#i shouldn’t always have to be the one who says or does something it just gets tiring

[lovelymylene]

Introducing.. 70s TEENAGE DIRTBAG HAZMAH

“The older you get, the more rules they’re gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep on livin man.”

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who films people without warning, sticking a mic in their face to ask, “If you had to live in a movie, which one would it be?”

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who acts like he doesn’t care if he gets in trouble for filming in class, but the second the principal calls his name, his palms start sweating.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who doesn’t really know how to be a person unless Martin’s around, like he needs the right energy to pull his own personality out of him.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who never remembers to study but can recite entire movies word for word, like that’s gonna get him somewhere.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who makes a joke about everything, even when he shouldn’t, because silence makes him itch.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who always talks like he’s half-asleep, voice low and lazy, until Martin’s around, and suddenly he’s the funniest guy in the room.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who ends up outside the party with Martin, both of them eating cold pizza on the curb while some guy they barely know throws up in the bushes.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who holds up a hideous sweater and says, “This is it. This is the one. I was meant to wear this.” before Martin tells him he looks like someone’s grandfather.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who sneaks his camera into the movie theater, not to pirate the film, but just to capture his friends’ reactions in the dim light, like the real movie is happening in their faces.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who gets popcorn stuck in his throat and starts coughing so hard the old couple behind him groans.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who somehow ends up in the parking lot after the movie, lying on the hood of Martin’s car, debating if he actually liked it or if the soundtrack was just that good.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who gets dared to steal something stupid from a gas station, like a single packet of ketchup, and does it just to make Martin laugh.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who lets his cats sleep on his chest while he watches late-night boxing matches, absentmindedly scratching their ears like it’s routine.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who talks to his cats like they’re his roommates, muttering “You guys gotta start paying rent” when they knock something over.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who films his cats more than he films people, zooming in dramatically while narrating, “Here we have the elusive house panther in its natural habitat.”

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who gets caught sneaking snacks into school in the pocket of his denim jacket, playing dumb like, “Oh, you meant I can’t bring an entire box of Frosted Flakes?”

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who stays up too late watching old boxing matches, telling himself he’ll sleep early next time, but never does.

teenage dirtbag hamzah.. who will absolutely lie about his plans just to avoid socializing, but if Martin calls, he’s already grabbing his jacket.

@issysh3ll

taglist.. @italiansunsetss @b1gba113r @sylvanianngirl @st7rnioioss-alt @sincerelykelsss @throatgoat4u @wiseladypoetry @gracieabrmslvr @sweetangelgirl7 @pearlzier @1-hypegvrl @piperrrr-16 @mackyyyk @luna443 @flowerxbunnie @cwemetrys @calliepie @cupidsword @notaboutlovebyfiona @recklesssturniolo @littlebookworm803 @blissfulxsins @camsturnz @st7rnioioss @rempessturniolo

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@waynes-multiverse

This was so wonderful and a beautiful valentine treat!! You and @luci-in-trenchcoats and @zepskies are all out here inspiring me with these headcanon fics. 💗 Also I may have hyper-fixated and wrote a lot 😅, but these were all just so glorious ❤️

Dean

I really loved that for Dean you made it a thing that he "doesn't know how to be romantic." or that he believes that he "isn't romantic." Because it kinda fits that Dean doesn't understand that romance doesn't always have to be super big gestures but can be just giving someone your last bite of pie (HA) or just remembering the kind of coffee your significant other likes or lending a gentle ear when your significant other needs that. And I love that you highlight that the reader knows this, but Dean doesn't. That the reader can see those wonderful little things that Dean does for her and no other man ever has. Also so jealous because I want Dean to make me a mixtape 📼

But I love Dean's take on romance in his section: the chick flick, the fairy lights, the snacks, and the box of chocolates. It is very him and oh so perfect 😍

"Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart."

Soldier Boy

Aww yeah, here we go, our man is pulling out all the stops *rubbing hands together* 🤣 This one was so good, because yes, Ben knows what romance is supposed to look like, he just doesn't always put in the effort (I say it gently because I love this grumpy old man with my whole heart) LOL

But when he does- LOOK OUT LADIES 👀🔥

Everything you wrote for him is so perfect- "Of course" the lingerie and a dress that is his signature color, and the fancy resturant, the horse drawn carriage, the roses- All so on brand for him.

I loved:

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife. Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views. You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting! But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen. But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

Because we all know that man would one million percent be possessive of his woman and fall into that traditional view of a woman being a trophy, but oh my sweet baby corn sometimes the feminist inside of me kinda goes just a tad on hiatus 😂 And then when she comes back, she usually thinks that she can fix him lol

Beau Arlen

I still have not gotten to see Big Sky yet, but each time I see something for this beautiful "cowboy sheriff" I remind myself that I need to lol.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Oh goodness, I love the idea that he gets his girl something each day to make her feel "loved and wanted." That is just the sweetest thing in the whole world 😍

This day is all about his endless love for you. Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

This is exactly how I'd feel. I love the romance but at the same time I would literally feel like I've done absolutely nothing to deserve that and how can I make it up to him?

He’s moved, and it moves you. Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

I'm crying. I just thought you should know 😭

Russell Shaw

Out of all of these, I think that Russell's was my absolute favorite. (Ben I still love you, please don't take this the wrong way 😂)

But I loved everything about this one because the way you portrayed the reader.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place. You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated. Still…

If this isn't me every freaking year I don't know what is 🤣 Half price chocolate the day after is always the best thing about Valentine's Day lol

But I like that the reader was a little disappointed at the beginning even though she was trying not to be. It was very realistic and makes so much sense, especially because she's in a long distance relationship and watching all the couples around her getting showered in gifts.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

Love this for Russell, because I think it fits anyone who is in a relationship with him. He gets called away on a whim to do a crazy job that he can't really talk about. Of course he's always going to leave his significant other "wanting more."

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

AND HE SURPRISED HER?! I LOVE THIS!! 😍😍😍

Girl, all of these were perfect and fit each of these characters!!! But for the love of goodness all of these had me:

P.S. If there is still room of your taglist can you possibly please add me? You're such a wonderful writer! 🥹👉🏻👈🏻💗

Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕

(Dean Winchester // Soldier Boy // Beau Arlen // Russell Shaw – Edition)

Prompt: How would your favorite men surprise you for Valentine's Day?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader // Soldier Boy x reader // Beau Arlen x reader // Russell Shaw x reader

Warnings: +18 for some language and spice, tons of fluff, a smidge of angst

A/N: Something sweet to sweep you off your feet for the most romantic day of the year 😉 Happy early Valentine's from me, my loves 💖 (And big thanks to the lovely, amazing @zepskies 💜 for starting this trend in the first place. It's addicting 😂🫶)

Dean:

Dean isn’t big on Valentine’s Day and romance. Not because he thinks it’s an unnecessary holiday invented by greeting card companies, but because he genuinely doesn’t know how to be romantic.

You’re aware of this and don’t care if he surprises you with a big gesture. Because truth is, Dean’s romantic when it comes to the little things.

You don’t care if he brings you flowers because he brings you your favorite take-out order when you so much as mention that you’re hungry.

You don’t care if he gets you a card because he gets up in the middle of the night and saunters all the way to kitchen to bring you a glass of water when you tell him you’re thirsty.

You don’t care if he gets you chocolate because he creates personal mixtapes for you with songs you said you liked during random drives.

He listens to you. He holds open doors for you. He protects you. He keeps you calm. He takes care of you when you’re injured. And he loves you with every fiber of his being.

So, really, you don’t care if he makes a big deal out of one random calendar day a year or not. It doesn’t prove his love for you – the little things do.

However, you’re still sweetly surprised (and moved to tears) when you find the Dean Cave dipped in the warm glow of fairy lights and candles.

He’s picked out your favorite chick-flick and your favorite snacks.

He opens his arms with a big, cheeky grin and invites you into his snuggly embrace on the couch.

There’s a box of chocolates on the coffee table, a few of them half eaten, and a note that reads: I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is. Be mine?

You smile and kiss his scruffy cheek. “Always.”

Flustered, he smiles, cheeks tinged pink, and kisses your crown. “Happy unattached-drifter-Christmas, sweetheart.”

Soldier Boy:

To say Ben’s old-school when it comes to romance would be an understatement. While the rest of the year his bedside manners leave much to desire, he strangely shines on Valentine’s.

Mostly, because he knows sex is a given on this holiest of holy days. No sickness or period can stop him.

If you accidentally died, you’re even sure he’d pull a full Weekend at Bernie’s and have a night out with your corpse.

First, he surprises you with a delicately wrapped gift on your bed: a tight-fitting, beautiful emerald evening gown and the matching lacy lingerie set.

Of course he got you underwear, even though he won’t mind if you don’t wear anything at all under that dress.

He then takes you out to the fanciest restaurant in the city, where he reserved a private room away from all the other commoners.

His attention is only on you.

He praises you all night long and gives compliments as if he's never done anything else his entire (long) life.

He orders the most expensive bottle of wine and the best steak and makes sure you know that it is.

He encourages you to play footsie under the table with him before he slips the heel off your foot, and your toes massage the growing bulge in his slacks.

He holds your hand in public and protectively guides you goddamn everywhere with a palm on the small of your back, showing you off like arm candy – the trophy wife.

Sure, you could protest and critique his… traditional views.

You’re not a fucking award he’s won for bad acting!

But your cheeks flush furiously every single time he brags boisterously about you to anyone who will listen. And those who don’t listen are forced to listen.

But you can’t deny it feels good to be so wanted, so desired.

When you come home at the end of the night (with a fucking horse-drawn carriage no less), Ben can barely keep his large hands from roaming your curves. You know he expects his reward now for being the best possible lover ever.

On the kitchen island, you also find a huge bouquet of red roses waiting for you. You can barely appreciate its beauty before the zipper in the back of your dress slides open. Well… rips open.

Between the thorny stems, there’s a card attached, too. It doesn’t read “Be Mine,” however.

Nope, it says, “You are mine.”

And you know he fucking means it.

Beau Arlen:

Your favorite cowboy sheriff will pull out all the stops as soon as the calendar on his desk reads February.

He doesn’t wait for D-Day either. Every day for thirteen days straight, there’s a little surprise waiting for you when you get home.

Your favorite flowers, your favorite meal, your favorite movie, a framed picture of you and him from your first vacation together, a necklace you saw in an antique store you mentioned in passing…

Some might say he’s a little overcompensating.

But Beau has made mistakes in his past, especially on the relationship front, and will be damned if he hasn’t learned from them.

So, he will make sure you feel wanted and loved till the day he dies, even though you keep repeatedly telling him he doesn’t need to make a fuss about Valentine’s Day.

Really, you’re good with picked flowers from the garden.

But Beau’s stubborn and won’t be discouraged. The southern gentlemanliness is rooted deep within his heart and soul.

This day is all about his endless love for you.

Honestly, the sheer amount of everything makes you even slightly uncomfortable. It might sound dumb, but how could you ever compete with that level of commitment?

There ain’t enough blow jobs in this world to make up for his devotion to you.

But on the big day itself, you are actually the one who surprises him with a romantic weekend trip to a cabin in the mountains and excellent fishing spots close by.

You know the biggest gift you could give him is some peace and quiet, time for himself, and a listening ear because he will surely talk the entire time about God and the world while you’re stuck on a boat with him.

But on the night itself, when you give him your gift, he’s actually speechless. Tears brim in his green eyes because you thought of him.

He’s moved, and it moves you.

Because, after all, to you, there’s no bigger gift in this world than his smile.

Russell Shaw:

You don’t expect much when Valentine’s Day looms in the distance. In fact, you don’t expect anything at all.

You’ve only been dating Russell for a couple of months now, and you barely ever see him. Your time together mostly consists of text messages, late night phone calls, and the occasional video chats.

You know his job is complicated. You know he can’t be around as much, even though you direly wish he could.

On the morning of the dreaded day, you receive a simple text message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart! I’ll call you later!”

You hate to admit it, but you feel a little disappointed – disenchanted even. You don’t want to make a big deal out of it because it’s a stupid, unimportant almost-holiday.

All day long, you curse the greeting card companies and the poisonous claws of consumerism for making you care in the first place.

You’re a strong, independent woman. You shouldn’t need a man to give you flowers, gifts, or attention to feel appreciated.

Still…

As you park in the driveway after a long day at work where you watched your colleagues fawn over the bouquets they received from their partners, you feel disheartened when you still haven’t even gotten your promised phone call.

Russell always leaves you wanting more… That can both be a good thing and a very bad one.

But as you close the car door, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You all too keenly pull it out and pick up, almost dropping it because your hands are jittering with excitement at this point and your heart is pounding furiously.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Russell greets you on the other end, the deep timbres of his voice sending immediate shivers down your spine. “You home yet?”

All your worries and sorrows are instantly forgotten when you hear the big smile on his freckled face that he’s surely carrying.

He’s worth it, you remind yourself, even when it’s not easy. Life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

“Uh, almost. Unlocking the front door as we speak,” you tell him.

“Sorry I couldn’t call you sooner. Was stuck on a plane. Long flight,” he says mysteriously. You don’t even ask at this point. You know he can’t tell you.

“No worries. I was busy, anyways,” you lie and hope he buys your nonchalance. “Anywhere interesting you are now?”

“You could say that, yeah…”

“Well, if you hold on a second, I’ll slip out of those clothes and make your evening even more interesting with some pictures,” you tease flirtatiously and push the door open to your dark apartment.

The light switches on by itself, though. You blink in surprise before the phone falls out of your hand when Russell beams broadly at you.

“As much as I love getting your dirty little photos, I think I prefer the real thing tonight,” he says slyly.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” You surge forward into his strong arms so forcefully you almost tackle him to the ground, your hands slinging around his neck. If you could keep him caged there forever, you’d be fine with it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” Russell says with a warm chuckle and claims your lips in a searingly passionate kiss that shows you just how much he’s certainly missed you too. “Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

Hope you enjoyed these little snippets, friends! Do you agree with these? 😉

I legit stole Dean's half-eaten box of chocolate and the Forrest Gump note from another fic of mine. I couldn't resist. I can totally see him doing something silly and cute like that 😂

Happy Valentine's 💕

☕️ Ko-Fi🩵 Tag List

TAGS:

Forevers: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@thebiggerbear @star-yawnznn @thej2report @spnaquakingdom

Other lists that apply: @snowayumi @deans-baby-momma @corruptedcruiser

[ender-cloud]

The Mind Scape is so fascinating to me:0

Tgs Spoilers Under cut

Hydes Anxiety is very valid, one of the most common fears, or cause of fears, is the fear of the unknown. This fear of the unknown is seen with fears of the future, sometimes the fear of the dark, and death.

He dosen’t know how far down Jekyll is, he dosent know what happened to him, and he dosent know how far gone Jekyll is Mentally.

Hyde should think about his actions, while he knows that he might save Jekyll this way, he dosent know what will happen to him or if he will even be able to succeed.

Hyde knows that he needs to at least try, but he shouldn’t just discount his worries, they are what makes him human and is something apart of him.

If Hyde goes down theres not a guarantee that he will be fine or that he will find Jekyll, but he will try, and its up to him on what to do after that

The white out faces are back chattttt!!

Mind Lanyon is a representation of self doubt, it always has been what Jekyll wanted to be but couldn’t, it’s always been a representation of his self doubt and self hatred.

Now mind Lanyon is a representative of Hydes self doubt as well, once again showing Hyde and Jekylls connection. They both want to prove themselves and sometimes Hearing the doubt of the one they love really breaks them.

“You’re nothing but a mistake” something that Jekyll had told Lanyon, that Hyde was a mistake, that Hyde should never have existed and how he hates that part of him, mind Lanyon us showing that too.

Hyde seems less affected by it but it definitely still stung.

Frakenstine is the other side of Jekylls self doubt; his ability as a scientist. While mind Lanyon represents who he wants to be as a person, Frankenstine represents who he wants to be as a scientist, a type of role model who does affect him more than he wants to let on.

What Frankenstine says hints that they her and Lanyon dont know which side of Jekyll their talking to, perhaps these sayings are pushing Jekyll further and Further down the mind scape, further into the unknown (Frozen ref 👀/j)

I didn’t bring it up earlier but mind Lanyon also says “you’ll never be fit for polite society” They arent talking to Hyde, they are talking to Jekyll because their a representation of Jekylls self doubt and fears

They are pushing him down into the mindscape more than anything, because they are the representation of his thoughts.

[shizuturnspages]

GramoThanks for writing my request earlier about the dead twin, I really liked it!

Could you do a part 2? add more characters, how would you treat the twin who is alive??

Your writing was pretty good even though it's short, It was wonderful to read. Thanks

The Shadow That You Left Behind – Part 2

Synopsis: Your twin never asked for this. Never asked to be a walking, breathing reminder of what was lost. But to these men, he is the last piece of you left in this world. And they will do whatever it takes to keep it close. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Diluc, Dainsleif, Zhongli, Alhaitham, Childe, Neuvillette, & Wriothesley x Dead Reader’s Twin

Diluc- A Flickering Flame

Diluc isn’t cruel to your twin.

Not outwardly, at least.

If anything, he treats him with distant politeness, maintaining a careful balance between acknowledgment and avoidance. He never raises his voice, never pushes him away—but the silence that stretches between them is thick with something unspoken.

It takes a while for your twin to notice how meticulous Diluc is. How every conversation drifts back to you, how he carefully controls his surroundings—offering him tea in your favourite cup, leaving out books you once loved, even playing the same melodies on the piano that used to echo through the halls of Dawn Winery.

"You remind me of them," Diluc murmurs one evening, his voice steady, but his grip on his wine glass white-knuckled.

Your brother tenses. "I know."

A quiet hum. "But not enough."

The weight of his words lingers.

Your twin knows he should leave. Knows he shouldn’t accept the invitation to stay at Dawn Winery, shouldn’t let the guilt of your absence tether him to this place.

But he does.

Because Diluc offers warmth, offers remembrance, and your twin feels like he owes it to you to keep your memory alive.

And Diluc?

Diluc watches him carefully, knowing full well that guilt is the perfect chain to bind someone.

After all, he won’t lose you twice.

Dainsleif- A Curse to Carry

Dainsleif does not speak to your twin.

Not directly. Not unless he has to.

But he watches.

Your twin feels it constantly—the weight of that cold, piercing stare. There is no comfort, no acknowledgment. Only the slow realization that Dainsleif doesn’t see him as a person.

He sees him as an echo.

One that doesn’t quite sound the same.

"You are not them," Dainsleif says one day, voice hollow.

Your brother swallows. "I know."

Dainsleif’s gaze doesn’t waver. "Then stop pretending to be."

Your twin recoils, offended. "I’m not pretending."

Dainsleif tilts his head slightly, considering. "No, I suppose not." A long pause. "But you’re still here."

As if that was something unforgivable.

It’s maddening—the way he speaks as though your twin is at fault, as though existing in your absence is a crime.

But what’s worse?

Your twin can’t shake the feeling that Dainsleif is waiting.

For what? He doesn’t know.

But something tells him he won’t like the answer.

Zhongli- Collector of Memories

Zhongli is kind.

Too kind.

It unsettles your twin how gentle he is, how warm his voice sounds when he asks about childhood memories, about things only you would know.

"Tell me," Zhongli muses over tea, "did they ever speak of me?"

Your brother hesitates. "Yes."

A slow smile. "And?"

Your twin shifts uncomfortably. He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like how Zhongli always steers the conversation back to you, how he never seems particularly interested in who your twin is as a person.

Just in what you left behind.

"You don't have to force yourself to remember," Zhongli soothes. "I will remember for you."

Your twin knows, then, that he isn’t here because Zhongli values him.

He’s here because Zhongli refuses to let your memory fade.

And if that means keeping your twin as a living relic?

So be it.

Alhaitham- A Living Archive

Alhaitham isn’t sentimental.

But he is meticulous.

Your twin quickly realizes that he’s being studied. Every mannerism, every slip of the tongue, every insignificant habit—Alhaitham commits it to memory, comparing it against the ghost of what you used to be.

"Your speech patterns are different," Alhaitham notes one day.

Your twin scowls. "Because I’m not them."

A slight smirk. "Obviously. If you were, we wouldn’t be having this conversation."

Your brother hates this. Hates feeling like a subject under a scholar’s gaze. But Alhaitham is relentless, collecting every last scrap of you from him.

Until one day, your twin realizes something.

Alhaitham never calls him by name.

Only ever refers to him as their twin.

And that’s when the cold truth settles in:

Alhaitham doesn’t care about who he is.

He only cares about what he can extract from him.

Childe- A Wolf in Waiting

Unlike the others, Childe likes your twin.

Or rather—he likes that your twin is still around.

"Hey, hey!" Childe grins, throwing an arm around him. "Don’t look so gloomy! You’ve still got me, yeah?"

Your brother stiffens. "I don’t even know you."

Childe just laughs. "Oh, but I knew them. And that’s close enough, right?"

It isn’t.

But Childe doesn’t care.

"You know," Childe hums, twirling a dagger between his fingers, "I never got to say goodbye properly."

Your twin swallows. "That’s not my problem."

Childe grins. "No, but you are my solution."

Your brother is starting to realize—he might never be able to leave.

Neuvillette- A Silent Judge

Neuvillette is quiet.

Too quiet.

Your twin never knows what he’s thinking, never knows how he truly feels. The only indication that something lingers beneath that composed surface is the way the rain never stops when they speak.

"You do not resemble them," Neuvillette remarks one day.

Your twin exhales in relief. "Finally. Someone who understands."

A pause.

Then—

"That was not a compliment."

Your brother freezes.

Neuvillette’s expression remains unreadable, but his voice carries something heavy—something unsettled.

"It is unfair," he continues, "that you are here, and they are not."

Your twin doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to respond.

And for the first time, standing before Neuvillette as the rain pours around them, he wonders if he will ever truly be free from your shadow.

Wriothesley- A Wolf in Chains

Wriothesley doesn’t see your twin as an echo.

He sees him as a replacement.

"Well," Wriothesley leans back, watching him with an unreadable expression. "This is ironic, isn’t it?"

Your twin glares. "I don’t see how."

Wriothesley smirks. "You’ve spent your whole life standing in their shadow. Now? You’re all that’s left."

Your brother hates the way Wriothesley toys with him. Hates the way he’s always one step ahead, always setting the pace—offering kindness laced with something dangerous.

"You’ll learn to stay here," Wriothesley says one evening, voice low and assured. "With me."

Your twin bristles. "You can’t force me to stay."

A slow, knowing chuckle.

"You’d be surprised what I can do."

[4lexnilsen]

alex doesn’t elaborate any further on his feelings,  but doesn’t completely barricade his heart either this time.   they’ve been through hell and back together tonight.   he’s put her through hell…   he can’t keep going like this,  doesn’t have the energy for it.   a small smile breaks across his features at the explanation,  his elbow gently bumping against her side as he teases,   “and there i was,  thinking it was meant for harry’s face.”   war and peace worked wonders,  though.   over a thousand pages and hardcover?   he wouldn’t be surprised if that big nose of his was broken,  after all.   “same.   i don’t find bars particularly interesting or stimulating so i always bring a book,”   he explains shyly,  seeing helena’s reaction and how it matches his own,  and feeling a sense of togetherness once more.   there’s a faint connection rekindling,  and it frightens him in a way.   he doesn’t deserve her.   he shouldn’t be feeling like this.   “i prefer cafes and bakeries over bars and clubs.   i’m boring like that.”   it’s something sarah said to him a while back,  and he can’t help but agree —   he isn’t the life of the party.

“well,  i feel very out of my element right now.   don’t look towards the pool table.   strange things happening over there,”   he laughs softly,  for the first time since they left the ice skating rink.   a look of surprise overtaking his features when she decides to trust him and takes his hand,  lengthy fingers curling around her own,  squeezing gently,  apologetically.   their surroundings are…   eerie,  to say the least.   and there’s so much cigarette smoke in the air that alex can barely breathe without coughing,  but he smiles at helena all the same.   “the only thing that actually does look great here,  and it tastes good,  too.”   he takes another sip,  letting the sweet,  fruity beverage linger a little longer on his tongue before swallowing.   he didn’t think it could be this delicious,  not in a place that looks like a drug den.   “i always say that virgin drinks taste way better than the spiked ones.   i mean,  who genuinely likes the taste of vodka or tequila or something?   gross.”   he grimaces,  licking some of the sugar off the rim.   

by the time he sets the glass back on the bar,  half of its contents is gone,  and his eyes are focused solely on helena.   watching with sheer fascination as she rummages through her kits and offering,   “can i help you take care of that cut?”   he reaches a hesitant hand out,  tucking the strands of hair that got pulled out of her braid behind her ear.   the bow is barely hanging on and so he carefully removes and places it on the counter in front of her.   “what’s that?”   he wonders,  taken aback by her kindness,  shaking his head because he feels like he doesn’t deserve it but turning to face her at the same time.   there are tears in his eyes again,  and if she asks,  he’ll blame them on the smoke but it’s just…   these little acts of kindness make his heart beat differently.   “why are you so good to me?”   he whispers,  pouting to expose the cut to her fingers.   “you know,  this is technically the second time you’re tending to my injuries.   hopefully,  there won’t be a third.”

did he really just go about admitting that? the words still rotating inside helena's mind at the fact he's turned another shade and she has to dwell on this drastic switch up. mind torn in even more conflicted places, she wonders how she's supposed to forgive him but obviously she can't discredit him for admitting the reasonings why he had to act like that towards her, but why did he have to at all? brows scrunched, dwelling while they're pulling up to the spot he picks. "it is a hammer. a mini one. i thought i'd need it for . . ." multi-purposes. "breaking a hole in the window?" or the door, if she really had to. "are you? so would i. if–– i actually went to bars more often." an awkward laugh, staring out her window, eyes growing sadder at the katy perry song that can provoke a lot of emotions whether one can relate or not.

once he leaves his side of the car, helena turns to reach back into the backseat of the mustang. taking her purple makeup bag AND first-aid kit box out from underneath the seat, shifting back around, the buckle clicks and her seatbelt flies off. flinching at the surprise of her door coming open, raven haired girl halts momentarily, brown eyes falling on his hand . . . gaping at it like it was a surreal thing and not just an offered hand.

eventually, after her brief pause, she moves and her feet touch the ground. taking the hand and standing up from her seat, "thanks." smiling in surprise, she'll definitely have to take care of his lip, hopefully something will be in her box. "wow, check out this place." glancing around her surroundings, certainly nothing she's ever been used to. her dad would be furious right now. some suspicious looking burly men in each corner, crass women over by the pool table, she quickly looks away from when the motorcycle biker guy behind her has his hands all over her and helena's eyesight goes right to it. setting up her work station once alex helps her sit, opening the first aid kit and makeup box, she's digging into the first aid when the drinks are placed down. surprisingly appearing delicious. "that looks really good." eagerly taking it, before pausing, is she really trusting they didn't put something in her drink though? hardly . . . but what's one more risk tonight. "yeah, WHAT a night." the strawberry flavor easily becomes addicting so she's taking another sip before pausing on it for a bit. "your lip could definitely use some of this." pulling out the neosporin lip ointment, squeezing some onto her finger tip, "here." helena announces, waiting for him to turn towards her.

[laniidae-passerine]

see I am very disjointed from a lot of nine/ten fandom discourse because I genuinely believe that in a different world where space boy was not to be seen, had an older Rose gone to the hospital and bumped into a certain Doctor Jones by a vending machine or as she was taking Rose’s vitals, she would have instantly hit it off with Martha. and probably flirted with her a little on accident and then on purpose when Martha flirted back

[adxmanial]

—

[quietwingsinthesky]

the amount of time i spend thinking about Even carrying the metacrisis doctor’s fob watch is really quite disproportionate to how much ive fleshed out that part of the story in my head

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

When British writers come up with an American character’s dialogue and give them the most painfully British things to say with their American accent and inflection and it makes the actor come off as stiff. :P

[tariah23]

They’re calling my baby Gojo, Joseph Joestar now

[nami-moittli]

Thinking about the Ortho’s in my Digitwst AU… Just two kids who have to deal with so much for so long…

[classyrbf]

dad bod!toji who’s still the big, muscular man he is but you can tell he’s gotten older and his metabolism has slowed down a little bit. He’s gotten chubbier in his arms, thighs, tummy. Not to mention, he’s started to gray and grow stubble on his face, the perfect salt and pepper mix. Toji says he hates it, always moaning and groaning about needing to hit the gym but you…? You fucking love it. It takes everything in you not to ravish his right then and there, wanting to pounce on him every second of the day. You’re always kissing up on him, grabbing on him, dragging him to the laundry room while the kids watching tv so you could have a quickie. And he’s so confused on where all this extra energy and affection has sprouted from, but he loves it. You’re always so eager for him, fucking your self on his cock, him waking up to you kissing his neck and stroking his dick, dropping to your knees and giving him head without his asking. He wonders what he’s done to deserve all of it.

He’s standing in the mirror one late night with his shirt off, examining just how chubby he’s gotten. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little insecure, thinking how gorgeous you are and how you shouldn’t settle for him. “I’m losing myself,” he grumbles. “What’s going on, baby?” You walk in the room, a smile immediately on your face when you see his shirt is off, definitely a sight to see. “I need to head to the gym is what’s going on.” He flexes his muscles in the mirror. You giggle and walk up behind him, snaking your arms around his waist. “I think you look so handsome with a little weight on you,” you whisper in his ear. “Does something to me.” You nibble on his ear before trailing kisses along his jaw, and that’s when Toji realizes why you’ve been so affectionate with him, like a lightbulb going off in his head.

Just mere minutes later, you’re riding him like your life depends on it, slamming your hips down on his, creating a sticky mess between you two. “S-shit,” he pants, “slow down, mama—fuck!” His bruising grips on your hips only tighten the faster you ride him. Your pussy sucks him in with each thrust, clenching around his throbbing cock. “I can’t…you get so me so hot and bothered, baby.” You grin, running your hands down his chest.

He swears he could cum right then and there, with the way you were riding him and that look in your eye, he was ready to give you another kid. And now you were kissing his neck, moaning and whimpering in his ear. “You’re so perfect, Toji,” you mewl. “Fuck me.” His eyes roll back before fluttering shut. “Keep going, yes, yes, just like that, mama. You’re gonna make me fucking cum,” he groans. You keep that same rhythm, squeezing your pussy around him, milking him. He suddenly wraps his arms around you, holding you in place as he thrusts up into you, the sound of skin on skin filling the room. “Ah, fuck!” You cry out, your cum dripping down his shaft. His thrusts grow sloppier and harder and next thing you know he’s filling you up, pushing his cum deeper inside of you with slow thrusts. Laughter erupts from your chest as you catch your breath, kissing him slowly and passionately.

“Mmm, goddamn,” he huffs, pulling you to his chest. “Now I finally know why you’re so goddamn horny all the time,” he chuckles. You blink up at him with a small smirk. “Can you blame me?” You trace patterns on his skin. He can see the look in your eye, that hungry stare you’re giving him, wanting more. “What are you thinking about, hm?” He caresses your cheek. “Oh nothing…just how badly I wanna give you some head right now, but I’ll wait.”

[ghostickle]

Genuinely so afraid all of the time that I’m a horrible person and don’t know it

[ebodebo]

Ghost Garage

—mechanic!simon riley fucking you in his car garage because you couldn’t afford to pay for his services:(( MDNI ofc

“You’re lookin’ at six thousand for a new engine,” Simon says thoughtfully, scribbling a collection of messy additions in his notebook. “And if you’re lookin’ to do just one set of brake pads and rotors,” he says, scribbling some more, “lookin’ at six hundred even for those.”

Your eyes widen at his words because how the fuck were you ever going to be able to afford this? You swallow hard, pondering your following words. “Do you do discounts or something?” You’re sure you sound like an idiot, but you’re desperate.

The corner of his lip quirks at your question as his eyes stay glued to the notebook paper, still scribbling. “No. Still no discounts ere’,” he says, capping his pen, finally looking at you.

You fidget with your hands, eyes on his. “I—um…there’s no way I can…” you begin, turning your gaze away from him, feeling bashful, “…afford that.” Even though you had come to Simon’s garage before, this was just the first time you outwardly told him you couldn’t afford his services.

He leans back in his chair, the base squeaking a little. “Do ya’know how dangerous it is to drive with worn-out brake pads?” he states, placing the pen in his mouth, awaiting your response.

“Yes. I’m aware, but—” you begin, only for him to interrupt.

“But nothin’,” he calmly says, shifty in the chair, eyes shamelessly dragging down your body. You pretend not to notice even though it invokes an immeasurable amount of wetness to gather in your panties.

He can tell you’re nervous—your body language says it all. Clammy hands you wipe off on your jeans every so often, you’re avoiding direct eye contact with him, and the fact he can hear your heartbeat from where he sits.

He shouldn’t even have unholy thoughts of you come across his mind. But, shocker, he did. Every night from the time you first went to the shop all of those four months ago, he would fist himself in the shower thinking about you.

You, who always had that doe-eyed, glossed-over expression. You, who always had to bring Simon a sweet treat when you came, whether it be candy or some fresh-baked cookies you prepared. Oh, and you, who would hug him after he did your car inspections. Ya, he thought about that one a lot.

He considers your predicament. He has a solution, but it’s risky—perhaps too risky?

Eh, Fuck it. What’s he got to lose?

“Tell ya what,” he starts, standing up from his chair and grabbing the notebook paper with the numbers. “I’ll throw this ere’ piece of paper in the trash—hell, I’ll burn it,” he cocks a brow, “If you do somethin’ for me.” He hovers the small, intimidating piece of paper over a small trash can.

“Anything,” you say, desperation coating your voice. He hums, ducking his head to stare at the trashcan.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he says, followed by a gravelly laugh. You gulp, waiting for him to explain.

“I want somethin’ from ya,” he finally looks up at you, wiping his mask-less jaw with his hand. “Somethin’ that isn’t…money.”

You slightly confound your head. “Like I said…anything,” you amend.

He sticks his tongue in his cheek, drops the tainted paper into the trash, and then takes slow, deliberate steps towards you.

You inhale as he stands before you, unsure of his intentions. Exhaling sharply only when he brings his thumb up, dragging it delicately across your jaw, tilting it up so you are looking at him.

“I think we could figure out a way for you to get that work paid in full,” he rumbles, brushing his thumb against your bottom lip. “And a way I could feel that pretty pussy around me.”

Your eyes widen at his words, dumbfounded by his sheer bluntness and vulgarity. Though you admit, you feel a knot start to form in your lower stomach and more wetness pool between your thighs.

“Unless you don’t want to?” His tone his monotone, no signs of resentment as he drops his hand from your face.

“No—I do,” you affirm, even grabbing his hand and then dropping it from embarrassment. “I just didn’t think…you, uh, liked me like that,” you mutter, shifting on your feet and shifting your gaze to the concrete floor you both stand on.

“Oh, trust me. I like you like that,” he laughs lowly, stepping closer to you, bringing his hand back to the same spot to brush his finger against your pouty lip. “Can I?” He questions his gaze on your lips. You nod, standing on your tiptoes, gripping his neck, and bringing his lips to yours. You could taste remnants of cigarette smoke and the icy tang of Nicorette mint gum.

The kiss quickly became full of fervent urgency. Sloppy lips sucking your own, hands aimlessly gripping any piece of flesh it could, and teeth frantically clashing with your own.

“You do this with all your clientele?” you tease as Simon grips the bottom of your shirt and quickly pulls it off your head.

“Nah,” he coolly says, hands palming your breasts over your bra. “Just the ones I jerk off to.” You gasp at not only his hands on such a sensitive part of you but also his confession.

“You jerk off to me?” you tentatively ask, bringing your hands to grip the hem of his shirt, slipping it off his head. His lips instantly connect with your neck.

“What about it?” he murmurs against your skin, dragging his tongue from the side of your neck to your lips.

“I just…I finger myself thinking about you,” you admit in between his feverish kisses, which are apparently taking away your sense of shame. He pulls back only a little.

“You’re tellin’ me…” he reaches down to bring your hand up, grazing your fingers with his own. “You plunge these in your pussy, thinkin’ about me?” he stares at your fingers, unable to comprehend what he’s hearing. He darts his eyes to yours. “I get you off?”

“Of course you do,” you attest, dragging your hand so it rests on his cock that is tucked away in his greased stained jeans. He groans at your touch.

“Now let me see what I’ve been imagining.”

He wastes no time stripping you bare, throwing your bra and panties off to the side, before he unlatches his belt, roughly yanking his jeans and boxers down just below his thighs.

He grips the back of your thighs before hauling you over to a wood table that currently holds some pens and a toolbox. His lips connect with your collarbone, then to the fat of your breast, as you lazily stroke his cock.

“Little smaller than I imagined,” you cheekily say before Simon lightly nips at your nipple with his teeth, making you moan. He laughs against your skin, sending vibrations throughout your entire body.

“And yet it still makes you fuckin’ wet,” he cockily says as his hand slips to graze your glistening cunt. You don’t even talk; you have no breath left to speak. So, you let out a pathetic noise instead—somewhere between a moan and whine.

“Let me play with ya for a minute,” he murmurs into your ribs, pointer finger brushing against your labia. You squirm at his touch.

“Simon. I just…I need you in me,” you beg, pulling him by the hair so his ear is by your mouth, rocking your hips against his finger in you.

“I’m gonna come as soon as I’m in you, Sweetheart,” he says honestly, pointer plunging into your cunt, gently touching your clit.

“I don’t care…just…just,” you rasp, unable to speak with his hand plunging into you.

“Fine, fine,” he says. He gives his cock a tug before he pokes your entrance with the head, gripping your hips before he pushes inside you a little. He grits his teeth at the sensation, and you whine at the slight pain.

“Open up for me. Come on,” he hisses, throwing his head back as he sinks deeper into you. “There she goes,” he praises, gripping one of your legs and positioning it so it lies straight up against his body. You both groan at the deeper contact.

“Shit,” you curse as Simon starts up a good pace. His cock managed to graze you in all of the right spots—reaching places you didn’t even know was possible.

You knew you both wouldn’t last long at this pace—you’re honestly not so sure he would have lasted at any pace. He was painfully hard when you hadn’t even whipped your tits out.

Though you thought the jokes were on him, as soon as he brought his thumb to stimulate your clit, you were skewing curses, tightening around his cock.

“Fuck. That’s it…that’s—” he panted out as he felt you clamp around him, hearing you yell, ‘Coming,” before he followed with his orgasm.

Once both of your orgasms have subsided, he helps you off the table to grab your clothing. You gently tug on your lip before you speak.

“Also…about the payment?” You shyly question as he pulls his jeans up.

“Consider it handled,” he says with a smirk as he zips up his jeans.

a/n: bye once again i abused the italicized button

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[spacelazarwolf]

i think if we’re going to have conversations about consent we should talk about how consenting to something doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going to be a good experience, and having a bad experience doesn’t necessarily mean someone violated your consent. this can apply to a lot of situations but the two i’m thinking of right now are sex and transition.

you’re getting it on with someone. you enthusiastically consent to having sex with them. afterward, you feel a little weird about it. maybe even distressed. maybe they did something you didn’t enjoy and in the moment you just didn’t say anything. maybe you just realized after the fact that you were not in a good headspace for sex and now your mental health is declining. that doesn’t inherently mean the person you had sex with violated your consent. sometimes it just means you need to take a break from sex or work on communicating your needs or boundaries better during sex.

and with transition, i feel like this is something that gets consistently overlooked but like. there will never be zero detransitioners. there will always be people who decide that actually transition wasn’t right for them. they could have had the best most thorough doctors in the world who did everything by the book and got full informed consent at every step. and some people are still going to decide they don’t like the changes and wish they hadn’t transitioned. that doesn’t mean that the doctors violated their consent, and that doesn’t mean that transition shouldn’t be available to anyone. it just means that we need to have more resources available for folks who detransition.

regret does not automatically mean someone did something wrong. regret is simply one possible result of having bodily autonomy, and i think we need to get more comfortable with that.

[priestfrommidnightmass]

i’ve discovered i’m tired of doing literally everything myself so even if that’s kinda led to a lot of loneliness and self isolation it still feels better than straining myself at 100% all the time just to get half that on a good day