#saying ''this kid is mean but he has the potential to be good :)

[cressidagrey]

Ok so. Please expect three different asks for three different chapters from me in explicit detail of howuvh emotionally unstable and gross I jam.

This one of for the newest chapter. Iust inform you that I have resorted to taking notes because I can't keep track of my own brain.u brain is basically scrambled eggs at this point. I will ad picture of my notes, just promise you won't think I'm an obsessed crazy person and block me forever.

1. Something from the previous chapter that struck strange to me was the use of "even Ferrari didn't remember" implying that's way more scandalous than your moder forgetting your birthday. I don't really get your thought process behind that one. I mean that's her mom. Her MOTHER.

2. Alex and Charlotte textassage making list is of potential suitors for Belle like it's pride and prejudice and they are at pemberly vetting out eligible bachelors with good prospects for her.

2.1. Fernando is a very good option. If Belle wasn't so madly in love with max I would actually be so on board with the Spanish lover trop. But the impending doom of daddy kink is killing the vibes. (Fernando seems like he would be more into fiery women anyways - insert kiss with a fist song.)

2.2. Lewis... Maybe. Yes. I think... I need more convincing. He has prospects yes but I think they are both way to quit. I think the need a little bit of chaos each.

2.3 casually saying no to max? That's just hilarious. I mean she hangs out with his dad. His father. With Jos. That has to count as something. Please girls see the truth.

2.4 Valterri Bottas mullet slander? Unacceptable. The man is a sex god in bikini. He is peak performance. He is Adonis in modern days.

3. 12 days and no birthday celebration from family. Listen if it were me I would set the house on fire. I am a spoiled rotten only child who plans her own gift list from 6months prior. I could never survive this.

4. Max - casually dropping actually 🤓☝ I got married in an interview - Verstappen. He will be the death of me. Put it on my tombstone. Dead by casual bomb dropping of fictional max Verstappen.

5. Christian - To whom? - Horner. (Who says to whom. Who keeps track of proper grammar when your number one driver and multi wolf champion says he got married on a random Saturday.) - what are you George Russle?

6. Helmt - corps - Marko. Speaks. He has motor skills. Great. Racist grandpa is here. I will accept .

7.I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT. I SAW SIGNS. I kept reading bits and thinking huh, quite pregnancy-esque. But I thought maybe not. Maybe I'm reading to much. But no. I was right. I knew it. (Also 12 weeks? Second trimester? Already has a heartbeat? My god. My god. My god. My god.)

7.1. Soon expect poorly made college of baby room.

8. MRS. VERSTAPPEN. KILL ME. THAT'S SO HOT. I NEED THAT. LET HER CHANGE HER INSTAGRAM TO IT.

9. I never kid about matrimony. — Nico H ( because I don't know how to spell his name.) I will tatto this on my forehead.

10. Married drivers news letter. It better also come with merch. I need to be added to thatvnews Letter.

11. Every one finding out slowly but surely. We are closing the hour of our need / death. Angel of death claim my soul peacefully. Also Fernando just coming out of the shado like a master ninja guru with the powers of prophecy and The Sight™. He speaks poetry and I love it.

12. Kimi and Oli are brainrot children. They are two minions. Hitting each other with a banana peel.

12.1. How are they keep guessing and they keep making worse ones? How can they keep getting more wrong? Orange cat energy.

13. George - at this point it's performance art- Russle. He is so scandalized. Clutching pearls. Turning nose. He has turned into a judgmental, angry, righteous southern bell.

14. Kevin has entered the chat. Kevin has made a bet. Kevin has won the bet?? In the same hour? Legend behavior.

15.No word for the process of Zio Fred finally finding out. He is solemnly reevaluating his career.

16. Personally I think it wasn't technically Fred's job to know Belle's birthday. I mean yes it's polite to know. But also he is a team principal. Just the team principal if there was one person allowed to forget it's him. In Ferrari, I think we need to blame the PR people more. Technically speaking it's their job to know these things. And remind people of that. But it's really nice that he feels regret and sadness. Zio Fred is the only one I will forgive. But I am biased towards him. He is my pookie.

17. And finally. It happened. Through an interview. And he panics. Forgets all PR and makes a mess. PATHETIC.

So finally I am done. Thank you for tolerating me. I will be sending things like this more now that video decided I need to take notes to keep track of things.

As always love you. And your work.

This might just be the most elite feedback I’ve ever received. I feel like I just read an annotated dissertation titled “Why White Horse Has Permanently Altered My Brain Chemistry,” and I LIVED for every second of it. I was laughing, clutching my chest, nodding violently, and deeply honored the entire way through. Let’s break this down like the chaos scholars we are:

Ferrari vs. Pascale — you’re right. Her mother matters more that Ferrari. BUT Ferrari isn't one singular person. Ferrari are dozen upon dozen of people. And not one of them remembered. Not a PR person, not one of the engineers, not one person from hospitality. They didn't remember.

Pemberley Core™ — That’s exactly the vibe. The Mrs. Bennets of Pemberley cough The (future) Mrs. Leclercs of Monaco.

2.1. Fernando — fire sign men, am I right? The tension would be UNHINGED. But yeah, daddy issues unlocked.

2.2. Lewis — two softies = emotional whisper fights and shared skincare routines.

2.3. "She hangs out with his dad" — I SNORTED. Thank you for that. Evidence dismissed, girls. You lose.

2.4. Valtteri — I’ll see myself out for that slander. The man is art. Peak mullet energy. Nordic god.

12 Days, No Birthday — listen. If it were me? The family group chat would be on FIRE. 🔥

4–5. Max casually soft-launching matrimony in a post-race debrief — Max Verstappen: PR nightmare, emotional menace. King.

Helmut having a line of dialogue — we were all shocked. Even Helmut. (He’s still buffering.)

YOU CALLED IT — You and your spidey senses were absolutely spot on. The hints were dropped like Hansel and Gretel breadcrumbs. The baby is real. And the drama is only just beginning. Prepare for baby gear collages at dawn.

Mrs. Verstappen — tattoo it on my soul. That’s all.

Nico Hülkenberg: King of Matrimonial Gravitas. Never kid about weddings. Never.

Newsletter & Merch — consider yourself subscribed. It comes with a gold-plated pen and passive-aggressive quotes from Nico.

The Reveal Slow Burn — it's like a thriller where every page is a tiny explosion. And Fernando? He never sleeps.He just waits.

12–12.1. Kimi and Oli — literal goblins. Orange cat chaos personified. Darwin Awards contenders.

George: Southern Belle Mode™ — the pearls have been CLUTCHED. The hand fan is fluttering. Someone fetch him a chaise lounge.

Kevin — has entered the chat, placed a bet, and won it before the dust settled. Absolute icon behavior.

15–16. Zio Fred — you know what? He is not guilty. PR definitely dropped the ball. Fred just wanted peace. Justice for Zio Pookie.

The Interview Reveal™ — the PR team watching from a distance with their souls leaving their bodies.

You’re brilliant. I welcome every future annotated ask you ever send with open arms and a strong cup of tea. Please neverstop yapping, theorizing, losing your mind, or threatening fictional men in commentaries. The way you love these stories? It gives me life. Love you right back. 💛

[deterioratingpisces]

The Vampire Armand, high school drama teacher from hell.

He always chooses plays that are wildly inappropriate for the age range of his students. "Today we begin rehearsals for A Streetcar Named Desire! What? It’s about family!"

He takes his work way too seriously and expects nothing short of perfection. A forgotten line or missed cue is treated as a personal betrayal.

He refuses to call it “the school play.” No, it’s always referred to as The Production. Like it’s a Broadway masterpiece, and he treats it as such.

His punishments for lateness or lackluster performances are absurdly theatrical. A student misses their mark? "Congratulations, you’re now the understudy for the curtain!"

For every performance, he overdresses like he’s about to win a Tony. Rather than show off high schoolers' work to a room full of parents who’d rather be anywhere else in the world.

Verbal abuse is a daily occurrence. Not modern, explicit insults, but long-winded, theatrical tirades that leave students more confused than hurt. “I can see the potential in you—it’s just buried beneath layers of mediocrity and despair!”

Don’t you EVER, under ANY circumstances, try to leave his rehearsal early. Your doctor’s appointment? Postponed. Your sister's in emergency surgery? Unimportant. A relative is on their deathbed? Armand will tell you, “The true death is the death of your commitment to art.” You’ll leave the rehearsal wondering if your life has any meaning outside of his production.

One time, a group of shunned students tried to start a revolution against him. They made the fatal mistake of trying to get him removed from his position. Rumor has it that, by the end of that semester, none of them were seen on campus again. Some say they transferred to other schools. Others claim they’ve been “reassigned” to a different universe, one where Armand reigns supreme.

Once, he made everyone meditate for an entire rehearsal. In complete silence. The only sound was the soft swish swish of Armand pacing in front of the group, whispering phrases like "Feel the despair of the character. Embody the void." It ended with him dramatically fainting in the center of the circle, causing everyone else to panic.

He tapes every performance and subjects the cast to endless replays to highlight their mistakes. He treats this like he’s coaching a national sports team. "Look at this moment. What’s that on your face? A smile? Was this a comedy? No. Try again."

If a parent tries to intervene in his unorthodox methods, he breaks them too. "Oh, you want this to be a fun experience for your child? Let me show you what happens when mediocrity is allowed to flourish." By the end, the parent is running errands for him alongside their kid.

You want to leave the production? Good luck. Once you're in, there is no turning back. You may think you’ve found a way out, but suddenly you have hooded figures following you at all times, dropping off weird newspaper cutout letters at your house, vandalizing your locker with big red letters that say “TRAITOR.” Eventually, you’ll come crawling back, begging for forgiveness.

His assistant is an eleven-year-old with a clipboard that he simply calls “Boy.” He frequently complains to him:
“Boy, where’s my iPad?”
“Boy, have you seen his delivery of the soliloquy? A piece of bread could convey more emotion.”
“Boy, what’s your opinion on arson?”
“Has anyone seen the boy? I need him to fetch something for me… yes, it’s my iPad.”

Sometimes, during breaks, they play Minecraft or Roblox together. He gets mad whenever the boy beats him at Dress to Impress, though. “There’s no way that shabby look beat my elegant ensemble!” Whenever he’s feeling extra petty, he even sends him to clean his office as punishment.

He makes a massive spectacle out of releasing the cast list: fog machines, backup music, extras in costumes, choreographed performances—an entire Olympian-level ceremony. "And now... THE LEAD! Drumroll, please!"

He regularly fights with other teachers for not prioritizing The Production. “Your physics test? How adorable. The Production is the only education they need.”

The props department hates to see him coming. He demands Broadway-level sets from students working with cardboard and acrylic paint. “What is this? A tree? I’ve seen more realistic trees in The Lorax.”

He forces other art teachers to produce props during their classes. Pottery class? Now they’re making urns for The Production.

If his stars are stuck in other classes, he silently enters the room and glares at the teacher until they release the student. “No, no, don’t interrupt your lecture on photosynthesis. The future of theater can wait.”

He’s got the headmaster under his spell, so don’t even think about complaining to them. You might have a heated argument about his dismissal of your class, but when you storm into the headmaster’s office, guess who's already there, sipping tea and laughing like they’re in on some inside joke? (Spoiler: They are.)

His biggest rival is the drama teacher at the neighboring school, Lestat de Lioncourt. They’ve been sworn enemies since preschool. Their rivalry began when they both applied for the lead role in their school play. Neither of them got the part and blamed the other for it.

He sends his 11-year-old assistant to sabotage Lestat in petty ways—keying his car, putting dark blonde dye in his silver shampoo, or mixing laxatives into his protein powder. Nothing is off-limit.

He does this especially as a stress relief whenever something goes wrong in The Production. If their lead actress breaks her leg, he’ll casually say, “Boy, I need you to go and see to it that Mr. Lioncourt’s car gets towed.”

He and Mr. Lioncourt always attend each other’s plays. Afterwards, they exchange viciously backhanded compliments: “Now this play really was something. You’ve got a way of making the audience think—mostly about leaving during the intermission.” “Your style of directing is so fresh—it's like you’ve never seen a play before.” “You must tell me where you get your costumes tailored. They were so captivating, I almost didn’t notice when half of your cast forgot their lines.”(They’d never admit it, but they are kind of best friends.)

When stressed, Armand retreats into the world of Just Dance. He’ll dash into his office, and before you know it, you’re hearing the unmistakable "Dannnceee" intro blast through the door. On days you hear "Rasputin" pumping from the cracks in the walls, run. Something's gone terribly, terribly wrong.

His idea of rewards for students is... baffling. A lock of his hair? A recitation of an original theatre piece in the school hallway? Or the ultimate honor: an invitation to witness his one-man show. "This, my dear pupil, is your reward: the privilege of experiencing true art."

One day, his students stumbled upon a recording of his one-man show. A surreal spectacle in which Armand, clad in a series of increasingly ridiculous wigs, argued with himself for three hours. The props? A lone chair, which he threw dramatically around, and a crumpled newspaper he swore was "crucial to the plot," but never actually read.

He has personalised, often insulting, nicknames for every student in the cast. If he’s feeling generous, you might get called “The Chosen One” or “The Future of Broadway.” If not... well, "The Prose Butcherer" might be on the docket. Or worse: "The Disappointment," which he says with a lingering stare.

Rehearsal speeches that drag on for hours. By the time he finishes, half the cast has nodded off, and the rest are wishing they had, too. It’s always the same: “The characters are in you, feel their pain... feel it!”

Production posters that look like they cost a fortune. Seriously, how does a high school drama department afford high-quality photo shoots? These posters are so professionally done, people are starting to ask if he’s siphoning funds from somewhere… somewhere.

Absurd warm-up rituals. Don’t even think about going on stage without going through Armand’s hour-long warm-up. This includes screaming into the void, contorting your body into poses inspired by ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, and chanting lines from Macbeth in an attempt to "invoke the spirits of tragedy."

Pre-show pep talks that are mostly threats with a thin layer of encouragement. “I’ve prepared you to the best of my abilities. You’re not just actors... you are vessels for my vision. Fail me, and you will never know peace.” (He says this in the dark, under a single flickering lightbulb, to REALLY set the mood.)

At some point, they get used to his weird antics and emotional tirades. So much so that they get seriously worried for him whenever he doesn’t flip out when something goes wrong. When a prop breaks or someone misses their cue, the cast watches in horrified silence, waiting for the explosion. But when it doesn’t come, they look at each other, unsure whether to feel relieved or more terrified.

They try to figure out what’s wrong with him and find a way to cheer him up. Was he banned from his favourite Minecraft server again? Are things not going well at home? Maybe he’s just overexerted himself? They try to be on their best behaviour, tiptoeing around him like nervous mice to make sure they’re not the ones to make him suddenly implode. Then, just as they’re about to lose hope, Armand looks up from his iPad, elated, and announces that they’ve once again made it to the regionals. The cast collectively exhales in relief, unsure if this moment of joy is worth the emotional rollercoaster that led them here.

Questionable bonding experiences. "To get a better feel of your characters' emotional depth," Armand leads the class on bizarre excursions—abandoned asylums, the red-light district, or a graveyard at midnight. If anyone dares question the appropriateness of this, he dramatically sighs and mutters, "Art is not safe."

Once, they crashed a stranger’s funeral. All in the name of "studying grief and despair." Imagine mourning your beloved grandmother, only to see a group of teenagers with notepads, hovering over the casket and asking intrusive questions like, "How does this make you feel? On a scale of 1 to 10, how raw is the emotion?"

They were, unsurprisingly, kicked out. One attendee threatened to call the police, but Armand was prepared. As soon as the word “police” left their lips, one of the students screamed “SCATTER!” and the entire group fled the scene in an unholy frenzy, leaving the wake with half as many guests as before. They still talk about it as "the performance of a lifetime."

Afterward, they reconvened at a shabby diner to process the experience. Milkshakes and waffles were consumed in abundance (paid for by Armand, naturally, as “rewards” for their "artistic dedication"). The group debated whether true grief could ever truly be captured without disturbing the family, concluding only that they had to do it again, but next time, at a wedding.

Never mind the rough start the theatre group might’ve had at the beginning of the semester. By the end, they are all trauma bonded and have an undeniable soft spot for Armand. He pretends that he’s not affected by this at all because that’s just theatre, but you can still sense it from him. When he’s dressed in all black during the last school assembly of the year and hides his eyes behind sunglasses, you just know that he cares just as much.

A while ago I made this post called Daniel Molloy, marriage councillor from hell, and I had so much fun writing it that I had to do a sequel.

[afayebray]

I'm sure there's already a post about this but I am kind of psyched because this goes back to my theory I've had for awhile. Only I thought Emile (though we didn't know his name at the time) would be the head, potentially.

So, let's break down what each symbol is, what it could mean, and who they could be. If you disagree on any of these or have any ideas that I missed, please let me know!! (I'm definitely going to need to do/hear a voice comparison on a couple of the ones that spoke.)

1. Stylized eye--potentially visions/seer, have also seen it in relation to succubi in my reverse search, but the one I think is most likely is surveillance -- having eyes everywhere.

One of my other main theories of this season is that since Tomoe has been heavily implied to be the Quantic verse's Elon, she purchased or created Zoo and has someone helping her with surveilling and data mining the hell out of what the kids are posting. Tracking location settings would also explain why they almost always tend to show up/be near Marinette *or* someone who has posted about/been wronged by her.

With how much he's been in the episode, the amount of trouble he's caused, etc. I wouldn't be surprised if this is Vincent.

2. Bricks--obstacles, perseverance, conformity/loss of self, strength, "building" (as a verb), durability, security.

3. Quill--writing, creating, narrative, communication, etc. André Bourgeois? Could also be Bob.

4. Wheel--(wheel of) fortune, fate, progress, cycle of life, guidance. Never mind, I think this one is likely Bob Roth. With his obsession with fortune, desire for constant progress, and he's a manager/agent, so...guidance, supposedly.

5. Scepter--leader, ruler, sovereign--prior to finding out that they actually do exist and it's not just some theory that I've had, I assumed this would likely be Emil based on what we were told in "Representation".

6. Diamond--ol' Gabe ⚰️I want to update this to say that I absolutely love the backhandedness of having him be the Diamond. Someone that they saw as common, working class (coal) put under pressure and polished up to be something of value to them.

7. Wheat--known to symbolize the cycle of life and death, sacrifice, fertility, growth and renewal. // considering what we know of Nathalie, this seems fitting for her father/for what he expects her role to be.

8. Gear--we know this one is machine. Could also be used/translate as technology potentially. I didn't pay close enough attention to the voice at the time, but I can't imagine this is not Tomoe.

9. Theater masks--this one is pretty self-explanatory...the two extremes of the human psyche, showing the differing sides of emotions--both the "foolishness" of humans and darker ones like fear and sadness, I think. This is probably related to Cerise.

10. Sword--authority/nobility, honor/loyalty, protection/defense, truth/justice/righteousness, battle of good v. evil-- this particular sword is very reminiscent of Excalibur, I'm assuming this is Emil (or both GdVs) if the scepter is not him.

11. Fire--passion, transformation, destruction and renewal/cleansing, knowledge/enlightenment, revolution.

12. Molecule? (fairly certain this one is a molecule though I'm not 100%)--if I am correct, I'm assuming this one was Colt Fathom since he also had a tech company like Tomoe, but he was likely a military contractor based on his description in "Representation", creating bombs, missiles, etc. Basically, the Justin Hammer of Miraculous. I wouldn't be surprised if he had the monopoly on space flight prior to his death and Tsurugi only took over (including Claudie's trip) after the fact.

We have twelve of these and twelve Zodiac Miraculous, I'm assuming when Tomoe planned to improve them, and they had their "new world order"/cult with Adrien and Kagami as "world icons/idols" idea these were meant to take the place of the 12 Zodiacs. Thoughts?

Also, do we think that Mom #2 (the one that's high up at Style Queen and was in "Gabriel Agreste") is one? Or maybe Cerise took over for her? Do we think that anyone we saw in NY, Shanghai, etc. is part of it?

[xxplastic-cubexx]

just read the new mutants issue where Charles chose to stay behind in space and my god the juxtaposition between Charles trusting Erik and Erik joining the hellfire club and wondering at his own trust worthiness. I wonder how much of Charles decision was him ultimately trying to avoid the fact that his first class had seemingly betrayed mutant kind and not be willing to face them and how much of it was Dani and Illyana's reaction to him having Karma mind control Illyana. the fact that Illyana was depending on him to ease her mind through limbo and in choosing to stay he forced karma to do it instead, probably fucking up their relationship in the process.

I love him, this is crazy, how much of this is him trying to runaway and how much is this him not trusting himself to fix things and how much is it just him trusting Erik?

i keep trying to put into words my exact thoughts about the sitch but there really is a lot for one issue aintit... oh charles you and your brain...

[astrolotte]

augh . this show

[trilliath]

Incredibly funny when two of your background ensemble cast OCs decide to let you know that they are somewhat surprisingly quite heterosexual, and in fact have staggeringly intense chemistry with one another - in what is an entirely non-toxic but slightly complicated pining-heavy mentor/mentee fem!dom H/C thing about to happen if you would just tilt the POV character's attention slightly to the left.

[readwritealldayallnight]

“S’it an animal?”

“Nope.”

“A character?”

“Mm, sort of.”

“What d’you mean sort of? Either is or isn’t.” Simon tries to rationalize with you from where he’s sat, arms stretched out wide along the back of the couch. He’s waiting for you to come out of the bedroom and show off the Halloween costume you apparently had to buy when you spotted it in a shop the other day.

Instead of sauntering out of the room and simply showing him the costume though, you’re making him guess what it could be. You’re always making him work for it, his missus. He can’t get enough of you.

“Nuh-uh,” you disagree with him. “Someone could dress as a sports player but not be a specific player. Could dress as a mermaid but not be the little mermaid, ya know?”

“Okay, I see watcha mean, lovie. Can I please just see you now?” Simon relents, all too eager to get a glimpse at your costume.

He’s never been a big fan of Halloween. Growing up, his front doorstep never had a pumpkin proudly displayed on it (not that any of the kids in the neighbourhood would have gone up to the door to trick or treat anyway, had there been one), and the handful of years he made an effort to take Tommy out their costumes consisted of last minute bedsheets thrown over their heads, pillow cases used to collect their loot.

He enlisted not long after high school graduation, and so there are no memories of college Halloween parties with mates and girls in scandalous costumes. But having seen the cheeky grin on your face as you scurried into the flat, refusing to let him peek at the costume lest he ‘ruin the surprise’ as you put it, hearing your sweet giggle as he swatted your bum and told you to get on with the show then, well, he could see Halloween growing on him.

“Any final guesses?” You say, peeking your head ever so slightly out the doorframe to catch a glimpse of your love where he sits patiently waiting for you, careful not to reveal any of your costume yet.

“Not a single one, pretty.” He answers without hesitation, ready for your reveal. In actuality, Simon’s mind has been absolutely swimming with ideas of what you might potentially walk out in. He’s aware that some women take this ‘holiday’ as an excuse to wear some more risqué clothing, and he finds the front of his pants growing tighter at the possibility of you walking out in something he’ll make sure never leaves the walls of your flat again.

“Well, Johnny thought it was pretty hilarious, if that helps at all.” You giggle, looking into the mirror one last time to make sure the costume looks right.

“Johnny??” Simon asks bewildered. “Love, don’t be textin’ that bloke so much, he’s got nothin’ but rubbish ideas in his-”

Simon loses his train of thought as he watches you step out into his line of sight, eyes tracing your figure from head to toe, and back up again.

“Is that-”

“I’m a Ghostbuster!” You squeal excitedly. “Isn’t it great, Si? I’m already so good at busting ghosts!”

[zhelin-thames]

After the Summoning Incident: Justice League Debrief

part 1, part 2

The Justice League meeting chamber was quiet. Too quiet.

The heroes sat around the massive conference table, some looking contemplative, others still processing the absolute chaos that had just unfolded. The Batkids had scattered to their usual perches, some smirking, others—like Damian—still scowling.

Batman, as usual, sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable.

Superman was the first to break the silence. “Well… that was unexpected.”

Wonder Woman nodded, arms crossed. “The boy was not at all what we prepared for. He is young, brash, and clearly still learning. And yet, he succeeded.”

“Barely,” Damian muttered under his breath.

Jason grinned. “I don’t know, Demon Brat, I think he did pretty damn well. Didn’t even die or anything.”

“He’s already half-dead,” Damian shot back.

“That’s semantics,” Jason said with a shrug.

Constantine, who had been pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, finally spoke up. “Right, so here’s what we learned, then: the summoning worked, but not the way we expected. We didn’t get the Ghost King. We got the heir to the Ghost King.”

Flash leaned forward, confused. “Okay, but why does that matter? He still fixed the problem.”

“Because,” Batman said, voice low, “we summoned him by name—meaning he’s significant enough that the magic acknowledged him, despite him not being the ruler of the Ghost Zone.”

Zatanna frowned. “That shouldn’t have happened unless his claim to the throne is strong. Which means…”

“He’s important,” Constantine finished grimly. “And probably more powerful than even he knows.”

There was a pause.

Superman, ever the optimist, offered, “Well, he did seem responsible, considering he handled the situation without any casualties.”

Aquaman, who had remained silent for most of the discussion, finally spoke. “That is all well and good, but what concerns me is his guardian.”

The League collectively tensed at the mention of Pariah Dark.

Hawkgirl leaned back in her chair, frowning. “Yeah. Not every day you meet a giant ghost warlord who decides world domination is off the table because he’s got a new kid to dote on.”

“The real question,” Green Lantern said, “is why Pariah Dark, of all beings, chose him as his son.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Batman said. “Pariah Dark isn’t just a ruler. He’s a conqueror. The fact that he’s abandoned his previous goals simply because he’s taken a liking to this ‘Danny’ suggests a level of attachment that is… dangerous.”

“I dunno,” Flash said, tapping his fingers against the table. “The guy seemed weirdly soft on the kid. Like, full-on ‘overprotective dad ready to murder anyone who sneezes at his son’ levels of doting.”

Jason snorted. “Can you blame him? The kid’s hilarious.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “That does not negate the potential threat.”

“Which leads to our next problem,” Constantine interrupted. He gestured vaguely toward the space where the summoning circle had been. “That was the third time he’s been summoned this week.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “Three times?”

Constantine nodded. “From what I could gather, idiot cultists all over the place have been trying to summon the ‘Ghost King’ for centuries. Problem is, it hasn’t worked in millennia—until now. Which means something’s changed.”

Green Arrow leaned forward. “And you think it’s because of him?”

Constantine sighed. “Has to be. That kid might not be the Ghost King, but he’s enough of a power in the Zone to be dragged here through the same ritual.”

Superman frowned. “So you’re saying if people keep summoning him…”

“…Eventually, someone’s going to do it with bad intentions,” Batman finished.

There was another heavy silence.

“I say we keep an eye on him,” Wonder Woman said. “Not as an enemy, but as a potential ally. He may not trust us now, but if he is being targeted, he’ll need protection.”

Jason chuckled. “Good luck with that. Kid was practically begging to be sent home before his chem test.”

Hawkgirl smirked. “I still can’t believe that was his biggest problem tonight.”

“Teenagers,” Flash said, shaking his head.

Batman didn’t react to the lighthearted remarks. Instead, he turned to Constantine. “Can we track future summonings?”

Constantine exhaled a long breath, rubbing his temple. “Not easily. The magic is old, and the Ghost Zone doesn’t follow the same rules as our realm. But…” He glanced at Zatanna. “With enough prep, we might be able to set up a countermeasure. Or at least a warning system.”

“We should also determine how much control he actually has,” Aquaman said. “If he is an heir, his powers may be growing. We should be aware of what he’s capable of.”

Jason grinned. “So what, we’re gonna test his power levels? Let me know how that goes when Pariah shows up ready to throw hands.”

Batman stood, effectively ending the conversation. “For now, we’ll observe from a distance. If he truly is being targeted, we may need to act sooner rather than later.”

“And if Pariah Dark takes offense to that?” Zatanna asked.

Batman’s expression darkened. “…Then we prepare for war.”

Meanwhile, Back in Amity Park…

Danny groaned as he flopped onto his bed, exhausted beyond belief. “I hate magic,” he mumbled into his pillow.

Jazz, standing in the doorway with crossed arms, raised an eyebrow. “Rough night?”

“The worst,” Danny groaned, turning onto his back. “I got summoned by the Justice League—AGAIN. And Pariah nearly destroyed them before I could talk him down.”

Jazz sighed. “That’s, what, the third time this week?”

“Yes!” Danny threw up his hands. “I swear, if one more idiot cult tries to yank me across dimensions, I’m going to scream.”

Jazz smirked. “And then what?”

Danny scowled. “…Then Pariah will probably destroy another dimension out of spite, because apparently, he thinks I’m too stressed for a ‘mortal child.’”

Jazz chuckled. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

Danny groaned again, grabbing his pillow and shoving it over his face. “I hate everything.”

Jazz patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Welcome to adulthood, little brother.”

Danny just let out a long, muffled scream into his pillow.

[watermelonshine]

BBF ELLIE PLS W SMUT? 🤗🤗

best friend!ellie x reader nsfw mdni

cw: possessive ellie, reader got out of the relationship so it's not cheating, fingering

Ellie and you are best friends, been so since middle school. She used to scare off the kids that tried to mess with you. She used to scare off the jocks that tried to hit on you. Now, she scares off anyone who tries to get in your pants at the club.

Somehow, regardless of her being so protective and possessive of you, you happened to get a boyfriend. He was...good you'd say, you didn't have any prior experiences to compare your relationship with. But you did assume it would be something more than you had expected. He was the first ever person who confessed to you and you being the hopeless romantic you are, you said yes. He treated you well, never tried to pry into your life, was somewhat respectful; he really shouldn't have called your old cat "almost expired", and never asked you to join his occult group meetings, thank goodness for that. And then there was the sex... He was sloppy, but not in the good way. Most of the time, it's just him rubbing on you with the poor attempt to playing with your clit. Thinking about it sent shivers down your spine, it was terrible. You guys have broken up a few days ago, he initiated, stating that he and his group tried to do some weird ass paranormal activity and that it would have an effect on their relationships or some bullshit and he can't risk your life or whatever. You needed to get out of the relationship anyways, he just gave a reason to do so albeit a dumb one. But jeez you spent too much time in that relationship.

Ellie didn't know that nerd from the other class would be a threat. She noticed him around you, staring at you with... something in his eyes, it's hard to say when he had huge glasses on. But she assumed he wouldn't have the guts to come and confess to you. Besides there were bigger threats surrounding you than him, she can't waste her time on that scrawny dude. But oh boy, was she proven wrong. She was almost about to break that boy's nose but then, she heard you say yes.

"Seriously? That guy? Come on now."

"I just want to give it a try, I've never done this before. Besides if anything goes wrong I have you, no?"

Her heart did a flip but she put that aside.

"He looks like he has tentacle porn on his hard drive!"

She wasn't wrong, you did find questionable stuff on his computer when you were looking for some photos. But you brushed that off, you weren't supposed to see it anyways, bringing it up would mean he'd know you were snooping around in his computer.

Ellie hated when he would put his hands around your waist and boast about how beautiful you are.

He didn't even know how to get you off, the fuck is he boasting about?

Ellie hated when you laid on her lap and told her how you didn't feel any sparks around him anymore, if you ever even had the spark with him. She hated that he was the one who was able to wake up next you and not her. She hated the fact he had the right to call you "girlfriend" and not her. She hated the fact that he had the chance to see you naked before her. She tried to keep those limp dicks away from you almost her entire life and somehow, you ended up with the worst of them all. So when you knocked on her door that day and said that you got dumped, she felt a weight off her shoulder- wait did you say he dumped you?

He?

Dumped you?

Over what?

"I spent months even years over him, thinking maybe I help him grow into his full potential. But all these years and he still wasn't even able to please me! What was I even thinking?"

Ellie wanted to ask you the same thing, what were you thinking dating him and not her? What were you expecting from dating someone she definitely didn't approve of? Why did you allow someone else who was not her to even live with you? To see you all day every day? To eat in the same table as you? To sleep in the bed as you? To have you under them?

Poor you never even had a proper orgasm before.

So when she hovered over you with her face few inches away from you, you whimpered at the proximity.

"Shush just let me make you feel like the goddess you are."

You were a gasping mess when she was thrusting her fingers into you. She peppered kisses all over you, your face, your neck, your tits. Gosh the sound you made when her lips brushed over your hardened nipples. You wrapped your hands around her, with your palms digging into her shoulder.

"E-ellie- t-too much-"

"You can take it, I know you can princess."

Fuck you've not felt this way in a long time, and you don't want it to end. You've been deprived for far too long. And it definitely seemed like Ellie really loved your fucked out face, with the way she kept grunting and speeding at every moan you let out. You weren't stupid to let go of the opportunity of allowing Ellie to fuck you stupid.

While you chased your orgasm, Ellie nuzzled her nose at the crook of your neck and peppered kisses all over it. Her fingers still moving to help you get over your high.

"Took you way too long, didn't it?"

Ellie's eyes went wide open.

note : I should really stop writing stuff at ungodly hours, I wrote this at the asscrack of dawn. also I'm back! ⊂⁠(⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・⁠)⁠)⁠⊃

[dimonds456-art]

CUPHEAD CROSSOVER!

@year2000electronics ask and ye shall receive

Ramblings under the cut!

The general idea is that the AU follows a similar story structure to Cuphead, but the lore is similar to Gravity Falls. There's just one key difference: everyone can see and interact with Bill. He just can't really interact with our world. Yet.

Bill is a projection, brought forth by Gideon Gleeful. He would allow Bill free presence, and in return, Bill basically made him famous, AND his Earthen right-hand. So he takes the place of King Dice.

From there, the history is almost the same as GF. Ford came here to investigate anomalies, found Gravity Falls, met Bill, and started building a portal. The possession came with a different cost this time, though; Ford's soul. Bill promised he'd be in good hands and that it's just kinda part of the gig, but because of this, Bill's ability to possess him never left.

Once Ford got the metal plate installed, Bill was limited, sure, but he still had control of the soul contract, meaning he could basically just. Force Ford to do shit. The main limiting factor here is that he has to know where Ford is and has to be able to see him. If he can't see him, he can't control him. Once Ford is in the multiverse, this is the main reason Bill can't get him. He doesn't know where Ford is.

The main story is just everyone in Gravity Falls making really really stupid mistakes. The only person who has not fallen for Bill's games is Stan, who- like Elder Kettle- tried to warn the twins about making bad deals, but ultimately this fell through when they got curious and visited Gideon's tent, where Bill was also observing.

In my interpretation of this AU, Pacifica takes the place of Ms Chalice. She's hurt and alone, and her dad made a deal with Cipher that resulted in. this. I like to think it was a Monkey's Paw type scenario, but my brain is an egg so I'll figure that one out later. Basically Pacifica wants her body back (ghost rules the same as the DLC), so she decides to help Dipper and Mabel under the belief that they can assist her once Bill is defeated.

However, this falls through. However the deal worked, it persists, and Pacifica starts to wonder if she'll always be a ghost. But that's where Ford comes in.

Ford, taking the place of Saltbaker (kinda? kinda.), offers to try and help her restore her physical form. Call in the twins and let's be off let's go. He says he needs to build a machine that could potentially reverse the effects permanently, and he needs parts. So that's what the twins are doing. The cookie is replaced with an astro-physical restorative remote, but a really, really weak one, and it requires a host to work, keeping the idea that one of them will always be a ghost until the machine is done.

The only problem with this plan is that Ford's contract with Bill is not up, and was not destroyed by Dipper and Mabel, and Bill can see him now. So. In short, that ain't Ford.

The parts the kids were gathering were for the portal.

Once they figure that out, we get a Baking the Wondertart equivalent, Bill is defeated, and in doing so, Ford is freed of the contract as well, meaning Bill can't mess with him anymore.

Not sure if Bill lives all the way to the end of this story, but there is a good chance unless I figure out how to kill him, seeing as Weirdmageddon probably doesn't happen here.

Gotta think on it more, but that's the basic idea. First draft. All of this is subject to change hdfsdfjh

[luludeluluramblings]

One thing I always wonder in Neglected! Reader scenarios that I haven’t seen anyone explore is Married/Single Mom! Reader. It’s drama and angst potential.

Like Reader having a boyfriend and getting pregnant while still living in the Wayne manor, and everyone just takes a little too long to figure out. Maybe they do find out early with the morning sickness and whatnot but the thought of Bruce looking at Reader like 6 months pregnant and being like “Wait a minute… 🤨” and Reader wasn’t even trying to hide it that much.

And same scenario except Reader moved out either while pregnant or got pregnant after, Batfam forgets all about them and when fate does bring them together (like the Bruce/Selina wedding concept) she is literally about to pop or has a whole baby with her. Cue Bruce (and later everyone else) losing his shit because omg??? 😧 that’s his first grandchild and he had no idea!!

… And then if the Reader is married in this scenario, makes it all the more complicated (she didn’t invite anyone to her wedding? what do you mean Alfred attended when we had no idea?). Everyone is straight up hostile towards her spouse (Damian, Bruce and Jason are insufferable) and safe to say he won’t be around for long. Single mom Reader though, the amount of emotional manipulation about kids needing a family and father figures and you should move back in so everyone can help with the baby… Yeah.

Platonic!Yandere!Batfam x SugarBaby!Reader x Older!Husband

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N:OOOOO, I have something I was working on that I was having fun with that you might like!

A/N:Neglected!Reader with Older!Husband. (It's husband because it's based of that meme Your daughter calls me daddy, too. And, Reader is Female, because we're making a baby in here.)

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You, sweet thing, do the typical thing and run off from home, once you turn the legal age. Checking in with Alfred on occasion, but just living your best life. Only, in typical fashion, all those years of neglect lead to severe daddy issues. And, a minor itty bitty attraction to older men.

You get lucky though because you manage to find a fine one that loves to spoil his baby girl with vacations and spa days. All the best for his baby. He loves taking you places and showing you a good time. So, it's no wonder he plans a Babymoon for you when you're expecting your first child. Anything for you.

Unfortunately, Daddy gets called into work right before the vacation. And, despite you insisting you stay, he makes you go and promises to join you as soon as possible.

(No, the man isn't cheating. He just gotta make the money for his baby.)

You have a good time, pregnant on the beach. Getting massages and spa treatments. Video calling your husband every time the baby kicks and flutters.

Unfortunetly, even though you haven't used the Wayne name since you've been married, some drug lords recognize you and decide to ransom you. Dragging you back to Gotham in your little sundress the just so hides your baby bump.

Gotham media runs with the story. Lost Wayne heiress held hostage. No one is ignoring that.

The bat's pull off a daring rescue, but you being stubborn, try to escape on your own. Fearing for your baby's life if they just happen to chose not to come. They never came when you were little, why would they come now.

You happen to injure yourself while escaping. But, manage to make it to an on scene ambulance while the Bats take care of the thugs. You happen to faint on the way to the hospital, leaving the doctor's discover you pregnancy.

Already the media is surrounding the hospital for the most drama filled story of the year. Thankfully, the paramedics have some compassion in hide the bump when rolling you into the ER.

With the media's attention, your husband flies into Gotham and makes it to the hospital just in time to ask the nurse where you are in front of Bruce.

Bruce, of course, bristles when a man his age burst in the hospital demanding to see you, but is using the wrong last name. The nurse saying only family can see you.

"That's my daughter," Bruce will say. Assuming this man is trying to claim you as his. But, he already did.

Making Bruce, the family, the nurses, the patients, and the reporter who managed to sneak in freeze when he says, "That's my wife."

Imagine the doctor that just finished checking on you and your baby walking in right after announcing that you were both okay. The look on Bruce's face when he realizes that this man, his age, not only married you, but had the audacity to put a baby in you.

Even better, the smug way your husband looks at Bruce when he brushes past him to follow the nurse to your room because husband beats father and you demanded to see him.

The drama that follows is going to be legendary.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I had this idea jotted down and fluffed it up just for this. I'm not sure you wanna know who I had in mind for Reader's husband. (Dude is from another franchise.) But, the thought of him interacting with Bruce as the guy who married Bruce's daughter and knocked her up, delights me in such a visceral way.

[the-maid-of-witchwood]

Gimme your favourite au ideas and who you'd throw into them (or like one au idea you like because you have like the neatest ideas)

Again, I’m gonna pull out a list of AUs I have previously written because I’m way too prepared for this.

Carrie AU 2.0

Has no relation to the first beyond being another play on Carrie. The whole thing takes place at the Starlight Theatre where Ruth ends up playing the lead in Cinderella’s Castle. Zoey, pissed and bitter about playing second fiddle to some dorky soprano, just decides to trash her opening night. Or the one where Zoey takes method acting as the Stepmother too far. (If you’ve seen CC, you’ll know what I’m hinting at). Ruth snaps and wipes out half of Hatchetfield before curtain call.

Also Lautity are here just flirting in the background the entire time. Like, they are the only survivors because they thought the other looked good in this hot all done up and left to make out.

Cinderella’s Castle

The one where Stephanie doesn’t have a good time. I’ve already spoken about it on here but it’s essentially the plot of CC but set in Hatchetfield, with some of the lore weaved in. Just for fun and angst. So you know she’s being dragged through that ringer.

Corpse Bride

Pete is Victor, Grace is Victoria, Steph is Emily. Need I say more?

Crossed Timelines

Having been killed by Max, Ruth and Richie wake up in some random location with Pete, Steph and Grace. But it’s not their Pete, Steph and Grace. It’s the ones from another universe where Max killed them three instead of Ruth and Richie. Basically everyone argues who had it worst and trauma bonds. Essentially reincarnation.

Dæmons (His Dark Materials)

Just shenanigans involving everyone having dæmons. That’s it. Mainly fluff and chaos.

Dirty Dudes Must Die

Written as a mock Nightmare Time episode. Essentially follows Steph discovering the guys at school being shitty to Grace, the school refusing to do anything, Grace getting kicked out of home for ‘sleeping around’ and subsequently her deciding to take revenge. Only things go horribly wrong and she ends up with four bodies on her hands. Fortunately the nerds who keep getting in the way are more than happy to help.

Hatchet Swung the Other Way

Gabe is the bully and everything changes. Not really. Essentially just a role swap: the cool kids are now the losers and vice versa, Gabe - Max, Grace - Steph, Steph - Pete, and so on and so forth. Potentially might take place at Abstinence Camp.

Heathers

When Richie said he hated Stephanie Lauter and wanted her dead, he didn’t mean it literally. Would be nice if Max knew that. Also it’s totally unfair that he has to put up with her annoying ghost instead of Max when it wasn’t even his fault she was stupid enough to drink drain cleaner in the first place—

Ride the Cyclone Tearjerker

Six teenagers die at Watcher World. However, Miss Holloway refuses to let Blinky torture all of them - so they reach a deal, she can bring one back to life. However, rather than pick herself, she leaves the decision to the teenagers. Aka, Ruth lets out her inner theatre kid for an hour and a bit; Steph and Richie attempt to kill each other a second time; Grace has a mental breakdown/crisis of faith in the corner; Pete is literally the only ‘normal’ one; and Max honestly doesn’t know why he’s here.

Sail Away to Canada

An alternative NPMD ending where they do actually sail away to Canada and get new identities. A lot more slice of life and silly scenarios of them trying to remain undercover… until Solomon drags them back to deal with the mess (Max’s ghost) they left behind. Only there’s one issue: Grace may or may not have lost the winning card of her chastity to Lautski and they might have to aggressively play Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide who’s taking the bullet.

Something Fun, Something Tasty

Another alternative NPMD ending where Steph’s sacrifice isn’t the death of what she cherishes most, but they’re humanity. Pete and Grace struggle to adapt to their new life as… whatever the heck they are now. Monsters? Pets? Vessels? Steph just feels incredibly guilty; she’s also kinda the new Miss Holloway.

Take a Walk in My Shoes

Steph and Grace wake up in each other’s bodies in what they think is just a random nightmare. With the help of Pete, they slowly uncover that there’s something a lot more sinister going on at Abstinence Camp. And maybe a certain deal that was stuck between Mayor Lauter and the Jerries over a black book…

The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals

Essentially TGWDLM but Pete is Paul. And he has the unfortunate fate of losing one girlfriend to the apocalypse, while trying to escape with the other. This definitely isn’t something that’ll be used against him in the final act…

[ragingbookdragon]

It comes as somewhat a surprise when the others realize that something has obviously happened between their resident Lieutenant and Private, as she’s quick to fall silent whenever he appears, and even more so make herself scare when she can when he’s around. It’s only the third time that Soap sees it that he says something, because if he doesn’t no one else will, and where’s the fun in that?

He watches her duck her head and leave the break room, Gaz, Soap, Price, and Ghost sitting alone at the breakfast table conversing over soggy cereal and cooling tea; Soap pushes a piece of bacon on his plate and asks, “Trouble in paradise, Lt?” the corner of his mouth arches with a slight grin when he hears the warning grunt come from Ghost.

“No.”

“Seems like it,” he retorts, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’d ya do? Tell her ta fuck off?”

“Drop it, MacTavish,” Ghost warns darkly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

This time, Gaz jumps in. “C’mon, Lt., it’s obvious that something’s wrong. I mean, she won’t even look at you, let alone say anything unless you speak first.”

“An’ she’s callin’ ‘im ‘sir.’” Soap adds, pointing at him. “Christ, Lt., ya musta done a number on ‘er. Poor Puffin. So sweet and kind. Broke ‘er heart ya did.”

Price can tell that Ghost is close to snapping at the both of them but gets to it before he does. “Soap, Gaz, go catalogue our inventory for the mission next week.”

“Aw, but we already d—” Soap falls silent when Price shoots him a look and quietly grumbles to himself as he grabs his plate and cup, Gaz following in suit.

It’s only until the two soldiers are alone that Price asks, “What did happen, Simon?”

Ghost lets out a long sigh and rolls his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Pretty much told ‘er to fuck off.”

Price watches quietly as Ghost begins rattling to himself—he’s never really had to ask the man to explain himself. All he’s gotta do is prompt him to do so and Ghost does the rest.

“I just got mad. She’s always ‘round and practically up my arse, and I got caught up and instead of ‘andlin’ it properly, I shoved my fucking foot in my mouth and scalped her.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I meant to be gentler but once I started, I couldn’t stop. It just kept comin’ out. And now she fuckin’ hates me.”

He pulls his hand down and looks up at Price with a scowl—the man is smiling at him, but it’s that stupid smile that means more than Ghost wants to admit it does.

“Quit that.”

“You care about her,” Price murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, though his admonish is still harsh. “And instead of telling her how you felt like a grown adult, you took the ten-year-old way out and decided to be a cunt to her.”

“I didn’t mean to be such a cunt.”

“But the fact of the matter is that you did, and you’ve screwed up team fluidity and cohesion.” He looks at him. “You know a team divided—”

“Can’t stand,” Ghost finishes with an even worse scowl. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He looks away. “I just don’t know how to even start tryin’ to fix it.”

“Well, apologizing might be a good start,” Price rumbles with a grin. “She’s a good kid, Simon. Her heart’s in the right place, even if it’s a bit much at times. Shows she cares. More than most do in our line of work. She’s a rare one.”

“I know,” he admits in a much, much softer tone. “I just don’t want her to lose that doin’ this.” His eyes meet Price’s, and they hold such a misery. “Look at us, Price,” he mutters, gesturing between them. “Middle age, unmarried, no kids, too fucked up for anything like that. She doesn’t…” he clenches his jaw. “She deserves a better path, a safer path, than this life. She deserves to go out and have a life where she comes home to a family.”

“That’s not your choice to make, son,” he replies gently, but there’s a firmness to it. “If this is what she wants to do, then she will. We can’t make her get out of service.”

Ghost growls low in his throat. “She has so much more potential than being cannon fodder. She could do somethin’ with her life. Somethin’ good. Somethin’ that won’t have her dying face down in the sand with a bullet wound in the back.”

Price simply watches him.

“But she’s so fuckin’ stupid. She wants to be here. She wants to spend whatever time she has dodgin’ bullets and wakin’ up every night in sweat ‘cause she can’t escape the dreams. No one wants to do this. We don’t want to do this. We do this because we have to. But her? She’s happy here.” He lowers his voice, it’s as if he’s in disbelief. “She’s happy here.” He looks at Price. “Why? Why is she so happy here?”

It's another long moment before Price speaks.

“You hear, son, but you don’t listen.” He moves the cup on the saucer. “She bounced around homes growing up, scraped by on the skin of her teeth. She has no one. But here, she has something. She has people who care for her, if nothing else, they won’t let her die alone.”

“Oh what? So, it’s found family bullshit?” Ghost spits. “If she dies, at least the team would mourn her?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done too?” he replies, and Ghost falls silent. “People like Gaz, Soap, and myself are different than you and she are, Simon. We have homes. We’ve had families that have loved us, that do love us. But you two? Simon, you’ve made a home where you’ve had to. Made a family out of people you’ve bled for, would gladly bleed for. You’ve made something that’s yours. You made a family for yourself. And so did she. She’s made us her family. The one she never had the privilege to call her own.”

Price lets out a quiet hum, and pats his thighs, standing up and pushing his chair in.

“Think on what I’ve said, son. And if nothing else, apologize and leave it at that. Put the ball in her court and let her make the next move.”

As he walks off, he hears, “And if she doesn’t want it?”

He tosses a knowing look over his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll take it.” His eyes twinkle as he adds, “Takes an awful strong woman to care about a man like you.”

[group-dynamic]

Love how the Pitt keeps dropping little hints about the interns / student doctors' sad, messed up relationships with their families.

Whitaker being asked "Do you have a best friend?" by the pregnant farm wife and answering like: um. . . I have three older brothers. . . Does that count? (like he doesn't know!!) and then he goes " Actually they kind of tortured me growing up, so :( " Like, I know he means in an older sibling way, but ooh, lonely, isolated and different from the rest of the family, first to go to college in a third generation farm family Whittaker my beloved!

Santos who it goes without saying had a shitty unstable or traumatizing upbringing that she references through her rage at the potential abuser, struggle to make genuine connections, and self awareness that she deflects and snarks as a form of self defense. Santos who hates herself and lashes out so badly when she screws up only to immediately walk her words back because she was too mean to Whittaker and didn't like that. Santos who needs reassurance more than anyone. Santos who bullies the other interns but also tries to defend Mohan and take care of Whittaker's finger like a good sibling in an abusive household.

Mel aka "I hate to see families torn apart" who has visceral reactions to shouting and when parents fight and genuinely worries and asks questions about whether fighting adults are going to break up like she thinks she's witnessing a divorce before her eyes. Mel who seems to be the sole caretaker of her sister as a result of. . .?!

Mohan who for most of the show is a mysterious, wonderful angel who keeps getting reprimanded by the ED father Robbie for being the doctor she wishes hospital bureaucracy would allow her be, and then it turns out her father died when she was young!!?? And she's an only child??? And she was clearly her father's favorite, (but not in this ED!) and while she's handled that loss by now, she goes around being the big sibling to all the less experienced staff despite not being a sibling herself, like now she's got so many!!

And Javadi whose parents BOTH work for that hospital who is so young and feels so deprived of appreciation and love and support who is a "pressure cooker" child who has found the kind of understanding and support and chill vibes she's wanted from "actual cool yet responsible" mom McKay and that little connection she has with Dana who's so attentive to her with her Utah metaphor and wishes her many Utah's like "I hope you experience many things in life" to a kid who has been set on such a narrow and difficult path she hasn't been able to look up to see the sky!!!

aaaahhhhhuuuggghhh!

[joelscruff]

imperfect for you (joel miller x f!reader)

masterlist | a/n written for @janaispunk's 1500 kisses challenge! i got joel + nose kisses with this lovely moodboard and actually managed to write something!!! believe it or not this started out as a drabble lmao. i hope you like it jana - sorry it's a bit late, and congrats again on your milestone 🤍 summary: you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby. warnings: age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles word count: 5.5k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics

"When's the last time you slept?"

He doesn't bother to grace you with an answer, hands clenched on the steering wheel as you barrel down the vacant stretch of highway back to Lincoln. He's been ignoring you for the past fifteen minutes now, eyes straight ahead, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. But he looks pale, almost sickly, the whites of his knuckles stark against the sudden greenish hue of his skin. The last thing you need is for him to pass out and for the two of you to crash into a damn ditch.

"I'm just saying," you continue with an exasperated sigh, "I could drive the rest of the way, we're almost there."

No reply. You roll your eyes and cross your arms indignantly in the passenger seat, returning his icy demeanor. He's in one of his moods again, the ones only Tess really knows how to handle, but you'd volunteered to try your hand at a supply run in her stead which means she's not here to mediate. You should've known some issue would arise, stubborn Joel inventing problems in typical Joel fashion.

"You could've tried to last at least one more hour pretending to like me," you mutter, loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't say anything.

Almost a year of working with them now, and you still don't understand him. You're not sure you ever will. Tess, she's much easier to understand, much more open to being understood. She'd seen your potential and taken you under her wing, brought you in to help, taught you everything you needed to know about smuggling. And Joel... well, he's a different story.

"You know, Tess thinks I have promise," you continue anyway, expression crumpling into a scowl, "She thinks I can do this. I don't get why you don't."

No answer.

"And don't say it's 'cause I'm a kid, because I'm not. I'm twenty three now, I'm past the point of being called a fucking kid. The shit I've seen in that QZ-" you cut yourself off, shaking your head, "I'm not a kid."

His lack of response is beginning to hurt deeper than you'd really like to admit. You glance over at him again; he's still staring straight ahead, still ignoring your presence. It makes unwanted tears prick in your eyes, nose stinging a little as you peer down at your lap and fold your hands together.

You'd been excited for this supply run, probably against your better judgement. You'd wanted to show him how much you know and understand, how hard you've been working, how you're up to the task. Hoped maybe he'd give you a smile - rare, but not impossible - and tell you that you did good, that he sees potential in you too.

You care what he thinks, almost more than what Tess thinks. And you know why, can sense it deep in the pit of your stomach and in the way your heart stutters when he looks at you, but you're clearly living in a fantasy world if you think he's ever gonna get past whatever this stigma is that he has against your age. She's too young, Tess. She'll get hurt, Tess. She shouldn't be doin' this, Tess. You've heard it all, muffled through closed doors in a dark and damp hallway.

He doesn't want you, and you're not sure how much longer you can go on like this. If he's not willing to change his stance, view you as anything other than an inconvenience...maybe Tess will have to find somebody else to help out.

"I know what I'm doing," you mumble, a tear dribbling down your left cheek, "I just wanna help."

You spare him one more look, fruitlessly hoping that maybe he'll feel bad now that he's made you cry - a childish thought, considering you're trying to make a case for being mature, but you can't help it. You know he's capable of being gentle, of being kind. You've experienced it with him before, quiet moments between the two of you in his apartment while waiting for Tess to return, making small talk, him peering at you with a softness in those brown eyes that have since made frequent appearances in your dreams. Moments where you swear you felt wanted under that gaze, but it must've been in your head, because you certainly don't feel wanted right now.

He doesn't look well, you have to admit. His skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, getting paler by the second, turning an unnatural grey color akin to some of the hair on his head. His eyes are glassy, dark bags settled beneath them that you've noticed getting worse and worse over the past few weeks. You shoot a glance at his hands again and are surprised to see that he's loosened his grip, that his fingers seem to be trembling against the rubber.

"Joel," you say, raising your voice a bit, "Joel, are you okay?"

His lack of response no longer angers you - it worries you. Carefully, you reach over and slowly wrap your hand around his right wrist, eyes trained on his face. At your touch, he finally turns to look at you, almost like he's only just noticed you're even there.

"You say somethin'?" he asks, voice raspy, a bit slurred.

Your grip tightens on his wrist, "I think you should stop the car."

He looks at you curiously, dazedly. It's the expression of a man who's running on two, maybe three hours of sleep in the last few days. You choose your next words carefully, eyes flickering back and forth toward his face and the road that he's suddenly no longer watching.

"Let's slow down a bit," you murmur, thumb stroking gently along his skin - he's warm, warmer than normal - "I'm gonna drive the rest of the way, okay?"

You expect some pushback, an attempt at an argument, but the tiredness is setting in quickly. Without any hesitation he eases his foot off the gas and you hurriedly reach your own leg over into his space to push down on the brake. He doesn't seem to notice the way your bare leg brushes his jeans, the crease in your knee bending over the warmth of his thigh.

"There we go," you say softly, bringing the car to a slow stop. He's still looking at you, eyes unfocused as you carefully lean over a little more to unbuckle his seatbelt. You try to ignore how good he smells, how big he is compared to you, putting all your attention on getting him out of the front seat. You unlock his door and then unbuckle your own belt, hurrying out of the car to his side.

"M'okay," he mumbles as soon as you open his door. You start to help him out, and you think he's becoming a little more aware of the situation now, allowing you to pull him to his feet as you tug open the back door. "What's happenin'?"

"You're just tired," you tell him softly, "It's okay, you can sleep in the back, I'll drive."

"Bill n' Frank's," he says as you lead him the right way, pushing him a little and helping him place his knee down on the seat, "Y'know where it is? You remember?"

"I do," you tell him confidently, your hand coming down to press flat against his back - he's so solid, heat radiating against your palm, "Only twenty minutes away now, I got it. You just sleep."

He doesn't argue; in fact, he makes your job easier by crawling onto the seat and settling down with a low groan, rolling onto his back and breathing deeply. You can't help but let a small smile cross your features, watching as one of his hands comes up to rest atop his belly, the other dangling onto the floor. His eyelashes flutter a little, lips parting, and you're about to shut the door when he speaks again.

"I know you jus' wanna help, baby."

You stand there for a moment just staring at him, confusion racing through your thoughts. Goosebumps rise on your flesh as the last word repeats like a mantra in your head, steady and slow as Joel drifts off. It's only when the door is shut and you're in the front seat that you're able to put some meaning to the words, eyes wide as you stare at the faded lines on the road.

I know what I'm doing, you'd said, I just wanna help.

You leave him in the car when you get to Bill and Frank's, typing in the gate code with a backward glance at his loose form in the backseat. They must see him on one of the security monitors, because as soon as the doors open you spot them sprinting out of the house toward you, a scanner gripped in Bill's hand. Typical.

"He's okay," you tell them as soon as you're out of the car, instantly alleviating their stress, "He's just exhausted, I think he needs to sleep for a little while."

"Understatement of the century," Frank replies with a relieved laugh, eyeing the backseat, "Think we can get him in the house?"

"Just leave him in the car," Bill says with a wave of his hand, already turning to head back towards the house with the scanner hanging out of his pocket, "He'll be fine."

Your gaze meets Frank's and he rolls his eyes, "Come on, baby, let's get him upstairs." Your brows go up at the pet name, the same word that had fallen from Joel's lips only twenty minutes ago, but then Bill is shuffling back over with an annoyed look on his face and you quickly realize he's not talking to you.

Getting Joel out of the car proves to be a lot more difficult than getting him in. You try a gentle approach at first, brushing his arm and stroking his skin with your thumb again like you'd done earlier. You can feel Frank's eyes on you as you squeeze Joel's bicep, his wrist, his thigh, and you pretend you don't see the look that passes between him and Bill as you step out to let them take a turn.

Bill goes for a much more aggressive approach, shaking Joel's shoulders wildly and practically yanking him out of the car. Understandably, Joel wakes with a gasp and kicks his legs out, hand reaching for his pistol as he frantically tries to escape Bill's grasp. Before he can grab it though, he's suddenly falling forward, knees buckling as he faceplants onto the pavement beside the car.

Well, that certainly wakes him up. His hands press into the gravel and his head shoots up, blood trickling down his nose as he peers up at the three of you, stunned.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Bill," Frank groans.

"That was not my fault."

Ignoring them, you kneel down and gently touch Joel's shoulder, a concerned look on your face as you eye the splattered blood on the ground, "Fuck, are you okay?"

"What in the hell is goin' on?" he groans, turning to look at you, "Did Bill just break my fuckin' nose?"

"Don't be dramatic," Bill barks, spinning on the spot and heading into the house, "Shoulda just left you in the car."

Joel starts scrambling after him, rising up and standing on wobbly legs, hand reaching for his pistol once again. You and Frank grab him before he can do anything, both of you taking an arm and holding him back.

"Joel, you're exhausted," you tell him quickly, utilizing all your strength, "You just need to lay down. Please."

He turns his face to look at you and something flutters in your chest when you catch the way his eyes soften, the anger in his expression fading as he acknowledges your presence. You can vaguely make out Frank watching the two of you in your periphery, but you try your best to ignore it, instead opting to give Joel a reassuring smile.

"Let's just get you cleaned up, okay?"

You're grateful that Frank leaves you alone with Joel to tend to his nose. You've only met him a handful of times, but each time he'd somehow been able to clock the way you interact with Joel, the way you look at him. The last time you'd been here he'd subtly pulled you aside to give you a few words of wisdom.

"You do realize he's extremely unavailable, right?"

"I- I don't know what you're talking about."

He'd smiled, tapped his nose and given you a knowing look, "And I don't just mean because of Tess. That man is emotionally constipated, kiddo. He's an island." He'd laughed then at your confused expression, shaking his head, "Just be careful, s'all I'm saying."

You'd gone to walk away, forget the conversation even happened, when he'd softly called after you:

"And I'm pretty sure Tess would hang your head on her wall."

You think of those words now as you stand in front of Joel in the small bathroom off the landing, lip between your teeth as you eye the cut on his nose. It isn't broken, thank fuck, but you can see some dirt and gravel in there that you need to clean out.

"It's not broken," you tell him softly. He's sitting on the edge of the bath tub, peering up at you with a much more alert expression. The fall definitely woke him up, not to mention the choice words he and Bill had thrown at each other as you and Frank helped him up the stairs. He's still exhausted though, and he needs to rest.

"I know it's not," he grumbles, "Just wanted to give Bill a piece of my mind for once."

You laugh softly as you reach for the damp cloth beside you, bringing it up to carefully pat it against the gash on the bridge of his nose. You can feel his eyes on you, watching and assessing as you do your best to wipe the area clean.

"I can do that myself," he murmurs.

"I just wanna help," you say quietly, and your eyes fall to his in a knowing glance. He doesn't seem to remember though, just nods and lets you carry on.

It's rare for you to be this alone with him. And by that, you mean this far from Tess. You're painfully aware that it would be impossible for her to walk in at any moment, to see the way you're standing over him, touching him. Frank's words from last time echo in your head but you're not quite sure you believe them; would she really be that angry if she knew how you felt about Joel? It's not like he'd return it, right? The man is twenty years your senior and, as Frank said, extremely unavailable. Not to mention Tess and Joel's relationship has been a point of confusion to you for a year now, still unsure exactly what they are to each other - would she really care?

You reach for the antiseptic - one of the many perks of having an injury in a supply house - and carefully dab some onto the cloth. Your hand trembles a bit as you reach up to carefully hold Joel's chin, your thumb getting lost in his greying beard.

"You haven't shaved in a while," you breathe, your eyes meeting his, and you wonder if you've already crossed a line by even noticing.

He doesn't seem to mind though, sighing deeply, "I haven't slept in a while, so let's hurry this up," he eyes the cloth, "Don't gotta warn me, just do it."

His words bring you back to the present, and you slowly ease the cloth down onto his cut. He hisses a bit, a normal reaction, but it only takes a few seconds to clean and then you're already reaching for a bandage, reluctantly letting go of his chin.

"I was worried about you, before. In the car," you tell him softly, unpeeling the adhesive, "Why haven't you been sleeping?"

His eyes fall to the floor, "I just don't sleep good. Never have."

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shrugs, gives you a humorless laugh, "Handful o' pills and a couple sips o' whiskey usually does the trick."

It makes sense, then, why these past few weeks he's seemed worse. It's been longer than usual since your last supply run and the three of you had started running out of vital supplies over a week ago now, not only for buyers but for yourselves. Joel had written whiskey near the top of the latter list, along with hydromorphone which he'd underlined several times.

"You should've told me you weren't feeling well," you murmur, applying the bandage carefully, "I could've driven the whole way."

"Could've, should've," he dismisses you with a grunt, "Doesn't matter now, does it? We got here, that's what counts."

You linger a little longer than you should on the bandage, thumb falling to gently trace the crease of his nose as you assess your work. It might scar, but it feels pointless to voice this - he already has so many, scattered across his face and neck like confetti. It hurts a little, knowing he's been through so much, seeing the evidence written all over him.

"My mom had this superstition," you tell him softly, a smile playing at your lips as you trace one of the scars under his eye, soft and delicate, "Whenever I got hurt, skinned my knee or busted my elbow playing, she'd bandage me up and then kiss it. She said a kiss would seal her love in there, keep me safe and protected. And if it scarred, that meant it worked."

He blinks at you, expression faltering a bit, "That's...that's a nice thought."

You shake your head, "It's silly, and not true. But... but I still do it anyway, even though she's gone. Just in case," you bite your lip, "I mean, who doesn't wanna feel a little more safe? A little more protected?"

Your gazes lock, and neither of you seem to move, caught in the stillness of the moment and the way your thumb is still stroking his face. You know you have limited time, maybe a few seconds before he breaks it, so without much thought at all you lean down and lightly press your lips to the bandage, eyes closed.

He inhales sharply, a sound that triggers butterflies in your tummy as you hold your mouth against his nose, soft and sweet. It's the closest you've ever been to him, even if you're kissing gauze and not skin - you can still feel the warmth radiating from him, sense the way he freezes below you. A squeaking sound pierces the silence, his hand squeezing the edge of the bath tub tightly. It startles you, your eyes blinking open as you pull back to look at him.

His cheeks are tinged pink, eyelids heavy as he peers up at you with slow blinks.

"You're tired," you breathe, unable to stop your hand from flitting to his hair, pushing a little behind his ear, "Let's get you to bed."

The Joel Miller in Bill and Frank's guest room is not the Joel Miller you thought you knew.

This Joel is loose, pliant. He lets you lead him into the bedroom with a hand on his back, lets you carefully turn him on the spot to reach up and undo the buttons on his flannel. Frank had told you on your way up to make sure Joel didn't get blood on the sheets, so you're only following orders, only doing what you were told.

"Sorry," you murmur softly, fingers shaking every so often as they toy with the buttons, sticky with his blood. Joel doesn't seem to notice though, retreating more and more into the sleepy state he'd been in earlier.

Once his flannel is off you assess his t-shirt and jeans, and you're not sure how to feel about the fact that they didn't get dirty in the fall. On the other hand, though, you're not sure you'd have been brave enough to take them off. Instead you help him toward the bed, pull back the sheets and carefully push him ahead.

"There you go," you whisper, helping him under the covers and pulling the blankets back over him. The sun is streaming through the window, casting the golden light of early evening across the bed, and while it's quite beautiful you shut the curtains anyway, knowing he'll sleep better in darkness. When you turn back around, he's already fallen asleep, lips parted, face peaceful. A different man.

You don't linger, even though you want to.

It's around ten o'clock when you decide to check on him again. You'd watched a movie with Bill and Frank, feeling more than a little unwelcome as Bill tossed you a few dirty looks every so often, though Frank repeatedly told you to ignore him. Now they're in bed downstairs while you pad from your own room across the hall to Joel's, turning the knob carefully. The hinges squeak a little as you open it and you wince.

"Who's there?" you hear Joel grumble from the bed. So much for just taking a peek.

"Me, just me." You push the door wider and walk inside, eyebrows going up when Joel turns on the bedside lamp. He seems a little more rested, although you know he still needs a full night's sleep. "I sent a message to Tess through the radio to let her know we're not coming back tonight - well, Frank did. Picked a song called Tomorrow or something like that."

"Hope it was the Johnny Mathis version," he mumbles, and you watch as he brings his hands up to rub across his face. He accidentally dismantles the bandage and you step forward without really thinking, hurrying to his side and reaching down to fix it.

His hand comes up to grab yours and you freeze in place.

"I can do it," he says, giving you a curt look and then releasing your hand to adjust the gauze himself.

Well, you suppose lax and sleepy Joel couldn't stick around forever. You stand awkwardly by the side of the bed, toying with the edge of the blanket as he rubs his eyes and sits up a little, leaning back against the headboard. He looks so much older in this light; you can see the little flecks of grey in his beard and hair that have been starting to get more noticeable lately, the crows feet, the wrinkles.

He's so handsome.

He turns to look at you with a frown, as if he's only just realizing what you said, "We can go back tonight, I'm fine."

"You're not and you know it. Besides, it's already past ten and now I'm tired, I won't be able to drive."

"I can drive."

"Joel," you surprise yourself by sitting down on the edge of the bed, narrowing your brow as you give him a serious look, "You can't drive. You almost fucking killed us both."

"No I-"

"Yes you did," your tone is firm, suddenly angry - are you angry? - "If I hadn't been talking to you, if I hadn't noticed something was wrong, you would've driven us off the damn road."

He goes quiet at that, frown deepening, the lines on his face more prominent in the low lamplight. You sigh, eyes falling to rest on where your hand is settled on the bed, only inches from his. Part of you wants to reach out and touch, feel the warmth of his skin, the rough of his palm - the other part decides to do something even more stupid.

"You called me baby."

It's out of your mouth before you've even really acknowledged it, and once the words have tumbled out you know there's no taking them back. Your gaze snaps back up to his, slightly surprised to see that he doesn't seem very shocked by your admission.

He clears his throat a little, averting his gaze and shuffling a bit under the covers, "Did I?"

"...Yeah."

You think maybe he'll say something else - anything else - but he doesn't. God, it really is like pulling teeth with him; he's so fucking beautiful but so impossible, never being able to expand on something unless prompted, never being able to answer a single question without jerking you around first. How the fuck has Tess managed to deal with it for so long?

The thought of Tess sends a wave of guilt through your body, Frank's words echoing in your head, but you shove it down.

"What made you... I mean why..." your voice is soft, apprehensive and shy in the quiet of the bedroom, "why'd you call me baby?"

A beat of silence. Then-

"Don't ask me that."

The mood has shifted, your sudden anger ebbing and his annoyance fading into something else, something on the brink of being real. He's avoiding your eyes, peering at the window with the curtains drawn and tapping his fingers anxiously against the mattress, so close to your hand. He's nervous; you're making him nervous.

You stay silent, hoping he'll speak again, hoping maybe just this one time he'll tell you what he's thinking.

"I don't know why."

The words are barely a whisper, almost like he's telling you a secret, and he leaves them hanging in the air briefly before amending - "Well," he sighs and finally looks at you, an emotion you can't place crossing his features, "that's not true. But... I didn't mean - fuck, I was passin' out, for Christ's sake, I didn't realize-"

He cuts himself off again, raising his hand up to press his fingers to the bridge of his nose, briefly forgetting the bandage. He winces when he comes in contact with the gauze, "Can I take this off? It's drivin' me fuckin' crazy."

"Let me do it," you say quietly, inching forward on the bed and reaching for his face. He flinches when you go to touch him, and your hand freezes mid-air.

"Sorry," he mutters, shaking his head like he's shaking off a sensation, a chill, "Go ahead."

With careful - and slightly trembling - fingers, you remove the bandage from his nose. It looks much better than before, no fresh blood in sight, and you suppose it's okay for him to keep it uncovered for the night. Without really thinking about it you gently thumb the side of his nose just shy of the cut, the tips of your other fingers brushing against his cheek.

"It's not too bad," you murmur, and before you know it you're suddenly cupping his jaw, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Your gaze falls to his lips, your thoughts going a mile a minute.

You realize you're close enough that you could kiss him, if you really wanted to. If he really wanted to. All it would take is one small movement, one little push from the both of you, one leap of faith...

And then he whispers your name, almost a warning, and it's like his thoughts are mirroring yours - like he can see exactly what you're picturing, wishing for. Your eyes meet his and you feel a flutter in your stomach when you see the way he's looking at you, a quiet hunger hidden in the deep brown.

You decide to test the waters. You lean in and softly press another kiss to his nose, this time without the gauze in the way. Just like you'd thought, his skin is hot under your lips, soft but scarred, and his smell - god, he smells so masculine and safe, invading your senses as your lips trail downwards to press a small kiss to his cupid's bow, then another to the corner of his mouth. It's sharp, prickly from his scruff, but it doesn't bother you in the slightest - in fact, you kind of like the dull pain, the way it grounds you, keeps you in the moment.

"Baby," he whispers, and a soft little whine falls from your lips without meaning to as your lips move to ghost across his mouth, going for another kiss - a real kiss.

He pulls away before you get there, but then his hand comes up to touch your face, big and wide. He holds you like you're precious, small. His baby.

"S'not right," he whispers, though his thumb strokes your cheek soothingly, "S'not okay for me to want you like that."

You close your eyes at his touch, breathing deeply, "But you do."

"Yeah, I do," you hear him murmur, "You know I do."

"For how long?"

He doesn't respond right away, just continues to stroke your cheek, hold what feels like all of you in his warm palm. You tilt your head a bit to the side, eyes fluttering open to look at him again. You catch the way his lips turn up a little at the movement.

"Too damn long," he sighs, "But that don't... that's not..." he brings his other hand up to cup the other side of your face, holding you still as he peers at you in earnest, brow furrowed, "Point is, we shouldn't... you shouldn't be out here alone with me. Tess knows how I-" he cuts himself off again, and you can see now how difficult it is for him to communicate like this, to be open and honest, "I told her it wasn't a good idea."

"Why?"

He laughs lightly, thumbs circling the apples of your cheeks, "'Cause look where we ended up." He swallows, eyes falling to your lips, "Look where you are right now, baby. Look where my damn hands are for cryin' out loud."

"Keep calling me baby," you breathe, a desperation in your voice that betrays your emotions, tears pricking in your eyes as the weight of this conversation comes crashing down around you. He wants you - he's always wanted you. His words to Tess about not wanting to put you in danger, wanting you to stay away, those soft looks you've shared in his apartment, the small talk, all of it - it's because he wants you.

"We can't do this," he murmurs, leaning in to press his forehead to yours, eyes closing, "I can't do this, you're so- you're too-" he groans, fingers digging into your hair, "You're so young, baby."

"I don't care," you whine, butting your head forward to chase his lips, suddenly yearning to be kissed and held and protected by him, be wrapped in his embrace.

But he pulls away, removing his hands from your face and shuffling back a bit on the bed, away from you. Your hand drops but you reach out pathetically for him anyway, moving closer, attempting to pull the covers back. His hands capture yours and he squeezes them firmly, shaking his head.

"You need to go back to your room," he tells you, and his tone has changed from soft to serious, "It's late and I'm... well, you know I'm fuckin' exhausted. And you've had a long day." He looks at you with pleading eyes, like he's silently begging for you not to put him in this situation, "Let's just call it a night, okay?"

"But-" you start, tears shining in your eyes.

"Please," he breathes, "Please don't make this harder than it needs to be."

You do not want to get up from his bed. But you do.

You do not want to leave his room. But you do.

You do not want to lie awake in your own bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how his hands felt on your face, the way his eyes searched yours, the way his skin felt under your lips.

But you do.

You lie there for hours, thumbs twiddling against your belly, tears trickling down your cheeks every so often. All you can hear in your mind over and over again is the word Baby, punctuated by that soft groan he'd made, the way his thumbs had stroked your cheeks, how large and warm and safe he'd seemed in that bed.

All you want to do is be in that bed with him.

So it's no surprise when, as the sun is beginning to rise and that warm golden light starts to stream through your window, you crawl out from under your blankets and cross the hall one more time.

"We shouldn't" he murmurs when you climb into bed with him, when you tuck yourself into his side and bury your face in his shoulder, but his hands are already in your hair, fingers stroking along the back of your head.

Your bodies mold together like they've always been meant to fit that way, your legs tangled with his, arms trapped under big biceps and hairy forearms, breasts flush with his suddenly bare chest.

"I wanna be your baby," you whisper.

The nose you'd kissed brushes slowly up and down the side of your face, and he doesn't hesitate this time. He reaches up to turn your head, presses his lips against yours and lets you melt into him. Lets you trail your hand downward to unbutton his jeans in the silence of the early morning.

"You already are."

[goquokka00]

SKZ vs Shark Week (Bangchan ver.)

How would each member of Stray Kids handle you while you're on your period?

BANGCHAN | MINHO | CHANGBIN | HYUNJIN JISUNG | FELIX | SEUNGMIN | JEONGIN

WARNING: This is a female reader going through their period. If the topic of a period/anything that has to do with a period makes you uncomfortable, then don't read it. Just remember that there's nothing wrong with a woman's period. It's a perfectly healthy body function :)

THE MOODS Bangchan never fails to notice how your mood always changes whenever you're a few days out from your period. He's an observant man of 7 children, he WILL notice when something is off with you. Specifically when you get more depressed than you usually are.

You don't eat as much, you bed rot more, you never feel like going out, and you constantly look like you're two seconds away from crying. You also wear the same clothes for a few days at a time, because you don't have it in you to change out of them. And so, Bangchan takes it upon himself to love up on you more.

The more depressed you get, the more cuddly he gets in return. He'll hold you, give you kisses, compliment you over and over, all to make sure that you're okay. If his princess is feeling down, then he'll do everything in his power to lift her spirits back up. And nothing...NOTHING will stop him.

THE BLOOD Simply put, your flow actually isn't that bad. Yeah, you bleed for a few days, but it's nothing horrible. The part that's horrible (more so for Bangchan than you) is that you don't wanna cuddle when you're bleeding. While it's not heavy and it's manageable, you don't want to potentially leak on him. It'd be beyond embarrassing.

But Bangchan? He gets pouty and mopey when you tell him that you aren't gonna sit on his lap while he works. He knows it's because you don't want to accidentally leak, but come on! So what if you get blood on him, he'll happily risk the cleanliness of his pants if it means he can have you on his lap. But he also respects your wishes. He respects it with a grain of salt, but...he respects it.

THE PAIN Through your period, you do end up getting a few cramps, but it's nothing horrible. They aren't as bad as some horror stories you've heard of, but they're bad enough to where you're never really comfortable. Sitting or standing or laying down in one position for too long gets to be seriously uncomfortable, and you have to change. The horrible thing is the tender breasts. They just feel so heavy and sore, it's horrible.

That's where Bangchan comes in. He knows that you go through this, and so he pretty much makes it his soul mission to take care of you however you need. You need pain killers? Done. You want him to rub your stomach? Say no more. You need the heated blanket for your chest. He's on it.

There are even times where he'll go out and get you some treats for being such a trooper for dealing with this week of uncomfortableness. And of course, each treat comes with a shower of kisses and "I love you's."

THE PRODUCT Not once has Bangchan ever complained about running to the store to get you pads or tampons or whatever you might need. Why would he? You going through your period means two things; you're healthy, and you're not pregnant. And right now, both are good things.

Also, he has a sister. So of course he's used to the products that came with periods. He doesn't cringe when he sees the used wrappers and wrapped waste for the week. He's used to it.

For you, he's buying the best of the best. The first time you asked him to get you some pads, he had asked an employee about which product was the best, and got you that. Along with a new heated pad, a big heated blanket you could both cuddle under, your favorite snacks and drinks, and chocolate. He isn't skimping for you. He knows that your period is your least favorite time of the month, so he'll do whatever he possibly can to spoil you so you don't suffer as much.

Anything for you.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d