#but being unable to mask IS NOT A PRIVILEGE IN ANY WAY

[mythicalcoolkid]

You don't want to be more ill or more visibly ill. You want it to be easier

[qwimchii]

this is not important at all but im so obsessed with cod that i told my mom the whole run down and lore of the series and the characters. so my mom and i do this thing where we'll basically do headcanons about them and my mom's particular headcanon about ghost is that when he has an s/o, he follows them around like a puppy. and i havent let that go since she said it. thank you mother.

now i just imagine scary dog privileges with simon. like, you're at the grocery store and a person just has to look at you wrong before he's giving them a downright bone chilling glare, satisfied when they scurry away. you're quick enough to notice the outlandish, terrified look on the stranger's face, their eyes darting between you and your boyfriend behind you before running away. turning around to give him a confused look, he just squeezes your waist.

don't worry 'bout it doll, he murmurs, a laugh somewhere deep in his throat as he moves past you to inspect a can of soup on the aisle shelf.

you always just quirk your brown at him, knowing he probably has a smug smirk under his surgical mask at how easily he can scare away any potential threats to you. though to you, they seemed more like victims.

you just sigh, moving over to rub your scary dog's broad back as you tip-toe to peer over his shoulder at the can of soup in his hand.

and then my mom also said that he also follows you around like a puppy because he feels like if you're out of sight, you might disappear :( you're so precious to him and so sweet that he feels like you're a dream :(

it's giving— he likes to take showers together and doesn't want to be separated for a second. not in a clingy way. just in a i always need you to be in my peripheral, kind of way. he admitted that in a late night shower with you once, his arms curled around your waist and his face nuzzled into your neck. where he belongs. body warm and flush to yours. it made showering ten times more difficult but you couldn't find it in you to complain.

also, when you're working at something in another room, getting real quiet and focused, it makes him nervous. nervous enough that he has to stand from where he was sitting on the living room couch to check that you're still in the same apartment/house. leans against the doorframe to watch you, so adorably focused in silence, not wanting to bother you or become overbearing. just stares at you to know that you're still there and commit the image of you to his memory. sometimes, you don't even notice him watching you. when you do, he gets a bit sheepish as you coax him over, letting him sit in your desk chair so you could sit on his lap as you worked.

you're like his recharge station. he'll hold you for a good ten minutes, eyes closed and listening to you work and your soft breaths in complete silence, before he's all good to go back to whatever he was doing again.

—nsfw below

but if you're needy enough, getting squirmy on his lap and unable to focus as he pinches at your pebbled nipples through your pajama shirt, he'll pull down the waistband of his sweatpants and tug on his cock, hardening real quick as you mewl softly for him. then, he'll push inside, your slick insides sucking in his cock inch by think inch. he'll hold your ass flush to his hips as he cockwarms you, shushing your low whines begging for him to move, telling you to be his good girl and just relax and keep working.

even though it feels impossible, you'll straighten up and follow his orders, whimpering when you feel the head of his cock grind deep inside you.

but when you really feel like being a brat, not listening to anything he's saying, he'll fold you over the desk and fuck you. sometimes slow, teasing rolls of his hips and other times brutal thrusts. his hips smack against your ass, simon practically drooling as he watched the flesh of your ass ripple with each thrust.

when that's over and done and your pliant and finally satiated as he leans you back into his lap, you're too sleepy and tired to keep working, so he'll carry you to bed and coax you into a nap, stroking at your hair and kissing your eyelids and cheeks.

as he watched you sleep, slow breaths on your lips, sometimes he'll pinch his own skin because are you even real? you're his sweet little fairy that he has to treasure and take care of :( your needs are so important to him :(

ps my mom has never seen a video of ghost before either. she's only seen pictures but she knows him so well??? shes psychic tbh or maybe i just talk about cod too much also these days weve been talking about soap at lot. she thinks that he'd be obsessed w cats like constantly needs one to pet in his lap and that is soooooooo like domestic and warm and now the imagine of him reading a book and petting a purring orange tabby i—

i did NOT mean to turn this into a whole ass post but m ovulating ok bye

@ivybeeloved and @babygirl-riley this isn't really a full cod ff but i tagged you guys anyways?? hope that's alright <3 💞

[haddonfieldwhore]

venomous serpent - vessel

vessel (sleep token) x inhuman!reader

warnings: inhuman?vessel, inhuman!reader (succubus vibes), suggestive content/implied smut, not lore accurate, sleep paralysis (brief), biting, blood mentioned, lmk if i missed smth

word count: 1.7k

vessels eyes opened and glanced around the darkness of his bedroom, unable to move any part of his body other than his eyes. he was used to strange dreams and irregular sleep, but this was something new. he strained his muscles but remained immobile as the room around him began to warp into an unfamiliar place, somewhere strange and cold. tall trees stretched endlessly above him and damp grass caressed his arms as he now lay on the ground, soft rain falling from the sky as he stared up at the night sky.

vessel could feel himself regain control of his body at last, and was able to sit up, taking a deep breath as he looked around, able to see more of the forest that surrounded him. a melodious laugh echoed from every direction around him, before converging on single location, the sound now coming from a behind a tree a little ways up the path. vessel felt inclined to follow it, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself as his feet carried him down the trail, the earth soft and damp beneath every step. the sound of laughter got further away with each passing second, and then suddenly it came from behind him, causing vessel to turn around with a start. you stood before him, and it only took one look for him to determine that you were the most stunning being he had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on. as if you could read his thoughts, you laughed again, the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

“aren’t you intriguing,” you sighed, running a finger over his shoulder, sending shockwaves through his body. a soft breath escaped his lips, parted slightly as he admired you, in a trance as you looked back at him. “why are you hiding?” you placed your hands softly on either side of his mask, and it took all of his willpower to stop you from removing it, his hands wrapping around your wrists.

“please….” was all he could mutter, and his heart skipped a beat as you smiled back at him mischievously. his breath caught in his throat as you trailed your hands down either side of his neck, before tangling in the plush fabric of his coat and pulling him close to you, your bodies nearly touching.

“alright, keep your secrets,” you smiled, your voice so enticing that he might have taken it off after all if you had only asked again. vessel swallowed the lump in his throat, gathering the courage to speak.

“what…are you?” he asked. “what is this place?” you furrowed your eyebrows together, his grip on your wrists releasing as your fingers played with his long necklaces.

“this is your home now, silly,” your voice teased him. “and what do you want me to be? what are you?” you countered. “i don’t think i’ve ever had one like you before.”

“is that so? what do you intend to do with me?” vessel didn’t know where the new shred of confidence came from, but his heart rate increased as your eyes lit up a phosphorescent green and your touch trailed down the length of his torso, goosebumps appearing in their wake. your fingers hooked through the belt loops of his pants and pulled his hips against yours, and his hands landed on your waist to steady himself, and you hummed at the feeling of his fingertips digging into your soft skin.

“just relax,” you whispered next to his ear, before placing a kiss to the flesh of his throat and then sinking your fangs in. vessel tensed at the sharp pain, his nails leaving crescent shaped indents on your hips as he tried to stay still. “let go.” he heard, but you hadn’t spoken, it was just in his head, your voice ringing through his thoughts as venom coursed through his veins. it burned so sweet, his arms wrapping around you to keep you close, and he felt you chuckle against his skin. he gasped softly as your forked tongue caressed the bite wound, before pulling back to look at him, blood dripping from you lips.

vessel closed the distance between you, tasting the iron on your tongue as he moved his lips against yours feverishly, hands roaming your body as you kissed him back. you surprised both him and yourself when a moan erupted from your throat as he pushed your back softly against a tree, his hips pressing against yours as you ground against eachother. his kisses trailed wet and hot down your neck, and you laughed softly as your hand caressed the back of his head.

“i think i’m gonna keep you,” you hummed, his own teeth puncturing your skin know leaving angry red bruises behind. his hands still wandered your body, tugging at your clothes until they were removed, and you slid his coat off of his body, letting to fall to the ground with a soft thud. vessel gently pushed you to the ground, before crawling on top of you. your sharp nails nearly pierced his skin as you held his chin, his still masked face hovering above you. your eyes turned dark now as you smiled up at him.

“keep me,” he muttered, kissing your swollen lips, his tongue tasting the venom that still dripped from your sharp canines. he moaned deep in his throat as you bit down on his bottom lip, piercing the plump flesh between your teeth.

“i have to let you wake up, don’t i?” you asked, rolling over so you were on top of him, the soft grass tickling your knees as you straddled his lap.

“i’ll sleep forever if if means i can remain here with you. like this.” his hands trailed up your thighs to rest on your waist again as you raked your nails over the soft skin of his stomach, stopping at the button of his pants, and vessel couldn’t help but buck his hips upward slightly.

“such a generous offer. i must say i’m tempted.”

“say yes,” he pleaded, as your hands began to undo his pants, your eyes shining green again as you smiled at him.

“hmm let’s see if you can prove that you want it.”

•

vessel awoke, jolting upright, discovering that he was once again in his bed. he looked around. attempting to wrap his head around the incredibly vivid dream he had just had. had it truly been a dream? he wondered. everything felt so real. was this sleep playing some kind of game with him? he sighed, stepping out of the bed and walking down the hall to the bathroom. when he flicked on the light his appearance in the mirror shocked him. thin pink lines trailed down his bare torso, fine cratches left by your sharp nails down to the waistband of his pants. he tilted his head to the side to inspect the deep puncture wounds on the side of his neck, where your fangs had sank into him, and his heart pounded in his chest.

vessel heard the sound of your laugh again, and he looked around, only to see nothing and no one there but himself. shaking his head, he flicked the light off and stepped back out into the dark hallway, the light of morning only just beginning to stream through the cracks in the curtains as the sun would soon rise. from the end of the dark hallway, just outside the doorway to his room, he saw two familiar eyes, glowing an unnatural green. he walked toward you just for you to vanish, appearing again sat on the end of his bed.

“did you sleep well?” you asked innocently, crossing your leg over the other as vessel approached you cautiously. he kneeled on the ground in front of you, kissing the exposed skin of your knees softly, and you smiled down at him.

“incredibly,” he replied. “your venom-“

“it will not harm someone with your power,” you replied, leaning forward until your lips were nearly on his. “but i can still make it hurt if you want me to.” his eyes closed beneath his mask in response, his head falling backward to expose his neck to you, and you caressed his painted skin before sinking your teeth in once again.

“am i dreaming again?” he asked, wincing as you placed yourself in his lap, his arms encircling you.

“you tell me. is it a good dream?” you were doing it again- speaking without speaking; somehow communicating telepathically.

“mm- yes,” he groaned as you licked a trail of blood that had begun to run down the hollow of his collar bone. “i never wish to wake up.”

“say the word and you can have me awake or asleep. i’ll be with you always.” you pressed your lips to his, and his hands grabbed at either side of your jaw, trying to prevent you from pulling away. the mixture of his blood and your venom on your tongue made his head spin, and he repositioned your bodies so that you lay beneath his in the bedroom floor. the chains on his necklaces dangled from his neck, and you used them to pull him down to your lips again.

“you have got your hooks in me,” he moaned against your lips, and you smiled.

“it was almost too easy,” you teased. “but i must admit, you have captured my interest as well.”

“so this is not a dream? i will not wake up and find myself alone?”

“no. i am here,” you placed your hand over his chest, his heart bearing past beneath your palm. “and i always will be,” you gently touched the bite mark on his neck.

“what is it that brought you to me?”

“curiosity. i can travel many different realms and plains of consciousness. i have seen you before, but what you are still eludes me. i wanted you to myself. but he already had you.” vessel tilted his head at you slightly.

“he? you refer to sleep?” you nodded.

“yes. it took me a while to find you. but now that i have i am not letting you go.” you kissed him, softer than before.

“i would not have it any other way.”

disclaimer: all screenshots, events, and/or interactions depicted in this are a work of fiction. i have no association with any parties mentioned

[kedsandtubesocks]

This Tornado Loves You

A Cowboy Din Djarin One-shot

a/n: I had a really long tiring wild day today so I thought why not write about this wild cowboy lmaooo the title is from the neko case song and this is for my favorite cowpoke @skeletoncowboys thank you for being a true gem Warnings: death mention, extreme yearning, 18+ just to be safe

“I have to leave for the week l…is it alright if I leave the kid with you?”

Din’s request is quiet as the morning sun beats down on you two.

You know he tries to take jobs that don’t require him leaving the kid anywhere for long. But, the jobs are getting sparse and the cowboy that has been opening up to you is slowly retreating back, reverting to the cautious coyote you once liken him to be.

So you reply without hesitation, without question. “Yes of course I’ll watch him. I’ll keep him safe I promise.”

You don’t miss the way Din’s eyes beneath the shadow of his hat go wide for a split second. Everyone in the town swears this bounty hunter has no soul cause you can’t see his eyes, and even if you did you’d might find he has no soul. But you see it, the cowboy’s soul, right there along with heart bare before you as they shimmer in his eyes. The bandana masks any facial reactions but you hear his low molasses voice crystal clear-

“Thanks honey.”

This is an honor and privilege you will hold dear in your heart. The wildly curious baby boy is Din’s world. He cries the entire morning Din packs to leave and it breaks your heart.

Din gently softly strokes the baby’s chubby cheek and it’s a fondness, pure love between a father and son you feel like you’re intruding on. Until Din turns his eyes to you for a split moment, simply you and him caught in this snagged moment before he rapidly looks back at the baby.

“Make sure this one doesn’t get into trouble kid.” He teases with the baby about you and your heart grows wings, soars right out of your chest.

But that was two weeks ago.

The job was meant to take a week and now your mind spirals into worry, clouds up thick and heavy. It only worsens when you head to the feed store to grab a few extra provisions.

“Storm’s coming soon, make sure you lock up early for the night.” The older store owner announces what you’ve been dreading.

You felt the storm coming in your bones.

Living so many years out here you start to notice the changes in the air, the shift in the wind, the glooming clouds creeping more and more off in the distance. It makes your heart drop. You clutch the little boy asleep on your shoulder tighter as you readjust the blanket you’ve mostly kept him hidden under.

“So, you really still ain’t telling us where you got this babe from are ya?” The store owner means well. They all do in their own way.

“Like I told you and everyone else I grew him in my garden.” You answer.

He laughs at your reply and before anything more can be asked you rush out back home.

The rain comes first. It’s a blessing most days, a breeze of grace relieving the town and the earth of the heat. Now it floods your heart with dread.

What if Din is dead? What if he's in need of help?

What if he’s lost somewhere?

He can’t be lost you rationalize. He knows his way and you know that. He’s the best navigator you’ve known just from hearing him talk about his travels. But everything in you screams, almost begs you, to steal a horse from the town to try to find him and just do something.

It only gets worse as the storm only picks up. The sky from your window, dark and thundering, becomes a harbinger of dread.

The wind howls fierce. It shakes the house with a force reminding you that you are just a small human and cannot fight against a storm. Baby boy cries clutching you tight and you wipe his sweet watery glossy eyes soaked bright in the lamplight.

“It’s okay bug, we’re fine. I’m here. We’ll wait this out.”

Wait out the storm, wait for Din.

Thankfully the baby falls asleep while unfortunately your body is unable to settle though. You blame the rattling thunder now competing with the wind.

However, it’s there in the sound of the storm that you hear it - the fierce sound of a horse outside your cabin.

With a fast glance at the baby sound asleep you scramble to head outside. The wind whips out to greet you first. But in that whirlwind, through the pelting rain, you see the black stallion horse you are so afraid of and then his rider.

There he is, a phantom in the storm, your cowboy.

“Din!” You scream and move before you even realize it. A few steps off the porch and there you are rushing, flying out in the storm to him.

The rain soaks you to your bones instantly. You almost fall in the thick mud as you rush to him. His focus isn’t even on you. Din is busy in finally settling down his horse as he ties his fierce companion to the side of your fence post. That’s when Din turns towards you for a split second before you barrel into him.

You can’t help it. You had fought back the thoughts of him never coming back and truly becoming a ghost. And now here he was, solid and soaked in your arms. Your ghost, your phantom, your cowboy, is a man consecrated here and you don’t want him to leave ever again.

“I-I’m sorry!” You stammer pulling back realizing what the hell you’ve done. “I just…Come on! Let’s get out of this storm!”

He lets you wrangle him to the safety of your porch like he’s one of your rascally goats.

If only the townspeople could see him now.

This myth, this mysterious wild bounty hunter of a man with more guns you want to even think about, is drenched. His bandana is sticking to his face and you can see the outline of his striking nose.

As you try to make sure this phantom doesn’t disappear before your eyes, your lips twitch wanting to cry and you hate it.

“I thought you weren’t coming back.” Your voice leaves you, a croak so small you’re afraid it might get caught up in the wind.

“I was…I was so scared thinking you might not come back.”

The rain, you think, must still be dripping down your face until your vision blurs. You blink and discover tears streaming full on rivers down your face. Your focus has even gone away from the bounty hunter, like maybe you really are waiting for this to be a desert mirage.

Boots suddenly stomp on your porch, fiercely loud and sharp, as if they’re trying to mimic the thunder roaring around you. You look up. Din, bare face with his bandana yanked down, walks fast and fierce towards you. He is all you see before his lips are on yours.

The kiss steals your soul and is all consuming. His gloved hand holds your face like you might be the one to disappear in the air. For being a wild bounty hunter, the town's terrifying ghost story, he kisses you tender. Both of your clothes are drenched. His lips are cold. But it is everything you wanted.

“Honey.” He breathes out and it’s all you need.

All you can do is clutch onto him, your rain soaked phantom, and let the storm whip around the two of you. Your heart thanks the wind for bringing him home to you.

[kamryn1963]

Summary: Al would take it because he knew it's all he'd ever get.

@angstober Prompt 30: Nothing Else To Tell You

Al didn’t know how long exactly he had feelings for Hank. He knew it was longer than he should of with Al having been married up until a year ago. But he always kept it to himself. He loved Hank, knew he always would, but Al coudn’t risk telling Hank and losing him as a friend. 

Al promised himself to take his feelings towards Hank to the grave. There was too much at stake to fuck it up. 

That was until about a week ago. 

Kevin Bingham’s body had been found two weeks ago with Al’s hair on it. Finding out Denny Woods was also involved did not come as any sort of a surprise to Al and he knew how this was going to end for him before it even started. 

But Al refused to turn Hank in or give Denny what he wanted. Al made his choice that night when Erin called him, and Al would face the consequences. 

It was obvious Hank didn’t like the idea, and in hindsight Al really shouldn’t have been that surprised. 

“We should get married.” 

“What?” Al questioned as he looked up from the beer he’d been nursing. 

They were at Hank’s for dinner when Hank had suddenly spoken up. 

“We should get married.” Hank repeated, slower this time like Al was stupid and not like what Hank was saying wasn’t completely unexpected. 

“Spousal privilege”. Al said softly once it hit him. 

Al knew it was too good to be true, but some part of him had hoped there for a moment. 

“Yeah. This way we can’t testify against each other if it gets to that point.” Hank responded as he leaned back and looked Al over. “What do you think?” 

Al nodded slowly, masking his emotions as he thought it over. Besides the pressing issue of Al being married to Hank but not being able to have him in the way he had always wanted, it was a solid plan. The only one they really had. Denny wasn’t letting this go until at least one of them was in prison and they both were aware of this. 

And that was that. Four days later Al, Hank, Trudy and Simon Grant, an old army friend of Al’s, were at the courtroom. Hank and Al headed off to the bathroom first, the significance of this moment hitting both of them at once. 

“Are you alright?” Hank asked with a frown as he gently set his hands on Al’s shoulders. Al had grown pale in the last couple minutes and Hank had become progressively more worried. 

“I’m fine Hank. I promise I have nothing to tell you.”

“This means nothing, alright? It’s just so we can’t testify against each other.” Hank stated clearly trying to reassure Al but it only made Al feel worse. 

“I know.” Al whispered as he pulled away from Hank, unable to stand his touch at the moment. 

He knew this meant nothing, but god did Al wish it did.

[nonuggetshere]

JAZZ HANDS

Found some content of Flower and the 5 great knights interacting

I think I might have posted it before but I'm not 100% sure, so, here it is

Sometime after the winter celebrations, the knights finally decide to bite the bullet and start inviting Flower over to spend time with them

Flower was lingering in the palace when they stumbled onto Dryya and Isma heading somewhere, and to their surprise, Dryya called out to them.

"Knight!"

They paused, looking back at her.

She smiled. "Care to join us?" She held up her blade. "Some friendly sparing with the rest of the knights."

Flower looked around to see if she wasn't talking to somebody else then looked back at her and pointed at themself. She chuckled.

"Who else would I be talking to?"

Isma also smiled. "Well, if you want to join us, we'll be at the training grounds. You don't have to, of course, but it'd be a pleasure to have you there."

They turned and walked off, chatting about whatever it was they were chatting previously.

It would be...what?

...Well, they had nothing better to do, they could as well.

They headed back to their room and put on their armour, took their sword and headed for the training grounds.

The knights looked...glad to see them? That was a first...

"Hey, glad you could make it!" Hegemol got up with that usual bright smile of his and came up to them, patting them on the shoulder. "You're just in time, we were just getting started."

Dryya stopped stretching and picked up her sword and mask, smiling at them. "Would you like to go first? I'm dying to see the skills that allowed you to kick the Radiance's ass."

Flower almost wanted to correct her, but found their hands unable to move. They were acting friendly, sure, but...they still felt awkward and tense, and acting methodical and hollow felt familiar and safe. So they instead silently stepped into the ring with Dryya and readied their sword.

This...felt familiar. It felt good. Being in this arena, fighting like they used to, hearing the other knights' distant chatter and comments, even laughter - it almost felt like nothing ever happened, like they were back to how it used to be, in the comfortable yet painful façade they've crafted for years, before any of these people knew the truth. It was a bittersweet feeling. They tried to focus on the training itself.

They found it enjoyable, after all. Even if they hadn't chose to take up their blade on their own accord, they still found enjoyment in the art.

Yet the moment they left that ring, they felt like an intruder all over again. They sat to the side, some ways away from the other knights, just watching them train and make small talk. Watching from afar as they chatted and laughed. It...didn't felt right to sit by them. They shouldn't have the privilege to be included in the kights' daily routine or their friendly banter.

They instead silently watched Dryya and Isma spare against one another.

"So," Isma panted. "What do you think?"

"Excellent as always, Isma!"

"Oh, don't flatter me Ogrim and give me some actual criticism!" She laughed.

"-What do you think, knight?"

Flower snapped back to reality from their thoughts and looked up at them, to see all five of the knights were looking back at them. Were...they talking to them? Why weren't they calling them vessel?

Hegemol gave them a reassuring smile. "Do you have anything to add?"

They paused for a moment, looking away then slowly shaking their head.

"Ah, well, that's fine. I'm not a talkative person either."

But it wasn't just that, it wasn't just their shyness or reserved nature. They were much more comfortable in combat, but became that much more tense when sitting among them.

The training session finally came to an end, and Flower bowed to the five and, without making another gesture or waiting for their goodbyes, they walked off. After all, they weren't used to getting goodbyes, so when they heard the five say 'bye' to them they got almost startled. They glanced back, gave them a polite nod, and left.

Meanwhile when Flower bumps into Hornet they're just going to have this thousand yard stare

"Hornet the weirdest thing just happened to me"

Isma hunts them down later that same day and invites them to another sparing session, but reassures them they don't have to come if they don't want to, says they wouldn't want them to showup if it made them uncomfortable

But Flower does anyway, because it feels familiar - at least in a small part, and familiarity and comfort is all they want right now. Even if it comes with awkwardness and some discomfort.

So every so often, they start to show up to spare with the knights, and all the while they don't talk to them, they remain stoic and still. Still that proper "hollow" knight they used to be, even if it's a lie, even if everybody present knows it's a lie. It's still a comfortable lie, it feels familiar and safe, however othering and hurtful.

Knights try their best to make Flower feel welcomed and wanted, but it feels like every time they try to include them in conversations they only retreat even further into themself

They don't leave their "proper" pose, it almost feels like they're trying to be hollow even now

They finally see some of their personality shine through, just once. When Hornet shows up.

They stood perfectly straight with their hands neatly crossed behind their back. As always they didn't participate in any of the conversations, didn't even sit or stand close to the other knights, just watched as the five chatted and waited for them to choose whose turn it was.

Then, just as they turned to the knight, they heard a pair of footsteps approaching - fast.

Flower jumped back, just in time as a familiar red blur zoomed past.

Hornet slid into a halt and the two siblings looked at each other, before she lunged at them and swung at their feet, trying her hardest to trip them up.

They jumped and dodged every swing, moving back as they did so, in an almost scarily ease. They eventually placed their own well aimed kick and took the princess off her feet. She landed on the sandy ground with an audible 'oof' and stared up at them.

"Bitch."

They squatted in front of her and flicked her in the nose.

"Stop embarrassing me and let me hit you."

They finally moved their hands up and signed. "Stop embarrassing yourself and get better aim."

"I will strangle you in your sleep."

They got up. "Good luck with that, twerp."

She jumped to her feet and got in their face. "Who're calling twerp, tall freak?!"

"You."

"Uhm..." The two finally turned to look at Dryya and her fellow knights, who were looking at them. "Sorry to disturb you, your highness, but what's the meaning of...this?"

Hornet huffed. "I've been trying to sneak up on them and take them down for forever but it isn't working. It's like the asshole has a sixth sense for my attacks or something."

"No offence, princess," Hegemol rubbed the back of his neck, smiling awkwardly. "But have you considered that you're a bit...loud?"

Flower tensed up and their shoulders shook, though they tried to supress it. Hornet spun around and hit her needle against their chest plate.

"Do not laugh at me!"

It only seemed to make it worse though, as they tensed up even more and made an audible 'hhhh' sound.

This is the most animated they've ever seen them, and the first time they've seen them sign

[miitopias]

While reading the works of the medieval Arab sociologist Ibn Khaldun many years ago, I was surprised by his ideas on geography and climate, which attribute not only physical but also sociological patterns for people living in the same climatic region. In short, these ideas suggest that if someone from the extreme Northern Hemisphere moved to the extreme Southern Hemisphere, their surviving descendants would eventually have the same physical and sociological attributes as the people of the Southern Hemisphere. I was fascinated by this concept and at a loss of how anyone in this world could be a racist, knowing they could have mutated into anyone else.

Holding onto this notion and adding to it years of soul-searching, which for being born a Muslim led me to delve into Sufism, I developed the firm belief that all humans are essentially one and that all evil in the world is the result of our division. I was convinced the principal reason people in the Global North condone their armies murdering innocent civilians or the dying of children from hunger in faraway nations is that they are unable to perceive the victims as similar to them and are accordingly unable to empathize with them and feel their pain. If they did, I told myself, most evil in the world would disappear.

That is why I believe that the main objective of the arts should be to humanize those we perceive as different. Being an aspiring novelist myself, I decided that unity and the oneness of being would be the principal theme of all my work.

I can no longer adopt such beliefs and will no longer vouch for those ideas. 

It is clear to me now that calling for love and unity does not fall on the oppressed but on the privileged. In the face of the hate or apathy of those who do not feel their suffering or regard them as equal, the persecuted have no choice but to embrace whatever they are persecuted for, ethnic, religious, or else, and accept the division. To vouch for love and unity is a privilege only people in the Global North can now afford. For the rest of us, it is nothing short of weakness and humiliation.

Like most people in the Global South, I am watching with horror the ongoing genocide being perpetrated by Israel in Gaza and the blind, astonishing backing of the majority of governments and mainstream media outlets in the United States and Europe. Like most people in the Global South, I am opening my eyes to the hypocrisy, racism, and ugly confirmation that our lives and deaths are still not valued or regarded as equal. Like most people in the Global South, I am outraged at the narrative of condemning Hamas solely for the attack on October 7, the impudence of acting as if it were unprovoked, and the moral failure to view it in the context of 75 years of dehumanization, colonialism, ethnic cleansing, land theft, violence, torture, and rape at the hands of Israel.

We, who suffered from colonialism, understand that the only party to blame is Israel, the occupying power, simply because if there had been no occupation, there would have been no Hamas. We, who suffered from colonialism, understand that the Hamas combatants who attacked Israel on October 7 did not choose to be resistance fighters and would have had normal lives if they had not been subjected to occupation and living for almost two decades in a concentration camp where more than half of the population were struggling to afford food just before October 7. We, who suffered from colonialism, are well aware of this narrative of blaming the victims and the failure to apply the same moral principles to us.

So, for the people of conscience in the Global North who are standing with the Palestinians in any way they can, for those marching, writing, and speaking up, thank you for giving us hope in humanity in our darkest hour and not allowing us to turn into complete monsters as our enemies want us to.

And for the other ones, for those who are running this horror show in Gaza or facilitating it, for those who are murdering and collectively punishing the innocent men and women and the children of the earth, for those who know there are children trapped in darkness under the rubble of bombed buildings, who are dying of thirst and hunger and are still against a ceasefire, for those who have revealed the wickedness of their hearts and the darkness of their souls, know that we now see you for who you are. The masks have fallen, and millions of us are opening up our eyes to the realization of how much you hate and dehumanize us. Millions of us are radicalized and ready to adopt the ideas and narratives of any group, only if it will fight or oppose you. Whatever doctrine there is — Islamist, Communist, or Nihilist — millions of us are ready to espouse it only if it will take a stand against you.

Palestine now divides us. 

We have hate in our hearts, and I promise you that it will remain. And I promise you we will live like this and die like this and pass on our rage and our pain. And we will remain prisoners of our hate, and you will remain prisoners of your crimes and fears, and the violence will go on, and none of us will be free, until there is fairness and until there is justice, and until Palestine is free.

- Mohamed Seif El Nasr

[aeshttp]

the sun

paladin! tav x astarion

astarion basically hating but also loving tav for all the goodness they have within them idk how to do summaries okay..!! kinda angsty?? may be inaccuracies since ive never actually played bg3

If there was anything Astarion despised, it was the sun.

Not because he was an undead creature, where the sun would supposedly be the bane of his very existence, but how it symbolised hope, how it rose every day to bestow rays of light onto the world, a silent blessing illustrating the beginnings of a new day, how you had survived the previous.

Astarion had no choice but to claw himself through every day, he had to live- for his master, else he'd be considered redundant otherwise, useless spawn unable to enact the role shoved upon him.

When rays of sunlight would slip through the bars on the windows and dance on the floor, indescribable despair would flood him, a brick wall was truly the difference between him experiencing the light and love of the world, the sun being nothing more than mockery, a testament that the world would not shine for him, but for others and he'd have no choice but to watch in silence, envy clawing at his bones, his heart and his mind-rendering him to be the abhorrent creature he was always meant to be. The light he so desperately craved, an insatiable thirst, was something he knew he'd never get the privilege of tasting- he was far too damned to deserve anything of the sort.

So he began to hate the sun and those akin to it. Those who radiated life and love, who's presence could cast away the worries of any- their touch like a whisper and yet so grounding.

Astarion hated the unfairness of it all, thought them as optimistic, bumbling fools- who had been blessed to see the good in the world, to be the good in the world. And Astarion knew he didn't deserve anything so divine- and therefore despised it's existence as a substitute, a way to cope with the hopelessness and self loathing eating him alive.

Then he met you.

You, who was so kind, so good, who'd accept anyone in need to the ragtag group, never making anyone feel like a burden, or that they'd have to play a certain role to be allowed. Which confused Astarion to no bounds.

His entire life he had to play a role and yet the fact he didn't have to don a certain mask and not face repercussions was a foreign concept. Which made him frustrated and annoyed and his stomach swoop in confusion.

How could you to make an oath, to be such a virtuous person in a world plagued with sickness, corruption and cruelty- how could you still believe that there was something- someone- to fight for?

During the late hours of the night and you'd sit by the campfire with him in silence, never probing or forcing any conversation.

When you had found out about him a vampire, he expected scorn, to be tossed aside. He was prepared to give up his body for safety- but when you just shook your head fondly, telling him it didn't matter to you, he truly couldn't understand. He definitely didn't understand why you smiled at his exasperated expression.

And, gods, when you smiled so softly- pink lips curled up in amusement he couldn't help but want to drag more smiles out of you- because when you smiled, it felt as if he could smile too.

Getting you to laugh was an entirely different story, the sound as smooth and sweet as honey, alike to the hymns of angels- the bells that rang through the Heavens.

Astarion hated the sun, but could not help but be attracted to it- praying that it would cast its light upon him as well.

[morg-among-the-stars]

Simple Mistakes & Simple Touches

Word Count: 1,405

(I told my buddy @turniptitaness about an idea/AU where River tutors Payton in American Sign Language as opposed to Mandarin. So, here that sweet, sweet Hobarkley goodness is!)

————————————————————————

Payton feels good about his choice of American Sign Language as his foreign language credit.

So far, it's helped him get a head-start in getting his agenda out to the entire student body. It's helping him to set his place as an inclusive candidate.

A candidate who's more likely to win during next year's race for student body president, even if it's premature right now.

Though, his tutor, River, makes him want to change to something else entirely, so he doesn't have to spend time alone with him.

His tutoring sessions with River are never just tutoring, Payton learns that very quickly.

It started with the first lesson, where Payton’s hands had shaken with a new type of anxiety inside of him, meaning he had to repeat himself over and over again to get his signing right.

He wasn't anxious around many people, no one ever intimidated him.

Payton intimidated others, filling up a room with his presence.

But River, a smooth, deep voice and a friendly face, being honest and able to show vulnerability in every way that Payton cannot... it intimidated him a whole hell of a lot.

Next to River, Payton felt small.

Emotionally and metaphorically, but also literally when he had to sit so close to him.

Their first lesson was bad enough, with Payton feeling so small next to him on the bench at the foot of his bed.

He also felt so safe at the same time, which confused him from the get-go.

Small and safe.

But then, it only got worse when River reached over to turn Payton's hand around the right way, a simple mistake that Payton would initially regret, but come to find gratitude in as time went on.

A simple mistake that resulted in a simple touch, River's hand against his.

A touch that means nothing, a touch that any other tutor would've provided.

But Payton couldn't shake the feeling that hit him, sinking in his heart, like an anchor to a chain on a boat.

Keeping the boat steady, but also rigid and unable to move.

River could see something change, Payton's confident, room-filling presence deflating.

"Why are you so tense?" He had asked.

No one had ever asked that question, no one could see the tension he carries with him, the stress and strain he masks as drive and ambition.

Payton was taken aback, meekly asking in return,

"How do you know I'm tense?"

River just knows, he has barely had a full conversation with Payton before now, but he can read him like a book.

He also has observed, in what he says next, that Payton doesn't seem very happy.

Payton tries to be happy, he has a lot to be grateful for, a lot of privilege to his name, the best team he could've ever asked for and the most wonderful lady on his arm.

But he can't act like he pulls all-nighters for the campaign alone.

Sure, he gets a lot of work done when the house is quiet and the world is at rest, but he also can't be faced with his demons and self-doubting, self-loathing thoughts if he's wide awake, typing away on his laptop or scribbling down ideas in a notebook.

He desperately tries to be happy, so does River.

It's hard for both of them, painful for both of them.

Their pain bonds them and being confronted with it makes Payton cry.

He never cries if he can help it, but now, he can't.

He's helpless to all of this vulnerability, blinking hard and brushing away his tears.

River, almost cautiously, brushes a tear away.

Another soft touch that makes Payton's cold heart ache.

Maybe it's what he needed, to feel vulnerable like this.

River seems to think so.

It begs the question, what does River need?

Payton asks him directly and he's met with a sentence that he's never seen before. Words in ASL he has seen before, but when they're strung together by River, it's a sentence that he dumbly has to squint at.

But he figures it out quickly, River is asking if he can kiss him.

Payton is nodding before his mind can protest anything, before he can figure out every reason why he shouldn't be doing this.

River's hand is on his cheek, Payton thinks he could cry enough tears to fix a drought somewhere in the world because of that.

He feels sickness in his stomach, cruel emptiness when River ends their kiss and let's go of his cheek.

River brushes another tear away and thinks of brushing away another one after it, but he doesn't.

He stops himself while he's ahead and stands up to walk out of the room, leaving Payton with,

"See you next time."

Next time.

Payton stays on the bench at the foot of his bed for a while, thinking while his mind is blank.

Next time comes around fast, too fast yet not fast enough.

The same time the following week.

Payton feels that sickness in his stomach, though it isn't emptiness, it's butterflies.

Stupid little fluttering butterflies, excitement to see River.

He pays these butterflies no mind and goes on with his lesson.

Maybe it's for the sake of improving quicker, or to impress River, though he of course won't admit it, Payton has had his eyes in his ASL textbook everyday for the past week, teaching himself words that will help him in particular.

Words regarding to politics, so he can ramble about his dream without having to say word if he wants to.

When the time comes to begin and Payton shows him what he's learned on his own, River is impressed, whether it is Payton's intention or not.

Impressed and proud.

He lets Payton explain his plans for the world, having to help him every few minutes.

It's little mistakes that Payton is making, little moments where River's hand touches his.

He doesn't know if he wants to get better to make no mistakes or regress to make every mistake.

River had a lesson in mind, a way he wanted their conversation to go according to his textbook, but his heart is full of too much pride to stop Payton from going on and on.

Having River look at him so adoringly, so proudly, praising him for his quick learning makes Payton bashfully proud of himself.

He takes a break, ending his rambling for now and River's heart is full of love.

It's no question that he feels something for Payton, that's what their first kiss was for.

River being drawn to Payton and his vulnerability, being real and expressing pain, even though it's incredibly hard for him.

River wants to kiss Payton again and when he asks the same way as the first time, Payton nods again, though this time, he's sure of himself.

He's been praised before, countless times, but hearing it from River does something so beautiful to his sinking heart.

For a fleeting moment, Payton's heart is lifted in his chest, floating up when River's hand touches his cheek again.

River, same as last time, let's Payton go, or he at least attempts to.

Payton doesn't let him, pulling him back in, because he doesn't want his heart to sink back down into the depths of him, where all those butterflies live.

Those butterflies that scare him, but do not matter right now.

They flutter around, going back and forth in his stomach.

When Payton finally does let him go, River looks dizzy, stunned and smiling.

Their tutoring sessions stay on track ninety-five- alright, eighty-five- seventy-five percent of the time.

The other twenty-five percent gets derailed quickly, with Payton using his knowledge to ask River, "Please" and later, minutes or hours later, to tell him, "Thank you".

Their pain bonds them, but they'll both be damned if their love doesn't bond them, too.

Their strong connection, an innate understanding of one another.

It's a beautiful thing, a truly beautiful thing.

Payton never becomes fluent in ASL, but he becomes better than where he started, shaking and nervous.

He can hold a basic conversation, with the help of River, even when he actually doesn't need help.

River does catch onto that, Payton making mistakes on purpose.

He finds it humorous, sweet, even.

With every mistake and the soft touch that follows, River is there to help Payton, always.

[tommycorriander]

Trans man with an invisible disability here. Obviously everything you said is cool and good regarding how we're marginalized and all that, but generally not a fan of the idea of holding social privilege because of my disability being invisible. I very much do not, because my disability affects Everything I Do, which in turn leads to social stigma. There is an inherent bias there, where I'm assumed lazy/inferior for being unable to do The Simple Task, because there's obviously nothing WRONG with me. So my two options are to put up with the ostracization and the abuse silently, or to speak up that hey, I'm disabled, and simply not be believed but *still* face harassment and ire for. You know. Being disabled.

I should also mention I am speaking from the perspective of having both very severe ADHD (among other neurodivergencies I don't believe affect me to the same degree or simply don't with to disclose) and hEDS (a physical disability). The idea that those with invisible disabilities ever hold any social privilege only holds up if we are literally never interacted with in a meaningful way or, in the case of neurodivergencies, mask appropriately. Which circles back around to having that "social privilege" only when we aren't known as being part of the Bad Group.

"trans men have privilege when people don't think they're trans men" imagine if we treated every other minority's oppression like that.

also at this point you're just telling on yourselves. if your only argument for trans men having privilege is that we have privilege when people think we're Not Trans Men, then you have literally just run out of arguments, gone round in circles and accidentally admitted that trans men do not hold systemic privilege.

if a person in a minority group only holds social privilege when no one in that social scenario knows that they are part of that minority then that is called Not Holding Privilege actually. and kind of applies to almost every other minority group ever, including other trans people. only exception I can think of off the top of my head is invisibly disabled people but that experience is very different overall.

TLDR: if you ever find yourself saying "people from X group hold privilege when people don't know they're part of X group", then you need to put down your phone, close the tab, and repeat out loud what you just said. S L O W L Y.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

The Benefits

18+, Minors, ageless, and blank blogs DNI. Best friends with benefits smut written with AFAB reader in mind. ~2.9k words

Being best friends with Jason Todd has its privileges. He'll pick up whatever you're running out of in the fridge on his way back from patrol. He'll let you borrow his jacket when it gets cold. He'll scare off anyone who even looks at you funny without saying a word, and half the time, you don't even realize he's doing it until the moment passes.

Jason Todd is safe to you, a solid, unyielding presence in your life that you wouldn't trade for the world. That's why the last two weeks have been the most confusing, head-spinning, thrilling days of your life.

It all started around midnight, Thursday night. Jason was on patrol, and you had an itch. It was only natural, human even, for you to reach for the toy tucked away in your drawer.

It's practiced, the way you push your sleep shorts and underwear to your ankles. It's experienced, the way you guide the toy to your clit and cycle through the vibrations till you find the perfect one.

You pull your shirt up, bite the hem and muffle your moans. It's so good, so delicious and satisfying when your clit starts to throb that you don't hear the window open, don't even register the sound of boots hitting the floor.

You do hear the breathless, almost non-existent, "Fuck," that leaves Red Hoods mouth.

You gasp, dropping the toy in a panic. You're mortified, heat spreading across your face as you scramble to cover yourself and turn off the vibrations at the same time, "Jason," You squeak out, eyes darting frantically from him to the sheets.

He doesn't move for a moment, and all you can think about as you pull the blankets up to your chest, is how you're going to be able to look him in the eye again.

He steps towards you, and you shrink back a little, unable to read the expression on his face through the mask.

"Do you want me to help," he asks, voice even and calm through the modulator like he didn't just climb through your window while you were about to come.

"I– what," You stutter out, fingers curling into the blanket. That's not the reaction you were expecting at all.

He tugs off his mask and your breath hitches at how wide his pupils are blown, "You can say no. We can pretend this never happened. Or, you can say yes and I'll take care of you."

"But wouldn't this ruin–" You start, clutching the comforter to your chest.

"It won't. We wouldn't let that happen, right?" He soothes, and any inhibitions you're having are quickly fading as he moves closer to the edge of your bed.

You nod a little, and he grins at you. It almost looks out of place when he's dressed head to toe in armor, but it's so undeniably him, "So, you'll let me help you?"

"Yes," You breathe out, eyes locked on his. You don't think you could deny him right now, not when the thought of doing anything like this with him has you rubbing your thighs together. Not when it's his eyes you think of as you draw circles between your thighs.

"Gonna need you to drop the blanket then, doll," he drawls, and you hesitantly do.

Nothing could have prepared you for how fast he moves when you finally do. His hands are grabbing at your thighs in an instant, dragging you to the edge of the bed as he drops to his knees.

He barely lets you get settled in the new position before he's licking at the inside of your thighs, nipping and biting and sucking at the skin.

It's lewd, the feeling of his gloves drawing your thighs over his shoulders. It's dirty, the way he doesn't hesitate to tighten his grip on your legs to hold your thighs apart. It pulls a whimper from your throat before you can choke it down.

Jason laughs fondly at your whine and embarrassed appearance, the sound reverberating across your skin, "You're okay, sweetheart. I got you."

His mouth finally makes its way to your core and his tongue dips out to press against your folds, spreading you open and gathering your wetness onto his tongue.

You groan out his name, fingers curling into his hair, half an attempt to pull his head back, and half to encourage him to keep going.

Tugging his hair only entices him to nudge your clit with his nose. His eyes flutter closed at the taste of you, and he starts to lap at your cunt with more enthusiasm. “So sweet,” He murmurs under his breath, a sound barely heard over your own flustered whines.

You gasp when his tongue starts to prod at your entrance, slowly delving into you, the motion slick and easy with you dripping down his chin. His eyes close at the sensation, moaning into you as if devouring you is his favorite thing in the world.

It's earth shattering, mind blowing and completely unfair at how quickly he's turned you into a mess. You can't even form a full thought, completely focused on the pleasure building in your gut. It's overwhelming, and it makes you instinctively try to press your thighs together.

Jason just lets out a satisfied groan when your legs squeeze around his head. He presses his hands more firmly into your thighs to keep them open as he licks a broad stripe to your core.

He gives another groan against you, as his tongue slips back inside you to get another taste, drinking you down greedily like you’re his own personal dessert.

It makes you choke out his name in desperate sobs, squirming against the sheets as he flicks his tongue.

Jason doesn’t slow down as you chant his name, more interested in finding out which way he swirls his tongue will get your voice to pitch again. His tongue slips out of your core to drag through your folds, gathering up your fluids before he pushes it back into you again. The motion is wet and loud and he only pulls back so he can admire the blissed out look on your face.

You can only imagine you're a mess, but that hardly matters when he's a mess, too. Drool and slick dripping down his chin, hair sticking in every direction as he pants.

You think you should say something, but then he winks and suddenly shoves his face into your core, licking a long stripe against you.

The sound he makes is almost a moan, like he’s never tasted anything better in his entire life. He doubles his efforts, his tongue licking and his lips sucking your clit, desperate to feel you unravel just from the things he’s doing to you.

He purrs against you, when you cry out his name and he sucks hard, wanting you to come undone against his mouth and tongue.

You want to warn him, really, you try to tug his hair and stutter out that he's making you feel so good and you're going to cum. His thumb rubs back and forth over your thigh and for some reason, that soft movement is what sends you spiraling over the edge.

You soak his face, scream his name for everyone to hear, and arch back against the sheets.

He groans against you, the sound muffled as you suddenly fall apart against him. His tongue keeps moving, almost desperately, trying to get every drop of you that he can.

He only pulls back a few moments later, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand. His eyes are blown as he looks up at you from where he’s still kneeled at the edge of your bed. His hair is mussed from how you’d been gripping it, but he doesn’t seem bothered as his eyes rake over your face, a satisfied smirk on his lips as he sees how dazed you are.

He stays on his knees for a few more moments, breathing heavy, before suddenly pushing himself up. He's watching you intently, looking absolutely proud to see your hazy eyes and parted lips.

He tugs off his gloves, dropping them unceremoniously to the ground before cupping your face, "Good?"

You laugh a little. Good? Good doesn't even cover it. You push up to your elbows, "I– yeah. That was good."

"Wanna join me in the shower," he asks gently, eyes trailing over your face as he traces jaw, "Get cleaned up?"

He doesn't need to ask you twice. You absolutely do.

Two weeks pass, and the lines set between you blur more and more. Being best friends with Jason Todd starts to come with benefits, something you never even dreamed would happen.

His hand slips below your shirt in public, caressing your hips while you wait in line at your favorite shop. Movie nights lead to making out on the couch. Cooking dinner gets sidetracked when Jason comes up behind you, nipping at the skin where your shoulder meets your neck.

It's intoxicating, and any feelings you were stuffing down for him before are front and center every time he tilts your head up so he can kiss you deeper. You do your best to grapple with the growing feeling of love attraction towards your best friend. It's just a perk. It's not more than that.

That idea comes tumbling to a halt when Duke Thomas plops down next to you on Jason's couch. He's stopped by to collect some evidence for whatever case that he and Jason are working together, and he catches you completely off guard when he starts to talk, "Congrats, by the way."

You tilt your head at him, confusion clear in your voice, "Congrats? For what?"

He has enough awareness to look sheepish, "For getting with Jason. The, uh, dating part, I mean. I know you guys are keeping it between the two of you for now, but it wasn't hard to pick up."

"What," You deadpan. You and Jason. Dating? That is news to you, and more than likely, a misunderstanding.

Duke grins at you, "It's kinda hard to keep secrets in a family of detectives. And he's been happier, you know?"

You did know that. He's been smiling more, excitable, almost bouncy, and he's been holding your hand a lot more. Wait. Do you have a boyfriend?

Duke takes your silence as permission to keep going, "I don't think anyone else picked up on it yet, though."

"Did he say something about us," You prompt carefully, and you hope you do a good job of keeping your voice steady.

Duke doesn't get to answer, when Jason walks back into the room with a case file. You don't manage to ask Duke again before he leaves, and you're left wondering if there's more happening between you and Jason then you realized.

You know you should ask, that it should be easy to ask. But it's not easy, and a week later, you're trying to figure out if you need to buy a one month anniversary gift.

Ever since Duke's visit, you've been reading into everything Jason does, trying to pick apart any sign and every action. He still calls you 'doll', that's normal.

But, he kisses you randomly, even if you're not hooking up, like he's doing it just to kiss you. That's not really normal. But it could be. Maybe. You're not exactly sure how a normal friends with benefits situation works.

Jason's your best friend, and you love adore need care for him more than anyone. He's also supposed to be arriving any second now, and you still haven't managed to figure anything out. Yeah, maybe you picked up a nicer bottle of wine than normal, and yeah, maybe you're not against the idea of dating him.

But the fear that it's just a misunderstanding weighs heavy. You're debating if flipping a coin is too tacky, when you hear Jason's key in the lock.

He's already grinning at you as he opens your door, "Hey," he murmurs, crossing the apartment to get to you.

You barely get to respond before his hands are on your ass, lifting you up to spin you around before placing you back down gently and ducking his head to kiss you, "I missed you."

"I– me too, missed you too," you mumble out as Jason dips down to kiss you again. Before he could pull you back into his arms, you squirm out of his grip, "Do you wanna pour the wine?"

He groans, grumpy at the loss of you in his arms, "Yeah, yeah." He shuffles towards the fridge, and shoots you a look like he's already missing the sensation of you in his arms.

You think you look calm as you grab the glasses from the cabinet. Your head only spins a little when, as Jason pours the wine into the glasses, he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

You follow him quietly to the couch, taking a long sip of your wine as you work up the courage to talk. 'Are we dating' sounds stupid. 'Are we celebrating our one month' sounds presumptuous.

Jason flops down against the couch, setting his glass down before and pulling you with him. It's familiar now, how easily he maneuvers you to straddle his lap. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, "You look nice."

"I haven't done anything different," You protest, setting your own glass down as he starts to trace patterns along your sides.

He hums thoughtfully, and presses another kiss to your jaw, "You always look nice."

You make a face at him, doubtful. But still nice of him to say. You set your hands on his shoulders as he guides you to sit in his lap. He's always been touchy, that's normal. But this, the kisses and the grabbing and the sex, still feels new.

"You're insatiable," You say instead and he nips hard enough at your throat to make you squeak.

Jason's hand slips down your back to slide under the waistband of your shorts. He leans back a little to see you clearly, "Insatiable? Probably. But all it takes is a few strokes of my finger and you're already needy. Do you have any idea how cute you look when your breath catches like that? When all you can do is whimper and grind into my hand?"

You nearly choke over his words, warmth spreading across your body, "Jason!"

He grins slyly at you, kneading the bare flesh of your backside, "What's the matter? Can't handle a little teasing from your boyfriend?"

Honestly, you should have been prepared for it. But you blank in the moment, "My boyfriend?"

He raises an eyebrow at you, hands going still against your skin, "Yes? Would you rather call me something else?"

You force a laugh, it only makes him look concerned. Okay. Abort. You have a boyfriend, and you've dug yourself a hole by not knowing about it. What's the best way to fix this? A distraction.

"Oh, no," You answer quickly, tangling your fingers into the hair at his nape, "I don't mind boyfriend."

He doesn't look like he believes you at all. He starts to talk, and you take the chance to kiss him, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and sucking, something that always makes him shiver.

It works for about a minute before he's pulling away, studying you intently, "You didn't think we were together."

You wince, it's unfair how nothing gets past him, "Well, no. Yes. I wasn't sure."

He frowns, "You weren't sure if we were dating after I ate you out on your bed, then did it two more times in the shower?"

You suck in a breath, and the memories that flash in your mind make you feel hot. The way he knelt on the tiles under the spray of water, how he pulled your thigh over his shoulder, how even as you struggled to stay upright, his steady hands never let you fall even after he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of you.

"I thought it was just a benefits kind of thing," You admit quietly, looking anywhere but his face.

He murmurs your name, uses his forefinger and his thumb to guide you to look at him, "I don't want anything halfway with you."

Your gaze flicks to him shyly, and he only wraps an arm around your waist to keep you pressed against him, like he's afraid you'll try to pull away. "Is that okay," he asks, searching your face for answers, "that I want more from you than hookups? Then being friends?"

"That's– yeah. Of course, that's okay. I want that with you," You answer quickly. The last thing you want is for him to misunderstand, to think you don't want that with him.

You're not expecting the relief that floods his face, the way his entire body seems to melt against you. He tucks his head into your shoulder, muffling his voice "Okay, good. That's good."

You press your face to his hair, savoring the moment, savoring your boyfriend and all that he makes you feel, "Jason?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, not moving from his spot against your skin.

"Do you wanna makeout?"

He laughs into your throat, lips brushing over your skin, "Yeah, doll, I wanna makeout."

[ohgodmyeyes]

So Long As You Enjoyed Them

Unable to see the stars through Mustafar's thick atmosphere, you confess to Darth Vader that you miss the view you once had from aboard the Executor.

Vader, in his infinite kindness, indulges you...

"Is there a problem?"

Vader's voice came to you suddenly from the entrance to your quarters, but it didn't make you jump: You'd known since early morning that he was finally on his way back to you. He'd been gone too long this time, you thought; it was late in the evening by now, and you'd spent practically the entire day anticipating his arrival.

Nonetheless, you were too absorbed in your own musings at that moment, gazing out your window, to so much as look back in his direction when you answered his query, "It's nothing new, Sir."

"Tell me," he insisted— never having been one to mince words. He didn't move from his spot in the doorway, although you could sense that he very much wanted to.

You heaved a sigh.

You truly didn't want to talk about it; at the same time, you knew he wasn't going to let it go.

"...It's that I can't see the stars from here, m'Lord," you admitted, before it could turn into an argument you were certain to lose. "I'm still not used to it."

To that, Vader fell predictably silent: It wasn't the first time you'd complained to him about the smoke in the sky here on Mustafar; he never did seem to know what to say about it. His present haplessness was a large part of why you now hotly regretted having been caught gazing out at it again— Vader liked to try to please you; when he couldn't manage it, he tended to grow frustrated quickly.

"Don't trouble yourself with it, Sir," you went on, hoping you sounded convincing enough to quell his typically-overzealous concern. "It's a fruitless lament; you and I both know there's nothing to be done about it."

"...Perhaps not," he slowly confessed, "but if you are suffering for it—"

"I'm not suffering," you promised him, finally managing to peel away from the large, heat-resistant windowpane through which you'd been caught skygazing in favour of looking at Vader himself. "I haven't 'suffered' even a moment since arriving, Sir, I can assure you."

"We've discussed honourifics, Captain," he reminded you, finally striding over to join you at the glass. "You are no longer required to make use of them. Additionally, I would strongly advise you to refrain from lying to me— particularly about your thoughts and feelings. Dishonesty serves no purpose here."

You still use them, you thought belligerently to yourself, of the honourifics. Then, aloud, "I'm not lying." You almost added yet another Sir to the end of your sentence, but managed to stop yourself... at least that time.

"Yes you are," he countered plainly, tilting his head to stare down at you through his mask. "I could feel your pain practically from the docking bay."

You paused. "...I apologize," you conceded, because he was right: There really was no point in lying to him, about your feelings or anything else. "My time on the Executor must simply have spoiled me." There were countless stars visible from Darth Vader's ship twenty-four hours a cycle; all you'd ever had to do to see them was peer out any one of a number of view ports. You'd grown rather accustomed to the privilege over the course of your assignment there— not realizing, of course, how very much you would miss it until it was taken from you.

Vader fell silent again, as if considering what to say.

You didn't dare interrupt him.

"The stars aren't visible from Coruscant, either," he seemed to settle on. "The city lights pollute the sky there as thoroughly as the smoke does here."

"That's true," you acknowledged. You, too, had spent time on Coruscant as a child; Vader knew of your shared experience, often seeming to latch onto it when he perceived too much distance between you. "Being assigned to your vessel was a surreal experience; for months, I could hardly pass by a port without stopping to stare."

"I know," he said, seeming to have gathered himself. "I observed you. Understand that when I first arrived on Coruscant as a child, I was also accustomed to being able to see the stars— on Tatooine, the sky was clear, and I used to admire them; even dream of exploring them. The irony, of course, being that finally reaching them largely meant losing sight of what made them so intriguing to begin with."

"...I'm sorry," you said, more than a little taken aback by his honesty. "I didn't realize."

"My intent is not to elicit pity, but to engender understanding."

"Thank you, Sir." You appreciated his sympathy, even if you hadn't expected it; you also winced upon realizing you'd called him the wrong thing again— although graciously, he didn't chide you for it this time.

Another long, admittedly tense moment of silence passed as you stood together, there at the window. Vader turned his gaze from you, and you turned yours from him; simultaneously, you each stared out at the sprawling homogeneity of the landscape.

A star or two in the sky would have at least done something to break up the monotony of the smoke and magma, you thought.

...Even in your head, you didn't mean to sound bitter.

"You must understand by now that your presence on Mustafar is in your own best interest," Vader said. It was less a question, coming from him, than it was a blunt statement of fact.

It was easy to forget how very simple it was for Darth Vader to peer into your mind.

"Your personal safety is of paramount concern to me," he went on, "and we've already established that I refuse to entertain any arguments to the contrary. Your place is here, at least for the time being— the condition of the sky notwithstanding."

"Yes— yes, I do understand," you said, venturing (perhaps unwisely) to peer back up at him as you spoke. "However, Sir... 'understanding' doesn't make me miss the stars any less."

Vader didn't return your gaze (he never truly did, when necessity dictated that he wear his mask)— but, if he could have, you suspected he might have sighed.

"I'm sorry," you began, "I shouldn't have—"

"How badly do you want to see them?" he interrupted you, as brusquely as ever.

"See what? You can't possibly mean—"

"The stars." He might as well have added 'you idiot' to the end of his statement, for the way he seemed to spit it out at you.

"Lord Vader, you yourself just said it wasn't safe for me to—"

"It isn't," he agreed, again before you had a chance to finish. "I am not suggesting that you leave the planet, Captain— or even my fortress, for that matter."

You shook your head. "I don't understand. Telescopes don't work; only the sensors can penetrate—"

"Quiet," he commanded. "I am not referencing a telescope."

"Then what—"

"Do you wish to view them or not?"

"Y— yes!" you stammered. "Yes, I do! I very much do wish to view them, Sir, but—"

"Then you shall."

He raised his hand— his right one, specifically— before the window: A grand-looking gesture, at least when somebody like Darth Vader did it. The hot, orange glow of the lava outside reflected off the dull sheen of his glove; his mask and the front of his armour took on warped hints of its hue as well. If nothing and no one else, you thought, this planet at least suited him; if you took any pleasure at all in its overbearing climate, it was that Vader seemed to glean some measure of comfort in its warmth.

Presently, he almost seemed to be drawing from it— even without looking, you'd have been able to feel the intensity of his determination as his mechanized fingers trembled under their leather sheath, and his chest heaved despite his suit.

You knew the Force well enough to know that it flowed through everything, but from Vader it rushed; as if bursting a dam, it bellowed out of him and into your consciousness, absolutely penetrating every inch of the room around you. It thrummed beneath your feet and bore down from the ceiling, closing in like a set of walls as he cultivated its strength; you half-expected your throat to tighten, or for your knees to buckle, but neither of those things happened.

All you could feel were heat and life: Raw life, coarse and frenzied; the sheer power of the living, breathing, melting stone that ebbed and flowed all around you.

"...What are you doing?" you murmured under your breath, as transfixed by Vader's appearance in that moment as you were by his essence merging with what he'd harvested from the planet to flood your senses. You always had been able to detect the subtle flicker of his eyes from behind his visor, but right now, they didn't 'flicker' at all.

He couldn't have answered you with words, even if he'd tried; nonetheless, your attention was then drawn outward, to the space beyond your window. It was, at first, only the barest hint of movement amongst the clouds that caught your eye; you turned your head anyhow, because again— save for the catatonic whirling of the infinite seas of smoke and lava— the landscape here didn't tend to change very much.

Right now, though, the sky almost appeared to dance, its typically-predictable movements having turned haphazard in a way that was both peculiar and mesmerizing. Under different circumstances, you might have believed you were witnessing the formation of a particularly violent storm; alas, you understood Vader and the breadth of his power well enough to know that what you were witnessing had nothing at all to do with the weather.

"Sir!" you exclaimed, stepping back from the glass in awe as the blackened halves of the sky finally tore apart from one another to reveal to you the long-withheld majesty of space itself. Your eyes filled with tears, and you felt yourself gape; it had been so long since you'd last seen it that you could scarcely believe it was really there— but what else could possibly have been hiding, behind all of those ugly, ash-laden clouds?

You glanced in Vader's direction. You knew he could feel you looking, but he still didn't speak; his hand continued to tremble faintly, and he dug his boots sharply into the floor.

For all his effort, the steady metronome of his breathing was the only sound you could hear.

Suddenly, one of his heels slipped on the polished stone; by then, though, the spectacle outside the window had reclaimed your attention, and you didn't register the struggle he put up to regain his footing. The clouds and smoke receded to the very edges of the landscape, replaced nearly as though you were back on the Executor with the stars, their dust, and everything else that circled them.

Nearby systems; far-flung constellations; and tiny, unidentifiable points of light of every imaginable variety infiltrated the blackness, all just as magnificent as you'd remembered.

Those tears in your eyes began to obscure your vision; you blinked them away in haste, because it was obvious that Vader couldn't maintain this (whatever 'this' was) for very much longer.

"Lord Vader," you began again, hoping to express something in the spirit of gratitude but instead only managing to stammer. "S-Sir, I... I...."

You noticed something that looked like a moon, then, as Vader's tinny breathing began to grow hoarse. It might not actually have been a moon, you thought to yourself; you didn't even know how many of those Mustafar had— but whatever it was, it was beautiful.

His foot slipped on the stone again, causing him to falter, but you didn't notice that.

What you did notice, from behind that distinctly lunar-looking object you'd already spotted, was the sight of a comet, or at least something like one: It zipped by too quickly for you to properly discern it, somewhere far away from the planet.

It was as quick as anything— but ten times as lovely, in spite of its smallness. No one had ever taught you to wish on shooting stars, because shooting stars couldn't be seen from Coruscant: The only thing you knew to do with them was look.

...It was in the midst of your 'looking' that the clouds and smoke finally swept in to converge again, the galaxy and everything in it disappearing behind them.

Quicker and far less graceful than their retreat, the clouds' knitting themselves together was jarring; you stumbled back from the window almost as if in fright, feeling dreadfully and suddenly empty.

Frozen in place, you stared out at the newly-restored landscape until a hard-sounding thwack rang from inside the room.

"Sir!"

Your knees were next to impact the tile, as you rushed across the floor and dropped to Vader's side. You couldn't see his face, but it wasn't safe to take off his mask here; unable to read the output on his chest box, you strained to scoop his upper half into your arms.

His suit was heavy— almost too heavy, at least for somebody like you.

Grace eluded you as you moved, but it didn't stop you from squinting through the red haze of his visor to try and catch a glimpse of his eyes. You could see that they were open; maybe only barely, but open all the same.

"Lord Vader," you pleaded, not about to let yourself feel relieved until you heard him speak to you.

"The... honourifics," he reminded you, in a voice that cracked and fizzed like a bad transmission. Was he being irreverent? Perhaps— but again, you didn't dare risk removing his mask.

"I— I'm sorry," you said, because what else was there? You loved him, but you hated yourself; how much additional damage had he just wrought against his own body, in the name of indulging your sad whims? "I never meant for you to—"

"Were they as beautiful as you remembered?" he interrupted, through a long, pneumatic hiss.

"Of course they were!" you promised, pulling him as close to your chest as you could manage. "They were magnificent! But—"

"'But' nothing," he insisted. "So long as you enjoyed them."

"What about you?" you begged— but, having fallen unconscious by then, Vader didn't answer you.

The lights on his chest began blinking next, with enough frenzy to frighten you. Incapable of reading their output, you grappled with the decision of whether to leave him to go for help, or cradle him in your arms in the hope that he would wake of his own accord; soon, though, your concern won out, and you found yourself lowering him as gently to the floor as you could.

A tender, futile kiss to the top of his helmet and a longing gaze over your shoulder were all you had to leave him with, as you broke into a run to fetch one of his servants. Briefly, the restored darkness of the sky outside your window commanded your attention; guilt and renewed bitterness gripped you at the sight of the smoke and ash, but you ignored them, because you feared there wasn't any time not to.

Just like Vader's had minutes before, your own boots slipped helplessly on the polished tile as you sped down the corridor. You fell— only to catch yourself with one elbow before scrambling desperately back to your feet, mired in fresh pain and blinded by your own tears.

The two of you would never talk about the stars again.

[collecting-stories]

Creed - Din Djarin

Request: I had this idea for a mando drabble or one shot request if you're interested where reader is his wife and so she's seen him without the helmet but one day he's fallen asleep with it on, so she goes to take it off for him so he'll be more comfortable, but he gets startled and reacts badly and feels guilty about it and angst and stuff

A/N: Sorry this took a little while to get out! It was my first Mando request and I was hella nervous!!! (also...I’m playing fast and loose with creed rules in this one. Also, also...guess Grogu was asleep lol)

Star Wars Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

It wasn’t as if you’d never seen him without the helmet, being his wife afforded you certain privileges when you were alone with him, of them being that you were allowed to see his face. Even still, you knew how seriously he took his creed and had never been the one to remove the helmet, understanding that it was important for him to un-mask himself. So many who threatened to hurt him had tried to remove the helmet without his consent that you would be foolish not to know how having it removed, even if it was only you, would affect him.  

And you wouldn’t have ever taken it off of him yourself if it wasn’t for the odd angle that the weight of the helmet was pulling his head in as he slept. He’d fallen asleep in the cargo hold of the ship, claiming that he didn’t want to ‘go to bed’ and just wanted a nap until he heard from Karga about the bounty he was hunting. But the way his neck was bent, he looked almost like it was going to snap off and all you were thinking was that it would make him more comfortable to be helmet-less.  

You’d tried to wake him, waiting for any sign of life to indicate that he’d woken up but it was clear that his intention to nap had been overruled by his deep exhaustion as he didn’t stir even slightly. So, you tilted his head back, just enough to be comfortable, and carefully began to slip the helmet up.  

He hadn’t woken up when you’d jostled him but you should’ve known that the moment the helmet passed his chin, he was wide awake, grabbing your wrist with one hand and his blaster with the other, holding it out before he even realized that it was you holding the sides of the helmet.  

“Din!” You fell back off your knees, letting go of him quickly and trying to yank your hand away. He relaxed the blaster though he kept your wrist in a tight grip.  

“Why were you touching my helmet?”  

“You looked uncomfortable, I was just...trying to help,” you replied, the last part of your explanation said through gritted teeth as you tried and failed to pull your hand away from him. “Let go of me!” Subconsciously, you knew that Din would never do anything to intentionally physically harm you but you also knew that he was more than capable of ending someone’s life, had seen it plenty of times, and the irrational fear that he was going to squeeze your wrist until it ripped from your arm outweighed the loving husband you knew all too well.  

He released your wrist and stood swiftly, towering over you as you scooted back against the other wall. Without another word, he headed for the ladder and the cock-pit, the sound of the doors closing echoing in the otherwise quiet of the hull. You knew he was pissed and, you thought, rightly so. You should’ve left him to wake up with a stiff neck and not bothered with trying to help if he was going to throw a tantrum. Even if you knew exactly why he was angry and understood how full justified it was. It felt easier to blame him for his outburst than to fault yourself for doing something that you knew would upset him.  

You considered staying down in the cargo hold, maybe locking yourself into the small space carved out for the two of you to sleep. You could wait for him to feel guilty for manhandling you and come down to apologize though that could take cycles. If there was any species in the galaxy that you knew of to hold grudges, it was your Mandalorian. There was no telling when you would be done this hunt and off-world and you certainly didn’t want him going back out there being miserable with you.  

The only solution was apologizing, as much as you didn’t want this to be your fault. Your footsteps felt heavy on the ladder, reluctant to cave...maybe you were just as stubborn as he was.  

“Din-” you called through the door, cutting yourself off. You weren’t entirely sure what else you could honestly say aside from sorry.  

“Karga should be coming through with a transmission soon.” His voice sounded from the cock-pit, empty of any real emotion. It was the way he talked to people when he was schooling his feelings.  

“Din, we should talk.” You insisted. “I’m sorry that I tried to take your helmet off, I know it’s important to you-”  

“Do you?” He asked, the modulator practically unable to hide the emotion that time.  

“You know that I do.” You replied, stepping back when the door to the cockpit opened. Din was still sitting in the pilot’s seat, his back to you still. “I wasn’t trying to undermine your-”

“Then you should’ve left my helmet alone.”  

“Would you stop cutting me off and let me explain!” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and glaring at the back of his beskar helmet. “You know that I have never done anything to disrespect your creed Din. I know I took you by surprise but it was honestly innocent...you looked uncomfortable. I tried to wake you up first.”

Din remained silent after you finished explaining, fiddling with some buttons to seem like he was ignoring you and you stood there behind the pilot’s chair in the cockpit, waiting for him to say anything at all. Finally, as Karga’s transmission came through, you left, heading back down into the hull of the ship.  

You knew it was a dangerous thing to be alone down there on your own, still angry, just running over the events that’d taken place. You weren’t sure there was any other way to have the conversation, you certainly couldn’t make Din listen to you. It wasn’t until the sound of his boots on the ladder echoed through the hull that you looked up from your bed.  

“Are you leaving?”  

“Karga sent me more reliable coordinates for the bounty.” He replied, opening the weapons closet.  

“So that’s it, we don’t have any conversation? You just leave?”

“I’m not sure what you expect me to say.”  

“We took vows Din. Do you really think that after all this time I would violate any part of that?” You asked, “I know I shouldn’t have tried to take your helmet off but please, just don’t leave like this.”

Din sighed and it crackled through the voice modulator. He took the few steps forward to where you were standing, placing one hand on the back of your neck and guiding you so that your forehead met his helmet, the cool beskar chilling your warm skin. You closed your eyes, hands finding his sides and clutching the soft fabric of his top.  

“I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.” You said, eyes still closed.

“I know.” He finally said. Carefully, Din untangled himself from you. “I’ll be back in three days.”

[009720kakashi]

narasnooze

Well, he had not expected for the sudden hand on the door and stared at it for a short moment before turning his head slightly in Kakashi direction, one eyebrow arched. Give us a heart attack, that's fine... Shikamaru parted his lips slightly to apologise, for being about to leave even though Kakashi hadn't been done talking. Truth be told, Shikamaru had expected that the other man would want to go over this in his head carefully, but... apparently not. Okay. That was... quite nice to hear, admittedly. Anyway, he did not go through with his apology, he kind of forgot about it as Kakashi continued on. The Nara pulled his eyebrow slightly together for a second, unable to not smile slightly as he spoke. " 'Schedule' ...? Yeah, no, I agree... none of that.." And then Kakashi did that, and Shikamaru was lost in his dark eyes. His own did flicker down to where Kakashi's mouth was hidden under the mask a couple of times but settled on eye contact eventually, at least until Hatake leaned even closer and Shikamaru swallowed hard. Even if Kakashi had his mask over the lower part of his face, you could feel the slight warmth from his breath when he spoke that near Shikamaru's ear. It sent shivers down his neck and he gripped the handle of the door a little tighter. The mere tone of his damn voice was dangerous... 'you have earned yourself the privilege...' Mmmhm..?~ With half lidded eyes, almost dazed, Shikamaru watched him as Kakashi pulled back, grinning. How can a man be so... The... what? Printers? Wait– "Tch.." The spell was over and Shikamaru's face flushed with a frown. He gently gave Kakashi a push at his chest and turned to the door again while rolling his eyes. Though mostly at himself for falling for that... "Unbelievable.." He wished someone, that Haruki, would arrive with a thick, heavy pile of papers that needed to be rushed through by the Hokage. "I'm going to see Ibiki first." And maybe, if he's lucky, run into Iwashi again...

If there had been any doubt in Kakashi’s mind that Shikamaru was interested in him in that way it was gone now. His reaction made it fairly clear. 

At the push Kakashi grinned even more and stumbled back a few steps.

“Are you surprised?” Shikamaru knew he liked to push buttons why would this be any different? It was better to remind him of this trait early on ne? Still teasing could be a lot of fun in this particular context. At least in Kakashi’s book. With another amused look over his shoulder he turned back to his desk. The piles waiting there made him sigh. At least there might be a new off time activity in store for him. They would see.

narasnooze

Shikamaru squeezed his eyes together for a short moment, and tilted his head before opening them again. Cheeks turning a bit pink. "...You make it sound so... empty and cold when you say it like that, but yeah, I suppose so. You wake that up in me.." No matter what, though, it never changed how much he hated talking about it. He certainly would never speak so easily of sex as Kakashi. Never. "I want to... spend nights with you, yes. It made a lot of things better for some reason, and I... I liked waking up after, too.. I don't even know if that makes any sense." As for the ANBU... He hated that, too. "If it gets out... it will be troublesome. A few from my clan will probably try to cut my life short, but... that's nothing new. I'm more concerned about what the news would do to you, if I'm honest. Is that so bad of me?" Shikamaru heard him out, managed to keep a chuckle from escaping about the heartbreaking situation Kakashi apparently had no idea how he managed. Oh... That's almost funny. But he'd let it be. As for his not so neutral and chill reaction... "Mmm... I don't know why I react so strongly, I'm afraid. I can't answer that yet, kakashi. I don't know. This whole situation is kind of new to me, so maybe that's why. I also respect you a whole lot and I like you. I highly value our friendship and maybe I was afraid of losing that, no matter what I did or said. I panicked. I feel a lot. I care a bit obsessively about my friends." He shrugged, rubbing his neck. "Sometimes it's overwhelming, I can't... describe it better." Shikamaru looked out the window, then slowly moved to sit down on the desk, watching the floor. "I only ever truly loved one man." he looked up, watching Kakashi. "I don't know if that is good enough for you as a promise that I won't push anything relationship-wise onto you. I'm probably not much of a relationship kind of guy, either. I'm too difficult for someone to love and live with. So... I dunno. You want me to sign an agreement or something?" He smiled amused at the last sentence. "But, Kakashi... This is what I want. I haven't heard a thing of what you'd like for us to do. Just because I want this casual thing with you, doesn't mean it has to be that way. I don't know whether you like or loathe the idea. What do you want?... You don't need to answer now. Think it over, take you time." Shikamaru offered, pushing himself off the desk and walking over to the door. "I'm heading over to Morino now, before he leave for the day. Then I'll return home for the day, myself."

Yeah he really was not good at this. 

“Well I don’t think you thought it to be that empty and cold last night ne?” he replied. ‘Friends with benefits’ still contained the friends part after all. 

It did not have to make sense though Kakashi could relate. At times it was nice not waking up alone. Especially if you knew it was a friend next to you. 

 “Having a fling or two won’t do anything to me aside from talk Shikamaru. What would it be? Taking that mushroom hat? Be my guest…I did not exactly stand in line to get it to begin with and if they do not manage to talk Tsunade sama back into it there is no one else to do it.” Also Tsunade sama had 1 or 2 flaws of her own. Drinking, gambling and honestly Kakashi would not be surprised if there had been something going on with Shizune. 

“You are an adult who can make his own decisions.”

Kakashi had not even been his teacher for 5 minutes as it had been with Team 7. The only issue was that he was his assistant and direct subordinate. 

“You do have to act like one though and be frank with me about what you want or not.”

Guessing was no option. Shikamaru had to be clear with him. 

Asuma…probably. Kakashi did not asked. It was of no relevance. Did it soothe his anxiety? No. Not entirely at least. Just because Shikamaru had not loved anyone since did not mean that he never would again. However Asuma definitely had been a better man than Kakashi so he might be good there.

“Nah…I’m afraid such an agreement would have to go through the council ne?” That would be very funny.

“Who knows…maybe they have already promised me to someone without my knowledge.” He was joking. They would though if they saw a benefit. 

Ahhh there it was. The dreaded question. He was not good at that either. Deciding what he wanted. 

“Well…” he started but then Shikamaru was pretty much on the way out. What the…!?

“No no no no…” he said and was already at the door and had put his hand on it. They were standing close now.

“You are not leaving for two reasons. First I’m not done and don’t need to mull over this.” He leant just a bit closer, lowering his voice.

“I’m not going to set schedules here or something…because that’s just…” he said, looking down. That would absolutely not be sexy.

“Let’s just…see where things go” he said looking up through his lashes to catch Shikamaru’s gaze, clearly licking his lips under the mask. He was open to it but it just had to come naturally so to speak. Not set up or something. Because that would be awfully awkward. 

“Second…” he said, leaning even closer, his cloth covered lips directly next to Shikamaru’s ear.

“You have earned yourself the privilege” he started quite seductively.

“…of getting the printers on the second level going again since you threw Iwashi out off my office before he received that order” he said, leaning back again with quite a bit of a grin and caught the younger man’s gaze.

[poisonnxkki]

Practicing Witchcraft & Being in the Broom Closet🌙

Being in the Broom Closet:

🖤Disclaimer: If practicing is going to put you in danger, then do not practice! It is okay to wait until you are in a safe place before beginning your practice. If you a minor and are dependant on your parents/guardians financially, then please do not jeopardize that support. You have your whole life to practice so be patient!

Let's begin with what does it mean to be in the broom closet. Being in the broom closet is just a saying to describe people who practice witchcraft in secret. They have not told their family or friends about their practice and hide it from those in their lives. Many people spend years in the broom closet before informing their friends due to the potential backlash or ridicule they may face for practicing. Some people live their whole lives without telling others of their practice and some people are very open and up front about it. It really depends on the environment that you're in and the ideologies of those around you. Being able to be open about your practice is a privilege that not everyone has.

Your ability to practice may also vary depending on the time of year, environment and more. For example, when I live at school, I am able to practice openly and freely. My friends are all aware of my practice and take an interest in my workings. However, during breaks and when I'm at home, I am unable to practice and can go many months without performing a single spell. During this time I tend to focus on research rather than spell work which creates a natural ebb and flow in my practice.

Religion & Roadblocks:

Some people may have religious friends or family which prevents them from telling people about their practice. This can be really hard to deal with for many reasons. Obviously concerns about safety are especially relevant (& valid) but for some people, not being able to share the thing that makes them happy is what's hardest. These types of roadblocks can make us feel ashamed of out interests. That's why it is important to remember why you started practicing in the first place. I recommend writing (in your journal or book of shadows) a page on why you started practicing, what motivates you to continue and what you hope to get out of your practice. I say this because even though we may know why we started, when times get tough or motivation gets low, it becomes harder to remember why. Having a page that you can look back on may motivate you to keep going. I plan on writing a post about burnout in witchcraft so be on the lookout for that if you would like to know more.

Tips for Practicing Discretely:

Using folk names- many herb books will list alternative names for herbs (Cunningham's encyclopedia of magical herbs is one of the best known for doing this). If you need to record ingredients for spells and are worried about someone reading them then try using alternative names.

Disguise spells as recipes- if you practice kitchen witchcraft this will be a lot easier for you (obviously) but instead of writing down spells, write them as recipes (you won't be able to write down non edible ingredients but you can still include them without writing it down)

Using paintings as wards- drawing sigils in paint on canvases then painting over top of the sigils is an easy way to mask your wards. Since they will be completely covered no one will know what it is.

Using items found in nature- having a rock collection or picking up cool looking sticks isn't very suspicious. However both of these can be incorporated into your witchcraft for multiple purposes.

Maintaining an online BOS/grimoire- I know most people prefer the pen and paper method but having your book of shadows online can help prevent others from accidentally finding it. For any apple users, we are able to password protect certain notes in the Notes app so that may be something to look into.

Utilizing social media- having a private instagram or a dedicated account to witchcraft is another way to store information secretly. Obviously it gives you a place to save all the witchy information you find online but you can also post copies of notes that you want to keep hidden or discuss results of spells (P.S no one has to follow you for this to work, if you want to maintain these accounts in secret then you can simply deny any follow requests).

Tarot deck: The Original Rider-Waite Deck, Illustrated by Pamela Colman Smith

*All images are from Pinterest*

[slow-drowned-angels]

Still pissed at my therapist who said “but you have friends!” when I mentioned I suspected ASD. When she followed up with “yeah, people with autism usually don’t have and/or want friends” (paraphrased), I replied, incredulously, “I don’t think that’s true!” Then she went on about how autistic people she worked with tended to be more interested in special interests than people and therefore I couldn’t be autistic. I honestly wasn’t sure how to respond at that point, but over the last month I keep coming back to this conversation and being super confused.

Since then, she’s been a bit better though (including asking around regarding the cost and benefits for getting an official diagnosis, plus possible alternatives).

More discussion below. TL;DR: That’s a wild thing to generalize, even though it’s true for some autistics. Especially because she barely knows me (we’ve only had a few sessions) and didn’t ask any follow-up.

Sounds sus. Since…. I am on the autism social media site TM (and see all the posts from autistic people who have friends, who tried really hard to have friends, etc) and also I have an irl friend who is diagnosed ASD and has WAY more social interest than I do. And like… why would masking exist as a concept if autistic people didn’t care about fitting in with (and gaining social acceptance of) allistic people? Like yeah autistic people have social difficulties and that often manifests in having difficulties making and keeping friends, but wow. I imagine we’re sometimes good enough at masking to succeed in friendships?? And that there exist enough people who are either nice or neurodiverse themselves that we can be friends with without having to mask?? It kinda goes back to the whole problem with defining autism solely by traumatized autistic people.

I’ve been very lucky to have people around me who have actively tried to be friends with me. (I understand that this is a privilege I’m afforded in part because I’m “allistic passing” enough. I understand that because I saw the effects of being a very visibly autistic kid at my schools. It was Bad.) The kids who befriended me were often kids who are kinda Weird themselves — 3rd grade kids who wrote pages and pages of original fiction in their free time (and in cursive), middle schoolers who will tell me endlessly about their latest obsessions, kids who pretended to be cats, kids who constantly read novels, etc. I honestly just kind of fell into friendships and made a pretty good sidekick (because I was generally down for whatever they were interested in and otherwise kept to myself). It worked out that the other person was usually a strong personality — except for when I was very young, I’ve been unable to talk at length about my own interests (either because I tend to tell stories out of order and get flustered easily or because I get bad anxiety that the other person isn’t interested in it). I’m slowly getting better at it, but Is Rough unless someone is asking me a series of questions to lead the conversation or I get to write it out.

I can make friends in classes because I know how to talk About School (and can contribute if other topics I’m interested in are brought up by the other person, like politics or media or queer shit, etc) and so I made friends with nerds who were very academically-focused and made friends with classmates. Are they considered friends if the friendship is solely centered around school? Idk! They’re people I talk to and generally like! So friend!

I also know that I weirded a lot of people out, especially in middle school and high school. Either because I was perceived as unfriendly or too intense. Tbh, fair. I was often unfriendly and intense. Part of it was deliberate because it meant people wouldn’t fuck with me. Honestly I learned a lot of the more complex social stuff from one of my current best friends and a lot of my capability of dealing with complex emotional situations is solely through directly quoting them.

Also this lady barely knows me, I don’t know why she’s making blanket assumptions just because I’m good enough at masking to know how to get a good grade in therapy (and tend to automatically mask with new people). If she asked me more questions about it, I would have been able to explain myself, but she began by dismissing it entirely (which I wasn’t at all expecting and didn’t really know how to… argue my case without making it seem like I was claiming that I knew more about autism than she does [even though I privately posit that I do; she didn’t know about rejection sensitivity dysphoria until I mentioned it as something I related to smh, to be fair this isn’t her specialty… but also she’s working/worked with autistic people??]). (Also, note how I write when it’s stream-of-consciousness and I get to edit and write stuff out of order and add stuff later on, imagine if I were trying to talk about this in real time,, dear god.)

Amusingly I think my temporary group therapy class therapist probably believes me more when I mentioned asd because she’s seen me interact with other people and also I’m very obviously constantly stimming.

(Thanks for reading my [social] life story.)