#i'm not here to tell you you're not allowed

[vaguely-concerned]

lucanis swearing up and down that spite can't learn or be reasoned with not thirty seconds after rook has gently but firmly reasoned with spite... such a hilarious moment of the narrative seeming to turn to you and blithely raise its eyebrows like 'hm. interesting'

[ninyard]

no but really. riko's "lessons" on grief crumbling the second kevin finds out about riko's death though!!!! all of that suppression, all of the buried feelings, all of the time spent avoiding and hiding and concealing left to rise to the surface the second riko is dead!!!

i am convinced kevin freaks out in a way he's never freaked out before, in a way that sincerely shocks anyone who witnesses it, once he finds out riko is gone. in a way that subtly begs the question about inpatient care and an extended leave of absence and rehab. in a way that nobody else really understands because it was riko of all people to trigger this meltdown, but in a way that is genuinely terrifying

that codependency, even if undercut by relief that the abuse is over, does not go away without a freak out!!

-childhood in the nest anon

oh that's such a good point. Especially if Riko was successful in not letting Kevin mourn, if Kevin never really grieved his mother because Riko said, "You have me."

Like, what if the whole basis of Kevin's avoidance of grieving his mom was based on Riko saying, "So long as I'm here, you don't have to worry about her." Imagine every time he almost cried, every time he almost said I miss my mom out loud, Riko would grip his arm or his hand or his face and say something to the effect of, "Your grief is a waste of time and the only thing that matters is me, is us, is exy."

And then Riko's dead? And oh, he remembers this feeling that he'd only felt in vague bursts before, buried so deep he couldn't even be sure he felt it at all. The words, "Riko is dead," sound like "Your mom is dead". They found her body this morning. They found his body last night. There's nothing they could've done to save her. He was dead when the ambulance arrived.

It's like this doubled grief, all the things he'd never been allowed to feel for his mom suddenly coming back up, and like, these are feelings that Kevin thought he was too young to have felt. He thought he was too young to remember, he thought he was too young to understand but now he's reminded that, no, you felt it. You understood. You just weren't allowed to feel the monumental loss that you'd faced. You weren't allowed to work through this gnawing icy pain in your heart. And now that Riko's dead, you're allowed. You're free.

But now Riko's dead. Now Riko is dead, and his mom is dead, and fuck Riko for making him feel both of their deaths at the same time because he shouldn't exist in the same world that his mother does. The pain he feels for them both should be incomparable.

I like to imagine that for just a few moments after Kevin is told, he goes into shock, completely and utterly unable to function with the knowledge that Riko is dead.

"Riko killed himself last night," David says, and Abby is by his side for backup, for protection, for Kevin's safety. Betsy is on speed dial. "They won't tell me much, but they think it happened fast."

Maybe Abby nudges him because nothing he says will be okay, or good enough, or soft enough so as to not destroy Kevin. And he hears the words. He knew they were coming. They had to come, this was always going to happen. This was always how it was going to end. But his brain goes quiet and his hands go numb and he smiles a weak smile. He doesn't feel those words at all.

"Okay," He nods, like he's just been told that it's raining outside or he's wearing odd socks. "Thank you, Coach."

"Kevin, did you..." Abby's voice is soft as she reaches out. "Did you hear what David said?"

His eyes are empty, someplace far away, but his voice does not shake as he says, "I did."

For a while, maybe, they don't let him leave the room. He's quiet, disassociating, but not yet crying. Not yet throwing things around the room like David expected. Not yet begging for a bottle of vodka.

Does Renee come to the door first, or Neil? Does Abby answer the door because David asked her to, and what snaps him out of it? Is it Renee saying, "I called Jean. I told him to avoid the news," or is it Neil saying, "Have you told him yet?" that snaps him back into the real world, back to reality, to Jean can't find out, to Jean is alone, to Neil knows, to oh my god to this is real to Riko's dead and Riko's dead and Riko's dead.

Everything is familiar and nothing is the same. His body tells him he’s allowed to mourn his mom now, but he can’t handle it, and he can’t handle Riko being dead and Jean not knowing and Riko being dead and his mom isn’t here and he just. can’t. get his head around it. It’s all of a sudden messy and loud and confusing. He can’t let himself think about how Riko probably didn’t kill himself, he can’t ask himself why Neil knew before he did. He can’t believe it. If he believes it then it’s real and it’s his fault and who has him now? That was Riko’s job. To stop him from mourning so he could keep his eye on the prize and now he has it; They won the season. He put all his focus on exy, and look where it got him. All those lessons, all that burying of his feelings and compartmentalising to deal with it later hits him at once like a fucking truck and I think Kevin had the breakdowns of all breakdowns that day.

I think whatever happened to Jean on his own in that dorm room would’ve happened to Kevin, and more. He’s lucky that he wasn’t alone, I suppose, but it still doesn’t make it any easier. He’s tall, and he’s strong, and his head isn’t in the room when he’s throwing shit at the walls and screaming like it’ll help make things make sense. He doesn’t see where the chair lands. He doesn’t see who the books are thrown at. There is a chance that not one person in that room has ever seen anyone lose their mind so quickly, and intensely before. Because it’s not just Riko, it’s his mom, it’s his childhood, it’s his future, it’s his abuser, it’s his brother, it’s his identity and purpose and fuck, it’s Riko. Who is he without Riko?

If I keep going this will just end up far too long but oh lordy lord I think you’re absolutely right

[fagsystem]

I used to never lie. I just never really felt much need to. I couldn't really understand why people would lie. And I grew up completely 100% transparently putting all my information online. So learning that lying can be good and helpful was actually pretty weird for me.

The best example I have is from work. I take calls from all over the country. We're not allowed to give any personal details other than our first names. And sometimes a customer will ask what state I'm in.

I used to honestly tell them I'm not supposed to tell them. It made the call uncomfortable, it felt accusatory to them, and it just interrupted the flow of the call. Now I just lie and say another state.

Sometimes people ask me where I'm from and I just lie and say I was born here. It's close enough to true. Even if it weren't, it doesn't matter. They don't need to know that about me and it mitigates the risk of someone having poor opinions of where I'm from.

It can also help me help others. If I lie and say I was hopeless with our apps before I started working here and got trained in using them, it reassures a customer I'm not judging them and builds their confidence that they can do it too.

And the biggest thing is that customers can't tell the difference between you knowing what you're doing and sounding like you know what you're doing. I rarely ever get terrible calls, and most I can remember were from before I learnt to just. Pretend I know what I'm doing. And the coworkers who usually have bad experiences with customers usually are also the ones who tell the customers they're not sure what they're doing.

And outside of work I find it also just helps a lot. Instead of going into depth about my complicated relationship history and the slow burn with my current partner, I can just say we got together sooner than we did. Others will understand what I'm meaning better that way, especially with the complexity of polyamory.

You're doing yourself and those around you a massive dissservice by treating lying like it's a bad thing. Like many things, it can be used in a bad way, but it isn't within itself bad.

"lying is wrong" what evangelical nonsense is this???

[burningcheese-merchant]

"I'm Sorry" - BurningCheese Short #9

Gonna be traveling somewhere soon, probably won't be back here for a few days. Wanted to leave you all with a story before I go. (I wrote it sometime ago, I've just been waiting for a good time to drop it. I guess now will do haha)

Plan on answering asks and posting BurningCheese kids when I get back (I have almost 100 asks in my inbox and I feel really bad for leaving them there. I'm genuinely sorry to you all, I actually am reading what you send me, I promise I won't leave you hanging forever. I answered a couple today and I'll keep it up soon). In the meantime, eat this short story where we see our favorite couple take an important step together, and Burning Spice take an important step himself

"I'm sorry."

Golden Cheese blinked. "I... Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," Burning Spice said again.

"You're sorry?" she echoed. "Sorry for... what?"

He paused for a long while before he answered. "For Beast-Yeast."

"For Beast-Yeast?" Slowly, she turned to face him, eyeing him critically. "And where is this coming from, exactly?"

"Why does it matter?" Burning Spice asked, keeping his gaze trained on the bustling city far below. "I am sorry. That is all I have to say."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And... what? You think that means anything? You think one, single apology will change the past? You think it's enough to atone for all of your heinous crimes?"

"No."

"Then what audacity is this? Why even say it?"

"Because I want to," he said. "It's as simple as that."

Another long pause, longer than the last, came and went before Golden Cheese spoke up again. "Why should I even believe you when you say such words?" she asked. "What reason do I have to think you're being sincere?"

"Someone such as I saying it at all ought to be reason enough. You think I'd ever utter something so soft and pathetic to anyone else, for any reason? Even under penalty of death?"

"...Hmph."

A third pause came - shorter than the first two, because Golden Cheese couldn't bring herself to wait any longer than that.

"And what makes you think I forgive you? Or that I would ever even consider doing so?"

"You allowed me into your kingdom," he said, still refusing to look at her. "Into your palace, even. Here we stand together, watching your subjects from afar. You snuck me in so no one would see or notice me. Perhaps you don't forgive me at all... but you've let go enough that you've allowed yourself to do this much. Haven't you?"

"I..."

The fourth pause made itself known, hanging over the two of them as they stared down into the busy streets of the Golden Cheese Kingdom. It showed itself out when, at last, Burning Spice turned to look at Golden Cheese.

"I'm sorry," he told her one more time. His voice was soft. Quiet. In his eyes and on his face were emotions that only he himself would know how to read.

Golden Cheese looked right back at him, her eyebrows knit and mouth set in a slight frown. She said nothing, instead only nodding slowly, tentatively - unsure of how to acknowledge him, but willing to do so nevertheless.

When the fifth pause came, it weighed down on them both terribly, though who felt its burden worse was hard to tell. The silence was thick, tense, awkward. Granting cover to all the words Golden Cheese couldn't bring herself to say. Making up for all the words Burning Spice didn't have left to give.

Everlasting, like the city bathed in gold and neon lights waiting beyond the balcony railing and stretching on endlessly into the horizon.

--------------------------------

I will let you all decide for yourselves what led to this moment, and what happened afterwards.

[l-in-the-light]

The importance of a haircut

I was pondering whether I should mention it, but seems no one is catching on to that so far, so I might as well stir the pot a bit.

Many women today maintain long hair when they're single, and then cut it shorter when they have kids, due to its impracticality. So in a way, that cutting of hair is a ceremony that mirrors that of an Edo period Samurai: an end to an era of someone's life, and the beginning of another.

(...)

A friend or co-worker might remark, "wow, are you quitting your job or something?" joking that they were making a grand gesture by getting a haircut.

(source: Anime News Network)

The first time I came upon deep analysis of this trope was in Princess Mononoke. Ashitaka cuts off his bun before leaving village, which signifies he might never come back, he is from now on "dead" to them, because topknots and buns were associated with status back in the days. By cutting it he was not only giving up on his current social position, but also cutting ties with the community he belonged to.

Sumo wrestlers will cut off their topknots when they quit their career. If a samurai cut off their topnot it meant they're giving up on their title and becoming a commoner like everyone else. Sometimes it's done because of shame (pressured by others or because of your own conscience, if you're a honorable samurai). For aristocratic women hair was also a symbol of status and pride, and also object of adoration. Might be why even nowadays in fiction when a girl goes through a break-up or gets rejected by her crush, she cuts off her hair to make a "fresh start" (that apparently isn't uncommon not only in Japan). Last time I saw it was probably in XXXholic (I reccommend it to anyone who never read this manga, especially if you like supernatural themes mixed with slice of life :D).

Funny thing is, I also picked up on that trope subconsciously as a child, because I grew up watching animes. I remember my classmates often asking me why am I keeping my hair long (like, what's so strange in liking your hair long? I guess it became trendy back then to have shorter hair). And I always felt like I need a big reason to cut my hair, like I should do it only after a big life event happening, and I even decided when exactly I will do it. Except that I didn't find any meaning in it and decided I won't do it anyway. Lol.

It's interesting that apparently there was once a law in Japan that forced women to keep their hair long! If they need to cut their hair, they had to report it to the officials on paper, stating a good enough reason (for example, a health issue or a religious ritual). And if they fail to report or deliver good enough reason, they have to face some kind of punishment. You can read more about that here: Women in Japan who got haircuts once had to tell government why.

Importance in Japanese culture aside, for more fun examples of this trope used in fiction you should certainly visit the tv tropes page on it: tv tropes/important haircut.

Now back to Robin. She didn't exactly cut her hair short or anything like that, but she did return to her old hairstyle. That might signify she wanted to underline some kind of change in her life. She got a different hair style in the timeskip. Coincidentally, Nami also allowed herself to keep her hair long and be more feminine, because she felt safe doing so, not anymore having to survive on her own, or so I assume. I think it could have been similar for Robin, it was her sign of "now I'm part of this crew wholeheartedly", because before timeskip she kept the previous haircut instead and she was also always alone. So, it was a way of showing the change in her life, but she chose to do it only after learning news about Luffy losing his brother. Perhaps it might have been her way of showing her solidarity, besides the faith and trust in her crew.

Robin returning back to her previous haircut might be a way to celebrate meeting Saul, like she wants him to feel familiar with her looks, like nothing ever changed (just like the Giants suggested in the chapter). Except that we know that a lot has changed since then, she finally found her comrades, her nakama. That's part of the reason why I think it might not be about Saul at all. There was a lot happening with the Vegapunk's broadcast and will of Ohara in Egghead.

And she did look very affected when she listened to the bits of that broadcast. So, whatever her reason is, I'm sure of one thing: that haircut signifies some sort of decision or change in Robin, a new determination or something coming full circle. Towards what? Revealing the truth and carrying the baton passed by Vegapunk? But wasn't Robin already carrying that on her back already, the call to reveal the truth about the history? She didn't need Vegapunk for that.

It could mean Robin has made some important decision that is the opposite of the timeskip one and it relates to events from before that as well. There are some loose ends left from Water 7 arc. There were some never addressed again lies or games of deception. Maybe it's finally time we learn more about Robin, her mission and what she did exactly before she joined the Strawhats.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Girl, it's not just an emotional rollercoaster it's a full on emotional CARNIVAL 🤣

I love this observation. That's exactly what I felt inherently when I was writing that line. It felt more powerful to me than "I told you so" or the like. It has the feeling of that, but with more of an edge, even though you know he cares about her.

The line is devastating. It ''bites." It's more than just telling someone that they messed up, it's also kinda catty lol.

LMAO I remember someone saw the preview of Part 2 and commented, "the quiet, but devastating anger he'd be reckoned with if he said that to me." And I was like, YEP, that's exactly it. Mans playing with his life. 😅😅😅

He really bet it all. And I'm in love with the person who said "the quiet, but devastating anger he'd be reckoned with if he said that to me." 😂

That's precisely how I intended it! Now looking back, I feel like I should have had her leave him by himself in his room to sleep in another room. But at the time I was writing, I was thinking that for her in particular, despite this being the biggest fight they've had so far in their relationship, he's still the one that makes her feel safe after a bad hunt. 💙

I think it would have been a bigger gut punch to Dean if she didn't stay in the room with him, but I still think that the her turning her back on him and not letting him touch her kinda hit the nail on the head pretty well too.

Aww thank you! 😭😭 Weirdly enough, that was one of my favorite parts to write? Maybe I just like the heartfelt hurt/comfort breaking into fluff moments. The "better off alone" thing I thought was implied throughout the later seasons of the show after Dean lets go of Lisa and Ben, so I wanted to explore that deeper here, even though it hurt my heart to write it. 💙

It's not weird, I think that it's really fitting! And I also really like writing the heartfelt hurt/comfort breaking into fluff too lol. But you're absolutely right, Dean really does adopt that mentality after Lisa and Ben and it is really heartbreaking to see him like that.

Everyone's crying!! 😭 YES ABSOLUTELY SHE DOES -- and she's a verified crier. I see a lot of fics where the reader is tough as nails, "doesn't cry very often," but I wanted to create a reader character who is a badass, but still has a soft heart. (Latinas also can be very emotional, but not to say we're adhering to stereotypes around here LOL. 🤣🤣)

As much as I do love the readers who are "tough as nails" and "doesn't cry very often" I love the readers who are strong but are allowed to break. It makes them seem more real. Because as much as I believe that there are people who are completely just insane badasses, they've gotta have some kind of emotion or compassion or else they don't seem human. Also "Latinas also can be very emotional, but not to say we're adhering to stereotypes around here LOL" I'm DEAD 😂

Sorry for jerking the angsty chain again there! 🤣 Poor guy, he went through an ordeal just as much as she did.

Please never apologize for the angst. I LOVE IT! And I really did also love how emotional this fic made me. It was wonderful lol.

Fun fact on her confession! When she says I love you twice, she's actually saying it in two different ways:

I love you, you’d said. I love you ("te amo," you're my love) and I love you ("te quiero," you're my family), more than you can believe and understand.

GIRL WHAT?! OH MY WORD THAT IS JUST SO MUCH BETTER! Thank you for explaining that to me!

Thank you SO very much!! Honestly you don't know how happy it makes me that you're enjoying this series so far -- and spoiling me with such lovely and thoughtful feedback. ����💕💕

No, THANK YOU for writing this wonderful fic/series! 😊

Devour Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: Here's Part 2! **Read Devour Me: Part 1

Song Inspo: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique. But really it’s “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez. (You’ll see why.) 🤭

Word Count: 5,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Blood, character death and violence, smutty smut, angst, Dominican slang, and tons of sexy fluff.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: "Telenovela Style"

Your resulting scream of agony is as unforgiving as the ground when your knees buckle, hitting the hard cement.

Andy grips you with the strength of a monster. 

Then he holds you down as he drinks your blood. 

No matter how you struggle and whimper, you can’t push him off, and you’re getting weaker by the second.

Until Andy is ripped away from your neck, and is taken care of the way all vampires must be. He doesn’t even feel the blade coming. 

When you’re able to look up, Dean stands above you with thinly veiled fury. He doesn’t have time to consider what he’s just done. 

He bends to gather you up into his arms, all the while trying to stamp down the panic clenching his heart. He calls your name, but you can only make weak sounds as your bleary eyes meet his. 

“Dean,” you manage. The ragged wound in your neck is bleeding profusely down your chest and shoulder, seeping into your shirt. He takes your hand and clamps it hard against your neck, even though it makes you whimper.

“Gotta stop the bleeding,” he says, apologetic but firm. “Keep pressing.”

In your stupor of pain, you don’t realize that your screech woke the entire nest. Dean has to lock up his worry; he looks up and finds his brother and Cas already fighting a hoard of angry vampires. 

Dean carries you over to them and lays you down against the wall with the other humans. He keeps a protective line in front of you, but he decapitates a vampire before she can sink her fangs into Sam next.

The two of them work together, and with Castiel’s smiting power behind them, the angel and the two men are able to clear the rest of the nest. 

By the end, only you and two of the women being held captive are still alive. The third girl’s heart just finally gave out. Sam takes the survivors to the nearest hospital. 

Meanwhile, Castiel approaches where you sit up against the inside of the barn, barely awake, while Dean kneels with you, holding you to his chest. He meet’s Cas’s blue-eyed request with a nod. So Cas stretches out a hand and touches two fingers to your forehead. 

You’re healed in an instant. Dean marvels, like he always does when Cas displays his power. Dean is able to breathe a little easier, the vice grip on his heart easing as he touches your neck.

The tan skin is once again smooth, if still stained with blood. You blink back into wakeful consciousness. 

He shifts so he can see your face. “You okay?” 

You meet his eyes but can only nod. His jaw is still tight and tense, and you can’t blame him. 

You know you’ve messed up. Big time. You nearly got everyone killed, including yourself…and now, you have to tell a mother that her son is dead. 

Dean helps you up, holding you by your arms and waist until you’re steady on your feet. You have a hard time meeting his eyes, but when open your mouth to apologize, he beats you to it. 

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says. 

Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you. 

“Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls. 

You tilt your head at him as your irritation begins to spark. Meanwhile, Castiel is the one who backs up as he glances between you and Dean uncertainly.

“I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” you shoot back. “I was a hunter long before I met you.” 

“Yeah, well, color me surprised that you’ve made it this long,” he snaps. 

Your temper flares hotter. “You know, you’re not so goddamn perfect either.” 

“Never said I was,” Dean says. “But when my gut tells me something ain’t right, I need you to fucking listen. Otherwise, we get a day like today.”

His words are edged with grit by the end of his little rant, and you don’t appreciate it. Your lips purse in anger.

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms. 

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely. 

You truly become incensed at that. 

“Oh, you want to take it there?” you ask, as your eyes narrow. “Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Dean won’t admit it, but in that moment, he’s a bit intimidated by the quiet threat in your voice. Still, his fuse is lit, and he’s way beyond curbing his internal filter.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?” he snarks. 

You let out an incredulous breath. Your eyes begin to sting.

“You’re such an asshole!” you shout back. There, understand that?

You turn away from him before your frustrated tears can fall, but you stop short once you notice Castiel dragging out the bodies of the dead…including Andy. Your throat constricts, and you begin to stalk out of the barn. 

Dean calls your name in frustration. 

“What?” you hiss. 

The only thing that makes him hesitate is seeing the state of you when you turn back around. His anger crumbles, and maybe something in him breaks when he sees your tears. They’ve welled up in your eyes, and a few of them carve a path down your cheeks. 

You’re still covered in your own blood, and he hates it. He hates it more than anything. 

Later, you see the state of yourself when Sam returns with the Impala. In the reflection on the backseat window, you see the blood dried down your neck, staining nearly half of your shirt.

You see the black rings of your mascara and eyeliner around your eyes. You look a mess, and you try to wipe underneath your eyes. It’s a fruitless effort.

After you all finish burning the bodies, Dean starts the long drive home. You insist on stopping to tell Rachel Campbell about her son, but Sam says he already took care of it when he drove into town. 

You frown, but you no longer have the energy to be angry. You further withdraw into yourself, and your lower lip trembles as you look out the window. Through the rearview mirror, Dean sees more tears slipping down your face.

What Sam told him (but he won’t tell you), is what one of the survivors said. One of the mated pairs had taken Andy…to “adopt” a son of their own. 

That night is quiet and tense in Dean’s room. You have to wash your hair all over again, and scrub the blood and grime from your body until only your skin remains. But you don’t have the energy to do more than braid your wet hair afterwards and pull on your lucky Journey shirt, which is still full of holes. 

Dean knows that it’s bad when you need the “dreamcatcher,” as he’s called it in his head. You’ve never had a nightmare while wearing that shirt, or so you claimed a while back. 

You wear it over some long pajama pants instead of your usual shorts, or better yet, nothing at all. But he can see what kind of mood you’re in. Things are unsettled as you both get ready for bed in silence. 

He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room.

So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space. 

He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

In the morning, Dean’s woken by the familiar smell of coffee…and the less familiar sound of loud salsa music. 

What the fuck?

After he brushes his teeth, he puts on his robe and slippers and heads down to the kitchen, where he finds you in a seemingly better mood. You’re mopping the floor, of all things. You’re out of your pajamas, instead wearing a loose shirt that falls off your shoulder and some spandex shorts. 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo,” you sing softly along with the music as you dance from the kitchen to the living room. Your phone is connected to a Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table. 

Dean starts to smile, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway to watch you.

At an instrumental break with a run of conga drums and trumpets, you pause in your mopping to do a little twirl as you dance, with a soulful roll of hips and a flair of salsa steps. It makes Dean’s smile kick up into a smirk.

He walks in on purposefully light feet until he’s sidled up behind you in the living room.

“Nice moves, Shakira,” he quips. 

It startles a shriek of surprise out of you as you whirl around. Dean’s smile hikes up into a grin, but it soon fades when he remembers the way your scream rang through his ears last night. The way his heart dropped into his stomach, and his head swiveled at the sound. And he saw you go down hard. 

Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself. 

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” you ask with a hand on your heart. 

Dean forces himself to smile a little. “Sorry. But might I remind you, not everyone here’s an early bird.”

You give him a wry look.

“You’re the only one around here who sleeps past 10 a.m. Cas dipped out a while ago, and Sam’s on a run.” 

But you graciously grab your phone to lower the music to a more bearable level. Dean doesn’t yet know this about you, but this—listening to music, dancing, cleaning—it’s all your way of coping…and releasing as much of your pain, terror, and regret from yesterday as possible. 

You then look up at him more guarded. The two of you exchanged a lot of unsavory words last night. In fact, it may just be the worst fight you two have ever had in almost three years of knowing one another.  

Dean senses the shift in you, and his amusement fades. He just can't let things stay like this. He won't.

He hazards drawing closer and touching your arm.

“Look…I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I know I was being a dick,” he says. “You’ve just gotta understand something.”

You wait for him to continue with furrowed brows, sensing that whatever he’s about to say is hard for him. 

“There’s a reason I don’t do this. The uh, relationship thing,” Dean continues, clearing his throat. His thumb swipes along your arm. “It’s not just this job. It’s my fucked up life. I tried to warn you before—” 

“Dean,” you say with a sigh, but he raises his hand. 

“Please, just…let me say it,” he says. “You know the spiel. But things can change on a dime. Even on a damn milk run, like a dusty nest of vamps.”

You know that. You know you could’ve died yesterday, and he doesn’t need to remind you of that fact. Before you can start to get petulant again though, Dean continues. His jaw is working, like this next part is more difficult for him to admit.

“Trust me when I say, us being together is dangerous, for both of us,” he says. “For a while I, uh…I started to think Sam and I were better off alone.”

That casts you into dismay. Because you know Dean isn’t lying. He’s really contemplated spending the rest of his life devoid of love, so he won’t have to lose it. 

Dangerous, for both of us.

You realize then what Dean’s really saying. He’s afraid…afraid to lose you. You see it in his furrowed brows, the downturn of his lips, and whatever pain he’s trying to hide in the depths of his eyes. 

And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms. 

“You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing. 

“Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.” 

Your fist clenches in his shirt when you remember Andy, latched onto your neck, and how Dean had to save you. You know he’s remembering it too when his brows furrow, and his gaze falls away. You reach a hand for his cheek.

“I know I fucked up,” you admit. “I was working with my heart, not my head. I just…”

You wanted so badly to help that kid and his mother. You also know that Dean understands; you see it in his eyes. He holds your hand to his cheek and brushes his thumb across the back of your hand.

“I know,” he says. “I really am sorry, baby.” 

The problem is, you didn’t just see your own mother in Rachel. She hadn’t been much older than you. And when you imagine a life beyond hunting, more than anything (no matter how much you shove down the idea), you really do want a family of your own someday. 

It’s just…days like yesterday remind you why that could be a very bad idea. 

More of your tears bubble over, and you head willingly into Dean’s arms. “Me too…”

He holds you tighter than ever. His hands rub down your back, tangle in your hair, and he drops his lips onto your hair. You sniffle, wiping your face dry in his shirt. And for a while, the two of you have peace in the relative quiet. 

Music still plays from the speaker though. And when another salsa song starts to play on your playlist, you start swaying. A smile works its way onto Dean’s face. 

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he teases.

You smile into his chest. “We should go dancing sometime.”

Dean just laughs. “Oooh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” you reply, batting your lashes up at him. You slip a hand on his shoulder and into one of his hands. He’s forced to hold you as if the two of you were about to start Fred Astair-ing across the living room. 

“Have you ever danced before?” you ask. “Like real dancing.” 

“Not salsa, I’ll tell you that,” he quips. 

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” you reply with a coquettish smile. “It’s just a few simple moves.”

Dean gives you a wan look. “You made it look anything but simple.”

You blush at that, but you meet him with a pout of disappointment. You don’t let up, even when Dean frowns. He huffs at you in resistance.

“No,” he insists. You just brush a gentle thumb along his neck, biting your lip in askance.  

But the longer he stares at your beautiful, hopeful eyes, the more cracks form in his resolve. 

Eventually, Dean breaks with a sigh, and a shake of his head. 

“You’re too much, you know that?” he mutters.

It’s then that you know you’ve won.

So with a happy squeal of excitement, you clap your hands and move to stand next to him so you can show him the basic steps of salsa dancing. 

You make him take off his robe and slippers, leaving in his shirt and plaid pajama pants. Then you instruct him for a few minutes, correcting his footing and getting him to move on a beat. You’re pleasantly surprised that he has some rhythm.  

Dean sighs once again. How the hell did we get here? Heat crawls up the back of his neck as embarrassment starts to set in. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“You’re doing good,” you encourage, with a growing smile. “Now come on, feel the beat in threes. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

Once he sort of has the basic steps and turns down, you move to stand in front of him. There you show him how to hold you, how he’ll move forward, and you’ll move back. It takes a little while, but you slowly move through the combinations, then do a little twirl underneath his hand. 

When he pulls you back in without faltering, you give him a beaming smile. “Very good!”

A subtle grin raises his lips at your enthusiasm. He also feels his face heating up at the praise.

But you pause when a certain song filters through the speakers. It’s an old one (and it never fails to make you blush), but you love it.  

“Ooh, yes,” you exclaim with delight, and you turn up the volume.

“What’s this one?” Dean asks.

“Ven Devórame Otra Ves,” you inform him. Not that he knows what that means. You sing along a bit with the first couple of verses while you encourage Dean to lead you in the dance. 

This song is just slow enough for him to attempt it, and the funny thing is, he doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable with the steps now. He’s starting to get a feel for how to move, both with his feet, and with his hands as he guides you by your waist, holding your hand close to his chest. Still, Dean’s also curious about the lyrics you’re singing. 

“What does it mean?” he asks.

You huff in amusement. “You sure you want to know?”

Dean raises a brow. “Well, now I gotta know.” 

You giggle at that, though you correct his steps when he leads with the wrong foot. 

“Okay. It’s about a guy who’s pretty much a player,” you say with a smirk. “His bed has been a revolving door of hot ass, but he keeps thinking about this one woman who used to have him turned inside out…”

Dean’s lips curve at the familiar image you’re conjuring. He manages to turn you under his hand, then pull you back to him in one smooth motion. He looks down at you with a deeper gleam in his eyes. You bite your lip, soothing your hand from his shoulder and down his arm.

As the song’s verses come, you translate for him. And for Dean, your voice in itself is a spell.

“Even in my dreams, he says, I thought I had you devouring me. And I dampened my white sheets remembering you,” you begin. Your words are smooth like black velvet. “In my bed, no one is like you, who draws my body on every corner, without a piece of skin left over.”

Dean is getting hot under the collar as you push away, dragging your fingertips along his back as you turn around him. When you come back into his line of vision, his attention is attracted to the sway of your hips, clad just in those little spandex shorts. He has to clear his throat a bit. 

You eventually return to him with a warm hand against his chest. 

“Ven, devórame otra ves. It means, come devour me again,” you continue, looking up at him from under your lashes, “Come punish me more with your desire. Because I kept my love for you…because my mouth has the taste of your body.” 

You smile at the laser focus of his green-eyed gaze. “Come devour me again.”

You push off with another little spin. When you reach for his hand, Dean yanks you back into him, eliciting a gasp. The move disorients you for a moment, but you giggle and hold onto his arms. Your hands glide up to rest on his shoulders. 

He’s holding you flush against him, and as you shift a thigh between his legs, you unintentionally graze against his hardening length. You look up at him with a smirk.

“You’re a little…stiff,” you say, both flirtatious and teasing. “Let’s loosen you up.”

You shake his shoulders out and try to get him to relax. Dean raises a wry brow, because you know damn well whose fault it is that his body is coiled tight. But you place his hands on your hips as you move back into the dance. 

“Feel what I’m doing there?” you ask. He looks down on you with growing heat.

“If I could do that, we wouldn’t be together,” he rumbles. 

You try to stifle a laugh as he pulls you in close again, just swaying for a bit. Soon enough, you grin knowingly when his hands start to slide lower on your ass. His head bows to yours, ready to meet you with a kiss. 

You stop him with your finger on his lips.

“Question: do you consider yourself more of a tits or ass man?” you ask him. You’re half teasing, but still curious. Dean snorts at the question. 

“More of a connoisseur,” he replies, smirking. 

“Ah.” You nod sagely, and you point between him and yourself. “So this is like a ‘sample the menu’ situation.”

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn buffet.”

You splutter laughing…and that’s when he finally pounces. He claims your lips with greedy passion. His hand winds into your hair, gripping tight and ruining what’s left of your loose ponytail. The strands coil around his hand in messy curls while he also gets a healthy grip of your ass through your thin shorts. 

You smile into his lips, even as you acquiesce to him guiding your head to the side, so he can slip his tongue against yours. You grip his arms more for stability while he manhandles you, kneading soft flesh and making pleasant tingles run up your spine. 

After a little while, his mouth burns a hot path away from yours. He noses down your neck, skimming his lips across your skin. It sets your nerve endings on fire and gets you breathing more shallowly in his ear. You cling to the back of his shirt, holding him close. 

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss.

He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds.  

A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck. 

“I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

So you slide your hands down, slow between the dips and planes of muscle in his back, and rest at his hips. Your thumbs delve under the hem of his shirt and tease the skin there. 

And you start slow, pressing wet, nipping kisses of your own to his neck while you inch his shirt up. You feel his smile on your neck. His grip on your hip flares to life. Still, he lets you tug his shirt up and over his head. Your loose shirt comes next, revealing the same black satin and lace bra you wore the first time he ever got you topless in his arms. 

A fan favorite. Dean grins. He reaches around to go for the clasp, but your firm push on his chest takes him by surprise.

He falls back onto the couch with a grunt, looking up at you then with raised brows. You’ve got a mischievous little smirk on your face that heats his blood and makes his cock twitch.

You take out the rest of your falling ponytail, shaking your hair out wild. Then you let your hands drift down your neck, over your clothed breasts, and finally to your little shorts.

Dean rubs his palms down his thighs and watches. A smirk forms across his lips as you slide the fabric down the curve of your hips. It leaves you in a red thong, familiar to him by the little tear it has on the front. (Again, his fault.)

You climb aboard his strong thighs to straddle his lap, using his shoulders as leverage as you sink down. You make sure to rub yourself teasingly against his clothed erection. He groans in appreciation. His hands fly to your soft, thick thighs and squeeze. 

“Aw, I like this,” Dean says, half on another moan as you grind down a bit harder on him. 

“Yeah?” you tease. You take his face in your hands and capture his lips with your own. Your tongue invades his mouth, and he welcomes you with a deep hum. It’s slow and hot at first, but Dean feels the loss of you when you break from his lips.

Instead, you treat him with the same trail of kisses he gave you, along the curve of his jaw and down his neck. But you don’t stop there.

Your hands move over his chest with purpose, tweaking over each hard nipple while your mouth burns a wet line down and down his sternum. Dean groans at your ministrations, but lets you leave his lap to slide down to the ground, between his thighs. 

“What’re you up to, baby?” he asks, despite having a very good idea of it. He catches the playful, yet determined gleam in your eye. 

You pause, briefly leaning back up to give him a heated kiss. You part from him with a grin. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” you ask. “I’m gonna devour you.”

Dean stares hard at you as goosebumps break out across his forearms. 

Oh, fuck yeah. 

A giggle bubbles in your throat at the expression on his face. But you continue, taking his pants down his legs first, before his boxer briefs. 

Dean’s body tenses in anticipation. You’ve gone down on him before, but somehow it’s different this time. He feels like every single one of his nerve endings stands at attention along with his dick. And you’re taking your sweet time working him up. 

Even when his cock is finally free, you sooth your hands down his legs first, maybe teasing him a bit as you drag your nails down his inner thighs. Dean makes a strained sound, though he tries to hide it by clearing his throat.

Your gaze flicks up to his with a little smile. He’s holding the back of the couch; his fingers are digging into the old cushion in effort to keep still for you. But his eyes stare into yours like a man starving. You know what you’re in for after you have your way with him, but for now, he’s quite literally under your control. 

So you take him in your hands first. Dean groans as you tease him with light touches, soft movements, your thumb slowly circling over the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. It's torturous enough to make him drop his head back against the couch, closing his eyes tight.

And suddenly, he blinks them open again.

“Shit,” he utters, when you finally take him into your mouth. Your tongue is soft and wet, your lips move over him steadily, and your hands caress whatever your mouth can’t take, even teasing his balls. 

You work him over relentlessly, until he can’t help but spill everything he has to give into your waiting mouth. When you suck off and swallow whatever remains, Dean’s heart stutters like syncopated conga drums. 

He shudders and struggles for breath afterwards, watching your every movement—from wiping your mouth to shooting him that satisfied little smirk. 

You press one last kiss to the inside of his thigh before you raise from where you’ve been kneeling on the hard ground. 

Dean manages to lean forward and helps you up by your elbows. But then he pulls you back into his lap and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting with him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he manages to say. His voice is deep and laced with grit. 

He’s still panting heavily. You giggle and press your warming face into his neck. 

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

He brings your face back to him with a hand on your cheek. For a second, he just looks at you. His thumb strokes across your full, thoroughly kissed bottom lip.  

“Say it,” you encourage softly. “Whatever you’re thinking. Right now.”

A smile tugs at his lips. He can’t help but oblige you. 

“You’re too damn much,” he says again, both gruff and fond. Despite how you drive him up the fucking wall sometimes, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for him, what he has with you.

Because this is something he'd almost given up on. Didn't think he'd get to have it. And it almost scares him, how much he wants you. How much he...

“I love you,” he says. His thumb traces along the familiar curve of your cheek.

It hasn’t been all that long, but he knows. You weaseled your way in without even trying. The least he can do for you is be honest.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, holding his hand in place. You tilt your head at him.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. 

Dean hesitates, but he nods. “Yeah.”

A smile grows across your face. “Eh, I’m still on the fence.”

At his flat look, you laugh and lean in for a kiss. He allows it, a little petulantly. But you make up for it with sweet affection. Your gentle hands stroke down the column of his neck, down his chest. You then lean back so he can see your face.

“Yo te amo,” you whisper. “Te amo y te quiero, más que tú puedes creer y entender.”

Dean smiles. He doesn’t understand all of it, but he gets the important bits. He hears it in the tone of your voice. He sees it in your eyes. They shine with emotion, but mainly with love. 

Dean kisses your hand. He lets go, just so he can slip his hands around you to finally unhook your bra. He tosses it across the room without bothering to see where it lands.

You do though, and you meet him with a slightly narrowed gaze. 

“Are you making a mess of my clean bunker?” you tease. 

His lips curve as he kisses you again, while his hands each get a generous handful of your breasts. 

“Ah, hello, ladies." He grins. "Miss me?”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s such a dork sometimes.

But you hum when his thumbs brush over hardened nipples, then drag deliberate circles over them, and pinch just hard enough to make you whimper in pleasure. The sensation zips through you, enhancing the flood between your legs. 

“I fucking love that sound,” Dean mutters, and licks a hot path in the valley between your breasts. His lips move against your dewy skin when he says, “Do that for me again.”

When he takes a nipple in his mouth and nips a bit hard, you have to oblige him. Your voice rising high is music to his ears.  

So he goes for your panties next. You help him get them off and return to his lap. With a breathy moan, you revel at the feeling of his fingers probing into your wet heat.  

However, you and Dean have been too engrossed in one another to notice the door of the bunker unlocking, and heavy steps down the spiral staircase. 

It’s Sam who’s back from his run. Unfortunately, he soon has to shield his eyes upon reaching the living room. 

“Damn it, Dean!”

You yelp in surprise, but Dean laughs and holds you close to shield you from view. As a bonus, it presses your breasts against his chest. 

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

Sam scoffs. “You’re having a moment on the goddamn couch!”

“Sorry,” you say, though it’s muffled in Dean’s neck. Your face is red hot with embarrassment. 

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward and tries not to see anything else on his way to his room. 

But Dean’s chuckle reverberates through your chest as his hand goes to your cheek. He encourages you to pull back, so he can see your face again. 

When he does, he smirks at the scarlet blush dusting your cheeks and neck. You bite your lower lip, but despite your embarrassment, you’re happy.

Your own words replay in your mind when you lean in for another kiss.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand. 

AN: Yay! I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of the “Midnight Espresso”-verse! I loved writing this one so much. I know we're just doing fanfic here, but I genuinely put my heart and soul into this one. ❤️

Also, here are a couple of Spanish translations:

(Note: other Spanish-speaking countries may interpret certain words differently.)

[During their fight]: 

“Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Translation:

“You’re shameless. Keep messing with me, damn it. Then you’re going to see who I am (<- This is Dominican slang. It essentially means fuck around and find out what I'm made of.).”

[Song lyrics: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique]: 

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo.”

Translation:

“I don’t know tomorrow. I don’t know tomorrow. If we’ll be together, if the world will end.”

Keep Reading:

Next in this series is "Chico Malo" ("Bad Boy"):

Summary: You catch Dean red-handed—with one of his favorite episodes of Casa Erotica.

▶️ Next Story: Bad Boy (Chico Malo)

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[incomingalbatross]

Thoughts on Ghost Days by Jim Butcher (and possibly the earlier books, if they spill over into this post)

All of this is, as Harry observes, absolutely typical of his existence. Of course he can't just die, he gets sent back as a special unknown type of ghost to solve his own murder. And of course he shoulders like three different new obligations, makes a new friend, and adopts a criminal teenager within his first 24 hours of unlife.

Kinda love how quickly and understatedly he's incorporated the very latest familial revelation into his narration. He says something like "I'd lost the scar on my arm that I got while skinning a fish on my grandfather's farm" and it's so casual it almost slips by.

(Side note: I need to see his grandfather and his brother find out about each other now. I realize there has been no opportunity and these aren't exactly Harry's secrets to tell anyway, but please.)

Mort going "all cats can see ghosts, they just don't usually care" checked out completely, of course, but it was also perfect setup for Mister's "HELLO YOU'RE BACK MY HUMAN HI." Which. Oof.

Ways you can tell it's really Harry Dresden: 1) Mister hits him in the invisible shins, 2) he opens the conversation with a Star Wars quote, 3) he's talking a teenager into turning his life around.

Love all the Bob content in this one. Harry got to see how the other half lived and everything. (Though his amorality credentials are slightly tarnished by that heroic last stand of his. Which he'd better have survived.)

Everyone here seems like they're an inch from cracking, and I'm concerned for all of them, but they're DOING THEIR BEST. (Butters isn't an inch from cracking. He seems to be doing great, I'm very proud of him.)

Very glad and also a little amused that the Super Secret Safe Witness Protection Home for Maggie is... the Carpenters. I mean it absolutely should be, but it's also funny.

Of course Mouse exists equally in the physical and spirit world. I'd be more surprised if he didn't.

I DID have several moments where I went what about Thomas. why isn't your narration even mentioning Thomas, but the payoff of "I couldn't stand to face even the thought of what I'd done to him" made it make sense.

More general/Thematic thoughts:

Uriel and/or the narrative really said "You're going to take a good, hard look at the unintended consequences of your actions. And you're going to do it disembodied so you can process a little better."

There was something that really struck me at some points in the Lasciel period, and it's back again now: I love that when Harry crosses lines, not only is he capable of seeing it, but the reaction of the people around him is, "yeah you sure did cross a line! you did wrong. so stop doing it and get better, because you can. this isn't a slippery slope unless you decide it is."

He has! Free will! Contrition is always meaningful! Change is always possible! Harry is never allowed to write himself off. He is always told that he's capable of picking himself up and doing better - because he is. He's alive and human and that means he has as much hope as he chooses to hold onto.

That said, I also really appreciated the weight his choices in the last book are given here. It's so easy to just go along with "it was for Maggie, it was his JOB" (and it was his job), but this book made Harry and us stop and linger on both the lines he crossed and the unintended harm he caused.

(Though he is taking too much weight on himself. Martin maneuvered a lot of this into play, not to mention the ACTUAL Red Court. And there is something to be said for the SG-1 approach of "stop worrying about ramifications and just kill the ancient evil first.")

(Oh, now I remember! I was also thinking of Hunger Games re: this. Katniss and Peeta's defiance of evil was personally motivated and sparked a lot of unintended harm to others - but it was also the only spark that could have destroyed the machinery of evil. Not quite the same but made me think of it.)

ANYWAY. Speaking of crossed lines and harm caused: I was NOT prepared for the murder reveal.

It DOES explain so much about this whole book, especially in combination with the (not as shocking :P) reveal that he's only mostly dead. He NEEDED to know this. He needed to know and understand all the choices he made, and their results - and the lie that influenced him - if he was going to be allowed back to his body.

First, he needed to know there was no outside killer to worry about. He also needed to know that HE did this. All of it. Part of accepting culpability and facing his choices meant facing that there was a third murder on his account - because that is how he frames it - what he did to Molly and what he did to himself and everyone who loved him.

He also, most crucially, needed his free will reasserted, both by the manipulation being revealed to him and by Uriel balancing the scales.

Because a Harry Dresden who had given up on himself as the Winter Knight is a nightmare the world's not ready for.

Instead he's ready to give Mab new problems. :) She gets what she paid for.

Closing thought: If, when he finally gets back to the world of the living, he does not make at least one "mostly dead" and/or "really most sincerely dead" joke, I will be very disappointed in him.

[hoiststowline]

glory

sunstreaker x f!reader read on ao3 here!

"You're out of your fragging mind if you think you're getting inside my interior like that." Frustrated, your weight shifts from foot to foot, unable to enter as the passenger door slams shut, just shy of your knees. The yellow Lamborghini rolls the window down an inch instead, grumbling without allowing you a moment to interject. "I knew you were stupid, y/n, but this is downright ridiculous." 

"Y'know, normally people say 'Hi, feeling any better?'" You deadpan, a sniffle escaping as if on cue. "I'm sick, Sunstreaker. You're acting as if you can catch whatever I have."

"You look awful." He continues, side-view mirror flitting your way. "I didn't realize the severity over the phone. Even your vocalizer, it's like your voice box is congested." 

Rolling your eyes, you juggle the tissue box in your arms higher into your hold. "Thanks. Did you forget that you offered to drive, dude?" You turn partially away, sneezing over your shoulder before moving back to address him. "If you're going to be a pain in the ass, let's just save the fight and I'll drive myself." 

Unbeknownst to you, Sunstreaker had planned and even had looked forward to spending the afternoon with you, but when you called to cancel saying you had to go to a medic, the mech insisted on taking you. As he surveys your slumped body language, flushed face, and nasally tone, it's fair to say you weren't exaggerating, but he would rather be offlined than admit he was wrong.

"Ugh, just get in the back then. Keep your organic germs to yourself." Sunstreaker gravels, to which his back rear door swings open with clear hesitation in the movement. In that very second, you considered just turning around and heading back inside to get your keys but ultimately decided against it. 

"No promises." Sticking your tongue out at him, you climb into the second row, watching as he rolls his heavily tinted passenger window up. With a rumble of his engine, it turns over as he takes off, approaching and teetering over the speed limit, but not speeding, to your surprise. 

"You were fine yesterday." He says, center console blinking alight at his words. "What, did you catch something at work?" 

He's left you stumped, an overly compassionate Sunstreaker not a mech you're familiar with, but do welcome happily. "Could have, or maybe it's allergies. I'm not positive what I have, but it's getting worse." 

"And this so-called medic will give you a remedy?" He snuffs, rolling to a stop at a red light. "I need you better, y/n, you're supposed to wash my exterior tomorrow." 

Oh. So that's why he cared so much. "Yes, Sunny, they'll give me medicine." A little more sarcastically, you include: "Go to a car wash if you need to be cleaned so badly." 

Sunstreaker sputters, stalling as the light turns green before hitting the gas. "You know I can't without a driver."

"Cry about it." You answer curtly, shoulder leaning on the door before the seat nudges you, beckoning your attention towards the dashboard. 

"Alright. I can tell I'm not helping." The rearview mirror tilts towards you, your reflection staring back as your arms cross your chest, giving him a look as if to say 'You think?'. "Fine. Let's take care of you first."

"Thank you." Your shoulders droop, stifling a sneeze. "I know I'm being irritating and cranky, but I'm exhausted. I appreciate your patience with me." 

Sunstreaker barks a laugh, and something twinges in your chest that you wish you could have seen it while he wasn't in his alt-mode. "Me? Patient? Ha! You must be delirious too." He pauses briefly before carrying onwards. "But yeah. I'll scrounge the patience I have for the year and use it for today. Least I can do, I guess." 

In turn, you giggle, arms falling away from your chest as your body relaxes. "For the whole year? Damn, it must be my lucky day."

"You are lucky." He throws his left blinker on, moving one lane over. "No other human is allowed near my exterior, so be grateful, you ass." 

"I am grateful. But does that mean I'm you're favorite?" You say it with enough sarcasm that you thought it would translate, but you fear the question has thrown the poor guy into a loop. 

"Yeah," Sunstreaker says eventually, volume just above a murmur. "Something like that."

"That was-" You start, blinking wildly, not expecting the conversation to take such a turn, but entertaining the idea that maybe Sunstreaker didn't entirely dislike you. You'd like to think the two of you were friends, but if you dared to even voice that in a roundabout way, he'd probably punch you, and it would most certainly hurt. 

"I know." An ex-vent, but he's hindering his own words as he pulls into the urgent care. "I know you were, but I'm not."

A soft smile blooms across your cheeks, palm patting his seat affectionately. "Good. Because you're my favorite. No joke this time." 

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, y/n." The yellow lambo pulls into a spot, throwing the gearshift in park before your door pops open. "Let me know what's going on." 

"I will Sun. Promise." Exiting the car, Sunstreaker watches you walk across the concrete, a little more energy in your step than earlier. His worry was warranted, but he didn't know how to express it, instead falling to his default, brashness alongside his typical snobby tone. 

With another sigh, he relaxes, the engine faltering as he observes his surroundings. You were fine. Repeating that was fine for about three kliks, wondering why you were taking so long and why didn't you message him like you said you would? As if he wished it, an incoming message beeps across, and the yellow mech immediately opens it. 

I'll be a bit. You text, fingers running over your keyboard. It's not busy, but I'm waiting for the Doctor. Sorry to make you wait. 

He'd wait forever if you asked, but pings a reply back in record time. Fine. I'll be outside. Call me if you need me.

It's an invitation, but disguised as a mere acknowledgment. There's little to be done, but all he wants is for you to return so he can get you back to base so Ratchet can look you over. He doesn't trust human medics, though, he did oblige to your request simply because you implored such. 

Another message beeps through, to which he clicks open. I'm fine, Sunny. Stop worrying, okay? I promise I'll wash you the day after next.

To your avid surprise once more, he is quite bossy today, adamant about one thing. Three days from now. You need your rest. Good deal?

Laughing to yourself, you type a message before sending it immediately. I'll take it. Deal.

[we-are-all-stories-in-the-end]

The Day Death Met Her Equal

(Agatha/Rio fic)

When Rio entered the small wooden cabin, she instantly knew that this job would be an easy one. Looking around the sparse room she squinted in the semi-darkness taking in the tiny hearth with the ambers barely glowing, the drying herbs hanging from the ceiling, the little basket with needle work in the corner, and the old woman sleeping peacefully in the bed in the corner. A simple life, but well lived. She liked encounters like this, the ones who went so willingly. She had chosen a young woman's appearance, a nice face, a kind face. It made the journey so much easier. She had learned a long time ago that her true self caused more fear than necessary, and she adjusted.

Not that she didn't bring it out from time to time, usually for the men, the ones who she would have loved to take sooner if she was allowed to. The ones who were horrible until the very end, who didn't deserve the life they had been given. Or just the ones who thought themselves so clever that they could somehow talk their way out of death. They annoyed her, so they got the full experience, a face that demanded respect.

Taking slow steps towards the bed in the corner, Rio suddenly stopped. Next to the old woman, a girl had drawn up a chair and fallen asleep, her face resting on the edge of the bed, her body hunched over, her features barely visible under her wild hair. Hesitating for a moment, Rio thought about returning later. But the time had come and the girl was fast asleep.

Stepping around the sleeping girl, Rio lightly touched the old woman's hand.

"It's time to go." Rio whispered.

The old woman opened her eyes and smiled.

"I've been waiting for you."

Taking her hand she led the woman to the other side of the cabin where she had opened up the portal for her to go through. Just like she had hoped, an easy, calm one. No bargaining, no holding on. Just peaceful acceptance. If only they all were like that.

Looking back at the sleeping girl, she lingered in the room. Tilting her head to the side, she couldn't quite tell why, but something about her was keeping her, drawing her in. Maybe her time was up soon, too. Rio couldn’t always predict the exact moment, and humans died at all ages, especially these days. Looking at her sleeping body, she watched her soft face, counting her breaths. No, this girl was nowhere near her end. If anything, she radiated too much life, too much energy. Something bigger than her seemingly fragile frame. I won't be seeing you for a long, long time, Rio thought to herself with a smile.

With one last look at the girl, she turned to leave when a sudden scraping sound made her jump.

"Who are you?"

Turning back slowly, Rio faced the now very much awake girl standing in front of her but didn't answer.

"You're a witch." the girl said.

Rio nodded.

"I haven't seen you around here before."

"I'm not from around here."

The girl crossed her arms in front of her chest and stared at Rio. Her whole body seemed to be ready to fight, like a reflex. Like a caged animal making herself bigger. Her piercing eyes studied Rio and then landed on the pathway still open behind her.

"Oh." the girl said softly.

Rio nodded again slowly.

"You came for..." The girl trailed off.

Suddenly her attention was back on the old woman. Leaning down she touched her now cold hand, and Rio watched a thousand thoughts wash over her face as she sat back down in the chair. A few silent tears ran down the girls face as she stared blankly ahead.

"You're not what I imagined you'd look like." she said finally.

"I have many faces," Rio replied matter of fact.

"I like this one," the girl said looking at her and Rio couldn't help but smile.

"Where did you take her?" The girl asked after a moment of silence.

"That, I can't tell you." Rio replied, shaking her head.

"She wasn't one of us, she had no power. But I liked her. We're not supposed to leave the coven, definitely not supposed to mingle with non-magick people. But she was always nice to me." The girl shrugged and wiped her face. "Not a lot of people are nice to me. She was nice."

"I'm sorry," Rio said although she had no idea how the girl felt.

Life and death to her were a cycle, the natural order of things. To Rio both were the same, two sides of one coin, she didn't know what grief felt like.

"I'm Agatha by the way," the girl said standing up and taking a step forwards.

"You are not scared." Rio said tilting her head again.

"Why would I be? You came for Mrs Miller, not me. And you... don't seem scary."

Rio laughed. This girl was unlike anyone she had met, and she had met a lot of people. Rio was deeply fascinated. She had been the moment she had laid eyes on her, but the longer she spent in her presence, the stronger her hold on Rio seemed to be. Staring into her inquisitive eyes, time seemed to stop, and the earth seemed to slow down around them.

"I must go." Rio said, remembering herself.

Turning towards the portal, she hesitated a moment.

"Will I see you again?" Agatha asked behind her.

Looking over her shoulder, Rio smiled at the girl.

"Of course you will. Everyone does."

"Oh, no, I meant... before then."

But Rio didn't reply. Still smiling, she turned and stepped through the portal, disappearing in the mist.

[whosavaidkher]

The Only One She Can Trust

Jinx x Enforcer fem!reader

A/N: srry y'all I haven't posted in FOREVER, I've been busy w school and ect. I hope u enjoy!!

Jinx could only think to herself as she was sneaking into some fancy place in Piltover, Why would Vi be dating some enforcer? Well, maybe she got too caught up in her thoughts cause she suddenly heard a voice behind her. "Excuse me? Who are you?" N/N whispered softly as she slowly walked towards the blue haired woman, gentle. Jinx suddenly points her gun Pow-Pow at her. "Don't get any closer!" Jinx yelled, her tone angry and demanding. "Whoa, hey! Relax, I won't hurt you" N/N said gently and calm as she slowly walked towards Jinx, slowly pointing the gun down. "I-I don't understand.. You don't wanna hurt me..?" Jinx murmured confused, salty tears running down her face slowly. But not a cry from her lips. "No, I just wanted to tell you, you seem cool. Unlike everyone else here.." N/N murmured as she looked up at her, her hand gently on Jinx's arm. "You're serious..? No no, you're just playing with me." Jinx says, in denial as she grunts, pulling up her gun once again. "No, I promise! I don't want to be associated with my family." N/N says softly, setting her gun down. "I promise.." N/N says softly, as they go to sit somewhere. Once they find a bench, N/N sits down, Jinx sitting next to her. "What do you want? You fancy schmancy enforcers are all the same." Jinx grumbled, scoffing. "Well, I thought you were cool.. I dunno, it's nice seeing someone different here." N/N mumbled quietly and softly, gently placing her hand on Jinx's shoulder. "Tell me about yourself. I wanna know." N/N says softly and gently, but also aware of her possible boundaries. "Well.." Jinx murmurs, trailing off as she explained her story to N/N. "Oh, I'm so sorry.. That sounds so horrible.." N/N whispered softly and forgiving, pulling Jinx into a tight hug. Jinx slowly wrapped her arms around N/N. Where would this new relationship with the two go now after this?

[the-kr8tor]

Loki Variant! R just spinning around in circles in my head rn😔

The first time Hobie had seen you in your ice giant form, it had been on accident. And, it wasn't an entirely pleasant discovery.

He was humming as he roamed through the many halls of your palace, searching for you since it was about time that your meeting with your council should have ended. The orphans running throughout the halls made him smile, and he had to duck before a ball hit him in the face. As he was nearing your meeting room, he could hear something faint just outside the door. Was someone... crying?

Frowning, Hobie opens the door before freezing up at your shout of alarm.

"What are you doing? Leave!" You yell harshly as you point a shaky (blue?) hand towards the opened door, body turned away from whoever had come in. Now concerned, Hobie softly closes the door behind him and approaches you with all the quietness of a mouse. Just when he reaches out a hand to touch you, to take your hand in his, you flinch alway. Like you could feel him behind you, like his very touch would sear you.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong...? Look at me..." He mumbles softly as he tries to get you to face him, his head following yours every time you turn your face away. Your voice is shaky as you speak, as if you're terrified.

"No... You can't see me like this." See you like what? What could be so horrible that you wouldn't allow him to look at you? Clicking his tongue, he moves too fast for you to react, side stepping his way to finally face you properly. Hobie's eyes widen slightly in surprise at the dark blue of your skin and the piercing crimson hue of your eyes. However, he's more concerned about the tears dripping down your face and the unmistakable shame gleaming in your eyes. When he reaches out to touch you again, you back away, shaking your head and letting out an unamused laugh.

"You can't touch me. Not when I'm like this... I could hurt you."

"How could you hurt me?" You scoff at his question and scrub the tears off your face, shame and hatred seeping into your every word. You tell him of your true heritage, a frost giant who was left to die as a baby when Odin killed everyone on Jotunheim. Told any who questioned his taking of you that he was "saving" you from a "dangerous" realm of war. Odin only really took you in as a trophy, what you had learned from the man when you finally dethroned him. If anyone were to touch your skin when in your ice giant form, they could freeze to death. That this form only takes over every once in a while when the stress is truly too much for you.

"I'm hideous..." You say with a choked sob, clenching your eyes shut. Hobie's heart just about breaks at the sight. Because, how on earth could you see yourself as anything but breathtaking? You were gorgeous, exquisite. Even now, in this beautiful form you seem to hate so much.

"Come now, love. You're beautiful-"

"Beautiful...? I'm a monster, Hobie!" You snap with gritted teeth and red eyes flaring. There's a chill in the air as your voice grows louder and louder, and Hobie can't stand it. He wants to hold you close and never let you go as the words keep pouring from your lips. But each time he inches closer to you, you step further back. The air grows colder, and he can start to see his breath crystallize in the air.

"I'm the monster that parents tell their children at night, the demon that haunts every Asgardian's nightmares! I was never supposed to sit on that throne! I-I shouldn't even be here... Thor should be here. He was the one who everyone looked up to! He was supposed to be the savior! He was supposed to live! He should've lived, not me-"

Hobie had heard enough, grabbing your cloak from off of the nearby chair and wrapping it around your body before pulling you into his embrace. You were shivering and trying hard to step back, away from his arms. But it was okay. You weren't hurting him. You could never hurt him

"No more", Hobie mumbles as he pulls you both down to the ground with you sitting in his lap, your head wrapped in the cloak and laying on his shoulder. He could feel your tears soak through the cloak and his shirt. Or, perhaps they were his.

"No more of that. Everythin' that asshole ever said 'bout you, 'bout where you came from... It's all bullcrap. Your brother loved you, knew you'd take good care of everyone, yeah? Would he really entrust everythin' you both love to someone he thought was a monster? You're not a demon, lovie. You're a freakin' Rockstar with a heart so damn big and full of love for everythin'."

He grips you tighter, rubs your arms and back through the layer of clothing between you two. Your heart aches at his words, at the sincerity behind them. The chill in the room slowly subsides, and the blue of your skin slowly fades back to your normal skintone. Your thundering heartbeat slows in your ears and the tears soon cease.

"You fought too damn hard to free your people. You deserve to sit on that throne, and you deserve to live. And anyone who thinks otherwise can fuck right off. I'll bash their heads in..."

The last few words spoken make you chuckle, your hands moving to pull down the cloak from over your head as you look up to peer at him. There are dried tear streaks on his face as he looks down at you, chocolate brown eyes warm and glittering with such soft care just for you. Hobie lifts a hand to gently brush away the lingering tears in the corner of your eye with a gentle finger, touch as soft as silk. Then he leans down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. Then to your nose. Then another on your cheek. Hobie rains little kisses all over your face, adorning you with his love and affection. He doesn't stop until you giggle and try to wriggle from his grasp, until he thoroughly makes those bad thoughts flit from your mind. And, although he knows he can't make those thoughts of guilt and unworthiness leave you completely, he'll do his damn hardest to make sure it takes a long while for you to feel this low about yourself ever again.

YESSSS MORE LOKI VARIANT! R

Bestie you're feeding all of us with all these marvel aus 🤭

Omg i was wondering when r would turn into their frost giant form! This did not disappoint 😭😭😭 the hurt/comfort is hurt comforting me 😭

I love the fact that Hobie is practically living in asgard!

[nethercomfies]

💜 Sway with Me 💜

Pairing: Zander Netherbrand x Reader

Content: gender neutral reader, fluff, no defined relationship

Notes: Very much inspired by this clip

Words: 1.9k

You sit at the bar of Club Netherbrand, just enjoying your drink. You figured it was time for a night out, instead of just sitting at home for once, however now that you’re here, you’re not quite sure what to do with yourself. None of your friends had time to tag along, and you’re not really the type to chat up strangers, leaving you with nothing to do aside from occasionally sipping from the drink you ordered.

Usually you chat up the Zander when you come here on your nights out, but you haven’t really had the opportunity for that today. Every once in a while you catch a glimpse of him among the crowd, checking in with people and having small chats with patrons here and there. You’re not sure he’s even noticed that you’re here tonight, so instead you just resort to observing other people, hoping you’ll be able to catch his attention sooner or later.

Your eyes keep wandering over to the people enjoying themselves on the dance floor. Dancing has never really been your thing. You’re a little too clumsy for that and your feet never quite want to do what your brain is telling them to do. But you can’t deny that it looks pretty fun for the people who do have it figured out.

“What do you say to having a little dance yourself?” Zander's voice catches you off guard. You didn't even see him approach, but now he’s standing right in front of you, grinning down at you. He extends his hand out towards you. “Come on, I’ll even join you! It’ll be fun, I promise.”

You’re a little surprised by his offer, not quite sure how to respond. “I appreciate the offer, but I'm afraid I can't actually dance. I’m probably better off just watching from here… But you go ahead!” You stammer, avoiding his gaze. You almost expect Zander to wander off and just ask someone else instead – After all, there’s probably plenty of people who would kill for a dance with Zander Netherbrand himself –, but to your surprise, he takes a step closer towards you.

“It's alright, you don't need to know how to dance, I promise,” he assures you with a warm smile. “All you have to do is let me guide you, and I promise I'll handle the rest.”

You feel a bit nervous. You’re really not the type to dance, but it’s hard to say no to Zander, especially with the way he’s looking at you expectantly.

“Please?” He adds, his voice a touch softer. It’s just the right amount of soft to melt away your inhibitions.

You sigh and down the last bit of your drink. “Alright, maybe one dance won’t hurt…” You reach out and place your hand in his, allowing Zander to pull you out of your seat. “But you better be prepared to have your toes stepped on… This is your warning,” you add, as the demon leads you towards the dance floor.

Zander chuckles. “Noted. I won’t mind, I promise.”

The dance floor is a little crowded, so you try to stick close to him, clinging onto his arm so you won’t get separated. Zander gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. He leads you towards a more secluded spot where there's enough space for the two of you to dance without the danger of bumping into anyone else.

“This is a good spot, don’t you think, darling?” He asks, smiling down at you. You nod, suddenly feeling a little shy as it dawns on you that there’s no way out now – You’ll really have to dance.

You're not quite sure what to do with yourself, so you glance up at Zander, hoping that he’ll offer you some guidance.

“We’ll then, let’s get started, shall we?” Zander asks, turning to face you. He takes one of your hands and lifts it up slightly, while placing the other on the small of your back, pulling you just a little closer. You’ve never realized how much bigger his hands are in comparison to yours. It’s enough to fully envelop yours, while his other hand almost covers all of your lower back.

But you don’t have too much time to think about it. Because Zander’s voice catches your attention.

“Now… You'll just have to sway to the music, darling,” he says, almost startling you with how close his voice is to your ear. You feel his breath against your skin, and part of you starts to freak out about how close you are to him right now.

You feel a gentle tug on your arm as Zander begins moving to the song playing in the background. It’s slow and calm, almost a little romantic. You’re a little hesitant at first, but quickly try to move along to the music, adjusting your movements to Zander’s. You don’t really know what you’re doing, but just swaying with him seems easy enough.

You keep going like this for a bit, until Zander pulls away just enough to look at you, not stopping his movements.

“You’re doing great, darling,” he says, a little smile gracing his lips. “Now, let’s pick up the difficulty just a little, alright? Move your feet a little. Small steps, back and forth.” He starts moving his feet in tune with the music, and you try your best to follow based on his instructions. Zander hums. “Just like that, you’re doing amazing.”

Your feet still feel clumsy, unwilling to work with the rest of your body. But Zander seems pleased with your performance so far, so you allow yourself to keep going, letting your movements get a little bolder.

You almost feel like you’ve got the hang of it when you take a slightly bigger step and feel a foot trapper underneath yours. You freeze up immediately, uttering a thousand apologies under your breath. You’re prepared to pull away and just stop with the dancing for the rest of the night – or the rest of forever, really –, but you feel Zander’s grasp around you tighten just slightly. Not enough to hurt you, but just enough to stop you from running away.

You glance up at his face to find him looking back down at you with a smile, not bothered by your misstep in the slightest.

“It’s alright, darling,” he reassures you, “I don’t mind it in the slightest. You’ll get the hang of this sooner than you think, I promise.” His tone is so soft, so gentle, that you can’t help but feel a rush of calm come over you, melting away the anxiety that had frozen up your entire body just mere seconds ago.

You try to get back into the rhythm again, more careful of where you’re stepping this time, but it’s like the magic is gone. Your body feels so stiff all of a sudden, it’s hard to keep focusing on the music and you grow increasingly frustrated with yourself.

“You’re thinking too much, darling.” Zander’s voice pierces through your thoughts, pulling you out of them. “Don’t let your brain be in charge of what your body is doing. Just let yourself move,” he tries to gently instruct you.

You look up at him, worry clearly painted over your face. “But what if I step on your feet again? What if I mess up? What if I-”

“You’re learning. It’s fine if you mess up a little along the way,” Zander interrupts you. His thumb rubs small circles into your back in an attempt to soothe you. “Take a deep breath and just let yourself be guided by the music… And by me. You’ll be okay, I promise.”

You try to push away all of your thoughts, looking for something to focus on. Your mind wanders back to Zander’s hand on your back. The way his warmth seeps into you through that spot, the way his movements are so rhythmic and calm, like it’s second nature to him. You zero in on that feeling, allowing it to guide your own movements.

It makes it easier to stop thinking so much about what you’re doing. You push your worries aside and allow yourself to just be right in that moment, with nothing around you but Zander and the music.

Before you know it, the song is over, and the music switches to something a little livelier.

“See? You did amazing,” Zander says, giving you a wide grin.

You smile back at him. Your heart is still pounding and your mind feels like it isn’t quite there yet, but more than anything, you feel a rush of happiness. “I figured it out, somehow,” you say, barely able to contain the excitement in your voice. “Well, it was mostly you guiding me, really, but-”

“Hey now, it wasn’t all me, you did great as well, darling,” Zander interrupts you. “You learned quickly and figured it out. Dare I say, I think you’re a natural. You can be proud of yourself.” He gently squeezes your hand and smiles.

“So, would you like to go for another round?”

“Sure!” The word slips out before you even have time to consider it. But there’s no time to hesitate, as Zander’s grip around you tightens once more and he starts moving again. You’re okay with it. Now that you don’t have to worry so much about what you’re doing, you’re starting to enjoy yourself.

This new song is a little more difficult to keep up with, but you try your best to just move along with the music. You still mess up here and there, but Zander takes all the times you step on his feet in stride, never once making you feel bad about it.

“Hey… Wanna try something out?” Zander asks with a grin. You’re not quite sure what he wants to do, but you just give a small nod, and before you know it, Zander lifts up your arm and gives you a small twirl, then catches you again with a small chuckle.

You’re a little surprised, but once your brain has processed what just happened, you join in on his laughing.

“What was that?” You ask in between laughs.

Zander shrugs, laughing as well. “I was just testing your newfound skill… I’d say you did quite well. Good job, darling.”

You dance to a few more songs like together, and you have the time of your life. Suddenly, dancing is the easiest thing in the world. It’s like you and Zander grow more in tune the longer you keep going, until you almost feel like you’re flying across the dance floor with him.

Eventually, exhaustion gets to you and you have to take a break. Zander leads you off the dance floor, his hand still holding yours.

“Wasn’t that fun?” He asks, softly smiling down at you.

“It was,” you admit, returning his smile. “Once I figured it out, I really enjoyed myself… Thank you for teaching me.” You lean in for a small side-huge, to which Zander responds by pulling you closer for one of his bear hugs.

“It was my pleasure, darling,” he says, parting just enough to look at you while still keeping his arms wrapped around your waist. “If you ever want to have another dance, don’t hesitate to ask. I’d love to steal you away to the dance floor again some time.”

You have a feeling you’ll take him up on that offer. But for now, you’ll need to take some time to recover.

[honorhearted]

"Then prove that," Benjamin implored. "Stop martyring yourself and be her mother! In America, you can start over...no one needs to know your profession here, nor that you ever came from shame."

Fantine abruptly staggered up to her feet, intent on the window. He remained seated upon the bed, not wishing to encroach her space, nor potentially upset her any more than he already had.

After a moment, he sighed. "Look: I know what I'm asking is a lot, but-"

"Could I not go to America with you?" she cut in.

A hint of relief buoyed within his chest, light and airy, and Benjamin offered a quick nod. "Yes," he affirmed, "of course...I've been trying to tell you that you're welcome on this trip."

The idea of having a maid, servant, or seamstress was odd to him, admittedly, because even though he lived in a large home, Benjamin chose to tend to things on his own. He liked the self-sufficiency. After the war, there was a sense of hopelessness any time he was idle, so the distraction, no matter how beneath his station, was good for him.

Still, Fantine needed a reason to be in his home -- a proper one -- so he agreed, "Whatever you wish. I'm amenable to any help, but I hope you won't take offense if I join you in the task."

Debt repaid?

Blinking, Benjamin rose from the bed, eyeing her in disbelief. "There is no debt, madam. I am fostering Cosette because I care for her -- because I very much wish I had children of my own. You owe me nothing, and I will accept nothing." He looked away. "I will, of course, pay you a salary for your troubles. Should you make enough to move out on your own, I will of course allow this, so long as you let me continue to serve as benefactor to Cosette's education."

Fantine couldn't help the way she snatched her breath. He'd found her Achilles heel and it showed despite the rum in her system. "You know—" her voice disappeared, anger and hurt vying for dominance as she tried to speak again, "you know I want her! That I've always wanted her!"

Heat found her chest and face until she could no longer look at the man. She took herself to the window, opening drapes just slightly to watch the sprawling gardens of the estate in their stillness. She couldn't see much, but the moon's silvery light illuminated enough to hold her attention.

Thinking of Cosette so far away made Fantine feel ill. She just wanted a simple life for them. Her forehead fell forwards so to rest against the windowpane; the coolness of it helped cool her temper too although her lip still quivered with remnant anger. She took another moment, her hand coming to rest flat against the glass and next to her head.

"Could I not go to America with you?" she simply asked, her eyes watching her breath steam the glass. "There is nothing left for me here. Ghosts of lovers and faces of strangers." Fantine grimaced, twisting to look at Benjamin over her shoulder. "I can be a maid, a servant, a seamstress... Whatever it is you wish of me."

It was asking for something she knew he could deny, but she asked having become accustomed to rejection. She would be more surprised if he agreed. "As for my stubbornness, Monsieur, it's the only thing I have. I am not dead yet, am I?" Pride and the refusal to die had gotten her this far. "I cannot repay you in gold, but servitude. Until you have deemed my debt repaid."

[chronicsyd]

I'm starting to get Real tired of this fandom because when I say, "It's understandable why Caitlyn does A, B and C" people are Immediate to jump at my fucking throat and say "Oh you think everything she does is justified and you endorse fascism/domestic abuse/whatever whatever whatever!"

No... that is NOT what I said.

"Understandable" and "Justified" are two Totally separate words here. I'm saying it's understandable because "A, B, and C happens to her which causes her to react and do A, B, and C which consequentially causes A, B, and C to happen." I'm not saying Caitlyn is right in doing what she's doing, because she isn't. I'm explaining the WHY it happens. WHY Caitlyn is reacting the way that she is, and those reactions are WHY her character is so compelling for me to watch. And even after watching these episodes I don't hate her despite that's what everyone kept Telling me I'd do.

This whole "purity culture" of "you're only allowed to like such and such character because they're the most "morally good"" is Absolutely ridiculous. Because following this the Only character in Arcane you'd be "allowed" to like is Ekko. Nope not Jinx, or Vi, or Caitlyn, or Vander, or anyone else. Because the rest of them do things that do not fit the "morally good" standard that's been set by people.

Because let's not pretend that people like Darth Vader and Kuvira aren't some people's favorite character and that Darth Vader is like the most popular Star Wars character. People are allowed to enjoy morally grey or just straight up villainous characters. That doesn't mean they endorse every decision that that character makes.

Yes it's a problem with the Caitlyn and Jinx glazers who deem "ohh pookie could do no wrong" but that's NOT what I'm talking about, it's people getting pissy about people making Any kind of defense for Caitlyn, whether you 100% agree with what she's doing or not.

If someone's merely mentioning that they enjoy Caitlyn's character and think she's complex and compelling to watch, just let them be. it's really not as deep as you're making it out to be.

[tiredgraduate]

You want my honest opinion on some of the election statistics & politics right now? I never, NEVER, like to comment on politics, but I'm tired of being quiet and holding this in. There is no one I can be honest with and talk to other than you lovely people on the internet.

I voted blue as a young white christian woman. I was born and raised in the heart of a red state. My parents were considered super conservative, even to other Christians and conservatives. My extended family is still that way, to the point where asking genuine questions about history and reason is seen and taken as offensive and treacherous to the American good. When I went to college, I was still a very right-wing minded person. Here's the thing: I naturally have a soft heart. I don't like being mean, and I don't appreciate other people being crappy for no good reason. My upbringing in the church and my relationship with Jesus Christ both in and out of the church has only strengthened that part of me.

So, in college, I encountered a number of classmates and fellow musicians that were of other ethnicities, members of the LGBTQ community, and so much more. I learned quickly to see them as my cohorts and friends, and that I had no grounds to judge them based on their life and struggles. As they say, and I take literally, hate the sin, love the sinner. I couldn't care less if you're black, white, gay, trans, struggling with drug addictions, addictions to anything like porn, social media, etc.

I struggle with some of that too, which gives me no ground to judge. As the Bible says, "He who is without sin, cast the first stone." I am no better than anyone else, and I am actively trying to make that evident in my life.

As I said before, my ultra conservative christian family didn't like this. Not one bit of it. I managed to befriend and be a safe place for a number of my fellow musicians, because I knew about their bad experiences with other christians and the church, a recent burn from the church on myself, and their mixed family backgrounds that made my being an older sister that much more important. So, naturally, I started to lean more left, and at the same time, away from the "church."

To say I left the church would be accurate. Christianity, less so. It has been a rough four years in finding my faith again. But in the midst of that, I learned about the world around me from the perspectives of both christian and non-christian. I didn't have a reason to be spiteful or hateful towards a specific demographic (unlike some of my family).

Then I graduated and moved to New York, and let me tell you - blue state living is where it's at. But in stepping away from something you've been immersed in your whole life, you then see the issues within. I noticed this with the church, then with my family, and then my hometown and state. There are some SERIOUS issues with all of them.

This TikTok explains a lot of what I think of the modern "church:" https://www.tiktok.com/@k.t.phillips21/video/7434922467652554027?_r=1&_t=8rGnfwwJxNP

The church condemns so many things, until it applies to them. The burn from the church in my life came from a previous pastor telling someone to do something behind all of our backs, and that led to my family collapsing in on itself and my brother attempting suicide seven times. All because one man thought he knew what should be the case in a situation, and didn't think to bring God into the matter.

For my family, it's the same type of thing. The allowance of certain things, while condemning the same things when others struggle. It's exhausting. So, when I moved to New York, I blocked numbers, deleted others, and had a serious talk with my immediate family about boundaries and what being 20+ hours away meant. I happen to have understanding parents and siblings after the events of three years ago. On the other hand, my extended family is messed up. Constant asking of "are you depressed" or "do you have a boyfriend yet," while not actually caring about the answer, or just blatantly ignoring the truth. Recently, I cut off almost all of one side of my extended family because of a wedding happening in March between a girl who is barely eighteen and a boy (he is NOT a man, he just happens to be my cousin) who is TWENTY SEVEN. The relationship was arranged, and they recently decided to move the wedding up by 4 months because, and I quote: "he(cousin) just couldn't wait 😉." Mind you, his last relationship, he kidnapped from one state under the guise of "meeting the family" but was actually bringing her to another state after dating for three weeks to marry her without her family's knowledge or consent. It's messed up.

My hometown and state? Oklahoma. I think that question answers itself. Considering that it was completely red on Tuesday, and is the top state of searches "can I change my vote."

Anyways - I am disappointed in a lot of people. So many things were on the line in this election, and the fact that people are just now educating themselves on what this means now that they've re-elected Trump is ridiculous.

If a felon cannot get a job in some areas or vote, why the hell should one become president? Second - why is said felon SO quiet after winning? Something is wrong.

To my fellow women who voted blue, I'm sorry for what we're going to see and what we're encountering just days after the election. To the LGBTQ people who see this, I'm sorry too. To all of you blue (and some red) friends, I am sorry. I'm sorry that 53% of white women voted against a reasonable choice, and voted for a literal felon, rapist, and just crappy dude. I'm sorry that all of us are having so much mixed emotion about what the next 4 years looks like while my family and many others are home celebrating the idea of cheaper groceries. I wish I could hug many of you, because it's crappy that we're united and meeting like this.

To the people who voted red - I'm sure you've heard this already, but I really hope you get what you asked for. I hope you get what you wanted. I hope it affects you directly. I hope you see what happens when you don't educate yourself until it's too late. I hope you see what happens when you only look out for yourself. I hope you see how un-loving and un-Christian some of you are acting.

For the little boys (you are NOT men in my eyes right now) that keep saying "your body, my choice" and are saying so many crappy things to the women in and out of your life because you feel empowered by one president-elect: I hope you eat your words. I hope you manage to get your head out of your butt and see what you're doing. I hope you realize you've shoved your head so far up your butt that it came out of your throat and that's why you're acting the way you are. I hope you have to eat your words and get everything you think you're going to get and more.

I am lucky to be considered "safe" in a blue state, but I am still so heartbroken over my friends who aren't considered safe and have to deal with this stuff head on. I wish things were different. If any of you happen to know me in real life, take this to heart. If you don't know me, know this anyway:

I am sorry for how people in America are acting right now. I am sorry that we have to live in a nation so broken and frustrating. In the middle of it all, you are loved, and I pray now that something good comes out of this; that we learn to love and be loved, we learn to be gracious and forgiving instead of angry and condemning. I pray we learn to be people over Americans, that them and us doesn't continue, and that we learn what the right thing is and how we are going to move forward. If you need someone to be an ear or a friend, I hope you find one. Whether that is someone in real life, someone on another site, someone here, or even myself.

You are not alone ❤️

[renaerys]

Heya Renaerys. Can you tell me your thoughts on multi saku ships? 👀 I'm not a super majestic avid fan of Naruto and I'm just one of the normal ones who like the canon ships of it, but as I found out that there are fans that ship Sakura with other characters, I got curious about the nature of it. What is the appeal? How does the ship/s work? What makes you love it and enjoy it so much?

Ps. Worry not! Despite liking the canon ships, I'm open to multi shipping. So I hope these questions appear "safe" lol 😋

I am someone who does not in any way support the "canon" ships in Naruto. So I only ship things are not that lol. But I'm a fan of people liking what they like and not bothering others, so I sincerely hope you find fanworks featuring your favorite ships that you can enjoy and love!

I'm not interested very much in multi-sakura. I actively ship only two Sakura ships, which are SasoSaku and ShiSaku, and in very specific, nitpicky ways. That is just my personal preference. I'm supportive of some other Sakura ships and I enjoy experimenting with rare pairs if I get a really good idea, but they don't get my heart pumping like these two do. My main problem with multi-Sakura is that the majority of that fandom doesn't actually care about who Sakura, the canon character, is and instead they flatten her to be a cardboard, self-insert YA heroine with a vaguely stubborn streak. I don't think this is like evil or bad or anything. There's a reason this type of main female character archetype is popular and ubiquitous. But I find it excruciatingly boring, personally.

Canon Sakura is kind of a shitty person. She is extremely selfish in many of her decisions, and her brand of romantic love is obsessive and smothering and, again, selfish. She is a very insecure person. For all of part 1, she is lazy and unserious in her role as a shinobi and cares only about her crush on a boy. And she is really bad at taking no for an answer. She experiences a lot of growth in Shippuden, some of which mitigates and improves upon some of these earlier negative qualities. For example, she stops being lazy and starts actually working hard at being a shinobi and becomes pretty strong. She demonstrates more positive qualities, such as more compassion for others, a fighting spirit, and teamwork. She also just gets older, and with that comes the expected growth in maturity. A 16 year old is going to be more mature than a 12 year old.

But the negative qualities are part of her character and her growth, and I don't hold any of it against her. I think these qualities make her interesting and layered, and decidedly not the cardboard, blank slate, self-insert YA heroine type at all. Yet, so much multi-Sakura or "BAMF" Sakura content erases all of this nuance. To many of these types of fans, she's always been just a victim wronged at every turn, never did a thing wrong herself, every hot guy in the world wants to bang her for some completely mysterious and illogical reason, and she's "not like the other girls" in the laziest, most insipid ways. She becomes a chimera of the traits of many of the other female characters (she is sassy like Ino, caustic like Karin, tough like Temari). None of this is earned or even remotely close to who this character is in canon. And it makes me wonder--why are these people writing about Sakura when they really ought to be writing about any of these other female characters who actually do possess these traits and may be a better fit for a particular story or ship? Why do you have to steal these traits and give them to Sakura and make every ship about her?

I know why. You know why. I don't think I have to spell it out.

All of this being background to your question: what is the appeal of multi-Sakura? In short, multi-Sakura has become associated with self-inserting into a female character you've stripped down to bland oatmeal personality in a pretty package to make her appealing to the lowest common denominator and shipping her with any hot guy you want without thinking critically about why the pairing might make sense or work as evidenced by canon personality and/or events. Is that every multi-Sakura work in existence? Definitely not. Is it encompassing of every person who happens to have a Sakura ship? Not even close. But it is a significant and, sadly, vocal majority, and the term "multi-Sakura" itself has become shorthand for this kind of shipping preference and characterization (or, rather, lack thereof).

But just like any fandom preference, it's basically harmless. Boring and vapid, in my personal opinion, but harmless.