#sorry every time I get asked about his contexts and meanings I end up bringing the mood down

[canisalbus]

If you're still taking Machete asks, what if your favorite relationship (of any kind) to explore with him?

Do you mean, like, theme? CW mental health talk:

Honestly, I think he's sort of a manifestation and a surrogate sufferer of a bunch of mental health troubles I'm very familiar with. Stuff like depression, anxiety, isolation, anhedonia, repressed anger, hopelessness, inferiority complex and so on. Not to sound too bleak or anything but you know. Back in the old deviantart days all of us edgy kids had "vent ocs", I think he still counts as one despite having an extensive backstory and a life outside of getting mangled in various ways.

I'd like to think many of my characters represent different parts of my personality and interests and Machete definitely falls to the "vessel for negativity" end of the spectrum. Then again, during the past few years I think I might've pigeonholed him into that role a little too heavily, you only ever see him looking 1. vaguely unhappy or 2. thoroughly miserable , and I know he has a little more range and depth than that, I've just kind of failed to communicate it.

[itsmarsss]

Vulgar Display of Power [Miguel Diaz x fem!Reader] (Cobra Kai)

You can never fucking beat him in a fight and it's getting frustrating.

Request: omg more miguel please!!! smutty if u can xx already dating if you want? Fic title comes from my (second) favorite Pantera album. Word count: 4,350 Warnings: SMUT. established relationship, theres plot but it only serves to justify the sex lol, i use present tense in this, degrading, first time sub!miguel kind of, handjob, fingering, oral sex, penetration (p in v), semi-public sex (i guess? no one's around but the location isn't exactly private), a lot of use of pet names (baby, babe, love, mi amor), so much swearing. obviously no one is a minor here I don't mention much context but can be read as hs senior year or later, doesn't really matter. if you're a minor kindly keep away from my blog and this fic please

“Fuck!”  You yell out as Sensei Lawrence announces Miguel’s win. In turn of your frustration, Miguel sports a grin that playfully mocked you.

Now don’t get it twisted, you’re not a bad fighter. You’re not even a good one- you’re great. The best, except for…

“Diaz! Good one.” Sensei Lawrence praises.

“Nice, dude!” Hawk comes to fist bump him.

Tory comes to you. “Girl get it together! You’re better than that!”

“I’m fucking trying.”

Miguel hears the two of you talking and decides to insert himself into the conversation. “Come on, it’s not a big deal.”

“I say this with love but it is a big deal and I’m gonna find a way to beat you.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

[. . .]

“Hey,” you hear Miguel call from behind you, turning around for a split second to look at him before getting back to packing your stuff to leave the dojo. 

“Hey.”

“So, are we still on for tonight?”

“Yeah. I just wanna go home first and take a shower.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Hey are you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something seems… weird.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, babe,” you tell him, bringing a hand to his face and lightly tapping his cheek.

“You sure?”

“Yes! I just said it is!” You realize you blew up at him for no reason, immediately feeling bad for it and apologizing, not managing to look at him. “Sorry.”

“See? That’s what I mean!”

“I really am sorry.”

“Okay, but something’s clearly wrong.”

You stay silent, and he walks up to you, cornering you so you’d face him.

“What’s going on?”

Honestly, you don’t want to tell him. Because it would sound stupid. Because it is stupid. You don’t even exactly know why it had gotten so under your skin this time. 

“It’s fine. I’m just a bit off today.”

“You don’t have to talk about it, but you don't have to lie either.”

“Fine. You wanna know what’s wrong? I’m frustrated because you keep beating me.”

“What?”

“Every single time we’re picked to fight I just can’t fucking beat you. And yes, I’m glad you don’t go easy on me, cause that would be like a million times worse, but I'm frustrated with myself. You’re the only one I've never fully beat in a match. The closest I’ve ever gotten to that was a tie.”

“Well most of the time it ends up in a tie.” 

“Yeah but none of the time did it end with me winning.”

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this.”

“Of course you don’t. I just feel like if I still can’t beat you then have I really been getting better?”

“What? That’s nonsense, babe. You know that, right? Of course you’ve been getting better. We all have.”

“See I told you it would be stupid. I don't even know why I'm feeling this way.”

“That’s okay. We can just sort that out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll ask sensei for the keys.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna stay here and fight and we’re not gonna leave until you win.”

“That’s really not what I was trying to get from this-”

“What, are you scared?” He knew just how to tug on your strings. 

“Oh fuck no.”

“Then we’re doing this.”

“But what about the date?”

“We can go tomorrow. If you need my help today, I'll help you today.”

“Okay.”

[. . .]

“Alright, ready?”

You only nod your head yes, too focused to even speak.

“Okay. Round one.”

You get a couple punches in, but he’s faster than most of your hits. He wins..

You huff, annoyed. “Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Again.”

“Okay that’s it. Again.”

This time, determination runs through your veins, as tired as you were. Every single moment of feeling weak or inferior or as though you were seen by others as basically the female equivalent of Miguel, and not yourself, not someone capable of being better than him in any way, channeled into this round. 

And you won. This time, you fucking won. 

“Wait that’s three,” you realize.

“Yeah! You won!” Miguel celebrates.

“What?”

“You won, babe!”

“Oh my God. Holy fucking shit. I won?!”

He laughs, coming up to you. “You did.” He places a quick kiss on your lips, but you’re taken over by the adrenaline, pulling him back to you by the collar of his shirt when he went to pull away, tangling him into another kiss, deeper and more passionate this time around. “That was hot,” he comments, as you finally did let him part ways with you to breathe, your bodies still flushed together. 

You feel your cheeks burn at his comment. “I just kicked your ass,” you joke.

He doesn’t even seem fazed by the comment. “Yeah you did,” he grins.

“I did not expect that to unlock some sort of loser kink in you.”

“Hey! That’s not what this is!”

You lift an eyebrow, amused. 

“What, you’re telling me it’s a crime if my insanely hot girlfriend looks insanely hot while kicking my ass?”

“Should I kick your ass more often then?”

“You’re welcome to.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Shut up,” he retorts, finally having enough of the playful bantering, unable to wait a second longer to have your lips on his again. 

Miguel pulls you even closer to him- if that were even possible- by pulling on your waist, not wasting a second more before diving in again, pulling you into a kiss that is much more feral this time around. His actions scream that he wants you, and the high from having reached your goal and beat him in the last round mixed with the lust forming in you from seeing him so affected, so attracted to this, it feels good.

You suppose some people would maybe come into an issue if they found themselves in your place. Men aren’t exactly known for being great at dealing with women being better than them in… well, anything. But Miguel acted genuinely proud of you. Hell, he’d canceled your date night to help you with this because he realized it was important to you. And more than being supportive, he was turned on by your display of power. 

His kisses start trailing out of your lips, to your jaw, to the space below your ear. “You did so well, love. You should get something in turn, huh?”

Your mind was getting a bit foggy. Still, you join in playing his game. “I suppose I should. What are you gonna do?”

“Whatever you want me to,” he breathes out. Oh. That was definitely new. 

“Whatever I want?” He only nods, looking up at you, waiting to be told what to do. Holy shit, that was hot. “That sounds good.”

“Just tell me, please, I’ll make you feel so good, I promise,” he pleads. It was almost pathetic. You decide you’d never get enough of hearing him plead like that. You loved the times in which he was more dominant, but you could definitely get behind this too, no issues whatsoever.

You pretend to think. “I don’t think I will.”

“What? Why not?”

“I want you to guess.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I- Uh- Ih-” he takes a deep breath. He liked that. You smiled. “I can do that.”

“Good boy,” you try, hoping he didn’t find it weird. 

Apparently, he didn’t. “Fuck. Fuck,” he lets out in almost strangled sounds, wordlessly dropping himself to the floor. He looks up at you with doe eyes, as if pleading for permission. You smile at him, signaling everything was okay. You cage his jaw with both your hands, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting you play with his hair.

“You look so pretty like this,” you coo, and he feels it down his spine, his eyes fluttering open. 

“Sit.”

“What?”

“Sit,” he repeats himself, but it isn’t demanding. Not this time. 

“I heard you.”

“Sit, please, baby.”

You grin. You didn’t know you’d like this this much. “Of course, baby.” You sit down on the bench, legs closed. He parts them confidently, eyes not leaving yours as he does so slowly, positioning his body between them. With his face mere inches from yours, he looks up at you again. 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” He guesses. His cheeks red, he clearly looks embarrassed. It turned him on and it turned you on too. 

You nod eagerly, signaling he’d guessed right. He smiles and closes the distance between you, pulling you down and attaching his lips to yours. It starts out slow, tender, experimental- testing the waters. He grows eager pretty fast, though, kissing you harder, his hands traveling to either of your thighs and planting themselves there firmly, squeezing in a way that makes you gasp slightly in surprise. 

He pulls away just to tease you about it. That’s the kind of little shit he is.

“What was that for?”

“Nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” 

“Not this then?”

He squeezes your thigh again and you try to act unbothered.” He notices though, pleased with himself.

“Oh shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He pulls you into a kiss again with no warning, more feral than before, his hand traveling upwards, inside the legs of the shorts you were wearing. 

“Take it off,” you pant out, a stern tone overtaking your words, and he complies without questioning. You smile, pleased with that. You lift your hips slightly for him and he throws the shorts somewhere on the floor behind you. 

He stares at your underwear for a few moments, as if lost in a trance. You laugh. “Hello? You here?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

“Used to what?” You move a hand to caress his face. 

“The fact that I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.”

“Aw, do you like that, baby? Does it turn you on?” You ask, your tone almost mocking him.

He only nods his head yes, looking embarrassed.

“That’s good.” You make a show to slowly take off your shirt, a sudden surge of confidence running through your veins at his words, discarding it along with the shorts behind you.  His eyes widen and he mumbles a few words, the volume of his words so low you couldn’t make it out for the life of you, before he just surges forward again, not aiming for your lips this time, but for your jaw. 

“What was that?” You manage to breathe out as he continues his trail of kisses along your jaw.

“What?”

“If you’re gonna talk you’re gonna let me hear it. Got it?”

“Oh-okay.” He continues to place quick, slight pecks along your jawline, but you know exactly what he’s doing.

“You’re not distracting me from that. I wanna know what you said, baby. Wanna hear you.”

“I said- I said uh-“ he gulps. “It’s dumb.”

“That’s okay.”

“I just said ‘fuck me’.”

You let out a small laugh. “Oh. It was dumb,” you mock him again, and you can see he didn’t expect that.

“What?”

“I though you wanted to fuck me,” you joke.

 He doesn’t take it as a joke. “I do. I do I just meant- it was just-“ oh. This was for real. 

“I know, love. I was just teasing you. Okay? You’re being so good to me.”

His eyes almost sparkle at the praise. 

“You know I think I changed my mind.”

“What?” 

“Maybe I should fuck you.”

“What do you mean?”

You look down on him and smile, a genuine sweet smile. “Get up.”

“But-“

“I thought you said you’d do whatever i wanted you to,” you fake-pout. 

He doesn’t say a word before standing back up. You do the same, keeping your body flushed to his. You slowly turn the two of you around, cornering him until the back of his knees hit the bench and pushing him to sit down on it. 

Standing in front of him, you tilt your head to the side as you take in the view. He looked disheveled as ever. You loved it. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes.

“I- I can take it off.”

“Yeah I think you should.”

“What… what do you want me to take off?”

“Let’s go with the shirt first, baby. How about that?”

He nods furiously. “Yeah I can do that,” he takes his shirt off in a millisecond, throwing it with your clothes on the floor. 

“Oh, you look so pretty,” you coo, stepping closer to him and lifting his chin up to look at you. You make your way around the bench to be behind him, and you can see him gulp in anticipation. Fuck, you were loving this a little too much. You trace his biceps with your finger. “Your arms, I love your arms, you know that? So big and strong,” you exaggerate, and he quirks an eyebrow at the suspicious comment. This doesn’t sound like it was getting to a nice praising place. “And your body, I mean your abs. Your thighs, your thighs are so pretty, baby,” you crouch a bit, still behind him, wrapping yourself around his back so you could snake your arms to his thighs, still only tracing them with a single finger. “So how come you lost to me like a bitch?”

That seems to remind him very well of what was happening.

“It- it was one time.”

“One time you lost to me. But you’ve barely ever won, have you?”

He stays quiet. 

“Come on, baby, talk to me…” you pout, snaking your arms around his torso and kissing his neck.

“N-no.”

“Did you like that you lost to me baby?”

Quiet again.

“Did it turn you on?” You whisper in his ear and you can feel him take in big a breath. .

He couldn’t even look at you .

“Oh, pretty boy, I wanna hear your voice!”

He gulps again. “It- it turned me on,” he confesses. 

“I never knew you were into this sort of thing.”

“Me- me neither.”

“Do you like it when I’m stronger than you? When I tell you what to do?”

You remove yourself from his body entirely, and he whips his head at record speed to look at you, desperate for your touch again. You circle the bench once again, standing in front of him. You grab his jaw and lifts his head up to look at you, your other hand messing with his hair. “So pathetic. I’ve barely done anything to you and you’re this hard.”

You finally sit yourself down on his thighs, legs on either side of his torso, and he immediately and instinctively grabs your ass ‘for support’ as he’s always insisted with a grin. 

“You’re so fucking pathetic you’ll do anything I tell you to. Won’t you?” You pout, tilting your head.

“I’ll- I’ll do anything you want.” 

“That’s a good boy,” you mess with and pet his hair again. You loved it when it was just long enough for his curls to appear. 

He shivers. “Can you say it again?”

“Oh, no can do, baby. You’ll have to keep being a good boy to earn it.”

“I’ll- I’ll be a good boy, okay?”

You nod silently, your arms draped around his neck, and you pull yourself closer to get access to his face. You kiss along his jawline slowly, paying extra attention to the spots just under his ears, which made him shiver like crazy. When you find it sufficient, you move down to his neck, and he lets you, tilting his head to the side. You kiss down his neck, trying your best to not leave any marks. He’s still shivering now, and you know him well enough to know he’s okay, but can’t resist teasing him a bit more. 

“Oh no, baby, you’re trembling! Is everything okay?” You feign ignorance.  He doesn’t reply. “Aw are you too horny to speak to me? Is that the issue?” You mock.

He lifts his hips for some friction, an involuntary tell that he was enjoying this too. “Aw, do you like it when I’m mean to you? Huh?” You lift his chin again. He begrudgingly nods his head yes. You smile and move your hand from his chin to his cheeks, squeezing both off them. “Does my baby like it when I’m in control? When I handle you like this? When I call you names?” 

He tries to reply, but can’t really with you squeezing his face like that. 

“Oh I can’t hear you baby!” You let go of his face. “You’re gonna have to say it again.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I- I like it when you’re mean to me.” 

“I know, baby boy. I can feel it.” With no other warning, you palm him through his shorts. He was impossibly hard. Knowing he was liking this was for sure improving your confidence. The moment your hand meets his crotch his breathing becomes unsteady and he thrusts his hips up again, wanting more. You start kissing along his neck as you keep feeling him up through the shorts, and then he is gone. He lets himself let out delicious moans you would play on repeat if you could, tilting his head back to grant you better access to his neck. He wants more, and you know he does. But you want to hear him say it. 

After a few minutes, he does. 

“Please take it off.”

You press a gentle kiss to his neck, containing a grin. “What are you talking about, babe?”

“My shorts, take them off, please. Please, take them off.”

You press a quick peck on his lips this time. “You beg so pretty, baby. I think I’ll need more of that.”

He looks confused.

“Anything I tell you, right?” 

He nods. 

“Good. Eat me out.”

His eyes widen at the bluntness of it all. And then he realizes what you meant by needing more of his begging: you weren’t going to solve his little problem all that soon. 

“I- yes. Yeah.” 

You pull yourself off of him and he stands up as quickly as humanly possible, grabbing your hand and yanking you to Sensei’s office, rushing to move everything that was on his desk. You catch his drift and pull yourself up to sit on it. You’re so enthralled you don’t even really have the time to rethink what you’re doing and where you are. Miguel gets himself on his knees, and the sight of it from above is breathtaking. 

“Are you sure you wanna be on your knees? They’re gonna hurt.” You ask him, seriously this time.

“I don’t care,” is all he says, dismissing the thought. He pulls you closer to the edge of the desk, and you let yourself lean back on your elbows. He brings a hand up your thigh and takes off your underwear, you lift your hips up to help. 

He brings both his hands to your thighs, slowly pulling them apart, opening your legs. 

He wastes no time before diving in, startling you when, in a second, his head is between your thighs while his hands squeeze them hard and his mouth is suddenly on you. 

He moves his tongue up and down your clit, occasionally circling around it. Now and then he takes a long lick, from your hole to your clit, letting out a moan from time to time as he tastes you, and he picks up on the shaky breaths and loud moans you let out at that (and the way your hands fly to his hair, slightly pulling it.) 

He moves his tongue to your hole, licking and kissing around it before getting it inside.

It makes you almost want to scream out his name. 

“Oh my god. You’re being so good to me, baby. Please don’t stop-” 

You can feel his smile. 

He takes one of his hands off of your thigh and moves it to thumb at your clit as he keeps fucking you with his tongue. The feeling is heavenly, but you can’t help but want more. 

“Your fingers.” Is all you say, and he gets it.

Normally in a situation like this he’d be teasing you in some way, but right now just the thought of upsetting you with that and having you leaving him to finish himself off, or something down that lane, got him quiet. 

He changes what he’s doing, going back to flicking your clit with his tongue, and slowly inserting one of his fingers. You decide you want to tease a bit more. “That all you got?” You challenge him, knowing exactly what you’re doing. He inserts another finger, not taking the care to do it slowly this time, and he pushes them deep inside you, curling them upwards to make sure you felt it.

You let out a moan that’s so pornographic you’re almost embarrassed at it, but you can feel him grin at it, pleased with the reaction. He keeps on, but at a slow pace. In other instances, you didn’t mind some slow, passionate sex. You loved it, even. But right now you wanted to be fucked.

“Harder.”

He pulls his head up to kiss you. You let him. As you make out, your taste still on his tongue, his fingers thrust harder, deeper inside you, making you moan into his mouth, which Miguel seemed to enjoy a little too much.

You can feel yourself brimming an orgasm, and your words become nonsense as he keeps on, your noises becoming so higher-pitched you can barely register you’re the one making them. 

“Fuck I’m gonna cum. Baby, I’m gonna cum. Holy fucking-“

It hits you suddenly, killing your train of thought. Your body trembles as he keeps thrusting his fingers into you, letting you ride out your high. He laps it all up gladly, but you pull him away, your clit oversensitive. 

That doesn’t mean you didn’t want more.

“Everything okay?” 

“Yes, baby. You were such a good boy. But I want you to fuck me now.” 

Miguel was still not used to you being this blunt. And honestly neither were you, for the matter. The words just kept coming out. 

“What- what do you want me to do?” 

You get close to his ear and whisper. “Whatever you want, baby.”

His eyes widen. Whatever he wants. 

 He pulls you off the desk and wordlessly takes you back to the locker room. He leaves you for a second to retrieve a condom from his bag. A prepared man, you’d say.

You manage to take a better look at him and laugh. He furrows his eyebrows together. “What?”

“You look so fucked out right now.”

He rolls his eyes at you and takes off his shorts, kicking them away. He goes to pull his boxers down but you stop him, stroking him in an agonizingly slow pace. He lets out a groan. “Please stop, I’m not gonna last.”

“Oh poor you.” You yank his boxers down. His dick is so hard it must be painful. And all from losing a fight and being called mean names. He walks the two of you backwards until your back is against a wall. He puts the condom on and looks at you for a green light. 

“Go on, baby.” 

He nods, pressing his cock into your hole slowly, letting you adjust to the intrusion.

“Fuck.” You breathe out.

“Was that a good fuck or a bad fuck? Does it hurt?”

“I’m alright. It was a good fuck.”

“Okay.” He hikes up one of your legs to his waist, and you think he’ll be content with that position, but he hikes up your other leg too, pressing your back even more firmly to the wall and supporting your weight by holding firmly onto the back of your thighs. 

“Woah what are you doing?”

He doesn’t bother responding, thrusting into you experimentally. 

“Holy shit.”

That is enough for him. His thrusts become harder, deeper, faster. He hadn’t realized just how desperate he was until now. 

Hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars with every thrust, it doesn’t take long for his breath to quicken and his thrusts to become sloppier. “I’m gonna- can I-“

Was he trying to ask for permission to cum? Holy fucking shit, that was hot.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. You’ve been so good. You can cum.”

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he chanted.

 You laugh as his desperation, but it quickly turns into a moan, with Miguel eager to cum and fucking you so hard now you can’t even understand how he could still hold up your weight while doing that. Bless you universe for giving you a strong, strong boyfriend. But all of that didn’t matter now, because he was fucking you so good you could feel the familiar sensation of an orgasm building again.

“Please don’t stop.” That was the first time you begged him for something the whole time.

“I won’t, mi amor.” Oh, that broke you. That one pet name didn’t come out all that frequently, so when it did, you felt giddy on the inside. 

With a few more thrusts, both of you reach your high, and at that point Miguel did have to pull you down, although your legs currently trembled so hard it was a little difficult to stand, but he helps you out after tying the condom up and throwing it away.

“Holy shit,” you finally let out. 

“Holy shit,” he agrees. 

“What were you saying about your loser kink again?”

“Will you shut up about that?” He smiles.

“Was I too mean to you? I might’ve gotten a little carried away."

He looks down to the floor in embarrassment as if he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion. “I liked it.”

“That’s good baby. So, shower?”

“Yeah you stink,” he makes a disgusted face, plugging his nose and everything just to irritate you. 

You roll your eyes at him. 

A/N: pls be kind to me and cut me some slack i've never posted smut before 😭 i promise ive had sex before 😭 fighting for my life lmao

[rapunzelbro]

Imagine Angel Dust and reader being handcuffed as a “trust bonding” exercise or something that Charlie came up with but the key gets lost somewhere and Angel and reader end up being stuck handcuffed together all day? Reader is not amused and embarrassed cause Angel is a flirty little shit and will not stop messing with them?😂❤️

Imagine Being Handcuffed to Angel Dust

Okay so to the person who requested this. I am so sorry for the long ass wait. I have been on major writers block for this idea ngl. But hey enjoy if you’re still around haha.

Masterlist Taglist

When Charlie was figuring out ideas to bring the hotel together you didn’t expect the fucking situation you ended up in

For context. You were never quite fond of Angels personality, his jokes and comments would 100% make you flustered and borderline uncomfortable

Everyone knew that you two definitely had issues that needed to be solved because you two were polar opposites

“And then I put it in his ass and the camera got~”

“Nope Nope Nope Nope Nope bye”

Yeah that often happened

“Guys! We are having a trust bonding exercise that you can’t say no to”

The fuck does Charlie even mean?

Yeah it didn’t take long to figure that out when Angel runs his ass over and closes the other half of the handcuff to your hand wrapping himself around you instantly

“Hiya bitch~”

“What. The. Fuck. CHARLIE WHAT THE FUCK”

I think that’s the first time they have ever heard you swear

Her laughing awkwardly rambling why it would be a good idea while trying desperately to find the key because of how pissed you were

Yeah she lost it

Alastor is amused as hell about the entire thing watching as you’re fuming he totally was the one to hide that key

“Oh don’t get your panties in a twist we are going to have so much fun together!”

Oh no you’re not

He is a very touchy feely person and you’re 100% not

He forgets your handcuffed and will zoom somewhere and you have to catch up with his ass.

Will beg to do your makeup and you legit give up after him asking nonstop

Legit nonstop he would ask every 10 minutes

It honestly takes a while to get used to him

When you do you start realizing the person he really is behind the jokes

Especially when he got a call from Valentino and you couldn’t exactly leave you room

You just listening in silence the whole time as he is being screamed at

“Val.. no no I promise I’ll… I’ll.. Yes Valentino”

The way he gave up so quickly instantly just broke you

“Angel, are you okay?”

Angel wouldn’t respond to you for a while, just sitting on his bed as you interlock your handcuffed hands together, you two don’t talk but it’s known that he appreciates the gesture considering he didn’t try to yank his way out

After a while he would come clean and tell you what happened, what he goes through

And my god did you mistake him so badly. You apologize nonstop and he just says to not worry about it

You two end up watching a movie or something before Charlie comes with the key that ‘Mysteriously’ disappeared

She’s happy you two got along

Even if she doesn’t know what happened

Angel Dust tag list: @vendetta-ari @brithedemonspawn @satansmanager @storydays @saturnhas82moons @zamadness @fizziepopangel @saitisfied @the--rebel--fae @juskonutoh @screechingxiaosimp @mcueveryday @rainbowbunny15

[hannieehaee]

hi! i wanted to request seungcheol x reader based off of ‘how you get the girl’ by taylor swift? thank you!

content: inspired by 'how you get the girl' by taylor swift, angsty, fight between reader and cheol implied, fluff ending, etc.

wc: 738

a/n: ive never rlly listened to taylor before so im sorry if i took the lyrics out of context i tried to research the meaning of the song but i wasnt 100% sure T-T anyways tysm for requesting sorry i took so long <3

masterlist

seungcheol knew he had royally fucked up.

the details didn't matter now. it had been a while now – six months to be exact – and he still couldnt get over you. he'd see you around town occasionally, and you'd look perfectly fine. how could you be fine when he was so empty without you in his life? were you really better off without him?

he tried to move on, he really did, but no one was like you. the type of love you had was the type he wanted to be his endgame. there was no question about it. which was why he needed to fix his this.

it started with attempts to be in the same spaces as you again. he would find out where you'd be from mutual friends (okay, a little stalkerish, but it was fine!) and make sure to be in attendance to any party you'd go to. lucky for him, you were best friends with his good friends soonyoung and vernon, which gave him the perfect opening to approach you every time. at first you'd look peeved off by his presence, but after a few times you seemed to warm up to him, even laughing at his jokes sometimes. after a few weeks of intruding your friend hangouts, it was as if he'd always been there.

the day finally came in which you'd been left alone together at a party, with both soonyoung and vernon leaving one by one. it was getting late, so seungcheol offered to walk you home, which you surprisingly accepted with a polite smile. you talked like old friends on your way back, never once making any mention of the relationship you used to have. that made cheol both sad and relieved. it was good you weren't hurt by it anymore, but did this mean you were now looking for a mere friendship out of him? he had tried to bring back the old dynamics between the two of you. he had even been as physically affectionate as your newly-developed friendship would allow, but it seemed like that wasnt what you were looking for. seungcheol couldnt help but carry the disappointment in his face as the two of you arrived to your home.

"cheol? what's wrong?", you asked as soon as you caught sight of his face.

"hmm? oh, nothing. im fine. i, uh, goodnight. thanks for letting me walk you."

before he could even turn around, you pulled at his arm to grab his attention.

"cheol, what is it?"

he hesitated in speaking up again. he knew himself to be an outspoken man to a fault. and how was be expected to hold back when you looked so pretty under the moonlight and were even showing concern for him?

"i love you,"

fuck. that's not how he meant to start. and that was clearly not what you had expected him to say, judging by the shocked expression on your face.

"what?"

"im still in love with you, i- i know i fucked up, and i know i waited too long, but ... seeing you move on in life without me made me lose my mind. i know i shouldve apologized earlier. and i cant even blame you for breaking up with me, i ... i was a shitty boyfriend. i didnt treat you how you deserved. but i'll be better now, i promise! just give me one more chance. ill give you everything i shouldve back then and more. i know it's been six months, but ive been losing my mind without you. i know we could make this work. please?"

he knew he mustve looked crazy as he rambled his sudden love confession to you, but he still hoped that you'd maybe take pity on him and take him back. however, after a full minute of silence from you as you didn't meet his eyes, he knew that luck probably wouldnt be smiling at him today.

he turned to leave without a word until you unexpectedly stopped him again.

"wait, cheol," you seemed kind of shy about your movements, but still offered him a smile.

"come in? do you ... will you stay the night? please?"

your shy smile was met with his bright one as his arms warmly wrapped around yours, kissing your cheeks over and over as he used to once upon a time, walking the two of you into the apartment he was once oh so familiar with.

[seventh-district]

This Evening I Will Not Forget

“I jumped into the fray with the intention of helping you and next thing I know I’m standing there uselessly watching the first person I’ve dared to love in two fucking centuries take a warhammer to the stomach!”

He turned to face you as he emphasized his last few words, now standing all but frozen in the middle of the tent with his hands held out, gesturing toward your injury. You’re about to pipe up and insist that it wasn’t his fault, but the words dissipate before you can speak them as another part of his sentence echoes in your mind. You repeat them back to him in a disbelieving whisper.

“The first person you’ve dared to love?”

His tense, frustrated expression instantly falls flat.

“I didn’t say that.”

An injury and an argument lead to you revealing far more of yourself and your unspoken past to Astarion than you planned to.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,292

Content Warnings: [injured Reader] (not graphically described, just mentions of bruising and pain) [mean/avoidant Astarion] [argument] [mentions of Reader's scars & non-specific allusion to their Tragic Backstory™] [vulnerability] [possibly (probably) OOC Astarion]

Author's Note: This is an excerpt from my fic An Evening I Will Not Forget, but can be read as a standalone one-shot. The only context I think you'll need is that this fic is written in the style of reliving memories, hence certain lines will mention Reader "looking back" on them.

“What's important is this evenin' I will not forget

Purple, blue, orange, red

These colors of feelin'

Give me love, I'll put my heart in it”

You’re lying on your back as cold, pale fingers press against your sensitive skin, pulling a small pained sound of protest from you.

“Sorry, sorry…”

Astarion retracts his hand, fingers curling into his palm. You reach out to catch hold of him before he can completely pull away, your voice tense with pain as you reassure him.

“No- no... don’t be. I know you’re just trying to help.”

You bring his hand back toward your exposed stomach, his fingers still coated in the healing salve he was attempting to apply. His hand hovers hesitantly over your bruised and broken skin.

“Yes, but- I’m not very good at it.”

Your thumb brushes across his wrist as you hold onto him, suspecting that if you let go he’d just retract his hand again.

“What do you mean? Of course you are.”

He shakes his head insistently.

“No. It seems like every time I try to help you, I just end up hurting you even more…”

Confusion is clear both in your voice and on your features.

“That’s not… that’s not true, Star.”

You tug lightly on his wrist to get his attention, your voice soft as you ask him a question.

“Is this about what happened today?”

He pulls his hand out of your loose hold and you let him, watching as he stands and begins pacing circles inside the tent.

“No, I’m in a bad mood because the weather isn’t quite to my liking- of course it’s about what happened today!”

The initial sarcasm in his voice gave way to frustration near the end. Not with you, but with himself.

Now that you’re observing this memory from his perspective as well, you can see the moment you sustained the injury playing over and over again in his mind, working him up further and further.

“I jumped into the fray with the intention of helping you and next thing I know I’m standing there uselessly watching the first person I’ve dared to love in two fucking centuries take a warhammer to the stomach!”

He turned to face you as he emphasized his last few words, now standing all but frozen in the middle of the tent with his hands held out, gesturing toward your injury. You’re about to pipe up and insist that it wasn’t his fault, but the words dissipate before you can speak them as another part of his sentence echoes in your mind. You repeat them back to him in a disbelieving whisper.

“The first person you’ve dared to love?”

His tense, frustrated expression instantly falls flat.

“I didn’t say that.”

Your eyes widen, nodding slowly.

“Yes you did.”

Nervous laughter escapes him as he takes a step back, distancing himself from you.

“No, no, you… you must have heard me wrong. I didn’t- I was talking about helping you, I didn’t say anything about love, what’s love got to do with this?”

You hate to push him, fearing he may bolt like a frightened deer if you double down, but you know what you heard. It wasn’t like the first time you heard him say it, slapping it on the end of a string of pick-up lines, the word obviously carrying no weight, no truth. No, this second time was different.

“I think it has more to do with it than you’re willing to admit, Astarion.”

He falters, one of very few times you’ve seen him truly caught off guard, truly speechless.

“Those are…” He searches for something to say that’ll cover up the truth that’d just spilled out of him. “...bold words for someone currently bedridden.”

You bark a laugh and it turns into a low groan at the pain it causes to flare in your lower ribs.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

If he’s being honest, even he’s hardly sure what he meant. He’s truly floundering here, for the first time in… forever.

“It means… it means that I can walk away from this conversation right now and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”

Stooping so low as to resort to childish threats, you can feel the embarrassment radiating off of him.

“Would you truly be so cruel as to do that to me right now? Walking away, leaving me vulnerable and confused just because you can’t handle the truth?”

You’re pushing your luck too far and you know it. Surprisingly, though, he takes one step toward you, moving away from the exit.

“Cruel?! If you think that me simply walking away from you counts as cruelty then you truly haven’t suffered enough.”

His words are suddenly laced with venom and they hit you harder than the barbarian’s warhammer did today, leaving a chill colder than ice in their wake.

He seems to actually hear what he said a moment later, the careless words ricocheting off of you and coming back to slam into his chest, nearly knocking him over and crushing him beneath the weight of his sudden regret.

A furious wave of heat and adrenaline courses through you as you bolt upright in the makeshift bed, ignoring the sharp pain that flares inside you in response to the sudden movement. Reaching down and grabbing at the tail of your shirt where it’s bunched up around your ribs, you hastily yank it up over your shoulders and head, tugging your arms out of the long sleeves and furiously tossing the garment directly at him.

“Suffered enough? You think I haven’t fucking suffered enough, Astarion? You don’t know the goddamned HALF of it! You’re not the only one in this tent that’s been abused, you know?! Oh wait- that’s right- you DON’T!”

Your voice cracks under the pressure of volume and emotion as fat, hot, angry tears roll down your cheeks against your will. Astarion stands there like a deer in the headlamps, your balled-up shirt having hit him softly in the chest and fallen anticlimactically to the ground. As his eyes rake over your heavily scarred arms, the angry purple markings showing no signs of lessening as they curl over your shoulders and disappear behind your back, it suddenly starts to make a lot more sense why you were so damned insistent that no one remove your clothes while treating your wounds earlier.

Shadowheart rips open the flap covering the tent’s exit, a very concerned looking Halsin ducking down behind her. Part of you is grateful that at least not everyone was currently at camp to witness your sudden breakdown, but even the sight of the two of them is enough to have you panicking. Pulling at the blanket gathered around your waist and shouting in an admittedly very childish, vulnerable voice, you demand they leave as you choke on your tears, hastily covering yourself up.

“GET OUT!”

Unsure of what to do, Shadowheart surveys the scene before her with a critical eye before sighing, seeming to understand that the best thing they can do right now is give you back your privacy. She knows that if you needed her, you would call. Turning to shoo away the concerned man behind her, she lowers the flap back down with a quiet murmur of “They’re… fine. Let’s give them some space.”

Astarion finally breaks free from where he’s been stood like a statue, slowly moving toward the exit as well with an unsure glance in your direction.

You bury your face into the fabric clutched in your hands, shouting into it in exasperation.

“NOT YOU!”

He freezes, no longer knowing what to do but wishing that the ground would simply open up and swallow him whole. Back under six feet of soil feels like where he deserves to be after what he just said to you.

He racks his brain for the right thing to say, coming up empty handed and eventually deciding that honesty might just be the best policy in this situation.

“I… I’m going to level with you. I have no idea what to do right now.”

In spite of it all, you laugh, a broken sound that cuts through your tears, causing you to cough, then the strain from coughing causes more tears to fall. Though he can’t admit it, Astarion knows right then and there that he never wants to hear or see you in such pain ever again.

“I… I’ll level with you, too.”

You pull the blanket away from your face, looking at him with watery, bloodshot eyes.

“...Neither do I.”

You glance down at the floor, attempting a deep breath and failing spectacularly as another broken sob escapes you. Dropping the fabric still held up against your chest, you press your hands down into the bedroll beneath you in an attempt to support your upper body and ease the pain radiating through your core.

Astarion takes one cautious step toward you, his unsteady voice the only thing filling the silence aside from your soft crying.

“I need… to apologize. For everything.”

You shake your head in disagreement and clear your throat.

“No, you don’t. You’ve been through a worse hell than I could ever even imagine. It’s… stupid of me to try and compete with you in that regard.”

He takes another step forward, insistent.

“That isn’t true. You have… clearly been through your own hell, and it was… stupid of me to assume you hadn’t. Even worse of me to try and downplay my avoidance by… holding my past over you like some sort of… like some sort of excuse.”

You shift your weight to the side in order to lift one hand, reaching out to grab at one of the small cloths stacked beside your bed. Astarion sees you struggling to reach them and rushes forward, closing what remained of the space he’d put between you as he lifted a cloth and handed it to you without a word.

You bring it to your face, pressing it to your eyes in a useless attempt to dry the tears that were still falling. Then, moving it down to blow your running nose into the cloth before you could make an even bigger mess of yourself than you already were. Finally able to breathe a bit better, you counter his point.

“Yeah, but- the thing is, I feel like you kinda have the right to do that, given all that you’ve survived. Of course you’d see the pain of walking away from a conversation as trivial when you compare it to… literally anything you’ve experienced.”

Now that he’s returned to your side, Astarion’s head angles to drag his gaze across your exposed back, finally seeing the full extent of your scarring as you lean forward a bit to toss the dirty cloth to the floor of the tent next to your shirt. Nausea swirls deep in the pit of his stomach as the upsetting sight of your marred skin burns itself into his memory.

“I believe… that’s called a double standard.”

You throw him a sad, confused look, and he explains.

“You’re trying to give me some sort of… free pass based on what I’ve been through, but I’ve never once seen you give yourself that same sort of leniency.”

“That’s… not the same thing.”

“I’m not saying we’ve been through the exact same thing, but…” He gestures vaguely to the entirety of you. “...clearly you’ve gone through something. If I get to lord my baggage over you then surely you’re permitted to do the same.”

Your tears begin to slow as you consider his words.

“I don’t… want to do that, though. Obviously. That’s why I haven’t told you. I don’t want you giving me special treatment because ‘poor pitiful me’ has gone through some shit. I don’t think that excuses any of my current behavior.”

The silence hangs in the air for a moment before he gently drives his point home.

“Yet you think it excuses mine?”

Hm.

“...okay. I guess you’ve got me there.”

You sigh, body beginning to feel heavier than lead as the sudden rush of emotion and adrenaline fades from you. You ease yourself back down, hissing at the pain as your bruised ribs and torn muscles protest the stretch and movement. Astarion wants to assist but truth be told he’s afraid to touch you. So, he watches on helplessly, still berating himself in the back of his mind for the role he feels he played in you sustaining today’s injuries to begin with.

Once you’re laid down and relaxing into the bedroll as much as you can, you make no effort to cover yourself up, not caring how long his eyes wander across your exposed skin. Silently, he tries to read the countless jagged lines and dots carved into you like they may eventually come together to paint him a picture of all that’s happened to you.

No picture anyone could paint would ever do the pain justice.

He settles himself down next to you as your tired eyes stare a hole in the ceiling of the tent.

“You do not have to accept my apology, but I will not rescind it. I do have the wherewithal to know that what I said was wrong. It was cruel. I…”

He exhales, the heavy sound full of the weight carried by a man that hasn’t been this honest with anyone in centuries.

“I…  tossed aside any consideration for how you may have felt, letting myself get lost in my own… stupid fears. It wasn’t right. It certainly wasn’t fair to you.”

Your head lolls to the side, appraising him with lidded eyes.

“You know… you’re surprisingly self-aware when you aren’t being a pompous ass.”

Your words draw a surprised laugh out of him and after a moment of consideration, he nods slowly in reluctant agreement.

“I’ve… had a lot of time to sit with myself and think. Eventually you get to know yourself pretty well.”

He looks down, idly picking at the loose threads on the edge of your well-worn bedroll.

“All of that self-awareness apparently doesn’t make me any kinder though, does it?”

It’s a rhetorical question but you answer it all the same.

“I still stand by my statement that you have good reason to be so… abrasive. Just being aware of those reasons doesn’t mean that they suddenly don’t affect you any more.”

Your hand raises from where it laid lifelessly beside you, reaching over for Astarion’s and pulling his anxious fingers away from attacking the weak points of your bedroll. You don’t release his hand once you direct him away from the loose threads, holding onto him as you continue to muse aloud.

“I think that a lot of us are just doing our best to not allow our past to affect our present, to varying degrees of success. Sometimes we fail. But- I believe all that truly matters at the end of the day is that we’re trying, though. … And, Astarion?”

“...yes?”

“I can tell that you’re trying.” You squeeze his hand. “And I accept your apology.”

You take a slow, deep breath, and listen as his voice comes out softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“Thank you.”

You nod your head in a silent “of course,” laying in thoughtful silence for a few moments before speaking.

“I… feel like I should apologize as well.”

Now it’s Astarion’s turn to be confused.

“What ever for?”

You weakly raise your other hand to gesture all around the room.

“Just… this. The scene I just made. Heaping all of this emotion onto you when you were obviously already struggling with how you felt about me in the first place.”

He doesn’t take long to respond.

“No, I don’t think you need to apologize for that. This… seems like it really needed to come out. I could never be upset with you for sharing it with me, regardless of the… unideal circumstances.”

He then seems to realize something.

“I hope you don’t regret it, though. Sharing this with me.”

You shake your head decisively and the motion causes your impending headache to flare.

“No. I don’t. I- uh- you were going to find out eventually with how… close we’ve been getting. I just couldn’t find the right time to tell you- or- well, show you, I guess.”

Your hand releases its hold on his, reaching up to carefully brush your fingertips across the mottled skin of your stomach. You raise your head up, angling it down to look down at the injury with a thoughtful gaze. Glancing over toward Astarion, you ask him another question.

“Can you hand me that salve from earlier? It never really… got fully applied.”

He immediately reaches behind him for the container, but holds it in his grasp as he stumbles over his words.

“I- I, uhm… wouldn’t mind trying again, if you want me to. If you don’t I’ll understand, though. Just… want you to know that the offer is still there.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, but you’re completely willing to let him do it.

“Oh… sure? You’re welcome to, I just… assumed you wouldn’t want to.”

He holds his other hand up and only then do you realize he never wiped the salve from his skin.

“These fingers are numb already anyways, might as well spare yours the same fate.”

You vaguely remember Shadowheart’s words as she passed Astarion the container earlier, cautioning him to not leave it for long on any skin he didn’t want to temporarily lose feeling in.

“But hey, at least we know that it works now, right?”

You give him a tired smile, appreciative of his efforts to lighten the mood.

“Mmm, I suppose so.”

You pull your hand away, exposing your injury to him once again.

“Have at me, then.”

With your permission, he sweeps a scoop of the healing and numbing mixture across your sensitive skin and you notice how feather-light he keeps his touch this time. Looking down to observe his work, you note how the messy mixture of the massive bruise’s dark colors stand in stark contrast to his pale white fingers that brush across it.

A thought slips out of your exhausted mind.

“Pretty…”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, unsure if he heard you correctly.

“Hmm?”

“The colors. They’re pretty. Purple, blue, even kinda orange…”

You look away from the bruise and up into his ruby eyes.

“...red.”

He’s silent for a moment, his hand pausing its gentle motion. Then he scoffs, looking away and internally dismissing your words as the ramblings of a tired mind.

“You’re talking nonsense, dear.”

Your filter has all but completely vanished, feeling almost drunk on your current mixture of exhaustion and relief after such a hell of a day. Sleep beckons you and your eyes fall closed as the pain in your ribs fades, on its way to being numbed out by the potent salve. A hazy thought surfaces, reminding you to give your thanks to Shadowheart when you next awake. For now though, you relax, no thought given to the words that slip from your lips.

“But you love my nonsense, don’t you…”

His heart feels like it jumps in his chest as he hears you so casually speak the word that he’s still reluctant to even think to himself, let alone say aloud. As he finishes massaging the salve into your skin and pulls his hand back, his eyes pass over the expansive unspoken history of pain evidently etched into your skin, up across your chest, over your shoulders and down your arms. He figures the least he can do is answer you honestly before sleep pulls you under.

“I… suppose I do.”

End Notes: If you'd like to read my commentary on this scene, you can find that in the end notes of Ch. 5 on AO3 - right here!

Header Image Source: x

[theresivy]

PLEASE HELP: SIGNAL B*OST, D*NATE, OR C*MMISSION ME!!

Listed below are the TL;DR, How to Help, and Full story/Context. I’m sorry I had to resort to this but i have no other choice.

TL;DR version

Please help a mentally disabled fan artist’s family to pay for medical debts for c*ncer, insulin, maintenance meds (for depression, anxiety, etc), and cat food

How to Help

D*nations!!! - I only have P*yPal (also thru K*-fi) and GC*sh! Please dm me for the link or QR code

C*mmission me!!! - I really hate asking for help with nothing to give in return, so preferably please c*mmission me. I havent updated my new set of c*mmission sheet samples BUT heres a short, quick version attached on my post as a pic.

B*y my let-go collection of merchandise!!! (PH-based only please and sorry) - In order to try and make up for the em*tional ab*se me and my mom have to go thru on a daily basis just by living with dad, I ended up in a downward spiral and tried to buy things impulsively since 2020. So, now, we’re paying the price and I have been deeply regretting it ever since. So, plsase please please help buy my palugi (selling for a loss) let-go merchandise, theyre mostly official and am selling for a loss, we badly need the space and especially the funds. Weve only sold less than a half of my stock and it doesnt help that my dad keeps mocking me about it.

Share and S*gnal boost!!! - Tumblr is the only site where i have somewhat of an audience. Please please please help reblog, share, and signal boost.

Full Story/Context

Hi, I’m Theresivy (Teh-reese-ivy), I have been depressed and mentally impaired (among other things) who draws art as a multifandom self-taught fan artist, As of 2020 my mom’s tumor has turned into cancer that has only been given medical attention to in 2022 onwards. And as of then, i have indefinitely become a N,E.E.T for my mom and our finance’s sake while being there by her side. As of now she has gone through FOUR surgeries because more and more unexpected complications keep popping up. She doesnt deserve this, why couldnt it have been me,

We live with my emotionally abusive and manipulative dad (her husband) and our two fur daughters Pancake and Waffles (of which my cats and mom mean more than the world to me) while being forced to live in one of the countless apartment complexes my equally abuse maternal uncle (and his wife, my maternal A-I-L) as we have no other choice. And as such, my dad has been kissing their asses since we were forced to move here more than five years ago.

Both my uncle and my A-I-L took it upon themselves to become the defacto head of my maternal family ever since my maternal grandmother passed just because he became rich thru the means of evil entrepreneur practices. We cant do anything lest we want to get kicked and live on the streets. He is a real-life mastermind as he is always a few steps ahead of us, even making it so that his eldest daughter became his perfect pawn of being his personal lawyer. He always has connections and to them we are merely insects.

My parents and the rest of our family dont really see “artist” as anything that could get money rolling in (and day by day my failed attemptes have been proving them right), and on top of that, they see me being depressed and such as being the “freeloading couch potato”. So they keep bringing up how much of a failure I am. Weve been living in such toxic conditions that my mom has developed this sort of stockholm syndrome type relationship with my dad, and her younger brother (my uncle), and his wife (my A-I-L, her S-I-L). At first i thought i could try and save mom but shes too far gone that she strictly forbids me from fending for myself whenever either of the three try to berate me and drive me to tears and breaking down for the fifth time every week.

All i wish now is to be able to pay back at least some of the debt, for my mom and my fur daughters’ sake, and hopefully my own. I have been in a downwards spiral ever since i have been tolerating being the “odd one out” kid from school. in general, and even in the family, its been literal years and my entire life, im tired of being used and tossed to the side, im tired of being the punching bag of a cosmic joke, and im tired of my disabilities. im tired of being useless to the people i care for the most. so please. help us.

My wish now is to be able to help mom and our fur daughters move away from our domestic ab*sers. everything is an endless spiral of dead ends and im sick of it. ive been self sabotaging for years but a small part of me still has hope, please. i dont want to believe that this is where it ends for us. in this world of darkness and cruelty that spits on our faces, only my mom and our fur daughters have shown me the smallest glimpse of happiness. and even then ive failed them by becoming a barely functioning patient of depression. so, please, dont take my sunshines away.

[lemonluvgirl]

Okay, Chica - A G rated prompt: Katniss gets goosebumps when she holds Peeta's hands.

Thank you to the INCREDIBLE @mega-aulover for this prompt :) I hardly get the excuse to try and write fluff and I have to say I enjoyed the entire exercise!

She'd like to say that getting close to Peeta again was as easy as breathing, but that would be a lie.

It wasn't easy. It was difficult. Full of false starts and awkward interludes and enough unsaid words to fill a shelf of books. Katniss understood this because she knew there was no way to ever truly start over with Peeta Mellark, even if she truly and deeply wished she could erase the past year of him being captured, tortured, and everything that followed until the end of the war.

There were layers of history and trauma in between them, and Peeta wasn't always aware of the context or meaning that colored their interactions, but neither was he oblivious. He felt things and picked up on things and he could still read the room with startling precision.

He remembered odd snippets sometimes, and the major events of their history together but the day-to-day workings of their relationship (which was still stuck in some strange place between cautious allies on good days and distrustful antagonists on the bad ones) seemed to puzzle him at first when he came back if not downright confuse him.

He legitimately didn't understand why Gale hadn't come back to District 12 with her after she had been exiled.

They got into it one night after seeing his face pop up on the nightly newscast. He asked questions with an internal compulsion that she had come to recognize. It was an extension of his 'Real or Not Real' mechanism.

The coping strategy he defaulted to when something just didn't sit right in his mind. And she knew that it was finally time to tell him why Gale hadn't come home, why she hadn't wanted him to accompany her back, why it might be better if he just stayed away indefinitely. Or at least until the still razor-sharp pain she got inside her chest every time she thought of him lessened somewhat.

So she told him about that day outside the president's mansion. She told him about the bombs and about what Snow said in the rose garden. About Coin and her tests of loyalty at the victor's meeting. She told him about Gale and Beetee's bombs and how no one knew for sure how it had happened, who had given the authorization, or what design they had used.

But the implication hung heavy in the air as it had that day that Gale had come to bring her the final arrow to end the war.

"So that's why he's not here." That had been his only reply. Katniss had nodded, not looking at him, lost in her thoughts about how far they had all come from the people they had once been three years ago.

Peeta had taken her silence and had wadded through it, unafraid to confront the dark waters that threatened to drown out the moment of honesty between them.

"There are a hundred reasons why he's not here." Katniss finally replied looking at him and finding his blue eyes dark, sad, and full of that special kind of empathy that never felt inconsequential, or cheap. Even as lost in his own mind as he tended to get sometimes, Peeta's reactions to other people's pain were the same as they used to be. Pure and noble, and not stemming from any misguided sense of pity.

His hand reached over to cover hers, and he enfolded her own small hand into his grasp. Goosebumps spread from the place where his skin touched hers.

"I'm so sorry Katniss." He said, tone even and quiet. "We were all forced to do horrible things in the games, and in the war, but that really is something terrible to try and come back from. But maybe with time you and he could—"

"There's no coming back, Peeta." She said cutting him off.

"But, if you could find it in your heart to forgive me after I tried to kill you then surely you and Gale can work this out. You two have been through so much together."

Katniss nearly recoiled at not only his words but the earnestness with which he said them.

"Everyone's been through a lot these past two years. You included. I don't need to work out anything with Gale. He can stay right where he is for the foreseeable future."

"But you love him," Peeta said quietly, but his eyes were confused and his brows were pulled down and tight together.

She shook her head slowly at him, recognizing immediately the familiar tone of his voice. It usually preceded a barrage of questions in the real or not real vien.

"No, Peeta. I don't. Gale was never the one I loved. Not like that. "

"Well, my memory isn't the most reliable but from what I've pieced together about you two before the games, and then everything that came after, I was sure..." He trailed off and she reached out and hesitantly placed her hand over his. He looked down and frowned slightly, but in a way that illustrated his confusion.

"I wasn't. When I came home after the first arena all I wanted was for things to go back to the way they had been before, clear-cut and easy. But I couldn't go back. And trying to feel something for Gale beyond friendship was one of the biggest mistakes I ever made. I just didn't know how to let go of that part of my life, where all I needed was my bow, the woods, my sister, and my best friend. I might have loved him once, the way you love someone who is like family to you. But I was never in love with him. I've finally learned the difference between real and not real when it comes to that. " She said it with such surety, such conviction, and the way she stared at him. It was like her gray eyes were trying to press some kind of message into him.

He looked startled by her words at first, then he blinked, and it was like he was seeing her clearly for the first time.

Well, maybe not for the first time. There had been many moments where the secret and mysterious nature of the inscrutable Katniss Everdeen was revealed to him in snapshots and quick glances. Like catching sight of something that arrests your eyes right before the door snaps shut.

But looking at Katniss at that moment Peeta knew the door wasn't going to close this time.

No, the warmth of her hand in his, and the look in her eyes told him that this time the door was open for him, as long as he was brave enough to walk through it.

[justwearthegoddamncardigan]

Classic

Minho x fem!reader

Set during tmr (movieverse)

Summary: reader works hard to become a Runner and prove herself, then she and Minho start to catch feelings (your typical Maze fic cause why not)

Notes: so. I did a thing. For context, this was initially part of my ace!reader fic, but getting them together took way too much time and the fic was so long. In the end I had to cut out the getting together part, and I made that into it's own original fic. End result: a classic Maze Runner only girl becomes a runner fic, hence the title

Warnings: none really, language (Glader slang)

You meet Minho the day after you arrive in the Glade.

As Newt brings you around on the regular job tour, you see Minho and Ben return from a morning run, and you're immediately intrigued.

"Hey Newt, what do they do? I thought we weren't supposed to go in the Maze."

"Right, that's who I forgot to talk about yesterday. Those are some of our Runners," explains Newt. "They go out every day to map the Maze and try to find a way out. It's a tough job, and while all of the jobs are vital, the Runners are some of the most important."

"How would I become one?" you ask, eyes still on the two boys disappearing into the Runners' hut.

"You wanna be a Runner? You'd have to talk to Minho, he's the Keeper."

You nod as Newt continues.

"And, being a Runner is hard work. You need to be strong; both mentally and physically, and think fast when you're in a tough spot. Bravery is key here, plus having your head screwed on right at all times."

He tilts his head. "That's not meant to be discouraging, just a reality check before you do anything. I mean, give it a try. Just ask Minho."

As you try out wood cutting, you think about the Runners. Being able to run every day exploring the Maze sounds great. Plus, avoiding the stares of tens of teenage boys would be a nice bonus.

You decide to talk to Minho, and end up knocking on the door of the Runners' hut that night.

"Come in," he calls.

"Hi," you say, a bit nervously, as you walk in.

Ben and Minho are poring over the map model, and they look up upon hearing your voice.

"Hey Greenie," greets Ben with a grin.

"Y/n," says Minho. Your heart warms at the fact that he's learnt your name despite how you only remembered it this morning.

"Are you here for something?" he asks.

You take a deep breath. "I want to be a Runner."

Ben immediately scoffs, which escalates into loud guffaws. Seriously; he guffaws.

"Ben," Minho calls sharply. "Go get dinner, I think we've finished mapping for today."

"No- hey, I didn't mean to be rude." He holds his hands up in a placating manner, still wearing a smile. "It's just- the Maze is..."

"Ben, just go."

You step back as he brushes past you to leave.

"Sorry 'bout that," says Minho shortly. "So, you think you can be a Runner?"

"Yes," you say steadily, putting Ben out of your mind.

"You know, most of my guys had to be chosen and forced to do this. No one volunteers to go into that Maze. Why do you want to do it?"

"I want to help find a way out, plus I'd like the running." You look him in the eyes. "And I think I can do it."

He looks at you, thinking for a second, then speaks up. "Okay. We'll try you out tomorrow. Meet at the Maze entrance just before it opens. Find a way to know when that is."

The next morning, you go into the Maze to start trials with Minho. He takes you on a run to start off, before instructing you to do sprints across a long straight path as well as sharp turns around corners.

By midday, you're completely drained, leaning on the walls and sipping water slowly as you stretch your tired legs.

"Okay, we'll just do one more run and then go back," says Minho.

He watches your reaction carefully. You're clearly exhausted, so he's surprised when you swiftly stick your water bottle back in the pack and stand, ready to run again.

"You sure you can do another?" Even Minho himself is pretty tired at this point.

"Yes," you respond emphatically, levelling his gaze and silently challenging him to tell you to take another break.

He gives one approving nod, then turns to start running again.

⭒----⭒

"Okay, debrief time."

You're exhausted and sweaty and ready to collapse, but you stand tall in the Runners' hut when you and Minho return.

"Your stamina is good. You've got enough to run the Maze. Your speed and agility are good too, which brings me to my next point. Newt's explained the Grievers, right?"

At your nod, he continues, talking about all the possible emergencies and situations in more detail.

"You got that?" he asks at the end. "You need to stay calm enough to recall the home route, or find another way if that's blocked. I've lost Runners to panic before, and I don't need any more of that stress. There's no real way to test this, so it's just a heads up for now."

You nod again. "Okay," you say.

"Good."

Within the next day, you're officially a Runner. You start training and becoming more experienced with time.

You come to genuinely love the job, which a lot of Runners don't feel. You love the consistent drumbeat of your feet on the stone, and how good the snacks taste during a break in the secluded walls of the Maze.

Granted, said Maze is still a massive jail trapping you and the rest of the Gladers in, but you can try to find positives among all of it.

You share your thoughts with Minho during break times. While training, you found that he wasn't really one to talk about himself, at least initially.

But, when you start talking about running and exploring, he starts to join in, passionately telling you about the little intricacies in the Maze, like how the wall changes are satisfyingly predictable once you've mapped enough.

"You know," he says one day. "The vines grow flowers sometimes."

"Really?" You and Minho are resting with your backs leaning against the walls, sipping water and eating the snacks.

"Yeah, just little plain white ones, and they don't stay long, but they're really nice while they're there."

"Hopefully we'll see them soon," you say, touching the vines next to you and imagining them covered in tiny flowers.

You also find out other things about him too; not just Maze details.

There are the simple things you catalogue and store away in your memory, like his love for blackberries and preference for cold showers (you let him know that the shower thing is psychopathic, especially in the chilly mornings).

There are also the more complicated things, deeper knowledge you pick up as you know him longer. Some days he'll start to feel hopeless and angry about the Maze, and you'll know to just sit with him on those days and let your presence be a quiet comfort.

You learn that you always want to make him smile and laugh, and find that he makes you do the same.

Overtime, your platonic affections evolve into wanting to spend every minute with him, and loving each minor detail about him, until you're not really sure when you started to fall for him.

You do however, have an exact moment when you realise your feelings.

It's a Greenie welcome night, with the bonfire blazing and people yelling excitedly over the sparring matches.

You're a little tipsy from Gally's drink, and you've managed to pull Minho away from the Runners' circle, where they usually just stand around sipping their drinks and brooding.

You usually join in with them, and it's nice most months, but tonight you're looking for something more fun, and you're feeling reckless and warm thanks to the alcohol.

You drag Minho by the hand to where Zart and a bunch of others are playing a drinking game. You lean on Minho, bending over with laughter as Clint stumbles and nearly falls over, while Jeff watches from the side, rolling his eyes.

"Let's play," you say, yanking Minho forward.

"Hang on, I don't usually drink a lot- hey, careful!" He groans, smiling fondly as you trip over Clint, who is now on the ground. Minho shakes his head and follows you as you walk over to the game, still clutching his hand tightly.

"Do a dare or take a drink!" announces Zart. "Y/n! Your turn. Take a drink or kiss Minho," he challenges.

"Hold up," interrupts Minho. "We're not playing this game. Shucking immature."

You give him a wide grin, and shuck, he's gonna think about that look forever. The firelight dancing on your face, one eyebrow slightly raised, and a wicked grin. Pull yourself together man, she just smiled at you.

You're unaware of his inner turmoil over your expression, and you lean in playfully before lifting his hand and brushing your lips over his knuckles gently.

You laugh as he starts spluttering incoherently, blush rising to his cheeks as he pulls away amidst the other boys' boos and unsatisfied calls of "that wasn't a proper kiss!"

You turn and respond, "You didn't say where!"

"Alright, you sneaky shank, this time you kiss him full on the lips or drink this." Zart hands you a mason jar filled almost to the brim with Gally's drink.

"Oh, you think I can't drink this?" you challenge, ignoring the kiss part. You're not about to embarrass a clearly flustered friend by kissing him, so you've got to drink.

You raise the glass like a toast before downing it fast, the alcohol burning as it slides down your throat.

You lift it high in victory as you finish, the other boys cheering raucously and the kiss forgotten.

After slamming the jar down dramatically, you stumble back and crash into Minho, still laughing as your back hits his chest.

You turn and grab his shirt to steady yourself, and as you look up you're suddenly face to face with him, your noses almost touching.

There's a pause as you both freeze, staring into each others' eyes.

Then Jeff bumps into you, attempting to handle Clint off the floor, and the moment breaks. You jump apart and laugh it off.

⭒----⭒

The next morning, your head pounds like there's a goddamn Maze door grinding open in it. And yeah, there is a Maze door grinding open, but luckily you're not on the morning run today.

The last night comes back to you as you wake up, and that's when you realise: you wanted to kiss Minho. Not for the other boys' stupid game, but in that moment you wanted a real kiss.

As you try to process this, everything floods through you. All the hours spent mapping the Maze when you were actually just trying to get more time with Minho, all the quiet chats about whether you'll ever really escape the Glade, all the inside jokes and quips traded during meals.

You like Minho; for real. Shuck.

⭒----⭒

When you meet Minho at the Maze entrance for the afternoon run, neither of you bring up the last night. Or at least, it's done in a casual way, never talking about the moment - if that was even real.

You revert back to your regular patterns as you run, ignoring your rapidly-becoming-more-dangerous crush. You're in Section 3, and you're taking a break when you start talking like usual.

"Hey," you say. "I never got to ask why you became a Runner."

"Oh." Minho looks down.

You wonder if the question was too personal, or if there's some traumatic story attached. You open you mouth to tell him he doesn't have to answer, but then he speaks.

"I was here pretty early; I'm one of the oldest Gladers, so we were really still trying to figure out the roles and making a whole... society.

"I ended up choosing to be a Runner cause I wanted to escape this place. I wanted to get us out. Fat load of good that did," he scoffs.

"Hey." You gently kick your leg out to nudge him, and he lifts his head to meet your smile.

"Anyway," he continues. "I just chose this cause I wanted to leave here. I hated the Maze, actually. But it's changed now. Maze and I have a love-hate relationship." He pats the walls of the Maze and you huff out a laugh.

"But I know that's not why you became a Runner," he says, raising an eyebrow.

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean, you said that you wanted to help find a way out, but there was way more to it."

"Oh, do tell." You cross your arms and lift your chin.

"You wanted to prove yourself. Let's face it: first and only girl, you're gonna want to show that you can do a hard thing. You're gonna be so determined to show your strength that you jump at a job like this."

You frown at him outwardly, but inside you wonder how deeply Minho actually knows you. Has he really understood you that clearly from the start?

"I liked that about you," he tells you. "You had this fire, this spirit that I hadn't seen in many Greenies. You were so different to my other Runners.

"I still remember when you walked in. You looked me dead in the eye and said 'I can do it'. And here we are." He gestures between the two of you. You're leaning your backs on opposite walls, facing each other with your legs forming a V shape in the middle of the path.

"I'm glad I walked in that day," you say softly. "I wouldn't want any other job."

He lets out a small chuckle. "Yeah, me too. 'M glad you became a Runner."

There's a pause, then-

You're not sure who moves first, but soon you're pushing off the wall and meeting him in the middle as he captures your mouth in a hungry, passionate kiss, both of you grabbing desperately for each other.

Before you know it your first kiss becomes your first make out session, as you run your hands through his hair and feel yourself being pulled flush against him.

"This is stupid," he whispers between kisses. "I didn't even get to say my romantic speech."

"It was good enough for me," you say, smiling into the kiss.

Suddenly, you hear creaking as a wall close by starts to shift.

"Shuck." You pull away from each other. "That's not supposed to go until... 7 minutes before doors close."

"We gotta run."

Together you sprint back to the Glade, until the doors come into come into view.

The two of you slide in a the last second, rolling right onto the grass.

You can't help but laugh as the adrenaline from almost being trapped inside shoots through your system. Minho's grinning too as he extends an arm to pull you up.

"Bloody Christ, the two of you honestly." Newt stomps up to you, his expression thunderous. "You were meant to get back ages ago. You guys are never late! What happened?"

Your eyes automatically flick to Minho's.

"What, too busy making out to get back on time?" prods Newt.

"Well..."

"Shucking- agh. Never again. I thought we were gonna have to pull Y/n's crushed foot through or something. You were this close." He holds up his index finger and thumb.

He crosses his arms, then uncrosses them and heaves a long-suffering sigh. "I'm really happy for you two though," he says begrudgingly.

"Thanks," you say, taking Minho's hand and tugging him to the dinner tables.

Check Part 2 with reader coming out as ace and working everything out with Minho, which was the initial intention of this fic

But, if you're just interested in a sweet getting together story, there's no need to read part 2; they can be read as standalone fics.

Thanks for reading ❤

[thequeenofthewinter]

For the OC ship ask game: K and L from the For the Ship section!

Also hello!

Hello my dearest Ceth <3 <3 <3

I see you are pulling all the punches here. ;)

K. First fight

Some context before two snippets as they follow each other. Dahlia got herself into a bit of trouble she should not have and definitely did something that made her feel her feel that she was unworthy of being around anyone, let alone Ulfric. (She tortured a man.) She ran off to the Temple at Riften to try to rid herself of her guilt and try to reel herself back in and didn’t tell anyone where she was going.

“You should be able to tell me anything. I am your partner, and you should trust me. I have told you my deepest, darkest secrets, but yet, you cannot do the same for me.” Ulfric says, disappointment and anger laced in his words.

Hot tears make their way down her face as looks up at him.

“I’m sorry, but—”

“But nothing!” He clenches his fists. “You cannot grant me the same courtesy of trusting in me which I have given to you?” He pleads with her, cupping one of her cheeks.

“I can’t.” She answers, ashamed of herself as the words leave her lips. “Is it not enough that I am here now?”

For several beats, there is silence, and then--

“No.” He says, one word, resolute. “It is not enough if you will not tell me, if you cannot confide in me…I need someone who will believe and trust in me completely. I thought perhaps—”

He cuts himself off, and it seems the next words pain him greatly when he speaks them.

“If that is not you, then maybe it is best that you leave.”

Her heart drops like a stone sinking to the bottom of the Sea of Ghosts.

“I did not mean for any of this to happen. I just needed to be alone.” She offers quietly.

“So, it is worse than I suspected. You ran away from your problems like a child! And it’s not only that. You also ran away from Skyrim when she needs you the most. However, what hurts the most is that you ran away from me and forgot about me entirely.”

“I was not in the right state of mind, and I could not put myself together—” She begins, trying to reason with him.

“You should have come to me, Dahlia. I could have helped you. That is what partners are supposed to do.” His voice strains. “Instead, you shut me out, and left me to worry. I thought that you were dead. Do you have any idea what that feels like?”

L. ....And the first time they had to make up

After this Ulfric spends several days being cold to her and avoiding any interaction with her until it is time for her to ship out to her next mission. However, she leaves early as there is a dragon to deal with. Again, she tells no one where she is going, but Ulfric sees what she is doing and follows her. What you see here is the end of the fight with the dragon.

The collision of magic against magic causes a shower of sparks to rain down upon them—a dazzling spectacle of light, throwing them both into stark relief—shedding light brilliantly as the electrical currents fall and glimmer. However, this wondrous phenomenon—an outstanding feat of both science and magic coming together—is completely ignored by the only two people who can see it. They are completely blinded to it as there is only one thing either one of them sees: the other.

Gradually, as tiny, winking sparks of magic fall around them, electricity of a different type builds between them. They are magnets tugging powerfully towards each other; gravity pulling celestial bodies into orbit around the other. It is much like destiny—something inevitable, bringing two beings together, and they cannot escape it—or are not willing to fight it. Because in this case, neither of them minds much as they each lean in closer until their lips touch, tentatively at first and then hungrily: hands mimicking tongues, as they explore the other seemingly unable to get close enough to the other.

The kiss is not quiet like a whisper or a sigh, nor it is gentle and polite in its technique. It is loud, untamed, and very much selfish in its expression, every caress of their tongues and clash of their teeth proclaiming to the other their devotion and affection in equal measure. Neither is to be outdone, and their desperate dance increases in rhythm until it reaches its climax, the sensation breaking over them both as their souls fall firmly back to the ground.

Everything about Ulfric calls to Dahlia to give in to him, reaching out to grab hold of her and refusing to let her go. He is all she sees, and he is all she knows in this moment. It is only now as she looks at him under the pale light of the rising moon that she can fully appreciate the entirety of who he is and what he does to her. It pulls at the seams of who she is, slowly unraveling threads of her to put her back together as something new; a tempting tapestry of both of them bound together as his deep blue threads intertwine with the gold of her own, an action mirrored by their tongues touching together lightly, yet fervently, stitching them back together and sealing their fate.

When Dahlia finds her voice, she cannot help but speak the question which has been on her mind since she first saw him in the clearing. “Why in the world did you follow me? This was too dangerous, and you know it.” Silent tears trail down her face, and Ulfric wipes them away gently. “I could have lost you.”

His response is simple. “You should know better by now. I would follow you anywhere, no matter how far. Even to Sovngarde.”

As he cups her face in his hands, the very same amulet of Mara he had intended to give her weeks ago,burns him from under his clothing as if calling to him: This is your moment. He had no idea why he brought it with him, but now it seems that Mara is revealing her plan.

Is this the moment he was waiting for? As he looks at her, he knows that she is his whole world and she is all he wants, all he needs. She could ruin him over and over again, and he would happily take it. While she has hurt him, he knows there has to be a reason, and there will be plenty of time for them to talk and resolve their problems in the future. It would be more painful to continue on like this without her.

He searches Dahlia’s eyes as if to find the answer to his yet unrevealed question there, and what he sees is nothing but longing in the depths of their bright hazel color, reflecting himself back to him in the moonlight. Her face has always been very expressive, telling him exactly how she feels and now is no different. It beckons to him as if already giving him the answer he seeks.

He pushes the amulet into her hands before he can talk himself out of it.

“Marry me,” he whispers as he leans in to kiss her again. “When the time comes, I’ll go happily into the afterlife, glory in my hand and peace on my tongue, as long as I have the memory of you on my lips.”

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi Makenzie

I'm sorry for bothering you, but as I followed your blog for over a decade now and this is the first time I need to deal with questions around sexuality, it seemed to me like the best way to get good and trustworthy input was to ask you.

There's a lot of context to this, but the TL;DR is that I (a trans masc) used to staunchly believe I'm aroace (which I'm still not sure of that I'm not) until last month this person swaggered into my life and basically upended my understanding of myself by somehow making it so we're in a relationship together. That means that for the first time in 23 years I have to think about the downstairs equipment and, worse, use it.

Now, my partner is absolutely lovely, don't get me wrong, but I am very much not into sex at all. Or like, it's fun, but it's also a chore and while I like the intimacy of it all, I just... don't like sex. It's extremely painful and since my partner has been circumcised it takes so long to get them off (over 4 hours!), even on their own- the closest we've come to me being involved at all when they do is my letting them come in my mouth by some last-minute manouvering- and even so, after two times I physically cannot bring myself to do it again, which puts them off too.

I know one of your mottos is that orgasms aren't the end-all-be-all of sex, but it seems to be the only thing to make the whole ordeal worth it at all. It's like we're stuck in a feedback loop where I only put up with sex because I want them to enjoy themself, and they need to see me enjoy myself to enjoy themselves, but with them having a really hard time getting of and me being physically unable to (even on my own: I never feel anything, even if the muscle-spasms indicate something happened).

I'm very worried about the strain this will put on the relationship, since they told me on the very first day that they do need to get their rocks off, and while I'm fine with them watching porn to get off and the occasional comment that they would prefer me have the body of one of those actresses, I'm not secure enough in this whole relationship yet to just set them free sexually. Not in the least because a part of me doesn't want to lose the way our sexuality works atm. It's dysfunctional and painful, and there is practically no benefit to it at all, but it's fun having them so close. If only the rest of the deal didn't exist.

It's basically a lose-lose situation where I was wondering if you could tell me if I should be worried about the sheer amount of pain I experience with penetration (also with tampons: the two times I tried putting one in, I ended up crying on the bathroom floor because of the pain) and if you maybe have any advice regarding the rest of the whole shitshow.

Thanks in advance and have a nice day!

hi anon,

oh my god there's a lot to unpack here

before we get into the important stuff I just want to open by saying your partner's four hour plateau period is maybe not an outright medical marvel but is definitely unusual, and both scientific and anecdotal evidence indicate there's no particular reason why that should be linked to circumcision. I have no idea what would actually be causing that, but it's probably not a lack of foreskin! just wanted to point that out, because it's interesting.

anyway, and much more importantly: you two should not be having sex with each other and maybe need to just break up entirely.

literally every single thing about how you are talking about sex indicates to me that you don't want to be having it, you don't like it, it's painful, you don't see the point, you can't bring yourself to do it... literally stop doing it. stop that right now. there's literally nothing but trauma that's going to come from repeatedly forcing yourself into something that sucks this bad for you.

okay, so, where does this leave your partner? well, in grand sex witch style I am humbling suggesting that they either put up or shut up. sex is important to them and that's fine, wahoo yay sex, but they've chosen a partner who Does Not Want To Do Sex At All and that has consequences, namely that they do not get to have sex with that partner.

if you're uninterested in opening the relationship up (which is fine!) that means they either need to cope or y'all need to break up, which frankly sounds like it might be awesome for both of you based on everything you're saying here. no one is necessarily at fault here, but this is a major lack of compatibility that seems like it's only going to keep eating at both of you. there are lots of different ways to be intimate in a relationship, and you both deserve to find someone operating on a more similar frequency.

also, hey, this?

I'm fine with them watching porn to get off and the occasional comment that they would prefer me have the body of one of those actresses

you shouldn't be fine with that. talking about anyone's body like that is shitty, let alone an intimate partner. I would hit somebody with a car for that, personally.

also hey PS if tampons suck that much there's a chance you have vaginismus, a condition that causes the vaginal muscles to reflexively and often painfully tighten to prevent penetration. it's a fairly common condition that's often caused by anxiety or trauma, and in many cases the easiest solution is to Stop Putting Things In Your Vagina.

[tkwrites]

Sorry for the length of this but I wanted to go through and find particular parts of your series that I really liked and show how I really appreciate the little things you add. Turns out that list was way too long after just one part so switched it to some quotes that I found funny/made me laugh xxx

“So you're what, 20?” “I hope I look older than that!”

“Were you worried I was going to ask for pictures of your feet or something?” 

She snorted. Every time she saw Quinn, he was in a variation of three outfits: jeans and a jacket, athletic wear, or a game day suit.  Okay but had to bring up how accurate this is, have you seen this man in the past like fortnight? He has worn the same suit to every game, I mean iconic for sure but dude come on aha

The interaction with Quinn and Emma when she asks if he's slept with Sarah yet is also so cute and funny to me aha

They ended with a very off key “Yooooou!” and the camera turned back to the front, showing Elias with a teasing, mischievous glint in his eyes, “Happy birthday, Sarah!” he said. “Thanks for making Huggy bearable!” 

“You keep in touch with everyone who was there that night?” he joked, hoping she would see how ridiculous her worry was. 

“Gee, thanks, Hughes,” she said, flatly. “I had no idea ice is slippery.”

“Can you hold me?” he asked. It came out quieter than he thought it would. Okay this one isn't funny but this was from the first one I ever read and remember this being the point when I was like 'aww this is cute af' 🥹 just how he was clearly so in love with this person and not afraid to be seen in whatever state

“If you want me to go back to sleep, straddling my thigh isn’t the way to do it,” he teased. 

She pointed to the bed, “you want to tell me they're not going to know we weren't just having sex?” Just the pure 'bitch please' tone I read this in aha

Have the best day and thankyou endlessly for this series 😘

Can we know what kind of scenarios you have as wips? All good if you'd rather not xx

I do have a question actually, what do you envision Sarah does with the puck Quinn gave here from her first game? Is it on display or tucked away somewhere?

Well goodnight from me and best vibes sent your way always x

Oh my goodness, Alora. 🥹😢😭 Thank you so much. This was such an incredible message to receive during such a hard week.

I don't even know what to say. I feel so very blessed. Every time I get a message like this - scratch that, this is the first message with so much detail I've received - it just kills my imposter syndrome a little bit more. Thank you for that. I really can't even express how much it means to me.

I'm happy to share my wip list. I've put it below the cut in case someone doesn't want to be spoiled. A caveat, though: some of these pieces are farther along than others. Some are 99% finished, but I'm waiting for a little more context before posting them. Some have barely been started, while others have a good amount of work done on them. I write fics on the side of my regular, full-time job and living my life, so sometimes progress is slow going.

I honestly kind of forgot about Quinn giving Sarah that puck.

She definitely has the puck Quinn gave her out on display. It's on her desk, used mostly to hold her place in/as a weight to hold open her text books when she's studying.

Thank you for asking!

Endless love sent your way! 😘

WIP list:

(These are in no particular order)

Quinn meets Sarah's uncle

Sarah gets bombarded by fan girls on social media and bonds with the other WAGs

The Canucks are eliminated from the playoffs - comfort ensues

Quinn and Sarah discuss no longer using condoms and put that into practice

Golf. Of course. We meet sassy Sarah for the first time.

Sarah meets Jack and Luke during the playoffs

Sarah’s finals

Sarah and Quinn discuss the summer situation

Sarah does a photo shoot for Quinns birthday (I can't decide if this one is super dumb or not. If you'd like to beta read it, let me know)

All of the summer shenanigans including but not limited to :

Car sex

A black bikini

The lake house

Quinn meets Sarah's siblings

And an unnamed Nico Hischier x art student Lena 3 part friends-to-lovers series.

[morganinez]

tldr at the end i think this is pretty annoying to read idk its in red

normally i wouldn't send this kinda stuff but honestly the ever changing list of reasons you dislike/like having me interact is making it really hard to decide whether to send one of those character interaction things .

because if you're fine with me then it's good to send it because you want interactions and i like writing but if you don't like me then if i send it you'd just be irritated and i wouldn't be able to tell

because you obvs haven't confirmed or denied such things considering the list was made by my brain which i wrote down to try and rationalise

not trying to bring down your mood or anything just giving context for the question im about to ask

is it like weird or annoying or clingy if someone keeps like sending you stuff about morgan or just like interacting with you

i dont want to do that if it is you get what i mean

because it feels like you don't like me but at the same time it could be anxiety speaking and i don't want to like put assumptions on you

but at the same time i don't want to assume that you're fine with me and then have it turn out i've been annoying all this while

idk why i'm typing this because even if you did dislike me / my characters people don't usually just say that kinda stuff to people's faces

this is like the tenth? time i've revised this ask it should not be this long (very sorry for that /gen )

are there like interactions that annoy you so like i can avoid that i guess /genq

please like feel free to ignore this i mean something this long in your inbox is probably also pretty annoying i guess it just felt like i should clarify things but at the same time what if this makes me annoying

i should probably stop like revising this ask every time i do it i feel the need to clarify more like at first it really really formal but it felt too not genuine but if i send like this what if you can tell who i am and then think i'm making things up for pity points or something and what if you didn't dislike me but now you do because of this and its getting really long i am so sorry

TLDR: are there like any forms of interaction that annoy you like ,,. someone interacting with your blog too much or something because i'd like to avoid annoying you and a bunch of miscellaneous stuff that i don't dare to delete because what if you want the context to this question or something but

yeah please feel free to delete this or something i don't know i've been pondering over sending something like this for days who knows how long which may make me seem weird i don't know i just need to know if i should or shouldn't interact i guess ? sorry

i feel like this is like about some asks i haven’t replied to (or won’t reply to) so here are the reasons why i don’t

i have no clue how to reply (this is like … the major reason and the biggest reason)

some people have sent asks like their character & mine have interacted before… when they haven’t… so i dont reply to that bc… how will i when i dont know where their relationship stands ifykwim?

asks that just says “hi” or something along the lines of that .. IM SORRY I JUST ?? idk i don’t vibe w it bc i love interactions w flavour you know?

connected to number 1; i have no clue how to reply because i don’t get it (and maybe the reason why i don’t get it because the ask is like the one in number 2 or i’m just slow as fuck)

i guess that’s all ?? should’ve clarified that i’m more comfortable doing novella with people i know / morgan has an actual relationship with — if you want that, interact with her posts (then again, it didn’t mean i will reply because of the reasons above)

i do try to formulate replies but in the end it’s just turns into an ugly writing that i give up .

[legolasghosty]

your rarepairiest pair: Is this a mid-life crisis because if it is I'm a bit worried about your lifespan.

Oh gosh yes please! I will take any and every excuse to write JuBobby! (Also I think I accidentally set this in my Jem and the Holograms AU... whoops! Oh well, I think it makes sense still without context.)

Bobby generally considers his girlfriend a levelheaded person. Sure, she's done some crazy stuff (See the history of how they even met in the first place), but in general, Julie thinks things through before she does them. And that's probably a good thing, considering the insanity of at least half of her brothers/band.

But even for the most even-keeled individual, fame does weird stuff. So when Julie gets back after what was supposed to be a casual family dinner (no significant others allowed on the first night of the visit to give Julie and her brothers a chance to catch up with Ray, Victoria, and Carlos), crashes onto Bobby's bed, and says, "I'm going to get a yacht," Bobby isn't entirely sure how to react.

He hits the save key on his computer and rises from his desk. "Is this a mid-life crisis?" he asks slowly, approaching his girlfriend and sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her. "Cause if so, I'm a little worried about your lifespan. I don't want to outlive you by that much, Molina."

Julie groans and rolls onto her side to look at him. "People can't recognize me on a boat," she states, voice flat.

Bobby winces, suddenly understanding. He'd turned off most of his notifications while he was working, which is probably how he missed whatever pictures have made it online of Julie and her brothers just trying to spend time with their family. He reaches out to run his fingers gently over her arm, offering what comfort he can.

"We didn't even have our food yet before someone came to ask for an autograph," Julie sighs, wriggling a little closer to him. "And then the waiters were staring, and...sometimes I wonder why I told the world my real name."

Bobby hums softly and lays down on his side, pulling her into his chest. "I'm sorry, Ju." This sort of thing has been happening more and more over the past nine months since Julie took to the stage as Dahlia and the crowd was chanting her real first name by the time she and her brothers finished the show.

"So I'm gonna get a frigging boat so I can hang out with my family without getting interrupted," Julie huffs, curling into his embrace, letting his cool hands smooth out the rough heat racing through her body from all the unwanted stares.

"I mean, I know it doesn't really solve the actual problem," Bobby begins, resting his chin against her hair, "but you could just bring them here if you wanted. Get some fancy takeout and just stay in together."

"I wouldn't want to kick you out of your own house though," Julie protests, looking up at him. "I mean, I know the guys and I live here too, but it's your home too. You shouldn't lose your safe space just because my family is in town."

Bobby forces down a joke about being used to it from how things were with Caleb up until a year ago. His therapist says that's not healthy, to downplay it like that. "I don't mind," he promises instead. "They're important to you. So, important to me. I can stay out of your way no problem as long as no one ends up in my room."

Julie cracks a tiny smirk. "Awww, so no sleepovers while they're here?" she teases.

Bobby chuckles and shrugs as best he can without loosening his grip on her. "I suppose something could be arranged," he responds. "You know, if the situation were desperate enough."

"So... you last maybe one night without me," Julie snarks.

"Hey, you leave my insomnia out of this," Bobby complains lightly, unable to resist the slow grin spreading across his face. "I managed just fine before we met."

"Lies," Julie retorts, pushing herself up on one elbow so she's above him.

"Oh yeah? Whatcha gonna do about it?" Bobby challenges.

"Go sleep in my amazing bazillion thread sheeted bed in my room by myself," she answers, smirking. "We'll see just how well you sleep by yourself."

Bobby raises an eyebrow. "I don't see you moving."

"Hey I got accosted by twelve-year-olds today, I'm not moving very fast," Julie says.

Hah, Bobby thinks. An opening. He reaches out and grabs an edge of his bedspread, flipping them over and pinning her down with the blanket and his body. "Well then you're not going anywhere," he teases.

"Oh no, woe is me," Julie laughs as she fumbles one arm free to cup the back of his neck. "I shall never escape."

"Nope, mine now," Bobby agrees before giving into her gentle tugging and leaning down to kiss her. "I'm serious though," he adds, pulling back a hair after a moment. "Just bring your family here. I know it's not ideal, but we can make it feel just as fancy as those stupid restaurants downtown. And here you can just be you."

"You're amazing," Julie says. "Think we can make it happen for everybody dinner tomorrow night?"

"Caleb has an impressive wine cellar," Bobby promises. "And he owes me and Willie and Carrie like... a lot."

"You know I'm technically underaged, right?" Julie jokes.

"Well, rockstars are allowed to do fun stuff sometimes," Bobby responds, leaning down to kiss her again. They'd figure it out, one way or another.

[tonydaddingham]

am i missing something in kinda comparing the entire maggie and nina situation to paris? 'cause there was no need to get them to fall in love. a&c might not be able to make people actually feel it, but they seem to have mind control down pat without much effort (or any moral quandaries). they could have waited for an angel to show up and just faked it- easy, certain way out. it's not like the idea of working together like that is even weird, not after the gabriel miracle.

so. either they missed it, which is plausible, and uhhh, renders this whole ask pointless, or *would* have moral issues with it (also plausible💀), or they're being completely ridiculous again, and would rather plan balls than actually make an effort to get themselves out of Mortal Fucking Peril (not that aziraphale necessarily knows it is). i think it would fit the pattern, honestly- when not having huge blowouts over *problems of their own making* (hey aziraphale kill this kid it'll be fine, aziraphale why won't you ditch earth with me, crowley why won't you come to heaven with me), the ineffables always seem to be constantly, aggressively orbiting eachother, making heart eyes and goofing off (cough end of the resurrectionists "not kind" cough) with 0 regard for safety except for the (very very sadly i can't find the -ennial word for every other century) occasional heart attack, and then just skipping right back down the aisle.

(hope this is coherent, i've been editing things a little too long to tell)

hello @aq-uatic my darling!!!💕

(bby im so sorry!!! i thought i had posted this ages ago and i went rooting around in the drafts to continue something else and realised i hadn't!!! im an idiot sorry!!!)

i think there is some context behind aziraphale's actions in particular with this scene:

we know that aziraphale has a fondness for maggie, that i'd argue goes slightly beyond the fondness he has for humans in general (and even then that's questionable at times), and he seems genuinely put out that he's not in a position to help her - to wiggle his fingers about, and make it happen for her (horrifying implications, aziraphale, but we move). so, whilst aziraphale obviously is prompted into the whole 'lets-make-these-two-humans-fall-in-love-bc-that's-totally-normal-and-okay' by holding the everyday record back in the bookshop, i think there is an element of aziraphale genuinely wanting to help her, and coming up with the ball is his interpretation of an organic way to do that (💀). but it doesn't justify the whole thing one little bit; despite the possibility of that being his intention, it's completely batshit - nina certainly didnt know, let alone consent, to anything, and maggie didn't either; they're not dolls for either of them to play around with.

essentially though, i agree - any logical, coherent, sensible thinking would have probably just helped them arrive at a solution that didn't involve warping reality and bringing a whole room of people under a horrifying amount of hypnosis. but you have two supernatural creatures who, in a fairly major way by the time of 2023 at least, have their sense of existing amongst humanity influenced by not only the clandestine, dramatic nature of their own story, but by their tendencies towards damsel-but-not-wholly-in-distress-ing and anti-hero-at-best-ing respectively. we have to barely scratch the surface to see the intertextuality between these traits of theirs, and where they might stem from stories told in certain books and movies (emma by jane austen, and james bond spring to mind).

they constantly talk in riddles to each other, in code and in double meanings - they may somewhat understand the general sense of what the other is saying, but it's not categorical and leaves too much room for error or misinterpretation (which, ultimately, it does). it's a constant dance circling each other, ebbing and flowing, pulling in and drawing back, but never coming together properly; it's a quadrille vs. a waltz.

it makes sense that they are so used to finding the most roundabout and convoluted ways to do things, and this continues into s2, because not only is it how it tends to go down in fiction, but also because that's literally how they've had to exist - not only so their closeness isn't detected, or so their true natures aren't suspected by their respective head offices, but also by nature of being literal supernatural creatures living amongst humans - sleeper agents, of a kind - and constantly having to exist without detection.

none of this makes it right, of course not - but i actually don't think they see any other way of going about things. they're so good at it, so well practiced, that (as just two examples) they run verbal rings around gabriel/metatron (book) and beelzebub chattering about the great vs. ineffable plans at the airfield, and they dance around the most straightforward solution to the maggie/nina problem. as for themselves and their relationship, they dont speak plainly to each other until the bandstand or final fifteen... and even then, i feel like its aziraphale that is maybe the first to break and speak plainly? idk:

i think it's clear that crowley is the more scared, and therefore the more cautious, in this regard. for all his objections attempting to distance himself as an angel compared to crowley's being a demon, aziraphale feels to me that he is the more inclined to throw caution to the wind. i think its because crowley understands the danger in blowing their cover a little more than aziraphale does - aziraphale on multiple occasions slips in nearly admitting their closeness (1800, end of 1827 as you pointed out, and when meeting with the archangels in heaven in s1) - and is still stuck in the safety that dancing around what should be plainly said affords them. they both - as you wonderfully put it - aggressively orbit each other, and breaking the holding pattern comes a little too late.

so no, i think your drawing the parallel between the Weird-Ass dynamic in 1793, how they handle the maggie/nina storyline, and then how they behave with each other, is very apt! but its, at this time, arguably all that they've known - acting in this way - and breaking the cycle is starting to happen, but won't pay its dividends until s3✨

[safedistancefrombeingsmart]

Hello again ~ This is the same Anon from last time, I went through stuff you mentioned and all I can say is Martin is a person who talks without a care in the world which could be offending but not intentionally I guess. The length to which most of it were taken out of context, smh(Especially the n-word 🤷). I ended up seeing some clips from his interviews and everyone around him were all smiley and bright, so if he was that problematic then the whole industry must be the same for being buddy buddy with him 🤔 Anyways, I won't look past his inappropriate comments(he could be mindful, I pity his publicist 😐) but not to the point of cancelling him whole. I can list many other A-list celebs doing way more offending stuff and still roaming free. So again I'm sorry for bringing this into your feed making you and your followers uncomfortable.... I seriously didn't think you would respond, I was embarassed after asking and thought of dropping this altogether and focus on some other stuff, so a big Thank you for taking your time for this ☺️

Hey again,

thanks for taking the time to read the stuff I linked and for reporting back to me. 🙂 I love how you describe Martin: a person who talks without a care in the world which could be offending but not intentionally. I think you're spot on there.

And I understand that you can't look past some of the stuff he said. I mean, the rape joke was... yeah, it wasn't good. Still (and think about me what you want), I thought it was funny. It was a very bad joke and I get why people are offended by it. Humour is very subjective. Every joke is offensive to someone.

And don't worry about sending me this ask. If I had been upset about it or thought it would upset some of my followers, I would have deleted it. Simple as that. But it was a genuine question. I would prefer not to answer a similar thing every 3rd day or so. But if a question like this comes up every now and then, I am more then happy to answer. I wish more people were like you: curious and in search of more information before forming an opinion.

Just this morning I read a thread on Twitter (still refusing to call it 'X') which was infuriating:

Person A: Martin Freeman is a shit person. Person B: What? Nooo, I love him. Person A: Yes, he is a racist and a bunch of other shit that I can't remember and his wife is a TERF. Person B: That sucks, ok I hate him now.

(time to whip out this gif again xD )

Thanks again for your ask(s). 🙂

[coldflasher]

Joe flr character bingo? 👀

sorry anon i was outside in the garden planting raspberry bushes. anyway this is SUCH a good one and I am kinda mad there are so few squares I can tick off for Joe bc i genuinely love him but not like That

Joe is such a comfort character for me in a very diff way. he makes my daddy issues go brrrrr cos THIS is a dad. THE dad of all time. if i could pick any dad ever to have instead of mine i think i'd pick him.

I think he's so fucking funny first of all. it's my fave thing to put him in a fic and just. mess with him. im poking him with a stick. im watching his blood pressure go up. i'm making him deal with leonard snart and he's about to explode every time they're in a room together. i just. have so many affectionate feelings for him and his seething hatred of this man. and the earth 2 version where he's exactly like that but to BARRY? iconic. no notes. rip earth 2 joe you were a bitch and i miss you sm

THAT BEING SAID there are things about him that make me go "you should have faced more consequences for that. go sit in a corner and think about what you've done." namely bullying iris out of being a cop (acab etc. etc. but still shitty of him), the whole thing where he was like BARRY, WHY DIDN'T YOU ASK MY PERMISSION TO MARRY IRIS (and iris AGREED 🤮🤮🤮 who the fuck was in charge of the writers' room that day, i just wanna talk), the fact that he can be overbearing and controlling of his kids and very jaded in a lot of ways... idk he's a flawed character and every character needs some negative aspects so none of these things affect my love for him but sometimes i am shaking my head in disapproval...

as for canon. this is true of everything but MAN did they drop the ball with him towards the end... i get why they had joe quit ccpd given the political situation at the time and i support that 100% but first of all, having a Black character go "hey the police force in my city is inherently corrupt and i can no longer be complicit in its enforcement" (true and correct) while their white hero just does not acknowledge that corruption and continues to work for the same establishment completely uncritically was... perhaps not sending the message they intended... i mean it's honestly almost funny cos that is very much a reflection of the actual systems but. maybe they could have thought about that one a bit more...

and they really should have given joe something else to do cos he ended up sorta directionless after that. in fairness i know jesse l martin has back problems so i think them having him sitting down chilling at home as a stay at home dad was perhaps borne of necessity in a lot of ways but they defo could have done more interesting things with the character. im not OPPOSED to sahd joe but it does seem like a bit of a waste cos it would just be like. every episode joe shows up for a pep talk then goes back to being the full-time stay at home parent for a child we literally never see except one time when a window explodes in her face, which brings me to my NEXT point---

writing joe out with LITERALLY like 8 eps to go? stupid. again i respect that jesse l martin had HAD it with this show (tbf who hadnt by this point) and he wanted out, of course he had every right to do that, but purely based on the context of the show, i hate that they had him leave central city like that and move so far away when we were so close to the finish line. HAAATE it. the show was basically on life support from that point on. it was possibly worse than when we lost cisco. joe was the heart of it, man. it just wasn't the same :(

but yes I LOVE JOE, he is the only fictional dad i respect and i love ruining his life