#i'm so tired and you can tell because these posts are way less well worded than normal

[edge-oftheworld]

help i'm listening to an orchestral arrangement of holiday by green day and i can't deal with it

[friendofthecrows]

Ugh, I'm going to be seething for the rest of the night. I can't believe these practices continue (very much can believe it due to seeing it personally). I can't believe probably well-meaning people still think that it's good! (This one honestly was a bit surprising.) My grandfather didn't get multiple attempts on his life just for people to support clear-cutting followed by planting monocultures. What the fuck.

(Context: he invented machines that could harvest a tree in one go without harming surrounding trees for use in sustainable forestry and then sold the patent for $100 and one of the machines, which he then donated to the tribe in order to support their efforts. The cartoon villain of a man who had an almost complete monopoly locally as far as logging and also paper mills Didn't Like That.)

[megthemewlingquim]

love's perfect ache

Summary: Your husband wants nothing more than to love you breathless.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Warnings: smut! Matt is a soft dom (that alone deserves a warning); fingering, multiple orgasms (one somewhat forced but it is not non-con); dirty talk

A/N: Holy shit. So. A lot of things have happened since I last posted. Some of these things include but are not limited to

a) I have been seeing someone romantically for a year and four months

b) I'm graduating with my Bachelor's Degree in Education in May.

c) I've been Student Teaching full time in order to graduate, so I haven't been able to write.

However, these last three days have given me a spark of madness. I first started this draft a little less than a year ago, and only now have I finished it.

This fic is based off of... personal experience. ;) I hope you like it.

The clatter of plates and silverware jumps through the apartment. The smell of shrimp scampi still lingers in the air, though the windows have been opened and the leftovers have been put in the fridge.

Matt leans his arm over the back of the couch as he sits down, relaxing into his seat. A small part of him wants to go back to you, the remarkable woman behind him who had insisted on doing the dishes and taking care of the leftovers yourself. ��Go sit and be handsome,” you’d said, kissing his shoulder. “I can manage it.”

Oh, you.

You never like asking for help, or accepting it when it is given. Not that you think you’re above it, but because you don’t want to trouble anyone else with anything.

He doesn’t love that, but he loves you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, toying with the ring on his finger.

“Yeah?” you ask from behind the counter.

“Mm, nothing,” he mutters. “Was just thinking ‘bout you.”

The hum of amusement you give him is a common little sound. One of quiet acknowledgement. It’s almost like you’re numb to what he’s telling you.

Selfless, as always.

The sound reminds him of more intimate times between you two. Sighs, moans, squeaks, breathless laughs and barely audible whines. All from you. And then, he thinks of what you say to him sometimes, when he offers to do certain things.

“It’s alright, baby, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t need to finish. It’s okay. I’m too tired.”

“Honey, I’m good. I promise. You don’t have to do anything.”

Matt snaps back to the current moment. His heart hurts.

In the two years that you’ve been married, you’ve had a bit of trouble; not only with accepting help or kind words or generous gifts of affection, but with accepting pleasure too, pleasure that Matt so willingly wants to give to you. He knows about that, how you find it difficult to fathom the love he has for you and the ways he wants to express it.

Yes, you’ve discussed your kinks and your turn-offs with him. You’ve been intimate, and you’ve enjoyed it immensely. But you’ve never quite gotten to where he wants you, to where you should be.

You deserve pleasure, and you don’t see it.

Matt’s jaw clenches.

“Honey?” he asks. “You good?”

“Yup!” you chirp. “Just putting the last pan away."

“Ok.”

Thirty seconds pass. He hears you, in that time, put the last pan into the lazy-susan cabinet and wipe down the counter one last time. Then, you step away from the kitchen and sit next to him on the couch with a sleepy little mumble.

“Everything okay?” Matt asks softly, leaning in to nuzzle into your neck. He leaves a feather-light kiss there.

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Everything’s… good.”

“I have an idea,” he mumbles into your skin, his hand trailing up your thigh. “And I need to know what you think about it.”

“What are you thinking?” you ask, a hint of a smile in your voice.

“Well, I was thinking… that we could… have some fun.” Matt grins.

You breathe outward, silently, your breath heavy and shuddered, as his lips trail to the back of your neck and he bites into the flesh.

“I’d like that,” you say.

“I wasn’t finished. We have some fun… but I spend the night just… letting you feel everything. I want to make you come, sweetheart. A lot, if I’m honest.”

He can hear the sharp inhale — quiet but noticeable — and how your heartbeat picks up almost instantly. His grin widens. “I want to spoil you tonight. All I want you to do is lay on the bed and be your beautiful self. I’ll do the rest.”

“I — um — ” you stammer, “you don’t have to do that — ”

“Uh uh.” Matt shakes his head. “None of that now. I want to do this. You don’t see how much you deserve this, honey. What is it that you’re afraid of?”

“ ‘m not afraid… just…”

“Just?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’re too damn humble for your own good, you know?”

You shrug.

“Baby, look at me,” Matt says softly. When he knows you have done so, he says, “If you really don’t want to, we don’t have to. But I’ve noticed it. I just wanna give my girl what she deserves. Will you let me do that? Even just for tonight?”

It takes a good ten seconds for you to give him the slightest sound of approval. A tiny little “uh huh,” close to a whisper, but he can hear it.

“That’s my girl,” he says, grinning.

Matt carries you to bed bridal-style, shutting the door behind him with the back of his foot, and sits you on the edge of the bed.

He starts by just kissing you; your lips, your cheeks. Softly, gently, with both hands coming up to your jawline and your neck, thumbs swiping your cheeks and temples.

His affection is always, always welcomed. You have never felt safer than when you are in his arms — those same arms that are often covered in bruises and scratches and blood, those same arms that drop snitches from buildings and punch the daylights out of bad guys. You have never felt safer.

His hands fall down to your chest, your waist, lightly applying pressure or squeezing gently. You're in the warm embrace of someone who could break you, and the fact that he chooses to treat you with such delicate care makes your heart swell and your chest ache with such love — and this turns you on even more.

Matt treasures you. Cherishes you.

He sighs into the kisses he gives. “You have no idea how much you turn me on,” he says, his voice low. “You know that?” He moves his head up and kisses your forehead; his lips linger there for a while. “And you don’t even realize it… you don’t realize that I get off by making you feel good.”

What Matt has just said to you doesn’t register fully until he’s already laid you down onto the bed, gently pushing you down with his right hand. He straddles you, taking his shirt off and throwing it on the floor. “You beautiful, wonderful, lovely girl.” He leans down, kissing your clothed chest and your stomach before shuffling your pants off of you.

He gets in between your legs, sitting on the bed sideways but still facing you. You’re wearing black boyshorts, the comfiest pair you own. Matt’s favorite. He likes imagining how the black would look on you, and how the cloth would hug your hips.

His hand gently strokes the crotch of your underwear, the pressure sending sparks up your privates. It’s so much different, you think, to have someone else’s hand there rather than your own.

“You smell so good,” he mutters, in that tone of voice, and you know that he’s not talking about the vanilla eau de parfum you put on every day. No, he’s talking about a different scent you give off.

You flush, embarrassed, crossing your legs and putting your face in your hands. His hand stays where it was, unmoving, between your legs.

A finger moves, right over your clit, and you twitch.

“None of that,” Matt whispers. “No hiding today. I want to see your pretty face.”

“You can’t see,” you whimper through your hands.

“When has that ever stopped me?” he says, and you know he has that shit-eating grin on his face. “Come on,” he coaxes, “take your hands off your face.”

You don’t move. “Matty…”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, sweetie.” A finger moves on your clit again and you gasp. “You’re so beautiful. Every part of you. Even the parts you’re insecure about…”

When you say nothing, he moves his finger again and you twitch at the shock it gives you. “I’m not gonna do anything else until you take your hands off your face,” he says, and you know he’s serious.

Matt’s finger moves for the third time and that’s when you remove your hands. His little chuckle sends shivers down your back.

“There,” he says, “there’s my pretty girl. See? Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

His hand, quick as a bullet, goes into your underwear and cups your pussy, adding pressure again. A strangled sound comes out of you and you cover your mouth. Matt chuckles again, and coos at you, "Aww, what? What's making you so shy? You know I love hearing you."

The teasing is too much now, but you can't seem to get over your shyness. You whimper into your hand, moving your hips to try and get some more friction. It works, but only for a second. Matt immediately notices what you're doing and he draws his hand away again.

"What do you need, baby?"

"Ffffingers."

Matt nods and shuffles you out of your underwear.

Slowly, he puts a finger in you, keeping his eyes lowered and concentrating on your feel, your sounds. The relieved sigh is all he needs, and he stays where he is, knuckle deep inside you. He doesn't move it yet, and instead, he chooses to feel you clench around his finger to no avail.

"So warm," he says, "so warm and wet."

You flush, embarrassed at that. For no reason at all, you've been self-conscious about that part of you, and how it looks, smells, tastes. You turn your head and try to keep yourself away from the praise he's giving you.

Matt tsks. "None of that now. It's beautiful, honey. You're so beautiful."

"M-Matt," you whimper, "no."

"Yes," he says, and starts to move his finger. In and out, slow and steady. The burn and stretch is a welcome one, but you start to feel something else. Almost like a wall, a barrier to your pleasure. You can't come without that wall being torn down.

"Can — can you get the vibrator, please?"

"It's been a while since you've asked for what you want." Matt grins. "That's a good girl, hm? Of course, I can."

He moves, pulling his finger out of you and getting off the bed. He opens the nightstand drawer next to the bed and pulls out a magenta colored vibrator.

Matt gets back on the bed and puts his finger in you again. The wall comes back once he starts moving his finger again, but this time he puts the vibrator in your clit and presses a button. It buzzes to life, only on the lowest setting, but it's enough.

The wall comes down and all you feel is pleasure. You sigh, relieved. The vibrator is a nice distraction from the stretch.

"There you go," Matt says quietly. "Just feel that, honey. I've got you."

I've got you.

The reassurance that Matt gives you is both comforting and sexy. You like being submissive, and you like being taken care of. More than anything, you like being taken care of by the man who made his vows, before God and the world, to be your husband for the rest of your lives.

You melt into the bed as he continues to make love to you. Subspace is setting in and your mind goes fuzzy. You wouldn't normally describe yourself as a pillow princess, but here, right now... you are. And that's what Matt wants.

He smiles, shushes you gently, and this hurls you down into subspace even more. "Such a good girl," he whispers, "always so good to me. Just let me take care of you."

And with that, you're gone. Completely vulnerable, giving yourself over to Matt. And he finds it so lovely. so beautiful, how much you trust him.

"I think what you need is a little more... maybe right here — "

His fingers do something else, they go lower and deeper. Immediately, you feel like you're being punched in the stomach, but the sensation itself is far from painful. You can't stop yourself this time; you moan, a choked sound, and you bury your head to the side and into your pillows. Dear God, if Matt keeps this up, you're not gonna last much longer.

"There," he says, his voice low but filled with warmth, keeping his fingers moving right there, in and out, "that's what you need, hm? I know, honey, I know."

Matt knows you. He knows you, inside and out, body and soul. He knows your laugh, your smile, your voice, your smells. He knows how you moan, how you shiver, twitch and gasp. He knows what makes you tick. He knows how you come, what you need to get there. There's nothing more comforting — or sexy — than that.

You're unbelievably tense - your entire body is stiff, coming close to that edge. Matt can feel it, simply on his fingers, but he can hear it, too: the way your breath hitches and the way your moans increase, both in frequency and in pitch. He can feel your blood flowing, he can hear your heartbeat increase, feel how warm your skin has become. He notices all of these things, and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing in the world. A small part of him is still regretful that he cannot see, but only because... oh, what he wouldn't give to see your face.

"Matty," you whimper, "M-Matty, I'm cc-close. I'm so close—"

He loves hearing that desperation in your voice. You're starting to move around, turning and panting, almost in an attempt to get away from the pleasure that's sure to overtake you in a few moments. He can sense how tight your eyes are closed, how dry your mouth has become from all the sounds - oh, the beautiful sounds - that you're making, how tightly your fists are clenched, and where your arms are going. You don't seem to know exactly what to do with your hands. A few times, it looks like you debate whether to hide your face again, but you don't do that.

"M-Matty!"

And he knows, then, that you're peaking, that the orgasm has already begun and you're just on the edge of letting go, letting it completely overtake you. You've given yourself completely to him, and you're at his mercy.

And the Devil of Hell's Kitchen does have mercy, believe it or not.

"Come for me, sweetheart," he whispers, with such gentle fondness and delight that you have no choice but to obey.

You're gone, your body in flames and filled with electric sparks. Fireworks.

The sound that comes from you then is the most beautiful sound Matt has ever heard. He's heard it before, and he will never get tired of it. It's a sound of release, of letting go... a cry of pleasure, almost a guttural scream and a shuddered breath all at once. It's an orgasmic wail or sometimes it is even a period of silence where you are just completely lost in the agonizing ecstasy of it all.

You're coming, and you're coming hard... He always knows what to do or say to make that happen. When he married you, he made a vow to himself to always make you feel like the most satisfied woman in the world. It's always a reward when this happens, when he can hear and feel you like this.

It's a long one, he realizes, because you gasp and shiver and twitch and spasm and cry out in surprise as the waves of pleasure keep rushing over you. He laughs, then, a small amused chuckle that leaves you even more breathless than you already are. Matt delights in making you feel this way. If he could go down on his knees and beg God Almighty to let him do this forever, he would.

"Oh, that's it," he coos, "that's my girl."

His praise, combined with the continued moving of his fingers - shouldn't they be getting sore by now? - only makes your orgasm last longer. Once it begins to fade, your body relaxes and you breathe out a sigh of contentment and warmth. Your eyes remain closed - and it's probably a good thing, because the way Matt is looking at you now would be enough to kill you with how loving it is The aftershocks of your orgasm - little jolts of pleasure - start to course through you.

"That was beautiful," he mutters to himself. "I think I want another from you."

You eyes snap open. "Honey," you mumble.

"What?" he asks gently. "I know you can." His hands are moving now, all across your body in an attempt to soothe you. You look down and see the tent in his pants: he's never been so hard in the years that you've known him.

"You need help with that?" you ask with a smile, sitting up. By the direction that your voice is going, he knows what you're talking about.

"No, no, no," he says, using a hand to push you back onto the bed. "Don't change the subject."

"I wasn't."

"Yes," Matt kisses your chest, "you were."

"I can't come again."

"Yes, you can." Matt clicks the vibrator on again and, before you can move away, puts it on your clit.

Your whole body seizes up, your clit goes numb, and all you can feel is good, but too good. Your mind blanks. You shriek out a sound of surprise and pleasure and agony, your body instantly trying to get away. It's too much, you're too sensitive, but he won't let up. He holds you down, shushing you again as you let out little cries and sobs and moans. Your body convulses, twitching in his grasp.

"Shh, shh, baby... I got you. Remember that. You're alright."

"MattMattMatt — I can't!"

"Yes, you can," he says again, firmer this time, but laughs as you try to get away. "Just hang on a little longer, you'll feel good again. Your body is already adapting to it. You're okay."

And of course, it's true. Your body is already getting used to it. Your sobs die down and now, the pleasure is bearable. Extremely good, actually. Your moans are weak, your eyebrows are furrowed, and your eyes are shut again. The convulsions are stopping, and now all you can do is feel it all again.

"That's it, bubba," Matt says, "see? I know you can handle it."

He puts two fingers inside you, slowly, and the burn is less uncomfortable now. A guttural sound leaves you again as you're filled up, and once Matt starts moving again, you tense up immediately. Two fingers and a vibrator are a recipe for an extremely quick orgasm, and you both know it.

"Baby," you whisper.

"What?" he coos. "Is my girl close already?"

"Nnngh," is all you can reply back. "Mm hmm."

"That's what I wanted," Matt says quietly, triumphantly. "You don't have to say anything anymore. Just feel it."

It doesn't take much longer for you to get close to coming again. Especially when Matt begins to drive his fingers into you harder, faster. You can't even speak anymore; all you can do is vocalize; moan, whimper, gasp. And you know that Matt is having the time of his life. One of the first things he ever said to you about things like this was that he'd get off by getting you off, and that has always stuck with you.

Your legs start to quiver.

You peak again, sobbing out a high pitched whine. The feeling is strong now, like an unstoppable force is meeting an immovable object. Your body is tense, unbelievably so, and the pleasure keeps building, but it never crests. It never reaches that point. That's the trouble of having one orgasm after another. It's hard to come. "MMMatt, pplease, please, p —"

"Shh," Matt says again with a grunt, "don't worry. We'll get you there. Relax as much as you can. Remember, I'll take care of you." You try your best to relax your body but it's still a bit difficult. All the while, Matt is practically shoving his fingers into you now, relentlessly, and you start to hear noises down there that send your mind reeling. Your back arches.

"You fuckin' hear that?" Matt's sudden vulgarity is a surprise. He's ravenous. "Oh, you want it, don't you?" He hoists a leg over your own to keep you from moving. "You're so close. Stay here, don't run away from me."

He pauses, but his fingers keep moving. "I'll get some restraints later."

After a few more seconds, it finally hits. You crest, your orgasm starting again, and all you can shriek is a simple, "Oh, oh Jesus — "

"Just come," Matt says quietly. It contrasts heavily with the way he's ramming his fingers into you. "Don't do anything else. Just come. Let go. Let go, let go, let go — "

And, with the encouragement comforting you, what else can you do but do as he says? You're stuck in place and your mind is mush. You come with another wail, this one stronger and more primal than the first, louder too, and you see stars behind your eyelids. Your leg is shaking, and if your other one could move, it would, too. Your clit is warm, almost numb again, and your arms are quivering above his head. The sounds from your privates get more intense, and Matt grunts in exertion. You don't know anything anymore, you can't think or speak. All you can do is feel, and that's exactly what Matt wanted from the start.

You're sure Matt's senses are overloaded. Sound, smell, taste, feel. He can hear how desperate and overtaken you are, he can smell and taste your arousal and sweat in the air, and he can feel your quivers and shakes and your tightness. He's rock hard now, and it probably hurts a little, but he doesn't care. You're all that's on his mind and once again he wishes that he could only see your face in this moment.

"Oh, look at you," Matt praises, slowing his fingers now. You're a mess, a beautiful, satiated mess. There are tears in your eyes and sweat on your brow. Your hair is tangled and unkept, and your knuckles hurt from how hard you've been clenching your fists. It's amazing how this is only from a fingering, but you needed this. You wanted this, as shy as you were to admit it. You pant, weakly, your legs completely unable to move. You're jelly, practically limp, and you twitch and shudder as the last of the aftershocks hit you.

"Can I put it in now?"

You shriek and Matt laughs, falling beside you and immediately wrapping his arms around you. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding, baby." He kisses your forehead and cradles your head to him. "Such a good girl," he says, "you did such a good job. I'm so proud of you."

You swallow, and the saliva is a welcome sensation on your dry throat. "I think... I'll call off of work tomorrow," you pant. "Holy hell, Matty."

"Careful," Matt says, "if you do that, I won't be able to stop myself from doing this all over again once you wake up."

"I'm in danger," you say with a breathless laugh. "Just be gentle, okay?"

"Of course," he says, "always. I'm so happy that you allowed me to do that. It's been a while since you've given in that much. You don't know how hot it is to me when you let go like that."

You look down and see the tent in Matt's pants again. "Do you want me to take care of that now?"

"When you're half asleep already? I'm good, honey. That will go away eventually. But it'll be there in the morning, waiting for you. And I may or may not slip out in a few hours and get some restraints from the sex shop later. You may or may not wake up with your arms and legs tied to the bed. Just be warned."

It isn't long before you slip into sleep, completely exhausted but satiated and happy. And while you sleep, you can still feel Matt's lips on your forehead, and you think you can hear a small, "I love you, sweetheart," too.

[cherriesformatt]

a day || matt sturniolo

matt x fem!reader

summary: what would a typical day as Matt's girlfriend would look like

warnings: pure fluff

word count: 1,6k

a/n: idk let me know how I did English is not my first language but I am working on it

I was on my way from a long, Friday, morning meeting and all I was thinking about was going back to bed and never leaving it again. My week started with my car breaking down out of nowhere, then I got my period (which is not as bad when you think about it because it would be worse if I didn't get it), and then I had an actual meeting, in an actual office, with actual people (I usually work from home in my pajamas). 

I had to drive my boyfriend's car to the meeting downtown. I am glad that I could, but let me tell you one thing, my boyfriend's car is giant and to park this lady downtown I needed to leave 30 minutes early. 

chris 🦋:

waiting for u outside thx for picking me up kid ❤️

"oh fuck" I said to myself as I quickly did a U-turn before it was too late. Was it safe? No. Did everyone survive? Yes.

I totally forgot that I was supposed to pick up Chris from his own meeting since Matt couldn't because I had their car. I dialed Chrise's number.

"hi, ur okay?" he asked. 

"yes, I just might or might not forgot to pick you up so I'll be there in 15 okay? I'm sorry I had a rough morning..." 

"Bro no worries I'll pick up some coffee while I wait and you drive safe okay?" I smiled because wasn't he the best? He doesn't even drink coffee. 

"Okay I'll see you there"

I ended the call and typed Chris's location. It wasn't that bad with the traffic so I was there in less than 15 minutes. 

I was able to park where he was waiting so he got into the passenger seat and smiled at me while I started driving again. I really want to be home. 

"I would say good morning but I'll keep that to myself. Got you an americano and banana bread" He put my coffee in the cup holder and threw his backpack on the back seat. 

"Thank you, that's really sweet, I am literally half dead so that will help" I laughed and took a sip of my coffee. 

"I still think that my brother is dating a weirdo, how can you even drink it black and unsweetened?" Chris looks at me with a disgusted face. 

"You are all literally bunch of weirdos so I just matched the energy you know" I blinked at him and stopped on the red. 

"How was your meeting? New fresh love is gonna be fire. I got the drafts in my mail this morning. Did not change a thing. You and the team did great" I said and smiled at him. 

I was a graphic designer and helped Chris at the beginning of his brand, but I did not really want to work for him so I just help sometimes if it's needed. I am really happy that he still likes to know what I think about the projects tho. I also used to work for Laura but not anymore. That's basically how we all met. I quit after me and Matt started to be a thing. 

"I know right? Well, I knew you will love it. The meeting was great, we should be able to make everything work by the end of the month. And guess what... I actually got samples and I have a pink set for you kid" 

"Honestly... made my day, I am going to wear it for everything now" I laughed.

"Just don't post it yet" He said and started to click things on the car's screen.

"Just use my phone for music" I gave him my phone and he typed my code and put our favorite song by lil skies on. 

"Still can't believe I memorized Niall Horan's birthday just to get to your phone" 

I blinked at him and started rapping with the song. I loved make a toast. Music taste is probably one of the things that made my and Chris's bond strong. Don't get me wrong I love Nick as much as I do Chris, but he just always gets me and we were best friends since day one. The funny thing is that me and Matt did not really liked each other at first. 

The ride home made my mood better. We sang and laugh, I wasn't tired of my life that much anymore. I took my shoes off while holding all of my stuff. Matt was on the couch watching something while we made our way up the stairs. 

"Hi baby... How was it?" He asked as soon as he saw me.

"Crap, I am going to call Laura to take me back" I laughed and put my stuff on the table and went to wash my hands in the kitchen sink. I then walked up to Matt and just threw myself next to him to cuddle his side. 

He kissed my forehead and started to rub my back. 

"I am going to take a nice nap, you kids have fun but not too much" Chris waved at us and went back down the stairs to his room. 

Matt rolled his eyes and kissed my head again. 

"How about we do something nice together? Nick is going to come home with Madi soon, I think, and that means laud. We could go to that beach you like and just get food and watch the sunset later" He asked.

All I was thinking about was his cold hand on my back and how much I just loved that man. He knew exactly what I needed.

"Yes, please. I just need to change. I wore a bra man, can you believe this?" I sit back up. 

He laughed at me and shook his head. 

"Go then," He said patting my thigh. 

I went to put my new fresh love set in Matt's bedroom, used the bathroom and when I was ready we went out.

"Wow, so it's your car now, huh?" Matt started to change the mirrors and seat but he also raised his eyebrows looking at my stuff next to the shift gear. 

"Baby it's only essentials to drive, okay?" I smiled and got comfortable in the passenger seat. 

We drove to get food and dessert. The weather was perfect to just spend an entire afternoon on the beach. Boys did not have any work plans today so I knew Matt was all mine for the rest of the day.

We sat on the beach, had our food, and just talked or cuddled in comfortable silence. That's what I mostly love about spending time with Matt. We could just sit the whole day without a word and be alright with it, but also we could talk for hours and we would always have something to talk about.

"I love you Matty, thanks for taking me to the beach. This new project sucks but I know it's going to be better after that. I really needed just you today" 

I kissed his sweet lips. He tasted like the cherry Pepsi that we just had. He pulled me into his lap and slid his hands under my hoodie while he kissed me back. 

I rested my forehead on his as I pulled away and smiled. 

"Anything for my girl, I love you kid" He kissed my nose and I just wrapped myself around his body.

"I am not moving, you might as well carry me to your car like this" I said into his neck. 

He laughed at that and hugged me back.

"Or we can just stay here" He lay back down on the blanket. 

"I promised your brother that we are going to watch Criminal Minds with him tho" I said.

"Sometimes I just wish you and Chris weren't the same person y/n..." He joked and looked at his phone, holding it above my head.

"Let's go back after sunset in that case baby"

We did watch the sunset, my favorite part of the day. We came back home and spent time with his brothers as I had promised Chris. 

"Spend the night?" Matt whispered in my ear while the last episode for tonight ended. 

I smiled and nodded. I was off tomorrow and did not want him to drive me home that late anyway.

We said goodnight and went to his room. 

"I will go take a shower" I said and opened his drawer to take a pair of boxers and a T-shirt. 

"Go ahead, I went shopping while you were gone. I did restock your basket under the sink. I hope I did it right" He scratched his neck looking at me.

I had my stuff here, but I usually did the restock. Especially my period stuff under the sink.

"Matt...you did not have to do that, thank you, baby" I said pouting my lips.

"I wanted to, I want you to feel comfortable here. Not only you tho, all our girlfriends that come to our house. It's great that you did the basket and stuff" He smiled and I kissed his cheek.

"You are too sweet Matthew"

I went to the bathroom, when I was done he went to take a shower while I waited in his bed scrolling on TikTok.

When Matt came back from the bathroom I looked at him. He was wearing just his pajama pants. 

"Should I just say what all of the girls in my books would say? Matthew, you are such a tease" I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

"Oh my god, would you stop?" He got into bed laughing at what I said. 

"You love me for that" I put my phone on the nightstand and rested my head on his chest.

"Goodnight Matt" I closed my eyes.

He turned the lights off and tucked us in with the blanket. 

"Goodnight sweet girl" He kissed my head while I was already half asleep after this long day.

The best way to end the day is knowing that I will wake up in his arms the next morning. 

[p0is0n-b0ttle]

Two Cats Stuck in a Vent (One-Shot)

Word Count: 8186

Description: Noir gets stuck in a vent and has to call the only person she can trust for the job

Notes: No use of Y/N, instead your hero name Noir is used, no physical descriptions except for the hero suit with a set design. Basic power description for this fic is the suit is alive and his name is Khaane, (if you are aware of the show Miraculous it’s legitimately just Cat Noir with a few tweaks) the suit is black, has cat ears, and a belt tail. Khaane can speak to reader in her mind *like this* Reader is also a vampire but it’s a secret, if you’re interested in how I think the suit looks you can see my art, keep in mind the art is separate from the fic, only the suit is in the fic and its basically just the way I see Noir when I read the fic. Also this is my first fic I’m posting in 7 years so plz be gentle :’D more notes at the end!

TW: afab reader, vamp!reader, very suggestive themes, almost dry humping, cursing, a smidge of angst, blood, mentions of violence (it’s an Adrian Chase fic, fork found in kitchen), detached limbs, no smut but god are they both horny, NOT established relationship (they pining)

“—And I just thought, who would be the best hero to help find him, and of course it had to be you! Since— well, you know…” The old lady, Edna, she called herself, gestured to Noir's cat ears that sat on top of her head. 

Noir crosses her arms and gives a slight scowl to the old lady. “Are you one of those people who think I'm actually part cat?” She says in an annoyed questioning tone.

Edna chuckles a bit, surprising Noir with how casual she was with a known criminal, even if some think of her as the hero she once was. “Honey, my eldest daughter absolutely adores you. There isn’t a day that goes by when she doesn’t mention you, and she just so happened to tell me that you are part cat, since your ears and tail move just like those fuzzy little angels. There is absolutely no need to be ashamed!” 

Edna puts a hand on her shoulder, which Noir promptly removes casually. The whole being part animal isn’t a uncommon misconception of her and the other heroes that weld these gifted powers, but it's not exactly a smart idea to correct the information, since the less knowledge on these powers keeps everyone safe from their identities being revealed. 

Noir rolls her eyes as the old woman keeps yapping about how she could just ‘talk to him, you’ll probably get along‘ and ‘I heard furries are acceptable now, not that I really understand it much’, but Noir interrupts her with a raised hand and tired voice, “Just tell me where you last saw him and I will try my best to find him, no promises though.” 

Edna smiles, obviously not bothered by Noir's rudeness, and informs her of where she last saw her “baby”. After dodging another pointless and draining conversation with Edna, she leaves to go searching.

Noir, the supposed strongest wielder out of all the heroes who share her power, once celebrated for her and her partners heroic deeds by defeating powerful enemies and protecting the innocent, given medals for bravery and honor, and currently has more blood on her hands then most criminals, was now on a mission.

A mission to find a lost goddamn cat.

Reduced to this meaningless bullshit, she doesn’t even know why she agreed to this. Thinking more about it, it’s probably because Harcourt sent the group home early since the plan to stop the rest of the White Dragons goons needed more time to prepare, which left her mission-less. 

On top of the fact that Adrian didn't want to patrol tonight, which was a first. He’s usually making up excuses to go on patrol, mostly with her, but tonight he had said something about a new episode of Fargo being on and wanting to watch it live for once. 

He had asked her to join and watch with him, and said he wanted to “Fargo and chill, but actually chill… maybe” She immediately brushed off the ‘chill’ part with an eye roll but he insisted she would probably like the show. She explained she hadn’t watched any of it, nor even heard of the show before, where he excitedly started explaining the plot in either very close detail, or little to no detail which confused the plot for her further.

She declined the offer telling him she needed to go out tonight, insinuating that she was hungry. Adrian immediately understood and told her to enjoy her meal, then hopped in his car to drive home, leaving her alone for the night.

Adrian Chase was one of a kind, no doubt about it. His constant rambling and murderous intent was alluring to her. She enjoyed his company more than she would ever admit, and even after he had accidentally found out about her secret, she didn't kill him. She realized she couldn’t, especially not after he had accepted it so openly with no judgment. 

He had even gone as far as to help her with finding criminals to feed on when she was too weak to do it herself. Though she was never truly too weak to do it, she just honestly adored the way he cared so deeply about her health, and her diet. He’d torture criminals into telling him their blood type, just because she enjoyed certain types. He admitted to looking into how to drain blood from the body, how to keep it as fresh as possible to ensure it was still to her liking, and since she could only drink dead-man's blood he had offered to keep detached limbs in his freezer just in case she needed it.

She quickly expressed how much he didn't need to do that, the kindness toward something no one knew about left her far more flustered then it should have. 

Even worse, when she confided in him that she had always worried that drinking the blood of evil would turn her evil, he had offered his own blood to her since he was O negative, the only type of blood she could drink from someone still living.

The trust Adrian had to allow for even the thought of risking his life for Noir, scared her.  Even though she’s well aware of having the ability to not suck all the blood from his body in one go, she wouldn’t allow herself to put Adrian in that position for risk alone. Not to mention the intimacy of getting so close to him while on a blood high, her teeth sunken into his neck, lips touching his skin-

Her thoughts about Adrian were interrupted by a loud crashing sound in an alley nearby. She quietly makes her way over to the sound and spots a black and white blur scurry right towards her. 

She wasn't expecting the cat to run directly at her as soon as she turned into the alley, and the cat apparently wasn't expecting her to be there either, as its run screeches to a stop it stares at her as its breath heaves. 

She holds her hands out and crouches closer to the ground, trying to be less intimidating towards the small frightened animal. “No need to be scared, just let me bring you back home—“

The cat bolts right past her, so she tries strategically tackling it and ends up missing. Her right cat ear twitches as she refrains from growling in anger as she watches it run down the sidewalk away from her.

*Very elegant of you Noir.* Khaane’s voice rattles in her head. She tells Khaane to shut the fuck up as she slowly picks herself up from the dirty ground. 

She dusts herself off, muttering something about her dignity before she breaks off into a run after the cat. 

She watches as it scurries into another alleyway to its right, and she follows but stays outside the alleyway once more. The cat quickly climbs up a garbage bin and jumps onto a fire escape above it, then it runs up the metal stairs onto the roof. 

Noir rubs her face in frustration with one hand, and uses her other hand to unsheath her staff to use as a vaulting pole to get on the roof. She lands on the roof mumbling curses at the cat's invasions to her help. 

The cat turns around at the sound of the Noir’s landing, and as soon as he spotted her, he runs in the direction of an open vent and jumps into it. Noir hangs her head and sighs, then starts to make her way over to the vent.

“I should have made your owner pay me for this bullshit.” Noir mutters as she starts to crawl into the vent slowly. Luckily it was blocked off by another metal grate at the end, leaving the cat trapped, unable to bolt away again. 

She slowly makes her way through the short vent, with every inch she went, got narrower and narrower. She had to squish her shoulders a bit to fit even some of her upper body in. Using her legs on the ground of the roof, she pushes herself into the vent further.

”Come here you stupid fucking feline.” Noir says as she attempts to army crawl unsuccessfully toward the cat, the vent fighting her as she pushes her way into it.

She hardly gets her waist into the opening of the vent before she reaches for the cat, but it backs up further away from her. With her feet still planted firmly on the ground she quietly growls as she squeezes herself farther in using her forearms. 

The vent starts to groan at the strain.

*Noir, be careful.* 

“Fucking— Relax Khaane, I've got it. “ She spits out angrily, then reaches for the cat again and misses. He flattens himself against the wall of the vent, attempting to stay as far from Noir's hands as possible. 

“You dumbassfuckingcunt—“ She steadies herself to push harder into the vent which in turn gives a louder straining noise. The pressure of the metal squeezing her as she desperately tries to get farther in. 

Her hands move to go for the cat once more, only a inch away from him. She leans in farther, trying to ignore the sound.

*Noir…*

“Ive-“ She puts one leg into the vent, her knee digging into the metal.

”Almost-“ Her other leg follows.

Now on both knees, she’s so close to the cat she can feel the fur on her thin gloves. She sucks all her breath in as she finally gets close enough to grab him.

The vent creaks ominously as she goes to wrap her hands around the cat's torso.

*Noir! You’re going to—*

“Got him!” As soon as she grabs onto the cat firmly, her hips shift into the vent with a clunk. 

Khaane groans, but she ignores it as she smirks at the cat triumphantly, but her victory is short lived as the pain in her shoulders finally spreads to her collarbones as her bones start to finally feel the pressure the tight space provides.

She hisses in pain, and immediately moves to back out, attempting to put her feet back onto the ground when she discovers a problem. 

She’s stuck. 

She lets go of the cat during her squabble with the vent, trying to desperately inch her way backwards to no avail. Her shoulders never even budge as she squirms and wiggles in an attempt to escape. 

After swearing and struggling for almost 30 minutes, she finally accepts that she is truly stuck. 

At this point the cat had decided Noir was no longer a threat, and was now laying down watching the scene unfold in front of him, almost looking amused.

She sighs in defeat and drops her head to the metal floor with a bang, and finally gives Khaane what he wants.

”Fine. Fucking— fine. You win. I should have listened to you—asshole. What are our options?” Khaane hums in thought.

*You wont like it.*

”The fuck do you mean ‘I wont like it’. Just tell me so I can get out of here!” 

*You're going to have to call Adrian to help you.*

”Nope. No way.” Noir starts to frantically shove, squirm and ram herself against the metal surrounding her in a last ditch attempt to free herself. After another 10 minutes of fighting the vent, she goes limp in defeat. 

There is no way she’s going to call Adrian right? She cant be seen like this, fucking stuck and vulnerable. He’ll lose every ounce of respect he has for her if he sees her this weak looking. But she cant call Harcourt, she’s working on the plan for the mission tomorrow, and so is John most likely. Chris was never even an option since he’d probably leave her here for laughs, She didn't know anyone else who could help.

Except Adrian. 

With an angry growl and one last very aggressive flail, she sighs and admits defeat. 

“Call Adrian.” 

Only after two short rings does he pick up.

”Heya kitty, how's the hunt going tonight?” He answers cheerfully, a complete opposite on how Noir currently feels, even if his voice somewhat melted a little tension away from her aching shoulders. She sighs,

“I need you to come help me with something.” Immediately there is shuffling on the other end.

”Are you hurt—Did someone hurt you? You never ask for my help—“ His frantic worry fills Noir with guilt so she attempts to stop that train ride from going any further. 

“I'm not hurt, I'm not in danger, I just— uhm…” She trails off, unsure if she should go through with asking him to drop whatever he was doing to help. He could always just say no. 

“Do you need help hiding a body? Because if i'm honest, that’s not really in my wheelhouse. Don’t get me wrong, I'll still help! I'm thinking maybe buying like—five blenders to shred the body would— no that wouldn’t work, bones and shit—tsk— honestly I'm out of ideas.” 

Noir hated this feeling of helplessness. Needing help was rare for her. She’s been doing just fine on her own, maybe she could just wait this out, but part of her knows she'll still be stuck here if she doesn’t ask. 

”Noir? Are you there?”

”Yeah, Im-I'm here, just— uhm— no blenders needed, there’s no bodies— uhm…”

The cat in front of her decided to finally do something other than stare at her, and he meows loudly as he paws at her nose. 

“Was- was that… you?” Adrian asks in a surprised tone. Noir glares at the furry menace,

”No. That wasn't me. Look, I’m—“ She sighs and bangs her head on the ground.

”I'm stuck.” She admits.

“Like, on a equation, orrrrr—“ 

”I'm stuck in a vent and I can't get out on my own.”

There is just silence from the other side that fills her with unease, maybe she should have waited—

“So you need me to come get you out?” He asks, still slightly confused. 

“Yes, but I know you're busy with your Fargo so… It’s honestly not a huge deal, I-I can wait if-“

”Aww kitty, I'll happily come help you! I’m guessing you already called Chris and he was busy—“

”I do not trust Chris enough to come help me with this. That douchebag would probably post this on the internet and ruin my reputation. In absolutely no world would I have trusted him with this.”

Adrian is silent for a moment, the rustling on the other end stopping as well.

”… Are you saying… you trust me?”  Noir could hear the happiness seeping through his question, that dopey smile slowly taking over his face flashed through her mind. She shook that thought away quickly, the blush that threatened to show up was embarrassing on its own, but she blamed the situation itself. No other reason for that. Definitely no other reason…

”How fast can you get here?” Dodging the question, she attempts to move again to try and get herself focused on the issue, and not the sweet relief she felt at the joy of his revelation towards her trust toward him.

“As fast as humanly possible!”

————————

After a little while, she hears footsteps slowly make their way over to where she was. A choking noise came from Adrians mouth as she started to try to get herself out on her own after a few minutes of him watching her tail swing in silence. Definitely only looking at her tail…

”You gonna stare, or are you gonna help?” She hisses in embarrassment. Her face finally starts to warm as she realizes the view he must have on his end. Adrian starts to walk closer towards her and clears his throat to speak,

”How exactly can I help if you— uhm— can't be touched?” He asks warily, as if the question could cause her to run far far away, which, yeah, she definitely wanted to at this point.

”What the hell are you talking about?” She says in confusion.

”Well it's just that… You always push away anyone who goes to touch you, so I try not to… you didnt even accept my high-fives… Or Harcourts hand shakes… I'm prrrrretty sure you almost bit me one time when I put my hand on your face—“

”OKAY— Point made, Vig!” She was not about to delve into that. She groans as she digs the heels of her palms into her eyes.

”Look, I trust you okay? Just— do what you need to do to get me out.” She moves arms uncomfortably, or attempts to at least. Is that why he stopped trying to high five her after every mission and instead high-fiving his own hand while looking in her direction? She just figured he gave up, but was it an attempt to make her more comfortable? Even the rest of the group still attempts to make contact without thinking, but he respects her space…

Fuck— he cares so much about her it made her dizzy.

“Fucks sake— Ill hug you at this point if you get me out! Just try at least!” She jumps as a warm hand pats her ass a few times almost as a test after a moment. The almost burning touch lit her face up more, almost triggering her fight or flight response. 

“Relax kitty, I'll get you outta there in a jiffy! No way am I missing out on an offer like that!” She hears him crouch closer, both of his hands land on the lower part of her hips as he tilts her to the left and right. 

She hears him still as he takes a deep breath in, his hands twitch on her sides before he clears his throat again. 

“I'm going to try and pull you out now, okay?” His voice slightly strains as he speaks, his hands twitching again. Noir hums in acknowledgment and puts her head on her arms as she waits.

He steadies one foot on the bottom of the opening of the vent, the other planted on the ground and pulls her hips toward him. 

Her shoulders barely move as he tries again with a little more strength, but not enough, as if he’s trying not to hurt her. 

“Vig, I’m not made of glass. You can use all your strength, you’re gonna need to,” The faster this ends, the faster her dignity can reform. If she couldn’t get herself out, he definitely wouldn’t be able to with how delicate he was being. 

“Trust me.” She growls out reluctantly. He tries again, she could tell he still isn't using his full strength. 

“Fuck— you’re really stuck in there huh? Maybe we should call the fire people…“ He says kneeling down closer to her, his hands slowly, too slowly, make their way to the outsides of her thighs and she twitches at the feeling. His hands subconsciously twitch back in turn.

“Do you- do you mean the fire department? No— no fucking way. I’d rather die here—“ She tries to push herself back in tiny thrusts as she speaks, pushing her upper body on the metal floor for some kind of leverage.

“Fuck— Stop moving like that— you gotta relax kitty.” One of Adrians hands goes to cover his covered mouth as he rips eyes away from the direct view of her ass moving in his face. The other hand starts to absentmindedly trace circles into the back of her thigh with his thumb causing her to pause. 

When his other hand goes back to her other thigh, mimicking the movement that feels far too good then it possibly should, she bites back a groan and covers her face with her hands. 

She bites her lip as he sits there in thought, his thumbs start to slowly add more and more pressure, digging into the muscles of her thighs.

“Shit kitty, you are tense as fuck. Have you ever even had a massage before?” His hands, and attention apparently, start to move up and down the back of her thighs, lightly massaging the tight muscles. 

When his hands just miss the swell of her ass and go back down, she squeaks out a very quiet moan from under her hand, hoping to whatever god was watching that he didn't hear it. He hums in question after she doesn’t answer. 

“N-no.” Is all she’s able to get out. He sucks in a deep breath as he speaks again,

“No offense kitty, but— shit— you look really good right now—“

“Can- can we talk about anything else while you try and think of a way to get me out?” Her brain was short-circuiting at all of the thoughts of him fucking her, and the close physical contact that she hasn’t felt in years, only just keeping calm enough to remind him of his mission again as she has to fight her thighs from squeezeing together.

He pats her thigh twice a little roughly as he moves to get up. He stares for a moment at the way her ass jiggled at the movement and lets out a breathless “Damn..” Then shakes the trance off. 

He starts to walk around the vent, examining it for any weak points that could help as he speaks up again. 

After a bit, he says, “I thought the moon was a chunk of the Grand Canyon that broke off.” Noir’s mouth goes agape, almost squawking as she takes that information in but also thankful for the change in subject. 

“There is no way you actually thought that…” If Khaane could slam his head into a wall, he would be doing just that and in turn, that feeling made Noir want to do the same. 

“I'm not kidding kitty, I thought the moon didn't exist—“ 

“No, no way—“

”No, hear me out! Follow me here! When the meteor hit the planet and killed all the precious dino’s it knocked a chunk of earth off which was part of the Grand Canyon, and it formed into what the moon is.” Noir stayed silent for a moment, then responded with awe in her voice, 

“You think something broke off into space when the meteor that killed the dinosaurs hit the earth? Are you familiar with the Grand Canyon?” 

He was quiet for a moment, most likely looking up into the sky in thought like he usually does when he’s trying to confirm a response in his head, “Yes.” 

“Doesn't sound like it!” She laughs out. Adrian fist bumps the air behind her, silently beaming at making her laugh, even if he doesn’t really know why.

”Okay, well there isn’t any way for me to unscrew the vent apart since its all melted together…” Adrian puts a hand on his chin in thought as he stares at her ass for answers.

”You mean welded together?” Noir asks, feeling slightly more comfortable and less humiliated. 

”Potato tomato. Can’t you just— you know— disintegrate the vent? With your strong cool cat powers?” 

“I could, if I want to disintegrate the feline with it.” She says as she glares at the cat itself, now grooming himself without a worry in the world. 

Adrian hums in thought, and Noir thinks she hears him sit next to the opening of the vent next to her. Why the fuck isn’t Khaane helping? He has more knowledge than the both of them combined, he has just been silent this whole time.

*I'm honestly just enjoying your struggle, you did do this to yourself…*

Noir growls and rubs her face frustratedly. So Khaane isn’t going to help, for his own entertainment, now she’s left with Adrian and her mind. The latter being on hiatus with the whole situation being so… unique…

She can hear Adrian drumming his fingers against the ground as he hums a song she cant place, then he speaks up again,

”Why don't you like to be touched?” The loaded question hangs in the air for a bit. She really didn't want to get into this while stuckinavent but Noir trusts Adrian, so much more than she realizes. Which is why she answers honestly.

”I don't… not like to be touched, but it's a strange dislike. I guess I don't really like to be touched because… I crave it so much— too much.” Being hurt time and time again has led her to this way of thinking, coupled with the fact Khaane believes any form of love is weak. Everything about touching someone— or being touched— is a vulnerable and trusting process, which has burned her too many times before and left Khaane to heal what he could. But in all honesty, he can’t heal mental wounds, and when he tries, he makes them worse.

“That's kinda sad, Noir…” He says with sadness lacing every word.

”Life could be worse, Vig.” She says bluntly, she wants to be held so tightly that she can’t break, but there are so many pieces on the ground. And she'd rather leave them there instead of burdening someone else to clean up what she can’t.

”Life could be alot better, too” He shoots back. Noir stays silent after that, he’s right of course, but she doesn’t deserve a better life. At this point she’d rather be alone than be with the wrong person. Even if she ends up dying alone, which deep in her core she knows is most likely one of her worst fears. 

Her tail swings and hits Adrians leg, and an idea comes to his mind.

”Oh! What if we take your belt off?” He asks, starting to stand up again. 

“Do you really think that will help? It doesn’t feel like my belt is stuck on anything.” Noir says, slightly unsure. She can't remember the last time she actually took her belt off since the suit just appears on her as soon as she wants it to. 

Adrian shrugs, “It can't hurt to try, right?” 

Noir shifts uncomfortably but ultimately agrees. Adrains hands go under the roof of the vent and land on her lower back, and slowly, so fucking slowly, make their way up to the back of her belt. His hands follow the belt to go to reach under her, but stop when they hit the sides of the vent. 

“Huh… Guess I have to go underneath.” His hands retract, then tap the insides of her thighs a few times which causes her to jump and cover her face as it somehow gets warmer. 

“Open those legs more kitty.” Noir shuts her eyes and shifts her legs open wider. This is fine, totally fine! He’s just a friend. Just a friend helping her get unstuck. Totally platonic!

Adrians left hand rests itself on the back of her thigh, the other reaches underneath her and lands just underneath her chest. His chest makes contact with her thighs, and she can feel how close and warm he is. She bit her lip as the hand on her thigh started to move in circles again in a soothing way, but she wouldn’t exactly call what she felt very soothing. 

The hand underneath her slowly drags down across her stomach, searching for the buckle to her belt. As it went lower and lower she finally let out a shiver at the vulnerable spot he was touching so softly. The heat between her legs that she had been desperately ignoring was now making itself very known.

Completelyplatoniccompletelyplatoniccompletelyplatonic

Something told her he was going a little slower then he needed to, but she wasn't about to start complaining. 

His hand finally finds its destination, and with a click, the belt comes undone. She breathes out a sigh of relief as he pulls it out from underneath her.

He leans back on his heels still crouched and takes a closer look at the belt. The staff, pouch and tail connected to it caused so many questions he needed answers to, so he asks, “Can your tail still move when it isn’t connected to you? Like a lizard, or a starfish? Also, can I look in your pouch?” 

Noir quickly thinks of anything embarrassing that might have been left inside of it, and comes up with nothing.

”Sure, I guess. And no, the tail can't move anymore since it's not connected to the suit, but Vig you need to stay focused. I’d really enjoy getting out before it gets dark.” 

After a few moments of Adrian going ‘hmm’ and ‘ohhh’ while he looks at the contents of her belt pouch, eventually he returns to the task at hand. At least it gave her time to recover a little bit.

He claps his hands together and rubs them, “Okay kitty, lemme try and pull you out again.” He stands up and reaches back into the vent again, grabbing her hips like the first time.

After a few more pulls with no success, he maneuvers her legs to wrap around his waist and wraps his arms around each leg, bracing his foot against the vent for leverage. Noir locks her feet against his back and takes a shaky breath.

Adrian slowly starts to lean backward, relying on gravity to do its thing. Soon after he yanks slightly, then tries again harder when nothing budges. He huffs out after it doesn’t work with a few more tries, Noir reminds him that he has to go harder. 

The next yank was far more forceful and he lets out a grunt. From this angle she can feel the vibration of it right against her, and it makes her fucking wimper. 

“Did that hurt you?” His grip on her legs starts to fall, and in embarrassment and panic she tightens her legs around him a little. 

“Keep going, I’m fine. Totally fine…” She whispers the last part mostly to herself, and covers her mouth when he goes to yank again. His breath slightly hitches after he grabs at the junction of her hips and leg to get a better grip and presses her ass against him more. 

Adrian adjusts his foot higher on the vent, and a loud groan rips through his chest as he yanks again, a moan gets caught in her hand as bolt of pleasure goes up her spine at the slight relief between her legs when she feels the accents on his suit drag at just the right spot.

At this point she’s fighting with every cell in her body not to start squirming against him, the totally complete practical touches were leaving her so much warmer than she could handle. 

Another grunt comes from Adrian, and in frustration with not getting her loose, he moves her hips right against his crotch for a better angle without thinking. Noir lets out a tiny squeak as her brain goes blank.

He’s about to yank again when he pauses, his hands twitch again but he doesn’t continue pulling.

”I just realized this is exactly like a porno I watch like- just last week.” He says casually, the thumbs that rest on her hips starting to soothe in circles again.

Noir can’t form a coherent thought at this point, but after a few seconds of no response or movement from Adrian— what the fuck is he even doing back there— she removes her hand from her mouth to try and derail that thought from both of their minds.

”I’m— I apologize for interupting your Fargo show, the one time you take the day off from patrolling and of course I fuck it up—“

”What? Kitty, you didnt fuck anything up. You needed my help so of course I came, I’d drop anything to come and help you!” Adrian starts to rub her back lightly, but as he continues he starts to massage the tight knots in her lower back making her drop her head as her eyes roll into the back of her head as she groans at the pleasure.

”Besides, I was already recording it, so it's not a big deal. I'll just wait for start of the next season to watch it live-“ That snaps her out of the haze he was putting her under as her head shoots up in shock, and it hits the top of the vent with a bang, the cat in front of her jumps at the sound and glares at her.

She groans as she rubs the top of her head, Adrians hands on her back start moving faster as he asks if she’s okay. Of course she’d interrupt him when he wanted to watch a finale of his favorite show, she’s such a fucking idiot.

”I can't believe I bothered you during a finale— god—I'm such a dick—“

“Noir, you don't bother me, you’ve never bothered me, you couldn’t bother me. I promise you, you’re not a dick, and it's not a big deal—“ He tries to quickly comfort her, as much as he loves Chris, Adrian has heard his fair share of being a bother to his friend, even if he thinks Chris is just being emotionally defensive most of the time. It still makes him feel like shit when he hears it but plays it off.

”But it was important to you, and that’s a big deal to me.” She groans and rubs her face, guilt eating her alive at this point. Adrian is glad she can't see the bashful smile that appears on his face thanks to his mask and the vent. 

”I'm such a shitty friend.” She eventually says sadly, the guilt seeping its way through the statement. She already doesn’t think she deserves a friend like Adrian, now she knows she doesn’t deserve his kindness, his laughter, his loyalty. But Adrian isn’t about to let her think that way,

“Don’t say that— you are not a shitty friend. Kitty, I wanted to help you, I’d rather spend time with you more than anything else in the world. Especially if I get to stare at your ass the entire time.” She could hear the smirk on his face as he said the last part, the fact she could tell he was telling the truth made her squirm against him subconsciously.

”Alright, enough with the evil self loathing scorpions kitty, let's get you out, okay?” His hands go back to where they were before on her hips as Noir tries to sort through the wave of emotions she was feeling. She finally settles on an idea that comes to mind.

”I’ll watch Fargo with you from the beginning if that makes up for it.” She sheepishly says, the nervous tone coming from a rejection she was waiting to hear back. Instead she hears an excited gasp from him.

“For real? Are you being for real right now because holy fuck that would be so fucking awesome— It’s a long show so you’d have to come over a ton to finish it but you won’t see me complaining. I can make popcorn and we can have sleepovers-“ 

“If you get me out in the next five minutes I’ll think about a sleepover, alright?” Her smile started when she realized he was rambling again, his excitement started to seep into her chest as she felt his hands get tighter and tighter the more he went on.

Adrian goes back to yanking Noir, not getting anywhere still. He huffs out one last time in frustration, then Noir yelps as she feels him quickly lift her ass over his chest right under his chin, with his body now leaning fully back and both feet planted on the vent the only thing keeping him from falling on the ground is now Noirs stuck form. 

His hands lock together underneath her stomach. His arms over he legs caging her in completely. Noir lets out a shaky breath and covers her burning face with her hands again. 

With a strong yank, Noir finally feels her shoulders move back, just a little bit,  “It’s working! Keeping going!” She attempts to help by pushing herself with her forearms on the ground of the vent, and with another yank and a grunt from Adrian she feels a slight relief in her collarbones. The thought of almost getting out of the damn vent has clouded over her thoughts, no longer caring about how close they were, or the risqué position they were both in. 

“Holy shit— yes— Come on Vig— You— gotta— go— harder—“ Each time she spoke he yanked with more pressure, his grunts getting louder and louder as she finally started to inch back some more. She started to feel his arms shake from the strength he was using, if she wasnt more durable in the suit he probably would have cracked one of her bones at this point, but he kept going and she kept getting closer millimeter by millimeter. 

Eventually she feels the pressure on her arms start to lessen, then a familiar clunk noise causes adrenaline to shoot through her. She’s almost out. 

She can now hear the vent slowly creaking again as it fights to keep her locked in, but she starts to feel her shoulders lighten, she squeezes her eyes shut and starts to push back even more against the vent to help Adrian more. Noir slowly starts to feel herself winning against the vent as she slides backwards.

”Fuck— yesyesyesyesyesyes!” In a flash, she's outside the vent. Adrian groans as she lands on top of him, he now lays on his back with her just above him, his knees holding her upright against her chest. 

Noir blinks a few times to adjust to the difference in light, and realizes the cat she was hunting is now in her hands. Khaane must have grabbed him for her when she was to busy being ecstatic that she was actually getting out. 

Noir stares back at the cat with a triumphant smirk, “Got you, you little shit.” The cat growls lowly at her, but doesn’t squirm from her grip, he just accepts defeat and hangs limply in her outstretched hands. 

Noir continues basking in her victory until she feels Adrians hands do that familiar twitch on the back of her thighs where they keep her from crushing him. She slowly turns her head around, twisting her body to see him and— oh my god—

She’s basically sitting on his face. Her cunt about an inch away from him. Noir scrambles up, using one of her hands to push herself off of Adrian using his knee, unintentionally spreading his legs wider and he groans in what she is going to call… pain (it wasn’t pain).

As she stands up nothing but apologies come from her mouth, but she goes silent after nothing comes from the masked unmoving hero. He’s just laying on the ground still, his hands resting on his chest as he looks like he’s trying to regulate his breathing. 

Noir stands there with the cat in her hands with a worried look, and after another minute or two, she nudges Adrian with her foot lightly, “You good?” 

The only response she gets is a thumbs up, which thumps back down onto his chest quickly. Noir smiles lightly, and crouches down next to his head to look into the visor at his closed eyes. 

“Thank you for helping me Vig. I really appreciate you coming here to free me, and sorry— about almost riding your face.” Adrians breath hitches, and a twitch goes through him. 

After another moment, the cat in her hands meows and Adrian's eyes open at the sound. He looks at the cat in her hands, then up at her and her heart skips a beat as she sees his eyes crinkle behind the visor as he smiles underneath the mask. After a slow breath he clears his throat and speaks, 

“It was absolutely positively no problem kitty, I'm siked I was able to help you out.” Noir holds out a hand for him to grab, and he takes it with both of his hands. She pulls him up and has to steady him as he wobbles on his feet a bit. 

They stare at each other, Noir bashfully smiles at him then after a beat, she speaks in a monotone voice, “Let's never talk about this again.”

Adrian chuckles and puts his hands on his hips as he shakes his head, “Sorry kitty, but there isn’t a chance in hell that I won’t bring this up again.” Noir groans as she rolls her eyes, the cat in her hands starts to squirm a bit reminding her of his presence. 

“Well, I have to return this guy back to his owner… You wanna come with?” Adrian nods his head frantically, and starts marching over to one of the ladders.

”Let’s go!”

”Other way Vig.” Noir smirks as he quickly turns around on his heel.

”I knew that! I was just testing if you knew… Let's go!”

————————

The walk to Edna's house started with Adrian telling Noir that ‘she looked like one of those raccoons with its head stuck in a tin can’, ‘have you ever seen those really cute and funny videos of cats getting stuck in boxes?’, ‘pretty sure I saw a video of a hedgehog with a McDonald’s fry bag stuck on its head’ and probably every other variation of “animal being stuck” that he could think of. 

Eventually he started telling her about Fargo. Noir had noticed when Adrian gets really into rambling about something he really likes he starts to curse like a sailor. Khaane counted 26 ’fucks’ in his 3 minute rant about how Martin Freeman is his favorite actor, but no matter how many times he curses, Noirs smile never faded from her face as she listened intently. 

When they got to the building Edna lives in, she told Adrian to wait in the alleyway next to it. Edna might have a heart attack seeing him, and the less alive people that knew about them working together the better. 

Noir knocks on the door a few times, adjusting the fluffy creature in her hands, as she waits she looks over to the alleyway Adrian is waiting in, and sees his head poking out watching her. She looks away but can't fight the toothy grin that ends up on her face.

Edna opens the door and Noir drops the grin quickly. The old lady laughs in relief as she takes the cat from her outstretched hands. 

“Thank you Noir! I was so worried about my baby boy and look at him! Not a scratch on his fuzzy little head! My daughter will be delighted to know her favorite hero saved Mr. Munchkin’s.” Edna scratches at the cat's head as she speaks and has a warm smile on her face as she talks to Noir.

The ‘hero’ rubs the back of her neck awkwardly, the praise making her a little nervous. “You should probably get a collar for him in case this happens again, and think about getting him chipped, it would make things a lot easier next time around. Just to be safe.” She says, trying to avoid the whole hero argument. 

Edna starts to go on about how she’ll think about it, and some weird conspiracy shit she read on Facebook one time about someone being able to control the cat from its chip. Noir interrupts her rant with an excuse about needing to help someone else. Edna thanks her again then shuts the door, Noir can hear her sternly telling off her cat from behind it, and walks off back to the alleyway where her friend is waiting. 

Noir turns the corner and stops in shock at what she sees. Adrians hand is outstretched toward her, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. But what’s in his hand is what makes her do a double take. 

He’s holding someone’s detached arm. From what she can tell it’s their left arm, the thick blood from the ‘incision’ is still leaking heavily. Adrian shifts his feet as Noir stares at the limb in shock, still trying to put the pieces together.

Adrian can see she’s struggling with her shock and speaks up, “I got you dinner! I remember you saying you were hungry when we left HQ… and someone was spray painting in the alley across from us so… Are you… not hungry?” His shoulders slightly fall as he realizes she might have ate already, but Noir shakes her head like a etch a sketch to clear her thoughts up. 

“I’m… I'm still hungry… I didn’t get a chance to eat before the old lady asked for help so…” Adrian's entire body springs back to life and he shakes the arm at her excitedly. Noir lets out a breath of a laugh through her nose and grabs the arm from him. Adrian leans forward and starts to rock on his feet as he waits for her to bite, very obviously waiting to watch her eat. 

Noir tries to ignore his watching eyes and sinks her teeth into the forearm and starts to drink from it. Her face softens as she indulges the pure energy it gives her as she continues. The blood high makes her hyper focus, an almost animalistic feeling washes over her as she gives into the ride. The arm starts to almost deflate from lack of liquids and eventually she lets go with a pop.

She wipes the excess blood from her lips with the back of her hand, and takes a glance at Adrian again with dilated pupils. 

“Was it good? It didn’t have any drugs in it right? I asked him if he did any but he was so nervous that I couldn’t tell if he was lying. Also he said he didn’t know his blood type so— yeah…” He trails off as she starts to stare at the flesh and bone in her hand. A smile slowly creeps onto her face as she thinks about how he is way too thoughtful for his own good. 

How could someone— anyone— treat her so nicely? Everything in her tells her that she doesn’t deserve it, that she will never be worth the work, but Adrian is always there somehow batting off those thoughts with a baseball bat in her head. He treats her like she’s everything, and she thinks of herself as if she’s nothing. He deserves something nice for his effort, a gift maybe? What would she even get him?

Noir shakes her head again, her blood high finally starting to lessen. She’ll figure something out for him, he deserves it. Her hand holding the arm starts to glow with a threatening black light, and the arm disintegrates into dust right in front of them.

Noir looks back at Adrian, his body language giving him away completely. He’s nervous, maybe about accidentally drugging her? Noir blows air through her nose and closes her eyes as she rubs her arm awkwardly. Slowly she walks over to him, and stiffly, but very very carefully wraps her arms around his waist and presses herself into him in an attempt at a hug. God she can’t even remember the last time she did this.

Adrian immediately wraps his arms around her in return, squeezing tightly as a content hum leaves him. Noir tips her head down below his chin, leaning on him subconsciously as she starts to melt into the embrace. Her eyes close as the dopamine starts to make her sleepy, her heart pounding as she inhales the scent of kevlar, mint, sweat, coffee, and a hint of dish washing soap. She can hear his heart beating just as fast as hers— god— she feels lightheaded from all the feelings running through her, but she needs to stay on task.

“Thank you Adrian, you’re a really good friend to me. Sorry… I’ve… never really been good at telling people how I feel but… you make me want to try.” Noir pushes her head against his chest a little bit more, taking all the warmth he was so effortlessly offering.

“You don’t have to keep those feelings locked up in your brain kitty, people are like Guinea pigs, they need friends for comfort— or something. I will always be here if you need my help or if you wanna talk, that will never change.” Adrian nuzzles his cheek into her hair affectionately. Noir squeezes him a little tighter as she takes in his words.

Eventually she reluctantly lets go, but does notice his arms linger just a smidge longer than necessary. Noir doesn’t have it in her to look at him, instead looking at the broken cement on the ground. 

Adrian claps then rubs his hands together, “Wanna start Fargo at my place? I have popcorn.” He sings the last part as he tries to entice her into going. She looks up at him and smirks before she rolls her eyes then starts to walk out of the alleyway. 

“Alright, let’s go then.” Adrian fist bumps the air and starts to jog up to we’re she walks, then ultimately asks,

“So… sleep over? Please?” 

Noir lets out a chuckle, “I'll think about it.”

Notes:

— Lemme know what you think! I write a lot tbh but I never post it in fear of not finishing it, or just because it’s not entirely perfect but I’m taking a leap with this one! Also is this way too OC? I struggle with characters that don’t have a set story or power so… idk

— The dialogue about the Grand Canyon is from the Backyard podcast, definitely look them up on tiktok if you want a laugh

— I have so much backstory for Noir, and I have written a little of her story but it definitely needs tweaks but she has tons of potential if y’all like it!

— “I’d rather be alone than be with the wrong person” is from Death Note, also headcanon that Adrian has definitely watched it bc how could he not?

— I’m currently working on a x reader for Daredevil that’s coming along nicely, but this was stuck in my head

— Honestly there has been such a drought in Vigilante fic’s and I’m hoping when season 2 of peacemaker comes out there will be more (my calculations are that it will be done filming by the end of next month yes I did the math also editing should only take about 5 month hopefully don’t get me started how we’ve seen Peacemaker, Harcourt, Adebayo and John on set but no Adrian I’m terrified they changed his suit design or his character) 

[suddencolds]

a personal milestone 🥳 + author's note

i finally made it 😭 (there is probably another 10k sitting in my drafts, but i have always tracked word count for this project as a sum of already-published installments)

also a (somewhat long) journal entry below:

—

This has been the main project in my life for almost two years, now (I started writing on 1.26.2023). It's my first proper attempt at a novel, and it's one of my first times ever posting original work anywhere 😭

It's hard to say how I feel now, perhaps because I feel too much.

Where to go from here? I considered dropping the series entirely before I hit the milestone because I was very tired. In a way, I felt like I had said everything I wanted to say. But I think I also love this series a lot more than I can properly verbalize.

To be completely honest, writing this series was so lonely. To work for so long on something that I could not show to nearly anyone irl (not family, not close friends, not peers, not strangers I met who I talked to about art); to spend hundreds of hours on something that I could only ever post to a small subset of people... all of that was very lonely. I'm sure other creatives have felt this way too.

And at the same time, hearing what people on snzblr thought became probably the most potent source of happiness in my life (is that pathetic? Maybe so.) I don't think this project was self-sustaining at all; I think to some extent, I wrote it because I wanted to hear people tell me that they liked it. I realize this is a terrible and unsustainable reason to create art, but that's the truth.

On some level, though, I kept writing because I loved Y+V. They've been at the forefront at my life for almost two years now 😭 I spent a long time teaching myself how to write them, and a lot of the themes & choices in the series are quite personal. Embarrassingly, I still want to talk about Y+V all the time.

When I posted to ask if I could send my unfinished/unpolished WIPs, some people reached out to offer to read them... and then I never sent anything over to anyone. I think a part of me could not get it through my head that people would be willing to read something completely unpolished, because... well, frankly, a lot of my drafts are just pretty unreadable; I typically only post things that I have already cleaned up. More importantly, I felt like sending my drafts to people—even people who had given me explicit permission to send them!—was selfish and troublesome.

On some level, I also felt the same about asking others to brainstorm with me: I felt like I was asking them a favor which I did not know how to pay back. Perhaps this is just another way in which I have been cruel/uncharitable to myself, but I never imagined people enjoying receiving my drafts. I could never convince myself that for those people, giving feedback/discussing ideas might not actually be a chore. I was always scared to make writing less of a lonely process because I could only think about how easy it would be for me to ask too much.

This is probably the most honest I've been about this particular subject 😭 I am not good at gauging what constitutes 'too much.' I feel like I can get carried away when someone expresses interest, so I try to preemptively position myself as someone who does not impinge on others... I think that even outside of this series, I have defaulted to this pattern of trying to give and trying not to ask. In that particular sense, I am perhaps to blame for my own loneliness.

Anyways! Recently, I've gone back to (tentatively) writing after months of not writing. I'm not sure if I will post another installment here (maybe if the drafts are 'good enough', I will?), but it's nice to write without worrying so much that what I am writing needs to be publishable/presentable.

If you have ever left tags/comments on my work, and you are reading this, I am grateful beyond words to you for keeping me company + for making me feel like what I was spending so much time on was a little more meaningful :') I always go back to reread them when I'm in need of encouragement. Thank you sincerely for the happiness. ❤️

[formerheroeswhoquittoolate]

okay so for those of you who haven't met me (most of you) I really like thinking about the way people talk (tone, inflection, accent, speech patterns, et cetera) and I'm tired so I'm extending this to the batfamily here we go here's my thoughts, unrequested and only slightly edited:

dick: sounds a bit like a male pop singer (think brendan urie but without the whining or busting his voice with drugs and bad technique). dude has a killer falsetto and can hit some of the highest notes in the house, beat out only by steph. saw a headcanon somewhere about him growing up speaking romani because of his parents and having an accent as a child that comes back when he's hurt or tired and honestly 100/10 it's part of this headcanon (and if you know where this post is please tell me! it's not mine and I'd love to give credit). you can also hear it in the way he says a couple less common words but his accent otherwise sounds exactly like bruce's.

jason: doesn't have the deepest voice of the batfamily; he's third deepest after bruce and duke. his tessitura (comfortable vocal range) is big though and his voice pitch changes a ton with his mood. he's got a soft r that the other bats don't have (think ny or boston) that he learned from his mom. his falsetto is trash but he is one of the better singers in the family. all low notes. you should hear him do the song the dwarves sing in the beginning of the hobbit.

tim: his voice is a little scratchy but it's not too noticeable. damian is the only batboy with a higher voice; tim and cass are at about the same pitch. he's a tad self-conscious about how he sounds in general and heavily mimics so he's got bruce's crisp ts and a softer r like jason's. he says "ahm" instead of "um" and that's not really common in gotham so nobody really knows where he's gotten that from. he's definitely more monotone, for a lot of reasons, and tends to emphasize his words by changing in volume rather than pitch.

damian: he's like twelve so his voice hasn't dropped yet but he wants it to be lower like his brothers. he's got just a touch of an arabic accent so his speech is a little more melodic and much like tim he's a mimic so he has bruce's ts and a few sporadic romani and aave quirks from dick and duke respectively.

duke: second lowest voice of the batfamily. the kid's quiet and his speech is usually peppered with aave although he's often a little self-conscious about it around the primarily white batfamily and especially white upper-class bruce. doesn't sing in public but he's good at it (he refuses to acknowledge this)

cass: okay she hardly ever talks but when she does it's slightly lower in pitch than what people expect. she typically speaks in broken english (well that's canon not headcanon) and it's always the same way as someone else in the batfamily speaks, usually babs, steph, duke, or jason since she spends the most time with them. she's barely ever louder than a kitten sneeze.

stephanie: holy shit the girl talks fast. she's got the highest speaking voice too by a few steps. gorgeous soprano but only about fifty percent of the time. loses her voice completely when she gets sick and turns into a raspy old lady. has an absolute knack for impersonations, not necessarily in terms of pitch but in speech patterns/rhythms.

barbara: right in between tim/cass and steph in terms of pitch. she uses very precise language and there's often random hacker lingo in there. she's also surprisingly loud and can out-shout any of them except for alfred.

and finally, bruce: deepest voice by a step or two. his batman growl is actually slightly higher in pitch if you listen closely enough which jason finds hilarious. he's got very crisp ts as a result of being raised primarily by the very british alfred and he often takes his time speaking especially in meetings.

[mixsethaddams]

Throwing my hat into the latest trend of Shovel Talk posts. tw reference to past child abuse (not detailed)

Eddie gets the shovel talk from no less than five people.

Dustin, Robin, Erica, Max and Lucas. (Those two came as a pair, as they so often did since the Vecnapocolypse) Actually, technically six, if you count the fact that Dustin kept saying And Will Said...

They all say in and around the same thing. Steve deserves the world, he's been the babysitter for longer than Eddie's been the DM, blah blah blah. Honestly, Eddie's getting a little tired of people assuming he'll hurt Steve and leave him heartbroken. By the time he closed the door after saying goodbye on the final He Means More To Us Than You Do conversation, he was left in no doubt that the kids expected him to fuck up royally and they would not hesitate to choose Steve when (not if, as far as they were concerned) it happened. They would never forgive him. It was good to know where he stood, he guessed.

What Eddie didn't know, was that Steve was getting a few shovel talks of his own.

Wayne was first, obviously. Steve wasn't surprised to be pulled aside at the Byers/Hopper barbecue to listen to some very unsubtle threats about what might happen to him if Eddie came home with so much as a pout Even One Time, Boy, You Hear Me?

More surprising, was Joyce.

Joyce came by one night under the pretence of bringing by some leftover lasagne. Steve offered her a tea and they sat in the kitchen together while she asked polite questions about how things with Eddie were going. When Steve was done telling her all about the constant butterflies in his stomach, she clasped his hand gently across the table.

"I'm happy for you sweetie, I am,"

"Thanks Joy–"

"But you need to understand that Eddie is a fragile boy, and he needs real love, Steve. He's not the type to be happy with a, what do you call it, a fling? He's not the type for that,"

Steve was taken aback.

"This isn't a fling, Joyce,"

"Can you promise me that? I remember him from when he was just a kid and, god, well, I'd hate to see him hurt,"

Steve's mouth was open and closing like a fish, totally at a loss for words.

"Steve, can you promise me that? I know you're grown now and things are different, but I need you to say it for me,"

"I promise, I... I'm not who I used to be,"

Joyce patted his hand.

"Good boy. I better get home,"

And then there was Hopper.

Hopper knocked on the front door of the Harrington house early one Saturday morning, three sharp thuds on the door that made you think, Yup, Cops Are Here.

Steve answered still half asleep, barely aware he'd even pulled on a pair of sweatpants.

Hopper didn't accept the invite to come inside. He noticed Eddie's boots by the door.

"He here?"

"Uh, yeah, has been since yesterday, why? Did someone say he done something?"

"No, he's not who I'm here for,"

"What? I haven't done anything?"

"Good, and I expect you to keep it that way,"

Steve didn't know how to react. His eyes were still adjusting to the daylight and his brain hasn't quite woken up yet.

"Hop, I don't know what you're talking about,"

"El told me that you all know about the night he went to live with his uncle, says he told everyone the basics when Jon was worrying about turning out like Lonnie,"

"Yeah, he told me some more about it after too,"

"Figured he might,"

Steve shuffled from one foot to the other.

"I still don't know why you're here..."

"I was the one who carried him out of that house that night, Steve,"

"Oh,"

Oh indeed. Hopper's voice was gruff and low. Steve was actually nervous.

"I listened to him cry for hours. He couldn't breathe it was so bad. I never wanted to hear another child even speak after having to sit in the room while he told Wayne what went down,"

"I–"

"And I don't think I'll ever be able to sit right with the idea of that kid being sad again, because of someone else messing with him. I never forgot what he sounded like when he cried. Don't make me have to see him cry again, Steve. Do you understand me?"

Steve was stunned. All he could do was nod dumbly. There was no point offering any sort of defence, Hopper obviously wasn't here to listen. He was here to tell. Of all the people Steve might have thought would be on Team Munson, the former chief of police wasn't exactly top of the list. Eddie's distinct lack of criminal record through his teens might have been some indicator though.

Hopper gave Steve a curt nod and turned back down the driveway without another word.

He closed the door and leaned against the wood, letting out a low breath. Eddie appeared at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes.

"Baby? Who was that?"

"Uh, Hopper..."

Eddie huffed a sleepy laugh.

"Hmm, shit, Law Man swing by to make sure I was behaving myself?"

Steve went to Eddie and pulled him into a tight hug, nuzzling into his hair. He really had no clue, did he?

"He was just checking in,"

Eddie hummed and went towards the kitchen to switch the coffee pot on. He had told Steve about the shovel talks he got from the kids earlier in the week. Trivial threats about leaving Hellfire and never helping him write a song again or going to one of his shows, taking back his Walkie privileges, things that seemed like the end of the world to a group of minors. Eddie had wistfully mentioned that Steve would never have to worry about being on the receiving end of something like that, he didn't think anyone really cared enough. Maybe You'll Get A Weird Look From Wayne, But I Think You're In The Clear, Golden Boy.

Eddie had no idea about the people that were looking out for him without him realising it. It made Steve's heart hurt. He'd half expected Robin and the others to have words with Eddie. It was almost a joke, he hadn't thought twice about it because he just kind of knew it would happen. He knew they cared, and he couldn't imagine how it would feel to be so sure that they didn't. That no one did.

Steve made a promise to himself then and there to never let Eddie feel like no one cared enough ever again, giving himself his very own version of the Don't Hurt Eddie Munson shovel talk.

It was the least Eddie deserved.

(Also posted to my ao3)

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Tonight, Forever, Then, Here And Now - Nikolai Lantsov

Summary: Nikolai Lantsov x Reader circa King Of Scars, at a party, pretending their feelings for each other can be ignored.

Content Warnings: Not Beta/Proof Read.

So like, I stopped writing fanfic content and imagines and stuff a few years back because Wattpad wasn't serving me well and Quotev had drained my morale. The last two years I've been posting fanfic on A03, and that's really just been for me and bestie, and this account was really just so I could post Tolya content for bestie. But I'm like very glad you are enjoying my nonsense the same was she does, and I shall continue to take requests and post my random bs because who knew there was such an audience for it xx

Genya smiles looking you up and down. "You clean up nice," Genya says. You give her a look, and she pretends not to see it. "Please try to look like you're happy to be here."

"I did not ask to be here," you remind her. She gently leans closer, bringing her drink to her lips, to try and hide her whispers.

"We both know there is at least one reason you would like to be here," she whispers.

"Don't," you warn her.

"I haven't seen him yet," she continues, "but from what Zoya said-,"

"I do not want to know what Zoya said about Nikolai," you say a little too quickly. Genya smiles, that knowing smile. "I will tell David that you don't like the new hinges, that you preferred the other ones despite the fact they were less functional, because they were prettier."

"No, you wouldn't," Genya says, but she thinks about it. "Oh you might."

"Yes," you tell her, "I might."

You love Genya, she keeps you sane during such fancy and often long functions, but today she wants to talk about Nikolai, and you cannot talk about Nikolai. You're not sure your heart can take it. You've never been able to hide your feelings for him, not from her at least. But today your feelings feel like they could boil over.

"I hoped you'd look my way eventually," comes a voice you don't know. You realise that in your absentmindedness you must have been looking at someone, and rather than admit you were somewhere else entirely, thinking about Nikolai, you try to conjure a smile.

"Have we met?" You ask, you hate small talk, especially with men like these, the type that will ask you to dance. You really do not feel like dancing.

"May I have this dance," you go to say no, but you realise when the confusion crosses the strangers face it isn't he who asked. You play the question back in your mind, and you know the voice, you'd know it anywhere, you'd know it in a crowded room, you'd know it tired, to quiet or pretending to be someone else, and you know it now.

"Your Highness," you give a curtsey, it's a little joke that no one but Nikolai and Genya seem to understand. Nikolai tries to make his smile look more humble, but the smugness lingers. He offers you his hand.

"Shall we?" he asks. You stare at him, like waiting would make it make more sense. He takes your hand with a smile and throws the stranger a gentle shrug. "I have a tendency to make them short of words." You follow him as he pulls you along, trying to ignore the smirk Genya has. "Dance with me."

"We shouldn't be seen together," is the first sentence you manage to put together. Nikolai just gives an indignant sigh.

"Just, take my arm, and don't look so stiff," he says, pulling you in. You let him, having him hold you close takes away some of the attention from the fact you do not wish to be dancing, for understandable reasons. You don't even want to be here at all.

"I should warn you that I am a terrible dancer," you tell him. He chuckles and you can feel his breath against your skin, and you try not to let your thoughts linger on it.

"It's okay love, no one's going to be watching you," he teases.

"By all means, don't waste your pleasantries on me," you respond. He places a hand on your hip and you try not to jolt from the shock. You'd intended on avoiding him, you'd hoped you could spend the whole night, not having to share a word with him, and now his hands are against you and it's like he has filled up all your senses.

"My eyes are up here," Nikolai whispers, bringing himself close to your ear. You step on his foot and he bites his tongue pretending to not notice. "Ouch," he whispers. "Put your hand on my-,"

"No," you say quickly.

"Can you at least pretend you like spending time with me?" he asks.

"I like spending time with you," you say, looking up to meet his gaze. "But I hate parties, I hate... all of this and people are looking at me, I don't want them looking at me, and we know why they're looking at me, because I am dancing with you. Something else I did not intend to do."

You see one of the court members leaning into whisper to someone you don't recognise and you fight off the groan. Nikolai follows your gaze. "Ah, the rumour mill's already started," he observes.

"Sound less pleased with yourself," you tell him. His grin turns mischievous, and he looks more like the Nikolai you know, underneath all the royal attire and façade. You wish you could smile and just be happy in his company, you wish it was that easy. But it's anything from that easy, and as each day passes it gets more and more complicated. "I've heard the rumours about you."

"Who hasn't?" he asks, tone still filled with good-humour, in spite of how quickly he could have misinterpreted that comment.

"I mean... the other rumours, about you and Zoya," you're teasing him and he knows it.

"Yes, that's why she is so set on finding me a wife," he lets slip the tiredness in his tone.

"Oh, that's why you're insisting on dancing with me," you say, letting him pull you closer. "Not because you couldn't find a date in time."

"You think I couldn't find a date in time?" he asks, mock offended.

"No, I know you could have dates lined up out the door," you say, "so it made me wonder, why you wanted to bother me."

"I'm bothering you, am I?"

"Shut up Nikolai," you look away trying to stop yourself from blushing. He always acts like this, and you always react like this, you should know better.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," he admits. It sounds like a confession, but you've got not a single clue what he is confessing to.

"You weren't supposed to find me here," you admit, equally honest, equally confessional, but at least you know what you're confessing to, even if he doesn't. You feel your throat drying up as Nikolai pulls you in even closer. "Strong grip," you whisper. He laughs and you can feel the breath moving in his chest as he does. "Anyway, how is the whole wife thing going?"

"Oh please, I had hoped I would be free of that, at least with you," he says.

"Why would I free you from conversing clearly the most important decision you're yet to make as royalty and ruler?" you tease.

"I knew you'd turn on me one day," he whispers, "but this betrayal, this stings."

"Well, Your Majesty, I am just concerned for the royal line," you say, dipping your head in a subtle bow.

"Mind if I cut in?" Zoya asks, approaching the two of you.

"Yes," Nikolai groans but keeps a smile on his face.

"A word," Zoya says, eyeing you.

"When I have a moment?" you ask.

"After your dance?" Nikolai inquires.

"I am not cutting in for you," Zoya tells Nikolai directly, "and no," she looks to you, "not when you have a moment, now."

Zoya pulls you aside. "Now I don't know what I've done to incur the wrath of General Nazyalensky, but I assume I am about to find out," You say, not liking quite how hard the grip on your arm is.

"He needs to find a wife," Zoya states flatly.

"I know," you reply.

"He will not find a wife, with you around taking up his time," Zoya points out. If Zoya were someone else, you'd think this was coming from a place of jealousy, possessiveness, or her own interest in Nikolai. But anyone who knows Zoya enough, knows her one true loyalty, the thing she loves above all else, is Ravka. That is where her intentions lie. She wants what is best for her country, it isn't personal and you know it.

"He sought me out," you tell Zoya.

"And he will do that," she tells you, "over and over, and it gets him no where, he will chase you and it will mean nothing except act as a distraction from what he must do."

"Please, Sobachka or not, Nikolai isn't some... love sick puppy, he is a romantic, and these proposed arrangements do not interest him, but even if there was a deeper reason for that, it would not be me," you state.

Zoya's laugh is tired, and in its own way, cruel. "You exhaust me," Zoya admits. Zoya was all kinds of beautiful, and you know her to be beautiful even in her cruelty, in her viciousness. Zoya was so beautiful in her anger, even in her war, that even as the Storm Witch her beauty is what people remember most about her. You assumed she looked right through you, but she was staring at you now, right at you. And that was the most terrifying. "I suggest, you put aside your naivety and take a walk. Let me do what is necessary, what is best."

"For Ravka?" You ask, tone bleak.

"And for Nikolai," she states, "your own feelings aside, that is what you want, isn't it?"

"You know nothing of my feelings Zoya," you say, more venomous than you'd originally planned.

"I think it is you that knows nothing of your feelings," Zoya says, "now you need some air, don't you?"

"I need some air?" you ask. Zoya looks to the archway leading out of the festivities and into the gardens.

"You need some air," Zoya says again, "or do I need to physically remind you."

Zoya would not use her small science here, not like this, but the threat was filled with a level of sincerity. "I need some air," you reply and take your leave. 'What I really need is a drink,' you think to yourself as you make it past most of the crowd.

"Quick, while no one is looking," comes Nikolai's voice as he pulls you into the shadows.

"What... are you doing?" you ask, biting back any sounds of shock.

"You help me, I help you, isn't this how this goes?" he is being himself again, that Nikolai you know so well, all mischief and planning. You knew Nikolai could escape almost any situation if he wanted to, and if he put his mind to it. Clever as a fox. Sly like one too, you'd often thought.

"I need some air," you say, trying your best to oblige Zoya and her better intentions.

"Mind joining me for a walk in the gardens?" Nikolai asks.

"Would I mind you joining me," you correct him. He smirks.

"You wouldn't mind," he places an arm around you, resting a hand on the lower of your back, "I am such a delight to be around."

He is uncharacteristically quiet as you walk down the path and around the garden. "I am sorry for Zoya," he says finally.

"It's futile to apologise over her," you say, "no one could control her if they tried."

"Perhaps not, but... I do not like the way she talks to you," he says.

"She talks to everyone that way."

"But she shouldn't talk to you like that," he says. You want to ask about why you deserve special treatment, about why he is seeking you out knowing there are things he needs to be doing. But something else catches your thoughts before you can ask either of those questions.

"Were you eavesdropping?" you ask.

"Can royalty really eavesdrop?" he asks, trying to pull that charm he has to cover his tracks.

"Nikolai," you say, sighing.

"Call me Kolya," he says, "like you used to."

You think your heart might just stop in your chest. "I... there is a lot of things I used to say, that it's best if I don't say anymore," you manage, looking up at the sky instead of at him. It's cloudy and dark, the stars barely managing to shine through all the fog.

"Why not?" he asks, genuine, needing to know.

"Because things can't be how they were Nikolai, not anymore, not now," you say, "and you know that better than I do."

"I don't believe that," he says, leaning on the wall. You look at his waistcoat, wondering how it would look if he were to return to the party with the dirt of the garden on his good clothes.

"You need to," you say, stepping to stand beside him, resting your arms on the wall, hands just out of subtle reach of his. He would have to reach for you, intentionally, knowingly, noticeably to take your hand in his. Part of you wants him to, part of you knows he really shouldn't.

"You're really trying to sound convincing aren't you?" he asks.

"I am allowed my fantasies, you cannot afford them," you admit. He smiles, but you can feel the sadness thinly veiled by the smugness.

"So you have fantasies about me?" He cocks his head to give you a look.

"You shouldn't keep them waiting," you say, not giving in to him, as much as you want to.

"I'm royalty, I never keep anyone waiting, they're just too eager," he says. He moves his hand over, just a small amount, considering it as he edges across the stone of the wall. You remind yourself not to hold your breath.

"Nikolai..." you whisper. "You can't do this." You want to tell him that it is not fair, to have loved him all this time, and always known he could never be yours. With him this close the idea that he could, even for a moment is filling your brain with desires and thoughts you've tried hard to bury.

"But what if we did anyway," he asks. "Tell me like I am not what I am, but just who I am, forget the titles and the obligations. If it was not about the rules and Zoya and the parade of princesses and diplomats that I am expected to smile at and charm. If it was just you and I, tell me like it was that."

"Why?" you ask. "What is the point?"

"So I know," he says, "I need to know if I am truly going mad, or if maybe, my dashing charms have won over even you."

"My feelings for you have nothing to do with your charms Nikolai," you smile to yourself, "I fell for you long before you became so boyishly handsome."

"And my heart belonged to you long before I ever thought I could be king," he admits.

"But you did get handsome, and you are King," you say.

"What if," he takes your hand now and the warmth of his hand engulfing yours makes your breath hitch, "we just didn't care about it. What if I told Zoya that she needn't worry with her matchmaking because there is no one I would be willing to rule with that isn't you?"

"I'd say you're a fool, and that only Kings in bed time stories marry for love," you say.

"And I would remind you once said every prince in every fairy tale made you think of me."

"Saints I really used to say things didn't I?"

"I always loved that about you."

"You still say things."

"Say you'll have me," he says, "if you will have me, I will sort the rest."

"And have to dance with you in front of people, I don't think I could do that, you misstep," you tease.

"You stepped on my foot," he chuckles. You look at him, and those eyes are staring right back at you, into you, like he could see exactly who you are at a glance, like he has always known. Like every breath, ever step, has always been leading here, to this moment. "You're leaving me without an answer."

"Nikolai," you whisper, "you're not supposed to make this choice."

"But I want to make it anyway," he says, "I am King, no one will argue with me."

"Zoya will," you say as his hand brushes your cheek.

"Let her try," he says. "So... is that a yes? All I ask is that you say yes if you want to, not because you should or shouldn't but because you want to, and you speak to me as you always have, and call me like you once did."

"Kolya," you whisper, and the softness in your voice is answer enough, but you tell him anyway, "yes."

[mrs-b-heelshire]

Brahms Heelshire X reader p.2

❤︎ This post is 18+ minors do not interact please ^.^

❤︎ This fic is F/M (sorry I forgot to add this before)

❤︎ part two

❤︎ part one here

You keep your eyes on him, you aren't sure how to react, he doesn't look angry but he doesn't exactly look happy you found him "are you Brahms like...actually him?" he nods slowly "how...I mean how?" he doesn't answer "have you been here the whole time?" he nods, you look around, he's been here...alone...this entire time "have you been watching me?" he nods, stepping forward "Brahms how have you been surviving, I know you have been taking the left overs but...that can't be enough for you" he doesn't say anything he just steps forward again, he's acting timid like he's worried you will break if he gets too close "don't leave me" his voice is less child like this time, more like a teenager, still not fitting him "what?" he is an arm lengths away now "don't leave me...please" his words cut you like knives, this man who is towering over you...is begging you to stay "Brahms...I..." you are now looking at his chest, you can't bring yourself to look up, you aren't afraid of him, the opposite, the way he's acting, the way he's talking to you...all you want to do is protect him, you can feel the warmth coming from his body, it's comforting in a way, he leans down and you feel his mask graze your cheek, its cold, he rests his head into the crook of your neck, you raise your hand and he flinches "shh it's okay I won't hurt you I promise" he leans back onto you and you run your hands through his hair, you are surprised when its soft and not greasy yet his clothes look unwashed, you guess a shower makes less noise than a washing machine.

You don't know how long you stayed like this, but you don't say anything or try and move, he needs this you know that much...maybe you did too, you are still playing with his hair "Brahms?" he says nothing "Brahms? darling are you okay?" the nickname pulls him back to you, he looks at you wide eyed, you smile softly "Brahms are you feeling okay?" he nods, and you sigh slightly "I don't mean just now, are you feeling...well fed? are you sleeping enough" you aren't sure why you have this desire to...take care of him, you look at him and you just want to make him feel better, he's broad but you can tell he's not eating enough and his eyes look tired "Brahms why haven't you been taking care of yourself?" he shrugs and you cross your arms "Brahms I can't help you if you won't use your words" you notice he is fiddling with the sleeves of his cardigan, you take his hands in yours "Brahms I won't be mad, you can tell me" he looks down at your hands then up to your eyes "I...I didn't want you to leave" his voice has gone back to the child like one "Brahms...why do you talk like that" his grip tightens on your hands "mother makes me" your heart sinks "oh Brahms, she's not here, you don't have to force your voice to be like that...you can be yourself with me" he whimpers slightly "come on, I'm making you some food" he nods, you let him lead you out of the walls, he knows them better then you do.

As you two get to your bedroom you look at him, now that he's in a better light you can see him, actually see him, he slouches, probably because he got used to ducking under pipes, his hair is curly and bouncy, you can see he has a beard, you can see just how broad he is in this light, you are so captivated by him you don't notice he is staring at you, watching your eyes roam over his body, you only get pulled out of your thoughts when you feel his hand on your hip, you look up at him, his eyes are on your lips "kiss" the word comes out as a whimper "what?" you can feel your cheeks heating up "kiss" his voice is small and soft but not childlike "Brahms...it...it's not bedtime" he leans down slightly "please" his grip on your hip has tightened and he has moved his other hand to the back of your neck, you know you shouldn't, you don't know this man, other than his name but in this moment you want to, you want to kiss him, you want his hands on you...but why

[brain-n-body-in-disarray]

I'm fed up.

I've seen another of these posts where they say "high functioning" ND and autists have it "good", or whatever.

Being "high functioning" doesn't make it less of a struggle. Just a different kind of struggle.

I'm "supposed" to be better at life if my symptoms are "lesser", if I'm abled to mask so well, right?

Wrong.

I'm just in an eternal loop of burn-out and anxiety.

By being categorised "high functioning", by being unseen, I fell through the cracks. That means I didn't get any help, I was on my own. I'm expected to be a successful, self-reliant adult and I'm clearly not. I'm a mess.

I'm invisible. That's no cool super-power, believe me.

People just asks me "what's wrong with you?" but expects me to be like them. "High functioning" is bullshit. That's not a grocery lists of symptoms you have to check. That's not a badge to earn. You can never speak a word and use AAC full time and not being able to "take the joke" and fake your way in this allistic world, and still being a functioning adult that isn't breaking down every two minutes. Which one is "high functioning", tell me?

It depends of your definition of "functioning", I guess.

There's no high or low, just different experiences.

And just because you can do something doesn't mean you don't need help with it. Because being able to do something doesn't mean you can't suffer from it. It doesn't mean you want to have to battle and cry and bleed to do it.

I'm just so tired of this "high functioning" bullshit.

Find another word, people.

*

*

I'll add, a bit more calmly, that what I think is wrong with this is the criterias people uses to decide if it's low or high functioning.

It's based on the symptoms and traits neuroatypicals finds jarring (and thus make the diagnosis criterias) instead on looking on negative effects the disorder have on us, beside, you know, the things that make us stand out.

I know autists that are "obviously autistic", that get accommodations, and I see them thrive. In the meanwhile, I see autists that are categorised as "high functioning" that are chronically depressed because they got to a point where they can't cope anymore. Masking and living unseen and unhelped in the allistic world is exhausting and traumatic.

I'm not saying "low functioning" ND have it good. Certainly not so. There's horrific things done to so many of them because allistic people want to "cure" them and make them "normal". So, no, they don't have it good.

What I'm trying to say is, different experiences make different results, but you can't say one is worse than the other.

That's what anger me with these posts I've seen. That people erases my struggles because of some misconceptions about my life and how I experience it.

I just want a peaceful community linked by our similarities, where we can learn from our differences, instead of fighting over petty things like stuffs like this. What's the point of a feud?

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

Electric Love - Full Chapters

Want early chapters? Read on Ao3!

Chapter 2: Pleasantly Surprised

Notes: Support me by reading on Ao3! Kudos and comments help motivate me to see multi-chapter fics through to the end! I'll be posting announcements for the updates here. Chapters will come out on Ao3 BEFORE tumblr.

Word Count: 6863

"You want to make a deal," Vox realized, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly, and dead pixels flickered to life under his lip. This just got so much more interesting for him.

You lean back and cross a leg over your thigh. "Exactly. But I’ll have you know Mr. Big Evil Overlord, I’m nothing if not ambitious. If you think I’ll hand over something like this for just my life, then you won’t be getting shit."

“And remind me why I shouldn’t just kill you before you have the chance to blab?” Vox smirked as his eyes flickered over you like a shark considering its prey.

“Because you have no way of knowing if I’ve uploaded the information somewhere,” you grin back. “You don’t know if I’ve told anyone. You don’t know if I’ve written it down. You’d have no guarantee someone else wouldn’t find the clues I’ve left behind.”

“You’re not a total idiot,” Vox chuckled. “What is it you want then?”

“How about this,” you start slowly. What you wanted was something you doubted Vox would be willing to get involved with. Still, you had a golden opportunity in front of you and you’d be a fool to not at least try. 

“I know you snooped through my computer, so you already know I have quite a few friends in Valentino’s studio,” you sigh. “Not all of them are exactly pleased with their contracts, so here’s the deal. I’ll tell you how I resisted your magic if you promise to make Valentino terminate their contracts.”

“That’s it?” Vox grumbled as he thought it over. You weren’t expecting the easy grin as he shrugged. “We’re definitely talking over the details, but that’s simple enough.”

You blink, surprised at how ready he was to throw his companion under the bus for his own gain.

"You'd fuck over your closest friend, lover, fuck-buddy, business bitch for this?" You say, unsure of what to call Valentino. There were a lot of rumors about the ever-shifting relationship between Vox and Valentino.

"Without a second thought." Vox grinned, not showing any kind of remorse or hesitation in his voice. "A few of Valentino's fuck toys in exchange for knowing what can repel my hypnosis? It's a no-brainer."

"That's fucked up," you blink slowly. "But from a business perspective, I guess I can understand that." You hum as you think it over.

"Hm..." Vox nodded, thinking about the deal you were offering. "And the reason you want Valentino's contract on those souls to be released… It’s only because they’re your friends?”

"Yup," you sigh as you look down at the floor. "Not all of the friends I have in that circle want their contracts canceled. I can't say I understand, but that's their choice. However, some are desperate for a fresh start. I'm willing to do anything for them to have that."

"Why do you care so much about the well-being of other sinners?" Vox asked, looking at you with raised eyebrows.

You quirk an eyebrow back at him. "Why not?"

"So, you're just helping them out of the kindness of your heart?” Vox asked in disbelief. “No other external motives or personal gains at all?"

Your face scrunches up, "More or less, but I don't like it being phrased like that. Makes it seem… I don’t know. Just don’t dwell on it. It’s what any non-jackass would do."

"And you think you're a non-jackass?" Vox said with a sneering smirk. He didn't believe that you were helping those other sinners for nothing more than just the kindness in your heart. This was Hell. No one did that.

"I try," you snort as he shoots your phrasing back at you. "There are enough people in Hell doing their best to be the biggest asshole. With what little energy I have, I'd rather just focus on my passions and be nice to the people around me. It's a lot less tiring to be a decent person than a jerk."

Vox said, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "That sounds fishy as fuck. You have to realize that. For all I know, you could be deceiving me right now with that sweet facade of yours."

"Do you really care what kind of person I am?" You sigh, growing uncomfortable with an overlord like him putting your personality under a microscope. "Regardless of my personal preferences, I have something you want, and you have the power to give me something I want. Plus, if I was trying to fuck you over, I wouldn't have let you go through my computer,” you add for extra measure.

"That's true," Vox said, nodding his head slightly in acknowledgment. "But I still refuse to believe that a sinner like you is only doing this out of the goodness of your heart. You must be getting something else out of it. What is it?"

You huff, getting frustrated. "I don't know what you want me to say, man. I just don't like seeing my friends suffer. Why is that such a hard pill for you to swallow?"

"Because it doesn’t make sense," Vox said his eye twitching in irritation that mirrored your own as he tried to figure out what you were planning. He didn’t like the idea of making a deal when he felt he didn’t have the full picture.

"Are you seriously telling me you wouldn't do the same for your friends?” You ask, finding yourself questioning his character just as much as he was questioning yours. “The other Vees?”

"Hmm..." Vox said, raising a hand to his chin and rubbing it back and forth as he took a moment to consider your words. He was standing here seriously considering screwing over Valentino. But he knew that the deal he was considering wasn’t of any real consequence to the other overlord. Vox had a hard time imagining what it would be like to have a mindset like the one you had. It was stupid on a fundamental level in his opinion, but he could see your point.

"Actually..." Vox said, finally replying to your question. "I suppose I would."

"Fucking hell," you say as you slump against your seat. "Finally."

"But..." Vox said, a smirk slowly returning to his face. He was on the cusp of believing you, but he wanted to see what would happen if he pushed your buttons just a little more. He’d be lying if he didn’t find a tinge of amusement at your frustration. "There is still this one, small, tiny, insignificant little detail that you're keeping to yourself... What is it?"

You groan as you resist the urge to grab Vox’s stupid bow tie and strangle him. "Oh my gooood, dude! I'm not like you! I'm not some big conniving evil mastermind! I'm a broke bitch who's living off of ramen noodles and discount veggies, who likes the people she gets high with on the weekend, and would like to not see them suffer. It's not rocket science!"

Vox's head tilted slightly forward, not bothering to hide his smirk as he got closer. "But to go so far as to develop an anti-aphrodisiac out of kindness? That's a whole new level of cotton candy bullshit. The only other person like that in Hell is Lucifer’s little bitch and unlike her, you ended up in Hell for a reason.”

"I'm going to kick your ass if you don't drop this," you sigh as you drag a hand down your tired face. "Do you want to make the deal or not?"

Vox smirked at how easy it was to work you up. Deciding not to push any harder before he had you locked under contract, he finally relented. "Alright. I won’t kill you for everything you’ve shown me today. I will convince Valentino to cancel the contracts that you ask me to, but only if you reveal to me how one may repel or counteract my hypnosis and agree to never tell another soul what you know."

You let out a deep breath. "Finally, fucking Christ."

Your eyes glow as you activate your magic. Stars and purple mist appear around you as you reach out your hand. Like any other sinner, your magic reacted to the binding contracts that made hell function. Anyone could make a deal, and the magic made it so you couldn't back out. No one could be trusted, and it was the only way to guarantee someone wouldn’t go back on their word.

You hold your hand out for him to shake. Once he did, the deal would be sealed, and you'd both have to hold up your end of the bargain.

“One last thing,” Vox adds as he recalls the pictures he’d seen on your computer. “I may be able to convince Val to drop most of the deals, but there’s no way he’ll relent his hold over Angel Dust.”

You frown, your hand flinching back as you think it over. As much as it pained you, Vox had a point. Angel Dust was different from anyone else under Valentino’s control. You had hoped Vox wouldn’t have come to the same conclusion you had before making the deal, but he wasn’t an overlord for nothing.

Vox waited a moment to see if you’d back out. When you let out a deep sigh and looked up at him, extending your hand again, he smirked. You were both one of the dumbest and smartest lower-class sinners he’d run into. It was refreshing and made him all the more curious about the accidental discovery. 

He took your hand and shook it, and his bright electricity lit up the room as the binding magics of Hell seeped into your minds and bodies. You were now both bound by soul to honor the contract. Vox didn't let go of your hand, though, as his intense stare continued to penetrate your eyes. “Now then…”

A weight feels like it’s been lifted off of your chest now that you know you’re safe and you managed to help at least some of the people you cared about. You smirk at Vox, not bothering to try and pull away. "Unlike with Valentino, your ability doesn't need magic to repel. Try using it on me right now."

"As you wish," Vox said, glaring into your eyes once again as he tried to use his hypnosis on you. Even though he already expected it, the fact that it didn't work still unnerved him. He didn’t like the idea of Hell being able to slip out of his grasp. He was already paranoid enough as is with the return of Alastor. 

There was a brief flicker of control, proving once again that you weren’t immune. However, it disappeared in an instant and your eyes didn't change to red and black spirals like the usual victim of his power. Instead, your hand tightened on his and your smirk grew as you proved your point.

"Interesting..." Vox said, staring at you with a mixture of skepticism and admiration. True to your word, he sensed no flare-up of your abilities or anything of the sort. “Now tell me how you do that.”

You let go of his hand and pull out your phone. You don't say anything to him, leaving him in suspense as you scroll through your pictures. Vox’s anxious energy only grows as he waits for you to show him what you’re looking for.

He’s not expecting the quiet chuckle when you find it, nor is he expecting to see the image in front of him as you turn your phone for him to look at. It's a picture of Vox from many many years ago. An old photo of him when he was still new to Hell and a completely different person. His TV head was an older model and instead of holding himself with sinister confidence, he was timid, frail, and honestly? Extremely dorky.

"I- h-how did you find this photo…?" Vox said, his facial expression softening slightly as you showed him the photo. He wasn’t expecting the flood of conflicting emotions. Embarrassment, rage, and…  a tinge of nostalgia.

"I stumbled across it on a forum when I was studying overlords," you say, before blinking and quickly correcting yourself. “Not the ones for Eternal. This was just some normal history of hell thread on a public domain.”

You took back your phone from him and smirked as you pocketed the device. "You crazy fuckers are great inspiration for character design. The outfits, the abilities, the psycho agendas. All of it is fantastic for creative inspiration.”

You lean back to sit on your desk as you shrug. "Once I saw that picture, I realized that you used to be just like anyone else regardless of who you are now. Confused and scared. After that, the hypnosis hidden in your products and media stopped working on me. It's not that I was scared of you before, it's just now I don't think I could be without reason.”

Vox stared at you with a look of mild shock and disbelief. This was the first time in decades that someone had acknowledged the fact that he was once a normal human being on Earth. A person who was lost and scared and wanted nothing more than to find their place in the world. The nostalgia he felt from seeing himself in that photo brought back a flood of emotions he quickly tried to stomp down before you noticed.

"Valentino's abilities are based on a chemical reaction, while yours is based on psychological origins. There's no magic counterpart to your abilities,” you say as you deliberately ignore the flash of emotion on his face. It wasn’t your place to push. “It just depends on the mindset of who you're using it on. That's probably why if you were to try using it on Alastor or another overlord, it wouldn’t work either."

"This whole time, it’s been something so… simple?" Vox thought about it for a minute. He felt a spike of panic as he thought about how easily Hell could simply stop falling under his spell if Alastor made a fool of him again. “Then… what’s stopping a̸l̶l̶ ̵o̶f̴ ̸H̶e̵l̶l̵ from realizing..? F̴̡̉ṷ̶͊c̶̲̀k̸̠͗!̸̤͆”

You flinch as Vox starts to short-circuit. The way his body jerked and his voice glitched out, it looked painful. That being said, if anyone asked, you’d deny it as much as you could that the change in his voice didn’t make you feel a certain way though.

"You pull them in with charisma, instant media serotonin, and promises of things that will benefit them,” you find yourself reassuring the overlord before he has a panic attack in your tiny office. “They want to look. They want to listen. They want to be convinced."

You give your best smile and do little jazz hands at him dryly, "In short, capitalism, bitch."

Vox barks out a harsh laugh, glitching again before his systems seem to calm down slowly. You had a point. Even if people one day stopped fearing him, Vox had what people wanted. He had the confidence, he had the charm, he had the products. He had power. 

"So, if I'm to understand you correctly…” he stated slowly as he tried to talk himself down from losing it in front of a stranger. “The reason why my hypnosis doesn't work on you is because you don’t fear me outside of circumstance and you don’t want anything from me aside from something that isn’t actually for you. So what? You’re a sinner who doesn't care about material possessions? You just do your own thing and don't care about anything else? That’s it?"

"Mm, I wouldn't say that entirely," you hum as you cross your arms. "There are plenty of things I want. I'm still just a person like anyone else. It's just that since I understand the motives and origin of the source pulling the strings, I can just… walk around them."

"Interesting... very interesting..." Vox mumbled, thinking over this. It was a completely new mindset that he had never even considered before. His hypnosis relies upon the desire for material possession and a sense of power at the expense of others. But you somehow managed to counter his hypnosis through willpower alone. 

He wondered just how far that mentality could be pushed. "So, when you say there are things that you want..."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, feeling a shift in his demeanor that made you feel somewhat uneasy. "Yeah…?”

"I'm just curious,” Vox grinned as he changed his approach and closed the distance between the two of you. He looked down at you like he was once again trying to solve a puzzle, only this one seemed far more… entertaining to him. “What exactly do you want?”

"Why do you want to know?" You ask, shifting back to give yourself space, only to realize he once again has you trapped.

"Because you seem to have a different mentality than the usual sinner here in the hierarchy of Hell. While it’s a unique perspective, I doubt you’re the only one who has it. As you mentioned before, there’s a good chance my hypnosis could be resisted by other overlords as well,” Vox explained easily as he noticed your discomfort with a sinister grin.

“Can you blame me for wanting to find out just how far that mindset can take you before you fall under my spell like anyone else?” Vox smirked as he watched you squirm uncomfortably.

You will the flush on your face to kindly fuck off as you look away from him. It was obvious he was just interested in seeing what it would take to regain power over anyone who managed to dodge the influence of his magic. You thought that there would never be a consequence to the countless nights you stayed up late reading fanfiction filled with romantic tension, but the habit was now biting you in the ass as your mind filled with scenarios the overlord was definitely not implying. 

 "That's a fair enough question then, I suppose,” you mutter as you push on his chest to get some space. 

Vox relents and backs up, giving you the illusion of control for the time being. It was easier to pry information out of you that way. You move from the desk to the couch he was on earlier and grab a pillow. The two of you had been talking longer than you expected, and you wanted to get comfortable. You sit criss-cross, holding the pillow in your lap.

"Well,I guess I want the same things a lot of people want… I think. I want to get better at the things I do. I want to be prettier. I want to fall in love one day, but with how fucked up everyone is here, I'm not holding my breath there,” you chuckle dryly.

“Uhhh, I like plushies, but I don't need any more of those..." you hum as your mind wanders on how else you can answer his question. You personally didn’t think any of this could help him in his endeavors, but he had asked.

"You want to fall in love?" Vox said, raising a brow curiously at you as he sat across from you. He had never expected any sinners in hell to say they wanted to fall in love so openly. It was so... "pure" so to speak. Vox thought about what you said and asked, "What's stopping you, exactly?"

You snort, "Experience."

You laugh about it, but it's hollow. "I don't live up to the standards media portrays. I'm not skinny, I'm loud, and I have boundaries. Name one person in Hell who would be into that. I'm like the pet a kid gets and likes for a month and then sends back to the pound 'cause they got bored."

"I see..." Vox said as he thought the answer over. It was true that you were the furthest thing he was used to seeing in media or on the streets. A lot of sinners came in all sorts of shapes and sizes, yet a lot of them were thinner than twigs. He hadn’t given it much thought before, but you did stick out a bit more than you would have on Earth where body types were more varied.

Your answer made a lot of sense, but it still made something inside of him shift uncomfortably. Media and social media often paint a distorted image of what is considered 'beautiful' that leaves people's self-esteem in tatters. Normally, his business thrived off of the low self-esteem of sinners and he never had to face what that emotion felt like. After all, he had it all. Money, looks, power. So to sit face to face with the reality of those schemes left a sour taste in his mouth.

"And what about your personality?” Vox found himself asking before he realized. A part of him felt shocked that he’d bothered to pursue the subject, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. “Surely your sugary disposition has attracted people in the past, right?” 

Your face scrunches. "Attracts them, sometimes sure, I guess..." You look to the side, trying to keep your energy nonchalant and starting to fail. "But that's never been enough for anyone."

You sigh, shaking your head. "Any other weirdly intrusive questions, or do you have dissected my morals to your satisfaction?"

"Hmm..." Vox said, his eyes narrowing as he continued to study you with curiosity. There was a certain sadness to the way you described yourself. Clearly, you'd been through a lot of heartbreak and rejection over the years. But he had to know more. So he asked, "How have you managed to sustain your cheery nature after all the rejections you've faced?"

"I'd go fucking insane if I didn't," you chuckle. "And besides, it's not all bad. I can focus on learning new things and work on projects when I don't let other people fuck with my emotions."

Vox chuckled, your candid answer eliciting a laugh from him. "So, you use the rejection as motivation for your work, huh? That’s… something I can respect."

"Everything is shit enough as is," you say tiredly. "I'm tired of being miserable, so I just do what I can to be less so. It doesn't solve everything, but it helps."

"Well, I must say, that's quite admirable,” Vox smirked as he used some of his standard ego-stroking techniques on you. He saw potential uses for your skills in the future and wanted to get on your good side now that the two of you had struck a deal. “Your ability to remain upbeat and optimistic even after all that you've been through... I'm very impressed. It takes a lot of willpower and strength to do that, something that most demons here in Hell rarely have. It is a very admirable quality to possess."

You cringe slightly at the praise. Even if Vox was saying it in a business-like matter of fact, it was something that you just couldn't accept. It felt fake as fuck and made you uncomfortable. Granted, even if it had felt genuine, you still would have struggled to accept any praise.

"You're mocking me," you huff.

"Hmm... I suppose it may come off that way." Vox grinned. “Ah’” he thought to himself. “Laid it on too thick. Interesting though…”  He enjoyed teasing you because you got so frustrated by it. "It's not my intention."

You roll your eyes, completely unconvinced. "Uh-huh."

You smirk, leaning down to rest your cheek on your hand. Despite everything that had happened, you found yourself starting to enjoy talking with Vox. It felt weirdly refreshing and kept you on your toes. "What about you? What do you want, Mr. Big and Powerful Media Man?"

"Oh, well, I suppose there are a couple of things I would like to have," Vox said, rubbing his chin as he thought. His voice had regained an air of confidence as he talked about himself. "To finally kick Alastor’s ass once and for all, for starters. That prick showing his face again really fucks up my main goal of becoming the top overlord in Hell."

Vox leaned back as he followed the trail of thought. “Although he’s not the only one. To rise to the top, I’d have to surpass Carmilla, Zestial, the giant fucking dino lady, hell, even Valentino.”

"Wait, wait, wait," you say as you sit up. "Valentino? Isn't he like, your closest ally?"

"Oh, he is," Vox said as he grinned in a way that made his teeth seem sharper and almost inhuman. "But he’s a resource who constantly threatens the ability to outshine me as well. It’s a… fine line. It’s not like I need to destroy him like several of the others, but he could stand to be knocked down a peg or two once I’ve gotten what I need from him.”

Vox truly looked the part of a villain as he shrugged like he wasn’t talking about someone he was so close to. “Once I do, I will be the top overlord in Hell! No more media competition... no more Alastor stealing the spotlight from me. The top media overlord role will be mine alone."

"Damn, that's cold," you chuckle. "Not my flavor of a lifestyle, but weirdly enough, I'm rooting for you.”

“Really now?” Vox smirked as he quirked an eyebrow at the unexpected response. 

“If it means Valentino gets kicked in the back of his knees along the way, I guess I can support the big backstabbing game just this once,” you shrug. While it may not have been the main part of Vox’s big schemes, you were a fan of anything that bit the shitty mothman in the ass.

"Fair enough," Vox smirked. Despite how sappy you were, Vox found a twisted delight in seeing how his business partner brought out a darker side in you. He wondered what kind of person you could be if he corrupted you over time. His sharp teeth flashed in the light as he started singing to the anti-Valentino tune you wore plainly on your sleeve. 

"I think many in Hell would agree that Valentino has made their existence in Hell far worse than it needs to be,” Vox says, looking to the side as if he were remorseful. “I’ve turned a blind eye to it for a long time… Perhaps too long. I care about him a lot… but I won’t let him stand in the way of what I want."

"Don't you guys like, date on and off, though?” You ask as you shift and look over Vox quizzically. “You don't love him?"

"Oh no, definitely not,” Vox said with a bitter laugh. He wasn’t acting with that response. For as much as he and Valentino went back and forth, it had been made clear how loveless whatever it was they had was, even if he had hoped for more once upon a time.

“We have a… mutually beneficial work partnership, that's all," Vox said, trying to hide the awkwardness that came with that statement. "A romantic relationship would do me no good because ultimately it requires me to be more emotionally vulnerable,” he stated as he tried to make it seem like things were the way they were by his choice and his choice only. “And as you've discovered, I'm not the type of person to be very vulnerable."

"Ah, just fuck buddies then," you nod. "Fair enough."

"Hm, yeah, that would be a fair assessment," Vox said, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't actually care. "It's more of a physical than emotional relationship anyway. I don't love him or anything like that."

"Fair," you say. "I can get wanting his power, but if you ended up taking him down completely, what would you do with the porn industry?"

“Who said that I’d take him down that far?” Vox frowned. He didn’t like that there was something to be considered there. He hadn’t dared to imagine what his afterlife would be like without both Vees by his side, but he had to admit, you were bringing up an interesting line of thought.

You shrug, “Humor me. I’ve listened to your crazy ideas about Hell domination. Just… consider it food for thought.” 

Vox clicked his tongue, uncomfortable with the thought and yet also somewhat intrigued. Without Valentino in the picture, he’d have control over a very large corner of the media industry. Ultimately he did crave power over all of Hell, but he’d never considered that as a possibility until now.

You look him up and down as he gets lost in his own mind. "Although,  now that I think about it… Hm… Don't get me wrong, you've got the whole sexy and evil thing down well, but you don't strike me as someone who'd be comfortable running that area of things, huh?"

"Well, that's the thing,” Vox mutters as he runs a hand over his screen. “In the hypothetical, it's not just his power and influence that I'd want. It's his industry and his influence over the masses. If I were to ever take over the media industry, I wouldn't leave the porn industry as is. I'd transform it into something much better and much more powerful than Valentino's industry. He simply lacks the vision for what the industry CAN be. And I could show everyone that stronger vision."

"And what vision is that?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

"A vision of technology and media that has the masses drooling for the products and services that we provide. A vision in which we truly have total control over the sinner population here in Hell and the population back on Earth.” Vox started, slowly getting invested in the hypothetical.

“I would expand the industries far beyond Valentino's limits, to the point where all other media and technology companies would be left behind in Hell's dust,” He said with a manic grin. He could feel the dead pixels under his lip as if it were blood dripping from his mouth. 

“I could make it so that everything in our industries is tailored to the needs and wants of the masses. All of it. Every person would seek us for entertainment, information, and technology, and we would give them just what they need."

"And what happens then?" You say, realizing you’d triggered his evil mastermind brain cell. It was both fascinating and somewhat terrifying.

"Then...?” Vox blinks slowly as he comes down from the power high. “You mean what happens after I take complete control over the media industry?"

"Yeah," you shrug. "You turn everyone into a mindless consumer, but then what? If there's no one left to beat, no one left to control because everyone is already under your control. Well, would that make you happy?"

"It would make me very happy," Vox said, smiling at the thought of having complete control over everyone both here in hell and back on Earth. "In fact, I would consider that as 'game set match.' Because once I have that level of influence over the masses, nobody can possibly hope to compete with me. I would be the one and only media overlord, and everyone would love me for it."

"Mm," you hum as you flip the pillow in your arms for stimulation. "You may have lost me there. I feel like if you controlled everything, then there'd be no room for new ideas. I feel like you'd get bored."

"Well, that's where you're wrong." Vox scoffed. "Even with complete control and domination, the media industry will continue to evolve and change. After all, new technologies will emerge and new trends will crop up as time goes on. With complete control over the media industry, it is I who would have the final say on such changes and innovations. There will always be new ideas to keep the industry fresh and new, but the underlying system will remain the same. The system of control and dominance over the minds of the masses."

"Huh," you say. "I don't really get it, but if it's what you're passionate about and it takes down the guy who hurts people I care about, then I'm not one to complain. It will kinda be weird being like one of the only people not brainwashed by your tech though."

"It's fine, you don't have to understand it," Vox chuckled. "And by then I will have ironed out this little inconvenience regarding the ability to resist my control, so you’ll be just as swept up by the ordeal as all the other idiots.”

"Well, before all of that, you have a deal to uphold," you remind him, with a smirk.

"Ah yes... the deal. I forgot about that," Vox chuckled. "I've gotten so caught up in my own world that I almost completely forgot that you managed to beat me in round one our little mind game."

You snort, "Had a feeling." You get off the couch, cross the room, and lean over him to grab a pen and start writing a list of names in your notebook.

Vox watched you and thought over the conversation as you worked. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had entertained his fantasies like that. Even if you didn’t fully agree or understand, you let him ramble and you even dared to suggest something like betraying Valentino in full. He couldn’t remember the last time someone other than Velvette had been bold enough to talk to him about something that could contradict or upset him. It was refreshing how you were both keenly aware of the danger he was and yet also… saw past that.

You look over the list twice before nodding with satisfaction and ripping the page out. You stand up and hold out the paper to him. "These are the souls you'll need to make Valentino release his contract with. Make sure no harm or repercussions come to them after the fact as well. Don't be sloppy or I’ll kick your ass."

"Of course, of course," Vox smirked, taking the paper from you and looking over the names. “Although, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t genuinely interested in seeing you try.”

He pocketed the list and hummed as he stood from the couch and looked around. The risk you’d put yourself at today with him, the vials, the deal. “You really hate Valentino, don’t you?”

"Of course I do," you cross your arms. "He's abused the people I care for countless times. Why do you think I made the repellent?"

"Well, I suppose that would be a pretty justifiable reason," Vox said, nodding. "So then... this is a personal vendetta for you.”

"Completely," you nod. "I don't give a shit about the political power struggle in Hell. As far as I'm concerned, you're all just as bad as each other. There's no point in me getting too invested. I just want my friends safe from his control over them."

"I can respect a person with strong convictions," Vox said, a slight frown appearing on his face as he considered your words. "Although I do mourn your lack of desire to get more involved. It serves me well enough, but if you ever wanted to play the game…"

You sigh as you wave away his words, "Yes, yes, I've been a great tool for you. I'm helping one evil to take out another. Yeah, yeah, just don’t get used to it.”

"I appreciate the help, is all," Vox smirked as he approached you and lifted your chin with a single claw. "But tell me... is it truly so bad? I mean, you're helping to make Hell a better place. If I can lessen the damage Valentino has done along the way, then his manipulative, abusive reign over the masses will finally come to an end. Is that so awful?"

"Depending on what you do after, it could be," you mumble as you hug your arms to yourself and look away.

Vox raised an eyebrow. "You think that my plan for domination would be detrimental to Hell? That I would use my power to spread nothing but misery for my ego?"

You look up at him, with a smirk. "Your words, not mine."

"Touche," Vox muttered, with a small smile. "I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said that that's not my intention after acquiring complete power and control."

You step up to him and straighten his pin-striped suit jacket. He'd fashioned himself to be the ultimate image of control and power and yet his suit had wrinkles from laying on your couch. "I have never once heard of a person hungry for power and control with good intentions."

"Hmm, I suppose that's fair." Vox grinned as you absentmindedly tended to his appearance. "Still, I believe that the people of Hell would be better off if I were the one in charge. I am far more capable than the other overlords, and I could ensure that Hell operates the way it should. The media industry would thrive under my rule, I would be able to improve the lifestyles of the sinners in a way that no other overlord has even attempted to do. It's all for the greater good."

You shake your head, the smile you give him unreadable. "Then I hope that works for the best. Truly. I'm sure I'll see how it plays out one day, we all will. After all, you do love to put on a show."

"Yes, I do love my dramatic flair," Vox said, smiling faintly as if enjoying a mental image. "And it seems you're quite a bit of a drama queen as well. You do love being mysterious and difficult to read, don't you?"

You snort, shaking your head. "I consider myself an open book, actually. You just spend so much time with other big politicians and villains that you forgot what a normal person is like."

"Hmm, perhaps," Vox said, a smirk coming across his face. "But I must admit, you are certainly a different type of person compared to the other sinners I've met. You are far more unique than I initially thought."

You giggle, giving a silly little bow. "What an honor to be one of the few the future ‘Great Big Overlord of Hell’ will remember. It's ironic, all things considered."

"Oh? And what's ironic about that?" Vox grinned, tilting his head curiously as he felt himself being pulled in by your energy. He never knew what to expect and he found himself realizing just how much fun he was having, despite everything.

You smirk up at him, leaning up on your toes. "Because for all of this, you don't even know my name." You say quietly with a playful smirk.

"Well, aren't you just a cheeky little thing?” Vox chuckled as you stepped back. He watched you as you smiled like you’d just won another match in the game the two of you had been playing.

“Fine, I'll admit you got me... I don't do the whole getting to know people before I try to manipulate them thing,” Vox shrugged before grinning at you with a spark in his eye. “Are you going to tell me or do I have to beg for that little bit of information?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, meeting his playful remark with one of your own. “Are you saying you would? Because I’m sure there are plenty who’d pay good money to see you on your knees.”

Vox laughed, while you internally screamed and did your best to play cool. Did you seriously just flirt with the egotistical maniac who broke into your home? Seriously?! God, you needed therapy. Or alcohol. Or both.

“You really are something,” Vox snickered. He’d never been so happy to have his expectations proven wrong before. This entire exchange had left him feeling more alive than he’d felt in years.

Your eyes widened as he took your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Whether he was making fun of you, lying with his usual business bullshit, or something else, you had no way of knowing as he looked up at you with a downright devilish grin.

“As much as I hate to cut this exchange short, I believe I have a list to get started on.”

Your brain is too busy buffering at the unexpected action as he stands tall and straightens his suit jacket with a satisfied grin. That was a point for him in your little game that he took pride in.

“Until next time, Y/N,” Vox smirked as he used your computer screen to teleport out of the office and leave you standing there dumbfounded and with a blush dusted on your cheeks.

It took a solid minute before you snapped out of it at the realization he’d used your name. You smacked your forehead and groaned as you realized he’d been on your computer, which meant that he’d seen that your name was on the main user account for your PC. He knew the whole time.

“Fucking damn it,” you whined with embarrassment. 

[forgeofthenine]

Okay, needed to share this thought with another Dammon appreciator.

Imagine Dammon not quite knowing how to express his feelings for Tav once he has to admit he has them. Like he can’t just come out and say it. It feels too wrong coming from him when compared to everyone else it could be coming from around them.

So he gives a generous discount, he helps Karlach (though he’d’ve done that anyway. If not for doing the right thing to help someone then to feel the pull of the infernal metal again. He misses the power and how dangerous and unwieldy it was and that’s just another reason those words can’t come from him.) He pilfers away damaged pieces of armor once Tav is asleep and repairs them, always placing them back in the pile before he heads to his own bed in the forge. He doesn’t know if anyone sees him but no one ever stops him. One day a piece of the armor can’t be repaired and so he makes something better. Something that won’t break. (Something to keep Tav safe while the rest of the world is being saved.)

And Tav. Tav cares. Tav admires. (Tav wants but has to lead, so Tav marches on) Always quietly relived when the group gets to the Last Light at the end of the days information gathering and planning and everyone is still there. Eyes glancing over to the warmly glowing forge and catching on the relentlessly determined (handsome) tiefling working there.

But Tav is also tired, they all are but at the end of the line all the decisions are on Tav and that weight isn’t insignificant.

This fight was particularly brutal and it shows in the weight of the party as they trudge to their tents. Tav starts to take their armor off at the end of the night and it’s different. Looks down and sees gleaming metal, armor that just by its looks is obviously more lovingly and well crafted than anything else they have on. Who looks over at the still glowing forge in the glow of the moon shield and follows their feet over that way.

Who just looks at Dammon as they stand there dumbly, half in and half out of armor. Who just stares at him as he turns to see who wandered in. Who has the armor in question their hand as they walk over to him slowly and now Dammon is panicking. Are they mad? (They aren’t.) Was the original piece special to them? (it wasn’t.) And while he’s panicking Tav has gotten within a few feet of him and stopped suddenly (Their brain finally caught up to their feet) and when he looks up they look so confused and maybe a bit hopeful? And before he can say anything they’re looking down at the armor in their hands (the armor he made for them) and he wonders idly when the last time someone protected Tav instead of being shielded by them was. And before he knows it, that thought has propelled him to right in front of them and he’s tentatively pulling them into his chest and holding them tight when they sink into his arms, tail wrapping around their leg down to the ankle and he’ll do everything he can to make sure no one takes them from him (ever) .

(I’m pulling a bit from the Dammon Flaws post earlier because it resonated with something in my Tav)

I'm sorry anon, I definitely sat on this for a couple days. That was mostly because I post my inbox replies right when I wake up and I feel like this deserved a slightly less sleepy me 😅

I honestly love this so much, just sneaky Dammon trying to do whatever he can for Tav, to make their life a bit easier. All of it culminating in a sweet hug in his forge when they finally realise the extent he's gone to. Honestly I can absolutely see him doing these things, and telling himself they aren't anything special, and that they have many more options than just him. He just really needs a kiss to quieten down his thoughts a little bit.

Thank you for sending this in, I love it so much and I'd love to hear more of your stuff sometime ♥️

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Stonemilker [Joel x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Ship: Joel Miller x you (cishet f reader)

Tags/warnings: Heartache, breakup stuff, Ellie lives and Joel is lying to her, sad sex, you know this is ending sex, Couple fighting, idk what this is folks, it's a sad story with a hopeful ending.

Summary: When Joel returns to Jackson with Ellie, something has changed. Can your relationship survive it? Takes place after episode 9 of season 1.

Words: 3,967

A/N: The title Stonemilker is the title of the first track of Björk's Vulnicura (2015), an album solely about the end of a relationship. Cheers to @rambling-in-purple for reading it before posting <3!

Joel returned a changed man. A younger man. A less hurting man.

Ellie was with him, of course, hugging you tightly in the kitchen of the small house you had been given. You had been setting the dinner table for one when she had burst in and called your name, Joel striding in behind her. You dropped the plate, and the porcelain pieces spread around your feet.

Little did you know that your life was about to shatter in the same way.

Joel gave you a warm hug, nothing more. You wanted to hear everything about their journey, but they were both tired and hungry, so you gave them time to shower and change into clean clothes while you adapted dinner to feed three.

Later that night, when you went to bed with Joel, you saw the hideous wound on the right side of his stomach. He told you what had happened since he and Ellie left Jackson.

He told you everything: the abandoned college, the stab wound, and how close he was to dying. Ellie saving him. The resort. All the dead bodies. The hospital.

His decision. Hallways of dead people left behind. His lie to Ellie.

"Joel..."

He looked at you with shrouded eyes. Where there used to be an iron curtain, there was now a thin veil that showed depths of horrors, but also hope. It scared you more than the hard metallic gaze that you were used to.

You knew why he did it. You understood him. You would probably have done the same.

"You have to tell her."

"One day, I will."

"Sooner rather than later. She deserves to know the truth."

There it was, the unyielding steel in his eyes. He never appreciated being told the obvious. But when Ellie did that, slapped him in the face with inconvenient truths and poignant teases, he grimaced to keep from smiling. When you did it, you received a glare.

You had always thought that that glare was yours because Joel didn't have any other way of expressing his reluctant amusement. And it was, but there was a smile-hiding grimace as well, just not for you.

Something had changed. You didn't realize just how much until a few weeks later, when you were out with the hunting party, and a cougar popped up so suddenly that not even the horses had smelled it. It was a young animal, probably a male looking for a territory of its own, and you were the closest to it. Your horse reared, you fell off, hit your elbow on a rock that just had to be precisely there. As if by some miracle, your head missed it, though. The wind got knocked out of you while your brain was screaming frantically at you to get up and get your gun, but before you could move, a shot rang out over the plain, and the horses neighed in fear.

Deion was by your side a moment later, brows knitted together in worry.

"You okay?"

Breath returning, you began to feel the impact of your fall. Left elbow was smarting, your ass was probably bruised, and your heart was beating a mile a minute from the scare.

"I'm fine," you managed to wheeze. He helped you up, carefully pulling you on your feet. He held your hand as he inspected your face for discomfort. You let him. It's comforting, that big, warm hand holding yours.

"You sure?" He wanted to be certain before he let you go. You nodded and forced a smile.

"I'll have a bruise, but I'm good." You've had worse, so much worse.

The warmth of Deion's hand lingers on your skin long after he releases your hand. As you get on the horse and ride back to Jackson, you find yourself thinking about how Joel never showed such concern for your well-being. And he doesn't do it now, either, when you return sooner than expected, moving like you're in pain - which you are.

"You need to be more careful," he tells you gruffly. You know it's his thing, he doesn't do softness, and yet... he does to Ellie. He speaks kindly to her, laughs with her, talks to her about things beyond mere survival. Tells her about his daughter. That's a new one, he never even mentioned his daughter to you.

It's heartwarming to see him thawed. The glimpses of who he used to be melt together with who he is now. You always suspected he was a great kind of guy before the world went to shit and he was forced to become a version of himself that he himself hated. And it hurts you more than the bruising that he cannot be this new person with you, only with Ellie. She deserves the best Joel, you know that, but don't you? After all you've been through with him?

You argue with him later that night. That's also new. While you may have disagreed with him occasionally before, you have never fought about it. Maybe it's the comfort of Jackson, the fact that a disagreement no longer means the risk of death. Maybe you have just had your fill.

"You could at least say something that doesn't make it sound like it's my fault!" you yell, unconcerned with your voice carrying over to the next room where Ellie is asleep. "You could ask me if I'm okay!"

"I can see that you're okay," Joel replies irritably. "I've seen you take worse hits."

"I am not okay, Joel!" The words are spat into the half-lit bedroom and the silence that follows is heavy from the impact. Joel crosses his arms in front of his chest and looks at you with unreadable eyes. It's not his usual glare, the one he gives you no matter the reason, because it's all he's capable of. It's just... closed. Like he has nothing more to give you.

You sleep in separate rooms that night. Ellie is unusually demure in the morning, looking from you to Joel and back to you, clearly bothered by your fight the night before. You make a mental note to talk to her after breakfast but before you can suggest an activity, Joel asks her if she wants to go out shooting.

Okay, let Joel deal with Ellie.

You go to your chores, which consist of animal care for most of the day. Deion joins you. He wants to know how you're feeling.

How are you feeling? Bruised and annoyed. Sad and confused. Touched and frustrated. Abandoned. Lonely.

"I'm good," you assure him with a light smile. "A little sore, but I've had worse."

All day he sees to it that you rest. He takes care of the tasks that will aggravate the aches of your beaten-up body. He reminds you to take a break when it's nearing lunch time.

He cares so clearly. Is this what it's like, to be with someone who cares?

Ellie is bubbly that night. She and Joel have had fun, she tells you, and you're happy for her. Ellie is a child who was never allowed to be one. She deserves carefree days. She deserves a father figure, a dad. A mom, too, but you have no idea how to be that. Especially when things are so askew with Joel. Whatever things are, were, should be. You and Joel used to be about teamwork, survival, partnership. But life in Jackson is different. What you two had, were, is not needed here. What else can you be?

Joel watches you take your clothes off when you get ready for bed. You turn your back to him, maybe out of misguided, sudden shyness, maybe to show him the bruise that has painted half your back. It was dark red yesterday, now it's turning purple.

His feet are heavy on the floorboards when he walks up to you. His rough fingers are surprisingly soft when tracing the outlines of the bruise. You close your eyes, lean into his touch, sigh softly when he kisses you neck. You lie down on the bed and let Joel take you. He's gentle, more so than usual, but every thrust pushes you against the bumpy mattress, hurting you. Neither one of you speak but when Joel has finished, he cradles your face in his hands and kisses your forehead so softly that it's barely a kiss at all. You turn your back to him when you go to sleep. Your muscles are sore from the coupling, and you quietly love that tenderness like one would a bittersweet heartache. The bruise on your lower back throbs like a young heart in love, and when you turn onto your side, away from Joel, you wish he would kiss the miscolored blossoms.

But he doesn't. He simply turns away from you, just as you turned away from him. With a canyon between your warm, spent bodies, you both go to sleep.

Ellie accompanies you to your chores the next day. After a quiet hour of cleaning the stable, she eventually asks you if you're mad at her.

"No, Ellie, why would you think that?" you ask, immediately regretting your poor choice of words. She shrugs, leaning against a stall door, both hands gripping the handle of the pitchfork, the prongs scraping loudly against the floor.

"You've been weird since we got back. You and Joel have been fighting."

"That has nothing to do with you," you lie, hopefully convincingly. Ellie looks up at you, a hard glint in her eyes.

"I'm not stupid. You never fought before, not for as long as I've known you."

You stop your sweeping but don't know what to say.

"You barely talk to each other," she insists.

"It's complicated," you tell her feebly. "But it has nothing to do with you, Ellie, I promise."

"Then what is it?"

You shake your head. "I'm not going to talk about our relationship with you, Ellie. It's not your problem."

"It is my problem if my - " she stops herself, the word parents hanging in the air for a second, before she continues: " - if you two are going to, I don't know, get a divorce or some shit."

An amused scoff escapes you before you can stop yourself. "We're not married, Ellie."

"I know. But you're, like, together, right?"

"I don't know what we are," you blurt out, averting your eyes so you don't have to see her reaction at your confession. You hear the scraping of her shoe at the floor.

"Did you count on me not being here anymore?"

Her voice is small and sounds so different from its normal curious and teasing tone. A clump forms in your throat.

"Ellie..."

"I'm in the way."

You let go of the broom and focus instead on Ellie, standing in front of her and taking the pitchfork from her so that you can grasp her hands.

"You're not in the way," you tell her firmly. Ellie looks away, and you shake your head to stress your words. "Ellie, look at me."

She meets your steady gaze, and you see how conflicted she is. Poor girl. She is a child. You can barely remember what it was like to be that age and besides, it was another world ago, but you do remember that it was difficult and confusing for so many reasons.

"You are not in the way," you emphasize softly. "But this situation is new, for all of us. This place. This dynamic. We're not just surviving anymore, Ellie, we have a chance to live. And I... I've never had that chance with Joel before. So I'm struggling a little right now. But it has nothing to do with you, okay? You just... be you. You're so good for him, Ellie, you have saved him in more ways than one."

She purses her lips, and you see her throat muscles work as she swallows.

"Okay," she finally nods, quietly. You press a smile, try to look like this problem was resolved.

"Okay." You give her a quick hug before going back to your work. Ellie seems relieved but you can't stop thinking about how you pinned it all on your own back. You are struggling, you are having a hard time of this new way of life. As if Joel has nothing to do with it. As if his broad, once so safe, and reassuring back isn't now turned to you in cool detachment.

You try to bring the topic to him later that night, tell him that Ellie is noticing and worrying. It ends in a fight and this time it's Joel who sleeps on the uncomfortable couch. You lie awake, wondering what went wrong. Is it really you who changed? Are you being a selfish bitch, jealous of a 14-year-old girl? Do you really want life to go on as it did before, in the Boston QZ, fighting for your life with Joel by your side?

Why is settling down so hard?

Nothing changes in the coming weeks. Talking to Joel is like milking a stone. Every now and then the two of you fight, as quietly as you can when Ellie has gone to bed. You still think he should tell her. He refuses to, and you can see the fear in his eyes. Ellie will be furious with him; you both know it. The longer he keeps her in the dark, the worse it's going to be. You find yourself wishing that you'll be far away when the day comes.

One early spring day you ride out with Deion to check on the traps. You've spent most of your days with him these past few weeks. He appreciates you, sees you, wants to hear your opinion. He takes you to the movies. He asks you about your past. He shows interest where Joel barely even wants you at night anymore.

The snow has started to melt in the sunshine, and you find a sun-kissed clearing where the ground is yellow with glacier lilies. The air is warm, and you can smell the changing of the season. You dismount and crouch among the delicate yellow flowers, hover your hands over them, smile in childlike delight when you see bees buzzing from flower to flower. You can't remember the last time you saw bees.

In that clearing, you ask Deion to kiss you, and he does, almost immediately. Not until the kiss is over does he express regret.

"You're with Joel."

"No, I'm not."

He smiles, and kisses you again, and you remember those first pre-teen infatuations: the warmth, the excitement, the heart-stopping angst about whether or not the subject of your passions felt the same. You remember all that but only feel it radiate from Deion. The feelings are unrequited.

That night you collect your few belongings into your backpack and leave the house. You hug Ellie and ask her to forgive you. You say nothing to Joel, and he says nothing to you.

You do not go to Deion, but instead to the boarding house where new arrivals are placed while awaiting homes of their own. Deion is kind, and he showed you what it would be like to be with a person who genuinely cares for you, but you don't want to rebuild your shattered life around a man.

A week later you mount a horse and leave Jackson. You have no plan, no light to look for, but you can finally breathe freely. Heading west, you ride at a slow pace all day, enjoying yourself more than maybe is appropriate. Your saddle-sore backside in the evening doesn't put a damper on your joy when you sit by your small fire with a cup of herbal tea. This is the start of something new, maybe disastrous, but definitely different.

The dark woods around you don't scare you, neither does being alone. You realize now just how alone - lonely - you've been these past couple of months, smack in the middle of the warm and well-organized community that Jackson is. Its friendly inhabitants weren't enough: you only wanted kindness from one single person. To be alone out here, by choice, feels a lot better than the time spent in Jackson.

When you prepare to leave the campsite the next morning, a horse emerges between the trees. Instinctively, you reach for your gun before your brain has processed the face of the rider.

It's Joel. Your mouth falls open and your legs feel weak.

"What are you doing here?" you manage when he dismounts. His hunched shoulders tell you clearly that he's uncomfortable and also stalling as he, very meticulously, ties the reins to a nearby tree. You wait impatiently for him to acknowledge you. When he finally does, his nut-brown eyes are clear in the first rays of the sun.

"I'm here to ask you if you would consider returning."

You have to bite your tongue in order not to laugh out loud. Your hard stare tells him everything, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"I'm going to tell Ellie about what happened at the hospital."

You raise an eyebrow. "Why are you here telling me that?"

"Because when I do, she's going to hate me, and I can't stand losing both of you."

"It's a little too late for that, Joel."

He nods, wets his lips. Looks away and draws a wet breath. Rests his hands on his hips, purses his lips. You realize he's fighting against unwanted yet inevitable tears.

Joel crying. That's a new one.

Moments pass, minutes, maybe hours, days, you have no idea, but you keep staring at Joel as he stubbornly looks to the forest, as if there was an answer or saving grace to be had between the trees. You are relentless in the midst of the rising sun, the singing birds, the soft shush of the wind through the budding treetops. He has to make the first move, show something, say something. Offer an explanation to why he stopped listening. Where did the apathy in his eyes come from? Why did he suddenly decide to show no concern for you?

He brings his hand to his eyes, rubs them quickly with forefinger and thumb. He then turns back to you.

"Ellie misses you."

You stand your ground, implacable as you wait for him to continue. Finally, he confesses:

"I miss you. The minute you left I started missing you."

"Then why did you let me leave?" you ask flatly.

"I wasn't going to stop you if that's what you wanted."

You refuse to engage, even though you want to scream at him: Do you think I wanted to leave?

"Was it Deion?"

"What?" Your eyebrows meet in a surprised frown. "What about Deion?"

"You spent so much time with him. Did you... was there anything between you?"

Unable to play it cool anymore, you take a step closer.

"How fucking dare you? You have no right!" Your horse and Joel's shift their weight, ears twitching nervously.

He's a little taken back with your raised voice, but he doesn't match it.

"Sorry," he mutters instead, and now it's your turn to drop your jaw. For a moment, both of you just stand there, looking at each other, trying to find some common ground to share so that things can be resolved.

It's Joel who finally finds that little patch of soil to sow the seeds of reconciliation.

"You remember how I tried to make Tommy take Ellie to the Fireflies?" he asks, and you nod mutely. Of course you remember. The tension in the house had been so thick you could have cut it with a knife.

"But I took her. And everything that happened after that... happened. I have to live with the consequences. I just had to keep her."

He shakes his head, something desperate filling his features. "If I get to keep her, I can't keep you."

"What do you mean?" you ask quietly, not following. The long look he gives you is anguished, but he stays quiet, as if he has said too much. Your brain is working at full capacity until it has connected the dots.

"Is this some kind of 'can't have too much good shit in my life' bullshit?" you ask hoarsely, almost afraid of the answer. "Because that is just... Joel, you are an idiot."

You're shaking by now, and Joel bristles a little.

"Look, Ellie has nobody else. She's stuck with me, for better or for worse. She's a kid. But you are not. You can have someone better."

"What if I don't want anyone better, what if I happen to love a complete fucking idiot who doesn't deserve me but is stuck with me because I chose it myself!?" you scream, tears filling your eyes and escaping down your cheeks. Joel winces, as if you just slapped him, but when he sees your tears, he closes the gap between the two of you with a few long strides. The next thing you know, you're crushed against his broad chest, smelling his sweat and slightly woodsy scent with leather and horse and melting snow. He holds you so tightly it's almost constricting your breathing, but you don't fight back. You've fought back for long enough.

"Darlin'," he murmurs throatily. "Darlin'. You love me?"

"I did," you sob. "But I don't know if I still do."

He's quiet, his hand moving in slow, comforting caresses over your back. Something is broken in you and the splinters are pressing against your internal organs, making breathing near impossible. Your face against Joel's chest, you think you can sense something break in him as well.

"You're right," he finally whispers. "I am an idiot and an asshole."

Your only response is more tears because now he gets it, now the milk is flowing from that goddamn stone, and it just might be too late. You don't know if you can trust him to handle your broken pieces right, or if there is a second chance for him in you.

There is no telling how long you stand like that, entwined in a sad, desperate embrace. The sun's rays start to feel warm even when you're cold inside. When your tears finally dry up, you shift in Joel's arms, and he releases you. You can't look at him, can't let him see you like this, but he gently places his finger under your chin, and raises your face to his.

"Am I too late?" he asks. His eyes are red and there are wet trails on his cheeks. You swallow hard, try to navigate between your desires and needs.

"What would change?" you finally ask. He places his warm, slightly sweaty palm against your cheek and brushes his thumb just under your eye, catching a lingering tear.

"I would love you."

He has never said that word to you before, and you want to ask for a detailed description of what it entails. How will he love you? Will he listen, help, support, share?

If Ellie decides to hate him, will he hate you in return? Will Ellie?

On the other side is a vast wilderness of no coordinates, the unknown with all its dangers. What are your chances of survival, of finding decent people? Jackson is full of decent people, and now also Joel and Ellie. Joel, who hurt you. Ellie, who is torn between the two of you.

He waits for your answer, and you find that you don't have a definite one to give him. But you know what direction to take.

"We'll talk about it on the ride back."

If that direction is a way forward or a way back, you don't know. You just feel that it would be wrong not to try.

[kathrahender]

When talking about some ships, people always seem to forget that they aren't in an actual abusive relationship. And I'm tired of reading always the same thing about them. They always say they're abusive, but I'm here to tell you that no, these two ships aren't abusive. Not at all.

First, about the "Bakudeku."

In Boku No Hero episode 1, before Bakugo and Izuku were classmates in the UA, Bakugo told Izuku "kys", that's true. And Bakugo abused Izuku, that's also true. But tell me one thing. During their time in UA, Bakugo hurt Izuku like a partner would? Yeah, he called him "Deku" (and we all know what that word means), but apart from that, what did he do to Midoriya for you to call him abusive? And last time I watched the anime, at the beginning, their friendship before going to UA was only one-sided (that's what implied the moment when Bakugo rejected his help to get up in the river when they were still kids) and they weren't a couple, so technically you can't even call Bakugo an abusive friend, much less an abusive partner. First, have that in mind.

Secondly, after Bakugo apologized to Izuku for hurting him, do you think he would ever dare to hurt him again? Because it's not believable. After Bakugo's apology, he would never hurt Izuku, not in a emotional nor in a physical way.

And thirdly, are you so worried about people shipping this couple, which is not even canon and there are fanfics/fanarts where their relationship is VERY healthy (and I'm sure they wouldn't be toxic even if they were canon, not after Bakugo's apology), when there is A LOT of ACTUALLY TOXIC canon ships????

Now, talking about Catradora

So we all know what happened between them since the beginning of the show, right? They were friends, later they became enemies, then they became relluctant-allies, until they became friends again and finally, at the end of the show, they became lovers. When talking about "Catradora", anti-Catradora's fans always say Catra is toxic towards Adora, and they also say the Catradora is a toxic ship. But... where is the toxicity in their romance? Well, better said- their "ex-friends who became enemies and then they became lovers at the end of the show" relationship. Can you read that? Because that's exactly what happened in the show.

Catra and Adora were friends when they were in the Fright Zone, until Adora discovered the sword and she became She-Ra. Then, she switched sides, going through a Heel-Face turn because she discovered she was in the bad side all along. You know what happened after that? Exactly, Catra and Adora became enemies. And since the beginning of the show, and until season 5, they still were enemies. Not friendly-rivals, not friends, and not lovers. They were enemies. And correct me if I'm wrong, (which I'm not) but you're not supposed to treat your enemy kindly or gently. They are your enemy and not anything else for a reason. They're not your partner, your friend or nothing like that. You hate them. You want to see them destroyed. Because they're your enemy.

But we all know there's a little thing called "enemies to lovers". You know that exists, right? The trope where two enemies who hurt each other become a couple? The trope where two people from opposite sides come to terms and they are no longer fighting each other? Yes? You know that trope? Because that's exactly what happens in this show.

Their relationship is like this: friends-enemies-friends-lovers. And if we watched the same show (I doubt that because if we watched the same show you wouldn't be saying Catradora is toxic) you should be aware that they become a couple at the end of the show. You should be aware that we don't see them being abusive towards each other when they are a couple. And again, as I said in another post, "A" character hurting "B" character when they are in opposite sides is not the same as "A" character hurting "B" character when they are an actual couple. So, therefore, Catradora can't be toxic because we didn't see them being abusive when they were girlfriends.

[cbk1000]

And part three. (Final part; sorry this is so long: it has been a fucking long four months.)

No problem, Doctor Dipshit, I guess I'll just do your job and continue treating myself.

After my period ends, my heart rate drops again. It's still not as low as it should be, but it's much better. I continue to gradually improve. It's not a linear process; some days are better than others, but I never feel as bad as I did at the beginning of all this. My main issue is really my heart rate at this point; I'm no longer dizzy, I don't have the extreme weakness I had, my nausea is gone, I'm sleeping much better, and I'm a lot less tired than I was even before all this started. But the high heart rate keeps me still mostly bedbound, and I'm gnashing my teeth, because at this point I feel well enough to be mad about it, instead of just lying in bed trying to stave off death.

I finally start turning a corner, almost three months into taking supplements. My heart rate is consistently lower; even my last period wasn't as rough. (I felt a little worse than I had been, but my heart rate didn't spike, and I mostly just felt more run down than I normally would during my period.)

Over the last couple of weeks, I've been able to sit and stand and walk around for much longer, and I was finally, after months, able to start writing again. My heart rate is still a bit higher than it should be, and I have chest pain and tightness that radiates into my throat (it almost feels like an asthma attack) if I exert myself too much, but I can sit up for a good couple, few hours at a time, then lie down for a few minutes till those symptoms improve, and then get back up again. It is more exhausting to do things because of this, but I still, honestly, feel less tired than when I was a fully functioning, 'normal' person, and I've noticed that the horrible, frequent anxiety attacks I was having multiple times a week, out of nowhere, with no trigger, haven't happened since I started supplementing. I have been stressed, of course, but not baselessly anxious. Apparently iron deficiency can cause or worsen anxiety, so the anxiety I was having for the last couple of years that I attributed to all the changes at work, and how generally stressful the world has been, was also likely related to this.

Today, three and a half months after starting iron supplements, I'm writing this sitting up at my computer. I have some chest pain, but right now it's more of an annoyance than anything, and I can push through for a while before I'll need to lie down for a bit. The last week I have been able to write 27,000 words, animatedly play a video game I'm into at the moment (I shout a lot when I play), take Seamus outside multiple times a day while Mr. Jenn is at work (albeit for very short walks around the backyard, but still), edit, and concentrate on my reading. I can now sit out and eat dinner at our countertop and visit with Mr. Jenn. I spend more time up now than I do in bed. Tomorrow I have a doctor's appointment with a non-lunatic, and will hopefully be able to get medical clearance to finally return to work (Mr. Jenn and I have rigged up my desk so that I can recline and still see my monitors and work if I need more than my allotted breaks to rest) and an order for an iron infusion to get me the rest of the way more quickly. It has been the longest four months of my life. I have felt trapped in my own body. There were points during that constant back and forth of regressing a bit, improving a bit, regressing a bit, that I was afraid I would be stuck like that forever. I've had enough of consistently being on my feet day after day over the last few weeks that, while I'm not yet at 100% and know it will still probably be a while before I am, I know I will be, eventually. I actually feel confident in that now.

What I mean to say with these three very long-winded posts is, please do not ignore what your body is telling you. I wrote off the extreme fatigue, and anxiety, and burning and tingling I was feeling in my legs and feet as poor sleep, the world going to shit, muscle strain, etc. etc. That was my body trying to tell me something was really wrong. I did not know these were symptoms of iron deficiency; and not everyone gets them, and not everyone gets such severe symptoms that their entire body shuts down and confines them to bed for months: but there was something wrong with me, probably for years, and I ignored that, and wrote it off, because the symptoms were non-specific, and I'd lived with them for so long that I normalized them. If you are having any of these symptoms, especially fatigue, especially if you're menstruating, and especially especially if most of your iron sources aren't from meat, please get an iron panel done. Not your CBC; that will only tell you if your hemoglobin is ok, and I can tell you, as exhibit A, that just because your hemoglobin is normal, does not mean you don't have iron deficiency. B12 deficiency will cause some of these same symptoms as well, so if you're vegetarian, definitely get that checked as well.

The only reason I was able to put two and two together was because I had had similar cardiac issues after a blood donation, when it was easy to go, "Wait, I think you bled too much; let's put some iron back in you." I don't want to think about how long I might have been stuck like this getting booted from specialist to specialist with no one thinking to check my iron levels because my hemoglobin was normal. If you do not have enough of this one single mineral in your body, it can literally be debilitating. I work a desk job from home; I have been out of work for four months now because I haven't even been able to sit up at a desk. I actually ran out of legally-protected medical leave a month ago and am just lucky that my employer wants to keep me enough that they were willing to put me on personal leave until I was ready to come back.

Anyway, that is my extremely long update. I sincerely appreciate everyone who has checked in on me and asked how I'm doing.