#how can I see how bad this is but still choose to do it

[phantom-thieves-official]

can I say something controversial. I think by interpreting the Maruki reality stuff w Akechi as 'Joker's greatest wish was for Akechi to live bc they're in love!' is kind of a poor read of the text. Not because I don't ship them or whatever, my shipping opinions aren't relevant to this post. But because I think it overlooks a big part of Joker's actual character. He wanted Akechi to live because he saw an innocent person taken advantage of and discarded. He saw someone who needed help. You can even go further with this and say, okay, Akechi wasn't an innocent person - he killed people and tried to kill Joker himself. And what does that mean for Joker's character? It means he saw someone who had done terrible things - some of them to Joker, personally - and he still came away from Shido's palace with the understanding that while he did bad things, Akechi was a victim of Shido's, too. Good, or bad, or in between, that he still was someone in need of help. Joker wanted to help Akechi. He wanted to give Akechi a chance to make things right, and to show him that they didn't have to enemies - that Akechi didn't have to fight the Phantom Thieves, and he didn't have to be alone; that it's never too late to change course and be a better person and that Akechi's life didn't have to be one of hatred and isolation. He could atone for his crimes, still take down shido, and have a group of people to support him. After the terrible things Akechi did as Shido's lapdog, after he sold the thieves out and plotted to murder Joker. Joker still just wanted to help him. Joker saw that while Akechi was undoubtedly a criminal he was also a victim, and there was something in there worth trying to save. But you know what? He couldn't do it. Right as he seemed to be getting through to Akechi, he was killed by Shido's cognitive version.

And so when Maruki's reality brings Akechi back, it means imo that Joker feels guilty. Out of all the people he'd been able to help, Akechi was the one person he just couldn't save. It's not because they're in love, it's because Joker regrets how things worked out. He regrets that he didn't get through to Akechi sooner. He regrets failing a vulnerable and victimized person whom he feels he could have helped. Even if that person hated Joker. Even if that person had previously tried to kill Joker with his own hands. Joker's sense of justice is imo his biggest character trait, followed closely by his massive savior complex. Of course he wanted Akechi to live. Because in Joker's eyes, despite what he'd done to hurt Joker, Akechi was still a victim. He was still someone Joker should have been able to save.

This all comes to a head when Joker chooses to deny Maruki's reality. He's choosing to live with the guilt; to accept he can't save everyone no matter how hard he tries. He's moving beyond the savior complex and recognizing that sometimes, some people are really just unreachable, or don't want to be helped. It's a moment not only of characterization, but of character growth for him.

anyway that's my hot take. by viewing the third semester through a shipping lens exclusively you lose a huge point of characterization for Joker bc you overlook the nuances of Joker's desire to help everyone all the time and the guilt he feels about failing to help Akechi. You misconstrue Joker's desire to help in the first place as coming from a place of love rather than a place of selflessness and justice; a place of 'doing what's right simply because it is the right thing to do.' You miss out on the subtle ways it shows Joker's not biased by hatred or contempt, how despite the heinous things Akechi has done, and despite the harm done to him directly at Akechi's hand, Joker is still capable of seeing that Akechi is a victim, too - which in itself shows that Joker's idea of justice isn't motivated by personal relationships, grudges, or biases.

[ooooo-mcyt]

Do you guys ever think about what a turning point Double Life was for Joel?

During Third Life and Last Life, Joel was alone.

In Third Life he kinda floats around from alliance to alliance, being pushed into whatever faction is pushing hardest, and then dying with very little notice from the rest of the server.

In Last Life, Joel has allies sometimes, but they cycle in and out of his life. Scar, Grian, Lizzie, they're all there for an episode or two, but then they're gone. Joel is lonely, and he knows it, he feels the aching hollowness in his chest. Over and over Joel talks about needing a team, but instead he ends up the most hated man on the server with a roster of situational alliances.

That's who Joel is, someone who causes chaos, setting the world ablaze, who is sometimes tolerated for mutual benefit, but who's almost always alone, and who (as far as other people seem to notice) doesn't mind it that way.

And then Double Life happens.

The universe itself hands Joel a partner. Someone who's life relies on him, and who he has to rely on in turn. Someone who he has to trust implicitly. Someone who won't leave, because the two of them being a team is sewed into the fabric of reality for the season. And you can see how much lighter Joel is, how much he thrives when he isn't alone, when, for the first time ever, he can end one session and be able to fully trust that he'll still have someone on his side when the next one starts.

Of course, Double Life doesn't last forever. Limited Life comes around and, as far as alliances go, it's like the previous season never happens. It's..difficult for Joel. He takes every little betrayal (of which joel perceives many) from Etho very hard. Which could have left Joel in a worse place than he started. Joel could have lost Etho and decided to never let himself care about anyone again. But instead, he does the exact opposite.

In Limited Life, Joel clings to Jimmy and Grian. The universe showed Joel what it was like to be loved, and I get the sense Joel couldn't stand to lose that, so he found a team and held them so close they could never leave (he would have given jimmy more time, all the time he needed, to keep him at his side).

In Secret Life, Joel absolutely surrounds himself with people. Joel joins the largest faction on the server, never far from people, from life, from laughter or joy. There's no chance for Joel to ever really be alone unless he chooses to be.

And finally, Wild Life. Joel wins because of family. Because he came into the season and he fully opened himself up to love and trust from other people, and he received it back in droves.

I've seen people say it's ironic that Joel won through "family" instead of bloodshed, when he's such a hostile and isolated player. But, while Joel is still chaotic, he never wanted to be alone. Joel was isolated for the first two seasons, in part because of bad circumstances, and in part because he didn't think there was any other way to be. And then the universe showed Joel how it felt to be loved, and he's never let himself be alone since. Of course Joel thrived in Wild Life.

[stxrslutrestored]

GOSSIP GIRL 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

new to the upper east side? not sure how it works round here? don’t you worry, I have you covered. sit back and put on your reading glasses while you become introduced to some of our very own gossip girl regulars 𐙚 enjoy!

gossip sweetheart, at first glance, and second, she’s the nicest girl on the upper east side, kind and well mannered, well educated and seemingly well seasoned (within her world at least). she’s the perfect amount of sheltered and innocent, but don’t let that fool you, she can get what she wants when she wants it. 

to be on her bad side is what some might consider social suicide. because to have sweetheart mad at you, you have to have done something. 

those who know her personally will get to know a much sillier girl, one who jumps easily and then plays it off like nothing. who makes stupid pop culture jokes and gets herself in shenanigans to no end.  

sarah cameron fits into her lifestyle perfectly. much like sweetheart, she’s the perfect girl for the upper east side, making the second half of the it girl duo that we love so much. sarah is classy when she needs to be, yet on the more informal side, we at gossip girl know that she has some other, less precious tendencies. 

sarah cameron is a party girl, known to be in the clubs with a new man every night. for a girl with such a good reputation, sarah cameron certainly has a dark side outside the bubble wrap of upper east side life. 

kiara carrera is somewhat of an outlier in the upper east side, instead of embracing her status and her riches, kiara chooses to live a more simple life, avoiding rich events at all costs. she spends her time hanging in brooklyn with those less fortunate than her. her money goes towards what she sees as good causes. 

this modern day rebel does what she wants when she wants. she indulges in her interest and lets be honest, she doesn’t care one bit what anyone has to say about her, or that’s what it seems like at least.

rafe cameron, the most infamous boy in the upper east side. nobody really knows what goes on inside rafe cameron’s mind,but everyone knows that he is really quite crazy. rafe is often caught in quickly covered scandals. drugs, violence, sex, you name it, if there’s something abominable going on in the upper east side, he’s involved. 

despite all his scandals, rafe still seems to make a life for himself. even after dropping out of college he lives comfortably on the upper east side, wielding his charm like a weapon to get whatever he wants. some say he’s set to inherit the cameron business and all its assets, but how well will that work out in the end? 

topper thornton, typical boy of the upper east side, facing no troubles or woes in his life. topper is laid back without a care in the world. some might say that it’s a sad existence to care for nothing but money, but topper disagrees, his life is easy, getting all he wants without lifting a finger, materials, rights, girls even. but will toppers life one day come crashing down when he really grows up and learns the harsh realities of adulthood. 

kelce rylan is yet another typical rich boy. always spotted with topper thornton, he has much of the same attitude towards life. kelce does whatever he wants and then pays as much as he can to cover it. to the naked eye he is just a regular guy, to gossip girl, we know there’s more to him. as one of rafe cameron’s minions, there’s nothing you can put past him.

jj maybank a total mystery, its common knowledge that jj lives in brooklyn with a deadbeat dad, and that he couldn’t care less about anything to do with the upper east side life. so how is this boy at constance? that’s a secret not even I can tell you. 

jj is constance academy’s resident bad boy, hanging on to his place in the school by a thread it seems. with a constantly scuffled uniform and a generally intoxicated demeanor, jj maybank still manages to carry a certain charm, and it does make him somewhat of a ladies man. 

pope heyward the star student. at constance on a scholarship by some sweet miracle, his one priority is to make it to an Ivy league and finish his education with straight A’s.

a sweet boy, a kind boy. pope heyward is the perfect gentleman. he spends his free time helping out at the family cafe, a staple for the brooklyn gang.

whilst pope heywards life seems simple, it will most likely become apparent that one little push will be enough to send everything crashing down

john b routlege, brookyns heartthrob. high status enough for constance, but not for anything else. rumour has it his father found a lost city of gold and became rich, not many believe it. a lottery win seems more likely.

john b is hard working, determined, loving and caring, the perfect boy to many. as he hangs out with the other brooklyn boys and only just scrapes by at constance, he makes the perfect other half to our very own JJ maybank

barry rodriguez, the local dealer in simple terms. nobody really knows who he is or where he comes from, but they do know he gets the good stuff. barry supplies the entire upper east side, he’s particularly well known to be around rafe cameron, whatever kind of deal they have, nobody really knows.

now you know what the upper east side is about, who everyone is and how it works.

and who am I? that’s one secret I’ll never tell. xoxo, gossip girl

[multifandoms27-blog]

Yoyoyo, to the bucky/ws ask,

CW!era bucky x avengers reader

Reader is good friends with Sam and Steve and is also around Bucky a lot because of that so when they find each other somewhere they always chat for a while

eventually one late night things get heated between them and they end up in one of their bedrooms but since Bucky had been the ws for 70 years he’s pent up and super sensitive, comming rlly quickly and a lot js from grinding against reader’s thigh for a bit

:3

OHHHHHHH MY GOD YES YES YES

Content: CW!Bucky x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI!!! Premature ejaculation

Notes: I love cw era bucky hfhfjdhfjkhjd also first post of 2025!!

• ───────────────── •

The movie droned on and on, the plot lost on you. Instead, you cast sidelong glances at the man next to you. Bucky Barnes, one of many dreamboats in the Avengers tower. Sometimes you wondered if Tony only hired attractive people...aside from, y'know, what Bucky had done in the past.

But we don't need to talk about that.

Tonight's movie night only consisted of you, Sam, Steve and Bucky. The others were all either busy or on missions somewhere else. You looked at the other couch, where Sam and Steve sat, watching the movie intently. Sam had a habit of making some sort of joke or commentary on the bad decisions the actors made. Steve would shush him in return. Bucky said nothing, just choosing to drape his arm on the couch behind you.

Your heart began to hammer in your chest as you glanced back at Bucky, following the muscles along his right arm, the one currently resting behind you. You began to remember how those muscles flex in the gym, glistening in sweat, his breathy grunts reaching your ears. You felt your face heat up, but your brain didn't stop.

You then remember how those muscles feel wrapped around you in a tightly woven hug, one that you didn't initiate for once. Bucky had been warming up to you, albeit slowly.

Next, your mind decided to fuck with you a little bit. The image of Bucky remained, but you fantasized about him caging you in his arms against the counter, those muscles flexing slightly, his blue eyes narrowed and waiting for you to speak.

Your mind thought of how he'd look on top of you, those muscles still flexing, glistening in sweat. How his breathy grunts reaching your ears-

"I'm going to the bathroom." You announced, getting up from your spot and leaving the room, not waiting for a response.

Instead, you rushed to your room. Your face was flush, you felt hot, and your core was throbbing. You felt guilty having fantasies about your friend, but what could you do? He was handsome as fuck. It should be illegal to walk around with that lethal of a face card.

You hooked your thumbs on your waistband, about to pull your pants down, when a knock sounded at your door. Freezing, you knew it could be one of two options. Either it was Steve, trying to see if you were okay. Or it was Bucky, probably doing the same thing. Sighing, you pulled your thumbs out of your pants and opened the door. Bucky's concerned face showed on the other side.

"Are you alright?" He spoke low, not wanting to wake the few that were sleeping at this hour.

"Yeah, just have some stuff to do."

"I thought you said you were going to the bathroom." Bucky took a step closer, eyes trained on yours.

"It was an excuse, I just..."

"Just didn't like the movie?" Bucky asked. "Or were you fantasizing about someone?"

"I- what? No, I wouldn't, I mean..." You panicked.

"You don't have to lie to me. I could practically smell you it was so bad." Bucky spoke, and suddenly you were very aware of how close he was to you. "I can help...if you...want that."

And that was when your brain and heart decided to flatline.

"Bucky you don't have to force yourself to-"

"I'm not forcing anything. I want this. I want you." Bucky spoke.

You searched his eyes for anything, anything at all that indicated he didn't want this. You found nothing. "Close the door."

Bucky closed the door with his heel and leaned in to capture your lips in a heated kiss. He walked the two of you backwards to the bed, where he gently laid you down without breaking the kiss. One hand moved to cup your breast, the other held himself up as he shifted around.

He straddled one of your legs, his knee pressing against your core. He pulled away from the kiss and you two looked in each others eyes before a compulsion overcame you. You - with Bucky letting you do this - flipped him on his back, with you now straddling his leg. You leaned down to his neck and began to kiss along the side of it, your tongue poking out here and there to test the waters.

When you got to the junction between his shoulder and his neck, your tongue lapped at the sensitive nerve, causing Bucky to let out a breathy groan, his hands flying to your hips, forcing you to grind down on his leg. Moaning into his neck, one of your hands traveled down to his steadily growing cock, palming him through his pants.

You bit down on the flesh between his shoulder and neck, making his grip tighten and his groans become louder. Gyrating your hips onto his leg, the seam of your pants rubs past your panties and against your clit, giving you some form of friction.

Bucky's groans were getting louder when you switched from just palming him to stroking him the best you could through his pants. You tried to come up from his neck, but Bucky immediately grabbed you by your hair and held you there.

"Bucky, I want you to take your pants off."

Bucky didn't answer. Instead, he rutted his hips against your hand, his groans growing more desperate. Was he about to...?

Bucky stilled and let out a shaky groan, holding you close against him. You stilled as well, but only because you couldn't believe what you had just witnessed. You made Bucky Barnes prematurely cum.

He loosened his grip and allowed you to sit up. When the gravity of the situation dawned on him, he felt his own face flush. "I-I'm sorry, I'll go, I just-"

"No, no, it's okay Bucky." You put your hands on his chest. "This might be an invasive question, but...have you been with anyone since we broke you free from HYDRA?"

Bucky hesitantly shook his head no. He looked like a kicked puppy right now. He was averting his gaze, lips downcast, shoulders bunched up...you gave him a small smile.

"It happens to everybody. I think it means I treated you well. And if you would like to, we could go again." You gently turned his head back to look at you.

"After that embarrassing display, I'm not really in the mood." Bucky finally looked you in the eye. "But...I can...stay, if you want that."

Your smile grew. "Of course I want that. C'mere."

Bucky stopped you. "Uh, first I need to clean myself up."

Now your face flushed again. "Oh, right! Yeah, sorry. Come back when you're done."

You quickly got off of him and he gave you a small peck on the cheek before scurrying off to his room. Once he left you alone, you squealed into your pillow.

• ───────────────── •

Here's my Marvel Masterlist in case you wanna request something!

[marikosfragrance]

"What is a deealbreaker in a relationship with bllk boys?"

Content : what is their turn offs in relationships?

Characters : Yukimiya Kenyu, Barou Shoei, Nagi Seishiro, Chigiri Hyoma

Note : please be aware that I will be honest, thank you and enjoy reading.

Yukimiya Kenyu

He is a gentleman when it comes to his partner, but it doesn't mean he let them get away with everything.

One of the things that might be a dealbreaker for him in a relationship, would be the lack of personal drive. Yukimiya is someone that has his own ambitions, if his partner doesn't share the same point of view as he does, and doesnt have an ounce of ambition and idea of what they want to do in the future, he would lose interest.

Another is the lack of personal care, in both health and appearance. Don't get him wrong, you don't have to be overly attractive or very beautiful, but as someone that is a model, he would prefer a partner that is clean, doesn't put their health into risk, and doesn't disregard their appearance. Like not caring how they'd look like, not doing what they can to atleast look neat and presentable, and not paying any mind to how doing something can cause health problems for them. (With his problem regarding his eyesight, I doubt he would want to see his partner suffering the same fate, or similar)

Another would be an overly controlling partner. I can't see him wanting to be with someone that restricts him, Yukimiya is quite open minded, he would be aware of situations where his partner is being toxic, and I can't see him still choosing to stay then.

Barou Shoei

I think the things I am about to enlist, as his huge deealbreakers in a relationship would be self explanatory.

First off, is an untidy partner— not caring about hygiene at all. I cant imagine it with him, as he shows how he cares about cleanliness. He even washes the bathroom first when he showers, and this is canon. Barou would appreciate a tidy partner, as also mentioned in his ideal type, "a person that can clean with him" although it said "can clean with him" it also doesn't change the fact he wants to see the tidiness within his partner. He wouldn't be with an unhygienic partner at all.

Another is a partner that lacks ambition. He has his ambitions, and he is also striving to achieve them. I doubt he would want his partner to be the type to not have any goals, and just stay as they are. He would appreciate a partner that shares the same mindset, and takes action to achieve them as he does to his.

Another major turn off would be a partner that is inconsiderate. A partner that has no respect for him, loses his own respect for them Barou would like a relationship that is built on mutual respect. Barou wouldn't want his partner to look down on him and his goals, nor does he like it if his partner doesn't a knowledge the time he put in his work, as well as his dreams.

Chigiri Hyoma

For Chigiri, there are plenty. But here are some that I think would really affect things.

A partner that is insensitive and talks bad about his injury and appearance. After recovering from his injury, I feel like chigiri is quite sensitive to the topic, he wouldn't want his partner to mock him for it, nor does he want them to be inconsiderate of his feelings. As well as his looks. Chigiri is quite particular about how he looks like, especially his hair. He wouldn't want a partner that makes insensitive comments and hurt him in the process.

Another would be a partner that is jealous and competitive. He wouldn't want it if it is directed at him, a partner that sees his success as their own failure, or cannot seem to be happy or delighted by his success would be a loss of interest for him. Especially if they constantly compete against him in everything, he wouldn't feel as though the relationship is built on mutual respect.

Another would be a partner that neglects him. He wouldn't like it if he feels not appreciated enough. If his partner isn't considerate of him, he would feel unappreciated and won't be able to feel a spark within that person, and thus losing his interests. They don't have to pamper him or give him validation all the time, but a partner that can't even put in some effort wouldn't be appealing to him.

Nagi Seishiro

One of the things that actually would be a huge dealbreaker for him is a partner that is overdependant. He would feel overwhelmed if his partner needs his constant validation, and clings to him all the time. He wouldn't mind affection. But invading his space, disturbing him from sleep, games, and etc would be a major dealbreaker for him. Nagi appreciates his personal space and doesnt like doing unnecessary stuff. He would feel as though his space is being invaded and would feel uncomfortable.

Another would be a partner that pushes him. I don't mean literally, but a partner that pushes him out of his comfort zone and forces him. He wouldn't mind it if he was also willing, or they convinced him, but a partner that forces him to do something he doesn't want to do would make him lose energy AND interest quickly. He would appreciate his partner, but if they can't understand his comfort zone and forces him out of it would make him feel as though the relationship is draining.

Another would be a partner that constantly overthinks, or overcomplicates things. Nagi is easy-going and doesn't see the appeal in ousting effort in some stuff unless he is interested. But a partner that needs support all the time, or analyses everything so much to the point it is so mentally draining to hear, Nagi wouldn't hesitate to stop the relationship there. He enjoys simplicity, so I cannot imagine him with a partner that overcomplicated things. It wouldn't be appealing to him.

[chrystal-ink]

Shadow X GN Reader

Intertwined

Based off of one of my favorite Dodie songs Shadow has a nightmare and you comfort him back to sleep lot of hurt/comfort with lots of sweet cuddles.

-Enjoy

It was his thrashing that woke you up. with the sheer amount of trauma it was never a bother to you, his nightmares. you were used to them at this point it. Still seeing the love of your life suffer at the chaos in his own mind made your heart break just as much as the first time you saw it.

you learned to proceed with caution, waking him up prematurely could cause him further confusion which would only make the situation worse. sometimes as much as your hand pressed against his back was enough to calm him down no waking up necessary. unfortunately, tonight was not one of those nights.

Shadow bolted upright out of bed letting out a cry of agony his eyes shot open as tears began to stream soaking his face and dripping onto the bedsheets below.

"Hey, hey, hey, I'm here it's okay." you leaped into action speaking gently as you made your way into his line of vision. "Take a deep breath it was just a dream. you're safe, I promise."

Shadow obeyed as you gently cupped his face wiping the tears from his eyes. He was shaking whatever he was dreaming about really must have messed with his head.

you wrapped your arms around him attempting to steady him. he buried his face in the crook of your neck wrapping his arms tightly around you, as if you were to disappear if he let go.

You waited for him to speak. It always took him a moment to collect his thoughts after a particularly bad nightmare.

"Are you sure you're safe with me?" He finally broke the silence.

"What? Of course I am, What makes you think that?"

"I know that people want me for my power, they can't hurt me, they know that, but what's keeping them from hurting you? Eggman he took you, tortured you, and let you die in front of me. all while I was powerless to stop him."

"That's not going to happen Shadow."

"How do you know?"

"Because, You won't let it, and neither will I, you trained me to protect myself remember?"

"yah but-"

"There will always be a but my love. Being with you, being with anyone really, there is always some sort of risk. I chose you and will continue to choose you despite those risks. Not because I don't care about them, but because every second you're in my life it makes all of those risks worth it. Feel this." You placed his hand on your chest so he could feel your pulse. "I'm still here, see? and you're here with me, which means no matter what even if an enemy crashes through that door right now I am still safe because were together."

"I still worry about you."

"I know, and I'm grateful just relax and lay with me for now, tell me everything I want to hear it you don't have to go through it alone.

You laid down, Shadow following suit placing his head on your chest so he could hear your heart beat, the rhythmic thumping calming him as he wrapped himself around you.

'Skin. Heat. Hair in your mouth, feet touching feet. you and I, safe from the world, though the world will try.'

you stroked the top of his head feeling him melt into you as your hand moved along his silky quills.

"You know you're the only one who can do that right?" He commented

You giggled "Yah, I Know"

You felt him smile against you.

'Numb, Fine, You create the rarity of my genuine smile. So breathe, breathe with me.'

Shadow began telling you about his nightmare, all the horrible details of an event that would never come to pass. He told you about the anxiety he felt when he couldn't find you. how he hated himself for letting you get hurt even though it was just a dream. he didn't want his mind to go there it just did on it's own.

'Can you drink all my thoughts cause I can't stand them'

Shadow wrapped himself around you further, as if he were trying to merge your bodies together, so you would never have to be apart again.

"I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you on my watch, I can't lose you, not in the way I lost everyone else."

"I know dear, that's why I won't let it happen."

'Intertwined. Free. I've pinned each and every hope on you, i hope that you don't bleed with me.'

the more shadow talked the more at ease you felt him become, his grip loosened on you as his muscles relaxed, his head grew heavy against you easing you into a relaxed state as well.

When he was done you thanked him for telling you everything, you reassured him that everything would be fine, as long as the two of you worked as a team which seemed to comfort him.

'I'm afraid of the things in my brain. but we can stay here and laugh away the fear'

you hummed mindlessly as you stroked Shadows head lulling him to sleep, you followed suit not long after. The rest of the night was silent as the two of you slept in each other's arms, fighting off whatever nightmares came your lover's way.

[ruegarding]

for context, @rosabell14 is referring to tags on this post.

ok we're going off-road w this one

generally speaking, i like the concept of "some things aren't meant to be controlled," which annabeth says to percy after he controls the poison. this is said and then immediately forgotten abt, however, this could be another angle of change, a reoccurring theme in hoo, as well as a continued theme from pjo.

obviously, from pjo, the change is addressed w the myths, the theme of yielding, and w the conclusion of the story:

hoo continues this concept of change w the percy-jason switch, the greek-roman conflict, the idea of what an identity is and how to change it, etc. there's a lot of individual character work w this idea, but there's less of a mythological concept attached to it. gaea is a static and flatly written antagonist, octavian becomes incredibly flat as a character and his development into this sort of fanatical antagonist that is never explored, there's a lot of teeth-gritting abt how the gods are gods and they never change and everyone just has to accept it, the myths aren't challenged in the same way they were in pjo, etc. there's a few major exceptions, i'll get to that.

this is a glaring issue i have w hoo. it wouldn't be as bad as a standalone, but hoo makes the entirety of the previous series meaningless. in tlo, percy asks for kids to get claimed and be trained so when (or if) they have to go on dangerous quests/fight monsters/etc they're both older and more experienced. this is the conclusion to the war and how the status quo is changed (disability accommodations expanded to reach more ppl and work more effectively).

hoo, however, does not do this. camp jupiter infamously has a child army while the adults are retired, all of the new characters are younger than percy (who is still 16), and only two of them have spent a long period of time training, although hazel's isn't formal/in a camp (and piper doesn't even learn how to fight until book four ffs). this sort of immediately bastardizes pjo in a way that is never acknowledge by the series and makes it, and anything after it, a failure as a continuation of pjo.

and that's where this theme could've come in. when bob is remembering who he is, him and percy have this back-and-forth abt identity. percy relates to bob bc he, too, just had his memory erased and that vulnerability exploited (annabeth's perspective in this conversation is very different bc she doesn't have this same experience nor does she understand percy's feelings abt it. a good way to build tension using different povs, but, once again, doesn't get fully utilized). in the conclusion that conversation, there's an interesting moment:

this is that idea again, "some things aren't meant to be controlled," like fate, like identity. titans are meant to "be the same...forever." and here percy is, not only as the catalyst for change by throwing bob into the river lethe, but also by encouraging him to commit to this change once bob should know better. this was percy's role in the previous series, as well, where he constantly challenges the perspective of other characters to be more quote human unquote.

afterwards, annabeth has a similar moment w damasen:

i also think these are very funny to have side-by-side, just as character analysis, bc percy is very much both insecure and empathetic like u can choose ur future, it's up to u, etc, whereas annabeth is like i am right, listen to me.

anyway, both of these moments repeat the idea from pjo/tlo: immortals can't change. but they are changing. and they will change. the rules of the world are malleable (i also think hazel's monologue abt seeing the minotaur as a victim would be another aspect of this to explore). what abt traditions? what abt camp jupiter's child army? how should these change? going back to the og thought, tho, what shouldn't change? what are the "some things" that aren't meant to be controlled? how do you balance traditions and reform (great opportunity to use octavian btw!)? why can't a god be human, act human? why are the ancient rules important? that's an important discussion to have if we're growing this universe.

i don't particularly like that hoo immediately reverts back w the premise of the story, like i was talking abt earlier, nor do i think these characters were introduced or used well in canon, but using these characters, these moments, these conversations, rick could've salvaged this mess by embracing change isn't a static thing. he doesn't, tho, so it's all lost potential.

separately, something i've always liked abt the akhlys fight is that percy wins the literal, physical fight against her, but loses the metaphorical fight. he gets to walk away, but he walks away miserable. and this is bc the gods aren't ppl, they're physical representations of concepts. and percy has this thought abt tartarus and gaea while in tartarus, and i believe it's brought up in boo, but it's barely relevant. it's something i wish was explored more.

now onto specific characters. i talk abt my general idea here, ie this moment in tartarus is forcing percy and annabeth to confront their worst-case scenarios.

for annabeth, i've repeatedly gone on record to say i hate the way annabeth is written in hoo, here is an example, ie her fatal flaw does not come thru in her character (i also think she and percy switched characterizations from pjo to hoo, but...). separate issue is that annabeth's character revolves around percy a lot. so there are two issues i would focus on, largely bc she's not written well and doesn't have established unique conflicts. like,

this is a big revelation at the end of hoh, that she has to "step back" and she can't "protect everyone she love[s]." except it doesn't make any sense. tlo ended w annabeth telling percy to give luke her knife which luke uses to kill himself. not to mention, thalia's sacrifice on hbh. ALSO. percy accepting the prophecy and "taking the brunt of the danger"! and finally. annabeth has been at camp for 7-8 years. 1) she should have relationships w these ppl and 2) she should care that some of the ogs died in the previous war (which would also require rick to figure out who died lol). but the point is, this isn't a new conflict for annabeth!

the thought she had in moa abt having to accept she's not always the best person for the job:

this is not built up nor is it delivered on, but would be interesting, given that she demanded to be on the quest and if there was an actual power struggle instead of writing her as the de facto leader. this would be a better conflict than accepting that "she couldn't protect everyone she loved" when she has historically not been able to protect everyone she loved.

anyway, back on topic.

first, this moment exists to challenge her perception of percy, which is important to challenge bc she quite frankly has an unhealthy attachment to him. other ppl have said this better than i, so here's a post abt codependency and p*rcabeth and here's another one i rbed a while ago.

tldr; rick treats annabeth's abandonment issues/possessiveness/codependency as like. cute, peak romance. and he's been doing this since pjo, right, like annabeth's abandonment issues and possessiveness didn't matter when it was thalia joining the hunters,—bc there's no romance trope here w thalia—but gods forbid percy speak to rachel.

and this doesn't change in hoo. in fact, it's worse. like,

i'm going to [statement redacted] rick for this. what part of this is cute??? i'm killing it with fire.

so anyway, i want to treat annabeth's possessiveness/etc as an actual, consistent, character flaw, that she can grow out of, even. maybe even connect it to her hubris or her rsd. explore her feelings abt luke now that we have her pov to do it in. the fallout from this moment w akhlys is a great way to begin delving into that bc it's a shocking moment for her.

second, and going back to the theme of change, annabeth is different from percy in the sense that she has a different relationship to the gods than him (which i'm comparing bc i think rick (and fandom) has a hard time giving these two consistent and separate personalities/beliefs post pjo). the two times she has rebelled against the gods directly were bc of percy's influence (again, this is percy's role in pjo), 1) in the zoo truck, a scene that only takes place bc percy challenged her view of the poseidon-athena rivalry and their place in it, and 2) w hera where the first words out of annabeth's mouth are literally "percy is right."

i find this interesting especially bc her fatal flaw is hubris, which is common in mythology and frequently ends up fatal bc ppl challenge the gods. so, annabeth using the gods and these stories to keep her hubris in check makes complete sense.

and it seems like this is the same approach she's using w percy:

percy is directly challenging a god for power, and more than that, he's challenging a domain he's not supposed to have control of at all.

very interesting! does not get explored. such is common for hoo.

for percy, this scene is part of a long-running conversation of his powers (which is a huge part of his disability coding!!!!!). and it doesn't go anywhere.

percy has established anger issues and implied emotional dysregulation. this has been a thing since the beginning, literally chapter one of tlt! punishing percy for this when he's clearly not getting the support he needs is. a choice. also there's the issue that hoo kinda. erases this aspect of percy's character until the confrontation w akhlys, which is a separate but related issue.

there really should've been more buildup to this outburst (eg: in son percy punches a shelf in the library and immediately feels guilty bc he scares frank and hazel. percy is in an incredibly stressful situation; this should've happened more), but that would mean rick would treat it and the disability conversation seriously (which falls flat after son) and do less teeth-gritting abt the whole gods thing.

so, to go back on my "using the different povs to build tension was wildly underutilized" train, a featured part of almost everyone's pov is that percy is very kind, and gentle, and forgiving. i discuss a moment w frank being impressed w percy's selflessness here and he also says that he would follow percy anywhere, jason says percy is "a nice guy" after like 2 days, nico has his whole thing, hazel says "percy was a child of poseidon’s better nature," going on to describe him as gentle, etc.

and all of this praise goes nowhere and kinda just becomes percy is so awesome...and then turns into everything is percy's fault in boo...it's bad writing.

but it's an interesting opportunity to play w perspective. percy in pjo is dehumanized in that he is both villainized and idolized, and obviously hoo is continuing the trend w idolization. rick sets up a great plotline w this in moa:

and this doesn't go anywhere bc apparently percy's problem is that he needs to learn to step back. which. part of this is bc rick recycled plotlines from percy and gave them to other characters, which means that percy cannot be in character anymore without making themlook bad (the recycled plotlines i'm talking abt are the idolization, imposter syndrome, wanting to step back but constantly pushed into the spotlight, being seen as different/elevated status bc of ur parentage, struggling to connect to who your parent is, even the dehumanization as a weapon is straight out of percy's writing in pjo). this is a big problem w hoo in general ie characters becoming ooc by necessity (see: bad writing). the other part to blame is that rick is literally trying to redo tlo what w the whole "you are not the hero." it's all the same from pjo except written worse. it's a running theme of hoo (and a bonus). bad writing all the way down!

ANYWAY. so pjo ends w percy at an elevated status bc he 1) survived an unsurvivable prophecy, 2) was offered godhood, and 3) turned down godhood to improve the lives of the demigods while all the demigods watched. and he has the curse of achilles but. we all know how that went. the point is, all of this puts percy on a pedestal. i like to think it's the biggest reason hera kidnapped percy: if he said no, if he refused, she would've lost the support of almost all the demigods at chb (also the metaphor for the audience lol). i think making percy go on the quest, or at least to new rome, is the only good bit of world building rick did between books.

the problem is, rick is kinda all over the place w how percy is perceived and misses both the point of percy's character (callback to what i said abt his disability) and the world building of the previous series (what happened to power-scaling, narrative consequence, etc fr). that's what creates the flip-flopping "percy is perfect" and "everything is percy's fault," and neither are particularly good reads.

going back to annabeth, i don't think she's an exception in idolizing percy. she has no reason to see percy's vindictive side bc he works hard to hide it. even w crusty, annabeth is preoccupied. annabeth is smart, she's not omniscient. instead, there's the famous "percy is too nice" from som. i also like to think this is why she keeps trying to talk to percy abt luke as if luke is a good person who didn't try to kill percy. she doesn't understand that percy would hate luke for betraying him bc why would he? percy is a good person.

(for the record, i think the exceptions are: 1) grover, who chooses not to bring it up w the exception of his nemesis comment in tlt, 2) rachel, who made a painting where percy's "expression in the picture was fierce—disturbing, even—so it was hard to tell if I was the good guy or the bad guy" and simply said that's how he looked, and 3) arguably nico—considering percy has attacked him before—but i do think "very [dangerous]. to his enemies." does a good job of capturing that, it just doesn't go anywhere).

so, to condense all of this, ppl are idolizing percy in terms of both strength and morals and percy feels stifled by this knowing that he is not as strong or good as ppl think (and also by the fault that he was demonized prior and has corresponding low self-esteem bc of that lol). keep this in mind, i'm changing the topic.

in botl, percy's torture scene is used primarily to set up how powerful he is. he can cause an eruption that necessitates the evacuation of thousands of ppl and wake the biggest threat in greek mythos, but he would never know that if he wasn't back into a corner. bc that's not who he is. he shies away from power and titles. he wins his fights w strategy and very rarely relies on his powers to overpower his opponents.

just to clarify, i categorize percy's powers in two sorts of ways: involuntary and voluntary. involuntary is like speaking to sea creatures, healing in water, things that don't require a lot of energy/effort/focus. he's not scared of this. he's wary of the voluntary, powerful explosions, the things that set him apart from his peers. that's what i'm referring to in this section.

so, percy has to come to terms w the fact that he 1) blew up a mountain, 2) survived blowing up a mountain, and 3) woke typhon. and what does he say immediately after that?

he immediately deflects! he wasn't in control, it wasn't him that's powerful, it was an accident, and besides, he can't do it again bc he almost died. and what's even more interesting is the only time he uses his powers after this (in botl) is when grover asks him to stop the fire in the woods.

so, what lesson did percy actually take from mt saint helens? that he's dangerous. very interesting to use this teaching moment and have the protagonist come to the quote wrong unquote conclusion.

in hoh, we don't have a purpose for the torture scene. there's no significance to confronting how powerful percy is. percy is not addressing his self-sacrificing tendencies nor his propensity for bottling his emotions up. there's no questioning of p*rcabeth's relationship. there's no questioning of the gods. it's a cool scene w no narrative purpose.

so, take two. what is percy supposed to be learning from akhlys? how do we relate this to percy taking the wrong lesson from mt st helens?

at the end of botl, nico comes up w the river styx plan and percy takes almost a full year to agree to it. how much further ahead in the war would they have been if percy had accepted the curse sooner? how many fights could percy have won faster if he used his powers? if he trained his powers? if he trusted his powers?

there's a really interesting comparison w phorcys and akhyls where percy doesn't attempt to fight phorcys bc he assumes he won't be able to overpower him,

but w akhyls he tries anyway,

bc he's backed against a corner. and he succeeds.

percy is a character who very much embodies duality. i've talked abt this before wrt his loyalty being both his greatest strength and greatest weakness and how it clashes w his desire for freedom, but it's true for almost every trait. he's honest and manipulative. he's ruthless and merciful. he's kind and violent. he's looked up to and looked down upon. he's the saint and the scapegoat. etc etc. and percy responds to this by frequently trying to deny his quote worse unquote traits until they eventually bubble up and explode out of him. this is part of why juno calls him a loose-canon (which btw, i love. everyone has been treating him as a loose canon and no one on this side has the balls to say it until then, seven books in).

all this to say, *ethan voice* it's abt balance! this moment should've been abt percy confronting his unfair treatment! the idolization from his peers! the demonization of his flaws/disability!

thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

PLEASE WRITE THAT ONE SHOT FULL PERMISSION GRANTED

— @girlishwhimsies

TYSM @girlishwhimsies for the prompt this was SO fun to write!! fic under the cut!!!

Ponyboy has no idea how long he's been sittin' in front of the TV. Too long, Pony's sure Darry would think. But it doesn't matter because Darry's workin' a late shift and it's just Two-Bit who's watchin' the box with the same intent, vacant look. Hell, even Soda's curled up in a blanket creamin' Dallas in a game of poker 'n absently watchin' when Dallas spends too long scowlin' at his hand.

(Pony can see clearly he hasn't got shit and he only tears his eyes away every few minutes to shake his head at Soda that Dally is bluffin' harder then Pony claimin' he ain't got homework. Dallas hasn't noticed yet.)

When Pony hears Darry's truck pull up in the driveway he gets the sudden, violent feelin' that he's forgotten somethin'. Somethin' important. He furrows his eyebrows, looks over into the kitchen. Oh shit.

His heart climbs right up into his throat, does a flip, and dives all the way down to his toes. Oh shit, oh shit. Pony is on his feet in a millisecond, jarrin' Dallas as he confidently bets on a hand of shit.

"Look out, Pony's off to the races!" Two howls but pulls his feet up as Pony jumps straight over them. He's not payin' attention to anythin' but gettin' into that kitchen before Darry does. As he passes the door he flips the lock, wrestin' with it when it doesn't go smoothly. Damn Darry 'n his insistence on never lockin' the thing.

"Pony?" Soda half rises, startin' after Pony as he ducks his entire head 'n shoulders into the icebox. "Everythin'-" He cuts himself off when Pony reemerges with the frozen solid chicken they were meant to be eatin' for dinner in forty-five minutes. For a moment, they both just stare at each other, Pony in horror, Soda in amusement.

Then Dallas lets out a long, low whistle as the truck door slams and grins that smile that shows off his silver fang. "Oh, you're capital F fucked." Then Soda cackles so hard he plops back onto the floor.

"Don't laugh." And Pony would normally kick his ass for that but right now he's too worried about the imminent threat of bein' hung up by his thumbs or locked in the shed until he's thirty. "Soda get over here. How do I thaw it out?" And he's got that whine crawlin' into his voice he hates but there are simply bigger fish to fry. Or birds to thaw.

Soda slides across the floor in his socks, ditchin' the blanket 'n throwin' it over Dallas. He rips it off 'n tries to whap Soda with it as he goes by, missin' to Two's great delight.

"I dunno, Ponykid, blow on it?" Soda leans down 'n huffs hot air onto it. Pony throws his head back 'n doesn't even care about the whine that peels out of his throat. He's dead. Darry was gonna kill him.

"Blow on it? Soda that ain't gonna work!" Pony rips the chicken away from where Soda is still puffin' at it. The door knob rattles 'n they can all distinctively hear the aggravated sigh from Darry even through the wall. Bad sign.

"Wait, I have an idea!" Soda snatches the bird back, slips 'n slides his way back into the living room with Pony hustlin' behind him. "Two, get up." Two-Bit takes in Soda holdin' the raw meat by the plastic-wrapped leg like a fish and Pony's face like a man at the gallows.

"Boys, unlock this damn door!" Darry already sounds irate.

"Yeah, Dallas go let Darry in." Soda pipes and Pony whips around wavin' a hand at his throat and frantically shakin' his head. Dallas shoots him a shit-eatin' grin again and gets to his feet, pointing towards the door.

Pony does the only thing he can think of 'n jumps on him.

"Wait, is that-" Two leans away from Soda, who waves the chicken around again 'n makes a face.

"No, it's Darry's million-dollar check yes it's dinner. Now get your ass up!" Pony abandons Dallas, grabs Two by the wrist, desperately tryin' to haul him up. Dallas instantly gets back on his feet and goes for the door again. Pony chooses between the imminent of two threats and goes for Dally again.

"What the hell do you want me to do about it?" Soda takes up Pony's spot wrestlin' Two-Bit up. Soda is far more successful.

"Sit on it!" Soda drags Two up, throwin' the bird down 'n then pressin' on his shoulders to try to get him back into the couch on top of it.

"Oh, I see. You only want me for my hot ass, you dog!" Two arches up so his back is against the sofa but his backside is nowhere near. "I'm not lettin' you throw me under the bus for this!"

"We're not throwin' you under the bus- we're throwin' you onto the bird!" And Two snickers, thrown off his task of keepin' his ass off the couch. Soda tosses himself full force onto Two's lap, bucklin' him back down.

Dallas wrangles Pony off, finally, and throws the lock on the door. Darry scowls, knocks Dallas' gently up the head since he has the misfortune of bein' the one closest to him. Dallas opens his mouth to bitch but Darry shoots him a look and he settles for mutterin' under his breath.

"Now, what the hell is goin' on here?" He drops his keys on the table 'n takes in Pony sprawled on the floor, Soda across Two and Two still wrigglin' for all he's worth against the cold.

"Nothin'." Both Soda 'n Pony say in unison. Darry looks between the two of them once, twice.

"I don't think I have the energy for whatever the hell you four have goin' on so I'm gonna go fix dinner 'n y'all better be back to sorts by the time I'm done." Darry kicks off his boots 'n places them neatly at the door, disappearin' into the kitchen.

"Uh, Darry? About that-"

"Ye- ouch!" Two manages to roll Soda straight onto the floor, shootin' to his feet. When he turns around, his lower back is pink from bein' in contact with the freezin' chicken. "That shit is cold!"

Darry stops, turns back around, blinks once, twice, opens his mouth, shuts it, tries again. "Pony, is that the chicken I told you to thaw when you got back from school?"

"Uh, would you believe me if I said no?" Darry rubs a hand across his temple, looks at the chicken on the couch with bewilderment. For a moment Pony swears they're all holdin' their breath. Then he laughs. Head back, hand grippin' the doorway laughs.

"Goddamn, Pony, what am I gonna do with you?" He grabs Pony by the front of the shirt, ruffles his hair, drops a kiss to a temple. "Kid, did you try to thaw that shit out by puttin' it under your brother?" Pony pouts a little and shakes his head like he can't believe Darry would have thought somethin' like that of him.

"No, Soda tried to thaw it out by puttin' it under him." Darry howls again, grabs his side and then Soda, pullin' him in 'n givin' him the same kiss.

"You boys are gonna be the death of me." He shoots Dallas a grin 'n Two tries to look put out, rubbin' the cold spot on his back still, but he can't make it stick and he ends up smilin' too.

"C'mon Darry, you know you love us." Two sidles up beside Soda, tryin' to nudge him out of Darry's arms. Darry releases Pony solely to cuff Two up the side of his head but pulls him in, too. He squeezes Dallas' shoulder and he stops scowlin' 'n grins.

"Well, I don't think anyone's eatin' chicken tonight." Darry laughs and returns to the door, snappin' his keys off the table. "Who wants to go out for Dairy Queen, instead?" They all hoot 'n holler, even Dallas. Soda even turns a cartwheel right there in the middle of the living room and Darrys in such a good mood he doesn't even tell him off for it.

"And I'll tell you what, y'all can even get milkshakes. Dinner's on Pony!" Pony's jaw drops open 'n Two grabs Soda 'n they both make a break for the truck. Gleefully yippin' about orderin' half the menu. Dallas howls 'n follows them out, pullin' Soda straight out of the air when he goes for shotgun.

"Aw, c'mon Darry-" Darry ruffles his hair and chuckles.

"I'm kiddin', kiddo." Pony will swear he never feels relief like he does in that moment ever again. "Just promise me next time, remember to take the chicken out of the fridge, yeah?"

[billysgirllol]

“of course they will. if they know you’re helpin’ them, they’ll come along right to you.” and birds are intelligent, so they’ll know. “there is no such thing, but…” a tiny laugh sounds from her, glancing down at her water, swirling a finger around at trying to find the words to describe it. but she’s not used to it. “those are wonderful flowers to love. don’t ask me to choose a certain favorite, we’ll be here all day. there is somethin’ admirable about wild flowers though, you’re right.” a smile pulls on her face at his recognizing that. “thank you, tryin’ to be. i realize it’s still hurtin’ some but i guess that’s normal.” she figures, rubbing at her knee before glancing over at him, “oh, it’s alright darlin’. come on right over.” her legs are squished to her chest and while she’s a little shy and awkward about it, she’s not so shamefully shy she can’t grow bravery and accept she doesn’t care if he sees her bare back. “you can do both things if you’d like to.” now that she’s soaked in water, she guesses it’s not too embarrassing now that her hair is wet even if it’s in knots. “i’m just scared i won’t be able to get these knots out and i’ll have to cut it.” reaching back with an unpleasant look on her face, hand feeling the knots and worry spilling over her visage. almost puts tears in her eyes at how bad of shape she’s let her once beautiful hair get in. it reaches all the way down her back, like everyone in the covey, long hair is sacred. and at this point, she’s worrying she’ll lose the last thing that means a lot to her.

“well, now ya know darlin’.” glad he’s getting to experience birds, they’re too special not to. “tomorrow we’ll hold out worms in our hands, maybe it’ll be a little more warmer to do so and you’ll get to feed one.” lucy gray suggests with a soft smile. “that’s too sweet,” shaking her head in disbelief, believing that’s too kind of him to say. feeling like she’s not even deserving of such beautiful comments— a soft expression etched across olive features. “if i can make flowers bloom with my laugh, then i’m the luckiest girl in the world. flowers are the most special to me. so is spring.” she affectionately speaks, thinking of all her favorite things. eyes playfully watch his movements to her fingers and ears light up at the adorable sound of his laugh, grinning because she’s easily satisfied with the sound. she’s right, it is as sweet sounding as he thinks hers is. hands drawing up defensively, despite herself getting wet anyway when he splashes her. another laugh sounds from her and once he turns, lucy gray drops the blanket from around her shoulders. feeling a little bashful because no, he’s not looking but her skirt drops off her hips with her panties then so does her shirt once she tugs it off her skin. minding all the scratches across her shoulders, arms and collarbones. and then she’s naked with a stranger right there, he isn’t looking but it still makes it feel crazy. she tugs off one sock then the other then carefully throws her legs into the hot water and sinks into it. bending her knees and hugging them, a blissful feeling washing over her as the warmth hugs all her aching muscles despite a little pain radiating off her thigh. realizing she’s getting carried away in the peaceful comforting feeling, lucy gray dips her head back, making sure to soak her tangled hair before leaning back up. “alright, you can turn around now.” remembering at last second, realizing she just got carried away. “this is the best thing i’ve felt in awhile, besides that medicine you gave me last night.” thinking once again, she can’t thank him enough.

[aquamarixx]

breaking point

faking an injury to escape the burn out, Hiori Yo meets you at the brink of his breaking point and discovers what’s he’s missing; the courage to breathe, to rest, and to finally choose himself for once.

⁺₊ ❆ TURNING POINT 2025 ENTRY ❆ ₊⁺ pairing hiori yo x reader word count 2.3k words tags post timeskip, aged up, hurt/comfort, good ending, hiori just tired of the endless grind navigation

Hiori Yo is exhausted.

Ever since getting out of Blue Lock and being drafted into Bastard München, football has consumed his entire life. The intense matches, relentless training, and constant scrutiny have left him drained, with no time to breathe or process the pressure he feels both on and off the field. 

Every move on the field feels like walking a tightrope, with countless eyes ready to tear him apart the moment he stumbles. His teammates are laser-focused on victory, their intensity leaving no room for camaraderie. And then there are his parents.

His parents, teetering on the brink of divorce,who continue to see him as their last hope to fix their fractured relationship. But Hiori knows better.

No amount of football glory will solve their problems.

He would rather have them get divorced than let their dissatisfaction and resentment towards each other fester any further. Because at this point, there’s nothing to save.

No one’s winning. Not his mom, not his dad, and especially not him. 

So when a nasty collision with Barou during an exhibition match against Italy Ubers results into a mild sprain, Hiori takes advantage of it. He pretends his injuries are worse than they are, hoping to escape the constant grind of football and take a much-needed break. 

The league assigns him to you, a young physical therapist with a promising reputation.

When he first meets you, the first thing he notices are your eyes. Your eyes—so bright and full of life—are a stark contrast to his own, dulled by burnout.They’re so full of life. 

Even your handshake catches him off guard, firm and enthusiastic, as if you genuinely care about this moment. You shake his hands, a little too eager, a little too tighter than he expected.

Aah. Must be nice, Hiori thinks, to have that kind of passion and not feel like you're being crushed by it.

“It’s a Grade 2 sprain,” you explain during your first consultation. “No broken bones or torn tissues, just mild swelling. With proper care, you’ll be back on the field in three to six weeks.” You pause, glancing at your clipboard. “I do recommend physical therapy to ensure everything heals correctly, and your team manager requested it as well.”

Three to six weeks. It’s isn’t bad. But if he plays his cards right, maybe he can stretch it to ten or even twelve weeks. Anything to keep himself off the field a little longer.

At first, Hiori half-heartedly goes through the motions. But as the weeks pass, you notice how quickly he’s recovering. By the third week, it’s clear he could be back to full strength in another three.

That’s when Hiori ups his game.

“I’m still feeling some pain,” he tells you during a session, wincing for effect as he tests his ankle.

Alarmed, you immediately run additional tests. The results come back clear—no abnormalities, no lingering issues. But Hiori insists the pain is real, suggesting he just needs more rest at home (and by “rest,” he means gaming marathons on his PC).

Your concern deepens, not wanting to risk it, especially since Hiori isn’t just any athlete. “Skipping therapy isn’t an option,” you warn, your tone firm but not unkind. “If you don’t stick to the regimen, I’ll have to notify your team.”

Hiori stiffens. His plan to buy more time is starting to backfire. Begrudgingly, he agrees to continue.

As the weeks go by, Hiori does find himself looking forward to your sessions. You’re different from the cold, mechanical efficiency he’s used to in his professional life. You’re kind and thoughtful, and he notices how your eyes light up when you’re helping others.

Even when you’re clearly exhausted, you go out of your way to cheer up the kids waiting in the clinic, slipping them candy when no one’s watching. Sometimes, the older patients would strike up conversations, and though you’d apologize to him afterward for the delay, he never really minded.

There’s something appealing about your openness, your passion, the way you seem to pour your whole heart into every detail of your work. He envies it. It’s the same kind of fire he used to have for football, the fire that now feels like a dying ember.

And as he continues to enjoy his sessions with you, the guilt starts to pile up. He sees the extra hours you put in, combing through his test results, double-checking your notes. One night, he overhears you fretting aloud about the possibility of ruining someone’s career or being seen as incompetent.

“What if I’m wrong?” you whisper but it can’t hide the fear in your voice. “What if I’m missing something and it ruins his career?”

He recognizes the weight of your anxiety—the same kind of crushing pressure he feels from his parents’ expectations. For the first time, he sees her not just as an obstacle to his rest, but as someone who understands his struggles.

It eats him, seeing someone who’s only trying to help him be that affected by his lies. 

During a particularly long session, you’re clearly worn down. You arrived later than usual, in a disheveled state. Your hair is a mess, a couple of strands escaping your low bun. Bags grow darker under your eyes and there’s sluggishness in your movements. You skim through your notes quickly, your voice faltering under the weight of your own exhaustion.

“So, Hiori, it’s possible this could be an occult fracture or stress fractures,” you say, speaking faster than usual for someone who’s tired. “These can happen because of repetitive injuries or even normal stress on weakened bones. Normally, the body can repair these fractures with time, but without rest, they can worsen, potentially leading to larger fractures.”

Normally, the bone is able to repair these small fractures. But that needs time. When the activity continues or happens again before the repairs are complete, these small fractures can add up to form a stress fracture. In extreme cases, ongoing activities can cause sudden larger fractures.” You were talking a bit faster, skimming through your notes. The guilt begins to seep in. 

You pause, rubbing your temples. “I’ve never handled a case like this before, so I’ve been consulting with other colleagues and rechecking everything. Your team manager agreed to extend your therapy for another four weeks—just to be safe.”

“I haven’t had a case like this before. So it might take a couple of more weeks for us to address the issue. I hope you didn’t mind that I took the liberty of talking to your team manager to extend your sessions for at least 4 more weeks.”

Four more weeks. He should be thrilled, but all he sees is the strain in your posture and the doubt clouding your voice. He can’t take it anymore.

“I’ve been lying,” he blurts out, the words sharp and trembling as if they’ve been clawing their way out for weeks.

You pause mid-note, your pen hovering over the paper. Slowly, you lift your eyes to meet his. “What?”

“I… I exaggerated my injury,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I needed an excuse—a way out. From football, my parents, everything.”

Your gaze remains steady, unreadable, as his words hang in the air. Then, you blink, your lips parting slightly in disbelief. “You… lied?”

He looks down, shame written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“You lied?” you repeat, the weight of his confession beginning to sink in. Your voice is calm, but there’s a quiet tremor beneath it, a raw edge he doesn’t miss. “Hiori, do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Do you have any idea?” you interrupt, your tone still measured, though cracks of exhaustion begin to show. “I’ve been losing sleep over your case. Nights spent second-guessing every test, wondering if I missed something crucial. I’ve gone over your file more times than I can count because I thought I was failing you.”

He flinches, guilt carving deep lines into his face. “I didn’t think—”

“No, you didn’t,” you say, the weight of your words pressing down on him. Your voice isn’t loud, but it’s tired, worn thin by the toll of his deception. “You didn’t think about how this would affect me. About the stress, the doubt, the hours I’ve poured into trying to help you.”

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice cracking. “I know I messed up. But I didn’t do it to hurt you. I just… I couldn’t breathe anymore.” Now, it’s his turn to break. 

And you notice it. How tense he is, as if there’s so much he’s been carrying on his back. Your shoulders slump slightly, the anger ebbing into something more fragile. But you don’t respond, letting the silence stretch until he speaks again.

“My parents… They’ve always been fighting, ever since I can remember. And I’m stuck in the middle, trying to hold everything together. Football used to be my escape, but now it’s just another thing they argue about. Another way for them to push me. I didn’t know how to tell anyone.”

The room grows heavy with his confession. You glance at him, and for the first time, his usual calm exterior has shattered, revealing a young man who’s barely holding himself together.

Taking a deep breath, you place your notes down and fold your hands. “Hiori,” you say softly, though there’s still an edge of weariness in your tone. “Running from your problems doesn’t make them go away. And pulling other people into your escape… it’s not fair. To me, or to yourself.”

He nods, his eyes downcast. You hesitate for a moment before continuing.

“And you can’t just admire passion from afar, Hiori. You have to fight for it. Even when it feels like the world is against you.”

His eyes meet yours, wide and glassy. “I know,” he whispers. “I just didn’t know what else to do. But… meeting you, seeing how much you care—about your work, about your patients—it’s made me realize something.”

You raise an eyebrow, but stay silent, letting him continue.

“You don’t just care because it’s your job,” he says, his voice steadying. “You care because it’s who you are. And seeing that… it made me realize how far I’ve drifted from what I used to love. From who I want to be.”

His words catch you off guard, striking a chord you didn’t expect. You look at him for a long moment, your exhaustion giving way to something softer. Your expression softens as his words sink in. 

“I want to try. Not just for football, but for myself. For everything I’ve been running from.” He nods, his expression resolute. 

For the first time since his confession, a faint smile tugs at your lips. “Good. Because the only way out of this is through it.”

“Also… You know I should report this, right?” you say, half-joking, as Hiori stays quiet, his expression flickering with surprise at the sudden shift in tone.

“But I won’t,” you add, your grin softening. “Doctor-patient confidentiality and all.”

You laugh, and after a beat, he laughs too—a sound lighter than anything you’ve heard from him before.

In that moment, something shifts. The air feels lighter, the tension unraveling into something resembling hope. He came here for a way to heal his body, but what he found was a way to start healing his soul.

And you, despite your exhaustion, can’t help but feel a flicker of pride—because maybe, just maybe, you’ve helped him take the first step toward being whole again.

From that day on, Hiori approaches therapy differently. The façade he had built around himself starts to crack, allowing glimpses of the person he truly is. He stops faking symptoms and begins putting in genuine effort, not just for his body but for his mind. Each session becomes more than just a routine of stretches and exercises—it’s a space where he starts to confront the feelings he’s buried for so long.

When the two of you are alone, you talk about things outside football, like good old friends. He talks about the pressure he’s been under, the weight of expectations from everyone around him, and the way football, once his passion, had turned into a source of dread. You listen, guiding him where you can, but mostly letting him navigate his own thoughts. 

It’s a strange dynamic, but somehow, it feels natural. It feels right.

Outside of therapy, Hiori begins to address the chaos at home. For the first time, he sits his parents down and tells them how their arguments have affected him, how he’s been caught in the crossfire of their unhappiness. It’s not easy, and there are setbacks, but he’s no longer running from the conversations that once felt impossible. 

By the time his final session arrives, he’s changed a bit. He’s still Hiori—the same sharp-witted, slightly mischievous person you met weeks ago—but there’s a newfound lightness in him. 

As the session wraps up, he lingers by the door, his usual confidence replaced by something a little more hesitant. Finally, he turns to you, his hands shoved into his pockets. “I know this is probably the worst time, but… would you maybe want to grab coffee sometime?

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re unsure how to respond. 

“You’re the first person I’ve felt like I could really talk to in… forever.” He confesses. And you see it—the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability he’s no longer afraid to show. It’s not the charm of an athlete used to getting his way; it’s the genuine request of someone who’s found a lifeline and wants to hold onto it, if only for a little while longer.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Okay,” you say finally, a smile breaking through the fatigue. “But only if you promise to stop faking injuries.”

Hiori laughs—a real, unburdened laugh that seems to echo in the room, filling the space with warmth. “Deal,” he says, his grin wide and boyish.

amari's notes: this went on a bit longer than i wanted. this has been a longtime headcanon. i think he'll try to get out of playing football for a while to rest and rot in his bedroom to play games. anyway, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask or even a request! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

taglist: @inu1gf

[eilissxx]

saw this as a mlvn being endgame proof cause lucas has max, max has lucas and mike has eleven on their cards AND im going to analyse it cause these pictures are throwback to s3 (mike wheelers worst period of internalized homophobia) so i could prove these delusionals wrong

the first thing i noticed - max and lucas have hearts on their partner’s name, mike doesn’t. around “11” there are these straight lines (?) which ones we also can see around “paladin”. thats so romantic huh?

but let’s think abt it. “paladin” is what describes mike the most, like he’s the leader of the party and paladin is also his dnd character, so it makes sense that it’s highlighted. but what about 11? does that mean… “11” describes mike too?

like seriously? all u can say abt this man is that he has a girlfriend? meanwhile lucas and max have drawings of the things they like and which gave them personality, mike has his girlfriend name???? it’s a bad writing, not a romantic thing

BUT i went even further

how i said, max has lucas’s name, lucas has max’s name, and mike has his girlfriend name too… wait thats not even her name, thats a fucking number

“it because her name is eleven!!!!” they could write “eleven” “el”. they didn’t. u know why?

because mike adores “11” and not “el” (i do NOT disrespect his feelings for her btw). he likes 11 who saved him and the town, who can move thing with her mind (and who saved will🫢) - he likes the superhero. he likes “11”

it confirms by the spacecraft (sry idk what it is) drawing. the toy that el was forcing to fly. they could choose any other one thing which connect him and el, but it’s the one relating with el’s superpowers.

in conclusion in one picture we can see how mike focuses on his girlfriend and forget about himself, forget abt the things that make him mike wheeler. thats the idea of s3 and mlvns relationship. mike is “the supergirls boyfriend” now. and he still choose it over accepting himself as a queer

[bunni-v1]

sunday x m reader who wont shut up while hes working so he makes reader cockwarm him to shut him up

Cockwarming With Sunday

🍓Dom Sunday makes my skin crawl. Anyway, I went for a softer take than what you wanted, sorry lol. Even when Sunday tops I can't see him as all that mean, at least, not in the way this was worded lol. Anyway, I'm very well Sunday's biggest hater (I love him more than life itself), so I hope you enjoy this. I want him dead.

Tw: NSFW; Implied power dynamics; Mean(?) Sunday; Grammar Errors; ts kinda ass

Info: Dom!Sunday x M!Reader (it's hard to tell lol); Cockwarming; pre ae sunday; Nsfw

Word Count: 1.5k

Sunday was always considered to be a patient man, especially with those he considered important to him. He had put up with plenty of Robin's silly plans and humored her with delight -- he loved her after all, and any plan she had wasn't truly all that silly so long as it came from her. He even enjoyed her endless conversations when he was meant to be finishing up paperwork. His time with her was sparse, he could afford extra time away from his duties for her. She never kept him for long anyway, understanding his position better than anyone else.

You, however, did not have the excuse of being his darling sister. You spent a significant amount of time with him, both in and out of work, and he had all the time in the world to spend with you. Which meant you knew better than most others how much he needed to fill out this report today. Yet... you kept running those stupidly pretty lips of yours.

He wasn't even sure what you were talking about, he'd tuned you out about ten minutes into your talking. Nearly an hour had passed, and you were still going on and on about something or another -- he catches that it's about an up-and-coming artist you'd seen, not that he cares for any musician that isn't his sister. It wouldn't be so bad if you were just talking, he'd mastered the technique of ignoring things that seemed to get under his skin, but you needed assurance that he was listening.

He would occasionally have to pause and answer questions without much context, or hum in acknowledgement of your words. Your incessant rambling is normally incredibly endearing to him, but with the deadline looming over his head, and the ache stinging between his brows it was enough to make it vexing.

He lets out a sigh, hands pressing the pen to the desk just a bit too harshly. You silence yourself, flinching back a little in surprise. He nearly coos, he hadn't meant to scare you, but you were very cute when frightened. (Perhaps he shouldn't be thinking such things...)

"My love," He hums, meeting your gaze with a calm smile, "you know I love having you around, don't you?"

You nod, nervousness shining in your eyes, giving you away despite the brave front you put on. You were always too easy for him to read, a bit concerning considering the enemies he has, but he'd prefer you pliant than hardened -- at least, in that way.

He gestures to the papers on his desk, "You also know how important it is that I get this done today, yes?"

"Of course," You answer immediately, and he can see the realization of why he was scolding you across your face. So very cute. "Was I talking too much?"

He hums an affectionate smile on his face, and gestures for you to come to his side. You do so with no arguments, as expected. He turns in his chair, grabbing you by your hips to situate you between his legs. You flush a bit at the contact, predictable as always, but he chooses not to comment on it.

"I need to get this done, angel," He asserts again, and you frown shamefully.

"Would you like me to leave?" You offer, but the idea sours something in his chest.

He shakes his head adamantly, "Of course not. I love having you here, but you'll have to behave for me."

There is a spark behind your eyes at his words that makes him ache a bit, his member coming to life much too fast for his liking. The effect seems to be mutual, as far as he can tell from his position near your crotch. His placid smile morphs into a slight smirk, and his eyes meet yours again, "You can behave for me, can't you?"

You nod adamantly, "Of course, s-sir." The title is stuttered, somehow unsure despite your knowing very well what he wanted from you now. It was so adorable how concerned you were with overstepping with him. You truly could do no wrong in his eyes, even when you were getting in the way of his work.

"Then," he pushes you to step back, leaning back in his chair, "Take your pants and underwear off for me. Quickly, I'd like to get this done as soon as possible."

You nod again, doing as he says like a well-trained pet, pretty eyes looking to him for approval as you shove the clothes to the side. He rewards you with a smile, leaning forward to run a finger along the bottom of your hard cock. You hiss at the sensation, drawing a chuckle from his chest.

He eases himself out of his pants as he tugs on your sensitive member a few times, enjoying the little whimpers you give him. His dick springs free, hitting his stomach. He leans back again as it does, telling you what to do with his eyes alone. You follow along like in a trance -- he'd almost believed you were under the influence Harmony, if it weren’t for the fact that he wasn’t using it in the moment.

You hiss lowly as he slides into you. Going raw must've been painful for you, but it felt heavenly for him. Your ass squeezed him so well like it was meant to hold him deep within. He smiles reassuringly at you as you finally sit fully on his lap, taking your chin in his hand to settle a kiss to your lips.

"Very good," He compliments.

You bite your lip, averting your gaze, "Thank you, sir."

He tuts at you, drawing your gaze back just as quickly as it left, "You can sit still and wait like a good boy, can't you? If you can't well..."

"Of course I can!" You respond with a desperation that surprises both of you, quickly adding, "Sir."

"Good, good," he hums, pressing a warm hand against the back of your neck. Your chin rests against his shoulder on instinct, getting comfortable against him. Once he's satisfied with you behaving, he leans forward and starts back to working on the document you'd been distracting him from.

The scratching of his pen is one of the only things keeping you grounded in reality. The stretch of his thick cock in your ass is almost too much for your brain to handle. You shouldn't have been talking so much, honestly, this is no one's fault but your own. Still, the torture of not being allowed to move for fear of worse punishment is enough to make you want to cry.

You sit there pretty on his dick like a good boy, though. Always so obedient for him, if only he didn't have to tell you to behave. No one is perfect, so this was a sacrifice Sunday had to make to keep things as he liked.

His fingers climb up your spine, tingling across your body right to your achingly hard cock. You almost hear Sunday chuckle when it twitches between the two of you, but it's so quiet you believe you might've made it up in your fucked out brain. You wiggle your hips in an attempt to get some friction, but all Sunday has to do is place his hand on it and you cease all movements.

Sunday seems, on the outside, entirely unaffected by everything. For the most part, he really is. He's blasting through his work faster than before, but that was because he couldn't wait much longer to bend you over the papers and reward you for good behavior. Each squeeze around him has him swallowing down groans, determined to not give into your temptations -- no matter how wonderful that sounded.

When he signs the last dotted line and closes the stack of papers back to the front page he lets out a sigh that resembles more of a moan than anything as you clench anticipatorily around him yet again. His pen is set on the desk with a little 'click', and he finally looks at you after agonizing minutes of your squirming. Lust has clouded over his gaze, and he looks positively angelic nearly lost to his own sin.

You are no better, pleading with your eyes for him to fuck you like the sweet thing you were. Tears pricked at the corners of your lashes, a picture of absolute beauty. He smiles at you, wiping them away from your cheeks as they spill over.

"You were very good, my sweet angel," He hums, moving his hands to your hips, "you deserve a reward for behaving, don't you?"

You nod adamantly, your heart picking up in excitement. He raises an eyebrow expectantly at you, and you know what you're meant to do next without the need for words. Standing from his lap, hissing as he leaves your tight hole, and bending over his desk like the good pet you were.

"Very good..." He hums, and your spine tingles in excitement as you hear his pants and belt hit the floor around his feet.

[paperstarwriters]

Ugh I’m not great at just randomly posting without like planning and structuring the fic beforehand but I NEED to talk about him. To soothe my soul really.

Just—Muriel. Muriel and sitting not on his lap, but between his thighs, thick and meaty, bracketing your own hips as he leans his chest against your back and head. Maybe he’s settled down behind you to read what you’re reading. Maybe he’s opted to sit like this while e carves rather than sitting back-to-back. Either way, the habit starts as many do with warmth radiating from Muriel’s cheeks, but maybe less so than usual, less so than before, because he’s been with you long enough—long enough to be comfortable like this at least. To just… bracket you—blanket you. Lean atop your shoulders and wrapped around you like a child hugging their favourite plush. Maybe you’ve done that to him before, while you sit on the bed and he sits on the floor, or perhaps while he’s in a seat while you’re standing, just leaning over his shoulders. And maybe this is him returning the gesture.

Either way, as many cozy cuddly things do, this becomes habit. Ritual even. That if you ever sit down on the floor or on the bed in Muriel’s proximity, he’ll drape himself over and around you to cuddle as you work or read or whatever really.

He talks to you like that sometimes. Mundane things really. Like how he enjoyed his day with you, or how it’s really important for you to drink water—please stop forgetting, no coffee doesn't count. And sometimes he rests with his chin atop your head, and other times he leans in to say the things to your cheek, or even whisper it in your ear. He doesn’t mean anything by it most of the time, just whispering because he doesn't want to so harshly break the comfortable silence around you, but sometimes, just sometimes, he does like watching you squirm.

It sends something electric to his chest. Makes his face grow warm from the combination of shame and delight. Shame that he’s trying so selfishly to poke and prod at you like this to make you embarrassed just for his own enjoyment, that he’s still so anxious that he feels the need to test and see if you have the same reaction as he does to your mere presence. And of course delight every time it’s conformed—every time you squirm against his chest almost making him grin at the notion that for once he’s embarrassing you by doing nothing but cuddling a little. He’s still red faced when he does it, still averts his eyes trying not to be too happy at tormenting you, but so long as you don’t turn it back on him—don’t call out his obvious delight, he won’t pout.

Then again, even if you do he’ll smile eventually anyways, your own affectionate glee too infectious not to.

But like I can’t help but imagine how one day you might just be sitting between his legs like that, him draped over and around you while you chat. He interjects occasionally giving input when in short sparse bursts and the occasional thorough explanation, but at some point the conversation comes to a lull, a soft cozy silence that isn’t loathed in such comfortable company, but you still choose to break it regardless, not even trying to turn when you speak to him.

And maybe it’s a confession of love for the umpteenth time (though he'd never tire from it), maybe it’s a worm of some tender insecurity rearing it’s head, or maybe it’s Muriel, who’s had a bad day or a bad week, feeling shitty and horrible and loathing himself in that silent way he sometimes does, and you tell him that you can see him. That you know that it’s hard, that it’s awful, but you see that he’s trying too, and you’re so proud of him. So proud that he’s trying. That he cares for himself enough to try instead of shutting down and letting the hurt just consume him, and that you're always around if he needs some help, that he needn't shoulder the burden all by himself, no matter how much his broad shoulders can carry.

And either way the reaction is the same. He pulls away just for a moment, struck by your words—either appalled that you think so lowly of yourself or awed at such a blatant and earnest display of your love for him—before he presses a kiss to your neck. Once, maybe twice. Three times or even more if he's feeling particularly greedy, or if it seems to make you happy (so often three or more times lmao) And it's not just rapid little fluttery kisses, though it often devolves into that. But he'll start slowly, lovingly. Devoting his kisses to some tender spot along your neck that he's long since memorized, perhaps the ridge of your spine, or the soft column of tissue between your neck and your collarbone, or the tender patches of skin just behind your ear. And each kiss he gives with such reverence, such adoration and love—the same way he loves to do when he presses his lips to yours.

And at some point he curls against you, brushes his lips to your ear, and with that low rumbling voice, that you can feel as you rest your back against his chest, he'll say, "Thank you" if your words had been loving, or "I disagree." if it was something cruel to yourself. Either way, he's squeezing you tighter between his arms and legs, like he's worried you might leave him somehow. That you might try to squirm from his grasp even as you make your delight so blatantly clear. And while there is a thread of that thought that ties itself round his chest, it's more that he needs you to stay in place. So long as you stay where you are—so long as you you don't turn around, so long as you don't call him out for how red his face is, how embarrassing it is that he's so affected by you, so delighted when you show how much you love him, how upset he feels when he hears you don't view yourself the same way he sees you... so long as you don't look at him it's easier to tell you. Not to mention, it's so much easier to be honest when no one is watching him, when he isn't worried that he'd disappoint you somehow or make a fool of himself.

Most importantly though, it keeps him from getting distracted. Because it is. Distracting, that is. So very distracting to watch you watch him, eyes narrowing in on all those spots on him that he once might have hated, but now appreciates if only because you so vehemently adore. His chest and stomach for one; once markers of how large he was—how large he is—have become a point you often like to stare at. Eyes trailing down when his shirt is off, igniting in him that familiar, embarrassed, delight. And in the same way coals still able to start a fire anew with the right kindling, the thoughts set his mind alight with thoughts of what you'd so eagerly love to do to him if he let you. What he'd so eagerly let you do if you were willing.

The mere memory of your kisses all over his stomach and chest—and the one bite you pressed to his chest, right atop his heart, like you were trying to swallow what was already yours—oh it made his mind swirl, made his face grow beet red at even the vaguest memory.

So as long as you couldn't so easily reciprocate. So long as your back was to him. He finally would get to give back to you. To litter loving longing, dizzying kisses of his own against your skin. Against wherever he could reach, against whatever you would expose for him. Make you shiver and squirm in the way he often did for you. Make you keen or gasp or whine when he bit you, teasingly perhaps, or longingly, when the urge to carve a place for himself beneath your skin—safely tucked beside your heart—grows far too fierce. Never enough to hurt of course, every bite always followed with more kisses to your skin like an apology for even leaving the imprint of his teeth on your flesh.

Ah, but as much as he wants to keep you from watching him, to keep you from distracting him with your loving wandering eyes, he still will always crave the chance to kiss you, to feel you kiss him. To press his lips against your own, and cling to you like you were the very air that would fill his lungs with life. And whether that happen when you finally turn to peer at him, or when he tilts your head back guiding you with a warm hand against your cheek, he all to eagerly slots himself in the slight part between your lips, all too eager to just kiss.

Just for a second perhaps, or however many minutes it takes for you to loose your breaths, he doesn't care how long it lasts, so long as he gets to hold you after, so long as you let him bask in the glory of getting to love you, of getting feeling what it's like to be adored from the bottom of your heart.

Just stay here, with his arms wrapped greedily around you, and his thighs bracketing your hips. A full body embrace.

Ah, a Bear hug really.

[woodenplank-gt]

New Life Experiences

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve rewritten this, but it’s finally done! Tucker’s realizing his humans aren’t so bad.

First: A Not So Average Night

Previous: Revelations

Next: Coming Soon!

—————

Tucker kept his knees curled up to his chest, trying not to touch Shawn's hand as much as possible. Unfortunately, the sudden breaking and turns of the car threatened to knock him over, forcing him to brace his hands on the palm underneath him. The engine of the car roared loudly in his small ears, making the ride even more unbearable. He swallowed thickly as a finger twitched behind him. At any moment the ginormous fingers could snap close and trap him forever. Tucker was at Shawn's complete mercy.

He tried to distract himself from that fact by glancing around the car. The only other time he's been in one was when he was stuck in the bag of chips earlier that morning, which honestly felt like forever ago at this point. The interior was completely black and clean and had a pleasant smell. There were a lot of different buttons and knobs that Tucker had no hope in understanding how they worked. Gus was at his right, his hands tight on the giant wheel and his eyes fixed on the road. Tucker figured the wheel controlled the whole machine, but he just couldn't comprehend how.

He curiously glanced up at the large window to his left. Since he was sat in Shawn's hands, who was resting said hands on his lap, Tucker could only see the yellow sky of the rising sun and the tops of trees and buildings. This was still far more than he was used to seeing in the walls, and he couldn't help but perk up a little at the new sights.

Suddenly, the hand he was on began to move. Tucker let out a quiet yelp when he was pitched to the side from the movement. All he could do was watch as the hand brought him closer to the window until he had a clear view outside. His wide eyes shot up to Shawn who had an innocent smile on his face.

"That spot gives you a better view." He stated knowingly.

Tucker only nodded before quickly turning back towards the window. He hated how the human was able to read him so easily. At this point, it didn't matter if Shawn was a fraud or not since he seemed to be able to read minds either way. Although Tucker couldn't stay mad once he laid eyes on all the different sights in the human world. He pressed his small hands on the glass as they passed an endless body of water.

"Shawn don't put him so high up. Someone can easily spot him out on the street." Gus chastised.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Relax Gus, I know what I'm doing." He replied playfully, although Tucker did feel the hand drop just a little bit.

The two humans continued to talk above him, but Tucker didn't listen to their rumbling conversation. It wasn't like he was going to join in any time soon. He watched as the car turned and started driving around a building. He didn't think much of it until the hand quickly lowered below the window and back to Shawn's lap.

Tucker grumbled as he righted himself on the palm and straightened out his poncho. He was quickly learning that human hands were not a stable spot for sitting, especially when the human never bothered to warn him.

"What would you like to eat for breakfast, Tucker?" Gus asked, throwing Tucker from his bitter thoughts.

Tucker blinked, "huh?"

The drive through line started to move, forcing the car closer to the intercom. "We're picking up something to eat. What would you like?" He repeated quickly. When Tucker still only gave him a bewildered look, he continued, "there's bagels, pancakes, hash browns," Gus began to list.

It took an embarrassingly long time for Tucker to realize they were actually offering him food. Real, fresh, hot food humans get to enjoy unlike the stale flavors he's accustomed to. The more foods Gus listed, the more overwhelmed he became. Tucker never had the luxury of picking and choosing what to eat, he simply took whatever he could scavenge to survive. Even then, he often came up short and had to ration the same crumb for days so he could have something in his stomach.

His mind whirled as he tried to come up with an answer. Tucker honestly didn't know what those foods even were. Suddenly, something large grazed his back and he immediately flinched forward. Tucker glared at the offending finger that touched him, then glanced up at Shawn.

"Clock's ticking," Shawn said as the car continued to move up the line.

"I-I'm fine! I had a chip already." Tucker blurted out. He internally screamed at himself for missing his only chance to eat something good. Everything was just happening too fast for him to keep up, and it was still only morning. At this rate, Tucker knew he was in for a long, long day.

As Gus neared the intercom, he exchanged an unsure look with Shawn before rolling down the window. Tucker jumped when a new human voice crackled over the speaker. He instinctively curled in on himself more to appear smaller and harder to see.

It didn't take Gus very long to list his and Shawn's orders and pull up to the window. Shawn was quick to cup his other hand over Tucker as the worker appeared with the food. He frowned as he felt the small figure shaking on his palm.

The worker quickly handed Gus the drinks and he proceeded to place them in the cupholders. He looked up at the woman and gave her his best smile, "thank you very much, miss." He said politely. She didn't even have a chance to respond as he sped out of the parking lot in record time.

Tucker yelped as he was thrown against Shawn's fingers from the speed and harsh turns. He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched the strap of his leather satchel for any sort of comfort. Unfortunately, any comfort his bag could bring him was overshadowed by the large fingers trapping him.

As more time ticked by, Tucker was tempted more and more to stab his nail back into Shawn's hand so he could finally be let go. Before he could even move for his weapon, the hand cupped above him slowly lifted up and out of sight. Tucker blinked at the onslaught of morning sunlight assaulting his eyes. He raised his hand over his eyes and moved to sit up only to realize the car stopped moving. When did that happen?

"Sorry about my fast driving Tucker." Gus' voice was accompanied by the sound of rustling bags. "I didn't want to risk the worker seeing you."

"I guess that's alright." Tucker said quietly. He also did not want to be seen by anyone else. These two humans were more than enough for him to handle. He chose not to mention how close he was to stabbing Shawn again.

As Gus started getting the food out of the bags, Tucker was hit with one of the most delicious smells he's ever encountered. He closed his eyes as he breathed in the greasy, salty goodness and his mouth began to water. Humans were so lucky to have access to these foods. Too bad he missed his chance to try some, at least this wouldn't be the first time Tucker had to ignore the tasty smells around him. He can do it again.

The hand underneath him began to lift up and stopped on top of the car dashboard. "Final stop on the Shawn Express!" The man announced, mimicking a conductor.

Tucker wasted no time hopping off and sat down. Instead of watching the humans take out their food and begin eating, he stared out the giant window behind him content to focus on his thoughts.

That was until a brown hand reached over and placed a large napkin a few inches away from him. Without a word, Gus broke a corner of his bagel off and placed it on the napkin followed by some eggs, bacon, and hash browns. Shawn was quick to follow suit and gave him a huge piece of his pancake that was the size of Tucker's torso.

Tucker's wide eyes flicked to one piece of food to another. His throat was dry. "Is this- what are ya doing?" He stammered.

Shawn's brows furrowed. "Giving you food. What else would we be doing?"

The borrower shook his head in complete disbelief. "I can't." His hands found the strap of his bag once again as he backed away from the food.

"Come on Tuck, don't be all humble on us now. Where's that fiery spirit we all know you have!" Shawn said, placing his food on his lap.

"Ya humans don't get it. I can't take a handout. I'm not a damn pet!" He spat. The words came out harsher than he intended, but Tucker had to make sure the humans understood him.

The humans quickly glanced at each other, which they seemed prone to do, before looking straight back at Tucker. The small man's shoulders bunched up at the serious looks he was receiving.

"Where in the world did you get that idea from? We would never see you as a pet!" Gus' voice was full of shock and disgust.

Shawn nodded along, "yeah! We know you're not a pet no matter how cute you are." He said with no hesitation.

Tucker's dark cheeks began to burn at that and he glanced down at his leather boots. "Well a handout will always be seen as a way to pity my kind. It will make us too reliant on humans, like pets." He explained.

"So you need to earn your own food?" Shawn confirmed as he slowly caught on to what the little man was saying.

Seeing Tucker nod his head again, Gus immediately responded. "Well you can take this food as an apology for Shawn kidnapping you, or a thank you for helping with the Blum case." He reasoned.

He crossed his fingers that Tucker will accept the food, but Gus was more than prepared to come up with more ways Tucker earned the food if he needed to. It was painfully obvious the little guy has been surviving off scraps. The way his brown skin stuck to his bones and how loose his clothes were sent shivers down Gus' spine. He'll make sure Tucker eats one way or another.

Tucker haltingly glanced over at the food. The warm, savory flavors were calling his name over and over again making his mouth water and his stomach grumble. He wanted to stay strong and show the humans he needed nothing from them, but Tucker could no longer ignore the ache in his midsection.

Without a word, he slowly walked onto the napkin and knelt down, his eyes taking in the incredible sight of all the food available to him. The borrower felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the humans watched him break off a piece of egg. The yellow food radiated a pleasant warmth and Tucker quickly stuffed it into his mouth. His eyes closed and he moaned in ecstasy as the flavor exploded in his mouth. Tucker had never tasted anything so good before! The heat from the egg replaced the chill that always seemed present in his body. He forgot the last time he'd had hot food, if he ever had any at all.

Shawn's rumbling chuckle brought Tucker's mind back into the car. "Looks like someone likes it." He quipped lightheartedly.

Tucker's only response was a short grunt as he began stuffing his face full of food, making sure to try one of everything. In that moment, he only cared about satisfying the hunger that has plagued him since childhood. At the rate he was going, it looked like he might actually finish all the comically large bites of food around him.

Gus almost choked on his bagel as he watched the little guy practically inhale the hash brown. "Slow down Tucker. You'll get a stomachache." He warned.

Thankfully, Tucker did hear Gus' words and forced himself to slowdown and started nibbling on a piece of bacon. Eventually, he couldn't even manage that and begrudgingly placed it down. It took him a few long moments to realize he was actually full for once. It was strange not feeling the constant pain of hunger, but definitely not unwelcome.

Shawn smirked around a mouthful of pancake. "You want something to drink?" He asked as he held up a large cup with yellow liquid inside. "It's pineapple juice." He said as if Tucker knew what that tasted like.

Tucker had never seen such an unnatural looking color for a drink before. A part of him was genuinely concerned the juice would burn through his stomach or something. Still, he didn’t want to pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity. At least he would get a unique death compared to most of his kind who usually succumbed to starvation or disease with the occasional crushing. The borrower gave a small shrug, "I guess I could try some."

Shawn smiled and he moved to place the cup on the dashboard before realizing it would be way too tall for Tucker to reach. He awkwardly held the drink in his hand as the gears turned in his head for a solution. His eyes danced around the small car before landing on a water bottle, which he immediately unscrewed the cap of.

Shawn popped the plastic lid off his drink and began tilting the liquid towards the cap before a stern voice stopped him.

"Do that out the window! I don't want you spilling pineapple juice all over a company car." Gus stressed. It was a miracle he hadn't been fired from his pharmaceutical salesman job after everything Shawn has put the company's car through. It was bad enough he was using it for personal reasons let alone murder cases.

The man rolled his eyes as he pointedly clicked the button for the window to roll down. Tucker and Gus watched as Shawn stuck his hands outside the car, and, moments later, heard the sound of liquid splashing to the ground like a small waterfall.

"I knew you'd spill it everywhere," Gus said smugly.

"No! I'm just making sure the cap is nice and full for Tucker!" Shawn argued back with his hands still out the window.

Gus grabbed a handful of napkins and hit his friend in the shoulder to take them. "Clean up. I don't want your nasty hands in the car."

The psychic huffed and quickly, but carefully, placed the cap on the napkin beside Tucker then snatched the napkins from Gus before droplets of juice could drip into vehicle. Shawn then put his now nearly empty cup back into the holder and rolled his window up, eagerly turning his attention to Tucker to gauge his reaction.

The borrower sat in front of the weirdly yellow liquid. He leaned down and cautiously sniffed it causing his nose to immediately scrunch up at the strong smell. Hesitatingly, he dipped his hands in and watched the cold, bright juice pool into his palms and quickly took a small sip. Tucker grimaced at the sweet and tart flavor coating his tongue, but it surprisingly wasn't bad. He actually found himself dipping his hands in for more.

"This ain’t bad!" He admitted as he happily slurped more juice.

Shawn let out a relieved breath. "Thank goodness you like pineapple. I don't know what we would have done if you ended up being a pineapple hater." The man joked with mock seriousness.

Gus grinned beside him. "We don't tolerate haters around here." He confirmed with a shake of his head.

Tucker shot them a confused look, but otherwise ignored them. To his dismay he finished the entire bottle cap of juice far too quickly, but the borrower didn't want to request more. That would make him seem too desperate like a pet asking for a treat. He grimaced at the thought and began wiping his now sticky hands on the napkin underneath him.

The humans were still finishing up their food, so Tucker distracted himself by tearing off pieces of the napkin and wrapping the remains of his breakfast to store in his bag. Even though the food would no longer be warm later, it still tasted so much better than the chips he'd been surviving off of back home.

After a few minutes, Gus wiped his hands with a napkin and threw the trash in the bag. Shawn followed suit before reaching up towards the dashboard. He laid his hand down flat, palm up. "Ready to get going?" He asked, wiggling his fingers for Tucker to come closer.

The borrower still eyed the hand nervously, but he was faster with climbing onboard much to Shawn's delight. With Tucker off the dashboard, Gus quickly cleaned up the leftovers of his breakfast before putting the car in drive.

Shawn once again lifted his hand just high enough for Tucker to see out the window. This time he was less interested in the human world as his thoughts took over. His interactions with Shawn and Gus didn't line up with the stories he was told as a kid. Sure they still scare him, especially in the beginning, but they also have been treating him nicely after their initial shock wore off.

Tucker frowned, and his hands once again gripped the leather strap around him as they got closer to his home.

————-

Eventually, the car turned onto a small, winding backroad before coming to a complete stop. Both Shawn and Gus intently scanned the surrounding area for any unwelcomed humans. When they determined it was safe, Shawn eagerly opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle.

Tucker couldn't help but grab onto his thumb as the large movements threatened to throw him off. He frowned and was tempted to scold the human, until he felt the breeze hit his face. A small smile formed on his lips. The smell of fresh air was so nice, especially compared to the musky scent of the walls that he’d grown so used to. Up ahead was a blue single-story house sitting alone, surrounded by a forest of trees. His eyes widened when he realized this was the house he'd been living in for 9 years.

Shawn and Gus stopped when they finally reached the door of the small house. Yellow police tape blocked off the front door, but Shawn still reached for the doorknob with his free hand. It jiggled but unsurprisingly didn't open.

He huffed and turned to Gus, "Does that safe breaking thing teach you how to pick these locks." Shawn asked, nodding towards the keyhole.

The other man crossed his arms. "It's a subscription to Safecrackers Monthly. And no it doesn't."

When no one made a move to go inside, Tucker curiously glanced between the two. He couldn't help but ask, "I thought you could get inside if ya work on the murder." He remembered hearing all the humans walking in and out of the house while he was hiding in the bag of chips. Shawn and Gus were able to go inside that time, what's different now?

"Authorized people already unlocked the door when we came here the first time." Gus started to explain.

Tucker tilted his head, "Authorized?" He repeated the strange word.

The man nodded, "It means they had official permission to go inside."

"And you two don't?"

Gus shifted on his feet and gave Shawn a look. "No we don't." He responded bitterly.

Instead of waiting to get hired to legally assist this case, Shawn immediately dragged Gus out of bed and beelined to the Blum residence. His friend was getting far too confident for Gus' liking. One day someone is not going to tolerant his "action first, permission later" way of doing things. Thankfully, he kept his second job so he'd still have income when one of Shawn's stunts gets them in too much trouble.

Shawn waved him off, "It never matters in the end once we solve the case."

"And what if the Chief finds out what we're doing before we solve the case? We could be arrested for breaking and entering and interfering with an investigation!" Gus stated, his voice becoming more hushed with paranoia. He nervously glanced behind them as if someone would appear in the tree line. He shuffled behind a beam on the porch after assuring himself no one was seeing him check out an active crime scene. "Criminal records do not look good for bachelors!”

"That's why we need to find a way inside before anyone sees us." Shawn pointed out with no hint of urgency in his voice. He bent down to look for a spare key under the doormat, failing to warn Tucker.

Tucker's stomach lurched at the sudden drop and he fearfully clung to the giant thumb beside him. The hand continued to sway back and forth as Shawn searched for a way in. He had to get off this death trap of a hand before Shawn either dropped or crushed him.

"I'll figure out how to get ya inside! Just stop movin' for crying out loud!" Tucker yelled up, squeezing his eyes shut.

Shawn immediately froze, still crouched on the ground searching for a spare key. His wide eyes locked onto Tucker who was holding onto his thumb for dear life. It was so freaking cute! If Tucker were stronger, he could probably cut off his circulation. Shawn honestly didn't think he was moving that fast, but chose to oblige to the tiny man.

When the hand remained still, Tucker finally forced his eyes open to meet the two giants' gazes. His dark cheeks reddened and he quickly tore himself away from Shawn's thumb. Tucker moved to the center of the palm but stayed crouched as he figured out how he could possibly help two giant humans. Honestly, he had no ideas on what to do, he just wanted off this hand.

He glanced around the porch. His only entrance to the outside was at the far corner of the house. But he never really used that path as it was mostly just a precaution in case he had to evacuate. It could easily be overrun by plants, bugs, mice, or even rats. Yeah.... Tucker was not in the mood to test his luck anymore.

The only other option was the front door. "Shawn, bring me to the doorknob." He ordered hesitantly, scared the human would be upset with getting bossed around by a man smaller than his fingers. Tucker felt the hand below him shift, "Be slow." He quickly added before Shawn put him through another rollercoaster of a trip.

“What’s the magic word?” Shawn responded without missing a beat. He stared expectantly at the small figure in his hand.

Tucker stayed silent, his expression completely clueless. The hell is a ‘magic word?’ He asked himself as his brain struggled to find an answer.

When the small man didn’t answer, Shawn started to look concerned. “You do know what the magic word is, right?” The tone in his voice told the borrower it was common knowledge for humans.

When Tucker shook his head, Gus leaned down and whispered like it was some big secret code word. “It’s please.”

“Please?” He repeated. He knew he heard the word before but he didn’t know it held such significance to humans. Tucker’s kind always kept conversations curt and at a minimum to keep from being heard by unwanted ears. Not to mention how they have far more bigger issues to worry about than their manners.

Thankfully, the magic word, that sounded a lot more like a question from Tucker, was enough to satisfy the human. Shawn beamed, “Of course my tiny good sir! Such a gentleman!” He complimented.

He very slowly got back onto his feet and carefully stepped closer to the door to hold Tucker right in front of the door knob. The borrower rolled his eyes then briefly inspected the keyhole. His Pa taught him how to escape a cage when he was a kid, and Tucker even got to practice on a lock when the humans were on a trip. He braced his hand on the cool metal and slowly inserted his right arm into the hole.

Shawn and Gus watched in complete fascination as the little guy started to feel around inside the mechanism. Tucker stubbornly ignored the hairs rising on the back of his neck from the human eyes, devoting his focus to the lock. He bit his lip and he began moving the tumblers inside until a click sounded out, announcing his success.

Right when he pulled his arm out, Shawn moved his hand up to eye level. Tucker stumbled and landed on his rear from the movement.

"Great job Tuck! I think you have Gus beat in the lock picking department." Shawn beamed.

Gus stepped closer and nodded at Tucker with an approving smile. "Good work Tucker." He congratulated politely. He then looked up a Shawn, "for the last time; lock picking and safe cracking are completely different." He stated in defense of his status.

"Sure it is." Shawn said as he moved his occupied hand to chest level and reached for the door.

The door creaked open to reveal the desolate house. It was dark with only cracks of morning light peeking through the closed blinds. The air was still and carried an eerie feeling that sent chills down Tucker's spine. The borrower frowned as they went deeper into the building. Usually there was music playing somewhere in the house, slightly drowned out by the TV. The resident humans were always talking and doting on each other, their lips curled into huge smiles. When he imagined coming back home, this emptiness wasn't something he prepared for.

The trio made their way through a small hallway with a row of portraits hanging on the wall before making it to the room where it all started. Shawn could feel Tucker shifting on his palm, but when he glanced down, the little guy's hands were tightly gripping the strap of his tiny bag. A nervous quirk Shawn was quick to pick up on. Surely it couldn't be because of him and Gus at this point. Hopefully.

"Alright," Shawn started as he stood by the kitchen table where Kirstin was found. The body was now gone, but a circle of crimson blood stained the light wood. "Let's get this case rolling." The psychic declared as his eyes scanned the bloodstains on the floor.

Before he could even move closer, a tiny voice piped up. "Could ya put me down, now?…. Please?” Tucker asked, his voice still sounding unsure as he addressed the human.

The man pouted like a child, "are you sure?" He asked despite knowing the answer. Sure enough, Tucker vigorously nodded his head. There was a small part in Shawn that just wanted to hold Tucker forever, it's not like the little guy could really do anything. But he knew that train of thought was very wrong, and Gus would definitely force him to put down Tucker.

So, Shawn slowly lowered his hand to the corner of the table away from the blood. With no hesitation, Tucker practically launched himself off the hand and backed a good few inches away.

The borrower was tempted to just fling himself down the table and escape into the walls, but Tucker decided to stay out in the open a bit longer. He doubted the humans would do anything malicious at this point, so he didn't really have to escape from anything. Plus the humans were still in his house, it only made sense to keep his eyes on them until they leave.

He watched as Shawn and Gus once again searched the kitchen. "Watchya doin'?" Tucker asked.

"Looking for evidence that proves someone else killed Kirstin." Shawn answered as he studied the blood stains on the floor.

Tucker tilted his head, his brows furrowed. "But I already told ya it's Josh. Go ahead and get the guy."

The man shook his head. "Unfortunately words and psychic visions are not solid pieces of evidence for the police. Trust me, I've tried." Shawn explained. He then turned back to Gus who was by the counter, "have you found anything useful?"

His friend, who was reading some papers, sighed and shook his head. He placed a hand on his hip, "just bills and newsletters, nothing about Josh." Gus replied, waving the papers with his free hand.

Shawn stood up and leaned on the table, being very mindful of the tiny man standing nearby. "I doubt Kirstin has photos and diary entries about her creepy stalker around here." He ran a hand through the brown spike of his hair. "We don't need to find anything about Josh right now, we just have to prove Steven wasn't the one who did it." The psychic decided. Based on what Juliet told him over the phone, he didn't even want to think about the intensive interrogation Lassiter was putting the widower through right now. They had to get that poor guy out of there fast.

"And how in the world are we supposed to do that, Shawn? The only defense that man has is that someone else was in the house, which, by the way, we can’t find proof of." Gus stated in exasperation.

"Just give me a second." Shawn responded as he strode into another room.

Gus shook his head in resignation but started to follow Shawn until he locked eyes with Tucker. Even though he could hardly see the facial expressions on that tiny face, he was able to recognized the look of curiosity. The human stood in thought for a moment, but ultimately decided to extend an offer. "You wanna look around with us?"

Tucker flinched back at the question as if it were an animal snapping at him. More time in human hands sounded like a horrifying death waiting to happen to him. There’s no way he could keep hanging around humans and not get hurt in some way, especially with his luck. Tucker really should be back in the walls at this point, all safe and sound and away from ginormous beings who could kill him with an easy flick of the wrist.

But he still stayed put. The borrower didn’t even know why. “Alright,” he answered without even thinking. His brown eyes widened in shock at the word leaving his mouth and his heart started to hammer in his chest. “Uh- but only because I need to keep an eye on ya humans. Make sure ya don’t snatch anything from my house.” Tucker crossed his arms, trying his best to appear nonchalant through his frantic stammering. “It’s nothing personal, just something I gotta do.”

Gus gave him a puzzled look and the small man swallowed thickly. Tucker hoped he wouldn’t take his acceptance to the invitation the wrong way. He couldn’t let anyone think he actually wanted to hang around humans. That would be crazy! What kind of self-respecting borrower would do such a thing? Yeah… he was simply doing this out of necessity to make sure the humans don’t take any goods that he could borrow later. Nothing more.

“Okay then.” Was Gus’ reply as he slowly lowered his hand to the table. Before Tucker could even brace himself to climb on, triumphant shouting came from the hallway. Maybe the humans will find their answers and be gone sooner than he thought.

[damnbluewires]

She set up her instruments for a routine autopsy, and realized she has run out of gloves. Having no one else in the facility to fetch them for her, she headed out to the supply closet down the corridor. The lights were muted, but she liked it that way, being used to stay overtime. The work was indeed grueling and demanding, but this, staying this late, was out of her own volition. Not to be a walking stereotype, but she much preferred the company of the cold, dead cadavers to the company of her cold, and emotionally as good as dead coworkers.

Not mentioning, that the cadavers were far better conversationalists as well.

She didn't choose the profession because of her gift, it was more like the gift chose her because of her profession. Yeah, that didn't make sense to her either.

All she knew is that one day she was opening up some old man's chest cavity to investigate the potential cause of death, and the bastard started hitting on her.

She had nerves of steel, never even as much as grimaced during all of her training, despite how bad the smell was, but this, she must admit, made her yelp and stumble onto her metal tray. She eventually was just glad nobody was there to make fun of her. Apart from the man with a scalpel still poking out of his ribs.

She learned that day, that sometimes she can see the corpses rise from the dead, for exactly ten minutes, before collapsing back, that time for good. What surprised her more, was that most of the people who were brought to her morgue were already more or less prepared to die, so they were just glad to have one last opportunity to have a chat with her.

She adjusted to that new aspect of her job rather quickly, never once thinking of quitting. She would stitch some poor sod's guts back into their body, while talking to the other next in line, about nothing in particular. She would listen to odd stories, treasured memories, and what it felt like to die. It was rather nice, all things considered.

She mused on that, as she grabbed a new box of gloves from the supply and headed back.

The one she had today was some bloke they found in the alley in a pool of blood. What was odd, is that he had no injuries on him. She would have to ask about that.

She put the gloves on, rechecked the instruments, took a scalpel, and started to feel for the right muscle to open the chest from, with practiced grace. When she found the right spot, she began the incision, and heard an inquisitive and amused: "Not even going to buy me a drink first?"

"I don't drink, thanks. Half a year sober." She answered, unfazed as ever. She wanted to continue the cut, but realized it's probably impolite to do so, and raised her eyes at the man, who was dead silent.

He was quiet for a while, and then uncertainly mumbled: "…Congratulations?"

She smiled at him, "Thanks! It has been hard to resist drinking something you know you shouldn't, but it just felt so damn good. You know?"

"I might be aware of the feeling, yes… But, hold on, why am I the stunned one? Why are you not running away, screaming?"

"And miss all the fun? Plus, that honestly sounds exhausting, and I have some more people after you, so I'd rather not waste that energy." She rationalized, while the man tried to collect himself. What the fuck?

"Right. Because the corpses coming to life is just another Tuesday for you."

"It's Wednesday, actually," she beamed again. "But, yeah! Pretty much." Is this hell? Was he finally in hell?

"Are you a demon of some sort?" There was no other explanation.

"Aw, flattery? And who was asking about a drink first?" Yeah. Hell. Most definitely.

"But, no, just your average clerk. Say, how did you end up in that alley? I've been dying to know." That's it. He had to get out of there.

"I have to get out of here."

"Oh, no, you don't. I don't need another runner, thank you very much."

He swooped off the metal bed and bolted to the door. Which was locked.

"Look, I know you are confused, I shouldn't have started with the jokes, but I really need you to go back to the bed. You will collapse somewhere on the street in less than ten minutes, and I really don't need another cop on my ass."

He paused his attempts to get the door open. "You have a cop on your ass?"

"Had one in my ass also, but that was long ago."

He slowly turned at that, and stared at the mortician, who was still just sitting idly on her stool with an innocent smile.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you will be dead again soon, and won't be able to tell anyone."

"I have been dead for a while now."

"Oh, really? Would love to know about that, if you come back and sit down. I'd offer you a coffee, but I will have to be the one to clean up the mess later, and I would honestly rather not."

He did come and sat back down.

"I don't drink coffee anyway." He said, almost to himself.

"What do you usually drink then?"

"Blood of my enemies."

"Ha! And i thought i was the one with dark jokes around here." He didn't say anything to that.

"So, back to my original question, what were you doing in that alley?"

"Drinking the blood of my enemies." He said deadpan.

"I complimented you way too soon, that joke was only funny the first time." She said, and he swears, she almost sounded disappointed. He should not care. He really shouldn't. But…

"You should try it. Tastes better than any alcohol in the world."

"It does sound good, I can't lie. But I bet Becky's blood will be gross no matter how much I hate her. She's on that new 'raw meat' diet. She adds butter to her coffee!" She made a disgusted noise and a face, and his head spinned a little. Must be from the disgust as well. Must be…

"I can understand raw meat, but butter in coffee? Really? Some people just do not care about what they consume, I swear to g-" The word stuck in his throat. He forgot for a second he couldn't say it. But the mortician seemed to not catch that.

"I know, right! But I do prefer my meat cooked. I honestly don't know how I'm not a vegetarian yet. The sight of blood doesn't make me hungry at all."

He quirked his brow at that, "Not even a little bit?"

"Not in the least. Just reminds me of my job. I do love my job, though, comes with its perks."

"Like what?"

"Like talking to you."

She smiled at him yet again, and something warmed inside the place where his heart used to be. But her smile vanished, as she raised her arm to check the clock. The ten minutes must be coming to the end, and she was dreading being in silence again. Alone. Always alone in the end. Only these rare moments of genuinely nice company is all she ha-. She froze. Twelve full minutes have passed.

It was the man's turn to smile at her confusion.

"What's wrong, doc? Forgot to put in the time of death?" He seemed to be amused all over again. "You are a bit too late for that. About two centuries too late."

She looked up at him, for once lost for words.

"I told you I was dead for a while now."

"So, in the alley…"

"Yes, I was actually drinking the blood of my enemies. And it did have a strange aftertaste. Maybe that horrid diet trend is spreading." He mused.

"You are not a ghost?"

"Ghost?! I am deeply wounded by that assumption. I am something much better than a mere ghost." He lowered his voice seductively. "I am a vampire."

She blinked. "…Like in twilight?"

"Oh for fucks- Why is that the first thing people think about? There was not a single vampire in that whole production."

"There are vampires in movie production?"

"In good movie production - yes."

"I have so many questions."

"So how about that drink? Bubble tea sounds good? There is a good place just across the road, and it is still open, I know the owner. Meet you there in ten." And with that, he winked, transformed into a bat, and flew out the window.

She sat there for a while. And then snickered, starting to get ready.

"Curiouser and curiouser…"

okay I had a BRILLIANTLY UNHINGED story idea for someone to write

a mortician has the magical ability to speak with the dead so she doesn't realize anything is unusual when one of her corpses sits up and starts sassing her

only to discover that her conversationalist is actually a vampire

and said vampire very confused about why the mortician isn't freaking out, normally this prank gets 'em every time

[liesandbrokenhearts]

Does anyone else get scared of their minds sometimes because lately I’ve been scared of how little I care about myself and what happens to me because I feel so hideous and unimportant and broken and just ugly and I know that’s not good and I don’t know how not to feel it right now. It’s scaring me how deep I am in this pit of self hatred and sorrow. Like my own mind is scaring the hell out of me