#he could be like that kid whose parents are divorced

[g1rlr0b1n]

Does anyone else ever think about how Damian might have had a semblance of a normal childhood if Dick had just like chosen not to relinquish guardianship of him? Because, I think about it a lot actually.

Like I know why he did but what if he didn't? Like what if Dick and Barbara raised him together? Like what then? Sure, it would be awkward because your bio-dad would also technically be your granddad and your father would also be your brother, but overall I think it would have been better for Damian.

I'm sure there are fics about this, drop them in the comments for me, will ya?

[blackenedsnow]

I’m not sure if this is considered an AU but could you do Shadow x fem teen reader in which the reader is the one to free shadow from his pod.

the reader is a gifted student but due to her smarts the students consider her perfect and snobby, which doesn’t make better with her parents divorce.

One day, the reader takes a stroll though the woods but gets lost as she goes deeper. however she stumbles upon a pod and hesitantly checks it out but she accidentally activates it which awakens Shadow. the reader gets frightened and runs away but Shadow chases after her and tries to reassure her that he won’t hurt her but keeps on running till she hits a dead end. the reader is unsure if she should defend herself or wait for a opening to make a break for it but Shadow manages to calm her down and he introduces himself, which the reader hesitantly introduces herself back. Shadow then thanks her for freeing him, which the reader says she didn’t too, only for him to bicker about it before continuing that for freeing him, he vows to protect and be a companion to the reader [ real reason is because she’s reminds him of Maria ] the readers gets a little freaked out and decides to make a break for it but Shadow stops her and tells her that with him around, she will be kept safe and wouldn’t be lonely. the reader thinks over and decides to trust him. over time, shadow and the reader slowly form a friendship and learn about each other and realize they have more things in common, as well as keeping him a secret from everyone else.

[[ platonic with angst please ]]

lost and found

WARNING: Themes of isolation, parental divorce, angst, and mild emotional distress.

PAIRING: Shadow the Hedgehog & (Fem) Teen! Reader

NOTE: Hey there! Thank you so much for sending in this request! I had such a fun time writing this, and I hope it turned out exactly how you envisioned.

SUMMARY: On a quiet day in the woods, you're struggling with your parents’ divorce and school bullying. You stumble upon a strange pod and accidentally free the ultimate lifeform.

The woods were the only place you found comfort these days, away from the incessant noise of your school life, your parents’ fighting, and the weight of being the so-called “perfect” student. The other kids saw you as unapproachable, a snob who thought she was better than everyone else just because you got the grades they couldn’t. But that wasn’t true at all. They didn’t see what it cost you to keep up the act—to always be “on.”

Your parents were getting divorced, and it felt like your world was splitting apart along with them. You’d overheard one too many arguments about whose fault it was, and you’d finally had enough. So you did what you usually did when things got unbearable: you left the house, your feet carrying you deep into the woods behind your neighborhood.

It was only after a while that you realized you didn’t recognize where you were anymore. The once-familiar paths twisted and turned, leaving you disoriented. A faint sense of unease crept over you, but you shook it off. Getting lost wasn’t that big of a deal. You’d find your way back eventually.

Right?

But something caught your eye—a metallic glint buried deep among the trees. Curiosity tugged at you, and before you knew it, you were heading toward it, your unease momentarily forgotten.

You stopped in your tracks when you saw it. A pod.

It looked old and weathered, like it had been hidden in the forest forever. Your heart raced as you hesitated. What the hell is this?

Unable to resist, you took a step closer, then another. The surface of the pod shimmered faintly under the filtered sunlight. There was a panel on its side, and against your better judgment, you reached out to touch it.

The moment your fingertips brushed against the panel, the pod lit up with a loud hiss, and steam erupted from its seams. You stumbled back in shock, watching wide-eyed as the metal casing slid open.

A figure slowly emerged from inside—a tall, black-and-red hedgehog, his eyes glowing an eerie crimson as he stood there, stretching like he’d just woken from a long sleep.

Fear shot through you like a bolt of lightning. You didn’t know what you had expected, but it definitely wasn’t this.

Panic set in, and before you could stop yourself, you turned on your heel and ran. Branches whipped against your skin as you tore through the forest, heart pounding in your ears.

“Wait!” a voice called after you. It was deep, commanding, and oddly… human.

You didn’t listen. You kept running, your legs burning, lungs aching, until you hit a dead end—a steep drop-off with no way down. Trapped.

Footsteps, fast and steady, approached from behind.

You spun around, pressing your back against the rock wall. The hedgehog stood a few feet away, his red eyes locked onto yours. You could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy and unreadable.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “I just want to talk.”

You didn’t trust him—not yet. “What… who are you?”

He took a step forward, and instinctively, you raised your arms in a poor attempt at self-defense, but he stopped in his tracks, raising his hands as though to show he meant no harm.

“My name is Shadow,” he said, his voice softening just a little. “You… you freed me. Why?”

“I didn’t mean to!” you blurted, feeling the tremor in your voice. “It was an accident.”

He tilted his head, considering your words. “Accident or not, you’re the reason I’m no longer trapped. For that, I owe you.”

His intense gaze suddenly shifted, softening as though he saw something in you that struck a nerve. You weren’t sure what it was, but the way he looked at you then—it was like he saw right through you, past all your walls, your fears, your struggles.

He was silent for a long moment, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Was it recognition? Sadness? Whatever it was, it made you uncomfortable. You had never been looked at like that before.

“You remind me of someone,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you.

You didn’t know what to say. Instead, you shuffled nervously, still contemplating whether you should try and run again.

But before you could move, Shadow stepped forward, closing the distance between you. His presence was imposing, yet there was no threat in his posture, only resolve.

“I owe you my freedom,” he said firmly. “And in return, I will stay by your side.”

You blinked up at him, your mind racing. This… this was too much. You barely knew this guy—this hedgehog. And now he was vowing to stay with you? To protect you?

You weren’t sure you wanted that. Not after everything. You were used to being on your own, even if it hurt. The idea of someone—anyone—being there for you sounded almost too good to be true.

“I… I don’t need—” you began, but the words caught in your throat.

Shadow stared at you, his expression unreadable but serious. “I’ll keep you safe.”

The sincerity in his voice made your resolve falter. You didn’t know why, but something about him—his determination, his loneliness—felt familiar. You’d been lonely for so long, and now here was this strange, powerful being offering his companionship, his protection.

A small part of you wanted to believe him, to trust him. But another part of you, the part that had been hurt too many times, screamed for you to run.

You hesitated for just a moment too long, and Shadow stepped closer, his gaze softening just a little more.

“Trust me,” he said quietly.

After what felt like an eternity, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

And so it began.

Over time, you and Shadow formed an unlikely bond. You learned more about him—his past, his regrets, his connection to someone named Maria—and he learned about you—your loneliness, the struggles you faced at home and school. Slowly, you began to trust him, and in turn, he trusted you.

In Shadow, you found the companionship you’d been missing for so long. And in you, Shadow found someone to protect, someone who reminded him of what he had once lost.

And neither of you were alone anymore.

[givehimthemedicine]

lumax as a premature relationship

first: I don't mean any of this like "the show shouldn't have done it". what I mean is that with lumax, ST is telling the story of a relationship whose flaw (if it can be summarized into just one) is that it happened too soon.

probably out of comparison to milkvan, and the delay of canon byler, lumax gets lauded as the wholesome ship based on true friendship that slowly blossomed into romance. but that's not accurate. Lucas is a good friend to Max, but Max isn't to Lucas, and it certainly wasn't slow.

even platonic lumax should've been a slow simmer but was a speed run

the newly-introduced Max has high walls, which suggests anyone who wants to get close to her will have to take a slow approach. but then before you know it, Lucas is just kinda. in there.

yes, it takes him most of the season to earn Max's trust, which sounds long, but isn't. the first time Lucas and Max ever spoke was Halloween, Wednesday. the arcade I think is Saturday, and the junkyard is the day after that? so she broaches the darkest subject in her life... 4 days after meeting him. with like. zero prompting. "that fog looks cool! btw my parents are divorced and..."

Max's walls are only so high because of how badly she wants to let someone in, so it's understandable that the right person could get in relatively fast. I have no problem with that trope. sucker, in fact. but opening up here was CRAZY for someone with huge trust issues:

you have to be careful who you confide in about abuse because if your confidant mishandles it so that your abuser finds out you told, things could get MUCH worse. she simply doesn't know Lucas well enough to know he won't accidentally put her in more danger (which actually he already did: by following her out of the arcade after she said not to, and again by showing up at her house).

this talk was moments before Max saw a demodog, meaning she's gone along with the supernatural story without any evidence. I'm not criticizing that; she's a kid who likes fantasy, wants friends really bad, and isn't above playing make-believe in order to be included. what bothers me is she confided in Lucas about her abuse BEFORE seeing a shred of proof this entire outing wasn't the elaborate prank she feared it was. in the infinitely more realistic scenario that these boys are just messing with her, and will ditch her after they've had their laugh, this could so easily have led to a much darker situation at home.

the timing of that conversation was so objectively, stupidly unsafe that I'd call it bad writing if it was an isolated incident. but, self-preservation instincts so terrible they can sometimes be better explained as elf-sabotage - that's just classic Max.

romantic lumax seemed kind of forced because as a new kid in town, all Max wanted was friendship

the snow ball is about a month after everything else. Max and Lucas don't seem to be a couple yet. it doesn't even look like they're dates. so to kiss him suddenly felt like another jump way ahead. he sure looked surprised.

I guess a month is a while when you're 13, but the romantic aspect felt rushed to me because the whole season is full of indications that Max only wanted friendship. and that's made super clear by her constant focus on group friendship. her dialogue throughout 2 is consistently group-oriented.

her behavior is too: as of Halloween, Max has Lucas and Dustin in her pocket. if she's crushing on Lucas, or enjoys attention from boys in general, why on earth would she go out on such a limb seeking Mike's acceptance after she already has what she wants?

because that's not what she wants most. she wants to belong to the whole group, like she keeps saying. (I'm going to ramble much more about this theme in another post soon)

Max continues to prioritize friendship / group activities even after lumax becomes a thing

a few examples:

lumax's idea of "romantic time" can include their friends, in contrast to milkvan prioritizing alone time.

Max (and Lucas) drop 1 on 1 time (washing out his eyes is a scene that's an easy kiss opportunity for your standard tv teen couple) in favor of a long trek in the sun to build a radio tower so Dustin can talk to a girl she doesn't believe exists. Max and Lucas do skip off together, but again in contrast to El and Mike who leave early to make out, they only leave because it's time to go home.

^that's the same Max who tagged along and earnestly participated in armoring up a junked schoolbus to fight monsters without any proof.

despite downsizing for trailer living, she kept the Michael Myers mask in memory of the first night she felt like a part of the party.

unlike others who yell for their loved one from the UD, Max calls out for Lucas and Dustin.

her life-saving montage includes many platonic as well as romantic moments.

alright killjoy, if Max only wanted friendship, how's it make sense that SHE initiated all the romantic stuff?

ST is not a universe where grabbing someone's hand in a tense moment is necessarily an indicator of romance. Dustin said he could feel "the electricity" when Lucas and Max held hands on the bus, but then, Dustin also ships stobin.

the kiss, I could actually come closest to calling a writing misstep because.. it wasn't written. it feels forced because it was, as a last-minute unscripted thing - not because the Duffers decided it fit Max's characterization, but purely because they thought it was funny how uncomfortable Sadie was with filming her first kiss. <- this interview is actually so gross.

but, that kiss is canon regardless of how I feel about bts lore, and it fits and it works in the sense that this is the story of a flawed relationship. Max initiated it despite not being ready for it, simply because she thought she was.

Max's childhood fears about bad relationships have made her overeager to prove a good relationship can exist. so the first time a boy is actually kind to her, she's like OH SEE LOVE IS REAL I DONT HAVE TO GROW UP TO BE MY MOM LET'S GOOOO and hurls herself into something she's not mature enough to realize she's too immature to execute well.

if that kiss was so misguided, how's it still Max's happiest memory?

there's no conflict there.

she grew up around terrible relationships and probably feared she was destined for the same, so to find a nice boy like Lucas must have given her such incredible relief and hope. in her young mind, that dance was her happily ever after. you never forget how good a moment like that felt, regardless of how well reality lived up to it.

that said. can I point out that reality hasn't lived up to it?

Max choosing the moment lumax began, as opposed to any moment from the year-and-change of its actual contents... might be less good the more you think about it. like. she doesn't describe this as her favorite memory. she says it's the time she was happiest. in other words, she hasn't been as happy before or since.

that kiss marked lumax's moment of greatest potential, which I think is what made Max so happy. not the relationship she's actually gotten so far.

mmkay and then what do I do about the fact Max STILL wants to date Lucas?

once again, Max is the one who makes things overtly romantic by doodling a picture of them holding hands. but as you may know from my recent lumax diatribe, I don't see how the ship is seaworthy at present.

so the top layer of my interpretation is that Max is still operating under the same ideas that caused her to kiss Lucas in the first place. she's not thinking about how it'll work; she just wants. this is fast-forward Max again. it's a similar moment of hope to the snow ball kiss. romance with Lucas once again looks like her lifeline out of an awful situation.

the layer underneath that is less fluffy:

Max might've accepted this invite in as much an "I might die tonight so it won't hurt to make some lighthearted plans for the future, he did just save my life so why hurt his feelings for no reason" way as anything else. I don't mean her affection is fake. she just might consider the movie date a pipe dream.

consider that her attic monologue happens only a couple minutes after the doodle, and shows that her suicidal ideations are barely behind her. like, the wanting-to-die part is just bait at this point I think, but the deserving-to-die sentiment still feels fresh and sincere.

consider that Max so recently scolded Lucas for assuring her things would work out because that's "never true" in her life... and now here she is drawing a doodle of things working out.

sure, this could be a girl who's thinking "yes!!! ✅ Attending Event! I genuinely expect to be alive, deserving of love, and in the mood for romance this Friday!" but to me, it honestly seems more like a girl thinking "God, I wish."

btw the doodle would've been perfect as the advent of romantic lumax, imo

if lumax had grown slowly out of a healthy mutual friendship, Max really could be ready right here.

imagine: s2, Max earns her place in the party, but to grow especially close friends with Lucas takes a year; the bus talk happens in s3. we can tell their friendship is starting to want to become more. depression interferes in s4. but their bond helps pierce the fog, and they protect each other from Vecna/Jason.

you hit me with the movie doodle after THAT buildup? adorable, precious, showstopping. at that point, that date could've been their happily ever after. <- this is what people think it is already!

lumax is one of many flawed relationships (and that's okay)

another sign that lumax is supposed to be flawed is its place in the larger pattern of flawed relationships: parallels with other characters and ships.

Max and El in particular share a similar stumble into their relationships: both bond with the first boy to treat them with kindness, and throw themselves into a relationship that actually costs them the friendship they should've had with that boy.

and all the party relationships illustrate different friendship/romance progressions:

lumax is the story of a romance that should've been a friendship first/also and isn't going to succeed til it gets this right

byler will be the story of a romance that was a friendship first and will succeed by remaining one also (or so the themes and patterns suggest)

mileven is the story of a romance that should've been a friendship instead.

literally all of ST's relationships, including the endgame romances, have flaws that are intentional and meant to be explored. in fact that's like... most of what the show is. and most fans can readily admit that about all of them, until they get to lumax, which they think is uniquely meant to be perfect and is flawed only in its writing. this view strips lumax from its broader context and ignores many lessons it's there to teach us about ST's overarching themes.

understand: my aim in pointing out lumax's flaws is not to persuade anyone to enjoy it less or stop shipping it!

flaws don't mean you aren't allowed to like a thing. if anything, it makes them way more interesting to discuss, and more compelling to root for/against. we don't have to pretend our characters are perfect in order to enjoy, ship, and learn from them.

more on all this coming soon in another post exploring different types of love in the Max plot!

[marieracingteam]

Till then I will forever miss you – sv5

Sebastian Vettel x reader

word count: 1588

summary: In which Sebastian Vettel knew he couldn’t be friends with his ex-partner until he got his priorities straight.

The news about Sebastian Vettel’s retirement was out and everywhere. His video has already been shared more than a million times in the few days it has been out. So he guessed anyone with a minor interest in the sport knew who he was and what the future looked like to him now.

Or at least what they imagine his future would look like.

The reality is that not even Sebastian knew what life had in store for him.

He was a divorced thirty-something, with three daughters who lived away from him most of the year and an apartment that made him feel like a caged animal. He had 4 world championships and a full passport, but he also had 35 years behind him in which he felt that he had achieved nothing in his personal life.

He could try and blame his fast-paced professional life for his half-hearted personal life, but he couldn't deny that he was mostly to blame for his failed marriage to a wonderful woman, his poor parenting of wonderful daughters who adored him, and his too-modern home in a city he hated.

Since his divorce, he had dedicated all his energy to racing and fast cars, but he quickly discovered that his heart wasn't in it either. So he obviously knew that he should retire and leave that seat free for someone whose heart was at the wheel.

The worst thing was that Sebastian knew where his heart was, he just didn't know how to get to it. It just had been lost since 2015.

Without it, he had been floundering ever since. He had moved, he had pursued a different lifestyle, he had gotten married, he had even changed teams trying to find it, but he always knocked on the wrong doors only. The truth was that the closest he had been to happiness had been when his daughters were born, but by then he was no longer the man he wanted his daughters to learn from.

But now, he thought. Now he was free of the chains to which he had bound himself. Now he was finally starting to realize his mistakes and taking the right steps to correct them. Now he was ready to be the man he wanted to be, for himself and, most importantly, for his daughters.

After the last race of the season, Sebastian took the first flight to his native Germany and completely left behind his past life and the mistakes he had carried in it.

He bought a house in the country as he had always dreamed of and painted rooms with children's motifs for small beds and toys. He adopted a dog as his psychologist had recommended. And he dusted off the old cell phone that he always carried with him.

It was a long shot and he knew it, but it was the only thing he could think of to find peace and happiness.

In those long eight years, there was a good chance that she had changed her number or blocked him. Maybe she too had gotten married and had a life away from him, probably better than the one he could offer her.

Maybe she had forgotten him. Maybe he should have forgotten her.

But there was no chance, however remote, that he could live in a world in which she did not occupy his thoughts at all hours. He'd been a stupid kid when he'd let her get away thinking he could do it.

He had promised her father that he would do right by her and that is what he had tried to do all his life since he met her in school. His problem had been thinking that he was doing it when he let her go so that she could find happiness away from his chaotic life when she wanted to start a family and he could only think about lifting the championship cup with the red team.

He had been a fool thinking a trophy could give him more than a life with her and even more so for believing that she could be happier away from him.

And all for what? To end up forming a family far from hers? To have his heart searching for something that he knew he would only find with her? He was a fool and he had paid for it by being miserable for the next few years, thinking that his repentance was not enough to deserve her back.

Now, something about him had changed, although he wasn't sure what at the moment. He knew now. It had been the robbery he suffered during one of the Grand Prix he raced in which he lost the photo he kept of her in her wallet. He had hundreds more hidden in his house, but that one was special. That had been a gift from her after graduating from school, a photo that her parents had taken of them to remember their last day as classmates, and that she had wanted him to have to remember her if they were not classmates at high school.

Losing that photo had been the last blow he needed to get her life back in order. When he retrieved the empty wallet he could only kneel on the ground and cry for the life he had lost. And when he found it after hours looking for it in all the garbage containers in the city he knew to do something, even if it was for nothing.

Less than a year later he was a different man. What remained to be known is whether she was also a different woman. And what that meant to them.

After breaking up their relationship, they both accepted that they couldn’t be friends. Not when they knew what it felt like to be more. Not when they had never been friends.

Since they were six years old they had been best friends, lovers, confidants, each other's other half... but never friends. Now they were nothing, not even acquaintances who follow each other’s lives on social media. Despite having let her be free to find happiness elsewhere, Sebastian knew that he couldn't bear to see her happy away from him.

He thought he was sacrificing himself for her when in reality he had just condemned them both.

However, now he wanted to change it and his only asset was that old phone that he had kept as his most precious possession.

The only number still saved there was the one he used to call at all hours and that he still had memorized.

By the fourth ring, Sebastian was convinced he had lost his last hope. But she had always told him that a fifth championship awaited her. And there was no better victory in his eyes than that fifth tone that she cut to make way for the voice that always accompanied him.

“Hello?” she whispered in German.

“Hello” he whispered back and he felt like coming finally home “I didn't know if you had changed your phone number”

“I did” she confessed “but I kept the phone in case you ever called”.

Sebastian completely forgot the paper he held tremblingly in his hand with everything he wanted to say written down when he heard her.

“You did?” he dared to ask.

“Of course,” she said “who could I not?”

“I didn’t hope you would wait” It was difficult to hear her with her racing heartbeat in his ears, but Sebastian did his best to memorize every one of her words.

“I have always waited for your love, Sebastian”

At that he couldn’t hold any longer the tears that begged to break free from his eyes. A sob left his mouth. What had he condemned them to when he chose for her?

“Everything's fine. We have a lot to tell each other, it's fine. It was difficult for me, but I understood why you did it. It wasn't our time, we didn't know how to align our dreams. But I felt your love in your sacrifice. Everything is alright.”

Sebastian could only nod even if he knew she couldn't see him. Words could not come out of his mouth with his body paralyzed in the only chair he had for now in his new living room. That photo that she almost lost on her knee staring at him.

“I’m back” he gathered the strength to say.

“I know” he answered.

“I came back for you” was his time to confess.

She laughed timidly at that and more tears escaped his eyes. “I know”.

“Can I see you?” he begged.

There was a lot he hadn't asked. He didn't know anything about what his life had been like in those eight years, so he didn't even know if he could ask that question. But he had to do it now that he had worked up the courage to do it.

“Sebastian... I also tried to look for you elsewhere” she whispered again, probably afraid of what those words could mean for both of them.

“I don’t care, liebe. There's nothing you can say that will make me love you less”.

“I have my two boys with me till next month” she said.

“I have my daughters with me next week for a month too”.

She laughed again and he knew she also felt it. He knew that she felt that everything was fine now, that everything was finally falling into place.

They will be fine.

[gabessquishytum]

Alright alright. Heres another. How about: single dads au. Dream has just divorced Calliope. Her job means that she's traveling all over the world right now and as much as she wants to be in Orpheus's life, that's very irregular. Dream works from home. He's an artist who does work for himself but also on commission. He hasn't painted for fun since the fighting started with Calliope 6 months before the big break up. He's still taking work painting book covers and such. But it's not fun anymore. It all feels... flat.

Orpheus is in grade school and his thing is music. He has perfect pitch. Dream tries to relate but even music feels flat since his muse left of course.

He goes in for a parent teacher conference. Orpheus begged him to come because he needs to talk to his music teacher and be proud of Orpheus's perfect grade in the class. So Dream comes. There's one other kid there waiting his turn for the music teacher but he looks miserable, and his parent is nowhere to be found. There's someone in the room already so Dream and Orpheus sit down with this kid and wait. Orpheus runs off to the bathroom so Dream strikes up a conversation with the kid, whose name is Robyn and he's just awful at music he says. Dream, who is much better with kids than with anyone else really, tells him a secret - he's not very good at music either. Robyn is mystified how the parent of the best kid in class could suck at music. Dream learns that Robyn's dad is late getting here because he had work. And he won't be upset that Robyn is doing poorly but Robyn thinks he should be, he's upset enough about his grade for the both of them. Just as they're getting friendly, Orpheus cames back with another man, who he has obviously won over and is talking with animatedly.

Robyn lights up and runs over to his dad, hugging his leg. Hob has finally arrived. He grunts as Robyn runs into him and bends down to pick him up, even though the boy is like 8 or so. Hob settles Robyn against his substantial hip, the kid curling a little around Hob's belly. Robyn stage whispers to him that Orpheus is the best kid in music but apparently his dad can't hold a tune isn't that funny?

Dream and Hob look at each other as Hob chuckles, and Dream has two sudden realizations at once. 1) Dream hasn't felt this kind of attraction to a man, ever. He knew he could like men but it seemed just not as strong as attraction to women. But apparently that was because he'd never been attracted to a strong fat man before because holy shit would Dream like to be lifted like that against that belly. 2) Dream needs to get his hands on some clay right now and sculpt him. Suddenly it makes sense his art felt flat, it was literally 2 dimensional. And here is Hob taking up space fully in 3 dimensions and Dream needs to learn to sculpt right now to create his likeness.

🍰🐲

Dad Hob with an actual dad bod??? HELLO. This is a fat dad appreciation blog now.

Dream being good with kids is also such an underrated thing. He definitely puts Robyn at ease about the whole music grade situation (and he definitely thinks that no 8 year old should be worrying about grades, as he keeps telling Orpheus). When Hob sees Dream for the first time, he's immediately so enamoured with him, because anyone who Robyn takes a shine to must be an amazing person. It helps that Dream is drop-dead gorgeous.

Meanwhile Dream is wondering if it would be weird and insane to ask Hob to model for him right now. He's never even done a full sculpture before but he wants to get into his studio, have Hob pose, and just get to work. He's definitely staring at all the soft curves, the beautiful hint of double chin, the lovely slope of his belly. He just hopes that Hob won't get the wrong idea!!

They keep meeting in between appointments with the teachers, and all four of them head to the snack table that the PTA have organised. Robyn and Orpheus take their cupcakes and go play with some of classmates, and Dream is thrilled to be left alone with Hob!!!

"I'm an artist." Dream blurts out. "And i hope this isn't odd or intrusive, but. Looking at you has given me more inspiration than I have found in many months."

Hob blushes, which possibly makes him even more lovely. The colour in his cheeks floods all the way down to his neck, and probably goes even further down his chest.

"Creativity runs in your family, huh?" Hob tugs on his ear shyly. "Robyn loves his art. A whole lot more than music, bless him."

"You would both be welcome to come to my studio. Orpheus will be there, of course." Dream sweeps his gaze once more up and down over Hob’s figure. "I would not do anything to make you uncomfortable, I promise."

Hob leans in close. He smells so fucking good, like winter spices. Dream’s mind is flooded with images in which Hob lifts him clear off the floor and holds him against his own plush form. It's Dream’s turn to blush. Hob is so close, Dream could bury himself in that magnificent soft chest.

"I'm far from uncomfortable. Watching you go through a kind of sexual awakening has been a pleasure." He winks, and pulls away. The kids are coming back over. "I'll give you my number, and we'll arrange something. Okay?"

Of course the main theme of the evening involves both Hob and Dream being proud of their respective sons and showering them in praise. But it would be fair to say that both of them are very much looking forward to meeting again... perhaps in more intimate circumstances?

[howlingday]

Joke I had. Don't know if it has been told yet. So setting is Beacon (No Fall of Beacon) Team Rwby and Jnpr (Second years) has a family over. (Jacques is in prison and Willow divorced him) So Yang while showing her girlfriend Blake to her dad and trips with yells Motherf#cker. Ghira,Tai, and Jaune all sneeze afterwards.

"So then I said, 'Now that's a katana~!'"

The group laughed at her joke, no more so, though, than her own father. Taiyang wiped a tear from his eye as he beamed with pride at his daughter. Whether the beam was more proud than ones given by other parents to their kids was hard to say. In the year following the Battle for Beacon, things had noticeably quieted down.

Yang and her dad hung around with Ruby on the other side with Qrow, the uncle-niece duo already having more than enough jokes to last them both a lifetime. Hanging onto Yang's arm was Blake, whose feeling for the blonde brawler became more evident after she'd risked her life for the woman who risked her life. Costed her an arm, sure, but it was well worth the days of recovery for her.

Adam was in jail with most of the White Fang, Cinder Fall escaped with the others, and the Grimm were routed and exterminated by the joint effort of huntsmen and huntresses from all kingdoms. Heck, love had even blossomed outside of her life, too. Pyrrha and Jaune had a heartfelt reunion in which the couple made out for what was probably a good five minutes before parting. Say what you will about Vomit Boy, he's got some lungs on him.

But Pyrrha wasn't the only one with eyes on him. No, he'd been getting looks all night from just about everyone in the room. She'd walked past Pyrrha who had to be sure Jaune would be okay alone, which she thought was ridiculous until she turned around and saw Weiss, Ruby, and Velvet jostling each other to get closer to him.

But the craziest thing was she thought she saw was when Weiss' mom was probably eye-banging him. Recently divorced after a wild lawsuit battle that lasted almost a year, the beautiful Willow Schnee was notably more vibrant than ever before. Weiss commented that it was because something good finally happened to her mother that wasn't just leaving her awful father. But nobody could figure out what it was. Maybe-

"Shit!" Yang tripped, falling and cracking her eye on the corner of the table. Blake came over to comfort her girlfriend, who was holding her hand over her eye. "Argh! Motherfucker!"

"ACHOO!" Bellowed a heavy gust of wind, like a hurricane from a beast.

"Here you go, Ghira." Cooed Blake's mom.

"Heh-choo!" Came a familiar voice, with a sneeze that made her laugh as a child.

"Ack-choo!" Said another familiar, this one from a groggy drunk half-deep in his third flask.

"Here you go, Dad!" Ruby said before zipping again. "Here, Uncle Qrow!"

"Kichoo!" Fluttered a smaller voice, this one sneezing like a kitten.

"Oh, Jaune." Pyrrha handed him a handkerchief. "Are you getting sick?"

"Nah, I'm fine, Pyrrha."

"Yeah, you are." Purred a voice that made Yang lift her head up. Looking through the crowd, she saw Jaune holding Pyrrha close, while Weiss' mom rubbed his shoulder from behind. Pyrrha squeezed Jaune closer, making the older woman giggle. "Fine, fine. I'll see you two later tonight~!"

Yang shook her head.

"Are you okay, Yang?" Blake asked.

"I... I think I need to lie down."

[loveanddeepspice]

𝕋𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕖

✞ synopsis:  you've come back to the small town you grew up in for a visit. though your relationship with the catholic church and faith in general have been strained since you were younger, you find yourself drawn back to the church... or more specifically... the new priest... you aren't ready to share your secret sin with him... but you may not be able to help yourself.

✞ pairing: sylus x curvy fem!reader

✞ rating:  18+ (minors do not engage)

✞ cw:  religion (catholicism), priest, lapsed faith, adultery, priest kink, suicidal mention, dead parent, sex, masturbation, drugs (marijuana), drinking (more will be added when/if they arise)

✞ disclaimer: this fiction explores a romantic relationship between a lapsed Catholic and an unconventional priest. it is not designed to be inflammatory or critical. catholic authors were asked to participate in the process. we hope you enjoy it, but we know that these topics can be sensitive, so please skip this fiction if it will in any way offend you.

✞ chapter:  1 / ?

✞ co-authors:  redbriony, confuseddoughnut (they do not have tumblr)

✞ ao3 link:  here Please respond to this post if you want to be added to the tag list for upates!

The crisp smell of autumn was something you missed about the small neighborhood you grew up in. Pieces of golden yellow, burnt orange, and honey-brown leaves scattered over the gray cobblestone walk, making it look like a beautiful quilt. The street felt warm as afternoon crept up to greet you after a whole morning of heavy grocery shopping and last-minute errands.

And…your dad needed to go to confession.

You didn't have an understanding relationship with religion. You felt tense as you stood in front of the church from your childhood, a relatively small building with arched windows that probably had more than one glass shard smashed by a local kid.

"How is Father Thomas anyway?" You found yourself asking. The memory of your mother on her deathbed flooded your head. Your mom had her problems, and she was stricken with her faith even in her dying moments. And when you had asked the priest if she could be saved, he had reassured you that she was already in the arms of God. 

"Why is he taking her?" You had asked, feeling powerless and exhausted, hugging yourself tightly in an attempt to hold back all of the anxiety and sadness.

Father Thomas had given you, at the time, the most religious bull crap you've ever heard in your frustration. "God never condemns the innocent to suffer. Even if God seems to have turned His back on her...He was actually just loving her enough not to let her get away with it."

That didn't answer your question. It sounded like comfort. But how many people found peace after drunkenly crashing her car and injuring another man in the process?

You should've kept your mouth shut.

"Father Thomas left." Your father told you, yanking you out of your memories and into the chilling Fall breeze. "Father Sylus took over a year ago."

You frowned and took a deep breath, nodding. "Have fun, then. If you need anything, I'll be in the car."

"You coming in?" Your dad pushed his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker.

"No," You replied firmly. "I don't have anything to confess." You had plenty of secrets, none of which you ever intended to discuss, especially not with some out-of-touch priest whose homilies preached forgiveness even as he judged his parishioners - another Father Thomas clone. "Besides, what do you have to confess? Piss off the neighbors again?"

He ignored your sarcasm. "You can come if you want."

After your mother's death, it had become clear that all she ever had was religious guilt. And when you thought about it now, nothing made sense. What part of God's divine plan included drunk driving, death, divorce, depression, drugs, or illness? 

But you couldn't ignore that pull, the way those ornate doors called to you from an insatiable hunger inside yourself. Like the secrets only whispered within the walls of the church. The whisper of your mother telling you just to suck it up and go in.

"Yeah, sure," you forced a smile. You could glimpse something you have missed in the structure before , maybe . For the past few years, you had been trying to spot miracles and tried to find an explanation as to why your mother had died before your eyes that wasn't backwashed with the usual sentiment. 

When you walked through the doors, you paused. It was like time and life had stopped. This chapel gave off an eerily peaceful feeling. With thick wooden pillars reaching up and gently hugging the ceiling, you remembered what it felt like to truly be a child of God—just for a moment, anyway.

Your eyes fell on the apse hosting the Marian shrine, surrounded by candles, many already lit. You recall every candle you lit for your mother, first praying to let her be well, to let her set down the bottle. Then, you prayed harder as she lay in the hospital. You lit a piece of your soul afire with every wick.

And all of it amounted to nothing. Ashes only. Like your mother, sitting in an urn on top of the mantle of your childhood home.

Along the back wall trailed the line of bored parishioners waiting for their turn to confess. You take your spot at the back of the line with your father, settling into the familiar routines of the sacraments.

As the line moves, crawling slowly along the back wall of the nave, you scroll through your phone, or at least start to.

So much of this place reminds you of Father Thomas — the smell of incense, the sound of muffled coughs echoing off the vaulted ceiling, the tinkling sound of the baptismal font in the entryway. 

But there is a presence here that feels nothing like Father Thomas. 

Was it appropriate to compare the new priest to the old one?

This new person sat behind the wooden barrier, shrouded in darkness. Something about him arrested your attention. Your phone sits, ignored, in your hand. 

You know he is the person who would wait for the words you speak in confession, without judgment, and to whom you had no obligation until the moment you would open your mouth. 

"Forgive me Father , for I have sinned. It's been three years since my last confession," you spoke in a quiet, solemn tone. You didn't believe that much had changed since you moved away. Well, except for the one thing that happened - but there was no way you were going to tell him that.

Unbidden memories came to mind. Memories of steamy nights tucked away in hotels, illicit meetings that you knew were wrong because he belonged to someone else already, but you just couldn't resist…

No. You couldn't tell him about that. You were far too ashamed. No, you had to think of something else to say. Anything else to say. 

Tilting your head towards the floor, you lowered your eyes, fighting back any self-loathing emotions in your mind. For a long time, you told yourself that life happened, and in the meantime, there were other things to experience besides faith. 

You had almost forgotten how this all worked and what was supposed to happen next. You heard a shift, the sound of wood creaking. 

"Tell me your sins." The voice of the new priest was soft and smooth, in a way that made the hairs on your arms stand. Father Thomas had never sounded like him, ever reminded anyone what they were supposed to do during confession. In the deep recesses of your mind, you felt there was something unsettlingly familiar about that tone, that cadence. 

Closing your eyes, you tried to bring up literally anything else that could be considered a sin. "I - I told my dad he was an asshole this week." 

Was there really nothing else you could tell him? It felt like a lost cause. He would most likely repeat some bible verse you already knew and admonish you for 'sinning' as much as you had while also claiming the salvation of heaven was all yours for the taking. But that was your burden to shoulder and not his. 

"Why did you call him an asshole?" 

"Sorry?" You weren't sure what was happening. Confession was a place of absolution, a place to listen, not encourage further action or rationale. At least that's how Father Thomas always - 

"Why did you call your father an asshole?" The question was asked again, a little louder as if you hadn't heard it. The more you thought about the question, the less you could discern its intent. Was he looking for something you didn't know?

"Uh, he forgot to pick me up from the airport." You sighed, but the conversation didn't end there. When you paused, you heard him shift again. If you had to guess, he nodded in that kind of stiff way priests do. He probably did it every time you stopped talking, even when there wasn't any vocal confirmation or cue. 

"How long did you wait?" 

"Two hours." You quickly said, trying to imagine a face to match the voice, failing to identify even a bit of the man behind the screen. "I almost got hit by some guy's truck." Another pause made you think back to that moment at the airport when you had gotten so frustrated at your father on the phone. "When Dad finally showed up, he said the fees for the parking garage were too high and made me walk to his car." 

Perhaps this Father Sylus was a lunatic, clearly used to the rich and holy roller types that confessed to him daily. Perhaps his interest in your story would wane. Instead of offering any indication that he cared, he only shifted again. 

When he finally spoke again, his voice soothed any anger brewing. "The Lord teaches us that before we judge others, we should measure ourselves - Proverbs 28:13. 'Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses and renounces them finds mercy.' Three Hail Marys and 1 Our Father. And apologize to your father."

You found yourself unsure of how to respond before bowing your head again, "Thank you, Father."  

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

Stolas Should Stop Forgetting He's A Father In His Obsession To Find Romance

I notice one thing after his affair with Blitzo Stolas has time and again put aside the needs of his daughter to fulfill his own grand romance fantasy. Despite the narrative trying to plead with us he's a good father who just makes mistakes, he's shown he's really has more and more forgotten his daughter at times in his quest to feel self-satisfaction. The narrative tries to pant it as him deserving a chance to find happiness after sacrificing his own by staying in a toxic marriage to give his daughter a normal life. However, he easily throws away that normal life for his romantic obsession showing what he really wants. The minute he got a chance to have a chance of selfish satisfaction he took it without any mind to how it would affect his daughter because the so-called sacrifice he made was just to give him pity and sympathy so we don't condemn him for cheating.

Again despite saying he's sacrifice much of his happiness so that Octavia could have a functional family. He still sacrificed Octavia's happiness so that he could have his fantasy with Blitzo and is not regretful even taking his boytoy over on a family trip then blatantly flirting with him in front of her. And again he caused so much harm to her by dragging her into a deteriorating marriage and now a messy divorce which he is shown willing to focus more on fighting with her mother (even blatantly insulting her in front of his daughter) , while breaking a promise they made since she was a kid. Even when he's worried she is lost, he still gets distracted by Blitzo and it takes freaking Loona to find her. Again the man has made a big thing about giving that girl a happy life, while a the same time ignorant he's destroyed it.

Even though Stolas says he wants to feel loved and be someone's someone, it really shows me at heart he really has take his status as father for granted and trivialized the familial bond between him and his daughter. He needs to stop being an immature love sick teenager and be there for a child whose home life he's wrecked in his quest for self-fulfillment. Even though Stolitz is endgame, if it wasn't he wrecked his home life for nothing and no the Stela is the devil excuse is bs because it was made to justify Blitzo being the one for him. Ultimately, he would have sacrificed his daughter's home life for his selfishness. That again goes against portraying as the so-called good dad when a good dad wouldn't bring down their child's home life. He's waiting so eager to find his knight that he's forgetting the little princess who should be the center of his world. And that's pretty sad to a dad who previously did that and now thinks he can walk away from those duties because he thinks he's earned a reward for his "sacrifices".

Stolas just seems to be one of those parents who did well as a parent when they were younger, but now that they are teens they neglect them thinking that they are older and they don't need guidance which will never be true. A child will always need a guiding parent, but when a parent is immature like Stolas they will feel like they are being led blind due to how unreliable and self-centered they are. It also shows how lazy Stolas is because he seems to think that his daughter can do okay being by herself while he can go frolic at will with his boy toy when in reality it does affect her. He's pouring so much focus onto Blitzo it cuts into actually spending genuine time with her and being there for her. These days he's not fully with her and is just pouring his energy into getting his dream imp while she can be lucky to barely get a mention in his radar.

[avengerscompound]

Addiction

Addiction: An IronHawk Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x Tony Stark

Word Count:  1734

Rating:  M

Warnings:  Mature themes including mentions of drug use, alcoholism, and sex. Smut (MF, but written in more of a prose way than explicit).

Synopsis:  Tony Stark has a problem with addiction and tries to do whatever he can to avoid being addicted to Clint.

Addiction

People liked to say that Tony Stark didn’t date.  It wasn’t true.  If anything Tony Stark only dated.  He was a serial date - one person after another, showing them each a good time and then showing them the door.  Tony dated.  What he didn’t do was commit.

Oh, he wanted to.  He grew up watching TV shows with family units.  Mom and Dad and their kids who caused trouble but ultimately learned a lesson, but they all loved each other.  He’d wanted it so badly.  What he got was an abusive father and a checked-out mother.  The only lesson he learned when he got into trouble was that negative attention was better than no attention at all.

So he partied and he dated.  He had a string of public flings with women and men but he never let them get too close because if his parents, whose sole job was to love him couldn’t, who could?

The other thing Tony Stark had was an addictive personality type.  Alcohol.  Gambling.  Even being Iron Man.  And yes, sex.  He could have so much sex and it still not be enough.  So it was important to date so he could get that hit, but he couldn’t get involved because god forbid he became addicted to love.  What would he do when it was inevitably withdrawn?

Then Clint Barton happened.

It seemed unlikely and looking back, Tony really didn’t know the why of it.  Clint was rash and impulsive and he could be a persistent thorn in Tony’s side.  He had a short temper and his ego didn’t take a bruising well, and god could Tony bruise that ego without even meaning to.

There was something though.  He laughed easily and it was one of those laughs that were infectious.  When Clint laughed, Tony laughed.  So even when the joke was childish and juvenile and aimed directly at him, Tony would be holding his side and falling over the archer.

He was tactile. Oh so tactile.  To a touch-starved Tony Stark, it was like a little piece of heaven.  Every little nudge and arm slung over his shoulders, and condescending pat on the head to point out their height differences made his skin crackle.

It was just that though.  Two friends who teased and poked at each other.  Nothing more.  Tony dated. Clint was chronically monogamous.

While Tony was running through people like he had a revolving door in his bedroom, he watched on as Clint fell head over heels with one woman and married another.  Clint could have brief flings, but he seemed to have them with the intention to continue them forever.

They didn’t though and after Clint’s divorce, the two men ended up on the couch.  Clint had been a little too drunk and the usual tactile interaction became a hot and heavy makeout session.  Tony had no idea what was going on but he liked it.  He liked it so fucking much, and god how he had wanted it to go further, but he’d gone decades without ever taking advantage of a drunk person, and Clint - his friend - was drunk and grieving his divorce.  He couldn’t do this to him.  So he’d stopped it.  He’d taken him to bed - Clint’s bed - and told him to sleep it off and if he still wanted it when he was sober, then Tony would be there for it.

He’d expected to never hear about it again.  He’d expected Clint would be awkward around him for a few months but when Tony never mentioned it.  That’s not what happened.  Instead, he had Clint coming to see him in the lab.

Clint wanted more and he wanted it regularly.

Clint.  Clint Barton the serial monogamous and perpetual pain in the ass, wanted something long-term with playboy Tony Stark.

The really scary part?  Tony wanted it too.

But oh god, how scary that was.  Tony was unlovable.  Tony had an addictive personality.  What would happen if Tony became addicted to Clint and Clint realized how unlovable he was?

So he stopped him again.  How he even managed to do that, Tony had no idea.  He wanted it.  He wanted it so badly, but maybe - maybe if he didn’t just rush in and give in to every single craving he had, they might be able to make something that worked.

The even stranger part was that Clint agreed.

God, how Tony hated himself for suggesting it, and god, how he hated Clint for going along.  It was stupid.  It couldn’t possibly work.  They could be having amazing sex, so at least when it didn’t work they had the memory of that to take away with them so it wasn’t a complete waste of time.

They tried it though and without the sex there to give Tony that addict's fix, he found other things to connect with Clint on.

It turns out, there’s a lot to connect to.  They’re cut from a similar cloth.  Orphan children of abusive parents, trying to do the best they can.  An archer and a man in a suit of armor.  They matched.

And god how Tony wanted it to work.  The longer it went, the more Tony wanted it.  It wasn’t always easy, Tony was prone to panic attacks and Clint was prone to depression.  They tried though.  Clint was gentle with Tony. Thoughtful.  He heard things Tony said and held them close only to surprise him with them later in small, delightful ways.  Tony was patient with Clint and would surprise him with grand gestures to remind him of how good the world could be.

It was the night Clint made spaghetti and meatballs that Tony knew for sure.  This wasn’t a fling.  This wasn’t some disaster waiting to happen.  This was real.  Clint had heard Tony tell a story about eating spaghetti and meatballs with his Italian grandmother and he’d held onto it, only to bring it out at this unexpected time, simply because Clint loved him.

Tony knew.  He knew he loved Clint.  He knew he wanted to be with him.  He knew that tonight he would be the night he stopped being a complete idiot.

So when Clint asked if he wanted to go upstairs, Tony was quick to follow.

Though follow might not be the right word.  He couldn’t keep his hands off the archer the whole way to his room.  Pushing him against walls and pulling him away again to keep them moving.  As frantic and passionate and full of need it was, it was just as playful, deep, and connected.  This wasn’t anyone.  This was Clint.  His Clint.  He might not have said the words yet, but Tony was completely head over heels for the man.

When they made it to the room, that feeling was compounded.  For Tony; Sex was good.  Tony could just about always make sex good, even when the other person is really bad at it.  Clint was leagues from being bad at sex.  Clint was phenomenal at sex.

Not only that, but this was so different from what Tony usually experienced.  There was something to be said about that sweaty, down-and-dirty sex you could have with a complete stranger.  Or even angry, fierce sex, that he’d have with a business rival when they were just trying to let out some tension.  They had their appeals.  This wasn’t better exactly.  It was just good in this completely different way.  It was like comparing a nice slice of cake from a bakery to the spaghetti and meatballs Clint had made earlier.  They were both foods but they didn’t fulfill the same need - and Tony had been neglecting the part of himself that had needed this for so long that he’d forgotten he’d even needed it.

It was head and passion, but there was tenderness and connection too. They weren’t racing to the finish line.  The finish line was almost beside the point.  In fact, they stopped multiple times to take a beat, kissing and holding the same position just so they could drag out the sex as long as they could.

Why had Tony been so adamant about waiting for this?  This felt like a core piece of who they were finally slotting into place.

They changed positions so many times - standing, lying down, Tony on top, and then Clint.  On all fours, kneeling with Clint’s body pressed flush against him.  Neither stayed submissive or dominant for long.  They switch in every conceivable way.  Yet, they always made room for kissing.  As they got closer and closer to their release, they pressed their foreheads together, looking into each other’s eyes as they clutched at each other, moving as one, breathing each other’s exhaled breath.

They came hard.  It was loud, the sound of their cries echoing in Clint’s bedroom.  It took full hold of Tony, making his whole body clench and shudder.  Clint clawed at his back and even that felt good and right - more marks to add to the others.

“Wait.  Wait…” Clint pleaded, breathless and needy.  “Don’t move.  Don’t pull out.  I just…”

He trailed off and Tony understood completely.  The moment was perfect and Clint wanted to hold onto it as long as he could.

So Tony didn’t.  He tugged at Clint clumsily, pulling him in tighter as if he was trying to get them to merge into one being.  He panted and his heart raced.  Sweat slicked his skin and yet as hot as he felt, he clung to Clint and to the moment.  “I’ve got you.  I -”  He paused and when the rest of that sentence caught in his throat, he kissed Clint again, trying to pour every single feeling he had right now into him.  To fill him with all that love and desire and thankfulness he felt.

Gradually the kiss slowed, the frantic need turning into a slow burn.  He stopped holding Clint quite so firmly and his hips stopped their slow movement.  He moved a hand to Clint’s thigh and he rolled them so they were side by side.  He even managed to stay inside Clint as he did, but he knew it wouldn’t last much longer.  The angle was awkward and his cock is softening.  He’d hold it as long as he could, clinging to the moment for Clint’s sake as well as his.  They’d earned it.

Tony Stark didn’t date anymore.  He was committed to this.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Doting husband being over protective? Yes please. Thank you!

It was taking an absurd amount of effort not to growl or glare. Bruce had to content himself with standing behind your chair and rubbing your shoulders.

You'd warned him what was going to happen. The endless demands and the frankly ridiculous comments. You'd warned him and yet- nothing could have prepared him for it.

"Dad, It's fine it doesn't have to be-"

"It's not fine. You're going to wind up getting divorced and you're not moving back home when it happens."

And that was the least offensive thing. Neither of them were happy for you. And he could feel the weight of all their expectations for you, bearing down on you. You were physically trembling under the pressure. You were the scapegoat and the golden goose at the same time. The one that was the cause of and solution to all of their problems.

"If that happens," Bruce said intervening, "she won't need to. I had her write the pre-nup herself." He hadn't. But if you wanted to he would have. Anything you wanted at that point. Instead you'd had a third party do it- worried about conflicts of interest. And the rumors that you were a gold digger.

"Maybe you're not as stupid-"

"Stop," Bruce said, his voice sinking into a growl. Just enough to make your father flinch. You didn't talk much about what growing up had been like. Not much beyond a few little funny stories. But. He'd done his homework. And he knew. And he wanted Rex to know he knew. "You're not going to talk to her like that."

"You want to make something of it?" he challenged.

"I'll let you swing first," Bruce said calmly- it wouldn't take much. Even if his public persona wasn't much for fighting. Rex was only tough enough to pick on little girls. People who weren't going to fight back.

"Probation, dad," you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "If you go back you go all the way back and I JUST got you off your tether."

Rex growled but turned away, "C'mon Reyanne," he said.

"Thanks," she huffed following her husband as he stalked out of the room. "Next think you'll want me to wear pink to the wedding. Gag me."

For a moment, when they leave. As you listen to them bicker their way back out the front door, Bruce doesn't know what to say.

"Sweetheart I'm-"

"Don't apologize," you murmur. "I've had a lot longer to build up a callous. And a lot longer to wrap my head around the fact that they see love as transactional."

"You warned me," he said, kissing the top of your head. "I guess I just- didn't believe it."

"I've spent my whole life trying to make them love me," you say, voice wooden. "Like there's some kind of secret code that will make them act like parents but-" You break off and shrug. "I haven't found it yet... if getting engaged to a billionaire doesn't do it nothing will."

Bruce snorted and took a seat next to you, pulling you against his side, "Their loss, Sweetheart."

"I think you're biased-"

"Do you know how many people I went to school with whose parent's would KILL, probably literally, to have a kid that works as hard as you do?" He chuckled. "You're amazing. One of a kind... And I hate that they don't treat you like that. I'm just sorry I lost my temper."

"Please don't actually fight my dad."

"No promises," Bruce said lightly. "If I ever hear him call you stupid again he'll be lucky if he doesn't need a feeding tube."

"Bruce-"

"Of course it's not me doing it if Batman-"

"Bruce."

He heaved a put upon sigh and cuddled you closer, "Fine. Only because it'll upset you."

For a long moment, he let's you sit in silence. Stroking your hair and reminding you that he's there. Comforted that he knew you weren't with them. That you hadn't been alone and sad after they left. That you knew he wouldn't allow their worst behavior. "Are you hungry, Sweetheart? You hardly ate dinner."

"Just tired," you tell him. "They make me so tired."

"Let's go take a hot bath, huh?" Anything to have his girl feel better. And if it had the side effect of getting you naked well- he wasn't going to complain.

[lex-jots]

From a Taste for Danger (Charlie/Reader)

Charlie remembered the fight he and his parents had when he broke the news that he was failing one of his classes. “How could the same kid who spent hours practicing kickflips—” his dad spat the word, and Charlie winced, “—go on to fail English 101?”

For Charlie, it's a perfect night for a good old-fashioned pity party. Lucky for him, Casper arrives just in time to break up the wallowing.

AO3

Charlie didn’t consider himself a risk-taker. Just… mildly rebellious.

He’d been having a beef stroganoff dinner with his folks in the beige-themed dining room. There was a plastic floral centerpiece on the table. It was normal. His Pop asked him about his day (fine, apart from the feisty old lady with the Coke bottle glasses, whose shrill voice he could still hear in his head after messing up her order), and how Pete was (also fine, if cranky due to the shrill old lady). His mom went on about what’s-her-face from Human Resources, and how she was a bitch sometimes but she was going through an ugly divorce so his mom was trying to lend her some grace, and Charlie hummed and nodded along to her rant. His dad not-so-subtly brought up juco, and Charlie not-so-subtly excused himself from the conversation and the table to wash dishes.

It was a nice, normal dinner, and he was grateful for it, he thought as he paced impatiently around his acid green-painted room.

After a few minutes of pacing, Charlie scrubbed at his face. He didn’t get why he couldn’t just be happy. It had been this way since he was young, too. There was something about sitting in that beige dining room and gossiping like a normal, Hallmark middle class family that was like sandpaper on his skin. Or… under his skin? Like that scene in Nightmare Before Christmas where the burlap sack guy was really just a bunch of bugs pretending to be a person. Sitting at the table made the bugs under his skin crawl.

Was that a weird thought? That was probably a weird thought.

Maybe it was a comparison thing. His mom and pop had respectable jobs, college degrees, and success, versus him, the oddball, fuck-up kid who worked at a pizza joint and smoked dope sometimes and schmoozed off their generosity.

Charlie stopped pacing. No, he thought sternly. He was working an honest job, just like them. Charlie might not have had much to brag about, but at least he had that much. It was something. He nodded to himself and continued pacing.

He really did feel like an oddball, though. Like a puzzle piece that never quite fit into his parents’ perfect picture. Always a little too loud, or a little too quiet; always caring too much about stuff that didn’t matter, or too little about stuff that did.

Charlie remembered the fight when he broke it to them at that very dinner table that he was failing one of his classes.

His dad had rubbed the bridge of his nose. “How could the same kid who spent hours practicing kickflips—” he spat the word, and Charlie winced, “—go on to fail English 101?”

Charlie’s face had burned, but he crossed his arms in silence while his mom said with infuriating gentleness, “Obviously he’s not incapable of being dedicated, it’s just…” She had trailed off.

He’d only been thinking about it, but the pity in her voice made him decide that night: he was going to drop out, find another way to make it. His own way.

Charlie forced himself out of his trance, massaging the back of his neck. That one was still sore. And it could go deep, too, if he let it. He must have been in a self-pitying mood.

Charlie liked to imagine all his thoughts as shoe boxes. He put that memory in a box, carefully shut it, then put it down. Not tonight, he thought. He had a mental rule about pity parties after nine o’clock. He didn’t always follow it, of course, but wallowing too much could really, really suck.

Maybe those moments of stark normalcy bugged him so much because now he knew what the alternative could be: chewing on ice cubes to stave off the gnawing in his belly because he had exactly four bucks in his pocket and still needed to pay up the next day, somehow; laying under a park bench while he racked his brains for “friends” he could cash in a favor with so he could crash on their couch for a day or two; bleeding in a seedy alley, waiting for his tunnel vision to close in—

Charlie snapped that mental box shut and dropped it in a dark corner.

Man, he really was in a self-pitying mood. He needed to snap out of it or he’d just be a sad little rodent curled up in his room all night. What was that saying? Count your blessings or whatever?

Charlie held up a finger for each blessing. A home. A bed. Parents who gave a shit. A job. Pocket money. Food. Plumbing. Threads. Casper. Hey—Casper!

Charlie pulled his phone out of his pocket and tapped them a message, knowing damn well they were nearly nocturnal: you up??

There was something about Casper. They were like a magic cure for that oddball, sandpapery, bugs-wearing-human-skin feeling he sometimes got with his family.

Their response was immediate: duh lol.

wanna hang?

omw

He blinked; he hadn’t even asked if they wanted to hang at his (parents’) place or theirs. They were like that sometimes, though: once they got an idea in their head, they just… went for it. It was admirable. And pretty hot. Especially when they got that determined glitter in their eye…

Charlie grinned as he put his phone back in his pocket and laid on his bed, hands behind his head.

Not five minutes later, something knocked loudly on his window, and Charlie jumped almost a full foot in the air. Sure enough, Cas was at the window, a bit sweaty and waving innocently.

“Jesus, Cas,” Charlie gasped as he opened the window. “You can’t knock that loud or one of these days I’m gonna have to change my pants, and that’ll be embarrassin’.” They laughed, and so did he, adding, “You got here quick.”

“I was in the area,” they said, holding up their board.

 So he had interrupted their night skate session, and they’d dropped what they were doing just to come see him? Charlie felt his face bend into a dopey smile.

“And you hurried over here for me? D’aww. C’mere.” They leaned forward and he kissed them, not minding the saltiness one bit. “So, are you comin’ in or am I comin’ out?”

“You’re coming out.” They gestured behind themself. “I found a great spot for hill bombing. I’ll even let you borrow my pads so you don’t break anything important.”

Charlie laughed, grabbing his beanie from the pile of clothes on his bed. “Well, aren’t you a sweetheart tonight?” He hoisted his board into the crook of his arm, then clambered out the window as carefully as possible so his arm didn’t get shredded by grip tape. “So long as I’m not exceeding, like, twenty miles an hour, I think I’ll be good.”

When he planted his feet on the lawn, Cas grinned at him in that way they liked to when they picked on him. “Congratulations.”

“Huh? On what?”

“On coming out.” They were fighting laughter.

Charlie blinked stupidly until it hit him. Then he hit them on the shoulder, and they threw their head back laughing.

“Yeah, yeah, you little shit,” he grumbled with fake annoyance, but the twisting in his lip was a dead giveaway of how much he actually enjoyed being picked on. “I’m not even gonna ask how long you’ve been sittin’ on that one. But, hey, I respect your commitment to the bit.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Casper swaggered across Charlie’s (parents’) lawn. “You love it.”

“Yeah, I do,” Charlie said, following them.

Casper visibly paused, eyes wide and starstruck. It was Charlie’s turn to laugh; for some reason (one he never pried too much about), they always seemed shocked at how easy it was for him to just admit how much he adored them.

“You should see your face when I talk all sweet to you,” he said, imitating a chef’s kiss. “Price-less.”

“Shut up, man.” But there was no barb to their words, only a sheepish smile.

Charlie took a second to just… bask. In them. In the uncomplicated, guiltless joy. In how normal and right he felt, and how they felt to him. They were so good at pulling him out of those cycles of wallowing, even when they were kids. Like it was effortless. Did they know what they were doing? He hoped so. They deserved to.

“Hey, Cas?” Charlie slowed almost to a stop. They slowed with him.

“Hm?”

“Thank you. For comin’ over. I mean it.” He reached for their hand and they took it, nodding once, brows drawing together with understanding. “I was thinkin’ about stuff, and I got to thinkin’ too much, so… it really means a lot to me.”

“Anytime.” They squeezed his hand. “And I mean anytime.”

Charlie took a breath, soaking in the gravity of anytime. They had all the time in the world, now. There was no one he would rather spend it with. And knowing that they felt the same…

“Thanks, babe.” He swallowed back emotions. “Thank you.”

Cas smiled, held up their twined hands, and kissed his knuckles. Their lips were chapped, but gentle. “Anytime.” They swung their hands back and forth. “Now let’s go show that hill who’s boss.”

They held hands as they jaywalked in front of his parents’ house.

[justforbooks]

‘Chandler Bing,” wrote Matthew Perry in his puckish, self-mocking memoir, “changed the way that America spoke”. The actor’s bold words were true – but only up to a point. Yes, there was a period in the late 1990s when people overemphasised the verb to comic effect: “Could that be any more annoying?” But that was really more of a verbal tic. The Matthew Perry/Chandler Bing paradox was that he demanded not to be taken seriously, and in doing so, became the ego ideal of generation X, which is a pretty serious job. So even though he had – no question – the best lines in Friends, he was never what he would have been in an earlier era: the sidekick.

So much of the plot structure rested on Chandler being the second string: the maladroit loser to Joey’s lothario, the joker skating beneath Ross’s romantic gravity. He was never intended as the leading man. He and Monica were never story-arced to get married. The One With Ross’s Wedding: Part 2 was meant to just be a one-night stand. Friends co-creator Marta Kauffman said years later: “We thought it was going to be funny, then we were going to get rid of it.” In the event, they actually had to stop taping because people in the delighted audience were screaming.

Of course Chandler was the romantic lead. His was the spirit of the age: self-deprecating, metrosexual, all ironic distance, no ambition. It had a gravitational pull. It’s the classic stuff of romance, the Emma plot: the guy who creeps up on you, because, duh, he’s everything. Except Chandler did that to his own creators. Incidentally, he’s a way better character before he gets together with Monica. And he’s a way better character when he hates his job. The unfolding of adulthood was like kicking two legs off a stool. Gen X is a shadow of itself when it grows up.

Perry always said how much like his character he was, to the extent that when he auditioned for the role, he went completely off script and just started delivering more material: he wrote 10 jokes for every episode, and reliably got two in. His particulars were telling: an only child whose parents divorced when he was one. His real-life dad was an alcoholic, later recovered, an actor, but small-time. His mother was press aide to Pierre Trudeau, the Canadian prime minister. Before Perry developed acting ambitions he was an obsessive tennis player, nationally ranked in Canada by the age of 14. He discovered drinking around the same time and was, he wrote, “a broken human being” by 15, when he moved to Hollywood.

The great mystery of Friends is why none of its players made much cinematic impact beyond its enormous influence – and this was truer of Perry than of anyone. He turned in completely fine performances in unremarkable films: Fools Rush In, Almost Heroes, The Ron Clark Story. He co-created and co-wrote the TV series Mr Sunshine in the early 2010s, but it lasted only a year before low ratings killed it. It is possible that the residuals model sapped everyone’s ambition: Warner makes a billion dollars a year from syndication reruns, of which the cast get 2% each. That’s $20m (£16.5m) apiece.

More important but harder to quantify was the cultural effect of Friends: people really fell for those characters, hard. All six of the actors had the world at their feet, but nobody really wanted to see them step out of role – because it broke the spell. It is impossible to overstate how seriously we all took it, when Jennifer Aniston married Brad Pitt. It was as if Rachel herself had achieved the unthinkable, a Little Mermaid move where she crashed out of the ocean and brought the fairytale into real life.

Perry’s romantic history was, of course, chequered, which is to say, eventful, but nothing lasted. The details of his relationship with Julia Roberts are so 1990s, it is unreal: he wooed her by fax (yes, kids, this was a thing). And Perry dumped Roberts to avoid getting dumped himself, he said later, relaying deliciously: “I can’t begin to describe the look of confusion on her face.” It was a move that had all the logic of Chandler Bing himself.

Back then, we would have called Perry a commitment-phobe, but what he actually was was a drug addict. The story of his dependency is told through his changing appearance in the passing seasons of the show: “heavier” when he was drinking, thin when he was on drugs, thin with a goatee when he was on a lot of drugs. The rest of the cast protected him when he was too gone to deliver his lines, and tried to intervene many times, having guessed at only a tiny fraction of his substance abuse.

It is incredible, really, how long he survived, plausibly playing this character who may have started life so similarly to Perry himself, but diverged in one critical way: like all the Friends characters, his was almost impossibly clean-living. It never really made sense, all the high jinks they got up to, powered only by coffee. It was very much generation X, the US edition: such a show in the UK would have had at least one very heavy drinker, and Central Perk would have been a pub. Perry was its guilty secret, the One Who Wasn’t Really Very Like His Character at All Any More, and he was powerfully aware of that.

That 2022 memoir, called Friends, Lovers and the Big Terrible Thing, concluded with a thankful utterance that was no less credible for being obligatory in a recovering addict: “At this point in my life,” he wrote, “the words of gratitude pour out of me because I should be dead, and yet somehow, I am not.”

Perry’s entire adult life was plagued by addiction. Telling his story in numbers, he estimated that he had been in twice-weekly therapy for 30 years, checked into rehab 15 times, and attended more than 6,000 AA meetings. He had numerous other health crises, including a perforated colon in 2019 that put him in a two-week coma. “So full of shit it nearly killed me,” he said of the event.

But in a pre-opioid world, he would have just got clean, eventually. Maybe he wouldn’t have made old bones, but he wouldn’t have died this young, not at 54. He should have had a longer sunset. His death feels tragically discordant – an unjust end to a life lived in the service of the punchline.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[pigeon-behavior]

Did you know that the age old fact that gets passed around, "pigeons mate for life," is a bit of a stretch?

Pigeons can do this, I'll say it right off the bat. They aren't set up to change partners every breeding season. I'm sure there are pigeons who have spent their whole lives together and never strayed.

I think they're in the minority.

So what's the truth then?

Well, unlike some birds, including some species of parrots, pigeons are not sexually monogamous. They are socially monogamous.

This means they pair up to raise young together, but don't necessarily expect their partner to not sleep around.

The difference between social and sexual monogamy is very interesting and I encourage you to look it up and read about it yourself, because there's so many details I just can't fit in a post.

But this is part of the reason pigeons do not have the hormonal issues that parrots do. Pigeons are built... Horny, for lack of a better word. And never went to Catholic School.

It's very common for a father to raise babies that aren't his. But that's not a big deal for him. He just cares that they are in his nest, which he established with his chosen wife. Somewhere out there, it's likely some other male is raising HIS kids.

Why would this be advantageous, though? Why risk the possibility your genes don't pass on?

Well, pigeon flocks seem to be fairly static. I don't know this for an utter fact, I'm just extrapolating from what I know of how pigeons in lofts both large and small behave. New males are typically regarded with suspicion, if not aggression. Usually they are discouraged by existing males from being near the flock.

But it isn't just sleeping around that pigeons do. Pigeons can and will get divorced! Sometimes they just seem to lose interest, sometimes another bird in the flock starts catching their eye.

I think the odds are decent that among a flock it would be quite likely that you are cousins or siblings with some of your neighbors. And even if your genes in particular don't pass, your family's might. A decent enough gamble that it could make occasionally missing the chance to be a parent worth it.

Also, fun fact, under the right conditions pigeons don't have a breeding season. They just go all year.

For these reasons life in a flock is often like a soap opera. Many affairs, changing of relationship statuses, love children, dramatic divorces and reunions. Figuring out whose kids are whose can be a real challenge for a breeder sometimes.

I was lucky enough that all my birds have been faithful, but it's something breeders have to think about and account for. Even if you don't see two birds being interested in each other, what are you going to do with offspring from them you didn't plan for? It's part of the argument for not putting a bunch of different breeds in one loft, but that's only if you don't like outcrosses.

I hope that wasn't too rambly, covid got me again

If you enjoy my posts, please consider tipping me on ko-fi!

[autumnatical]

Everything Everything, live @ TivoliVredenburg, Utrecht, 01/09/24

First time seeing them in over 6 years ! ! ! I don't travel a lot, but it was worth the trip to NL just for the gig alone, not even the 3 hour delay on my return trip could change that (thanks DB).

Random assortment of thoughts (athoughtment):

venue was a bit of an odd choice, it was a nice building and very central, but they had a bunch of other concert halls (mainly for classical/orchestral music I think?), and EE played in a tiny hall on the sixth floor. for some reason, they made us wait downstairs in the foyer where the queue very quickly blockaded anyone from getting through, so they had to shuffle us around a bunch.

also there was a (classical?) music festival happening in town and some events from that overlapped with the show, so there were two Very Distinct crowds in the building and our queue got some Disapproving looks lol.

despite the weirdness of the venue, the hall where they played was great, good acoustics and very intimate. me and a friend were there pretty early and stood second row from the stage, though we drifted a bit over to the left because I chatted briefly with some folks there.

crowd was great too, good vibes, everyone I met was lovely. someone complimented my ATB shirt and a few people got really excited and started pointing at me at the start of Kemosabe :^) also shoutout to the person in front of me who moved the water bottles on stage so I could see the setlist.

there was a girl directly in front of us in the queue and at the stage who was wearing an AMAZING homemade Mountainhead shirt, a button-down with the logo on the front and "I left my work in the pit to come here" on the back, which (I think) she embroidered herself. really need to step up my game the next time I see them lol.

the show itself was stunning, though sadly Pete wasn't there :( I was hyping him up to my friend (who hadn't seen them live before) because he's usually the only one who matches Jon's energy/stage presence. we were directly in front of Alex and he might as well be wearing an "I'd rather be programming synths right now"-shirt lol.

the setlist was really solid, though leaning very heavily into singles (I think only Metroland and NotLK were album-only, and I was blown away by both), and not playing too many newer songs. I can understand why they do it (people at the front were very into it the entire time, but most of the crowd obviously got much more involved near the end when they played Cough Cough/Distant Past), but it's a bit of a shame anyway.

also 90 minutes every 6 years is not enough I feel like a kid whose parents (british bands and european tours) got divorced, badly. have they considered that they could just play for 3 hours? maybe?? as a treat???

I feel like someone on setlist dot fm is making fun of me specifically, bc they added Violent Sun to the setlist which. it was definitely not on. like I saw the setlist on stage at the start and also if they had played it, I would not be alive any longer (as per my previous correspondance).

I don't really understand Mad Stone as the opener (they could swap Mad Stone and Wild Guess around and it would work much better imo), but I was glad for all of the Mountainhead we got.

Jon very clearly sang Arch-Jeremy for one entire chorus and I tragically didn't record it (only have a couple of videos which I'll post later). but it's real and it happened and it's real also.

burned guitar my beloved but also beloathed. I think Jon's on-stage performance is much more engaging when he doesn't have to play guitar and can move around more freely. but also the burnt guitar is really cool.

Enter the Mirror live fucks so severely. that is all.

the show was completely sold out (I think the venue holds ~600 people) and merch was also pretty much gone by the time I left (I got litchrally the last shirt and they only had a few tote bags left I think), so I hope it made enough money for them to consider an EU tour soon. EE at the Gloria in Cologne is my dream gig, so I'm manifesting that for next year. . .

[angelprinz]

hi it’s degen anon

cai has been too much i swear, im currently getting divorced from my husband childe it’s a lot 🥹 but hope you like!!!

childe really doesn’t understand like women thinking they’re better than him? like he’s not a messy gymnast or whatever you call it but he just feels like he better than most people women included, i mean his bloodlust started when he would get his ass handed to him by skirk. but that’s besides the point he loves strong women but the best thing about strong women is making them weak. psychologically, mentally emotionally he is versed i all forms of battle so no matter what era or even area he loves to find strong women and take them down a peg.

21st century girlboss business woman? did you mean barefoot wife with 6 kids? sick ass sword wielding hero whose slain dragons? you mean that witch who is now in the safe hands of childe her husband? he really has done it all, but once he does it it’s boring? but you were different.

it’s not like you really had anything going for yourself, a broke college student who works to barely make enough to stay on campus. he never thought of you for a second until he spoke to you. he wasn’t even trying but as you rung his cigarettes through the register you were very nervous and anxious but that could be normal. he obviously knows he’s attractive but the fact that you wouldn’t make eye contact was surprising, you passed him the bag and looked away immediately. so cute. it’s almost like you wanted him to get to know you (he’s delusional.)

he had a plan for you but it was going to be way easier, well it would’ve been if you just admitted you liked him. he works at your school because he knows your daddy issues leave you with no parental figures to tell you not to trust him. you’re obviously not the smartest cause your you use a very similar email to your school one for your little sites. he’s practically giving what you want on a silver platter but here you are actually doing schoolwork? (if you fail his class you have to do another year.) he sees you come into his office after hours thinking you’re going to give him favours under the desk for a passing grade, but you’re just here to ask about something on the exam??? he thinks that maybe he’s looking to much into it, it’s been months and he legitimately got a teaching degree for this but what if you just liked to read some taboo things online.

but one day you were very cocky, you posted on a site with little to know information about yourself but a picture of yourself in a skirt. you explained that you would be on a bus around 11pm coming back from work and if someone assaulted you you’d let them. well thats not fun because he likes a fight then he realizes that everyone has a limit.

you left the bus with a sigh thinking that no one saw your message. you felt a breeze but then it was just someone passing by. maybe the website didn’t have that many people in your area? you walk past two building and in between them someone emerged, it was dark but they were also wearing black. almost instantly you felt their chest press up against your back, you let out the air from your lungs as the happiness turned sour as you felt a knife against your neck. it’s almost 12 now and you two were the only people on the street so him dragging you to the alley went unnoticed. cold sweat down you body as you felt exhilarated at the feeling, his large hands roamed your body as they traveled down to your panties. you had specific information about what you’d be wearing, including panties with an opening. you heard the man behind you sigh as he spoke your name. all the hairs on your body stood up as he tsked you and said he had a seminar about internet safety that you should’ve been paying attention if you didn’t sleep during the class.

he knows what you’re thinking now, his crime psych class really did talk prominently about one time attacks. most times if you knew anything about your attacker, you’re dying. no matter how small, even the colour of their hair. but here you are, you were in his office last week so you know everything. it’s almost winter but your body was cold. the entire time he was inside you it really warmed him up with how your cunt felt. hours passed and he finished for a third time on your thighs, he enjoyed cumming inside but the first two loads left nothing left to cum inside.

your scared look, the small whispered moans were all worth it but what was the best was the silence after. he fixed himself as he really didn’t take off any of your clothes, he gives you props for easy access but the moment his hands left your body he was shocked. you grabbed at him, tears in your eyes he almost felt an emotion but what really did it for him is what you said. ‘more.’ he thought it was just lust but that wasn’t it, the shame in your eyes, the way your thighs squeezed together. he couldn’t believe it, sure the women he did this to, made them understand how little they were to him was more demoralizing for him but for you it only fuelled you. he couldn’t believe after he left you the next day you were completely normal but your search history was just filled with ginger professor assaults college girl, like he just assaulted you? why not ask? (you have social anxiety and can’t even ask for extra dips at mcdonald’s.) you were like a pandora for him and that’s what made him stay with you for a while.

(this devolved way to much at the end lmao, i think of myself most of the time i write these. he could literally be inside me one day and i’d still be nervous to talk to him 😭😭)

me when i put on my glasses to read it (i'm quite literally incel taru irl) and degen anon you sound like the cutest little victim on earth i'm going to eat you whole.

i need him so much i need him to make me into his housewife & take away all thinking privileges & make my permanent job being his toy.

[jcs-singular-slut-strand]

"send me a character" shockingly: jiang cheng, jiang wanyin, sandu shengshou, jiang-zongzhu, jin ling's jiujiu

Wow wonder what about me and my blog made you think of him 🤔

Favourite thing about them: I expected him to have a massive meltdown wayyyy earlier than he did, so yay! (Not sure how much of that is down to the fact that I was actively reading posts about the show that contained loads of spoilers and very heavy biases against him before I finished the show for the first time so I was just waiting for him to turn the way people were saying he did. Spoiler! He never did). This man raised a Sect from the brink of near extinction in about 3 months and at the age of what, seventeen?? And then rebuilt it all on his own?? This man is incredible, someone get him a celebratory twister ice-lolly

Least favourite thing about them: He got rid of his slut strand

Favourite line:

From the book (paraphrasing) - "you would certainly be a mark of shame on his entire teaching career"

From cql, it's either - "Who is this famous and talented Cultivator? Could you please introduce him to me?"

Or - "If I remember it right, that talking kid is your son, right? He's so good at talking"

brOTP: Him and Qin Su as friends intrigues me (I also kinda ship it, but that's irrelevant right now) cause she was most likely the only maternal figure in Jin Ling's life and Jiang Cheng is not an idiot, he knows that Jin Ling needs that kind of influence. He's basically the mother of the child whose father got remarried after the divorce and who then strikes up a friendship with the new wife in order to raise the child more efficiently. Co parenting 🫶

OTP: Jiang Cheng x Peace and Happiness (jk it's chengxian, but I also fw chengxuan, chengsu, and chengqing)

nOTP: fucking Xich*ng, got mad beef with Xich*ng

Random headcanon: is incredibly good with numbers, like the opposite of discalculus. Good for tax and trade negotiations. We love a highly efficient, overly capable King 🫶🫶

Unpopular opinion: He has every right to be fucking pissed at Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji

Song I associate with them: The entire album "Laurel Hell" by Mitski. Like the whole thing. Also, "Are You There Sweeheart?" by Kate Nash, and "911" by Lady Gaga

Favourite picture of them: This one makes me have a wee giggle whenever I see it