#but that's obvious. we're back at it again! let's see how long I can keep it up this year

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

A light flickers on over the porch. A drumbeat echoes in the distance. Crows flock towards the sky, calling for war. It seems Halloween has begun... and my house is open for business once more.

(Send a TRICK OR TREAT ask if you wish to receive a boon to help you murder the Pumpkin King.)

[bambi-kinos]

Sorry for taking so long on this post, I've been writing it in my head for weeks trying to figure out how to phrase everything. But umm I think Paul was in a bath tub when he was taking certain photos of John.

So the book itself is divided into sections based on location. There's a London section, a Paris section, then they go to New York and then on to Miami, etc. The London section is really interesting and the photos are very revealing IMO. I definitely recommend getting your hands on a physical copy, your local library may have it. This is something you should experience physically because uh. There's a lot of John in here. To me at least it's very obvious how deeply in love Paul was with John.

So imagine for a minute that you're Paul McCartney, and you're in London, England with your best mate.

The way that journalists are treating this set of photos makes me feel a little insane because so many of them are saying "this is John and Paul backstage!" Y'all, this is not John and Paul backstage. This is John and Paul in their hotel room. Alone.

First off let's look at this:

Here's John shaving the stubble off his face. Sunglasses still on; John had prescription sunglasses so if he's wearing these then his contacts are not in. Look at the background of this photo:

John's in the way here but that is a set of curtains in a hotel room! You can tell from the horizontal bar on top, those are to hold the black out curtains. And another thing: I think these are John and Paul's suitcases sitting on top of a wardrobe. Not entirely sure about that though since the image is so grainy.

At this point John has taken off his sunglasses, he's brushing his teeth and has washed his face. Again, look at the background:

This is a medicine cabinet, a storage feature in bathrooms to keep toiletries safe from the humidity caused by a bath and/or shower. I don't know how common these are anymore:

What I find interesting about this sequence of photos is that John first pulls a funny face for Paul:

But then something grabs his attention:

Spits out the toothpaste:

And then off John nyooms...making soft eyes at Paul no less.

Pay close attention to the background on this photo! We're seeing the hotel window from another angle, the horizontal strip at the top is the tell:

I outlined the horizontal strip on the curtain and then drew lines on the dips in the fabric so you can compare it to the OG photo:

Paul is utilizing an interesting run-and-gun style of camera shooting here, he's got John tilted and at an angle that puts John over Paul. Unconsciously signaling something? Let's move on...

According to this strip...

...this is the next photo in the sequence:

Again calling attention to more interesting details here:

John's tie is missing and his shirt is undone. And that looks like a towel in his hands. He's turning in for the night.

2. John is standing in front of a reinforced door which are common in hotels but are not common in dressing rooms:

3. This photo is itself a reflection of John's face that Paul has taken in a mirror, maybe a vanity mirror. Someone in the McLen discord server said it was too small to be a vanity mirror and I'm inclined to agree, so maybe it's a compact or hand mirror propped up on the sink.

So what does this mean? I think that John and Paul were getting ready for bed, someone knocked on the door, and John went to answer it. You'd think Paul would but for some reason he didn't. Oh and another thing...check out the four jackets in the mirror:

They're definitely hanging from something so John and Paul were looking out for the suits that night.

Next in the sequence, John is back at the sink washing up. Check out the hotel window curtain being reflected in the mirror there!

Then something kind of odd happens...John is seen coming back and re-entering the shot again? Through out Eye of the Storm Paul emphasizes a lot of duality with John, including a shot where John reflects on his own sculpted face. Paul was very interested in John doing performing the act of reflection on his own face:

But here's the really interesting bit and what makes me think Paul was naked in a bathtub when he took these last two photos:

Y'all, that's the fluffy fringe of a towel! You can tell that the threads are hanging down from it! These are very different from the clean lines of the curtain or the medicine cabinet or even the lines of their suit jackets! Paul was sitting in or on the edge of the bath tub when he took these photos of John! He wrapped a towel around his camera to protect it from getting wet! Cameras are generally made for right handed people so when Paul had his finger on the button on the right hand side. That means Paul keeping his finger on that button pushed the edge of the protective towel over the lens!

So I submit to you Paul McCartney's Eye of the Storm, where he submitted a film strip where he was staying in a hotel room with John and was most likely nude and bathing when he took John's photographs! Someone knocked on the door to get their attention while Paul was naked so John answered the door for them, while Paul followed him a little. John was enjoying having Paul right there for him too:

PLEASE get Eye of the Storm, it's such a great book and there's so much in it. Paul lets the pictures speak for themselves and wow they have one hell of a story to tell!

@perasperaadastratoday

[kuromori4]

I know this comic was very much about Marc and Nath and I very much don't want to take that away from them, but I definitely see the parallels between Rain-Piercer & Sun-heart and Ladybug & Chat Noir.

Maybe it's obvious, but I enjoy analyzing it!

Sun-Heart clearly parallels Adrien/Chat. Blonde/golden hair, the whole 'Sunshine' aspect? AdriChat's bright and sunny disposition?

Then we have Rain-Piercer. Dark hair, more concerned about the consequences of them revealing? And the reference to all of the rain symbolism between Adrienette/LadyNoir?

Lets' break it down:

So this could be taken one of 2 ways:

1) This might be referring to the final battle with Monarch. It's showing us that this could have happened between then and now, That LB and CN discussed revealing after Monarch was defeated. Though since we know they didn't reveal, I'd say it's more likely it's a potential hint to the future--

2) Lila/New Butterfly is the "Deep Darkness" (Though it could also refer to the council stuff) And this is foreshadowing what could happen once they defeat her.

Now they realize that if they reveal, they would have to give everything up. Stop being LB and CN? Maybe even never see each other again if their only connection remains their time as heroes.

Chat is ready to reveal but Ladybug warns him the consequences of revealing their identities.

If Chat Noir reveals himself to Ladybug, then he won't be allowed to be Chat Noir any more.

I'm guessing the Great-Rain is referencing the Celestial Guardian, or maybe the order of the Guardians or something. Maybe even Ladybug herself, as she's the current Guardian. Considering her parallel's name here is Rain-Piercer and the authority in this story is 'the Great Rain' it could very well be that they mean 'Ladybug' and 'Ladybug as Guardian'.

And the sacred armor is obviously the Miraculous.

But Chat is ready to reveal. He's waited so long. He wants this. Like it says, He'd rather lose his powers than his partner, who's always been by his side.

Now we have Ladybug, convinced by Chat that she wants this too. She decides to go through with it. Renounce her burden (With a passion!)

Interestingly enough, this time it says 'powers of the Great-Sun...' which... they just said it was the Great-Rain, so I'm wondering if this is a mistake, or intentional? I'd have to really listen to the french to pick out exactly what's said. Maybe 'Great-Sun' is intentional and means something. I'll come back to this if I figure it out!

And then of course, we get the happy ending and the much-awaited reveal and kiss! So Chat Noir and Ladybug reveal, and they have their beautiful moment!

But.

This is the re-written version.

In their original draft, they both gave up their powers to be together. Nathaniel thought it was unfair that they should lose everything and not have their happy ending.

This is something fans have been discussing for ages. And there's the whole possibility of Ladybug losing her memories if she renounces her Guardianship, which has also been hinted at in this season already.

So Nathaniel changed the ending to ensure they got to keep their powers and have their happy ending.

So is Nathaniel a parallel to the writers themselves? Changing the lore to ensure that Ladybug and Chat Noir can continue their journey even after an identity reveal?

So then this leaves the question of which version we're going to get by the end? Is this their way of showing us that they can continue the show for 12 seasons AND still give us the big reveal?

I mean, how do you continue a show like this for so many seasons and keep the fandom on the line for that long with no reveal? This could be their way of introducing the idea that the story CAN continue post-reveal!

That's just my thoughts on the matter anyway! I hope you enjoyed my breakdown!

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

45 / 1.9k / soap soulmate au, part 11

...

Mercenaries can be paid off for just about anything.

So when Price rings your cell phone to propose a trade—Laswell had your number, naturally—Horangi has no qualms with fishing it out of your pocket. You glare at him, but he doesn’t bother giving you anything more than a dry look before he answers it.

You hear Price’s voice from the speaker in Horangi’s ear. "Was wondering what was taking you lot so long."

Horangi sighs. It never ends, apparently. "What do you want?" he asks.

"Just to talk," Price replies. "What's your rate?"

"Come again?" Horangi asks.

"We're all soldiers here. Unfortunate that our mission came at the cost of yours, but we can all walk away happy, hm? I want to make sure you don’t go uncompensated. That’d be a shame."

Horangi scowls, but one of your squadmates in the back seat grips your shoulder and shifts his weight toward the phone in obvious interest.

"What do you have in mind?” Horangi asks.

"First, your rate."

"Too rich for your blood."

"Try me."

Horangi narrows his eyes. Then he shrugs and throws out a number. It's far more money than KorTac’s real fee, but before you can decide whether to say something, Price speaks again.

"We'll double that."

"Will you now?"

"I will. Even pay you all directly if you like. No need to involve the company. Just keep your handler’s cut for yourselves. I won’t say a word," Price says. "That should be good enough, shouldn't it?"

Horangi leans back, tapping the steering wheel in thought, but you can tell he's interested now. "What's the job?"

"Not a job, really. Just a favor. Let us have custody of your songbird, and the money's yours. Make up some story about how she got away or got shot if you need a scapegoat. We’ll turn a blind eye if you prefer. Keep the record nice and clean."

Horangi glances at you. “Songbird’s worth a lot to the company.”

“You’re not the company, now are you? You already did the damn job. You should get paid. You and your team.”

He likes the sound of that. Price's offer turns both of your situations into something everybody can be pleased with. Get the mercs paid for what they lost. They get the girl. Fine by him. He hums in thought. “Cash in hand.”

There’s a beat of silence on Price’s end. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Cash in hand,” Horangi says again. “Or no deal.”

“Are you sure about that? Wired funds spend just as well as cash.”

“I can afford to be picky, my friend.”

Another long pause. “Is that so?”

“Apologies. I’d be happy to consider your deal if I hadn’t already made a better one with someone else. He’s willing to pay cash.”

“Who?”

Horangi scoffs and ends the call. He tosses your phone into the backseat floorboards and ignores your stare burning into the side of his head. “Don’t worry, rookie,” he tells you. “You know it’s a better deal than you’d get back at base. You’ll thank me one day.”

…

But you don’t make it back to base.

It’s an ambush. A trap—Horangi doesn’t see the charges on either side of the road until it’s too late, and the truck transporting you flips forward onto its roof. One minute, you’re feeling the melted snow in your boots; the next, you’re looking down at the road through the windshield. Then you’re coming to in a haze of gunfire and hoarse voices barking call-and-response orders all around you.

It’s not until your teammates have evacuated the wrecked truck that you attempt to move yourself and do the same. Maybe they plan to come back for you; maybe they think you’re dead. Maybe you are dead. You really fucking hope not. Whatever death has in store for you, it had better not force you to contend with the agonizing pain of a dislocated shoulder and broken glass buried in every second nerve ending.

You push against the seatbelt holding you to the seat, having to twist out of your coat just to slump to the pavement. You’re still ziptied, but you have to move. If whoever laid this ambush finds you, you're done for.

Somehow, all you can think about is Johnny. If he could see you now, he’d never let you hear the end of it. He’d lecture you like a goddamn recruit. You hate how much you want to see his stupid face get angry at you again.

There’s a long lull in the gunfire. Then the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone curses and orders the others to “spread out,” searching for your scattered teammates—for survivors.

Your teammates aren’t coming. You’re on your own.

Then you remember Price’s call and Horangi swiping your phone from your pocket.

Desperately, you shoulder your way back into the wreckage. Somehow, you find it. The screen is cracked, but it still lights up when you wrestle your bound wrists under your feet and touch the screen. Thank Christ. You redial Price's number from the call log.

He picks up on the first ring. "Go for Price."

"I need to talk to Johnny."

There's a moment of crackling silence through the line. Then: "Soap's tied up at the moment. What's going on?"

"I don't know. Ambush. The car flipped." You wince, feeling broken glass cut into your shoulder. The slushy pavement under you is turning ruddy. Oh, that’s your blood. "It's bad."

Price swears under his breath. "Where are you?"

"Near the base of the mountain. In the side. There's a... a lot of trees. Twenty hostiles. I think. I can't see."

"Stay put. We'll find you. Don’t do anything stupid in the meantime."

"I want to talk to Johnny."

"For God’s sake. You can talk to him in person when we find you. Just sit tight."

"Let me talk to my goddamn soulmate," you hiss. You put as much venom into your voice as you can, but even you hear how weak you sound.

Price says something away from the speaker you can't quite make out. There's shuffling and then another familiar voice picks up, low and gruff, and tinged with a Scottish burr.

"Hen?"

The wave of relief that sweeps through you renders you mute for a second.

That makes the worry in his tone swell. “You okay? They hurt you?"

The concern in his voice has your throat tightening. Dammit.

Before you can reply, there's another burst of gunfire and a hostile voice much too close by for comfort. You grab the phone and edge your way further into the tenuous safety of the wreckage. You clutch the phone in your hands, barely clocking the glass screen digging into your palm.

The sound of your voice cutting out over the line triggers Soap’s anxiety all over again. He curses up a storm on the other end, his voice rising with every word and the urgency in his tone growing as he calls you by name.

You hear more footfalls, but whoever it is, they don't seem to notice you. You've not been gunned down yet, at least. You need to find somewhere safer.

Peering around the wreckage, you look for somewhere else you can hide. The tree line is close. You don't know how long you'll last in the snow no matter what, especially without your coat—but cold cover is safer than none. Staying under a leaking, gasoline-filled truck carcass isn’t a good long-term plan.

Soap’s voice rises over the line. "Dammit, say somethin'!"

Finally you do. "Johnny?"

"Jesus." Soap closes his eyes, hoping like hell he's not about to hear you get shot, or captured, or worse. He can already tell by the rough sound of your voice that he's not going to like what you say next. "I'm here," he says quickly, trying to keep the worry from his own voice. "Where are ya?"

"I’m an idiot. I'm sorry for everything I put you through. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn about..." You let out a harsh sigh. "You. Just wanted to tell you that."

It suddenly feels like there's a block of ice lodged in Soap’s chest. "That a goodbye, darlin'?" he says.

"I'm doing my goddamn best. Alright?"

"That’s a sorry fuckin’ excuse. You’re aways doing your best," Soap snaps. An ugly, hard thread of bitterness creeps into his tone. "Trouble is you always choose the worst way of goin’ about it. I’m not lettin' you go like this.”

"I know it's my fault," you retort. "Okay? I should've listened to you. Are you happy to hear me fucking say it?"

"Does it look like that's gonna fix things?" Soap’s voice rises with every word now. His temper is frayed at the edges. "No, I'm not bloody happy. I don't want apologies. I don't want some grand realization. I just want you to survive. You're damn right you fucked up. And you've got a lot of work to do to make it up to me, so you'd best stay alive. You hear me?"

You swallow, clutching the phone tighter in your hands.

"Answer me."

"I'll try."

"No. You'll do," Soap says in a voice that brooks no argument. His voice drops low again, but the anger is still there. "You will make it back to me. You'll do whatever it takes. You don't get to leave me alone after all the trouble you gave me. I'll not hear one more sorry excuse."

God. You want him so bad it hurts. You close your eyes, concentrating on the pain of the glass in your skin and your dislocated shoulder to sharpen your focus. "Fine."

"That's my girl." The words come out rough, heated, and tinged with something like pride. "You just stay put," he says. "We'll find you."

You tense as another set of voices raise in aggravation nearby. The longer you stay here, the greater the chance you'll be seen. "I have to go," you say lowly into the phone. "Need better cover."

"Stay on the line," he says quickly. "Do not hang up. Hen!"

You bring your ziptied wrists down hard on the edge of your boot—and again, and again, pain radiating up your arm—until it finally snaps.

With your hands free, you pull yourself out from under the wreckage and away, leaving Soap on the line to hear nothing but shouting and gunshots.

Soap listens through the phone, biting down hard on the curse that threatens to tear free. He can't lose you. He's going crazy imagining the worst right now. His mind is all too happy to cycle through a parade of gory images. No. No, you can't go, not like this.

He'd give anything to be a knife on your belt right now. A bullet in your gun. Anything but this—this utter fucking helplessness. He can’t do anything but sit on the other end of a line and listen. It's torture.

Even with Price at the wheel, racing all of them toward the bottom of the mountain.

"We'll make it, Soap," is all Price says.

Soap nods, but he barely hears it. All he can listen to is the sound of gunfire through the phone and the cold, visceral rage in the pit of his stomach. He'll claw his way to you with his bare hands if he has to. It doesn’t matter how much blood and sweat it costs him to get you back. You’d better keep your word and stay alive to make it up to him.

...

← previous part / [part 11] / next part →

more Soap / masterlist

[eyelessfaces]

ahead, ahead

poe dameron x reader

summary: “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

or; your fear of the future forces you to reject the man you love.

warnings: rejecting poe but we're not actually truly rejecting him (who, in their right mind would reject this man), talks of the war, of being scared of the future, extremely brief mentions of an injury, death and grief

tags: gn!reader, idiots in love, angst, fluff, celebration, kissing, idk man I hate tagging this stuff you'll see

word count: 2.9k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

lmao hey I'm back ig if this fic doesn't hit ten thousand notes in 48hrs I'm dipping again

The night is fairly quiet, save for the occasional crackle over the comms. You and Poe are tucked away in an observation post, overlooking a seemingly endless empty desert; it feels like you've been here for hours, time blending now that the only light around is the shining stars and the small dots of your devices. 

Poe lightly clears his throat, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “You can't go away from any conversation right now, so,” 

You shouldn’t even be surprised that he can not keep his mouth shut for longer than three minutes. “Why won't you let me take you out on a date?”

You sigh. “Poe, not now.” 

You can feel his eyes burning holes through you, knowing exactly what gaze he’s using on you, knowing his big, warm, pleading brown eyes will have the exact effect he intends to cast over you if you happen to turn to him.

You keep watching ahead, trying your best to ignore his too obvious firm gaze over you in your peripheral vision, feigning focus on trying to notice anything unusual in the broad land of sand ahead of you. He makes it really hard.

“What? Perfect situation to talk about this” he says, his gaze on you unwavering. “For me” he shrugs with a teasing smile.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping that your silence will make him drop it. But he’s Poe Dameron. 

“Tell me. Tell me why. I genuinely want to know your reasons.” he says, leaning back into his seat. “Hurt my feelings if you have to. I just wanna know”

You can feel the pressure starting to pull down on you. You know he won’t let it go, but you also don’t want to hurt your friend while you’re stuck with him for what could be hours.

“So what, because no one ever says no to you you can’t take someone rejecting you?” you scoff, turning to him before you check the comms again though you know there’s nothing new. 

He laughs, a choked, startled laugh. “We both know it’s not that. You kissed me”

You sigh, tension coiling tight and your heart leaping in your chest as you set the comms down again, at this point begging the maker for something to happen, maybe even for a First Order ambush just to get you out of this conversation. “Maybe I was just pitying you.” you mutter under your breath, busying yourself out of it by picking the underside of your nails.

“Oh, you were shitting your pants at the idea of losing me. That's why you kissed me. You were so scared I might be dead you ran to kiss me when you found out I wasn't.” 

Your eyes close wearily. He’s on point. 

“And you almost could have chipped my teeth with how hard our mouths clashed, so,” he trails off. “Come on. Why won’t you tell me? I really just wanna know. I can handle it.” he murmurs, more softly this time. Your head shakes as you tut impatiently. His gentle tone doesn’t make it less painful to be in this situation. “I promise you won’t hurt my feelings, you already kinda did anyway, so I guess I’m not really–” Poe stops when you suddenly grab his arm and hold a finger up, your eyes widening as you freeze.

“Listen”

Poe halts and goes silent, alert to any sound around, any faint wind breeze, any footstep, anything. 

“...I’m not hearing anything” he declares after a while, eyebrows furrowed.

You recline into your seat, releasing your grip on him. “Exactly. How peaceful”

He lets out a soft, bitter chuckle and looks away, into the waves of sand, pretending to get his focus back onto the task at hand. 

He finally, as you wished, lets the tight space be silent again, but after a while, you come to admit that the heavy silence is arguably more agonizing than having Poe run his mouth about something you don’t really want to talk about.

“You'll always care about the Resistance more than you could care about me.”

“What?” Poe scoffs and glances back over you, eyebrows raised. You give him a small shrug. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

Your gaze darts to him before you look back out the window at your side. “It’s not even a bad thing, it’s who you are, and that’s why people follow you, that’s why I follow you, but–”

He stares at you, his gaze burning through you again, caught somewhere between confusion and frustration. “But what? What makes you think that?” 

You can hear the startled hurt in his tone, the clear bewilderment, the clear need and urge in him to argue.

“You're a busy man. You're always on the run–” 

“So are you” he cuts you off.

“That's what I mean. We’re both so busy with this– this endless fight. We barely have time to sleep, let alone,” you gesture vaguely between the both of you, catching the pleading gaze you were desperately trying to avoid earlier, hoping he will get what you mean without you having to say it out loud, without having to stab him right through the heart once again.

“So what?” he insists, his tone firmer. “We both know that. That’s part of the deal. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t make it work”

You shake your head, sensing it will only keep going down from there. “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

The thick silence painfully grips at your throat, and just when it feels Poe might start to speak again, the comms crackle with a signal, alerting a presence on the grounds. 

You stand up and gather the stuff you need, the mission you let aside needing your full focus again, and as you take your blaster out of your holster, you can still feel Poe’s lingering gaze over you, your chest tightening in a sense of guilt you’ve never felt before.

—

It’s spontaneous and unconstrained when you fall into Poe’s embrace, but you do, and it’s like nothing ever happened in that observation post a few weeks ago. Your hands fist tightly into the fabric of his flight suit while you're still careful not to press yourself too close against his wounded arm. The general hubbub of celebration is rumbling on the ground of Ajan Kloss, thrumming through the air, and you can only feel relief as Poe’s hand cups the back of your head, pulling you closer into the embrace. For a brief moment, you just stay here, mingling with each other, breathing him in like you didn't completely push him away the last time you faced him.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you pull back slightly, looking you up and down, eyes raking through as he searches for any sign of injury.

“Are you?” you ask back, eyeing his arm wrapped in a cloth and held against his chest by a sling. 

He shrugs, grimacing as he quickly waves it off, trying to downplay it. “That's fine. Nothing I've never seen before. I got things to celebrate before I start whining about this” he grins. 

He smiles wider when he sees your smile, your cheeks warming up as his gaze lingers over you, taking in every detail of your face. You have barely been able to catch each other for longer than two minutes outside of missions these past few weeks, so knowing he will now be able to see you for maybe three minutes longer now that the galaxy isn’t at stake anymore brings another layer to the wider sense of relief of this war being over. “I’m glad you made it out alright” he says quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the noise. 

“Couldn’t have done it without such an amazing leader” you tease, and he lets out a genuine laugh, shaking his head, but your own laughter fades as he gets cornered by his fellow squadron pilots, pulling him away from you.

You smile when you see his eyes crinkle as they cheer with him, and you give him another smile and nod when he mouths you a quick apology as they drag him away.

—

You stare off into the distance, a small smile tugging at your lips when from afar, you notice Finn being swirled around by Rose, all smiles. 

There’s a bittersweet feeling to this, all of this. It’s supposedly all over, but you also have no idea what to expect for tomorrow, and the next day, and all the ones after that, and the idea is terrifying. 

You put your glass down beside you on the crate that serves you as a bench, turning when you feel a presence approaching.

“Hey” Poe smiles, sitting by your side on the wide crate.

“Hey,” you reply, a hint of tiredness in your voice though his presence lifts you up a little.

“Overwhelmed?” 

You scoff, giving him a half nod, barely a tilt of the head. “Yeah, you could say that”

He gives you a nod of comprehension, staring off at the loud, joyful celebration in the distance. 

Puffs of dirt are flowing off the ground from being beaten by dancing feet, the particles visible from the strings and poles of lanterns set up for the occasion, revealing the figures of people overflowing with energy though that layer will peel off and reveal the true exhaustion stemming from the battle soon enough.

The night is warm, making sweat cling to skins, making tears of all kinds short-lived, visual proofs of joy and grief drying and disappearing quickly.

Poe’s gaze turns back to you, his hand settling over yours. “You should join us. You shouldn’t be staying by yourself at a time like this” he prompts, lightly nudging your side, a gentle smile on his face.

“I will, eventually” you nod, glancing at a couple linking foreheads, swaying side by side. “Just having a moment,” you chuckle softly, bringing your glass back to your lips.

“Ouh, okay” he teases, begrudgingly removing his hand. “Mind if I have this moment with you?”

“Sure,” you scoff, silently offering to share your glass with Poe, disposing of it again when he silently declines.

“So, what now?” he questions, a renewed brightness filling his voice. “What are your plans now that this war’s over?” he asks, eyes roaming along your figure.

You take a deep breath, clearing yourself of a discomfort you barely realized had been smothering your chest. “I don’t know. That’s what’s terrifying” you admit. He hums in agreement, nodding. “But maybe I’m gonna apologize to a certain pilot I pushed away first” you grin, glancing at him, meeting his eyes that crinkle in the corners as he smiles. “I wanted to apologize earlier. Before they snatched you away to worship you for your feats” you tease.

He scoffs. “Sorry. Busy man as you said”

“Yeah” you exhale, taking a sip of your drink. You lick the liquid off your lips, before looking back at Poe. “I was too harsh on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you” 

He gives you a single nod and a forgiving smile. “I know. We don’t have to talk about that”

You shrug softly, averting your gaze from him again. All those people cheering and laughing and kissing could have been you and Poe instead of that slightly awkward tension between you, in a parallel reality where you hadn’t pushed your pride to the first plan, leaving your feelings behind. 

You glance at him, at the way his brown eyes catch the warm glow of the lanterns. “I wanted to kiss you again” you admit, in a faint murmur. “When we came back winning.”

Your gaze falls to your lap, your fingers drumming against your glass as you feel the weight of Poe’s gaze over you, attentive to your every word. “But I didn’t want you to think I was playing with your feelings and being cruel again, just the way I was in the observation post”

Poe’s gaze softens, his hand closing as he tries to keep himself from reaching for you again. He nods in understanding, unsure how to go on from this admission. 

“It’s not about cruelty,” he mutters, still looking at you. “It hurt because I knew you were scared. And I didn’t know how to make you not be.”

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage, your eyes briefly closing at his words. You nod, having to admit he is probably right. Scared of losing any more people you love, for the cause that has already taken so much from you.

Scared of losing him when your feelings already weighed enough on you.

“Hey,” he calls, tearing you out of your knot of blooming thoughts, nudging your knee with his own. “That’s why we’re here tonight. Because we made it” he nods. “We're all supposed to be less scared now, to enjoy the celebration and to properly take time to process our griefs.”

A faint smile grows over his face when you rest your head against his shoulder. You try to ignore the tears threatening your eyes.

“So things are supposed to be quieter now, right?” you question quietly, feeling his arm wrap around your back.

He hums in reflection. “There’s still a lot to do but, yeah, supposedly”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always”

You let out a small, vulnerable sigh. “I never thought this day would actually happen. It was just a distant vision” you confess. “And now that it’s here I don’t know what to do”

He slightly tilts his head, glancing at you without dislodging your head from his shoulder. “You’ve never fantasized about what your life would be like after the war?”

You stay quiet for a bit, thinking about it. “Not really. Not seriously. Mostly because it didn’t really feel like this day would come, and now everyone knows what they want for themselves and I feel completely lost”

He nods. “You don't have to figure it all out now. The Resistance still has lots to sort out” he affirms, his thumb idly caressing your arm. “But you can think about it differently. You have every option now. You can start again” You pull your head away from his shoulder, considering this point of view as you grab your drink to finish it. You hum softly, rubbing your eyes when you let go of your drink, trying to chase the lingering doubts away.

“Come on, we should join the others” he clutches your shoulder before standing up. “And you need a refill”

You nod, looking back at your empty glass, propping yourself onto your feet. “Poe, wait” he turns back to you, an expectant curiosity painted over his face, watching as you step closer to him. 

“If you asked me out again,” you say, a playful smirk forming on your lips. “I’d say yes. It’d be part of my new life”

His grin widens as he fully turns to you. “Oh yeah?” he asks, an eyebrow raised and a teasing edge to his voice. 

His eyes roam over your face, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you nod. “Yeah”

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking as his hand brushes yours before he holds it again, this time more deliberately and more confidently. “You should have. Kissed me” he murmurs as your gaze darts to your linked hands then back to him, unable to repress the smile growing onto your face.

“I know,” you chuckle, watching him let his fingers intertwine with yours when you don’t pull away, his touch firm, grounding you with a peacefulness you haven’t felt in what seems to be ages. “But who says it's too late?”

“If I was that petty, I would” he grins, a teasing glint in his eyes, but the warmth in them conveys the playfulness of his words. 

You lean in to kiss him before either of you can overthink it, your free hand instinctively grabbing at the back of his neck like he can somehow still slip away from you, your fingers burying in his mass of hair damp from the heavy atmosphere.

His hand slides out of yours to cup your face and the kiss lingers, warm and unhurried, neither of you caring about the laughter and music of the celebration in the background. When you finally pull back, your foreheads touch, and you see the playful grin on his face that makes your chest ache with fondness. “Took you long enough” he teases.

“You’re so desperate” you shoot back, your tone lacking any real bite, significantly softened by the smile that refuses to leave your face. 

“You were hard to get.”

“Alright, okay” you scoff, your hand sliding to rest against his torso, adjusting the collar of his shirt on the way. 

The teasing slowly fades from his face, his hand reaching up to cover yours over the rise and fall of his torso, gently closing around your fingers

“I’ll make time for you.” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Between work, flying, building everything we’ve lost and our lives again… I’ll make time for us. I promise”

You find yourself nodding, swallowing his every word, blindly trusting him; because if there is one thing you know for sure, it is that Poe Dameron never makes empty promises.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, and for the first time in what feels forever, moving forward doesn’t seem as terrifying.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

star wars taglist:

@lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift

@whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious 

@stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly 

@pigeonmama @c-losur3 @klillaah @Spicydonut25

[erwinsvow]

hiii idk if you've done this before but can u do rafe throat training shy!reader with his fingers??

such a fun prompt !! shes down bad in this.

you don't know how you'd ended up like this—curled up on rafe's lap, a whole partying happening in the background while you keep your eyes focused on your boyfriend.

rafe isn't drunk—he hasn't had nearly enough or snorted or smoked anything to get him buzzed, when he stares at you like this, you have to believe he's high on something.

blue eyes blown with lust stare at you while you look back. you can only meet rafe's gaze for a minute, maybe two, before you have to look away, face burning and skin feel hot all over.

instead you keep staring down at rafe's hand, holding two of your boyfriend's fingers in your hand, holding on tight and pressing down while you try to listen to what he's even saying.

"y'wanna go home?" rafe asks, leaning in to whisper the words in your ear. he brushes some of your hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek that makes your stomach tighten uncomfortabtly.

"we just got here rafe," you reply quietly, trying not to make it so obvious. it's a bustling party—no one's even paying attention to the two of you. even if they were, they weren't seeing anything out of place. you were always touching rafe somehow and he was always touching you. you don't even remember the last time you had been out out rafe's eyeshot at a party.

"who cares?" it's your turn to stare, looking at your boyfriend and biting your cheek.

"it's rude. you told them we'd come."

"well we're here, so, we came." rafe smirks at you and you laugh—just like that you feel a little better, some of the tension dissolving away. you're always like this—caring too much about what people think, worried about their opinion. you don't want kelce to think less of you if you make rafe leave everything early.

your grip on rafe's fingers gets tighter as even the mere thought of the idea stresses you out.

"c'mon, relax. we'll stay a little longer."

"okay. i, um- sorry." you loosen your grip but don't let go, staring down at rafe's hand while you keep playing with his fingers. curled up on his lap like this, you seem to forget there's an entire crowd a few feet away.

"stop apologizin'." rafe reminds you again, flexing his hand while he does it. his ring catches the light and glimmers, your attention once again returning to your boyfriend's pretty hands. you don't let go unless you have to, looping your fingers around his and playing with his hand.

you hear rafe laugh quietly—and though not too long ago, you would have thought he was laughing at you, you know he's not.

"right. sorry," you say quietly, and rafe drops your hand out of his quickly. two fingers come to your jaw, holding you in place to look up at him. you watch with big eyes, waiting in anticipation.

"stop apologizin'. how do i get you to remember that, huh?" his fingers move, brushing over your chin and then your lower lip. your eyes flick down at rafe's hand so close to you, and then back at him. "got some ideas, kid?"

you shake your head, but you don't need to say or do anything—rafe's always been like that. he understands you without you needing to use words. and similarly, you understand him without needed to be told.

your mouth opens, and rafe pushes in one huge finger, first just to the knuckle, then to the base. you take it, eyes getting a little watery, your mouth getting his fingers completely wet with spit. rafe pulls out, and then adds another finger. you vaguely hear him murmuring something about shutting you up, but you don't even process it.

your head feels heavy, stomach tight, another hot, uncomfortable wetness growing between your legs. you start thinking things you really shouldn't, not with so many people around, but the thoughts trickle in anyway.

you stay like that for much too long. anyone could see it—the vulgar scene infront of them with you choking on two of rafe's fingers until you don't choke anymore, cheeks wet and eyes watery, even spit on your lips and chin.

"yeah, kid. that's it. shit."

when rafe finally pulls his fingers out, it's because he hears topper and kelce somewhere behind him. you wipe your eyes and your mouth, hoping you look somewhat presentable. next to you, rafe admires his wet fingers.

his friends say something but you don't hear it. rafe turns to you, talking quietly into your ear again so you can hear him over the noise of the party and the loud music.

"you wanna go home now?"

you lean back in to reply.

"unless you just wanna do it here." rafe pulls back to stare at you, confused. "but-but up to you. you can decide. either way."

[bettymylove]

Can you please do a Theo not fix where the reader is his best friend who he has been in love with his entire life and they are always snuggling and she is always on his lap but then she sees him with some other girl talking being flirty and gets jealous and avoids him and agrees to go on a date with someone else in front of him and he loses it and tells her he is in love with her and it ends in smut?

can I just say I love this ideaaa AAAHH!!

Something

pairing: theo nott x reader

content: read the askk<33 18+ smut

a/n: loved writing thiss

to other people the friendship of you and theo was not what usually friends were, you had no walls up against each other, being completely transparent to each other.

it was kind of a known fact you both harbored some feelings for each other, even though it had never been said however most people keep their distance from both of you.

you were both overly touchy with each other, him always touching you in some way, whether it be a hand on your thigh in class or making you sit on his lap in the common room just so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck, all of this was completely normal to you.

it was after lunch on a friday, all the students were completely free from classes and you decided to utilize this time to finish you assignments so you could enjoy the hogsmeade trip tomorrow.

however reaching the library, you heard theo's laugh, the sound you could recognize anywhere and as soon as you started to walk towards it, you stopped in your won footsteps, since his laugh wasn't the only one, there was one more accompanying him.

he was laughing with another girl.

he was touching her knee and she had her hand on his arm, they were practically lying on each other. The urge you had to finish your schoolwork died, and soon tears began to roll down your cheeks, how could he betray you like this.

theo heard your familiar footsteps and started to follow you, calling your name but you gave no response which was very weird, since you were always cheery to have him around.

this behaviour continued well into the next day, he was ready to go to hogsmeade with you but it seemed like you had other plans, since at breakfast when a boy from ravenclaw had asked you out on a date you had said yes, that too in front of him.

he was confused to say the least, and was looking for an answer, his hand found your forearm when you once again tried to escape.

"so you're really going on a date with him?" he asked in pure shock, not being able to recover from the fact that you had said yes.

"do you have a problem with me going?" you had asked in a snarky voice, still thinking he was behaving irrationally.

"of course, i thought we had something" his tone and face all reflected sadness and pure betrayal, "I had thought that too, until I saw you flirt with that girl in the library yesterday" you had retorted.

"I was trying to get her to do my homework for me, so I could spend more time with you" he said in a gentle voice.

"why do you even care theo that I'm going on a date it's not like we're dating" you longed for an answer, to have some official word for whatever your relationship was.

"because i love you", he said in a slightly raised voice, "it's so obvious i do, everyone knows it and you should too, i love you y/n"

he leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, like you wished he would, pushing you back on the wall near you which secluded you from everyone.

his kisses started trailing downwards, he was sucking on your neck while his hands were all over your body, he soon went down on his knees, staring up at you, "let me show you how much you mean to me."

please was the only word leaving your mouth, which was soon replaced with moans as soon as his tongue touched you, swirling around, he was practically devouring you, urging you to come undone on his face.

"let it go baby, come on my face" and so you did chanting his name as if it was only thing you knew in this world.

"theo, please for merlin's sake fuck me" and he couldn't deny your pretty face unbuttoning your shirt, but still not letting it fall he started leaving marks all over there as well.

you had unbuckled his belt and soon got his cock out, it was red at the tip leaking some precum and you couldn't help but move your hands up and down on it.

he had soon took both your hands and pinned them above your head, urging you to jump and as soon as you did, he had his dick inside of you.

he was thrusting so hard and so fast that you could see stars already, moaning his name while he was still kissing your neck, it was all you could have imagined.

"theo, I'm gonna come" you had managed to say between gaspy breaths, and he had urged you to do so, since he was on the verge itself.

he had finished inside you filling you up to the brim, and you felt content with him.

"so, I hope you're gonna cancel the date" he said and you only laughed in response.

[tealvenetianmask]

We need some Barbie Wire Analysis . . .

Because for a character with maybe . . . 2-3 minutes of screen time, she sure has an outsized importance in the show. This is rivaled only by Tilla, who we know even less about.

Barbie gets the major callback in the last scene of Season 2. As other bloggers have pointed out, it could have been Fizz, who's a much bigger character so far. Fizz hated Blitz for 15 years, and they were able to finally reconcile-- even though 15 years is still a long time, that would have been, arguably, a more hopeful, comforting story for Stolas to hear.

But Barb, well, she's on his mind. She always is. "I miss her every day."

Barbie's absense, I think, is made more real by the way in which the show introduces her through photos, and she's never overtly mentioned in all of Season 1.

We're told that Blitz has a twin, that they performed together in the circus (or maybe after), and through her non-mentions, that something bad happened.

Then she's in the photo that makes Blitz finally break down at the end of Ozzie's.

I like how the twins mirror each other here. Similar eyes and face shapes, circus marks on their foreheads, pointy teeth, simple joy and enthusiasm. Whatever their lives were like at that time, they experienced it together, and there were good times.

Barb is central to Blitz's loss and his capacity for love.

We finally meet Barb in Unhappy Campers, and the way she's introduced . . . well. Unfortunately a lot of us were so disappointed that Blitz wasn't going to visit Stolas that we couldn't fully process what he was doing. When he first asked about Barb, my first reaction was "who?"

But that hasn't been Blitz's experience. He's just been keeping a major part of his day to day thoughts and feelings from us.

This nurse knows what's up. He's come back again and again to see Barb, and no taser can deter him.

It's such an obvious and central part of his life- missing Barb, trying to reconnect with her, that he seems honestly unaware that he's never told Moxxie about her at all.

It might feel like we're thrown into an emotional family confrontation out of nowhere, but Blitz has gone through years, potentially, of trying to get Barb to talk to him and being shut down. The hurt in his face, how it wears on him, and how he can't bear to give up hope. Well. It's all there.

So at this point, we still don't know Barb deeply. We only know what Blitz has told us, but more importantly, how he reacts to her absence, how he refuses to give up.

It tells us a lot about his stubbornness, the fine line he walks between resilience, hope, and just a pigheaded refusal to give up.

Maybe Barb is a part of why Blitz is like this. Maybe losing her taught him that some things are so important that it's worth never giving up, even if continuing to try is painful.

Maybe there will be a reconciliation, in part or in full.

But honestly, I also won't mind if a lesson Blitz needs to learn is that sometimes you do need to give up on someone you love. For that person's freedom to reinvent themselves. For your own sanity and contentment in life.

And if Blitz does let her go (at least of the practical fight to reconnect)? He'll think of her every day still.

[strwbmei]

summary: what could've happened if angell chose to be selfish for once

contains: desperate/emotional sex, transfem!angell, fem!reader, angell tops, marking, creampie, cunnilingus, fingering, angst no comfort, whatever the opposite of reunion sex is, parting sex???, mentions of crying but not in a sexy way, mentions of blood (also not in a sexy way), tw kidnapping, but you kind of learn to live with it, whatever the hell is going on in angell's event, everything is consensual and soft despite the alarming tags, mentions of drugs but it's unrelated to the smut, unresolved feelings on both sides, tw murder unrelated to smut, devirginifying sex i forgot what it was called, set in between Ditty Nightsong and Angell's interrogation

pairing(s): angell x chief!reader

a/n: I HAD to write this after finishing her event. Seeing Angell and the chief slowly get along despite their circumstances was such a treat. Also, first PTN fic!

You're tidying Angell's room up, careful to not make any noise since you don't want to wake her. Seeing the piles of pillows and clothes on the floor, you can't help but sigh. How has she lived like this for so long?

A faint song plays in the background. It's obvious the record player has seen better days—it's one of the more used appliances in this house. The song playing is the one Angell listens to while on the job. Huh.

Days are passing by, living this lie,

Not knowing what we're looking for,

As you dust off the furniture, you can't help but smile faintly. A change of pace like this is nice once in a while. Your only worries are preparing meals and doing maintenance around the house, which Angell doesn't even require you to do. Just something to keep you busy, you suppose.

It helps that she isn't a picky eater. Despite your lackluster culinary skills, Angell finishes each meal without complaint. She's even made a few positive comments lately. Maybe you should try making a meal for the sinners once you return to the MBCC.

Oh. Right. You're returning to the MBCC.

Gray, these walls are gray and there's no sky.

There is no hope, there is no soar.

I know somewhere there must be more.

It feels... weird to admit, but you've grown fond of this lifestyle. A domestic life with Angell like this is comforting, as long as you don't consider the fact that she'll definitely hand you over to her client as soon as she gets in contact with them.

Maybe you're just like the goldfish in her apartment, swimming blissfully in their tank as they stay oblivious to the outside world. You doubt Angell would be able to take care of them if she moves houses again.

You gather the clothes from the floor, catching a whiff of dried blood and sweat. Yikes. You wouldn't be surprised if the tank top you were holding had a whole ecosystem inside of it. It wouldn't hurt to wash these later, you think to yourself.

Just as you're about to finish putting the clothes away, you feel someone suddenly pull you into a tight hug, as if you'd escape from their grasp otherwise. It's Angell. You can hear how shaky her breathing is. It seems she had a bad dream.

"Don't go,"

The words Angell had been holding herself back so desperately not to say inevitably leave her, like a clock knowingly marching towards the hour of its death. She's glad that you can't see her right now with how her lips are quivering. You can still feel her hands trembling around you, though.

It's all so stupid. Angell is so stupid. She let herself get used to you, your warmth, and your kindness akin to sunlight so bright it hurt her eyes. And where has that gotten her? Naive; borderline delusional. Possibly dead, too. What have you done to this assassin, Chief of the MBCC?

"Please."

You feel as if you're meeting Angell for the first time when she says this. She has never acted like a dangerous hitman at home, but she has never acted so... desperate, either. You don't mind seeing another side of her, but the sudden change in demeanor is perplexing.

"Angell?" You call out. The woman's grip on you gets ever so slightly tighter in response. "Everything's okay. I'm here." You're not going anywhere—or so you'd like to say. Your relationship with her, if you could even call it that, is already far too filled with lies for you to add one more.

You can feel Angell's muscles tense around you. She holds her strength back, protecting you as if you were but a candle flickering in the wind. You feel safe. "Sorry. Did I wake you up?" Although most of Angell's actions are obscured from your vision, you can feel her shake her head.

"Don't leave me."

The two of you are captive and captor. Not roommates, and most certainly not lovers for Angell to say such things. She could end your life at this very moment if she so wished. So why is it that Angell is the one who finds herself powerless in your grasp?

You stay silent. If you were being honest, you don't want to leave her either. But the world doesn't work that way. You have responsibilities; the both of you. There are more pressing matters for you to handle than adjusting the hands of a clock and feeding goldfish.

Angell knows this. She values professionalism and credibility far more than her personal preferences. That's the only reason why she kept you here in the first place. Which is why you don't understand what exactly has gotten into Angell; what has pushed her to give up her creed like this.

Sensing the mutual hesitation in the air, Angell pushes you down onto the bed. Her eyes are slightly swollen and red, as if she had just been crying. You wonder what she had been dreaming about. You want to comfort her.

In this state, she'll listen to whatever you say, whatever falsehoods you feed her. Tell Angell everything will be alright and that your time together won't end. She'll believe you this once, even if it leads to her death.

You're pinned under Angell's weight, but you aren't afraid. There's something about her that ironically makes you feel safe, despite how aloof she can be. Angell doesn't shy away from your touch, either, even if she knows that you could use your shackles on her. "Angell..." Your hand reaches up to cup her cheek. She instinctively leans into it. "You're not alone anymore."

Angell's eyes widen uncharacteristically from your words. She tries to act unaffected, but you feel her breath hitch. Is it true? The walls she had built around herself to shield herself from others had eventually turned into a prison isolating her from the rest of the world. Could Angell... really break them down?

She does what feels most natural and leans in to seal your lips in a passionate kiss. It's desperate like a symphony of sorrow, yet as gentle as if she were handling a delicate flower. Angell's inexperience is clear.

How unfair. A kiss is something that you should only share with someone that you love.

And still, you return it just the same. You mirror her fervor as you chase after her lips, your elbows propped on the mattress to hold you up. Its softness and warmth is a pleasant surprise. Most likely because Angell only used to sleep on the couch before you came into her life.

She detaches herself from your lips after what felt like forever and a day. Angell's brows are furrowed, and her eyes are hesitant. She gazes at you as if to ask, is this really okay?

Whether she's asking if this is okay with you or if it's okay for her to indulge in her desires for once, you have no idea. It doesn't matter. The answer to both questions remains the same.

This time, you're the one to pull her into a passionate make-out. Angell groans, eagerly savoring each kiss as if it'll be her last. You brush her hair away from her face.

"Everything will be alright." You promise, both to yourself and the to woman in front of you. But you're wrong. How could Angell ever be fine without you?

She can abandon this house, her pride, or even her life if need be. But you? Oh, god, not you. How could you get Angell used to your warmth and kindness, just to rip it all away from her?

It'd be less cruel to treat her with mockery and disdain. It's what Angell is used to and it's what she believes she deserves.

"No," she says firmly. She buries her face into your chest, her arms wrapped around your waist. "Don't go." For some unknown reason, Angell is convinced that you're going to leave.

There are still a few days until the "gig" she took expires, and even then, she can choose what she wants to do with you afterward. Angell could keep you locked up here for as long as she wants, and you wouldn't be able to do a thing.

But she isn't that kind of person.

Angell doesn't belong with those scum on the dark web. Her heart is unadulterated by the filth surrounding her, and despite how she acts, you know Angell loves helping people deep down.

"I'm here." You comfort her. Once again, you have to stop yourself from telling her that you'll stay. It seems you accidentally said that out loud, though. "...Liar." Angell mumbles, lips now trailing along your jaw and neck.

Sighing in bliss, you remove your coat to give her more space to work with. You toss it to a corner of the room. You'll clean it up again later. Her hands roam around your torso, exploring to find the buttons of your shirt.

Frantically, Angell works to remove them. She rushes as if she's going to lose you any moment now, not even bothering to remove her own clothes yet. "Don't go..." Angell pleads again before her mouth bites softly from your collarbone to your breasts. She unclasps and removes your bra as she goes.

"Angell..." You sigh her name as she fondles one of your breasts. She touches you with a gentleness she's never shown anyone else. When Angell looks up at you, her eyes reflect an emotion that you can't identify.

Longing? Regret? Lust? You can't tell. Honestly, you don't know how you feel about her either. You thought that Angell was weird at first, but you always believed that she had a good heart. You've grown fond of her as time passed—too fond. Angell isn't the only one wearing her heart on her sleeve, apparently.

For the first time, she calls your name. Not "Chief," but your name. God, it's stupid how such a simple thing has your heart racing when you're literally about to fuck. Since when has your kidnapper gotten you so smitten?

Angell's hands, strong albeit a bit slim, map out every plane on your body. She savors the feeling of each curve and dip and takes her time etching it into her memory. Lips work to kiss every inch of your now exposed skin, occasionally leaving small bite marks.

Not once has Angell treated you like the Chief of the MBCC. She knows of your identity and the good deeds you've done, yet she treats you like any other person. It's one of the many qualities you've grown to love about Angell.

The atmosphere in the room gets warmer, and you use it as an excuse to take off her leather jacket. The other woman is left in her tank top and pants. The prominence of her collarbones sadden you, although it's gotten better since the first day you were brought to this safehouse. You wish she'd take care of herself more.

Angell's hands stop at your belt. You enjoy the few seconds of her struggling with herself before she speaks up. "Can I...?" You smile at her consideration for you, making sure that you're fine with what she's doing. "Yeah. Go ahead."

Office wear is such a hassle to take off, you think to yourself as you help Angell take off your pants. Are all those layers really necessary? Again, the piece of clothing is tossed away to god-knows-where.

Immediately, the woman pounces back on you, now leaving kisses along your stomach as she holds onto your hips. You trace her scars softly with your fingers. You can't imagine the hardships that Angell has been through. You're happy to provide any sort of respite to her.

In the moment Angell stops to look up at you, there is an undeniable air of sadness and guilt. In an attempt to cheer the woman up, you tuck her hair behind her ears and attempt to tease her. "Don't miss me too much."

As you expected, Angell stays silent. You can feel her relax a bit, though—that's a win in your book. She finds comfort in how you never change. Angell slowly dips the pad of one of her fingers into your folds, careful not to hurt you. "Mm... Angell..." You bite back a moan.

"You can go faster. I can take it." You reassure the woman through heavy breaths. It's honestly embarrassing how wet you are, but Angell takes it as a sign that she's doing good. She's become more confident; now thrusting her finger inside of you all the way, albeit still at a gentle pace.

Angell is observant. She looks for what motions earn the most positive reaction from you with an almost deadpan look on her face as if she's not literally fingerfucking you into the mattress. It shows how focused she is on making you feel good.

"Is this your first time?" Angell asks suddenly. She doesn't look at you. "Yeah... Why?" You respond. Angell stays quiet, continuing the movement of her fingers. The question caught you a bit off guard. She didn't seem like the type to refuse to mess with virgins or care about the status of anyone's virginity in general.

Just when you let out a moan from her grazing your g-spot, a realization hits you. This is Angell's first time, too. You doubt she's ever had any real romantic experience before, much less sexual. It's no wonder she seems so nervous. You make a mental note to reassure and praise her.

Angell takes notice of how you let out a sound whenever she grinds against a specific place and abuses the same location with each thrust of her fingers. When she sees you trying to grind against her hand, (because of how good it feels, but she doesn't know that) she takes it as a sign that you need more.

"I'm going to add another finger," Angell says more like a statement than a question, but she waits for your approval before doing so anyway. You've never felt so full. Her years of experience using a sword have calloused her hands ever so slightly, and although you feel bad for what led her to a life of crime, damn did it feel good rubbing against your walls.

Angell loves the way you moan her name. She can't get enough of it; she wants to hear it roll off your tongue like a starving wolf longing for prey in the dead of winter. She listens to the sound of each letter eagerly, as if engraving it into the very essence of her soul. She wants you to say her name over and over again, and only hers. As is in the present and as will be in the future.

Angell's own selfishness surprises her. Maybe she's just like the greedy criminals she has both killed and worked for. Angell has never denied the possibility—she's not the saint that you think she is. There is blood on her hands, and not even the purest of oceans can wash it away. She has long since come to terms with her fate of isolation.

You arch your back into her touch, your arms wrapped around her back. If not for the tank top she was wearing, you're sure you would've left some claw marks along it's broadness already. You have to stop your legs from closing on their own, the overwhelming pleasure proving to be too much. Soft moans and the scent of sex fill the room. "Feels so good, Angell..."

She takes a deep breath, the only things filling her senses being your sweet voice and the feeling of your warm pussy stretching to accommodate her fingers. You have no idea how long Angell has wanted to touch you like this. You do things to her that she can't explain.

Your moans increase in frequency, getting higher pitched as you feel yourself nearing release. It seems Angell is a natural at using her fingers, seeing how she's about to make you cum quicker than you could ever get yourself to. "Angell... I'm-"

Before you can warn her, your legs tremble and you cream all over her hand. After continuing her movements to help you come down from your high, Angell pulls her digits out, fascinated by the string of cum connecting them. Much to your surprise, she puts both fingers into her mouth.

"...I've never tasted anything like this before." Angell remarks. Her sense of taste is dull—she isn't exaggerating when she says she can't tell apart food that's edible from food that's spoiled, or raw from burnt. But you? Your taste is as distinct as it can be to her tongue. You've ignited a dangerous fire in the woman.

"More." Angell demands, positioning her head between your legs. Just as you're about to protest that you're still sensitive, she speaks up again. "Can I?" Angell tilts her head as she asks for permission. Fuck it. You know you wouldn't be able to refuse her and her annoyingly adorable personality anyway.

You sigh at your lack of self discipline when it comes to Angell. "Yes, you can." Those words are all it takes for her to dive headfirst into your dripping sex. Angell's tongue explores your warmth with a newfound confidence, using what she's learned from fingering you to eat you out as skillfully as possible.

God, she's absolutely addicted to your taste—to you. Angell can't get enough of how you squirm under her touch; how you moan her name so wantonly. She'd stay in between your legs for forever if she could, but forever is not a luxury that the two of you have.

Angell wishes that life would be as easy as adjusting the hands of the clock. She wishes she could turn everything back to how it used to be. Angell would hold on to every passing moment with you like a painter desperately trying to capture the perfect sunset before it fades.

Each wet lick up your slit is greedier and hungrier than the last. She's gentle with you, yes, but you can feel the weight of the underlying desire that's been building up in the pit of her stomach for god knows how long. What Angell feels for you is akin to a devouring darkness: once you get entwined, there's no going back. Whether that applies to you, her, or both of you remains unknown. Maybe you know the answer but choose to ignore it.

Body still awash in the aftermath of your previous orgasm, it doesn't take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your belly building up once again. It takes all of your strength to resist pushing Angell's head down between your legs. Well, not that she could go any further. Too busy moaning Angell's name to warn her with words, you hope that she'll get the message with how your legs are trembling.

Sure enough, you cum with a breathless gasp soon after. She eats you out through your high, careful to lap up all of your fluids without overstimulating you. Angell is a quick learner, after all. You're left panting for breath after two consecutive earth-shattering orgasms, yet Angell hasn't even gotten undressed. That won't do. Aside from the damage your pride would take, you want to return the favor.

"Angell, lay down for me, will you?" You ask of her through your heavy breathing. Although Angell has her doubts, she immediately follows your command. "I'm not tired yet." You chuckle at her words but shudder to think about its implications. The stability of your legs would not survive after getting eaten out by Angell again. Though, the same might be said for what you're going to do next. "I want to make you feel good too."

You sit with your thighs on either side of Angell's legs, already working on removing her clothes. Once they're off, you're quick to capture her lips in a chain of soft, yet lustful kisses. She gives in to you more easily than you expected. You had the impression that Angell would be the type to want to be in control of everything at any time, but she lets you lead this dance.

Although the woman is probably unaware, the size of her boner is huge. Seven inches at the very least. You bite your lip at its sheer girth. You'd be lying if you said that you never had any doubts about it fitting inside of you, but it's nothing you can't handle... probably. As if reading your thoughts, Angell speaks. "...I don't have any lube."

Your eyes wander to the bottle of lotion you put on her bedside table, (which was the only surface available for it at the time,) but you eventually decide against using it since it's most likely expired. "It's fine. We'll start out slow."

Angell likes the insinuation that you'll go faster once you're more comfortable. She helps you align yourself with her cock, gently holding you by your hips. Although Angell has her hands on you, she lets you control the pace and only tries to assist when necessary.

With bated breath, you sink onto the tip. Her length feels endless, filling you up completely inch after inch. Angell relishes in how your eyes almost roll into the back of your head and the moan you let out when you finally take her inside entirely. Still, she places your comfort and pleasure above everything else. "Are you sure about this?"

Your chest heaves as you get used to the sensation of feeling so... full. It takes you a few seconds to reply. "This is nothing that the Chief of the MBCC can't handle," Angell smiles at your reply. Your act of false bravado isn't fooling anyone. It gives the woman a sense of pride to have such an important figure of society in her hands like this.

Just being inside of you has Angell biting her lip. She'd never imagine in her life that she'd be able to sleep with anyone, much less someone as kind and beautiful as you are. The intimacy of it all makes everything that much more pleasurable, and Angell hopes you feel the same way.

The two of you stay like this. Both of you are aware that you don't have much time left, but you're not in a rush. Rather, you take the opportunity to enjoy this moment thoroughly. It takes a while for you to get used to Angell's sheer size, and it also takes her a while to get used to these unfamiliar sensations.

Angell is barely able to conceal the pure ecstasy she feels when you start moving. Your pussy is just so tight. She's not one to masturbate often, but she can say with confidence that being inside of you feels miles better and much more personal than rutting into her hand just to get rid of her morning wood.

You take Angell down to the base, albeit with much difficulty at first, and start off by grinding. You roll your hips back and forth, the tip of her cock almost kissing the entrance of your cervix. Angell grips your waist harder, but still lets you control the pace of your lovemaking. Her trust in you makes your heart flutter.

With Angell's hair splayed like flowing rivers on the sheets, her eyes fluttered shut, and soft moans escaping her mouth now and then, you aren't able to resist the desire to kiss her. It starts with a small smooch on her neck, then two. And then these kisses turn into hickeys one after another.

The feeling is weird and alien to Angell, but she surrenders herself to you all the same, even tilting her head to make it easier for you. You feel bad about leaving them in such obvious places, but knowing her, she wouldn't bother to hide them. And you'd be right, because if anything, Angell would wear them as a badge of honor. Who cares what other people think of her sex life?

Up, and down. Up, and down. You move your hips at a steady pace once you get the hang of it. You relish in the way the sides of her cockhead rub against your walls so deliciously. As you're straddling Angell and leaving more hickeys wherever you can access, she gets an idea to play with your clit while you ride her. You seemed to like having it stimulated earlier.

Soon after, the both of you are a moaning mess. This small gesture makes everything feel a hundred times better for you, and in turn, you move faster. You lift yourself enough so her tip is barely inside of you, and immediately bring yourself down again.

Angell curses under her breath. She holds onto you as if you'll disappear otherwise, chanting your name like a mantra; like a sinner begging for forgiveness. The sight of you bouncing up and down on her cock while looking down at her so lovingly is enough to make the inexperienced woman swoon.

"I'm close..." Angell warns. You don't care. In fact, you seem to be riding her harder; trying to milk her for all she's worth. "Want you inside." You lean forward to kiss her. Angell chases after your lips fervently, her hands holding you close as you continue to move your hips while her thumb presses down on your clitoris.

You swallow each other's muffled moans. The only thing that matters to the both of you in this moment is one another. You'd freeze time and stay like this with Angell for eternity if you could. She cums with a strained groan, and you feel her seed filling you up. It's oddly comforting to know that Angell has left a mark inside of you.

You continue your ministrations slowly, and yoi have an orgasm of your own soon after. The mixture of you and Angell's fluids form a white ring on the base of her cock. It doesn't take long until the two of you collapse next to each other, breathing heavily as sweat runs down both of your bodies.

Although you feel refreshed, you have no idea how to handle this. Your relationship with Angell, your return to the MBCC, everything. The confusion is understandable considering you literally just slept with your kidnapper who's been holding you captive. You'll cross that bridge when you get there, you suppose.

Seeing Angell stare at you, most likely with no idea how to proceed either, you feel like you should say something. "That was great, Angell. Thank you." She smiles at your words before pulling you into a cuddle. Angell really is just like a cat, you think to yourself.

With these thoughts in mind, your impulse to scratch her behind the ears just like you would to a stray cat on the side of the road win. Before you can retract your hand to apologize, Angell leans into your touch, sighing contently. You swear you hear her purr, even.

"You really... don't want to stay at the Bureau?" You ask. You regret letting those words leave your mouth, but you can't bring yourself to care now that you're running out of time. You're more than willing to fight for her. "You'll be safe. You can have my red bean soup any time you want."

Angell knows that you mean each word that you say. You won't let anyone from the dark web bother her, and even though you have responsibilities, she knows that you'll fulfill your promise. That's why it hurts.

"Tomorrow. I'll give you my answer tomorrow." Angell speaks up, just as you start to fear that you might've ruined this intimate moment. Her words give you hope. It's faint, but it's there. You'd like to say that you wouldn't, but you'd cling to any chance to spend more time with Angell; have her by your side even if only for a second more.

However, the woman has already made an irreversible decision: one that she fears has consequences that she'll be carrying for the rest of her life. For now, both of you are content with your current state.

"Stay with me," Angell mumbles, trying to enjoy your scent and affection the best her tired body can manage. A thought passes both of your minds as you're entangled in each other's embrace: it'd be nice if we could stay like this forever. It saddens Angell to know that that thought would only be left as an 'if.' "Just for a bit longer."

"Tomorrow" never comes. Tomorrow will never come without you by her side.

Angell wakes up. The bag containing her trusted blade is held near her body. She finds that she hasn't been able to let go of it ever since you've left her—or rather, ever since she left you. It's the only thing left of the time you spent together. It's the only thing that assures Angell that you were real, not just an illusion.

A lot of things have changed. She finds herself sleeping more. Angell clings to her memories with you through dreams, even trying to "make" new ones whenever the chance presents itself. She's also taken less assassination jobs lately, instead picking odd jobs that you'd be likely to choose for her.

Angell remembers the last one she took. The man was a leader of a drug cartel, infamous for getting young sinners addicted and using them to transport goods. The world would be better off without him, and Angell was no different. He had a wife and a toddler son. He called for his wife's name before he drew his final breath. Perhaps he too was but another victim of the cruelty of this side of the world—perhaps he too wanted to escape the void of the dark oceans and live under the sun's warmth.

Angell is too far gone. A shark cannot start living on land, no matter how much it wishes. She belongs in a bottomless abyss where the sun must not pierce through, while you belong on the other side of this fucked up world, risking your life to save everyone that can be saved. Angell is not a part of that group. She feels your sunlight faintly, but as much as she wants to bask in it, it cannot pierce through the deep waters of her heart. It must not.

Maybe things could've turned out differently if she met you earlier.

Angell stands up from the dusty couch. She is the only one in this desolate home. You're not there to scold her for sleeping on the sofa when she has a clean bed. Not even her goldfish keeps her company on these cold nights—but she trusts that you've taken good care of them. You've always taken care of everyone around you, but who's going to do the same for you?

Particles of dust float in her apartment. She finds that there's no reason to clean it up. Once again, her fridge is full of nearly expired, barely edible "food." As Angell gets ready to head out, she sees her reflection in the shards of broken glass on the floor. It was from a vase that came with the safehouse that she knocked over and forgot to clean. Huh. It looks like she's been crying.

You wake up in a cold sweat. The coolness of your desk against your cheek is unpleasant. The arm you've been using as a pillow is numb. You scramble to sit up straight and look at the time: 2:48AM. Most of the Bureau is asleep. A blanket that you didn't even realize was resting on your shoulders falls off of you, most likely Adjutant Nightingale trying to make sure you don't catch a cold.

On a tray set apart from the paperwork you had been working on, there is a note, a sandwich, and a cup of iced coffee. You assume the perpetrator is the same as the person who wrapped a blanket around you, and as it seems from reading the note, you were right. The contents are a mix of Nightingale's concern for you and scolding you for not taking care of your well-being.

You feel bad for worrying her all the time. Honestly, you're surprised she hasn't resigned yet with how often you get kidnapped. It's not just Nightingale either, even some sinners have noticed the bags under your eyes and how distant you've been acting ever since you came back. You should really pull yourself together. If not for yourself, then for the sinners who rely on you, the Chief of the MBCC.

Why do you keep dreaming about Angell? You've been betrayed many times before, and although you'll never get used to it, you've always gotten back up each time quicker than the last. What is it about her that's so different? Why does she affect you so much?

You open your laptop with a newfound sense of determination, but this time, it's not for work. If you want to stop a problem, you should tackle the source of it, right? Or maybe that's just an excuse. You're going to find her, and along with her, answers. After you press the 'enter' key, the simple yet eerie screen you've grown familiar with welcomes you back:

"Welcome to DisMyth"

[mosaickiwi]

Hi again! Hope you've been doing okay!

First off I just wanna say that you always deliver, I mean "Fall Unto Me"?? Four part+an epilogue of me being torn between wanting to baul my eyes out and wanting to melt into a puddle from the feels :')

But as for the request, could I ask for Angel and [REDACTED] redecorating his appartment? Getting rid of the gaudy furniture once and for all!

Don't forget to drink water and take breaks whenever you need to! My brain is also 105% filled with this skrunkly but the trick is to keep two neurons in a cell reserved for this >:] /silly

HEHE I’ve been ok! Hope you are too!! <3 thank u for appreciating my (deranged) brainrotting fic c: the suffering is my favorite part. I’m drinking lots of water cause summer hates my ass. 💖 Also sorry this is long I am clearly not winning at the "be normal" challenge.

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

Redecorating

“This one?”

The dark haired man peered at the laptop in your hands for a long moment. “It's… nice.”

“Yes…? You called the last three couches nice, too. Any other thoughts?” You gently goaded your partner.

Choosing new furniture with [REDACTED] was supposed to be easy. You'd pick something, and he'd agree. Except you wanted it to feel like home for both of you. He didn't have to say the mushy, obvious line: as long as you were there, it was home. So progress was challenging with some things. You were sitting together on the current couch—the ugly, lifeless one that came with his apartment for some reason. 

His brow crinkled as he searched for different words. Those soft blue eyes went back and forth across the screen until he said, “It’s cozy yet functional.”

“Did you just summarize the description to me?”

He confessed to the crime with a sigh. “Angel, all I think when I look at it is you. And how cute you'd look sitting on it. Like y’do right now.”

“I'm always cute. Focus on the couch, please. Not me,” you insisted.

“No promises.”

“Let's see…” You had to find some way to get through to them. An idea came to mind that you knew he wouldn't like very much, but you had to try. “Pretend we're not dating. Or maybe I don't exist? You come home—don't make that face! I said pretend—so, you come home after a very terrible day and you see this couch. Is it nice then?”

[REDACTED] still made that face as he answered you. “Annoying as fuck to clean.”

It was progress. You didn't want to dwell on why that would be what they thought about after getting home. “Did the first one I showed you seem annoying to clean?”

“Mm... a bit.” They reached forward to change the webpage back for another look. “Y’never showed me these.” 

You leaned over to see what he was talking about. There were a few humongous bean bag chairs on the furniture wish list you’d made. “I just thought they looked fun to take a nap in. But I’m not sure we’d both fit, so it’d be silly," you explained and tapped the mouse to continue skimming through your other selections. “We can think about the couch later. I found some wall art that doesn’t look like it came from a dentist’s office.”

His eyes carefully followed the scrolling page until the bean bags disappeared at the bottom of the screen, but he didn’t protest.

💜🖤💜🖤💜🖤

The new furniture had arrived—and been efficiently assembled by your boyfriend, despite your protest—while you were at the library, so you were excited to get home. [REDACTED] held one hand over your eyes as he unlocked the apartment’s door.

“I already know what all the furniture looks like, Ren.” Even so, you didn’t wave their hand away.

You could hear the door click as he guided you into the foyer. “I may have added a few extra things,” he hummed while you blindly struggled and failed to take off your shoes. “Actually… close your eyes f’me.”

“O—kayy?!” Just as you closed your eyes the floor slipped away under you, replaced by familiar arms cradling you to their chest. His quiet footsteps barely echoed against the marble as you got your wits about you. The living room wasn’t that far, so you were certain where he took you without seeing anything. You just didn’t know where exactly in the room.

They turned and came to a stop, rooted in place for a moment as if thinking to themself. “Y’gonna scream if I drop you?” 

“...Yes. Maybe.”

Without another word he let go. There wasn’t enough time to scream as you immediately landed against plush fabric with the faint crinkle of something below it. The fabric crinkled some more as you felt your shoes being taken off.

“Can I open my eyes yet?” you asked. You could already tell what one of the ‘extra things’ was. It felt like heaven.

“Sure, love.” Their voice was a little farther away than you expected. Probably from hurrying to put your shoes in the closet.

You found yourself nestled on one side of the room, with a perfect view of his handiwork.

A couch that was easy to clean, in a color you insisted he decide on, draped with a luxurious looking blanket that wasn’t in your list. A coffee table with rounded corners so they wouldn’t keep hitting their leg on it. Some wall art of Attack on Giants—with extra pieces from a show you sort of recognized, but definitely suited the man's tastes. A few shelves to show off merchandise from another of your favorites. And the enormous, navy blue bean bag he’d so rudely dropped you in moments ago.

Your darling hacker stepped in from the foyer and tossed their hoodie onto the new couch. “Everything good?” he asked, piercings pulling up in a smile.

“I think I love it.” Your eyes scanned the room again and eventually landed on the pictures. “And I love that you added your own stuff.” It didn’t seem to be a clone of your apartment that he just happened to live in, like you worried about. “What about you?”

“S’better than before. ‘Course, the best part is that I don’t have t’see some shitty couch when I open the door—I get to come home to you, trapped in a bean bag.” He stood up and walked over, eyeing you playfully from above. “Comfortable?”

You nodded, then immediately yelped when he fell forwards. Just before you were squished, he caught himself on tattooed arms, caging you in the crinkly, soft material. You only felt some of their weight on you like a heavy blanket. A soft laugh slipped past your lips as he got comfortable himself, clinging to you as best he could while you both sank further into the depths of the bean bag. It’d be impossible to get out.

You wiggled your legs, straining to even find the damn floor. No doubt a futile effort, you had to sigh, “At least we both fit on it."

[REDACTED] didn’t speak, already yawning from the exhaustion of setting everything up before meeting you at work. The walk to and from the library certainly didn’t do him any favors, either. In a matter of seconds, he was fast asleep in what surely felt akin to a nest, all four lanky limbs wrapped around you like a snake.

[coq-courage]

Well hi there! The fact I'm posting means that at least one of my boys appeared in an episode and yes that's spoilers but uh, [*points at url*], it's kinda expected at this point soooo

let's talk about that new episode, ye?

spoilers after the cut for MLB Season 6 Episode The Ruler!

on the left we have Nath's dad, on the right is his mum, and in the middle we have have.... looking like a kicked puppy that's waiting for the bad news that he's about to get it again

i want to point out that the living room (sitting room?) they're all in is very much... Staged. it's clear that the parents enjoy modernism and straight lines and minimal color

and then we have... Marc and his family with a closeup, they actually love each other and hug and are joyful and

and its really really really obvious that one family openly supports their child's endeavors and the other family "wants to support" but "keep finding fault"

also??? Marc having "business in the front, party in the back" vibes for his makeup is killing me, dude really said "i feel like eyeshadow today.... but only on one eye" i wonder if he switches which eye gets the makeup

and there goes my headcanon about Harry Clown being Marc's dad, damn, its a good headcanon but i do have to edit things now

the whole Marinette is sick b-plot is vaguely annnoying to me, cuz of the snot, i hate it on a cosmic level, its gross, but animated pretty darn well so hey! props to the animators! you made me feel like grossed out, which i'm sure was the goal

i'm loving Diane, visually, she's just poppin'

i just LOVE that when marinette said the next issue for the comic was already written, EVERYONE including a random kagami popped up outta nowhere to say "OWO"

just LOOK at these gays!

i get Nath a lot here, his uncertainty comes across clearly, as is his want to be something his parents can be proud of, and he's letting it intervene with what he wants to do, but, he's also able to recognize that his issues with the story are entirely personal and not at all related to Marc

Closeup of their faces to show them off

Also the way that after school, Marc is smiling so gently at Nath, so reassuring, "just cuz the story changes or ends here, doesn't mean we do", and Nath slowly smiles due to watching the smile, reassured that he and Marc are fine

And then once Nath is turned away long enough, that smile DROPS

We see that Marc is definitely more confident and sure of himself now, yeah, but we also see he will LIE about his emotions. Marc is doing the typical Older Person thing where they will do anything possible to ensure a younger person doesn't feel rejected

So he hides his disappointment

He hides how he knows he'll react

He doubly so hides since one of the first times he felt his emotions near Nath, he got Akumatized but yeah

and god, Marc, plz, i get why you're lying for Nath, i get it. your boy's mother is strict and doesn't approve of his method of art, and you dont want to get him in trouble, i get it, i just hate it

hey fellas is it gay to--

gently hold your partner's hand and rub the back of it with your thumb? no? just me? nah i think its pretty gay

also???? adrien finally admitting to us that he likely stinks of cheese??? awesome

now we're getting to nath returning home and his parents have found the script marc wrote....

i, when i first saw this, i told my friends to make sure they had spoons when they decided to watch it

if you had an issue with the whole Nath tearing up Marc's journal back in the Reverser episode, you will have an issue here

because apparently it runs in the family AND that does not mean good things for how Nath grew up

Shirel Kurtzberg finds Marc's script in Nath's room, and shows it to her husband, presumably neither of them read it, but they recognized the name on the front as the name of the comic that Nath had been working on with Marc

and the whole scene plays out like parents finding their kids' drug or porn stash, ending with Shirel taking the script (that, again, doesn't belong to anybody in the house) and running it through an industrial shredder (not even taking off the binder clips)

"See what encouraging him to read comics leads to?" she says as her husband rubs the back of his neck and looks away

if this is what they've done his entire life, then OF COURSE Nath's instinct had been to tear up the journal

children do as they are taught by their parents' examples

and its shitty but its true

Shirel very specifically shows her distaste for Nath's preferred style of art throughout the episode, while then naming some "noble arts" as architecture, industrial design, and scenography. This is why i made note of their sitting room design up there.

all the things she mentioned have a very specific thing, they are all made for people but do not actually include people, meanwhile Nath draws people, he draws about people and emotions

her noble arts are not about people's emotions, they are vessels for use, yes, they can still be beautiful and emotional, but Shirel comes across as very much wanting to be emotionless

Beige Modernism

she enjoys it

go back and look at the pictures on the walls in that room, they're full of straight lines, her art is made with rulers, everything is very precise, she is a very inattentive mother, very much a "my child will pursue my dreams" type of mother

and Nath cries hard when the script is destroyed, he rushes out and back to the school and

we get our first blatant misuse of powers that isn't Adrienette, and it's Nath Making Bad Decisions Out Of Fear

he fears what his parents will do, because of how they treat things that don't belong to them, and if they're not proud of him, if he's failing to be the son they want, then can he call himself their son? should he worry about what they might do to him who is therefore not their son?

yes, its a stretch, BUT i can assure you that this is one of the things that would run through the mind of someone in a situation like that

Nath wants the love of his parents, and because they don't approve of something he enjoys with all his heart, something he loves deeply, he fears he is unloved and therefore not their son

SIGH

okay, that long serious bit is over (for now)

props to Marinette for not giving in and letting him destroy the proofs

props to Marc for calling out Nath's bluff

Ew Points for Marc using Marinette's snot tissue to wipe his eyes after crying

props to the half-blind wheelchair-bound teacher for thinking of Nath's wellbeing and not forcing him to stay in school when he obviously couldn't pay attention

props to Marinette for trying to change Shirel's mind

Tea for the students watching from the overhang and listening because they all support Nath and Marc but aren't sure what to do and if they could even do anything

MAJOR props to Nath for this

he finally decided

he would NOT let his mother ruin a beloved hobby for himself

did he say he disobeyed? no

but that face is perfectly clear to me

that face says "you know what? i'm DONE! you don't like my hobby? oh well! i love it! and i love the kind of person my art lets me be and i'm tired of letting you railroad me into a Perfect Son, who then ends up hurting his friends because they believed in me and relied on me and following your orders has made me hurt them and i'm done."

unfortunately for Nath, he's not exactly a poet, that's Marc, so when Nath wants to be perfectly clear, he is clear visually

New Butterfly, my love, i dunno how to tell you how much i love you, how clever you are

now for my fav thing

Marc straight up JUMPS onto The Ruler's back, he is READY to take her down, he will protect Nath, he will fight The Man/The Machine/Whatever

hell yeah! go for it you punk! fight the power!

but err...

you absolutely hit your head there.... and the shoulders.... and hmm

Marc? darling? sweetie?

please see a physical therapist, immediately

have yourself checked over for any of those like pinpoint pressure injuries that interrupt bloodflow, please? (aside, did i mention i love taht Season 6 actually gave you ears outside of being a hero? cuz i do)

and then we see that Nath is also perfectly willing to fight, mostly to protect Marc but yeah

now uh... hmm.... Nath's transformation.... imma just leave it at, comic book boy entered a wardrobe (closet) and david bowie (ziggy stardust) left it and its just exceedingly funny to me cuz both were bisexual redheads

now, the mind control of The Ruler is interesting, she stamps you and you do the next order given as long as it's one sentence, or so it would seem

i think we can name on one hand how many times Marinette's plans required her trusting other people to be smart enough to carry them out without her saying much of anything, and its nice to see that Nath could put it together

this is a special aside for, "a jet plane?" and the fact that her sneeze caused the perfume cloud to disappear

New Butterfly (i can't spell her name~~).... why are you sus of Nath? do you know? i think you might know something, or at least suspect, which, considering who are you... fair

then that last scene

Nath is nervous, worried, but he's also resigned, he has come to terms with the fact that his parents may not enjoy his work, but he's showing them the finale anyway, and Marc is happy to support him, anyway he can

the parents read

the father immediately is crying and "damn okay, that was some good shit"

the mother... she is pensive

she looks at the cover page, with the sun knight and the dark knight, she had just finished looking at the last page, where, we can presume, they kissed because of that ending title card

she's thinking

she looks at the charm Ladybug gave her and decides to THINK a little harder

she sees her son holding the hand of a boy that screams the rainbow

she realizes she was wrong

emotional art has a purpose

but also

she realizes how hard he worked, how much joy it brings

she realizes she misjudged something here

she says she's sorry

then she says she loves him

family hug time, words are left unsaid but then the father says, quietly, "hey marc, aren't you part of the family too? come join", and he does

that wasn't even in question

the moment they realized exactly how much HEART was put into the comic, the parents made sure to let Nath (and Marc by extension) know that they loved him and didn't find fault in Specific Choices

and then... then the true final scene arrives

i almost don't want to talk about it, i feel like it's a scene that needs to be viewed and not talked about

so... i'll leave the talk of that Final Scene as:

which is gayer, the kiss in El Toro OR Marc and Nath in the Final Scene of The Ruler?

--

before i finish this post off, i do also wanna mention how i KNOW that everyone is taking the episode as "gay son comes out to homophobic parents" but while i can see the heavy handed metaphor, [*points at literally everything in this episode*], his mother very clearly thinks and realizes that the comic is basically Nath's coming out, and that her son thinks she doesn't love him, so she clarifies that

it can be that deep, but i wanted to make sure we ALSO thought about the surface level interpretation here. there are many kinds of issues in the world, and simply being unable to make a parent proud is an unfortunately common one that strikes hard no matter the age of the person

[gudfornuthin]

The Baker and the Ballerina

Chapter three

Pairing: Frank Castle x femIreader (au)

Summary: Frank gets an unwanted call. Reader steers clear of the new builders. The two have their pastry-filled meet-cute.

Word count: 2k

Series warnings: slow burn, cliché tropes, mentions of PTSD, mentions of abusive relationships, (eventual) smut, violence

A/N: it's time for our two main characters to finally meet! These upcoming chapters are going to be longer than the previous ones since we're now getting into the main storyline. Hope you all enjoy, and feedback is appreciated :)

It's early morning, just before the bakery opens, and Frank is sitting outside with David drinking coffee. They're watching the van across the street unload several boxes, most likely supplies for the upcoming studio.

"it's sad that place isn't gonna help us bring in any customers," David pipes up, his gruff voice making it obvious he hadn't long woken up.

Frank looks at him, puzzled. "Why's that?"

David waves his hand around like it's obvious. "A dance studio? They're gonna be fitness junkies. At least the last guys who worked there were actual junkies who would buy up most of our stock."

Frank can't help but chuckle slightly. "You'd rather the drug lords still did their shit over there?"

"No," David replies, going to take a sip of his coffee. "Helped keep us in business though."

Frank smiles. "Yeah, well. Maybe we can do a line of protein muffins for 'em."

David shakes his head, about to argue back, when they're interrupted by a ringing from the phone on the table they're sitting at. Frank checks who it is, and his face hardens, his mood switching almost instantly. He moves his phone into his pocket, letting it go to voicemail.

"Your dad again?" David asks, already knowing the answer.

Frank hums, drinking the rest of his coffee and getting up from his seated position.

David gets up and continues talking. "He clearly wants to talk to you."

"Yeah well," Frank replies, walking to the bakery's entrance. "I don't wanna talk to him."

He goes inside and David soon follows, shaking his head in dismay.

- - -

Loud banging can be heard from the studio above Y/N. She sits at a temporary table with her laptop open, responding to emails, while also on call with Farah.

"It seems to be going okay," Y/N says, looking up as she hears the builders walking over creaky floorboards. "I'd rather not be spending this much and just do it myself but, it is what it is."

"How much they charging?" Farah asks.

Y/N grimaces. "I'd rather not say."

Her friend chooses to change the conversation to something lighter.

"Well, speaking of hot, buff guys-"

"We weren't."

Farah ignores Y/N's brief interruption. "Have you introduced yourself to baker boy across the street?"

Y/N isn't in the mood to talk about this but knows Farah won't drop it. She ended up doing some digging, which turned out to just be a quick search online to find Bakehouse 31's website, and found out the guy she saw the other day was the owner of said bakery. Farah shared this with Y/N, who showed complete uninterest once again. Yet as hard as she tries, she can't seem to avoid the topic of the hot baker.

"No," she says, rolling her eyes. "And I don't know why you care whether I do or don't."

Y/N swears she can almost hear Farah throw her arms up in frustration. "Because, I don't have much free time at the firm. I need to live vicariously through my best friend."

Y/N pouts sarcastically. "I'm your best friend?"

"No shit you're my best friend," Farah scoffs. "And I'm not moving away from this, you need to-"

"Excuse me, miss?"

Their conversation is interrupted by a voice behind Y/N. She jumps slightly and turns around, seeing one of the builders standing there looking at her. How long has he been standing there?

"Uh yeah, sorry," Y/N awkwardly replies, moving off the stool she was perched on. "Everything alright?"

The builder nods. "Just wondering if you have anything to drink."

Y/N looks around the room, as if a plethora of drink options would suddenly appear before her eyes. She has nothing, didn't even think about keeping stuff in.

"Uh, I don't, sadly."

They both stand in front of each other silently for an uncomfortable amount of time, before Y/N decides to speak up again.

"I can go out and grab something though," she reaches for her bag and phone, realising she's still on call with Farah. "Any preferences?"

The builder shrugs. "As long as it's hot. Freezing our asses off upstairs."

Y/N cringes at his choice of unprofessional wording, walking over to the door. "No problem. Something hot coming up."

She walks past the builder and down the stairs, feeling relieved to have an excuse to get out and have some fresh air. She puts her phone up to her ear, waiting to hear what her friend has to say.

"Well, he seems absolutely charming!"

There she is. The mocking tone laced through Farah's words earns a quiet laugh from Y/N, as she stands outside the building looking around. Where is the best and cheapest option to get piping hot coffee for overpriced builders?

"Yeah, can't see me and him being best pals anytime soon," she mumbles.

As if Farah can sense her friend's current predicament, she brings up their previous conversation yet again. "You know, if you need to get some treats to butter up the workers, now would be the perfect time to introduce yourself to you know who across the road."

Y/N chews her lip and ponders.

Farah continues. "Also, if you're wearing a button up shirt, undo a few and really give him a show."

"Okay, I'm hanging up now," Y/N quickly cuts her off, ending the call before Farah can say anything else.

She puts her phone in her bag and looks over at the bakery. Y/N can see the soft lighting inside, the browns and greens adding to the cosy atmosphere. She can't deny how welcoming the place looks, wondering if it was all the 'hot bakers' doing. He's got taste. Y/N huffs, bracing herself as she crosses the street and heads towards Bakehouse 31.

It's fairly quiet inside due to most people being at work, but there are still a few customers sitting around. Y/N breaths in the intoxicating aroma of sugar and pastry, walking up to the glass display. The options are overwhelming. Would the builders even want anything to eat? She regrets not asking before she left.

Someone approaches her from behind the counter. "Alright, what can I get you?"

A tall, lanky guy with wild hair and piercing blue eyes stands in front of Y/N. Another person who clearly works here. Good looking, but not matching the brief description Farah gave of the hot baker.

His eyes widen in recognition, as he points at Y/N like a child. "Oh wait, you're the woman who's just bought the place across the street, right?"

The man notices her hesitation as he realises how weird his question sounds coming from someone she's never met before. "Sorry, we saw you the other day unloading boxes. You met Flo? She's a regular here and told us about you."

Y/N smiles in relief and understanding. "Right, I did yeah. Just thought I'd come over and properly introduce myself." She holds out a hand. "Y/N."

The man shakes her hand. "David. So, anything catch your eye?"

"What d'you recommend?"

David holds his arms out wide. "S'all pretty damn good, if I don't sound too biased."

Y/N continues smiling, glad to have broken the ice with at least one new face in the area.

She glances over all the options. "Uh, you know what? Just pick seven of your favourites and I'll go with them."

David nods and grabs a large bag, taking his time in choosing the best baked goods.

Y/N suddenly remembers the main reason she came out in the first place. "Oh, do you also do coffee?"

She feels dumb asking, because most bakery's do, and she spots the machine behind the counter almost as soon as she asks the question. David doesn't make a big deal about it though, as he tells her they do.

She nods. "Six regular coffees to go as well, please."

"You're gonna be bouncing off the walls later," David jokes, making

Y/N laughs.

After a few minutes, the baked goods are packaged up along with the drinks placed in a cup tray. Y/N pays and bids goodbye to her new acquaintance, her hands full as she awkwardly pushes the bakery door and leaves. She can already feel things slipping, so places everything down on one of the tables outside.

"Shit," she mumbles under her breath, readjusting the coffee cups and sorting through the pastries so nothing gets ruined.

Y/N decides to have a proper look at David's picks, the smell overwhelming in the best way possible. Almond croissants, crème brûlée cookies and lemon muffins. She can already feel her mouth watering, as she picks out one of the options that caught her eye the most. Cookie dough croissant. She bites into it, taking a much larger bite than anticipated. The flaky texture paired with the warm, gooey insides forces a moan of delight from the young woman, Y/N closing her eyes as she savours the flavour.

"Oh my god," she says, the words muffled due to her mouth still being full.

A deep chuckle sounds from behind her. "I'm glad my baking is worthy of such a reaction."

Y/N spins around in surprise and faces the culprit. Tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes. Big muscles, and a chiselled jaw as if Michelangelo sculpted it himself. Definitely matches the description of the hot baker Farah was desperate for her to meet. A wave of embarrassment takes over, as Y/N still has a mouth full of croissant, some of it most likely covering her lips and chin.

Her eyes are wide as she holds a hand out to the man, then points to her mouth, turning around so he doesn't have to see her chew as quick as she can and swallow the baked good.

She turns back to face him again, smiling and praying there's nothing in her teeth. "Sorry, it tastes incredible though."

He smiles, eyes crinkling. "Thanks, that means a lot."

The man looks behind her and spots the bag full of more treats. Y/N notices and once again feels embarrassed, for some reason feeling like she has to explain herself to this total stranger.

"I have people doing work on my studio," she points to the building across the street. "And I forgot to get them anything so..."

She drifts off on the last sentence, but the man shakes his head, waving off her rambling.

"S'no problem, I get it," he responds. "I wouldn't judge either way, you can buy everything in the bakery, and I'd be flattered. I don't wanna sound egotistical, but we do the best bakes in the city."

Y/N nods. "Your co-worker said pretty much the same thing. And I would too."

They both stand there for a few seconds, just staring into each other's eyes. She can feel the heat rising to her cheeks. How is a man she only met moments ago causing this kind of reaction from her?

She clears her throat. "I'm Y/N by the way."

"Pleasure. Frank," he says in turn. "So, you're our new neighbour across the street."

Y/N nods. "Yep, there's a lot of work to be done so I'll be spending more time here than my apartment."

"Well, if you ever need help," Frank gestures to himself. "I'm here. Don't hesitate to ask."

It's impossible for her smile to get much wider, yet somehow it does.

"Thank you, Frank. I'll hold you to that."

"I hope you do," he gives Y/N a once over, her neck and cheeks practically radiating heatwaves.

Frank smirks, definitely noticing the affect he's having on her, and turns to enter the bakery. Y/N is frozen in place, her mind blank from the sudden and quick interaction. Farah was right. The hot baker, aka Frank, is 100% her type. And that's a big problem. Still, she knows she'll be telling Farah all about it later on, as she grabs the food and drinks and walks back over to the studio. The smile doesn’t leave her face.

- - -

Taglist: @nialhero-blog @luvrgirlsworld @britt217 @solstararis

[moongumi]

I love the idea of a perv ghost or graves. like stealing underwear and shit but the reader is into that 🤤

a/n: why not both ehe, grave's a little different i didn't want it to be so similar to ghosts'

not proofread!

↳ ⁀➷ ∵  ❝they like your drawers❞

∵ GHOST ∵

It wasn't uncommon for you to lose your drawers, you often did your laundry in big loads at the end of the week and sometimes they just go missing. But it was that last time, it irked you.

You walk into the laundry room after a long day of doing paperwork, the boring stuff to get your clothes from the dryer. on base the entire building would share the laundry room so it wasn't uncommon to run into different people, you didn't really expect to run into the LT though.

"Sir." You say, walking past him on his way out. He replies to you with a brisk nod. Then when you look at the machine you were using it was slightly open, what the hell?

You got your items, folding your uniform and pyjamas to find all your underwear missing. You groan, rolling your eyes. It couldn't have been him, right? Why the hell would he want—unless he fancied you but...it's Ghost, he wouldn't—well he might actually.

You're only annoyed because you're running out of panties.

The next time you run into him in the laundry room again but this time you're sat right in front of the laundry machine, waiting for the wash to finish to move your clothes to the dryer. You came later than usual, the time you tend to finish doing laundry to try to catch the culprit and well, Ghost stands there frozen as if he wasn't expecting you here.

"Evening, LT."

Ghost grumbles, but responds. "Sergeant."

"Doing laundry?" You ask, looking down at his empty hands with your brows raised. It was obvious now that it was him. Even with his mask and unreadable posture you can just tell.

You stand up leaning against the laundry machine as you unload your wet clothes into the dryer waiting for his response.

He only huffs, muttering to himself incoherently.

You finish your task and take leave your basket a top the dryer, it would take about an hour and half to finish the drying so you were going to leave, do something else while you wait.

You made sure to bump into Ghost on your way out, apologising insincerely, "Sorry, Sir. I should be more careful."

He doesn't say a thing, taking your impact like a tank. You don't see the way he lets out a massive sigh of relief not being caught, or so he thought. When you're gone he felt a bulge in his pants—not the usual bulge but something in the pocket of his cargos.

He reaches in with his bone painted gloves, ragging out a handful of unwashed underwear. He gulps, looking at them. He can't help the way his cock twitches at them, usually he gets them washed—dried but...these were fresh. He can't help but imagine how he was going to fuck his own fists with your panties buried in it. There is a handful of them, he was definitely going to pretend to eat you out with the fabric on his face later.

∵ GRAVES ∵

Your commander is annoying, he talks too much and can't keep his opinions to himself.

It was when you were leant over in the cockpit looking over at the pilot's dashboard. You look behind you, "We're approaching five klicks from target, Commander!"

It's the look on his face, the way he probably didn't even hear you. He's just looking at you with that shit-eating grin on his face. "You wear a thong to work, Lieutenant?" He smirks, looking back at his shadows shamelessly. "Boys, LT. wears the cutest little thong under her uniform."

Your eye practically twitch. Under your mask you sneer with annoyance as he laughs along with the team. You stand, walking back towards the cabin. "Anyone that laughs, I'll make sure doesn't come back alive." After all, you were above all their ranks but Graves.

They all shut up almost immediately, watching the way you glare daggers into Graves as you sat down. Graves lets you order the boys around, scare 'em. It's good practice.

He still smiles, that little shit. He takes his helmet off and sits down right next to you, purposely right up against the side of your body and hits your leg with his teasingly.

"Got anymore of 'em?" He whispers, his head bumping into yours.

You grunt, crossing your arms. "Shut up."

"You never wear 'em for me."

You scoff, looking him in those pretty eyes of his. "Cause, you don't deserve my nice underwear. I only wear 'em for special occasions."

"Who the fuck are ya wearin' em for then?" He's got a stitch in his brow. You like pissing him off, like pissing off a chihuahua but this dog bites pretty damn hard.

You lean towards him, bumping your forehead against the side of his head. "Who knows, maybe the captain of that team you hate so much."

"Don't you fuckin'—"

You stand to interrupt him, you can feel him seething next to you. "Let's go shadows! Let's take this fuckin' place."

During the mission you can hear how irritated Graves seemed and especially when he stands with you by his side giving Task Force 141 some respect after completing the mission with them. He keeps looking at you from the corner of his eyes as if daring to you fuckin' say something right now to the Captain.

You stand there popping your hip with your hand against the end of your rifle as it acts as a support, you turn your head pretending to make eyes at the Captain and overly nodding. "It was nice serving by your side, Captain."

You can hear Grave's kiss his tongue over his teeth. When you see him from the corner of your eyes his jaw was tight, clenching.

When the Captain gives you his regards, a flirty smile and a nod with his hat you beamed, more at the thought of how mad Graves probably was. It's when you stand and wave towards their squad that you feel Graves coming up to your side, his hand rolling up your hip before he grips it tightly.

You can feel his fingers looking for something, but he can't seem to find it. His brows furrow. Your hand comes up beside him, dropping his prize into his hand. "You wanted it right?"

You smile under the mask pushing off him. He holds it in his hand and you think you can see his cheeks redden. But then he notices you're walking away from him. "Where the fuck are you going?"

"To show that Captain how good my ass looks without 'em on." You point to the panties in Graves' hand and you swear you can see steam coming out of his ears.

He practically chases you down, grabbing you by your belt and holding you against him. You could feel it, pressing against your hip.

"You like making me jealous, don't you?"

"I like seeing you possessive, Sir, " You remark before nodding towards the panties still in his grip. "I'll need those back."

"Nah, they're mine now." He brings it up to his face, pressing his lips against them. "You can ride on the helo back without 'em. maybe instead my hands between your legs, hm?

[synthetickitsune]

Joshua (Seventeen) | Nicknames fluff | 0.9k words | gn!reader A/N: @hanniedream we're even now, stop indulging my brainrot or we'll get stuck here >:(

You feel his eyes on you while you’re saying goodbye to his friends. It’s nothing new, Joshua generally likes to keep his eyes on you to make sure you’re alright, especially as the night draws to an end. But when you meet his gaze this time, something is wrong. It’s just a flash of something you can’t decipher in his eyes before it’s gone and he smiles warmly at you, inviting you into his open arms. When you close the distance between you, he pulls you close and kisses the top of your head before waving the guys goodbye. 

Once the doors are closed, he holds you just for a second longer so you can’t escape, chuckling at your weak attempts to struggle out of his arms. You don’t move far, just enough to look at him.

“Is everything alright?” you ask him. He tilts his head a little.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” he seems confused, his thumbs stroking your waist to provide comfort.

“I don’t know, you looked a little upset for a second there,” you explain and he seems to immediately catch up, shaking his head with another smile.

“I think I’m just tired and wanted them gone already.”

You don’t think that’s all there is to it, but you let it go. You don’t have any proof, and besides - you’re a bit tired too. It’s easy to let the worry melt away when Joshua holds you in bed, your back against his chest and his lips meeting the skin of your neck between every word he speaks.

Truth be told, you forget about the incident the next day and don’t think about it anymore. Largely because Joshua now makes an effort not to make you worry. It’s childish anyway, and so he pays attention to his expression any time he sees you interact with your or his friends. It’s nothing, and you’re cute. No need to make you worry. 

You only remember now that you see the same look on Joshua’s face that he had that evening after you get off the phone with your best friend. The slight frown on his face, his lips turned downwards. You wouldn’t say he looks hurt, but it’s not far from it. His eyes immediately grow wide like he’s a deer caught in the headlights when he realizes you saw and he opens his mouth to speak, but no words leave him. 

“Shua, what happened?” you whisper. You put your phone down on the counter, but before you can go to him, he’s already standing in front of you. Wordlessly he helps you jump onto the counter before stepping between your legs and caging you in. You blink at him, suddenly flustered by his closeness and the position as he rests his forehead against yours. “Shua?”

“You never use any nicknames for me,” he states with a slight sigh. Better to rip the bandaid off, he figures. “You give everyone else one, though. Why not me? You don’t even call me Joshie anymore.”

You stare at him, stare at the soft look in his eyes, the slight pout to his lips. He doesn’t sound upset but it’s obvious it’s bothering him, and you wonder for how long did he let it steep inside him. 

“Is that it?” you ask, not laughing, not judging, just making sure.

“Yeah,” he whines a little, “It’s stupid but it’s been on my mind for a while. Why don’t you call me anything but my name?”

“I heard you mention you don’t care about nicknames much, so I thought you’d prefer if I called you by your name,” you try to remember what was the occasion, but your memory fails you.

“Sounds like something I’d say,” Joshua hums in acknowledgement, soothing your worries by rubbing his hand across your thighs, “But I think I’d like it if you called me something sweet. Something simple.”

“My love?” you try immediately, laughing at the spark in his eyes when they meet yours. “Just love?”

He thinks it over before prompting you to say both again. His smile grows while he listens with his eyes closed, blindly leaning closer to you until his lips are on yours.

“I like when you call me yours,” he smiles into the kiss. He doesn’t pull too far away after you part.

“Just mine then,” you tease, cracking up at the sight of his offended face. His lips part and he scoffs.

“You can lose your partner privileges as fast as you get them.”

“I’m not the one who was whining about not being called anything but my name, Joshua,” you point out. However, seeing the playfulness drop from his face, you reach your arms out and hug him. “You’re cute, my love.”

He hums, his hands sliding down your thighs and to your back, returning the hug with more strength than you were prepared for. You squeak, but he doesn’t let go, not until he leaves a lingering kiss on your cheek. “I like that one.”

“I’ll experiment around with them, this one just felt right for the first one,” you promise, squeezing his shoulders, “Feel better now?”

“No longer feels like my own partner is excluding me, yeah,” he sighs dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. You smack his shoulder lightly and roll your eyes. You stop yourself from asking if he’s going to hold this against you for long - even though it was his fault for not bringing it up sooner. “I love you, my love.”

“I love you too,” you smile. It really does sound nice.

[vervainwrites]

My saviour.

Lara Croft x Fem!Reader

Summary: You thought all hope for you was lost, that was until a new prisoner arrived.

Takes place during Rise of the Tomb Raider. (I havent finished the full game yet so no spoilers please and sorry for any mistakes). Kind of the prison escape with Jacob and Lara but now its Reader.

Warnings: Imprisonment, canon violence, death (not reader or Lara's), abduction, blood, wounds, use of Y/N, maybe ooc, swearing, weapons, weapon use.

Word count: 0.9k

Cold, so cold. It's the only thing you've been feeling since you we're captured, since those men took you from your home. You've forgotten how long you've been here. Quite a while you believe, from the length your hair and nails have grown. It was always just you in the cellblock. That was until the guards walked in carrying an unconcious woman. She was tall, from what you could see, with brown hair up in a ponytail and an athletic yet slender build. They put her in the cell across from you, locking it and going back to their patrols. You could see her chest rise and fall, a sign she was still alive. Her face was tainted with some blood, but only had small wounds herself. You stood up to see if there was anything else you could discover about her. Standing at the bars you tried to take more of her in. She was undeniably beautiful, the serene look on her face highlighting her beauty.

Eventually a frown appeared, and she opened her eyes. She looked confused at first, but quickly took a hardend look. "Hello?" you asked, "Are you alright?" She looked suprised for a second, not realising there was another person with her in the cell block. Taking in her surroundings, she turned to you. "Where are we?" she asked hurriedly. "Trinitys prison." you told her. "You're the first person i've seen in a while." Her face turned panicked as she quickly approached the bars, trying to shake them without much succes.

"That won't do much," you said, "believe me i've tried it all before." Almost like she wasn't listening, she continues to kick and pull at the bars. After a while she gave up on the bars and started looking for different ways out. Not wanting to take all her hope away yet, you kept quiet and let her exhaust herself looking for an exit. When the woman finally sat down, you tried to make contact with her again. "What's your name?" She looked up, hesitating before saying, "Lara, Lara Croft. And you are?" You presented a small smile before saying, "I'm Y/N. You know it's nice to see a new face that isn't one of those ugly guards." The woman, now known as Lara, smiled a little.

She looked around for a little before saying, "I can't stay any longer, i have to keep going." Swiftly standing up, she looked at a pipe on the wall. Before you knew it she pulled the pipe off and was now hitting the wall. To your suprise the wall started crumbling, and inside was a bow. You quickly stood up, feeling hope start to bubble inside you. Was it finally happening, were you finally going to be able to get out of this hell? "You know how to use that thing?" you asked hopefully. She looked at you before saying, "I do, this might be the key to our escape." Before you could reply back she aimed the bow and shot at a block covered in rope above her cell, quickly making her way out before walking towards your cell. She hesitated for a moment, "What are you waiting for, open it!" you hurriedly said. "Can i trust you? she asked, a look of confliction on her face. Your gaze softened, it was obvious from the way she doubted to help you that she had been betrayed before. "Lara," you said, "i want to get out of here just as much as you do, so please let me help you." It only took a few seconds before she reached for the keys on the table behind her, unlocking your cell. "Thank you, thank you so much." you said.

Leading Lara out of the cellblock and into the staircase was easy, having seen those guards do it hundreds of times. "You know how to get out of here?" Lara asked. "More or less," you said, "i believe there is a way out not to far from here." Reaching the end of the staircase you entered a room with a projecter. Lara clicked it and pictures of the base started playing on the white screen. Walking over to the door you tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. "Shit." you said. Lara looked in your direction before asking, "What's wrong?'' "It's locked," you said, "and i dont have anything to pick the lock." "Get back." She said, grabbing an axe before breaking the door open. She climbed out before asking, "You coming?"

This was bad. You know were you had to go, but there were to many obstacles. Guards with automatic weapons and a gate of which you had no idea where the controls were. "Stay here," Lara said, "i'll take them down." You quickly looked at her, staring as if she was insane. "Are you crazy? There's to many of them and i can't fight." you said. "Don't worry, i got this." she said, already making her way to one of the connected buildings before you could protest. She got behind one of the men, strangling him without a sound. You watched in awe of her skill, as she stealthily took down guard after guard. It wasn't long before the area was clear of any enemies and Lara signed for you to come her way. Hopping off the roof you walked towards her, seeing the controls for the gate that was blocking your way. "Where the hell did you learn to do that?" you asked her. "I had lessons when i was younger." She smiled. "I really enjoyed them so i decided to pursue them." Walking towards the open gate together, you knew this wasn't going to be the last challenge you had to win to get your freedom back. But you knew that if you had Lara by your side, no challenge was to difficult to overcome.

A/N: My first fic ever!!! I hope you liked it. Please consider leaving a like, reblog or follow to support!

[justporo]

Hey you :D

Here’s a request just to add your huge list for after vacation muahaha 💖

How do you think a slow, bickering romance with Astarion (kinda like Howl and Sophie) would go down.

Hey darling ❤️ You might’ve forgotten about this ask but I have not! I'm combining this with another one asking about where Astarion rejected Tav at first but then slowly fell for them.

Also haven't done one of this headcanon posts for a whole haven't we? Here we go:

Headcanons about Astarion slowly but surely falling in love with you (and how he pursues you)

Oh, it's all just a game for him, isn't it? At least at first. But this silly little jester didn't realise he was playing himself.

He might have rejected you at first (because he's a prick who has looked at the sun a little too long, let's be honest) but he quickly realises he can't take his mind off of you

You keep stirring the vampire's undead little heart and it scares him at first - and of course you had given up on it after that first hurtful rejection

But his crimson eyes start to never stray far from you, no matter if in battle or at camp: he can't tear his gaze from you - gods dammit, you're lovely!

It's in the way you always put others first, always have a kind word to spare, always a warm smile. How you laugh and how brave you are, how you bite your lip when you're lost deep in thought.

Quite frankly: a stake to his heart couldn't have been more effective.

But he realises another thing: he wants to be real with you, he wants to fall slowly with you - not a vicious thunderstorm but a soft, warm summer rain

And so Astarion begins to yearn in silence as you too can't keep your thoughts from turning around him often

It's painfully obvious to everyone around you how much the two of you are in love with each other; so much so that bets are being made in camp if you're gonna make it before you all reach the Gate

You notice that Astarion keeps sneaking around you like an adoring cat would: always a playful quip on the tip of his sharp tongue that you never take serious because... this Astarion we're talking about. "Oh my heart, aren't you even more blinding than the sun today" "Look who's blessing us with their grace and insight." "A copper for the thoughts in your pretty little head, darling."

Astarion doesn't know how to live the teasing out of his tone, maybe out of fear you might actually start taking him seriously; but if you would peel back the generous layer of faked sarcasm you'd find he's actually being serious

This man is downright smitten by you and you don't realise it as he achingly yearns for you - so much the others can barely take it

Sometimes you find little gifts on your pillow when you wake up: a sweet treat, snuck away from the others, a single blossom, a mysterious line of poetry - you are at a loss at where this comes from or if someone is playing with you

Meanwhile Astarion swallows his pride to regularly go to Wyll and ask his advice who... does help him but not without a haughty grin whenever he sees the lovesick vampire stroll over in his seemingly hopeless endeavour

Meanwhile you keep doing your utmost best to be at Astarion's side because you truly only want to help him and be happy and safe

Again: have mercy with the poor tortured soul, sometimes Astarion almost feels like he could combust on the spot if you give him one of your adorable lopsided smiles

When Moonrise and unpleasant people happen something in Astarion breaks, it all bursts out of him at once, overpowering even his terrible fear of rejection

The hug and tender first kiss you share that night tears both if your walls down.

You have not defeated the big bad enemy but something in your heart lightens knowing you have someone who will travel the road to whatever end with you

From there on out the two of you become even more unbearable in your pining for each other - meanwhile not trivial amounts of gold are passed between the other companions with quite some grumbling - but be assured: all of your friends are rooting for the two of you.

There we go, I love idiots in love with each other, hope you enjoyed!