#if i had the time or the inclination to expand on this

[insomnova]

essek thelyss got hit with the "i can fix him" beam and his character/arc never fully recovered from that ordeal

some days i think to myself about the wasted potential that was essek criticalrole and feel a headache form behind my eyes.

[pokemonruby]

people trying to insist that oras is as bad as bdsp that is CRAZY

[loserlovesmusicals]

I still remember this one person telling me I "technically" qualify for an autism diagnosis. He proceeded to be like "Yeah, but you yourself have already said it could be _ and _ and _" like Bro..

[saritawolff]

Phew. This one took, uh… a bit longer than expected due to other projects both irl and art-wise, but it’s finally here. The long-awaited domestic animal infographic! Unfortunately, I didn’t have enough space to cover every single domestic animal (I’m so sorry, reindeer and koi, my beloveds) but I tried to include as many of the “major ones” as possible.

I made this chart in response to a lot of the misunderstandings I hear concerning domestic animals, so I hope it’s helpful!

Further information I didn’t have any room to add or expand on:

🐈 “Breed” and “species” are not synonyms! Breeds are specific to domesticated animals. A Bengal Tiger is a species of tiger. A Siamese is a breed of domestic cat.

🐀 Different colors are also not what makes a breed. A breed is determined by having genetics that are unique to that breed. So a “bluenose pitbull” is not a different breed from a “rednose pitbull”, but an American Pitbull Terrier is a different breed from an American Bully! Animals that have been domesticated for longer tend to have more seperate breeds as these differing genetics have had time to develop.

🐕 It takes hundreds of generations for an animal to become domesticated. While the “domesticated fox experiment” had interesting results, there were not enough generations involved for the foxes to become truly domesticated and their differences from wild foxes were more due to epigenetics (heritable traits that do not change the DNA sequence but rather activate or deactivate parts of it; owed to the specific circumstances of its parents’ behavior and environment.)

🐎 Wild animals that are raised in human care are not domesticated, but they can be considered “tamed.” This means that they still have all their wild instincts, but are less inclined to attack or be frightened of humans. A wild animal that lives in the wild but near human settlements and is less afraid of humans is considered “habituated.” Tamed and habituated animals are not any less dangerous than wild animals, and should still be treated with the same respect. Foxes, otters, raccoons, servals, caracals, bush babies, opossums, owls, monkeys, alligators, and other wild animals can be tamed or habituated, but they have not undergone hundreds of generations of domestication, so they are not domesticated animals.

🐄 Also, as seen above, these animals have all been domesticated for a reason, be it food, transport, pest control, or otherwise, at a time when less practical options existed. There is no benefit to domesticating other species in the modern day, so if you’ve got a hankering for keeping a wild animal as a pet, instead try to find the domestic equivalent of that wild animal! There are several dog breeds that look and behave like wolves or foxes, pigeons and chickens can make great pet birds and have hundreds of colorful fancy breeds, rats can be just as intelligent and social as a small monkey (and less expensive and dangerous to boot,) and ferrets are pretty darn close to minks and otters! There’s no need to keep a wolf in a house when our ancestors have already spent 20,000+ years to make them house-compatible.

🐖 This was stated in the infographic, but I feel like I must again reiterate that domestic animals do not belong in the wild, and often become invasive when feral. Their genetics have been specifically altered in such a way that they depend on humans for optimal health. We are their habitat. This is why you only really see feral pigeons in cities, and feral cats around settlements. They are specifically adapted to live with humans, so they stay even when unwanted. However, this does not mean they should live in a way that doesn’t put their health and comfort as a top priority! If we are their world, it is our duty to make it as good as possible. Please research any pet you get before bringing them home!

[yanmuffins]

how are we feeling about a yandere! platonic! batfamily x neglected! vampire! reader with some heavy v*mpire t*e m*squer*de influece in honor of halloween season?? here's my cringefail concept that i might turn into a fic.

tw: neglect mention, non-con biting, non-con turning since reader isn't given a choice in being a vamp.

you're bruce's firstborn child who's lived in the manor for most of your life, with alfred being your primary caretaker and bruce not giving you much thought throughout your childhood - you're not fit to be robin (though he tried), you're not in the streets of gotham in danger or causing trouble - you're a well-behaved child who never gets in the way and never asks for too much. you understand when he breaks promises, when alfred shows up to special events in his stead because he's too busy with work, too busy being batman, too busy caring for troubled children who need his attention more than you do.

even as you see him make time for his other children, for his romantic affairs - even as the relationships you build with your siblings never goes beyond shallow small-talk and awkward silences, you understand. they have their own lives to worry about, their own issues, so many things they can bond over with each other but not with you. you're not a robin, you're not a vigilante, you're not athetically inclined and even as you do your best to be accomodating and warm, you can never get past their walls.

even when damian arrives and gets more familial bonding with bruce than you ever had, you lower your head and you walk away. you take his berating with a condescending smile and a disappointed sigh that makes him so irrationally angry, because he's a troubled child and he doesn't know any better.

you're ordinary, boring in comparison to them. you fade into the background with and without effort. you're just... easy to forget about. you don't require special care, or guidance, you don't go overboard trying to beat the living shit out of criminals like jason, you don't try to sneak out of the manor like damian. you don't disappoint. you don't impress. you're just... there. when bruce checks up on you, there's a signature smile you've perfected over the years you give him, telling him you're perfectly fine.

and you grow up. you grow distant. a bit of resentment, but you keep it locked deep within your heart. you are a student in gotham university, and you get intern for a big-shot from los angeles who just moved to gotham to expand their business. they shower you with praises and attention, taking you all sorts of places, introducing you to all sorts of people. because your father hid you from the public eye for most your life, the fact you're a wayne goes mostly unnoticed.

there's just one strange detail: it's a full-on night-shift. ironic, you concede, that you couldn't escape the nights of gotham by being a civilian. your family notices it, too: you don't dress like you used to, like you prefer to, there's a waver in your usually composed steps, bags under your eyes from the lack of sleep, an apparent mind-fog whenever someone asks you a question, a certain distance in your gaze. you sleep the days away, and the amount of times they've seen you entering and leaving less-than-ideal places (that one nightclub they have noticed suspicious activity on? just what are you doing there?) for a sheltered young adult to be during their patrols is starting to become concerning.

but you swear it's fine. it's all fine. you're fine. stop meddling.

and then there's the night - before any of the batsiblings start to really get a grip on what's going on with you, before bruce can give you a stern lecture on how you're exposing yourself to danger and how he's so disappointed and didn't expect this from you and force you to quit your job and just go back to how you were before - when that eccentric bigshot you're working for brings you to the VIP room at the nightclub, says you have potential, babbles on and on about how far you're gonna go, making you bubble inside with pride and happiness at finally being fawned over for a change.

and then they kill you.

draining you of all your blood, feeding you a bit of theirs before locking you up in a room where you'll be provided with proper refreshments to keep your hunger at bay until you've become a fully-embraced fledgling ready to learn the ins and outs of your new... unlife. you are a wayne, firstborn child of gotham's local billionaire, the camarilla's golden ticket to taking over gotham. they all expect much of you.

meanwhile, the text in alfred's phone says you'll be gone for a while. business trip to paris, your first ever, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity a rich girl with ample privilege and access to private jets couldn't possibly refuse. he doesn't believe it for a second, not even when you call to assure everything is just fine. he knows you're not, everyone knows you're not. there's a tracer in your phone and guess what, you're not in paris.

there is no comeuppance for your sire when the batfamily breaks you out of captivity, as they are long gone by the time the incident is ruled out as a bunch of goons targeting the wayne family for money (nevermind no ransom was ever requested). they'll come back for you, they swear, plans just got... delayed by this preposterous man wearing a bat-suit. until then, do as they taught you, keep yourself fed, don't break the masquerade.

but your newfound freedom lasts exactly a car ride to the wayne manor before you're prohibited from leaving the house for the foreseeable future. when the hunger comes, you can either tell them what happened or let yourself loose with a risk of hurting someone. when the sun shines through the windows and burns your skin, you won't be able to hide it anymore. the choice between your now overbearing family, still unsure how to help you, and the tutelage of your sire, being subjected to all the plans they have for you. the vampires are slowly crawling their way into gotham, and it's only a matter of time before batman becomes a problem.

you remember looking up at the bat signal shining in the dark skies of gotham city and feel a pang of relief in your chest, knowing it had nothing to do with you. now it just makes you feel anxious.

it's ironic, you concede, that you couldn't escape the nights of gotham by being a civilian.

[axolotsofluv]

❝𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐧❞ [𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐬 𝐫. 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨]

a/n: I might post scenarios more often now as opposed to regular shortfics due to my hectic schedule so apologies for that. But even then, I still love to write for this man when I have the time. I also remember that taglist is a thing here so... would anyone like to be added? Let me know and pls enjoy (〃^∇^)ﾉ

It has become a daily occurrence for Ratio to be teased by his coworkers about how utterly smitten he is with his spouse and how he's always giving them the gooey eyes. To nobody's surprise, he retaliates with indignation, so his co-worker pulls out the big guns (read: documented evidence). A phone is shoved into his face unceremoniously, and he is forced to watch as the screen exposes his behavior. 

It was taken during one of their get-togethers that someone begged him to attend. And since he didn't want to expend any precious energy socializing and being chummy with the others, he brought his wife, the approachable and friendly one of the two. You had a blast getting to know his friends from his workplace (“they're not my friends,” he had retorted) and familiarizing yourself with how they perceive him in a professional setting. One thing led to another, and you ended up spewing out anecdotes and recalling memorable moments with him, eventually settling on the topic of how you two met and got married. Ratio saw this coming from a mile away by the way everyone around him buzzed with unadulterated curiosity and enthusiasm, and yet—foolishly, like a man bewitched and ensnared beyond salvation—he listened closely to you. When you recount how he asked you out for the first time, he increased the proximity between you. You were so immersed with your story from the first time he brought up marriage that you fail to notice him becoming glued stuck to your side like velcro. You gushed over your wedding dress to the giggling research beside you, unaware of the violet-haired genius withdrawing a deep intake of breath at the memory of seeing you in that stunning garment for the first time.

Ratio watches as his face in the video morphed into an expression he knew he would never ever wear in front of his fellow peers and students: head inclined towards you, eyelids dropped in a way that softened his sharp features, his arms crossed yet expanded just enough for his elbow to touch yours, and a ghost of a smile caressing his face. Everyone could feel how visceral his yearning was—see it even. He didn't even realize he was wearing his emotions that openly.

You come at the inopportune moment and see this peculiar interaction unfolding, and without a moment’s hesitation, his colleague saunters over to you with said video. When you set your eyes on the screen, your face illuminates with glee, fondness, and awe—amazed at how you could miss such an obvious expression of love from him. And oh so foolishly, Ratio fails to control himself from making the same expression as the one in the video. 

Now, his refutation holds no power against his colleagues’ relentless teasing. The esteemed, stoic and austere Veritas Ratio besotted with his spouse? Without a doubt. The mounting pile of evidence in his colleagues' phone gallery can disprove any pleas of denial.

[ew-selfish-art]

Dp x Dc AU: Jazz Fenton, after years of fixing her brother’s injuries, becomes a Doctor with an inclination towards behavioral health and psychology- In order to make the difference she wants to see in the world she joins Dr. Leslie Thompkin’s practice. 

Jazz Fenton, M.D. has spent years of her life doing research, doing the hard work and the emotional labor, and finally, finally, she’s joining a practice she can feel 100% confident in. She’s goddamn good doctor and she wants to make the biggest impact that she can. 

Dr. Thompkins (who insists that she call her Leslie as they’re colleagues now), is a kind woman, sharp as a tack and keeps her practice open at odd hours to help the most unfortunate. It took some time for them to bond and trust to be built, but now Jazz is being allotted a few night shifts here and there. 

It’s incredible. Jazz gets to spend time with the kids who come in and really talk to them (in addition to getting them antibiotics, heating pads and pokemon themed bandaids) to help equip them with a few coping skills. Her passion for psychology never disappeared after all, but the expansive knowledge of how to heal the human body has made her find a sense of fulfillment like no other.

Having proven herself and worn Leslie down, Jazz now takes up about 1/3 of all the night shifts in the month. She’s hoping to get to 50/50 by the end of the year but she’s content with what she has. Danny keeps odd hours anyway so calling him after work on her walk home can happen any time of day and he will always answer enthusiastically. 

It’s a particularly busy night before he comes in. The Red Hood. 

He was known for being an ally to Leslie, despite being on contentious terms with the Bats, but Jazz had never asked directly. Never one to turn away a patient with bullet hole wounds, she hops into action to get his wounds cleaned, sewed up and gauze wrapped. She’s handing him a sheet (an Infographic! Dani made it with her! Graphic design is her passion!) on how to care for his wounds when he first seems to recognize that she’s not Leslie. 

“No, Of course not. I’m Dr. Fenton. I can’t blame you for not remembering but I did introduce myself as you bled in the entry way. You’re Red Hood, right?” 

“Hm. Didn’t realize the practice was expanding. Where can I find-” He grumbles before pushing her hand aside from where she had still been supporting his shoulder.

“Hold on there, mister. You’re going home, you’re following this infographic and you’re going to get some sleep.” 

“Lady you don’t know-” His voice modulated ton came across antagonistically. As if he was trying to intimidate her. Ha, Jazz rolls her eyes at the inclination.

“Who I’m talking to? Who I’m dealing with? You’re hilarious. I can eat you vigilante’s hero complexes for breakfast. Tell me who I’m calling to pick you up and then you can say thank you.” Jazz snaps at him. It really had been a long night but his whole dialogue thus far is making her a bit batty. 

“Oh really Doc? You know Leslie’s tough shit, and from what I can tell you’ve got nothing on her-” 

“Trying to make me feel insufficient when I just saved your life? That’s cute. I’m sure a lifetime of abandonment by both of your parental figures gave you that. I’m also sure that you inherited this desire to prove you’re not going to be dependent on anyone who wants to help from whoever got you dressing up in tights to fight crime in the first place. Again, I’d love to talk at length about how predictable you-” 

“Bwah- wait- I’m Predictable? You’re probably some nepobaby who had parents who told her she could have the world-” But Jazz cuts him off with hysterical laughter- he couldn’t be further from the truth. Her parents loved her, but nepotism? With what, the ghosts? If anything she got that from Danny, but he doesn’t need to know about her ghostly titles. 

“You’re just some guy who came back from the dead and made his trauma everyone else’s issue. So shut it. And tell me how I’m getting you home from this clinic.” She seethes though her voice stays devastatingly level with each word. 

Speechless for a moment, he eventually relents to Jazz that he’s already called for help on the comms but it will be hours before they can come for a pick up. The sun had already come up and the night had been over for most of them before Hood had walked into trouble. She groans and the realizes the time for herself and the empty clinic around them.

“Fine. My shift just ended anyway. I���ll get you home in one piece and I swear to all the ancients that you’d better follow the directions on the infographic.” 

And that’s how Jazz ended up calling her brother while supporting the weight of a grown ass man (who no longer wanted to talk to her) on her walk home. 

The next time Red Hood appears in her clinic, he’s brought a dozen roses in addition to the cut on his neck that definitely needs to be pressurized like ASAP. Did he stop for the flowers on his way to the clinic? He’s going to pass out from blood loss! She doesn’t even like roses!

[kykyonthemoon]

The spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly

When comparing hands, you realize how tiny you are to him.

ಇ. Character x Female Reader/MC

(Included parts in order: Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne)

ಇ. Tags: fluff, domestic fluff, established relationship, comforting and healing, size gap, long-distance relationship (for Caleb's part)

ಇ. Word count: 3k2

ಇ. Requested anonymously

ಇ. The title of this fic is a lyric from Owl City's song - Vanilla Twilight.

ಇ. Masterlist

ಇ. Request

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

Since childhood, you had always loved holding Caleb's hand.

You adored putting your small hand in his palm. To feel such warmth. His hands were usually larger than yours. At first, there was not much difference between the hands of two children. But as you got older, the gap widened. You began to notice this and frequently inclined him to compare hands.

“Hey Caleb, give me your hand.”

"What for?"

“Just do what I said, and give me your hand.”

Caleb was thrilled, waiting for you to place a piece of candy or anything intriguing in his hand, which had just expanded to its full size. Then he got upset when he felt the touch of your hand instead.

"What are you doing?"

"Hmmph." You pouted. "Still not as big."

You put your hand on Caleb's, measuring front, back, left and right. He eventually lost patience and said:

“Why are you measuring my hand?”

“Because I want my hands to be as big as yours. Only with such big hands can you hold so many gifts and pies from Grandma..."

Your face was extremely serious as you spoke, but it made Caleb roll around in the grass, laughing until his stomach hurt.

“Why are you laughing at me?!” You felt a little offended. You struck Caleb hard on the arm. It was painful.

"Ouch!" He yelled, then got up to face you. His hair still had grass in it. "Listen up, pipsqueak. Your hand will never be bigger than mine."

"Why?"

“Because I will always be taller than you, bigger than you. I must be taller to protect you and Grandma! My hands must be bigger to always hold yours!”

Having said that, Caleb curled his fingers around your palm. You grinned naively, believing that such large hands were ideal for doing all of the chores or lifting heavy objects for you.

One time, while learning to cook with Grandma, Caleb burned his hand. He tolerated pain very well and did not whine. On the contrary, it was you who frantically ran to find ointment to apply to him. You were crying:

“Caleb, you have to be careful! You have to take care of these hands... If something happens to them, who will do the housework for me?..."

Caleb laughed. He used his other hand to pat your head. “What are you worried about, pipsqueak? I will always protect you. Who did I start learning how to cook for?"

You sobbed. Honestly, you felt so terrible every time Caleb got hurt.

Time seemed to fly by. You both were growing up. The space between the two hands also extended. At one point, suddenly, just comparing hands with him turned your cheeks red.

But these days, you did not get to do that often anymore. Caleb went to the academy so far away, and then his long missions left him with few opportunities to visit home. In his free time, you could only chat with him online. You really missed the feeling of his large hands shielding yours. You said:

“Caleb. Give me your hand.”

On the laptop screen, he burst out laughing. “What now? Even though I'm so far away, you still want to measure my hand?"

“Just do what I said.”

Caleb shook his head in defeat. He brought his hand close to the camera and spread out five slim fingers. His hands were thin and smooth, but after being accepted into the academy, you could feel the roughness or new calluses there. You smiled, raised your hand to the screen and pressed it against his.

“Looking from this angle, my hand is bigger than yours!”

“Wow, pipsqueak has grown bigger and stronger than me!”

Oh, how much you missed him! You were about to burst into tears and tell him to come home to you right that moment. It had been a long time since his last return. You longed to hold his hand.

But you wouldn't make Caleb worry if he had to embark on a mission away from home. You tried to show him your brightest smile. And you whispered:

“Yeah. You've always taken care of me since I was little. Now it's my turn to be stronger to take care of you."

Caleb knew you so well, because you were always the thing in the palm of his hand he cherished most in the world. He was silent for a long moment, then gently said:

“Pipsqueak, don't be sad. I'll come home to you next weekend, okay? Make sure you eat plenty. If I return home and notice that your hands have thinned even just a little bit, I will be very displeased!"

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

The first time you met him, he left an impression on you with his large and steady hand.

You found Xavier on a mission. Since he did not move, you came closer and gently shook him. Then his large hand gripped your wrist securely. You were astonished by the sudden vigor with which you were seized. To be honest, you were afraid at the moment.

The second time you met him, his big hand protected you once more and took you out of danger. That hand placed around your waist, not squeezing hard to the point you became uneasy, but it was a gentle touch, as if he was frightened you might vanish if he held you too closely. Perhaps from that moment on, you felt the warmth and safety of being in his arms. And all your walls eventually collapsed, embracing the way he entwined his soul with your own.

Then you became used to holding his hand as you walked together. When you had to maneuver through a congested area, he would gently squeeze your fingers, as if to remind you to pay more attention to him. And as you two went along a quiet street or sat on the subway with his head resting on your shoulder, he tenderly rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. A gentle gesture, just enough to let everyone know that this girl was his.

His knuckles were hardened from sword practice. His skin was also consistently dry. He was clueless about how to take care of himself. So you began to learn about lotions for nourishing hands.You always carried a tube with you. On one occasion, you took it out and applied it to Xavier's hand.

"What's this?" He inquired.

“Hand cream.” You murmured this as you massaged the soft white cream into Xavier's obediently outstretched hands. “Your skin is so dry. I bought this for you to use.”

He did not answer, just stared intently at you taking care of him. When the thin layer of cream was absorbed, he turned his hands over and observed with a blank expression.

You giggled, then held out a hand in front of his face and said:

“Put your hand here.”

Xavier displayed confusion before placing his hand on yours and softly hitting the palm.

"High-five?" He inquired, continuing to appear perplexed.

"No." You answered, grasping Xavier's wrist to keep his hand close to yours. "I want to see how large your hands are. Hmmm…"

Xavier's hand was a little bigger than yours. You loved these hands. They constantly offered you a sense of security. On any endeavor, you could put your life in his hands without any hesitation. In daily life, you would always reach for his hand whenever you went out, or when your free hand wanted to feel his warmth. The only thing you never dared trust in these hands was, perhaps, cooking.

Xavier smiled. His hands felt significantly smoother after applying the cream, and they retained a very subtle flowery aroma. He laced his fingers with yours, then leaned down and placed a kiss on your hand.

“My hands smell like yours now.”

"Of course." You replied while blushing. “It's the same type of hand cream.”

Xavier did not respond. You caught him pondering for a long time. The next day, you found him applying the entire tube of cream on his hands.

"Oh dear! What are you doing? There's no need to apply that much!”

You quickly went to get a towel to help him clean up. He sat on the sofa, looking rather bewildered while you asked him:

“Are you going to use up the entire tube like that?”

Xavier responded: “Yeah… Since… This morning when I woke up, I couldn't smell your cream anymore. I want to use it all so the fragrance lasts longer.”

You rolled my eyes at Xavier, and a few seconds later you fell down laughing on the sofa. "Oh my! You did it in vain. These things don't last long."

“Is that so…” Disappointment was evident on Xavier's face. Seeing that, you sat close and tangled your hand with his. You said:

“If you like this scent, I will buy more for you.”

“What I like is your scent.” Xavier replied. His thumb caressed your hand. “I like the scent of your hair, your clothes, your hands… Everything that belongs to you…”

You were surprised, and delighted. Your face was more radiant than the sun outside the window. His hand felt so large and warm. If you could, you would never want to let  go.

You squeezed his hand once. Fingers pressed closely together. You progressed from being terrified of this foreign hand to when it became familiar, and now inseparable. It was weird, since despite only knowing him for a short time, it felt like you had loved him your whole life.

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you whispered:

“Xavier, don't ever let go of my hand, okay?”

"Never."

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

You preferred to visit Rafayel's studio more frequently these days. Of course, compared to staying in a small apartment alone, coming here to work with him, drenched in sunlight and sea breeze, surrounded by flowers and grass, was definitely a much more sensible choice.

But the main reason remained Rafayel. You enjoyed watching him in silence, as he concentrated on painting. His long fingers wrapped around the brush, perfect as if he was the work of art. You had undoubtedly noticed Rafayel's hands since the first time you met, when he demonstrated his incredible fishing talents. He was adept at wielding a racket and far more skilled at holding a brush. The hues of the mythical world depicted in the painting gradually revealed itself under his magical hands. He did not always use a brush, instead dipping his hands in the paint, and as his fingers started dancing on the white canvas, you believed you saw a rainbow even though it was not sunny that day.

You loved how Rafayel rotated the brush in his palm while contemplating before getting started with painting. You loved the way his fingers held the chopsticks and  transformed the food into a culinary movie. You liked the way he wrapped his long finger in your hair to play with it. It seemed that everything he did with his hands was perfect, and unreal.

“Rafayel. Can you raise your hand?” You asked him that out of nowhere one afternoon at the studio. He was focused on an art book, so he did not respond and simply executed what you asked.

You extended your hand, intending to press it against his. Yet he raised his hand a bit higher. You grimaced and lifted your palm high. He did that again, and again, until his arm was stretched to its full length, and so was yours. The only thing was, since yours was shorter, you could not reach his palm.

“Rafayel!” You shouted fiercely. He closed the book he was reading and flung it on the sofa. On his face was a triumphant smile.

"What? Can't reach it?"

With an irritated expression, you rose up and seized his hand. Fingers intertwined, perfect as if he and you were made for each other. You used a great force to push Rafayel down into the sofa, while your other hand maintained your body weight by positioning it near his neck.

The smile on Rafayel's face disappeared. The scarlet hue of a ripe tomato gradually crept across his statue-like face and reached his ears. Rafayel seemed displeased.

“Are you bullying me?”

“Who bullied who first?” You argued back.

Noticing that Rafayel had begun to move beneath you, his hand entwined with yours now yearning to escape, you held him even tighter. His hands were slender and cool, velvety like a baby's skin. The veins were barely visible underneath the thin skin. The fingers were extremely lengthy; they belonged to an artist rather than a warrior like you. Even his nails were tidy, pink, and well-filed. Looking back at your hand in his, it was dry and small, with short fingers and nails that were neglected due to a lack of time, you were unable to avoid feeling envious.

“Hey, if you want to hold my hand, just say it.” Rafayel gazed at you furiously. “Is it necessary to pin me down like this?”

“I don't want to hold your hand. I just want to compare it with mine.”

Rafayel scoffed. He replied: “Comparing hands, why? We all know for a fact that I have the most gorgeous hands in the world.”

Seeing how he started praising himself, I sat up bored, intending not to joke with him again. But Rafayel refused to let go of your hand. The other curled around your waist, clutching you hard.

"Where are you going? We haven't finished talking yet, have we? If you like my hands so much, how about I give them to you?”

"Huh?" You were a bit startled. In your mind a scenario of receiving a huge gift box. When you opened it, you discovered Rafayel's severed and bloody hands inside...

Rafayel squeezed your face, as if he knew you were thinking nonsense.

“Whatever you're thinking, with that expression, I'm sure it's not what I want. Follow me.”

Rafayel led you into the warehouse, he pulled out some plaster powder and a few necessary tools. Later that day, there was a new piece in Rafayel's studio, yet not a painting. It was a statue of a small hand tangled with a larger one. A precise duplicate of yours and Rafayel's.

“Come to think of it,” he said as he looked at the final work with you. “My hands are most beautiful when intertwined with yours.”

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

Doctor Zayne's hands were often cold.

You still remembered learning to knit with Grandma and making gloves for Zayne when you lived close. Unfortunately, you did not get a chance to present them to him yet. You kept them in your old box at home till this day.

At the time, his hands were already significantly larger than yours. They were chilly since his Evol was occasionally unrestrained. In situations like that, he would put his hands in his pockets, look down, and leave fast. Even though you chased him down to ask him questions, he declined to speak, much alone show you his hands.

At the time, there was no scar on his hands.

Presently, when you put on his large gloves, you noticed how enormous his hands were. Your hand was buried beneath a thick layer of wool, only taking up about half of the glove's space. You rolled your eyes.

“Doctor Zayne, look!” You raised your gloved hand for him to see. The wool glove's fingertips had extra room and swung to the rhythm as you waved them. Obviously, the glove was excessively big for you.

“Stop playing around.” Doctor Zayne replied. He took the other glove and put it on your other hand. “Put this on.”

“It's too big. I feel like I'm a monster with gigantic hands!”

You laughed. Zayne grabbed your hands and hoisted them up. He inhaled to keep them warm and responded: "Because someone has lost her gloves on the way here, she must accept her fate of becoming a monster."

Zayne chuckled, but his serious expression made you question if he was fooling or condemning you for being irresponsible. He and you were on holiday in the snow-covered mountains. How silly of you to have misplaced your gloves and not remembered where you had put them. Hence he had to let you temporarily borrow his.

Even after you bought a new pair, you preferred the feeling of putting your hands in Zayne's gloves. Especially when they still felt his warmth lingering inside.

Zayne's hands were always so big, they were twice the size of yours. Your body shape was average, but when you stood next to him, you appeared strangely tiny. He could easily lift you up. He could hold both of your hands together with only one of his. And he could hold all five snow seals lined up side by side in one hand at your request.

His hands were covered with scars. When you inquired about their history, he just made up an explanation that he washed his hands too thoroughly. He saw you as a three-year-old child. Of course you did not believe it at all, but would not ask more until he was comfortable enough to share his story with you. You adored tracing the scars and veins that bulged beneath his skin. Sometimes, he felt ticklish. Other times, he would tell you to stop messing around while he was working. But he never truly pushed your tiny hand aside.

There were times when his hands became very cold. Extremely cold. As his habit, he buried them in his layers of garments without letting you know. He would not dare touch you since he was frightened you would catch that cold. Yet in moments like that, all you ever wanted was to hold him close.

You removed his hands from his coat pockets. They felt as frigid as ice when you touched them. Doctor Zayne frowned. He wanted to withdraw his hands but you clutched them hard. Your little, trembling fingers curled around and cherished those cold hands. You offered them your warm breath.

“Let go of them. You will be cold.” Zayne expressed worry. But you shook your head.

“Just wait a little longer and we'll both warm up.”

“I will… hurt you…”

That was what terrified Zayne. What if he lost control and accidentally hurt you? He would never be able to forgive himself if that happened. There had been many times he had avoided or hidden from you, but in the end, you were always the one who ran to his side when he needed you the most.

Eventually, he gave in. He relaxed his hands in your palms. He rested his head on your forehead, his eyes softly closing. In you there was always the warmth that he yearned.

After a while, Zayne warmed up. You were not cold anymore. Between the hands was an immeasurable warmth that both he and you desired to cherish forever.

That winter, you gave him a pair of new gloves with snowmen on that you had knitted. They clasped securely around Zayne's fingers, a reminder that no matter what, you would never let go of his hands.

[recareels]

take it slow just as fast as i can

character: boothill notes: i just rly, genuinely think boothill would be obsessed with feeling every fucking inch of you, that’s all c: | title credit: body like a back road by sam hunt warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, fem reader, thinly veiled body worship, mentions of scars + implied stretch marks and cellulite, marking (biting and bruising), implied multiple orgasms, tiny bit of angst right at the end words: 830

boothill knows your body better than he knows anything else in the cosmos. 

boothill knows your body better than he knows his own—better than he knows his scorched, excavated homeland, better than he knows the smooth metal ripples and ridges, cold curves and contours of his own so called ‘body’, better than he knows his cherished 9mm revolver—the ivory grip, pretty pearlescent nacre shimmering up at him delicately from between the gaps of mechanized fingers, stamped with that gilded eagle sigil; the artfully notched cylinder, embossed with decorative arrows—six, one for each chamber—and the angular hammer, piped with shimmering aureate; the golden barrel, intricate inclinations carved to sharp, exquisite perfection. 

boothill knows every curve, every dip, every edge of your form—all of your lines and dimples and scars, and could map them out with his eyes closed and recite each corresponding story: a single metallic fingertip tracing along the jagged strikes of silver etched into your skin; his hard thumbprint pressing into the dents peppering your thighs, a cool knuckle skimming over that scar on your knee. 

and boothill loves appreciating them, appreciating you, appreciating how it all comes together to create one of the most magnificent masterpieces he’s ever had the pleasure of touching, the privilege of loving. 

it’s become somewhat of a ritual now to take his sweet time admiring your figure before he fucks it, feeling every part of you plush and pliant beneath his grooved palms, revelling in the soft gasps that stutter your chest and dainty shivers that ripple your flesh as he kneads it. 

he fills his touch with it, grabs healthy handfuls and squeezes—so soft, so supple—alternating between harsh groping, iron fingers sinking into your thighs, your hips, your tits, and gentle caressing, bullseye gaze watching with sheer wonderment as his palms glide over your silhouette, slick lips parted and damp with panted breath.

sometimes he’ll just let his hand rest on your ribs, observing the way it rises and falls with each of your quiet breaths, feeling oxygen expand your lungs as it flows in, then feeling your chest depress with every exhale pushed up your throat. 

he loves to experience the thrum of your pulse beneath his fingertips—nothing more than a faint fluttering pressure against his receptors, but present nonetheless—an undeniable confirmation that you are indeed here, alive, his. 

so beautiful, he murmurs from between your thighs, one large hand pressed flush against your heart, his chin resting on your stomach. a work of fudgin’ art, baby, I swear to the stars. 

it all gets him going so goddamn easily, instils a hunger in him so ferocious that it chews on his wires, zipping through the cables in sparks of desire until it devours his brain, gorges every thought and notion until all he can conceive, all he needs, is you. 

he can’t help but lick and kiss and bite and suck, desperate to leave his own impermanent marks on this gorgeous canvas. bruises blossom in the shapes of his fingerprints, sprouted in clusters of five across your form. engravings of razored teeth litter your thighs and hips, his gnawing just a hint shy of too strong, leaving behind wide crescents of thirty-two little crimson pinpricks. petals of thick saliva dry hard and stiff on your stomach and neck and collarbone, planted into your skin by puckered lips and chaste kisses.

it’s customary that he murmur sweet nothings into every claim he creates, knowing that his words will seep into your tissues in the form of gentle vibrations, knowing that they will stay, even after his marks fade.

your body is art, too, you tell him softly, after he’s made you cum several times on his cock, iron shimmering with a thick coat of your arousal, slick he refuses to clean off. a tender finger traces along the tears laden across his torso, rough and saw-toothed—scars he refuses to let heal. 

no, he murmurs, rubbing his mouth into your shoulder as he speaks, eyes closing briefly with a slow, deep inhale. not the way yours is. 

your body is a storybook of your life, inscribed with tales and memories—the way your body developed as you entered womanhood, too quick for your delicate skin to keep up with, procuring shimmering streaks across your breasts and bum; the time you flipped your childhood bicycle, kneecaps scraping concrete, bloody and raw; that dark dash seared along your inner arm, a constant reminder of an earnest mistake, when you accidentally nudged the rim of a pot filled with boiling water. 

his body was carved in a lab, too precise to be real, too perfect to be human, constantly torn apart and put back together; rearranged, scrambled, chock full of modifications he never asked for, never agreed to. a true horror story—a weapon of death and destruction, a film of inevitable demise clinging to the metal.

he fears that’s all it ever will be. 

[the-joy-of-knowledge]

You are in your 20s but you don't know what to do with your life...

If you are like me, in your 20s and still unsure of the path for you. I think you should only do two things.

Do incredibly well at what you are currently doing now. This could be school, work, volunteering, writing, dancing, tutoring. It does not really matter whether this is your dream role. It does not matter whether you ought to be in Paris but you're somewhere in Milwaukee teaching 5th graders. All that matters is that you are meticulously doing well. That means you doing 1-5% better than average. You should be meticulous such that even if you don't like what you do, you have on one hand learned a tangible skill and on the other hand you know that putting more effort will not make you fulfilled. This information is necessary to inform your next path. But don't be on the lookout for the next thing without doing this first.

So what if you are doing the first part but something else interests you? Well, I will say to use your leisure time to pursue that. Emphasis on your leisure time. If you are not disciplined enough (I am also guilty of this) then this will not work. You are just wasting your time, claiming you have a secondary interest. If you cannot devote time to pursuing this interest relentlessly then please find something else to do, in this case I will suggest you focus on your current hobby. I also want to make a clear distinction between interest and hobby. I think an interest is something you do not know enough about but attracts your curiosity. For me, it is content creation, tablescaping, design, filming, pastry etc. Hobbies are things that you just enjoy doing through inspiration, instruction, or inclination. I enjoy reading first because my parents made reading a leisure activity and I now find value in it as an adult. And a hobby can become an interest when you add a layer complexity that leads to curiosity. There is a difference between reading books for fun and then picking a genre and spending time going deep to understand the canonical work, the history, the authors, the themes, the historical contexts etc. This is different from simply reading. So, my suggestion is in two folds:

a. Find an interest that is at the intersection of your curiosity, fantasy, and capabilities. I say fantasy because we do have this cherubic desires that stem from our childhood that are still waiting to be unleashed. For me, I had an obsession for glossy magazines. So, the big question is what can I do and still relish in that fantasy today? Let the fantasy get you started, let your capability keep your steady, and let your curiosity take you further. Writing is also an interest of mine that I stopped and it took a toll on me because I failed to honor that part of me that appreciated authors who just expressed themselves in ways that honored my sensibilities. But why did I stop? I had a capability problem, I felt I wasn't good enough and it is a good feeling to have because it signals that I should improve (expand my vocabulary, read more, and write more). Now that I am back, I wonder why I ever stopped. Writing is riveting. b. Expand your hobby until it takes a new form. Whatever your hobby is whether big or small I suggest your double down on it until you get to a different horizon. I enjoy reading like I shared before but I have realized I enjoy reading about women parvenus in history, historical women, the sociology of class, how fashion shapes our identity etc. It is so fun to me. I can read these themes without realizing the passage of time. While this may not be a hobby (I love to hyperfixate on beautifully designed table). I have designed some myself but I have not consistently put effort to enough information on whether to pursue it or not. So, I will classify it as an interest.

My goal with this blog is to find myself. Maybe one day, I share bits about the books I am reading. Maybe I could design a mini magazine. Maybe I will one day host an event with beautiful tablescape. Maybe I will go all in into baking. But for now I will follow my own advice: Do meticulously well in my day job, and unrelentlessly pursue my fantasy through intentional effort during my leisure time. I will be back to share my journey with you.

XOXO

[sthavoc]

maybe the podcast he went on where they're talking about what the hair tie on his wrist meant and he's like "i mean it's my hair tie but i do have a girlfriend, it's not a secret just more private" and then with him loving lamps he says his girlfriend loves them and hates big lights so she has so many lamps and candles all around the house. basically him gushing about his girly and the hosts being like "estas enamoradoooo" and him blushing

𖦁ׅ ࣪ ׂ 🕯️𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

𖥔 ࣪˖ pairing: enzo x fem!reader

𖥔 ࣪˖ summary: Enzo talks about your obsession with lamps and candles around your home on the podcast. And also the significance of the hair tie on his wrist.

𖥔 ࣪˖ warnings: nothing but fluff on this one

𖥔 ࣪˖ note: this is so cute! thank you for the request and I hope this is somewhat of what you were looking for anon<3 I honestly kind of improvised the podcast bc I don’t remember everything they said. it is 1 am where I live and I should be sleeping but I can’t…

“Bueno, pero me acabo de acordar.” Carlos points at Enzo’s hair tie letting out a laugh at the remembering he just had making Mariang laugh as well, but causing Enzo to look confused. “Hay un tweet donde sale una foto tuya en el ascensor y sales con la goma para el pelo.” He continued to point at the hair tie, and Enzo only remained more confused.

“Sí, para atarme el pelo.” Enzo nods and tugs the hair tie on his wrist. “Obvio.”

“Y el tweet ponía “chicas” tres puntos.” Mariang adds.

Enzo only appeared more baffled at the fact that his fans tweeted about a hair tie that was on his wrist.

“¿Que significa eso?” Enzo questioned glimpsing at Carlos who was ready to answer back.

“Que era de alguna chica con la que estás implicado.”

“No, pero es mía. Para atarme el pelo.” He looks at the hair tie and points at it.

“Bueno entonces, ¿das por finalizada que la goma es tuya?” Carlos laughed throughout his sentence as he looked at Enzo glanced at his hair tie another time.

“Sí, Y-yo creo que es mía. Bueno tengo novia, no es secreto, pero la goma es mía, pero ya ese tema es más privado.” He taps the surface of the table as he inclines his head towards the side for a short second.

“Bueno, pues gracias por aclarar. Cambiando de tema,” Mariang laughs pushing her mic a bit forward.

The three of them proceeded to talk about the movie and other random topics they would hit in the conversation. Like appealing to Enzo about his fans and any random app he had on his phone. Until they caught up with the topic about the money and how they would waste it on all kinds of things. Mariang spoke of the topic of furniture.

“A mí también me gustan los muebles.” Enzo nods along.

“Ah ¿a ti también? ¿Cuál es tu mueble favorito?” Mariang added to the subject as Enzo thought of his response.

“Las lámparas.” He speaks making Mariang nod along as she approves that was also her favorite type of furniture.

“¿Cuál es tu tipo de luz?” She questioned intrigued.

“Cálida, siempre.” Enzo retorts with no doubt in his voice. “Mi novia fue la que hizo que me gustaran de echo.” He chooses to add, with a tsk of his tongue.

“¿En serio? Ay, suena cool tu novia eh.” Mariang gushed grinning at the mention of you.

Enzo’s smile was followed by a nod and a few phrases. “Sí. Ella está obsesionada con las lámparas y las velas también. Como odia las luces así grandes pues tiene toda la casa llena de velas y lámparas.” He expanded his hands in a way of illustrating the big lights.

You were just like him and hated white lighting. It made your eyes burn, and you personally thought it ruined the warmth feeling of a home. Plus you had always wanted your place to have tons of candles and lamps around it.

“Ay pero qué linda. Me da las vibes de que es muy tranquila.” Carlos nods while Mariang agrees with him.

Enzo’s heart only swelled at the thought of you, and how you would look when lighting up the candles around your house. The times when you would have music playing on your radio and you would dance around turning them on.

“Sí, lo es. Se pone contenta al comprar nuevas velas o algún tipo de lámpara. También compra de pura luz cálida.” Enzo spoke into the mic as he kept his contact with Carlos and Mariang who paid attention to him. “Transmite paz. Es un amor.”

“Pero tío, ¡si estás enamorado!” Mariang signaled with her hand towards Enzo who chuckled. Not hiding the fact that he was turning red.

There was no lie in Mariang’s words. He was very much in love with you.

“Entonces espera, ¿la foto tuya donde estás con las plantas y una lamparita es en su casa?” Carlos asked out of curiousness.

“Sí. se le había caído y me pidió que se la arreglara.” Enzo responded.

“Ay pero qué lindo.” Mariang lets out with a cute tone. Enzo nodded with a small smile carved on his lips remembering the moment of you two.

“¿Y siempre le han gustado las lámparas?” Carlos asked before he took a sip of his drink.

For you, there was not a time where you did not like lamps or candles. They were one of your sources of happiness and personal warmth. So Enzo’s response was—

“La verdad que sí. Desde que la conozco siempre le han gustado. Recuerdo que la primera vez que entré a su casa me dijo “No te asustes” Y yo como ¿Pero por qué me voy a asustar?” Enzo furrowed his brows with the smallest of smiles.

“Claro.” Carlos nodded.

“Ya hasta que entre y vi las lámparas y velas.” Enzo chuckles at the memory. “Pero ahora que veo una lamparita o una vela por ahí me acuerdo de ella. Hasta le compré una.” He mentions with a raise of eyebrows.

“Hay ¿en serio? ¿Le dijiste? no vaya a ser que vea el podcast y se arruine la sorpresa.” Mariang looked at the camera making both Enzo and Carlos laugh. Enzo shook his head before he spoke—

“No, sí le dije y está contenta. Espera con ansia su lamparita.”

“Que bonito.” Carlos spoke peacefully into his mic.

Enzo knew you would love your new lamp, and he couldn’t wait to see your face and how it would brighten against the warm light.

[gerec]

best long fics? i've only been reading oneshots lately. i like cherik which can be a book too.

To make this list even a tiny bit manageable I'm choosing to define 'long' as over 100k. There are a lot of superb fics on this list, Anon; happy reading!

Nine Eleven Ten by Subtilior (WIP - the definition of a fandom classic with fantastic worldbuilding)

Years later, Charles would remember that day. Sometimes he would wonder if he could have changed anything; other times he would despair over what he had since become. But he would always hold the image in his mind: Raven, laughing, and his thoughts flying alongside her on strong wings, silver-gold through the winter air. Once upon a time.

The stars incline us, they do not bind us by ikeracity, Pangea

Intergalactic Federation pilot Lieutenant Charles Xavier is assigned last-minute to a high profile mission: transporting over two thousand prison inmates from an old and overfilled prison complex to a newer, higher-capacity prison stronghold located on the outer reaches of the galaxy. Just as he's settling down for a long and uneventful ride, things take a turn for the worse after the inmates riot and stage a hostile takeover of the ship, leaving Charles to find himself at the complete mercy of cold-blooded killers and facing the chilling prospect that he might not ever make it back home alive.

A Curious Carriage of Crystal and Cold by Etharei

Charles, a miner from a poor village in the countryside, saves the life of Erik Lehnsherr, scion of a successful business family and the richest man on the planet Eisen. Charles is a telepath and somewhat anxious about it, while Erik abstains from relationships because the lights flicker and doors open and electronics vibrate when he gets too excited.

Also featuring a long-suffering sister, a foul-mouthed bodyguard, and a best friend with a heart that is definitely not gold.

In which there are princes, spaceships, long journeys, and old secrets uncovered. (An AU sci-fi fairytale)

Tessellation by nekosmuse

He had been following Xavier's career for years. He had read and reread and reread again everything the man had written. He had tried, on more occasions than he could count, to recruit Xavier into the Brotherhood, but each request for a meeting had been denied. Aside from his work, no one knew anything about Xavier. Not what he looked like, not the full extent of his power--though from what little they did know, he was by far the most powerful telepath in existence--and not what his intentions were.

The man was a recluse. As far as Magneto knew, Xavier had never once stepped foot outside his impenetrable Westchester manor. And now he was scheduled as the keynote speaker for the largest pro-mutant conference in the world.

The Marriage Bargain by kianspo

Erik Lehnsherr had made a fortune manufacturing steel in Europe. When he wished to expand to the New World, he discovered that no one would do business with him unless he was affiliated with one of the First Families, the creme de la creme of the NW aristocracy. When Lord Marko holds an auction to give away his 14-year-old stepson's hand in marriage, Erik sees his chance and takes it. He has no interest in Charles himself, but now that he has him, can they make it work?

Everyday Love in Stockholm by tahariel

Prompt: Magneto is the ruler of the posthuman world.

His only secret? Charles Xavier, the human he's kept locked in his bedroom ever since his right-hand woman, Mystique, came to him pleading for mercy for her stepbrother, who accepted her mutant form and protected her as a child. The human he started fucking after Mystique was killed in battle, despite the guilt he feels at contaminating even this last promise to the woman who was integral to his life's work and happiness.

The Proper Care of Actors by afrocurl, Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etharei (series)

Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

The Associates by ikeracity, Pangea (series)

Being a mob boss' associate has its ups and downs. Having sex in the back of a limo on Valentine's Day is definitely one of the ups.

The Sonnet Series by afrocurl, nekosmuse (series)

Erik Lehnsherr is a visiting professor at Columbia University, as well as an acclaimed and award winning poet. Charles Xavier is a lead researcher with the Genetics Department who is well on his way to tenure. But what happens when Charles has to cancel a class because half his students abandon him in favour of a mysterious new English Lit professor? Naturally he ends up sitting in in the class, where Professor Lehnsherr mistakes him for a student. It's really too bad Erik has such a strict policy against dating students. It's also too bad Erik doesn't seem to know how to use Google.

Space Oddity by MonstrousRegiment, Pangea (series)

Prince Charles Xavier is Deputy Commander of the TEF Heartsteel and the newest mission they've been assigned starts out less than desirable and quickly goes downhill from there. It's alright, though, he'll cope.

It doesn't help, though, that he's in unrequited love with his best friend and Commander of the Heartsteel, War-Prince Erik Lehnsherr.

Nation Building and other Diplomatic Negotiations by Pookaseraph

With the recent passage of a submissive registration law in the United Kingdom, there are now only two industrialized nation with a relatively stable government to have neither a mutant nor a submissive registration law. Erik Lehnsherr, the newly minted King of Genosha, and his Prime Minister Emma Frost intend to take advantage of this turn of events to bring the Xavier Institute to the island nation of Genosha. They both know bringing Charles Xavier, the noted activist of mutant and submissive rights, to the island will necessarily politicize the man, and create all manner of complications. With a constitution not yet finalized and external threats to Genoshan security all around them, Erik, Emma, and Charles will fight for what they believe in to shape Genosha into what it should be.

Do You Love Me by cgf_kat

Charles and Erik have been married for 25 years, thrown together by a mandatory post-apocalyptic pairing system attempting to increase and strengthen the population. They have seven children. They have never spoken of love, but change is on the horizon.

Ritual Self-Torture by TurtleTotem

For the following prompt: Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom can't find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles.

He doesn't know Erik and Charles are in love.

But I Would Walk Five Hundred Miles, And I Would Walk Five Hundred More by luninosity (series)

In which Charles isn't really an escort, Erik thinks he only wants a one-night stand, everybody's got a past, and there's quite a lot of sex on the way to the happy ending.

We Met At The Park by StarRose

AU, no powers, based on McAvoy's performance as Martin in Murder In Mind. Unable to sleep one night Erik takes a midnight walk in the local park. He finds himself being followed and propositioned by a rent boy named Charles, and begins to fall rather rapidly for his charms. Charles however has never known what love is, and doesn't recognise it even when it's staring at him in the face. As for Erik, he doesn't realise a creeping illness is slowly affecting Charles, and his dark past is something he couldn't have imagined.

Strict Machine by euphorbic

When Professor Charles F Xavier accepted a visiting professor position in Arizona, he did so in order to be geographically closer to his sister. What he did not expect to find was the living, breathing specter of the sportbike gang-oriented past he’d been trying to put to rest.

A tale of sport bikes, consequences, and sacrifice.

MAD Dogs by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik (series)

Charles and Erik are (loosely) friends with benefits. They don't share personal details, last names, or anything concrete about their lives. This is ruined rather spectacularly when Charles gets recruited by the Mutant Apprehension Division of the FBI. Surprised is a bit of an understatement for their reaction to finding themselves partnered up and sent out on cases with the team.

Bit of a detective fic? Really just an excuse for us to play around with MAD (Mutant Apprehension Division) that we created in Playing House.

A Doll's House by lachatblanche

Welcome to the Dollhouse, where all your dreams and fantasies come true. At a price. Based on the TV show Dollhouse.

[the20thangel]

The Dragon and The Raven Ch 2

Hello, Lovely people! I plan to expand the timeline for The Dance of the Dragons by adding more. This will provide insight into Benjicot's thoughts from the previous chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

Keep up with the story: masterlist

He was gone; Davos, his brave twin, was gone. The stupid Brackens disrespected his brother and their land, and, in turn, his brother and father were lost. Davos was always the more outspoken and confident twin. Benjicot knew people thought he wasn’t fit to be Lord of House Blackwood. He seemed inclined to agree, but not for the reason others believed in. He was more reserved and quiet compared to Davos, the loud one. 

Benjicot was meant to be his brother's sworn protector. He thrived being out of the limelight and quietly doing his duty as a soldier willing to die for his brother, which he couldn’t even seem to do correctly. His job was to protect his lord, which he failed. Both his father and brother were dead, and it was all his fault. 

“My Lord…” echoed slowly louder and louder until Benjicot broke out of his guilt to his council member. 

The weary old council member looked tired from all the stress of the day, “My lord, we have finished moving the bodies to the great hall. We will begin the preparations for burials soon.” 

Benjicot nodded while following the older gentleman to the hall and seeing the masses of lost Blackwood members being mourned. In the very front lay both his father and twin. Davos was bloodied but wearing a final smirk on his face, which Benji thought was meant to be. If people needed to see Davos one last time, let it be his famous smirk he wore proudly as heir.  

Benji was worn out from the day’s events; he knew if it weren’t for how much he wept earlier in the field, he would still be crying like a babe. He had never wept this much before, not even when their mother passed. It felt like a knife was gouged in his chest, and he knew the reason was that his twin, his other half, was brutally taken from him, leaving him and his aunt to piece their house together. Speaking of his aunt, she also looked tired as she walked towards him with a letter that was brought from a raven. Where the raven came from, he cared not… not when he was too busy mourning and trying but failing to step up as the new lord of Raventree Hall. 

“Benji, news of the Battle of Burning Mill reached Dragonstone and Queen Rheanyra…” croaked his aunt, her voice raspy from yelling all day trying to keep the peace.

 As she continued, Benji was only half listening, which he knew should feel bad, but he couldn’t seem to care. His guilt was sneaking back onto him, but he was abruptly shaken once he heard his aunt say Princess and Dragon. 

“Wait, Dragon? What dragon?” he questioned his aunt and then lowered his gaze once his aunt glared at him for proving that he wasn’t listening to her earlier. 

Alysanne knew better than to hold it against her nephew, but dragons were coming, and they needed to do everything they could to best prepare for the Crown Princess's arrival the next day. 

“Queen Rhaenyra wants to express her condolences and gratitude by sending food and medical supplies with her daughter Princess Aemma on top of the princess’ dragon Sliverwing.  We must ensure our home accommodates a princess and her dragon.” Alysanne, weary, explained to her nephew that she had the same face as him. 

The last thing they needed was a Targaryen princess coming and demanding their attention rather than focusing on their dead. Still, they swore to the Black Faction and the royal family, so they must welcome the princess as an honored guest no matter how much they would come to dread it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Benjicot was a nervous wreck; the princess should be arriving soon, and he was trying to ease his mind but taking on task after task, funeral preparations, the princess's guest chambers, a clearing to house a dragon, storage to store all the supplies being brought. All of these seemed to pile on, and he didn’t have enough time to, as he heard a dragon's apparent dragon shrill and wings flap. He would not greet the princess. Instead, his lady aunt would take on the task while he stayed in the great hall, pretending to be busy. Rather than using all his energy to pretend to engage with a princess, he had no clue how to speak to the princess. 

Soon, the great hall doors were opened, and walked in a woman who knocked the wind out of his lungs. This woman had pale white curly hair that was pinned up in a simple braid reminiscent of those of the North. Her sunkissed skin glistened under her hair; she wore red and black riding leathers that seemed to have dragon scales on her shoulders, which hugged her body in all the right curves. But what took away his breath was her eyes and how she carried herself in the room. Her beautiful violet eyes held sorrow as she took in the great hall, not pity, but understanding. 

Benji studied her as she walked around the hall on her own, whispering condolences to the grieving families before she stopped and stared at one body, his twin Davos’s body. He stiffened before quickly but quietly walked towards her. The princess, he realized, before he paused once he saw her expression. The Princess looked on the verge of weeping while staring at his brother’s face. If he didn’t know any better, it would look like the princess was mourning her lover, but that was impossible as Davos and the princess never had the chance to meet. It confused Benji, but he heard her whisper Luke when it clicked on him. Prince Lucerys was the reason the realm started the war between greens and blacks. His uncle, Prince Aemond, killed Prince Lucerys. Looking upon Davos made the princess remember her sibling lost to a feud between two families. The princess understood him and his grief. At that point, he decided to be brave and let the princess know of his presence. 

“ Davos Blackwood, my princess.” Whispered Benji as he watched the princess jump, shaken, and then flush in embarrassment before she set her eyes on him. 

He then noticed how she subconsciously flinched when she looked at him, which he understood. He and his twin were identical to each other, so it can seem daunting to see one alive and the other dead. 

“That is Davos Blackwood… he... he was my twin brother.”  He explained and saw how the princess nodded with understanding, for she, too, had recently lost her brother. Before he could think of another sentence, the princess graced him with a small but dazzling smile as she spoke. 

“Lord Benjicot, my mother and I thank you for receiving me into your home, especially in this trying time; I wish to express sorrow for the loss of your father and twin brother.” 

Her voice was sweet, like a soft wind chime melodies that could melt even the strongest ice in the north. Benjicot himself returned a shy smile to the princess. 

“Thank you, my princess-”

“Aemma.” Stated the princess before continuing, “ You may call me Aemma, but I fear I will grow tired of hearing ‘my princess’ so much.” 

Benjicot stared at Princess Aemma for a second before noticing her certain witty charm, which made him feel more confident. He changed his smile to a smirk. 

“Very, Aemma. Thank you for your condolences. I ask you to call me Benji or Ben. It seems only fair,” he said, relishing in seeing her break into a bigger smile than before. 

There was a soothing pause as Benji, and the princess once again looked at the masses before he decided he needed to remove himself from the hall. Seeing his brother was still too much to bear. So he asked her if she would like to have a tour of the hall and castle grounds. She happily took his arm and wrapped it around as they walked away from prying eyes. Once out of the hall, Benji was greeted with a dragon’s shrill as the She-dragon seemed to glare at the young lord. He gulped as the princess laughed and ran to her dragon. 

As much as he knew better than to get close to a dragon, he was like a moth, following the light that Aemma seemed to release as she spoke High Valyrian in her soft-spoken voice to her dragon. She took his breath away for the second time. He had always heard Valyrians were considered higher to men and closer to gods. He never really believed it until now. This warrior goddess welcomed him to her and her dragon, a privilege only a few dared to indulge in. As he continued admiring her, Aemma turned to him, which made him flush, knowing she caught him staring at her. 

“Have you ever come into close contact with a dragon before?” quietly asked Aemma. 

Benjicot shook his head no, “ Never, my princes- um, Aemma.” He quickly caught himself as Aemma graced him with another laugh. He enjoyed hearing her laugh. 

“Would you like to? Come meet my Silverwing.” Aemma took hold of his hand and pulled him closer to her until her body flushed to his as she raised their intertwined hands to Sliverwing’s snout. 

 Benji’s cheeks could only grow more in heat, feeling the princess's body press onto his own. His body started to betray him, and he hoped she wouldn’t notice. Thankfully, the princess was too busy soothing her dragon because of his presence instead of seeing the effect she was having on him.  

“Shh, Sliverwing, Lykiri , sweet one, we mustn’t scare away our host.” Whispered the princess as she guided Benjicot’s hand to rub her snout. At the same time, she was using her other hand to soothe the dragon to be calm. 

In awe of touching a dragon, Benji asked, “What does that mean… lykiri? 

Again, Aemma giggled and turned more to him, their face mere inches away. 

“ It means to be calm or calm down. I must say how impressed I am with your bravery in being so close to a dragon, my lord.”  

Benjicot, in turn, winked at the princess before teasingly replied, “Only because I have the Realm’s Pearl guiding me, and I thought we agreed to skip our titles, my princess.” 

Benji then lowered his gaze to her lips, seemingly inviting. He could lean forward and take a kiss from her if he wanted. Oh, how much his mind told him to go for it. As he was about to indulge in his thoughts, a stern and short cough snapped him out of his thoughts and made him jump away from Princess Aemma and Silverwing. Benjicot could only grow cold; there was Princess Aemma, sworn knight Ser Lorent, glaring at the young lord; Benji felt like a dead man. His saving grace, His Aunt, called to him. This gave him the perfect excuse to leave the princess, promising her to see her later at the feast.

As he walked away towards his aunt, Benji could only internally groan, seeing the smirk his lady aunt was giving him. 

“It would seem the Princess is quite fond of you, my nephew,” teased Alysanne, delighting at seeing her nephew blush brighten even more. 

Benjicot glared at his aunt as they walked to the feast hall, ensuring everything was set. 

“The Princess is just being gracious. Why would she like some lowly lord, not even a lord paramount, when she is a crown princess?” stated Benji, reminding himself that as much as he was falling for her, he had no chance with her. 

Alysanne sighed, growing tired of her nephew's self-deprecation. “ A Dragon rider does not bring a random person close to their dragon just to be nice. She likes you, nephew. You should pursue her.” 

Benji cruelly laughed, “What do I bring to her in a marriage? Is our house that rich, or high in-” 

“Benjicot Blackwood!” angrily exclaimed Alysanne. “Our house is proud and ancient; we have one of the largest armies with great warriors like you that will support her mother in the war between Black and Greens. We are just as good as any Paramount House and better than those of House Hightower and House Bracken. You, my young lord, need to see the value of your position and our house.” explained Alysanne as she angrily walked away from her nephew. 

Benji sighed, knowing what his aunt said was true. He just couldn’t fathom how someone as beautiful as Aemma could consider him a potential husband. He decided his aunt was correct. He needed to bring out his confidence, which he could easily show in the training yard; he had to be like Davos so that people would start seeing him as a strong lord of Raventree Hall.

He walked to the chambers the princess was staying in and explained to the knight that he would escort her to the feast. Ser Lorent tried to intimidate the young lord again with a glare, only to receive a smirk that one can only describe as rabid. Chuckling at the new confidence, the Queensguard nodded before walking towards the feast hall, Leaving Benji to knock on the door and patiently wait for the princess to come out. 

As Aemma came out of her chamber, leaving Benji again to admire her beauty, switching her previous braid to many intricate braids in the style of Old Valyria dragon riders. He gave her a dazzling smirk that made him know it affected her from her flushed cheeks. As they walked in the hall, Benjicot noticed the stares, especially those from his men, which made an ugly monster of jealousy creep in. Of course, these were his men; he would not hold it against them and try to enjoy the feast, stealing glances at the princess. As he was about to strick a conversation, he was tapped on the shoulder. Turning, he saw his aunt with an annoyed face and a nervous council member asking him to speak with him. 

With a sigh, the young lord walked outside and waited for the conversation to start. None spoke for a while, making the Blackwood lord grow tiresome for wasting his time when his aunt said. 

“It is your concern, council member, not mine, and I will not be the one to express them to my nephew.” 

“What concerns?” asked Benjicot as he stared at the older man. 

“My Lord, many of us are concerned about your position as lord of Raventree Hall; many are stating that since you don't have an heir, House Blackwood is vulnerable to enemies.” The elder dropped his gaze to the floor, afraid to make eye contact. 

Benji was angrily taken aback. He had just taken his position, and already, his council saw weakness in his lordship.

“I understand my position, but it is hardly weak; I am the lord of House Blackwood, and if need be, my Aunt Alysanne is my heir. I do not need to marry so soon, especially if we are to join the queen to war!” Snared the new lord at the older gentleman.  

The older man sighed in annoyance, “ Yes, since we still follow the Old gods, there is nothing wrong with having Alysanne as your heir, but your position is not secured, my lord. Should you and your lady aunt perish, we risk losing our house to those craven Brackens. Being married will ensure your future wife carries your heir to secure the future of our house.” 

This only grew Benjicot more agitated, and replied angrily, “ I will not be a bargaining chip just to secure my house’s future, and I will not marry just to have my future wife feel like a broodmare.”  

Alysanne sighed, looking at both hotheaded men, and tried to intervene, “You and the princess seem to grow close. Why don’t you discuss with her any potential ladies she may have as her or her mother’s ladies-in-waiting? Therefore, you open up the discussion of marriage without feeling too drastic or rushed. While I remain as your heir?” 

Alysanne knew better than to ask her nephew to consider marriage to the princess again; remembering their earlier conversation would only annoy her nephew more. Eventually, both men agreed and decided that the conversation was done as they walked back to the feast room. After cooling down, Benjicot’s attention was returned to the Princess as her guard called for attention. 

Princess Aemma stood, holding a paper that Benji could only assume was the Queen’s letter to his people. As she looked around the room, her violet eyes stared and made eye contact with him. Under her composed face, he could see she was nervous, so he gave a slight smirk and a nod of encouragement. Her charm will win over his people just like she did with him. 

Exhaling, she opened her mother’s letter and began to read, “My good people of Raventree Hall, I thank you for welcoming my daughter, Crown Princess Aemma, into your home. As my heart grieves for the loss of Burning Mill, I want to express my gratitude for your honor and loyalty to me as your queen. My mind is at ease knowing I have such loyal subjects, and with your help, I know we can take back my birthright from the green false king. To show my gratitude, I have sent my daughter on her dragon to bring supplies and food to help replenish House Blackwood. With her dragon, she will lead and guard the able soldiers to Harrenhall, where Prince Daemon, the Knights of the Vale, and the men of the North will eagerly await you. You all have my utmost respect and gratitude, your Queen, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, protector of the realm.” 

Once Aemma finished, the entire feast hall stood and applauded the princess, including Benji and his aunt. He felt immensely proud of how regal and compassionate the Queen and princess sounded.  After a while, Aemma raised her hand and asked for the hall to quiet down, seeming not to be done addressing them. Intrigued, Benji sat down again to listen closely to what she needed to say. 

“I thank those here today for coming out and supporting my queen. My heart is filled with the warm welcome I have received here at Raventree Hall. To know such fierce and loyal people are willing to fight for my mother, your queen, fills my heart with gratitude-” 

Someone in the back stood up and cheered, “To Queen Rhaenyra and Her Crown Princess, The Realm’s Pearl Aemma Velayron!”  

Benji wanted to laugh; it seemed his people, even after centuries, still had northern tendencies and attitudes that seemed to come out when they held feasts. The Princess patiently let the crowd cheer again before asking for silence and continued. 

“I thank you all for your cheers. To show my gratitude for everything, I propose, should your Lord Blackwood accept, my hand for marriage to create a strong and secure alliance between Houses Targaryen, Velaryon, and House Blackwood.” 

Everything seemed to freeze, did he- did he hear correctly? Crown Princess Aemma Velayron has asked his hand in marriage… As Benji scanned the room, he saw everyone openly in shock. As he returned his gaze to his princess, he saw her getting nervous, waiting for his reaction. After a beat or two, he finally was able to process that, indeed, he was asked to be married. He decided to grace her with a heartwarming smile as he rose to meet her. Grabbing her hands into his, he stared into her violet eyes. He could get lost in them every day. He leaned down to kiss her hands as he gave her his answer for only her to hear. 

“It would be my honor to be your husband, my dear princess,” he whispered, feeling giddy seeing her gracing a smile that he knew was meant for him alone. He promised himself to be the one person to bring that smile out of her in their future marriage.

[kellysue]

The Suit-Making Metaphor

[Written in January, 2024] The cold eventually got bad enough that the Grandma, the kids and I fled to a hotel while Matt stayed at the house with the dogs. We were fortunate to be able to that of course, and sharing a room in a nice warm hotel was not suffering by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, it was stressful. We brought ipads, paints, books and needlework to keep the kids entertained and alleviate some anxiety, but time also had to be made for school work—especially as they would be going back to class just in time for finals. We made lists of their classes, what they had to study, what we could help with and what questions would need to be put to their teachers.

Henry’s 16 now (!!) and instead of an exam, his Humanities final was a personal essay. We chatted a bit about his writing process, what he liked about what he had done so far and what was frustrating for him. Though he had a terrific topic, he’d written and rewritten his opening paragraph several times and wasn’t making any real progress.

Been there, buddy.

As we talked, I stumbled on a metaphor that I found helpful, and so I’m going to try and share with you roughly what I said to him, and perhaps some of you will find it helpful too.

I get it, I do. It’s exactly my inclination as well. But writing like this-- where you try to perfect everything as you go, effectively writing the third draft before you finish the first--it’s like trying to make a suit from the top to the bottom. You can’t make a suit like that. You can’t start with the collar and get that perfected and then move to the shoulder. You can’t topstitch the upper part of the button placket before the bottom even exists. And even if you could figure how to do it that way, your suit isn't going to fit. Because that’s just not the best way to make a suit. Finishing the thing from top to bottom is not the best way to write, either. You start by choosing your fabric—your topic. What material are you going to craft the suit from? What’s the subject of the essay? You want to write about your relationship to various monsters. That’s terrific! That’s like a nice wool; there’s heft there—memories and feelings and personal details that resonate as truths; it should make a rich and interesting suit. Now, instead of cutting out the collar immediately, let’s choose a pattern. We need a pattern to help us cut the wool into the proper shapes. The pattern is the very basic structure of your essay. How might you organize your thoughts and feelings about monsters? The order isn’t as important as the categories. For the suit jacket, we’ll need right front, left front, sleeves, collar, lining etc. For the essay, what monsters do you want to write about? King Kong, the Rancor, the Minotaur and Bernard the Bull. Perfect. Cutting the pattern pieces out is equivalent to gathering your thoughts on each monster. Write freely about each one, taking the time to remember in as much detail as possible where you first encountered each monster, how old you were, etc. Go through each of your senses to help you recall the moment. What did you see? Smell? Taste? Feel? Who was with you? How did you feel in your body? How did you feel in your heart? Include everything that jumps out at you, you can always edit it down later. In our metaphor, this step is not just cutting out the pieces but also taking the time to transfer the pattern marks. You might not need them all, but you're sure to make a finer suit if you have them all available. Once you have the pieces, the next step is to see how they fit together. Read through each monster and look for connections. Is there an order that suggests itself? Rearrange and then edit and expand to highlight those connections. The first pass of this is basting stitches—loose connections just to test the fit—once you’re happy with the shape you can go ahead and lay in seams. Here is where our parallels start to fall apart: For the suit, you’ll want to do all the finishing touches—the handstitching, buttons, pressing, etc.—and then try it on and style it. But in writing your essay, these steps are reversed—styling is crafting the last paragraph, bringing the piece to a close. Your essay doesn’t have to wrap up neatly, in fact, you don’t want it to be too matchy-matchy. Just as an outfit’s style is improved by personal idiosyncrasies, a piece of writing is enriched by the author's capacity to engage with complexity and ambiguity. With the styling done--when you really know what it is you're trying to say--now you can go back with needle and thread and do that hand-stitching: tighten the prose where you can, polish rhythms, word choice, grammar and voice. With the whole of the thing in front of you, you now have what you need to do the kind of “third draft” finishing work that was impossible to begin with.

This might be the very definition of beating a metaphor to death, but I surprised myself with it. It was as revelatory for me as it was for Henry--probably more so.

And with that, I need to get back to those now-422 emails.

Cheers,

Kelly Sue

PS New creator-owned book coming out late fall this year--first launch in a decade or so, I think? I do need to figure out this whole newsletter/blog conundrum sooner rather than later. Advice and opinions welcome.

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Need me a Thomas Shelby with “you fell asleep in my arms. it was kind of adorable.” thank you and cg for 100 followers!!

Thank you so much for this request my love! I'm so sorry it's so long coming. Again, I'm studying for the bar and it is crazy with the holidays! Also, I hope you like this! Tommy is not my typical bread and butter but I wanted to give people the option! Sending all my love to you angel! - Mo

100 Follower Celebration: No Man Works Alone

Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader, fluff

When you got connected to the middle Shelby boy, you were warned that life would never be the same. You assumed as much, knowing that their business went much farther than horse racing. You were up to the task. You had been in the Shelby orbit for years, you saw what it all took, and when Tommy made his intentions known to you, you were willing to step up and do your part in expanding the empire.

Polly joked that you were made for this life with the way that you so seamlessly came in. While the Shelby company were encroaching into higher society and government facades, they needed a pretty face to butter up old money hands. When the boys were running liquor and snow and violence, you ran sweet words and high teas with women whose husbands had deep and ancient pockets. Even before Thomas met with potential partners, they were already inclined to agree since you were just so kind and elegant looking. Surely a woman like you would never be with someone not reputable right?

But it wasn’t just the business you managed to soothe and nurture. You also added a salve to the Shelby familial wounds. Some wounds required more care than others. Some would never heal completely, but petty arguments could be solved and begin the groundwork for a more harmonious union. You had stepped in more than once to facilitate peace agreements between the Shelby siblings more than once, “Do it for the children yeah? They deserve to be able to see their cousins and aunts and uncles freely. Shelby’s need each other. And it’s Christmas for God’s sake!”

And no good deed goes unpunished it seems. Due to your expert people skills and kind face, you were put in charge of a Christmas gala for all the biggest names in the city. A dual purpose to flaunt the power of the Shelby family, and to raise funds for a women’s shelter to be built. In the same week you were planning to host Christmas dinner and Christmas morning in the home for the entire Shelby family. Everyone was coming and it was to be a beautiful affair. It’s would be wonderful save for the sheer amount of people to take care of. You had spent the day running around, only to continue into the evening, taking care of your and Tommy’s children; putting them to bed and giving them each some attention in the absence of their father.

By the time you had finished your tasks for the day, it was late, and Tommy still wasn’t finished with the ledgers and accounts. He looked exhausted, the puffiness of his eyes evident in from under his glasses. Sleeves rolled up and shirt open the quiet desire for sleep was coming off him in waves. You wrap your soft satin robe tighter around you as you gently sit next to Tommy. Without looking up from his work he says to you in a gravely voice, "You should be in bed, it's late love."

You shake your head, though you feel as though invisible fingers are dragging your eyelids down, "Mm not tired."

Tommy chuckles as he hears you attempt to stifle a yawn. He takes off his glasses to look at your faltering face. "You're not eh? You sure?"

You lean back on the comfortably expensive sofa Tommy had set up shop on, stretching out the ache in your back, "Perhaps a little. But I don't like not sleeping next to you. If you're up, I'm up. We're a team yeah?"

Tommy smiles, enamored by your insistence. It was one of the things that drew him to you the first time he saw you. Your quiet defiance. You intent to keep people together and not leave anyone behind. It was only a small fractal of how sweet and tender your heart was. Tommy leaned over to gently kiss your temple, "Alright then. If you insist Commander. I'll be done soon enough I promise."

With another poorly hidden yawn you say, "Take your time darling. I brought reading."

Just as Tommy predicted, within 15 minutes you were out like a light. Back when you all were children, it was a running joke that you would be running and playing as hard as you could one minute, and fall dead asleep on any surface the next minute. It never changed. As Tommy chuckled and picked the book off your face where it fell, he was reminded of you as a young girl. Though there were a few more marks and lines on your face now, you had the whispers of your youth still on your face. Your daughter with Tommy slept the same exact way. Mouth open slightly. Arms raised above your head. Utterly at peace. Tommy was tempted to wake you to tease you, but knew you would punish yourself for 'falling asleep on the job'. He opted to finish his paperwork instead, working diligently and quietly so as not to disturb you. Soon enough he was done and put everything away in his desk to pick up tomorrow. Pressing gentle kisses to your face, he whispers against you, "Darling, wake up. Let's go to bed eh? Get you more comfortable."

You jolted awake, nearly knocking Tommy over, "Oh God... what time is it? Are the kids ok?"

Tommy chuckled deeply, pulling you up by the arms, "No no darling. Kids are alright. You fell asleep next to me. It was a bit adorable really. You look exactly like Matilde in her crib. "

You throw yourself back down, "Oh God I fell asleep while you were working! That is not what I wanted to do! I wanted to keep you company!"

Tommy laid himself over you, pushing your arms away from your embarrassed face, "You did keep me company. Perfect company. You needed to sleep. You've been running around. Being the best mother and wife. Being the best coordinator. Being the best aunt and sister in law. Hard work my love. C'mon. Let's get to bed yeah?"

You let him kiss you and take you to bed. Sleep took you both sweetly and quickly. And in the morning you would start it all over again. Waking to your children jumping on top of you with joy, and another list of things to attend to. But as long as Tommy was next to you. It would all be worth it.

[froggibus]

More venture smut?? Aaaa

Fem reader x Venture

Venture meets her at the bar and decides to be bold and flirty with her. Y/N is interested ofccc

After some chit chat, flirting and tease, Venture guides her somewhere more private

You can let your imagination run wild when you write🤭🤭

Back Of The Bar - AMAB! Venture

Pairing: amab! Sloan Cameron x reader (no pronouns are used but reader has a pussy!)

Genre: smut/nsfw

Word Count: 1k

Summary: after meeting a hot stranger at the bar, they take you to the bathroom to have a little fun

CW: semi-public sex, sex in a bathroom, protected sex (we are responsible today), amab! Sloan, multiple rounds, lots of goofy jokes, porn w mild plot (is that even a thing?), dirty talk, Sloan has rizz

hey anon! i tried my best while writing this to give you that fun, flirty scene at the start (why this took so long) but i just really couldn't see it ;,( thanks so much for the request & if you don't like this feel free to lmk & ill try to rewrite it! love ya

The stranger behind you has an iron grip on your waist, their other hand pressed hard against the door your face is currently smushed against. They keep their face nuzzled against your neck, soft moans and pants like music to your ears.

You let loose a desperate, sobbing moan, and dig your nails into the chipping paint of the door. “Fuck, Sloan, fuck!” 

Your whines only egg them on, their hips colliding with yours hard enough to wind you everytime you collide. Your body rattles the door with every deep thrust and you fight to keep from screaming out in the way you so desperately want to.

“So fucking tight,” they groan in your ear, enunciating every word with a thrust. 

Your pussy grips them for dear life as if begging them to never leave, and with the way they’re fucking you so nicely, you’re inclined to agree. Your lungs ache from gasping from air, your thigh trembling from where it's propped against the door to give them better access.

Their dull nails dig into the meat of your hip, their thrusts starting to get sloppier as time goes on. You use the door as leverage to guide your hips into theirs, colliding with them in the middle in a way that drives the head of their cock deeper into your cunt. Your eyes roll back, the heaving knot in your stomach expanding so much it's almost painful.

“Love this pussy, could live in it if you let me.” They babble in your ear. “Tell me you’ll let me—fuck, please.”

To think you’d only met them an hour ago, when they sidled up to you at the bar and sheepishly offered to buy you a drink. Their confidence had stunned you enough into saying next, and before you knew it, they were fucking you against the door of the bathroom.

“Use me, please Sloan, use me.”

That’s all it takes to renew their vigor, their thrusts so intense there’s a sudden undertone of pain to the eye-rolling pleasure they’ve been giving you. Your arms begin to shake, the only leg that you’ve been propped on threatening to buckle as the first wave of your orgasm washes over.

Heat overwhelms you, all the muscles in your body going rigid as pure pleasure washes through you. You’re barely aware of how loud your cries have gotten, or of Sloan’s hand clamping over your mouth in an attempt to be quiet. Your whole body shakes, limbs turning to jelly and threatening to send you crashing to the floor.

Sloan catches you, tanned muscles flexing as they manoeuvre your body to drive themselves deeper. Your cunt clenches them impossibly tight, the grip of your pussy threatening to steal the condom right off their cock. They pound deeper into you, forcing their cock as deep as they can go before their cock twitches and unloads into the latex barrier between you.

You sigh in relief at the sudden still of their hips, your own aching from how hard they were driving into you. The feverish sheen that had consumed both of your skin has started to die down, the cool air conditioning of the bar bathroom starting to soothe the ache.

They slump against you, both of you half-sliding down the poor ravaged door. Sloan still keeps a grip on you, trying to lazily catch you before either of you could hit the ground.

“Fuck,” they half-laugh, half-pant. They offer you a goofy smile, flipping their sweaty curls away from their face. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

You raise an eyebrow at their enthusiasm as they pull their cock out of you and gather the incredibly full condom in their hands to discard in the trash. Your eyes stay glued to theirs the whole time, drool leaking out of the corner of your mouth at just how much they came. If they weren’t a stranger to you, you’d almost wish they hadn’t used a condom.

You raise yourself from the floor on shaky legs, gathering your slick soaked panties from the floor and staring at them with a pout. “These are going to be terrible to put back on,” you say with a frown. “If only I’d brought a back up.”

The two of you laugh at the thought. As if either one of you knew you’d be ending your night fucking against the door of a bar bathroom, all messy and panting and trying (failing) to be quiet.

“Here.” They reach a hand out for your underwear, and at your apprehension, laugh. “I’ve been knuckles deep inside of you, do you really think I care about touching your panties?”

The sudden brashness of their words has you speechless, that familiar fever starting to win against the cool air once more. You drop your panties into their calloused hand and watch as they hang them over the hand dryer.

You shake your head. How could you not think of that? For one, terrible, bitter second, you find yourself wondering if they really have done this before. Something curdles in your chest at the thought.

“Man,” they laugh. “Those are soaked. You must really like me, hey?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not every day I meet a hot stranger willing to rail me right there and then.”

“Well, they’re gonna take a while to dry so…round 2?”

You think they’re joking but when your eyes meet theirs and see the lust consuming them once more, you know they couldn’t possibly. Your eyes flick down their stomach to their still-hard cock, a smirk falling over your face.

“Yeah but–” you risk a glance at the door. “I think the poor door has had enough.”

Before you can even react, Sloan is grabbing you under the thighs and propping you up on the sink counter. “That’s alright,” they breathe heavily in your ear, their cock prodding your aching entrance. “I can fuck you perfectly fine right here.”

Dizziness overtakes you as their cock slips through your folds and stretches you once more. Somehow, you don’t think you’re leaving this bathroom anytime soon.

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