#but we aren’t getting answers for a while

[gothgrampa]

Like yeah… young cis het men deserve love…but the problem is way too many of them are just pissed they can’t go around groping, beating, cheating, and r*ping there way though life while getting paid more than everyone else and saying whatever hateful shit they want— like every generation of men before them.

Men aren’t statistically more depressed than ever because everyone hates them, they’re depressed because they have been taught they should be treated as superior and have confused subservience with love. They’ve been taught they should be able to take whatever they want, and they think this is love. They’re taught love is transactional. Men are susceptible to alt-right bs because they don’t know how to value relationships based on mutual respect and unconditional love, even when it is given to them.

But being loved by someone means acknowledging when you are wrong, leaving space for your loved ones to express their authentic feelings, taking accountability for your actions, and continually working to be worthy of the love you receive. Yes, we all need and deserve unconditional love, but loving and being loved unconditionally is WORK.

The problem is afab and gender non-conforming folks are inundated for birth with the message “love is putting other’s before yourself” while amab folks and cis men are raised with “love is other people putting your needs first.”

Like if you think you are treated like “like the scum of the earth” for you “immutable traits” because you are a cis man PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE put on a dress from the thrift store, walk through Home Depot for 30 minutes, and see how people treat you.

Now imagine that dress on your body is all that’s keeping you from killing yourself. Imagine a world in which people only see you as a political piñata, a funny and thing to bash and brake and forget about.

Imagine you are so hated, that you are murdered, and the cops don’t fucking care. No one even knows your name.

LGBTQ people don’t have to imagine. This is reality. This has been reality, for generations of queer people and practically every minority for that matter. We fight to survive, we fight to live in peace. We fight to let our immutable traits shine, even when it gets us killed.

I have given so much love, patience, understanding, and compassion to so many men in my life, just for them to turn around and abuse me.

So Idk what the answer is, but I know it’s a lot more complicated than “be nicer to men they’re insecure :(“

And if that made you uncomfy, read it and read it again and then go read the pdf of Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinburg— it’s free, it’s the past, and unfortunately, it’s the future. https://www.lesliefeinberg.net/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Stone-Butch-Blues-by-Leslie-Feinberg.pdf

I couldn't have said it better myself.

[fluentmoviequoter]

I'm Closer

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: During a string of break-ins in your neighborhood, you have to stay home alone while Tim works a night shift. When the intruder gets close to you, you remember Tim is always closer.

Warnings: depictions of breaking and entering, anxiety/fear, vague threat, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

When Tim returns home, you’re sitting in the corner of the couch with your knees pulled up towards your chest as you type on your phone. He sighs and locks the door behind him.

“Where?” he asks, moving to stand behind you before he lays his hands on your shoulders.

“Two streets over,” you answer. “The Clarksons.”

You click the power button and toss your phone aside before you stand on the couch. Tim’s hands fall to your hips as he tilts his head back to look at you.

“How many is that?” you ask softly.

“Fifteen,” he replies. “There was one yesterday afternoon, we were investigating it all morning. Seven detectives and not a single lead between them.”

Leaning forward, you place your hands on Tim’s shoulders. He lifts your hips and pulls you carefully over the back of the couch. Before your feet touch the ground, you move your arms around Tim’s shoulders and hug him tightly.

“What if we’re next?” you ask against his neck.

Tim doesn’t answer right away, opting to tighten his grip on you as he moves one hand to smooth over the back of your head. He understands your concern. You have both been on edge since the second reported robbery. Fifteen break-ins in your neighborhood in less than three weeks is more than enough cause for concern. Each report makes Tim more eager to get the thief in cuffs but simultaneously discourages him from leaving you home alone. You’ve been triple-checking locks even when he is home, so he can’t imagine the weight you’re carrying when he’s gone.

“I’ve been driving by every few hours,” Tim tells you. “And Wade has patrol officers all over this area. We’re going to catch him.”

You nod against Tim. You desperately want to believe him but refuse to let your guard down. Tim mumbles something against your hair, and you pull back just enough to tilt your chin up.

He sighs, then says, “I have to work the night shift tomorrow. If you want to go stay somewhere else, I get it.”

You shake your head and take Tim’s hand, leading him toward your bedroom. “There really haven’t been any leads? Not even what kind of house they’re targeting or anything?”

“Nothing,” Tim laments. “Whoever this is, they don’t seem to be picky.”

“Comforting.”

Tim chuckles at your tone, then wraps his arms around you again. You never feel safer than when you’re in Tim’s arms. Neither of you are the kind of person to run from a fight, so you will stay in your home tomorrow, alone, and trust Tim and his fellow officers to find the bad guy before anything else happens.

“I could ask Smitty to park his car in the driveway for his hourly naps, try to scare anyone off with the sight of a police car coming and going,” Tim suggests.

“That would work great until they see the donut-hungover cop in it,” you joke.

“Call me tomorrow night, okay? For anything.”

“I will,” you promise. “I love you, Tim.”

The following night, after you kiss Tim goodbye and promise again to call him if you need something and to check in often, you walk into the kitchen and begin cooking yourself dinner. You aren’t hungry, you're too concerned with checking each car that drives by the window and ensuring no one can see inside the house. You walk through the house and check the locks as your food cooks. Everything is fine, you remind yourself as you carry your food to the couch. You turn on the television, hoping it will serve as a welcome distraction until you’re ready for bed.

Tim looks away from the computer monitor before him to check his watch. You’re probably getting ready for bed, and your last update was only a few minutes ago when you said everything was fine and the closest neighbors were home from work.

“Grey,” he calls.

“Two patrol cars are circling now,” Wade answers without looking up from his folder. “Everything’s quiet.”

Tim nods to himself, then clicks his keyboard to resume the security camera footage. Lucy yawns beside him, and Tim resists asking Wade which officers are in your neighborhood. If something were to happen, you’d be more likely to call Tim than dispatch, and he’d like to know who is close.

“She’ll be fine,” Lucy assures him softly.

“She better be,” he responds before watching a man in a bright red tracksuit enter a gas station with a gun in his hand.

You enter the guest room across the hall from your master suite with your phone in your hand to ensure the windows are locked. The windows on this side of your house aren’t very easily accessible, but you check them regardless. In your pajamas and ready for bed, you tug on the window latch and nod when it doesn’t move. Raising your phone, you open your text thread with Tim and begin typing a message. You pause when something makes a scraping noise outside. It goes silent, and several seconds later, you resume typing.

Just before you hit send, a loud pop echoes through the hallway before the undeniable noise of a window sliding open reaches your ears. Two soft footsteps follow soon after, and you begin to panic. You look around for something to defend yourself with, then suddenly remember that Tim told you to take cover first and then defend yourself only if necessary in a situation like this.

The closet door is open, so you grab the nearest object before sliding onto the floor beneath the extra clothes. Carefully, quietly, you pull the door closer to the jamb, then sit back in the dark corner and call Tim.

Tim pauses the surveillance video, zooms in, and gets a clear image of the suspect’s driver’s license as he removes his wallet to pay for a Red Bull. He rolls his eyes at the criminal’s stupidity but mentally thanks him for saving Tim some time finding him. Tim’s phone rings, and Lucy jerks as if she had been asleep.

“Hello?” Tim asks, pushing away from the desk as he waits to hear your voice.

“Tim,” you whisper, clearly panicked.

He stands immediately and lowers his voice to ask, “What’s wrong?”

You take a shaky, shallow breath that tightens Tim’s chest before you say, “Someone’s in the house. I was checking the windows, and then there was a pop in out bedroom I think… Tim, I can hear their footsteps, please come home.”

Tim jumps over the desk he’d been seated at, ignores the calls of his coworkers, and runs through the station to get to his truck. He knows he should alert Grey, dispatch, or anybody, but his thoughts are on getting home and ensuring you’re safe.

“Talk to me,” Tim requests as he slams the door of his truck closed and starts the engine.

“Tim,” you whimper, clutching your phone as your hands shake. “I think they’re going down the hall.”

“I’m on my way,” he promises. The radio in his truck lights up, and he hopes someone saw something and the officers in your neighborhood are on their way.

You murmur something that Tim can’t decipher but remain silent when he asks you to repeat yourself. The truck’s transmission revs as he presses the accelerator to the floor, fighting to keep his mind away from the worst-case scenario. As he turns onto your street, setting a new record for how fast the commute has ever been driven, Tim slams the gearshift into park several houses down. He leaves the truck running with the door open as he runs down the street and unlocks a side entrance to enter.

“I’m here,” he whispers to you before entering the house. He puts his phone in his pocket and raises his gun as he moves carefully through the house. You’re hiding somewhere but thought the unwelcomed visitor was coming toward the main part of the house. A door clicks somewhere down the hall, and Tim abandons his goal of clearing the kitchen to find you.

In the guestroom closet, you hold your phone to your ear with one hand while pressing the other to your mouth to muffle your breathing. The door into the bedroom clicks as it is pushed open farther, and you push yourself against the wall behind you. Tim is in the house somewhere, but your mind is racing with panic and fear. You peek through the gap in the door and see a masked intruder moving carefully through the room. Suddenly, he turns toward the closet, and you close your eyes.

Tim looks into your bedroom, where the window latch has been blown off by a small explosive device, but sees no evidence of anyone currently inside. The door across the hall, however, stands wide open. With his gun ready, Tim crosses the hall and presses his back to the wall before stepping inside.

“LAPD, stop where you are,” he demands.

The masked man stops, halfway between Tim and the closet. Tim sees the closet door isn’t completely closed and wonders if that’s where you are. Sirens sound outside, and Tim takes another step into the room.

“Hands up,” he instructs. “Interlace your fingers and place them behind your head.”

“You’re too late,” the man taunts.

Tim ignores him, and how his stomach rolls at the idea that anything could have happened to you while his phone was in his pocket. “Kneel.” Once the man is on the ground, an officer announces his presence downstairs, and Tim shoves the man unceremoniously toward the hallway and yells his location and that there is one in custody.

Then, Tim abandons his duty to keep the suspect secure as he turns toward you. He opens the closet door carefully, then drops to his knees. When you see him, you lower your phone and reach for Tim. He takes your hands and pulls you closer, whispering promises that you’re safe and he will never put you in this position again.

“When I said to always have something to protect yourself, I meant something a bit more substantial than a bowl,” Tim says, reaching for the jewelry tray you grabbed before hiding.

“It’s heavy,” you defend weakly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“You’re here now.”

Tim pulls you closer, blocking out the noise of the officers apprehending the intruder, and your adrenaline wears off as you realize you can feel safe at home again.

“How did you get here so fast?” you ask as Tim helps you stand.

“Don’t tell Wade but I broke a few laws.”

You laugh and then furrow your brows. “How did he get in?”

“Right,” Tim remembers. “We need a new window.”

“He was really close,” you murmur.

Tim gently holds your chin as he kisses your forehead. “I’m closer,” he vows before cupping your cheeks and kissing you.

[jjkarmy091]

Second Best- Jungkook (part 6)

Summary: Being friends with someone who has your heart it’s already hard, let alone when that special someone ends up falling in love with your best friend, the one you think would never make anything to hurt you . Will you be able to ignore it and move on? what will happen when everything gets too much for you to handle?

Genre: Friends to lovers; angst; body insecurities; bullying; friend betrayel;

Pairing: Jungkook x female!reader

Jungkook woke up around 9:30 am. The first thing he did was check his phone in case he had any notifications from Y/n, but had none. He was seriously getting worried about this lack of response. Had something happened with the person Y/n left with? If that was the case he would never be able to forgive himself. He knew he should have gone after her, he's so stupid. 

He got up, took a quick shower, got dressed, grabbed his keys and left, he couldn’t keep up with this uneasy feeling. Putting his helmet on, he drove to the coffee shop Y/n worked. He knew her shifts very well, and that was the only place he could find her. When he got there, he parked his bike, took a deep breath and got in looking everywhere for her but still no Y/n in sight. 

“Hey there moto boy. What can I get you?” Sana asked. Jungkook looked kinda confused. “I was actually looking for Y/n. Is she on her break?” Sana frowned and looked at him suspiciously. 

“You’re kidding right?” Sana exclamed. “You are always together and talk to each otherall the time when you aren’t. You can’t tell me you didn’t know she took some days off” 

The world fell at Jungkook's feet upon hearing that. Y/n took a few days off and didn't even answered to his texts or deign to call? what the fuck was going on. Jungkook nodded his head, said thank you and left, picking his phone up instantly to call Y/n. “The person you called is not available. Please try again later” 

Fuck. Me

------------ 

Y/n fell in love with that place as soon as she saw it. Everywhere she looked she she felt immense peace and everything seemed so quiet and cozy, everything to make the weight on her shoulders disappear. Upon entering the chalet, they were immediately greeted by a gentleman at the entrance who directed them to the reception.

After checking in and receive the keys, they picked up their luggage and followed the gentlemanto the elevator, who was showing them the way to their "apartment”. Y/n couldn’t believe what her eyes were seeing. Walking in, she’s faced with a very nice living room, with wooden walls and gray furniture. It had shelves with books, among other really cute stuff decorating the place. All very neutral and very light, exactly what she needed. On the coffee table was champagne and a plate with strawberries and chocolate with a small note saying "we hope you enjoy your stay as much as we enjoy your presence. Thanks for choosing us. Have fun" 

From the living room they went to the bedroom to organize their things. When they walked in Y/n was even more astonished. From their bed they had a view of the outside. She always loved snow and being there was filling her heart with so much happiness she wished she could live there forever.

“Where did you find this place and how can you afford it for both of us?!” Y/n exclaimed. Lisa looked at her with a funny look “My dad owns it. A benefit of traveling so much and not seeing his family for so long, not everything can be bad. I used to come here for Christmast and New year. It's crazy during those days and you know me, I love crazy and those were my favourite moments here”

Y/n laughed. Only Lisa could say something like that. 

“So… You know how to ski right?” Lisa asked out of nowhere. “Oh hell no Lisa, no way, not right now, we just got here we should—” Y/n argued back but was soon interrupted by Lisa 

“There's a snow suit in the closet on the right. We have a lot to discover we won't wait until tomorrow. You rest during the night. Come on princess, time is money” Y/n huffed while getting her suit to start putting it on.  How could Lisa have so much energy was something she couldn't understand.

They both got dressed and head out of the chalet. Y/n was amazed by the view, everything was perfect. But it’s not an adventure if something doesn't go right for Y/n. Out of nowhere she lost sight of Lisa, making her panick. She had no idea where she was.

Y/n looked around trying to see her friend but couldn’t identify anyone who would look like her. She started walking around worried about straying too far from where Lisa last saw her. Y/n was so distracted that she didn't even notice anyone coming close to her, ending up colliding with that person, causing her to lose balance and fall. The other person quickly knelt down, stretching out his hand to help her until she heard “Y/n?” 

She looked up, took the stranger's hand and straightened her hair a little, trying to understand where she recognized that voice from, until the stranger took the protective mask off his eyes and saw him.

“Taehyung?”  

Tags: @esposadomd @joonlover1207 @eegyo @furrywonderlandwolf @minghaosimp @differentrunawayperson @nikkinikj @jksusawife @11thenightwemet11 @jk97bam @11thenightwemet11 @cryingoverpixelsetc @bhonbhon @lostinneocity @almostpurplelady @meowforluv

[vigilskeep]

Treviso vs Minrathous was really funny to me bc it’s like who do we help, the people with a flying warship of a castle and the most high powered mages in the known world who have been fighting a war against the Qunari for generations, or the sexy leather obsessed goths with notoriously no standing army whose only defense is their accent, coffee, and getting the jump on their targets?

respectfully! i think you’re misunderstanding the question being posed, and also how minrathous works. in many or even most cases, the high-powered mages dominating the senate, who have access to tevinter’s military strength, are the venatori, the very same people who called this dragon here in the first place, so that they can use the opportunity to take power. they’re not protecting minrathous from it, they’re performing a coup—meaning even the high-powered mages who aren’t venatori will be occupied defending themselves—while leaving poor districts like dock town to burn and then raiding them in the following days to cut down their only protectors, those few who were trying to help each other

that’s why lucanis points out the immediate threat and human cost, treviso’s lack of defenses and the ease of riddling its canals with blight, and neve is talking about the venatori

and think about it another way: minrathous is the heart of the tevinter imperium and all those armies and magical powerhouses answer to it. treviso isn’t even a capital. you’re fighting a war. which ones of those are you going to keep out of the hands of your enemy? what’s going to let you save more people in the long run?

i don’t think it’s as easy an answer as all that. interested to see how extensive the consequences are of either option!!

[purgaytorysupremacy]

as the grandchild of survivors of the Second World War on both sides, this has been a really hard thing for me to internalize. none of my grandparents (nor my parents) talked about WWII much. I don’t actually know that much about what my families were doing, only that it was bad. I have an entire branch of my family tree that’s just gone and (supposedly) no one knows why. where I grew up in Canada had a lot of Holocaust survivors because we had large Dutch and German communities already, and every year until I graduated high school, we were fortunate enough to hear firsthand stories from survivors.

the one thing my grandparents would say and those survivors would repeat in their talks, over and over, until it was seared in my brain: “Never look away. You can’t let this happen again. The least you can do is never look away.”

I took this lesson very seriously. I was plugged in to the news all the time. I felt so helpless and useless and hopeless, but I wasn’t going to do the people suffering through it the disservice of looking away. I donated my money and my time and hoped to get into international aid, even joined the military because Canada is the nation of peacekeepers (Listen, I was a kid lol) and Gen. Roméo Dallaire, the Canadian who led the peacekeeping mission in Rwanda, was my hero. (Even as it ruined his life.)

I don’t know if anyone reading this had this same experience. I don’t know many people IRL who had this message drilled in so completely. (Being a white first-generation Canadian as a millennial is like that sometimes.) And I ended up breaking. I just couldn’t keep watching everything and being utterly unable to do a damn thing about it. It made me feel like a bad person and like I failed not only my grandparents but all those who shared their stories, so few of them who are still alive to do so.

Thing is, my grandparents got their news from film reels and this new thing called radio. The photos and documentation they saw from the time, both now and contemporaneously, was sparse and edited and targeted, for better or worse. None thought we would someday live in a world where individual people can upload hours of no-context atrocities from anywhere at any time.

Obviously, the “Never Again” and “Don’t look away” aren’t literal, but the way we pay attention now is different than they would’ve in the 1940’s or 1970’s. No one taught me how to stay true to something that has become a core value while not collapsing into compassion and empathy fatigue to the point where I have to look away.

I don’t have an answer on that balance yet, but just understanding that there does need to be one has been incredibly helpful. That doomscrolling isn’t helping anyone. That paying attention doesn’t mean knowing everything about everything at all times. We have more information by orders of magnitude than even existed in my grandparents’ lifetimes. We have to choose what “not looking away” looks like for each of us in the cultural and activism environments we live in. No one is more virtuous or caring because they’ve exposed themselves to more trauma than someone else. It’s not sustainable. You’ve gotta keep your oxygen mask on.

A video that was really helpful in me noodling this out—it’s been a lifelong project, and I’m sure it will continue to be—was Hank Green’s vlog on Webs of Care.

None of us can do everything, but all of us can do anything.

Hi. Things are bleak, I know that. I know that we paid for Trump's last term with blood and it is likely the price will be blood again.

But listen to me. LISTEN.

You do not have to force yourself to witness horrors as an act of activism. It is not a form of activism. You can put your phone down, you can block that horrific video. We cannot win if you cannot fight and you will not be able to fight if you are hopeless.

Do not let them guilt you into this. People who are exhausted are easier to walk over. Take care of yourself, find community where you find joy.

[queenshelby]

The Peaky Role (Part Four)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Best Friend's Dad

Later that day...

After you finished your last scene, at around 6 o'clock that day, a few of the cast members where quick to leave while others were hanging around.

"Are you joining us for dinner tonight?" one of the younger actors asked, flashing you a bright smile. "We often go to the pub on the corner. The food there is fantastic, and the atmosphere is totally relaxed."

You shook your head, a somewhat tired but polite smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Thanks, but I’m going to skip it tonight. I am pretty tired," you explained while Cillian joined the conversation beside you, his hands in his pockets.

"What about you, Cillian?" the same actor asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Cillian chuckled softly. "I think you already know the answer to that. No pub for me tonight."

Laughter rippled through the group. "You're such a hermit," another actor teased, nudging him but Cillian simply shrugged.

"Are all of you Irish like this?" the young man then asked, but you shook your head.

You rolled your eyes, smirking at the banter. “No, just Cillian. I’m saving money, not avoiding socializing,” you shot back, grinning, while Cillian chuckled softly, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement before suggesting that you walk back to the apartment complex together.

As you walked out of the studio, the air felt fresher with the evening breeze nudging at your skin. Streetlights flickered on, casting an amber glow along the pavement.

"You really should think about joining them next time, to get to know some more people in the industry," Cillian said, stepping beside you as you crossed the street.

“I know, but I am actually saving money and this job does not pay well unless you are famous," you replied, your voice laced with a hint of humor, though a hint of truth lingered in your tone. “I’d rather not spend it on overpriced pub grub.”

Cillian nodded, a knowing look in his deep blue eyes. "I remember those days, believe me," he chuckled before glancing down at the street as you both walked. "I used to count every penny back when I was starting out."

You looked up at him, intrigued. “Really? You? I can’t imagine you ever struggling.”

A wry smile danced on his lips. "You'd be surprised," he replied, his gaze flickering to a passing car. "I was hitchhiking because I couldn't afford a bloody car back then. It takes a lot to get where you want to be."

You snorted. "Oh my god, did you ever get picked up by some weirdos?" you asked, a teasing grin spreading across your face.

Cillian threw his head back in laughter, the sound echoing in the quiet street. “Trust me, I have stories that would make your skin crawl.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “But I suppose that's part of the journey. You learn a lot when you’re out there.”

As approaching your hotel, the neon sign of a supermarket glowed invitingly across the street.

“I do need to grab some food, do you want to come?" he then asked as you paused at the entrance. You glanced at the bright lights illuminating the aisles of the supermarket, welcoming the idea of joining him.

"Sure, I need some stuff too," you replied, falling into step beside him as you both pushed through the sliding glass doors.

Inside, the familiar scent of produce and faint cleaning products filled your nose and you quickly seperated.

You made your way to the fast food aisle, scanning the shelves filled with instant noodles, microwave dinners, and other quick options. You pulled a packet of noodles off the shelf, squeezing it lightly before tossing it into your basket.

Needing some tacos, Cillian joined but then paused beside you, peering into your basket with an amused expression. “You really aren’t going to eat that for dinner, are you?”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto your face. “Why not?" you returned playfully. “It’s quick and easy. Just add hot water and voilà, dinner is served.”

Cillian shook his head slowly, a hint of disbelief in his eyes. “That’s not a dinner. You need something more nutritious to keep up your energy. How about some proper food?”

You chuckled, your gaze darting back to the lineup of instant meals. "It's fine, really. Instant noodles have been my best friend for years," you replied, tossing another packet into the basket for good measure.

Cillian raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement as he took in the collection of instant meals. “I’m not letting you eat that," he then determined before making a suggestion.

"How about this—why don’t you join me for dinner? I am cooking anyway and you can leave after, go about your own plans as you please. But at least this way, you can eat something healthy."

You hesitated, caught off guard by the unexpected invitation. The prospect of a home-cooked meal sparked a fleeting sense of joy, but you pulled back, a grin playing on your lips.

"Cooking, huh? Look at you going all domestic even after a long day of playing a gangster," you teased, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Cillian laughed, his eyes glinting with appreciation. “Trust me, I can whip up a mean chilli con-carne. Despite, I find cooking therapeutic," he said before he paused, scanning the shelves again. “It helps me to clear my head after a long day," he explained as he selected a a few more items and tossed them into his basket. "So, what do you say?" he asked and you studied him for a moment, weighing the prospect of good food against the allure of your usual routine.

Cillian’s sincerity felt refreshing, and the idea of breaking away from instant noodles was oddly tempting .

"Alright, you’ve convinced me,” you finally agreed, a grin breaking out on your face. “I’ll join you for dinner," you said, your excitement bubbling like the instant noodles you were used to.

Cillian beamed, the tension in his shoulders easing as if a weight had been lifted. “Great! Let's just get some more things and go. It's getting late," he told you, causing you to chuckle again.

"It's not even seven o'clock," you countered, your laughter fading as you followed him through the aisles, watching as he thoughtfully selected fresh vegetables and spices for his dish.

Once done, Cillian paid and you headed straight to his apartment which, not to your suprise, was much bigger than yours.

"Now, tell me what I can do," you said, looking around as Cillian led the way into his spacious kitchen, adorned with sleek cabinets and modern appliances. "I may as well learn something while I’m here."

Cillian chuckled, setting the bags down on the counter with a soft thud. “You want me to teach you how to cook?" Cillian clarified with an amused twinkle in his eye.

“Absolutely,” you replied, leaning against the counter as you watched him pull out a cutting board and knives.

Cillian grinned, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he began to unpack the groceries. “Alright then, first things first—chop up these vegetables,” he said, pulling out a variety of colorful bell peppers and an onion. He handed you a knife, placing a cutting board in front of you.

"Consider it done," you said, grabbing the knife with confidence. You sliced into the onion, the crisp sound filling the kitchen as you focused intently on your task, trying to mimic Cillian’s precise chopping techniques. Cillian moved about the kitchen, his presence both calming and exhilarating. With every slice of the knife, you could feel the rhythm settling in, the usual chatter of nerves pushed aside.

“Not bad for a novice,” Cillian commented, glancing over at you while tossing the chopped peppers into a sizzling frying pan. The aroma of the vegetables mingled with the heat radiating from the stove as they began to soften.

"Thanks," you murmured, your ears flushing with pride at his compliment. “You make it look easy.”

Cillian chuckled, stirring the contents in the pan with finesse, steam rising and swirling around him.

“Practice makes perfect,” he said, glancing your way with an encouraging smile and, once the chilli was cooking, he turned back towards you.

“Now tell me, what did you think about your first day on set?" he asked and you paused, considering your answer.

“It was definitely overwhelming at first,” you admitted, your fingers stilling over the vegetables. “Walking onto that set, seeing everyone bustling about, I felt like a deer caught in headlights. There’s just so much energy and you can sense the weight of expectations in the air.”

Cillian nodded, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms, a look of understanding crossing his face. “That’s the nature of this business. The moment you step onto set, it feels like you carry everyone's ideas and needs along with you."

You nodded, letting his words sink in. “Right? But once I got into the groove of my scenes, it all sort of faded away. The adrenaline kicked in, and I felt more like myself," you finished, a content smile spreading across your face.

Cillian's gaze softened, and he nodded thoughtfully. “Well, for what it's worth, you did incredibly well for your first day," he encouraged you thoughtfully but, even before you could respond to him, you felt a little dizzy.

You paused, blinking rapidly as the colors around you blurred for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Cillian asked, concern edging into his voice as he turned his full attention to you, noticing you turning pale.

“ I'm fine,” you insisted, forcing a smile that felt thin at the edges. “Just a little lightheaded, I think.”

Cillian's blue eyes narrowed, studying you intently. “ "You don’t look fine," he said, shifting closer, concern knitting his brows together. "Have you had your insulin?" he asked and you swallowed hard, your heart racing as you realised how closely he observed you.

“Um, not for a bit,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced down, avoiding his piercing gaze.

“Not for a bit?” His tone escalated, disbelief evident in his voice. “Where is it?" he asked and you hesitated, the urgency thick in the air as you flicked your eyes toward your bag, which you had left near the front door.

“I just... I figured I wouldn't need it for another couple of hours,” you stammered, guilt creeping into your voice as you felt his eyes bore into you.

"Come on, lie down on the couch for a minute while I get it," Cillian insisted, his voice firm yet gentle as he guided you to the living room, his hand resting on your back with a surprising warmth.

You sank into the plush couch, exhaling shaky breaths as the world slowly came back into focus. Cillian hurried off into the hallway, leaving you alone for a moment. The quiet of the apartment wrapped around you, and you closed your eyes, trying to breathe through the wave of dizziness that had washed over you.

Cillian returned moments later, his expression a mixture of focus and worry. He held your insulin pen in one hand, the tiny device feeling almost foreign as he approached.

"I need the monitor too," you murmured, your voice steadying as you reached for your bag. Cillian's eyes never left you, concern etched across his handsome features.

"What about your new monitor? The one that hooks in all the time?" he asked as he looked through your bag quickly and then found it tucked away in a pocket. He held it up with a hint of authority, as if success depended on this small device.

"I took it off for filming," you admitted, a sheepish grin escaping your lips. “Didn’t want to deal with the wires showing through my outfit.”

"Jesus Y/N," he groaned, his voice tinged with frustration but laced with concern. He set the monitor down and focused on you, his blue eyes intense. “You’ve got to take this more seriously," he lectured you just as your father would before reaching for your hand.

"Give me your index finger," he demanded gently.

With reluctant compliance, you extended your finger, feeling the warmth of his hand linger against yours.

Cillian pressed the small lance against your fingertip, the quick sting almost pleasant in its urgency. He squeezed gently until a bead of blood formed, then swiftly positioned the glucose monitor over it.

He then placed the strip into the monitor, his eyes flicking to the screen as the numbers displayed steadily counted down.

"How often do you check this?" he asked, his voice steady, though you could hear the underlying tension in his tone.

"Usually before I eat," you replied, watching him with a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment. “Sometimes after if I feel off, but…” you said as you let your voice trail off, the weight of your admission hanging in the air, palpable and heavy.

"What does it say?" you then asked and Cillian’s focus remained fixed on the screen, his brow creasing as he showed you, not really understanding the numbers.

Cillian held the monitor out, his frown deepening and you blinked at the glowing digits, your heart sinking.

"Pass me the pen," you instructed, your voice steady yet urgent. Cillian hesitated for just a moment, his expression marking concern, but then he handed it to you without question.

You grabbed it, twisting off the cap with precision. You could feel Cillian's gaze on you, the weight of his worry tangible in the air as you prepared to inject the insulin.

You lifted your shirt slightly , exposing a small area of skin on your abdomen. You quickly pushed the needle into the soft flesh, the sting a familiar sensation that calmed your racing thoughts.

Cillian shifted closer, his presence almost enclosing you like a protective barrier as you pressed down on the plunger, delivering the dose with a steadiness you’d practiced countless times before.

"All done," you murmured, placing the pen down on the coffee table, your breath gradually evening out as you felt the tension in your system loosen.

Cillian remained close, his expression softening as he watched you. “You had me worried there for a second,” he admitted, a hint of relief breaking his serious demeanor, his deep blue eyes momentarily shimmering with concern.

"Sorry to cause a panic," you replied, letting out a shaky laugh as you settled back into the couch, the tension in your body easing just a little.

You chuckled softly, the unease slowly fading as you caught Cillian's eye.

"Just relax for a bit now, okay?" Cillian said, his hand hovering near yours in a gentle reminder. “I’ll finish up the dinner, and you can sit here until you feel better.”

"Okay, thank you," you replied, sinking further into the soft cushions as relief gradually washed over you. Cillian’s reassurance wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, and you took a moment to breathe as you watched him head back to the kitchen, still wearing that focused expression. He moved with an ease that suggested this was a routine for him, perhaps a dance he had perfected over years of solitary dinners between shoots.

The sizzle of the frying pan mingled with the soft murmur of a cooking show blaring from the television, a comforting backdrop to the evening. You relaxed into the couch, the softness pulling at you as you let your mind wander in the stillness of the moment.

It felt strange to be here, sharing a meal with Cillian, your best friend's father, without her being here too. It felt wrong somehow, but you actually enjoyed his company.

Tags:

@sunbeamseas @saint-ackerman @oatmealisweird @naxxsstuff @amanda08319 @r-m-cidnah @elysiannook @cillshot @infireddabdab @tastycakee @harrysbestiee @lilybabe22 @adalynlowell @henrywintersdearestgirl @ietss @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @ryiamarie @axionn

@nela-cutie @futurecorps3 @delishen @nosebleeds-247 @thirteenis-myluckynumber @gills-lounge @hjmalmed @lost-fantasy @tiredkitten @sidechrisporn @smallsoulunknown @charqing-qing @hopefulinlove @aporiasposts @shycrybaby @me-and-your-husband @hjmalmed @lacontroller1991 @galxydefender @aporiasposts

@galxydefender @hunnibearrr @saint-ackerman @lunyyx @gentlemonsterjennie1 @ihavealotoffandomssorry @nadloves @lost-fantasy @nolucesn@mcavoy-girl @hjmalmed @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @blushykiss @tatumrileyslover @teawithsatanx @orijanko @rhaenyra4ever @xcinnamonmalfoyx @budugu @nadloves @kmc1989 @bloodybagels @obeyme4life @richiesgroupie @smailaway @sophiaaguirred @blondie-22 @hagarsays @leighla3 @meadows5 @randomcreator-09

[jusst-you-race]

For the CCC asks: can we get some simi?? I don't think Kimi would be one to text much so I have no idea how that would play out but I'd love to know about them in your universe

and also for @sashacat1 here is some simi!!! this took me quite a while to work out how I wanted to show their dynamic but I think i got somewhere kind of alright... hope you all enjoy!!! for the ccc snippet prompts

Seb Kimi look I saw a dog on the way to work!

image.png

He was a very good boy, his owner let me pet him. 

His name is Duke, I think this is a very good name for a dog 

Regal

Kimi ❤️

cute

Seb Argh my office plants are wilting!

I knew I should have brought them home before I went to that conference

You are so much better at looking after my plants 

Kimi wasn’t Jen supposed to water them?

Seb Yes! 

Of course you remember this and you don’t even work here

She said she forgot 

I don’t know how she could have forgotten when she had been in the office for two weeks while my plants have been drooping right in front of her face

My poor babies 

Kimi ☹️

Seb Yes I know I’m probably being a bit dramatic about it but it is upsetting!

I might have to bring these home for emergency care… 

They really aren’t doing so hot they’ve barely perked up after watering

Kimi I’ll pick you up after work

Seb Really? It’s not too much of a hassle?

I know it’s really out of the way for you

And we shouldn’t be driving unnecessarily 

But I don’t know how else I will get these poor babies home 

Kimi it’s fine 

Seb You are such a lifesaver 

I love you 

Kimi ❤️

Seb Oh I don’t even know where I’ll put them

We really are running out of space in the flat

I need to give all my new cuttings away! But I just want to make sure they’ll handle the stress of an environmental change

Do you think Charles would like a plant as a moving gift when he moves? 

I am very excited to have him around! 

Sometimes having a plant to take care of reminds you to take care of yourself and I feel like he will need that reminder in his final years of architecture

Kimi 👍

Seb Okay fantastic I am glad you agree

I think I’ll give him a pothos 

I have too many cuttings from my one and they’re easy to look after

Hang on what was I talking about?

Kimi space

Seb Ah yes 

The ones I’m bringing home are low light plants and I’m not sure we have any more room in the bedroom…

It’s getting quite full in there

The lounge would be too sunny, same with the kitchen

Maybe I have too many plants…

Kimi bathroom?

Seb Yes! 

Have I mentioned I love you?

Kimi once or twice

Seb Well I do 

That’s such good thinking I should be able to make some space on the counter for these two just while they get back to their usual selves

You won’t mind it being a bit cramped in there for a while will you?

Kimi no 

Seb ❤️

Okay wonderful! 

Now that I have a plan I really should get started on my work for today

I have so many emails… 

What does your day look like schatz?

Kimi Michael is bringing his car in

will probably spend most of the day on that

you know how he gets

Seb Oh yes that Ferrari is his baby

Scheiße

Why did you have to tell me you were working on a Ferrari today

I can’t be horny at work 

Kimi you asked

Seb I did 

I regret it 

God I’m going to be thinking about that all day

Kimi go answer your emails 

Seb But imagining you all greasy under a Ferrari is so much more appealing 

Kimi I’m not indulging this 

go do your work rakas

Seb Fine 😔

Take pictures?

Kimi of course 

Seb 🥰

Okay okay have a wonderful day schatz!

Kimi ❤️

[aliesbienish]

A study of wolves: part six

chapter one ✩ chapter two ✩ chapter three ✩ chapter four ✩ chapter five

“I’m sorry, but that’s not going to happen Lauren. I’m not interested in you like that,”

“Are you kidding?” She hissed, “and you’re interested in her?” Pointing a sharped clawed finger in your direction.

You prepared yourself for a polite no, but when Paul opened his mouth you thought you had misheard him.

“Absolutely.”

“Absolutely?” You queried as Lauren gaudy heels clicked away. “You didn’t have to say that, I’d have understood if you wanted to see her. We’re done with dinner anyway,”

“Trust me I didn’t say it because we’re busy, my answer would have been a no regardless.”

“And the other part?” Paul cocked in his head in confusion. “Telling her you’re interested in me? Was that just to get her off your case?”

It was amazing how insecure you were feeling, but you couldn’t help compare yourself to the blonde who just departed. The girl, while maybe a tad over the top, was clearly your typical small town beauty queen. Her platinum blonde hair, shiny clothes and pointed nails were of a stark contrast to your mud covered khaki and plaited hair littered with twigs. It felt like you were back in high school and that thought made you nauseas.

Normally you were more sure in yourself, but despite knowing Paul only a few days he seemed to destroy your sensibilities. For some reason your heart, despite your brains best logic, seemed to think that Paul could change the course of your future. You weren’t sure you were ready for the answer.

“Sorry, sorry. You absolutely don’t have to answer that. We can revert right back to before Lauren came over and pretend none of this happened if you like! I totally understand I’m probably not the type of girl you are usually in to, so don’t worry no need to let me down gently,”

“[Y/n],” he stated ending your panicked rambling. Grabbing onto your hand, he used his other to turn your blushing face so you were making eye contact. “Why wouldn’t you be the girl I’m typically interested in?”

“I know you don’t know me very well but this is it. I don’t have a girly, giggly side. I’m not the typical girl guys go for, especially guys like you.”

“Like me?”

“Well yeah. Attractive, smart, funny guys like you. I’m not their go to type,”

“You are assuming a lot about me, while simultaneously undermining how amazing you are. You aren’t doing either of us any favours.”

“What assumptions am I making?”

“My type in woman. Why did you think I was lying? I said nothing but the truth to Lauren.”

“But that means you’re…”

“Absolutely interested in you.”

“Oh. Can I ask why?”

“You can, but just know that it hurts me that you think it’s a valid question. I am interested in you because you are amazingly witty, so much so prior to the last five minutes I haven’t wiped the smile from my face. I’m interested because you are so insanely intelligent and passionate about what you do. I’m interested because you are openly kind and caring, and I can see how interested you are while still carefully respecting my boundaries. And I’m interested because you are the most beautiful woman I’ve seen, mud and all,”

“Right, is that all?” You gulped trying to make a joke, but instead your voice came out shaky and high pitched.

“Not even close. So now that I’ve made it abundantly clear how I feel, just tell me if I screwed up by clueing you in.” It was Paul’s turn to look anxious as he tried to pull back his hand still locked in yours.

You grabbed onto it, linking your fingers together. “No, you didn’t screw up. Quite the opposite really. I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind since we meet. But don’t you think this is crazy, we have known each other for a few days? I’m not sure we should be feeling like this,”

“Just because it seems fast doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

“I can’t imagine this ever feeling wrong,” You declared, biting your lips in anticipation.

“Me either, so who cares if some arbitrary rules say this is too fast. At risk of sounding like a cliche - if you know you know - and it sounds like we both know,”

“So does that mean we’re all in?”

“Absolutely,” Paul muttered as he placed his hand on the back of your head, gently pulling you towards him while giving you ample time to stop. Instead you leaned in pressing your lips gently to his. You could swear you felt sparks, and somehow kissing over discarded plates of chips in the corner of a small dinner was the best moment of your life.

“Well let’s hope we follow our subject matter.” You muttered as you reluctantly pulled away, “did you know wolves mate for life?”

Paul chuckled, you have no idea he thought.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"That's hilarious," Jared chuckled moments after Paul shifted for parole and his day came spilling out through their connection. "You couldn't even make it a day without falling head over heels in love with her"

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Hi all, sorry for the delay - but I hope this absolute sap will get me back in your good graces! I am finally finished with uni so actually have some time on my hands now.

Ali x

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

The chance of William not marrying for love is higher than what most people insist.

I just want to answer this anon. I think people like to think that William and Kate aren’t in love because they look at people through their roles or like generalized labels or like through the lens of rules they think should exist in the universe. As Joan Didion said, we tell ourselves stories in order to live. A lot of people know that royals or aristocrat often marry for money or convenience. It’s true that historically, royals get into arranged marriages.

But I would like to offer a different perspective. We can try and see the humanity in each person. I know that’s difficult to do with royals because they’re so media trained and private. But paying proper attention to the stories of these people, the tiny bit of personality that comes through in their interviews and stuff, sometimes we can see their individual stories, their individual personalities. While it’s true that there’s a high chance that the heir to the throne like William would not marry for love, we can infer from the story of his life laid out that there’s a chance he did. My opinion of William is that he’s actually a lot more transparent than people realize. Or maybe it’s just the result of his parents being Charles and Diana who couldn’t stop themselves leaking left and right in the 90s, that there’s no choice but for a lot of things to be laid bare for us. Of course, William is still very private and we might be wrong in our assessment, but we can’t also always generalize.

What I’m saying is, this is the man who in his engagement interview, didn’t shy away in showing how affected he was about his parent’s past. He said something about learning from the past. We also know from things Diana said and from William’s own demeanor that he’s someone who gives a lot of thought to things. We also know from interviews he’s given as a teenager that he struggles with the fact that his role pulls him in different directions and he’s protective of his self, which can sometimes appear to be stubbornness. What I’m saying is, we can infer from these things that this is a man with his own mind. So I would say that from all the things we think we know about William, there’s also a high chance that he would insist on marrying exactly who he wanted to marry or who he loved.

I would also say that even though we know historically that royals get into arranged marriages, we can’t always be sure of how the story goes. I mean, if we’re looking into history, for example, Henry VII and Elizabeth of York married for political reasons. Their union ended the War of the Roses, and yet most historians would agree that it seems they found love along the way and that Henry VII was one of the monarchs with no known mistress. However, royals can fancy themselves in love too in the beginning but the story doesn’t end in a good note. Henry VIII, for example. I think most historians would also agree that he was enamored with Anne Boleyn. Maybe it wasn’t love, maybe it was lust. But the thing is, he fancied himself in love at the beginning, but obviously it ended horribly. A lot of people also forget that Henry VIII was happy at one point with Catherine of Aragon.

What I’m saying is, while we can all generalize that “oh, royals do not marry for love” or we can have a sense of “oh these rich people are all unhappy!”, but they have their own stories too. And so do we, being “norma people” or not being as rich does not guarantee happiness or finding true love. Marrying for love does not guarantee happily ever after also, but we can only wish the best for everyone.

Thanks, anon! You make some really good points here.

I don't have anything to add except: if royals and aristos aren't supposed to be marrying for love, someone better tell the romance writers because they're out of a job now.

[ofmermaidstories]

ok let’s have a WIP chat. 🚶🏽‍♀️‍➡️🪑📚

what do we owe each other? or rather, what do i owe you? i’ve been thinking about this a lot in the last few weeks, because the answer to that affects what i post and how i post it.

i wanted to post the haunting fic this month, maybe, but it’s a little heavier than my usual fare, and while that doesn’t bother me, the writer, i guess i just overthink the like. reality of being a fic writer in a niche/genre that is built on love stories, you know? is the haunting fic a love story? yeah. but i’m just… idk, i think i’m just kinda like ehhhhhh over the fact that maybe it’s not the love story we necessarily need right now, LOL. also it’s like, peak summer for me, which is very anti-haunting vibes, however, that might make it peak-posting time for our friends in non-southern-hemisphere countries? but then is that coming back around to like, the whole, “do i post a downer of a fic when my friends are emotionally vulnerable and at the mercy of seasonal depression?” LOL. but then that implies that i don’t trust you guys to know yourselves well enough to make the judgement call you need to……… LMAOOOO sorry guys, you’re getting all this dumped on you bc my friends aren’t TALKING TO MEEEE REEEEEE (but also this is like, a great sampler of what it’s like to be my friend so hey, maybe this is kinda like an audition?).

honestly this kind of overthinking is probably why it takes me so long to post anything LOL. i’m just kinda like uhh ehhh ahhh mmmm hmmm most of the time LOL. but anyways, part of me is just like, okay girl, you just gotta leave tumblr for the summer and go write the shouto fic LOL. but also that’s me lying to you, because i wouldn’t leave tumblr and i wouldn’t be working on the shouto fic LOL, what i really wanna do is the gravity falls fic. 🥹👉🏽👈🏽 and that’s for a couple of reasons: the hyperfixation is HOT at the moment, time to strike, etc etc, and also because i’ve decided that whenever i do post it, it needs to be already done in it’s entirety, so that it’s not dependant on like—you know!! the inherent motivation that comes with it being read by others. idk guys. 😩 i talk myself in circles about this. because like, okay—let’s say i manage to finish the wholeeee fic, and i post it, what does an apology present to our non-interested GF friends look like? LOL. like, do i write the GF fic, and then quickly follow that up with a chapter of the shouto fic, so there’s something for everyone? do i try and sandwich things? haunting one-shot, GF fic, shouto chapter? i know i KNOW “do what you want merms” i KNOWWW, the problem is that i. want to do everything. 🥹 and also it takes me time to deliver those things. 🥺 slowmaxxing, as our beloved starry likes to say. 🥹 but it means i kinda have to… choose wisely, right? because of the literal time we’re spending??? and then that brings me to a decision paralysis ig LOL. love life love creating i would not trade this for the world it’s fine it’s fun it’s fine.

[mescalpascal]

Title: With You (Dieter Bravo x f!Reader*)

Rating: A hard T, or a soft M.

Word count: 724

Warnings: Drugs; depression; self-hatred; suicidal ideation. Nothing is acted on, but it is all discussed.

*This is fully self-serving, so while I’ve chosen to list the Reader character as female and depict her as such on the header, there is no use of gendered pronouns or descriptors within the fic; Dieter calls Reader “babe/baby”.

Notes: This is unasked for, unwanted, unbetaed. I just needed to get some feelings out, and apparently the only pathetic way I could do that was to use Dieter.

(header by me; feather divider by @saradika-graphics)

“Babe?”

You don’t answer. You’re not even sure you would be able to if you wanted.

Instead, you sit cross-legged on the bed, staring down at the bottles in front of you.

It would be so easy…

You’re studying a bottle of Lexapro, wondering idly just how much would be enough, when you hear the faint sound of his footsteps outside the door. You try to quickly cover your tracks, tossing the blankets over your stash…

…but you aren’t fast enough.

“What the fuck?”

You meet Dieter’s eyes, dark and wide, like he’s seen a ghost. You open your mouth to try and say something, to explain yourself, but it isn’t fast enough. He’s sitting beside you quicker than you think is possible, his big hands digging under your blankets and coming up with the pill containers.

“What are you doing?” There’s a loud rattle as he tosses the bottles haphazardly onto the nightstand and fills the new emptiness in his palms with your cheeks. “Baby, no. Please talk to me. What were you going to do?”

“Nothing,” you breathe after several moments of silence. “I wasn’t… I wasn’t going to do anything. I just…” A long sigh, from the deepest parts of your body and soul. “I just realized how easy it would be if I wanted to.”

You force yourself to meet his eyes, and they’re wet and soft, and it breaks your heart in a thousand pieces to realize your stupid selfish moment of weakness is making him cry. You raise your hands to wrap around his wrists, closing your eyes against his soft thumbs pressing into your face.

“Baby, you’re scaring me,” he says; repeats it a few times. “Can I take you to the hospital? Can we get help?” He pulls your upper half closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I need you here. I can’t lose you. Please don’t go.”

“I wasn’t going to, Dieter,” you say again. “I— I don’t want to die. It just struck me that I could, if it got bad enough, if…”

You feel the sob that wracks him before you hear it pass his lips. “You can’t die before me,” he murmurs. Normally, this would be a joke, a way he teases you when you’re complaining about pain or frustration. Now, it’s pure fear. “This world needs you. I need you.”

Something breaks inside you, cracking the dull, near-numb ache you’ve been feeling, and you start to cry. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough,” you whisper.

He pulls you closer, so close you’re all but kneeling on his thigh, and he wraps you in the tightest hug you’ve ever felt. You close your eyes and breathe him in — the scent of weed, of patchouli, of wood and musk — and you wish that instead of not existing you could instead exist just right here for the rest of your life.

“You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, babe.” He draws long, soothing lines along your spine with his fingers, but doesn’t release you. “But one thing I’ve learned in my eleventy billion hours of therapy is that strong doesn’t negate hurt.”

“Am I a coward for even considering the easy way out?”

That makes him release you, but only so far as to meet your gaze again. “Don’t you ever call yourself a coward.” Still crying, his expression is dark now, almost angry, but with a kind of softness behind it. “Would you think that if our roles were reversed right now? If you’d been with me any time I considered fucking offing myself in the past?”

“No…”

“So don’t you say that about yourself. You are not a coward.” He runs his fingers under your eyes, wiping away your tears. “I need you to understand that you’re not wrong for feeling this way, okay? I know it. I know it far too well. And I’m here with you.”

You sit that way for a bit, silent, but his hands resting still on your cheeks, yours on his shoulders. It should be awkward, but it feels…comforting. Grounding.

“Dee?”

“Yeah?”

You exhale heavily. “I think I need to talk to someone. Someone professional. And I want you there.”

He smiles, brushes your face with his thumbs, leans in and offers the lightest of kisses.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’m with you.”

[bylerposting]

12 year old Will Byers in the vents of the USS Eldridge while the entire crew is brutally massacred by a demogorgon

[sincerely-sofie]

Ohhhh, Anon's perfect apple ask is now giving me blessed imagery of Dusknoir cutting apple slices into bunny shapes. Maybe for Opal, maybe for him to show off, either way.

The soft, the dexterity, the GENTLENESS after such a prolonged period of violence he had undergone. Opal called him her gramps for a reason, after all.

(Referencing this post)

Hey how does it feel to have given me a prompt that had me tearing up all throughout the process of drawing it because of how unbearably heartfelt and endearing it is?

[edwinisms]

love seeing that the tag is trending. as if it means anything

[napping-sapphic]

How do you feel about love bites? Like a really gentle bite on the cheek or neck or shoulder to show affection. Or anywhere really. Chomp chomp.

Ya know i can honestly say that i don’t think i’ve ever considered the idea of casual affectionate biting lmao

Idk!! It seems like one of those things where i can’t really form a solid opinion on it unless it happens to me but so long as it’s not like actual leave-an-injury-or-mark type biting I’d probably be okay with it! I usually find people’s more unexpected or unique ways of showing affection really endearing tbh so I’d probably just think it was cute honestly🙃

Also weirdly enough i read shoulder and was like “oh yeah that makes sense you can bite someone there” so that’d probably be fine i guess lol, if it was like painful biting though it’s probably a solid no from me though because i am a wimp😌

[janiedean]

i would beg my brain chemistry to magically realign itself on a sensed wavelength before I end up begging for meds i don’t think it’s too much to ask is it /s