#on a scale of one to hitting me for real in real life...

[thatswhatsushesaid]

the part of this first face-to-face confrontation between shan gudao, fang duobing, and li lianhua that is hitting me the hardest on my second mlc watchthrough is how, given the camera angle during shan gudao's evil villain monologue, he doesn't even seem like he's looking at li lianhua. and he's standing right across from him.

listen to shan gudao speaking about li lianhua like he isn't even here, standing directly across from him with tears streaming down his face, having to speedrun all the stages of grief for the brutal murder of his understanding of his relationship with his shixiong. like that's what is really at the bleeding heart of this confrontation: they have profoundly different understandings of what is happening here, and only one of them is remotely compatible with reality.

(spoilers, it's not shan gudao.)

screenshots alone don't do cheng yi's microexpression game justice here. he's incredible. give this man all the awards for this role, he deserves them.

contrast shan gudao's abject refusal to look li lianhua in the eye throughout his entire villainous monologue with fang duobing's laser focus on li lianhua--which i think deserves praise and recognition all on its own, quite frankly, because he, too, is going through it! this is his first time speaking with shan gudao since learning that he's his father, rather than his uncle--since he was a disabled child struggling to swing a sword from his wheelchair--and this? this is the reception he gets, from the man who called him trash and abandoned him? but compassion and kindness come as naturally to fang duobing as avarice and resentment do to shan gudao, and so it is no hardship for him to shelve his feelings while li lianhua is clearly just barely holding it together next to him. right now, fang duobing has both the strength to carry them both through this moment, and the willingness to do it. because he loves li lianhua (again, however you choose to interpret that love, be it romantic or platonic--that's what it is), sincerely and artlessly, and he doesn't want to see him in pain.

which is a real bummer for fang duobing because, well:

of course, li lianhua's agony here has nothing to do with being the 'joke' that shan gudao is making him out to be, because li lianhua has never looked at his relationship with his shixiong as a scale in need of balancing, or as their time training together as martial siblings, and then running the sigu sect, as a ledger of wins and losses to be scrutinized and tallied up. (i may come back to this paragraph in the future because there's something specific to unpack here about li lianhua's very particular feelings re: how he failed the sigu sect, and his shixiong, and his shifu and shiniang, and how this failure--to recognize shan gudao's resentment and contempt for what it really was--is just the last nail in the coffin when it comes to his feelings about his life as li xiangyi. but i can't quite get the thoughts to come together. rip.)

now shan gudao is willing to look at li lianhua, and once again i don't think the screenshots do the flicker in shan gudao's expression justice. it's this minute, blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment of surprise and uncertainty, which to me only emphasizes how unnecessary all of shan gudao's machinations prior to the battle at the east sea really were. because over and over and over again, we see him confronted with concrete evidence that his perception of himself, his relationships, and his place in the world is at odds with how things really were, and are. and frequently, reality was not even to his detriment!! or rather, it didn't have to be, but each time he encountered one of these crossroads and diverging paths where an alternate path was available to him, he balked at taking it.

because to actually walk these diverging paths, shan gudao would have to put down the giant chip on his shoulder long enough to recognize that there was someone else walking along the path beside him, willing to help him carry that burden.

[tritoch]

the other thing I find very funny about trying to write a canon compliant wol is taking all the wolship hints extremely seriously.

I don't really wolship because I'm just fundamentally not that kind of fan. But I know for those who are, the sheer number of romance hints FFXIV throws at you can be overwhelming to parse in a context where you have a preferred/intended wolship, particularly if you're not attracted to the gender the hints are coming from in the first place (a particular tip of the hat to wlw fans navigating the g'raha of it all). I've seen plenty of people write around them or write them out or be like "no aymeric was for real inviting my wol to a nice platonic zero-subtext dinner," and God bless all of you.

But it's really funny to imagine them all as all-too-real but unreciprocated or perhaps unreciprocatable. The sheer scale of it is comedy. Spoilers for all of FFXIV follow.

Oh God, the Lord Speaker wants to have dinner, just the two of us, at his family estate and not a government building. I hope he doesn't bring up his crush on me. Thal's balls he's about to bring it up—oh thank God there's an emergency. Oh no someone got hurt! Oh no it's the teenage girl with a crush on me.

Your life is a cosmic joke. You watch the Sultana get poisoned and all your friends probably die to save your life and it's kind of all your fault in some ways, I mean at the very least you should've spoken up when they gave the teenager a private army, and then the teenage boy speaks up and is like, "hey, I guess we have at least one ally. What about if we go visit that guy who is really obviously down unbelievably bad for you and wants to lick the sweat off of you." and you have to be like, yeah, Alphinaud. Great idea. Let's do it. I'll call him.

(brief interlude: also haurchefant's DEATH hits so good if you don't reciprocate. It's okay. He gets it. You're going through a lot and even if you had time to sort through your feelings maybe you're just not into him. That would be okay! You can love someone, or the idea of someone, without needing it to be romantically reciprocated. That's chivalric, even. Knightly. So he won't ask you to lie to him and say you love him as he lies dying in your arms. He's not so low as all that. But could you smile for him as you used to? That true hero's smile of yours. And you do, and he dies. And you both know he died for a lie, in a way, or a flight of fancy. And he's okay with that. Are you? Should you be? Should he?)

Then you're into Stormblood and it's like wow, okay. That last part was all high fantasy, of course there were loyal knights and elegant princes. But this is war. Imperialism. Grim business, surely there's no way—oh no BOTH handsome young revolutionary leaders seem to have a special interest in you?! And so does the Crown Prince of the Empire? Come on, man. I should get to do the whole horrors of war thing without having to also deal with this. Gaius sucked and it was weird that he let his foster daughter run around being openly obsessed with him but at least he never made it my problem.

You can't even get away from it across dimensions. Shadowbringers is a horror story about going on a teambuilding camping trip with your work colleagues for some reason except they all suddenly got really hot and they keep touching you affectionately on the shoulder and being like "I care for you and your happiness. Truly." And also you're being stalked for the whole camping trip by two old men who are obsessed with you. The false climax of the story is that the one old man tries to betray you and give a dramatic monologue about how he loves you but the two of you are doomed by the narrative and then the other old man shoots him in the back like "no actually its MY turn to betray them and give a dramatic monologue about how our love is doomed by the narrative." Then the real climax is old man #1 backstabbing old man #2 in the middle of said monologue before old man #2 dies and gives ANOTHER wistful monologue about his doomed love. Then for the patches they're like okay so we have this even CRAZIER old man who's gonna strike when you're weak and give a dramatic monolo—

and that's without even getting into the literal soulmate ghost only you can see

my warrior of light never felt more betrayed than in that scene where Y'shtola is like "haha Alisaie and G'raha have crushes on the warrior of light." Like I thought we were COOL, Y'shtola! I work here! This situation is already in such a delicate balance! Right when I got here I met Alisaie's "friend from work" who was like oh haha so YOU'RE the one she can't stop talking about and we never followed up on that because the woman died horrifically like five minutes later right in front of us! Then when Vauthry got away and we had to do all that shit with the dwarves, G'raha kept pausing every ten minutes to be like oooooh I'm so old I'm gonna die soon...at least I got to spend some time with some people who are really important to me...in fact here's what I'd tell the person who's most important to me...actually u know them really well haha. And I just had to sit there and be like wow, dude, crazy.

even in the face of apocalypse you still gotta go back in time like 12,000 years and there's somewhere there who makes you sit and listen to his story which is that the purpose of his whole godlike immortal life was to be in a throuple with you and old man #2 from the camping trip. and you just gotta sit there the whole time knowing you/your past life is the one who broke up the throuple over politics. He's like come help me harangue the old man into streaking in public, he'll do it if you ask.

then you meet and fight and kill God and you gotta turn to the team and be like hey sorry guys can you give me a sec. I'm gonna call God by her real name because we met one time for like four days and after that the promise of meeting me again was one of the things that sustained her through her millennia of suffering. Not like that but like. Idk. Just gimme a sec!

It's a relief when you finally get to Lahabrea and he's like actually I still don't fuck with your vibe. Like thank GOD.

And my WoL is very obviously dad-shaped so Dawntrail had a very specific energy for me but I understand that for plenty of people your deepening rapport with Wuk Lamat had a romantic subtext (same for Koana depending on how you read a few of his lines). And personally I think it's the height of comedy to be like, noooo, babe, your highness, I know you and your brother the king are in love with me and want me to stick around and support you emotionally through this governmental transition haha. But it's just...the cursed wineglass, babe. I GOTTA go figure out what's up with this cursed wineglass.

It's a running gag in some of the more optional content that people are like "you have an unreasonable number of hobbies and side gigs" to the WoL from time to time. But if every time you tried picking up a new hobby some new elf started baring their soul to you, you too would be like Hey Jessie (or sometimes Krile or Tataru), my good friend who is one of the only people in my life who knows what professional ethics and work-life boundaries are, any chance you need muscle on a gig on the other side of the world? Ideally with only Cid and his ex so all libidinal energy in the room is directed towards machinery or someone who isn't me?

ironically one of the only places you get a break from psychosexual obsession is the nier content

[heart2sea]

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ do you see (him) in the back of your mind? (read on ao3)

word count: 2k

tags: fluff, angst if you squint, mentions of his myth, dragon!sylus mentions

summary: on a particular day, you kept dreaming of him. One of those dreams catches your attention—horns, tails and all, and you decide to tell him.

a/n: some practice sylus writing because he's my second fav 🖤

You kept staring at him unabashedly, entranced.

He found that behavior amusing, finding and matching your gaze with an insufferable amount of mirth in his eyes. A teasing remark, a half grin on his lips—anything to get a blush out of you. That time, however, his words turned to mist on your brain as you took him in. You knew him well; the way his eyes glimmered under the moonlight, how his lips savoured every drop of his drink, as if trying to classify each note of flavor of it, and even the way his hair moved with the cold breeze. Sometimes you’d run a gentle finger, making way through the handsome shape of his nose, only stopping when he’d let out a scoff and grab your wrist, playfully.

“What are you doing, sweetie?” He stared back, a smirk gracing his sharp features.

You blinked, resting your head on your hand. You had agreed to have dinner (breakfast, for him) on his base before heading out for one of your assignments. This particular mission required pulling an all-nighter onto the outskirts of the N109 Zone. You didn’t particularly need to convince him, he just shrugged and nodded as if you’d asked him to go get something for you at the corner store, a small, non-inconvenient errand on his criminal routine. 

So you spent the entire daylight sleeping, trying to catch up on some required rest before going into battle. Sleeping during daytime usually meant naps, which is why you had a hard time staying asleep, waking up between forty minute intervals.

Each time, a stranger dream.

It had started with a regular one, just you and Sylus going auctioning. Then, fleeting dreams that resembled your first meetings, the oppressive force of the gunshot piercing his heart, his rough hand grasping your wrist like his life depended on it, forceful mannerisms that had quite actually scared you away from him, enticing you into running away and never looking back. 

And finally, a dream so foreign and out of place it took you a minute to break the barrier between dreams and reality upon waking up. How imposing, how impossibly handsome; your Sylus, tall and intimidating, sporting two wonderful spires on his head, and a long, thick, slithering barbed tail from his lower back. Scales had adorned his entire body, ebony and rough, and a single ruby emanated glow and warmth from his sternum, at the rhythm of a living heartbeat. His face was covered in blood—not yours, not his—as he stared at the glowing moon in longing and awe.

And still, in this dream, his eyes turned soft at the sight of you.

You gave him a warm smile, now back to reality to the real Sylus in front of you. “I dreamed about you earlier.”

He returned the smile, a glint of something playful and kind in his crimson eyes. “Was it a good dream?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, pondering. “It was quite the sight.”

“Tell me.”

“You’d laugh.”

He shifted on his seat, putting the fork down as he took a breath. Sylus tilted his head, the smile never wiping off his face, the now dying candlelight casting a warm, soft glow around you. “Oh?” 

You immediately shook your head, a slight blush adorning your cheeks, frowning. “Not like that. Ugh.” At least not this time.

The gentle sound of one of his classical vinyls cocooned the warm atmosphere of his dinner table, the melody one you had picked out a few weeks before, shopping with him. It was so effortlessly romantic, soft and tender—truth be told, so many dinners with Sylus were like that, and you started wondering how truly effortless or accidental it all was. It seemed so specifically tailored for you; the music, the special serving of food just for you, the way the moonlight would hit the table just right, the smooth silk tablecloths, the comfy cushions on the seats; it all screamed soft, soft, soft , as if he was self conscious you'd walk away again the moment you cut yourself on his edges. You'd grown to love him, gunshot powder and all, but something laid unspoken between you two. Something both of you should be aware of, but only him seemed to carry the weight of.

It stumped you.

Sylus let out a chuckle. “Well, then. I promise to be as straight faced as possible, kitten.”

“Not very comforting.”

He shrugged. “I'm simply doing my best.”

You inhaled, trying to recall more details about the dream. You grabbed a grape, placing it on your lips, letting it linger there for a moment before slowly biting down on it, staring into space. As you swallowed, you looked up briefly at the ceiling and finally spoke.

“ If you randomly woke up as an animal, real or fantastic—and don't say a crow—what animal do you think it would most likely be?”

One of his eyebrows raised in amusement, his smirk deepening. The candle was holding onto the last thread of light, the amber light surrounding the room slowly giving out. It gave the atmosphere an enigmatic mood, making the situation seem so serious it was silly. “Does that have to do with your dream?"

You rolled your eyes. “Just follow along.”

His gaze never left yours, carefully studying your expectant expression. He took out a casino chip out of his slacks and started playing with it, a fidgeting you immediately recognized as calculating and weighting every option on his mind, you realized he was holding back on answering what was truly on his head. 

You looked around the room, almost awkwardly, as the silence stretched on. “Hello?”

Sylus finally let out a scoff. “I'm more interested in what you thi—”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“What? I'm telling the truth. Besides,” he leaned towards you ever-so-slightly. “I'm curious what brought this on.”

The candlelight went off completely, the only source of light being the moon gently cascading its glow on the room. You went to grab another grape, but stopped halfway through. Despite his aloof and seemingly playful behavior, you couldn't help but feel as if that question had held some unspoken weight on him. 

You laid back completely on the chair, staring out at the moon. “I had a dream you were some kind of creature. Horns, tail, scales—no wings that I remember, though. It was incredibly detailed. You looked like a dragon.” You took a deep breath, and almost whispering, still daydreaming about the mental image, you spoke: “It suit you.”

He didn't reply, not immediately, the chip on his hand ceasing its movements for a moment. A brief hesitation, a glimmer of something in his eyes (melancholy? Nostalgia?) flashed, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a half smile. He put the chip down and slid it towards you, taking a deep breath, beckoning you to keep going.

“We rested in a cave. Just like now, we were staring at the moon, and your tail—” You giggled fondly. “It was wrapped around me. Not asphyxiating me, mind you, but gently. And warm. It felt so real.”

You paused, and then continued.

“I wonder if that was some sort of…past life, or something.”

The room was completely darkened, and he had moved away from the glow of the moonlight, making it difficult to figure out what he was thinking. As the silence stretched on, you couldn't help but feel self-conscious — you'd half expected him to let out one of his earthy laughs upon hearing it. How cliché, how passè, the classical bedtime story of the beauty and her beast, deeply in love in his lair, a wonderful ever after following trials of blood and fire to be together. You've been watching too many romantic movies lately, sweetie , was the reply you expected him to blurt out, and then you'd pout, and finally go out to your mission and fight wanderers until the sun rose.

But he seemed to savor the recounting of your dream, as if taking apart thread by thread the tapestry of your words. You wondered what expression he had at that moment. Maybe he was coming out with a witty retort, something you've never heard before, or maybe he was annoyed at the prospect of him being a beast in the dream (when he'd been nothing but gentle with you lately), or maybe—

He let out a gentle chuckle, forcing you out of your thoughts. You stared at him, trying to find his eyes, until you met with a slightly glowing crimson gaze in the dark. A sign of danger, a pair of red eyes in the abyss—but they held none of the teeth that would swallow you whole. Instead, it enveloped you in a warmth that reminded you of cozy winter dawns, of summer nights, of a hot cup of tea after a draining day. 

How wonderful.

Sylus shifted on his seat. “Did something else happen in that dream?”

“Such as…?”

“We’ve watched one too many dramatic movies lately. Surely this one dream doesn't end in tragedy, likewise?”

You tutted, blushing, muttering. “Isn't the prospect of us cuddling under the moonlight enough for you?”

“With a monster —”

“A very handsome one.” You interjected. “And he is nothing but gentle with me.”

A pause of silence. Then, after staring deep into your eyes, as if attempting to break open your mind and peer into your jumbled thoughts, he let out a warm, almost elated laugh. 

“You do…have a fascinating way to look at things.” He spoke.

As if wanting to emphasize your earlier point, you stood up from the table and carefully walked towards him, two dinner knives in hand, and positioned yourself behind him. On the other side of the room, a body length mirror stood guard to the dark outlines of your bodies contrasting in the gentle glow of the moon.

The knives reflected the silvery light almost magically as you held them up the sides of his head in a horned fashion, a playful yet tender smile adorning your lips.

“You looked something like this.” You whispered, staring into the mirror. If you squinted hard enough, his silhouette looked very similar to the Sylus that had graced your dreams. “See? It looks good. It does suit you.”

He chuckled, his voice laced with something raw and unspoken. He gently grabbed your wrist, enveloping his calloused fingers around your soft flesh, as if counting every pulse under it. His digits interlaced with yours and he maneuvered you until you were at his side—then, he slid an arm around your waist and pressed you closer to him, his face burying on your sternum, something resembling a purr coming out of his throat. It made you freeze for a single second, the movement and the warmth so eerily similar to the one provided by his tail in your dream you wondered if you'd truly been the only one to dream about it.

“No tail. Is that alright?” He muttered, his voice muffled by your shirt. 

You shrugged. “Warm all the same.”

Something inside him opened at the sound of your words, and he let out a content, satisfied sigh. You could feel him smile against the fabric of your clothes, and under normal circumstances you'd tease him about it. Yet this time, he felt oddly vulnerable—like a cat bunting a beloved; it was not the time. You couldn't rob him of that.

“Let's go.” He broke the moment, pulling away. “It's getting late.”

He stood up, his arm leaving your waist—lingering for a fraction of a second, not truly wanting to pull away—and walked to the doorway with languid steps, taking his coat from the hanger.

“Does that mean I can call you that now?” You asked grabbing a last grape out of the fruitbowl.

“What was that now, kitten?”

“Dragon.” You smiled mischievously. “My dragon.”

He turned around, briefly speechless, and for a moment you feared you'd said something wrong—maybe he hated the nickname, or thought it was too silly, or preferred something else. But then his lips curved upwards, his gaze impossibly soft and cozy.

“If it's from you,” he reached for the motorcycle helmet and tossed it at you. “Any time.”

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 060 - Sung Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Valentines Day ◛⑅·˚ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚ 𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠 ˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

╰┈➤ ❝ [ My Reason ] ¡! ❞

Valentines day, the day Jinwoo dreads the most. Not because you're oh-so demanding— It's just a habit he never got to shake off even if you're both dating for years.

Just like your birthdays and anniversaries— He makes a big deal out of it.

This time he opted to make a jar of paper stars as his choice of handmade gifts.

"Pfft... Jinwoo, you're 24, why are you acting like you're still 17?" You laugh as he awkwardly stretches the jar of pastel blue and purple paper stars to you.

"Jagiya, don't make fun of me" He coughs, scratching the back of his neck after you accept the little gift he made solely for you.

"But you're too cute right now to not make fun of!" You grin a boxy smile, melting your boyfriend's heart in an instant that he couldn't stop himself from kissing the tip of your nose.

"Come on, let's go on a date" Jinwoo stretches his hand out to you— An offer you immediately accepted.

꒰ .... ꒱

There's only your footsteps in this empty park you both decided to spend the day. while normally it should be running with people— It seems that no one in particular wanted to spend the day outside. Not that you're both complaining since it's quieter for the both of you as well as no lines on the food trucks.

It's a win-win, right?

The day is only spent walking and chatting— To be exact Jinwoo was just babysitting you since you have an aeful record of getting yourself hurt whenever you're both in the park.

Yeah, you're an idiot.

His lovable idiot atleast.

"Hup!" You jump onto a tree stump and stretch out your hand with a single blue paper star he had made.

"Baby, what are you doing?" He snorts, keeping his hands in his pockets as he watched you prance about like a little child.

"I'm just wondering what a real night sky would look like" You explain, humming softly as you keep staring at the paper blue star with the empty night sky as it's backdrop. "If the lights in korea are all out and the air is clean, how many stars do you think we'll be able to see?"

"...."

Jinwoo then looks to the side for quite a while, "Wan't me to show you then?"

"What? Are you going to turn off all of korea's lights now?"

"I can, but I've got a better idea"

He suddenly joins you in the tree stump, pulling you by your waist close to him as the ground suddenly becomes pitch black with the misty shadows gathering into one. You could only gasp at the sudden visual, grasping onto his coat as the mist lifted you both off.

The gathering darkness formed a dragon, the scales of the creature glimmering in monarch purple as it roared loudly before ascending to the sky.

"S-sung Jinwoo, I said warn me next time! Kyahh!" You scream for dear life, practically sobbing whilst the man himself only laughs at your misery.

He hasn't teased you all day after all, how could a man not indulge in his woman?

"Ah... So cute." — Was the only thing in his head as he orders Kaisel to fly faster just so he can hear more of your panicked voice.

꒰ .... ꒱

The flight took a total of 30 minutes, your vocal chords now nonexistent from the screaming and crying. When you both finally landed, you whip a head towards your lover and began hitting him as a form of a tanthrum.

And how does the mighty Sung Jinwoo, the shadow monarch responds?

He only smiles mischievously as he blocks your attacks lazily with his palm.

Jinwoo lets you complain for a bit before placing a gentle palm on your cheek, whispering; "Look Up."

You didn't want to, what if the bastard is going to use his shadows to jumpscare you like he did whenever he's deathly bored? But after staring into those charming grey eyes ou never grew tired off— You finally look up.

Above your head is the edless night sky painted in several and millions of stars of different colors and shades. Pink, blue, yellow, purple, red— A whole galaxy is actually on the otherwise empty sky you've become used to seeing.

"Has... the sky always been pretty like this?" You ask as you are put in a complete daze while as Jinwoo's orbs only focus on you.

"If... There is less pollution and the lights are all turned off— Maybe you would see some other planets too" Jinwoo said.

"Will Woowoo show me that sky too?"

"You really want me to turn off all the lights in this world?"

"Hahah."

He can. You just have to ask.

But Jinwoo knew you won't so he just lets you indulge the night sky. He remembers it clearly, it was also around this hour where he first confessed to you. Although the sky that time is as empty as it gets— It still feels te same.

His hearts are racing, both his human heart and the heart he inherited from Ashborn as he holds your hand in this peaceful hour.

"I love you"

Jinwoo randomly blurts out, opting you to look at him, But his expression; as loving as it is he looks as of he is harboring some unsaid sorrow and regret.

But even if you asked, Jinwoo would only shake his head.

So intead, you return his affection, "I love you too, woowoo!"

That sweet, sweet, innocent and lovely smile of yours. The smile that is forever embedded into his head whenever he has to go through something alone and something that he is not confident in facing. Just like the rest of you from then; Jinwoo will burn this moment of you tonight in his memories should he need to face anything much bigger than he could ever handle.

Wordlessly, Jinwoo leans down and embraces your soft lips in his. A kiss full of tenderness and longing, a kiss of quiet passion.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: Idc that Valentines is days awayit's either you take it or not hahahahahah. I love this man sm you don't understand skskdflglr, I genuinely love Sung Jinwoo and idc he's not real I'm very happy living rn because of him. So uh... Happy early valentines everyone!!! ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[lukolathoughts]

Miss Nicola - supporting LGBTQI rights

Dearest gentle reader,

I have been itching to write a blog post now for a few weeks, but not really knowing where to begin. There have been frenzied weeks and days of activity, but then silence and the fandom meanders like a lost boat at sea. We are often rudderless without the reassuring presence of our ship captains - Luke and Nicola. This also tends to get the sub fandoms spouting nonsense claiming to have seen Nicola in Birmingham or some ridiculous crap. I didn't want to bother her by asking for a photo! No photo, no proof my friend.

I'll talk about me for a moment. I had a week from hell last week. There was something so upsetting for me to deal with, I couldn't go into work as I was crying that much. Try to explain this to your manager: that nasty comments on YouTube made you late for work. Luckily, she is an understanding person and I have told her about my YT channel. Saying some things out loud to real life people make me sound barking mad. But it is the price you pay for being public on YouTube. It also makes me an easy target. I am used to online trolls and people who hate me for saying that Jake is gay and believing in Lukola, but when the stab in the back comes from a supposed friend, it really is the ten of swords. My phone blew up that much, I opened my eyes that morning genuinely thinking Lukola had launched. My hope turned to ash, when I saw what was really happening. I share this with you all because, I have had to have a reckoning with myself the last week. My online life and my real life are not the same. My real life is way more important and I actually need my job, so messing it up because I've got people I don't really know online saying mean things about me, that are not true, shouldn't matter. But it still hurts. But I also realise, they are trying to stop me sharing and trying to ruin my credibility and reputation in order to send me off into my discord crying never to return again.

Well think again. No one tells a Sagittarius woman what they can and can't do. I am made of stronger stuff. Love will always conquer hate. No one puts Baby in the corner, and I will not stand for it. I have scaled back most of my online life now. It had helped me cope with the last year and losing my friend, but sometimes you have to go back into reality. I'm never leaving the ship though. You'll have to chuck me overboard and I'll still jump back on like Rose from Titanic. "I couldn't go, Jack! You jump, I jump, right?"

Anyway, enough about me. Let's talk about Nic. I love Nicola by the way and nothing I say here is a criticism of her or her choices. I see what you're doing though, miss Nicola. I said in my last blog that the shit would hit the fan when Jake has to start press for his new upcoming BBC3 drama What it feels like for a girl. I will admit I have not read the book. Regardless of who Jake is playing, it is reportedly an all queer cast, a queer director and at least one queer writer that I know of. Why would the director of an all queer cast hire a straight man in a homosexual role? If this show is as big as It's a Sin, that aired on Channel 4 a few years ago, then there will be press and a lot of it. There will be press from queer magazines also. Jake is currently in an awkward position, because some press believe he is in a romantic relationship with Nicola Coughlan, a woman who is also 14 years his senior. So, what will Nicola and Jake do?

Jake is holding onto his cash cow with both hands and Nicola needs Jake to continue to pose as her boyfriend to stop the media digging. But honey, they know. It was clear all the press at the SAG awards knew exactly what was going on and they were not afraid to say it. The 'happy ending' comment levelled at them directly by a reporter, had Nicola stunned and Luke smiling like all his Christmases' had come at once.

Nicola knows what is going on. She knows there is a deadline and she knows if she doesn't extricate herself from the narrative she is dating a gay man, she is screwed basically. What is she doing? She's getting out her, I love gays!! T-shirt, hats, scarfs, sunglasses, whatever. She is doing it. Look at me, I love queers! I love her for this and I already know she is an advocate for LGBTQI rights. She has a ton of gay friends. The fandom knows this of course, but do the general public?

At the Neutrogena event on 27th March 2025, there was a very tall drag queen doing some MCing. We know Nic loves drag queens and has been to many shows, so this is nothing new to us. I'm not being overly cynical that the drag queen might have been there for a reason, right? Neutrogena is a product that is targeted at women mostly for their skin products. What has that got to do with a drag queen? I just found it odd.

Next up we have Nicola's Pink Pony Club Post that she shared to both her Instagram stories and grid last Thursday 10th April. The song by Chappell Roan is synonymous with the gay community and one that Jake danced to at her concert last year in a pink cowboy hat. "You guys, remember when my old flat was a gay hotspot!" Nicola, posts 4 polaroid's of her looking fabulous in pink and lays them on a pink blanket. What made you feel so nostalgic, Nic? Or are you sending a message? Look at me, I have loved my gay besties for donkey's years. Prominent gay friends such as JVN and Jack Rooke commented all in agreement, that indeed, Nic's flat was the place to be. And, no I do not think Nicola is coming out herself as gay. Get real, she is supporting her friends and peers.

Then there was yesterday's selfie of Nicola wearing her black - 'I just wanted to say if you are trans and reading this, I love you and so do all my mates' T-shirt. There a few other details in that post that other bloggers such as @toriaaniin have covered beautifully, so I won't go into it here. My eyes sprung wide when I saw this post. I know she advocates for the charity Notaphase.org and I commend her for doing this, but two queer posts in a few days seems to be a lot for Nic, when lately she hasn't been posting at all.

There is also the male hairdresser Halley Brisker in her Opalex video on her Instagram, They make a big deal of letting us know he flirts with male makeup artists. Nicola is clearly good friends with Halley and it is an endearing watch. But to me this seems like a lot of overkill in the last few days for the general public to look at her Instagram and instantly know, yes Nicola does love the girls, the gays and Luke Newton. (FYI Halley Brisker is married to a woman and has children, but to the general public this conversation is implying Nic is comfortable with these conversations).

This, in my opinion, is setting the stage for the final act. I can see Nicola doing some sort of article or interview where she clears a certain narrative up. If you notice, Douglas has also been quite forceful again in implying certain things about Jake and Jake himself does not stop others from posting suggestive posts and videos of him. Nicola must remove herself from this mess in order to move forward with her own career and life. Hanging onto old connections are no longer serving her personally and professionally. Her engagement on Instagram is down by a lot, so I'm told and she is losing followers. She has done all she can career-wise for Jake now, he has to make his own way.

If this does not happen and we remain in this weird heteronormative bubble, I fear the press for What it feels like for a girl, will be a shit show. The truth will come out eventually and it will drag both Jake and Nicola down with it.

[irishmammonagenda]

MC's magic going wrong 😱😰

or right depending on ur outlook on life ig

warnings: swearing, mentions of death (extremely brief and only notioned towards), physical affection

You hadn´t thought much of it at first when you got back to the human realm. Everything went back to normal. Or as normal as it could be.

Your mother and father sobbed when they saw you, stating how they though´t you were lying in a ditch somewhere in the stretching countryside. You´d lied, told them you were away on a residency based apprenticeship, that you were sorry for worrying them. Your siblings showed signs of worry you never thought they were able to feel for you. Thus you were being babied for a month or so.

That´s when it started.

At first, it was more corvids at the bird feeder in your garden than usual. Then it was stray cats. Then inexplicable black and white feathers dusting your clothing and hair.

Your mother smiled picking out the ivory feather from the confines of your unbrushed hair, "Oh! Your guardian angel´s been watching over you!" she says playfully, an old wives´ tale, nothing too serious.

You tense for a moment, before laughing with her. "Well I´ll take it as a good sign." Stupid old wives being the smartest people.

At first it was easy to brush off.

Then your father started getting lucky, he hadn't been one to gamble persay, putting a few coins in on a bet for the horse racing or the football was a regular occurrence, sometimes he won,sometimes he didn't. The difference of a few silvers, a share bag of sweets basically, made no real strain on your belts. But now, he was winning left right and center. Winning amounts that shouldnt be possible based on the amount he input.

Though, after you woke up to cats and corvids staring at you unblinkingly, in your room, with a few flies and insects on the walls, and your bedsheets covered in feathers and scales of all colours and sizes, enough was enough.

You were going to give those nerds a piece of your mind.

After shooing the animals out, (making sure to pet the cats), you picked up a lipstick, and channeled your pact magic before drawing a circle with various symbols on the floor,

You stilled, "Ah, shit. I dunno how to do this, i mean half of those symbols are angry faces and squiggles...." but ever the theatre nerd, you improved.

"I, MC, call upon the power of my pacts with the Avatars of Hell! and, using their power; a portal to the Devildom shall open for me!"

And a portal did open for you. Unfortunately, not to the best place. As you travelled through the time pocket you ended up stumbling once you made it to the other side, the stumble turnt into a tumble turnt into a fall. Unluckily for you, the thing you fell on was toned flesh and chuckling heartily, you were in Diavolo's lap.

"It's great of you to drop by MC!" He says, his massive hands pulling you further into his frame.

You cover your face with your hands, now noticing the various other nobles in the council room who are staring at their Prince, attempting to mask the fact their jaws are going to hit the floor.

Atleast the Brothers weren't there, but Barbatos' half polite smile half smirk and Diavolo whispering various playful musings of, "Did you miss me that much little human, we missed you too.", and "Summoning a portal illegally into the Demon Lord's castle and onto the Demon Princes lap...tututut." almost made the brothers seem like a mercy....

...almost.

You couldn't tell if this was a win or a lose.

[redflagshipwriter]

Chef Beef 2/2

Part 1

Thursday

11:30 AM.

Only a few more days left of this experiment. Jason wasn’t sure if he was dreading the end or looking forward to it. Streaming twice a day was kind of a lot, but it was also invigorating.

Jason heaved a sigh at his screen, mostly joking in his exasperation. His viewers were little shits. “I already pounded it.” He held up the tenderized steak. “I pounded it within an inch of its life– in bed, against the wall, on the floor–” Jason cut himself off from reading the comments incredulously. “In the kitchen!” He scowled at his fans. “I am not pounding meat anywhere but in a clean kitchen.” He shook his head and scoffed. “I will tenderize one more steak, if you really need to see it. Pay enough attention this time to notice the sterile environment.”

Raven sighed deeply. “I will explode the head of the next puerile loser to comment,” she threatened. She snapped her fingers at the viewers, nails setting off sparks and smoke. “Do not make me read those words.”

Jason gave a theatrical shudder.

She squinted at the comment section. “Are you Nightwing?” she asked him wryly. He was probably the only person who could tell that she was laughing her ass off internally. “They can’t think of another reason for us to know each other.”

Jason jumped so hard he nearly hit his finger with the mallet. “No! Christ.” He shook his head. “We look nothing alike.”

The chat exploded with commentary. He ignored it with a laugh and went back to work. Dick must be giggling his ass off.

A few minutes later, he was explaining the miso-yuzu topping for his steak when he noticed a familiar name dropping another sticker. 

Hey, wait. He frowned. “HawaiiHunk2?” He read incredulously. “You the same motherfucker that got blocked yesterday? You are thirsty, buddy.” 

Raven put down her spoon and leaned over to see the screen. “Ew,” she said, screwing her whole face up.

“Miso hungry for you 🥺🥺🥺🥺,” HawaiiHunk2 had said. Definitely the same fucker. 

“I’ve got it.” GOATman typed up rapidly. 

Jason waited a moment for the notification that the guy was blocked to appear. Nothing. But HawaiiHunk2 never sent another message. Huh. Maybe he’d missed it somehow? “Thanks, GOATman,” he said. He stopped stirring his mix and set the bowl aside. “Imma see you again for dinner, right?”

GOATman sent a yes and a flood of emojis.

“Someone has a comparison, look at this.” Raven gave up any pretense of helping and leaned both elbows on his counter. He made an aggrieved noise. “They’ve got screenshots of us standing next to each other and…” she frowned. “Where did you get this image?” she said, sounding dangerous. 

Jason looked over. “...Nerd,” he said. Someone had found a high quality shot of Raven and Nightwing and used her as a scale to do math about how big both men were. “You’re doing math? Embarrassing.”

“This image proves that you are taller than Nightwing,” said Kissy6000, a certified freak. “If her stated height is accurate, you are 5 inches taller than Nightwing, and your thighs are an additional 4 inches in circumference compared to his.”

“And much more swole,” added BicepMan. “Nightwing wishes he was built like that.”

He choked on a laugh, because that was kind of mean to his manager. “Back to twice baked potatoes,” Jason said pointedly. “We are almost done.”

He took the first bite on camera, as he always did. “Yupp,” he pronounced, “this is delicious.” 

“I agree.” Raven licked her spoon. “I will probably never cook again, but I may manifest on your welcome mat and beg.”

“That’s more polite than my brothers,” he told her, and then turned his attention to his viewers. “Tell me if you make it– hell yeah, I will repost your picture,” Jason promised. “Mm, do I– I don’t see any relevance, BicepMan,” Jason scoffed. “Do I like redheads? Off topic. Blocked and deleted,” he joked. Then he held up his hands in a stop gesture. “Not for real, GOATman.”

That was an asinine inquiry. He shook his head with a laugh. 

Obviously he liked redheads. No one could have survived extended contact with Dick’s goddamn menagerie of redheaded hottie hangalongs as a teenager without forming a preference. But it was inoculating. The average redhead on the street could not shake him anymore. He had managed to stay cool under the pressure of extended conversation with redheads hotter than these civilians could have ever dreamed of. Fuck. 

BicepMan sent crying emojis. Jason waved it off with a hand and tried very hard to forget his teenage fixations. “Whatever. You can live, but you now owe me a picture– no, a picture of food. If it looks shit, I am going to make fun of it on my next stream, so you had better put your whole ass into it.” He tried his potatoes. “Mm, very good.” He showed a forkful to the camera. “Cheers. Fuck off now.” He cut the feed and then tore through his meal. 

He had a simple meal for his evening stream. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but this was really growing on him. Maybe Jason was one of the lonely losers who would benefit from eating meals with someone. He considered this as he chatted back and forth with GOATman. “This is nice,” he said out loud. “Maybe I should go eat with my family more.” 

GOATman sent him 100 dollars. 

“Jesus,” Jason said, startled. “I don’t need your money. But thanks. You think it’s a good idea?” He wondered, cutting a slice of his tart. 

“I think your family would love to have you over.”

The sincerity nearly made his skin crawl. Jason fidgeted. “I don’t know, my dad and I have a troubled relationship.” He sighed and put down his fork to rub at his face. “We’re both stubborn.”

“You can resolve it.” 

“You are so positive, GOATman.” Jason huffed a laugh. “Maybe. I’ll see my Dad later, maybe I’ll see if he wants me over.” 

Later that night on patrol, Jason made a point of swinging to the north end of his patrol radius. He tended to overlap with Bruce’s route there.

As expected, bat ears pricked up in the distance. Jason tried not to fidget as he waited. “Red Hood,” Batman said, landing down. “Everything alright?” 

Jason nodded. “It’s good,” he said, feeling very stupid. How was he going to walk the conversation around to maybe coming over for dinner? “I-”

Red Robin cut into the comm line. “Batman, do we have any indication that Luthor is up to something unusual?”

Batman went tense. “Why?”

“A localized EMP went off and ruined Superboy’s phone, laptop, and his family smartfridge today at 12:16 this afternoon,” Red Robin reported, sounding awfully serious for such a stupid topic. Jason stifled a snicker in his glove. “I noticed because he usually sends me thirsty- he sends a lot of reports on his days, normally.” He overcorrected himself, flustered.

Batman hummed. Jason shook his head and got out his grapple, grateful for the exit from this conversation. “Perhaps he was misusing his devices,” Batman said. “The fridge is an unfortunate casualty.”

Jason turned the channel off before he had to hear any more about Superboy’s technological woes.

Friday

“Dear Jason!”

He sat up with a start, not ten minutes after he had gone to bed. Dick was grinning at him like a ghoul, holding out his phone in the darkness of his bedroom. He was still in his Nightwing costume. His gloves were off, so Jason could see that he had a fresh manicure for the first time in a while.

‘I need bug spray or some shit.’

“...Kory,” Jason said groggily. “Good morning.” He laid back down with a groan.

“Good morning!” she chirped. “I am looking forward to our video collaboration today! What should I wear for this occasion?”

Oh, fuck. He stared at his ceiling, struck immobile by horror. He was going to be trapped in his kitchen for more than an hour with one of the most attractive people on earth. Why was this happening to him?

He turned a thoroughly wounded expression on Dick. Dick shrugged. “Wardrobe?” He prompted. 

…He did not want to pick out clothes for Kory. That was… no, that was dangerous territory.

Why was she asking him? Was this a normal thing for a celebrity to care about?

Jason ran a hand through his hair and cursed his life. “I don’t care,” he said. “A ballgown. A swimsuit. Old sweats. You literally always look good.” A bit too much sincerity crept into his voice at the end. 

Dick flinched.

“You as well!” She sang out. “Let us make a bargain! We will wear the shortest of shorts, and shirts that show our arms! The viewers will find it extremely invigorating.” He just knew she was flexing on the other end of the line.

Jason thought over that for a moment. “I don’t think I own Daisy Dukes.”

Dick tossed the phone onto his bed and started shuffling through Jason’s dresser. He retrieved a pair of jeans and then walked off with them into another room. 

It took a moment for the pin to drop. He sat up. “Dick!”

A rip cut through the air as Dick converted his jeans into shorts.

Jason laid back down mournfully. “I have short shorts,” he reported to Kory. “Okay. Wanna coordinate a color or anything?”

She cheerfully demurred. Jason ended the call and then hauled his sore body out to glare at his shitty older brother. “Don’t you have any pride? You know damn well that putting Kory on my livestream is gonna be really weird.”

Dick shrugged. “This hurts, but my rent is paid up for the rest of the year,” he said philosophically. “I can cry into a pile of paid bills.” He held up a pair of horrifically short cut-off jeans with a self satisfied smirk. “I’m going to get a car. You need to work in a reference to this credit card company by the way, say you use them for shopping for groceries.” He tossed a contract on the bed.

Jason blinked. “…How much money am I making?” He asked, baffled. “I haven’t looked at my accounts.” 

Dick rolled his eyes. “You’re an asshole,” he said fondly, in a truly incredible bit of projection. “Sleep tight!” He slammed the door on his way out. 

Jason laid there for a long and miserable moment, mind ticking unwillingly. He wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep, especially if he was going to deal with how catastrophically hot Kory was. Jason swallowed, hard. He tried not to think about her triceps. In his house. Kory and her hair and her everything, in his home. Holy shit.

He couldn’t sleep. He had to get up and scrub his home from top to bottom. What if Kory pulled the fridge out from the wall and saw the crumbs back there, huh? What if she needed to crawl under his sofa and saw that he had used it to hide an imperfection in the wall molding? 

Once that was done, Jason took his nervous energy to the grocery store and changed his damn mind half a dozen times about what he wanted to make. 

“Don’t be mad,” Dick texted him, an hour before go time.

What did that mean.

Jason called him immediately. Dick rejected the call. He stared at the phone, genuinely fearful. What did that even mean? How could it get worse?

He called again.

Dick’s phone was off.

He dialed up Barbie. “Hey, what is Dick up to?” Jason asked nervously, as soon as the line connected. 

She laughed in his ear and ended the call.

He paced around his kitchen. “That’s cool,” he said. “That’s fine. It probably doesn’t mean anything.” 

He found out what it meant when Kory knocked on his door and breezed in a cloud of perfume to land a kiss on his cheek. “Jason!” She announced, way too loudly. “We are so excited!” Her incredible hair sort of lashed and sparked in the air.

He reeled, a hand to his cheek. “What,” he said, like a dumbass. We? Oh no. It was a plural situation.

Roy Harper came in after her and kicked the door shut, arms… out. And bulging. “Yeah, we brought some stuff,” he said, as if Jason had noticed the goddamn tote bags he was hefting. Jason hadn’t gotten that far.

Jason made a wounded sound. 

‘If Wally West or Barbara Gordon shows up, I’m leaving. This won’t be my apartment anymore. I’m not strong enough for this. Is Dick mad at me?’

“What’s that?” he said weakly, trying to get his hormones under control. Jason held onto the countertop to stay standing. He needed help. He needed one of those LifeAlert devices. Someone should call an ambulance immediately. His heart was going too fast and it hurt.

Roy grinned at him. It was so white and perfect that it hurt his brain a little. He dropped the totes on the counter and then dug out two honeydew melons. “Perfect melons!” he said, holding them up to his chest.

Jason made a sound like a strangled cat.

Kory threw her head back and laughed. “That is too funny, friend Roy,” she said. She floated over and snatched out some grapefruits. “They resemble your large pectorals!”

Roy grinned at her and sort of jiggled the fruit. “Thanks for noticing,” he said, and then he looked back at Jason. “Some of your followers had some rather… scientific curiosity.”

He tried to make a noise. Nothing came out.

“Yes,” Kory said, idly tossing fruit up and down. “You crushed a root vegetable in your hand. It has spurred inquiries such as, “Can a melon be cracked open in the bend of your arm? Will it crack or be crushed, or will it be unaffected?” Her grin turned extremely mischievous. “I thought we should all try it!” She dashed in between the two men and gave a squeeze to each of their arms. “That is why I thought that we should not wear the sleeves today! It will be easier to clean ourselves.”

Dick was a dead man. He could pay his bills in hell.

They started the stream. He introduced his guests. Jason was in such a fugue state that he knew damn well he wouldn’t remember what had happened. He stammered his way through the introduction so severely that Kory patted his back and then cheerfully announced they were going to make fruit juice!

“We will begin with guavas.” Kory pulled them out with a flourish. “Let us crush them with our hands!” She grinned to the camera. 

Jason managed one look at her crushing fruit between her palms and then went back into survival mode. He wanted to lick her hands. He wanted to join a monastery.

“Next, oranges. I wanted to see if we could juice them inside the rind. What do you think?” Roy gave the screen a winsome smile and a piece of fruit a teasing squeeze.

“Oh!” Kory floated upwards in her excitement. “Let us take turns crushing them with our biceps! Everyone, please observe.” 

“This is debatably sanitary,” Roy said, and then effortlessly crushed his orange over the bowl. It flattened and spurted out violently.

Jesus.

Jason watched, transfixed, as juice dripped down his arm. Kory crowed a laugh and then copied him. Jason let himself be bullied into it next. Why not? This might as well be happening to him. 

HawaiiHunk2 returned just long enough to type up an all caps scream. He then disappeared from the list of viewers. 

Relatable. He was right. For once in his miserable and horny little life, HawaiiHunk2 was right. It was better to run away.

“Next!” Kory brandished two melons. The chat exploded into incoherency. “Let us attempt the honeyed melons! Their rind is very thick.”

Jason looked at the orange juice drying on his arm. 

“Looks sticky,” Roy said casually. Too casually. “Need me to clean that up for you?” He stuck his tongue out ever so slightly.

Jason reflexively made the sign of the cross. 

“We also have watermelons!”

“God help me,” Jason begged. He gripped the counter hard.

“I have heard that it is an internet challenge to crush them in one’s muscular thighs! We, too, shall crush watery melons!”

“Yeah, buddy,” Roy said, extremely unhelpful. “Lucky we are all in such short shorts.” He twined around to show the camera his flank, lifting a leg. His thigh muscles flexed.

Jason didn’t really remember the rest of the stream. He didn’t remember ending it. It was sort of a rush of blood and hormones. He just survived the experience, honestly.

When it was all over, Kory and Roy each kissed a cheek and then bustled out with cheerful efficiency. They said something about going to blow up a warlord. Or something. He didn’t really know English anymore.

“Good luck,” Jason said, dazed. He sat down on his floor. His laptop and phone chimed constantly with notifications. Me too, buddy, he thought. 

His window slid open and Dick crawled in like Sadako. “Yooooo,” the world’s worst sibling crooned. He tumbled into the room with a roll and then landed in a crouch. He giggled to himself, the white light from his phone reflecting on his face. “Oh, hey, did you see Tim’s message? Someone set off another EMP at the Kent farm during your livestream.” He snickered. An app made a ping noise, as a transaction registered. Dick threw his head back and cackled. “I have infinite money now! I don’t care about using paid vs unpaid leave anymore. I am going to get a 401k and health insurance! I am never going to die.” He threw himself back into the sofa and kicked his feet in the air.

Jason looked at his phone, seeking something that would numb the pain of his brother’s happiness. 

His back went rigid.

He opened his messages. He scrolled past the 102 unopened messages from Kon, as was his habit. The top one said, “I am free ton….”

That was unimportant. He had unopened messages from both Kory and Roy.

Roy

You looked hot as hell today. 🔥 u free tonight? 👅 🫦 what else them thighs do?  🍈 

Kory

Jason! 💕 You have the cleanest sofa I have ever seen. ✨ Let us spend some time upon it together and cause it to become filthy and possibly broken! 💋 🍑  💪 

He looked at Dick. He looked back at his phone and the R U up style messages from two of Dick’s exes. He looked again at how heinously happy Dick was. 

“Hey, Dick,” Jason said slowly. He felt a terrible smile creeping across his face. 

He had the power to make all of that go away. 

Dick stopped smiling. He went very still, like a meerkat in the grass. “…What up?” 

“C’mere.”

[maypiles]

Pick A Pile: What is your justice?⚖️

❗This is a collective reading so take what resonates and leave what does not. Please do not force the reading. Be careful of scammers I'll never reach out to you to ask for money or personal readings❗

Okay, listen up, darlings. After that vision of New York City and Lady Liberty gracing me like the queen I am, I just knew Spirit was screaming at me to dig into this. Justice, karma, the scales tipping—whatever you want to call it—it’s all connected, and I had to know what’s up with my collective. What’s your justice? What’s the tea on your karmic comeback or payback? Because let me tell you, when Lady Liberty herself makes a cameo in my dreams, it’s not just a vibe; it’s a cosmic declaration. Buckle up; the universe is about to spill.

Pile One

Pile one, this is a BIG moment, and I can’t even begin to stress it enough, okay? So first, let’s just dive into what Spirit wants you to know because there’s a whole lot going on, and I feel like the universe is throwing a whole deck of cards down on the table—your table. The message is loud and clear, baby.

First thing I’m hearing—there’s this vibe of someone talking behind your back. Ugh, I hate it. It's like there’s this sneaky energy, maybe some people trying to paint you in a certain light, and I'm hearing ‘final chapter.’ Yeah, you’re at the end of something—something major. You’ve been going through it, whether emotionally, financially, or just in general, and Spirit’s telling me you’re about to face your justice. But here’s the thing, babe—this is karma, okay? Whether it's real debt or energetic debt, whatever happened in the past, the universe is balancing the scales.

I’m seeing cards like the 5 of Pentacles reversed, Page of Pentacles, 4 of Cups, 5 of Swords reversed, and 5 of Cups. Like, I’m getting this feeling that maybe you’ve been struggling, feeling left out in the cold, or just like the universe is not on your side. But here’s the thing: the 5 of Pentacles reversed is showing me that things are changing for you. I’m hearing recovery, and it feels like you’ve been through hell, but baby, the tides are shifting. Spirit is telling me you're in the process of paying for some past mistakes, but there is a lesson here, and it’s going to help you rise.

Then there’s the King of Wands and Hanged Man—and I gotta say, it’s like, there’s this person in your life or this energy where you’ve been putting on this strong, ‘I’m untouchable’ vibe, but deep down you’re realizing something has to change. You’ve been in limbo—stuck in this weird cycle, indecisive, unsure of your next move. You’ve been trying to juggle everything—2 Pentacles—and it’s like, what was once in balance is now all over the place. It’s time for a shift.

Now, the World reversed and the 7 of Cups hit me hard because something is incomplete, and there's confusion surrounding it. It’s like you're getting a new perspective on everything, but there’s still this cloudiness, something hidden, or a situation that hasn’t fully unfolded yet. Don’t worry, you’re seeing it all soon. Trust me, things are coming to light. Spirit is saying, “Hold your ground,” with the 7 of Wands, because there’s a big payoff coming with the Ace of Pentacles and 10 of Pentacles—yes, I said it, big money and stability! You just have to keep pushing through this current energy, even if it feels like a struggle right now.

But let’s talk about that 10 of Swords, Moon reversed, and the 5 of Wands. This is heavy. There is some serious betrayal energy here, something that’s cut you deep, but it's also like, you’re breaking free from whatever chains have held you. The truth is coming out—especially with the Moon reversed. You’ve been through the battle, now it’s about overcoming the chaos and moving forward. The 10 of Cups reversed—yep, love life might be in the pits for some of you right now, and you’re feeling emotionally drained, but there’s healing ahead, okay?

So here’s what Spirit wants you to know, Pile one: You are facing your justice. The scales are balancing, and yes, there’s been some messy, dark energy from the past—but now? You are stepping into your new chapter. You are paying your debts, emotionally or otherwise. But trust me when I say, after the storm comes your victory. You’ve been through the struggle, but now you are about to reap the rewards of that hard work. The universe is testing your resilience, and, baby, you’re gonna come out stronger than ever.

So what is your justice?

Your justice? Oh, it’s sweet, isn’t it? Karmic cleansing, honey. All that betrayal and shady business? Watch it unravel like a cheap sweater. You’re cutting ties, reclaiming your voice, and stepping into your power. They thought they could keep you in the dark, but surprise! You're the High Priestess, babe—illusions shattered, truths exposed. Their little games backfired, and you? You’re thriving. Justice? Served. Cold, delicious, and with a side of don’t mess with me.

Pile Two

All right, okay, my loves Pile 2, let’s get into this, because I am picking up on a lot, and I need you to listen closely. This feels like a moment for you—like the universe is standing right in front of you, waiting for you to make some decisions. And baby, let me tell you, these are big ones. I feel like you’re in a position where you’re about to turn the page—the past is behind you, and you’re stepping into something new. But let me break it down for you.

So first thing I’m feeling, my foot starts itching—I don’t know why that’s happening, but Spirit is giving me the strong vibe that you’re either about to travel or visit someone. More likely, it’s a visit, and I’m getting that this is connected to family or someone who’s just returned from a visit. Whatever it is, it’s coming soon. It could even be a recent visit, like you’re still processing it. There’s something here, and it feels important.

Now let’s talk about what I’m seeing in my mind’s eye. I see a crow—I know it’s a crow, but also it’s black and dark like it has this shadowy presence. It’s standing on the bank of a river or water—maybe even in a park. There’s sunlight, and I’m seeing this bird looking around. Spirit’s telling me that there’s a symbolic energy here—crows are messengers. You’re receiving a message, Pile 2, and this is a time of transition, of choosing your path, like the bird flying away to where it’s meant to be. It feels like a time for you to decide—are you staying where you are, or are you flying away?

And then, I hear the word ‘rosemary’, and it’s so significant right now. It could be something as simple as you needing to protect your energy, cleanse your space, or work with rosemary in some way—whether it’s spiritual or practical. Rosemary is a protector, a cleanser, and it feels like you are being called to do this now. There’s some protection needed here, especially if you’re feeling drained or unsure about things.

But let’s talk about the shift, because there is a huge shift happening. With the 2 of Wands reversed and the Devil, I’m getting that you’re in a place where you’ve been stuck, possibly bound to something toxic—something holding you back. And I feel like you’re at a breaking point. You’ve been grappling with this decision, right? Whether it’s leaving something behind or moving forward, the universe is saying—you are finally choosing your happiness. You’re turning away from the past and stepping into something new. And yes, panic attacks could be a thing here, like anxiety around this change. But trust me, babe, Spirit’s saying, this is your time.

So, when I see the 6 of Pentacles, 7 of Pentacles, and the Page of Swords reversed, I’m getting that you’ve been working hard, trying to balance things out. But right now, there’s something off—you might be feeling drained, like you’re giving too much and not receiving enough. It’s like you’ve been planting seeds, but you’re not seeing the rewards yet. Spirit’s saying, you’re about to see your harvest, but you need to clear the air first.

I’m also seeing the Queen of Pentacles, 4 of Cups, and the Sun, and here’s the thing: you’ve been in this emotional space where maybe you’ve been unfulfilled. Like, you’ve had everything you need, but something’s still missing. You’ve been looking at things and saying, “Is this it?” Spirit is telling me: you are about to get your answer. You’re about to step into the light. The Sun is coming for you—this is happiness, healing, and clarity.

But there’s also the 4 of Swords reversed, Fool reversed, and 7 of Wands reversed, and listen, I feel the resistance. There’s some fear here, some hesitation to take that first step forward. You’ve been in your head, feeling unsure, but let me tell you: it’s time to act. The 7 of Wands reversed is telling me that maybe you’ve been defensive, maybe you’ve been holding back, but it’s time to stop fighting yourself and just go. There’s so much fear around the unknown right now, but you’re being called to release it.

Now, I’m seeing the 3 of Cups, 3 of Swords, and 2 of Cups reversed, and there’s a lot of emotional healing here. I feel like you’ve been hurt in the past, possibly by a relationship or a close friendship, and it’s been hard to let go. Spirit’s saying, you’re healing from that. You’re moving on, even if it feels painful right now. Your heart is healing, babe, and you’re opening yourself up to something new.

And then the King of Pentacles, 3 of Pentacles, and Moon reversed show me that there’s stability coming. You’re about to start building something solid, something real. There’s clarity on the way, and it’s like the Moon reversed is all about revealing hidden truths. Whatever was hidden, whether it was in your relationships, your work, or within yourself, it’s about to come to light.

So, I’m hearing it loud and clear now, Pile two: you are in the middle of a major shift. You’re deciding to turn your back on the past and choose your happiness. There are fears, there’s resistance, and there’s pain—but Spirit is saying, the clarity is coming, the healing is coming, and you are stepping into your power. You’re being guided to protect your energy—use rosemary, cleanse, reset. Trust that the universe has your back, and soon, you’ll be standing on solid ground, feeling like yourself again.

So what is your justice?

Ah, your justice is glow-up revenge. You’re untouchable, darling, and they’re left watching from the sidelines as you rise. Their attempts to block you? Laughable. The wheel is spinning in your favor, and the universe is handing you blessings while their lives turn into a slow-motion disaster. You’re stepping into abundance and alignment, and let’s be honest, it’s about time. They’ll choke on their envy, but don’t worry—you’re too busy being fabulous to care.

Pile Three

All right, my gorgeous Pile 3, let’s get into it. I’m feeling this is a deep reading, like we’re diving into some serious energy here. First off, I’m picking up something huge. You might be connected to the New York dream I channeled in a previous post—whether you’re from New York, visited, or that place has some significance for you. I’m also hearing dreams, and I feel like some of you are having prophetic dreams or visions that are part of your spiritual journey. Spirit is coming through strong right now, so pay attention.

You’re in a phase right now where the Wheel of Fortune is spinning for you. Fate is at play, and I feel like everything that’s been happening is part of a bigger plan—this is your spiritual path, Pile 3. It’s like the universe is pushing you forward, and there’s a reason for every challenge you’re going through. There’s something bigger unfolding here, and your journey is truly aligning with your higher self.

Now, Spirit keeps telling me choices in love, so let’s dive into that for a minute. I don’t know who you’re dealing with right now, but you’ve got choices—multiple options, different energies around you. But let’s get into the cleansing bit. It feels like you’re releasing a lot. There's a need to clear out some heavy stuff that’s been weighing you down, especially emotionally and mentally. I’m talking about the 10 of Wands reversed, where the burdens are finally being lifted, but you’ve been carrying them for a long time. You're letting go of things, people, situations, and ideas that no longer serve your highest good. It’s like Spirit is telling you to finally breathe again. Let the weight off.

But I see Ace of Swords reversed, Knight of Pentacles reversed, Knight of Cups reversed, and Queen of Pentacles challenge, and there’s this sense of miscommunication, lack of clarity, and maybe even feeling stuck in a place where you’ve been waiting for answers that aren’t coming. Like, it feels like you've been trying to move forward, but you're hitting roadblocks, especially in your career, relationships, and your sense of security. It's been difficult, but Spirit is saying—you're breaking free from this soon. It’s part of the cleansing process. The delays are just preparing you for the next chapter.

Then I’m seeing Justice here, and yes, this is it. The justice you’re seeking is coming through, especially with the 7 of Swords and 5 of Wands. If there’s been any deception or betrayal, or if you’ve been involved in conflict—whether with people, or even just within yourself—Spirit is saying you will be vindicated. You will receive what’s yours. The energy is shifting, and the balance is about to be restored. It’s coming through in your choices in love and in life—whatever this injustice was, it’s clearing up now.

The 7 of Pentacles and 3 of Pentacles indicate that you’ve been waiting for rewards, for your effort to pay off, and Spirit is saying that it’s on its way. You've planted the seeds, and now you're just waiting for things to fall into place. You’ve been patient, working on yourself, on your dreams, on your future. It’s all going to pay off. But with the 2 of Wands challenge and the Knight of Wands reversed, Spirit says there's still this hesitation, this fear of moving forward. But you need to let go of the fear. It’s holding you back.

But I see the Chariot reversed and the 10 of Cups challenge, and it’s clear: you’ve been struggling with your direction—like you’re not fully sure where you're headed, and it’s affecting your emotional state. There’s been an emotional imbalance here, and it’s holding up the momentum you need to push forward. You’re questioning if happiness is even possible right now. There’s been sadness, regret (5 of Cups), but Spirit is coming through to tell you don’t stay stuck in the past. Things will change once you step out of this emotional rut.

And I can feel the Moon reversed—this is clarity. There’s stuff that’s been hidden in the dark, and it’s about to come to light. If there’s been confusion, if you’ve felt like you can’t see the truth, that’s changing. Truth is coming through, and it’ll be like a weight lifted off your shoulders.

Now let’s talk about the Devil energy. I feel like you’ve been breaking free from toxic cycles—whether it’s toxic relationships, bad habits, or something that’s just drained your energy. You're cleansing this out. This is part of your transformation, and with the 4 of Swords reversed, Spirit is saying you need to rest but also push through this final phase of your healing. It’s time to let go, to forgive, to release.

With the 6 of Wands, Page of Wands, and 8 of Pentacles, Spirit is showing me that there’s victory coming your way. Success is ahead, and it feels like you’re going to stand tall soon—your efforts will be recognized, especially in your work and personal growth. There’s excitement, enthusiasm, and the energy of new beginnings ahead. You're going to feel like you're winning again. You're moving forward with renewed purpose.

And the Wheel of Fortune? Oh, yes. This is fated. This is your turning point. Things are finally aligning, and the High Priestess challenge is saying that the mysteries you’ve been dealing with will soon be revealed. Secrets will come out, intuition will be clearer, and your path will be illuminated.

The Tower and Fool reversed—yes, I feel this chaos energy. Something might shake up your world soon, but it’s necessary for your growth. It’s going to feel like a sudden change, but trust it. This is the universe breaking down what no longer serves you, so you can step into something better. Don't resist the shift.

Finally, with the 3 of Cups, Queen of Wands, 7 of Cups, and Ace of Pentacles, there’s celebration and new beginnings on the horizon. You're going to be feeling more confident, more sure of yourself, and ready to embrace your future. And yes, there’s a new opportunity waiting for you that’s going to make all of this worth it.

So what is your justice?

Oh, pile 3 my loves, your justice is that they can’t escape their mess. You’re out here cleansing your energy, minding your business, and meanwhile, they’re drowning in their own chaos. It’s giving what goes around comes around, but with a spiritual twist. Their lies? Exposed. Their manipulations? Ineffective. And you? You’re aligning with destiny, walking your path, and attracting love and opportunities that actually deserve you. Justice is fated, baby, and you’re divinely protected.

Pile Four

Hello, Pile 4 my darlings, let's get into it. Spirit is definitely making a strong presence here with some serious energy. First off, there's something about connection—whether it’s a need for deeper connections with others or feeling that you're disconnected from someone or something. This could be with a person, a situation, or even within yourself. Spirit is saying that the connection you’re seeking is right in front of you, but there’s an energy of impatience building. Like, you're waiting for something to align, but it feels like it’s taking forever, and you're growing restless. You're over it—there’s an irritation, a feeling like you're being disturbed from what you really want, whether externally or internally.

I’m hearing external annoyance and disturbance. Spirit is showing me that you’re dealing with distractions or people who are just in your face right now, causing chaos or disruption in your life. It's as if things keep getting in the way of your peace and your flow. There’s a destructive energy around, something or someone that’s throwing you off your path, and it’s draining your energy. You might be feeling tired from dealing with this. There’s a lot of frustration here.

Looking at your cards, 6 of Wands tells me there’s victory here. You’re fighting for something, and despite the disturbances, you're still winning. But the 7 of Cups and 9 of Cups tell me you're confused about your happiness. There are choices, possibilities in front of you, but you’re unsure if you’re going in the right direction. Maybe you’ve been indulging in too many distractions or seeking external validation for your success. Spirit is saying there’s more to it—your happiness isn’t about the external, it’s about what you believe it is. That’s what’s going to bring you true fulfillment.

Now, with the 7 of Wands reversed, you're definitely dealing with a feeling of giving up or surrendering. It’s like you're trying to hold your ground, but the energy is just too much. You're losing your defense, and it's wearing you down. You’re being asked to reevaluate what’s truly worth fighting for because there’s a sense of feeling outnumbered or unable to maintain your position.

The Hanged Man is showing up, and this tells me you’ve reached a place of pause, like you're stuck. You’re at a standstill, and things feel stagnant, but Spirit is showing me this as a necessary delay. It's forcing you to see things from a different perspective. You’ve been resisting this moment of stillness, but it’s actually giving you the clarity you need. The 2 of Wands reversed reinforces this sense of indecision, like you’re not sure where to go next. You’ve been thinking about your future, but there’s a hesitation—like, you don’t have the clarity you need, and it’s causing you to feel disconnected from your own plan.

The Moon here, well, this tells me there’s confusion, uncertainty, and things being hidden from you—whether it’s your own emotions, the truth of a situation, or something that you're just not seeing clearly yet. This is the classic illusion card, and Spirit is saying that things might not be what they seem right now, so don’t jump to conclusions. Things are murky, but the truth will eventually come to light.

Then we have the 6 of Pentacles, and Spirit is showing me balancing—there’s a need for balance in how much you’re giving and receiving. Are you overextending yourself for others? Are you being fairly compensated or recognized? This is a time to equalize what you’re putting out versus what you're getting back. There’s a 5 of Cups reversed here, which shows that you're healing from emotional wounds. You’re moving past regret, past disappointment, and finally starting to release the past. Spirit is showing me that you’re ready to move on—you've been grieving, but it’s time to let it go.

Now, the 9 of Swords reversed shows that the worst of the anxiety and stress is behind you, but you're still holding onto some things. You're overthinking and worrying about things that you can’t control, and it’s preventing you from truly healing and stepping into your empowerment. There's definitely a need to confront these fears and stop letting them dictate your actions.

The 4 of Wands shows me that you’re seeking stability, but there’s a lack of celebration or fulfillment around this area. Maybe you’ve been wanting a certain outcome or a stable situation, but there’s a sense of something falling short here. Spirit is saying that your happiness isn’t defined by what you think it should look like—there's a need to let go of expectations and embrace the flow of your journey.

Looking at the King of Pentacles reversed and 4 of Cups reversed, there's definitely a feeling of instability—whether it's in your finances, security, or sense of self-worth. You're dissatisfied, unfulfilled, and Spirit is pointing out that it’s time to let go of attachments to material things or false security. You need to make room for something more fulfilling, something deeper.

But here’s the good part—the 9 of Pentacles shows you’re independent and capable of standing on your own. Spirit is saying you’re strong and have everything you need within you to overcome this. There’s an energy of self-sufficiency here, and Spirit is reminding you that you have the power to create your own stability.

The 8 of Swords reversed tells me that you're breaking free from mental restrictions. There’s a release from feeling trapped or stuck, and you’re starting to see things for what they truly are. The Page of Swords and Page of Pentacles reversed indicate that you're still learning, still growing, but you're starting to develop a clearer mindset. There’s a need for patience, but Spirit is showing that you’re getting more clarity and awareness.

Then we have the Knight of Pentacles and 9 of Wands. This is your persistence paying off. It’s slow-moving, but you’re finally getting back on track after everything has felt chaotic. You're pushing through, and even though you’ve been battered by the challenges, you’re still standing strong.

But, there’s the King of Wands challenge position, which is interesting. It feels like you're struggling with taking control, with leading your life in the direction you want. There's a lack of confidence in your ability to make the big decisions, and Spirit is telling me that you need to step up and claim your power. You're more than capable, but you’ve got to believe that you are.

The Tower here is a big one—expect sudden change. This is a moment of destruction, but it's necessary. Things will be torn down to rebuild stronger foundations. Trust this process—it’s breaking down the old to make way for the new. You’re shedding layers, and it’s all part of your transformation.

With the King of Cups reversed, you're being reminded to manage your emotions better. Don’t let your emotions control you; take the reins and process what's coming up. There’s emotional instability, but you’re being asked to balance that out. You can’t let your emotions dictate your decisions if you want peace and clarity.

Lastly, the 3 of Cups shows me that there’s a need for community, celebration, and joy. You’re going to find people who are there to support you, but Spirit is saying you need to open up and allow yourself to receive support. The 2 of Pentacles reversed tells me you’re dropping the juggling act, and it’s time to focus on what really matters.

At the bottom of the deck, we have the Chariot, so the message is clear: you're headed in the right direction, but you've got to take control of your path. And with the 3 of Pentacles, you’ll see that collaboration and working with others will help bring you closer to your goals.

So what is your justice?

Your justice is undeniable freedom, my loves. You’re breaking chains, shedding illusions, and stepping into your truth. The disturbances? The annoyances? They’re distractions, and you’re rising above it all. The tower may have fallen, but now you’re rebuilding on a foundation of strength and clarity. And them? They’re stuck in their own games, while you’re winning the war. You’re moving forward, claiming victories, and leaving them in the dust. Justice? Oh, it’s poetic, isn’t it?

All right, mon amours, that’s the tea for today. Justice has been served, karmic debts are being paid, and the scales are tipping exactly where they need to. If you’re in the clear, congratulations—you’re the main character, obviously. And if not? Well... consider this your villain origin story. Either way, the universe is working its magic, so take it, own it, and don’t forget who’s running the show—you. Now, go forth, be fabulous, and remember: karma always collects, but a good outfit and a sharp wit will keep you winning every time. À bientôt!

P.S: credits belong to the original owner of the pictures and dividers.

[alchemistc]

911 was always in my periphery bc of how popular Buck x Eddie is on Tumblr and Ao3. I didn't really want to watch a cable network procedural drama, especially one that came off as so unserious. I could also see how such invested shipping by a lot of fans who are young and think it’s ok to demand things from the cast and crew would inevitably become a toxic cesspool. I stand by that assessment of the show based on the behavior of the fandom these last months, as well as the overall quality of the writing and how often good story lines just get dropped or undermined.

However, I heard about Buck coming out. Over the summer, I was going through a lot and feeling aimless, so I finally started watching the show. And I liked Buck and Tommy, but what I really loved was the quality of the fan works they inspired. At the end of the day, I never really had real expectations of high quality television from a show like 911; that’s not what it’s for.

Despite this, what really affected me last night—which was also the first episode I bothered watching live ever because of how terrible this last week has been—wasn’t even how badly it was executed or the fact that they broke up. But how unnecessarily and viciously cruel the whole thing felt?

What was the point of showing Tommy as a caring, supportive, present partner in the previous episode if it was going to lead to an unceremonious break up? What was the point of showing his yearning for connection and family only to see him throw it all away? Why have him say such wonderful things about Buck moments before questioning the commitment of their relationship after six months together? What was the point of Buck getting that speech from Josh and bringing up marriage and moving in together and that Tommy had been a transformative relationship when it was going to end with him being dumped? It just felt so horribly cruel to see a character bare his tender heart and see it get stomped on. He looked so sad at the end.

Up till the very end of the episode, I was actually really enjoying it. Their acting was so good from heart eyes to heartbreak, and the show seemed to understand Tommy’s reaction to Buck getting hit on by those women would cause friction. It even made sense to me that Tommy would recoil at the prospect of moving in together because Buck clearly hasn’t come to terms with being queer yet (sir, you haven’t researched the Kinsey scale? You?) And Tommy is also clearly afraid to reach for the connections he wants and the seeming inevitability of his heart being broken and is masking that with nonsense about Buck needing to play the field and the biphobia present wherein. It was such an interesting depth to his character! I thought the break up speech was so well-acted, and I was so ready for the conversation they were going to have that would address it and let them move on together stronger. To see Buck learn from Josh and see the scars Tommy was unintentionally revealing in that moment and address them.

And then the credits started rolling and I felt like I got punched in the gut.

It was definitely the straw that broke the camel’s back for me, with the election and other personal stuff really stressing me out this week. Last night, I felt sick and unable to sleep, and I spent the morning bawling my eyes out. It feels like one of the few things I really looked forward to had been snatched away for the shock factor. I believe the interviews are the definite death knell, but even if you don’t follow the interviews, it was just a cruel way to end the episode. Even if this ends up being a temporary roadblock or they “fix” it, it’ll always leave a bad taste in my mouth.

Anyway, I’m upset that I let a show I always knew wasn’t very good affect me this much, and I regret spending months of my life on it. But the reason I wanted to send this ask was because my real hyperfixation these last few months was never the show itself; it was always the Bucktommy fandom. Reading some of the most beautiful fanfiction, including yours, these deep and intense character studies or au’s or future fics that show more love to these characters than the show does. The stunning art, the lovingly rendered gifs, the startlingly funny and insightful writing. The fandom has been my real love, and I hope that despite this huge blow, people like you will continue being so immensely creative and artistic for this ship.

I’m sorry this has been so long and vent-y, but I wanted to send you this ask because you’re one of my favorite fic authors, and I’ve been following your posts since last night and you’re still responding to anonymous asks. I’ve always been stealth in the fandom to avoid certain parts of it, so didn’t want this on my own blog. If you do publish it, I hope the other authors and artists and creators who have made my life better get to see it too <3 And that they don’t regret the time and passion and love they’ve poured into the last few months. I have appreciated it, if nothing else.

Hi.

First of all, please don't apologize for the length of this.

Everything you pointed out were exactly the reasons people joined this fandom. Everything you listed here is EXACTLY the reason it left such a bad taste in our mouth.

I'm sorry I won't be more eloquent in this post, because this is such a kind and thoughtful and lovely summation of all the things I've been hearing and seeing and feeling.

The point of all that, if we are to believe Lou (which I do, and honestly props to him for being as gracious as he was in those post-mortems: fucking TWO exit interviews for a guest star? wtf abc), WAS to pull the rug out from under the audience. It WAS to end it all on a shocker of heartbreak. They filmed the bulk of Tommy's S8 scenes AFTER the breakup. It is absolutely vicious and cruel and meant to make people talk about it. The engagement they are getting right now is to some extent WHAT THEY WANTED. I went straight to my notes after work and I can't be fucked to check the insta or FB to see if they've posted anything new and/or what the comment count is on the 8x06 posts but THIS IS THE INTENDED RESULT. Broken hearts, upset people, an increasingly toxic fandom crowing.

That's where I'm at. I think that's where a lot of people have landed. And it's so disheartening to see something that really genuinely drew people in because it was handled so gently and kindly at first just be ripped away and the door shut on it.

And honestly if they close the mid season OR open or close 8B on a premise that includes one of them being injured and the other having a Realization™️ I won't trust this team to do it genuinely or truly. Even the breakup would have held so much potential for me, but not like this.

Anyway. I'm sorry you're feeling so disappointed. I am grieving the missed potential of literally every plot they built up this season for every character and if I do watch it won't be live and I will likely have very little trust for it's potential. There has been So Much wasted potential.

And I want to say thank you. Even if you lurked, even if you disengage now, the creators who made those works made them out of love and they wanted to share them and the community around it all has been lovely to see. Thank you.

Some of us will still be hanging around building the world that could have been. I hope, if you feel up to peeking at that sandbox, that you feel welcome to go play in it or even just clap from the sidelines.

♥️

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the dead ringer

buttercup, chapter three

a/n: yeah, this did happen to me in real life, although it happened on a bus so i couldn't immediately get away... ANYWAYS! enjoy this hurt/comfort heavy chapter!

summary: “I think I know something that might help a bit.”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, crying, panic attacks, matt using his superpowers for the sake of hurt/comfort, boxing

word count: 2057

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

masterlist | join my taglist

Drizzling the flour into the wide bowl, like a dusty snowfall, you watched the number on the scale carefully as you neared the desired number. Though just before you hit it, Walter’s head suddenly poked in through the doorway leading behind the counter and interrupted you and Howard’s all-too-important discussion on what the day’s music choice should be. 

“Hey, Y/n? There’s someone here to see you.”

Laying down the scoop still holding a bit of flour, you dragged your palms down the brown apron tied around your frame and exited the kitchen. A bright smile spread across your face and crinkled up your gaze as you spotted who was standing on the other side of the counter. 

“Matt, hey–, oh my god,” you then suddenly noticed the bruising that blossomed out from under his tinted glasses and stretched up over the patched-up scrape that split his left brow, “what happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, just wasn’t paying attention last night, tripped and fell, that’s all,” he waved a hand, “I just wanted to stop by on my way to work, get a round of coffees to-go for everyone and perhaps some breakfast for myself, just whatever you think I’d like.”

“You’ll let me pick?” your eyebrows rose slightly. 

But Matt simply smiled and said, “I trust your judgment,” his grip shifted gently on the cane standing tall before his chest. 

As you moved to make the coffees, “alright,” you drew out a pondering breath, “are you in the mood for something sweet or savoury?”

Thinking about it a second, he uttered, “savoury.”

“Do you like sandwiches?” you popped the lids on the to-go cups. When he nodded, you placed the coffees in a little cardboard tray, “okay, I think you’ll like this one,” grabbed a brown paper bag and moved further down the counter, “it’s made with focaccia and has pesto in it as well as some tomatoes and cheese and stuff.” 

“That sounds amazing.”

“I also–, you know what? I’ll be right back,” you then abruptly turned and momentarily disappeared into the kitchen, grabbing a few of the pillowy buns still on the cooling rack into a bag. As you returned, you also snuck a hand into the display case and stuffed a few other goodies into the sack, “just for the others, if they want,” you placed the bundle onto the counter beside the coffees, “I just pulled them out of the oven a bit ago and they’re still warm.”

“What is it?” Matt tilted his chin. 

“Uh, some raisin buns, but I also threw two croissants in there in case they didn’t like raisins...” 

A soft smile warmed his bruised features as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, “what do I owe you?”

“Oh no,” your hands waved lightly before you, “it’s on the house.”

“Y/n, come on,” he cocked his head. 

“Fine,” you light-heartedly sighed, “if you really wanna sing for your supper, then I’ll cash it in at a later date. I don’t know, maybe if I get arrested someday or something you could help me out.”

“You don’t have to bribe me with free baked goods for that.”

“No, but it sure doesn’t hurt, does it?” you chuckled. 

“No,” he joined in as he reached for the bags, “I guess it doesn’t.”

“You want some help carrying it?” you asked, hope seeping through your tone, “I could take my break and walk with you the rest of the way.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, we just got through the morning rush, they’ll be fine without me for–, I don’t know, 15 minutes or however long it’ll take to walk to your office and back.”

“Alright, thanks,” he smiled, one paper bag hooked in the fingers that also clutched the cane.  

“I’m just gonna go grab my jacket, one second,” you said before ducking into the back to do so, letting your uncles know as you slipped out of your comfortable work clogs and into your sneakers. 

You ended up dividing the load, with you carrying the coffees and the last bag in one arm, though a few protests left you at first, begging him to let you carry all of it, they melted away as his free hand enveloped yours. 

When you reached his office, your arms wrapped around his frame as you hugged him long enough for your heartbeats to sync up, and just as you pulled away, his wide palms still warm on your back, you leaned in and planted a brief peck on his scruffy cheek. 

One of his hands swept up to meet the side of your face as your lips retracted. You pulled back so slowly that you weren’t sure you were moving at all, being drawn in by his warmth like a moth to a flame. 

His nose gently grazed against yours as he let himself linger, but just as your eyes fluttered shut in expectance that he’d kiss you, his warmth withdrew and he slowly breathed, “have a good day.” 

In a matter of seconds, you had gone from giggling, glancing down at some silly joke on your phone as you walked home, to panic instantly kicking in as a passerby’s voice pierced your soul and made your blood run cold.

Glancing around, you saw a stranger standing off to the side and yapping into his phone. It wasn’t him, it wasn’t Michael, but it sounded exactly like him, so much so that the tone sent your body right back to that very night as if no time had passed at all.

Willing your body to move, forcing it to conquer the short rest of the way home, once your front door shut behind you and your quiet apartment consumed you, painful sobs began to burst out of your trembling frame. Hyperventilating, you crashed into the nearby wall of the entryway directly across from the door, incapable of getting deeper into your home. 

Soon, a quiet and surprising knock found your door. 

“Y/n?” the worried tone of your neighbour sounded from the other side. 

Your shaky voice came out no louder than a whisper, “M-Matt?” 

There might not have been any other instances you could recall where accidentally forgetting to lock your door turned out for the better, because when Matt then tried the handle, it gently complied. 

Shutting it behind him, he rushed to you, “hey, hey,” he uttered softly, a hand soothingly finding your arm, “what’s going on?”

Attempting an answer, “I–, I–,” only incoherent sobs managed to seep from you. 

“Okay, alright,” he sucked in a controlled breath, one of his hands sliding up to the strap of your backpack, “how about we start by getting all the way inside, huh?” gently gliding it off you and resting the bag on the floor. 

You let yourself lean into him fully as he supported you on the short journey towards the couch. Wobbly taking a seat, his touch left you as he settled beside you.

Spine curving, you buried your puffy face in your trembling hands, letting the whole world drift away as small lakes were birthed within your palms from your pain. 

When the sobs eventually began to subsite, growing further and farther apart, your frame slowly unfurled. Instinctively flicking your hands before your form, you tried to physically shake even a fraction of the excruciating sensation off of you, but without success. 

Matt hadn’t moved an inch, simply stayed there right beside you. 

When your quiet voice eventually filled space, it came out broken and overflowing with emotion, “I thought it was him… it wasn’t, b-but it sounded exactly like him… I’ve done double takes every time I saw a stranger with the same haircut or felt nauseous every time I encountered the same name, but this really did sound like him. Same voice, same accent, same everything… but it wasn’t him… it wasn’t… it just sent me right back, you know?”

Hesitantly, you grasped his hand in yours, expecting the contact to only make it worse, to somehow taint and ruin his wonderful and soothing touch, but it didn’t, he didn’t. It was Matt. 

Trying to regain control of your breathing, you shakily sucked in deep breaths, feeling your gulps of air slowly become calmer and migrate from the very top of your chest, down to expand your sore stomach. Eyes only half open and utterly exhausted, you noticed that your head was now leaning against Matt’s shoulder. 

Glancing hazily down at yourself, you muttered, “fuck… I still have my shoes and jacket on…”

Reaching down, he offered, “here,” before sliding your coat off, resting it on the back of the couch, and leaning down to pull your shoes off. 

Curling your legs up onto the couch, the shift in your position offered you more relief than you’d expected. As you attempted to get as comfortable as you possibly could in the state you were in, you snatched up Matt’s hand once more. 

Offering your palm a soothing squeeze, he asked quietly, “what do you need, huh? What can I do?”

“I–…” you thought, your brain just as drained as your body was, “I don’t know… maybe–… maybe just be here a bit?”

Exhaling lowly, he flashed you a faint smile, “of course.”

Glancing down at his fingers, sweeping across your own, you said, “hey, Matt? Could you maybe–, uh… could you give me a hug?”

Not hesitating, his strong arms engulfed your quivering frame and a fresh wave of sobs swiftly bubbled out of you as he held you tight, though your cries didn’t push him away, he stayed steadfast, embracing you close till the eruption ultimately simmered down, leaving you nearly asleep against his tear-stained shoulder. 

As he gently lowered you down to lay on the couch, you tightened your grip on his shirt as he began to pull back, ushering him to sink down as well, allowing you to curl into his safe embrace and let slumber drift you away. 

When you finally stirred, the sun was nowhere to be seen. 

“Hey,” you blinked up at Matt still in the exact same spot as before. 

“Hey,” you replied groggily, “what time is it?” swiftly fishing your phone out of your pant pocket before Matt could conjure an answer, “oh, fuck… it’s nearly midnight… did you sleep as well?”

“Not really,” he shrugged, “maybe for a little bit, but no.”

“Oh…” you breathed, averting your gaze. 

“How are you feeling?” his thumb swiped your waist where his broad palm was planted. 

“…I don’t know…” you exhaled, “…exhausted… sad… angry… really fucking angry… so angry that it kinda scares me…” 

After a beat of silence, with only your woeful breaths filling the space, Matt then uttered, “I think I know something that might help a bit.”

Your gaze drifted from the faded paint on the walls to the worn punching bags as you and Matt sat on the edge of the central ring and his fingers worked at wrapping up your hands. 

“Do you come here a lot?” you asked, your vision gliding back to him. 

“From time to time,” he tilted his head slightly, “reminds me of my dad,” tucking the last end of the strip under the weave, securing it into place, he closed your hand into a fist and exhaled, “alright, you’re ready,” he adjusted your grip, briefly offering your wrist a squeeze as he said, “just remember to keep your wrist strong and your thumb right here,” he slid your finger down below your knuckles. 

You hadn’t gone into it with much hope, in fact, it was only out of your desperation just feel better that you even humoured the experiment. In the beginning, it did feel as silly as you’d imagined, nearly stopped completely, but at some point in the mess of it all, your punches grew more ferocious, they grew more brutal, and suddenly something inside of you snapped and unravelled. It wasn’t some magic pill, but the physical act did loosen something within you and gave away to a fresh release of sobs, though not the painful and unbearable kind you’d had to endure earlier. It was the kind that felt like relief. Even if it wasn’t permanent, in that very moment, you didn’t feel like you were drowning anymore. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[loveanalyst]

Why I (realistically)I wouldn't date any of the LaDS Li's even though I'm head over heels for them in the game.

Obviously this is fiction, but I saw a post by @bunbundubdubbunbundubdub asking who "you could see yourself be actually in a relationship with, consequences of their lifestyle included." My immediate answer was "none of them, they'd all give me a panic attack in their own special way". So...what traits do this men have that would make them un-dateable for me in real life?

I should also mention that I'm asexual, but other than that glaringly obvious reason, here we go! See if you can spot the pattern!

Zayne

His profession: I simply could not date my Dr.

His Profession: I couldn't date a medical professional period. I have a LOT of them in my family (Surgeons, Dr. , EMT, nurses, etc) sooo I'm a little biased. I could go on for days!

His aloofness: My personality type leads me to interpret aloofness as disinterest (even if I know isn't true). This would make me insecure all the time. Actually, 2 of those 3 reasons is why Zayne is the Li I'm least invested in. People keep saying he'll grown on me and I'll always keep an open mind, but nothing yet.

Xavier

His Profession: I know "we" have the same profession, but equating his profession to real life Id call him a police officer or a soldier. Both professions I wouldn't date. Too much danger, stress, and lot of reasons that overlap with the medical profession in terms of not wanting a relationship with someone in that career.

His secrecy: I know why he does it, but in real life the obvious secrecy would make him unattractive to me. That's a massive red flag.

His appearance: He looks like a teenager to me and I don't think I could get past that.

Rafayel

His Profession: I know this is a huge stereotype, but artist/muse relationship has a tendency to be toxic hell.

His Status: I don't think I'd like dating public figure. A lot of specific trials and tribulations comes with that.

He's on a hit list: TF you out here doin' Rafa?

Caleb

His Profession: He's basically in the military. See above lol.

His yandere tendencies: Caleb ranks pretty low on the yandere scale IMO. But his overprotective and obsessiveness would be a red flag for me. Like, in the game I KNOW he would never hurt "us", but in real life there is no guarantee, so that would run me off.

Sylus

His Profession: Bro is the leader of a criminals organization. There are people out there constantly trying to kill him. Do you know what people do when they can't get their hands on someone? They go after their family. I'd be afraid of someone trying to kidnap or kill me round-the-clock. My hair would be as gray as his by the end of a week!

Take away his job and Sylus is the only one I would even consider dating in real life.

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part I: Radio's not dead

| Part 2: Radio Will Be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself. | Masterlist| ao3 Pairings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem! reader, established relationship, human!alastor, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) acroace!alastor

"Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow. You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.” “Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?” You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” [Or after a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping . . . *checks notes* . . . the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You pass the tissue box—the third one already.

Your patient blows his nose, rubbing snot off his snout. He has to stretch his arms to reach his nose. Alligators are known for their long snouts. His nostrils flare when he sniffles.

Used tissue is discarded on the pastel-pink floor despite a pastel-pink trashcan stationed by his webbed feet. It’s been the same pattern for the last fifteen-minutes. Tissue, Sneeze. Floor.

“—and I have this . . . uh . . . like this real bad itch on my eye. I keep rubbing and rubbing but it doesn’t do shit! My eyesight’s gotten worse—It’s already fucked up but this is just different. My roommate hissed at me about getting blood all-over the carpet floors if I kept scratching my scales. Oh. Oh! I’ve been snee—achew!” Alligator snot lands on the pastel-pink floors of the clinic.

Your eyes twitch.

He takes another tissue and waves it around his head. “The top of my head is killing me. Ya’know where that is right?” He blows his nose. “It’s right here,” he says, inching his head closer to you. “The last nurse I went to was blind as a bat! Literally, she had the wings and everything. It was kinda hot.”

“I’m well aware of the location of your head,” you say. “You can lean back now.”

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Pastel pink floor.

Underneath the mix of feathers and hair strands, the bustling of the waiting room catches your ears. Someone curses, booming and violent at another waiting patient. A cough, a sigh, a barf. Painful curses erupt after that. You bring a hand to your ears, wincing as your eardrum ring. Pentagon City’s best and biggest hospital needs better doors, but those lazy sloth fuckers at the top invested at the first material they found.

The alligator sneezes into another tissue. He flicks it with his wrist, and it hits the pastel-pink wallpaper adorned with closed eyes. Maybe Belphegor should be the sin of Pride instead, considering all items are covered in her symbol.

“I really feel like t’was those exterminators ya’know?”

You do not, in fact, know. Half of what this young man says is incomprehensible.

His snout sways left to right when he shakes his head. “It’s only my second one, and this was a close call, and uh . . . well, ever since then I’ve been like this. One even got to my roommate. “

You hum, leaning back on your chair. You should petition to for thicker doors. And while you’re at it, better interior design, and better paint—something that isn’t pastel pink.

“Ugh, and it’s so not cool that this new roommate of mine’s been shedding since the day they moved in,” he says.  “Speaking of shedding, do you think it’s because of those exterminators? Do you think they like spread some sort of weird pollen to make us sick? They’re totally the type to do that.”

You take your pen—your pastel-fucking-pink pen—and poke his alligator sinuses.

Hell does have its own brand of humor. You gave your 20s to studying human anatomy, only to die and find yourself with the need to re-learn the boring part of biology.  (Two books on reptiles, four on mammals, and fifteen on sea creatures.)

“YEOWCH!” His teeth stick out again. You do not know what this means.  “What kind of nurse ar—“

“Doctor.”

“—you? That’s not the top of my head!”

You push back on of the feathers on your head. “Your roommate ‘hissed’ at you? And they’ve been shedding fur for two weeks now.?

“Yeah . . . ?”

You stare at him. “Have you ever considered that you’re allergic to your roommate?”

“Ooooooooooh,” he says. ‘Yeah, I was allergic to cats back when I was alive.”

You grab your (pastel-fucking-pink) prescription pad from the desk drawer. “Control it with some antihistamine. Four pills every 12 hours.”

His teeth start showing. You’re not sure if he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell. “Pills, really?”

You toss what you were writing into the massive pile of germs, mucus, and tissue. “I can give you a nasal spray. I’ll flush the mucus then insert a spray that prevents build-up,” you say. “They last for two weeks and then you’ll need to come back.”

He grabs the last tissue from the box. It still lands on your floor. “Ma’am nurse, do you have any more of this?”

You sigh and reach for a fourth box of tissue. “It’s doctor,” you say. “We keep nasal sprays here in the clinic. I’ll just grab one and you’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”

“No can do,” he says. “Before I died, my coach told me to stay away from that non-organic shit. It’ll mess us up real bad apparently. All those steroids.”

“You have phencyclidine sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Pheny—what?”

“ . . . Angel Dust.”

“The porn star?”

“The drug. You have drugs sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Come on, nurse—”

Threads erupt from your fingers. It snakes around his wrist, coiling and twisting.

He jerks his arm away and cries out when you tighten your hold. Your threads wrap around his legs. It pulls against his waist. Magic binds his arms, and tightens around every joint he owns.

You stop, only when the alligator struggles, trashing against the clinic chair.  His teeth bare and he snaps at whatever he can reach. You tug on one of the thousands of strings digging into his skin. His jaw snaps shut, and it will stay shut. Another tug and his back stretches to straighten. You move your fingers as if a piano laid before you, and he sits up like a good puppet.

Another month of clinic dury will be your punishment if those sloth from down below are lucid enough to do their jobs.Sadly, killing this idiot would have you suspended for three months.

“I am a doctor,” you tell him. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The tension on your strings marks even the few scales scattered on his body. He’s a real idiot if he continues to struggle.

Delicate movements of your fingers bring him forward, his back still strained, and tilt his snout at a forty-five-degree angle.

Your threads elongate as you move toward the clinic drawers. It loosens around you, careful at keeping you able to move freely. It’s one of the handier parts of your magic. You shake your hands and the threads detach. It sticks to the floor to keep the alligator as your puppet. You scrub your hands thoroughly before taking the nasal spray and filling with with distilled water.

You place on nitrite gloves. It’s always best when dealing with bodily substances such as mucus.

You place a pan underneath and jam the tube up his nostrils, hosing his sinuses with water. The tension of his binding keeps him still. (If you ignore his whining, then that’s your business. The brawl you heard from the waiting room drowned it all out anyway.) He starts breathing better when all the snot flushes to the pan.

“Finished,” you say with satisfaction. You grab your prescription pad and write one for a nasal spray. “I cleared the mucus buildup so you shouldn’t feel any more headaches. The spray will keep your nose clear for as long as you use it. Come back if you start to feel any discomfort. For the rashes just get cream.” You point at the pastel pink door. “The exit’s right there.”

The threads dissolve in the air. He rubs his wrist, trying to soothe the red marks that your strings bring. You hand him the signed prescription.

He doesn’t close the door on his way out.

The broom and dustpan are hidden in one of the taller cabinets—pastel-pink like everything else in the room.

(Well, not everything. The radio sitting on the corner of the counter gives a splash of red into the room.)

You sweep the tissues into the dustpan. Your control over your strings is much more proficient when living beings are involved. Inanimate objects whip around when you use your magic on them, and radios have been difficult to purchase recently. It’s more convenient to clean using your own hands.

“Tagatha,” you call out when the floor is clean. “You can bring in the next one in.”

Silence is your reply.

“Tagatha?”

Your ears quirk. The noises are faint—an occasional cough, silent weeping, and muted voices coming from the television. You peek out the door, eyeing the crowd formed around the corner of the hall where a pAstel-pInK television mounts on the wall.

The door closes with a faint click. You sink into the cushions of the office chair. Vox’s yapping bore you. It was probably some man-child debate about the new extermination date.

Although . . . those serialized dramas he produces, sadly, are interesting enough to be consumed. If asked for your honest opinion, you’d tell them that they were a hot pile of smelly garbage, but you like to leave it playing mindlessly in the background.

Your husband will throw the television out the window the first chance he’ll get.

Too bad he’s occupied.

You grab a piece of paper from the drawer. Management is forcing you to write a thousand-word formal apology. There are about three-hundred words left to write.

Getting caught dissecting the dead bodies from the morgue is a mistake that won’t be repeated. One dead body and suddenly those lazy fuckers have diligence weaved into their DNA.

The body was already dead, and it’s not every day a chance to poke around a chimera’s entrails appears.

The sinner would contribute to something meaningful at least. You’re stuck on clinic duty until you dot your last sentence, and not a moment before

The coffee’s cold now, but consumable.

You reach across the desk, feeling for the knob of the radio. You twist until you feel the clink. Music fills the air—the same twenty-five songs on a loop. You stare at the radio for a moment. Just . . . a small . . . single moment.

 . . . On your kitchen counter, that second cup of coffee should be cold by now. It’s always cold when you trudge through the door. It’s been cold and untouched for years.

Yet, without fail, that second cup you brew will always be waiting for its owner.

“Salutations!” You snap your head to the radio. “Good to be back on the air.”

Huh? The feather on your hair preens. You swipe the radio, your hold on it feather-light.  You turn the knob responsible for volume. The static noise stings your eardrums.

“—ile since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!”

Murmurs erupt outside your door. You blink and find yourself slamming it open. One foot after another, one step after the other, brings you closer to the television. Your shoulder throbs when you bump into someone, but you keep pushing until you see Vox and his tacky suit enlarged on the screen.

“What a dated voice!”

A reply comes from the radio. “Instead of a clout-chasin’ mediocre video podcast.”

Your feather rises higher. Laughter escapes your lips, it leaves a dry taste. That . . . that ṁ̵̭͔̲̙̦͎̝̜̲̠͙͇̂̏̃̐̂̓̊̂̕̕o̴̢̭̝̙̤̬͚͐̅͗̌̇̂̌̕ţ̷̛̝̂̿h̶̯̟̙̲̘̟̟͙͔̔̋͊̋̿̐͘͜͜ę̶̗̰͔̫͔̗̝̘̻̰̓̓̈̊͜r̵̨̂̏f̶͖̻̱̺͕̹̫̭̠̚u̸̬̺̯̟̦͖̅̂́́̌̚͝ć̴̖͙̰͈͕̉͌̈́́̈̔̀̉̍́͜͠ḳ̴̨̧̗̫̗͖̞̟̑͌̂̀̈́̀͆͒ę̷̛͓̼̟͍̆̆́͆̾͛͝r̵̹̮̤͓̗̹̈́̎̉͌̾͌̏͑̋̚͝.

“Doctor!” Tagatha screeches when she spots you. “I am so sorry. I’ll bring in the next one right away!”

Your eyes are trapped by the screen and your ears by the radio. “It’s alrig—”

Tagatha grabs the closest person to her and shoves you back into the clinic. The door slams shut just as everything goes dark and silent. (Well, it’s not completely dark, once your eyes adjust you can still see as if the lights were open. Another small perk to this body). Your radio, along with the power, stopped working.

“Oh my!” Your new patient bleats.

“We have generators,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure the power will come on in a minute.”

The cushions of the chair do little to ease your nerves. You pat your hair, trying to get it in control. A pile of feathers starts forming on the PASTEL-FUCKING PINK FLOORS. T̴̹̜͇̅̅͗͜H̶̰̗̄Ơ̶̡̡̻̗͖̋̎̓̓S̴̨͉̝̻͋̽̆́͆Ẹ̸̡̢͐͐͠ ̷̨͚̞̙̀͒̆̆͊Ŭ̵͕̲̪͇͓͐̚G̷̹̝̦̬͊͒Ḷ̶̭͓̎̏̈͘Y̶͇̟̍̉̚ ̷̟͎͕̞͂͑̂̇À̶͉̍̄̈̚S̸͖̖͕͑̏͛̈́S̶͚̤̼̯̀ ̶̻͆P̷̬̝̉Ä̵͕́͊̌S̸̢͍̆̓͝Ṫ̸͖̲̠̾̉͜͝E̷̺͆L̷͖̏͐́͝ ̶̛̟̽͝P̷̪̔͜I̴̹̥̹͖̮͒́̏͘N̸̳̙̼̾̆̿Ķ̶̟̞̜̉͊̓̂̚ ̵͈̬̃̿̄̈́̋F̵̨̨̼̫̘͘L̸̙̠͎̓̆́O̷̧̘͚͉̤̓O̷̤̟̱̼̤͋̍͐R̷̰̝̓͌̌Ș̵̲̝̈́ “Excuse me?” You will paint this room red with the blood of management.  You tap your foot again, and again, and again. “ . . .Doctor?”

Your neck snaps in her direction, eyes wide and staring.

“The . . . uh . . . the lights are back.”

You blink at your patient—huh, she’s a goat. “I apologize,” you say, smiling. “Please, tell me, what brings you here in this hellish afternoon.”

She holds up her bleeding arm. “It’s been like this since the extermination,” she explains. “Some angle got me. Luckily, I was able to run off before I was finished. I thought it would heal on its own like it usually does but it just hasn’t. It keeps bleeding.”

“Well, angel-induced injuries are my specialty,” you say. Tucked away to the side, a mirror hangs. You catch your reflection, and you blow your hair away from your vision, your red sclerae “This will cost you. Injuries caused by angels are . . . difficult to stitch, but not impossible—not for me at least.”

“Oh, yes.” She bleats one more “Dear God, where are my manners? I’m sorry can I ask for your name?”

Your smile widens. “Of course. I’m—"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow.

You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”

“Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?”

You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” He steps closer to take a peek. You watch him as his eyes gloss over your matches then your needle driver, then the alcohol lamp. His smile wobbles when he lands on the syringe.

You move the tray, dropping it down on the little cart by the examination chair.

“There’s no need to worry.” You beam at him. “I have the steadiest hands in this city.”

“Hmmmm,” he says. “You must be the other doctor then.”

“Not at all.” You point to your uniform, where the initial ‘NP’ is embroidered next to your name. “Just the nurse practitioner.”

He takes a closer look and reads your name. “Then I have no reason to fret. None at all! In my experience, doctors usually have their noses buried in their books. It’s the nurses that actually get the hands-on experience.” Alastor’s hands move when he talks. “What’s such a talented practitioner doing in such a dinged-up clinic?”

“Management caught me in the morgue dissecting the dead—It’s how I practice my stitches.”

“Really, now?”

You bark a laugh. “Not at all—I’m far too smart to get caught.”

“A witty sense of humor and a steady hand! I am in good hands, indeed.”

You take a seat on the rolling stool. “Yes, yes,” you say, waving your wrist. “You make fine compliments, Sir. I’ll be sure to be extra gentle.” You point towards the examination chair. “But, please hurry to the chair. You’re dripping blood on my floor.”

Alastor glances down. His eyebrows furrow as he glares at where the blood seeps from his sleeve . . . almost . . . almost as if he’s angry. “My apologies,” he says, allowing his blood to drip to the floor.

Alastor shrugs off his coat. It’s rare to see such a dark red—only a few choose such a color. You hum. Alastor is a well-dressed gentleman. Lovely. Those are your favorite kind. He drapes his coat over the spare chair, ignoring the coat racks the clinic provides.

You turn away and wheel yourself closer to one of the drawers on the counter. It takes two attempts until you find the stash of sterile gloves. “Take your seat when you’re ready,” you say. “I’ll take a look once you are.” You place the gloves on the little green cart, right next to your tray.

Alastor takes his seat, landing with an audible ‘humph’. He smiles at you, sleeves rolled and arm ready. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You hold your palm out. “May I?”

His smile wobbles—it’s a small change in expression that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking. “Of course.”

Along his forearm, a long and sharp cut wounds him. The sight of grime that covers the opened abrasions makes you inwardly cringe. You need to clean these as soon as possible. “Why was this not checked sooner?” You rest his hands on the armrest and use your foot to bring the cart closer. “This looks old, and not at all like a freshly deep cut. I prefer it when patients come to me with fresh wounds.”

You grab a bowl with distilled water and pour in a sterile solution. “I assumed it would heal on its own,” he tells you. “It was quite a surprise when it did not.”

“I need to clean this before you die of infection.” You dip his arm into the bowl. He remains silent, but you feel the tension of his muscles under your fingers. “Hopefully there will be no next time, but just in case, next time, please don’t wait a month.”

He laughs, and there, you faintly see it—a twitch in his eye. “It was only a week actually.”

You smile to yourself. “I’d prefer it if it was only a few hours.” You dry his arm with a soft towel, his arm still tensed underneath your touch. “There, much better.”  You release your hold to go to a shelf filled with different labeled vials and select the one you need. With the clean syringe, you draw the contents of the vial. “You’ll feel a bit of a pinch,” you say. You tap its side. “It’s morphine— wouldn’t want you screaming and writhing”

You study his face for a second. There’s just that same dismissively polite smile.

“You can look away if you wish,” you tell him. “It’s why we pin such . . . er . . .interesting decorations around. . . . May I?”

You feel it again when Alastor inches his arm closer. His muscles tense under your touch. It’s almost as if he wishes to pull away. You keep your hold feather-light, but firm.

“Are you a hunter by any chance?” you ask. You don’t prick him—not yet. Not when tension coils in your hold.

“You could describe it that way,” he says, chuckling like he’s told a humorous joke. (You don’t understand why.)

“I figured you were.”

Alastor slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You inject the morphine into his skin, right inside the soft pink tissue. Good. Alastor relaxes when he speaks, it seems. “I do love a good hunt,” he says. “How ever did you know.”

You release your hold and discard the syringe. “Your hands are rough,” you tell him. “And hunters always have this silly notion that injuries magically heal given enough time—along with farmers, actually. Although, farmers are usually much more deluded.”

He flashes that same polite smile. “I'm guessing you’re not a hunter then?”

“How ever did you know?”

You watch his eyes flicker to your palms as you re-arrange the needles. “Delicate hands.”

You flash the same polite smile right back at him. You take a match, and light the alcohol lamp.

Soap spreads all over your palms and up your arm as you scrub your hands. You slip your hands into the sterilized gloves, careful not to contaminate the surface. “I’ll begin now.”

Alastor hums in reply.

You take a scapple and pass it over the flame. You poke him, lightly, but he doesn’t react. Satisfied, you cut back fibrous tissue underneath the skin. You replace the scapple with a needle driver. There was a quiet click when you pinch the tiny curved needle. You pass it over the flame as well. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me how many stars are on that wall over there?

Alastor turns to look at you, but you block his eyes with your palm, shielding him from your stiches.

“The wall isn’t over here.”

“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a silly needle.”

“I’m sure you are,” you say. “However, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. The last three people who said that took one look and started squirming. One even fainted. It makes your life miserable, and my job harder.

He counts.

“Out loud please.”

He does as he’s told, rather reluctantly.

Hands steady and determination set, you pierce the soft pink tissue with your needle The tissue nearest to the surface is always delicate. You’re certain not to catch any fat in your suture, for fat dies, and a loose stitch is useless. “Well, isn’t this fun!” he says. “I really feel nothing.”

Your concentration does not break. “I don’t remember there only being twenty-six stars. I’m positive there are more.”

“Why is someone as talented as you only a nurse practitioner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse,” you reply, tugging on the needle. “Well . . .we . . . we certainly could be paid more.”

“Why not become an actual doctor then?”

“My father couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t send me . . . and . . . hmm.” You smoothly pull the suture thread and begin the next stitch. “And I enjoy this.”

He looks down at you. “Is this all you’ll be satisfied with?”

You focus back on your stitching, hiding your glare. You bring your needle underneath the flesh, making sure to catch the soft tissue. You’re doing an uncommon stitch, but it would be a shame to leave a scar. “You sound familiar.”

You pause to look at him, His smile brightens, and it actually looks like a genuine elated smile. “Why, I’m a radio broadcaster. You might have heard me there.”

“Oh yes,” you hum, turning back to your stitching. “Alastor . . . I remember now. The ladies and I listen to your broadcast as we do our crafts.”

“Knitting?”

“I personally prefer embroidery,” you say. “I get to practice my stitching and make beautiful art.” You pull the thread and begin a new one, stitching his skin like they were shoe laces. “You’re quite the humorous gentleman, I must say, and quite a lovely taste in music. We enjoy your broadcast very much”

“Do you have any of your artworks here?” he asks you. “I would be eager to see them.”

“Maybe next time.” You tug the suture, and his laceration snaps to a close. You tie a knot and snip the end. “Unfortunately, I’ve finished your stitches.”

“Next time then.”

You discard your gloves and go back to the shelf with the vials. You fill up another syringe. You jam the needle into his skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare him a bit. “To prevent infection.”

He jerks away from you. “What happened to that gentle touch of yours?”

“It’s still a sharp object, Sir. They tend to hurt.” You smirk and carefully clean the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You take a bandage from your cart and begin wrapping it around his forearm, covering your sutures. “Don’t forget to drink your pills every 8 hours, with a meal in your stomach, preferably. Replace the dressing every three days. You can come back here or if you’re able to do so, you can change them yourself. Any by the good God, please, visit the nearest hospital should this incident repeat.”

Alastor slides off the examination chair. He grabs his coat as if you didn’t just stitch him close. You start packing when you notice him fixing his bow tie, and smoothing his hair. Huh . . .There’s blood on his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Like he’s used to having it there. Like it’s just something he’s learned to live with. “You were wrong by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part |Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Hello, welcome to the hell that's been plaguing my head. In case you didn't know Belphegor is the ruler of the sloth ring, and she seems to be in charge of medical-related stuff in Hell. I have the story mostly plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it down. If you have any questions, ask away

[idkwhatever580]

I threw it away

Masterlist<< I mostly write Natasha romanoff but if you have a request I’ll be happy to write Regina.

Pairings: Regina George x reader

Prompt: weight had never been a tricky thing for y/n. Until she started dating Regina.

Warnings: bad relationships with food/weight

A/N: idk I wanted to write something like this to show that an ED or a relationship with weight can change even when you’re older and not just at girlhood i guess? Just remember that you are so perfect and loved.

Y/n’s pov

I started dating Regina during the summer between our junior and senior year.

I used to be friends with Janis. That is until I found out what she did to Regina.

I don’t care if a girl is your mortal enemy. You don’t mess around with her biggest insecurities. Even if it’s what she flaunts the most.

Especially not weight. Those Kalteen bars were horrible of janis to do.

I slowly just got “busier” over time. And I eventually just stopped talking to Janis all together. I didn’t want to surround myself with that energy.

So after Regina got hit by that bus I started visiting her and trying to make it up to her.

It might not have happened if I just told her what they did.

But then again, we might not have started dating. So back to now.

I basically have been living at Regina’s place. I spend the night a lot, but if I go home then Gina is always picking me up when I can go.

My parents don’t care much. They say that I’m allowed to live my life. Thank goodness they’re laid back. Of course not as much as Mrs George but they believe that as long as I’m not getting drunk, high, or pregnant then I’m good.

I’m in Gina’s room and she gets up and says

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

I get up to go with her.

“Okay!”

She’s like the black cat and I’m like the golden retriever. But we work really well together.

She walks in and does her business and then after she washes her hands and all, she decides to head over to the scale.

I’ve never used it. But she uses it all the time.

She breaks me out of my thoughts when she thinks out loud

“Yes! Back down to my ideal 120 pounds” (about 54 kilograms?)

I frown. I’ve never heard her say her weight before. And I say

“Congrats baby! Was that from all the kalteen bars?”

She nods her head and says

“I finally worked all the weight off”

I smile and kiss her and say

“That’s great. Why don’t you go tell your mom?”

She shrugs and says

“Eh. It doesnt matter. I’m gonna go back to the room okay?”

I nod my head and say

“I’m gonna pee”

She doesn’t stay since I’m a bit pee shy still so when she leaves I quickly run to the scale and check my weight.

Definitely not Regina’s ideal weight.

Suddenly I feel this rush of guilt fall over me. I walk back to her bed and crawl in with her. As she scrolls through her phone, I get lost in my thoughts.

If Regina tells me I’m perfect the way I am then why would she lie? Obviously she wants to be a certain weight. And if it’s her ideal weight then she clearly wants me to be that way too. I need to lose more weight. Maybe I’ll start a diet. That’s good. I’ll start a diet and just won’t tell Gina until I hit her desired weight and then she’ll think I’m perfect for real.

“What’s on your mind?”

I snap out of it and shake my head

“Nothing! Just watching videos over your shoulder”

She squints at me and says

“Alright. You know if you need anything you can tell me right?”

I nod my head.

Then all of a sudden Mrs George comes into the room and says

“Hey girls! I just wanted to let you know that I made my world famous cookies and they’re cooling in the kitchen right now if you wanted to grab them while they’re warm.”

I smile and Regina gets up so I follow.

She grabs one and says

“Aren’t you gonna eat one?”

I shake my head and say

“I’m not hungry.”

She hums and says

“But you love my mom’s cookies. You always eat a few”

I just now realized how much I eat of those and get slightly flustered so I say

“I’m just not hungry right now”

She nods her head and eats her cookie.

They do smell heavenly. But I must stay strong.

We head back upstairs after Gina finishes her cookie and I go on my phone to look up good diet routines. I find a decent one to start with.

If I don’t like it then I’ll do another one.

So I text my mom and ask her if she can get a few things the next time she goes to the store and she agrees.

Then I turn around and yawn.

“Y/n are you sleepy?”

I nod my head and she says

“Take a nap baby. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

I smile and let my eyes flutter closed and Regina whispers into my ear

“My perfect girl”

I smile at her even though it’s fake. I don’t feel perfect anymore.

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

It’s been a few weeks on this diet and it’s hard. It’s hard for me to reject a bunch of the foods I love.

Thankfully Mrs George also makes some keto versions of her food every now and then so I can eat those.

I have a routine now. Every time I go to the bathroom I check my weight right after. I check my weight in the mornings and in the evenings. But only at Regina’s house since I am here all the time.

We’re watching tv on her bed and I say

“I gotta pee. I’ll be right back”

Gina nods and says

“Kk”

I do my business and wash my hands. But it isn’t until I go to where her scale is that I find it’s not there.

I look around the room and I don’t see it anywhere.

“Gina?”

I say loud enough for her to hear me.

“Yeah?”

Once I know I have her attention I say

“Where’s the scale?”

“Oh.. I threw it away”

After she says that I walk quickly to the room and say

“What?! What do you mean you threw it away?”

She shrugs as always and says

“I threw it away”

“Why would you do that? I need to see my weight.”

She gets up and comes to me and says

“I threw it away because I noticed that you’ve been doing this thing where you check your weight all the time.”

“Well you check yours all the time too!”

For some reason this is like a huge deal to me. I just want to be perfect for her. She grabs my hand and sits me down and says

“I know. I realized how bad that can be for my mental health. So I decided that I was going to lose the weight from those nasty kalteen bars and then start fresh. I, of course, have been having a healthy balance between my food intake. But it’s not a huge deal if I lose weight or gain weight. As long as I’m healthy.”

I look at her and say

“Oh. That’s nice.”

She nods her head and continues

“I noticed that once I stopped, you started. And I didn’t want that for you. You have never had to worry about your weight before because it was never a bad thing in your house. Most girls would call you lucky. And I don’t want you to start thinking bad about yourself now”

I frown and say

“But you said the ideal weight is 120?” (54)

She sighs and says

“I said that wrong. I wanted to get back to my baseline and start taking care of myself properly. The only reason I lost that weight in the first place was because I didn’t want to feel like Janis had that hold on my body anymore. If I was gonna gain weight it was going to be for myself. And because of myself. Not for anyone else and not because of anyone else.”

I nod my head in understanding and she puts one of her hands on my cheek and the other on my waist and says

“I’m sorry you ever felt less than perfect because of a stupid slip up I made. Your body is literally so beautiful.”

I doubt her until she says things that most people think are ugly

“From your beautiful stretch marks. Right down to the cellulite in your legs. It’s all beautiful. Perfect. And honestly. You’re so healthy. You work out. You’re strong. You have a good balance with food. Well, you did before you started whatever diet thing you have going on. And you are literally like a puzzle piece for me. The way we can cuddle perfectly. I love your soft tummy because I can nap on it and be so comfortable. I love your ass and tits because they make great handles for… sexy times…”

I giggle and she continues.

“I love how each and every scar and divot and bump and mark on your body tells a story. It makes you, you. And I would change that for the world. So I threw the scale away. If I’m starting new. Then you are too.”

I sigh as I get a fluttery feeling in my heart and stomach and I hug her. I finally say

“Thank you. Thank you so much”

She shakes her head and says

“No thank you. You’re the one who convinced me I’m perfect the way I am. And now it’s my turn to do the same.”

I pull away and she says

“Why don’t we go downstairs. I think my mom is making us a snack”

I smile and nod my head.

We head downstairs and Mrs George is making snickerdoodles and I smell the air and say

“It smells delicious!”

She smiles and says

“I made some keto ones for your diet y/n!”

She pulls out one singular cookie that was set apart from the others and I say

“Oh. No thanks. I’m not gonna diet anymore. My body is perfect the way it is.”

She smiles and nods her head affirming that and then hands each of us a cookie that is still warm and soft from the oven.

I hum when I take the first bite and Gina does it at the same time as me so we end up giggling from it.

This time. I eat two cookies and Gina does the same.

Then Gina asks

“Mom? What did you do with that other cookie?”

She turns around and says

“Oh! I threw it in the trash.”

Gina nods and turns to me. I smile at her and say

“Slay”

We love a good parallel.

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

A/N: I hope y’all liked it! It’s my first time writing Regina George. But I’m thinking of writing a prequel to this and doing how Janis and y/n had their fall out. And when y/n started being friends with Regina. Let me know what y’all think!

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish

[dannystheone]

Merc With The Mouth (Lee DP/ Ler Wolv)

HI GUYS OMG IT'S HERE!

So I watched Deadpool and Wolverine in theaters being a big-time Deadpool fan since 2016 and I fell into the trenches HARD

I was not expecting to fixate on this movie as hard as I have but I wanted to try my hand at it! Now let me be clear, this is no @lovemybluebully work, they really have their finger on the pulse when it comes to these fics, but nevertheless, I'm still excited to share this piece :)

I hope you guys enjoy this is a big thing to take on after having not written in a while so I hope it's well received! Thank you for everything

WARNINGS: SPOILERS! Cursing, gore, violence, general shenanigans, fourth wall breaks

Wolverine snaps on Deadpool in the Honda Odyssey after hours of being a mouthy handful. But how does he deal with the silence that follows?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours of driving in the dusty Honda Odyssey, not getting any closer to the Borderlands where they were needed, and a jabbering idiot in his ear made Logan's eyeball twitching damn near audible.

The dense corn fields on either side of the Odyssey whipped past as Wolverine's hands clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Deadpool started up another nonsense topic to yap on about after Wolverine told him to shut up for the millionth time. Apparently, no one's ever taught Wade to sit in a comfortable silence.

"So if they fix your world, what's the first thing you're gonna do? Rubbing alcohol shots with a wiper fluid chaser?" Wade quipped. The weight of Wade's words hit Logan's ear like a bullet. It was the first thing Wade had said that Logan paid any real attention to, but this was arguably the most paramount.

Logan took his foot off the gas and slammed into the brake, making the Honda's tires squeal and jolt to a jarring stop. The vehicle shuddered with the sudden movements. Deadpool looked to Wolverine as Wolverine faced him, malice glinting in his eye.

"What did you say?" Wolverine asked Deadpool with chilling calm.

After discovering the ridiculousness that was Wade's so-called 'educated wish', Logan found himself in an uncontrollable rant after the days' past events caught up with him all at once. Once he started his rant, he found he couldn't stop. Everything he wanted to say to Wade that day poured out of him in a stream of hatred. Deadpool stared at him unnervingly with no comment while he raged.

"-Couldn't even save a relationship with a goddamn stripper! And motherfucker I wish I could say you die alone, but it's one of GOD'S best jokes that you can't die! Except that's on all of us!" Wolverine growled, his heart thundering in his chest after he ended his explosive tirade. He looked to Wade expectantly.

"Oh, what? You got nothin' to say, Mouth?" Wolverine spat.

Deadpool swallowed silently, being taken back to the photo that he had shown to Wolverine that had his whole world inside of it. His whole world, in one tiny polaroid. And even though it was that small, he still couldn't save it.

He felt his resolve slowly crumble as Wolverine's words started to sink in. He couldn't save Vanessa in his timeline, and when he brought her back to life she still left him. What if he failed again like he did last time, on an interdimensional scale, with not even a cream cheese spreader in hand to try to defend his loved ones? His whole world, his whole everything, lost? He couldn't defend them from an entire timeline collapsing. Maybe Logan was right-

Wolverine snapped his fingers in Deadpool's face to snap him back to reality.

"Hey, asshole. I'm talking to you. What have you got to say? You've had some idiotic little quip to respond to everything I've said to you today, and now you clam up?" Wolverine demanded.

Deadpool swallowed again and opened his mouth to speak, but he was truly lost. He was really at a loss for words. He didn't think this would ever happen to him, but he couldn't even begin to think how he could respond. Logan got him this time.

Unfortunately for Wade, this pissed Logan off worse than hearing about this 'educated wish' bullshit. Wolverine didn't want to admit that most of what he said was deflection, and he was frustrated and took it out on Deadpool. The more Deadpool was silent about his explosion, the more Wolverine would have to think and actually reflect on what he said to him. Wolverine wanted to fight, to argue now, to get this aggression out. Wolverine shifted in his seat to better face Deadpool and pointed a gloved finger in his face.

"If you think, that this stupid little game of yours with not fucking talking is gonna make me regret a SINGLE thing I said to you in any way, you're sorely fucking mistaken. We're not moving this car until you open your goddamn mouth." Wolverine snarled. Deadpool snuck a glance at the camera for this gratuitous quote from Wolverine but kept his mouth shut.

Deadpool decided to see if he could call his bluff because he was still at a loss for words. What was the point of any of this if everything would be destroyed, leaving him in the dark like his life before his family?

Wolverine growled and unsheathed his adamantium claws, and shoved them in Deadpool's ribs. The Honda Odyssey jostled with the violent movement. Blood began to seep from the wound and crawl down Deadpool's side. The red bled into the shade of Deadpool's suit. Yet, not a peep left Wade's mouth; He stared nonchalantly at the dashboard ahead of him. Nothing Deadpool couldn't handle of course. He's had worse from Vanessa in terms of penetration.

"Why is it NOW that you finally shut up? I said speak, bastard!" Despite the bliss that was Deadpool not speaking, Wolverine couldn't stand the thought of being remorseful of his words, especially in the direction of Wade Wilson. He should be able to say whatever he wanted and not feel guilt twining in his chest like barbed wire.

With an irritated sigh, Wolverine went to take his claws out of Wade's ribs. He jerked his elbow back to take his claws out, but his claws were caught on something. Grunting, Wolverine drew his elbow back more sharply on the next try, but Deadpool's body swayed with him. Now, if Deadpool were on speaking terms, he would allude to Wolverine's inability to pull out. However, he wasn't feeling funny right now.

Wolverine snarled in annoyance and grabbed Deadpool's ribs with his free hand to brace himself and wrench his claws out. Wolverine's fingers pressed into Deadpool's ribs, causing a jolt to pass through the merc. Deadpool snorted, a small sound coming out of his mouth. He slapped Wolverine's hand off his ribs, but Wolverine heard that small exchange.

"What was that? Something to say, Bub?" Wolverine tested. Deadpool stayed silent. Anger flared up in Wolverine as he clenched his fist. He shot forward and gripped his ribs with more force to seize his claws out. Deadpool jolted as he yelped and shrunk away from Wolverine's hands.

"GAH! Hey, no touching, Penn State. I don't have my rape whistle on me today." Deadpool shoved Wolverine's hand off his ribs again, but Wolverine figured this was the only way to get him talking again. Wolverine took his hand and gave Deadpool an intentional squish in his side just below his sunk claws, causing Deadpool to squeak.

"You're gonna talk, asshole. We're not moving until you show me what you thought about what I said." Wolverine needed to know how Deadpool felt about what he said so Deadpool didn't power down on him when it came to saving the world later. He needed to know that he didn't actually take those hurtful words to heart. Deadpool narrowed his eyes at Wolverine and instead tried to yank his claws out of his ribs.

"What is this, a podcast? We already hosted one to promote the movie, where you said absolutely nothing- might I add- and now you care about my opinion? Too little, too late, Fresh and Fit. You don't get my opinion, you just get to drive." Deadpool faced forward again, but Wolverine wasn't having it.

"Alright that's it you piece of arrogant shit-" Well, this was one way to get his aggression out. Wolverine took the claws that were embedded in Deadpool's ribs and used the leverage to drag Deadpool closer to him. Wolverine took his free hand and started scribbling his gloved hand on Deadpool's stomach. Wade squealed and started pushing against him immediately.

"Mahaha! Nohoho no no- wahahait! Thihihis ihihihisn't hohohow I imahahagined it!! Ahahat leheheast rehehead mhyhy AO3 fihihihirst!" Deadpool started giggling and kicking his legs, trying to curl away from Wolverine's offensive hand. Wolverine kept a gruff expression, not knowing all these inane references he liked to use. Logan scribbled his fingers into Wade's side, making the merc squeal.

"Why do you always jabber on about everything I DON'T want you to talk about. All you have to do is one simple fucking thing and you can't even do that." Wolverine grumbled. He didn't want to sit here tickling Deadpool all day, especially when they were on a world-ending time crunch, but he needed a non-sulking competent partner.

"I cahahan't! I'm tohohoo commihihitted to the bihihihit!" Deadpool shook his head as Wolverine continued, his fingers squishing into Wade's skin as he kept a firm grip on him via his claws. Logan had to admit, he couldn't remember the last time he actively tickled someone. Maybe some antics back at the academy, but that was decades ago. Hopefully, he hasn't lost his touch, however, Wolverine wouldn't be surprised if Deadpool had a thing for this kind of stuff.

"You gonna talk now? We've got no time for games." Wolverine asked. Deadpool threw up his hands and gestured to Wolverine squishing his side repeatedly while still laughing, a wordless show.

"Juhuhust stohohohop ahahalready! Thehehese ahaharen't lihihike my heheadcannons ohohf yohou 'ler'ing' ahahat ahahahall!" Deadpool shouted. Wolverine figured maybe a different spot was in order. He went lower on Deadpool's side nearing the top of his hip, and Deadpool's laughter grew louder with the motion.

"Wahahait wait wahait! I neheheed a pahahassword behehefore yohohou goho behehelow the behehelt! Thehe mohohovie is R-rahated but stihihill!" Deadpool kicked the legroom he had in front of him as Wolverine started kneading his hip with his thumb. He always had to be theatrical, no matter what.

"Why don't you just stop wasting our time and say what I want you to say. You said your world is at stake, isn't it? And you're taking up time being an ass." Wolverine gruffed. Logan's four fingers were pressed against Wade's back as his thumb pushed and pressed into the hollow of his hip, which was surprisingly easy to find through his suit. Wolverine drug Deadpool closer with his claws every time he tried to escape.

"I dohohon't knohohow whahat you wahahant mehehe to sahahay! Thihihis ihihihisn't in the scrihihipt!" Despite this being a dream come true for Wade, he did agree that they were wasting time here. He didn't know what it was Wolverine expected him to do though. He wanted feedback for exploding on him like that? He was unclear about Wolverine's goals if he didn't say them aloud.

"Stop talking and just fucking speak! Quit wasting your breath on fucking nonsense!" Wolverine demanded. He moved his hand to Deadpool's waistline above his belt and started vibrating his fingers into the skin. Deadpool snuck a suggestive look into the camera before bursting out in laughter again.

"Yohohou knohohow fohohor beheheing mahahad yohohou're dohohoing behehetter thahahan my rohohohose tohohoy!" Deadpool shouted, his hands trying to push Wolverine's hand down below his belt line while Wolverine kept up his vibrating motion. Wolverine grimaced in disgust and shoved his hand as far away from his belt as possible, which he found was lodged in Deadpool's armpit. He began scratching into the space.

"Fine, then we'll just be here all day, wasting our time, when an entire timeline is collapsing because you don't want to take two seconds to say one fucking sentence." Even Wolverine didn't know what he wanted that sentence to be. He was starting to think even if he did hear what he thought he wanted to hear, it wouldn't be enough to calm his eternal war.

"I cahahan't dohoho thahahat! I cahahan't ihihimprohovise whehen I'm beheheing tihihickled!" Deadpool countered. Being giggly didn't give Deadpool the best coordination or strength for that matter, so trying to get Wolverine's hand out of his armpit was a herculean feat.

"Whyhyhy hahahahasn't Shahawn yehehelled 'CUT' yehehehet?! Thihihis ihihihis rihihidiculous!" Even Deadpool had his limits, and he was coming up on it. Some of his fantasies were much better on paper rather than practice. Deadpool decided to try and get out of this in a way that wasn't physical. Wade swallowed the remainder of his laughs and pointed out the windshield.

"Oh my God! The Bachelorette! The TVA sent Jenn Tran to the Void?! What is she doing here?!" Deadpool put on his best convincing voice as he pointed behind Wolverine. Wolverine followed his pointed hand before inwardly cursing himself. Deadpool took his leg and shot out at Logan's jaw, kicking the mutant in the face. The force knocked Wolverine's claws out of his ribs (finally) and sent Logan into the door of the Odyssey. The Honda wobbled with the movement, Logan looking temporarily dazed.

"Finally, now you'll- Oh God." Deadpool started, but Wolverine recovered earlier than he'd thought. Wolverine held Deadpool's leg in his grip with his leg draped over the center console, a grin crafted of pure malice on Wolverine's face. Deadpool looked at the camera with a nervous expression.

"Chat, on a scale of 1 to 10, how cooked am I?" Deadpool asked before nearly screaming.

Wolverine had plunged his fingers into Deadpool's thigh and kneecap, squishing and prodding the sensitive skin on top and inside his thigh. Deadpool belly laughed when he was just giggling before, unable to truly form words now. Wolverine snorted with a frown and shook his head at the ridiculous display as he continued scribbling and scratching over Wade's thigh.

"NOHOHO! Thihihihis ihihihisn't hohohohow yohohou treheheat Mahaharvel Jehehehesus!" Deadpool laughed hysterically, his leg kicking as the ticklish electricity zapped up and down his thigh.

"Talk and I'll let go. It's really that simple, you're doing this to yourself, Bub." Despite the huge threat the timeline was facing, Wolverine was starting to brighten with this treatment of Deadpool. He didn't think it would get him this bad, and after being an insufferable prick all day, he was starting to gladden at the fact that he could get him back in some way.

"Ihihihif I hahahad it myhyhyhy wahahay, yohohou'd behehe tihihihickling ahaha dihihihifferent bohohohody pahahart!" Deadpool let out. Even when he was getting tickled to death, he had to express his quips. Not being able to be a smartass was the REAL torture.

So they were there for a minute, going back and forth between each other with Deadpool being effortlessly funny and Wolverine muttering in reply. It would be listed out here for you but the author is running out of dialogue and doesn't want to admit it.

"Okahahahay seheheheriously! Ihihihif yohohou dohohon't stohohop I'm sehehetting Dogpohohool on yohohou!" Deadpool shouted, his leg kicking and shaking from its repeated abuse from Wolverine.

"You ready to talk yet? We go any more and you're gonna hurt yourself." Wolverine eventually asked. Deadpool simply nodded, too overcome with laughter, and Wolverine let him go. Deadpool held his thudding heart while he caught his breath, glad that his mask shielded the view of his red cheeks.

"Ha... ah... and I thought Colossus was mean. He at least asks if I'm comfortable and establishes a safeword first. You're just... vicious. I don't even think Blake has explored my body like that." Deadpool took his leg off of Wolverine's lap and slouched in his seat.

"So. What do you have to say?" Wolverine asked. Deadpool's heart calmed as he opened his mouth.

"Well... truthfully... I mean if we had the time and the budget for a segment that lengthy we could have used it for scenes you'd have to open your incognito tab for-" Wolverine shot his hand out at Deadpool but didn't actually touch him, and Deadpool jumped and yelled in surprise.

"What do you have to say about what I said, smartass? No fucking games." Wolverine said with icy calm. Deadpool exhaled loudly and dropped his head back into his seat, looking up at the ceiling of the Odyssey.

"I think you're wrong. I can save my family, my universe, and my timeline because I've done it before. But not without your help. You're right, I did lie to you. I lied and I told you what you wanted to hear just so you could help me, and there's a reason why you're the anchor being and I'm not. I was willing to say anything to get you here, to help me. And I'm... I'm sorry. I am sorry. I shouldn't have done that." Deadpool looked over to Wolverine who was looking at him with a softened expression.

Wolverine took a moment before he slowly nodded.

"Okay. Come on. Let's save your fragile ass timeline and save your world, so you can stay far away from mine as possible." Wolverine said ultimately. Deadpool nodded, pumping his fists into the air.

"Yes! Ketchup and Mustard are back on the road! The fanservice is our savior once more. It's a blue moon when it doesn't work, and those odds only kick up when you're writing for Voltron." Wolverine started the car back up and began to amble down the road once more.

Only a few moments afterward did Deadpool start back up his antics after Wolverine started driving down the road in the Odyssey like nothing had happened earlier.

"Hey, Honey Badger. English or Spanish?" Deadpool asked. Wolverine narrowed his eyes at the question and shook his head.

"The hell are you asking me?" Wolverine asked. Deadpool cackled unexpectedly.

"HAH! I always knew underneath that rugged exterior was a fruit bowl on the inside. The kind of fruit bowl with a single bruised banana and a brown lime in it, with some garlic cloves at the bottom, but still a fruit bowl nevertheless. Oh, you make me happy." Deadpool went and leaned his head on Wolverine's shoulder until Wolverine shrugged him off.

Something about Deadpool's fruit bowl comment nagged at Wolverine. Something about the garlic cloves made him unexpectedly snort. Deadpool looked at him like the god that he was as a ghost of a smile traced Wolverine's lips.

"You really are the Merc with the Mouth huh? You never shut up." Wolverine commented. Deadpool reached over and gave a generous helping of pokes up and down Wolverine's side. Wolverine growled and slapped Deadpool's hand away.

"You touch me again and you lose that hand." Wolverine threatened.

"That's the game, and business is good. By the way, next time let's establish when we're going to do a tickle scene, okay? Danny tends to be insecure about the length of the tickling scenes in their works because they feel they write too much exposition." Deadpool looked into the camera and winked.

"Who the hell are you- you know what, fuck it." Wolverine shook his head once more and stared out onto the open road.

"Don't worry Danny, you're doing great sweetie. And thank all of you for your unending support. You just say the word and we'll get Steve Irwin hear singing his laughter like he's on The Greatest Showman again. We'll see you next time, here in the Borderlands." Deadpool blew a kiss into the camera and waved off the audience.

[runningfrom2am]

the wedding // LTPF

summary: the wedding of the year, i can see it now.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: capitol brat!reader, maybe slightly ooc coryo, idk i tried my best. she's a bridezilla for REAL and i wish i included more of that energy, protective!coryo, idk people are drinking alcohol? (its a wedding, so duh), also TW for Livia and r's dad just existing p much.

based on this ask and this ask!

series masterlist // playlist

Everything was perfect. Absolutely everything you had dreamt of your whole life when it came to your wedding. Coryo had told you money was no object, and therefore, you spared no expense. You had a strong theory that your father was being sent every last bill, since you knew neither of you had anything more than what the Plinth's were providing for school, but that was the farthest thing from your problem. It was the least your father could do.

The hardest part of the whole thing, even before deciding who would give you away without your father, was deciding on your maid of honour. You didn't have many good friends, or friends at all, outside of your new husband. At one point, you wondered if had things gone differently, would you have chosen Lucy Gray?

Clemensia Dovecote was a fine enough choice. "Let me just say," Her speech began, hitting the side of her overfilled wine glass with a fork. "I have called this wedding for years, and no one believed me." She shot a smile over to you at the head table. "For anyone who doesn't know me, I'm Clemensia. Y/N's Maid of Honour." She had just thrived on the title since you offered it to her which, while annoying, was good because she took her position very seriously. She was the perfect choice- she looked nice, presentable in a dress you had picked out, but the colour clashed with the yellow in the whites of her eyes and the few scales that were yet to fall off after the snake bite. She looked fine, but she also made you look better. "But like I said, I knew this would happen."

She was drunk, repeating things in a way that made you cringe internally but nevertheless, you had to watch. The lights spread across the large backyard of the Plinth's mansion lit up the night beautifully, bouncing off every white and red rose you had spread about. You were very grateful to them for allowing you to host the reception there. They had done a lot for you in the last year since you returned from Twelve.

Mrs. Plinth was very involved with planning the wedding- she loved the winter wedding and leaning into it as a theme. It worked out nicely because it gave her something to think about other than the death of her only child, and she was a tremendous help and support to you. You were truly grateful, but this day was hard on them without Sejanus there. She had mentioned on more than one occasion that Sejanus would have been the best man, and you only slightly doubted that. You wouldn't want it to be anyone else- but Coryo would have had different thoughts, you're sure.

"How much longer will this go on for?" Your now husband whispers in your ear, fake smile on his face as he also has to listen to Clem's rambling.

"I really don't know." You reply with the same fake smile, knowing that eyes were on you just as much as her.

"Some choice for a maid of honour." He chuckles.

You roll your eyes, a playful smile on your lips. "Oh, well, I would have gone with Arachne Crane but, you know..."

"Fair enough." He mumbles, sitting back in his seat. "Are you really the only woman in the Capitol who isn't insufferably annoying? You should have been your own maid of honour."

"Well it was her or Tigris, and Tigris is prettier than me so she wasn't really an option." You hum, grabbing his hand under the table as you keep your eyes focussed on Clemensia, not paying attention to a word she says.

Coryo laughs. "Tigris is not prettier than you."

"She's your cousin, your opinion is invalid." You shrug it off.

"Doesn't change the fact that I'm right." He argues, squeezing your hand.

You don't reply, and you let his hand go to clap once Clem is finally finished. You had already eaten, so now it was supposed to be the "fun part", as Clemensia so aptly put it in her speech. You found it rude, yes, but it wasn't a big deal and after tonight you wouldn't have to see her again for a while.

It was brisk out, being a winter wedding you should have expected that, but you still had another dress to change into so you excuse yourself from the table, kissing your husband goodbye as he gets up as well.

You hadn't allowed him to see any of your dresses, and this would be your third one today alone. He loved every one, and did not expect to be disappointed by the next. Or the one after that.

"Hey, congrats, Coriolanus." He tears his gaze away from your retreating figure to whoever was talking to him.

"Thank you, Hilarius." He nods, smiling politely at him and reaching out to shake his hand.

"I saw this one coming miles away." His classmate laughs. "You remember that though, right?"

"When you said that if I wasn't going to go after her you would?" Coryo asks, eyebrow raised. "I do remember that. It makes me wonder who let you in..." It's meant as a joke as he makes a point of looking past him toward the security they have at the entrance.

He furrows his brow when his eyes catch on your father standing there, arguing with one of the security guards, his wife by his side.

"If you would excuse me..." He says, walking toward them before Hilarius could even respond.

"Ugh, I know. Why did you even invite her, Y/N/N?" Clemensia complains as Tigris helps you step out of your gown.

"Who?" You ask, unsure what she was even talking about.

"Livia." She states, yet another glass of red wine in her hand.

"Oh, I kind of had to. Connections and all that." You shrug. You weren't Livia's biggest fan, she had a "greater than thou" attitude that drove you up the wall, but who in this city didn't?

"Ah, yes. Of course." She hums. "She had a lot of audacity to show up in that dress though..."

Your head whips around to look at her. "What dress?"

"You haven't seen her?" She gasps. "I thought you saw her! It's this white-based floral, really questionable for someone else's wedding. Looks like a tablecloth." She accentuates the statement with a sip from her glass.

Your jaw ticks and you look toward the door, already seeing red.

"Hey, Y/N, it's okay." Tigris rests her hands on your shoulders, prompting you to look at her. "We'll tell security, they can escort her out if that's what you want."

You take a breath, forcing a smile on your face. "Let's not bother them. I'll just go chat with her." You smile, stepping out of the dress in bare feet, quickly grabbing Clemensia's overfilled wine glass from her hand on your way out the door.

"Y/N, Wait! Don't!" Tigris calls after you, well aware of your notorious temper by now, but you don't listen.

You're in your white slip when you storm back out to the reception area through the back patio, immediately and quickly scanning the crowd for the guest in question. You know you have seconds before Tigris likely tries to stop you, but you know Clemensia won't. Then, you see her.

You're seething already. That's practically a wedding dress on its own. You would kill her.

You stomp across the ground, tunnel vision locked on her as she raises her glass to her lips, laughing, and talking with other guests, completely careless to what she had done wrong. Well, she would learn today.

"Livia Cardew!" You grin, walking up to her. "I don't recall sending you an invitation, but here you are!"

Immediately, she's taking in your appearance, giggling at your lack of appropriate attire and shoes. "Y/N! Congratulations." She says, eyes finally locking with yours again.

"May I have a word?" You ask, already grabbing her arm and pulling her away.

"Is there a problem here?" Coriolanus asks, addressing only his security as your father stands there, red-faced with anger.

"Yeah, they've got no invite." He nods, showing Coryo the list in his hands which he quickly pretends to look over.

"Oh! Sorry, yes. There you are..." He says, pointing down at the bottom and your father visibly relaxes. "Under the title there that says 'not welcome under any circumstances'... Well then." He looks at your father now for the first time, tilting his head at him.

"No, this is my daughter's wedding and we will be let in!" He demands, raising his voice.

Coryo clicks his tongue, slightly shaking his head. "No, sir, I thought we were clear on this."

"No, you said the wedding. This, if I'm not mistaken, is the reception. I made my sacrifice. Now, I'm here."

"And only about two hours late." Coryo hums uninterestedly, looking down at his watch. "Father of the year."

Your father's fuming, and it's hard for Coryo to not laugh in his face. "I paid for everything here! You can't deny us entry!"

"I can." Coryo says. "Well, actually, my apologies. Mrs. Y/L/N, you are welcome to come in, if you'd like." He smiles at her, polite demeanour flicked back on like a light switch.

Your father quickly pulls her back behind him. "It's both of us or neither of us. Go ask our daughter." He states, gripping tightly on her arm.

"Oh, no. I won't be ruining our wedding." Coryo shakes his head, firm in his decision. "I'll tell Y/N you send your love, Ma'am. Have a good night."

"No! You will let us in right now or-" Your father's tantrum is interrupted by a commotion across the yard, drawing Coryo's attention. People gasp in shock, and then he sees you, about to absolutely lay into Livia Cardew, who now has red wine all over her face and the front of her dress.

"I must be going, now." Coryo tells them, turning back to the security guard and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt to be able to roll up his sleeves. "If you don't mind, call for peacekeepers to escort him from the property. Thank you."

He doesn't have time to hear your father's angry disagreement as he walks away.

"So," You drop her arm, turning to face her. "I'm not sure if you are aware, but this isn't your wedding." You spit, gesturing to her dress. "And listen, I get it! You're jealous. That's fine, but it's extremely tacky and honestly embarrassing for you to wear a white dress to a wedding that's not yours."

Livia's lips fall open in shock, looking down at her dress before she laughs. "Y/N, come on. It really isn't that serious, you realize that, right?"

You stare at her for a moment, weighing your options. You could smash the glass over her head like you wanted to, demand that she leave immediately, or, you could 'accidentally' spill the glass on her. Before you complete the thought, you're throwing the contents of Clemensia's glass at the front of her dress, smiling as it splatters up over her face and in her hair, dripping down the front of her expensive-looking gown.

"Oops."

Livia gasps, wiping the red substance from around her eyes and flicking it off. "I thought that for one day you could be normal! God, you are vile!" She's practically screaming now.

"This is entirely your fault, you do realize that, right?" You tilt your head at her, a slight laugh under your tone. "If you wanted my husband just say that."

"I- ugh!" She groans in frustration and anger, swiping her hands over the liquid on her chest and flicking it all at you, staining the perfectly white satin of your slip. You look down at it, and then back at her. You were about to go through the roof.

The amount of people watching in the immediate vicinity is the only thing keeping you from grabbing her hair and shoving her head into the dirt. You decide to scream instead.

It turns into more of a wail, pumping angry tears into fake sad ones. Coryo is there in a second. "Darling, what's happened?" He asks, horrified as he looks between the two of you, grabbing your shoulders.

"I-" You sniff, pointing to the girl in front of you. "I just came to offer her something to change into because that is out of dress code and I tripped and-" You hiccup as he's rubbing up and down your bare arms. "It was an accident, and then she... It was just an accident! Now my dress is ruined and, and-"

He turns his gaze to Livia who just looks pissed while you ramble on about having had a little too much to drink, that was all. He's sure that's not what happened, he knows his wife better than that, but this show was not for him. He looks her up and down, visibly disgusted by her choice of dress. It honestly looks better now.

"Coriolanus that's not-" She chuckles with the shock of the accusation, shaking her head as she pleads with him.

"It's time for you to go." He tells her, looking toward a member of security who's not busy with your father, quickly waving him over.

Livia looks at the approaching security man in shock. "I didn't do anything!"

"That dress and causing a scene over it is more than enough." He states, wrapping an arm around your waist and wiping your tears from your cheeks. "Let's get you some water, Darling. It's okay..."

"It's not!" You cry, gesturing to the few small drops of wine on the front of your dress. "It's ruined! She ruined everything!"

Just as she's about to be escorted out, you make eye contact with her, offering a smug smile. She scoffs, which earns her a grab on the arm and a more forceful expulsion from the reception.

"Y/N!" Tigris is rushing across the lawn toward you, careful not to stumble in her shoes and bridesmaids' dress. "What happened?" She asks, addressing her cousin now.

"She's okay, there was just an accident with a glass of wine. We're just going to take a few minutes. I'll help her change." He explains to her.

She nods, looking worriedly down at the small stains in your dress. "I should be able to get this out, alright?" She assures you, rubbing a clean spot of the fabric between her fingers to make sure.

"Okay, thank you." You sniff, leaning into your husband's side as he guides you back up to the house.

You get inside and upstairs to what has become your dressing room and secondary bedroom over the last year. As soon as he shuts the door behind you, you can't hold your laughter back anymore. You're practically doubled over with it, and immediately Coryo understands. He chuckles, shaking his head at you.

"What a show..." He grins fondly, pulling you into a hug which you happily return.

"Oh, you liked it?" You giggle, coming down from your laughing fit.

"It was wonderful." He agrees, kissing the top of your head. "For a moment I was worried about you."

"Aw, really?" You look up at him, jutting your lip out in a pout.

"Definitely." He hums, kissing you softly. "Now come on, let's get you changed, huh?"

"Please." You nod, kissing him again before pulling back to pull your next dress from the closet. "I was supposed to wear this underneath, but now I can't." You sigh, hanging the full dress on the door before pulling the wine-stained one over your head.

"Just that will do, I suppose." Coryo mumbles, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as you toss the slip onto the ground.

"Oh, you suppose, do you?" You chuckle, reaching up to pull the new dress from its hanger.

"Mhm." He nods, planting a kiss in the crook of your neck. "Makes my job easier later."

You laugh, blush spreading over your cheeks and flushing your chest while you unzip the back. You carefully balance as you step into the opening in the fabric, pulling it up around your waist.

"Don't rush, Darling. It will probably take you a while to recover before we can return to the party." He says, watching you adjust the skirt before you plan on zipping it up.

"Good point." You agree, but make no effort to stop until Coryo places his hand over yours.

"What should we do with all this time we have to kill, hm?" He's already leaning down to kiss over the back of your neck.

"I feel like you have an idea..." You mumble, tilting your head to adjust to his presence.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" He asks as he gently pushes the fabric back down to drop in a pool around your ankles.

"You may have mentioned it..." You turn under his palms as they land on your lower back, gently pulling you closer. "And I love you too. More than you could ever imagine, Coryo."

taglist: @totallynotkaibiased , @stelleduarte , @klplynn , @secretsicanthideanymore , @bejeweledreverie , @gloryekaterina , @andrewgarfieldsbitch , @queenofspades6 , @pepperonipastas , @ladybug0095 , @lunamothwrites , @sbrewer21 , @mus-tbe-a-weasley , @splxtscreen , @unclecrunkle , @karmaswitch , @coconut-dreamz , @nekee-lilac02 , @ooooglymoooogly , @riddlerloveb0t , @lovedbalances , @notyourwildestdream , @snowlandson-top , @too-lit-for-fanfic , @utopiakys , @deafeningballoonnacho , @roosterschanelslut , @chmpgneprblem , @cosmoetik , , @urvampgfsworld , @carolanns-world@nan-nie , @shakespearseclipse , @iovemoonyy , @notyoursweetheart-honey ,  @xyzstar , @eatpizzasass, @slytherinholland , @queenofshinigamis , @elodiebeau , @soulessjourney

[fangirl-writes]

Small Spaces

JJ Maybank x Reader; John B. Routledge x Routledge!Reader

Warning(s): claustrophobia, anxiety attack, swearing

Request: jj maybank dating jb’s twin sister and her joining in on their adventures but she has severe anxiety so just him being super sweet and loving to her?

Notes: This is totally based on another fic I read that I can't find rn but it's my spin on it so I hope you like.

Fuck this, you thought. Seriously, fuck this.

You were squeezing yourself through a small hole in a mausoleum that had "Redfield" written across the top, just to see what was inside.

For John B., of course, because he was your brother, and he needed to find this clue almost as much as he needed to be breathing.

But god damn it, this was all you needed.

Between the near visit from child services, the hurricane, the dead guy's boat, the guy's gun, getting shot at, and surely more to come, you were due for a panic attack.

Your feet hit the ground with a loud smack and you winced at the noise.

"Still alive?" John B. asked.

"Oh my god, shut up,"

"Yep, she's alive."

You rolled your eyes and took the flashlight that Kie was offering you.

You shined the light around the space, bigger than you were expecting, but the fact that your exit was so small and that it would be a struggle getting back to it was making the anxiety stir in your stomach.

"Y/N? You okay?" JJ asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you replied. "What exactly am I looking for?"

"You'll know it when you see it."

"Real helpful, JB," you mumbled, shining the flashlight around and trying to focus on finding whatever it was rather than the darkness and the walls that felt like they were going to close in on you.

You gasp when a flash of white catches your eye.

"Y/N? You okay?" JJ asked

"Oh my god," you whispered.

"Y/N?" JJ asked again. "I'm gonna need some word confirmation that you're okay."

"Yeah, I-I'm fine," you replied. "I think I found it."

"What? Really?" John B. said, peaking into the space you'd crawled into.

You pulled out a long white envelope from a small space in the crypt, the words "FedEx" and "Bird" written on it.

Thanks for including me, Dad, you thought before taking the envelope over to the space and handing it to John B.'s outstretched hand.

"That's not gold," Pope said, a little disappointed.

But John B. was looking at it like it was. "Holy shit."

"JJ, a little help?" you said, reaching a hand through the space.

"Yeah, yeah, I gotchu, babe," he replied, helping you out of the crypt.

"This is from our dad," John B. said, looking around at the group.

"Yeah," you said, trying to catch your breath. "To you."

"Code red. Code red." JJ warned, the smoke from his joint fluttering up into the air. "Square groupers! Square groupers!"

Your stomach drops as the five of you start moving, JJ's hands grabbing your arms rougher than he probably meant to.

"It's the guys who robbed your house," JJ said.

Fuck, you think. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You guys hide on the side of the mausoleum, turning off and tucking the lights under your shirts.

You can feel it start to bubble up, your breathing becoming unsteady.

"Hey, I see something!"

"Do you think it's them?" Kiara asked.

"Homie's got a gun," JJ said as he and John B. peaked around the corner.

"Screw this," Kie said, taking off. The others followed her, including you, who was on the verge of breaking down.

"Right here!" One of the men shouted.

JJ's hand was on your back the whole time, but it did nothing to calm you down.

You each scaled the fence with little trouble except for Pope, who got his pants stuck on the gate.

It was funny until you were in the van and that anxiety attack had caught up with you, the adrenaline fix going away.

Your hands shook. Your chest tightened. Tears began streaming down your cheeks.

You were starting to hyperventilate, and your head was spinning. Even though you knew you were safe in the Twinkie now, you couldn't help the dread that was washing over you, the fear for your life that coiled around you like a snake.

"Hey, hey, hey, Y/N," JJ said, quickly catching on to what was happening. "You're okay, you're okay."

He made you look at him and took a few deep breaths for you to copy, which you did over and over.

"Shit, get this joint out of here," JJ said, handing it off to Pope.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" he asked.

"Throw it out the window or something, get it outta here. It only makes her worse."

You'd tried that anecdote before, and, as he said, it really did only make the panic attack worse. Through trial and error, JJ and John B. found the only things that helped you through a panic attack were calming words, help getting your breathing back to normal, and hugs.

So, JJ did just that. He held you close and whispered in your ear, rocking you back and forth slowly.

John B. checked your state in the rearview, feeling bad that he'd brought you along at all, even if you had insisted. Then he looked at the envelope sitting next to him and knew that, somehow, it would be worth it.