#but once I make that decision there is no going back

[orbitganymede]

baby daddy simon who dated you for a year before you got pregnant, you’d gone through most of the pregnancy alone, him being deployed 3 weeks after you found out and gone until the very last month of it. the both of you had tried at keeping the relationship together, but the distance and loneliness got to you, you’d been fine when it was just you but now with baby, you can’t let the father go in and out of their life. he wasn’t very happy with the decision to end your relationship, in his mind you were together forever now, tied together by this beautiful thing you two created, he didn’t even want children before you told him you were expecting but his whole world view changed when he realized that he not only had you to protect but a baby as well.

but you’d moved out against his wishes, finding a small flat you like and making it home for you and baby. he would come over sometimes, when he could, and spend some time with baby but honestly he felt more like some glorified uncle, would be convinced he was nothing to this child until he saw those brown eyes staring back at him, the ones that are so completely his, and he comes to the conclusion that this isn’t gonna work.

he starts small, coming over once a week instead of every other weekend, takes the two of you out for dinner instead of letting you cook or ordering in. stays late enough that you offer him the spare bed in the guest room, even with the distance you’ve put between yourselves, you can’t help but care for him, knowing nobody else will.

then he puts more pressure on you, making sure you see just how valuable he is, taking night shift feedings and waking up early with baby when they’re fussy. he offers to take baby for the night so you can go out with your friends, do things you haven’t been able to since baby’s arrival, even pays for a spa day for you to really relax. he stocks your fridge, full of the snacks you love and a bottle of wine for the hard nights. he buys and sets up new decor in the house, finally gets you the pretty white vanity and a new washing machine that doesn’t squeak. he really just does what he considers ‘husband duties’, things that he should have been doing this whole time.

and when you don’t budge on the separation, he goes nuclear, “no, love, i haven’t seen your birth control pills”, “look how cute this baby is, remember when ours was that small, sweetheart”, “you’re so stressed darling, let me help you” which basically means you end up getting rawdogged within an inch of your life, condom long forgotten, one of simons hands held over your mouth to muffle the sounds you’re making. he just hopes he’d tracked your cycle right, that you’re actually ovulating, because you can’t possible refuse his ring after having two of his babies right? you wouldn’t do that to him, would you pet?

[xinganhao]

🍨 svt spoiling their partner.

★ prompt: how ot13 spoils their partner? 🥹🥹🥹 i am just a girl give me treats c/o @shinwonderful

ⓘ established relationship, pet names, fluff. headcanons under the cut. special thanks to @chugging-antiseptic-dye for helping! ♡

🍨 read more?

seungcheol 𖹭 planning dates. he will refuse to let you lift a finger for your day out. everything will be meticulously laid out, finetuned to be something that you'll enjoy. his goal is to lessen the mental load of decision-making and planning; he wants you to be able to focus solely on enjoying the surprise, and he'll break his back to make sure that happens.

jeonghan 𖹭 'parallel play'. even if the two of you might not be interested in the same things, that's okay. he's happiest to spend quality time with you at home, where the two of you are free to do your own thing within eachother's presence. just being in your vicinity already makes him content, and so he plans everything around the two of you getting to explore and share your respective hobbies.

shua 𖹭 acts of service. need help with your taxes? need someone to fill up your tank? he's already on it. he'll say that these are all 'little things', call it the bare minimum, when it's apparent that he makes it a conscious effort to make your day-to-day easier. his brand of spoiling you comes in the form of quietly doing things that will improve your quality of life.

junhui 𖹭 buying clothes you'll like. he can't help it, really. when he sees an article of clothing that he thinks suits your style? when he finds a local brand that shares your advoacy? he's already pulling out his wallet. he likes the idea of dressing you up. nothing makes him happier than knowing you're wearing an outfit that he entirely picked out for you.

soonyoung 𖹭 daily reasons why he loves you. people always joke that he has a bit of a motormouth, so why shouldn't he use it on talking about you, you, you? he's big on words of affirmation, on making sure you never doubt how he feels for you. he'll point out the little and big things that make him adore you, and it's never the same reason twice.

wonwoo 𖹭 indulging your interests. he may not always understand these trends— blind boxes, must-have fashion pieces, et cetera— but he'll never make you feel bad about it. if there's anything that you want, he's already doing everything within his power to get it. his greatest joy is seeing your face light up once he's gotten you your 'priority' item; it's why he keeps doing it in the first place.

jihoon 𖹭 trying new things for you. there's a long list of things that jihoon never thought he'd do, but then he started dating you. time and time again, he willingly goes out of his comfort zone to accompany you on the little adventures and experiences that you ask to go on. he does these things scared, does them anxious, does them begrudgingly,— does them all for you.

seokmin 𖹭 meals he thinks you'll like. he's the type to have dozens of tabs open for homemade recipes dot com. he knows he's an amateur at this, but he's undeterred in trying. whether it's a trending pastry on tiktok or the comfort meal that your mother makes you, he's determined to learn it so you're always eating well.

mingyu 𖹭 getting-to-know card games. he gives as good as he takes, which means mingyu's way is to listen and remember. a night where the two of you can just have deep conversations with no interruptions is his ideal evening. he will know he succeeded if the two of you end up talking until the sun rises, feeling like the hours haven't passed at all.

minghao 𖹭 postcards from tour stops. he loves art and he loves you. his postcards are pocket-sized reminders of those facts, always packaged with a few choice words that are sweet and sincere. his trinkets are very "i-got-you-this-because-it-reminded-me-of-you" in nature, and you know each one was purchased with you at the front of mind.

seungkwan 𖹭 getting you your favorites. he figures he should put his industry connections to use somehow. he's always amused by how happy you get over a rare photocard, signed album, or concert tickets, and so he keeps it up. buying dozens of albums, contacting other labels, bearing the arduous ticketing. your excitement at the end of it makes it all worth it.

vernon 𖹭 producing songs. he hadn't really pegged himself as the making-music-for-the-sake-of-it type until he met you. now, he revels in getting to send you a track that's for your ears only. all the lyrics just seems to flow naturally when it's you inspiring him, and so he sends you works-in-progress with reminders that you're the only intended audience.

chan 𖹭 at-home massages. he's all too familiar with the aches of an ailing body, so he knows exactly how and where to work on you. he always does what he calls 'the works'— a good bath, scented candles, essential oils. he lets you take your time, and he takes his time with you in helping you unwind.

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[afterglowkatie]

the bolter | m.p./i.e.

mapi león x ingrid engen x putellas!reader | 0.8k | ‘I know you’re supposed to keep a close eye on me, but this is a little extreme,’

ˏˋ°•*⁀ this is part of the pollito universe. pollito is nine in this fic!

❆♡────୨ holiday season blurb event ৎ────♡❆

‘María,’ Alexia exhaled slowly, ‘What do you mean you lost Pollito?’ If Alexia wasn’t just down the other end of the phone, Mapi would’ve already started running. She wasn’t even facing your Mami in person and she felt like she had to run away from Alexia’s wrath. 

You liked to run and hide away from Mapi, you thought it was funny when you’d watch from afar, seeing her all frantic. Even better when your mami got involved, you’d end up teasing Mapi for getting in trouble. Safe to say you were never going to change, you took too much joy in it all. 

‘Did I say lost?’ Mapi spoke out slowly, trying to think of a way to diffuse whatever this was turning into while she was frantically still trying to find you, ‘Well yes, I meant Pollito lost the..the game we were playing,’ A small curse flew was muttered under her breath and Alexia definitely wasn’t about to believe anything she was saying. 

‘Alright,’ Your Mami sounded too calm, ‘Put Pollito on the phone, por favor,’ Mapi’s eyes grew wide and she stumbled over saying a goodbye and how you were having too much fun to talk. Even at nine years old, you still liked talking to your mami whenever you could and would run to whoever was looking after you at the time if you heard your mami’s voice.

Mapi hung the phone up but not before hearing Alexia mutter a ‘I’m never leaving Pollito with you again,’ Which was always an empty threat, considering the next time your mami left you with Mapi wasn’t long after that. Mostly since you begged your mami to let you have a sleepover with Bagheera and you knew how to wear your mami down so she’d agree to almost anything.

‘You better not lose Pollito again,’ Alexia raised her eyebrow, there wasn’t a hint of a smile on her face when she was talking with Mapi before giving you over. Mapi and Ingrid had come to pick you up, planning to take you out for the day as well. You’d overheard your mami’s conversation with Mapi and knew Ingrid was the only reason she’d agreed so soon after the last incident. 

You saw the way your mami was looking at Mapi and very smugly copied her, you liked Mapi being in trouble with your mami. Your mami can be scary, so as long as it wasn’t at you, you loved seeing it, ‘Oh trust me, I’ll keep a very close eye on her,’ Your smug expression turned into a glare when you noticed the mischievous glint in Mapi’s eyes when she turned to look at you.

‘I wish I could,’ Your mami muttered mostly under her breath before shaking her head at the two of you and disappearing back into the house, still needing to look after your younger brother and your new baby sister. Officially letting Ingrid be the one to deal with the two of you for now.

Your glare towards Mapi left for about a millisecond before it came back once she tried, and unfortunately was successful, in wrangling you into one of those backpack leashes. Those ones for children, which you were but you were definitely too old for it considering how it was sitting on you. Your deadpan stare was almost identical to your mami, and almost chilling enough for Mapi to briefly forget that you were the child and that she got to make the decisions, not you. She almost let you out of it immediately.

‘I know you’re supposed to keep a close eye on me, but this is a little extreme,’ You wriggled around trying to get it off of you, all your attempts were pointless. You weren’t getting away any time soon.

‘Just keeping you safe, little Pollito,’ To add fuel to the fire, Mapi patted your head, talking down to you a little, making you seem smaller than you are.

‘María,’ Ingrid’s voice had a warning tone towards her girlfriend, not wanting to spend the entire day listening to the two of you bicker. She especially didn’t want to have to deal with Mapi bickering with a nine year old all day long. 

‘Or keeping you safe from Mami,’ Mapi didn’t have to look at you to hear the smirk through your voice. You may only be nine but you picked up on things most wouldn’t expect you to at this age. 

‘Dios mio,’ Mapi muttered, wanting to say more but the look from Ingrid stopped her. You tried to run off, hoping the end Mapi was holding would slip from her hand. But she wasn’t as distracted as you’d hoped when you were tugged back instantly.

Sighing dramatically, you let your body go limp and flopped to the ground, ‘Just take me to see my Bagheera,’ 

[bamsara]

Hi! You don’t have to answer if you don’t wanna, esp if you’ve moved on from solar lunacy entirely, but I occasionally come back and creep to relive the FNAF sb glory days, and I saw an oooold ask where you said that you did keep writing but just didn’t share it bc people weren’t acting right, but that you might share once everything kinda dies down…

Obvi idk what kinda folks you’ve got in your ask box, but at least from someone who’s still in the fandom for sb, I definitely think the fanfic fuss has died down significantly, or at the very least the amount of folks writing has died down significantly (to the point where I, who has never written a fanfic in my life, decided I might as well give it a go) so atp readers are probably less likely to be gettin too irked by an author making their own decisions regarding their own story…

So… if you were so inclined… you’d probably have better experiences this time around

Maybe one day, but I've gotten really comfortable keeping anything fnaf I create to myself and a select few friends. That and I'm mainly passionate about COTL now.

Even if things are chill, posting stuff online isn't a massive priority to me when it comes to creating stuff. I have art streams where I draw for many hours and then forget to post the work online for months because the important part of the fun creative process is finished for me.

I wouldn't mind explaining how it was supposed to end but if I post anything for SL at this point it would be for preservation purposes (there's another 'P' word that means to archive but I cannot remember it atm) (Edit: it was Posterity!)

[aeralux]

"Freak On a Leash" - Aemond Targaryen

Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: So what if you're fucking the weird dude? He has good dick game. But how were you supposed to know he gets attached easily?

Warnings: SMUT (18+); (pretty rough) car sex; oral (f!receiving); name calling (slut, whore etc); dark!Aemond near the end; hair pulling; choking; ass slapping; mentions of violence and blood

Words: 5.5k

Notes: No description of the reader. This was just going to be porn without a plot... but ofc I had to add some plot smh. This isn't dark dark, but it does contain some of the elements of it so... do not read it if you are not comfortable with that

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

He was weird, unsettling, and genuinely offputting. That's why your friends were baffled to know that you were fucking him multiple times a week, in the backseat of his car, no less. "He has good dick," you tried to tell them, saying it was worth it. But your words fell on deaf ears as none of them understood. Why him?

With long hair dyed black with a cheap store colour and a run-down 2005 Volvo S40, he didn't seem the kind of guy who could fuck a girl until her throat was raw. But you knew the truth. That's why you kept coming back, time after time.

So it was no surprise that, once again, you found yourself in his lap. In the backseat of his car, kissing and moaning, his hard cock pressing into your aching core.

"Blood?" You ask as you taste copper on your tongue when kissing his jaw. 

"Don't act like you don't find that hot," he grunted, a smug expression on his face. It's probably because whoever he fought, lost.

You smiled playfully, your lips brushing against his once more, caught in a moment where admitting he was right felt like submitting. The warmth between you grew, leaving just the two of you.

He tangled his fingers in your hair for a second before shifting his attention downward, fumbling with the delicate fabric of your flimsy top. The skin-tight shirt clung to your curves, resisting his attempts as if it had a will of its own. Frustration flickered across his face, but it was quickly replaced by determination as he continued to work his way around the stubborn material.

"Just rip it open for fuck's sake," you groan as he fumbles with your skin-tight white top. Your hips instinctively roll on top of his, ruining your cute white cotton panties with your juices.

Aemond groans deeply at your words. With a quick, decisive motion, he rips the fabric open, the sound of the tear deafening. Your black lacy bra is revealed, the delicate lace a stark contrast to his rough, calloused hands as they cup your breasts.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he growls, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the thin lace. "Gonna fucking wreck you."

He leans in, his hot mouth latching onto one nipple through the bra as his other hand slides down to rub your clit through your soaked panties. He groans against your skin at the wetness he finds there, the sound vibrating through you.

Oh gods, you are so fucking wet for him. You can feel your arousal soaking through the thin cotton, staining it with your desperation. You grind harder against the rigid bulge straining against his jeans, needing more friction, and more contact.

"So fucking wet for me already," he murmurs, his fingers pushing the fabric aside to delve between your folds. "Gonna make you come so hard."

You roll your hips harder against Aemond's bulge, your clit throbbing with every grind. Your skirt hangs loosely around your waist, resembling more of a belt.

"Fuck, these songs suck ass," you grumbled, reaching for Aemond's phone and scrolling through his playlists until you find something more to your liking. The change in music elicits a growl from Aemond, but you just smirk and lean in close, your lips brushing his jaw. The bass line of Rob Zombie's "Dragula" thumps through the car, a perfect complement to the nasty thoughts running through your mind.

"Okay, now you can fuck me," you giggle, your teeth grazing his skin before you soothe the sting with your tongue. You can taste the salt of his sweat, the copper tang of blood - a reminder of the fight he must have been in. Your curiosity gets the better of you.

"Who the fuck did you fight this time?" You ask, your voice low and husky with desire. But even as you speak, your focus is on the delicious friction between your legs, the way Aemond's hard length rubs against your aching core with every roll of your hips.

"Fucking some new guy, thought he could take me," Aemond growls, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he grinds up against you. "Taught him a lesson real quick."

He leans in, his teeth nipping at your earlobe as he speaks. "He won't be coming back anytime soon. Not after the way I shattered his ribs." His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down harder onto his cock.

"Now, quit talking and start begging for it," he commands, his voice a low rumble in your ear. He places a few light smacks on your cheek, making you smile at the lewd actions.

You shake your head, a wide smile spreading across your face as your eyes lose focus. The depravity of the situation, the dingy car, the smell of sweat and sex, it all makes you even wetter. You can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs.

"You know I don't beg," you whisper, your lips brushing against his earlobe as you suck on it gently. Your teeth graze the sensitive skin, making him groan.

Aemond's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. He sounds almost angry as he growls, "You'd better fucking start, or I'll stop right here."

"Fuck," you whimper as his bulge nudges against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your brows furrow, your eyes squeezed shut as you grind down harder, seeking more of that delicious friction.

To emphasize his point, he stills his hips, denying you the friction you crave. His other hand moves from your breast to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Please, Aemond," you moan, your voice breaking with need. "Fuck me. Use me. Make me forget everything but your cock inside me."

Aemond's eyes darken with lust at your words, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "That's more like it," he purrs, his grip on your throat relaxing just slightly. He leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a teasing kiss.

"Gonna fucking ruin you," he promises, his free hand moving down to grip your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh. He pulls you down hard, grinding his clothed cock against your aching cunt.

"Gonna make you scream for me," he growls, his other hand moving from your throat to tangle in your hair. He yanks your head back, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth. He latches on, sucking hard enough to leave a mark, his teeth grazing your skin.

His hips are moving now, grinding up against you in a filthy rhythm. The rough denim of his jeans rubs against your sensitive clit. You can feel the heat of him through the fabric, the hard length of his cock straining against his zipper.

You moan sluttily, desperate, shameless noises filling his car. You're too far gone to care about your pride. Impatiently, you tug the cups of your bra down, exposing your hardened nipples to the cool air. They're almost painfully sensitive, aching to be sucked.

"Suck," you command, your voice low and demanding. You arch your back, offering your breasts to him like a sacrificial lamb.

Aemond's eyes darken at your demand, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Oh, so you think you're in charge here, do you?" he growls, his hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back.

You gasp at the sharp pain, your eyes watering. "I think you need to be put in your place, slut," he sneers, his other hand roughly palming your breast.

He leans in, his hot breath ghosting over your exposed nipple. "Beg for it," he commands, his voice low and dangerous.

You swallow hard, your pride fading due to your desperate need. "Please," you whimper, your voice small and needy. "Suck my tits, I need it so bad."

Aemond chuckles darkly, his teeth grazing your nipple. "That's more like it," he growls before his mouth envelops the sensitive bud.

You cry out, your back arching as he suckles hard, his tongue swirling around the hardened peak. The pleasure is intense, bordering on pain, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second.

"Fuck, that feels so good," you moan, your hand moving to the back of his head, trying to push him closer. But he pulls away, shaking his head.

"Hands off," he commands, his eyes flashing with anger. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

You whimper, your hand falling away. "Sorry," you whisper, your cheeks flushing with shame.

Aemond just smirks, his hand moving to your other breast, roughly squeezing the soft flesh. "Good girl," he purrs, before diving back in, his mouth hot and wet on your aching nipple.

You moan, your eyes fluttering closed as you lose yourself in the sensation.

"Fuck, you taste good," he growls against your skin, his hand moving to pinch and roll your other nipple between his fingers. The dual sensations make you cry out, your back arching as you press yourself further into his touch.

He releases your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air over the damp flesh. You whimper at the loss, your body craving more of his touch. "That's better," he says, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "You know your place."

Aemond's hand moves from your hair to your throat again, squeezing just enough to make you gasp for air. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck you senseless?"

Your heart races, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as Aemond's hand tightens around your throat. The lack of oxygen only adds to the haze of lust clouding your mind. You nod frantically, your eyes wide and pleading.

"Yes, yes, I'll be good," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond's lips curve into a wicked grin against your skin, his teeth grazing your earlobe. "Fuck, you're so desperate for it, aren't you?" he growls, his hand releasing your throat to grip your hip, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise.

He grinds up against you, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing against your aching clit. The friction is delicious, but not nearly enough. You need more. You need him inside you, stretching you, filling you.

"Yes, fuck yes, I'm desperate for it," you pant, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you inside me, Aemond. I love it when you use me."

Aemond chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "Fuck, you're such a dirty little slut," he growls, his hand releasing your throat to grip your hair instead. He yanks your head back, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth.

"Gonna fucking ruin you," he promises, his teeth grazing your skin. "Gonna make you scream for me."

"Fuck, you're so wet," he groans. He yanks your head back, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with lust, filled with the depravity to come.

"Gonna fuck you so hard, you'll be feeling it for days," he promises, his hand moving from your hair to grip your throat again. He squeezes, cutting off your air supply just for a moment before releasing.

You gasp, your lungs burning for oxygen. But even then you still smile at him, biting your lip.

Aemond's eyes darken at the sight, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Fuck, you're perfect," he growls, his hand releasing your throat to grip your ass hard enough to bruise. "A sight for sore eyes," he smirks, looking into your glossy eyes.

"Shit, I need to eat you out first," he groans, his jeans pressing down painfully on his throbbing cock.

He slides off the seat, kneeling between your legs as he slides your panties to the side impatiently. The scent of your arousal is thick in the air, making his cock throb with need. The cool air hits your aching cunt, making you shiver.

"Fuck, you smell incredible," he growls, his hot breath ghosting over your slick folds. He leans in, his tongue darting out to lap at your clit, making you cry out.

He groans at the taste of you, his tongue delving deeper, licking through your folds and fucking into your entrance. He eats you out like a man starved, his tongue moving in and out, his lips sucking on your clit.

His fingers delving between your folds. He brings them up to your lips, pressing them against your mouth. "Taste how fucking desperate you are for me."

You open your mouth obediently, sucking his fingers into your mouth. The taste of your arousal explodes on your tongue, musky and sweet. You moan around his fingers, your tongue licking and sucking, cleaning them of your juices.

Aemond's eyes darken with lust as he watches you suck his fingers clean, your tongue swirling around the digits. He growls low in his throat, his free hand moving to grip your breast, squeezing the soft flesh roughly.

"Fuck, you're so hot like this," he growls, his fingers popping out of your mouth.

He gets back up, leaving you unsatisfied and annoyed.

He grabs your hair, forcing your head back and making you look up at him. His eyes are dark with lust, his jaw clenched as he battles for control.

"Strip," he commands, his voice low and dangerous. "I want you fucking naked, now."

You scramble to obey, yanking your bra off, your breasts bouncing free, nipples hard and aching for his touch. Your miniskirt and panties are next, puddled on the floor of the car, leaving you bare and exposed.

"Shit, you look so good," Aemond growls, his eyes raking over your naked form. "I almost don't even want to ruin you... almost"

He flips you on your hands and knees, pushing your head down, forcing your ass in the air, holes completely exposed to him. He yanks you forward, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. "Brace yourself, slut," he growls, grinding his clothed cock against your bare pussy. "Gonna fucking wreck you." 

You crane your neck to look back at Aemond, a scoff leaving your lips. "Take a picture, it'll last longer," you mock, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

His eyes darken at your words, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "Oh, I'll take more than just a picture, baby," he promises, his hand coming down on your ass in a sharp smack.

You gasp at the sting, your pussy clenching in anticipation. "Promises, promises," you taunt, wiggling your ass invitingly. "You talk a big game, but I bet you can't even get it half hard."

Aemond's grip on your hips tightens, his nails digging into your skin hard enough to leave marks. "Fuck, you're so goddamn cocky," he snarls. "Gonna shut that smart mouth of yours."

You moan at the contact, your head falling forward as you push your ass back against him. "Big talk, dickhead," you pant, your voice breathy with need. "Let's see what you've got."

Aemond responds to your taunts with a sharp smack to your ass, the sound echoing in the confined space of the car. "Fuck, you're asking for it," he growls, his hand coming down again, harder this time.

You gasp, your ass jiggling from the impact. "Shit, you're making a mess of me," you whine, wiggling your hips. Your pussy is throbbing, aching to be filled.

"That's the idea, slut," Aemond grunts, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass cheeks. He spreads them apart, exposing your tight holes to his hungry gaze. "Gonna fucking wreck this tight little ass."

His hands move to his zipper, slowly dragging it down. The sound of the metal seems obscenely loud in the confined space of the car.

He pushes his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock, the thick shaft springing up, hard and ready. The head is already slick with precum, the veins along the length pulsing with his heartbeat.

He spits in his palm, rubbing his saliva over his cock, giving it some lubrication. Then he's pressing the tip against your drooling hole, the rough denim of his jeans scraping against your sensitive skin.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight," he groans, pushing forward, the head of his cock breaching your hole. You cry out, the stretch intense, bordering on pain.

"Relax, slut," he commands, his hand coming down on your ass again. "Take that fucking cock like a good whore."

He starts to move, his hips rocking back and forth, inch by inch of his thick shaft sinking into your tight heat. Your walls clench around him, trying to adjust to the intrusion, but he doesn't give you time.

He starts fucking you in earnest, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper with each thrust. The car rocks with the force of his movements, the seat creaking beneath you.

"Fuck, you take it so well," he pants, his hand moving from your ass to grip your hip, holding you in place as he fucks into you. "Gonna fucking ruin this tight ass."

You moan, your hands gripping the seat, nails digging into the cracked leather. The pain in your ass mixes with the pleasure, making your head spin.

"Harder," you beg, pushing your hips back to meet his, desperate for more. "Fuck me harder, shit."

Your juices drip down your thighs, pooling on the leather seat below as Aemond pounds into you.

Your hands grip the seat, nails digging into the cracked leather as you brace yourself for the onslaught. Aemond's hands are everywhere - gripping your hips, squeezing your ass, tugging at your hair. He uses you like a rag doll, fucking you with an animalistic need.

Aemond grunts, his grip on your hips tightening as he complies with your demand. "Fuck, you want it hard, slut?" he growls, his voice strained with effort. "Gonna fucking give it to you."

He pulls nearly all the way out, leaving just the tip inside your stretched hole. Then he slams back in, his hips connecting with your ass with a sharp smack. He sets a brutal pace, fucking into you recklessly, the car swaying with his thrusts.

"Shit, you're so fucking tight," he pants, sweat dripping down his face, his messy black hair sticking to his skin.

You can only moan, your mouth hanging open as you gasp for air. Your breasts bounce with each powerful thrust, your nipples hard and aching for attention.

Aemond's hand moves from your hip to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh roughly. He pinches your nipple between his fingers, twisting and tugging, sending sparks of pain through your body.

"Fuck, your tits are perfect," he groans, his hand moving to your other breast, giving it the same treatment.

You whimper, your pussy clenching around his pistoning cock. The combination of pain and pleasure is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You reach down, fingers finding your clit, rubbing in tight circles. The added stimulation makes you see stars, your back arching as you moan.

"Fuck, you're such a dirty girl," Aemond pants. "Getting off on being used like a fucking toy."

"Shit, I'm close," you pant, your nails digging into the leather seat and your fingers moving on your clit. "Don't stop, fuck, don't stop," you moan, your hips bucking back against him, seeking more friction. His fingers rub your clit in tight circles, the pressure building with each stroke.

He pulls your hair, forcing your back to arch, your ass pushing back against him. The new angle allows him to go even deeper, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes you see stars.

"That's it, take it all you little slut," he pants, his hand moving from your tit to your clit, replacing your hand, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come," you whimper, your body tensing. "Please, Aemond, please."

"Do it," he commands, his fingers moving faster on your clit. "Come for me like the good little whore you are."

With a cry, you shatter, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your pussy clenches around his cock, your walls rippling along his shaft.

Aemond groans, his hips stuttering as your orgasm milks his cock. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Where do you want me to spill?"

Your body convulses as the intense orgasm rips through you, your vision blurring and stars bursting behind your eyelids. "On my ass, fuck!" You cry out, the words torn from your throat. "Cum all over my ass!"

You arch your back, pushing your hips against Aemond's, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around his cock, milking him.

You can feel his grip on your hips tighten, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chases his release. The sound of your skin slapping together fills the car, mixed with your heavy breathing and moans of pleasure.

Aemond's cock throbs inside you, his thrusts becoming more erratic as your pussy milks him. He growls low in his throat, his hand fisting in your hair, yanking your head back.

"Fuck, gonna paint your ass white," he pants, his hips slamming against your ass with bruising force.

He pulls out abruptly, his cock slipping from your clenching hole with a wet sound. You whimper at the loss, your pussy aching to be filled again.

Aemond's hand comes down on your ass in a sharp smack, the sting making you gasp. "Present yourself," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Wanna see you take my load like a good little whore."

You arch your back even more, spreading your thighs as far as you can in the limited space. Your spasming holes are on full display for his hungry gaze.

Aemond kneels behind you, his cock in his hand, stroking it with quick, rough motions. "Fuck, you're such a good little girl," he pants, his eyes dark with lust as they roam over your body. "Too bad you're such a filthy slut."

He starts to come, his cock jerking in his hand as thick ropes of cum splatter across your ass and pussy. You moan, your fingers dipping between your folds to gather some of his cum, bringing it to your mouth.

"Fuck, look at you," Aemond groans, his hand still working his shaft, milking out every last drop. "Eating my cum like the dirty whore you are."

He collapses next to you on the seat, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. He reaches out, his fingers tangling in your hair, tugging your head back to look at him.

"You're fucking perfect," he growls, his eyes intense as they bore into yours. "Mine."

"Mhm," you hum, collapsing onto Aemond's chest, your body spent and sated. The car reeks of sex and sweat, your combined releases staining the seats. It's filthy and sinful, turning you on.

Aemond's arms wrap around you, pulling you close as he strokes your hair. You nuzzle into his neck, breathing in his scent, a mix of cologne and sex.

"That was intense," you murmur, your voice low and breathy. "You really know how to fuck a girl stupid."

Aemond chuckles, his chest rumbling beneath you. "Fucking right I do," he boasts, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're a damn good lay, too. Always so fucking eager for my cock."

He tugs on your hair, forcing your head back to look at him. His eyes are dark, filled with lust and possessiveness. "You're mine," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "This tight little body belongs to me."

"Such a good girl," he praises, his other hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your swollen lips. "Gonna keep you."

You smile against his fingers, a wicked gleam in your eyes. "Keep me for what?" you tease. "You're not my man. I'm not your's to keep," you whisper, feeling an ache in your heart for some reason.

Aemond's eyes flash with a dangerous light, his grip on your chin tightening as he yanks your face closer to his.

His grip on your chin tightened. "The fuck I'm not," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "I've had you more times than I can count. I know every inch of this body, every fucking sound you make when I'm buried inside you."

He shifts, his face mere inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips. "You're mine, whether you admit it or not."

His other hand slides down your body, fingers dipping between your thighs to gather the cum leaking from your abused hole. He brings it to your lips, smearing it across them.

"Look at you, so fucking dirty, so desperate for my cum. You can pretend all you want, but deep down, you know you belong to me."

He crashes his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, claiming you with a ferocity that steals your breath.

When he pulls back, you're panting, your lips swollen and tingling. "You're mine," he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. "And I'm never letting you go."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and something else, something you're not quite ready to name.You press your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to steady your breathing.

"I don't belong to anyone," you whisper, but there's no conviction in your voice. "We're just fucking, Aemond. Don't make it more than it is."

Aemond's eyes darken, a flash of anger crossing his face before it's quickly replaced with a predatory smirk. "Just fucking?" he repeats, his voice low and dangerous. "Is that what you think this is?"

He sits up, pulling you with him so you're straddling his lap. His hands grip your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh as he holds you in place.

"We've been doing this for months, baby," he reminds you, his voice rough. "You think I don't know the difference between a quick fuck and what we have?"

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "I know every inch of this body, every fucking sound you make, every way you tremble and writhe when I'm inside you."

"Stop fighting it," he growls, his eyes boring into yours. "You might tell your friends that this means nothing to you, that you think I'm some creepy guy you fuck. Yet you still keep coming back.."

Your breath catches in your throat, his words sending a shiver down your spine. How does he know? You've never told him those things. You shake your head, a strand of hair falling across your face. "No, I've never said that," you whisper, your voice trembling. "I swear."

You try to pull away, but his grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place. His eyes bore into yours, dark and intense, searching for any sign of deceit. "I wouldn't say those things about you," you insist. "I don't think you're weird."

Aemond's eyes narrow, his grip on your hips tightening until it almost hurts. "Don't lie to me," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "I know you talk shit about me to your friends. I know you think I'm some kind of freak."

He leans in, his breath hot against your cheek. "But you keep coming back, don't you? You keep spreading your legs for me, begging me to fuck you like the desperate little slut you are."

His hand moves from your hip to your throat, his thumb brushing over your pulse point. "You can't resist me, can you? No matter how much you try to pretend, your body knows who it belongs to."

He squeezes your throat, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to make your heart race. "I've heard you, baby," he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. "I've heard you call me a freak, a deviant. But you still come back, letting me use your tight little body for my pleasure."

Your cheeks flush with shame and embarrassment as Aemond's words sink in. You try to pull away from his grip, your naked bodies still intertwined, but his hold is too strong. "Yes, fine. I have said those things about you," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

You search his eyes, trying to find the right words. "Aemond, you fight people. You're dangerous." You say it with a seriousness that misrepresents the thrill that runs through you at the very thought. It's the danger that makes him so appealing.

You sigh, your fingers caressing his face, tracing the strong lines of his jaw. "Must you have such an effect on me?" You mutter, before leaning in to kiss him.

Aemond's lips meet yours in a savage kiss, his tongue plundering your mouth with a fierce intensity. His grip on your throat tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as he holds you in place.

When he finally pulls back, you're both breathing heavily, your lips swollen and stinging from the force of his kiss.

"You fuckin' love it," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "You love the danger, the thrill of being with a man who can break you."

"Admit it," he presses, his voice low and dangerous. "You get off on the fact that I could snap anyone's fucking neck with one hand."

Aemond's grip on your throat loosens, his thumb stroking your pulse point in a surprisingly tender gesture.

"Would you ever hurt me?" You whisper, your breath hot on his lips, your faces mere inches apart. A flicker of fear in your eyes, but it's quickly overshadowed by the desire burning within you. You search his gaze, looking for any sign of malice, any hint of danger. But all you see is raw, primal hunger.

Your fingers trace the lines of his jaw. He's so close. It's intoxicating and terrifying at once. You have seen him fight, seen the way he's hurt others with minimal effort. He could break you, shatter you into a million pieces if he wanted to.

Aemond's eyes soften for a moment, a rare vulnerability flickering in their depths. "You think I'd hurt you?" he asks, his voice low and rough. "Baby, I'd die before I let anyone lay a finger on you."

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. "You're mine," he growls, his voice fierce with possessiveness. "And I protect what's mine."

His hand slides from your throat to your cheek, cupping your face gently. "I may be aggressive, but I'm not a pig," he murmurs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. "I'd never hurt you, not like that."

"But make no mistake," he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll hurt anyone who tries to take you from me."

You bite his thumb lightly as he speaks, his possessive demeanour sending a jolt of electricity through you. "Anyone who would hurt me?" You purr, leaning into his touch like a small lamb. His words ignite a fire deep within you, a primal desire to be owned, claimed, and protected.

You know you shouldn't give in to this, but you can't help yourself. The way he looks at you like you are the only woman in the world, it's intoxicating.

Aemond growls low in his throat, his eyes darkening with lust at the feel of your teeth on his skin. "That's right, baby," he purrs, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, tangling in your hair. "You're mine, and I'll fucking kill anyone who tries to take you away from me."

Your breath hitches in your throat at Aemond's words, his dangerous claims sending a shiver down your spine. You meet his gaze, your eyes are wide and full of devotion, a vulnerability you rarely show to anyone.

He tugs you closer, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. "I'll protect you," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I'll cherish you. I'll fucking worship you."

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. "I'm yours," you whisper, your voice trembling with desire. "Body and soul."

Aemond's eyes flash with fierce triumph at your words, a primal look of satisfaction spreading across his face. "That's right, you're fucking mine," he growls, tugging you closer and crushing his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

"Get dressed, pretty girl. I'm taking you to my place," he demands, leaving no room for argument.

Aemond's eyes blaze with desire as he watches you scramble to put on your clothes, your naked body still slick with his cum. He licks his lips, his cock already hardening again at the sight of you.

He helps you to the passenger seat, smirking. "Hope you don't mind a messy ride."

[joeyfranchise]

𝟙𝟚 𝕕𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕚𝕔-𝕞𝕒𝕤: 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝕥𝕖𝕟

last christmas, i gave you my heart

ex!joe x fem!reader

note: (& kinda summary) SURPRISE! i said cindy lou didn’t have a part two but…. how could i spoil it for you? here’s what happened after the instagram dm, from joe’s perspective.

word count: 1.3k.

warnings: more sadness, hurt feelings, joe isn’t really an ass but he has poor decision making skills… etc. this fic is sfw but minors please do not interact with my page.

song inspo: cindy lou who by sabrina carpenter and lips of an angel by hinder.

joe didn’t really care about likes or comments on instagram.

he didn’t care to post too much either, regardless of what it was, because he preferred staying private and in his own lane. sure, he posted brand deals on there, the occasional game day fit or victory post, but he wasn’t one to flaunt a relationship around… not until today.

the christmas eve festivities were in full swing, and joe and his new girlfriend, along with his parents, were spending the evening together. they’d been to dinner, stopped by a few local places and eventually ended up at a rec center to watch a local christmas play.

when it was over they decided to take photos out in the hall, where the archway was decorated to the nines and the lighting was absolutely perfect for those warm, christmas-y shots.

joe and his girlfriend posed together alone, and then with his parents, and then they each took photos alone. once the photos were sent to him, he vetted through them carefully, selecting which ones he should post.

in his mind, he knew what he was doing was wrong… but in his heart, he wanted to know if you still cared. he wondered what you were up to this christmas. he assumed home with your family, maybe out with your sister. that’s something he knew you’d missed doing since you’d spent the last few christmases with him. he hoped you were able to go with her, that your holiday still felt special.

it didn’t. he didn’t know you didn’t go home to your family, that you were sat on your couch ready to drown in your wine glass and cry over a heart-breaking christmas movie. he didn’t know you were all alone there with him on your mind.

but in a sick, sick way… he also hoped that you were thinking of him, too.

joe posted the photos to his instagram with no caption, but he made sure to tag his girl. he slid his phone into his back pocket before joining back in the conversation she was having with his parents. his mind lingered on you.

joe wasn’t a cheater - nor would he ever be. he really enjoyed having his new girl around, and he didn’t know if he was in love yet, but he knew she felt like she could be right for him.

he sat with his thoughts for another hour before he checked his phone again. in the time since he posted the photos he laughed and talked with his company, holding his girlfriend’s hand and smoothing his thumb over her palm soothingly.

when he slid his phone from his back pocket and opened instagram, he had a multitude of notifications. family, fans friends.

but he looked at the likes anyway. it was wrong of him, toxic of him to hope you’d seen it… but you had. and you liked it. his chest began to feel tight.

why did he do that to you?

when you and joe broke up, it was all him. he knew it, you knew it. you were still completely in love with him. it made him physically sick to think about.

joe’s issue was… he still loved you too.

around the time of your break-up, things were incredibly tense. he was injured, he was in the roughest mental place he’d ever been in, and despite your valiant efforts to help him work through it, all he ever did was push you away. he continued to treat you poorly out of anger, and out of love you stuck by him.

he should have thanked you for that.

joe didn’t think he was falling out of love with you per se, but he wanted a break. he wanted space to find himself again, and though it completely broke you, you agreed. you would never force yourself into his life, not if he didn’t want you there.

he knew you thought you were the problem, and no matter how much he tried to explain you weren’t, you didn’t listen. he knew his actions weren’t conveying that he loved you, and that’s what forced the wedge between you… so when you split, there was never a reconciliation.

joe never reached out to you because he was afraid you’d reject him after all the pain he put you through. you didn’t reach out to him because you were convinced he was done with you, that he didn’t love you anymore.

when he met his new girl he was in a better place, and she was sweet. she was kind, beautiful, she had a heart of gold. she took his breath away, he hadn’t felt that in a while.

they started seeing each other casually before diving in head first, and he knew she loved him. he was getting there. but he still needed to let you go. the air in the room was getting hot, and although it felt like he’d been on his phone for an eternity, it was just a few minutes.

the hallway was full now, people who were in the play and family friends gathered around. his parents were chatting with the neighbors, his girlfriend was talking to one of the stars of the play. he looked around his periphery to make sure nobody could see him click your profile, and quickly he tapped your message button and typed something out.

joeyb_9: merry christmas, y/n.

he pressed send. his heart was hammering against his chest. his parents and his girl didn’t seem to notice. he didn’t expect you to answer so quickly. his breathing felt shaky as he saw you typing.

y/n: merry christmas, joe. i’m so happy for you.

the room began to spin. joe was getting hot. why why why. why did he do this?

he made a quick impulsive decision, against his better judgement. the voice in his head told him to stop, don’t do this. but his heart had to know. he excused himself quickly, claiming he had to make a work call.

he stepped outside of the rec center, the cool december air felt hot on his newly flushed skin. he closed the instagram app, clicking on the phone app and dialing your number. ring ring ring.

you answered.

“um… joe?” you asked. your voice sounded groggy, like you’d just fallen asleep.

“fuck. i’m sorry. i don’t know why i called.” he admitted. he ran his hand over his face.

“are you— is everything okay?”

“it’s fine. i’m… fuck. i’m sorry. i hope you’re having a good holiday. i guess it just feels weird not to be with you.” he doesn’t know why he’s telling you this. in the building behind him, his girlfriend is laughing with his parents. she’s having a lovely holiday. and joe’s outside, on the phone with his ex.

“it is weird. but it seemed like you were having a good night based on your post. go back to whatever you were doing, please. i can’t do this.” he heard your voice crack. he imagined your face. he knew your hand was probably clamped over your mouth, he heard you start to cry.

“fuck, y/n. i’m so sorry.” he says. he feels like he’s going to cry too.

“don’t be upset for me, joey. you’ve got a beautiful girl in there. i saw the love in your eyes in those photos. don’t fumble this one, okay 9?” you told him through tears. hearing you call him that felt like a slap right across the cheek. he missed what you used to have.

he felt sickly. he knew he was probably as white as a ghost. you were right… but he needed the closure.

“thank you, y/n. i hope you’re doing well… and uh, it was good to hear your voice.” he said, scratching at the back of his head lightly.

“yours too, joe.” you said, and then you hung up. he heard the door to the rec center open and turned around, coming face to face with his girlfriend.

“you alright?” she asked, coming down the short steps to caress his cheek. “i’m okay.” he said. he put on a smile and let her link their arms before he walked back inside with her, leaving the last of his feelings for you outside in the freezing winter air. he was thankful that you let him go, and now he could finally let you go too.

all photos and dividers used are not mine. cred to owners.

taglist: @slimshiesty @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @kykysinlovewithafairytale @burrowdarling @joeyb1989 @loveyatopluto @toterry @unhingedfangirl @superheroprincess22 @burreauxsworld @definitelynotdomanique @samanthamark5 @superstarshitblog @fa1ry03 @wickedfun9 @xbriexx @venic-bxtch @burrowdarling @angels555 @idbe-theman @yelenasbraid @ladyluvduv @joeburrowshaircurl @joeybisbootiful @livinobx @blairsworld22 @jarring-behavior @yomamaslays4lyfe @gazebotori

[just-your-average-shiz-student]

There’s probably a discussion to be had on how much Madame Morrible, respected as she may be, can effectively groom two young adults, but regardless, I am delighted by how the movie highlighted how manipulative she is from the moment Elphaba steps into Shiz.

I keep thinking back on that brief moment during What Is This Feeling when Glinda stops and Elphie is jumping from excitement (an openness of emotion she can scarcely express in front of other people) before Madame Morrible reaches out and holds her.

She actually trusted that woman, someone who saw her potential and believed in her from the get-go, who (at least outwardly) barely even took notice of her green skin. And all that newfound validation gave a boost to Elphaba’s confidence that was probably crucial for her sanity as a social pariah in Shiz. Madame Morrible did that for her!

Really, the only flaw in Morrible’s and the the Wizard’s evil scheme was that Elphaba’s principles and desire for justice were stronger than her need for anyone’s approval.

And that is so crazy to me, because if there’s a person who by all accounts should be subjectable to doing things in exchange for validation, it would be Elphaba. There’s so very few people in the world who have her back. Really, there’s only Glinda, Fiyero, Dulcibear, and Dr. Dillamond, who has been arrested and can’t help anyway. It’s amazing (read: depressing) how small her support system is.

And still, AND STILL, she managed to walk away from an opportunity of belonging somewhere, doing something she is good at (magic), with people who could grant her everything she ever wanted!

But as she herself said in Defying Gravity, she “can’t want it anymore”. So it’s not even a case of her not wanting that validation and acceptance anymore, it is her deliberately choosing to let that go in favour of something greater. And I know this addition was mainly about Morrible, but truth is, I’m not sure if she would be able to have the strength to refuse her and the Wizard’s offer if it wasn’t for Glinda.

Glinda, who could not have made a less favorable first impression on Elphaba. Glinda, who had the social power to make the whole student body accept Elphaba, but chose not to due to her own desire to be seen as a martyr for tolerating Elphaba’s presence (even if she seeks her out during times she really doesn’t need to for some reason). Glinda, who desperately wanted Morrible’s attention, the one thing Elphaba had that she did not.

But once their friendship blossomed, Glinda really became Elphie’s biggest defender.

She didn’t change a single thing about her appearance during Popular; when Elphaba’s invitation to go to Emerald City came, she was there right at her heels, supporting her, being proud of her, not really trying to shift the crowd’s attention to herself at all.

When the train comes, even though she is happy for her, there’s a part of her that’s morose about the prospect of being away from her best friend (“How will I manage without you?”), even if for such a short time.

While they’re going through the Wizard’s palace, Elphaba is anxious the whole time, and so is Glinda, but she is the one who pushes her forward with motivational words (“You can do anything.”).

And finally, during Defying Gravity, Glinda takes the first step back in their relationship since Ozdust, refusing to go with her. But even then, she doesn’t belittle Elphaba’s decision.

She initially resents the fact that Elphaba’s reaction “hurt her cause forever”, but once she sees what the other girl’s planning to do and that there’s no convincing her to give up, Glinda’s still supportive.

She gives Elphie a cloak so she won’t feel cold during her flight, she smiles at her even though it’s obvious she’s doing everything in her power to not fall over in a sobbing mess. Even her simple “I hope you’re happy” shows how she’ll always stand for Elphaba herself, even if she can’t stand with her cause.

And for as much as we like to make fun of how Madame Morrible clearly couldn’t stand Glinda from the very beginning and was always throwing really unnecessary jabs at her, I think deep down she saw the danger that could come from a friendship between the girls, how more difficult it would be to get Elphaba to be so reliant on her validation if she could get it from another source.

That’s why she seemed specially dissatisfied seeing that Glinda had gone with her to Emerald City, that’s why the Wizard himself felt the need to extend his offer of a permanent stay to Glinda too: because they both could see the influence she has on Elphaba.

And contrary to them, there’s no ulterior motive there. Glinda believes in Elphaba for who she is, and regardless of how strained their relationship becomes in the future, that never once stops being true.

you noticed how Glinda doesn't really let go of Elphaba basically from the Ozdust scene on and she's basically always holding Elphaba's hand or hanging onto her arm, even when its physically awkward to be doing so. and even during Defying Gravity after its clear that Glinda isn't going with Elphaba, they're still holding hands right up until the point where Glinda is grabbed by a guard and forcible pulled away from Elphaba

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Baby, I'm Cold

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Your boss is a stubborn man but even he can get sick. (plus!reader)

Character: August Walker

Day Twenty-One of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - I swear I'm not sick

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Mr. Walker leaves his bag at the door, his jacket too. You move his shoes so they sit neatly on the drip tray and hang his jacket. You pick up his briefcase and carry it up to his office. As you near the closed door, you hear him coughing from the other side. 

You slow as you approach and knock on the door, “sir, I have your things.” 

He coughs again then calls through hoarsely, “in.” 

You twist the handle and dip inside. You set the bag on the leather armchair where you always do and retreat as your employer sniffles. He lets out a crackly sigh after. He sits behind his desk, silent, stony. His usual self except for the raspy breaths he lets out. 

You don’t await his dismissal. You know if he has to tell you to go, it means you’ve overstayed. Mr. Walker prefers discretion. He prefers solace. It makes your job both easy but difficult. 

You leave and go down to the kitchen. At this time, he won’t have eaten. He’ll need dinner. With his cough and stuffed nose in mind, you prepare him some chicken and rice soup. You put a thick hunk of artisinal bread with it and a cup of tea. 

You carry it up to him and announce your purpose at the door, “dinner, sir.” 

He grumbles. You know his sounds well enough to enter. You bring the tray to his desk as he sits back in his chair, unmoving, eyes closed, hands firm around the rests. You hear the rattle in his chest from there. 

“Anything else, sir?” 

He opens one eye and the icy blue chills you. His single iris flicks down as he considers the tray. He opens his other eye and sits forward. He swallows another cough. 

“What is this?” He touches the mug’s handle. 

“Tea, sir. I found some ginger. I added a touch of honey--” 

“Why?” 

“Why, sir?” 

“I don’t drink tea. I haven’t ever drunk tea. It’s for my mother. So why--” He snaps his mouth shut and his throat strains as he holds back another cough. He lets out a single croak and clears away the rocky crags. “Why are you serving it to me?” 

“Oh, uh, sir, it will soothe your cough--” 

“I’m not sick.” 

“Yes, sir, the air is dry this time of year,” you agree. 

“I don’t want the fucking tea.” 

“Sir.” 

You come around and take the cup. He sits back again and turns the seat away. You hold the steaming cup and quickly head for the door. You stop, remind by his reprimand of something else. 

“Your mother and father will arrive tomorrow morning. I’ve arranged their room and all else.” You confirm. 

“Great, you did your job,” he sneers dryly. 

“Sir,” you murmur and turn to the door. 

Just a few more hours and you’ll be free. It’s the holidays and even Mr. Walker gave you a day to spend with your family. Though you suspect it’s more that he doesn’t want you around his.  

For the three years you’ve worked for him, you’ve never met a single other person in his life. You clean the house, you pick up his laundry, and you order groceries. You are peripheral. You are the tedium that fuels the more concerning parts of his life. 

🌟

Your mother and stepfather are arguing on the porch. Again. Your aunt and uncle are showing off their toddler grandchild, and your brother, the terrible twins, more than a decade your junior, are flipping through their phones. You sit and observe it all. 

You glance at the window, your mom’s anger expounded in the wag of her finger. You get up as the smell of ham draws you into the kitchen. You check to make sure it’s not overdone then piddle around, trying to distract yourself from the chaos. 

Your back pocket rumbles. You ignore it. It’s some promo trying to entice you into ordering food. On Christmas of all day. As the vibration persists, you assume it’s some poor telemarketer, forced to make the rounds for a bit of overtime pay. 

You ignore it. You work on finishing the brussel sprouts your mother left in the strainer. You cut of the ends and slice an X into them. Your phone starts again. You don’t put down the knife until the third call. 

Walker. 

You hesitate but pick up. Why would he be calling, today of all days. You fix your posture as you answer, as if he can see you. 

“Mr. Walker,” you eke out, nervous you might have missed something. 

“Hello, is this...” a woman says your name curiously. 

“Uh, yes, it’s me,” you affirm. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry to bother you, especially today, but we are in need of some help,” her voice is tremulous. 

“I told you,” a male can be heard more distantly. “We shouldn’t bother them. There’s a reason they aren’t here, dear.” 

“Pish,” the woman dismisses. “Very sorry again but my son--” 

“Katherine,” you say, “Mr. Walker’s mother?” 

“Yes, Auggy is my son,” she tuts. “As I was trying to explain, he’s doing rather poorly but he’s refusing my care. He’s always been awfully stubborn, you know?” 

“Kath,” the man drones. 

“Oh, I know, I know,” she squeals at him. “He doesn’t want his mommy fluttering around him like an old hen, but you understand, he’s my baby. I’m worried. And so we were looking and saw your name. A girl’s name so you must be someone special.” 

“Katherine,” the man sighs once more. 

“I’m his housekeeper, ma’am,” you explain. 

“Hum, oh, of course. You would be,” she says. “Oh, my, I’m afraid I’ve assumed so much.” 

“Is he still coughing then?” You ask. 

“Oh, yes, terrible. He sounds as if he’s swallowed glass.” 

“We’ll call a doctor,” the man intones. 

“Octavius, please, which doctor do you suggest we call? They all fly out of the country on their salaries,” she chirps. “Honey, please, if you don’t mind, you might be able to coax him. If you are his maid, you’d only be doing your job. He can’t turn you away.” 

You frown. She doesn’t know how wrong she is. He would and he will. 

“Lucine, please,” your step father’s voice blows through with a gust as he comes inside. His anger is forged into his tone and the door slams. You wince. 

“I can be there,” you tell Katherine. It won’t make a difference but it will get you away from all this. 

🌟

Katherine as good as drags you through the door. You didn’t even knock before she swung it open. She’s a tall woman, plump, and her face is rosy. She’s not what you expect. 

“Yes, come in, come in,” she says. “Oh, what’ve you brought?” 

She gestures to the canvas bag on your elbow. 

“Just some stuff to help,” you explain as the warmth of inside seeps beneath the chill in your cheeks. “Hopefully.” 

“Oh, yes, how clever of you.” 

She takes the bag and you let her. She sets in on the bench and unbuttons your top button before you can stop her. You gently catch her hands then do the rest yourself. 

“Sorry, dear, sorry. It’s only, I’m so worried.” 

“He’s a man, he’ll be fine. If you’d stop pecking at him, he wouldn’t be hiding,” a man appears in the archway to the den. He’s big like Mr. Walker, with white hair and paler eyes. He crosses his arms in the same way. That must be the father. 

“He’s sick! You heard him. He wouldn’t listen--” 

“He was doing just fine, Katherine.” 

“Tosh, you don’t know that. You never were there when he was home sick. He needs his orange juice and chicken noodle.” 

“He needs you to stop,” the man you assume is Octavius reproaches. 

“I can check on him but... it’s probably just a cold,” you say as you slip out of your boots. 

“So long as you try.” 

“Right,” you grab the bag and twist the handles. 

You go to the bottom of the stairs and look up. You peer side to side, from mother, to father, both tentatively watching you in turn. It seems Walker puts everyone at arm’s length. 

You take the first step with trepidation. Then the second. Up and up, you climb until you reach the top. You turn down the hallway and come to the office door. You bite the inside of your lip and knock. You don’t get an answer. 

You look at the bag in your hand and contemplate running back downstairs. You can say you tried and got the same result. Still, that Walker doesn’t shout for you to scram is worrying. 

You knock again to the same result. Several more taps go unanswered before you are faced with another decision. Do you go in, just to make sure? 

It would be a waste. You left your family, Katherine waited around for you, you suppose you can brave Walker’s wrath to give her the gift of knowing all is well. 

You inhale and hold it in. You enter the office, peeking through as you do. It’s dim but for the light of the glass lamp on the desk. As you look for the broad figure behind it, you find only an empty chair. 

You frown. He must be in his room or-- 

The grumble jars you. You squint as you try to see through the dark. You find Mr. Walker on the leather settee near the artificial fireplace set into the wall. Great. You should go. You can do that still. He’s not answering you so obviously he doesn’t want to be disturbed. 

He coughs, a sharp, agonizing cough that makes even your throat hurt. You let your breath out. Ugh. He’s a big boy, literally, he can handle it. Right? 

Shit. 

You cross the room and turn the dial on the artificial fireplace. It lights up, casting a soft glow over the office. You turn to find Walker shivering on the cushions, arms crossed as he hugs himself, legs bent to accommodate the short furniture. 

“Mr. Walker, I brought some cough drops and some cold medicine,” you say.  

He groans and doesn’t move. He hacks again, the couch frame creaking under his weight. Why? You shouldn’t feel bad for him. Not for as unpleasant as he’s consistently been. 

You move a leather stool closer and sit. You cradle the bag on your knees and sift through the contents. You take out the bottle of Buckleys. You shake it and reach with your other hand to touch his shining forehead. His eyes pop open and his mustache twitches. 

“Mr. Walker, I have cough syrup--” 

“I’m fine,” he insists, only to cough again. “I don’t want that—sh-- *cough*-- shi-- *cough*” He devolves into a fit and you wait patiently. 

“If you don’t want it, you should try some of these ginger drops.” 

“Why are you here?” 

You steady your agitation. “Your mother called me.” 

“Why did she--” He can’t finish the question. 

“She asked me to help you. I’m trying but I can’t do much if you won’t let me. However, you are my boss so you can tell me to go back home to my family,” you shrug. 

He looks at you then closes his eyes. He shifts onto his back and lifts his legs, extending them over the armrest. He is ridiculous big on the short sofa. 

“Do whatever. I thought you were a maid, not--” 

He can’t finish the insult but you get the gist. You dig around in the bag and take out the tin of menthol rub. You uncap it as his face contorts in an effort to repress his coughing. You hold it out under his nose and he sucks in and flinches. 

He grabs his nose as you recoil and blinks, “what is that?” 

“Just menthol, it will clear your airways a bit.” 

“Oh,” he furrows his dark brows. 

“Typically, you put it on your chest but it’s kind of greasy so--” 

“Do that,” he insists and sniffs deeply, “it’s helping.” 

“Oh, uh...” you stare at him. 

He’s sallow, the brims of his eyes reddened, and his face drawn. You nod and lightly touch the gel. You hesitate. You won’t be able to reach him and... right. 

“Can you...” You look at his shirt collar, “unbutton.” 

He coughs again, a rumble in his chest, and he clumsily pinches his buttons until he frees them. He pulls the fabric apart to reveal his furry chest and you stand. You move closer and bend over him as you gently trace beneath his throat, that little crook of bone above his muscled pecs. You focus on spreading the menthol as he breathes deeper, further puffing out his chest. 

“Better?” You ask. 

He makes a noise, something akin to a purr. You rub the cream in until It’s absorbed then pull away. You cap the container and put it back in the bag. You put it all on the stool and back away. 

“Where are you going?” Walker mutters. 

“To wash my hands,” you say. 

“Mmm, be quick.” 

You take his orders and hurry out. You come down the hallway and dip into the bathroom to rinse your hands. As you dry off, you nearly squeal as a shadow appears in the door. Katherine wrings her hands as she shifts back and forth. 

“Is he okay?” She asks. 

“He’s fine, I think. Just sick. Stubborn.” 

“Oh, very,” she agrees with your last statement. 

“I’m just trying to get him to take some cough meds,” you explain. 

“Ah, good luck,” she trills, “I will make some tea, if you like?” 

“Uh, yeah, we can try that,” you agree. 

She hurries off and you go back down the hall. The smell of menthol and the crackle of the fake fire welcome you in. You go to the settee as Walker lays quietly, breathing in and out, as his shirt remains open. 

“I think the cough syrup will help,” you say. 

He doesn’t respond. You watch the cadence of his chest. Is he asleep. You move around slowly, trying not to knock anything with your hip or step too heavy. You gather up the bag. He can probably sleep it off. 

You let out a squeal as you feel a brush against your bum. You spin as Walker’s arm extends to you and he catches your hip. You stutter in surprise. 

“S-sir!” 

“I’m sick,” he whines, though the surrender is hardly a triumph. “Please...” 

You stare at him. You don’t know what’s worse. The brave face or the pathetic victim. 

“Baby, I feel so bad,” he squeezes and you look down at his large hand. He must be really sick if he’s calling you that. 

“It’s alright, Mr. Walker,” you take his hand and move it off your hip. You lower yourself onto the edge of the couch and bend his arm over his chest. “Your mom’s going to make you some tea.” 

“Mmmm,” he drones and reaches for you again. “Don’t leave.” 

“Sir,” you look down as his touch follows your sleeve to your shoulder then curls down your back, stopping on your waist. You grab his wrist again. “I’ll stay, just... relax.” 

“Yes, baby,” his fingers dip into your soft side, “whatever you want me to do.” He tugs free of your grip and trails along the top of your butt, “just stay.” 

You narrow your eyes and once more stop his stray hand. You cling to it as you direct it away from you, keeping hold of him to keep from another rogue groping. He’s sick for sure. So sick, he must be delusional. 

“Alright, I'm here, Mr. Walker.” 

He opens his eyes and looks at you. You wince at the intensity in his glassy irises. His cheek ticks and he hums again. 

“Mm...” he drawls weakly. “So... soft.” 

[celaenaeiln]

Small scenario ask:

A kid version of Robin!Dick gets teleported into the present day of the DCU, in particular during one of those times that Batfamily are split up and at each other’s throats with only Tim(my) and Alfred sort of trying to keep the peace.

They don’t know he’s present until he jumps in from out of nowhere to help the Batfamily take on a Scarecrow attack.

How would they react to this tiny version of Dick and his more chipper and lively attitude especially once he starts asking Batman if these other guys around them are their allies or something?

OMG I AM SO EXCITEEDD!!

THE FUNNY THING IS IVE ACTUALLY BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS TOPIC SEPARATELY IN MY HEAD!!

Not this exact scenario but just like how much Dick has changed over the years.

This is SUCH a good fanfic idea!!!

Okay so Dick would jumps into the future where the whole family is fighting and all of a sudden, a brightly colored boy just "POP"'s into the dark batcave.

Everyone at that point had been growling and snarling and screaming at each other over ethics and morals and course of action for a case that devolved into tearing at family lines and loyalties.

The tensions are high and no one is on anyone's side because as united as the batfamily is, they are just as divided.

They're seconds from coming to blows when - pop (goes the weasel. lol jk) - a 3 foot 2'' boy in the most canary yellow cape, scarlet vest, and emerald green scaled shorts blinks into existence.

The batfamily immediately goes for their weapons at the sound and most barely refrain from throwing them at the sight of a boy but some weapons slip out people's hands too fast for them stop.

They watch with their hearts in their throats and move as one to prevent it, their minds barely registering the sight in front of them, the only thought in their heads is - STOP! As if mere words could halt assailing weapons hurtling at breakneck speeds towards the child.

They've barely started moving when the small child - he couldn't have been taller than Batman's hip at the height he was - suddenly bounced on his right foot and used the moment to twirl horizontally in the air. The brilliant yellow cape swirled around his body as he turned, almost acting like a cocoon. The batarang sailed underneath their twirling body while two knives sliced the air harmlessly above him, all three weapons embedding themselves soundlessly into the cave walls behind him.

The batfamily makes an aborted move forward, halting in their tracks as the imminent danger passed and the walking traffic light of a child uses their split-second of decision to stop to take the time to gracefully land on his toes before flipping far out of reach. His back arched back into a perfect elegant little backflips which absolutely should not be possible or done so smoothly for a boy as young as he, but the kid manages anyway to land perched on a railing from the upper batcave level, looking down at them from his spot.

Duke glanced around to see if the rest of them had seen the same thing he did. Clearly not because Bruce, Tim, and Alfred looked like they'd seen a ghost. Jason and Damian looked grudgingly impressed. Steph looked openly impressed.

"So, we’ve got surprise visitors, huh? Gee, swell! You folks friends of B? Wait a sec-that can’t be right. B doesn’t have any friends except for me!" The kid chirped - and Duke swore, honest to god, chirped - with a cheeky grin, hands on his hips like he'd just cracked the world's funniest joke.

Duke just stood there, mouth slightly open, like his soul had momentarily left his body. The kid’s mask squinted as if narrowing his eyes at Bruce.

Duke blinked hard. Am I hallucinating? Did I eat bad takeout? He thought.

Bruce, meanwhile, stood frozen, looking like he was wondering where in his life he went wrong.

“Gee whiz, mister, I don’t mean to jump to conclusions or nothin’, but it’s kinda bad manners to go borrowin’ somebody else’s clothes without asking first!” He gave Bruce an exaggerated once-over, the grin on his face making it clear he wasn’t intimidated in the least. “I mean, that cape looks swell and all, but it isn't exactly screaming ‘your size,’ ya know?”

He tilted his head and piped up, “A friend of Catwoman’s?” His voice was light, full of curiosity and mischief.

Jason suddenly snorted. "A friend of Catwoman's, alright."

Cass gently smiled. Duke suspected she had known from the beginning who he was and thus had not moved a muscle during the chaos. Duke couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t because of uncertainty. Nope, Cass had known. She always knew.

He sighed internally. Why was he always the last to catch on to these Batfamily mysteries? On the other hand, maybe he should be grateful. He was still wiping off the remaining sludge off his suit from the last batfamily mayhap.

"Dick?" Bruce’s voice was raw, breaking apart as if it couldn’t decide whether to hope or mourn. It was the sound of disbelief and desperate longing, the kind of ache you didn’t just hear—you felt it. Duke’s chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. He couldn’t imagine what it must mean to Bruce, but the pain was so thick it was almost unbearable.

"Who are you, mister?" Dick - holy fuck that was Dick. Wait- Duke whipped his head around. Where was their Dick?!

Tim was looking a little peaky in Duke's opinion and that was saying something since the other guy always looked pale.

Bruce raised a shaking hand to his cowl, dragging it down the back of his head almost looking like he wanted to do anything but. "Bruce. It's me, Bruce."

"I know you're a guy who looks like Bruce, but you're not my Bruce."

If his kids' previous deaths hadn't killed Bruce, then that one single sentence did, Duke thought, watching the man.

He saw a flicker of something break inside Bruce. The hardened mask Bruce wore cracked, revealing the raw, vulnerable man beneath. It was like hearing the one thing he feared most—that he wasn’t enough for them—and the way it pierced him was brutal. The light left Bruce's eyes for a moment, and Duke could almost feel the weight of that rejection.

It probably hurts to hear it from an 8 year old version of a person that adored you. Duke realized sadly. He wasn't there for Dick's childhood with the man - none of them were - but he was sure it wasn't called the Golden Ages by everyone for show by all those who had known them then.

"Wait, Alfred?" Dick asked, boring holes into the elderly butler.

So, he recognizes the same Alfred but not Bruce? Duke fought back a hysterical laugh. That's gotta sting. Sorry, man. Duke sent a silent prayer to the man who looked like he didn't know if he was going to start sobbing or glaring daggers.

Alfred cleared his throat, rather wetly in Duke's opinion. "Yes, son." He said and smiled warmly.

The boy gave a hoot of laughter that sent the bats in a flurry as he threw himself off the railing. Steph and Jason scrambled to catch him but mini-Dick (Duke was still half-panicking over where big-Dick went. Big-Dick. Haha) hopped onto Jason's shoulder used Stephanie's back as a personalized springboard and landed happily in Alfred's arms.

He hugged the man's neck like it was a plush toy and Alfred tightly held the boy with one arm under his thighs and the other around his waist.

Duke noted with no small amount of surprise that Dick perceptively didn't point of Alfred's suspiciously wet eyes and near-silent sniffling. It was damn loud for the cave though.

"Hey, did you whip up some cookies? I gotta say, that casserole’s a real knock-out, and your filet mignon? Spot on! Say, after we chow down, how about a rousing game of badminton? I’m on fire today! Let’s shake a leg, have some fun, and see who’s got the best swing!"

"Of course, Master Dick." Alfred said and the two continued conversing as Alfred carried the boy up the stairs of the batcave.

"Say, did you get to the next chapter of Lady in the Lake? I gotta tell ya, there's something fishy goin' on there, like a real gumshoe mystery. I can smell a twist coming a mile away, like a crook with a bad alibi! Whaddya think? There’s more to this dame than meets the eye, I betcha!"

Dick's voice faded as the rest of them dumbfoundedly realized they needed to follow after the two of them. Except for Cass, of course, who was already tugging a stiff Stephanie along.

Duke couldn’t help notice Tim. The guy was practically glowing in the corner like he was about to faint, his face flush with excitement. Duke knew all about Tim’s obsession with Grayson—Steph had spilled enough gossip to fill a novel. Tim had ranted about Dick for years, quoting everything from his acrobatics to his smile. But now, seeing the younger version of Grayson in front of him? Tim was this close to passing out. His eyes were practically sparkles. If there were stars in the Batcave, they were all shining in Tim’s eyes.

“Tim, dude, you alright?” Duke teased, but Tim couldn’t even form words. He just gave a thumbs-up so exaggerated it might as well have come with a marching band soundtrack.

Duke couldn’t shake the feeling that Damian was acting a little… off. The usually fierce, unflappable kid was clearly trying to maintain his tough exterior, but Duke could see the subtle signs. The way Damian’s eyes flicked over to Dick with just a hint of nervousness, his stance rigid, like he was bracing for something, but not quite sure what.

"Is it just me, or is Dick an absurdly happy kid?" Duke suddenly spoke, thinking about Dick's demeanor. The older Dick Grayson was so strict and while he joked, there wasn't a free-hearted levity in him that his child version carried.

The kid had been practically shining, bouncing around the Batcave as if it were his personal playground. This was the same kid who had grown into the stoic, responsible, and sometimes brooding Nightwing. The difference was like night and day. Duke could see the weight of the years had changed him, and as he watched this boy, full of energy and warmth, he realized just how much had been lost. This wasn't the Dick they all knew. This was a Dick that had never seen the kind of pain that had hardened him into the man they looked up to.

It was a version of Dick they would never witness - laughing so freely, so full of life - one that was locked away in Bruce's heart, his memories paying tribute to their god-like figure he'd embellished of their brother.

It was a homage Bruce had unknowingly clung to and fed into, and a part of Duke wondered how much of this Dick, too, had buried inside himself.

Duke felt an ache in his bones, realizing just how much was buried under the weight of Dick’s current life. The boy before him was a ghost of the past that no one would ever get back.

Jason groaned. "One depressing revelation at a time, Duke." He stomped his way up the stairs followed by near swooning Tim, and an anxious Damian.

Bruce hadn't moved an inch. It was as if the air around him had thickened, suffocating both of them with tension. Bruce, usually so composed, was now locked in a frozen tableau of silent agony. His face was unreadable, but his eyes - Duke could see them - betrayed a terrible storm. Guilt, loss, and a deep, unspoken grief. The kind of grief that didn’t make noise but settled in your bones and dragged you under.

But Duke was The Signal. He was the Light, that's what his emblem meant. While Bruce was drowning in his own anguish, Duke could not afford to drown with him. So he patted the man on the back and followed his brothers up the stairs, readying himself for more horrifying realizations about the loss of innocence and joy from their favorite brother.

[soldearestsoulmate]

Character + Prompt/Request:

Crowe x GN!Reader, Sol x GN!Reader

Angst and drama. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Warnings: cheating(in a sense, since you are with Sol in this moment but end up leaving him for Crowe.)

"I have always loved you."

The room grew deadly silent when Crowe let those words slip out of his mouth in the heat of the moment. Everyone froze in their actions, looking at each other. Then all eyes went to you...As you felt your heart sink and ache at those words, then felt your face heat up.

"...E-everyone?...Can you leave the room for a moment to let Crowe and I talk? Please?"

Everyone nodded to your request and silently left, while one person, one of your bridesmaids gave you a small pat on the shoulder, to comfort you I'm sure. But also, to maybe show pity over such a turn of events on today of all days.

Once everyone was gone, leaving you with Crowe alone in the room. You finally responded.

"Crowe...Don't you think this is too late?" You looked away for a moment, looking into the mirror, seeing yourself dressed in your chosen outfit for this day...A special day. You are to be married to Sol. It was decided even before graduation. That's how fast your love with him grew. Though you couldn't deny, in the end of it all, as much as you loved Sol, and decided to say yes to marrying him...

You still loved Crowe too.

"I thought that too...Until Brittney and the others told me its not too late until you say "I do". So I...God...What am I doing? This is your special big day. I should be here supporting you, wishing you all the best and nothing more. But seeing you like this...Who you're going to spend the rest of your life with...Knowing its not with me...I just..." Crowe frowned deeply, he looked close to crying over this all. He felt too much guilt over his own words now, wished he didn't even come here now.

Yet here he was, before you, letting out a confession that happened in the spur of the intense emotional moment. Now he couldn't even look at you.

"Crowe..." You gently took his face into your hands, making him look at you.

"...Do...do you really mean it? Do you really love me?" You asked, with sincerity as you looked into his eyes, and he looked back, as his gaze softened at your sight.

"I do, always have. From the very beginning." You couldn't help but smile at his words, and he leaned in closer to rest his forehead against yours.

"I love you too, Crowe...I do...

Crowe let out a soft sigh over this, happy to hear those words come from your lips. But also a sigh over what a mess this situation is now for you two.

"But Sol--" You started to add on, though were cut short.

"Leave him." Your eyes widened at his sudden response. He looked at you with seriousness as he took your hands in his.

"W-what?" You felt your face redden at Crowe's sudden brashness.

"You heard me. Let's run away from this place, from him, from everyone. Just you and me, Starlight. I promise, I'll make up for all the times I failed to say I love you sooner. I swear to protect you always, to love, to cherish, to--"

"Whoa whoa calm down, Crowe! You sound like you're proposing to me!"

"...And what if I was? You're not a married person yet...So..."

"Crowe...I'm still with Sol though. I can't just--"

Crowe looked down at your hand, seeing the promise ring still on you ring finger. "...May I then?"

"...I..." You looked at the ring, feeling your heart ache, the thought of Sol crossed your mind. You loved him, but you knew the love would never compare to Crowe...Your love for Crowe outweighed the one for Sol...

So you decided on it, to take the ring off. As if a weight was lifted off your shoulders, a string cut, as you gave your hand to Crowe to slowly take the ring off you. A decision made by the both of you.

"I promise, Starlight. You won't regret this." Crowe's words came out with a love so strong, it could engulf you in any moment you felt. Then the promise was sealed with a kiss, a kiss that one you didn't know you yearned for for so long until this moment.

~💚~

Though in that moment, elsewhere away from where you and Crowe were at. Sol felt a sudden chill run throughout his body, and his expression said it all.

"Sunny? Something wrong? Don't tell me you're getting cold feet now." Hyugo teased as he tried to help his friend get his suit properly on.

"...No...I just...I need to see Y/n." Sol said suddenly, as he started to leave the room.

"Wait hold up! You can't see them yet! Bad luck you know!" Hyugo tried to stop Sol but Sol only glared at him. Which instantly made him let him go. "...Don't say I didn't warn you, Sunny..." Hyugo let out a sigh as he rested his hands on his hips with a shake of his head.

~💚~

"Then its settled?" Crowe said with a bright smile, as he held your hands tighter.

"Yes...but we have to move fast, and hope no one sees..." Crowe cupped your face in his hands, giving you another but quick kiss.

"We'll be fine, Starlight. I promise. Nothing and no one will stop us now or separate us. I swear to you on that." Crowe really felt sure of this, felt sure your future together would be a happy one...That it'll be so easy to runaway and live happily ever after together.

"...Y/n? Pumpkin?" Both your eyes widened to the sound of that voice...His voice...Then looked over to see Sol at the door, at your only exit. Looking at you with widened eyes, a forced smile planted on his face. While his gaze was a mix of madness and anger. "Oh. I didn't know your friend would join us today. Too bad he won't be around for the ceremony. Since his visit will be cut short..."

Then you saw it, in Sol's hands, a knife. Which made your heart skip a beat and drop, as Crowe stood in front of you to shield and protect you...

Sometimes not everyone gets a happy ending however...

[godsfavoritetrespasser]

Time does not exist to the nigger, there is only the present, the now. A cop yells, "do not run I will [in the future] shoot!" This phrase is meaningless to the nigger. In the nigger's mind he has two choices: be detained by the cops, or run and be free. That the cop will start shooting 5 seconds into the future is incomprehensible to the nigger. Niggers are living in a science fiction parallel universe where there is no continuity with themselves 15-seconds into the future. As a White man you think you are still you 15-seconds in the future, not so to the nigger. The nigger sees no relation to himself 15-seconds in the future, it is a completely different person. Their interests are unrelated if not opposed.

Once you understand that a nigger cares as much about himself 15-seconds into the future as you do about some random nigger, all of a sudden all a nigger's decisions makes sense. Why go into obscene amounts of debt for some chrome rims? Some other random nigger will have to pay it back instead of you. Why rape some random White girl? Some other random nigger will go to jail not you. Etc. Niggers are literally free of all consequences for their actions as they've broken the cause effect chain through nigger magic.

Now you can also appreciate the injustice of niggers being shot or put in jail. If a nigger shot at a cop 15-seconds ago, that was a completely different random nigger to the nigger. The nigger getting shot was just living his life (in an alternate universe where you forever live in one moment) and is now being shot for literally no reason.

Black mamas have been trying to explain this to thick White people for years with the shorthand 'He dindu nuffin'. These obese negresses are trying to explain that, while to you it appears that her nigger son committed some horrific act of violence, in fact that was actually a completely different nigger in a parallel universe. Niggers only exist in the moment, and in the moment the negress is speaking (the only moment she has ever known), her nigger son literally has not done anything wrong.

Being a nigger is like reliving Groundhog Day over forever, but in 15-second clips. The next time you interact with a nigger or goldfish remember that.

i’ just think sexual harassment wouldn’t happen as much if women all had guns

[oikarma]

left my message!

pairing: lewis hamilton x reader

summary: you’ve heard about the legend but you’re not quite prepared to meet him in real life.

a/n: first part is like a smau companion i guess? but this is the actual interaction which makes the twt posts make more sense!! 

part one / two

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

two days ago

you still can’t believe it. the paddock pass is smooth under your hands, so smooth it might just slip out and away. you’ve never been so close before, despite having watched many of the races on a grainy screen or far, far up into the grandstands. it didn’t make sense, really. when you were younger, your mother disapproved of flouncing around just to go to a racetrack—she certainly wouldn’t accompany you, with the engines roaring past, when your music on 70% volume was already deafening to her. but now, early decisions had come out, very much in your favor. mother was pleased, and that left you to go wherever you wished over easter.

so you’re here, standing in the ferrari paddock. it’s a gift on both guanyu and your brother’s part, flying you out at last minute’s notice when charles’s surgery was confirmed. an extremely generous gift you’re not sure you can repay anytime soon. it makes you feel a bit guilty, until you see how happy both of them are to see you. with college applications, you haven’t had much time to facetime your brother—he was overseas working—and the same went for guanyu. late family reunion, you decide. 

lando walks pass the ferrari garage and waves at you. it turned out you had rooms on the same floor after bumping into each other in the elevator. it wasn’t the first time you’d met him: you’d been present at a few of his karting competitions when you were younger. you weren’t “friends,” you’d argue, but you’d talked enough to be good acquaintances. he was also a familiar face in the uk. that is, before he moved to monaco. 

you grin at lando and turn back to guanyu, inside the garage. he’s trembling, even though his smile is wide and back is straight. charles has done well this season, and lewis is in the other seat. of course he would be nervous. you still remember how he sobbed when sauber released the news. formula one was the pinnacle of motorsports. being there was an achievement in itself, anyone knew. but when you were constantly outperformed by other drivers in other cars, it was hard to keep track of the fact.

you place a hand on his arm. “hey, you good?”

“yeah, i’m fine.” he reaches out for a one-handed hug. “glad to see you here. just a bit different from last year.”

“hey, come on. this is for everyone here for you. seeing you race is enough.”

zhou massages his temple. “what if it’s not? i don’t want to disappoint them again.”

“you won’t. your practice times are great! and if people think they do, they should try driving themselves.” you squeeze his hand. “where’s my brother? let him talk some sense into you.”

to that, he laughs. “oh, he did. told me that i should be happy i get the opportunity to drive and i think he’s right.”

you wince. sounds a bit harsh, but you know your brother means well.

“yeah, he usually is. probably a bit salty that he’s not a driver, too. but g’luck out there, okay? don’t crash.”

“i’ll try.” 

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

one day ago

once the sprint is over, you can tell a weight has been lifted off his back. fourth is great. fourth is amazing. max leads in first, lewis in second, lando in third, and guanyu in fourth. it’s not a shabby place in a lineup like that. points have been scored for ferrari and everyone is all smiles when they come to congratulate him.

lewis pats him on the back. “good to see you out there, zhou.”

“thanks. nice work today.” his data analyst taps him on the shoulder and guanyu is being led away. he waves goodbye at you.

the brit turns to you and offers a hand. “hamilton, lewis hamilton. i don’t think i’ve seen you around before.”

lewis! hamilton! is shaking your hand! meeting lando is less crazy because you’ve seen mini him stumbling off the track. but this is seven-time world champion, sir lewis hamilton. his braids are sleek and he’s perfectly polished: glowing, even. it should be illegal to stand around in a half-zipped race suit.

you shake his hand, making sure your grip is strong because your father said that’s the way to make an impression. “i’m yn. i’m guanyu’s friend.”

“oh, i see. you watch racing, much? i suppose you do.”

“yeah. he got me into it and i never stopped.”

lewis gives you a coy smile. “tell me, who’s your favorite driver?” he leans against one of the floating tables.

“i hate to break it to you, but it’s max.” 

his eyes widen dramatically. he teases, “oh dear, we’re starting off on the wrong foot already.”

“if it makes you feel any better, i meant current driver.”

“okay, okay. no restrictions. favorite driver of all time?”

“kimi.” 

he raises a thoughtful eyebrow. “you seem to have a type.”

“so who’s yours?” and you want to hit yourself right there because you just asked lewis hamilton who his favorite driver is. stupid, stupid, stupid. it’s probably senna. he’s too polite to say himself and you think you’ve heard that somewhere before.

“senna.”

bingo! quite the genius, you are. it’s hard to think around him, so that’s practically twice the achievement.

lewis sees your smile and asks, “why, do i have something on my face?”

“oh, no. i was thinking.”

“...about? nevermind, i won’t pry. tell me, yn, what else do you like to do?”

how conversational. if he does this one more time you might be convinced you’re friends. he’s probably just bored. 

“sorry, excuse me?” you see a couple of fans outside the garage. the pit lane tour guide is surprised to see lewis still there. “could we get a few photos, please?”

lewis turns to you, surprisingly apologetic. “see you around?”

“alright.”

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

(a/n: 1st of the convo is post-meeting lewis & 2nd part is post-gp)

[spotsandsocks]

What's My Flavour ? 8K

Buck settles down in LA and opens a juice bar across the street from a well established coffee shop called Diaz Brews. The owner is not particularly impressed by either his new neighbor or juice in general.

Juice puns, grumpy Eddie and the inevitable happen.

Buck watches his sister spin in a circle, her brown eyes wide as she takes in the four walls of the shop he’s just bought.

Turning back to face him the smile on her face ignites one on his own and Buck recognises the warm feeling in his chest as love and pride. Maddie closes the distance between them until she’s snug in his arms, her own arms wrapped tightly around his waist and squeezing. Resting his chin on her head he lets his gaze drift. It’s taken a while to find the right place for them but  he has a good feeling about this. It’s the right choice for him, for them. 

“I’m really excited about this, Maddie.” He feels her chuckle against his chest then she leans away to look up at him. 

“Me too Evan. It’s going to be perfect.”

Buck detangles himself from his sister and bounces off to one side of the room. 

“I thought counter here.” His arms gesture wildly then he spins pointing at the wall, “menus up there.” He circles her beaming, “tables and seats this way. Some fridges for the ready made juices once we know what’s gonna be most popular and here.” He stops by a different wall and circles his hands over the floor.

“I thought we could have a kids area, do it up for drawings and maybe do story time sometimes so the parents can relax and stuff.

He blushes at Maddie’s soft smile, “What? You know I love kids.”

She crosses to him and hugs him again. “I know you do and you're just a big kid yourself.” 

She laughs at his put upon sigh, “Come on Mads I’m a responsible business owner now.”

She laughs again and it’s so good to see her happy. He really thinks it’s the best decision they’ve made in the last three years of traveling to come to LA and open a juice bar together. He knows Maddie wants to settle down and he wants whatever makes her happy. He really thinks this could be it. 

A week later the renovations are well under way the juice bar that’s going to be his future taking shape. It’s exciting the only thing he still needs to decide on is a name, he’s been throwing ideas out at Maddie working on his juice puns with variable success.

Right now they’re taking a break, grabbing a coffee from a shop opposite them, he’s brought a list of ideas that he’s been working on because Maddie had discarded his most recent idea ‘Juice do it’ yesterday.

They sit at the table and he flips open his pad. “Sooooo.” 

His sister groans, “Buck, I’m not sure I’m strong enough for more juice puns today. Maybe you should try and think of something different. Maybe just Buckley Juices.”

“Seriously Mads that’s so boring who names their business after themselves, someone with no imagination that’s who. Dull people Maddie. Dull boring people do that and I am not dull!” 

At just that moment their coffees are delivered to their table and his is placed down rather firmly, liquid sloshing up the sides  but not actually spilling over. 

Buck looks up to say thank you to their server despite the clumsy delivery  and finds himself staring into a pair of brown eyes. The guy would be handsome if he wasn’t frowning down at him. Buck's smile drops away. Not particularly friendly service here, he probably won’t come back in a hurry. Coffee’s bad for you anyway, he’s been planning on cutting down. The server turns and leaves without a word. He pushes the handsome stranger from his mind and refocuses.

“How about “The Main Squeeze? Squeeze The Day?” 

He looks at his notes.  “or Perfect- Juice the way you are.” 

keep reading

[spotlightlowlife]

IMPlying

Season finale was, fine.

What was expected really.

Can't say I didn't roll my eyes at Stolas being gloomy and ungrateful as others make efforts for him, particularly Blitzø but yet again all of IMP come to his rescue and there's not a shred of respect for the danger they put themselves in.

He had a massive nerve throwing down his notebook of 'fantasies' and trashing the office before charging off to see his daughter as if foregoing Blitzø and the modest little life he lives, after all this, forcing his way into Blitzø reality in the first place. All of this seems to imply passive blame.

This ofcourse happened while he was filling in for Loona as receptionist while the rest worked. I appreciate that we went back to work and we meet a dinner with a job request and there's a good joke that the request was to take out her husband who left her for a man resulting in Stolas having his drama shoved in his face.

It would have been good to spend a little more time with the sinner to see that she was in the wrong and for the moral high ground of IMP to be questioned more? Way too dismissive.

For all we know that husband could have been responsible for his wife becoming a sinner if you know what I mean, we don't know what happened to her.

Blitzø and Moxxie having a moment of shared understanding of why this isn't a good job to take on could look like a throwback to season one murder family but them no, it was all about Blitzø seeing himself and Stolas in two men with their children. What if this man had left his wife for another woman, would he be less empathetic? Ultimately nothing will change, if we see them at work in season 3 or a short, what are the chances that they include a clause to not do families or interfere in relationships? How could they vet?

We still don't know how sinners pay.

Also they're working on a holiday and missing out on a paid job because it's too close to home, even though Loona showed empathy to Blitzø and was willing to take in the job herself, which leads on to another thing...

More tell not show

Loona actually wanted to get out the office and do a job with the team.

Since when?

It really would have took two seconds once or twice in previous episodes to have her complaining about being stuck at the desk while they go out, maybe even reminding them that she has a hunan disguise, maybe then we could have found out when and how she learnt such magic and since when did she make friends? Her friends are very cute btw but when did this happen? Bee's sham of a party?

Seeing as she is supposed to be like a moody teen who us slowly growing up and learning to appreciate her dad, complaining more could have served as a reminder that there have been times where she could have had more responsibility. These recent episodes have had a habit of telling us new things out of nowhere after all this time.

Who has been consistent

I read tonnes of comments and the dislike for Octavia is astounding.

What did she do wrong?

She actually did everything right.

She saw for herself that her mother and uncle were enjoying Stolas's downfall, she wondered around her home and found her dad's pills, she came to the correct conclusion that he was always unhappy, didn't like Stella and was persevering for her, what's wrong with this, it's the truth.

He did go on to leave following his fling which he had been enjoying up until recently and we all saw him thirsting over Blitzø or arguing with Stella over quality time with his daughter on the few occasions we have seen her.

Furthermore she rescued Stolas and IMP.

And she didn't blame Blitzø for any of this.

I appreciate that she made a decision for herself and I'm amazed at the massive lack of compassion there is for her.

Her song sucked.

Also what was the confusing dialogue of Stolas trying to call for a month when we saw that he suddenly remembered that he had to talk with Octavia, who has a mobile and was seen with her phone alone, this was after Stella discouraged her from answering it, it wasn't ever confiscated?

And to not be forgotten for being stable

Why did the Millie pregnancy thing have to be so weird, miserable and the clifhanger like she was hiding something?

We watch her casually not get beaten down when it comes to being behind on the bills.

We see the teams lives in danger constantly.

We have watched her admit to liking attention.

We have seen how family oriented she is and dispite her family having no respect for her husband, she remains close with them and has both in her life.

Moxxie and Millie are constantly being pushed as the wholesome loved up couple and yes a pregnancy is a big deal that will change things but this maried couple are supposed to be kinky af and massively supportive of one another, so why was this so much more dramatic than nervousness? Should it not be a bigger deal that this character would seem gloomy? We heard none of Millie's conversation with her only friend sister.

We watched Sallie May's forced drama in the first short where Millie was supportive and didn't let herself be guilted and we watched Blitzø and Millie's (better late than never I suppose) backstory that showed how proud she was at how far they had come. Now she has a big secret and is it her pregnancy? Did she really need drama? Is this the only way she can get a story and we remember her during the break, to have her accompany all others in trauma?

[tackykachowch]

OKAY CHAT I DIDN'T INTEND IT TO BE THIS WAY BUT THIS POST IS SUPER-HUGE. Read at your own risk lol

*taps the mic* Uh, welcome to Chili's. So, I mustered up the courage to finally make a post about how I view Silco and Jinx's relationship and why I think it is actually a lot better than it's commonly perceived. Please please please do not assume that I do this to specifically whitewash Silco or make him less morally gray, this is my genuine read on them based on my own experience and views. I do not claim that I don't have any bias at all, but I think that it didn't influence my opinion that much.

I am going to say this from the start: I don't have much negative to say about them and I don't think of their relationship as toxic. If this point of view is unacceptable to you, please disregard this post. However, if you want to discuss this topic with me and challenge my points, please be civil about it and don't insult me. I don't have any ill intentions, nor am I trying to normalize unhealthy behavior.

Okay, from this preamble to another. This analysis is going to be based entirely on season 1 and nothing else. Some of my points will address common perceptions about them in the fandom, some I'll write as a regular analysis.

Now let's start shall we (yes, this is going to be a one long post because they're so so important to me). In the second paragraph I said that I don't view their relationship as toxic. Let me explain. I think this is a very complex topic and opinions will vary from person to person. Considering that both Silco and Jinx are mentally ill this adds another layer to our already complicated cake. So, for me toxic relationships are those where at least one person almost always behaves in the way they see is right, disregarding other person's wants or needs. It also must include unhealthy/toxic behaviors, i. e. manipulation, gaslighting, possessiveness, control over other person's decisions, physical and/or emotional abuse etc etc. These behaviors must be routinely occurrences and not happen only once or twice. You can say: "But a lot of things you listed exactly describe how Silco behaves towards Jinx!" well. No but I'll get to this later.

There's also an elephant in the room we need to deal with: codependency. Now, I don't claim to be an expert on the topic or even well-informed, but I have a feeling that this term is a Bit overused. Terms, especially medical ones, are very useful for describing one specific thing. But as of late a lot of terms are used on things that are not. Well. The thing the term is describing. You don't need to go far for examples: hyperfixation, depression, panic attack, etc. When knowledge becomes widespread, things like that are inevitable, unfortunately. But back to the topic. Are Jinx and Silco's relationship codependent? I personally don't think so. One of the key characteristics of a codependent relationship is losing a sense of self and disregarding your wants/needs, and Jinx and Silco never display that. They are very self-driven characters. And while Jinx did do some things to impress Silco, it's not necessarily a symptom of a codependent relationship specifically. Again, I'll compare it to medical symptoms. If your right side hurts it doesn't mean you have appendicitis, if you have a short attention span it doesn't mean you have ADHD. Mental health problems Jinx and Silco have can be just that: mental health problems. Trust issues, low self-esteem, fear of abandonment, etc. They don't need to be a part of a bigger problem, even if there are some similarities. (Also just a side note: I got misdiagnosed with OCD this year, so I take correct descriptions and understanding of conditions/words very personally).

MAN THAT WAS TOO LONG. GET TO THE ACTUAL POINTS.

Alright. So first of all, Jinx and Silco are VERY trusting of each other. They both allow each other to enter their personal spaces, and feel comfortable and free in each other's presence. Silco allows Jinx to do his eye injections, to show him physical affection, he also trusts her with missions for his job, even when everyone else is against it. When Jinx in ep4 tells him that "(her screw up) won't happen again", he simply answers "I know". Despite Jinx's own insecurities Silco fully trusts her (sometimes even to his own detriment). And she fully trusts him as well (until the whole Vi shenanigans anyway), what can be seen in a way she's not afraid of his emotions or even to hurt him, because she knows perfectly well that he'll never harm her in any way (physical, I mean). And although there is a clear miscommunication between them in ep4 I don't think it's a common thing between them, and this specific case was caused by Jinx's deeply rooted trauma and low self-esteem, which Silco is unfortunately unable to fix.

Now onto the probably most common criticism of Silco specifically: that he made Jinx his weapon and raised her to be this bloodthirsty on purpose. And to this I say - no way. Silco DOES love Jinx and DOES trust her, but he's not blind and not an idiot. He perfectly knows that Jinx can cause a huge mess and potential troubles on the missions, his subordinates hate her, her mental state is unstable and therefore she's not the most reliable asset in the slightest, nor a necessary one. At no point do we get actual proof that Silco needs Jinx specifically for his operations, he seems to allow her to participate in them out of her own volition. After all, she does like being needed and included in the family business. You could argue that he needs Jinx for her gadgets and weapons, but nobody besides her uses them, so this option doesn't fit. "But he did request her to build Fishbones!" yeah. After Jinx stole the gemstone, again, out of her own choice. Silco is a swift strategist, if he sees an opportunity somewhere he takes it immediately. So there's nothing actually wrong with him asking Jinx to build a weapon with the use of gemstone. She didn't steal it for it to just. Lie there, after all. As to her bloodthirsty-ness I think he only nurtured what was already there. If you remember, in the very first episode Jinx made a bomb with NAILS in it. I don't think I need to tell you that it's just a horrible idea for a bomb, and she was only 9 at the time. As to Silco's "become what they fear" line. I don't think it indicates that he specifically raised Jinx to be a weapon, because he applied the same phrase to himself and we don't see him running around throwing glitter bombs at everyone (although it would've been cool to see ngl).

Next - Silco is very supportive of Jinx. His office is filled with things she drew all over, her inventions are tied to the ceiling. When Jinx is overwhelmed and upset about the failed mission he tells her to "focus on her gadgetry" and to "take some time". He clearly knows what she likes and what would put her in a better mood. He also doesn't restrict her self-expression, which can be seen in the way Jinx looks. I mean, you'd think that Silco would probably want for her to wear something more...classy? But he doesn't mind even one bit.

Another point I see a lot - that Silco loves Jinx but not Powder. I actually kiiinda understand where this point of view comes from, because the show does frame Vi and Silco as representatives of her Powder and Jinx persona respectively, but I don't think the text itself supports this. Let's take the river scene because it is the cause of this discussion in the first place after all. Silco tells Jinx that she needs "to let Powder die" and that "Jinx is perfect", but I don't necessarily agree that he meant it in a "choose between two of your personas" kind of way, because this conflict never existed between them in the first place. Vi does want "Powder" to come back, but Silco didn't show anything that would indicate of him disliking young Jinx in any way. He did adopt her when she was still Powder, after all. And even if she changed her name on the same night, her personality didn't, because that's not how humans work. So, he NEEDED to love Powder to raise her. Back to the river scene, he tells Jinx that she needs to let Powder die so "the fear of pain would no longer control (her)". "Powder" is tightly connected to Jinx's trauma of killing her entire family and Vi leaving her, i. e. the fear of pain of being betrayed again and the fear of messing up. In terms of psychology she really does need to live through this moment and properly process it, but unfortunately there's no psychologists in neither Piltover or Zaun, and Silco being mentally ill and not knowing better himself can only help her this way. "Jinx is perfect" also doesn't mean that he prefers Jinx over Powder, but rather "Jinx, the person you are right now, is perfect and strong. You need to let that weak part of you (Powder) die, so you can move on and become something greater". Jinx might've interpreted his line in the wrong way herself, but again, there's no actual evidence of Silco liking "Powder" less and only ever wanting "Jinx". And if we hop further into the finale, he literally says "YOU are perfect". Whatever seat she chooses, she will always be perfect to him. Even if she turns against him and everything he fights for, even if she kills him, even if she hates him, she remains perfect in his eyes. He might differentiate "Powder" and "Jinx" and a weaker/stronger part of her, but despite all that she's still his daughter.

Also. He's dealing with her mental health SOOOO great chat it's not even funny. I mean obviously he can't take care of it perfectly because again, psychology is non-existent in this world, but everything he CAN do he does just sooo good. He never lets other people berate or insult her, if he scolds her he only ever does this in private, he always tries to be patient and gentle with her, and the only time we seem him lash out at her is after Jinx stole the gemstone. He also seems to know what causes her psychosis and how to stop it, because he yells "Don't listen to her!" to Jinx when Vi triggers her, and then proceeds to try and shoot in Vi's direction to shut her up. We now know that this wasn't the best decision at all, but he literally goes feral when Jinx is hurt, so can you really blame him? There is of course an issue of him enabling her violence and letting her do everything she wants, but to cut Silco some slack he deals with a very mentally ill child, and as we saw in ep3 cutting Jinx off of something can easily cause her to have a mental breakdown. So I think partly his enabling was caused by his want not to hurt her.

Phew. I think we only need to get through the minor points now.

Manipulation: we only ever see Silco manipulate Jinx once, when he lied to her about Cait and Vi's reason for being in the Underground. Nothing indicates that he regularly manipulated her before.

Possessivness: I think this claim also doesn't have substantial evidence to back it up. We only see Silco being possessive of Jinx because of Vi, and even then it's not pure possessiveness. He literally doesn't want Jinx to be betrayed and possibly even killed like him. I think if Jinx just wanted to leave him on her own he would be a-okay with that. Also he doesn't watch over what she does/where she goes, which again reinforces his trust in her and him respecting her privacy.

Silco isolated Jinx from others: uhhh. See the end of the previous paragraph. If Jinx wanted to befriend someone she could've easily done that, and Silco wouldn't even know. The only person she couldn't befriend because of him is Ekko, but even he says to Vi that Jinx chose to be on Silco's side herself, so *shrugs*

And with that, I think I covered everything I wanted about their relationship. It's not perfect, but it's not bad either. Personally, I don't want to label it as anything, because minus the drug mafia and murders aspects they're just a regular father and daughter. There are no perfect parents, there are no perfect children, but if they try their hardest to love each other in a way they're both happy with, they're great in my book.

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

Ed & Agency: Poison into Positivity

In response to these posts by @ourfag here and @piratecaptainscaptainpirates here which are spot on, but broke my soul nonetheless, I want to look at how Stede and Ed interact in the final scene, and Stede demonstrates what healthy companionship looks like.

For me, it’s so important that the show finishes with an attempt at the Innkeeper dream because (other than Stede) this is the only want Ed has ever been shown to have which is truly his and which comes from a healthy place. It’s born of his own internal locus, not a trauma response, not coerced, and not an act of avoidance. Ed lacks assurance in speaking about the realisation of his ambition, but it’s significant how Stede confidence-builds subtly throughout this exchange, supporting Ed’s agency, and gently counteracting any negative talk. The difference in how Stede interacts which Ed compared with Ed’s father / Izzy / Jack / Hornigold / Pop-Pop… is startling and reassuring.

I’ve tried to traffic-light the speech with my interpretation of the emotion or tone. (It’s subjective, so cool if you read it differently).

positive neutral negative

S: So, we’re innkeepers then?

E: I thought we might give it a go, unless…you’re having second thoughts

S: I’m not, no.

E: It’s a bit of a shithole, I know S: It’s a fixer-upper. Good bones

E: Come on…Let’s try and find something to eat. Maybe there’s a feral animal or something we can cook up for dinner S: I love that idea. Place just needs a little elbow grease.

E: Jesus, what is that smell?

(my subtitles say Bonnet inhales and I find this ridiculously positive)

S: Smells of the future…to me

E: Yeah, love that

S: Me too… but we should actually find out what’s making that smell

E: Urgh! Fuck that’s strong!

S: Maybe we just air it out a bit

Ed often makes a neutral comment and then loses confidence, following with negative ideas. Stede offers positive or calm neutral responses, and Ed returns to neutral, or once to positive. And each time Ed falters, Stede subverts and mirrors back an alternative take:

It’s a bit of a shithole / It’s a fixer-upper

What’s that smell? / Smells of the future

Fuck, that’s strong / Maybe we just air it out a bit

Stede’s practical without being negative. He gently reframes Ed’s pessimistic thoughts without removing his agency. -It’s Ed’s dream, and they’re going to do it together

-It’s Ed deciding on how to acquire food, and they’re going to do it together.

It’s not that Stede will never have an opinion. But he won’t have one for the sake of it if Ed’s way is fine. We also know that if Ed wants Stede to take control, he damn well will. And knowing Stede can and will catch him if he falls, will help Ed continue to develop his confidence and self-esteem in making decisions and demonstrating agency. There is no perform for me or plan, plan, plan. And although it might be difficult, if Ed ‘fails’, it doesn’t have the same life or death high-stakes as piracy or with an Angry White Guy. Ed’s safe to fail with Stede.

Stede’s instinctive and intuitive understanding of how to handle Ed’s soul still leaves me astonished.