#but the question must be asked first and foremost

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

I don't think a lot of people realize that purity culture often leads directly to racism IRL.

You think explicit graphic violent fics should be censored from AO3? Okay, understandable. But by that logic -

Do you think explicit graphic rap music should be banned from the radio?

Do you think Black people who listen to violent rap music are inherently more violent?

And that the art form is a reflection of them and their behaviors?

Do you think Black people who don't listen to rap music are more stable and deserving of trust than black people who do?

The same way you think people who don't read a certain type of fanfiction are more stable and deserving of trust?

How far does it go?

I listen to rap music that talks about guns, dealing drugs, killing, and gangs.

All my life I've been told that listening to that either 1) reflects a 'true nature' of hidden internal violence or 2) graphic rap music is actively hurting me and should not be played around children.

I grew up with FOX news telling us that rap music should be banned. For being too graphic, too violent, too vulgar.

There are places in the world were black music is restricted and censored for it's vulgarity - drill rappers have been under police surveillance in the past, given court orders that monitor the production and release of their music.

Is that okay? Is that right?

Should this form of black expression not exist? Does it reflect badly on the people who listen to it? Should it be censored, from radios and apps - or even outlawed?

Someone reads and writes graphic, violent, vulgar fanfiction - and you judge them.

I listen to graphic, violent, vulgar rap music - so does everyone else in my neighborhood.

What do you think of us?

Purity culture has been weapon against marginalized communities since the dawn of time.

This isn't a declaration of side, or a show of support on anything. This is not an attack.

This is an invitation and an opportunity for you to reflect on how your views translate to the world IRL.

[writers-potion]

Writing Character Accents in Fiction

Hey there, thanks for the question! I speak English as a second language; most English speakers I encounter aren’t native (yes, including fictional people); thus, this is a concern I’ve explored personally when I write. 

I think the core principle regarding accent writing is this: it shouldn’t be distracting. 

For the same reasons why Stephen King prescribes the basic dialogue tag “said” rather than fancier alternatives like “whispered”, “shouted” or “screeched”, dialogue must be first and foremost easy to read. It must flow like a real conversation – the pace and tone are a lot more important than how specific words are being pronounced by the character. 

Focus on what effect the accent has:

Using adjectives to describe their voice in general. Different types of English (American, British, Australian, etc.) will give off a different vibe, also partly dependent on how your character speaks in general:

Lilting: Having a smooth rise and falling quality; sing-song like. Welsh accent is often described as singing. 

Posh: from a high social class. This is the term generally used to describe the upper-class British accent.

Nasal: this happens when the sound goes through somebody’s nose when they’re speaking. North American accents are more nasal than, say, British pronunciations. 

Brash: harsh, loud, indicative of sounding a little rude. 

Slur: speaking indistinctly; words merging into one another.

Using metaphors.

Her voice was cotton and fluffy clouds. 

When he spoke, the ‘r’s scratched the insides of his throat. 

Mentioning their accent with a brief example(s). 

“Would you like to drink some wine?” she said, though her Indian accent gave extra vibration to her ‘w’s and ‘r’s, making the words sound more like ‘vould you like to drrrink some vine’.

“I want some chocolate.” His syllables were choppy and ‘l’s rather flat, saying ‘cho-ko-lit’. 

Some Tips:

Don’t phonically spell out everything. Perhaps give a few examples in the beginning, but stick to standard English spellings. 

Pay attention to word choice, slang, and colloquialisms. 

An Australian person would say “tram”, not “trolley; “runners” instead of “sneakers”

A Canadian may refer to a “fire hall” – what Americans call a firehouse or fire station

If your character comes from a non-Enligsh background:

Use vocabulary from other languages. 

“What time was the exam, ah? Two o’clock? Jiayou!” → putting “ah” or “la” at the end of sentences + Jiayou means “break a leg” in Singlish. 

“I can’t believe that 4-year-olds have their own SNS accounts now.” → “SNS” is short for “social networking service”, a term used to refer to social media in Korea. This would a subtle difference – even though it isn’t technically Korean at all!

Transpose grammar from different languages. 

For example, in French, plural nouns take plural adjectives (whereas in English, you would speak of ‘white cars’, not ‘whites cars’).

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[gravity-barbie]

The Hargreeves' reactions to you getting catcalled

A/N: Sorry, I think I accidentally deleted the original request for this, because I could not find it anywhere

Masterlist

Luther Hargreeves

-Luther is shocked and outraged, getting up in the perpetrator’s face immediately, and probably scaring the crap out of them with that stature of his

-As much as he thinks the person deserves a good beating, they’re already pretty much at his mercy so instead he just demands an apology for you

-He’s so soft and considerate to you afterwards, triple checking that you’re okay and questioning if there’s anything else he can do, literally anything

-The incident makes him more protective, he’s always volunteering to accompany you when you go out, and pretty much insists if he thinks the area you’re headed seems shady

Diego Hargreeves

-Diego already hates catcalling but the fact that it’s directed at you just makes him extra pissed, slightly unhinged even, he advances on them while yelling insults, fully ready to get violent

-Even if you want and are able to drag him away, he’s probably already hatching a plan to come back for some vigilante justice later

-He’s pretty heated, but he does recognise that you must feel way worse than him and that he should prioritise your feelings, checking if you’re alright, and even if you brush it off he’s perceptive enough to get a read on how you really feel

-If you’re very upset, despite his anger he gets a hold of himself and turns into the sweetest marshmallow while trying to comfort you

Allison Hargreeves

-Allison tenses up, checking your reaction first and foremost, if you want to ignore it and get out of there she’ll just put a protective hand on you and usher you forward

-But if not, or if the catcaller is being persistent, she is more than willing to confront them and make them regret ever opening their disgusting mouth

-Depending on her relationship with her power at the time she’d be quick to rumour them, probably not physically hurt them (depending on how graphic they were being) but at the very least put the fear of god in them

-She’s had a lot of experience with things like this, so she comforts you with a lot of understanding and empathy, pretty accurately predicting your feelings and needs

Klaus Hargreeves

-Klaus’ policy has always been to brush off stuff like this with a sassy remark and move on, he wishes he was the type of person that could easily defend you but he just isn’t

-He does have the urge to talk shit back to them, even to his own detriment, and if he was alone he might, but you’re here and he’s not going to risk any further trouble for you by causing a scene

-He asks if you’re okay but otherwise tries to change the topic and lighten the atmosphere pretty quickly, he does care of course, he just thinks the best thing he can do is cheer you up

-Maybe later when you’re less shaken he’ll bring it up again, just to see if you’re really okay, let you vent if you need to or see if there’s anything he can do

Five Hargreeves

-Five is caught somewhere between wanting to ignore it and wanting to pull out those assassin skills of his

-It depends on how you react, if you just huff and keep walking he’ll ask if you’re alright but drop it when you do, if you seem shaken up though, there’s no way he’s letting it go

-Internally he’s livid, but he acts more cocky than anything else as he gives them both a physical and verbal beating, finishing it off with a warning that they better not harass anyone again

-He isn’t good at comfort, he’ll never bring this up again if you don’t, but if you do want to talk he’s there for you, trying his best to offer the kindness you need

Viktor Hargreeves

-On pure instinct Viktor confronts them, not before manoeuvring you protectively behind him though

-His exterior is icy, and way more dangerous than this person realises, if they don’t back down he won’t hesitate to pull his powers out to back up his warning, after all he’s had a bad experience with this kind of thing before

-Though if you try to pull him away, for your sake he’ll go, since your comfort and sense of safety is more important than his righteous anger, the fear alone will teach them a lesson anyway

-He’s very sweet and attentive afterwards, and whether you need silence, to vent or to be distracted he's got you covered

[vigilskeep]

I just started playing a Crow Rook and literally WHAT is going on between Rook & Viago. Why is he so worried about them, why does he care?? It’s not like they’re actually his kid or something…? Rook could probably even be his same age. & we know it’s not a romantic thing! Would love to know your thoughts on it. It’s giving me Hawke & Meeran for some reason lmao

i think they left this open to player headcanon in a way that i personally find delightful and entertaining. the incontrovertible canon facts are that he worries about them, that he is distinctly less bearable when they’re not around, that he has so much faith in them that he puts all their failures down to them being thoughtless or acting out on purpose, and that he expresses all of this via frustration when it’s clearly love. why and how we got to this point is up to you!

so i can only really talk about how i’ve been interpreting that. to Me, viago is so uptight and distrustful that i would struggle to believe in this dynamic if he hadn’t known rook for a really long time. which makes sense, because crows who belong to a house grow up together. i mentioned this way back when we first saw footage of him with rook de riva, but to me he talks to you a lot like an older family member who still kind of thinks of you as a kid. i read into it as him acting sort of like the equivalent of an older brother with a big like 5 or 10 year age gap, but that is obviously dependent on your rook’s age and feelings

i am going to delve into closely-canon-based headcanon territory for a moment but show my workings as i do it. viago is not from a crow family like lucanis. he is not related to whoever was his predecessor as house de riva’s guildmaster. he is a royal bastard who elected to join the crows rather than be exiled, because that is, for some fucking reason, the system they have in place. since his memories prior to the crows are distant boyhood ones, and the crows typically start training early, i think we can guess that he was at most a teenager when he joined the house

please take a moment to picture lanky teenage viago de riva, with all his distrust and temper, accustomed until now to certain noble comforts, terrible at making friends, inclined less towards physical strength and more towards poisons and the fantasy equivalent of excel spreedsheets. does anyone honestly think for a second that when this kid arrived, all house de riva’s scrappy cutthroat embittered crow recruits didn’t immediately smell blood in the water? does anyone honestly think he would have had a good fun time or been well-liked? that he eventually rose to talon by asking nicely or indeed anything other than his ability to cultivate fear as the foremost poisoner in the entire antivan crows? does anyone, for that matter, believe that every crow knows how good at poisoning viago de riva is because his afaik unmentioned predecessor died of super 100% natural causes?

and if rook de riva grew up with viago—which as i said, makes sense!—that would mean they were there. if they’re close enough now to, despite everything they did, have no fear of their talon and for him to be completely incapable of anything harsher than calling them an idiot, isn’t it reasonable to assume they must have been, then, the one person he had? the person who chose and kept choosing to stand by him during all that, when he was the easiest target in the house and it was still a very foolish gamble to make. young and impulsive, sure, but who else would have backed him? young and impulsive, but also so brilliant and determined that he firmly believes there’s no dragon they couldn’t chase away. if we accept all those workings, isn’t the question less why does he love them, and more: how could he not?

[pricegouge]

the welly boot incident, a silly little meet cute inspired entirely by this post here cause i'm an absolute slut for the swamp thing look.

pricegaz x fem!reader one shot. A little bit of subspace as a treat but nothing explicit. Still mdni please

"Brassard, what the hell am I looking at?"

It's been a shit job from the start. Bad contractor, bad intel, bad campaign all around. John supposes he can only be happy that for once in his life, the quality of intel seems to be off in the 'right' direction - which is to say he'd rather be posted up in a field for hours with too much manpower than not enough. He's got Gaz on his right, deadly still and silent despite being hours past projected time of contact with no sign of the target. Price is spotting, growing more irritable by the minute. There's supposed to be a watch up on the south ridge to announce any incoming traffic - op related or otherwise - but the sudden arrival of one garishly dressed civilian meandering through the meadow toting a Hubble sized macro lens seems to suggest that while eight hours of fruitless vigilance may not test the most seasoned of soldiers, it is enough to beat the handlers hired to assist them. 

The silence on the comms grows long enough to get even Gaz squirming, a subtle rotation of his boot the first move he's made in hours. In his ghillie, the movement is swallowed by the shifting of grass in the wind.

"Brassard?" Price growls, inspecting this newcomer through his scope for potential threats. She certainly looks unassuming enough, as he's never known any faction of armed services to issue woven fuschia caps, long purple cardigans, or yellow welly boots. Still, confirmation on anything useful like 'where the fuck she came from,' 'was she driving a civilian car?', or 'should we take the fucking shot?' would be ideal.

"Cap?" Garrick's voice is low, smothered, cheek sealed against his rifle even after all these hours. Still lethal and ready to trust his captain's call.

John waits another beat, hoping for some forthcoming intel. Doesn't get any. "No."

"She's gonna blow our spot."

'Against who?' John wants to ask, but the question of where their overwatch disappeared to is a toss up, and while every hard-won instinct in his body tells him this whole mission is a bust and the man likely fell asleep, the paranoid option must always outweigh the most likely if one wants to see the next sunrise, and it's entirely possible the man was eliminated. 

"Well, shooting her won't make her any less hi-vis," Price sighs. Abandoning his lens, John raises his head enough to take in the whole scope of the meadow. They're posted on a small hill, sights trained down into the shallow basin where a derelict road ambles parallel a small brook, currently overflowing with springtime runoff. It's beautiful, really, dotted here and there with early blooms which nod in the gentle breeze. With the low ridge to the south simultaneously blocking most of the sun's glare and offering a great position for extra coverage, the area had presented itself first and foremost to him as a sniper's delight; but faced now with an artsy-type civilian wandering around and looking for all intents and purposes to be in her natural element, he supposes his assessment probably laid outside the norm.

"We could use her like dazzle camo," Gaz suggests instead and John's mustache twitches with a suppressed snort. It's almost tempting, except if the target does ever drive through, John doesn't trust him to simply be confused and gape at the spectacle uselessly.

John drums his fingers off the dirt irritably, returns to his scope to see if he can pick out where their backup is situated. "Shit," he hisses, taking in Brassard's limp form up on the ridge.

"Dead?" Gaz asks, voice returning to the low hum that tells Price he's slipping back into professionalism.

"Looks like," John confirms, disassembling his tripod. 

"We retreating?"

"'Course not. We're containing the civilian." Beginning to crawl forward, John spots Gaz break his scope seal for the first time since establishing it out of the corner of his eye. 

"How?"

"Physically."

***

You never even see them coming. One minute you're humming to yourself as you stage a close up of a bee and the next you're squawking and thrashing while being pulled to the ground by your ankle. Before you can even make sense of what's happened, a man settles his considerable weight onto you and clamps a hand over your mouth. "Easy," he murmurs into your ear as a mass of twigs and grease paint pulls up next to him. "Not gonna hurt ya, darlin'."

You only realize how hard you're shaking when the man next to you starts setting up a tripod and the kind of gun you've only ever seen in movies and your teeth rattle behind the calloused grip that covers them.

There's a hand on your head, palm flat and heavy as it pulls your hat off. The weight above you shifts, hips digging briefly into your ass as he moves to pocket your cap. It's slow, movements steady and calculated as the voice that continues in your ear. "I'm Captain John Price. This is my sergeant, Kyle Garrick, and unfortunately you've found yourself in a bit of a pickle."

Next to you, the man with the gun - Kyle - spares a small, commiserating smile. It does not calm you.

"If I take my hand off your mouth, you gonna stay quiet?"

You're nodding before you can even think it through, surprising yourself when your new found freedom only draws rapid pants from you instead of screams for help. 

"There's a good girl," John rumbles, lips still pressed close to your ear. His voice is low like oncoming thunder, and despite yourself, the next shudder that racks your body isn't entirely fear based. He's got a mustache of some sort, bristles soft where they press against the shell of your ear. You were set up for failure, really.

"Can you get off me?" You mean it to sound pricklier, blame it on all the hyperventilating when your voice comes out breathy.

John huffs, breath warm as it fans down your neck. He's wearing some sort of armored vest from the feel of it, but you can still feel the abs of his lower belly jump with his laughter. "What's your name, darlin'?" You don't answer him at first, still weighing whether or not you believe him. "How 'bout 'flower', hm? Look like one out here in all these colors."

"A buttercup, in those wellies," Kyle agrees and you side eye him, for the first time noticing how upsettingly handsome he is under all that grease paint. Full, pretty lips and the kind of big soft cow eyes that always turn you to putty. If you find out the man on top of you is also handsome, you're toast.

"Right, those bloody boots." John's weight shifts off you a bit and you try to scramble forward. You make it maybe an inch before he plants a wide palm on your back and pushes you back to the ground. "Hold still, flower," he rumbles and you're helpless but to comply as he kicks at your boots with his own. You ask why he's stripping you but he ignores the question, reaching back to snatch up your discarded shoes instead. "Clear?" he asks, and Kyle takes a minute to swing his scope around.

"Far as I can tell."

And then John tosses your boots into the nearby brook with an unceremonious plop.

"Hey!" you gripe, only to be silenced by John's hand clamped over your mouth again. 

His voice is sterner now when he speaks, the low murmuring from before replaced with a harsh grumble. "Hush now petal, we have to be quiet. Look at me, yeah?"

You regret it the second you do. Like Kyle, John's covered in leaves and debris and greasepaint. His eyes glint menacingly from the depths of the shadow cast by his low brim, his chops a thatch of hair only distinguishable from the mass of brush that covers him by the fact it's too well-kept. He looks like a swamp thing. He looks like the earth itself come to swallow you whole.

"I'm gonna take my hand away now, but you're going to be a good little flower and stay quiet, yeah?" You nod. His grip is so strong on your jaw that you drag his hand along with you. When he calls you a good girl this time, you can't help but melt into the grass beneath you. John seems to take your laxness for acceptance of your situation and he squeezes the nape of your neck when he pulls his hand away to set about erecting some sort of tiny telescope. He murmurs to you as he works, voice gone back to the quiet, calming rumble from before. 

"I can't get off you because you're not wearing appropriately camouflaged clothes. Even if I were to strip you of this fucking cardi, you'd still stand out like a sore thumb. That's why the wellies had to go in the stream. No good place to hide 'em." You frown back toward the brook, watch as one of your shoes goes bobbing along out of sight. The other probably sank already.

"My car's too far away to walk barefoot."

"I'll carry you," John suggests casually. He's got his little scope established now and when he lowers his eye to it, his cheek sits flush against yours. "This position is shite," he grumbles.

Kyle hums in agreement. When he speaks, his voice is teasing. "We could carry petal here back up on the hill."

"Watch it," John warns. Kyle doesn't so much as smirk. Their talk turns mostly technical after that, muttering about degrees and cardinal directions, calculating inclines. You let it wash over you in favor of contemplating your predicament. 

You trust they're military, at least. Kinda hard to fake the funk to this extent. That fact doesn't necessarily soothe you, but knowing this about them is at least better than knowing nothing about them. You suppose it doesn't matter either way though, as there's not a whole lot you can do to get yourself out of here if the way John bears down on you every time you try to wriggle out is any indication. Sometimes he breathes soothing words against your cheek. Most times, he just ignores you.

They slip into silence eventually, which makes the long, boring minutes drag even worse. You know enough to figure this is a sniper mission which means it's possible you'll be here a while, but that doesn't make you physically prepared for it. You check the positioning of the sun from time to time, but frown when you find it unchanged. You tell yourself it's only because you don't actually know how to gauge time like this.

You crack after what feels like an hour but is probably only fifteen minutes. "What are you guys supposed to be doing here, anyway?"

"Classified." John's eye is still glued to his scope, barely giving you the time of day. 

Should've figured. "Aren't I going to see it unfold anyway?"

"Might not." You're not quite sure what that means, but something about the tone makes you nervous.

"Are we gonna be here all day?"

"Hot date?" Kyle's also still glued to his scope, but something about his tone is less dismissive so you latch on.

"Yes, actually."

Finally, a break from contact as John pulls away from his scope to look at you. There's a spot of paint missing just above the trim line of his beard and your stomach flips in guilty excitement when you realize it might have transferred to your skin. Of course he ruins it, "In a fuschia cap?"

"I'll have you know I made that cap," you squawk and John only needs to twitch his mustache at you to get you to shut up. He may also raise a brow. Hard to tell under the low angle of his brim.

It's Kyle who apologizes. "It's a lovely hat, flower."

John grumbles while you thank his friend, returns to his scope as he mutters about it still not being good date attire.

"I was going to change first." You're not sure why you care what either of them think of your date outfit, but you do what the record to show you're capable of dressing sexy when needed.

"What you're wearing now looks nice." Kyle's cadence is complementary, but it's the same tone he had used to pick on John earlier so you know he's referring to the absence of one cap and a pair of silly wellies.

Well, you can be quippy, too. "Think I'm currently wearing your boss."

Both men laugh. Kyle takes his eye off the scope to take in the spectacle on his left for the first time since setting up. "Like I said, looks good on you," he winks.

"Eyes on the prize, Gaz."

"Were, sir." Kyle - Gaz?- cackles when you have at him, but ducks back to his scope and you huff, already bored again.

John notes your frustration and decides to make it worse. "Might not make your date, flower. At this rate we'll be here all night."

"'Course," you mutter, tucking a bit of bramble more thoroughly into the netting that adorns the sleeve in front of you. "First date I land in months, and then comes you lot."

"Sure he'll understand." John sounds distracted. When you glance at him, he's staring down at the way you're weaving into his equipment.

"He'll understand I got pinned under an army sniper?"

"Could tell him you got laid up with -."

"Shouldn't you be keeping quiet, sergeant?"

"Sorry, sir."

You glance between the two of them, but they're both resolute in their professional silence now. You sigh again, folding your arms under yourself to rest your head on. 

A moment passes. Another.

"Got a fox in my shot."

"Two o'clock?"

"There 'bouts, yeah."

"Saw 'im poking 'round a moment ago."

You nearly knock John's chin with how quickly you raise your head. "I wanna see."

"Hush," John instructs dismissively. 

You huff, and then remember you don't need him anyway. Wriggling your hips what little you can, you feel the hard cylinder of your lens press against your right thigh and you squirm around until you can feel it under your fingers.

"What're you doin?" John's lifted slightly off you, but you think it's a move probably rooted more in curiosity than an actual desire to make your task easier. Still, you'll take it.

Grinning triumphantly, you pull your camera up until it rests next to John's tripod and then frown, dejected, when you spot the snap halfway up the barrel. "Must've fell on it," you pout.

John is unsympathetic. His hand is big enough to encase the whole unit when he grabs it, flinging camera and all into the stream with another disheartening splash. 

Your cry dies in your throat this time, the fight gone out of you. When you slump back onto your arms dejectedly, John pats your elbow. "Material could've caught the light, flower. Had to be done."

You pout anyway. "Bloody expensive."

"I'll buy you a new one."

"You will, cap? Or will the service?"

"You will, if you don't shut up." 

"Wouldn't mind. Get 'er a real nice one. Anything you've had your sights on recently, buttercup?" 

"Don't have my sights on anything, currently," you snark and you can practically feel John roll his eyes. 

"Christ, here." He fiddles with the device a bit, then leans back enough he can guide your face up to the viewfinder. You keep a squeal of delight bottled in your throat when John's hand lingers over your jaw, reminding you how you need to keep quiet.

You watch the fox happily for a moment, content to let the boy's low conversation wash over you as you let this new amusement pass the time. Except then the fox wanders out of frame and when you move the scope in order to follow, you only seem to muck it up more. 

"Give me that," John grumbles, not unkindly. You slump back down anyway, like a child.

"Forearms, cap," Gaz drawls and you see John peel away from his scope long enough to look down at you. He grunts in acknowledgement, fiddles with his tripod, and then lowers himself even further onto you, wrapping one scraggy arm around your own to block you in completely.

It's so much worse. John runs hot, apparently, and without the breeze on your face at least, you're sweaty within minutes; or maybe hours, hard to tell. 

You've nothing better to do so you try synching your breathing with John's, thinking maybe that's the secret to his seemingly infinite patience. It's hard work, though, his breaths somehow both shallow and slow, and you wind up counting them instead to pass the time. 

Eight sets of one hundred later, Gaz breaks the silence with a low murmur which may as well be an explosion with how much it startles you out of your reverie. 

"Gotta piss." 

Your voice is floaty when you complain, head wobbling up to eye him. "Ew." 

John's stern chastising Kyle, calm when he brushes his lips against your ear. "Quiet, sergeant. Go back under, petal." You hum in agreement, duck into his arm, count his breaths again.

You lose track after another five hundred, content yourself to feel the warmth of him contrast with the cool damp of the soil underneath you. You remember the sight he makes above you, a rolling crest of greenery pulling you under. You blame your sleepy state when you begin to fantasize about it like some old myth; Hades collecting his dues. When he does speak again it's low enough you're not sure it actually comes from above you, half convinced you're hearing the movement of tectonic plates deep below instead. He sounds pissy though, despite his low, soothing tone, and you try to blink yourself into wakefulness, peering around to find Kyle unloading his gun with distractingly deft fingers.

"What's wrong?" You ask, dumbly, and John drops his hand from his radio back to your shoulder, rubbing at you with a heavy, steady hand. 

"Nothing, flower." To Gaz he adds, "Liked him better when he was dead,"

Gaz side eyes him, begins to load his gun back up. "Say the word, cap." His voice is so serious you only figure he's joking when John puffs a laugh across your cheek. 

You watch as John disassembles his own equipment, the weight of him almost fully pressing down on you now that both his arms are raised and busy. It's strange but you're almost sad it's over; it had been oddly relaxing, tucked away underneath him.

"You awake yet?"

"Wasn't asleep." He keeps pulling away from you, but the ground is cold so you get your hands underneath yourself and push up, following.

"Right. You ready to get up, then?"

John's movements are still slow and heavy. When you nod, he levers himself up to a kneeling position, wraps his hands around your tummy to bring you up as well. He sits there a minute while tucking various tools and things into his pockets and placing your cap back on your head. It takes you a moment to realize the way he's seated has him straddling your calves. He doesn't seem to mind how you lean back into his chest. 

"What time is it?" 

"Still hoping to make your date?" Gaz teases. He gets his equipment settled and holds out a hand to you to help you stand. When your feet catch on John's big boots, the captain steadies you with a hand on your back.

You'd nearly forgotten about the mousey little man who would likely be left waiting for you downtown. He doesn't hold much appeal anymore but you lie anyway and tell Gaz yes.

"More bad luck there, petal," John commiserates. His voice should be further away now that he's not laying on you, surely? When you turn you find him standing far too close, somehow seeming even larger now despite no longer crushing you into the ground. Gaz is tall too, you note, and between the two of them in their ghillies, you imagine you look like some illustration from a fairytale book: the barefoot maid and her two elements, maybe. It's silly, distracting, which is why you've already forgotten what he's talking about when John continues, "'fraid you still got debrief to sit through." 

"Huh?" You ask stupidly, and then yip when John throws you over his shoulder.

"Debrief. Could take all night," Gaz winks. "Looks like you're ours for the evening, flower."

"Oh. Well, you do still owe me a camera."

Gaz laughs, neat white teeth splitting his face in a handsome smile. "That's right, and cap here owes you some boots."

"Any color you want, flower," John agrees.

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[twilightcitysky]

Everything Is Meant (long S2 analysis, part 1)

I cannot figure out for the life of me how to make gifs so this will have to be a gif-less essay. If anyone more tech savvy than me wants to reblog with relevant media, please do!

I've seen a lot of people saying how Aziraphale's actions in the final ten minutes come out of left field and are OOC, and when I first watched the episode I felt the same, but now I think I couldn't have been more wrong. And I don't think Aziraphale is being controlled... I think the entire season showed us exactly what was going to happen.

On first watch, what struck me was the number of plot points that seemed disconnected. I couldn't figure out how Job related to the present, or the Victorian era, or the Nazi zombies (still at sea on the zombies part tbh). I didn't know where the Maggie/ Nina subplot was going, or why we were bothering with it. Then I put my "psych hat" on and it was like seeing one of those 3D pictures come into focus. It's a psychological networking rather than a plot-driven one, which is what Neil told us to expect.

Detailed analysis under the cut, with spoilers:

I went back through the season in my head and started asking myself: why is this element there? What does it contribute?

1. Start with scene one. Why include it? Does it matter for the climax that Az knew Crowley as an angel? YES. It's actually huge. Angel Crowley was joyful, he was bursting with delight at creation, he was idealistic. He wanted to be a part of everything rather than run away from it, and that's still how Aziraphale feels. He loves being a part of things. He's a joiner. He's a landlord. He dances at clubs and he makes human friends and he learns magic. Crowley the demon doesn't seem to want any of that, and I think that's hard for Az. He wants Crowley to be free of the cynicism he thinks prevents him from enjoying life now. At some level, I think he senses that Crowley is depressed (empathy's not his strong suit but I'm sure he's aware that Crowley's in a "what's the point of it all" kind of mood; see the eccles cakes scene). He wants to fix it. Aziraphale is a fixer. Metatron offers him a chance to do that.

Another thing is that Aziraphale knows Crowley ended up Falling just for asking questions that seemed innocent. That's not okay with him. He thinks that with the two of them in charge they can actually MAKE the changes that Crowley wanted to see way back at the beginning, starting with a suggestion box.

2. Okay, now Jim. Obviously Gabriel/ Jim is the central mystery, but why does he matter? First and foremost: he's there to show Aziraphale that angels can CHANGE. Gabriel terrorized and threatened Aziraphale. Az has been terrified of him. He ordered Aziraphale's execution. And now here he is, drinking hot chocolate, doing noble self-sacrificing things, with morals that suddenly align with Aziraphale's. What an absolute game-changer that must have been! He thought Heaven was unfixable, but here's Gabriel in his shop for weeks, slowly convincing him otherwise.

Then two other things happen. First, they find out that this all happened to Gabriel essentially because he fell in love. He was fired and his memories were stolen and the only reason he recovered was because Beelzebub happened to give him the one thing that could save him. That must have seemed like incredible luck. Now, how does Aziraphale feel about memories? He lives in a bookshop that is stuffed to bursting with the records of all of human history, essentially. His memories of his time with Crowley are incredibly precious. He sees, there at the end, that everything he is can be taken from him as a punishment for falling in love. Aziraphale doesn't have a magic fly container. He'd be forever robbed of Crowley, his life, himself. It's a very real threat in his mind when Metatron intervenes.

Which brings us to the second thing. Metatron saves Gabriel. Not only that, he prevents him from being punished for loving Beelzebub and lets them both go. What better way to win currency with Aziraphale? HE doesn't want to go off to Alpha Centauri, he never has, but suddenly he sees that Metatron might protect his relationship. And he's probably the only entity with the power to do so.

So we come to two conclusions: Aziraphale, when he goes off to talk with Metatron, is feeling like maybe it's not intrinsically bad to be an angel. He believed all the angels sucked, and only God was good... but now he sees that even Gabriel can change. He met Muriel, and he likes them. (He also had a huge crush on angel Crowley, which is neither here nor there but he loves Crowley in all his forms.) So if Crowley became an angel again, would that really be so bad? In his mind, it wouldn't change who Crowley is. It would just make them both safer and allow them to be together. (He's wrong! And Crowley doesn't see it that way! But this is a key miscommunication. Aziraphale doesn't really believe that becoming a demon changed Crowley. Back to the first scene, which Aziraphale references during the Job minisode. In his eyes, Crowley is the same person (just more cynical because of what's happened to him)-- so why would it matter if he's an angel again? I truly don't think he was trying to save Crowley, or saying that Crowley would be Better as an angel. To him, it doesn't matter what Crowley is. Which is reductive and harmful, but not the same as thinking Crowley needs rescuing from himself.)

Second conclusion: he sees that an angel and demon can be in love, but they have to run away to be together. Gabe and Beelz couldn't go home again. Earth is Aziraphale's home, but after the attack on the bookshop he learned that without Heaven's protection he can't really keep them safe there. Metatron says: "Come with me, do this thing, and you can have guaranteed safety AND be with the love of your life". Poor Aziraphale wants this with every fiber of his being. All he's ever wanted was for Crowley to be safe. He's never been able to offer it. Over the past four years, he thought they were safe, but he's just learned that he was wrong.

This is getting long. Continued in Part Two!

[nerdgirlnarrates]

Even though it's been months since I switched from neurosurgery to internal medicine, I still have a hard time not being angry about the training culture and particularly the sexism of neurosurgery. It wasn't the whole reason I switched, but truthfully it was a significant part of my decision.

I quickly got worn out by constantly being questioned over my family plans. Within minutes of meeting me, attendings and residents felt comfortable lecturing me on the difficulties of having children as a neurosurgeon. One attending even suggested I should ask my co-residents' permission before getting pregnant so as not to inconvenience them. I do not have children and have never indicated if I plan to have any. Truthfully, I do want children, but I would absolutely have foregone that to be a neurosurgeon. I wanted to be a neurosurgeon more than anything. But I was never asked: it was simply assumed that I would want to be a mother first. Purely because I'm a woman, my ambitions were constantly undermined, assumed to be lesser than those of my male peers. Women must want families, therefore women must be less committed. It was inconceivable that I might put my career first. It was impossible to disprove this assumption: what could I have done to demonstrate my commitment more than what I had already done by leading the interest group, taking a research year, doing a sub-I? My interest in neurosurgery would never be viewed the same way my male peers' was, no matter what I did. I would never be viewed as a neurosurgeon in the same way my male peers would be, because I, first and foremost, would be a mother. It turns out women don't even need to have children to be a mother: it is what you essentially are. You can't be allowed to pursue things that might interfere with your potential motherhood.

Furthermore, you are not trusted to know your own ambitions or what might interfere with your motherhood. I am an adult woman who has gone to medical school: I am well aware of what is required in reproduction, pregnancy, and residency, as much as one can be without experiencing it firsthand. And yet, it was always assumed that I had somehow shown up to a neurosurgery sub-I totally ignorant of the demands of the career and of pregnancy. I needed to be enlightened: always by men, often by childless men. Apparently, it was implausible that I could evaluate the situation on my own and come to a decision. I also couldn't be trusted to know what I wanted: if I said I wanted to be a neurosurgeon more than a mother, I was immediately reassured I could still have a family (an interesting flip from the dire warnings issued not five minutes earlier in the conversation). People could not understand my point, which was that I didn't care. I couldn't mean that, because women are fundamentally mothers. I needed to be guided back to my true role.

Because everyone was so confident in their sexist assumptions that I was less committed, I was not offered the same training, guidance, or opportunities as the men. I didn't have projects thrown my way, I didn't get check-ins or advice on my application process, I didn't get opportunities in the OR that my male peers got, I didn't get taught. I once went two whole days on my sub-I without anyone saying a word to me. I would come to work, avoid the senior resident I was warned hated trainees, figure out which OR to go to on my own, scrub in, watch a surgery in complete silence without even the opportunity to cut a knot, then move to the next surgery. How could I possibly become a surgeon in that environment? And this is all to say nothing of the rape jokes, the advice that the best way for a woman to match is to be as hot as possible, listening to my attending advise the male med students on how to get laid, etc.

At a certain point, it became clear it would be incredibly difficult for me to become a neurosurgeon. I wouldn't get research or leadership opportunities, I wouldn't get teaching or feedback, I wouldn't get mentorship, and I wouldn't get respect. I would have to fight tooth and nail for every single piece of my training, and the prospect was just exhausting. Especially when I also really enjoyed internal medicine, where absolutely none of this was happening and I even had attendings telling me I would be good at it (something that didn't happen in neurosurgery until I quit).

I've been told I should get over this, but I don't know how to. I don't know how to stop being mad about how thoroughly sidelined I was for being female. I don't know how to stop being bitter that my intelligence, commitment, and work ethic meant so much less because I'm a woman. I know I made the right decision to switch to internal medicine, and it probably would have been the right decision even if there weren't all these issues with the culture of neurosurgery, but I'm still so angry about how it happened.

[mazamba]

Sponsored By

Ironically, the most eventful day in the careers of Mr. and Mrs. Fenton had nothing to do with ghosts. The two had just returned from the supermarket and were carrying in the groceries, when the shadow in the corner began to speak.

"We need to talk."

"GHOST!"

The couple were on their back before they could draw their weapons.

"You are the foremost experts in the field of ecto-biology," said Batman as if he hadn't just brought down a three hundred pound man and a ninth-degree black-belt before either of them could realize he'd moved, "I have questions regarding your sponsor."

"Sweetie, is the Batman in our living room?" asked Jack.

"I do believe he is," replied Maddie as she stood up and patted the dust off her clothes, "you know, you could have called for an appointment. We'd have made time."

"In the 80's, the two of you had your doctorate studies rescinded due to your studies in what you called "ecto-science"," he stated, ignoring their indignation, "yet you now live in an upper-middle class neighborhood and spend thousands of dollars a year on technology that didn't have a proper proof-of-concept until recently."

"What's your point?" asked Jack.

"Where is the money coming from?"

"If you must know, we have a sponsor," replied Maddie, "after our dean proved to be too small-minded for our research, we were approached by a man who was more open to the possibility of inter-dimensional research."

"He wanted us to study ghosts!" cut in Jack, "He even gave us our very first sample of ectoplasm!"

"That one sample was the backbone of our research for years, until we got our portal running."

"You never asked where he got that sample from?"

"He seemed like a trust-worthy fellow," dismissed Maddie, "all he asks is for copies of our experiments and for ectoplasm from our portal."

"What sort of experiments?"

"Well, at first we needed to verify the psycho-active behavior of the sample," recalled Maddie, "if you give me a second, I have my research around here somewhere."

"You took the sample to several morgues," Batman told them, "the sample's most drastic and extreme behavior occurred when it was placed close to bodies who had a history of violent and anti-social behavior in life."

"Maddie, the League's reading our papers!" Jack giggled excitedly, "But yes, it's how we know that all ghosts are evil ectoplasmic scum!"

"You never questioned the origin of the sample?"

"It was the only sample we had," pointed out Maddie, "but it's properties matched all of our theories."

"The man you spoke with was Ra's al Ghul," he informed them, dropping a folder full of pictures and documents for them to peruse, "thousands of years ago, Ra's found a well of green water that is now known as a Lazarus Pit. Using its power, he has rejuvenated himself time and again to maintain his position as the head of the League of Assassins. After some experimentation, he found the same pits could keep his forces alive, even in death.

"Over time, the League came across a problem that threatened their continued existence. They were consuming the Pit's water faster than it was replenishing itself. After much experimentation, they found a solution. At the moment of death, when the human soul passes over to the Infinite Realms, what you call the Ghost Zone, a small amount of ectoplasm leaks over to our side."

"Wait, you don't mean...?" Maddie trailed off, horror settling in.

"Ra's killed people en masse to replenish his pool," affirmed Batman, "further experimentation revealed that people who died in a state of extreme fear or pain provided more ferocious soldiers. That is where your sample came from.

"In it's neutral state, ectoplasm reacts equally to all emotional ranges. Repeated exposure to emotional extremes will imprint the ectoplasm, causing it to react more strongly to a specific emotional range than to others. The negative emotions of Ra's victims imprinted on the ectoplasm, resulting in your skewed results."

"Wait, how would you know that?" demanded Maddie, "We're the foremost experts on ecto-science and we didn't know that!"

He pulled out a thick folder and slammed it onto the table.

"I had my research peer-reviewed."

"By who?" asked Jack, "We looked all over and couldn't find anyone in the scientific community!"

"You weren't looking in the right place. There is a branch of the Justice League that specializes in the supernatural, ghosts and demons chief among them. They want me to bring you in."

"Really!? Did you hear that Mads! We're being recruited by the Justice League!"

"They want me to arrest you," Batman corrected them, "for illegal poaching of innocent and neutral spirits, particularly after last week's attack on their newest member, Danny Phantom."

"The Ghost Boy!?" roared Jack, "That no-good ectoscum made the League before we did!?"

"I have watched his fights. He takes care to avoid collateral damage and only appears when other ghosts attack, sometimes at great personal cost."

"Look, Mr. Batman," sighed Maddie in a condescending tone, "we've fought the ghost boy for years. He has a history of crime and violence. If you look far enough, you'll find-."

Batman had no time for nonsense.

"The League has already looked into the incidents. All show indications of either coercion or mind control."

"Ghosts are deceitful and conniving-!"

"We have already established that your initial sample skewed your results," he cut Jack off, "this would imply that all of your research and experiments need to be reassessed, including your opinions towards ghosts in general.

"Regarding Ra's al Ghul, you will need to continue working with him. Cutting contact suddenly may put you and your family in danger."

That caught their attention.

"What do we need to do?" asked Jack, all jokes and outrage immediately tossed out the window.

"Keep doing your research with this new information in mind. Your experiments have been applied to the Lazarus Pits, resulting in unstable results. Recent subjects have come out in a mindless rage, while others have shown no effect on their mind, and yet others have had no effect. Ra's is already skeptical of your continued collaboration. If you provide him with research based off this new information, he may decide you are not worth his time or money. When it comes to Ra's, your best option is dismissal to irrelevance. You do not want to make an enemy out of him."

"It's not just that," admitted Maddie, "if we were the only ones being affected, we'd simply let him know we're exploring new horizons outside of ecto-science. The thing is, we have two children, one in college and one near graduation."

He gave them a card. "Call that number. All of their college expenses will be taken care of."

"I... Bruce Wayne?" read out Jack.

"We've collaborated before, he is trustworthy," he reassured them, "the next part is up to you. Will you be scientists, or poachers?"

Their lights flickered, and he was gone.

[patrywoso]

18. Ingrid x Mapi x reader

+18 smut

Warnings: Strap-Ons. Spanking. Mommy Kink. Punishment. 

A/N: Thank you @ljs-woso-vibez for proofreading this fic and making all this much easier

Ingrid strutted back and forth before the two kneeling women, her footsteps echoing throughout the room. “You two sure have an awful lot of nerve,” she remarked. Her voice was level, her tone almost conversational, unlike the words coming out of her pretty mouth. “I do my best to make the rules very clear. So, the question is, were you deliberately ignoring the rules, or just being a couple of stupid, bratty girls?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the elbow from Mapi kept you quiet.

Ingrid raised a brow. “Have you got something to say, little girl? Go ahead, say it.”

“It was Mapi’s fault…she wanted to fuck, and she said you’d never know and...” you rambled on.

“Dammit, you didn’t have to say that…!” Mapi snapped. 

Ingrid patted your head. “Good girl,” she cooed. “Thank you for your honesty.” She knelt to press a kiss to your lips.

It was abundantly clear that Mapi was jealous of the affection you were receiving, though she certainly wasn’t going to speak up without permission as you both were in enough trouble already. Ingrid was very affectionate with you and Mapi. However, she was extremely strict during the punishments you received when you broke the rules.

The first and foremost rule was that you and Mapi must always ask permission if you wanted to have sex. Ingrid usually granted permission, so long as she was there to watch. That week, though, Mapi had been horny and impatient, and Ingrid wasn’t there to grant permission, away on a Norway national camp. So, she’d begged and convinced you to go along with breaking the rule, even knowing Ingrid would be angry.

When Ingrid pulled away from your lips, she glanced at Mapi and saw the jealousy in her eyes. “Darling, you only have yourself to blame,” she reminded. “Perhaps if you take your punishment well, I’ll feel like rewarding you...”

Mapi nodded and said nothing.

With that, Ingrid turned on the remote vibrator pressed against Mapi’s clit. “You’re to remain still and silent,” she instructed, “And under no circumstances are you allowed to cum. Do you understand me, kitten?”

“Yes, Mommy,” Mapi mumbled.

Turning to you, Ingrid said, “You are going to help me show Mapi what she’s missing.” Ingrid settled in the armchair facing Mapi, and patted her lap in a silent command for you to come and straddle her thighs.

“Thank you, Mommy,” you murmured, taking the position, an eager smile on your lips.

Ingrid threaded her fingers in your hair, pulling you in for a hungry kiss. “You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” she cooed. “Do you like being punished?” You shrugged, but your smile gave away your mischief.

“Slutty little thing,” Ingrid teased. “Want to ride my thigh until you cum?”

You nodded eagerly, grinding down on Ingrid’s leg in search of friction.

“Does it feel good?” Ingrid asked. “Tell Mapi what she’s missing.”

On a shaky sigh, you said, “I’m sorry... I’m going to cum. I need... I need it.”

Mapi whimpered, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip to quell the urge to beg, knowing Ingrid wouldn’t be swayed by her pleas. She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing the image of your climax would be too much to bear without making a sound.

“Open your eyes, kitten” Ingrid demanded. “You’ll want to see this.”

With a shuddering breath, Mapi obeyed. Opening her eyes just in time to see your entire body go tense as you thrust your hips against Ingrid’s thigh, once, twice more before cumming with a cry of, “Fuck, Mommy!”

“Good girl,” Ingrid purred. “You look so beautiful when you cum. Doesn’t she, kitten?”

“She does,” Mapi agreed, voice strangled as she struggled to keep control over herself while the vibrator buzzed against her clit.

Ingrid patted your cheek. “I’m done with you now. Back in line.” 

Once you were kneeling on the floor, Ingrid said to Mapi, “She made quite a mess. Do you want to clean it up?”

Mapi nodded and Ingrid stood, crossed to stand before her, wrapping her fingers around Mapi’s hair and pulling her in until Mapi could pass her tongue along her soaked thigh. Obediently, Mapi cleaned up every last drop of your juices. Then, she changed to pressing kisses along Ingrid’s thigh, higher and higher until she was nearly at Ingrid’s clit.

Ingrid turned up the vibrations buzzing against Mapi’s clit. She clicked her tongue scoldingly as Mapi yelped. “Did I say you could do that?” she snapped.

“No, Mommy, but I just...”

“You were just being a brat is what you were doing, kitten,” Ingrid said pointedly. “You know that’s a treat reserved only for good girls.” Ingrid studied Mapi’s trembling form for a few moments, then declared, “I think I’ve finally decided on your punishment. You’ll get a spanking, ten strikes to be exact and I want our little girl to administer them.”

“What?” you said.

“What!?” Mapi yelped at the same moment.

Ingrid nodded firmly. “Would you prefer not to cum at all? Those are your choices.” When Mapi nodded her agreement, Ingrid said, “Proceed.”

You brought your hand down on Mapi’s ass with a smacking sound.

“One,” Mapi counted, gasping slightly at the sudden sharp contact.

As your hand came down for the tenth and final time, Mapi was trembling with the effort of maintaining her composure and Ingrid’s grin was positively smug as she watched, almost daring her to cum without permission. Mapi barely hanging on to her modicum of control.

“I’m impressed,” Ingrid remarked with a raised brow, apparently surprised. “You managed remarkably well. I was not expecting such a little brat to take her punishment so well.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” Mapi replied, panting softly. The adrenaline coursing through her system was slowly abating, giving her better reign over her senses once again.

“You’ve both been relatively well-behaved tonight,” Ingrid remarked. “And I’m thinking that one of you two deserves a reward. Unfortunately, you were both very bad. So, only one of you will be getting rewarded tonight. The other will watch and get nothing, learning a very valuable lesson in the process.”

Mapi and you shared a look of silent debate, amusing Ingrid. “Don’t worry, I’m a fair woman,” she purred. “I’m going to flip a coin, and our little girl will call it for me.”

“Heads, Mommy.”

Ingrid flipped the coin, letting it fall to the floor between the two waiting women. “What does it say?”

You swallowed thickly, gaze darting from the coin, to Mapi, to Ingrid. “Heads, Mommy,” you repeated.

Ingrid grinned and mussed your hair. Then, she turned to Mapi and said, “Do me a favour first, kitten.” Mapi nodded, teeth scraping over her bottom lip. “Suck my cock.” It was a command, not a request.

“Yes, Mommy,” Mapi husked. She watched as Ingrid fastened herself into the harness, practically salivating in anticipation.

“Good girl,” Ingrid praised. She could see your jealous little pout from the corner of her eye. “Don’t worry,” she assured you, “It’s only to get my strap ready for you.” She tilted your face up so she could kiss you. Then, she turned to Mapi. “Get to work.”

Mapi obliged by opening her mouth, crawling over on her knees, her gaze never leaving Ingrid’s. She wrapped her hand around the base of the strap, her tongue flicking out over her bottom lip, a small groan leaving her as once again Ingrid wrapped her fingers around her hair. With a steadying breath, Mapi took the strap into her mouth, cheeks hollowing out as she sucked on the tip. She kept her eyes fixed on Ingrid’s as she lowered her head until she’d taken the entire length into her mouth, holding it in her throat for a moment. Her eyes watered slightly, not quite able to fully breathe, but she trusted Ingrid completely and was more than content to let her have full control. 

Mapi pulled back until the strap slipped from her mouth and she could once again breathe, as she gulped down air, she stroked the strap with her hand, the other still gripping tight to Ingrid’s thigh.

“You look so good with my strap in your mouth,” Ingrid purred, her hips twitching in time with Mapi’s stroking, “So pretty with your lips wrapped around me like a good little kitten.”

Mapi lifted the strap, dragging her tongue along the underside, then kissing the tip. She didn’t speak, knew that wasn’t what Ingrid wanted her to be doing with her mouth. She once again took the strap in her mouth, sucking hard as she bobbed her head, letting the strap fill her mouth and throat with each stroke. Ingrid hummed a pleased note as she watched. 

“You’re doing so good,” she moaned, gripping Mapi’s hair tighter, struggling not to force her head down any further than was comfortable for Mapi.

Ingrid could feel her juices dripping down her thighs, the sight and sounds of Mapi working her strap sinfully delicious, almost enough to bring her to the brink of cumming. Her hips bucked forward, the strap hitting the back of Mapi’s throat and making her gag. Ingrid paused, waiting for Mapi to tap out, but she didn’t, instead keeping eye contact in a way that let Ingrid know she was ready and able to take everything Ingrid had to give. 

With a growl from low in her throat, Ingrid thrust forward, slamming her hips into pink swollen lips. Mapi moaned around the strap, the sound spurring Ingrid on further as she set a rhythm with her thrusts, plunging the strap into Mapi’s throat.

“Such a good girl,” Ingrid murmured. “You’re doing so well.” Then, a stern command, “Make me cum. I want to cum in your mouth.”

With a little whimper, Mapi moved her hand between Ingrid’s legs, finger slipping easily into her cunt, making her cry out. Mapi’s thumb drew sloppy circles on her clit and Ingrid’s hips twitched in response, her pussy tightening around her fingers. Mapi wanted so badly to touch her own clit, but wasn’t so bold, knowing Ingrid would take away her strap and leave her desperate and needy for days on end.

Ingrid came suddenly, hips stuttering to a stop as her whole body trembled with the force of her climax. She cried out, hissing a sharp, “Fuck!” which only made Mapi want to smirk, filled with pride over so effectively having made her cum. Ingrid released the hand holding Mapi’s hair, letting her pull back from the strap and catch her breath. The saliva coated strap glistened in the overhead light, bobbing slightly as Ingrid caught her breath too.

With a wicked grin, Ingrid dragged two fingers through her dripping cunt, coating them in her juices, then offered them to Mapi for her to suck them into her mouth. Mapi more than willing obliged, eagerly cleaning off Ingrid sweet juices. You were obviously getting impatient, though, squirming in place as you tried to get friction between your legs without ever touching yourself, as you hadn’t been given permission.

“That’s enough,” Ingrid instructed Mapi who released her fingers reluctantly. Without another glance at her, Ingrid moved across the room to settle in the armchair once again. 

“Time for your reward, little girl,” she said to you, “On my lap.”

Eager and excited, you moved to swing your leg over Ingrid’s lap, letting Ingrid wrap her hands around your hips, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. You grabbed the strap, lining it up with your entrance and sinking down on it with a throaty moan. You sat still, panting slightly, for a few moments as you adjusted to the size. You began moving up and down slowly, grinding your hips in slow circles. Ingrid’s hands travelled down to grip your ass, nails digging into your flesh, and you responded by gripping at Ingrid’s shoulders, giving her better leverage for her thrusts.

“What a good girl,” Ingrid cooed. “Tell me how good it feels.” She leaned forward, taking a hard nipple in her mouth and biting down on it.

“Mommy...” you whimpered at the feeling of teeth scraping across the sensitive bud. You were trembling already, and you knew you wouldn’t last very long at all. “Your strap feels so good...”

“Keep going,” Ingrid encouraged. She moved to lavish the same attention on your other breast. “Show me how much you want it.”

You nodded eagerly, working your hips at a frantic pace, knowing that if you slowed down too much, Ingrid might revoke your reward. “So good, Mommy... It’s so good.”

Ingrid’s fingers sought out your clit and began rubbing it in counterpoint to each of your thrusts. “I want you to cum for me,” she instructed. “Cum all over my lap like a good girl.”

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck, yes… so good, Mommy!” you began thrusting more erratically, your thighs twitching with the effort of supporting yourself.

“That’s right, keep going,” Ingrid instructed. “I want to hear you.” She bucked her hips upward, slamming into you and knocking the air from your lungs. Ingrid watched, nearly salivating as your breasts bounced with each of her thrusts upwards.

You tightened your grip on Ingrid’s shoulders, almost to the point of pain, as you struggled to breathe, on the verge of falling apart. It didn’t take long for you to reach your climax, tossing your head back and crying out Ingrid’s name as you rode out the aftershocks, Ingrid’s finger still working your clit. On a shaky exhale, you said, “Thank you, Mommy.”

Ingrid pulled you in for a bruising kiss. “Good girl. I’m so proud of you.” She glanced over at Mapi who looked so sad. “Why don’t you go give Mapi a kiss, to make her feel better.”

You obliged, bringing your lips down on Mapi’s, indulging in the kiss until Ingrid said, “Stop.” Reluctantly, you broke apart, turning back to face Ingrid.

“Hopefully, the two of you have learned something, and next time you’ll be better behaved,” Ingrid said gently.

“Yes, Mommy,” the two of you said in unison.

[whovianbuffalo]

Dot and Bubble thoughts

This episode was first and foremost an allegory for racism and the entitlement of white elites, and this little touch of “charging rebranded as 'work'”(because it's 'tedious') is interesting here.

Lindy later says "my job's not easy, I get chapping" which shows she clearly hasn't worked out that "work" has become a meaningless phrase in their carefully-controlled society.

Before this, Ricky says people used to do 'manual labor, for money', but Lindy still self-identified as a wealthy person when Ruby asked, and said "Only people who can afford it" are sent to Finetime, yet

So... I can understand why some people feel that this episode is trying to take a shot at Gen-Z and no one else, but I will say it does seem to be a valid critique of performative activism.

Lindy mentions that she is using 'refurb' clothing and therefore isn't using up any of Finetime's resources, which is one of the only indications we are given that this 'utopia' is, of course, falling apart. The other indication comes in the opening of the episode when the newsreader informs them "Not going to lie, we are having trouble with the weather satellite".

A friend of Lindy's compliments her outfit- a woman who says "Kindness all the time" (an ultimately hollow phrase) is preferable in this society to The Doctor and Ruby, who are seen as impolite for daring to interrupt their bubbles, but, ultimately, The Doctor is shut out due to racism and colorism. Ruby is an outsider too, but because she is white and blonde and blue eyed they never question if she is a "contagion".

The Doctor was no 'ruder' than Ruby, but Lindy focuses on him anyway.

I appreciate that we see an early indication of Lindy's selfishness in her first meeting with Ricky here.

Interesting that instead of "heaven's sake" Gothic says "For land's sake". This makes sense for a culture so clearly obsessed with Manifest Destiny, and of course reaffirms their belief that Finetime is "heaven", of sorts.

It's clear that they still have some Religious/Phantasmagorical connection to a mythical heaven, as Lindy says "You mean she's in The Sky? Isn't she lucky!" rather than think about the realities of death or an afterlife. And just in case we were wondering if this culture was religious, they invoke the deity (and Manifest Destiny) directly:

The specific way in which Dot and Bubble forces the viewer to sit with Lindy throughout the episode- static scenes shot of her very boring life and her extremely vapid, empty social life (which I appreciate The Doctor calls out as being enough to drive the AI to homicide) makes us feel trapped and complicit in her behavior, and Ricky's, too.

We're watching the narrative unfold from within the bubble and the screen is literally obscured, peeling back the layers until we finally meet the doctor in person- but Lindy's reaction is off.

And then... We don't follow them. The camera shrinks back, and the impossibly wide world which they wanted to conquer shrinks back into a tiny dot as their boat fades out into the horizon. We're left with Ruby and The Doctor and a TARDIS which is bigger on the inside, but we don't see inside her.

Great work from the director of photography here and amazing work from the cast and crew all round to make a script which must have looked extreme repetitive on paper- the constant use of the word "Forwards. Forwards. Forwards" must have been a hard slog in the read-through— work so well onscreen. How prodigious that it would appear have been too expensive to film during the 11th doctor's era and was shelved for more than a decade until we could get Ncuti Gatwa to fully embody this experience.

This episode was an excellent satire (of multiple things!) and I'm not sure it would have landed the same way in a previous era... But it feels incredibly timely now if you are willing to listen to it.

[babacontainsmultitudes]

🤔 Admittedly I was a little disappointed by the reveal (but certainly not surprised the foreshadowing was heavy in this episode lol), but not actually against how Beth (and Will) seem to be playing with it thus far- which is to say that I do think it has a lot of potential, and I suspect there's more to what we're seeing).

;) Big ol' ramble below

Mostly the theory has turned me off until now (at least insofar as I've witnessed it transpire in the fandom at large) because it struck me as so painfully ironic to see Trudy, a 1950s housewife, struggle to exist under the system that she's in, fail to fit the mold assigned to her, and be denied her personhood very literally for it (this being ironic insofar as how it mimics how she would have been treated back then). This and because frankly I just think she's a lot less interesting if she's fully a robot LOL, but I'll hopefully get to that in a bit.

Not that the hints at her mechanical nature and the relevance of Tucker's background were lost on me; I can appreciate why those would contribute to a plausible, fun and I think still mostly harmless theory (now fact). However, minus one or two specific posts I've seen on the matter (namely a recent one suggesting that if Trudy is a robot Beth is probably taking inspiration from The Stepford Wives, :( sorry person who made that post I couldn't find it I wanted to credit yoouuu), I've seen the theory just about exclusively presented in a manner that, rather than explore the metaphorical and political significance of Trudy being partially or fully mechanical, at best disregards the parts of her narrative that are at their core about sexism (among other related things), and at worst negates them entirely (i.e. Trudy only thinking and acting how she does because she's a robot malfunctioning and not because the world itself is causing harm and she rightfully wants something more than the role she was forced into, Trudy not even having any real thoughts and feelings of her own, etc.). I just think it kind of sucks to shove all those important things about her aside and say "actually, there's no person suffering here, she's just a robot" and perhaps worse yet to imply that she does have thoughts and feelings but because they result in Weird™ behavior it must be a problem with her code and not at all relate to what women were subjugated to during this point in American history.

CONVERSELY I don't think Trudy being a robot (or at least partially one) at least from what Beth and Will have presented us thus far, inherently suffers from any of these issues? First and foremost because Trudy definitely appears to possess sentience, thoughts, and emotions of her own, matters which immediately complicate her degree of personhood and don't inherently box her behavior in as a bug in her programming rather than an issue with the world she's been put in, quite the opposite in fact! I think they have a very solid groundwork laid out here to make a strong statement with Trudy's narrative (and perhaps ask the question of what is really malfunctioning here), all the more so since [I pull out a Rebecca Swallows-style conspiracy board] I don't think she's entirely robotic in nature? Actually you should just read Mack's tags in this post cause he has great thoughts on the matter (of which those are just some of them), but if I can direct your attention to one thing in particular, it would be Beth's fact (I *believe* from episode 2) about Trudy never graduating high school because of her essay where she suggested that "perhaps women could one day domesticate themselves", a statement that could of course be interpreted a number of ways but ultimately threatened the patriarchal status quo enough (in suggesting women's independence) to cost Trudy her diploma. Taken on its own this fact appears to contradict the theory that Trudy has always been robotic in nature, because it doesn't really make sense that Trudy would have been set up to go through high school (or school at all really) when Tucker's intention was/is for her to be the perfect housewife. You may then suggest that Trudy's memories of this are fabricated and not actually her lived experiences, in which case firstly perhaps you should reread my earlier point on the robot theory being used to actively negate and otherwise disregard the portions of Trudy's narrative that pertain to sexism and feminism, and secondly it really doesn't make any sense to me that Tucker would implant those kind of memories into Trudy's brain? To be completely honest if she's been a robot from the very beginning (rather than someone who became a cyborg, which is what I'm trying to suggest here), then I don't see why Tucker would program her with actual sentience in the first place (suspending my disbelief here with regards to the possibility of programming sentience to begin with). It seems much more likely to me then that Trudy was not always a robot, and instead altered by Tucker to force her into a role of subordination and remedy her """imperfections""". This option is significantly more interesting to me one, because it implies that Trudy has actually lived a life up until the present, full of its own complexities and strife (and dreams, and real actual memories worth exploring, etc.), and hence is not by any means "just a robot", and second because it amplifies the hypothetical statement being made on the lives of the real living women of the era and how they were treated and seen as being "in need of fixing" for not conforming to gender roles or otherwise acting "out of line" with what was expected of them.

OKAY THIS GOT OUT OF HAND SO I'M CUTTING MYSELF OFF HERE but I wanted to my share my current thoughts what with this ending and where I'm at so hopefully that was at least interesting to whoever has chosen to read through this one okay thank you byyyyyyyyye~

[apas-95]

Quick question, do you have to be anti porn to be a good communist, due to it being the capitalist manifesation of the commodification of women? while opposing the industrial production of it, that is studio porn, is a very obvious red line and shouldnt exist at all, is it wise to make a point of just hating All of it? I ask because some comrades in a server are discussing it and i wanted your thoughts

My thoughts regarding this are threefold:

First: it is important to understand the class character of any given institution, the failure to do so leads to errors. A common 'left' error is in attributing the negative aspects of an institution under capitalism to the institution itself, without understanding its capitalist character. An example would be the characterisation of the police as fundamentally an agent of repressing the people (when under socialism they are an agent of the people for repression of the bourgeois), or of the academy as fundamentally an arbiter of class access to certain roles in society (when under socialism it is straightforwardly an educator and enabler of technically-skilled labour). To some degree the abuses of the pornography industry are, doubtlessly, down to the social context it exists in, and in the exploitation of (lumpen)proletarians engaged in sex work.

Second: a vulgar 'proletarian feminism' which avoids this class analysis inevitably also commits the same ignorance of class in the opposite direction, and commits rightist errors. Commonly, in the advocating of an alliance with the bourgeois state and bourgeois police to 'protect women' - by criminalising one or the other aspect of sex work under capitalism. The status of sex workers as proletarians, and, when criminalised as such, lumpenproletarians, is essentially ignored. It must be understood that first and foremost the issue of sex work is a labour issue, and like any labour issue it can only be solved by the self-organisation and self-emancipation of the workers themselves.

Third: the categorisation of pornography as specifically an issue of the commodification and exploitation of women (as above) breaks down in the contexts of both male pornography and amateur pornography. Male pornography clearly does not involve the commodification of women (though it does involve the exploitation of sex workers!); and amateur pornography, produced, as it were 'as an expression of one's own nature', and removed from any valorisation of capital, clearly involves no commodification at all.

Generally it has been the case that socialist states have banned pornography and sex work once established. Sex workers who found themselves now unemployed under socialism were not, as in capitalism, made even more desperate and destitute - rather, they were happily able to take up other fields of guaranteed work. However, socialist states were generally established in impoverished, semifeudal nations, where the conditions of sex work were uniformly that of sexual slavery and prostitution. In the most culturally advanced socialist state, the German Democratic Republic, restrictions on pornography were much more lax. Certainly, the conditions of a modern, developed nation would have a major impact on the treatment of pornography under socialism.

[radiant-reid]

just saw the post abt having to explain to spencer the talking stage then an actual relationship and how he overhears her telling someone she doesnt hv a bf maybe a blurb/fic on that idea?

Spencer steals glances at you every morning while you make your coffee and chat with Emily. It's so apparent to everyone what he's doing that JJ and Morgan have taken to stealing things off his desk, seeing how much they can take before he notices.

One day, when you're walking back to your desk you make a comment that has his interest piqued even more. "No, I don't have a boyfriend at the moment. I'm enjoying being single."

Spencer's heart sinks at your words, his mind instantly conjuring images of your dates. Dates that should mean he's your boyfriend, right? So why are you telling everyone you're single?

His head is spinning with confusion, and it's turning to anger pretty quickly. Are you ashamed to be with him? Surely if you're enjoying being single, that means you're dating other people or that you're not even interested in him.

He can't believe it, his emotions swinging from anger to sadness. It's unbelievable and you're breaking his heart.

Before you're even sitting down, Spencer's getting up and rushing to the bathroom to calm his racing heart rate before he has to be sick.

Your conversation doesn't even remain in your mind while you continue your day. What feels odd is Spencer freezing you out. Usually, on boring paperwork days, Spencer will tell you fun facts or dumb science jokes just to break up the repetitive work and horrific nature of your files.

He doesn't. Not a single comment comes your way, not even when you ask very open-ended science questions, basically inviting him to ramble about his favorite topics. None of it entices him.

His sarcastic remarks come just after lunchtime with a snappy attitude that irritates you. You're worried about him, firstly. Something must be wrong in his personal life to have him like this, but you can't help feeling a little angry that it's all being directed at you.

You were just starting to really like him and now he's turned around and shown you who he really is just because you're arguably who he's closest with. He's quickly becoming not the type of person you want to be with.

When you're the last two people in the bullpen, you realize you can't let him stay there all night. No matter how annoying he is, you're his friend, first and foremost, and he's clearly going through something.

So you approach him. "Hey, do you want to get dinner?" You ask.

"Not with you," Spencer replies coldly and totally uncharacteristically.

That's your breaking point. "What's wrong? Seriously, you've been horrible to me all day and I can't think of anything I've done to offend you."

Spencer sighs and it's weirdly more regretful than angry. "I... do you remember what you said this morning?"

You frown, unsure of what exactly he's referencing. "No?" Then you quickly add, "But I want to make things right."

"You said you didn't have a boyfriend." He feels pathetic saying it. The idea that someone like you would never be interested had been slipping from his mind, but now that concern is at the front of his mind.

You're only more confused then. "I don't."

"I thought I..." His cheeks flame up with embarrassment and he puts on a front of nonchalance. "I thought I was your boyfriend, okay? That's it."

Oh.

You wish you could have given Emily a different answer that morning. You would have proudly told her that Spencer Reid is your boyfriend, but you couldn't.

"You never asked me." You say softly, shuffling awkwardly on your feet.

"Did I need to?" He wonders dumbly, and it's very obvious that he's just unaware.

You shrug, explaining your point of view. "I thought we were still at the talking stage."

"The what?" Spencer asks.

"Like when you're just talking and casually dating, trying to work out if you're friends or if there's a romantic connection." You describe.

He nods softly before his heart sinks again. "I'm sorry, I'm an idiot." You're easily the best thing that's been in his life for a long time, and now he's totally ruined it. If you didn't think he was too inexperienced before, you do now.

"You're not, not provably." You break the awkward silence and tension that's fallen over the room, making him chuckle a little. "And I like you, exclusively."

Spencer's frown is adorable but it's concerning large this time. "Really? Still?"

"Mm-hmm." You assure him. "As long as you promise to talk to me when something's wrong instead of icing me out."

He stands up quickly, nodding. "I swear and I'm really sorry." He promises you. "So would you like to go to dinner? As boyfriend and girlfriend?"

You try to suppress an inappropriately large grin. "I would."

Spencer doesn't hide his smile and he's awkwardly tripping over his bag and feet to meet you around his side of the desk. "Let's do it." He smiles softly at you, offering out his hand for you to hold.

You take it happily, walking to the elevator with him. "Let's do it, boyfriend."

[mamayan]

Humbly requesting Yobai with Giyuu (he goes to reader), a lil bit of yandere spice appreciated ✨👀

For you Desi? Anything ♡ This man makes me love the color blue~

★YOBAI☆

Giyuu Tomioka x Fem! Reader

tw: Obsessive/Possessive Themes • Oral (F) • Fingering (F) • Light Overstimulation • Rough Sex • Light Breath Play • Fluff/Humor

YOBAI Series: Kyojuro, Sanemi, Obanai/Mitsuri

Idea given by @rottmntrulesall and continuously inspired by @desi-the-blue-eyed-kakushi ♡

“I love you.”

He had been too stunned to reply, left frozen like a fool, unable to truly fathom those three simple words. He understood what they meant, but oddly his brain just couldn’t fathom how it factored in him.

You loved him? He wanted to ask you why first and foremost. It left him reeling, because did you mean you loved him like a friend? Did you only love him like family?

Did you love him like a man?

He was moving aimlessly, arms crossed as he stalked the residential streets near his home. His face set in its familiar stoic default, hiding his inner turmoil as his legs carry him down another set of homes.

He’s hardly paying any attention, only reacting to the voice which calls out in the quiet night.

“Tomioka-san? Are you out on a mission?” Colors clash as Giyuu comes face to face with the flame pillar Kyojuro Rengoku.

The man was dressed casually, holding what appeared to be confectioneries from a local shop boxed up in one hand. His gaze was friendly and curious as ever, smile as warm as its owner.

That’s right, Giyuu thought, the flame Hashira had gotten himself engaged had he not? He must have some sort of knowledge of this unfamiliar unfurling within his chest.

It was driving him nearly mad, the way your voice seemed to echo that single sentence on repeat.

“Rengoku-san… you’re experienced in love?” The water pillar’s question struck something weirdly familiar in Kyojuro, as Giyuu moved closer. The dark haired young man looked tired; which, coupled with his expressionless face only aided in aging his appearance.

“Haha! Yes! I am getting married soon!” His boisterous laugh grates on Giyuu’s ears, but he grits his teeth and endures for the sake of figuring all this out.

“Y/N said she loved me…” if Kyojuro hadn’t known the gloomy man for so many years, he might’ve thought Giyuu was scared in the admission.

The flame Hashira just wanted to go home and eat the sweets he bought with his fiancé, not have this conversation in front of his house. His lip twitched, but smile remained as he cautiously prodded further.

“And…?” His smile dropped at Giyuu’s blank face.

“What?” His eye twitched.

“Tomioka-san… did you say anything back?” Kyojuro felt a pang of pity for you as Giyuu shook his head, lips set in a firm line.

“So you just rejected her?” Giyuu’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t reject her…?”

“You did though Tomioka-san.”

Kyojuro wanted to go home, but a strange moral obligation kept him speaking, and for a moment he wondered if his family gave off matchmaker energy.

He’d speak with his father later, for now he focused on aiding his social awkward comrade as quickly as possible.

He felt further conflicted after speaking with Rengoku.

So he spent his free time following you, his thoughts consumed by you, fighting the pull he felt. This couldn’t possibly be healthy or normal, you shouldn’t haunt even his dreams. You respected his space, but every hopeful glance you sent his way sent him spiraling further.

Why did you need to be so lovely? So hard working and dedicated, you spent your days busy and helpful. Giyuu never truly realized how busy a Kakushi’s day could be, but it was possible it was just you.

Were you overworking yourself?

Did you eat breakfast this morning?

You sneeze cutely.

He likes how you laugh.

Your eyes glitter when you see the notes he begins anonymously leaving you, searching anywhere and everywhere, yet never seeing him from his perch in the trees. He likes the game he starts of cat and mouse, amusing himself watching you struggle to figure it out.

You’re quite the detective though, finally bringing out a simple note to show Kocho who recognizes his script.

He still doesn’t reveal himself, avoiding your growing awareness.

He enjoys spending his free time watching over you, dancing around your confession, until someone new appears in your little world.

A male demon slayer, around his own age, asking you on a date.

A romantic one. The sort which leads to engagement and marriage. He nearly pulled his blade, a boiling rage bubbling up and over his top, red flashing through his gaze.

You declined, polite and kind as always, but it didn’t matter. That man spoke to you because Giyuu hadn’t claimed you.

You were his weren’t you? You said you loved him.

Giyuu grit his teeth, face distorted even now as you returned to work and the day faded into night.

Even training was useless, his mind conjuring up images of you with someone else, smiling and directing that soft gaze on them.

His blade came down again, body covered in sweat as he huffs in exhaustion.

It still wasn’t enough. He was trembling from his own emotions attempting to claw through his chest.

He was tired of feeling regret.

The thought of “if I’d only been stronger, arrived sooner, said something” plaguing him until he stood outside your home.

In the middle of the night.

The moon hung as a crescent shining down, surrounded by a sea of stars.

He hadn’t changed out of his uniform, sword still attached to his hip as he moved forward. Gravel crunched under his sandals.

It seemed the closer he got to you, the more agitated he felt.

His hands shaking when he reached the front door, fist clenched and hand raised as if to knock. He froze, realization dawning on how this might look to any nosy neighbors who might be passing by. He slipped around back, away from sight and instead using a side entrance into your home that was left unlocked.

That fact made him uncomfortable as he moved forward on silent feet, his shoes left neatly by the door as he explored in search of your bedroom.

His chest continuing to itch with frustration until he slid the last shoji back to reveal a simple small room. A futon laid in the center where a bundle laid under the covers.

You looked serene, tucked sweetly away in bed and dreaming of something nice if the small smile on your lips was any indication.

He sighed, sitting down beside your bed with one foot propped up to lean on, looking down at you while you dozed.

Almost an hour passed before he grew impatient again, memories of today still on repeat as he tries to calm himself by just looking at you.

Except he didn’t just want to look anymore, he didn’t want to only observe and tease from afar. He wanted to hold you, speak to you, touch you.

He stood silently, taking off his sword and leaning it against your back wall, moving again to stand over your futon where you laid curled in the middle like a sleeping cat. Completely ignorant to his inner turmoil as he kneels before crawling completely over you.

That’s what you awake to, the figure of Giyuu Tomioka looming over you while you slept.

You startle, not immediately recognizing him in your half dreaming state, mouth opening to speak before a hand gently but firmly covers it.

“Don’t scream,” they weren’t very comforting words, your eyes widening fearfully and trying to adjust to the dark room, but it’s the voice which gives your panic pause.

“I just…” he didn’t know what he needed, because it clearly wasn’t just to see or merely touch you anymore. “I wanted to ask if you meant it… back then.” He was grateful the room was dark, his face feeling hot despite the cool air surrounding him.

You weren’t struggling or fighting him, seeming to have realized who he was already. Giyuu released his hold over your mouth, taking in your pretty features painted by dim moonlight with your eyes trained on him.

“I did mean it,” your voice cute and slurred as you sleepily answer, curious and less afraid now that you know who paid you a nightly visit.

Was he here for…? The thought seemed ridiculous, because Giyuu always struck you as a bit reserved, but why else would he be here in the middle of the night asking you about your confession?

You were still tired, but it helped dispel any nerves which might’ve been present had the sun been up. You let your arms raise slowly, as if it might scare the fearsome demon slayer, and wrapped them around his neck.

It pulled him in a little closer, and you could make out his features a little better like this.

His breath stuck in his throat, enamored by your close proximity, your soft sweet scent, and your words.

You meant it.

You wanted him, and while he was overcome with the urge to self-sabotage his happiness and remind you of his flaws, he was stopped by you leaning up.

Your kiss was feather light, just grazing his own for a split second before pulling away.

He chased you though, his own slotting against yours this time, but the force and pressure has you gasping so he could slip his tongue inside your mouth.

You whined but he devoured it as he pushed the hot muscle around with your own, lighting you with the same passion he was feeling.

He let some of his weight drop, pinning you to prevent you from wiggling away from him, letting his thigh spread your own so he could slot himself in between.

Your yukata was in disarray, so when Giyuu’s groin pressed against your own it was only his pants separating him from your sex.

The feeling of something hard and thick pressing against your slick heat had you moaning, fabric sliding and creating delicious friction against your hooded nub. Shocks of pleasure jolted up your skin, but it was Giyuu’s own groan and pause that disrupted the kiss.

He realized there was nothing beneath your sleepwear, your soft thighs naked up to your stomach, and his own body hiding your slit from his view.

You caught your breath, watching as Giyuu lifted up and moved down your body, fingers quickly digging into the plush flesh of your inner thighs when they tried to close.

“Keep them open.” His eyes are narrowed on the expression of arousal and embarrassment you wear, lips titling up a bit as he smooths his hands down to your ass. “Be good for me,” you nearly choke when he says the words, but you really do when his tongue flicks out right over your puffy clit. Fingers dig into the futon while your eyes lock with his own, ensnared by the lewd show he makes of flattening his tongue and dragging it up slowly through your folds, adding pressure when he feels your legs start to shake.

His languid licks grow more fervent by the minute, his own desperation hastening his movements to lap and suck at your clit, before dropping down to prod your entrance with the tip. Your hips jerk, back arching as you grind against his face, slick coating his lips and chin as he eats you like a man starved.

“G-Giyuu, fuck, please,” it takes him a a moment to realize you used his first name, but when he does he nearly swears aloud.

Grunting when he feels your fingers tangle in his dark hair, Giyuu moves his hand around to press a finger against your tight hole, his tongue not stopping his assault on your throbbing nub. He watches you as he sinks his middle finger inside, the way you twitch and whine, lips parted and eyes heavy lidded as you pant.

Giyuu moans as he sinks deeper inside you, the snug fit around even just one finger as your feverish gummy insides massaged it had his hips rutting into the futon below.

He can tell you’re close, it’s not difficult with the way you buck and pull him closer as he adds a second finger, beginning to stretch you out and pump now.

Giyuu curls his fingers, watching it light you up as you cry out, pretty cunt grinding down and trying to seek even more friction as you tremble and moan.

He’d be a liar if he said it didn’t boost his ego.

It’s when a third finger begins to squeeze into your snug walls that you jerk back, his hand wrapped around your thigh and anchoring your hip keeping you from going anywhere though.

He pauses his movements as you pant, looking at your scrunched features as you adjust to the tiny sting.

“You’re being so good for me,” he praises, slowly sinking three of his thick calloused fingers inside of you, “so lovely and all mine, aren’t you?” His voice has dropped an octave as he lazily pumps his digits, soaked by your arousal and sliding in easier and easier as you relax.

Only when your brows unfurl does he smirk and kiss your inner thigh, sticking his tongue out and dragging it against your skin back to the little bundle of nerves.

The feeling of being so full and his tongue just softly tracing over your clit sends you over the edge.

“I-I’m—hah,” your head falls back as the first wave washes over you, gentle but building. The wet squelching of Giyuu still licking and fucking his fingers into you getting louder, as you realize with a shaky inhale that he’s not stopping.

“Giyuu…!” He tightens his grip, brows furrowing as you break his concentration, intent on absolutely devouring you. You might’ve came but he’s not done with your swollen bud or leaking slit, his fingers leaving your entrance in favor of wiggling the powerful muscle in his mouth inside you. Your core spams around it, cries growing as you nearly rip strands of his hair out in your desperation for relief from his mouth. You can’t break his grip on you, the next orgasm striking you like a slap as you cum.

“Mhn—!” Your burning eyes finally blur as tears spill, the ache inside you releasing as pleasure clouds your mind into oblivion.

Giyuu only stops when your shaking subsides, lessening his ministrations as you come down from your second high.

He doesn’t realize it’s him shaking until your muscles go lax and limp in his hold, his hands trembling with restraint as he drags himself back up to look down at your blissed out face.

It’s so cute it nearly enrages him, his hands quickly taking off his haori and uniform, yanking at fabric aggressively as he tries to free his painfully hard cock from the confines of his clothes.

You’re still catching your breath, blinking your blurry vision away only to see Giyuu’s naked torso draping over you as he unties your belt and fully opens your yukata.

Your eyes have fully adjusted now, able to clearly see his toned pale skin on display. Scars littered his pretty skin, hard planes of muscle a testament to his devotion as a slayer, but his steely gaze isn’t cool like the water breathing he uses. Those dark blue pools are boiling as he looks at your soft nude figure, hands quick to grasp your hips and slide up to your chest.

“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this…” his solemn and possessive tone have goosebumps erupting on your skin. The feel of his hands are rough as they trail and dance across your breasts, two fingers coming together to pinch harshly at your nipple, pulling a huffed squeak from your lips as you pout up at him.

He smiles at you.

Not a half smirk or tiny twitch of his lip, but a warm smile filled with adoration, and it leaves you vulnerable for his next attack.

He plants one forearm just above your head, leaning close for a searing slow kiss that was downright filthy in how he lewdly moaned into your mouth. The deep sound reverberating into you as you melt further beneath him.

You’re distracted, boneless legs easily pried further open for his hips as he slides closer to you, his free hand letting the reddened soft tip of his cock brush through your soaked lower lips.

You jolt at the sensation, the heat of his body taking you by surprise, but his mouth follows when you pull back, biting down on your lower lip and licking the sting away when you whine.

Then you feel pressure, at first odd but not painful. Giyuu huffs against your mouth as your walls crush the tip of his cock as he pushes in.

“Relax for me, let me in,” he’s fighting hard not to just shove entirely inside you in one thrust. Your warm and soft body leaving his head muddled as he pulls out, before pushing in again, working himself deeper inch by inch.

Your clammy palms find his biceps, fingers digging into the hard muscle as you try to obey and relax for him, but you can’t help when you clamp down with the feeling of being invaded by his burning rod continually shoving into you. He wasn’t outright painfully thick, but his length far surpassed his fingers as his cock pushed your limits before he was fully seated inside, tip pushing up your cervix to fit completely while your legs trembled and tensed around him.

“Y/N,” you didn’t mean to close your eyes, just consumed with concentrating on getting used to him, when a large palm cupped your cheek and encouraged you to look up. Your eyes widen at the sight of him, flushed and heaving for breath just from feeling you squeeze around him, brows taunt as he gazes at you with those softening eyes.

“Am I hurting you?” You shake your head, because it didn’t hurt, he was just stretching you out so much it was leaving you reeling.

He seemed to understand as he chuckles, kissing your temple as his hips slowly drag out of you, each vein on his cock rubbing in his exit. Your nails bite deeper into his skin, your exhale of breath sharp before he shifted and nudged a new spot that made you moan.

“There?” He’s not actually asking you. Not when he sinks back in, watching your every expression while gauging where that spot was.

He brushes it with his tip, the spongey area making you clench and slacken in the same moment, toes curling as the thickness inside seems almost unbearable before feeling so good your own hips rock up to meet his thrust.

“You’re so tight,” his hair has come loose from the ponytail he keeps it in, thick strands tickling your collarbone where they drop, his shoulder muscles taunt with pent up energy as he begins a steady pace inside of you, letting your slick glide him into your narrow hole. His eyes flicking up and drinking in the almost drunk expression on your pretty face, adoring how you both seemed to fit together like puzzle pieces.

“G-Giyuu,” your panting little moans are speeding up with his thrusts, the room becoming sweltering as your bodies collide, his groin coming flush against your ass with each loud smack of his balls. His hand tangles in the blanket below, gripping the fabric as he concentrates on not filling you up carelessly. His free hand moves up your hip where he’d been holding you, brushing over your sensitive nipples teasingly before gently wrapping around your throat.

One of your hands wrap around his wrist, cautious and curious of why he was holding you like this, but not fighting when he lightly squeezes the sides of your throat.

“Oh,” you moan, voice a little hoarse and softer than usual as you feel your head go light and airy while the intense pleasure inside of you spikes. His cock spearing and bullying your insides as he groans, your pussy only becoming tighter as he restricts your blood flow lightly, watching your fucked out face in fascination. His own isn’t any better but you’re not paying attention, only caring about the bubble expanding inside your belly again, his cock threatening to pop it at any second, his lower half soaked in your slick as it slides down your ass and onto the futon.

“Are you going to cum for me?” His expression is nearly pained as he restraints himself, smirking as you senselessly babble something incoherent but your nails scrape sharply over his skin and help clear his mind. He shifts even closer, forcing himself to hunch over you while he releases your throat and grips under your knees.

You cry out as he lifts your legs up, pressing your knees almost to your collarbone while he drills your cunt, his feet digging into the futon below as he has you in a mating press. His nose nearly brushes yours, so close but far as he grunts and slams into you, the new angle increasing the tightness, your walls milking him while he fucks you stupid.

“Fuck—m’gonna cum, Giyuu!” Your eyes roll back, insides clamping down and seizing around him while you gush, cream forming around the base of his cock while he pants, teeth grit while he focuses on drawing out your release as long as he can. “N-no more, please!” You nearly wail as his cock overstimulates you, still brushing against that spot inside that has you seeing white.

He takes mercy this time, pulling out so quickly your hole is left gaping for a moment as he sits back and grips his cock and works himself fiercely over you, grunting and biting down on his lip while his balls draw up tight and he shoots ropes of hot cum over your dripping pussy and lower belly. Using his tip to smear it over your swollen lips as he groans.

You watch quietly, body still thrumming with euphoria from your orgasm as Giyuu finishes too, looking ruined as he finishes on you before nearly collapsing too.

He lets himself fall to his side, one arm reaching out and dragging you against him despite both your sweaty figures. He holds you tightly while you both calm, your heartbeat slowing as exhaustion takes hold and your eyes droop.

As a Hashira, he’s quick to recover, and while he could certainly stand to take you two or three more times, he instead relishes in the feel of holding you against him so intimately.

You’re asleep in minutes, breathing even as you doze against his chest.

He closes his eyes, letting his forehead drop against the crown of your head, whispering quietly what you fell asleep too quickly to hear.

“I love you too…” he’ll say it again when you wake.

“Thank you,” Kyojuro looks up from the training dummy he’d just destroyed, gaze landing with surprise on the water Hashira standing awkwardly before him, not looking at him.

Giyuu stood with his arms crossed staring off into the distance, reminding Kyojuro of an old man with the sort of serene gaze only the elderly possessed.

“Ah! You’re welcome haha! You took my advice?” His bright eyes widened, quite shocked in truth.

Giyuu merely nodded, turning to walk away having said his gratitude now.

Kyojuro didn’t stop him, still amazed his half-assed terrible advice had actually worked. Unlike his younger brother who was quite beloved and well known by the corps, Kyojuro could care less about Giyuu’s emotional constipation.

He’d told him to stop being a coward and act like a man.

You never did find out that Giyuu’s “night crawling” act was in fact just his strange way of coming to tell you his feelings before he could talk himself out of it and lose you to another.

Your kiss just initiated what he’d been holding back. ♡

Giyuu’s face whenever he sees that other slayer who tried to ask you out.

Post dividers/ @saradika

[night-dazai]

Uhm, hey

I just recently came across your blog and I am amazed at your talent and Inlove with your writting style, If you don't mind, I want to request a Chuuya fanfic, where reader is babysitting for one of her friends/ she's playing with a kid, and chuuya sees her and suddenly gets baby fever!

-🌹(Can I be rose a non? If not 🪷?)

First and foremost "I AM SORRY " I have been not feeling too good and work has been hard for a while, I will soon start uploading.

Love you sure can be any flower you like 🌹, Rose this also got a little lot bigger than I wanted to 😅

Tags: smut, female reader, vagina sex, pussy slapping, rough sex.

[Chuuya would be an amazing father from my view and saw this picture on Pinterest and felt like must put this for this 😍]

“Aww come here “ you clapped your hands as the tiny blonde baby crawled to you while Gin stood next to you smiling through her mask and brightly rattling the toy “That a good baby “ you said lifting it while the child giggled at the way you lifted it high and low. 

When some clients made a request and for some reason, they had a kid or even if one of the members had a kid and could not leave them alone at home you and Gin were their caretakers. You could not do any work in port mafia cause you did not like it but that does not stop you from liking your boyfriend. 

All your life you have had a normal life, school, college and friends, part-time work, internship and so on. You love your boyfriend whom you met at the bar three years ago. 

He was always afraid to tell you about his profession thinking you might leave him but “ just because I cannot work in the mafia does not mean you should, but ..” you held his hand tightly as the string into the ocean blue eyes “ you won't get hurt and lave me right ?” you asked voice filled with worry and anxiety. 

Chuuya blinked “You are not scared ?” he asked when you shook your head. Not knowing what to do the man burst into laughter and hugged you (also the first time he had touched you in a month into your relationship ) “Never love never will I leave you “. 

Everyone in Port Mafia knew you and no one dared to touch you, you and Gin hit it off for being the youngest girls there. Now again you both were in Chuuya’s office playing with the baby “Y/n the meeting is over “ Gin said opening the door and peeking outside. 

“Ahh so soon, “ you said kind of disappointed, you have always liked babies and they were also naturally attracted to you. Rubbing your nose with the child you earned another giggle “Time to go to mommy “ you said and turned to see your boyfriend looking at you but his hat hid his expression “ Gin tell the boss I won't be able to come to work this weekend “ he muttered and left the place. 

Confused you stood there holding the child blinking while the kid played with your shirt “Is he doing something else, mission  ?” you asked going near Gin to give the child while she shook her head “Then what is he doing this weekend ?” the questions stood very big on your mind. 

For the past few days and you were sure it is almost a month now, chuuya has not been looking at you properly and has been buried in work and now this? You were not mad at him for working but he is not being with you, you did not need sex or anything just holding his hand or lying on his lap watching TV. But he always found reasons to say no “Not now love “and “I am in a call doll later okay “ he would not even look at you properly. 

Anxiety and fear started occupying your mind for the past few weeks “Is he bored? “ “Have I been too clingy he does not like me ?” and more thoughts kept playing in your head when you flinched hearing the sound of the doorbell ring. 

After having the cold dinner you sat in the hall waiting for Chuuya, waiting for the bell sound. The moment you heard it you dashed to the door “Chu!” you said. Not fully smiling but tired “Hey “ he said removing his shoes “I had dinner out and you can go sleep it would be better I have a little more work “ he said kissing your head while removing his hat and coat and hanging them in their respective hangers. 

Unable to keep your thoughts to yourself “Chu… please “ you said which almost came as a whisper holding his shirt end “Y/n?” he asked turning confused at your behaviour. But your face hung low looking at the floor tears at the cliff threatening to spill any second “You….you don't love me anymore ?” you asked collecting all the courage in your body.

But the moment the question left your lips you felt a numb body going loose, you left his shirt while the ginger head turned to you “ WHAT !” his voice was high panic and fear were felt in it. His hands grabbed yours and brought it near his face “Why.. Love why would get such a question “ he asked and when getting closer to you did he notice the tears running down your face? 

“Did someone tell her something ? “ he thought and hugged you pulling you to the couch he rubbed your back in soothing circles trying to calm you down “Talk to me please, why this sudden question? “ he asked. 

“You ..” you sobbed and spoke in broken terms and words “You…never see my face……sleep….no…avoid me…” you said and held his shirt in thigh fists. 

Hearing the reasons Chuuya could do nothing but feel guilty cause he did avoid you, he knew. He knew the moment he saw you in his office playing with the kid having your hair colour while the child called your mom and you answered it. All these should have been pure and lovely thoughts but this thought went straight to his cock.

Twitching he shifted in his pants, that night while making love to you all he could think about was how to remove the fucking condom and impregnate you. After that seeing you with a child or just seeing you got him thinking about a family but “Am I worth it ?” his thoughts haunted him. Blood, revenge, and violence were the world he lived in can he make sure you and the child were always safe? That the child will have a normal life what if he hurts the child, he still cannot control corruption without Dazai. 

Mind filled with all these thoughts he realised he had been avoiding you and making you anxious and now after explaining the reason he could not look at you straight in the eye as you stared at him without any expression. 

Cheeks flushing red, plagued with guilt and embarrassment he rubbed his head “ I am sorry I made you feel this way but I never meant to avoid you “ he said. 

After looking at him for one more second you started giggling for which he looked up at you confused and after seeing his expression you just burst out laughing more “So that's what it was “ you said wiping the tears from your face. 

Hugging him you sat on his lap, kissing his face, lips and neck you mumbled near his ear “Then fuck me till I am overflowing with your seed love “. Voice husky and low made him growl and shit while grabbing your hips firmly “Don't play love, you did not lis-” he could not finish his words as a moan left his lips with you sucking his neck “Forget everything, you need me and my pussy to make a baby “ your teeth on his chocker you pulled it and looked at him “ mark me as yours please “. 

Any thoughts of self-control left Chuuya’s body, guided by wild desire he lifted you as you wrapped your legs around his waist he walked you to your shared bedroom throwing you on the bed “Good thing I took the weekend off “ he said but the moment you heard this you stopped him “ what were you planning to do this weekend ?” you asked. 

He looked at you for a second, taking your hand and kissing the fingers “I wanted to take you out to make up for what I did but seems like I will be busy “ he said throwing his shirt to the side. 

It never seems to get old, his body is firm and looks like some chiselled sculpture “Chu..” you moaned as he wrapped his arms around your neck removing your shirt and night pants and throwing them to the side.

Kisses littering your lips, neck, and jaw, he sucked harshly at your collar bone and hearing you moan he felt satisfied “Open “ he said in a commanding tone making you nothing but wetter. 

, Lifting your legs and spreading them open you held it out for your lover as he sat back admiring it, tough thick fingers grazing your hole opening and clit “This is mine ?” he asked and when he did not get an answer a harsh slap landed on your cunt “ah !...chuu~” you moaned .

“Answer me love or else this hole get nothing, “ he said threatening now “Yes all yours …” you said flushing red with embarrassment “Good “ he rubbed circles on your sensitive bud and slowly inserted a finger as you clamped down hard on him “ relax, “ he said bending down to hold your head and kiss your head “ relax love “ this tone was much softer compared to previous slap and commands. 

After what seemed like a solid 2 hours but only 20 minutes had passed he had you flowing like a fountain “Please….” you said hands holding your legs trembling “Please fuck me …” you shouted as he pressed on your sweet spot again making your squirt on his hand. 

Shaking from the high you left your legs to fall, your hands could not keep it up “Hold on love, we are not done “ he said in a mocking tone seeing your dumb state “ have not even  fucked you with my cock, you cannot pass out on me “ he said subbing his dick on your bundle of nerves earning moans from you “ fuck me … please please” you were pleading. Ego, self-respect nothing mattered you wanted his cock and before you could talk again he slammed himself into yout gapping a wet hole in one thrust. 

Air out of your lungs eyes rolling back to your skull you arched your back and his hand holding your waist tightly which was sure to leave marks. His red strand of hair sticking to his forehead, hips ramming into your cunt at a harsh pace “Chuuya ~~ slow “ you mumbled but nothing seems to fall into his ears. 

Your raw hole, wet and tight had his mind going crazy “Make it white “ was all he could think of every time he saw your pink hole taking his dick in “Good girl keep it up “ he mumbled holding your head close still not slowing down or stopping. 

Cock twitched but your wet walls held him deliciously tight and he could never describe how good and heavenly it felt “Close love?” he asked panting like a dog. Trying to reach your inner place hitting your walls deeper and stronger with each thrust “it's good y/n …..feels good “ he mumbled 100% pussy drink now. 

You guys have never done it raw and he was sure to never do it with a condom again “Chuuya.. agh…close..” you whimpered. Pulling one of your hard nipples while his mouth latched on to the other “ cum on my cock love go on “ he said in such a sweet tone but it had a certain command to it for which your body reacted instantly creaming his cock.

Holding your breast he pulled himself up to look at you “These will produce milk for our child “ he said and pinched each bud making you moan trying to remove his hands. There were sore “Chu.. Enough, “ you said getting a slap on your thigh “I have not cum love, “ he said hands going down to your hard clit and rubbing it fast “No…nooo,” you said trying to pull his hand in vain. 

You could feel his cock twitching inside your wet walls but so was your stomach ready to release again “Chu…” you said holding his hand tightly as you came all over him again and he followed you pushing his dick deeper while cumming “intake all of me in “ he said making your jerk with surprise. 

Still cumming he kept thrusting “Goona keep this hole filled, “ he said holding both your hands and rutting again “Ahh! Enough please “ you cried but all fell on deaf ears and soon again he came and with one more harsh thrust he was sure to be touching your womb. 

Eyes wide tears spilling down your face, hands held captive your hole gapped collecting all his cum. 

His blue eyes did not leave the place where you both were connected he slowly pulled out, hot white cum spilling out a little as you lay twitching when he instantly shoved two fingers in “Not gonna let this go to waste “ he said while his other rubbed his hard on dick. 

Seeing him hard again instantly got you scared at this point “Chuuya  ..tired no more please “ you said pleading but all he did not smirk at your fucked out messed up state “Not if we are making a baby, we can take 2 mins to break to want water ?” he asked still pushing his cum inside your hole. 

Nodding you realised to never tempt Chuuuya with such things.

[sophswritingthings]

im so obsessed w ur mizu and wife!reader but what about them finding a newborn in the woods and having to bring it to someone that can take care of it in a nearby village and mizu seeing how good their wife is with babies wondering about them having a little family knowing they never can 😭😭😭 w hurt/comfort

pairing: mizu x fem!apothecary!reader

warning(s): swearing

a/n: ya'll are trying to kill me, aren't you. YOU WANT ME TO BALL MY EYES OUT

summary: you and your wife find a newborn, nestled in crook of the woods, the baby screaming and crying for its mother. but she's no where to be found. you want to take it in so desperately; but you know you can't. you must give it up to someone who can.

word count: 1,096 words / 5,773 characters

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screaming.

you heard screaming.

your head whipped around, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. your eyes landed on a little crook, encased mostly by snow in the little ledge.

you adverted from the pathway, your wife looking at you with the most confused expression.

when you bent down to see what it was, a small newborn, swaddled in white bandages. your eyes widened, a hand covering your mouth in surprise. the fact that someone would leave a baby.. just out in the freezing cold, no mother to be seen.

mizu watched as you lifted the baby into your arms. the way yo rocked your arms to attempt to calm the small child, shushing and cooing to tell them it was okay. you looked so natural doing it.. so kind, so gentle and tender.

it reminded her of how desperately she loved you. how much she would want to just settle down with you, start a family of your own, away from all this madness.

but she couldn't. she had to complete her quest; no matter how much she just wanted to be with you.

she shook her head to shake her out of her own thoughts, gazing down at you through her glasses.

"mizu, could we..." you knew what you were going to ask. you wanted to keep it. you wanted this little child to be loved an swaddled in the warmth of your embrace; of your wife's embrace.

but you knew that could never happen.

you nodded a little, accepting the idea rather quickly. you looked ready to place the baby back. but mizu grabbed your arm, jerking you back to your feet.

"we can at least take it to the village nearby. leaving it in the cold seems.. unreasonable." she murmured, sliding off her overcoat. she wrapped it around you and the child, to keep the two of you warm. she could last until the baby was tucked away safely.

she knew why you wanted to put it back. she knew your way of thinking; if you knew its fate, you'd never think about it ever again. it would never be a worry that plagued your mind ever again.

you trudged toward the village, making sure to keep the little one out of the cold. it had stopped crying, now. the baby would shift and make little coos every now and than, but no cries of pain, thankfully.

mizu kept her arm wrapped around the two of you protectively. she would glance at the baby every so often. she honestly wanted the baby as much as you did, but you couldn't.

you just couldn't.

you stopped outside of an inn, a woman settled at the desk. you approached first and foremost, revealing the baby under your coat.

"we.. found it in the forest," you whisper. "w-we can't keep it. we figured we could drop it off here..?"

"I'll take it down to the orphanage."

the word made your heart sink. knowing that this child would be orphan, with no family to love them.. when you and your wife were standing right here..

"o-okay," you were almost about to hand the baby over to her. but you pulled back. "we can care for it for the night.. w-we'll drop it off before we leave in the morning."

mizu glanced at you. she was wondering why you would do that; trying to not get attached was the goal, right?

but she didn't dare question you. she paid the keeper what she needed to, and followed you back to one of the rooms.

you slipped off her coat, handing it back to her.

"grab some food.. they're probably hungry," you murmur, settling down on the bed with the newborn in your arms. "I can't believe someone would just leave a child alone, in the cold."

mizu scoffs, grabbing some food for both you and the child.

"I can," she replies coarsely. "people are ruthless. if they don't want something, they leave it to die a harsh death."

"yes.. i.. suppose your right," you mumble, taking the food. you took a bit of the broth on a spoon, pouring it down the young ones throat. you fed them as much as you could, before they began to fuss and refuse your food.

"you need to eat too, my love," mizu sat beside you, running a hand through your hair.

"I-im not hungry," you stammer, gazing down at the little one. "I can't eat."

"talk to me," she whispers, resting her head against yours as she wraps an arm around your shoulder.

"ive always wanted a family.. with my.. person," you glance at mizu, your eyes watering with tears. "and you're my person, mizu. I want a family with you. but I know... I know we could never have a family. I know, with.. everything.. we could never have a family."

she listens to your words; and she's sure she can hear her heart breaking. she wanted that too, she wanted that with you so very bad. but you were right. you couldn't have it. you could reach and reach for the stars as much as you wanted, but you could never have it, never touch it.

but here was the little opportunity, presenting itself to you. and here you were, denying it. but it was just what you had to do. you had to let go of that hope.

"I know.. I know," she continues brushing her fingers through your hair, knowing it calmed you.

you buried your head in her shoulder, tears running down your face. you wanted a normal life with your wife so bad. you couldn't even tell how much you wanted it until it was leaving you.

"its okay. its okay," she whispered, "once this is all over, (y/n) we'll figure this out. maybe--maybe one day we could have a family. that time just.. isn't now."

she knew it wasn't possible at all. but she needed you to stay hopeful, to stay the same you that you always were. she needed that. she needed you.

"o.. okay." you murmur.

"lie down, my love. get some rest," she guided you to lie down, resting the baby in your arms as you slept. she wrapped you up in her embrace, brushing your hair until she was sure you were asleep.

she wanted to give you everything you wanted. so desperately did she want to give you the world.

but the world was something she couldn't give you. no matter how much she tried. it would always be out of her reach.

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a/n: SOBS VIOLENTLY