#i changed my mind about him having it naturally

[monzamash]

★ bargain bin — lando norris

coming clean part II lando norris x you —no warnings, just angst (the spice will be back next time, i promise) read part I here requested by anon; "sex while there is the background noise of a rainstorm outside"

“you can only come in if you promise we’re not going to fight.”

lando nodded, eyes soft. he looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. you didn't know that he had only flown home from a triple header yesterday, you swore once the break up happened that you wouldn't worry about him anymore. but of course you did, secretly checking the race results, betrayed by your curiosity.

“the last thing i want is to fight with you,” he replied, barely above a whisper as you took a step to the side and allowed him into your apartment. 

he was dripping wet from the storm outside, immediately ditching the bomber jacket hanging from his shoulders and kicking off the boots covered in your freshly cut lawn. he was apologetic about bringing the rain into your quaint apartment — he felt safer here than in his own place in monaco. he hated it there now, without you, swearing up and down that nothing but resentment and pain lived in those hallowed walls. 

seeing him in the flesh felt different to what you expected. your heart clenched as he leaned against your couch, hands stuffed into his hoodie and dishevelled curls sweeping across his furrowed forehead. being in the same room for the first time in months changed everything, all the fears you’d built up in your mind melted away and the deep regret of letting go of someone so kind and generous churned in your stomach. 

“you look tired, lan.” 

the nickname caught his attention, eyes locking in on your expression to see how genuine you were — hoping to god you were giving him the same look you gave when you were together. 

“i don’t even know how i managed to drive over here to be honest — just can’t sleep anymore,” lando grumbled, feet shuffling on your carpet. 

“then we should go to bed…” 

his eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion, “wha- are you… are you sure?” 

you nodded and reached out for his hand, “come on.” 

lando followed closely behind, heart thumping in his chest as you closed the bedroom door and walked to your closet, “i still have some of your clothes here,” you whispered, handing him a baggy shirt and a pair of shorts.

“thank you…” he managed to squeak out, tears slightly forming in his eyes, “you always look after me better than anyone else.” 

“i know you’d do the same for me if i was struggling,” you stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world as you exited the bathroom in your pyjamas. 

lando sighed and held his tongue. all he wanted to do was tell you how beautiful you looked and how much he appreciated your caring nature. instead, he crawled into bed beside you and rested his weary head on the pillow. the sound of the thundering storm outside your window would have been enough to lull him to sleep, especially with the warmth of your body so close to his. but he didn’t want to sleep, not with so many thoughts swirling around his busy mind.

“how have you been?” he asked, causing you to look over at him with a chuckle.

“i thought you were tired…”

lando shrugged and attempted to disguise his small smile, “i was but like i said in my text — i miss you a lot. miss talking to you and hearing your voice…”

“sounds like you’re down bad.”

“so bad.” he quipped back, shuffling closer to you like a magnet. 

you shook your head and turned onto your side to face him completely, “i miss you too.” 

“yeah?” he almost sounded shocked, playfully so but there was a hint of genuine scepticism in his cracking voice.

“yeah. miss a lot of things about you…”

“like what?” he taunted. 

“just shut up and kiss me, you dork.”

lando didn’t need to be told twice as he closed the small space between you, scooping your waist into his arms and holding you tight. your noses bumped before your lips made contact, making your both giggle as he kissed you into the mountain of pillows.

a loud crack of lightning outside your window made you jump, instinctively pulling him even closer than humanely possible as his lips travelled down your neck — the rumbling of thunder murmured in sync with your heart beat. it felt like the first time you’d met all those years ago, so young and stupidly in love. 

“i love being with you during storms like this… makes me feel safe.”

“i’ve got you and i’m not going anywhere.” he reassured sweetly in a whisper.  you sighed in relief, relaxing into his touch while bringing his face up to yours with shaky hands. there was a nervous surge of energy when you looked into his sparkling green eyes, slightly darkened by the dimly lit room— you believed every word he had said that night and sealed it with a kiss, slowly melting into the covers as he made you feel like you were the only woman in the world.

a/n — very rarely does this happen but the spice would not come to me for this one. i feel like the vibe just felt different and honestly, i don't know how to feel about it hahaha i realised a long time ago that writing angst doesn't come naturally even though i'm a moody bitch - maybe it's because writing is my escapism lol #end of (f1) season sale!! —see what other customers are buying ✨

[postracehair]

altitude

max verstappen x reader | 1.5k

you hate flying. but it's a necessity if you want to see max during the f1 season. when you finally fly home together during a break, will you let him help calm you down?

cw: r hates flying, anxiety, kissing, like, lots of kissing, worried max, allusions to more than kissing, fluff, george/carmen cameo

a/n: she's so me! i hate flying! but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do! wrote this way back after brazil, but have it now as a race week gift.

--

Everything changes very quickly after you meet Max Verstappen.

You are pulled into a world of action and luxury all because he wants you there. And you go willingly because you want to be with him, too. How could you not? The world famous champion is a kind, funny, and sweet man who loves his cats, his friends, and, as is becoming clear, you.

Much of the start of your relationship is scheduling. A day here and there between races, dinners and walks and movies at his place or yours. You spend a lot of time in airports when you can, working on the go and white knuckling your way through flight after flight. It's worth it to see him on the other side.

Somehow, you've never actually travelled together.

Until now.

The race weekend ends the best way possible -- the top step of the podium. A night of celebrations fades into an early morning flight on a private jet and this time, you're coming with. Because Max has three weeks off. He'll have to work, of course, spending time in Milton Keynes before the final stretch of the season, but for the most part you're going to have him all to yourself.

It does not occur to you until you're in the car on the way to the tarmac that Max has no idea how much you hate flying. You're in one of those big Sprinter vans, head on Max's shoulder as he scrolls through his phone. George and Carmen sit on the other side, the former's head tipped back as he dozes. Everyone is quiet and you're working a bit hard to keep yourself calm.

"What is it?" Max whispers. He puts his phone down and you look over at him. His hair is a mess, you can see that much even in the low light of the van. You reach out and run a hand through it.

"What?" you whisper back.

He shakes his head a little and wraps his fingers around your wrist. "You were all loose and then you got tense."

The frequent distance between you and the busy nature of your schedules demands that communication be top of mind. You do not lie to each other about your feelings, and you do not hide things. Even things like this.

"I don't really like flying," you say, softly. "I've never told you because we've never flown together. It just makes me kind of anxious. I've never been able to shake it."

His brows furrow. "Really?"

"I'll be fine," you assure him. "Just, maybe hold my hand during takeoff and landing. And if there is any turbulence."

"But -- I don't understand. Are you afraid?"

You know that there is really no way to make him understand but also that he won't stop trying to. Max gets afraid, he gets nervous. He's only human. But he combats it with sheer willpower, focus, and skill.

"I fly this way all the time," he says, urgent this time. "It's totally safe."

"That's not -- Max, I just get nervous. It's not really to do with safety. I just don't really enjoy it."

"Oi," George says, rousing. "What are you two yapping about?"

"Go back to snoring, George," Max says, not taking his eyes off you.

"Do I really snore?" you hear him ask in a hushed tone. Carmen shushes him.

"Pulling up to the plane now, folks," the driver calls back.

"Seriously," Max says, sounding a little desperate. "It'll be alright."

"I know. I fly all the time, Max." His frown deepens.

"To come see me," he reminds you. "If I knew you didn't like it, I would have --"

"What?" you interrupt. "Invented teleportation? It's okay, Max. Knowing it's to see you makes the whole thing easier, honestly."

This does not satisfy him. You can tell. It's a problem he can't solve -- his least favorite kind. There is no simulation to run for this, no meeting he can talk through, no track he can circle a thousand times.

The van door opens and you're all beckoned out onto the tarmac. You follow George and Carmen with your bag and Max is at your heels, his duffle slung over one shoulder and his other hand on the small of your back. Normally, he's not this touchy, but he seems reluctant to let your conversation in the van go.

"Max--"

"I'm thinking, liefje."

You roll your eyes. "About how to invent teleportation?"

"Something like that," he grumbles.

The jet is narrow, an aisle on one side and four rows of seats on the other. Four sets of two, a table between them. Carmen and George settle into one nook and you toss your bags into another. You slide into the window seat and Max sits heavily in the one next to you, still frowning. You let him, instead looking around to absorb the new experience.

It's much nicer than a regular plane, that's for sure. There is a cooler stocked with drinks and a cabinet full of what seems to be snacks. You can stretch your legs to rest your feet on the seat across from you. It's so early you figure all of you will just sleep, though Max's mood seems at odds with that plan.

The pilot introduces herself and gives a quick rundown of the route and airtime. You all nod and smile and then the doors close and the lights dim.

Max's hand finds yours immediately. You sit up a little and look over at him. He looks even more frazzled than he did at the hotel, when you both rolled out of bed and into comfy clothes. Soft pants and a hoodie that make him look boyish, younger than he is. But here, his cheeks are a little flushed and his jaw is set like he's about to get in his race car.

"What do you do normally?" he asks, softly. You can hear George's soft snores already. "When I'm not there."

"Max," you sigh.

"Tell me, please?"

The seat shifts under you as it heads for the runway. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

"Well, I don't hold some random guy's hand," you tease. He squeezes your palm and huffs. 

"He could be so lucky."

The plane comes to a stop and you know what happens next. Your mind remains preoccupied with Max -- a good thing, right now -- but your body tenses and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter as the engines kick up and you pick up speed.

Max says your name but you don't budge. "Liefje," he whispers, much closer than before. You can feel his breath on your cheek as he gently holds your chin with two fingers and turns your face towards him.

And then he's kissing you. A closed mouth press of his lips to yours, firm but still. At least until you sigh into it, releasing your death grip on the arm rest to reach for him blindly, your tangled fingers between you. The kiss deepens, his nose sliding against yours as you part your lips and the chaste press becomes more. Max's tongue licks into your mouth leisurely, like he has all the time in the world to explore you. 

You kiss and kiss and kiss, so long that a voice in your head wonders if maybe you can do this for the whole flight, please? Max tugs your legs across his until you're practically in his lap, spread across the two seats like they're one.

"We're reached cruising altitude," the speakers crackle. "Feel free to move about, but please be mindful."

Max pulls away, a strand of spit glistening between you until he wipes it away with a smirk. His hair is even messier than before and his cheeks are pink. Lips swollen, eyes glassy -- you must look the same. Your heart is racing and you laugh, breathless.

"Well," Max says, then swallows. His voice is raspy, hoarse with desire. "Guess you have to fly with me from now on."

"Max." You pitch forward and settle where his neck and shoulder meet and inhale. His arms wrap around you and he holds you close. You can hear his heart racing just as fast as yours.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles. "I know."

"I can do it," you remind him. "I do it all the time. I just don't like it, that's all."

You feel the press of his lips on your hair.

"I just don't like that I can't fix it," he says. "I can't get inside your head and make you know it's alright."

"No, you can't," you sigh. The plane jerks just a little -- a swoop of your stomach that has you gasping. Max's hold on you tightens and he says your name.

"How do you do this alone?" he rasps, mouth next to your ear as he rubs your back.

"I close my eyes," you say, taking deep breaths. "And I imagine you with me."

He curses softly. "We should get a jet by ourselves next time," he mutters. "Then I can really distract you."

That gets you to laugh, though you can't say you hate the idea. It makes you feel warm, makes you press your thighs together.

"Next time," you echo. "But for now..."

Max cups your jaw and ghosts his nose over yours. "For now..."

He brings your lips together.

[shantechni]

Natsume's Fear of Thunder

I'm gonna be honest, this can hardly be considered an analysis. It's more of a "sporadic and unnecessarily deep observation" of how Natsume's astraphobia has been presented in the series over the years, both in the anime and in the manga. So, please for the love of God take all of this with a grain of salt.

Yes, I'm using the term "phobia" very loosely, but I'm not about to get into that rn. Natsume has an irrational fear and strong dislike of thunder, that's an undeniable truth.

Before I dive in, I'd like to briefly explain why, of all the little bits of information Midorikawa has given us about Natsume, this one is the one to ceaselessly bump around in my brain like a DVD logo. This series is not in the horror genre (it's serialized in LaLa DX after all), but it does get suspenseful, and pretty disturbing depending on whatever topic it touches or the types of situations the characters may find themselves in. I don't fault anyone, particularly Natsume, for growing up with valid fears and preconceived misconceptions about most youkai; they can sound scary, they can look scary, and they can do some scary stuff if they really feel up to it.

That's why I'm so fascinated to see Natsume develop and still harbor an irrational fear for something like the everyday phenomena of storms. He's landed himself in all sorts of trouble and has come face to face with many beings, both natural and supernatural, who didn't have his best interests in mind, and yet the clap of thunder somehow keeps its spot on the list of things that has him scared stiff.

Aight, spoilers for both the anime and the manga beyond here, you've been warned👏🏽

Our first introduction to Natsume's fear is near the beginning of chapter 42, when he and Tanuma accidentally stumble across Taki's home while seeking shelter from a sudden shower. He questions how Nyanko-sensei ended up at her home as well and the youkai, much to Natsume's visible dismay, cheekily explains:

That doesn't end up happening since the rain remained light until its swift end, and the mention of Natsume's fear is glossed over rather quickly to save him the embarrassment, but it's an interesting mention made by Midorikawa nonetheless since it adds another layer to whatever image the audience has of Natsume and the series itself. Nyanko-sensei, having been around this kid long enough to know a lot of his vulnerabilities and insecurities (even the ones his dreams unwittingly reveal to the youkai), has seen and grown accustomed to a side of him that the audience had yet to be formally introduced to for once.

Right about now, you may be wondering how the anime adapted this scene. It didn't💀.

While the start of the episode (S3 EP5) is a one-to-one recreation of the chapter with virtually the same dialogue and scenery, any mention of Nyanko-sensei following Natsume to pick on him when it thunders is nonexistent and entirely skipped over so the gang can go straight to cleaning out the storeroom.

Most fans who have read the manga will tell you how notorious the anime is for excluding some of the characters' lines or scenes that take place in the manga, or just straight up rearranging or changing up those same factors. Sometimes those alterations work wonders, and other times they leave more to be desired, mainly if you know what happened in the manga counterpart of the episode. This such example is one of the times that'll leave people scratching their heads and wondering what warranted getting rid of a scene so insignificant that it'd have no effect on the plot of the episode whether or not it stayed. The only answer I can think of for that is the directors likely wanting a smoother progression of events to make for a viewing experience better tailored for an anime episode rather than a manga chapter.

Or, they genuinely didn't have enough space in the episode to squeeze in that little bit, which I highly doubt, but what would I know, I don't work for them. At the end of the day, we didn't get to see that scene in the episode.

After some more anime switcheroo shenanigans go on behind the scenes, along with an original episode pulling a retcon during a lightning storm, we receive our next moment in a surprising scene from the anime team in S3 EP10 (adaptation of chapter 28). Though the scene itself is short and not exactly an example of Natsume's astraphobia, I feel it should still be included because of its relation.

The chapter originally starts with Natsume and Nyanko-sensei searching for a tree that was struck by lightning during a storm the night before. However, the anime makes an addition of their own by rewinding time to that very night and showing Nyanko-sensei excitedly watching the storm take place while Natsume is tied up with his homework.

Nyanko-sensei goes on to tease him by suggesting that he doesn't want to watch the storm because he's scared, but Natsume dodges the youkai's mocking and begins to tell him to close the curtain before a crack of lightning cuts him off and illuminates his room.

Not only does Natsume not simply deny Nyanko-sensei's claim of him being scared, but his reaction to the thunder is seemingly more sudden than Nyanko-sensei's. Both of these points could subsequently lead the audience to interpret this entire sequence as the anime's first acknowledgement of his phobia, and it'd make for a very intriguing choice on the anime team's behalf after taking their ommitance of the previous scene into consideration. It could be a stretch though ngl, I tend to stretch like crazy, it makes sense to close a curtain when a pet is being noisy—

Finally moving on from S3, we eventually reach the most overt instance of Natsume's astraphobia, and potential origin or exacerbation of it, in the S4 finale (adaptation of chapter 46). This three episode arc is a largely intimate and heart wrenching one as it focuses on Natsume's journey to revisit his childhood home before it gets renovated by its new owners, a task he initially denied himself the permission of doing before realizing Touko and Shigeru would never deny him something so personal. Of course, he wouldn't be Natsume if he didn't attract a youkai along the way, and he's being pursued by one that seeks to feed on the tragic memories he formed while staying with the Aoi family, who was strongly implied to be the first family (if not, one of the first families) he was taken in by after his father's passing.

One of those memories shown to the audience is a younger Natsume relaxing in a shrine while memorizing where his childhood home is located, all in the hopes of gaining more discernible memories of his father and no longer being a burden to Miyoko and her parents.

Unfortunately, he falls asleep at the shrine and consequently loses track of time before having his slumber disturbed by a violent boom of thunder. He's so frightened by the ordeal that he can't even bring himself to rush back to the Aoi family's place, and his exhaustion puts him back to sleep until he's eventually found by some of the neighbors who went out searching for him.

The anime, with the natural strengths it has over the manga, goes the extra mile by not only keeping this portion relatively untouched, but further setting up the scenery and depicting just how rapidly the area goes from peaceful to turbulent. The character animation and voice acting make for a splendid combination and do a wonderful job of capturing this image of a helpless childhood version of Natsume.

What comes soon after this scene is a depressing sequence of events on its own, even more so when we can see he's still reeling from the storm and believing he caused the Aois to get into trouble by not getting back before dark. The adults obviously don't fault Natsume for getting stuck in the storm, but he doesn't see it that way in his shocked state.

The way Miyoko reacts by throwing her frustrations onto him doesn't help either.

And so, after aimlessly running off in his last unsuccessful attempt to find his childhood home, the memory fades away with a somber note as his present self recalls the moment he finally stopped calling for his long gone father.

Now, one could argue that Natsume had his fear of thunder prior to his time with the Aois since we don't have much reference material to work with when concerning his short period of time with his father, and they could be right for all I know. It's common for children to be startled by loud noises and bright flashes since they just aren't quite accustomed to those loud noises and bright flashes being customary for weather disturbances. Natsume, who we know grew up to be pretty sensitive to the things that go on around him, may have been one of those children who felt apprehension anytime a bad storm rolled in, and his father may have been the one to quell his fears back then. So, if we go with the conclusion that his fear didn't originate here, then this scene likely could've aggravated it. But I'm personally leaning a bit more towards the concept of this being the cause of it (partly due to how appealing that conclusion is to the obsessive part of my brain).

His initial reaction to the thunder is seemingly one of surprise rather than fear, and his behavior suggests that he's more concerned with making it back down the mountain before the thunder halts his progress. Although he's seen trying to talk himself down and fails to do so with how relentless the thunderstorm is proving to be, he doesn't need to have preexisting fears or anxieties over thunder to resort to calming himself down.

The dialogue differences strike me as something to consider too, but they're likely irrelevant.

Setting aside everything I just ranted about in the above paragraph, I should specify that I'm not simply pointing to the storm scene as the singular root cause for his future woes. Many psychological problems often aren't so black and white that someone can definitively point to one person or thing as the sole reason for the existence of their psychological problems. And phobias obviously don't always develop as a result of going through or observing a traumatic event; people can grow to fear or strongly dislike something merely by its association with an unpleasant memory or stressful situation. I know I'm starting to stretch hard rn, and this part of the post is getting awfully wordy, just hear me out—

Going back to that aforementioned short period of time with his dad, it's plain to see just how innocent of a time that was for Natsume. He was playful and affectionate with his dad like many children growing up in a healthy environment would be at that age. He doesn't even appear to have an awareness of youkai (if so, only slight enough for it to not become a problem for him just yet). We're shown later on that he would commonly draw around the house too, as evidenced by the nearly two decade old pieces of artwork his father never removed from the kitchen area and closet.

Natsume even proceeds to make a comment about this childhood version of himself likely being the mischievous type for him to run around drawing on surfaces without a care in the world.

He undeniably had his own troubles at that stage of his life though, with one of those troubles being his mom and the empty spot left behind by her passing away. Apart from his heartwarming portrait of a family with both parents, he's also shown lamenting to Miyoko after the death of his dad about not being able to remember his mom. We've seen with those two examples that her absence indeed left an impact on him early on in his life, but he doesn't stay too broken up over her considering how little he got to bond with her, and he doesn't openly despair about the loss of his dad until his growing sense of loneliness and longing becomes too much for him to smooth over.

The point I'm trying (and admittedly struggling) to make here is that after moving in with Miyoko and her parents, the worries on Natsume's plate increased tenfold and weighed him down far more than he was willing to accept at first. Suddenly, this kid had little to smile about in life, taking a glance at his only picture of his parents causes grief and envy to flare up in his chest, he's afraid of being a burden to those who took him under his wing, he's eating less than Miyoko because he's concerned with coming off as too greedy, he feels responsible for Miyoko getting picked on because of his relation to her, he's still learning the way back to the Aoi family's home, and now he's surrounded by all of these weird creatures that apparently no one else can see.

Suddenly, he's no longer that carefree toddler we saw sitting on his dad's lap as the two of them watched over his late mom's garden.

I feel moderately certain about Natsume's experience with the storm, coupled with this pivotal and devastating shift in his life, being the plausible cause for him developing his irrational fear of thunder as a child.

After this arc, we aren't greeted with another scene featuring or centered on his astraphobia until chapter 85 (which doesn't appear to be adapted in S7 judging from the PV😭), and it focuses on Natsume, Tanuma and Taki viewing a limited exhibition at an old inn that has a deep history with youkai. Not too long after the owner engages in conversation with Taki, Natsume and Tanuma briefly comment on how peaceful the inn is making the both of them feel, and a sudden lightning strike cuts through the tranquility of the inn.

It catches everyone off guard and, unsurprisingly, has Natsume frozen in place as Tanuma asks him and Taki if they're alright.

Much like Nyanko-sensei's first time mentioning Natsume's fear, the moment doesn't last long as the gang soon realizes they'll have to spend the night at the inn while they wait for the sudden storm to pass.

By this point in the manga though, Midorikawa has evidently decided to make Natsume's astraphobia a recurring element of the sorts. She could've easily left his astraphobia as another facet of his that we get to see once or twice and never again since it's not serviceable to the story as a whole, but she's started using his phobia as an additional means of displaying his discomfort in any given situation. Having a thunderstorm suddenly appear during a moment of serenity, immediately after Natsume tells Tanuma the place is making him feel strangely good, was a brilliant move of jarring him. And it works especially well here as a sign of the looming threat that'll find its way into the inn over night and slowly creep upon the group the longer they remain there.

Midorikawa pulls this same stunt again to slightly greater effect in chapter 117, where Natsume, Tanuma and Nyanko-sensei happen upon the Kisaragi Manor and find themselves taking part in a ritual for summoning youkai.

It starts with the trio meeting up in the evening to view the bamboo lanterns, but a woman claiming to be in search of a mansion requests their help to find it before it gets too dark, as well as to avoid getting caught in a downpour should the drizzle grow heavier. While Tanuma shows interest in the ritual, and the people they meet are treating them somewhat cordially, Natsume is disconcerted by the arrangement they've found themselves in. He's surrounded by five women he's never met in his life, is once again in an unfamiliar place that feels weird in Nyanko-sensei's own words, and is thrown for a loop by everyone's enthusiasm with the idea of meeting youkai rather than being put off by them.

The group isn't even a minute into their summoning ritual when a huge boom of thunder shakes the room and causes a power outage, sending them into a brief stint of darkness until Hitomi relights the candle.

While waiting for the candle though, Natsume answers Tanuma's question by for once admitting that he's bothered by thunder, leading to Nyanko-sensei characteristically picking on his phobia by calling him a chicken.

Again, the moment is subtle and restricted to one corner of the page, but it sticks the landing. Instead of using the lightning or thunder as a sign of things to come as she's done before, Midorikawa uses them here as an integrant of an already somewhat concerning scene slowly veering towards being disturbing. In addition to selling just how uncomfortable of a situation this is for Natsume, it also depicts how far along he is in his friendship with Tanuma to be honest about an irrational fear we know he'd rather not speak of.

Alas, chapter 117 was our last time seeing thunder scare Natsume, at least until the next time Midorikawa chooses to use his fear to her advantage, unless the anime miraculously surprises us with its own original take as we've seen it isn't afraid to do. What we've been given so far though is plentiful in comparison to many other plot points or quirks that get reused or called back to far less than this one. I won't throw a tantrum if his never gets referenced to or utilized again (which I doubt will happen knowing Midorikawa's writing), but I eagerly anticipate seeing it again should it reappear.

It's captivating to watch this minor detail frequently make it's way back into the story somehow, to the point that it eventually cemented itself as a miniscule yet effective way of shedding different shades of light on the many complexities of Natsume.

[vatelixx]

In the crooks of your body (I find religion),

mid-seasons Spencer Reid x afab!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, lots of fluff. no angst this time, mostly for damage control) ─── soft love & early mornings. idk it’s just domestic bliss for a change.

Warnings: light d/s dynamic (sub spencer, im predictable), low-key praise for both parties, pre-established relationship, they’re soooo in love, they’re also domesticated, morning sex (but there’s no penetration, just oral), they’re both nerds, their pillow talk is science, autistic spencer always (it’s canon to me) greek mythology references, probably the nicest thing i’ll ever write.

w.c: 3k

a/n: post-prison (as requested by many) is still being worked on. it makes me sick. i wrote this to improve my mental health. i’d apologise for being inactive recently but it was necessary, ohmygodihavesomuchcoursework.

──────────────

Saturdays are for this. Waking up to no obligations, work tossed aside, Spencer’s state of impending doom reduces to something distant, untouchable. Barely dawn, there’s a level of domesticity to the art of sleeping together.

Sure, he could go on tangents, disbelieving that he’s allowed to attain this. But it’s futile, he’s long grown tired of exhausting the how to your dynamic, the statistic improbabilities, he always thought you would be reserved to his fantasies. Pandora’s box, a hypothetical kept under lock and key.

But no— he’s willing to accept that, on this one off occasion, he’s made an error in his calculations. An illogical anomaly.

Draped in the mantle of sleep, he feels the soft push of cotton sheets first, then the warm-blooded body curved around him. There isn’t traces of a case lingering at the forefront of his mind when he shifts, drawing himself closer, almost subconsciously, by guided instinct.

Touch. Touch, a natural, biological need. Something Spencer has always shied away from, finding nothing but hurt at the double-edged sword of intimacy. It’s not like he has much experience to base this on. And yet, right now, he’s not thinking factually, from a logical standpoint. Because, okay, there’s comfort in knowing the person that touches you is in fact supposed to touch you.

His hands find your body, his movements still slow and weary, thumb brushing the edge of your vertebrae, the divot just below your shoulder blade.

Spencer is many things. He’s obsessive, incessant, obstinate on occasion. Difficult, to put it bluntly. But despite all that, despite his complications, he’s here, touching, trusting, because for the first time in his life, it feels good.

“Moonless earth theory,” he says, moving to accommodate when you decide to lie on your side. Face to face, in hazy, dimmed light. He stares. “Okay, Abian, Alexander Abian, claimed that blowing up the moon would solve every problem in existence.”

Selfishly, unabashed, he slips his hand beneath your top to trace halos across your skin. “It’s so dumb. If that happened, tides would decrease. And, and, the moon's presence has a partial correcting effect on any instabilaties that arise in a non-homogenous, non-symmetrical—“ he sighs, presses his lips together for a moment, “Basically, the earth would wobble. Which… uh, isn’t very good?”

You’re still half-asleep, dreary to his random information. It takes a moment for your brain to settle, to comprehend what he’s saying, and then another, longer moment, to respond.

“Mhm. Days would be shorter,” you respond before laughing. “This is what you think about when you’ve just woken up? I’m basically a walking lobotomy until at least 10AM. And that’s providing I have a shower, feed my caffeine dependency, et cetera et cetera.”

You look at him, observe the sight: tousled hair, swollen lips half-parted, dilated, heavy-lidded eyes that stare back back back.

“I think about a lot of things in the morning,” he mutters, “A lot of things in general.”

When he leans in to kiss you, it’s languid, slow, he’s still in stasis, a state of suspended animation. Tenderly, as if the contact could break, he parts your lips with his own, his breath warm against your mouth, slow, like he wants your touch burnt into him.

Inevitably, your tongue slides against his, and he moans. Hot. It’s so slow, slow enough that time feels warped, nonexistent, like the universe has just stopped without warning.

He feels you shifting, the movement subtle, legs intertwining, hips flush. Good. So good. His lips break away, only to find their way across a cheek, along the column of your throat, further, over the curve of your collarbone.

He’s pressing kisses anywhere his body allows, touch lingering against your skin, tracing invisible imprints. “Sometimes, well.. um, most of the time, I think about you.”

He laughs, shifting to press his forehead against yours. “It’s a huge interference on my routine. And yeah, there’s also the facts, and the statistics. But then my mind will betray me, and i’ll just think about how you might respond, if I told you them.”

This information isn’t exactly new; you’ve woken up to random, impromptu messages regarding space, earth, philosophy, facts that you can never quite place at such an early hour. Then, there’s the phone calls, the dumb, domestic phone calls, ringing you just to over-explain some new hypothesis he’s studying.

Starry-eyed ambition. Sometimes it hurts to think that the job, the BAU, the nature of the cases, will inevitably warp his softness.

You cup his face, palm pressed against cheek, watching as he melts, molten gold, into the contact. “Yknow, I’d really like to study you in a lab.”

“Mm,” he hums, a sound that translates to please don’t put me in a lab.

His hand wraps around your wrist, preserving the contact, holding onto it like there’s a possibility, an actual chance, fact and figure, that he could lose it.

“I’d just be your lab rat? And they say romance is dead,” he scoffs, “You would commit so much medical malpractice.”

“Pft, medical malpractice. That’s made up,” you silence his protests before they can leave his lips. “I think it would be fun to preform experiments on you. Though, i’m not sure I should be trusted with a scalpel. A law probably needs to be put in place. Yknow, for the safety of the people.”

“Ah, ha.” he’s quick to respond, “It’s the scalpel you’re worried about? You’re forgetting the needle, the drugs, the restraints? You cannot be trusted, you’re a danger to society,”

Spencer pouts, features creased. “And your idea of a fun Saturday morning is committing violent acts against your oh so innocent boyfriend. I see, I see where your priorities lie.”

You grin, press a light kiss to his cheek. It’s soft, tentative contact, and yet he still shivers. No dignity. “Sorry, sorry. What was that last part of your sentence? I zoned out after you said restraints.”

“Right. That’s uh, well. That wasn’t the point I was… trying… to make?”

“Yeah, yeah. Medical malpractice. Evil girlfriend. I get it. You’ve made your point. I am very very ashamed of my hypothetical actions.” you say, hooking your leg around his waist, drawing him onto his back. Spine meeting mattress, your body on top now, straddling him.

You hike up his sweater, running your hand across his torso. There’s something obscene to the way he blushes, draping an arm over his face, as if your movements physically pain him.

“Stop acting coy. I’ve seen you in this position before. Worse ones, if we’re going to be honest here—“

“Hey, hey, hey— I’m not acting coy!" he protests, unconvincingly. He’s breathless, attempting to hide the way his body reacts. As if the slight friction warranted from the movement doesn’t grant him fleeting bliss.

The contact is intense, fervent, your body flush with his. “We really really don’t need to talk about the other occasions.” his eyes shut, head falling back against sheets, lips parted, hands gripping the skin of your hips.

“You’re uh, you’re really unfair,” he mumbles, “And beautiful. I should tell you that more often.”

“You tell me every day.”

Moving off his lap, he’s accommodating as you help to untangle clothes from his body, raising his hips when needed, lifting his arms when necessary. Your touch has him compliant, obedient, eager to fall pliant, beneath you. The sight, god: slender, pale skin, faint blemishes staining his thighs from previous nights, matching with the few that adorn his neck.

“I don’t say it enough, then.”

You laugh, “Oh, you’re such a sap.”

It’s a process: getting Spencer to sit up. Because he doesn’t seem to comprehend your intentions, to realise what you’re trying to imply here. Still, when he’s finally perched on the edge of the bed, you rise, shifting to stand between his legs, to look down at the picture of him, bare, undone, so pretty just for you.

He stares up, eyes wide like marbles. “Hi.”

You card your hand through his hair, strands falling between crevices in your fingers. It’s soft, the movement, the gesture, you’re not sinking down to the root yet. “Hi.”

Your name falls from his lips. And yeah, there’s something reverent to the way he says it, the pained whisper. Something that dissolves into a messy, unrefined whimper when you sink to your knees.

“Oh, god. I—,” he swallows, his voice rough. “I, I love you so much.”

There’s this repeated question on your mind, the same one that loops into existence every time you’re in a compromising position: how loud is Spencer going to be today? Because, objectively, he’s loud. It demeans, ruins the chances of abrupt, clandestine touches in semi-public places. In sneaking around. Even when you’ve got your palm against his mouth, he somehow manages to combat, to prevail the suffocation.

Your lips press soft kisses along his thigh, touching those marks now, the ones you must’ve left last night. No? Maybe yesterday afternoon? It’s hard to keep track. “I love you.”

He melts.

“Such a pretty cock. All for me, hm?” jesus christ. You’ve always been so blunt, outward, inherently shameless. Spencer thinks he might die, divine madness. Theia mania.

When you drag your tongue along the length of his cock, there’s a current, sharp, sending his hips bucking. They arch forward, into you, into the contact. Sight shuttered by swollen eyes, he thinks about regulating his breathing, inhale, exhale, the concept falls on deaf ears.

“All yours,” he whimpers, “Yes. Only,.. only you. Always.”

It feels like devotion. The way he confirms vocally, the way you sink down, take him deep into your mouth. His head spills backwards, baring his neck, indiscernible noises bleeding through the open air, sunlight touching his skin, highlighting his intemperate demeanour in diluted canary.

He’ll apologise to the neighbours later.

Shaky, fumbling hands reach out to brush loose strands of hair from your face, to grip, the pads of his fingers meeting your scalp. He would never push, he just needs something firm, solid, tangible to hold onto.

And when you hum around him, just to mess with him, just to hear those sounds, to draw those pleasure-soaked, beautiful noises out of his mouth—

“Oh, oh oh— that’s, yeah. Mhm, yeah. Just… ruin me.” he’d probably thankyou after. Because he’s polite.

You draw back from the contact to catch your breath. Lips stained, now bruising, emitting soft little gasps. There’s tears gathering in the corner of your eyes, reducing your vision to a distorted haze. Blurry traces of reality that all seem so inconsequential now, now that you’re here.

“I love the way you sound for me, Spence. So pretty.”

“Well,” he huffs out a breath, “I’m uh, being taken care of… very well.”

You lean forward to press a kiss against his tip, as if that’s the most innocent, innocuous gesture imaginable. “You deserve it.” your nails run across his thigh, leaving faint white lines in their path. “Exploding that genius brain of yours yet?”

“That shattered the moment you got down on your knees. Maybe, um… okay, possibly earlier.”

“Earlier?”

“Way earlier..”

He whimpers when you drag your tongue across his tip. There’s a plethora of please please please he shamelessly emits, only somewhat satiated when your lips are wrapped around his cock, when you’re demolishing his sanity, and everything else in the process.

He doesn’t even realise how lewd he is, most of the time. It’s not like he’s making a deliberate effort, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to attain that skill anyway. It’s just… him, raw and unbridled, so delirious from pleasure.

His eyes, dilated, gone, are half-lidded, watching you through thick curls of messy hair, damp with sweat and morning light.

“I’m trying, I’m trying so hard,” he moans, and then words are destroyed, obliterated, as you gag, taking him down to the hilt. “Oh,” he says, “Oh.”

It never lasts long. Not where he’s concerned. Features creased, pleading, you have to restrain him from bucking, nails burning crescent marks into his skin. “Please— please, ‘m gonna…”

He looks done. You hum, oh, silent confirmation, the vibrations stimulate his cock, and then he’s shapeshifting, morphing, transcending into something blissfully gone, releasing deep into your throat.

The orgasm has him ruined, undone. Barely conscious, just floating like something inviolable.

Afterward, he’s urging you to drink water, soft kisses pressed down the curve of your neck as you both readjust. When his phone, his outdated, underused phone lights up, artificial haze, he curses Prometheus for giving humans fire, for hiding it in a stalk of funnel and allowing them to inevitably create technology.

The phone gets locked away in his drawer. He’s half-scared of it anyway.

Spencer has never quite understood the appeal of mornings, but he’s starting to see the merit in them, with you. He’ll tell you that sometime, maybe. One day. Soon.

Right now, however, he descends down your body, lips dragging a path from collarbone to the space between your thighs, where he actively groans.

“Best Saturday morning ever,” you remark, helping him to remove your shorts, then the offending panties that prevent his mouth from working you to ruin.

It’s almost domestic, the way you mirror his actions, feeding your hands through his hair, supporting him as he slips a pillow beneath your hips. Sprawled out across tangled sheets, flushed and restless, you let out an appreciative sigh at the reciprocation.

“Definitely,” he agrees, blowing cold air against your core, just to watch the way you curve, contort. “Though, uh… every morning with you is the best morning ever.” It’s dumb, and god he’s blushing between your thighs.

But, Spencer likes to thank you. Because all in all, he considers himself a well-mannered person. So this, he parts your thighs further, applies slight pressure to your clit, is completely necessary. Mandatory, he’d argue. Something that needs to be embedded into daily routine.

Usually, it’s a slow, methodical process. He can be a perfectionist, a completionist, but he doesn’t mind. He trails his tongue across the inner sections of your thighs, to catch the wetness that stains your skin there.

“You are so perfect,” he regards, pressing a kiss to your clit, mirroring your actions. “So pretty. The prettiest— i’m going to, yeah..”

His tongue moves in languid circles, in soft, calculated motions, before finally delving inside of you, tasting you, drawing a moan, a plea, a muffled prayer from your lips. Okay, alright, maybe his lips too.

“I could do this all day, I want to, I—“ And he doesn’t really have to finish the sentence, because you know him too well, and it’s implied. Implied that he’d spend ceaseless hours here without complaint, oh far from complaint.

He likes to have something to focus on. A task to preform. It distracts his mind, and this one? Yeah, it reduces his thoughts to only you.

If he had it his way, his current mental state would be permanent.

“On your back, pretty boy..” you watch with soft eyes as he mindlessly obeys. Legs bent, pressed against the mattress, you sink down onto his face, getting off from a new angle. Your back instinctively curves, arches, a series of warped moans ripped straight from your throat.

“Just like that— mhm..” you mutter, gripping his hair tighter now, mostly for stability. It’s hard to look down, to see the obscene sight he’s been demeaned to.

His thoughts are always haywire, spitballing off one another. It’s a constant cycle of overthinking, over-analyzing, brain fried beyond reason. But you? You make him feel grounded, tethered, to the very world itself. You’re the one constant that he can predict, and yet, oxymoronically, still so unpredictable in the same breath.

So human..

When you begin to rock against his face, to take the initiative, using him, he simply reaches down, hands trailing across his overstimulated body to stroke himself because of course he’s hard again. How could he not be? He’s at the altar of your body, and god he knows how to serve.

Spencer’s pretty certain he’s forgotten how to breathe, and it’s a hard, harsh gasp when he has the chance to drag air into his lungs — before diving back down to you, because yeah he needs it, he needs you.

It’s messy, muffled whimpers, and desperate sounds emitted from both of your mouths. A constant onslaught of him, his tongue working halos against your clit. When he comes, he’s got his face buried into your heat, obstructing all of his senses. Delirious. Pussy-drunk.

There. There. There. He makes sure to prolong the pleasure, to work you through the bleeding mess of stars, and cosmos, and heavenly bliss, until you’re squirming away from overstimulation.

There’s a set routine when it comes to aftercare. One that both of you fail to adhere to, every. single. time. You’re both firm, assertive, in the belief that you should be the one to look after the other, so it ends up being a lazy, mutual act. Showering, the way he buries his face into your shoulder, naked body pressed against naked body. Hydration, soft touches, muttered words that help you return from the astral plane.

“I can’t believe we’re getting back into bed,” you say after you’ve changed the sheets, traded your ruined clothes for fresh pyjamas. You’re wearing Spencer’s shirt, fumbling buttons, half sealed, exposing your collarbone, draping over your shoulder when you preform any sort of physical movement that requires arms.

“No complaints though.” by nature, your body finds his beneath blankets. “I’d happily rot here. They could make a shitty reality show, it would be good entertainment.”

“I think I’d get fired from the BAU,” he protests, “You know, the first reality TV show aired in 1948. Candid Camera, on ABC, the premise was uh… hidden-cameras? So, yeah, the usual invasion of privacy, sounds entertaining.”

“Mhm. Sounds like something you’d hate.”

You’re lying face to face, arms draped over each other. The Lovers of Valadro position, he calls it. You’re not sure if that’s romantic, or slightly morbid.

“Here’s the plan,” you press your forehead to his, staring at those doe-wide eyes, “We’re going back to sleep. Then, I guess you can be a rule-abiding FBI agent, or whatever, and finish up your reports. As long as you’re done by 4. Because I want to see a movie,” he laughs, in that knowing way. “Yes, yes, i’m aware it’s your turn. Which means we’re gonna end up watching some documentary. Just uh? Make it space themed, yeah? Or, dinosaurs. I can settle for dinosaurs.”

His lips meet yours, abruptly, and he’s grinning into the contact. “I love you so much. I, we, still need to watch MoonWalk One. The Mars Underground, um.. The Valley of the T-Rex? There’s another that I read about yesterday. The Universe at the Edge of Knowledge. Oh, or Dark Universe. You’ll really like Dark Universe, and Edge of Knowledge has this, this cool segment on —“

“Okay, nerd.” you laugh, “Whatever one you want, we’ll watch. I’m still halfway through Paleoworld right now, 30 episodes in.” he knows that, because you’ll message him through the duration, make use out of that untouched (borderline) dusty phone he neglects.

He intertwines your fingers, presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand. “Yup. Yup. Whatever. Can we nap now?”

[kettlefire]

A Panic in Time (DP x DC)

This is all thanks to the awesome @tkiesai for basically being the foundation of this idea! This is probably going to be long, and probably won't delve that deep into my ideas about this idea. Largely so it's not insanely long. But here I go!

°•°•°•°

Bruce's head felt like it had been shoved through a straw and spit out on the other side. The throbbing was annoying, but it wasn't anything the man couldn't handle.

His mind was muddled, memories of what happened prior to him awaking was blurry and unsure. Bruce knew it wasn't something good.

He vaguely remembered a league meeting, a threat, something looming. It wasn't world ending, or at least that's what Bruce remembered. It should have been something they could handle.

But now, here was Bruce. Waking up in the grass of some random park. He was dressed in casual attire, something he'd wear in public as Bruce. Although last he remembered he was in the Batsuit.

The sun felt too bright in the sky. The sound of families filled the air and children's laughter. No one seemed to blink twice at Bruce as he pulled himself together.

It took a moment to steel himself, to gain composer again. It took a few sweet lines, and a charming smile for a nice mother to slide him a few painkillers. The lies rolling off his tongue like second nature.

To his luck there was a newspaper at the top of the trashcan. He was in some town called Amity Park, and the year... the year was the problem.

It was 1996. Whatever had happened had sent Bruce back in time. There was a few suspects Bruce can think were the cause of this. But something in his gut kept drawing his train of thought to the Flash.

It seemed like each time the League had any time related problems, Barry was in the center of it. Which also leaves Bruce with the question if he was the only one sent back in time.

God, he could only imagine the nightmare if the others were sent back in time. Yes, they can be professional. They understand the risk of changing things in the past.

But Bruce also understands that his team can be less than... intelligent at times.

Despite that, Bruce needed to find a way to get back to Gotham. He might not know for sure where everyone was right now, but he knew Alfred was the safest bet.

A plan laid out in Bruce's mind, a list of people he knew wouldn't be a risk to approach. He just needed to find a way to get to them. He had barely made it to the gates of the park before a shrill cry pierced the air.

There was just one loud outcry, before it quieted down. Bruce glance around the space, spotting a young boy curled on the ground. Tears streamed down the boy's chubby cheeks.

And no one even moved to the boy's aid. Not a single mother spared more than one glance in the kid's directions. No parents came rushing over to the boy's side.

Bruce almost walked away, he really did. This wasn't his time, anything he does can cause immense damage to the timeline. But when Bruce caught sight of blood bubbling from a scrape on the boy's knee, Bruce couldn't ignore him.

Maybe it's just the father in him, but Bruce barely even notices when he's crossing the small distance. His mind zeroing in on a hurt child that needed help. Kneeling before the small boy with a gentle smile, and pulling his handkerchief free from his pocket.

"You're alright there, buddy. It looks like you took a bit of a tumble there." Bruce slipped into the same tone he used to use when his kids were young. Gentle and understanding, as he pressed the handkerchief to the small scrape.

The boy sniffled, tears slipping from his eyes. Bruce was more focused on the way the kid was looking at him. Like he couldn't fathom someone coming to his aid.

That look had Bruce's heart breaking slightly. He's seen a similar look before. The few times he's come to the aid of a hurt child that wasn't used to getting help.

Something no child should ever feel or experience.

"Where's your parents, kiddo?" Bruce asked after a moment of silence from the boy. He had waited until the kid's breathing settled down when the boy's chest stopped pumping so quickly.

Except his question only seemed to bring a new wave of tears to the boy's eyes. The small child just seemed to curl into himself further, ducking his gaze away from Bruce.

And as much as Bruce didn't want it to be true, it was clear the kid didn't have the support he needed. It might not as be as far as some of Bruce's kids have had in the past.

But it was clearly not good.

"That's okay, it's alright. What's your name?" Bruce tried again. The boy's silence was leaving an uncomfortable pit in Bruce's stomach.

"D-Danny..." The boy spoke out his name between sniffles, and Bruce felt a wave of relief hearing the boy speak.

In hindsight, Bruce can see how strange the scene might look. A slightly disheveled man comforting a lone young boy in a park. It wasn't exactly perfect.

But with the lack of reactions from the parents around, Bruce had a feeling the town had an idea who this boy was. The whole situation just didn't feel that right for him.

It took a few more comments before Bruce managed to get the boy to crack a smile. A laugh had felt like breaking a massive wall.

Before long, Bruce had Danny actually like any other boy he's known. Carefree and happy, just like a child should be.

"You didn't tell me your name, mister." Danny had suddenly cut down the relaxed moment they were in. A pout laced the boy's lips as he looked up at Bruce, almost accusatory.

"I'm Bruce. Bruce Wayne." Bruce responded without missing a beat. He knew this might cause problems in the future. He wasn't supposed to be here.

But when his gut is telling him something, he can't just ignore it. He checked his pockets, finding no business cards anywhere. So, Bruce fell back in plan B.

"No matter how long it's been from now, you can come to me for help. Just look for Bruce Wayne in Gotham City, and when you find me... just say Fairbanks sent you."

Bruce wasn't sure if he'll ever see Danny again when he goes back to his own time. Wasn't even sure if this was the same universe as his own. But he couldn't walk away without at least offering the boy help in some way.

When Danny's eyes filled up with tears again, Bruce thought he said something wrong at first. That was until the boy was suddenly clinging to his shoulders in a tight embrace, muttering 'thank you' over and over again.

Bruce felt himself almost close to tears just from that alone. His heart was aching for the small boy. Even if Bruce couldn't help Danny anymore than this, he was hoping the boy would have a better life.

One where he wasn't clinging to a stranger for comfort that family should be providing him.

THWAMP

It didn't hurt, but it did cut their hug short as Bruce suddenly pulled away. Turning his head to see a young girl wielding a wiffle bat, and another young boy standing behind her.

Her purple eyes glared at Bruce like he had done the worst thing in the world. Her grip on the bat was threatening and ready to swing again. Her knuckles white from the tight grip alone.

Maybe leaving this time era might not be as easy as Bruce thought as the young girl probbed him with angry and scolding questions. Not that Bruce could blame her.

He just hoped this hiccup didn't get back to the league. They'd have a field day hearing about how Batman got scolded by a child with a wiffle bat.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Danny wasn't sure if this was the best idea. It's been years since he met Bruce Wayne. So many years. Danny had just been a kid, not even ten, when Bruce had introduced himself.

When he had an adult, actually check in on him. Yet, it was a memory Danny couldn't forget. Maybe it was just the kindness that Bruce radiated.

Or maybe it was when Sam came to his "rescue" near the end. Regardless, it was cemented in his mind. A core memory that Danny cared with him through the years.

Now, here he was, roughly seven years later. Standing in front of a manor that put even Sam's place to shame.

It took a lot of courage for Danny to knock. Barely a second later, an old man answered the door, an accent Danny was certain Bruce hadn't had.

A stuttered explaination of being here to see Bruce Wayne, that the man knew him, barely left Danny's mouth before the old man ushered him inside.

The man, Alfred, told Danny to wait by the door before vanishing further into the manor. It took a lot for Danny to not just vanish.

Being half ghost nowadays had its quirks, Danny could just vanish, and no one but Alfred would know. But he couldn't.

It had taken a lot for Danny to make the journey to Gotham City. He hadn't even thought to look up a current picture of Bruce either. Which was probably a big mistake on his end.

Danny didn't even know if Bruce was offering this kind of help. But Danny didn't have many allies to turn to. He needed help.

Not just for himself but for his family. For Amity Park. He couldn't be afforded the ability to run away. Not now.

Danny felt all the air leave his lungs when Bruce entered the area. The man didn't look a day older than what Danny remembered. Bruce looked a bit more put together, not like he had just jumped out of a moving car, but it was Bruce.

"Uhm... I don't know if you remember me. But my name's Danny... we met when I was a kid." Danny started trying to explain himself before Bruce could speak. He recognized that confused look anywhere, and Danny didn't have the guts to go through with this if Bruce asked any questions.

"You told me if I ever needed help, to come find you. Bruce Wayne in Gotham City... you, uh, told me to tell you Fairbanks sent me?"

That came out more like a question than Danny would have liked. But it did ease his nerves a bit as he watched Bruce's slightly confused expression turn to alarm and surprise.

Danny wasn't sure what this would do. If Bruce could truly help him. But he was out of options. Just seeing Bruce recognize something he said was enough to calm the teen's anxiety slightly.

"I'm sorry, Danny... I don't remember you. But I believe you and I want to help you. Come inside, have a seat, and tell me what's going on."

That response was enough to have Danny's eyes fill with tears. His chest filling with a sense of hope he hadn't felt in weeks now.

Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

[doshi-sukiru]

Hi!

I’m so interested in your Shattered Glass MegOP tfone AU! I wanted to ask since you mentioned that Optimus banished Megatron after their fight out of anger.

Then you also mentioned that Optimus thinks Megatron is a prisoner of war and is trying to get him back.

At what point did he go from “he betrayed me” to “oh my primus he’s clearly been kidnapped”? Especially since I assume Megatron and the High Guard willingly left for the surface the same as in the movie. Like did he immediately change his mind after Megatron left or like was there a brief moment where he had to think about it?

Sorry sksksk I’m just so invested hahaha

LMAO no worries you're good

So when Megatron first came back, Optimus believed it was D-16 in a new frame. He began to hug him and talk to him and act like how he used to, but Megatron could see how Optimus tore apart Sentinel behind him, and could see other mechs destroying Iacon and causing destruction. Megatron tried to pull away from Optimus and get him to realize that what he's doing is worse than good.

I mentioned before as well that D-16 was against killing Sentinel in cold blood, which annoyed Orion before, and seeing Megatron act like this still after coming back only angered Optimus.

Megatron tried to suggest that instead they should first find a way to bring back energon to the people, and let the high guard return to their positions to get more servos to help fight against the Quintessons, and because the high guard were good mechs.

Unfortunately, telling an angry Optimus that while having Starscream behind you, who Optimus tried to kill before, doesn't make the situation any better.

Optimus didn't think that Megatron was speaking his mind, or was trying to help Optimus, and immediately jumped into thinking that Starscream had taken his D-16 and persuaded him to go against Optimus. So, naturally, he lunged at Starscream in anger, but Megatron got in the way, and the two fought- with Optimus trying to throw Megatron to the side and hit Starscream, and Megatron trying to calm him down.

When they finally returned to the pit entrance, most of the high guard were there, and stood behind Megatron to protect him if Optimus tried to fight again. In that moment, Optimus's anger was so pent up he immediately yelled at Megatron and the high guard to be banished once again to the surface. He wasn't thinking about much else other than the fact that if Megatron wouldn't stand by his choices, he didn't deserve to be in Iacon either.

Megatron didn't go willingly at first, and tried to demand Optimus listen to him, but Soundwave stopped him, warning him that any more talk with Optimus would be useless with how angry the prime was, and when Megatron looked at Optimus he realized he was right. So he left with the high guard.

It took Optimus about a few hours before he cooled down and realized what he did, and felt crushed knowing he did something so terrible. But, Optimus has never accepted such faults before, and immediately began to try to divert the blame from him to someone or something else.

That's when he got that special idea- Starscream must have corrupted D-16's mind and had the the high guard force him to leave with them, because why would D-16 leave Optimus? The two were best buddies, almost conjunxes! It couldn't have been a choice he'd make willingly, because D-16 never acted out of line, he always did as told and followed Optimus no matter what!

So that was what spawned the idea that his beloved was a hostage, and not an equal with them.

thank you! again, any other ask you have you can give, I'll answer them as best as I can until friday!

[insidekatmind]

Between Friends and Feelings- Pope Heyward and JJ Mayback (love triangle)

The light of the sunset reflected on the waves of the sea, creating games of golden and blue light, while the cool wind gently brushed your skin. It was a quiet evening, a little different from usual, but you knew something was about to happen. The sun was slowly setting behind the hills, and you were sitting on the beach, your legs crossed in the warm sand, trying to relax. But something in the air felt different, and you knew it. Things were changing.

JJ and Pope had always been a part of your life. There had never been a time when one of them wasn’t by your side, though lately, their behavior toward you had changed. While once they were happy being just friends, now there seemed to be a silent competition between them. You couldn’t ignore it, even though you tried not to think about it too much.

"You like watching the sunset, right?" JJ said, breaking your thoughts. You turned and saw him approaching, his mischievous smile still present, but there was something different in his eyes, an intensity you couldn’t ignore.

"Yeah, it’s my favorite spot. I told you it would be nice to watch the sunset together, didn’t I?" you replied, trying to sound natural. But the truth was, his gaze was unsettling, as if he wanted to say something to you that you weren’t ready to understand yet.

Not long after, Pope arrived, and you immediately noticed that his posture was more tense than usual. His eyes, always calm and observant, weren’t quite the same. He was looking at you differently, as if he was searching for something you couldn’t define.

"You're here watching the sea too?" Pope asked, his tone calm but with a hint of nervousness that didn’t escape you. "I thought you’d prefer being in the city, with the music and the crowd."

"Even though I like having fun, sometimes it’s nice to be alone, you know?" you replied, trying to keep your composure.

The two of them sat down next to you, but the atmosphere had shifted. It wasn’t the usual company of friends sharing laughs and stories. There was an underlying tension that you couldn’t ignore, and you couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Then JJ spoke again.

"You know, there’s something special about you," he said, his voice lower, as if he wanted to tell you something he had been holding back. "I’m not saying this just because we’re friends, but really, you’re unique. I don’t understand how anyone could not notice."

Your heart beat faster. It wasn’t the first time he had said it, but this time he seemed more serious, more sincere. The way he was looking at you made you uneasy, but at the same time, it made you feel an energy you couldn’t explain.

Pope took a deep breath, as if trying to decide whether or not to say something. "Yeah, but sometimes I think it’s easier to see all of this when you’re not so focused on yourself. Sometimes I think people don’t really see you," he said, looking you in the eyes with a certain intensity.

"I know you care about me, Pope," you replied, trying to understand what he was getting at. "But I don’t see how this fits into... everything else."

"It’s just hard not to notice you," he said, in a soft voice. "And I feel like you’ve always been more than just a friend to me. But maybe that’s just my head making me think that..."

His gaze was sincere, but also filled with something unspoken. His admiration for you was clear, but the fact that he hadn’t been able to tell you exactly what he was feeling made you uneasy.

JJ, seeing the uncertainty in your eyes, spoke up immediately. "Don’t worry too much, Y/N," he said, trying to calm you down. "I don’t want to make you nervous. It’s just that... sometimes I think we should be more honest with ourselves, with what we feel. We can’t always hide behind jokes and laughter."

And right then, the silence that had settled between you all became heavy. You knew there was a tension none of you three seemed able to face. Your mind raced, trying to understand what was really happening. You had always cared for JJ and Pope, but now you felt like something more was emerging.

The sunset was now fading, but the dying light only heightened the confusion you felt. The two boys were there, next to you, but their gazes on you were too intense. You didn’t know how to respond.

"Y/N..." Pope whispered, moving closer slowly. "I don’t want to lose you as a friend, but there’s something I can’t ignore anymore. I..."

JJ interrupted him, laughing nervously. "Pope, not now, come on," he said, but his smile didn’t seem as spontaneous. "We need to be honest with her, right? We can’t keep hiding what we feel."

Their eyes met for a moment, and you realized words weren’t necessary anymore. The tension between them, and your uncertainty, had reached a breaking point. Everything that had gone unsaid between you was finally coming to the surface.

[iwantacoolusernameman]

Akaashi Keiji x Reader

『Haircut』

Notes: very short, fluff

Last night, after an exhausting day, you were sharing a quiet dinner together.

"I'm thinking about cutting my hair," he had said and gotten a wide eyed reaction from you in return.

"Not your gorgeous hair," you'd whispered and leaned forward to brush his fringe aside, causing a small smile to appear on his lips.

"It's getting too long, don't you think?"

It was true that his hair had gotten quite long and it must've been annoying having to brush away the strands all the time so they wouldn't poke his eyes. He wouldn't let his hair grow out this much to begin with usually, but when one works overtime it was only natural to let these things slip into the background without meaning to.

"Can I do it? Cut your hair I mean," you'd asked him. He knew you always cut your own hair and he was still to see a day where you'd mess up. He'd mulled over it for not too long before nodding to your offer.

"Okay."

ᚐ҉ᚐ

Your fingertips brush away the little hairs that fall on his shoulders as you snip. He lets out a long sigh, his stress melting away under your gentle touch. The dim light in your bathroom probably wasn't the best place to get a proper haircut but you trusted your self-learned skills enough that the bad lightning didn't bother you. As for him, he just simply and blindly trusted you.

As you're working with the scissors, his eyes follow you in the bathroom mirror. The way your fingers carefully wrap around the strands and your brows attentively narrow as you cut his hair has him unable to look anywhere else even if he wanted to. He's not very fond of being stared at and so tries to not be that person either but right now, and with you, he can't help it at all.

When you're done you place the sciccors on the vanity of the sink to adjust a few strands, and when you're finally satisfied with your work, you look up and catch his reflection staring back at you in the mirror. He feels caught and musters a little smile. You return it and bring your hands to rest on his bare shoulders, then ask: "And? Is my client happy with the haircut?"

His eyes flicker from you to his own reflection as he grabs his glasses from the vanity, putting the frame on his nose. He turns his head left and right as he intently takes in the changes. The magic you've worked. His dark locks are short but not short enough to stick up into the air, and the bangs are no longer annoyingly getting into his eyes but hovering over his brows. It's just a simple haircut, nothing too fancy, and the face staring back at him is also just the same face he's so used to seeing.

Ordinary, is the first word that should come to mind but knowing the artist behind the ordinary cut makes it feel not so ordinary after all for him. A bunch of words he wants to tell you instead spill into his brain within mere seconds.

Talented, wonderful, neat, perfect, remarkable, outstanding, fantastic..

He can't decide so he settles for, "I like it. A lot."

You smile at his reflection again and rest your chin on his head. "I'm glad."

[ranticore]

answering all my asks in a big bunch

@help-system

it's kind of cool to think about actually & something i didn't consider (re: the implications for future generations). the reason he has to stay in a town flock isn't just because he's formed attachments there, but because he is vision-impaired and his feathers are fucked from lack of structural pigment and would struggle to live without the support system (for lack of a better term) of the town around him. his survival depends on living in a society. that also means he'll survive to pass on this trait when otherwise he would not. it's recessive so yeah could definitely be passed on!

@focshi

Oh habitat & life habits change the look of the nests completely. for the ama plains eagle harpies I was imagining a kind of gourd-shaped woven bower.. sortaaa like this as the eastern edge of the plains (where they live) has emergent columnar basalt and it's on these big stone stacks where they make their nests. use rope and picks to secure the bowers to the columns and the king's eyrie (the tallest one naturally) is built around a log tied upright with guy-ropes driven into the stone. they are all flexible enough that they blow around a lot in the wind without suffering much damage (see pic below)

in between them are net-like rope platforms and ladders as well as more 'spires' which are the trees propped upright on the columns. solid stone is the only safe 'ground' material to build nests on.

@gardenergulfie many of the monsters were bound by additional magical rules on top of the "you are twisted into a monstrous form" main thing. i hadn't thought of many tbh but i believe sphinxes were more strictly bound by their riddle names rather than just doing it playfully by choice, i know there was more but it escapes me. i'll have to think of some!

wyrms are cursed with immortality in a very classical sense so it would be impossible for Revelation not to be around in Cuinn's time. but ah... i wouldn't say it's in a good state

wildfire unfortunately is no longer with us. in mind & spirit anyway.

For eagle harpies, baby-rearing is not communal. The parents swap brooding/hunting roles (one broods/warms the young, the other hunts, they barely get time to sleep). Once baby is old enough to fly it hops out and joins the other fledglings in their eyrie. Parents rarely have anything to do with them after that but they will occasionally stop by to deliver discipline if they feel their offspring isn't behaving properly.

Partnerships are monogamous (but if the king wants your girl then that's his girl for the night) and last as long as any relationships might; could be many years, could barely last a season. there's a stigma against breaking up while tending a nest so some harpies with relationship problems tough it out for the sake of the kids (this never works)

The king does not care about his offspring as people, only as tokens of his virility and strength. Kings often boast of how many offspring they have (and the All-King can have hundreds) but do they know all (or even any of) their kids' names? of course not

Regular cobs do most of the fathering because most flocks don't have a king and they have to reproduce somehow. There's no visible difference between the offspring of a king vs the offspring of a cob. eggs is eggs

Eagle harpy pens can lay up to 4 eggs in one nesting season. Sibling aggression is common in the early days and if unsupervised they can kill one another but that's seen as a sign of lazy and inattentive parenting UNLESS the baby being picked on was kinda runty and then it's their own fault for being a whimp and they should toughen up. Parents can lay unfertilised eggs but rarely do, it's similar to a false pregnancy. Unfertilised eggs are eaten. Harpies of different species base cannot interbreed, but bear in mind that harpy species diversity is overall much lower than birds.

Eagle harpies are VERY protective of their eggs. It's not unheard of for other harpies of the same eyrie to steal their neighbours' eggs for various reasons (you can gain favour if you have one of the king's offspring in your nest....). many predators also might want to take some as well (sphinxes are... very ferocious predators of harpies, but also you gotta watch out for that little human who might have ambitions of being a falconer). parents will guard their eggs viciously.

I don't think it's unreasonable to imagine such a scam tbh... yeah sure take this egg it'll tooootally hatch into a big strong harpy. human falconers probably candle their eggs frequently to monitor them so i think they would catch on very quickly though hehe

[annaphoenix1994]

Whiskey Fever

Previous Chapter - Masterlist - Next Chapter

»»-------¤-------««

The next morning, I woke up with a terrible - and usual - night terrors that were unfortunately too familiar with me. I can't remember the last time I actually had a decent sleep, even with melatonin, but I could say that I felt better. My heart raced when I realized that I woke up after the sun came up, my room beaming with natural light, which was another thing I wasn't used to. The smell of coffee caught my attention, bringing me back to the realization that I wasn't in the barracks. Not a base, not on a mission, but in a home.

I couldn't help but be hesitant with every move I made, slowly opening the bedroom door to investigate the enticing smell of freshly brewed coffee, the smell alone making my mouth salivate. Once I opened the door, I noticed a small black bag that sat on the floor. Out of habit, I was resentful to even touch it, but I ended up tapping it with my foot to ensure that it wasn't an explosive. Snap out of it, Simon.

Taking the bag and setting it on my freshly made bed, I opened it to see that it was full of basic necessities that I was coincidentally running low on: toothpaste, deodorant, aftershave, and Kiera's iPod. I didn't wonder why she left it for me because I knew that she knew I secretly liked the music she listened to. That, and looking at her photos. Then, I set up my new necessities in the bathroom I call to call mine for a while until I returned to the field, my mind relaxing when I saw a handwritten note inside: 

Now refreshed from a quick shower, I changed into new clothes before I exited the bedroom, following the smell of hot coffee, seeing a fresh pot of coffee that had enough left over for me, and I looked around the area to find a mug for myself, drinking it black - just like my soul.

I soon found my way to the back patio, eager to look at the mountain range that I had my eyes on ever since I landed in Wyoming. Opening the glass door once I saw a chair in my line of sight, I immediately stopped in my tracks when I realized that Kiera was sitting in another chair that sat at the patio table, a laptop in front of her and a blanket draping around her shoulders. "Morning, Simon," She smiled at me. "Care to join me for coffee?"

I cleared my throat, "I don't want to intrude. Looks like you're working."

"I'm always working, Simon, but you'll never intrude," She assured me. "I know this isn't our usual kitchen nook coffee time, but it'll do."

"That it will. Better view this time." I chuckled, taking a seat at the open chair, finally fixating my sight on the mountain range ahead of me, thinking about how I realized that I felt more vulnerable around her now that we weren't working. It was a nice feeling, but I didn't like feeling vulnerable in general, but yet I wanted to feel this way around her - to let my guard down.

And let her in.

"Never gets old, that's for sure," She hummed. "Your Captain sent me an email - he was wondering how you were doing."

I scoffed, "He knows how I'm doing."

"Well, apparently going on leave with one of your comrades isn't common with you." She shrugged.

"I take it you and Price talk a lot, then?"

"Usually when we're on a job, but this was a social call. He seemed genuinely curious."

"The old man knows better."

"Can't help him being curious. Obviously, this is new information for him." She giggled.

"Surprised you're still working when you said yourself that we're on leave."

"No rest for the wicked, Lieutenant. I finally have time to send my reports to Kate, and I just hope that we have enough time to enjoy Thanksgiving because I'll be damned if I die without having to experience another Thanksgiving dinner in my belly first."

"Don't talk like that." I huffed.

"It's true," She scoffed. "I can't afford to make one wrong move. If I do, it's my hide and others on the line. A lot of pressure to deal with, but part of the job I guess."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I shouldn't," She shook her head, returning her attention to her laptop. "I deal with a lot of classified information.

"Understood." I nodded, relaxing in my chair before taking a drink of my coffee.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, the sound of Kiera's typing drowning out the welcoming silence between us before she finally spoke again, "You still up for a whiskey?"

"Always."

"Would you rather go out and have a whiskey or stay in?"

"I'm fine with whichever you choose, love."

"I always prefer to go to the bar, but I'm not sure if you're comfortable with that."

"No problem for me," I shrugged. "I'd like to go."

»»-------¤-------««

Kiera's diesel whistled with acceleration on our way into town. I sat next to her in the passenger seat with her two wranglers in the back seat. Lawson was a young wrangler that had been working for the ranch for going on two years, but he was still obnoxious and hot-headed in my opinion. The other was Frankie, Kiera's cousin, who was also her go-to man if she needed something done fast and right. By what she told me, he was a head wrangler with a lifetime of experience under his belt. There were two other trucks behind us on the way to the bar - the rest of them full of wranglers eager to have a night out and a few drinks. It reminded me of a military convoy, but Kiera assured me that it was due to the reason that the entire band of wranglers didn't have the chance to go into town often unless it was for errands or hauling livestock, so every trip to the local bar was something to be looked forward to.

Kiera walked in front of me after I opened the door for her as well as ensuring that she was safe by letting her walk in front of me. A band was playing live on stage, and I vaguely remember this song on one of Kiera's playlists. Upon further observation, I concluded that the live band was Whiskey Myers playing Frogman. Although the music was nostalgic to me, it still didn't mask the feeling of anxiety that washed over me due to the thick crowd of people scattered throughout the bar. I had been used to things taking a turn fast, and my primary concern was Kiera and keeping her in my sights just in case something happened.

I let her gently grasp my forearm as I carved our path through the crowd and towards the bar, letting her walk in front of me and sit down as I stayed standing up, yet I mentally beat myself when I took the opportunity to look her over. Those jeans hugged her hips perfectly, the Wrangler patch on her right rear pocket sending me into overdrive, but I couldn't help but hate myself that I took the chance to look at her - to sexualize her. I was no better than any other man, and that pissed me off. She deserved my undivided attention in a loving and protective way, not in a sexual one within every waking second. I was sure she had gone through that enough, and I was the last person I wanted her to experience it with.

She didn't deserve that.

I continued to stand close to her as she sat down on the bar stool, keeping her purse between me and her as a subconscious way to ensure it wouldn't be stolen from. "Kiera! Nice to see you back!" The bartender smiled at her. He was an older man who looked to be the same age as her father, and it was clear that he was a dear friend of hers.

"Likewise, Frank! Can I get a glass of Wild Turkey, please?" She smiled at him before turning to look up at me. "What type of whiskey do you want?"

"I'm not picky. Whiskey is whiskey, love." I shrugged.

"Amen, brother!" Frank nodded, setting two glasses of Wild Turkey in front of us. I wasted no time in taking the swig I had been itching to have. It tasted better, smoother than what I was used to back home.

"Damn, you weren't kidding about that shot of whiskey!" Kiera laughed before downing hers, nodding at Frank for another.

"I never kid."

"Mhm, you gotta learn to loosen up a little. It'll do you some good, Simon!"

"If you say so, love."

We casually downed three glasses of whiskey each, and I could tell that Kiera was beginning to experience the early effect of being drunk, but she was doing her best to hide it from me, but I saw right through her. I knew she was on the brink of being tipsy, judging by the red blotches on her neck, dilated pupils, silly behavior, and slightly slurred words. I knew I'd have to babysit her tonight, and I was secretly looking forward to it because I would have the chance to care for her, not for what some men would expect it to be.

After her fourth glass, she licked her lips before telling me that he had to go to the bathroom, so I looked around for the neon light before reaching for her hand, escorting her myself towards the back of the bar. "C-Can you hold my purse and drink?" She slurred, leaning up against the wall as she removed her cross-body strap from over her shoulders after I had taken her drink from her, which was a drastic change from her preferred whiskey and to what she called "bitch beer" - a fruit cocktail that she could sip on to prevent her from drinking more.

"Of course, love." I nodded, happily accepting my mission of guarding her purse and drink while she was in the bathroom.

"Thank you. I won't be gone long."

"Well, I'll come looking for you if I think you've fallen in."

She giggled, "Okay."

Fortunately for her, I didn't have to enter the bathroom to find her. She exited with nearly stumbled steps before reaching for her drink, and I couldn't help but chuckle at her. I knew that she was still aware of her surroundings, but it was likely that she was prone to suffering a headache and a moderate hangover tomorrow morning. "Have you thought about how we're going to get home?" I asked her when I gave her back her purse, standing close to her to prevent her from wandering off, knowing it was bound to happen.

She downed the rest of her cocktail, licking her lips before shaking her head, "Not exactly. Did you drink the rest of my drink?"

"No. That's all you, sweetheart."

"Well, I'm going to get me a beer. Want one?"

"No thanks." 

"Fine then. I, however, am getting another beer." She giggled, and before I could protest, she began walking back towards the bar, Frank giving her a glass bottle that she and a lot of Wyoming locals referred to as a "stubby": Coors beer.

I stood with my hands in my pockets while Kiera sat at the bar, sipping on her beer while I still made sure that her purse was between me and her, ensuring it was secure as well as keeping her in my line of sight. She was vulnerable now, and I was going to make sure that nothing was going to happen.

She was my mission, and I wasn't going to fail.

The lighting dimmed in the bar, and the lights were directed toward the band on stage. "Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we're gonna play a soft ballad for you here tonight."

I couldn't help but grow uncomfortable when the lights dimmed within an entire bar of people, and I became more uneasy due to my masked social anxiety. "Oh, my God! This is my favorite song of theirs!" She gasped quietly, finishing her beer before leaving it on the counter and carefully standing to her feet, grasping my hand as she asked me to follow her.

Even if I was blind, I'd follow her wherever she wanted me to. Fuck, she was enticing.

That feeling of it being just the both of us in this world came over me again when I took her hand. I was so enticed by her that I didn't realize she had led me onto the dancefloor until she turned to face me. "Hope you don't have two left feet." She giggled up at me.

"I don't know what that means." I replied, unaware of what I had agreed to.

"It means I hope you know how to dance."

"Well, I don't."

"Well, you better learn quickly because everyone will start breakdancing here in a minute."

She has to be joking, but judging by her serious expression, I couldn't help but question her.

"I'm just kidding," She smiled. "All you have do is trust me."

"That's a scary thought."

She playfully pinched my arm, her eyes sparkling when she realized that I was only joking with her. I had to give it to her, though, she knew how to put me on the spot, but she knew my boundaries.

♪Well, the night is my companion; and the highway's my home; got me seeking for one last beacon; every single place I roam; they say Jesus was a poor man; I guess I wish I had a little more him in me; Make it easier to go on living; Heartache and misery...♪

She slowly wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and my arms gently wrapped around her waist, and I wasn't surprised when it felt natural to do it - like I had been doing this with her for so long.

"I never imagined you doing this." She admitted, her head pressing against my shoulder.

"Me either, but it's nice."

♪Sweet, sweet heart of mine, I'm going to break again a million times; Or is this too far gone? Or have you turned to stone? ♪

I listened to the lyrics of the song, taking the meaning as if it were about a future relationship after a heartbreak. Kiera knew the song by heart as I felt her humming along with it as the vibrations ricocheted off of my chest. It wasn't long before I felt the familiar burning of the whiskey rising in my stomach - it was a good burn, something I needed to distract myself from my emotions that I wasn't so eager of keeping inside of me much longer. She was taking a huge toll on me, and I wanted nothing more.

[wonlvures]

𐙚 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 𐙚

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: boyfriend!sunghoon x girlfriend!reader

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: fluff, comfort

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: you’ve had a long, rough day and had sunghoon cheer you up for the rest of the day :)

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is my first ever post on here so please don’t judge :)

You had one of those days—the kind where everything feels like it’s out of sync. From the moment you woke up, it felt like the world was working against you: the bus was late, your morning coffee spilled, and your workday was filled with never-ending meetings. By the time you finally got home, you were physically drained, your mind running in circles, and all you wanted was to collapse on the couch and forget the day even happened.

But as soon as you stepped through the door, everything changed.

The soft, familiar hum of music greeted you first. It was the playlist you two always listen to when you need to unwind—a mix of chill beats and your favorite tracks. The warmth of the lights made the apartment feel cozy, and in that instant, you could almost feel the tension in your shoulders begin to melt away.

Before you even had a chance to take off your shoes, you heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Sunghoon, with his usual calm but warm demeanor, appeared at your side. He was already smiling, his eyes soft with concern.

"Long day?" he asked, his voice full of understanding. Without waiting for an answer, he gently took your bag from your shoulders and set it down by the door.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could get a word out, he led you over to the couch, his hand resting lightly on your back. "Sit down. I’ve got something for you," he said with a playful grin.

You sank into the cushions, grateful for the chance to relax. Sunghoon, always so thoughtful, returned a moment later with a warm cup in his hands. "I made your favorite drink," he said, handing it to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. The smell of the caramel latte, sweet and comforting, instantly lifted your spirits.

You took a sip, the warmth spreading through you, and let out a long sigh. It felt like the chaos of the day had faded the moment you stepped into his care.

“How did you know I was craving this?” you asked, looking at him in surprise.

He smiled, shrugging slightly. “I remember you said something about it a few days ago, and I thought you might need a little pick-me-up.”

You couldn't help but smile back, touched by his attentiveness. Sunghoon had this way of making you feel like you were the most important person in his world, and he always seemed to know exactly what you needed without you even having to ask.

As you sat there, sipping your drink and talking about the day, Sunghoon listened quietly. He didn’t interrupt, and he didn’t offer advice unless you asked for it—he just sat there, his gaze never wavering from you, his quiet presence a steady comfort. He had a way of making you feel heard, as if your thoughts and feelings were worth more than anything else in the world.

After a few minutes of conversation, he stood up and walked over to the side table. You watched as he picked something up, a small piece of paper. When he turned back to you, there was a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“I’ve got something planned for this weekend,” he said, his voice teasing but warm. “It’s a surprise, but I want you to have it.” He handed you the note, which you unfolded carefully.

It was a hand-drawn map of a park, with an “X” marking a spot. "We’re going for a picnic," Sunghoon said, his tone light but with a soft sincerity. “I thought we could just relax, enjoy the weather, and maybe bring your favorite snacks.”

Your heart warmed at the thought. It wasn’t anything extravagant, just a simple day outdoors. But the fact that Sunghoon had taken the time to think about it, to plan something just for you, made it feel incredibly special.

“I love it,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “You’re always so thoughtful.”

He smiled shyly, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “It’s nothing. I just want you to be happy.”

The two of you spent the rest of the evening together—quiet moments, laughter, and small gestures of affection. Sunghoon was always so in tune with you, noticing when you were tired or when you needed a little space, but also quick to offer comfort when you needed it. There was a perfect balance in the way he cared for you: never overbearing, but always present.

Later, when you sat on the couch, he pulled you closer, your legs tangled together. He rested his head on your shoulder, his fingers lightly brushing against yours. You could hear the soft rhythm of his breathing, and for a moment, there was just peace between you.

“You’re the best,” you whispered, running a hand through his hair.

He chuckled, a soft, affectionate sound. “You say that now, but wait until I’m snoring on our picnic date this weekend.”

You laughed, nudging him gently. “I won’t mind. I’ll just bring extra snacks for myself.”

The teasing continued, but beneath the playful banter, there was a quiet, undeniable bond between you both. Sunghoon’s loyalty, his unwavering support, and the way he always had your back made you feel like you were never alone, no matter what was going on in your life.

As the night grew late, you stood up, stretching your arms overhead. "I should probably get some rest," you said, already knowing how tomorrow would feel if you didn’t get some sleep.

Sunghoon stood with you, his hand instinctively finding yours. “I’ll walk you to bed,” he said softly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to take care of you, even in the smallest of ways.

You smiled up at him, the affection in your heart for him growing stronger by the minute. Sunghoon wasn’t just your boyfriend—he was your safe space, your constant, the person who made every day a little easier to face, simply by being there.

As he tucked you into bed that night, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. The world outside could be chaotic, but with him, everything felt calm and right.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, as he kissed the top of your head. “Always.”

[rambles-on-dragon-age]

Going through my old blog and queueing stuff up, I came across the scene that plays out between Varric and Solas during that quest and it is so glaring that it's meant to be part of laying the foundation for Varric/the Inquisitor to change Solas's mind/believe he can change his mind.

Specifically, Solas states (not asks!!) "We cannot change our nature by wishing." He knows spirits and the Fade and blah blah blah Cole is a spirit and we can't force him to be something he's not so this whole exercise is stupid.

And Varric immediately shoots back "You don't think?" This isn't their first conversation where Varric and Solas have been shown to have fundamental disagreements about being. Solas asks him if he misses having Stone Sense and Varric replies "How can I miss something I've never had?" Varric enjoys his life as it is now, the friends he has now. Why should he waste his time and energy on something he's never had and doesn't know?

But in that moment, Solas looks right at the Inquisitor. (Doesn't matter if they're romanced or not, it's even for a friendly quizzie and not just a romanced Lavellan.) I am so convinced it was part of the story laying the foundation for the Inquisitor showing him that he can change. He doesn't have to be what he thinks he has to be.

Granted! None of them knew him as anything more than a random apostate at the time. And getting to know him that way and thinking of him as a friend and their many philosophical conversations about being and nature etc., I think that's why Varric was so convinced that Solas could be persuaded to not and why him being an ancient elven "god" didn't phase him.

Does anyone ever think how in Inquisition Solas was probably, to some extent, envious of Cole’s journey from a spirit to a person? Of how that would explain why he was holding so viciously to his approach against Varric’s?

Because Cole wants to be a person. By contrast to Solas, no one begged Cole to leave his spirit nature behind against his own wishes;

Cole didn’t kill/mutilate anyone to gain a corporeal form either. More like he took on and continued a life that had already ended.

Does anyone ever think that Solas is unable to accept that Cole can become a person because that would mean he’d also have to confront the fact that his own actions (him and ‘his people’ gaining a body at the expense of Titans) were unjustifiable anymore?

Because... there could be another way, that’s not his, and because he could be wrong. I bet that would terrify any ancient being who’s been struggling with doing the right thing for centuries.

Or who knows, maybe I’m just rambling. Something, something I think we need to talk more about the implications of Cole becoming a person and Varric’s role in it. That quest certainly lands so differently after Veilguard.

[kbthebearcat]

“Behavioral Issues”

Aaaa… got some Reese lore here. I’ve been thinking about and working on his background, and his life was pretty rough for a while. I’m just going to dump everything I’ve thought up so far. Warning, it’s a bit to read, and there’s very mild mentions of abuse. 

He’s supposed to be 8 or 9 here, and his life at home up to this point isn’t good. His father was abusive to him and his mother. His mother would often deter and take a lot of it, trying to protect him from the brunt of it. All the while Reese badly wished he could be the one protecting his mom and standing up to his father. 

So at school, whenever he saw kids being a bully to others, it would remind him of his father and he’d lash out and get into a fight with them to try and help the kid that was getting bullied. This ended up with many detentions  (which is where he is in the picture above, detention) and other related problems.

Eventually, after one event where he gets hurt pretty badly due to his father, his mother finally decides they need to separate and her and Reese need to go. 

They end up moving in with his mother’s parents, and things slowly take a turn for the better. He finds outlets like music, learning the drums, and boxing/exercising. And most importantly, gets some counseling.

His teen years is when his punk rock phase began, where he comes off as somewhat aloof and “scary”. 

That’s when Donald comes into the picture. Donald ends up getting into a bit of trouble with some kids harassing him, and Reese comes and breaks it up, but avoids being physical this time. At this time in Reese’s life, he doesn’t fight like he used to unless it’s for defense, but he does step in and stop things if he sees something going on. Donald thanks him, but not much else happens between the two of them afterward.

That is until Donald one day overhears that Reese is having a real hard time with school, and, remembering what he did, decides to help him out by offering to be his tutor so he can improve his failing grades. During that time they become good friends, and it’s one of the things that really make a big change in Reese’s life, with him ending up being able to graduate thinks to Donald. 

Annnd that’s pretty much it for Reese! Now with him being older, it could be hard to tell he had such a hard upbringing. He’s improved a lot, but he still has his struggles. He’s a lot more friendly and outgoing now, but he still has a hard time connecting with people and picking up on certain social cues. As well as him just like… naturally being a absentminded, thickheaded goof most of the time, as I’ve mentioned about him before lol. Which has nothing to do with his past really, just who he is as a person in general.

His story still needs a lot of polish and tweaking, and there’s some things about him I just haven’t figured out at all yet, but this is a rough concept of it so far. Thank you for taking the time to read all of this! 💙

[sophiphi]

Guys. GUYS. listen to me- kate carter is a natural brunette. no i’m not just saying that because daisy edgar jones has brown hair naturally, there’s a picture of young kate and her mom that is shown in the scene where she comes back home. I caught it on my second rewatch. I mean ofc you could chalk up her darker roots to it just being a dirty blonde but no, she really is a brunette.

Which brings me to this thought- I wonder what Tyler’s reaction (along with the others ofc) would be when they see Kate with brown hair. Let’s say her blonde dye was growing out enough for her to decide to dye it back. Maybe she does it when she went back to NY for a bit before going back to Oklahoma. Will there be chaos? Definitely. Will Tyler Owens get a heart attack? Duh. Like, imagine the possibilities guys, hellooo

[sskk-manifesto]

Bungou Stray Dogs: Dead Apple and how “ability users” (opposite to “normal people”) learning to accept themselves through the acceptance of their own abilities is a queer metaphor of acceptance of own's sexual orientation and gender: an essay by me

[al-luviec]

These are going to be very inconsistent ...