#because as much as I understand that and feel the same way

[mercvry-glow]

staying is harder than leaving

parings. jack abbot x reader

summary. you'll never understand what brings you back to jack abbot, all you know is that you want to stay.

warnings. age gap (jake late 40s reader early 30s), bitter sweet, reader and jack are really bad at feelings, mention/illusions of sex, mentions of smoking and cigarettes, overall just a bit angsty with a soft fulfilling ending, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I'm so sorry this was all I could get out, but I'm pretty happy with it. I'm like the danny mcbride of angst, everything has closure in one way or another and it's always a good feeling at the end. as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 3200+

You didn’t know how you got here.

Lying in the bed of a man you had no business being with. Not really. Not ever.

Jack Abbot wasn’t the kind of man people fell into by accident—he was deliberate, sharp-edged, the type you saw coming and still couldn’t avoid. Older. Hardened by the Army and the ER and everything they took from him. Gruff in the way only someone who’s cared too much and been burned for it could be.

And your boss.

He was supposed to be off-limits. But lines blurred late at night—between empty hospital corridors and frantic hands, between the quiet moments when he looked at you like you were the only thing holding him together.

Maybe it was the sex. Maybe it was the way he let his guard down in fragments only you got to see. Maybe it was the ache in your chest that whispered this was more than just bodies colliding.

But whatever it was, it was getting harder to breathe in his space without losing a part of yourself.

The room was dark, swallowed whole by the blackout curtains. Still, you could feel the hour—it was too early for anything but regret.

Jack was asleep, sprawled on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the blanket barely covering his hips. His back was turned to you, freckled and scarred, every mark a map of a life lived hard.

You’d spent too many nights like this. Drawing constellations across his skin with your fingers, trying to make sense of something that never really did. Pretending he was yours. Pretending you weren’t drowning in the quiet.

But now, with your heart thudding too loud in your ears and the stillness pressing in, reality came creeping.

Your skin prickled with the kind of unease that settled deep—shame curling tight in your throat, dread rising like smoke.

You didn’t belong here. Not in his bed. Not in his life.

And deep down, you knew—he was never going to stop you from leaving. Not because he didn’t care.

But because he didn’t know how to ask you to stay.

It was overwhelming how much you felt for him. How much more you wanted to feel. And the worst part was having nowhere productive to put it.

You were just as much a workaholic as he was—another lifer in the ER, made of pure grit and sleepless nights, proud of the scars you earned under fluorescent lights.

The golden R4 of night shift. Jack’s prodigy, the way Frank had been Robby’s. People used to joke that you were cut from the same cloth as Jack—sarcastic, unflinching, impossible to impress. You’d hated how right they were.

Because somewhere along the way, he stopped being just your mentor.

 And you stopped pretending you didn’t want more.

What you had wasn’t exactly a secret, but it sure as hell wasn’t something, either. At least, not in the daylight.

You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t his anything, besides a damn good doctor. Just someone who knew what to say when he couldn’t talk. Someone who understood the blood-soaked language of trauma. Someone who stayed long after her shift ended because she didn’t want to go home alone.

And it was killing you.

Piece by piece.

Because in the quiet moments like this—before the rest of the world stirred, before the next shift started—you wanted to reach for him. Say something stupid like Don’t let me leave again… Or I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t love you.

But you couldn’t. Because you already knew how Jack operated.

He let you in just far enough and then he shut the door, quiet and clean. Like it had never opened in the first place.

Your eyes burned, your chest heavy with unsaid things.

The same weight it always carried. 

You shifted under the covers, moving slowly, carefully—like if you breathed too loudly, this entire illusion might crack open. Jack didn’t stir. His breathing was steady, slow.

You watched him for a moment longer, memorizing the way his jaw slackened in sleep, the faint scar above his left shoulder blade you never had the nerve to ask about.

He looked peaceful like this. Human.

And that only made it harder.

You slipped out of bed as quietly as you could, bare feet hitting the cold floor, limbs stiff and aching. Every inch of your body protested—tired, sore, reluctant to leave him. 

But your heart was louder.

You bent to collect your clothes off the floor, holding your breath, hoping he wouldn’t wake up. Because if he did—if he so much as whispered your name—

You didn’t trust yourself not to stay.

All you slipped on was a loose t-shirt—his, you realized halfway through pulling it over your head. It hung off one shoulder, collar stretched from too many late nights and maybe a few desperate hands.

You didn’t have it in you to put on the rest.

Just the pair of panties you’d had on hours ago, still faintly wrinkled from where they’d been discarded in the dark.

You needed a cigarette. God, you needed a cigarette.

You weren’t even a regular smoker, not really. But nights like this—mornings like this—you craved one. Not for the nicotine. For the ritual. For something slow and quiet and burning between your fingers to focus on instead of the way your chest felt like it was caving in.

You padded out of the room silently, careful not to step on the floorboard near the dresser that always creaked. The hallway was cold. Sparse. A stark contrast to the warmth of the bed you just left.

Jack’s apartment was neat, lived-in but impersonal. A few books shoved onto the built-in shelf. Stacks of old med journals. A photo of him and Michael on some fishing trip ages ago, both of them sunburnt and squinting and younger than you’d ever seen Jack look.

You bypassed the kitchen, went straight for the balcony. Slid the door open just enough to squeeze through.

The city was still asleep. Pittsburgh before sunrise had a strange, almost sacred hush to it—still full of steel and ghosts.

You leaned your elbows on the railing, the hem of Jack’s shirt fluttering around your thighs in the early morning breeze.

You didn’t even have a cigarette. Just the craving.

The silence. The ache.

You let your eyes slip shut for a second, trying to slow your breathing.

Tried not to think about how badly you wanted this to be something it wasn’t. How stupidly, hopelessly in love you might be with him. And how deeply you hated yourself for it.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, bare legs prickling against the morning chill, teeth gently worrying your bottom lip. The city stretched out below—silent, gray, and endless.

It was terrifying how much you wanted him.

Not just his hands, not just the way he whispered your name when he was too tired to keep up the act. You wanted all the messy, sharp-edged parts of him. The things he buried beneath sarcasm and coffee and barking orders in trauma bay one.

You wanted the man who rolled his eyes at residents but stayed a few hours after his harder shifts ended to check on critical but recovering patients. The man who never flinched in chaos but looked like he might unravel every time you brushed your fingers through his curly hair.

And you hated that he had no idea. Or worse—he did, and chose to ignore it.

Because you weren’t asking for everything. You would’ve settled for something.

Something real. Something honest.

Even just a reason to stay.

You let out a shaky breath and rubbed at your arms, suddenly aware of just how little you were wearing—and how much that shirt still smelled like him. Soap and antiseptic. Jack Abbot in every thread.

You were so lost in your head you didn’t hear the door slide open.

“Thought you were gone.”

His voice was low. Rough with sleep. And somehow still managed to scrape down your spine like he meant it to.

You didn’t turn around right away. Just stared out at the skyline, eyes burning. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

Silence stretched for a beat. Two. You could feel him behind you, the weight of his presence like gravity.

“You didn’t.” He sounded closer now. “You cold?”

You shrugged, not trusting your voice.

Jack stepped beside you, his hand brushing your elbow, the warmth of his skin startling after the chill. He didn’t say anything. Just stood there.

Looking at you like he wasn’t sure what you were doing out here. Like maybe he was afraid to ask.

Like maybe he already knew.

And it would’ve been so easy to say nothing. To go back inside. To pretend.

But pretending was starting to feel like slow suffocation.

The silence stretched, long and taut, like the few inches between your bodies were holding back something massive—unspoken, unbearable.

Your arms stayed crossed over your chest, but your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt like it might anchor you. The wind picked up slightly, brushing your hair across your face, but you didn’t move to fix it.

You blinked hard. Once. Twice. But it didn’t stop the way your throat tightened or how your eyes blurred at the edges.

You weren’t even sure why you were crying.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was standing next to someone who could make you feel so much and give you so little in return.

Maybe it was the way he was looking at you now—concern buried beneath the usual guarded expression, like he knew something was wrong and didn’t know how to fix it.

Your chin wobbled, just barely, and you tried to suck in a breath. Swallow it down. Pretend it wasn’t happening. But then your shoulders hitched, and the first quiet sob slipped out before you could stop it.

“Shit,” you muttered, brushing at your face, willing yourself to hold it together. “God, I’m sorry—just—ignore me. It’s fine.”

But Jack didn’t move. Didn’t walk away.

He was still as stone beside you, until he suddenly wasn’t.

You felt it before you saw it—the weight of his arm slipping around your shoulders, pulling you into the warmth of his chest like he didn’t even think about it. Like it was instinct.

You froze at first, breath caught mid-sob, body stiff. But he didn’t let go.

His other hand came up slowly to the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, cradling you gently—like you might shatter if he held you any other way.

“You’re not fine,” he murmured against your temple. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie to me, not here.”

You let yourself fold into him then, tears soaking into his shirt—his damn shirt—your hands fisting into the fabric like it might hold you together.

And for a minute, he just held you.

No tension. No boundaries. No pretending.

Just Jack. Warm and quiet and there.

You didn’t know how long he held you.

Long enough for the sobs to taper off into something softer—just a tremble in your chest, the occasional sniff as your face pressed against his collarbone.

Jack hadn’t said anything else. He didn’t need to. His hands had found their way to your back, slow and steady, like he was grounding you the way you’d done for him more times than you could count.

You were the one who finally pulled back. Not far—just enough to see his face.

The early morning light caught the edge of his jaw, the tired lines under his eyes, the hint of wariness there. Always. You could practically hear his thoughts spinning—calculating, retreating.

You could see him closing the door already.

So you asked quietly, breaking the hush between you both: “Do you ever think about what we’re doing?”

It wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t dramatic.

Just honest.

His brow furrowed slightly. His hands didn’t move from your back. “You mean... right now?”

You gave a small, tired laugh. “No. I mean this. Us. What this is.”

Jack was quiet again. But his jaw tightened. That always came first with him—before the words, before the honesty. His body braced like he was expecting a blow.

“I try not to,” he said finally, voice low. Raw. “Because if I do, it scares the hell out of me.”

Your heart stuttered at that.

He looked away, gaze fixed on some point out across the balcony railing. “I’m not good at this,” he added. “I’ve never been. And with you…” His throat bobbed, the muscles in his neck tensing. “It’s not casual. Not for me.”

You stared at him, not sure if you’d heard him right.

“It hasn’t been for a long time,” he said, softer now. “I just didn’t know how to tell you without ruining it.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Like something in your chest had split open, but not in the way that hurt.

“Jack…” you whispered.

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And for the first time, he wasn’t guarded.

Wasn’t hiding.

Just a man, standing barefoot on a balcony at five in the morning, holding the only person who had ever made him want to try again.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said. “But I don’t know how to keep you either.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just watched him.

Jack Abbot—brilliant, maddening, insufferably closed-off Jack—was finally cracking open, right in front of you. And not because you pried him apart. Not because you caught him in a weak moment.

Because he chose to.

And God, that scared you. Maybe even more than the silence had.

You swallowed, voice still hoarse from crying. “I wasn’t going to come back after last time.”

Jack blinked. “What?”

You gave a small, sad smile. “After that shift where I got pulled to peds… You didn’t say a word to me for almost 48 hours. Didn’t even look at me unless someone else was around. I told myself I was done.”

Jack ran a hand over his face, guilt flashing across it like a burn. “I remember.”

“I thought maybe I imagined all of it,” you whispered. “Everything between us. That maybe I made it into something it wasn’t just because I wanted it to be.”

His hazel eyes met yours, sharp and searching. “You didn’t imagine it.”

Your chest pulled tight.

“Every time I shut down, every time I pulled away—” He shook his head, jaw clenching. “It wasn’t because I didn’t feel it. It was because I did. Too much.”

That silence came again, but this time it wasn’t as heavy.

You leaned your hip against the railing, arms still folded loosely, the edge of his shirt catching in the breeze. “Then why push me away?”

“Because if I let myself want this…” He exhaled like the words tasted bitter. “If I let myself want you—then it’s real. And if it’s real, it’s not just sex or more shared shifts… Or a warm body in my bed when the world’s too loud. It’s something I could fuck up.”

You stared at him, something raw blooming beneath your ribs.

“You’re not fucking it up,” you said quietly. “But you will if you keep treating me like I’m  something to be afraid of.”

Jack didn’t answer at first. Just looked at you with something unspoken in his eyes—hope or regret or maybe both.

“I don’t know how to be what you deserve,” he said finally. “But I want to try.”

You let the words hang there. Let yourself feel them.

Then, slowly, you reached out—your hand finding his, fingers curling around the calloused warmth of it. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He looked down at your joined hands like it was the first time he’d been touched. Then back at you.

“Then stay,” he said, voice rough. Barely a whisper. “Just… stay.”

He didn’t say another word.

Just looked at you—eyes tired, earnest, open in a way you’d almost forgotten he could be. And then he laced his fingers fully with yours, squeezing gently like a silent promise.

Then, without fanfare, he turned and led you back inside.

The balcony door slid shut behind you, sealing out the cool morning air and the hum of the waking city. Everything inside was still—soft shadows spilling across the floor, quiet warmth clinging to the apartment walls like it had soaked into the bones of the place.

Jack didn’t let go of your hand. Not even when you passed through the living room. Not when your bare feet padded across the hardwood. Not when the bedroom door came into view.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t speak.

He just brought you to the bed—unmade, sheets rumpled, still heavy with the weight of what had happened between you hours before.

But this time, he didn’t pull you down onto it like he usually would.

This time, he turned to face you fully, and with the same careful touch he used when someone flatlined under his hands, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’m not good at a lot of things,” he murmured, voice so low it barely carried in the stillness. “But I’ll be better. If you let me.”

You nodded, throat thick, and he bent to press a kiss to your forehead—tender, reverent. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for anything. That just was.

Then he gently guided you down with him, one arm curled around your waist as he pulled the covers over both of you.

There was no urgency. No edge. Just the press of his body behind yours, solid and warm and present.

His hand rested at your hip, not possessive, just there. His breathing evened out slowly, and after a while, so did yours.

You didn’t say anything else.

You didn’t have to.

Jack’s breath was warm against the back of your neck, steady now, like the storm had passed through him and left something quieter in its wake.

You shifted just enough to turn toward him, your nose brushing his chest. He looked down at you through half-lidded eyes, sleep tugging at the edges of both of you, but neither quite ready to let go.

You watched each other in that stillness. No shields. No walls. Just two people, bruised in all the same places, finally giving in.

His hand came up to your cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath your eye, as if to wipe away what your tears had left behind. You leaned into the touch without thinking, heart slow and aching.

Then, slowly—like he was asking permission with every breath—he kissed you.

Soft at first. Barely there. A whisper of a promise pressed to your lips.

Then deeper. Warmer. Like he was pouring every word he hadn’t said into the shape of your mouth. It wasn’t hungry or hurried. It didn’t ask for anything more.

It just was.

When he finally pulled back, you were still close enough to feel the words rumble against his chest.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, and you aren’t either.”

The last thing you saw before your eyes fluttered closed was the faintest trace of sunrise creeping through the edge of the blackout curtains—soft, golden light spilling into the room like forgiveness.

And with his arms around you, breath synced with yours, you let it pull you under.

For once, you didn’t fight it.

You just stayed.

mercvry-glow 2025

[orphicsun]

𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 (𝐄.𝐖)

pairing: office siren ellie + mean boss reader

word count: 4k

warnings & content: androgynous office siren ellie, mean fem reader, assistant & boss (power dynamic), southern-to-city trope, degradation kink, praising and degrading names (whore, good girl), masturbation w/ fantasies, semi-public sex, spanking, hair-pulling, bondage (handcuffs), fingering (e! receiving), overstimulation, plot twist at the end.

"From the lenses of aesthetics, we see a persona in the populus. We see what we want to see of visuals displayed before us in a self-preserving act of courtship. We want others to understand us, even if just by a hair. These labels are not us. You must peel back the layers of the office siren and unravel her, and then she will feel seen."

She wears her face with a stoicism rather than the grimace hiding underneath the vessel, but it'll never do. It's a poker face, it's just what the people want to see.

It's the appearance that so unfairly contributes to the entirety of her presence. It isn't what she feels or the sensations in her body, but the way her strands of hair cling in union. It’s about blurring out the flaws like a filter, but it extends to her dialect, mannerisms, and individuality. So, she doesn't raise complaints when her polished, black Zappos leave blisters on the back of her feet. Her heels are always veiled by the study material; nobody will perceive the struggle; still, the struggle is great.

The world Ellie was thrown into was simply harsh, to put it in professional terms. When you grow up in a small town in which your bills aren't always paid and breakfast is pop tarts (off brand, may I add) over the five-course meal your peers perceive as simple, you don't understand much. Really, Ellie was used to her childhood of popsicles out of flimsy plastic packaging because she was so rural the ice-cream truck didn't stop by, a childhood consisting of the creek with the occasional snake rather than an inground pool and mud pies with ground-up locust shells as frosting on top.

The move from Mississippi to New York was originally to study astronomy at Wagner, a university with a modernized planetarium. Ellie took out loans with stars in her eyes and a dream to study beyond planet Earth, but things don't always work out. Apartments in New York are expensive, and bills pile up. So do papers and due dates.

Indeed.com proved useless, but a flyer with "hiring!" printed across it, a couple blocks from her unfurnished apartment, landed her a desk, a name-tag with "Ellie Williams" engraved onto it, and a bitchy boss whom she was the assistant to.

(-)

It's not like the nights she spent writing and studying useless information when all she wanted to be doing was getting hands-on with her major transferred into something valuable. Instead, she is simply a part of a system, and she is a meaningless employee in a five-floor building.

It raises the question of why she stays. Joel calls her often, and she picks up every time to hear it: "why don't you come back home?"

It's because Ellie is craving to be seen.

She doesn't quite know who she is. She knows attributes of herself that piece together a person to few and another person to many. Each part of her, from her hobbies to the color socks she wears, differentiates between who she is talking to.

Joel knows about the socks with the ugly green and tan print, her favorite pair that she used to lose almost every day. It's the pair that resides in her scratchy wooden drawer back in a nameless town she still holds in her heart, though she veils her southern accent in favor of what is nearly a monotone when clocked in.

To any coworker who is brave enough to ask, though none never will, her socks are plain white and at an appropriate length. Always the same, every single day.

That bitchy boss is the reason she stays and deals with it, though.

It's not exactly the tights that cling to your thighs in a picture screaming proactive, but you get away with it because you've got privileges in that five-floor building. It isn't the curve of your ass or the thought of your cleavage spilling out of your blazer that keeps her awake at night. She really wishes it was how you like to bend over on a random Tuesday and flash your black, lacy panties. They do hug your pussy lips nicely, though.

It's how insufferable you are.

Ellie should hate it, but it turns her on. Ironically, you put her in focus. Any time you near her desk, she adjusts her horrible posture and her foggy glasses, and she gets to typing out that summary you asked for an hour ago.

She is truly terrified of you. It would be prompt to say she fantasizes about you in the comfort of her own bedroom, but she is a leaking faucet in intimate white cotton fabric throughout the day, mind steamy at the most inconvenient times. It’s tortuous, but the filthiest parts of Ellie’s soul crave it, needs it. It seeps into her dreams and runs her ragged. 

That same bitchiness that can ruin her day is what provokes the feeling within Ellie, though; you’re unlike any of those other corporate assholes. You don’t care about things that cease to exist to Ellie once she enters her apartment. You don’t care about anything that has to do with Ellie in any sense, shape, or form. Even if your eyes were physically forced in her direction, you’d still refuse to acknowledge her existence. 

It drove her crazy at first. Ellie grew up with her elbows on the table and paper plates, not without proper decorum. Even your boss would be expected to treat you like a person, but you don’t. The only time you notice your assistant is when she fucks up, like the instance in which Ellie printed out the wrong stack of 20 papers. You truly did notice her presence that day.

You go against what New York has taught her–to be perceived, even if within a persona. A polite, grayscale persona within the likes of the people who call salt a seasoning.

It’s not to say all corporate jobs are so boring, but this office with these people? It’s maddening to want to be liked and understood all the same. It’s impossible.

Ellie hated you a year ago. The first week of her new job was hell because of you, loading her up on tasks she wasn’t acclimated to. She was sore from a desk job; it was pathetic.

You grew on her, though. The type of conditioning you pressed into her was entirely unintentional, but any natural human would fall for it. You ignored her for 99% of the time. It drove her insane. So, she began fucking up entirely on purpose. 

And she had some shame to begin with, that little amount in her gut that made her want to hurl after opening the wrong excel sheet and printing it off. It went against what she had been forcefully trained for. Still, it became addicting. The days in which you had lectured Ellie for her behavior, she’d gone home and fucked herself silly to sleep. It was an adrenaline boost in her boring life. 

It’s not all shameful, though. You remind her of home, the paint chipped off of the wooden house she was practically born and raised in. Ellie would go crazy surrounded by the same grey-hued people, but she has you. A sun, scorching her skin if she gets too close. Everyone else may as well be flecks of dust floating through space. 

It’s a guilty pleasure of hers she shouldn’t indulge in, but she does it anyway.

(-) 

“Boss?” Ellie tentatively calls from the doorway. 

The sight alone is almost enough to make her drop to her knees with a foam cup still in her hands–lip liner overlines every corner she wants to kiss, and it makes her jealous to think that a simple cosmetic product gets to have you so intimately. The line of your cleavage from the way you lean forward slightly gives Ellie a small flashback to inside her apartment, her face buried in her pillows and ass up as she rubbed her clit for hours at the thought of your tits jammed in her face. 

“Leave it on my desk.” You don’t look up to even acknowledge her. You always confuse Ellie’s head, heart, and cunt. It’s not the imaginable type of affection she craves, but she wants you to look up from your desk and at her. Today, she messed with her bangs for nearly 30 minutes and wore a new suit she had forgotten about in the back of her tiny little closet. She wants you to notice her. Fantasizes about what you’d say if you did look up. 

“Get the fuck out of my office, you whore.” You’d scoff, “and don’t wear that again.” Ellie knows she’s in over her head; way too much of a masochist, but she can’t help it. You bring it out in her in the way you already talk to her. It wouldn’t be too much of an exaggeration, would it? 

Ellie carefully places the cup on your desk and awkwardly turns around, slightly stalling as she walks out. Her cunt catches a heart beat when she hears your voice. Just the tone, too. 

“I asked for a caramel latte, Ellie. Hot. This is freezing cold..is this a tea?” You sigh, extremely exasperated. 

“Sorry, ma’am. I must’ve forgotten.” 

“Of course. You did this last week, too. I’m telling you, I really am about to write you up.” You still don’t glance up from your laptop. It’s impressive, really. 

“No!–I mean, that won’t be necessary, ma’am. I apologize for the mix-up.” 

When you finally look up, your eyes meet hers. Your eyes are sharp enough to slice into the part of Ellie that is already soft and weak for you. Her hands shake no matter how tightly she grasps the bottom of her vest. 

“Sorry isn’t enough. Lock the door and strip.” You glance right back down at your bright screen and begin typing again. 

“Wha–Excuse me?!” Ellie sputters, jaw on the floor. That is the last thing Ellie expected to come out of your mouth.

“Now. Unless you want that write-up? I’m sure you can’t afford it.” You smile, and it’s not toothy or cute. You’re a cold, heinous bitch. Your gaze is flat and uncaring, assuring Ellie that you don’t have an ounce of shame in you.

Ellie strips before you, though. She pulls off each layer of clothing until she is exposed, the light from the windows behind you leaving a vulnerable pit in her stomach. 

You take her in from the front–chocolate-kissed hair brushing against her collarable as she frees it from its usual low bun; soft, delicate skin dotted and kissed with visible flecks of melanin; soothing, green eyes that intimidate most. You see right through them, though. There in her eyes lay pupils, enlarged and absorbent for you and only you. There she is, like your own lap dog. You’d be dumb to shoo her off. 

“Good. Now, I want you on the ground. Be a good girl and bow down, I know you want to.”

She drops to the floor, her legs folded underneath her thighs. She descends until she meets the carpet, until it’ll form a strawberry splotch on the focal point of her forehead. Her body is folded up like origami, the curve of her butt resting against the back of her feet. She feels as though she is the process of an artist’s work. This is your design–she is simply the work in progress that you’ll turn inside out, brand her neatly as your masterpiece. 

When her glasses fall from her face, she shivers. She does not move, though. Something within her needs to trust you.

(-)

Ellie doesn’t know how long it has been since you gave your first instruction. It could be minutes, could be an hour or two. All she knows is that she knows she is being watched by you, and it’s one of the most inexplicable feelings Ellie has stumbled upon. 

The persona of a girl with auburn hair neatly slicked back save for the swoop of her bangs, freckles dotted across her cheeks but unmentioned in their character, a girl who carries herself high rather than as slumped as she feels and opts for sleek eye-wear instead of the bulky square lense, is slowly being unraveled. 

The sudden heel in her back is a stab she recognizes, as she stares at the shiny red louboutins throughout the day when possible. Still, it’s an entirely different sensation to experience the very imprint upon her skin. 

“You’re too stiff.” You press further despite your comment. 

She doesn’t mean to be stiff; in fact, Ellie has dreamt of this moment, fantasized it in her mind for years. She should embrace it, but your words ring true. Her hands are balled up into tense fists, and she trembles. 

The pressure on her spine leaves, but she still remains tense. Then, a soft palm climbs up her back from behind. Her heart-beat races close to her chest, wanting to keep to itself. 

“Why?” The softness in the word is so intimate, Ellie would guess that such an utterance would be whispered into her ear. It was still loud and public, though. 

“I..” She swallows, shivering slightly from both the temperature of your office; it’s as cold as you. “I’m not used to being naked in front of anyone like this.” 

You spread your fingers upon her upper back until the webbed feature of your hand threatens to strain. “Are you a virgin?” 

That raises a small scoff from Ellie, but you don’t use the response against her. It’s a moment of vulnerability and trust as opposed to pure sexual lust and the promise of consequence that awaits. “No.” She adds in the form of a mumble, “it just feels weird. I’m used to being.. err, professional.” 

“You don’t need to be, not in here.” Your hand leaves her back, but she is pried from her lowered position when you cup her face, pulling it up until her eyes meet yours. “I want to see you for what you really are.” You patiently swipe your thumb across her bottom lip. “Take you apart and see what you are beyond this little act I know rely on.” 

Ellie easily relaxes with you now. Her eyes don’t simply look into yours, rather absorbing the stare you offer to her from above. 

“I know you think about me. Tell me what you fantasize about.” 

She holds a moan in her throat, just barely keeping it beyond her tongue. When she hesitates with her answer, you squeeze her cheeks together. “I’m not touching you properly until you do.”

When you step back, Ellie scrambles with her feelings. All of those fantasies she so passionately lived in now feel pathetic, yet it’s a guilty thrill.

“I have dreams about you. Well, about you and I.” She admits, eyes moving from a diversity of objects and decoration in your office before meeting yours. “I have dreams about you–”

“Bending you over my desk?” You interrupt, a casual lilt in your tone that makes her jaw lower. 

“How do you know about that?!” She gawks at you, cheeks as red as a field of strawberries. 

“It doesn’t matter. But it’s true, isn’t it?” She nods, and you grin. “Yeah. Say it for me, then.”

“I..I dream about you bending me over your desk and fucking me.” She mutters underneath her breath, “hard.”

“Go on, then.” You step to the side, leaving her a clear, short path to your desk. The mahogany shines nicely. She can already imagine it–your fist full with her messy hair spilling between your fingers, and the other hand occupied with the dripping mess that is Ellie’s cunt. 

She looks at you like a deer caught in headlights, clumsily trying to figure out if you mean it. You don’t falter in your gaze. 

She unskillfully rises to her feet and approaches your desk. When the wood is just below her gaze, her head turns back to look at you. “You want me to just.. bend over?” She asks, slightly uncertain. 

You only nod. 

As if being naked isn’t exposing enough, she can feel your gaze on her. It’s not hard to imagine where you’re staring, either. Her fingers find the opposite side of the desk and fold to hold onto it tightly, a small distraction.

“There’s a pair of handcuffs in the drawer just below you. Take them out for me.” 

That causes the girl to shiver slightly, but she obliges, loosening her vice-grip on your desk and retrieving a pair of fuzzy hand-cuffs from your drawer. She wants to ask why they’re in your office, but refrains. 

Ellie quickly conjoins her wrists behind her back and feels the cold metal clink against them, a clicking noise when they’re firmly binding her wrists. She is now helpless to you. 

And the sight she is–soles of her feet on the carpet, the harsh, bright light directly above casting over her ass to display every blemish and freckle. Exaggerated arousal seeps from between her folds, majora slightly hidden with dark, thick hair. The joining of her wrists causes her face to press further into the desk. She still trembles, though you can look right into her pussy and see her true feelings on the entire predicament. She craves your approval, but more, much more than that, she wants to be like the extra copy on your desk: to be shredded up and completely destroyed by you. 

“Say what you want.” You trail your hand up her ass, wine-red manicured nails sinking lightly into the skin. 

It’s all she can ask for, so she lets herself fall apart for you. Her hips shift, wiggling upwards. “Fingers.” Ellie mumbles, though a slight whine is clear in her voice. 

But instead, all she gets is a light slap on her right ass cheek. She gasps and slightly lifts her head to look back at you. “What was that for?!”

“I know you’re not that stupid, you slut. I want a full sentence from you.” 

A whimper leaves her lips when you spread the globes of her butt, leaving her feeling somehow more exposed than before. She knows you’ve completely unraveled her when she can hear every noise coming from outside the room, but doesn’t care. There should be something inside her twitching to do her job, to be a responsible assistant who doesn’t get fucked on her desk by her boss, but whatever it is left her the moment you told her to get naked. 

“Hah–” your hands find purchase on both hips, pulling her ass back against you. The silky fabric of your skirt grazes her clit, making her involuntarily shiver. “I want your fingers. I want your fingers inside me.” 

“Ask again.” 

She huffs in indignation. “I did what you said!” 

When you wrench back her head with a fistful of her auburn hair, the attitude in her disappears. “W-Wait, okay. I want your fingers inside me, please. I want to cum.”

You release her head and card your fingers through her hair. “Yeah?”

She bobs her head reverently. “Yeah. Please.”

(-) 

Ellie knows that some things are to be regretted in life. There are choices made that she just has to learn to live with. Regret can be temporary: that break-up from high school, procrastinating a research paper for the 12th time a semester, moving far from Mississippi. A better term for those temporary regrets is doubt. 

The uniform life she lives doesn’t have room for doubts, though they fill her mind. She has great doubt in whether some of her coworkers actually like her, or if it’s simply courtesy. There are plenty of doubts about her skills in her position; she never had to sit and answer emails, organize, and run errands all day in the South. Her job from the age of 16 was at a rest stop, the only rest stop in the dinky town. She was used to being on her feet and having short conversations with tired travellers in the dead of the night. The office is like a maze to navigate, and she is a mouse blindlessly chasing cheese. It raises doubts. 

Being bent over your desk and finger-fucked leaves her head empty for once. If her skull wasn’t currently emptied out onto your nice desk, she would want to feel regret upon begging so fervently for this. You’ve made her cum three times already, and she isn’t sure how much more her quaking body can handle. She can’t think about anything but the pleasure stinging deep inside of her body, though. 

Three fingers plunge in and out of her pussy, the office once as uneasily silent and cold as ever now humid and echoing with the noise of her dripping hole being stuffed full to the brim with your digits, her moans still loud even with her face pressed against the desk. 

“You’ve got one more in you, baby. I can feel it.” Only a whorishly loud whine in response. “This greedy pussy swallows my fingers up whole, doesn’t it?” You coo, but the tone is less maternal and completely condescending. 

“Fuck,” Ellie cried, more strained as she raised her hips to take you deeper. The past ten minutes of being brought to her fourth orgasm has been an alternation of squirming away from your overwhelming touch and backing herself further into it for more. 

“Is that all you have to say?” You tease, twisting your fingers up into her until you feel the ribbed section of her walls, the most sensitive spot. She just melts into the desk and takes it, moaning little incoherent phrases. Drool trickles down the corner of her lips and onto the wood, but you don’t worry much of it. It’s cute.

“More. Fuck me harder, please. Wanna cum, need to cum around your fingers–” she rants on aimlessly, wrists shifting against the cuffs. 

“Yeah? Go on, then. I’m not stopping you, baby. Cum for me one last time.” 

Just as suddenly as it happens, it ends. Ellie jolts forward, no longer in your standard office, but in her bed. Her wrists are not tied, but simply on either side of her.

“Jesus christ,” she rubs at her eyes before glancing over to her bed-side alarm clock. There, it reads 1 a.m in bright red. “When the hell did I fall asleep?” 

She rolls back into her sheets on her stomach and closes her eyes, sleep surrounding her from each side; but as the invisible clock ticks, she feels wetness pool in larger amounts in her boxers. She groans, reaching for the half-dead vibrator on her nightstand, already knowing from experience that she will be up for the next hour. 

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[willyoubemycherryy]

No Guidance (Stack.M x R)

Summary: You’re just getting to the good part.

Contains: Flirting, some smut, Mary slander, cursing, everyone has a southern accent, platonic smoke with reader, a little dancing, MARY SLANDER, and I don’t care I don’t fucking like her, this is for the _ strictly for the _, kissing, making out, a hint of manhandling, established relationship, choking, allusions to sex and one brief flashback of some impact play, Michael B Jordan fine as hell, fine enough to bring me out of retirement

-There’s just not enough mindless smut of sinners, almost no x reader bc they’re all OC 😔 and please tell me how we feel about the daddy thing bc Stack screams daddy kink and in the next part👀…

A/N: act like I’ve been here the whole time.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉

“Uh-uh. We not doin’ none of that. Not tonight. Get ta steppin’”.

You level a look at the pale woman standing in the doorway, raising an eyebrow when she crosses her arms- fixing you with a glare of her own. She really was lucky you 50 percent Christian- otherwise, you’d have turned her every way but inside out.

It was no surprise that Mary was there- given her history with Elias or “Stack”. Of course she’d come running the minute she heard he was back in town along with his brother and cousin…but running to where? Not up in here.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere cause I have business in there.” Mary points the loud crowded space behind you and you push your shoulder from off the side of the doorway. You knew all about Mary. You may have empathized a little with her but you damn sure didn’t like her. She was the past in a future that needed her gone in order to make it and her refusal in understanding that irked you immensely. To you, she was selfish- plain and simple.

“You also ‘bout to have a foot up yo ass because the only business in there is the one my man is tendin’ to and you can’t possibly be talkin’ ‘bout him?” You pose it like a question but you leave no room for debate in your voice.

She was there for Stack. She wasn’t getting Stack.

Your question was met with a scoff but otherwise silence. Mmhm. That’s what you thought. Stepping back, you get ready to close the door since you were not about to stand and argue with Mary all night; fixing her with the same ugly glare she always gives you before leaning down to whisper in her face,

“Go be a good bitch and find a new master or I’ll be the one to walk you.”

Slamming the door with a satisfied grin, you turn around to go find a friend of yours and ask her to watch the door. It took some convincing since she was the strict one out of your group but it had to be her because as much as you love the twins and trust their judgment (mostly), Cornbread could not be the one to watch the door the entire night. After agreeing that you’ll owe her one, you leave to grab a drink of your own and judging by the look on Smoke’s face as you pass him- you didn’t look happy.

“Ooh. Who did it?” He drawls out as his eyebrows draw together in a slight frown. He knew about his brother and Mary’s sordid past because of course he did but he also knew how you and Stack have been since day 1.

He still remembers the day they met you…barefoot and sass-mouthed serving drinks at your mommas little dive bar.

“Aww twins~ Wait-! don’t tell me! Y’all gots ta be Double and Trouble!” Laughing like a hyena until your mama threw a spoon from the kitchen and you ducked- smacking your teeth before hurrying off to get their liquor.

That was it.

A pretty young server and good malt..until they came back for another couple rounds one night and you were still barefoot but this time, you wasn’t serving no drinks. Instead, you were standing in the middle of the room singing with a voice so sweet and strong that it rang through their head for the rest of the night. Smoke saw an amazing gift. Stack had seen a gift and something more…

“Just some go-go flour ranger. Nobody important.” Damn. Smoke winces with a soft hum at the insult yet knowing exactly who you mean. You always were creative with your insults- never missing in hitting where it hurt. Taking a deep breath, the beat of the music temps up and he passes you your drink and you sip at it, nodding along to the music as you start to loosen up. Tonight wasn’t the night and neither were any of the others. Tonight was supposed to be the continuation of their new pages turning- and that meant the end of whatever beef was between you, Mary, and his brother.

Smoke watches you start to move and raises a brow; broad smile growing across his face, making his dimples pop out as something comes to him.

“You gon’ sing a lil sum’ for us?”

Reaching out, he takes your hand to twirl you with a soft grin and you let go afterwards to fake think for a bit. Sammy currently had the floor and he was doing great plus…you sorta had other plans for the night. Smoke huffs a laugh, noticing that glint in your eyes- the one you got when you were fixing to get a kick out of causing trouble.

“Ohh, I get it. You in a just dancin’ mood tonight, huh?”

You get another drink and finish that one quick before nodding slowly before moving closer with a grin.

“Smoke, y’know, I neva’ woulda pegged you as a dancin’ man but if you’re offering-“,

“Oh nah baby, he ain’t but I am.”

The low words are whispered against the shell of your ear with a heat that sends shivers licking up your spine. Big, familiar hands fit themselves on your shoulders while Stack dips his head lower to press soft, full lips against your throat- directly over your pulse point and your heart jumps; you barely holding back a gasp. You look at the space where Smoke had been standing before he made himself scarce with a lighthearted “don’t wear y’selves out” and try to gather yourself, turning in Stack’s arms to face him.

Lidded, mellow chocolate eyes focused on you with plump lips pulled up in a smirk framed by dimples greet you and you roll your eyes. Shaking your head lightly as you swallow a whine.

There really was such thing as being too fine and Stack was proof. Strong hands glide themselves further down your sides, settling on the space just above your ass, never taking his eyes off yours and the intensity of him sparks something inside you.

“Been lookin’ for ya. Shoulda known yous’ somewhere in here causin’ trouble, hmm?”

It’s a lot warmer than you remember it being a couple minutes ago but no matter how deep you inhale, it doesn’t go away. That’s when you realize that the room hasn’t gotten any hotter than it’s already been.

But you have.

Your mouth barely opens to retort before Stack’s is covering it completely with his- slow, consuming and so deep. You truly can’t help the way you melt into him. Heart pounding with adrenaline and something much more tantalizing at the way Stack leads, plush lips firm against yours as you suckle at each others mouths. You only had two drinks but you already feel drunk; senses heightened and so sensitive that you’re borderline vibrating. Blood flowing through your system with a searing rush.

Stack harshly sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and your pulse drops like a boulder into the lava pooling in your lower stomach; sending waves ricocheting through your body before licking deep into your own just in time to muffle the nasty little moans threatening to slip out while his tongue memorizes every inch of your mouth and the pleasure has you on the way to out of your mind and he knows it.

You were unyielding to everyone and everything else except him and Stack used that to his advantage each and every time. He’d always been good at getting people to listen to him but the way you gave into him was the sweetest thing he’d come to know. From the way your doe eyes would get wide whenever he’d say or do something that set you off and you’d find yourself wanting him- to the way you were purring and sighing like a cat now, snuggling your soft pretty self tight against him while he devoured your mouth; lips smacking hungrily against yours.

By the time you two separate, his hand is a little too close to your throat and you suddenly want everyone to go home.

“Don’t be lookin’ at me like that baby. 'Else I might think we have a problem.” Stack drags his lips from the corner of your lips to your cheek, rasping lowly into your ear and you whine in frustration, shifting in his hold.

“And what if we do?”

The hand that was at first only close to your neck, slides up to wrap around it. Loose enough but heavy like a collar and you go dizzy from how hard your cunt throbs, biting your swollen lip as you bat pretty lashes up at him.

Now, Stack learned early that you had a thing for sass-mouthing. You, learned quickly that Stack didn’t have much patience for being sass-mouthed. So if there was something you wanted from him, you learned the first time he spanked your ass raw while being stuffed with three of his thick fingers but nothing else- to ask for it real nice and polite. Your tone though, would be the death of you.

“Then I’m sure we can come to an agreement”, his hand squeezes quick before releasing as he presses another hard kiss to your lips, “Right baby?” You nod before you can stop yourself, body roaring with molten need and you blurt out,

“Tell everyone to go home.”

A surprised bark of laughter shoots from his chest and he raises an amused brow as he looks down at you.

“C’mon, you know I can’t. We just opened this place a few weeks ago, mamas. Gotta break it in.” You throw your head back with a groan, rolling your eyes as you mumble under your breath.

“Wish you’d break me in…”

“Huh?”

“What?”

You ask back just as fast and Stack whistles lowly, shaking his head before dragging you in by your throat so close that you’re standing between his legs. He drops his forehead against yours and just takes a couple seconds to look at you- breathe you in before he has you begging for the better half of the night.

“Nah, what was that?”

“What was what?” You could play dumb with the best of em. Grinning innocently like you had all the time in the world to play your games and Stack was all too ready to play with you. Especially when he knew he’d win.

“You gon’ make me get it outta you, pretty girl?”

Your heart skips a beat and he notices your eyes doing the thing when you answer:

“If you think you can then go ahead.”

Stack nods slowly, moving his hand off your throat to take your hand instead. Rising to his full height, he leads you up to the office of the joint, guiding you in first then closing the door behind you both with a click and makes his way towards you.

His stride reminds you a lot of a predator getting ready to jump on their prey and you only hope that you’re left shaking afterwards…

[classyobservationtree]

My giant nerd explosion loving this musical and this one song.

Prophet: *lists off everything that is about to happen in chronological order resulting in Odysseus' failure to return home unchanged*

The line right before that: "Yea bro there is a word where I help *you* make it home but I don't see it. I'll tell you what I *do* see however, so make sure to do the opposite. Remain compassionate and you will return home the same man."

Odysseus: "I'm not going to *risk* not seeing my wife"

Ever since "I'm just a Man" Odysseus has been true to himself. He would get rid of the world to see his wife and son. But the ultimate tragedy is that had he accepted life with open arms from the beginning none of this would have happened. He chose to become a monster rather than be ruthless. A monster kills and sacrifices everything without guilt. But ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves. When ruthlessness is required, be ruthless, kill the cyclops. Don't feel guilty. But when mercy is an option take it.

I am convinced had Odysseus "sacrificed" himself by sparing the infant then he would have made it home fine, lived a happy life with his family for much longer, and then fate would have taken place.

OR, it's a classic gods fucked up the prophecy. They see that infant leading to the death of Odysseus and the burning of his house. Low and behold the gods forcing Odysseus to kill the baby, and him not resisting, led to his "death" and the destruction of his home.

I love this musical because there are so many ways to understand that this is a Tragedy because it was so avoidable had Odysseus not had the gods will forced on him.

Athena offers HELP, INSTRUCTION, ADVICE. She never really forces him to do what she wants. It is framed that way in the early songs though because Odysseus was traumatized by the will of the gods forcing him to kill a baby.

Hermes offered help

Circie tried to force her will but when he resisted her he was rewarded with help.

Calypso forced her will and he resisted, so Hera agreed to save him later.

Aeolus offered help, and that *would* have been fine had Odysseus been more supportive of Eurilicles and taken him along, like he did with Polotise, then he wouldn't have opened the bag I bet.

Hell even at the very end when Odysseus has been told the gods explicit will is to not open the bag, he opens it and gets rewarded. He resists Posiden's pleas and gets home.

The only time he caved to the will of the gods was the infant. The entire tragedy is that had Odysseus been more than "just a man", had his hubris been resolve, then none of this would have happened.

Instead he resigns his fate to the gods and stays a man. A man that becomes a monster instead of a man that becomes a legend.

*a few months after The Ithaca Saga*

Odysseus: *wakes up at the dead of night drenched in cold sweat*

Penelope: Love? What's wrong?

Odysseus: That prophet son of a bitch- IT WAS ME!

Penelope: What??

Odysseus: I WAS THE MAN WHO WAS HAUNTING ALL ALONG!!

Penelope: *pulling him down and hugging him* ok dear just go back to sleep.

*meanwhile in the Underworld*

Tiresias: Fucking finally that dumbass

[jordiipordii]

tgr ☀️ spoilers & me babbling:

so I don’t like to directly compare andreil and jerejean but I do want to take a sec to compare something from nora’s ec to tgr.

because nora is still the same writer and her brain still thinks somewhat similarly. so:

if you’ve read thru her original ec enough you might already know this but if you haven’t: in one section she mentions andrew talking to betsy about neil for close to a year and how andrew only stopped mentioning neil after they started kissing, touching, etc.

like something was establishing between them and betsy had her suspicions because one day andrew was ‘blah blah blah neil’ and then the next day andrew did a total 180 and wouldn’t talk about him with her at all. stay with me.

jean calls jeremy his partner six times in tgr. three of those six are in the span of 24hrs. he says it to cody once and jeremy himself twice.

this is during all the shit with the fall banquet. jean defending jeremy, his reaction to faser, his “they are not your partners” and their big heart to heart. all that good stuff. now get this:

jean doesn’t call jeremy his partner again— not for the last 180 pages. this boy who before that in both tsc and tgr was “you are my partner, you are my partner, you are my partner.”

he doesn’t say it ever again in the golden raven.

like think about everything else we get after the banquet: their first match together, all the shit with zane and the aftermath, the fire, jab. jean never calls jeremy his partner during any of it.

and that reminds me so much about what nora said in her ec about andrew suddenly completely shutting down about neil to betsy.

then at the end when we get from renee that jean has spent the last month talking to her mostly about jeremy? the last month and, since we’re at the end of september, that roughly doubling back to the weekend of the fall banquet? to me that’s not a coincidence.

jean stopped calling jeremy his partner after the banquet because that’s when he started moving away from just thinking jeremy is attractive and having like a crush/getting jealous to more concrete, stronger feelings.

that’s when he started learning to understand “partner” with a different meaning. like with rhemann and adi. and we got from his narrative “a partnership that had survived twenty-eight years in this heartless world.”

suddenly “partner” in raven logic doesn’t fit jeremy anymore. but jean can’t allow himself to let the new meaning apply to jeremy, either.

so he just doesn’t call jeremy that at all.

the same way andrew stopped talking about neil to bee because suddenly things had changed and were different.

[homemadesterekpie]

there’s something about the concept of Stiles joining Derek’s pack and over time becoming more wolf than human even if he remains technically a human, that i absolutely love… so here’s a little something about that.

losing his entire family transforms Derek into someone more primitive, more feral, parts of himself that had been buried under years of masking when living out alongside humans are now back with a vengeance.

his mother always believed in living a double life, living the best of both worlds and Derek always thought the same but then his entire family burned to death.

now he wants to live as a wolf. let the wolf to the forefront and take the lead. doesn’t mean he’s in wolf form all the time it just means he’s letting his instincts take control and he stops second guessing them.

Stiles joins his pack pretty early on because Scott has a death wish apparently and Stiles does not want to die thank you very much.

he starts spending all of his time with Derek and the betas, in the forest. his dad starts asking questions because Stiles is not even there for supper when he’s off duty anymore and he’s almost never in his bed in the morning either.

Stiles can’t sleep without Derek anymore. his room smells wrong. his own bed feels wrong to sleep on. the entire house smells wrong. his dad is never home anyway.

at school he keeps zoning out while looking outside the window, into the forest. non-packmates brush against him in the halls and he has to make a giant effort not to snarl at them.

Isaac, Erica and Boyd become his shadows. during lunch they leave the school grounds and run into the forest doing God knows what. the school starts talking, the sheriff gets informed. Scott gets told.

they both corner Stiles when he gets back from school along with Isaac, Erica and Boyd.

Stiles sighs through his nose when he sees Scott’s bike and the cruiser in the driveway. he looks to the three wolves and they look back. they haven’t needed to use words in a while.

they follow him inside the house that hasn’t felt like home to Stiles in some time now.

Scott is pissed the wolves came along, the sheriff doesn’t understand. he asks if they’re Stiles’s new friends and that maybe they aren’t a good influence on him, which provokes some low growls from the wolves. Isaac taking one of Stiles’s wrists in one hand and pulling slightly with a short whine.

Stiles soothes him with a touch and huff through his nose. won’t be long.

Stiles tells his dad that his grades are fine so whats the problem. his dad is a bit stunned. Scott is so red he looks like he’ll explode at any moment.

his dad says he’s just worried about him and Scott nods along. Stiles says he’s fine and that they don’t need to worry about him. they just need to let him be.

the sheriff kind of panics because it feels a lot like he’s losing control of his kid. like he’s actively losing him somehow. but he can’t pinpoint exactly why so he just deflates in defeat.

Stiles says again he doesn’t have to worry about him and with that he goes upstairs to his room to grab what he had come here for and then he’s out of the door, his wolves leading the way, leaving a livid Scott and a shook sheriff behind.

Scott comes out the door and shouts things at Stiles. Stiles doesn’t even look his way as he gets into his jeep and backs out the driveway.

when they get to the forest, Stiles hugs Derek tightly and lets him nuzzle his neck, his hair. Putting his scent back on him. he tells Derek what happened. Derek just looks at him, intently.

Stiles tells him he doesn’t want to leave anymore. he wants to stay here. with Derek. with the betas. that going into town doesn’t feel right anymore. and he gets upset as he tries to explain to Derek why he can’t be out there anymore.

Derek just pulls him into his arms and makes the low rumbling noise he makes whenever Stiles or one of his wolves are upset and need to be soothed.

Stiles clings to him. his alpha. staying away from him for too long is becoming painful. the betas can feel it too. the stronger their pack gets, the harder it is to be apart. being with the betas at school is just enough to keep them all sane.

the day Stiles turns 18, he moves out of the house and into the forest. the betas + Peter helps with the move. he moves out while his dad is at work and he gets home to his son’s room stripped of everything except furniture and a letter on the bare mattress.

Stiles’ words tells him not to worry about him and that he’s not far. that Stiles loves him but he needs to do this. that Stiles will keep an eye on him so not to do anything stupid.

the sheriff wonders around the house feeling numb until he notices the framed picture of him and Stiles when he was still a child, is missing from its frame on the wall. Stiles obviously took it with him. and thats what breaks him. he’s upset but that small gesture gives him hope. hope that his son is not completely lost to him.

the pack builds themselves a life out in the forest. they barely leave it now. only when Stiles wants to check on his dad or pack matters require them to leave it.

Scott follows Allison and her family out of state after Derek’s pack make a formal request. No hunters will be permitted to enter much less reside on Hale lands without explicit permission from the pack. Chris Argent tries to negotiate but the mated Alpha pair is adamant. either they leave their territory or they’ll be made to leave it.

Stiles sets up protective runes around his childhood home. the best ones he’s got. and he leaves an amulet on his dad’s bedside table and a note that says to put it on and never take it off. the sheriff does as he’s told without question.

by now he’s used to his son doing things from the shadows. he barely sees him but he also feels near at all times. like he’s always there, watching over him. like he said he would.

sometimes he finds baskets of stuff on his porch when he gets back from a long shift. some seasonal produce, fresh game, the occasional preserves and pickles. there’s no note usually but he knows who leaves them.

when he unpacks the baskets he leaves them back out on the porch to be picked up again.

sometimes he can hear howls from the forest. it took him a long time to finally understand what they meant, since after all, there’s no wolves in California.

Stiles is part of something old. so old it’s actually ancient. and sacred. something that has its own culture and rules. something he will never fully understand. but he understands enough and it settles something in him that had been unsettled ever since that day him and Scott cornered Stiles after school.

[timmydraker]

Thinking about a Tim Drake with the best pain tolerance in the Batfam

Tim Drake, who at 13 years old dealt with Batman's training - training designed to discourage him from taking up the mantle of Robin

Tim Drake, who at that same age trained with Lady Shiva, one the deadliest assassins in the world

Tim Drake, who at 16 years old dragged himself and another person's dead weight out of a cave in the desert and drove them back to a hotel room, all while having a fatal stab wound through his side

And then the Batfam, who have no idea that most of this - or any of this - happened, and don't understand why Tim's able to fight through too many injuries

(Love your posts!! <3)

- 🎃

As much as I love this, I actually kind of prefer if the other way around and he’s got some of the worst pain tolerance but when it comes to being sick or having things like fever, nausea or fatigue he deals with it better than most of them.

Like, aside from skate boarding and maybe a fall or two when stalking the bats, he was raised pretty safe and probably wasn’t allowed to indulge in risk play when growing up.

So I like to think he had to work really hard to stop himself from reacting to pain and he’s probably the best at ignoring it straight out aside from those raised to do so like Damian or Cass, but when he’s safe?

This man probably whines like a sad puppy and he’s it as an opening to guilt people into giving him what he wants because he’s a spoilt kid at heart, selfless as he may be. He probably plays it up too because he’s so scared of it, and I think that Bruce’s (I’m pretty sure canonical) choice to alter his suit as much as possible so he wouldn’t end up like Jason probably made him even more scared to get hurt.

Naturally training was harsh like you said, but I think that Tim can only deal with pain for as long as he has adrenaline and then he crumbles.

He’d have to be safe, like in the cave or nest or with his team, but he would.

But he’s got a cold or sepsis?

Tim will act like literally nothing had happened. I’m picturing him in a meeting and going, ‘hold on one second’ and people can hear him vomiting into a bin in his office before he comes back out with minty breath and it’s like ‘sorry about that, where were we?’

Once you’ve had the Clench things don’t really ever feel as bad, so he’ll just boulder on. He could literally be dying from Flu, his immune system shot and him full up on drugs to help and he will still go to team meetings, whether work or hero, and it will take knocking him out to get him to sleep and will genuinely feel pretty okay.

He probs passes out on patrol because he didn’t realise the stomach bug he had is actually draining all his energy.

It means that when he does complain or express concern for his sickness that something is definitely wrong.

But heaven forbid Timothy Jackson Drake get a paper cut.

[redwine-1-zz]

On Bloods shit is really fucked up on Bloods I tell you yeah My peeps I feel the same way as everybody else those Ones no on Bloods who the fuck they are a nigga ain't gotta say a Motherfucking that's on Piru 151 that is why when where whatever the Blood but on Bloods I'll just have to not let any mother fucker so they know on Blood what it do to make your good vibes will go away then it's almost impossible to get it back that's really niggas because I felt all the emotionly distract and nothing seen too works it starts to take me some where you've never been before it's seen as a weird unamiliar place that was placespiritually, psychologically mythological, anyway so can't what I went through it doesn't matter what I say whoever because they believe only way they believe in so on Bloods that's what I'm about Piru 151 is my gang and that's what I believe in you feel on Bloods I'll be just fine my dude that's why I really don't fuck with outsiders and we ani't never gonna see I to I whatever on Bloods I'm going keep doing me do you understand the words that's going out of my mouth but on Bloods believe me if you want to I'm a real stand up dude on Bloods I lie still get over on whoever I'm always on point always willing to help too whatever too keep me from fucking up I really got real niggas on my side on Bloods My name in the street is so good they don't know nothing about me even my first name there is nobody in Las Vegas that knows anything about me do you here's me gonna whatever so anyway that's on Bloods everything is gonna fixed whatever needs to be fixed it is God I really understand that only forget you is when you forgive the ones that fucked over when all the fucking chaos came profusely uncontrollable it was all fucked up but now you should be able to comprehend mind body soul spirit now ask yourself have you ever died spiritually and if so you gotta come with an understanding of what you no about how to control it and it'll start to alouder it's self too giving it to you without no knowledge of even technique it's just One of those things you can't make sense of what has taken away from you even knowing anything about it fuck it Blood there's a lot of things you'll see that don't make any damn sense fuck it on Bloods let if pass don't fuck with it some things are not too be disrespectful to any living soul let everything life stay in your lines never step on what you believe because you'll turn into too a losted Soul just trip you won't have any feelings what so ever you'll feel like you got bipolar on Bloods if it ever got like that it might take you over 39' years to come out of this dilemma can you please understand you'll go through that for 30 years are you listening to what the fuck I'm trying differently to fixed whatever whenever I fall out on a psychological reason it became a very difficult thing to deal with it was none detectable all I felt was Pain and more Pain I couldn't understand why it was so hard to detect what it was that took over everything that makes me up as China Ru 151 Wan Gary all them names so if I fuck with you you'll be around in so don't trip On Bloods anything that ani't taking over self so do whatever do but do it from your heart and don't contradict anything that you believe in on Bloods gang Woop Woop p-funk ?

This punk ass pretty little slut that she really is on Bloods she can't cum over and tried to psychological try to mind fuck a week nigga over he'll go for some weenie ass nigga yeah but a real we can detect that feeling anymore you no shit Will get though life without too much complications it just fall into place let it do it's thing all you gotta do stay out of too way that any got a none unexpected fuck it Blood that's on a motherfucker that thinks they know every thing in the world and don't nobody nothing words mean anything but you no what to do right anyway I'm gonna get on my own understanding Woop Woop p-funk. 1zz

Blackpaper: Tumblr is my diary ``𓍯 ִֶָ. ִֶָ.

[bnnysweets]

APPLE CIDER

loser!ellie x ditzy!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. they’re inspired by cat and robbie in victorious bc i saw this edit and i couldn’t just don’t do nothing. ellie is just so mf in love with you omg.

warnings: ellie is IN LOVE, truly. reader is clueless. mention of marriage. reader is going out with a girl (booo🍅🍅) and she’s a asshole, ellie comforts you. fluff!

ellie is DELIRIOUS ’bout you, you share the same friend group so everyone knows she’s in love with you, but everyone also knows they can’t tell you because they already tried, but you didn’t believed, always excused it.

once, julien tried to tell you: “i telling you, she fucking loves you!” you laughed, “i knows she loves me, i love her too.” you said smiling and julien rolled her eyes, “i mean she wants you! like a girlfriend!” “yeah! we’re totally girlfriends!” you answered genuinely, “lord help me…ellie is in love with you. she wants to kiss you, with tongue. she draw you naked on her sketchbook, she writes songs about you, she gave your name to her favorite star.” you looked at her for a moment, without saying anything, just analyzing. “you know i don’t understand irony.” you said and julien gave up, changing the subject.

little did you know it’s aaaalll true, ellie’s big motivation to go the college everyday is to one day she have a great job and earn a lot of money to spoil you with all the expensive makeup you like and a pretty ring that you deserve. one page on her sketchbook has you in a wedding dress and veil, with your name + williams wrote on it. nobody else has ever saw it, it’s too precious to her.

so imagine her state when you started seeing a new girl, rachel. she was miserable, thinking you would never look at her the same way, but in one radom thursday you sat at the cafeteria table with a pout and sad eyes, ellie was experiencing a bittersweet feeling: at the same time time you looked so cute and sweet with that face, she was mad someone or something had made you sad. “rachel told me she liked me more when she didn’t really know me.” you announced to your friends, almost crying but before anyone could say anything ellie let a loud scoff, “are you fucking serious? this girl is insane?” she said and everybody was shocked, no one had ever seen ellie so mad and speaking so loudly, you just looked at her, speechless, batting you eyelashes at her, she swore you were trying to hypnotize her. “anyone who says they don’t like your personality is fucking insane, anyone should be fucking pride to get to know you. to know the pretty person you’re, inside and out, to know your kind heart and your bright mind. i’m not gonna sit here and listen to you say how rachel it’s just a difficult person when in reality she’s just a asshole, she’s a damn prick. she doesn’t deserve you, and you don’t see this! you don’t see how she talks ‘bout you when you’re not around, you don’t see because you trust her and it is the saddest and yet the prettiest thing ‘bout you, you believe her besides everything. but you need to wake up, she doesn’t like you! she likes to have you by her side, to show you off, to kiss you and show everyone how she has a pretty girl by her side. but she doesn’t truly like you, she likes how you make her feel, because she fucking knows how much you like her.” when ellie finished your face was all wet with tears, and ellie was out of breath, looking at you, fearing your reaction.

you got up and went to hug ellie, who was on the other side of the table. she embraced your body, smoothing your back while you cried and tightly hugged her body. when you calmed down you took your head out of her shoulder and looked at her, “thanks for the cold shower els, i needed it.” you said and waved goodbye to the group. you head to the rachel’s dorm to end everything right after this. maybe ellie has a chance after all.

[morganaawriterr]

His brown eyes; Park Sunghoon

SYNOPSIS ➺ You no longer recognize Sunghoon’s eyes. They used to be full of love, and now, are empty and numb. In the forest with him you soon find out why they have changed so much.

REQUEST ➺ For this sweet girl @semi-wife! Her bundle was: Lapis Lazuli (Sunghoon). The devil (Cursed bond). Moon water + clove (Vampire). Dark romance. “I’d burn the world to have you.”. “Your soul was never yours to begin with.”

WARNINGS ➺ blood; death; very angsty because I got carried away; cursed bond;

Check out "Enchanted Corner" to see the original post with the rules to make a request yourself!

You stand tall in front of your lover, eyes locked with his, though you can’t seem to recognize him anymore. Sunghoon’s eyes are the same dark brown that you’re used to, but something is missing. Behind those beautiful irises that you love so much, there is nothing. They look empty and soulless, like he isn't capable of feeling anything.

The full moon is bright and glistening, reflecting its blueish glow down on the dense woods where you two are. The noise is all around you, in the wind brushing against the leaves, the cicadas, and the owls. All these sounds are loud and deafening as you face Sunghoon in silence.

“I never knew it would come to this…” he started, his voice failing him.

You have never seen him like this, hesitant and afraid. His gaze avoids yours as he speaks, as if he's trying to make it easier for himself.

Inside, guilt is destroying him. Now he knows why you and he are cursed. And he also knows what he has to do to stop the curse, and it makes him sick to his stomach. Sunghoon recognizes it won't be easy, but he also understands that it’s what must happen so he can love you in peace.

“What are you talking about?” you inquire, confused. Your skin shivers as the icy breeze brushes against your bare arms.

“The curse,” he begins again, eventually looking into your face. “You and I are cursed because of your past life. A life where you left a powerful vampire behind to be with me. You don’t remember, but I do. You left the wedding ceremony and came back to me. And when we were planning to run away together, he found us and killed you with an arrow. But it wasn't just an arrow! He asked a shaman to curse it.”

The vampire’s words hit you like a punch in the stomach. You don’t want to believe any of it, but your body seems to recognize his truth, because all of a sudden, it feels hard to breathe. Your throat knots, suffocating you, as if you weren’t supposed to know any of this.

“Sunghoon…” you whisper, voice low. “That can't be true—”

“I watched you die so many times. First, by an arrow. Then, you had a terminal disease. And now, only fate knows what will happen to you if we don’t break this curse.”

He speaks slowly, but he feels as though he is going to explode. It isn’t easy to meet you over and over again, to fall in love all those times, and then watch you die before he can make you his. And it kills him.

“How can we break it?” you ask, stepping closer, needing to feel his cold skin against yours to soothe your nerves.

“I have to kill you.”

The way he said it, so calmly and without hesitation, sends a shiver down your spine. You gasp, tears forming in your eyes. The step you took forward is followed by two steps back. He doesn’t dare to look at you as his words hang in the air like a promise.

“Sunghoon…” you manage, heart pounding in your chest.

“I’d burn the world to have you, you know that,” he explains, reaching out and cupping your face. “But your soul was never yours to begin with.”

You stay silent, unwilling to believe what he’s saying. This is madness. There’s no way you’ve lived this many lives, and there’s no way that Sunghoon killing you is the only solution to end the curse. It was already hard enough to accept that he was a vampire, now this?

Frustrated and overwhelmed, you take another step back. Tears roll freely down your cheeks as you feel his hand slide off your face slowly, leaving a cold mark behind.

“I won’t let you kill me. That can't be the only way. I refuse to—”

Before you can finish, your vampire lover is already behind you, his strong arms wrapped tightly around your waist and his breath close to your neck. Sunghoon can feel your heart pulsing beneath his grip, and it almost makes him regret what he’s about to do.

“I’m sorry, YN… I will look for you in your next life.”

With that, he kisses your neck sweetly and plunges a blade into your heart. You gasp, stunned. Blood begins to pool inside your chest, overflowing everywhere around you. Some rises in your throat, and when you cough, it splatters across his pale face.

The only way he could break the curse was to have you bleed into his hands, so he holds you in his arms a little longer, feeling life slowly drain from your body. After you grow heavier and limp, he gently lays you down in the tall grass.

His dark eyes brim with tears, his face stained crimson, his hands soaked in your blood. Sunghoon feels like he’s being strangled; his throat tightens and burns with every breath he takes.

He knew you would never accept dying. He knew you would try to escape and find another way. But this was the only way. You had to die in this life to be free in the next. He had to let you bleed, so he could love you afterward.

And maybe that’s why his eyes looked so hollow and numb earlier today... because he knew you were sentenced to death the moment you met him.

Author's Note: Im so excited to post this first request!! It turned a bit sadder than i wanted but i think it fits! Thank you so much for requesting hun, i hope you like it! As always, thank you so much for all the love, reblogs are always appreciated! Masterlist

Taglist: @mrsjjongstby @kawaiichu32 @maewphoria @tunafishyfishylike @deluluscenarios @firstclassjaylee

If you wanna be added or removed from the taglist just comment below!

[f1cflcfic]

Won't Say I'm In Love (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) - part x

pairing: lando norris x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n); past carlos alcaraz x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons and/or events

series: part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | ...

bonus: one, two, three

May 25, 2025

May 26 - May 29, 2025

[Excerpt: Press Conference Y/N L/N] "That was quite the match. How do you feel about the conduct violation and the subsequent fine you'll be paying? Do you feel like that's a fair call?"

Y/N shifts in her seat and shrugs. "It's already done, so what does it matter how I feel?"

"Do you feel like Roland Garros should be taking better measures to ensure these type of crowd interruptions don't happen?"

She shakes her head. "Honestly, there's really not much else to say about this topic. I'm glad that the person was removed, to me that is what really was disgraceful. Interrupting a match with the sole purpose of antagonising a player."

"It did feel like the tide was against you here today, and yet you came out on top. Despite a lot of fans cheering for Garcia, a lot of fans cheering for anyone that's not you because of your ex - and yet you won. Did you prepare for that mentally?"

"You always try and consider both the physical and mental aspects of each match, and what's going to make them a unique battle. Having a crowd be passionate about their home favourite is fine and to be expected, that doesn't bother me. At least they're excited and invested in tennis. What bothers me is the personal comments, and honestly? I'm really tired of constantly being put in the box of being Carlos' ex. We are both over it and have moved on, so."

"We were just in a press conference with Carlos. He didn't know about any of this, but seemed taken aback by what had happened and said he doesn't think this behavior by fans belongs in tennis. Has he reached out over the incident?"

Y/N hesitates, then speaks up again. "That's nice of him. But he's not responsible for what his fans do, and he's also playing a tournament here. I don't need or expect him to defend me."

May 30 - May 31, 2025

June 1 - June 5, 2025

[Excerpt Press Conference Elina Svitolina]

"That was a very exciting match. It seemed at the start like you had a good chance of besting your own record here at Roland Garros."

"Yes, I had a good preparation for the tournament this year. Strasbourg and Roland-Garros were both great tournaments for me. I love the physicality of clay as a surface, and it would've been nice to continue onwards, but it wasn't meant to be."

"Where do you think things went wrong?"

"You know, I started out quite strong but the rain delays and the switch from one court to another was quite distracting. I lost my momentum there. At the same time, Y/N is just a very strong player. One of the best in the world right now, so I really don't feel too bad about losing. I do think I didn't maximise maybe all the opportunities I had to make it more difficult for her, though. Still, 6-3, 5-7, 4-6 isn't the worst score."

"Lastly, you had your family here today. Does it make these tournaments extra special, after coming back from retirement to be with them?"

"Of course it does. My husband Gael [Monfils] obviously knows the sport very well, and I've always felt it's an advantage to have a relationship with someone who understands what matters most to you in the world. Having that stability and support is so important, but also to know there's more to life than tennis - as difficult as it is to say that sometimes in places like these. It's the truth. I wanted a family, and I was fortunate enough to have a child. You can't have both at the same time, as a woman. Not with a sports career."

"Do you think documentaries and series like Break Point help in making viewers understand those trade-offs a bit better, and the behind the scenes dynamics of high-level tennis?"

"It's hard to capture the unfiltered, unedited stories I think. But if it gets people interested in tennis, then it's a good thing. I just hope they watch for the right reasons, and it doesn't end with people yelling at players. I was very taken aback by that here. Because we're not characters in a fictional story - we're real people and we all hold a lot of respect for each other. Even when we're opponents on the court."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘ ∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘∘•···············•∘

A/N: HALLELUJAH they're in the city of love and y/n is finally realising she might have a crush...

♥ likes, comments, reblogs and asks are always very much appreciated - i love chatting and hearing your thoughts! ♥

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[kaelor0409]

This seems like a really great way for GMs to have to come up with and describe every crack and crevasse in every possible environment, and for players to have to spend an entire session bored out of their minds trying every kind of search technique possible on every single room.

I am not a master detective, or a skilled tracker, or a trained scientist. I don't know what I should be looking for, but my character does. That's what the "+6 Investigation" (or whatever) on my sheet means! The point of roleplaying is that you are playing a role. Your characters may be able to do things you can't. Likewise, while you may know everything there is to know about looking for signs of dry rot in wood, your lunkhead barbarian might not.

Furthermore, just because someone could perceive something doesn't mean they will. How close do you have to be to smell the scales of the basilisk waiting in ambush? I don't know! What's the wind direction? How sensitive is an elf's nose compared to a dwarf's? Have you worked up a sweat? What's in your pack? Did you fully rinse off the viscera from the last fight?

Rolls are abstracts for narrative and chance. TTRPGs aren't video games. Someone rolling a two on a search check doesn't mean the secret compartment they were looking for magically became invisible. It means that perhaps they were distracted at a key moment. Perhaps the shadows fell in such a way as to mask the hidden seam, or the panel is sticky so the searcher assumed it wasn't moveable.

Likewise, a high roll is a chance for fun comedy. We've all seen it before: a bumbling or otherwise unobservant character just happens to lean on the right section of wall, revealing a hidden passageway.

Eliminating rolls turns everything into a binary contest. Players are rewarded for thinking exactly like the GM, and punished if they don't come to the same conclusions. A lot of it will come down to GM calls on what people can and can't perceive, based on personal opinion. This can create hostile environments very quickly if players feel cheated by descriptions they didn't understand, or if they get jumped because the GM decides they didn't hear/see/smell something.

The only advantage to this approach is that it rewards player creativity, and you can do that without turning your entire game into a point-and-click adventure. If a player thinks to measure the depth of a drawer to check for a false bottom, then maybe they find the secret compartment without having to roll. If a suspicious player thinks there might be bandits in the trees, maybe they get a bonus to their roll against the bandits' stealth. If they don't, their characters' skill or dumb luck might carry them through anyway.

-

A similar comparison is social rolls. Why have social stats at all? It's a roleplaying game. Don't have "Persuasion" as a skill, make players can convince the GM in-character!

...except not everyone is a slick salesman or stone faced gambler. Doing away with social skills is effectively punishing players for not being as charming or stoic or intimidating as the fantasy characters they are playing. Some interactions can also go into bad territory if pushed too much. Trying to seduce a guard can be a fun narrative idea, but forcing your players to flirt with you (or forcing a GM to roleplay as the target of endless seduction attempts) may cross lines. In safer territory, not everyone wants to sit through an hour of haggling and contract negotiations.

If a player gives a stirring speech, persuasive argument, or clever gambit then absolutely they should be rewarded. But don't make it so players have no choice but to come up with a passionate monolog on the spot if they want to inspire the local troops.

-

Skill rolls exist for a reason. They provide streamlined abstraction, impartial arbitration, and the ability for people to play as a character with skills they personally might not have.

If you want to solve puzzles with your friends, say so. Go do an escape room, or play a mystery game. Or if everyone is onboard, make a house rule that you will use roleplay instead of skill checks for things like searches. But this isn't going to work unless everyone is enthusiastically on board, and certainly doesn't work as the baseline for all TTRPGs.

If there was one thing I could retroactively erase from existence in the entire history of the tabletop RPG medium it would be the concept of using "perception checks" or "investigation rolls" or any similar mechanics in dungeon-crawling RPGs to determine if the PCs can see a detail in their environment.

"A DC 15 Perception roll is required to see..." "A DC 20 Investigation roll will reveal..." no. Shut up. If the thing is in plain sight or can be perceived with the senses by simply existing in this space and taking a look around then the PCs are perceiving it and describing it to the players is part of your role because you are their source of sensory information about the in-game world.

And if it's not in plain sight or deliberately concealed in some way then they simply DON'T perceive it but can reveal it by narratively interacting with their environment until one of their actions undoes whatever's concealing it, not rolling a die to see if they can Perceive Hard Enough to reveal it.

[soliloquent-stark]

i just watched thunderbolts and here are some rambly thoughts (don't read if you expect incredibly nuanced takes. also, obviously, spoilers coming up):

i am saddened that for the first time in a while, i left the cinema feeling pretty negative after watching a mcu movie. i was so hyped to see this; people made it seem like it'll be so amazing, the promo was so over the top, the trailers were great, some people even said it was their favourite mcu movie in a long time (or ever) and that it rivaled catws (spoiler: it doesn't). and it's wild to me that captain america brave new world had way worse ratings, less hype, less promo (doesn't surprise me...) when to me it was a way more enjoyable movie. i am kinda baffled and confused.

yes, thunderbolts has good moments. yelena was quite wonderful, as expected, and there was a few funny moments, some emotional beats, a pretty decent attempt at exploring loneliness and mental health issues (not perfectly so, but what can we expect). the visual effects were cool, and i really liked the eeriness of the void (both the black shadows, and the void itself, the way going from room to room was depicted and going back into their memories, and especially seeing more of the red room. that was nice). that's... about it, i think?

i am a big bucky fan, that's true. so maybe i am biased in feeling disappointed with how he was written, but i am. i am not saying he should've been the main character, but i expected way more. really hot take here: his role could've been played by another character and the results would've been pretty much the same. ava brought specific skills to the table, so did yelena (and she brought her dad along), even john with his stupid military knowledge and the shield etc saved their ass in a way maybe someone else wouldn't have. at the very least, scenes were written with that in mind, to highlight their skills. it felt like they really had to work together to get out of that bunker, and they were pretty well defined. but after that? unless i am mistaken and don't remember, bucky hasn't done anything that only his specific set of skills or knowledge could've done. i am not saying that to shade him, i am saying it because they had bucky, sebastian stan at their disposal, and he was kinda bland and completely overshadowed by everyone else. i mean yeah the motorcycle scene was cool... but?? i am glad they at least didn't include him in the whole speech about people who need to redeem themselves, they probably anticipated the backlash on that, but otherwise it felt like they really disrespected his character and journey once more. and goofy bits aside (for example, them all, one by one, saving people, then together holding a rock up... like okay, sweet idea i guess, and clearly showing why the marketing was effective afterwards, but like... c'mon now. the same way they kept having val say her plans to her assistant as a way for us to understand what's going on. such lazy writing omg) all that aside, the plot was kinda flat and predictable, one hour in and all the events had already been showed in the trailer, and at no point did we really feel any mystery or had to wonder what the bad guy is up to or where the movie is headed. it's just wild to me that this movie has better ratings than brave new world like whattt (and i will get to sam in a second). also another bit of lazy writing was how quickly mel turned on val (just to then, of course, unturn when it was convenient for the plot) and just called bucky up to spill everything like c'monnn ok yeah he's charming but?? yet another moment where there wasn't any cool old school spying or hacking happening, they were just... fed information and they just showed up. this movie could've been an email ngl, with the way they fucked the pacing and spent so long on some bits and then completely rushed the ending. but yeah you have ava and bucky there and you give us nothingggg about their lives, just one dimensional all around; we found out more about what's happening in walker's life and his emotional state than bucky's — but of course they were gonna glaze over the woman of colour but also somehow the fan favourite popular character who's been in the franchise for over a decade and somehow keeps getting disrespected every project. ugh. and sebastian was kinda acting like he didn't wanna be there, maybe that's what happens when you're not acting alongside anthony, but he seemed bored and flat and i know he's an amazing actor and a great bucky but i don't know, it truly felt off. maybe it's the divorce, maybe in the half a year or whatever how long it's been since cabnw there's been an actual breakup between them because what the hell was with that energy...

i am sure there's more i am forgetting but now regarding the ending: what the fuck. okay yeah i expected them to form a team under a different name because of the stupid asterisk, but more in the direction of like, dark avengers or something. 'new avengers' is just a slap in the face to sam and the avengers' legacy (especially after bucky made a whole deal about how that shield is steve's legacy and how sam threw it away and all that stuff i don't wanna rehash but sam was in the right and now look who's not worried about messing up the legacy?) and THEY WENT WITH IT? WHY DID THEY GO WITH IT? why would a team of badass people who hate taking orders just... go with it. to have leverage over her? ok cool you're professional assassins you could make her disappear in a second. you could put her in jail in no time. how was she legally able to stand there and tell everyone she brought a way to protect america and suddenly it's all okay? they could've easily told everyone the danger was due to bob which was hear creation and that she really needs to be locked up?? yes i understand they're protecting him but like what the fuck how is she not at the very least impeached. or maybe she was but then WHY are they still a team fourteen months later? AND GOING AGAINST SAM. that is the biggest disrespect i could've imagined and i was shocked by that last scene. i love bucky so much. i love sam so much. i love sambucky so much. so my brain melted at the idea that they're still doing it without sam, calling themselves the new avengers, and then actually saying his name out loud and disrespecting him so badly. the ONLY TIME they acknowledge that there is a captain america, a non enhanced captain america who just protected everyone from the red hulk, in a movie full of supersoldiers, is when they complain about him. and bucky lets it happen?? and moreover, they make it seem like they fought (which i understand, i would also fight with him over this if i were sam??) and it just makes no sense. why would you do that? after tfatws, after framed photo in the office, after i love you buddy, we get no mention of him in the movie, no respect showed to him, and then bucky not defending him?? this is HELL this is the bad timeline and i know i should expect this from marvel but with the other movie being only from a few months ago i thought we established they're on good terms so i am just confused and betrayed and SAM DESERVES BETTER. (and surely deserves better than having people now call him names and completely dragging him for taking legal action against this bs. not to mention his legal action was merely a trademark... get tf out of here) bucky deserves better too in the way that what the fuck is he doing why is not retired or fighting by sam's side WHY IS HE IN CONGRESS that was still not fully discussed like?? what, to bring val down because she was experimenting on humans and he is against that? well um now you work for her like what?? also who voted him in how did any of that make sense and also the way pretty much none of his plot had anything to do with him being in congress. he could've been watching the hearing on tv. he could've snuck into the gala and talked to the assistant as a civilian. what was the purpose of him being in congress? or you're telling me he will continue to be, after all this mess, and there will be a point later on?? why is he putting up with any of it. besides the fact his hair looked amazing in that last scene and he looked like prince charming i have zero good things to say about that and i wish it never happened. god the more i think about it the more angry i get. also where are all the other avengers guysssss stand UP. sam pick up the phone network around and you'll have them rounded up within the week how are y'all letting this happen !!! ok rant over

edit to add: civil war and all THAT didn't happen just for the 'avengers' to led by a member of the government. not even the UN, or an ethical body of sorts, no, just ONE corrupted and awful CIA director. how the FUCK would bucky stand for that and how is that not a slap in the face to steve, sam, nat, and everyone else affected by the accords (and this is coming from a tony stan)

[project-sekai-facts]

This sibling discourse has made me think, have we actually got anything that explicitly says that Toya sees Tsukasa and Saki as siblings or viceversa? I don't recall it, although I think Rui has said something like that about Nene and now the kanamafu 4koma

Yes, there's multiple instances of Tsukasa explicitly calling Toya his younger brother. These screenshots are from Toya's Bond Between Siblings 4*, Nene's Little Squirrel's Invitation 4*, and Rui's Sudden Trial 4* stories, but there's a couple other instances. In the first he says オレの弟のような存在であり, and in Nene's card story he says 冬弥は弟みたい which from what I understand is just a more casual way of phrasing the same statement (弟=younger brother, ような存在 / みたい= like). In Rui's he says オレ達はいわば兄弟のようになってな, which is still the same idea but here he says 兄弟, meaning brothers.

Afaik Saki never does this, probably because she's less close with Toya than Tsukasa is due to being in hospital for a lot of her childhood. Toya never refers to Tsukasa as his brother either (probably a personality thing, Tsukasa is more casual compared to Toya who is quite formal and polite), but appreciates Tsukasa calling him such. In the English version of the game, however, he does call say Tsukasa is like an older brother to him in his Bond Between Siblings 4* (the original text is roughly: "He's a respectable senpai to me. Our parents already knew each other, so we played together as children". Idk why it got changed it so much but early days ensekai TLs were weird like that).

(i don't have a screenshot and sekaibest doesn't have a designated page for mysekai so you're gonna have to take discord text dump)

Rui's mysekai dialogue roughly translates as: "Nene is my childhood friend, we're nextdoor neighbours. We're both only children, so when we were younger, we would play together like siblings. We would make up musicals almost every day, how nostalgic." The word he uses here is きょうだい, which is the same word Tsukasa uses to refer to Toya in the third example I gave, only written in hiragana to be gender-neutral.

It's a bit broader in terms of how it can be interpreted than what Tsukasa says about Toya, probably because they know the Nene/Rui ship is one of the most popular in the fanbase (childhood friend romance is a very popular genre in Japan). While the phrasing is near identical to how Tsukasa talks about Toya, Rui's talking about the past here and there's no indicator anywhere in the game of if they still or even at the time explicitly viewed their relationship as a sibling-like one. You could interpret the sentence as either them having a sibling-like relationship or them playing together because they didn't have siblings to play with.

What Mafuyu says in 4koma #297 is 姉妹がいたらこんな感じ… だったのかな which roughly translates as "I wonder if this is what having sisters would feel like" (姉妹 = sisters). The statement is in reference to how she feels about living with Kanade. Unlike the previous two instances, this one is just Mafuyu speculating about what it would feel like to have a sibling, and doesn't indicate that she actually thinks of Kanade as a sister or that their relationship is actually sibling-like... even if Kanade is the example she comes up with. As I've said previously, while these obviously have to go through approval, as far as I'm aware the scripts for these comics are written by the illustrator instead of the actual story team. Like, the story team definitely know the Kanade/Mafuyu ship is popular it's the 2nd most popular in the fandom based on pixiv numbers, they probably wouldn't pass anything that explicitly describes their relationship as being that of sisters.

Oh yeah Shiho also goes to call Honami おねえちゃん (big sis) in one of the original 1komas but I wouldn't count those as canon since they directly contradict the game's story and are just done for gags.

[bigheadastronautt]

I feel like Nightwing and Duke both represent hope but they do it in different ways. Nightwings hope feels more individual, as in he overcame tragedy in his life that gave him hope and because of that he’s giving it to others. He likes to give people the benefit of the doubt even if it harms himself. I also think that he’s a bit idealistic in his hope in that he’s stubborn and can believe in an individual so much that sometimes it can cause more harm than good. Nightwings hope is based on his own path and seeing how he recovered from his trauma despite his tragic past.

Duke on the other hand feels more like hope in the community. he trust that not only he wants to do the right thing but that’s given the opportunity others would want to also, he lived as a normal person throughout some of the worst eras of Gotham and believes that despite all that the people of Gotham also care for the city for the city as much as anyone from the Batfamily does and that the city itself is capable of change.

Because Nightwing has been around Batman for so long a lot of his legacy is connected to Bruce to matter how much he tries to set himself apart. Though that’s not necessarily a bad thing it’s important to understand how it shapes him as an individual. When it comes to Nightwing he helps people from a position of “authority” if he wants to see people do better he becomes their shield. He leads from the front and takes the pressure to that others won’t have to. This probably also stems from his position as an older sibling.

Duke however stands with people not in front of them. Duke’s trauma has made it so that he understands people endure together. When he helps people it’s from a position of mutual respect and responsibility. He helps empower people so that they can go on and empower others. He gives them the tools to inspire agency and makes sure that their voice matters. Even in his when he was “leading” the robins it wasn’t from a position of real authority, his voice held the same weight as everyone else’s.

Where Duke says “you’re not alone and you don’t need a symbol to save you.”

Nightwing says “I’ll take the hit, just keep moving forward.”

Where Nightwing wants people to be able to rely on him so that he can help. Duke wants people to realize they don’t have to rely on him.

Duke isn’t here to replace a symbol, he’s there to decentralize it. Show people that the power for change in already within them.

Nightwing is proof that Batman’s way can evolve.

Duke is proof that Batman’s way can be rebuilt.

Duke’s story isn’t the answer. It’s the call. That’s why he’s The Signal.

(I didn’t proofread this, I was honestly just typing. Apologies if there are any typos)

[captainmagpie-risha]

The prompt is interesting, hope it's (still) okay to answer it 😊 As for my characters... (under the cut because I'm shy lmao)

Warden (Kallian Tabris) : Leliana and Morrigan are like sisters to her, but they were not at her side during most of her life. Her bestest of friends are Anders and Nathaniel. Nate stayed at Fort Bastel and she took Anders in her home after DA2, when Hawke and him were on the run. Anders and Kali were in a dark place during this time but they helped each other going on. Both of the guys almost raised her son with her (as Zevran did, but he's more close to a platonic lover so he doesn't really count) and they deal with each other bullshit daily. If she wants to gossip, she goes to them. If she wants to be reassured, that's the same. I love their trio, and I can't even who's the closest to her.

Hawke (Marian) : Oh difficult one. I could easily say Varric, ofc, because she loves him dearly and they basically understand each other without talking. But in my canon, she first romances Anders, then Varric after Trespasser so I will not count him. I'm torn between Merrill and Fenris, but honestly she just loves when he judges her (bad) life choices and to drink too much wine with him so Fenris it is !! She literally asks dating advice. From Fenris. When she is with Anders. It never ends well but it is kind of hilarious. They bicker a lot and sometimes throw hands. Hawke main goal is to make Fenris die of embarrassment when they are in public and is super tactile with him. He's used to it by now.

Inquisitor (Ennera Lavellan) : Her bestest friend is obviously Dorian, even if she is very close to Cassandra as well. She loves his nerdy attitude towards magic and his humor. He reads to her a lot as she has approximately zero attention span with a book in her hands and teaches her a lot about his culture and human interactions. Their personality are mirroring each other in a way : she's more joyful but reserved, calm in appearance but fiery inside ; he seems more at ease and outgoing, but guarded and insecure. They have long chat, talking about philosophy, life, other people, their emotions. Being vulnerable with each other is okay, they feel safe. Dorian loves to tease her a loooot to tone down the Horrors™️ which sometimes doesn't help at all, but at least it's funny. Ennera shows him the bright side of things and helps him accept himself as he is. She also takes him during all of their trips, which he hates, which she loves. She just wants him to be by her side to experiment the joys of nature, teach him herbalism... or just seeing flowers, really. Or snow. He would be very happy not to, but he can't say no to her when she makes a sad face. (He still complains the whole time.)

What a good prompt !! It was fun thanks 😊

no more romance. romance is canceled. tell me about your warden/hawke/inquisitor's best friend and any info you want to add about their dynamic 🖐