#but you can still get joy and knowledge from having these arguments

[oifaaa]

Opinion: plot lines and fan arguments about who should be Batman once Bruce retires/dies are pointless cause DC is never going let him (permanently) retire/die.

strongly agree | agree | neutral | disagree | strongly disagree

While I agree with you that dc will never let Bruce retire I don't actually think arguing about who would make the best batman after Bruce is pointless considering it is a fun debate and hyperthetical to think about and we can still make stories that are fun and interesting to read based on what would happen if Bruce was to not be batman anymore the batman beyond universe being a good example of this

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Not Without Me (part 3)

Part 1, part 2

Jason was still absolutely furious, and grieving about what had happened with Bruce, despite Danny’s best efforts to comfort and look after him. The Joker’s death had helped a lot but there were so many other villains out there, and now with the knowledge that Bruce would never change Jason’s thoughts turned to Tim. The new Boy Wonder, going out night after night and putting himself in danger for the sake of adults who Should know better! Leading the Teen Titans and Still working with Batman, when did the fucking kid sleep?!

What was it going to take for everyone to realize he shouldn’t be out on the field?! Maybe an argument could be made for some of the more powerful teen heroes like Superboy, but Tim was Just a teenager! A super smart one sure but he could get hurt so easily, he could die just like Jason had. Was it going to take a serious injury to show them what a bad idea it was? 

And maybe a part of Jason did blame Tim, not for his death obviously, but for taking Robin from him when it had been his pride and joy. It had meant everything to him, and it seemed like between the original Boy Wonder and the new genius boy Jason had nearly been forgotten. 

So no he wasn’t thinking particularly logically when he got ready to go to Titan’s tower, and the closest thing he had to a plan was to get Robin alone and beat the shit out of him until he agreed to put the suit back in the memorial case where it belonged! The anger spiraled up and out as Jason prepared to leave, working himself up into a cold, green tinged fury.

He hadn’t told Danny what he was planning to do, and he hadn’t on purpose. Danny was loyal and sometimes almost too submissive, but Jason seriously doubted his boyfriend would let him do this. Maybe that ever-permissive Danny would have stopped him should have been a sign to Jason he really Shouldn’t, but he was not thinking logically in that moment. His blood was rushing in his ears, which was probably why he didn’t notice someone else was there until the door slammed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Danny demanded and Jason looked up to see him standing in front of the door, arms crossed and legs planted staring Jason down. His head was lifted and there was a stubborn set to his jaw that Jason Hated seeing because it meant Danny was not backing down. Alright, he hated seeing it directed at him, when Danny directed this at other people Jason thought it was hot as hell.

“Out,” Jason practically snarled, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stomping towards the door in the vain hope that Danny would get out of his way.

“Like hell you are, not till you tell me Where you’re going worked up like this! What happened?” Danny demanded, and did not move an inch. When Jason got too close and tried to push past Danny he grabbed Jason and pushed him back hard. It was easy to forget how Strong he was.

“Don’t fucking touch me right now,” Jason snarled at Danny who stepped forward, infuriatingly fearless. 

“Or what? You’ll hurt me? Good, then we can actually have a productive conversation about this.” Danny accused, jabbing a finger against Jason’s chest. 

Jason grabbed Danny’s wrist without even thinking and twisted, throwing Danny over his shoulder and to the floor. He tried to bolt towards the door but felt a hand around his ankle and fell heavily as well. He’d only managed to roll over onto his back before Danny was on top of him, his own sharp teeth bared in fury. “You’re not running away from me, Jason!” He hissed as Jason struggled under him, still with just barely the presence of mind to be trying to get Away! If he started fighting Danny, or beating him properly there was no way Jason would be able to stop until he’d tired himself out and wouldn’t Want to go after Tim anymore.

Danny wasn’t going to let go though, and Jason’s eyes widened behind his mask when Danny lunged down, his teeth clamped down on Jason’s shoulder, tearing through his shirt and into his flesh easily. He howled and flipped them both over, the pain and perceived threat of someone near his vulnerable throat finally making him lose control. 

By the time the green retreated from Jason’s vision again his knuckles were bloody and bruised. He was breathing heavily and his shoulders ached, and not just where Danny had bit him but the muscle ache of exertion. Under him Danny panted, eyes closed tight and bruises still fading slowly from his skin under Jason’s stunned gaze. 

He pulled off his helmet and cupped Danny’s face with gentle hands. Danny opened his eyes again and looked up at Jason, eyes bloodshot and suspicious. Jason gave him a small smile and Danny relaxed, smiling back and lifting his arms to drape them around Jason’s shoulders, they were heavy, Jason could practically see that fatigue dripping off of Danny. He kissed his boyfriend gently and sweetly, peppering feather light kisses over any lingering bruises as Danny gave a soft, happy sigh. 

“I need a bath,” Danny murmured softly. Even though the wounds healed the soreness lingered sometimes, baths helped, even if there wasn’t blood down Danny’s face and staining the collar of his shirt. Jason must have given him a bloody nose a few times over.

“Of course,” Jason murmured and got up off of Danny, helping him to his feet before scooping Danny up in a bridal carry. He was light, Jason’s arms weren’t too tired to carry his lover. In the bathroom Jason set Danny down on the counter and kissed him again softly before putting the plug in the tub and started the water running. He grabbed a dark coloured cloth and wet it before handing it to Danny so he could clean the worst of the blood off his face.

Out of habit he turned to leave, Danny still hadn’t let Jason see him with his shirt off so when he bathed he did it alone. But not this time it seemed, Danny grabbed Jason’s arm before he could leave the room, eyes wide and a little panicky. Shit, Jason didn’t mean to upset him! Did Danny still think Jason would try to sneak away once he was out of sight?

“No, please stay,” Danny said softly, looking like he might cry which was a knife in Jason’s heart honestly. 

“Of Course I’ll stay, I just thought-, I mean you’re not going to bathe with your shirt on,” He said, trying to make a joke as he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Danny. For the moment he’d almost forgotten why he was angry before, they’d have to talk about it soon but taking care of Danny came first.

“Well, no, but I don’t want to be alone right now and you’re going to have to see the scars eventually anyway. I just don’t like looking at them, or thinking about them really, but… ya.” Danny sighed and leaned back, finally stripping off his shirt as Jason braced himself, then carefully controlled his reaction and pushed down his nausea. 

Danny’s scars were… extensive. They didn’t make Jason sick because they were unattractive of course, far from it, but because of the story they told. There was the lichtenberg scar Danny had shown him before, branching up his arm and curling over his chest, but that was probably the least disturbing. The most were the surgical wounds. Straight and clear forming a pronounced Y on Danny’s chest and abdomen, there were straight ones down both of his arms, and a vertical one up the front of his throat, though that one was just slightly less pronounced to the point it could be missed on first glance, out of contact with the rest of This.

Jason knew Danny didn’t scar easily, even when Jason had stabbed him in the shoulder the wound had not scarred. How bad, how extensive, how Deep had these wounds been, that they scarred like that?

Jason realized he was staring, and Danny was looking at him with concern slowly transitioning into panic. Jason stepped closer, leaning against the counter between Danny’s legs when he opened them for him, resting his hands on Danny’s soft hips. He pressed his lips against Danny’s forehead, hearing it as Danny let out a shuddering breath he must have been holding. 

“I just… wish that hadn’t happened to you Danny. And I really wish it wasn’t taking so long for my hackers and agents to find out Where the other GIW bases are, I want to tear those people apart,” He said. He could feel the Pits stirring just slightly inside him, though they were too spent to really react right now. 

“I could probably find them myself if I tried, but honestly I’m scared. I’m not sure I’m ready to face them again,” Danny said softly and Jason sighed.

“I get that Danny, it’s okay,” He promised. He wanted to blow up those bases ASAP, especially since they might be hurting other people, but he couldn’t Force Danny. Hopefully his people would find out more soon and Jason might be able to handle it on his own, maybe with some help from old friends.

The bath had finished running so Jason turned away from Danny to turn it off while he undressed the rest of the way. Jason gave him a hand to steady him as Danny stepped into the water and sank down into it with a sigh. Jason sat beside the tub, leaning against the edge and holding one of Danny’s hands as he relaxed. He’d wash off the remainder of the blood when he was ready to get out so he wouldn’t be soaking in bloody water till then. 

“So, where were you headed That upset?” Danny asked, watching Jason with half lidded eyes. 

“You know, one of these days I’m actually going to be going to do something time sensitive and you stopping me like that is going to cause problems,” Jason grumbled without heat. He knew he was a liability at times when his rage really took over and needed Danny with him then more than ever. Danny knew it too judging by the disbelieving huff he gave Jason in response. “I was… not being rational, I was freaking out about the new Robin.

“He’s just a kid like I was, I don’t want him to die,” Jason muttered, crossing his arms over the edge of the tub and resting his chin on them.

“So what were you planning to do? Kidnap him?” Danny asked calmly.

Jason avoided his gaze. 

“Jason… you weren’t planning to hurt him were you?” Danny asked, and his disappointment was cutting and gentle. Jason’s shame was deep and heavy, making him shrink into himself.

“I thought maybe if I showed him how dangerous it was, how easily he could die he might Want to stop,” Jason muttered, barely audibly. 

“You DID die and nearly the first thing you did once you came back was hop back into costume! Do you really think that would stop him when it didn’t stop you?! He doesn’t seem like he’s any less stubborn,” Danny accused him.

Jason groaned and buried his face in his arms, but didn’t let go of Danny’s hand. He was right of course, Jason had been being an idiot, driven by emotion and the blood rushing in his ears. He should have talked to Danny about this ages ago. “No, it wouldn’t have stopped him. So what do we do?” Jason asked, his voice muffled. 

He felt Danny’s other hand in his hair and leaned in to the soothing touch a little, letting him card his fingers through Jason’s hair. “I know you’re not going to like this Jason, but I don’t think we can make him stop.” Danny said softly and Jason let out a sound that was half a groan and half a growl. “He won’t stop for pain, if we kidnap him we won’t be able to keep him and drawing that much attention to ourselves would definitely be a mistake. We can’t make him stop, but we can probably help him.”

Jason hummed and peaked at Danny who was gazing into the middle distance thoughtfully. “Danny? What are you thinking?” Jason asked a little warily. 

“What did you need when you were Robin? What would have made you stop?” Danny asked, looking back down at Jason. 

It was his turn to fall silent, thinking deeply about that question. He sighed and shifted, leaning his back against the edge of the tub and stretching his legs out in front of him. He tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling in contemplation. “Someone.. Who would support me unconditionally. Bruce didn’t Make me be Robin, but a lot of the time it felt like it was the only way I could get his attention. Being rewarded for Not going out… help?” He said with a vague little gesture of his free hand.

“Can we try to do that for him? If we can get in contact with him we can offer him support, places to hide if he needs a break from Bruce, help with homework? Whatever he needs. At first he’ll probably take advantage of that as an opportunity to spy on us, but as long as we’re careful about it, that could be our in,” Danny suggested.

“What would I do without you,” Jason sighed, looking at Danny with his damn heart in his eyes as Danny gave him a fond but sardonic smile. 

“Apparently, nearly beat a teenager to death,” Danny said and Jason groaned, his head thunking back against the side of the tub.

“How long is it going to take for you to let that go?” He asked preemptively. 

“Never,” Danny replied blithely. “I will bring it up every time I need to remind you Why you need to talk to me before doing something drastic.” 

Jason groaned again, but he definitely deserved that.

--------

Instead of breaking into Titan Tower to fight Tim, Jason broke in to leave him a note in his room.

Hey Timmy (A.K.A. Replacement)

I know I’ve made a pretty damn terrible first impression but I want you to know that it’s not you I’m mad at. I understand wanting to be Robin, I loved the role more than anything before it killed me, and even though I don’t want any more dead kids I don’t think I can make you give it up. 

But you know it’s dangerous, we both do. If you ever get in over your head, you need a place to hide, get in over your head in a fight? Hell, you need help with your homework. I'm really good with English and Hyena knows more than anyone I’ve met about Astronomy.  

If the old man is with you we won’t let you in, but if You need anything you can call me, or come to the Alley. As long as you’re alone you are welcome, and I swear on my own grave no one will hurt you.

Red Hood

Masterpost

[andhumanslovedstories]

I’ve been struggling lately with the feeling that my job is pointless. Intellectually I know it is not—nursing is one of those professions where you get to be real smug about knowing the value of your work. But it’s still felt very pointless. Like I’ll start a shift thinking, “what am I even doing here,” and end it thinking, “what have I actually even done.” It’s been a ROUGH couple months.

But I had a really good shift last time I worked, which was good for the soul and also a very useful data point. I got to do pain management advocacy and symptom management, met a bunch of cool patients, did education for new nurses, and had several long heart to hearts, which the kind of midnight heart to hearts that I think are the most important part of night shift, all of that while being well staffed with very pleasant and appreciative patients and coworkers, and I was still like. Pretty depressed. I had a sense of satisfaction and moments of joy and meaning, but it turns out that one good shift did not cure the depression that has been latched on to me for the last few months like some kind of fucked up mental health leech. As I realized I was still depressed and that it was still interfering with my life even when everything was going well, the sense of peace washed over me was the best I’d felt in a while. Because I was like, okay! None of my usual stuff as worked! I have no excuse not to try something new to get my brain out of the shit ditch it’s slipped into.

So I’m applying for short-term disability. I’m worried I won’t get it, and I’m not sure what the next step is if I get rejected, but I feel so much better having decided to pursue it. It’s so much fuckin paperwork for sure, to a degree that’s overwhelming except that that the form could be a checkbox that says, “you want money?” and I’d be like “THIS IS TOO MUCH.” I’m totally not writing this post instead of finishing an email to my manager. I’m definitely not writing this post to avoid dealing with coordinating all my various care providers. I’m certainly not at every moment worried that I’m secretly faking all this so I can get three to nine weeks of a cool summer vacation.

I was thinking about how I almost flunked nursing school in my final semester because I turned in assignments late for a class with a “no late homework” policy. The professor said that this was reflective of real life, where if you miss deadlines you’re just fucked. I ended up appealing my grade and passing, because frankly it was a weak reason for making me repeat a final semester when there was no issues with my actual work or knowledge. During my appeal, I was like “I also think this policy is ableist. Harsh penalties for late work hurt students with health problems, especially chronic health problems when you aren’t asking for one week off due to the flu but instead for a general and never ending flexibility. I’m not trying to make an excuse but explain why this policy is a bad one. Disabled healthcare workers are an asset to healthcare.” I’m trying to remember my own argument as I pursue help. My depression and ADHD and eating disorder do help me be a better nurse, not because like depression gives you superpowers, but because I manage my chronic illnesses every day, in ways that range from hardly noticeable to life or death. Being kind to patients means being kind to myself, and vice versa.

I’m rambling. I really do not want to do this paperwork or send these emails. And I’m not sure if I deserve the leave I’m trying to take. But I miss being love with my job. I miss enjoying it. I wouldn’t judge someone else for going on medical leave, and my job doesn’t want me to burn out or quit. It almost feels like I have to be skeptical of applying for leave because no one else is. Everyone I’ve spoken to has been very supportive, including my manager. And considering how many unpaid days off I’ve had to take lately, disability leave would be an improvement over some of my recent paychecks. All in all, short-term disability makes sense and seems like a reasonable response to circumstances. But FUCK. I wish it required like 90 percent less documentation.

[wordsinhaled]

“I need you” isn’t “I love you,” and it isn’t “Yes, let’s go off together,” but the thing is, it might as well be. And it might be one of the more honest things Aziraphale has ever said.

He has never said it aloud before now. Not like this, with eons worth of raucous indignant feeling crawling up into his throat. He had not wanted, not expected to say it like this, mocked by his own stricken reflection in Crowley's sunglasses, each lens a dark mirror.

"I—I need you," says Aziraphale, and his voice breaks down the middle. It might as well, for he's confessed too late. Crowley is shut to him, recedes from him like a wave broken on the terrible bedrock of Aziraphale's futile stubbornness.

And still, even like this, Aziraphale needs him.

His presence, his constancy. His unfailing, tenacious friendship.

Crowley’s kindness, his softness, his solicitousness under the prickly façade Aziraphale sees is just that—a layer that can be so easily peeled away to reveal the deep core of caring beneath, too entrenched to be deserved by any world they could live in. He needs Crowley’s unguarded gaze, needs the way Crowley’s forever looking at him across distances when he thinks Aziraphale doesn’t notice: chin tilted up, eyes soft as marigold petals.

A phone call away whenever anything or nothing at all happens is Crowley’s dear voice; his lovely dry humor; his sauntering, slithering, improbable walk despite which he somehow flawlessly falls into step alongside Aziraphale anywhere and all the time. His hip knocking against Aziraphale’s, casual as anything and yet so much more than. Flashes of black and wisps of red flitting in and out of Aziraphale’s periphery for thousands of years.

He needs their circuitous arguments, their winding ethical debates—after most of which they somehow end up on the same side, that is, their own side, terrifying and exhilarating in its Promethean familiarity—and Crowley’s chaotically-sure moral compass. The times Crowley is braver than Aziraphale could ever be; and the times Crowley reminds him of how brave he actually always has been.

And Aziraphale needs even the great big awful rows, the ones that end in their standing on opposite verges of another chasm of their own making. Because the culmination of such a fight is always the meeting again in the middle. It’s the low sweeping bow of their apology, a ritual not half earnest for all its facetiousness, which says so much without either of them having to utter a word. Crowley holds a whole conversation in the dip of his fiery head and the exaggerated flutter of his elegant wrists, when it’s his turn; and, when it’s Aziraphale’s, the hashing-out of differences is there in the way he executes each familiar movement with the practiced ease of a faithful courtier, though it’s been ages since he stood in any king’s court.

He needs the knowledge that they always forgive each other. Because, well, they do. They must. They will. What’s a spat or a quarrel or even a proper falling-out to two beings like them, to him and Crowley?

Aziraphale needs Crowley’s happiness. His truest happiness. If that isn't the crux of it all, what is?

He remembers the ancient light of Crowley's joy, how it had shone once about both of them like an aura through the blackness of undeveloped space. It never left, all that bright, barely reined-in giddiness, all that frenetic energy, but he's transmuted it, magpie-like, into something else. Aziraphale can sense it whenever Crowley brings him a new vintage record to add to his collection. Whenever Crowley pulls out Aziraphale’s chair for him outside Marguerite's, or orders just what he likes for him at the Ritz. Whenever he drops into the shop unannounced with a little box tucked under his arm, full of gorgeous petits fours from the new bakery Aziraphale hasn’t yet tried, and says, gleeful, Ohhh, you wouldn’t believe all the wiling I had to do to get my hands on these, angel. You’ll have to thwart me for this, I know. But first—no, no, no, first! The only sensible thing for you to do would be to try them… you’ll like the pear macaron...

And of course Crowley is right. He's right about most things, isn't he, after all? Because Crowley knows him, and he needs to be known, but it simply wouldn't do for anyone else to be the one doing the knowing.

Aziraphale likes the pear macaron, just as Crowley knew he would.

He likes all the things that come along with Crowley, really. The fast car, oh yes, sleek and stylishly classic and so very Crowley through and through, though Aziraphale has committed staunchly to grousing about it. The way no companionable silence held in Crowley's company is ever truly silent. The jaunts to the park on seasonable days: Crowley's touch lingering where he pours frozen peas for the ducks into Aziraphale's cupped palm; the fondness in Crowley's tone poorly disguised as he points out his favorite mated pair trawling placidly across the pond. The drinking together long past the small hours of the morning in the back room of the bookshop, where the walls are the same warm ochre shade as Crowley’s eyes.

It isn't ever so much about the drinking as it is about the together bit. How the space between them dwindles with the syrupy passage of time. How Crowley softens and melts into the settee. How he becomes Aziraphale's to watch, for once. How he grows so wondrously relaxed and gloriously at home there in Aziraphale's space that Aziraphale begins to wonder if this will at last be the night Crowley does not, eventually, get up and retreat back to his Bentley to take himself away again...

There is always that fragile little moment, right after sobering up, when everything in their universe seems at the same time to be entirely too set in stone and entirely too much as though it all hangs by one delicate, dissembling thread. Always the split second in which Aziraphale looks into Crowley's guileless face and remembers he could unravel everything with a single tug.

Yes, one sharp tug on the lapels of Crowley's jacket would do it, he knows. How easily it could be done... Tumble the two of them into one another, just then, and they would never be parted again. And his deft-tongued Crowley would lick the heat and the aftertaste of Talisker into Aziraphale's mouth, then, before it had the chance to dissipate completely.

He could. He could.

It's in those stretched milliseconds, brimming with a tender longing so acute it tips right over into an agony, that Aziraphale realizes: I do need all of you, darling, don't I? So terribly much it might unmake me one day. Never mind Aziraphale's most fickle and blustering attempts at denial, he knows this to be true as he knows the truth of little else in the cosmos.

And perhaps today is that day—the day Aziraphale will dissolve and be remade in the permanent shape of lack.

[animasola86]

Kinktober: It is that time again.

Notes: Listen! I woke up feeling naughty again this morning and yet I somehow produced a fluffy, wholesome family life lovey dovey omg they are so freaking cute piece, at least for three pages, after that we're going straight to the topic of @kinktober2023: breeding kink.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!reader

Genre: Fluff/Smut // Words: 8k // [Read on AO3]

Warnings: NSFW! MDNI! Marital sex. Oh and also: breeding kink.

Warning: After you die of diabetes or cute aggression by reading the first part of this, there will be severe filth following. (Though to be fair, I think I've written worse before >_> Still, it's smut: so if you want to keep your innocence, please look away!)

It is that time again, darling.

It is Friday afternoon in the Sallow cottage, and you're sitting on the couch by the fireplace, enjoying a good book – completely ignoring the loud and certainly obnoxious argument your twin boys are having. They do it all the time, so it's nothing new.

They come after their father in so many ways, it's almost scary. From the messy brunet hair that you failed to comb so many times, to the deep brown eyes that can turn your anger into adoration in only a few seconds (they know that fact by now, which is never a good thing) – to the insatiable hunger for knowledge and the equally insatiable desire to always get what they want.

Benjamin and Archie Sallow surely are Sebastian's sons. As they bicker over who gets to play with the toy train first, your gaze wanders to the corner of the room to your quiet daughter.

Little Anne is in her own world, surrounded by various sheets of parchment and paper, her colouring pencils strewn about as she scribbles away, equally ignoring her arguing brothers. You smile softly as you take in her features. She comes after you, has your eyes and unlike her brothers and father not a single freckle on her pale little face, probably because unlike the men of the house, she likes to stay indoors, drawing and reading with her equally sun deprived mother.

Just as you return to your book, the door opens, and the noise of your bickering boys subsides immediately and turns into a wail of joy as the twins jump up and into the arms of their father. You look at Sebastian with wide eyes and an equally wide smile, you haven't expected him home this early.

“I'm home!” he calls, laughing with one son on each arm as he enters the small house.

You stand from the couch and walk towards him, unable to stop the need to kiss him. As you do, your sons issue grunts of displeasure, yet you only laugh and kiss your husband more.

“Did you miss me?” he asks softly, his dark eyes on you as he sets his sons to the ground again.

“I always miss you,” you whisper and wrap your arms around him.

“You know, I'm only on the other side of the lake, right?” he teases and grabs your chin to plant another kiss on your lips – followed by another synchronised noise of disgust from the twins.

He is right, of course. You chose this house in Aranshire so you can always look over the lake to the castle, imagining your husband walking the halls of Hogwarts, teaching kids in Magical Theory, being in his element. He still spends a lot of time there, has his own room in the castle if his work load gets too much, but every Friday to late Sunday he will come home to you and spend as much time with you and your three children as he can.

“I still wish I'd see you more...” you whisper and lean against him, your hand gently grazing the stubble on his cheek.

“You could teach too, you know? You were offered a position, remember?” he says as he guides you back to the couch.

“You know I can't,” you sigh and look around the house. Your boys are back fighting over the train toy and Anne is still so fixated on her drawing, she hasn't even noticed Sebastian's return yet.

“Soon you can,” he whispers and makes you sit on the couch. “The boys will be at Hogwarts and our little princess here –” he starts and sneaks towards the little girl sitting with her back to the room. “– can handle her own. Hey princess, Daddy's back!” he then says as he grabs his daughter under the arms and lifts her up swiftly. She squeals and kicks, then quickly relaxes and throws her tiny arms around his neck as a wide smile comes to her lips.

“Hello Daddy,” she squeaks, and he laughs softly as he hugs her back.

“How's my little girl?” he asks and tilts his head to look at what she has been drawing.

“Don't look!” she says in that sweet, high-pitched voice. “It's a surprise!”

Sebastian chuckles and presses his lips to the top of her head. “Fine, fine, I won't look! Keep your secrets!” he sets her back to the ground and gently ruffles her hair before he lets her go back to her drawing and finally returns to you.

You reach your arms out to him, and he follows suit immediately, settling down next to you on the couch, your arms entangled as he pulls you closer to kiss your forehead. For a moment you just sit together, looking into each other's eyes, the bickering of your boys just another background noise.

“I've been thinking, darling,” he then says, and one of those wicked smirks comes to his handsome face.

“Yes?” you ask carefully and arch an eyebrow.

He barks a laugh and quickly leans closer to kiss your raised eyebrow. “Don't give me that look, I know for a fact that you'll love it,” he then says and winks at you.

“Really?” you wonder and watch how he disentangles your limbs and stands from the couch, returning to the bag he has left at the door.

“Oh yes,” he calls back and rummages through his bag before he walks to the twins, holding something behind his broad back. “Boys,” he says with a mock-stern voice to get their attention. The mini versions of himself look up with big eyes, their fight momentarily paused. “Have you been nice to Mummy and your sister?”

The boys nod eagerly, already knowing what's coming. He always brings them back gifts when he returns on Fridays. They know the drill and yet they are always so excited about it. You smile softly as you watch the scene before you.

“Well, how about you give your Mummy and Daddy a little break and take this outside?” he then says and produces two toy trains in his big palms.

The twins stare at him, and Benjamin, the cheekier one of the two, raises an eyebrow. “Dad, we already have toy trains...” he says and holds up the toy that he has finally snatched from his brother's hand.

Sebastian laughs. “Not these ones. If you push this button, they'll get bigger,” he says and shows them what he means. “But you can only use them outside, do you understand?”

The twins rise to their feet and crane their necks to look at their father. You already dread the day when they would become as tall as Sebastian, but luckily both of them have yet to hit any major growth spurt. He holds the toy closer and looks at them intently.

“Do you understand?” he repeats in a rather stern voice.

They both nod. “Yes, sir,” they say in unison and quickly grab the toys from his palms and run outside.

“Be good! No terrorizing the cats, alright?” he calls after them and then closes the door again, turning towards you now with that wicked smirk. Through the closed door you can hear your sons laugh and giggle as the sound of a train horn fills the square.

“Will they be alright?” you whisper as you stand from the couch and walk towards him.

“Of course, don't worry! Edgar will have an eye on them as usual,” he says with a disarming smile as he grabs your hand and eagerly pulls you along, right towards your bedroom.

You hold him back and take a look towards your daughter, who is focused on her drawings once again. “What about Anne?” you whisper, knowing what your husband is up to.

“She'll be fine, too,” he whispers back, leaning over you to brush his lips against your ear. “She won't hear a thing...”

You blush at the implication. When you look up at him, you can't help but smile back as he watches you with those dark eyes that can make you do anything. Biting your lip, you nod and follow him into your shared bedroom.

As the door closes behind you, you are very glad that he put up all those silencing charms and protection spells and anything else that will keep whatever happens in here out of earshot of your precious children. Because when he grabs your waist and pulls you flush against his body, you know you won't be able to keep your noises to yourself.

He doesn't waste any time and starts to undress you with nimble fingers, quickly unbuttoning your shirt as he leans down to shower your face and neck with light, innocent kisses. You inhale sharply.

“Do you know how old our sons are?” he then asks as he pushes your skirt down your legs.

You are a little confused by his question and frankly, a little too distracted to think at the moment. “They are... ten...” you whisper.

“And how old is our baby girl?”

“Five,” you reply and tilt your head, letting him nibble on your neck as he gets rid of the last of your garments.

“And do you see a pattern there?” he then says and leans back to look at you with a wide smile.

You blink slowly. “Sebastian, what –”

“It is that time again, darling,” he says with a smirk and quickly pushes his mouth to yours, silencing any doubts for the moment. Your hands reach up and cup his face, and when you finally manage to push him off your lips, you stare at him.

“Are you sure about this?”

He laughs. “Yes! Absolutely! It's time for another one, don't you think?”

“But we already live so cramped here...” you start finding arguments, when in reality you don't see any real reason not to indulge in his desire for another child.

“You realize you are a witch and I am a wizard? We'll just add another room, no worries! And I thought you loved the cosy feeling of our tight little space...” he whispers, leaning back down to kiss your cheek.

You breathe a little harder. “Yes, I do...” you whimper as he sinks his teeth playfully into your neck.

“Then I see no problem with me indulging in your tight space,” he says, and his words make you shiver, or maybe it's his fingers slipping between your legs, teasing at your folds.

“Another one, hm?” you whisper breathlessly.

“Or two, who knows?” he laughs and quickly picks you up to carry you to the bed. You frown at his words. “Those twin genes are strong...”

You groan playfully as he sets you down, and you scramble back on the bed, watching him. He is out of his clothes in no time, and when he crawls over you, settling right between your open legs, he gives you a serious look.

“Only if you're ready,” he says quietly, his dark eyes wandering over your face.

You watch him, and despite the emotional blackmail of those damn eyes, you find yourself smiling and already imagining having another baby. You also think about the last times the both of you decided on adding to your little family. The many hours you had spent in bed together come to your mind, and you can only imagine how long it will take this time. The thought alone causes your legs to twitch.

“Yes,” you eventually say and reach your arms out to him. “I am ready,” you whisper, and when he follows your beckoning to lie on top of you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, you add: “Put your seed in me, Sebastian.”

He leans back immediately and stares at you, not having expected these kinds of words from his beautiful, innocent wife. A sly smirk breaks from his lips. And you smirk right back. He must know by now that your sweet face is only a facade. He's corrupted you a long time ago. And even though you spend nearly every weekend in bed together, enjoying the other's body, the prospect of doing the deed with a purpose, makes it even more exciting for you.

“Then we won't need these,” he says with a wider smirk as he leans over you to the night-stand, rummaging through the first drawer where you keep your contraceptive potions. “Instead we might need... this,” he whispers and produces a tiny flask. “It's going to be a long night, love,” he adds and looks at you, before he downs the contents of the potion he rarely uses, but when he does, you know you're in for a treat – that will last (him) a very long time indeed.

You blush deeply and bite your lip, the heat already spreading through your body. When he leans back, gently putting his entire body weight on you as he cups your face with both hands, you see something you see very rarely: a tear in the corner of his eye. You quickly lean up and graze your thumbs over his cheeks. “You make me very happy, you know that?” he says softly, smiling at you.

You smile back and lean up to kiss him gently. “I'm trying my best,” you reply.

He chuckles. “Oh you don't even have to try, darling,” he says and kisses you back so gently you almost forget about what will come next. “You just do, no matter what you do, what you say, how you look, just thinking about my beautiful wife and all the things she has already done for me...” He inhales deeply. “I love you,” he says and presses his lips to your cheek, his eyes boring into yours. “And I will always love you.”

The warmth his words (and the way he looks at you) create in you almost overpowers the heat you feel for him. Grabbing the back of his neck, you pull him down onto your lips and kiss him deeply. “I love you too...” you whisper breathlessly between circling your tongue around his. “I love you so much, Sebastian. And now fill me up already!”

You feel him chuckling against your mouth. “So eager,” he teases and pushes his tongue deeper into your mouth. When he leans back slightly, planting tiny kisses on your lips, cheeks and jaw, his low voice vibrates through your very core. “My naughty, naughty girl...”

You watch him with your head spinning from lack of air, a small smirk playing around your lips as he moves his mouth to your neck. While you play with his hair, he sucks and nibbles on your soft skin, marking you as his own, as if the ring on your finger and the three children somewhere beyond your closed bedroom door weren't enough proof that you were his and his alone. That is the last time you'll think about your beautiful offspring for this day (or so you hope), as other things settle in your mind and you really don't want them to mix.

When he is done with his mark, gently lapping at your bruised skin, he kisses your neck and leans back on his arms, taking some of his weight off you, allowing your chest to rise and fall faster as you watch him. He looks at you with those dark hungry eyes, and you inhale deeply as he starts showering your bare body with kisses, all the way from your collarbone over the peaks of your plum breasts (that he gives a gentle squeeze with one of his hands as he moves down) until he presses his mouth to your stomach, his fingers softly massaging your skin.

“I can't wait to fill you up,” he whispers hoarsely, kissing your stomach, his fingers pressing down firmly. “I'll fill your womb...” he says and rests his head on your lower torso as if listening for something that isn't even there yet. “And I'll watch you grow... knowing it was my seed that made you so...” You feel his heavy breaths on your skin as you reach down to gently caress his hair, digging your fingers through his locks, smiling softly to yourself.

He stays like that for at least ten seconds, giving you the illusion of peace and quiet and hopeful dreams of the future, a really tender and romantic moment, and once those seconds are over, he presses his lips to your stomach, pushes himself up and quickly leans back, looking at you with that wicked smirk again.

“Let's prepare my beautiful breeding vessel,” he teases and grabs your hips to position himself right between your legs.

You stare at him. “What did you just call me?” you laugh as he puts your legs on his shoulders.

He just smirks wider, and without any warning, he leans down and presses his mouth to your aching centre, kissing your lower stomach down towards your quivering core. You forget about his wording the moment his lips close around your clit. A soft moan escapes you as you throw your head back into the pillow. You feel his tongue prodding at the throbbing bundle of nerves as his fingers wrap around your thighs, squeezing them hard.

“Ugh, call me whatever you like...” you groan, your hips bucking against his face as he keeps sucking with vigour. He chuckles against you, his voice and the feeling of his stubble on your sensitive skin giving you all the friction you need to produce another long moan.

“Sweetheart,” you hear him say as he releases your clit and plants soft kisses on your heated skin. “Darling,” he continues, and you shiver with every term of endearment and every kiss. “Honey.” He keeps going, whispering more names as he presses his mouth to your lower lips, his tongue gently swiping along them. “Love. Sweetie. Baby...” He pulls your soft skin between his teeth and gently sucks on it, coaxing more moans out of you as your fingers grip his hair tighter. “Kitten. Pet,” he finishes as he releases you again and leans up to look at you.

You watch him out of half-lidded eyes, your breaths shallow. As he holds your gaze, you feel one of his hands moving over your centre, his fingertips tracing the outer edges of your labia. Warmth settles in your cheeks as he keeps rubbing his fingers over your sensitive skin, his dark eyes boring into yours, a concentrated look on his handsome face. When he teases a finger between your folds, he looks down and raises his eyebrows.

“So wet for me, my love,” he whispers and moves his finger up and down your slick, the slight squelching sounds filling the room – and you with enough embarrassment that you turn your head away and put a hand to your mouth to hide behind. “You are so beautiful,” you hear him whisper. “Everything about you... Don't be ashamed.”

When he suddenly leans over you and grabs your face with both hands, making you look at him, you gasp softly. His wet finger grazes your ear, and you bite your lip, swallowing hard.

“No need to hide from me, darling,” Sebastian says sternly, watching you closely. “I know every inch of your body, I've seen it so many times and it still amazes me to this day and all the days to come. What your body has given me in all these years... I cannot express how proud I am of you,” he whispers intently, before kissing you softly. “But I will always try.”

You grab the back of his head and kiss him back with fervour, not letting go of him now. He complies and deepens the kiss as his hand moves back down between your legs, continuing its journey through your warmth. When you feel him prod at your entrance, you whimper softly into his mouth. He shushes you and keeps his tongue in a playful wrestle with yours before he pushes one of his fingers into you.

Yours walls clench around him as he starts to explore your tightness, pushing against and scraping over your soft wet flesh until he pushes as deep as he can from this angle. It is when he begins to pump his finger in and out, slowly at first, then much faster and harder, that you moan into his mouth and hold onto him tighter, feeling the tension building up quicker than you've expected.

Suddenly he leaves your mouth and scrambles back down between your legs, repositioning himself right at your quivering cunt. He adds another finger and continues pushing them into you hard and fast, while his free hand holds down your hips that you can't seem to control any more. More moans escape you, and you have to grip the bedsheets as he leans his head down and sucks on your clit again.

His tongue is eagerly lapping at your nub, rigorously pressing and prodding it, licking and rubbing, while his fingers speed up more and more, the wet sounds echoing through the room. But you're too aroused to be embarrassed now as you thrash your head around in nothing but pure ecstasy. You moan his name louder and louder, and when the tension reaches its highest point – he suddenly withdraws his fingers, and you feel his face pressing against your folds as he slips his tongue past your stretched entrance.

“Come on my tongue, darling,” you feel him mumbling into you, and as he moves his wet fingers to feverishly rub at your clit, you comply without hesitation as the coil burst within you, and you cry out and press your back into the mattress, your release pushing out of you with a force that shakes your entire body as you arch your hips off the bed and right into his face. He moves with you, holding your rear with his free arm while he laps at your juices.

More tremors and shivers rush through you, before you slowly come down again, gently placed back with the help of his hand. Breathing heavily, your heart thundering inside your chest, you watch out of hooded eyes how he eventually emerges from between your legs, his entire face covered in your release.

You sit up then, shaking badly, but you feel the need to do this as your hands find his cheeks, and you wipe at them, watching him with your own cheeks bright red. He chuckles and grabs your wrists, leaning towards you to claim your mouth instead. You taste yourself on his tongue as you deepen the kiss hungrily. When he leans back, you sneak a hand out of his grip and push a strand of his messy hair out of his forehead, smiling softly at him.

He smiles back and gives you another peck, before he gently but firmly pushes you back down on the bed, his hand trailing your chest, teasing at your hard nipples, until he rests it once more on your shivering stomach. Pressing down hard on your skin, you see him lick his lips. You swallow at the sight, knowing what is going through his head right now, and soon enough he moves again.

You watch him scramble off the bed, your eyes inadvertently moving towards his hard arousal twitching slightly (the potion seems to have worked already) as he comes to stand at the foot of the bed. His hungry eyes move to yours, and in the next moment, he has grabbed your waist and pulled you towards him, your legs falling off the bed. You let out a surprised shriek-laugh. He then grabs a pillow and shoves it under your lower back, raising your hips up.

He's always so gentle in his preparations that you sometimes forget what kind of animal he can turn into once he is done with said preparations. Yet he's usually quick to remind you. As he positions himself between your legs, you watch him grabbing his cock with one hand, the other ghosting your stomach downwards until he teases your throbbing clit. When he pushes his tip against your folds, you brace for his intrusion, watching him with your lips parted, yet he takes his time and lathers his girth with your wetness first, slowly rubbing it up and down through your slick.

You moan softly at the sensation, one of your hands moving up to caress your firm and currently unattended breast. While you watch him stroke his cock with confident strength, you roll your nipple between your thumb and index finger, whimpering quietly. His eyes snap to your face, and the dark look he is giving you almost freezes you on the spot. As he stares at you, he aligns his tip with your entrance, and at the same time as he pushes into you with one swift snap of his hips, his hands move forwards and grab both of your breasts at once, firmly squeezing them as he rolls his hips against you.

A loud moan escapes you, and you quickly retrieve your fingers from his grasp before you claw them into the bedsheets. Your walls may have expected his intrusion, but when it happened, it still took them and yourself by surprise. His force is unrelenting, and he only stops pushing into your tight channel when his balls press against your arse. You gasp, barely able to breathe for a moment, as you try to adjust to his size.

He's holding onto your breasts tightly, using them to guide his pelvis flush against yours, and once he's satisfied with how deep he is inside of you, he starts massaging your soft flesh, his palms rolling over your nipples, coaxing more and more whimpers out of you. “I wonder,” you hear him say gravelly, “I wonder how big they'll get this time...”

You chuckle softly, even more so when you catch the slightest bit of pink on his cheeks. Unclenching your hands, you rest them on his, causing him to look at you. His smile is almost shy and reminds you so much of the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. Even back then, he has been able to do the most vile things to you, but when it came to your breasts, he had always cherished them greatly, probably even more so now that they were so much bigger.

He licks his lips and folds his body over yours, moving within you as he does so, causing you to gasp slightly, before he places a soft kiss on your mouth, holding his face there for a moment, as if asking you something he cannot quite put into words. But you know what he wants to do, and with another chuckle, you put your hands down and move your chest up against the firm grasp of his. “Go ahead,” you whisper.

His eyes light up, and as he lowers his face down, moving his hands to hold your waist, his mouth quickly finds the pert bud of your left breast, eagerly sucking on it. As you moan softly, your hand starting to caress his hair once more, you watch him swirl his tongue around your sensitive skin, his teeth grazing it almost a little roughly. After nurturing three very hungry children, feeling the mouth of your husband there doesn't come as a surprise to you.

His words, however, catch you a little off guard. “I can't wait for you to lactate again...” he mumbles against you, and you hide your blush with a soft laugh.

“You might need to put a baby in me first, you know?” you tease him after he keeps caressing your tender tits, sucking on one and massaging the other with his fingers. You even buck your hips against him, reminding him how he's still buried deep within your warmth.

Without leaning back, he looks up at you, the creases in the corners of his eyes deepening as he smirks against your chest. “Who's impatient now?” he teases right back and gives your hard nipple a firm suck and a quick nibble.

You inhale sharply, glowering at him. He laughs as he leans back eventually, his fingers drawing soft lines on your stomach as he does. Once he's towering over you once more, with his hands now firmly on your waist, he tilts his head. Without another word, you feel him pulling out slowly, your walls clenching around him, trying to suck him back in. He almost slips out all the way, but then he thrusts forward harshly, hitting your cervix with a force that makes your breath hitch in your throat.

He repeats the exact same motion several times, each time pushing as deep as possible with as much strength as he trusts himself to exert against you. You quickly turn into a moaning, whimpering mess, your legs twitching badly with every slam of his pelvis against you. In the middle of your haze, you admire his control and wonder when he'll lose it as well. But he stays very deliberate in his movements, guiding his length in and out of you with slow but hard stabs that leave you shuddering and aching for more.

His grip on your waist betrays him though, you can see the veins and muscles popping beneath the skin of his arms as he tries to keep that steady rhythm for as long as possible, even though you know he wants nothing more than to ram into you in rapid, forceful little snaps of his hips as he fucks you open to finally receive his seed.

You watch him out of half-lidded eyes, your lips parted and swollen, your noises bleeding into the slapping of skin against skin that fill the small room. You manage to move your shaking hands down, gently brushing against the vice-like grip he has on your waist. He looks at you then, his eyes darker than ever, his own lips trembling before he presses them together into a straight line. In-between softly moaning, you smile at him – and that is all it takes for him to change his rhythm.

He moves his hands to rest on either side of your hips, clenched to tight fists, as he then starts to plunge into you faster, no longer as deep, but still pushing with as much fervour and vigour as he can muster. His groans fill your ears, and you close your eyes as the sensations build up more and more inside your stomach. Every thrust rocks you up the bed, but before he pushes you further, you raise your twitching legs and wrap them tightly around his waist, the change in angle coaxing even louder moans out of your throat.

Grabbing your thighs, he holds you in place and keeps slamming his pelvis against yours, eventually finding a rhythm that is both fast and deep, and every single inward motion hits that sweet spot right at your cervix. You squirm and writhe, whimpering more and more as you arch your back into the mattress, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure he is giving you. You throw your arms back and grab at the edge of the bed, holding onto it as if your life depended on it. The way your muscles contract it certainly feels like it.

“Come for me, baby,” you hear him grunt quietly, and when your eyes move to his face, you see that he's holding back his own release with how his jaw is clenched.

You start moving your hips with him, and it doesn't take long for you to fulfil his wish. The pleasure explodes inside you, sending you thrashing around on the bed, a long cry escaping you, before your entire body freezes and the coiled up tension dissipates in nothing but pure bliss that gnaws at the edge of your vision. He holds you tightly during your orgasm, keeping his rapid rhythm, forcing you higher and higher, until his hips snap against you for one final deep thrust, and it feels as if he's even deeper now, his tight, quivering balls buried in your folds as he comes right after you with a loud groan.

Your walls flutter around his cock as you feel him twitching within you. His warm seed pumps out of him with every twitch, painting your walls, squeezing into any orifice it can find, and as it does, he moves one of his hands to your stomach and pushes down hard again, feeling the sensation of his release through the deep tissue of your skin. You whimper slightly, and he eases his grip and looks at you, panting just as much as you do, but he still gives you a smile that almost pushes you over the edge again.

You reach your arms out to him, beckoning him closer, and he complies, leaning over you to press his lips to yours as you embrace him tightly. You can still feel him twitching inside you, still filling you up, as his tongue invades your mouth hungrily. Kissing him back, you moan softly against him, your crossed feet caressing his lower back as you do so. The warmth within you is indescribable, be it the actual seed seeping into you or the thought of what it will do to you eventually, it fills you up to the brim with happiness and then some.

You feel the same emotion coursing through him as he holds you firmly, his hands slipping beneath your body as he presses you to his chest and lifts you slowly into a sitting position. Once he releases your mouth again, you rest your forehead against his shoulder, breathing heavily.

Yet as you think he is done with you, happy with filling you up, you must have forgotten who it is that's holding you in his grasp. You should have known better than to think that Sebastian Sallow will leave it at this. He knows what he wants, and you know he won't stop until he gets it. It being the absolute certainty that his seed has found a home in your womb. And as you look at him, your limbs twitching in exhaustion, you know he isn't done with you yet.

That wicked smirk is back on his lips, and as you notice it, he presses his mouth against yours for a quick kiss before he slowly lets go of you, his hands prying your thighs open until your legs fall boneless to his sides. Pressing his hand on your lower stomach, he slowly moves back and pulls out of you. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you bite your lip as you watch him, the sensation causing more tremors to rush through your body.

As soon as his cock leaves your warm embrace, covered in your combined juices, he puts his palm over your entrance, trapping the seed that's bound to spill from you. “Hmm,” he makes in thought and looks from his hand to you and back down.

Raising an eyebrow, you witness the gears turning in his head, amusement settling in your chest. When he then grabs your hand and switches his hand with yours, pressing it gently against your wetness, you frown deeply. “Do you expect me to sit here with my hand down there, waiting for something to grow?” you tease, your voice slightly hoarse.

He chuckles a little nervously. “No, of course not,” he says and looks around the room. “Hold it for me for just a moment, okay?”

You watch him walk around the room until he stops in front of your dresser, shamelessly rummaging through your underwear drawer. He retrieves a pair, but then his eyes fall onto the box you store on top of the furniture piece. He drops the garment and grabs something else instead, and as he returns to you, your mouth falls open. “Sebastian... what –”

But you can't stop him as he takes your hand away and shoves one of the many wand handles you collected over the years right into your quivering cunt, plugging it shut. It feels cold and hard as it pushes against your walls. You gasp and shudder deeply, staring from the intricate black object poking out of your entrance up into his flushed face.

“You can't be serious,” you just say and shake your head. “Is that one of the marble handles?”

“It is, fits perfectly, doesn't it? I'll clean it after, don't worry,” he adds cheekily and leans down to kiss you. “Now turn around for me,” he then commands, waiting for you to obey.

You do, obviously, and stand up on shaking legs. You feel his hands guiding you as you turn around, clenching your thighs together to keep the handle inside. Once you climb back onto the bed on your hands and knees, you feel his fingers pushing the object back in as it threatened to slip out. Shivering, you lean down on your chest and elbows, arching your body to only keep your rear in the air. As you settle in the new position, he steps behind you, grabbing your hips to move you a little closer to the edge again.

You turn your head and rest on your cheek, taking a shuddering breath as you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He has his cock in one hand and gives himself a few tight strokes, breathing heavily. Apparently the potion still works, and he has a lot more to give you. His other hand plays around with the wand handle lodged inside you as he pulls it and turns it, teasing you with every slight movement.

“We should use toys more often, don't you think?” you hear him say, and you let out a tired chuckle that's almost a groan.

“Well, next time you bring gifts to the kids, think of me as well, alright?” you whisper into the pillow.

He laughs and pokes at the object again, pushing it deeper. You whimper quietly, your legs shaking at the sensation. “You can't tell me you never thought of sticking these things into your pussy,” he says quietly through laboured breaths.

“Who says I haven't?” you reply with a smirk. That renders him completely speechless. “You're usually gone all week...” you purr and lick your lips. “And a girl has needs...”

He exhales loudly, and suddenly he grabs the wand handle and basically rips it out of you. You shriek and squirm, and with a heavy thud it lands on the floor next to the bed. Before you can complain, you feel his tip pressing against your entrance. “You would choose one of those,” he says through gritted teeth, “over my cock?” He doesn't wait for your answer (and frankly it's not necessary), he simply rolls his hips forwards and rams his entire length into you.

Coated with his seed and prepared from the handle, your walls welcome him back with ease. You moan as he pushes in deep once more, wrapping his arms around your stomach and pulling you flush against him as he folds his body over yours. You can feel him pressing against your cervix and almost further as he stands balls deep over you, holding your shuddering body that would certainly fall into itself at the sensation if it wasn't for his strong arms.

“Doesn't this feel so much better?” he whispers as he leans down more, his lips brushing over your ear.

“Yes...” you whimper. “Of course... it does...” Breathing seems hard in this position with his body weighing on you and his cock prodding your womb.

He kisses your earlobe and starts grinding his hips against you in small circles, each movement coaxing more noises out of you. This time his noises join yours, and the heavy breaths he issues right against your ear make you close your eyes and moan softly as you dig your fingers into the bedsheets.

“Have you thought about names yet?” he then coos, and you can only groan as a shiver runs down your spine.

“No, Sebastian...” you mutter into the pillow. “Kind of... busy here...”

His laugh and the low timbre of his voice almost send you right over the edge. “I was thinking... Beatrice... if it's a girl... or Bartholomew if it's a boy...”

You squirm beneath him, exhaling loudly through your nose. “Bartholomew?”

“Yes...” he grunts as he starts giving you tiny thrusts that send tiny jolts of pain through your body. “Seems... fitting... you know with... Benjamin... and Archie... and Anne...”

“Sebastian!” you squeal and buck your rear against him. “Can we not talk about our children while you are balls deep in my vagina?”

“Oh sweetheart,” he chuckles into your ear. “That's where those children came from, why shouldn't we?”

You groan and bury your flushed face in the pillow. “I like Beatrice,” you then mumble, earning you another low chuckle that makes you shudder deeply. You feel him kissing your cheek.

“Would be nice to have another baby girl,” he whispers and inhales deeply as he halts the movements of his hips for a moment.

You relax slightly, but it only lasts for so long before he leans back suddenly, grabs your waist and starts ramming his cock deep and fast into your quivering cunt. The moans that fall from your lips are loud and quick and make your head spin. You grip the bedsheets tightly, your knuckles turning white, as you brace your body against his rapid thrusts.

Once again you'd be impressed by his stamina if your head wouldn't be so empty. As he grunts and groans, his movements far from deliberate now and more on the rougher side, you can only lie there, your face pressed into the pillow and your knees shaking so badly you wonder how you can still keep them up like this. Perhaps it's his grip on your waist that holds you up, or it's sheer willpower as you try to do your part of this deal in providing him the best angle for him to push his length into you.

You can feel him going deeper and deeper, and the slight shudder in his movements tells you that he's trying to press himself into regions he shouldn't possible enter, yet he tries nevertheless – and the pressure of his attempts is what kicks you right over the edge. The tension in your stomach coils up once again, and when your body starts spasming violently, you know you can't hold it any longer.

As your knees give way under the intense tremors, you feel your walls tightening around him painfully, all of your muscles contract, and this time, it's a long and loud wail that leaves your lips as you fold under the pleasure of your third orgasm of the day. The tight grip of his hands on your bruised waist holds you in that position, and you feel him leaning closer, one of his knees propped up beneath you in support as he keeps slamming his pelvis into yours forcefully.

All you can hear is the blood rushing through your ears, the almost obscene slapping of skin against skin and his deep, animalistic grunts as he exerts himself to crash over the edge as well. When he finally does, he groans loudly, his final thrust into you so powerful it pushes you right into the bed before his body falls on top of yours, his cock ramming deeper as he shoots his load right into your womb.

You cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, buried beneath his weight and overwhelmed by the sensation of his cum shooting into you in thick warm spurts as his cock twitches inside you, filling you up more and more as he lies heavily on you, his shallow breaths right in your ear. You can barely breathe yourself, but somehow it doesn't matter.

You're one step closer to bearing his fourth child.

It takes him a moment to collect himself again, and when he does, it's due to an interruption you both haven't anticipated. There's a faint knock on the door that makes you shudder deeply. He shifts on top of you slightly, inhaling sharply as he stretches his hand out to summon his wand from the pile of clothes next to the bed. You hear him muttering something and you know he's lifting the silencing charm on the door to answer whoever is on the other side.

“What is it?” he calls, trying to sound as composed as possible – despite the rather indecent situation you both find yourselves in.

“Daddy? Archie hit his head!” you can hear the faint voice of your daughter through the door.

You immediately start to stir beneath him as your motherly instincts kick in. But he holds you down with a firm hand to your shoulder as he leans back up slightly.

“Is he bleeding?” he asks through the door.

“No,” comes the hesitant answer.

He exhales loudly. “Is he conscious?”

“Is he what?”

“Can he talk? Cry? Are his eyes open?” he explains, in spite of everything calm and patient.

“He's crying,” Anne answers quietly.

“Then he's fine,” Sebastian mutters under his breath, and you are tempted to hit him if any of your limbs would work. He notices your reaction nonetheless and quickly kisses the back of your head. “I'll be there in five minutes!” he then calls to his daughter. “Go and get Mr Adley!”

“Okay, Daddy,” your little girl squeaks, and you can hear quick footsteps hurrying away.

After he puts the silencing charm back up, he drops his wand next to your head and leans down once more, pushing you deeper into the bed again, his lips brushing over your ear. You can still feel him twitching inside you, he's still not done filling you up. While you feel a little ashamed to have been interrupted by your daughter (though she luckily didn't catch you in the act, you really don't want your kids to ever see you like this), his body just kept going, and you admire his willpower once again.

You admire him, period.

For a moment you just lie there, your bodies moulded together, before you stir slightly. “Sebastian,” you whisper quietly, your voice muffled by the pillow beneath you.

“Hmm?” he hums softly against you.

“You realize that Edgar will come here, right?” you say with a soft chuckle.

“Oh blast!” he then hisses, and suddenly he leans back, unfolding his body from yours, leaving your skin tingling and cold without his warm embrace.

You feel him scrambling back, and when he pulls out, you moan softly as your walls clench tightly, threatening to pump his seed out as well. Yet he is one step ahead of you, and without any warning, you feel the cold, hard wand handle plugging your hole again. Squirming against it, you feel him grabbing your hips and turning you around before he pushes your thighs firmly together. “Hold that for me, will you?” he urges and then proceeds to dress in what must be a new record for him.

As you look at him, you can't help but smile. Inhaling deeply, you lean on your elbows and watch him. There he is, back in his shirt and his trousers, his soaked, throbbing cock hidden away behind the stiff fabric, not even hinting at the erection that he forced into hiding. He must be very uncomfortable right now, yet he doesn't show it one bit. When he notices your smile, he walks around the bed and leans down to kiss your sweaty forehead.

“I'll be right back, alright?” he whispers, watching you closely. “I promised you a long night, remember?”

“Oh I remember,” you whisper back and grab his arm gently. “Take care of our children, okay?”

“Of course, love,” he says and kisses you once more. “I bet Edgar would love a sleepover party, don't you think?”

You laugh softly. He winks at you, grabs his wand from beside your head and unlocks the door, before he leaves you alone in your bedroom, filled with his seed and the promise to give you even more. Lying back with a sigh, you close your eyes and shift against the wand handle between your legs.

Ending notes:

I almost feel the need to continue this and build a whole ass story around it. I mean, imagine a 30-something Professor Sallow, teaching Magical Theory, stepping into Fig's footsteps, teaching and inspiring young minds. And then when he's home, he has his cute little children (who'll attend Hogwarts soon-ish) and his loving wife and oh the potential this has! (But we'll see. Maybe I'll just drop a little more snippets of life with Dad!Seb in the future, who knows.) (Psst! Part two just dropped! Look!)

(By the way: The names of his kids are kindly borrowed from @subastian-swallows who made a Dad!Seb-bot whose prompt alone inspired me to write this!)

Oh and that wand handle... is this one, just for reference, if you need it.

Also, maybe a little disclaimer: I am not a mother and never intend to be one, but this mf of a pixel boy makes me indulge in things I never considered before, so I hope my attempt at portraying a family was somewhat realistic.

Thank you for reading!

Btw:

THERE'S A SECOND PART NOW!!!

[ masterlist ]

Other Kinktober submissions:

Pleasant dreams... and tentacles (somnophilia, tentacles)

A scholar and a pervert (overstimulation, sex toys)

The horny ghost (voyeurism, masturbation, spectrophilia)

It belongs to me (deepthroating, semi-public)

A Filthy Fantasy (1/2) (cnc, bondage, sensory deprivation, orgasm denial)

A Filthy Fantasy (2/2) (threesome, oral/vaginal/anal)

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Task Force 141 Music Headcannons

Price

-He has some significant influences from 70s/80s heavy metal, mostly influenced from his mum who was a rebellious metalhead (and a feral KISS fan) herself, but toned down her partying when John was born. That didn't stop her from showing him the good stuff. 

-John’s earliest memories are of him and his mother going on roadtrips, radio blaring. His mom giving him little music “tests,” urging John to guess the artists of the song before they ended. Being so proud of him when he got them right.  His mom had a huge stereo system, an outrageously pricey thing compared to the rest of their meager home. It could play both CD’s and tapes and it was his mom’s pride and joy. 

-They had “cleaning” days where they would deep clean the house. Taking turns between swapping songs as they danced and dusted. A trend that extended well into his teenage years until he joined up.

-John would later pick up more thrash and progressive metal influences from his older CO’s and later by his own team. John is a radio kind of man, and other than the stuff he got from his mum he doesn't bother much with collecting, but he usually can find a radio station or two that plays what he likes. He still blares music when he cleans or works out.  

-John also dips into a bit of blues, folk and country.  He’s fond of the acoustic elements, it’s easy listening and some of them tell a good story.  

-Absolutely owned a “Frampton Comes Alive” CD. 

-Price was a bit petty about it at first, but the rest of the 141’s music tastes aren’t terrible…he still shoves the foam earplugs in on the truck ride home once Soap gets ahold of the aux cord. Though it gives him one hell of a laugh to see Soap cut a rug.  

-Gaz downloaded a huge playlist for the man and crammed it on his phone. Price was tickled pink over the selections, and now this is the only mix he fusses with, throwing it on shuffle and letting it play while he smokes and does his paperwork. 

-Man actually loves to dance, he doesn't just bop around like Soap does but he will take you by the hand and groove a bit with you. He loves to feel a warm body moving with his, letting the music move them together. This is actually how he woo’s ladies at the bar. A bit of liquid courage, and smooth song. He has someone giggling in his arms in no time. 

Soap

-His library is mostly made up of funk/groove metal, metalcore, pop, disco and electronic. He can party to really anything really, he just loves anything that is fast. Something that has a bounce to it.  There is never a wrong setting for this. Has nearly slipped and busted his head open having a one man mosh in the shower.  

-Used to have several piercings, his tongue and eyebrow namely, as well as a couple more pieces in his ears and nipples. They unfortunately had to go when he joined up. But he will still throw the earrings in when it's time to party. Some thicker captive bead earrings from where he had them stretched just the slightest. 

-He's actually pretty solid with a guitar. Doesn’t talk about it because it makes him feel like a douche. But he and his friends did have shitty garage band as teenagers. (Anyway..here's Wonderwall).

-Tries to keep it heavier when hangin with the boys but don't buy his tough guy bullshit, the next song is Madonna. His shuffle will give you whiplash. 

-He and Gaz vibe the most, both crowding into the front seats to put on a concert the whole ride. Having a jam session while they cook together or having heated arguments on whether something is a cover or not (Gaz is always right). 

Gaz

-The most eclectic out of all of them. Pretty similar to Soap, he tends to gravitate toward alt rock/indie, r&b, pop, and psychedelic. While he enjoys the upbeat electronic stuff that Soap enjoys, he prefers the groove. Something a bit slower and well…sexier.  

-He is actually pretty knowledgeable (special interest you could say) about music. The man is like an encyclopedia for music. Can name songs by the first 2 seconds alone. He is a menace on trivia nights for this reason. 

-Has started collecting records in his free time. He has favorites sure, but sometimes he'll just snag a few with interesting covers and give them a spin. He has found some gems this way…and also some straight *trash*. These songs have turned into memes between he and Soap.

-Makes playlists as a love language.

-Always trusted as the trip DJ, takes his job very seriously and considers all his teams tastes to carefully weave a mix everyone can vibe too. 

-Sung in the church choir as a kid, absolutely hated every minute of it. He was always the star of the christmas cantatas until he quit going as a teen.

-He and his sisters would have knock down drag out fights over the sole CD player they had as kids. Genuinely can't stand boy bands due to his big sisters obsession with them at the time. (The shit was on repeat for months.)

Ghost

-absolutely uses the balaclava to hide a earbud when he's just doing paperwork in his office.

-It's his ritual after an op. Simon pops his earbuds in, leans his head back and rests. You don't talk to Simon during this time. He'll take them out when he's ready to talk. 

-He also keeps one in while on leave, focusing on his music in the grocery or doing mundane errands. But just one earbud, he keeps the other out to listen for anything sus.

-Simon's music is pretty precious to him, and something he's actually pretty protective of. He never listened to his music out loud, even kept it turned down low with his headphones to prevent any accidental overhearing. 

-He picked up a lot from his brother that he used as a springboard after that. Lyrics that gave him goosebumps, words for feelings he could never articulate. To him, there was music for anything. Anger, sadness, elation. 

-Simon Riley who's favorite past time was rooting through old used CD's with his big brother at old video rental shops.

-Tommy who would usher him into the bathroom, putting big clunky headphones over his ears to block the sounds of their father's abuse. Clicking play and mouthing a “Stay here” as he clicked the door shut behind him. 

-Simon Riley who scrawled his favorite lyrics onto the soles of old dingey converse. Colored them into the skin of his forearms in a mock up of the tattoos he would later get.

-And he would, Gaz finds them later, inky poetry weaved into the images along his arms, and on his collar. He subtly looks up the words later. Smiling as lyrics of old grungey 90s songs fill his screen. 

-Tool enjoyer, literally just plays the albums start to finish, he is actually really fond of the instrumentals

BONUS!! Alex

-very similar to Price though he leans away from some of the heavier stuff. He loves the easy yacht rock type vibes with some classic rock. As well as some 90s and outlaw country. 

-He is an absolute crooner when he’s drunk. He actually has a gorgeous singing voice, low and rich, reminiscent of Tracy Lawrence.

-He does know the dance to Copperhead Road, tried to teach Farah who does not have rhythm to save her life. 

Actual Playlists

Price Soap Gaz Ghost Alex

I'll be adding to all these mixes as time passes, I would love to hear what you have in mind too <3

[charles-leclerc-official]

Ok so I'm a very new F1 fan - started watching this year; I used to sit and watch races together with my father and brother in the 2007-2012 period just to spend time with them, not because I was interested, but I still retained some information from back then - and now I started out as, and still am a Charles fan.

And considering just how popular he is and all of the jokes about "Ask her about her favourite driver, bet she'll say Charles Leclerc" I thought the main reason people supported him was for the hype.

But to see a blog run by someone, who has so much knowledge of F1, the car structure, the history of the sport, someone who has watched for so long...and that blog is about Charles Leclerc of all drivers? That fills me with such joy and relief. Because I know for myself, that I'm not a fan of him for his looks or popularity, but sometimes I feel a little insecure about supporting him since I lack experience and knowledge in the field of watching F1, considering how new I am to it, so I can't always really defend my reasoning behind being his fan ("I just think he's good" doesn't really hold up that well as an argument)

So it's really nice to see someone so immersed in sport be openly supportive of him, since you have such a huge pick of drivers to make your blog about and curate your space with - current and past generation(s), legends of the sport. And yet it's about Charles.

That to me is basically like getting approval by an older sibling for a good pick/ good move made in a game. Like maybe my choice to like and root for him isn't as stupid as everyone makes it out to be. Maybe he isn't just popular.

So sorry for the ramble, but I just wanted to say thank you for your patience in explaining concepts to the community and for being unapologetically yourself on this app. Your blog is very enjoyable!

Omg thank you this is truly the sweetest thing <3

I could write essays(and I might) about sexism in this sport. But I want to say that you don't need a "valid" reason for a driver to be your favorite. They can be your favorite because you just think they are neat. And it's also not a bad thing if you do find them attractive or that's what first got your attention. People gatekeep to create this idea that you need a reason that they deem "worthy" when you don't. It's a sport you like, enjoy it however you want to have fun.

If you want to say Fernando is your favorite because you think his sunglasses are cool then more power to you.

And you don't need to understand all the history and car stuff to be a good fan.

People like to gatekeep and create this idea that you need to know certain things or you have to like a driver for X reason, but if you like him for X reason then you aren't a real fan. It's frustrating.

Popular isn't always a bad thing either.

I'm a Ferrari fan, I support the driver who is skilled who is bringing glory to my red team. Charles has been doing that consistently since he joined and that is why he has my support. I have been impressed with his skill on track every single year of his career. I like quality driving, I like quality driving in RED, and Charles does both of those things.

Charles is a skilled driver, and you should feel happy supporting him and watching him drive because it's truly amazing to watch.

I am very glad you have joined us in our support of Charles and his career at Ferrari, it's an exciting time for him and for the team! I hope you are having fun!

[witchysilver]

Baldr - info, opinions and worship (long post)

I am making this post as a devotion to Baldr<3

Family Parents: Odin and Frigg Wife: Nanna Kid: Forseti Baldr has numerous half siblings, but full brother to Hodr, the blind god He is one of the Aesir

Names and epithets Ways to spell his name: Baldr, Balder, Baldur Epithets: The white, the good, the bright, father of justice

Treasures Home: Breidablik Ship: Hringhorni Horse: Gulltopp (translates to Goldtop)

Baldr is the god of beauty, light, innocence and forgiveness. He is also seen as a god of purity, joy and peace. Some also call him a god of naivity because he always see the good in everyone, even people no one else is able to see good things.

We have little knowledge about Baldr in general. The most known story about him is his death. Some who is devoted to, worship or work with Baldr might not want to work with Loki at all due to this story. Baldr had dreams about his death which gave him long awake nights. His mother, Frigg, tried to help him by making everyone and everything promise not to hurt Baldr, all materials, weapons, sickness etc. All except for the misteltoe, which she thought was too small, young and harmless to make a promise. Now that Baldr seemed absolutely immortal the other gods tried their weapons on him, as nothing would hurt him. His blind brother Hodr wanted to join in, but couldn't because he did not want to hurt anyone. Loki had found a way to know the misteltoe didn't promise to not hurt him, and made an arrow from it which he guided Hodr to shoot at his brother. Baldr died from the arrow and Loki ran away. Later in the story we get to know Baldr would be allowed to leave Helheim and go back to Asgard if the whole world would show their grief after his death, and everyone did except an old lady. It is believed this old lady is Loki to make sure Baldr couldn't return to his family.

Controversy There is controversy whether or not you can work with Baldr due to him being in Helheim. Their argument is true, those who goes to Helheim can't leave it before all gates open and chains break under Ragnarok. But again, Loki is chained and can't leave his place before Ragnarok when all chains breaks and gates open under Ragnarok. If working with Loki is valid, then working with Baldr is as well! And please do not fear having your own beliefs on this. You are free to reach out to him whatever your reason would be.

Lessons What I have gotten from working with Baldr is to forgive. Forgive but not forget, and forgiving doesn't mean to let others walk all over you, and it's also important that you learn to forgive yourself. You also learn to appreciate and find joy in the smallest things, which I personally think has bettered my life quality so much. He wants you to know your worth but still show kindness to the world, and to help others who need.

Offerings and acts of devotion Meditation around a source of light (in the sunlight, by a candle, LED candles, fireplace etc) Help others who need (he used to guide and help his blind brother) Heal and care for your inner child Create something for him Pray to him Appreciate others Enjoy calm music Enjoy your fav herbal tea, raise a glass to him Keep candles that reminds you of him (I personally love the scented ones) Practice forgiveness and compassion, especially towards yourself Devote a plushie that reminds u of him or summer Symbols of light, sunrise, summer, and things you find beautiful, keep around, decorate or keep on jewelry Decorate with fairy lights and lanterns Take notice in your progress and look at how far you got Sketch, draw, write and other creative expressions Sunbathe (Remember sunscreen) Express or decompress Take a walk on a sunny day Practice regulating emotions, and feel your emotions Find healthy emotional outlets Spend time with the ones you love Do something that makes you happy Play with your pets Donate to organizations that helps homeless, sick, disabled etc Take care of yourself Make a comfortable and safe space for yourself Celebrate achievements, even small ones Clean trash around your neighborhood or in nature (also great offering to Jord, Gaia, or other personification of Earth) Practice open-mindedness, agree to disagree Honor your ancestors, learn about your family history (family were huge in the norse society, and Balder loves his family) Flowers, especially those strongly connected to the sun(Mayweed and Sea Mayweed is both known under the name Balder's brow in Sweden and Norway, they would make a great offering as well) He is associated to the colors gold, white, yellow and sky-blue carnelian, red jasper, citrine, goldstone, sunstone -Some say misteltoe would be a nice offering, but some believes you shouldn't, would recommend asking him before you offer it

Signs -I haven't found much of set signs that Baldr is reaching out to you, which might be because of the lack of information. However I have seen these; You randomly think about him over an extented period of time The rune Dagaz/Dagr Dreams become very symbolic Dreaming about him You can always reach out to him if that feels right for you! I personally see him in the sun and 7 of swords. He could also be big in meditation and dream interpretations because of his dremas before the story of his death.

[reviewdiaries]

Nancy x Ace and the riddle of knowledge in 4x11

The sweet smell of being right on the money, I love it. You know what else I love? The development in this episode. Because things in Horseshoe Bay have gone from suspicious AF to completely demented, and I am HERE FOR IT.

We finally have confirmation for why things have felt so off these last few episodes. And we’ve started to explore the jenga puzzle, if I remove this one thing - vanished as though it never existed - what else falls down? What other relationships and feelings change? Can they be pieced back together again?

Let’s start with my boy Ace, because I personally am really enjoying his storyline. Do I completely get where the frustration lies for those who would have liked to see more pining and curse breaking and TENSION? Absolutely. I too would have loved that, because Ace and Nancy serve up delicious tension for breakfast, and it’s a treat to watch it. But I’m also genuinely enjoying seeing what we’ve got, because it’s all about growth.

Ace has been given time and space this series to find himself and flourish. He’s fought through heartbreak, and yes, that heartbreak has been distorted, we know that now. Can feel the chiming sense of wrong wrong wrong, how his feelings towards Nancy have shifted, vanishing like smoke in the air. Memories and feelings erased until there’s nothing left but the bare bones of a friendship and an aching sense of something gone - reaching for his phone in the middle of the night before realising he has no idea why. Because suddenly he’s left with the sense of a relationship that stalled before it could start, an idle heartbreak, the feeling of throwing himself into work, into the next mystery, the next person who shows an interest. A tension under his skin that he can’t ever explain. But he’s found a job that he loves, he’s carving out his own space, learning where to prioritise, where the important parts of him lie, where they join together, and how to take up his own space in the world.

His sense of self worth is still battered, his issues with his parents rampant, but he’s starting to hold his ground, mark his own boundaries, find an inner steel we’ve not yet seen in him. He’s always been so quick to please, to try and do what others have wanted, and this episode we’re finally seeing him stand his ground. 

We haven’t ever seen his parents come into his space before, and we get that not once but three times in this episode. We see the tension and friction between him and his father (which we haven’t seen much of but was alluded to greatly in the first couple of seasons) and we see how his mother tries desperately to keep the peace whilst supporting her son. 

GIF Credit @goodobservationshirley

I love this moment. Because Rebbeca is right. The Claw is absolutely Ace’s house, and that means that she and his father are coming to him to lead, they are stepping into his space and they are going to treat it as his, can acknowledge that it’s his, which is such a huge thing. Sure his dad is dismissive and thinks it’s going to go terribly, but that line is drawn. This is Ace’s space, and that means he is the head of the house.

As he becomes more preoccupied with his ghost he becomes less passive with his father. He stands up for himself, he refuses to be cowed by the disappointment, the expected failure. He does this on his terms. And yeah, he stumbles at the start, but he doesn’t let that phase him, he carries on, he leads. He steps into his own and it is such a joy to see. By the end of the episode we have that beautiful moment where his dad comes to tell him how well he did. And moments like this? They’re everything. The growth, the evolution of their relationship. The way they start to meet each other as equals instead of Ace cowering before his dad, it’s amazing to watch.

And then the confrontation with Nancy. Oh guys, they needed this. Sure, it’s about the ghost, not about them. How can they get this argument out when they don’t even remember their feelings for each other? But this is the first time that Ace asserts himself. Stop. I do not consent to what you’ve done. Stop. He never stands up to Nancy. Never holds space for himself, for his needs. The closest we’ve seen him come is 4x02 when he’s desperately pushing for her to tell him what he’s missing. But even then he doesn’t come out and say it, he doesn’t communicate effectively, doesn’t express himself. He acts the part of the spurned wife, veiling everything behind passive aggressive snark and stone wall silence. 

This is everything. This is beautiful. This is communication. Expressing what he needs, what he wants, and refusing to back down. This is everything that they have been missing. I’ve said it over and over and over this season, so much of their problem has been their inability or willingness to communicate openly with each other. And here, laying down the groundwork, is the first step. The first flag Ace is planting. A map of muscle memory for the next time he needs to hold his head high and say stop, no, this is not what I want. 

But as he starts to find those boundaries, Nancy is finding her sense of self eroded. She is floundering, desperate, panicked by the timeline she’s been thrust into, desperate now she knows there are too smooth edges where her memories have been stitched together. Suddenly she doesn’t know herself, doesn’t trust herself. What is her and what is what’s left behind when it’s been taken - the trip on the pavement versus the assault? What would she do, what could she possibly have deemed so bad it had to be removed? Because this Nancy, the Nancy with the pieces removed, she doesn’t have the framework of her love for Ace, the undying certainty that she would do anything for the man she loves, even tear herself to pieces with her bare hands and a handful of words whispered in the dark. She only has an aching sense of loss and a hundred shifting pieces she can no longer make sense of. 

So she goes back to the basics. Back to the handful of things she can hold onto, the facts of the case. Over and over and over as she spirals into panic and fear and the desperate certainty that she is broken beyond repair, irredeemable, lost and alone.

She knows the date. She knows the time. She knows the call log on her phone. The memories are gone but the facts are there. A handful of truths to hold onto and whisper to herself in the dark. We have seen Nancy at her best and at her worst. But even at her worst - lost in the depths of the Hudson name and sure that she can only be the worst version of herself, she knew her mind. Trusted her memories. Could hold onto the pieces of her that she knew to be true. But this, this is a violation that she knows is self inflicted. A scalpel precise removal of pieces of her she doesn’t even know to miss.

We now have a definitive timeline - Ace called Nancy after the boat trip, after the memorial, her hair still wet from washing buttercream icing out. There’s around twenty minutes between that and her going to call on the Sin Eater. And Nancy, because she’s shaken, she’s been given proof that she’s done something she can’t imagine ever doing, no longer trusts herself, no longer trusts what she’d do, what terrible atrocities she could commit. She goes to Ace and tells him that she thinks they are responsible for the Jane Doe.

GIF Credit @whitefluffyyeti 

 But that doesn’t track, that doesn’t make sense. The Nancy we know and love would never try and erase a murder, cover up something terrible. She’d face it head on, hold herself to the same truth and justice ideal that she holds everyone to, because as far as she’s concerned she’s not special, she’s not above this. If she did something wrong she’d take herself to the police station and confess.

So that’s not it. 

But Nancy would also do absolutely anything for those she loves. Not murder, not hiding something like that. But she would absolutely run to the Yacht Club to erase something to save someone she loves, someone like Ace. It’s something time critical, otherwise why would she go there so quickly. She’s desperate. But it’s not something illegal, no for that she’d call Carson, get a lawyer involved, get it sorted out the right way. She’s not always stayed on the right side of the law - too many opportunities to show up the police when they can’t do their jobs, use her lockpicks, her sleuthing beanie. But if it was something illegal, something bad, something murderous, there is no way she’d erase it, she’d work on building the strongest defence possible, but she wouldn’t undo it.

I don’t believe it’s that they accidentally triggered the curse either. We’ve seen before, the Sin Eater erases the memory, it can’t undo the damage. If the curse were triggered, if Ace were doomed to die, the Sin Eater wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop it.

So what does that leave? I genuinely have no clue. There are some great theories floating around about that night, about the Captain of the ship mysteriously cancelling, about the curse that Ace drops overboard. Something about that is off. And we can no longer trust what we’re being shown as viewers. Is what we see the truth? Or is it the altered version after the Sin Eater has removed it from the characters’ collective consciousness? Did Ace and his dad have a lovely bonding fishing trip or did something else happen? Did Nancy and Ace actually have that conversation as we saw it? Clearly not. But what have we had erased? What parts are missing? What jigsaw pieces are we going to be gifted to fill in to make the picture make sense?

My two cents, for what they’re worth - I don’t believe the ghost and the Jane Doe are the same. I think these are two things thrown together to make us think they’re the same. If the Captain theory holds true I’m willing to bet that they’re the burned corpse. But I think the ghost is the figurehead from The Governance. 

The Governance was stormed away from its original course thanks to the Aglaeca - thanks founders and your truly terrible treatment of women. Like I was in a storm. 

They then ripped the boat to pieces and left the figurehead as a protector of the Black Door, literally in the basement. The sky is gone.

The figurehead that has watched over as they tried over and over to merge the Sin Eater with the stolen children. There’s only one left.

She’s ethereal, not wearing the clothes she died in, but a white robe - like an angel, like a woman in white, like a being of magic. And Nancy Drew have been at great pains to point out throughout that there is a balance. Plugonia - plural, one doll for evil, one for light. What if the figurehead is not just a watcher, but part of the literal balance of the Sin Eater?

Now, @flythesail has done a truly excellent post exploring this theory which makes me feel much less like I’m going crazy connecting dots that aren’t there, and I highly recommend checking it out, because she does a fab job exploring the ideas of reincarnation that the writers are bringing into play this season, and makes a very compelling argument for this.

And once you start putting those pieces in, suddenly Nancy and Ace behaving as they are over the ghost and Tristan begins to make even more sense than memory erasure and heartbreak. And honestly, that’s not a sentence I ever thought I’d say.

But the thread has been found - how can you find a thread to pull when you don’t even know it’s missing waiting to be discovered? Against all the odds the photo, the timeline, it’s starting to emerge. And we know how Nancy gets once there’s a mystery. That desperate all consuming urge to uncover the truth, the light, the justice for a town steeped in darkness and secrets, for the people caught up in the web, for herself.

[the-somwthing]

i actually dont know how to infodump this w/o it sounding like a garbled mess so you just have to bare with me

Evil Watchers is so fun so so so so so fun to me like on a surface level being like "we're above the players" but having layers of realizing stuff like "they have thoughts and feelings and honestly aren't very different than us" then continue to be evil despite this knowledge? I'll eat that up!

But also to have evil Grian is like omg! what a guy! But considering Martyn's leaky lil lore of the watchers not liking Grian he can't really be evil for the same cause so my brains racking up ideas of how Grian could be evil without supporting the watchers, so like

Watchers are evil for the sake of pushing the world forward, these things have to happen for (what the watchers might consider) the "greater good"

Whereas, Grian is evil in the sense of "these things have to happen for shits and giggles" (E.i. The Life Series, although if we're counting on Martyn's lore then the watchers created the life series and Grian's evil for the sake of fucking everything over for his own joy and pleasure)

But I think here is where the morally gray argument comes in, even with everything we're handed it's hard to make Grian evil and still work with evil watchers, it's hard to make the watchers seem like these horrible beings because on a more metaphorical sense /we/ are the watchers, we're crafting stories and headcanons and playing with these cubes like they're barbie dolls and we as people aren't evil cause we might kill off a character in a story, so I think, that might be where the morally gray watchers come in

(No clue if any of this stuff made any sense, it started off as me dumping a half-baked idea I've had hung up for a while then turned back to your morally gray vs evil watchers thing)

Well towards the end there you get back into my whole “us being the same as the watchers doesn’t make them less evil, since for us it’s just fiction but for them it’s real people, so if anything it just makes them less serious”, but ignoring that…

Grian is a little menace for sure. I still feel like him being totally evil ruins his interactions with other characters, but I certainly don’t mind him getting into the game to cause chaos and have fun, end up feeling really heartbroken by the bad things that happen to those he cares about, them coming out of it like “….that was fun actually. I’ll do it again” LMAO.

In my own personal headcanons, Grian can eat his own emotions from when he’s inside the game, which makes him want to cause suffering for himself (hence doing stupid things he’ll regret like killing his allies). Cuz his negative emotions from suffering in the game are so tasty 😋

There’s so many ways to make Grian look as weird and morally “wtf are you doing” as possible. Definitely have fun with it.

[haven-is-happy]

How Battle Changes: Don't Eat That!

Chapter 7

Pairing: Dogma x Jedi!reader, platonic Wolfpack,

Chapter description: A politician's dinner is rarely without consequences

Warnings: !!!unhealthy eating habits!!!, reader has very little mental health stability, angst, reader is at their breaking point

Wordcount: 2,3 k

Masterlist

Somewhere along the line, your statements went from “mildly controversial” to “assassination worthy”.

You’re not sure when exactly that happened. You don’t care. It just means you are focusing on the right thing, pissing off the people who should be exposed the most. 

The thought should be frightening.

Key word: should.

“It’s times like these that I think about my parents. My birth parents, not the parental figures of the caretakers and creche masters at the Jedi Temple. Are they still alive? Was I welcome in their family? Did they wait with bated breath until a child came, tears of joy when I first screamed my lungs out to signal I am breathing and healthy and then reluctantly given with tears to the Jedi? Or was I an intrusion, an accident, an inconvenience they gave away with a sigh of relief?” 

Another scripted speech. You poured your heart out during the nights between senate meetings, because the tears that filled your eyes when you allowed yourself to ask these questions are unbecoming of a public representative.

You basically threatened your way into the senate as a representative of the clones and jedi who wish to leave the rigidity of the places they were raised in. Threatened, not elected.

You bought your presence in the chamber by keeping silent about the carnage Krell was allowed to go on, even before Umbara, keeping silent about the Senate's knowledge about the Malevolence, long before it was discovered by your former master Plo.

No tears. No weaknesses. They will tear you apart.

And so the speech continues as you swallow the most likely answer. It burns on the way down. It might burn on the way back up after you permit yourself to throw it up from stress in the “comfort” of your home.

You’ve researched. You know the sector where you most likely came from, now deep in Separatist territory, being the place of several battles at the start of the War.

“I may never know, as the Jedi Master who brought me to the temple is dead. She died on Geonosis and took dozens of secret parentages of padawans, knights and younglings to her grave. At her pyre I cried for the small child not yet outside their cradle that might never know if those that bore them love them.”

You take a steadying breath. Those wonders have long since passed.

“Perhaps it is better not knowing.”

The Senate is deadly silent to your face, but you know there are mute conversations happening in hand signals across the expansive chamber. Their auras betray even the slightest change of emotions. The colours shift and bleed into another as information is passed.

Seems like they have forgotten you can read them better than an open book.

“I know how many of you feel,” you keep a second-too-long break between the words with an emphasis, “about the Order’s practices around recruiting. The truth is the parents get a choice, having both options explained clearly as day. Give the child away so it may prosper as a part of the Order, with the promise that one day the child will be given a way to contact them, or keep the child and face the difficulties of a force-sensitive toddler reigning chaos.”

Expertly, the diplomatic skill taught at the temple made you slot a joke after threatening your audience in not-so-subtle ways. The clueless laugh. The knowing shudder.

You do not want to be seen as cruel. 

But if you aren’t, it leaves room for argument.

Next to you, Dogma checks his comm. 

The several months of being your guard didn’t change his face one bit. The v-shaped pattern fits well on his face, accentuated by the widow's peak he keeps his hair in. His eyes scan each individual senate-pod in his field of vision, then flick over to you. You have to remind yourself you’re in the force-damned Senate chamber in front of thousands of influential people to stop yourself from lovingly brushing a hand over his cheek.

His armour has been repainted in vibrant colours. The helmet is forgone entirely to show him being proud of being a clone. Jesse next to him is an even more stark reminder, with the republic cog tattooed onto his face.

The tactic is genius. You’ll have to thank Fives for coming up with that.

“The truth is, the vague feeling of my birth parents is no longer even a memory. Can one miss a vague shape in the back of your mind? When you can’t articulate yourself in childhood, maybe, but as an adult, it is but a shape you will gradually forget with age.”

“Clones, however, never had that shape. Many of us have a warm feeling as the first memory of our parents. Being held, coddled and even loved. But the clones didn’t get that luxury. Forgive me for being a cynic, but if you have a problem with the Order’s practices of child-kidnapping - as I heard many put it - why are you not fighting for the clones to have an equal privilege to childhood?”

Your voice rings powerful and accusatory through the full auditorium. You sweep your eyes over the people at your eye level and below, before solidly locking them where Bail Organa stands in his senator-pod. He sends a nod.

Dogma next to you makes a very quiet sound, pitched low just enough for you and only you to hear. He clicks his tongue once, then pauses, and then clicks again.

A signal for news from the Wolfpack. Thank the Force your speech and time at the proverbial stand is coming to an end.

The entire interaction takes no more than three seconds. An uncomfortable silence to marinate most careless Senators in the implications you’ve made.

“My childhood was cut short after the hostilities on Naboo. I had to undergo more rigorous saber training, even as an empath, someone attuned to the living Force around us. A shadow warrior - a Sith of a lineage long-lost - stole any ability to live as a simple aura reader diplomat.”

“And yet that’s not even a fraction of the cruelty and hardship an average clone trooper goes through in a third of the time. As soon as they walk, they are taught combat. They rapidly age, Corellian Hells, THE OLDEST CLONES ARE THIRTEEN YEARS OLD!”

Your frustration poured out into the air around you. This is the closest you have gotten to yelling and losing your cool since you walked out of the Court Chamber at Dogma’s trial. You have no doubt that at least some of the senators or their aides must have a fraction of force sensitivity, at least enough to glimpse the carefully-masked rage you don’t let the average person see.

You lock eyes with the Chancellor on his high seat, the senator-pod that hovers in the centre of the chamber.

You stare at him with intensity unknown to an individual outside of the Jedi Order. Memories flick through your vision, a slideshow of your frustrations at the Senate, frustration shared by the Jedi Council, by your father Plo, by the Clones that have welcomed you into their dysfunctional humongous family.

The Chancellor smiles.

The dinner after resembles a blur of colours too bright to be real.

You barely eat. The worry of poison and backstabbing are ever present, loom over your figure like a mountain. You prod at the force to give you readings of everyone around you, even if they are in your eyesight for a fraction of a second. 

The auras are overwhelming. Despite diplomats being taught to never let emotion show on their face, the different hues bleed into their body language.

One can only hide their true nature for so long, you suppose.

You’re sitting at the head of the table for dinner, the centre of attention as usual. As the minutes tick by, it’s become more and more likely that this will not end well. The jabs and replies thrown at one another have a sickly-sweet tone, with oleander-filled honey dripping as they fly at their target. 

 Dogma and Jesse stand behind you, each on one side as your guards. No matter how many times you try to convince them to eat with you, they insist.

“The life of a senator isn’t for me, but I still want to keep you safe” has been the reply from Jesse each time. Fives is just glad you never asked him, letting him instead stay at your apartment for these drab meetings disguised as dinners.

And your sweet Dogma would follow you to the ends of the Galaxy.

“I suppose if the children had more contact with their parents after getting accepted into the order, they would be able to form healthy attachments, as opposed to having no attachments altogether,” you say to a Nautolan representative sitting half across the table. 

She narrows her eyes and nods, pausing to eat a bite out of her meal. “A friend of mine lost her son to the Jedi three decades ago. She still wonders why he never contacted her.”

Dogma searches in his memory. The only nautolan jedi he has heard of is Kit Fisto. It would perhaps fit the description of a son lost thirty years ago. He stores it as something to ask you about.

A mikkian senator sitting to your left looks over at your plate. The longer the supper goes on, the more apparent it is that you are not touching your food. The senator, some generation or two older than you, looks you over a bit before lowering his voice, so that only you and (unintentionally) Dogma can make out his words.

“Deary, you have not touched your meal. I sure do hope this affair has not sullied your appetite.” He adds a smile at the end of his statement, as if to deepen the few wrinkles his face has to make himself the caring older relative.

Your attention snaps to his face briefly, enough to not notice one of his head-tendrils outside your field of vision to twitch in the general direction of your plate. Had Dogma not been inadvertently alerted to his figure, he wouldn’t have noticed the tiny amount of clear, water-like liquid that flew off the tip of his head-tendril and landed at the edge of your plate.

He reacts before his brain catches up to his eyes.

“Don’t eat that!”

His yell makes the entire table stop whatever they are doing to look at him. 

“The food is poisoned!”

His aura flashes red with swirls of white. The mix of danger.

Jesse sweeps the room over in less than a millisecond and directs his gaze at your food. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but he trusts his brother with your safety above all. He takes a half-step closer towards the table.

You strategically stand up slowly and turn to Dogma. “How do you know?”

“The mikkian senator flicked some liquid into it with his head-tendril.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the whole room shift. Colours turn muted and tinged with yellow, orange and black.

The aura of the person in question turns a stark black. Fear.

“Impossible! I have done no such thing, clone!” he barks out and gets to his feet abruptly, nearly throwing his chair back.

Jesse, who has so far been stone-cold, willing to not react unless necessary, calmly looks him boldly in his eyes, an act that would have had consequences if he was in the GAR.

“You should know that ambassador (Y/N) can tell if you’re lying,” his tone is even and calculated.

“Of course I know that! That’s because I’m not lying.”

The old man is adamant, even if his eyes widen a fraction.

Your eyes flick over the room and land on a tray in the corner, on a table reserved for decorational flowers.

The tray floats over as the uncomfortable silence settles over the room. Some of the dinner’s participants notice it and gasp, making the others stare in horror as the tray lands in front of you.

You vaguely feel the presence of three Coruscant Guards running down the hall. By the time you land a metal food cover over the plate, they slam the door of the dining room open. 

Jesse and Dogma exchange a nod and Dogma nods. Jesse walks out to meet one of the troopers to exchange words.  You barely hear the words they whisper, but “poison” and “food” must be at least a part of the conversation. Dogma stays right behind you with a hand on his blaster. You don’t even have to turn to feel his anxiousness.

On instinct, you reach out with the hand that isn’t holding the tray in the air to grip the senator by the wrist with the Force. You press harder and hear something drop to the floor, an item no longer held in an iron grip he had on it. The noises of protests fall upon your deaf ears.

A guard moves in to handcuff the old man, only to notice a blaster on the floor and feel resistance while he moves one of the wrists into the cuffs. The item he dropped.

Jesse, now returning to you, plucks the tray out of the air to bring it back to one of the clones.

You let go of the Force and feel a massive weight of exhaustion hit you. Tilting your hand back just a couple of centimetres is enough for Dogma to grip it tightly with the palm not on his weapon.

You look at the Coruscant Guard talking to Jesse. His aura is full of baby blue and camo green. Confusion and worry.

“Please, take the food with the plate for analysis. Don’t touch it or take it out of the cover unless you are in safe distance. I don’t know what it is,” you say slowly. The words coming out of you feel foreign and you have to push them out, too exhausted to expend any emotions into the tone.

Dogma squeezes your hand three times. An “I love you” for when you can’t speak.

When you leave the dinner behind and get into your personal speeder, you pass out from exhaustion.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

[pullhisteeth]

hi! i don’t know how knowledged you are in the topic, but could i request an autistic!reader x eddie? they’re in class together and the teacher keeps picking on reader for zoning out, not making eye contact, fidgeting (tapping nails on the table is something i do) and they start to get super stressed out about it, but don’t want to cause any arguments so just try to mask the behaviour. this is until eddie (who is at the back of the class) stands up for reader and argues with the teacher himself.

after class, reader questions why eddie why he did that and he says he can’t stand to see people getting bullied, especially by the teachers themselves (but as well as this, it’s because he likes them, but he doesn’t admit that). ends with him inviting them to hang out after school?

thank you so much if you do this! :)

hello my love! thank you so much for your request

a couple disclaimers: 1, I do not have diagnosed autism! 2, I did some research and took from some personal experience but I didn’t make explicit reference to autism in this. I hope that's okay and that you enjoy it anyway!

much love !!!

cw teacher's a dick, reference to autism-adjacent behaviour, fem!reader, a very cheesy magpie metaphor lol [2k]

-

The call of your name from the front of the room digs its claws into your back and pulls you mercilessly out of your head.

Something outside had caught your eye – a magpie. You'd recited the rhyme that your mother had taught you in your head: one for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy. It had been one lone magpie, flying down from the roof of the school above you onto the yard outside. Alone, pecking in vain at the hard tarmac, making you sad. Sorrow.

And then another had swooped down, joining the bizarre display of mindless instinct. Two birds. Joy.

To your surprise, two more joined a few minutes later. The first two had moved back, away from the window to the patch of grass, where their digging seemed more fruitful. Four. Four for a boy. You began to wonder what boy it could mean.

The thought doesn't get to go too far, though, because Mrs. O'Donnell's brash, raised voice calls you from across the room. You spin your head to meet her eye but avert it just as quick, wincing at the sour expression on her face. With one eyebrow raised she stares you down and you resist the urge to sink into your seat when you see five or six other heads turn to look at you.

"Is there something more important outside?" she barks, question rhetorical.

Sometimes, moments like this can take you by surprise and steal the words from your mouth. After a couple of shallow breaths, you muster: "uh, no, no. Sorry, Mrs. O'Donnell."

She seems satisfied for now, reluctantly turning back to the chalkboard and resuming her monologue. As she does you release the tension in your back and let yourself slide down, hiding as much of yourself as you can behind the cheap chipboard desk, willing yourself to listen to her.

Her class is dull, which makes you sad. You love history, and always have, and when she leaves you to work from textbooks or gives you homework you actually enjoy it. But the monotonous voice of your sullen teacher is enough to turn you off the subject altogether, so you quickly find your mind wandering again.

A boy. For some reason, you're fixated on the four magpies. They're still there, dithering around the grass, flapping their wings every so often when there's a breeze. They're pretty birds, you think, with their shiny black feathers and pretty white chests. You wonder where they live – do birds live in one place? Maybe they have nests, constructions of twigs and feathers and shiny things. Magpies love shiny things, and how many have those four picked up in their short lives?

You start when O'Donnell calls your name again. This time it's a short, sharp crack, like a firecracker, filled with anger and impatience. You sit upright at the sound, eyes trained on the ground between yourself and her desk.

"Would you please stop that tapping?" she bites with words clipped short.

You mumble a response that even you can't make out and drop the pencil you'd had sat between your index and middle finger. You didn't even realise you'd been bouncing it on the table, the metronome ticks soothing your mind too much for you to notice.

You focus all of your attention on O'Donnell, trying to ignore the multiple people looking at you again. Determined to keep your eyes on her and not let your mind wander, you try to fidget with something quiet, unnoticeable. You're not one for causing a scene, but you're anxious and unsure how to soothe yourself.

You settle on the hem of your jumper, toying with a loose thread and focusing on the repetitive motion of running it between your thumb and finger. You try to centre on the gesture but soon you zone out, eyes glossed over and posture sinking, and mindlessly you begin to wrap the thread around the end of your finger.

As usual, you're not paying close attention to the way the thread is moving. It's just a soothing thing, to keep a sequence of movements, up and round and round and round and off the finger, over and over and over again.

"Shit," you breathe when the thread gets tied in a knot and slips harshly over the skin. You look down and though there's no cut, the pain was sharp and hot, like a burn.

But you're made to look up again because O'Donnell's shouting your name, patience clearly worn thin, and you look back at the spot on the floor you seem to have become so accustomed to this period. You can see her with her hands on her hips and her brows scrunched down; you don't have to look straight at her to know that she's angry.

"Is there something you want to tell us all?"

"No, I- sorry, I just-"

"Look at me," she demands, and you try, you really do, but it's hard. Your eyes have a life of their own, only landing on hers for a brief second. "You just what? Don't think you need to pay attention?"

"No, no," you plead, hopelessly trying to get her to stop, trying to divert the attention, move the moment on. "I'm sorry."

"Leave her alone, O'Donnell."

The voice comes from behind you and cuts clean through the silence. You look up to find where it came from, even though you know who it was.

It's too familiar to you, to everyone, for you to mistake it for anyone else.

"Excuse me, Mr Munson?"

"Stop pickin' on her," he says, and this time you see the words come from him. He's slumped in his chair, legs spread and forearms resting on the desk in front of him, where there's no textbook. "'S'not like she's hurtin' anyone."

O'Donnell seems astonished, despite Eddie's reputation. Even for him, this is novel.

"This is my class, Mr. Munson, and I will have silence while I teach. Now, sit up."

"But she's not doing anything. You're just yellin' at her and it's clearly not helping."

There are tears clouding your vision, though you can't tell if they're sprung from humiliation or gratitude; perhaps a mix of the two.

"Principle's office. Now."

Eddie heaves a sigh and as he turns to push himself off the chair, one hand planted on his desk and the other on his knee, he looks at you square in the face. For once you can't divert your eyes, and you look back at him with what must be a wet and very flushed expression, because his softens and he gives you a small smile and a roll of his eyes.

You find yourself giggling, but you cough and choke it down, going back to bouncing the pencil between two fingers.

He makes a show of pulling his bag off the floor and trapsing to the door, dragging his feet as he goes. When he reaches the door he shoots you another smile, except this time it's a flashy grin, all teeth and tight-shut eyes.

The rest of the class drags, but you feel relieved when O'Donnell doesn't pick on you again, despite your tendency to zone out. Perhaps because Eddie embarrassed her a little, she actually does leave you alone, and for eighteen minutes you feel a little of the weight that forcing focus creates ease off your shoulders.

When the bell goes you pack your stuff away and make a quick exit before she can collar you for any reason. You weave through bodies to the door, and then push through more of them in the hall, making for the principal's office at the end of the building.

It's the end of the day so people are lingering, making it difficult to keep your speed, but when you arrive at the office Eddie's nowhere to be seen. For a few seconds you worry you've missed him, but then the door swings open and he stops when he sees you, halfway to getting his bag on his shoulder.

He calls your name in question softly and you turn to look at him, relief spreading through you.

"Oh, hey," you say.

"You okay?" he asks, moving again, closing the door behind himself.

"Why did you do that?" you say.

He steps towards you, a confused look on his face. "What d'you mean?"

"Why did you… get in trouble? For me?"

"'Cause O'Donnell's a prick."

"But I bet you've got, like, weeks of detentions, and some kinda note on your record, and-"

"Hey," he says, soft but firm, cutting you off. "It's nothin' I haven't had before. Besides, Higgins let me off with a warning."

"Oh," you breathe, deflating. "Good."

"She seriously was being ridiculous," he says, looking you in the eye. "You weren't botherin' anyone. She's just a bully."

"Yeah, I guess so," you say, smiling to yourself. "Well, thanks, Eddie."

"No need," he responds, smiling, hoping desperately that you can't hear the joy in his voice because the way you say his name makes him weak in the knees.

"No one's ever done anything like that for me before," you admit. "It was really nice of you."

He gives in, and says, reluctantly, "you're welcome," grinning down at you.

He begins to walk, looking back at you expectantly. You catch up with him and walk beside him down the now sparse corridor.

"Here, you need a ride home?" he asks. Eddie always comes across as very confident, you think, but right now he's all bashful and the way he reaches up to scratch the back of his head, you think he might be nervous.

"Um, actually, yeah. That'd be nice, thanks."

"No biggie. Just in the lot, this way."

He reaches to take your hand but you flinch instinctively, pulling your own back.

"Shit, sorry," he says, stopping in front of you. "That was- sorry, force of habit."

"It's okay," you say warmly, hoping he doesn't feel too awkward, or that, god forbid, he begins to think you don't like him.

After a moment of stillness, and after you think about it, you decide to reach your hand out for him. He clues into your gesture, taking a mental note that you don't like it when it's unexpected, but that you'll still offer it to him.

He takes your hand in his, turning quickly to hide the appreciative flush that has spread across his face. In doing so he misses the way you smile to yourself.

He helps you carefully into his van like a gentleman, telling you excuse the mess, sweetheart, and she's old but she's reliable, I promise, making you laugh when he runs around the front to his own door. The drive is short, too short for your liking, only the length of one Black Sabbath song. He pulls up outside your house as per your directions but as you turn to get the door and say your goodbyes, he says, "do you maybe wanna to hang out?"

"Hm?" you turn to look at him, missing half of what he asked you.

It takes him a moment, the nerves almost getting the better of him.

"Do you want to hang out?"

"Now?"

He laughs at the dumbfounded look on your face, because he swears that should be him. How on earth he's got such a pretty girl in his van looking shocked that he wants to hang out with her is beyond him.

"I mean, if you're free, but I'm around all weekend."

"My parents are expectin' me home," you admit sullenly. Before his face can drop too much, though, you add: "how's tomorrow?"

The way he perks up fires sparks of happiness up your nerves. He's got such a handsome face.

A boy, a cute boy, asking you to hang out. It's a bad day turned wonderful.

"Tomorrow's perfect," he tells you through a face-splitting grin. "I'll pick you up here at, like, two?"

"Sure thing," you say. "There's a bookstore in town I really like, if that's the kinda thing you'd be up for?"

"Sounds ideal," he says back, and you really can't believe it.

And then you think: four for a boy.

-

[the-blackholeus]

NICENICENICE can you write something for the nurses? anyhting is fine. throws myself out of a window

Nurse Helene

Loveliest gentlewoman in the world.

She takes her relationship with you as serious as her work. She is a very respectful lover, always making sure that she never oversteps any boundaries.

Is the type of lover that will pamper you if you had a hard day. Exhausted? She will make you a comfortable spot in the Klinikum for you two to cuddle in. Hungry? Be assured that she would somehow chase Chef Sauer out of the kitchen so she could make you a meal that actually tastes like food.

She always has time for you. Even when her schedule is filled to the brim, she always somehow squeezes you in there while never neglecting her patients.

When she is on break, she will take you to the park and relax with you on the benches. When possible, she also takes food with her so you two could snack on something while chatting about god knows what.

If you offer to help her with the patients, she will be beyond ecstatic and forever thankful. She is the only one doing any real work in this hospital and having someone by her side who takes over the tasks that require less medical knowledge, she could focus on the more complicated parts of her work and get done with them faster.

Arguments with her are very, very rare and don’t last very long. She hates it when you are upset with her.

Tries to keep you away from the demonic chief doctor. She doesn’t trust this man with an inch of her life and is aware that there is something…inhuman about him. She’s afraid that he’ll hurt you.

Nurse Astrid

You and Astrid met and fell in love with each other before Randolph’s terrible reign over the Heilwald Klinikum began.

You, as her romantic partner, always visited her when she was on break or if she had a less stressful day to spend time with her or to simply keep her company. But that all changed when that demonic chief doctor took over Friedrich’s position and spread terror by creating the loophole.

You were taken as a patient and Randolph had Astrid removed and stuffed her into an iron lung, letting her rot in the storage.

When you found her, you cried for her and swore revenge. But before you could make any idiotic move that could make your situation even worse, she begged you to stay as she didn’t want to lose you again. You, of course, complied.

Ever since then, you stayed at the storage and tried to make Astrid’s life as easy as you could, staying by her side as much as you could.

Nurse Anne

Nurse Anne is, despite being a horrific mutant now, still a kind and gentle soul that would do everything for her romantic partner.

She loves to spend time with you, no matter if she is working or if she is on a break. She always has time to chat with you.

Always manages to make you smile. No matter how down you feel, this woman somehow worms her way through the sadness of your heart numbness of your mind and tells a joke so good you couldn’t help but chuckle. She has a gift of making you feel better, no matter what bothers you.

She needs to be careful when touching you. Her body is completely electrified, and one wrong touch could seriously harm you. But don’t worry, she won’t rest until she found a way to snuggle and kiss you without giving you the greatest shock of your life. Literally.

Fights with this woman? Unbelievable, but it does happen from time to time. However, they don’t last very long and are mostly just small disagreements for what’s safe for you and what not. You know that she doesn’t want to lose you, so you can’t stay mad at her for too long.

Anne can’t sing. Her singing voice is nothing but horrendous, but she still does it because it brings her joy. Seeing her smile wider and far more genuine while she dances (stumbles) around and screeches her lungs out makes it bearable for you though, and you are able to ignore the pain.

Nurse Sabine

Nurse Sabine is Anne’s cousin and has a very similar personality.

Snuggles and kisses you whenever she gets the chance, showing her affection as much as she physically can. She is an angel and wants to make sure that you are feeling loved, and since she does not really have a way with words (as we have noticed when she escorted us to what has once been Dr. Randolph), she wants to show her commitment through actions.

Loves doing makeovers and dress ups. Our beautiful, ever smiling woman owns every type of outfit or costume and loves to do sleepovers with you while dressing you up as whatever you like.

Much like every other person, she tries her best to keep you away from Dr. Randolph, as she often sees what this…thing (she refuses to call him human) is capable of. She knows that he will turn you in some kind of twisted mutant and tear every bit of humanity from you, and she would do everything she could to prevent that from happening.

Unlike Anne, Sabine is an extraordinary singer with a voice of a thousand angels. She loves to sing to you whenever she is able to, dancing around with you and twirling you without a problem.

Is an absolute dog fan. If you have a dog or own any dog-like creature, she will be all over it and pamper it from head to claw.

Nurse Heideltraut

Dearest Nurse Heideltraut. A surprisingly good girlfriend despite her roughness and lack of empathy.

She is very protective of you and will always have you in her sight to assure your well-being, ready to beat the crap out of a patient should they dare to harass or even harm you.

She is a very loud and demanding person, and arguments between the two of you aren't rare and they tend to be quite intense. She will ignore you for several days after and pretend that you are not there, but eventually, if she is in the wrong, she will crave your affection far too much and swallow her pride to apologize physically. (She would NEVER sorry). If she is in the right, though, she will wait for you to come to her...most of the time.

She is the only one of the Nurses that doesn't mind Dr. Randolph being around you. She thinks that if he would have wanted to harm you, he would have done so already.

Makes sure that eat and drink enough so that you don't get sick. She says that she doesn't want another patient on her sick ward, but in truth, she cares for you and doesn't want you to suffer in any way. Not that she would ever admit that.

Is NOT a pet person. If you have a pet, she would most likely take forever to tolerate it. She forces herself to do so for the sake of you, but don't expect her to be friends with your companion. If you have a cat, though, make sure that it stays away from her. She's allergic.

[calliethetrekkie]

Triumvirate Prompts: Day 20

#20. Favorite Kirk Moment?

As I did last time, I'll do five that I thought up. Somehow picking for Kirk was a lot harder than I thought. But here they are

1. Gangster Kirk

They let Shatner have waaay too much fun in A Piece of the Action. That's not a complaint, either. It's a planet that decided to follow a book on gangsters as a way of government, you may as well go all in. The minute that Kirk gets the upper hand, he goes full-on mob boss, and I love every second of it. You can tell that he is getting so into it and having the time of his life, and it lets what could have been a weird episode be an absolute joy. He may be too good at it haha. Also, we learn that Kirk is a terrible driver, which is also an amazing moment... maybe not for Spock though XD

2. Everything in The Trouble With Tribbles

Kirk hates everything and it is amazing. Usually save for certain occasions, Kirk is able to keep composed and professional. He doesn't even attempt to try here. The Tribbles overtaking everything and annoying bureaucracy people have Kirk utterly salty, and him getting dog-piled by all the tribbles (that keep falling onto his head) is the cherry on top of it all. The look of pure venom he gives Bones when he tells him to find out why the Tribbles are dying, and he's about to make a quip as usual is just perfection. He only likes the furballs when he finds out that they hate Klingons XD It is just amazing to see how Kirk hates everything in this episode. Sorry Kirk, but you're at your most fun when you've lost your cool~

3. The Monologue in Return to Tomorrow

KIRK: They used to say if man could fly, he'd have wings. But he did fly. He discovered he had to. Do you wish that the first Apollo mission hadn't reached the moon, or that we hadn't gone on to Mars and then to the nearest star? That's like saying you wish that you still operated with scalpels and sewed your patients up with catgut like your great-great-great-great-grandfather used to. I'm in command. I could order this. But I'm not because, Doctor McCoy is right in pointing out the enormous danger potential in any contact with life and intelligence as fantastically advanced as this. But I must point out that the possibilities, the potential for knowledge and advancement is equally great. Risk. Risk is our business. That's what the starship is all about. That's why we're aboard her. You may dissent without prejudice.

This is simultaneously one of Kirk's best moments... and one of his stupidest. Only because of everything going wrong after this, but still. So we have Kirk gathering the landing party and Scotty to vote on him, Spock, and Girl of the Week letting God-like beings use their bodies until they get android bodies made. This is dangerous because... well, do I need to explain why?! However Kirk makes his argument, and my own thoughts aside, it does show that Kirk isn't stupid. He is fully aware that this is a risky, very dangerous maneuver and that people like Scotty and McCoy have every right to be concerned. It's why he will only allow a unanimous vote, to make sure that everyone is okay with this and have all concerns addressed. As much as we like to joke about Kirk being reckless, this shows that he isn't... well, most of the time.

I think it also reflects what Star Trek is truly about. It's about the evolution of mankind. To explore the unknown and encounter these other cultures and worlds. To learn and grow, and thus allow civilization to grow. If this goes well with Sargon, they could learn a great deal from these beings. Kirk has always been passionate about his mission. It's what he signed up for. The speech he gives in order to address McCoy's worries just reflects that so much. Sure it's a risk, and if anyone has seen the episodes we know how it all goes horribly wrong. But there's always a risk to discovery and exploration. You have to take it in order to grow and evolve. As he says, risk is their business. It's an excellent moment that shows us who Kirk is and why he's willing to do certain crazy things. I don't see it get talked about much, but if you want a scene that describes who James T Kirk is, this is the one.

4. "What if I'm wrong?"

If there is one thing that Kirk feels that he can't allow, it's vulnerability. As the captain, he cannot afford to show weakness. He must remain a strong, in-control figure at all times. Otherwise, if he slips, he risks losing his crew's faith and their trust in his command. This gets brought up in several episodes. He'll express it to McCoy. He'll sometimes allow Spock to see it. He may slip for a second in front of others, but that's it. But like anyone else, he has fears, doubts, and a lot of pressure placed on himself by himself and those around him. He's responsible for the lives and safety of over 400 individuals... and it's never easy.

This moment in Balance of Terror is so, SO good. The Enterprise is in a very perilous situation. Kirk has had to remain in Captain Mode at all times, not allowing for any hesitation or doubt. He can't allow it, not against an enemy that he knows barely anything about. It's kill or be killed. But when he is finally given a moment, the mask remains on when Rand comes to see if he needs anything. It only falls when McCoy, the one person he is allowed to be vulnerable around, enters the room. When Rand goes, Kirk is finally able to vent:

KIRK: I wish I were on a long sea voyage somewhere. Not too much deck tennis, no frantic dancing, and no responsibility. Why me? I look around that Bridge, and I see the men waiting for me to make the next move. And Bones, what if I'm wrong?

I love this because it allows us to see this side of Kirk. While we as the audience get to see Kirk's vulnerability more than almost anyone in-show does, he still barely allows himself to show it. It's the one time in the episode that he's able to let it out. He's not expecting an answer, but McCoy gives him one, and that's enough for Kirk to have the assurance that he needs to continue forward. It's both a great moment showing off Kirk and Bones' relationship, and a moment in an otherwise intense episode where we can breathe and let Kirk have this one moment before returning to the fray.

5. Sacrificing the Enterprise

Being a Starship Captain means everything to Kirk. It is who he is. It is what he always wanted to be. It is what he lived and breathed for all of his adult life. Nothing symbolizes that more than The Enterprise. That ship, as various episodes had demonstrated, meant everything to Kirk. It was the ship that he got as a Captain. One that he spent many years on. Even when he became an admiral, he fought tooth and nail to get to command it again because he missed it so much. He missed being a captain so much. His career means everything to him...

And in one fatal move, he gives it up.

The Search For Spock really makes life Hell for Kirk. He's grieving his best friend, his other best friend is going insane, he finds out that Spock isn't quite dead, breaks out McCoy, and steals the Enterprise. He knew that by doing this, he was sacrificing his career. The career that defined his very being. But to make it worst, he then watches his own son that he only just now got to know and now he risks losing everyone else. So he makes the choice to abandon ship and take the Klingons out by self-destructing it.

I cannot stress how major this is. Sure it's just a ship, but again this ship symbolizes everything that Kirk worked for. That ship was his life. All the hard-work and sacrifices that he made to captain that ship. He already threw his career away, losing the ship was just the icing on the cake. But it's also important to remember why: to save Spock, McCoy, and his crew. He just watched his son die. He just lost Spock once. He's likely going to not only lose him again, but also lose Bones if he hadn't acted as he did. He's dragged his senior staff into it, allowing them to throw their careers aside just to help him.

He couldn't stand aside and lose anyone else. He had to do this. Because sure, his career meant everything. But Spock? Bones? His crew? They mean so much more. They're the closest thing to a family that he has. They've been with him through everything since he got the Enterprise. Here, he chooses them over himself. It hurts, but after so many episodes that made it clear how much being a Captain meant to Kirk? After all of his accomplishments? All the sacrifices? He threw it all away for the ones that he loves, and that is powerful.

[bugbyte]

Can’t sleep, time to write. Health stuff, but in the good way, mostly! I got fitted for my wheelchair! My genetic test is sequencing! It’s exciting and I’m trying to distract myself from the rest of everything in my life!!

So, wheelchair appointment. More complex than I thought; several guys from the company that orders and services them, a physical therapist, and me.

They had me try out two chairs - one that’s more of a scooter thing which I did not love and a lightweight manual one with this really cool thing called a SmartDrive that optionally makes it powered, which I absolutely loved. Main guy from the equipment co. was insistent I would do better in the scooter type chair, and got a little ‘splainy with me in ways I didn’t really like, but in the end I tested both and I’m going with the lightweight one.

The scooter thing did break down into a couple pieces so it can fit in the car, but the problem is I could never lift any of them on my own. The motor portion is like 30 pounds by itself. I just want the option to be able to manage alone if I end up in that kind of situation - which could happen if I’m visiting my parents or something, because they’re old and couldn’t do it either. Or if I just want to go out somewhere, heck, I don’t have to justify why I want to go places. That was sort of a strange argument to have to make.

There definitely was a learning curve to the smartdrive, but it felt delightful to use. Basically the motor is only ever on or off, with a dial for speed, and then you have to use hand grip on the manual wheels to turn. More complicated than the joystick on the other one but I weirdly felt like I had better control. It felt like going for a walk, normally. Delade and I took a lap of the building and it was just this swell of joy because we haven’t been able to do that in a really long time. I could have cried. I cannot wait to go places again and be able to do things for more than 10 minutes before my legs are on fire and all my blood is in my feet.

Anyway I got to pick a color and it’s gonna be Ferrari Red™️ (did they license that? Prob not) and I’m gonna get flame stickers to put on it. Needs a name, haven’t thought of one, yet.

So! Genetic test! My health insurance has been jerking us around so long that the university hospital I’ve been going to just got disgusted and said they would pay for it themselves. I still have to try and fight them to get the uni paid back, but if I fail I still won’t get billed for it. They should get paid though, they’re amazing people doing incredible work.

So I swabbed out my cheeks and put it in tubes and mailed it out as a Biohazard (I’m a biohazard!!) all of which was not terribly exciting but also very exciting. The collection bits looked like cotton swabs but weren’t. Left my cheeks feeling scuffed, but not like bleeding or anything. Just a strange feeling and it’s basically already gone.

The test is out, and I got access to a tracking portal with info on its status and it’s sequencing right now. The portal had a list of all the genes they’re testing for and I just had this wild moment of humbling. So the first human genome was fully sequenced in 2000. I took biology in college around 2005, and so much of it still was kind of new-ish, but we learned a bunch about it. I figured out now I can grab the individual gene names and plug them into a search on GeneCards and it really is just…humbling. I’m far from very knowledgeable about this stuff but I know enough to sort of piece it together and see what does what, what they’re looking for. I just have this sense of awe that this is even possible, like if I had been born just handful of years sooner we wouldn’t have this yet. Anyway I’m probably going down a genetics rabbit hole for a while. It’s human legos. I’m fascinated. Or maybe I’m just having an emotional week.

Anyway we decided to play a friendly game of Gene Roulette and I know where I’m putting my money, however unlikely it might actually be. I just have a gut feeling about one of them, but I’m going to sit on it and see.

Anyway that’s the exciting good news, amid all the sadness around here. Grief continues. I have no idea when I’ll be able to afford something like this, but I decided I’m getting my cat’s paw prints tattooed on my leg in the spot where he would always put them when he came to just sit with me while I was in pain. Always just a little above my right knee, slightly to the outer part of my thigh. Then he’ll still be sitting there with me, always.

We keep talking about getting another cat, but someday. Not yet. We’re not in a situation that could handle an emergency, should something bad happen, and honestly I think I’m just going to have to grit it out for a while while the hole in my heart tries to fill in. Do I ever want a little snuggle creature to pet and hold, though.

[cutulisci]

“If you vote for Harris or Trump, you should at least have the decency to feel gross about it.

I don’t care who Americans vote for in November, or if they vote at all. In order to care I’d have to believe US presidential elections matter.

But they don’t matter. No matter who wins, the empire wins. No matter who loses, the world loses.

No matter how things turn out this particular time around, Democrats and Republicans will continue to win roughly 50 percent of the time each, and the US-centralized empire will continue to trudge on unaffected by the results.

I don’t care how you vote. Vote for Harris or for Trump if that’s what you feel like doing. But I do think if you vote for either of those monsters, you should at least have the decency to feel gross about it. Like you did something very dirty and shameful in order to get by.

I just think that would be the mark of someone with a well-developed moral character, who’s entering into this thing without dissociation or compartmentalization. It would indicate that you live your life with your eyes wide open, being real about what’s real and not hiding from unpleasant truths to avoid feeling uncomfortable feelings.

Maybe you have some well-founded reasons for believing Trump or Harris is the lesser evil in this election. Maybe you can make some strong arguments that Harris will be a bit better on civil rights, or that Trump might be better on Ukraine. But what you definitely can’t do is make any rational case that as president either of them would be anything besides an immensely depraved mass murderer of unforgivable criminality.

If you want to vote for Harris, then vote for Harris. But do it with the full knowledge that you are voting for someone who has spent a year supporting genocidal atrocities, and who has been winning endorsements from some of the most evil warmongers ever to set foot in your nation’s capitol. At the very least have the decency to honor the mountains of victims who will suffer in ways you can’t even imagine under a Harris administration by casting your vote mournfully, resolute in your understanding that despite getting your vote as the perceived lesser evil, she is still your mortal enemy. At the very least you owe them that much.

Don’t have “joy” about it. Don’t do it proudly. Don’t make cutesy little memes or make it fun. You are doing something ugly, and it should feel a bit ugly.

If you want to vote for Trump, then vote for Trump. But do it with the understanding that he is being backed by some of the most virulent Zionists on earth and will throw his weight behind Israel’s genocide in Gaza. Don’t lie to yourself that he’s going to end the wars and fight the deep state. Be real about the inevitability that he will continue the warmongering of his predecessors and spend his term advancing the depraved longstanding agendas of the US intelligence cartel, just like he did last time.

Do it with a heavy heart. Do it with revulsion. Do it with the same amount of pride you would have if you were performing fellatio on a profoundly unkind man in exchange for hard drugs. That’s about the feeling it deserves.

If you do this, then I will believe you if you tell me you’re voting for who you sincerely believe is the lesser evil. If your emotional relationship with your vote for Harris or Trump is anything other than this, then you’re probably doing it for some other reason and not being real with yourself about it, like blind partisan team loyalty or something. If it doesn’t make you intensely uncomfortable, it’s because that’s where your comfort zone really is.

If we want to live in a truth-based society, then part of our role in helping to build that world is to be true to the truth and to be real about reality. Don’t hide things from yourself. Don’t compartmentalize away from unpleasant facts.

Act, and be real about what your actions are, and where they are coming from, and what their effects are likely to be.

This is the first step to becoming an authentic human being.”