#if you know someone who might need a reminder to take care of themselves please feel free to send this to them!

[dustykneed]

hey ensign!! stop scrolling the triumvirate has some reminders for you. (they also want you to know that they still mean the affirmations they gave you last time-- and they hope you know that you are very important, and you deserve to be okay.)

bonus:

something something tits man ass man

anyways live long and prosper out there everyone!! You are loved and you are deserving of kindness.

[hyenasaa]

Hiii!! I love your hcs esp the short!reader one 🥹💕 can i please request jjk hcs with opposites attract? like reader is a completely different person compared to the jjk boys?

Jjk headcanons with - opposite attract!fem reader ──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

In wchich i present to you jjk men headcanons of how would they act towards their partner that is the exact opposite of themselves!!

Nanami Kento :

Nanami is straight-laced, practical, and a little grumpy — so naturally, he falls for someone who laughs too loud, wears mismatched socks, and throws caution to the wind.

He sighs a lot around you, muttering things like:

“You can’t wear glitter to a government meeting…” But still holds your hand proudly.

You pull him into spontaneous adventures — late-night diners, trying weird drinks, karaoke — and somehow, he always comes along.

He loves your light, your spontaneity — it reminds him that life is more than routine.

“You exhaust me. But I’ve never been more alive.”

Satoru Gojo :

You’re calm, soft-spoken, and maybe a little socially anxious — and Gojo is Gojo: loud, dramatic, and everywhere at once.

He loves that you ground him. He’s chaos, and you’re his peaceful center. He’ll literally throw himself across the couch and whine:

“Baaaabe you’re so calming. It’s disgusting. I love it.”

In public, he’s the peacock. At home, he melts into your lap, letting your quiet presence calm his overactive mind.

You make him feel seen, not just admired. That’s everything to him.

Suguru Geto :

You’re sunshine incarnate. Trusting. Kind to a fault. And Geto? He’s dark, layered, and burdened.

He calls you “too good for this world” and means it. He never thought someone like you would look at him without fear.

He teaches you to be careful. You teach him to hope again.

Your innocence doesn’t annoy him — it protects him. Reminds him of why he once believed in people.

In bed, the contrast becomes electric: he’s slow, guiding, reverent — like he’s terrified he might break something so pure.

Toji Fushiguro :

You're gentle, warm, and a little anxious. Toji’s rough, blunt, and emotionally guarded.

You bring him soup when he’s injured. He pretends to hate it — but he finishes every drop.

He falls first. Hard. But he masks it with sarcasm.

“Why the hell are you nice to me?” “Because someone has to be.”

He’s terrified of hurting you, but your softness makes him slow down — makes him try.

He doesn’t say “I love you.” He says, “Text me when you get home or I’ll go looking.”

Itadori Yuji :

You’re jaded, sarcastic, maybe even a little emo. Yuji is a puppy wrapped in sunshine.

At first, you think he’s too much. Too loud. Too happy.

But he sticks around. He brings snacks. He hugs you when you snark at him. Eventually, you melt.

“You’re annoyingly pure. And I think I love you.”

He never tries to “fix” you — just balances you out with all his relentless optimism and big-hearted energy.

You call the world trash; he says, “Maybe. But I’m still glad you’re in it.”

Megumi Fushiguro :

You're sunshine, sarcasm, flirting, and chaos. He's stoic, serious, and just trying to survive.

You flirt with him endlessly just to watch his ears turn red.

“Fushiguro, your cheekbones could cut glass. You trying to kill me?” “I… what?”

He acts like he’s annoyed, but secretly? He waits for your next wink. His journal probably says “Reader complimented my hair. Felt weird. Heart fast.”

He doesn’t understand why you like him — but you show him, every day.

He’ll never match your energy — but he’ll always match your loyalty.

Yuta Okkotsu :

Yuta’s a sweetie. Nervous, polite, a little flustered — and you’re the kind of person who tells waiters their vibes are immaculate and flirts like it’s breathing.

He’s constantly blushing. CONSTANTLY.

“Why did you say that in front of Gojo—?!” “Because he needed to know you’re mine, babe.”

But you give him confidence. Help him stand taller. Remind him that he’s allowed to take up space.

He anchors your wild side with quiet affection. You pull him into the world with fearless love.

[awkward-walking-potato]

Hello~ I really appreciate your writing of x-mens and honestly think you're doing great job! Can I request Remy, Logan and Kurt (or just Remy and Kurt if three is too much ^^) with an s/o who often depreciates themself, maybe on some joking way at first but there's a feeling of something more behind this all (like they're not joking, they really believe in it but try to hide this behind the smiles and laughs)? I'm sorry if this idea is hard to understand, if it is, I'll try to write IT more clearly ^^" Take care of yourself and everything nice to you!

Here are some headcanons for how Remy (Gambit), Logan (Wolverine), and Kurt (Nightcrawler) might react to an S/O who often depreciates themselves:

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

Remy is incredibly perceptive, often catching onto your self-deprecating humor even before you realize it. He can sense the underlying sadness in your words, even when you're trying to laugh it off.

He'll immediately counter your jokes with his own brand of smooth, playful charm. "Chère, if you could see what I see when I look at you, you’d be smilin’ from ear to ear."

When it becomes clear that these jokes aren’t just jokes, Remy will take a more serious approach. He’ll sit you down, look you in the eyes, and tell you exactly how much you mean to him and how incredible you truly are. "I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t deserve the good things, but you gotta know you do. And I ain’t just sayin’ that."

Remy will go out of his way to show you how much he values you. Whether it’s surprising you with your favorite things or taking you on spontaneous adventures, he’s always finding ways to make you feel special.

He’s patient with you, never pushing too hard but always being there when you need reassurance. Remy understands that confidence takes time to build, and he’s more than willing to help you see your worth.

Logan (Wolverine)

Logan’s protective instincts kick in the moment he hears you making those self-deprecating remarks. He doesn’t like hearing you talk down about yourself, especially knowing the harsh world he’s seen.

He’s not one to sugarcoat things, so he’ll be upfront with you. "Darlin’, cut that crap. You’re worth more than you give yourself credit for, and anyone who says otherwise can answer to me."

Despite his gruff exterior, Logan has a soft spot for you. He’ll pull you close and remind you, in his own way, how much you mean to him. "I’ve seen a lot in my time, but someone like you? You’re one of a kind."

Logan might not be the best with words, but he’s always there for you. Whether it’s sitting quietly with you, holding you when you’re feeling low, or just being present, he makes sure you know he’s got your back.

Logan knows that building self-worth is a slow process, and he’s committed to being by your side through it all. He’ll celebrate your small victories and be there to pick you up when you stumble, always encouraging you to see yourself the way he sees you.

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

Kurt is incredibly kind and understanding, always the first to pick up on your self-deprecating jokes. His sensitive nature allows him to see through the humor to the pain underneath.

Kurt is quick to gently counter your remarks with positive affirmations. "Liebchen, you are more wonderful than you give yourself credit for. Please, don’t doubt that."

He’ll offer you spiritual and emotional comfort, reminding you of the inherent value every person has. "God doesn’t make mistakes, and you, mein Schatz, are a beautiful creation."

Kurt expresses his love through acts of service, always looking for ways to make your life easier and to show you how much you’re appreciated. Whether it’s making your favorite meal or surprising you with small gestures of love, he’s always finding ways to lift you up.

When the time is right, Kurt will gently bring up your self-deprecating comments in a more serious conversation. He’ll listen to your feelings and offer his perspective, always with love and without judgment. "You are so much more than you think you are. Please, let me help you see that."

[ur-local-ghost-pal]

Hey! Able-bodied people who know someone with tics or want to learn more! Pls stop to read this really quick if you can. I'm someone with tourettes and I would like to kindly remind you to not do the following. 1. please for the love of fuck do not give someone who is ticcing (or in general disabled) fake pity looks. You know the ones where you look at us in an almost pitying way, but it isn't really that genuine because you kinda care but it's not effecting you and you can't really bring yourself to care much. Yeah, cut that shit out. 2. if someone's tics cause them to hit themselves, don't get mad when/if they hit you. Most likely it will happen if you are around them a good amount. You can be hurt - obviously tics like that hurt - but if I see you demanding comfort, pity, and apologies angrily from the person ticcing I'm going to stomp you with my cane. Especially if you don't show you care when they are hitting themselves nonstop daily. 3. I shouldn't have to say this but even if the person ticcing doesn't seem overly upset, don't trigger their tics on purpose. Just don't. The person ticcing might not care much but why do you feel the need to? Like, unless explicitly asked for whatever reason, just don't. It's kinda rude, can be dangerous, and you don't have any reason to (again unless asked). 4. please, please, please don't be awkward when someone is complaining about the pain their tics put them in. Don't just stare at them weird after they talk as if they did something wrong or it's so odd that they just expressed any amount of discomfort of their disability. And for the love of goodness do not be rude to them about it or gaslight them. 5. in general you shouldn't do this at all but we're talking about tourettes so here we go. If someone needs a mobility aid due to tics, don't touch it. Don't pick it up without permission or play with it. Don't try to take it as a form of punishment (parents this is for you). don't doubt they need it. Again, don't gaslight them into thinking they don't need it. Don't tell them they're being dramatic. 6. the last one. Do NOT fakeclaim ANYONE. Please. Tics can develop at any age and tourettes is not the only tic disorder. Sure, you can't be diagnosed with tourettes if you developed them after 18, but you can have tics. Tics can be sudden or gradual when developing. If you want to fakeclaim your friend, roommate, family member, or even that rando on the internet. Just shut your mouth. It's not that hard. Most people don't do this so don't feel targeted unless you have done these. If you have done these, just stop. It's not that hard.

[agerefandomstuff]

Hello! If your taking requests, could you please write some cg!soldier boy headcannons? Particularly for a babyspace regressor? I know he doesnt seem like the cg type, but hes my comfort character lol!

Tysm, your awesome!!!!

Cg!Soldier Boy for Babyspace!Reader

A/N: Have I ever said how much I love grumpy old men? They make good caregivers with all their teasing and hard exterior.

–“It shouldn't be that hard. What did babies do anyhow besides shit, piss, and sleep?”

–He learns it's a lot more fun to look after a baby regressor than he ever thought.

–Laughs when you repeat or babble cuss words he says.

–Puts a little rum on your pacifier when you're being fussy. “What? It's what my old man did.”

–He's clearly not a responsible adult but he’s keeping you. And you're stuck with him. No one can keep you safer than him.

–Plays his movies with you in his lap and spends the whole time talking. But it doesn't matter because you don't understand any of it anyway. You just like the moving pictures. 

–He bought you a fancy handcrafted crib with his Vought salary but does he put you in it often? No. You're cuddling with him in bed. 

Unless he has gals over. Then it's cuddle time with your blankies/stuffed animals/whatever it is you showed a passing interest in.

-he bought you them while complaining about it. “You like this crap? Seriously?”

-He might definitely use you to pick up ladies. Babies can be a chick magnet.

–Will take you everywhere without shame. 

Photoshoots? You're there. Filming? Your right off camera. Walking the streets? You're on his hip. Driving in a military jeep to god knows where? He’ll put earmuffs on you so you don't cry over the loud noises and keep you in his lap the whole time. The meetings out in tattered tents in war zones? He sits you down beside him and lets you play in the dirt. He's as much tethered to you as you are him. 

Is he supposed to be taking you to some of these places? No. but he’s the original supe. He's Soldier Boy. He can do what he wants. 

-"The fuck you lookin at, punk? Babies need the constant attention. And I’m not about to leave em in the hands of some weakass babysitter.”

-You've gotten used to cigar smoke in your face and gruff, angry voices as a side effect of always being around him.

–Generally a grumpy old man who will lie straight through his teeth about how much he loves and adores you so he doesn't seem vulnerable. also because it's funny.

-“This little shithead? Pfft. no. they're just riding my coattails.” buying you everything that reminds him of you. “Can't get em to leave my ass alone.” actively holding you on his hip. “I’m just protecting the useless little fart because they can't do it themselves.” bouncing you on his knees while at an interview on live television.

–He’ll swat you if you've been naughty but how naughty can babies actually be?

-If you cry he may internally rethink the idea of spanking but externally will tell you to man up.

–he plays up the dramatics if he has to change diapers. There's a good chance that if he pays for any kind of support from other people; it would be mainly to change diapers.

–Feeds you anything he's eating, or he can get you to eat. Should babies be having burgers and fries instead of.. Whatever else are they supposed to eat? He doesn't know. Or care. It started out as him being lazy but now it's just because it makes you and him happy when he’s hand feeding you things off his plate. 

-he will feed you bottles though. If someone has already pre-mixed and put them in the fridge for him. 

-that's a part of the bedtime cuddle routine. You laying over his lap, head against his shoulder, sleepily suckling away while he watches his movies or chats away with his soldier buddies/guests/gals.

–Frequently “forgets” to bring a diaper bag with him to most places because while toting his baby around is no big deal, being seen with what he thinks is a “woman’s item” is apparently too far.

-yeah that gets him in some sticky places sometimes. but plenty of fans (and overworked interns) are ready to help their favorite number one hero!

If we’re in modern day 

–he makes a lot of passive aggressive comments about how “you better not get any ideas from my first failed seed.” or “if Homelander had me like you do he wouldn't have turned out the way he did. So you better feel lucky.”

–will watch modern cartoons with you with extreme confusion and plenty of complaints. (man nearly cost Butcher a new tv when he had to watch Trolls. You spent the time giggling at him because you knew his “violence” and “anger” towards the movie wasn't actually a real threat. Hughie didnt though. That poor guy was clinging to his geiger counter, nearly wetting himself.)

–"Well.. at least one thing didn't change...” he’ll murmur fondly while running his fingers over your face as you sleep. 

–you help give him something to focus on when things aren't going well. You're a good anchor for him and he might admit that he does respect and appreciate what you do for him. Even though all you have to do is let him take care of you. 

Extra: “You can't give a baby a weapon!” “They’re my baby and I can do what I damn well please– for christ sake… dont fucking chew on– take it out of your mouth right now!”

[evil8keta]

Could you do the mercs with a short reader who's strong enough to pick them up? (Except for Heavy lol, maybe they can pick up Sasha)

thank u anon this request is very funny

mercs x reader who's STRONG

SCOUT

- he constantly asks you to arm wrestle and fight with him because he just refuses to believe that someone THAT small could be THAT strong... of course, scout always looses every match with you and hurts his own ego in the process. on another note, if you were to pick him up, i feel that he might enjoy it a little? strangely enough? he just finds ur strength impressive haha... he's NEVER telling you that though!!!

SOLDIER

- so proud of you, whenever you show off your strength soldier wipes a tear from his eye because to him you are the peak american citizen (even if you're not american). he respects you a lot and constantly boasts about you to the others. ofc they all know you're strong but in case they ever forget it, soldier would be here to immediately remind them by gently yelling into their ear "LOOK AT MY STRONG LITTLE WARRIOR! THEY CAN PUNCH THROUGH A TREE!"

PYRO

- oh they look up to you!! and they think you're soooo cool for being so strong!! they're curious what your limit might be, so sometimes pyro just yanks you by the arm and leads you somewhere, then they point at various objects like "can you pick this up? what about THIS?" and it's like a table or whatever and ofc you can pick it up. then pyro points at themselves like "what about me? :3" HEHEHE

HEAVY

- ok you definitely tried to pick him up at least once but sadly yeah this guy is above your limit. it's okay though, he doesn't have the heart to tell you, so whenever you ask him if you can pick him up again, he says yes, fully knowing the outcome... you might be strong enough to pick up his gun, which is quite impressive. but does he trust you enough to hold it? hmm maybe that's another story...

DEMOMAN

- you two are frequently seen carrying one another. your strength is very handy when demo gets too drunk to walk, sometimes the others call you like "hey you go take care of demo again..." and yes he's pretty strong too, so when you need carrying, or you know you're just a silly individual who likes to be picked up, then my bro will carry you with a smile on his face. friendship

ENGINEER

- aww he's like so proud of you. he has no reason to but he is trust me. if your strength isn't inherent and you actually work out or lift weights, engineer will definitely give you daily doses of healthy motivation. yes you may pick him up, he think it's so cute when you sweep him off his feet with a hug. also he MIGHT use your strength sometimes around his workshop, like asking you to carry heavy tools or parts of machinery and stuff

MEDIC

- ngl if you can pick him up he'll start blushing and giggling and shit. not even in a romantic way he just finds it very charming. he's just vibing somewhere and then he spots you, maybe you're not even approaching him but if you happen to be in the general vicinity of him then he's gonna be like "oh! oh no! a big bad merc is coming to get meee!" and he starts like, pretending to run away. does he want you to chase him? what a weirdo!!!! also asks for your help during operations sometimes. like yes please help me carry demoman onto the patient bed so i can do lobotomy on him, thank you

SPY

- DONT PICK HIM BRO!! he's not gonna like that. spy thinks it's a bit strange how you can be tiny and lift incredible weights at the same time but if you're only using your strength to torment him then he's gonna start avoiding you lol. however, if you are kind enough to not pick him up without warning, he might start asking you to do stuff for him since you're so strong. like opening a jar of pickles.

SNIPER

- lowkey chill about it. he thinks you're admirable but he's not gonna be making a big deal out of it. you can pick him up but please ask first, otherwise he might learn to distrust you... and we don't want that fr. BUT if you're nice to him then it's the opposite. most of the men on the base are strong but he trusts YOU the most. he'll definitely ask you for help. sniper isn't weak but he's a bit lanky, so if he ever struggles with carrying something heavy, you're the first person he asks!

[schrodinger-swriter]

Can I Ask for Husks fluff alphabet?

A, C, I, J, K, N, P, Z preatty please?🥺

(I'm sorry I almost hit the limit. I'm obsessed with him😭)

A, C, I, J, K, N, P, and Z for Husk

No need to apologize! If I wanted a smaller limit I would have said so in the original post! Nothing wrong in wanting to get the most out of something C:

I hope you enjoy this, Anon, it was fun playing with Husk's personality in this! He reminds me of a grumpy grandfather.

Confession, I thought for the longest time Husk was a.. well dog. I.. Don't know why I thought that, perhaps it's the face markings and his name being "Husk" (Like Husky) that caused my confusion. For two years after the pilot I was... rather dumb..

What do you mean Husk is 75.

ATTRACTION:

He enjoys those who are more honest with themselves and aren't pushovers. He can hardly stand those in denial. He calls it as he sees it when he's pushed to do so. This is less of an attraction thing, but I feel he would be most compatible with someone he can be real with and can be able to deal with his bluntness. In a way, you keep each other in check.

CUDDLES:

Small and soft, warm too. He's a cat, so it feels like snuggling into a large cat! I don't think he would be too deep into PDA, the most he would be comfortable with doing is quick kisses when someone else is passing by.. usually... more on that later. Though, now that it's mentioned, I don't think he would be too big on physical affection all that much.. now don't get me wrong he loves a good back massage every now and then, but it's going to take him a while to curl up next to you for cuddling. Little spoon.

INJURY:

Would ask you what the hell happened while wrapping your wound.. Goes from scolding you for being a jackass if you just. Threw yourself into danger, but will go on to say you have some guts. Stern when it comes to you taking it easy so you can heal properly... is not phased by any false play ups of your pain, though depending on his mood he might let it pass. For a bit..

If he's the one injured he's stubborn, insisting that it's not that big of a deal. Dresses and cleans it appropriately, all while nursing a bottle of booze. Dismissive when talking about what led to the injury. Might be a little standoffish if you try to take care of him, especially if you come off as trying to baby him.

JEALOUSY:

He deals with his jealousy the same way he deals with all of his other problems. Alcohol. He sees another man chatting you up? Alcohol. Sees you laughing a little too much at some chumps joke? Alcohol. Someone talks brings up how you seem so lively around another person? Alcohol. I think you get the point. However, if it's a case of you being pushed into a situation you don't want to be in, he's going to pick up on your discomfort and drag you away... does not make it seem like you have somewhere else to be, no, he just tells the other person to fuck off as he takes you away. His fur sometimes fluffs up in annoyance. Pulling that pin from the C section, in regards to PDA, he will tug you to his side to further push the effect that you're taken.

KISSES:

Bunny kisses. You know, you two touch noses and nuzzle a bit. He doesn't allow it often, but it is something you two do every now and again. He defaults to kissing you on the mouth, quick pecks usually aren't for him, though... Sometimes leans over the counter of his bar to steal a kiss when no one else is around. This goes for both giving and receiving!

NO:

He can't be with someone who heavily relies on physical touch, it's simply not for him and he can only compromise so much. That's not to say he wouldn't try, because he would. However you can only sacrifice your comfort so much before it becomes a problem, you know? I don't think he would do well with people who complain.. not vent, more so whine about everything. He seems far too irritable to be able to deal with that in his day to day, outside of the bar.

As for actual deal breakers within an established relationship... I think it would have to be a stubborn person. Funny, coming from him since he's stubborn. But Husk appears to still go with the flow of everything, even eventually befriending the rest of the cast. No, when I say stubborn I mean people who can't take their heads out of their asses to see that there's other things to worry about and shit like that. He can only give you so many reality checks before throwing in the towel. Bonus negative points if combined with the complaining thing.

PETNAMES:

Do not call him "Kitten" he might actually be upset by that. On top of that, it's so... basic... predictable. It's not special. No, something that basic wouldn't work on him... and that's not considering the fact he himself isn't too big on petnames. Though.. seeing that he died in the 70s, I enjoy that the thought that he defaults to names from that decade. I believe he would call you "Dollface" or even just "Doll"

It'd take him a while to grow used to the idea of being called anything other than his.. name.. but he looks like a "Pumpkin" or a "Lovey"

.. just don't call him that around Angel, he won't hear the end of it..

ZZZ:

Tends to sleep either sprawled out of curled into a ball. Really it depends, though more often than not he sleeps sprawled out. Doesn't like being held while he sleeps, so cuddling while you guys doze off is off the table. Though, he wouldn't mind you scratching between his ears or shoulder blades sometimes... maybe you'll even hear him purr. Will take a decent amount of time before you get to the "sleeping in the same bed" stage. Old man snores, so good luck with that.

[rainbowsky]

[redacted] asked: Hey there rainbowsky, hope you're doing well :). So, I came across this one [redacted] where a bxg had shared some proof of gg and dd KISSING?? [allegedly (redacted)] Idk if it was caught on cam (if it was then OMG) or if it was caught by proxy shooters, but it looks kinda sus. Can you check it out and see if it's legit? Cause I haven't seen this one circulating on weibo or YT, and my brain feels like it's going to EXPLODE without being able to wash it. I'll attach the link here. Thanks in advance :).

[redacted] asked: Hello rbs ❤️ I wanna know this. There is photos of wyb and xz kissing in parking lot. And they take down after that. Is it true. ??

Hi you two!

Yeah, the GGDD 'parking lot incident'. Fans get really excited about stuff like this. Well, here are the photos so you can decide for yourself:

Both of these are much clearer than the alleged 'parking lot kiss'.

😅 Sorry, I really do have a point though.

The photos behind this and many of the other supposed sightings of GGDD together are so blurry you can hardly make out humanoid shapes in them, and even if you suspend disbelief and accept that the shape might be a person, it could literally be anyone. The only thing we ever have to support the idea that it might be GG and DD is the word of the stalker scum who claims to have taken the photo/video. And they have a lot to gain by lying about it, or even staging these sorts of things and making the accompanying material conveniently blurry and indistinct.

Consider the source and what they might have to gain by lying. Consider the possibility that the source might themselves have been misled or misreading what they were seeing. Consider the power of mob mentality and wishful thinking. Consider whether you need someone else to tell you what you're looking at in order to be able to even 'know' what you're looking at, and what that might say about the BS level involved. Consider whether you have any evidence at all in front of you.

And I'd like to remind everyone that this kind of thing is a knife that cuts both ways. If we're willing to take seriously a blurry photo where we can't even make out humanoid shapes let alone identify who those people might be or what they might be doing, then what's going to happen when antis show us a fake photo that they claim depicts an actress wearing a bone necklace, for example?

Please be careful out there, and learn to evaluate 'evidence' in a rational, critical way. There are plenty of free resources for learning critical thinking, and even many free university level courses available online. I can't possibly overstate the importance of understanding these concepts - not just as a fan but as a person trying to navigate an increasingly fact-averse world.

Where are GG and DD in all this?

But on to the bigger issue with this particular type of material, which is our attitudes toward GG and DD's privacy and well-being.

I've talked about this a lot over the years, and I've even answered this exact 'parking lot' question multiple times in the past (this claim isn't from 2024, it's actually many, many years old - I think it goes back as far as 2019 IIRC). This kind of invasive BS is far, far beneath our dignity to explore and dig into. I hope we can all strive to be better people than this.

If GG and DD were actually ever photographed kissing in a parking lot somewhere, would you not think the kinds of people who would get excited about this and share it around and breathlessly comment on it are total assholes? Because I certainly would. This is stalker behavior, and people having a wank off of an invasion of GG and DD's privacy. It's putting fandom insecurities and 'proof-seeking' above GG and DD's well-being.

As fans we should always have GG and DD's best interests at heart. There is no leap of logic where going after this kind of thing can be perceived as being in any way in GG and DD's best interests.

We shouldn't be dupes, we shouldn't be stalkers. Please always remember that GG and DD are human beings, not characters in a drama. If we don't see photos of them together it's because it's not in their best interests to be seen together. Sit with that for a moment. Take it to heart.

I know this kind of response from me can feel harsh to some people, but I really feel that these ideas will be totally self-evident to anyone who centers the humanity and well-being of GG and DD in their fandom experience. It's sad when people's first thought isn't for GG and DD's safety and privacy, especially when we're talking about a gay couple under a queer-hostile government.

Whether the photos are real or not, the attitude we have toward them and the way we discuss them creates a climate and a standard for how fandom handles such things. Treating this type of thing as exciting and salacious rather than as invasive and disrespectful gives people social license to pursue and share stalker material. It helps fans disassociate GG and DD from their humanity and treat them as objects or fictional characters rather than as people.

I understand that it's easy to get swept up in things and I don't want you to feel judged or disliked by me. I don't feel that way at all - I truly don't - and I hope you don't take my feelings about this topic personally. I just get so angry when I see stuff like this.

You are by no means the first people to get caught up without thinking, and you won't be the last. I just hope you'll reflect on it and understand why it's not a good path to go down if you want what's best for GG and DD.

I firmly believe that everyone should engage in fandom in whatever way best aligns with their values and interests. I just think that choice should ideally be a conscious, informed one.

Sorry for not answering these individually, but they're the same question and some of the information in one of them needed to be removed. I've also removed your names out of respect for your privacy.

Related posts:

Protecting GGDD, and candies and material I won’t discuss on my blog

Just. No.

The bone necklace

BXG Fandom Etiquette

Why it's important not to share harmful material

[bittertincture]

Turn My Eyes | Chapter Four | Words are a Honeycomb | Priest!Joel

The Rating: Explicit (18+)

The Chapter Summary: A lighthearted exchange between you and Father Joel reveals a fleeting moment of connection, despite your guarded nature.

The Tags: I would like to withhold some tags for the sake of the story. But I will tell you that this story will deal with the following: Religion (which may be offensive to some readers), Religious Imagery, Religious Trauma, Violence, Explicit and Consenting Sexual Acts between Adults, Forbidden Relationship, Power Exchange, Mentions of Death, Angst. There is much more but those are the pertinent ones.

The MC:  The female character of “You” is able bodied with hair long enough to be grabbed. She is English speaking and while I wrote her from a white, former Catholic woman’s perspective, I hope the language I use is inclusive enough that many walks of life you can imagine themselves as her.

The Author’s Notes: It's been really lovely seeing all the hearts on here for my tale. It's been restrained so far but we have some dark and twisted lust on the horizon. Thank you so much for the wonderful response to this story! I’m truly grateful for your support and for taking the time to read along. If you enjoyed it, I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments, and feel free to re-blog. Your feedback and shares mean the world to me.

The Credits: The Line Dividers are by @saradika-graphics The Story Image is made by myself. If you would like to use it please give proper credit.

Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones - Proverbs 16:24

The morning light filters through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns against the walls of your childhood bedroom. The bed is soft; the scent of lavender lingering on the pillow from Nana’s careful hands that feels like homecoming, but the weight in your chest reminds you that you don’t belong anywhere right now.

You roll onto your side, staring at the ceiling, your mind circling back to yesterday’s potluck. To the way Father Joel carried himself; poised, unreadable. You don’t trust people like that. The ones who hold themselves too still, who keep their words measured like they’re afraid of what might slip if they let their guard down. You saw it in his hands, the faint scars on his knuckles, the way his fingers twitched ever so slightly when someone spoke to him. He’s hiding something.

They always are.

You exhale, rubbing your temples, trying to shake him from your thoughts. It doesn’t matter. You won’t see him again.

The sound of dishes clinking from the kitchen downstairs reminds you that Nana is awake. You force yourself up, stretching your aching limbs. The bruise inside you, metaphorical, but no less painful, throbs dully. Your ex’s voice still lingers in your mind, twisting the truth until you don’t even trust your own memories. You wonder if you’ll ever feel like yourself again.

Downstairs, Nana greets you with a warm smile and a plate of biscuits. “Morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well?”

You lie, because she deserves that much. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t believe you, but she lets it go. Instead, she starts talking about yesterday, about how happy she was to see you at church, even if she must have known you didn’t want to be there. She talks about the way things were when you first came to live with her, when you were just a grief-stricken teenager trying to make sense of losing everything. You love her for the way she tiptoes around the hurt, for the way she lets it settle without poking at it.

Then she brings up Margaret.

You don’t need to hear much to know Margaret already dislikes you. You could see it in her pursed lips, the way she sized you up like she’d already decided who you were before you even spoke. The kind of woman who thrives on rules and unspoken expectations. The kind you’ve always seemed to disappoint.

“I never did take to Margaret,” Nana admits, in the closest thing to gossip you’ll ever hear from her. “But she means well.”

You hum noncommittally. You aren’t sure you believe that. “She doesn’t like me.”

“You don’t know that,” Nana insists, stirring her coffee with slow, deliberate motions.

Sure I do. Women like her are all the same.

“Has she read my books?”

Nana sighs, pressing her lips together. “She knows about them.”

And there’s your answer; Margaret, self-appointed morality police of St. Vincent’s Catholic Church, would sniff out any perceived scandal like a bloodhound. You let out a short, humorless laugh.

“I don’t write them anymore,” you say, more for Nana’s benefit than anything.

She nods, taking a sip of her coffee before setting the cup down with a soft clink. “I know. And I think that’s for the best.”

Your jaw tightens. You know she never approved, even when the royalties paid your bills better than your ex ever could.

“But you used to love writing. I know you did. You got that scholarship remember? For that short story?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe you just need to write something like that again, something more wholesome.”

You swallow hard, fingers curling into your palm beneath the table. How do you tell her that the ugly, the taboo, the twisted are what flow so easily from your fingers? That the darker corners of the mind are the only places where the words come naturally? How do you tell her that purity feels like a lie when the world is anything but?

“Maybe,” you lie instead. So many lies so early in the morning.

Nana watches you, eyes warm but knowing. “You won’t know unless you try.”

She says it with such conviction, such unwavering faith in you, that for a brief moment, you almost wish you could be the person she wants you to be. But you aren’t. And you don’t think you ever will be.

"So, what did you think of Father Joel?" she asks, her voice full of expectation. You hesitate, the memory of the potluck still fresh, the way he felt just a little too polished. But Nana is watching you, waiting, her smile unwavering. You force a polite nod, unwilling to dampen her enthusiasm, but deep down, your opinion hasn’t budged.

“Seems nice.”

“He’s done so much for St. Vincent’s,” Nana beams at you, her eyes alight with admiration as she stirs a generous spoonful of sugar into her tea. “Just wait until you hear him preach during Easter. Wowee.”

She expects you to join her in that church full of people with forced smiles. They make your skin itch. You can’t imagine sitting through another sermon, pretending it means something to you when it doesn’t. You tell her as much, bracing for the disappointment in her face.

She nods, taking it in stride. “I understand, sugar. I do.” There’s a pause, then, softer, “Would you consider helpin’ with some volunteer work instead?”

You could say no. You should say no. But Nana asks for so little, and right now, she’s the only solid thing in your life. You owe her more than you can ever repay.

Nana is quiet as she waits for your reply, her hands wrapped tightly around the caramel-coloured drink in its chipped floral mug. The same mug she’s had since you first lived with her after the car crash that claimed your parent’s life. The car taking them to Sunday Mass of all places while you lay in bed with a fever, unaware that only two miles from home they lay unseeing in a fiery wreckage.

How can you deny her anything?

“Alright,” you say, the word heavy on your tongue. “What do you need help with?”

Her face lights up, and despite yourself, you feel the smallest flicker of warmth.

“On Tuesday we make up baskets for the needy,” she says. “Could always use an extra set of hands.”

You take a breath, letting the weight of it settle over you. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

She pats your hand, small but steady. “I knew you would.”

And just like that, you are tethered to something again, whether you want to be or not.

Father Joel had noticed you the moment he stood behind the pulpit that Sunday morning. Not because you carried yourself with reverence, not because you bowed your head in quiet contemplation, but because you didn’t.

You sat stiff-backed in the pew beside your grandmother; arms crossed over your chest, mouth curled ever so slightly into what could only be described as a smirk. You weren’t here for God. You were here for her. That much was obvious.

When he spoke his homily he observed that his words crafted with care and meant to uplift did not reach you.  Forgiveness would not reach you that morning. He knew this not because of any grand revelation but because he heard you scoff. A small sound, barely there, but in the cavernous quiet of the church, it may as well have been a shout.

Fascinating, he had thought, if not a little frustrating.

At the potluck you confirmed his suspicion. You had no love for the Church, no reverence for the men who donned collars and spoke of sin and salvation. You met his gaze too directly and your sharp words laced with a dry amusement that should have irritated him.

And yet Joel was no stranger to disdain. He had seen anger, grief and bitterness. He had counselled the lost, the faithless, the doubting. But you weren’t searching for answers, you weren’t looking for peace. You had built a wall, brick by stubborn brick and you had no intention of letting anyone inside.

The way you spoke to him was churlish, dismissive, yet edged with something lively, something almost teasing. It lingered in his mind longer than he cared to admit. And though he knew he should have been perturbed, he found himself amused instead.

You had not returned to mass since. Had he driven you away? Or had you simply indulged your grandmother’s wishes for one morning, never intending to come back at all? The question needled at him until, after the following Sunday service, he found himself approaching your Nana.

She smiled when she saw him, small and knowing, as though she had been expecting this conversation. After the casual greetings and enthusiastic praise for his sermon was over, Joel felt he could broach the subject of you more casually.

“Was that your granddaughter I met with you at the potluck?”

“Yes sir. My one and only.”

"She hasn’t been back," he said, careful to keep his tone neutral. “I worry my sermon scared her off. Or perhaps she was just visiting.”

Your Nana looked disappointed, sighing softly as she adjusted the gloves on her delicate hands.

"She’s here to stay for a while, though I doubt she’s happy about it.”

“Oh?” 

“She’s been through a lot, Father. The divorce, for one. Cleaned her out. The way that no-good s-” she catches herself, her weathered cheeks pinking. “Well, I can’t say exactly what he is in polite company.”

Joel can’t help but grin. He’s heard it all.  “Sure you can.”

“No,” your Nana insisted with that brittle immovability. “I can’t.”

Joel remained silent, allowing her space to speak, though the mention of your divorce sent an unbidden twist through him. He wondered if it had hardened you or if you had always carried that sharp edge, but before he could ask, Nana continued, her voice quieter now.

“But it’s more than that, really. Life hasn’t been kind to my granddaughter. She knows loss better than most. It started young, you see."

Oh.

"The Church used to be her refuge, once upon a time." Nana’s voice was wistful, her eyes drifting toward the stained glass windows. "But something changed. Now it feels more like a wound she can’t stop pressing on. She’s severed from it."

He had seen it, in the way you had sat in that pew, like an outsider, like someone standing at the edge of something once beloved, now foreign.

"She’s a lovely woman," Nana continued, and there was that small, amused glint in her eye, like she knew something he didn’t. "Smart as a whip, funny and a heart as big as all get out. She just doesn’t make it easy to see."

Joel chuckled under his breath.

“She’s gonna volunteer here with me on Tuesday night though,” your Nana said with a renewed enthusiasm. “With the hampers for the needy.”

“That’s wonderful,” Joel replied, a little taken aback by this He had assumed your distaste for the church would extend to every branch of it.

"Be patient with her," Nana said, her voice gentle but firm, as if she were bestowing a great piece of wisdom. "Not everyone finds their way back so easily."

Joel nodded, though he was not sure what patience would accomplish. He could not make you return. He could not make you see something in the Church that you no longer believed in.

And he could not, should not, dwell on the way your sharp tongue and unreadable eyes had lodged themselves into the quiet corners of his mind.

The evening air is crisp yet warm enough to kiss your cheeks as you and your Nana step inside the church hall that Tuesday evening. The scent of wax and old wood lingers in the space, mingling with the warmth of brewing coffee and the faint sweetness of donated pastries. Around the room, folding tables are lined with cans of soup, boxes of pasta, and bags of rice, all waiting to be packed into hampers for families in need.

Your Nana, determined as ever, rolls up her sleeves, though the weariness in her movements don’t escape you. She is smaller than she once was, her energy dipping in a way that worries you. Still, she smiles at you as she sinks into a chair at the head of the table, insisting she can manage just fine from there. You don’t argue. You know better.

The other women are already gathering, the ones you remember from the service, kind, gentle-faced, welcoming in a way that leaves you unsettled. You are an outsider in this world, yet here, they act as though you belong. Mrs.Clifford pulls you into a sweaty hug that you return, hiding your grimace.

“I was worried we might have scared you away,” she says with a jovial laugh.

“No. Not at all,” you lie.

Margaret, of course, is present too, standing like a sentry near the door with her arms folded over her chest. She is all tight smiles and sharp eyes, her voice coated in saccharine sweetness that does little to mask the steel beneath.

The group of you load the items onto the large folding tables creating an assembly line of perishables, socks and of course, a bible for each package. Chattering voices are on either side of you, your Nana giving you a sly wink from one end of the table. You return it, still feeling out of place.

"Well, let’s get organized, shall we?" Margaret’s voice carries over the quiet hum of conversation. "We’ll start at this side-"

She pauses as the doors squeal open and in he strolls.

Father Joel.

The room shifts around you, the air subtly changing, though you can’t quite explain how. In your mind he is not meant to be here. He is a figure of the pulpit, of hushed confessions and quiet authority. But here he is, rolling up his shirt sleeves like any other volunteer, stepping forward with that same steady warmth that unsettles you more than anything.

"Ladies," he greets, nodding to the group before his gaze lands on you. "Good to see you here."

“So wonderful to see you here, Father Joel,” your Nana says surprised.

"I hope y’all don’t mind if I join," Father Joel says, flashing a charismatic grin around the room. The women all give fluttering shakes of their head, their coos like the sound of a loving dove. You want to roll your eyes but hold it in.

“Of course not, Father,” Margaret gushes with delight, motioning to the space between the two of you. “Here, there’s a place right next to me.”

And you realize with an internal groan, right next to you. 

You hold your breath as he moves to stand beside you at the table. He’s taller than you, his profile striking when you spare a brief look his way.

“I didn’t think we’d see you tonight,” Margaret coos, the hampers on the table forgotten. “I thought the schedule said you would be at that seminar in Round Rock?”

Joel shifts his broad frame to look over to her, his shoulder bumping yours in the process. You pull back instinctively, your face twisting in irritation.

“Decided to skip it,” he murmurs. “Feel’s hypocritical to go to a meeting about volunteering in churches and then not do it with mine.”

The others, especially the older women, beam at him, their fondness apparent. Even your Nana brightens, sending you a look as if to say, See? Isn’t he lovely?

Margaret goes on to explain how the assembly like will work. Each partnered couple will place their items in the hamper and slide it to the next. Not rocket science and not all that interesting to you.

“You wanna partner up?”

Joel’s voice is low and warm, surprising you. You glance up to see him watching your face, his gaze unreadable. You shrug, aiming for nonchalance.

“Sure.”

His lips twitch, as though he’s suppressing amusement.

As the assembly line forms, you and Father Joel work quietly with one another packing canned goods, stacking boxes, ensuring each bag is filled evenly. You don’t speak much at first, but as the rhythm of work settles in, the stiffness eases.

The rhythmic sound of cans clinking together echoes softly in the church hall as you and Father Joel work side by side, your hands moving with practiced precision yet the air between you feels thick.

“So when did you move back here?” His voice is low, warm, the kind that lingers in the air like sunlight catching in a morning fog.

His eyes, steady and searching, don’t demand a response, but you feel them on you, and the question hovers between you like a weight.

You barely glance at him, a small shake of your head as you clip your reply, “A few months ago.”

There’s no elaboration, no invitation to know more, but his quiet persistence doesn’t let the silence stretch too long. He tilts a little closer ever so slightly, though not intrusively as he grabs the loaf of bread and tosses it into the bag.

“And how long will you be stayin’?”

He asks it gentle, measured, as though testing the waters of your reluctance.

You catch yourself for a fleeting moment, considering your words. You are tethered here only by the tenuous thread of your grandmother’s hope, but saying it out loud feels too raw. Too much of the truth for a conversation like this.

“I don’t know,” you murmur, your voice softer now, the edge dulling, just a little.

 Your hands hover over the pile of cans, arranging them with deliberate slowness. He nods, as though expecting nothing more, but there's an underlying note of quiet understanding in his gaze, something that makes you feel seen, not as a stranger or an outsider, but as a woman wrestling with more than she cares to admit.

You continue your work, and the rhythm settles again between you, but this time it’s different. The silence is not heavy with judgment or discomfort; it’s simply the space where things are left unsaid, and yet, in that space, you feel a strange kind of ease. He is warm in his presence, steady but not overbearing. He does not pry, does not push. And somehow, that makes it easier.

Father Joel’s hands pause over the cans, his eyes flicking to you with a glimmer of mischief.

“You know,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a soft chuckle, “I’ve always wondered why canned peas seem to find their way into every single hamper. Are they some kind of universal cure-all?”

His question hangs in the air, lighthearted, inviting a spark of humor. The corners of your lips twitch before you can stop them, the tension from before starting to loosen just a fraction. You meet his eyes briefly, the briefest flicker of amusement passing between you like a secret. It’s the first time you’ve truly relaxed since you walked into the room, and for some inexplicable reason, you find yourself responding just a little.

“You’d think they were the holy grail of vegetables,” you reply, your voice quieter, but with a touch of playful sarcasm you hadn’t intended to let slip.

You almost laugh but bite it back, letting only the slightest exhale of amusement pass, the sound surprising you more than him, but the way he smiles at you genuinely and without a hint of mockery makes it feel like you’ve been let in on some quiet, shared joke.

For a moment, you forget to guard yourself, and the weight of everything else; your past, your doubts, your walls, lightens just a little.

 He chuckles in return, a sound that resonates deeper than you would expect. You don’t know why, but the way he’s looking at you now, as though you’ve just cracked open the door to something more, unsettles you. Still, you let it linger, this small shift, this brief connection.

Until Margaret decides she’s had enough.

"My, my," she says, her voice too loud, too pointed as she curls around Joel to look your way, like the serpent testing Adam. "Look at you two, workin’ together so well. It’s lovely to see.”

Joel gives a brief nod by way of reply as he places the large ham into the hamper, his eyes focused on the task. You don’t bother looking over from what you’re doing, your mind elsewhere.

“It’s so nice to have new folks pitchin’ in, helping others.”

You glance over with your hands stilling over the box of pasta you were about to place in the hamper. You know that tone. It is the tone of a woman looking for a crack to widen a wound to press.

Joel, however, remains perfectly composed. “She must take after her Nana.”

“You’re right about that!” Your Nana laughs at the end of the table, her face pinking delightedly. “Now if y’all will excuse me, I’m gonna go powder my nose.”

Nana gives a soft grunt as she pushes herself from her chair. You watch her hunched form move out of the kitchen, her cane tapping away until it diminishes altogether.

As the assembly line continues to take shape, the older ladies hum in quiet conversation, their hands moving with an ease that comes from years of doing this work.

“It really is so lovely to have you here,” Mrs. Clifford says from across the table, her upper lip wet with sweat. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman.”

The words linger in the air longer than you’d like, hanging like delicate threads of praise that you’re not sure how to untangle. A flush creeps up your neck, your cheeks burning beneath the weight of it.

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table from the older women. You feel your face heating uncomfortably and you hunch your shoulders as you mutter out your thanks.

You clear your throat, shifting uncomfortably as you glance down at your hands, suddenly aware of their slowing movements of the way the air feels heavier around you. That familiar, awkward feeling stirs inside you, but it’s quickly followed by something else, something more guarded, a prickling sense of self-consciousness.

Your eyes flicker over to Father Joel, his body close enough that you can feel the subtle shift of his presence beside you. Is he thinking the same thing as they are? Does he see it, too? Your breath catches in your throat, but you force your gaze back down to the hamper in front of you, unsure of how to move past the sudden vulnerability that has overtaken you.

The question hangs there, unspoken, but you feel it, his proximity, the quiet energy between you, the way his hand brushes just slightly against yours as you both reach for another can. You wonder if he notices it, too, or if it's only you who feels the fluttering pulse of something unexpected.

Margaret’s sharp gaze never strays far from you, her eyes glinting with a predatory watchfulness. She’s been hovering at the edge of your conversation, and as you and Father Joel continue working side by side, her attention shifts toward you with a kind of deliberate timing, as though she’s been waiting for just the right moment.

Her mouth, always tight, curves into a too-sweet smile as she curls around Father Joel to gaze at you like the serpent tempting Adam.

“The rest of us so little about you,” Margaret offers.

“Not much to know,” you say quickly.

You think you feel Joel’s eyes on your profile but you don’t give into your curiosity to make sure.

Margaret tilts her head, her smile polished to a gleam. “I never asked you at the potluck. What is it you do for work, dear?” she asks, her voice thick with the kind of saccharine interest that makes your stomach twist.

You hesitate. Not for long, but long enough for her and the other women to notice. The truth isn’t something you parade around town, especially not in a place like this, surrounded by insincere platitudes and old morals.

“I’m a writer,” you say carefully, hoping that will be enough to placate her today. “Or, I was a writer. I don’t really write anymore.”

Joel makes a noise of interest, but you barely notice because Margaret’s eyes have lit up with something that isn’t quite delight.

“Oh, how wonderful! We don’t get many writers around here. What do you write?”

The words are laced with meaning and the way she says it, so innocent and dripping in false politeness that it makes your skin prickle. She knows damn well what you used to write.  

You clear your throat, shifting your weight as another bag of rice goes into the hamper. “Romance,” you admit, keeping it clipped. “I used to write romance novels.”

You feel the temperature rise in your chest, your pulse quickening, as Margaret continues, her words laced with a thinly veiled edge. Her smile deepens, just a fraction.

“Oh, I thought so.” She folds her hands primly in front of her. “I remember hearing about your books a few years back. You did quite well for yourself, didn’t you?”

Your fingers tighten around the loaf of bread you package. You did do well for yourself back when sales were strong, before marriage, before the messy divorce that left you too drained to write anything that didn’t feel like pulling teeth.

“One book. Yeah.” You raise your head to give Mrs. Clifford a warm smile. “Mrs. Clifford, could you pass me the-“

“I remember hearing about it,” Margaret continues with a little giggle to herself, the sound like nails on a chalkboard.

Father Joel’s posture stiffens beside you as Margaret’s gaze flicks to the other ladies, who are now listening with curious interest, like hens pecking at a scrap of gossip.  Her voice lowers dramatically, but not so low that everyone can’t hear.

“It was similar to that… Twenty Shades book, right?”

You want to shrink, to disappear, but instead, all you can do is stand there, feeling the sting of her words like an open wound being scraped raw. You can’t reply.

Margaret’s expression is all warmth on the surface, but there’s a glint in her eyes, a quiet triumph, like she’s just coaxed a confession out of you without ever having to ask. “You must let us know if you ever write something… more wholesome,” she adds, her smile never wavering.

Margaret’s thin smile widens, but you catch the faintest flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. She’s relishing this, the discomfort she’s causing, the way your past is spilling into the present, tainting everything.

You feel the heat of Joel’s body press a little too close as he shifts, his hand hovering near the edge of the hamper. When you finally raise your eyes Father Joel is watching you. Not with pity. Not with amusement. Just... watching. Waiting to see how you will respond.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hands over the table. Then, with deliberate ease, you pick up the pasta, drop it into the hamper, and meet Margaret’s gaze head-on.

 “Sure, Margaret. I’ll be sure to do that.”

“Wonderful,” she says about to say something to Sadie across from her when you cast your own syrupy grin her way.

“But it’s nice to know you enjoyed my book,” you say, voice light, lilting, just enough of a smirk curling at the edge of your mouth.

She stops dead in her tracks, her pale eyes widening as she stares at you. “P-Pardon me?”

“You mentioned knowing my book,” you say with a casual air of indifference. You place the can of green beans into the paper bag. “So I just figured you were a fan of my work.”

Margaret’s face is pink and splotchy. From your peripherals you think you see Joel’s mouth twitch into a suppressed smirk under his facial hair.

“I don’t… I don’t read dirty books,” she says the last two words in a whisper. You’re gratified to see her face has turned a deep maroon. It takes everything in you not to laugh out loud.

“Oh, I see,” you give her a thoughtful look. “So then you’re just a fan of me.”

A pause. A beat of silence. And then Father Joel laughs. It’s not a chuckle, not a restrained, polite sound. It’s a full, rich laugh, genuine in a way that sends heat curling through your chest.

Margaret purses her lips, clearly un-amused but the other women chuckle as well, shaking their heads in amusement. Clearly Margaret is not the beloved figure she thinks she is. You watch as her polished face morphs and she gives a false giggle, something that feels like nails on a chalkboard.

“Oh you are so funny,” she says with a toss of her silky hair over one shoulder. “Just like your Nana. I bet the both of you just sit up there all alone in that big house laughin’ all day and night.”

Your smile and amusement dies in an instant and Margaret sees the change. Her eyes linger just a moment longer, as if savouring whatever small victory she thinks she’s won, before giving you a final, knowing smile and sweeping her gaze away toward the other women.

Father Joel takes a slow breath, his gaze soft but steady as he turns toward Margaret. His voice, when he speaks, is gentle, almost paternal in a way that carries weight without needing to raise itself.

“Today I was thinkin’ about this weeks homily,” he begins, his tone calm and measured as he continues to work on the hamper. “There’s a verse in the Bible, from Proverbs 16:24, that says, Gracious words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones. It reminded me that the words we speak can either lift someone up or tear them down.”

His eyes shift briefly toward you, though he’s careful to keep his focus on the group as a whole, ensuring no one feels singled out. “It’s wonderful to know how words have this powerful ability to soothe or hurt.”

His words hang in the air, thoughtful, but not reprimanding.

"A kind word is a sweet thing, like honey in the heart," he says as he smiles, the corners of his plump mouth softening with understanding, but his gaze never wavers from the group.

“I don’t recognize that verse,” Mrs. Clifford says softly.

“That’s alright Helen, it’s because it’s not from the Bible. It’s from a poem. "A Garden of Peace by John Masefield.”

With one final glance around the table, he lets the silence linger for just a moment longer before turning his attention back to the task at hand. “Now, shall we get back to building these hampers, so we can spread some of that sweetness around.”

There’s no accusation in his tone, no judgment, only a quiet reminder of the grace that should guide their words and yours. A flutter of soft laughter like the wings of a butterfly sounds around the table, the tension broken as busy hands get back to the task in front of you. You don’t bother looking over at Margaret.

He tilts your way, shoulder against yours only now you don’t pull away. You accept it, your hands busy working. At this closer distance you observe he smells incredible. Something clean, fresh, with a whisper of something deeper. Sandalwood, maybe. It clings to him, just as the hint of warmth from the night air lingers on his skin.

You hate that you notice. You hate that the sight of him, sleeves pushed up, forearms dusted with fine hair, does something strange to your stomach. Unaware of your inner turmoil Joel leans just slightly closer, voice lowered so only you can hear.

"You think you’ll consider comin’ to Mass on Sunday if I bring canned peas? They are the holy grail of vegetables after all."

[shotanzz]

wonbin's ideal type based on astrology pls

WONBINS IDEAL TYPE based on astrology

(I just wanted to remind you that this is for fun and astrology is something I study as a hobby, these are all inferences based on observations and not facts unless I knew him myself !!)

Physical Appearances: Honestly the crazy thing is that both I and other readers whether it was astrology, tarot, or intuitive reading have gathered that Wonbin's type isn't hyper-specific look-wise or is vv simple. He likes glass skin, a clean look, a slender silhouette, dark hair, and someone with a unique and darker or even emo style or choice of aesthetic. So almost like...a gender-bent him lowkey LMFAO. Outside of that there isn't much for physicality due to the fact Pisces Venus tend to like the idealistic and abstract attributes to a person rather than exact physical attributes. He might also like people that express themselves in a way thats "cool" or "different"

Personality: He loves people that create their own things and can tap into their artistic abilities. Could be into people who make their own music/choreos/paintings. Someone who's chill and mature but still has an extroverted fun side to them. He wants someone he practically has telepathy with..able to know and understand how he feels with just a look; and know exactly what to do to. His chart hints at him possibly having the issue of people being with him off of his looks and aesthetic alone and not his actual personhood and him just going along with it. He just wants someone to give a fuck about him in a genuine way and not superficially/just off his looks. Someone with a very comforting and loving aura that will be able to take care of him ultimately. A person who knows when to smother him in affection but not make him feel like he's drowning with the clinginess. Physical touch as a way to express emotions when words are too overwhelming would be ideal as well. Someone very easy going and doesn't hold grudges and can work through things. However he likes just a sprinkle of toxicity just a weeeee small bit.

Mentality/Values: Someone who has being empathetic and nurturing within their moral compass, Lets him take the lead in a traditional sense but is able to be independent if needed, someone who doesn't just sit there when problems arise and takes initiative to help, has all or nothing thinking in -genuine- relationships just like him.

Extras: Idk how to best word this but someone who isn't afraid to "be cute" 😭, despite wanting someone with a more unique type of style he might want someone that can still "match his fly", also likes people that aren't fake nice like please don't infantilize him or he'll lose it

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Authors Note: Remember a person's type is changeable and astrology is a blueprint not the final product ALSO Sohee as your boyfriend will be posted TMR !!

[cannimumsable]

yeah so if you genuinely don't know how to write an email instead of using chatgpt and getting something that 1: has a chance to just fucking suck (and potentially be noticeably AI) and 2: uses stolen content, ruins the environment and indicates to the gen-AI companies that you want more gen-AI bullshit that will steal things and ruin the environment, you can look up how to write an email or look up email examples. here's a website, here's another, here's the wikihow page (it's a bit shit but it does its job), here's a good one for formal emails, and here's an email I sent today (more examples under the cut):

something that's really annoying right now is that most websites are desperately trying to sell you their cool funky AI friend that can write the email for you, and look at me: you have to tell it to go fuck itself (in your head, don't use it). this isn't about you being a moron for not being about to write an email, I struggled with it for a while too, I still do sometimes, writing emails notoriously sucks. gen-AI sucks more.

also, this might not be the case for everyone, but please at least try to learn how to write the email before using chatgpt, it will help you forever. if you have a question about emails or if you're not sure how to write one specific email, you can send an ask: I'm not all-knowing but I'll do my best to help.

I can mostly help for college/high school levels and I am studying in a French school, so the codes may not be exactly the same, but I am in fact being taught by English speakers, sometimes native ones.

I'll give more general advice at the end, but here are a few examples of emails I would send.

If there's even a small chance of your teacher not recognizing you, write at the top something like "I am Name Last name, I am in your X-Y-Z class on Mondays from 8AM to 9AM". This isn't too useful in high school because your teachers likely know you, but in college your teachers might not. This will give them context.

Do your best to avoid typos or grammar errors. Reread your email, especially if the teacher is a language teacher.

Be polite, always, unless the teacher explicitly specified they don't care.

You do not need to beg for anything, don't debase yourself, and if a teacher makes you debase yourself, report them. You shouldn't have to beg for something that you ask for in an email. (so no more than one please per email, and avoid this one please if possible).

If it's possible and safe for you, prefer discussing important matters IRL.

Remember who you're talking to. Is the teacher strict or chill? Younger or older? Are they a white abled man or a Black disabled woman? Are they very into "respect the teacher!!" or do they put themselves at your level? Are you a 15 y/o high school student or a 20 something college student? Is this teacher familiar with you? Have they been understanding in the past? etc.

Generally, despite all my warnings above, a simple polite email will be fine with most teachers. If you're not sure how to identify the above possibilities or how to alter your emails depending on them, just write a formal, polite email (like seen above).

Some universities have online courses that teach you how to write emails. If there is a web-type course in your university and you can take it, take it.

Mine has one. I hate it. They defined a tweet as a "post on a blogging platform". I have to complete it or I don't pass. It still has a good tutorial for writing emails. You are lucky in the sense that emails are like the basic thing that even the boomer teachers know how to do (even if they don't like doing it), so there are a lot of resources for people who haven't written emails yet and need to learn.

If possible, ask your teacher at the start of the year what email to contact them with - if you're lucky, they'll say things about what kinds of emails they want.

If you're lucky still, someone else will send a shit email and the teacher will make a point during the class to remind how to write a proper email.

I put "Dear name" everywhere, but if it's not an extremely formal setting, some teachers will be fine with a "Hello". If you're not sure of the receiver's gender, use their title (Dr. etc).

For the extension: sometimes teachers aren't allowed to give you an extension or are assholes who don't want to give you an extension. In that case, don't bother writing another email (again: don't beg. + it will make them dislike you which you don't want).

This works more in work settings, but I read once that it's good to say "I will be taking a day off" rather than "May I take a day off/is it possible to take a day off". Just say that it's going to happen.

Know your rights. I can't know them for you. Figure out what the teacher can and cannot do through legal documents on your school's website or whatever. Know your rights depending on your state or country.

If you have a bad memory and don't want to have to look up how to write an email everytime, open your notes app or your blocknote or any preferred place to take notes and write down the important. I'd advise to note common greetings, subjects, opening and closing lines. Same for your teachers, if you need to remember which one is a bitch and which one is chill, write their name down with a description.

[stalkingthenet333]

Hey! Love how you write Gaz, he's just so pretty no one would imagine him being that possessive.

Can I request a nsfw A to Z, please??

YEEEEES!!! I'm assuming you wanted a Yandere! Gaz related one so that's what I did!:) (I did take forever with this request because this version of Gaz is scratching an itch in my head I didn't know I had LOL)

A - Affection: How affectionate are they during sex? Is it different with people they're romantically involved with? Can they sleep with people they aren't?

Gaz isn’t the type to engage in anything casual, especially not when it comes to intimacy. To him, affection isn’t just about the physical act. It's about possession. When he is with someone, every touch, every kiss, every moment is laced with an undeniable sense of control. He doesn’t just give affection; he demands it, expecting his partner to be completely his, body and soul. And for Gaz, there is no distinction between intimacy and ownership. It isn’t a casual fling—it's a declaration. If he let someone into his bed, they were no longer just a person in his life. They were his. No one else would ever touch them, and no one else would ever come close. He isn’t the type to sleep with people he isn’t romantically involved with. To him, sex isn’t just about physical release—it's about control, marking his territory, and ensuring that his affection couldn’t be shared or stolen. To say he's possessive is an understatement. If someone isn’t emotionally tied to him, they’d never make it to that level. Anyone who tries would quickly feel the consequences. There is no space for others. Gaz isn’t one to play with hearts—or bodies—unless he's the only one allowed to claim them.

B - Body: Are they into a specific physique? Why or why not? Are they just preferences or complete turn offs?

Gaz isn’t the type to get distracted by superficial traits like body types or figures, but that doesn’t mean he’s without preferences. He’s not about the ideal body—he’s about the one body that he’s chosen to be with. When it comes to who he gets involved with, it’s less about conventional attraction and more about a deeper, more possessive need to own them. That body? It’s his. Every curve, every muscle, every inch of skin. And if they meet his standards, they’ll be marked, claimed—his obsession for them runs deep. But Gaz isn’t completely blind to physical attraction, though. He does have preferences: he likes strength, whether it’s toned muscles or a body that shows resilience. He’s drawn to confidence in the way someone carries themselves, the fire in their eyes, the fight they have. To him, someone who’s physically strong shows they can handle his intensity—and that they can belong to him without breaking under pressure. That being said, Gaz isn’t exactly turned off by certain physical types, but he does have his unwavering standards. If someone doesn't match the image he’s built in his head—if they don’t meet the unspoken, invisible line he’s drawn in his mind—it’ll be hard for them to even get close enough for him to consider them. At the same time, he’s possessive enough to care little for what others think. If someone is his, their body is his in every way, so he’s not going to let anyone disrespect it, or let someone else have it. Anyone who’s not meant for him doesn’t matter. But those he chooses? They’re perfect, just the way they are—because they belong to him.

C - Chatter: Do they like to talk during the act? If so, what do they like to talk about? Is it just dirty talk or something different?

He isn’t a fan of silence during intimacy. He likes to talk, but it’s not just dirty talk. It’s possessive, intense, and often laced with obsession. He’ll whisper in their ear, reminding them of how much they belong to him, how no one else can have them. His words aren’t just meant to turn them on. No, they’re meant to mark them, to keep them grounded in the reality that they’re his. He might say things like, “You’re mine. You know that don’t you?” or “No one else will ever touch you like I do.” His words are a constant reminder of his control, and the only thing he wants to hear back is their surrender, their acknowledgment that they belong to him. It’s not just about the act... it’s about possession, and his chatter keeps them trapped in that dynamic.

D - Dominance: Are they into those types of power dynamics? Or do they like to stick to who's topping and bottoming? If they are into it why? If they aren't why not?

Gaz thrives on dominance. For him, it’s never just about topping or bottoming, it’s about asserting complete control. He doesn’t care about labels; what matters is that he’s the one in charge, and his partner knows it. The power dynamic is essential. Gaz wants to be the one who decides everything, from when it happens to how it happens. He doesn’t want an equal partner; he wants someone to obey, to surrender fully to him. The idea of switching roles or giving up his position? Unacceptable. To him, it’s about total submission. It’s not about the physical act as much as it is about proving that he’s the one who dominates, and that’s something he can’t let go of. Control isn’t just a preference. To him, it’s a need, something he has to maintain to keep his obsessive hold on the person he’s with.

E - Erotica: Do they read or watch it? Does it get them in the mood? Do they create it themselves?

Gaz isn’t one to indulge in normal forms of erotica. He doesn’t need the fantasy to get him going. He already has a deep, obsessive connection to the person he’s with. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have his own twisted way of feeding his desires. He might not read or watch typical erotica, but he certainly has his own idea of what turns him on. His fantasies are dark and possessive, often revolving around control and marking what’s his. He doesn’t need someone else’s story; he creates his own. If he does indulge, it’s more likely to be something he can control, like videos or images that feed into his obsessive need to see his partner in a way that proves their devotion to him. Watching or reading anything that’s not about them? That doesn’t interest him. He’s only turned on by the idea of owning someone completely—anything that feeds that obsession is what truly gets him in the mood. And would he create it? Definitely. His own twisted fantasies are the only ones he cares about, and he’ll make sure they’re played out exactly how he wants, with no room for anyone else.

F - Food: Do they believe certain foods can be aphrodisiacs? If so what foods are like that for them? Do they like using food in the bedroom or is it too messy?

He doesn’t believe in aphrodisiacs in the traditional sense. For him, it’s not about what’s on the plate—it’s about what’s in his mind. Food isn’t what turns him on; it’s the power he has over the person he’s with. But, if he were to entertain the idea of using food, it would be more about control and how it’s used rather than the food itself. He’d want to feed them something sweet or indulgent, then take it away—just as he takes away their freedom. Maybe he'd offer something like chocolate, slowly feeding it to them, but with the underlying idea that he controls when they get it, when they eat. Or something spicy—something that burns, but he decides when they can relieve it. Food wouldn’t be about pleasure, but more about domination. As for using it in the bedroom, Gaz is more practical. He doesn’t care about the mess—it’s just another way to assert his control. He doesn’t mind making things messy if it serves a purpose, but it’s not a go-to for him. He’s more focused on the psychological game. It’s less about food, and more about the power behind it.

G - Group sex: Have they ever tried it? Would they ever want to try it if they haven't? If they don't enjoy it why not?

Oh, he definitely isn’t into group sex. The thought of sharing his partner is unacceptable. To him, intimacy is about possession—his partner is his, and no one else can touch them. If he ever tried it, it’d be out of a twisted desire to control, not for pleasure. But in the end, he’d hate it. Group sex means losing control, and that’s something he can’t stand. His obsession is all about exclusivity, and he’s not about to share what’s his.

H - Humiliation: Are they into it? Why or why not? How far will they go? Do they enjoy being de-humanized or is it more being made fun of?

Gaz isn’t into humiliation. Again, it’s about control. So, he is not into degrading someone or being made fun of. He wants his partner to submit, but never to feel worthless. He isn’t interested in being dehumanized either—his obsession is about owning, not being mocked.

I - Intensity: Do they like intense scenes? Or are they more a slow and take their time kind of person?

Gaz craves a balance of intensity and passion. He isn’t someone to rush through things, but when it’s time, he dives in headfirst, fueled by a need to possess and own. His moments are fiery and urgent, but there’s a lingering, almost possessive tenderness beneath it all. He wants to feel every inch of his partner, to make them feel the depth of his obsession... nothing’s rushed, but it’s never slow either. His passion burns hot, but it’s controlled, carefully building until it’s impossible to hold back. Every second is purposeful, and by the end, they’ll know they belong to him. Completely.

J - Jousting: Do they like having more than one object or person inside of them? If so, do they prefer toys or just multiple partners? Are they curious about it?

He might not be into multiple partners, but he does have a certain curiosity when it comes to using toys. It’s not about sharing the experience with anyone else—it’s about control. Toys let him push his partner’s limits while maintaining complete dominance over the situation. He’s fascinated by the idea of using something to enhance his power, but only if it’s his choice, his control. He enjoys the idea of making them feel pleasure, but on his terms, ensuring they’re reminded that everything revolves around him. Multiple toys? Maybe. But only as a means to further assert his dominance and keep them focused on him, never letting them slip away.

K - Kiss and Tell: Do they talk about their sex life to others? If they do, do they go into detail or are they more casual about it? Do they share photos with other people or are those private?

He also isn’t one to discuss his intimate life with others. His obsession is deeply personal, and sharing details would feel like relinquishing control. He might confide in someone he trusts, but only in the most guarded way, ensuring no vulnerability is exposed. As for photos, they're sacred—his partner's body is his alone to admire. Sharing such images would be a betrayal of that ownership. Gaz keeps his passions private, guarding them fiercely.

L - Licking: Do they enjoy using their tongue on their partners or is it too gross? If so, what are their favorite places to use their tongue?

Gaz doesn’t just enjoy using his tongue—he savors it. There’s something intimate, invasive, possessive about it that fuels the obsession simmering just beneath his calm surface. He loves the way you react when his tongue trails slowly along the side of your neck or flicks just behind your ear, claiming every sensitive spot he can find. But his favorite? Your lips—soft, warm, vulnerable—where he can steal every gasp, every plea. Your wrists come second, especially when you’re restrained. Every lick from him isn’t affection. It’s a warning: You’re his. And you’re not going anywhere.

M - Masturbation: Is it a part of sex for your muse? Or is it something completely different? Do they enjoy watching their partner or being watched?

For Gaz, it’s not just release—it’s ritual. When you're not around, it’s how he stays sane. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s never just about pleasure; it’s about you. Your voice. Your scent. The way you looked at him the last time he pinned you in place and whispered things no one else was allowed to hear. He’s obsessive with it. Being slow and calculated, muttering your name under his breath like a prayer. And watching you? That’s his favorite kind of torment. Whether you're teasing yourself or writhing under his stare, he drinks it in. But if you catch him watching, don’t expect him to stop. He wants you to know. Wants you to feel that gaze crawling over your skin. He wants you to realize that every second he spends alone, he’s thinking about ruining you all over again.

N - Nope: Do they enjoy orgasm denial or do they want to see how many times they can make their partner cum? Somewhere in-between?

Gaz lives for orgasm denial. It’s not just control—it’s ownership. He loves watching you beg, trembling on the edge, only to pull you back with a quiet, “Not yet.” He wants your release to belong to him, not you. And when he finally lets you cum? It’s only because he allowed it. You don’t get to finish. Because he decides when you’re done.

O - Open: Do they enjoy having things in their mouth? If so what are their favorite oral fixations? (fingers, toys, giving oral, etc.)

He loves having his mouth occupied, especially if it’s yours he’s wrapped around. Fingers, toys, your skin... he craves the taste, the claiming. But nothing compares to giving oral. He takes his time, savoring every twitch, every sound, like he’s memorizing you from the inside out. It’s not just pleasure. Oh no, it’s worship. Devotion.

P - Preference: Does size really matter to your muse? Whether it be for others or toys in general. Do they have a favorite type of toy they like to use? If so is it the same to use on other people?

Size? Irrelevant. Control is what matters to Gaz. Whether it’s his hands, a toy, or just the way he looks at you. He wants to overwhelm, not with size, but with intensity. His favorite toy? A slim, vibrating plug... easy to hide, impossible to ignore. He loves using it on you in public, watching you squirm while he stays perfectly calm. Quiet control. His favorite kind.

Q - Quiet: Do they enjoy trying to see how long their partner can last without making a sound? Do they enjoy loud or quiet partners?

Gaz adores silence, but only when he’s the one forcing it. He’ll challenge you with a hand over your mouth or a whispered, “Don’t make a sound,” just to see how long you can last. Every twitch, every stifled moan drives him wild. But when you finally do break and cry out? That’s his favorite part, because now he knows you’ve given in completely.

R - Risk: Are they into some risky kinks? (breath play, exhibitionism, blood play, etc.) If so, what are their favorites? Do they practice them safely?

Gaz thrives on danger. Breath play, bondage, exhibitionism—he loves the rush of pushing boundaries. His favorite? Breath play, the delicate balance of control and suffocation, making sure you can’t breathe but never letting you truly die. He practices with a twisted care, always keeping a fragile line between pleasure and peril, because losing you? That’s a risk he’s not willing to take… yet.

S - Suspension: Are they into being suspended like on a swing or during rope play? Or if not, what's the highest place they've ever had sex?

Gaz isn’t into being suspended himself... he prefers to see you suspended. The way your body hangs helpless, tangled in rope, unable to escape, it fuels his obsession. His favorite? Lifting you off the ground just enough to make you feel vulnerable, but still within his reach. The highest place he’s ever had sex? A secluded balcony, overlooking the city, he loves knowing someone could see, but only if he lets them.

T - TMI: Your opportunity to talk about any dirty thing you want to talk about with your muse. Could be kinks they like or just facts.

He clearly likes the idea of having full control over your pleasure and your pain. His biggest turn-on? The sound of your voice cracking when he pushes you to your limit. It’s a reminder that he decides when you break. And when you do? He gets a little thrill from knowing no one else could ever make you feel the way he does.

U - Underwear: Do they enjoy lingerie or dressing up for their partner? Or is it too much of a hassle? Favorite garments to wear? Do they ever go without underwear?

Gaz isn't the type to flaunt or get caught up in the elaborate things. He actually enjoys the simplicity of everyday life. When it comes to underwear, he prefers comfort over anything else. Boxers or briefs? He doesn’t care much, as long as they’re practical. What’s unexpected is that he’s oddly protective over the idea of you wearing something special for him, nothing too extravagant, just something that makes you feel desired. It might surprise you, but he gets satisfaction in the softer, more tender moments, those little gestures, the way you look at him shyly when you know he notices. He’s not just about power; he’s about keeping you close and secure. And the truth is, sometimes he’ll forgo underwear completely, because if you're both close enough, that’s all that matters. There’s no need for anything else.

V - Violation: Are there any kinks your muse flat out won't do or even people they know? Are bringing them up enough to turn your muse away from a potential partner for good? Any pet names get them like that?

Gaz doesn’t tolerate certain things. For him, violation isn’t just physical, it’s anything that feels disrespectful to him or the bond he believes he shares with you. Things like humiliation, forced acts, or anything that challenges his dominance in a way he sees as losing control? Those are complete no-go zones. He wouldn’t just shut it down; he’d shut you out. If someone even suggested those kinks around him, especially someone he’s with, it could turn him off for good. He’d feel betrayed, as if you didn’t understand the trust he places in you. As for pet names, he can be particular, like calling him anything too casual or too familiar in a way that doesn’t feel earned? That’s a quick way to make him withdraw. He wants to be the one who defines the terms, not be reduced to something cheap.

W - Water: Do they enjoy shower sex or anywhere else that's wet like a pool or hot tub? Is it too awkward?

Gaz loves shower sex, not for the heat, but for the closeness. The steam, the slick skin, the way there's nowhere to run? Perfect. He’s not a fan of pools or hot tubs... too public, too exposed. But the shower? Confined, controlled, his. And he enjoys pressing you against the glass, water pounding down, making it hard to think about anything but him.

X - X Ray: What's going on under your muse's clothes? Do they have any special scars or places they like to be touched or avoided? Describe their physique and anything else you'd like to expand on.

Under Gaz’s clothes is a body shaped by quiet discipline. Lean muscle, sharp lines, and tension he never really lets go of. He’s got a few scars, mostly hidden: one across his ribs, another small one near his collarbone... stories he doesn’t share unless he trusts you. He’s sensitive along his sides and behind his ears, but don’t touch his lower back without warning... he flinches, hard. Not out of fear, but reflex. His body may be controlled, but it’s always on alert. You’re one of the few allowed close enough to see where it softens.

Y - Yes: Do they have any specific turn ons? Things that will automatically make your muse say yes to sleeping with someone else. If not, what are some other things that get them in a more romantic mood? Lighting? Dinner?

He doesn’t say yes easily...and he doesn’t share. But when it comes to you, it doesn’t take much. Soft praise in a low voice, eye contact that lingers a second too long, or the sight of you wearing something just for him, that’s all it takes. Intimacy turns him on more than anything flashy. Low lighting, your voice in his ear, and the feeling that you're choosing him? That’s when he melts. That’s when he needs you. Only you.

Z - Zones: Favorite places they like to be touched? Are some less obvious than others? Any places they absolutely hate being touched?

Gaz is surprisingly reactive once you know where to touch. He loves when your hands slide over his hips or lightly graze the back of his neck—it grounds him, reminds him you’re real and his. A less obvious spot? The inside of his wrist. Press your lips there, and he’ll go still like you’ve just flipped a switch.

(Continuing what I said earlier-)

But touch his lower back without warning? He’ll tense immediately... feeling too vulnerable, too exposed. That part of him is off limits, unless you’ve already earned his complete trust.

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Hope you enjoyed! sorry it's so long and maybe not what you wanted wrote it with general reader in mind-

[fireflysymphony]

First Time Headcanons: Fyodor and Kunkida

MDNI 18+ content ahead

A/N: my motivation to write today wasn’t that high but please enjoy these short and sweet BSD headcanons!!

Word count: 1.4k

Content Warning: GN! Reader (descriptions of female anatomy and possible use of more feminine nicknames), corruption kink, oral (both parties receiving), mentions of breeding kink, orgasm denial, slapping, mentions of bondage and choking, praise, degradation, mentions of religion and using religion to manipulate, Fyodor is mean, soft Kunikida, not proofread, let me know if there’s anything else <3

Fyodor Dostoyevsky;

Firstly, this man has a definite corruption kink. The idea of having you first and ruining you for anyone else is his main motivation for taking you to the bedroom so fast. Of course, he’ll plant the idea of you two sleeping together into your head first with not so innocent accidental touches and passing comments, nothing too meaningful, right?

Also side note: if you’re not a virgin, he won’t believe you and tells you that “he’s the only one who’d ever want to be with someone like you let alone sleep with you.” Slowly, your previous sexual encounters start to feel like flukes because who would ever want to fuck someone as disgusting as you? You’re lucky Fyodor took pity on you!

Anyway, if his touches don’t get you to approach him on the topic of giving yourself to him for the first time, he’ll start making himself more obvious. You’re dense, so even if he’s blatantly up front about his needs, you wouldn’t get it. He takes to dropping lectures about how, according to god, it’s a partner's duty to give themselves over to the partner who is the provider, to relieve his stress whenever possible, and how can you fulfill your duty to him as his lover if you’re not giving him your everything, inside and outside of the bedroom? You must not care about him at all, maybe you weren’t the right choice for him. He could get anyone to be by his side, yet he chose you.

He’d even go as far as saying “if you refuse to do your job, I might have to get my satisfaction elsewhere, won’t I?” You can’t even tell if he’s lying or not.

No matter the method he used, you end up coming to his room, teary eyed from either how pent up you are or from feeling like you’ve failed him as a partner. But expect more degrading from him if you approach him because of “lustful urges.” How sinful you are for wanting to satisfy your desires. No matter, he’ll fulfill his duties as your lover accordingly.

So, onto the actual sex, Fyodor is a selfish and greedy partner normally, and it just gets worse when he has sex with you. Everything is for his own pleasure, not yours. He expects you to cater to him even if it is your first time. And he’s not gentle about it either. It’s your duty to serve him as he so often reminds you.

Fyodor sees sex as a further way to train you into being his perfect little lover which is why even on the first night you’re on your knees getting his cock shoved down your throat. Beforehand, he probably shoved his fingers down your throat to test your gag reflex before pushing you to your knees and using your mouth as his own personal fleshlight. He’s not even nice about it either…

“You’re already fucking crying? Use that tongue better. No… god you’re so useless, can’t even make me feel good without having me tell you how to do it…” He probably ends up slapping you if you do something he doesn’t like too.

The most lube you’ll get from him is his spit between your legs, or if he’s feeling more sadistic than normal, he’ll use your tears or just pound into you with no warning— during those occasions your screams of pain are what get him off most. During most rounds, you go until he cums unless he’s feeling generous.

Depending on his mood, he might not let you cum either. He sees release as a reward, and for a bitch like you who can barely take his cock down his throat, why would you deserve to cum? If he happens to be feeling generous, you’re allowed one orgasm which you’re required to clean up afterwards.

Speaking of afterwards, aftercare is nonexistent with him. Your first time he might act a little more lenient, but you’re still being trained after all. He won’t give you much, maybe a kiss on the forehead or a gentle massage before he’s ushering for you to go prepare a bath for him and then clean the sheets even if your ability to walk is limited.

Overall, Fyodor wants a doll more than a partner; someone who will listen to him unconditionally and do what he says. The only reason you haven’t been turned into an Ivan is because he finds the challenge of taming you the greatest thrill.

Doppo Kunikida:

Kunikida is similar to Fyodor in the sense that he has a bit of a corruption kink disguised behind strong morals. Unlike Fyodor though, he’s not interested in ruining you for anyone else. The notion of saving your first time for someone who you plan to stay with forever is just a more romantic sentiment to him. He's like a middle aged white man.

However, if you’ve had sex before, he won’t be too bothered since most people now don’t save themselves for marriage or even get married. It’s just one more ideal you don’t fit which is annoying, but he can’t stop loving you despite the 45 of 58 ideals you don’t fit. Maybe he needs to rethink that damned page. Back on topic, he tries hides his embarrassment towards you though. The idea that you’re more sexually experienced than him is frightening, and he’s scared to disappoint.

Luckily, he has six years to do his research! Dating until marriage gives you time to think over things like how to properly please your partner, and Kunikida has a strict six years until marriage agen- what… you want to sleep with him now? The poor man short circuits from the embarrassment and flusteredness he feels upon your request.

Whether you’re experienced or not, you’re going to have to approach Kunikida on the topic of intimacy. I doubt even when married he’d be able to face the subject at first. Whether or not you wait until your wedding night to do the deed, he’s like a robot who’s low on battery leading up to the events. On the outside, he looks like normal, stern Kunikida, but on the inside he’s panicky. What if you're dissatisfied with him in some way? Then what…

If you catch on to his internal panic or share any similar worries you have about this night, he might be able to calm down, and you guys take it slow for the night.

Kunikida slowly learns just how much he loves your body, mumbling praises about how beautiful/handsome you are. He’d never dare degrade you, the only things spilling from his lips are softly spoken praises and encouragement that you’re doing so well.

“You’re my good girl/boy, aren’t you?” “Yes, that’s right, just how I like it; you’re so breathtaking when you take me this well.” Etc.

After a few times together, he realizes just how much he loves giving you oral. His favorite position is when he’s on his knees while you’re either sitting or laying on the bed, just any position where he can look up and see all the facial expressions you make. He just likes to please you and will spend the majority of foreplay with his mouth between your legs. He’s not big on receiving oral since it just doesn’t get him off the same way giving it to you does, but if you’re insistent, he’ll let you give it to him.

Kunikida isn’t the most kinky lover and prefers to be more loving and gentle during sex, so most things like toys, degradation, etc. are kept out of his sexual arsenal. If you ask though, he’d be hesitant, but he won’t be opposed to choking you with his tie or tying you up with any soft ropes. He might not be into it, but seeing you happy and satisfied, as we’ve discussed, is his biggest kink. Under no circumstances, however, will he degrade, hit, spank, or choke you hard. That’s a big no-no for him no matter what.

Oh, did I mention that no matter what gender you are Kunikida has thought about breeding you? Well now I have. He’s too scared to bring it up, especially if you can actually get pregnant but do with that information what you will.

As for aftercare, out of all the characters in BSD, Kunikida is one of the best to go to. There’s a step by step guide both of you must follow, including a nice warm bath together and a sweet cuddle session. Kunikida takes notes on what he can do better.

Overall, a very sweet and caring partner who just wants you to feel the most pleasure he can give to you.

Requests are open <3

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 29

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 5946

Warnings: Dean being Dean, navigating being an empath, suggestive thoughts, longing, Fluff, Meeting Pamela (Yes, this is a warning), Bonding (This is something specifically for this AU. I do not see this as a "requirement" to fully connect to someone, but for this story, it is needed).

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 29

Waking up in his arms, wrapped in warmth and safety, was something you’d come to treasure. Dean was still sound asleep, his face softened by whatever peaceful dream he was lost in. His brow was unlined, lips parted slightly, and you couldn’t help but wish he could always look this at ease, free from worry.

With your arm over his waist, you felt the steady rhythm of his breathing, a comforting rise and fall that matched the quiet room. You wondered, not for the first time, what he might be dreaming about. Whatever it was, you hoped he could have dreams like them often if they brought him this sort of peace.

The soft darkness of your room hid the details of his face, but that didn’t matter. The comfort of your bed paled in comparison to the peace you felt lying there with him, feeling for once that nothing could reach you. You knew that today, the two of you were supposed to go meet this psychic, Pamela, and you had your reservations. 

Bobby wouldn’t have suggested seeing her if she couldn’t help, and you knew that. He trusted her, that much you could tell with how he talked about her the day before on the phone with you. Still, a flicker of apprehension settled in your mind—uncertainty about this “psychic” and what she might see in you.

Taking one last, quiet look at the man who was sound asleep and lost in some peaceful dream, you slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb him. Since he’d made coffee the day before, you would do that today. Your wrists still ached, but it wasn’t as bad as the first day. An almost annoying reminder of the ordeal you’d gone through only days ago. 

As you waited for the coffee to brew, and during your first cup, your mind wandered, curious and apprehensive about meeting this Pamela person. Bobby had explained that she was a friend of the family, and even knew the Winchesters but hadn’t seen the boys in years, before Dean graduated. You just weren’t sure how to feel about being around someone who called themselves a psychic. Was she an empath, like you? Did she have premonitions, and that was what she called being psychic? You weren’t sure.

“Someone’s lost in thought,” Dean’s voice, warm and slightly teasing, pulled you back. He leaned in the doorway, his hair still tousled, an easy smile tugging at his lips.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” you asked, meeting his gaze as he came closer.

He shook his head, reaching out to rest his hands on your hips. “Not on purpose,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss against your lips, the kind of kiss that made your heart skip a beat. 

When he pulled away, you looked up at him, feeling slightly puzzled, not understanding what he meant. He loved that confused expression of yours, the way your brows dipped down, your eyes narrowing, just a little, and you always tilted your head, just a bit. God, you’re adorable. You let out a small huff at his thought to you, which only made him smile wider. The warmth of his affection wrapped around you, and you couldn’t be mad at him.

“You’ve got a lot on your mind this morning, huh?” he asked, his tone a little playful but also a little serious. This was the first time your thoughts had pulled him from his dreams, worrying him slightly. 

“Did I actually wake you up?” you asked since he hadn’t answered you.

He nodded, his tone shifting to a gentler seriousness. “Yeah, kinda. Your thoughts… they just sorta pulled me awake.” His words sank in, making you wonder what all he’d heard or felt. Your mouth opened, about to apologize, but you quickly closed it and refused to think the word, which was utterly difficult. Hearing him chuckle at your momentary conundrum brought a pout to your lips. “I feel bad,” you mumbled, looking down and away from his gaze.

Dean’s thumbs rubbed slow, soothing circles on your hips, then brought one hand to your chin, gently tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Don’t,” he began in a soft whisper. “You have nothing to feel bad about. I’m in this with you, even if your thoughts wake me up at two in the morning.” He gave you one more tender kiss before pulling away to get himself some coffee. You knew he was right and it wasn’t like you’d done it intentionally. A sigh of resignation left your lips as you got another cup of coffee, joining him at the kitchen table. Your mind, just like Dean’s, was elsewhere, though.

Pamela had told him he’d find his soulmate, but he’d have to have more patience than he’d ever had in his entire life. At the time, he didn’t understand what she meant. Sitting across from you now, with everything that had happened, he couldn’t help the small smile that played along his lips. Pamela typically wasn’t direct when it came to the premonitions she told people. There were risks with that. She was good, though, and she was never wrong.

“How about I make us some breakfast, then we can head out,” Dean offered, breaking the silence that had settled between the two of you.

Looking up at him, you smiled slightly, then shook your head in mild amusement. “If you want. I also don’t mind just picking something up and eating on the drive.” “Yeah, but this way, I can focus on just driving instead of trying to eat, drive, and sneak glances at you,” he replied playfully, making you smile.

Dean made a simple breakfast for the two of you, which helped soothe the tension your thoughts had brought you earlier. Something about seeing and feeling his emotions when he cooked was different than other times, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. The two of you ate in mostly comfortable silence, with only light conversation. Dean knew you needed a distraction, or you would end up in your head again.

As with all the other times, Dean teased you ever so slightly when he helped you dress, but today, he brushed out your hair. It was a pleasant sensation, even if you were only used to having your aunt do that when you were little. Occasionally, his fingers would brush along the skin of your neck, sending goosebumps down your arms. He wasn’t ready to tell you how he knew Pamela, not yet. Plus, he was pretty sure she’d say something when the two of you got there. For now, he was enjoying hearing the thoughts you were desperately trying not to think about due to the light teasing he was doing while braiding your hair. Every time the word ‘tease’ drifted through his mind in that soft whisper, he just chuckled, looking forward to the day you were ready, so he could truly show you what teasing was.

The drive started out quiet, the familiar rumble of the Imapla’s engine and the early morning sun casting long shadows across the road. Dean had his arm draped casually over the wheel, the other between you two, fingers lightly tapping a rhythm against the leather seat. Every so often, he glanced over, a quiet warmth in his gaze. His thoughts whispered through your mind, You’re not alone in this.

After a while, he broke the silence. “Pamela’s place isn’t far. She lives on the outskirts of the town. I guess it has to do with her physic thing, not being able to be around people. It’s kinda cozy, like a mix between a library and a crystal shop.”

You laughed softly at the mental image, trying to imagine someone who could be a psychic and a grounded friend. “So, any other advice for meeting her? What’s she like?” Dean’s lips quirked up. “She’s, uh… well, let’s say she’d got a bit of a mouth on her. Don’t be surprised if she cracks a joke or two about us. But she’s got a good heart, even if she’s blunt as hell.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, already feeling a bit more at ease. Maybe meeting this Pamela person wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Perhaps she really could help, and she sounded like someone you might be able to get along with. At least now, you weren’t nearly as tense as you had been, and Dean was thankful for that.

About an hour or so later, Dean was parking in Pamela’s driveway, and your nerves seemed to be getting to you again. He sighed, feeling your anxiety tighten around his chest as he opened your door. “Breathe. She doesn’t bite.”

“I can’t help it,” you mumbled, leaning against him as he draped his arm over your shoulders and pulled you close.

The two of you walked up the few steps onto the porch, but before Dean could knock, the door swung open. Pamela stood there,  her initial smile shifting to a raised eyebrow, like she’d seen something neither of you two did. “You two haven’t bonded yet?” she asked bluntly, seeing the incomplete connection between you.

Dean just chuckled at Pamela’s bluntness, though he wasn’t entirely sure what she meant with her statement. “Nice to see you too, Pam,” he replied, his tone light.

Pamela gave him a quick, assessing once-over before turning to you. Her sharp eyes sparkled, but behind them, there was a glint of familiarity and warmth, as if she’d known you long before you ever stepped foot on her porch. She’d seen you in several premonitions over the years, even before you were born, but seeing you now, standing there, made it hard to keep her tears away. “You must be the one Bobby told me about,” she said with a soft smile, even though it wasn’t the whole truth.

Taking a calming breath, you nodded. “He said you could help me with the whole empath and premonition thing,” you replied, trying to get your anxiety under control. “But, what did you mean by we haven’t bonded?” Pamela let out playful laughter at your question. She’s still innocent. “Sex, honey. You two haven’t had sex yet.” And with that, she turned on her heel, heading inside, leaving the door open for the two of you to follow.

Your jaw nearly hit the porch at her bluntness while your cheeks turned a bright red in embarrassment. Dean attempted to hide his faint discomfort, clearing his throat before taking your hand. “Sorry. I tried to warn you she was blunt,” he told you apologetically, then left a quick kiss on your cheek before leading you inside.

She was sitting in her living room, relaxing in a recliner opposite a plus-looking couch. Pamela gestured for the two of you to take a seat as she sipped her coffee. “Alright, down to business,” she began, leaning forward and setting down her coffee cup. “I can help you, but until the two of you fully bond, these will only partially work.” 

That blush crept right back into your cheeks, and you glanced away, trying to avoid meeting her gaze. Pamela looked over at Dean, studying him, opening herself up to feel both your emotions. She needed to understand more, the things neither of you were saying, the things her premonitions never included. 

Pamela was able to feel both your current emotions, but she went deeper, like following a thread along a winding path. She had already seen several of the things you’d been through in your life, including the car accident your parents were in. Something else was holding you back; she just had to find it. It was the one thing that always evaded the premonitions she had about you.

Dean gave your hand a gentle squeeze, pulling your gaze to him. I’m right here, Sweetheart. His whispered words in your mind, a quiet warmth settling over your nerves. You scooted closer to him, leaning into his side as he held you close. It’s okay, he thought to you, trying to soothe the wave of emotions rolling through the connection. Goosebumps went down Pamela’s arms as a chill found her spine. You accomplished things you shouldn’t have without bonding with your soulmate. She drew in a shaky breath. “Honey, lemme see your hand,” she asked softly; all playfulness gone now, and it sent a chill through you. You looked over at her, a little puzzled. Pushing past your worry, you hesitantly held out your other hand for her. Pamela moved to sit on her coffee table in front of you, preparing herself for what she knew would come through the contact. She took a slow, deep breath before taking your hand in both of hers. 

As soon as her hands touched yours, an intense wave of emotion crashed over you, her gaze turning distant, almost as if she were seeing something beyond the room. Her eyes shifted, focusing on things only she could see, and her expression grew strained as she glimpsed more pieces of your past, things that her promotions hadn’t included.

The silence stretched as Pamela’s grip tightened slightly. Then, she exhaled slowly, her gaze clearing as she looked back at you with something close to awe. “You’ve been through more than most,” she murmured; her words carried something raw and empathetic. “But there’s something holding you back… keeping you from bonding completely with Dean.”

Dean held you close, his jaw tightening as Pamela continued. Her words had shifted the room’s energy entirely, and he wanted to be sure you were ready for whatever came next. He also felt almost helpless, unable to do more than hold you. That was when Pamela placed one of her hands just above his knee, causing him to jump at the sudden contact.

Pamela’s eyes glossed over, like she had gone into a trance. “Stay in the bunker. Three days past Dean’s birthday, don’t leave. Call Crowley two days before Dean’s birthday. You’ll know what to tell him,” her voice sounded distant, but the words scared the hell out of you. 

The chill in her voice raised the hair on your arms. Your stomach dropped at her cryptic words, the weight of something unseen pressing down. Whatever she’d seen seemed to ripple through her and you wondered if you’d ever reach the ability level she had. However, it also scared the hell out of you.

She saw far more but couldn’t reveal anything else, knowing it could make too many other things permanent. Slowly, Pamela let go of your hand, also withdrawing her hand from Dean. You couldn’t control how your body began to shake the moment she let go. 

“It’ll be okay. Alright?” she told you softly, closing herself off like she had learned how to do so long ago. Your life truly had been one of hardship, a living nightmare that no one should have to go through. But soon, all that would be behind you. She could only give you so much. You would have to do the rest.

“Geeze, Pam,” Dean bit out, holding you tighter as he felt your body shake, and the frustration rising in his voice.”You were supposed to help her, not scare the shit out of her.”

Pamela sighed, returning to her recliner. “Look, I don’t always have control over when I get premonitions, alright? Just… be there for her over the next week and a half. And neither of you are to leave the bunker, for any reason,” it was the only warning she could give them, not wanting to speak what she’d seen out loud. Premonitions were odd in that way. If too much was said, it could solidify what was seen, and never in a good way. She’d seen it happen. It was how she had lost her soulmate, and you were the reason she was still alive. But she couldn’t tell you that either; it would have been too much right now.

The weight of her words had you in a mild state of shock for the moment. It was a lot: the emotions that had flooded through you, the way your memories had flashed quickly through your mind, and then there had been what Pamela had said. Right now, you were just doing your best not to freak out. Pamela knew your nerves were shot; she had felt it before she closed herself off. So, she headed into her kitchen, pouring you almost half a glass of whiskey. Two or three shots wasn’t going to be enough, and it wasn’t like you were driving.

“Here, hon, this’ll help,” she said gently as she held the glass out for you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, taking the glass, which shook slightly in your grasp. Wrapping both hands around it, you managed to steady the glass, then hissed at the burn in your throat after taking a sip. Dean kept his arm around you, his hand resting on your shoulder, his thumb tracing small, absentminded circles. He didn’t know how to help this time, not with something so far beyond his reach.

For a while, silence filled the room, giving you time to sip the whiskey and settle your nerves. You couldn’t even form a complete thought before another one began, and then the same would happen to that one as another one quickly tried to take its place. Dean did the only thing he could think of, the only thing that felt right, and that was holding you close while also trying to calm his emotions, which felt like a whirlwind.

Halfway through your drink, you finally took a decent breath, even if it was shaky, and looked over at Pamela. You still had questions, but her words had brought more. “Dean mentioned that premonitions don’t work like I think they do. So, how do they work?” 

Pamela knew this question was coming, she’d seen it, as well as others. “Well, like with your first nightmare, it’s sometimes hard to know what the consistent is, the thing that won’t change.” She began, wanting to find just the right way so you could understand. “In your nightmare, you were taken. In real life, you were taken. Nothing else in the nightmare mattered as none of the other stuff happened.” “That’s frustrating,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to Dean before taking another sip of the whiskey.

She watched you for a moment, reading the two of you like a book. “Your fear. It’s what’s holding you back from everything. You’re afraid of losing him. I get it. Fear has literally been the one thing in your life that you can’t seem to get past. I know this is easier said than done, but if you don’t take that leap of faith, fear will ruin your life.” You felt that knot in your stomach as she spoke, knowing she was right. Dean thought he was going to be sick with what flooded through the connection. It was far more intense than other times he’d felt your fear in the past, like someone had opened the floodgates. “Bathroom is down the hall, second door on the right,” Pamela told him, her eyes on you, and Dean bolted down the hallway.

“What happened?” you asked, puzzled as Dean disappeared.

Pamela sighed, knowing she couldn’t just give you everything. “Fear can be a wonderful motivator or a crippling monster. You’ve been living with fear most of your life, so to you, it’s just part of who you are and how you see the world. But, to someone like Dean, what feels like a small knot in your stomach is ten times more intense because he’s lived with hope.” Those goosebumps found your skin and proceeded to dance along every hair slowly. Then, you furrowed your brow in confusion, setting the mostly empty glass on the table. “No. I just haven’t hoped for anything. It’s not the same,” you tried to explain, but all she did was chuckle.

“Kid, fear is what dashes hope. With all the events of your life, your hopes have been crushed, repeatedly. You don’t see it as being afraid, by not hoping for things. But that’s not how it works. I know you’re afraid of going all the way with Dean. I know you’re afraid that you’ll lose him after doing so, and that, in the end, you’ll be more alone than you’ve ever been,” she explained, her tone soft, even if her words twisted at your gut and brought back the anxiety in your chest. “Yes, you accepted him as your soulmate, but that only connects your mind and soul. Once you fully bond with him, things will smooth themselves out. It’s a giving of yourselves that’s intimate, far deeper than just a physical act. Because of the connection the two of you already have, it’s going to be intense when it happens, but in a good way,” Pamela added softly, trying to give that flicker of hope in you a little more of a nudge.

There were a lot of people who had wanted to argue as to how bonding worked, but Pamela knew the truth. She’d been through it once and had chosen to remain single after losing her soulmate, to never bond with anyone again. Changing the way “the system” saw things was always hard, but at least there were some things they had finally begun to truly look at.

You looked down at your hands in your lap. “How do I get over it?” you asked quietly.

Pamela moved to sit next to you, putting her arm over your shoulders and tugging you a little closer. “It’s called a leap of faith for a reason, hon. Stop being afraid of living life to its fullest with a man who would walk through hell to get to you. I know you want to surprise him on his birthday with it. I also know he’d wait forever for you. Stop being afraid.” 

There was something in the softness of her voice, the way she spoke, that calmed you similarly to how Dean’s presence did. Just mentally considering what she was suggesting made your anxiety spike. Pamela just held you like she had been, shielding Dean from an onslaught of emotions she knew he couldn’t handle in his current state.

Normal people felt emotions on a normal level, like those who hadn’t gone through highly traumatic experiences. Even those who had, as long as they weren’t empaths, they still only felt emotions on a normal level. An empath who had a wounded soul felt emotions so profoundly that it was too much for any normal person to understand, let alone feel. Dean was unique, as he had been able to handle your emotions, at least until your true fear had slipped through the connection. On top of that, the fact that the two of you hadn’t fully bonded, had Pamela utterly intrigued.

When Dean finally made his way back out to the living room, he was looking a little green around the gills, and you offered him an apologetic smile. “I’ll be alright, Sweetheart. Just not used to your emotions being that intense,” he told you with a smile just before a burp slipped out, due to his recovering stomach.

“After you two finally have sex, it’ll be easier,” Pamela pipped in, making you blush and Dean grumble a little. Then she turned to you, “Think about what I said, hun.” Her tone was soft, like earlier, soothing your emotions further. She kissed you on the temple before she went over to Dean, leaning close to his ear while you zoned off a little.

“She’s gonna be okay. Both of you are. Just do what I said, and things will turn out like you’ve been hoping for,” she whispered as Dean tried to keep his expression stoic, when inside, he was almost as happy as the day you accepted him as your soulmate.

Dean’s eyes were on you, taking in your slightly slumped posture, your far-off gaze, and all he wanted to do was take away every horrible thing you were going through. “I’m gonna take her home. Thanks, Pam,” he replied gratefully before going over to you.

You jumped a little when he set his hand on your shoulder. “You ready to head home?” Puzzled, you looked up at him. “But, what about how to deal with other people’s emotions?” 

Pamela chuckled as she sat back in her recliner. “It’s fairly easy. Picture a bubble around you. When you want to let other people’s emotions in, imagine the bubble thinning or going away completely. When you want to keep other people’s emotions out, just picture that bubble around you. It’ll take practice, but that’s the easiest one I can give you to start with.”

Well, it sounds simple enough.

“Thanks,” you sighed, glancing down at the last shot of whiskey, debating drinking it. Before you could even ask your next question, she spoke again. “As for the premonition thing. Only time and practice will help you understand what the constant is, the thing that won’t change. Once you find balance, understanding your premonitions will get clearer.”

The entire ride back with Dean was silent, as you were lost in your thoughts, trying to piece it all together. Feeling how you pulled back, like you were closing yourself off, all Dean could do at the moment was give you space. The whiskey had not only settled your nerves but had also seemed to calm your thoughts far more than they had been back at Pamela’s.

You really did have a ton of questions, but none of those felt like they mattered at the moment. Your thoughts were now only on what had happened back at Pamela’s and everything she had said. It wasn’t so much Pamela’s premonition that was on your mind. It was what she had said about taking a leap of faith. You didn’t focus too hard on it, though, as it only triggered your anxiety. 

As Dean pulled into the garage, he stole a quick glance at you, and it felt like you had your walls up again. All he had felt through the connection was that you were there, but your emotions weren’t mixing with his. Back at Pamela’s, it had been your fear that hit him like a punch to the gut, and he was unable to keep breakfast down, and now, there was nothing. He wondered what Pamela had said to you while he’d been in the bathroom, but now something was nagging at him, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to approach you.

When you heard his door open, it pulled your gaze to him, a puzzled look on your face. “Did you need to pick anything up, since we have to stay in the bunker again?”

It was at that moment that your emotions began trickling through the connection again, making him let out a breath of relief. “We’ve got enough to get through, and there’s still plenty of meat in the freezer. I think we’ll be okay,” he replied, giving you a reassuring smile.

You could tell something was bothering him, but you’d ask him about it after getting into the bunker. Still feeling in a bit of a daze over it all, you got out of the Impala while Dean locked up the garage. That awkward silence between the two of you, had Dean debating chewing Bobby out for even suggesting you go see Pamela. 

He silently followed you down the stairs, through the second door, and into the living room. You wrapping your arms around him threw him for a complete loop, but he held you close as your emotions finally began dancing with his again.

“Talk to me, please,” he whispered, unable to truly express what it had felt like when he couldn’t feel your emotions, but you felt all of it from him.

You let the comfort of his embrace sooth everything coursing through your mind and soul. Pamela’s words had shaken you, but they had also clarified things, too. Now, it was just finding the courage to make that leap of faith. For now, though, you focused on the warmth from his body and the tenderness of his embrace.

“Just trying to process everything Pamela said,” you replied quietly, resting your head on his chest as your body finally felt like it was relaxing.

Dean held you just a little closer, fighting the lump of emotion in his throat. “I’m here, if you want to talk about it,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

Giving him a gentle squeeze, you looked up at him, that small yet genuine smile finally finding your lips. “I know. I’ll be okay. It’s just a lot to sort through. Can we watch a movie and cuddle, though? I don’t want to think about it right now,” you asked.

He let out a sigh of relief, letting your presence and gentle emotions soothe the tension that had gripped all his muscles. “Yeah, we can watch a movie,” he replied softly, gently cupping your cheek.

You hummed as you leaned into his touch and closed your eyes, letting all your stresses go. There was plenty of time to face what you knew you needed to. Right now, all you wanted, all you needed was to be tucked comfortably against him while enjoying a movie and his embrace.

“Can I help you get into something comfortable first?” he asked, raising an eyebrow playfully, which matched the smirk that found his lips. You had inadvertently managed to distract him from what he’d been going through, so now, he was going to deliberately distract you.

As a giggle left your lips, he scooped you into his arms, making you squeal in surprise. His laughter brought peace to you as he carried you to your room and gently set you on the edge of the bed. You weren’t ready to go all the way with him tonight, but this time, you let yourself enjoy his teases. It was like exposure therapy, and even though it made you anxious, it also helped you push through the feelings.

Dean raised an eyebrow when you hadn’t told him he was being a tease, debating asking you about it. He could feel your desire, so he knew he’d gotten to you. He just couldn’t understand why you hadn’t said anything. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his concern slipping through the connection.

“Yes, Dean. I’m okay,” your words came out playful, so Dean relaxed again, but you could still feel something nagging at him. “I’ll tell you what. Tonight, just hold me, and tomorrow, I’ll share what’s been going through my head, I promise.” 

He feigned frustration; the hint of a smile gave him away, pulling laughter from you. That made his smile widen, and he scooped you up into his arms again, spinning you a couple of times. The way your laughter filled the room made his heart soar. You quickly wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and held on. When he stopped, you looked up at him, still giggling a little, and it felt like the moment was frozen in time. The smile on his face made his eyes sparkle as the lines at the edges of his eyes crinkled. Feeling the joy that not only flowed through the connection but also radiated off him made your heart melt.

God, I love you. The thought whispered through his mind, and he just couldn’t help himself, leaning down and capturing your lips in what was intended to be a tender, loving kiss. However, when you reciprocated, and one of your hands cupped his cheek, he had to take a deep inhale through his nose, pulling you ever closer to him. Dean teased your lip with his tongue, desperately wanting to deepen the kiss, and you almost did, but you knew you were ready. Pulling back a little, you looked into his eyes, seeing the desire, the love, and sighed. But before you could answer, he spoke. “I know. I can wait,” he told you gently, resting his forehead against yours.

It was getting harder for him not to progress things, but he would keep his word and wait for you to be ready. With his body tingling, he took you out to the living room, setting you gently on the couch. You worked on catching your breath while he slipped in a movie, adjusting himself before he plopped down next to you. Without warning, he wrapped his arm around you and pulled you against him.

The night was relaxing as you finally found your peace again, without worry. Pamela’s words were still in the back of your mind, but you let them stay there. The two of you slipped easily into your nightly routine, with him cooking and you doing the dishes. He again came up and held you, even teased you a little, but kept it light. Dean mainly had done it to hear your giggle and those cute noises you made when he slipped his thumbs just under your shirt and rubbed gentle circles against your skin.

You had insisted that he pick a movie, but he was quite persistent about you choosing one, as he loved seeing that child-like joy sparkle in your eyes and dance through the connection. So, you picked the movie, the two of you lying down on the couch and cuddling for the length of it. Although, after about forty-five minutes or so, you began falling asleep. 

It had been a long, emotional day, and being wrapped up in his comfort let every ounce of stress dissipate from your body. Feeling your petite frame against him, your muscles no longer tense, and the way your breathing began to even out in a sleepy sort of way allowed Dean’s stresses to slip away as well.

“You want to head to bed early?” he asked sleepily, finding himself just as sleepy as you.

“Sure,” you breathed out, forcing your eyes to open again.

“Come on, sleepyhead,” he grunted as he got off the couch, climbing over you.

For a moment you just laid there, watching as he turned off the movie and began turning off excess lights. You weren’t sure why it brought peace to you, seeing him do mundane things, but you allowed the emotions from those moments to move through the connection, wanting him to feel it, too.

Even though he was exhausted, he went over and tenderly scooped you into his arms, carrying you to bed. He tucked you under the covers on one side of the bed before he slipped out to change and get the last couple lights. You were almost asleep when he crawled into bed, scooting close to you. Snuggling against him, you let out a content sigh.

“Good night, Dean. I love you,” you whispered, eyes already closed and sleep tugging at your conscious mind.

He held you a little tighter, “Good night, Sweetheart,” he murmured, nuzzling his nose against your head, breathing deeply.

The day may have been rocky, but right now, in this moment, with his arms around you, it felt like a distant memory. The stillness of the room, coupled with the steady rhythm of his heart, gently lulled you into a deep sleep. Dean felt your breathing become steady as your body relaxed further in his arms. A small smile found his lips as he closed his eyes, knowing you were sleeping peacefully.

I love you, Sweetheart. I always will.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 30

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If I missed tagging, please let me know. I had a lot of requests for tags for this one. If you'd like to be tagged, drop me a comment.

[cat-downthestreet]

hey, listen! this is a rant post about neurodivergent characters in Genshin and my frustration with the fandom's reading comprehension skills. if you're in a bad place or just don't like angry rants, please don't force yourself and go read something else instead. <3

Okay, so, I watched this video recently, and let's just say, I have some thoughts.

https://youtu.be/tYK3297p4rk?si=eMaf8NF57HFlUhfd

This isn't just a Xiao problem- the entire fandom is terrible at characterization. The example that makes me the most angry is the mischaracterization of neurodivergent characters.

Take Alhaitham for example. He's often seen as rude and narcissistic by the fandom- which is especially apparent in Haikaveh content, where people portray him as straight up abusive.

You wanna know why this makes me so mad? The supposedly narcissistic and rude traits Alhaitham has are actually just exaggerated symptoms of autism.

Like, come ON, people. Don't skip dialogue. Better yet, go read through his story quest again. He straight up tells someone who sees him as narcissistic that he doesn't see others as less than himself. Also, his voicelines basically confirm this- he's extremely socially inept and he doesn't care. He has difficulty showing emotions as readily as his peers- that doesn't mean he doesn't have them, just that he expresses them differently. He comes across as rude because he doesn't get that people don't like to hear what they're doing wrong, and he probably doesn't care because that's not his problem. If people don't like how blunt he is, that's their problem. At least, that's how I think he views the world.

And like, there are SO many hints that he's autistic. He wears sound-blocking earpieces, for crying out loud. Hell, the ENTIRE REASON why he helped out during the Archon quest was because he didn't want his life to change too much. Preferring routine is an autistic trait.

And the worst part is, when I talk about this outside of neurodivergent groups, people tell me I'm wrong and that he couldn't be autistic DESPITE THOSE PEOPLE NOT BEING AUTISTIC THEMSELVES.

And I'm not saying that every autistic person relates to Alhaitham, but I certainly do. And I'm actually quite friendly because I'm anxious about being rejected. Alhaitham isn't, and I'm so jealous of him for that. He's living his best life.

Finally, back to the Haikaveh thing... Alhaitham isn't abusive. He doesn't say horrible things to Kaveh, and the one example of him doing that I could find, he immediately backtracked and subtly tried to make Kaveh feel better. Hell, Alhaitham doesn't even actually care about making sure Kaveh pays rent. He says it as a joke, but because he's autistic and his tone of voice doesn't give that away as well, he's portrayed as abusive and misunderstood as narcissistic. Y'all just don't like neurodivergent people and it shows.

Yes, neurodivergent includes Xiao. PTSD is often viewed as a form of neurodivergency, and there are many MANY characters in Genshin that have PTSD or some other form of neurodivergence. Yet people refuse to see them as such and mischaracterize them as "edgy," "narcissistic," "unapproachable," "weird," and the like. Yet none of these characters are any of those things.

You wanna know the true narcissists? The true edgelords? The actually rude people? Might I direct your attention to Scaramouche, Childe, and Dottore, whom everyone makes out to be as misunderstood pathetic little meow meows that need love.

Reminder that only two of those three are actually redeemable, and one is STILL an edgelord who is more rude than Alhaitham could ever be, while the other is a certified insane person with a weird set of morals.

(Side note: I love Scaramouche and Childe as characters. I'm just tired of people acting like they aren't worse than the autistic characters. Scaramouche is extremely rude, but he's trying to be better as Wanderer thanks to Nahida's help. He has severe PTSD, and Childe does, too. But both of them are actually messed up and have done horrible things, yet people portray them as better and more in need of love than the characters with unlikable (read: neurodivergent) traits.)

Don't even get me started on how people portray Kokomi, Sucrose, Fischl, Diluc, Zhongli, Cyno, Furina, Neuvillette, and Albedo. Especially that last one- I WILL get mad if one more person tries to tell me he's just emotionless and rude.

Also, if anyone is wondering where I've seen people misunderstanding these characters, it's mostly on Hoyolab site discussions. There's one too many posts talking about how "rude" and "annoying" these characters are.

With Alhaitham especially, I see many people writing him as abusive in Haikaveh content. I see people arguing about the ship being toxic because Alhaitham is "abusive," "unfeeling," and "cruel." Even people who like the ship portray him as such. And I've seen too many people comparing him to Dr. Ratio, who is literally just a narcissist who views others as beneath him. Don't get me wrong, I understand the comparison. It's just... very obvious that people skipped dialogue during Genshin's Archon and story quests.

And it's frustrating because I've been misunderstood in the exact same way. I've been called "rude," "annoying," and "unfeeling" in the past and it's screwed me up. Seeing people do the same thing to a character I so deeply relate to makes me lose confidence in both myself and people around me.

If that's how you view a fictional character with autistic traits, how do you treat real people with the same traits?

Thanks for reading this far. My previous post seemed to get a lot of attention, so I felt more confident about posting my full perspective on this subject. Can any of you think of other characters that have been constantly misunderstood in the fandom? I'd love to hear about it.

[nausylemmyj]

TADC AU - Wonderful Souls

A Magical Girl like AU. Glossary at the end.

Let me set the scene :

You're living in a very big city, going through your daily things without a care in the world. You're maybe happy with your life or maybe you have some problems on your mind. In any case, it didn't prevent you to notice that shiba inu, all alone on the street. In curiosity, you approch. It's friendly. It want you to pet it. You notice a collar with a big round blue gem and a little plate where you read :

"My name is Bubble. If I'm lost, please take me back to Caine's Fun and Wacky Toy Store."

You should have other things to do, maybe more important then taking a dog back to its home. But somehow, you decided it was your main priority.

The toy store is not far. It will never be far. It was pretty, colored and eye-catching. The owner, Caine, get out of his shop, happy to see his dog. He thanks you, a bit too excited for your liking, and to give you a free toy as a thank gift. You shouldn't take it, but it remind you of an old toy you used to love as a child. In fact, it looks exactly like that. Come to think about it, who give it to you in the first place?

Anyhow, you have the toy and you're back at home. You may not know yet, but it will be the beginning of a weird adventure.

Glossary for the AU :

Digiphones : The Digiphones are little phones created by Caine to keep in contact with him and the other Guardians. It works using the Digital Signal and are indestructuable.

Digital Signal : A imperceptible dimension glued to our reality.

Ennui : An Ennui is the manifestation of someone's problem through a monstruous form. There's three forms of Ennui :

-Little Ennui : Little monsters representing a small problem. They're mostly little tricksters who just love to cause troubles to the Guardians.

-Grande Ennui : A bigger monster who are mostly the boss of the Little Ennuis and represent more important problems. Things like the Gloink Queen or the Fudge.

-Mortal Ennui : Abstraction.

Gift : Individual powers given after the birth of a potential Guardian.

Guardian : A human capable to use their soul to fight evil. Their soul manifest as an avatar of themselves with the most useful weapon to the owner.

Master : The leader of the Guardians and the ones who judge which humans are worthy to become one. They are the one to give them their Talisman and to give them their Gift.

Professor : An old Guardian who pass the age of retirement (at 50-years-old). They have to train the new Guardians how to fight and, if needed, support in combat.

Soul Label : It's a phone number a Master give to a Guardian to recognize them.

Superstar : A Guardian who sacrifice themselves for a love one and is rewarded by a star on their uniform and a stronger powers.

Talisman : A token given to a future Guardian. It's a lucky-charm made to protect them and their child innocence. When it's time to became a Guardian, the Master give back the Talisman as a welcome card.

Feel free to ask me any questions. Mostly because it was a lot of informations and I might forget some stuffs here and there. I hope you will like my AU idea.