he swings. 

Now? After whatever happened to him between the Following and his capture, leading to thirteen years of being experimented on in what I suspect’ll be a cage of sorts? 

First of all, is murder still going to be a big deal? (No, henchmen don’t count; ludonarrative dissonance wants a word).

Yeah, he doesn’t straight up kill our new scientist friend. Just threatens him. Effectively. But there was a bit of disconnect in how Crane behaved leading up to the solution of the interrogation (him getting what he wanted) and what he eventually did. Namely punch the guy out, rather than kill him. 

I expected our scientist friend to die. I was surprised when he didn’t.

And I expect Crane to no longer roll, but to swing first and not give the narrative the chance to get the first lick in.

All of which I’m deducting from how they’ve leaned heavily into giving him the voice of a man who’s been thoroughly wrung out by that very same narrative. His tone is dark. Clipped. Gone are the expletives; the colourful fucks; and how everyone’s an asshole because that’s just a mood and a half.

And honestly? I don’t know how I feel about it. Yet. Sure, I’m all for the pent up anger we hear whenever he swings a weapon, but—

I love Crane because he wasn’t the moody, broody post-apo dude. You know the Imma chew some nails for breakfast and then get all growly over my (insert trauma here). The Joels, basically (and I gotta hell to the no on him). 

So, no, I don’t know how I feel about this yet. I’m approaching this with trepidation over how they might have removed what made Crane Crane; all in the pursuit of being darker and ‘more mature’, as it’s been said.

BUT— this was just forty minutes. That’s not much. And even if it ends up being true, I’ve still got, like, I dunno— at least another ten good writing years in me to bring that man back to the light. 

. . .

You know what, I am beginning to warm up to this idea. Please. Carry on.

EDIT: Since I’ve originally written this, the new dev blog came out and through that (along with what I’ve heard on site) have made me a lot less anxious about Crane having gone the way of the Complete Grouch. And just as I’ve been getting ideas.

ANYWAY

Our scientist friend got punched out, though not before he’s given us intel in how there’s a Freak here—the thing that just escaped, I presume, I was too busy collecting all the marbles I kept dropping whenever Crane opened his damn mouth to be sure—and how we can lure it.

Next stop(s): get freaky science gas, hop into a truck, drive freaky science gas around the countryside, and then jam it into a freaky science apparatus! 

(I have theories.)

But wait! Ambush! By more of the Baron’s men, no less. They, much like any other good collection of henchmen, have not learned from their rag-dolling buddies’s endless corpses and continue to think attacking Crane is a Good Idea.

Ah, well.

Then, finally, boss time! A Behemoth enters the arena (which is a junk yard, by the way) and it’s bringing with it a certain 10/10 Demolisher vibe paired with more freaky science. Someone’s obviously been tinkering on this gentle-boulder, leaving it with tubes attached to its body that give it this wonderful bioengineered look I’m so endlessly fond of. 

We fight!

It’s not going so well. 

Now I’m suspecting we’re seeing a method on how to build Crane’s fury up enough to unle— 

No. I am not writing that. You can’t make me. You cannot make me say the line, I refuse. I’ll just use increasingly silly alternatives, how’s that?

We get run over one too many times and Crane finally pops the lid off his fury. This applies the same orange filter as the one we got whenever Aiden redlined his biomarker (during a scripted sequence) and allows Crane to literally pick up a concrete barrier and lob it at the Behemoth. 

(You know, I bet that feels really good; delicious payback after getting car after car after car and fridge after fridge after fridge thrown at him before.)

Then he goes toe to toe with it, only to wrap up the fight by pulling the Behemoth’s head off its shoulders. Not cleanly, I’d like to add.

Soooo— what? We’ll be building fury in a number of different ways, then get unhinged and unlock the opportunity to finish with a flair? Cool cool. I’m in. Or so I’m thinking this’ll go. I genuinely do not know the ins and outs. 

What I do know though is that I lost all my remaining marbles after the fight. The camera fucking zooms out and I get to see the whole Crane. And, look, you can’t expect me to go to this event and be perfectly reasonable about this; about seeing this man I’ve dedicated nearly a decade to and remain normal. If you do, why are you even reading this. HAVE YOU MET ME?!

I have no clue if this means we’ll get third-person cutscenes or if this is a cinematic choice done solely for the demo, but a Taff may dream. Right?

The cutscene ends with Crane extracting something from the Freak into a jet injector. 

(Again, I have theories. Fury Power Progression? Fury Power Suppression?)

But anyway. Third-Person Cutscene. Taff is on the floor (not literally, but metaphysically) and the lights come on again and I SWEAR TO GOD, I will play this game at day one come hell and high water, and I am so, so, so unbelievably grateful to every single person ever involved in creating this franchise because you’re all a bunch of heroes to me.

:exhales:

Thanks for reading.

EDIT: I forgot to mention the weather. How did I manage to forget to mention the weather. We got so sopping wet in the rain. It reminded me of the heavy rainfall out in the countryside which I missed so terribly. Cannot wait to see how they've improved the weather system in this one.

From The Following:

[tinyfishtits]

Ooh, an opportunity for more Micah-fic! Might I request a bit of TLC for our favorite roguish rat? (Maybe he's been roughed up a bit, or is feeling a little under the weather but doesn't want to let anyone know.)

Love your work!

YES OF COURSE you can request my literal favorite genre of Micah fic Zana, you beautiful human you. 

I got a little carried away with this one, I hope you like it !! I loved writing it 🥹❣️

TW: Graphic depictions of blood/gore/wound mending

I pushed the stew around my bowl as Mary Beth went on about the new book she was reading, though I heard none of it. Micah had been gone from camp for four days and nobody could even tell me why he’d left in the first place. Some bullshit lead on a job he thought he could tackle on his own no doubt, the cocky bastard. Nobody even noticed he was gone until I brought it up. 

“That explains why it's been so damn pleasant around here lately.” Arthur had said when I asked him about it. I knew what they all thought of him, hell my opinion wasn’t much different… Maybe I'd deluded myself into thinking we’d become friends over the past few months, that him talking to me was anything more than just tolerating my company. 

I’d be lying though, if I said I didn’t care. We’d come to spend most nights together since his return from Strawberry, tipsy and tired by the fire. I looked forward to it. Micah often talked about his father, of his adolescence spent robbing and killing out west. He was an entertaining storyteller to say the least, emphasizing every word with big, grandiose hand movements and even getting up to act certain things out. 

Occasionally I’d talk about my life before the gang as well. Though my stories weren’t nearly as colorful, he always listened. Indulging me with questions about my family, the hobbies I once had that there was no longer time or resources for. He’d folded over with laughter when I told him I used to love needlepoint. Saying, “By the looks of your mending, sweetheart, I’d wager that was time wasted!”

The last time I saw him we had barely talked at all. I’d been uncharacteristically exhausted after spending the day helping Pearson when Sadie refused to. And ended up drifting off against the log he sat upon, cleaning his gun. Though I’d woken sometime later to him having moved to the ground beside me, my head on his shoulder as he carved aimlessly at a scrap of wood. When I woke again in the morning, he was gone. 

“Isn’t that just so romantic?” Mary Beth crooned, her attention on me. 

“Sorry, what?” I asked, pushing my stew away. My stomach was too knotted up to eat, I knew I was probably being stupid and irrational, if Micah were here to see how I was acting he would say as much. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

Mary Beth looked me over more closely, “Are you alright? You look…”

“Fine. I- I’m fine, Mary Beth. I’m gonna go on a walk, don’t wait up okay?” I said, rising from the table.

“Oh, Okay!” She called out to me as I walked toward the path out of camp. It was probably a stupid idea. No, it definitely was. Walking around at sunset, alone, without a single weapon on me… I just needed to move, to feel like I was doing something other than waiting. A pathetic part of me hoped I would find him out here somehow, just stumble upon him trotting back toward camp completely fine.

I walked along the cliff edge toward Caliban’s Seat, making it halfway before dusk was upon me. Reluctantly, I turned back for camp, not at all looking forward to the restless night that awaited me there. That was when I spotted him.

“Baylock?” I called out to the black horse who was galloping up the hillside, his saddle empty. My stomach dropped at the sight. Even in the darkness, I knew it was him. He whinnied and reared up on his back legs as I neared. “Shh boy, you’re okay.” I hushed, holding a hand out to the wild eyed horse. He huffed and snorted at my hand, but let me approach. Giving him some comforting pats I looked around for any sign of him being robbed, a struggle, blood, anything to give a reason as to why he was alone. But there was nothing. He had just… run off. 

“Where’s Micah?” I whispered to the horse. He had to be close, surely. With Baylock calmed, at least enough to mount, I jumped on the saddle and led him back down the hill where he’d come. 

The full moon rising in the sky aided in my search, illuminating the surrounding forest enough that I wasn’t completely blind. Though Baylock did most of the navigating for me. He brought me through the section of forest that had been badly burned in an old brush fire, the ground still black, no life having braved the area just yet. I’d noticed it on our journey in from Colter. He was taking me to the base of Caliban’s Seat.

“Micah?” I called out to the darkness. Baylock whinnied in response, stomping his feet as we came to the tree line. He refused to go any further. “Micah?” I called again, and this time I got a faint groan in response. Jumping from the saddle I ran toward the sound some fifty yards ahead in the clearing. 

“ FUCK!” I yelled, jumping back and falling on my ass, the bright yellow eyes of a cougar staring back at me through the tall grass. It took a moment to catch my breath and realize the beast was dead. Though its eyes still shone ominously in the darkness. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Micah moaned. I jumped again, not having noticed him so close. He sat on the ground beside me, his back against a tree. He seemed… fine. 

“What… Happened?” I finally managed to say. 

“It got me. I got it.” He said simply, gesturing to the cougar with a lazy wave of the revolver still clutched in his hand.

Getting up from the dirt I crawled the few feet over to where he sat, my hands hovering over him hesitantly as I tried to pinpoint where exactly it had got him. Sensing the silent question he turned his back to me with a pained groan. I gasped. 

His shirt was hanging on by threads. Three deep claw marks had torn through it from the shoulder all the way down to the hem of his pants. Blood oozed from the slashes, tar black in the darkness. 

“ Shit.” I whispered, “You need a doctor. We need to get you back to camp!” 

“No” He groaned. 

“But… Micah you can't see it, its-” 

“ No.” He said firmly, leaning back against the tree with a wince. “I’ve got supplies in the saddlebags, enough to make camp here and patch up.”

I just stared at him, speechless at his nonchalance toward the whole thing. Fully expecting me to just go along with his plan, he started unbuttoning his shirt. 

“What are you doing?” I asked. 

“ You are going to stitch me up, sweetheart.” 

“No…” Sickness twisted in my stomach at the prospect, “ No! Micah… I- I can’t.” 

The bastard didn’t listen. He just kept working to undo his shirt as I sat there completely frozen at his side. Leaning heavily on the tree for stability, he rose to his feet and whistled for Baylock. The horse came obediently to him, nuzzling his nose into Micah’s neck with a huff. 

“Hey boy…” Micah whispered to him, stretching with a groan to pull a peach from the saddle bag, “Sorry about that…” Lovingly stroking the horse's nose, Micah sighed, resting his forehead against the animal. I’d never seen Baylock calmer in my life. 

Rifling through the saddlebags I found some half drunken tonics, a bottle of whiskey and a crude wound dressing kit with - much to my horror - a needle and thread. I knew it had to be done… If not sewn up by me tonight, the cuts would almost certainly fester into something much worse by morning. My many failed attempts at cross stitching and cloth mending flashed behind my eyes, the nausea growing as I pictured my messy, uneven stitches threading through skin.   

I took a swig of the whiskey before handing it over to Micah, who raised a brow at me. “You’re gonna need it…” I said, my voice shakily betraying the anxiety coursing through me. He chugged a good quarter of the bottle before chucking it aside. 

“And this.” I held out a tonic for him, hoping if all else failed, it might keep infection at bay at the very least. He chugged that too, his eyelids heavy when he met my gaze again. “Just sit down, I’ll start a fire… Are you hungry?” I about gagged just saying the word. The thought of eating churning my stomach even more. 

I don't know if it was my own reaction or if he too was an anxious wreck at the prospect of me stitching him up, but he mercifully declined the offer of food. I made quick work of a fire, setting our camp up a ways away from the wild cat corpse that was already starting to attract flies. 

Micah sat beside the fire, his shirt now fully discarded. The image of him lit by the warm, flickering firelight sent a strange sense of calm through me, as if this was just any other night. A sparkling sheen of sweat already coated his torso. He glanced sidelong at me and I averted my gaze... hoping my lingering stare could be attributed to his wound and not his half naked form. Blush burning at my cheeks I asked, "How did it happen?" 

"Wrong place..." He grunted, running a hand through his hair. "Wrong time." 

Whiskey in hand, I kneeled at his back. "I didn't think cougars even came this far east..." I said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder I guided him to turn so his back was to the fire, he did so with another pained groan that made my heart ache. It was about to get so much worse, I was about to make it so much worse. 

"They don't." He grumbled, snatching the whiskey from my hand for one last sip before returning it to my grasp. 

“This is gonna hurt…” I warned. He and I both took a deep breath and when he exhaled I poured the alcohol over his wound. His breathing halted as he held back a cry of pain, only deep growling groans escaping him as his breath came back in stuttering bursts before calming once more. 

“Sorry…” I whispered, finally exhaling my own breath. 

“Don’t start that…” He said, a bit breathless. Reaching a hand back to me he squeezed my knee in a small but comforting gesture. “I don't need you apologizing every time you stick me with a needle neither, doll.”

Grabbing the whiskey bottle, he took another generous chug. “Okay… Do it.” He sighed. 

Opening the little tin of needle and thread… I hesitated. The needle was so small. Stitching up the wounds would take an hour, probably more. Dousing my hands with alcohol I reached out to touch the edge of one of the slashes, testing the sensitivity. He inhaled sharply at the gentle touch. Seemingly sensing his pain, Baylock huffed and lowered himself to the ground beside us, his large black head resting on Micahs lap. 

“Micah…” I whispered. I didn’t know if I could stomach the pain I would be putting him through. He didn’t say anything, but squeezed my knee once more. Gently moving his long hair over his shoulder and out of the way, I brought the needle to the largest slash and with a deep breath, inserted it into the skin. 

He didn’t flinch or cry out in pain, only tightening his grip on my knee as I drove the needle through the fatty skin visible in the crevice of the wound. In, through, in and out again. Were the only thoughts in my head as I concentrated, tying each suture closed with several knots before moving on to the next. 

Once I got into the rhythm of it my anxiety eased, the nausea in my stomach subsiding along with it. The gore of his back becoming just another piece of ripped fabric that needed mending. It helped that Micah stayed impressively still during the whole process, only occasionally wincing when my needle drifted too deep into the wound.

When I finished the first of three slashes I turned to look him over. His face had gone pale and his eyes clamped shut. He never did release his grip on my leg. 

“Two more cuts to go…” I said, mostly to myself but Micah’s head perked up, a small groan escaping his lips. I had no idea how much time had passed from when I’d started stitching, but the moon was high overhead by the time I finished. It must have been at least two in the morning. 

Knotting off the last stitch I sat back, looking over my work. It wasn’t pretty by any means, the slashes red and jagged. But it was done. 

“Well, you’ll have an impressive scar at least.” I said, pouring the last of the whiskey over my work for good measure. He didn’t even flinch this time, his back probably so numb with pain already from the hours of tedious work it barely registered anymore. 

“Micah?” I whispered, his hand tightened on my knee in response but he made no sound. Leaning into his shoulder, I pressed a gentle kiss to the unmarred skin there. A low moan escaped him. 

“What was that for?” He mumbled.

“A kiss to make it better…” I whispered against his skin, peppering two more kisses up his shoulder, one for each wound. “Mmm…” He hummed, his hand slowly snaking up my thigh. The contact shot electricity into my core, the pit of my stomach churning with a kind of anxious anticipation. I took his wandering hand in mine and kissed that too. 

“Are you hungry?” I asked in an attempt to change the subject. Leaning in to meet his gaze, his pupils were blown wide, his eyes almost completely black as he looked at me. A smile spread over his lips. 

“That a trick question?” He slurred, wrapping an arm around my waist. He practically fell into me, his hot, whiskey tinged breath on my neck as he pulled me in closer.

“You're drunk.” I said matter-of-factly, but made no effort to push him away. I didn’t want him drunkenly falling back on his fresh stitches, but mostly I just… didn’t want him to let go.  

“Mmhmm...” He hummed, “And hungry.” his lips just barely grazed my skin as he spoke. 

His flirty retort was an empty threat. Slowly, his body relaxed into mine, going heavier and heavier until he was completely slack in my arms. With a sigh, I sat back, carefully resting against Baylock who had stayed loyally by Micah’s side through the entire ordeal. 

Micah’s face nuzzled sleepily into the crook of my neck, his arms wrapped around my waist as snuggled into me like I was his own personal pillow. He was completely splayed out on top of me, effectively pinning me in place between him and the horse. Unable and unwilling to move, I just held him against me, a hand softly stroking at his hair while the other traced lazily at the unwounded skin of his bare back. 

He let out a long, content sigh and mumbled something into my neck. 

“What?” I whispered. He turned his head away from my skin just enough to speak more clearly. 

“I’m glad it was you.” He said, his strong hands pressing into my back as he spoke, as if he was making sure I was real, that I was there with him. “That you were the one… that you found me.” His voice trailed off sleepily.

Something about his admission brought a wetness to my eyes that threatened to break through my resolve. I hadn’t truly allowed myself to absorb the scene I’d stumbled upon tonight. How much worse it could have been… Holding him closer I breathed, “ Me too…” my voice barely even a whisper. 

Exhaustion soon came to consume us both. With a final soft kiss to his temple, all three of us drifted off to sleep under the stars. 

If you liked this, check out my other Micah works!

★ My Masterlist ★

[ophanum]

Can you do a crossover between JJKXLookism? Where after the battle with Sukuna, Gojo dies(still hoping he comes back and I'm so sad at the latest update of JJK) and transmigrated to the popular webtoon Lookism. Gojo is shock at his new appearance (still the same face, hair and eyes) he became a female. At first, he curse his predicament but then learns to roll with it. He figures that maybe changing the tragic lives of the characters will make him comeback to his real world. Gojo applies as a teacher in J-High where he rolls with the chaos and takes advantage of his new appearance. Gojo finds it amusing and loves to tease his new students with his female version. Surprisingly, Gojo retains the six eyes although not as draining as before and he has no CE it's just that he can just see really well than normal people. Everyone is surprised to see Gojo's strength not only he is fast but also a great martial artist which he likes to humble brag especially against the villains (he fought curse users and special grade curses all his life, this world is a cake walk to him) as well as trolling them. Eventually, Gojo regrets it as he gain stalkers along the way (Gun, GooSamuel, etc). Even after brutally rejecting them and listing a lot of excuses (like telling them that he is older than them, likes girls, they're too weak etc.cause he is still a guy at heart) they won't stop and will use Gojo's love for sweets to blackmail him for a date. Gojo will snap once his students gets into dangerous situations (flashbacks to when he got sealed and a lot of important people in his life died) and will absolutely go berserk. Female Gojo is friends with the 1st Gen Kings (he is the same age as them when he transmigrated so he became a bit younger) especially Kwak Jin Chang (he looks like Nanami even the cheekbones) and treats him the same way as Nanami

' I'M SO BORED ! - JJK & Lookism crossover

ft. Fem! Reincarnated! Gojo x Various Lookism

Synopsis: After the fight with Sukuna, Gojo was reincarnated to Lookism and became a teacher there. As a teacher himself back then, he began to care for his students like Daniel and automatically landed him in the spotlight of the Lookism universe. Could he still awaken his six eyes?

Tags & TW/CW: Lookism-typical violence, stalking, death, spoilers, crack.

﹙pt. 2﹚

❝Some sick hallucination is telling me go overboard.❞ — I'm so bored by Sarah and the Sundays

Wow. Just wow.

Gojo couldn't help but be surprised. Seriously though, what's going on here?

There's no way this is real. He's never met a deity, and frankly, the whole thing seems messed up. Why is he in a woman's body? At least he looks good, gotta give credit where it's due. He's basically a walking advertisement for good genes.

But most importantly, he's just... normal now. No curses, no cursed energy. He remembers his skills, but can he use them here? He'll find a way.

First priority: checking his surroundings. This place is a lot less luxurious than his usual digs, but hey, at least the girl (whoever she is) has a wallet. Even though Gojo thinks that he is really the owner because of the uncanny similiarities to his old self, he can't be too sure. Memory wipe seems to be prominent. No trace of the original owner anywhere, which explains the amnesia of memories. This body truly feels like his own, down to the familiar face staring back in the mirror. Gojo can't ignore this situation. Fake memories or not, a Jujutsu Sorcerer never lets his guard down.

With no cursed threats to fight for now, Gojo takes a practical approach. Gotta pay the bills somehow, right? Besides, that shampoo situation is a disaster. This body needs some serious TLC.

Stepping outside, Gojo's jaw dropped. Korea? A frustrated sigh escaped his lips. "Seriously, what is this?"

Walking down the unfamiliar streets, he had to adjust his thinking. He was in a woman's body now, so using she/her pronouns was crucial. His feet led him to a bustling playground, filled with the laughter of children. The scene felt strangely real, not some twisted illusion. Perhaps, in a way, it was...peaceful.

He missed Yuji and everyone back home. He'd poured his heart into training them, giving them the strength to fight. A pang of longing hit him, but a determined glint entered his eyes. They would have to wait for his return. After all, he wouldn't give up so easily.

At the end of the day, his search for work led him to a job posting at J High. Teaching was ingrained in him, so it felt like a natural fit. Getting the job was a surprise, but the school itself was even more unexpected.

The students here were...spirited, to say the least. Fights were a frequent occurrence. However, the school also embraced individuality. Departments like fashion allowed students to break the mold and express themselves freely through clothing. Gojo, who always appreciated a good rule-breaker, couldn't help but admire their approach.

Despite being in a female body, Gojo managed to convince the school she was Japanese, reasoning her way through the situation. Daniel and his classmates were surprised by a mid-semester transfer, especially when they heard it was a woman. The buzz spread quickly went viral around the school – a new female teacher was joining them!

When she entered the classroom, all eyes were on her. Her snow-white hair was pulled back in a high ponytail, and thick, round sunglasses concealed her eyes. A glimpse of piercing blue peeked through, a stark contrast to her soft expression and delicate features. Male students fumbled for their seats, faces flushed with a mix of awe and shyness. Female students watched with a mix of envy and admiration.

Until Gojo spoke.

"Welcome to J High, class! Buckle up because you're about to learn from the most awesome, most beautiful teacher ever… ME, Gojo Satoru! Get ready for an unforgettable experience!"

The students were stunned. Who was this vibrant woman? Some of the boys seemed excited by her bold statement, but confusion settled in. A mid-semester change was disruptive enough, but what was with the infectious energy?

One thing was undeniable: Gojo was stunning. Her beauty was unmatched, surpassing even the school's resident "goddess," Crystal.

"And guess what? You're about to have the coolest, most fabulous teacher ever walk through these doors... that's right, it's me again!"

And then she walked through those doors again quite quickly if Zack were to say something about it. Did you know the way Gojo looked when he realized Megumi just looked like Toji? Yeah, Zack was having that look right now.

Who was this odd professor that suddenly was brought up?

Gojo's curriculum remained a mystery. She hadn't mentioned a subject yet, but she did dedicate a significant amount of time to...well, not exactly lesson plans. Unlike most teachers, Gojo had an aversion to written materials. Instead, her classes focused entirely on performance tasks.

Students like Zack thrived in this environment. He secretly considered Gojo his favorite teacher already. The hands-on approach was engaging, and Zack felt a growing sense of gratitude towards her.

Then, on the third day, a glimmer of clarity emerged. Gojo's class revolved around physical fitness, though she never actually uttered the term. It was simply "Gojo's way" of teaching. For Daniel and his classmates, it was a refreshing change from the traditional methods they were accustomed to.

Gojo praised students who excelled and offered personalized feedback for improvement. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and the students responded well to the energetic and engaging classes.

"Best fucking teacher ever." Zack grins.

Mira quipps. "Is he though?"

Mira and Zack exchanged a glance. Their new teacher, Gojo, had a…unique way of teaching. She was currently mid-exercise with a student (Jay, to be specific) and had paused to deliver a passionate speech about, well, herself. Dramatic poses and hair flips punctuated her enthusiastic monologue.

Both sweatdropped. Yeah, Gojo was definitely unconventional.

Jay, the unfortunate target of her praise, stood patiently as Gojo extolled her own beauty. Thankfully, the speech hadn't completely derailed the lesson. Just before, Gojo had commended Jay's speed and technique, offering valuable feedback before getting sidetracked. "You're giving it your all, but that fire's starting to flicker! Remember, endurance is all about consistency. It's like a marathon, not a sprint. Gotta pace yourself, beautiful!"

Jay cracked a shy smile, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

Zack watched the exchange between Jay and Gojo, a sour taste creeping into his mouth. Gojo's hand lingered a beat too long on Jay's shoulder, her praise dripping with a sugary sweetness that made Zack clench his fists.

Crystal, observing from the back of the room, couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at Gojo's flamboyant teaching style. This new teacher was undeniably unconventional, with her dramatic poses and energetic lectures. Yet, beneath the theatricality, Crystal sensed a surprising competence. Gojo's demonstrations were swift and precise, showcasing an impressive level of physical skill.

It was a stark contrast to the more traditional methods employed by Gun. Crystal wasn't sure what Gojo's background was, but it was clear she possessed a unique approach that somehow managed to be effective.

That's because she fought battles with non-human creatures.

Crystal couldn't resist investigating the commotion. Curiosity gnawed at her, a feeling all too familiar to humans. She buzzed Gun, hoping he could shed some light on the situation.

"Is something wrong, Crystal?" Gun answered.

"Hey Gun, sorry to bother you during work, but it's about the new teacher."

"Teacher?" Gun raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, she just seems...off. Odd way of acting, super strong, and way too good-looking to be real." Crystal joked at the end.

Crystal launched into a detailed description. The teacher had waist-length snow-white hair and piercing blue eyes hidden behind thick sunglasses. On top of that, she was incredibly tall and flawless, like a living statue. It was unsettling.

"I'll check it out when I get a chance," Gun promised.

Meanwhile, Vasco watched the chaos unfold below. Students were grumbling openly, their respect seemingly nonexistent towards their teacher who was behaving childishly.

Jace strained for a glimpse of the new teacher, but the window was two far as he wasn't on a window seat. Unlike Jace, Vasco found himself impressed. After all, who wouldn't be when witnessing her teach students to defend themselves?

The bell announcing the end of class finally pierced the air. Jace and Vasco immediately made their way towards the teacher.

Jace let out a low whistle. "We'll be lucky to learn anything from her with all this chaos."

"Lucky? I'd say incredibly fortunate," Vasco countered, eager to meet her.

"Fortunate, huh?" Jace muttered, and they headed towards the cafeteria.

The new teacher, Gojo, had clearly captured everyone's attention. Even Zoe couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. Gojo's seemingly flawless appearance, aside from her personality, was undeniable. Zoe's lips formed a pout every time Gojo slung her arm around Daniel, leaving the poor boy flustered and stammering in response.

Vin Jin, on the other hand, seemed unaffected by the professorial boundaries. He wasted no time turning on the charm, much to the amusement (or perhaps annoyance) of those around him.

"So, strong glasses huh? Keeping all the secrets for yourself?"

"Secrets are what make things interesting, don't you think? Besides, these eyes can see more than you bargain for." Gojo would just leans closer with a smirk.

Daniel's knuckles strained white as his grip tightened on the aluminum can. Metal groaned in protest, warping under the pressure until the sides began to buckle. A low hiss escaped him, more through gritted teeth than his lips. This wasn't about his usual frustration with bullies or unwanted attention. Envy, raw and unwelcome, twisted his gut.

Vin Jin's grin stretched from ear to ear, practically walking on air after his instant rapport with the new teacher, Gojo. Unfortunately, their conversation was cut short as Gojo disappeared from the scene before he could even blink. Left hanging, Vin Jin found himself empty-handed.

Meanwhile, Gun had arrived at J High, eager to investigate Crystal's concerns about the new teacher. Unfortunately, his mission was complicated by Goo's unexpected presence. Goo, ever the pest, tagged along, lollipop in hand. And as if the situation wasn't bothersome enough, Goo seemed to find amusement in poking Gun's cheeks with the sticky candy, a habit Gun found utterly revolting.

"Stalking for the boss are sooo last season. Don't you ever get tired of being such a stick in the mud? Lighten up a little!"

"Lighten up? I'm dealing with things that could get me killed by the chairman, Goo. Not a fashion show."

"Speaking of fashion, have you seen the new line of those fluffy panda plushies?"

"Here we go again... And--would you stop that poking? Do it another fucking second and I will punt you to the ground."

"Fine, fine. But hey, how about a little reward after we're done? My treat - taiyaki on me! My treat if you can guess the filling this time."

A welcome distraction from Goo's antics emerged in the form of a commotion erupting within J High. Gun and Goo followed Crystal, their gazes drawn to a fight unfolding in the central.

There, amidst the chaos, stood Gojo, the enigmatic new teacher Crystal had mentioned. She wasn't even fighting.

For Gun, witnessing Gojo firsthand was a sensory overload. Every detail, from the way her snow-white hair flowed with her movements to the glint of defiance in her diamond-bright eyes and the smirk permanently etched on her face, surpassed Crystal's description.

Across from him, Goo mirrored Gun's stunned expression. Glasses slid down to the tip of his nose, his mouth agape in disbelief, he watched Gojo's fluid movements with wide eyes. The fight had escalated – Gojo was facing off against Logan Lee.

"You'll regret fighting with me!"

"Wow, impressive coordination. Maybe you should take up interpretive dance instead of being a total jackass to my student."

Daniel scanned the scene, his heart pounding. No other teachers were in sight, not a single one within range to intervene in the escalating fight. The situation was bizarre – a college student, Logan Lee, facing off against a seemingly outmatched professor, Gojo, the woman Crystal had described as "strong."

But strength wasn't the only thing that captivated Gun and Goo's attention. Gojo's fighting style was unlike anything they'd ever witnessed. It was a dance of fluidity, a mesmerizing blend of lightning and water. Her movements were swift and effortless, devoid of any wasted energy or muscle tension. It was a spectacle both beautiful and deadly.

"What the...? I... I'll crush you!"

"This is getting tedious. You're about as effective as a wet noodle against a wall. How about you take a nap and we can try this again when you've woken up from your little tantrum?"

Logan, his attacks becoming increasingly desperate, flailed wildly for a few final moments before crumpling to the ground with a pained groan. Gojo, with a sigh that spoke volumes of her boredom, dusted herself off with a theatrical flourish, her movements emphasizing the gulf in skill between them.

Reflexes and speed are unmatched. Focus on how she reacts with lightning-fast movements, dodging or deflecting attacks with minimal effort. She doesn't waste energy on overwhelming force, but uses calculated strikes to dismantle her opponent's attacks. Gun thought.

"Well, that was a disappointment. Back to paperwork, I suppose. Anyone up for taiyaki later? My treat, for surviving that ordeal."

And she brushes it off as if it did some number on her. Even students like daniel, Zack, Vasco, Jay and Eli Jang knew it, not just Gun and Goo.

Goo, ever the unpredictable one, shot his hand up in the air. A wave of confusion rippled through the crowd. Was this some bizarre J High initiation ritual they hadn't heard of?

This is only the beginning...

2.2K words

[ultrone]

what music do you think Jackie would listen to…?

very random playlist i know lmaooo i hope it’s at least a bit accurate. i tried to stick to before the 2000s as much as i could 🫡

Gwen Stefani/No Doubt for sure. I feel like she’d specifically love “Cool” by Gwen

I Touch Myself by Divinyls

Crush by Jennifer Paige

Fastlove, Pt. 1 by George Michael

The Cranberries (influenced by Shauna 🤔)

The King of Wishful Thinking by Go West (she got obsessed with it after watching Pretty Woman)

Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer

Back For Good by Take That

Some songs by Fleetwood Mac & Stevie Nicks, like Sable on Blond, I Don't Want to Know, Edge of Seventeen, Only over You…

Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God) by Kate Bush

Last Goodbye by Jeff Buckley

Madonna

Waterfalls by TLC

Right Here - Human Nature Radio Mix by SWV

Living On My Own - No More Brothers Radio Mix by Freddie Mercury

I feel like she’d also be lowkey into Country 😭

Shania Twain

Achy Breaky Heart by Billy Ray Cyrus

Jolene by Dolly Parton

Amber by 311

Baby, I Love Your Way by Big Mountain

Angel by Shaggy, Rayvon

The Sign by Ace of Base (medicated Lottie got her into it)

Had a hanson phase lmaoooo 🧐

Torn by Natalie Imbruglia

Bitch by Meredith Brooks (she’d sing/yell this one in Shauna’s car)

I Try by Macy Gray

Girlfriend in a Coma by The Smiths

Alanis Morissette

There She Goes by The La’s

Two Princes by Spin Doctors

You Get What You Give by New Radicals

Fast Car by Tracy Chapman (I feel like Shauna would overplay it while driving)

Be My Baby by The Ronettes

Duran Duran

Bon Jovi

Fantasy by Mariah Carey

Genie in a Bottle by Christina Aguilera

Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus

Livin' la Vida Loca by Ricky Martin

Savage Garden

Uptown Girl by Westlife

Come On Eileen by Dexys Midnight Runners

Summer Of ‘69 by Bryan Adams

The Power Of Love by Frankie Goes To Hollywood

Hero by Enrique Iglesias

Whitney Houston’s top hits

Let’s Hear It for the Boy by Deniece Williams

Some Aerosmith songs, like Crazy & I Don’t Want To Miss A Thing

The Shoop Shoop Song (It’s In His Kiss) & One by One by Cher

I Love You Always Forever by Donna Lewis

Black or White by Michael Jackson

Accidentally in Love by Counting Crows (from the Shrek 2 soundtrack 😭)

Alone & These Dreams by Heart

I Think We’re Alone Now by Tiffany

More Than a Feeling by Boston

What’s Love Got to Do with It by Tina Turner

Close to Me by The Cure

Blue (Da Ba Dee) by Eiffel 65 ☠️

Endless Love by Luther Vandross, Mariah Carey

Be My Baby & Divine idylle by Vanessa Paradis

Smile by Lily Allen

I’m Gonna Miss You by Milli Vanilli

Conga by Gloria Estefan 🤣

New Kids On The Block

Don’t You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds

Queen

Hey Ya! by Outkast

Dreaming Of You by Selena

extra… songs she’d listen to if she spoke spanish or was latina cuz i’m mexican and i’ve been thinkin abt this 🙂‍↕️

Tu Dama De Hierro by Marisela

Belanova, especially Rosa Pastel, Me Pregunto, and Cada que…

Formas de Amor by Calo

Mi Media Naranja by Fey

Bazar & No Controles by Flans

Gracias A Dios by Thalia

La Ventanita by Garibaldi

Ahora Te Puedes Marchar by Luis Miguel

Cuando Calienta El Sol by Luis Miguel

Mírala, Míralo by Alejandra Guzman

Virgen de las Vírgenes by Gloria Trevi

Ni Una Sola Palabra by Paulina Rubio

No Puedo Olvidarme Ti by MDO

La Calle de las Sirenas by Kabah

Enamoradísimo by Mercurio

Veneno by Ragazzi

Dile Que la Amo by Kairo

Hombres G

Oye Mi Amor by Maná

Rica y Apretadita (feat. Anayka) by El General

Moriré by La Factoria

Enloquéceme & Shabadabada by OV7

Timbiriche

Amante Bandido by Miguel Bosé

Alejandro Sanz