#standing all day causes actual bodily issues too

[cass-ass]

Why is a cashier having a chair lazy but a receptionist having a chair normal? Why can't the cashiers have chairs?

[bi-kisses]

I cave. I was a radfem / am still one in theory but everyone is being ridiculously careless with their activism these days. I admit I rooted along for tighter regulations concerning transition particularly for children but it's apparent it doesn't stop there and whenever I tried voicing my concerns to other friends and groups I got belittled and told I was falling into the fearmongering of the TRA. And I also admit I believed that at first but now you can't ignore that the people advocating for the denial of the TRAs demands also cut into women's rights and that of homosexuals and protection rights. It's just too dangerous to play around like that - it doesn't feel like it's worth 'fighting' for if the result is this. Yeah I hurt when I think about the stories of TIMs slithering into our positions and spaces but compared to what is happening and planned to happen law-wise I hurt even more... So I no longer consider myself allied with radfems even though at core I have the same beliefs. I will not act on them. The execution of these are not progress in any way. So begrudgingly - in a two sides only system with no middle ground - I'll cave to their demands for the long run. Also I realise there are more moderate TRAs who acknowledge the two bio sexes (although they they still insist transitioning is possible) who also criticise the TRAs who are one the nonbinary trip (like you) but I honestly think we are all at a point where we can't refuse taking sides when the issue (to vote on) is black and white. Maybe that's just the election fear coming up. So my ask is to you as a kind of mediator/ person between the two sides: what's your take on this? Justified fear to have or baseless concerns? Is taking sides necessary?

Genuinely a really interesting thing to talk about!

I think that, the problem with "picking a side" in this case, is that beliefs aren't the same as actions. So when you hold opinions, they can be very nuanced and have layers regarding the validity of this or that identity, but when it comes to actually calling for societal change, that nuance is.... Flatter.

As a result, yeah, I think we *are* sort of forced to choose one extreme or the other, despite our beliefs falling somewhere in the middle, because there isn't any opportunity right now to push for those moderate views, legally speaking. The options are bodily autonomy for all, including transition, or restricting the rights of women and children.

I agree with a lot of tenants that radical feminists stand for, such as abortion rights, normalization of body hair, fighting porn culture/the sex industry, and being critical of the beauty industry (makeup, cosmetic surgeries, etc). But that doesn't mean I align myself with radical feminists, because ideologies don't own ideas outright, and I disagree with so many other core beliefs.

Radical feminists these days have prioritized their hatred for trans people, predominantly trans women, over the rights and autonomy of women in general. You're absolutely right and it's not an easy thing to admit, if you've been ascribed to a label and/or community for any length of time, that they're on the wrong side of things.

Because, circling back, it has become a matter of those two extreme sides, and radical feminism has chosen to fight for restricting everyone's rights out of hatred for <1% of the population.

To answer your questions directly, I do think there's justified concern. The UK is a great example of how poorly this is turning out. And if you plan on actually engaging in activism outside of the internet, I do think you have to choose a side, or at least a cause, to stake your effort into... Even if you aren't 100% on board with the cause as a whole.

I'll use my friend as an example. She's a trans woman living stealth and has been doing a lot of activist work advocating for Palestine. The committee she's a part of had a controversy because another member was accused of transphobia. This controversy was drawing away time and resources from their main cause, being Palestine. My friend honestly didn't give a shit if someone on the board had transphobic beliefs because that wasn't the point of what they were doing, so she tried to redirect that attention back to their work rather than internal conflict. She had to pick a side there, as a trans person, and she chose the pressing matter over the personal one.

I think it's something we can learn from and relate to.

I want to conclude by thanking you because your ask was really interesting as a fresh perspective. If you'd like to talk more, my DMs and ask box are open.

[twomanyfandomshelp]

I SWEAR, I SWEAR THAT I’M A GOOD KID, GUESS I’M GOOD FOR NOTHING AT ALL!!!

This is something that Luke haters just don’t understand. Did he have his faults? Yes, but he was also JUST A KID! Just like Annabeth, and Percy, and Bianca, and Nico, and Zoe, and Charlie, and Selina, and Clarisse, and literally any other demigod we meet. They were all JUST KIDS. There desperately needs to be a god of therapy who can come down to Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter and help these kids work through their EXTENSIVE trauma. Luke has, at the very least: PTSD, abandonment issues, survivor’s guilt, daddy issues, mommy issues, child neglect, child abandonment, and parentification (being forced to take up the role of parent as a child, usually occurs in older siblings where the parents work all the time, but in this case it was Luke having to raise Annabeth because she ran away from her toxic home life).

I also think it’s really interesting to think about how Percy might have gone down the same path if it wasn’t for Luke.

Percy resents a lot of the god’s choices, but he realizes that you can’t just repeat the toxic cycle and expect things to get better, you have to break the cycle in order to bring about positive change. By the time Luke came to this revelation, it was already too late for him.

If it wasn’t for Percy seeing the way that Luke responded to the god’s treatment of demigods and realizing that Luke had the right ideas but was going about it the wrong way, I genuinely think he would’ve gone down the same path Luke did. Heck, in the main story he understands why Luke does what he does, why he makes the choices he makes, and he empathizes with him, but he realizes that Luke is using the wrong methodology, falling back on the standards of the old world instead of creating a new, better world for all demigods.

Percy out of all the demigods has the most reasons to hate the gods. And yet he chooses to fight FOR them because he knows that if he has to choose between Kronos and the titans or the gods, or Gaea and the giants or the gods, the Olympians are the lesser of two evils, and he knows he actually has a chance to change things with the Olympians in charge.

Percy is also one of the most influential people in the godly world. He’s saved the world more times than I can count, a lot, and I mean A LOT of the gods and goddess really like him and have gone out of their way to help him, his father would do literally anything he asked of him in a heartbeat (side note, do gods even have hearts? In the literal sense not the psychological/metaphorical), and many gods and goddesses consider him a friend. Not a demigod to be used as a tool or puppet, but a friend. That is so incredibly rare in this world. Both the Greek and Roman camps see him as a leader, someone powerful, someone to follow. Camp Half Blood and Camp Jupiter both see Percy in a godlike way, they see him as an honorary god even though he turned down Zeus’ offer of immortality! He has relationships with both the Egyptian mythological world AND the Norse mythological world through his friends, Sadie and Carter, and his girlfriend’s cousin, Magnus and his rag tag gang of einherjar and valkyries respectively.

If this boy wanted to start a revolution against the gods, they wouldn’t last one fucking day.

NOT TO MENTION HE IS LITERALLY THE MOST POWERFUL DEMIGOD TO EVER EXIST!!! He has control of storms, supposedly Zeus’ domain, he can cause earthquakes and volcanic eruptions, when the earth is supposed to be Hades’ domain, and he can control LITERALLY ANY LIQUID INCLUDING BODILY FLUIDS!!! If he wanted to, he could kill anything or anyone that stands in his way with a single thought.

And his girlfriend? She may not have any magical powers, but she is so smart that she could probably plan an uprising against the gods that they wouldn’t see coming and it would work. That’s why is so scary when Luke tries to win her over to Kronos’ side, at least for me. Because any team that has Annabeth’s intelligence, battle strategy, wisdom, and quick-thinking combined with Percy’s raw power and absolute loyalty and devotion is literally guaranteed to win. Not to mention the countless demigods that would follow them, whether because they were friends or because they looked up to them so much. I don’t think Percy and Annabeth realize the power that they hold. They have so much more power than they realize, they could bring the world to its knees so easily.

Oh my gods, this got so much longer than I intended. I need to post more Percy Jackson stuff, clearly I have a lot of feelings about this than I realized and I need to out them somewhere since my only friend who enjoys the books is only on the Titan’s Curse. It’s gonna be a while til I can talk about all this with her.

luke is such an empathetic character because uncle rick just gives us a boy who's grown up feeling abandoned by his father, who he also deems responsible for essentially losing his mother. he loses one of his best friends because her very birth is seen as a mistake to the gods, and the very best zeus can do for her as she gives her life for her friends is to turn her into a tree. he becomes the best swordsman at camp, he successfully completes his quest, he's good, he's a good kid, and STILL he doesn't get so much as an acknowledgement from his father. he may be 19 during tlt but he has been a KID throughout all of this and he is desperate. of course he made the choices he did. it was ALWAYS going to happen.

[donald4spiderman]

Ok hear me out. Spencer is dating Reader and she’s always hated that she’s been more chubby/curvy. And one night in the middle of a case she calls him crying and Spencer just gets really soft and calms her down after a bad nightmare. And his heart breaks cause his loving girlfriend hates her body. So Spencer plans this elaborate date and proposes maybe? You can decide if the team have met her or not. I’d like it to be the original team but if you wanna combine the original and new teams together that’s cool too!

no bc my body image issues have been rampant lately so this is personal as hell to me. I work out a lot and i’m fit but i’ve never been SKINNY like i have thick legs and muscular arms andnnfnfjndjnffn so this is personal.

I modified this a bit but it’s still the same premises hope you like it! ***BTW IN THIS UNIVERSE THE S3-7 CAST EXISTS FOR THE ENTIRE SHOW— SO THE LATER SEASONS HAVE MORGAN AND HOTCH.

also sorry this is a long

TW: body image issues, discussions of food & weight, insecurity, crying, kissing

WC: 1.5k

-

You know, pragmatically, that you have nothing to worry about. Spencer chose you. And for the past four years, Spencer has worshipped you every day— again and again. He is the most loving, considerate, and tender partner you could ever wish for. He is near perfection.

You’ve met Spencer's friends many times. You’re not close with either of your parents, so the team of profilers welcomed you into their arms with grace and care. Each and every one of them is beautifully amazing and exceptionally brilliant.

Spencer‘s friends are not only badass, but they’re also gorgeous. JJ, Emily, and Garcia are national treasures— so visually stunning it’s almost sickening.

You knew he used to have a crush on JJ way before he met you. You’ve also heard the tale of Lila Archer, the celebrity actress who made out with your boyfriend in a pool. Spencer’s had an eventful life, full of beautiful, sweet, magnificent women— so why does he choose you?

You view yourself as bland in comparison. What do you have to offer Spencer that he can’t find elsewhere? You don’t have toned abs, slim hips, and slender arms. You’re not striking in any way.

Spencer calls you every night when he’s away on a case. He’s never missed a call, even when he got shot in the neck and kidnapped by a murderous cult. He’s reliable and consistent, and that eases your worries a little bit.

It’s eleven pm in D.C. and your phone rings right as your getting in bed.

“Hi, my love,” Spencer says breathily, his voice slightly muffled by the phone. He’s away in Ohio for a case.

“Hey.” You reply, the sweetness in his voice soured by your mood. “How’s the case going?”

“Good. JJ and I are about to pass out in our beds— we’re so tired.”

You can’t help the way your face drops. “Oh. Well, get rest.”

Your about to hang up before he interjects. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Why?” You know better than to lie to your boyfriend, who happens to be an expert on human behavior.

“Okay, I know a lie when I hear one. (Y/N), baby, what’s wrong?” He pleads.

You can’t help the tear that rolls down your cheek. “God, I’m sorry. I just miss you so much. You always know what to do when I’m feeling like shit.”

Spencer knows how much you struggle with self and bodily acceptance. He hates the world for making you feel anything less than incredible, both inside and out.

“I miss you too, so much, (Y/N).” His voice is thick as if he’s going to start crying too. “I love you so much, so fucking much. You have no idea how beautiful and amazing you are.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He laughs through a sob that wrecks his body. “You deserve everything in this world. I promise to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. You are the love of my life.”

You wipe the tears from underneath your eyes. “Sorry for keeping you up. You must be tired.”

“Never, if it means I get to talk to you.”

“I love you, Spencer.”

“I love you too, (Y/N). More than you’ll ever know.”

-

Spencer wakes up the next day with a newfound determination. The team solves the case as fast as possible, and by the end of the night, they’ve boarded the jet back home.

Spencer has more than enough hours to think about you and how much you mean to him. Hotch is seated directly across from him, rereading the case files.

“Hotch?” The wiser man looks up from his files, raising an eyebrow.

Spencer pauses for a moment. Maybe he’d be better asking Morgan or JJ for advice, considering Hotch’s tragic circumstances regarding Haley.

But no one loves like Hotch does-- sincerely, passionately-- stronger than anything else in the world. Spencer decides there’s no one better to ask.

“How uh did you know that Haley was the one?”

Hotch’s eyes soften for a bit. He clears his throat. “I knew since the day I met her that I would love her for the rest of my life unconditionally. She makes me complete. Do you feel that (Y/N) makes you complete?”

He already knows why Spencer is asking for his advice, steering the conversation in that direction.

“Yes. She’s my world.” Spencer whispers.

“Then it’s simple, really. Love doesn’t need to be complicated and precise. It’s what you do with it that matters.”

“I want to marry her, Hotch. I want to be with her for the rest of my life.”

Hotch smiles, “Then do it.”

Spencer feels the rush of excitement as he gathers everyone on the jet, including the prior sleeping passengers, filling them in on his big plans.

“I need all of your guys’ help.”

-

There’s a firm knock on your door at four in the morning. You know it isn’t Spencer because he has a key, but who could it be?

You take a cautious look out of your peephole to find Penelope, Emily, and JJ outside.

“What are you guys doing here?” You yawn. “For god's sake, it’s four am.”

“We know, and we’re sorry.” Penelope smiles.

“Is Spencer alright?” You ask, wondering if things suddenly went wrong during the case.

But by the joyous look on their face, you know nothing somber occurred.

“Spencer’s completely fine. But, we need to you to get changed and come with us. FBI’s orders.” JJ chuckles.

You change into warmer clothes in minutes, and the BAU ladies usher you into Emily’s car as fast as possible.

“So, no ones gonna tell me what’s going on?”

They shake their heads, “We’re just... running a quick errand.”

After a few more minutes of driving, Emily parks on the side of a dimly lit street.

“I need you to put this on.” She says, holding up a blindfold.

“Are you guys gonna murder me?” You joke, slipping the fabric over your eyes with little resistance.

“Quite the opposite, actually.” You don’t have time to think about what Penelope means before you’re being yanked out of the car.

You walk, guided by JJ, for four minutes. The grass beneath you crushes below your boots, and the hushed whispers of Emily and Penelope behind you do nothing to calm your nerves.

“Okay,” JJ says, halting to a stop. “You can take off your blindfold now.”

You hesitantly slip the blindfold off, revealing a brightly lit table in the middle of a secluded field. Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi are standing off to the sides.

Suddenly, Spencer emerges from behind a tree, dusting the leaves and dirt off his adorable sweater.

“Hi?” You laugh, utterly confused by this situation. “What’s going on?”

His hands are shaking, and he has to swallow a few times before he can speak. “I-I uh got y-you apple pie— uh your favorite.”

Spencer walks you towards the table, where a small slice of warm pie sits lonely on the table.

“Y-you should um... eat it.” He urges, pointing at the knife and fork next to it.

You glance around, trying to gauge the emotions of everyone around you, but fail. Stupid profilers and their poker faces.

Your fork cuts into the heavenly smelling pie, and you scoop up a bite into your mouth.

“It’s... good? I’ll pretty much eat any pie you give me, Spencer.”

He smiles, “I know that. But t-this is a special pie.”

“Okay...”

“You should t-take a closer look— at the pie.”

You inspect the dessert, completely puzzled until a glinting piece of silver catches your eye. Spencer notices the shock in your face and catches the plate that almost falls out of your hand.

Morgan hands him a napkin, and when Spencer pulls an apple-covered ring from the slice of pie, you almost faint.

“No way.” You gasp; tears spring to your eyes as Spencer wipes the ring clean.

He holds it tightly between two fingers, bending to kneel on one knee.

“(Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N), I knew from the moment I met you that you were the most special woman I’d have the pleasure of meeting. A month later, you asked me out for our first date, and I couldn’t believe that someone as gorgeous and amazing as you would settle for someone like me.” You scoff at his humility.

“I spend every moment loving every part of you, (Y/N). None of my love will ever stop— ever. I promise to share my heart with you until the very end. There is absolutely no one I would rather be bonded to for the rest of my life. You are better than my dream girl because you’re real. You’re here, and you chose to love me every day— the good, the bad, and the ugly. (Y/N), will you do me the honor and great privilege of allowing me to become your husband?” You silently sob.

“Please say yes.” Spencer smiles.

“Yes!” You exclaim, pulling him up to hug him. “How could I say anything but!”

The dam breaks, and the entire team begins to cry as you and Spencer share a passionate kiss, almost collapsing down onto the grass from the sheer force of your love. He slips the ring onto your finger; it belongs there.

“I choose you, (Y/N).” He repeats.

“I choose you, Spencer, always.” You whisper into the crook of his neck.

Nothing’s ever felt so right.

[crowfootwrites]

Los Guardianes | Part II [Nestor Oceteva x Fem!Reader]

In which Nestor needs a bandaid and we learn more about you.

Also, my apologies for any mistakes/errors. I was trying to edit this while surrounded by other people, so...

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, and injury; language; mentions of alcohol | Words: 1,600+

Taglist: @chibsytelford @megapeacelovemusic-blog @broiderie

Part I of Los Guardianes

You had assumed, in your little flirtation with Nestor, that he was joking about coming around injured. So, when he showed up two days later, a little late for afternoon pickup, with a large piece of bloodstained gauze taped to one side of his face, you were shocked.

Your classroom was empty, and your aide had left for the day, leaving you to hang out with Cristóbal while you waited for Nestor to arrive. You were sitting at your desk with Cristóbal beside you, each of you scribbling away with crayons on coloring pages. Movement registered in the corner of your vision and you glanced up to see Nestor standing in the doorway, his face bandaged and the arm of his dress shirt covered in dried blood. His normally immaculate dress pants and shirt were covered in a layer of silt. You inhaled sharply as you rose from your seat, your feet carrying you quickly to stand in front of him. Cristóbal went to Nestor immediately, wrapping himself around Nestor’s leg in a fierce hug. Nestor sagged against the door frame with a grimace and your fingers reached for him instinctively, pausing when he met your gaze. But there was something encouraging in his glance, so you placed your cool hand softly against the feverish skin around the gauze. His eyes closed for just a moment, leaning into your touch, before you spoke.

“You know, I didn’t think you were actually going to take me up on my offer… I’m not sure I have any robot bandaids big enough for all this,” you teased quietly, tracing the bloodstained dressing. Nestor’s eyes opened and he smirked. You pulled your hand away, exceedingly aware of your rapidly increasing heart rate.

“Are you ok?”

His nod was slight, but it made you feel a little better. “I’m sorry I was late,” he mumbled, wincing as he took a breath. “I hate that you had to stay on my account.” He tapped Cristóbal and motioned for him to collect his backpack out of his cubby. Cristóbal did as he was asked, leaving you standing there alone with Nestor.

“Nestor, it’s really fine. Besides, if someone else had come to pick him up, I probably would have assumed you were dead, and that would have been worse.”

He studied you seriously for a few seconds, his expression giving nothing away. You tucked your arms behind your back nervously, rocking back onto your heels, but you managed to keep your eyes locked on his.

“Still,” he said finally. “I’d like to make it up to you. Can I take you out for a drink?” Cristóbal lumbered over, his backpack comically large on his small frame.

You smiled softly, trying not to appear as flustered as you felt on the inside. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Nestor grinned, and underneath the blood and filth, his face lit up. “I’ll text you,” he said with a quick nod, his stare raking over your body briefly before turning and ushering Cristóbal to the car.

Nestor had texted you that same evening and asked you to grab a drink with him the next day, which was how you found yourself at a low-key, dimly lit bar on the outskirts of Santo Padre on a Friday night. Your inclination towards promptness meant you had arrived fifteen minutes early, so you headed inside and took a seat at the bar, ordering a gin and ginger.

You glanced around you, trying to hold back the nervousness fluttering in your belly. You fiddled with the hem of your black dress before laying it flat against your thigh. In your classroom, you rarely wore anything other than pants and leggings. Working with preschoolers meant that you were always prepared to be crouching, crawling on the ground, sitting on the floor, bending over, carrying kids on your hip, cleaning up various bodily fluids, getting things spilled on you. So, it was always a treat to get to dress up and you felt extra cute tonight.

Shortly after the bartender returned with your drink, you heard Nestor’s low, familiar voice near the shell of your ear.

“I was supposed to buy that for you,” he murmured, and you shivered just slightly at the fanning of his warm breath on your neck. His hand grazed your lower back as he passed you to take the stool next to yours.

You ducked your head to hide your grin. “You can buy the next one.”

Your smile faltered as he faced you completely and you got a clearer look at his injuries. He had forgone the gauze on his face, instead opting for a series of butterfly closures running down the jagged cut along his cheekbone. He was sporting a shiner on the eye on that side, but he seemed like he was in one piece otherwise.

“How’s the face?” you asked with a grimace.

“I’ve had worse,” he told you before ordering a beer from the bartender.

“I guess a life of crime would do that to you,” you said, and he glanced over at you with a raised eyebrow, perhaps trying to gauge how you meant it. You tossed him a wink and he smirked, shaking his head slightly.

“So,” you asked casually, “how did you end up being a security detail to the little man?”

“Big man’s mad at me.”

You laughed. “What?”

Nestor sighed, smoothing his facial hair with a hand punctuated by scabbed knuckles. “I, uh – fucked up, a while ago. Caused a lot of issues for Mikey. He put me on school duty as a punishment, I guess.” He paused, tossing back his beer. “But things are really tense right now, too, and I think it helps Mikey to have Cristóbal with someone he trusts. So, he kept me on it. And it’s fine, you know? They’re my family.”

He met your gaze meaningfully. “And it’s a nice way to start the morning,” he added.

“You’re really good with Cristóbal,” you commented warmly, heat rising on your cheeks. You hoped he couldn’t tell just how much you adored that about him.

Nestor’s lips curled into a small smile. “I’ve been around his whole life. Plus, he’s a pretty great kid.”

“Can confirm.” You paused around a sip of your cocktail. “So, I would imagine that you can’t share too much, but what does being the head of security for a cartel boss entail?”

Nestor’s eyes darkened broodingly, and you wondered if you’d overstepped, although you’d tried to acknowledge that you realized there were things you weren’t allowed to know. He leaned onto the top of the bar on his elbow, studying you again. “A lot of illegal shit. A lot of violence.” He paused thoughtfully. “But it’s also just a lot of… waiting. A lot of phone calls, researching, driving, babysitting – and not just babies.”

You chuckled at his sardonic choice of words. “I don’t know how you do it,” you joked. “I’m only okay with the babysitting involved in my job because they’re actual babies.”

“What made you decide to be a preschool teacher?” he asked, his shoulders relaxing a bit. You were distracted for a moment by the way his floral dress shirt pulled taut over his biceps and you swallowed hard.

“Uh – I got my degree in elementary education, and I started out as a kindergarten teacher. I was working in LA, but I had sort of a… rough patch, and needed to start over somewhere else. When the director, Maria, opened New River, she offered me a spot so I could come down to Santo Padre and get my shit back together.” You took a long pull on your drink, trying to swallow down your nerves.

Nestor’s head was tilted to the side curiously and you waited to see if he would inquire further. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you had been holding when he stuck to easy questions.

“How long have you been in Santo Padre?” he asked, tapping his fingers against his beer bottle.

“About two years. You?”

“Most of my adult life. I grew up with Mikey. And then I was in the Navy, moving around a lot. When I got out, Miguel offered me the job and I’ve been here ever since.” He shrugged slightly.

You studied him thoughtfully for a moment, the question you’d been wanting to ask him since you first met him resting on the tip of your tongue. He held your gaze steadily, so you went for it.

“Is it lonely?”

In the brief silence that followed, you wondered again if you had overstepped, if maybe it was too personal of a question. But you also felt strongly that the way Nestor answered would give you some indication as to his intentions with you.

His eyes narrowed on you, his head cocked to the side. “It can be.” He shifted on his barstool, his clothed knee knocking gently against yours, the touch sending electricity directly to your heart. Before you could respond to his statement, he asked, “Are you lonely?”

You were immediately annoyed at yourself for not anticipating that he would turn the question back on you; that was followed by the rush of embarrassment at your answer. Your mind reeled. Should you be honest with him? If you told him about your past, would he feel sorry for you? If you shared how and why you ended up in Santo Padre, would he pity you? You didn’t want that.

But.

You also desperately wanted to trust him. There was something about Nestor that made you feel safe, and while you supposed that was a side effect of his job, his interest in you represented a connection you hadn’t had with another person in years. And that alone pushed you towards the truth.

Your eyes found the bar top as you answered. “Yeah. I am.” You waited nervously for the follow-up questions, but they never came.

Instead, you felt Nestor’s knee knock softly against yours again and you looked up to meet his eyes. “Maybe you don’t have to be anymore,” he offered, leaning to bump his shoulder into yours, making you smile.

Part III of Los Guardianes

[torchickentacos]

Okay, pivoting now to talk about science literacy and the importance of science communicators. I'm struggling to write out my post- not because I don't have a lot to say (I DO), but rather because for every point I have, I have to take a step back and explain everything about that point in layman's terms (example below). It's getting to be overwhelming to explain everything, and it's likely overwhelming for people to take in. The TLDR of this post- without science communication, explanations just turn into this meme below and the average person isn't actually learning jackshit.

It turns into people throwing dense, scary words around and not actually communicating their point in ways that those unfamiliar with the topic can understand.

So! Example time. Here's the deal. I want to make a point of how complicated and intertwined chronic illness is- my example being how Ehlers Danlos Syndrome is so much more than the flexible joint/dislocation disorder. I want to get into how it affects everything from digestion to arterial rigidity (ehlers danlos and the circulatory system) or lack of rigidity on both fronts, and how it affects every single bodily function a person can have, or how EDS complications and symptoms can be mistaken for other syndromes like Raynaud's or arthritis and the dangers of misdiagnosis, and how one chronic illness is very rarely actually just one, because it's such an interconnected web of fuckery. My point is, this is way more than just "joints are fucked up and I can do some flexible pretzel shit" disorder, just as POTS is more than "I pass out and get dizzy when I stand up" disorder and how MCAS is more than "I get allergic reactions for no reason" disorder and I think you get the point.

But the issue I'm running into is this. Let's take my example of Ehlers Danlos and the circulatory system. If I want to get into things like how EDS can cause brain fog and orthostatic intolerance and lower PWV, then I need to explain all of those things as well. And that's just for the circulatory system. And even then, I'd want to get into how the circulatory system links with your other bodily systems and how a single bit of dysfunction at any level can become as systemic issue. If I want to explain EDS' effect on the entire body, then for each bodily system I have like eighteen things to explain, and at that point your audience is immensely stressed out trying to keep track or they've just stopped reading because it's too dense. I wouldn't be shocked if people stopped reading this right here! Even explaining how I can't explain it concisely is impossible to keep concise!

There's genuine art and skill to being able to communicate these topics in ways that are digestible without becoming overwhelming to the average person. I think it's something we see a lot with covid, for example- people struggle to comprehend the dangers of covid because there's a large communication gap between the virologists in the weeds of the research on it and the average person who took a test, got a positive, and went to work anyways. (There is separate discussion to be had for CDC recommendations or lack thereof [it's mostly just the center for disease these days, not much control going on] and workplace inflexibility with calling in sick, but that's another post and a whole-ass capitalism critique that I probably don't know enough about to be the one to make).

Back to the covid communication gap. Virologists can talk about wastewater surveillance trends, spike proteins, viral replication, newly developing strains, and preexisting conditions as they relate to risk factors until the audience's ears fall off. But it's hard to get your well-researched points to sink in when some people don't understand the fundamental differences between viruses and bacterial illnesses and how they replicate and spread. That baseline of understanding to build upon isn't always there, and it's really hard to build on a foundation of nothing. And unfortunately, misinformation tends to be far easier to comprehend and communicate than the lengthy stuff.

That leaves us with the communication gap and science communicators trying to fill it, and that's a really difficult job across the board. It speaks immensely to someone's skill to be able to take a complicated topic and simplify it to the point of comprehension without oversimplifying to where the main point isn't actually getting across. Maybe one day I'll figure out how to make my points above, but for now, just leaving you guys with this. No real conclusion, just... communication is really difficult, and anyone who does science communication is a really valuable and talented person.

Oh my god. Okay. Annoyed at society's limited perceptions of the reality of chronic illness, so if I decide to come back here in an hour or so with a full essay's worth of information including citations, then... I'll just see yall then lmao /lh

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship (4): The Gargoyle Graveyard

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Author note: Again, thank you all for being patient with me and I apologize for having a very inconsistent writing schedule. I'm going to make it my goal to update on a bi weekly basis instead of leaving you all in silent limbo. Also a reminder I suck at figuring out which warnings to put so if there's something that needs to be forewarned that I failed to disclose please lmk!

Warnings: Mentions of heavy bodily injuries | childhood trauma/neglect | discussions/mentions of discrimination | mentions of virginity/sexual history

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AO3 version

Clay. Stone. Porcelain. Plaster. Metal. There are even gargoyles carved entirely of wood! Some statues are stand-alone works of art while others are part of a clear collection or series of similar inspiration. They even come in all sorts of shapes and sizes; as small as an apple or a towering height to rival Malleus himself. No matter what, each grotesque has been crafted with the utmost consideration, by well seasoned and knowing hands. Even the ones that have clear defects and cannot serve their intended purpose are free of overabundant ivy, weeds, or dust. There’s a clear degree of love and care the family who makes these statues has for their craft that makes him feel less alone in his interest in an uncherished form of art.

“It should be around here somewhere,” you muse aloud. Ever since he expressed interest in seeing more sculptures made with non-traditional materials, you’ve been keeping your eye out for a particular one that would fulfill his yearning. You eventually find it and eagerly point to it. “There it is!”

Malleus watches as you approach a massive-sized statue covered with a thick and half-wet tarp. He helps you remove the cover, revealing a winged and slightly humanoid canine. There are many more grotesques with a similar design, but what makes this one stand out the most is the material it’s made out of.

“Amazing!” Malleus awes. “I’ve never seen a grotesque of this size made entirely of glass! They’ve even managed to maintain their attention to detail despite such an abnormal material choice.”

“You can even see the inner channel where the water would flow in and redirect out of its mouth,” you notice.

“They even went out of their way to make it functional despite it being unfit for actual installation?” Malleus inquires with disbelief. “Such a shame.”

“If you’re looking to buy anything here, I’m afraid it's a lost cause. One of the first warnings the grandfather gave me is that none of these are for sale.”

“What was his second warning?”

“If we damage anything, even as small as a scratch, he’ll kill us.”

“How charming,” he chuckles. “I cannot blame him. These statues must take weeks to complete. Time is a human’s greatest enemy.”

“For some, sure. But when I went to visit the family and talked to the old man, he was lunging around all this heavy equipment like he was still in his prime,” you recall. “He lives for his craft. If there’s anything humans are at risk of their entire lives, it’s a lack of motivation and reason to live.”

“I suppose that’s true, but the lifespan of humans and the inevitable effects of aging is difficult to live with, especially once it begins to hinder one’s ability to do what one could previously do without issue. ”

“You’re not wrong,” you acknowledge. “But I think I’d rather live a short life with fulfillment than a dull, long-as-shit life.”

To show that he’s entirely on your side, Gunter lets out a guttural bark while his tail rapidly wags and thumps the damp ground, coating the ends of his bushy tail in specs of dirt and dirtied, remnant snow of the north that has managed to stay frozen on the isles warmer south end.

“You’re only agreeing with them because you’ve been promised food,” Malleus chastises. “Don’t think I didn’t pick up on your grumbling stomach.”

“And don't think I didn't pick up on your stomach rumbling either your highness," you quip back at him. "The family has a small cottage nearby we can use. We'll settle down for a bit and eat before sightseeing some more."

Before you turn and walk in the direction towards the aforementioned lodgings, you reach your hand out for Malleus to take and he latches onto you with restrained enthusiasm. He's taller than you, but he takes care not to take his normal strides as to not leave you struggling to keep up with him. Gunter doesn't know the way, so he trots beside you every step of the way up until the destination is in plain view. The cottage is small but well-attended. There’s a rustic flair to its construction that makes it feel familiar and safe despite never stepping foot in it before.

"Those gargoyles were something, huh?" you remark to him while you tap and shake off the gunk wedged into the soles of your heavy boots against the frame of the door.

"Indeed," he nods, taking your cloak off for you and hanging it on the wooden rack nearby. "I don't think I've ever seen that many gargoyles in one day. Just when my eyes land upon an intriguing one, there's several more that catch my attention."

The way he gets all wide-eyed is outright adorable. It makes you grin just as enthusiastically too. "I bet your club is going to have a field day once you tell them about this!"

His child-like smile turns into one of disappointment. "I'm certain they would, if I wasn't the sole member that is."

Your hands halt from pulling out and setting down all the premade food out of your pack. "Seriously? You're the only one?"

When he nods his head, you feel a twinge of hurt in your heart. Poor guy. You can only imagine how disappointing it must be to go through all those lengths to start a club (you would know since you're technically a staff member of the school and have been given a rundown on some of the school's functions and regulations) only for no one to show interest. Of course, you completely understand that gargoyles aren't exactly all the rage within the minds of teenage boys. Still! He goes through so much effort to build relationships with his peers but they always cower away, either due to his status or even because of the way he looks. You won’t deny that he does come off as rather intimidating at first glance, but he's a sweet guy once you give him the chance to speak.

But to expect teenagers going through social pressures and demanding academics to be as understanding and willing to understand someone like Malleus is an impossible demand. Given that everyone in the school can be a bunch of self-centered and easily agitated bunch of pricks, it's understandable that most of the student body isn't keen on trying to take into consideration the proper etiquette one needs to consider in the presence of a young and noble fae. Deuce has met and talked briefly with Malleus on one occasion, but even he visibly shakes whenever his name is mentioned, even in casual passing.

Wait until they found out who you've gone and gotten buddy-buddy with behind their back. They probably think they're slick or that their intentions are well swept under the rug, but it's clear they feel some semblance of responsibility for your well-being, as both a magicless individual as well as a close, albeit older, friend. You dread the day people begin to make the connections between Malleus and you, but you still can’t help but wonder what their reactions might be. You also dread the high probability those two idiots are going to find out and embarrass the living hell out of you, which you know you do not have the patience or tolerance for.

Gunter jumps up and sits himself down in one of the wooden dining chairs, pushing the small ceramic plate towards you with his nose, as if telling you "Alright, I’ve done what I said I'd do, now feed me what I'm owed." You tell him that you'll give him what he's well earned after you get a small fire started in the brick fireplace. Just because it's warmer near the southern half of the island and not as heavily blanketed with snow, doesn't mean the cold has completely vanished, Winter is still winter after all.

"Where did these scars come from?"

Malleus' unexpected question and closeness nearly make you drop the iron rod you've been using to stoke the growing fire. You've since taken off your boots and rolled up the bottoms of your pants just above your knee as the room starts to warm up enough for a thin layer of perspiration to accumulate and roll down your skin. The scars he's referring to are the ones on your right leg, both side by side at an awkward angle and discolored. You have a lot more scars than these, some much more gruesome in appearance than these two. Malleus has never asked about your scars, but sometimes you catch him looking in the general area of some that peak through your clothes. He likely keeps quiet about their existence out of courtesy.

Yet out of all the markings on your body, why did these two stand out enough that he'd finally ask about them?

"It's a long story," you say in an effort to stall the topic. "Sit. I'll feed you two once the fire is stable."

He doesn’t push you for an answer, instead simply doing as you say and lets you poke at the burning logs until they're properly aflame on their own. You made mostly some of your morning favorites; Creamy and thick potato stew with diced carrots and peas and some eggs, ham, and crispy hash browns sandwich between homemade halved croissants. You teased him about having picky taste buds earlier, but Malleus is content to eat anything you serve him so long as it is not comparable to the likes of Lilia's atrocious cooking.

(Seriously, how does a man as old as Lilia not know the basic fundamentals of cooking? And why does everything he makes end up burnt and tasting like something rotten? You will never understand.)

"Don't eat too quickly," you warn Gunter as you pour a bit of light-colored soup onto his designated plate. Your words are ignored, as the equally marred wolf sloppily slurps and munches on the few bits of potatoes and vegetables you generously scraped out of the thermos. His food is gone as quickly as it’s put in front of him and he looks at you expecting more.

"No. The rest is mine," you scold. "And don't beg Malleus for some either! I know you do it behind my back, you little shit!"

He turns to look at Malleus with an accusatory glare, thinking that he ratted him out to you. Malleus’s response towards the silent imputation is to turn and look out the window as if something caught his interest all of a sudden, cup raised to his lips as he politely sips away at his meal without an air of calmness. You have to slap a hand over your mouth to hide the amusement that overtakes your senses.

"Malleus, stop that!"

"Stop what?" he innocently asks.

"Stop making me want to laugh!"

He sets his cup down onto its matching serving dish. "It's not my fault you have an easily satiable sense of humor."

"Wow!" you say incredulously and put your arms up in offense. "And here I was thinking we were friends!"

His distant demeanor breaks and you both devolve into a fit of laughter together. Gunter unfortunately takes advantage of your joint distraction and slips away with a warm sandwich between his jaw, your sandwich in particular.

"That damn wolf!" you curse. "I knew I should have trusted my gut and pack extras.”

Malleus pities your distress before moving over to sit closer. "Worry not. I'll split mine in half with you,” he reassures.

"No, it's fine," you immediately dismiss his offer. "Have it for yourself."

"I'm not taking no for an answer," he firmly states. “Don’t be stubborn. It’s far too early for that.”

"I thought you liked it when I was stubborn?” you pout.

He shakes his head with a smile. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t”

"At least someone likes my attitude,” you say after chewing and swallowing a mouthful of soup. “Sebek certainly doesn’t."

"The boy is stubborn as well. When two equally stubborn individuals cross paths, you will witness nothing but discord between the two."

"Add the fact I'm human into the mix, and we'll be exchanging fists instead of words sooner or later," you scoff. "I get that some faes don't like humans, but what's his deal with acting like he’s got a vendetta against me?"

"Sebek doesn't hate humans for the reasons you might think," Malleus admits. "It’s more like he finds them difficult to think that highly of. Did you know that he is half-human?"

You nearly choke on your own breath over the sudden revelation. "Really?"

"Indeed," Malleus finds amusement at your disbelief. "Have you ever wondered why his ears aren't pointed like Silver, but his eyes are like mine and Lilia’s?"

"Damn,” you scratch the back of your head with embarrassment. “Now I feel stupid.”

"You aren't. Given the way he speaks, not many would assume he had human blood in his veins. His mother was highly regarded within her social circle, but her marriage to a human man tarnished her reputation a great deal. She's happy and does not seem to care what others think of her these days. However, when Sebek set out to be a knight, his mother's marriage and his lineage were often brought up as a way to scrutinize his character and capabilities rather than any of his actual shortcomings as an individual."

"Poor kid," you sigh. "Lilia told me those sorts of things still happen in The Valley, but it sounds so outlandish that I couldn’t take it that seriously."

"Many faes hold old traditions above all else, to a degree that the purity of one's blood stands above all other merits." His eyebrows pressed together in annoyance. "Even my grandmother thinks it's archaic, but as the reigning queen she has to embody a persona of neutrality between the social divide."

"It sounds like you have your work cut out for you in the future," you say, almost apologetically. "What do you plan to do about it once you're the king?"

There's a brief flash of surprise over your question, but Malleus easily answers it as usual. "I think my first course of action as king would be to properly knight Sebek and Silver."

"Bet my rifle that Sebek is going to cry the entire ceremony!" you remark with certainty. "That's all he ever goes on about, being a knight and all."

"He's devoted countless hours and efforts since he was a child. If there's anyone who deserves to join the knighthood, it's him."

"Definitely," you nod to further cement your agreement with him. "He could stand to lower his voice a bit. He'll give you tinnitus before long.”

"At least we won't have to worry about losing him in a crowd," Malleus jests.

"That's to say we'll lose sight of him to begin with," you remark. "He'll gladly lose me in a crowd. You? You'd be lucky to get out of arm's length."

"You underestimate me, dearest," Malleus smirks. "Ever since I've met you, I've perfected the art of avoiding Sebek's insistent searches."

"Have you now?" you razz back. "Don't let him catch onto the fact. He'll have my head."

He reaches over and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Each second his skin touches yours makes you tingle. Time slows down ever so briefly if only to savor the small instance of physical connection for as long as possible. "What of your aunts?" he inquires. "Are they as overprotective of you as Sebek is of myself?"

"They’re a trio of mama bears," you proudly admit. "I'm old enough to drink and well equipped to fend for myself, but in their minds, I'll always be the little tyke that couldn't even eat their meals without looking at them for approval. Especially my aunt Gia."

You have three aunts. There's your aunt Marisol, the mother of most of your cousins and the main caretaker of the household. Your second aunt Lucia was well into her studies at university when you came to live with them, but her stress and long hours of mulling over her course materials paid off in the long run. Your gardening skills wouldn't be what they are now without her expertise in agricultural botany.

Then there's your aunt Gia. Oldest of the three. An absolute tank of a woman. No spouse. No kids of her own. She lived off the land like an absolute titan. The woman raised you as if she was the one that carried you for nine months and not your actual birth mother.

How would you describe your parents? If your parents were told to list out their priorities in life, their careers would be at the top of the list and you would be put at the very bottom. Why they carried you to term is beyond your understanding. You later learned that Gia had even offered to take you under her care well before your birth, knowing that your parents might not be well-suited to take care of you in the way she thinks would be beneficial for you. It was a convenient offer that would have saved everyone the trouble years down the line when you had your accident. They worked in a cutthroat industry and were constantly moving up the executive echelons. They had no time for you, yet their pride as a pair of young, successful business magnates made them incapable of seeing past the reality of the situation. That left you mostly in the care of last-minute caretakers and your aunts, but only if they had time from their own busy and preoccupied lives to come out into the city and visit.

You were eight years old when things started to get better, but it was upstarted in the worst possible way. Your parents had to go away for the upcoming weekend for work and left you in the care of a babysitter as per the norm. The babysitter never showed up however and your parents apparently couldn’t be bothered to check up on you even once the entire trip. Their silence wasn’t surprising. You just went on about your business for the next three days on your own like nothing was wrong. Your aunt Gia had even called at one point to check up on you, but you didn’t bother to tell her that your parents had left you to fend for yourself. She would have exploded if you did, but not as much as she did when you woke up in the hospital after falling down the stairs and lying helplessly on the ground for several hours with a dislocated shoulder and a compound-fractured leg. You were lulling in and out of consciousness due to all the medication pumped into you, but what little you do remember seeing and hearing when you regained consciousness will forever stick with you for the rest of your life.

If people think your level of swearing is bad, they should have heard your aunt that day. She swore so viciously that it could set an innocent bystander's eardrums on fire. What will forever stand out the most to you was the fact that your parents didn’t even look the least bit apologetic or regretful. They didn’t even approach you once your aunt was done giving them a piece of her mind to check up on you. They simply talked with the awaiting social worker and doctors and then left. It was for the better, but the small part of you that continued to hold onto the desperate belief that your parents would come around one day sent you into a thrashing frenzy and you had to be sedated before you could hurt yourself anymore.

The next year was spent recovering from your injuries, meeting regularly with your caseworker, and going through therapists like a pack of cigarettes. By the time you were back on your feet and the legal proceedings of your custody case were concluded, all you wanted was to move on with it all. Nearly a decade of neglect left you this unattentive, uncertain husk of a person who couldn’t take a single step forward without looking for some sort of guidance or assurance. Your family was exhausted by the entire ordeal and over speaking with third parties. Your aunts took it upon themselves to help you regain your sense of self in the comfort of your new home, no matter how difficult or demanding it was going to be.

“It took some time, but eventually it clicked in my mind that I was in a better place and I started to get better. As for my parents, I have no clue what they’re up to these days.” You lean back into your chair and let out a shaking yawn. “I like to think they’re getting on well like I am.”

“I don’t understand.” Malleus looks at you with unbelievable confusion. “Your parents treated you poorly, yet you don’t sound the least bit resentful. Why is that?”

You shrug your shoulders. “What’s the point? I'm in a better place now, so I've let bygones be bygones. 'Doesn't mean I don't harbor any anger against them anymore. I do, but getting upset won't change what's happened to me."

Gunter, having sensed your discomfort over the matter, trots over and rests his head on your lap. You gratefully rub the top of his head, carding your hands through his thick, coarse hair. "I'm just glad they let me go without a fuss. Family court was hell for my family.” Your eyebrows knit together. “Expensive too.”

Crackling wood fills the momentary silence that befalls the small cottage. What you've recollected to Malleus is a lot to take in, and if you're being quite honest you'd prefer if he just dropped the subject and talked about literally anything else right now. You hope he doesn't say he's sorry or any other type of apologetic comment. That's all you were ever told that entire year it all happened, during court proceedings, your rehabilitation, by both strangers and distant family members alike.

"I'm so sorry. What happened to you was unfortunate. You didn't deserve it."

No shit you didn't deserve any of that. You were a kid. You don’t need one pity party after another to realize that what took place then had fucked you forever. But as you said earlier, you're in a better place now, with a loving and supportive family that's moved on alongside you. A family you need to get back to as soon as possible.

"I love you."

Well, if he was hoping to take your mind off the past. that certainly did it. How can it not? It came out of nowhere and as good as you are at holding your composure when need be, you're sure you look no less like a gaping fish when warm and plush softness presses right against the corner of your lips. A kiss. His kiss.

"What's wrong?" Your voice sounds shaky. You’re nervous.

"Nothing," he smiles reassuringly. "I simply said what I felt needed to be said."

"Fair enough" you concede easily. He was going to say it sooner or later. He already has actually, now that you think about it. Yet here you are trying to process his words like it’s rocket science.

"Am I going about this too fast perhaps?" he genuinely asks. His hands that have been busy massaging your calves that have settled across his lap somewhere during your long retelling gradually slow down, but his hands never go completely still. "This is my first time experiencing something like this."

"What?" You sit up a bit straighter. "A relationship?"

"Yes."

Your head tilts to the side. "Really?"

He nods hesitantly "Yes?"

For a moment, you go completely quiet. "I don't believe you,” you doubtfully say, head shaking to further showcase your refusal to believe him.

He must not have liked your remark, frowning with clear offense in his eyes. When he dislikes something, the vertical slits in his eyes contract into a thin line. "I cannot lie, yet you still doubt me?"

"I know you can't lie, but I find it hard to believe you haven't been with anyone else before," you explain. Before you can consider the appropriateness that was your newfound curiosity about Malleus's apparently non-existent love life, you blurt out, "Are you still a virgin?"

You slap your hand over your mouth the moment those words come out of it. He's equally caught off guard and nearly drops his warm cup of coffee. Even Gunter is surprised by your question, olive-colored eyes looking at you as if you've lost your mind. It's an invasive question, inappropriate even. You and Malleus have been dating for a little over two days. A question like that is way too early to bring up just yet.

"You don't have to answer that," you tell him behind your palm. "I shouldn't have even asked it. Forget I ever brought it up-”

"I'm not," he interrupts you, leaving you even more shocked than you already are. You’re practically gaping like a fish by now. "I'm not a virgin,” he further insinuates.

A deafening silence, but it’s eventually broken by yourself. “I still don’t believe you.”

Malleus gets further annoyed at your refusal to accept his truth. "I'm not lying!" he insists.

"Bullshit!"

"Do you want me to recount my history to you?" he asks, exasperated as you are at the shift the conversation is taking. "Will that satisfy your doubts?"

"You know what? It will!" you loudly declare. "Who'd you sleep with?"

"He was a young page at the time,” he reminisced. “It happened before I was a century old.”

Your eyebrows raise with intrigue. "Was he cute?"

"Yes," he hushedly agrees. The disconcerting admittance paints his face a pinkish-red glow. "But that's not why I bedded him."

"But surely his looks are what made you interested in the first place?” you make blatant regard of the fact.

“You’re not wrong,” he acknowledges, expertly avoiding agreeing with you outright. “But his looks aren't the sole reason I was drawn to him. He was bright-eyed and ambitious, to the point you’d think him insane given his position in the court. It was also the first time I ever truly met with a group of humans, and my young mind was eager to get a more accurate perspective of humans that wasn’t through the lens of my tutors.”

“An ‘accurate perspective’?” You make playful air quotes, eyebrows wiggling because you know the fact that he knows what you’re implying. The playful comment is met with a sharp pinch on your leg that makes you jump and shriek out in pain. Did he have to dig his nails into you? Apparently so, and now you have small crescent indents on your skin. “I bet Lilia had a good laugh when he found out.”

“He doesn’t know, actually,” he admits to you with what is obviously a proud smile.

“Now I know you’re lying to me,” you scoff. “Nothing escapes the old man’s radar.”

His hands begin to rub out the marks he’s left on you as a form of apology. “Lilia is sharp, but he had lost most of his vigor by the time I was born.”

You go wide-eyed again. “You mean his hearing and eyesight was better than it is now?”

He nods affirmatively. “From what I’ve been told, terrifyingly so.”

Lilia is already frightening as is. His short stature and boyish looks make him perfectly unassuming to those who don’t know any better. You once watched him beat up a couple of bulky, twice-his-height students from Savanaclaw without breaking a sweat, yet moments before he was jokingly scolding himself for dozing off so easily. You never once thought he was ever out of his elements. A cold chill runs down your spine thinking how much more perceptive the older fae may have been back during his prime years.

“Wonder what Lilia’s gonna think,” you ponder out loud in a quick effort to banish out the skin-prickling mental imagery your mind was invoking. “About us, I mean.”

Malleus seems surprised that you would change the topic to that of all things, but his initial shock goes away as quickly as it came. “As you may have guessed, he’s an open-minded individual, but he’s also very realistic and unafraid to say what’s on his mind.”

“So what does that mean for you and me?” you question with a bit of hesitation.

“Well,” he trails off and ponders for a moment. “He’ll surely like the scandal our relationship would invoke. However, as my caretaker and mentor, he won’t hesitate to put an end to it if he feels it necessary.”

Had it been anyone else sitting beside you, you’d have found that comment way too extreme and outright ridiculous. However, you are not speaking to anyone ordinary. You are not sitting before someone normal. It doesn't matter how well you get along with him. It sure as hell doesn't matter how deeply in love you are with him, and him of you. The moment you have been deemed a shortcoming, the outings, the closeness, it all stops. All of it will come crashing down and both you and him will be left wondering what could have been done differently.

Malleus is truly your best friend, because already he can tell that your mind is beginning to spiral even when you go quiet. He calls for your attention by gripping his hand around your bare ankle and carefully tugging the end of your limb. “Don’t fret over it too much,” he soothes, yet also sounding like he’s scolding you for letting your mind wander off so negatively. “Lilia is an exceptional judge of character. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve well exceeded all his marks. He trusts you, and to gain such a thing from someone as old and wise as him is an extraordinary feat.”

You brew over the attempted compliment he tried to pay to you. Unfortunately, it doesn’t snub out all these festering thoughts in your head. It doesn’t even give you temporary relief. Perhaps it would have brought you a sense of peace a few months ago, but with everything that has happened thus far, you doubt even Malleus can alleviate the storm that rattles inside you, even if what he speaks is without a doubt nothing but the truth.

Surely he can see that you are still having some hangups. When you lift his hand and plant a chaste kiss on the back of his hand, you hope he can decipher the gesture as a pitiful request for his forgiveness for dampening the once energetic mood. He is not at fault for your loss and inability to think optimistically at the moment and you need to make sure he knows it.

Today is about him, not you. Even if it’s just for today, you’ll put on a pleasant facade and worry about the rest at a later date. It’s just you and him, and for now, that’s enough.

You do a mental countdown starting from three, before finally giving him a late response to the three words he uttered in confidence to you earlier. “I love you too, by the way.”

You love him. You love him. You love him. That’s all his mind can think of for the rest of the day. He replays your reciprocation over and over like it’s sacred and all-powerful.

He had planned to return to his dorm before the sun began to set, but he found the mere idea of detaching from you deeply unwanted and made the last-minute decision to spend the evening at the Ramshackle dorm. He already has a few articles of clothing and personal essentials set up in one of the many empty rooms, so neither Lilia nor you had any objections at his sudden request.

“Don’t worry!” You shout across the room so that Lilia can hear you over his phone. “I’ll make sure he gets to bed on time!”

“You have my gratitude!” Lilia’s muffled voice responds gratefully. “Don’t cause too much trouble now, you two.”

“No promises~” you sing in jest before Malleus hangs up. Once the call ends Johnny, Benji, Franky, and you turn their attention back to their ongoing game of poker. Malleus watches and occasionally laughs to himself over the friendly banter shared between the quartet. At the end of every round, the winner is assaulted with colorful profanities whilst they take their newly won gambling chips with ebullience. Yet with each new dealing of cards, the animosity goes away and they’re all back to being friendly. He finds your interactions with your incorporeal roommates more entertaining than the book he’s been reading to pass the time.

“Hey, fairy boy,” Franky informally calls out toward him. “Don’t be a stranger now. Play a few rounds with us.”

“I’m afraid I’m not well versed in card games,” he admits, yet he still finds himself setting his literature aside and moving over to join them.

“Don’t worry,” you give him a reassuring smile. “They’ll go easy on you.”

“For how long?” he knowingly asks.

You give him an impressed smirk at his quick uptake. “I give it three rounds before they start to pull back their sleeves.”

Malleus is well-adjusted to the need to quickly learn a new topic and the expectation for him to fully comprehend it in full. None of them are harsh on him for his minor mistakes like some of the tutors he’s had in the past. Answers that he believes may be obvious or not as complicated as he thinks they are being answered with enthusiastic patience. The smallest achievements he makes are met with a proud response. When he makes a surprise turnabout and wins his first game, he’s rewarded with an encouraging round of applause by everyone.

“Not bad,” Benji praises as he shuffles the deck of cards. “You’re a fast learner.”

“So I’ve been told,” he humbly replies. “Is this the part where you all stop going easy on me now?”

“Don’t provoke them,” you half-heartedly warn. “Otherwise we’ll be up all night duking it out otherwise.”

Franky sets his glass of iced liquor down on the edge of the table. “Don’t you little lovebirds worry. We won’t take up too much of your well-needed time together.”

Annoyed at the clear jab at his relationship with you, you throw one of your chips towards his head. It passes through his body and clatters on the floor behind him. Your fawn Blossom jumps down from their spot on the couch and goes to sniff it, thinking it to be food, but walks away with a disappointed strut when he realizes it isn’t anything edible.

“I didn’t tell them a damn thing,” you defensively clarify. “It was so obvious what was going on between us that they figured it all out before we made it official.”

He lets out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “That’s...I can’t say I’m too pleased to hear about that.”

“We won’t say anything,” Franky reassures. “Just make sure to put a sock on the door whenever you guys want some alone time.”

“Franky!” you hiss at him. “What the hell?!”

“What?” he looks at you, unbothered by your clear embarrassment. “Do you honestly expect us to think you guys went out just to look at a bunch of statues?”

“Oh, I’m sure they were looking at something,” Johnny smirks. “It wasn’t made of stone though.”

“I hate you guys,” you growl out, arms crossing and leaning back into your seat with an angry huff. You don’t mean it. He can see the tremble of your lips as you try to contain the urge to grin. “Even if we did end up rolling around in the sheets, I wouldn’t be yapping about it for all to hear, much less you guys!”

“What happens in the gargoyle graveyard stays in the gargoyle graveyard, eh?” Franky winks at both Malleus and you, nudging you with his elbow.

“Exactly!” you affirm, batting the large ghost away from you for some much-needed distance. “Now stop being so damn nosy.”

They cackle one last time and everyone seamlessly goes back to their ongoing game. Conversations like the one that just concluded are commonplace in your dormitory. Even if he contributed next to nothing to the discussion, he enjoys watching them interact. You come from a world where ghosts are hardly as overt as the ones in this world. Ghosts are said to entertain themselves by picking on the living, to the point that it can be fatal. Your ability to come up with witticisms at a moment's notice is something he enjoys seeing in action. He feels great satisfaction not only knowing that he has secured your love but to also see you in a state of tranquility and within your elements.

As Benji and you have a hushed conversation on the sidelines, he reaches over and places his hand on your knee beneath the table. You quietly reach over and put your hand over his, stroking the back of his hand with your thumb like it’s instinctual. Unfortunately, the heart-fluttering moment is ruined by the sudden buzzing of his phone. He has half a mind to ignore it, but when he gives the screen a glance he realizes ignoring the caller is not an option.

“I’ll be out for a moment,” he excuses himself once he sets his hand down and stands himself upright. “This shouldn’t take that long, hopefully.”

They all stop to look up at him inquisitively for half a second. In unison, they ask, “Sebek?”

“Sebek,” he affirms.

There are simultaneous displays of annoyance, pity, and silent wishes of good luck directed at him. He’s tempted to ask where all this contempt for the boy comes from, but then he remembers the many times Sebek barges his way into their dorm at the worst possible moments. It is either when everyone is beginning to settle down after a long day or in the middle of an important house project, the former more so than the latter now that the dorm is much more stable and in need of less restoration. Malleus learned the hard way how ill you and the ghosts will react when your peace is unwantedly interrupted and your space invaded by an unwanted guest.

Sebek is also quick to scrutinize whatever he sees out loud without a filter. You never seem to mind half of the time, merely rolling your eyes and moving past Sebek’s ill-meaning remarks as if you never heard them. As you are someone Malleus highly regards and holds close to his bosom, he hopes Sebek can one day set aside his strife with humankind and give you the due diligence you deserve.

...Though, he completely understands that reaching that point will take time. While you can endure Sebek to a certain degree, there are times where he, unfortunately, pushes you past that threshold and, without flinching, you will tell him to “Shut the fuck up”. Your words, not his.

“Young master!” Sebek's transmitted voice peaks and he has to half pull it away to give his pained eardrums some relief. “I was informed by Lord Lilia that you will be spending the night over at the Human’s dorm. Have you all your accommodations at their estate? If not, I will swiftly-”

“That won’t be necessary,” he half laughs at his enthusiasm over such a small task. “I have enough to keep me comfortable and well for a few days. Your offer is still very much appreciated.”

“Y-Yes, of course,” he stutters. “If there’s anything you should ever find a need for, please inform me at once! I will fulfill your every wishes no matter the hour!”

He’s enthusiastic and ready to act at a moment’s notice, even during the middle of a cold and dark hour. Malleus doesn’t necessarily dislike this part of Sebek, but he’s starting to understand why someone like you would find such subservience difficult to deal with. At any moment, Malleus could ask Sebek to grab some insignificant item of his and tread through the thick snow to deliver it to him, and the boy would do so with jubilation and utmost timeliness. You on the other hand wouldn’t be caught dead ordering someone to do something on your behalf when you believe you are well and capable of doing it yourself.

You don’t put expectations onto the backs of others, choosing to trust yourself first before anyone else. He knows now that it’s a result of the one instance where you expected something from someone, only to be thoroughly let down and left wondering if it was you who did something wrong.

Malleus cannot make up for the pain you’ve been subjected to, but he hopes that he can become the outlier in your life that surpasses any preconceived notions you may hold onto others. He hopes...No, he absolutely will be the one who brings you your well-earned and deserved joy and repose, just as you have done for him and continue to do so.

You love him, and he will ensure he is worthy of every last drop of your fidelity.

[let-love-bleeds-red]

Ezekiel reyes x reader

A/N: I’m new to posting/publishing my works so any feedback is welcomed! Maybe will do a part 2?? Depending on you readers. Also don't be shy to ask for more characters or different shows. ☺️

Summary: Ezekiel leaves their romantic partner high and dry as he deals with supposed club business. Y/n feeling quite lonely sends an attention grabbing video to Ez only for his phone to be left behind. After a confusing phone call with Angel, y/n decides she needs to see who Ez has been talking to. When Ez’s past crashes with his future puts Y/n in a bad position, y/n must figure out what’s better for her future and their relationship.

Warnings: Mature language, smut, oral sex, fingering, masturbation, mention of bodily fluids, mention of abuse, angst.

Word count: 3073

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

Light shuffling wakes me from a blissful dream. My eyes adjust to the light shining through the window blinds. I rub the sleepiness away and make eye contact with the bare back of Ezekiel Reyes. Shamelessly, I take in every inch and mark of his body, happy that he's mine.

Ez turns around feeling eyes on him. "Like what you see cariña" (darling) the corner of his mouth curves up into a devilish smirk.

I'm sure I'm drooling at this point. Recapturing my composure, I throw a pillow at the back of his head. "It surprises me that your ego is bigger than your head" I retort.

He turns away from the dresser facing me “you didn’t mind my head size when it was between your legs,” a shit eating smile filling his face.

“Ezekiel Reyes!” I scold giggling. Warmth floods my cheeks as I hide underneath the covers. Large hands make they’re way up my legs, kisses trailing close behind them. My breath hitches as his lips make contact to my inner thigh. His teeth nip at certain spots making sure to leave many love bites. My fingers scratch the back of his head leading him further up to where my body most craved. He licks my slit, his focus now on teasing my clit.

A soft moan escapes my lips as my hips involuntarily buck up closer to him. Ez smirks kissing up to my sternum. He looks up to me with mischievous eyes. I pout from the loss of contact, “you just want to get me worked up.”

His hand molds my breast while playing with my nipple, “You look so sexy when you’re frustrated.” His hot tongue connects to my erect nipple sucking and tugging lightly, the other hand not stopping its menstrations. He bites the side of my breast causing loud moans to escape.

My hips grind against his abdomen looking for friction and much needed relief. “Fuck.. Ezekiel” my nails scratch along his shoulders driving him further on. “Please mi corazon” (my heart) I moaned, needing more of him. His hand leaves my breast, sliding down to where I ache the most. Two digits pump in me while his thumb gives attention to my clit. I ride along Ez’s hand getting closer and closer to my climax. His fingers feel like magic, hitting every sensitive part. I’m arching from the immense pressure of pleasure that’s fighting to be released. Just as I’m reaching the edge a ringing freezes Ez’s actions. Ezekiel looks to me, then to his phone across the room on the dresser, then back to me. “Don’t you even think about it,” The need for release takes over my emotional state.

Ez kisses my forehead, “Lo siento mi amor.” (I'm sorry my love) He climbs off of the bed making his way to the dresser and answers his phone. He turns away from me talking low to the person on the receiving end. I don't know if it’s my sexual frustrations or the fact that he’s acting sneaky but something was definitely up. Ez’s hush conversation ends as he rushes to get his clothes on. I sit up worried, “Is something wrong with the club? Is Angel alright? Bishop?” Here I am frustrated since we didn’t finish, yet my Mayan family could need help. Even worse they could be hurt. God I’m so selfish.

“No hermosa, everyone is fine. The club needs me for a run. I can’t say no to them,” He eases my mind. “Rest baby, I’ll be back before you know it.” He kisses my head rubbing the crease on my forehead.

“Be careful, I know it's just a run but things can go bad so quick, so please be careful.” I hug him snuggling my head to his chest hearing his beautiful heart beat.

He rubs my back holding me close, “See you in a few, sleep mi corazon” He takes my face in his large hands planting a soft kiss to my lips. After a brief moment he lets go and grabs his kutte from the corner chair. I hear the door close seconds later and sigh sadly. He just left and I’m missing him like crazy. I’m so whipped. Maybe I should show him how bad I’m missing him.

Grabbing my vibrator from the nightstand drawer, and setting my phone on the stand to catch all my naughty actions. I flip the switch to High on my vibrator moving it along my wet slit. The vibration re-excites my sensitive clit, as I rub it through my folds, lubing it up. My other hand finds my breast playing and tugging my nipple. “Ezekiel I want you so bad baby” I moan imagining his hands, his tongue, his huge thick cock. “I want you fucking every bit of me to pieces.” I rub against the vibrator gathering friction on the bundle of nerves. Feeling tired of waiting for release I thrust the vibrator into me. Not stopping to get used to the size, I thrust it fast in and out of me hitting my g-spot repeatedly. Taking my hand away from my breast I moved it down to my clit rubbing the sensitive bud to push me over the edge. “Fuck! Right there Ezekiel!” I moan arching my back. A split second later the burst of release and pleasure fills my body. I take the vibrator out seeing my cum drip along the sleek tool to the tip as I rub my orgasm out. “Would’ve been better if you were actually here,” I look at the camera. “I miss you, baby. Come home soon. I love you,” I blow a kiss toward the camera and end the recording.

After a long hot shower, I lather myself in lotion and get dressed. Checking how the naughty video looks, I send it to Ez satisfied with the results. A ding sounds from across the room. Investigating where the sound came from leads to Ez’s forgotten phone. For someone with great memory he forgets a lot of stuff. I’ll call Angel to let Ez know.

“Hey princess, you finally wise up and realize I’m the hottest Reyes?” Angel answers.

I roll my eyes laughing, “Sadly you’re mistaken Angel, Philippe will always be number one.”

“I’m gonna tell Ez you said that.”

“What makes you think Ez doesn’t know,” I smirk.

“Gross” he groans is distaste.

“Like your face. Anywho, how did the run go?”

“What run? Everyone is given the day off until the party tonight”

Confusion wracks my brain, “none of you went on a run this morning?”

“Not that I know of. What’s wrong?” He asks worriedly.

“Uh nothing, I just thought Ezekiel was with you and the guys. My mistake, sorry to bother you Angel.”

“You’re no bother princess, let me know if you need anything.”

“Okay thanks Angel, bye.” My heart sinks. Ez lied to me. He actually lied and broke his promise. Why would he do that. It has to be important if he needed to lie to me. Yea that’s it.

I look towards his phone thinking back to who he was talking to earlier. If it wasn’t the club then who? Going against my conscience I look through his messages to see Emily pop up on his recent. The messages showing meet up places on days Ez left early to do club business or met up with his dad. My heart is breaking into pieces. Shattering even more with the lies and betrayal. He knew how I felt about starting this relationship, about the trust issues, and trauma. He knew every part of me yet decided to destroy all that was built between us. Liquid drips onto my arms, I wipe my eyes not realizing the tears pouring. I don’t want to cry. I shouldn’t cry. Not over someone who didn’t truly love me. Yet I cry for the love that I gave him. I cry for being dumb enough to fall so hard for him, for giving my all to him.

~Months prior~

Slowly slipping out of strong arms I reach for my shirt and panties laying across the floor. Trying to be stealthy, I look for my missing shorts. How can someone lose shorts in a trailer?! There’s literally no way it’s too small, but of course my luck. I yelp as I feel myself being pulled back into a warm chest. Ez chuckles beside me, happy to catch me by surprise. “Buenos dias hermosa” (good morning beautiful) He kisses my temple leading more down the curve of my neck.

I hit his firm chest, “You scared me half to death, jerk!” Trying to hold back my smile, but Ezekiel being Ezekiel can see right through it.

His hand frames the side of my face as his thumb lightly trails across my bottom lip. “You weren’t trying to leave without saying goodbye were you?” His brown eyes bore into mine taking in every feature.

Not able to lie to him, “Yes, but only to get to the office before Chucky,” I explain while trying to climb off the bed again only to be pulled back to straddling Ez’s waist. “This is what got us in this situation in the first place, Reyes,” pointing to our current position.

His big hands slowly crawl their way up my bare thighs causing shivers to run up my spine. “You’re too irresistible, and you didn’t seem to mind it. I do remember you begging for more.”

Curse his memory. I hit his chest, ”Not my fault you kept following me around, I felt bad. You were like a lost puppy.” I smile thinking back to the first day we met. “Speaking of memory, where are my shorts?”

A mischievous smirk slips across his lips, “now what do I get if I tell you?” His hand now on my ass, pushing me slightly on his erection.

I jokingly ponder his question, grinding my hips slowly to tease, while tapping my chin in a thinking motion. “Hmm.. Not getting caught by Bishop, nor beaten to death. Oh and possibly get buried in the desert.” His smirk falls off his face. “But knowing Bishop he’ll probably castrate you first,” I grin thinking how protective the Mayan President can be.

He groans, pulling my shorts from behind his pillow. “Take them.”

“You were hiding them!” I laugh pinching his side teasing.

“I didn’t want you leaving,” he taps his finger along my thigh nervously.

“As sweet as that sounds, I don't want your death on my hands if Bishop catches us,” I joke.

“I want Bishop to know,” he states confidently. He sits up having us chest to chest as he watches my features. “I want us to date, be a couple in front of the club, in public. I don't want to hide it,” his hand caresses my face.

“Ezekiel,” I stop his hand. “I can’t do that. I can’t put sheer dumb trust in another person, not with my emotions and body.” Heat fills my chest from the traumatic memories. “I will not put myself in a position to be beaten down and taken advantage of.” Slipping out of his hold, I put my shorts and flats on trying to make a quick exit.

His hand gently wraps around my arm catching my attention. “I don't want you for your beauty and body, you’re so much more than that. You’re so strong and very smart, your humor and wit make you, you.” His arms wrap around my waist pulling me a bit closer to him. “I will never hurt you. I’m not that low life thug. I will never lie to you or make you feel uncomfortable. I respect you so much. Just give me a little trust, I promise you won't regret it,” he begs, his eyes full of love?

A knock on the trailer door interrupts the moment. “It’s Chucky, I brought by coffees for a morning wake up,” he explains happily.

I walk over to the door, opening it coming face to face with Chucky. “Thanks Chucky,” I take the two cups. “Do you mind letting Bishop know that I need to talk with him? He’s gonna wanna know I’m dating his prospect,” I look over to Ez smiling.

“Of course young love is beautiful, I hope to witness it myself one of these days.” Chucky sighs dreamily.

I peck his cheek, “You will Chucky. She’ll be one lucky woman,” I assure him.

Muscled arms snake around my stomach as Ez’s chest warms my back. “Chucky, y/n is gonna be late to clock in. I won't keep her for too long,” he kisses my temple.

“I love you Chucky, thank you!!” I squeal as Ez shuts the door and picks me up kissing me all over the face.

~End of Flashback~

My phone ringing brings me out of my haze. I answer it hearing the one man I didn’t want to contact. “Hey I’m calling from a pay phone, I think I left mine on your dresser. Any way I’ll be by to pick you up for the party tonight in a few minutes.”

I hold back from crying anymore, not wanting to show how hurt I am. “Don't worry about me, I’ll drive over by myself,” trying to keep my voice steady.

“Are you sure the house is on the way.”

On the way from where? Is what kills me. “I’m sure. I’ll see you there, bye.” I hung up before he could get another word in, not able to handle a longer conversation. Grabbing a duffle bag from the closet I pack every belonging of his. Erasing any sign of him from my home. As I fold the last of his shirts, his scent takes me in its embrace. I’m really going to miss him. Holding his shirt to my chest I hug it letting the last of my tears drip away.

After pulling myself together, I toss his stuff in my Jeep and head over to the club house. Chucky opens the gate and greets me. “Lovely night to let loose, huh y/n?”

I can’t help but always feel comfort from Chucky, he’s a true sweetheart. “Indeed Chucky. Make sure you get to enjoy the party a bit too.” I pat his arm before driving into the lot.

Hopping out, I head into the clubhouse to see Bishop playing a card game with Hank and Reaper. I greet the men hugging them one by one, leaving the last to be Bishop. “Can I talk to you in the temple?”

He nods a look of worry flashes across his face, “Of course mija. We’ll be back.” He tells Hank. We walk back to the temple, him taking a seat as I stand. “What’s wrong y/n? Did something happen?” He scopes out my face for any bruise or marks.

“Yes but it's not for you to worry about, Bish. Just letting you know I’ll be in Charming for the next couple of days.”

“Why are you leaving? Did the prospect do something to you?!” He starts to stand up to head toward the door.

I stop him shaking my head, “There is a job opening at the hospital there that I’ve been invited to try out. I think it’s a great opportunity for me since I’m back on my feet.” I explain leaving Ezekiel out of the situation.

“But that’s not the only reason. You look like you’ve been crying. What did the prospect do.” He demands an answer.

“Nothing that deals with the club. He didn’t touch me nor hurt me in any physical way. I can’t deal with being in a relationship, they don’t work well with me.” There’s no point in getting Ez into trouble with the club.

He gets up and embraces me, “If that’s what you want then I can’t stop you. Just make sure you’re doing it for you and not just running away.” He kisses the top of my head.

“I’ll call you when I get to Charming,” I pat his chest. “Please keep this between us, for now?” He nods his head in agreement. “Thank you for everything, El Presidente” I smile leaving him to head back to the Jeep. As I exit the club I come face to face with Ezekiel.

He smiles seeing that it’s me, “There you are hermosa,” he leans down to peck my lips. I step back avoiding the gesture. Confusion washes over him as I step around him to get to my car. He follows close behind, “Hey, wait up!” He grabs my arm only for me to yank away from him. “What’s wrong mi amor?” (my love)

“How was your run?” I steal my voice, staring at his brown orbs.

Worry taking over his emotions, “It was fine, everything went well. I’m okay.”

I scoff shaking my head at his lies. “Here,” pulling his phone out of my pocket and shoves it into his chest. “Emily has been messaging all day.”

Realization flashes through him, “wait baby no it’s not like that!” He tries to grab my hands.

“Don’t touch me. You lost the privilege the moment you decided to lie and sneak around. I don't want any part of your charades.” Tiredness heavy in my voice.

“Let me explain, please,” he pleads. “I didn’t cheat. I only helped her with a business issue,” he explains hurriedly.

“I don't need your explanation nor do I want it, Ezekiel. It’s not fair for you to live in your past, while you tell me to move on from my own. It’s hypocritical of you to think she loves you. Emily is a married woman, she loves Galindo, she’s moved on.” I sigh grabbing his duffle bag of belongings from my car dropping them at his feet. “At least I know I’m not the only stupid one in this relationship.”

“I don't love Emily, I love you, you are my everything. You make everyday worth it. I can’t lose you.”

“The problem, Ezekiel, is I don’t believe you. Your words are just that. Words. No meaning behind them. I’m not gonna give my time and trust to a man who doesn’t respect me. I’m done. It’s over. Don't contact me, don't go to my house.” I rush into the Jeep starting it and backing up out of the lot. The only thought is to drive away and don't look back. If I look, then I know I’ll turn and go back into his arms.

A/N: please feedback and let me know if there should be a part 2

[cautionworks]

Okay, so I wanted to write some NSFW Headcanons for Hisoka. All of these headcanons I said are purely based on my interpretation. I have read some other Hisoka headcanons before but I forgot about them a while ago. Plus I know nothing about actual sex. So I'll have fun writing this. Here we go lol.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

It depends on who's he with. If it was just a one-night stand he won't attempt to be comforting or try to care about the other party. The most He'll do is clean himself and nothing more. If he had a "significant other" that's a different story. He would cuddle the hell out of you. I imagine him as a clingy person (Which I hate). Once he's finished he just wants to fall asleep with you under his arms. He finds it relaxing to have your back against his chest. Especially when it's soft.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

The back. I do not know why but I have the feeling that he would like a person's back. Especially if the person has slightly defined back muscles. Something about a person's back seems so vulnerable to Hisoka that he leans towards it whenever he’s behind someone he finds attractive. It's part of the reason why he likes to be behind people. Because he feels it's the most vulnerable place and he won't hesitate to take advantage of it when it comes to his enemies. Seriously don’t have this man around women with shirts that expose the backside. Or bikinis. He will not stop staring. Now I think about it I think he’ll like a virgin sweater.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically... I’m a disgusting person)

Hisoka will eat it/swallow it. He's no stranger when it comes to being nude in his abode. So him being in his natural self, he won't hesitate to taste his own or his partner's bodily fluid. (Not pee you weirdos).

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Hisoka is a secretive man. It's literally what his name means. When asked direct questions he'll find a way to dodge them without seeming suspicious. And he's a liar. But when it comes to the bedroom. It's another side of him. He's not so secretive about it. It's just no one asks him about it and so he never felt the need to mention it. But when he did he will say it all. This man has done very risque things in his life. He once fucked a girl in an office building right after he killed her boss. There’s was a huge gathering of people including the girl's boyfriend. And he did it in one of those rooms where there's a glass that's see-through on one side and the other is not. Which the boyfriend happened to be there. You can guess which side he did it on. In the end, that girl was left with the time of life of her life and the loss of her partner and her job.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Extremely experienced. I'm sorry I'm a firm believer that Hisoka got laid many times by various women and men. If he's so strategic and calculated in fighting people then it's no surprise that he has skills in the bedroom. Plus he needs the release. I can't imagine how bored and frustrated he is when he can't kill anyone or there are no strong opponents. So it's understandable that he looks for partners to ease his stress. If there's nobody available at the moment. Then he will do what any man would do. Le master debate.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Again this one depends on who's he with. If he just with one of his late-night booty calls he would do the normal doggy style. If he's with someone he's heavily interested in. He will do all sorts of positions. His favorite position is where he can always see your face. Because one he wants to know if he's doing a good job. Two. He likes to watch your face morph into different facial expressions as he touches you in different ways.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He can be hella silly sometimes. If he's having sex with you for a while he will feel comfortable being playful. Of course, he can be serious if he needs to. But that rarely ever happens. The only times he would get serious if he was actively trying to get you pregnant for whatever reason. Which is not an issue. He uses bungee gum. It contains rubber and gum. Free condoms everyone. (Lol)

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Oh hell yeah the carpet matched the drapes! You were surprised that it was the same hair color as his hair. You were so in disbelief that you considered that he just dyed it. Which was not the case. Let's just say Hisoka likes to keep things short. Normally you would find it to be shaved. Yet, sometimes he'll leave some hair to grow. A little hair never really bothered him.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)

*sigh* This one depends. Ima skip this one because Hisoka is not romantic. Just kidding. Because I think he would be good in the bedroom, I think he CAN be a romantic partner. Romantic how? I don’t know he can be that’s all there’s to it. (Talk about laziness)

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He does it more often than the average person. Like I said in my (E = Experience) Hisoka would do it if there’s nobody available at the moment. What I didn’t say is where and when he would do it. He’ll do it anywhere. This man has no shame. He will do it in a church, public bathroom, or hospital bed. Inside or out. It did not matter to him. Unless if it was raining. That would be his own little rule but he breaks it all the time. For some reason, many opportunities for sex happened to be on rainy days. When? He’ll do it even when he has a mission to do with Illumi. If he’s in the middle of a job and He's in horni mode. He’ll find a way to release without anyone knowing. He could do it right in front of a person without them knowing. Sometimes he just stands there with an orgasmic face on. The only way he’s able to masturbate in public is because he is using bungee gum. I know for a fact he’s use’s this ability in his sexual encounters with people especially for himself. This man could just stand there and you wouldn’t know if he was just being weird or he’s just doing it again.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

KINK SHAMING IS HIS KINK! I’m just kidding. Without a doubt, Hisoka would have one or two kinks. Bondage. Bondage. Bondage. As boring and well known this kink is. It makes sense at least to me it does. Hisoka bungee gum ability can grab, stick or even trap a person. So he finds pleasure in watching his partner's skin be wrapped in his bungee gum. He has so much control over it. How tight it can be. How rubbery or gummy it can be depending on the situation.Another thing I’d like to say. Hisoka is A SADIST AND MASOCHIST. He likes giving and receiving pain. That’s just how it is.

L = Location (Favorite places to do they do)

Anywhere that has a good spot to fuck you against something. Any surface that he can place you on. But if he were to have a “favorite place” it would be in places that are morally wrong to do or somewhere exciting like a carnival/circus. Hisoka hasn’t set limits to himself so usually, it's his partner that sets the boundaries.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

If he sees you in revealing clothing (Especially if your back is completely exposed) his wood is rising. You could just be lying on your stomach on the couch, scrolling on the phone. If you’re wearing a bra or nothing on and Hisoka happens to be there. There’s no doubt he'll find ways to lay his hands on you. It's not just the back that could turn him on. THIGHS AND HAMSTRINGS will have the man going. In particular, he likes it when it's Thicc/meaty. My man likes dem Thicc thighs. (Lol)

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

This one is only one of my most important headcanons ever. And I won’t accept anything other than this. Rape/Noncon. Hisoka does not find any joy in forcing himself on his partners. It’s not fun for him if his partner isn’t enjoying it either. The biggest turn-off for him would have to be anything related to bodily wastes like pee or poo.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Oh, he likes receiving it more than giving it. But that doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy giving his significant other pleasure too. I would say his skill level is pretty good. Let’s just say when he does it, it's more than enough to please his partner. When he receives it expect lots of hair pulling and heavy groans.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Fuck! It depends on his mood. Normally he likes to do it slow and sensual. But on a bad day, he does it rough and fast. A Good example of this was after Chrollo told him he can not use nen. Hisoka kept his emotions to himself. The only face he allowed himself to show was his normal displeased face. But inside he’s pissed. Once he leaves the troupe he heads back to his partner's place and sleeps with them. At least he released his frustration without killing anyone. (Omg Imagine fucking Hisoka was the leading cause of people still alive) Other than that he just aggressively masturbates.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

*Deep inhaling* Hisoka IS THE KING OF QUICKIES. He’s a master at it. While he’s patient for riping fruits he rarely has patience for sexual activities. He's on the go constantly. If he finds someone that catches his eye he’ll go after them. So a nice quickie is great and all but it doesn’t entirely satisfy him. Because it doesn’t satisfy him overall, a proper well spent “shagging” (This will be the first and last time I’ll ever write “Shagging”) He’s happy. Just happy that he can give his all. Which he can not do often.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Absolutely! Hisoka has his life on gamble all the time. Whether it may be life-threatening or a simple card game. Risking taking is his character. Even if it's too crazy. He’ll do it anyway. He's an exhibitionist for sure. He’ll let people watch as long no one touches his partner.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

To my knowledge. IRL men need a break after sex. In the show, Hisoka was able to clear the hunter's exam easily. So we know Hisoka has a lot of endurance than the average human. He’s stronger and faster. So that means Hisoka will not get tired after one round of sex. I think he can go at least 10 rounds. Of course, Hisoka would get tired at some point. He’s still human. Hisoka just has a lot of stamina. And that’s a fact.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Yall are probably gonna hate me for this but Hisoka doesn’t own toys. If his partner wants it during their time together, he will not hesitate to get it/use it. He doesn’t feel the need to use it since he’s very confident in his ability to please his partner without the use of toys. For himself? if wants something inside him then he’ll just look for a guy that’s decent for his standards. But that doesn’t stop him from using a dildo/vibrator for himself.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Hisoka is a sadistic devil. He can be cruel sometimes. One time he had this girl close to climax and he stopped in the middle of it. Or He would cause arousal to his partner and pretend it was all an accident. He’s a huge teaser. He likes to watch his partner be in ecstasy and switch to fits of anger.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s a fucking whale. (LMAO) He’s the reason why kids know what moans sound like. He’s hella vocal in his private moments. He so loud that almost every troupe member recognizes his moans every time they hear them. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be quiet. Contrary to popular belief, Hisoka can be dead silent when he needs to be. He can be quiet as a mouse. Even quieter than the mouse. Now, what does he sound like? Well, we all heard his moans his fights. But I think it's different. I think his moans in fights are different while masturbating/sex. Just a slight difference. His moans would be more intense and he's a heavy breather. His tone of moans is a bit feminine with a tint of masculinity. He has the best of both worlds.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

He likes to have pictures of you. Like a lot. He has a private gallery full of pictures of you on his phone. That’s why this time he actually takes care of his phone. He’s prone to get his phone destroyed in his missions. So he’s much careful with it now. These pictures can range from cute photos of you and him together to butt naked pics of you not looking.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture, or words)

Now you horny Hisoka Simps think he has a 12-inch dick but I don’t think that’s the case. (I mean come on) I know there are Chinese HxH fans who took the time to measure his length by looking at manga panels. Based on what I found. Hisoka is 5 inches long (aroused) and 6 inch Inches long (aroused). To make him above “Average”. He is 6 inches long (aroused) and 7 inches Inches long (aroused). Beyond that I don’t know how a female or male have can have a size like that fit in them. Or maybe I’m not educated enough on this topic. I don’t know and I don’t care.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Very High. A lot of people who write Hisoka smut fics tend to make him a horny bastard. For me, I think that is the case. But my reasons are different. As I said in my E = Experience. Hisoka would look for partners to ease his stress. His obsession with finding/fighting strong opponents takes a toll on his mental and physical state. So once he can't think of another outlet for his tremendous amounts of energy, he'll use it to please himself with different partners.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

I'm going to say that depends on the person. If he only did 2-3 rounds of sex with an average person he's not going to fall asleep easily. Eventually, he will. Due to being bored and little tiredness. If he were to do it with a skilled nen user like Machi. He would get tired a lot more.

Oh woah that took forever to write! Let me just say it again this is purely my own headcanons. The questions are not mine only my answers. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!

[lillupon]

Hi Lei! I just read chapter 20 and thought what would it be like if Donghyun finds out that Mingyu liked his older brother? Like I imagine this scenario that whilst they're close, Wonwoo didn't know Donghyun got interested in soccer in passing during college 'cause he's dragged to it and got around meeting and playing with students from other universities as well. So Donghyun knew Mingyu as a nice guy until he sees him staring at candid picture of Wonwoo during one of their after game showers.

Oh??? I wonder how Mingyu got ahold of a candid photo of Wonwoo?? *thonking* Maybe Mingyu peeks at Wonwoo's Facebook once in a while. Wonwoo's photos are hidden to everyone who isn't friends with him, but his cover photos and profile picture are on display for all eyes, including Mingyu's.

EDIT: Ohhh anon... I think I misinterpreted your ask LMAO! I’m guessing you were actually referring to after Mingyu and Wonwoo started dating each other again. I wrote this bonus with something entirely different in mind >.< Okay, so in this snip, Mingyu and Wonwoo have not reconnected yet; Donghyun is the one who tells Mingyu where Wonwoo is teaching now.

Donghyun probably has to smother a lot of hysterical giggles when he catches Mingyu ogling photos of Wonwoo. He's already thinking about the text message he's going to send to Wonwoo later:

yoo someone i know has a crush on you gose tech student scouted by nuest

I think Donghyun would actually crack a joke about it! Kinda like how Chaeyoung used to tease Nayeon for having a crush on Mingyu. I don't think the age difference is an issue to Donghyun, because: (1) Mingyu and Wonwoo are both adults, and (2) he's just kidding, anyway. He doesn't think Mingyu will actually take him up on the offer.

He'd probably peer over Mingyu's shoulder and be like, "Want me to introduce you to him?"

Mingyu, attention so riveted by Wonwoo, doesn't realise he's being watched until Donghyun asks the question right in his ear. He startles, flinching bodily, hurriedly locking his phone and tucking it into his pants pocket.

"W-what?" Mingyu stammers. Heat rushes to his face, not because he's been caught looking at a picture of an attractive person, but because it's been four fucking years and Wonwoo is still the most beautiful omega he has ever laid eyes on. Four fucking years of pining, stalking Wonwoo on his social media, wondering if he ever changed his status to 'in a relationship'.

And then his brain catches up to what Donghyun said. His brows furrow at the center. "Introduce me?" he repeats. "You know him?"

"Yep," Donghyun says. "He's my brother."

Instinctively, Mingyu says, "No way."

"I'm being serious. Jeon Wonwoo," Donghyun says. He turns around so that Mingyu can see his jersey. The name JEON is emblazoned across his back in bold yellow capitals.

Mingyu stares. For years, he has been thinking about how he might reconnect with Wonwoo. In his second year of university, he had returned to the city of Pledis during reading break. It had taken him three goddamned days to work up the nerve to visit his old high school, and when he had finally scrounged up the courage, he learned that Wonwoo was no longer teaching at Pointe Pledis. Wonwoo had moved on, and Mingyu had taken it as a sign that it was time for him to try moving on, too.

Mingyu turns away. "Wow." Then he ducks his chin and laughs a little. His heart rate is ratcheting up in his chest. Because isn't this a sign, too? That the person standing before him is Wonwoo's younger brother? His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Uh. He's single?"

Now it's Donghyun's turn to stare. "Oh wow, you're actually serious?"

"What?"

"I was kind of joking."

"You mean he's not your brother?"

"No, no, he is," Donghyun says. "I was kidding about introducing you two. I mean, I didn't think you would actually be interested? But I can definitely introduce you two. He's single."

Mingyu's heart perks up in his chest.

(Mingyu and Donghyun do actually meet in the epilogue <:)

[robininthelabyrinth]

I need to know what u think of an AU where JC is the one who dies (sacrificing his life to save WWX) instead of JYL, he’s not as angry with WWX bc JYL is still alive so when he sees his brother about to get murdered he just steps in front of him while JYL and WWX see :) I don’t even know what I want u to do with this? Give me some headcanons? Is it a prompt? Idk I just want u to to see what u make of this (I promise JC is my fav but my mind likes to make me suffer :p)

1

It wasn’t a matter of conscious thought when Jiang Cheng threw himself between that cultivator’s sword and Wei Wuxian’s unguarded back, all his defenses down in the face of Jiang Yanli’s pleading, same as always; it was just instinct. Wei Wuxian was always the troublemaker, the crazy one, and Jiang Cheng always the one being dragged along; he’d long ago learned to spend all his time watching his shixiong’s back, keeping him away from dogs, away from angry shopkeepers, away from any harm. It was instinct, just as it had been the day he’d thrown himself out into the street to distract the Wens, and he’d always justified that instinct because he knew that Wei Wuxian would do the same for him.

Though – he didn’t know that anymore, not after everything that happened recently. Wei Wuxian had made him all the promises in the world, to stand by his side through wind and lightning, and he’d seemed to have no issue abandoning those promises, picking the remnants of the Wen sect over the remnants of the Jiang sect without a moment’s hesitation and not even the courtesy of an explanation.

The Yiling Patriarch was all but a stranger to him, and Jiang Cheng still didn’t understand why.

So it was probably stupid of him to react as if the person being stabbed at was Wei Wuxian, not the Yiling Patriarch – stupid of him to give up his life for someone who didn’t care about him nearly as much as Jiang Cheng cared for him.

But that’s why it wasn’t a thought. It was instinct.

He heard someone scream “Jiang Cheng!” as if their heart were breaking, and he thought for a moment that it was Wei Wuxian again, the one who loved him best. Wei Wuxian, not the Yiling Patriarch, who threw him to the dogs over and over again, put his sect at risk of utter destruction a second time over, just to indulge himself and his bizarre fixation on saving the Wens at the expense of everyone else. Who didn’t care about their duty to their sect, to their parents - who didn’t care about him at all.

Jiang Cheng’s heart hurt. It was probably just the sword that’d just been driven through it, though.

Hands grasped at his clothing, pulling him back; his sister’s face had lost all blood, and Wei Wuxian looked as if his world had ended – he wasn’t sure why. Jiang Yanli had her son to care for, a new life in Lanling that she refused to abandon even if Jin Zixuan was now gone; Wei Wuxian had his Wens, his new cultivation – perhaps it was some little regret, far too late, for the Jiang sect that would now come to grief, leaderless, the end of their family line and the disappointment of their ancestors. Jiang Cheng’s final and most absolute failure.

Jiang Cheng looked at them both, the ones he loved the most and who had left him without a single glance backwards, and found with his last breath that he had nothing to say to them.

He closed his eyes so they wouldn’t have to.

2

The battlefield was full of corpses, and Jiang Yanli didn’t care about a single one of them.

“Do you think he can be brought back, the way Wen Ning was?” she asked, holding the corpse in her arms as if it were still the baby brother she sang songs to as a child, the little crybaby who was so fierce on the outside and so soft on the inside. She had been able to lie to herself with Jin Zixuan’s body – he almost looked as though he were sleeping, head on the pillow beside her own – but Jiang Cheng had never slept well in his life, his brow always furrowed as if he was worrying about something even in his dreams, and the blank peace on his face was so wrong that she couldn’t bear to look at him.

She wasn’t asking Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian had only stopped the massacre when Lan Wangji, of all unlikely people, had bodily tackled him; everyone had always said that the Second Jade was like oil and water with her A-Xian, but he’d unexpectedly taken their side in this battle and was even now letting a barely-conscious Wei Wuxian sob Jiang Cheng’s name into his collar. He looked silently at her, his gaze a quiet reminder that her question was inappropriate – one Ghost General had already been enough to cause all of this tragedy, and certainly no one would ever accept another as a sect leader.

She looked steadily back at him, indicating in return that she didn’t give a damn about the standing of the Jiang sect if it meant she wouldn’t have to bury her baby brother.

Lan Wangji hesitated, looking down at Wei Wuxian. “You cannot stay at Yiling,” he finally said. “After this…”

They’d killed people from virtually every sect; no matter who had sympathized with Wei Wuxian before this or how much they felt he was wronged, they would have no choice but to raise up arms against him.

Jiang Yanli understood. They would be fugitives, condemned by all. She didn’t care. “Will you help us?”

He nodded and stood, Wei Wuxian cradled as gently in his arms as she held Jiang Cheng in hers.

“Will you come with us?” she asked. Anyone who loved her brother enough to defy his sect, to stain his untainted blade with the blood of his own kin, deserved a chance to court him properly, if she hadn’t misunderstood his intentions; she didn’t think she had, not with the expression so clear on his silent face.

“I will help you,” he said, and that wasn’t an answer, wasn’t the one she wanted, but it would have to do for now. “Let us go.”

3

It was Jin Zixuan who figured it out, oddly enough. Perhaps it was because he was an outsider, looking at the situation without affection to blur his eyes.

“You gave him your golden core,” he said, less than a week into his resurrection – Lan Wangji had been very efficient in his help, not only finding a new place to hide Jiang Yanli and the remaining Wens but also returning to Lanling to steal Jin Zixuan’s corpse and little Jin Ling before returning to his own sect at the first sign that Wei Wuxian would awaken from his coma. He hadn’t sent word since that time, whether from regret or other reasons; their only consolation was that there was no news of his death. “That’s why you couldn’t do anything other than demonic cultivation – is that right?”

Wei Wuxian looked at him through blood-red eyes. “Get lost,” he said; the phrase made up the majority of his vocabulary, these days, and because he refused to curse his shijie he mostly ended up not talking to her at all.

“Wen Qing was a famous doctor – she could have figured out a way to do it, and that would explain why you felt so indebted to them,” Jin Zixuan continued. “You never told him because you didn’t want to burden him. But instead you left him without any reason, any explanation: he must have felt that you abandoned him because you didn’t want him.”

“Get lost!”

“You broke his heart,” he said, and looked down at Jiang Cheng’s body – still perfectly preserved, but unmoving. The resurrection spell had already failed three times. “No wonder he doesn’t want to return.”

“I did it for him!” Wei Wuxian screamed, tears of blood dripping down his cheeks. “He didn’t – he wouldn’t – he has to come back!”

Jin Zixuan said nothing.

4

They ended up back in Yunmeng, rather unexpectedly; the new leadership of the Lotus Pier, a distant branch cousin who’d survived the massacre because he’d been night-hunting elsewhere, had all but begged Jiang Yanli to return. Against all odds her reputation had survived the massacre at the Nightless City; the loving wife, sister, and shijie that nearly sacrificed herself to save what lives she could and to banish the dreadful Yiling Patriarch who was never seen again from that day forth –  she was very nearly regarded as an incarnation of the goddess of mercy.

She had no idea where that ridiculous notion came from, but it did mean that she could live in Lotus Pier again, with Jin Ling by her side – she’d told Jin Guangshan to name someone else as his heir, or at minimum as regent; the Jiang sect needed her and her son more. It wouldn’t have worked if Jin Zixuan hadn’t snuck into his mother’s room to convince Madam Jin to throw her support behind it; officially he was still in his tomb, since Lan Wangji had been very subtle, but in fact he lived within shouting distance of the Lotus Pier, spending his days playing with his son.

They all did, actually, the whole lot of them resettled into a tiny adjacent water town populated largely by civilians that relied on the Jiang sect for their prosperity. As long as Wei Wuxian never did anything, which he didn’t, the illusion that he was gone for good in a cloud of self-destruction after his terrible massacre could be maintained; no one expected they could possibly be so daring as to simply go home after all of it.

Lan Wangji was in seclusion, they were eventually told; Wei Wuxian hadn’t believed it for one second, smuggling himself into Gusu to check – he’d come back unconscious, slung over Jin Zixuan’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Struck by the discipline whip,” her husband, the fierce corpse that wasn’t fierce at all, said, and didn’t comment when she instinctively reached out to touch Jiang Cheng’s body, to trace the scar he had; she often spent her days next to the bed that preserved his corpse. “Many times; his body is ruined. It will take years for him to heal – the Lan sect saying he was in seclusion was their way of saving face. Wei Wuxian wants to bring him back to the Lotus Pier to hide him.”

Jiang Yanli rubbed her face, thinking not for the first time that the world would be an easier place if only her two brothers weren’t so stubborn. One who wouldn’t wake up, his spiritual consciousness all in pieces; the other who wouldn’t give up – “The Lan sect wouldn’t accept that.”

“He wasn’t planning on asking. That’s why I knocked him out. Anyway, they’re distracted with the Xue Yang matter now – my father’s still insisting on protecting him, and the Nie sect gets angrier about it by the day; without the Jiang sect, there’s only the Lan to play peacemaker, stop there from being another war.”

Jiang Yanli, who was very nice but also very much not the goddess of mercy, tilted her head to the side; something of her mother was in her eyes. “A war would be a good cover, though, or at least the rumblings of one. If we were going to steal Lan Wangji away from his sect, that is.”

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll sneak into Lanling to talk to my mother, maybe see if I can follow Xue Yang and see what he’s up to. You go talk to the Nie.”

5

Jiang Yanli’s visit to the Unclean Realm turned out to be more fruitful than anyone had expected. The moment she walked into Nie Mingjue’s receiving room, her Jiang sect bell rang so hard that it shattered, which it definitely hadn’t done during the war – they both stared at it wordlessly for a while.

Eventually, he cleared his throat, averting his eyes. “You know my family history,” he offered as an explanation, embarrassment at the public revelation of his problem already turning to anger but suppressed by his strict adherence to etiquette.

“That’s no family history,” she said, bemused, as she crouched down to poke at the pieces. “The silver bell of the Jiang sect can steady focus and calm the mind, and the ones made for the family are the strongest by far; it would only shatter like this in the effort to resist a spiritual poison…how are you feeling now, Sect Leader Nie?”

He considered for a long moment, and his face grew black with rage. “Better. I feel – like my mind has been filled with fog, and a clear breeze has blown it clear.”

She smiled up at him. “Perhaps you should visit Yunmeng.”

He scowled, and she realized he must know about Wei Wuxian’s presence, though she wasn’t sure how; despite that, in the end, after a roaring argument with Nie Huaisang in another room, he agreed to go, even if the idea of staying willfully blind clearly pained him to the core.

Jiang Yanli quietly approved of his decision to put family over principle.

When they put their mind to it, the Nie sect  had an underrated talent for saying ‘I don’t know’ to just about everything. Neither brother blinked an eye at the Wen sect remnants that still teetered every time they went on a boat, very clearly not Yunmeng locals; they politely greeted Jin Zixuan as if he’d only been gone a while and not murdered; much to his older brother’s very evident irritation, Nie Huaisang even leapt over to give Wei Wuxian an enthusiastic hug while Nie Mingjue was still talking with Jin Zixuan about what it meant that Jin Guangshan had hidden away the still intact Wen Ning, who Jin Zixuan had found in a hidden part of Koi Tower during his most recent visit and immediately liberated.

“Definitely a case of spiritual poisoning,” Wei Wuxian said after a short examination, and the most reliable doctor they had left in the Jiang sect concurred. “The silver bell can help a little –” 

They’d already shattered seven of them, but Nie Mingjue had actually cracked a smile for the first time in months, to hear a sobbingly relieved Nie Huaisang tell it. 

“–but it can only help so much; that technique is really only meant for acute cases. And you really need to figure out what was doing the poisoning; there’s no point in curing you if you’re only going to get poisoned again.”

“A matter for a later time,” Nie Mingjue, who clearly had some suspicions that made him look as though he’d been stabbed in the back, said. “Now that we know it’s a poisoning, and my mind is clearer, I can take some action myself – the Nie have plenty of techniques to stabilize the spirit.”

Wei Wuxian’s smile was full of self-hatred, as it always was these days. “I don’t suppose any of those are designed to work on the dead.”

“Actually,” Nie Huaisang said. “Several are. Why do you ask?”

6

Jiang Cheng opened his eyes.

[philosophicalparadox]

Dark Headcannons for the Demon Bois, part 1: predatory and dietary habits that are horrifying

You know what, I'm in a hard place right now so I'm going to try to elevate my mood by writing horror HC's because I desperately need to unclutter my brain so here it goes:

Mephisto/Samael

Is a viper, and functions as one.

Is venomous, and has highly hematoxic and mildly neurotoxic venom that causes massive internal bleeding and a sense of drunkenness. Kills humans in about 15 minutes up to two hours, depending on metabolism and level of invenomation. He has limited control of the amount of venom produced since he has no hollow fangs and doesn't inject the venom directly. Kissing him can turn into a kiss of death very quickly if he wants it to or if you're careless.

He uses camoflauge. His entire wardrobe is a bizarre form of blending in by standing out. Predators usually try to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. He takes advantage of this assumption by being very noticeable, giving his human onlookers a false sense of security. No predator would willingly draw that much attention to themselves, right? Again it's like a hyena - let all the prey know you're there and let them think they're prepared, and then wait for one to drop their guard and attack them from behind.

Alternately, bait them with a lure. Sex is a go-to and tried and true method for this. I suspect he takes a certain pride in eating succubi. They are after all usually the ones to be doing the eating.

Also viperish are his self defense mechanisms, but thats a post for another day

He is designed to be a Human predator, fundamentally. Humans are a prey species that requires a certain amount of specialization, so not many demons actually eat them except opportunistically. Samael is not one of them. His physiology and psyche are designed to prey on humans and human-like things. That being said, humans alone aren't terribly high a energy food source, and for a big demon, that is a big problem. That combined with the Vatican means most of what he eats prey wise are other demons. And half demons.

Samael in mythology was known for eating children. I suspect that the reason Samael has no or very few Nephilim is because he kills and devours them all, in effect re-absorbing any of his transferred power. It is too dangerous to have more than one of himself after all.

Many of his self defense mechanisms are also viperish but thats a post for another day.

Unlike Amaimon, Samael can not eat or digest carrion. He can manage to choke down something a human would get sick from but only because he has a few centuries of antibodies at least.

Amaimon

Kinda already did this but Amaimon is basically a hyena and a komodo dragon combined. He will gladly eat bones and rotten corpses. Including perhaps Naberius and other kin of Rot.

When hunting, Amaimon is a truly terrifying persistence predator. He isn't "fast" in long chases but he is strong and has a lot of stamina. He also has the sense of smell to track for a long long ways.

Being reptilian, Amaimon has an enormous appetite but a slow metabolism. He can go days between meals and then binge on whatever is there.

Amaimon is not venomous - he hardly needs to be, preferring to crush and maim prey to slow it down - but he DOES have intensely caustic stomach acid, which he can regurgitate to severely burn attackers or well armoured prey alike.

Due to his diet of dead things and life in the soil, Amaimon is a carrier of some pretty nasty bacteria in both his mouth and his innards. His saliva and fecal matter are biohazards to most humans.

Lucifer

Lucifer is a quintessential omnivore, akin to a bear or a skunk. Fruit, root vegetables, greens, and opportunistic protein.

Due to his body being in a constant disarray and the status of his intestines being dubious at any given time, Lucifer prefers simple protein sources - fish, legumes, rabbit, chicken - because they're easier to digest.

Also due to his bodily issues, he is one of few among his siblings that really couldn't survive without cooked food. Especially meat. Anything that makes digestion harder is something he can, and has to, live without.

Lucifer does not lack predatory instincts, but he has to be in a real state of desperation to act on them impulsively. That said, he functions perfectly well on his own in a solitary survival situation and has no reason to be remorseful about what he has to kill for his food. Or how he has to kill it.

Which brings me to an interesting point - tool use. Lucifer is fascinated by mechanical things and likes to create and build and do things with his hands. As a result, if he does hunt for prey, in a situation demanding it, he does so with traps and tricks and weapons of his own making.

Egyn

Egyn is very shark like and as such is mostly a carnivore, eating a lot of fish and bivalves - but he also LOVES fatty meats like beef and pork.

He thinks humans taste disgusting and they're too bony anyway, but he will bite if he is scared.

Egyn prefers soft foods that smell good. His sense of smell is his strongest sense, so if doesnt have an appealing odor he won't touch it.

Also has a slow metabolism but is not really as gluttonous as Amaimon.

Iblis

A firecracker that, like Lucifer, prefers food cooked.

Also an omnivore that likes carbs and proteins. High metabolism demands them.

Is not nearly as picky as Egyn or Lucifer but absolutely and passionately hates mushrooms or any other earthy tasting or bitter food.

Astaroth

Has the slowest metabolism of them all and rarely ever needs to eat. When he does, he greatly prefers to either leech (parasitic) or scavenge.

Leeching is done by way of mycellial contact. He is a very, very sneaky and silent predator that consumes the energy of his victims slowly and steadily, often knocking them unconscious with spores, or failing that, poisoning them with toxic mycelium themselves.

Despite the above, Astaroth rarely ever kills his victims. If he does so it's by accident (anaphylaxis) and he makes sure to "use" as much of their body as he can.

Whoo hoo that is a long post. Sorry for the Wall O Text but these ideas (most of which can be found in Savages as well) need to be freed unto the world.

[hellomynameisbisexual]

“Faggot.” “Cocksucker.” “Femboy.” “Abomination.” Gay. The list of names I’ve been called since coming out as bisexual in June 2020 doesn’t stop there — nor did it stop when I went public with my sexual identity either.

From a young age, I knew I was different from my peers.

Maybe it was the way I walked. Or the way I talked. Or the way I dressed. I just knew I stood out to them like a sore thumb — or perhaps a rainbow of color in a sea of dull gray.

My differences became evident to me when other children at the preschool I attended in suburban San Diego, California, would forsake my company in favor of each other, already forming cliques and inciting drama at such an innocent age.

When my family and I moved to dreary Erie, Pennsylvania, I knew my struggles would only get worse.

Many of the children in my kindergarten class had already known each other for several years before I entered the picture.

They quickly noticed differences in my mannerisms, speech patterns, thoughts and ideas. I wasn’t like the other boys, but I wasn’t like the girls either. I was an outlier, a foreigner and a stranger considered dangerous and unwelcome.

Though I made friends the following few years — including some who would become lifelong companions — most of those primary friendships mirrored the kernels of a neglected ear of corn: delicious when ripe but quick to harden, rot and flake off.

By my fourth grade year, I was teased and bullied nearly daily for being too feminine, too weird, too annoying to fit into my school’s social circles.

When I told my teachers about my struggles, their solution was to attempt to masculinize me by placing me in groups of athletic boys in my class, boys I had nothing in common with and who certainly had nothing in common with me.

Even my grandparents — then and now my caretakers — noticed my un-boyish behavior and enrolled me in the local little league baseball team — whether to also attempt to instill in me a sense of masculinity and male toughness or to help me make new friends I knew not.

I would grudgingly participate in the sport for six, nigh on seven grueling years, never making a single lasting friend and crying almost weekly from the torment it caused me.

Needless to say, I felt like a floundering fish without fins in a sea of angry, hungry sharks during those years.

It wasn’t until the final year of my elementary education that I was introduced to the concepts of puberty, adolescence and sex.

I was told that very soon, I would start noticing the girls in my class and would begin to want to form meaningful relationships with them. Eventually, I would become sexually attracted to them and want to have children with them.

But in those coming years, though many girls would pique my interest, it wasn’t them who ignited the fire in my soul and made me feel the burning passion of desire — it was men.

I quickly realized it was this that set me apart from my male peers and resulted in me being shunned by the girls. I was a boy — soon to be a man — in every physical way, but I wasn’t attracted to or passionate about girls like the other boys in my class were. I was obsessed with men.

But I couldn’t possibly be gay, could I?

Growing up in a household of religious relatives, I was always taught that sex before marriage was a wicked abomination and that being anything but straight was a sin comparable to none.

I distinctly remember watching a news broadcast with my family around the time I was transitioning to my middle school years. The ABC World News clip showcased LGBT marriages being performed out west and contained affirming remarks from then-President Barack Obama on the matter.

“The Bible says marriage is between a man and a woman,” I remember my aunt saying in utter disgust at the television, murmurs of agreement echoing her around the room.

I resolved then to hide my feelings and my pubescent curiosity from my family at all costs, lest I be scolded, shunned or worse: abandoned.

During middle school, I relentlessly dug deep within myself and attempted to alter what I thought was but a simple mental barrier to social normality. All thoughts of being with men were forcibly suppressed in my mind before they could even become tangible, and each of my increasingly urgent bodily needs went ignored and unsatiated.

I even resorted to religion, the only weapon I thought strong enough to aid me in the war raging inside myself.

Day and night, I attempted to “pray the gay away,” but to little avail. Much to my chagrin, I realized that even divine intervention could not “help” me: My homosexuality seemed to be an immortal, malignant tumor infecting each and every one of my thoughts.

Thus, the preliminary years of my second decade of life became miserable and unfulfilling — I was engaged in a fierce battle with an integral aspect of my identity and was inadvertently shattering the chains that bound a beast capable of obliterating every fiber of my cognitive being — anxiety.

By my high school years, men — mean, nasty and indifferent but awe-inspiring, mystifying and oh-so-gorgeous men — had begun to control my deepest, darkest desires and fantasies. My lust had grown large enough to thwart even my most furious attempts at diminishing it.

As I slowly came to terms with the realization that nothing in the universe could “fix” me, my mental situation severely worsened. I fell into a dangerous downward spiral of self-doubt and woefulness.

My relationship with my grandparents quickly began to deteriorate, as did my relationships with my friends. Every day brought with it a new reason to hate my existence — the constant verbal altercations, the continued teasing and even bullying at school, the countless lonely nights spent sobbing quietly into my pillow.

And, to make matters worse, the true nature of my sexuality seemed to express itself in each of my social mannerisms. It wasn’t long before despicable rumors about me spread through the student body of my high school like wildfire.

My teachers noticed my strife, and some took the time to speak with me about a few of the different mental illnesses they suspected I had. But not even they could halt the hordes of horrifying thoughts racing through my head or the string of ruthless comments that would assault me in the hallways.

Soon, however, the light at the end of the long, grueling tunnel that was public education began to shine: I was graduating from high school and about to start fresh. Nothing could have contained my excitement at the prospect of escaping the largest source of my daily torment.

As I digested the freedom going to college offered, idealistic daydreams began to flood my mind — I could live how I wanted with whomever I wanted, and no one could judge me or tell me differently.

How wrong I was.

My first year as an undergraduate student at Penn State Behrend was a living hell.

Though the petty and immature teasing of high school was no longer an issue, standing up for my newfound political identity was, as well as dealing with my growing anxiety.

I was constantly engaged in polite yet heated political debates with those in my dorm. I felt like they were blatantly attempting to oppress me with their own beliefs and had grown to hate me for mine.

The same situation occurred with my grandparents, and we grew increasingly distant over the course of that year.

It didn’t help that I was still “in the closet,” so to speak, and contemplating methods of publicly revealing my true sexual identity. I hadn’t yet officially told anyone I was bisexual, and it remained my most closely guarded secret.

Needless to say, my social circumstances and the added stress of my adjustment to college academics and lifestyle allowed my mental state to reach an unprecedented low. I needed help.

That same year, I saw my family physician and then a psychiatrist, who prescribed me antidepressants in an attempt to lessen my now untameable anxiety. I took them with gusto and also began attending therapy sessions to teach me how to manage my thoughts and emotions.

For a small while, I felt better — I was actually happy in my skin and even happy with my bisexuality.

But then, even my long-awaited mental comfort abandoned me, and I slipped into the deepest, darkest pit of my life.

I became suicidal but never acted on that petrifying potentiality.

I didn’t trust myself to be alone, so I constantly sought the company of others, which only made me feel like a nuisance and waste of time, energy and space.

About a month later — in October 2018 — I got into an accident.

I was barrelling down the highway, escaping a particularly heated verbal altercation with my grandfather. It was raining that day, and the roads were slippery.

Going around a curve, I lost control of my vehicle and flew into a small ravine, flipping not once, not twice but three times in midair before landing upright — dazed, but alive.

Escaping relatively physically unscathed from the incident, with only a broken right clavicle, I was not mentally the same for weeks afterward.

I decided at that time I would come out and reveal my true sexuality at the soonest possible opportunity — I blamed my silence on every terrible situation that had occurred in my life up to that point. If I didn’t come out, I quite literally thought I would die.

Telling even my closest friends was difficult, but I managed, and the relief I felt was paramount to that of the titan Atlas in Greek mythology: I felt like the weight of the entire world — sky and all — had been lifted from my shoulders.

Fast forward to the present: I’m alive, well, out and proud. I’m no longer ashamed of my innate traits or of my thoughts.

Being a bisexual man has taught me many lessons, but foremost among them is that the people who can’t accept me for who and what I am don’t deserve to be in my life.

My anxiety made it difficult to let go of toxic relationships over the years — I learned that the primary source of my mental strife is a fear of abandonment by those I care about — but doing so opened the door to newer, healthier relationships that build me up and boost my confidence instead of chipping away at it.

I’ve since improved tremendously, and not even the onset of the coronavirus pandemic was able to pause my progress. Every day is a learning experience, and I’ve grown so much from the helpless boy I was mere months ago that if you showed me a map of my mentality from 2018, 2019 or even 2020, I wouldn’t recognize myself at all.

Revealing my bisexuality to the world didn’t solve all my issues — there were and still are other factors that contribute to my anxiety and mental health — but coming out was perhaps the most profound, life-altering moment in my 21 years. Nothing compares to the freedom I now enjoy, nor will any other experience compare to the relief I felt following my announcement.

[welllpthisishappening]

Drew Stars Around My Scars

Hello, hey, hi there. It’s raining, I’ve already lost track of the number of times I’ve listened to Taylor Swift’s new album and haven’t written anything in weeks. Until now! Thanks, Taylor Swift. And @optomisticgirl​​​ who reblogged this post a few days ago from @initiala​​​ about how Killian holding Emma in 3x22 isn’t just that he’s trying to comfort her, but he’s trying to make sure she didn’t disappear. 

Which, like...ok, cool. Anyway, I have thought about this for far too long now and started slamming on keys when the kittens weren’t sitting on my laptop and here’s like 4.1K that may or may not make sense, but at least includes some scathing opinions of Back to the Future. Also, thanks to @shireness-says​​​ for always being like...yeah, I want to read that. 

-----

She sniffles. 

She can’t seem to stop. 

Tears stream down Emma’s face without much thought because thinking too much is a daunting obstacle that she can’t even begin to consider yet. Or ever. Definitely ever. Another sniffle, this one actually making her cough somehow, which is a bodily reaction she was not aware she was capable of. 

Until right now. 

When everything seems to be falling apart around her. 

God, she hates time travel. And magic. And evil queens. And parents who can’t recognize her. She supposes she should give them a pass. For a variety of reasons, least of all the magic that’s cloaking both her and Kill—no, that’s not right. Hook. Captain Hook. He’s Captain Hook and she’s still not a princess, but the dancing was almost nice and he hadn’t even slowed down before he was drawing his sword and the jacket spin was something even her muddled thoughts have been able to cling to, so—

He’d held onto her while her mother burned. Tightly. Almost too much. 

Emma nearly trips over a tree root. 

“Shit,” she breathes, pressing the pads of her fingers into damp cheeks. Her dress is too long. Maybe she’ll mention that to Rumplestilskin later. 

Once they get home. 

Back to Storybrooke. Those are not interchangeable words. None of this is interchangeable. 

Even the trees around Emma look different than the ones she only vaguely remembers from her last jaunt through the Enchanted Forest, taller and a little more imposing, like they’re also aware that she’s one good sniffle away from falling off the metaphorical edge. 

Directly into a chasm without magic or parents and she didn’t even get to talk to Mary—

“Nope,” Emma says entirely to herself. So, it seems insanity is looming just a bit closer than she realized. “Not here.”

Or ever. There’s that phrase again. Two words, technically. 

Two words probably don’t constitute a phrase. 

What does she know, she didn’t graduate college. Or high school, technically. 

“Literally,” Emma mumbles, and it’s almost impressive how that one word still manages to sound as loud as it does. As if it’s bouncing off the sides of those same tall and decidedly imposing trees. “Literally didn't graduate high school.”

Something snaps behind her. 

There are far too many twigs on this forest floor. 

Spinning on the balls of her feet, Emma’s hands fly up, only one of her wrists cracking in the process, and it’s difficult to make out the face moving towards her, but the set of his shoulders is exactly the same as always and that cannot possibly have any deeper meaning. 

“Swan?” “God, fuck what are you—” Emma is out of breath. That’s absurd. And a rather unfair commentary on her lungs ability to function. She’s had something of a day, after all. Running a hand over her face, she does her best to retain her higher brain functions, but that’s admittedly difficult when there’s moonlight gleaming from the point of Killian’s sword. 

Captain Hook. 

Captain. Hook. 

Maybe the state of her lungs is partially his fault. He really held on very tightly. 

“What are you doing out here?” Emma manages to get out, once she’s taken another pitiful breath. She hopes her lips don’t start to chap. There’s probably not an easy remedy for that in the goddamn Enchanted Forest. 

Hook gapes at her. 

She grits her teeth. And regrets the state of her knees. They keep wobbling under her, traitors to her emotional cause and the state of several body parts aside from her obviously failing lungs. Whatever’s happening in the general vicinity of her heart seems unstable. 

Erratic, even. 

“Making sure you’re alright,” Hook says like it’s obvious, and it almost is. Almost. What another piece of garbage word. “You’ve been—” Shaking his head once, the ends of his hair don’t move as much as normal, and Emma flinches when he sheaths his sword. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, that’s all.” Emma is going to lie. She is. Has every intention of letting the word fine pass through her lips, but those lips open without any sound coming out at all and Hook’s eyebrows jump. 

“Thank you.” “Excuse me?” “Thank you,” Emma repeats, finally giving into the urge of her knees and, if nothing else, the length of this dress makes it easier to sit on one of these overly large tree roots. Hook’s eyebrows don’t move. “Should have, uh—should have mentioned that before, probably.” “Thanking me?” “What part of this is confusing for you?” “Quite a bit, in fact,” he admits, and he doesn’t sit, but he also doesn’t look away from her and Emma is pleasantly surprised to find she almost sort of likes it. Almost. Again. 

Letting out a breath that she wishes sounded more like a laugh than it does, Emma’s tongue darts out. “Shit, that..well, that sucks, doesn’t it?” His eyes widen. “That’s not a euphemism,” Emma adds. “Just out of place slang.” “You might have to be more specific, love.”

“That’s fair. I—ok, stuff sucking is...well, it just means that stuff is...not great. Like right now, you know...things are—” She shrugs. And tries to smile. It fails spectacularly. 

Emma sniffles again. 

“Not great?” Hook ventures, and he has to readjust his sword to sit next to her. 

“Less than ideal.”

“You’ve been gone for nearly half an hour. I was worried something had happened.” “Hence the sword.” “Never want to be too careful. And you’re—” “—At least capable of still punching people,” Emma argues, not sure why she’s doing that exactly, but it feels like a matter of pride at this point. She exhales loudly. “But, uh...it’s nice that you came out here. I’m sorry that you had to do that too.” They both hear the words for what they aren’t — vast and a little overwhelming, and time travel is so overrated. Emma can’t believe what a popular fictional trope it is. Snow White was never supposed to die. The ends of Hook’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t actually smile, and that’s actually nice and maybe that’s her biggest issue. 

Everything about him has been so goddamn nice. 

He was much better at dancing than she expected him to be. 

And he keeps following her. She doesn’t mind that. 

Might even—

No. Not now. Not yet. Or ever. Again. God. 

“It’s not a problem, love.”

Emma swallows. Nods. Tries not to fall over that ledge. “I just...needed some time to think, I guess. Is that dramatic?” “No. And suggesting it sucks does have a certain charm to it.” “And you know all about charming, don’t you?” His left eyebrow arches. Some things never change, she supposes. Emma focuses on that. And not how she’s fairly certain she can feel waves of heat rolling off him, even with the few inches between them. Possibly a foot. She’s not great at estimating measurements. 

Or much else, it seems. 

That’s a far too depressing thought, though. 

“I believe I’ll leave that particular moniker to others in the party,” Hook says softly, sitting down. “Would you like to talk about it?” “Which part?” “Dealer’s choice.” “That one crossed realms, huh?”

“Some sayings know no bounds,” Hook smirks, and whatever sound Emma makes at that is even closer to a laugh than the last one. She takes that as a positive. “None of this is your fault.” “Practice that a few more times and it might sound more legitimate.” “Swan, that’s—” “—No, no, no,” Emma objects, not standing up, but she shakes her head quickly enough that strands of hair slap at either one of her cheeks. A few of them stick there. Probably because of the tears she can’t seem to stop. “All of this is my fault. I—I should have waited for help with the portal and everything I’ve done here has only made it worse and—” Another sigh, dragging her hand over her cheek. “—Fuck Marty McFly. And Doc Brown. It was so weird that they were friends, why didn’t anyone ever explain that?” “Did they not?” “No, not once. We were just supposed to accept that Marty met some senior citizen inventor guy who was more than willing to steal dangerous chemicals—” “—And he wasn’t a wizard?” “No, he wasn’t a wizard. No magic in the real world.” Or me, Emma thinks bitterly, but that’s not going to help the situation anymore than her current rambling, and she can’t seem to stop rambling. “But Marty and Doc hung out all the time. And Jennifer didn’t even think it was weird.” “Who is Jennifer, exactly?” “Marty’s girlfriend, I guess, but it always seemed like they were just starting to date at the beginning of the movie and then they got married. Just like that. You think they went to the same college or something? Like once Marty left—shit I can’t remember the name of the town.” Hook hums, a sound Emma can’t actually cling to any more than she can hold the one positive thing that has happened to her in the last twenty-four hours in her hands. It is not lost on her that both of them have to do with the man sitting next to her. 

Or how quickly his fingers keep fluttering over the hilt of his sword. 

“How far do you think we are from Aurora and Philip’s...land?” Emma asks. “Is that the right way to say that? Did they have a land?” “I believe the word you’re looking for is kingdom.” “Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Should have known that.” “That’s not your fault either.” “You’re really harping.” “Playing a symphony, it seems.” She laughs. She does. It’s not that loud, and there’s a distinctly watery edge to it, the muscles in Emma’s face aching when she manages to smile, but she’s having a difficult time coming to terms with the dexterity of Killian’s eyebrows and her hand moves before she thinks about it. 

The metal is cool under her skin, a smooth surface that she can drag her thumb across. Which is exactly what she does, an attempt to ground herself and remind her that she’s still here when she isn’t entirely positive she’s supposed to be. 

Hook doesn’t move. Might not breathe, if the state state of his shoulders is any indication and Emma hadn’t realized she was in possession of so many opinions regarding Captain Hook’s shoulders. Or her ability to recognize them. 

No matter what, it seems. 

“While it may appear that I know everything—” “—Ok, I never said that.” Hook’s smirk grows more pronounced. “I was in Neverland for quite some time, and the boundaries of some of the Enchanted Forest kingdoms changed in the last hundred or so years. But,” he adds when Emma opens her mouth again, “we’re more than a stone’s throw from the land Aurora should be ruling. At least several days' travel.” “God, that’s confusing. And did all these kingdoms have separate laws and everything? Who came up with that? Seems like a garbage way to rule.” “I believe you’d have to file a complaint with several different monarchies for that, love.”

Emma scoffs. “It’s quieter here than it was in Neverland, though.” “Most places are.” “Colder too. I hate the cold. I’m always—can’t ever seem to get warm and my toes are always freezing, it’s...I’m a notorious blanket thief.” “Pirate of sorts, huh?” He grins as he says it and part of Emma wants to scream. Stand up and run, as fast as her feet and far-too-long hem allow. But that part is also smaller than usual, and she’s all too aware of the state her knees are in. “Something like that,” Emma agrees. “When I was a kid I used to live in this place. Snowed for months at a time and I—I hated it. Wanted to be anywhere else. Kept trying to find somewhere that was warm, sunny. Like that would chase away the shadows.” Hook is disarmingly quiet. 

And Emma can’t shut up. 

“But then I got some place where it never snows and it wasn’t what I thought it’d be. Dry heat, you know?” He shakes his head. That’s fair. Pirates with several-hundred years of experience under their belts should not be expected to understand meteorological cliches. 

“Anyway,” Emma mumbles, “it wasn’t what I expected or thought was supposed to happen and—” She scrunches her nose. Hook waits. Presumably for the rest of the sentence, but it doesn’t come and she finds it difficult to breathe again when he starts talking.

“Sunlight always seemed better on the sea. Would reflect off the surf. Could see the entire horizon if you wanted to.” “And did you?” Hook nods. “As often as I could. Even when I was lad. My father used to bring my brother and I—” This might be their best and least organized conversation. Gritting his teeth, his shoulders shift when he inhales sharply. “These stars are different from Neverland’s.” “Really? Weird.” “Mmhm, made navigating something of a challenge.”

“But you’re here now, right?” “Presently, you mean?” Another head shake. More moving hair and unmoving fingers. Emma’s knuckles are white around the hook, holding it like a lifeline and she might have to spend the rest of her life thanking him for this. 

It’s not as daunting a prospect as it should be. 

“I mean past you is here,” Emma says, “in the Enchanted Forest. Doing pirate type things and offering Mary—” Her tongue gets in the way. As disgusting a thought as that is, Emma knows it’s better than thinking about what is actually happening, feeling as if her throat is collapsing in on itself while her heart does its best to beat its way out of her chest. “Shit.” Killian shuffles closer, not stopping until his knee bumps hers. “That happened from time to time. Leaving Neverland, doing jobs for—” “—Pan?” “Sometimes. He couldn't leave the island, you see. Not without losing the magic as well. Jolly’s crew was his only option. Although we always managed to stay here longer than he wanted us to.” “Well, pirates hate rules, don’t they?” “I believe that’s in the bylaws, aye.” She’s got absolutely no idea what sound that one is. Shaky and a little wobbly and some dark, half-forgotten part of Emma’s brain believes it’s drifting close to giggle territory. That can’t be right. She can’t giggle while she’s still crying. 

The bylaws of the Universe probably frown on that. 

“Is that how you wound up with Cora, then? Stuck around longer and got a good deal?” Nothing. 

No answer. No jokes. Certainly nothing even remotely resembling a giggle. 

Just the muscle in Hook’s temple, jumping rhythmically and consistently and Emma really does try to stay patient. Her sniffling makes that difficult. 

“Something like that,” Killian repeats evasively, staring straight ahead like he can see through the trees. Maybe he can. What does Emma know. Some pirates probably have to have good eyesight. Make up for the eye patches and whatnot. 

She nods. No one asked a question. “Ok.” “Ok?” “Ok,” Emma echoes, “you’re a real shit liar and I’m real great at telling when you’re lying, but—” “—Me specifically?” Yes. The answer is yes, but she doesn’t give voice to that either and maybe she should be writing all these things down. The things she’s not saying. 

Should say. 

Emma can’t believe she time traveled and didn’t even get to talk to her mother. 

And that’s the first time she’s really allowed herself to think of Snow White as her mother. 

“Super power,” Emma continues, waving her free hand towards her temple. Her other one is still clinging to his hook. “But that’s fine. You didn’t pry, so I won’t pry, I just—” Collapsing throats, she imagines, are supposed to hurt more than this does. This doesn’t hurt, per se, just feels passably uncomfortable, like there’s a wad of cotton in her mouth, making it difficult to say anything and Emma is so bad at saying anything, but Killian is staring at her and—

Killian. 

She lets herself call him Killian. In her head, at least .

“I can’t come up with anything else to say except thank you,” Emma whispers. 

“You don’t have to.” “Still.” “You’re welcome,” Killian says, and maybe words carry more weight in the past. By default. 

“Can I ask you something, though?” He tenses. Noticeably. It’s another round of fair and understandable, Emma’s teeth finding her lower lip until she tastes blood. Another reminder that she’s still here. With her fingers wrapped around Captain Hook’s—

No, that’s not right. Captain Hook did not follow her into a time vortex. Or ask her to dance. Or wear the fuck out of that jacket. Although that last one could use a bit more work, at least when it comes to sentence structure. 

The point still stands. 

Captain Hook didn’t do any of that. Killian Jones did. 

And he—

“When we were watching everything in the castle and Regina was you know…” Killian lips go thin. Emma might be staring at his lips. Past him had been a very good kisser as well. Maybe she’ll mention that at some point. After this. “Well, I just,” she stammers, “I was terrified, for my mom and my dad and even Ruby—God, is that her name here?” “Introduced herself as Red when Snow White sent her.” “Weird.” “Perhaps the best word for the entire situation.” “Or shitty.” “Aye that too,” he smiles, which is not weird. At least not as weird as it should be. “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.” “Yeah, me neither,” Emma breathes, not exactly the explicit truth, but at least several steps without moving. “I—you have very strong arms.” “A compliment?” “An observation.” Killian chuckles, and this hair really is unfortunate. Normally, that one bit that Emma has come to regard as her own personal torture device would artfully fall across his forehead, a metaphorical arrow towards eyes that always seem to get brighter when they’re looking at her.

As they often are. 

But while the hair is different, the distracting tendencies of his tongue are the same. The tip of it finds the corner of his mouth, a soft push on the inside of his cheek, and Emma’s not keeping a list — at least not acknowledging her want of a list — but the tongue thing is definitely one of Killian’s most telling tells. 

Seriously, her sentence structure sucks. 

“Although,” Emma adds, “it wasn’t that bad.” HIs tongue goes back in his mouth. She’s got to stop thinking about his tongue.

“No?” “No,” she says. “It was...nice.” So, off the top of her head, she needs to fix — sentences, her grasp of the English language, her tendency to repeat herself, and finding better adjectives for emotionally charged moments. 

Possibly. 

Emma still hasn’t called him Killian to his face, after all. 

“What did you think was going to happen?” No tongue, but an obviously tight jaw makes Emma’s stomach jump into her still-collapsed throat. “Like I said, love. I wasn’t sure. Just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” The lie feels like it reaches out, smacks her across the face and then backhands her for good measure. It leaves Emma’s cheeks tingling and something tugs at the base of her spine. Not magic, because she still doesn’t have magic, but maybe magic adjacent, like a memory or hints of a dream that keep lingering at the edges of everything, and she promised. 

She doesn’t push. She doesn’t prod. 

She doesn’t pry. 

And Killian has to move his sword again when he gets back to his feet. “We’ve got a fire going, if you’d like to warm up.” “Yeah, ok. Thanks.” Emma doesn’t let go of the hook, keeps her fingers curled around it as they move back through the trees and neither one of them stumble, a very small, but much needed victory because—

Well, everything kind of continues to suck. 

At least for a little while. 

Snow White isn’t dead, but she’s a bug, and then she’s not a bug and Emma has no idea where Ruby goes. She’s too busy worried about this nameless woman and wielding a branch gets her another laugh and a smile she’s going to think about for at least seventy-two hours straight. Then there are trolls, and tears of the less-pained variety. Rumplestilskin continues to be any forest’s biggest asshole, and there’s magic and another round of crying and—

Emma runs. 

Sprinting across Storybrooke, she ignores the ringing phone in her pocket, determined to hug her parents and hold her kid with her own display of impressive upper body strength. 

And it gets better, less suck-like, at least. Food and smiles and the way her mother’s hand feels when it rests on top of Emma’s. 

Until she’s sitting — tucked into the corner of a booth with her own face staring at her from the pages of Henry’s storybook and Emma can’t quite recognize the person there. The happiness on her face feels like...well, a story. A good one, but something that she can’t believe was hers or is hers or could be hers and she’s got to add tenses to that list she only kind of remembers. 

Glancing around, the muscles in her neck object to the stress she’s putting them under, because time travel is awful and exhaustion is starting to creep its way up her spine. 

“Looking for someone?” her mother asks, and Emma’s lips pop. 

That’s it. 

She understands. Fucking goddamn finally. 

Emma might nod. Or shake her head. It doesn’t really matter. 

There are no words. No explanations. Just clamoring back to her feet, the bottoms of her boots sticking to the linoleum near the door because one of the dwarves definitely spilled punch at some point and—

His head snaps up as soon as the door closes behind her. 

“So, do you think Rumplestilskin is right?” Emma asks, dropping into one of the wrought-iron chairs at the table Killian has commandeered. Pirate term. “I’m in the book now. He said everything, besides our little adventure, would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?”

“He’s right. Otherwise I’d remember that damned bar wench I kissed.” She smiles. Wide and honest and easier than anything has ever been. And Killian doesn’t flinch when she teases him, like that’s something Emma is allowed to do, but she figures once she uses his name and once they start making out like teenagers it’s fine, and this is her favorite kiss. 

By far. 

No sounds, no rum, nothing except the feel of his fingers in her hair and her knees bumping against his and she tries to claw her way into his space, a burst of colors behind her closed eyes that she knows is magic and him and them, a collective unit that—

“You came out here,” Killian murmurs, the words barely making their way through the haze of Emma’s post-makeout brain. 

She bumps her nose against his. “Turnabout and all that. I...I didn’t want you to be by yourself. And I had a thought.” “Which was?” “Did you think I was going to disappear? When Regina tried to kill my mom. I—you said you didn’t know what would happen, but that wasn’t—” “—Super power, huh?” “Not cool to interrupt when I’m theorizing.” “Well, you don’t like being cool, do you, Swan?” Her smile is going to get stuck on her face. That’s...nice. “Was that what it was?” “The thought had crossed my mind, aye.” “Smart guy.” “High praise.” “I’m an official princess now. In the book and everything, so favors from me hold a certain weight, don’t you think?” He smirks. She tries to memorize it. Every shift of his mouth, the spark in his eye and slight scrunch of his nose, what might be a few freckles there or a trick of the dim lights above them. 

Emma’s skin feels like it’s vibrating. 

“Thank you.” “You don’t have to keep saying that, Swan.” “Yeah, I know, but—I didn’t think about disappearing, but I did think about wanting something to hold onto and that’s...thank you.”

It’s not enough. Not really, but even the concept of holding her tight enough to ensure that she didn’t disappear in some fairy tale realm is a lot for Emma to wrap her mind around, so she’s going to give herself a pass on this one. 

And kiss him instead. Kissing Killian is quickly climbing to the top of a brand-new list of Emma’s favorite things. In every known realm. His tongue swipes her lips and she opens her mouth at the same time her eyes fall shut again, a tilt of her head and bump of their chins, and it’s not easy to deal with all of their assorted limbs at this angle, but that just ensures that this is a bit slower and softer and something that is, quite obviously, the start. 

Because she came after him this time. 

[regrettablewritings]

Modern!Jaskier x Reader Ship Meme

Prompts taken from this ship meme

Which one texts like a straight white boy?: Of course it would have to be our resident white boy. It isn’t even that he necessarily means to, there’s just an embarrassing amount of overlap between the messages a straight white boy tends to text, and those of your rising star boyfriend. You’d look more into it if it weren’t for the fact that you know there’s no actual malice in it, and because it’s just so sad that it’s funny. If one were to go into the photos saved on your phone, they would’ve surely come upon an entire album of screenshots you’d taken over the years, from when Jaskier would be on tour without you to when he’d just be resting at home while you were out at work. Things like: “Wat r u up to 2nit, cutie? ;)” “I’m probably just gonna play whatever’s on my Watch Later backlog on youtube until I conk out.” “Wild!!! anyway wat would u do if i was there rn~?” Or “Do u miss me? :(” “Of course I do ya dingus!” “Ok....Can we do a quickie over videochat?” “Jas i’m at the store.” “The point still stands.” Or “Watcha thinkin bout? ;)” “About how The Great Gatsby becoming public domain means there’s nothing stopping anyone from making a drag show interpretation called The Gay Dragsby.” “Aaww w/o me? ;)” “...” “WAIT NO I THOUGT YOU’D SAY YOU WERE THINKING ABOUT ME SHIT NO.” “BUT ACTUALLY DO GO ON IM KINDA INTERESTD.” If it were anybody else, you would’ve blocked them. But this wasn’t anybody else. It was your Jaskier: Your foolhardy, constantly horny, but never-short-of-loving Jaskier. And besides, not for nothing, at least they were something you could get a laugh out of.

Which one cried during a fucking Disney movie?: Once again, Jaskier is the guilty party. It’s no secret that he’s the more emotional of the two of you -- he wore his investment in Titanic with pride, after all. But it is a secret that the particular Disney movie to make him cry was Hercules of all things! Not Bambi, not The Lion King, not even Beauty and the Beast, but goddamn Hercules! (On another note, he also cried to Coco. But that barely counts: Literally everyone and their mother has cried during Coco. The only difference here was that Jaskier could relate to being a young man so in love with music while coming from a family that discouraged the pursuit of it.) This isn’t a knock on anyone who enjoys the movie, mind you, but let’s be honest: Out of the Disney animated canon, Hercules isn’t exactly the most . . . emotionally cathartic or heart-string-plucking of the bunch. But just because it didn’t go out of its way to create a crying frenzy doesn’t mean that it’s lacking in some humanity. It is, after all, still a Disney film. The problem is, Jaskier can’t even quite express why it made him cry the night you both decided to watch it. Maybe it had something to do with a young man most people took as a joke trying to achieve greatness? And to be fair, “Go the Distance (Reprise)” and “A Star is Born” differently when you’ve done some growing . . .

Who put a goddamned fork in the microwave?: It only happened once, but you’d never let him live it down. You like to joke that you’d left him to his own devices for just fifteen minutes so that you could take a shower -- of which was completely true -- and that was all he needed for things to go downhill. Nobody wants to think they’d be in the wrong for trusting a 20-something year-old to not be his usually somewhat distractable self. But that particular day, said 20-something year-old decided to occupy that little spot of time to himself with TV and a plate of leftovers. And normally this would’ve been fine and dandy. But normally, Jaskier would’ve just waited for the food to heat before searching for something to watch. It shouldn’t have been too big of an issue that it went the other way around that day, but apparently it was. As much as he wanted to (which honestly wasn’t by much), Jaskier just couldn’t tear his eyes away from the images flashing on the TV. The baby blues were set on the screen the entire while -- up until he heard a faint popping. Followed by a sound he normally only heard in a cheesy sci-fi movie. The problem was, he wasn’t watching anything even remotely science-fiction-y . . . All you were doing when you exited the bathroom was going to grab your lotion. That was literally all you had any expectations for. What you hadn’t expected to come upon was your boyfriend, hollering and diving over the sofa in order to scramble into the kitchen and stop that strange, not-good-sounding sound. Suffice to say, you had to put your shower on hold; it simply had to wait for you to finish fussing, then again for you to finish laughing your ass off. And again because if you entered the shower still laughing, you’d probably slip and break your head open and then Jaskier would have to deal with another possible emergency caused by himself.

Who does the silly hands-over-the-eyes “Guess who?” thing?: You can both be guilty of it, but Jaskier without a doubt does it more. Sometimes he’ll emerge from “his cave” (aka the little nook in the apartment where he likes to mess around and write lyrics or arrangements) on a break and catch an unsuspecting you sitting on the couch or at the dinner table. Other times, it could just be when he comes back from running some errands or doing a quick interview at the local radio station. You don’t mind it much . . . Especially since you can get a rise out of him by purposefully guessing the wrong person. (“Hmmm . . . Could it be . . . my mail-order husband? Boy, that was quick. And all the way from Russia, too . . .” “Uh, no.” “The milkman, finally accepting my invitation to commence a torrid love affair?” “Okay, you know damn well -- ” “Or better yet: My hopes and dreams have manifested, oh, Waluigi, could it really and truly be you!?” “What in the absolute fuck --”)

Who puts their cold hands/feet on their partner?: Because it’s usually himself who presents as being the more mischievous of the two, and because he tends to run the warmest, it always shocks Jaskier when you decide to play dirty and put your cold limbs all over him. Is it childish? Yes. But are his reactions to the sudden feeling of icy flesh hilarious? Also yes. You love to creep up on him when he’s tuning his guitar or scribbling down lyrics, or just minding his own damn business by trying to actually turn in relatively early for once. You love even more to watch him jolt and release the most high-pitched yip a man of his build could ever even joke about making. You’ll still be laughing about it as he scowls at you, cursing your “ghoul hands” and demanding to know if he’s dating a corpse at this point. Of course, no matter how peeved he might be, you can always count on one other thing from his dramatic reactions: Him huffily grabbing your hands into his own and rubbing them warm, or him forcing a park of fuzzy socks on your feet. And just for extra measure, you can be sure that he’ll spend the rest of the night holding you close or cuddling you -- “For exchanging bodily heat purposes,” he will always reason.

Who had that embarrassing reality TV marathon?: You both are guilty of it, actually. The question should really be, who is the least shameful about it. As with most things regarding a lack of shame, it was, of course, our dear Jaskier. Being a musician with a growing following, the little attention whore just can’t miss out on an opportunity to show himself off to his awaiting public. A rising star with relatability and a taste for trash? People eat that shit up! So you’ve learned to be less surprised every time he decides to liveblog himself watching things like Love Island or any of the 90-Day Fiancee spin-offs. In fact, in more recent times, you’ve come to join in with him, adding your own corresponding Tweets and commentary. Though don’t be too shocked once he starts holding polls and letting the public decide what show the two of you should watch next.

Who laughs more during sex?: You do, completely through Jaskier’s own efforts. Jaskier’s always had a pretty lax view of sex. This didn’t change when he met you, of course, but how he specifically portrayed that laxness did undergo some metamorphosis. Before, the entertainer was much more intent on his bedroom experiences being a display of power and an ability to please. Something dramatic and to be taken seriously. He still sees the importance of satisfaction in the bedroom, mind you, but with you, he can’t help but feel more . . . comfortable. With you, it’s a little more okay if he accidentally makes a dumb noise that in no way can be salvaged as sexy. With you, it’s a little more okay if he struggles to get his or your pants off, or if he struggles with removing your bra. And with you, he’s come to find that he’s a lot more okay with sharing a giggle or being a little more loose about things. It’s fine if your fingers tickle him or if he struggles to think of something proper dirty. But it’s even more fine if you think something he says or does makes you laugh, but not in a way that discredits his efforts. When you laugh, it shows that you’re comfortable with him. Comfortable enough to be with him, and be truly vulnerable. So do forgive him if he can’t help but run his fingers up your sides in a tickling fashion, or sloppily string together an innuendo. He simply loves how golden your laughter sounds, even in the throes of passion, intermingled with sweet whimpers and pleas of his name. How the heave of your chest and rippling of your tummy bumpily sync in with the rhythm of his thrusts . . . He just wants to see your smile, your genuine mirth, and bask in it with you. Besides, it serves as excellent song inspiration for him . . .

Who is the little spoon?: It depends on the sway of the day, really. As a whole, you both take turns without much thought simply because you tend to just fall into your positions. Some days, you just happen to lay into him in a way that makes you the little spoon. Other days, he conks out next to you in a manner that most could consider would make you the big spoon (or jet pack). Neither side really fights how it plays out unless one or the other may feel small and vulnerable, or just plain tired and in need of comfort. You often find yourself playing the role of the more dominating position during those first few days after Jaskier returning home from either a quick tour, or after finishing a long week of hours upon hours in the studio, or whatever kind of press-related nonsense his management team told him he needed to do. For as much as your boyfriend loved the spotlight, the truth was he was still quite capable of burning out and needing time to himself. Or, at the very least, just time with you. Even if that means he’s asleep for most of it, with you clinging to his back as he drifts off into a much-needed sleep. He makes sure to return it tenfold when you need just the same. Sure, your occupation may not be of the same nature as his own, but that didn’t mean you were in any less need of his cuddling. In fact, with him being gone as often as he was, Jaskier couldn’t help but feel almost guilty for not always being able to provide you with the basic comforts of being a constantly present boyfriend. Hence why the moment he would see your fatigued body crossing the threshold of your apartment, he would be all over you, ushering you into a quick shower, followed by a quick and simple dinner or snack, and capped off with him cuddling about you from behind. It didn’t matter if you’d come home right in the middle of a writing frenzy, or even if he’d been in the middle of searching for a breakthrough with an arrangement -- for as vain and bullheaded as Jaskier could be, he knew he owed you at least this much. You already put up with so much of his nonsense; this was quite literally the least he could do, both for you and for himself. Besides, he who was he to fight against the feeling of you wiggling closer into his hold, to deny himself the sound of your soft breathing as you lay yourself vulnerable to him? The fact of the matter is that he simply isn’t. He couldn’t be. Maybe in the beginning when things were still so unsteady and uncertain, but never now, when things had become so . . . well, what he could only describe as being “the both of you”. The both of you, molded and entwined, never wanting to let go. Never planning on it, either.

[rpmemesbyarat]

RP meme from Scream Queens Ep 1 "Pilot" & Ep 2 "Hell Week"(Note: Offensive content, use at own discretion)

Something really bad happened.

Did you just get your period all over yourself?

This isn't my blood.

Who told you you could have a baby here tonight?

I'm sure I can walk if I can just get some Gatorade.

I don't care if you can walk.

How are we supposed to get you to the front door without everyone seeing you all gross and postpartum?

No one wants to see that at a party.

This is super embarrassing.

I didn't even know I was pregnant.

You guys, they're playing "Waterfalls."

Is that a baby? Amazing.

I am not missing "Waterfalls" for this. "Waterfalls" is my jam.

Give the baby some mojito to quiet it down.

How do you know she's dead?

These are my minions. I don't know their names. I don't want to know their names.

I have a colonic at 10

Life is a class system.

Oh, still a lot of puke to scrub.

Yeah, you have an amazing skill at telling people what they need to hear.

I'm sorry. Did I ask you to pull down my panties and blow a compliment up my butt?

I hate sororities, and I hate you.

First of all, I'm not a lesbian.

You see, out in the real world, people just don't talk that way to other people. It's not normal.

Well, that sure sounds suspicious.

No one forced that goat to get as drunk as it got.

Historically, short people are sneaky backstabbers, like Napoleon or Paul Shaffer.

I could actually handle that you're built like a Thai ladyboy, but what I can't stand is that you think you're my heir apparent.

Don't you want me to spray-tan you?

I would honestly rather not have you around.

The police still can't figure out who filled that tank with hydrochloric acid.

It's good enough for me, and the D.A., who, last I heard, considers the case closed.

What is that skirt?

Your organization might want to find a lawyer.

I'm a pretty smart cookie.

I would not get personal with me, sweetheart.

I don't fight fair.

I am sentimental.

Look, girls are vicious, okay?

I don't have any of my own memories.

Just like we planned. Three-second silent hug, and then you leave.

Ooh, somebody call CSI, because there was a murder scene in that bathroom.

Someone puked in the sink and I'm pretty sure I saw an actual ringworm climbing up the wall. I'm not afraid of anything, but that bathroom scared the crap out of me.

This is gonna be a year of infinite possibilities.

Hold this. It's too heavy.

You didn't knock!

Look at them. They're the dregs of society.

Each one of these gashes is worse than the next.

She smells like hot dog water, and probably sprained her neck giving blumpkins down at the local bowling alley.

Look, I'm not saying that all heterosexual sex is rape. I'm saying all heterosexual sex is gross, and that deep down, every woman knows this.

All that girl's after is a whole lot of bikini burger.

Hey, girl, can I just ask you, what's up with your outfit?

God knows what they're talking about, basic bitches.

What fresh hell is this?

I need you to stay popular, 'cause if you want to stay at the top of the list of the pieces of ass I'm getting, there's criteria. And the criteria is you got to be popular.

Okay, I'm gonna stop you right there, because I'm getting really pissed off.

Stop fake crying.

Anyone you dated would be popular. I mean, they would be popular because they're dating you.

My ego, it's super strong, ok, but it's not strong enough that I can just go around dating garbage people.

Like, yes, I could find a random girl who wasn't popular, and, yes, if I started dating her she would then become popular.

But you said you loved me.

I do sort of love you.

I would love you a lot more if other people loved you, too.

Okay, I need you to leave because you're bumming me out

We're just trying to have a nice day hitting golf balls at hippies.

Pretty girls, like you and me.

That's why I'm gonna burn your face off.

Ugh! You burned the milk!

Next time, I get you fired, or worse.

Actually, I just want a regular coffee. Those white girl pumpkin spice lattes annoy me.

I like to think of myself, uh, as an investigative reporter.

I had to get a restraining order.

I tend to get a bit passionate about things.

Look, you intentionally led me on.

You kept acting like you liked me just so you could humiliate me.

Enter, ye who dare.

I love a creepy collage.

It's about kicking the living crap out of someone when they disrespect you.

I was just in your room, where I noticed you have a sizeable shrine with evil burning candles, photos of me with my face scratched out and pairs of my stolen panties.

How about I just drown you in it?

Well, of course she's dead! You just burned her face off!

You don't die from getting your face burned off.

There's a dead woman in your kitchen.

I'm going to the authorities.

That's not how I saw it. And my witnesses agree.

You're an awful person.

Who wants cocktails?

How did my life turn into this?

Have you seen the way girls dress on this campus?

I'm sitting in the same office I used to throw bricks into.

You're awful in bed. Are you aware?

I'm gonna take a pair of your panties.

I'm gonna barf on your face unless you get out of here.

Try to figure out who gave you such disgusting mommy issues.

You loaded a dead body into a freezer.

What are you proposing?

I want to help you with your exposé, secretly feed you info.

You need eyes on the inside.

I don't know what to do with the body.

Are you saying dead bodies don't turn you on?

You are so lame, you know that?

God, I love all that death stuff.

Show me the body.

Show me the dead body.

This blood oath will ensure solidarity among us. We are all related now.

I just Googled "blood oath" and this is what came up.

What does this oath even mean?

I just need you all to not say anything about what happened, and I figured a blood oath was cheaper than buying you all presents.

Wait, what about STDs?

Idiot, you don't get STDs from blood oaths.

You get STDs from dirty toilet seats and drinking the water in Mexico.

Um, "STD" stands for "sexually transmitted disease," which means that it's transmitted sexually.

When were you in Mexico?

You know what, forget the blood oath.

I can't stay silent!

I'm calling my mom, and I'm going home.

Okay, Pissy Spacek, you and I have a few differences we need to iron out.

I want you to be one of my minions.

It's the gateway to the top of the heap.

You put on a good front, but you're miserable.

Don't you think any of that has anything to do with the fact that you've created an atmosphere based solely on negativity and raw ambition?

Can we talk for real for a second, please?

I mean, you're so confident without being mean. What antidepressants are you on?

Don't you see that all that's happened isn't a crisis? It's an opportunity.

Yeah, no, I tried. See, I really tried. But all of this flowery, peace-on-Earth crap, it makes me want to puke.

You haven't even seen half of what I'm capable of!

Totally spit in your coffee, bitch.

I don't mean to be a contrarian, but I'm enjoying this.

Is that killer noises or am I hallucinating?

I'm gonna ask one more time, will you speak up?

What can you tell us about the murder?

There's an exodus right now.

The risks are real, but we need to close ranks.

I don't feel comfortable with a man protecting me. It's representative of the patriarchal, post-colonial culture that encourages violence against women.

We buy a pig and feed it the body. Pigs will eat anything.

Don't go skating on those poop lagoons, because if you fall in, you'll drown in the poop and come springtime, there'll be nothing left of your body.

Here's what you should do. Pulverize her teeth, burn off her fingerprints, and disfigure her face. Once her body is unrecognizable, we can create an incision on her inner thigh and drain out all of her bodily fluids. That'll give us more time to deconstruct the body.

Truly grinding down a body takes a lot of work. You need a really good food processor, and you run the risk of fouling the plumbing, which is why you should only do it if you know how to clear out meat and bones from a drain pipe.

I'm willing to help in any way possible.

You're obviously a psychopath and those ideas are insane!

Why are you trying to terrify us?

Can I call you Mom?

I feel so loved and protected by all of you.

Actually, it's a new pop culture trend where young women desperately in need of role models call other girls they look up to Mom.

I thought you'd be cool with it.

I mean, I did just give you several ways to dispose of a body.

Okay, fine. Just stop talking.

You are so friggin' creepy!

Someone just mowed off a deaf girl's head in our backyard.

I mean, as you can see, I'm not licensed to carry a sidearm.

Wait, so you don't have a gun?

I have pepper spray. And I have a walkie talkie that I can use to call the police, who do have guns.

What good are you?

Get the hell out of there. Run away, real fast.

Now, I would give you my number, but my cell phone is off right now.

If you want the place clean, maybe you shouldn't have burned the maid's face off.

Don't you wonder what's in there?

People have been whispering about that house for years, that it's haunted, that something really bad happened. I mean, there's no way there isn't some real-life story behind it, right?

I'm gonna have to break in.

I mean, I don't think anyone's gonna get killed in the 30 minutes we make out, right?

Can you stop talking?

You're kind of ruining whatever was good about it.

Please try to understand the situation I'm in.

I don't give a rat's ass about your job.

You know, I find good parenting incredibly attractive.

You're a snoopy little bugger.

Whose bloody clothes are those?

Supposedly, it was a super fun party.

We're all gonna pay for this.

I think it's all crap. Just a myth.

What happened to the baby?

Sometimes I picture myself like Derek Jeter, you know?

I'm gonna choke you out.

There's a serial killer on the loose.

Please don't say you want to choke me.

I'd love having sex with your corpse.

I'm sorry. This isn't working for me.

Well, I sort of am your boyfriend, and I'm protecting you by having sex with you.

No! I don't need a man to protect me.

How could I have wasted this much time?

Is my self-esteem really that low?

I'm sorry. I think we need to take a break.

I need you to leave right now!

You know, it would really help me feel better if I could just crawl into bed with you for a few minutes.

Are you gonna touch my wiener, or you gonna leave my wiener alone?

I'll leave your wiener alone.

Where are your hands?

He has a huge boner!

Why don't you go in there and ogle his big old boner?

Okay, uh, first of all, I'm not gonna go ogle his big old boner, because I'm not gay.

Look, I'm sorry everybody wants to have sex with me. Okay? I can't help that.

I'm hot. Everybody wants to get with this. Women, men, animals in the zoo, plants, probably.

You're gonna have to go right now, 'cause I am breaking up with you.

Excuse me, I broke up with you!

I regretted what I said, and I just wanted to come here and tell you that I am so sorry.

Well, I accept your apology. And now I'm breaking up with you.

Do you know why I'm breaking up with you?

You can't deal with how hot I am.

Sorry, I just broke up with you.

Can you please put some clothes on?

Um, they said, uh, I shouldn't be alone, you know, in case I fall asleep and die.

Can I just get you a robe or something though?

So you're saying I'm the killer?

Okay, this isn't about me thinking you're boyfriend material.

God, I was so gonna go to third base with you tonight, too.

What if we stapled their earlobes?

Private like the parts on a man you like putting in your mouth?

I want to publicly come out as gay on my own.

I mean, you guys have to accept everybody, right?

I actually think that's illegal.

I will come after you, do you understand that? I will destroy you.

I trust you'll consider my offer.

Name one bad thing that ever happened at a Best Buy parking lot.

You're just, like, super attractive.

Um, well, I was trying to be inconspicuous.

It's better than losing your life.

I have a thing for playlists.

Someone's got a poo belly.

Sweet Yeezus, I don't even know where to begin with you.

Bitch, I'm about to smack you so hard, your tampon's gonna pop out.

I heard screaming.

So you think the serial killer is still up there?

Upstairs to get the killer before he gets away!

You just said that you think the killer is up there, and that's where you want to go?

This is freakin' terrifying!

The killer is in the house! You hear me?

I need my damn inhaler.

What, am I supposed to be scared?

Don't even come out. We plan on getting drunk, and I don't want your bad attitude ruining it.

We're headed down to White Stallion to pick up some sluts, baby!

Yes, okay, I burned her slightly, but stop saying that I killed her.

That was a tragic accident.

I am a kind and devoted and loving friend to all.

I'm not some crazed psychopath.

Maybe you're the killer.

I will not be put on trial.

The truth is we don't know who the killer is, and, yes, I suppose it could be someone in this room.

You want to go first?

I banged, like, 50 chicks.

What took you so long?