#not really but i’m not risking ANYTHING

[starmocha]

I've got this doubt that I can't shake off: if MC's pregnancy, for some reason, is a very tough and risky one (both might die or something), which one of the guys would have the saddest breakdown at some point (just ugly crying into MC's arms after months of keeping it together for her sake) and which would have the angriest (trashing entire offices, taking their anger out on their enemies or both)?

(I had intended to respond earlier, but man…that trailer…) Gosh, you guys know how to prod at that special part of my brain with these asks lately… 🥺 I may or may not have...started writing...little...snippets, really... 😔

Zayne would go into “doctor-mode.” He is going to utilize his medical knowledge and resources to give you the best care possible for both you and the baby, and while it seems you have nothing to worry about, you will feel the emotional-withdrawal from him as everything will feel so methodical and clinical and he forgets completely his role as a husband until you break down crying.

You had tried to keep your emotions in check these last few months, rationalizing that Zayne was never an expressive person, but his feelings and actions were always sincere. He was pacing across the bedroom reviewing with you about your recent prenatal checkup and what it meant for both you and this baby. It had been like this for several months now, and with your weak heart and the risk it posed for both you and the baby, Zayne had been extra attentive about your prenatal care.

As you sat on your bed, heavy with his child and close to your due date, listening to him rattle off different medical terms and speaking to you less as a wife but more as if you were his patient, you could feel your emotions peaking. You couldn’t remember the last time he was affectionate with you or actually asked how you were personally feeling throughout this whole pregnancy. He was by your side more, but you had never felt as lonesome as now, needing him back as your husband and not a doctor. You could feel the tears brimming, but it was getting harder each day to suppress your feelings.

Everything Zayne was saying sounded like muffled gibberish to you. You could barely focus on the present, barely acknowledging even the faint movements of the baby you were carrying, feeling more lost in your loneliness. You finally let your emotions and hormones collide and broke down crying in front of him, startling him immediately. Within seconds, he was on his knees before you, grasping your arms as he asked worriedly, “What’s wrong? Are you hurting somewhere?”

It took you a minute to gather yourself before you felt calm enough to speak, finally revealing to him how you hated who he had become during this time. At first, Zayne looked shocked, not quite comprehending what you had just said to him, but the more he pondered your hurt words, the more he realized there was a lot of truth in what you had said.

He kissed your belly, surprising you. Then, he got up and sat down next to you on the bed, pulling you into his embrace as he kissed your forehead, his apologies immediate and sincere.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said, holding you a little tighter, “I just…don’t want anything to happen to you. Either of you.”

You leaned into his embrace, and sighed softly, “I know…I’m not mad at you. I’m just…”

Zayne looked down, noticing how your words gradually stopped and you were withdrawing again. He lifted your chin, making you look at him as he coaxed you gently, “Just what?”

“I just miss you,” you said, voice breaking again and fresh tears brimmed your eyes. As he brushed your tears away, you cried harder, “And I’m scared…and I can’t stop thinking about all of the things that could go wrong…and then I realize stressing over this is also hurting the baby and…and…”

Zayne looked guilty as he realized that while he was too focused on your physical health, he had neglected your mental and emotional state, realizing how you had been suppressing your feelings for his sake.

He sat back against the headboard and pulled you back to rest against him. He apologized again for his neglect, and for the rest of that night, he listened and comforted you through your anxieties. There was that familiar warmth in his embrace that you missed, and the softness in his eyes returned as he listened to you earnestly. While your anxieties were still there, they seemed more manageable now that you realized the man by your side in this moment was not Doctor Zayne but your Zaynie, your beloved husband.

Rafayel is angry and emotional and will lash out and say things he doesn’t mean, such as he would rather lose the baby than you.

It had been like walking on eggshells these past few months. You had tried to keep your spirits up in spite of the situation, but eventually everything that had been quieted was going to surface, reaching an ugly peak.

You just had never expected him to say such words to you.

“You…don’t want…the baby?” You felt like you were choking as you uttered those words back to Rafayel.

He looked conflicted, his face twisted in pain and frustration. “I…I didn’t mean it,” he finally said, seeming to struggling with not just his words, but also his feelings.

You glared at him with tears in your eyes. “You said it! What could you have possibly meant to say if not that!”

“I don’t want to lose you!” he finally yelled back, frustrated that his words were being used against him by you of all people.

A strained silence filled the space, creating a rift between the two of you as you stared at one another in shock. In the distant, there was the cries of seagulls flying outside the studio, the sound of waves crashing on the shore a peculiar reminder that time was still moving forward even as you two stood frozen, locked in this seemingly unbreakable tension.

After several beats, Rafayel dropped to his knees, his head buried into his hands as he apologized, though it seemed more like he was apologizing for hurting you and not because of what he had said.

You walked closer to him, surprised when his arms wrapped around your waist, and his face pressed against your rounded stomach.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again. He didn’t look up at you, but his words were heard clear: “I just can’t lose you again.”

You stared down at his head of hair, unsure of what you could say in this moment. He looked so broken and helpless, and while you understood his sentiments, it still did nothing to alleviate the hurt you felt at his earlier words. Shakily, you let your hand rest on the back of his head, as you said softly, “My fishie…I won’t leave you…”

You said that to comfort him, but even you had doubts about whether you could hold true to your words. It was so bright and sunny outside in Linkon today, so why did your future look so gray and uncertain? This was to be a joyous time in both of your lives, but even as you both felt the baby kicked and moved, that cloud of doubt remained.

Xavier is stunned and feels helpless.

It had been an awkward couple of weeks. Xavier was quieter than usual, but he still answered you whenever you spoke. You didn’t think he was upset at you, but you also couldn’t ignore the sudden distance between the two of you.

“Captain Jenna had put me on desk duty for the remainder of my pregnancy,” you told him over dinner one night.

He didn’t answer you, appearing distracted as he was grilling some beef slices on an electric griddle.

“Xavier?”

“Huh?” He looked up, surprised. “Oh, sorry, I had something on my mind. What did you say?”

“I…I said Captain Jenna is putting me on desk duty,” you repeated hesitantly.

“That’s good,” he answered and picked a slice of beef off the griddle to place in your bowl. “You should have some more meat for protein.”

“…thank you,” you said, noticing the way his eyes kept averting with yours. You placed your bowl on the table, upset now. “Xavier, did I do something wrong?”

He looked taken aback by the sudden question. He immediately shook his head. “Wrong? Why would you even think that?”

You frowned. “You’ve barely spoken with me lately,” you said, “It’s been nothing but ‘yeah,’ ‘okay,’ ‘alright’ from you lately.”

“I’m sorry,” he looked at you with remorse etched on his face. He sighed as he turned the griddle off before he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “I…I just have something on my mind.”

“You keep saying that,” you retorted, mildly irked now, “What could be on your mind that is more important than being here with me?”

“You.”

Your irritation disappeared in that moment, his solemn gaze resting on you. Slowly, you found your voice, your words stuttering a little in confusion, “Wha…what do…you mean?”

“You and the baby,” he clarified. “Ever since the doctor said this was a high-risk pregnancy, I just…can’t stop thinking about…everything that could go wrong.”

“Xavier…”

“I don’t know how to make this easier for you,” he continued, suddenly unable to hide his anxiety any longer, “And even if we do everything right, what if things go wrong at the last minute? What if—no, just…no…”

You gasped when he suddenly came to you, his arms wrapped around you immediately in a tight embrace. He kissed the top of your head and apologized again, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“Xavier…it will be alright,” you reassured him.

He was silent.

“We’ll both be alright,” you continued.

“Right…” he answered, but you noticed he still didn’t want to let you go. You also didn’t want him to part, so you both remained in this moment a while longer.

Sylus has all of the money and connections in the world. He is going to ensure that both you and the baby will be alright throughout the pregnancy until birth. On the surface, he seems calm and confident, but to keener eyes, such as yours, you will pick up on his anxiety through little tics or behavioral changes.

The moment you had told Sylus you were pregnant with his baby, he lavished you with even more luxuries than before. You received the best care possible, especially when it came to light that this pregnancy was not going to be easy for you and there was concern about the health of the baby. Sylus made sure the most qualified doctors were monitoring you and he had ordered the personal chefs to prepare only nutritional dishes for you and the baby.

He was adamant that you received only the best of the best, and to strangers, Sylus appeared to be so level-headed and grounded, not a trace of worry could be seen on his face.

You, however, noticed how he seemed to drum his fingers on hard surfaces more often. He would also pull out his coin to flip at the most peculiar time, and his visits to the boxing ring also seemed to have increased. There were so many odd tics that you couldn’t ignore, but you suspected you knew the reason why.

One evening, you slipped into bed earlier while Sylus was still sleeping. It would almost be time for him to wake up from his slumber, so you waited. When you noticed the fluttering of his eyes, you leaned in closer, smiling as your face was the first thing he saw once he awoken.

“Good morning,” you greeted him with a mischievous smile, leaning down to peck his lips.

“Mm…morning,” he answered back in amusement, still a little groggy and bleary-eyed. He yawned. “What did I do to deserve seeing such a sweet sight first thing after waking up?”

“I wanted to talk.”

His mirth disappeared in that instance upon hearing your stern tone. He shifted in bed, sitting up with his back to the headboard. “Is something the matter?”

“You tell me.”

Sylus shook his head in confusion. “Sweetie, you are going to have to elaborate more,” he responded with a frown. “What are we talking about?”

“Are you…worried?”

“Worry?”

You rested a hand over your belly, his gaze instantly following your movement. “About the pregnancy,” you clarified.

“Of course I worry,” he answered back in that same even tone.

“You…seemed so assured, but lately, I’ve noticed these little…tics,” you explained, elaborating to him more in details as he listened patiently. When you finished, Sylus gently pulled you closer to him, letting your body rest against his. His arm wrapped around you, his hand resting on your belly to rub gentle little circles.

“I will always worry about you,” he said, “but panicking over things will not achieve anything, so I just redirected my worries elsewhere. Is that a problem?”

You shook your head and looked up at him. “No, I was just…wondering if you wanted to talk about them with me.”

He laughed and bent down to peck your lips. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“What if I want to?”

He smiled in amusement and kissed you again. “Then who am I to argue with my pregnant wife?”

“What would you do?”

“Do what?”

“If…I don’t ma—”

“You will be fine,” he immediately cut you off, his demeanor shifting entirely. “You will both be fine.”

“But—”

He lay back down in bed, pulling you closer to him in a tighter embrace. “Lull me to sleep,” he said instead.

“But isn’t it time for you to wake—” You clammed up when he shot you a pointed look. You could sense his unease, feeling his fingers digging into your flesh a little more. He was upset, deeply troubled, and you hated how he carried that burden alone on his shoulders.

“Alright,” you answered, snuggling into his embrace. You sang a song, a lullaby you had learned recently that you hoped to sing to your baby in a few months. As you sang, Sylus quietly hummed along, and it wasn’t long before you both fell asleep together, your worries left behind as you dreamed of the upcoming months when a new bundle of joy would arrive at Onychinus’ base.

Caleb is nervous, but he pours himself into taking care of you, because that is all he has ever known. He’s never liked seeing you ill or hurt, so he is going to do everything possible to make sure you receive the best care ever. He will do a lot of research and ask as many questions as he could to gain insight on what can be done to minimize the risk so both you and the baby will make through the pregnancy as safely as possible. He does not even want to consider the possibility of losing you.

You didn’t have any autonomy over yourself anymore. Whatever you wanted to do, Caleb did it for you first. Whatever you were craving, he would negate it half the time, citing it was better for you to eat a healthier alternative.

Even though you wanted to be mad at him, you knew he was doing this out of worry after the reveal that there were some concerns about this pregnancy. The moment that you had heard the word “risky,” everything afterwards suddenly sounded muffled as you were frozen in shock, a sudden anxiety creeping in as you stared down at your belly. Meanwhile, Caleb was already proactive, asking what needed to be done, what you both needed to be aware of, and so on and so forth. As if he could sense your worries, his hands immediately rested on your shoulders as he stood behind you while he continued to converse with the doctor.

He was your pillar and your protector. He always was, and he always will be.

Even if sometimes you found him to be overbearing.

You had missed many of his more indulgent dishes ever since he had put you on a clean-diet, and each time, you made a point of letting him know just how upset you were as you sulked when he finished setting the table with steamed fish and green veggies with bamboo shoots.

“It’s only temporary,” he reassured you, smiling to himself as he watched you picked at the fish half-heartedly.

“Most women get to enjoy their cravings while pregnant,” you said sullenly, taking a small bite of the fish.

He nodded in agreement as he sat down opposite of you. “If this was a normal pregnancy, then of course you should be able to indulge on your cravings—”

You looked at him hopefully.

“But your cholesterol level is higher than normal, and we also need to be cautious about the risk of developing gestational diabetes—”

You sulked again. “You are killing my appetite again.”

Caleb laughed softly as he set his chopsticks down. He cocked his head to the side, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he leaned forward on the table. “What are you craving, pipsqueak?”

“What does it matter? You won’t let me have anything…” You bit into your bamboo shoot, not making eye contact with him.

“Pretend I will,” he answered in the same tone.

You shrugged. “…Pasta.”

“Pasta? Okay,” he answered thoughtfully, “What else?”

“Hmm…pizza…cheesecake…dumplings…”

Caleb covered his mouth to suppress his laughter as he watched you list each food longingly, practically lost in your own world and not even paying attention to him anymore. When it seemed you had finished listing, he questioned you again, “That’s all?”

You sighed and shook your head.

“What else is there? You’ve practically listed all of the food available on takeout menus,” he teased.

“…Braised chicken wings…”

Caleb looked surprised. “What?”

“Your braised chicken wings,” you clarified and looked up to meet his surprised gaze.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, “I’ll make some braised chicken wings tomorrow for dinner.”

You perked up. “R-really?” You eyed him suspiciously. “What about my clean diet?”

“In moderation would be fine,” he answered, smiling, “Besides, having the mother of my child miserable the whole time is also not good for the baby.”

You huffed at him, annoyed. “I’m miserable because of you.”

He blinked, not expecting you to suddenly be mad at him again. “I’m only—”

“I can’t enjoy the food I like, I’m tired all of the time, I can’t even see my feet anymore, my back hurts, my feet are swollen—how am I fat when I’m not even eating anything yummy?!”

“…are you having a mood swing?”

“Yes!” you cried out hysterically, nearly sobbing, “It’s your fault, too, I can’t control my hormones right now!”

Caleb laughed helplessly as he stood from his seat and crossed over to your side. Immediately, you wrapped your arms around his waist, your face buried against his stomach as you continued to cry and list your grievances with him.

“Alright, alright, it is my fault I gotten you pregnant,” he agreed. He peered down at the top of your head, smiling when you sniffled against his shirt while he rubbed the back of your head soothingly.

“…dummy…”

“Yes, yes, I’m a dummy,” he continued in a very pacifying tone.

“…A big dummy…”

“Mmhmm…”

“The biggest…”

“Right, right…”

You looked up, suspicious again when he continued to be very agreeable. You yelped in surprise when he immediately grabbed your face and leaned down to steal your lips with his. It took you a few seconds to register that he was kissing you before you gave in, feeling a warmth in your chest at his sudden display of affections.

“What else?” he asked softly when he pulled back a few centimeters, still close enough that his breath brushed against your trembling lips while his eyes locked with yours. You could feel his thumb brushing away the tears that were still on your cheeks.

“…you…”

“Me?”

“Uh huh…”

“What do you want from me?”

“Just you…”

He laughed and kissed your forehead. “Alright, pipsqueak,” he said, “You have me. I am all yours. Forever.”

You guided his hand down to your pregnant belly, smiling when that same look of surprise crossed his face again when he felt the baby kicked. Your smile widened as you answered him, “You’re ours.”

He knelt down on one knee, his large hand still resting over your belly as he smiled back before his eyes drifted down to your stomach. “Yeah,” he said, sighing almost as if in disbelief by this current life he was living, “Both of yours. Forever.”

[eddiegettingshot]

your prompt for today: pink🩷

When their night out winds down, and they land on Eddie’s doorstep, Buck’s gut begins to prickle with sudden nerves, or maybe anticipation. He really can’t tell the difference. Strange, because he thought he’d been handling being on a first date with his best friend pretty well. After all, it’s a song and dance that’s usually about making a good first impression, and not only did that ship sail years ago, but Buck didn’t even get it right. So dinner just felt like dinner, except for the fact that Eddie kept their feet tucked together beneath the table the whole time.

Granted, there were a few days where Buck kept forgetting anything had changed between them if they weren’t physically together, if Eddie didn’t have a hand on him, like he’d lost all sense of object permanence where Eddie was concerned. What’s startling is that in most ways, nothing has. 

Like this: Eddie turns to him now as he unlocks his front door, brow arched. 

“What, you got somewhere else to be?” he asks.

Buck doesn’t bother asking what Eddie had seen in him, that he’d decided he needed to stake an explicit claim on the rest of Buck’s night (and, with luck, the morning?). It’s not like he’s in the habit of playing things close to the vest, but half the time he doesn’t even need to say a word—not to Eddie. He’d been peeled open long before he knew he had anything to confess.

Easy to imagine: himself, held in the tender cradle of Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s thumbs feeling down his center to find the tenderest spot, pushing deep all at once, prying him apart—through the rind of him, his ribcage, so all his insides, overripe with adoration, come spilling out into Eddie’s palms. That’s how it feels. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“No,” he says, shuffling closer. He’d been hanging back, playing with his car keys in his pocket.  “No, I—I’m coming in.”

“Good.” 

Eddie sounds so openly pleased. Warmth spills through Buck’s spine. He hadn’t considered that he wasn’t alone in this—bracing against some new humming energy, staring too closely at the back of Eddie’s neck—but he watches Eddie’s shoulders soften, right before he lets Buck inside.

Then, once Buck’s on the couch, thinking really intently about how they’re going to occupy it together (it’s been a busy week; they haven’t even seen enough of each other for Buck to have adapted to their new rules of engagement; can he crawl into Eddie’s lap?), Eddie pauses, says, “Uh, hold on,” and bustles off to the kitchen. 

He returns with a lighter for the candle sitting on the coffee table, which is—new. Buck hadn’t noticed until now. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie light a candle in all the years he’s spent in this house, and now his lip is trapped between his teeth as he does it, avoiding Buck’s eyes all the while.

It hits Buck hard and fast: Eddie is really, really nervous. And trying to be romantic, for Buck. And if he crawled into Eddie’s lap, probably Eddie would laugh, and let him; he’s allowed. And maybe nothing feels different but it’s all changed. That’s what Buck wants, for once. That’s what Eddie wants, judging by his wide dark eyes, flushed cheeks, the flickering candlelight. Sometimes Buck’s slow on the uptake. This time, he might have just been scared. 

“You look nice,” Buck says. 

Kind of bad timing—Eddie’s just in his socks; he’d shed his jacket and the fancy watch Buck’s only seen him break out a couple times; he’d undone the first couple of buttons on his shirt; he must have run his hands through his hair when he was out of sight, since it’s falling halfway down his forehead. Buck should have said something when he picked Eddie up—he’d thought it, then, but he had been so comfortable with Eddie in his passenger seat, he didn’t want to risk making things weird.

Eddie’s laugh is just a soft puff of air. He relaxes. “Thanks,�� he says, coming around to sink down beside Buck, turning a knee out so they’re touching, as if by reflex. 

“I like that color on you,” Buck continues. “Always have.”

“Hm,” Eddie says, smiling. He’s in rose pink. He’s also leaning closer, lifting a hand and brushing his fingertips down Buck’s brow, his cheek. His eyes flicker, and suddenly they’re trained on Buck’s mouth. Buck’s stomach swoops boyishly. “It’s a good color.”

Holy shit, Buck thinks, head full of jasmine and honey and smoke and the cologne Eddie’s wearing, something unfamiliar with an exotic spiced note. They kissed before—they’ve been kissing all week—except this time Buck starts whimpering before their lips meet, and Eddie swallows whatever strangled noise he makes with a grin. Buck lurches in, fisting urgent hands into the front of Eddie’s shirt. 

“Eddie,” he pants after a while. It’s hard-won, because Eddie is demanding, and he bites. “Eddie, are you sure?” 

Now that they’ve done it, like, really crossed the line, gotten a taste—he’s gotta know if this is what Eddie was looking for, when he told Buck he loved him. Not just the sex, which they’re definitely about to have—all of it. Buck shoves his knuckles against Eddie’s chest to feel his heart gallop, hard but steady like it grew Thoroughbred legs. 

Eddie’s cupping his face in both hands while they kiss. He pulls away, not far, and surveys Buck the way he would a patient: like he’s trying to puzzle out what’s going on beneath Buck’s skin, in all the places he can’t quite reach.

“Buck,” he says, gently. “Of course.” 

He pushes his thumb between Buck’s teeth. Satisfied, Buck drags him back in.

[luckthebard]

When I say there aren’t consequences this campaign and it’s frustrating, I don’t mean for the world, the fundamental world changes are actually interesting to think about if/when they ever actually get explored, I mean on a character level. No choice any character made this campaign seems to have been allowed to have any weight or change things for them. It has been a campaign of pulled punches. And it’s made the characters less interesting, because they’ve never really had to deal with negative outcomes!

Orym’s Nana Mori reveal was the icing on the cake. Took the wind out of Orym’s choices being interesting instantly because there was never actually any risk. What do you mean that entire emotional thread and the mechanics change that accompanied it that went on for months didn’t matter.

And it really was a Bells Hells problem because it was wild to watch Matt give consequences to the M9 for something BH did in real time. We got more emotional beats and threats of consequences for Essek getting revealed during the Save Ashton bit than we did for Ashton, to the point where Liam stopped Matt to make sure it got addressed during the denouement but the repercussions of Ashton’s choice did nothing to fundamentally change their story.

I’m so curious why he got so gun-shy about having anything BHs chose matter or have stakes after pitching this as a “deadlier” campaign.

Shoutout to FCG for surprising Matt so much he managed to be the only character who avoided this.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 10

Added dividers because I felt like the time skip/scene change would become confusing without any indication of it.

I really need an answer on how y'all feel about Immortal x Dupli-kate cuz depending on the popular opinion stuff will change 🤐 I'm willing to split a lot of people up for the drama and/or miscommunication nonsense

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 10 >>next(TBC)

Some place where the supernatural meets the normal, a little place called The Oblivion Bar, John Constantine simply sat shocked at the words he managed to hear and process through his mushed brain. Bobo closes his hung jaw, drinks his whiskey, and pats his friend’s shoulder as the man mumbles a sobering spell, cringing at the effects. “I should go. Good luck, John.” And so, the chimpanzee quickly makes his exit, leaving the Laughing Magician and Death of the Endless to their business.

“I need you to walk me through this again, luv- wasn’t quite paying attention.” Constantine shook his head as he fully turned to face the smiling entity. “You and who did what?!” He hissed, voice barely above a whisper as he tried not to bring attention to what they were saying. This was bad. Really bad.

“Lady Gotham and I took a liking to Batman’s youngest daughter and-“ John quickly interrupted her. “And gave her magical powers beyond my comprehension and immortality- yes, I heard that, did you?!” The man rubbed his face, the thought was making him want to get drunk until he dropped. ”Have you gone mad? Giving a mortal immortality is more of Dream’s style you should know better-“

Death only smiled at him, amusement filling her eyes as she gently laid a hand on his shoulder making him tense up. “She was lonely, she deserves every happiness those powers and eternity are bound to give her. You’ll understand once you see her.” And boy, did John laugh his gut out at that as he shook his finger. “No- no, no, no- there’s no way I insert myself into that mess- Bat’s family is already a mess and reeks of you without magic- No- There’s no way- that’s bonkers-“

Death gets up with a bright smile. “Thank you, John.” Her words make him stutter almost choking on his breath at the audacity. “Don’t thank me ya loon! I’m not going to help her, I’m not even going to see the moppet!” He can only yell and cuss as she leaves.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

 “Alright, Cecil-“ The old man immediately interrupted you, the little communication device in your ear buzzing with life as he told you to not use names. “… Dude… I’m miles in the air, first of all! Second, that was like a really common name once. it’ll take a while to find you specifically, and I doubt anyone could anyway- you seem like the type that would erase himself from the gov’s documents.”

“Anyway-“ You didn’t give him time to say anything else. “What house am I supposed to go to again? And why?”

The old man sighs at your antics, rubbing the side of his forehead as he feels the headache coming while he gives the address once more. “Your brother’s teacher, Mr. Hiles, has been the mall bomber. It took us a while, he was smart about it, kept his search into biological bomb-making off the internet but he wasn’t that thorough about his paper trail.”

“Be prepared for anything and a confrontation.” The older man cleared his throat. You always made him nervous; you were an unexpected equation in everything, something he couldn’t control without risking Earth. Donald and everyone else just took his weariness and suspicion as him being overly cautious, but Cecil could tell something was clinging to you that just gave him nightmares.

“And thank you- usually I would have sent someone from the Teen Team but…uh-“ His eyes followed the action on another screen. “They’re busy. Your brother and father are helping them.”

“You’re nervous. Yapping again. Chill, I’ll take care of it. Just because I don’t want to be your little puppet doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep people safe.” You found the man irritating, but for now, he was being sane, actually doing his job, so you couldn’t complain. “Getting closer to the target. Going dark.”  Was the only warning the man got before the com was powered off.

Finally ready to land you politely greeted the man, walking through the training both Cecil and Nolan provided at the start of your vigilantism. “I didn’t expect to get caught quite this early, and I certainly expected… more conventional authorities when the time did come.” Professor Hiles just sighs and welcomes you in by your birth name. “How did you-“

“Are you kidding me? Mark is unable to shut up about you. And you forget to wear your hood more times than you do wear it.” The man said as he took off his sweater. “Follow me, I’ll show you to the fourth missing student. I assure you, I have no intention of resisting.” Well… This was easier than expected.

As he started to confess about how he started doing this, he led you to his basement. “Mr. Hiles, while I understand the loss of a child to suicide, a divorce, and the loss of a job ruined you until you hit rock bottom, avenging your son like this-“

“I’m not avenging the death of my son. That would be far too cliché.” Your eyes landed on the teen strapped to the table once he turned on the light, breath hitching as you saw the skin of his arms merging sloppily with the metallic torso the professor modified. “It’s the destruction of my life that has me seeking revenge.”

“The domino effect of pain and sorrow that these monsters create. Children who spend too much time at the mall, attend parties, consume alcohol, and play sports when they should be studying and doing homework.”

“I understand your ire, I’m not one for parties or drunks, but not all kids who do that stuff go to extremes, that’s a flawed logic- it does not give you the right to play god and do-“ You tried to placate him, keeping your tone soft and even, to try and make him see reason. “What I did to all of them, turning them into living bombs, an instrument with which to exact my revenge… my crusade to end the pain and sorrow by these- ‘popular’ kids… I feel no guilt for.”

“I can’t think of a more appropriate end to my crusade-” Mr. Hiles ripped open the shirt he was wearing, revealing the same mechanism the unconscious teen had. “-than the death of a superhero!” You quickly acted, not letting him talk more beyond that as the timer set to 50 seconds started trickling down while you grabbed him, breaking through his ceilings and roof and flying high in the air.

“Is this really how you want to die? Suicide bomb? You still can make this right- you don’t have to die like this just tell me how to deactivate it!“ Your eyes remained on the clock. Twenty, nineteen, eighteen. The man just chuckled a dry, humorless laugh. “Do it. There is nothing for me anymore.” Five, four, three.

You couldn’t tell if what you felt was sorrow or shame, but you knew you were defeated. The man was going to get one final death, but it won’t be yours. As your flight came to a stop well above the clouds, you threw the man higher in front of you as the clock struck one second, and as it hit zero, the bomb detonated, the range and heat of the explosion destroying any remains while pushing you back a bit.

Your eyes remained on the cloud of smoke it created. If the cops found him before you did, the bomb would have wiped out the neighbors, too. That’s what hero life was, what it is. Sacrifices left and right that only made you feel more at odds with this job than before.

As you went back to the house, you activated the com, putting it back into your ear. Cecil immediately informs you that the police are en route as well as his clean-up team. “Get an explosive ordnance disposal technician, too. There is a teen in the basement, the bomb doesn’t seem active yet, but I’d rather be safe than sorry. I’ll send a report of what happened soon.” You stayed until Cecil’s people showed up, just to be sure the boy was still breathing and that the bomb wouldn’t activate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Helping Brit and the other heroes clean up the rubble from the alien attack helped keep your mind off things. The Brit enjoyed talking about his kid and wife, yapping until he needed to take a breath and then starting again keeping a smile on your face.

You enjoyed helping clean up, especially when there were no casualties, today wasn't that type of day. But it had become the easy, relaxing part of the job, pick big rubble up, place it into the waste trucks, pick another piece up, make sure to not hit the man in the trench coat, put it in the waste- wait…

Your head snaps back to the man, squinting as your eyes meet. You each take a second to take each other in before your eyes widen in surprise. “Hello, luv. I’m-“ You couldn’t help your excitement as recognition finally settled into your brain. “I know you-“ Your words made John cringe and tense up. When others said that it never ended well for him. “You’re Johnny Con-Job, the lead singer for Mucous Membrane, dude, your band got me into the punk culture.”

That… wasn’t what he expected. He wasn’t sure if he should be proud of that or fight back the mental breakdown that was creeping up his spine. “You’re a bit young for that slop, no?” You just shrug. “Your songs got me to finally put myself first, to get the courage to sneak out, see other stuff beyond the walls of my first house, help others, and leave my neglectful family before they could seriously hurt me.” Her words worried him. John never took Bruce as the “lock his kids up” type, but the man was as paranoid as they came, he wouldn’t put that above him.

“It may be slop and shitty vocals, but it’s what I needed to hear.” You teased him while putting the rubble in the waste collector. He watched as you approached him with a soft smile and sparkling eyes. He could see what Death meant. “I need to talk to you. I’m not quite sure about what luv, but I think it’s about Batman-“ He didn’t get to finish, as soon as the name left his mouth, he was grabbed by the throat and lifted well above the clouds, way too close to the ozone layer. “Did he send you?” you hissed, giving his neck a warning squeeze.

Yup. He definitely saw what Death meant as your eyes glowed a Lazarus green. “Nno-“ He choked out. “Did Bruce Wayne send you?” her question was met with the same answer. Your grip softened, grabbing him by his coat instead of his neck as you brought him closer. “Then why are you here?”

“We need to talk in private…” He whispered as he realized the situation.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

This was a whole mess that John Constantine knew he should have stayed out of- he knew! From Bruce to the whole family basically ignoring the kid, not even telling her about the vigilantism, to the rogues taking her in and doing a better job of raising her to her running away and getting adopted by another hero- a hero that John knew wanted to conquer the world, the whole fucking race wanted to, the fucking demons had a problem with that and wouldn’t stop complaining to him like he can fix it- he takes a deep breath in. “Why are you telling me all of this?” He whined, rubbing his face as he sat on the edge of some skyscraper with you.

“I’m not hiding my past, I’ll happily snitch and tell a reporter that Bruce Wayne is a shit father, they all just assume I’m Nolan’s actual kid that was in the hospital for a deadly something or whatever.” You shrug. “Please don’t- not because I care about the bellend- I just don’t want to deal with… Huh. Now that I’m thinking about it, that may be great blackmail.” His words only made you snicker.

He didn’t know where to begin. Did she know about the Viltrumite? Was she in cahoots with him? Should he tell her any of that? Would she even believe his ass? Maybe he should get the JL involved...

The scruffy man shook his head. “Not why I’m here. You said your hero name is Sorceress? Great, so you know you have magic powers, that makes it easy-“ John took in your shocked expression. Of course, it wasn’t that easy, it never could be. “If this was another world, I’d call you crazy.” You told him simply. “But Midnight City is cursed, and I guess that makes sense… Is that why I can hear the shadows speak?”

John nodded before doing a double take, asking you to elaborate on the shadows speaking part.  “They just speak, whisper, giggle the whole thing. They can also emit what they feel. They’ve always been present, they’re not as strong here, but I think that’s because they’re more tied to Gotham and Midnight City… or just- where there is more darkness.”

“Well, you’re not far off there, love.” The man nodded in agreement as his eyes drifted to the dark dome around the cursed city. He knew where to start. “This is going to be a long explanation, you better strap in, hen, and let me finish before you ask questions.”

“You remember the painting and murals you made of gods and other entities, demons, angels, the whole sort, in Gotham and here? Yeah, they brought the attention to you from the entities you drew. Some of the moppets took them as a higher form of offering than others, a few of them decided to stick around you.”

“Those have also decided to- ‘bless’ you with a few gifts, I’m not sure of all of them, but I know specifically that Lady Gotham offered the shadows as a companion and protector, and I know that Death of the Endless has blessed you with… well, immortality.” There was no way of walking around that fact. “I don’t remember if any of these two also gave you your powers, I was quite sloshed, but someone did.” John looked at the kit, taking in her shocked expression before he nudged you a bit. “Come on, kid, say something. You got me all worried here.”

“It’s all just- a bit much.” You mumble. “Yeah, I get it. A lot for you to shoulder, but I’m sure you’ll power through- oh, thanks love… Wha- How-“ John’s eyes moved from the beer in his hands to the energy can you were looking at. You just shrug. "I wanted to know if I could, thought…” You narrow your eyes at the can in your hands. “I’m not sure if this is made out of thin air or just- teleported or something.”

Constantine just slowly looks back at his beer mug… She was taking this better than most. He hoped it was because the shock hadn’t worn off yet. Well, he’s had worse things in his mouth, he's sure, so with a shrug, he takes a sip, humming with delight at the taste, muttering something about this being real beer. “You’re here to help me, right? Like- with my powers… I- I think I need help with this whole worshipping gods and demons- entities- thing, too.”

He knew the easy way out would be to say no, to just leave, she had done just fine without him… But that isn’t what came out of his mouth. “Sure, poppet. Just keep on giving me this fine beer.” Given his track record with people and magic, he shouldn’t feel this accomplished at your happiness, but he was always quite selfish, so he returned your hug, even if he was a bit stiff.

“Now- usually the normal thing is to go from small stuff to big, teach the basics, but I’m not one for rules. Have you ever wanted to teleport via portals?” The big mischievous smile you gave him was all the answer he needed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You came home at the same time as Nolan and Mark, everyone’s first stop after greeting Debbie was their bedrooms to refresh themselves before going back to the dining area. “I’m going to be honest, Nolan, the longer hair and full beard fit you better than the silly mustache. Right, mom?” You couldn’t help the teasing as the whole family ate. Debbie looked at Nolan with a scrutinizing eye, before sighing and giving an amused smile. “I’ll definitely miss the beard.”

Mark snorted at the teasing as Nolan pouted, brows furrowing. “It’s not silly- it’s a rite of passage into manhood by the Viltrumite culture-“ you couldn’t help but interrupt. “It’s still a silly-looking mustache. What does the Viltrumite rite of passage for women look like?”

Nolan’s momentary displeasure at the mustache comment was overlooked as the inquiry about the Viltrumite women was brought forth. “Huh… I’m not sure, I never really paid attention to that. I think some cut their hair.” A puff of air escaped you in amusement before deciding to tease him some more. “Well, you clearly weren’t planning for a daughter that’s sure.”

Debbie just took in the chatter. She enjoyed the easy atmosphere, the laughter of her kids. “So, how was everyone’s day?” She asks once the chatter stops. “Oh, I met the Teen Team and helped them with the Flaxan attack, dad got kidnapped by them while I was trying to gather up survivors, made friends with Atom Eve, and met an alien called Allen who apparently got the wrong planet.” Mark shrugged.

“I spent the last eight months enslaved by an army from an alternative dimension, although it seems much less time has passed here. About a week ago, I led a revolt against my captors and regained control of my powers. Today, a team of scientists from the rebellion found a way to get me home.” Nolan lied as easily as he breathed.

“One of Mark’s teachers was turning his classmates into organic bombs in order to take revenge on kids he felt were like the ones who led his son to commit suicide. He turned himself into a bomb also and tried to take me out with him but clearly, it didn’t work in his favor. Helped clean up after the Flaxan mess, and met the lead singer of Mucous Membrane who apparently is a mage. He was here on behalf of Death herself to help me and tell me that my powers aren’t because I’m a meta, they’re magic. Oh, and also, I’m allegedly immortal.” You took a sip of water. “Lex also wants to know if anyone would be interested in attending one of his rich folk parties.”

At the quietness of the room, you lifted your eyes from your plate to look at everyone’s shocked glance. “What?” you ask with a mouth full of food.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

That night, the teens wanted to sleep with their parents, both needing reassurance. Debbie and Mark were already gone, sleeping deep and peacefully. “Dad… You awake?” your question was whispered as your head lay on Deborah's shoulder. He answered with a warm hand squeezing your shoulder and a quiet hum. “...How do you move past people you can’t save or the people we have to sacrifice?”

Nolan wasn’t sure how to answer that, he’d never felt anything for the people he couldn’t save. He knew that if he had to save earth’s people or his kids and wife… Well… Earth can be populated again. “You look at the people who you did save. We can’t always save everyone, that’s the sad reality. It’s… painful. But it’s a truth all heroes have to come to terms with. Even I can’t save everyone.” Nolan wrapped his arms around his girls and son tighter, pulling everyone closer. “If all you could save was a person, you still did everything you could. If you couldn’t save anyone, you just have to keep your head high and try again.”

You snuggled closer into your mom, feeling her arm instinctively wrap around you as you draped yours over her and Nolan’s stomach, your fingers laying on Mark’s wrist. The sad reality of being a hero...

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou

I'M REALLY SORRY IF I FORGOT SOMEBODY- MY DOC SOMETIMES FORGETS TO SAVE AND I HAD TO READD PPL

[kitkat13001]

୭ ˚.⁺⊹ .ᐟ modern!eren jaeger x reader

⤷ college au, athlete!eren, sick reader, brief mentions of vomit (vague, nondescriptive)

barring actual death, this week has been probably the worst of your life. 

you don’t think there’s anything more you could’ve done to prevent yourself from getting sick, but here you are, immobilized in bed like a dying victorian orphan. there’s only one upside to being this sick, and that’s when your boyfriend gets to wait on you hand and foot, coddling you until you feel even a little better. but eren isn’t here with you, he’s miles upon miles away for a big tournament.

distance hasn’t lessened his concern for you, apparent in the way he’s been calling you at least twice a day since you told him you were feeling under the weather. 

“no, babe, i’m like so sick right now,” you complain, congestion evident in your voice. 

“for real?”

“yeah, it’s so bad. and it’s not like a common cold or anything either, eren, this is the flu.”

“that bad?”

“i puked three times yesterday.”

you can practically hear his wince through the phone. “yikes.”

“yeah, so that’s me,” you sigh, “barfing and coughing and feverish. how are you holding up? having fun?”

“yeah, it’s been okay. we’re keeping our streak. i’m calling from the bus right now, actually.”

“oh, fun! tell the team hi for me.”

he hums his assent, but quickly turns the conversation back to you. “you want me to bring you anything back?”

“just your handsome self, preferably injury-free. miss you lots.”

“i’ll be back before you know it,” he promises. there’s some rustling on the line. 

“you just getting there?” you ask, sniffling into a tissue. 

“mhm. just gimme a second, baby.”

you hum patiently, eyes fluttering closed while you wait. 

“goddamn!” you jump when the door swings open, revealing eren standing in the doorway. his bags are in his arms and he’s still on the line, phone tucked between his shoulder and ear.  “you were right, babe, this place looks like shit. dishes on the nightstand and everything.”

he smiles and hangs up the phone while you lie in shock, scrambling to sit up and compose yourself. 

“when did you come in?!” you cry, “i didn’t even hear the door, my ears are so stuffed from my sinus plug-up. i thought you were on the bus to nationals!”

“i said i was on the bus, not on the bus to nationals,” eren corrects, grinning. “armin told me you were sick so i flew down to come take care of you.”

“but you’ll miss the big game!”

he waves a hand dismissively, blowing a raspberry. “it’s not for three days. plenty of time for me to hang out with you until you’re better. i’ll fly out the day before the game, directly to the city.”

“but what if you catch my virus?” you whine, pushing him away weakly. 

he smirks at your pitiful attempts. “i googled it. you’re not really contagious after the fifth day, so i’m aaaaallll yours~”

“erennn, you can’t risk it before your big game. what if—“

“shush, don’t worry so much. i’ll be careful, okay? lysol everything you touch.”

“everything? twice? you better promise.”

he holds his hand up in a mocking oath. “i swear. i’ll be mike wazowski spraying himself in the eyeball in monsters inc.”

you give a weak giggle and immediately wince at the pain in your throat. 

eren makes himself comfortable at your bedside, holding up a steaming container. “y’want soup? picked it up on my way back.”

you stare at him through watery eyes. “let’s get married. deadass.”

he laughs, fishing out a plastic spoon from his bag. “maybe when you’re not bedridden with the flu. ‘kay, now say ‘ahhh’.”

wrote this last year when i had the most godawful flu known to man and finished it this year when i got sick 3 times in the span of a month n a half :)

[loverboysturn]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ popular!matt and smart!reader meet for the first time !!

finally an introduction blurb to these two!!!!! eeek so excited about them :)

note: these two are from the same universe as popular!chris and cinderella!reader which you can find everything for here.

asks & requests are always open for this au.

matt has been failing classes for months.

it’s not something he was particularly proud of, and at first he wasn’t entirely bothered by it. the after-game parties, the endless practice sessions, and keeping up with whichever cheerleader was pining over him were enough to keep his focus elsewhere. but now, the failures were piling up and the pressure was all starting to feel a little too much. coach had called him into his office, bright and early, making it clear that if his grades didn’t see an improvement soon, his place on the team was at risk.

the truth was, unlike chris, football had never really been matt’s dream.. it was more his father’s. he played because his dad pushed him into it, and he didn’t want to let him down. he knew that if he got kicked off the team, it wouldn’t just be the end of his time on the field; it would be something his dad would never let him hear the end of. the weight of that expectation felt suffocating at times, but matt couldn’t afford to disappoint him. not now, not ever.

so, here he was, standing in front of the only thing that could save him, the tutor center on campus. if swallowing his pride and begging for help was the only way to keep his spot on the team, then so be it. he’d do whatever it took to keep his dad from finding out just how close he really was to losing it all.

matt pushed open the door, stepping into the tutor center, a place he had never thought to visit before. the air feeling heavy with the scent of black coffee, the walls lined with posters full of motivational quotes on them. he felt like the outsider, for the first time.

and then, he notices you.

you were sitting in the corner of the room, piles of textbooks and notebooks stacked around you. your fingers flying over the keypad of the laptop infront of you, brow furrowed in concentration, completely absorbed in whatever you were working on, as if nothing else around you existed.

matt hesitated, feeling suddenly unsure of himself. he wasn’t used to being in a place like this, he wasn’t used to feeling like he didn’t belong, but with a deep breath, he stepped forward, heading straight towards your desk.

“hey,” he says, voice breaking the silence. “i’m matt.”

you glance up at him, eyes narrowing slightly, before going back to typing, not giving him much more than a brief glance.

“i know exactly who you are,” you replied, your voice was flat, not looking up from your laptop, “everyone talks about you and your friends.”

he chuckled, though it was definetely more out of discomfort than anything, “all good things i hope.”

you didn’t answer, the room filling back with an awkward silence.

matt glanced around at the empty room surrounding you both, placing his hands awkwardly in his pockets, then his gaze goes straight back to you, before he cuts straight to the point. “look, i’m not gonna lie to you. i need help. badly. i’m failing most of my classes, and coach says if i don’t sort my shit out then i’m off the team. and if that happens, my dad… he won’t let me live it down. i need you to tutor me.”

his popular facade was starting to crumble, the embarrassment creeping in as he said the words aloud. he wasn’t used to this, asking for help and it made him feel vulnerable.

you study him for a moment, like you were really taking in every word. “you want me to tutor you?”

matt nodded eagerly, wanting so bad to make this work. “please. i’m not asking for a miracle. i just really need to pass, that’s all. i won’t make shit complicated, you won’t even have to deal with me for very long.”

you dropped the pen you had been chewing the lid of, crossing your arms and looking straight at him. “and why should i help you?”

he could feel the weight of your gaze, the way you were looking into him so intensely was making him feel almost… nervous, another feeling he wasn’t used to. “because you’re the smartest girl on campus, right?” he says, a false confident tone in his voice. “everyone knows it and i know you don’t want to help me out because i’m on the football team, but i really, really, really need this. please.”

matt felt his heart starting to race, he didn’t know what he would do if you said no, but he wasn’t backing down. “i’m not like them,” he says, referring to his teammates. “i’ll do all the work you ask, i won’t waste a second of your time.”

you studied him for a long moment. he could see you were trying to decide if you believed him or not, but you know you needed to benefit from this too.

“fine,” you sigh loudly, “i’ll help you, but only if you get your teammates to lay off my best friend when you’re all at the diner. i’m not going to help you if they keep making her shifts miserable.”

matt blinked, taken aback. “what? i can’t contr—“

you cut him off, instantly, “then no tutoring.”

he hesitated for a second, he hadn’t expected this, but he knew he had no other choice. “alright. i’ll talk to them. but you promise you’ll really help me pass?”

you nod, “if you follow through with your side of the deal and you turn up to every session, then yes, i will help you.”

matt met your gaze, his expression a mix of determination and uncertainty. “deal.”

you push your laptop aside, replacing the empty gap with a textbook from one of the many piles next to you. “we’ll start tomorrow morning before classes start, 7 o clock, don’t be late.”

he stands there for a moment, internally grateful you hadn’t completely shut him down like he had truly anticipated happening, “i’ll be here at 7 o clock on the dot, i won’t be late, not even by a second. i really appreciate this, you’re savin’ my ass big time.” he grins, before turning to leave.

“and matt,” you call out after him, just before he reaches the door. “please don’t make me regret this.”

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

12

(T.W bpd episode towards the end, if that's at all triggering skip Jinx's second POV <3)

Jinx

The bass thrums through the walls, vibrating my bones, and the air reeks of sweat, liquor, and the sharp tang of people pretending they belong here.

Caitlyn Kirammans party.

Fucking fantastic.

I can already feel the chaos simmering, the way the room shifts with every new body that spills in.

I like it here. I thrive on it.

But Y/N? She’s quiet, like she always is. Not her scene, not even close. But she’s here, and that’s all that matters.

She’s standing next to me, like a little wallflower in a sea of jackasses.

We’re close enough that I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves, but neither of us has said a word about it.

We don’t need to.

It’s our thing.

Our secret.

I’m half-focused on Y/N, the way she’s standing there, shoulders pulled in, trying not to get noticed.

She doesn’t belong here, not like this. She’s got a quiet aura, a stark contrast to the noisy, wild energy around us.

But she’s with me, and that’s enough to keep my blood pumping. I can’t let her get lost in the crowd.

Cait and Mel swoop in like vultures, all manicured nails and perfectly placed grins, and before I can stop it, Y/N’s wrist is in Cait’s hand.

She barely has time to glance at me before they’re dragging her away, swallowed by the mass of bodies like she was never even standing next to me in the first place.

I feel my jaw clench, but I don’t move. I could. I could storm after her, could grab her back, could tell Cait to keep her prissy little hands to herself. But I don’t.

Because that’s not how this works.

Instead, I lean back against the wall, tapping my fingers against my thigh. Watching.

Mel says something, and Y/N laughs, but it’s that tight, polite laugh, the one she does when she’s being the good girl everyone expects her to be.

I fucking hate it.

I hate how easy it is for her to put that mask on, to pretend she’s one of them. I wonder if it ever gets exhausting, all that pretending.

Then I hear it.

“Alright, time for a game,” someone calls, and the crowd shifts, bodies pressing in as the living room turns into some kind of makeshift arena.

Great.

I push off the wall, weaving my way closer, close enough to see Y/N standing there, stiff as a damn board, while Cait and Mel laugh like they’ve already won something.

There’s a table in the center, scattered with shot glasses, a deck of cards, a stupid-looking bowl filled with crumpled-up slips of paper.

Truth or dare.

Of course.

I should’ve known Caitlyn and her bougie ass parties wouldn’t settle for anything normal.

I move to the edge of the crowd, close enough that I could step in if I wanted to. But Y/N’s shoulders are squared, her chin lifted just a little.

She’s handling it.

For now.

Mel reaches into the bowl first, plucking a slip and unfolding it like it holds the secrets of the universe. Then she smirks. “Y/N,” she says, her voice silky smooth, like she’s been waiting for this.

Y/N’s fingers twitch at her sides. “Truth.”

The air fucking shifts.

The question hangs, sharp and invasive, like it’s dissecting something private.

Y/N’s breath catches, just for a split second, but it’s enough for me to notice. Her back straightens, and her eyes dart around the room, like she’s looking for an escape.

Like there’s no way out.

I hate the way everyone’s looking at her now, waiting, eager. I hate that I can feel the pressure of their gaze too.

I hate that she’s stuck, caught in this moment where she has to lie or risk her privacy.

She looks at me, just for a breath, and I see it—the panic behind her eyes.

She can’t say it.

She can’t tell them about us.

And I get it.

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

“I… I don’t know,” she says finally, voice too steady, too practiced. “I haven’t really had a romantic moment recently.”

The words hit like a punch to the chest. Her voice is steady, but her eyes flicker—flicker—back to me, and I feel it.

It’s a lie.

A lie so heavy I can’t breathe.

Mel’s smile is wide and expectant, but Y/N can’t bring herself to meet it. Instead, she looks down at the floor, as if she’s trying to disappear into it.

The whole room is dead silent, like they’re waiting for her to elaborate. I can feel the weight of their curiosity, the subtle shift in energy. It’s too much. Too fucking much.

I stand there, frozen, while her words wrap around me like a noose. It’s not the truth. It’s not even close.

But I can’t force her to say it.

I won’t make her.

But God, does it hurt.

And then, without a word, Y/N stands up straighter, pasting that smile of hers back on.

It’s weak, like it’s barely holding together, but it’s there. She’s doing what she does best—pretending.

The game moves on, but it doesn’t matter anymore. I can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted.

I can feel the distance between us growing with every breath. And I can’t help but wonder how much longer we can keep pretending.

But I don’t ask. I don’t need to.

I already know the answer.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Y/N

The weight of the moment lingers like a heavy fog, suffocating everything around me. The game moves on, people laughing, clinking glasses, like nothing’s wrong.

Like I didn’t just shatter something precious. But I feel it. The crack that just split between me and Jinx. The way her eyes—those eyes—refused to meet mine when I lied. When I denied what we were.

I don’t even realize I’m moving until I’m pushing through the crowd, desperate to catch up to her, desperate to fix whatever this is, before it breaks.

She’s already halfway out the door, her shoulders tense, her back a line of defiance. Like she’s preparing to leave. Like she’s already gone.

“Jinx!” I call, my voice a little too sharp, a little too broken, and the moment she hears me, she stops. But she doesn’t turn. She doesn’t give me the satisfaction of seeing her face, not yet.

I can hear her breath catch, feel the walls she’s putting up between us—cold, rigid, like she’s made of stone.

I take a step closer, and the words tumble out before I can stop them. “Jinx, wait. Please.”

She finally turns, but it’s not the way I want. She faces me with that look, the one that says everything’s messed up. That look that makes my chest tighten and my throat close. Her hands are clenched at her sides, her expression unreadable, like she’s afraid I’ll see too much.

“What do you want, Y/N?” Her voice is quiet, too calm, but I hear the edge underneath it, the tremor she’s hiding, and it's almost like my name tastes foul on her lips, there's no honey laced teasing. Just my name, so hollow and empty.

“Please, just let me explain,” I try again, my words tumbling over each other, desperate, pleading. “I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t—”

“You didn’t mean it?” Her voice breaks, just a little, and I feel the sting of it deep in my chest. Her eyes narrow, and she steps forward, her gaze sharp, cutting through the distance. “You think I’m just some—some experiment to you?”

The words hit like a slap, and I stagger back, the realization sinking in like a weight I can’t shake.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Jinx, I—”

“Don’t.” She cuts me off, her voice low, deadly. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to use me when it’s convenient and then act like it’s nothing when things get real.”

Her words are a punch to the gut.

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. I can’t form the words. Because deep down, she’s right.

“You think I’m just some fucking game, Y/N? Some person you get to play with until you’re bored?” She’s shaking now, her breath ragged, fists clenched so tight her knuckles are white. “I’m not your fucking experiment. I’m not something you get to try out when it suits you and then throw away when it’s inconvenient.”

The hurt in her voice is a raw, jagged thing. It cuts deeper than any insult, any accusation. I want to reach out, to fix it, but I don’t know how.

“You never even told them the truth,” she continues, her voice trembling with rage and pain. “You lied to everyone. You lied to me. And now you’re telling me you didn’t mean it?”

I open my mouth, but the words stick in my throat. I didn’t mean it. But the truth... the truth feels like a weight I can’t bear to carry.

“I didn’t know how to—”

“Exactly,” she snaps. “You never knew how to. You don’t know what it’s like, Y/N, to be someone’s secret. To feel like you’re not even real.”

The words fall between us like shattered glass. And in that moment, I know she’s right. I’ve been so afraid of everything—of us, of the consequences—that I forgot she was real. That she wasn’t just some thing to hide away, tucked into the corners of my life where no one could see.

But now she’s here, raw and real, and she’s done pretending.

“Jinx, I’m sorry. I... I don’t want to lose you. Not like this.”

Her expression softens, just for a moment, but it’s not enough. Not enough to erase the hurt, the feeling that she’s already slipping through my fingers.

“Then stop making me feel like I’m nothing,” she says, her voice small, broken. “I’m not your fucking secret, Y/N. And I’m not some experiment you can toss aside when it gets too hard.”

I stand there, speechless, the weight of her words pressing down on me. And for the first time, I don’t know how to fix it.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

“Pow, please, it’s scary—”

Y/N’s face is all scrunched up, like she can’t decide if she’s going to cry or scream, her little hands clutched together like they’re trying to hold herself together. She’s always been like that, so gentle, so careful.

I don’t understand it then. I don’t understand why she’s scared, why she’s pulling away. All I want is to make her laugh, to make her stop being afraid. I just want to see that soft smile, the one she only gives me.

But it’s not happening.

“Don’t be a baby, Y/N.” My voice comes out harsh, too sharp, the kind of thing that cuts when it’s not meant to. But I don’t see it. I can’t see it.

Her lip trembles, and she takes a step back.

“Pow, I—I don’t like it when you do that.”

I laugh, but it’s bitter. “What? You don’t like it when I make you laugh? When I make you feel something?”

She shakes her head, eyes wide, like she’s suddenly seeing me for the first time. It’s like the ground is shifting beneath me, and I don’t know how to stop it.

“Pow…”

I don’t hear her. I’m already moving, already too far gone in my head to care about her feelings. The world around me is spinning, and I’m trapped in it, my thoughts fraying. I want to push her, make her laugh again, make her stop being scared.

But instead, I see it. I see her, backing away from me, her small hands held up like shields, like I’m the thing she’s afraid of.

“Stop,” she whispers, so softly, so quietly, but it cuts deeper than anything she could’ve yelled at me.

And I freeze.

Because I’ve broken her.

“Y/N…”

“I can’t... be your friend anymore, Powder.”

Her words hit harder than any slap. They feel like they’re carving into me, leaving jagged pieces behind.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Nothing that makes sense. I can’t fix it. I can’t make it better.

And she’s already gone.

I watch her walk away, and I can feel the walls closing in. My heart is pounding in my ears, and all I want is to reach out, to stop her, but my legs won’t move.

She’s gone.

And I never knew how to make her stay.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

The sound of my breathing is jagged—too loud—and I can’t catch it, like I’m suffocating on it.

It’s all I can hear. I’m drowning in it, in every breath that feels too thick, too wrong.

The walls are closing in.

The room is too small.

Too tight.

My chest—fuck—feels like someone’s wrapped their hands around my ribs and is squeezing, squeezing until I can’t take it anymore.

No—

I try to inhale, but my lungs are—they’re full of nothing.

I’m gasping, barely breathing, struggling to get air, struggling to stop my heart from exploding out of my chest.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

The thoughts start coming, jagged, violent, louder and louder, and I can’t escape them.

They’re fucking everywhere, stabbing me in the head like knives, ripping through my mind like a hurricane.

You fucked up. You always fuck up.

She’ll never love you.

I scream—louder, but it’s not enough.

It’s not enough to drown out the voices.

God, it’s not enough.

I can’t think.

I can’t feel anything but this, this overwhelming pressure, this suffocating weight pressing down on me, crushing me, until I’m nothing but a pile of shaking limbs.

I claw at my face, trying to make it stop, but the tears—they won’t stop.

Hot, fast, stinging, falling in streams I can’t control. My skin’s crawling.

I’m so fucking hot, like I’m burning alive, but then I feel cold, too cold, like I’m freezing from the inside out.

I scream again, a primal, ugly sound, and my hands shake so violently that they’re hitting the floor, knocking things over.

I don’t know what’s real anymore.

The walls are spinning. The floor is spinning.

I can’t make it stop.

Why didn’t you say it? Why didn’t you fight for her?

You fucked up.

I’m on my knees now, rocking back and forth, my body jerked with each shudder, each scream, each thought crashing through my skull.

I can’t stop moving. I can’t stop anything.

She doesn’t care.

YOU’RE NOTHING.

I can’t breathe. I clutch my chest, fingers digging into my skin, feeling the panic, the fire, the ice, the suffocating, overwhelming nothing that’s making me fucking disappear.

Why didn’t you just leave her alone?

You don’t matter. You never mattered.

I can’t hold it together. I can’t fix it. I can’t do anything but shake, scream, hurt.

And the voices—they’re fucking louder.

No one loves you!

You're a fucking mess!

I pull at my hair, tears streaming, gasping between sobs, but nothing helps. The world is spinning, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make it stop.

I scream again, thrashing, but there’s no relief. There’s nothing.

I’m drowning.

I’m drowning.

I close my eyes, wishing I could just stop, wishing I could just disappear. Anything. Anything to make it stop.

But it never does.

It never fucking stops.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: so the honeymoon phase wasn't for long, but there will be a very nice reconciliation

please like and reblog <3

also timebomb fic is out, if you like mary janes so far, it's a similar writing style and setting so go check it out :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62833570/chapters/160875787

[glade-constellation]

This might just be a very niche problem I have, but if I don’t say anything about it it’s going to keep bothering me.

Please stop calling the Astrals a cult.

This post is not directed at any singular person, it’s something I’ve seen since the Astrals were first introduced. I know a lot of people throw the word cult around, so I tried to ignore it, but I also think people need a reminder as to want a cult actually is.

A cult, by definition, is “a religion regarded as unorthodox or spurious”. Basically, a religion based on weird or false information. Some definitions go even broader. What people tend to forget about is that cults have specific characteristics that classify them as cults.

First, cults typically display authoritarianism. There is typically one person in the group regarded as the leader, and they are treated with the highest of respect. Anything preserved as disrespectful towards this person is highly frowned upon, and can lead to harsh punishments. The leader can never be questioned and is never wrong about anything they say. There is no accountability to their actions.

You could say the Astrals portray this with Taurus and Leo, but that’s simply not true. They are very loud about their opinions, but they do not set the rules and they are not the leaders. They are simply the enforcers, just as Virgo is the judge. They simply play a role, they aren’t an authoritative leader. Plus, Gemini said some pretty disrespectful things about both and were allowed to have their opinion. Cults do not allow this behavior.

Which leads into the next point. Cults are very particular about behavior. They are isolationist by nature. They follow a very strict set of beliefs and rituals that must be upheld, or you will be shunned. Breaking them can also result in harsh punishment.

This one I can understand. The Astrals are very strict on rules and behaviors. Breaking them can result in death. Once again, you have to look at this in the right context. Astrals aren’t human. Both characters from the show and Reed himself have explained this. They cannot be held to human standards when they aren’t human. They have to have these rules, because one mess up isn’t just an oops situation. It could level worlds, kill entire universes. Lunar permanently disabled Earth, and has accidentally hurt others before with it. His punishment was completely fair considering what was at stake. I’m not agreeing with how they handled his training by any means, but you have to remember what was at risk.

There are other characteristics that just have nothing to do with the Astrals. The zodiac lore humans came up with pretty obviously aren’t real in TSAMS universe, they don’t have any “sacred text” to follow. They are enforcing cosmic rules to keep the balance of nature, not one set person. They work as a group, no single member has more power than the other. There is no abuse or exploitation of members because they aren’t a religion.

You want to call something a cult? Just look at our Dark Star group. Most are over here praising Cetus as some great higher being. They do everything in his name. The only reasons others are allowed to stay is because they’re spreading the DSP, and even then they’re aren’t really considered members so much as underlings. There are levels to their group. The higher you are, the closer you’re considered to Cetus. Anything else, they just kill. It’s about performance, not genuine belief. (There are cases like Rez where there is belief and then they just become deadly, because they believe everyone not in their group truly deserves their fate.) That is a cult. That is a religion built on false pretenses.

Context is key. Yes, Lunar wasn’t really treated with the best respect. There were things the Astrals could have done differently. Thing is, you cannot hold a non-human being to human standards. Plus, the last time they allowed someone to be an Astral, it backfired on them to the extreme (Cetus). When you have that much power, you have to enforce boundaries for yourself so you don’t accidentally kill a world. Lunar wasn’t blameless. He put himself in this situation the moment he even considered using DSP. The Astrals are not the only ones to blame for Lunar’s current predicament. If anything, the DS group are the ones to blame, not the Astrals. Cults will do that. They will exploit your weaknesses to draw you in and then keep you there. The only reason Rez wanted Lunar to join them was because Lunar had power Rez could use for himself. They dug at Lunar’s fear of uselessness and desperation for control of his life. Lunar is a victim, just not of the Astrals.

Cults are a real thing, they aren’t just a tool used in fiction. Real people are affected by them. Please stop throwing things like that around carelessly when you don’t know the true definition. It takes away from their true weight. Victims of cults are told they’re over exaggerating and telling lies. Turning real world problems into simple fictional tropes have real effects on real victims.

[slitheringghost]

Snape’s home life

These endless debates about the Blacks’ abuse (whether it existed or how severe it was) are interesting because you know which character we actually have no evidence of being abused by a parent, and especially not physically? Severus Snape.

(Which, for the record, I personally think he was, but I’m just trying to make A Point about fandom interpretations of abuse).

There was apparently a Pottermore article saying Tobias whipped Snape, but that’s completely extracanon, and iirc the article wasn’t even written by JKR. This is what is in actual canon:

Snape staggered; his wand flew upward, away from Harry — and suddenly Harry’s mind was teeming with memories that were not his — a hook-nosed man was shouting at a cowering woman, while a small dark-haired boy cried in a corner. . . . A greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies. . . . (OoTP)

This is his dad verbally abusing his mother while Eileen cowers, and Snape cries watching them.

“How are things at your house?” Lily asked. A little crease appeared between his eyes. “Fine,” he said. “They’re not arguing anymore?” “Oh yes, they’re arguing,” said Snape. He picked up a fistful of leaves and began tearing them apart, apparently unaware of what he was doing. “But it won’t be that long and I’ll be gone.” “Doesn’t your dad like magic?” “He doesn’t like anything, much,” said Snape. (DH)

Here again, the focus is on the conflict and fighting between his parents rather than Tobias’s treatment of Snape.

Snape’s response and agitation here certainly indicates a bad home life - but witnessing your father constantly scream at your mother is still extremely scary and traumatizing. And would lead to the child feeling unsafe in the household, regardless of if it was directed towards him. Correct me if I'm wrong, but these are the only canonical allusions to Tobias's abuse that we have. (I suppose Snape's hatred of Muggles is another, but that could happen with far less severe abuse too - i.e. with Tom Riddle).

But there is no confirmation that Tobias’s abuse extended to Snape. (And we don’t even have evidence of Tobias physically abusing Eileen, much less Snape.) “He doesn’t like anything much” does indicate a bad relationship between Severus and Tobias too, but the actual severity of it is ambiguous. And it’s not always necessary that the abuse is inflicted on both spouse and child, and we have a very glaring example of this in canon - Barty Crouch Jr.

Crouch was abusive to and hated his son but deeply loved his wife. We have Barty Jr. saying “He loved her as he never loved me”, Crouch Sr. risking his job and reputation and even the possibility of being sent to Azkaban himself to give Mrs. Crouch her dying wish of freeing Barty Jr., Winky’s ability to guilt trip Crouch Sr. into letting his son attend the Quidditch match using his love for Mrs. Crouch, etc. We even have Mrs. Crouch crying as she witnesses her husband’s cruelty towards her son, just like Snape was crying while he witnessed Tobias abuse Eileen.

While Lily asks "doesn't your dad like magic?", Snape doesn't really confirm that as being true; magic clearly wasn’t banned in the house the way it was for Harry (due to the Dursleys’ hatred of it as much as the Statute), since Snape came into Hogwarts knowing a lot of magic, and it seems like Eileen had taught Snape a lot about the wizarding world as a child, and we see him use it to shoot down flies in his bedroom.

And “He doesn’t like anything much” is MUCH tamer and much less violent of a statement than “My mother had no heart, she kept herself alive out of pure spite”, “How she hated him, what a disappointment he was”, everything Walburga’s portrait says, the abuse getting to the point that Sirius ran away and then was blasted off the tapestry, Walburga blasting her brother off the tapestry for merely helping Sirius financially, Walburga being textually compared to Umbridge, Walburga’s portrait stretching clawed hands as though to tear at people’s faces (a clear allusion to physical violence), etc etc. We have MUCH more detail about the Blacks’ abuse than Snape’s.

So where exactly are y’all getting “Snape’s abuse was worse than Sirius’s/Tobias beat Severus/Tobias was physically abusive and Walburga and Orion weren’t/Walburga and Orion were better parents than Tobias, etc” from? Because it sure as hell isn’t canon!

As I said, I personally view Snape and Eileen as being physically abused by Tobias and think it’s implied in the text, but this shows the double standards for Snape vs. Sirius / view of the Black family as a whole.

(And this matches fandom's constant tendency to portray privilege and abuse as mutually exclusive, and framing severe domestic violence as Something Only Poor People Do And Aristocrats Would Never Because They're Above That. This is not the hot anti aristocracy take that y'all seem to think it is, lmao)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Cool for the Summer 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power dynamics, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After finishing your degree, you return home only to find things aren’t as you left them.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: merry monday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You nearly plunge under the water as you tear away from Bucky’s grip. The thrum of the hot tub jets hum a low drown beneath the thumping of your heartbeat. Your thighs are hot and jittery. Your limbs feel disjointed from the rest of you. 

“Baby girl?” He purrs and reaches for you again. “Where you going?” 

You flail and twist in the water. You splash to the edge and hook your leg over gracelessly. You barely keep from flopping out onto the ground. You get your feet set and scramble away, wiping the speckle of water from your cheeks as water slakes from your shorts down your legs. 

He chuckles and the water stirs with his movement. Is he following you? You don’t wait to see as you race for the back door. 

Your adrenaline distorts the sunlight and noise of birds. You stumble inside, clinging to the door handle as your feet slip on the tile. You whimper and rush across the kitchen. You’re dizzy with confusion and fear. 

What just happened? What did he do? What did you do?! You’re just as guilty. You got in that hot tub, you let him get close, and then you... you did exactly what he accused you of. 

You stagger upstairs, so frantic you use your hands in a half-crawl on the ascent. You pump your legs and arms and charge into your bedroom. You slam the door and lean against it, panting. You close your mouth as you tamp down your breath and listen to the house. 

You don’t hear anything. You close your eyes and turn your head straight. Your clothes are wet and sopping, cooling as they stick uncomfortably to your skin. Your hand shakes as you feel along the front of your shorts. 

You slip your fingers under the mattress and your insides clench. Just the way the seam brushes against your cunt makes you squirm. You feel swollen and a bit sore. 

Oh god. You really did that. You’re not ignorant. You might be inexperienced but you’re human, you’ve been curious, and lonely. But that... 

That was wrong. Your mother’s boyfriend just watched you cum. He as good as made you himself. Then he tried to kiss you-- 

How are you going to explain all this? 

“Baby girlllll,” Bucky calls out. His voice is distant, “why’d you run away, doll? We were just getting started.” His timbre gets closer, he must be by the stairs. “Look at this mess you made. There’s water all over.” 

You hear him coming up the stairs, slow like a predator. He takes a deep breath and lets in out in a snicker. His steps clap down the hallway. 

“What am I gonna do with a dirty girl like you? Didn’t you already shower?” He clicks his tongue in disapproval. “Bad girl.” 

You whimper as he taps on the other side of your door. You cross your arms, holding yourself as a chill ripples over you. Goosebumps pinpoint over your skin painfully. 

“Hey, baby girl, we can go slow,” he jiggles the handle and you turn to grasp it, stilling his attempt to get in. “I just wanna have a look--” 

There’s a sudden honk. The little toot that comes from clicking the lock button on a key tag. You know it. It’s your mom’s car. You gulp and the tension loosens from the door handle. He sighs. 

“Shit...” the growl follows him to the opposite end of the hall. 

You hear rustling. You’re not sure what’s going on but you’re not coming out until your mom’s inside. The front door opens with the jingle of her keys and you ready yourself to run out and say everything. 

“Hey, honey,” Bucky’s voice keeps you pent up. “You’re home. Oh, be careful.” His weight creaks at the top of the stairs. “I was just about to get her to come clean that up. She wanted to try out the hot tub and think she forgot her towel.” 

What? No? He’s making it sound totally different. 

“Just been mowing the lawn,” he continues. 

“I saw that, honey,” your mom trills. “You are just the best, Bucky,” she comes up the stairs. “Oh, look at all this water.” 

You open the door, “mom! Mom, you’re home--” 

You hurry forward and she stops a few steps down to look at you. 

“Oh, sweetie, you tracked water all inside,” she tuts. 

“What? Mom--” you pause and look at Bucky. He’s dressed. A tee and jeans. His hairs a bit damp but it could just as easily be sweat... from mowing the lawn. You cringe. “Sorry, but--” 

“Oh, and why aren’t you wearing a proper swimsuit?” She reproaches. She comes up and sidles past Bucky with a whisper. He steps aside and turns to watch you over her shoulder. She gets to you and ushers you back to the room, “get changed and go find a mop.” 

“Mom--” 

“No, sweetie,” she glances back over her shoulder, “Oh, Bucky, do me a favour and put the kettle on for me.” 

“Sure, honey,” he agrees. 

She faces you again and he winks at you. Your mouth opens speechlessly. You shake your head. 

“Look, I don’t want to embarrass you,” she lowers her voice as Bucky descends. “But I can see right through that shirt.” 

You hug yourself and frown, “mom...” your lip trembles as you search her face. This looks bad but not for you. You don’t think she’ll believe you and you don’t think you would either. You’re soaking wet and a mess and he has the tan to prove his hard work. “I’ll clean it up.” 

“Alright, and if you’re gonna be in the hot tub. Take a towel.” She gives a half-smile then turns to head down to her own room. “I might just get in myself after today.” 

She disappears into her bedroom and you stare after her. Shell shocked. How did this happen? The morning is just a smear in your mind. 

You twitch as a high-pitched noise tweaks in your ear. Bucky whistles in the kitchen. He’s taunting you, mocking you. He played you like a toy, in more ways than one. 

💙

You clean up the floors and do your best to avoid Bucky. Thankfully, your mom is a buffer between you. When you dry up the puddles left from your flight, you hide in your room. You don’t think that will be too suspicious; it's what you typically do. 

What isn’t usual is how your stomach bubbles like an overheated pot. You can’t get comfortable, you can’t focus, and you can barely think of anything but that morning. You retrace every step, ever word, and try to find one moment where you can’t blame yourself. 

What were you doing? You touched him, you brought him coffee, you got in that hot tub with him. You didn’t even try to push him away when he got too close. 

There’s a knock at the door just as you feel like you could doze off. It’s not a good time. Nearly six. You sit up and stare at the wood. 

“Um, hello?” You call out. 

“Sweetie, it’s mum. Bucky ordered some pad thai for dinner. Why don’t you come have some?” She asks. 

“Oh, er... I’m not very hungry,” you reply. 

“Right, but, well, I haven’t gotten to see much of you since you got back and I gotta work again tomorrow,” she counters. “If you’re not hungry, why don’t you just come out and spend some time with me?” 

You feel that pang in your chest. Not just for having neglected her but for everything else. Bucky should be focused on her, not you. What did you do to spoil that in less than a day? 

“Alright,” you relent. 

You get up and pull on a loose sweatshirt over your tee. You wear loose linen pajamas on the bottom. You open the door and your mom looks you over. 

“Oh, honey, you’re not going to wear that, are you?” 

“Are we going somewhere?” You ask. 

“No, but... Bucky’s here.” 

“Uh, yeah, okay. I’ll... I’ll meet you down there, I guess.” 

“Nothing special,” she says. “Just real clothes.” 

You nod and shut the door. You frown. She never cared as much before. 

You switch out your lounge wear for some jeans and a seersucker shirt. There’s nothing provocative about you. Never has been. 

You go down to find your mom and Bucky in the kitchen. She has a plate of noodles and a smile. “Smells, delicious, huh, honey?” She says as she passes. 

“Sure,” you agree. 

“Come here, baby girl,” Bucky drawls, his back to you, “I’ll serve you.” 

You’re mom’s already in the dining room. You drag your feet forward. He twirls noodles with a pair of tongs and piles them on a scallop-edged plate. He turns to you. 

“Not the only thing that looks delicious,” he growls in a low tone. 

You clutch the plate and your eyes round, “thanks.” 

You quickly take it and spin away, nearly spilling it on the floor. You hurry out to the table and heave shakily as you sit. Your mom waits, nails tapping on the table. 

“Don’t start until everyone’s sat,” she warns. You’re in no hurry to eat, just to be gone. 

Bucky enters with a plate of his own, “forgot this.” 

He sets a pair of chopsticks next to you. You look at them then sense someone watching you. Your mom. You eke out a thank you. 

“Well, this is nice. How long’s it been since we had a proper family dinner, boo?” She chimes. 

“Uh, yeah,” you agree and split the chop sticks. Bucky does the same, deftly perching them between his fingers. 

“Family,” Bucky hums. “Yeah, it’s nice.” 

Your mom smiles and your heart shrivels. 

“Well, I think we need to be honest with each other,” she begins. Your temples beat and your cheeks draw. You glance at Bucky. He's unbothered. “I did have a reason for asking you to come down for dinner, hon.” She looks at you. “I have a surprise?” 

“Oh?” Bucky intones. “You do. Well, looks like we’ll both be surprised.” 

“Ha, Bucky,” she grins at him. “It’s nothing special, really.” 

“A job?” He wonders. 

“If only,” she twists the noodles around her chop sticks. “But, I know that you’re looking hard, sweetie. No, it’s something that might keep you busy.” 

“Interesting,” he remarks. 

You’re nervous. If it’s not a job, maybe more chores. She would think that’s an exciting conversation. 

“A date!” She proclaims then stuffs her mouth full of noodles. 

You blink and Bucky pinches at his noodles. He takes a smaller bite and chews. You refuse to look at him. 

“A date?” You murmur. 

“Sure,” she says through her mouthful then swallows. “You’re more than old enough and I know you were so focused in school. It’s about time. And he’s a very nice boy.” 

“A nice boy? You know a lot of those, Laur?” Bucky asks. 

“Oh, come on, I’m well above his age range. No, you’ll love him, sweetie. Oh, he’s adorable.” 

“You know him well?” Bucky challenges. 

“Are you so worried? She’s young. And I know his aunt. He has a good reference,” she trills back. 

“Shouldn’t she focus on the job hunt first?” 

“Relax, she has time for both.” 

“Well... what do you think?” He directs his attention to you. 

Your eyes dart between him and your mother. He doesn’t look as calm anymore. There’s a furrow between his brows and a dimple in his cheek. You suppose any excuse is good to get some space. 

“It’s really nice of you to think of me, mom. Sure, I... I wouldn’t want to disappoint anyone,” you shrug. 

“No, you wouldn’t,” Bucky drones. 

Your mom smiles, completely oblivious to his chagrin. “Well, it’s going to be so nice. Oh, why don’t we go and buy you a new dress? That’d would be perfect.” 

Bucky hums dully and pokes at his plate. You do the same. You're not the best with strangers, and obviously, not with men. But someone your age would be easier to let down. Besides, it will get you out of the house. 

[nightghoul381]

Honey Charm & Spicy Curse

Harrison Gray ~ Honey Charm

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Explicit Content | Smut | NSFW | MDNI

CW: Mostly teasing, nothing terribly graphic but a lot implied

We woke up in the same bed we had shared the night before.

Held loosely in his arms, his fingers combing through my hair, it felt so good—

(Since it’s a rare day off, I feel like going out on a date.)

(…It would be so luxurious to spend time together like that.)

Kate: “…Harry, that feels so good.”

I buried my face in his strong chest and gently inhaled the minty scent of my beloved.

Harrison: “…Yeah.”

His hands combed my hair down to the ends, then moved to the bare skin of my back, tracing a line to my waist.

His fingertips reminded me of last night, and my body gradually began to heat up.

Kate: “Mmm, wait a moment.”

Harrison: “What?”

He looked down at me with a cool expression, and I felt frustrated that I seemed to be the only one affected by it.

Kate: “Um… I don’t want that, I want you to continue with what you were doing earlier.”

Harrison: “I don’t really understand what you mean by ‘that’ and ‘what I was doing earlier’.”

Harrison: “You should do to me what you want me to do to you.”

Kate: “…Like this.”

Feeling a little nervous, I reached out my hand to his milk tea colored hair.

My fingertips touched his scalp, then I gently slid them down to the ends of his hair—

He narrowed his eyes and smiled faintly.

Harrison: “Was I touching you in such a gentle way?”

Harrison: “Or… Is that how you want to be touched?”

Kate: “Th-that’s right. The feeling I got when you stroked my hair…”

Harrison: “Ah, you’re lying. What you want right now is a different touch.”

Kate: “…!”

I felt like I’d been seen through and became even more embarrassed.

Harrison: “You lied to me, so I’m going to punish you.”

Kate: “Ah!”

He removed his arm from under me, distanced himself and sat on the edge of the bed.

Harrison: “For the rest of the day, I won’t touch you.”

Kate: “What? You’re lying…right?”

Harrison: “Well, I wonder.”

He was in his usual state, and I was left confused as to his true intentions.

(…Right. “Harry” can’t touch me.)

I slowly approached him and took a risk and hugged him.

Harrison: “What are you doing?”

Kate: “Isn’t it okay for me to touch you, Harry?”

Harrison: “…Ugh, haha, maybe. But it’s pretty bold of you too, dressed like that.”

(Hah, that’s right.)

I realized I was still wearing what I was wearing last night, just a sheet over my bare skin.

Harrison: “So, what are you going to do by hugging me?”

With me still clinging to him, he doesn’t even seem to move a finger toward me.

Unable to back out, I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Harrison: “……”

(Ugh, no reaction… But, I can’t lose.)

Next I kissed his cheeks, chin, and neck, just as he does to me.

The places I kissed appeared to be slightly warm and colored.

My excitement grew and before I knew it, I had pushed him down—

Kate: “…Harry, I love you.”

I looked down at his lips and then kissed him passionately.

However—

There was no response from him.

He smiled softly and simply accepted it.

(Hmm, Harry should respond to more seduction…)

Kate: “Mmnn….”

I kissed him again and tried my best to slip my tongue in.

I did just as he did to get me in the mood, licking carefully around the inside of his mouth, but—

He couldn’t let go of his poker face.

Kate: “…gh-hah, haah.”

 (It’s too tough… Or maybe I’m just not that attractive.)

I wanted to prove to him that it was a ‘lie’ that he couldn’t touch me.

Just as I felt like I was about to give up—

Harrison: “…Aah, you look like you’re about to cry. Have you had enough?”

Harrison: “…Keep doing your best. And I’ll keep doing my best to refrain from touching you.”

Kate: “Huh…? Harry, you’re holding back?”

Harrison: “Yeah… I just can’t get enough of you begging for it.”

Glancing down, I saw his erection uncomfortably pushing up the fabric.

Harrison: “You being shy is arousing too… but when you want it so badly like you do now, it gets me really excited.”

Harrison: “…Don’t you want to keep going?”

His eyes were filled with his true feelings—

Trembling with anticipation, my fingertips were tempted to expose his heat.

[thekeithmeister]

Being Trans In Southern Nature

Being a nature freak in the south as a well-passing trans man is a surreal experience. I live in north Georgia in a blue county in the suburbs. But as often as I can, I drive out into the middle of nowhere for hiking, camping, paddle boarding, or other outdoor activities. The drive there, in and of itself, is bizarre. Inside my car I’m blasting “This Is Me” from The Greatest Showman. But outside I’m driving by confederate flags, Trump signs, the Don’t Tread On Me flag, a sea of American Flags, and Christian billboards that literally say “you’re going to hell” with pictures of fire.

I often think if I ever get a flat tire on one of these trips, and anyone ever figures out I’m trans, I’d be hanged or shot. But I haven’t been clocked in years, so I push those kinds of thoughts to the back of my mind. I turn off the country back roads and onto the gravel drive leading up to a nature preserve. Pulling into the dirt parking lot there’s about a dozen other cars. Many have Trump bumper stickers. There’s no bathroom, so no concern about me being beat up for taking a piss. I always go in the woods anyway on these kinds of trips.

A full bladder is a concern for any trans person. But for this kind of trip I always take major precautions. They start back at home. After I eat breakfast and drink my coffee, I wait a full hour before leaving. I pee at least twice. I make damned sure my bladder is completely empty and there’s no chance any liquid is on it’s way there before getting into my car. I just described the kind of place I have to travel through to get to a good hiking trail. And I ain’t stopping. Not for anything. I’d rather pee my pants.

So when I pull into the lot I have my gear with me. A small backpack containing my rolled up hammock, a bottle of water, protein bars, toilet paper and my taser. When hiking, I drink barely enough to fuel my body. And if I do it just right, I don’t have to pee even if I’m out in the park the entire day. I don’t risk it. And if there really is just no choice, I’m going to go way off trail to do it. And I mean not just out of sight of the trail, but so far off the path someone would have to be crazy to come out there and spot me. Those are the kind of precautions I take.

But I just pulled into the parking lot and my dangerous bladder is empty. So no concerns at the moment. Backpack on, I start walking up to the trail head. There’s a sign there with a map of the trails on it. A blonde woman in a bright yellow shirt immediately approaches me.

“Excuse me!” she says. “Can you tell me if this is an easy trail?”

I’m used to this. Every time I go out hiking, people approach me. Everyone is friendly. Everyone smiles. And I think I must have a very approachable face. Or maybe I look experienced. Whatever the reason, complete strangers come up to me many times during any hike.

This is my first time on this trail, but I researched it beforehand, so I can answer her.

“Some of it,” I said. I turn and point at the map. “Make sure to take a right at the first fork. The entire eastern loop is easy. See, it’s marked green. You want to avoid the western loop as that goes straight up the mountain.” I pointed to the red part.

The woman nodded, “I see. And are there a lot of people on this trail?”

“From what I’ve read no. That’s why I came today. The reviews say you see hardly any body.”

“Thank you! You’ve been a great help! You seem like a really nice young man. Enjoy your hike!”

“You too!”

We part ways. I enter the trail head to begin my hike and I wonder the same exact thing I always wonder when I have these encounters. Would that nice lady turn mean and ugly and hate me if she knew I was trans? I think it every single time. There’s no way not to. I drove through Trump land to get here. I know what conservatives think of me. Or at least the idea of me. It’s not hidden. It’s not a secret. Trump has been president for 20 days at the time I’m writing this, and he has already signed 4 anti-trans specific executive orders. He is planning on discharging 15,000 trans military service members, possibly dishonorably and without their benefits. He’s planning on making it illegal for trans people to play sports. And he also wants to make it illegal for us to use a bathroom in a federal facility. He’s trying to make healthcare illegal for trans people under 19 years of age, threatening to throw parents and doctors in jail. And I watched as Trump signed these executive orders in front of a huge, cheering, smiling, clapping, crowd of conservatives.

They hate me. They want me to die. But when they meet me in real life, they all smile. They approach me. Ask me questions. Thank me for helping them. Many, especially older white men, seem to want to give me guidance, like a father figure. When I run into them on the trail, they are quick to tell me, “the river flooded that way so be careful,” or “the fishing is great at this pond! Bring your pole next time!”

I have never met an unfriendly person while hiking or camping. And I cannot help but wonder… what if they knew? What would those smiles turn into?

I choose the most difficult route on purpose to try and get out into nature alone. I want the peace and quiet it gives me. I don’t want to hear anything other than the birds, the wind, and the branches moving together. If I’m working hard enough, then my own blood pumping in my ears. For the first hour this is what I get. And I’m immeasurably happy. It’s early February and it’s 60 degrees on a sunny day. There are no leaves or greenery yet, but I’m smelling the warmth from the earth mix with the cool air. The pine trees give me plenty of green to be happy with.

But soon, as is always the case, the peace is interrupted. I hear voices from the trail ahead break the quiet. They’re loud. And there are many. Anxiety immediately kicks in. A prick of fear I can never quite control. It sounds like a group of men. And raised as a girl, I knew from a woman’s perspective just how dangerous this could turn out to be. Even having been transitioned and living as a man for the past 8 years, that was embedded in me. Possibly forever. But also having lived as a trans man for so long, my fear shifts from the possibility of being raped to being beat up instead. But again… that would only happen if someone clocked me. And that hadn’t happened in years.

I breathe in and calm myself down. I’m aware of the weight of my taser in my back pocket. I reach back and flip off it’s lid. But I leave it hidden for now. I’ve never needed it, and likely never would. After all, I have never met an unfriendly person while hiking or camping.

As the voices draw nearer, I suddenly hear a woman laugh. My fear immediately vanishes. This was a mixed group of hikers. I keep going and crest the ridge. I can see them now. There’s five, three men, and two women. And one person was black and another Asian. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I always found it interesting just how many other minorities I ran into in the middle of nowhere in the North Georgia Mountains. And how many foreigners for that matter. During this hike, I had run into two separate Germans. Where were they staying? And out of all the places in America they could visit, they chose this tiny trail? But that seemed to be the case almost anywhere I went.

I start passing the group of hikers, and as always, I’m stopped.

“Hi! Nice weather isn’t it?” The lead hiker says.

“Yes it is!” I reply.

“Are we close to the top of the mountain?” One of the women asks me.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s not far. You’re almost there.”

“You hear that honey?” She calls back to a man huffing and puffing as he comes up at the rear. “We’re almost there!”

“Uuugh!” He groans. The woman turns back to me. “Are there really good views at the top?”

“Kinda,” I said. “You have to look through the trees, but it is a good view.”

“Oh great, thank you!”

We part ways. I once again have the same exact thought. All of them were so nice. But how nice would they have been if they’d known?

At the top of the mountain I stop. It had been a tough hike. Steep the entire way. I go off trail a decent distance so no one would see me, find me, or bother me. I set up my hammock where I can be alone. Rocking myself in it, I look out to the view. I can see across two sloping peaks in the distance and it’s really beautiful. But I can’t enjoy it as much as usual. Nature always heals me and puts my mind right. But I’d found out just the day before that the Georgia Legislature had introduced a bill to strip away healthcare from transgender people. It would ban all gender affirming care, even for adults, from anything government or state related.

I was on a private insurance plan from my job, but I didn’t know if my nurse practitioner, who’d been treating me for over 5 years, accepted any government or state funding. If her practice relied on that kind of money, I would be in a lot of trouble. She likely wouldn’t be able to treat me anymore, or risk losing all her funding. Or worse. If treating trans people was illegal, she could potentially be arrested for helping me.

It had taken me years to find someone competent when it came to transgender health. I wouldn’t be able to find someone else. Or rather, I could, but it would likely take years again. And I might be in a situation where I’d be forced to drive out of state. But even then… Trump was targeting blue states, and trying to force them to stop offering healthcare too. So going to a blue state might not have even helped.

I lay in my hammock, wondering what on earth it was I could do. My best friend the day prior had suggested flying to Canada once a year just to get my medication and then coming home. That was a very expensive solution… but one I might have no choice but to consider. Could they even prescribe me a whole years worth of testosterone at a time? I didn’t think so. But maybe I could have it shipped from Canada? How expensive would that be?

I heard a mom shouting at her giggling kids coming up the path just out of sight. They wouldn’t be able to see me where I had set up. So I was free to lay in my hammock and try to fathom what kind of lives this family likely had. How wonderful it must’ve been to not have to worry about where you could legally take a leak, or how you would legally get your medications. That mom didn’t worry about her doctor being thrown in jail. Or if she and her husband would be thrown in jail for getting her kids the proper care they needed. That little family… had no idea that absolute and ruthless hell trans families had to go through.

I wait until I hear them leave. Then wait several minutes more. Then I pack up my hammock and other things and continue down the trail. I’m blissfully alone for another hour or so. But soon I hear voices again. This time it’s a couple: a man and a woman. As they start to approach I assess them. The husband is wearing a shirt with a huge American flag across the front and the Punisher logo on top of that.

I immediately tense up. I knew well enough that the far right wore the Punisher logo. It meant the same exact thing to me as a confederate flag, don’t tread on me flag, christian cross, American flag, or anything else of the like. All of those symbols were the same. And all of them sent the same message. The woman smiles at me as they approach.

“Hi! Have you seen the pond yet?”

“Yes, it’s just up ahead.”

The man doesn’t speak or smile. He barely looks at me. The woman thanks me and they move on.

If they knew, they absolutely would have killed me. I think.

I run into only one other person on the hike, a Korean photographer. We were both lost at the time we met, and his English was difficult to understand. But I made out that he was looking for the trail to the parking lot. I pointed and told him the way I thought it was, but that this was my first time on the trail and wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if he fully understood me. So I just pointed down the trail. After we parted way, I wondered again,

What if he knew? I knew nothing at all about Korean culture. Did they hate trans people too? Or was that just in America?

I wandered for some time, trying to find the right path back. I had 2 hours of daylight left so wasn’t too concerned and my compass said I was heading west, the direction I knew the parking lot was in. So I knew even if I didn’t recognize this part of the trail, I was heading the right way. I stopped by a little stream. Tired, I sat down on the small wooden bridge going across it. Letting my legs dangle over it’s edge and feeling my blood pound in my feet, I took out a protein bar and a bag of apple slices. As I ate my snack, I looked out to the scenery. It was so peaceful and quiet. So quiet in fact that I could close my eyes and listen to the leaves move through the gentle breeze. It was my absolute favorite sound in the entire world. The day was perfect. And it was exactly why I drove so far out of the suburbs to hike in a place like this.

I just wished…

I wished that…

I wished…

[angelasscribbles]

Best of My Love: A Victim of Love One-Shot

Series: Victim of Love

Fandom: The Royal Romance

Pairings: Drake x Riley. Drake x Hana mentioned.

Word Count: 958

Rating: G, fluff

Warnings for this chapter: none

Written for the @choicesficwriterscreations Valentine's event.

My other stuff: Master List.

The bell jingled as he strode through the door. The sweet floral scent of begonias and petunias washed over him as he made his way to the counter.

The young woman behind the counter smiled politely. “Hello, sir. Are you here to order flowers for Valentine’s Day?”

He grinned broadly. “Yes! I was looking for something with roses and lavender.”

The bell jingled again and a voice from his past spoke. “Well, as I live and breathe if it isn’t Drake Walker!”

“Fuck!” He swore softly under his breath. Turning around, he pasted a polite smile on his face. “Shayla. How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, sugar!” She invaded his personal space and grabbed him in a tight hug. “How about you?”

Drake leaned forward so that only his upper body was engaged in the hug, patting her on the back lightly. He quickly disengaged and stepped back. “Never better. Got married last year.” He held up his left hand to show off the gold band glinting on his ring finger.

“Anyone I know?”

He shook his head. “Met her in Cordonia.”

“Cordonia?” She said it like it was something disgusting.

“Yes.”

“Is that why we haven’t seen you around the rodeo circuit lately? The little wifey made you quit?” The curvaceous brunette smirked. “Those city girls just don’t get it.”

“She didn’t make me quit. I don’t know if you know this or not, but I’m a grown ass man capable of making my own choices and decisions.”

“And you chose to stop bull riding?”

“Yes. Why do you say it like it’s hard to believe or something?”

“Because I know you, Drake. You’re stupidly good at it. You’re a local legend. Why would you give that up?”

“Because I no longer want to risk my life.”

She scoffed with a shake of her head. “But you were so good!”

“I was also careless, reckless, and foolhardy.”

“I liked that about you.”

“So, you liked the part of me that had a death wish. Noted.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. You loved it.”

“No. I loved the rush it gave me. But I love my family more. Riley gave me something to live for, and now I’m going to be a father. I won’t do anything to jeopardize my ability to be here for them.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re having a baby?”

“Yes.” He stood noticeably taller when he said it, pride coloring the simple utterance.

She shook her head with a frown as she moved around the counter and tied on an apron. “Never thought I’d see the day Drake Walker gave up women and bulls.”

“That was my past. Riley and the baby are my future.”

“All right, all right, don’t get your knickers in a bunch.” Turning back toward him, she studied his face for a moment, and then her expression softened. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re really in love!”

His brow furrowed in annoyance. “Why do you seem so shocked by that?”

She burst out laughing. “Because I didn’t think you were capable of it.”

“Oh.” He shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond to that.

“Oh, don’t make it weird! You’ve changed, Drake. Grown. That’s a good thing.”

He let out a relieved breath. “So, stop giving me a hard time about it.”

“I wasn’t.” She peered at him a moment longer with squinted eyes. “Did you think I was jealous?”

He went beet red as he mumbled, “Maybe.”

“Oh, Christ!” She laughed as she held her hand up in the air. “You’re not the only one that moved on.”

He examined the midsized diamond sparkling on her ring finger as his face broke out in a smile. “Congratulations! And sorry if I was being a conceited jerk. Anyone I know?”

“Shane Mahony,” she told him with a self satisfied grin.

“Skeeter?”

“The one and only.”

“He’s a good guy. I’m happy for you both.”

“Thanks. We should get together sometimes. His number’s still the same. So is mine. Give us a call. Okay, I’m going to clock in. Shelia here will get that order rung up for you.”

“Right.”

He’d order something for Hana online. The last thing he needed was for the whole town to think he was cheating on his wife.

Liam and Hana were in Cordonia while he and Riley were at the ranch so they wouldn’t be spending Valentine’s Day together.

He had no idea how to explain their relationship to others without making it sound like their marriage was open. When people thought that they often tried hitting on one of the four of them.

Their relationship was not open, it just had more than two people in it and that was hard for a lot of folks to understand. Especially hard core conservatives in the Bible Belt.

He quickly made and paid for his selection, waved goodbye to Shayla, and headed back to his truck.

He still needed to make reservations for dinner and a hotel room for Valentine’s Day. But the main surprise was lying on the back seat of his Quad Cab Ford F250.

He glanced in the rearview mirror at the drawing tube. He couldn’t wait to get home and show Riley the plans he’d had drawn up for their new home.

Splitting their time between Cordonia and America, they had been content to use his old room at the ranch, but with a baby on the way, he wanted their own space. In Cordonia they had Valtoria. Now they would have something of their own in Texas too.

He turned off the pavement onto a county two lane, turned the radio up, and started belting out lyrics as he accelerated toward home with sheer joy in his heart.

[noirsdoll]

-> on the edge

pairing: leon x kidnapper!reader

words: 2.7k

tags: dubcon, vomit, implied drugging/roofieing, boobjob/blowjob, nonconsensual knifeplay and bondage, tiny bulimia reference (as a joke), mentions of drug use (from leon), reader is a femcel, leon is a perv and loves tits, reader threatens to kill leon several times

notes: sorry for being dead... this is the funniest thing i've ever written LMAO (which is like, rlly lame and rlly funny in its own right) yeah i was just like "how would og4 leon react if he got kidnapped?" and it devolved to "shy femcel pukes on dick" so yeah enter at your own risk LMAO um everything is a joke kinda mostly yeah

read it on ao3

Note to self— do not share needles. 

It’s the first thought on Leon’s mind when he wakes up to the blinding fluorescents of wherever the fuck he is. An acrid stench hits his nose and makes him grimace, one he’s all too familiar with. The smell of vomit— his vomit, crusted down the front of his shirt like a baby who just spit up. 

Leon tastes blood in his mouth— is a tooth loose? He feels one wiggle, searching with his tongue as he takes in his surroundings, or rather lack thereof. 

He’s been in these situations before, it’s nothing new for an esteemed government agent like him. Flash a badge here, a charming smile there, and they’ll usually ignore the illicit drug use. Perks of being the president’s fucktoy, he might as well ask them to stamp his punch card. 

But this isn’t an interrogation room, or a house that he recognizes, or anywhere remotely discernible. Just four walls, a cement floor, and one rickety swinging bulb. 

Leon goes to stand up from the cold floor and realizes he’s cuffed to the radiator behind him. What in the…? He tugs his arm once, twice, but this isn’t one of those gag handcuffs that comes off with a safe word. 

Did he get fucking kidnapped?

There’s no way anyone would wanna do that. He’s just blond, kinda tall, ridiculously handsome— okay, he’s kinda starting to get it. But spiking his drink? What is he, a teenage girl?

Leon’s pretty sure he got roofied, cuz his puke smells suspiciously like the cheap beer he was touting at the dive bar last night. Running through the list of faces he remembers— cute girl, buff dude, gorgeous pair of tits— he’s not sure if any of them would be the type to slip a pill in his drink. 

His thoughts are graciously answered, however, when the door opens and you come into vision. 

“Ah, you’re the one with the rack,” he says, the thrilling conclusion to the mystery. 

You prickle, staring at him. “What?”

“I’m flattered, sweetheart, but you really could’ve just asked me out. I’m not easy, but I’m open to a little begging—“

The sound of your switchblade cuts him off and Leon’s heart drops to his ass. “What are you doing?” He asks.

You walk toward him, kneeling down. You’ve got this thousand-yard stare that is not helping the butter face— and the knife too, he supposes. 

Dragging the blunt end of the blade along his cheek, your gaze flits from the metal to his eyes. “Got any last words?”

Leon chuckles uneasily. “Is this supposed to be like roleplay…?”

Your eyes widen and you glance at his dick and then back up. “Are you enjoying this?”

“I mean, I’m open to anything.” And by anything, he means his dick between your tits. How are they so big? “I dunno why you wanna do this while I smell like vomit.”

“Can’t handle your liquor?”

“Can you see your shoes when you put them on?” He blurts. 

“Are you calling me fat?” You ask in indignation. 

“I’m just wondering, considering the partition in the way.”

You slap him. Deserved, he thinks. You didn’t stick your knife in his chest though, so you’re not really mad. You’re just a bit stubborn— most ugly girls like you are. What kinda freak accident messed your face up like that? Is it hereditary? Will he catch it?

Leon can weasel his way out of this one if he tries. “That was a compliment. sweetheart. I’m just a little creative.”

“Don’t call me that.” You raise your knife, pursing his cheeks to force his mouth open. “I’ll cut your tongue out if you do.”

“What would you prefer? I’ve got a list.”

“You’ve got a death wish, is more like it.” You scowl. “You’re not scared?”

“Very little scares me, honey.” Leon’s seen the human body torn up a hundred different ways. He could teach biology, but he’d be bad with remembering all the names. He’s good with tits though, your tits to be specific. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you dead.”

“You got a vendetta against me or something?”

“Not you.” You say it like it’s obvious. “Your kind.”

“So you’re what, reverse Hitler?”

You don’t answer, instead trailing your knife along his tongue in warning, spit drools down his chin and makes him feel grosser— he was just getting used to the vomit too. “You’re insufferable.”

“Don’t need to kill me for it though,” he says once you’ve pulled the blade away. The metal and the fresh blood leaves a film of iron coating his mouth. It’s not as painful as it is disconcerting. “Is the dry spell getting to you?”

The way you stiffen up gives you away almost immediately. Women are so easy. “That’s none of your business,” you huff, actively making it his business.

“I can help with that, you know.” Leon’s got a lot to offer. Boil him down and he’s just a set of pearly whites with a couple of loose holes and a mostly functioning dick. “You’re pretty cute.”

You scoff. “Guys like you will say anything. I know your type.”

“Which is why you have it out for my phenotype. I get it.” Leon really doesn’t, but every serial killer needs a quirk and the list of available ones gets shorter every day. “But there are exceptions to every rule. Not all blond guys are assholes.”

“You are.”

“I’m a gentleman.” He leans back against the radiator, spreading his legs to allow you more space between them where you’re nestled. “I know how to treat a girl like you.”

“You don’t talk to girls like me.”

He has to hold back a laugh. You’re a fucking femcel. Tits like that and you’re a femcel. What has this world come to? “Have you looked in a mirror?” 

“I know I’m ugly.”

“I wasn’t talking about that. I was talking about those.” Leon gestures to your chest with a nod. “You’re telling me no one’s offered to put a bag over your head and fuck you?”

You frown, “yeah, but it’s really fucking rude.”

“Women, you’re all so picky. If I was in your position, I’d take it.”

You slap him again– maybe he should keep a tally. Your eyes are tearing up, making the homicidal girl angry is definitely the wrong move.

“Hey, hey, I’m joking, okay?” Only sort of joking. It was more like a Freudian slip if he’s being honest. “Don’t cry.” It makes you look worse.

“Shut up or I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you grit.

The reason you’ve gone unfucked might not just be the face, you don’t seem to be mentally well either— no shit, you’re threatening him with a knife. “Relax, relax, alright? I was just trying to ask you if you, you know, wanted to do it.”

That seems to distract you. You stare at him for a moment, mentally debating it. “Would you actually do it?” You ask softly. Leon’s right again— all that anger when you’re just an insecure, unloved little girl.

“I’ve been trying to these last ten minutes, if you haven’t noticed.” Boobjob, here he comes.

“And you’re not just doing it because of this?” You gesture to your knife.

Yeah, obviously. “No, of course not,” he smiles, “back at that bar last night—”

“That was three days ago.”

“Whatever. Anyways, I was gonna talk to you. Swear it.” He holds up his cuffed hand like he’s swearing on a bible, knowing full well he’s been excommunicated from the church since his first line of coke.

You lean in closer, lowering your voice to a whisper. “So you’d kiss me?”

“I can do anything you want, baby,” he grins. 

You smile back, shakily, like you don’t know how. “If you try anything, I’ll kill you.”

Leon knows you won’t. He’s already got you. “Lay some on me, sugar.”

Tentatively, you kiss him, feeling him up, ignoring the puke stains. You’ve clearly never done this before– the shaky slide of your lips gives you away. And everything else too, he guesses. He was hoping you’d at least have some experience making out with a dildo.

Leon pulls back, resting against the radiator. “Hey, hey, relax, okay?” He tilts his head to meet your downcast eyes. “I’m not in a position to judge, y’know.”

You swallow, nodding. “Yeah, I know. We should probably just… cut to the chase.”

Leon can assume what the chase is, because you go straight for his worn jeans. Pulling down that and his underwear grants you the sight of his pathetic semi. He was really trying, okay? Your tits can only do so much to balance out that face.

You grimace. “That’s what a dick looks like?”

He’d probably slap you back if he wasn’t restrained. “Kick a man while he’s down, why don’t you?” You’re the one that robbed him of his nightly Viagra.

Leon shifts his hips. “You ever sucked dick before?” He knows you haven’t, he just wants to see your reaction.

Your eyes widen, you glance down and then up and then down again. “I have to?”

He nods earnestly. “It’s the only way.” This is payback for locking him down here.

“Okay…” You move your hair out of the way, sinking lower. It’s an awkward position— your ass is in the air and you’re hunched down on your elbows. Leon can only spread his legs so far, even with all the practice he’s gotten. The knife lays somewhere out of sight— forgotten, hopefully.

“It’s like a popsicle,” he says, “or a lollipop.” Whichever calms you down more. He can recognize first-time jitters when he sees it.

You grab the base with one hand and glancing up at him, pop the head past your lips. The whole thing is unintentionally lewd, you just want to see his approval, but Leon’s lips still part in half surprise. At least the wet heat of your mouth is decent. Not as good as your tits might be.

In a bit, he promises himself. Leon’s a patient man, he’ll try this first. You bob your mouth a few times, drooling saliva down his shaft. You only make it about halfway along the length each time. Leon drags his heels back towards him, giving him the leverage to rock his hips up into your mouth.

It’s gentle, of course, but you still gag. He lets up, letting you have a moment. You pull back to drag some grateful breaths down your throat. Spit pours in a cascade down his cock. Holy shit. You’re slobbering like a dog.

Not needing a pep talk this time, you go right back in. You sink lower this time, Leon can almost call himself proud. His cants into your mouth get more and more intense. The frequency of your gags increase and the worst happens.

You retch, dragging him deeper down your throat only to vomit all over him. Leon’s mortified, scuttling back as far as he can, essentially uncorking your pharynx and letting it gush out onto the floor and…. your tits.

Leon could almost cry. Both for his incoming UTI and the ruined state of your beautiful tits– the only hot thing about you. It’s his fault. He flew too close to the sun. The puke’s brownish-yellow, bits of food caught in it.

You wipe your mouth, catching your breath and staring down at it all. “I’m sorry. I’m just… used to throwing up.”

“You’re fucking bulimic?” He can feel your puke soaking into the fabric of his clothes. Gross gross gross. Somehow zombie guts are less horrible than this. 

“I can make it up to you!” You say, floundering. “What can I do?”

He stares at you for a moment, unblinking. Then he remembers this is your first time ever and you’re probably never getting fucked again. “Take your shirt off.” Leon’s not even sure why he still wants to see your tits at this point, but he’s in too deep now. 

You do as you’re told, surprisingly. Maybe you’re just too mortified. You’re in a cheap bra, you bunch up your shirt and try to mop up the vomit as best you can. 

“Can you take the rest of it off?” Anything to help his rapidly shrinking boner. 

You pause. “You want to see that?”

Can’t be worse than anything he’s already seen. “Course I do.”

You reach behind you and unclasp your bra, the material wilts off your figure and Leon finally gets to see your tits in action. They droop a little once free, so impossibly big and round, your nipples are hard from the cold. They need to invent new letters of the alphabet for your cup size.

You take the rest of your clothes off too, but it’s not as exciting. His dick comes back to life, a modern day miracle. “Put it between your tits.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” He holds your gaze, not backing down on this.

There’s no complaint on your end. Cupping your tits— the way he wishes he could right now— you maneuver them around his cock. And Leon finally gets his boob job. 

It’s not at all like he imagined, you clearly have no idea how to do this, but at least you look good, warm skin up against his dick that has started to leak pre like a faucet. He tosses his head with a sigh, gently moving his hips. 

Your face is flushed with embarrassment as you meet his gaze— it looks good on you, balances out your features quite nicely. Then your tongue lolls out and licks at the head of his cock and Leon could swear he just entered heaven. It’s a shame that heaven looks a lot like your cement basement.

Maybe he should go for ugly girls more often. There’s this sense of desperation you’ve got going on that is making you seem way better at this. It makes sense— you never know when you’re gonna get this close to a guy ever again.

His cuffs jingle as he tries to pull his wrists from them, his horny mind bent solely on getting his hands on you and your body. Leon’s getting greedy now, he wants to know what your tits feel like. He debates dislocating his wrists to slip him out of the thin metal cuffs.

Your eyes are zeroed in on the tip of his cock as you suck it. “Is this okay?” You ask. 

“More than okay. Can you put your mouth back on it—? Fuck—“ Your mouth sinks lower and his thighs twitch, his hips meandering hopefully toward your wet mouth. 

The last thing he was expecting when he woke up in this basement was a very satisfactory blowjob. Seems like he really is a lucky guy. You don’t seem to be very committed to your goal of exterminating the blond male race if you’re here sucking off the guy you planned to kill.

You’re working his dick like it’s a full time job, your spit pooling around the base of his cock and glistening on your tits. You press your boobs tight to his dick like you’re trying to keep it warm on a cold day. How thoughtful of you.

Leon busts embarrassingly quick, spraying hot cum all over your face, getting caught in your eyelashes. Your mouth drops open in shock and you sit up— your fault for being in the splash zone.

“Are you gonna let me go now?” Leon asks as his dick flops back down against his hip, softening up. 

You wipe the cum from your cheek, tentatively tasting some. You make a noise of surprise, going back for seconds. “No, I think I’ll keep you here.”

Fuck. So much for a quick getaway. Mr. President will find him eventually.

[rewatching-sam-and-dean]

It’s Rant Time Again, Friends!

And today’s rant is brought to you by the silliness that came scross my Twitter feed this week in the form of an absolutely pointless question, but even more so by some of the asinine answers I saw. Some of you probably already saw this (and responded) if you’re on Twitter, so I’m not screenshotting it. Besides, people are allowed to ask (stupid) questions. But, I’m also allowed to comment on how dumb the questions are.

The Question:

“If it came down to saving Sam or Cas, who do you think Dean would save first?”

Question Issues:

If someone watched the show at all, the answer to this question is more than obvious. But the question isn’t even just “who would Dean save” but “who would Dean save first?” I mean the answer to both is the same, but surly even the “found family” crew of fans should be able to recognize that Dean will always try to save Sam first. The ones who claim otherwise have to be knowingly lying, because if not … I fear for society that people are that lack that much media literacy.

The responses:

So, here’s what gets me even more than the “innocent” question, the responses. Of course the vast majority of reposts and replies are saying some variation of “Sam, obviously.” Because it is obvious. The show has showed us again and sngsinghdt Dean would put Sam’s life above his own, his parents, his friends, anyone.

But what’s really amusing/annoying/sad is seeing people twisting themselves into pretzels just to avoid having to admit the truth. These are the ones saying things like:

“Dean would find a way to save both of them!” - Would he though? When “Zeke” gave Dean the ultimatum between sending a penniless, powerless, helpless and hunted Castiel out into the world on his own … or him leaving Sam, stopping the healing and potentially (only potentially) resulting in Sam dying, there is no hesitation. Dean clearly feels bad, but he tosses Cas out on his ass in a blink. What does he not do? He doesn’t try to arrange something so they are both safe. Hell, he doesn’t even give Cas anything to help feed, cloth or protect himself. He just sends him out into the world to try and figure shit out on his own.

“Dean would kill/sacrifice himself, if it meant he could save Cas, too.” - Umm, where have we ever seen him put Cas above himself? Would he risk his life to save Castiel? Of course he would, but he would also risk his life to try and save a complete stranger. That sort of comes with the territory of being a hunter. But the only person Dean has ever directly and intentionally sacrificed himself for is Sam. I saw some argue that he was willing to kill or himself to bring Cas back after Chuck snapped everyone away in Season 15, but that’s a misinterpretation (selective listening), common among hellers and Cas stans, of what Dean is actually saying. Dean and Sam say they will kill each other if Chuck will bring everyone back, including Cas. They are not offering to do this just for Cas, it’s for the world. Besides, in his scenario I get the feeling that the intention is for both Sam and Dean to die, so they’ll go out together to save everyone else.

“Dean would save Sam, but his life would be over, or he’d give up after without Cas.” - LMAO. No. Unless you want to argue that a smiling happy and content Dean is secretly trying to drown his sorrows in the finale when Sam is the one to bring up Jack and Cas, and Dean is basically like, “yeah sure, losing them was sad or whatever, but like we gotta live Sam. Now let’s destroy this pie.”

And my personal favourite…

“It totally depends on what season of the show we are talking about.” - Bitch please, it would make no difference. There isn’t a single episode, let alone whole Season, where Desn would try to save Cas before, or instead of, Sam. See my examples from Season 9 and 15 above. There are so many examples of Dean not doing much to save Cas, vs him begging, pleading, or trading humans to save Sam.

[nellie-elizabeth]

I really, really loved campaign 3, I loved Bells Hells, I loved the finale.

I want to talk about it a bit. This gets messy and rambly and I’m a little defensive because it’s this thing where I loved the story and I want other people to love it too but I know I can’t make that happen so I just feel the need to justify my own response? Idk, read at your own risk, no shade to anybody who feels differently! Truly!

This isn’t me trying to convince anybody of anything, I totally get that I seem to be in a bit of a minority about C3 and that a lot of people didn’t gel with it! I guess this is just me just trying to articulate my reaction? The one thing about watching this finale that I didn’t like was how alienating it feels to see the negative fandom reaction to stuff and just be like… how do other people not get really jazzed about how exciting and weird and different this is? No shade for not liking it, that’s totally valid, but it did bum me out to be in the main tags and see so many people kind of being like, openly mocking of what I thought was a beautiful story?

I don’t wanna state anybody’s opinion back to them because tbh I still feel like I don’t quite understand the core objection about the gods stuff other than that people liked the god dynamics that existed in C1 and C2 as they were and didn’t want that aspect to be destroyed? And for me I guess my metaphor would be like, in C1 the gods were sitting on a box in a shelf and I had no problem with that, they were cool, they were there, whatever, but the RQ and Vax was the only juicy dynamic that got explored there, and she was the only god that broke the pattern because she was an ascended mortal and therefore a foil to our BBEG of Vecna, etc. etc. The stuff with Pike & Everlight, or like Scanlan & Knowing Mistress, Vex & Dawnfather, Grog & Stormlord – or even in C2 the stuff with Fjord & Wildmother, Yasha&Stormlord, which I really really loved – all of those dynamics were more about internal character growth to me, about characters making choices internal to themselves and reaching out for a new purpose and direction. I never like, “cared” about the Wildmother or the Stormlord as “characters,” they were abstract forces, they served as metaphors for character growth for the PCs in my mind.

But for me, so, the gods are sitting in the box on the shelf, and then through C2 when we learned about this other spiritual thing with the Dynasty and the luxon, and every hint we got about the gods’s origins and the Calamity, it was like the box was rattling on the shelf, and then C3 spilled the box open and made this giant fascinating mess where it’s like - oh man, now because of Downfall the gods are characters to me, and now because of all the lore of C3 and Calamity and Downfall, I don’t know what’s going to happen, everything is upside down. And I’m not even saying that this outcome was THE outcome that I would have loved best, I wasn’t really committed to a particular conclusion, I just wanted to break the box open and see all the shit that came spilling out of there, and that’s what I feel like we got? And I guess that goes back to the core thing of, the way the gods functioned in the story back when we first got to know Exandria in C1, that just wasn’t something that I felt really connected or invested in story-wise, I didn’t dislike it, but it just felt like background worldbuilding flavor to me, pretty standard high fantasy pantheon stuff, and didn’t really compel me especially. So fucking with that status quo didn’t have any… grief to it, if that makes sense?

But like narrative-wise for BH, it’s so cool to me to have this story where the heroes did save the world in that they stopped Ludo from releasing Predathos, and they stopped Predathos from getting loose in any other way and just eating all the gods and thus destroying their realms, BUT what they had to do to save the world did NOT preserve the status quo, it really shook everything up, it made what once had seemed permanent impermanent, it defied narrative cohesion and turned a lot of certainties into question-marks. And I really really love that for the world-building aspect of Exandria, and I really love that for Bells Hells, these characters who stumbled into being the ones to make this call, not because they deserved it or they had the greatest investment or it should have been their choice, but because they were the ones who happened to be there and that’s kind of it. That’s very D&D to me, in all its complicated glory.

I see objections about BH’s meandering and lack of motivation a lot and I just do not get how you can say that’s MORE true of BH than it was of VM or M9, all three core campaigns had the same D&D feel of Matt coming up with story hooks and the players going “okay, yeah, we’re playing a game, let’s go over here and see what’s what.” And then personal investment and stakes are woven into that: the chroma conclave is personal because of what Raishan did to the fire ashari, and because Thordak killed Vex & Vax’s mom! The Somnovem is personal because that’s MOLLY, and he’s their friend. Stopping Ludo is personal for Orym because that man killed his family, and Ruidus is personal for Imogen and Fearne because of their fated births, and because their long-absent parents (Imogen’s mom and Fearne’s dad) are caught up in this mess. So the world-ending stakes end up having personal character hooks to them, but also as always there’s this aspect of a D&D party going to stop the end of the world because that’s what you do, and the RP challenge is having the characters figure out why they’re motivated to be there. I’m not even going to argue that they’re 100% successful at that all the time, like, I think the player who grapples with the question the most directly is Sam, who famously keeps struggling with why Veth would be adventuring when she has a family waiting for her, but he did it with Scanlan too obviously. That’s another thing I think of as a feature, not a bug, of this game, it’s not that a fully improvised TTRPG show is going to have the tightest and most cogent character arcs ever created, it’s that the actors are constructing something on the fly while new concepts are being thrown at them constantly, and what are they going to land on? Not something perfect, but something that hopefully feels true. And I certainly felt that from C3, while I get the sense that many others did not.

I checked in on tags while watching the finale a few times but then had to stop because I just saw a lot of people apparently…. Hate-watching this finale, and just kind of jumping to the most judgmental possible reaction to everything? This isn’t even saying that I was annoyed that people were disappointed, I saw some reactions that I didn’t agree with but that made sense, people being like “man, I wish they’d more directly confronted the risks of releasing Predathos the way they did, I wish this had been something that actual holy leaders and Vasselheim had gotten to help decide” and like, yeah, I totally understand that reaction! But other people seemed to take anything that BH did or said and just decide it was proof of what shitty horrible people they all are, and that did bum me out lol.

Like one example is that there’s this scene where Matt is showing how many of the leaders of Vasselheim are deeply grieving about the gods being gone, and it’s complicated, right, because they’re not gone gone but still everything is different forever now - and we get a whole host of different reactions from our party. We get Ashton trying to be understanding but also being pretty smug and condescending (very Ashton of them), we get Orym and Imogen being compassionate and totally seeing the point of view of the grieving Vord, et al, we get Laudna being socially out of touch but candid as she always is, expressing (privately to the group) that she’s annoyed that they’re not being celebrated as having saved the world. And we get Deanna, in one of my favorite lines of the whole finale, I think, talking about how it was never the point to worship the gods because they were gods. The gods gave them power to help people, and that still stays. So we see how even though there’s this sadness and uncertainty, there are still people of faith who have their purpose and maintain it through this period of transition. They get to have this whole new relationship to faith and to the divinity of their guiding patrons, and some of them are going to embrace it and others are going to crumble under the weight of this loss, and it’s going to really, really fuck with the world. It was, I thought, a pretty standard scene for this group of talented actors, myriad reactions and experiences being expressed, no one right answer or definitive way of viewing what had happened.

And I saw multiple reactions in the tags being like “god, this is why nobody likes bells hells, they’re so shitty and they just think they can walk all over everyone and make the decisions for everyone else and not suffer any consequences.” And I just like… don’t understand how that can be your reaction to that scene, to this finale, to this campaign. I truly feel like that’s not an accurate read of any of this. Who’s to say they didn’t suffer consequences?

Also, one last thing, I like that this was a finale of compromises, and I fucking like that Vax gets to come home! I feel like I get exactly why the people who don’t like it don’t like it, and it’s because it unravels the ending of C1 and takes away the permanence of that ending, but like — listen, Vax didn’t WANT to be dead and leave his family, it was a huge fucking bummer, if Vecna hadn’t turned him to ash he would still have been a paladin of the RQ and maybe gone with her forever when he died but he at least would have gotten to live a life with the people he loved, and this ending DOESN’T undo his choice to be devoted to the RQ, it just undoes that thing where he had to be gone too soon. Maybe I’m just selfish but I like compromise land where his important relationship to the matron is still going to guide his life forever, that’s still a core part of who he is, and he gets to come home from work trips to be with his family. Idk, it’s different from the ending we got at first, and I think if you were writing a novel, Campaign 1’s ending is the most coherent, wrapped up, thematically tight story here, and fucking with VM outcomes in C3 totally disrupts that, I get it, I just, personally? Fuck it, Keyleth’s been in pain for 30 years, let her fucking have this one!! I don’t think it ruins the ending of C1, I don’t think it diminishes Vax’s sacrifice, I think… idk. I think Liam’s happy with it. And in a weird way, that is honestly the most important part of this to me? These shows are such a blend of character & performer where the investment and satisfaction of the PC actors matters to me more than how I would have written the story if it were a novel, if that makes sense. Idk, I’m just rambling, I know some people who are throwing parties in the streets about Vaxleth happy ending and other people who are pissed that it ruins C1’s ending, and I’m just like… man, idk. Maybe it’s because the real world is so fucked right now but I really needed a miracle and Keyleth really needed a miracle and I’m cool with her getting it.

There were PLENTY of aspects of C3 I didn’t love, but I felt that way about VM and M9 I think just as strongly as I did about BH. I find myself in this weird position of writing all of this out in this kind of defensive way because I feel so alienated and disconnected from all the negative reactions I’ve seen. I feel genuine sympathy and sorrow for the fans of CR who didn’t like C3 because I am having such a joyful and transcendent experience having watched this 10 year journey come to such an epic close. I wanted to be able to celebrate more with people but I also think I need to just stop focusing on all the ways this story failed to capture some parts of the fandom, because I know I’m not alone in feeling really happy and satisfied right now!

So, so many congratulations to the CR team for this huge accomplishment, I’m excited for what they do next.