#first two make me so cranky lol

[theealbatross]

never not been mine (s.s)

Plot | Everyone wonders if you and Sebastian are together. Sebastian wonders when will everyone mind their own business.

Tags | fluff, cheesy pining, we're not together or are we, cranky!seb, slytherin!reader, curses, threats, prejudice, seeker!seb for the plot, established relationship (kinda), when you love her so much it drives you insane, seb and reader are shit seniors is my headcannon

[Disclaimer | I borrowed a scene from "no hard feelings" because it was trending on tiktok lol. Also a portion of this is heavily inspired by 'The Alchemy' by Taylor Swift'. Photos not mine.]

“Just one drink – butterbeers on me!”

You couldn’t help but smile at the eager nameless hopeful in front of you.

The wince from his two friends at the other edge of the common room was apparent at your periphery. You had to give it to him, he’s lasted longer than the others. Usually, most would be walking away with their egos bruised when greeted with your disinterest.

“Not like you have any … pending appointments, don’t you?” He tried to maintain his bravado, even taking a step closer to the loveseat you were sitting on by the fire.

Call it an instinct, a bond only kindred spirits that have tethered in-between life and death together would have, but you could almost feel him – not needing to see him to recognize the heavy steps on the stone stairs, the deep sigh as he impatiently scours the common room in search of you, and the inevitable crinkle that forms in-between his eyebrows when he sees someone else in your vicinity.

You smile.

“I have one,” you muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.

His smirk faltered, eyebrows meeting, “A boyfriend?”

You shook your head.

“Pending appointments,” you grin.

His body comically cloaked the significantly shorter boy from behind.

“There you are.”

Sebastian barely glanced at the 6th year in front of you even when their shoulders bumped, making the student stumble. On instinct, you moved your legs to the side so Sebastian could curl up on the floor, his head finding comfort on the meat of your covered thigh, callused hands curling on your calf as he slumped into your lap.

His hair was still dripping sweat, the quidditch uniform he had on covered with muck and dirt and a spattering of blood, and yet here he was, shamelessly sharing his mess with your clothes. You can almost hear Ominis’ disapproving voice, ‘He's a spoiled dog!’.

Ah, but how could you not when he seemed to be cursed at being so good at everything and yet so miserable doing anything else but spending his time with you. Even you can’t be that heartless.

You ran your hands on his damp hair, making sure to press your fingers on his scalp, unable to stop the soft coos from coming out of your mouth. Sebastian had always needed extra attention after his drills with Imelda, the latter determined to tun him into her very own secret weapon of destruction for this upcoming Quidditch season.

This, in turn, had cut his time with you to his utter despair.

“Can we help you?” You were too busy tending to him that you hadn’t realized you still had an audience. Your pet wasn’t the friendliest, especially with strangers of the opposite sex that stares at you.

“N-No, I was just – we were having a conversa –”

Sebastian frowned, the boy took a step back, you place a halting hand on his shoulder.  

“I’ll,” you’re sure even this silly one knows of your Sebastian’s temperament. He wasn’t necessarily the type to be awarded as The Friendliest Senior of the Year.

(“You were nice to me the first time we met.” “Maybe I’m only nice to pretty witches.”)

“I’ll just talk to you later when you’re free.”

“Or not,” Sebastian deadpanned, his grip on your calf tightening, eyebrows meeting.

“Surely it couldn’t hurt–”

“Could hurt.”

“Sebastian.”

It was a pitiful sight but you’ve spared the boy a fate worse than a bruised pride as he muttered a clanky goodbye before turning his back the two of you. Sebastian still glowering at his fleeing back.

“Do you have to be so mean?” you half-heartedly admonished him, patting his freckled cheeks. He really is so handsome, easily the most eligible bachelor in your batch, biased opinion aside.

“Maybe I haven’t been mean enough if they still approach you,” he muttered, clearly still annoyed. His eyes shift from one boy to another accusatorially like if he stared long enough, he’ll catch them in the act of being interested after you and deliver the right sentence as an example.

After the events with Ranrok, high society quickly set its eyes on you. He thought he had nipped it in the bud, sending scathing letters back to prideful pureblood boys for their gall to direct formal letters of engagement to you, audaciously sticking by your side at all times, and severely punishing anyone who dared to even think of courting you. (One even tried to challenge him to a duel. It was barely entertaining, almost downright cruel. Sebastian hopes that the boy is enjoying Ilvermorny.)

Truly, he has his work cut out for him.

Your giggle pulled him out of his unpleasant thoughts, “You should go shower, it’s about to be dinner time.”

He hummed, “Can I use The Room? Hate the boy’s lavatory, ‘s a mess.”

You ignore the quick turning of heads of the students nearest you, trying not to laugh at their scandalized faces, aware of how bad it sounded. Instead, you let him stand and take your hand as he bitterly shared his hypothesis that Imelda was a dark wizard planted to torment him while he led you to the familiar steps toward the Room of Requirement.

On the other side of the room, the rejected boy glared at his sniggering friends.

“You told me they weren’t courting!” he accused.

“In my defense,” his friend shrugged, giggling at the spectacular explosion in front of her very eyes. Who would’ve thought Sebastian Sallow would catch the idiot in the act. “They aren’t but everyone knows they’re ... exclusive.”

“Exclusive?”

“We warned you! I warned you!” Their other friend, the more level-headed one was exasperated. “I’m so bloody terrified of Sallow I don’t even dare to look in her direction! Do you know there are rumors of him mastering forbidden spells? It’s why he had practically spent the entire half of 6th year serving a mysterious detention service for Professor Hecate.”

His other two friend looked at him in doubt. “I thought that was because he bombarda-ed the pants out of that Ravenclaw after he was challenged to a duel –”

“Regardless! He’s dangerous!”

“But are they dating or not?”

“No one knows, okay? That’s like in the Hogwarts top 3 mysteries.” The girl snipped.

“I may know someone who might know.”

Two heads swiveled to the boy who was already staring at a regal silhouette, sitting peacefully on the couch nearest the windows and furthest from any other person in the large common room – simultaneously seeming peaceful and brooding at the same time. As if feeling their gaze on him his unseeing eyes suddenly snapped in their direction, the boys physically flinched, the girl even covering her mouth to hide a gasp as they quickly vacated their spot before they truly tested their luck with the 7th-year Head Boy.

Ominis Gaunt.

The three sighed, resigned to leave that stone unturned.

“Guess we’ll never know.”

Sebastian flustered at the pretty boxes wrapped in silk, laces, and ribbons being shoved to his face, hand rubbing the back of his neck in a mix of embarrassment and honor.

He’s mostly gotten used to the numerous attention he receives but the abrupt surge of volume between his 6th and 7th year sometimes still gives him whiplash. It’s amazing what a growth spurt can do in your social standing.

“Thank you, ladies. I really appreciate it.” He flashed them a polite smile, genuinely flattered and touched at the thoughtful presents even if they are a bit overeager.

Swoons and giggles erupted from the small crowd, so dramatic yet so entertaining.

“Excuse me, Sebastian?”

From the middle of the crowd, Blaine Marune a fellow 7th year pushed herself to the front. She was a popular girl, sought after by many of his teammates. He cocked a brow at her Slytherin shirt when she was a Gryffindor, the team Sebastian was playing against. Was she dating someone on his team?

“Can you sign my shirt?”

Gasps scattered on the ground at her bold request, especially since she stretched out her shirt so the space by her chest was extended. He had to give it to these Gryffindors, they sure do live up to their name.

“Your girlfriend wouldn’t mind, would she?”

He frowned at the implication, suddenly hating the inquisitive eyes snapping between them, clearly curious as to his status. “That’s –”

“She’s here! Look!” A voice from behind the crowd gasped.

Sebastian swiftly turned his head, barely catching your eyes just as you slipped inside the tower that held the stairs to the bleachers up above. Mindlessly, he forgot all about the little scene that was unfolding between him and the Gryffindor and turned away from his gaggle of admirers to walk to the edge of the field, jumping on his broom to fly in front of you when you seemed to take a wrong turn to the other side of the bleachers.

“Wrong direction, darling. I saved you your seat,” he grinned even as you ignored him, walking a leisure pace as he floated beside you.

“I’m not sitting next to your admirers,” She quipped, still refusing to look at him, marching with a purpose. “Darling.”

She’s jealous. Sebastian beamed, flying closer so he could reach out an arm to stop her steps.

“Don’t be like that,” his words were soft yet the grin in his face couldn’t be tamed even if he did try. “You know I like it when I can see you at all times.”

Giggles and whispers were murmured from the seated crowd behind you.

“She’s here!” “The Felix Felicis is here!” “There’s no way those Gryffindor bastards will beat us now.”

The burn in your face doubled in intensity as you tried your hardest to ignore such embarrassing remarks.

It started with a silly coincidence.

In one of Sebastian’s first games last year, you had been running late, roped in a last-minute hunt for a large Ancient Magic hotspot that had abruptly appeared on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. When you entered the Quidditch Pitch the game was in full swing. However, your entrance had caught Sebastian’s attention which coincidentally also happened to be the moment the Snitch flew straight towards you. It was one of the shortest games in Hogwart’s centuries-long history as he had gotten a hold of it inches away from your face. The team included you in their celebration by throwing the two of you in the air.

From then on, it was duly noted that Sebastian’s performance remarkably improved every time you were in attendance. It didn’t help that the one time you didn’t attend one of his inter-school practice matches they had lost by a couple of points to Durmstrang.

Imelda had damn near made you swear on an Unbreakable Vow that you would watch every single one of their games from then on.

Hence, being Sebastian Sallow’s Felix Felicis became your position and moniker throughout the entirety of Quidditch Season, and as embarrassing as it was, it would seem your usually level-headed friend had either gotten roped in the ridiculous suspicion or was enjoying your obvious mortification a bit too much as he had taken every opportunity to snatch the same damn seat that practically showcased you to the rest of the crowd and in turn ensured he would be able to see you at all times.

“Sallow! We’re about to gather!” Imelda screamed in the middle of the field.

“Give me a second!” He turned to you. “Please, pet?”

Damn him and those brown eyes.

Harshly, you grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him till he was forced to maneuver his broom sideways, face an inch from yours.

“You better not embarrass me,” you threatened, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek before turning on the opposite direction, straight to the seat that had been unofficially yours. Lucky charms get special privileges after all. “I want a photo with that trophy, Sallow.”

Sebastian hovered in the air frozen, hand on his burning skin, until a ball hit him square in the back. “Today, lover boy.”

He gave Imelda an apologetic look before calling over an underclassman.

“You there, 5th year!” The boy was quick to jump out of his seat, heart hammering in his chest at the Seeker’s sudden attention. “Call over Head Boy Gaunt and tell him to make sure no one unpleasant sits in my section.”

The boy nodded, understanding. Everyone knows Sallow’s unofficial section where all his friends from different houses sit – every single one of them as intimidating as him. If he had gotten a galleon for every time a professor mentioned one of them either in praise or in warning on what not to do, he’d rival Ominis Gaunt in wealth.

Most importantly, she would be there. The lucky charm and Sallow’s dearest companion – though jury is still out whether they had been courting all this time or not.

From what he’d seen he’d bet on them getting married by graduation even with the lack of formal courting. They didn’t seem to be the type to care for convention. He had even heard suggestive rumors that they basically sleep in the same room every night, though that has yet to be proven.

“Yes, of course, Sallow!”

Sebastian watched the boy scamper down the stairs, no doubt to relay his message to his dear friend who won’t be too pleased of his misuse of Ominis’ position.

Oh well, all’s well that ends well.

He blows you one last provocative kiss as he departs the stands before he flies up to where the rest of his teammates are positioned, ready for the game to start, pleased with the fact you would be fuming from the attention his grand performance would bring.

A jealous darling would be bad luck after all.

And he had a trophy to win.

“And the Triwizard Champion is Sebastian Sallow from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, House Slytherin!”

Green confetti and fireworks exploded all over the stadium overwhelming Sebastian as he tried to catch his breath and not let his knees buckle under his weight when all the adrenaline left his body. He belatedly realized that the cold, golden trophy had been shoved in his hands not until he was lifted by fellow schoolmates up above their arms in celebration and was staring at his own gobsmacked reflection in the shiny hardware.

More familiar faces and deafening cheers accosted him as he was brought into the section where all Hogwarts students were gathered. Only when he was put back in the ground to be showered with pats, congratulations, and splashing of fizzing butterbeer did his brain finally catch up with the rest of his body.

Immediately, his head started swiveling, looking for the face he needed to see the most, his instincts screaming at him that she was near. She has to be. She promised.

From the back of the crowds – there she was. Her beaming face, humbly waving from behind as if she wasn’t the reason he had fought so hard for this victory – that it really should be in her name and it shall, for he will lay this victory on her feet, first of his many devotion for the rest of their lives.

In haste, he shoved the trophy to the nearest body, uncaring of who was able to grab it as he pushed and shoved anyone on his way to you. The rest of the world blurred. He cared not for the gasps, shrieks, or protests – not when he saw the beam in your smile as you jumped into his arms – the golden ring that was hanging off a simple chain on your neck clanged with the similar one hanging off his own when you jumped into his arms.

The wedding rings he had prepared, ready for the day the two of you turned into adults in the eyes of the law and were permitted to be married. It would be for mere formality, his heart after all had been tied to yours the moment your eyes met.

“I’m so proud of you.”

He’s never felt satisfaction as fulfilling as this moment.

Finally, he has earned it – has earned the right to say it.

“I love you.”

This love was finally his.

The papers were printed in a few days. Bold letters with a bolder headline:

Triwizard Champion and Hero of Hogwarts Secretly Betrothed!?

Right below such an accusatory headline was the photo of the two of you framed almost too perfectly in a café’s window, Sebastian pressing a kiss in the unmistakable diamond ring he had bought with his winnings while you beamed at him.

It has not been a kept secret that many noble families have vied and proposed for the heavy hand of the Hero but all were rebuffed. All but one. Sebastian Sallow, a promising orphan from a fallen house seemed to have Championed the heart of the lady just as he had conquered the challenges of the Triwizard Trials. As remarkable as it is, his distinct lack of proper lineage, colorful history of delinquency, and the whispers of his preference for obscure magic would truly prove to be a challenge he might not be able to slay quite as easily, especially for a bride as coveted as –

“I am going to fucking kill that wench!”

You slammed the newspaper on the table, making Grace choke on her tea just as Ominis winced at your colorful choice of words, quickly conjuring up a silencing charm around your table lest you make it harder for his lawyers if you actually do deliver the threat.

“I know you’re upset –”

You glare at Grace. Upset barely covers it.

Finding that you have not insulted it enough you crumble the bundle of paper in your hand, even going as far as to grab two that a couple of fourth years were reading before throwing them to the fire in a huff, screaming an Incendio on the fireplace just for the satisfaction of seeing it all turn into soot in a blink.

Ominis quickly sends an owl.

She should still be in Hogsmeade, your mind runs. You’ve heard that the unpleasant reporter had made a home in one of the apartments in Hogsmeade once the Tournament started.

It should be easy, you try to suppress your maniacal grin as you turn, marching straight into the stairs that should lead you to the nearest floo, ignoring how quickly the other students parted for you as your head ran all types of scenarios on how you can absolutely gut that waste of space. She had unfairly targeted Sebastian from the start of the games, pointing out flaws on his runs even when he had won the stage, cruelly bringing up his 'upbringing' in Feldcroft, and even bringing up how he wouldn't be able to give it his all while still grieving his twin sister and should be replaced.

That fucking wench.

You’ve had enough practice breaking and entering through the many locks in Hogsmeade to be able to sneak into her abode. A simple hex would be child’s play, maybe you should curse her to lose one finger every time she writes a bad word against your beloved or maybe a limb or you should just do the wizarding world another favor and make her illiterate.

Once you were on the grounds you summoned your broom.

The punishment should fit the crime.

“Levioso.”

Before you could fly you found yourself already levitating up the air, from below Sebastian was way too pleased at your shrieks and foul mood.

“Let me down, Sebastian!” you kicked.

“I would but I would rather we not spend our lives running away from the ministry if you kill that journalist, my love.”

So, he has read it. The fact that he was able to see those vile words made your blood boil harder. Sensing your temper and the fact that you were about to break out of his spell he plays dirty.

“Accio.”

You shriek at the speed but the comfort of his arms was almost enough to quell the itch in your hands to curse that bloody witch into a pulp.

Almost.

He tightens his hug, playfully pulling you off the ground with a grunt and swaying the two of you gently. “Still upset?”

You push your blunt nails on his back and he chuckles. “It doesn’t bother me, you know.”

“It should!” you snap, a blast of your ancient magic smashing a statue to pieces that he quickly fixes with a ‘repairo’ without so much as a glance at the shrieking fifth years that had nearly gotten blasted with it. “It bothers me.”

That they think so lowly of him – him! A man worth ten –  if not hundreds – of those pompous pricks from noble houses who offers nothing but their ‘pure’ blood and rotting riches like it was enough, like it could buy your heart and pride.

If they knew –

If they knew it was him who cleaned your blood and licked the jagged wounds in your spirit in the quiet of your lowest nights, that it was this boy who pulled out the rubble of a girl after the war – carefully piecing it together until you felt like a person and not a hollow husk filled only by nightmares, that it was this lowly orphan they sneer at who had become your chain to your sanity – your family.

Would they still look down at him if they knew it was only his kindness, and his love, and him who stopped you from giving up on them? That if someone as beautiful as him could exist in the wizarding world then it was a world worth saving.

Sebastian frowns at your upset. Ominis had grossly underestimated how the article had affected you, he would be touched if he wasn't so angry.

“It shouldn’t,” he gently carries you like a bride – his bride – under the largest tree by the Beasts Class classroom, away from the prying eyes of a crowd, overlooking the lake. The songs of the breeze and birds were the perfect soothing balm along with his soft coos. “They can write about me all they want at the end of the day it is me who is coming home with you.”

He’s sure you’re aware that his overly sweet words are all to calm you down but you fall for it anyway, smiling on the skin of his neck. “I should have her tongue.”

He shushes you, pressing his fingers on your waist till it tickled, he smiles on your hair when you slap his shoulder. “Don’t you think you’ve terrified the freshmen enough with that mouth of yours.”

It doesn’t escape you that the other students have transferred their fear of Sebastian’s murky past to your present wicker-short temper. You are aware that it is only because of your impeccable grades, immeasurable talent and a sprinkle of Fig’s legacy that the headmaster has not suspended or expelled you for your insolence.

His palms run a soothing patten on your spine, letting you continue to bury your head on the crook of his neck to lull you into a calm.

You suddenly pull yourself away, looking straight at him. “Are you sure you don’t care? I promise I won’t get caught.”

He chuckles at that, pressing a kiss on the crown of your head before leaning back on the trunk of the tree, pulling you closer to him.

“Don’t worry,” he smiled. “As long as you still plan on marrying me nothing will ever bother me at all.”

“I reckon she's calmed down?”

Sebastian doesn’t bother to mask his stormy expression now that you have fallen into a nap, sparing Ominis a glance as he sits on one of the empty wooden crates.

“I was sure I’d catch the two of you digging up a shallow grave by now.”

Sebastian glances down at you, shaking his head. “Haven't you heard? I’m a changed man.”

Ominis chuckles at that. “Well, their vile words shouldn’t matter anyhow,” Ominis sighs, grateful at least that this betrothal had managed to calm at least one of his dearest friends down. “She’s yours now.”

The boy’s words made Sebastian think.

Think back to the first time he met you: the curiosity, the anticipation, the instant tug on his soul the first time your voice had pulled him out of his own head and you stood in front of him while the growing foreboding feeling that meeting in that room, in front of the fire was meant to be, bloomed in his chest.

He was young enough not to recognize love for what it was but not stupid enough to not act upon it. Monopolizing you and your attention, wrapping his being around you until people could no longer separate the two of you as individuals, guarding his precious hoard ferociously from wolves and thieves until he grew into the man who could claim it.

She’s yours now.

When he really, really, thinks about it, it almost makes him laugh. He always thought he'd lead a simple life. Get a decent job, marry a modest girl, and settle down into a humble life. Grand delusions weren't for him, that was more Anne's forte and he wasn't destined for a greater purpose, that was for Ominis.

And he was satisfied with that, honestly and truly thankful for it. He thrived in the shadows, after all.

But he met you and damned himself by falling in love with the one person he shouldn't have -- the one person he could never deserve even if he lived the rest of his life as a saint.

He loved a grand adventure personified and in a lickety-split threw away all of his dreams of a quiet life -- jumping straight into a den of goblins and trolls and certain death. Hit the ground running in a race between bachelors to get to you, to earn the honor of deserving your love. And even mercilessly overwhelmed any contender to your hand until it was uncontested that it was only him who could stand beside you.

It was only he who earned it.

She’s yours now.

In quiet moments he sometimes couldn't quite believe just what happened to his life in two years.

Because he never thought he'd fall in love with a brilliant witch vied by the world or that, out of all hands stretched out to her, she would hold his, that she would love him back.

She’s yours now.

Sebastian would beg to disagree.

It was fate. (He made it so.)

It was written. (He rewrote it.)

She’s always been mine.

[dollfacefantasy]

CRY IF I WANT TO ♡

pairing: negan x fem!reader

summary: life has been different since you've been taken to the sanctuary. you're not sure how you fit in here. some may call you one of the wives, but you don't think that's accurate. maybe his pet? his doll? as the days pass, you're not sure it really matters. the distinction doesn't get you any closer to escape.

cw: nsfw (18+), dark fic, smut, dubcon, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), kidnapping/captivity, stockholm syndrome, coercion, forced ddlg/daddy kink, humiliation kink, dacryphilia, violence (from negan, simon, and reader), hurt/comfort sorta

wc: 10.9k (oops lol)

a/n: ermmm... hehe yeah. i've been wanting to write this so i hope someone likes it. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3

kinktober slot: day 13 - mindbreak (i think)

"Rise and shine, little lady. We got a lot of things to do today."

Your eyes flutter open, the bright light from the window in front of you broken up by the silhouette of the man at your bedside. The sight of him, even just the outline of his body, sends a nauseating crackle of dread through your bones. It's a feeling you can't verbalize of course - not if you want this day to resemble any sort of pleasant.

"There she is," Negan says, speaking with his signature cadence that made you want to rip out your hair, "How'd you sleep, babydoll?"

"Fine," you rasp as you slowly sit up. The mornings were the only time you could get away with dull answers like that. Any small bit of attitude could be blamed on you being 'cranky' rather than feelings of hatred that hadn't been broken down by this point.

He smiles at you, his rough hand cupping your jaw.

"You're so pretty in the mornings," he mumbles, sweeping a thumb over your pouty bottom lip.

You pause for a second, but so does he. Like he expects a reply. Unfortunately, you know the words he wants to hear. Swallowing the last sliver of dignity you have, you force out the response you'd been trained to say over the last however-long.

"Thank you, daddy."

He grins even wider if that's possible and pats your head. "You're welcome. Now let's get you dressed. Like I said, daddy's got a lot to do today."

You get out of bed and follow him over to the dresser that held your outfit for the day. The chill of cold air bites at your legs as the lack of blankets leaves them exposed. The generator had been out for the past day or so, leaving the Sanctuary victim to the harsh Winter raging outside. You were hoping he'd take that into account when picking your clothes, but you didn't hold out too much hope.

The two of you shuffle around the gray furniture of Negan's room. Even though you'd been in here more times than you could count now, you still marveled at the quality of the chairs and sofa. Items like these seemed luxurious with how the world was outside these walls.

When you reach the dresser, you follow the routine you'd become used to. You peel the small shirt you're permitted to sleep in off and drop it in the basket nearby. Your panties are next to go. You pull the dainty garment down and toss it to the same place as your top.

You can feel his eyes on you with every move you make. They watch how your breasts bounce when freed from their confines. They admire the curve of your ass when you bend over. They glimmer with smug satisfaction as you stand there nude before him.

"I'll tell you what. I never get sick of seeing this," he teases.

You offer a weak smile in return. The lack of energy almost seems to please him more.

He walks around to stand behind you, giving you a light pat on the ass as he does. His hands land on your hips first and then slide up to cup your breasts. He pulls you back, positioning you flush against his chest.

"You know I'd keep you like this all the time if I could," he murmurs in your ear, "Sweet and ready for me. Ripe for the pickin' whenever I felt the need."

The deep, gravelly rumble of it seems to trigger a flicker of heat in your lower belly on instinct, and you despise yourself for it. Shame burns so hot in your heart, it threatens to take the nausea you felt earlier into a full on dry heave. You're glad there's not a mirror in front of you. It's easier to keep a docile look plastered on your face when you don't have to stare yourself in the eyes.

The rough pads of his fingertips pinch and tweak your nipples, causing you to squirm a bit where you're standing, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of a noise. You can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your neck.

You choose not to say anything to his last statement. There's no guarantee that he hasn't actually considered that, and you don't want to find out. Displaying you in that way in front of everyone doesn't seem like his style, but back when he had you lined up on your knees with the rest of your group, you wouldn't have imagined yourself ever calling him daddy either.

As you'd quickly learned in regards to most things around here, the risk just isn't worth it.

"I'd never do that to you though. Don't think anyone could keep their hands off if they saw all of you, and I just can't have that," he whispers, calming your fears for you. He pulls his hands away from your breasts and steps back to grab the pieces he'd be putting you in today.

He starts with panties. This pair is pink and ruffly just like the last. You step into it with rehearsed timing. One foot then the next. He slides them up to your hips and lets the elastic snap into place against your skin.

You had no clue where he got this shit. You didn't want to believe that his hold on his men was so strong that they'd waste an entire supply run raiding a Victoria's Secret, especially for women they never even got to touch.

It wasn't worth thinking about though. It's not like discovering the origins would spare you from wearing the damn things every day.

Next, Negan shakes the wrinkles out of your dress. You step into that too, just like you did with the underwear. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the garment.

It's just as humiliating as all the rest he makes you wear. The fabric is bright white and baby pink. Like everything else, you have no idea how it was kept so pristine. The waist is accentuated with a pretty pink ribbon wrapped around it, tied into a large bow at the front. It's extra tight up top and melts into a puffy skirt down below.

He shimmies it over your body and yanks the zipper up in back. The dress conforms to the shape of your figure, leaving little to the imagination in terms of how much the neckline shows and how high the hem of the skirt sits.

Spinning you around, he whistles when he gets the full picture.

"Good God Almighty. Pretty as a picture," he praises, reaching out to pinch your cheek.

Again, you force yourself to smile.

He'd already dressed himself for the day before getting you up, so the rest of the time before you leave the room is spent working through the remnants of your morning routine. He takes you into the bathroom connected to his room to brush your teeth and do your hair.

"Say ah, sweetheart," he smirks before jamming the brush into your mouth.

He's not careful or attentive. He only does it long enough to let the weight of humiliation settle in your stomach. It's always obvious when it kicks in. You get this look on your face like that of an abandoned puppy. Only then does he let you spit and move on to the next task.

He styles your hair into something cute, though you hate it anyway. Like the dress, it's only intended to make you stick out. To draw attention to your status as his possession.

The last thing he does is put your socks and shoes on. Your feet get covered in a pair of frilly ankle socks before he slips a pair of chunky sneakers on you. At least if this place got overrun and you had to bolt, you wouldn't be totally fucked.

"You ready to go, honey?" he asks you when the first part of your torture has finally come to a conclusion.

Again, you nod while looking up at him.

He grins at you. "You're quiet today," he says.

"Sorry, daddy," you respond. The way he said it sounded like teasing, but you could never be too careful.

"Don't be. I like it," he says.

You don't know how he does it, how he deflates you so easily without even trying.

He turns and grabs that stupid bat he carries everywhere, swinging it to his side before facing you again and sticking out his hand.

"Got my two favorite girls, now we're really ready to go," he says. He gestures with his fingers. A small impatient reminder. "You know the rules."

Of course you know what he's referring to. Always hold daddy's hand when you leave the bedroom. One of the rules he'd prattled off to you when he first brought you here.

You reach out and take his outstretched hand, earning a kiss to your head.

The way he'd been holding his arm caused the leather sleeve of his jacket to ride up a bit. Beneath the stiff fabric, you could see the fading scar you'd given him around the same time you'd been informed of the rules. Two crescent shaped marks in the pattern of your teeth.

You can barely stand to look at it now. All it does is bring back memories of when you still held hope for escape or rescue. Back then, you'd thought it'd only be a matter of days until Rick or Michonne burst into the small bedroom they were keeping you in.

The day you'd sunk your teeth into him, he'd just finished giving you one of his speeches about your new life at the Sanctuary. According to him, you'd be so much happier here. Sure you couldn't see your family, but now you had someone better than them. You had him. And he would spoil and take care of a pretty thing like you in the way you deserved. Show off to the rest of your old group how generous he could be.

He'd reached forward to pinch your cheek just like he'd done earlier today. You wanted to smack him away, but he had your hands bound. So you did the next thing you could think of and bit him. Hard.

His eyes burned with fury you hadn't seen since. You can still hear in your mind the way he yelled, shouting "Goddamn it" so loud that the walkers out at the fence probably heard.

After that was a bit hazy. He'd snatched that limb away from you before bringing it back and striking you hard across the cheek. You'd nearly fallen off the bed from the force.

"You little bitch, you try some shit like that again, and I'll knock your fucking jaw loose," he growled before yanking you up right and forcing you to look at him.

Involuntary tears leaked from your eyes as you glared up at his face. Blood oozed from the stinging wound you could feel inside your mouth.

That cut had healed by now though.

You squeeze his hand harder while walking down the hall out of his room. Even though it was the hand that struck you, it was the only thing you had to hold onto now. 

Your brain tries to compartmentalize him nowadays. There's Negan, and there's daddy. Negan is the one who gets mean. Negan is the one who yells. Negan is the one who killed your friends. Daddy is the one who cares for you. He keeps you safe and healthy. He'd never hurt you like that. You didn't think you'd survive with a shred of sanity without that distinction.

He feels your little grip and squeezes your hand in return. That's what daddy does.

You stay close to his side as he guides you on the walkway that looks down on the commotion of the main room. Even after what you guessed had been a couple months, if not more, you still didn't like this place. Everything was so transactional. No one cared about each other. It was all about what everyone had to offer. That was by design of course, but it didn't make you any less critical of it.

Your eyes scan the clusters of people below. Although you weren't allowed to socialize on your own, you were starting to get a grasp on the cliques here. Negan's closest advisors all seemed to amalgamate in one area, spare the guy with the burnt face. The table closest to the window was where most of the soldiers ate while the one by the door seated the workers.

You weren't completely sure what class you fit into here.

The most obvious guess would be the group you're about to encounter, Negan's wives. But there are stark differences between you and them that prevent you from feeling camaraderie.

The two of you approach the room where he keeps this group of women. He maintains a tight grip on your hand as you slip through the doors. The disparities between you and the others become obvious as soon as you're within a few feet of them.

All of these women get to dress in black. They stand tall in heels, have earrings dangling next to their faces, and for some, a red tint painting their lips. All of them get to openly glare at him. They don't have to hide their hatred behind a feigned smile or soft laugh.

You know it isn't right to be jealous of them. They're suffering too. This isn't a happy situation for them either. But god, you can't help it. Envy nearly sears a hole through your heart every time you come into this room. What you wouldn't give to be one of them. To be allowed to drink and talk with other people. To not be under the constant threat of punishment.

Despite all these thoughts swirling through your head, you manage to keep your mask on. A simple, thoughtless look on your features as you stand next to him like an oversized accessory.

He looks down at you before dropping your hand.

"Stay right here for me, sweet thing. Daddy's only gonna take a minute," he says.

He stalks off to the back corner of the room with a woman you'd come to learn is named Sherry. They speak in hushed tones, so you can't make out what they're saying. You figure it's about one of the girls sneaking around with some other guy. That's what it's usually about when he makes a stop here with you in tow. Even with their status elevated above yours, they don't get to escape the wrath of his possessiveness.

You stand there awkwardly, arms crossed over your midsection while your weight shifts between your feet. No one tries to talk to you. You can feel their eyes on your pastel form, but their gazes don't hold curiosity or interest. It's pity.

In the beginning, you thought they were looking at you with jealousy. After all, you got your own cell and then graduated to Negan's bedroom while they had to share amenities.

But they weren't naive like you had been. None of them wanted Negan's attention. They didn't want to be his pet or his dolly or whatever the fuck he would classify you as. They had each other, and they got to share the load between all of them.

You sigh quietly and look down at the sparkly trim of your white sneakers.

He finishes his conversation with Sherry and then migrates across the room towards a blonde, crying girl. They speak at the same volume as him and Sherry. It's not worth trying to eavesdrop on.

Instead, you patiently wait the couple minutes it takes for them to finish up and for him to return to you. When he walks back over, you can tell the discussion hadn't been a positive one. His shoulders seem weighed down by whatever information he'd gathered from them.

But the dark cloud above him fades away as his hand slips back into yours. He leads you out of the room just as you'd come in and continues walking with you.

You hesitate but decide to try. "Are you ok?" you ask softly.

His head turns slightly to cast you a look. For a moment, it seems the daddy act has fallen away. He looks at you like he would any other woman who asked him that. Cold. Analytical. But the persona makes its reappearance seconds later as he pulls on a smirk for you.

"Just fine, honey. You don't gotta worry about me," he answers.

You know you should just nod and shut up, but it drives you crazy being led around like a child expected to be seen and not heard. So you decide to try again.

"Did they do something bad?" you ask. You hate how weak your voice comes out. There's no spark to it, no bite or sharp edge. All of that, he'd extinguished in you.

He drops your hand and drapes his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to his side.

"What are you so curious for, huh? You know something about it?" he responds.

You shake your head. Your arm rises and wraps around his torso.

"No. I just don't like when you're upset," you say. You lean your head into his chest to really sell it.

"Oh-ho, look at you. Turning on the charm," he chuckles, "I am just fine, sugar. I swear it. Sometimes those girls give me trouble, but it's nothing I can't handle."

You decide to just take it and nod this time. 

He looks at you with satisfaction. "They can't all be like you, y'know? So well-behaved," he praises.

The compliment makes your blood curdle. You couldn't stand that he would act like obedience was your defining trait.

When you were with your group - your family more like -  you would never have been described as obedient. Whether at the prison or Alexandria, it felt like every other day you were sneaking off to try something. You were always quick to spring into action, never the type to let someone belittle you. Rick got on your ass about deviating from plans in spurs of emotion more than anyone else. Maybe that's how you wound up here.

You had tried to stop them from taking Daryl. On that dark night in the woods, surrounded by the ring of headlights, you had tried. You didn't rush at Negan like your friend. Not wanting someone else to get their head bashed in, you were more subtle than that. But you attempted to get in the way of the guys carting him off. That's what landed you here. Tucked under his arm, the very weapon that took away two people you love swinging a foot away from you.

But you swallow down all of this rage and nod again. You nuzzle into his chest, a way to conceal the tightening sensation in your throat and the sting of tears at your waterline.

This is the worst part about Negan, you decide. The way he makes you act like you want it.

From your first day here, he made sure to tell you over and over how he's staunchly against rape. He's not a monster. He's not that kind of guy. No, no. You are a prisoner, so yes, technically here against your will, but never in a million years would he violate you in that way.

And he'd stuck true to that. Whenever you screamed or cried or yelled "no" on a loop until he shook you around like a bobble head, he always backed off of his advances. He never copped a feel or slid a wandering hand in your panties while you slept, never held you down or physically forced himself on you.

Instead, he broke you down until saying yes seemed like the only sane option.

You didn't want his affection? That meant you must not want to talk to anyone at all. For days. You didn't want to sit in his lap? Maybe you'd prefer kneeling by his feet for a week, in private and around everyone else. You didn't want to sleep in his bed? Fine. You could sleep on the concrete floor without a pillow or blanket while the heat was out.

You reflect on all of this as the two of you trot through the boxy halls. He takes you around on all his errands for the day. You stop by the doctor's office, inventory, and Dwight's room. All over the place. You stay quiet the whole time. busying yourself with your thoughts as you stay attached to him.

Everyday the line between survival and free will becomes blurrier. You tell yourself that you have to be like this with him. You'll be worse off if you don't act the part of the sweet, adoring girl he wants. But then sometimes you wonder if you truly are becoming obedient. Like a wildcat tamed into a lazy house pet. You almost never resist his touch anymore. You even go to him for comfort sometimes.

The idea kills you, so you deem it best not to think about for now.

Rather, you focus on guessing what the rest of the day would hold. It's already the afternoon by now. The sun hangs low by the tree line, shimmering into the Sanctuary through the rectangular windows across the walls. He wouldn't have a meeting with the lieutenants today. Those were almost always around lunch time. You didn't think he'd spend it with one of his wives either. If that was the case, he usually gave you a heads up in the morning.

The most likely possibility you come up with is the dilemma from earlier. You had never been invited to see the culmination of those though. Normally, he kept you safe and sound in his room while he tended to matters like that, ready to provide him some stress relief when he finished.

But things can always change, and now it seems like that's the case.

He guides you back into the main room. A crowd has gathered down below. You can't see the center point of their conglomeration. All you can sense are the nerves vibrating between everyone.

Their feet shuffle around on the hard concrete flooring. They look between each other with anxious eyes. Hushed chatter clouds the area until you and Negan begin to descend the stairs. That's when they all go quiet. Mouths close and pupils snap to the position of their leader.

You look down to lessen the ache of humiliation that came with accompanying the center of attention. The few times you had scanned the crowd for others' reactions, seeing if you could find a sympathetic gaze or outraged expression, all you found was animosity. The male workers and soldiers leered at you. They smiled and smirked, visibly amused by your girly outfits and docile disposition. On the other side of the aisle, the women glared, taking in the details of your appearance with disgust, like somehow it was your fault you got toted around like this.

His voice booms out to his audience as he takes step after step towards them.

"You all know what we're here for today," he starts, "We got simple rules 'round here, but some people still seem to have trouble following 'em."

Your hand stays linked with his as the two of you reach the landing.

"Watch your step, babydoll," he murmurs to you before continuing his speech. Your cheeks burn with shame.

"It feels like I'm doing this every other month. It's getting ridiculous," he lectures, "I don't like having to be so harsh. Truly, I don't. But rules are rules, and I don't know how I can make myself any clearer. They are not optional."

He walks further into the room with you. Being level with everyone else, you can see more of what's happening. They're gathered around a furnace. Dwight stands near the opening to the flames, clearly preparing something. Another man sits a few feet away. Over in the corner, the woman from earlier is looking at him and crying.

Looks like your guess was correct.

"So we're gonna do this again. Hopefully it's the last time," he concludes.

The crowd parts as you and him head towards the center of the room. He leads you over to an empty spot near the wall. Dropping your hand, he cups your jaw and makes you look him in the eyes.

"Stay right here for me. Daddy'll be right back," he says.

You nod and then watch as he turns away, waltzing over to where Dwight stands.

While your eyes are up, they can't help but catch on somebody familiar standing at the front of the crowd.

Daryl.

Your heart stutters, and you can see on his face that his does too. He looks worn down. Eyes dimmed and face hollowed. His clothes, dirty and ill-fitting. You start to feel tears pricking at your waterline from the sight. You weren't the only one they'd broken down.

In him, you find the compassion you'd been searching for. The look that told you at least one person here didn't take enjoyment from your suffering. But it comes from someone who truly can't help you. Who's in a situation as bad as your own.

You sniffle and try to wipe away any beginning tears before Negan or someone who would tell him notices.

The loud creak of a metal door opening drags your attention to the furnace though. You watch as Dwight pulls out the item he'd been preparing. A burning, metal iron becomes the new focus of everyone in the room.

Upon seeing the small object, so many things connect in your head. You know what's going to happen. You realize why Dwight's face is scarred. You understand why that woman is crying. And you know no one is going to stop any of this now or in the future.

Your heart pounds harder, and your breaths become shaky. Tears blur your vision further. You dig your nails into your palm to try and ground yourself, but it doesn't help. The scene in front of you has whipped your mind into a frenzy. You haven't felt this bad since the early weeks of being in this place.

This stupid fucking place. You hate it. You hate how cruel it is here. How disconnected and lifeless everything feels. You hate him for being the only one allowed to really live. You hate everyone else here for letting him get this powerful.

It's a complete spiral whirlpooling in your mind, only made worse by the fact that you have to keep it contained. You try to tell yourself you just have to wait it out. This couldn't take more than five minutes and then you could go back to the bedroom. You'd be ok. You could take off this itchy dress and put your hair back to how you like it. You could kick off these shoes and hide yourself beneath the warm blankets. None of these people would be around, all you'd have is the quiet between those walls where daddy could make it all better.

As you're in the process of mentally talking yourself down, Negan takes hold of the iron. To free up his hands, he offers Lucille off to someone nearby. Your eyes follow his leather-clad limb to the neck of the bat and then up to its new handler. You see Simon.

You have to look down now. If you don't, everyone here will see the look of pure terror on your face. You close your eyes and rein in whimpers that threaten to spill from your lips. Everything feels fuzzy around you, intangible and like your hands would drift right through them. Your head heats up, the sensation making you dizzy. You try to steady yourself by leaning back against the wall, but the cool, flat surface does little to ease your nerves.

It does even less when you hear his voice closing in on you.

"Hey there, princess," he starts, voice laced with mockery, "You feeling alright?"

You're not looking at him, but the image of his stupid face projects with HD clarity in your mind. You swallow hard and nod.

Laughing lowly, he comes to stand beside you. "You sure about that? You're looking kind of lightheaded," he taunts.

"I'm fine," you choke out.

His hand darts up and grabs your jaw. He doesn't gently guide your eyes where he wants them to look. He yanks your face in his direction like an unruly child with a doll.

"I don't know about that. You're looking kind of rough," he says while glaring down at you with those ruthless eyes, "Maybe I should take you over to the doctor's. We both know Negan wants his favorite toy kept in good condition."

Your entire body vibrates with hatred for this creature. Every breath you take acts as an effort of restraint, a way to lull yourself into not ripping out what hair he has left.

You didn't just despise Simon because he's an asshole or because he was the person harassing your group leading up to that horrible night you were taken. Your aversion for him stems from experiences entirely your own.

A few days after the biting incident, you had tried getting physical with Negan one more time. You'd managed to worm one of your wrists out of your restraints, and instead of aiming for escape, you decided revenge held a higher priority. You waited for him to come check on you, keeping your arm tucked to your body as if it was still bound.

When he finally came in, you sat there and took the speech, took the condescension, and took the promises that you would conform. And then he leaned a bit closer. That's when you backhanded him as hard as he had you the few days prior.

After the hit landed, you lunged forward and tried to wrap the rope connected to you around his neck. You pulled as hard as you could, and for a moment, you thought you had won.

But wrangling you off was easier than you anticipated. They hadn't been allowing you much food or sleep, so the strike took most of your energy. It only took him a handful of seconds to snake his hand under the rope and then pry your arms away.

He stood up and slammed you into the wall with his hand around your throat. In that moment, he didn't look at you with the same fury he had before. This time around, frustration dominated his gaze.

"Was that fun for you?" he asked.

You didn't answer. Your chest puffed with exertion while your eyes stared daggers into him.

"What did I tell you last time? What did I fucking tell you?" he asked. Despite the look in his eye being less volatile, his tone of voice was dangerous as ever. "I told you I would knock that jaw of yours loose. That's what I said, and I meant it. I don't want you thinking I didn't. But I'm not gonna do that right now because I don't think it would work, and I'm not one to waste my own time."

Internally, pride swelled in your chest, thinking you had called his bluff. But then he kept speaking.

"I have a bad feeling that if I struck some sense into you that you'd just try to strike it into me right back, and I can't have that. That's just not gonna fly around here," he said, "So I'll tell you what: I have a better idea. You don't wanna play with daddy? Then you can spend a weekend with your Uncle Simon. See how much fun he can be."

Back then, you didn't know Simon as the right hand man. You didn't have his name and face connected yet. Now, you wished you could go back to that state of mind.

You were with him for three days while Negan did a tour of the outposts and subjugated communities. Only 72 hours. But an hour of him would have been enough to scare you for a lifetime.

When he first came into the room, you didn't get the feeling that him and Negan would handle you so differently. You could tell from the way he looked at you that, like his boss, he looked at you as something to toy with. A source of amusement. The difference, you soon found out, was how they played with their toys.

Unlike daddy, Simon didn't talk just to talk. He didn't warn you of future spankings or timeouts. He hit. And he kicked. And he shoved you down and tossed you around. He didn't offer the same condolences daddy did, there was no "this hurts me more than it hurts you." Nothing he did even bothered Simon. He watched you hurt, and he enjoyed it.

You didn't even get a reward once you'd settled down. Your attitude had disappeared almost instantly. Having the wind knocked out of you once was enough for you to become more amicable, but your change in demeanor didn't phase him. It wasn't his goal.

The only rules Negan left him with were the basic ones for the Sanctuary along with no killing you or causing permanent damage. But that didn't mean he couldn't threaten you with breaking them. He went on and on during the down periods where you cowered in the corner or huddled against the wall of your bedroom cell, telling you stories of how he went rogue before. Any horrible thing he could think of, he dangled in front of you as a potential fate.

When Negan finally came back, you eagerly awaited him. Despite your sleep deprived and bruised condition, your eyes stayed locked on the door like a puppy expecting their master. For the next week, you latched onto him. Didn't want to leave his side. He had made his point. You could hate him as much as you wanted but leave you alone with Simon for a little while, and you'd beg for him back.

That's how you feel right now, staring up into Simon's eyes while he holds your jaw. The pressure his fingers put on your cheeks serve as a reminder of the pain he can inflict while his other hand holding the bat twirls the weapon near your calf. As much as you had been internally preaching your hatred for everything to do with Negan minutes ago, all you want to do now is run into his arms.

You feel more tears wanting to slip down your cheeks, but you try your best to hold them in. The more you cry, the more I like it. That's what he'd told you more than once over those three days.

"Just leave me alone," you tell him. You try to sound as firm as possible, but even your own ears catch the way your voice quivers. "Negan wouldn't like you talking over him."

Your attempt at taking a stand falls flat. He doesn't back off any, rather, he leans in closer.

"Negan, huh? Are you even allowed to call him that?" he mocks and feigns a pout. 

"Just shut up!" you say. You mean it as a threat; though, it hits his ears like a plea. More hot panic rushes down your spine from the stress of having to remain quiet while also trying to be assertive.

His lips flatten into a line before he continues speaking. "Your head's getting too big for those shoulders, little girl. You better watch your attitude, or I might have to suggest you're due for some more correction," he mutters.

A loud scream rips the two of you from your conversation. He drops his hand from your face, and you both straighten up against the wall. Negan stands in the center of the room, pressing the blazing iron to the side of the man's face.

He wails until he passes out, and that's when his leader peels away the device of torture. Sticky skin goes with it before snapping back against his face like a rubber band. You grimace, your stomach twisting at the sight. You'd seen so much blood and guts over the years of living out on the road and fighting with other groups, but melted skin was a new one.

Negan turns to Dwight and gives him the iron back. You breathe an involuntary sigh of relief, subconsciously soothed by the thought of him returning to your side.

The reprieve ends suddenly though when a small, sharp pain slices along the meat of your calf. You whimper and lift your leg away on instinct. Looking for the source, you see the bat twirling from the motion of Simon's wrist. One of the barbs had caught your skin. Your eyes flit up to him.

"Watch out!" you say. The old you would have been seething. She would have pulled out her pocket knife and given him a little receipt for the cut. But now, you watch him with fearful eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you would get in trouble for calling him an asshole.

"Remember what I said," he tells you quietly as a trickle of red runs down to the lacy frills of your sock.

Before you can respond, a warm hand lands on the small of your back. Your head turns to find Negan smiling down at you.

"What's with the long face, sugar? Simon bothering you?" he asks, clearly not meaning it seriously even though to you it is exactly that.

You part your lips to answer, but Simon beats you to it.

"Bothering her? C'mon. I'm just checking up on her. She looked a little dizzy, so I offered to take her to the doctor's," he says, light as ever, "I'm just watching out for her, y'know? Sweet thing like her will get eaten alive here if she's not careful."

Negan raises his eyebrows, and for a second, you think he's about to take your side. But then he just chuckles and shakes his head. 

"She's doing just fine. That was her first time seeing one of those, so she's probably a little shaken up," he says, rubbing your arm.

"Hm... Sounds about right," Simon replies, "I know that's not how her little group did things."

"Yeah. So I'll get her back to the room. Think you can handle shit down here?" he says, gesturing around to the dispersing crowd.

"Always," Simon says with a mock salute. He then hands Lucille back.

Finally, you find some relief, some true sanctuary as Simon walks away. Your body physically relaxes. Negan feels it underneath his arm and spares you a glance as the two of you walk back up the stairs.

"Is something wrong?" he asks.

You want to just take the easy route and say no, to play along with this sadistic charade and not cause any trouble. But you can't get the single syllable out. It feels impossible to even shake your head. Even though Simon's gone, the weight of everything that happened still remains along with the stinging in your leg.

Your throat feels tight, and your eyes feel like they're two seconds from overflowing. The lights suddenly seem too bright, and everyone here is too loud. You can't show him that though. You don't want more correction. You don't want someone to like it when you cry. But you can't ignore him either. That would be the worst thing to do.

All you manage in response is a shaky shrug. You let out a broken sigh with it and lean into his chest. The tension in your shoulders returns as you fight to keep the tears from leaking out against the worn leather.

At first, he doesn't say anything, and the two of you keep walking. Your steps remain in time with his as you traverse the walkway and around the corner. Then the two of you come to a stop when you're out of sight. He turns you by your shoulders, holding you in front of him so that you can't shy away.

"I got one more thing to attend to out by the fence. Think you can handle that?" he asks.

Your heart pulses to an uneven rhythm, trying to decide what to do without devolving into pure panic. You bite your lip as you mull your options over. Say yes and go with him. Then inevitably fail to contain yourself and get in trouble. Or, say no now and risk punishment for being defiant. You're not sure which one will end up worse.

"Can... can we just go back to the room?" you ask. Your voice comes out weak as if every word siphons a drop of energy from you.

He eyes you with uncertainty of his own; though, there's no fear in his look. His gaze is careful, an attempt to decipher if this is some kind of deception. You'd been pretty well-behaved as of late, but one bad day could take even the most obedient pet to a rabid dog, jaws primed to gnash.

But you didn't really have a reason to lie. The bedroom with him would provide the least likely chance at escape, and in the condition you were in now, you didn't seem to be planning an attack.

Slowly, he nods. "Sure, honey. I'll have Arat handle the other shit," he tells you before leading you in the direction of his bedroom.

The words he mumbles through his radio sound distant to you. You watch your legs switch between one and the other as you walk. On your right, you see the small red splotch staining the pristine cloth of your sock.

Before you know it, he's pushing open the bedroom door and bringing you inside. It then closes behind you, creating a barrier between you and everything else out there. It gets a little easier to breathe.

He guides you the few steps over to the edge of the bed and sits down, pulling you onto his lap. You feel his eyes scanning over you in an attempt to figure out the problem without asking. His hand rubs up and down your back over the crinkly fabric of your dress. His other palm focuses on your legs, coasting over your knees and the area of your thighs the skirt doesn't cover.

The code is harder for him to crack than usual. Normally when you got upset, it resulted from something he said. And he knows that because, usually, that's his intention. It was always either that or you'd just generally be feeling down, missing your home. But that doesn't seem to be the case right now. You seem more antsy than your normal bouts of sadness. He doesn't think it was from watching the spectacle downstairs. He knows you hate the saviors indiscriminately. Watching some random guy's face melt off wouldn't have you this upset. Finally, he relents.

"What's wrong?" he asks. He actually makes an effort not to sound like he'll make fun of whatever your answer may be.

"I just don't feel good," you choke out and bite your lip.

He feels you shudder on his lap, and he knows it's not the full truth. Pulling you a little closer on his thighs, he continues to look down at you.

"C'mon, baby. Tell daddy what hurts," he coaxes.

Your face tenses, but you know he won't drop this. "Just... just... I don't know. A lotta stuff," you say. You couldn't decide on a lie to commit to.

He sighs and bounces his leg with you on it a few times. "Did someone say something to you? Was someone bothering you?" he asks as his scope of potential causes narrow.

You're in the middle of trying to think of a cover story when his hand glides down to remove your shoes. He knocks one off. Then the other. The foamy white sneakers clatter to the ground next to his foot.

He goes to bring his hand back up, dragging it over the fine threading of your socks, but his eyes catch on the bloody splotches near the edge. Grabbing your ankle, he tugs your limb upward. It puts you at an awkward angle and nearly knocks you from your perch on his thigh. He stares the small wound down, assessing every detail of the tiny scrape.

"How'd you get this?" he asks. He looks over to you.

In reality, it may have been the most standard question in the world. But it hits your ears like an accusation and brings a fresh wave of tears that you can't control. Your lip quivers as your lids blink a few droplets over your water line.

"Simon did it," you weep.

You're scared he won't believe you, but after a few seconds, he drops your foot and pulls you close. His arms wrap around you tight and keep you flush against his chest. The warmth of the embrace encompasses you. You let the dam burst and cry into him, pouring all your sadness out against his body.

His hand sweeps up and down your back in comforting strokes. "Shh, shh, shh, sweetheart. Daddy's got you," he murmurs.

You feel him shrug off his jacket and push it aside, leaving the plain material of his t-shirt to soak up your anguish. He keeps you as close as possible. One of his hands cradles the back of your head to ensure you don't pull away.

"Does Simon bother you a lot?" he asks.

You nod. "Whenever I'm not with you," you choke out.

He hums in acknowledgement. "I'll talk to him. He's not supposed to hurt you when you're being such a good girl for daddy."

"I was trying really hard," you sob, your voice cracking, "I've been trying to be good. But he just hates me anyway. He's so mean to me."

Your arms snake around him as tight as a pair of snakes aiming to kill. You cling to him with everything you have, as if he's your one true savior from this living hell and not the cause of it.

In your head, you feel like you're annoying him. He's probably waiting for you to calm down, so he can nip this blossom of resentment in the bud. Good girls don't have tantrums or meltdowns, right? And all he cares about is that you act the part of a good girl.

But you only think all of that because you can't see the smile on his face right now.

He's grinning more than any of the times he got you to say something humiliating or cooperate with a punishment. The look he displays now reaches a new level of smugness, higher than the night he killed two of your people and traumatized the rest of them. His satisfaction runs deeper this time because right now, you're truly broken.

This isn't something you agreed to because the other option was worse. It's not something he had to coach you into or manipulate a situation into becoming. You did this all on your own. You came to him. Sure, he had to coax it out of you a little bit, but once he got his foot in the door, you let him right in. You're clinging to him for comfort, looking to him for a solution. He couldn't be more pleased. This is exactly what he wanted - to break you down. Now he just had to reel you back in the slightest bit, get you in that perfect middle ground between too independent and non-functioning.

"You have been doing really good for me, y'know? I'm proud of you, baby," he tells you in the most earnest tone he can manage, "Don't worry about Simon for right now, ok? Daddy's gonna set him straight. He won't bother you again."

You nod, but the reassurance doesn't stop the flow of tears from your eyes. Your fingers stay clenched around the fabric of his shirt.

"No more tears, honey, c'mon," he coos. He pries your limbs from around him and boosts you to your feet, standing you between his thighs. "I'll take care of it just like I take care of you. Let's just worry about what my little baby needs to feel better right now."

You take a few seconds to think about it, but the answer comes with relative ease. The most agitating thing about this situation right now is wrapped all around you, scratching at your sides and digging in under your arms.

"Can you take my dress off?" you sniffle.

His eyes fall from your face over your body. "What? You don't like this pretty little number?" he teases.

For once, you don't feel like you're two seconds away from punishment. You feel like it's a joke, and you don't have to awkwardly straddle the line between playing along with the humor and submitting to the literal interpretation.

"It's ok... it's just kinda scratchy," you say and wipe away your tears with the back of your hand.

"Spin around for me then. We'll get it off you. Can't have it irritatin' that soft skin while you're tryin' to relax."

You take the few steps to turn around. His fingers grasp the zipper and undo the baby pink prison you'd been trapped in for the day. Feeling the chafing fabric pulled away from you lets you take a real breath for the first time in hours. Already a small bit of relief. It only compounds when the garment hits the floor and pools at your feet.

He tugs you back by the waist and lays you across the bed, body on full display for him. Right now, you don't mind his gaze tracking your curves. He leans over you, his hands coasting from the sides of your breasts down to your hips.

"You're prettier like this anyways, princess," he praises.

"Thank you, daddy." It spills out as naturally as water from a faucet.

He rewards you with his lips on your stomach instead of words. Kissing the smooth, warm skin, his lips travel from just above your navel to the divot between your breasts. Your nipples rise to attention automatically.

His hands slide up to cup your mounds of flesh. He fondles and gropes them as his lips migrate up the curves to the hardening little peaks. They don't latch on just yet. He teases them with kisses instead, letting the anticipation of blissful suction build.

You take your lip between your teeth as you watch him. Chills break out across the rest of your body. You know you should be fighting. You know you should kick and scream and cry. You should try to take advantage of his closeness and get towards your revenge. But in your hellish life, are you not allowed one moment of pleasure? You haven't let those plans of escape and vengeance go, but you want this right now. You want to feel good, and he gives you that. 

This isn't Negan. This is daddy. And you don't wanna hurt daddy.

His tongue peeks out from between his lips to trace wet circles around your nipple. The sensation draws a whine from you. Your body squirms beneath him with an eagerness to feel more.

"I think I know how to make you feel better. Take your mind off all that stuff from before," he whispers.

He takes one of your nipples between his lips, flicking the bud with the tip of his tongue and scraping his teeth against the sensitive area. You reward the choice with a mewl and squirm your legs. He chuckles and then switches to the other one.

"That feel good?" he asks.

You nod, your head tilting back and your eyes fluttering.

Grinning, he continues his work on your chest. You whine and squirm for him, giving him all the reactions he craves. Soon, his hand ghosts up your inner thigh. His fingertips drag over the flesh and land on your clothed center. Through the thin pink cloth, he rubs at your clit. That garners a breathy moan and a full body shudder.

"Goddamn, you are so cute," he chuckles, "Just a few little touches and you squirm around like a virgin for me."

Heat floods your cheeks, but you don't bother disputing the claim. It was the truth. You weren't sure what it was about him that got you so amped up and needy.

The pad of his middle finger swirls around the little nub in your panties. He can already feel the fabric getting sticky from the wetness between your thighs.

"Poor baby. You're so easy to play with," he says.

His mouth leaves your breasts now and begins to retrace its path down your stomach. It glides over your skin with open-mouthed kisses all the way down to the hem of your underwear. His fingers fall away from your center to your dismay.

Your disappointment is short lived though. You feel him position your thighs on his shoulders. When you look down, his eyes are staring right back up at you, gleaming like that of a panther ready to pounce.

"You want daddy's mouth on you? Will that help you feel better?" he rasps.

You nod quickly. "Please, daddy," you whimper.

"So polite. You didn't even need me to remind you of your manners," he smirks.

You don't even care about that remark. It washes right over you. All your mind is concerned with right now is getting more of his touch.

He brings his index finger back between your legs. He hooks it beneath the soaked seat of your panties, pulling it to the side and revealing your slick folds to him. The thumb on his opposite hand comes up to rub over the length of your slit up to your clit. Back and forth, nice and slow, just to tease you.

Your hips writhe the slightest bit, and he nips the skin of your inner thigh.

"Tsk. You know good girls are patient. They don't wriggle around. I've taught you better than that," he chides.

"Sorry," you say, backing down quickly.

"It's alright. I know you're having a rough day, so I'll let it slide this time," he says. He then leans in to lay some kisses on your clit.

Your eyes roll back and your toes curl. He never let things slide. This must have been a miracle. The same man who always toted that the rules weren't optional, letting you bypass one? Maybe you were his favorite. That's what you took it as anyways.

He makes out with your cunt like it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. His lips engulf it, spreading his affection from your little bundle of nerves all the way down, nearly reaching your puckered entrance below. You whine and clutch at the bedsheets. You were still too scared to grab his hair. You weren't sure if he'd like it and groan or glare at you in a way that said you'd pay for it later.

It doesn't matter to you right now though. What you hold isn't important when you feel this good. It feels like a firework show is erupting in your belly, bright bursts of all different colors. Your heels dig into his back, subconsciously keeping him buried between your thighs.

He's tempted to tear your panties off and fling them aside. He would if not for the limited number in his possession. If this was normal life, he'd rip a pair to shreds on a weekly basis. These things were so cute when he put them on, but when he wanted at you, he despised them. If this was normal life, he'd just buy you new ones whenever a tattered one had to be tossed. But then again, if this was normal life, he wouldn't have you at all, so it isn't really worth thinking about.

Refocusing his mind on your pleasure, he dives further into your cunt. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue fucks into you. He pushes it in a few times before pulling back and just lapping at your pussy in broad strokes, getting every drop of you he can. Two of his fingers prod at your entrance before slipping in. They fuck deeper than his tongue, but don't stretch you out like his cock. A happy medium to walk the steps of preparation.

He maneuvers his digits with expert precision, scissoring and curling them at the perfect intervals. You can't help the way your hips buck in response. He doesn't get on you about it though. He just wraps your arms around his hips and holds you in place.

Your thighs squeeze around his head too. Luckily, that wasn't against the rules. He loved feeling the heat of your plush legs wrapped around his skull, keeping him close.

He pumps his fingers faster, curling them right against that spot that got you to squeal and cry out his name.

"Cum for me, babydoll. All over my face. I wanna feel it," he rasps.

It's a fortunate coincidence he gives you that command because you were about two swipes of his tongue away from doing it on your own. You melt against the bed, eyes fluttering and body jerking and quivering as rushes of pleasure sweep through you.

Your fingers grip the blankets so tight they threaten to tear into them, but then they loosen completely and go lax next to your hips. He licks your cunt through the entire thing, not letting you come down until the euphoria has thoroughly washed through you.

While you're lying there, dazed and blissed out, he untangles himself from your legs and stands at the edge of the bed. He wipes your nectar from his facial hair before pulling his shirt over his head and unzipping his pants.

"I think daddy deserves a little reward for making you feel so good, pretty girl. What do you say?" he asks.

Of course, you nod. There was no way you would reject him while still so close to the high of your last release. He grins at your hazy movement and shoves down his pants, jerking his cock a few times and crawling on the bed to hover over you.

"You're such a good girl for me. Better than I ever thought you'd be," he says while looking down at your face.

"Wanna be good for you, daddy," you say softly, blinking at him with your misty doe eyes.

His grin spreads even wider. In your sane mind, you probably would have thought it looked like some creature out of hell. But right now, the look just makes you giggle and squirm.

Down below, he lines up at your entrance. He slides his tip through your arousal a few times, getting it nice and wet before he sinks in. A smile of your own rises on your face, and he groans at the deep satisfaction of having your cunt embrace him so readily.

"Perfect little pussy, fuck," he grunts, "Think it's the best I've ever had."

You preen at that compliment. He balances his forearms on each side of your head as he begins to thrust. Your legs rise up and lazily wrap around his waist, which he loves. He can't get enough of the fact that you want him, that you're pushing him deeper and not letting him pull out too much.

His head falls beside yours, letting you hear every pant and grunt that falls from his lips. Your walls squeeze around him every so often. The noises make your tummy flutter for him. It drives you wild to know you brought him to such a state of lust.

"Christ, you're so fucking tight," he mumbles.

You giggle again and drape your arms around his shoulders. Your eyes flutter shut. You just get lost in the feeling of him inside you, his cock battering all your sweet spots just right. He leans in and kisses at your neck. His hips pump deeper, ramming his shaft further into the warm depth of you.

In this moment, everything feels so good and pure. You can't even imagine any of the pain he inflicted on you before. It all feels like a distant dream. Memories that belonged to someone else, not you. At this second, it feels as though this bliss will last forever. Just you and him tangled in the throes of passion without a concern for anything else happening beyond the privacy of his room.

When you open your eyes, they're a little watery from all the stimulation and how good it feels mixed with your saccharine thoughts. You arch off the bed a few inches, pushing your pert breasts against the warmth of his chest. He pushes you back down with ease, keeping you angled exactly where he wants you.

Pulling back a little to look at your face, he smiles when he sees the water gathering in your eyes.

"Oh, those are the tears I like to see," he croons.

You moan, a little shiver coursing through you. It only encourages him to pound his hips harder against you, in and out, in and out, until you're both approaching the edge.

"You gonna cum again for me, sweetheart? Show daddy how good he's making you feel?" he murmurs.

"Yeah, mhm, ah-" you whimper, "I wanna cum daddy, wanna cum for you."

"I know you do," he chuckles, "I can feel it."

Your cunt contracts and releases around him with increased frequency now. He knows you're moments away from reaching the peak. Swiveling his hips, he tries to strike that chord and bring you crashing down.

You whimper, the pitch getting higher as the glass gets closer to shattering. Finally, with one good jerk of his pelvis, you tense up and cry out. A couple tears trickle from your eyes. Your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

Your body trembles and rolls with the feeling. He fucks you through it, savoring every delicious squeeze of your cunt around him. A few breathless groans rumble out of him. He gets every last second in your hole he can before he has to pull out.

He snaps his hips back, replacing the tightness of your pussy with his hand. It's not the same, but it will do. He gives it a few quick strokes before he explodes and spills on your belly. You lift your head and watch as the ropes of hot, sticky cum land on your skin.

His hips jerk with each surge of release firing from him. When he finishes, his head hangs, and he takes a moment to catch his breath. He scoots off of you and cools down beside your body on the bed. It's quiet for a few moments; though, he's never one to be vulnerable, so he doesn't let the silence linger for too long.

"You feeling better?" he asks and rotates his head to look at you.

You nod, visibly more relaxed than before.

"Thank you, daddy," you say, sweet as can be, before leaning in and pecking his lips.

He stares at you for a few moments in fond satisfaction. Then he gets up, and pulls you to your feet with him.

"C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up," he says.

You follow obediently to the bathroom where he wipes you off with a damp rag and makes sure you're all set to get some rest after. Both of you make your way to the dresser next. He pulls another set of those panties out and slips you into them. They don't feel so horrible this time around, but in the back of your mind, you're sure that won't be the case tomorrow morning. A soft, thin shirt covers your upper body next. It's the same baby pink color as the dress, but you don't mind since it's much more comfortable.

On your own, you tuck yourself to his side for the short walk back to the bed. He climbs in first and then tugs you into your spot next to him.

"I want you to try and get some rest," he tells you, stroking down the side of your face, "When you wake up, I'll get you something to eat, but for now, I want you to take a nap, ok?"

You aren't particularly tired, but while living here, sleep has become your greatest method of escape. You never reject a chance at it. The only thing is, right now, you don't really want to escape. You don't feel a horrible gnawing sensation from being so close to him.

However, you agree anyways because daddy knows best for you, and you don't want to make him upset.

You lie your head on his chest and snuggle up to him. He holds you close, rewarding the compliance by rubbing your back.

"Sweet dreams, babydoll," he murmurs.

You shut your eyes, allowing your mind to recede into visions of the life and people you had before this. The life you still hoped one day you would get back, even as it became more and more like a fantasy rather than a realistic future.

[nonsensology]

So I've had these Grunkle Stan crackships on my mind for almost a year now. Could be interpreted as platonic, but I think there's great and fascinating potential if interpreted fully romantic. Full musings and explanations below (Warning: very disjointed and random).

Uncle Chan from Jackie Chan Adventures

Maybe Ford and Stan stumble across the Chans on one of their globe-trotting adventures. Both groups fight off the same supernatural threat and surprise each other with their ease and familiarity with the weird and fantastical.

I feel Uncle is kind of a weird in-between of Ford and Stan. He is knowledgeable but not a nerd like Ford, is generally cranky but doesn't get into trouble like Stan does, although he does have a level of disregard towards authority if it gets in the way of his goals. He's quick to do research instead of impulsively charging into a situation.

I think Uncle's dynamic with Stan would be hilarious. They would argue a lot on how to deal with a threat, but once they agree to work together, they could kick ass. Once he gets past his initial annoyance, Stan would probably enjoy Uncle's quips, even more so when he realizes that Uncle does not say them to be funny, he's just naturally snarky.

Uncle is never shown having any romantic interest or relationships, so I kind of headcanon him as ace, but I think it would be really interesting to see what kind of queerplatonic relationship he and Stan could form.

Jade and Mabel would probably hit it off immediately, and while Jade isn't as studious as Dipper, she also has an enthusiasm for the supernatural so she'd probably get along decently with him. She'd also probably think Stan and Ford are super cool, especially considering their lax attitude toward giving children weapons. Though they do still take the kids' safety very seriously.

Jackie is doubtful of Stan, much like he was with Viper, but seeing Stan look out for the kids would probably endear him a little. Ford might also help ease his worries, and maybe they both could have fun discussion about archeology.

I think Tohru and Soos could get along decently, though Tohru would find Soos' eccentric musings odd at first.

Additionally, Uncle's shop is in San Francisco, practically next door to Dipper and Mabel in Piedmont. The kids would easily visit each other every weekend.

Bruno Madrigal from Encanto

Stan has been to prison in Colombia, so I don't think he'd willingly travel there for fun, and Encanto Valley seems relatively closed off from the rest of the world, so I imagine their meeting is accidental, maybe a result of the Stans getting caught in a storm or something. They stay for a while in the valley while repairing their boat.

Stan might initially be outraged at the idea of the Madrigals not charging anyone for the use of their gifts, but perhaps lightens up when he sees how close-knit the community is. He'd still come up with ways they could show off their powers Mystery Shack style, probably butting heads with Alma in the process, lol. He might encourage Bruno to adapt a more showman-like approach to his seer abilities to make it more presentable and less intimidating.

Bruno and Stan connecting over their shared feelings of isolation from family is definitely what drew me to these two together in the first place. If they ever got serious about their relationship, I can imagine the biggest hurdle would be deciding if they should continue a long-distance relationship, since neither is keen on asking the other to be separated from their family.

Yuuko Ichihara from xxxHolic and Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle

Major spoiler alerts for both series. It's been many years since I've read them, and Tsubasa had so many plot twists that even CLAMP (the writers) admitted they were confused by the end result. I also might be misremembering some details, so bear with me. Factoring in the plotlines for both series and Gravity Falls would make for an incredible AU fanfic that I unfortunately am not qualified to write.

Due to Yuuko's shop being in Tokyo, a whole ocean away from Oregon, I like to imagine some timey-wimey space mumbo jumbo allowing Yuuko and Stan to meet in the dream realm. Maybe at some point, Yuuko's shop would obtain a door connecting it to the Mystery Shack.

Stan and Yuuko both have a mischievous side, though Yuuko is generally more reserved. They could start out as drinking buddies, though I imagine Stan would probably favor a light beer, while Yuuko loves sake.

They also both use aliases (it is never revealed what Yuuko's real name is), but Yuuko would likely be upfront about it. As their relationship progresses, Stan would probably feel comfortable telling Yuuko his real first name, even after she tells him the supernatural dangers of giving your real name.

While Stan scams his customers, he generally sells harmless entertainment and trinkets, whereas Yuuko grants wishes and operates strictly on an equivalent exchange basis. To quote the wiki, "All of Yuuko's customers must pay a price in order to grant their wishes, which can be no more or no less than the one demanded, or else harm will come to one's way. She is not one to tell the customer the most direct way to solve their problems because in the end, it can only be solved with that person's own realization and resolution to change themselves... Her abilities are not unlimited and may almost seem like a curse as it appears that she is unable to do anything for anyone or grant any gift (other than feelings) without it becoming a binding transaction." 

When Stan finds out just how powerful Yuuko is, I think he might react with a mixture of hesitation and awe, especially when she reveals she knows about his past, and Ford being lost in the multiverse. I am on the fence on whether Yuuko would use her powers to bring Ford home sooner, or let Stan continue working on the portal because he's already close to completing it and this would be significant in defeating Bill.

I found that the main villain of Tsubasa, Fei Wang Reed, surprisingly parallels Stan. Both endanger reality to bring back someone who is lost, but while Stan does it out of love and devotion to his family, Fei Wang Reed only did it in an arrogant plan to prove himself a powerful sorcerer. And in Fei's case, the person is already dead. CLAMP's universe establishes that the dead cannot be brought back to life, and Fei's wish to do so would cause the universe to be destroyed. I wonder if Bill would factor Fei as part of his plans.

Stan also surprisingly shares a lot in common with Fai D Fluorite. Both use their twin's name (Fai's real name is Yuui), and for much of the series Fai's tragic backstory regarding his twin is unknown, and he hides his trauma under a laid back exterior. I think Stan would empathize a lot with Fai, after he finds out his backstory.

Kimihiro Watanuki is revealed to have been created to fill a void left by Syaoran after the latter wished to turn back time. I remember Watanuki's character arc involved realizing that people cared about him. "Don't disappear", "Continue existing". Stan would probably take Watanuki under his wing, much like he did with Soos. Watanuki might find life with the Pines family far more chaotic than he's used to, but slowly warm up.

Yuuko is revealed to have died a long time ago and has basically been in magical stasis due to Clow Reed's unintentional wish. When time finally moves forward again, Yuuko eventually passes on. She doesn't return in the canon series, but Watanuki is stated to have also suspended his time to wait for her return. In this AU, maybe she reincarnates in the past and reunites with Stan and the Pines in the present day.

[charlieslowartsies]

FINISHED MY TOOTHLESS PLUSH!!

Materials, info and some comments under the RM!

Toothless' Pattern I purchased

Materials: 6 yards of black minky 1 yard red minky 5 yards of Poly-Fil extra loft medium quilt batting 18 oz of poly pellets (4 oz in each foot) 2 Mainstay firm bed pillows for stuffing 1 spool of purple thread for the top stitching details on his tail, hip and main wings 2.5 spools of black thread Dark green, lime green, goldenrod and light yellow embroidery floss black acrylic paint white fabric paint Velcro one very old, small and cranky sewing machine who somehow survived this ordeal several comfort shows, podcasts, and music to listen to

This was my winter break project! Granted I started bits and pieces of the process in early December, but once my two weeks off hit he really started getting worked on lol.

I know it's hard to tell from photos, but he is A BIG CHONGUS. Toothless is 5.5 feet from head to tail tip, and has a 9 foot wingspan. He weighs about 8 lbs.

He took about 60ish hours and was very complex. My budget was $200 and he came in at $202! That includes things like the bulldog clips that I bought when he was being pinned because the minky was so slippery! This cost EXcludes a sewing machine, or things like an embroidery ring which my mom had, so I was very lucky in several areas—but he still was not cheap, either by expense or by time and sweat/tears!

Of course, the minky was by far the most of the cost, coming in at $122. I’d say the batting would be next, but I waited and snagged a good deal at my local craft store and got the batting for $18. I HIGHLY recommend buying bed pillows. The original maker of the pattern used IKEA pillows I believe.

I increased his size by 20%, so I printed him at 120% and guesstimated on the minky amount. My WORST mistake was forgetting to mirror the WINGS, which meant I had to recut two of the four pieces of fabric. (I should have marked it on the pattern, which I did mark well for things like number count.) Had I not done this, I would have used a lot less minky. I bought 7 yards and only needed 5.5 before my error.

(Now I’ve got scraps and a whole yard left sitting there whispering that it wants to be made into a Krobus plushie…who seems much less of a hurdle than Toothless.)

I stuffed Toothy’s hip fins and tail fins with one layer of quilt batting. His wings however, are double layered with the batting for extra plush, warmth, and durability. His eyes are hand embroidered (my first time!) but stitched on with the machine. Toothless has poly pellets in his feet to help support his bulk, but most of his weight is in his body, hips and start of his tail so he actually sits up really well.

He was a huge labor of love for sure! The pattern was great, the instructions were…less great. But my mom helped me figure out a lot of the troubling bits. Some parts were easy to follow and others were basically "bing bong fuck ya life." Despite that, I do suggest this pattern. But this is definitely an intermediate or advanced pattern. They also sell the eyes for those that have access to an embroidery machine.

I followed the pattern closely as I desired. I did omit the back spikes on his rear legs, and I couldn’t embroider his lil nose by hand ^^; I also did not make his blue alpha fins because of expense and mistrust in my own skills...also, I kinda wanted HTTYD1 Toothless haha. I love the series as a whole but the og movie is literally one of the reasons I went to college, and it went into my thesis as well.

I want to remake his prosthetic at some point when I have time and energy, but for now I’m pleased with 99% of him, especially since this is my first plushie I’ve ever made. I do not regret any of my personal changes and I’m totally in love with him.

[storm-angel989]

Part 2 please of sleep deprived Val’s daughter I’ll give you my first born 😭

(Love your works!)

Hi friend,

Thank you so so much for the compliment- I’m glad you like my writing! As much as I adore kids, I do not want your first born (but it was very kind of you to offer!). I am a much better Aunt than I think I would be a mom. I am 100% guilty of taking my nieces/ nephews to the store, buying whatever they want ( particularly slime, things that light up and loud, noisy toys), give them a huge bowl of ice cream and send them back home to my siblings house. So you probably don’t want me babysitting either LOL. 

That being said, please enjoy the below part two! 

All I can say is Good Luck, Vox!

<3 Mandy 

I slept most of the next day. 

The few hours I did spend awake, I was overly supervised. The crabbiness, the crankiness was in overdrive. I wanted nothing more than an energy drink, hell, even a cup of coffee and I was more than willing to make it everyone's problem. Finally, my Uncle Vox took me by the hand, told me he had had enough of my attitude and pulled me onto the elevator. 

“Uncle Vox, I am not allowed in Daddy’s studio,” I grumbled. “And I’m in my pajamas, so I know I’m not going to yours.” 

“You’re right on one account. But your father is waiting for us,” Vox replied as his flingers flew across his phone. “We’re going to have a little discussion.” 

I crossed my arms and pouted. With one hand on my shoulder, he guided me through the empty studio down to where I knew the nurses office was.

“Oh fuck you, I don’t need a check up,” I snapped as I stepped back. 

“Watch your mouth crabby pants,” he replied as he pushed me forward. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Which is it?” 

I grumbled but didn’t respond. I didn’t doubt that one look at Vox and I would be walking into the doctor's office, calm as could be. He had that effect on people. With a sigh, I allowed him to push open the doors and lead me inside. 

My father and Aunt Velvette stood, waiting. 

“We really didn’t have to make this a family affair,” I growled. “Really, it’s not even like its complete.”

“We are grouchy today,” Velvette said dismissively. “Get into the gown. Sit on the bed. You know the drill.”

“I would like it documented that I hate all of you,” I snapped as I pulled the cloth screen closed behind me as I stepped into the little room.

“Duly noted,” my father said drily. “Let us know when we can come in.”

I changed into the gown and plopped on the bed, leaning back with my arms crossed. “I’m done,” I called. “Come in if you have to.”

“We do,” my father told me as he pushed the curtain aside. I crossed my arms as the doctor walked in. 

“Uncross your arms,” my father told me firmly. “This is how it’s going to go. You’ll get an EKG, physical exam, an ultrasound of your heart and your blood drawn, in that order. You will not fight, or your Uncle Vox will step in and you will be compliant. Do you understand me?”

The tone of his voice indicated that challenging him would be the worst idea I could have. Dejectedly, I laid down on the bed and kept quiet as the doctor stuck sticky pads all over my body. 

“I promise, the rest will be just as painless,” the doctor told me cheerfully as he detached the wires. “Sit up for me, I’m going to listen to your chest.” 

I didn’t answer and instead gave my dad my best scowl. He raised an eyebrow as if daring me to protest. 

“Babygirl,” Vox’s voice floated through the room. 

Inadvertently, I turned my head and was met with a swirling red eye and a brightly lit screen. 

“Relax and do what the doctor says,” he continued. “Come now, you don’t want to make this harder than it has to be.” 

I felt a fog flow through my brain and without really knowing why, I complied. Without protest, I obeyed the doctors every command, staying still as he listened to the inner workings of my body, and quiet even when then cold gel hit the skin over my heart. As soon as he was done, he handed me a towel and I sat up as I wiped the leftover goo away.  

“Just some bloodwork, and we’re good to go,” the doctor told me as he stood up. “Let me go get a few things while your dad takes your blood, and then we can chat.” 

“Reader,” Vox’s voice came instantly. “Look at me.”

I did as he demanded and our eyes met. Like magic, the fog lifted and exhaustion crept through me. My father sat down next to me and I laid my head on his shoulder. 

“Tired?” He asked as he pulled my arm across his lap. “Bebita, you can lay down. I can’t take your blood with you sitting like this.” 

I didn’t answer. After a moment, he stood up and Vox took his place next to me. 

“I’m sorry babygirl, I know its a long day, but we need to make sure your healthy. You really put yourself through the ringer,” he said. 

I couldn’t care about the feeling of the rubber band being pulled around the skin of my upper arm, or the coldness of the alcohol swab. “

“Little pinch, princessa,” my father warned. “Just relax and stay still.” 

I felt the sting of the needle and closed my eyes. A few seconds later, I felt him hold cotton over my arm and the sting of the paper tape to hold it in place. 

“That’s my good girl,” Valentino praised. “All done. Now we wait for the doctor to come in.”

“I want my jammies,” I mumbled into Vox’s shoulder.

“I think all the testing is done, you can get into your jammies,” Velvette replied. 

Vox stood up and as soon as the curtain was pulled behind them, I slowly undid the gown and pulled my pajamas back on. The fog had lifted, but I still felt tired. Like it would be too much effort to fight or argue anything that was said. I tossed the gown to the side and opened the curtain.

To my dismay, the doctor stood, speaking quietly to the V’s. I couldn’t read the expression on my father’s face, but all at once, I felt very, very awake.

“What’s wrong?” I asked as I stepped across the floor. “Daddy?”

My father turned to look at me and all at once, his expression relaxed.

“Nothing, baby,” he said as he stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder, guiding me back towards the bed. “Not this time, at least. Come, sit on the bed, we need to chat.” 

I sat quietly next to him as the doctor listed the dangers of caffeine addiction. From mild to severe, long term effects. 

“Most adults have some form of caffeine addiction,” he told me. “And up to 400 milligrams a day is fine for those adults. But what you inadvertently did was an overdose.”

“You can’t overdose on caffeine,” I protested. 

“Yes you can,” my father said sternly. “Your blood pressure skyrocketed, your heartbeat was through the roof. And when the doctor looked at the EKG your watch took during the time, you can quite literally see the irregularity in the rhythm.” 

“You’re fortunate you didn’t drink anymore,” the doctor continued, “and that your family stopped you when you did.” 

I leaned my head on my fathers shoulder as the doctor continued on. According to him, I was one more energy drink away from risking hallucinations, vomiting, confusion, muscle spasms, or even convulsions.

“Okay, I get it, no more caffeine, now what do I do? Am I going to be okay?” I asked.

“This time, yes,” the doctor said firmly. “The best thing you can do for your body is minimize your caffeine intake.”

“That means no more energy drinks, or coffee, for you young lady. Or for any of us, for that matter,” Aunt Velvette said.

I watched Vox’s screen glitch ever so slightly at her words. But the four sets of eyes on me again meant I had no way out. 

“I mean it, there isn’t any lasting damage that I can see, but you need to take really good care of your heart,” the doctor told me. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “I got it. No more caffeine.”

“That’s our good girl,” my father said with a kiss on the top of my head. 

“You don’t really mean no coffee, did you?” Vox asked Velvette as we walked back across the studio.

“Yes, I did. We can support Reader,” Velvette said with a firm smack to Vox’s upper arm. “Wouldn’t hurt to do a few days without caffeine.”

Vox mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out, but whatever he said was rewarded with another smack from Velvette.

“How about a movie when we get back upstairs?” I suggested as I stepped into the elevator. 

“I think that sounds like a good idea,” my father told me.

[pizzagame4000]

NOISETTE THEMED DOODLE DUMP ft. cheesecake and the spouses

copious hazel headcanons under the cut because i can’t help myself

first off: her name is Hazel 👍🏻 ik that’s a common one but it’s literally perfect… canon info to me

her favorite thing to do, besides making experimental food, is actually exercising! she’s an incredibly skilled acrobat and stunt artist, so she needs to be fit for that, but she also just enjoys letting the excess energy out bc she gets really cranky otherwise. she’s toned af and could wipe the floor with you - she doesn’t go around picking fights for no good reason, but if she did… heehee

she has such an unending well of passion for all of her interests that some find her to be too much but she dgaf… she’s unabashedly autistic and does NOT care if you don’t want to hear her infodump about obscure cheeseslime genetics, she will do it anyways

i like to think that, although she is very bubbly, she has an insane morbid streak that catches people off guard. she loves talking about anatomy and gross-out subjects to anyone who can stomach it, and cracks the most fucked up jokes - it’s one of the reasons her and noise get along so well. she is thinking about blood and guts because she thinks it’s interesting!!!! she will give you hyperspecific graphic threats of violence if you make her mad!!! teehee!!

i would put her at like… chaotic neutral but leaning towards good. she has an almost scientific fascination with violence and seeing what kinds of stress a body can take, and doesn’t mind watching shit unfold instead of helping… unless something actually super fucked up is going on (like way past canon typical pizza tower violence), she’s not going to bat for you lol she’s gonna grab a camera and clipboard

her interest in anatomy branches out into a love for biology, medicine and health in general - as much as she loves watching her boyfriend beat the shit out of some chump on live tv, she also loves studying how different creatures work and how to treat injuries. she almost became a doctor! but she didn’t like the rigid schedule and pressure, so she fostered her interest in dance and gymnastics, and went into television as a stunt double instead. that’s actually how she met noise! that’s why they look so much alike - she was told to inquire NTV for a job because of the resemblance. noise thought she was so cool she was asked to be his co-star instead, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.

sometimes she gets tired of the noisette persona, but she does genuinely like theo, so it’s hard. she’s been more busy with this NTV gig (that’s looking more like a full blown career) than she would like, so that’s why she opened her cafe - to do something else for once dammit!! she likes weird shit, food included!!!

i have two shipping scenarios i like, so consider these parallel universes - hazel x vigi, and hazel x vigi x noise

if you don’t like negative takes on the noise relationship i’d recommend skipping to 2 ^_^

1. her relationship with noise deteriorates bc noise can’t accept the fact that hazel doesn’t wanna be noisette all the time! they’re so busy, he barely even makes time for her anymore - he barely even tolerates her! it’s not until vigi comes into the picture that she realizes she doesn’t have to deal w that mess. but it sucks cuz noise isn’t just her bf, but also like!!! a big part of her career!!! and she does genuinely love him but he’s just!!! an uncommunicative ass!!! it culminates in hazel leaving him and crashing at vigi’s farm because fuck it, it’s her life she does what she wants. she will kiss the cheese AND rebuild her tv career, on her own terms this time baybee

2. noise and hazel still have that issue but they actually communicate like adults and fix their relationship problems, so none of that shit happens! happy ending! hazel has her own life and theo actually lets his gf know he loves her! woah! enter vigi, in: “we saw you across the bar and we really dig your vibe…” imagining vigi as a third to hazel and theo, completely out of his depth but too bisexual to care, is SO funny to me lol… like hazel and him are probably the only two together at first but over time he and theo warm up to each other more (gay intent) and it’s perfect

[sittingbesideyoulikeasilhouette]

Make Things Even

Pairings: Dean x plus size reader

Synopsis: you and Dean had a love hate relationship but what happens when you sneak lust into the equation? What happens when Dean accidentally walks in on you playing with yourself?

Author’s note: I wrote this in 3 hours on my phone instead of going to bed. This is my first SPN fic, please tell me what you think!!! P.S Sammy is the sweetest lil wingman in this lol

You slowly blinked your eyes open and turned to see 10:04 staring back at you on your alarm clock. You stretched out your limbs and your muscles ached in protest - clearing out that vamp nest with the boys a couple of days ago really pushed you to your limits so you all christened today “rest day.” The boys could tell how worn out you were and Sam had been talking non-stop about going to the movies so today you were all officially unplugged and forbidden from going on or looking for cases.

You got up, put on your slippers, and followed the smell of bacon to the kitchen.

“Morning princess,” Dean called out from his place at the table, setting his cup of coffee down and peering up at you. You rolled your eyes and scoffed.

“If anything, I’m a goddess.” You made your way to Sam who was offering you a plate of bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

“Here you go, Goddess,” Sam jokingly said putting the plate in your hands. You smiled and Dean rolled his eyes before going back to eating his breakfast.

As you went to sit at the table, the spot opposite to Dean, you saw him sneak a peak at you. You were sporting some tight, short, velvety black shorts and a tank top and Dean made sure to stare a bit too long at both your ass and your tits before pretending he didn’t spare you a second glance. You knew Dean loved sex but you also knew he sought out sex with thin women and you.. well, you were not. You’d grown somewhat comfortable with your body over the years and you weren’t scared of wearing tight clothing anymore but you’d heard Dean say a few offhanded fat jokes so you knew the chance of you two ever having anything was null. And, you were okay with that, really, because even though Dean was the most attractive man you’d ever laid your eyes on you also realized you’d never be fully comfortable with him to have sex. So, you decided that not giving a shit about what you wore around the bunker was the way to go and even though sometimes he’d look at you like he wanted nothing more than to have his way with you, he’d always grab his keys, say goodbye with a “don’t wait up,” and come back with one or two small hickeys on his neck that no doubt a petit brunette gave him.

“Something caught your eye?” You asked Dean with a cheeky smile and he spared a second glance at your tits before looking back up at your face.

“Nope.”

“You sure?” You asked again, looking up at him from under your lashes and making sure your tits bounced a bit as you reached for the syrup. Again, he looked down at your tits but this time you swore there was a slight sparkle in his eye. You knew you’d never have sex with the man but that didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy torturing him a bit. When he looked back up at you he knew you’d caught him staring so he awkwardly coughed and grabbed his fork.

“Uh yeah, yes. Yes, I’m sure,” he put a piece of bacon into his mouth and you decided to give the guy a break.

“Thank you for breakfast Sam,” You called out to him as he made his way to sit next to Dean.

“No problem, I figured I’d be up before either of you anyway. You two are so similar honestly - you both love sleeping in and are cranky without breakfast. I can expect little scowls every morning before either of you are fed.”

“I don’t scowl,” You and Dean said in unison while scowling at Sam.

“Uh huh, like I said,” Sam laughed and started eating his breakfast. You looked at the boys eating and suddenly got a bit self conscious; they were both well over 6 feet tall and muscular meanwhile you were a chubby and soft 5’7 eating the same breakfast they both were. You knew Sam meant nothing by serving you all the same portions, in fact you loved that he never called any attention or made any distinctions based on your weight, but it didn’t stop your brain from overthinking.

“Everything okay? Are you not hungry?” Sam asked you with a concerned tone. You were about to answer when Dean responded instead.

“Of course she’s hungry.” He said it offhandedly while reading the paper, he probably didn’t even realize what he said or how it sounded but it sent your brain into overdrive and you wanted more than to not be there at all. Sam quickly looked over at Dean, knowing exactly what it sounded like, and you could tell he was about to tell him off but you cut in instead.

“I’m just tired, I think I’ll head back to my room to rest.” You pushed your plate forward. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Dean put the paper down and look up at you.

“But you just woke up?” Dean called out to your retreating form as you made your way across the kitchen. His voice sounded confused and also.. sad?

“I’m going to rest just after waking up kind of like how you keep drinking after downing 7 beers. Not everything makes sense, Dean, it just is,” you called back and you didn’t realize quite how harsh you sounded until you’d already made your way out of the kitchen. Whatever, Dean had thick skin and he’d get over it; you’d get over it too.

* * *

A couple hours later a small knock startled you out of the book you were reading.

“Come in,” You called from your comfortable spot in bed and you looked up to see light, sandy brown hair and a pair of beautiful green eyes peering at you from behind the door. Dean hesitated there before finally taking a couple steps inside your room.

“How’s your book?” Dean making small talk? Sam must have put the fear of God in him.

“You came in here to talk about my book?”

“No, I came here to apologize,” he said, looking at the floor with his hands in his pocket. He looked nervous and a little helpless.

“It’s fine Dean.”

“No it’s not,” he scratched the back of his neck and looked everywhere except at you, “I was a complete ass back there and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it came out I swear, it’s just Sam and I are always starving after a hard case and I know the vamps were rough so I just meant you were hungry because duh you took down like 6 vamps but then I realized that it sounded like I was talking about you and your body and I would never talk about you like that. Your body is fucking perfect and I opened my mouth and just made a fucking mess. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.” Dean finished his apologetic rant but one thing kept ringing in your ears. Your body is fucking perfect.

“You can apologize but you don’t have to lie Dean.”

“I didn’t lie,” he said defensively and finally looked at you. You don’t know why but that just pissed you off even more.

“My body is fucking perfect? C’mon, seriously? it’s probably only just tolerable by your standards,” you shot back and saw his face etched into perfect confusion.

“What? What the fuck are you talking about? Tolerable? I know you caught me staring at you earlier, so you know that’s not true”

“Yes fine I have big tits and some ass but I’m still fat”

“Who gives a fuck?” He nearly shouted at you. This conversation was equally confusing and infuriating you. When the hell did Dean Winchester decide he was attracted to bigger women?

“I don’t but you do.” You held your ground.

“What are you talking about?” You could tell he was aggravated too.

“Dean, when is the last time you fucked someone who wasn’t a size zero?”

“I haven’t yet but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to” he responded without skipping a beat. You both stared at each other and you refused to be the first one to break eye contact. Dean gave you an easy out and dropped his gaze down to your body. God, you swear the room went up 20 degrees. Dean Winchester was lusting after you, a size 16? Absolutely not, it couldn’t be. Just as Dean made eye contact with you again Sam came excitedly barging in.

“Okay the movie starts at 4 and it’s 1:12 right now. The movie theater is like 30 minutes away but we should account for traffic and snack time so we should leave at 3, sounds good, right?” Sam looked at you and Dean with a smile on his face, completely oblivious to the situation he’d just diffused.

“Yes Sam, sounds good,” Dean answered in a clipped tone and pat his brother on the shoulder before turning around and walking out of your room. You saw Sam mutter a small ow and clutch his shoulder before he looked over at you.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come with us?”

“A French film? No thanks Sammy, I’d rather stay here and read a book or watch trashy American TV,” you giggled holding up your book.

“Okay okay, we’ll bring you back some popcorn, promise” he said turning around to leave.

“Hey, does Dean know it’s a French film?” You’re surprised Dean would ever agree to that.

“He better, I talked to him about it for like an hour,” Sam said as he shut your door. Now that you were alone you actually had time to think about everything that happened in the last 10 minutes. Dean was attracted to bigger women? Dean was attracted to you? You felt like your entire world had shifted and you had no idea which way was up. You didn’t know if this meant that you and Dean would ever become anything but now that you knew your feelings could be requited, there was at least a possibility and that intrigued you and terrified you all at once.

* * *

The beginning of the end came at 2:50.

“Hey I looked it up on the theater’s website and for sure there will be subtitles” Sam confirmed as he made sure he had his phone and wallet in his front right jacket pocket. Dean, who had been previously looking for his keys, immediately stopped and looked at his brother.

“Subtitles, Sam?”

“Yes Dean subtitles. I told you this was a French movie.”

“French? Like a French movie?” Dean asked with a hopeful smile.

“No Dean not a French movie, it’s just a French movie. C’mon dude I talked to you about it for like an hour.”

“Sammy I don’t feel good,” Dean said grabbing his stomach.

“No, you’re not flaking out on me right now. We’re leaving Dean.” Sam said sternly pointing to the door.

“C’mon man, I’m not sitting through a 2 hour French movie that doesn’t even have any porn.”

“You suck man, the worst,” Sam called out to his brother as he grabbed the keys and made his way to the garage.

“Leaving now, bye!” Sam called out after he’d made his way to the top of the stairs and heard your faint little bye in response. He couldn’t see Dean anymore and figured he’d gone to his room to listen to some music. He smiled knowing full well he’d actually told Dean they were going to watch an action movie and telling you they were watching a French film but deciding that what you two need was some quality time to resolve all the tension that had been building over the past few months.

Your little argument with Dean had put you in a mood but you were also .. turned on? You were, decidedly, very confused and your best option was going to take a cold shower. Yes, that’ll help you told yourself as you grabbed your towel and made your way to the bathroom.

While you were in the shower you couldn’t stop thinking about all the new possibilities. Was Dean going to openly check you out now or was he actually going to act on it? Did you even want him to? Oh, who were you kidding, you’d been fantasizing over that man’s fingers and cock being inside of you for months and now that there was a small chance, you felt your body come alive. This shower was supposed to help take your mind off Dean but you hadn’t had sex or touched yourself in months so you decided the best thing to actually clear your mind was making yourself cum. You had the bunker to yourself, right? You could make an hour of it and play with your candles and your vibrating dildo. You were always pretty loud but now there was no reason to be quiet so you made up your mind, shaved everything, and quickly finished showering.

Unbeknownst to you, Dean was 3 doors down to the left, in his room with his head phones on full blast, trying to take a nap. He thought about going back in your room to talk but decided against it. It seemed like you really thought he was turned off by your body and that rubbed him the wrong way. He was pissed off at himself for every making you feel that way and he knows he’s probably made some stupid offhanded comments about weight or size but he’d never ever talked about you. He realizes now the impact of his words on you would be the same regardless of who he was talking about and he truly wishes he could take it all back and start again but he couldn’t and now you were probably still in your room reading your little book and hating his guts.

You skipped over to your room, which was only one door and across the hall on the right, and were about to close the door decided against it. No one is here, why should I close the door?

You decided to let that play into your little voyeurism kink, even though there was no one here to see you, and walked over to your nightstand from which you pulled out a lighter, your dark purple candle, and your 5 inch flesh colored vibrating dildo. You turned it on briefly to make sure it was charged then you set everything on your nightstand and dropped your towel.

You considered turning on some porn on your laptop but decided against it. You were already turned on and fantasizing about Dean would be more than enough.

You laid on your back and the chill of the air came in contact with your warm skin causing you to shiver. You closed your eyes and put your right index and middle fingers in your mouth, you started slow but then you imagined it was Dean’s fingers instead and he wanted to see how well you’d be able to take him so you put your fingers deeper into your mouth and made sure to coat them in spit. You slowly made your way down your chest and then you took your right nipple between your slick fingers and began twisting it. You couldn’t help but moan out loud, imagining it was Dean’s fingers instead of yours. You had only just started playing with yourself but you were already so fucking wet, maybe a minute more and you’ll start dripping on your covers. Knowing how wet you were just imagining Dean made you let go of your right nipple to start playing with your left.

“Oh fuck yes” you moaned out loud and felt yourself dripping down your thighs. God you weren’t a fucking teenager anymore, you were 27 years old, but you knew you weren’t going to last very long. You let go of your nipple and turned over to grab your candle. It was dark purple with sparkles and you knew when the wax hardened, it would look like little galaxies were all over your body. You lit the candle and closed your eyes. You partially liked wax play because of the surprise of the hot wax splattering on your body so you imagined Dean was holding the candle over you saying if you wanted him to make you cum then you’d be a good girl for him while he painted your body. The first blob of wax hit your right upper rib age near your tit and it felt exhilarating. You let out a loud and languid moan as you felt the wax hit your skin then quickly harden you slowly moved the candle a bit more up and center until you felt the next bit of wax fall onto your sternum. “Fuck, yes. Oh fuck, thank you,” you moaned with your eyes closed and the Dean in your mind smirked and called you a good girl for thanking him. You kept moving the candle around your torso and your thighs with your eyes closed and moaning at all the utter ecstasy. You were soaked and teasing yourself, working yourself up until you couldn’t take it anymore; you weren’t going to stop until you felt like you had to stuff yourself with your dildo.

Meanwhile, Dean was still in his bedroom with no idea of what you were imagining him doing to you just a few doors down. He couldn’t fall asleep so just as he decided to change the CDs in his Walkman, he took his earphones off and faintly heard your voice. He looked at his closed door waiting to hear you again. Did you call out to him? Probably not, you were pissed and the undefeated champ of holding a grudge so he knew you wouldn’t be talking to him for a few days at lea—

“Oh fuck, oh fuck”

Okay that was definitely your voice, loud and clear. And it kind of sounded like you were in pain? He wasn’t sure but he wasn’t taking any chances. He jumped up from his bed, grabbed his handgun, and slowly and quietly opened his door. He started making his way down the hallway to your room. Your door was open so all he had to do was aim and then he’d be able to kill whatever was harming you. Dean briefly leaned by your door frame, gun raised and ready, then he turned to look in your room and —

“Oh yes, right there oh fuck” You moaned loudly. Your right index and middle fingers were fingering your pussy and your hand and covers looked soaked. The way you had both of your feet for purchase on the bed and your knees open and bent perfectly framed the scene as you quickly fucked yourself with your fingers. Dean dropped his arm, gun in hand, but he couldn’t look away. He knows he should leave and pretend he never saw this, but he was mesmerized. Your skin was painted purple and in that moment he swore that became his new favorite color. He could hear the wetness of your pussy clenching around your fingers and very quickly felt his jeans were too tight.

You blindly started searching for something on the bed and when Dean saw you grab a dildo that looked very similar to himself, albeit a couple of inches shorter, he couldn’t help but imagine he was about to fuck you and he nearly moaned.

“Oh fuck, I’m not going to last long” you moaned and the Dean in your mind only looked at you and smirked, telling you you’d take whatever he gave you while the actual Dean looked down and saw himself tenting in his jeans. He should leave, he thought, but when you lined up the dildo with your hole and practically shouted out how fucking good it felt to finally be filled as you stretched yourself out, he knew there was no earthly or godly force that could take him out of that room. The slick sounds of you fucking yourself hard and fast coupled with the loud and dirty moans falling from your lips were making Dean dizzy. He lightly palmed himself over his jeans for slight relief but then you turned on the vibration and the way your moans got higher and airier, he knew you’d be cumming soon and his cock only stiffened in his pants.

“I’m gonna cum, oh fuck I’m gonna cum,” you called out and Dean swears his brain stopped functioning for a second. All he could see, hear, or think about was you. Your face slightly scrunched as you came and your moans were nothing short of pornographic. Porn was now ruined, Dean knew that you were the only thing that could ever satisfy his desires now. You slowly stopped fucking yourself with the dildo, turned off the vibrator, and threw it on your bed. You looked completely and utterly relaxed. Your breathing was quick, there was a slight sheen of sweat mingled with purple all over your body, and your chest was falling up and down up and down but you looked pretty? No that didn’t do the scene before him justice, you were “beautiful”

Your eyes sprung open the second you heard the word. You saw Dean standing there and you screamed while grabbing at anything and everything to cover yourself.

“No, no I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Dean yelled as he ran out of your room and into his. He quickly locked the door and ran to his bed while you ran up from your bed to lock your door. Your reprieve from all the madness was very short lived when you discovered you weren’t alone. You wanted to be mad that Dean was there and you almost allowed yourself to be self conscious about your body but you recall seeing the large tent in Dean’s pants and decided against it. Who knows how long he’d been watching you for, it doesn’t matter, because he was massively turned on regardless. You were filled with a confidence you’d never known before so you grabbed your black robe, tied it around your body, fully covering yourself and made your way to Dean’s room.

Your loud knock made Dean jump in his bed, he was trying to think how he was going to apologize himself out of this one but now you were at his door and you were probably going to kick his ass all while he still had a boner. Fuck.

“I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry” he yelled hoping that was enough to deter you for now but you kept incessantly knocking.

“Open the door Dean.”

“Can we please please talk later. Later, I promise” no woman had ever terrified or turned him on like you did. Here he was suffering the consequences of his actions while he was the most turned on he’s ever been in his life.

“Open the door, right now Dean Winchester.”

Dean was getting up to obey your order before he even realized what he was doing. He unlocked his door, ran back to his bed, and grabbed a pillow to cover his cock. You heard the click of the door unlocking and then a small shuffle. You opened the door and saw Dean sitting on his bed with a pillow covering his massive erection. When Dean saw you in that robe, imagining you were still naked underneath, he felt his cock throb and had to look away. You walked into the room like you owned it and closed the door. You walked over to Dean’s desk and sat at the comfy chair he had there.

“I’m so sorr—”

“Stop apologizing Dean. Get up,” You ordered and you saw Dean struggle with staying seated or obeying you.

“Why?” He questioned in a small voice. Here was a 6’3 hunter who was scared of nothing, looking terrified of you.

“Because we’re going to make things even”

“What do you mean? Uh I don’t think -” he began but you cut him off.

“I’m not telling you to think, I’m telling you to obey. Now get up.” You stared into his beautiful green eyes and he knew better than to test you.

“Now. As I said, we’re going to make things even. I’m going to walk you through getting undressed and then you’re going to touch yourself until you make a mess all over yourself. Got it?”

Dean immediately stood up straight and knew he would do everything and anything you asked of him.

“Yes ma’am”

“No that’s no way of addressing me. Do better.” You saw Dean’s eyes slightly glaze with what you could only describe as submission and desire.

“Yes Goddess.”

Who wants part 2?!?!?? Leave a comment if you do pleaseeeeeee <3

[agendabymooner]

pag-ibig, traducido (love, translated) || cs55 fic

carlos sainz x ofc (filipino!content creator!ofc)

EXTENSION TO RIDE HOME

Summary: Magdalena ‘Magda’ and Carlos Sainz can bring the two worlds together through words and actions. OR, moments in which the Filipino woman and her Spanish husband learned to love each other while learning more about what they know about themselves. 

Content warning: Use of explicit language, shitty Tagalog/Filipino and Spanish translations, a lot of Spanish colonial and Filipino history jokes, parental abandonment, brief reference to religious and cultural practice (weddings), mentions elopement, secret marriage, briefly mentions PR relationships/girlfriends, time skipping, what is beta reading lol

Note: The last part of this story is loosely based on the idea given to me by @clairalle and the song 'Paninindigan Kita' by Ben&Ben so thank you so much! ❤️

Letting you all know that some Filipino dialogue here are translated based on how I know it in both English and Tagalog language??? And also, there are some words in here that are the same in context BUT written in two different spellings - some of the words are spelled based on phonics or how it sounds. Enjoy xx

masterlist

i. 2016 — shit, ayos ka lang?

Ramona Magdalena normally had the patience for Tesco. She wasn’t sure what it was, but everything had her seething with no apparent reason. She tried to figure out what went wrong. 

It was only 3 p.m., for goodness sake! 

Her third year at the university was supposed to make things easier, but the way she clenched at the handle of her shopping cart as she sped through the aisles of Tesco showed nothing of the sort. 

She was so tense, her jaw clenching as she asked herself repeatedly if there was an actual reason for her getting worked up over something. 

Her mother, Alma, was being herself; she was merely calling to see how the university was for Magda. Alma only told Magda about her cousins in the Philippines and how they were looking forward to getting the “balikbayan” box in August, only for the younger woman to respond grumpily. Alma was a dear— so clearly Magda’s grumpiness had nothing to do with her mother’s daily check-in. 

She appreciated her mother’s efforts to keep up with Magda’s well-being; after all, Alma did everything she could as a single parent who immigrated to the UK long before she took Magda. 

So no. She loved her mother so much that she wouldn’t get unreasonably cranky towards her. Not easily, at least. 

But her questions withered away when her speed walking was interrupted by her shopping cart crashing into a figure. Her eyes widened, and she shook herself out of her thoughts. 

“Mierda!” Shit! An accent escaped out of the man’s mouth. 

Now, Magda had been a citizen of the UK for a while now— she knew when to speak English and how to utilize her vocabulary in a reasonable manner. But everything seemed to be in panic mode as she exclaimed, “Shit! Ayos ka lang?” Are you okay?

The man was still groaning, bent over as he clutched to his stomach. He glared at her for a moment as he asked, “¿Por qué no observas a dónde vas?” Why can’t you watch where you are going?

“Hah?” She cocked her head slightly. She only picked up on the first two words. Por qué? Why? 

He’s Spanish, Magda deduced. She stepped away from the cart and walked towards him, “I’m so, so, so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going—“

“Obviously—“ he muttered hastily, still touching his aching side. 

“I’m also in a rush, and I’m so frustrated and tired. Three years into adulthood and I can’t make shit right,” Magda hadn’t even realized that she was ranting to a stranger as she rambled, “GCSE clearly didn’t do shit to me because I’m still here bitching about what to cook— punyeta naman kasi, ‘di ba.” What the fuck, am I right?

He stared at her for a moment, not even interrupting her as she spoke. But the silence made Magda pause as her face flushed red, earning a soft smirk from the man. “Mama said I have a problem with speaking too much without thinking.” 

He chuckled at her rambling before sticking his hand out, “We can call it… truce— I think is the word?” 

“Yeah, okay, truce,” she reached out and introduced herself while shaking his hand, “I’m Magdalena.” 

“I’m Carlos.” 

“So, like… you’re Spanish, right? Or do you just speak Español? I’ve only picked up on some words because they’re quite similar— or I suppose I learned it through some song from years ago.” 

“I am actually Spanish; good guess. And you said puñeta— I can assume you also speak Español?” 

“Oh, hah, about that— no. That’s not spoken in Spanish. That’s— yeah, that’s something.” 

ii. 2017 — irog means love

“Ate Magda! Totoo ba?” Is it true?

“Jowa mo galing Spain?” Your boyfriend is from Spain? 

Magda almost died laughing as she FaceTimed her cousins, who were certainly supposed to be asleep at this time. The Philippines was seven hours ahead, and with her cousins being awake at two in the morning, she could assume that they had a holiday. Everybody always sleeps in if it’s a long weekend or a national holiday. 

But she hadn’t expected their night to be spent gossiping about Magdalena’s boyfriend, Carlos. 

“Niño, bakit ‘di mo gamitin yang utak mo sa school kaysa sa jowa ko?” Why don’t you use your brain for school instead of my boyfriend? Magda huffed out her laugh, making her other cousin Paloma laugh next to Niño. Paloma’s laughter caught Magda off guard as she called out, “Oi, Lomi, don’t be laughing— ikaw ang nagpasimuno nito. Akala mo ‘di ko alam?” You started this. You think I didn’t know?

“Papa brought it up,” Paloma defended herself with a cry, “he kept calling you a national hero, and I had to ask why.” 

“Ano ba naman ‘yan,” what the hell. Magdalena cried out as her head slumped against the couch, raising it to look at her cousins on the screen, “Tell your papa to keep his mouth shut. I love Tito Gerry— I do, but he needs to stop making jokes about that.” 

“—About what?” Magda seemed to be more drawn towards her uncle’s joke that she hadn’t heard her boyfriend enter her flat with a curious look. He had just arrived from Milton Keynes, and this was a surprise as he normally arrived later than this. 

Carlos had taken off his shoes and placed his bag down, walking around the couch to sit next to Magda as he pecked her lips. “Hello, cariño. How was your day?” 

“Hm, good! I’ve finished my paper,” Magda grinned. 

They were so caught up with each other that the only thing they heard was gagging from the phone that the Filipino woman held. Magda and Carlos peered down on the screen as they watched the two teens exaggerate at the sight of the couple being too sweet for each other. 

“Reparations,” Paloma gagged jokingly, “but at what cost?” 

“Matulog na nga kayo!” Go to sleep! Magda exclaimed.

“Okay po, master,” Niño rolled his eyes before waving at the camera, “nice meeting you, Carlitos!” 

"You're Niño, right?" Carlos grinned as he kept his face in front of the camera before waving, "Nice meeting you too!"

“Yeah! Buenas noches, Don Carlos!” Good night, sir Carlos! Paloma giggled, the other side of the call abruptly ending before Magda could berate the pair even further.

She sighed heavily and tossed her phone aside, giving her boyfriend a look of despair as he giggled at her. 

“What did they mean by reparations?” He asked her, genuinely curious at what they were joking about. 

How was she going to explain it to him? Did they even teach at Spanish schools about their country’s history of colonialism? Magda didn’t have an answer to that. 

“Oh, just you know…” She mumbled, “Filipinos were originally Spanish people living in the Philippines. Apparently, dating you made us a deadly combination. Enemies to lovers, or whatever trope that is.”

“Reparations? Oh… OH!” Carlos exclaimed in realization, earning a nod from his girlfriend as he murmured, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah, I understand now, mi corazon.” 

“Irog,” Carlos said aloud, making Magda hum in a questioning tone. “Irog, bébé.”

“What’s that, bé?” Magda asked mindlessly as she stared at the screen of her computer. 

Carlos turned his head in her direction as he said, “I don’t know. You’re the one who speaks the language.” 

She paused from doing her work, looking up at him before she pondered the first word he brought up. Then she let out an ‘ah’ before nodding. 

“So…? What does that mean?” Carlos asked. One year of relationship and his thirst for knowledge was an obvious factor that came with it.

“It means mahal,” Magda answered, remembering the word. She continued to read Filipino literature as she grew, not wanting to stay away from it regardless of the fact that she spent her last school years in a British school. She asked her mother questions whenever she didn’t have a single clue what a word meant, so this was a helpful thing to do, especially now that Carlos continued to ask her to teach him how to speak her language. 

“Mahal, like expensive?” Carlos asked for clarification. 

Magda shook her head, “No, not that mahal. Like mahal— you, mahal.” 

“Oh,” Carlos let out before he reiterated what she said, “mahal, like love?” 

“Yes, mahal,” she snickered quietly, calling him by the term of endearment. “Like love.” 

“So irog means love?” 

“Yes, bébé. Irog means love.”

iii. 2018 — patata, patatas. what’s the difference? 

“Oh! Hey, Mr. Alonso, you’re here just in time,” Magdalena grinned. The older man, who just arrived, shot her a confused look as she stood there with her lips spread out to a grin.

“Magda, hija, call me Fernando. It’s also nine in the morning,” Fernando Alonso sighed quietly, his hand running through his face as he looked back at the girl in the white McLaren shirt. “I think it’s too early for your optimism.” 

“You’re right,” Magda’s shoulders slumped, and her smile fell, her face showing nothing but defeat as she walked towards the Spaniard, “but don’t let my sadness get in the way of your duties today. My supervisor said that you have to do your filming for the next two videos of the channel— and you cannot, I mean CANNOT, back out this time.” 

“I can’t,” Fernando smirked playfully, “or can I?” 

“Mr. Alonso, with all due respect,” Magda sighed heavily, “I started this year. And if you continue to ditch your duties because I cannot convince you enough then I’m going to have to leave not of my own will. I did not last four years at the university just so I can have a manchild act so sassily at the person who’s merely trying her best, so please—“

“Calmaté, Magdalena. Are you okay?” Calm down. Fernando asked, reiterating his question and emphasizing the word you. 

Magda had anything but an answer; her lips pursed as she shook her head. “Can I… shit. Sorry, can I be excused for a moment? It's been a morning for me.” 

“Take all the time you need, querida,” Fernando told her with a smile, patting her on the shoulder as she gave him a grateful look before she walked out of the McLaren garage with a heave of sigh. 

Fernando Alonso pursed his lips as he caught sight of the young British reserved driver, calling him with a whistle as Lando Norris looked in his direction with a questioning expression.

“Norris, you know Carlos Sainz, yes?” Fernando asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Lando replied with a nod. “He’s a friend of mine.”

“Do me a favour, if you don’t mind,” Fernando requested, “will you please tell him Magdalena’s on break?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Lando obliged before his curiosity got the best of him as he asked, “Is she alright?” 

“I think McLaren broke her.”

“Leche,” she swore quietly as she stood behind the McLaren motorhome. Thankfully, nobody else was there to witness her on the verge of breaking down. Otherwise, that would have been embarrassing. 

She had a bad habit of pleasing people. Living in the Philippines, with her mother working overseas and her biological father being a dickhead fuck knew where Magdalena grew up wanting to appease her friends and family. Her immediate family cared very little about the achievements she reached — they were proud, sure, but how she got there was beyond what they wanted for her.

Some kids who grew up in a Filipino household aimed to please, and Magda wasn’t an exception to that. She, however, did more than what she should have been doing. All thanks to the father she had never interacted with before or ever.

Much like now. She aimed to please. Maybe that was why she got to this predicament now; crouching with her head down as she tried to keep her composure. 

She knew that everyone would kill to be in her place— working for a racing team. But for some reason, her urge to please was replaced by her fear of discomfort and disappointment. Being in a relationship with a Formula One driver taught her a lot about the sport, and she landed herself a job in a team based in England.

Being able to travel with him was a plus, but she felt that she had disappointed him. She didn’t feel as good as he told her she would when she first announced McLaren’s offer to hire her for the season. 

Was this what most Formula One wives and partners felt? Or have they embraced that lifestyle long before the drivers became so popular? She wouldn’t make a good girlfriend for everyone should they find out that she had nothing but anxiety in her system as she graced the grid with her presence. 

She was a disappointment of a Carlos Sainz fan.

His cologne lingered in the air as she witnessed him crouch down in her level, his fingers pulling her hair tie off her head, letting her long dark brown hair fall as she smiled grimly. 

He was in his Renault fireproof, his race suit hanging off his waist. He made things more angelic than normal, and she loved him so much for it. His lips pursed as his fingers continued to massage her scalp. 

“Few more months, mi vida,” Carlos murmured, his soothing voice making her feel at home. “You’re doing so good for them. Don’t let them say otherwise.” 

Sure, she could be at the hotel with Ben&Ben blasting on her phone and her figure crying in the bathtub. She could be falling into the deepest depth of her sadness, but with Carlos ditching his team before the free practice — she would rather be here than be in their shared hotel room. 

“Now c’mon, mi corazon,” he pulled her up, “I’ve managed to get my manager to come drop off some pancit to the motorhome from the hospitality.”

“Pancit?” 

“Malabon,” Carlos beamed at her, pressing his lips to her forehead. “One of the caterers gladly took my request to have some pancit malabon at the menu. It took them a couple of weeks until they finally got tired of my constant asking.”

“Hm, you’re the best, my love,” Magda told him lovingly. “Though, I prefer palabok, remember?” 

“Eh,” Carlos paused, “patata, patatas. What’s the difference? Pancit is pancit, mi amor.”

iv. 2019 — magda, maldita 

“Carlos, bebe, mahal kita. Mahal kita sobra.” I love you. I love you so much. Magda sighed as she glanced over the notepad that her fiancé left on the end table of the side of her bed— their brainstorming notepad. “But do you really want to get married in a church? In the Philippines while you’re at it?” 

“It’s an idea, mi amor,” Carlos said while he continued to do whatever he was doing in the bathroom, making her listen from the bed as he spoke, “Just how bad is it?” 

“It’s nothing bad,” Magda said quietly, “it’s just something that I wouldn’t personally do. There is a lot of paperwork to do when getting married in a church. Did you know that? Not only that, but we’d have to attend seminars about family planning— which is not right up my alley, seeing as my mother is an unmarried single mother.” 

“Paperwork is what you are worried about?” 

“Why can’t we just elope instead? My Lola grandmother and Lolo grandfather did that, and look— they have my mom, my tito uncle and tita aunt,” she suggested out of the blue. 

“And risk getting killed by either of our mothers?” Carlos scoffed, “I think we should stick to the church idea, yes, mi amor?” 

“Did you not hear the story of my grandparents, love?” Magda asked him, thankful that he couldn’t see the baffled look on her face. 

“More than I can count, mi corazon,” Carlos answered, “they ran away from home, didn’t they? Got married and had your Tia Maria, then your Mama after? They eloped because they weren’t close with their families— but we’re both very close to ours. We can’t do what your grandparents did.” 

She sighed. He wasn’t even wrong. 

The Spaniard walked out of the bathroom, his face now clean-shaven as he sat next to his fiancée. “Look, we don’t have to do the church thing. It was just an idea, hm? I know you don’t want to get married in the Philippines either, so that’s alright. We’ll just send your cousins, your aunt and uncle to wherever we’re going, then we’ll get married. Don’t worry too much.” 

“‘M sorry,” Magda murmured, her fingers fidgeting with the gold engagement ring as she continued, “I’m a killjoy.” 

“No, you’re not,” Carlos huffed out and clasped his hand with her left hand, “you’re the bride. The bride is more than permitted to weigh out the options. If you don’t want the Philippines, that’s okay.

“Truthfully, I just want to marry you,” Carlos murmured as he pulled her closer, “if we didn’t have such scary mothers, I would’ve already married you. You and your YouTube channel.” 

Magda’s chuckle vibrated in his chest as she perched on his lap, “I don’t even know if that will even work out.” 

“I am sure the wedding plans will. If it doesn’t, our marriage certainly will work out for you and your channel.”

“You are a dickhead, mahal.” “I can’t speak the truth now?” 

“There was no need to bring up the channel, dumbass.”

“Mabuti nalang may passport yung mga pinsan mo,” It’s a good thing that your cousins have passports. Alma San Pedro, Magdalena’s mother, brought up as she sat across the aforementioned woman.

Magda skimmed through the spreadsheet laid out on her laptop’s screen, keeping her eyes on the things Carlos typed out on the guest list as he actively listed who’s responsible for the catering.

Alma continued to speak, “Why didn’t you want to get married in the Philippines? You’ve always wanted to get married in the Tayabas basilica— I could have had your Tita Marie look into it.”

“That was mainly because I thought you got married there,” Magda glanced at her mother before leaving a comment on the name that Carlos had just typed down on the guest list sheet.

“Lando Norris” — Magda San Pedro (monamagsp) commented: “He finally RSVP’d?”

Carlos Sainz (carlossz) replied: “Yes. He said he forgot to do it, but I managed to get him to fill it.”

He was still at Monaco for the race, but between the busy days of partying and racing he decided to abandon his friends and stayed at the hotel to plan his wedding with Magda instead. “Besides, Ma, the wedding’s in two months. Travelling is also time-consuming for most of us.”

“You’re so picky, anak,” child. Alma replied with a playful scoff.

“And you’re not married, Mama,” Magda shot back with the same amount of humour in her tone. “People complain about both, but we can’t find ourselves to care, hm?”

“Hay nako, Ramona Magdalena,” Alma rolled her eyes and sighed exasperatedly. A rhetorical question escaped her mouth, “Bakit ka kaya maldita?” Why are you so cheeky/sassy? 

Mona shrugged, “Tita Maria didn’t take any shit from my private school teachers, Ma. She’s the one who took care of me while you worked here, remember? Go figures.”

“I can’t believe you’ve invited me to the wedding,” Lando’s eyes glimmered under the warm light of the ballroom hall as he excitedly spoke to Magda. “I know we didn’t speak as much last year, but the fact that you allowed Carlos to invite me? I’m so grateful, mate.”

Magdalena San Pedro— or wait, Magdalena Sainz stood across from the British man with a grin as she tucked her hands into her pockets (she had pockets on her wedding dress that she began to think that God was treating her right today).

The San Pedro-Sainz wedding ceremony took place in the Westin Palace of Madrid. With the hopes of celebrating the love that they shared for years, Carlos and Magdalena managed to get through the hour-long ceremony without a fuss. The romantic venue created an environment full of celebration while keeping it as intimate and private as it could be for their guests and themselves.

Carlos had already made his name known to the Formula One world, his talent being recognized by every fan as the season went on. But nobody knew who Magdalena was to him, and he intended to keep it that way — thus prompting him to keep his marriage a piece of confidential information. Everyone behind the scenes knew he was in a relationship, and with the hopes that he’d get even more popular, PR relationships were introduced and tossed in his way. 

None of the women he was put in the spotlight with ever lasted, and he was slowly earning the title of a Casanova. He didn’t care; he was just doing his duty and driving his car around the tracks while he worried about his partner, who now worked for a designing company based in London— where they both lived. Nobody else in the grid nor anyone in the motorsport community knew who he was romantically involved with. 

Magdalena was another story. She only began to record some videos about her lifestyle as she continued to work for some local designing firm, telling whoever was watching her videos about what she knew about this field of work or what kind of food she’d eat on certain occasions.

She wasn’t as popular as him, but she continued to keep his identity a secret. She lived an average life and she was quite content with it. She’d rather post a video of herself fucking around, but they’ve made a choice to stay private for as long as they could. 

Now Lando Norris was known to be a blabbermouth, but Magdalena had grown quite fond of him when he was still a reserved driver for McLaren as she worked as a PR coordinator for the team. They rarely spoke, sure, but she was certain that she could trust him with anything and he wouldn’t blab about it. Carlos was also friends with Lando, and they continued to be close friends, so Magda never protested against Carlos’ idea of inviting the younger man to the wedding. 

Lando then said, “I find it quite enjoyable— your wedding, I mean. It’s clearly not as big as I would have expected because well… Carlos told me that Filipino weddings are often big, but I love it! I’ve learned more about your wedding traditions than I have in sixth form about geography.”

“Gah, don’t even say that,” Magda rolled her eyes, earning a giggle from Lando as the woman continued, “It’s barely there, I think. We tried not to pour our hearts out into what they would normally practice in the Philippines or here in Spain. Some Filipino things are here — the food, my dress and my family — but it’s just something superficial, you know?” 

“It’s not even just the wedding that taught me a lot!” Lando exclaimed as he laughed, “Your cousins, Lomi, Niño and Lucia? Yeah, I sat with them during the whole ceremony so they kept telling me about wedding traditions and some superstitions: like how you shouldn’t have any relative marry at the same time as you because it’s cursed.” 

“Really? I’m surprised they haven’t said anything mundane,” Magda saw Lando nod at her statement.

“They also started to say that you took one for the team—“ Lando’s forehead creased as he said, “I asked them what they meant by that, then they only said you’re heroic.” 

“Diyos ko.” My god. Magda scoffed. Her cousins spelled nothing but trouble and god did she despise them at times. 

“What? What did that mean, Mags?” Lando asked.

Magda sighed exasperatedly, and with a defeated tone, she answered, “Making up for the challenge we’ve lost, apparently.” 

“Huh?” 

“It’s— just ask Carlitos,” Magda waved off, “I’ve had to explain the concept of colonialism to too many people before. I think it’s time Carlos did it for me.”

v. 2024 — paninindigan kita (stand by you)

Mamahalin kita buong-buo. I will love you completely.

“So, tell us about yourself.”

“I’m Carlos Sainz— or wait, do you want me to speak Tagalog?” The Ferrari driver asked as he stood in front of the camera, his linen shirt in the view of the lens as he waited to be instructed.

“Directing this music video is the dumbest idea I could’ve ever made,” Magda deadpanned from behind the camera as the videography crew laughed alongside the band members, her voice being picked up by the microphone easily.

Their Philippines trip, which they should’ve made a while ago, was something of an experience for the couple.

It was the first time they’d been seen in public— with everyone finding out about their marriage after Carlos’ Instagram story slip-up when he accidentally posted a photo of Magdalena’s selfie that she sent when she travelled to the country long before this. 

It really was an accident if you were to ask him. But it was something inevitable, and all Magda could do was laugh and make her presence known not only to her fans but to those who were more than interested to know about her. His fans. 

Now, they were in an Airbnb somewhere in the Quezon Province as they filmed some form of documentary. It was meant to be a storytelling music video about their relationship and the romance that came with it, but after seeing Carlos’ script reading at the Shell commercial, Magda practically banned him from acting.

She was a popular content creator in the Philippines regardless of her living situation; she lived in Madrid with her husband for almost five years. And with her popularity in the Philippines came acquaintances who were more than willing to collaborate with her. The folk-pop band called Ben&Ben asked if she was more than willing to shoot a music video with them. Direct it, even. 

The song they released practically spoke about her life with Carlos. At first, she didn’t think too much of the lyrics and just enjoyed the rhythm of the song, then she realized how similar it was to their relationship, from the courtship (and her outward refusal to continue this romance with him at the very beginning) to their vows to love each other as they grow old, and decided that perhaps it was time to show to the world how they truly love each other. 

Carlos agreed, knowing that outside of his life as a Ferrari driver and a Formula One figure, he had nothing else in life but her and her alone. He knew that she was the one thing that he kept from everyone to provide security for his wife. He waited patiently for her — and it was now paying off. Now, he was standing in front of a camera, waiting to be filmed for his interview. 

It was better than the countless documentaries and the Netflix series that he had to do interviews and filming duties for. Because this time, he got to discuss his wife, Magdalena Sainz, instead of his car. 

“Can I speak Tagalog?” Carlos repeated, his typical confused expression being displayed before the others.

Magda shook her head, “You’ll butcher it, Carlitos.”

“Excuse me, Ramona,” Carlos gasped in mock offence. “I can speak it!” 

“Clearly not good enough,” Magda shot back, making the others laugh at the banter between the pair. 

“Your Español isn’t any better then, mi vida,” Carlos scoffed, placing his hand on his chest. 

Magda said, “There’s a reason why I only listen to you and your family when you speak, honey.” 

“This is what I have to deal with every day, by the way,” Carlos pointed out to their audience, making the others burst out laughing as he offered his wife a playful glare. 

One of the videographers spoke before Magda could make a comeback, “Wait, the camera’s still on.”

“Oh shit,” Carlos and Magda both swore before they both laughed. Their banter was caught on camera and they were laughing about it.

It took them good ten seconds to return to their composure as the camera stopped recording. 

Magda cleared her throat, clapping her hands as the camera began recording, and she instructed her husband, “Carlos, we can both speak English— it’s fine. Just speak in English, alright?” 

“Okay, fine,” Carlos rolled his eyes and muttered, “mi esposa. Muy quisquilloso.” My wife. So picky. The microphone attached to his shirt picked up on his comment.

“This is so going to the music video,” one of the band members giggled. 

Magda then continued with the recording segment as she spoke to her husband while she stood behind the camera, “Alright, please state your name and how long you have been with your partner?” 

Carlos nodded and beamed slightly as he stared back at Magda, who was smiling as she expected his answer. With a cheerful tone, he said, “My name is Carlos Sainz. I have been with my wife, Magdalena San Pedro Sainz, for seven years and three months and have been married to her for four years and six months.” 

“What prompted you to stand by her?” Magda asked as she continued to beam at him, not even noticing the heart eyes of the other people in the room. 

Eight years and still extremely in love. 

He answered, “Her determination, wits and her ability to stand by me no matter what kind of disaster came and went made me realize that falling in love with her was worth the effort to make.”

It was no wonder people thought their relationship had nothing to do with two worlds colliding.

Even with their constant light bickering, Magdalena and Carlos Sainz learned how to love each other through words — whether it was their native languages or their secondary ones. What mattered was that they understood the meaning of their love, regardless of what kind of language they had to translate it to.

fin.

[animeomegas]

HA I must disagree with everyone saying naruto and sasuke are the worst patients. Sasuke grumbles and growls sure, and Naruto is whiny about feeling bad, but I think Shikamaru would be the worst.

Being sick is not the same as resting. The recurrent aches and pains either waking him up or preventing him from falling asleep make him cranky. Fever dreams, even when you can't remember them, make sleep unrestful, he hates waking up overheated or when his feet and hands are chilly or worse yet having all three happen at once.

He's not a picky eater to begin with, but growing up with Chouji and his own mother's cooking, he knows what good food is and suddenly everything tastes wrong? Blasphemous, horrific, having to eat plain food that tastes like nothing? It takes a lot of coaxing and hand feeding to get him to eat something and there's a 50/50 chance he's glaring at you the whole time.

On top of that, it's one thing to scive off work, but suddenly falling ill and ruining his whole productivity plan (with the purpose of bringing the bare minimum at home work smarter not harder lol) stresses him out and Nara HATE being stressed. He dreads having to catch up on things (read working 9 hour days for a week, same). If he can feel himself getting sick, he actually tries to get as much as he can done before he actually has to stay home, which means a really cranky lead up and a horrible first day or two of illness.

Of course, this is not to say that Sasuke in particular is a peach. No, he's also glaring and cranky, but it's not as bad somehow. He will grudgingly allow himself to be taken care of and embrace the excuse for being babied with only nominal protest. He doesn't mind asking for what he wants (with some coaxing) while he's sick which takes some stress off of caring for him. He's also more used to rough living and doing what has to be done to get well again, so somehow I just don't think he'd be as offended as Shikamaru is.

They both hate being sick, but I think Shikamaru is taking it more personally.

Ooooh, an alternate opinion! Shikamaru... interesting.

You are so right that he's cranky though. Shikamaru is always in a FOUL mood when he's sick. He probably goes into work, scowling at everyone. He'd be stomping around if it didn't hurt his head.

And yes, he would for sure just stop eating, that's such a him thing to do. (Although part of me thinks it would be so cute to spoon feed a scowling Shikamaru haha.)

And the workload thing... that's kind of sad, but I think you're right. Shikamaru is so important and does so much work, so he has to catch up once he's better, and having that hanging over him just makes him feel worse. This wouldn't happen to Sasuke because he doesn't give a fuck lol.

While I think Sasuke would be a massive bitch when sick, this was certainly well argued. Shikamaru is certainly a contender for the competition haha.

Thanks for the ask ;) @ikemenomegas

[drops-of-moonlights]

The full Donkey Kong Country cast! Except the ones I couldn't be bothered to draw! Let's get on with them. (DK and Candy were in the second batch)

Diddy and Dixie remain mainly the same, though Diddy I based off his movie design solely because I couldn't get the crop top to look right. Still a couple as indicated by their matching nail polish.

Cranky has a vest and sweatpants under the red shawl he has in the movie, while Wrinkly I gave a similar setup but in green and with a sundress. She's still dead in my 'verse, but her ghost appears in this design instead of a nightgown.

Chunky and Kiddy! Since in my 'verse everyone's a little older Kiddy goes from a toddler to a kindergarten/first-grade aged kid, who is still just huge for no reason. Chunky is his big brother around Diddy's age and since the movie portrayed Chunky as having some peach fuzz I gave him a bit of scruff on his chin. He ended up pretty cute I must say!

I'VE ALWAYS HATED TINY KONG'S HAT. IT'S SO UGLY. So I fully removed it from my design lol. I kept the same general idea of her teen design but aged it down just a smidge so you can easily tell Dixie's the older one of the 2, while also making her blonde hair dyed for some extra variety. instead of a crop tank top and sweatpants she has an off-the-shoulders top and a skort for some extra variation.

As for Lanky Kong I leaned into his namesake, and if he looks just a SMIDGE evil that's because I had TheMentok's video on the Kongs in the background as I drew and that might've influenced me just a tad lol.

Funky my beloved! I went full into his original full-surfer design, to get something different since Funky canonically hates going adventuring. I gave him a belly gained from just chilling on the beach most days lol. Also he has hair now! With him I set out to not just make him a clone of DK that wears clothes.

Lastly, King K. Rool and Lord Fredrik! With K.Rool I mixed his regular design with his Super Mario Sluggers design and also gave him a LOOOOOONG tail because crocodile. He wears a cuirass over his chest and gut. As for Fredrik all I did was give him some boots his design was strong enough already.

Now for extra 'verse lore: K.Rool rules Kremling Island, Fredrik rules the nearby Snowmad Island. these two alongside the Kong Isles form the Jungle Archipelago Kingdom. All three nations have beef with each other but since the recent Peace Treaty between the Mushroom and Koopa Kingdoms they've moved to a "cold war" sort of status where no one is openly hostile to one another but they still hate each other lol.

[nymphomaniaa]

something about us [XIX] "two glass bottles" — a preview!

summary: this chapter will follow lunch club's last major filming day in LA. the events before this snippet involve the group exploring the griffith park observatory at night after spending the afternoon in santa monica. schlatt and reader are driving back to the offlinetv house.

warnings: just a bit of angsty miscommunication word vomit. mention of alcohol/sobriety.

notes: sooo i mentioned about a month and a half ago that i've been struggling to finish this chapter because this story loosely follows events that have happened in my own life, and this chapter is especially full of personal experience that was difficult to resurface after years of repressing them. regardless, it was pretty therapeutic for me to write this, and i'm really hoping i can finally post this full chapter soon whenever i have the time (i don't lol)

Schlatt is unnervingly quiet at first as he stares ahead, too.  The road is long and dark, and what lies ahead can only be revealed if he turns the engine on.  However, you both wait in silence for the longest few seconds of your life.  The both of you sit in unnerving darkness.

“To be honest,” he seems to try to get words out, “I mean, there’s nothing, like, wrong, but it’s more like…”

He dances around his thoughts for a moment, trying to come up with the right words to say.

“I guess, I just feel a little… y’know.”

He falters before he truly begins, and with an annoyed sigh, ends up taking his key out of his pocket, and using it to start the car instead.  “Yeah, I can’t do this right now, [Y/N],” he remarks with defeat, letting his foot off the brake to begin driving.

“No, hey,” you reach out, placing your hand over his forearm, which softly drops into his lap the second he feels your touch.  Maneuvering his way out of a parallel parking spot with just one hand, he ignores your fingertips pressing into his skin, telling himself he just needs to focus on driving, and maybe he can stave off his thoughts, at least for tonight.  “J, seriously.  I can tell something’s on your mind,” you press further.  “Did something happen?”

“No, nothing’s like… wrong or anything, I’m just…  tired and I wanna go home and pass out.  That’s all it is.  I mean, we had two shoots today.  Can you blame me for being a little cranky?”

You don’t mean to glare at him.  But a lie is a lie.  And lies are not something you wholeheartedly tolerate, especially not from someone like Schlatt.  Maybe he’s on too high of a pedestal in your mind at this point, but no matter how you try to picture the podium, he’s standing there with a trophy of guilt firmly gripped in his hands.  And all you could think about is whether or not it’s your fault that he’s feeling like this, because if it weren’t, he wouldn’t be stubbornly avoiding you, right?

Your hand withdraws as you sit back into your seat, crossing your legs as you listen to the faint flow of the air conditioning kick in.  “Fine,“ you surrender.

“Fine?”

“Yeah, fine.”

“...Okay.”

He’s stunned into hesitation at how quickly you gave up on prodding for more information.  It’s uncanny, almost, for you to be so quiet after obviously caring about something.

It takes ten minutes of Schlatt driving in awkward silence for him to contemplate that maybe, there isn’t actually any point in hiding from you.  He could tell that you had some degree of attraction and admiration for him – you weren’t exactly stellar at keeping it a secret.  The off-camera flirting, your body language, the soft side you reveal around him, the way you show him your commitment to everything he has ever thrown at you professionally…  He knows there’s something there.

It takes ten more minutes of Schlatt driving in silence for him to arrive at the OfflineTV house.  He slowly pulls into the driveway.  The moment he puts the car in park, the pressure in his head is making its way out of his mouth before he even realizes it.

“I was sad, okay?  I was sad this morning when you left.  There,” he states bluntly.  “And now I’m irritated because… ‘cus I don’t know why I feel this way.  We were drunk and you said it was okay, so I thought it was fine, but then afterwards you left and you haven’t mentioned it at all today.  And I feel like you’re trying to pretend it didn’t happen, and I’m trying too but…  I feel like an asshole because how could you have known any better?  You were drunk.  I was drunk.  Just…  fuck, dude.  I’m sorry.  I’m just…  I’m sorry.”

He’s staring at the parked car in front of him, with both his hands on the steering wheel, and his car still running.  He’s tracing his eyes along the letters and numbers on Cooper’s license plate.  He’s counting how many rooms of the OfflineTV house have their lights on.  

“You were trying to be sober.  I don’t know why I didn’t think about that in the moment.  All I could think about was how grateful I was to be able to hold you with no consequences.  No complicated feelings, no nothing.  Just…  just you.  God, I’m a fucking dick.”

He’s observing the building redness in his knuckles.  He’s doing everything to avoid looking at you when he’s about to directly address you.  

“And look, [Y/N], I like you and all as a friend, y’know, you’re so pretty and talented and smart and you’re just— you’re the whole package.  But I don’t know if I’m…  I don’t know how I feel about taking it beyond that.  I don’t wanna fuck up anything between us.  I don’t wanna ruin what we have.  You’re so special to me, and you deserve the absolute best, and I just don’t want you to be hurt.  I’m not the best.  I’m not what you need.”

He is a deer in his own headlights.

“I’m an asshole.  You just like me because I’m nice to you.  But I’m just a regular guy.  At the end of the day, I could take advantage of you without ever knowing it.  And I’m just not confident that you’d be able to speak up for yourself against someone like me.  I just can’t let you do that to yourself in good conscience.”

For the first time in his life, he is trembling.

you guys will hate me for what comes next. i'm sorry. i had to leave it out in this preview because it will build up anticipation for you guys, but i'll be upfront by saying it's genuinely so gut wrenching and i'm sooo sorry. but feel free to read the story from the beginning here to prepare for the new chapter! thank you for always motivating me.

[luwritesomething]

hey!! i saw what you wrote about mickey, billy and stu taking care of the sick reader. so i was wondering if i could request something with billy and stu x the reader? basically, stu ends up catching the world’s WORST cold. we’re talking the poor love can barely get through a sentence because he keeps sneezing, shivering, and my god it is tissues galore up in this house.. SO, billy and the reader step up and insist on taking care of him! (sick stu would be so fucking adorable)

(also it’s up to you if you want to include billy or not!!) i don’t mind at all!)

ps: your work is absolutely AMAZING!! :)

Stu Macher Heacanons: Him catching a cold would include...

Warnings: Swearing lol, probably typos or bad constructed english, poly!ghostface (aka poly relationship between reader and billy/stu. not a warning in reality)

Edited?: Like always, no.

Reader's pronouns: Not stated, gender neautral (reader gets called 'angel' once)

Summary: Stu catching a terrible cold!!!!

Author's note: THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING FOR STU, I LOVE YOU. he gives me so much comfort <3 i made this in the form of headcanons, hope you don't mind. also, anon is referring to THESE headcanons, so you should go and check them out. also thank you so much for the compliment, you're lovely <3 here's my billy and stu playlist because why not.

criticism, comments and reblogs are always appreciated! requests are open, especially for scream! hit that anon button and tell me your ideas. in the scream fandom, i write for billy loomis, stu macher, randy meeks, tatum riley, sidney prescott, mickey altieri, kirby reid, chad meeks martin, mindy meeks martin, tara carpenter, anika kayoko and laura crane.

i feel like you wouldn't find out about him actually catching a very bad cold until billy appeared on your doorstep with the news.

it would literally go like this,,,

"billy?"

"we're going to stu's. he's sick."

"oh, hell."

it wasn't often that stu got sick, but you knew the eternal annoyance journey a sick stu would put you through.

you still love him, he's always so adorable, but oh sick stu...

the firsts days are the worse for him, because those are the days in which he really feels sick and he's shivering and coughing and covering himself up in blankets.

but once those days pass... he becomes a menace.

billy is the bad cop, you're the good one. neither of you had really realized the reality of that dynamic until a bedridden, fiverish stu called you out.

you two have learned to take advantage of that, though

"i said put the fucking thermometer!"

"NO!"

"stop yelling, you two! stu, please, put it on."

"...fine."

billy makes him soup, and during the few times you don't stay by stu's side, you help billy with whatever he's doing in the kitchen.

first time, stu accidentally poured the soup over himself because of his hands shaking so much and the three of you panicked.

constantly checking for fever, by putting either your hand or lips to his forehead.

billy can take a lot of things, but not snots. he gets really grossed out at the amount of tissues in stu's room, so if stu is too sick or tired to throw them out, you do it for him.

the amount of attention he receives from the two of you is worth the cold for stu.

"i'm sick of the soup."

"c'mon, stuwie. billy made it for you. have one more spoon?"

if billy loses his patience with stu, you're there to ease him and ground him.

and it works the other way around, because stu may call you angel, but everyone can lose their patience.

when billy starts getting tired of stu's sickness, he locks himself somewhere else and copies homework and the notes that stu has missed from school. it helps him stop being so cranky.

"you can't smoke when you're sick."

"...please?"

"... i can't say no to you. if billy finds out we're dead, so make it quick."

watching movies with him !!! even if he keeps sneezing !!!

y'all can't cuddle like you use to, but billy sits on the floor, you sit on a chair and stu sits on his bed as you all watch the movie on his bedroom's tv.

okay, listen !!

reading to him so he falls asleep. hell yeah,,,

billy would read him stephen king or some of his scary books, and you read him whatever he wants --- even if it's just comics.

he's just so happy about having you two taking acre of him.

[ladyloveandjustice]

Spring 2024 Anime Overview: Train to the End of the World and Tonari no Yokai-san

Who knows if poor Whisper Me a Love Song (a cute yuri anime about a girl band... with dire animation conditions so it's currently stuck on episode 10 with the last two episodes delayed indefinitely) is ever going to finish, but here’s some my first post reviewing the rest of what I watched.

Delicious in Dungeon continued to kill it with the second half of the season, kicking into high gear and introducing cranky catgirls, but you can see my general thoughts on the show here.

Train to the End of the World

I love bizarre anime, especially bizarre anime starring loveable weird girls, and Train absolutely delivers.

 A teenage girl named Yoka is bullied by a slimy businessman into pushing a button that activates the 7G cellular network across Japan, but said network warps and changes Japan completely, having bizarre effects on the citizens. For example, all the adults in Yoka's hometown have been transformed into animals and are starting to act like animals.

Shizuru is Yoka's best friend, and she said some seriously nasty things to Yoka before her friend left town. Yoka's been missing ever since the 7G incident and Shizuru is desperate to find her and apologize. So when she sees a picture showing Yoka in Ikebukuro, she decides to drive a train to find her, and her friends Reimi, Akira, Nadeshiko, and also her dog come along. As they travel across the warped Japan, they face many weird encounters and obstacles.

Train to the End of the World is greatly entertaining, as we see the girls encounter nihiists with mushrooms growing out of their heads, screaming goatmen that ram into the train and even zombies on their journey. The dialogue is snappy, and the girls all have a fun personalities. As a lover of girls doing silly violence, I also adored how everyone besides Akira (who is the smart one) has ridiculous combat skills, with Shizuru having her own form of martial art, Reimi being physically unstoppable when she's mad, and Nadeshiko might come off as the ladylike bow and error wielder...but actually she also can beat the shit out of people with said bow as a blunt object. It's fun to watch them go wild.

An example of how ridiculous the show can get is the encounter with the zombies--the absolutely bizarre logic is that since zombies are supposed to be dead to all sensation, arousal will make them blow up. Instead of the girls acting sexy to arouse them like most anime would do, they just say dirty words, and Akira recites a whole paragraph from Lady Chatterley's Lover that she apparently memorized, and they sing a hilariously bawdy folk song. This episode DOES contain the show's biggest moment of sexualizing the teenage girls though- a hyper detailed panty shot that was super jarring considering the show avoided fanservice before then.

And the next episode had Nadeshiko forced to don a somewhat skimpy outfit. Those are the only two instances of fanservice, but that episode also had a joke where this character in this children's cartoon come to life's entire gimmick was that she was suicidal. It was probably meant to be "lol look how inappropriate this would be for children" but it still felt fairly mean spirited at times.

Despite those hiccups to watch out for, the anime works because it never forgets it's core theme or friendship--the relationships between the girls are developed at a good pace, and Shizuru's guilt over what she did to Yoka is explored well too. It's not just a ridiculous anime, it has a heart too. So if an anime where a girl punches a bear in the face and arms herself with vegetables appeals to you…check it out!

Tonari No Yokai-san

Tonari no Yokai-san takes place in a world where yokai have integrated into human society. The central characters are Buchio, a cat who became a nekomata after living to twenty, and Jiro, a crow tengu who is close friends with a little girl he calls Mu-chan.

This is a very sweet, gentle series that has some heartwrenching and dark undertones occasionally.  Mu’s father has been lost to an eerie void, and a lot of the stories focus on grief. The immediate comparison tone and content-wise is Natsume’s Book of Friends, but it distinguishes itself by presenting a world where yokai are very much part of society, to the point where they have to do paperwork  and pay taxes. (There was also a confirmation that one character is bisexual when his backstory involves dating a guy yokai, so that was nice, especially since he's currently in a relationship with a car yokai that's probably meant to be romantic? Yes I said car yokai it is his car.)

There’s also some sci-fi elements mixed in with alternate timelines and what not. I think these elements could be integrated more smoothly, but they are pretty novel. It’s a really solid series.

I do love stories about yokai and I thought it was enjoyable and touching, but it didn’t rock my world the way I wanted it to…it might be that it followed too many characters at once so I couldn’t dig into any of them the way I really wanted to. Still, it’s a sweet, tender and pleasant watch, I definitely rec it.

[dreamerinthemoonlight]

Taking them Home to Meet the Parents (Marius, Artem, Vyn)

This was originally two parts, but I don't think splitting them up makes much sense. Not when both are written and part two was only Vyn

Requests are OPEN, pls check rules before requesting

Cw: just fluff, a shovel talk

Marius x Fem!reader, Artem x Fem!reader, Vyn x fem!reader

Marius

Your parents are split when you bring him home for the first time

He easily charms your mother who thinks he’s “just such a nice boy, you should keep him y/n”

Mentally you’re like “uh huh. sure. Such a nice boy and the biggest tease in Stellis.” Not that you’d mention it. There’s no point in enlightening your mother during their first meeting

Your father is a different story

He’s heard rumors of the younger von Hagen boy and is  suspicious. Very suspicious. though you’re sure his mood is more about the boyfriend bit, not the von Hagen bit. He’s your father after all

The three of you have dinner, while, Marius chats with your mother and your father subtly not grills him on every topic imaginable

When dinner is done, your father drags him outside for a little talk. Before they leave your mother tells him to “be nice to the poor boy, he’s probably terrified” yes, yes he is, but he leads meetings in front of cranky old men all the time. He’s not going to show your dad just how terrified he is, lol

The shovel talk goes about as well as can be expected

“If you hurt my daughter, I’ll make sure you’re a permanent missing person’s case.”

nope, nope, not terrified at all to which Marius responds with a very quiet, “Yes sir, I wouldn’t dream of hurting your daughter”

Your father would be satisfied with the response and the rest of the night goes very well

Before he leaves, Marius definitely gives you a kiss that has your mother blushing, you breathless, and your father reaching for the shovel. It’s something your should have expected, really. Marius wasn’t going to be able to pretend all night. He never can.

Artem

If your parents would be of split opinions about Marius, the opposite is true if you brought Artem home

Your mother would be very pleased with the way Artem cares for you and how much he respects you. Of course, he treats her with the same courtesy, if not with the same openness. 

Your mother does remark that he seems a little distant and very formal. You merely shrug and tell her that Artem is just like that. 

Even with the distance your mother is easily won over

Your father is even easier to please. It’s painfully obvious that Artem respects you no shovel talk needed

He’s even happier when you tell him about his accolades. He wants someone who can take care of his daughter, who can support her no matter what she decides to do in live and Artem is certainly capable of doing so 

After dinner, Artem insists on being the one to drive you home (you came together anyway), which pleases your parents immensely. 

Vyn Richter 

Your dad was seriously trying to find fault with Vyn, he really was

After all, only the best of the best get to date his daughter

But this is Vyn. Despite his god complex, he has his good points and he knows full well how to put those on display

So instead of seeing “your daughter calls me professor in bed” he sees “successful psychiatrist, professor, and someone who will treat his daughter right”

And he will. Red flags aside, his distaste read: hatred of PUAs shows that he will not descend to that level of manipulation

What only you see is that Vyn is genuinely nervous. He doesn’t have a lot of experience at this stage of a relationship I wouldn’t think anyway and he is not nearly as perfect as he’d like to be (you spent an hour trying to convince him that it was going to be fine

So he results to assuaging your dad’s doubts and charming your mother

Boy howdy does he charm your Mom. His polished and refined manner, strict adherence to etiquette, and the gentlemanly way he treats you has her over the moon

So while your Dad is like, “he’s dating my daughter, I don’t like him. But damn it he treats her like a queen” Mom is like “great job, Y/n, he’s a keeper”

Actually, for a moment your mom is a little self conscious over the homely dinner she spent some much time on. I mean, this is fine dining, best of the best, Vyn and he can’t totally dampen that vibe.

But once things really get going, your dad stops interrogating Vyn and your mom stopped feeling so self conscious (a genuine  “compliments to the chef” from Vyn did the trick) things go fairly smoothly

Vyn soon stops being so nervous, to which you think “about damn time” and you end up having a very interesting dinner time discussion

By the time Vyn leaves, all mistrust has been dispelled

As far as you’re concerned, it’s a resounding success

[mostlyghostlyy]

do you think dale likes being called daddy ???

Lol two more of a pair.

I think based on the age gaps that we all have with him (let's be real, it's between 30-40 years for most of us). Kobble would enjoy a little "daddy" play. He may be a little sensitive about it at first because of the age thing. Not really sure of how to react, making him feel a mix of emotions. Especially if you use it jokingly the first few times. It may even serve to make him a little insecure. But after a while, he would really lean into it, even starting to relish the word, hearing it fall from your lips. String it into a few horny sentences, and it becomes his new favorite name.

Once he gets really used to it, he rejects any other kind of nicknames. He will correct you if you slip up. You will refer strictly to him as daddy or sir when talking terms of endearment in the bedroom. Anything other will be punished. I think he likes having control over you, and the parental name is heavily associated with dominance. Because I would assume hed associate parental figures with punishment, he would also start heavily correcting you if you disobey. Ravaging your body until you are pleading for mercy and he thinks you've learned your lesson.

As for him having any sort of parent kink. I really don't know for sure, I feel like we weren't exposed enough to him to know. I'd love to spice things up and throw in a mommy kink for him because I personally love it. (VERY ooc of me, ik)

If you allow him to call you mommy, he totally will. Especially when he's in a more subby mood. He's whiny and cranky and he just wants you to baby him and maybe let him suck on your boob a little. He wants you to take care of him like a good mother should. Pet his hair and tell him he's a good boy, and that you're proud of him, it's what he really wants. Including when you're riding him so much he's overstimulated and thrashing, all he wants is praise.

[windywhistler]

I know I haven’t posted in a while, but I’d like to post a little farewell to G5. I know it wasn’t a lot of people’s favorite, and it definitely had its fair share of flaws (I remember giggling with my partner when the first episode of MYM came out over how stiff the animation was!), but I loved it very much, and I hope maybe we can somehow see these characters again. I loved this cast very much, so I’m going to ramble a bit below this. For a quick TL;DR: I love these sillies a whole lot, and they will always hold a very special place in my heart :)

Misty in particular means SO much to me. I love her and the way she overcomes living with Opaline, especially because the other Mane 5 are just. So willing to give her space to come into her own and discover who she is in a way she’s comfortable with every time she’s uncomfortable. Found family Misty is everything to me as someone who grew up with a not-so-great family and sees her friends as her family. On that note, I also really like the way Sunny is portrayed to have PTSD symptoms after struggling with 2 villains (shoutout to Allura though, I wish we got a proper end to your story girl). I like it when shows acknowledge that going through crazy stuff often results in trauma. She has very obvious flashbacks in s1 ep68 and s2 ep7 of TYT, and she starts experiencing paranoia, having nightmares, and being hyper-vigilant, and it means so much to me that they bothered to show how living through those situations impacted her mental health.

Next, I think I wanna talk about Izzy! I know a lot of people see her as “the Pinkie Pie clone” (and, to be fair, she IS pretty similar), but I feel like she’s so much more than that. I love her having Violette as her own protégé, and how she’s always so excited to use her creativity to help others! It’s nice to see G5’s Mane 6 teach others their own “elements” much in the way that FiM’s Mane 6 acted as mentors to others. I’m also VERY glad they brought back rainbowified ponies, even if Izzy was the only one. She looks GREAT, and getting to see that they brought it back one last time for the final episode made me SO happy (I actually SQUEALED when I saw the thumbnail for episode 23!). I know that part isn’t really personality related, but it still makes me happy!

I’d also like to sing some praises about Hitch, too. Adding a male to the main cast was a rather bold move in my opinion, since the closest we’ve ever gotten to that is maybe Spike in any gen, Danny in G1, and maaaybe Teddy in MLP Tales? We’ve never really had a boy be part of the established main group, and oh boy was Hitch the perfect beginning for that! He’s such a goofball, and I love the sort of “awkward, cringey dad who loves his son very much” thing they did. Yes, he’s different from movie Hitch, but I always saw that as a side effect of now having a child to parent in the form of Sparky. A LOT of people’s personalities can change post-having kids, and I think it’s interesting that they made him like one of those parents who just wants to bubble wrap their kid and keep them safe. It’s pretty funny, since Sparky doesn’t exactly seem to mind or care. He reminds me a tiny bit of my own dad, and that’s something that means a lot to me.

The last two I want to talk about are, of course, Pipp and Zipp! As for Pipp, I honestly… wasn’t the biggest fan of her at first. I think I was just cranky because they added technology and social media to my Horse Show, LOL! Once I kind of got used to that, she grew on me. She grew on me BAD. I absolutely ADORE Pipp; she’s just the cutest! I love how they have her take accountability when she screws up, and I think it’s really important how she teaches kids that it’s okay to put the phone down for a while around seasons 4-5 of MYM, especially given how much tech plays a part in everyone’s lives these days. I think her having confidence and wanting to SHARE that confidence rather than bring others down is really admirable, and I love the approach they had when designing her character in intentionally making her shorter and rounder than the rest of the cast (most notable in TYT), but very specifically not having her be insecure about it. Touching on bodily insecurity is always great, but I also love seeing characters who look different where it’s just… okay. It’s accepted. I think that's pretty awesome!

Last but ABSOLUTELY not least is Zipp! She was my first favorite of G5 (they’re ALL my favorites now, I fear), and I’ve always thought it was so awesome how they had this royal character who was actively against corruption in power AND didn’t want to be treated as royalty! Having a character who’s heir to the throne and very blatantly… DOESN’T want to be/isn’t looking forward to it is something I feel like I haven’t seen a whole lot, and it’s a really interesting perspective to explore. I’m glad they did! I also love how her scenes in episode one of MYM can very much read almost as a trans allegory. I myself am not trans, but my partner and quite literally ALL of my friends are, so it’s still quite meaningful! Plus, I’m someone who chooses to not go by her birth name due to CPTSD, so, from all angles, seeing her wish to be referred to in ways that make HER comfortable and having that be respected gives me the fuzzies. I love her relationship with Pipp too, and I find their bond to be so heartwarming! Portrait of a Princess is one of my FAVORITE episodes of MYM, and it’s just so sweet to see how much they care for each other! Also, slightly less relevant, but them getting their cutie marks one right after the other on the same day was very cute. Very CMC of them. Very Mane 6 of them. Very cute, very demure, very mindful. I hope people still say that, LMAO

All in all, I know G5 had plot holes, ever-improving animation, and a lot of things fans were displeased over. Still, these characters mean something to me, and, even if their story got cut short, they’ll always still be my little ponies. Thanks for listening to me ramble on if you read all this, I know I kind of turned it into an essay haha :”)