#still want to open stellar miracle too

[pokemonlezbian]

Opened a stellar crown BB for the first time and these were my hits…I think it was a god box??

[inbabylontheywept]

your life stories are always so interesting so i shall poke a stick into the cage and ask for more. do you have any fun stories of near death experiences? personally i choked on a lifesaver as a child and could not breathe

personally? not really. ive got a pretty decent hospital story though.

see, my grandpa was in charge of the easter pageant in my state. its a big mormon thing, a lot of other churches come because its just good easter worship. anyway, in part of the pageant, theres a pony for jesus and mary to ride around on. technically supposed to be a donkey, but ponys are just so much more photogenic. anyway this happened when my little sister was going through her little-girl-pony phase, so this was so major-league shit to her. so much so that my grandpa, who i still miss so much, brought this pony to our house so she could ride it.

my little brother? he also wanted to ride it. and i didnt really want to ride it, but they were both so small someone kind of needed to hold those two onboard, and i was the lighest person capable of doing so, (didnt want to overload the pony) so i went on the back too.

and it was a stellar time until the donkey went under a tree, then my little sister hit her head on a branch and fell left, and her fall took my little brother out because he was holding onto her, and both of them took me out, so we all fell off the pony, but me with 2 kids on my left arm.

god blessed me with a third elbow that day.

here are the things that followed after the Miracle of the Third Elbow

my autistic dad came outside to check on me. id broken my arm the year before, so i knew what it was, and i knew what it felt like, so i was able to pretty clearly go "yeah, dad, i broke my arm." and he was able to go "whew. yeah. thats like, harry potter broken." and i was able to say "yeah. yeah it hurts pretty bad." and he said "oh, yeah, definitely. that looks horrible." and then i basically said something like "hopital" and he was like "right" and then we left. my memory after that gets weird.

i can remember driving up main street, and seeing this guy dancing. like, full on dancing down the street. and i asked my dad about why that guy was dancing, and he said that man was a schizophrenic, and he was medicated, but the medication had just made it so that his voices told him to dance instead of hurt himself. now he danced all the time. i should clarify that my dad worked in the ER so he knew a lot of the local homeless on a life-story kind of level. my dads a good guy.

i can remember sitting in the waiting room with a magician that had sliced his right hand open pretty bad while cooking. he was trying his best to keep us entertained with his cards, but because he was doing all his tricks left handed, he'd mess them up sometimes and it was actually kind of more fun to watch than just him in expert mode. another good guy. very friendly, but visibly repulsed by my arm.

i can remember being in a bed, and a nurse coming up to me and saying that they could give me some painkillers, which i was super stoked about, but the IV from the painkillers basically required being stabbed with a needle as thick around as a pencil. she recomended saying the alphabet backwards when she put the needle in, and i said i didn't know how, and then she stuck in the needle in. over 4 seconds i was able to go from z to c, a feat i have never since been able to replicate.

after the painkillers, i watched a tv show called Jackie Chan Adventures, which was an animated cartoon with an animated Jackie Chan, voiced by the real Jackie Chan, solving mysteries. i actually assumed that whole thing was a hallucination until i was an adult, and i was describing it to my wife, and she was like "no, that actually happened." which was funny to happen to me, because when me and her started dating, she just kind of dropped how awesome it was that obama was the first muslim president, and i was like what, no hes an episcopalian, and it turns out that her dad, who sucks for many reasons, had told her that obama was a muslim, and she was sweet enough to believe that, and also to just be like oh, neat, our president is black and a muslim, we are truly moving forward as a counry." i love her so much.

no memories of it after that. not even sure when i got home. just a straight up weird time.

[wonilye]

safe and sound | n.rk

in which a stranger tells you the things you want to hear most.

pairing — academic overachiever reader x stranger ni-ki, hurt/comfort

w/c — 1.4k

tw — reader’s kinda depressed and has terrible self-esteem, mention of throwing self out a window

the ink burns red, red, red.

you’re fighting it, fighting yourself. eyes stinging as everyone around you mills about asking for scores. tests like these are everything, to overachieving students like the ones in your class.

except you, that is.

your friends come over, but their hands on your shoulders are icy even though it’s the middle of april. “how’d you do? it wasn’t as bad as i thought, but you never know with those teachers.”

“you first.” stalling for time, you force your lips into what has to be the most strained smile ever. miracle they don’t see through it. you pray they never will.

your friends rattle off a few scores. not stellar, but good enough. not a disaster, like you-

no, no. you can’t do this here. not now.

subtly you turn your paper over so they can’t see the score, grinning again. “that’s pretty good.” do they get the hint? maybe not, but eventually they move on to find someone else to bother. you thank god for that little mercy they’re giving you, at the very least.

unfair. unfair, unfair, unfair-

the bell rings, and the others start picking up their bags to leave. and if your friends try to drag you to the mall, you shrug and whip out some random worksheet that isn’t even due in the next week. or maybe you don’t. it’s hard to remember when you’re using up any energy you have left trying not to throw yourself out the window.

pretty soon it’s just a few girls left, but it’s not for another twenty minutes that they all leave. and you just sit there, letting the crimson burn into your fingers, your colourless cheeks, your chapped lips. red is shame. red is failure. and you let it stew in your stomach and pray it gets digested before any custodian comes to check on you at the end of the school day when he comes to lock up. god forbid anyone see you like this, the resentment roiling and turning in your gut.

the silence is deafening. blood roars in your ears, even as the school bell chimes and you hear the last of the footballers outside cheer. how the hell is anyone happy at all, and you’re just sitting there withering away in your own self-made prison? you can’t even cry, god knows you don’t even deserve it, because this really is your fault. your fault for being too hesitant, too panicked, while everyone else goes on with you still hanging in the balance grasping for just one chance.

maybe now you’ll never prove yourself. maybe this is it, the final nail in the coffin that destroys everything you’ve ever worked for. three failing grades in the same day. screwed up all your interviews this week. it’s as though you’re cursed to defile everything you touch — damned if you hope, damned if you don’t.

the classroom door must have clicked open, because before you can scramble to your feet to leave, there’s a boy standing in front of your desk. he’s got this weird look in his eyes, all calculating and scrutinising. it’s as though his line of sight is a laser that pierces open everything you try to stuff under your skin. twirling between his fingers is a little key, presumably for the classroom doors. “didn’t expect anyone to be here at this hour.”

you’ve seen him around before. he’s in the class next to you - what was he, their class rep? either way, you can’t quite place his name, but his presence alone is enough to get you on your feet. “s-sorry, i’ll get going now.”

but as you haphazardly shove your things into your backpack, the test paper flutters to the ground in slow motion, landing right as his feet. oh no no no don’t pick it up don’t-

but of course it finds its way into his hands, and you can tell he’s trying not to peek but he sees anyway. that awful, awful 12/25 on your paper. and you avert your gaze as you take it from his grasp, because how could you possibly expect anything but pity from a complete stranger?

and gosh, do you detest pity.

“wait.” before you can run off, his hand wraps around your shoulder, the unexpected warmth stopping you in your tracks. he’s studying you again, trying to read what you imagine must be an impossibly despondent look on your face. it would be rude to shrug him off, and you almost do, until he gestures out the window. “it’s…raining,” he gulps out. and what do you know, it is. just your luck.

you shiver, tightening your grip on the straps of your backpack. “i’ll be fine.”

“at least take my umbrella. i’ll walk you to the gate.”

“…okay.”

so you walk in silence down three floors, each step sending tingles shooting up your previously-numb legs. maybe the boy can tell, because he swaps sides with you so you can grab onto the railing. maybe you wanted the company a little more than you’d like to admit.

as you finally reach where the shelter ends, you look away. “keep your umbrella, i’ll be alright.”

but there’s a strange grimace on his face as he pushes the umbrella into your unclenched hands. “no, you’re not. at least, you won’t be. not unless you keep yourself safe and dry. wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

you can’t help it. the words slip out before you even realise they’re on your tongue. “why do you even care?” oh shit, that came out ruder than you’d intended, and you want to slap your hand over your mouth and apologise a hundred times over, but it’s too late for that now.

the boy pauses, his silence unreadable as he eyes you once again. it’s starting to be a little more than unnerving, the way he sees through barriers you didn’t even know you had up. "because i don’t think you deserve to sit in an empty classroom alone trying not to cry…? you looked awful.”

“...thanks.”

he slaps his palm over his head. “no, not like that. i meant that you looked like your world had come crashing down. it…it hasn’t, okay? you’ll be alright. one step after another, and you’ll get wherever you wanna go. you’re trying as hard as you can and you should be proud of yourself for that.”

how can a complete stranger know exactly what you’ve always wanted to hear? your chest aches with the affirmation of a nameless boy, who’s smiling at you with a softness that makes you want to throw your arms around him and sob, decorum be damned. he’s so good. too good.

at last, you take hold of the umbrella, an inexplicable warmth blossoming in your chest and throat. you can feel the flood of tears you’ve been holding back the whole afternoon threatening to surface, but this time it’s triggered by the gentleness with which he opens the umbrella with a soft click, grinning at you as he gives your shoulder a light squeeze. “go on. don’t worry about returning the umbrella, okay?”

“i’ll see you around, y/n.”

and with that, he sprints off into the pouring rain, the file he’s holding over his head almost comical. the giggle that escapes you startles you out of your stupor, and it’s only then that you realise you’ve been staring, watching him go.

but he’ll be back. maybe not tomorrow, or the day after, but you’ll see him again. and you’ll wait.

you’re so lost in thought that you don’t even think to question why nameless boy knows your name.

with a crash, nishimura riki bursts through the front door, hair dripping water all the way along the corridor.

“riki! you’re making the whole place wet! where’s your umbrella?”

he sighs, shaking off his waterlogged shoes. despite his sister’s constant nagging and the rainwater soaking through his clothes, there’s a giddy smile on his face. “lent it to a friend.”

“...it was a girl, wasn’t it?”

at this point, he doesn’t even care anymore, flopping to the ground as his wet clothes slap against the wooden floors. “you don’t understand, nee-san. she’s the girl. i finally, finally got to talk to her. I’m-”

“GET OFF THE FLOOR ALREADY BISCO’S LICKING UP THE RAINWATER!”

a/n — hi pookies it’s been a while…i’m not built to be an academic weapon lololol. my final exam of the term’s next thursday, so i’ll probably be able to churn out more stuff after that. immediately after i type this im gg to pomodoro my way thru life again send help-

ALSO NO THIS IS NOT A CRY FOR HELP okay goodbye lovelies (@stariikis consider this a thank you for the jw fic)

[unhappy-last-resort]

I like many things in this world, some of those being vampires, specifically yandere vampires. So obviously, I find the idea of yandere vampire Chrome to be absolutely scrumptious. Another semi-long drabble ahead.

Warnings: Blood, biting, drugging, implied non-con, yandere

Constructs already have most of their senses enhanced, but Chrome finds his Nosferatu coating to be especially so. His hearing is enhanced greatly, to the point that he can hear your heart beat if you're in the room.

That's not all though, his taste and smell are more sensitive as well. He especially noticed this little detail when you accidentally cut yourself on some equipment. That was practically torture, not only could he smell your blood, he could smell it so clearly he could taste it on his tongue and it drove him mad.

So much so, that he immediately tended to your wound without even asking beforehand. Not to rid himself of the smell, the smell of your blood, but so he could swipe his thumb over your cut a few times before disinfecting it.

This, however, ended up being a terrible mistake on Chrome's part because the second he was able to steal a few moments for himself to taste your blood he was shaking. An almost painful urge to find you and drink more of that sweet nectar flowing in your veins had him on his knees, grasping at his chest as it felt like sweat must've been dripping down his forehead even though there was none as he fought off images of himself tearing into you like a rabid animal.

That day, Chrome decided to take his first day off in a long, long time. So long in fact that he can't remember the last time he had nothing to do.

Gray Raven and Strike Hawk, on hearing Chrome's request and seeing the...less than stellar state he was in, insisted on taking all of his workload for the day. It was a miracle he managed to convince them not to immediately call Asimov or Star of Life.

He still felt bad about suddenly leaving the mission right before it started when you were depending on him being there, even though Wanshi stepped in and you said it was fine, he wanted to do something to apologize.

So, he made you a very innocent raspberry chocolate cake and gently knocked on your dorm room that night, although he found himself in another strange predicament. Chrome's always known he was very respectful of peoples boundaries ignoring how he placed a camera you still haven't found yet in your room, but this was different.

He couldn't enter your room, he physically couldn't until you verbally invited him in. Once inside though, how he didn't lose himself right there when your scent was all that filled his artificial nostrils he'll never know.

After that though, everything went according to plan. You talked while you ate your perfectly innocent cake and when you started to feel a little sleepy, Chrome did what any good friend would do and carried you to your bed. He even helped you slip out of that uncomfortable uniform of yours and helped you wash your face and brush your teeth.

Do you know how cute you sound when you protest, but you're so tired you can barely keep your eyes open? Well, Chrome knows. He knows it very well because he all but memorized it as he bit into your inner thigh, your blood bursting into his mouth and overtaking his senses as he kept a bruising grip on your hip to keep you from squirming more than was desirable.

Your little whimpers, kicks, and slurred protests fell on deaf ears. It wouldn't be too long before you fell asleep anyways.

Just let him have his fun for tonight, you won't remember it by tomorrow so just let him have this, won't you?

[juyeonszn]

AND THEN THERE IS YOU

PAIRING ju haknyeon x f!reader (gn technically since there are no gendered terms)

WORD COUNT 1.17k

GENRES fluff ﹒very slight angst like blink and u miss it

WARNINGS another fic of mine that doesn’t require an 18+ warning… fawn in her tamed era 🙏, ur heart will ache from how </3 this is, mentions of divorce, reader had kind of a shitty childhood, reader also has some intimacy issues, hak is the most patient and kind person ever, throws up everywhere bc me when </3

SUMMARY he was content loving you until you were ready to love him.

MORE ANDDDDD my insanity strikes again!!!!1!1!1! aka in my dr. seuss william shakespeare edgar allan poe steven king arc 😍 my inspiration has been crazy lately, so enjoy this before juyeonszn goes into a drought deeper into the semester 😭 ANYWAYS MAE (@maessseongs) HERE U GO!! i kept it fluffier and kinda short bc it just felt right, i hope that’s okay with u! this is the last request from my 100 followers event so far ✨ prompts used are: 2, 7 >:)

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs

Relationships were a weird concept to you. Growing up, you’d never really been shown affection. Your parents weren’t the type to pack your lunch for school in the morning and send you off with a peck on the cheek followed by an ‘I Love You’.

In fact, they never told you that they loved you very often. Maybe a handful of times in your whole life did you hear those three words uttered from them. And even less did you hear that they were proud of you. It was worse when you took a step back and watched their own crumbling marriage.

As long as they’d been together, you never heard them tell the other how much they were appreciated. They fought more than they got along. You usually fell asleep to the sound of doors slamming and loud arguing in the hallway. When they finally decided to get a divorce, you almost cried out of joy. They were draining more out of you than each other.

So, perhaps that had to do with your fucked up view of relationships as you became an adult. You could never fully comprehend what love was since you didn’t exactly have stellar role models. Boyfriends came and went, losing interest as soon as they realized how disconnected you were. Your heart was never truly in it.

And then, you met Haknyeon.

Sweet sweet Haknyeon, who only cared about your happiness and your well being. Haknyeon, who didn’t ask you for more than you could give. Who didn’t push you for answers when you shut him out. Who patiently waited on the sidelines while you rebooted yourself.

If there were a higher being out in the universe, they’d done an excellent job at putting all the best qualities into Ju Haknyeon. By some miracle or a stroke of luck, he found his way to you. You’ll always think that he deserves better than you, but you’ll also always be eternally grateful that you have him.

As summer takes its last breath and the air begins to chill, leaves wilting to the streets and crunching below the feet of passersby, your motivation to get up in the mornings has started its tumultuous decline. You don’t know what it is about the change in seasons that continues to put a damper in your mood as the years go on, but it’s become almost too much to bear. It was no longer a dull pressure in the pit of your stomach and the back of your mind. Now it was a heaviness that settled in your heart and weighed you down.

It was a Thursday evening and you were tucked into bed already, despite a peek of the sun still visible over the horizon. Your head was pounding despite the room being silent. You curl into yourself further just as your bedroom door creaks open. Haknyeon whispers an apology, going to exit the room when he sees the state you’re in.

It was standard for him to leave you alone until you were ready to talk. He knew you had a hard time opening up, considering what you’d grown up with, and he didn’t want to be the person who pestered you to tell him what was wrong. He wanted you to feel comfortable coming to him first. Haknyeon couldn’t handle being the reason you were pushed to your breaking point.

But for some reason, this time is different. You don’t want to be left alone. You want to be held. You want him to kiss your forehead and tell you he loves you, unlike what you had when you were younger.

“Hak, wait,” you call, voice slightly hoarse. “Stay. Please.”

He’s taken aback by your request, but doesn’t hesitate to follow through. He climbs into the bed behind you, wrapping his arms around your center. In spite of the fact that this wasn’t a usual occurrence, that cuddling was something you’ve only done a couple other times, he embraces you as if this was second nature for him. As if holding you in his arms was his very life source.

“Are you sure?” He asks softly, words spoken gently into your hair.

“Mhm, I want this,” you nod, nuzzling into his arm. “I have never felt this safe with anyone before.”

Haknyeon’s breathing stutters. You’ve never admitted this to him before, you’ve never ever said ‘I Love You’, but he’s always been willing to wait. He understood that this was a new territory for you. He was content loving you until you were ready to love him, even if it took months— even if it took years. That’s how much he cared for you. In his eyes, you were the reason there were stars in the sky. You were the reason why the sun rose in the morning and why the moon shone at night.

He kisses your temple. “I’ll be here to protect you.”

You turn in his arms to get a good look at his face. Because it was so rare that you were this close, you wanted to memorize his features from this distance. You trace his cheekbones and jawline with your thumb, eyes flickering down to his lips.

You lean forward, minimizing the gap between you to press your lips into a sweet kiss, almost as sweet as him. Haknyeon gasps out of surprise, but quickly reciprocates your affection, bringing up a hand to cup your face. He allows you to set the pace, to move at a speed you were comfortable with in case this was all you wanted.

When you pull back to catch your breath, he smiles, taking in how pretty you were. He could never get enough of you. He thinks that was his biggest flaw, being so greedy when it came to you. He couldn’t help but indulge himself every time you let him, though if it were a sin, he’d gladly commit it over and over again.

“However many years we have left, I wanna spend them all with you.”

You feel the tears dripping down your cheeks before you register that you’re crying. You couldn’t possibly fathom how Haknyeon came to find love in the form of you; the hollow shell of a person who’s never felt the warmth of another human in their life. You didn’t think you deserved someone like him. The only logical explanation was that you were a saint in a past life, and the higher being you mentioned earlier was rewarding you for it.

But even so, he loved you. Enough that he wasn’t afraid to spend the rest of his life with you waking up on the other side of the bed.

He swipes away some stray tears with the pad of his thumb and kisses your nose. You let out a small laugh, connecting your lips once more. It conveys all you want to say, but you know saying it out loud will make it concrete. It’ll solidify what you’ve been building up the courage to finally tell him.

“I wanna spend them all with you, too.”

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[pollenallergie]

hiiiiii!!! how bout waking up prompt 14 with billy knight and goodnight prompt 16 for eddie!! 💖🌙

Here’s prompt 16 for Eddie!! I’ll try to have the Billy burb completed and posted within the next week! Thank you so much for your request!! <3

Going to bed at night

Prompt 16: “The monsters can’t get you while I’m here.”

“Eddie,” you call out in a sing-song voice, “are ready for the most awesome, amazing movie night ev-” The words die on your tongue as you catch sight of your boyfriend, huddled up on the couch, eyes struggling to stay open, they’re heavy with bags and bloodshot, his skin pastier than normal, and his cheeks are sunken in. He’s alarmingly exhausted that much you can tell almost immediately. To say Eddie hasn’t slept well lately would likely be a massive understatement.

You haven’t seen him in two weeks, much longer than you’d like to go without seeing your boyfriend, as you’ve been busy with school and work, and he’s still at the point in his recovery where it’s difficult for him to leave the house. Honestly, it’s a miracle that he’s made it all the way to the couch without assistance.

By the looks of him, you suspect that he hasn’t slept at all since you’ve last seen him. Your heart breaks for him because you know exactly why he hasn’t slept. Nightmares were something he struggled with long before the events of last spring. In the past, they had typically been the product of his overactive imagination and less-than-stellar childhood and, consequently, were usually pretty easy to recover from. However, now, with all the trauma he’s endured this year, you can only imagine how much more haunting, how much more tangible they feel.

“Eddie,” you call out to your boyfriend softly as you kneel before him on the old, ratty carpet. Your hands lightly rest on his exposed knees, gently rubbing the cool skin there, not wanting to startle Eddie with a heavy-handed touch but still wanting to provide him some comfort. “Honey, let’s get you to bed, okay?” You coo softly.

Those words seem to pull Eddie out of his half-asleep state. He shakes his head as if simultaneously jostling himself awake and wordlessly telling you ‘no.’ Eddie groans hoarsely, a sound of pure, petulant refusal, as you try to gently pull him off the couch, careful not to disturb any of his healing, painful wounds.

“C’mon, Eds, you’ll feel better if you have a nap,” you try to persuade him, your tone gentle and quiet as you speak to him and ease him off the couch.

“‘M fine,” he attempts to reassure you, “just put on your movie, baby. I’ll be okay.”

Despite his injuries and evident exhaustion, Eddie fights you the whole way back to his room, squirming as if attempting to break free of your gentle hold, not moving his feet so that you have to basically drag him back there as best as you can without being too rough. Eddie’s heavier than he looks, and you’ve never considered yourself very strong, at least not physically, so it’s a battle getting him back to his bedroom, one that you weren’t prepared to take on when you walked through the front door moments ago. Somehow, though, you manage to get him back there without causing either of you too much pain. Although, you accidentally bonked your elbow on the doorway to Eddie’s room on your way back here.

Once you’ve gotten him back to his messy bedroom, you carefully maneuver Eddie around all the clutter on his floor and then ease him into his bed. He’s pouting, with his bottom lip jutting out pathetically and his brow furrowed harshly, by the time you get blankets pulled up over him, covering him from the tops of his shoulders to his toes. You’d laugh at his adorably petulant expression if that wouldn’t only upset him further.

“Eddie… you’ve gotta sleep, baby. You won’t continue to heal if you don’t get enough rest,” you explain softly as you kneel beside his bed and gently caress his features, trailing your thumb lightly over each of his brows and down the bridge of his nose. That move has always made him melt, much like a tiny kitten does when you caress the top of their head in between their perky little ears. Clearly, it still works on him, if the way his eyes seem to flutter shut of their own accord is any indication.

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Eddie scoffs, though his refusal doesn’t mean much when it’s accompanied by his eyes remaining closed, his breathing slowing to a steady, sleepy pace, and his body going limp with exhaustion.

“I know, honey, but you need your rest. I promise it’ll be alright, Eds. The monsters can’t get you while I’m here,” you whisper, offering him gentle, soothing words of reassurance.

Though Eddie’s fighting sleep valiantly, you can tell it’s a losing battle for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, you think he knows that too.

“Don’t leave me,” he calls out in a croaky voice as you rise to stand on your feet.

“I’m not, Eddie Bear,” you promise him, “I’m just getting comfy.”

You grab a pair of pajamas you’d left over here the last time you spent the night from Eddie’s dresser, changing into them before also picking up one of the many fantasy novels scattered about messily on his desk. You carefully climb into Eddie’s bed next to him and ease under the warm covers, snuggling up as close to him as you can without inadvertently hurting him, and opening to the first page of his book. The sound of the rustling pages captures Eddie’s attention.

“What’re you doing?” He asks gruffly with one bleary eye cracked open so that he can look at you.

“Just reading, Eds,” you reassure him, “Wanna stay awake so I can watch over you for a little bit.”

Truthfully, you don’t really want to stay awake, you’d love to take a nap as well, but you know that your presence is much more comforting to Eddie when you’re awake and alert enough to look out for him, to keep him safe should any of those frightening creatures from his past come after him while he rests.

Somehow, Eddie seems to realize the true intention behind your effort to stay awake, a small, fond smile forming on his relaxed features as his eyes flutter shut once again, and he softly whispers, “I love you,” subtly expressing his gratitude and overtly expressing his adoration in just three simple words.

You lean over to press a warm, chaste kiss to the space between his brows before murmuring your reply against his skin, softly saying, “I love you too, Eddie. Get some sleep, angel. I’ll be right here, okay?”

Eddie hums his response before drifting into a deep, calm sleep, leaving you alone with his copy of A Wrinkle In Time, a book you’re sure he’s forgotten that he even has given all the dust on the front cover of it.

For the rest of the night, well into the early hours of the following afternoon, you stay right there, reading and occasionally glancing over to check on your lover as he catches up on some much-needed rest. Even when Wayne gets home from work, you don’t get up to greet him, staying right there next to Eddie just like you promised him you would.

[manysmallhands]

The Brits: Rated!

This weekend I watched The Brit Awards for the first time in an absolute age. One thing it reminded me of is why I don’t usually watch The Brit Awards: the staging was cringe, the presenters forgettable and the winners (Jungle! Bring Me The Horizon!) often completely baffling. RAYE’s coronation as queen of UK pop was at least a satisfying moment of well deserved revenge, but also a colossal round of arse covering and buck passing from an industry that was more than happy to screw her over and has in no way faced any real reckoning over it. As such, the stellar cast who were lined up to perform were basically the only good reason for me to stick around. I rated them as follows:

Dua Lipa - Training Season 

Absolutely banging opener, lots of fancy moves - including Dua being suspended in midair by a bunch of guys with no visible means of support themselves! - and an excellent (if slightly strained) vocal, a notable improvement on her Grammys performance from last month. I like Training Season anyway but this felt like a proper event. 9

Calvin Harris and Ellie Goulding - Miracle

I’ve hitherto found Miracle a bit of a snooze but I finally started to warm to it last night and the bit at the end where it all kicked off was probably the best climax of the evening. While the choreography created an engaging sense of spectacle, Ellie was admirably low effort amongst it all and Calvin might as well have sneaked off for a fag, it was quite funny watching him stood at the back doing nothing. 8

Tate McRae - Greedy

I so wanted this to be great cos I can't stop listening to her but sadly that really wasn’t the case. There seemed to be technical issues at times but often Tate looked swallowed up by the size of the staging, just singing the odd line here and there while doing an admittedly top-line dancing routine. Not a patch on her recent NHL show. 6 

Jungle - Back On 74

Despite it being extremely lightweight I’m rather fond of Back on 74, but quite what Jungle are doing here (and winning best band!) is something of a mystery to me. Still, the Sault we’ve got at home put on a pleasant enough show without really straining themselves performance-wise, especially considering its acrobatic video. 7

RAYE - Medley: Ice Cream Man/Prada/Escapism.

I’ll admit that RAYE’s more "authentic" genre reworkings can leave me a bit nonplussed but I thought this performance was fantastic. Ice Cream Man was predictably devastating, Prada held up surprisingly well under its choral makeover and Escapism seems to take whatever she throws at it without so much as flinching. Not much to speak of visuals-wise but she really didn’t need them. 9

Chase and Status/Becky Hill - Disconnect

Chase and Status honoured their best producer award by doing their least good song of 2023. Becky Hill dutifully belted it out but there wasn’t much to draw the eye and the teasers from Baddadan had a distinct ‘look at what you could have won’ quality. 6

Rema - Calm Down 

In the year or more since I first heard it, I’ve gone from bored to lukewarm to kinda liking Rema’s megahit and the live setting here has finally pushed me over the top:  Calm Down is really quite good. It was helped along by a winning dance routine that played into its exotic rhythms but Rema's performance is the thing that really carried it, all understated charisma, flashing smiles and some truly iconic headgear. 8

Kylie - Hits Medley

There was a sense in which I wanted this to be amazing but in the end it was merely an alright performance, lifted by the fact that the UK loves Kylie and it was always going to feel like a bit of a triumph. The vocals were nothing to write home about, the track selection could have been better too, but by the time we got around to All The Lovers I was pretty much sold anyway. Ultimately, there are some people who are above meaningful criticism and Kylie will always be one of them. I mean, who gives a shit whether I liked it or not. 7

[seynne]

I trust you. Teach me how to use these powers.

Characters: The Emperor, Tav

Relationship & Tags: The Emperor/Tav,Thirst for Power Trust Transformation first meeting in person Partial Ceremorphosis Reasons to transform Not lovers yet but there's a strong emotional bond and it shows instantly Flying My Tav is a bit crazy but a sweet heart but she's very much loving the power of flying and this is the story of how she found it the story of their first meeting

Summary: A story written for The Emperor's Week - September 2024, on the theme "Trust / Power".

Emperor's Point of View, the moment he meets Tav in flesh for the, well, second time, and offers the Astral Tadpole. This Tav is my Lellar, so there's a bit of a past between them two. Can be read as a stand-alone!

-------

How beautiful she was.

His hand elegantly folded against his cheekbones, the Emperor, his eyes closed, and a rare grin relaxing his eyes and jaw, finally allowed himself to breathe in, long, then breathe out. It was a strange sensation, such a relief, such warmth he felt… A strange sensation, due to how long it was since he felt such tenderness for the last time.

The cold and lonely light of the Astral Plane around him was not affecting him, for the sensation he could feel warming his head and spreading through his entire body as emotions  and thoughts became one again, was overwhelming the rest of any physical sensations he could have experimented. It was summoning, or waking in a gentle and melancholic way, old memories he thought useless and banished most of the time out of his mind... while simultaneously being something he very much cherished, more than his freedom.

Once upon a time, he sometimes had an afterthought of, people would trust his word on everything. A long time ago, they would have done everything in their power to join him in his travels. They acclaimed his name!

Then he had… He had evolved , although he had a hard time making peace with it initially, since it had been a forceful evolution and the circumstances around it had been less than stellar. What at first horrified him ended up becoming a new version of himself that he made peace with, and ended up accepting, although it cost him everything. But it was a new version he now felt good in. All his thoughts came more easily, there was no more limitations. Fewer heartfelt impulses, although they historically were more helpful than anything to him in the past, and although they, in truth, were still there and barely less present due to him being calmer… no matter how much he’d claim otherwise. More calculations, more intellect, to someone who already was an adventurer with a very high intuition, charisma, and desire to help those he loved and cared about to come stronger.

In spite of all these new qualities, which should have made him a perfect helper, a perfect leader, no one ever wanted to follow him again, and it was a miracle if they didn’t try to kill him on sight. And… Ansur. Ansur had tried but in the end he couldn’t. In the end he made a decision that was not unexpected, and yet was very much so. His betrayal still hurt cruelly, and it did play a part in his wariness towards opening himself to feel things for new people.

Also there was Belyne – who had been so close to him too, less than Ansur but still. Belyne, who recognised his intellect, his will of helping his city to thrive… Belyne then the accident, or rather the whispers of this sect that affected her for a time after an argument, and who, immediately as she turned her heart, poisoned her. She would have died that night, without him. But even with the help he tried to bring, it let her incredibly weakened, and he hoped she would still be alive in his absence…

With such a history…

With such a history, to see this curious drow, this Tav , still choosing to trust him after she discovered the truth, and without a single second of hesitation… it had been heartwarming. They met under his true form a few hours ago perhaps, and she instantly chose to trust him, only asked him to confirm his claims, and it wasn’t even for her.

“Just as a precaution,” she started, while erecting a wall of ice between them and the githyankis during their first meeting without any artifice within the Astral Plane, and sending a quick motion of the head to her companions who looked like they were doubting this very much, thank you, “Could you please prove that you are indeed the one you claim to be? Our dream guardian?”

He had been ready to protest that it was not the time to ask such things… then he read her mind.

I trust you. I know it’s you, I can feel it, and I think I saw you before, but please help me convincing the others!

(Read more in story)

[roosterbruiser]

𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐙-𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐒 — 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇, 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐏. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: 𝟏.𝟔𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐀 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟗

“Did you know that I grew up on a farm?” 

He isn’t paying you much mind right now. You can’t tell if he’s asleep or awake as his head lulls from side to side, his feet stroking the sheets monotonously. His eyelids are fluttering and his cheeks are flushed. Maybe he’s ignoring you--or maybe he’s just too high. Either way, his body is a mass of endless perspiration skin and hair and heat on the velvet sheets you’re lying on together. 

It’s hot in here, hot enough for a pool of sweat to gather in the hollow of your throat. But you don’t feel like you can move, so you just stare up at the mirror mounted on the ceiling. You’re looking into your own eyes, those sad and big things, and trying to feel time moving past you. 

You’re always trying to feel things that you just can’t. 

“It was in Nebraska,” you continue, letting your eyes wander to the feathery tufts of your hair that cover the blood-red pillows under your head. You're letting it grow out--your daddy always liked it grown out; it makes you want to chop all of it off with kitchen scissors. “A chicken farm. Real gnarly work.” 

He mumbles something incoherent. You don’t ask him to repeat himself. 

“You want the skinny on chicken farms? They’re fucking dirty. Smells like shit and piss all the time. You can smell our farm a few miles down the road. Real bummer having boys pick me up on a mound of chicken shit,” you whisper. Now you let your eyes fall from your hair to your naked chest. Your nipples are pert and erect despite the lack of chill in the stuffy bedroom. Fuck, it smells like sex and sweat in here. But you prefer any scent over chicken shit--still, even now. “And chickens are stupid. I think that’s why we eat them--I think that’s why they taste so good. Why else would God make them so damn dumb?” 

The record player in the corner is still playing A Fifth of Beethoven by Walter Murphy. It’s not very loud--you can still hear all the stragglers outside by the pool, probably opening another bottle of creme de menthe for another round of Green Hornets. There’s music playing outside, too, but you can’t tell what it is even when you strain--not over the sound of your heart thrumming in your ears. People are probably still in the pool, ashing their cigarettes in the crystal dishes your mama would’ve killed for. You imagine all the glittery bikinis strewn about the backyard, the big silver cowboy tubs full of cum and stray pubic hairs. 

“I never felt bad about killing the chickens,” you whisper, shaking your head. You watch your lips form the words, watch the confession slip into the shadowed room. You don’t feel any different after saying it, admitting this thing that’s been a source of shame. “Do you know that nifty little phrase they have about chickens running around with their heads cut off? It’s true, really. I’ve seen it--no shit, I swear. You can say later days to a hen and swing the ax and it’ll run all around if you let it. I’m sure it would be confused if it had a brain still.” 

He turns his face into the pillow, breathing in the sweat that drenches it. 

You watch your belly rise and fall with every breath you take, let your fingers drag over the imprints of your ribs that press out against your skin now. There’s a valley there where there used to be a hill and you like to let your palm sit there: it makes you feel full even when you’re not. 

“There was this chicken they called Miracle Mike--stellar name, I know--and in, like, the 40s or some shit, he got his head chopped off then lived for something like two years. Fucking far out. They let him live, didn’t try to kill him again. Took care of him. Dropped milk down his exposed throat and let him sleep with the other stupid chickens,” you whisper, pressing down on the hip bones that jut out of your body like rocks during low tide. “They even took him around the fucking United States on some gruesome tour.” 

He seems to come to for a moment, turning his face away from the pillow and gulping air. You don’t turn towards him, but you know that he was suffocating silently beside you. But it doesn’t matter because he’s awake now, awake enough to reach out and grab your tit once he recovers slightly. His hand, that balmy and big thing, cups you as he pinches your nipple a few ineffective time. The pleasure is there, constant as ever, but it feels far away like it’s at one end of a tunnel and you’re at the other. Dull, maybe. It’s dull. 

“What are you yammering about, Cherry?” 

“Miracle Mike,” you tell him, still unable to take your eyes away from the mirror that reflects this girl lying in the bed. She looks a lot like you. “Anyway, he ended up choking on his own spit and dying in a motel because his owners forgot a dropper. Imagine surviving your head getting chopped off and living for two years and then you choke on your own spit because some space cadet forgot a dropper?” 

He rolls your nipple between his fingers again and you finally give in to the shiver that tingles your spine. When he sees your back arch off the bed, when he sees that little flutter of your eyelids, he moves closer to you. He kisses and suckles at your throat, letting his half-hard cock press against your hip. 

“What the Hell are you talking about chickens for?” He asks, shaking his head. His mustache is tickling the delicate skin of your collarbones, his mussed hair nudging your nose and chin as he kisses lower and lower. You can feel him growing harder against you, can feel the warmth spreading across his chest. “Chickens get your engines revving, baby? Hmm?”

“No,” you answer, biting your lip hard. “I don’t like chickens.” 

He dips his hand between your legs--you’re wet. You think you’re always some degree of wet at this point. It’s like evolution; a survival tactic; adapting to your environment.

He scoffs like he doesn’t believe you, circling your clit a few times as he closes his lips around your nipple. You watch it all unfold in the mirror above you. 

“You’re such a fucking fry, baby,” he tells you, his voice deep and throaty. “My little Cherry, getting all wet talking about chickens with their heads cut off. Gnarly bitch.” 

You moan when he plunges his fingers inside of you--three of them, you think. There’s just a bit of a burn as he stretches to fill you, only a tiny bit. But you’re wet enough to lubricate his fingers, wet enough to let your mouth fall open and moan for him. 

Your ears are ringing.  

“Fucking freak, aren’t you, baby?” He whispers, his lips hovering yours. His breath smells like the Aperol he drank, the cigarettes he chewed on, the doobie he smoked, the coke he snorted. You never knew coke had a scent until you started inhaling it, until it was sprinkled in every mustache you kissed, until it littered every glass table you encountered. It smells like flowers almost--smells better than chicken shit. “Say you’re a fucking freak, Cherry. Tell me how fucking weird you are.”

The tips of your fingers feel numb.  

“Buzz off,” you try. 

He bites down hard on your bottom lip--hard enough that you know you’re bleeding instantly. It’s the kind of pain that makes your teeth clash, the kind of pain that makes your nose feel fuzzy. Just as soon as he releases your bottom lip from the wrath of his teeth, he’s sucking on it. You can taste metal--can feel the warm blood sliding down your throat. 

“Say it.”

“I’m a fucking freak,” you whisper to him.

A steady river of blood leaks from the corner of your mouth to the pillow beneath you, clumping your hair, drying it in a tangle. He’s gonna be in trouble when Dennis sees you tomorrow--you won’t give Dennis his name, though. You’ll say you got too high and fell asleep with your lip between your teeth. Dennis will believe you.

“Tell me I’m the man,” he mutters to you, suddenly and swiftly replacing his fingers with his cock. It makes you gasp out, makes your fingernails embed themselves in his skin. Your nail is broken off on the middle finger of your right hand--his fault, too. He’s rough, rougher than your producers like men to be with you off-camera. Even if he fucked you a little bit over an hour ago, his cock feels unfamiliar inside of you as he fills you up. It’s a skinny and long thing, akin to a pencil. Pencil-dick is what you want to call him. “Say it.” 

He’s thrusting into you rapidly, his hips slamming into yours and his fingers wrapping around your thighs to hold you close to him. It feels good, at least--feels good to be jerked around a little bit.

You lick the blood off your lips. 

“You’re the man,” you whisper, shaking your head softly. You keep staring up at the mirror above you. Your pupils are big right now--dilated entirely in the darkness of the room. All you can see is those black pools sitting in the middle of your irises, reflecting all that flesh tangling in your flesh, gleaming in the light of midnight. “You’re the fucking man, baby.”  

𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: WHO DO YOU THINK THE MAN IN THE PROLOGUE IS GOING TO BE?

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

[lady-literature]

Accidental Crime Boss Marinette

Okay so,, I have this AU in my head, right? (not surprised) and I’m lacking any real direction for it (still not surprised) but it basically goes like this:

Marinette moves to Gotham.

She’s drawn there for whatever reason and the kwami are saying something about balance and being a Guardian and her sacred duty and something but Marinette isn’t really listening. She’s too busy trying to find a shop front where she can open a bakery without having to worry about getting mugged every time she steps outside.

Chloé comes with her, obviously, because they’re friends and Chloé has a business degree she puts to good use actually running Mari’s bakery and online boutique while Mari gets to bake and fuck around basically. Adrien, Luka and Kagami are not there, but that’s mostly because they travel too much to settle down and keeping an empty apartment in Gotham is just asking for trouble.

Kagami is a world-renowned fencer and Luka travels the world for his music company. Not touring, but soaking up cultures and ways of life so he can make soundtracks to movies and tv shows. Providing the background and life to a film is more his style than touring the world ala his father, Jagged Stone.

Adrien is having the time of his life being Kagami’s trophy husband. He has no pressing responsibilities he doesn’t take on for himself and he gets to fuck with the world’s elite with little to no consequences. He spends most of his days donating far too much money to charities and orphanages and then causing minor scandals that land him on the cover of magazines.

He has much the same kind of ‘dumbass with a heart of gold’ persona to the media as Bruce Wayne does, only without the playboy bits.

(There is a wall in the back of the bakery, where Chloé and Mari carefully cut out and frame every headline and ridiculous picture Adrien has. He is very much delighted when he learns about his ‘wall of fame’.)

Anyway, Marinette finds herself with a bakery not overly far from crime alley, much to Chloé’s chagrin.

(“What do you mean it ‘just felt right’?! I swear to kwami, DC, you’re going to get us robbed and sold into slavery.”)

They do not get sold into salvery.

In fact, despite their less than stellar choice of locale, they do pretty well for themselves. The only problems they have (according to Chloé) is the army of children Marinette accidentally attracted.

When asked, Marinette tells everyone that it was an accident. Meanwhile, Chloé, standing behind her, will shake her head and insist there was literally never any other option for them the moment that first kid came in looking to nab some cash and a few pastries.

Mari lives by the phrases, ‘kindness breeds more kindness’ and ‘do unto others’ and all that other nice person shit. Chloé just lets Mari pseudo-adopt her strays and makes sure that they don’t steal anything too important in the time it takes her to gain their loyalty.

The kwami stay staunchly out of any arguments involving the kids (and eventually the homeless all along their street and every working girl in a five-block radius). They do so with a special brand of amusement that never means good things for either of them. (After all, the last time the kwami looked that amused, they moved to Gotham.)

The first kid is named Serrure, as Marinette comes to learn over the next month after he returns again and again, getting closer and closer like a feral cat. Other kids come during that time, all of them too small and too thin and too guarded for Mari's tastes. She wants to wrap them all up and tuck them into bed but she can’t. She has to be patient, has to be gentle. These kids are just as likely to bite her hand as they are to accept help.

Serrure becomes an almost permanent fixture at the bakery after that first month. Mari’s not quite sure what she did to get through to him, but she did, she supposes. He can’t be much older than eleven and looks nine, but after getting settled, she and Chloé discover this little slip of a boy is just as mischievous as Trixx and has all the dramatics of their favorite black cat.

The kwami, when talking about him, only refer to Serrure as Loki, even after Marinette scolds them for it. She eventually gives up trying to correct them, it’s not like Serrure talks to them anyway(yet)((that she knows of)).

There’s an apartment above the bakery, which is where Chloé and Mari and all her strays that grow to trust her enough live. It’s three bedrooms, and at first, Mari just buys as many bunk beds as she can fit into the spare room and calls it a day. The kids feel safe in her home, which isn’t too surprising. Everyone thinks the bakery feels safe, feels like home or comfort or whatever else eases their minds.

And Marinette should hopes so. She certainly put enough time and effort and magic and energy into the wards around this place for that to happen. To protect her and the children and all her strays that no one else will help.

But, she eventually amasses too many kids to fit into the one room. Chloé throws a fit about having to share with Mari again—“I had enough of that in university thank you very much”—but she relinquishes easily enough.

Mari buys more bunk beds, and Serrure has taken to sneaking into her room to curl up in her bed anyway, and sometimes the smaller kids who have nightmares will come in and pile on as well.

(There are only a few that Chloé will allow to do the same with her. It is considered a high honor and breeds a playful kind of jealousy that Chloé finds amusing. Mari scolds her for pitting the kids against each other.)

That only lasts them another two months.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Chloé tells her one day before the kids wake up. Mari is at the stove, cooking and baking for a small army while Chloé balances the books. “There’s not enough room for us all, DC, and the only reason someone hasn’t come barrelling down on us about the abundance of children is by the grace of your absurd amount of luck.”

“Well I can’t just kick them out, Queenie! What do you want from me?”

“Either we need to buy more real estate in this city—which I’d rather not do��or you open up the grimoire and start building pocket dimensions. I know you can. I’ve read the chapter.”

Marinette looks at her. “That is such a bad idea.”

They do the idea.

And then Mari adds about a thousand more wards to the bakery, carved into the wood and counter and anything that’s a permanent fixture. Doorways become particularly ward heavy, what with them being the entrances and exits to the hidden realms and children’s’ rooms.

The apartment above the bakery isn’t quite infinite but it gets pretty damn close some days.

This also means, of course, that all the kids definitely know about magic now. Some of them—Serrure—have known about it for a while she knows, but it’s different now. The kwami followed her around most of the time and she doesn’t keep them trapped in the Miracle Box like Fu did, but now that the kids know, they don’t bother staying hidden.

The children, at least, love them and the kwami adore them with all the ferocity a god can give. After Chloé gets over her ‘ew children’ phase, she throws herself into their education (on top of actually running the businesses Mari keeps, mind you). She has the help of the kwami, who act as personal tutors to the children, and it’s not long before the kids start to joke about her being the Principal.

(Some tried to call her Warden, but that joke didn’t last long.)

Marinette has also been telling the kids bedtime stories ever since this started. Old stories of the Guardian and Chosens who fought back the darkness, she shares all she knows of the Orders history with these kids and it’s not until Wayzz points it out to her does she realize what she’s doing.

“Ladybugs are known for renewal. It is no surprise that you are rebuilding what was lost.”

Rebuilding the Order using children was certainly not her intention but, well. She supposes there’s no place safer for her kids than what is shaping up to be the new Miracle Temple. It’s the only haven where they can learn to harness their Gifts and powers, it’s the only place where they can be surrounded by others like them without being thrust into superhero-dom.

Context: about a month into this whole circus, Marinette had realized there was a significant—almost all of them really—amount of metas and Gifted in her little hoard of strays. Which is… odd. Especially with how few metas there are in Gotham.

She had asked the kwami about it, and they have that amused look again. “You are their guardian.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re their guardian. True, you are the Guardian of us, of the ancient ways, but you are a guardian at your soul too. You protect what is yours, and they are yours whether you realise it or not. The children can sense that, so they flock to you.”

And, huh. She supposes that makes sense but that’s also really kind of strange and weird and she doesn't want to think about that anymore actually.

So things are… fine, Marinette supposes. The bakery is doing well, and she has about two dozen-plus helpers running around underfoot to help tend to the customers or run to the store or help in the back with the baking. And every kid of hers has new clothes, their street things thrown out for being too ragged and replaced with something fresh made by Marinette’s own hands.

She embroiders little fairy wings into the clothes normally, because that’s what her cloaked wards look like most times and the kids like it and its technically the logo for the bakery and there’s a million reasons she does it.

It is, perhaps, her first mistake.

(“It was certainly not your first,” Chloé will snark one dayin the future.)

Because now Marinette has an army of magical children learning to wield their powers and not fear them and they’re all wearing what can be considered her insignia and uh oh, it looks a lot like Mari is some sort of up and coming mob boss who uses kids and prostitutes and the homeless as runners. People on the street start calling her the Pixie, start referring to Chloé—her second in all things just as Chat had been her equal—as Wasp, as Yellowjacket, as the Unseelie.

(They cannot seem to pick a name for her, but Pixie is all but engraved in stone. Mari is not sure who coined it, and she doesn't think she wants to know.)

The first time the whole situation is brought to her attention, she punches the idiot who dared even imply such a thing so hard she knocks him out.

Because look. The kids are hers right? And she watches out for the people near her, makes sure the working girls are treated as well as they can be and offers the homeless extra food and a dry place to wait out the storm. She offers her hand and gives them all a place to rest, to eat, to exist without expectations or consequences.

She does that because she’s kind, because it hurts her to see people in need, to see them suffer, not because she’s hoping to gain something from it.

The fact that most of them repay her in gossip or information or bend her ear about the newest goings on in the corrupt elite or filthy underworld is strange, yes, but it’s nice to know what’s going on in the city, she supposes. And one time, Kathy, who works on the corner of Brookes and Gilmore, warned her of a drug raid that saved her an unnecessary trip to the police station so it’s not like it doesn't have it’s uses.

But mostly, Mari doesn't really think about all the information that’s unintentionally or otherwise passed onto her. She remembers it all, because it’s rude not to listen when people talk to her, but nothing comes of normally.

Not until Serrure—now twelve and well versed in the magic of illusions and glamors and knows almost as much about this city as her or the Bats—bursts into the bakery one day and grabs Mari away from the front counter right in the middle of a customer ordering. She should, perhaps, be a little angry at that but Tony, one of the older boys and just shy of sixteen, steps into her place almost immediately, so.

And then Serrure speaks and everything is pushed aside in favour of the next words to fall from his lips.

“Someone took Sophie,” he says and she nearly sees red.

After Serrure, Sophie has been here the longest. She is the youngest of them all, only seven, but oh so clever and kind and while she looks nothing like her, everyone calls her Mini-Mari. If Serrure is her beloved first son, Sophie is her treasured daughter.

She’s out the door in the next moment, storming her way to their base. She has Sophie and a handful of extra kids back by sunset, a little frightened, but no worse for wear. She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, besides making sure that the idiots who dared cross her never do so again, but word gets out.

Soon, her kids and teens and adults begin giving her more than just information, they begin giving her problems. Ones she’s meant to fix because she’s Pixie. She’s safety, she’s protection, she’s the one the people start to turn to for help.

And enter stage left, one Jason Todd who’s all snark and charm and smiles wrapped up in a nice leather bow and tall enough that Mari likely could climb him like a tree. If that was something she wanted, she guesses.

(She wants. She just won’t admit.)

He becomes a regular at the bakery and befriends most of her kids.

Mari’s wary when he first takes an interest in them. They’ve been hurt and a lot of them are still adjusting to being safe and it doesn't matter that this man is hot enough to burn, if he steps even a toe out of line with her kids she’ll make him wish he was never even born.

But, she stops worrying eventually. The kwami like him well enough, but seem to think something’s odd about him—but its Gotham, who isn’t strange?—and both Serrure and Sophie take to him like ducks to water and they’re both good judges of character.

There’s a certain intuition they both have that reminds Marinette just a bit too much about herself and pure magic. Not for the first time does she wonder if they got such strong magic from their parents or if it cropped up in them randomly, fostered by fortune and chance and the magic that’s so deeply seeped into the bones of her bakery it’ll be here long after she’s gone.

And, okay, so she was a little right to be wary because Jason was mostly there to investigate her. Far too many people respect her and are loyal to her and she has a veritable orphanage in her pocket and also Harley and Ivy like her and it just- it doesn’t look good right?

But Jason’s a good detective and it doesn't take him long at all to see that Mari is just as sweet and kind and loving as she appears to be. Not long after that, Red Hood declares Pixie and all of hers, under his protection. She, of course, is more than capable of taking care of her and hers, and the underworld knows this, has seen it, but he does it anyway.

The news, of course, gets back to Mari and she is… confused. Why would the Red Hood do something like that? She’s heard talk of him being sweet on kids, but to claim her? They’ve never even met.

Bonus points for Jason being there when she’s told about it. He kind of raises his eyebrow at her because, huh, that was fast, and then spends the next few minutes talking up the Red Hood to her much to her utter bafflement.

He actually keeps doing that too, talking up the Red Hood. Mari thinks he has a crush on the man for the longest time because of it. Until he reveals he is Red Hood, then she just wants to punch his stupidly handsome face for being such an idiot.

Shit happens from there and things go down and the two spend a couple of months dancing around each other and intentionally and unintentionally ruling the criminal underworld and at one point Marinette definitely punches Bruce and Batman in the face—separately, much to Jason’s unending joy—and she also definitely adopts Duke/Signal as well because that poor boy needs to know he’s not alone.

And it’s just them being domestic and badass and lowkey raising an army of children and falling in love while the kwami and the kids and Chloé are all in the background just yelling at them to get together already!

Which, they do. Eventually. After all the secrets come out and Jason knows about the magic and Order and meets Mari’s other friends, ie Kagami, Luka and Adrien who are all intimidating for wildly different reasons. And Mari finds out that Jason died and came back (which earns him the nickname firebird btw) and that he was a Robin once upon a time but is now Red Hood and oh my kwami it all makes sense now.

Jason confesses like three times via classic Victorian romance novel quotes because he’s a fucking literature nerd but it’s not until he basically spells it out for Mari does she really understand. it’s all very sweet and heartwarming and then the pair duck into one of the empty pocket dimensions they have lying around and aren’t seen for three days.

(No one really goes to look for them tbh)

Chloé definitely teases them about early honeymoons and things but besides the two being even more ridiculously lovey-dovey than usual, life goes back to normal. Or as normal as it gets for them. 

And they all live happily ever after the end.

[mickgaydolenz]

What if Gwen ends up making friends with the angriest looking animal possible. Like a dog that was used for fighting and was going to be put down or a pissed off stray cat? She deserves an animal friend of some kind. Maybe something that terrorizes Ludlow.

what a genius. big brain. incredible idea 💖🙏😔

okay, okay so the doppel-gang end up raiding another gang’s base and while they are there doing their thing (pilfering through and taking whatever valuables they want etc) gwen stumbles upon a room where a giant dog is being kept in the smallest crate imaginable. the dog starts to growl as soon as she spots her but gwen’s too busy flipping shit about how horrible the dog looks to even notice.

she immediately goes to let her out, and the dog starts to flip -like full lunging at the bars with the little space it has, snapping through the gaps- but again gwen does not care she is just set on getting this poor animal free. the dog seems to sense this, and starts to calm down, but remains weary. when she finally manages to pick the lock gwen rips the door open and sticks her hands in to get. that. dog. out!!!! but the dog takes it as an attack and bites down on her hand hard!!!! but gwen doesn’t panic, doesn’t even try to take her hand away, she just calmly looks at this petrified animal and says “you must have been so scared.” and by some miracle the dog seems to get it, she understand that this human doesn’t want to hurt her, so slowly her jaw relaxes and she releases gwen’s hand licking the pretty stellar bite left behind in apology.

when gwen reunites with the rest of the gang she’s holding this massive doberman pinscher like a baby with a very much so still bleeding hand looking for all the world like nothing happened, meanwhile the rest of the gang is just looking at her like 👀👀👀

and that’s how gwen gets her dog 💖✌️😌

[taifm]

* ◦ . ·     𝘾𝙊𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙉  𝘽𝘼𝙔  ,  𝘉𝘖𝘕  𝘍𝘐𝘙𝘌  𝘈𝘛  𝘊𝘖𝘚𝘛𝘖𝘕  𝘉𝘈𝘠  𝘉𝘌𝘈𝘊𝘏     ››     𝚃𝙰𝙸  &  𝙽𝙾𝙰𝙷     ·  

truth  be  told  ,  if  anyone  was  to  ask  him  who  the  hell  this  was  all  for  ,  tai  wouldn’t  have  been  able  to  tell  them  .  he’d  lost  track  of  everyone  that  had  left  ,  everyone  that  was  due  home  &  everyone  that  had  come  back  already  .  there  were  too  many  to  remember  .  it  seemed  coston  bay  had  been  an  ever  revolving  door  since  he’d  graduated  .  &  for  all  he  knew  the  person  that  he’d  just  spent  the  last  5  minutes  talking  to  ,  or  the  one  he’d  simply  nodded  to  in  passing  when  he’d  first  arrived  ,  could  have  been  the  person  that  he  was  meant  to  be  welcoming  home  .  .  .  or  was  it  saying  goodbye  ?  he  didn’t  know  .  maybe  he  should  have  .  maybe  he  should  have  payed  more  attention  when  finn  had  been  nattering  away  to  frankie  &  indi  when  they’d  stopped  at  heart  &  soul  earlier  .  but  honestly  ?  tai  had  a  hard  time  believing  that  anyone  CARED  whether  or  not  he  remembered  them  .  hell  ,  he  had  a  hard  time  believing  that  anyone  cared  he  was  there  FULL  STOP  .  7  years  might  have  passed  since  he’d  graduated  ,  &  rowdy  parties  at  the  stacks  had  slowly  but  surely  been  traded  for  lower  key  house  parties  &  bon  fires  ,  but  one  thing  had  ALWAYS  stayed  the  same  ;  coston  bay  was  a  small  town  .  &  no  matter  how  many  years  had  passed  ,  or  how  much  change  someone  went  through ,  reputations  had  a  way  of  sticking  around  .  &  tai’s  ?  well  .  .  .  it  wasn’t  EXACTLY  stellar  .  he’d  found  his  people  in  a  bunch  of  misfits  ,  oddballs  &  outcasts  .  &  not  even  his  last  name  ,  that  could  be  found  printed  upon  the  labels  of  wine  bottles  in  michelin  star  restaurants  down  in  la  &  further  afield  ,  could  salvage  that  .  not  that  he  cared  .  not  that  he’d  EVER  cared  .  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  crowd  had  never  bothered  him  .   &  it  especially  didn’t  nowadays  .  he  was  content  —  HAPPY  even  —  to  be  side-eyed  by  the  main  group  gathered  at  the  edge  of  the  bon  fire  ,  that  crackled  &  mimicked  the  orange  glow  of  a  setting  sun  that  had  dipped  beneath  the  horizon  long  before  the  crowd  of  coston  bay  high’s  twenty-10’s  classes  had  stepped  foot  onto  the  sand  .  because  no  matter  who  this  whole  thing  was  ACTUALLY  for  ,  tonight  may  have  been  the  first  night  in  2  years  since  EVERYONE  in  his  small  group  had  been  in  the  same  place  at  the  same  time  .  &  so  far  ,  no  one  had  threatened  to  push  anyone  into  the  bon  fire  .  it  was  a  miracle  really  ,  considering  —  well  .  .  .  everything  .  &  maybe  if  he  was  a  cynic  ,  he’d  believe  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  .  the  night  was  still  young  after  all  &  ,  really  ,  nights  like  these  had  a  way  of  being  unpredictable  .  but  the  thing  about  the  word  unpredictable  people  seemed  to  forget  sometimes  was  that  it  was  always  a  synonymous  of  bad  .  unpredictable  was  simply  that  ;  unpredictable  .  &  tai  had  ALWAYS  loved  seeing  just  what  the  world  had  in  store  .

it  was  ,  however  ,  easier  to  navigate  when  there  was  a  small  buzz  of  just�� 1  too  many  warming  him  from  within  .  &  as  he  swallowed  the  last  remaining  drop  of  his  second  beer  ,  he  struggled  up  from  the  still  warm  sand  that  shifted  beneath  his  weight  in  search  of  another  .  “  you  lot  want  anything  while  i’m  up  ?  ”  heads  shook  &  a  few  voiced  declines  came  as  he  wiped  sand  from  the  fabric  of  his  pants  with  his  free  hand  ,  but  it  wasn’t  long  before  that  hand  was  wrapping  its  fingers  around  a  held  out  paper  cup  as  finn  requested  another  of  the  same  .  “  another  spritz  coming  up  —  ”  &  before  she  could  even  begin  to  get  her  lips  around  the  words  ,  he  beat  her  to  the  addition  she’d  been  adding  since  they  were  young  with  a  pointed  finger  that  lifted  towards  her  as  he  slowly  backed  away  ,  “  in  the  same  cup  .  i  know  ,  i  know  .  save  the  turtles  .  ”  a  grin  spread  across  his  lips  &  it  lingered  even  as  he  turned  to  weave  his  way  through  the  crowd  of  people  towards  the  coolers  set  up  just  where  the  small  line  of  beach  scrub  met  the  open  sand  .  he  discarded  his  own  beer  bottle  into  the  bucket  dedicated  to  dead  drinks  &  cups  but  set  finn’s  cup  carefully  upon  a  closed  cooler  before  he  went  in  search  for  everything  needed  for  her  spritz  .  this  was  ONE  of  the  reasons  he’d  always  put  up  going  to  these  sorts  of  parties  .  they  had  just  about  anything  to  drink  .  even  small  god  damn  bottles  of  prosecco  .  talk  about  excessive  .  but  it  really  it  shouldn’t  have  been  ANY  shock  .  not  when  he  scanned  the  faces  that  lingered  nearest  the  flickering  fire  as  he  made  his  way  back  to  group  of  5  taking  residence  up  the  beach  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bon  fire  .  it  had  dwindled  since  high  school  &  even  as  the  days  grew  warmer  nowadays  the  numbers  never  reached  their  peak  .  but  there  were  always  a  few  .  a  few  that  hardly  looked  in  his  direction  .  &  even  if  they  did  ,  the  disdain  was  there  unhidden  upon  their  features  .  &  in  any  other  situation  ,  he  would  have  simply  kept  walking  .  but  his  steps  hesitated  as  his  eyes  settled  upon  foreign  features  .  he  knew  her  .  of  course  he  did  .  she’d  been  only  a  year  under  him  ,  the  same  year  as  frankie  .  but  the  girl  that  sat  upon  the  log  pulled  up  in  front  of  the  fire  looked  far  different  than  the  noah  sterling  he’d  remembered  .  granted  ,  it  had  been  a  few  years  since  he’d  actually  seen  her  .  but  it  was  for  the  most  part  ,  the  fact  she  seemed  to  linger  on  the  edge  .  not  quite  OUT  of  the  group  but  not  close  enough  to  be  included  in  the  conversation  they  all  seemed  to  be  lost  in  .  though  from  the  looks  of  it  seemed  even  if  she  was  ,  he’d  be  willing  to  bet  she’d  have  no  clue  what  they  were  talking  about  .  because  as  his  eyes  followed  her  unblinking  stare  ,  the  marshmallow  on  the  end  of  her  skewer  was  just  about  burnt  to  a  crisp  .  a  slight  crease  formed  between  his  brows  as  he  glanced  towards  her  friends  that  never  looked  up  before  his  attention  returned  back  at  her  .  lips  parted  for  a  second  but  then  settled  together  once  more  as  he  glanced  over  to  his  own  friends  .  a  finger  tapped  against  finn’s  cup  a  few  times  before  he  took  a  breath  ,  finn  could  wait  .  &  without  so  much  as  a  second  thought  or  a  slither  of  hesitation  ,  his  lips  parted  as  he  stepped  forward  ,  “  you  know  ,  correct  me  if  i’m  wrong  ,  but  i  always  thought  the  goal  of  roasting  a  marshmallow  was  to  get  a  nice  gold  colour  going  on  it  —  ”  his  words  lingered  for  a  moment  as  he  stepped  around  the  edge  of  the  log  but  as  he  lowered  himself  down  beside  her  on  the  very  edge  of  the  log  &  pushed  the  cup  &  beer  into  the  sand  so  they  stood  on  their  own  ,  he  continued  ,  “  not  ,  you  know  ,  burn  the  ever  living  hell  out  of  it  .  ”  his  eyes  focused  on  her  for  a  moment  before  shifting  to  the  black  lump  that  once  resembled  what  he  could  really  only  assume  was  a  marshmallow  ,  “  because  i  reckon  you’ve  got  about  2  seconds  before  that  becomes  a  lump  of  charcoal  .  ”  he  paused  for  another  moment  before  he  looked  back  at  her  ,  “  unless  this  is  some  new  way  anyone  that  is  anyone  is  doing  s’mores  because  then  —  ” his  hands  lifted  slightly  as  he  sat  up  a  little  straighter  ,  a  slight  grin  pulling  at  a  single  corner  of  his  lips   ,  “  my  bad  .  ”

[twigg96]

If you're still doing asks, how about what it would be like spending christmas with each of the Metalocalypse gang as your s/o? ❤💚

Hey guys!! I’d love to thank @amazonboatchurch for another fantastic question!! This really put me in the mood to write some cutesy holidays things today ❤️💚 I hope you all enjoy these HCs!!!

Nathan: This boi grew up around traditional Christmas trees and a semi-functional family. Even though he was a military brat he knows that Christas is one of the most special times of year that you spend with the ones you love. He would make sure that your Christmas was done right and according to your traditions. You want to wear silly matching pajamas on Christmas Eve? You got it. You want him to wear one of those God awful ugly sweaters? Done no complaints. You want a real tree instead of an aluminum one? Your wish is his command. Dinner with the parents… That’s Doable. Anything you want to do to make the holidays special Nathan is more than down for. Because he just wants to make you happy.

Pickles: Our poor little red head has some serious PTSD when it comes to almost any holiday I would assume. Seth being the Golden Child really messed him up emotionally so watching his brother open better presents, or gifts he wanted as a youngster as well as being told “If you weren’t so bad then maybe you’d earn better presents.” Or worse. “God doesn’t love you enough to get you that this year.” really soured his taste on Christmas. Pickles was very much a “Bah Humbug” type of person who drowned himself in his sorrows before he met you. Even then it probably took you a while to break through his many Christmas themed walls to get to where you are now. The promise of cookies forced the junkie out of his hovel just to have you trick him into helping him bake them too. A tradition that stuck through the years. It took another week before Pickles was comfortable helping to decorate and really all he did was put the star on the tree, an honor he was refused at home because his short stature. But you took his progress in stride helping him to grow comfortable until one day you caught him drunk and high in one of your Christmas sweaters. Snuggling close to him and laying a sweet kiss to his rosy cheek choosing not to comment on how much he looked like a red headed dreaded Santa in that moment.

Skwisgaar: Christmas is a time of year Skwisgaar held dear to his heart. His mother came around, yes. But she was kind and caring during this time, doting on her darling boy, a pleasure he enjoyed while he could. Skwisgaar himself seemed to tame domestically during the holidays. Not wanting to do much except cuddle next to the fire under thick wool sweaters and blankets with big mugs of hot cocoa. Sometimes he’d even slip in a marshmallow because “you ams just so sweet.” Besides hoarding you away, his other favorite thing to do would be taking you all around town to show you all the beautiful light displays that people had put up that year. He would love to watch the lights twinkle in your eyes as he brushed freshly fallen snow from you cheeks and hair. He’d fall deeper in love with each passing display.

Murderface: Despite contrary belief Murderface had some really good holidays with his grandparents. Yes his Grandma could be harsh and hyper critical but she truly loved and spoiled the shit out of her miracle baby growing up. But as he got older she expected him to get the family some stellar gifts in return. Because of this, William had some top tier gift choosing abilities. He loves to shop and flaunt you around, being the one that you turn to when your wondering what color to get or if that’s the right item. “No no no! Picklesch would much rather have the green bong truscht me babe.” And when it came down to YOUR gift Christmas morning. Watch out. Murderface goes big. Weather it’s huge expensive diamonds, new cars, or trips to exotic places. He always makes sure your satisfied by the end of Christmas.

Toki: Little baby Toki had never celebrated Christmas until he came over to America. But now it’s his favorite holiday. He loves the idea of a big happy family spending time together and loving each other unconditionally for a full day no questions asked. Toki would drag you everywhere with him in the coming weeks to Christmas. First he’d switch all your wardrobe into Christmas sweaters to match the season. Then he would have you help him decorate the entirety of Mordhaus both inside and out. Followed by your apartment if you weren’t already living together. Next he’d watch as you baked cookies for Santa. He’d only be allowed to watch because the one time he helped he nearly set the kitchen on fire, added too much vanilla, and ate all the chocolate chips before slipping into a diabetic coma. Toki would bring you shopping to make sure he picked out perfect presents for everyone. Having you help wrap everything once you both got home. Then on Christmas morning you would unwrap the perfect present from the most excited Norwegian in the entire world begging to know if what he got you was good enough. If you cried he would just freeze until you hugged him and told him it was perfect and he was perfect.

Bonus!!!

Charles: The business man himself seems very cold and calculating but at times he can be very thoughtful and sweet. A small usb powered aluminum Christmas tree would sit at the corner of his desk. One that Toki would have surely bought him and he cherishes dearly. He would wrap tiny little gifts, placing them under the tree for the boys to take when they were upset or needed a pick me up. Charles would plan your Christmas gift like he would plan a Dethklok Concert. He would hire an entire team of experts to research the best gifts, no matter the price. Scouring each possible result he research it himself mercilessly until it failed his testing. Until finally he found the one. Something he knew you’d love or would have been asking for. He’d buy it and wrap it neatly hiding it away in his desk before inviting you over on Christmas. He wouldn’t expect a gift from you but when you brought him one and laid a kiss on his lips. He wouldn’t say he wasn’t pleased. He would chuckle as you excitedly waited for him to open his gift first. A new laptop. Something he desperately needed. Sliding into his lap you’d open your gift slowly, careful not to make a mess of the paper. Something he admires in you. A trip away. Just the two of you. It was the vacation you had been yearning for.

Magnus: The curly haired man wasn’t much for Christmas. But much like Nathan he too strives to make you happy. He’d help you decorate the apartment with whatever meager decorations you both could afford. He would be very grateful for his height as he easily strung lights along the walls and placed the star atop the tree without effort. His mouth would water as you baked cookies in the next room as he practiced his guitar, but he would complain if you tried to feed him any. Saying things like “you’re trying to kill me with all that sugar.” And “I don’t like sweets.” Although when your back is turned, he would definitely steal a few to try. Neither of you have much cash for gifts. So you both end up making an agreement to make each other’s gift that year. Magnus writes and plays a new song for you Christmas Day. It’s beautifully slow and melodic something that came straight from the heart. You too wrote a song for Magnus. Lyrics that by complete coincidence match his melody perfectly. Together you too rock the day away. Magnus feeling his heart swell with love and admiration for you by the second as you make him a grand meal. Standing beneath the doorway Magnus would glance up, noticing that he would be standing under the mistletoe. Pulling you over to him, he’d kiss you sweetly and tenderly. A thank you for all you have ever done for him.

[joshslater]

Delayed Graduation

This is a repost since the original story got banned for unclear reasons. The previous image was totally innocent photo of a guy in wrestling attire. Let’s try with a different one (without updating the story). Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

- We might have a solution of sorts for you.

I barely registered principal Johnston talking. My world had been shattered, without warning. It all felt unreal, and most of all unfair. I know I hadn’t done anything wrong, but there were no witnesses, just my word against hers. She wouldn’t press charges, Johnston had explained. I was almost demanding that she did, so I could clear my name, but thought better of it. If it went to trial all outcomes would be bad, to varying degrees. This way I would just be expelled. I guess I could use the term “drop out” to soften it further. It’s not like the job market is stellar even if you have a degree, but this would firmly pigeon hole me as manual labor.

- What? - I said we might have an arrangement that could interest you.

He pulled out a stack of papers from his manila folder and placed them in front of me, and continued.

- We have a little trial project we would like to push ahead with, to see what the full potential is. Coach Andrews would personally take charge of your training to see how far he can take you in a year. Similar to what he managed to do for Shane O’Brian. Since you will be heavily supervised, fully scheduled and not share any classes with your former class mates, she has agreed to allow you complete your studies under these conditions. It’s not that many months until she graduates anyway. Your graduation obviously will have to wait until next year.

Shane of course was the star of the basket team. He was two years below me, so I didn’t know him, but I heard he had basically never touched a ball before he met coach. He must have been active in something else though, with that body. The girls were swooning like crazy. Some of the boys too, as rumor had it.

- Sir, I’m really grateful for this opportunity, but I’m not really made for sports. Just look at me. Tall and thin. Not much track and field around here. - We are not asking for any miracles. Just follow all instructions given and do your best. That’s all we’re asking.

I started to flip through the papers. I was bored just looking at the page numbers.

- Should I bring this home to my parents? - This is a bit time sensitive, so I’d prefer if you make your decision already today. You’re 18. You get to decide this on your own. Why don’t I leave you for a bit? You can have a read through, and then decide what you want to do.

As he left the room I started to go read through the contract properly. Why do they make things so complicated? The contract really just said that I assumed responsibility for the “infraction”, but the school would not disclose it to anyone unless the contract was breached. I would agree to participate in the athletic education study for one year. In return the school would allow me to graduate next year. But written over 26 pages.

I didn’t feel like I had many options. Initials on every page and signature on the last. Then repeated on the second copy of the contract. I was about to leave and find principal Johnston when he returned, followed by coach Andrews.

- Have you made up your mind, or would you like Mr. Andrews to explain it in more detail. - I’ve already signed the papers. - Oh, well then. I’m so happy we could work something out.

Coach Andrews opened the gym bag he was carrying and pulled out a blue singlet and ear guards, and held them for me to take.

- Let’s try this on right away. - Now? Here?

Johnston opened a door to a side room of his office.

- You can change in the conference room here. - But wrestling?! Have you seen me? - As I said, follow all instructions and do your best is all we ask.

It was the first time I even held a singlet in my hands. I’ve never even thought of how to put one on. It wasn’t hard, just step in them like some shorts and then pull the straps over your shoulders, but I never imagined doing it.

I looked ridiculous. I guess size isn’t as important when the fabric is stretchy, but this sure wasn’t my size. The taut straps pulled the fabric in the groin, while at the same time my thin legs didn’t fill out the legs of the singlet. What a mess. I walked back into the office, naked apart from this one single piece of clothing.

- Should I put on the ear guards as well. - No, that isn’t necessary. Here.

Coach opened a small, brown, glass bottle and poured its contents into a white plastic cup from the water cooler, and handed it to me.

- This is the time sensitive part. Drink up.

This day was going from horrendously bad to confusing to weird. I emptied the cup. The liquid tasted like cough syrup. Sickly sweet and with bitter herbs.

- What is.. *cough* *cough* - Here. Take a seat.

It felt like drinking really hot cocoa when you are frozen. It kind of spreads from the chest to the rest of the body. All of me was getting warm, and an uncomfortable feeling or pressure. Everything was off, like I was drunk, or high or something. It was over in a minute, though it is quite possible my mind was playing tricks and it really was longer than that.

- Stand up against the wall, so I can take a photo.

Bewildered, and with unsteady steps, I did as told. He snapped a few pictures with his phone, and then showed me one.

- Don’t tell me this isn’t a great starting point.

I couldn’t believe what I saw. It was definitely me in the photo, but it was like the aspect ratio was wrong. I must be several inches shorter, but everything, arms, legs, chest, shoulders, neck, was wider. Even my face was altered, if ever so slightly. Where just minutes before, or whatever, I was a lanky gamer, I now was a hunk of muscle.

- How is this... - Don’t worry about the details. We must work quickly now while you are fresh, to get the wrestling technique right. Meet me in my office tomorrow at 7 am.

With that he slapped me on the shoulder and left. Just as he was about to exit the office, he pulled out a pair of shoes from the bag and placed them at a table.

- Oh, I almost forgot these. Your new size. See you tomorrow!

My head was spinning. What had just happened to me, to my body? Starting point? Principal Johnston had his distinct “anything else?” look.

- What about my studies?

My voice was lower than before, I think.

- You’ll be placed in the athlete’s reduced curriculum class. We just need to retest your proficiency levels first. - Why? I don’t understand. - My point exactly.

He didn’t make any sense. I felt tired, slow and almost dizzy trying to understand him.

- What about this body? What happens when I graduate? - You graduate with the body you have, like everyone else. It’s not like we can change it by magic or anything.

He smiled and chuckled to himself.

- Take your old clothes with you as you leave. Something might still fit.

It didn’t.

[randombtsprincessa]

Belladonna || 1

All Rights Reserved. © RandomBTSPrincessa, Tulips98.

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Min Yoongi x Reader, Past Lovers! AU

Words: 3k

Genre: Heavy Angst, Smut 

Rating: This chapter is General up to NC-17, rating might go up as story progresses.

Summary: Your life has finally settled into a routine; keeping you far away from your home, friends, family and the man who broke your heart. Coming back home means facing him again and maybe you’re not as over him as you’d like to believe.

Warnings: (in-chap) Heavy Angst, mentions of a toxic relationship.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The idol used as the Muse for the lead is not in anyway affiliated with the work. The characterisation is a work of mine. Any asks or accusations against the work on the grounds of inability to keep fact and fiction seperate on the part of the reader, will not be entertained. 

A/N: Its’s rather sad that the disclaimer has to be added but eh, it’s a bad time for tumblr writing fandom and people are being very mean. Brush past that if you’re sane. Anyway, a very very huge hug to my best friends for screaming at me about this fic. A bunch of thanks to @softyoongiionly​ for hyping up the chapter! And a round of applause for @kithtaehyung​ for beta-ing the chappie!!

Happy Birthday Yoonfie baby!!

It was cold inside the cabin, the air conditioner turned extreme while the outer windows fogged with condensation. Your head leaned against the pane, the thudding and rolling of the train wheels under you jarring your brain in your skull as you watched the world outside flash speedily by.

Trees, small gravelly roads, sign boards, sparse traffic here and there…and then rolling grasslands before the pattern repeated itself…redundant, normal, and soothing.

You sighed, a puff of white exhale clouding around your mouth while your eyes drifted back to the interior of the cabin. This sight was a lot more different, with different people having different lives, problems, worries…

A woman tended to her sniffling child, holding a handkerchief up to the girl’s running nose…a man spoke into his phone; harried and rushed as he more likely than not slurred a few words together…

It was when your eyes caught a girl laying her head on the boy next to hers’ shoulder, smiling serenely when the boy ran a hand through her locks that you turned around again, eyes back to watching the redundant.

There was nothing soothing about people watching.

Or maybe there was and it required some form of inner peace to find the charm in it.

You didn’t have that sort of inner peace; neither did you have the patience for it.

People watching for people like you was anxiety inducing…and you really didn’t want that burden on your shoulders right now. There would be enough anxiety waiting for you when you set your foot home.

“____?”

You turned coffee worn, blue light sunken eyes towards your boss, standing over you with his files clutched to his chest nervously. The sight was enough to make you chuckle. For all his genius, Kim Namjoon was just a giant fumbling through life. It made him a stellar boss and manager, but it also made him a wonderful friend.

“Yes?”

“I just got your email for the leave application.”

You blinked up at your boss expectantly, face calm and relaxed. Of course, your brain had shot straight to overdrive, praying, wishing, and begging for a miracle that would allow your boss to refute the application.

A large red denied would do nothing to hamper your mood; at least it would stamp down the very intrusive tendril of panic that was already gripping around you.

You waited until Namjoon was done rustling inside of the folder in the crook of his arm. The white print out was placed in front of you, green letterings spelling ACCEPTED AND FORWARDED, scrawled on the top screaming obscenities at you.

You looked back at Namjoon.

“We don’t have a lot of work load right now plus you look dead on your feet. Some time away with your folks will be nice, won’t it?”

You very nearly grimaced at his words.

He was sincere, of course he was. Namjoon didn’t have a conniving bone in his body, but right now, you couldn’t help but resent his kindness, his mushy brain that railed against exploiting his workers. You hated the fact that he looked into your eyes and saw past the stubborn energy and caught onto the exhausted person underneath.

So you offered him a tiny smile, just in case the flicker of your crushing despair was made clear onto your traitor face.

“Thank you, Namjoon.”

He placed a heavy, tight hand on your shoulder as he passed by.

“Have a nice vacation, ____.”

Usually, someone who was away from home, working their ass off, making something of themselves away from their family should ideally jump at the chance to take a vacation, to go home and see the family and friends they had.

Ideally…one should be happy at the prospect of going home.

So many times, however, situations were rarely ideal. Sometimes there were complications, convolutions, obstacles…

Sometimes people had no love in their hearts; sometimes there was nothing at all.

Sometimes, there was dread.

Right then, in the rattling carriage that carried you to the small town which had spawned your existence, you could sense the dread carving a pit into your stomach, roiling and curling like a wretched cat kept too long from sunshine.

There was no relief for the upcoming long sleepy times, no joy at the prospect of home food…of warm embraces…

There was just that god awful dread.

You hoped you wouldn’t throw up; though there was nothing in your stomach to hurl but for the coffee you’d pumped in you from the station café. You couldn’t keep anything else down.

You had upped and left your home right after the end of your college life. Many things had come to an end with that particular period in your life. You had scampered and scrapped together enough courage to exit the hole that still robbed you of breath sometimes when you twisted and turned in your bed – sleepless.

You had left shattered pieces of your heart in your whirling escape of the town, the space that you had now the only light that shone at the end of the tunnel back then. Your family and friends, as supportive as they were, had never truly understood why you had nearly clawed away from that world.

To them, it had been the job opportunity.

And it was understandable…

The town, as well-knit and seemingly lovable as it was, was used to being self sufficient. The people there didn’t ever need to leave, they knew everything, helped everyone, and any problem one of them had was a problem for them all.

You couldn’t fit yourself in that mold anymore.

You had left – knowingly cut yourself away from that community.

Your friends had remained; some spreading out of course but they were still as much a part of that bunch as they had been when born.

You didn’t expect anything from them.

Not when he was also still a part of that community.

Your mind jerked away moments before conjuring his likeness behind your eyes, the ticket collector bearing down to save you from the torture of it.

Your fingers fumbled with the pockets of your bag, slipping the stub into his patient hands as he clipped and handed it back to you.

You accepted it meekly, folding into yourself again, eyes drifting back out the window and firmly tugging your thoughts away from your past. You had to prepare for what was going to come now.

Nobody expected you to come, you knew. It was a surprise to you yourself that you had found enough guts in you to pull this off.

Namjoon’s words came back to you.

Some time away with your folks will be nice, won’t it?

You weren’t going to hold out much hope for that.

You found a cab almost immediately out of the station, the many cruisers that stood to one side eager to free you of your luggage and take you off to your destination. You gave your address shakily, hoping this particular driver wasn’t one of the townspeople. Luckily, the man didn’t bat an eye, instead nodding and quietly switching on the radio for the drive over.

You leaned back into the seats, arms grasping the strap of your handbag tight as the moment to face your family and close ones drew closer.

Objectively, your little hometown was very pretty.

Trees lined the major roads, small clusters of buildings interjecting the greenery to spread business to the good people. And as tense as you were, your mind couldn’t help but pick out the differences.

Boutiques were newer and flashier, the diners you remembered now expanded to add cafes or banquets. The town hall was an imposing as ever, only a new marble fountain added to the square in front of it now.

By the time your cab entered the section of the suburbs where you had grown up; your back was straight, neatly aligned with the window. If you had been dreading the homecoming before, it was all gone; replaced with an odd form of resignation.

You lugged your bags out and paid the taxi driver with cold hands, winding bloodless fingers around the handles to pull them up the drive way towards your open door.

The house was full, open and bustling – a normal day for when your mother threw one of her success parties. She was one of the famous people in the town, her career as a landscaper and home decorator for big names making her in turn the man source of revenue and attraction for the town.

It had been both a source of pride and embarrassment to you in your teens. Mainly because your mother insisted on these parties each and every time one of her projects turned out well. But then, as you grew you realized that this is why your mother was important to the town.

She was more than half the money earned and the social events of the calendar.

Inside the house, small clusters of people gathered here and there, in the living room, the kitchen, the dining space. You stood at the door; feeling more exposed than you ever had here but moved in quickly, lest one of them notice you in the doorway and start blabbering about it.

Of course, the three big bags that you carried more than made up for it.

One of the groups of women nearest you turned their heads in synchrony, taking double looks as you passed by before the murmurs began.

How could you tell?

Well because, gossip usually lowers ones’ volume. And each group you passed stopped conversing before muttering arose in its place.

You cut across the living room to your father’s den. Here, there were all men, hands cupping your dad’s cut glasses of scotch but thankfully no one mentioned you dumping your bags right by the door and walking back out.

Your hands fiddled with your scarf, wondering where your family was in their own party but you were loathing asking one of the guests.

Even as you convinced yourself to walk over to one of the ladies by the window sofa, a figure walked past opposite you, a handful of trays of cocktail bites and glasses on them. You jumped, watching as the woman placed the trays on the coffee table, smiling at the people before she turned…and spotted you.

Your sister’s eyes widened, eyelashes fluttering before quick steps led her closer to you.

“____?” She asked, almost checking if it really was you.

You smiled wryly, hand still tangled with your scarf. “Hi Sana, yes it’s me.”

“Oh my god!” She threw herself at you, arms wrapping around your neck to draw you into a warm and nearly forgotten embrace. You stood in her hold for a few seconds, managing to pat her back before she was pulling away, eyes glistening at you.

“Oh god, don’t cry,” you whispered immediately.

“Shut up, these are happy tears; my little sister is home! Hang on; I’ll go get Mom and Dad.” She turned on her heel before you got another word out, mouth parted as she disappeared into the house.

You stood rooted to the spot, hoping against hope she brought your dad first. You just knew your mom would start bawling and then all the neighbors and her social circle would start hovering like the pack of vultures you had the low opinion of them as.

It was unfair and very rude of you, yes, but you couldn’t help but remember half the rumors and gossip that had come from none other than these same people when you had first left. Sympathy or well wishes from them now, would only make you more disgusted.

It had made you keep your own mother at a distance, seeing as she was probably the source of their information.

Thankfully, you knew you could always depend on your dad.

A no-nonsense and rational person, he was only guilty of being extremely in love with your mother. You knew he only bore these parties for her sake and of course your sister, Sana’s.

So when you saw Sana come back, with both your parents you still heaved a relived sigh.

“____, my god, you’re really here.” Your mother was the second to hug you, your father following.

“We didn’t think you would make it this year too.” Your dad said.

“Yeah, it’s been hectic…a lot…for the last couple years.” You repeated the same lies you’d been spouting for two years now. You had spoken the same lines into your phone, in your emails over months and it came much easier while speaking them to their faces.

“Very hectic for a well-established firm, ____, you could’ve asked for a leave, I’m sure office policy allows that.” Your dad said in that logical baritone that rendered most arguments moot.

“That is actually how I got away, Namjoon insisted.” You said; not completely untrue.

“Well, I for one am very happy my little girl is back to me. You’ll stay for a bit, won’t you?” Your mother stroked your hair back from your face.

You smiled tightly at her, thinking of the weeks Namjoon had generously piled on you out of respect for your relentless working for two years under him.

“Yes.”

You caught Sana try and push in, her eyes seeking yours even as your mother squealed in jubilation. “Perfect, we are going to have to throw you a coming home party.”

“Y/M/N,” Your father said lightly. “We are at a party now.”

“Yes, but ____ deserves her own night.” Sana put in before grabbing your hand. “Come on,” she dragged you away from your debating parents.

“Not a lot has changed I guess.” You spoke drily.

“Yeah, maybe, listen I think we need to –”

Sana was cut off by a gasp of your name, your head swiveling to see Park Jimin, one of your old friends gaping at you.

It was a whirlwind of reunions and emotions as people gathered around you, astonished that you’d come back without any mention of it.

“Yeah, I – I guess, it’s a surprise.” You scratched the back of your neck awkwardly, going over the faces of your childhood to college friends.

Many things had changed while you were gone, true – to the town, to the people and even to your friends but one thing you were glad to see…they hadn’t cut you away completely. Yes, your interaction with them had been reduced to the odd Facebook and Twitter chats and the occasional emails and texts here and there but they still looked…happy to see you.

Park Jimin and his twin, Jihyo had been the first ones to come to you, Jihyo hugging you tightly enough to make you wince. She had been your roommate in college; she probably knew you as well as Sana did – maybe even better. She had introduced you to Jimin and the three of you had been inseparable throughout your college life.

Jimin had apparently been friends with one of your childhood friends, Kim Taehyung.

You were not so shocked to know he was now married, living next door to you with his wife, Nayeon. Sweet and charming, she hugged you like her husband.

“It’s almost like I already know you,” she explained to your unsure smile, “they talk about you so much.”

“Ugh, I’m already worried.” You cringed.

“They were all nice things don’t worry. We had to put down a couple old gossips down here and there, though.” Jimin came to defend his friend.

You glanced at them curiously.

“Oh yeah, it was just old gossipy hags around the town, don’t worry about it. People moved on from you pretty soon to a Miss Mina. She’s a spinster, which apparently is a sin.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “She lives a few houses from us.”

“Also, I think your mom told that friend of hers, Dahyun to stop people gossiping about you. They were task-forcing the town. It was fun to watch.” Jimin added.

A sudden wave of affection for your mother rose up in you, before being quelled by the reminder that she must have done it to protect her own image.

You shrugged then, picking up a glass from one of the trays to take a sip of your mother’s homemade cocktail – fruity and simple on your tongue.

“Enough about me, what about you all?” you pointed at Tae and Nayeon, “Married with a house,” your finger moved to Jimin, “Sports coach,” then Jihyo, “Choreographer,” you stopped.

“What about the others, any news?”

“Not really, we are the ones who still live here you know. Plus, no offense to your mom, but I doubt folks would leave their city jobs to come to her parties.” Jihyo muttered; exchanging a glance of solidarity with you before her eyes widened suddenly.

“What?” you asked.

Her eyes quickly went to her brother, Jimin’s eyes a little more slow on the uptake but they widened too…before repeating the process – albeit comically – with Taehyung.

“What is wrong with you all?” You asked again.

“Um, ____, did Sana tell you -?”

Jimin paused nervously, refusing to look at you as he fiddled with the rim of his glass.

“Tell me what?”

He looked helplessly at his sister. Jihyo hesitated before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Listen, ____, while you were gone” -

She broke off, her eyes darting over your shoulder and stuttering to a stop.

In that moment of her silence, the conversation behind you was clearer.

Or rather, one particular voice was…

Low and deep – soft morning grumbles came back to you – muffled conversations from behind you made you turn around.

It was a voice you would know anywhere. It was one that haunted your dreams, one that crested the ache in your heart on particularly bad days…

It was one you would know beyond a void.

Min Yoongi stood directly across from you, in your home, undoing his coat and removing his scarf, conversing lowly with your sister.

Something she quickly muttered to him had him freezing, long nimble fingers stopping in the unknotting of his scarf.

And then as if he could feel your gaze, could feel your presence, the reason why you left everything behind looked straight up at you, eyes locking across a room…just like the day you had first seen him.

[more-stuff-of-pi]

Routines and Safe Places

a/n: I woke up from a cold sweat to write down this concept in my phone. We always need more domestic and soft Bakugou in our lives so have what I imagine to be pure bliss. I also don’t actually have a skincare routine, I’m SORRY

notes: this isn’t edited for anything so beware. also, i tried a new style so lmk if it worked or not, i’m a lil unsure. requests are open :) find my masterlist here

pairing: bakugou katsuki x gn!working uni reader | genre: pure domestic fluff | warnings: none :) | word count: 962

Before you had started dating, you just thought that Katsuki’s clear skin was yet another unfair advantage given to him in the looks department. He was already gorgeous with his sculpted strength and piercing eyes. He just had to have blissfully smooth skin on top of it. And it wasn’t until you moved in together months after dating seriously that you realized his skin was so beautiful because the man actually had a skin care routine. One that very clearly did godly miracles. You had asked Katsuki about it, shocked as can be, and he gruffly answered with a red tint to his ears that it was for his public image. You know, in preparation to become number one. (You had laughed and Katsuki had huffed, putting up his hood and refusing to so much as look at you until you had calmed down).

After lamenting about your own struggles in finding a skin care routine, Katsuki had silently started buying twice as much as he needed. He started to call you into the bathroom when he started his routine to show you how it was done since he had so much extra, anyways. Nothing special to do together, he just had more than he needed… and kept having more than he needed from then on. Soon, doing nightly skincare together had become another seamless step in the regimen you both had developed, subconsciously built around each other, slowly cementing your love for each other. It was in the little things, anyhow. And what still endlessly amazed you about his -- and now yours, too -- skincare was that it wasn’t anything lengthy or complex. It was just a cleanser or two, a moisturizer, a face mask if you were feeling fancy, usually reserved for Tuesdays which also often were movie nights. You had been banned for picking movies after picking one too many C-rate films, but if that’s the case, Katsuki should have been banned long before you were, he’s just more stubborn to admitting it’s a bad movie when he was the one that picked it.

It was one such Tuesday when you could barely keep your eyes open. It had been a long day with classes, balancing work in between making it even harder. You had been asked to fill in for a shift you normally avoid and being the diligent worker you are, you had dutifully stepped in. You were exhausted as you stepped into your apartment and, though your boyfriend was no doubt a busy pro hero, he had made your favorite meal, waiting for you on the dinner table. You swore he had a sixth sense for this kind of thing, his observation skills almost not of this world. (You were thankful for them though as you knew they could save his life one day, probably already had). He swore that it was just because he knew you. And he didn’t say it but you knew he meant that it was because he loved you.

Following dinner and sticking to tradition, you watched a horrible movie that Katsuki picked out, arms resolutely crossed and refusing to acknowledge the cheesy acting and less-than-stellar plot. When it was over, your eyelids felt heavier than steel. You begged Katsuki to let you off the hook just this once on the skincare routine. You were too tired, surely missing one night wasn’t going to kill you. But Katsuki grabbed your wrist, hauling you off to the bathroom, all the while swearing up and down on the importance of consistency which is how you found yourself sat on the closed toilet, gently humming a nonsensical tune as Katsuki opened a couple of jars.

He was frowning as he reached for you, calloused hands grabbing hold of your face. You closed your eyes as he aggressively swabbed cleanser-soaked cotton balls over your skin.

“Katsuki, if you rub any harder you’ll peel off my skin.”

He grunted. “That’s the faster way to get clear skin.”

You rose an eyebrow, pursed lips unimpressed. “Having no skin?”

He huffed through his nose, the air blowing on your face, but you knew that the corners of his lips were subtly quirked up. Soon he was rubbing moisturizer into your skin, unnecessarily squishing your cheeks around making you laugh and swat at his hands. He laughed -- a sound that never failed to make your heart soar -- as you caught onto his wrists as he gently cradled your face in between his hands. It was a position you two often took up with each other, Katsuki having admitted once that it helped him feel calm and grounded, the position also helping you feel safe and loved, no matter who was holding who. As long as you both were there, you both always felt like you could conquer the world. Not easily, but certainly easier knowing that the other was right there beside you.

Katsuki kissed the tip of your nose. “I’m sorry you had a rough day,” he whispered.

Your grip on his wrists tightened just a little bit, tears you didn’t know you had stinging the back of your eyes. You quickly blinked them away, meeting Katsuki’s soft gaze, brows furrowed making his face look so rough but you knew that he was concerned. “Thank you for tonight.”

Katsuki grinned, thumbs sweeping across your cheeks and under your eyes, clearing away the tears that had silently escaped. He leaned in, kissing you lightly. Even though the kiss was short and chaste, you felt -- impossibly -- all the love and care that he had for you in that simple touch.

“Bed?” you asked sheepishly, smile lifting at Katsuki’s small laugh.

“Bed,” he agreed, whisking you away to a place you’d never want to leave: the place that was at his side.

taglist: @samwrights​