#so you can see that i have my work like. cut out for me

[syluslnd]

Hi! I love your writing

Could i request Sylus finding out the reader is pregnant?

sylus finding out that you’re pregnant

You’d been keeping it to yourself for days, maybe longer than you should have. You wanted the timing to be perfect but every time you tried to bring it up, the words got caught in your throat. How would he react? He was always so guarded, so in control—it was hard to predict.

But today, as you sat at the kitchen table, trying to decide on the perfect way to tell him, Sylus’s voice cut through the silence.

“Care to explain this, sweetie?”

Your stomach twisted as you looked up and found him standing by the trash can, holding up the unmistakable pregnancy test with a raised eyebrow. His gaze was sharp but his expression…was softer than you expected. Almost vulnerable.

You shifted, biting your lip and managing a nervous smile. “Well…that’s exactly what it looks like.”

He took a slow breath, his fingers tightening around the test just slightly. “So, it’s true?” His voice was soft but with an undercurrent of tension. “You’re…you’re pregnant?”

You nodded, watching his face carefully, searching for his reaction. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I wanted it to be the right moment and I didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

He let out a quiet, breathless chuckle, shaking his head as he stepped closer. “Kitten, you seriously thought I wouldn’t want to know something like this?” His voice was low and he looked at you with an intensity that made your cheeks flush.

You shrugged, a little shy but holding his gaze. “You can be hard to read sometimes, Sylus. I didn’t know how you’d feel about…us having a kid. The world you’re in…everything…”

He nodded slowly, still processing, his gaze shifting to your stomach as if imagining what it would be like in the months to come. “Yeah, it scares me, not gonna lie.” His voice was rough, almost shaky, and it made your heart ache a little to see him so uncharacteristically unsure. “I’ve spent so much time focused on keeping myself safe, keeping you safe and now a kid? That’s…it’s a lot. But—”

He stopped, taking your hands in his, his grip a little tighter than usual. He let out a slow breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But the thought of you being the mother of my child? That’s something I never thought I’d get, something I didn’t think I deserved.” His voice softened, his hand lifting to gently brush your cheek. “You’re gonna be the best damn mom.”

A laugh bubbled up from you, nervous and warm and you squeezed his hand, trying to ground both of you. “I’m glad you think so,cause I’m kind of nervous myself. But…if it’s with you, I know we’ll figure it out.”

His smirk widened, a touch of that familiar intensity back in his gaze. “Well, you better be ready, kitten. This kid’s gonna have a bit of a wild life with us as parents.” He paused, brushing his thumb over your knuckles as he looked at you with a rare, unguarded sincerity. “But we’ll make it work and I’ll be here every step of the way, protecting both of you, no matter what.”

You grinned, feeling your heart swell as you pulled him into a tight hug, feeling his arms wrap around you protectively. It was the start of something new, something neither of you were fully prepared for—but with Sylus by your side, you felt ready for anything.

[leclarifies]

forgive and forget (CL16)

✰ charles leclerc x reader ✰

summary → dating a formula one driver meant that your boyfriend would always be busy, but what you didn't expect was for him to forget your anniversary all together.

genre → angst but gets fluffier towards the end (very short drabble, self-indulgent)

word count → 1.3k words

author's note → honestly, i really like writing angst with charles, i'm sorry dahbdhanda. i just needed a break from writing something with any sort of plot, so enjoy <3

the thunder in the background snapped me from my trance, i've been lost in thought for awhile now. the sky's dark and the day was almost ending, and here i was sitting at the dinner table, alone with food all around me.

the rain was drizzling in monaco, and it fueled the sinking hole in my chest. i knew that charles was a busy man, but i didn't expect him to forget our anniversary together.

somehow, i didn't feel sad, or disappointed. i just felt numb. it hurt of course, seeing your own boyfriend forgetting about your anniversary, something i thought that we would both celebrate together, spend the day together, or maybe just sit in the quiet of our apartment, kissing and touching and ending the day together.

but the fact of the matter was, he was a formula one driver and i couldn't keep expecting him to be there when i wanted. it was a selfish want, and somehow i needed to understand that not all anniversaries can be celebrated, and not all of them will be remembered.

a sigh escapes my lips, i've been waiting for him to come home for four hours now. maybe it was time to let up. i gently took the plates of now cold food and shuffled into the kitchen, putting them into containers to store in the fridge, not wanting them to go to waste. i had lost my appetite in the process, not even touching my own plate of food.

when i was finished putting all of the food away in the fridge, the door of our apartment jingled, charles was home.

"amour, i'm home," his voice had rung out in the apartment as he entered our shared apartment, even though i felt upset, i couldn't help but smile at him, at least he came home, right?

i was never the one to yell, to throw a fit when he forgot about something. even if it was something as important as our anniversary, i always wanted to talk it out, even when it made me upset and charles would always appreciate it, he would always talk to me lovingly even when we had our arguments.

"you missed our anniversary, love," i told him gently as i walked up to him, wrapping my arms around his middle before leaving a kiss on his cheek, his face flashed from surprise to frustration all in one go, he closed the door behind him and sighed, he was angry at himself for forgetting, i could tell. the way his brows were furrowed and his shoulders tensed.

"i-... amour, i'm sorry. things have been hectic, the car is just so shit this season and i didn't mean to—"

i cut him off before he could ramble on about his work with a soft kiss to his lips, "it's okay, i'm not mad at you. i know how things are at work and i understand, i just feel a little hurt that you didn't call or text me at all," i explain to him and he closes his eyes before wrapping his arms around me, he held me close.

i could smell the faint scent of his cologne as we held eachother close, the domestic aspect of it all. waiting for him to come home, cooking dinner for our anniversary even though he forgot.

"how about i make it up to you?" charles asked as he opened his eyes back up, the pretty green orbs of his eyes staring lovingly into me, staring lovingly into my bare soul, "what do you want to do?"

"can you just drive me around in your noisy car?" i laugh as he smiled at my joke, all of his cars were sports cars and they were noisy by default. i had always complained about it but i could never be mad at his love for his team, "just spend the night together, driving in the dark of the night while we sit in each other's company."

charles pressed his forehead against mine, he breathed in before nodding, "i can do that for you, do you want to go now?" he left a kiss on my lips before i nodded.

it wasn't long before i was in the passenger seat and he was starting his car up, i hadn't been in this car yet. i knew that he got it as a gift for his win in austin, i had attended the race and he had excitedly told me about the car once we got home in monaco but i never got the chance to sit in it until now.

"this one is a bit noisier, amour. i apologize," charles had said when the engine rumbled to life, i had settled into the seat as he drove off into the night of monaco, his phone had connected to the bluetooth automatically and his playlist was in the background, serving good ambience in the car.

"i love spending time like this, just the two of us, not really driving to anywhere meaningful," i had spoken up, breaking the previous comfortable silence the both of us were in, charles glanced at me before humming a response, eyes back on the road shortly.

monaco was a small city, but i noticed that charles had taken a particularly familiar track, it was the monaco grand prix track, where he had won earlier this year.

"i'm sorry," another apology leaves his lips, i turn my head to look at him, he didn't have to apologize. i forgave him after he got home, but i appreciated it, "i should've paid more attention, i know how important dates are to you. i should've set a reminder."

"i told you that it's okay, i'm not holding anything against you," i tell him softly, his hand instinctively reaches out for my knee and i let him, setting my hand above his as his thumb gently caresses my knee.

the both of us had spent most of that night going in circles, going on the familiar monaco track, it was almost 3am when charles had decided to go back home. the night drive we spent together was nice, it was peaceful. i loved it.

it wasn't long after the both of us had settled into our apartment, getting ready for bed.

i had sat in my vanity, just doing skincare with charles opting to sit on the floor, his head laid on my lap as i went through the steps for my night routine, my hand periodically going down to pat his head.

"we can go for dinner tomorrow, i have nothing planned," charles mumbles, leaving a kiss on my thigh, i nod, dinner was fun, considering that today's was left untouched.

i could feel his head lift up from my thigh, so i looked down and i saw him staring up at me, with all the love in his eyes, i just smiled at him, "what's wrong love?"

"nothing, i just... i'm sorry. i feel bad. i love you— i love us. i just can't believe that i could forget our anniversary so easily like that," charles mumbled, i pet his head again, i had told him countless of times in the car ride that i didn't hold any ill-intent against him for forgetting. his job was demanding, and something like that could've easily slipped his mind.

although i did feel hurt, he's trying to make it up to the best of his abilities now, and that's all i could ask for.

"how many times have i told you to stop apologizing?" i had told him before standing up, he did the same and the both of us made our way to the bed, snuggling up against eachother.

my head was against his chest and his face was in my hair, softly breathing in and out. i could tell he was tired but still went out to drive with me anyway.

"i love you, amour."

"i love you too charles."

"let's go to dinner tomorrow, okay? i'll make it up to you," charles pressed a gentle kiss onto my forehead and i could only hum back in return, i had my eyes closed and i was close to drifting off to sleep considering it was nearing 4 am at this point.

"okay, goodnight. sleep well."

"goodnight to you too mon amour."

[endless-ineffabilities]

the other side of the door (2/3)

Ewan Mitchell x bestfriend reader

a/n: the way this turned into a 3-parter because I found myself writing an abrupt ending where she just runs off with [redacted]. Oh well. They still have some things to work through. But I would love to hear what yous think about the sweet chaos in this part! <3 — also, that gif up there accurately represents how our Mitchell was acting up in one scene! heh.

main masterlist ▪︎ part one

The one where you try to move on from your best friend.

Ewan leans back against the headboard, having to cool down from one too many drinks, yet Louise's persistent laughter cuts through his calm.

She’s close, so close that he is enveloped in her vanilla scent, commenting at something he said downstairs—he doesn’t remember what, exactly, only that he retreated upstairs for a moment and she’d followed him.

He’s too tipsy to be decisive, his mind too scattered to sort through her words, but she’s clearly interested. Her hand grazes his shoulder as she flirtatiously jokes about how much of a lightweight he is, lingering before sliding up to cup his jaw.

“Hey! I’m not a lightweight,” he finds himself saying, surprised by how animated he still sounds.

“Oh yeah?” Louise becomes more real, more solid as she comes onto him. “So you’re sober enough to come here and kiss me then?”

He blinks, half there, half somewhere else, drifting in and out of the moment. Where are you? Did he leave you with Phia? Then her lips press against his, her fingers threading through his hair. There's something oddly mechanical about his movements. Of course he feels a sense of desire—he is a warm-blooded guy in the end, and when a barely-clothed lass offers herself to him, his body will react.

So he lets it happen and hopes that Louise won't notice his minimal engagement.

He's aware of the rustle of the mattress as they settle back, the sensation of her body on top of him—but it's not what he expected. His mind drifts, and before he knows it, he's thinking of you.

“What about the girl you came with?” Louise asks coyly, her face hovering over the crook of his neck, peppering kisses. 

His eyes flutter open, and in the dim room, he sees a different face in his mind, feels your presence instead of hers. The way your hand feels when it lingers on his arm, the warmth in your eyes when you catch him in an unguarded moment.

His mouth moves before he can properly formulate a response. “What… girl?” He hears himself, and he knows the automatic thing to say next. “Oh, she’s… she’s just my friend.��� Because you are, aren’t you?

Then why doesn’t it sound enough? He’s been with a few other girls all throughout your friendship, and he didn’t give them much thought. Because it was never any of those girls with whom he would want to spend entire weekends. He didn’t want to call them right before he went to bed. He didn’t instinctively feel like pulling them close and kissing the crowns of their heads whenever they would be upset. 

He remembers the night on the couch, your head tipped back against the cushions. As Louise kisses him, he thinks of how your lips tasted like peppermint tea. 

And, just like that, his mouth moves, and he murmurs your name. Louder than he thinks.

He blinks himself out of inebriation, feeling a rush of heat. Not from the alcohol, and certainly not from Louise.

But from the fact that he just moaned his best friend's name out loud.

“Wait—what?” Louise pulls back, staring, her brows knitting. Fortunately, she had been so preoccupied with the thought of pleasuring Ewan that she didn’t hear exactly what he said. “Did you just say…?”

“I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I…,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head, unable to meet her eyes.

But he's not sorry. He just needs to clear his head. And he needs to see you right away. He has to make sure you don't mistake his unusual absence from your side as indifference.

But Louise just shakes her head, scoffing softly. "Are you not into this? We can... try something else...?"

Ewan just looks at her. She's pretty, someone who definitely turns heads as she walks down the street. But does her entire face adorably scrunch like yours does whenever he says something ridiculous? Does she also take her coffee black with oat milk and two sugars, the way you always do? Would she stroke the bridge of his nose to wake him up if he fell asleep on her couch?

Stumbling back into the hallway, Ewan feels an unsettling hollowness. He doesn’t know why he feels so shaken—he has always firmly believed that his friendship with you was just that. Friendship. The best one he will ever have. But now, a nervous urgency pounds in his chest as he stumbles downstairs, scanning the room for you. Instead, he finds Phia in the kitchen, sipping water and looking unimpressed.

He approaches her, trying to gather his words. “Phia, do you know where—”

“She left,” Phia says, barely glancing up, her tone pointed. “Fabien walked her home. She came up to find you, but you were busy.” Her smirk is ice-cold, and it’s clear she doesn’t intend to spare him.

The words hit him hard, shame and dread twisting in his gut. You came looking for him, only to leave with Fabien. He imagines you peering into the guest room to find him and Louise, and he practically feels his heart drop. That thought lands heavier than he expects, and Phia’s words sting as they settle in his mind.

“I… I wasn’t busy…” he says weakly, but Phia raises an eyebrow and scoffs.

“We heard you, Ewan.”

Oh, god. Phia says something more, but her words barely register due to the ringing in his ears. He’s never been put in a position where he could lose you, and if he does…

His fingers shake as he forces a cigarette between his teeth, stalking out on the balcony. The protracted lungfuls he takes in make him feel sick, but not as sick as the thought of you possibly hating him. Guilt overwhelms him, and he doesn’t know why. You’re just his friend. His best friend. He can kiss whoever else he wants, can’t he? But the thought comes back around to mock him, in a way that he doesn’t quite understand.

You’re only the one who knows him better than anyone in his life. You’re only his other half. You’re only the one he…

You’re only the one.

The night air is cool as you walk alongside Fabien, a welcome relief from the chaos of the party. He seems to sense your need for quiet, and you’re grateful for the space he gives you. But his caring nature wins over, and after two blocks, he reaches out in an easy tone.

“Ewan, huh?” he says, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You shake your head, trying to brush it off with a faint laugh. “It’s nothing, Fabs. Just a stupid crush. He’s my best friend, and I get it. He doesn’t want anything more. I’ll be fine.” The phrases sound heavily punctuated and clearly forced out. The person you truly need to convince is yourself.

Fabien contemplates pressing further—he knows, as does everyone else in your circle, that your bond with Ewan is special. But they’ve openly hinted at it, time and time again, often bringing it up as a lighthearted quip. 

Are you sure you two are not together? Maybe you’ve tried dating in the past?

In response, you or Ewan would dole out the line as if rehearsed, “We’re just friends.”

Fabien decides to take on a new, calculated approach. “You know… maybe what you need is a distraction. A real one. And I know just the thing for you.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? And what is this distraction you speak of? Or rather, who?”

“Well, I happen to have met this guy, Mat, during filming in New York,” he says, trying to sound casual but you’re sensing a determined undertone. “Plays professional hockey. He’s in London for some training stuff and could use a local guide. Think of it as a favour to him. And it’d give you something—someone—else to think about.”

“A hockey player? You sure about this, Fabs? Those types are trouble.”

Fabien laughs. “Yeah, maybe. But who knows? It might just be what you need to get you out of this Ewan mess.” Fabs doesn’t tell you, but his aim is also to rile Ewan up, which is precisely the nudge the guy needs to make him realise how much you matter to him. 

So Fabien remains Team Ewan, but he’s not averse to using Mat as the necessary turbo boost to get Ewan across the finish line.

The idea catches you off guard, but something about it appeals to you—a small, flickering spark of excitement in an otherwise bleak evening. Maybe this is just what you need to finally put an end to your era of pining for your best friend. You nod slowly, smiling up at him.

“Alriiight…” You hold a hand up when he immediately beams. “But I’ll need time to think about it!”

The next few days, Ewan is everywhere—texting, calling, ‘accidentally’ showing up at places he knows you’ll be. While it’s not exactly unusual behaviour for your best friend, this time, he’s taking it to a new degree. You would force a smile, acting nonchalant, brushing off his apologies and reassurances with an ease you obviously don’t feel.

“I’m not mad, Ewan,” you say lightly one morning when he stops by your place looking anxious, and a bit hungover. “I don’t care who you hook up with.”

He’s slumped down on your kitchen counter, propped up on his forearms. Perhaps he had nursed that bottle of whiskey a bit too much last night, after you ignored his seven successive attempts at ringing you. He narrows his eyes at you as you stand on the opposite side, like the two of you are in some kind of face-off. In these situations, he would have been able to count on you to be his remedy—your hand sliding up and down his back in that soothing way you always do, having a Paracetamol or three at the ready, pumping him with electrolytes, tucking him under a duvet then pushing his hair away from his face. 

But when he showed up that day, you only greeted him with a snide, “You look terrible, Ewan.” and “Want some coffee?” Just that. Coffee? Like he was some typical house guest. Even the hug you shared was drab, with him firmly wrapping his arms around you while you just stood there, and eventually patted his back twice after a moment. 

“You’re not mad?”

“No.” Another shrug.

“Really? Shit, you can’t even look at me. What are you looking at back there? You talking to the cupboard, love?” His growing frustration does not do wonders for his hangover. 

“Look,” you finally meet his eyes, and place your hand on top of his. “You know how I feel about you, and I… I suppose I’ve accepted it, that you don’t feel the same.” You swallow thickly, your mask of indifference threatening to crack. You convince yourself to press on, and that it'll be okay once you lay it out in the open. Maybe things can go back to normal. 

“But it’s okay—” you say, pausing for his reaction. He leans back slightly, his face falling. “—it’s really okay! We’re best friends, and we always will be. I really do care about you, Ewan, and that’s what matters. But I think I just… I need time.”

“Time?” Ewan’s voice comes out weak when he asks. “For what?”

“To get over you.”

Your words echo, cold and distant. Ewan’s shoulders slump, his expression pained. He tries to say something, but the words fail, and he eventually gives a tight nod, though he looks unsettled.

Yet as the week drags on, he doesn’t give up. On Friday evening, he appears at the coffee shop you frequent whenever you want to get work done, startling you from the email you were typing as he sits on the chair across. 

“Hey, love.” He looks spent, the bags under his eyes deepened from sleepless nights, the hoarseness in his voice a result of the packs of Marlboro he’s been mainlining due to his increased anxiety.

“Hey,” you mutter, eyeing him with concern. All you want to do is reach out and pull him against you, but what good would it do? In your defense, you did not think that some time apart would affect him this intensely. Hadn’t you reassured him that you would still be friends, that you will always be? So why is he acting like he has lost you completely?

“I know you need some space, but… I don’t want us to drift apart,” he says, leaning forward and taking over the small space. “You’re… everything to me. I can’t stand the idea of losing you.”

You swallow, a lump forming in your throat. His sentiment is heartfelt, but it’s still not enough. So you give him a polite smile. “You won’t lose me, Ewan. I’m not going anywhere. Like I said, we’re friends, right? That’s what you wanted.”

He flinches, a flicker of regret crossing his face at the bitter reminder, but he concedes with a sharp nod, his jaw tightening.

Each encounter is the same: he’s pulling out all the stops to get back in your good graces, while you do your best to keep your distance. And each time he leaves, you can feel his disappointment, his frustration growing more palpable, but it doesn’t stop him from seeking you out again and again.

By the time the next week rolls around, you’re tired of the emotional tug-of-war. In an effort to move forward, you casually mention something to him as you have dinner together in your flat, not quite meeting his gaze.

“I actually have a date soon. With Fabien’s friend from New York. Mat. So, if you’re free, maybe you and… you and Louise could join us?” you ask, hoping he doesn’t notice the catch in your voice.

Ewan goes quiet, frozen on the kitchen stool. “A date?” he repeats, his voice a hoarse croak, the colour draining slightly from his face.

You nod, trying to keep your tone friendly. “Yeah. Fabien’s idea. You know him; apparently he thinks I need to meet new people.”

Ewan’s hand clenched around his fork, but he releases it slowly, letting the utensil drop to his plate with a shrill clang. A taut smile forms as he nods. “Sure. Maybe… maybe we can make it a double date.”

You agree, grateful that he doesn’t push back. After he leaves, you feel your phone buzz—a text from Fabien, checking in. You realise you’ll have to call him to set the date up for real, but for the first time, a small thrill of excitement flickers in your chest. Finally something new, something to look forward to, instead of looking to the past for what could have been. 

On the other hand, all Ewan feels after that moment is a sinking sense of dread. 

You give yourself a last once-over in the mirror, checking the outfit you’d carefully chosen and then doubted a dozen times. Casual but cute—at least, that’s what you’d aimed for. After all, it’s just a pub, albeit a bit on the upscale side. But you’re actually going to go out with a famous professional hockey player, so you want to make an impression. 

You have to admit it: you did a little recon on the Mat Barzal. Nothing major, just a peek at his Instagram, a few Google searches to catch up on his NHL stats, and maybe one (okay, ten) YouTube videos. He’s as impressive on the ice as he is off, all speed, poise, and confidence. And, sure, you’d skimmed a few articles too. He seems almost too good to be true: grounded, funny, that little bit of mystery that has you wondering what he’s like in person. 

And soon enough, he is standing right in your hallway, looking even better than the glossy photos online.

He’s taller than you pictured, with that easy, devastating smile that says he is able to feel completely at home anywhere, leaning casually with a certain charm that almost makes you forget the other guy you two are meeting.

There’s a light, playful tension between you as you head down the street, Mat walking close beside you, as if it’s just the most natural thing in the world. You make a mental note not to blurt out any ‘accidentally remembered’ trivia—like how he’s the Islanders’ points leader or that he grew up in Coquitlam. Nope, you’re playing it cool tonight.

You immediately find that he’s chatty, but in the best way. He talks easily, as if he’s known you for years, telling you about his day—something about getting hopelessly lost trying to find a decent cup of coffee and then spending twenty minutes looking for his rental car because apparently all the streets in that area of London look exactly the same. You’re laughing before you even realise it, and it’s nice, especially because he doesn’t ask for more than you want to share.

At one point, you catch him glancing down at you as you talk, a slight, interested tilt to his head.

“What?” you ask, feeling the warmth of his gaze lingering.

He shrugs, his eyes holding a mischievous spark. “Just wondering why Fabien didn’t introduce us sooner. Seems like kind of a waste, don’t you think?”

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully as you walk. So you’re at that point of the date, huh? “Maybe he didn’t introduce us because you live all the way out in New York.”

“Ah, well, maybe I can drag you back home with me, then.” He grins impishly, then gestures ahead as the pub comes into view, cozy lights glowing just beyond the doorway.

Mat glances down at you, offering his arm with a little flourish.

“Shall we?”

You hook your arm through his, feeling a spark of excitement as you step through the door together, into the welcoming glow and noise of the pub.

Ewan stares at his phone, rereading the draft of his message to Louise for what must be the tenth time. Every word feels off, and a bit pathetic if he’s honest. He knows Louise will say yes, but right now, that’s almost worse. He doesn’t know why he even agreed to this double date, just that he needs to be there, to see you, to… what? Compete with Mat Barzal?

It still stings, how easily you’d brought up this date. A guy like Mat, an NHL star who has half of New York swooning after every game? Ewan tries to shake it off, the words on his screen blurring together. He shouldn’t feel jealous—this is bloody ridiculous. But if the only way he can be there tonight is by bringing someone else along, he’s going to do it. Even if it means swallowing whatever pride he has left.

Taking a deep breath, he hits send: Hey, Louise, would you be up for drinks later? Thought it’d be fun to go out with you and some friends… He cringes at how formal it sounds, but it’s too late now. The message is out there.

It barely takes a full minute for Louise’s reply to come in, her enthusiasm palpable through the screen: YES! Totally! Can’t wait to see you. Let me know when to meet :) 

Ewan feels both relief and dread. Louise seems to have brushed off whatever weird vibe he’d given her at the party, chalking it up to the drinks or his own brand of awkwardness. He wishes he could just stay home tonight and pretend this wasn’t happening. But he wants to be there, if only to make sure… to make sure of what, exactly? To watch as you fall for some impossibly confident athlete, a guy who’s good-looking, successful, and probably charming as hell?

He takes a long breath and scrubs a hand over his face. It doesn’t matter what happens. He’ll be there as your best friend. Or whatever version of that role he’s reduced to tonight.

Later, Ewan’s leaning against the side of the pub, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance when Louise arrives. She’s dressed casually but clearly put effort into her look—hair styled in soft waves, her smile wide and warm as she spots him from across the street. He tries to muster a similar smile but feels it fall short.

“Hey!” she calls as she nears, giving him a playful bump on the arm. “Ready for tonight?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ewan laughs awkwardly as he pushes himself off the wall. “Didn’t think you’d say yes so fast.”

Louise grins, taking his comment as a light tease. “Why wouldn’t I? Haven’t been able to stop thinking about it all day. I’m glad you asked me out, Ewan.”

The words should feel good, flattering, but instead, they land somewhere hollow inside him. He musters a smile. “Glad you could make it.”

They start walking toward the entrance, Ewan trying to ignore the tight knot of anxiety in his chest. He knows you’re already here with Mat—he checked the time about ten times before finally leaving his place, running every possible conversation he might have with you through his head, looking for any way to seem unaffected, unbothered. But as he holds the door open for Louise and steps into the pub, it hits him: he isn’t sure if he’s more afraid of seeing you or of you not paying any attention to him at all.

The night starts out better than expected. Mat effortlessly becomes the unofficial leader of your little group, buying drinks for everyone as if it’s his duty and keeping the conversation light. With him, there’s no pressure, no assumptions—he’s just a genuinely nice guy who’s clearly here to show you a good time. Louise, meanwhile, is totally swept up in Ewan, hanging onto his every word, and you wonder if she’s even noticed that his attention is… not exactly on her.

For the first half hour, Ewan’s his usual reserved self, quietly nursing a pint and nodding along as Mat talks. You catch his eye once or twice, sending him a silent question, Are you okay? Each time, he just looks away, tapping his fingers against his glass, a little too focused on the froth floating near the top. But as the night wears on and the drinks keep coming, he’s not just tapping anymore—he’s interjecting. Little comments at first, almost harmless. But soon, it’s obvious: he’s countering Mat, line for line, almost like it’s a game.

“Right, so you like to box in your spare time?” Mat asks you, grinning. He’s been curious about every little detail, giving you that ‘first-date glow’ that you’d been sure was reserved for movies.

“Yeah, it’s kind of my stress reliever,” you say with a shrug, already feeling your cheeks hurt from smiling.

But Ewan cuts in with a half-smile. “We actually started that together, didn’t we, love?” he says, giving Mat a look like he’s testing him. “I practically had to drag her into the gym at first. But now she’s a total menace with the gloves on.”

Mat just plays along. “Good thing you’re into it now then,” he says mildly, unaffected.

And you can see that only irritates Ewan more.

Mat’s generosity doesn’t stop at drinks. He orders an array of finger food and slides the plates toward you, making sure you’ve had a bit of everything. It’s thoughtful, and your heart swells a little at his attentiveness.

“You’re a sweet one, aren’t you, Barzal?” Ewan murmurs with a slightly bitter laugh, clinking his glass a little too roughly against his empty one before looking at Mat. “Though I guess you have to be, right? With all the eyes on you all the time?”

Mat raises his brows, unruffled. “Just don’t like to let people go hungry. Especially not her,” he says, his tone sincere, smiling at you.

Ewan doesn’t bother hiding his scoff. “Oh, so that’s the bar now? Bringing someone snacks?”

Your face heats in embarrassment on behalf of your best friend, and even Louise nudges him, whispering something in his ear, but he just takes another long sip, leaning back as he watches you and Mat across the booth with a look that’s bordering on possessive. He keeps this up over the next round, seemingly unable to hold himself back. When Mat jokes about taking you to a hockey game back in the States, Ewan clears his throat.

“Does Mat know you don’t actually like crowded places?” he asks, his voice sharper than intended. “Or maybe you’ve changed?”

Mat looks between the two of you, amused but silent.

“Is that so?” Mat says smoothly. “I could have you set up in a box. Nice and private.”

You can feel Ewan bristling in front of you, his grip on his glass a little too tight. He leans over slightly, his voice low and challenging. “But Mat wouldn’t know that you’re actually scared of heights, would he?” he says, letting it drop as if it’s some kind of winning play.

“Ewan,” you say under your breath, trying to keep a smile on for Mat’s sake. But Ewan doesn’t hear you, or doesn’t want to. He’s just watching Mat like he’s daring him to make the wrong move. If he knew just how rowdy hockey players get on the ice, he’d probably think twice before attempting to rile Mat up.

Mat clears his throat, obviously picking up on the tension but shrugging it off. “Good thing hockey rinks are nice and low, eh?” he jokes, draping an arm around your shoulders, trying to bring you back to the easy atmosphere you had before Ewan started butting in.

“God, Mat, must be nice to not have a single care,” Ewan says with a bitter smile, tipping his glass toward him like a scornful, mocking salute before taking another sip. “Just float through life without worrying about, you know, things like actually knowing the people you’re dating.”

It’s the last straw. You look between him and Mat, irritation simmering hot in your chest. Mat looks at you, giving a slight shake of his head, as if to say he’s fine, but you’re not fine. You turn to Ewan, leaving no room for refusal.

“Ewan, can I talk to you? Outside. Now.”

He opens his mouth, probably to argue, but when he sees your expression, his face drops, and he sets down his drink. He rises slowly, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of regret in his eyes, but he just follows you out without a word.

As you step outside into the night air, the noise of the pub falling away behind you, you feel your anger finally bubble to the surface.

“What the hell is your problem, Ewan?” you snap, your voice cracking from the raw emotion clawing at you. “What was all that in there?”

He stares at you like he’s trying to figure out what to say, his eyes flicking from the ground to your face. You can see him wrestling with himself, and it makes your blood boil even more.

“Are you really asking me that?” His voice comes out tight, like he’s barely holding it together. “What, am I supposed to sit there while he… while he puts his hands on you, looks at you like that?”

Your chest suddenly aches, and you shove past him, walking in a tight circle, trying to get the tension out of your limbs. You don’t even know why you’re still standing here, letting him say these things to you. But you can’t help but want to hear how he’s going to explain it all away. “What are you talking about, Ewan? Why should it matter to you?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” he shoots back as he steps closer, eyes dark with something you haven’t been at the receiving end of before. “Do you think I’m just going to let this happen? That I’d let you walk away with him?”

“Walk away?” you laugh bitterly. “You’re unbelievable. You pushed me away! You said we were just friends! You told me you didn’t want us to happen! And now you’re acting like you have the right to say this to me?”

His hands shake, and he clenches them into fists, eyes burning with frustration. “I was a fucking idiot, okay? I—” He stops, taking a deep breath, like he’s trying to keep it together. “I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I’m not gonna lie, I was pushing you away because I was scared. Scared of what we could be, scared of screwing everything up.”

You try to pick apart his words in your mind, and no matter how you spin it, they come back with the same message. He wants you.

He wants you?

“So what?” you mumble, as if asking yourself, “now, after all this time, now you decide you want me? Now you want to admit it? You had your chance. You had so many chances.”

His face twists in pain, and for a second, you think maybe he’s finally hearing you. But then his eyes flash, and it’s like the storm inside him is rising again. “Are you just going to…move on, just like that? Pretend I don’t matter? Like I don’t know you better than anyone?”

“I’m not pretending you don’t matter. I’m not pretending anything! But I can’t just sit around and wait for you to figure your shit out. I won’t do it. I’ve been waiting for you… all this time! And I can’t do it anymore.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence as he stares at you like he’s seeing you for the first time and realising he might lose you in the same breath. He notes the way you fight back tears, your eyes glistening, the way you do when you’re pushed to the edge. You see that almost imperceptible twitch of his palms, fingers yearning for the ghost of a cigarette, the way he does when he’s on his last straw.

That pout of your lips that he adores. That clench in his jaw muscle that you want to trace with your fingertips.

You see each other, know each other like the backs of your hands. It’s a connection that has always made sense, that neither of you ever dared question it. What is left now is to finally call it what it is.

He takes another step closer.

“Then don’t.”

“Don’t… what…”

Ewan’s hands find your arms, pulling you toward him. “You don’t have to wait anymore. It’s always been you, my love. Always. I was a goddamn idiot, and now I’m losing you because I couldn’t see what was in front of me.”

“Ewan—”

“I love you.”

It feels like the ground has been yanked out from under you, like you’re falling but somehow still standing there. A thousand memories flash through your mind in that instant—the way he’d glance at you across crowded rooms, those late-night calls when he’d barely say anything, just needing you to be on the other end of the line. The way he’d pull you close in the rare quiet moments, just you and him and this unspoken thing you thought you’d made up. 

All those years of thinking you were crazy, that you were seeing things that weren’t there. He was your best friend, the one person you trusted, but somewhere along the way, he became something more, and you couldn’t make sense of it because he’d never given you anything solid to hold onto.

And now… here he is, standing in front of you, saying the one thing you’ve always wanted him to say but thought he never would. You don’t know if you want to scream at him or fall into his arms. Maybe both.

It’s too much—the ache of loving him, of wanting him, and the pain of having to hide it behind easy smiles and casual laughter. And now, he’s standing here telling you he feels the same.

“You can’t—” your voice shakes as the words spill out, your disbelief palpable. “You can’t say that. Not now, after everything. After you told me you didn’t want this, didn’t want me. I was so ready to be yours, Ewan, and you just… And then I find you with her, and—”

Ewan’s hands reach up to cradle your face tentatively, his thumb caressing your cheek. “I know, my love. But I was scared of losing you that I pushed you away. I thought it’d be easier that way. I didn’t… I didn’t think it would end up like this. I’m sorry.”

In a last ditch effort of self-preservation, to keep from falling straight down the pit of no return, into the promise of him, you offer the words that sound right. “We’ll be okay, Ewan. We always be… friends…”

“Oh fuck that, my darling.”

And before you can think further, before you can even decide what to do next, his lips crash into yours, hard and full of every unspoken feeling, every wasted year, every goddamn minute you spent wondering if he’d ever feel this way about you—gone. His kiss is fierce, filled with so much need it almost hurts. And you’re kissing him back, your hands clutching at his shirt, feeling him press you tightly against his body as if he could make up for all the times he pulled away.

But then, just as abruptly, it all comes rushing back. The weight of years of hoping crashes down on you like a wave. 

You pull back, breathless, hands pushing against his chest, and he stumbles back, his eyes wide, face flushed and full of surprise. 

“I can’t,” you whisper, barely able to look at him, your mind still buzzing from the intensity of his kiss. “I can’t do this, Ewan. Not like this. Not now.”

“But—”

“We have to head back inside. We’re both on dates, remember?”

This time, it’s you who breaks away.

tagging Ewan's angels: @darktrashsoulbear @mamawiggers1980 @feed-my-downfall @leftoverp1zza @msbyswife @katherine93 @littlehannekin18 @nurtargaryen @aemondswifeisme @barnes70stark @garden-in-the-rain @salermotatis @lina-lovebug @strangersunghoon @hydrationqueensworld @eclecticqueennerd @kckt88 @hajmola-vs-aamchaska @primroseluna @sillysillygyal @b00kw0rmsworld @raging-panda @dedicateeverythingtomilkshake @aspookiepookie @peachysunrize @dreamygirli3 @callsignwidow

[midnightmah07]

"A celebration? Really? Why, aren't you so kind. Thank you, I'll make sure to enjoy myself today."

Voice lines under the cut! • template (warning: I edited a few parts to make it look like my character's RSA dorm)

📚: well, birthday or not there's still a ton of work to do! ... although I guess it wouldn't hurt to relax a tiny bit. Just for today.

📚: my most prized possession? Well, those'd be my books! See, lately I've been reading this wonderful one about a bean stock and an ogre and— ah! S-sorry, I'm rambling too much...

📚: Leona actually gave me something besides a simple "happy birthday" message this year, can you believe it? It's a crochet book cover, he said he got it online... It is really beautiful.

📚: Did you know? Me and my mom used to share a birthday. She used to say I was her birthday gift haha! Oh, how I miss her.

📚: birthdays back home were a mix of emotions to say the least... My sisters and I were never too close so that was always awkward... But my dad always made everything better.

📚: is that— no way, you got a big pudding instead of a cake? Ahahah, why thank you! That's actually really funny, but very creative!

📚: Adeline gave me a really beautiful bouquet of flowers, I'm sure my room will smell even nicer in no time!

📚: I usually like to keep my hair in a bun when I go to sleep. Once I tried using some curlers but it looked weird... My hair is more wavy than curly so... It looked a tad bit strange.

📚: my nightgown? Ah, do you like it? I love sleeping in it, it's rather comfortable! Most women in my country tend to sleep in similar nightgowns.

📚: *yawn* ...hm? Sorry, what was that? I'm still a bit out of it, I slept too late last night... Ah, i-it totally has nothing to do with the new book I've got!!

📚: skincare? Hm... I would like to try it sometime but for now I just use a moisturizer. I care about my appearance, yes, but I've never really paid much mind to my skin in this way.

📚: Poppy gave me a crochet lion plushie... With a scar on his eye. *Sigh* is this to make fun of me or something?

📚: "If you poke Isabelle's dimples you'll have luck for 10 years...?" What sort of rumour is that? Hahah! Oh, goodness... Well, if you want to try, you're welcome to.

📚: what's this old looking note...? Oh, it's from Malleus! It's a happy birthday wish, how thoughtful. I had no idea he knew my birthday though... Is this Adeline's doing?

📚: what a delightful day this has been, and all thanks to everyone here. Thank you very much.

Duo magic:

Isabelle: Thanks for the party, Adeline.

Adeline: Happy birthday, housewarden!

[cherrynflowergarden]

જ⁀➴ bitter truths|| dealer!matt x doll!reader

sturniolo masterlist add yourself to the taglist

she was laughing, leaning against her desk as she chatted with noah, a guy from her college. her eyes sparkled as she giggled at something he said, her entire posture relaxed and comfortable in his presence. but matt, standing by the door, could feel something dark twisting in his chest as he watched them. he didn’t get jealous—but he’d seen noah around. he knew the guy. he wasn’t some harmless friend and he surely didn’t have the best intentions. and watching her so openly enjoying his company made matt’s jaw clench.

he cleared his throat loudly, catching her attention. she glanced over, her big smile faltering as she noticed the coldness in his eyes.

“oh! matt,” she said, pulling herself away from noah. “this is noah, from my psych class. he’s been helping me with some notes.”

noah nodded politely, but matt didn’t return the gesture, his arms crossed tightly, eyes narrowing. “right. helping,” he repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm. her expression softened, her brow creasing slightly as she sensed his tension.

“can we talk?” he said, his tone stiff. “alone.” he added, bitterly eyeing noah.

she looked at noah apologetically. she barely had a chance to say goodbye before matt grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the room. she could feel the anger radiating off him, heavy, simmering, the kind that made her stomach twist.

she shifted under his gaze, trying to hold her ground, but his intensity made her stomach twist.

“what the hell are you doing, doll?” his voice was cold, almost a snarl. “hanging around with a guy like him?”

she frowned, taken aback by his tone. “he’s just a friend, matt. he’s helping me with some notes—”

“a friend? you don’t get it, do you?” his voice was mocking, filled with a bitterness she hadn’t heard from him before. “people like him don’t want to be friends with someone like you. you’re just easy prey.”

her eyes widened, a hurt expression flashing across her face. “matt, why are you being so—”

“realistic?” he interrupted, eyes narrowing. “because someone has to be. you think everyone’s got some good in them, that everyone’s gonna treat you the way you treat them. but that’s not how the world works, doll. you’re too blind to see it.”

her lip trembled, but she took a shaky breath, trying to stay calm. “you’re wrong, matt. i know what he’s like with me. just because he doesn’t fit into your world doesn’t mean—”

“oh, please,” he cut in, rolling his eyes. “you really think you know what you’re doing? you don’t have a clue. you’re just letting him string you along because he’s nice to you. that’s all it takes, isn’t it?” his words were sharp, condescending. “anyone gives you a bit of attention, and you’re ready to trust them with anything.”

her face flushed, her chest tightening at his words. “i thought… i thought you trusted me, matt. trusted that i could figure things out.”

“trusted you?” he scoffed, shaking his head in frustration. “y/n, i’m just trying to keep you from getting hurt. but you’re too stubborn, too naive to see that half these people only see you as an easy target.”

the word naive cut through her like a knife, each syllable laced with disdain. “so that’s what you think of me?” her voice was barely above a whisper. “some… some helpless girl who can’t take care of herself?”

“isn’t that exactly what you’re proving right now?” he snapped, his patience finally snapping with it. “you’re so desperate for everyone to like you, so willing to see the good in people, that you don’t even realize they’re laughing behind your back. they see you as this silly soft girl they can use and toss aside.” his voice was harsh, each word landing like a blow.

tears pricked at her eyes, but she held them back, swallowing hard. “i… i thought you saw me differently.”

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “doll, you’re… you’re sweet, alright? you’re too sweet for your own good. ‘t’s gonna ruin you if you don’t learn to see through people like him. and right now, you’re just proving me right. you’re proving you don’t get how people are.”

she flinched, his words making her chest ache. “maybe… maybe i don’t want to see people the way you do, matt. maybe i want to believe in people. i thought you’d get that.”

“get that?” he scoffed, crossing his arms. “’m done trying to understand why you’re so determined to get hurt. you don’t get it, do you? you’re weak and you refuse to see it. you refuse to admit that you need someone to watch out for you.”

the words echoed in her mind, his voice searing into her heart. weak. naive. silly. and what hurt her the most was how he addressed her by her name and not as doll. she felt a tear slip down her cheek and quickly wiped it away, but matt didn’t soften, didn’t reach out to her.

for a moment, she couldn’t even speak, her throat tight with unshed tears. “if that’s really how you see me, then… maybe you don’t know me at all.” her voice was shaky, laced with hurt she couldn’t hide.

he watched her, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t move. he didn’t apologize or reach out to stop her as she turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. she kept her gaze down, trying to block out his words, but they echoed in her mind, relentless.

days passed. she avoided his texts, his calls, even ignored the harsh banging on her door and every attempt he made to reach her. every time she saw his name flash on her phone, her chest tightened and the hurt bubbled up again. she knew matt was protective, that he cared, but his words had felt like a betrayal, like he didn’t trust her to know what was best for herself.

an; angst bc i'm sad(⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠) also tell me do we like this small title font more or the quote font one?

taglist; @mattsdolll @izzylovesmatt

[nanenna]

Jeez Louise This is a Mess

Sleepy King (Nenna edition) Master Post

Apologies in advance, I'm not very familiar with John Constantine, trying to do anything from his perspective is definitely an unwise decision. I have chosen it anyway. He's almost definitely OOC.

---

John watched the Fentons and the mayor just saunter through the brand new hole in the mayor’s wall like this was just a normal Friday for them. Considering how weird the town was as a whole, it probably was. And he meant that by the old meaning of the word and as literal as one could possibly interpret it. He’d never been anywhere where the veil was so thin over such a large area, with æther so thick in the air of course it was affecting the locals. Probably had something to do with whoever or whatever had cloaked the whole town.

John turned to Tall Dark and Broody, “So, what happened to all the bugs and trackers you put on them originally?”

Batsy frowned, “Danny’s are still in the Fenton residence, expected since he clearly changed his clothes. His parents’ trackers and bugs all went offline not long after arriving home, the ones I placed inside the residence are malfunctioning.”

“And that’s not the least bit suspicious?” John asked.

“It’s incredibly suspicious,” Batsy said with a completely straight face before turning and also walking right out the brand new hole. “I suggest you actually use the comm I gave you earlier, they’re explaining the situation to Masters.”

Unfortunately Mr. Gargles Gravel for Breakfast had a point, John sighed and did put in the comm, though he knew it would be spotty with the use of magic to follow the group. Batsy and Wonder Woman could follow however they liked, John did not have the energy for that.

The comms were staticky, cutting in and out even without John’s abuse of the thin veil to quick step around town. Not surprising, the amount of pure death magic radiating off the two dead-alive people in that tank would be enough to mess with most electronics even if the veil weren’t practically non-existent.

“Somehow this place feels cozy,” Boston commented as he followed John.

“You would think so.”

The conversation on the comm was getting worse, the bugs were clearly slowly giving up the ghost. John only caught a few words here and there, and those were only because they were Ghost Speak, something that shouldn’t be possible for flesh and blood mouths to speak. It’s just bits and pieces, names and titles mostly, but if he’s understanding this right…

“Huh, that may change the situation a bit.”

“What are you going on about?” Boston asked.

“It sounds like Pariah isn’t the Ghost King anymore. But Batsy’s bugs are losing the war against æther, so when we get there you’re gonna need to go spy on them.”

“Will that work?”

“Try to keep out of sight, but even if you get caught the worst they’ll do is kick you out. Undead solidarity.”

Boston grumbled, but when John met back up with Batsy and Wonder Woman staring through a window right to where the group was talking, Boston did as he was asked and slipped right through the wall and inside. John cast a quick spell to spy through Boston.

Boston floated slowly into the room, seemingly becoming braver as the Fentons looked right past him without reacting. Unfortunately, he got a little too close to the one person in the room that could definitely see him. The kid jumped out of his seat in surprise.

“Don't sneak up on me like that!” The kid whined as he picked himself up off the floor. Then he froze, eyes glaring at Boston. “How did you sneak up on me? You didn't activate my ghost sense at all.”

“Oh, you can see me? And ghost sense?”

“You don't know who I am?”

“Uh… Daniel Fenton?”

“Well yes, but ghosts don't usually call me that.”

“Then what do they call you?”

“How about you tell me your name first?”

“I’m Deadman.”

The kid burst into laughter. “Are you for real?”

“Danny, is it Youngblood?” The sister asked.

“Huh?” The kid looked to his older sister, then back to Boston. He gestured, “You can't see him?”

The Fentons all shook their heads.

The creepy mayor came back into the room holding a cardboard box, knocking a thin layer of dust from the top. “Here it is!” He looked up and frowned. “Who are you, and why are you in my home?”

“I’m Deadman and I’m uh… lost?”

“He didn't set off my ghost sense,” the kid added. He turned back to Boston, “Are you even a ghost?”

Batman, who’d spent the last few minutes getting into the perfect position while he waited for the most dramatic moment chose then to crash through the window. John started cursing as he rushed to climb in after the loon, already prepping a spell. The moment he had a clear line of sight he shot off the revelation spell at the kid.

It did… well not much.

Really about all it did was give the kid a couple extra accessories. He expected them, but he also expected it to somehow reveal the kid’s undead status too. Make him look all glowy and ghostly like he had when he’d first arrived last night, because John was pretty sure the kid hadn’t been kidnapped after all. Or at least not how they originally assumed, he was pretty sure some spirits considered an unwilling summons a kidnapping.

Still, there the crown was. Just floating over the kid’s head, toxic green æther flames around it like a death energy aurora. And like any teenager the kid seemed completely oblivious, having to be told the crown was even there. Once he got a hand on it though he said something odd, “Okay, crown retrieved.”

John just tucked his hands in his pockets, waiting to see what they were doing. Why did they think they needed to find the crown?

“We may have a problem,” The creepy mayor said as he pulled an identical crown from his cardboard box.

“What.” The kid looked back and forth between the crown in his hand and the one in the creeper’s. “Why are there two?”

And, well, John agreed. Why the fuck were there two? He already started muttering an identification spell as the kid turned to him.

“What did you do?!”

“I didn't do anything,” John protested, “that was purely an identification spell, it can't duplicate things!”

“Well clearly you did something wrong,” The kid’s mom said while glaring at the him.

Of course things got dicey after that, the kid and the creepy mayor got into a fight over the second crown, things turned into a right mess, and John was quite content to let them squabble among themselves. He moved to go stand next to Batsy and Wonder Woman, Boston with him, waiting to see how this went.

Of course the tussle then turned into fighting over the ring on the kid’s finger, still blaming John for just revealing the crown and ring the kid had apparently had this whole time.

“Alright, that’s enough. Shut up!” John may have put a bit of intent into that, and it worked beautifully. The whole group stopped and stared at him, finally shutting up. The parents managed to get between the kid and the creeper, each one still with one of the crowns.

The crowns he now knew were both, somehow, legitimate.

John pointed at the kid, “Just call the crown, it’ll listen.”

The kid gave him a disbelieving look. “Oh sure, I’ll just,” he hunched forward a little bit, clapped his hands, and whistled like he was calling a dog, “here Crowny, Crowny, Crowny.”

For a brief moment nothing happened, then the creeper mayor jerked forward as the crown yanked itself from his hand. It went to go join the other crown floating over the kid’s head, one of them grew wider so the other could nestle inside it, both spinning in place but in opposite directions.

Everyone was staring at the display.

“What uh… what are they doing?” The kid asked nervously.

“They… like each other?” The sister asked skeptically.

“Great, wonderful, fabulous, just what I need in my life.” The kid sighed and turned to glare at John. “What. Did. You. DO?!”

“I didn’t do shit,” John replied, much to the parents’ combined horror. “Looks like somehow they’re both legit, my best guess is one of them isn’t from this timeline.”

“Oh,” the sister said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “The Nasty Burger explosion happened after the fight with the king, right?”

“The what?” the kid’s parents asked.

“Oh,” the kid responded, “I’m starting to see why the council of eyeballs hates my guts.”

And wasn’t that a concerning sentence. John desperately needed a drink, thankfully he had a flask on him and chose that moment to take a swig. “Alright, so there should be a second ring too, no point leaving that on Dark’s finger in case he gets out again.”

“Vlad did it,” the kid said while pointing at the creeper.

“Excuse me!” Creeper actually put a hand to his neck, like some fainting Victorian lady.

“Vlad tried to steal the ring and crown, so he let Dark out of the sarcophagus and I had to go clean up his mess, like always.” The kid glared at the creeper, it was starting to paint a really concerning picture.

“I’m sure Vladdie was just trying to keep these powerful artifacts safe,” the kid’s dad said loudly and happily. Yeah, there was the concerning picture again.

“I’d believe it if all he took was the ring, but the crown was safely sealed away with Pariah and he let the guy out to steal it.”

“Just call the ring,” John said gruffly.

“Here Ragey, Ragey, Ragey.” The kid whistled and clapped his hands again. The ring showing up on the kid’s other hand was expected, the glowing green hell hound that came sprinting through the wall and practically tackled the kid wasn’t. “Cujo! Hi! Who’s a good puppy?!”

Keeriest, John needed a stiffer drink.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hey can you do more of Aaron x non bau rich fem!reader. Like maybe with jack

ANON!!!! I’m just out here living my rich stepmom life now, okay? Jack is so cute!!!! I swear I’m weak for domestic Hotch | WC: 423

Inside the living room, you sat on the floor, surrounded by colorful art supplies, while Jack busily worked on his latest school project. The grand space, often reserved for elegant soirées and refined gatherings, had been transformed into a cozy art studio for the day, with large sheets of paper spread out, and markers and paint scattered everywhere.

Jack, his little face scrunched in concentration, held up his creation for you to see. “What do you think?” he asked eagerly, showing off a drawing of what appeared to be a dragon, flying over a castle that looked suspiciously like your home.

You smiled warmly, leaning closer to inspect the details. “It’s perfect, Jack! I love how fierce the dragon looks. You’re getting really good at this. I'm sure your teacher will be impressed with your skills and give you a gold star for the fairy tale topic!” you praised, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately.

Jack beamed at your words. “I think Dad’s going to like it, too,” he said, glancing toward the doorway where Hotch had been watching the two of you quietly, his expression soft.

Aaron’s voice cut through the gentle ambiance. “I’m sure I will,” he said, walking into the room and joining you on the floor. His suit jacket was off, and his tie loosened for the first time all day, but he looked relaxed.

“Dad, look! I made the dragon like the one from the book you read to me last night,” Jack explained, already diving into another story about his creation.

You exchanged a fond look with Aaron, who smiled at the scene. This — these simple moments — they were everything to him. “I think we have a true artist on our hands,” Aaron said, his hand gently resting on your shoulder as he sat down beside you, his eyes were full of affection for the both of you.

You grinned, pulling Jack into a little side hug. “I’d say so. I think we'll need more wall space for all of his masterpieces though,” you teased, already scouting which painting you'd have to take down. It made Jack giggle.

Aaron chuckled softly too, his arm slipping around your waist as he looked between the two people he cared for most. It wasn’t the opulence of the mansion or the high-profile life that mattered to him — it was the warmth of the family you had created, the quiet joy of being together, and the love that effortlessly filled the room every time you were together.

[thumperdaetime]

the music is punk because it challenges the norm. the clothing is punk because it challenges the norm. the politics are punk because they challenge the norm. it's not a sound, or a look, or a book, or a slogan. it's a way of thinking that puts radical acceptance and relentless pursuit of joy, face to face with a world that wants you dead. you can't put a price on it. the disabled woman that says "fuck it people know I can't hold my blatter anyway. I don't care if they can tell I'm wearing the rehab-provided brief. Get me my bright lipstick I'm going to bingo!" is flexing the same muscles as the suburban white boy who steals eyeliner from his conservative mother. they are both people using identity, to create joy and signal comradery in lonely times, reputation be damned.

not to mention, all of the clothes I have been able to afford new when I was in my poorest moments were shit quality anyway. anything you can do to extend the lifespan of a physical object that was made under the modern fast fashion system past "thrown out, unsold at the store" is a win. in the same way that any pressure you can keep against an actively bleeding wound is a win. cloths are a common class of tools we use to help regulate our comfort, with that is with the temperature or our cave-mates. if the clothes make you feel uncomfortable they are already useless. it is already trash. why not try anything to see if it works? there are intelligent capable people across the centuries who died dreaming of what to do with once gorgeous expensive trendy fabric, that will now look dated and trashy outside of "the spring of '32 when i fell in love with jazz." or whatever the kids are into these days. the stupid walmart blazer you took a chance on 2 years ago but now feel "too X to wear" is no different. either you trash it now, or live with that trash in your home until your kids do it for you, while crying about how they always thought you looked good in that color. you might as well see if there's enough fabric to re-make that halter top you loved in college. when it looks homemade you get to boast and explain all about how you're trying to make shit better in little ways. and who cares if it fails? Aren't you deserving of a little petty violence? when the last time you really didn't give a shit about seam Ripping and just went to town? don't you want to be able to yell at something with no moral consequences? so much in this world is complicated and nuanced and requires forethought and responsibility. Wouldn't it feel nice to have a hobby that lets you get reasonably angry at evil fabric for not doing the thing, and then you can just throw it and swear, and then never have to think about it again. because it doesn't matter. it was already cheep plastic made to feed a system that would rather watch the world burn than lose a shareholder. you eat credit cards a year. you can not hurt wasted disposable plastic more than it will hurt you.

and then if it works you have a cute top to wear around places to show you are the kind of person who has cool tops! and help you ease people into the idea that a political movements starts with people deciding what things they inherited they actually want to keep around. and then maybe one day you cut apart and re-make out of nice quality fabric, with the mistakes you learned from the first one. so you can weaponize your ability to present yourself as ""respectable"" when you have to play the politics game in big official ways.

or (imagine this) you can even use your new knowledge of what types of edits you often make to clothing to buy a quality garment that will be more worth investing in. Ones that are made in ways that add value to their communities will feel good on your body from day one, and you can be mened and adapt in ways that may let it outlive you.

or maybe you elevate that shity, guilt ridden- shirt out of the gym lost and found on the last day of freshman year, because "fuck it- I liked that middle-school library fit. and Its a size too small but I'm bound to get thinner eventually. and I don't think its actually stealing if no one else wants it." Maybe if you make it into a statement piece scrap in your favorite "look I'm not happy about it either!" outfit, to show that you want to fuck with the systems in a "hey we should still have A Library tho right?" sort of way. you might run into the middle school girl who gets to break the ice with a fellow "cool garment person" friend. and she gets to laugh about your shirt deadnaming her. and you get to apologize and offer to let her sign something over it. and now you are advertising the formative art of a local queer-punk-artisan who you know is also out there trying her best to make the shitty stuff a little less shitty when they can, even if it means learning how to thread a sewing machine.... eventually.... hopefully.

also, as a person who has spent about a decade trying to figure out ways to keep kids of all ages informed and prepared and enriched on a budget. "Tug of War turned tie-dye Party" would of been a smash hit, my queer and rural in the 90's type parents would have loved it. after growing up with Halloweens filled with pieced-together costumes that made room for sensory issues and accessibility aids. and family "vacations" taken on public land with what's left of the food stamps. i think there is definitely a market for how to teach your children the fundamentals of serving in a world that might find their misery profitable. without like... terrafing them.

imagine how much easier alot of it would have been if someone early in your life had sat you down and said "ok. a lot of times things are going to be bad and unfair and evil. and there's going to be complicated reasons you cant do much about it but feel bad. but if you feel bad all the time it will only get worse. so what you can do is take what is around you, figure out what it is and how it works and why it's there, and then break it in ways that are meaningful and delibrite. and re-shape it to help the actual people who are trying survive."

then they showed you and all of your little friends how to research, what fabric is and understand why you bought supplies, and then get their hands dirty testing how strong it is, and why jeans have rivets even when you want to sew right there. and re-asure them that it's ok you paved the way to make sure they can't hurt anything too bad even if they are really really bad at it. and then let them find joy and pride in making something unique and custom with their own tools for the cost of cleaning out a closet, and some rite dye.

and then the community has a couple new little baby punks making decent folks smile with little bold fashion statements, and turning heads when they experiment with which parts of society they want to bring into the new age. tl;dr: I think we need to start telling the “I’m too poor to dress punk” crowd that they’re posers. -polyamorouspunk, November 2024, tumbr.com

I think we need to start telling the “I’m too poor to dress punk” crowd that they’re posers.

[fairy-writes]

Hi!! I saw that you write for Arcane and had a really cute idea for Vander. I don’t really see a lot of fics where you get to see Vander’s reactions to the reader either playing with the kids or comforting them, so I thought a fic centered around that might be cute? (I think also having a bit of slow burn would be sweet, like both Vander and the reader like each other but don’t do anything about it until getting a little push from the kids because they ship).

ONE LITTLE PUSH

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Arcane: League of Legends

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Bit of a Slowburn, Fluff, Getting Together, Reader is Smaller than Vander (but who isn’t?), Sibling Bickering

Notes: VANDER MY FAVORITE

(No, but seriously, contrary to popular belief, he’s my 1st favorite over Viktor)

JUST IN TIME (kind of) FOR SEASON TWO, LETS GOOOOO

__________________________________________________________________________

Vander wasn’t quite sure why you stuck around for so long. 

In fact, he wasn’t sure why you stuck around in the first place. 

But… As Vander watches you with the kids. His kids. He begins to understand why. 

You were kind, unyieldingly so. Even as Mylo grew to start picking on Powder, even as they fought, you were kind and patient and offered them the unending gentle love they all so craved. 

The love he couldn’t afford to give them because who could be gentle in the Undercity? Especially in the depths of the Lanes?

You could. 

Vander was in the middle of pouring a drink when Powder tumbled into The Last Drop. She was covered in bruises and dust from something. Or someone. She barely met his gaze as she clambered to her feet and all but sprinted into the back where they all slept. Vander looked through the multitude of customers and spotted you. 

You had obviously seen Powder go bolting, worry twisting your face as you glanced toward the bar and met his stare. You arched an eyebrow, and he shrugged. You rolled your eyes and sighed before smiling in jest and getting up from where you had been tinkering with the jukebox. 

Vander finally manages to get away from his chatty clients and makes his way back into the back room nearly fifteen minutes later. 

Only to pause by the door. 

“—ylo hates me! He does, I swear!” Powder cries, and you hush her gently, dabbing what looks to be some of the antiseptic you have lying around on her cuts and bruises. Disinfectant was hard to come by, especially in the Lanes, but you were seemingly magic in the sense that you always knew who to talk to to get some. It seems you had worked your magic yet again. 

“Did Mylo say that he hates you?” You ask gently, whispering a quiet “sorry” under your breath as she flinched with the sting of the antiseptic. 

Powder pauses, thinking what had to be her earlier conversation over, 

“Well… No…” She mumbles, and you hum, 

“Can I give you my honest opinion?” You ask, and she stills, looking up at you with wide eyes before nodding. 

“Aren’t you always honest with us?” She asks. You chuckle at that. 

“I suppose I am. But I don’t think Mylo hates you. Does he find you a bit annoying? Maybe. But every big brother thinks that about their younger siblings. I know mine did.” You say, and Powder mulls your words over and over and over in her mind. 

She always did overthink things. 

“I didn't know you had a big brother.” She says eventually, and you let out a loud laugh at that. 

“You are a silly girl for focusing on that. But yes, I came from a big family. And guess what? I was the baby of the family. Just. Like. You.” You say, emphasizing your words with a pinch to her side. Powder squeals with laughter and wriggles away to escape your dastardly tickling. 

Vander hangs his head with a huff and a smile before turning to head back to the bar counter. He can hear your conversation continue as Powder escapes your grasp.

“Now, where did you get all these bruises from?”

“Um… Vi taught me parkour from Topside down…”

“Powder! You’re like seven!”

“Seven and a half! And she said I was ready!”

Ever since you began to stick around, you had become something of a parent figure to the four little children Vander had come into care for. 

To Vi and Powder especially. 

So when Mylo burst into The Last Drop with the words of a fistfight on his tongue, you were the first one out the door. 

Vander was close behind. 

Mylo led you and Vander deep into the Undercity. In fact, it was so far into the Undercity that Vander was worried they were getting into some dark territory. 

Like… Really dark territory. 

But soon enough, the sounds of a fight were heard, and soon after, you were deep in the throng of a multi-person fistfight. Everyone paused for a second when they saw you and then stopped altogether when they spotted Vander not far behind. 

You began to pull people off and shoved them out of the way. You did this again and again, ducking under a few stray punches until you managed to unearth Vi. 

She wasn’t looking too hot. 

Her face was bruised and swollen, and the fifteen-year-old spat out a wad of blood as she bared her bloody teeth and prepared to fight again. 

At least until she saw you. 

It was as if the tension had been released from her shoulders. 

She all but slumped into your grasp, and you stumbled back a step with the sudden weight. Vander yanked the last person away from you both and scooped up his adoptive daughter. She leaned her head into the crook of his neck and was obviously fighting back tears. 

Mylo was hunched over, hands on his knees, and wheezed from all the sprinting. 

“Vi? Violet, can you hear me?” You said as soon as you all returned to The Last Drop, and Vander set her down on the couch. Powder and Claggor had been found a block away, fighting off more thugs from whoever sent them after the literal children. 

He would've pummeled them to a pulp if Vander hadn’t hung up his gauntlets years before. 

Vi’s head lolled from side to side, and you shone a pocket flashlight into her eyes, watching as her pupils dilated and contracted. You were experienced at this, taking care of people, even more so than he thought. 

Were you a doctor deep in your past? 

As Vander thought about it, he realized he didn’t know practically anything about you. Your past, your likes, dislikes, he knew you were good with machines and medicine and that you came from a big family. But that was it. 

And that hurt his heart. 

You ended up ushering everyone out of the room while you worked on caring for Vi. Vander closed the bar early and was in the middle of putting chairs on tables when you emerged. Powder, Mylo, and Claggor dropped what they were doing. They scampered to your side, a chorus of “How’s Vi?” erupting from the kids. You offered them a tired smile and patted their heads. 

“She’ll be okay. She’s resting right now. You can go in and see her if you’re quiet.”

And then it was the two of you. 

Vander set the final chair on top of the table and meandered his way over where you were sitting at the bar, head in your hands. 

You looked tired. 

“Is she really okay?” He asked, and you grunted, rubbing at your temples. 

“She has a broken nose, fractured left arm, some bruised ribs, and a concussion. Which, all things considered, she’s very lucky. It could’ve been a lot worse.” You say, and he sighs, 

“Did she say why she got into the fight?” He replied, and you shrug, 

“She was protecting Powder. Then, more people started showing up until it was an all-out brawl. That’s when we stepped in.” You say, and his shoulders sag. 

Vi was going to be okay. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever said it. But thank you. For everything you’ve done. Taking care of them and all that.” He says, and you just hum. 

“You guys gave me a home after everything. I’m just repaying my debt. Well… that and I love those kids.” You say, and he arches an eyebrow,

“After everything?” He inquires, and you glance up sharply as if not realizing what you had said. 

Eventually, your gaze casts downward, and you run a hand over your head and through your hair. 

“I was a doctor in Piltover before the rebellion. I was caught trying to help the Undercity before they were officially citizens and cast out.” You say, and his arched eyebrow raises even higher. 

“A doctor? Were you any good?” You bark out a dry laugh at that,

“One of the best!” Your voice cracks as you speak, and he feels his heart splinter into pieces. 

Vander should’ve known that Claggor and Mylo were up to something when they came in with sneaky grins on their faces. 

The Last Drop was all but desolate. It was the wee hours of the morning before the people of the Undercity awoke to begin their day. But the door was unlocked, and the kids were allowed to run in and out as they pleased. 

Which they had been doing a lot in the last hour or so. 

“Vander!” Mylor clamored for his adopted father’s attention, waving an excited hand as he scampered up to the counter. Claggor hung behind, ever the stoic young man. But there was mischief in their eyes and curling the corners of their mouths. 

Vander slung the rag he used to wipe the counters down over his shoulder and leaned on the bar counter. 

“What did you do now?” He teased, and Mylo all but squawked. 

“When have I ever done anything?!” Vander just stared, 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” He asked, and Claggor snickered at Mylo’s deflated expression. Mylo quickly spun on a heel and jabbed a finger at his adopted brother, 

“Not a word outta you, Claggor!” He snapped before spinning back as something dawned on him.

“You gotta come with us!” He demanded, and Vander glanced between the two of them. 

“Why?” He asked, and Mylo let out an exaggerated groan.

“No questions! Just come on!” He grabbed Vander’s hand and tried tugging him around the counter and toward the front door. 

Vander relented, locking the door behind him as he followed the two boys. 

Only to realize very quickly what was actually going on. 

His first tip-off was hearing Powder and Vi’s voices, yours mixed in as you asked where you were going, why they were taking you, and what they were doing. 

Vi answered no questions. Powder just chirped excitedly. “You’ll see! You’ll see!”

The six of you met in the middle of the street, Powder dragging you by your hand as you followed behind patiently. You glanced up from listening to Powder, and your gazes met. Vander felt his heart skip a beat as he took in your appearance. There wasn’t anything particularly new, but you looked like you had cleaned up some. Your hair was pinned neatly back, and your clothes looked ironed. 

You looked… Really nice.

“Vander? What’s going on?” You asked, and Vi nudged you with her good arm. Her fractured left one was still healing carefully under your care. 

“We’re setting you two up.” She teased, and you stared dumbly. 

“Setting us up how?” You asked, and now it was Powder’s turn to blurt out an answer, 

“On a date!” 

Before the two of you could react, all four kids all but disappeared around the corner in a cloud of dust. Leaving you facing Vander and utterly alone. 

It was safe to say he was panicking just a little bit. 

“Vander? Do you have any idea what they meant?” You asked gently, and he scrubbed a hand down his face. 

“My guess is they want us to go on a date.” He said, fully prepared to hear rejection. Because who would want to go on a date with him? A middle-aged man with a stained past. His lungs twisted as he heard you take a step closer. 

A smaller hand slipped into his, and he looked down from where he had been staring at Topside. 

Your eyes were lit up, not with disgust at the proposition he was proposing. 

But they were filled with hope for the future this relationship would bring. 

[novvabee]

And They Were Roommates pt.7

Summary: this one is pretty short and sweet, but Y/N makes the boys friendship bracelets.

“What colors do you want?” you ask Sirius who is sitting on the other side of the couch, picking out beads and charms that he likes. You were making little bracelets for you and the girls when Sirius walked in the living room and asked what you were up to. He cozied up next to you and watched as you intricately wove and knotted a pink, white, and green bracelet for Lily. Once you were finished he sweetly asked for one, and you of course agreed.

“Do you have red and black?” he asked, still sifting through the little charms.

“Of course,” you replied, “I also have this silvery color I think you’d like.” You lifted the string of the shimmery silver so he could see. His face lit up and he nodded. You cut three equal length strings in the colors he wanted and began tying knots.

He handed you three charms that he wanted: a star, a red guitar, and cherries. You couldn’t explain it, but those charms just made sense on a Sirius bracelet. 

He hovered over you, watching intently, sitting close enough to rest his chin on your shoulder. You enjoyed this small, quiet moment with Sirius. You felt like you didn’t get them often, but when they happen, it leaves you with a warm feeling all over.

“Could you teach me how to make one?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied, “just grab some colors and copy me.” you turned to face him, legs criss-crossed, knees touching his. 

“Ok, just go slow.” he said.

You smiled and showed him the basic knots and loops he had to copy, at a much slower pace, making sure your work was on clear display for him to follow. “See you make a ‘4’ with the strings, and make sure it is tight so that you can see the pattern,” you explained, “and then you move to the next string.”

“W-wait, slow down.” he laughed.

“Keep up, slow poke.” you laughed back. In all fairness, he did try, but somewhere along the way it all went wrong. 

The bracelet, if you could call it that, turned into some sort of knotted ball, strings hanging loose. You bit your lip and turned away to stop from laughing.

“Don’t you dare laugh.” he said, this just made you hide your face in your hands to muffle the giggles coming out. “Stop it! I tried so hard!” he said, fake pouting. 

“Oh it’s lovely Siri,” you laughed, holding out your wrist for him to tie it to. It looked like something a cat would play with, but you were genuinely proud of him for trying. He grabbed ahold of your wrist and secured it, a goofy smile cut across his face. You loved to see it, loved that he was comfortable to be silly around you, himself around you.

“Ok, ok my turn.” you say to him. He closed his eyes and held out his wrist, the same way you did. You tied the bracelet around his wrist, knotting it to make sure he could take it off when he wanted. “Ok look!”

He opened his eyes. His smile grew and he looked quite pleased. “I love it.” he said, eyes not moving from the strings. There it was again, that warm little feeling. "You gotta tie it tighter so it wont come off." you nodded and tightened it. You thought surely he would take it off soon after you put it on, but maybe you thought wrong.

You heard footsteps make their way downstairs. You looked up seeing Remus, still in pajamas and hair a bit messy. 

“Morning sunshine.” Sirius shot at him. Remus yawned and made his way over to the pair of you. It wasn’t irregular for him to sleep in so late, usually allowing himself a day of rest once a month, you figured it was because he always stayed up so late and he was trying to fix his sleep schedule.

“Hi Remmy,” you greeted him.

“What are you two up to?” he asked, voice groggy and deep.

“We are making bracelets, Y/N is teaching me.” Sirius said, holding his wrist up for Remus to see.

Remus took Sirius’s hand and held it close, examining your work. He smiled at you. “Fine craftsmanship, I see,” he said jokingly.

“Would you like one? I can make one for you as well.” you asked. It would not take long at all, you had made hundreds before.

He nodded. “Course I would like one, love.”

You beamed up at him, clapping your hands eagerly. “Pick out the colors and charms you’d like.” you ordered him.

He chose green, brown, and a yellowy tan color. The colors much like the sweaters he often wears. He picked out a singular charm, a crescent moon, and the letters spelling out ‘moony’.

“Moony?” you asked. He was now sitting on the armchair, sitting sideways, long legs dangling over the arm’s edge. 

He chuckled, supplying you with a short, “It’s a nickname.”

“But why-” you were interrupted with the front door opening and James swooping in, always the tornado. He was out of breath and sweaty, just coming back from a jog.

“Hello! I need to shower- Ah Remus nice to see you’re finally awake, anyways after that I want to make dinner-Chicken and pasta alright?” he asked, so fast paced and chaotic, the way he always was. He stopped in his tracks when he saw what you were doing, coming to the back of the couch and looking over. “What is that?” he asked.

“A bracelet, I made one for Sirius and now one for Remus. Sirius made me one too, which I love and am very proud of.” you held up your arm for James to see the yarn ball dangling halfway on your wrist. James and Remus both burst into laughter, Sirius chuckling along with them. 

“Well that's not fair,” James said, “if you are making friendship bracelets, I want one too.”

You giggled at the slight childishness of that statement, but  replied, “Fine, you pick out some colors and charms too.”

James picked red, yellow, and white for his colors and two tiny gold charms; a sun and a lightning bolt. The sun made sense for him, he was always the light and warmth within the house, bright and happy. The lightning bolt however…

“Why the lightning bolt?” you asked, straining your neck all the way back to look at him above the couch.

He smiled down at you and shrugged. “No clue, I just think it’s cool.”

Taglist 💌: @too-efn-old-to-be-here @cometsghost @eeviee4 @giuli-in-earth @spicybearnaise @the-lavender-girl @adharalikethestar @champomiel @itsleroyposts

[romana-after-dark]

Dead Dove December 2024

Hello everyone! This December I’m hosting a multi-fandom event that I’m calling, Dead Dove December! From 12/01/2024 - 12/31/2024 I’m encouraging others to create something that expresses their deepest and (most importantly) darkest desires. I will be reblogging all pieces of art or fanfiction, and will post a masterlist in January. or whenever i get around to it. i have not even done the pride masterlist bc I'm a disaster! But most importantly this will be for funsies.

I hosted this last year with just oscar/pedro Characters but Logan is my special guy so he's here now too <3

Details below the cut…

What is Dead Dove Do Not Eat?

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, or DDDNE has its origins in one of my comfort shows!

The phrase comes from a meme referencing the 2003 Arrested Development episode "Top Banana", in which Michael Bluth opens a paper bag labeled "DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT" and, upon discovering that there is a dead dove inside the bag, says, deadpan, "I don't know what I expected." - fanlore.org

In short, what you see in the tags is what you should expect to see in the fic. This can apply for any type of fic, including the fluffy ones, but it’s usually associated with darker themes. That being said, this is your warning that this is a DARK THEMED EVENT. If you aren’t comfortable with darker topics like non-con, excessive violence, blood/gore, death, toxic relationships, 18+ age gaps, and more, then I encourage you not to participate in this event.

How to Participate

For the month of December, post your Dead Dove fanfiction or fan art on your blog. Use the tag #deaddovedecemeber2024 and tag me. You can also send a link via ask or DM if you like! I will not be posting anything for you, just reblogging and linking. At the end of December I will post a masterlist with links to everyone’s works! Side Note - Since Tumblr doesn’t really allow for NSFW art, you can post your work on Twitter or any other site that allows it and just send me that link so I can add it to the masterlist.

Rules

You MUST be 18+ to participate. I will be checking your blog/social media to be sure. Please make sure your age is easy to find. If I find that you’re a minor or if your age isn’t readily present I will be blocking you and you will be unable to participate. You can just add that you are over 18 if you don’t want your age out on the internet. As the creator and promotor of this event, I need to know I’m not interacting with minors given the nature of this event.

The work MUST be dark in some way. There’s no limit to how dark your work needs to be or can be, but it needs to contain some sort of dark theme in order to qualify. If non con isn’t your thing, dub con via stockholm syndrome or brainwash can let you write a more comfortable scene while still remaining dark. Fics and art do not necessarily need to be NSFW. last year a friend even did cnc, where it was seemingly dark but then ended with it was Marc and reader ding a scene. Dark reader or oc is an absolute yes.

Your work MUST have an Oscar Isaac, Hugh Jackman, or Pedro Pascal Character. It can be x reader, x oc,xcanon character, crosoversec. If you want Joel Miller fucking the ghoul from Fallout (or both of them fucking a reader)you can even though Eddie doesn't exist in any Oscar Pedro Hugh content. If you want Marc and Logan to fuck, go nuts. Got a series you're already writing, and wanna submit a dark chapter or a dark Au to it? That's fine too! We're pretty open here. No rpf.

Do NOT post anything before 12/01/2024. I will not count submissions prior to that date or after 12/31/2024. Masterlsit will be posted in January.

Your work MUST contain the proper tags. I won’t police how detailed your tags should be, but, for instance, if your work contains non-con, and you didn’t tag non-con then your work will not qualify. Please be inclusive in your writing where you can, but aware of POC queer and disabled people.

You may submit no more than two (2) pieces. This can include a fanfic and fanart, two fanfics or two fanarts. This is to allow someone to write a piece and make a work of art to accompany it. You can also work with another creator together.

I’m not going to yuck someone’s yum, but there are some things I’m just personally not comfortable with and since I’ll be reading/viewing/promoting all of these, I have a few things not allowed in the event. The list of what’s NOT allowed is shorter than the list of what IS allowed so here’s a list of the things that will NOT be tolerated in this event:

No underage/aged up minor content - To clarify, this includes things popular ships like - TLOU 1 or "Show Ellie" x Joel or Miguel O’Hara X Gwen Stacy. No "ageing up" minors for the purpose of a fic.

No Bestiality - To clarify, monsterfucking does NOT count as bestiality (at least to me). For example, werewolves, venom, Khonshu, e.t.c. are all allowed.

No Real person fanfiction. Can’t include Oscar, Pedro, or Hugh. This is not a moral judgement or me looking down just not in my comfort zone

No incest - To clarify, step-sibling/step-parent relationships are permitted as long as everyone is 18+. Different age of consent in your state or country does not apply here, and frankly I'd prefer 21+ but I know there are younger people than me who write so I'm not gonna say you gotta write like that. Selfcest relationships are also allowed (like Moon Knight or Miguel with his alternate self, e.t.c.).

No necro/snuff. Plain and simple.

I have final say in what I want to promote. Is TLOU 2 Ellie an adult and not technically Joel's ctual kid? Yes. technically it fits all the rules but it gives me the ick so I'm not gonna accept it. I cannot possibly prepare for all scenarios, and i want to just be able to have fun here with yall.

If you’re unsure if something is allowed or not, you can send me a DM or an ask for clarification prior to posting.

You can use any prompts you want or none, you aren’t tied to any one idea but here are some to get the ideas flowing if you need them!

Also, you can absolutely use a fic to inspire your art, or art to inspire a fic! Your inspiration piece, whether yours or someone else’s does not have to be from December, but you MUST obtain permission from the original creator before I promote your work. Most creators are happy when their work inspires others, and all my fics are open to being used for inspiration, but please reach out to the creator first.

I’m very excited! This is my second year hosting this an I've hosted other events by myself or with friends so I'm happy to keep going, this time with Hugh Jackman bc i can't get Logan out of my head.

Dividers and header made by the amazing @melodygatesauthor

Please consider reblogging to spread the word!

I don't reall know many people in the logan/hugh jackman fandom so I'd love if this was an oppritunity to get to know yall too!

Dark prompt list to come, also check out #deaddovedecember2023 to see what last year had!

[beef-brisket]

((It's been a hot second since I've seen the description of what the Adarians look like- so please forgive me if I'm way off the mark 😂))

Lucifer and Adam stood to the side as the nine Adarians sat at a table listening to Charlie. This was their third lesson in their training.

Charlie: Alright! So, today, we'll be discussing what people with mental illnesses need to cope and heal! Okay lets start-

Adam snickered when the tallest one raised her hand. Myrna had short brown hair and Lucifer's red eyes. She had short black horns and dark red skin.

She was the most like Adam. Within a few hours of her being fully grown, she forced Adam to get her a tailored suit.

Charlie: Uh- yes, Myrna?

Myrna: At what point do we consider the humans at our hotel to be lost causes?

Charlie: L-Lost causes?

Myrna: Yes. Surely, there will be a point where if they are not making any progress or show any determination to change we will force them to leave.

Saivth: She's right. Humans aren't eternal, not like sinners. There will have to be a point where we cut the sick leaves so the green ones thrive. And also free up rooms.

Charlie: I... we... aren't kicking anyone out. It'll be like the Hazbin. All are welcome!

Aata sticks his hand up. He has blonde hair and pale red skin, with long, thin white horns.

Charlie sighs: Yes?

Aata: That sounds a detrimental, doesn't it?

Charlie: Detrimental? How?

Aata: We are only as good as our patients. They have to work with us, not against us. We can't take resources away from patients who are making progress to focus on one that are only there for a free feed and a place to sleep. That'll be causing harm to those who are trying and not only need our help but are basically screaming for it.

Myrna: We shouldn't waste time on humans who aren't trying.

Charlie: ...okay- I see your point but-

Rawiri, the tallest male, scoffs: "But" what? They've made good points. Come on, princess, even you have to agree with some of the things my siblings have said.

Lucifer turns to Adam. He's starting to get a bit agitated: I feel like their ganging up on her-.

Adam: Their not ganging up on her, love. This is a debate. And it's good. They need this. They need to reach a conclusion they all can agree on. But we'll mediate. Just keep in mind that these are good questions.

Lucifer nodded: They kept interrupting her. She can't share her thoughts! That's not fair.

Adam nodded: Everyone! Please keep this civil, and give Princess Charlotte a chance to answer your concerns. This is her project. Try to be fair and responsible, please.

They siblings nod, and Charlie gives him a smile.

Charlie: T-Thank you, Adam.

Adam: You're very welcome, my dear.

Lowkey want an au where Adam has Alastors' powers.

The tentacles

The eyes

The changing size

The shadows

The sass

The deal making

Him owning Husk and Nifty

The musical numbers

The radio control

The tentacles- have I mentioned that before?

The rivalry with Lucifer

Maybe he replaces Alastor entirely. No Alastor. Only Adam. It's always been Adam.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk.

Only Adam lol This is good! His Husk and Nifty could be Lute and Peter.

He doesn't have to smile all the time does he?

Yessss, and he plays rock instead of jazz lol And yes of course there is a rivalry lol

[locomoqo]

Could we get something related to gun trying to convince the reader who he loves to stay with him. Reader is conflicted with her feelings because she loves him but she’s aware of his job and how dangerous it is for the both of them. Angst & comfort please!

love me like a sailor

— gun park x reader

details: angst with comfort, established relationship

A/N: 1.2k words whewww, also i hope i did gun's personality justice here🥹 i rlly do believe he'd soften around someone he loves (i have a feeling this didnt come off as angsty as i wanted it to be bleh)

The room is dimly lit, shadows stretching long across the floor as the evening light fades behind heavy curtains. Gun stands in front of you, his usually impassive face softened by an emotion he rarely shows—vulnerability. The tension between you both is almost suffocating, a thick silence hanging between breaths. Your heart is heavy with the weight of a decision you don’t want to make.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper. You clutch your arms, holding yourself together because you’re afraid that if you let go, you’ll fall apart. You look up at him, eyes filled with the conflict that’s been tearing at you for weeks. He’s been distant lately, lost in the chaos of his work, and you can’t pretend any longer that it doesn’t scare you.

Gun’s jaw tightens, his usually stoic expression cracking for a brief second. There's a flicker of something fragile in his eyes. He steps forward, a little too quickly, as if he's scared you might vanish. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” he says, his voice quiet and distant—just like it always is.

You meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with unshed tears, hating that he makes it sound so simple. “But for how long?” you ask, your voice breaking. “You’re always chasing danger, always fighting, always risking everything. I can’t... I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t tear me apart every time you walk out that door.” The words spill out of you, each one a stab to your own heart. You hate how weak you sound, how vulnerable. But you can’t help it. You can’t stop loving him.

Gun’s brows furrow, his usual mask slipping as he takes a step closer. He towers over you, but there’s a gentleness in his eyes that contradicts his imposing presence. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for you but stops, hovering with uncertainty as if he’s not sure he has the right to touch you anymore. “I don’t know how to be different,” he admits, his voice raw and low, twisting your heart. It's true, fighting has become part of who he is, it's all he's ever known. “This is who I am. But if it means losing you, I’ll—”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head, feeling tears sting at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you lose your edge. I don’t want to be your weakness.”

You see frustration flare in his eyes, the helplessness he fights so hard to conceal. His hands drop to his sides, curling into fists as he takes a shaky breath. “Do you think I want to be this way?” he asks, his voice suddenly fierce, desperation cutting through his words. “Do you think I don’t know what it does to you every time I leave? I’m trying, damn it, but I can’t just walk away from who I am. I’ve built my life around this, and I can’t change it, not overnight.”

He stretches his hand out, catching yours before you can pull away. There's an urgency in his grip—an unspoken plea hidden beneath his cold facade. The anger fades from his face, replaced by something hollow and broken. “You’re not my weakness,” he insists, his hold firm but gentle. “You never have been. You’re the only person who makes me want to be better. For you.” He swallows, eyes locked on yours. “I know it’s dangerous. I won’t lie to you about that. But I can protect you. I will protect you.”

Your heart aches at the sincerity in his voice, but you know it’s not enough. You pull your hand back, wiping away a tear before it can fall. “What if something happens to you?” you ask, your voice cracking. “What if I lose you?”

Gun’s expression tightens, and he reaches for you again, his hands settling on your shoulders with surprising gentleness. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he says firmly, his voice steady, as if daring fate to contradict him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He almost adds, “Not if it means leaving you,” but the words die in his throat.

“...I don’t want to leave,” you say, your voice hoarse, and it’s the truth. You don’t want to lose him. You don’t want to be without the man who’s somehow become the most important part of your life, the one who knows you better than anyone else. “But I don’t want to watch you destroy yourself either.” Your voice wavers, and you turn away as a sob escapes before you can choke it down.

Gun’s fingers gently tilt your chin back, his touch tender in a way that takes you by surprise. “Look at me,” he commands, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard. You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you see the raw fear in his eyes—the fear of losing you. “I’m not asking you to ignore the danger. I’m asking you to stay with me.”

Your chest tightens, and you shake your head as tears finally spill over. “I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this,” you admit, your voice barely audible.

Gun’s hands come up to cup your face, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His touch is achingly gentle, his thumb brushing away the tears that fall down your cheeks. “Then don’t watch,” he says, his voice teetering on desperation. “Let me be the one who takes the risks. I’ll handle it. I’ll handle everything if it means I can keep you by my side.” His voice is so soft, so uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Isn’t that enough?” His eyes, usually so cold and distant, search yours, desperate for any sign that you might stay.

For a moment, all you can hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, each thud echoing in your ears. The tears come faster now, and you let yourself lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palms against your skin. There’s a sadness in his gaze that cuts you to the core, but there’s also hope—a fragile, flickering flame that refuses to die.

Your hands tremble as you cling to the fabric of his shirt, your fingers curling into the material. “I love you,” you whisper, your voice breaking, “but I’m scared, Gun. I’m so scared.”

His arms wrap around you, pulling you against his chest. His hold is firm and unwavering, like he’s trying to shield you from the world itself. “Then be scared,” he whispers into your hair, his breath warm against your temple, “but don’t go.”

It's the first time you’ve ever heard him beg, and it shatters something inside you. You stay there, wrapped in the security of his embrace. He’s far from perfect, and so are you, but in this moment, you find a sort of peace—a hope that, maybe, love is enough.

Gun pulls back slightly, his hands still cradling your face as he stares at you with an intensity that steals your breath. “Stay,” he whispers, his voice rough and desperate. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You don’t know what the future holds, or if his promise is one he can keep, but in this moment, as his thumb gently brushes your cheek, you find yourself nodding, your resolve crumbling in the face of the man you love. Gun exhales shakily, a soft, relieved sound, and pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck. For the first time in a long while, you feel like maybe—just maybe—everything will be okay.

[silverynight]

Gym "buddies"

Izuku's life changes the moment All Might gives him his gym membership card; he assures him he doesn't need it anymore (he's retired after all) and wants him to use it instead.

Izuku is a quirkless young man whose job is making support gear and suits for pro heroes, however, since he often wears them and tries them himself, he likes to keep himself in good condition. So far, he's been training at home, but now he has the opportunity to go to a proper gym.

He thanks the symbol of peace, hugs him, and leaves with excitement in his eyes.

However, his enthusiasm vanishes when he arrives and realizes that there are only two kinds of people in that place: very rich ones and pro heroes.

And he doesn't belong to any of those groups. After a while he decides to stay since All Might even called the place to let them know Izuku was going instead of him.

He can't disappoint him now.

Nervous, he looks around only to see Uravity and Pinky talking happily to each other; part of Izuku wants to get closer to them and ask for an autograph, but he decides to control himself.

It's not like any of them could recognize him; the pro heroes don't have the time to go in person and ask for repairs to the support department, instead, they send assistants or people who work in their respective agencies to leave the suits.

Of course, there are exceptions, there always are.

"Midoriya!"

Izuku gets slightly startled as he notices Ingenium, waving at him before walking towards where he is.

He's one of the few heroes who has met Izuku.

"Ingenium-san, hi!"

"Please, we've talked about this, just call me Iida."

He nods, cheeks turning slightly pink as he notices the pro heroes around looking at them both with curiosity.

He relaxes as soon as Iida starts talking with him, asking about his job in general and answering Izuku's enthusiastic questions about his latest missions; he's used to those already.

The next day, Uravity introduces herself and upon realizing Izuku has worked on her hero suit, she starts looking at him with admiration and awe; he doesn't think there's anything about him worth admiring, but he doesn't point that out.

He gets to know a lot of pro heroes at that gym and none of them have tried to kick him out so far, even though he doesn't quite belong there.

Izuku's first week is amazing, and he believes there's nothing that can change his mind about it until the second week.

Turns out Dynamight goes to that gym too.

Actually, he's one of the current pro heroes Izuku admires the most, so Izuku is tempted to get closer at first, until he notices the explosive hero has been staring at him the whole time since he arrived.

He can't read the blond's expression, but he assumes Dynamight doesn't like him that much so Izuku decides to keep his distance from him.

He chooses a treadmill that's at the other side of the room to get started. Izuku takes a deep breath, relaxes, and closes his eyes for a few seconds until he hears someone pressing buttons on the treadmill next to him.

He almost falls off when he notices Dynamight. However, Izuku recovers quickly and decides to pretend nothing happened.

Although he swears he can feel the blond's red eyes on him the whole time.

After a while, he goes to one of the leg press machines before he notices that Dynamight is following him closely.

"You work for Hatsume."

Alright, now that he's talking to him, Izuku can't keep pretending he doesn't exist so he turns around to face him. The guy is not only taller but clearly stronger than him.

"Yes, I'm–"

"Midoriya Izuku, I know," Dynamight cuts him off, looking like he didn't mean to. His face turns a little bit pink.

"How do you know that?" He blurts out, genuinely curious.

The pro hero starts rubbing the back of his neck like he's nervous, and he looks away from Izuku for a moment before answering his question.

"I go to her lab often because I like to know exactly what's done to my suit," he admits. "I saw you for the first time a few months ago; Hatsume told me she had a new, very talented employee and that he was the one working on my gauntlets. I got closer to ask you personally what the hell you were doing to my stuff, but you were so happily focused I couldn't... interrupt you."

Izuku notices then, the fond smile curling up the corners of Dynamight's lips, and he regrets glancing at him because he looks very handsome when he actually smiles.

"Uhh..."

"I kept going after that, but you were always so focused on your work you never noticed me," the pro hero continues, pouting a bit. He's so used to the attention he probably doesn't like when he doesn't get it.

"I'm sorry, Dynamight-san..."

"I'm Katsuki, and I want you to call me by my name, Izuku."

His own name on the pro hero's lips sounds so intimate, Izuku blushes immediately. It's even worse when Katsuki notices and smirks at him.

"Ka..." Even trying it makes him feel flustered, so of course he immediately screws it. "Kacchan!"

The pro hero looks back at him in confusion and Izuku is seriously thinking about giving All Might his membership back and never going back to that place when Katsuki chuckles as he puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Fine, you can call me that if you want."

After that Katsuki always follows him whenever he's in the gym at the same time Izuku is; he even helps him when Izuku struggles to figure out new machines and makes a very intense workout routine for him.

Izuku is sure they're very good friends now, and he often laughs at his past self for believing Katsuki hated him.

He used to think he had a bad temper, but turns Bakugo Katsuki is a very sweet guy, although Izuku knows it's better not to say that out loud.

The most surprising thing about pro hero Dynamight is that he's rather clumsy, which is really weird considering he's so precise during his battles (Izuku has watched a few of those) but at the gym he's constantly dropping things and bumping into machines, especially when Izuku has his back on him and bends over to do a particularly difficult exercise.

It's so odd.

He hears a noise behind him and turns around only to find Katsuki on the floor, face red and a little bit of blood coming from one of his nostrils.

"Kacchan, are you alright?"

"He's fine, Midobro!" Kirishima grins, looking quite amused.

"What happened?"

"He got distracted by your... leggings."

Izuku looks at Red Riot in confusion before looking down at his legs; the leggings are not that bright, they're dark red and not flashy at all. He wonders what was that interesting about them that got Katsuki distracted.

"I see that leg day has been really good on you, bro," Kirishima points out, following Izuku's eyes. "You have very thick–"

"SHUT THE HELL UP, SHITTY HAIR!" Katsuki growls, rising from the ground before standing in the middle of Izuku and Kirishima. "Do you want to die?"

"Calm down, Bakubro!" Kirishima chuckles, looking quite relaxed. He's probably used to the other pro hero's displays of irritation. "I'm just being nice to our friend!"

"Fine!" Katsuki says, but he still pushes Izuku behind himself even more, although he does it gently.

***

After an intense workout routine, Izuku ends up on the floor, exhausted. A hand touches his forehead as a big shadow looms over him for a moment.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, just give me a second, Kacchan."

The same hand appears in front of him, and Izuku wakes it without hesitation. Before he can even blink, he's back on his feet already.

Katsuki hands him a bottle of cold water.

"Thank you!" It's been barely a month, but it feels like Katsuki has known him his whole life.

Sometimes it's like he can hear Izuku's thoughts.

"Come, nerd. I'll take you to your apartment."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I have time today."

Katsuki also pays him quick visits to Hatsume's lab, and he actually stays there and talks to him. Izuku takes his break whenever he appears.

"I'm glad you finally decided to talk to your crush," Hatsume tells him the first time the pro hero draws Izuku's attention by saying his name. "It was a bit sad to watch you pine and give him the heart eyes in silence."

"SHUT UP!"

"Kacchan, relax," he chuckles, as he notices him turning bright red at the young woman's words. "She's just joking!"

Because there's no way that's true. Hatsume probably just wants to piss Katsuki off. He'd never look at Izuku with love in his eyes.

It's ridiculous.

Usually, Hatsume doesn't like having pro heroes there, but she makes an exception with Katsuki because he helps them test new gear, especially the magnetic shields she has designed for some heroes.

Besides, she likes watching things explode.

Although the number of times Katsuki is there has led to some of Izuku's coworkers getting the wrong idea about them.

Even the pro heroes at the gym ask Izuku the weirdest questions every now and then.

"We're more like... gym buddies?" Even that sounds odd coming from his mouth, Izuku has no idea why.

"I think you're saying gym boyfriends wrong, sweetie," Ashido chuckles, prompting Kaminari to laugh too.

It's a good thing Katsuki is on patrol that day; he would've gotten mad.

"No, I'm serious," Izuku says, turning bright red. "We're just friends!"

"Wow, Bakugo is an idiot," Kaminari gives Ashido a weird look.

"He totally is!" She agrees. "Anyone could try to steal this cutie if he doesn't hurry up!"

Izuku wants to tell them that their relationship is not like that, but it seems that no matter what he says they're not going to change their minds; they seem to believe Katsuki is secretly in love with him or something.

He has no idea why.

***

Izuku meets pro hero Shoto one Thursday evening; he just finished his work and headed straight to the gym.

When he sees him, he gets immediately flustered. It's not every day one gets to meet Japan's number two pro hero after all.

"Hi. I don't think I have ever seen you before."

Pro hero Shoto is very blunt sometimes.

"I've been coming here since September... so, yeah, I'm practically new here," Izuku smiles, prompting the pro hero to do the same. "I'm Midoriya Izuku!"

"Oh," finally, something akin to recognition in those mismatched eyes. "I've heard your name before. You fixed my suit last time it got destroyed by a villain, right?"

"Yes, that'd be me!"

"You did a great job. I was very impressed."

"Thank y-you, pro hero Shoto!"

"Please, call me Todoroki or just Shoto, if you want."

"Izuku!" Katsuki calls as soon as he walks in the gym. "Come here, I need to bench press you right now!"

He does that a lot lately; he uses Izuku instead of the very expensive equipment around, Katsuki assures him it's better that way, but he's not sure about that.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Todoroki comments then. "There's plenty of things you can use instead of Midoriya."

"What the hell are you doing here, half and half?"

"Toya and the old man got into a fight again," he says like it's nothing that surprises him anymore. "They were in our private gym when it happened, so it's destroyed now. It'll take a couple of days for the people we called to leave it as it was before. That's why I'm here."

Izuku is sure Todoroki doesn't say it to show off, but now he gets an idea of how rich he actually is.

He's so impressed he doesn't notice Katsuki until he's in front of him, almost like he wants to shield him from the other pro hero.

"Come with me, Izuku."

Todoroki looks from one to the other with curiosity.

"Is it really better if you try it with a person?" He asks before looking over Katsuki's shoulders, directly at Izuku: "Can I bench press you too, Midoriya?"

"FUCK OFF, HALF AND HALF!"

***

Todoroki becomes a good friend of his; he keeps coming to same gym as Izuku even after the one in his house is complete again.

Although, Katsuki gets a bit tense whenever he the three of them hang out; Izuku is not sure why, Ashido assured him they were in good terms, sure they're rivals, but they are also friends.

"Do you like half and half?"

"Absolutely, he's a great friend!"

"I don't mean it like that, nerd," Katsuki gets slightly irritated, as he usually does when Izuku doesn't understand what he's trying to say. "I mean if you like him... romantically."

"Oh!" Izuku blushes; he doesn't talk about romance around the pro hero... ever, so he gets a bit nervous, well, it's actually because the one he finds very attractive is Katsuki, but he's not going to say that. "No, I only see Todoroki as a friend."

Katsuki relaxes after that; they finish their routines like nothing happened, but the tension comes back to his shoulders after they take a shower and get ready to leave the gym.

Looking down at the floor instead of him, Katsuki takes one of Izuku's hands in his to stop him.

"What is it, Kacchan?"

"Would you like to go for a coffee with me?"

"Of course, although we usually do that!"

This time, Katsuki looks into his eyes before continuing: "No, I mean... as a date."

For a second, Izuku thinks he's dreaming, but he wouldn't blush that much in one of his dreams; he's usually more confident.

"Yes, I'd love to!"

Katsuki gives him one of those happy, devastating smiles of his before intertwining their fingers together.

Izuku needs to call All Might and thank him for that membership again, but he'll probably do that later.

He has to focus on his date with Katsuki first.

***

Patreon

[evilscientist3]

I gotta say, the Dow rising 2000 points after the Trump win really highlights how useless the stock market is at value estimation. Some theorise that the best way to accurately predict things is using a prediction market - an exchange where people can stake something on some prospective outcome occurring, with a reward if they're correct. The idea is that the predictions of many will, when they're serious enough to put money on, be correct on average - sort of like how you can get an accurate answer for those "guess the number of beans in the jar" competitions by finding the average of everyone else's guesses (though the village fair officials have learned to throw me out if they find me with my notebook out in earshot of the stand). Roughly speaking, the stock market works a bit like this - there's heavy convolution stemming from the fact that you're really guessing that a company's *perceived* worth will go up, but in the grand scheme of things the goal is to choose companies whose economic output will grow.

Trump's proposed heavy tariffs that would gut US trade. Businesses are freaking out and running damage control already, it seems - I've seen people talking about companies cutting Christmas bonuses to rush-import equipment. Everyone but investors are bracing themselves to go over an economic cliff. So how come Wall Street isn't picking up on the message? It could be that the current short-lived surge in trade is pushing numbers up - but for the most part, it's probably that your average investor is stupid and racist enough that Trump in power means more to them about the state of the economy than any actual knowledge ever could. Meaning, of course, that like in 2008, the whole market will collapse like a mistreated soufflé when people start trying to cash cheques.

I hope the tariffs happen. I want to see America dissolve

[nightxcreature]

Do You Wanna Touch Me?

18+ ONLY

Summary: Part Two to Hotblooded, Reader can't help herself. She needs Dean anyway she can get him.

Warnings: Smut, Masturbation, Spice, Dirty Talk

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

A/N: wow. I did not expect that last one to get so much love and attention! Thank you all for being so kind! This is only my second ? time writing smut, so I hope it meets your expectations. I may keep this one going for at least one more part if you guys are interested. :) As always, comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated!

do not copy and share my work anywhere, you don't have permission.

I had been trying to fall asleep for hours now, and yet here I lay, half naked and clinging to a pillow for dear life. The ingredients in my drink from earlier were still running their course through my system and had left me panting at the mere thought of Dean. I’d rid myself of my T-shirt before Sam had even left my room, heat emanating from my body at a rapid pace. Sam had awkwardly averted his gaze before locking me in and reminding me that I should feel better after I rest. And yet even hours later, I feel like I’ll die if I don’t see Dean soon, speak to him, touch him…

                I groan as I shift to snag my phone from the nightstand, my hips rolling deliciously against the pillow below me. Feral thoughts of the hunter a few doors down rack my brain and I quickly pull up his contact before pressing the call button. His ringtone echoes down the hall from where I assume he is in the library before he answers.

                “Hey, Darlin’,” His voice alone causes my heart to race, a gasp leaving my lips, “Are you okay?”

                I shuffle to straddle the pillow below me as he speaks, the worry for me in his voice sending me into a frenzy, “No. I need you.” I practically cry into the speaker, “Need you so bad.”

                He sighs deeply and I can hear papers shuffling in the background, “You should be asleep, Sweetheart.”

                “Can’t sleep.” I mumble, rolling my hips against the pillow as he speaks, “Can only think about you. I don’t think I’ll think of anything else ever again.”

                “I’m trying to find something to help make it easier for you, I’m sorry.” He whispers, papers shuffling again, “I promise, it’s got to wear off eventually.”

                I let out a frustrated sound, my bottom lip jutting out as I whine, “I’m going to die in here! I’m going to die from needing you so bad and you wont even come in here to help me.”

                “I can’t come help you, Baby. It’s not you that’s asking for this.” He whispers and I can hear the frustration in his voice. One part of me is yelling for me to shut up, to hang up the phone and go to bed, try to somehow go to sleep and forget this ever happened…but the other part of me is ravenous, feral for the man on the other end of the line, and she is not going to lose this battle without a fight.

                “It’s your job to help people, Dean.” I cry out, a low blow I know, but the desperation coursing through my veins won’t let up, “Are you really going to leave me here like this?”

                “Don’t do that.” He growls out, “I told you before that we could talk about this when you’re not drunk off some god-level fuck juice. I want to talk about this. I do want to help you, but I won’t go in that room.”

                His take-no-shit tone goes straight to my core, which I know is the exact opposite of what he’s looking for, but I can’t stop imagining the firm look on his face as he scolds me. My hips roll quicker, a ravenous feeling overtaking my thoughts, “Please keep talking.” I whisper as my eyes close. I hear his breathing hitch, but he doesn’t speak for a moment, and I bite my lip nervously. Did I make him upset? I don’t think I can live with myself if he’s upset with me, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-.”

                “Don’t apologize.” He cuts me off quickly, “What are you doing?”

                Embarrassment should flood my system, but the idea of being caught getting off to his voice just spurs me on. I lift off the pillow to roll my shorts down my legs and then position myself over it again, “What do you think I’m doing?” I whisper seductively into the speaker. Hoping, practically praying, that he knows and he’ll throw whatever righteousness he has left out the window to come help me reach my goal. Sweat pours down my forehead and a heaviness sits in my hips, I rut against the pillow again to try and alleviate the feeling, a small moan leaving my lips as I do.

                The rough sound of his chair sliding across the library floor and his heavy boots thudding as he walks stills me. I sit with bated breath listening to the sound through the phone, waiting to hear him outside my door, “Where are you going?”

                I hear him chuckle quietly before his voice finally graces my ear again, “Where do you think I’m going?” I hear his boots come to a stop, but no sound comes from the hallway in front of my room.

                I groan in frustration, rutting against the pillow isn’t bringing the amount of relief that my body needs and the thought of Dean not being here to help me brings a sinking feeling in my stomach, “Where are you?”

                A door clicks closed on his end before he speaks, “What are you wearing?” He whispers gruffly, sending a shock to my core. I stay quiet for a moment before he whispers a bit softer, “You told me to keep talking. I won’t come in that room with you, but I am going to help you. Now, what are you wearing?”

                Though he can’t see me, I nod quickly and glance down to my torso. Thankful for the black lace panty set cladding my body so I don’t have to lie…I don’t think I could lie to him right now, “My underwear.” I whisper, holding my breath while I wait for him to speak again, “It’s black and lacy and I think you’d really like it.”

                He groans quietly and I can hear him lay down on what I assume is his own bed, “I’d like to see that.”

                “Come here and you can.” My breathing is heavy, anticipation building throughout me as I beg him, “Please.”

                “Please? You gonna beg me, Sweetheart?” He whispers lowly, the teasing tone spurs me on and I roll my hips against the pillow again, moaning louder as I do. I hear him suck in a breath before he continues, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“Touch me. Please, touch me.” I cry out, “I need you all over me.”

                He chuckles darkly, “I can’t right now, can I? But, you can.”

 At his words my hips stutter, I glance down at the pillow as I slide back toward my headboard, “You want me to…”

“Touch yourself, Baby. Where do you want my hands?” His voice is low as he instructs me and I dust the hand not holding my phone across my chest as I listen to his breathing, “Where do you want me to touch you?”

 “Everywhere. My chest, my legs, my….” I gasp as my fingertips rub over my clothed nipples; eyes still closed, I imagine his fingers being the ones ghosting across my frame.

I can practically hear the smile on his face when he speaks again, his voice quiet and heavy, “Yeah, I wanna touch you there, too. I can’t stop thinking about the things I want to do to you.”

“What else do you want to do to me?” I whisper, my hands making their way down my body at a slow pace. I play with the hem of my panties, imagining it’s his thick fingers there teasing me as he speaks slowly into my ear.

“I wanna spend all day between your legs, Baby. Wanna fuck you so good, you forget your name.” He whispers huskily, his breathing is heavier and I almost cum at the thought that he must be touching himself, too. I slide my hand into my panties and moan breathlessly at the feeling of relief that rushes my system. I circle my fingers around my opening, brushing my fingertips over the bud at the apex every so often

                “You drive me crazy,” I groan, throwing my head back against the headboard as I picture his face between my thighs and all the filthy noises he would be making while he eats me, “I need more. You make me so wet.”

                He curses into the speaker and I can hear his breathing quicken, “Take off your clothes.” The harshness in his voice causes my eyes to snap open and rushes me to strip bare faster than I ever have. I remain quiet as I lay alone, listening to his rapid breathing on the other end of the line, “You want me to fuck you, Baby?”

                I nod dumbly before realizing that he still can’t see me and quickly recover, “Yes.”

                “I want you on your hands and knees. Arch your back and touch yourself.” I nod again, rolling quickly to my hands and knees to do as he asks, “I can’t see you, Sweetheart. Are you listening to me?”

                “Yes, Sir.” I mumble as I rush to put the phone on speaker and roll my hips against my fingers, “I’m listening.”

                “Good girl.” He replies, chuckling as I moan at the name, “You like that?”

                “Yes. I love that.” I pant, rubbing faster against the bundle nerves between my thighs. My eyes roll back at the feeling and I try my best to focus on Dean’s voice as he continues to talk me through this.

                “All those little sounds your making are getting me so hard, Darlin’. I can’t stop thinking about how good you must feel, about how good I’d make you feel.” His husky whispers sends my imagination into overdrive as I raise up to sit on my heels. A single finger sinks into me and I moan out at the relief, “I’ve been thinking about being inside you all day. Whatever you want me to do to you, I’d do it. I want to be so deep inside you.”

                My eyes roll at his words, my breathing becoming heavier and I barely hear him when he asks, “You close, Sweetheart? Want me to make you cum?” The teasing lilt in his voice urging my hands to move quicker, my fingers rushing in and out of my opening like lightening. My toes curl and my vision goes blurry as the orgasm crashes into me suddenly. His name leaves my lips like a prayer as I come down and I hear him grunt, whispering my name quietly against the phone speaker.

                My breathing is heavy when I finally speak, “Thank you.”

                He chuckles awkwardly and I can imagine the way a blush covers his cheeks when he replies, “No need to thank me, Darlin’. I think I got just as much out of this as you did.”

                I laugh a little in response, feeling the hint of a blush rising in my own cheeks. The relief I feel is insurmountable and I can feel exhaustion taking over my body in exchange for the rabid horniness from earlier. “Do you think this is over? The potion, I mean.” I ask, waiting for the intense feeling of want to return.

                “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” He mumbles, “If you need me again though, just call.”

                “Will do.” I reply, “We do have a lot to talk about when I’m feeling better though…”

                He laughs nervously before trying to hide it as a cough before agreeing, “Yeah, uh, we do.”

                “I’ll see you after my nap, Dean.” I answer with a slight smile, “And then we can see just how quickly I forget my name.”

                He snorts and I can hear the smirk in his voice, “Set a timer, Sweetheart, it won’t take long.”

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