#can you believe when I first started working on this I thought it would take me 3 weeks? haha

[muqingslover]

hiii, can you please share more goofy habits caleb has while sharing a bed with u 💝

[ By popular demand i'm here to share extra thoughts on Caleb's sleeping habits! Kinda of a part two to this, in case you missed! ]

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Oh boy there's so much to unpack here. We all know Caleb has experienced a loooot of bad things and has not worked through them in an actual healthy way at all. He is also a master at hiding it from you, but you can get a glimpse of how damaged he truly is during bedtime.

First of all, you will rarely, if ever, catch him sleeping on an actual bed. Or sleeping at all to be honest. What Caleb does is take power naps whenever he can on his couch at the office or when he's at your place waiting for you to. The one to (partially) blame for this is his chronic insomnia. I like to believe Caleb has always been a very light sleeper and it's only gotten worse throughout the years— The sound of a door opening is enough for him to be wide wake in a matter of seconds. Trust issues anyone?

When he wakes up, if alone, his go-to activity is working out. He'll do push-ups or leave the house for a loooong late night jog, anything that will tire his body out since he's wired up. Then, he takes a freezing cold shower to reboot his system and either starts to work early or sits down to solve some calculus problems to prevent his mind from thinking about anything else since it's 98% of the time never anything good.

To add to that, the main reason as to why his insomnia is so bad is the fact he has nightmares on an almost daily basis. They're often about you in some way and he wakes up panicking about where you are, how you are, if you're with someone else, why you aren't here with him instead and if you plan on leaving him. That's why it's so crucial for Caleb that you stay somewhere he can see you whenever he needs to. Otherwise, his anxiety will gnaw at him until he just shows up unprompted on your front door in the middle of the night.

On the topic of nightmares, next thing on the list is a more...sensitive one: His reactions to nightmares that involves the abuse Caleb himself went through. I say sensitive because this man is a trained soldier and he wakes up in very high alert which, sometimes, means he might hurt you by pure reflex similar to retired war veterans.

The first time you woke up with his hands tightly wrapped around your neck you seriously thought you were a goner. The sound of your voice calling his name was fortunately enough to make him snap out of the haze he was trapped in, believing he was under the threat of the ghosts of his past and had to defend himself before it was him the one who would end up dead. You have always been his anchor, it was not a surprise that you were the only one able to pull him back even in a moment like this.

Regardless if he had been in control or not, Caleb would blame himself until his last day on this world. He wouldn't sleep (Key word being sleep because he will stay in bed with you, he just won't *sleep*) on the same bed as you anymore after this and instead spends his nights on a mattress on the floor next to you. The sight of your bruised neck and the tears in your eyes because of his hands, because of him, only serve as fuel for his nightmares. He doesn't even want to imagine what would've happened if you hadn't been able to speak loudly enough to wake him up.

"Caleb is a big spoon!!" people yell at me and I agree! However! If you want this man to have some peaceful sleep then the only way to achieve that is to have him laying on your chest where he can both listen to your steady heartbeat and feel your warmth as he holds you. Run your fingers through his hair and promise him you'll be right there when he wakes up to soothe his anxieties as much as possible and he might just sleep throughout the entire night.

Moving on to more sweet thoughts so we don't end on a bitter note— He has serious beef with the plushies you own, specifically the ones you hug to sleep. I mean, he's right here? Hello??? Why would you want to hug that fat ass bear of yours. If your plushie goes missing one day through suspicious means don't be sad because you can just cuddle him! He promises he'll behave this time!

Another silly thing is Caleb cannot keep his hands to himself when the two of you are sharing a bed. Literally. His hands have a will of their own and they must be touching you at all times in some way. That also means he will bother you by torturing tickling you non-stop until you're on the verge of tears. He loves the sound of your joyful laughter and how red your face gets while you try to escape the evil tickle monster so I'm afraid there's no way to get him to actually stop.

[starrdream]

Never about the looks

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader summary: Comforting your husband after you noticed he was struggling. includes: angst with a happy ending (really this time)

Ever since Anakin lost his arm, he's been different. It might look like didn't mind, like he was proud to sacrifice himself for The Republic, but deep down you knew it bothered him

At first, it started out with lingering looks in the mirror.

Then you would see him staring into his forearms when he thought you were asleep.

Then he would spend a lot of time fussing over it-making sure it was working, mentioning it casually through conversation, even making rather cruel jokes about it.

And the final straw. For a good three days Anakin refused to take his glove off unless he was showering, sleeping or checking up on the mechanics his bionic arm.

It was hard not to notice because it wasn't exactly a subtle change.

His past routine was simple: He'd come back from work ad immediately take the glove off whilst making jokes about it.

"I swear one of these days this thing will malfunction and mess up my combat skills"

"If he material keeps getting stuck in the screws I'll take this damn thing off myself."

He'll follow it up with a chuckle or a sincere laugh, letting you know he was being playfully.

But now? He was a whole different person.

No more jokes. No more tickling you with the cold metal. Nothing.

You barely even saw him without gloves or his Jedi robes on. Not only that, he was way less talkative too. Nothing past quick, seemingly meaningless kisses.

You were fed up with it. You noticed more than enough times to know what was going on, you just didn't know how to bring it up.

It wasn't even the lack of intimacy that bothered you, you just wanted you Ani back.

The one who couldn't wait to get home and kiss you senseless before doing anything else. The one who'd squish you while cuddling throughout the night.

You hated to admit it but it was taking a toll on you. On your relationship

One day you finally cracked and mustered up the courage to confront him.

You sat him down one evening, taking both of his hands in yours and asking the golden question.

"What's been bothering you Ani? Don't lie to me you know I notice."

At first he was closed off. Barely even looking at you.

Eventually, he warmed up. Admitting he was unhappy and frustrated. And finally, after at least 20 minutes of nothing he admit it, breaking down in tears.

"I can barely look myself in the mirror." He shook his head. "I can't stand myself like this."

You listened carefully, your silence urging him to continue as you wiped away his tears.

"I just..." He trails off. "I can't understand how you still love me. I mean just look at me, look at this" He gestures to his arm.

"You can't honestly wake up and think that I'm beautiful or handsome or whatever when this monstrosity is a part of me forever. I don't know how you even look at me sometimes. I don't understand it because I can barely look at myself." He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.

"I can't help but feel like I'm not good enough for you, nor anyone else." He confesses, tears staining his cheeks yet again.

"And I don't want to blame you but..you always used to compliment my muscles and hold my hand. Now I just feel like you're repulsed by me. Like you don't want to be around me anymore. Like you don't find me attractive and like that was the one thing our entire relationship was based on.." He sniffles, letting out a shaky breath.

"Anakin.." You breathe out, squeezing his hands gently. "Baby, it was never about the looks." You assure him, pulling him closer and kissing the side of his head.

He sighs, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

"You say that, and deep down I know it's the truth, I just..my brain doesn't want to believe it." He mutters against your skin.

His arms tighten around you, and you can feel the way his breath shudders as he exhales. "But I don’t feel like me anymore," he admits, voice small.

You pull back just enough to cup his face, making him look at you. His eyes are red-rimmed, his expression filled with so much doubt it breaks your heart.

"You’re still you. You're still the man who drives me insane with his stubbornness, the man who makes me laugh when I’ve had a bad day, the man I fall in love with over and over again."

You bring his metal hand up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the cool surface. "This doesn’t change you, Anakin. It doesn’t make you less. If anything, it shows how strong you are."

His eyes search yours, desperate, pleading. "I don’t feel strong," he admits, voice barely above a whisper.

"Then let me be strong for you," you say. "Let me remind you how much you mean to me. To everyone who loves you."

His jaw clenches, and he shakes his head. "You don’t get it," he mutters.

"It’s not just about the arm. It’s what it represents. Every time I look at it, I see my own failure. My own weakness." His voice is thick with emotion. "I should’ve been stronger. I should’ve been faster. Maybe then I wouldn’t have-" He stops, his breath catching.

You reach up, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. "You think this makes you weak?" you ask softly. "Anakin, you survived. You fought, and you lived. That isn’t weakness. That’s strength."

He lets out a bitter laugh. "Then why do I feel so useless?"

"Because you’re holding yourself to impossible standards," you say. "Because instead of letting yourself heal, you keep reopening the wound." You squeeze his hand, both flesh and metal.

"You push me away, you push everyone away, but I see you, Anakin. I see you struggling, and it kills me that you won’t let me help."

Anakin swallows hard, his breath shaky. "You should," he whispers. "You should see me differently."

"But I don’t," you say firmly. "I still see the man I love."

You lift his metal hand, pressing it to your chest so he can feel your heartbeat. "I still love you, Anakin. No matter what."

His eyes fill with tears as he looks at you, searching your face for any sign of doubt. When he finds none, something inside him cracks.

A sob escapes him before he can stop it, and he collapses into you, burying his face in your shoulder while sobbing.

And for the first time in a long while, he allows himself to believe you.

[hey-august]

Imagining a scenario where crossguild is founded and reader is an underling working for the trio. One day they excuse themselve from the room before a meeting is supposed to start and Crocodile and Mihawk share a look.

“They are quite charming.” “Indeed…” “… I do believe I have a few excellent bottles of whiskey in my personal collection.” “Hmm… I’m afraid none of my vices are something you’d be interested in Hawkeye.” “That classified shipment you have coming in would do quite nicely.” “… Deal.”

And so Crocodile and Mihawk have set up a bet on who can seduce Reader first.

And Buggy is PANICKING. Like his stupid little crush wasn’t already embarrassing enough to deal with, now he actually has COMPETITION (well, even more threatening competitors anyways, he’s are Reader already gets swarmed by the regular) and he’s deeply aware of his own shortcomings, it’s like the universe conspired to make him miserable once again.

Buggy finally gets the gall to try and visit reader in the early evening, snacks in hand, he’s gonna make it casual, ask if they want to just spend some time drinking and eating and- Oh hi Mihawk…. Oh… that’s some expensive wine you got there… expensive cheese for that matter as well. Great. Lovely luxury charcuterie you two have there… NONONO HE’LL BE GOING NO PROBLEM BYE!

So what inevitably happens after three months of Crocodile and Mihawk pulling out all the stops to sweep reader off their feet? What’s the conclusion that arrives when Mihawk finally, FINALLY just asks in a moment of rare impatience “As you may probably be able to tell, I’ve been courting you for quite a while. I do wonder if the interest is mutual or if you have an eye on one of… my associates.” ?

Of course they immediately stammer out an apology, they are really flattered, but they do indeed have fallen for one of his associates. Buggys soul just collapses inwardly and Crocodile shoots an annoyed Mihawk the most shit eating, smuggest look imaginable.

“… It’s… uh. I mean if Chairman Buggy would even LIKE to go on a date with me that is…”

And Buggy fucking LOOSES it then and there, blabbering and ugly crying immediately because???? HE WON? HE WASNT EVEN IN THE RACE BUT HE WON!? Like the little lame dog that FINALLY won his first race- the universe smiled at him for once and he- he-

His colleagues just stare at the scene unfolding in bewilderment, only finally speaking again when Reader and Buggy have left the room, Reader shooting them an apologetic look as they run soothing circles into Buggys back.

Crocodile absolutely ruins the expensive table as he slowly and furiously drags his hook along the exotic wooden top. Mihawk just sighs and grabs them both some glasses of whiskey. Obviously they never had a chance because Reader insert is clearly absolutely insane.

LOVE THIS. A LOT. LET'S TALK ABOUT IT MORE?

Like 500 words of talking about it, pls.

Warnings: sfw, gn!reader, courting croc + mihawk, buggy being buggy, we need more crybaby buggy, mentions of alcohol

Okay, Crocodile and Mihawk laying out the terms of the deal are delightful. Same page, same thoughts, it all just needed to be acknowledged.

I’m imagining the three men sitting at a table while Buggy is just shrinking back in his seat because of how fast the pit in his stomach sunk.

They’re completely talking over him because he is of no consequence in this game of theirs. Buggy has no stake in this. No place at the table. Crocodile and Mihawk know it. Buggy knows it. But Reader doesn’t.

When Mihawk asks Reader to join him for an evening treat, they can’t easily turn away the powerful man. Plus, it’s not often they get to eat a well-plated charcuterie. Some fancy cheeses with all sorts of mold, dried meat imported from faraway places and animals, olives soaked in flavors that sound bizarre but somehow work, and a tart wine to wash it all down. Reader might be more accustomed to more common fare, but this is an opportunity worth taking. 

Then again, maybe not. When Buggy pops in, juggling a bag of salty chips, chocolates with an unknown amount of cocoa, and fizzy drinks, Reader wishes he would have agreed to sit next to them.

While Crocodile invites Reader to start the morning with a fresh cup of drip coffee (which is nearly as hot and strong as the man who brewed the drink), it sounds like a good way to get a headstart on the day’s tasks. Still, when they see Buggy walk past a little later - bedhead piled high, slippers shuffling on the ground, and the belt of his robe trailing behind - they feel a pang in their chest. Maybe it’s because of the caffeine content in the drink.

Anyways, Crocodile and Mihawk continue their game and Reader is collecting all the prizes. Simple but high quality jewelry. Dinners with linen napkins. Fancy trinkets that Reader is too nervous to take out of the packaging that seems to be as expensive as the item itself.

All nice, but sometimes Reader yearns for a stuffed animal instead. Accessories that might be described as gaudy. Or flashy. They want to hear obnoxiously loud laughter instead of a restrained chuckle. They want…

Him.

That sad wet hankie of a man. Not Crocodile, who foraged for mushrooms to use in a dinner for Reader. Or Mihawk, who lent Reader one of his favorite books.

Reader likes Buggy. The shining star. The guy who makes them laugh, simply by being himself. The guy who wears his emotions on his sleeve. Especially now, since he’s wiping away his tears and snot.

Sure, Buggy is a flashy fool. Reader is a fool too, if that’s their preference. And behind their overfilled tumblers of whiskey, Crocodile and Mihawk know that they’re fools, as well. 

How could their standards be so skewed that they fell for someone who likes an idiot? And yet, that’s part of Reader’s charm.

[bidisasterevankinard]

My fees are competitive

bucktommy/ m/ 1051 words / blowjob, semi-public sex in helicopter

Buck and Tommy roleplay their harbor tour, but this time Buck finds out how competitive Tommy's fees are

Read under cut or on ao3

It was Evan's idea to role play their second meeting with a different ending. Not that Tommy was not loving this idea. 

He especially enjoys it now when Evan is again moving in front of him, giving Tommy a good view of his ass that this time put in such tight jeans he suspects would need to be cut off his boyfriend's legs.

Even if this pair will fall as collateral damage of Tommy’s lust, they’d be always in his heart for providing him such an eye candy of Evan’s perfect little ass.

Almost losing himself in ogling Evan’s body, Tommy has only half of his mind to try to make the dialogue the same as they had that day almost a year ago, and he thinks he does a good job, judging by Evan’s beaming smile.

And when finally they reach this moment he was waiting for so long, Tommy can’t stop himself from smirking, already feeling the ghost of Evan’s lips on his.

“Sure. My fees are competitive,” he smiles for a second letting his eyes fall to Evan’s plush lips.  

“Y-yeah?” Evan bushfully smiles at him with a head tilt, playing obvious boy so good, “how competitive?”

“For pretty boys like you,” Tommy comes closer just one step from pining Evan with his body to the helicopter behind them. He licks his lips, letting his eyes slip to Evan’s pink lips, “really good price list.”

Evan audible swallows. “H-how much for the first lesson?”

Tommy makes that last step, cupping his face with his big hand. His thumb is playing with a slutty bottom lip.

“It depends on how much you want that lesson with me. And what is your goal?”

 Evan’s eyes are glued to his lip, absentmindedly starting to lick his thumb.

Tommy simply smirks, pushing it deeper and then taking it from him just as quickly, smearing his saliva on those soft, basically silk, lips. He wants to ravish them and make them red. With his white marking them.

“What are your answers, pretty boy?”

“I,” Evan’s Adam’s apple bobs , “w-want it with you, Tommy,” he nods enthusiastically, with his breath erratic, “I want your attention.”

“Awww, pretty boy, you have it now.”

Grabbing Evan’s chin he kisses his man, pushing him to the helicopter, happy he chose the place for his personal one out of sight completely.  No one would be able to see more than Evan’s legs near the machinery. 

Biting Evan’s lip, Tommy commands, “get into the helicopter. Time for you to pay. I take only prepayment.”

The door is barely open when Tommy pushes Evan in, sitting on the back seat. He grabs Evan’s hips, making him sit on his laps, and attacks his lips again.

They are like bait for him. Always work as best at blowing his mind and get him wild. Evan can merely suck on the pen when he writes down something and Tommy has a raging bone that needs to be taken off with this slutty mouth or no less slutty hole. 

And kisses? Tommy never loved kissing so much as with Evan. Maybe because before Evan he barely had a reason to actually enjoy it. For decades the kisses with people he actually wanted it with was a huge forbidden area. Even one thought made him anxious and nauseous. And then it was mindless hookups he tried to kiss as little as he could and boyfriends who believed kisses should lead somewhere and actually it was teenagers.

With Evan he can kiss for hours even when he isn't interested in ending it with orgasm. He can just kiss and kiss and kiss, showing his love and devotion and get it back.

Unfortunately, both Evan and he still don't know the secret for breathing without air, so they can continue kissing each other even when all the oxygen is out of their lungs. They should invent their own gas. And find the wait to create it when they kiss.

Evan licks his neck, taking his shirt and henley off, leaving him half naked.

“Like what you see, pretty boy?”

Evan nods, striping too and with some careful adjustments gets on his knees, looking up at him. 

“Take me out and show your skill, sweetheart.”

Not waiting for anything else, Evan unzips his jeans and gets it and his boxers under his dick.

“Do you need me to use a condom or you will swallow our evidence?” he tugs lightly on the curls that definitely weren't there a year ago, but he’s happy they are here now. He’s just a man and his pretty boy is gorgeous with brown locks that like blazing fire when the sun hits them right.

Evan shakes his head with his eyes crazy and zeroing only on his groin.

“Help yourself then.”

He needs to bite his fist from the warm feeling of Evan’s mouth, when man swallows him whole like Tommy has a little lollipop and not a huge cock.

His baby trained a lot for it, he knows. Now he loves to show off.

Maybe Tommy will even take him somewhere where he fuck his throat for others to see. Let then a moment to see the absolutely perfect boy on his cock, swallowing it like it’s nothing.

“Like that boy,” he finally finds his composure, taking Evan only to his head and making him suck his tip, not reacting to begging with sad eyes. “You’re so skillful, pretty thing. You really want to be my favorite student, huh?”

Evan whines something pathetic that seems like yes and Tommy wickedly smirks.

“Ok, baby,” he sets his curls free, grabbing Evan’s shoulders instead, “show me that you get, cowboy.”

And Evan does. Succking and bobbing his head, stroking him when he licks the pre-cum from his head, showing off all his tricks. 

Tommy just can’t help himself. He comes almost twenty minutes later from one of the best blow jobs in his life, for a second blacking out and getting back to Evan in his laps, looking like a cat that just caught the canary.

Gorgeous as always.

“Gimme a sec, baby. And I’ll help you.”

Evan blushes, “n-no need. It was so hot, I came already.”

No one can Tommy for attacking his boyfriend with another fierce kiss for it.

[olgasaysso]

Nothing represents experiencing narcissistic parentification better than Buffy Summers' entire existence. (Buffy The Vampire Slayer)

For context: narcissistic parentification is something children of people with narcissistic personality disorder overly experience. Parentification is when children are forced to take on adult roles in their households and have too many responsibilities at a young age. This can be emotional (like being a therapist for your parent) or/and logistical (having an overwhelming amount of chores or being forced to do things parents should be responsible). For narcissistic parentification, it will be both of these + the childs identity being molded towards what their parents like.

With that out of the way, my explanation:

1. When we first meet Buffy, she doesn't want to be a slayer. There is an adult man following her around and telling her how special she is. But she knows what follows - the responsibility. She never wanted to kill monsters or miss out on her teenage years, so she stays out of it. But they still make it her problem.

This is something I know I experienced and many other people, too. Your nparent will find a talent in you, something they will endlessly praise you for. Think Jennette Mccurdy, hearing from her mother about how talented of an actress she is.

This is something I know I experienced and many other people, too. Your nparent will find a talent in you, something they will endlessly praise you for. Think Jennette Mccurdy, hearing from her mother about how talented of an actress she is.

For me, I started working at my fathers company very young because of the threat that it would go bankrupt and we'll be homeless.

2. Once she starts doing the slayer work, we can quickly see though how unsatisfied Giles is with her. He has problems with almost everything she does. How she dresses, the fact that she has friends.

He and the whole watcher organisation aren't just happy that she's going along. They don't want her to just slay. They want her to be a slave. A machine even. Someone they can completely control and make her do whatever they want.

At the same time, they offer her no support. Although over the course of the show Giles becomes more active (and then less) in helping/protecting Buffy, something that is made very clear to us is that she is and always will be alone. It's also pretty rare for anyone in her vicinity to challenge that idea.

So, we have a bunch of adults who sit around doing very little, relying on a literal child to save them. And when she dares to express any kind of wants or needs of her own, she gets shunned.

Because slayers are special.

Slayers are supposed to act a certain way.

3. Her being a good slayer is not enough. She has to die for the cause.

And I think it's very ironic how later on, Dawn (effectively an extension of Buffy) is expected to die. And everyone, with the exception of Buffy (and Spike), was ready to sacrifice her.

4. By the end of her time in high school, people around her managed to completely destroy her sense of identity. She has completely given up on her future. She had no time or emotional strength between her having to save the whole world and being given challanges by the council that are supposed to kill her while constantly being questioned and not believed by the people closest to her (her mum but also Willow, Xander and Giles. It's a continuous thing in the show that she tells them about a monster, and they don't believe her. After a while, she gives up on telling them about her hunches). She never thought about her future, what she wanted to study. What kind of work does she want to do.

And let me be clear again, this is not willingly. At the start of the show, she wanted to have nothing to do with being a slayer because she knew it'll robb her of her future.

5. So when she goes to college and people around her completely abandon her while she's struggling.... the amount of rage I feel. After she went to college, Giles whole approach to her changed. He stopped being her watcher, even after she literally forced the council to start paying him again. (The fact that Buffy doesn't get payed and Giles didn't stick up for her is yet another thing I need to add. Because it makes her quite literally a slave.)

His whole demeanor can be summed up by "Figure it out, you're an adult now. I can't always hold your hand"

Which under other circumstances would be normal. Except this adult spend some of the most important years of her life sacrificing her life, love, future and everything important to her to make him happy. He owes her at least a bit of guidance after all this. Yk, especially since she continues to be the slayer and he still gets payed to help her.

She would also ask him for help in the most reasonable ways. Like helping her parent Dawn. Considering she's not her mother, has other responsibilities, is literally going through the worst time in her entire life while having the weight of the entire world on her shoulders, I think that's not an unreasonable request. For a grown man, who gets PAYED to take care of her, to step in as a role model for her sister, so she doesn't lose that bond (once you start parenting your siblings, you're no longer siblings. Parentification is a form of abuse that has long lasting effects).

The financial aspect is another thing. Whenever Buffy is struggling with something, everyone almost acts offended and like something is wrong with her, because she should be alright on her own and taking care of everyone around them. Everyone wants Buffy to help them but how dare she ask for some support?!

She should be getting paid by the council. She should be getting rent for these 2 useless witches living at her house. She should be getting compensation everytime Xander dares to open his hateful mouth in her presence to spew some judgmental bullshit after he tried to grape her in s1 and pretended like it didn't happen, manipulated and lied to her for years.

6. She is expected to die, but they can't even let her be at peace. Brough her back against her will, didn't dig her out, didn't care to pay attention to her to figure out that something was wrong. They just expected her to be happy and get back to saving their asses. What the fuck.

7. In season 7 (which I adore btw) Buffy finally figures something out. She owns her identity as a slayer. For the first time, she stops taking shit from people who would never take on her responsibilities.

She realizes something about evil. Which is: "Evil cannot create anything new, they can only corrupt and ruin what good forces have invented or made.” (J.R.R.Tolkien)

It's why the first evil never showed its true form. Not because it's too terrifying for anyone to handle. It's because it's true form doesn't exist.

It's why she calls the girl who hanged herself an idiot. And it's why she's right.

The meaning behind this quote is that the only way evil can win/prevail is when you let it. It has no creative powers. Every single terrifying monster was once a human. It's why Buffy doesn't listen to whining anymore.

It's why she expects people around her to step up. Because, let's be real. If so many of them are capable of evil things, they are also capable of good. And they can fight alongside her.

But once it gets only a little bit hard, they corner her and throw her out of her own house. None of this mfs actually beared any costs for it. HER HOUSE.

Why do they throw her out? Because they experienced a small % of fear, pain, and hardship she had to handle for years. Almost always on her own. And suddenly, they cannot trust her anymore.

I like when Anya tells her that they don't truly know of she's "better than them" or "special". Because it shows the insane duality of this dynamic of being a slayer.

She's so special and good she has to take care of all these things for everyone around her.

At the same time, they can always tell her she didn't earn any of it. Despite the fact that there is literally a second slayer in the room, who quite literally became a murderer and a villain while Buffy saved the world countless of times.

Also, although I enjoy Anyas character, the audacity of her to say this when she became a literal demon twice.

After all of this, after they treated her this way and trusted an inexperienced (in being good) Slayer who tried to steal her life and graped her boyfriend... she was right all along. She saved their asses.

And she didn't even receive as much as a thank you.

8. I could go on an on about this topic, but just a few points to add for now:

1. Willow and Xander (and everyone on earth actually) aren't entitled to Buffy protecting them and killing herself for the cause.

2. Although I'm not saying that every single side character was bad (I actually love many of them, just not in regards to how they treat her), they were all abusing Buffy in one way or another because they were benefiting from her exploitation and keeping her locked in her situation.

3. Buffy wasn't chosen to be a slayer by some divine intervention but by a group of old men, to terrified to fight their own demons. Relying on teenage girls to save them.

4. There's something to say about the fact that the whole supernatural world is kept a secret, although I'm pretty sure the council could easily make the world aware of the truth. I think this can be interpreted as a toxic family. There is one abusive family member, and everyone protects them and hides it because one person takes it on themselves. There wouldn't be such a need for a slayer, were people aware of what was happening. They would create ways to protect themselves.

Disclaimer: I am not a therapist or a medical professional in any way. My credentials are: I experienced this kind of abuse and learned a lot about it. Also, pls, you don't need to tell me if you have npd and you're the kindest person in the world. I have no hate for you. This is about my own experience.

[fafodill]

A few thoughts on writing about Snape's relation with intimacy

I've been discussing Snape's psyche with @marvel-snape-writes lately, and I feel like sharing my little thoughts with ya'll. Maybe nothing new under the sun, only my personal analysis of the way his mind would works with potential partners and why he's such a tricky (and fascinating) character to explore.

Of course there's a lot of room for exploration depending on which 'type' of Snape you like (some enjoy the cold and composed dark daddy version of Alan Rickman)(and I enjoy it as well from time to time), but here I'm mostly focusing on my interpretation of book!Snape, the messed up one.

First, he's a very private person who thrives on independence. He's been by himself most of his life, part necessity, part deliberate. Truth is, he's been fine by himself, mostly. He's safe this way. Yes he's lonely, but he self-soothe or tells himself he doesn't care/doesn't need it. Besides, when you stay by yourself for a very long time, the loneliness and frustration are always there but as it is part of your normal state, you don't name them or notice them anymore. He almost never thinks about it and if he does, he quickly busies himself with work to drown it out.

If he was to start having an affair... Engaging with someone is already dangerous for him because it makes him aware of his inner aches. And he knows it's dangerous because you indulge once, then twice, then you get drunk on it and you don't want to stop. So just with the sex part he's already torn between hunger and restraint. But he needs control. He's obsessed with it, it's his way of taking back his power after having been abused for years, and in his mind, a bit of sexual release isn't worth giving up his 'peace of mind'.

So if he indulges (considering it's book!Snape, who must not have had a lot of occasions to engage in sexual relationships since being 21, working at Hogwarts as the youngest overworked depressed Professor ever), it might be very fleeting. He's wary of it and maybe quite uncomfortable anyway because despite his pride, he's definitely a bit clumsy about it.

There's also the possibility that he's actively depriving himself and isn't in touch with his libido at all (I like this theory a lot, I could say so much about it).

Then you have the emotional aspect, which is the worst. Because accepting that he might want someone is horrifying. It means there's a part of him that still wants to desire and love and it goes against everything he's been telling himself for literal decades. And he's a master Occlument so he can shove down his feelings - that's one of his big coping mechanism. If it's clawing its way to the surface, rippling through the calm waters despite his best effort, of course he'll see those feelings as a threat, so he'll want to retreat or sabotage the budding relationship right away.

Then what if the other person wants him ? Horrifying too. How do you know they're sincere ? (quick answer : he can use Legilimency)(even better if they tell him to and give consent). How can he be sure he won't have his heart ripped out of his chest again ? Then there's his self-esteem : doing limbo in hell. How can he believe that he can be what they want when he's been told all of his formative years that he was ugly and then that he was the most unpleasant ? (he knows he's both of these things, but his perception is also skewed by the limboing self-esteem, making it worse).

How can he know he'll be able to give them what they might want/deserve when he knows he's fucked up as shit ? Answer : he absolutely doesn't believe he can. He believes he's a bad person and a fuck-up, so his first reflex would be again to deflect and sabotage. Partly to "spare" the other person (how generous), but also spare himself for confirming his own beliefs because it would sting too much. If he doesn't right away, he'll unconsciously try to sabotage it in the beginning of the relationship as well (and the partner should be ready for that). Because for him, it's obvious he can't be a normal person and give a normal relationship to someone, so that person will at the very least be disappointed and leave when they realize he's not what they want. And honestly, he'd prefer to stay alone and spare himself the inevitable than being alone again after maybe experiencing something nice that would be ripped from him again.

His friendship/love with Lily was exactly that : he cared for her so deeply but she distanced herself (before the insult), and I don't think he ever fully understood she did that because they were fundamentally not meant to remain together and just grew apart and that it wasn't all his fault.

The problem with Severus is, he's hurting all the time. And he can't afford to put himself in emotionally dangerous situations on top of it, Intimacy (sex+relationship) is incredibly challenging for him. He doesn't trust anyone. He can't afford it.

Here you go, that was my rambling about this. I just exploring his mind and study the character. I'd be delighted to hear your thoughts !

[junedenim]

2016

beneath the boardwalk, part 14 (series masterlist)

used to be my girl

warnings: ...i don't know at this point. let it be a surprise.

word count: 8.5k

January turns me into a bitter, restless being. I feel a need to be everywhere, yet I am too cold to move. I stay under my bed covers and rot. Unlike past winters, I had a watchman to make sure I didn’t slip into complete hibernation, and though I grew my hair long and had less care for what clothes I wore under my coat, I didn’t feel the need to set my apartment on fire.

George’s look hardened in winter, but his spirit didn’t. His smile glowed like the star on top of the tree. He shovelled the snow off my apartment steps, granting me favour with neighbors I previously thought hated me.

Mr. & Mrs. Sanders, who lived below me in the grand apartment on the first floor, gifted me a peanut butter fudge. Mrs. Sanders was quite disappointed to learn George didn’t actually live there. I was terrified she would revoke the dessert. I already shoved one in my mouth and nearly moaned at the delightful taste. Thankfully, they left the dessert with me and invited George and me over for dinner.

After the mouth-watering dinner, when George and I ascended the stairs to my apartment, I told him, “I can never break up with you ‘cause I think she’ll kill me if I do.”

He kissed my cheek. “Good.”

Should I have feared losing him or Mrs. Sanders and her kitchen knives?

*

My New Year’s resolution was to read more. George was the kind of man who believed in those wishful things. He had everyone who worked at the bookstore write one and pin it to the wall. He pinned mine next to his and cited me as an honour member. It felt like too much pressure not to uphold, especially when he gave me free books.

I started big, so I didn’t have to worry what he thought of me for not making it through a 100-page book. So, I cracked War & Peace open on the 10th.

I was two pages in when Alex called me.

“David Bowie died,” he told me.

It felt like every piece of news we exchanged that year was wrapped in somber tones. It wasn’t intentional. These were somber years. It was like god had died. We had to discuss everything. Nothing felt real until I knew what he thought about it and vice versa, I suspect. Unfortunately, Bowie was the first of these phone calls.

When I told Alex about my reading, he uttered, “Fuck. Are you trying to kill yourself?”

“If I accidentally drop the book, it could take off my foot.” The nearly 1,500 pages weighed around a newborn baby. “If I start now, I might be finished by the time I’m in a nursing home.”

He laughed at me. “Why didn’t you start with something lighter?”

I stood to grab a snack from the kitchen. My stomach rumbled. We’d been on the phone for a while. “Because I’m trying to be impressive. I might Anna Karenina myself.”

“See,” he said, “you’re already a Russian lit expert. When did you read Anna Karenina?”

George was due to come over in less than a half hour after work. He was making me a Greek chicken with cucumber-feta salad for dinner. I don’t know a single person who is healthier than George. I suppose none of them live in New York and smoke cigarettes like all my friends do. I snacked on a bag of chips. “I watched the movie.”

I could picture his smile. “I think War & Peace has a movie if you feel like giving up.”

“It’s alternative viewing, not giving up,” I reasoned. He was amused by that too. “Is it warm there? It’s freezing here.” I never named LA; it was simply there for me. New York was here.

“15 degrees or something,” he told me. No one I knew spoke in Celsius. It felt like order was restored. “The sky is crying a little. Been inside all day.”

I sat on the edge of my bed and placed the throw blanket over me. “It’s below freezing here. It’s crazy how different it can be when we’re in the same country.” Things were different when we were in the same city. I don’t know why a whole country between us would be any different.

“It was above 30 on me birthday.”

I stilled. “Shit.”

“It’s okay.” He laughed, but I wasn’t finding humour in the situation. I didn’t call him. No text. No “Happy Birthday.”

I clutched my hand over my head. “No, it’s not. I feel awful! I’ve barely been able to keep track of what day it is. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care, Jane. I got to avoid your relentless jokes.” Alex last cared about a birthday around 18. I guess after that birthdays matter less and less.

“Oh, my god!” I pained myself. “I had a boatload of 30-year-old jokes. I even wrote them down.”

“Skipping your mocking was birthday present enough. It gives me a chance to come up with some for your birthday.” 

I pouted. “That’s not very generous.”

“Boo woo. I’ll give you In Search of Lost Time for your birthday.” 3,200 pages. I’ll be reading it in the grave.

*

George and I followed a screening of Brooklyn with lunch at his favourite delicatessen where he ate a huge hoagie and I had a bagel. “When she goes back to Ireland it makes me miss England,” I confessed to him. “You forgot how much you miss it until you’re back.”

“I couldn’t imagine being that far from home.” His parents lived an hour away in Yonkers. He visited one weekend a month. His family was close in a way I had never seen with any other family. He didn’t have the happiest of childhoods, yet he still adored his parents.

“It hasn’t been home for a while. I’ve been in the States for almost a decade. It’s weird to think about.”

“Do you think you’ll live here forever?”

I said, “I think so,” but I didn’t really. I couldn’t imagine having children who have American accents. It’s a grim thought.

*

Womb launched on Valentine’s Day because Opal thought it would be cute and an excuse to say she had plans for the day as a single woman. We had a small party at George’s bookstore and on the tispy walk back to my apartment, Alex called me. I picked up the phone and squeezed George’s hand.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hey. I like your Womb.”

I snorted uglily. “You’ve been waiting to say. I can tell.”

“Low-hanging fruit,” he conceded. “But I do like it.”

(For the briefest of moments, I thought he meant my actual womb. I was a little slow from the wine.) “Really?”

“Yeah. How could I not? I like everything you write.” He was always sincere in the practice. He never strayed.

We were stopped on a street corner. “I don’t know. It means a lot coming from you. You know that.”

“You never fail to impress me,” he said. “You know that.”

I ducked my head down and hoped from the icy air to chill my burning red cheeks. I hoped to turn them pink from the wind and hide this secret of mine. “Thank you,” I whispered. Too pure to acknowledge above a whisper.

We listened to each other’s breathing. Then, the moment passed. “Well, I’ve got to head out.”

“Valentine’s Day plans?”

“Yeah. Just a nice dinner.”

“Have fun.”

“You too. Night, Janie.”

I put my phone back in my purse and laughed. I thought of how we both had wished one another to have a good lay. Oh, how far we’ve come.

“Was that Alex?” George interrupted my giggles.

The light turned green and we began to cross. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

He looked straight ahead. “You always talk different when you’re on the phone with him.”

“How so?” I crossed my brows, but I wasn’t confused by what he was saying. I knew how I talked. I knew how my tone toward Alex could be ever since Stacey teased me about it in our youth.

George shrugged. “I can’t decode it, but I can tell.” He put a smile on and looked at me. “Should we stop for dessert?”

*

I had a rubbish 30th birthday. I found another decade to be disagreeable. I didn’t think turning the big 3-0 would affect me so deeply and I don’t believe it really did. Really, the better part of three vodka martinis (it felt like an adult drink, okay!) and the aged rotten thought that I was too old to still be having nights like this was what ruined 30 for me.

On the morning of my 30th—a Saturday, the best day of the week to have a birthday—I indulged in the pleasures of a cigarette indoors. It was my gift to myself. George had a late night at the bookstore and decided to stay there, but we had plans for the afternoon into the night.

Stacey called me while I nursed a cup of coffee and I laughed at all her jokes about me being a sorry old cunt now. She was living in London with her boyfriend. She had a job as an actuarial analyst, not that I really knew what that was (or is). She had always been above my head in smarts, let alone in maths. When she laughed, I felt like a riptide had pulled me away from her. My joints ached in the non-arthritis way, and part of my soul cried, but I laughed instead because she has the most infectious laugh. You just have to hear it to feel it.

I decided to treat myself to a pastry from the corner cafe. My birthday was reserved for plump sugar delights that I would later find regrettable, but they tasted so sweet going down. While finishing off a cinnamon roll, I unlocked my mailbox.

I think one of the best parts of your birthday is getting mail that isn’t bills. Of course, there was still some mixed in with the handwritten notes. I had already received most of the cards early and they lined the shelf by the front door.

Fennel and Kaka had sent me one. Like most gifts from them, it was too much—a beautiful card I would get framed and $100. When I (lackadaisically) tried to refuse it, they insisted I keep and said sweet things about me being their surrogate daughter and then I cried because I was 30 and drunk.

With sticky fingers, I came across a blue envelope with that scrawl I knew too well. I waited until I was sitting on the middle of my bed to open it. I was delicate with it until I spotted 100 in big, bold red letters. The card’s print read, “At 100, you're still playing with a full deck, you just shuffle slower.”

I laid back with a giggle and no longer felt so painfully old. On the inside, he wrote, “Saw this and thought of you. I’m afraid we need a gin rummy rematch. My record is in dire need of repair. I hope to recover before we’re 31. Happy birthday, Janie. I think you’ll find 30 to suit you. Love, Alex.” In different penmanship right below was “& Taylor & Scooter.” She wrote it in a red pen, which I found mildly offensive from my days of failed tests and edited manuscripts, but the gesture was nice considering I had no clue when her birthday was or how old she even was. 

Scooter was her dog, which now seemed to be their dog, and to the untrained eye, it could seem like a family. I placed the card on my chest right beside my heart. I waited for the beating to calm or at least to get used to this uneven breathing.

I didn’t place the card on my shelf. I stuffed it into the bottom of my bedside drawer like it was a bad omen. The card would appear more guilty in my drawer, and yet I felt that’s the only place it could be placed. I didn’t want to toss it, for some reason, but I couldn't bear to stare at it.

Guilt. Guilt. Guilt.

It sounded itself every time my heart pounded against my ribcage.

I called George. He sang “Happy Birthday!” I placed my phone down on the bed while he did it. I waited until the faint sound of his singing voice had finished. “So,” he said, “how’s it feel?”

“30, flirty, and thriving,” I sighed.

He began to talk about our plans for later in the day, but I could only hear the beating of my heart. He was still talking when I said, “I’d like to get a turtle.”

“A turtle?”

“Yeah.” I grabbed my laptop for further research. “I would like a turtle for 30. I’ve always wanted one, and now I want to have what I want.”

“Alright, Veruca,” he declared.

I met George on Atlantic Ave where we grabbed lunch at French Louie’s, which is really just American food pretending to be French. There was a PetSmart down the street where I picked up Louie, my turtle.

Louie became my best friend in an instant. Turtles don’t tend to be viewed in the same light as dogs or cats. They aren’t affectionate figures, but that’s what I like. Louie felt like me. He swam around his tank and bit everyone’s finger except mine. I ate when Louie ate. Louie deserved everything, and I believe Louie thinks I deserve everything. He became a tracking device for me to take care of myself adequately.

But first, we had to set up the tank with the basking lights and filtered water. I had no issues doing this, but then again, George was the one who had to carry the tank up the stairs because I was in charge of Louie. When Louie was away swimming, I kissed George for all my thankfulness. 

Admittedly, it was irresponsible to leave Louie alone on his first night in a tank and I would not repeat this behaviour, but for his first night, he was left with plenty of care and the lights on. Louie doesn’t need me to take care of him. He’s always been a self-sufficient creature.

The plan was to have a rocking night. George had a friend who owned a bar in DUMBO and he sectioned off a corner of it for my birthday gathering. It wasn’t very many people because I was over spectacle but I still loved the thought of getting a shit pile of gifts for simply making through another year.

Nonetheless, all my friends were considerate with their gift giving and Opal had a friend who baked these delightful cakes because she has a friend for every occupation. It was a strawberry lemonade cake with a scattering of sliced strawberries on the top. I was spared of numbered candles, instead, there were just five candles on the cake because my birthday is on the 5th. I don’t recall what I wished for, but I hope it came true.

I sat in a corner wooden booth with Opal and Kaka. George and Fennel were talking to his bar owner friend, likely about the architecture of the building, you know, support beams and load-bearing walls, man stuff. The three of us sat with drinks in our hands and laughed at them.

My phone buzzed. It was a text from Alex that read, “Has your back gone yet?”

I wrote back, “No, but I’ve only had two drinks and I already have a headache.”

A minute later, he pinged back, “Just wait until tomorrow and the day after and after that. You’ll feel normal in about a week.”

I nearly wrote back what I perceived to be a witty comment on mixing drugs and alcohol but I was distracted by Mina taking a picture of us and I never wrote Alex back, which is probably for the best. The text wasn’t so funny in the morning.

On the walk back to my apartment, I dragged my feet and laid my head on George’s arm. He was too tall for me to lay it on his shoulder. He was taller than any guy I had ever dated and I was still adjusting to how he towered over me.

I was tired and it was only around midnight. I hadn’t slept well the night before—pre-thirty jitters. I was hoping to get an Uber or taxi back to my apartment since there were no subway lines from the bar to my apartment but George insisted it wasn’t very far and a walk would do me good. He wasn’t wearing heels.

I was tempted to ask him to carry me. He was my strongest boyfriend and I believe he could have sustained the eleven-block walk with me on his back. I didn’t because I was wearing a short dress and worried my underwear would show when he lifted me.

“I’m sorry for hanging all over you,” I said to him.

He squeezed my side. “You’re fine. You’re a lightweight.”

I laughed at the inaccuracy. “Just tired. You should have seen me in college. I drank more than anyone you’ve ever met.”

“You were a party girl?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah, sort of. Aren’t I still?”

He shrugged. “I guess. Galas are different than house parties.”

I stood up straight. My hand lowered off his shoulders to his upper back. “Yeah. I was queen of the kegger.”

He looked elated by this, laughing with fervor. “Guess it’s the Brit in you.”

I took my shoes off the moment we entered my apartment. I tossed my body on my bed and felt like maybe my back had gone out on the walk home. “What did you do for your 30th birthday?” I asked George.

He was still by the door, taking off his shoes. “I went to Disney.”

I shot up in bed. “You went to Disney?!”

“Yeah. My girlfriend had family in Florida and my family flew down. We spent a couple of days there.”

“And did what?”

He was bemused. He filled up a glass of water for himself. “Went to Disney.”

“For a couple of days?”

“Yeah. It’s pretty big. We should go. I mean, we could even go to the one in California so you can see all your friends.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“I mean, you talk about Alex all—”

“No, go to Disney. Why would I do that?”

“‘Cause it’s fun.”

“But it’s overrun with people and cheesy and I’m the most impatient person you know.”

He chuckled disingenuously. “Relax. I didn’t book any trips yet.”

“I’m tired,” I complained. I stood and looked at Louie swimming around his tank. I wondered if he was tired too. I wish I could swim. It was too cold in New York.

I wanted to go to England. I’m not sure where in England. Probably London with Stacey. My father was in Bath. My mother was between places. I know she briefly stayed at Greg’s house in Birmingham. Maybe I’d do a tour of England, everyone was so separated. Harper lived in Leeds. She had a baby in February, her fourth, a girl named Asha, who I had yet to meet. 

I was cold. We went to bed within the hour and I woke up the next morning with a migraine and that was 30.

*

I had little connection with Everything You’ve Come to Expect. I listened to it when it came out and I complimented Alex and Miles on it in a shared text. My favourite song is “Miracle Aligner” but maybe that’s because of Alexandra Savior and my fear of admitting I liked “Sweet Dreams, TN” or a deep relatability to “The Bourne Identity.” Both were too personal to Alex for us to discuss. 

So, later that month, when he called me to tell me Prince died. I said I liked “Miracle Aligner.”

It might be the only song from the album we ever discussed. When the music video came out about a month later, I told him I found it funny and asked why he was so tan, and that was that.

*

Baseball is boring. I don’t know much about any sport, but I know that’s true about baseball because even baseball fans say it’s boring. Not that I know many baseball fans. George liked baseball. He rooted for the Mets, which I thought was weird because I figured New Yorkers rooted for the Yankees but I don’t know much about baseball and I probably don’t know much about New York—the state.

We went to Citi Field for their first home game of the 2016 season. George, three of his friends, one of his friends’ girlfriend, and me. The friend’s girlfriend, Rachel, was 22 and finishing her last year at NYU. This friend was 12 years her senior and I found this to be quite Leonardo DiCaprio predatory, but she was nice and didn’t know anything about baseball either.

I sat between her and George, who attempted to teach me baseball, but I don’t like men explaining sports to you because it never makes sense and they always seem to have a way of explaining it in a misogynistic way. Besides, I’ve seen A League of Their Own.

George spilled his beer on me when a double hitter occurred. The sun was out but the day was cold and it left a chilly splash on the front of my shirt. I left to clean myself up and grab a hot dog. It was awful. I texted Alex, “Hot dogs at Mets game suck. Isn’t that baseball games’ thing?”

I went back to my seat and talked to Rachel for the rest of the game. I didn’t see any of George’s friends again but Rachel and I are still friends. To quote an immature man, “She keeps me young.”

*

When The Last Shadow Puppets came through New York, George and I went to the concert. After the show, we chatted with the Puppets and company, but we didn’t hang around for long. They were playing Coachella that weekend, so I don’t believe they hung around in the city for an endless bout of time. In the time they did, they spent with one another. The city had been where Taylor and Alex both once lived, so they went to all of their old spots. Either way, I got the feeling George didn’t want to hang around with them for hours and hours, so we said our goodbyes. The show was mighty lovely though.

*

Rome is beautiful in June. When I was 14, my family spent a month in Italy and San Marino, the latter for its casino. Our first week was spent in Rome, where I dreamed of falling in love with an Italian boy and moving to Italy. I didn’t find any Italian boys and a move to Italy doesn’t seem likely, but I did fall in love with Rome.

Villa Borghese is where I first felt struck and connected to nature. I sat on a fountain and wished I was able to draw something beautiful enough to capture the sight of the floral and fauna. I didn’t own a camera and my drawing skills were as bad then as they are now, but the sight has been committed to memory.

George and I revisited it on our first day in Rome. I took pictures this time and while it was still as beautiful as I remembered, I don’t believe the photos captured what my mind has. It was something only the divinity of the seeing eye can behold.

We did all the other touristy things too. George had never been to Rome because his family spent holidays going to places like Disney World. I guess I’m not one to talk. My family spent holidays going to booze-filled casinos but we did fit in a historical sight every once and a while. Plus, I got a nice tan. George said he always got sunburnt at Disney.

We were in Rome for a wedding. It was Matt and Breana’s, and while destination weddings are a lot of work to attend, they are the most beautiful to witness. I’m quite jealous of theirs because the venue was a near-beauty to that of Villa Borghese. But Matt and Breana did always have a keen eye in their photography, so wedding planning, especially with a nice amount of funds, isn’t hard to imagine.

I wore a nice pink dress and it was one of the few times I have been immensely thankful to be a woman because I didn’t have to sweat in a suit. George complained of the heat the whole wedding ceremony. I reminded him I told him to dress light and to shave before we travelled, but he did neither, which is fine by me because I was proven right in the end, as always.

I met their baby, Amelia, for the first time. She had this cute little dress on and these booties and I wish I could wear her outfit and get fussy in the middle of the ceremony too, but alas, that’s inappropriate for a 30-year-old. I thought age was just a number.

The reception was a nice big hall where my heels clicked on the tiled floor. Each table had flower arrangements as centerpieces that I would’ve stolen from if I knew the flowers wouldn’t die on the way home. The food was divine and others at our table were nice but kept to themselves, leaving me to mainly talk with George through dinner.

After dinner, I went to have a smoke and George accompanied me out into the gardens. I felt sorry for polluting the smell of the air but craving, digestion, and all the rest. He stood with his hands in his pockets as I flicked away. “It’s a lovely wedding,” he said.

I smiled. “Without a doubt. Thanks for coming with me.”

He threw his hands up like it was no big deal. “Who could pass up a trip to Rome?” He bought his own plane ticket, something I felt tried to insist against, but he said we’d make a vacation out of it. He’d never met Matt or Breana, but I had told him stories of my college days with Matt and how sweet, gorgeous, and funny Breana was. 

A smattering of people occupied the pavilion, and the sun was still out, though setting, when Alex and Taylor popped out with fancy glasses in one hand and holding each other’s hand with their other hand. They chatted with a few others before approaching us. Alex knew far more people here than I did and the way he moved through the crowd would give off the impression that he was the host. That he was the groom with his bride.

He stopped in his tracks and tilted his head back when he saw us as if we were in a Western and I was the villain and he was Clint Eastwood. He cocked a smile slowly, almost deviously. “What are you doing here? Popping out for a smoke?”

I laughed, though I didn’t know what I found funny. It was a vague impersonation of some television character I had no idea about; I knew that much. Alex has a tendency to pick the obscure. I felt he was referencing an inside joke I had been shut out of. Maybe because Taylor laughed vocally.

“Digestion,” I replied. George breathed a laugh. Alex and Taylor hugged us both. 

Taylor and I shared a look when George and Alex “bro hugged.” It was the epitome of girls sharing a secret language. We were passing a note to one another that women had done for centuries. Men are childish fools, and we girls, though on different sides of the exchange, are forever bonded by standing in the same position. I think Taylor and I would’ve been good friends had I met her before she met Alex. Or maybe it was our fate to stand on different sides of the exchange, sending secret messages with our eyes. A different language than the male one of bro hugs and dabbing each other up.

“You both look great,” George said. “Taylor, your…” he gestured to the top of his head. Taylor had cut her hair short. It was a little pixie cut, like I imagine a fairy’s hair might be. A Tinker Bell for the modern age. 

George had a typical male response, as if maybe her hair isn’t something he, as a man, should address. He sounded like my father after Harper had gotten a nose ring (her one act of rebellion). He asked her if she had something stuck in her nose, a joke she never laughed at no matter how many times it was told.

I stepped in, the woman explaining her man’s faux paus. “I like it a lot. I’ve always wanted to shave my head.”

“You should totally do it,” Taylor encouraged. “It’s quite freeing and so much more manageable.” 

“I didn’t know you wanted to shave your head,” George said. He had only known me with long hair, the kind that fell delicately on my chest in loose curls.

Alex knew. “Yeah, she wanted to be like Sinéad O’Connor.”

I shrugged. “I don’t know if I’ll ever do it. I think I’d miss my long hair too much. Maybe I’ll dye it blue or something. It’s pretty dull.”

“Ugh, are you kidding?” Taylor gushed, “I’d kill for your hair.” I didn’t find it to be all that special compared to hers. I’m a brunette with eyes that have been trained to admire bright blonde hair, Taylor’s natural gift. I’ll be envious of blondes until the day I die, but I’d look ugly with blonde hair. I’m sure of this due to my mother’s phase of blonde hair when I was 12. She looked like Kate Gosselin. 

An awkward silence fell over the group. I puffed away at my cigarette and waited for someone else to speak. I felt eyes on me but stared at the ground at the way my pink heels looked on the cobblestone ground. I decided to blurt out, “I still haven’t finished War & Peace.”

 I was greeted with stares. Taylor, obviously, had no idea, George had no idea why I brought it up, and, slowly, Alex cracked a smile before he laughed. “Have you even finished the first page?” He quipped. 

I bolded my eyes at him. “Yes. I didn’t bring it on the plane ‘cause I feared it would set me over the weight limit.”

His face was warm. I imagine somewhere back in his lineage, you would find the Sun. He was one-half star and it came out best in the first few days of summer when the sky shined in just the right way upon his face. “Are you guys heading back to New York after this?”

“No,” I sighed. “We’re paying a visit to my family in Bath. Stacey is coming in for the weekend and my parents have agreed to tolerate one another for one meal together. Oh,” I realized, “they’re getting divorced. I forgot to tell you.”

His face was split because the news was shocking…but was it really that shocking? It was the inevitable that neither of my parents had the guts to say it out loud. “Wow,” he voiced. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Kind of wish they did it earlier. Better late than never, I suppose.” We hadn’t included George and Taylor in the conversation for several minutes now. I turned to Taylor. “Back on the road after this?”

“We were in Florence before this,” she said. “I miss it already and then there’s Glastonbury in about a week.”

I nodded and I was pretty sure George wasn’t listening by this point. “Glastonbury is fun.” I almost brought up memories of when I was there in 2007, but it was too personal and too long ago to utter. I finished my cigarette and it was enough conversing for the rest of the night.

*

“You guys heading out?” Alex asked. He was alone and so was I. The hallway was mostly empty with the exception of a few people at the other end. He was headed to the bathroom and I was leaving it. There were many jokes I could’ve made about being in this position again but all were flirtations. Things that would get us naked.

“I think so. We’re both pretty tired and our flight is tomorrow.”

He nodded. His eyes were fixed on the floor. He felt so far away. A rift set in the middle. He took a step toward me and looked up. “Well, good luck with your parents. Tell Stacey a hello from me.”

I agreed to but never did. I think Stacey would have made fun of me relentlessly for any mention of Alex. She was a grown-up but will forever be an immature little sister. “Good luck on tour.”

“Thanks,” he muttered. We moved closer and hugged in jolted, jagged-end movements.

I had walked several paces before he called out, “Janie.” I turned and he stood right outside the men’s bathroom—a hesitation in leaving. “Take it for a ride. For me.”

*

It’s a miracle the beetle wasn’t broken down dead. I think my mother drove it to the grocery store sometimes but it mostly sat idle in the garage. My father barely knew of the presence of the car, and if he did, I’m sure he would have gotten rid of it. He didn’t care for things taking up space.

The inside of the car was barely changed from the 2000s. CDs were still filed in the center console, all of them belonging to my teenage tastes. While I drove around Bath, George looked through the collection. “Why don’t you just toss these? You could probably get a few dollars for them.”

“I like having CDs.”

“But these have been collecting dust in here. Who are Sugababes?” 

I chuckled but didn’t tell him all the memories that would explain why. “It’s the same as you having all those picture books in your childhood bedroom.”

“But I’m gonna give those to my kids.”

“Well, I’ll give these to my kids.”

He put the CDs back and closed the console, leaning back in his seat. “CDs are obsolete now.”

“People said it about vinyl and now it’s back and when CDs come back, I could probably be a millionaire.”

He chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll be a millionaire with your cracked Britney Spears CD.”

“You never know. I bought it on the day it was released. It could be a special edition.”

He shook his head, guying me. He began to search the glove compartment, filled with old napkins and the old car manual. “What’s this?” 

It was a paper that looked like it had been folded up a hundred times. It was wrinkled and looked like it was a blow of the wind away from being torn in half. The ink on it had endured water damage. The entirety of the paper was covered with pen markings, making it impossible to discern what it was without taking the paper close to your eye.

I pulled over to have a look at it. I laughed at the first notes I spotted.

J                   A 275             195

“It’s gin rummy scores,” I told him, though there was much more to it. “Alex and I used to play all the time. This must be from the winter of 2005 or something. An ancient artifact.”

The paper was covered in words that I had never seen before. They were explicit and things I couldn’t utter aloud to George. I found two that were suitable for the situation and read them to him. “‘Sometimes, though, angels smoke-in their sleeves. But when the archangel goes by, they throw their cigarettes away: This is what falling stars are.’” I was beyond impressed with the words and taken aback by the carelessness. “I wonder why he threw it away in here. I might steal it. Doubt he remembers it.”

“Don’t,” George said.

I looked up at him with a giggle. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to actually plagiarize him. Not that he’d care.”

He chuckled at me. “I’m sure he wouldn’t care. He didn’t write it. It’s Nabokov.”

My mouth formed the letter ‘o’. “That makes more sense.”

George, as a member of the literati, nodded. “Letters to Véra. Good taste.”

I looked back at the smudged-up page, recalling back to the books of years past. I folded up the page to act uncaring and stuffed it back in the glove compartment. “I’ll have to see if he wants it. I guarantee he doesn’t remember it, but maybe it has some secret code on it.”

We continued our drive. I showed him the sights I knew and we walked around a little. It was nice weather and we sat outside for lunch. We returned home a bit before dinner with my family, which was shockingly boring.

Later that night, when we were ready for bed, I claimed to have forgotten something in the car. I sat in the passenger seat and took the page out.

On one corner of the page, in tiny writing, he penned “Jane” like that was all he needed to state.

I was taken back to the icy feeling of January in Sheffield, parked beside Charlton Brook and thinking that was the whole world. The words on the paper imprinted onto the walls of my heart, etched themselves in the marrow of my bones, and tasted sweet in my mouth as I chewed away at them. “It's cold today, but in a spring way, and I love you.”

“I am a very boring and unpleasant man, drowned in literature... But I love you.”

I wondered if he still had the book and if these parts were underlined, accompanied by words and thoughts that associated him with me. If there was a possibility every time he saw this book he thought of the winter he spent reading it beside me. If he saw Nabokov on the spines on his bookshelf and thought Janie. It was toe-curling madness, but I read on.

“The thought that you exist is so divinely blissful in itself that it is ridiculous to talk about the everyday sadness of separation—a week's, ten days'—what does it matter? Since my whole life belongs to you.” 

“I love you, my sun, my life, I love your eyes-closed—all the little tails of your thoughts, your stretchy vowels, your whole soul from head to heels.” 

“Without you I wouldn’t have moved this way, to speak the language of flowers.” 

“Kisses, my love, deep ones, to the point of fainting.” 

And the one that struck me the most that had me lying awake that night: “I will love you tonight, and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and still many more, so very many more tomorrows.” 

Awfully, befitting for this book and for me.

Then came a line that I knew was his creation (or stolen from an old joke book with a title like Witty Remarks for Intellectual Conversations): “Why did Shakespeare only write in pen? Pencils confused him: 2B or not 2B?”

I felt like crying, but instead, I was overcome by laughter and the overwhelming memory of that distant time. I still felt it, still sore in my muscles. I felt him all around. The memories felt so close to me that I couldn’t quite believe how long ago they had occurred. They felt as recent and vivid as yesterday’s venture.

On the other side of the page, there was more writing with lines scratched out so harshly it almost ripped a hole through the page. It was nearly all unreadable, besides a handful of words that were written out, “My mouth hasn’t shut up about you since you kissed it. The idea that you may kiss it again is stuck in my brain, which hasn’t stopped thinking about you since well before any kiss.” The rest was more nonsense for me to pine over. Silently.

*

I only seem to like the beginnings of things. The thought of that has terrified me to an unbelievable degree for most of my life. The start of the school year would seem so sweet, but then around October, I felt like dropping out. Every idea felt like a form of genius at the first line, but by the second page, I was a failure, a fraud, and a phony.

I cherished the getting-to-know-you stage. I like mastering each nook and cranny of a person and then I discovered the petrifying knowledge that they were getting to know me too. When I was younger, this made me change into a mysterious being, or at least try to. 

Most people didn’t care to pull back the layers anymore. The rare person came along, and when they saw the center of me, it felt impossible to let them go because then I would have to expose myself to someone else to fill the void they left, the center they scooped out like a ball of cantaloupe. 

I believe you invent people in your head. Everything is perspective and I will never be viewed under the same light that I view myself. For some occasions, I am thankful for this, but I know I don’t get to control the narrative, no matter how much I write and spew my own view of things out into the world.

One night, on an early September night, I was struggling to write. I had to contribute a piece to Womb. I had neglected it for most of the summer and needed to have a piece of work in the September issuing. Opal comes from the fashion world, where Vogue’s September Issue is the Bible you swear upon.

It was still hot in the city. I cracked open a window and allowed the midnight breeze to try and penetrate the sweat. The cursor blinked at me and I felt like my brain was being cooked. When I had previously had these rots, I called Opal, but she had already heard from me that night, and we were in the middle of a spat where she was right and I was wrong, so I didn’t want to get another whiplashing from her or to ruin her night anymore.

George was at a friend’s bachelor party at a billiards club, which I thought was old-fashioned guy stuff. I thought about writing about that, but it was a stupid idea. I barely know anything about pool.

I won’t delay further like I was trying to delay the inevitable that evening. I called Alex.

The tour had finished about a week before and I hadn’t seen him since the wedding. I wouldn’t say I was avoiding him (though I did notably choose to go out of town the weekend they played Terminal 5), but I didn’t confront the matter either. We texted him about the Olympics and I called him when Gene Wilder died and we quoted Young Frankenstein insistently to one another.

That evening, he didn’t pick up when I initially called him. I considered the night awash for writing and decided to go to bed, but then he called me back before I could brush my teeth. “Who died?” He greeted me.

I slumped back in my desk chair. “No one. Do I have to kill someone to talk to you?” 

“No, it just worries me like Pavlov’s dog or something. You’re the bell that beckons death.”

I snorted. “Well, don’t go on associating me with the Grim Reaper.”

He could hear his smile in the quiet hum of his voice. “What’s up?”

All roads lead back to Rome and I’m stuck on the wishful thinking path. It’s filled with the autopsies of conversations from years ago. It took me too long to muster a reply and when I did I sheepishly said it like I had been caught doing something I shouldn’t, which probably was true. “I can’t think of anything to write and I’m a step away from throwing myself out the window.”

“Don’t do that,” he chuckled. “You’ll probably only break your legs.”

“I think my brain is fried and I wouldn’t care so much, except I’m letting Opal down by not writing anything. It wouldn’t be the first time but I’m trying not to be such an arsehole friend anymore.”

He sighed and whatever weight he was taking off by doing it was shoved onto me. I felt burdensome and the phone felt too heavy in my hand. “I wouldn’t be much help,” he said. “I’ve got nothing to write about either.”

I groaned. “Lame.”

“Call it empathic.”

I scoffed. “Men aren’t supposed to know about that.”

“You’re very difficult; you know that,” he joked. “You could always read War & Peace. Find some inspiration there.” 

I looked at the tome gathering dust on the floor beside my bed. “The only thing it’ll provide me is strained muscles.” My eyes trailed up to my bedside table and I thought on the other book hidden away, the one I hadn’t told anyone about. “I’m reading Letters to Véra now. You read that years ago, right?”

“Yeah. It’s good.”

“When we were in Bath, George found a sheet you wrote all these quotes from the book on. It’s been sitting in the glove compartment for a decade.” The confession felt like sacrilege. I had brought another man into holy ground.

It’s hard to predict Alex’s responses to these discoveries. I was timid and resisted revealing it to him for months. I figured he’d escape the notion of it too, instead, he breathed out, “Jesus. I forgot about that. There’s probably all kinds of shite like that tucked away somewhere. Whoever lives in your old bedroom now is finding scraps all over the place.” The knowledge that there was other scripture like this just lying around somewhere made me even hotter. Like he had just scattered his love around like Hansel and Gretel through the years, waiting for me to find my way back.

“Well, I have this one, if you want it,” I offered.

“You keep it,” he told me. I wanted to see his face. It was hard for me to read the situation. “It was supposed to be for you anyway.”

It made my head spin. I was almost certain I had to have taken some drug before this conversation. I felt dizzy and faint. “It had gin rummy scores on it too.”

His laugh sliced through the silence. “I’m sure you kicked my ass.”

I wish he could see my smug smile. “Up by nearly 100.”

“You should write about that,” he suggested.

“Gin rummy?”

“All those little things. I find that writing about Sheffield can be a good palate cleanser. Returning to the days of youth.” He hesitated, still trying to work out the thoughts that ping-ponged in his mind. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“I know what you mean,” I reassured him. “I know.”

*

I wrote a piece and stuffed it away in a drawer. It was about college, Alex, and smoking. It’s the first section of this book.

*

The following morning, after sleeping on my sullied writing, I decided to reach back further in the days of Wakefield. It was about a trip to the shopping centre I took with my mother when I was 11. We were looking for a dress for my year 6 leavers ceremony and she made me try on all these different dresses until I found one I fell in love with, but she didn’t like it so she ended up picking this scratchy old dress. It might be small, but I still think about that dress. I thought about it long enough that I couldn’t stop writing, and thus, I began my next book.

*

Christmas was coming. The first snow fell halfway through December, but it didn’t stick, just leaving an ice fog. George had spent the night at my place. We stayed huddled in bed and decided it was best for him to stay simply because it was too cold.

He cooked bacon while I showered. I had a towel wrapped in my hair when he handed me my coffee and a plate of cooked pig belly with some berries on the side. We ate at my tiny kitchen table and talked about the weather. Then he said, “It would probably just be easier to live together at this point.”

“Yeah,” I thoughtlessly said while chewing away.

“And my place has more room and is right above the store. It’s in Manhattan too, which seems more your scene than Brooklyn.”

“Yeah. I think so.” It was going over my head. The bacon was really good.

“We could do it in the New Year.”

I squinted. “Do what?” He stared at me. “Move in together?”

“Yeah.” He smiled.

“Oh.” I hate myself. “But I like my place.”

“It’s nice, but you’re always complaining how you wish you had more space and—”

“How would I have more space living with you?”

“I at least have a wall between my bed and kitchen.”

“But I would be sharing all that with you now.” It was a pointed comment. It was obvious my concern wasn’t over having a new roommate but who that roommate would be.

He began looking crossed. “What’s wrong with sharing?”

“I like having my own space,” I reasoned with a half-truth.

“Well, we could make space for you at my place.”

“Your place.”

“Our place,” he corrected.

“What’s wrong with my place?”

He laughed at me. “Nothing’s wrong with your place. But, come on, let’s pull the trigger.”

I rolled my eyes like a bitch. “How affectionate.”

“Jane.” He was scolding me.

“Let me think about it.”

He nodded, and we went back to eating, but this time in silence. He finished his coffee and decided for us. “You’re not gonna move in with me, are you?”

“I don’t know.”

He sighed. “Don’t kid me, Jane. At least give me that.”

“I just like having something of my own.”

“Okay.” He looked around. I feared he was X-raying the apartment and seeing all the things I was hiding. Then he stared at me so strongly I thought he’d burn a hole through me. “We’re never gonna go to the next step with me.”

“I’ll allowed to think about it.”

“No, I mean like we’re not going to live together or get married. All those dreams you told me about with the garden and your husband cooking you dinner, that’s not me, is it?”

I didn’t know what to say. “It could be.”

He shook his head. “It’s not.” He was soft and he broke my heart because I knew I was breaking his. “It’s okay.”

We finished breakfast and we talked about our individual plans for Christmas. When our plates were empty, he stood up and kissed my cheek. “I hope you come do an event for your new book.”

I nodded, and then he left. I cleared the table and did the dishes.

*

a/n: i'll try and figure out how to include pickles in the next part. it might be a bit before the next part because a) it'll be longer, b) i want to try and write something else in the time being to clear out my long list of in progress works, and c) there's not that many years left of this and we must cherish every second. thanks :)

[lukesvangelista]

𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞ˡᵈᵇᵇ⁶⁵

in which you surprise luca at his game.

warnings; none that i can think of

You hadn’t told Luca you were coming to his game—partly because you wanted to surprise him and partly because you wanted to see his genuine reaction. The second you bought your ticket, you started planning everything, down to the smallest detail.

The most important part? The sign.

You wanted it to be perfect—something that would stand out, something he wouldn’t be able to miss, and most importantly, something that would make him smile the second he saw it.

You made a trip to the store specifically for supplies, carefully picking out the biggest, brightest poster board you could find. At first, you debated between a bold red or a classic white, but ultimately, you went with white so the lettering would pop even more.

Next came the markers. You tested a few on a scrap sheet of paper before settling on black for the main message—thick, bold, impossible to miss—and red for little accents.

You spent way too long mapping out the letters in pencil before carefully tracing over them in marker, making sure everything was perfectly aligned. You even debated adding glitter or something flashy, but ultimately decided the message itself was enough.

Finally, after what felt like forever, you took a step back and admired your work.

“#65 IS MY BOYFRIEND”

You smirked to yourself, already imagining Luca’s reaction.

On game day, you showed up to the arena early, your heart pounding with excitement. You kept the sign rolled up under your arm as you made your way through the crowd, scanning the sections until you found a perfect spot right against the glass.

You could hardly contain your excitement as you waited for warmups to start. The second the Zamboni finished its last lap and the doors opened to let the players onto the ice, you unrolled the sign and held it up to the glass proudly.

At first, Luca didn’t notice you. He was locked into his pregame routine — gliding effortlessly across the ice, stretching, tapping pucks toward the net. He was completely unaware of your presence.

Not for long.

You waited, anticipation building up inside you, until he finally skated past your section. His eyes flickered toward the boards for just a second, and then he saw you. Or so he thought.

He did a complete double take.

Luca’s skates came to a sudden stop, ice spraying up slightly as he whipped his head around. His eyes landed on you, then on the sign, and his entire face lit up.

For a second, he just stared, his mouth slightly open in disbelief. Then, his grin broke through — wide, boyish, completely stunned but beyond happy. He tapped his stick against the glass, shaking his head with a laugh, “What the hell! You didn’t tell me you were coming!”

You beamed at him from the other side of the glass, holding the sign up even higher, “Surprise!”

Luca laughed, running a hand through his hair beneath his helmet before skating off for a second.

Then, suddenly, he was back — this time flipping a warmup puck over the glass toward you.

“Catch.”

You caught it easily, looking down at it for a second before shaking your head with a knowing smile, “I swear, you’re such a showoff.”

He just winked, “You love it.”

Warmups continued, but every single time Luca skated past, he sent you little looks — quick smirks, playful winks, slight head shakes like he still couldn’t believe you were actually there. Then, just when you thought the moment couldn’t get any better, Luca skated toward you again near the end of warmups.

But this time, he wasn’t empty-handed.

Instead of just tapping the glass, he lifted his stick and motioned for you to take it.

Your eyes widened, “Luca, what are you...?”

“Take it,” he said, his grin growing, “You made a whole sign about me. It's the least I can do.”

You hesitated for a second, looking between him and the stick, "Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” his voice was muffled through the glass, but you could still hear the amusement in it. Still in slight disbelief, you reached up and carefully took the stick from him. It was still warm from his gloves, the tape perfectly molded to his grip.

“You’re actually insane,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Luca just laughed, “Yeah, yeah. You love it.”

Before you could even respond, he was skating backward with a wink, heading toward the tunnel as warmups officially ended.

You could still hear the guys chirping him as they left the ice.

“Ohhh, Luca’s in loooove!"

“Did you actually just give her your stick, man?”

“I swear, this dude is whipped.”

Luca, completely unfazed, just shrugged, “What can I say? My girl deserves the best.”

And with that, he disappeared into the tunnel — leaving you standing there, holding his stick, grinning like an idiot.

a/n; for my lovely friend rey (@fantillisgirl)! sorry it's kinda short :( also i'm aware that luca is currently with the monsters, but it was easier to act like he was called up at this point, so here we are

[angelofcha0s]

Like Mother Like Son. (Part 1??)

A/N; First time im actually posting any of my works here, please dont mind the punctuation i know it’s bad. I made this like half a year ago. I also wrote this free flow ADHD style LMAO

Warnings; drugs , smoking , death, implied abuse

Jason put a cigarette to his lips, taking a hit — god that feeling gave him back so much power— his eyes closed, the cold wind of Gotham's depressing yet beautiful city smacking him in the face. smoke appearing into the air as he exhaled — tip tap tip tap —footsteps could be heard, 'god Dickie, you’re gettin rusty' Jason thought to himself; "Could i get a hit of that little wing?"

Dick's accent was soft - not to rough , not to unnoticeable. Jason's eyebrow shot up "A hit, huh? for 'the golden boy'?" a faint chuckle came from Jason. dick rolled his dark brown eyes at jason — his not so little brother — c'mon Jay" his new jersey accent now getting thicker " 'm serious, can i getta hit or wha?, yer ass has been avoidin everyone for hours now!". it was true Jason had been avoiding everyone for hours.. he didnt mean to or maybe he did? he wasn't even sure himself... his mind was in ruins, Jason slowly handed his cigarette over to his brother. Dick said something but Jason didnt hear it as his vision started to blurry and memories played out, "ma?" a soft voice called out it came from a younger Jason just coming home from the corner store his step mother sent him to. he couldnt have been any younger than 8. his father at 'work' selling drugs to crackheads or even having meetings with two-face about the latest drugs on the market everyone craved. Jason knocked on the door to his families apartment "Ma, im back!" he yelled. His step-mom didnt answer, Jasons heart started to sink- oh god.. he was the verge of tears "MA?" there was no answer... Jason kicked in the door not caring his father would beat him later for it. He ran through the apartment screaming for his step-mom until he finally ran to the bathroom and oh god.. one of his fears came true.. there laid his step-mother in their bathtub — dead — she had overdosed on drugs.. he wasnt sure which ones. she and his father had this 'bad habit’, the walls felt like they were closing in on him.. his head spinning everything blurred together…

“JASON! are you even listening?!” Was suddenly all he heard as he slowly came back to reality.. “Sorry, dickie i— i uh… never mind” he bit his tongue not wanting to explain what he had been thinking about or rather what he had been remembering almost every night for the last six months… the sight of his dead step mother, the sound of that damn clown’s laugh, the fuckin sound of his ribs being broken, god just the smell of fire… of smoke… the feeling of being able not to breathe. He just wants to sit down and stare at the walls, what shapes they make as he escapes reality — and thats all he wants to escape the reality he is in because he can’t believe that his mother is dead… and he isn’t dead anymore.

Both of his mothers, dead. Just as he was… he could care less about his father (but his father would care about him… in his own way anyway), Jason sighed “dick, go home” .

Dick looked at his little brother, trying his best to understand what was happening with him even though he knew he couldn’t always him like he wanted — he wanted to be a good brother to make up for the past and not being able to save him — “Jason, please when ever you need to… talk to me, alright?” He asked with concern laced in his voice and under his mask behind those beautiful brown eyes of his. Jason just nodded in response, he wouldn’t actually go through with it but he wanted his brother to think he would As his brother left. Jason stared at Gotham’s twist beauty, the strip clubs neon lights flashing. The cop cars driving down the street, the sound of couples fighting… yeah he was home again. Sadly, putting on his helmet he started to walk away looking to see what roof top to climb or some place he could actually. Be alone at maybe just maybe he could be ‘ normal ‘ for once, but that all changed once he heard a scream from crime ally… a scream that was all to familiar but he knew it wasn’t her.

[grim-reapers-wife]

Interview (Loki x Reader)

Does anyone remember the Andrew Garfield interview where he said the most swoon worthy things about Emma Stone?

Here’s the link 🔗

Well that’s what inspired this!

Summary: Tony is hosting a ball of sorts for the team and he’s really going out. Fancy champagne, floor length dresses, custom suits, a red carpet entrance with paparazzi and interviewers. Loki gets asked about his relationship with you and gives a heartfelt speech.

P.S. In my first fanfic I used a fem reader but in this one I made sure I wasn’t using a specific gender. I’ll mostly do fem x characters because I’m fem, but I noticed that this one was super easy to make inclusive. All genders are welcome here! I’ll start putting a disclaimer for what gender I’m writing for. I want to be as inclusive as I can and no race is mentioned in either, I believe. Inclusivity matters so I hope I’m not targeting one audience. ❤️

____________________________________________

💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚

Your POV.

“Over here, over here!” The paparazzi cameras flash bright lights in my eyes. I smile and pose along the red carpet Tony had set up in preparation for his Gala.

Flash, Flash, Flash

I’m wearing the most flattering outfit and beautiful jewelry, as payed for by Tony. I pose again before getting to a calmer part of the carpet, taking a deep breath and walking.

“Over here!” An interviewer ushers me over. “How are you enjoying the carpet?” He holds the microphone out for me. “Good, good. I felt like a total celebrity out there.” I laugh a little. “And how is working with the Avengers? Do you enjoy it?” It doesn’t take much time for my answer to come. “It’s wonderful, it’s like working with all of your best friends, but instead of paper work; we’re making the world a better place.” I answer a couple more questions and head to the main event.

I walk into the building Tony has reserved for the night. The shining chandelier sparkles across the room, making everything feel even more magical. Everyone looks amazing, I see Steve chatting up Bucky at a table and Vision and Wanda chat by the dance floor. I saunter over to the bar and grab a drink before heading to my friends.

Loki’s POV.

I frown at the paparazzi flashes. Midgardians are so strange about capturing moments, why not paint a portrait? I suppose this is just the way they are.

I pose for a couple of photos, per Tony’s request, then walk into a separate section of the carpet for interviews. None of the questions are of any substance until one of the interviewers peak my interest.

“How would you describe your partner? Y’all have been together for almost a year now, yes?” The interviewer hands me a device I am told will capture my voice.

“It’s wonderful, I’ve never met a person who I connect so deeply with, I especially never thought it would be a Midgardian. I’ve never met someone so amiable before. It’s like laying out in the sun on a warm day, just soaking up the sun. Like reading your favorite book, or eating your favorite food. I’m fully enamored, and truly in love.”

The interviewer brings his own sound device, which I am told is a microphone, to his lips. “Wow, I think everyone watching just fell in love!” I roll my eyes at the interviewer. “They don’t stand a chance against my love.”

I look into the building where the main event is being held and I find the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen staring back at me, and I immediately know whose they are. I smile and when I get a smile back, I know that I’ve never been more in love with another.

____________________________________________

💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚

Congrats on making it the end!! 🎉 🍾 If you made it this far I hope you enjoyed it and if you didn’t, feel free to leave KIND constructive feedback. I’ll always be open to tips and recommendations. Per usual don’t mind any grammatical errors! I’m definitely just doing this for fun. Thanks for reading!

[lucdoodle]

FINISHED MAKING THE MOON WALTZ ANIMATIC !!!

(song: Waltz in E-Major, Op. 15 "Moon Waltz" by Cojum Dip)

[kooki914]

Given that the collection has 151,406 words, if you turned it into one book it wouldn’t be a novel, it would be an epic

Ok so while I'd love to let this blindly stroke my ego, I do have to point out that the Spadesgore collection technically doesn't meet the criteria for an epic novel, I think? Like, not only does an epic require actual high stakes of epic proportions, but the collection was also never technically intended to be one huge thing. If it were turned into a book it'd probably be multiple, like a romance series where each subsequent entry is longer than the last for seemingly no good reason. And the fics themselves wouldn't be individual books, they'd be more like... chapters. This is a really bad analogy let me explain myself-

Since I started expanding the first fic, I planned for the series to be split into Arcs™. Basically, the story is all one continuous thing and belongs in one collection, but by the way the fics are planned/written, they (thus far) follow three major arcs. The first arc, the light world arc, lasts from "A talk by the lake" and concludes with "A series of very, very fortunate events" (about 40,157 words total). The second arc is the dark world arc, which begins with "Sleepy words" and ends with "Surprisingly perfect" (109,904 words in total, thanks in no small part to the beast that is "Royalty"). If turned into books, I'd want those individual arcs to be split into individual books, technically able to stand on their own but following the same overarching story. The third arc (which I don't have a name for yet oops) just got kicked off with "A kind of daydream, but don't call it that" and will encompass the next approx twenty-something fics (whenever I get around to writing them) that I have planned out that (somewhat) neatly wrap up most of the remaining threads I want to explore with these two.

I say most because there's stuff I might want to write for the collection even after that - ideas I left unexplored for the sake of time and cohesion - or even stuff concerning my other Spadesgore AUs that we aren't even factoring into the full word count (yet) that could get their own standalone expansions outside the collection (looking at you, demon AU). All of that is, however, majorly dependent on two factors. 1) how exhausted I feel with the concept of the Spadesgore collection after the third arc is finished, and 2) how I end up feeling about the next chapters of Deltarune. (Though I'll be honest the second point is a LOT less important than the first LMAO)

So, yeah! Thank you for the ask that let me segway into rambling about my godforsaken fic series structure, and I hope you look forward to the next entries in the collection as much as I do!

[inbabylontheywept]

The Motherfucking Lizard King

No one at work trusts my boss. 

He's smart. He works hard. He's not trustworthy. He hasn't actually fucked anyone at work over, but he's ruined his last two marriages with affairs, and got dumped by his third fiance when he wouldn't sign a prenup. The fact that we all know this is just a hazard of working in a small town. 

Anyway: The thought process of the people in the lab is that if he screwed over his first wife, and his second wife, and was probably planning on screwing over his third wife, it would be insane for him not to screw us over. After all, what kind of idiot treats their employees better than their spouse? 

I dunno. His kind, I guess? He's had a few chances to fuck us over, and he hasn't taken them. Opposite really. When our parent company was doing furloughs, he stayed in the office almost a hundred hours, talking and talking and talking his way up the corporate ladder. And in the end, no one at our site got furloughed. 

He's pulled strings like that before. And it baffles me, right? Because it really does make zero sense. He'll move the heavens and the earth for us, but his wife and kids are afterthoughts. It feels like any moment, he's going to look into the mirror and realize how stupid that is. It feels like I'm betting on him making the same stupid mistake again, and again, and again - like it would be less cynical to believe he was, eventually, going to stab me in the back. But he hasn't yet, and as far as I can tell he's been making that mistake for close to fifteen years, and it's already cost him everything it can. If he was going to learn, he would have by now. 

So my position on him is that if he wanted to date someone I cared about, I'd warn them off. I don't trust him there. But I tentatively trust him to be my boss. Maybe one day he'll stick the knife in and twist, and everyone will say Ah, Babs, we warned you, but for now, I accept that he's doing a very predictable, very irrational thing, and I've made my peace with it. 

---

My job has glue traps. 

No one likes the glue traps, but we don't have a lot of options. Poison's banned by state law, spring traps are banned by company safety, and several non-lethal options tried in the past failed to work. The mouse problem can get pretty bad if it's ignored, and there's some real health hazards in that. Our site has never had a positive hantavirus test, thank God, but the big base about a half hour away has. That guy's gonna be on oxygen the rest of his life. 

If a mouse gets caught, we just euthanize it. But more than mice get stuck. Lizards can wander into those traps too, and the people working there have different feelings about the lizards. They don't pose nearly the same kind of risk mice do. They're chill little guys, and they keep the moths away, and they're just 

You know. They're friendly. There's something to be said about walking into a room, and hitting the light switch, and seeing two little guys on the wall start to do pushups as soon as they see you. 

People used to just euthanize the lizards too, but I had pet leopard geckos as a kid and I couldn't take that so I wound up googling how to free animals from glue traps. Now, when a lizard gets stuck in a trap - which happens once or twice a week - I get some vegetable oil from the breakroom, and a little plastic fork, and I'll spend fifteen to twenty minutes just kind of gently prying the little guys out. 

I have a team of technicians that help me operate one of the larger machines. They're real blue collar guys, ex-airforce, and they make me look like a little kid. Being an engineer means they'll look to me as a leader sometimes, which is a wild experience. And I started helping the lizards for my own conscience, but one of the crazier consequences of it has been that it seriously boosted my leadership cred. Because those guys see me, and they go: Hey. If he's willing to fight for a lizard, he's gotta be willing to fight for me. 

I cannot overstate how nice that is. Most engineers that want to make a change to a maintenance practice, or try an upgrade, they have to work their asses off to get the techs to buy in. But I can just ask. They already trust me to do good. They know I'm new, and they know I'm not the smartest engineer in the building, but they also know I'm the one who gets lizards out of the glue traps. 

And just because of that, they're willing to follow me. 

---

My boss has a meeting every month or two. It's typically basic house cleaning stuff - reminders about routines we've gotten lazy on, and updates on future projects. Maybe some warnings about problems coming from higher up in the company.

People are, in my opinion, a bit too cynical about the meetings. It stems from people not trusting our boss, which again, I understand, because it would make so much more sense if he wasn't trustworthy. It's a testament to the man's incredibly unhealthy priorities that he is. But as we made it to the end of the meeting, one of bullet points was: 

Do NOT mess with animals in the building. 

So I looked at my techs, and they looked at me, and when he got to the point, he was so scathing I actually just wanted to crawl under a rock and die. He said basically that he'd heard some reports about someone in the building handling animals that found their way in and got stuck, and that he just wanted to emphasize how insanely inappropriate that was, not to mention dangerous, and that if he needed to speak to anyone about it again, there would be severe consequences. 

I was willing to just take the shame and move on. I was. But one of my techs is old. Old enough he could've retired two years ago. And his actual literal goal is to one day get angry, yell at someone, and storm out. That's how he wants to retire. So instead of biting his tongue like everyone else, he stood up and said: I hate the glue traps. You hate the glue traps. We all hate glue traps. But we've all sat here for years, ignoring the little things that get stuck in them, watching them die, and then Bab's comes in, and he is the first person in decades to give enough of a shit to start pulling the lizards out. And I don't want him to stop. 

Get humane traps or shut up but we are not going back to the old way of just letting things starve. 

And my boss actually froze up. He got all wide eyed and stared at Marc, and then the other techs jumped in, and there was a very small but intense rebellion in the meeting and my boss kept trying to interrupt while getting absolutely bowled over by this gang of angry middle aged air force vets, and eventually he just went 

I will speak with Babylon about this afterwards! After! And then he will speak with everyone else, but I have more points to cover. 

So they went silent, and my boss rushed through the last five minutes, and we all adjounred. The techs really didn't like that I was going in alone - they thought our boss was going to try and shout me into compliance. Marc in particular was like, Look, if he tries bullying you, stand your ground, and if he threatens anything, just come get us, and we'll give him hell. 

So armed with that, I went to my boss's office. I sat in the chair across from him, and he kept his composure for maybe five seconds before just flopping back into his chair. 

I had no idea you were saving lizards, he said, but I'm glad you are. I always hated seeing them die in the glue.  

I wasn't expecting that. I was about to ask him what the comment from the meeting was about then, but he answered that before I even got the chance.

A snake got into the building last week, and - someone picked it up and chased a coworker around. Turns out that coworker was severely afraid of snakes, and now it's a shitshow. We're a small site, and now I can't ask those two to work together anymore, to say nothing about how the snake fared after all that. Being upset about that is a reasonable thing, right? 

And he gave me a look like he actually wanted an answer, so I said Yeah, totally, chasing a coworker around with a snake is a dick move. Especially if that coworker is already afraid of snakes. 

And he said Exactly! and then we sat there a few moments longer. He looked so incredibly tired that I did, actually, feel kind of bad for him. And then he somehow managed to sink even further into his chair, and said

Look, I know I'm not a good guy. But I'm not evil. I'm not some sort of crazy asshole that's going to demand that everyone watch lizards starve to death. When you go back downstairs, could you try to pass that on? That I'm not evil? 

I said Sure because it wasn't a hard request, and he looked relieved. I actually made it halfway out before I realized I had a question. 

Who grabbed the snake? I asked. 

Not supposed to talk about it, he said. But whoever comes to mind first is probably right. 

ThatGuy? I asked. And he looked me in the face, nodded his head yes, and said No. 

---

The techs seemed a little disappointed that they didn't get to storm the boss's office, but were otherwise in good spirits. They were actually a little bit embarrassed to hear about the snake story - apparently, it wasn't much of a secret. It'd just slipped their minds because it happened three weeks ago. 

We did maintenance after that, the same basic repairs we did every week. The meeting had been stressful and it was a relief to work with my hands. When the parts were reinstalled, everything cleaned and smooth and ready to go, Marc found me again. 

You know what the lesson of today is? he asked. And there were quite a few answers to that that I could have taken - from don't assume the worst of people to be careful with how you spend your trust - we all need it more than we think. 

But instead I said what? because I wanted to hear what his answer was going to be. 

That I got your back, he said. Then he clapped one very, very large hand on my shoulder, gave it a good squeeze, and walked back to dosimetry lab.

---

The next day, Marc gave me a package and told me to open it in my office. I was suspicious, but I followed the request.

Cardboard gave way to a small baggie, obviously full of fabric, which opened to reveal a t-shirt that read

"I Am the Motherfucking Lizard King."

I looked at it, I loved it, and then I got an idea. I went to my boss's office and knocked on the door. When he opened it, I asked him if he would be willing to allow something very unprofessional to happen for morale building purposes.

How unprofessional? he asked. I held the shirt up in answer. He gave the shirt a short look over and snorted.

You can wear it on weeks without customers, he said. Which just so happened to include that week.

I'll pass on that it came with your blessing, I replied, and he looked oddly relieved.

Thanks, he said. And then I went downstairs.

---

The techs were very, very happy to see the shirt. And while my boss's reputation remains in tatters, and probably will be until he moves (or dies), the next time there was a meeting, there was quite a bit less complaining about how mere presence. Which is, I guess, a start.

We'll see if he squanders it.

[telephoniii]

REALLY…HIM?

☆彡 in which professor trein judges your relationship with the NRC boys

NRC boys x Reader (minus Ortho)

Word Counter: 3K

Warnings: Reader is Prefect, Trein is your father figure, established relationship, possible OOC

A/N: life’s getting pretty hectic so i’m sorry if my upload schedule slows down. i hope you enjoy :>

ace trappola

Can’t say he’s surprised, just disappointed. It makes sense; he was one of your first friends. However, that doesn’t make him any less troublesome. Despite being a first-year, Ace is one of the biggest slackers and troublemakers on campus— much to Trein’s dismay. His main worry is that Ace will poorly influence you. He’s already seeing it with the two of you getting a crazy amount of detentions and scoldings for unthinkable reasons. You’ve got it rough already being from another world, you don’t need a devil on your shoulder convincing you to get into all kinds of trouble. It’s a real shame said devil is your boyfriend. He’ll allow the relationship and all will seem swell. Little do you know that he pulled Ace aside and had a long chat.

deuce spade

A fine pick; Trein is neither severely impressed nor disappointed. He doesn’t think Deuce is too bad, but he believes you could do better. Deuce will need to somehow prove himself to Trein. On the outside, Trein looks like he absolutely hates his guts. His eyes are always staring at Deuce with this sharp look and it gets the card soldier real nervous real fast. In reality, it’s just Trein keeping a closer eye on him + his RBF. He’s relatively neutral on the first year, yet Deuce is fully convinced that his professor wants to set him on fire.

cater diamond

Trein is very annoyed with your choice. He doesn’t like Cater’s social media addiction and would much rather have you hit the books than scrolling through Magicam. Not to mention, he feels as though something about Cater’s happy-go-lucky attitude is a facade, and doesn���t trust him around you. Cater finds Trein scary, but he’s not as intimidated as Deuce. As he does with Ace, Trein takes Cater to have a talk, and—surprisingly— his opinions on the third year improve. He doesn’t fully like him, but he’ll tolerate Cater more so than beforehand. Cater also offers to help Trein make a social media account; it’s cute yet chaotic all the same watching them bond.

trey clover

Before Trein can form a solid thought on Trey, the vice housewarden is subtly trying to win his favor. Trey knows how about his father-like connection to you and immediately shapes up. He gifts Trein different pastries and learns which ones he’s partial to. What really wins the professor over is when Trey starts volunteering to help clean his classroom after class. Trein won’t even know the two of you are already together and he’ll make comments around you like, “That Clover boy is real nice…” Needless to say, Trein approves of Trey long before he finds out you both are in a relationship.

riddle rosehearts

Trein immediately scowls when he hears the news of your relationship. You’d think he’d approve due to Riddle’s intellect and dutiful behavior. Admittedly, Trein does like that about Riddle. But he despises the boy’s bursts of anger, finding them childish and unfitting for a future mage. He’s seen the housewarden go berserk on one too many students and doesn’t trust he won’t do the same to you. Trein doesn’t want you walking on eggshells around your own partner. This is another one who’ll have to prove themselves to Trein. Riddle will be upset when he hears of Trein’s low opinion of him, but gets a surge of motivation to convince him otherwise. You’ll find Riddle working even harder on his studies than before you didn’t even think that was possible in hopes of gaining Trein’s favor. He’ll eventually get it. I imagine that Riddle does some small, heroic deed for you that really shows his love, and Trein just so happens to be passing by and sees it. Once your unofficial official father in Twisted Wonderland gets along with Riddle, expect to be nagged about missing assignments and homework a WHOLE LOT.

jack howl

Similar to Trey, he immediately knows about your bond with Trein. Instead of trying to win over the professor, Jack takes a more blunt approach. He goes straight to his desk after class and tells him about your relationship, being upfront about his feelings towards you. Trein respects it. He thinks that Jack has more guts than most on campus and trusts him to protect you. He’s quite supportive of the relationship, acting as a mentor for the both of you. You can catch him watching the two of you with a tiny smile, murmuring something along the lines of, “Young love.” The two of you remind him of his own marriage with his late wife. It makes him sentimental in a way.

ruggie bucchi

A BIG 180 FROM JACK. Trein thinks this guy is sleazy. Ruggie couldn’t care less in the beginning, finding it funny to practically hang off your shoulder while Trein stared daggers into him. Then it started to seep in that it may or may not be important to get Trein’s approval for a long-term relationship with you. That’s when he gets his act together and completely starts sucking up to Trein. He’ll help out with paperwork, errands, cleaning up, etc! All for free! much to his dismay All Ruggie asks for in return is Trein’s support for your relationship. He catches Trein by surprise with how well his work ethic is. The lengths the hyena goes to for you ends up leaving the professor impressed.

leona kingscholar

Professor Trein is both surprised and disappointed. Now how did this happen? He didn't think Kingscholar was capable of being nice to anyone, let alone get into a whole relationship. Well, he bugs you to tell your boyfriend to start showing up to class. He’s not exactly happy with you dating a huge slacker like him, but Trein knows that Leona is a smart boy. Brash and not his first pick, sure, but he wouldn’t play with your heart or rope you into anything stupid. He trusts Kingscholar to protect you. But if he starts seeing you begin to skip class— which is going to happen, Leona’s going to make you do it at least once— he’ll pull YOU aside and give you an earful. Tough love, unfortunately.

floyd leech

Hell no. All the red blaring flags. Now why would you go and do that? Really? Out of EVERYONE? You bet your bottoms Trein is actively speaking out against your relationship every single time he sees you. He doesn't even want to try to talk to Floyd. Trein is convinced you are addicted to getting in trouble and lets out the biggest old man sigh. Is there any way Floyd can win the professor���s favor? Probably not. And if there was a way, would Floyd even do it? Big fat no. Floyd thinks it is hilarious that Professor Trein disapproves, upping his affections around him with that toothy grin of his. And if you guys have a class together that Trein teaches? Chaos. Expect a lot of paper balls to be thrown at you.

jade leech

“Are you okay??” Is the first thing Trein asks when you tell him you and Jade are in a relationship. Doesn't exactly trust the boy, but Jade tends to behave around him. The professor has always seen him being picture-perfect whenever he’s around which is 100% suspicious, but Trein doesn't have any solid reasons to disapprove. Jade, like his brother, finds the whole situation very amusing. He’s always figuring out new ways to appear like the ‘ideal boyfriend’ to Trein. If he ever talks to the professor he’ll slip in a comment like, “I never disappoint, trust me” and it makes Trein distrust him even more.

azul ashengrotto

Now what bet did you lose for this to have happened? At least Ashengrotto is a star student, you need to hang out around more of those in his opinion. After confirming that, “No, no bet was lost,” and “No, he’s not paying for my love,” Trein was pretty alright with it. The Monstro Lounge is a student-ran organization, it's clear from that the young boy is capable and responsible. He just keeps a very, very close eye on you two. The last thing Trein wants is for Azul to take advantage of you since— knowing him— he seems like the type to do so. Expect frequent questions of “How’s your relationship going?” and “He’s treating you right, right?” Azul is going to get asked to stay after class to talk. Trein then proceeds to threaten lecture him on how to properly treat your lover. He just wants to make sure you don't get wrapped up in one of those contracts he’s heard about. Azul has quite the track record.

kalim al asim

Automatically assumes you’re dating him for the money and begins to ramble about how you should marry for love. Tells you about his late wife and how much he loved her— it is so sweet I'm actually crying. That's the kind of love he wants you to have. You’ve got to reassure him that, “Yes, my certified father figure, I do love him very much and I’m not just in it for the money.” After that talk, he finds the relationship sweet but kind of concerning. Kalim is a nice boy but severely naive and, frankly, incompetent. Trein starts to go a little harder on Kalim in class, not that he was going easy anyway. He scrutinizes the essays he turns in and chastises him for missing an assignment. As he watches you kiss Kalim on the cheek after getting an A, Trein can only sigh and think, “He’s lucky he’s rich.”

jamil viper

Trein’s pretty okay with him. He’s a level-headed guy with passable grades and the title of a vice housewarden. However, the professor did hear about his Overblot and does think that there's more beneath the surface. He doesn't judge him for his Overblot, no. But Trein does keep a closer eye on him to make sure he isn't scheming anything involving you. The professor also tries to push him to do better academically. He’s heard from you about how smart Jamil truly is and can see his potential, so he tries to get him to stop holding back. Jamil is a little appreciative of it and respects Trein as your father figure, but still isn't a fan of sticking out. Nor does he plan on giving into Trein’s attempts.

epel felmier

Is fine with the relationship at first. He was polite, soft-spoken, and a part of Pomfiore. Most students belonging to that dorm are pompous, but respectful nonetheless. Then Epel’s true nature comes out and Trein is constantly reprimanding him for horseplay. It's kinda funny how surprised Trein is by Epel’s country toughness. The professor definitely had his suspicions— nobody at NRC is innocent, he’s learned every student here has some sort of dark side— but he definitely wouldn't have expected this. A part of Trein actually prefers him like this. You are dating someone with a backbone who will defend you. He encourages Epel to be himself around him, promising a judgment-free area. They get along pretty well surprisingly, with Trein being a sort of mentor to him. Overall, very sweet and Trein approves.

rook hunt

In the most blunt way possible, Trein tells you, “Your boyfriend weirds me out.” He thinks Rook is an oddball for sure. No way around it. Is half convinced Rook is stalking him. Because he is. When you explained to your boyfriend about the bond you had with Professor Trein, he got way too intrigued and ended up ‘watching’ Trein like he does to Leona. It's not until the professor makes a passing comment about being paranoid that he’s being watched that you realized, “Oh shit my boyfriends stalking you.” You don't say that to him— you don't want Rook getting in trouble. So you settle on having a really long talk with Rook about it who reassures you he’d never disturb your father figure or the absolutely beautiful bond between the two of you. He still worries you sometimes when he goes missing and randomly reappears by walking out of Trein’s classroom.

vil schoenheit

Trein worries that Vil won’t make the time for you. He’s aware that Schoenheit is a busy boy as he’s missed his class plentiful in the past. He’ll make Vil stay after class for a little to talk to him about it, giving him a fatherly warning about being ready to fully commit to a relationship and the time it takes to manage one. Vil is, admittedly, insulted that Trein doubts his ability to wholeheartedly love you but takes it in stride. He sees this as a sign to up his game in the romance department and properly does so, dedicating more time to pampering you. The professor expresses his concerns to his coworker, Crewel, who talks his ear off about how much of a “good pup” Vil is and that he won't disappoint. Trein can’t help but agree when he spots you walking into class looking more freshened with slight makeup on and a new hair-do that Vil definitely did for you.

idia shroud

Once you break the news to Trein, he immediately asks to meet with Idia one-on-one. The blue-haired student rarely shows up to class! And that iPad isn't going to cut it forever! He needs to be able to size him up in person. Idia, naturally, is scared to death. At first, he immediately declines, insisting that they don't really need to meet up, the whole idea is stupid, and it’ll be fine if he stays right there in his room. Then you sit down with him and tell him how important Trein is to you and… sigh You landed a natural 20 on the dice of persuasion. Idia can’t believe he's doing this. You’re beside him the whole time as he stutters in front of Trein. Is Trein impressed? No, not at all. Yet your confidence in the Shroud and constant praise is reassuring. The professor’s going to make you force Idia into showing up in person in class. His attendance rivals Leona's.

sebek zigvolt

Doesn't really care for Sebek despite the first year's desperate attempts at trying to impress him. Sebek lost him after he started talking about Malleus when Trein asked about you. Ever since then, it’s just been him trying to win him back to no prevail. Kinda sad to watch. He’ll be the biggest gentleman ever: rushing to doors to open them for Trein, scrubbing his whole classroom for him from top to bottom, and yelling at other students to be quiet— though he was pretty much doing that before you two even got together. But every time Sebek gets close to winning the professor’s favor, he ends up going on a tangent about how amazing his liege is, and we're back at square one. You’ve got to rub him on the back and kiss him on the cheek while telling him, “Trein will come around one day!” Even if that day never comes.

silver

Not a fan. He’s witnessed Silver fall asleep in his class one too many times and thinks it's disrespectful. Once you tell Silver, he’s upset as it's not exactly something he can change, but will put in extra effort not only in Trein’s class but in all his classes. He studies with you beside him so you can prevent him from falling asleep when you see him get all drowsy-eyed. Trein immediately takes note of Silver’s hard work and grit as the boy passes his class with flying colors while asking if there’s anything he could do to help him after hours. It's only when he hears from his fellow teachers that Silver has been doing exceptionally well is he actually impressed. Afterwards, Trein will start being more understanding of Silver’s constant sleeping. He won't be any less strict, but he won’t lay into him for it as hard as before since learning it's out of Silver’s control. Trein thinks rather positively of your relationship, comparing it to the ones in the fairytales.

lilia vanrouge

A bit disturbed, to say the least. Lilia is older than him after all. Trein tried to keep a close eye on the two of you, but Lilia always caught him and pursued a staring match. Trein was always the first to look away. Lilia finds it entertaining. He tries to play tiny tricks on the professor, but you stop him at the very last minute. You sit down and try to explain that you deeply care about Trein and, by extension, what Trein thinks of him. Lilia proceeded to suggest that he brings Trein some cookies to win him over to which you immediately say no. Honestly, I don’t see Trein really ever warming up to Lilia. He just pretends the old bat doesn't exist and isn't your boyfriend. Lilia finds that incredibly funny while you're dying inside.

malleus draconia

The fact you were able to get close to the Draconia is an impressive feat to Trein. However, future ruler of Briar Valley or not, he intends to make sure that Malleus treats you right. Right when you tell Malleus that Trein is basically your father, the fae goes straight to the professor, confesses to him about your relationship, and swears to take good care of you with this ominous tone. Trein isn’t very fond of Malleus at first, struggling to decipher whether or not that introduction was genuine. It isn't until you go to him after class, gushing about the late-night walk you went on with Malleus yesterday and shoving cute little polaroid photos in his face does Trein begin to trust the fae. He makes sure to scold you for not being asleep at that time, yes, but he stares at one of the photographs for way too long, imagining you and Malleus as him and his late wife for a moment. A small smile appears on his face. However, he can’t help but think that the two of you are down a similar path; the happiest marriage ever, kids, and one lover outliving the other. A tragedy, but he’ll let you enjoy it while it lasts just like he did. As long as you’re happy.

[webism]

ᯓ Kento Nanami doesn't even know he has a breeding kink until he cums inside of you for the first time. It's like a flip switches in his brain, and the second that sweet release floods your womb he is plagued with the instinctual need to fill you over and over and over until something takes.

And breeding you doesn't have to mean a baby, but rather the primal possession that comes with having you spend the rest of the day with a part of him inside of you. No other man has the privilege, the right, or the reason to claim you as he has, and it does something nasty to the way he fucks.

He's still the gentleman he's always been: still makes sure you cum at least once on his fingers or tongue before he graces you with the hard-to-manage length of his cock. But rather than in the spirit of purely giving you pleasure, he's trying to ensure you're so wet that he can force himself just that little bit deeper inside of you.

A guilt of his, perhaps, but Kento read that if he were to edge himself between moments of intimacy with you, that his loads would be bigger, more forceful—and the idea of giving you even more of himself than he already had been is enough to get him hard. So, he starts touching himself whenever the thought clouds his mind, which is more-often-than-not nowadays. He fucks his fist to the thought of breeding you out until he's cumming dry and you're so full of his cum that it has nowhere to go other than down your legs. Stopping before he cums is a pain like none other, but his new adopted thought process claims a load spent anywhere other than balls-deep inside of you is a load wasted.

And he doesn't say a word of it to you. You only pick up on it when you realise he won't cum anywhere else. When you're sat between his legs after a long day of work, serving him with your mouth and coaxing those lovely groans from his chest. How his hands try and guide you off of him before he gets close enough to lose control, sys he doesn't want to cum down your throat. Once upon a time he would get hard all over at just the sight of you swallowing his lust.

"I just... want to be inside of you, honey, is that okay?" He says, and you oblige because the way Ken gets once he's finally seated inside of you is nothing other than animalistic, euphoric. But you have to wonder if there's a reason he avoids spilling his seed over your tongue or tits like he used to.

"You know I like the taste, right?" you glance over at him when he bends you over the arm of the couch and slips his aching cock into you. You doubt you'll ever get used to his size—he always has to take a moment to let you settle once he's in.

"I know, love," he claims. "I just... prefer it this way."

"Don't you like fucking my throat anymore?"

"God," he groans, presses his body into your back so that his breath fans over your ear. "No. I love your throat. I love all of you."

A thrust to test the waters— at your moan, another. Kento rocks his hips, drags his cock out of you and then drives forward until you and him are as connected as you can be... almost.

"You wanna breed me, is that it?"

Kento's hips stall. You're not stupid, and he doesn't even realise he's got an arm wrapped around you so he can splay his fingers over your stomach. His wedding band presses against your skin, sets it alight with burning need. Hearing you say it, though, makes him nearly cum on the spot—he wouldn't be so selfish.

"How'd you—"

"You say it, Ken," you drawl your words out, tease him with your tone. "When you cum, you say you're gonna fuck a baby into me, that you're gonna 'breed me like the pretty whore I am'. Don't worry, I like it. I want it."

He can hardly believe it, such words feel foreign to his mind. But they taste familiar on his tongue, like a part of his subconscious speaks on his behalf when he's all blissed out like that. He wonders just how deep the instinct to breed you runs, because his cock twitches and all of a sudden he's thrusting into you at a speed that seems only supernatural.

The snapping of his hips, the sound of skin against skin and the curses that slip from his lips like wine. It doesn't take long for you both to cum alongside each other, Kento, of course, deep inside of you.

And it takes a very strong part of him to pay attention to himself this time, and you aren't a liar: the song of need and primal lust that spill from his mouth are made for porn. Not that he can find it in himself to be embarassed, you seem to like it, what with the way your whole body shakes in orgasm as he fills you up.

Yeah, you'll be throwing out every condom you've got stashed away in the house.

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[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get�� get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶