#if you don't like how/what some people write that's fine

[cherrygirlfriend]

⟡ ₊ . ༄.° postcards under the bed

pairing: dean winchester x reader synopsis: how dean became a part of reader's little family. tags/warnings: fluff, fwb, reader has custody of her 5yo niece wc: 1k a/n; your girl was craving fluff!!!

dean winchester masterlist ♡

when you and dean first started going out, you knew that he was always traveling and never really stayed in one spot for too long, which was more than fine with you; you were too busy working and taking care of your niece for a proper relationship, anyway.

so, whenever the man came back to kansas and you managed to get a babysitter, the two of you would get tangled up in your bedsheets for a night. until things started changing.

what started as dean calling you up when he was back in town slowly turned into him texting you when he was gone, asking you how you were doing and telling you he couldn't wait to see you, coming over as soon as he was back in kansas.

what started as dean coming straight to your place and almost immediately taking you to bed slowly turned into pots and pans clanging in the kitchen as he cooked you dinner while you simply watched him with a glass of wine on your hand, the man telling you all about whatever monster him and his brother had been hunting while he made you his so-called specialty.

what started as dean leaving before you had even woken up slowly turned into waking up to his snores, spending lazy mornings tangled in each other's arms while the two of you talked about everything and nothing in hushed voices, exchanging small, nearly feather-light kisses.

he started bringing you postcards from all the places they'd travel to, the back of them filled with chicken scratches about what they were hunting, and although he always gave them to you in person, he made sure to write your name on the lines meant for your address with what was dean's attempt at cursive, the shoe box under your bed soon filled with postcards from different places.

neither of you called it what it was; when sam queried dean about where he'd disappear off to the moment they got back from their cases he'd mumble something about 'going to see someone', and when your friends wondered who was the guy picking you up from your girls' night in the black impala you'd just shrug and grin before making your way outside, straight into the arms of the man leaning against the car.

"i'm gonna have to cancel tonight." you said into your phone, using your shoulder to hold it up to your ear as you used your hands to decorate a bunch of cupcakes.

"what? aw, come on." dean's voice rang out, "i got popcorn and sour patch kids, and you finally agreed to watch terminator with me. are you bailing on me because of that? because if you really want to, we can watch one of your chick-flicks. again."

you let out a small laugh and rolled your eyes, a small smile now lingering on your lips, "it's not that. my sitter has a fever and had to cancel. so instead of our planned explicit date night i'm gonna be playing board games with aurora."

"ah, damn." dean sighed on the other line, "i really wanted to see you, sammy and i are probably gonna be back on the road tomorrow, we found some vamps up in duluth."

"i'm sorry." you say with your lips turned down in a slight frown, "let's take a raincheck, 'kay? i should go get rory, i finished decorating our cupcakes."

"oh? what cupcakes did you make?"

"red velvet. they're her favorite."

dean let out a small chuckle before humming, "hey, i was thinking... if it's not a girls-only night... maybe i could join you."

"really?" you raised your brows, "you wanna spend the evening playing monopoly with me and my niece rather than, i don't know, go to some bar and spend the evening with some hot chick?"

"i mean, you do have cupcakes. and board games are no fun with just two people."

you hummed, your lips pursed as you thought about his suggestion for a moment, before swallowing, "yeah. you can join."

after that evening, it seemed like things changed all over again.

dean no longer texted to ask you how you were, or to tell you how much he wanted to see you. he no longer cooked for you while you got to relax. you no longer woke up next to him. you didn't receive postcards addressed to you.

instead, he'd call you, checking in on you and aurora, saying how much he couldn't wait to see both of you again. he cooked for you while you were busy coloring with your niece. by the time you woke up, led zeppelin was blasting in the kitchen and the entire house smelled of pancakes, and when you got up, you'd see aurora dancing clumsily while dean was making pancakes. and the postcards were no longer addressed to you, but to you and aurora, and instead of ending up hidden under your bed, they were displayed on the fridge, until you no longer had enough magnets.

you were laid on dean's chest, your fingers drawing slight patterns on his skin, until his own hand came to stop you, bringing your hand to his warm lips, pressing a kiss on it.

"what are you thinking about?" he asked against your skin, and you looked up at him, wondering if you should tell dean what you were really thinking about or just brush him off. but the look in his eyes was reassuring, almost pleading you to tell him what was on your mind.

you took a deep breath before locking eyes with him, chewing on your lower lip, slightly anxious about what he was going to think.

"i don't think i can live without you."

dean's eyes widened slightly in surprise, before he let out a soft chuckle, the feeling of his breath on your hand causing shivers to run down your spine. he let go of your hand and moved his hand to your cheek, and you almost automatically brought your face closer to his.

"that's good, sweetheart, because i don't think i can live without you, either."

[moniquill]

Gonna copy/paste some choice tags from the dumpster fire without attribution (this is not about telling these individuals that they're wrong it's about combatting THE MINDSET)

#whenever i post a fic i have to remind myself that if anyone finds anything sexual that's their problem

Good that you are aware that this is a line of thought that you should not pursue! Kinda weird that you need to remind yourself of this but hey whatever helps you get over it!

#The number of times I have wanted to create certain pieces of media but refrain from it because I know freaks will find a way 2 sexualise it

NOT HEALTHY! You are not impacted by others sexualising your work, and you need to work on your basic attitude and perception if you think it's cool to call other people 'freaks'

#Some things shouldn't be sexualized publicly

What counts as 'public' in this instance? Other people's blogs/communities??

#this.#this makes me so mad#ive seen this literally ruin some friends' creativity and ruin the things they like that ARENT EVEN SEXUAL#i also tend to worry about how these kinds of people will interpret my work but i shouldnt HAVE to think about that#ugh#misc

Fun fact: You DON'T have to think about it! Neither do your friends! Their anxiety is what ruined their creativity - the call is coming from inside the house; that is the thing to be addressed and worked on! Not the thoughts and feelings of OTHER PEOPLE.

#THIS OMG#IT'S SO. KRIFFING ANNOYING AND HARD#especially as a whump writer.#i dont WANT PEOPLE REACTING THAT WAY WITH WHAT I WRITE#but at this point I've kinda given up trying?? Im kind of just doing whatever I want because I KNOW im not doing it like that#im done being responsible for people's dirty minds tbh

When you release a creative work for consumption by an audience, you don't get any kind of say in how they react. It doesn't matter that you don't want people reacting 'that way'. If you cannot accept this, you should not publish works at all.

YOU WERE NEVER RESPONSIBLE FOR OTHER PEOPLE'S MINDS. It's kind of fucked up that you're judging them as 'dirty', unpack that shit.

#THANK YOU THIS IS THE WORST#do you know how hard it is to write something like torture or 'whump' in general without the youtube comments section invading your mind#don't even get me started when it comes to writing certain kinds of magic#and you then have to be like 'is this so prevalent that it would be naive of me to ignore it?#or is it really just the niche corner of Internet freakdom that I think it is?'#speaking also as someone who was frequently teased as a kid for saying things I thought were innocent but were common innuendos#writing

If the youtube comment section is invading your mind, that is strictly a you problem. If it's invading your actual work (in the comments section) that's what the block button is for. You are putting far too much effort into thinking about this.

#I want to have all these kinds of dynamic relationships#there's one I want to develop to have a certain tenor to it#but I know it will become a ship#I'm doing it anyways#but it hurts knowing that there will be people who will read it and ship the characters#when the characters don't actually have any romantic attachment#I know this isn't just about relationships#but it's the thing about this mindset that bothers me most

It is not healthy or normal to be hurt by ideas that you think that other people might be having. That is disordered thinking and you should address it. Other people shipping your characters does not, in fact, harm you.

#I think the big thing is#you don't have to advertise if it's sexual to you#if that one weird thing does it for you#fine!#Just don't tell me

This is actually entirely reasonable! You don't have to subject yourself to reader/viewer reactions that make you uncomfortable! If people are harassing you, block them!

#honestly real#there is such a huge difference between ‘sex is normal and okay’ and ‘you should sexualize everything and everyone’#crazy how people have no capacity to respect ppl’s boundaries

I'm putting the word Boundaries on the high shelf until genZ and gen Alpha learn that they do not refer to the behavior of OTHER PEOPLE.

via https://theartoflivingconsciously.com/set-boundaries/:

Setting boundaries is about knowing what boundaries you want to establish and enforcing them by taking action within yourself. It’s not taking action to control someone else.

A boundary is not “You aren’t allowed to do ______,” it is “If you do _______, I will _______.”

It’s not “don’t yell at me,” “don’t call me before work hours,” or “stop commenting on my weight.”

A boundary is:

“If you yell at me, I will leave the room or hang up the phone.”

“If you call me before 9 am, I will let the call go to voicemail and call you back during work hours.”

“If you keep commenting on my weight, I will stop visiting.”

A boundary is an action YOU take. It’s not forcing someone to act or not to act a certain way, because that’s impossible.

#when people make things inherently not sexual sexual#eye twitch

THIS IS WHAT FETISH IS. THIS IS WHAT KINK IS.

Literally the only thing that is inherently sexual are the genitals of an aroused human being (and arguably orifices) - your own or a partner's. Everything else is kink/fetish. Yes, even tits. Even other anatomical parts. Everything that you find arousing. You are not different or special for only being aroused by shit that the culture you live in deems 'normal'.

I think the biggest shame about people becoming way too comfortable sexualizing everything is that it limits creative freedom. now you have to worry about someone's obscure fetish just in case you write something and you have freaks online like 👀 ayooOOO like shut up man. if you're finding sexual undertones in mundane things, you don't 'see the world differently', you have a mental disorder.

No one should have to carefully scoot around something because the internet has made it ok to see everything through a sexual lens

[lohotine]

``What it means to be forever``

Shadow Milk Cookie x GN! Reader

Cw: angst, lowkey a really messed up SMC. Like, it's kinda weird- (don't mind him, he's just grieving. Haha)

Sometimes, people act in ways

not because it's how they'd usually act

but simply because

it's how others expect them to

And as Shadow Milk stands here, holding your face in his hands, he's tempted fall into that way of thinking.

How fragile mortals are.

Like porcelain

Your life is in his hands.

Yet he doesn't want to destroy it. Perhaps you're just too entertaining.

Yes, he'll just go with that.

Out of all of his puppets, you are by far his favorite.

Yet in the end, a puppet is still a puppet.

Is that really enough?

For him, it is.

Or at least, that's what he'll tell himself.

Or, whoever he really is.

Who exactly is Shadow Milk Cookie?

An unforgivable beast?

The fount of knowledge?

Just some jester looking for fun?

He wishes you'd tell him.

He would cling to your words, desperately and fully.

Because they are yours.

But he knows better than to get attached.

And to a mortal, no less.

He isn't stupid; but sometimes, when he loves you, he really wishes he was.

That way, he could love you.

Really love you.

Without hiding, and without thinking;

Just loving you.

And you'd love him too, he knows this.

And for some reason, that makes him angry. He hates how you'd love him unconditionally.

But oh,

how much he loves it!

Please love him!

Please hate him!

Please adore him!

Please destroy him!

Sweetly, brutally, any way is fine by him!

And perhaps he'd return the favor.

Slowly destroying you as well.

Or even himself.

Because falling in love with a mortal really is the greatest form of self-destruction for beings like him.

Their lives are so short, yet the mark they leave is just as, if not deeper.

And it'll bleed for so much longer.

Onto the ground and floor beneath him;

Eventually reaching the pages he writes in, becoming words as he writes with the blood.

And he'll write every word that came out of your mouth.

He'll write the sentences you spoke:

About how you'd be with him; now and until forever.

And he thinks you are the biggest liar.

Even bigger than him.

He wishes, so desperately, that he killed you that night.

Because then he could blame your death on somebody.

He could blame himself.

Now. He can't blame anyone.

Because time took you; and how can you blame time?

And once again, he wishes he killed you that night.

So that maybe he could store your blood in a bottle and have it sit on his desk.

And maybe he'd drink from it, to try and remember what it felt like.

What you felt like.

But all he has now are his memories of you.

And he despises replaying those memories in his mind.

Simply because in them, you are mute.

He's forgotten what your voice sounds like.

Is it not enough that he's already lost you? Must the world punish him so by also forcing him to forget you? Not fully, but just enough that it leaves him longing to meet you once more?

Just one single time more?

Maybe then, he'd finally tell you how much he loved you.

Because he never did back then.

Because he thought, if he never told you how much he loved you; then maybe he'd stop feeling it.

But of course, that's not really how it works.

Love never really fades, it just gets beaten down until it's a small, broken shard that's forced to prick at your heart.

And it also stabs into your lungs so that no matter how much you breathe, you'll always be left gasping for air.

Drowning.

Drowning in the emotions you never showed.

And suddenly, it hits him.

This.

This is what you meant when you said you'd always be with him.

You'd be the ache that eats at his heart.

You'd be the ring made from thorns that he's forced to wear around his finger.

You'd be the snake wrapping around his neck so that he dies. Slowly, yet surely, dying.

You'd be the arrow jabbed into his leg so that no matter if he's standing or sitting, it would still hurt.

But.

You'd also be the lantern that guides him through the night, even if the handle still burns his hands.

You'd be the bird that sings the sweetest songs, even if you never ever stop.

You'd be the mirror to help him see exactly who he is, even if he hates who stares back at him.

And that's what it means to be forever.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Ain't That a Kick in the Head

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Nudity but in a totally non-sexual way (you share a bath)

Summary: You watch Clayton take a puck to the face, suffice to say you are very much worried for your boyfriend at the end of the game.

Notes: Y'know someone needs to psychoanalyse why I thought it was so hot that he took a puck to the face, got 12 stitches, came out, played and still scored? Someone want to explain that one to me?

I've not written Clayton before but @wannabehockeygf has me hooked so...I hope this is okay?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"...that one up high caught Keller, let's hope Clayton is okay...he took that one right up in the face and he's headed to the room for some stitches I would imagine..."

"Keller's girlfriend has stood straight up from her seat, clearly not happy with what she's seen."

"Can you blame her? Keller's just taken a puck straight to the face and I imagine he's going to have more than a couple of stitches to fix that..."

It's an instinctive reaction really, to jump out of your seat at the way the puck soars into Clayton's face, the way he spins and falls to the ice. The blood that you can see pooling underneath his hand as he holds it tight to his eye and brow.

You've seen him get hurt before, seen him take hits to the boards, hits from other players, pucks to the ribs, sticks to the legs, but this...fuck, this was dangerous, this was scary. You're thankful for your seat overlooking the tunnel, thankful that you can reach a hand down as he makes his way off the ice, that even as he clutches a towel to his face to mop up the blood and try to stem the bleeding, he sees you, and reaches out briefly to touch your fingers, an attempt to reassure you that he's okay. That he'll be fine because fuck he knows you're probably freaking out about it.

Then all you can do is sit back down in your seat and wait. Waiting for him to come back out made you feel sick, stomach tied in knots, leg bouncing up and down in anxious impatience. Was he concussed? Was he in need of hospital? Or would it just be a few stitches to stop the bleeding? Had it done any serious damage to his skull? Was he actually okay? Was it just a flesh wound or something deeper?

It was taking too long, far too long, your eyes not even on the game, but on the tunnel waiting for him to reappear, watching people come and go back and forth each one not Clayton. Still you waited for that reappearance.

And reappear he did. Brow coated in blood, 12 stitches holding his face together, swollen, bruising planning it's spots as he stops at your section, looking up at you from the tunnel as you look down.

Your hand reaches out again and this time he holds it properly, fingers intertwining with yours to give your palm a tight squeeze, his ring digging into your skin slightly from how firmly he grips you. Like he needs to reassure you he's still strong, still good even as a blood drip starts to slide from the fresh stitches towards his eye.

"I'm okay, sweet girl," His voice is rough from overuse on the ice and he doesn't linger long, but it's enough to reassure you that he's at least fine, even if his face looks like he's been through the wars.

It's enough for you in that moment, enough for you to let his hand go, to watch him make his way to the bench even as that sick feeling still permeates your gut.

You spend the entirety of the second period watching him like a hawk, assessing to see if he should actually be out on the ice or not, relieved to see him skating well, stable, sturdy. Despite the physical wound he doesn't seem unwell and that is enough to settle you down a little, enough for you to start to enjoy the third period.

An enjoyment that is made 10 times better by Clay's empty net goal firmly confirming Utah's victory over the Winnipeg Jets. The moment the period is over and the players have left the ice you don't waste much time before making your way down to the locker rooms, leaning against the wall and waiting for Clayton to clean up and change.

He's out last, Kess stops to tell you he's just getting some of his stitches redone, and while you appreciate the heads up from the taller man it actually only serves to make you more anxious to see your boyfriend.

When he walks out he looks like he's been through the wars or been mugged badly or had a bad boxing match. New stitches means no quick shower, no water on them for at least a day and he still looks bloody, sweaty and definitely not okay. You can't imagine how uncomfortable he was putting his suit back on when he couldn't even have a proper wash, sweat causing his clothes to stick to his skin. Clayton's always been a stickler for cleanliness and you know he probably feels disgusting, probably hates it almost as much as the injury itself.

"Shit, Clay..." You gasp at seeing his face up close, his eye is bruising into a proper shiner, closing a little from all the swelling that's happening. The skin around starting to go a deep purple. There's an array of angry stitches holding his skin together, 12 to be exact, lined up neatly but clearly the only thing stopping more blood from falling down his face. They've clearly tried to clean as much of the old blood up as possible, but there's still enough left over that he looks rough around the edges.

"Right in the money maker, huh? It's okay if you think I'm ugly now, baby.." He's joking around as he steps into your space, trying to take that god awful look off your face. You look like you've seen a ghost, like you might be sick.

"Clay..." You reach for him as he leans over you, one arm leaning against the wall by your head, while your own hands cup his cheeks tilting his head so you can get a better look at his stitches.

"Sorry, sorry, just tryin' to get my girl to smile s'all..."

"I know..." He lets you get your fill, moving his head in whatever direction you tilt it while his free hand grips your hip. He wants you to believe he's fine but he knows you won't believe him, and in truth it fucking hurts taking a puck to the face. He's surprised he doesn't have a concussion. He feels a little sick, very gross and his face aches like nothing else.

"Clay...What do you need?" You, he thinks, just this. Just the soft way your thumbs brush his cheeks and tenderness with which you cradle his face, like he's not 170lbs of hockey player. He's not delicate and he knows that, you know that, but sometimes you treat him that way and it's nice sometimes. Nice to feel cared for.

He doesn't say any of that though, instead lets out a big sigh, "I need to go home, wash at least my body because I actually feel fucking gross..." He's still sweaty and he knows he needs help washing his hair without getting water on his stitches.

"Okay, I'm driving." You're reaching for his keys in pocket as quick as a whip, but he's quicker. Clayton's hand wrapping entirely around your wrist and stopping it from delving further into his pocket.

"You're not driving my car, baby. No." There's no amount of injury that could bring him to let you drive when that's his job and the grin he gives you is the sort you give a child who thinks they know better. It makes your eyes narrow.

"Clay, you took a puck going like 80 miles per hour to the face..."

"And I can still drive, and you are still and forever my passenger princess." It's not that he doesn't trust you to drive. You're a pretty decent driver, but that's not the dynamic you have. He drives you around. Always. If he can't then you drive yourself, but if both of you are in a car together? He's driving and you get to sit, relax and look pretty.

"You're impossible." You roll your eyes but concede defeat, pulling your hand from his pocket even as he continues to grip your wrist like now that he's got it the thought of letting go is preposterous.

"Impossibly handsome." Clay's hand moves from your wrist to slip into your own, fingers twisting together as he pulls away from the wall with you. His other hand tossing his car keys about with a jingling sound.

"Impossible hard headed."

"Ouch, that hurts, sweet girl." He finally gets a smile from you at that and that's all he wants as the two of you walk hand in hand to his car. If he's got to deal with stitches, bruising, swelling, then at least he gets to see you smile.

"Did it hurt more than the puck you took to the face tonight?"

"You're determined to not let me forget this aren't you?" He asks as he opens the passenger side door, watching you slip into the pristine seats because he'd be damned if he ever let his car fall into disarray.

You're quiet for a few moments as he leans over you to pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it into place. It's the proximity of him to you that's probably the only reason he actually hears your next whispered words as you look at your hands in your lap.

"...I was really worried, Clay..."

Clayton sighs heavily, large hand cupping your cheek until you look at him. You grip his wrist, fingers playing with the array of bracelets he always has there.

"I know, baby, but I'm okay. I promise. Got some stitches, no concussion, I'll be a little ugly for a bit but..." All Clay ever wants is for you to be happy, the worst part about getting hurt is that he knows you're stressing about. He's fine, but he knows he looks like he's gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and he'll probably look like that for awhile. He also knows you worry, and you'll worry over him until he looks completely back to normal.

"You could never be ugly," He smiles at the way you frown at him, like it's the worst thing he could do right now to insult himself, "You're just fishing for compliments." Your eyes soften under his smile and the frown loses some of its bite.

"You're the one biting, sweet girl."

"Shut up and drive us home."

"As you wish." Clayton presses a quick kiss to your lips, pulling out of the passenger side and closing the door on you. He's quick to make his way round to the driver's side and even quicker to get the car started so he can start driving back to the house.

You watch him the whole time, eyes fliting from the stitches in his eyebrow to the way his left eye is swelling to the point you don't know if he'll be able to see out of it in a minute if you don't get ice on it. Clayton chooses to ignore the staring, hand reaching out to rest on your thigh, rubbing warm strokes across it as he drives, like always.

When you pull up you wait, like always, in your seat because Clay complains if he can't open the door for you and unbuckle your seatbelt. So you wait and let him do it, just as you let him wrap an arm around your shoulders and led you inside as if you're the one that needs the TLC and not him.

You only briefly watch him struggle out of the suit he'd worn to the game before stepping in to help. The medical team not letting him wash had meant his shirt and trousers stuck to him from all the sweat left on his skin, and the extra pair of hands was helpful as he shrugged off the button up he'd been wearing.

He lets you lead him into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat and watching as you fuss around the bath tub. You're running him a bath even though you know he prefers showers because there's no way those stitches are staying dry in the shower, not with his ridiculous need for the most intense waterfall shower on earth.

Still, Clayton watches as you try to make the bath more enticing. Copious amounts of bubble bath, the sort that's designed for sore muscles, being thrown in, water running warm, but not too hot because he doesn't like his bath water to be as hot as the fires of hell. Unlike you. But, he draws the line at you helping him into water, it's his face that hurts not his legs, shrugging your hands away with an eyeroll when you go to reach to help him.

"I can get in on my own, baby."

He doesn't let the fussing annoying him because he knows you fuss out of concern and that any amount of fussing is still your attention on him. Fussing means you love him and if you took a puck to the face he knows he'd be fussing over you too.

You watch as Clayton eases himself into the water, a sigh rippling out from him as he slides into the warmth. His chains hitting the water because he'd never wear anything that wasn't solid enough not to tarnish over time, expensive taste as always. You watch the way he closes his eyes and just relaxes for a minute, skin turning slightly flush under the warmth of the water, neck pulled taut as his head tips back.

"You want me to help wash your hair?"

"Please, baby." It's sighed out, eyes still closed and you kneel next to the tub without a second thought, urging him to move forward and lean back until his hair touches the water.

You're careful about it, slowly wetting his hair, trying to avoid getting water on his stitches and while he might not want to be fussed over, this though? This Clayton can't help but love. The way your fingers thread through his brunet strands, how you stop occasionally to scratch at his scalp, the feeling of sweat and grime falling away? This is pretty much heaven.

You huff a laugh when Clayton groans a little while you massage shampoo into his roots. The pressure you apply making him sigh and groan like you're relieving knots in his back and it's sweet, how he can relax into this, into you, when he's normally the one giving and doesn't necessarily prefer to receive the care.

"You good, Clay?"

"Mmmm...." He hums and you smile down at him, the way he leans back into your hands, how his eyes remain closed, the content little smile on his face that just slightly shows his teeth.

You take extra care as you rinse the shampoo from his hair thoroughly, avoiding his stitches and his eyes as you do so, before getting him to sit up a little so you can place some conditioner on the ends.

"Get in with me..." His eyes are heavy lidded, like he doesn't quite have the energy to open them the entire way, a wet hand reaching out to grip your fingers, tugging lightly.

"Clay, there's barely any room left." His legs take up half the tub, you're a little concerned that you plus water displacement will result in water all over the floor of the bathroom. Another injury waiting to happen when one of you inevitably slips on wet tile.

"Please, just want to hold you for a bit, no funny business, sweet girl, promise." His cheeky little smirk that shows the dimples on one side of his mouth doesn't exactly fill you with confidence in his words, but the water is still warm and there's something always enticing about Clay, he has a way of convincing you to do something even if you shouldn't.

"Mmm, sounds likely..."

"Seriously, just want to hold you...I'm an injured man..." He pulls the guilt trip card, biting on his bottom lip. Something which would have looked sexier if half his face wasn't swollen up like a balloon. Still, you've never been good at saying no to Clayton even if you probably should from time to time.

"Fine..." You sigh, pretending to be reluctant even as you strip your clothes off, ignoring the way his eyes light up like a kid in a candy store, and step into the bath water with him.

It's a little tight, the water rising to levels that are mildly concerning before the overflow drain does the job of removing the excess water. Your legs twine with Clayton's and his arms slide around your waist until he can pull you comfortably back to lay against him, your back to his chest. It's funny, how you can be completely naked and feel completely comfortable like this with someone, every little touch is comforting rather than sexual, every kiss to your shoulder an attempt to be connect to you rather than start something intimate.

"Clay?" You wince out, the sensation of metal digging into your back causing you to squirm slightly in his lap, water sloshing nearer to the sides of the tub.

"Mmm...?"

"Can...can you move your chains? They're digging into my shoulder."

"Shit, sorry, baby." He's quick to do so, the chains being thrown over his shoulder and out of the way until settling against him is more comfortable, the rise and fall of his chest meeting your back in a rhythm that helps any residual anxiety from the events of the day melt away.

"You comfy, sweet girl?" He presses a kiss to your temple and you smile into it, humming as you lean as much of your weight back into him as you can.

"Yeah, you?"

"Mmm, might have to stay here..." He's tracing circles on you tummy, a series of circles that meet in a variety of patterns that remind you of crop circles from all those conspiracy theory and unsolved mystery shows Clay likes to watch when he can't sleep. Every few seconds a kiss lands somewhere else, whether your temple, your cheek, your neck or your shoulder. Each is quick and soft, but no less delightful. It's all so soft, the world feels like its humming a little.

"The water'll get cold."

"Good thing I run warm..." He tries to argue with you, like always, a sassy little remark to entice you to stay in the moment even if neither of you can.

"Clay, we're not staying in here all night, we'll die of pneumonia or something."

"Would be worth it." He grins into your shoulder, eyes relaxing when you reach a hand back to scratch his scalp and play with his hair. He's tired, so fucking tired and his face still aches like a bitch but this is nice, this so nice.

"We should really get some ice on your face, try and take some of the swelling down."

"Do we have to?" The idea of putting ice on his face right now is anything but appealing, but he knows you're right. His face is already pretty swollen and bruised and it's only going to get worse if he doesn't look after it.

"Do you want to be able to see from your left eye in the morning?"

"Good point, just...5 more minutes, baby?"

"5 more minutes." You let him have his 5 more minutes and then some, using the time to get clean yourself and rinse conditioner from his hair before the two of you stand from the bath after the water has cooled significantly.

He's sat crossed legged on the bed in a cosy hoodie and boxers by the time you've put together a makeshift icepack, ice piled up into a ratty old tea towel you got when you first moved out.

The look he gives the icepack is nothing short of disdainful, a glare that's combined with a pout of his top lip like the icepack has personally offended him already when it hasn't even touched him. If anyone should glare it's you because your hands are getting cold.

"The only way that is touching my face is if you're sat in my lap, sweet girl." He pats his thighs like its a given, like you'll just go over and plonk yourself down without question.

"You already agreed to ice your face, Clayton John Keller." Your hands find your hips, a stance Clayton calls your mom stance and it's extra apt when you're using his full name like that. Not that that deters him from his goal of having you wrapped up on his lap because that's the only thing that might make ice to the face semi-bearable.

"Only if you sit in my lap."

"That is not the original agreement."

"Yeah, well, trade talks, deals get renegotiated all the time." He shrugs with a smirk, pulling out the dimples because he knows you struggle to be stubborn when he does that and as much as you hate it...he's fucking charming and it works. You're sighing and stomping over like you're not totally endeared by him, letting him pull you up and onto his lap without any real protest until your legs are wrapped around his waist, your butt sat perfectly in the hollow created by him sitting crisscrossed.

"You are incredibly difficult to care for, Mr Keller." You grumble as you cup his face with one hand and raise the makeshift icepack to his eye with the other.

"Can you really deny an injured man small comforts like his girlfriend in his lap?" His smirk only widens until it doesn't, a hiss leaving his lips at the way it pulls on his stitches as his eyebrow moves.

"Mmm, you're ridiculous." You're smiling when you say it and that alone lets Clayton know that you're enjoying this as much as him.

He hisses again when the cold finally touches his skin, almost jerking back but your hand on his cheek stops him from going very far. The icepack is cold, so fucking cold, and he knows you're going to force it to stay there until you're satisfied that some of the swelling has gone down. You're cruel like that.

Clayton's hands fall to your hips, fingers clenching and gripping onto you, not painfully, but firmly enough that you know he hates this, hates the sensation of ice on his skin even if there's a tea towel in between.

You try to make it as bearable as possible, pressing kisses to the right side of his face even as the left faces the terrible ordeal of icing. The kisses have Clayton humming, hands stroking from your hips to your waist and back down again in a rhythmic motion that brings back memories of every make out session you've ever had with the man, and that you wouldn't be having until you were certain his face wasn't swollen and bruised.

When you finally pull the icepack away his face is less swollen, eye still partially closed, but no less bruised, you know the purple is going to eventually fade to a horrible yellow. You throw the damp tea towel into the laundry basket from where you're sat, excellent aim that has you letting out a little cheer that gets Clayton smiling up at you.

"Thank you, sweet girl, always taking care of me..." He presses a kiss to your lips, short and sweet, only because you refuse to let him stay there too long, determined to let the man rest.

"Yeah, well, you're always taking care of me too."

[gh0stly-mp3]

hi!!! your works are so damn interesting and well written, you are great in this regard!! can i ask, if you don't mind, sae, rin, reo, ness and kaiser with a calm gentleman s/o (headcanons but a scenario is good too)??? because they DESERVE the sweetest person in their life. just an s/o who takes care of them, does all sorts of gallant things like opening doors, pulling out chairs, like "flowers on dates are THE must" and so on??? i hope everything is fine with you, stay like that!!! 🩷

Hiii! Thanks! Especially for saying that my works are well-written, I'm trying to improve my English writing skills and this cheers me up a lot! ♡ - I love this idea btw, gentleman reader is one of my fav tropes :))

Love like you -> bllk hcs

bllk boys x s/o gn!reader

synopsis: how some bllk boys react to you being a gentleman to them and treating them well

tags: blue lock headcanons, fluff, comfort, gentle reader, calm reader, slice of life, kinda established relationship

warnings: manga spoilers, mature language

characters: sae, rin, reo, ness and kaiser + bonus: kurona

a/n: i love doing requests hehe (they're open btw)

masterlist.

Sae Itoshi ~ ♡

Sae would try not to show how much he loves when you take care of him and treat him like he's your prince (beacause he really is). But damn! He adores it! His favorite thing is when you bring him breakfast in bed.

He's used to being treated very cordially, always having people open doors and do everything for him, which he doesn't care much about. But, when you do it (because you love him and not because he's famous), he has conflicting feelings.

At the same time that he loves to feel personally cared for by you, he tries not to show it and keeps up the pose of "you're doing this because I'm a celebrity, not because you love me," but - deep down - his heart is warmed.

Rin Itoshi ~ ♡

Rin thinks you're so perfect, but It would take a long time for him to respond to your affection, but eventually he begins to appreciate your gentle actions and, when he has the courage, approaches you to be by your side.

He gets a little shy when you open doors or pull out chairs for him, but try not to show you. He's too afraid to get close to you and feel safe around you, just so that in the end you abandon him.

The greatest act of chivalry with Rin is to show him your love without wanting anything in return and giving him space in moments of vulnerability. The only vulnerable situation he lets you get close to him is when he's sick, where he lets you hold him.

Reo Mikage ~ ♡

People tend to treat Reo very well when they discover how many things can he buy before even looking the price. So when you showed him gentleness and care, he quickly asked - "how the hell did you know?" - but to his surprised, you didn't know about anything.

He tried to buy you things, thanking your time and consideration for his well being. But then you continued, and worse... You rejected his attemps to pay for your things.

That was a huge surprise, and after this, Reo started to get more and more nervous when you bought flowers for him. You were not serving him, you were not there for a reward, you were not interested in status. Rather, you were loving him for what and who he was.

Michael Kaiser ~ ♡

It's difficult for a prodigy to love anyone, as everybody is, technically, bellow him. Kaiser treats you well, better than he treats everyone else. But you don't let his false ego brush off your determination. Perhaps, one would need more than gentleness to get into his heart, but you know that's too much work for what he really needs. Actually, you were already inside. You just needed to make him understand how much you loved him.

So, you bring him flowers and gifts; you watch, careful, when both of you cross the street; you even brush his hair when he doesn't feel like it. But, unlike all the others, you aren't interested in the champion. You don't bow and let the title he grasps so hardly dominate you.

And he observes in horror the blue color of the roses on the table. And he turns his blushed cheeks away when a car passes by and you put your hands on his chest. And he inches with the warm of your hands on his hair. And he lets you love him, but refuses to step out of his cave.

You know he will, eventually.

Alexis Ness ~ ♡

Ness was confused, surprised and even a bit annoyed with the first time you pulled a chair for him. He was careful not to fall on a prank but when he sit, you simply smiled. He was used to serve you, never him, it was always about you. And suddenly, someone got a glass of water for him. For him. He didn't ask. He didn't even hint on anything. You simply said how hot it was. He must have been thirsty.

Now he gets irritated everytime you make something for him. You were paying attention to his needs, to his attempts on hiding everything so he can make you happy. But sometimes, you catch a glimpse of him staring at you, smiling. (he lovess it, but don't tell him that)

+ bonus

Kurona ~ ♡

He always blush when you open doors or pull out chairs for him, and whenever you do it, he places a shy kiss on your cheek or forehead.

[satansagereranch]

Well, I'd love to join the game~!

🌷- To be frank, I just enjoy working with kids in general. So joyful and full of energy. They truly are a treat to work with. So when I got the task of being Satan's caregiver when I found out he regressed, I was eager to do so.

🎹 - I usually describe myself as a caregiver. It feels the most apt and natural one for me to use. That being said, I'm more than fine letting the little one choose whichever term they want to call me.

🫧 - With Satan? My ideal day with him is a nice day at the ranch, working on our emotions and how to express them healthily. I let him get some activity, an he does some mental health exercises with me to help him relax.

🧸- Satan is my regressor! You can see my blog for more details on what he's like.

🌼- I like it when Satan calls me Yogi. That's the nickname he made for me. I find it so endearing~!

🧃- Chamomile Tea without a doubt! I always keep packets with me everywhere so I have a readily brew-able cup ready~!

🎨- It's hard to pick between a tea party and reading books for me, to be honest. Both are really good activities. I suppose it depends on what my little one wants.

🍼 - No, I don't regress.

❤️‍🩹- I have a little plush of Belphegor I got for myself when I graduate medical school. Her luxuriously soft fur helps comfort me when I'm in need of reassurance.

💫- There's no right or wrong way to regress. How you feel and how your regression take form is no better or more correct than anyone else's. So don't beat yourself up feeling like you should be like other littles or that you're incorrect. You aren't. I promise you that much, little ones.

🐛- When with Satan, I call him Little Prince, Little Brimstone, and Fire Flower. He likes those nicknames. With other littles, I go by what they desire.

🍟- My favorite meal is Filet Mignon, if you can believe it. It's one of my favorite foods ever, ever since I got a taste of it during my "graduation from med school" party with my friends. As for snacks, a small smoothie always hits the spot. You can customize it with so many options, so you'll never get tired of them and can always spice them up with something interesting~!

🛁- As I said before, I've always enjoyed taking care of kids even before being introduced to the age regression community. So taking care of aggressors wasn't hard for me to find enjoyment in. I knew it for certain though the first time Satan looked me in the eyes and told me how glad he was to have me taking care of him. It was a moment of vulnerability he rarely showed to anyone, much less me, in his adult state. It's a moment I'll carry with me throughout my life.

🚗- The Beach. It's a beautiful place full of water and fun, and let's little ones be active!

🌈- I'm not sure if I have a particular favorite age range to work with. All of them are equally enjoyable to work with for me in my experience!

🪴- My favorite hobbies are meditation, arts and crafts, Incense and Candle making, and writing children's books. My work with Satan has been particularly helpful in giving me ideas for new books for little ones to enjoy~!

💌- I absolutely adore it when they make cute noises or ask for hugs or comfort. It never fails to bring a smile to my face!

💐- Don't be afraid to make mistakes and take it slow. New experiences can take a while to properly understand and test your limits and what you are and are not okay with. You'll make mistakes and you might even accidentally cross a boundary, and that's okay (within reason). Just be sure to communicate and be honest with yourself and people you share your experiences with that everyone can learn from it.

🌙- One of my favorite things to do with little ones is meditate and make incense. It's a calming activity that allows for conversation as well, letting me grow closer to the little one I'm interacting with.

🧺- I mostly care for littles in-person on the ranch, but I've been learning to help them online as well since I joined the community with Satan.

🥨- When I need to take a break, I ask to take some time to myself, go to my quiet space, and meditate or simply be for a bit, recentering my mind.

🐠- I prefer asks. No reason in particular, it's just my preference. I just ask little ones be cautious and know they're interacting with an adult. There are a lot of scary ones out there who want to take advantage of vulnerable littles.

(And on a personal note as the author of the blog, I will reiterate, I won't be friends with users under 18 for my and their own safety. They can send me asks, but NOT DMs. Not that I don't trust them, it's just a safety precaution for both our sakes. Thank you again for being understanding.)

🎀- I'm doing good. Thanks for asking!

(Author's Note: Personally, I've got a bit exit exam coming up for college. Big stuff, so a bit anxious. Wish me luck with that.)

🌿- I started the blog to give Satan a place to safely regress with other littles like him. He's always been a solitary little one and rarely interacts with anyone who isn't me or Queen Bee. I hoped by doing this and starting the ranch, he'd be able to embrace his little side more and not feeling he had to put on a defensive barrier to me and others to protect himself.

(Author's Note: I started the blog because I thought it would be cute to have a blog for Satan and Yogirt in the agere community. I had the idea ever since we first saw them in Mastermind in November last year.)

🍪- Love: The emotional connection and healing that comes with the activity. It's why I believe it should be more widely accepted in Hell.

Dislike: Cleaning up big messes. Though I accept and will not judge littles for making messes, they still aren't the most fun to clean up in the aftermath. Especially if it's a particularly stubborn stain. If it happens, I simply tell me little calmly but firmly to not make messes in the future and make sure they understand why it's important to not do so.

25 questions for agere caregivers, babysitters, & flips! 🍦🍃🍓

there aren’t very many cg-focused ask games (at least that i could find!) so i decided to just make one myself! feel free to send me an ask, or if you’re a cg/sitter/flip, rb and let others send you questions too!!

{NO K!NK/NSFW INTERACTION PLS!}

🌷— what do you enjoy most about caring for regressors?

🎹 — what term(s) do you prefer to describe yourself and how you care for little ones? (ie, a caregiver, carer, babysitter, or something else!)

🫧 — describe your ideal fun day with a kiddo! where would you go, what would you do?

🧸 — do you have a regressor of your own? if yes, tell me about them! if no, do you want one/more than one?

🌼 — what nicknames do you love to be called by a little one, if you have any you prefer?

🧃 — what’s your favorite drink?

🎨 — pick an activity to do with a baby: reading stories, having a tea party, baking cookies, or watching cartoons?

🍼 — do you regress yourself/are you a flip?

❤️‍🩹 — do you have any special comfort items?

💫 — is there anything you wish more age regressors knew? anything you want to tell them?

🐛 — what are your favorite nicknames to call regressors when they’re small? (assuming they like those names too, of course!)

🍟 — what’s your favorite meal or snack?

🛁 — how/when did you discover you enjoy caring for regressors?

🚗 — pick a place to take a little one: a playground, a beach, an amusement park, or an arcade?

🌈 — do you have an age range that you especially enjoy caring for? (to be clear: any and every age range is perfect and adorable!! this isn’t about which one is “best,” bc they’re all good!)

🪴 — what are some of your favorite hobbies? tell me a little bit about them!

💌 — what’s something age regressors do that you think is extra cute or endearing?

💐 — do you have any advice for newer caregivers/sitters?

🌙 — what is your favorite activity to do with a kiddo? (or, if you regress, to do together when you’re regressed too?)

🧺 — do you mostly care for kiddos online, in person, or both?

🥨 — how do you relax and destress? what helps you when you need a break?

🐠 — how do you feel about receiving asks or direct messages from little ones? do you prefer one over the other, or have any other boundaries about talking with you online?

🎀 — how is your day going? how are you really doing?

🌿 — if you have a caregiver/babysitter blog, what made you decide to start it?

🍪 — what’s one thing you love and one thing you dislike about age regression and/or caregiving?

[animentality]

I know x reader fans have always existed, and I don't generally mind them.

however I feel like the way they've overtaken fandom analysis/ shipping culture is an indication of the general decline of fandom communities.

they are normies, guys. I'm sorry.

it's not a slur, it's just a fact.

normies infiltrated fandom spaces because of covid.

they come in and just want to thirst after a particular character... and that's like. fine. of course it's fine it's always happened.

but they don't seem to actually care about the character being in character. nor does it really require any analysis of that character's motivations or story, or their relationship with others.

I know not everything HAS to relate to canon. like duh, we are here to make our own canon.

but come the fuck on. I go into a tag and it has a character tagged being some dommy daddy when that character is nothing like that in canon... and there's this line between making a character act a certain way bc that's your fetish, and completely ignoring who that character is entirely to the point where you could just replace their name with anyone else in any other show, and it wouldn't make a difference?

like that's... normie shit. it's people who do not think deeply or passionately about that media, it's just them having this surface level grasp of the physical attractiveness of the character.

and again. I'm not saying these people are stupid or whatever, just that the overabundance of this watered down ass content is an indicator of how much fandom has changed.

fans are not the socially awkward introverted queer voyeurs anymore, who enjoy fantasies and daydreaming about being someone else because of this disconnect with the self, or this fear of others that leads you to seek human connection in fiction.

they're the people who do just fine with other people ... and I'm not gatekeeping fandom from people who aren't socially awkward or anything.

but they come here, and they do shit like say you can't like this ship bc it's morally wrong .. you're not allowed to thirst after an 18 year old that makes you a pedophile... I'm 15 and I'm allowed to lust for Gojo but you a 25 year old woman, aren't allowed to write itafushi fanfiction.

go back to taxes and your job!!!

like that drives me fucking insane. these people want to insist they're not normies but they then go around insisting that being over 20 means you need to Work and Be a Normal Adult... bitch.

adults make fandoms. not you fucking children. you don't know how to build communities, you barely know how to make friends.

attacking people who like the same thing you do? is that what you think community building is?

oh this poor generation. anyway.

they come here and are disgusted by weird fetishes and obsessions. and by people sharing sexual headcanons or ideas about sexuality that make them uncomfortable because they've never ever been counter culture, they've never felt the need to go against the status quo.

they're cis straight girls/women mostly, whose mothers basically fuel the ya spicy romance booktok industry.

they're just younger and think it's trendier to be "in a fandom" than a fucking book club.

they're modern day bodice ripper fans... which again

would be so fucking fine, if they weren't doing the youth version of karening the fuck out.

and flooding the fandom with both hyper criticism of how you conduct your business AND an aggressive market for just imagining yourself with a character.

like fandom was originally just hyper passionate freaks.

they discussed movies and TV shows like life and death. they were fucking nuts but in the way where they needed to seek one another out, to share in this joyous sensation of being a freak obsessed with something beyond the point of reason.

now?

now it's like ... oh.

Sally from Bio thinks your love of Gaara is super creepy when you're 19. like what, are you a pedophile? why are you imagining him getting married to Naruto? are you a fucking pedophile who gets off to teens making out? they need to check your hard drive!!

like ok Sally.

ok.

I just think x reader is such a strong indicator of what kind of fan you are.

and if a fandom is mostly x reader... then it can't be that popular. it can't be a proper community.

how can it be?

it's as watered down and generic and bland as a marvel movie. it's stripped down of anything unique. it is pruned of controversy and humanity.

you are literally stripping yourself down into a non character.

you're not truly projecting yourself into a character, because the you that you read about is nothing. a placeholder. you are a passive observing robot who exists only in the form of a faceless and personality less entity.

and I don't get it.

what's the point then?

isn't fiction about realizing something about yourself or others

if your only manner of engaging is stripping yourself of personality... is it engagement at all?

or is it just more mindless consumption?

just watch law and order, man.

watch the good doctor or some shit on lifetime.

there's shows with passionate fanbases who theory craft and endlessly obsess with relationships and world building, and then there's shows with x reader only content and you know exactly why now.

[barbwritesstuff]

I love Thicker Than very much but my first love will always be Blood Moon and I decided to reread it today and I just. I genuinely wish that I could write like you sometimes because you are so, so good at it. Your imagery is so vivid, your worlds are immersive, your characters are real and flawed and kinda messed up but that's what makes them so loveable. And to top it all off, you're hilarious as well? How dare you actually. Very rude of you indeed.

Anyway all this to say: love your work, love you, hope you're well and I will uncover your (writer) secrets.

This ask genuinely made me tear up. Thank you so much.

These are my writer secrets (most of which I learned from other writers or from the internet but some are actually me):

It's better to write a book that 50% of people hate and 50% of people love than to write a book that everyone thinks is just fine.

Be toothy. Be weird. Be yourself.

Have characters do something while they're talking so they're not just standing there saying things at each other. This came from a tumblr post which said something like 'make them do the dishes' and it's genius. First draft of the first chapter of Blood Moon: Marco didn't have a cigarette or a coffee. I gave him those so he could have some character action during his monologue and it made it 100x better.

Personally: I dislike 'relatable' characters. I would much rather have a weirdo character than one that's relatable. That's my preference as a reader to, which, actually reminds me.

READ. You really need to read. If you don't read, you won't see what others are doing, you won't be aware of what books (interactive or otherwise) even can do. All good writers are readers.

I sucked at English at school, and people still sometimes say snide things about my inability to spell. I don't care. Good English student =/= good creative writer. Actually, I think a lot of people who achieved a lot in school give up really quickly at writing because it's not typically a quick or easy path to success. The amount of people who've said to me 'I did NaNoWriMo once but nothing came of it' is... a lot. That's one month. They wrote for one month and expected to be a blow up success. That's not the reality. Because...

Being a persistent wee bitch and loving what you do is way more important than 'talent'.

I'm in a weird mood. I'm sorry. I just want to talk about craft and stuff. I love writing so much.

[thewhitecrwo]

strange stone

DC Man x Female! Reader

Note: All the pictures here are not mine, I took them from Pinterest, reader here is a teenager, meaning she is approximately 15-16 years old, I used the translator to write the story and did not pay much attention to spelling mistakes.

Warnings: None , Some spelling mistakes

(Y/n) was sitting in the living room watching TV, flipping through channels boredly, until thunder struck the ground very close to her house and the electricity went out.

She frowned and looked out the window, it was the middle of the afternoon but the sky was dark and dark clouds covered the blue sky.

A cold wind rushed towards the house so she got up from the couch to close the window, but a bright white light caught her attention, she quickly closed the windows and put on her coat to quickly leave the house.

(Y/n) took a slow breath as she climbed the hill, the strange thing was still shining with different colors like a rainbow reflecting Light on the stones near it

The clouds gathered and the storm was getting stronger and stronger, lightning struck in the sky as if guiding her on her way towards the hill, she almost fell several times because of the rocks

(Y/n) gasped and her eyes widened, she felt as if time had stopped for her as she stared at a strangely shaped stone, a mixture of many colors that looked like an oval-shaped opal

The sky thundered loudly but (Y/n) was more focused on the stone, she did not hear the sound of the strong winds hitting her ears nor the loud sounds of thunder

All she could hear was her heartbeat and the sound of her breathing, she slowly extended her hands and moved the rocks away from the stone

The stone began to float on its own, and within moments the stone rose directly towards her forehead and merged with her skin

She was startled and tried to get it out, she screamed loudly and in pain and dug her nails into her skin to try to get it out and drops of blood splattered on her face and clothes

She quickly got up and stumbled in her walk and because Focusing on pulling the stone out of her forehead, she couldn't focus on her surroundings, slipping between the rocks and rolling down the hill for a short distance.

But she felt a terrible pain not only in her forehead but all over her body due to the fall, a small groan came out of her mouth.

For a moment, the pain disappeared and was replaced by something strange. She breathed heavily, and looked at her hands, which began to show strange tattoos. She began to hear many sounds overlapping together.

She put her hands on her ears, closed her eyes, and screamed.

Many whispers, cars, winds, people's voices from afar, footsteps and grass, insects and birds.

Many smells hit her nose, and she didn't dare to open her eyes until she felt like she was there for a very long time.

"(Y/...! "

"(Y/n)!! "

(Y/n) was startled and woke up quickly "Calm down! Calm down my dear!" She took a deep breath and looked around, her father sat on her bed rubbing her back

"Dad, there was... a light and... and a strange stone!" She tried to say some words but they came out broken and she didn't know how to describe what happened

“Everything is fine now, just calm down and tell me calmly.” He hugged her tightly in his arms, his presence helping to calm her rapid heartbeat.

So here the chapter stops, and I don't know how her father will try to help her and discover the stone that stuck to her forehead, I wanted to show you my writing, is it good and should I continue with this story?

I was looking for a way for the reader to gain superpowers, so I came up with this idea. When I gain an idea or passion for this story, I will start writing it.

Anyone can take the idea and write it as a story, I don't mind, but please give me my rights.

[crimsonxe]

I didn't bring it back, disphit McGee over there was the one that dragged it back up. Like you'll note that what I said was aimed at the one that reblogged. Nah, profanity isn't going anywhere and never will; that's just part of me & where I grew up. Maybe grow up a bit to not take issue with just words.

Oh I've seen the far right incel sexist chud bigots; I've seen women that disgustingly parrot the exact same sexist & queerphobic bullshit that they do as well as double standards nonstop; I've seen far left types that bitch that the show isn't some leftist propaganda story as well as entitled/spoiled ass types that'd rather have a rushed fucking LGBT+ pair than a properly cared for slowburn; I've seen the ones that simp for Ironwood, Adam, or even Sun; I've seen the ones salty over Clover/Qrow; etc. All that either comes down to it not fitting their headcanons or fanon; or going w/ a ship that isn't their preference. Ones that fail at knowing the story, characters, relationships, or themes of the show.

No, they actually didn't. Pyrrha had to go in order to have a threat to the main crew, because of how strong she was; which would become even more had she gained half-maiden powers. On top of that her death and Penny's both hit Ruby JUST AS FUCKING HARD as Jaune. Pyrrha died being a badass self-sacrificing (cause I'm 99% sure she went into the fight with Cinder thinking she had no damn chance) fucking heroic warrior trying to stop the big bad. That wasn't for Jaune, it was her doing it for her school and everyone. The way your ass frames it she died while mentoring him, when that's completely not the case. Oh and just to cover the bases, she's also fucking allowed to fall for the guy too and that isn't bad writing because its not to your preference. If that's where that tone was tapping into.

Adam served exactly the amount he should and was tied more into Blake's story than the WF, the only ones bitching about that side of things are incels and simps that had come up with headcanons for him. Your ass doing a "I can understand where they're coming from" is just more showing how you don't have a clue on character & story.

Yeah, I'll laugh my fucking ass off at the notion that Weiss and Ruby have more goddamn chemistry; because WHAT? No, they fucking don't at all. But that does show a bias.

Once again blame dipshit McGee who drug this back up with a reblog. The PoC characters are just fine, could've been earlier but still just damn fine as they are given the inspiration for the show.

Dumbass I'm not in the camp of trying to get your dipshit asses onboard with the show, that's for other people to do. I'm more in FAFO camp, where people that talk shit fuck around and find out via having their shit torn apart. Your shit actually holds weight? It'll hold and not be touched, if its biased or just flatout bullshit it'll be shredded apart. Not a fucking soul is obligated to roll over and let your asses spread misinformation.

YOUR BITCH FUCKING ASS LITTLE BUDDY REBLOGGED ME SHITHEAD. I said my goddamn piece and let it lie for however long, then someone decided to drag it back up where I tore into THEM as the reblogging person. But do keep trying to play your broken ass pity violin and once again go fuck your damn self. I'll go back to my Fallout 4 game

Say you never watched RWBY without actually saying you never watched RWBY.

Aromancy: "Wasted potential"

And thus you speak the same as Hbomb...meaningless lies with misinformation. Poor soul, who spreads lies happily to hate.

I watched up to about halfway through Season 4. Season 3 ended on a high point that had me excited for more, but basically nothing happened afterwards and I got bored and dropped it. I say the same thing as Hbomberguy because I agree with him; the show is an attempt at anime made by people who enjoy the superficial aspects of anime but fail to look beneath the surface to examine the themes.

Monty's fight scenes were excellent (and even after he died -rest in peace -the fights continued to be excellent; Pyrrha vs. Mercury is probably my favorite of the whole series), but his unwillingness to work hand-in-hand with the writers in charge of providing context let the whole show down.

I haven't seen past season 4 personally, but I've heard many RWBY fans disparaging the series since, especially Season 8, and I have no reason to doubt their testimony.

[fuanteinasekai]

I made a script for special #23. It's not a scanlation, just a script you can match up if you have the Japanese raws but you're struggling with the translation.

I fudged the translation a bit so it would flow more naturally, but I promise it's nothing important. Just things like using natural English or removing the 3 million "apparently"s that Japanese requires because otherwise they think you sound psychic.

A couple of translation notes: I kept "Japanese confectionary" as "wagashi shop" because I thought it sounded too unnatural translated (and wagashi is sometimes used in English). Wagashi are traditional Japanese sweets including anything from those fancy flower things (nerikiri) to simpler dango. Wagashi are often served with green tea, which I think fits Tanuma's kind of traditional vibe. Manjuu is also wagashi.

I translated shinyuu (親友) as "close friend" because it flowed best and is pretty close to the literal translation. But if you ask a Japanese person to tell you what they would call their best friend, it's shinyuu. Shinyuu literally means "intimate friend" and refers to a friend you are particularly close to, who understands you deeply, and who you can count on in hard times (and vice versa). Japanese does not have a word that literally means "best friend," so you can technically have more than one shinyuu. But Japanese people don't tend to throw these words around lightly, so for a lot of people shinyuu refers to one's singular closest friend. It varies. You can specifically say "close friend above all others" or muni no shinyuu but you'd generally have some kind of reason for that.

There is also a term "daishinyuu" which is more clearly "very (most) close friend," but I don't think it fits the tone or characterization as it's more modern and informal. Also, part of the reason I was specifically waiting for shinyuu is because Natsume is so stubborn about using yuujin for literally everyone that almost anything would be a milestone, but shinyuu is the classic.

Obligatory comment that I am non-native and not advanced, so minor grain of salt, etc.

Page 1

Sensei: Honestly! How long is he going to make us wait? He was supposed to be here ages ago.

Natsume: It's hardly been three minutes, Sensei.

Sensei: Those few minutes could be a fatal error! If the fresh dango are sold out how are you gonna make it up to me?

Natsume: But really, maybe something

Tanuma: Natsume

Tanuma: Sorry! I didn't mean to make you wait.

Page 2

Natsume: Woah, you're so fluffy, Tanuma.

Tanuma: Ugh… "They said there's a cold front coming through today."

Natsume: Ahh, Shigeru-san said that, too.

Tanuma: I said I was fine but he wouldn't let me go without wearing it.

Natsume: Haha, the priest?

Tanuma: ….

[Tanuma's dad is a Buddhist priest. Ever since he was little, Tanuma has drawn a lot of concern, one way or another falling ill often, so his dad is always worrying and looking after him.]

Sensei: Alright, to the wagashi shop, then!

Tanuma: Can we take a little detour first?

Sensei: WHAT!?

Natsume: Of course, I don't mind. [What for? ]

Tanuma: Just some mail.

Natsume: Mail?

Tanuma: I want to send this—

Tanuma?: Ah

Page 3

[It's blowing away]

[That's—]

Tanuma: Natsume

Natsume: I… I got it.

Tanuma: Are, are you okay, Natsume?

Tanuma: That was so risky…..

Tanuma: —But… it was about to be blown toward the river…

Page 4

Tanuma: Thank you, Natsume.

[When it was blowing away I saw beautiful seasonal flowers carefully painted in watercolor and writing so dense it didn't suit them.]

Natsume: Is that a hand-painted postcard? Sorry, I didn't mean to look.

[Even I don't know why I thought this but]

[it looked]

[just like a love letter…]

Tanuma: Oh, this.

Tanuma: My dad wrote it.

Page 5

Tanuma: To my mom.

[Our friends don't really ask me much because of my family situation.]

[And they rarely talk about their own families in front of me.]

[It's the same for Tanuma.]

Tanuma: My mom is far way.

Natsume: …. Ah.

Page 6

Tanuma: Oh! By "far away" I mean actually far away.

Tanuma: She lives separately.

Tanuma: But that doesn't mean there's a bad relationship.

Tanuma: —How do I put this.

Tanuma: My mom has always been in poor health.

Tanuma: But when she got together with Dad

Tanuma: and had me, her health suddenly deteriorated….

Tanuma: When she was hospitalized, she started to get better little by little but when dad happily went to visit her—

Tanuma: her health failed again—

Tanuma: The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong, so they though maybe my father's visits were causing her some kind of stress.

Tanuma: So there was trouble with my mother's side of the family for a while, but…

Page 7

Tanuma: Dad decided to move out for mom's sake but

Tanuma: Mom hated it and begged and made a huge fuss.

Tanuma: Mom is still in convalescence but she's a lot better now so sometimes I go visit her.

Natsume: —…

[Nyanko-sensei once told me]

[Tanuma's dad was accompanied by an ayakashi with divine power, so terrifyingly strong and capricious]

[if it were jealous of someone like a close relative…]

[The ayakashi I see are sometimes terribly unfair.]

Tanuma: So my dad

Tanuma: Sometimes writes letters like this.

[Just like a love letter]

Page 8

[Because she is dear, they cannot meet. Because they cannot meet, he pours his heart into it—]

Natsume: … Tanuma…

Sensei: Hmph. Don't you write?

Tanuma: Er. Me? … I had been writing but recently it's been hard to write back…

Natsume:—Huh, why?

Tanuma: … She keeps pestering me "send a photo, send a photo." … because I wrote something carelessly…

Natsume: …Photo…? What did you write carelessly?

Tanuma: —…

Tanuma: …—I made a close friend here.

A final note: Japanese frequently drops pronouns so you have to use context to determine who is doing what. The "because she is dear" bit has zero pronouns. That is, a more literal translation is something like "because dear, unable to meet, because unable to meet, pour heart into." You see the issue. At first I thought, given it follows "just [like] a love letter," that it was a more general description of love letters, but "unable to meet because one is dear" seemed too specific so I chose to translate as being about Tanuma's parents in particular.

[mommyslittlebird]

A Room of Your Own

Married!WandaNat x Reader

Summary: After getting kicked out of your college dorm, you find yourself living with two older strangers. It was never meant to be anything more than a temporary arrangement born out of necessity, but as the semester continues, something new starts to grow.

CW: Homophobia, Getting Kicked Out, Slow Burn (No sex or romance in this chapter), Age Gap

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: I’m back from the dead, though probably not in the way you wanted or expected. I had to take a (not so) little break from one-shots and smut for the time being for some personal reasons. But I’m still finding ways to write and enjoy myself. Some of you probably have already seen this. It’s been up on AO3 for a while now. But I figured I’d post it here too.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing any sort of slow burn, so we'll see if I can resist having them all fall into bed together in the first few chapters. I also don't know how to write an introductory chapter without making it boring as shit, so I at least made it short to spare you all. I promise it gets better.

Chapter 1 of A Room of Your Own

You sat, knees curled to your chest, on the curb in front of what used to be your dorm. It was late, a little after midnight, and absolutely pouring rain.

Three days. You had been in the dorms for three days and you had already been kicked out. You’d expect some pushback, going to a religious college and being queer, but nothing like this. Nothing like getting kicked out of your dorm in the middle of the night because you were making your roommates uncomfortable. You’d tried so hard to get them to like you. They seemed sweet. Not your type of people, sure, but you thought the three of you could get along just fine.

As it turns out, they were actually so repulsed by your presence they couldn’t even wait until classes started to kick you to the curb. Literally.

“Hey!” Somebody shouted from the doorway, holding a large umbrella. You turned to see her approaching and shrunk back in on yourself. You didn’t think you could handle anymore ridicule that evening.

When you didn’t respond or turn to face her, she sat down next to you, sure to cover you with the umbrella as well. She spoke softer now. “Hey. I’m sorry for what happened back there.”

You still didn’t speak, but you looked at her now, partially soaked from where she was sitting next to you on the wet concrete. “I’m Yelena.” She reached her hand out for you to shake.

You shook her hand. “Y/N. Nice to meet you.” You recognized her from your dorm floor, though you’d only ever seen her in passing.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” she smiled softly. “I wish it were under different circumstances.”

You nodded, turning your gaze back to the raining night.

“Do you have anywhere to go? For tonight I mean. I would offer you to stay in my room, but…” she turned back to the door of the building. You both knew you couldn’t go back in there.

You shook your head. You hadn’t even thought where you would stay tonight. You could always stay in your car. It wouldn’t be the first night you’ve slept in the backseat. Still, the sopping wet clothes would surely make for a morning full of rashes and blistered skin.

Yelena sighed, looking at the ground. She was silent for a moment before she came up with an idea. “Let me call my sister. She and her wife have a massive place not so far from here. They’ll have a bedroom or two to spare.”

Before you could form a rebuttal of any sort, Yelena pushed the umbrella into your hands and dashed back inside. You tucked the umbrella between your leg and the crook of your arm, resting your head on your knees.

It wasn’t very long before Yelena was by your side again. “Okay she’s on her way. She’ll be here in about 10 minutes.”

You didn’t look at her, facing intentionally in the other direction. You felt so horrible. You just wanted to curl up and disappear. And now you were going to be picked and taken to the home of some random classmate’s sister? You try to formulate a response, a reason that you will be fine on your own, but there was nothing. It was either this or the back seat of your 1993 Toyota Corolla. Somehow, you bet Yelena wasn’t going to take that as a reasonable explanation as to why she should call off her sister.

“Are you coming with me?” You asked weakly.

She sighed and put her hand on your back. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I will if you really want me to.”

You finally turned to face her. She didn’t look thrilled at the prospect of leaving. She was probably a freshman. It was her first couple days in the dorm too and everything was so new and exciting. The last thing she wanted to do was go back home with her sister.

“No it’s okay,” you responded. The last thing you wanted was to inconvenience someone else tonight, and it’s not like a freshman you hardly knew was going to bring you much solace anyway.

She patted your back. “They’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Before too much longer, Yelena stood up at the sight of headlights. She waved her arms in an “over here” motion. The car approached Yelena, stopping hard in front of the curb you were sitting on. The tires splashed you in rainwater and mud. Yelena winched, walking back towards you to usher you into the car.

She led you to the passenger door, popping it open and peeking her head in. “This is your girl,” she said, pointing back towards your soaked, mud covered figure. She motioned for you to sit.

You hesitated. The car looked nicer than any you’d ever been in before. The idea of ruining the nice leather seats made you want to shrink further into your ball of shame.

The woman in the driver's seat noticed your hesitation, but didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned with her seat. “Come on in,” she ushered. “Get out of that rain.”

You handed the umbrella back to Yelena, reluctantly taking a seat in the car. Yelena peaked her head back in to say “take care of her,” before closing the door and scurrying back into the dorms.

The woman looked at you, reaching up to pop on the overhead light. The sight of her in the light nearly took your breath away. She looked oddly familiar. Maybe you’d seen her around town. You sharply inhaled as the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen leaned over the console towards you. She frowned. “Oh you poor thing!” She reached out to wipe off your face. You cringed when you saw the mud smear across the sleeve of her jacket. “Let’s go home and get you cleaned up.”

You nodded and she turned the light off before pulling out of the parking lot. You fought the urge to curl up in her passenger seat, fearing further ruining her seats with the dirty bottoms of your shoes. When you didn’t speak, she offered up an introduction of her own. “My name is Natasha. I don’t know what Yelena’s told you, but I’m her sister. My wife and I have a place not so far from here.”

“I’m Y/N” you managed.

“A friend of Yelena’s?” She asked.

You chuckled a little. “I suppose you could say that. We met about 20 minutes ago.”

Natasha chuckled. “Of course. Leave it to Yelena to seek you out after such an injustice.”

You bit the inside of your lip. You wished you had heard the phone conversation so you could gauge just how much she knew.

It was as if Natasha could read your mind when she started next with the details of the phone call. “Yelena told me you got kicked out of the dorm by the other girls. They were uncomfortable because you were gay? I never expected to hear anything like that happening in 2024, but I guess I stand corrected.”

Well, that was one way of telling the story. At least Yelena had left out the peeping Tom allegations that got you chased off the floor by everyone who had to share a bathroom with you. They weren’t true, of course, but the fact that you’d made people so uncomfortable they were willing to name you a pervert without second thought made your skin crawl.

After a short, largely silent car ride, Natasha pulled the car into a garage. You hadn’t gotten a good look at the house, both because of the dark and getting lost in your own thoughts, but even by the state of the garage you could tell it was nice.

Natasha got out of the car, unlocking the door and leading you into the kitchen. You took your shoes off by the door, then decided to take your socks off too to avoid tracking muddy water through the house. The woman took your hand and guided you to the stairwell, then to a bathroom. She turned on the lights and opened up a cabinet, pulling out fresh towels and washcloths.

“I’ll get you some fresh clothes and sheets. The bedroom is through here.” She opened a door that revealed a sizable bedroom connected to the bathroom. You could hardly believe this wasn’t the master suite she’d led you too.

She turned to face you, exhaling as she once again took in your disheveled state. She picked some errant pebbles from your tangled hair and wiped it out of your face. “Now,” she started, “do you need anything else before I let you get cleaned up and off to bed?”

You shook your head. “No. You’ve done enough already. Thank you, Miss Natasha, for letting me stay here. It means a lot. Truly.”

“Of course.” She smiled. You didn’t notice the blush that crept onto her face at the formality. She swiped away the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes again. “We wouldn’t want a sweet girl like you sleeping out in the rain.” She booped the tip of your nose. “Now promise you’ll wake me or Wanda up if you need anything at all. We’re just in the room across the hall. Can’t miss it, it’s the only door on that side.”

You nodded slowly. There was no way in hell you were going to wake her or Wanda, who you assumed was her wife, for any reason. But you nodded anyway.

She smiled and rubbed your chin. “Good girl. Now go get cleaned up and try to get some rest.”

As she set off to her room, you hoped the mud had covered how pink your cheeks had gotten. You headed to the shower, sliding open the glass door and turning on the water. You decided to hop in with your clothes at first, hoping to get enough of the mud off that you could wear them again tomorrow. Then you wrang the clothes out and threw them over the door to dry. You took your time in the shower, letting the hot water warm you up from the cold rain. By the time you were finally clean, you grabbed the fresh towel Natasha had left for you.

Your clothes were, obviously, still soaked save for your underwear. You were thankful for the little time it had taken the thin silky material to dry. You put them back on and wrapped yourself in a towel before entering into the bedroom.

There was a maroon hoodie at the end of the bed. It had been there since Natasha first showed you the room, so it clearly wasn’t laid out for you. However, in lieu of other clothes, you decided the owner probably wouldn’t mind if you borrowed it for the night. You slipped the soft fabric over your head. It was much too big for you, going down to almost your mid thighs while the sleeves dangled over your hands. But it was, quite possibly, the softest material that you’d ever felt. It felt simultaneously brand new and freshly washed.

You crawled up into the queen sized bed, slipping under the covers. You held the fabric of the hoodie close to your face. It smelled nothing like the musky bergamot of Natasha, which had been equally as entrancing in its own way. This was distinctly different. It smelled soft and comforting like lying in a meadow on a spring day. The comforting smell and warmth, along with your own exhaustion, quickly had you asleep.

[itsnesss]

Heyy, can you do a miguel diaz x drunk reader? He is holding her hair back, making sure she doesn't text people, and cuddling. love you bye!!!

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 | miguel diaz × fem!reader

summary | at the party, you get drunk and feel unwell. miguel, without judging you, stays by your side, taking care of you as you go through the discomfort and embarrassment of the situation

warnings | alcohol consumption and intoxication, vomiting, embarrassment, mild body discomfort, mild language

word count | 1.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You're at a party at Miguel's house. A party that started like any other, with laughter, loud music, and the smell of pizza in the air. But now, the atmosphere has changed. People have scattered, some are dancing, others are talking in small groups. You… well, you don’t even know when you drank so much.

One drink after another, and here you are, a little dizzy, your head spinning like it's floating in the air. You feel light, but not in a good way. Suddenly, someone’s laughter brings you back to the present, and you realize you’ve wandered off from the group without noticing. Miguel is nearby, looking at something on his phone, as if waiting for you to do something.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his tone soft and concerned, yet with that usual playful touch.

You try to smile, but what comes out is more of a clumsy grimace.

“Of course, everything’s perfect,” you say, but your voice sounds more like a dragged whisper.

He looks at you, clearly unconvinced, and gestures for you to come closer.

“Come on, let’s sit for a bit.”

You agree, because what you want most right now is not to be standing, and you follow him to the couch where you slump down like a sack of potatoes. Miguel sits next to you but doesn’t say anything, just watches as you take your face in your hands, trying to clear the fog in your mind. You laugh, because apparently, alcohol has this ability to make you feel incredibly clumsy and at the same time hilarious.

“You know? I never thought you’d see me like this,” you murmur, watching how the lights in the room shine strangely, like they’re part of a dream.

Miguel doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he places a hand on your back, a gesture that feels more protective than anything else. You feel safe, despite being completely out of control.

“Why did you drink so much?” he asks, his voice mixed with a slight laugh, but with some concern.

You shrug, too drunk to really give a coherent answer.

“I don’t know, I just felt… I felt good, you know…” you stammer, but soon you feel the dizziness intensifying. Something inside you tells you this isn’t going to end well.

Before you can do anything, the sensation becomes more urgent, and a wave of nausea invades your stomach. In a blink, you cover your mouth with your hand, but it’s too late. The impulse is too strong, and your stomach churns. Unable to stop it, you lean to the side, vomiting on the floor nearby.

Miguel reacts immediately. He doesn’t step away, doesn’t criticize you. Instead, he gently places his hand on your back, rubbing it in circles, while you hold your head with the other hand, trying to keep things from getting worse.

“Calm down, everything will be fine,” he murmurs, and his tone has that warm, comforting quality, as if it’s no trouble for him to take care of you right now.

Your breathing is uneven, and the nausea doesn’t subside. You feel a mix of embarrassment and discomfort, but somehow, Miguel makes you feel less vulnerable. Someone else might be laughing or criticizing, but not him. He stays there, patiently.

When the vomiting finally stops, you sigh in relief and lean against him, too weak to move. Miguel quickly gets up, grabs a towel from the table, and wets it before placing it on your forehead, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’ve got you, okay?” he says softly, rubbing your back as you settle back into the couch.

The lights keep flashing, but now, instead of seeming chaotic, they feel softer, as if the world has shrunk to just you and Miguel. You lie down a bit, seeking some relief, and the guy sits beside you, never moving an inch.

Sometimes, people get uncomfortable with drunk people. Some judge you, others walk away, but he… he’s just there, being Miguel.

“Do you have your phone?” he asks calmly after a moment of silence.

You force yourself to search for it, though your fingers aren’t managing to find the right way.

“I can’t…” you try to say, but your hands aren’t cooperating.

Miguel takes the phone from your hands, with the agility and care that only he knows how to use.

“Are you sending messages to someone you shouldn’t?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You frown. You don’t know why, but you feel the need to explain yourself.

“No… I don’t know, I think not…” you stammer, and although your words don’t make much sense, Miguel seems to understand perfectly what’s going on.

He checks your phone and smiles, as if he’s realized something you don’t understand yet.

“Don’t do it,” he says, showing you the message you just sent.

It’s a silly, nonsensical message, the kind you only send when you’re completely out of it. But you don’t feel too embarrassed, because Miguel is looking at you with a smile that’s warmer than mocking.

He takes the phone from your hands and puts it away, making sure you can’t do anything more with it. Then he turns back to you, and all you can see on his face is that affection with which he’s looking at you.

“I’m staying with you,” he says, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I don’t want you to do anything else foolish, okay?”

You slowly nod, and without saying more, Miguel helps you stand up, guiding you carefully to the bathroom. The air in the hallway is cooler, which gives you some relief. You don’t need to say anything; he understands what’s happening. Before you can process what’s going on, you’re already standing in front of the toilet, and a new impulse makes you lean over, your body rebelling once again.

Miguel doesn’t hesitate to follow you. As soon as you lean over the toilet, he’s there, behind you. With a swift movement, he holds your hair gently, moving it away from your face with the same tenderness he would use if he were caring for you under any other circumstances.

“Calm down, just keep breathing,” he says, his voice firm yet gentle, as if he were the only person who could calm you down right now.

The pain in your stomach is unbearable, but the warmth of his hand on your back gives you some comfort. You feel his touch like an anchor in the midst of chaos, a gesture that makes you feel safe, even when your body is struggling to maintain control.

Every time a new tremor shakes your body, he’s there, holding you, making sure you don’t fall into either embarrassment or discomfort. Meanwhile, his fingers keep rubbing your back in small circles, a soothing touch that helps you endure the pain and discomfort.

Time seems to stand still. Between the sounds of vomiting and the distant echo of the party music, the only thing you can hear is his calm voice, which somehow gives you the courage to keep going.

When the discomfort finally passes, you lean on the sink, breathing heavily but feeling relieved. Miguel stays by your side, with that understanding expression that never leaves his face. No matter how bad or embarrassed you feel, he’s there, never leaving.

“I feel so bad…” you murmur, exhaustion beginning to take over.

He looks at you and smiles, with a soft laugh that calms you down.

“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone at some point,” he responds, as if there’s really nothing to be embarrassed about. And in that moment, you realize he’s right.

He helps you get back up, guiding you to the couch, where you finally lie down, exhausted but more relieved than before. Miguel sits beside you, always close, always there.

“Don’t worry about anything,” he says, gently stroking your hair.

[radioactive-earthshine]

can I ask why do you hate bat-related comics? I’m not a batfam fan myself, so idk what’s wrong with them.

I don't hate the Batfam nor do I begrudge anyone who loves them, they can be very fun and interesting! BTAS will always have a place in my heart. But I do hate that the density of bat-content is so intense it is like a black hole.

The Batfam and Gotham-related people are fine, they are great, but they do not need nearly 20 books a month when other characters are exceedingly lucky if they get two. It's not fair. It's annoying.

It's not just in monthly books, but in fandom spaces it is difficult to enjoy content of non-Bat faves without a Bat coming up, often in ways that degrade the non-Bat character only to prop them up as superior. Fandom attitudes ruined much of the experience, which never should happen, but here we are.

I cannot tell you how often I have engaged in conversations with people about comics and when exchanging pull-lists and talking about favorite runs etc the first thing out of a person's mouth isn't anything relevant to what I just said but "What about Batman?"

It's a form of unintentional passive aggression I cannot convey properly how SUCKY it makes you feel.

Or when I am writing Konbart and someone in my AO3 asks "When is Tim going to show up?" 🙄 This has happened more than 3 times.

Do you see where I am going with this?

I also, bluntly, don't find hyper-surveillance and the overstepped boundaries very interesting, it unnerves me. Yes, this is only present in some comics but just thinking about it freaks me out. We already have Facebook listening to you, I don't want Batman listening to me as well!

[something-about-sunflowers]

Oh this one was some different discourse for once! I'm still annoyed by this one tbh.

I’m gonna block the op before I post this cause I don’t wanna start any drama but, that one person in the steddyhands/adjacent tags with their ‘List of things I promised not to do in OFMD fic/What I look for/want when reading/writing OFMD fic’ post. Don’t… Do that. You can preface with 'you can write your fic how you want’ all you like but if you add a caveat of 'be aware of “the trends”’ it comes across as condescending, demanding, and judgemental. Leave alone that you are not the arbiter of all things allowed in fandom/fic. Nobody needs your permission to 'do as they will’ so to speak.

Anyway I’m gonna go through and pick out their 'issues’ that annoyed me the most and talk about why. Read-more cause I know I tend to forget to do that when I’m writing essays/meta/etc and, seeing as they did too and it was a beast of a post I don’t want to be that annoying on yall’s dash.

Keep reading

[crookedfivefingers]

3.13 | ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅꜱ

link to the post I accidentally wound up prattling endlessly about in the tags 💀