#but i know you all understand that here ���

[mapis-putellas]

𝑰𝒏 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

The moment Alexia steps off the set, you can tell she’s in a mood.

Her shoulders are tight, her jaw is clenched, and the slight crease between her brows is a dead giveaway. She walks straight past you without a word, not even sparing a glance in your direction.

You bite back a smile.

“Baby,” you call, jogging a few steps to catch up with her.

She doesn’t stop walking. “No me hables.”

That only makes you grin wider.

You fall into step beside her, watching as she all but rips the lanyard from around her neck and shoves it into her pocket.

“What happened?” you ask, even though you already know.

She mutters something under her breath that you don’t quite catch.

“Alexia.”

She sighs sharply through her nose. “Me hicieron hacer una entrevista en inglés.”

-

Alexia sits stiffly in the chair, hands clasped together in her lap, her knee bouncing ever so slightly. The bright studio lights make her blink more than usual, and she shifts uncomfortably as the camera operator counts down from three.

She wishes she’d had more time to prepare.

She’d known today was media day. That part was fine. What she hadn’t known was that they were going to throw an English interview at her, completely unplanned, with no script, no warning -nothing.

“Alexia, thank you for being here,” the interviewer, a young British woman, says with a warm smile.

Alexia nods, pressing her lips together. “Yes. Thank you.”

She winces internally. Too robotic. Too forced. She can already feel the heat creeping up the back of her neck.

The interviewer doesn’t seem to notice, though. She just keeps going.

“So, first of all, congratulations on such a great season. How are you feeling?”

Alexia inhales, nodding as she searches for the right words. “I feel…good. Um. Happy with���the team, the, uh…” She gestures vaguely with her hands, trying to recall the word.

“Performances?” the interviewer offers gently.

Alexia nods quickly. “Yes. Performances.” It’s clunky, and she knows it, but she pushes forward.

“We…work very hard, uh, every day. It’s not…easy, but we-” She pauses, trying to structure the sentence in her head. “We, uh, fight for… win? Winning?”

The interviewer nods encouragingly. “Yes, for the win.”

Alexia exhales through her nose. “Yes. We fight for the win.”

She glances off-camera briefly, looking for an escape. There isn’t one.

The interviewer moves on. “You’ve been captain for quite some time now. What does leadership mean to you?”

Alexia hesitates. It’s not that she doesn’t know the answer -she does- but trying to articulate it in English is an entirely different challenge. She frowns slightly, her mind racing.

“Um… it is…” She clears her throat, frustrated with herself. “Not just… talking, or… or yelling. It is… to show with, um…” She taps a finger against her knee. “How you are?”

“By example?”

She exhales in relief. “Yes. By example.”

She shakes her head, feeling the frustration building. She knows she’s not saying things the way she wants to. In Spanish, she could give a perfect answer -nuanced, thoughtful, meaningful. But here? She feels like she sounds like a child.

She pushes through the rest of the interview, nodding and forcing out short, simple answers. By the time it’s finally over, she’s barely holding back her annoyance.

The interviewer smiles, seemingly oblivious to Alexia’s internal agony. “Thank you so much for your time, Alexia.”

Alexia nods stiffly. “Yes. Thank you.”

As soon as the cameras cut, she exhales sharply, raking a hand through her hair.

She hates this feeling. She stands quickly, muttering something to herself as she storms off set.

-

You nod slowly. “And?”

She waves a hand in the air, exasperated. “And nada.”

“But you’re grumpy.”

“Porque no lo esperaba.”

You hum in understanding. Alexia likes her routines. She thrives on knowing exactly what to expect, and when something disrupts that -well. You’re witnessing the aftermath.

“I bet you did great,” you say.

Alexia gives you a flat look.

You laugh, bumping your shoulder against hers. “I’m serious.”

She exhales heavily, raking a hand through her hair. “Me trabé dos veces.”

You reach out, gently tugging on the sleeve of her jersey. “That’s not so bad.”

She scoffs. “Para ti, no.”

You squeeze her arm. “For everyone. No one expects you to be perfect, baby.”

Alexia doesn’t respond, but you can tell she’s still stewing over it.

You glance around, noting that most of the team is still tied up with their own media obligations. It’s the perfect opportunity to steal her away for a little bit.

“Come on,” you say, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the exit.

She resists at first. “¿A dónde vamos?”

“To fix your mood.”

She huffs, but she lets you drag her along anyway.

You find an empty corner outside, away from the cameras, away from the noise. The late afternoon sun is warm against your skin, and there’s a slight breeze that carries the scent of freshly cut grass.

Alexia leans against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, watching you warily. “¿Qué quieres hacer?”

You step closer, reaching up to brush your fingers along her jaw. “I want you to stop being mean to yourself.

Her lips press into a thin line.

You tilt your head, studying her. “You know what I think?”

She sighs. “¿Qué?”

“I think you’re the most incredible person I know. I think you’re brilliant at everything you do, including speaking English. And I think it’s really cute when you get flustered over small things.”

Her ears turn pink.

You smile, shifting your hand to the back of her neck. “Baby, it’s okay to mess up sometimes.”

She looks away. “No me gusta.”

“I know. But you have to be kinder to yourself.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, then finally, she exhales, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “Lo intento.”

You grin, pulling her into a hug. She lets out a soft sound as you tuck her against you, her arms immediately wrapping around your waist, hands looped at the small of your back.

“There she is,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her neck as you cup the back of her head.

She buries her face in your shoulder. “Eres molesta.”

“You love me.”

She sighs dramatically. “Sí.”

You chuckle, swaying with her slightly.

After a beat, she pulls back just enough to look at you. “Me llevas a casa después de esto?”

You nod. “Of course.”

She kisses you, soft and slow, and just like that -her bad mood is forgotten.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

case dismissed ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Summary: sometimes, men don't take y/n seriously in their world. y/n doesn't like to play the mafia card often, but what use is a mafia husband if not for this?

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ ln x reader ⋆˙⟡

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ mafia au ⋆˙⟡

masterlist ☾☼

the courtroom buzzed with tension, as y/n y/l/n, highly skilled and known for her quick retorts, faced the jury. she was in an all-out war with a condescending christian who seemed to enjoy hurling his sexist remarks about her during the proceedings.

“i'm sure the jury is smart enough to decipher emotional manipulation by ms. y/l/n,” christian spat, itching with his overly expensive tie. “come on, don’t they teach women in college about emotional manipulation these days? because, that's exactly what's happening here!”

a shift of anxious whispers traveled across the court, but y/n simply raised an eyebrow and continued her points. she had grown to expect patronizing men like christian, and all dismissive of her just for being a woman. she had suffered much worse in this world, yet somehow, she always came out victorious.

as the suit dragged on, christian's quotes got more and more frequent, and too intrusive. he gave her directions about how to dress, what to say, and even what to do. while y/n was calm, she was also trying to put the flames of rage out. she certainly was not going to let this man’s crude sexism prevail.

the case revolved around a complex corporate fraud scheme, where christian's client, a powerful conglomerate, was accused of swindling millions from unsuspecting investors. y/n, representing the plaintiffs, had meticulously built her case, exposing a trail of deceit and manipulation that led directly to christian's client.

christian, however, resorted to personal attacks, hoping to distract the jury from the overwhelming evidence against his client. he questioned y/n's competence, suggesting that her success was due to her "feminine charm" rather than her legal acumen.

"i'm surprised ms. y/l/n even understands the intricacies of this financial matter," christian scoffed, "perhaps she should stick to cases that are more... emotionally driven."

y/n gritted her teeth, but refused to rise to the bait. she knew that christian was trying to provoke her, to make her lose her composure. but she was determined to remain professional, to let her legal skills speak for themselves.

the trial dragged on, with christian's sexist remarks becoming more and more unbearable. y/n endured it all, focusing on her arguments, presenting her evidence with unwavering confidence. she was determined to win this case, not only for her clients but also for all the women who had been underestimated and belittled by men like christian.

finally, the moment came when christian made a particularly nasty comment about her "emotional instability," suggesting that her arguments were based on feelings rather than facts. y/n had had enough. she reached into her purse, pulled out her ID, and walked over to christian, her eyes blazing.

"can you read out my name, please?" she asked, her voice dangerously soft.

christian smirked, thinking he had won. "sure, whatever," he said, taking the id from her hand. he glanced at it, and his eyes widened in shock. His face paled, and he started to stammer.

"y/n y/l/n- y/l/n norris?" he stuttered, his voice barely a whisper. "but... but that's..."

"yes," y/n interrupted, her voice now ringing with authority. "it's also the last name of lando norris, the most influential, not to mention dangerous, man in the city. my husband."

the buzz between the people in the courtroom, was subtle yet frightening. christian looked like a corpse and was one more second away from truly fainting. what he did not know was that wife of the mob boss he was insulting repeatedly was in fact married.

“apologies, mrs. norris,” christian softly murmured, trembling. “i really did not know.”

“y/l/n-norris. and, that’s correct. you did not,” y/n cut off. “you were so preoccupied in being a sexist pig that you could not notice anything else.”

turning to the judge, she continued in the same cool and controlled tone, “your honour, this case is as clear cut as they come, there is no additional information that i would like to provide.”

in silence the judge seemed to admire her calmness and how she handled that unexpected turn of events. “very well,” he said, looking at her. “the case is dismissed.”

y/n y/l/n-norris could not help herself smiling after the case had ended, she was not only able to win the case, but educate christian on respecting women. however, she had not quite finished yet. she still had her husband waiting for her with a gleeful glimmer in his gaze.

that evening, christian was bound to a chair in a dark, soundproofed room. he was frightened, realizing that he was in the hands of lando norris, a man not particularly famous for his mercy.

the door slowly opened, and lando entered, accompanied by y/n. christian's eyes went wide with fear as he beheld the mob boss come towards him, a sadistic grin spreading across his face.

"look who's back," lando said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "about time. death has been waiting for you."

y/n snorted, "babe, that was a terrible line,"

lando groaned, "i knew i shouldn't have used this one! george said it would sound cool!"

"clearly, george was wrong!"

christian began to plead for his life, but lando, turning his attention back on the man who was tied up, just laughed and shook his head. "you should have thought of that before you chose to disrespect my wife," he said. "now, you're going to pay the price."

y/n observed her husband handle christian, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. she knew that lando would handle things and that she didn't need to worry about christian ever causing her trouble again.

as she left the room, she couldn't help but feel a burst of pride in her husband. he was a dangerous man, but he was also intensely protective and loyal to her. she knew that she was in safe hands with him, and she wouldn't have it any other way.

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

did i hate this? absolutely. did i still write it? clearly. will i regret it? no, i've already forgotten about it. dee, this is for you. anyways, i hope you like this! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday ; @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @peterholland04 ; @justaf1girl ; @greantii ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1 ; @alexxavicry ; @hiireadstuff ; @opastries81

[gordonengineswifenirmal]

I was physically healthier in grade school, but I had a lot going on emotionally. I had ppl calling me trans n lesbian before it was acceptable. Im cisgender n thought I was straight at the time. (I turned out to be very asexual). I started missing school because the emotional torment was too much.

The principal n teachers thought I was hearing voices - because I could not identify the harassers. They were in a younger grade, they harassed me for years in another school before they were old enough to attend this one. I didn’t know their names. I could pick out what they looked like if I’d seen them, but they would whisper it and run away.

I have never heard voices or seen things except when I was on some bad meds for depression that really didn’t agree. Never before or after. This particular incident was long after I’d been off those meds, n hadn’t been hearing voices at all. Never heard anything at home, on the high street. Also, this was before cell phones were a thing, so I couldn’t just snap a picture of them in the hall n b like here - these ruddy bastards did it.

I nearly quit school because of it. It still triggers things to this day. This is also why I’m extreme sensitive to being misgendered. It goes far beyond JUST being proud to b who u r n whatnot. The backstory is emotionally painful. Luckily, I was able to get home schooling after a real fight for it with the district. I probably fought for that shite more than most did for an education. I then went on to get 2 degrees, n help others get theirs.

The point is -

People need to listen. Actually listen. Don’t make arrogant assumptions. Instead of snide remarks n accusations, ask questions, try to help find solutions, try to better understand the situation. That kid who is in pain n missing school, or that kid who is traumatised by school probably has a reason. They’ve been ignored n shot down so many times, they’re probably afraid to speak up. Don’t add to that. Be the difference. Believe me, it can affect them later. You can honestly b part of the problem or part of the solution. You may be able to help more than one person, n it doesn’t take much.

Sadly though, people treat older folks the way they do kids. Have the same approach - and understand that writing them off is offensive for a reason. Just like a kid wants to genuinely be heard, so do we older folks. We have life experience. You don’t want to be insulted, talked down to, patronised, n made of? Neither do we. How do u avoid this? Don’t do it. Learn to communicate better, appropriately. You want to be valued too? U won’t be by treating others like shite. And for the younger lot - one day, u will get older. You might b in a position where u r mistreated by younger folks. Just remember that.

When I say “school should be disability accessible”, I don’t just mean we need handicap rails and EAs. Kids should be able to miss a day without failing out of school. You shouldn’t be dismissed from clubs because your attendance record is “spotty” (true story). I once missed an entire week of school because of a terrible, unending migraine. I was expected to keep up with my studies despite the blinding pain that came with working on my computer. When I heard my teachers say that you couldn’t miss exams, I asked what I would have to do to be excused from them. Their response? “Either get a doctor’s note an hour before the exam or death of an immediate family member.”

I cannot express how rigid this expectation was. First of all, with my condition, I wouldn’t have enough warning about my sickness to go to the doctor and request a note. For many people, this is exceptionally difficult, especially with the current shortage of medical professionals. Next, it ignores the fact that my schedule may not line with theirs because of my medical needs. Once, I had to visit a hospital a province away (which I was on the waiting list of for over a year) on the same day as an exam. I begged my mother not to take me because I was so nervous that I would be marked as an automatic fail. I was lucky enough to make it work, but that’s only because of my spectacular support system consisting of family members and wonderful doctors.

Disabilities aren’t always about needing a bus that can accommodate wheelchairs. It’s already difficult enough for many of us to maintain school attendance without the harsh punishments involved for skipping a day. We need to be able to miss school without being punished. Only than can you claim that the school is “accessible”

[fireinmoonshot]

soft hearted | joaquin torres x fem! reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: You're not the type of person to go clubbing – but Joaquin is pretty good at convincing you to come along with him when he goes. Yet, when an interaction with another man at the club goes badly, Joaquin is there to pick up the pieces and make sure you're okay. Warnings: Mentions of drinking/clubbing/eating/food as well as a guy at the club being creepy and physically grabbing the readers wrist, causing a bruise. Word Count: 4.1k A/N: Here I am with another Joaquin fic! I really love how this one turned out. I honestly wrote it just this afternoon in a few hours, I started it and I couldn't stop working on it. I'm really happy with it so I hope those of you who read it enjoy it, even though it's longer than my last Joaquin fic! Please let me know if you liked it and if you'd like to read more Joaquin from me! 💗

“Did I ever say thank you for coming out with us tonight?” Joaquin says, placing a hand on the small of your back to help guide you as the two of you make your way through the crowd, heading back to your booth where your friends are waiting for their drinks.

He’s been texting you all day trying to convince you to join them tonight – but you are the one member of your friendship group that isn’t into partying and clubbing. It’s always difficult to convince you to leave your house once you’re there. 

It never stops Joaquin from trying though. He always enjoys clubbing more when you come out with them. Even just being in your presence is something he loves – whether he’s at a club or anywhere else.

“Oh, just about ten times,” you flash him a grin, trying to avoid bumping into anyone and spilling the drinks. Your friends had been waiting long enough considering how busy the club was. 

Joaquin laughs, the sound audible above the loud music in the bar. It’s a familiar sound and one that instantly comforts you despite your unease at being in such a crowded place. “Definitely room for me to improve, then, angel. What do you think?” 

“I think, pretty boy, that you could probably benefit from inviting me out somewhere other than a packed club sometimes, simply so I can talk to you without having to yell!” You joke, flashing him a look as you finally get back to the booth where your friends are waiting, placing the tray with all of their drinks on it on the table. They all take their drinks, yelling thank you’s at you and Joaquin as you take your seats again. 

“You guys made it!” One of your friends, Cruz, yells out at the both of you.

Joaquin meets your eyes from across the table with a grimace. Cruz is incredibly drunk by the sound of his slurred voice. Joaquin is only a few drinks deep and he’s nowhere near as far gone as Cruz is. You both share an amused smile as Joaquin takes a swig of his beer.

Clubs are not your thing, never have been. It just so happens that you’ve befriended several people that love them – Joaquin being quite the enthusiast. He’s dragged you out to many clubs over the city in the time since you’ve known him. If it were anyone else, you were pretty sure you never would’ve gone… but with Joaquin, you don’t mind it. His presence is comforting, even in such a busy and chaotic atmosphere.

Joaquin is the kind of guy that all the girls and guys in clubs like these like, and on nights like this, you can understand why. The way he looks, a smile on his face as he laughs at something one of your friends says, the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead from the warm air. He’s effortlessly attractive to anyone that looks at him. He’s so comfortable here. You’ve always found Joaquin attractive, but even you can admit that he looks even more attractive when he’s in a place like this – if that’s even possible.

You take a long sip of your drink – water, having decided early in the night that you were gonna be the designated driver for your friends so that they could all enjoy their night properly. 

“I’m just going to the bathroom, okay?” You lean into your friend, Katy, sitting beside you to tell her. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I’ll take my phone with me if you need me!”

She nods, a little pre-occupied in a conversation with the guy beside her – someone she’d met earlier in the night at the club and had been with you guys ever since. Your eyes fall on Joaquin briefly, still laughing at something he’d heard, as you stand from the booth.

It’s difficult to make your way through the crowd without Joaquin guiding you, making you feel safe with his hands on you, but you manage. When you see the door to the bathrooms you almost let out a sigh of relief. They’re empty when you finally make your way inside – another relief. Girls at clubs can be nice, but they can also be the entire opposite and it’s nice to have a moment completely to yourself to have a second to breathe.

Once you’re done, you take another long breath before leaving the bathroom, preparing yourself for the walk back through the crowd of people dancing so you can get back to your friends. You walk past the bar first, finding it to be a little less crowded than the dance floor.

It’s louder over this side of the room, the music thudding and thumping since you’re closer to the speakers. It’s probably the reason you don’t hear the voice of someone beside you at the bar trying to talk to you as you attempt to make your way past. You only realise when a hand grabs your wrist, tugging you backwards. You stumble a little, bracing yourself on the edge of the bar, eyes falling on a light haired man sitting on a stool at the bar. The way he’s looking at you already makes you feel uneasy. 

“Do you often ignore people who are trying to talk to you, honey?” He says, voice raised enough for you to be able to hear him.

“I’m sorry?” You furrow your eyebrows. “If you said something before, I didn’t hear it. It’s pretty loud in here.” You point towards the roof of the bar where the speakers are. 

He laughs, a sound completely opposite to the sound of Joaquin’s earlier. This mans laugh immediately unsettles you and if he wasn’t still holding onto your wrist, you would be gone. But he has an uncomfortably tight grip on it and you doubt he’s planning to let go.

“Yeah, sure,” he scoffs, then picks up his drink and takes a long sip of it. “Listen, I don’t appreciate being ignored, okay? I put myself out there to talk to you, so I’d appreciate it if you gave me the same energy in return.”

You swallow, heart in your throat, and attempt to take a deep breath. This is not good. Why had you gone to the bathroom by yourself? Especially on such a busy night in a busy club.

“Okay,” you start. “If you let go of my wrist, I’ll sit down here and we can talk for a bit.” You figure it can’t hurt to try and bargain with him, even though you have every intention of trying to get as far away from him as quickly as possible when he lets go.

“How can I be sure you won’t run away? Nah, I don’t think I will let go.” He adjusts his grip on your wrist, pulling you a little closer to him. Your heart starts beating faster as the fear starts to set in.

You risk a glance across the bar in the direction of your friends booth and feel your stomach drop as you realise you can’t see them from here, meaning they can’t see you either. Surely Katy would notice that you hadn’t come back yet and would come looking for you… you aren’t too far away from the bathrooms, so there’s a chance she’d see you on her way… but you know that she’s too occupied with her new man to come looking for you. 

This is why you don’t like coming out. This is why you always say no when Joaquin or your other friends ask you to come out with them. And the one time you say yes, this is what happens. You should’ve told Joaquin where you were going as well but you figured it’d be okay – it was just a quick trip to the bathroom, what could go wrong?

Panic starts to rise in your stomach and you try your best to push it down and not let it get the better of you. You know you need to keep yourself calm in a situation like this, especially around a man like this, or things can go south quickly. 

“I promise I won’t run away,” you lie, trying not to let your nerves come through in your tone of voice. “But you’re actually really hurting me right now, so I’d appreciate if you let me go. Can we make a deal? I won’t run and you’ll let go.”

You can tell by the look in the mans eyes that he isn’t going to give up this easily. The longer he keeps holding your wrist, the more your breathing starts to get heavier. How can you get out of this situation when he’s not willing to make this deal with you?

A hand gently lands on your lower back and you flinch, just as you hear a soft voice in your ear. “It’s just me, you’re okay,” Joaquin whispers, calming you immediately.

It’s impossible not to let out a breath of relief as your eyes fall on him. He’d come after you. He’d noticed you were gone or Katy had told him you hadn’t come back yet. He’s here. You’re not alone with this man and you know Joaquin isn’t going to leave you.

Joaquin’s hand gently rubs up and down on your back.

“What you’re gonna do right now is let go of the ladies wrist,” he says simply.

You watch as the mans eyes flicker towards Joaquin but then fall back on you, his grip still tight around your wrist. You attempt to step a little closer to Joaquin but it’s impossible to move with him still holding onto you.

“Hey! Eyes over here, man. Not on her.”

The man sighs. “Listen, man–”

“No, you listen to me,” Joaquin steps in-between you and the man, his voice forceful and loud above the music. “What you are going to do right now is let go of her wrist or I am going to break yours right here, right now. And that won’t be all I break either.”

“Okay, sure. You definitely look strong enough to do that, pal,” he scoffs.

You inwardly wince. You know Joaquin is strong enough to do that and worse. He’s a Captain in the Air Force and he’s The Falcon. You’re pretty certain that he could inflict a lot more damage than a broken wrist.

“You wanna find out?” Joaquin asks.

The look on Joaquin’s face must be intimidating because the man finally relinquishes his hold on your wrist. You immediately wrap your other hand around your wrist, holding it to your chest and trying to ignore the pain throbbing through it from his grip.

The man throws his hands in the air and rolls his eyes before standing and walking away, further into the crowd of people. Before he’s even disappeared from your view, Joaquin has turned around, his hands moving to take your arm and carefully examine your wrist.

“It’s already starting to bruise… that bastard,” he mutters, his eyes dark. You can hear every word despite the loud music around you simply because of how close he’s moved into your space. “You okay? I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner. I only just noticed you were gone a few minutes ago and Katy mentioned something about the bathroom so I went there straight away but I couldn’t find you.”

The fear and panic in your stomach has gone, now replaced by nausea. You can feel yourself starting to shake, the adrenaline of everything starting to wear off. “Can you take me home?”

Joaquin doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist, hold you close and leading you out of the bar. He figures he’ll just text your friends once you’re both safely in a cab to tell them where you’d both gone – that and he’s a little annoyed at Katy for letting you go to the bathroom alone. He’s annoyed at himself for not noticing sooner that you’d disappeared. 

“I’d drive you home myself but I’ve been drinking, angel,” Joaquin says as the two of you wait for a cab on the sidewalk just up the street from the club. His arm is still wrapped around your waist, holding you close. It’s comforting to you, helping you to remember that he’s still there beside you, not going anywhere. “My place is closer, but we can go to yours if you feel up for a longer cab ride.”

You shake your head. “Your place is fine.” You’ve stayed over at his apartment before, several times, both alone and with other friends. His bed is much more comfortable than your own, you’ve learned, since he never lets you sleep on the couch.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing your back gently as the cab pulls up in front of you.

He lets you in first before sitting beside you and telling the cab driver his address. One of his hands holds yours, his thumb gently sweeping back and forth over your skin in an attempt to help calm you down. He can see how uneasy you still feel after it all. Why had he not gotten to you sooner? Not realised you were missing sooner? 

The cab ride back to his apartment is silent, as is the elevator ride up to his floor. You wait beside him, arms crossed over your chest as he unlocks his front door and lets you inside first. 

“You wanna shower or something?” He asks, closing the door behind you.

“Yeah, I think that’d help,” your voice is small. The sound of it makes Joaquin’s heart hurt. 

“You remember where I keep my clothes? You can help yourself, angel.” 

You nod, reaching over to gently squeeze his hand again before heading towards his bedroom to get some of his clothes to change into before heading into the bathroom just off of his bedroom. 

While you shower, Joaquin kicks off his shoes, steps into the kitchen and starts working on making you something to eat. Something warm, something comforting. He’s become a pretty decent cook over the past few years and cooking for you is one of his favourite things to do. He’s always inviting you over for dinner, which is exactly the reason why you know where he keeps his clothes – you eat, you stay late talking, Joaquin refuses to let you go home when it’s so late at night and he has a perfectly comfortable bed.

His heart almost stops in his chest as he sees you walking out of the bathroom, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and a shirt. “I know I’ve said this before, angel, but you look damn good in my clothes,” he flashes you a grin. 

You teasingly roll your eyes at him as you walk into the kitchen, arms crossed over your chest as you try and suss out what he’s cooking you. “Bet you say that to all the friends you let stay over and borrow your clothes, Torres.”

Joaquin snorts. “Bold of you to assume I have other friends staying over.”

He doesn’t. Even out of your friendship group, you are the only person who’s stayed over in the last several months and especially the only person he’s let sleep in his bed and borrow his clothes. He’s not willing to admit to himself what that really means. Not yet.

“What are you cooking?” You ask, peeking inside the pot on the stove.

“Pozole,” he says, coming up beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back. He’s apparently incapable of keeping his hands to himself when he’s worried about you. “It won’t be ready for another hour and a half at least, but I figured cooking you something comforting and warm might be nice. I was already gonna cook it for dinner this week so I had everything in the fridge ready to go.” 

“Joaquin, you didn’t have to do that,” you glance over at him. “Really, I would’ve been fine with a cup of tea or a pack of cup noodles. And it’s so late.” You mean it honestly, even though the fact that he’s been prepping everything for this while you were showering sits heavy and meaningful in your stomach. No one ever does things like this for you… except Joaquin.

He shrugs his shoulders and moves away from the stove, hands on your waist so that you move with him. He directs you over to the couch, waiting till you sit down before he puts a blanket in your lap and attempts – badly – to tuck you in. 

“What are you doing?” You can’t help but laugh. 

“You are gonna sit here for the next hour and a half, till the pozole is ready, put on a movie or something, and just try and relax. And I am gonna sit beside you, once I get changed out of these sweaty ass clothes,” he says, standing back up straight. “I’ll be two minutes, angel!” He calls out, hurrying away from you towards his bedroom.

You smile to yourself as you grab the remote to the TV and try your best to curl up under the blanket. It’s amusing, how quickly things can change. An hour ago, you were in the club with Joaquin, who was having the time of his life, and now here you are, curled up on his couch in his clothes. Your eyes drift down to your wrist, where a bruise is already starting to form, and you wince. That’s going to be painful when it fully forms.

Joaquin comes back out a few minutes later, wearing a similar pair of sweatpants and a muscle tank that causes you to focus on his biceps for much too long. You barely even notice that he’s carrying something in one of his hands. 

“Uh, what’s that?” You ask, motioning to the tube.

“It’s cream that’s meant to help bruises,” he says, lowering himself down onto the couch beside you. “I forgot I had it but I bought it for myself not long after I became Falcon. Will you let me put it on you?” 

You nod, letting him take your arm in his gentle grip. He squeezes some of the cream onto your wrist and gently massages it in. It hurts already, even with just the slightest bit of pressure, but you try your best to ignore it and focus on the look of concentration on Joaquin’s face. He looks up at you afterwards, catching you staring. 

“See something you like, angel?”

You look away, a little flustered, and pull your wrist out of his grip. “Thank you.”

He grins and stands up, heading back towards the bathroom to put the tube away and wash the cream off of his hands. He knew it might not be the right time to be teasing with you, but he had to be – this was the Joaquin you knew, and he could tell that right now, the last thing you wanted was for him to treat you like you were something breakable, like what had happened at the bar was something you couldn’t move past. 

“All right, what are we watching?” He says as he walks back to the couch, climbing over the back of it and settling down next to you, resting his arms up on the back of the couch and kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “You pick somethin’ good?”

You surprise him by passing him the remote. “You choose. I can’t find anything.”

He almost freezes solid when he feels your head lean down on his shoulder. He lets his arm fall around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest so you can rest comfortably. 

“What if I pick something you don’t like?” He asks, trying his hardest not to stare at the top of your head and hope to hell you can’t hear how fast his heart is beating, even though you’re laying on the opposite side of his chest.

“Nah, you won’t,” you say. “I like everything you like.”

Joaquin clears his throat and huffs a laugh. “Yeah, what if I put on The Conjuring or something?” 

“You wouldn’t,” you mutter, knowing him well enough to know he’s joking.

“What if I’m being serious, angel? What if all I want is to put on a scary movie so you get all frightened and have no choice but to cuddle up to me in search of safety?” He grins. 

“Joaquin, I’m already cuddled up to you.”

He pauses. “Okay, well that’s true.”

“Just pick a movie, Joaquin.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You’re thirty minutes into the movie by the time you speak again. Joaquin is invested in the story but the second you speak, his entire attention is on you. 

“Thank you for saving me tonight, Joaquin,” your voice is quiet.

Joaquin gently rubs your shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there sooner. You don’t have to thank me for anything, angel. You know that, right? I should’ve noticed and come after you as soon as you left. Katy should’ve never let you go to the bathroom alone either.”

He can’t help the bitterness in his tone. 

“I didn’t meant to ruin your night, Joaquin,” you mutter, seemingly ignoring everything that he’d just said to you. 

Joaquin is quick to sit up straight, making you move from your spot on his chest. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed at his sudden movement. He gently cups your face in his hands. 

“Ruin my night? Angel, you did not ruin my night. Did you not hear anything I just said? In fact, you probably made my night even better than it already was. I mean, c’mon, pozole and being curled up on the couch watching a movie with you is a hell of a lot better than being out in that club without you,” Joaquin admits, his honesty getting the better of him. 

You frown a little, eyes clouding with tears. Joaquin is quick to wipe one from your cheek after it falls. His heart hurts at the sight of the tears in your eyes. 

“C’mere,” he says, pulling you into his chest again, wrapping his arms around you and letting you cry into his chest. Your arms wrap around him, gripping the material of his shirt. One of his hands rubs up and down on your back in an attempt to relax you. “I always ask you to come out with us cause I enjoy it more when you’re there. I thought you knew that. And I know the clubs aren’t your scene, but I figured you didn’t hate them that much if you said yes to me every now and then. I promise I won’t ask you again, angel. Especially after what that prick did tonight. I almost knocked his jaw in then and there.”

He smiles as he hears something that sounds like a sob like laugh come from you. 

“If I ever see him again, I can’t promise I won’t break his wrist, believe me.”

“No, you won’t,” you mutter, pulling away from his hug. 

His hands immediately move to your face again, clearing the tears off of your cheeks. 

“Maybe I will,” he shrugs.

“You’re too much of a sweetheart for that, Joaquin Torres. I mean… look at everything you’ve done for me tonight. You telling me you’re not a soft hearted person?” You ask.

Joaquin smiles to himself. “Angel, I’m just soft hearted for you,” he confesses. “Now, I’m gonna quickly go check on this pozole okay?” He stands up from the couch, stretching his legs and padding over towards the kitchen – mostly just to make it so you don’t feel obligated to say anything in return. 

He’s standing in front of the stove, stirring the pozole with a wooden spoon, when he feels your arms snake around him from behind, surprising him with a back hug. “Uhhh, what’s happening right now?” He asks, pausing his stirring.

“Thank you,” is all you offer in answer.

“Angel, what’s going on?”

You remove your arms from around him so he can turn around and face you again. He’s about to ask you what you’re thinking when you lean up and press your lips to his cheek before bounding back over to the couch without another word. Joaquin stands, staring after you in shock. He feels like his cheek has been burned – in a good way, if that’s even possible.

“Hurry up and finish stirring that pozole, pretty boy!” You call out from your spot on the couch. “I wanna finish watching this movie and my pillow has gone missing.” 

Joaquin lets out a small laugh, gives the pozole another small stir and starts walking back over to you. “I suppose I’m the pillow?” He asks, shaking his head. “I’m comin’, angel. I’m comin’.” 

[hrrtshape]

First of all, I really like your posts but I feel like I am too dumb for some of your answers. They are so poetic and I... Am not. So I don't understand some of them, could you explain how to shift and deal with 3D for a dumb dumb person?

okay first of all you’re not dumb !!!! you just have different ways of processing information. that’s normal. my brain just works like a victorian poet who’s been trapped in a storm for three days. but i got you.

shifting is just moving your awareness. you do it all the time without realising. daydreaming? shifting. getting lost in a book? shifting. waking up and forgetting where you are for a second? shifting. the only difference is now you’re doing it on purpose.

how to shift.

i , decide where you want to go. be clear. what’s the vibe? what do you want to experience?

ii , relax. you don’t have to be in a perfect position. just get comfortable.

iii , focus on your dr. think about it, feel it, imagine it however works best for you. some people visualise, some just know it’s real. both work.

iv , detach from 3d. this is the hardest part but also the easiest. stop worrying about whether it’s working. if you’re thinking “but i’m still here,” that’s just a thought, not proof. shifting isn’t about forcing, it’s about letting go.

v , allow it to happen. you don’t have to do anything special. your consciousness will move when you stop gripping onto 3d so hard.

dealing with the 3d while waiting.

stop acting like 3d is the enemy. it’s not a prison, it’s just one layer of reality.

shifting is easy when you stop needing it. desperation makes it harder.

do things that make you feel good in 3d. be a little delusional. let yourself enjoy things.

stop overcomplicating it. if you tell yourself shifting is impossible, your brain will believe you. if you tell yourself it’s natural, your brain will believe that too.

[81pastrys]

Lost at a Race

Summary— when Lando’s wife goes on a business trip, he has to bring his little girl to the paddock with him. However, when he got distracted she wondered off.

Warnings— none

A/N— I was inspired by someone else’s fic, if I find it I will be tagging the original!! I added a little Carbono too.

Lando didn’t like his wife’s idea of having his little girl at the paddock without her, but he had no choice. She was out for a business trip and he had free practices to do. When it came down to it he took his eyes off her for not even 10 seconds and she was gone.

“Where did she go?” He asked, slightly panicked. Hoping she just went to Oscar’s side of the garage. “I just had her next to me.” He went on. Oscar noticed his panicked teammate and trotted over.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, mate.” Oscar stated. Then it hit him, where’s little Norris? “Wait, where’s your daughter?” His eyes widened and they split up to look for the little girl.

The garage hadn’t noticed their drivers disappear, let alone scrambling around looking for a toddler. When they did, the drivers were already jogging from garage to garage asking for her. “She looks just like me? Did she come in here?” Lando asked a Ferrari member. A shake of their head was all he needed to move on.

“Little curly headed baby, looks like Lando?” Oscar asked a RedBull mechanic. The guy looked towards the pit lane and then back to Oscar. “I need an answer Lando’s going nuts right now.” He spat out quickly to show the urgency. The mechanic shrugged his shoulders with a no.

However in the Williams garage, Carlos was holding the little girl. Her favorite uncle. He was showing her around and explaining things. Alex had joined in, seeing how adorable she was and couldn’t resist. “She’s adorable, Lily would die seeing me with her.” He joked.

Carlos took a picture of the three of them and it was sent to their girlfriends along with Lando. Lando had made it to Haas before he got the message, severely panicked and shaken up by losing his little girl. He had called his wife at this point and had her freaking out from a different country. “Fucking wanker.” Lando mumbled seeing the text.

“What?! Did you find her?” His wife rambled on, still freaking out. “Lando!” She yelled. He sighed before slowly making his way to William’s. He motioned to Oscar, who was confused seeing as he had no little girl.

“She’s at William’s with Carlos, my love.” Lando said defeated. “He just sent me a picture of him and Alex holding her.” He explained. She went on yelling at him about responsibility, she was so loud he put his phone on speaker, then turned the volume down. “I love you, but I’m at Williams though so I have to go get her.” He said tired of her nonsensical yelling.

“She’s not very happy.” Oscar mentioned walking to McLaren, leaving Lando at Williams hospitality. The Williams workers looked confused as Lando walked in like it was his team. His anxiety from his little girl missing was smashed by seeing her giggling in her uncles arms.

“Dada!!” She squeaked seeing him approaching. Carlos relinquished the baby to her father with a chuckle. “Uncle los!” She pointed to Carlos.

“Yeah?” Lando said with a smile. “I see uncle Carlos, sweetheart.” He nodded and she hugged his neck. “Please don’t ever do that again.” He whispered to himself sighing with relief to have her tiny arms wrapped around his neck.

“She’s a pleasure to have around.” Alex joined. Not understanding how the little girl even got into Carlos’s possession. “Why do you look so pale?” He asked Lando, who gave him a seriously mean look. Alex recoiled and walked off.

“Cabron, be glad she found me.” Carlos joked. “Liam would throw a tantrum if she found Max.” He stated, which was true. Liam wasn’t fond of anyone other than redbull employees strolling on in to their garage.

“I know, but she nearly gave me a heart attack.” Lando mentioned. He walked back to his garage and held her the rest of the evening until he had to get in the car. “If you lose her you’re dead meat.” He warned his trainer.

“Like you did?” Jon joked. The death stare he got was not worth it. Jon, in fact, did not lose the little girl. He sat in Lando’s driver room with her while they watched free practice.

Lost - Carlos pov

Carlos had went to Ferrari to wish Charles and Lewis luck during the practice. On his way back to Williams he spotted a little head with curls. He stopped and crouched down. “Los!” She squealed. Of course, McLaren and Ferrari were right next to each other. “Dada’s in there.” She explained in toddler babble. She was right near the exit of McLaren, how she got through the maze of an exit he’ll never know.

“Is he sobrina?” He asked. He picked the little girl up and went on his way to the Williams garage. He didn’t think it was too big of a deal. He showed her his helmet and Alex’s side of the garage. “This is Alex, sobrina.” He explained seeing Alex light up.

“Why hello!” He greeted her with a smile. “Sobrina? Is that her name?” He asked. The little girl giggled as Alex tickled her.

“No, it means niece in Spanish. This is Lando’s daughter.” Carlos explained. Alex had shown her his helmet and then they went on to take a picture and sent it to Lando and their girlfriends.

A few minutes later Lando was in his garage. “She nearly gave me a heart attack!” Lando explained. The little girl was returned unharmed.

Notes: ‘cabron’ means multiple things apparently, but it is used casually like dude in this fic 😳. ‘Sobrina’ means niece as Carlos mentions.

[justjudethoughts]

So, I am not even lying to you when I say my best friend's ocs changed my life. It's really frusterating outside of fandom spaces, because it's a really beautiful story I like to tell, but then no one gets it because they don't understand the concept of fanfiction being something really meaningful. The story of precisely how my life was changed is a bit too long to drop here, and it does rely on the fact that I know things about later books that haven't been published, but I will link the first book in the series anyway! It's a prequel story to the Last Battle, explaining how King Tirian becomes King Tirian, and thus, other than Tirian and Jewel, almost all of the characters are ocs. And I tell you this because I want you to know it's possible to do that. You can write an absolutely gorgeous fanfiction that relies almost entirely on your own characters. Basically, write the story you want to write, because someone will connect to it.

Also, here is the link to Untamed:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/38540422

the world is beautiful because my friends have ocs

[fearcvlt]

❝end of the water(feel)❞

pairing. caleb x fem!reader note. i only downloaded this game for the caleb debut and... yeah, he got me locked in. very new to lads, might be some slight timeline inaccuracies for which i apologise. needed to write virgin caleb so bad though so... forgive me. reblogs/feedback forever appreciated. mwah <3 tags. nsfw, mdni. loss of virginity. p in v. creampies. pre-mature ejaculation. kind of obsessive caleb. psuedocest. panty sniffing. fingering. yearning. jealousy but it's not a focus. pipsqueak is here... not sorry. no use of y/n. 2.9k words.

Caleb finds it easy to remember the moment he realised he was madly in love with you.

He’s sure it had always been the case — he’d spent the majority of his childhood following you around like a lost puppy, doing anything he could just so you could smile at him. Feeling things and knowing what you’re feeling are two different situations entirely, however.

He’s always thought you were pretty, but you weren’t the only girl he would look at and think that (it just so happened he ended up looking at you more than any other girl he knew). It wasn’t until you got your first ever confession that he realised how much he disliked the fact that other boys could find you pretty, too.

The note was from a classmate of yours. It shouldn’t have even been a blip on Caleb’s radar — nothing more than an innocent, heartfelt little confession from someone who liked you. It made an unfamiliar feeling twist in his gut as he watched you giggle as you read over the letter. His blood felt like it was burning in his veins. He was unable to keep the scowl off of his face, unable to prevent the burn of his eyes when he realised he’d never gotten you to smile at him that way.

Caleb had to flee so you didn’t see his reaction, brewing in a mix of jealousy and self pity as he curled up on his bed, tears stinging his eyes.

The following day, Caleb played the protective big brother card for the very first time, practically snarling at the boy until his face was splotchy and red and he looked like he might cry. He should have felt bad. He didn’t. He’s sure he’d never been prouder.

You were upset, of course. The very first person to ever confess to you had suddenly started avoiding you at all costs — you thought you had done something wrong.

Caleb was more than happy to offer you a shoulder to cry on. He held you close to his side, his heart thumping at the close proximity, eyes wide with wonder as you only snuggled up closer. He remembers thinking that you were still the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on, even as you were crying. He even remembers the promise he had made.

“I’ll protect you, pipsqueak. Forever.”

Maybe he thought he’d grow out of the crush one day. Maybe he just didn’t care. All he knew was that every boy that came after the first was never good enough for you. No one was good enough for you. Caleb kept them all away, but it was for your own good. You’d understand that eventually.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Caleb’s feelings only worsened with time.

What started off as an innocent crush devolved into something more akin to obsession as he grew. He was climbing closer and closer to his mid-twenties, and yet he still felt like a small child carefully guarding his favourite toy when he was in your presence.

His thoughts began steering into dangerously non-brotherly territory when he came home from the Aerospace Academy for one summer to find you had already returned. You had… changed. There was a newfound confidence surrounding you since you began your hunter training, like you’d grown into yourself in the time he was gone. It felt almost bittersweet — he had called you pipsqueak out of habit, but the nickname didn’t feel quite right anymore. You laughed and pushed his hand away as he ruffled your hair. He didn’t like it, yet somehow your touch made his face heat up now.

Caleb liked feeling needed. He wanted to feel proud of you for coming out of your shell and gaining independence from him, but he couldn’t. He hated the idea that he needed you so badly, but you might not need your big brother as much anymore.

The first time it had happened was an accident. He had insisted he would do your laundry for you when you came home tired one day. He’d tucked you into bed all tight, pressing a kiss to your temple to silence your complaints.

You were all comfy and half-way to dozing off, and Grandma had already turned in for the night, so he was alone as he carried your things to the laundry room.

He wanted to make sure he did a good enough job that you would realise you could still rely on him. He carefully separated each article of clothing before placing them into the machine, making sure none of the colours would bleed, that anything delicate wouldn’t shrink or tear.

His fingers brushed lace, and he swallowed thickly. The offending material belonged to a pretty pink pair of panties. His chest started heaving as he stared down at them, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

When the fuck did you start wearing things like this?

He didn’t like it. He absolutely fucking hated the idea of you getting these to impress some other guy. He hated himself for the way all the blood in his brain seemed to immediately rush south and impede any reasonable thoughts from entering his brain.

He brushes his thumb over the fabric once. Twice. A third time when he notices the gusset of the panties feels different against his skin.

His gaze flicks quickly to the laundry room door. He waits, perking up like a dog waiting to be scolded as he listened for any sounds in the home. When he found none, he shuffled closer to the door, shutting it before bracing himself against it with an arm. Slowly, cautiously, he raises the fabric to his nose.

He inhales once, and immediately realises he’s doomed. His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a shaky inhale, burying his face deeper into the fabric. He presses his forehead to the door, his free hand sliding down his body so he can palm at his steadily hardening cock through his shorts.

He gasps instantly at the contact, panting into the fabric. His tongue darts out to taste them, and all it takes is two more shaky touches before he’s coming in his pants.

Caleb’s eyes widen and he jerks back like he’s been burned, the panties quickly being flung back into the washing basket. He switches on the half full machine, quickly skittering out of the room to have a cold shower.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“I thought you would grow out of being so fussy,” Caleb scolds lightly, brows furrowing as he watches you wrinkle your nose at the sight of some of the vegetables on your plate. “That’s why you’re so short, pipsqueak. You haven’t been eating your greens.”

“I’m not even short,” is your immediate response, tongue coming out childishly. Caleb can feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. “And I do eat vegetables. Just not… these ones.”

“Riiiiight. Are you sure that’s the case? You’re terrible at lying to me, you know.” He pauses, tilting his head with a small smile. He places a hand on the back of your chair, leaning in closer as he picks up your fork, stabbing it through some of the remaining food on your plate.

“Open wide, pipsqueak. Colonel Caleb has a very important flight to land.” He teases, doing the whole here-comes-the-aeroplane act with far too much enjoyment.

“I’m not seven anymore, Caleb. That stopped being cute over a decade ago—“

“Ah-ah. I don’t remember asking for you to argue with me. What stopped being cute a decade ago was that bratty attitude of yours.”

He pokes the tip of your nose with the hand that was previously resting on the back of your chair, grinning as his hand slips lower. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip without thinking, trying to pry your mouth open.

Bad idea, bad idea, bad-fucking-idea.

Your breathing hitches, and your lips part instinctively. There is no way the heat he feels rushing to his cheeks haven’t made it abundantly clear how helpless he is when it comes to you. He lets out a shaky breath, trying to focus on your wide eyes rather than how hot your breath feels against his thumb (and how easy it would be to feel just how warm and wet the inside of your mouth is).

Absolutely fucking terrible idea.

His pants are feeling particularly strained right now, and he’s praying to ever deity he’s ever heard the name of that you haven’t noticed. Caleb isn’t good at handling how his body chooses to react about you, but he’s always been great at deflecting and teasing you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, praying you don’t notice how breathless he is. He can see every imperfection on your face right now, every single lash as you look up at him. God, was he always this close? It’s taking all of his restraint not to lean in closer.

“You don’t need to be shy around me, you know. It’s only me. You trust me, don’t you?” You nod, and he gives you a lazy smile. “You’re so pretty. Sometimes I worry about leaving you all alone.”

Of course, by sometimes, he means he sometimes gets so nauseous when he lets his mind wander to what you might get up to without him around that it makes him dizzy. Not that he would ever vocalise that fact.

“Pretty?” You repeat in a voice that’s so soft and sweet and hopeful that it’s dizzying.

“Pretty.” He confirms, dropping his forehead against yours.

Caleb doesn’t remember leaning in to kiss you, but suddenly his lips are on yours, and you melt. He smiles against your lips, his fingers trailing along your jawline before they’re moving up to cup your cheek. It’s clumsy and sweet — he can tell you’ve never done this before, and that makes something warm blossom in his chest.

He wants to ruin you, but he’s not entirely sure you haven’t ruined him, first.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip until it parts to let him inside. He brushes his tongue against yours until you’re practically a puddle in his arms, only pulling back when he needs to breathe.

“Pipsqueak,” he murmurs, eyes solely focused on your spit-slick lips. “Can I take you to your room?”

You nod.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Is this okay?” Caleb whispers, brows furrowed in concern at the way you hiss as he slips two fingers inside of you. He withdraws them slightly, leaning down to spit on your cunt before slowly pushing them back in. They move easier now, and he finds himself letting out a relieved sigh as the crease between your brows melts away.

“Good. It’s… it’s good.”

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he starts to thrust his fingers into you, gently scissoring you open. “Or if I do anything you don’t like.”

You nod again, and he rewards you by brushing his thumb over your clit experimentally. Your walls clench around his digits as you moan, so he does it again. “Good girl.”

His touch is more exploratory than anything. He watches your face closely the entire time, repeating the actions that make your nose scrunch up all cutely. He doesn’t stop until your cunt is practically drooling all over him, leaving him very at risk of coming in his pants.

“I’m going to be gentle, okay? Are you ready?” He asks softly, hands trembling as he slides his fingers out of you. His hands move to shed off his own clothes, his body draping over yours. He doesn’t make any move to do more until you agree.

“Yeah. Please, Caleb.”

Caleb has dreamed of this moment. He’s almost tempted to pinch himself, just to be sure this is really happening. His lips part with a strangled groan as he pushes the tip of his cock past your entrance, his head tipping forwards.

“Oh… you’re so tight.” He gasps, practically shaking as he continues to slowly press forwards. His hips meet the back of your thighs, and he can’t help but stare down at where the two of you are connected in awe.

He rolls his hips experimentally, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he feels the way you try to greedily suck him back in. It’s too much and not enough, all at the same time. You whine, squirming underneath him, trying to get him to move again.

“So good… feels so good,” he practically whimpers, repeating the movement a few times so that his eyes can take in the way he disappears within you. “Fuck. I love you, y’know that?”

Of course you do. Caleb has never been shy when it comes to showing how deeply he cared about you, but the words feel different now. More charged.

You say you love him, too, and Caleb grunts. His hips stutter, then he pauses. Blinks. His eyes flick downwards, a flush overtaking his face as he watches his cum start to seep out of you, pushing past the barrier his cock provides as the droplets slide down your ass to stain the sheets. You’re still panting, whining, begging him for more.

He swallows. Hard. His throat bobs as he pushes past the sensitivity to start rocking into you with more confidence this time, his now half-hard cock slowly stirring back to life. He knows you must have felt it, the sudden warmth flooding you. Fuck, that’s so embarrassing. He’s been waiting for this moment for years, saved himself just for you, and that was all it took?

He leans over you a little more, pressing deeper in an attempt to make up for it. Your back arches and you let out the prettiest sound he’s ever heard, lips parting in a way that makes him feel light-headed. Suddenly, he’s not so worried anymore. He smiles, letting out a soft little laugh as he presses a kiss to your temple, fucking into you slow and deep.

“You look so beautiful like this.” He breathes. Running his nose along your cheek, your jawline, down the line of your neck. He inhales deeply, lashes fluttering as he takes in your scent. His chest is starting to hurt from how fast his heart is beating, but he doesn't care. His entire focus is on you — the sounds you’re making, the way you feel as your cunt sucks him in, the warmth of your body pressed against his.

“I love you.” He says again, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. His arms wrap tight around your waist to hug your body tight against his own, leaning all of his weight onto you as he continues to thrust into you. His movements are almost lazy. He’s addicted to the feeling of being inside of you, the slow, languid drag of his cock. The way you gasp as he presses his hips flush to yours. He can’t stop smiling.

“I love you too, Caleb. Always… always loved you.” You gasp. Caleb hisses at the breathless sound of your voice, his thrusts growing harsher and more erratic.

He sits back on his heels, dragging you along with him. He keeps his grip on you tight, crushing you to his body as he fucks up into you, gasping and panting each time his cock sheathes itself fully within you.

“Close… I’m so close, baby. Cum, please… need to… need to feel you cum.” He grits out through his teeth, head lolling back as his fingers dig into the flesh of your back, desperately attempting to bring you closer. If he could, he’d merge your bodies together so he’d never have to be without you.

“Can’t… I can’t, need more—“ You gasp out in response.

Caleb groans, one of his hands slipping down your back and around your side, pressing itself between your two bodies so he can rub at your clit. Your core flutters around his length, a fresh wave of arousal setting your nerve endings on fire. You rock into his touch, grinding back down to meet his thrusts before you’re pressing up to chase the touch of his fingers.

Your body tenses, walls clenching around him as you come with a cry, arousal soaking him until its dripping down your thighs. You’re trying to kill him, he’s sure of it.

He finds it impossible to deny his release much longer. How could he, when you look so perfect against him like this, your expression hazy and blissed out. You looked utterly wrecked, and it was entirely his doing.

His hips jerk forwards shakily, a series of grunts and curses spilling past his lips as his cum fills you to the brim. He drops his forehead against your shoulder, both arms moving to wrap loosely around your waist to keep you close to his body.

He keeps you there for a moment before slowly lowering you back onto the mattress, gently draping his body over yours. He nuzzles your neck just to have another excuse to breath in your scent, the smell of sweat and sex mixing with something so distinctly you.

The silence is only broken as you whine, pushing at his chest. “Caleb, heavy.”

“Oh? Am I?” He teases, laughing against your neck as you try to wriggle free. He just tightens his grip. “Nuh-uh, pipsqueak. You’re stuck with me.”

He means it.

[max-nicoxfandom]

Happy WIP Wednesday ! Here is a first draft/snippet of a random chapter in my long fic I'm working on (don't go looking for it, still unsure if I'm going to post it), bc I think I'm gonna take this part out even if I really like the concept.

Danny is like 6-7yrs old in this

Danny is a weird kid.

That's not to say Dick expected him to be normal when his family took him in. No, even if Danny wasn't still half dead, no one in this family is normal. Not even Duke and Barbara, the self proclaimed normies of the family.

Danny has brought a certain life to the manor, even in death, that has Dick contemplating moving back. Somehow, even Jason has been spending more time than usual there. Arguments have been lessened, the manor has been less creaky and more settled, Alfred even looks a little younger these days.

It's both the fault of Danny's sweet exterior, and the odd green that swirls in the blue of his eyes. Not the same hue as Jason's, but something near to it.

He's a lot like Jason, actually. Dick is sure if Jason had come to them just a little bit younger he'd be the spitting image of Danny.

It's the little things that make them look so similar. Almost everyone in the manor has the blue-green eye, black hair combo. It's everything else in Danny that makes him look exactly like Jason.

Danny likes to wish the moon good morning when he sees it during the day, and insists on opening his curtains when he goes to sleep so the moon can listen to his bedtime story too. He likes to check his stuffed animals for injuries when they fall off furniture. He thanks Alfred for his food, and thanks his food for being yummy. When he leaves the manor, he blows the building a kiss goodbye.

Dick does not tell Bruce that the house pulls itself from the ground, and creaks back.

Sure, Jason wasn't dead (not yet, anyway), but he was so excited to be alive. He had that same disposition to do good to everyone and everything that Danny does. Jason may not be some sort of partial human like Danny, but Jason was Robin, and Robin? Robin is magic.

You don't have to believe in ghosts for them to be real, and you don't have to see Danny for him to exist. On the same wavelength, you don't have to see Robin to know Jason made him magic. It was just the truth. Like how the sky is blue and Bruce is Batman.

Dick is watching his life be changed one step at a time, just like it was with Jason–like how it was supposed to be with Jason–and like it was with his siblings.

He keeps flowers in his car now. He didn't before, he never had a reason for it.

But one time, Danny cried as they passed a graveyard. He was sitting curled up against the window in the back while Dick hummed along to some ballad on the radio. It was peaceful, as things tend to be when Danny's around, and even as the kid cried Dick never stopped feeling tranquil. He knew everything would be okay, Dick would stop at nothing to make his new brother happy again.

“I have no flowers.” He’d said. Dick hadn't even gotten the chance to ask what was wrong. “They'll all be so sad I came by, and I had no flowers.”

Danny's eyes were green when he'd spoken. Green, teary, and filled with more mourning a child should ever understand. Dick's heart broke about a thousand times over.

So now Dick keeps flowers in his car. Whenever he drives past a graveyard he throws a flower out the window, just like Danny does. And if the bouquet dies before he gets to give them away, he gives them to Danny, and he buries them in the backyard.

Green eyed and sad. Sometimes Jason joins him, sometimes Damian does. Dick never feels like it's his place.

This fic also has to do with the cult thing I was talking about sometime ago, and the post about big cities. I kinda regret having this take place in Gotham instead of Amity, but it's too late now (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

Asks and interactions are always welcome !

[mcrdvcks]

i just need this love spiral

summary: Logan just wants one night alone with you.

word count: 1.5k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: here was the request that inspired this!

this is set in the same world as Deck The Halls, but you don't have to read that to understand this!

(also this may be my shortest oneshot ever!?)

warnings/tags: reader and logan have a bio kid, laura, fluff, mention of drinking wine, implied sex

Mornings were always Logan’s favorite part of the day—a close second was nighttime. In the mornings there was usually nothing to worry about, he could hold you for as long as he’d like with no interruptions.

Until Laura came along. Then Sierra. Then Rocky, your rescue pit bull.

And now, mornings usually meant a cramped bed, Rocky taking up the bottom half, curled up by Laura, and Sierra curled up between you and Logan.

Logan let out a slow exhale, staring at the ceiling. His arm was pinned under Sierra’s small body, her head tucked into your shoulder. Laura was sprawled out, one foot kicking into his ribs. And Rocky—damn dog—had taken up the whole bottom half of the bed, his body curled up against Laura’s legs.

This wasn’t what he had in mind when he woke up.

He turned his head slightly, watching you sleep. Peaceful. Comfortable. Completely unaware of the fact that he was being physically restrained by your children and a dog. His wife was right there, within arm’s reach, and yet completely inaccessible.

He sighed again, quieter this time.

Then Sierra shifted, rolling toward him in her sleep, and smacked him in the face with her tiny hand.

Logan groaned, running a hand down his face. That was it. Enough was enough.

He carefully peeled Sierra off his arm, settling her between you and Laura. She didn’t even stir. Then he scooted down, maneuvering around Rocky’s dead weight and slipping out of bed as quietly as possible.

You mumbled something in your sleep but didn’t wake. He reached over, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face.

Then, before you could stop him, he hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you out of bed.

"Logan," you yelped, barely catching yourself as he dragged you toward the door. "What are you—"

"Shh," he muttered, leading you out of the room and shutting the door behind him. "You’re mine for five minutes. That’s all I’m askin’."

You blinked at him, still groggy. "What?"

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, pulling you toward the couch. "Five minutes. Just me and you. No kids, no dog, no elbows in my ribs."

You let him drag you along, still trying to wake up. "You’re that desperate?"

"Yeah," he admitted without shame, settling onto the couch and pulling you onto his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close like he’d been deprived for days instead of just a few hours.

You sighed, resting your forehead against his. "You’re ridiculous."

"Maybe." His hands ran slowly up and down your back, warm and steady. "Ain't like I don’t love ‘em. But I’d like to wake up next to my wife at least once in a while, not buried under a pile of kids and a damn dog."

You snorted. "You’re the one who said Rocky could sleep in the bed when it storms."

"Didn’t mean every night," he grumbled, nuzzling into your neck. "And Sierra—she’s got her own bed, but no, she’s gotta be right in the middle. Laura’s got a whole room, but she still sneaks in."

"They love you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he muttered, but you could hear the affection in his voice. He exhaled slowly, his grip tightening just a little. "Just wanted a minute with you."

You softened at that, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. "You could’ve just woken me up earlier."

"Tried. You looked too peaceful," he admitted. "Didn’t have the heart to move you ‘til I got smacked in the face."

You grinned. "Sierra?"

"Who else?"

You laughed quietly, fingers brushing through his hair. "She’s got good aim."

"Real funny," he deadpanned, but his hold on you stayed firm, like he was soaking up every second.

You hummed, leaning into him. "Guess we’ll have to start locking the door, huh?"

"Already thought about it," he said. "If I don't, I'm never gettin’ you to myself again."

You smirked. "So dramatic."

"Call it whatever you want." He pressed a kiss to your temple, voice low. "You're mine first, remember that."

"Yeah?" You tilted your head, lips just brushing his. "You sure about that? Because I think Sierra might have something to say about it."

Logan groaned, letting his head fall back against the couch. "Gonna start fightin’ a five-year-old for my own wife. This is my life now."

You grinned. "Yep."

His hands slid lower, gripping your hips. "Lock the door tonight."

You bit back a laugh. "We’ll see."

---

Though Logan couldn’t technically get drunk, let alone tipsy, your alcohol tolerance was much lower now that you had Sierra. Which meant that after a small glass of wine you felt like you were on the moon.

Logan locked the bedroom door with a quiet click, turning back to you with a smirk. "Not takin' any chances tonight."

You laughed, a little loopy from the wine as you flopped onto the bed. "How responsible of you."

He climbed in after you, hands already finding your waist as he pulled you close. "Not responsible—just tired of gettin’ cockblocked by my own kids."

You snorted, wrapping your arms around his neck. "You are dramatic."

He hummed, nuzzling into your neck. "Maybe. But I finally got you all to myself."

His lips brushed against your skin, slow and teasing, his hands sliding up your back. You sighed, relaxing into him, fingertips trailing through his hair.

"Y'know," you murmured, tilting your head to give him better access, "I think the wine's making me very agreeable."

Logan chuckled against your throat, his breath warm. "Yeah? That so?"

"Mhm." You grinned, pulling back just enough to look at him. "You should take advantage of that."

His grip tightened on your hips. "Oh, I plan to."

Logan kissed you, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. His hands slid under your shirt, fingertips trailing warm patterns against your skin. You sighed against his lips, pressing closer, feeling the familiar heat coil between you.

Then—

Click.

The unmistakable sound of the door unlocking.

Logan froze. So did you.

Before either of you could react, the door creaked open, and small footsteps padded into the room.

"Mommy? Daddy?" Sierra’s sleepy voice cut through the darkness.

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, his forehead dropping onto your shoulder. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. His grip on you loosened just enough for you to shift, tilting your head toward the door.

"Sierra, honey, what’s wrong?"

"Rocky took my blanket," she mumbled.

From the doorway, Rocky let out a soft huff, the kind of noise that said he wasn’t giving it back anytime soon.

Logan groaned quietly, rolling onto his back. "I locked that damn door."

"She’s five," you whispered, amused. "Locks mean nothing to her."

Sierra took a few steps closer, rubbing her eyes. "Can I sleep with you?"

You started to sit up, but Logan caught your wrist. "Nope. No way. Not tonight," he muttered under his breath, then turned his head toward Sierra. "You got your own bed, kid. Go back to it."

She pouted. "But Rocky—"

"—is a thief, I know," Logan grumbled. "Go grab another blanket."

Sierra huffed, clearly unimpressed with the suggestion. "But—"

"Laura," Logan called, already knowing his other kid was lurking.

A beat of silence, then—

"How’d you know?" Laura’s voice piped up from the hall.

Logan scrubbed a hand down his face. "Because I ain’t stupid."

Laura stepped into view, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face. "We were gonna see if we could sneak in without you noticing."

"Yeah, well, noticed," Logan muttered. "Not happening tonight."

Sierra’s bottom lip wobbled. "But—"

"Nope," Logan cut her off. "Go on. Back to bed, both of you."

Laura didn’t argue, but Sierra whined, "Daddy—"

Logan sighed, sitting up. "Sierra, sweetheart, I love ya, but me and your mom need some time alone."

You pressed your lips together to stifle a laugh. Wrong choice of words.

Laura snorted. "Gross."

Sierra frowned, still half-asleep. "Why?"

Logan sighed again, dragging a hand through his hair. "Because I said so."

Sierra huffed dramatically, turning on her heel. "Fine."

Laura grabbed her hand, leading her away. "Come on, before they start kissing again."

Sierra made a gagging noise, and just like that, the two of them were gone, the door closing behind them.

Logan leaned back against the pillows, eyes closed. "I’m puttin’ a deadbolt on that damn door."

You laughed, rolling onto your side to face him. "You’re really struggling, huh?"

"You have no idea," he muttered, tugging you back into his arms. His grip was firm, like he was making up for lost time. "Now, where were we?"

You smirked, brushing your lips against his. "I think Rocky was about to steal another blanket."

Logan groaned. "That dog’s lucky I love him."

"Yeah, yeah," you teased, threading your fingers through his hair. "Now, are you gonna keep talking, or…?"

He didn’t need to be told twice.

[kvothbloodless]

Because I like creating stories! I like coming up with a plot and characters. I like worldbuilding. I like making decisions about themes and how I want to communicate them. I like figuring out pivotal scenes and how they'll play out. And while I don't love it, I also don't really have a problem with editing scenes and dialogue to fit better.

What I don't like, and indeed most days am not Able to do, is actually sitting down and converting all my well organized ideas and decisions and worldbuilding into tens of thousands of words of prose. I just do not enjoy it at all; I find it tedious and unengaging and it usually feels like pulling teeth. And even if I Did enjoy it, my disabilities make it near impossible to do anything like that most days.

And AI mostly solves that problem for me! Why Wouldn't I want to use it? Why shouldn't I use an awesome new tool that lets me find joy in creating stories I would not otherwise be able to create? Why shouldn't I want to share those stories with people?

I just don't understand tumblr user's immediate and outraged response to someone doing something that they also enjoy, just because they're doing it in a different way. I mean, I know a large part of it is because we like to equate suffering and struggle with value, but like. Cmon guys. Lets stop acting protestant (and ableist) here.

Something being harder to do doesn't make it inherently better! Hard work purely for the sake of hard work is dumb and helps nobody; you shouldn't be railing against people just because they're choosing to take advantage of a tool that allows them to produce art that they otherwise wouldn't. Or even art that they Would have made, but this lets them make it more easily! That's awesome! Being able to create a story or a piece of visual art in a day when it would otherwise take a week is amazing! What's the downside here? More art? More varied art (because now its easier to experiment and try new things)?

And yea, I will admit, AI isn't quite at the level where I can use it to create the stories I really want to Yet, its still so much better than any of the alternatives. So I ask again. Why Wouldn't I use it? Its letting me do something I enjoy, that I would not otherwise be able to do. Its not hurting anyone (please do not try to argue about how AI is killing the environment or stealing from artists unless you've actually done some reading and understand how the technology actually works). If its not for you, that's fine. Just like any tool, it won't be helpful for everyone. But that doesn't mean you should be hating on and ostracizing those who do find it helpful, nor that you should ignore any art produced using it.

Unpopular opinion but if you don't enjoy the process you should find a different thing to do.

And I think this is true in general but now I'm talking about it in the context of AI.

If you don't enjoy making art and only care about the end piece and how it'll look and how much traction it"lol get online then making art is not something for you, find something you enjoy from start to finish.

Same goes for writing: if you do not enjoy writing and rewriting and then some more and instead want AI to write for you, being a writer is not something you should pursue.

Sure, not every part of creative process is going to be equally enjoyable but you should get satisfaction from solving the problems along the way and you should get a sense of accomplishment on your way of "making the piece yours" and you should have a sense of ownership once you are done.

None of these things will come from typing in a prompt into chatGPT. And I am sad to see so many people are missing on the opportunity to experience the joy of making something with their own hands and brains.

[mychemicalweevil]

Absolutely no one was waiting for this but here’s my unofficial ranking of TLT characters based on how much they’d like pickles:

1. Gideon

I know they didn’t have food with flavor on the Ninth but the vibes are overtaking me. Gideon loves pickles. She’s drinking pickle juice straight from the jar before a workout to avoid cramping. She’s eating Harrow’s dill pickle off her plate because Harrow can’t even handle touching it. I know this in my heart to be true.

2. Dulcinea

Do all chronically ill people love pickles or is that just my specific crowd? Either way I think she’d love a really sour pickle and would eat them straight out of the jar on the regular.

3. Jeannemary

I don’t know what kind of food they have on the Fourth but this kid would be so happy to eat a pickle. (nooooo Magnus don’t tell them they forgot the extra pickles on my sandwich)

4. Magnus

The aforementioned Magnus. He’s pro-pickle but not a freak about it. He’d grill hot dogs for the Fourth kids and put relish on them.

5. Ianthe

She likes gherkins and she likes eating them suggestively. Sorry to any gherkin lovers out there…

6. Camilla

Make no mistake, she can deal with a pickle, but I feel like she’d rather not. She makes fun of Gideon drinking pickle juice before a workout.

7. Palamedes

He doesn’t like the texture. I am confident that in a present day setting he’d eat terribly, just whatever he can get down quickly that has enough nutrients to keep him going. He doesn’t understand the true value of pickles.

8. Coronabeth

If there’s a pickle on her plate she’s making Babs send it back. I don’t even know if she’d hate pickles at all if she tried them but she’s convinced herself she does.

9. Harrow

You know those videos of babies trying a lemon for the first time and it’s kind of funny but also sad because they had no idea what was coming? That’s Harrow trying a pickle.

[soulsforsales]

I don’t think people understand the extent and effect of Jason Todd’s trauma. I mean, every time Jason goes “I died.” Everyone’s like “we know, Jason!”

But no. No, you don’t know. He died — in every sense of the word. His heart stopped beating, his lungs stopped giving out air. His body was taut, numb, paralyzed.

And the crowbar, the beating didn’t kill Jason Todd— the bomb did which means he laid down on that cold stone floor of the warehouse in a pool of his own blood and counted down the minutes to his death, quite literally and even in his last moments, beyond all logic, he was hoping that Dad will come, Dad will save him, Dad will be here. But Dad was too late.

And he was helpless and tired and bleeding when the shrill scream of the explosion cut through followed by that chilling silence. He must have felt the debris press into his already broken bones and skin and that’s when it must have hit him that it’s actually over. He’s dead and Dad couldn’t save him. So, he must have closed his eyes and waited for the peace that follows with being dead.

Because he was just a kid. Sixteen. Kids die and go to heaven, right? Well, even that was snatched away from Jason.

Because he was forced back to life— whether it was climbing out of your own fucking grave or the Lazarus pit— he was forced back into a life that was his no more because who he was, the kid, the Robin— he died and what came back was someone no one could identify.

He must’ve felt his heart beat frantically to push all that blood through his aching muscles, his lungs finally swallowing in air after being black and blue for god knows how long. He came back only to find out that the one person he loved most in the world didn’t think him worthy of being avenged. No matter how much Bruce suffered after Jason’s death— in my opinion— Jason’s anger is justified. Because he was JUST A KID. He was killed simply to spite Batman, he was killed as collateral damage. A KID- BEATEN BLOODY AND BRUISED FOR SIMPLY WANTING TO HELP HIS MOTHER FOR SIMPLY WANTING TO PROVE HE WAS GOOD.

Can you even imagine how many times he must’ve just wanted to stop? Can you imagine how much he wanted to just go home and have Alfred bake him cookies again? How much he wanted to hug Bruce and try forgiving, how much he wanted to call Dick “brother” again and just be his “little wing?”

It pains me to see how he’s treated— both fanon and canon.

Jason Todd isn't just the “angry Robin” or “the violent anti-hero with a grudge” he’s so much more.

He is a hero. And he died a hero. He died trying to save someone. He died hoping he saved someone.

I have said it before and I’ll say it again: he did NOT deserve that. But look how he took all the bad things that happened to him and only gave the world something better in return?

Yeah, that’s who Jason Todd is.

[imsofreakingtired]

Hihiii I was wondering on how you think sevika would handle reader who has a mental illness? Like bipolar, bpd or anything like that

Btw I love ur fics and headcannons so much 😭😭

hii anon,, actually crazy cuz i have bpd and having a pretty bad episode rn so imma write a drabble. will probably take it down later and rewrite a more polished version to do ur request justice; i'm very very sorry for the rushed nature of this and the atrocious amount of projection you may see

content warnings: depiction of depressive episode/breakdown, self destructive thoughts, sh, panic attack

please please PLEASE do not read under the cut if these topics may be triggering to you. please take care of yourself

i'm not going anywhere.

___

you don't hear Sevika come in.

you don't hear anything.

you're stuck in your head. slippery muddy slope. you can claw at sanity and bite down on the thoughts but they'll pull you down eventually, and you guess you should have known it would catch up to you, all the sleepless nights and spiraling thoughts and sick, sick self loathing.

she fucking hates you. why do you even stay? leeching off her energy.

the water in the sink runs and runs, but you can't hear that either. the cold tile of the bathroom floor against your face. your eyes burn like someone's driving nails into them. it's not even crying anymore. something between hysteria and panicked gasps for air. your lungs seize and you breathe and breathe nothing.

get yourself together. get yourself together.

try to knock some sense into your head. your fists in your hair, then beating against your temples, the world momentarily spins dark.

you can't breathe, your throat's scraped dry. odd, almost, how your body can still produce so much tears when you can't even swallow, when you can barely feel your tongue, when your chest hurts so bad it feels like it'll tear apart.

get it together, fuck you, get it together-

"hey. hey."

a calloused hand closes around your wrist. pulls your hand away from your face. through your blurry vision you see Sevika kneeling on the floor beside you, looking strong and massive as a rock rising from the sea in that small bathroom. her eyes are sharp with alarm.

"what the hell happened?" she asks. her voice low and fast. she thinks you were in danger. doesn't know you are the danger. "what happened here?"

you can't speak. you're fucking furious at yourself for getting caught.

she pulls you up into a sitting position. checks you all over for injury. sees the raw marks on your forearms. sees the bruise forming on the side of your head. for a moment she doesn't say anything.

"i'm sorry," you whisper at last. "i'm so sorry."

she shakes her head.

"i just... i was... i don't know," your voice is so small and broken you aren't even sure if she can hear you. "i'm sorry."

"what are you saying sorry about?" she demands quietly.

"i don't know."

"why are you hurting yourself?"

"i don't know." you bite down on your tongue to stop another wave of tears. "i'm sorry."

"stop it. stop apologizing."

you try to take a breath. your lungs feel like they'll never be full again.

Sevika stands and turns off the faucet water. disappears for a moment. you sit and listen to the air settle, cradling your arms. this is the end. she's figured you out.

she'll leave you.

Sevika returns with a glass of water, kneels on the floor beside you again. "drink it. all of it."

silently you try to obey but your throat closes against the water and you set the glass down quietly on the floor.

"you should go," you say.

"what?"

"just...leave."

"i don't understand."

"i know you already want to," you say, but you're not quite sure if you're really saying it, or if the words are just that fucking loud in your head. "i'm just a burden to you. i don't want to be anymore."

a long silence follows. then Sevika says, "look at me."

you keep staring down at your hands.

"look at me."

you look up. Sevika's gaze is intense.

"just what the hell did i do or say to put that thought in your head?"

you shrug. it's a stupid motion. suddenly you're too tired to talk. you're too tired to do anything. you genuinely want her to leave, just so you can go back to the comfort of the bathroom floor, the static of your thoughts. but Sevika does not leave.

"what did i tell you?" she says. "go that long without any sleep and you'll be thinking up nonsense like that."

when you don't reply, she picks up the half-empty glass of water and places it carefully on the sink. then she wraps her human arm around you, her mech arm firmly supporting your legs, and lifts you up.

"you're going to bed. you're going to get some sleep. then you'll feel better."

"i can't sleep," you tell her.

"you will."

"i can't."

she carries you into the bedroom anyway, lays you down. then she sits next to you. smooths the hair away from your face.

her voice is gentler when she asks, "why can't you sleep?"

"the thoughts..."

"...they're too loud?" she finishes. "i'll beat the shit out of 'em."

you crack a small smile.

Sevika hesitates, as if hovering on a decision. then she unclasps her prosthetic arm and lays it on the table beside the bed. she lies down beside you, pulling you close to her.

"i'm not going anywhere," she says in a low voice. "you hear me?"

you nod once against her chest. her heart beats steadily against your ear, and your burning eyes close.

"i'm not going anywhere."

___

[byfulcrums]

I hate the third movie so much!!!! Like a lot!!!!!!!

Prepare for a rant (under cut bc it got a bit long, sorry!)

First of all, here's a thing I always complain about when talking about HTTYD 3: the designs, and the characterization

The designs as in, the armor, is cool as hell, I'm not complaining about that I love the armor so much. But I hate how they made Toothless a literal puppy. His head is literally a square!!! They changed his personality too, when he's always been more similar to a cat than a dog

There's also the light fury. I have no words for this. The fact that they only made her Like That because they needed her to be "feminine" says enough about her

It was weirdly sexist for a HTTYD movie, considering how well done the female characters are in this series. They only made this character to be Girl Toothless, and being a girl was her only character trait

Besides that, they gave some of Toothless' mannerisms to her! The more cat-like behavior, at some points, for example. Toothless in the first movie was more graceful, stealthy, moved silently, etc. They gave all of his different, elegant ways of moving to her, because they wanted to push the golden retriever agenda on him (that's a joke btw. Like they did do that but "golden retriever agenda" isn't a thing)

Ruffnut was far too stupid too. She would NEVER in rtte

Now; let's move on to why the ending is shit

First of all! Toothless is not an Alpha. He is king, yes, but king of Berk's dragons specifically. When he defeated Drago's Alpha, he did not suddenly gain telepathy powers; the dragons under the Alpha's control went to Toothless when he won, and it was a willing decision. They listen to him, yes, but not every dragon will, because HE'S NOT OF THE SPECIES THAT HAS LITERAL DRAGON MIND CONTROL POWERS

That being said!! If Toothless isn't an Alpha, then why the hell did all the dragons leave when he did? And why did all the dragons in the Hidden World immediately bow down to him? Maybe they recognize his status as King (of Berk), but that doesn't mean he's the king of them

There's also no way all the dragons wanted to leave. Just no way. I know I wouldn't!

Then, there's the Death Song problem

There are multiple cannibalistic dragon species. If they go to the Hidden World with the rest, they will try to eat everyone else, and if they can't do that, they'll starve. These dragons can't just change their entire biology and start eating fish, plants, boars, or whatever thing you have in mind. They have to eat other dragons, or they'll die. Sending them all to the Hidden World means that either they'll eat all the other dragons and eventually they'll be one of the few species left standing (highly unlikely) or they'll just go extinct (most probable)

Along with that, there's the fact that many dragons are extremely territorial. if stuck in the same place for the rest of their lives, there will be fights, and dragons don't have medicine! They can only heal naturally, there's no outside help. So many will die, far more than necessary

Now, I do like the ending of the dragons leaving. In the books

And sure, dragons die every day; no one can stop that (no matter how sad this makes Hiccup), but putting them all in a big cave will result in losses that are WAY bigger than necessary and than what they're used to

Plus, what about the species that can't fly? The Speed Stingers, for example? The mutation in RTTE was a thing that only happened with that one group. Only they would be able to reach the Hidden World

I understand that they were trying to end the sagas the same way the books did, but it doesn't work in the movies! Also, (I haven't read all the books yet, it's a work in progress, so correct me if I'm wrong, but) as far as I know, in the books the dragons were basically slaves to the Vikings. It makes sense that they would want to leave. In the movies, it's not like that. Berk's dragons are friends, not servants! They have no reason to want to leave!

And even then, I'm like 99% sure that in the books Toothless still didn't leave Hiccup. And even then, apparently leaving (or when to leave, most likely) was left to be each dragon's choice, not something a random telepathy powered Toothless told them to do

The villain also sucks. I didn't like his design, but I'm not gonna complain about that

It makes no sense for just one person to wipe out an entire species! And besides, Grimmel wasn't scary, wasn't interesting, wasn't anything at all. He's as bland as the Light Fury

Also also also. Toothless would never leave Hiccup for a girl. I'm not talking about a "bros before hoes" thing (I hate that phrase) I'm talking as in, Toothless would never leave Hiccup. Ever. No matter the circumstances. ES MÁS, he wouldn't have let the Light Fury get close to him after she attacked Hiccup! He would've defended him! That's his friend. HIS FRIEND. He's his best bud, his soulmate!!!!!

God the Toothless characterization pissed me off sm

I'd say Hiccup was pretty spot on in the sense that if Toothless wanted to leave and could leave without, like, dying, he would let him; he'd be sad about it, but he would let him. There's other things I don't like about the way he was written, of course, but that wasn't too bad. WHAT WAS BAD IS THE FACT THAT TOOTHLESS LEAVING WAS EVEN A POSSIBILITY IN THE FIRST PLACE

And, to add something: doesn't the "oh I built a new tail and now he can leave forever because it's like basically his old tail! It's like it was never missing at all!" thing feel a bit ableist? Idk that's just a hunch, I'm not disabled so I can't talk about it, but. Just leaving that there

Still, even without the ableism, it's still shitty. The tailfin would never hold that long. It'd need repairs. Things like that can't be permanent, and I know Hiccup is a great inventor, but he's not a god, come on. He can't do everything

Toothless can fly on his own now, yes, but if the tailfin breaks (which is a thing that can happen, either because of an accident or simply because of time), there's no one to fix it. In a place like that, he'll be stranded. It's dangerous!

Also they made Snotlout, Hiccup's cousin in the books, be attracted to Hiccup's mom. HIS AUNT

The HTTYD universe's ecosystem must've been so damaged when all the dragons dissappeared.

"but people wanted to hurt them!" people want to hurt wolves to, but we don't send them all to an isolated cave because it would destroy the ecosystem.

In fact, "dragon" is just a collective word for multiple species so they really fucked themselves with that one.

In conclusion, the third movie was stupid.

[brainrotcharacters]

the easy grip on the knife. the leg over the seat. the hand over the other seat. the sassy "come get it" move. you know the bitch is smiling behind that mask even as he said the line.