#look i know this is nonsensical i'm just trapped having thoughts now

[starlyte-writes]

Someone reblogged some of my old c!wilbur analysis today and like... he still haunts me. In the back of my brain, even when I haven't directly thought about the dsmp in YEARS, there is c!wilbur and his fucked up self rotting away in my mind

I don't think i'll ever recover from him and his whole tragic story, and what's worse is that because of cc!wilbur aka douchebag #million and one there's this permanent heartbreak surrounding him. like it almost hurts to remember him now

god c!wilbur you will always be a part of me you and your sad fucked up little minecraft life

[pomefioredove]

So people use Kalim, right? Like pretend to be his friend because he has money-

What if Kalim's crush is just like "Yeah I grew up poor....anyways! I bought you this gold bracelet! Probably not real gold, but I thought it'd fit your style." And is just always pulling up with gifts and little trinkets and just refuses to let Kalim spend any money 😭 I also imagine if Kalim gave them a gift, they'd just start bawling because they don't know how to accept gifts-

:3c I love a little kalim posting

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ the mystery of the magi

type of post: short fic characters: kalim additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, realizing now that I went a liytle off-prompt, sorry u-u

You gave Kalim one rule.

One rule. You had no expectations, no requirements, no shopping list.

Just one rule... that happened to be impossible for him to follow.

"No money?" Jamil asks, watching Kalim pace the room. "You can't spend any money? So no clothes, no jewelry, no games?"

It's far past curfew, but even Jamil had long forgotten about that. That's how strange this whole thing is.

Kalim has never looked so worried. "Not a thaumark. They said so!"

"Did they...?"

Of course. Jamil has thought you were weird from the day Kalim started coming home with plastic toys and friendship bracelets, "gifts" of yours. But this is just absurd.

The heir to one of the richest families in the world has days to find you the perfect birthday gift, and he can't spend any money.

Kalim's eyes are wide with thought, which is a strange look on him. "They say that my presence is enough..."

"But it's not," Jamil finishes the thought for him. Kalim had always given gifts as love- handing out gold and jewels like they were candy- which made him a treat for... well, most of NRC. But not you.

"Well... there's plenty you can do without spending," Jamil says. "You could... cook something, or plan a nice date..."

Kalim pouts. "It's not enough! Everything they get me is so... perfect... I want to do the same!"

Perfect, meaning the cheap toys from claw machines, drawings, handmade jewelry, half-edible cookies... Kalim keeps everything you give him. Everything. His room is beginning to look like the prize shelf at an arcade.

"This is quite the conundrum, isn't it..." Jamil mutters. "Are you sure I can't-"

"No! I need to come up with it on my own! They're just... so good at gift-giving. I wonder how they do it..." Kalim sighs. Jamil rolls his eyes.

"Then... perhaps I can offer some advice. The sort of gift you're looking to give doesn't come from here," Jamil says, pointing to his head. He trails his finger down to his chest.

"...It comes from here."

Though that was complete nonsense, Kalim lights up. "I-I think I understand! Thanks, Jamil!"

And then he's gone.

.

Trapped in a circle of friends and Scarabia students, you awkwardly smile at their birthday wishes.

Grim's greedy little paws dig into the homemade cake before the candles are out, getting icing all over himself. You chuckle, a warm, loving sound that makes Kalim beam. Good so far.

"Time for gifts. We do have a curfew to mind," Jamil says, and Grim laughs maniacally, reaching out for the first box.

"Actually," Kalim says, smiling as if it were his own birthday. "I was hoping I'd get to give my gift first!"

You chuckle. "I don't see why not,"

Kalim returns the gesture, and he stands on the table, drawing everyone's attention to him. Jamil raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not seeing a box!" Grim shouts, and you shush him. Kalim clears his throat.

"I'm usually not so bad at this, but I had a lot of trouble thinking of the perfect present for you... until Jamil said I was thinking too much here... and not here," he says, pointing first to his head, and then lower, to his throat.

You give Jamil a confused look, but he looks just as lost.

"So... that's what I'm going to do. Happy birthday!"

Everyone watches in some mix of amusement and horror as Kalim begins to sing... in your honor.

Without any accompanying music, he performs, in front of everyone you know, a song about everything he loves about you. Even Jamil looks horrified.

When it's over, the room is quiet. Everyone is staring at Kalim as if his head had fallen off.

Then, slowly, you stand. And you clap.

You're beaming. "That was amazing! Again! Again!"

Kalim grins, unphased by the weird looks everyone is giving you two, and he hops off the table to pull you into a hug.

"I'm so glad you liked it!"

"Liked it!? That was..." you laugh, hugging him back. "That was perfect."

"I can sing it as much as you want! Every night, if it makes you happy!"

"Sevens help me..." Jamil sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Trey gives him a sympathetic pat on the back.

[strangersteddierthings]

"Look, Steve, I don't have any bad feelings towards you," Eddie says, has been saying, talking nonsense, like he and Steve weren't anything more than fuckbuddies, like he isn't breaking Steve's heart. "I used you too, y'know?"

It's then Steve rears back like he been slapped. Or punched. It feels more like a gutting. Joke's on him, he supposes. Once again, he wants more than the other person. He wanted a boyfriend, Eddie'd wanted sex. Why does he keep trying? When Steve finds his voice to speak, it comes out flat and dead and not really like a question at all. "Used me. Like you think I've used you?"

Eddie shrugs, looking for all the world like he's not bothered by that statement. "We had fun, right? So it's all fine in the end."

"Fine," Steve repeats, hollow. They're in his house but Steve feels the need to leave, to run before the reality of how unlovable he truly is sticks inside him forever.

"But I think we should stop while we're ahead," Eddie continues and Steve wonders if Eddie is listening to him at all, or just saying his piece before he goes. Can he not hear Steve's heart breaking? "I want to... I want to find someone to love."

If Eddie's previous words felt like being gutted, these ones feel like cement. Heavy and solidifying. Trapping in the truth of Ever Unlovable Steve. He doesn't even feel heartbroken anymore. Just numb. Dead inside. He should say something encouraging. Let Eddie know that all he's wanted was for Eddie to be happy and loved. But words seem impossible, so he gives one jerky nod of his head. An understanding.

"Right," Eddie says, returning the nod before turning away, towards the door, "I'll just go now. Umm, see ya later, Harrington."

Facing the horrors of the Upside Down should feel like the scariest thing he's ever done but it doesn't. Watching Eddie walk away does. Steve should be able to hold it together long enough for Eddie to leave. He's the tough one. He can hold himself together no problem-

"Why can't you love me?"

Eddie whips back around, an expression on his face like confusion and anger mixed.

It's only then that Steve realizes he spoke. He hasn't meant to. He was going to let Eddie walk away but now his voice has been freed from the cement. His heart has shut down his brain it seems because he just keeps talking, voice flat and hollow, "why can't you love me the way I love you? What is so broken and wrong within me that no one loves me back? My parents, Nancy, now you. Why can't- I thought that we were- where did I go wrong?"

"What?" Eddie asks, and the anger is gone from his face but now he just looks horrified. Which is understandable. It's horrifying to be loved by Steve Harrington. "What did you think we were?"

Boyfriends. Together. Going steady. At the very least, dating without labels. But none of those very reasonable, normal answers come out of Steve's treacherous mouth. Because Steve can't seem to be a reasonable, normal person. He's got to be too much, too soon, too clingy. So, instead, he says, "In love."

Eddie looks like he's just received the worst news of his life. In fact, he looks a little sick. "Oh fuck. Jesus Christ. I can't- I thought- Fuck!"

Steve just nods along. He hadn't actually said I love you to Nancy that night at Tina's Halloween party, but he imagines if he had, the beginning of the bullshit conversation would have sounded much the same as Eddie does now; like anger and regret, the starts and stops. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have- if you want to go, you should go."

Eddie crosses the room back to Steve in half the steps he took when he first walked away, hands reaching to grab Steve's face between them. He speaks quickly and sounds panicked now. "No, no no no. I fucked up, misunderstood. I don't know how I got it so wrong. I don't want to go. I never did."

"What?"

"I am in love with you, sweetheart. I just- I didn't know you loved me back. I thought you didn't- that we weren't..."

"I thought we were boyfriends."

"Jesus, please let me fix this. Let me stay and make it up to you. I'll be the best fucking boyfriend you've ever had."

Steve thinks if he had any shred of self-worth he might step back, make Eddie explain himself, but as it is, he steps into Eddie's space and kisses him, hands pulling him as close as he can get. He doesn't want to think about the cruel things Eddie's said, about using each other. Maybe one day they'll have to hash that out, have that conversation, but Eddie says he loves him too, and that's all Steve's wanted.

[poisonlove]

Hello! Not sure if you’re taking requests or not. I was wondering if you could do afab reader x Wednesday aaand Wednesday’s twin brother? Doesn’t have to be smut or can be, no preference. But Wednesday and her twin are immediately obsessed with reader, brother maybe having a more Gomez (Raul Julia) like way of showing his love (Cara Mia😍) and reading falling for both of them?! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

ADDAMS'S TRAP | w.a

Pairing: wednesday Addams X William Addams X reader

"Come on, Wed! It's just a small favor," William, Wednesday's twin brother, drawled. Despite sharing the same last name, the two were like day and night. William was outgoing, charismatic, always at the center of attention. Wednesday, on the other hand... well, she was just Wednesday. If it weren't for their dark eyes, black hair and pale skin, no one would ever suspect they were related.

And yet, Addams blood ran through both of them.

Wednesday rolled her eyes with disdain and turned to face her brother. William stopped abruptly, flashing a sly smile. She stared at him with her usual coldness, sizing him up from head to toe.

"I'm not letting you copy my notes," she said in her characteristic monotone, her icy eyes challenging William's.

William stepped closer, pulling out his best puppy dog eyes. He always hoped it would soften her, as if she was susceptible to such nonsense.

"It's not working," Wednesday replied, predictably bored.

Her brother was smart, she acknowledged that. Yet, she couldn't understand how he could be so annoyingly lazy. She bit her lip slightly, her gaze unwavering as she regarded him with detachment. William, on the other hand, straightened his posture, his shoulders rising in resignation. His eyes, however, sparkled with disappointment that Wednesday didn't even bother to consider.

This, she thought, was the natural consequence of spending nights chasing fleeting pleasures and arriving late to class.

"That's why you have no friends," William muttered casually, rubbing his tired eyes to shake off the sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were a clear sign of a sleepless night.

"And you know perfectly well that I don’t care," Wednesday snapped, as cutting as ever. "I can barely tolerate Enid’s presence." Her jaw tightened. Just that morning, Enid had persistently asked her to accompany her on a tour of the school for a new student—a request Wednesday had quickly dealt with by coldly saying, "get out of my room."

"Wow," William gasped, his mouth falling open in mock surprise. His gaze was now locked onto something behind Wednesday. Curiously, she slowly turned just in time to see Enid approaching with the new girl. But William’s eyes were glued to the newcomer.

Well, Wednesday thought, I couldn’t have expected anything less.

The girl had something... intriguing about her. Wednesday wasn’t sure what adjective to use. Her y/c-colored hair and y/c-colored eyes naturally drew attention, almost effortlessly. She was slender, tall, with a defined jawline and a radiant smile that strangely irritated Wednesday.

"She's hot," William muttered, dumbfounded.

Wednesday sighed, rolling her eyes at her brother’s comment. Superficial, as always. Enid waved enthusiastically at them, walking toward them with the new arrival. William straightened up, adjusted his tie, and flashed his charming smile as he prepared to greet the two girls.

"Don't make me look bad," William hissed through gritted teeth, his eyes glued to the pair.

"Screw you," Wednesday retorted, not looking up from the book she was holding, completely dismissing him.

"Hi, Enid," William greeted warmly, leaning in slightly to kiss the blonde’s cheek.

"Hi, Will!" Enid replied, blushing and smiling broadly.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" William asked with his usual charming grin.

"Oh! This is y/n," Enid said with enthusiasm.

William gently took y/n’s hand, brushing it with a kiss on the back. "Welcome to Nevermore Academy," he murmured with an irresistible smile. Y/n looked at him, confused and slightly embarrassed, but returned a shy smile.

"And this is Wednesday," Enid continued, gesturing towards her roommate with a hint of hesitation. "My roommate."

Wednesday barely lifted her gaze from the book, meeting y/n’s eyes. "Wednesday," she said in her typical frosty tone.

"Y/n," the girl responded sweetly.

As soon as their eyes met, Wednesday felt a strange sensation ripple through her body, like tiny spiders weaving webs in her stomach. She was confused but also strangely drawn to the girl.

She pressed her lips together and, without another word, turned her back and walked into the school, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling creeping over her. William smiled awkwardly, apologizing in a flat tone: "Don’t mind her, my sister’s always like that."

Y/n didn’t respond immediately, and Wednesday disappeared into the shadows of the building, attempting to ignore the slight quickening of her heartbeat.

(...)

In the following weeks, y/n quickly found herself caught up in the subtle conflict between the Addams twins. Surprisingly, Wednesday had begun spending more time with her, either in the library or during fleeting moments between classes. William, on the other hand, continued to court her openly, with his usual charm.

Y/n felt flattered, but there was something about Wednesday's cold, penetrating attention that left her perplexed... and perhaps a little captivated.

Each day, William seemed more determined to court y/n, showing off his usual array of gallantries. If he wasn’t reciting poetic verses under the trees, he was showering her with attention in a theatrical way that Wednesday found unbearable.

One morning, sitting in the courtyard with a gothic novel in hand, Wednesday watched her brother from a distance. As usual, he was playing the role of the "charming gentleman." He had just handed y/n a black rose, and she smiled, shy but visibly flattered. William, with that sparkling gaze, so similar to Gomez’s when he looked at Morticia, gazed at her as if she were the only person in the world.

Wednesday felt a tightness in her stomach. An unusual annoyance she couldn't quite explain. It wasn’t jealousy, she thought. She wasn’t the type to feel such trivial emotions. And yet, every time she saw them together, something stirred inside her, a sort of cold, sharp irritation.

Next to her, Enid watched the scene with a mischievous smile. She knew Wednesday well enough to understand what was happening, even if her friend would never admit such a thing.

"You're jealous," Enid said with amusement, glancing at her.

Wednesday slowly turned toward her, her face as impassive as ever. "Don’t be ridiculous," she replied, her voice sharp as a knife. "Jealousy is an emotion devoid of logic. And I don’t feel irrational emotions."

Enid giggled. "Sure, sure. So why are you gripping that book like you want to throw it at your brother?"

Wednesday didn’t even bother to respond. Her dark eyes returned to watching the scene from a distance: William and y/n were talking, and he gently touched her hand, laughing at something she had just said. The sight of that gesture was enough to make Wednesday’s jaw tighten.

Later, as she walked down the shadowy halls of Nevermore, Wednesday decided to act. She couldn’t continue allowing her brother to monopolize y/n’s attention. Not because she was jealous, of course. It was simply a matter of control. Or so she told herself.

When she crossed paths with y/n near the library, alone for the first time in days, Wednesday decided to put her plan into action. She approached her silently, like a shadow, and stopped in front of her.

"Y/n," she called, her voice low and monotone.

The girl turned, surprised to see her. "Wednesday! Hi... is everything okay?"

Wednesday observed her for a moment, her dark eyes cold and impenetrable. "Tomorrow night. We don’t have classes. Come with me to the cemetery," she said, as if she were suggesting something completely normal.

Y/n blinked, puzzled. "The... cemetery?"

"I need to collect herbs for research," Wednesday explained in her usual detached tone. "Your presence will be... tolerated."

The truth was that Wednesday had no need to collect herbs. Her research had been completed days ago, but the mere thought of y/n spending another evening in William’s company had become unbearable. She needed to pull her away from that dynamic. And obviously, there was no other reason but logic and practicality.

"It will be useful," she added, further justifying her request, even though a small part of her wondered why she was doing this at all.

Y/n looked at her for a moment, then smiled sweetly. "I like the idea. Sure, why not?"

Wednesday’s heart, which she would never admit to feeling such a frivolous emotion, gave a slight jump. She nodded with her usual coldness, satisfied that she had gotten what she wanted. She was about to turn when y/n added, in a casual tone, "It'll be nice to spend time just the two of us."

Wednesday froze for a moment, almost stumbling over her own feet. She wasn’t used to hearing such words. She wasn’t used to spending "pleasant time" with anyone. And the idea that y/n might actually want to be with her alone confused her more than she was willing to admit.

With a brief nod, she turned and walked away down the hall, disappearing into the shadows. Her heart, despite everything, seemed to be beating harder than usual, though she would never, ever let anyone know it.

[peachiejeongin]

reader can sleep or is sick and asks Chan to sing her to sleep. he gets super shy about and she teases him that “you can sing to STAY but you won’t sing to me.” He under plays his skill (as he does) and she tells him how much she adores hearing him sing.

A Lingering Lullaby | Bang Chan

Synopsis: After catching a cold and suffering through countless sleepless nights, you turn to Chan for comfort, though it does come with protests...

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Genre: established relationship, fluff

Warnings: Mentions of sickness

WC: 901

Notice: Hello, my love! Thank you so much for your request! I absolutely love sleepy hours with Chan, so I took great joy in writing this. Enjoy, darlings, and have a happy new year! :)

---

The evening air was crisp and biting, the remnants of winter's frost still clinging stubbornly to the windows. You had spent the past few days bedridden, sick with a stubborn cold that rid you of all of your energy and left you feeling like a husk of your normal self. Thankfully, it was nothing serious—just a fever, a scratchy throat, and bone-deep exhaustion that seemed impossible to shake.

Once you texted Chan that you were unwell, he left work early, nearly swinging the front door off of its hinges the moment he got home and refusing to leave your side until you were better. He had been tending to you all week, bringing you bowls of soup or warm foods you barely had the vitality to touch and forcing you to rest even when you insisted you were fine.

"You're not fine," he had retaliated earlier, standing in the doorway to your bedroom with his arms crossed, a no-nonsense look on his face. "You're practically melted into your sheets. Let me take care of you."

And take care of you he had. Now, he was perched at the edge of your bed, watching you with anxious focus; his brows furrowed together as you shifted restlessly underneath the blankets.

"You should try to sleep," he told you, his voice soft but firm. "Your body needs to rest in order to recover."

"I'm trying," you croaked, your throat sore from hours of coughing. "It's not working." Chan's lips pressed into a thin line as if he were trying to solve some impossible puzzle.

"Do you want some tea? Or some medicine to help you sleep easier?"

"No," you shook your head weakly. "I just...I don't know. Can you just hold me, Channie?"

"Of course, Love." His expression softened instantly, and he nodded as he spoke.

Chan adjusted himself onto the bed, leaning against the headboard as he watched you settle into his chest. You were fearful of getting him sick, but this was really the only option your mind could conjure. You closed your eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and nearly drifting off; however, the ache in your chest and the persistent tickle in your throat had other plans. After a few minutes, you cracked an irritated eye open and looked up at him.

"Channie?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you sing to me?"

He blinked at you absentmindedly, completely caught off guard.

"Sing?"

"Mhm," you hummed, a small smile tugging at your lips despite your exhaustion. "Just one song? Please?" Chan shifted, sitting more upright now; his cheeks were completely flushed.

"I don't know, y/n...I mean, I don't think I'm good enough to-"

"Oh come on," you groaned, interrupting Chan's ramble. "You can sing to thousands of STAYs, but not to me? Your number one fan?"

"It's different, Love." He let out a gentle, breathy laugh as he shook his head.

"How so? You raised an eyebrow, leaning into the teasing. "I thought I was special."

"You are special!" he exclaimed swiftly, his eyes wide as if he had just stepped into a trap.

"Then prove it!" You grinned, ignoring the way your heart fluttered at his earnestness. Chan let out a groan and covered his face with one hand.

"You are impossible, y'know that?"

"And you are stalling," you shot back, your demeanor sassy yet affectionate. For a moment, Chan just sat there, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tried to gather his thoughts. Finally, he sighed and shifted closer to you, his thigh brushing against yours.

"Fine," he muttered. "But if I do bad, don't hold it against me."

"I would never." You gave him a drowsy, genuine smile.

The room fell silent as Chan took a deep breath, his fingers brushing lightly over yours before intertwining with them. His voice started low, a soft hum that gradually bloomed into a melody, the notes rich and warm as if they were honey dripping from a spoon.

It was not polished, but that was what made it so beautiful. His voice was raw and real, filling the room with a quiet intimacy that made your chest fill with love. The sound wrapped around you like the coziest, softest blanket, and it lulled you into a state of near-dreaminess. You let your eyes close, your breathing evening out as the melody settled into your bones.

"See?" you mumbled in a barely audible octave. "You're amazing."

"What?" Chan whispered as his voice faltered, dipping into near-silence for a moment or two.

"You're amazing," you repeated, your lips curling into a sleepy smile. "Your voice is my favorite. You're my favorite."

His ears turned red, and he glanced away, his grip on your hand tightening ever so slightly.

"You're just saying that 'cus you're sick," he muttered.

"I'm saying it because it's true," you countered in a soft yet certain tone. Chan did not respond this time, but the shy smile threatening his features was all the answer you needed. He leaned back against the headboard, his thumb brushing absent-mindedly over the back of your hand as he began to hum again, the music softer this time, like it was a secret melody dedicated solely to you.

As his voice carried you into sleep, you could not help but think that his gentle voice mixed with his silent devotion was the best medicine you could have taken.

---

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght, @amararosesblog (If you would like to be added to the taglist, please let me know!)

[elizabeth-of-avonlea]

he failed

Pairing: Gilbert Blythe x fem!reader

Warning: sfw, fluff, angst, arranged marriage, self-harming

Summery: Gilbert Blythe meets a girl at the ship. A girl he will never meet again.

English isn't my first language, so don't be too harsh if you see grammar mistakes

Gilbert couldn't sleep tonight. Now that Bash was asleep, there was no conversation or any kind of distraction from his own thoughts. It was dark outside, with nothing to light the ocean but the moon above him. As he trailed down the deck, he was mesmerised by how beautifully it shined at the water.

His head was locked at the ocean as he noticed something in the corner of his eyes. Or, better said someone, leaning against the railing with their head down. Her hair floated in the air with each blew of the chilling wind, and her dress was white with puffy sleeves so loose that they hung down her arms. She was as pretty as a painting, to say at last.

She looked elegant and graceful, making it so much harder Gilbert to snap out of the trance he found himself in. But he did, clearing his throat, hoping to catch the ladies' attention, but to his confusion, she didn't move an inch. He cleared his throat again. No signs of notice.

Bash would have laughed at Gilbert for doing all this nonsense just to catch her attention, instead of talking to her. And at some point, Gilbert would have laughed at himself, too. He took a quick breath before taking a step forward.

"Excuse me? Miss?" He whispered. Only now the girl flinched, her face turning towards Gilbert. Her eyes were slightly widened, with signs of crying not so long ago.

"Oh. Yes? Wha– What is it?" She proceeded to wipe away the small trains of tears on her cheeks, then straightened her back and pushed her shoulders behind. "Are you one of my guards? I'm fine, I'm already heading back. " Her eyes were filled almost unnoticeable panic, or with urgency to leave, as she believed, her guard. Gilbert smiled.

"No, I'm not your guard" He corrected her, which to he then got a slight gasp from her.

"I'm so sorry! It's just because.." She hinted at his face, mudded with coal stains. "Your face.."

"Oh, yeah, I work here." Gilbert tried to wipe away the stains, suddenly feeling self-conscious in front of such a beautiful young lady as her. The girl reached into her sleeve, handing him then a napkin. "Thank you"

The girl smiled for a second, but the smile faded as she turned back to the ocean, leaning once again against the railing. Gilbert's eyes didn't leave her form even while he was busy wiping off the mess on his face. She was a girl you liked to look at. Gilbert then also leaned against the railing, kinda hesitant. After all, she was crying not so long ago.

"Ehm, I'm Gilbert Blythe." He cleared his throat. She looked at him with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Y/N Y/S" She looked back at the ocean. It was quiet between them for a while, with Gilbert not knowing how to proceed and with Y/N not even thinking of talking right now. The splashes of water against the ship now seemed to be louder than ever, louder than Gilbert could think.

His gaze led back to her, again and again, just to see her zoomed out, thinking of God knows what. Gilbert tried to concentrate on the napkin she gave him. It was stained with black now.

"Sorry, I stained your napkin," He whispered, making Y/N slowly look at the napkin and smile. She looked so tired and not necessarily physically but emotionally.

"It's fine. I know where I was going when I gave you it." She tittered, making Gilbert do the same. He put the napkin into his front pocket. Surely he would need this napkin tomorrow or next weeks, even if it won't clean as much as did before.

Gilbert licked his lips in hesitation, his eyes darting towards her and then back to the water beneath. "If you don't mind me asking, what's troubling you?" He asked, making her eyes widen slightly and look at him in surprise. Her eyes searched for a trap, but all she saw were his handsome black eyes looking back at her. She looked away.

"I'm, well.." She took a breath. "I'm moving to California. It's a new city, found 40 years ago." YN trailed off, not knowing how to continue. She had no experience in sharing her issues with anyone, especially a stranger. But as she looked at Gilbert, he was still looking at her, actually listened. She stared at him, like looking at a wonder, forgetting to talk.

"You don't want that, right?" He asked, and she nodded, nibbing slightly at her lower lip as she once again didn't manage to hold eye contact. It was cute, thought Gilbert. "You don't want to leave your hometown?"

"No, no.." She whispered, fudging with her fingers. She took a shaky breath. "I– I'm getting married.. to an old man. " Her gaze was locked at the water, feeling ashamed for the arranged marriage, like it was her fault. Gilbert mumbled a quiet oh, then pressed his lips into thin line. He shouldn't have asked or reacted out loud, or maybe he did the right thing. He didn't know what to do in this situation.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked.. or reacted like that. " He shifted closer to her, but so that there was some distance. He wanted to catch her eyes, the ones that were so stubbornly secured on the ocean.

"Don't apologise. You couldn't have known." She gently tossed her hair back, not knowing what to do with herself. "And I liked your reaction," She tittered, her eyes meeting his "You're the first one to react this way.. other's don't react at all, like it's normal to marry someone off to an old man. " Her voice got quieter and quieter.

"It's not. You should marry out of love and only love." Gilbert resured. This time, she chuckled, still quiet, but the loudest he had heard her laugh. He hid his face in his hand, only leaving eyes not covered. It wasn't like she could have seen the tint of pink on his face. It was too dark for that.

"I like you, you're funny" She smiled, tilting her head to see his face better. Gilbert cleared his throat, his eyes running around from her face to anywhere else but her.

"I wasn't joking, but I appreciate the compliment." He smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Her smile faded slightly, she then turned back to the water.

"I won't marry out of love," She whispered, "maybe in the next life." Gilbert raised one of his eyebrows at her words

"You believe in that?" He asked.

"Yes, or, well, I just hope it is true." She trailed off. "It can't be that my only life is.. like this. " She took shaky breath. Gilbert noticed a tear in her eye, which she immediately wiped away. She took a big breath, straightening her back. She turned towards Gilbert completely.

"Mr. Blythe—"

"Call me Gilbert, please" He interrupted, making her titter again.

"Gilbert," She started. "If you marry, marry for love. Marry someone you will never regret sharing your life with." She pleaded, even though she tried to steady her voice. After a moment of silence between them, she took a breath, turned around, and started to walk off. Gilbert reached out, stopping her by holding her hand.

"Wait, I—" He didn't know what he wanted to say. He didn't know why he stopped her. Their eyes met again. She was waiting, waiting for him to say something that would maybe make her life better. Something. Anything.

But Gilbert didn't have anything to say. He couldn't do anything, and she knew it better than anyone else. She slipped her hand away from Gilbert's hold. With last look, she turned away, leaving Gilbert alone in the dark with the moon.

It's been a week. Gilbert laid in his so-called bed, looking up at the roof, with his eyebrows furrowed. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

"Hey boy, look at this." Bash tossed a magazine at Gilbert, without his usual smile.

"Did you steal it?" Gilber asked.

"Read." Bash commanded, and Gilbert started to do so. His eyes flew over the magazine as they caught a familiar name. Y/N Y/S. He shifted, more concentrated.

'Y/N Y/S — a young girl — took her life right after her arranged marriage'

Gilbert's breath stuck in his throat, his face furrowing in confusion and shock, and also, regret. He was there, it was clear she wasn't in the best state, he could have done something, anything, to make her feel better. But he didn't. He failed.

[greyeyedmonster-18]

jingle all the bidet

(a wolfstar holiday au.

happy christmas eve. this is simply nonsense. enjoy xoxo)

--

Remus practically ran to the front door once he heard the knock, socks sliding on the hardwood floors, sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows though that wasn't particularly helpful. The cuffs were soaking, and the extra fabric drooped down to his forearms, small droplets splattering as he twisted the knob in a hurry, flinging the door of the house open.

"Hello, sir. I'm with Potter's Plumbing, we got a call about--"

"Yes! Yes! That's me," Remus said, gesturing wildly for the man to step through the doorway.

"I didn't finish--"

"As long as you're a plumber, I don't much care what call you were supposed to be on. You're here, you're helping me. Remus, hi, so nice to meet you--" 

"Sirius." Sirius seemed to get the hint, stepping into the house and Remus was able to firmly shut the door behind him, perhaps a little too forcefully.

"On a different day, I'd make a comment about our names and how we should join some sort of support group for parents with odd senses of humor but--" Remus didn't bother to look behind him as he walked quickly down the hallway, to see if Sirius was following him, just blindly hoping Sirius had these sort of emergency calls all the time. As a plumber does. No time for small talk and pleasantries and other superfluous information. 

Just quick. Down to business. Before a house flooded. Or maybe that was unique to Remus.

"Not today?" Sirius remarked from behind, a touch of laughter in his voice.

"Absolutely not today. You see, I'm in a bit of a plumbing crisis--on the Eve before Christmas Eve nonetheless. Festivus!-- so you can imagine my stress, I simply do not have the time to pencil in a good joke, because there are bigger issues at hand and I'm hoping you'll know exactly what to do, because I am at a loss and well....ta da!" Remus stopped just in front of the bathroom door, a weak smile on his face as he glanced between the mess of the master bathroom, and Sirius. 

It was a scene from a film.  Except instead of the bathroom being booby-trapped and finagled to catch robbers from killing him, Remus had made an entire crime scene attempting to install a bidet himself. 

How hard could it be?

Remus should’ve known when he was required to use a wrench that it would end poorly, but he had a modicum of faith, and a stubborn streak a mile long. 

There was an elbow-sized hole in the wall behind the toilet.

The tile flooded. Remus’s house slippers soggy on the bottom and cast aside outside the bathroom door. 

Remus had put a bucket behind the piping, but that didn’t catch much water at all when it all shot up like a geyser into the air, drops now falling from the ceiling. Remus had somehow managed to take down the shower curtain as well, and if he was brave enough later, he thought he might ask Sirius for help putting that back up. 

The top toilet cover had a handsome chip missing from it.

The toilet seat off its hinges.

And the bidet proudly on the floor.

Sirius tilted his head to the side slowly, surveying the scene wordlessly and inhaling deeply. Sirius took a pencil from out of his back pocket, scribbling a few notes on a notepad before turning to Remus and opening his mouth.

“We—”

“I know, I know. You’re probably wondering what the bloody hell happened,” Remus chuckled nervously, “And if I’m being honest, I’m wondering the same thing. I-I-I read the instructions before attempting to do this and I have always been a good student. A great one even!” Remus started and then stopped, “Okay, no, that was a lie. I’ve always been an okay student, but I know how to read. And in theory, I had it down pat. Flawlessly executed in my mind. But damn are toilet’s a lot harder to maneuver than the bloody instructions made it seem and one thing leads to another, I’m squatting down, elbow-deep in drywall. Literally,” Remus gestured to the hole behind the toilet, “I guess the only thing is I’m glad the water was clean and flushed and, and, well, you know what I mean don’t you?”

“I was going to say,” Sirius started, tongue poking out to wet his bottom lip, the corners of his mouth turning upward in amusement, “I hope you have another bathroom to use in the meantime.”

“Thank god we do.”

“Alright,” Sirius nodded, hitching up the knees of his jeans and squatting down to get a closer look at the damage. The band of his underwear poked over the top of his jeans. 

“A-alright, then. I’ll. Just..stay out of your hair and uh, let you get to work.”

“Sounds good.”

“Do you need anything? I think there’s a wrench down there somewhere,” Remus pointed to the broken ceramic behind the toilet.  Sirius stood back up and turned around to face Remus, who, at that moment, realized he was standing much too close, now standing nearly nose to nose with a stranger-plumber and he flushed. “Ah! Sorry, sorry, I’ll just—”

“I’ve got to get some supplies from my truck, but otherwise I should be all set. The beauty of calling a plumber is they take care of it for you, and you can just relax, Mr….?”

“Remus! No, I mean not Mr. Remus. Remus Lupin. Mr. Remus Lupin.”

“Alright, Mr. Remus Lupin, rest easy,” Sirius said, with a quick smirk, walking past Remus down the hallway again toward the front door. Remus felt like he was chasing after him Sirius’s stride was so long and certain. 

“No, I mean, you don’t need to call me Mr. Remus Lupin. Or Mr. at all. It’s just Remus.” Sirius nodded again and exited the house. 

--

Remus wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do while a maintenance person was in his home. He recalled vaguely as a child hiding in his room until they left, pretending he did not exist--there were absolutely no children in this home, and if there were they certainly were not present at the time they were there, no sir! And typically, Gideon was the one who handled service requests. Remus making it a point to be uncharacteristically busy the moment something needed a repair. A light not working? Suddenly Remus needed to leave and return a package that had been sitting there for two weeks already. But Gideon was away, finishing up work for the holiday season, which was the perfect time for Remus to surprise him with a gift. 

A shame it ended in absolute disaster.

And now Remus didn’t know what to do.

With his hands, with his time, with his anything. And opted to pace back and forth down the hallway as Sirius started working in the bathroom. 

“Hello!” Remus poked his head into the bathroom, hands on the door frame. “Just checking in.”

“Checked,” Sirius told him, not moving from his position on the floor of the bathroom. Sirius’s work boots were damp on the bottom, uniform shirt rolled up to his elbows, and the long curly hair that had previously been down and dusting the man's shoulders, pulled up and out of the way. 

“Can I get you anything? Water, or a snack, surely you must be hungry or--”

“I’m all set, Remus.”

“Or, maybe I could--”

Sirius cleared his throat and sat up to look at Remus, elbows resting on the top of his knees, “Though I know it perhaps feels odd, as usually, I assume, when you have guests over, you entertain them in some capacity. But in this situation, it is quite okay to ignore me.”

“I…people really just ignore you?”

“Most of the time. Spare a few odd moments of chatter, but I believe you said this was an emergency and there simply wasn’t time for that today.”

“Well you don’t seem too concerned about all this.”

“I’ve seen so much worse.”

“That’s comforting. Perhaps I could make time for a joke or two then.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Oh, uhm,” Remus’s eyes went wide, “I-I didn’t mean an actual joke, I don’t think I have any of those, though I really should. I’m a teacher, you see. Kids love jokes, but I think most of the time, I’m the joke and don’t necessarily need to come up with something with a punchline. So, I might be fresh out, but if you give me an hour I could look one up.”

“Why did the Christmas tree go to the barber?”

“What?”

“Why did the Christmas tree go to the doctor?” Sirius repeated, soft smile on his face as he waited Remus to answer.

“Uh…I dunno. Why?”

“It was looking a little green,” Sirius finished, slapping the top of his knee for effect and Remus snorted.

“That was pretty good.”

“My godson is seven and is in his joke telling phase. I had to find a few of my own. You know, just to make sure I didn’t lose the cool godfather credibility.”

“Of course,” Remus said, and nodded, “Sorry…I’ll let you work.”

“If you would prefer…you don’t have to ignore me.”

“Really?” Remus asked, but was already inside the bathroom yet again, “Because I am winded walking up and down that hallway, between this botched installation and the pacing and the everything, this is the highest my heart rate has been in years. I promise, you won’t even know I’m here.” Remus took a seat on the edge of the bathtub letting out a sigh of relief as Sirius lowered himself to the floor once again.

--

It turns out, it was probably a good thing that Remus had never been home previously when a repair person had entered, because he could not simply pretend to not be there any longer. He was there. And Remus did not do well with silence.

“....so anyway, when we moved in, and I think Gideon--my partner, did I say that already? Oh, I did, I know I did-- wants to repaint the walls next year, to add some life into the place. But I dunno, I think it’s pretty lively. Do you think so? You go in a lot of homes, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“And does mine, breathe life?”

“The snowflake hand towels are a nice touch,” Sirius commented, as he twisted something on the side of the toilet. 

“That's what I thought! Why do we need to paint and redo everything, when we can…spruce it up, with towels and…other decorations? Other..less permanent things,” Remus finished and Sirius hummed. “Not that I know much, or anything really, about designing and homes. This is my first one. Well, after the one I lived in before, but there isn’t exactly a book about how to…home. You know?”

“I get what you mean,” Sirius confirmed, “Are you French?”

“Pardon?”

“The bidet,” Sirius said from his position on the bathroom floor, back on the ground and doing something to the piping. The number of tools Sirius had brought with him was evidence enough that Remus had no business installing the bidet in the first place, the wrench he had sworn would be enough Sirius hadn’t even touched. Though he probably had nicer wrenches. Fancier wrenches. Did wrenches have levels of class? Just as well Remus would use a poor man's wrench.

“Uh. No, no, I’m not French. Not really. Sort of? My father is. Or…was. Is? He died, so he’s not…currently French and walking around saying Bonjour, or mon petit chou anymore, not that…that wasn’t all he said but he is French but just French as in dead in a cemetery. But his body-you know what I mean, don’t you? Anyway, he was—is—French, I am not. Well not, not. I grew up in Wales with my Mum. We barely had plumbing, sometimes we just went out back and dug a hole in the ground! Never had this problem with holes, I’ll tell you that much, no, no problems like this,” Remus trailed off and Sirius made another hum of acknowledgement as he worked, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up. People get weird when I do. Like oh, I’m so sorry for your loss, and I can’t say, It’s fine I barely knew him! Without sounding like a complete arsehole so, I usually just make it weird and awkward and uh…well, you have a front-row seat to that,” Remus said, slapping his hands on his thighs, the thwack against his jeans echoing through the bathroom.

“You’re not an arsehole.”

“You don’t know me that well.”

“You’re not an arsehole for not knowing your parent,” Sirius clarified. “Wales is nice.”

“It is. It was.”

“So you’re not French, why the bidet?”

Remus sighed standing up from the ledge of the tub, pacing the floor for the bathroom as he spoke, "Well, you see, I got it as a gift for my partner. Gideon, remember? They're away on business, and I told myself this was the perfect time to get ahead on Christmas shopping. If you knew me...which you don't, not really, but maybe by the end of this whole mess we'll be fast friends! I already told you about my dead Dad, and that's usually something I hold off on…it’s a bit of a downer. Anyway, if you knew me..know me, I'm terrible at planning ahead. I mean, who wants to go to the shops during the hols? Nobody. I don't care how much you love your mother--and I love mine, I promise I do, really--all the people running around, it's just too much. So I put it off and put it off, and suddenly it's Christmas Eve and--"

"That's about the worst time to go..." Sirius said, shifting his position so he was crouching instead, lifting the toilet seat off in one smooth piece.

"Precisely, so sometimes I don't even bother going at all, which I suppose might make me a bad person. I'm not! Occasionally an arsehole, but not a bad person! I recycle and, and, and I’m a good friend, I-I-I just...planning and gifts and the whole bit of it...isn't my strongest suit,” Remus said. “So I was so proud of myself! Because Gideon had mentioned wanting a bidet for the bathroom, the breathing life and the personal touches and all that--”

“I’m noticing a theme…”

“Yes! Life, carpe fucking diem! So he mentioned it, and I remembered--which is another thing I am not the greatest at-- and I went out and bought the bidet! Hid it in my office at work for a month knowing he’d be out of town today, and it would be the perfect opportunity to install it. He’d come back from his trip, go to the bath to wash up and he would be overjoyed, elated, delighted even, to see the bidet there, and I would be there shouting Happy Christmas! and for once feel like I really nailed the Christmas gift. Because the thing is, he is so thoughtful and so good at gift giving, and I…just come up short. And I thought not this year! But instead of coming home to a beautifully installed bidet, he’ll come home to…a plumbing bill and peeling up linoleum tile and a patched up hole and…a shower curtain. And-and- who knows if he’ll even like it! He’ll probably hate it.”

“Why would he hate it?”

“He never usually likes my gifts.”

“Who…doesn’t just say thank you for a gift?” Sirius asked, pausing his work to look at Remus. “That’s kind of the rule isn’t it? Even if it's an itchy sweater, or something you don’t particularly like, you say thank you and then later return it and pretend it didn’t fit. It’s not about the gift.”

“Well, I don’t know if there’s rules exactly,” Remus countered, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought of birthdays and holidays gone by where Gideon had remarked "oh, this isn’t exactly what i wanted, or you tried, Re in response to Remus’s efforts. 

“Secret rules, as my godson would say.”

“I mean, sure, there’s secret…rules, I guess, but remember? were you not listening to the whole bad at gift giving part?”

“I listened. Were you gifting rotten eggs?”

“Well no. It’s just that, he, and-and-I we’re just never on the same page, and his gifts are--and well, mine are--”

“Ah.”

“And, and, and who the fuck gets their partner a bidet for Christmas?”

“Well…maybe someone who has a partner who asked for one?” Sirius said, smirking a little before getting back to his work.

“Well you’re a bit arrogant, aren’t you?”

“Or just…right.”

“No. Because he didn’t explicitly ask for one he more mentioned it in passing…he’s mentioned  countless things in passing, why not just by one of those and not a major home renovation…this was a terrible idea. This was stupid! Why didn’t you tell me that? Going on about the gift rules and secrets, and the real issue here is that this was a bad idea!”

“I’m in the business of fixing up baths, not sharing my opinions on Christmas gifts.”

“Except you just did.”

“Very unprofessional of me, I admit.”

Remus said, stopping his pacing to run a hand over his face, “This is very unprofessional of me. Arguing with my plumber! About presents. And, it’s my fault, really. I should’ve told you in the call! That’s what I should’ve done, straight out the gate, just let you know the real situation, and I should’ve said that I bought this stupid bidet, and made a mess of my bathroom, and a million other wrong things--”

Sirius grabbed the bidet from the floor and placed it on top of the toilet. Pieces falling perfectly into place. 

“It’s not a bad gift,” Sirius told him, “Odd perhaps, but thoughtful. Plumbers honor.”

“Really…?”

“Really.”

“You’re right!” Remus said, and as Sirius made some final adjustments before pressing a button on the bidet. A jingle played.

“And, for what it's worth, you bought a good bidet. Nicer bidets tend to be more finicky to install so…really, this mess showcases heaps of effort.”

“Thank you!” Remus responded, somewhat indignantly, throwing his arms into the air. Someone understood. 

“That’s exactly what he should say. Your partner. When he walks into this room and notices--”

“The bidet.”

“The spectacular bidet.”

“What…if he doesn’t?” Remus asked quietly after a long silence, two men standing and admiring the bidet sitting proudly on a toilet with a broken top, singing its little song to prove it was functioning. 

“Would you like my professional opinion?”

“...Yes.”

“If he doesn’t say thank you and kiss you full on the mouth for this very thoughtful gift…then at least you can enjoy this bidet and you throw a massive party with all of your friends and tell them to use this bathroom.” Remus snorted, thinking about walking guests into the master bedroom and bathroom during a party--coworkers and neighbors and friends, stepping on the carpet in their shoes just to get to the bidet. 

“What’s your unprofessional one?”

“Find someone who will say thank you.”

“So I should find a liar.”

“Thank you for thinking of me, and thank you for the effort it took to find this gift, isn’t a lie in my book. It’s not about the bidet.”

“It could be.”

“Yeah but it's not.”

“But it is, kind of.”

“No.”

Remus opened his mouth and closed it again, unsure of what to say, Sirius grinning smugly at Remus, daring him to disagree again. This man might have had the same stubborn streak Remus had. His stomach fluttered for a moment, almost laughing, almost joyful at the silly, naive thought of spending a lifetime with a man, this man, who argued without the malice behind the words. 

“It’s not that simple anyway,” Remus said, “Just…leaving.”

“Never said it was, but either way…this is yours,” Sirius gestured to the bidet, “And someone should use it.

--

It had only been a few hours, but the bathroom looked good as new. Bidet installed, hole patched up and water was mopped up. The only sign that something had gone awry was the toilet top with the chunk missing. 

“We’ll have to get you a new one,” Sirius told him, writing up the invoice as they walked to Remus’s front door, toolbox in hand

“Will that take weeks?” 

“No, a few days just because of the holidays. I’ll bring it by the 26th, and it’ll be all set.”

“You are truly a life saver, I don’t know what I would’ve done, and….thanks for listening to me talk…all day. I know you probably didn’t sign up for that exactly when you took this call, and probably had better things to be doing, and--”

“This was one of the more enjoyable calls I’ve had actually,” Sirius told him, pausing in front of the front door. “I had a good time.”

Remus laughed awkwardly, reaching for the doorknob to open the door for Sirius, “This feels like the end of some sort of date…do you want me to walk you to your car?”

“Very kind, but I promise I’ll make it.” Sirius nodded, sticking out his hand. Definitely not a date. “Pleasure working with you Mr. Lupin.”

“Remus.”

“Remus,” Sirius said, “I’ll see you in a few days. My numbers on the invoice, should anything come up before then. Just…call.”

--

Christmas music was playing loudly in his living room, Sirius’s godson testing out his new dance moves learned at school on the rug, his best friends clapping along and joining in with their own dance moves alongside their child. Sirius had just pulled the roast chicken out of the oven--the shining star for the Christmas Eve feast-- when the phone rang. Oven mitts still on, he hurried to grab the land line, tossing a stray curl out of his face as he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Potter’s Plumbing?” the voice on the other end said and Sirius couldn’t help but bite back a smile. He had been in Remus’s home for only a few hours, but had heard the other man talk enough that Sirius was certain he’d be able to identify who was speaking with his eyes closed. It was refreshing. Sirius returned home that day and recounted the emergency call to his best friend, leaving out no details about the frazzled, freckled, and messy man who attempted to install a bidet. 

You put your personal number on the invoice? Sirius, that’s too bold.

Sirius was thinking he wouldn’t call.

He hadn’t expected any bidet related emergencies.

“This is Sirius Black,” Sirius said, “But I am part of Potter’s Plumbing.”

“Oh, good, Sirius, it’s you. Hello, it’s Remus Lupin, remember, you serviced my bidet a few days ago and there's a toilet top that needs to be repaired, and we hung up a shower curtain together and I almost fell to my death off the bathtub ledge?”

“Ah yes,” Sirius teased, “Thanks for those details to jog my memory, without them I would’ve definitely forgotten. Did you run into some trouble?”

“Uh…No.”

“Oh…then, how can I help you, Mr. Lupin?”

“Remus.”

“Remus.”

“I…” Sirius heard Remus click his tongue a few times, “I…decided to…not…I mean, I don’t need a new toilet top. Can I cancel that? I think it looks better this way.”

“With the missing part?” Sirius asked, feeling a touch disappointed at the nature of the call.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go ahead and cancel that for you, Remus. No problem at all. Was that it?”

“No,” Remus said and paused again, “I’m having a sort of party.”

“Sort of?”

“A party, on New Year's Eve. I decided. To celebrate the new year and new beginnings and all that, glad tidings, you know, the things people usually celebrate. And…also to celebrate the bidet that's in the bathroom because I’ve been told it's a good bidet, like a nice one even! A professional told me that, and it…uh should be appreciated by someone. So I'm having a party and I’m wondering if…you like bidets?”

“Did I not tell you I’m French? I love bidets.”

[silverryuan]

Twst with a Blood Mage reader

Warning: ...Blood and Violence? No shit?

• In this fic, I won't be specifically referring to the reader as Skarlet or any part of Skarlet's backstory. I'll only be using references of her skillset (Dagger Dance, Cell Siphon, Krimson Shield, etc.) and I'll also leave the reader's backstory as a powerful unknown mage with a forbidden type of magic.

• You have a very unique magic. A magic oh so powerful that everyone feared that it may turn you into a monster. But the thought of manipulating anyone and making them serve you never crossed your mind. You first discovered that you possess such type of magic is when you accidentally bit the inside of your cheek. The blood dripped down from your mouth to the floor. As you cried, the drops of blood levitated in the air, startling you. When the people around you took notice of this, they immediately cast you aside as a villain.

• ... That's okay. It doesn't hurt anymore.

• You didn't know what happened. That's that. You didn't know you blacked out, you didn't know how you got trapped inside a coffin, you didn't know why this... Blue furry thing on fire screaming at you to take off your robe that definitely wasn't there before. You shrugged its hostile behavior towards you since it doesn't sound like it wants to elaborate.

????: "Fnyagh! Just gimme your robe and I won't burn ya to a crisp, got it?!"

• I mean, look at this thing. Judging by its size and aura, it doesn't seem to be strong enough to knock you out, much less overpower you. The flaming feline is not pleased when you casually ignore him and just walk away like nothing happened. So it blew flames at you when you turn from him. You sharply turn to a corner to avoid the flames. You realize that you didn't have your dagger or anything sharp around you, so you ran.

????: "Fnyaaaah! Hey come back here!"

• Hmm, Courtyard... No sharp rocks or sticks, the whole place looks clean. Hmm, Library... Papercuts from papers? No, too small. Shit, a dead end... Should you just bite your fingers or bash your head against the wall? Nah, no time-

Grim: "Fnyahaha! Ya think ya can escape from the Great Grim's nose?! Now, take off your- FNYAGH!"

• You sighed, close your eyes, and just thought of letting him burn your skin off so that you can have access to your blood magic...... Huh, he's silent all of a sudden. You open your eyes to see a man wearing a crow mask and a top hat capturing the cat with a lash. The man scolded you after bickering with the tiny monster. He doesn't seem to pose a threat to you and you won't pose a threat to him.

• Whatever nonsense this man keeps blabbering about, it intrigues you. A college? Solely to train young mages? This loud-ass man is their headmaster? A horse drawn carriage of ebony took you here? As a student? ...Should you be glad that it's not a dungeon? Should you be annoyed and tell him that you're not supposed to be here? Either way, you quiet down and observe the commotion until your explanation is needed.

??????: "Where is the headmage?"

?????: "Maybe he had a stomachache and had to leave?"

Crowley, barging in: "NOT AT ALL!"

????: "Ah, there he is."

?????: "Whatever. Let's get this stupid ceremony over with."

• Crowley pushed in front of a mirror and a face glowed from it.

Dark Mirror: "State thy name."

BloodMage! Yuu: "...."

Crowley: "Psst! Say your real and full name!"

BloodMage! Yuu: "... But it's an object? I'm not sharing my name with an object, I'll look stupid."

Crowley: "Just say your name!"

BloodMage! Yuu: "Fine! It's BloodMage! Yuu..."

Dark Mirror: "BloodMage! Yuu... Thy color and shape of soul is..."

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

@bucktommypositivityweek Day 1, season 8 opening disaster. 2,610 words, read on AO3

🐝“We're doomed.”🐝

“Millions of bees?” Chimney asked unbelieving, still clutching the radio. Dispatch had just reported it; in fact, it had been his own wife, and she was definitely not joking on the job. “Killer bees,” Buck corrected, squinting up at the cloudless sky as if they were already pouncing down on the 118. “African honeybees, actually. Nasty, aggressive critters. The whole hive attacks when threatened, and they chase their victims. Saw it on a documentary once.” “Nobody wants to know, Buckley.” Gerrard was just leaving the fire engine and putting on his helmet. ”There's a huge traffic jam ahead of us, and a few miles at the end of it is the truck that caused it. Whether there were millions of bees in it or not, which I personally think is nonsense and an exaggeration, we’re the ones picking up the pieces, so let's get to work.” Buck shouldered his axe, though a noise overhead distracted him. A small plane, a nimble propeller-driven aircraft, was flying pretty low above them. Was he imagining it, or did the pilot briefly wobble its wings? “That's one of ours,” said Eddie, who was now walking beside him, toward the next crashed car. “There are at least two people trapped inside.” "Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“I looked through the windshield, Buck,“ Eddie replied with a bemused look. ”No,” Buck shot back, looking up again, ”that it’s one of our machines?”

“Pry open the door here… yeah, that's it. Get a grip, Buck. I know this because Tommy explained how to recognize the machines. I'm surprised you haven't started spouting off trivia about airplanes and helicopters yet." Hen came running up, tossing Eddie an IV bag which he deftly caught. “We're doing a proper triage," she said. “Oh wait…" She bent over past Eddie, who was busy calming the occupants of the car, two women, appearing frightened, confused and clearly injured. ”Ma'am? We got you. Eddie, hand me a skin clamp, please.” Buck, standing behind her, was already looking for the next car from which someone needed to be freed. He recognized from her tone of voice that she had discovered something bad in that car, but that the person concerned should not notice under any circumstances. Eddie rummaged in the emergency bag, and Hen asked in a conversational tone, “What do you think they need a plane for? It's not exactly a forest fire.” “It's a crop-dusting plane, I think,“ Eddie replied. ‘It's probably supposed to spray chemicals against the bees.’ ”Against millions of bees?” “Well, how else are they going to get rid of them? Buck, I think I heard Gerrard call you!" Buck turned around and saw the captain pointing at two cars wedged into each other, a scowl on his face that furrowed his forehead. I better hurry, he thought, and he was right about that.

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Of all the things Tommy had ever done with an airplane, this was probably the craziest.

The mission had been anything but normal from the start. Millions of bees had escaped from the truck in an accident on the highway, dispatch reported. Killer bees, goaded and stressed, now following an instinct. Whatever bees do, maybe they want to pollinate something. Tommy took a look at the controls – everything was fine – and thought of Evan.

Of course, it was the worst possible time to think about the man who’d turned his head, but then again, it wasn't. Evan would probably have a lot of exciting prattle about bees. Tommy briefly pondered what he knew about them… well, wasn’t much. Right now, what mattered was his job; the only idea Animal Control had come up with, He was supposed to fly as close as possible to the swarm and spray biocides. First, the smoke would irritate the insects and disorient them, then kill them in no time. He already felt sorry for those who would have to sweep millions of dead bees off the streets at the end of the day.

Tommy kept to the west of the highway; according to his information, the bees had set off directly towards the city. He steered the machine low, the bees didn't reach that high of an altitude. A few red spots below him told Tommy that the emergency services had already reached the scene, and Evan would be among them, no doubt. The people down there were safe. However, that didn't apply to a large part of L.A., if those bees were to cause trouble there. With such a large number of aggressive animals, you didn't even have to be allergic to die from their stings.

“FLX-126, this is Air Control,” croaked his radio. “Kinard, the population has been warned to close windows and doors, you have clearance. Catch the beasts before they reach the city.“

”Copy that. I’ll take up the chase against the bees.“

Evan would find that funny.

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”Hurry up, Buckley, there's an oil slick up ahead that needs to be secured. You want half the pileup to blow up? One spark is all it takes!”

“I'm nearly there, Captain,” Buck shouted, helping a shivering elderly gentleman out of the car. He had almost torn the door off its hinges trying to free him, but after a quick check, it seemed that the man was all right, except for an ugly gash on his forehead. Not the first miracle today. ”The ambulances are over there, please go to them, they will take care of you.”

“Buckley!"

Buck liked to imagine Gerrard as a nagging little man who would tear himself apart in the forest in a rage, but reality was no fairy tale. Reality was an operation on a chaotic road smeared with oil and blood, where a hazardous materials truck full of bees had left a trail of devastation. A mission with dozens of trapped people who had to be freed using heavy equipment and muscle power, and Buck was already dripping with sweat. But there was no time to catch a breath, not when Gerrard was in this mood.

“Get the binder!” Gerrard snapped, while simultaneously impelling Chimney, ‘There are still people trapped up ahead, so get your ass in gear!’

Gerrard's arms were gesturing in both directions. Now Buck knew a better comparison than a vicious fairy-tale creature — Gerrard reminded him of General Grievous, who could lash out with four arms at once. He jogged over to the captain, giving the oil slick a skeptical glance. It was big, yes, but a simple barrier should suffice to start with; there were more important things to do right now.

“The binder is in the truck, and it's almost half a mile down the highway,“ he said.

”So?“ Gerrard's Adam's apple jumped up and down angrily. Buck stared at it, fascinated.

”I should help Chimney, there seems to be a problem up ahead.”

Buck pointed to his brother-in-law, who was trying with great effort to break open a wedged car door.

“The 126 is further ahead, they’ll be fine. The oil slick is here.” Gerrard said with narrowed eyes. The guy needs glasses, Buck thought.

Now he knew why Gerrard wanted to keep him here. He was probably afraid that Tommy was on duty up ahead and they would meet. Moreover, the captain of the 126 was not very fond of Gerrard, and Gerrard would have to stop his annoying harassment for a while. At least Buck would then have been able to work in peace as he saw fit... the way Bobby had taught him, not that stupid old geezer with his old-fashioned rules. However, he was convinced that Tommy was on the plane that had just made a loop above them and then turned west. For a second, he pondered whether it was worth rebelling against Gerrard, but then he thought of all the people who were still trapped and hurt, looking for help. Buck took a deep breath.

“All right,” he growled and jogged across the highway to the fire engine.

At least Tommy is having an exciting time.

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When Tommy spotted the swarm of bees, his mouth went dry.

He didn't know what he had actually expected, but the sight was... sobering. Not to mention scary, even from up here. Millions of bees formed a dense cluster that only frayed a little at the edges. It was an enormous cloud of insects that almost looked like a single animal; a huge, billowing monster moving towards the city.

Evan would have a better comparison for it, he thought briefly. But even his brave, extremely adorable boyfriend would probably freak out if he could see this. Tommy, in any case, sensed that only an adrenaline rush was keeping him from simply turning the plane around and leaving as quickly as possible. That, and his sense of duty. Damn it.

The swarm was now already close to one of the city's outskirts, a peaceful suburbia with neat terraced houses and cute gardens. Gardens that would soon be invaded by so many bees that every living being down there would be buried beneath them. He couldn’t allow that to happen. Tommy gripped the stick more firmly, lowering the machine a couple of feet.

These critters were already much too close to L.A. There had been warnings through the usual apps, but people were people. He knew there would be enough who hadn't noticed or were just too ignorant. Some of them would be hit by the chemicals, no doubt. And Tommy knew that theoretically that shouldn't bother him; he had a job to do. But only people like Gerrard would consider the consequences to be collateral damage. If Tommy released the biocide now, it would not only destroy the bees, but also cause a lot of damage in the pretty little gardens below him – and in the groundwater. A crazy idea formed in his head. There wasn't much time to make up his mind.

He pushed the controls down, added a little thrust and flew straight into the swarm.

It was a strange feeling, a bit like floating through cotton wool. The bees were briefly startled, but kept their pace. It wouldn't be enough to make them change course, and Tommy had to hurry – the longer he flew through the middle of the swarm, the more likely it was that they would sit on his windshields until he couldn't see anything. Or that too many of them would fly into the propellers until they clogged them and he would lose control. Tommy gritted his teeth. All or nothing, he thought, and waggled the wings to stir them up. Then he yanked the plane sharply to the left, flew a small loop, and glanced behind. The bees followed him; the cloud of insects, which had only briefly scattered, had reformed into a dense, angry mass, and they were on his tail.

Next target: Kinard, he thought. Off to the desert with you.

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That evening, as Buck unlocked the door to the loft, dirty and tired, he was greeted by an extremely pleasant scent. It smelled like... lasagna? He had barely closed the door when his stomach growled.

“Interesting greeting, Evan,” Tommy called to him from the kitchen counter.

Tommy, to whom he had given a copy of the keys to his apartment only two weeks ago. Buck's heart gave a happy little jump. He was also a little jealous, though, because Tommy was obviously freshly showered, and he felt like he had just come out of the garbage disposal. However... the sight of his boyfriend, with his hair still damp and slightly wavy at the ends, and apparently wearing one of Buck's T-shirts that stretched in all the right places... His throat tightened and he cleared it.

“My stomach's as happy to see you as the rest of me,“ he replied, and with two quick steps he was at Tommy, kissing him fondly while he glanced at the stove. Lasagna, definitely.

”Mmm,” Tommy purred appreciatively, ”ten more minutes. Maybe you want to change quickly? You kinda reek of oil.”

Buck groaned. “Gerrard had me do all the dirty work,” he complained, as he dropped onto a chair at the kitchen table. “That truck with the killer bees? It skidded because the driver – who, by the way, was very lucky to survive – was frightened by a spider in the cab. Can you imagine? The guy had millions of bees on board, and he freaked out because of a spider that had come right down on his nose.“

”You call me if you find a spider in the shower,” Tommy remarked as he stirred salad in a bowl.

“Because I find touching them gross. And because it's not right to just flush them down the drain. Did you know that spiders are very important to the ecosystem?“

”Hm. But I guess you would have been scared, too.”

“Maybe,“ Buck admitted. ‘Anyway, the guy swerved so hard that he caused a huge accident on the highway. Dozens were injured, it's a miracle that no one died. The trail of devastation stretched for a few miles across the roadway.’

”Including an oil slick, it seems to me,” Tommy teased him.

Buck raised an arm and smelled his armpits.

“Yuck. Yeah. Gerrard had me mopping up oil, securing the roadway, extinguishing tiny fires on the shoulder... I was lucky I could free four or five people from their cars before he sent me off to do some useless crap again.”

"The guy really has it in for you.”

“It's the medal,” Buck said, while he pushed a few of the carrot pieces, that Tommy had already cut but not yet added to the salad, into his mouth, ”He can't stand that I was decorated and he's been stumbling on the career ladder for forty years.”

“Hmmm,” Tommy went and quickly threw the rest of the vegetables into the bowl before Buck could contaminate them even more. ”That, or it's just because he's got a stick up his ass.”

Buck laughed briefly, then sighed. “It was a crazy operation, and I could have helped a lot more people. Tommy, I saw your plane for a second today. I bet you had a much more exciting day. A huge swarm of bees right under your plane, and you destroyed them all before they could wreak havoc on the city!”

The look he shot Tommy was admiring, and Tommy grinned. He thought about how he had almost peed his pants flying his plane in front of a giant swarm of aggressive bees, and that flying right into them had been a pretty crazy move. About the maneuver he had flown over the desert, that had almost cost him an engine because he had to try to get above the swarm again to release the biocide. He thought of the moment when a few of the killer bees had broken away from the collective and actually, as he had feared, settled on his cockpit windshield to narrow his view. And he thought about how the flap had jammed when he was directly over the swarm, how the sweat had run down his back and he could hardly breathe. How he had thought of the thousands of people who would be in danger if he didn't finish this; among them Evan.

“It wasn't that exciting,” he said modestly. ‘To be honest, dropping a few chemicals is a simple job, nothing to write home about. You should really take a shower, babe. After that, you can tell me more about Gerrard's exploits, okay?’

He leaned over to breathe a kiss just above Evan’s birthmark, and his smile was worth the little lie.

[makeyoumine69]

Till Death Do Us Part (Chapter Three)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader; [no y/n]

SUMMARY: Your curiosity led you into the lion's mouth.

CONTAINS: Arranged marriage/enemies to lovers trope, implied smut, manipulative relationships, drugging, oral sex (Patrick receiving), titjob, dirty talk, misogyny, masturbation.

WORDS: 3.6k

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, hope you enjoy the new chapter!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

Swallowing hard, you carefully removed his hand. "Can you tell me why you’re doing this? I know you don't want this marriage to happen either...you've been dating such beautiful women just to end up married to me? What nonsense!" Your nervous chuckle echoed through the modern kitchen of Bateman's apartment. "You know, I think we can compromise. If this marriage is going to happen, we can make it a formality—you can keep your lifestyle and sleep with whoever you want, I won't mind, I promise. But the only thing I want is for you to let me finish my internship. That's all."

You did your best to regain your composure, even though you could see Patrick's eyebrows furrowed in frustration. How would you have reacted if someone had told you ten years ago that you would become Bateman? You would probably be so damn happy, because it was no secret that you had been in love with him since the first time you saw him—a cute little boy with a beautiful smile and freckles.

Patrick clenched his hand into a fist and pulled it away from you gently so as not to frighten you. He listened to your deal and furrowed his brow. 'I'm going to sleep with whoever, no matter what the deal is,' he thought to himself', the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly with amusement. Bateman chuckled and shook his head. "There's no need for this deal...do you think so little of me that you think I need more than one woman?" He grinned and put his hand on his chest as if he was offended by your statement. "Besides, you can finish your internship even if we're married. My father always wanted a doctor..." There was a hint of sadness in his voice when he mentioned his father. "...Besides, I have a maid." He took your hand and pulled you closer. "I... think you're beautiful... Sure, you could be thinner, but that's easily fixable. Of course, marriage isn't exactly what I want right now... but who knows? Maybe it'll be fun." There was a predatory glint in his eyes. If he could just get you to fall in love with him like you did in high school, you would be putty in his hands.

'I can be thinner, sure, but you can't be a better man than you are,' You thought, but you let him pull you closer, giving him the illusion that he was in control of the situation. "You sound like you want to change me to your liking," you scoffed, looking into his hazel eyes. "Will I have to dye my hair blonde?"

It was too bad for you that you had such a good memory, as your mind replayed all the old memories of endless numbers of blonde girls hovering around Bateman like sharks around a piece of meat.

"Aren't you afraid we'll be late?" You suddenly asked with a grin, making it clear that you didn't want to continue this conversation.

"Doesn't everyone want the best for their partner?" Patrick said, his voice lower than before. "I mean... I at least want to be attracted to my wife... So I wouldn't mind if her hair had more... Striking color." He looked at your curly locs curiously. "We'll think of something." All these statements hardly registered as insults to Patrick. Just the truth. Well, some of it was. If this marriage thing was really going to happen, he could at least get something out of it. A little... object to have around the house. If he got tired of you, you'd die in a “tragic accident” and he'd get the life insurance money, being your spouse and all. All he needed was for you to step a little closer into his trap. 

Bateman then looked at his watch. One hour to dinner now. He hummed and looked down at you, "I'll get ready. Wait here." He walked away, huffing quietly. It was obvious that nothing sexual would happen before dinner. Whatever. Once in his room, he closed the door—or so he thought. He sat down on his bed and pulled his boxers down, his erection popping out. He flushed as he tried to think of something to get him off. After pushing thoughts of you out of his mind, his thoughts moved to Courtney. Sure, she was married to Luis now... but he always imagined Luis dead in his fantasies. That only made her more attractive to him anyway. He imagined her tanned, aerobic legs spread for him, her pussy winking as an invitation. He smiled and wrapped his hand around his cock, moving it quickly as he bit his thumb to hide his moans.

Five minutes had passed since Patrick had left, and you were still standing in the kitchen, thinking about your recent conversation. As you were about to go into the living room and maybe read something to kill some time, you heard a muffled moan. At first you thought it was coming from the TV, but when you heard it again, your curiosity got the better of you and you decided to find the source of the moaning.

Cautiously, like a cat, you crept into the living room, only to find a small gap in the bedroom door, and although your inner voice tried to stop you, you refused to listen and continued to come closer as if hypnotized. It only took a few small steps to get closer to the door to see Bateman's naked form, his eyes closed and his cheeks flushed. As your curious gaze fell to his groin, your heart seemed to stop at the sight of his meaty, veiny cock, cut and so damn huge that your insides tightened at the sight.

"Oh...my...God…" You whispered uncontrollably before recoiling as if from the fire.

Embarrassed, you felt a searing heat coursing through your body, frightening you so much that instead of just returning to the living room, you ran to the bathroom and locked the door. Then you opened the sink to muffle your desperate gasping. 'Why? Why is this happening? Why did I want to wrap my hands around his dick? Why did I want... to taste it? Fuck, I bet it tastes amazing...'

"STOP!" You yelled at yourself, grabbing the surface of the bathroom counter. 'How am I supposed to behave around him after what I've seen? You cursed, trying to calm yourself.'

Patrick groaned and tilted his head back, gripping the sheets as he quickened his hand movements. The silence in the room was broken by a soft noise. His eyes flew open and he looked at the door to see a figure flashing away from it. "Hey!" he roared, instantly enraged. Before Bateman could do anything he would regret, he pulled his boxers back up and opened his desk drawer. He took out his prescriptions and popped a pill into his mouth, letting it calm him down and quell his emotions. 

The man sighed and got up, walking out of the bedroom. He looked around and saw that the bathroom door was closed and went straight to it. He calmly knocked on the door. "Becca." Patrick called, his voice stern and demanding, but still with a hint of comfort. "Come out. You're not in trouble." He huffed and put a hand on the door frame, waiting for you to meet him.

‘Oh my fucking God, he caught me looking at him! What am I going to say? Uhhh, I'm sorry, I thought you were in pain, so I came over and saw you jerking off. FUCK!’

With a deep breath you closed the tap and after a quick look at your reflection you fixed your hair and went to the door to open it. But at the last moment you stopped, feeling your heart pounding so fast because you were sure Bateman was standing right behind the door.

"Can you...can you get away from the door, please? I'll come out." You didn't want your voice to sound demanding, but what was done was done.

Patrick rolled his eyes and took a step back from the door, crossing his arms over his pecs. He tapped his foot on the floor as he waited for you to come out. The man wasn't sure what he would do when you came out. Probably try to persuade you ... tell you that if you wanted to watch him so badly, you could get a better look before you left for dinner.

When you left the bathroom, the first thing you noticed was that Bateman was still wearing only his white boxers, which made you visually nervous.

"Mmmhhm, if you're still not ready to go out, maybe you don't really want to have this dinner?" You asked shyly, closing the bathroom door. "Maybe... you have other plans?"

Wait, what? Why the hell did you ask that?

Abashed, you averted your eyes from his, finding it hard to look into them—a blazing embarrassment burning you from the inside out. 'Don't look...don't look...oh shit, he's still so hard.'

Patrick laughed and shook his head. "No, we can't miss this dinner. My friend wants to meet you." The man said and adjusted the hem of his boxers. He was still extremely hard, which made it uncomfortable to stand. "You know, I just wanted to take care of my... problem by myself, which wouldn't take long." He put his hand back on the doorframe and leaned over you. "But since you want to watch so badly... you can help." He winked. "If you want."

Bateman ran his hand down your arm before moving it to your waist. "It won't take long... besides, I can tell you want to. Why be so reluctant?" He grinned. "I think it'll be an excellent way for us to relieve stress."

Trembling, you gasped at his touch and now you were beginning to regret not wearing a bra as your nipples were clearly visible through the thin fabric of your dress.

You closed your eyes for a second to process his suggestion. "You want me to... you want me to watch you masturbate? Is that what you want?"

'I can't believe we're actually talking about this.' Oh, how many times did you spend the nights touching yourself and thinking about Patrick, but that Patrick was just your perfect illusion, because now you were standing in front of the real Bateman, selfish and arrogant and totally sexy and hot. Dear God…

Patrick laughed. "God, you really are a virgin." He looked down and saw your nipples protruding conspicuously from the dress. That was enough motivation for him to keep going. The man snaked his hand up your back and pulled you closer, pressing his erection against your leg. Then Bateman pressed his fingers against your hip, using all his strength not to rip the dress off you right away. "I want you to go to... our bedroom, take off the dress and wait for me." He whispered, keeping his eyes on you. "I know you have fantasized about this before, Rebecca. You want my fat cock inside you, don't you?"

Even though it had been almost ten days since you had tried to get used to living with Patrick in his apartment, but all that time you hadn't even slept in the same bed, although it was stupid to deny that you didn't look at his perfect body whenever you had the chance.

"I... I can try to help you, but I'm not ready for such radical things as having sex with you," you said, your whole body shaking, but you didn't try to remove his hands. "You said it wouldn't take long...so maybe we can finish this right here?"

Maybe it could mean that you accepted your fate, but when you got on your knees in front of him, it didn't feel strange or disgusting, it felt so fucking wrong, but at the same time so fucking right.

Patrick watched you with hungry eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. He didn't want it to be just a blow job... but he'd take what he could get. Maybe he'd let you sleep in the same bed with him tonight. Well.. "Sleep" - he'd see how long you actually slept. Bateman moved his hand to the top of your head as you dropped to your knees. He smiled and pulled his boxers down, letting his erection pop out and hit your cheek. Pre-cum oozed from the tip from his earlier masturbation session. "Good. Let's see what you can do." Patrick murmured and ran his hand through your hair. He knew he'd probably have to do most of the work, you being a virgin and all, but he'd let you take control for a while, show him how you could work your magic.

Totally embarrassed, you didn't even know how to react when Bateman's thick cock almost slapped your cheek—you had never felt more vulnerable and humiliated in your life. And even though this was not your first blowjob, the only boyfriend you had was much smaller, so the huge size difference turned out to be much scarier than you thought.

Closing your eyes, you wrapped your tiny hand around the base of his beefy dick, which twitched in response. "Why... Why are you so big?" You asked naively before giving his swollen tip a few kitten licks. 

‘Oh God, if Patrick ever found out about my ex-boyfriend and that we failed to have sex several times because he wasn't that big, Bateman would laugh at me and mock me for the rest of my life.’

Patrick watched, leaning over you and resting his arm against the wall. He watched you work, his face expressionless as you worked slowly. He started to get impatient, but held himself back. "Uh- genetics?" The man smiled condescendingly. "Have you never seen a real man's cock? I mean, I know you're a virgin, but I know you had a boyfriend in high school... some nobody from the suburbs." He chuckled before tugging gently on your hair. "Why don't you open your mouth wide for me?" Bateman crooned softly.

As for the current options, you chose to open your mouth as he asked, rather than tell him about your failures in your sex life. The moment Bateman pushed himself deeper into your mouth, you immediately grabbed his hips, trying to keep control of the situation.

"Mhmmm," you murmured around his throbbing dick, hoping it would all be over soon. Thank God Patrick gave you a short breather. "It... it won't fit, Patrick."

Ashamed, you fidgeted nervously on the floor, not wanting him to know that you were so wet between your legs.

Patrick moaned and tilted his head back, enjoying the warmth of your mouth. He rocked his hips slightly, his head nuzzling the inside of your cheek. He looked down and pulled out of your mouth, listening to you speak. "Oh, it'll fit..." He grinned before moving both hands to your hair. Bateman gripped tightly, then thrust his cock into your mouth, moaning deeply. With a shaky breath he stopped himself from making you deepthroat him. Gradually, the man rocked his hips faster, carefully pulling in and out of your mouth. "Mm, fuck... perfect fit..." He growled under his breath.

You did your best to breathe through your nose, though your eyes were already watering from lack of oxygen. It was humiliating and even painful, the way his cockhead brushed against your soft palate was almost brutal. 

'Fuck, what am I doing? What will my family think of me when they find out what a slut I have become?' You could only whimper helplessly, hoping that Bateman would soon reach his climax and let you go, but... what if he decided to cum in your mouth? You leaned on his hips, then one of your hands rested on his perfect abs, signaling him to slow down a bit.

Patrick closed his eyes as he worked his hips back and forth, chasing his own pleasure at a slow pace. He let out a throaty moan and opened his eyes when he felt you tap him. He slowed his thrusts but continued, his eyebrows furrowed. No way you were tapping out already. Bateman sighed and pulled out of your mouth completely, looking down at you with a scornful look. "I think jerking off would go a lot faster." The man said bitterly, keeping his hands in your hair. He moved one to wipe the drool from your lip, tilting his head in thought. He knew that if he got too rough with you now, you'd probably never trust him with sex again... and it would be a pain in the ass to have to wrestle you down like an irate chihuahua every time he had a hard-on. He could just hire prostitutes, but that adds up fast.

Bateman's mocking comment about your lack of experience really offended you because you were trying your best to help him with his "hard" problem.

"Hey, I'm trying, okay?" you suddenly blurted out in an angry tone. "It's not my fault that you're so... huge," you gasped several times, finally able to breathe properly. But Patrick's burning eyes still looked at you deceptively. "Uh, I don't know... how about this?" you knew that it would be so risky, since you could easily get dirty, but you didn't know what else you could do in such a situation. Slowly you pulled down the top of your dress, revealing your heavy tits. Without realizing what you were doing, you squeezed them together and looked up at Patrick, his dick twitching at the sight of your breasts. "Do you...like it?"

Patrick sniffed. 'Could have fooled me,' he thought to himself with an amused grin that only deepened when you called him 'huge'. His eyes widened and his lips pursed as Bateman watched you pull down your dress. He really wasn't expecting it. His eyes froze on your breasts, his cock twitching at the sight. Biting the inside of his cheek, he nodded. "Yeah... did you have plastic surgery or something?" He asked, gently running his hand through your hair. He wanted to fuck your tits. The thought made his cock twitch again. "How about you lying down on the couch? I have an idea... you don't have to do anything. You won't lose your virginity either." Bateman grinned cheekily.

Your face was tense with panic as you tried not to think about what was happening. "No, I didn't have surgery," you replied, slowly standing up and covering your breasts. "They're natural."

Smiling shyly, you said it with a hint of pride, but then your expression tensed as Bateman looked at you, eating you alive with his brown eyes. Then you took a moment to consider whether it was right to follow his order, but did you really have a choice, since it was your idea to start all this madness? Leisurely, you moved past Patrick to his white slutty couch to lie down on it, your dress slipping down more and more as you couldn't hold it in place.

"What... what are you going to do to me?" You asked as you lay on the soft furniture, listening to the man's steady footsteps.

Patrick watched you make your way to the couch and made sure you obeyed him before he went into the bathroom. He fixed his hair in the mirror before opening his medicine cabinet and taking out the spermicidal lubricant. He put some on his hand and smeared it on, his cock twitching in his grasp. The man hummed and walked back into the living room. 

Smugly, Bateman looked over at you, his eyes roaming hungrily over your body. "Trust me, you'll like it." He smiled and stood beside you, towering over you as he stroked your head. After that, Patrick moved to carefully straddle your belly, hovering over you instead of sitting on you. With an obsessive determination, he gripped your tits tightly, rubbing his palms against your sensitive nipples before slowly thrusting his cock between them.

The moment his hot flesh slid between your heavy breasts, you literally stopped breathing. It was so obscene, so sinful, so...delightful? Your ex-boyfriend had never done this to you before, so you didn't even know how to react.

"It's so warm," you whimpered, not daring to look down. "I can feel it pulsating..."

Your hands roamed chaotically over the plush surface of the couch as you were trapped under Bateman's massive body like a little bunny cornered by the Big Bad Wolf, doing your best to stifle any provocative sounds that would reveal your arousal.

Patrick nodded, biting his lower lip. "Yeah..." He groaned and thrust faster, enjoying the feel of his cock between your soft breasts. His veiny cock twitched and he felt his balls tighten, signaling that he was getting closer. Frowning, the man growled and gripped you tighter, thrusting faster. The head of his cock brushed against your lower lip as he moved.

"Ohh... yeah... I know you like this..." He moaned, moving at a slightly gentler pace. Patrick grinned over you, his slicked back hair losing some of its shape so that strands fell in front of his eyes.

You could feel his movements becoming more erratic and jerky - the obvious evidence of his impending orgasm. "Patrick," you called his name in a feeble attempt to get his attention. "Please...don't...come around my breasts, please!"

You were simply not ready, and you were afraid that Bateman would stain the dress he bought you and blame you for it.  'What if I suggest he finish in my mouth? Oh, fuck, he'll drown me in his cum.'

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[heartfullofleeches]

Distribute the weight

Yan Vampire + Tall/Werewolf Reader

Your adoring spouse keeps you on their arm at all times - not matter what others say.

[slightly suggestive]

"Aw, poor Pup broke their paw?~... Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I'm all alone too..."

Irony riddles your scar. Slim, horizontal lines riming the ball of your ankle. A silver bear trap - buried under leaves and twigs, and the cruz pivoting your life on its head. The trap had been set in a part of the forest you had never crossed before, burrowed away on the hunting grounds of a terror fiercer than the hunter after your head. Hell, maybe the bastard set it in that exact location at that exact time in hopes of killing two birds with one stone. In a turn of events shocking you both, the vampire who found you took you into their arms and home: dispatching the hunter stalking you as you recovered in their bed. Loneliness is what saved you that evening - as if you really believed that.

Truth be told, your caretaker was only nursing you back to health to have a fresh supply of blood for guests, but just like the hunter their plans changed the longer you were by their side. Your leg had been completely shattered - amputation likely if they hadn't arrived when they did. Weight too much for one leg to carry; you depended on them to get you from place to place while you healed. From an outside perspective it was like a lion asking aid of their own prey, but their stature was no factor to their strength.

Close to your midsection in height and, your caretaker was able to pick you up in one arm with ease. You were like an oversized stuffed animal they won an the fair and served a similar duty in their bed. They thought about skinning you and using your coat instead, but your warmth came from somewhere deeper than your fur. A confession your third week in and you became lovers. Devoted to you as they were towards their original cause, your spouse would do anything for you.

"Please put me down now..."

Except for that.

You see, old habits die hard when they lead to finding your true love. Years after your leg had healed and your spouse still carried you on their arm wherever they may go. Whether a stoll through the garden or in conversation with another, you were nowhere to be found but in their hold. An extension of themselves they could not part from - you gave up bringing them to reason long ago. The issue still remaining was when you were in the presence of others. The size of the crowd or importance of the person did not matter. In their arms is where you where meant to be and where you reside for as long as they function.

Huddled on a couch in the center of the venue, your spouse is beckoned into conversation by another across the room. An annual meet in their court which you had attended before, but this face was new. Passing their drink off to you and hooking an arm beneath your thighs, your spouse begins to rise when you stop them with a single hand to their chest.

"Maybe I should sit this one out. I'm not sure about that look in their eye..."

Your spouse looks taken aback as if you've just made I'll of their entire bloodline. "Nonsense! Who knows how long this cretin wishes to converse with me? I maybe be able to weasel my way out eventually, but I'm certain to die before then if you are not at my reach. Come now, we mustn't keep our new friend waiting."

Your spouse pats the meat of your thigh, shoving their glass into your hand as they adjust you upon their shoulder as they stand. Your unoccupied arm instinctively shoots around their neck for support as they lock your legs beneath their bicep. You can see upon the second floor from the boost - all those watching and whispering from the shadows. Balancing you on one arm, they traverse the yard; experience in their skill appointed by the point of their heels sharper than the snap of their fangs. Spine straightened and head held high, they join the stranger in the far corner of the room with polite greeting. You focus more on keeping their cup from spilling and staining your fur - again.

Rocking on their heels, your spouse bows their head to the other vamp - hands clearly to preoccupied for a handshake. "Good evening. I trust all is well on your part?"

"Evening...." Their eyes drift towards you, darting back to your spouse as you fume from the concentration. Your spouse rubs your knee, whispering something about knowing just how to get the blood out. "I'm fairing well... why do you ask?"

"I just happened to notice you staring down my mate all night and was curious since you seem to be making them uncomfortable..." Their smile falters, annoyance punctuated by the huff they make as they look up at you. "Ugh, these lights are damn near as bright as day. Darling, could you be a dear a give me a drink?"

Reaching to their jaw, you rest the rim of the glass against their plump lips as their head falls back - flow regulated by the claws at their throat. With their hands at your sides it was not uncommon for you to feed them food and drink, a pleasure your spouse abused plenty.

"Maybe you should keep your mutt at home if I'm bothering them."

Blood plenishes the glass as your spouse chokes on their spit. You ease the glass from their lips as they lower you to the floor, wiping the dribbles of red with the curve of their claws protruding from the cloth of their gloves. Tongue rolling over their fangs, but they bark a laugh as their eyes squint.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you properly."

The other vampire steps forward, sizing them up. Even amongst their own kin, your spouse was smaller than norm. "You really don't know what the others say about you - do you? Carrying around that mutt at all hours like you own the place - it's disrespectful."

"Mm.... Darling, could you hand me that glass, please?" Passing it off, your spouse mouths a thank you as they take it from you and stands between you and your aggressor. Swirling the dark liquid around the edge, they down the drink in one good - pausing briefly to savor the taste before smashing the glass on the floor. As shard disburse at their feet, your spouse checks their nails seeing as this bother wasn't worth their time as they expect.

"Kneel."

A snarl emits from the vampire throat as their hands aim for your spouse's collar. "You may have been here first, but that gives you no reason to order me around."

Your spouse chuckles through the strain around their neck. "My friend, I don't think you understand. See, when my love and I became one, we received a little gift from the little hunter aiming to take us both as prize. A fool that one, but power seems common in the hands of idiots nowadays."

Gaze falling to their chest; if their blood grew any colder it would still in their chest. Pointed at their heart, betwixt the thin layer of skin encasing their ribs - a dagger aims for the kill from the sleeve of your spouse's robes. A lazy, toothy grin meets their face as terror marks their opponent's.

"You wouldn't..."

"Oh, but I would." Twisting the handle, their voice drops as first blood falls. "You wouldn't be the first."

The frightened party looks towards you for mercy. You avoid their silent plea, eyes on your partner alone. Couldn't stop them even if you wanted. Defeated, the vampire drops to one knee, wincing as the broken glass embeds into their knee. Your spouse jabs at their side to get them down on the other, slashing their abdomen in accident they don't seem to care much for. Torment and pain unbound, the worse of it comes with their next order.

"Lick up what's left if you value your tongue."

Their panic is thee most delicious thing your spouse has drank up all night. They look beyond you for help, but they're all but ignored and those who pay mine only snicker or shake their head out of pity. The threat of a foot to the back of their skull gets them moving along just fine. By the time their tongue sweeps the first heap of glass your spouse had already lost interest - concern overtaken their glee as you glance off to nowhere.

"Dearest, what troubles you?"

"They're right, you know?... My leg has been healed for years and I don't need you to carry me around anymore. I'm too big for it anyway.."

"That so?... Forgive me for being selfish, but it isn't all about you anymore, my love. You do have a point with one thing, though."

"What?"

Taking your hand, your spouse pushes you against the wall. Never has the venue's drap wallpaper looked more investing than when wrapped against your fur as they pin you in place. Guiding your legs up and around their torso, they center majority of your weight on their pelvis as their head falls to your sternum and their hands to your waist.

"There's too much of you for these feeble arms of mine to hold. I need a better way to distribute the weight or else I may not be able to carry you as you deserve. At my hip is a far better place for you. Makes sense, considering you're always in my lap when we're at home." Your spouse readjusts their hold on you as one of your legs slides down their back, hips ground against your loins as they lock their hand beneath the seat of your rear. Your thighs cage them like two trunks of wood supported by a twig. One squeeze and you could easily snap their spine just as easy and maybe that's what brought such a vibrant flutter to their heart as their cheek pads your chest. Pulling you down a bit further, they nip at your collarbone as their hands rake up the shorts you wore. In the corner of the room guised by the bustling chatter and music around you, none are the wiser as your clothing dips off your hip - your spouse's robes hiding the slip of their hand between your legs.

"Looks like there are more benefits to this position than I thought. I do believe I can stand here all night with you, my love... If you can keep quiet."

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

hi! so I saw a reddit post a few days ago about a dead aasimar (Omar) who can be found in the House of Healing - but what was interesting is that they said it was *his* wings Balthazar took for Marcus. I always thought they were Aylin's wings; isn't there a line about how Balthazar experimented on her early on, or Isobel reacting to the wings/realizing what Balthazar did, something like that? or did I imagine that? I would love to hear your take on this! (I don't know if I can send links in asks, but it's r BaldursGate3/comments/1gxo0tm/)

Oh, hey! It's Olam the Dead Aasimar Harper, my own personal favourite basically nonexistent NPC to shower with utterly disproportionate levels of attention! He's the guy I brought up in the final part of Moon-chosen, Moon-guided, who Aylin hears about and then really wants to retrieve and give a proper burial to. Entirely because of my aasimar fixation and because I love playing around with Aylin being an aasimar but also absolutely not being a regular aasimar, and how she'd feel about others both like and unlike her.

Olam is indeed the only other aasimar in the game. I love the little story we get told there, via one journal and one note, and one fight against a special animated armour.

The full text of his journal aka "a chilling account of an aasimar Harper's final tendays in the cursed lands" is here, and I find it a really nice bit of writing and an insight into that period - piecing together all these little bits and pieces about what happened to the Thorms and Reithwin and the armies on both sides is my favourite part of the game. Act 2 my beloved.

'All beings should walk free of fear', I was taught. Oh, if only were I granted such a fine fate.

So, Olam is a Harper who fought against Ketheric a century ago, and was there when the curse first happened. He was some kind of spellcaster (his insistence on research and experimentation screams wizard, to me) and he had an affectionate bird familiar called Corvin, presumably a raven. In his experimentation and efforts to lift the shadow curse, he accidentally animated his own armour, which you can fight in that acid pit area. But he ultimately failed, and then he succumbed to the shadows, alone. Tragic stuff, right?

You've activated my trap card! By which I mean I saw that post, saw videos of "you won't believe this NPC you missed!!!" go viral, saw people take it as gospel and start parroting misinformation about a very specific fandom interest of mine again, and got so frustrated I almost started posting WELL ACTUALLY Reddit comments. Horrifying.

Instead I get to ramble here! Thank you so much for providing an excuse (genuinely). It's kind of like the oathbreaker/disowned by her mother nonsense, people just can't seem to leave Aylin alone and let her have any of her actual damn story beats and themes and it grinds my gears. And just like the Child of the Moonmaiden stuff, someone has already added it to the BG3 wiki with zero sources, and now it's spreading like wildfire based on absolutely nothing. What a glorious microcosm of our reality.

Salt aside, thank you for the question! Let me actually answer it, and dig out exactly what is in the game itself.

TL;DR: While nobody looks at the camera and says as much, I'm convinced the wings are Aylin's, and that Balthazar had nothing to do with this guy.

First of all, and my simplest point: regular 5e aasimar don't actually have physical wings. One subtype of them (or, more recently, one of their three once-per-day "transformation" options) gives you this:

You can use your action to unleash the divine energy within yourself, causing your eyes to glimmer and two luminous, incorporeal wings to sprout from your back.

Two luminous, spectral wings sprout from your back temporarily.

This lasts for a whole minute, and then you have to long rest to do it again. Of course, BG3 plays around with 5e rules and adapts them as needed, and there's no actual BG3 aasimar set of racial abilities implemented in the game. There's only Aylin who has the wings on by default, and there's our wingless boy of the hour, Olam - who is a corpse statted as "Human" if you right-click inspect him, so no help there. The only actual mention that he is supposed to be an aasimar comes from the description of his journal I quoted up there, and from the inspiration popup that some character backgrounds get when you find him (Sage and Acolyte, to be specific).

On a personal note, as a player of aasimar characters who've died by being thrown from great heights after having used up their wings for the day, believe me when I say I am deeply envious of whatever Aylin has going on in the wings department. She makes them appear and disappear in a flash at will and it's very cool. I love it. There's a special graphical overlay of feathers fluttering down all over your screen sometimes when she's around. I am enamoured.

Next, in the Marcus confrontation, Isobel doesn't give any signs of recognising the wings, nor does she comment on them specifically - she's shocked by Marcus' betrayal as he's been with them for a long time and nobody ever suspected a thing. I checked the dialogues/devnotes to see if there's anything else there, and there isn't. It's delicious angst material, certainly, the implications are deeply horrifying, and several people have written about it, me included, in tumblr posts and in fics, so you've probably seen the idea around a bunch. Not in the game itself, though.

Moving on, here's the full text of Balthazar's note you can find in Moonrise, titled "A Little Gift":

Marcus - I assume no explanation is needed for just how rare these appendages are, and I trust you shall make good use of them. You have a golden opportunity to please the General. Do not squander it. Access to the unwilling donor has proven difficult since the harvesting, but if I am afforded the opportunity, I shall pass along your gratitude. B.

This is pretty much it with regards to the wings explicitly. Speak With Dead on Marcus doesn't give anything related to the wings either. The only other thing is a little exchange between Z'rell and Marcus at Moonrise if his mission was a success, part of a series of little dialogues where she keeps rebuffing him and his efforts to get his hard-earned "audience with the General":

Marcus: I am free to do more for the Absolute, Disciple. Anything. Z'rell: Would you cast yourself from the tower-top? Marcus: Of course. I have the Absolute's wings to catch me. Z'rell: Off you go, then. I've always wanted to try those ballistas.

Ah, Z'rell, always a delight.

Now, let's look at the relevant final line in Balthazar's note.

Access to the unwilling donor has proven difficult since the harvesting - Balthazar, the necromancer who makes dead pixie moonlanterns, does not have big problems navigating the shadow curse like the Harpers do. Thus, getting to a corpse in the House of Healing morgue a little ways away from Moonrise is not the access problem he's having, nor is it the bunch of zombies that stalk the place. Rather, it is that Shar is angry at Ketheric who betrayed her for Myrkul and is keeping him and his out of the Shadowfell. I've so often seen people rather bafflingly confused by why Balthazar needs the player's help getting to the Nightsong prison when he's the one who imprisoned Aylin there in the first place, and this is why. He tells you as much himself - for instance when you actually enter the Shadowfell:

Balthazar: It seems Shar bears a grudge against my master, General Thorm, and so sought to prevent me from entering in his name. Luckily, you were the perfect agent in helping me slip past her defences. Now the Nightsong is within reach.

As for the unwilling donor bit, and your question of whether there is a line about how Balthazar experimented on Aylin early on - not really? He calls her "his masterpiece" a bunch and loves objectifying her in very specific and gross ways. There's again no mention of wings specifically, but what they do say is he cut out her tongue at least once before:

Nightsong: Ramblings most unsane. Poor Balthazar, for maggots ate his brain long ago. Balthazar: Hold your tongue, Aylin. Or I'll take it away from you again.

They make it so very easy to hate the guy - and agree with Aylin when she says her "heart lit like a full moon when you struck down that cadaver". Here is all the overworld banter you can hear from them, which fleshes out their relationship a bit more. Shocking spoiler: Balthazar is revolting.

Balthazar: As much as I savour our conversations, it's high time we got started. Nightsong: Do what you will. I cannot prevent you. But you know as well as I, I will come for you. One day. Balthazar: Poor child, so enthralled by gory revenge fantasies. You may find yourself disappointed by reality. Nightsong: Let us find out.

Nightsong: Someone's coming. Another Justiciar, I presume. Balthazar: Do you hunger for more company? Am I not enough to keep you sated? Nightsong: I'd [rather] live a thousand years in solitude than lay my eyes [upon] thy putrid visage again. Balthazar: Only a thousand?

Nightsong: Hatred makes you so hideous, Balthazar. Balthazar: Unkind, Aylin. Unkind and incorrect - I could never hate my masterwork. Nightsong: Perhaps you're right - perhaps you're incapable of feeling at all. Balthazar: Please, Aylin - spare me. Your insults grew tired and shopworn years ago.

Balthazar: How long has it been so far? With my work, time just slips away from me. Nightsong: A hundred years. Balthazar: A mere interlude for the likes of you and I. But nevertheless, perhaps it is time for a new chapter. Nightsong: Do as you will. You can pierce my flesh, but my heart beats on, forever.

There's also a tidbit if you ask Aylin how come all it took to release her from the prison was a friendly hand on her shoulder, and she'll tell you Balthazar "taunted and cajoled" her about how easy it would be to break the spell, if anyone just thought to try. So considering all of this, you bet he'd just love to "pass along gratitude" to Aylin and tell her alllll about how they used her own stolen wings to kidnap Isobel, of all people.

So basically, yeah, Balthazar is the one who's been in the Shadowfell prison most often, before Ketheric's relatively recent turn to Myrkul and Shar barring the way in response. We're given the above general vibes and implications of what he was doing there, and the rest is left up to our own gory imaginations. As Gale put it:

A dismal place for an aasimar to spend her existence. Especially with that necrotic toad for company.

There is no connection between Olam and Balthazar at all in the game, but there is one connection between Balthazar and the House of Healing - a negative one, notably.

You find Olam in the morgue of the House of Healing, which is Malus Thorm's stomping ground. It is his laboratory and research notes you find there, not Balthazar's. Malus complains in those very same notes found there that he gets the dregs of cadavers to experiment and mess around with because his nephew Ketheric is letting his Evil Chancellor Traytor Balthazar get first pick and keep the best for himself.

So no, Balthazar did not experiment on this guy or "harvest" anything. Olam is a fairly regular Harper who we can imagine may have lasted a bit longer in the necrotic curse because as an aasimar he'd presumably have necrotic damage resistance and the ability to cast light. He's been dead for about a century, and that's about it.

Aylin is the one the note clearly points to, and, setting aside all the crunchy mechanical and nitpicky details about who does or doesn't have wings and for how long, on every meta and storytelling and textual and subtextual and thematic and classically tropey level, Aylin is the only relevant person those wings could (and should) have come from. It is evocative, it is part of the chilling tale of her betrayal and captivity and serves to paint a vivid picture of the depths Ketheric and Balthazar have sunk to, as well as make Aylin's immense rage and desire for vengeance all the more visceral - and ultimately satisfying.

[bengiyo]

Wandee Goodday Ep 5 Stray Thoughts

Last week, they executed their Business Gay Performance Plan and Ter was pressed. Wandee found himself jealous of Taem, and Kao almost choked Dee out for complicating his arrangement for no reason. Dee spent the night at the gym, and everyone there knows what's up. We got insights into Yak's relationship with his mom, and how his desire to graduate may be related to her.

I guess it's time for Dee's trauma. Are we gonna open the next episode with Kao's or Cher's?

Cheering up this kid is very sweet.

The fact that these two are actually fucking is such a relief. Most of the time it's just not believable that these guys haven't been doing it.

I had a student once who remembers everyone's birthdays. Can't believe Dee walked into this trap.

Let's talk about Yoryak knowing the exact length of time they've been together.

Golf is having fun with these cameos.

Kao! The first thing he asked about was the sex gear!

Once again this show comes through for me I'm so glad boys who read kinda femme are allowed to demand a stern dicking. Pete in LBC was the first I remember, but this is so satisfying. Cher is allowed to want sex, too. I love it because Oyei has been so down for Cher this whole time that there's no way I believed he's cheating, but I do think he has something on his mind.

I love the grandma. She said, "These annoying youths are at the home and I had to get the fuck out of there." She knew what was up and was teasing the whole time.

I really love how chill the grandmother is about Dee's sex and romantic life. She teases mildly and checks on him to make sure he's okay.

That visual effect with the line was cute.

What in the 2gether is this?

I know she not playing that guitar at 3:30 in the morning!

Why would we put the sex bunny ears on his grandma??? What in the Peter Cottontail nonsense is this???

Why are his parents buried next to a British naval officer????

Genuinely love Yoryak changing up his look. The vibe between Yoryak and Taem is so compelling.

I refuse to believe that Oyei is possibly lying.

Now why are they doing their sex personas in public like this? Is Kao taking notes?

I'm so glad that Dee and Taem don't have beef.

Okay, I suspect Inn can actually cook.

No. Flour everywhere is not sexy. This is not an easy mess to clean.

It's so gross Ter taking Kwan to the same place as Dee like this. I don't like it.

Nope, that's flour in his eye. It's over. Yeast infection ahoy.

I'm not in the mood for Ter nonsense next week.

This feels like a treading water episode. I hope we get payoff next week with both of our couples. I don't want this thing about Cher's worries to be nothing, when I suspect that Oyei is dealing with financial stress.

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Nice While it Lasted

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn

A/N: Manga readers.... I... I'm so sorry for this chapter.

Read Full on AO3

[excerpt]

Tomura Shigaraki didn’t dream.

Or at least, he didn’t consider the series of thoughts, images, and sensations that he experienced in his rare stints with sleep to be dreams. Dreams in his mind were fantasies. Visions of a hopeful future or irrational exercises in imagination. Dreams were nonsensical, removed from corporeality and truth. The things that happened in dreams weren’t real.

This is not what Shigaraki experienced when he slept.  

While the flashes in his mind always felt nonsensical at the time, coming in and out of his mind in orderless bits and pieces like a corrupted stream, whenever he came to his senses, he was always able to sort them out. He knew that they weren’t his imagination. These were memories, things that truly happened to him. Even if they didn’t stick with him for long after, he knew that much. Everything he saw when he slept was a horrible, undeniable truth.

Which is why when he shot up in bed around three in the morning with visions of her fresh on his mind he felt particularly unsettled.

He wasn’t sure where they were exactly, somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere endless. The light around them was too blindingly bright to see it clearly. A city sidewalk maybe, he could faintly recognize the hum of conversation and commuters walking past him in all directions, minding their own business.

They stood facing each other, a considerable distance between them, just staring. She wore an expression that should’ve comforted him (and in many cases had) a small smile and a soft, relaxed gaze. She looked content, completely satisfied with everything around them. 

But it unnerved him here, considering the fact that she was just watching him, ragged, desperate and tearing at his own throat with reckless abandon in the middle of the street. She should’ve been horrified by the sight, worried about him. She always had been, even in the beginning of all this, she never wanted to see him hurt.

So why did she look so happy watching it now?

“You told me everything. Gave up everything,” she repeated words he didn’t recall saying, “No… More like that creepy Sensei gave up on you, right?”

He couldn’t speak anymore, didn’t know if ever could actually. His voice was gone, trapped by a burning closure in his throat. He couldn’t even nod. All he could do was stare at her, stuck in a shell-shocked muck of despair.

“You have nothing…” she clapped her hands together happily, “ Finally, you have nothing!”

He couldn’t breathe. The weight of the world, of her horrible joy crashing down around him was too heavy. 

“Oh come on… Don’t look at me like that,” she tilted her head, a taunting little pout on her lips, “There’s no way this can be a surprise. After everything you did to me, did you honestly think that I’d forgive you? That I’d love you?”

The completely shattered expression on his face was answer enough. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“What an idiot…”

Finally, horribly, she started walking towards him.

“It’s a shitty feeling isn’t it? Having nothing. You’ve felt it before. I’ve felt it…” 

She planted her hands on his shoulders, tight. Painfully tight, like they were breaking him to pieces.

“And you deserve to feel that way for the rest of your life.”

He wasn’t imagining the pain. It was a searing, cracking feeling surging through his muscles and neck, his joints and very being. He snapped down to look at his shoulders as it intensified, as he began to crack and crumble under her fingers, his entire body decaying away into dust. It hurt and it emptied him, which only served to destroy him further, faster. The feeling of having nothing, of turning into nothing, all while she stood smiling in front of him, happy he was gone. And as his eyes started to go, he could see everyone around them suddenly stop to stare at him, to watch the wind sweep his remains up away into the blinding, parting clouds above.

They were happy to see him disappear too.

Before the last of him faded away was when he finally woke up, body lurching forward, sending the game controller abandoned on his chest clattering onto the floor. 

Lit only by the Game Over screen of whatever he’d fallen asleep playing, he couldn’t remember. It didn’t ultimately matter. Right now all that mattered was the tightness in his chest, the burning in his lungs as he gasped for breath like he hadn’t taken one in hours. It certainly felt like he hadn’t. He definitely hadn’t breathed that entire dream.

No… Not a dream, he reminded himself. After all, Tomura Shigaraki didn’t dream. In his sleep, he only ever saw the truth — horrible and desolate as it was. But this was strange. That interaction between them, he knew that it wasn’t something that had happened between them before.

Which meant it was going to happen in the future.

Continue on AO3

[rpking99]

The Paul Problem

Hey guys. So we all know this dipshit. The asshole. The figure face behind all that is wrong with Spider-Man right now . Well, with the writer of the book leaving in September, I thought it was about time to look over the Paul situation and why it sucks.

Now I am not going to go into the storyline in chronilogical order. Nothing like that. I'm just going to be going over a few key facts/moments and talking about why they dont work.

So first things first... he has NO personality. Like... none. Blander than whtie bread. More generic than the most generic isekai protagonist. Next, he exists jsut to cause drama and to not have Peter and MJ together. So with all that nonsense out the way... lets get to the real topics.

When Peter and MJ where trapped in an alternate dimension and had a chance to escape, what did Paul do? Just push Peter through it. Peter and MJ could have left at the same time, heck they where GOING to, but instead he pushed Peter through to get him out of the way.

This act lead to the "answer" to a "question" that the book had been building up to, as this was part of a flashback arc. The "question" was "What did Spider-Man do to make everyone hate him" and the answer was.... "nothing. He was trapped in another dimension and his return trip destroyed a city, which he did not know would happen and he had no control over"

Peter and MJ had been dating when Peter went through the portal. He then made EVERYONE he knows and trusts mad as he beat up friends and stormed through everything and anyone. He saved Paul and MJ... and MJ reveals she has been with Paul for 6 months. And the two where now together. MJ was cheating on Peter for six months

And to make that even worse, MJ basically just tells Peter to "get over it" like an unfeeling bitch. Just "No, I am not leaving Paul despite our years together. How dare you do that Peter. Fuck you"

Let's go back for half a moment and remember, Paul KIDNAPPED MJ there. He kicked Peter through the portal and left MJ trapped/stranded there for SIX MONTHS alone with him

One defence the writer keeps giving to try and defend Paul in the book is that he is a "Good Man". Well... let's go over a few of his "nice acts", shall we?

He wanted to leave/abandon two children to die so he and MJ can just run away

He used these kids to trap MJ in a loveless marriage for months

These kids where not real and actually illusions/manifestations of his fathers powers

Commited at LEAST one genocide with/for his father and did not feel bad about it

Punched Peter in the face because Peter pointed out his crimes and said he wasn't a "good guy"

Oh yeah and let's not forget that Paul only "turned good" because MJ "saw the light", AKA he wanted to bang her and is a terrible person as well as a simp but the writter thinks he is the true "tragic hero" of it all.

Now we all know how much of a "wonderful person" Paul is. Don't we all feel so much better?

...

Just three more months. Just three more months.

[barleyo]

Loud.

Miles Quaritch X Fem! Recom! Reader (smut)

A/N: God, I've been gone for so long. You all already know the deal, I come and go as I please, I'm afraid! Thanks for sticking by me, though! Much love!

Tags: rushed, smut, fingering, somewhat dubcon, short fic, hunting, predator-prey themes

Word Count: 1k

"Alright, Miss Ain't-Gotta-Listen, how about I give you a five minute head start, and you'll find out exactly what all that yappin' gets you?"

"Colonel, please, I didn't mean to interrupt! I can shut  up, see--?" She made a zipping sound and dragged her fingers over her mouth.

Miles had really had it with her this time. (Y/N) was always a chatty girl, which, when dealing with a tough, no-nonsense commanding officer, was no good. Miles was dealing out instructions for a 'hide-and-seek' of sorts for the recoms. They would hide and try to use their new Na'vi bodies to get used to Pandora's rough terrain, while avoiding the traps he had set up for them. During his explanation, however, the voice of his very annoying, yet secretly favorite, soldier nipped at his ears.

"Uh-uh, not this time, loudmouth. Everybody else, head back to your quarters. Thanks to this little squeaker here, you're all free for the day." Miles jabbed his thumb over in the girl's direction, giving his eyes a light roll.

The other soldiers snickered amongst themselves and barked out 'thank you' and 'good luck' quickly, before heading inside of the RDA facility.

The colonel stood expectantly, arms crossed over his blue, stripe covered chest. 

"When I said I'd give you a five minute head start, I meant it. You better run as fast as your lil' legs'll take you." His hands gestured out into the depths of the forest circling the training yard. "Any minute now, sweetheart."

(Y/N) started to run, her tail snapping nervously as she looked back at him. He stood eerily still, and she honestly would have preferred if he chased her, rather than him continuing to stand so menacingly.

"That's it girl, keep running," he said, voice booming. He trailed off a bit, speaking through a tight, toothy smirk, "you'd better hope I don't find you."

Her legs felt like jelly already. The pure pressure of being chased was enough to make her crazy, and being crazy was not going to be helpful in this moment. She needed to take her time, to calm herself down, but that was the last thing on her mind. All she thought right then? 'Run.'

She ran until she couldn't think, until she couldn't breathe. Her knees started to buckle, but she pushed through it, not knowing what her colonel had planned for her if she was caught by him until--

Snap.

She felt her entire body get snatched up, a few feet off the ground. She hung by her ankle, slowly swinging upside down on a branch.

"Eek!"

She tried to curl upwards to yank the rope off of her ankle, but she could not reach it. She tried wriggling out, but that proved to be completely unhelpful. Just when she thought it couldn't get worse, the rough crunch of leaves under heavy boots sounded through the forest.

"I knew you wouldn't get very far, sugar," a sickly, antagonizing voice said. "If you were listening to me, you would've heard the whole traps in the forest spiel I had going on."

"Can you please cut me down, sir? I learned my lesson, alright? No more speaking out of turn, no more interrupting, I promise!"

(Y/N) tried to steady her swinging body to focus on the tall, blue figure in front of her, but the blood rushing to her head made that almost impossible.

"You know that's not how it works." Miles took a few steps forward, until the crotch of his cargos were directly in front of her upside down face. He squatted down, meeting her face to face. "Punishment breeds perfection." 

Quickly, he tugged at the band of her pants, pulling them just enough to give himself access to her cunt. He sloppily stuck his hand in her hands, manhandling her most sensitive area with disregard for her current upside down state. 

"H-hey, what's all that--?" She said, eyes traveling up as she felt the intrusion. 

"Still a loudmouth, aren't you? You don't know when to quit."

Miles slipped his fingers under her panties and took the slickness accumulating on her and rubbed it between his fingers, chuckling softly. 

"Dunno how you get this wet. Like a damn slip'n'slide." His fingers made firm strokes around her clit, applying enough pressure to make her hips already buck. 

"This would be so much better," she said trying to sit her head up, "if you would cut me down from this tree."

"Good thing it's a punishment, yeah?" Miles took his spare hand and spread her thighs as far apart as he could while still allowing her to keep a semblance of balance, with only one ankle in the air. "If you wanna have some real fun, we'll talk later." With a soft smack to her pussy, he pulled her pants down further to her knees, giving himself room to place her head comfortably between her legs.

His rough, scratchy tongue felt like heaven and hell at the same time. The roughness of it lapped uncomfortably at her clit, but the sheer size and pressure of it left her chest heaving wildly. 

She lazily threw her hand up to grip onto his belt loop, pulling him closer to her body. Her legs started to ache a bit, but she ignored it, instead trying to focus on the waves of pleasure that were being brought onto her.

"No, no don't stop," she whined, feeling his head pull away from her. 

"Oh, please, you big baby," he sneered, forcing his hand back into her pants, this time using two of his fingers to push into her hole. They slipped in easily, now assisted by his saliva, and he used that to his advantage, scissoring her open a few times before pounding his digits into her.

It didn't take long for her to cum. She had been trailing the line ever since Miles unzipped her pants. It came as no surprise when she loudly groaned, squeezing her legs together and shaking a bit.

"Ah, fuck." He could feel her pulsing around his trapped fingers, her core coiling around him tightly before going slack enough for him to pull his fingers out.

She mumbled incoherently while he zipped her back up and looked down at her, giving her a sly smile.

"Gonna let me down?" She asked.

"Yeah, for now. When we get back though, I think I'll tie you up in other ways too."