#than those who fully know what's going on

[maskedbyghost]

ghost with a reader who’s really anxious/overthinker during sex 😩😩🥺

i got another request asking for a virgin!reader with some nervous energy but a lot of enthusiasm, so i just combined them and made it soft and clingy and a little bit feral. thank you to the anons who sent those, y’all own my brain. cw: smut, anxiety and overthinking, soft dom simon, lots of reassurance and praise, possessive but gentle vibes, aftercare, clinginess, mentions of crying (but like overwhelmed/happy crying).

you’re already hiding your face in your hands when he leans over you again, big and warm and heavy in the way that feels reassuring instead of overwhelming, and even though you’ve already said “wait” a few times and squirmed away more than once, he hasn’t gotten frustrated or pulled back.

he’s just watching you now, calm as ever, mouth pulled into a faint smile like he finds you endearing instead of difficult, and that only makes you feel more self-conscious.

“we can stop,” he says plainly, and somehow it doesn’t sound like he’s disappointed. “we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. i’d rather you be comfortable than push through something that doesn’t feel right.”

you groan and keep your face covered. “it’s not that,” you mutter. “i do want to. i just… i don’t know what i’m doing. i’m nervous. and overthinking everything. and probably being really weird right now.”

he kisses your wrist, then gently tugs your hands away from your face. “you’re not weird,” he says, looking down at you with the kind of patience that makes your chest ache a little. “you’re nervous. and that’s fine. it doesn’t scare me off, alright?”

you nod, even though your cheeks are burning and your whole body feels tense and unsure.

he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and then lower, to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—slowly, not rushed, nor pushing for more.

“you don’t need to have it all figured out. you don’t need to impress me,” he says. “just be here. with me.”

he says it so simply, so easily, and you believe him, even if your body still feels stiff and your mind won’t stop racing. you want this, you want him, but the anxiety is crawling all over your skin and your heart’s pounding so loud it’s hard to stay in the moment.

he settles between your legs again, not moving too fast, one of his hands resting over your stomach like he knows you need the weight there, something to ground you and warm to hold you still.

“just breathe,” he murmurs. “i’ve got you. we’ll take it slow. nothing has to happen all at once.”

you feel tears sting your eyes, not because anything’s wrong, but because he’s being so good to you. so calm, so kind, and it makes everything a little easier to manage.

when he starts to push in, it’s barely anything, just the tip, and your fingers immediately grip his shoulders and your whole body goes tense, not from pain but from how big it feels and how intense it suddenly is.

he doesn’t move. just kisses your temple and waits, his breathing shaky but controlled.

“you’re alright. you’re doing so well,” he says, brushing your hair back from your face. “just tell me what you need, and i’ll give it to you. we’re not in a rush.”

you nod, and he murmurs, “that’s my girl,” in a way that makes your heart clench and your body relax just a little more.

when you whisper, “okay,” he starts to move again, gently easing in until he’s fully buried inside you, and even though it’s a lot, it doesn’t feel too much—not with the way he’s looking at you, not with the way he’s holding you.

“you feel so good around me,” he says, his voice thick with restraint. “you’re doing so fucking good, sweetheart. i know it’s a lot. you’re taking me so well.”

you let out a whimper, both from the stretch and the weight of it all, and his hands are everywhere—holding your hips, stroking your sides, curling around your thigh like he doesn’t want to let go.

he stays slow, keeps his movements careful, and he doesn’t stop talking, just keeps giving you little things to focus on.

“you’re not too much,” he murmurs when you try to hide your face again. “you’re not doing anything wrong. you don’t need to worry about how you look or sound. i want you just like this.”

you try to believe him. and it gets easier when you stop thinking and just feel—his body against yours, his hands gripping tight, his mouth at your neck, the little praises he keeps whispering in between shaky breaths.

when he reaches between you, his fingers find your clit, and you jerk a little in surprise, but he doesn’t stop—just keeps rubbing you gently, patiently, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters to him.

“there you go,” he says. “that’s it. let me help you.”

and somehow, despite how nervous you were, despite how unsure everything felt just moments ago, you’re already on the edge before you even realize it, gasping into his shoulder as your body starts to tremble.

“you gonna come for me?” he says, and his voice is rough now, but still so sweet. “yeah? let go, baby. i’ve got you. you’re safe.”

and you do—you come with a shudder, gripping him tight, burying your face in his neck as your whole body goes hot and soft and overwhelmed in the best way, and he holds you through it, breathing hard and kissing the side of your head, whispering, “that’s my girl, fuck, that’s it, you did so good.”

he doesn’t last long after that, not with how tightly you’re wrapped around him and how much he’s clearly been holding back, and when he finishes, it’s with a low groan and a few rough thrusts, then stillness as he stays inside you and clutches you like he never wants to let go.

you’re both quiet for a moment, your limbs tangled, your skin flushed, and you’re not thinking anymore—you’re just tired and happy and full and feeling safe in his arms.

he kisses your shoulder and pulls you closer.

“you don’t have to be brave with me,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “you just have to be mine. i’ll take care of the rest.”

he doesn’t pull out right away. he just stays there, breathing heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours like he’s trying to memorize your body's rhythm.

you’re still a little dazed, arms limp around his shoulders, and your thighs are trembling but you don’t want him to move either, not when you feel so full and warm and safe like this, not when he’s still murmuring little things against your neck like, “you did so good,” and “you were made for me.”

and then, eventually, he does move, carefully easing out of you, and he makes this low, strained sound like it physically pains him to separate from you.

“fuck,” he mutters, half to himself, dragging his hand down his face like he’s trying to stay composed, but his brain’s still short-circuited. “you—fuckin’ hell, you just…”

he glances at you, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, mouth twitching like he’s trying not to say something too intense.

“you alright?”

you nod, still catching your breath. “tired. but yeah.”

and then he’s back on you in a second, cupping your face, brushing sweaty hair off your forehead, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw, like he needs to check every part of you to make sure you’re okay.

“good,” he breathes. “that’s good. ‘cause you were perfect. you don’t even know—”

he cuts himself off with a laugh that sounds a little overwhelmed, like he’s trying to play it cool and failing.

“what?” you ask, half asleep and smiling now, because he’s acting like you just knocked him flat.

“you don’t get it,” he says, dragging the sheet over your bodies as he settles beside you, still so close his thigh is hooked over yours. “i’ve been picturing this—wanting this—for so long, and now that i’ve had you, now that i’ve seen how good you look like that…”

he kisses you again, this time slower, deeper, like he’s trying to anchor himself back down. “you’re in trouble, sweetheart.”

you snort. “me?”

he nods seriously, brushing your lip with his thumb. “yeah. you. ‘cause now i’m not gonna let you go. ever.”

you laugh, but your stomach flips a little, because the way he says it isn’t a joke—he means it.

he means mine in a way that’s not just possessive, but protective, like he’s decided you’re the most important thing in the world and he’s not letting the universe take you from him.

he’s back to touching you again, tracing patterns over your shoulder, your waist, your hip—hands never still, like he can’t help himself.

“you’re sore?” he asks after a few minutes, voice quieter now.

“a little.”

he hums and shifts. “stay here,” he says. “don’t move.”

you close your eyes, already half-asleep, but he’s back fast—warm towel, glass of water, his shirt that he slides over your arms even though it’s way too big on you.

“you didn’t have to do all that,” you mumble, but he just shushes you and kisses your forehead.

“yes i did.”

you end up curled in his chest, limbs tangled, your face tucked into his neck while he rubs your back in lazy circles. he’s not even pretending to sleep—he’s just staring at you with this dumb little proud look like he just won the lottery and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“you’re mine now,” he says again, softer this time, like a promise more than a claim.

“i always was,” you whisper.

and the way he holds you tighter after that, you feel it in your bones.

----------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs

[godmadeaterribleerror]

If You Need To Hear It

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, pre-established relationship (sort), light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v), humor.

Summary/Warnings: After a tense case, Dean decides to remind you of what you mean to him on the roof of the Impala.

Author's Note: Request from @grosskyjaja! Once again, I can't just be horny, I gotta have feelings too. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.4k

You’re drenched in things that should never be outside of bodies. Your hair is stuck to your brow, and your fingers are caked in dry blood. Something thick is spattered over your jeans, and there might be hair that isn’t yours in your mouth.

And that was a good hunt.

No deaths. No major injuries, either. Just a few traumatized housewives, and fingernail marks on your palm from when they’d been flirting with Dean in front of you. So you have no real reason to feel horrible. You’ve been covered in worse. You’ve killed more things, and come a lot closer to losing Dean—and actually lost him—in a much realer way.

But you were tired. The week had been filled with women—who had teeth that were straighter than yours, and hair that was better kept—shooting you bitter glares as you stood a little closer to Dean than you needed to. Now, you just want to go home.

And Dean hasn’t fared much better, in the aftermath. At least he remembered extra clothing, though. Clothing that he ditched in favor of his stupid fake-fed suit, in favor of you—after a long, hot shower and a lot of scrubbing your skin until you skin is raw and untouched by blood—wearing his extra shirt and too big boxers.

“They look like shorts-“

“Not they don’t.” You’d grumbled, and Dean had sighed.

“We can stay the night,” he’d said your name, not fully looking you in the eyes. “Most places are closed, I’ll go out and get you a new shirt and pants in the morning.”

“From where?”

“Store.”

“Dean.” You’d given him a flat look, shoving your bra—the only thing you’d been wearing that wouldn’t have to be burned—into your bag. “We’re in Northern Idaho.”

He shrugs. “They got stores. Don’t be classist, sweetheart-“

“I’m not. They won’t have anything I’ll wear twice.”

“They might-“

“They won’t.” Maybe he doesn’t want you to keep wearing his shirt. The thought just makes you more exhausted. “I’m being pragmatic, not elitist.”

Dean frowns. “I didn’t say elitist.”

You shrug, wrapping your arms around your chest. “I know. Elitist is what you meant.”

He snorts. “I love it when you talk dirty-“

“Dean.” You’d snapped, and he’d stilled. Your distress must have been audible. “I just want to go home.”

That had been enough. You had fresh clothing at home, and a bed without lumps, and—if you were lucky—maybe Dean would let you crawl into his arms and not let go until morning. 

He’d packed everything up and into the trunk of the Impala without another joke, and when you crawl next to him on the bench, his arm goes over your shoulder and stays there. He doesn’t stop touching you for the entirety of the drive. Lots of fields and forests and sky, Dean’s hand either rubbing small circles on your upper arm or resting on your thigh.

You know he’s pushing Baby to her limits, just to get you home. Or get away from your sulking sooner. You can’t blame him. You’re glaring out the window as if the trees are responsible for your exhaustion.

And it’s so stupid. It was a good hunt. It was an objectively good hunt. And Dean didn’t even flirt back. 

But you’re not his. Not officially—though through your whole body you’re only ever sure of one thing, and it’s that you’re Dean’s—and not in a way that gives him any claim over you. 

Which means that Dean’s not yours. And you have no claim over him. So if he’d decided to indulge one of those housewives, you’d have no good reason to stop him.

You try not to think about it too often. How Dean could, on any day, just decide that he was done with you. You’d wake up, and suddenly last night would be the last night. The last time you’d touch him. The last time he’d touch you.

And you really, really try not to think about it. But the floodgates have been opened, and now you can’t stop.

Dean might be able to sense it. 

Maybe that’s why he’s touching you, even as the air becomes wired with silence. He’s trying to remind you that for now, he’s here with you.

For now.

“It’s gettin’ late.” He mutters, and you only hum. You’d left at dawn, but Montana was a big state. You’d only just crossed the border into Wyoming, and the sky is already dark and scattered with scars.

“You know where we are?” 

Dean shakes his head. “Think it’s nowhere. Haven’t see a sign for miles. And I can soldier through, sweetheart-“

“No.” You sigh. “It’s fine. I can-“

“You’re not driving.”

“Dean-“

“It’s not cause I don’t trust you,” he says your name, giving you a pointed look. “It’s cause you’re tired. We’ll just sleep out here.”

“Out-“ You blink at him. “In the car?”

“Yeah, Baby’s safer than a motel. I used to sleep in her all the time, when it was just me-“

“But it’s not just you-“

“We’ve been closer than squished in the car, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is a drawl, and he squeezes your thigh like a reminder. As if you could ever forget. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got a gun, and you’ve got me.”

You don’t have him. 

You give in anyway.

And it’s only an hour before it’s too much. Dean pressed up right behind you—there wasn’t any cold to huddle against, but he hadn’t seemed interested in hearing that—with his knee almost between your thighs, his face near your neck, and his arms wrapped around your stomach. 

Everything smells like him. Even the blanket he’d pulled from the trunk. And you’d thought it would be good for him to hold you like this, but this isn’t in the sanctity of his bedroom. No one but you has ever been allowed in his bedroom. You know for a fact other girls have been in this position.

In the Impala, Dean wrapped around them like he’s never wanted to be anywhere else.

You used to be jealous of them, and how they got to be close to Dean, even for a night.

Now, you know it’s never enough. And you’ll never be able to admire those girls more, for having Dean once, then walking away.

There’s a chance they didn’t have him quite like you do. His laughter and company and stupid blanket, his shirt over their body and his total vulnerability as he sleeps.

You’re trying not to think about it.

But it’s hard with Dean pressed right behind you. 

It’s another hour before you squirm away and climb outside. You need the air, the isolation, the anything but Dean holding you like he’d like to keep you, when he doesn’t. 

You just need space.

And there’s a lot of it, above you. Glittering in the sky as you climb onto the roof, and seemingly infinite with the flat skyline. You lay flat on your back and watch it until you feel sleepy again. And Dean will be pissed if you fall asleep outside, but you’re so tired-

“Come back inside.” 

You feel a tap on your knee, and push up to see Dean frowning at you.

“You’ll get sick, sweetheart-“

“I’m fine.” You mutter, lying back down. “I’ll be in soon.”

Dean makes an odd sound. “Will you.”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you come out in the first place.”

“I- Just wanted to watch the stars.”

“Could’ve woken me up.”

You rise back up, and Dean’s almost glaring at you. As if you’ve offended him. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

His jaw twitches. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“What I-“ You frown at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lets out a long sigh, rubbing his brow with a hand. “Alright. We’re doing this.”

“Doing- Dean!”

He’s yanked you forward until your knees are dangling off the side, and he’s standing between your legs. Pressed between your legs. Pressed into you, and barely a breath away as he scans over your face.

“Dean?” You whisper, unable to move away, and his face tightens. “What’s-“

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I- I’ve been in the car with you all day-“

“But you’re not talking!” He snaps, his tone heavy. Like this is painful. “Ever since we did the interviews, you haven’t talked to me or let me touch you, and I don’t know what I did wrong, baby, but I can’t fix it if you keep-“

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You grab Dean’s face between your hands, shaking your head. He can’t be allowed to think that. “I- It was me. And it’s stupid.”

He frowns. “Not stupid if it makes you upset.”

“It is,” you mumble. “It’s- Don’t worry about it. You didn’t even do anything, or pretend you would, but I- Never mind.”

Dean’s not pulling away. He’s just examining you. Like the answer will be written all over your face. 

It might be.

Because you can see the exact moment he gets it. His eyes widen, he lets out a sharp breath, and then he presses in closer with a small smirk.

“Were you jealous?”

“I- no-“

“Yeah, you were.” He shakes his head, letting out a dry laugh. “You were upset I might- Son of a bitch-“ He says your name, and looks far too amused for how your face might be burning. “Why didn’t you say something-“

“Because it’s dumb!” You snap, and he doesn’t even pretend to flinch when you shove at his chest. “You weren’t doing anything, and it’s- it’s not like we’re together-“

Dean catches your hand and tugs you forwards, all but pinning you to his chest and scanning over your features with a small frown. “Say that again.”

“I- It-“ You voice is going a little hoarse, but Dean won’t stop staring at you. “It’s not like we’re together-“

“Wrong.” Dean certainly looks offended now, shaking his head with a tight frown. “I got two women in my life, and it’s her.” He pats Baby’s hood with a grin, and it’s hard not to roll your eyes at him. “And- Hey. Saw that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You’re starting to smile.

You’re not sure how he always pulls that out of you.

But he’s Dean. So he does.

“Stop getting smart with me,” He mutters, leaning forward to bump his nose with yours. “I’m trying to be helpful-“

“You are being helpful.” You sigh, dropping your head into his shoulder. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Wasn’t stupid.” Dean’s hand finds its way into your hair, running it carefully through his fingers. “Nothing you do is stupid. Can be dramatic, but not stupid.”

“Thanks.” You mumble, and he shrugs, his fingers stilling suddenly in your hair. 

When he speaks again, his voice is impossible low, and rough, and right in your fucking ear. “You still doubting that I mean it, babygirl?”

“Mean what?”

He chuckles, and god, his voice is getting deeper. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I-“

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart,” Dean’s palm starts to rub right over the cloth of your shorts, and your breath hitches against his skin. “You’re not that good at it.”

“‘m good at it.” You’re already a little dizzy, but Dean’s all around you and pressing down. “You- I-“

“I know. You need some extra attention? Need me to fuck you until you get that I damn mean it?”

There it is. The deepest voice. The sex voice, that he’ll almost growl in your ear on a case before pulling you into a closet, or hum at you in the kitchen before herding you back to his bedroom.

Asshole. 

He knows you’d jump off a roof if he asked you with that voice.

“Answer me,” he mutters your name, teasing his thumb up and down your still-clothed slit. “Gotta hear it.”

“Ye-“ You let out a breathy moan into his shoulder. “Yes, please-“

“There she is.” He’s almost crooning at you, and it’s enough to make you start grinding onto his hand. “Never anything stupid with you, my smart girl.”

You squeak as Dean tugs you back by your hair, and even in the dark of the night, he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. Pretty green eyes darkened and focused wholly on you, an expression of something dangerously close to reverence all over his face as he scans over you. 

His hand moves away from your core, bracing him on the hood of the Impala, but you don’t get a whine in protest before he’s pulling you into a long, deep kiss. Taking his time, pressing his tongue into your mouth and humming when you part without a thought, never coming up for air because you don’t need it. You have Dean, grunting when you almost fall over his body, moaning his name against his mouth because if he’s going to let you have this, you’re going to take all of it. 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters your name, pulling you back with a lazy grin, and you can only pant and drop your brow against his. “Never think I want anyone but you. Ever.”

“Dean, you-“

“No.” He shakes his head, pressing a softer kiss and mumbling against your lips. “You’re my girl, baby. Don’t forget it.”

You sigh. “I can’t tell if you’re talking to me or the car.”

Dean barks a laugh, and it pulls a smaller smile onto your lips, that splits into an almost stupid grin when Dean grabs you back into another long, slightly rougher kiss. More teeth and spit, a little bruising and mind-numbing. He might be trying to sedate your brain into not overthinking.

If he is, it’s working.

“Right now I’m talking about you, pretty girl.” He hums, the outline of his cock pressing against your inner thigh, and you can’t even think of a quick comeback.

All you can really think is Dean, handsome and somehow yours. Against all odds and reason, Dean seems to think he’s yours.

And you could never hate yourself enough to deny him.

“That’s good.” You whisper, and Dean chuckles.

“Yeah, it is. C’mon,” his hand goes back to pressing between your thighs, and your hips buck. “Lemme show you, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good.”

You nod, already humping his hand as he rubs around your clothed clit, and Dean hums your name.

“Words-“

“Yes, please.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hold on.”

 Dean hooks his fingers on your underwear, pushing it to the side before shoving one finger right into your pussy, and you let out a high squeak.

“Jesus.” He mutters, glancing down to where you’re squeezing around him. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, baby. This all for me?”

You nod, your brow pressed back to his. “Only for you, Dean, only ever for you-“

“Fucking-“ Dean groans, pulling your lower lip between his teeth. “You’re so perfect baby. Always so ready for me-“

You moan as two fingers slam into you, scissoring and pumping with a rough, precise speed, Dean grabbing your chin and angling your head to the side. His kisses fall to your neck as you start to hump against him, scratching at his neck and whining whenever he lets his thumb flick over your clit. You’re already going out of your mind, Dean’s somehow still tucked into his pants, and you want more. 

You must have said it aloud, because Dean chuckles against your neck. “This not enough for you, sweetheart?”

“I- It is- I- Feels so good-“ You moan, your hips jerking as Dean crooks his fingers against the deepest spot inside of you, and his grip tightens.

“Gotta stop squirming, baby.”

“But I want you-“

“You got me.” Dean starts to rub over your clit, and you shake your head, your voice almost a whine.

“But I want you,” You repeat, grinding over his bulge, and he lets out a long hiss, his fingers in your cunt picking up to a brutal pace. “Please.”

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, pulling back to watch you with that reverence again. “This not enough for you, babygirl? You wanna take my cock too?”

You nod frantically, squeaking when his fingers start to rub on that deep spot, his thumb teasing feather-light touches over your clit, and you’re going to fly out of your skin-

“One time.” He holds your gaze, and you might fall apart just from the sight of him. Blown-out pupils on yours, his jaw set as he watches you, so handsome and somehow yours- 

“Dean-“

“Just one, babygirl.” His thumb presses down and starts to roll firm circles around you, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “There you go, wanna see you cum one time before you take my cock, you can do it-“

It’s like he flips a switch. Your orgasm crashes through you with a high, wanting sound of Dean mixed with pleas, and he swallows it with another rough kiss. You’re only seeing stars and feeling an impossibly good rush of pleasure through your whole body. There’s a brief moment where Dean fingers are gone and you whimper at the lost, but Dean’s knee presses right against your cunt, and you let out a soft, easy sigh.

“Feel good, sweetheart?”

If his question is teasing or mocking, you really don’t fucking care, and nod dumbly as he pulls away. 

Dean only laughs, his fingers—the ones that had just been fucking in you—coming up to his mouth. He licks them clean, his gaze never leaving yours, and your hips roll against his knee.

 “I- C’mon, Dean, please-“ 

“Christ,” Dean mutters your name, brushing some of the hair stuck to your brow away. “You’re like- My dream girl. You know that, right?”

“I- I think I do.” You lean forward, continuing to grind onto him as your hand wanders down to squeeze his cock, straining through his pants. “Can you show me?”

His eyes flash, and he swats your hand away, pinning it to the hood. “You still need my cock, sweet girl? Still need me to fuck you on the roof, make you scream so all of Montana can hear?”

“We’re in Wyoming,” you whisper, and Dean shrugs.

“They can hear too. You want it?”

You nod, not breaking Dean’s gaze. “Yes.”

He’s so fast you almost aren’t ready. Kissing you so harsh you think he’s trying to meld his lips to yours, before pulling you right into his chest and sucking a sloppy line along your jaw and neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder in a desperate play to keep steady, but it’s not needed. 

Dean won’t let you fall.

There are a few things that break through the haze of Dean’s lip, nipping on your neck. The sound of the Impala door opening and the rustle of a belt, as well as the feeling of big, calloused hands kneading up your thigh before pulling down your shorts, and taking your panties with them.

It’s a quick second, where you’re completely bare and shivering from the cold air on your pussy. But then you hear the door close, Dean’s mouth slams back over yours in a demanding, harsh kiss, and you’re never going to be cold again.

His dick slams into you in one, movement, and your mouth falls open at the perfect stretch of him inside you. Dean takes advantage of it, pushing the kiss further until you’re melted over him, fluttering slightly around him as a second, tiny orgasm rips through you.

“God, fucking-“ Dean groans your name, pulling all the way out before slamming back in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know baby. You’re so fuckin’ tight, feel so good wrapped around my cock, wanna-“

“Do it.” You mumble, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Wanna feel it, please. Need to feel it.”

He groans, his hand moving back to brace himself against the Impala’s roof. “You sure-“

“Yes.” It’s the easier question to answer. 

And the certainty in your voice pays off. Dean’s will snaps with a half growl of your name, and you’re gone.

Usually, Dean lets you lead with sex. And you almost always make it slow. You’ve wanted to savor it as much as you could, to stretch out the stolen moments because you’d thought, one day, you’d never have them again. You’d give Dean everything you had—on your knees and riding him and splayed out below him, trying to put on a show when he’d bury his face in your cunt—because you’d thought it was what you needed to do for him to come back. 

He’s going to come back no matter what. 

And it seems to be your turn to take.

Dean’s almost feral against you. Hammering his hips into your sensitive cunt, splitting you open and pressing against that needy spot over and over until you’re a moaning, writhing mess in his arms. His lips never leave your skin for a second, kissing and biting over your shoulder, nipping at the base of your neck before rising back up to mutter filthy praise against your lips.

“Takin’ me so good, sweetheart, fuckin’ made for my cock,” his thrust are already starting to grow uneven, and when you bite on his lower lip, he slams into you so hard stars start to form behind your eyes.

“Dean.” You gasp, and he groans as you squeeze around him. “Feels so good, you’re- God-“

“You like takin’ my big dick, baby?” He drawls against you, adjusting your hips to hit you impossibly deeper. “Shit, you feel like heaven, wanna- Fuck-“

There’s a tension in his voice, even if he doesn’t stop moving, and you frown. “What’s-“

“Forgot a condom.” Dean grunts, rutting against you as he drops to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m not gonna last, sweetheart- I gotta-“

“Inside.” You mumble, your breath hitching as he bottoms out again, the angle making your clit rub against his abdomen. “Dean, please- I said I wanna feel it-“

“Shit,” he moans your name against your skin, cock twitching in your cunt. “You’re so- Fuckin’ love you, baby, I’m gonna-“

He moves back up to kiss you as he chases his release, still fucking moaning down your throat as he fucks you desperately through it.

But then he doesn’t stop. Dean’s cum is dripping out of your pussy, down your thighs and onto the roof of the car, but he’s not slowing down. Still half-hard and grabbing your waist until you’re sure it’s going to leave a bruise—you hope it does—and fucking his cum back into you, until you’re so impossibly full you think you’re going to fucking die from it, and he- He’d said-

“Dean-“

“Last one,” he mutters against your lips, rolling his hips in a sharp circle that makes your squeak. “You can gimme one more, pretty girl, c’mon,” his thumb moves to your clit, and your hips jerk off the bed.

“God-“

“Not god. Just me” Dean laughs at his own joke, pinching you and rolling the nerves between his fingers, and there’s a tight coil deep in your gut that about to snap, and-

“Dean, please-“

“I know,” he hums, and this is too soft a kiss for how he’s still bruising your cervix, how you’re on fire and he’s still using his sex voice. “Squirt on my cock, baby, you can do it, so fuckin’ gorgeous all fucked out ’n full of me-“

He gives a small, harsh slap to your clit before pressing his palm and rubbing it back and forth, right as his cock presses on that hypersensitive place inside of you, and you cum with a scream that echoes through the night.

Something is flooding out from between your thighs, but in the white-hot daze of your orgasm, you really can’t tell if it’s pee or Dean’s cum-

Not Dean’s cum. He’s still buried inside you, mumbling low words as he kisses all over your face, holding you as you shake slightly against him. 

“You fucking soaked me, sweetheart.” He chuckles, kneading gently against your skin. “C’mon let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.”

There’s no way you’re in danger of catching a cold. You’re all warm as Dean slowly pulls away, making a movement like he’s considering diving between your legs and licking you clean, but deciding against it and hauling you fully into his arms instead.

You’re grateful. Right now it feels like one touch could set you over the edge again, and you’re not sure you’d be able to take it. Dean’s mouth on your still aching cunt might actually kill you. It can be an experiment for another time, when you’re not in the middle of nowhere.

Because there will be another time. Dean wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want more times. Wouldn’t be cleaning you up with his own shirt, and grinning at you so affectionately when he tries to replace your shirt, and you shake your head in a cock-drunk daze. 

“Sweetheart, it’s covered in-“

“I know.” You mumble. “I like it.”

He laughs, kissing you once with a grin. “Alright then, dirty girl. Keep the freakin’ cum shirt, see if I care.”

You smile like an idiot as he pulls away—likely cleaning the roof—and then it hits you again. There will be more, because Dean- He- He said-

You sit up suddenly, pushing open the door, and Dean is running back in a second. He doesn’t get to bend down to your level, though. You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his stomach before he gets the chance.

“I, uh-“ He clears his throat, tugging on your hair until you look up to meet his gaze. “What’s- Are you good?”

In the dark, with all the shadows and lights, and the vast night sky above him, he looks like an angel. Not the real kind, but the story kind. That only protect and care and guide you home, even if—as long as Dean is here, with you—you’ll never need to be guided.

Dean is home.

“I love you too.” You whisper, and his eyes widen. “And you don’t have to say anything. I know you feel it too, and I- you’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s it.”

He nods slowly, his thumb dropping to trace over your lips. 

“Only competition I have is Baby, right?”

Normally, Dean would laugh at that. But tonight, his throat just bobs as he shakes his head.

And his voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“Never any competition for you. I feel it.” He mutters your name with that same reverence returned. “Always feel it. And I- Thank you.”

You can’t stop your smile. “Of course. I love you, Dean. I mean it.”

His lips twitch. “I know.”

End Note: God, help me. I'm giving myself impossible standards.

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SO IT GOES - chapter 18

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, angst Wordcount: 4.3K A/C: hey everybody! this will be the last part of the before london section - think of it as book 1. thank you everyone who’s read all of this and been supporting me, i appreciate you endlessly! please send me your thoughts on the chapter or live reactions because i LOVE those so much <333 also thank you for being so patient with me, if you didn’t know my charger broke so i had to write this chapter on my phone lmao. i’m gonna take a teeny break from so it goes to write something else and then get back to it :) i love you guys, thank you for everything <3 i’ve really poured my blood and sweat into this series

-

Before London

Her world comes crashing down. I can tell because she’s clutching to me as if the past three weeks never happened, hyperventilating. Her face is pressed into my shoulder, my hands holding her like no time ever passed. It took the world ending for her to come back to me. I just wish it didn’t take that much.

“Breathe Izzie,” I comfort her, my own panic subsiding to comfort the girl in my arms. Seeing her fall apart made me want to hold it together. Like I wanted to be the strong one for her.

“Remember, in and out with me,” I whisper, my chest expanding against her as I inhale slowly. She copies me, her breathing more ragged and shaky. Eventually, I feel her calm down. Good. There wasn’t much time to waste.

Pulling back I’m shocked to see how horrified she looks. There’s a tingling on my skin from where she pressed against me. She buries her face into her hands, sighing. “What am I going to do?” She murmurs.

“Hey, not you. We,” I remind her, watching the video one more time before putting my phone down. There was no way to twist this. It’s clearly me and Izara - and according to the comments, everyone else figured it out too.

Yoooooo knew they were together since may nooooo my wife paige come home Omg! Paige is gay?

Izzie is pacing in a small circle, heels clicking against the concrete floor. She’s freaking out. I had never seen her like this - Izzie always had solutions to everyone’s problems. She always knew what to do. It wasn’t easy seeing her this way. I had to figure this out for her sake.

”What are you doing?” She asks teary eyed as I lift my phone to my ear, shushing her gently. I listen to the rhythmic slow beep until a familiar voice answers. My PR agent.

”Hey, sorry to call you outta nowhere. I’m in a bit of a situation.”

”What are you doing?” She whispers, her voice trembling. I simply raise my hand, silencing her. I would never do that normally, but in this situation she allows it.

In a hushed voice I explain the situation to my PR agent while Izzie paces around me, hands thrown over her head. I couldn’t even let myself feel ecstatic over getting her to talk to me again. It was all because this was more serious than I could comprehend.

”What did she say?” Iz asks before I’ve even had the chance to fully hang up.

Taking a deep breath, I meet her gaze. ”She said we gotta assume everyone here has seen it,” I say. Her face twists and her eyes begin to well up. ”Everybody except Linda. We gotta make sure no one tells her.”

”There’s no point she’s probably already seen it,” Iz sighs.

”Linda? On social media in the middle of a work day? Ion think so.”

The girl thinks, looking at the low ceilings of the hallways for a while. ”I guess but what about when she gets home.”

”Ok maybe I’m wrong but Linda doesn’t seem like the type to scroll on TikTok or stan Twitter,” I chuckle hoping to earn at least a smile from her. I don’t.

”I don’t know Paige,” she says. Hearing my name from her lips feels ecstatic. Like I could’ve died right then. ”It’s risky.”

”It’s the only chance you got,” I whisper. I wish it wasn’t true. And I couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for all this. I had been in a mood that day. I should’ve been more clear-headed, less drunk, more sensible. What were we thinking kissing out in the open like that?

”My PR team is gonna get that video down. Even if others are posting it, they’ll make sure we don’t end up on TMZ or something,” I comfort the girl. But she’s barely listening.

”But what about all the people that are reposting that shit?”

”All we can do is report and hope for the best Iz.”

Goosebumps rise on her skin when I say her name. But it doesn’t matter, because she’s nearly hyperventilating again.

”Fuck. Holy fuck,” she whispers more to herself, turning her back on me and pushing her dark waves back anxiously. 

”Iz,” I mumble, touching her arm cautiously. She pulls back, turning to me.

”This is all your fault you know,” she says harshly, her voice trembling. ”You were a mess that day. I was just trying to calm you down.”

”Bro,” I chuckle dryly, shaking my head. She hates when I call her that. I’m immediately defensive, the guilt underneath gnawing at me. ”Now maybe I misremember but I’m pretty sure you kissed me.”

”Because you were acting like a bloody lunatic!” She shouts. I hush her, praying to God no one heard the way it echoes around the desolate halls. Izara quiets down, burying her face into her hands again. What are we doing? I know she’s fighting me because she’s completely freaked out.

”We gotta stop screaming and make a plan,” I tell her calmly. She stands there quietly defiant until she realises I’m right. ”I’ll talk to my people, you talk to the media team.”

”What if they don’t listen?” She asks me, a hint of vulnerability shining through her exterior.

”Why wouldn’t they?” I reply, placing a hand on her shoulder. She lets me, despite still avoiding my gaze.

”Everybody loves you Iz, and I mean that. Never heard anyone say a bad thing about you.” It’s true. Every word. She had people on her side so easily.

Finally her green eyes stop scanning the room, landing on mine. They’re still the same, even behind the glossiness of a few tears. Reminiscent of Connecticut. Of the overwhelming vibrancy that I sometimes missed here in Dallas. The feeling when you glanced outside in the summer and your eyes were met with such intense greenery of the trees and the grass that you couldn’t bear to look away. What made it even more beautiful was knowing in only a few months it would all be gone, the view turning from orange to yellow as everything that lived dies, reminding you that everything that was alive and flourishing is there only for a fleeting moment until the pure white cover of snow buries everything that’s dead underneath it. That’s what her eyes were - that short moment, a little piece of home.

”Hey,” I whisper softly. ”Don’t give up just yet.”

Izzie nods slowly, looking straight at me. ”Okay.”

-

“Hey, Rike,” I call as I jog over, my mind stuck on how Izara’s holding up.

I had been circling around College Park for what felt like hours - though it hadn’t even been 40 minutes. Izzie had taken a cab to the office to explain our situation to the marketing team, and anyone we hadn’t thought of. I hadn’t heard of her ever since she left, which was making me nervous, on top of the uncomfortable bubbling in my stomach. 

”I was just looking for you,” Arike replies as her eyes widen.

”Me too. Hey uh, to ask but,” I mumble, scratching the back of my head.  I hated asking for favors. ”Could you talk to the team-”

”Already done,” she says. ”And the practice player, coaching staff too.”

I always knew Arike had my back. But not like this. She had truly become my sister, and this was proof.

”They all love you two. No one’s gonna say shit,” she comforts me, patting my shoulder. 

”Thanks bro,” I smile, letting out a sigh of relief. Maybe we could pull this off. No one’s gonna tell.

”Course,” she shrugs easily. ”You know I got you. You’re family, both of y’all.”

-

My heart’s pounding in my chest, each beat like something trying to claw itself out of me. slamming my sternum painfully. Deep breaths, slow down, I remind myself, imagining the weight of Paige pressed against me. It felt almost good enough to make me forget about everything, almost.

I tie my hair up clumsily, my waves overstimulating me. The office seems eerily desolate, having me walk around for a while until I run into Ava, her blonde hair recognisable anywhere.

”Ava,” I sigh, relieved, hurrying to her. I wish I hadn’t worn heels today, my feet already aching. I hadn’t anticipated all this running around.

”Zari! I thought you were in College Park-”

”Can we sit down? Please?” I ask abruptly, interrupting her. She’s surprised by the seriousness in my voice and it shows in her face.

”Of course, what’s up?”

I lead us into an empty office room, pulling out a chair for her. I’m far too nervous to sit down myself.

”Have you seen it?” I ask carefully, looking at the carpeted floor. I can’t believe I was in this situation. Of all people. The sensible, careful Izara. I swear I’ll never be careless again.

There’s a confused look on Ava’s freckled face. ”Seen what?”

Shit. Sighing I dig my phone out of my purse, my ears burning with embarrassment. I look for shock or surprise but to my confusion, Ava watches the video, expressionless.

”Caleb owes me 20 bucks,” she chuckles, handing the phone back.

”Huh?”

She giggles. ”We had a bet, I knew there was something going on with y’all.”

Of course. Like it was ever really a secret. I feel so stupid. Who was I kidding thinking we could keep this on the low.

”Right well,” I mumble, my cheeks turning hot. ”Well it’s everywhere. And I really, really can not let this get to-”

”- Linda,”  Ava finishes my sentence, picking up on my concern.

”Yeah,” I nod. ”I just, I know it doesn’t make it better but it’s not just messing around. I really care about her and I know I’m asking for a lot but-”

”Zari. I’m not telling nobody,” she comforts me. ”And I’ll make sure no one else does. If it’s up to me Linda will never see that, okay?”

I nod, relieved. 

”I’ll also make sure those posts of the video get taken down okay?” Ava smiles, wrapping an arm around me and patting my back. She’s the one managing the algorithms and viewership so her help will be everything.

”Oh my goodness you’re shaking,” she comforts me. I notice the trembling of my legs that are indeed weak, barely holding me upright.

”It’s pretty stressful,” I chuckle coldly, my eyes burning as I hold back tears. Suddenly, the sound of my phone vibrating against the table makes me jump. It’s Paige.

“Hey,” I answer. The rumbling of traffic comes through before her voice.

“Hey, I’m driving over. All good at College Park.”

“Here too,” I say, smiling bye to Ava as she leaves me to talk with the blond. “Just gotta wait for the PR team to get out of their meeting.”

“You tell Trey yet?” She asks. Oh shit. Trey. 

“I haven’t seen him,” I admit. A moment of silence falls upon us.

“I’mma be there in like 10 minutes okay?”

“Paige,” I start, feeling a throbbing ache in my shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t need to come here.”

The line goes silent, the quiet hum of the road and traffic coming through. 

“You don’t want me to?”

Reaching over to my neck I massage the tension but it doesn’t go away. Is that really what I want? Why is it so hard to figure it out?

“No, I need you here,” I finally accept. Despite the tension and the mess between us it was clear that I needed her. That her presence made everything better. That’s just what Paige is like. She brings the sun with her wherever she goes.

-

I’m picking at my skin when the blonde emerges into the empty office lobby, holding two cups. She looks surprisingly serene considering - though it wasn’t her job that was on the line.

“What’s this?” I ask as she hands one of the cups to me. It feels warm against my skin.

“Coffee, black,” she says absentmindedly, taking a seat in the chair next to mine, taking a sip of the frappucino she got for herself.

I do the same, feeling the warm bitter taste fill my mouth. It’s just how I liked it. My heart throbs. Mind overflowing with the memories of our little habit. Of Paige getting up half an hour earlier than she needed just to go pick up some coffee for me on the way to work.

”Better?” Paige asks, sprawled comfortably next to me. I can feel the heat of her thigh tingling against mine but I can’t be bothered to move, or to pretend like I didn’t need her. I felt myself fantasizing about some reality where Linda would understand. Where me and the blonde could just be together. No complications, no excuses, no goddamn hiding. It would be so much easier to let myself fall in love with her in a reality like that.

”Much better,” I mumble. ”Thanks.”

”It’s just a coffee Iz,” she murmurs, shrugging it off.

”No,” I shake my head. ”You don’t have to be doing this. You could easily just leave me to handle it myself. But you didn’t.”

My eyes meet hers, blue and vibrant like the ocean. 

She shakes her head, brows furrowing gently. ”I wouldn’t do that,” she whispers. ”It’s half my fault… Okay a lil more than a half.”

She chuckles a little looking at her feet. ”For what it’s worth I am sorry for that night.”

Paige looks regretful, playing with her bracelet. 

”Me too.”

A throbbing ache runs along my spine to my shoulderblades, the tightness making it hard to breathe. Absent-mindedly my hand shoots to my neck, pressing and rubbing. Paige glances at me.

”Your shoulders again?” She asks. Honestly the only time in my life they hadn’t bothered me was probably when Paige would give me daily massages. Something about her got me to finally relax.

”Again,” I chuckle awkwardly. Without hesitation Paige’s warm and familiar hands replace mine, massaging the knot out of my shoulderblade. My body melts, the tension easing in my face and neck.

”Thank you,” I hum, letting my eyelids close. Pretending just for a moment that we were us again.

”That’s funny,” Paige says smiling, ”You sound more British again.”

I smile too, her fingers now pressing down on the nape of my neck. ”I suppose. It’s probably because I haven’t been around you.”

Sounds of steps stop us, Paige pulling away as two people from marketing walk by, smiling at us knowingly as they greet us. Sighing, I lean back in the chair and rub my forehead.

”It’s like everyone’s watching us,” I mumble quietly.

”Guess I’m used to it,” Paige replies. She’s right, it’s only new to me. Somehow she’s been handling this since high school.

”Did you um, get the chocolate?” She asks, fiddling with the hem of her black shorts.

”Yeah,” I hum, thinking of the note attached to it. I felt completely stuck between two roads, not sure which one to take. On the other hand nothing about us made sense. But still I wanted her more than anything. I couldn’t imagine ever being able to want anyone like I want her. 

It was like my entire life had been split into two - the time before Paige and the time after. Everything before felt irrelevant. She had come into my life with a crash, when I most needed her but didn’t know I did. She had irrevocably changed me. I don’t know how I could go back to before.

”It was amazing, I can’t believe you remembered,” I continue.

”Course I did,” she huffs, leaning her head on the wall behind us, cracking her knuckles. Terror washes over me. I realise how badly I need our plan to work. Because if it doesn’t I’ll lose her forever.

Paige opens her mouth before closing it, and opening it again.

”I meant what I said, y’know.”

I lift my gaze from my crossed ankles to her, to find her already looking over. She seems hesitant, gathering courage.

”In that note,” she adds, cheeks red. ”I’m not going anywhere.”

I can feel it in the way my heart throbs, the way my eyes burn, the way my eyes are glued on her angular face, the way my slender fingers slide between her’s like a habit I could never break and the way her touch send shivers up my spine - I love her. I do.

Paige’s breathing is shallow, glancing downward to our hands that are locked together. Neither of us have to say it. We both feel it.

The moment I wish would go on forever is cruelly interrupted by the buzzing emerging from the pocket of her shorts. With one hand she digs the phone out, reading the screen grip remaining on mine.

”Shit, I got practice,” she whispers, as to not disrupt the moment. Her voice is hoarse and vulnerable. I wanted to listen to it forever.

”Okay,” I hum, standing up with her. ”I’ll wait for Trey here.”

Paige looks at me once more before enveloping me into her arms, nose buried into my hair and inhaling unashamedly. I do it too, allowing myself to breathe her in. Sandalwood and musk and deodorant.

”It’s all gonna be okay,” she whispers. And I believe her.

Paige kisses my forehead before pulling back, letting go of my hand. Her touch leaves my skin burning. Even before she goes, I already miss her.

”I’ll call you Paige,” I hum softly.

”Okay. I’ll see you later Iz.”

And she walks away, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I’m nearly nodding off in my chair, head lulling back as my eyelids grow heavy. I glance at my phone once more. No text, no call. Just the sent receipt under the tens of texts I had sent Trey. Our one missing link to get this all to be over.

Standing up, I roam around the office, finding Caleb and Ava editing a video for Youtube.

”Hey, have you seen Trey?” I ask, rubbing my face tiredly.

”You lost me 20 bucks,” Caleb jokes, having bet against me and Paige being romantically involved. Ava chuckles.

”It’s not on her if you’re completely blind.”

I wish I had it in me to find this as fun as they did, but I just wanted to finish this and go home.

”Trey? You seen him?” I ask again, ignoring their jokes.

”I think he’s upstairs,” Caleb answers. ”Some sorta meeting.”

Finally. ”Thank you.”

In a rush, I hurry to the elevator, impatiently spamming the button to the upper floor. 

“C’mon,” I mutter to myself, ready to get this over with.

Finally the doors slide open. Stepping out into the new floor, I begin to hurry along the corridors when from around a corner Trey emerges, his face buried into his phone nearly bumping into me.

“Trey!” I say with relief. “I’ve been looking for you!”

He looks uneasy, avoiding my gaze. Much like he had ever since I rejected him.

“You know I’ve been texting you too,” I huff lightheartedly, poking his phone.

“I saw,” he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically low and quiet. I chase his gaze, finally catching his brown eyes.

“I need to talk to you,” I say more seriously. Trey bites down on his lower lip, shutting his eyelids and rubbing his face.

“I’m in a hurry okay?”

“It won’t take long,” I tell him, placing a hand on his forearm so he won’t walk away.

“Zari, I gotta go,” he spits, pushing past me. Wow, I knew I hurt him when I rejected his kiss but I didn’t realise his ego was that fragile.

“Seriously?” I ask, annoyed now. “Trey, it's been weeks. Let it go.”

He turns, growing irritated. “Nah, I’m sick of you and your little mind games.”

“Mind games?!” I hiss condescendingly, crossing my arms over my chest.

“You been toying with me and Paige ever since you moved here!”

He knows? I glance around before shushing him, praying to God nobody heard. Of course he knows.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” I whisper angrily.

“I saw your little video.”

Shit. Heart throbbing in my chest I swallow, wanting to crawl into my skin and disappear. Kissing my teeth I look down trying to find the words.

“Look, Trey-“

“Save it. Can’t wait for you to be back in London.”

Hold on. “What?”

I take a step closer to Trey, who’s looking at me heavy lidded.

“You broke the rules Izara,” he says with a low voice.

The realisation hits me like a ton of bricks. No fucking way. Of course. My stomach drops. My pulse thunders in my ears.

“You told her,” I whisper, waves of anger washing over me. It took a lot for me to be enraged - but right now I was livid. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, nearly drawing bloos.

Trey looks uneasy, eyes flickering away from me. “Rules are rules Izara.”

Tears fill my eyes, welling up by my bottom lashes. I should’ve listened to everyone who hated Trey. Because they were right. He’s disgusting. I truly hate him.

“Don’t act like you care about rules. You did this because you couldn’t handle the fact that I do not have feelings for you,” I hiss, pointing a finger at him. “You’re disgusting.”

The ringing of my phone breaks off my voice, like a bad omen. Trey grins. I want to kill him.

“Must be Linda,” he says before turning and disappearing into the elevator.

My hands shake as I grab my phone - the screen lit up, proving Trey right.

-

Paige,

Remember that roadtrip we took? Driving with no plan or destination with the windows down, being stuck in that gross hotel, the storm, the night we spent together? I think about that all the time. With anyone else I would’ve been terrified. I’m no good without a plan (Lord knows). But with you I never cared about a plan. You’re so sure, so certain, so comfortable and steady it made it safe to feel out of control sometimes. That’s a gift I’ll carry with me forever. I never had that with anyone.

I never thought this is how my time in Dallas would turn out. Deep inside I want to blame someone. I want to blame Trey, and maybe when you hear about what happened you will too. But we shouldn’t. Because there’s no one to blame but me. I’ve been smart all my life. I should’ve been smarter. But something about you makes it impossible to be smart.

Still, despite everything that happened I don’t regret any of it. This summer has been the best of my life. Getting to know you has been the greatest blessing. I’d never say it to your face, but you’ve taught me more about myself than anyone.  I’ve never been loved so well, and I’ll never forget that. But my past is still haunting me. It’s just not our time.

I’m sorry it turned out this way. I know you’ll find someone and make her the happiest girl in the world, like you did me. And I’ll always regret not doing more to make us work. For not telling you how I love you. And I’ll have to live with that.

I hope you find your person who can love you how you deserve. Just know there are no hard feelings with you and me. I think no matter what it wasn’t meant to work. I don’t belong in Texas… but then again does anyone?

I’m sorry. I told you I’m not good at goodbyes.

Yours, Izzie

Reading through the letter one more time, I fold it in half and slide it into Paige’s apartment through the mail slot. For a moment I lean my forehead against the wood panels on the door, as if it’s Paige. But it’s not. And I’ll never lean my forehead on her again. I’ll never look into the blue of her eyes, I’ll never taste her lips.

A tear falls down my cheeks as the elevator takes me to the ground floor for one last time. I bite down on my lower lip to stop it from trembling, watching the driver lift my bags into the trunk. 

The cab drives through Dallas, through the neighbourhoods that had once been unfamiliar. Now I know the streets and the weather and the drive-thru barbeque place that has the best ribs. But London was calling me home. There was nothing left for me here anymore.

My heart aches, thinking about the disappointment in Linda’s voice, telling me she had no chance but to let me go. That she expected more of me. 

But the ache is nothing compared to what I feel when I think about Paige. My sweet, funny American girl. Her laughter echoes in my head, and I let her linger. My nails dig into my seat, like they did into Paige’s skin. 

I wouldn’t forget the summer I spent with Paige Bueckers until the day I die, that I know for certain. She would haunt me for the rest of my life, pieces of her existing in every person I meet. But no one will ever measure up, no one will ever be her. And maybe in another life we’ll grow old and grey together. And that’s the only thought comforting me as the clouds part, the plane circling above Thames, the London Eye and Buckingham Palace when we approach Heathrow.

-

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[endofthelinegang]

what we leave behind

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  matt murdock x ex wife!fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  after the Thunderbolts' latest mission, a quiet drink turns into something else when she feels a pull—familiar, ancient, aching. Matt Murdock is standing in the rain on a rooftop that remembers too much. years after their marriage fell apart, grief may bring them back together 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬ˏˋ°•*⁀➷  Deep grief, emotional trauma, mention of past loss, unresolved feelings, heavy introspection

Yelena leaned back in her chair, kicking her feet up onto the table, her bottle of vodka dangling between her fingers. “You know, we should do this more often. Just sit and... not be heroes for a change.” She took a swig, a smirk curling at the edges of her lips. “You know, like normal people.”

“Normal people?” Bucky chuckled, glancing at her. “We’re anything but normal, kid.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing," Yelena shot back with a wink. "I'm just saying, it would be nice to feel like we’re not always on the clock. Maybe not every day, but... some days. Let’s go get pizza or something.”

Bucky shook his head, but the amusement was clear in his expression. “You really want pizza after everything that just happened?”

“Absolutely,” she replied, unapologetic. “If anyone deserves pizza, it’s us.”

John Walker leaned back in his chair, sipping his whiskey with a contemplative look on his face. “I get what you mean, but I think the world’s gonna want more than pizza from us now. We're not just some secret team anymore. We’re front and center now. This isn’t just about cleaning up messes anymore—it’s about being a mess.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Yelena said, waving a hand. “I think people will like us. I mean, who doesn’t love a good redemption story?” She shot a pointed glance at Walker.

He narrowed his eyes but then shrugged. “Maybe. But the thing is... they’ll never trust us the way they trust those other guys.”

A quiet lull fell over the group as everyone exchanged glances, each of them thinking about the old team—the Avengers. The ones everyone loved. The ones they’d been asked to follow in the footsteps of.

“We’ll prove ourselves,” Bucky broke the silence, his voice steady. “Just like we always do.”

“I think we’ve already proven ourselves,” Walker muttered, toasting his glass to no one in particular. “But hey, I’m up for proving it again.”

You sat back in your seat, listening to the back-and-forth, trying to get a feel for how everyone was adjusting to the weight of what had just happened. The idea of the world seeing you now, of being thrust into the limelight. It felt strange, but not wrong. You didn’t need to say much—you let them talk it out, the way they always did. Even if the topics felt too big to fully wrap your mind around. After a few moments, you let your gaze drift away from the conversation. The rain had let up outside, but the streets were still wet, the night soaked in shadow and glow from the city lights. The hum of the bar and its chatter seemed far away, until...

A strange pull tugged at your senses.

It was almost imperceptible, like a faint pulse under your skin. The faintest of whispers against your mind, something familiar—and the kind of presence you couldn’t shake if you tried. It was the magic, low and insistent, buzzing faintly beneath your ribs. The air had shifted, a thin thread of something you knew too well.

You weren’t sure if anyone else felt it. But you did. Your chest tightened slightly, a knot of recognition. Matt. He was close.

The world around you seemed to slow, just for a moment, as the magic hummed louder. The tension in your body sharpened with the knowledge—he was near. You didn’t need to see him, didn’t need to hear anything. You felt it in the very rhythm of the city itself. A quiet warning.

The memories flooded in, as they always did when you sensed him—tender flashes of a time long past, before everything had fallen apart. You could still feel his touch when you closed your eyes—the way he’d curl his fingers through your hair when he was lost in thought, those moments late at night when he’d pull you close, and the world would disappear. You’d get lost in his smell, that mix of leather, rain, and the faintest hint of something metallic—his blood, his very essence, always so close to danger. It was as much a part of him as the city itself.

And then there was the sound of his voice. Soft and hesitant, yet steady. “Don’t go. I’m here.” His voice had always been a quiet reassurance. But it never lasted, did it? The space between you two had always been a battlefield of silence and unsaid words, a silence that only grew after the divorce, after you both realized that even love wasn’t enough to keep everything from falling apart. The way he'd say your name, the way you'd say his. It had carried the weight of so many years. Too many years. You had gone back to his bed many times after that, you had even tried to be friends. But every single time without fail it fell apart.

But tonight, it was different. The pull of his presence was stronger than ever, a beacon you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much time had passed.

You remember the last time you'd been on a rooftop with him seeing him standing on one in that very moment made you think of it, the two of you looking out over Hell’s Kitchen. The city was lit up below, and you both had been trying to pretend that things were okay, but everything had been unraveling. He’d held your hand tightly, his thumb brushing over the back of your knuckles absentmindedly as he spoke about a case—about something that didn’t even matter to you in that moment. The feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of him beside you, had made everything feel like it was still possible.

There was another memory, one of the times he'd dragged you to his favorite diner, where the food was terrible but the coffee was always hot, and you laughed over shared plates of pancakes and too much whipped cream. You had been so sure of each other back then. So full of hope that even in a world that had always been out to break him, he would be okay because you would be with him.

Your hand instinctively touched the space near your neck where a necklace once rested—one Matt had given you years ago. It was small, simple, and silver. But the way his hands had trembled when he put it around your neck, as though offering you something precious, something irreplaceable, flooded back like it was yesterday.

And then the moment in the hallway of his apartment, when he pulled you close and whispered, "I don’t want you to leave.” He had been so desperate, so raw in that one moment. But it wasn’t enough to stop the inevitable. You could still hear the sound of the door closing behind you, leaving him on the other side, as the reality of everything set in.

Tonight, the pull was too strong to deny.

You knew deep down—this wouldn’t be the last time you'd feel it.

As you stood up from the table and excused yourself, the group barely noticed, lost in their own thoughts and banter. You didn’t need to look back. You didn’t need to hear any more of their chatter.

You could already feel it pulling you forward—closer.

Matt was near, and that feeling, the magic that bound you to him, was only growing stronger. It was like the strings of fate had tugged you back to him, and you couldn’t resist the call.

The rain danced in the streets beneath you, but the world around you felt distant. The memory of Matt’s warm, calloused hand holding yours under a streetlamp years ago flickered in your mind like a ghost. The way his lips had quirked in a smile when you'd caught him sneaking up behind you, the way you’d laugh at his stubbornness, but you'd always be there for him, just as he'd been there for you, even when he couldn’t feel the world the way you did. It had always been the two of you against it all.

And then there was the last night you'd seen him, in that cold, sterile room. The last time you tried to speak to him, but the words just wouldn't come. The silence, like a weight between you both, hung in the air—unspoken truths, unhealed wounds. It had been the end. For both of you.

Now off you went, away from your new colleagues and towards someone you were supposed to forget. 

The rain had been falling since morning. Not the kind of summer storm that roared and passed through like a tantrum, but the slow, relentless kind—the kind that settles in and refuses to leave. The sky hung heavy, thick with clouds, a deep gray that made the city feel smaller, more suffocating. The sky seemed to swallow everything beneath it, as if even the heavens had given up on trying to make sense of the world. It was as if Hell’s Kitchen itself had become a place caught between worlds: too dark for comfort, too bright for rest.

Matt didn’t use an umbrella. He never had. Something about it felt like a surrender. Like it was an admission that he still cared, still needed to protect himself from the world he fought against every night. But that wasn’t him—not anymore. The rain, the cold, the way it seeped into his bones, only made it clearer. You’re still here. The world still touches you. And that, for better or worse, was something he couldn’t escape. He stood alone on the rooftop of a building that Foggy had once loved.

It wasn’t anything special. Just a crumbling four-story walk-up a few blocks from Josie’s. The roof had a view of the skyline—small and confined by taller, more aggressive buildings, but open enough to feel the city breathe. Foggy had always liked it here. He used to come up after long days, beers clinking in a plastic bag, and talk until the sun slipped away, leaving the city lights to take over. They’d talk about cases, about Matt’s questionable choices, about what could have been.

Matt hadn’t been back here since the funeral. Not really. He hadn’t meant to come tonight. But, as always, his feet led him to places that remembered him. And Foggy’s ghost had been louder than usual lately—nagging, insistent, like a soft echo in the back of his mind that he couldn’t silence.

The air was thick with the scent of wet concrete, of burning metal, of something old, like a thousand forgotten stories clinging to the bricks below. Cars hissed through puddles far below, their tires hissing like whispers. The rain pattered softly on the broken gravel, the bent AC units, the rusted rails. But Matt didn’t move. He stood still, his soaked black suit sticking to his skin, the fabric heavy with the weight of a life he didn’t know how to carry anymore. The cold didn't bother him—not really. Not compared to the cold inside.

He tried to picture Foggy’s voice. The way it would catch in a laugh, the way he would joke about Matt’s 'questionable decision-making,' or how he'd say "Murdock" like it was both a tease and a challenge.

But tonight, even the rain felt quieter. Even the wind held its breath. Matt inhaled deeply, trying to shove the tightness in his chest away. He hadn’t cried at the funeral. It felt like something inside him had broken so cleanly, so suddenly, that it left no room for tears. No room for grief. Just an absence. A chasm too wide to cross.

He was supposed to be the strong one. The protector. The one who carried the burden. But the world had taken Foggy anyway. And Matt had let it. Behind him, the door creaked. Quiet. Controlled. But not so subtle that Matt missed it. He didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

The footsteps followed—soft, measured, familiar in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. They weren’t the clumsy steps of a stranger, but neither were they the confident, casual pace of someone Matt knew like the back of his hand. They were deliberate. Cautious, almost. Calculating. He spoke before the figure could cross the threshold into the dim light of the rooftop. His voice was raw, cutting through the silence like the first drop of a storm.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

A pause. Then, a voice he hadn’t heard in years. Your voice.

It cut through the rain, like the sound of glass breaking, but softened by the weight of memory. "I could say the same to you."

Matt didn’t flinch, but his heart did—just for a beat, just long enough to remind him that the world hadn’t quite moved on, no matter how hard he tried to pretend it had. He knew you were alive. Somewhere. The flicker of your presence, a shadow in the corners of a dozen cases, had never really faded. He’d felt you before—out of the corner of his mind, tucked in the spaces where reality bled into the things he couldn’t understand. The whispers had turned to reports, and the Thunderbolts had your name now, or something close to it. But even then, he'd never seen you. Not since… that night.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to listen to the way your heart was nice and slow. The way you stunk of blood and alcohol mixed somehow the smell of a clean sweet perfume leaked through it all. He could hear the way you weren’t trying to hide your presence by the way your boots smacked onto a puddle on the hard roof top. 

 “You tracked me,” he said, flat, almost accusing.

You shrugged, but there was something unspoken in the way your eyes lingered on him. "I wasn’t looking for you."

“But you found me anyway.” He was now fully facing you, and fuck did he look bad. His entire body just looked beyond exhausted and even though he was standing straight it looked like it was taking a hell of a lot to keep him even standing. 

You didn’t deny his comment. Didn’t need to. Matt’s voice lowered, like he was trying to keep any sort of decency between the two of you. “Still working with the heroes? Or did you finally go full Castle on someone?.”

You took a step closer, the sound of your magic rolling in with the rain. It was wild—untamed, like something ancient buried beneath the skin that you couldn’t sense but he could. He always did. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t burn or crackle in the air. But it hummed underneath everything, a constant thread that never quite let go of Matthew.

“I came because of Foggy,” you lied, and there was something steady in your voice, but it didn’t reach your eyes. You had learned how to lie to Matt, not that he cared enough to really look into what you had to say. 

Matt’s throat tightened, the sting of loss sharper than any rain. “He didn’t even know you were alive.”

“I know.” There was something heavy in your words. Something you didn’t want to say out loud. You had been good friends with him, but more often than not the two of you spent countless conversations trying to figure out Matt or moreover what you could do to help Matt. So you never really got to know Foggy, but you did know how much he loved and cared for Matt. Even when you walked away you knew that with him in tow he would be okay. That was all gone.  The silence that hung between you two felt like it was going to swallow the whole night. You could feel it—the pressure of it, the way the world shifted, the weight of a thousand unspoken things sitting between you, pressing down on you both.

Matt nodded at you.  His face was slick with rain, but his eyes—those eyes—were distant. Lost in the nothingness. It had always been that way between you two—close, and yet always a few steps too far apart. You saw the pain in his face, but it wasn’t just grief. There was something else too, something deeper, as if he had been unraveling long before Foggy’s death. You held his gaze, feeling that tug inside you—a reminder of what you had once been to each other. Something old, something raw, buried deep in the ache of it all. And that’s when it hit you—the moment.

You could still see it. That night. That last night. The night he had stood on the edge of a dark decision, teetering between life and something darker. You had tried to stop him, tried to pull him back from the edge. But in the end, you hadn’t been able to save him from himself.

And now, you couldn’t save him from this.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” you whispered, that was no lie, and you didn’t just mean Foggy. You meant all of it, all of them, everything. 

Matt blinked. Just once. The briefest of cracks in the armor. But it was enough. Enough for you to see the truth, the rawness that he had buried so deep, even the rain couldn’t wash it away. Neither of you said the one thing that hung heavy in the space between you. None of us did. But my god did the look of his state bring back a haunting memory,

The apartment was too quiet. The sound of Matt’s breathing—raspy and labored—was the only thing you could hear, the hum of the city faint beneath the heavy weight of what had just happened. You had come home to him, once again, lost in the dark. You had warned him before, begged him to talk, to open up, but that night… that night was different.

The sharp smell of whiskey still lingered in the air, clinging to the walls like a stain. You found him, sitting on the edge of their bed, looking out of the window into the street below. His back was hunched, his shoulders tense with the weight of the world—too many ghosts, too many scars.

You knew, even before you spoke, that something was wrong. That Matt was never one to drown his demons with alcohol unless something serious has finally got him.

“Matt,” you whispered, your voice shaking just a little, afraid that any louder you'd shatter the fragile silence. “Matt, talk to me. Please.”

He didn’t look at you. His hands were shaking slightly as he held the bottle of scotch. You could hear it clink as he set it down, the liquid inside sloshing, too full for comfort. There was a dangerous stillness in him now, a hollowness that made your heart race.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like?" he asked suddenly, his voice distant and dark, like a man lost in his own thoughts, “If it would just… stop? All of it. The pain. The endless cycle of being this guy, this devil, when all I want is just... peace.”

Your stomach twisted, your eyes almost popped out of your head at his sudden expression of pain. You took a step closer to him, trying to keep the tremor in your voice under control. "Matt… please don’t say that. Don't say things like that."

But he wouldn’t turn to you. He kept his eyes on the window, his expression unreadable. It was almost worse this way—the cold, silent version of him that you’d never quite been able to reach. He could feel how fast your body was trying not to succumb to the brutal panic that was threatening to rid you of your senses and collapse you into the floor.

"You don't understand," he muttered bitterly. "You can’t. You’re not in this. You don’t have to fight every day.” He was wrong, so very wrong, you did have to fight every single day whether it be with Matt or in your own private way for a hunt you were put on. 

You took a deep breath, swallowing the fear that was rising in your throat. "Matt, don’t you dare. Don’t you dare think that I wouldn’t understand. You think I don’t see the way you carry this all by yourself? I see it, Matt. Every day. But that doesn't mean you have to face it alone."

It was there—the breaking point. It had been building for months, the quiet rage, the withdrawal. But this was different. This was the breaking point where all the careful walls he had built around himself, the walls he never let anyone breach, finally began to crack. Suddenly, his hand shot out, knocking the bottle of scotch from the table, the glass shattering as it hit the floor. The violent sound echoed in the small apartment, the sharp noise punctuating the unbearable tension between you two.

He stood up abruptly, his movements jerky and erratic, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. “I am alone,” he spat, eyes blazing with a fire that didn’t belong to him, "I’m always alone. And I’m tired of pretending I’m not."

"Matt," you said, stepping toward him, reaching out. But he backed away, putting distance between you, his hands shaking with emotion. "Don’t push me away," you pleaded, "Please, just talk to me. We’ll figure this out together. We always do."

But he shook his head. The way his body was moving, the way he was pivoting clearly injured, his mind was distant, like he was a million miles away. "I don’t need anyone," he said, voice dangerously calm, “I can do this alone.”

You took another step forward, your voice thick with emotion, heart aching for the man you loved. “No, Matt,” you said, firm despite the tremble in your chest, “You’re not alone. Not anymore. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. And then, before you could stop it, you blurted out the words you had been holding back for months. “I’m not going to sit here and watch you throw your life away, Matt. I’m not going to watch you destroy yourself.”

His expression darkened, a sharp edge to his features. “You think I’m destroying myself?” he laughed bitterly, but there was no humor in it. “You’re the one who’s trying to save me. You don’t even see what this has become. You’re not even real in this anymore. I’m just—just—this thing that you need to fix.”

You flinched as though he’d slapped you, the sting of his words cutting deeper than you’d ever admit. But before you could respond, he took a step backward and grabbed the edge of the window sill. You saw his fists clench. You knew what was happening before he did.

“Matt, no,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t walk away from me.”

But he was already turning, already walking to the window. You reached out to him, grabbing his arm in a desperate attempt to stop him, but his hand was already reaching for the latch.

You were too late.

“Matt, please—”

But the world seemed to tilt in that moment. The next thing you knew, you were both tumbling into the cold, unforgiving night. He didn’t look back, didn’t give you a chance to stop him. He was that close, just a few inches from taking the final step. The night air seemed to freeze in place, and you felt the coldness in your chest as the distance between you and him grew.

You had never felt so powerless. So small.

The memory of that night—of your first real fight, the first time he had pushed you away so violently, so completely—came crashing back like it was yesterday. You could still hear his words in your ears, still feel the sting of his rejection. The rain continued its quiet assault, but it wasn't the storm that held them. It was the way the water seemed to slow time itself, the way each droplet against the cracked pavement felt like a reminder. A reminder of what they'd lost. What they'd been too afraid to fight for.

The city stretched out in front of them, a blur of dark silhouettes and faint lights, and yet in this small corner of Hell's Kitchen, it felt as though the world was holding its breath. Matt stood motionless, he was thinking of all the same things if not worse, it was your voice that was killing him. The quiet, the scared little voice that peeped out to tell him you didn’t get to say goodbye. You weren’t a ghost, not anymore. You were flesh, you were real, you were still here. And God, the way you stood there, just inches from him, made the space between them feel infinite.

The soft sound of your breath. The slick shiver of your coat against your skin. The rain dampening your hair, your skin—drenched in the same grief, the same unspoken pain.

And then, those words. His voice, breaking. "I’m sorry for everything."

He shot you right back, that man knew how to kill and tonight he was choosing to. Matt was always sorry, but you hadn’t heard him say it in so long it felt new all over again. It was a confession, but also an admission of what both of them had known deep down for far too long: there was nothing left to say except the truth. Your heart ached with that truth. Matt had spent years hiding in shadows, pulling away from the very thing that could’ve saved him. You had, too.

"Matt..." You whispered it again, barely audible over the rain. And he did the thing he always did. He turned. He pulled away. It was his reflex. The instinct to protect you by keeping you at arm’s length.

Except you weren’t having it this time. You advanced toward him as quickly as you had run toward his presence. As quickly as you had run to him the night you had been married. Just as quickly as the night he had first entered through the bedroom window shattering the glass needing help. 

"No, Matt. No more," you said, shaking your head, each word like a weight lifting from your chest. You were getting louder as you moved forward, the wind whipped around but it was not strong enough to even make you falter, nothing in the world, not even nature was going to keep you from this, "You can’t do this to me anymore."

Matt stiffened at the force of your voice, but you saw the way his jaw tightened. The way his fists clenched at his sides. His entire body is a coil of tension, wrapped up in some desperate need to push you away and pull you closer at the same time. His eyes flashed with something wild. Something desperate. You were now standing toe to toe with him and he couldn’t move, you had now taken away another sense of his, he couldn’t feel a damn thing. 

"Why didn’t you fight for us?" Your voice broke the silence like a thunderclap, you were screaming in his face sharp and raw. "You say you love me, but why the hell did you let me walk away? Why didn’t you tell me that you needed me? Why didn’t you... fight?"

His expression faltered. There was a flicker of shame—regret—and then, an unraveling that was so subtle, yet so violent, that it sent a chill down your spine. He was letting you assault him in the only way you ever could. 

"I couldn’t." The words came out strangled, as if they had to fight their way through his chest. He took his glasses off, and you saw it: vulnerability, raw and unguarded, like the soft skin beneath his armor. "I didn’t think I deserved you. I didn’t think I deserved anything... good."

A painful silence stretched between you. And in that silence, you both felt it—the undeniable pull. The space between you and him was so small, but the distance  was even smaller between your hearts. The words of the past had been cut with a blade so sharp, so final, but this moment felt different. You wanted to scream more, to just lose your shit, but the flame in your heart was fizzing out. It had been lit for so long, the anger fueled it, but maybe that was all you needed to yell for. One last spark to fly before it all went out. You were both scared, weren’t you? Scared of this love that had been tested by time, by loss, by mistakes too big to ignore. Scared of the future you didn’t know how to face. But here, now, in the middle of the storm, you both knew that the walls, the defenses—everything that had kept you apart—had fallen.

He stepped closer, the two of you were practically touching. The familiar scent of his cologne mingled with the damp air. His heartbeat, steady but fragile, rang out in the silence. The way he reached for you—hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he should. You didn’t give him the chance to question himself. You stepped forward, closing the last of the space between you, your hands reaching for him—just to touch. To remind him that you were here, still. You wanted to fucking cry, so bad but you knew he would sense it and this would all be different, he needed this more than you did. 

His arms wrapped around you like a promise, he was so warm for someone who had been standing in the cold, his jacket felt like fleece blanket against your face. His hands were solid against your back, one of them moving up and down his fingertips getting lightly caught on the suit you wore to protect yourself. "I can't live without you," he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion, you could feel him taking in deep breaths the air from his body making cool spots in your hair momentarily. 

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of everything, of years spent apart, of love twisted into knots, of the aching hope that maybe—just maybe—you could find a way back to each other. You put your hands to his back and felt the muscles, the ones so prominent from his fighting completely relax. Though still solid they felt almost smoother. Holding onto him again was like trying nicotine for the first time all over again, and with that same type of headache kicking in you whispered back "I can’t either.”

For a moment, there was nothing else. No past. No guilt. No regret. Just the rain. Just the two of you, standing there in the quiet, the world outside forgotten. If only it were snow, then it would have been a full circle moment to the first date you ever shared. But no, it was teetering on a full blown storm, neither of you cared. 

Matt pulled back, just enough to take a hand from your back and cup your face. Tears welled up, he would blame it on the rain if you planned to say a thing about it. But he rolled his thumb under your eye as if you were the one crying. "You’re all I’ve got. You know that, right?"

The words hit you hard, but not in a painful way. In a way that felt like a lifeline.You had just started a new life again, but this, you needed this more. One more time for the hell of it. No. Twelve more times. The rest of your life. It was never going to be done. You nodded. "I know. I’m not going anywhere. Not again."

And then, just as it had always been, the distance between you was no longer a barrier. You got up on your tip toes and grabbed his face with a tight grip,  kissed him, your teeth practically clacked together at the force. He reciprocated the same urgency grabbing the back of your head, tightening a hand in your hair. He could feel the small knots and tangles in the strands of hair that the  wind and whatever you had been up to previously had created. The rain felt harder, touching him like this was crashing reality down. The droplets felt like sweat bees as they pricked at your exposed skin. The world had otherwise faded into the background—gone, erased. All that mattered was the promise in his arms, the feeling of his lips against yours, and the surety that, no matter what the future held, you were in this together. 

When you pulled away, he smiled softly, releasing your hair and touching across the back of your neck, the first time in a long while that it wasn’t forced, you were his favorite sin. There was nothing better or more tempting than the shit you pulled with one another, "We’re going to try, right?"

You smiled back, breathless but certain his lips were slightly redder than before and all puffed out from your initial assault. But the added color made him look better than when you had first seen him that day. You could’ve ran away, just said I’m sorry the way he always did and left him there on that rooftop. But instead you spoke with conviction. "Together. Always."

And for the first time in years, Matt Murdock didn't feel so alone.

And neither did you.

[perpetual-oratorio]

I wasn't gonna go through it all but I actually do kinda feel like it, surprisingly

First, throughout this entire discourse, there's this assumption that trans women feel the way we do because we just don't understand how other people use these terms. Everyone thinks they're the first person to explain it to us and that we'll just go "oh ok, I didn't know you use it that way". Nobody considers we might already know that and still have an issue with it. Very few stop and think about why we might have a particular aversion to it, and those who do misgender us about it (we'll get to that). It's really fucking condescending.

Second, masculine terms are treated as default because of societal misogyny. This is incredibly basic feminist analysis that just leaves people's brains when it's said by trans women.

Third, the overreliance on sex assigned at birth as a way of separating us from womanhood. Combined with the above, there's this idea that if we object to terminology, it's because we obviously can't know how women I mean afabs use it. Like, do you understand how odious this is? I promise you, birth assignment or socialization or whatever other term you want to use is not the overriding thing you think it is.

Fourth, oh, it's not misgendering from your perspective? Well it is from ours, so fucking stop it. I do not care if it's not your intent. That's not the important thing here. If you hurt someone by accident, you still hurt her. Language isn't just about what the speaker intends, it's also about what the listener receives. Misunderstandings are inevitable and of course they can be talked through. But a) this isn't a misunderstanding, we know full well what you mean and despite that you're still conveying other messages besides that and b) even if it was just fully a misunderstanding, your reaction to being told what you conveyed does not inspire confidence that we can safely have that conversation with you and c) now that you've been told about this, if you keep going with this it's not a misunderstanding anymore, it's you knowing the message you're sending and, at best, not caring

Finally, I'm over people being more concerned with not being called (trans)misogynist than not BEING (trans)misogynist

omggg you think dude and bro are gender neutral and u should be able to call anyone that? should we throw a party? should we invite bella hadid

[rose-tries-to-write]

Humans are Space Orcs Idea

Okay so hiii, i had an idea so i kinda ran with it.

This was inspired by me eating an orange and thinking 'man, i wonder if aliens would find it weird watching me pull off all the strings like this' and it kinda ran from there. this might have a few parts later on if i get inspired, but mostly whatever is made here will be odd human behaviors that i think would be funny/interesting from an aliens perspective.

Writing under the cut!

Day 1 in alien captivity

I'll be honest, I've been here much longer than a day—perhaps four or more by now. This is the first time I've been given something resembling paper and writing tools, so to make it easier to remember, this will be labelled day one.

I couldn't tell you why I'm here or how I got to where I am. Most of it's a blur by now and even if it wasn't, I'd rather forget anyway. I won't bore you with that.

The aliens I'm with now are tall creatures largely covered in fur except for the horns protruding from their heads. Of the few I've seen its safe to assume that these horns come in many different variations—one having a pair similar to a goat and another having ones reminiscent of the classic devil horns. (There are two portrait drawings beside this passage, one of a fluffy creature with goat horns and another a slick-furred creature with devil horns. They both have smiley faces.)

Whatever these aliens are, they seem very interested in what I am. Studying what I am, that is. They treat me like an animal, trying to replicate a natural environment within a small cell and giving me food and objects that I assume are for entertainment purposes. I can see them in a window at the top of the cell, watching and writing and talking amongst themselves as I go about my day. Researchers, I assume. Scientists.

I don't know what their plans are and they seem largely uninterested in hurting me or even coming close. For now, I'll just continue what I've been trying to do from the start—make them realize I'm not an animal but a fully cognizant person who would really like to go home soon.

Day 2 in alien captivity

They keep giving me these fruits that I've taken to calling oranges due to their resemblance to the fruit. It has a peel, purple and sectioned similar to a pumpkin, that's thick but easy to pierce. It comes off in the previously mentioned sections like a banana and leaves strings behind like an orange.

This is where the name comes from—the gross and annoying strings all over the flesh of the fruit. It takes half an hour to get them off due to the size of the thing, but eating it with them on isn't an option. Taste aside, they make me nauseous. Best to avoid that.

The aliens seem amused at me painstakingly removing all the strings, like they think it's a silly behavior of an animal rather than a necessary evil. I can see them writing something down and chattering between themselves every time I do it where they can see. A voice inside me wonders if they find my methods odd—the piercing and removal of the outer peel, the long process of de-stringing the flesh, then pulling apart the sections to eat them one by one. The voice wonders if they see intelligence in those actions. If using my fingers skillfully to remove the inedible materials says I'm more than just the animal they think I am.

I've learned to ignore that voice.

The flesh of the fruit is orange, ironically, but more of a burning red shade than the brighter color of its namesake. It tastes oddly like an apple, sweet and acidic, with the texture of a grape. I can't decide if I hate it. I can't decide if I should. For now, it's food and as long as they're willing to feed me like this for free, I'm happy to eat.

[hillbillyoracle]

🚩 Free/Cheap Ways to Prep 🚩

I see the misconception that it takes a lot of money to prep all the time. Which has always confused me. I got into prepping when I was completely broke. I started by slowly getting a 72 hour kit put together, buying a little extra pantry food each grocery trip, and taking classes when I could.

Below I've compiled a bunch of ways you can prep for free. Most of it is information oriented but a few are apps you can download and actions you can take to make an emergency situation a lot easier. This is US focused but many of these resources are accessible by and relevant to those outside of the US.

Heads up it's a long post. Pick whatever you're most interested in to start with. Get through what you can. No pressure.

Skywarn Training

Search for your local NWS station here then look for their Skywarn section.

I think Skywarn training is a great place for people to start. I've noticed most NWS stations have a version of Skywarn that can be taken online. The course teaches you about the major weather threats in your region, how to identify them, how to relay the information to your station if you can safely do so, and how to interpret information that your office puts out such as watches and warnings. It's really helpful. I just retook it recently and it was a great refresher course.

Unfortunately as budgets get cut, there's a possibility that this resource might go away so consider saving a copy for your reference and to give to others if you know how to do that (beyond the scope of what I can cover here).

Bonus: Establish your household's safe spots and evacuation plans and make sure everyone you live with knows them. If you live in a trailer, you should have a safe spot outside the trailer if you're able to get there and one in the trailer if you aren't able to leave in time (with the first being preferred). If you live in an apartment, find out what public storm shelters are available to you. If EF2+ tornadoes are possible, take cover in the most substantial shelter you can safely get to. If you're in a dorm or structured living environment, make sure you know their plans.

Stop the Bleed Course

Free course here

While having some equipment on hand can help, even responding to a person who's just gotten shot or suffered a deep wound with what you have on you is far far better than nothing at all. This course will take you through the basics of responding to bleeding and shock emergencies so you can improve a person's (including your own) chances of surviving. Super important course.

KIWIX - Offline Wikis

Website

Older tutorial

Newer tutorial

KIWIX is probably best known as the program that lets you store and access a fully offline copy of wikipedia for free. There are so many reasons you might want to do this; wikipedia has a bunch of well sourced medical and botanical and weather reference information that could be useful to you in an emergency or just when the internet has gone down.

But the nifty thing I like about it is that there are also other databases you can use with it as well like an iFixit one for repairing your devices.

Bonus: Collect resources for your phone and ereader as well. Here's a collection you can download for free but if you are inclined to sail the high seas, the world is your oyster in that regard. In addition to survival or informational resources, consider making sure you have some morale materials too. Having a comfort read or a comfort show in an emergency situation can be exceedingly helpful for staying calm. For high quality public domain ebooks check out Standard Ebooks.

Download Briar (Android Only)

Overview here

Briar is a peer-to-peer encrypted messenger that can be used completely offline. It is especially good for activists and those living under hostile surveillance but it's also a fantastic backup messaging app for emergencies - with a little set up required.

Why would you want something like this? There are a lot of use cases. Before we upgraded to Meshtastics, this was my nesting partner and my backup texting app for when the internet went down - which is does frequently where we live. If you have contacts set up before internet and/or cell signal goes down, this can be a way to communicate with those contacts.

Please keep in mind range matters. If they aren't very close by it will take substantially longer to get messages to and from people. But if they're reasonably close by, this can be a great Alternate or Contingency communication method in your PACE plan (short intro, longer intro).

Bonus: Learn more about what you can do to make your phone more private and secure. While most options are geared toward the Android ecosystem, there are things Apple users can do as well.

Download Offline Maps

Tutorial here

I would recommend Osmand for this. While Google Maps can store some offline maps, Osmand give you greater control. You can also use topographical and other maps with it as well.

Bonus: You can also get topo maps to download onto your laptop or phone without necessarily using them with another program. I suggest this if you decide to go with Google Maps for your offline maps as a backup. They can be a good thing to have digital and hard copies of.

Print a Reference Sheet

Reference sheet in video description here

Not much to say about this one. I have these printed in my various kits just as a back up. I have pulled them out and used them (mostly the sections on knots and first aid) a few times over the years but hopefully I'll never need to rely on them.

Compile and Print Out Your Contacts

Again, this one is pretty straight forward.

Go through your phone and anywhere else you keep contacts and list out their phone numbers at a minimum. Can be hand written or types up in a spreadsheet. Consider adding their email addresses and mailing addresses as well. I'd keep a copy in my wallet, behind my phone, in my car - really any place I can safely keep a piece of paper to reference.

In case this is found on you in an emergency where you're unresponsive, I'd consider also notating your basic medical information (allergies, medications, conditions, primary and secondary in-case-of-emergency contacts, primary doctor, etc) as well.

Note: if you're worried about getting detained and this info being used to hurt people you care about, I'd be careful about this one. Don't include addresses. Consider using symbols instead of names. Agree on security phrases with your contacts so anyone contacting them on your behalf can prove they're doing so with your permission.

Bonus: Get together with friends and family to come up with a PACE communication plan (short intro, longer intro). Include a copy of it with everyone's contact information in multiple place (hard copy and digital). Also, try to have digital and hard copies of recent photos of your family, friends, and pets in the event that you need to establish a search for them.

Take an Insurance Video

If you have renter's, home, or car insurance, make sure you update your insurance videos/photos at least once or twice a year.

I'm having some trouble finding a decent tutorial of it, but basically you want to have some proof of what you own and what condition it is in in the event you need to file a claim on in of it. The easiest way to do this in a home is to turn on your phone camera and slowly walk around the home trying to make sure you capture as much of it as possible and then walk in through the front door and video each room, making sure you have video proof of some of the larger purchases like TVs, laptops, phones, kitchen equipment, washer/dryer, etc. The same basic principle applies to your car.

No all insurance claims will require it but it's very nice to have in the event you need it and doesn't take much time to make and save in a few spots.

Digitize and Encrypt Important Documents

Info here

Not something I've finished doing yet but it is absolutely worth doing. Fires can burn up original copies. Having some way to prove you are who you are is really important, especially for receiving service after a disaster. Encrypting it is so key though so I wouldn't put this together without that component personally.

Learn Some Skills with What You Have

or ask on your freecycle/mutual aid group; or pick it up cheap

There's really too many of these to list but here are some places to start:

Learn to mend you clothes

Learn to tie some helpful knots

Make a penny stove with a aluminum can

Learn some basic first aid

Learn how to use a map and compass

Free ham radio exam study materials

Take some FEMA classes

Bookmark Helpful Websites

Some of these websites are less useful than they used to be given interference from the current administration but they are, at present, better than nothing.

Your local NWS station

Storm Prediction Center - Convective Outlook

Storm Prediction Center - Mesoscale Discussions

AIrNow - AQI monitoring

USGS - Latest Earthquakes

NOAA - Tsunami Warnings

NIFC - Wildfire Monitoring

WHO - Health Emergency Dashboard

CDC - Outbreak Information

US Food Recalls

PMC19 - Weekly COVID Monitoring*

Bonus: consider following your NWS station's IEM bot on Twitter, Bluesky, or Mastodon (use Ctrl+F then type your three letter station code). An NWS bot is also available for Discord servers (works best in regional or private discord servers).

*Quick note: Since solid info on protecting yourself from and treating COVID can be hard to find I'm including some here. Get to know the five pillars of prevention here. Instructions for cheap(ish) DIY air purifier here. If you need masks, check out r/Masks4All for recommendations/where to buy them and maskbloc.org if you need free ones. Info on to what you can do to protect yourself even if others in your house aren't COVIDing is here. Info on what to do if you catch COVID here.

I think I'm going to cut myself off there for now. There are so many more ways you can prep for free or cheap too so maybe I'll do a part two some time. I hope this gives you a jumping off point. Let me know if you have any questions and I'll do what I can to help!

[tryandbehappy]

Not a question, just a comment about the latest episode. I feel like the B&TB storyline is probably not gonna happen now? I say this because I think Rose and the baby will die (based upon them eating the Ketamine cake), which leaves us more with a June-feels-guilt-and-realizes-she's-just-as-bad-as-Nick storyline. I don't like this storyline as much because it feels like it comes from a place of guilt for June rather than a place of love and protection. I really wanted her to save him from an angry mob and to accept him fully without having to kill his wife and baby to come to that realization. I'm also sorta mad that June was fine to just let Nick and Rose eat the cake - as if she didn't care a bit about them. Either way, there is SO MUCH ground to cover in the next 2 episodes and I'm getting worried our Osblaine moments will be super limited. Thoughts??

That’s interesting, let’s talk

1. So, is the Beauty and the Beast parallel off the table now?

Honestly, this is such an interesting question because, yeah at this point, it’s really hard to predict where the writers are taking this. It feels like they’ve already built a solid Beauty and the Beast foundation, that symbolism is clearly there. But where it all leads — who knows?

The one thing that surprised me (and maybe even lowkey reassured me?) is that they didn’t take Nick any further with this arc (I’m not good without her), not yet at least . And maybe that’s for the best.

It doesn’t mean they won’t keep using elements from that storyline though, there are a lot of those.

The main takeaway is: the parallel still exists. Just not sure yet what they’ll do with it next.

2. Will Rose die from the cake and make June feel like she’s just as “bad” as Nick?

I’m not so sure about that either. Like… how would ketamine hurt her if it didn’t really affect anyone else? Just because she’s pregnant? I’m kind of skeptical about this storyline, but okay — maybe they’ll explain it that way.

From a narrative perspective, yeah, it would make sense to get Rose (and the baby) out of the picture. She’s extra baggage for Nick right now, tying him to Gilead and making him less free to move forward. And since we’re heading toward the finale, it feels like we’re getting rid of everything that holds him back.

But honestly? I feel like that “I’m not innocent and good as Nick hinted” arc already happened — in this very same episode. The moment June stabbed Commander Bell in the eye and watched him suffer before he died? That was it.

(But okay, maybe that’s just me as a fangirl seeing what Nick said in literally every one of her reactions.)

And right after that, we saw June turn kinda soft again — going to Aunt Lydia, trying to solve things peacefully, talking instead of killing. So yeah, maybe that monster arc is already complete? I don’t know if they’ll go back to it through Rose’s storyline… it’s possible, but I’m not convinced.

3. June didn’t warn Nick about the drugged cake — does that mean she doesn’t care?

Honestly, I don’t think this was that serious. It was just a sleeping drug — and it didn’t even fully knock Bell out. So it clearly wasn’t dangerous, at least not to him.

What actually stood out to me was how much focus there was on June’s reaction to Nick. It was unreal. Like, if you think about it — this episode wasn’t about Nick and June at all, and yet? They still gave us so much. They didn’t show Nick’s side, they showed him through her eyes — how it hurt her to see him with his wife, hearing the vows?? how she wanted to go to him

There was so much focus on that, it blew my mind.

What bothered me more, honestly, was that they showed Nick looking… almost happy. At peace, even? Which doesn’t track at all with where he should be emotionally. Like, we know this man is destroyed inside. He’s depressed. He’s barely holding on. We know this character. So to see him smiling on stage, being all casual with Rose — it felt off.

But maybe that’s just how June sees him now. Maybe that was the point she’s watching him from across the room and thinking: “He’s fine. He has a wife and a baby. He’s happy without me😭😭

And that hurts. Because for so long, she’s only seen his loyalty. And now it feels like that’s gone for her

4. There’s not enough time left for their arc, is there?

Actually… I think there is. If you look at it closely, most of the other storylines are already wrapped up. Let’s list them:

• Aunt Lydia’s arc? Done.

• Janine’s? Resolved.

• The revolution? Pretty much happened kinda — they wiped out almost every commander in one episode.

• Luke? Yeah, maybe not officially over, but they’ve said it a hundred times this season: they’re a broken family staying together for Hannah. That’s their entire dynamic now. And you can really feel the difference if you compare it to earlier seasons. I just rewatched S5, and back then it wasn’t nearly this clear that June and Luke were done. But now it’s obvious.

And they’ve told us — over and over again — that June loves Nick.

Nick knows it too.

So what’s left?

Two full episodes to finally close the one major arc that’s still open: June and Nick.

We still have Serena floating around, yeah, but even that feels like her arc is wrapping up. So really — this show has time. Especially if you think about how much they’ve crammed into Episodes 9 and 10 in past seasons. Like, S4? They gave us SO much Nick and June in those last two episodes it felt like a fanfic dream.

And here’s what I’ve noticed: the writers don’t like to go too dark.

They haven’t done anything near Game of Thrones level. If you look at major character deaths, we’ve only lost Fred (who was clearly a villain), and that’s it?? That’s it.

They’re giving even the evil characters redemption arcs — Lydia, Serena.

And Nick? He hasn’t even done anything that really needs redeeming. He’s just still part of the system, and his arc is clearly about waking up and choosing something better.

Another arc that still needs resolution?

The idea that not all commanders are monsters.

We even saw this theme play out in this episode, when Serena tells her husband:

“You’re a bad person because you’re a commander.”

It’s not even about specific actions anymore. The title itself = monster. (Of course he is a monster no doubt)

But that’s the label Nick is carrying.

Even though he’s never had a handmaid, and he never would. He’s never raped anyone. He’s not like them.

(Also Hannah’s arc is not resolved)

So yeah, I think we still have enough time. enough to finally give us what we’ve been waiting for:

That moment where June says, loud and clear, it’s you. only you.

[toxicanonymity]

Space encounter

Kermit x f!reader (498 words): Drabble for @jolacheese Trope Search activity. There's only one 《bed》. Fun event! My blogs are 18+. Lewad is pronounced Louid.

When the bright lights lifted you off the ground, you never imagined you’d end up floating at the threshold of an alien spacecraft with two humanoids bickering about whether to let you in.

The first one gesticulated wildly. “Raldo, you fool! we have nowhere to put another earthling!”

Raldo remained calm and proposed, “We should jettison the male. You know i'm right, Lewad.”

“His name is kermit, and we aren't finished with him! Put her back down where she came from,” Lewad demanded, then apologized to you for the inconvenience.

Raldo pleaded, “Lewad, be reasonable. This one has eggs. Imagine the possibilities.”

Lewad begrudgingly paused to imagine the possibilities, then became conflicted and lamented, “But there’s only one oxygen-rich sleeping chamber.”

Raldo and Lewad slowly looked at each other as if having the same realization at the same damn time.

“The circumstances could be conducive to fertilization,” Raldo whispered loudly.

Finally they let you into the craft.

—-

The sleeping chamber was smaller than a twin bed. It was inclined and cushioned. Kermit was already positioned comfortably in the middle of the soft padding, with the chamber still open, waiting on Lewad to tuck him in. But instead, it was Raldo who came, the one who wanted to jettison him. This made Kermit suspicious, and even moreso when Raldo instructed him to take off his sleep cut-offs and vest. But kermit obeyed, then held his hands in front of himself.

“We've seen your genitals in every state, Kermit,” Raldo reminded him. “And tonight, you may want to keep those ones handy.”

“Yeah, I told you it's always there,” Kermit reminded Raldo. “I always have a dick and balls, okay? It never leaves, it never turns into–”

“-a vagina?” Lewad asked as he showed up and presented you, fully nude, to Kermit.

Kermit was taken by your beauty. Lewad explained, “We find ourselves in a situation where there are two earthlings and only one oxygen rich sleeping chamber.” The humanoids were unsuccessful at suppressing their motives. “Also,” Raldo added, “It’s going to be chilly and you may need to optimize the contiguity of your skins for warmth.”

“Yes,” Lewad nodded. Kermit scooted over to make room for you, leaving his arm for you to use as a pillow.

You were too close to the edge and had to get half on top of Kermit, face down, to optimize what little space you had.

“I hadn't seen another person in a long time,” Kermit told you in a hushed voice after the two of you were tucked/sealed in. “You are a person, right? Born on earth? Not in a lab?”

“no, of course not,” you laughed. “born on earth, just like you I presume?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It's just that, you're so perfect, I thought maybe they made you in a lab just for me.”

You were speechless.

“Can I give you a kiss goodnight?” He asked, and you nodded, then your lips met.

-

-

Ty for reading 🛸 👽 👾 🛸 👽 👾 🛸

If you like crack, mine is usually on @thebrothel. 💕

[snowgray]

I think that they need to include the full interviews verbatim, as well as the directions; I can imagine a college kid, who is doing this for free, not realizing the extent of how much they're allowed to look up, because there is a ton of required context knowledge. Or also not caring that much because they’re doing this for free and it’s not a grade. Also, this book might have been a masterpiece of social activism writing in its time, but it is fucking boring and dense now.

Here’s a few paragraphs. This took me about 45 minutes, but I’m pretty sick. Also I am very good at and highly educated in English, and this was my second read-through (I've never read the whole book; I read this and the preface when the first post about the study was going around).

Paragraph 1

London. <— We’re in London. Maybe this is a diary because people sometimes start diary entries with where they are (and the next sentence sorta gives that vibe too).

Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln’s Inn Hall. <— Michaelmas is in the autumn, which I sorta knew from Jane Austen, but can definitely say for sure based on the sentence after this one. I looked up Chancery from the chapter title, so I know it’s a court. I fully read about 10 minutes of content about the Chancery and I’m still not sure what it involves, other than, like, property and custody cases? The Lord Chancellor is, I’m assuming, the judge of this court, and Lincoln’s Inn Hall must be where the court is physically located.

Implacable November weather. <— The weather is shitty, but also implacable is a person whose mind can’t be changed, so that might be some foreshadowing.

As much mud in the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus, forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn Hill. <— This “wonderful” is the use of, like, surprising, not the modern use. The weather is so bad it’s like the flood of Noah just receded and dinosaurs are still roaming the earth. Although this dinosaur sounds kinda cute because he’s waddling. Or it's a commentary on fat rich people.

Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes—gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun. <— I already know that London in this time had an epic smog problem, but between the rain and the smog, everything is blackened. The mood is also dark because the rain is related to ‘mourning.’ Dickens sure do be layin’ it on thick.

Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. <— The dogs are covered in mud, to the point that you don’t know what they are.

Horses, scarcely better; splashed to their very blinkers. <— Horses are muddied up to their eyes (blinkers/blinders were worn to keep them from being frightened in crowded cities).

Foot passengers, jostling one another’s umbrellas in a general infection of ill temper, and losing their foot-hold at street-corners, where tens of thousands of other foot passengers have been slipping and sliding since the day broke (if this day ever broke), adding new deposits to the crust upon crust of mud, sticking at those points tenaciously to the pavement, and accumulating at compound interest. <— Dickens is laying on the description as thick as the mud here. Everyone is grumpy and bumping each other with their umbrellas. The crowds of London have been slipping on this forever, the day seems to have lasted forever and also never dawned (if this day ever broke), and the extended bad weather is ‘accumulating at compound interest,’ increasing at a fast pace. Since we know courts about property are coming up because we looked up Chancery, the compound interest is in the vein of bad-stuff-lawyers/bankers-do.

Paragraph 2

Fog everywhere. <— It’s foggy.

Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and meadows; <— I looked up ait and it’s an island in a river. I’m assuming this is the Thames. Upriver sounds like the pretty neighborhood compared to:

fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city. <— Downriver is the industrial area. Where it is also, you guessed it, real foggy.

Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. <— Fog in some more places. I didn't look this up because fuck geography.

Fog creeping into the cabooses of collier-brigs; <— Fog on the ships carrying coal (I looked up collier).

fog lying out on the yards and hovering in the rigging of great ships; <— Fog in the shipyards and the ropes of the ships.

fog drooping on the gunwales of barges and small boats. <— Fog on more boats. At this point, I know Dickens is doing something with the repetition of fog, but I don’t think it’s possible to argue that someone could know *yet* what the fog is symbolizing.

Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; <— Fog is choking the old people (pensioners) who are sickly (wheezing) and possibly in some non-home housing situation (wards). 

fog in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper, down in his close cabin; <— Finally, an allusion to Gilligan’s Island! JK, there’s some angry boatman who can’t light his pipe (maybe) because it’s all damp and foggy.

fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of his shivering little ’prentice boy on deck. <— More social commentary! Dickens did love that. This poor impoverished working child is foggily cold. Personification as the fog ‘pinches’ this kid.

Chance people on the bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the misty clouds. <— A simile comparing the density of the fog to a cloud; the people on the ground may feel as if they’re up in the sky because it’s just that foggy. Again, I can tell the fog is going to mean something, but I don’t think I have enough knowledge to know yet why this is here. It has big “snow was general all over Ireland” vibes, in the sense that a wide variety of people are impacted by the fog, though perhaps not any rich people? And also Joyce came later.

Paragraph 3

Gas looming through the fog in divers places in the streets, much as the sun may, from the spongey fields, be seen to loom by husbandman and ploughboy. <— The gas lamps aren’t really making a lot of headway versus the fog. But, it’s as important to the Londoners as the sun is to farmers. Except, IDK, does the sun loom? That’s a pretty darkish word. Keeping up with the dreary tone ol’ Dicksey has established.

Most of the shops lighted two hours before their time—as the gas seems to know, for it has a haggard and unwilling look.  <— The gas seems to be weak, since it was lit early (like literally you could have less gas if there was a lot of gas going at the same time; that's the plot of Gaslight), and also is ‘haggard and unwilling.’ Like, even the fucking light doesn’t want to be out right now. Also this might be an allusion or foreshadowing to the ineffectiveness of some kind of good that is fighting some kind of evil.

Paragraph 4

The raw afternoon is rawest, and the dense fog is densest, and the muddy streets are muddiest near that leaden-headed old obstruction, appropriate ornament for the threshold of a leaden-headed old corporation, Temple Bar. <— I had to look up Temple Bar, because my memory of it was, like, the one place I’ve been drunk in Ireland? Turns out in *London* it’s the entrance to London from Westminster? And maybe some courts were there? Anyway, the description as “leaden-headed” and “obstruction” gives big “here be the evil institution” vibes.

And hard by Temple Bar, in Lincoln’s Inn Hall, at the very heart of the fog, sits the Lord High Chancellor in his High Court of Chancery. <— Sounds like the Lord High Chancellor is petting his bald cat and holding his pinky to his mouth because he’s the very baddest bad guy in the heart of the fog.

Paragraph 5

Never can there come fog too thick, never can there come mud and mire too deep, to assort with the groping and floundering condition which this High Court of Chancery, most pestilent of hoary sinners, holds this day in the sight of heaven and earth. <— Ah ha. The mud and fog are representing the condition of the court. People are ‘groping and floundering’ with the court, so it’s difficult for them to get… results? Recognition? The court is like a disease (pestilent) and is unrepentant (sinners) and is old (hoary).

So I decided to read the actual study (link) - it's totally free. TL;DR: the study is testing how well people in the 21st century can understand the specific nuances of 19th century London. This is not "reading comprehension", they are testing whether you know things like what a "Michaelmas Term" (Wikipedia) is. This is... to put it politely, not a normal part of reading comprehension in any sort of day to day task. This study is exclusively about your ability to read and be familiar with the nuances of 19th century English Literature as a specific body.

The study structure was 20 minutes to read aloud seven paragraphs. So, while one was allowed a quick Google or a peek at the dictionary, there isn't really time to do any sort of deep dive - this is a test of whether you are already familiar with this sort of work.

---

Oh, but it wasn't just 20 minutes to read it out loud: every few sentences, the facilitator would poke the subject to explain the last few sentences. Not summarize, no: they wanted a full dissection. "Dickens is setting the atmosphere by describing the fog" was considered a failure of comprehension. The only explanation they provide that counts as a "pass" is almost twice as long as the actual passage itself!

It's not even really clear if they made it clear to the subjects that they were looking for this sort of verbose summary - the facilitator just replies "O.K." regardless of how detailed their response is.

I cannot imagine I would do terribly better, given 20 minutes to read aloud 7 paragraphs, and being constantly prodded to regurgitate the material at random intervals!

---

I really do NOT consider it worth reading, but here's a link to the original post for posterity's sake: https://www.tumblr.com/prettyboysdontlookatexplosions/783379386552516608?source=share

[fictoweirdoesten]

Only Just a Dream

cw: gn! reader x lads men (poly). use of petnames (pipsqueak, pips, sweetie, kitten, 'darling light', cutie). dialogue by color (because I'm not confident that y'all will understand who's talking because my writing skills suck). mostly fluff but hard-hitting angst(reader has depression)towards the end, and then slight fluff right at the end.

a/n: let me know if the color dialogue is too distracting, I'll change it back. wanted to write this to forget about my ex-bsf for at least 30 minutes because heh, bpd, can't stop thinking about them.

idk i just wish i had the lads guys as friends maaaaaaaaan im really going through it rn uhhhh hope you enjoy reading ♡

"Cuuutie! Wake uuuuup!"

You groan, clutching onto your pillow as you try to ignore the person waking you up.

"Pleaaaase? You've been asleep aaaall day!"

The person tugs at your arm before gripping on it, attempting to pull you out of the bed. It's not until a few tugs later that you fully register what's going on. Your eyes suddenly widen, darting to the man beside you. Your heart races when you take in his appearance, the way his pretty blue and pink eyes stare down at you with a mix of confusion and admiration. He eases his grip on your arm, leaning closer to you with a slight smirk on his face.

"What? Had a nightmare?" he teases, but there's a hint of genuine concern in his voice. He moves his hand to your cheek, carressing it gently. "Don't worry. Your very strong boyfriend is here to protect you."

He chuckles, but you don't. "I can't believe it," you think to yourself, eyes darting all over the Lemurian. "Is he...? Am I...?"

"That big dummy is making breakfast." Your heart beats at his words, already guessing who this 'big dummy' could be. Rafayel notices your sudden excitement and lets out a scoff, shrugging his shoulders. "I knew your back was big, but man, didn't know you'd get that excited over-"

Before he could finish, you're already out of the ridiculously-large bed and pacing down the hallway. You stop, almost turning into a puddle of goo right there as your eyes spot two men in the kitchen. One of them is wearing nothing but a frilly red apron and some gray sweatpants, his attention on the stove as he holds the pan with one hand and a spatula on the other. The other is holding a cup of coffee, his hazel eyes slowly glancing up from his phone to you as he takes another sip.

"...Well good morning," Zayne gently smiles, setting his mug down and resting his chin on his hand. "You slept long enough. We were starting to get worried yknow." Caleb quickly moved his gaze to you when he heard Zayne, a lovestruck grin on his face. "If you keep sleeping in like that, I might have to start breathing down your neck every night until you fall asleep at an appropriate time, pipsqueak."

Before you could respond, Zayne interrupts you with a slight chuckle. "Your 'pipsqueak' has been mentally exhausted lately, Caleb. I'll jump in if it becomes an issue." Caleb lets out a quiet "hmph", focusing his attention back at the stove. "I'm almost done with breakfast. Pancakes for Sylus and Zayne, waffles for Rafayel and Xavier, and french toast for you and me."

Sylus? Xavier?

Caleb winks at you, giggling at the flustered look on your face. "What's wrong pips? Looks like you're spacin' out." You let out a slight, almost forced laugh, eyes glancing around the room for Sylus and Xavier, but you don't notice them. You also don't notice Rafayel walking past you, letting out a whine as he leans his head against Caleb's back, rubbing his forehead against his apron.

"When's breakfast ready? I'm hungryyyyyy!"

"Soon, you bratty fish! Now-"

You quickly tune them out, still trying to figure out the whereabouts of the last two men. Zayne notices, letting out a fake cough to catch your attention.

"Suprisingly, those two woke up earlier than you today. Since it's a bit cloudy out, Sylus wanted to go walk, and Xavier went to join him."

"If I'm right, they should be here about now-"

As soon as the words leaves Zayne's lips, the sound of the door unlocking catches your attention. You start walking towards the front door, watching as the two men walk inside and instantly meet your gaze.

"Kitten? I thought you were busy hibernating today," Sylus smirks, leaning down to kiss your forehead, his hand resting on your shoulder momentarily before he lets go, walking past you as he takes off his jacket. Xavier decides to lean his head onto your shoulder, letting out a satisfied hum as he nuzzles against you. "How was the walk Xavier," you ask, your hand moving to his hair, fingers dancing along his scalp. "Mh. It was okay-"

"Not fair! Why didn't I get a pet today!" You glance behind you to see a pissed off Rafayel darting towards the both of you. He flicks at Xavier's forehead, causing the man to groan and stare daggers into him. The both of them are pouting now, and you can't help but giggle as you move and rub your fingers gently against Rafayel's temple. Rafayel lets out a sound similar to a purr, leaning against your touch as he grabs your hand and rubs against your palm.

"Hey! I want a pet too!" You hear Caleb shout from the kitchen, his voice playful, but there's a needy undertone to it that you almost miss. Sylus and Zayne let out a sigh as they sit across from each other at the dining table, shaking their heads like disappointed, but doting parents.

"What are we going to do with them, Zay?"

"I don't know, but I would like it if you wouldn't steal my coffee, Sylus."

Sylus's smirk becomes devious as he glares at Zayne, his hand stopping at the mug's handle. He eventually lets go after a brief staring contest between them, sitting back in his chair as he shrugs and glances away.

"...Your coffee is too sweet for me anyway."

You can't help but let out a fit of laughter at everything that's going on. You haven't felt this happy in a long time. It feels so good to laugh, you suddenly remember.

"Wooow, someone remembered how to be happy, guys."

"My darling light, what's got you so giggly this morning?"

"I've almost missed that laugh of yours, you know."

"Looks like this kitten realized just how loved it is."

"Hey, my sweet baby apple, breakfast is-!"

Your eyes snap open. You glance around, dread slowly creeping in once you realize that you're back in your bed again. That it really was a dream. That you won't ever have that clingy somebody waking you up in the morning, that you won't be greeted with breakfast and a smile, that you won't ever feel as loved as you were in that dream.

And then your phone buzzes. It isn't anyone, you already know, but you can't help but hope anyway. Hope that maybe someone does care.

Love&deepspace:

Rafayel: Cuuuutie! Where are you??? I'm bored in this dumb studio, come say hello!

Xavier: I'm sleepy....let's cuddle together...

Zayne: When I'm done with work today, do you want to hang out? I'm in the mood for sweets.

Sylus: In the mood to shop sweetie? I'll come visit you this evening, be ready.

Caleb: I've made breakfast for you, so come over, okay?

...maybe...maybe you really are loved, after all.

[sturnberries]

ꕤ LAWN IS DEAD - "standing in the yard, dressed like a kid, the house is white and the lawn is dead." - half return - adrianne lenker

「 depression, heavy thoughts, tears, crying, comforting, hugs, kisses, memories, flashbacks, overthinking, reassurance 」

ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ

the sepia-toned memories flickered in chris's mind, casting a melancholic glow upon the bygone years when he and lucky, together with his rambunctious brothers, would play in the simple joys of their father's aged house, their bare feet dancing across the freshly mowed lawn as they fearlessly sprinted through the refreshing spray of the sprinklers, their carefree laughter now a distant echo in the locked chambers of his heart.

but that was just a distant vivid memory of his. chris was normally ever like this. sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the bed, the curtains closed making his room dull and lifeless. it was so quiet that the ticking of his clock, the light rain tapping his window, and his slow exhales were the only things to be heard.

chris sat there just thinking more than he should be. he'd have to move out one day. he'd get married, he'd have to start a family, leave his brothers. leave lucky? chris was thinking about things that he'd never want to ever think about. he hated thinking about the future. he hated that everyone expected every kid to know what they were going to do for the rest of their lives at a certain age. chris wouldn't be able to answer that question. he was just a kid who mowed lawns in the summer, shoveled driveways in the winter. one day he wasn't able to continue doing that. he didn't want to accept it. he couldn't.

he didn't want to grow up at all. yet everyone already was.

chris sniffles a little as the tears he was trying to hold back so hard came in crashing like a riptide.

he wasn't a child anymore and never would be again. he and all his friends were close to ending their teenage years. those memories would never happen similarly again. ever.

he felt this emptiness inside him, the memories and everything he loved was escaping and he was trying his best to hold on to it all.

the word "ever" lingered in his mind like the echo of a laugh in an empty room, a reminder of what once was.

ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ ˚ ꕤ

with a sigh, lucky pushed open the creaky door, her worn tote bag slung casually over her shoulder, the hems of her denim jeans steadily darkening as they absorbed the delicate droplets of the persistent drizzle; she ventured out onto the quiet street, her eyes carefully scanning left and right before she began her crossing. her destination chris's humble abode just a few blocks away, and a quiet hope blossoming within her that he would be there, a beacon of warmth in the gray afternoon. she hoped he'd be home.

she was dressed in a simple white frilly lace dress, something her inner seven year old self would more likely want to wear. she thought about how happy she would be about a simple dress eleven years ago then now.

she did too be somber over the past, here and then, but she would never be fully affected by it like chris was now. wishing they'd have time.

she made her way to his dead and dry lawn. she was wondering when it would go green and brighter again, for him to mow it over and over. she stood in front of his white house and sighed before she went up to his door and gave it a few gentle knocks in a familiar pattern.

no one answers. pure deafening silence.

she knocked again, waiting for some indication someone was home. but nothing. she held the cold gold door knob giving it a silent twist.

it was unlocked. chris must've forgotten to lock it up like he always did. she stepped inside carefully, and looked around at the empty house.

she could hear faint sounds of maybe a cry? sharp breathes? she had no clue until she was already walking towards the cries.

she walked towards the sound from chris's room and she twisted the door open slowly, and chris flinched a little in the sight of her, quickly wiping his tears away, trying to hide the fact he was crying a river, embarrassed.

her heart shattered at the sight of him sitting on the floor crying, she immediately got on to the floor in front of him speaking softly, in a reassuring and quiet tone. "hey- hey it's alright—what's wrong, chris?"

she took chris as he went into her arms crying a little more into her shoulder shaking his head. lucky just wanted to cry looking at him like this. she barely ever saw him cry, maybe once or twice. this one time she remembered he was once nine, he was riding his bike and hit her wooden mailbox and he fell pretty hard which led him to tears. kind of funny but she hated seeing her fun and bubbly chris upset.

lucky gently rubbed his arm, giving him soft whispers of reassurance and sweetness as she hugged him warmly. chris folded into her touch, his breath shaky and broken into a thousand pieces. he stayed silent, no words, just cries. she did hope he'd be at home, but not like this, not at all like this. "it's okay, your alright, okay?"

chris nodded at her comforting voice, she kissed his temple delicately, chris leaned more into her touch as he tried his hardest to stop crying and suck it up already.

she pulled away a little to look at him properly, she wiped away his tears with her shaking thumb and kissed his forehead and then kissed his cheek.

and then somehow his lips.

not in the wrong way, it felt right to. chris nuzzled his face into her collarbone, tiredly giving her lazy kisses—not even kisses just his warm lips on her upper shoulder.

his crying died down eventually, thankfully. they were still on the cold floor, now warm cause of their bodies tangled into a loose hug. chris was lucky to have her. chris needed some luck. and he got her.

they only ever kissed once. when they were around five or six, when chris first moved into the neighborhood. lucky and him were trying to create some special crazy secret handshake, and they ended it off with a quick childish kiss and giggles.

they obviously forgot the unnecessarily long handshake and the kiss at the end. the thing was they never really forgot it, they just believed that the other forgot it. so no need to bring it up again.

the kiss that was just shared between the two momentarily would also be too, forgotten. or at least that's what they thought. chris and lucky would never talk about this moment again. the two were too scared to. no need to either, right?

a bit later of them just laying there in silence, lucky and chris got up from the floor, chris sat on the edge of his bed rubbing his arm while lucky opened his curtains for him. the view was his front yard. the lawn was dead. she looked around to see if anything changed even though nothing ever did. she exhaled, and looked back at him. the light illuminated him and his room with relief. it felt better. the sky was just white, the rain stopped, it was just fully clouds.

she gave him a sweet smile as he exhaled and she laid on the side of his bed. he laid next to her. they didn't care if they kissed. they didn't care if he just cried for an hour to her. it was like a silent promise to each other. they knew what not to speak about to eachother and what to speak. it was a strange understanding between eachother.

she had a foot hanging off his bed swinging lightly, as he had his hand on her arm as they spoke quietly to each other. a little higher than just whispers. just talking about more memories that led to some more unlocked ones. one day they would talk about the first kiss. one day they would talk about the latest kiss.

not now though.

"you okay now?"

"yeah."

some time later she was walking out of his house, onto the sidewalk, she wiped away a tear on her face she didn't even know was there. she chuckled a little quietly to herself and she looked at his dead lawn and his white house.

she looked across his dry yellow lawn and saw the smallest patch of green fresh grass growing. slowly but surely.

she smiled a little at herself when she saw it. she wiped away her tears of all sorts of emotions swirling inside her heart and mind and walked back to her house silently.

a/n; guys I'm so tired, I tried my best on this so I hope y'all like it and omfg first kiss! I love kisses!! but I learned some big words like sepia and other dumb words so decided to add that in. anyways let me know what else I should do! instead of making it the lawn's dried up I made it into lawns dead because it reminded me of the song half return! anyways hope y'all liked it love you guys and thank you so much for all the support!

luckylawn!au tg; @vanillaspacecamp @backwardshatnick @oopsiedaisydeer

[coldbronzemoon]

Hm more thoughts actually--

I imagine most of Stan's (he probably goes by 'Pan' rather than Panley, seeing as Pan is like... an actual name) starting work is like, low-budget horror and comedy. He's particularly fond of the horror stuff, since I like to think both Stan twins were way into schlocky stuff like that when they were younger. And he gets a lot of work in that genre because he's very, very good at pretending to get maimed and murdered. Like, if you need a guy to get chainsaw'd in a movie, Stan's your man. And he gets into low-budget action because sometimes people get knifed and/or chainsaw'd in those, too. It's like Sean Bean dying in a movie.

He starts climbing up from low-budget to high-budget, and starts getting roles where he can put a little more than usual into his characters. He's still mostly there to get murdered, but he has fun with it. (In this universe, Stan gets thrown in a car trunk in the middle of the hot desert to die and has to chew his way out of it...and at the end is handed a water bottle by a disgruntled PA muttering about having to do this scene in the real goddamn desert. He spits out fake teeth to take a drink, blissfully unaware that his dimensional counterparts are losing actual teeth at this point.) I think a turning point for him is getting a supporting role for really big blockbuster that gives him room to show off his humor, his emotional chops, and, of course, how well he can get chainsaw'd.

At some point after this he gets a really good opportunity--they're making a movie based off of his and Ford's favorite childhood show, Discount Star Trek Space Track, and he landed the main character Sargent Kick! Ford, unable to help himself after learning this, sends Stan a ten-page dissertation on Kick and his character and his motivations (and how his cool space gun works.) Stan is also unable to help himself and incorporates a lot of Ford's reasoning in how he plays the character. He also can't help but model his Kick voice after Ford's, with only a little modification. Fans agree that while the fascination and glee towards the unknown that underpins all of Kick's actions in this portrayal isn't quite the same as the Kick of the original series, it's still a damn fun role and Pan Stines plays it with surprising depth.

Once he's fully aware that Ford is keeping tabs on his career and he starts being able to expand his range, Stan starts going for sciencey roles when he can. He doesn't always get them--he's a bit beefy for the common nerd archetype--but when he does he always goes for a specific voice and tends to have certain mannerisms like a pacing problem and always tucking one hand behind his back while gesturing with the other. Ford fucking knows he's the inspiration for these tics and passive-aggressively sends voicemails demanding compensation.

(I like to imagine that Ford specifically sends voicemails because Stan doesn't pick up the phone for his brother. Call it petty revenge. Call it him not having any idea what to say to his brother if Ford could actually hear him. Whichever way you slice it, Stan never responds with a call or a letter. He always just does something in public he knows will get back to Ford. Ford seethes.)

At some point Stan lands a very specific role: Frankenstein's Monster. The genre is campy horror.

Ford can't bring himself to watch it, not how he's been keeping up with all of the rest of Stan's movies. (Not because he's proud or nostalgic or anything like that. He has to know what to complain about on the phone. That's all, he swears.) He can't stand the idea of watching Stan taking a character Ford had related to way too hard with during his teenage years--a being created to be the best, one who is saddled with the expectations of its 'father' who scorns it when it turns out physically different from a normal human despite being smart and clever--and treating it all like a joke like the classic Frankenstein movie. It'll just remind him of what Stan breaking his project taught him: Stan doesn't really care. He never really cared. All of the support that Stan showed him as a child was as conditional as everyone else's attention and admiration; when Ford stopped obeying Stan's whims, Stan ruined his chances and walked away. That's how he sees it. Watching Stan play Frankenstein's Monster like something less than human now that he didn't have to pretend to be sympathetic to Ford would just be an ugly addition. And Stan will make a mockery of it, Ford's sure, because he's already been mocking Ford with every scientist he plays.

Eventually it's Fiddleford--the only one who believes Ford about Stan being his twin, mostly because he's the only one Ford trusts enough to show childhood photos and explain the estrangement to--who watches the movie first and reassures Ford that he'll enjoy it. Because while the movie is still campy horror, Stan plays Frankenstein's Monster with genuine pathos. He makes the Monster smart, just lacking in cultural understanding to explain itself or react appropriately to things. He treats the role with care, makes the Monster a person.

And Ford doesn't know what to do with that. Because that feels like something Stan would do only if he still really cared about Ford's opinions, about Ford. But he can't care. Because if he did, he wouldn't have broken Ford's project and run off to strike it big...

Right?

An au concept that's been ping-ponging around in my head:

Instead of the life of crime route, Stan goes from his canon scammy products to ending up in Hollywood and becoming an actor. Maybe some agent spots his stupid ads, laughs their ass off and then goes 'hey, maybe there's something there' or maybe Stan himself goes to Hollywood because that's where the parties and babes are and auditions for stuff on a lark.

Either way, he starts actually landing roles. And first they aren't that big, and mostly comedic--he has a very over-the-top-personality, after all--but slowly he moves more into action movie land and starts becoming more of a known name. A known face. Doesn't land lead, exactly, but a prominent supporting role in the action blockbuster of the season.

Thus, Stanley Pines (or perhaps... Panley Stine) is a rising star.

A few hundred thousand miles away lives a very unhappy Ford Pines. His feelings on Stan making it and becoming a known actor are... complex (Part of him is relieved that Stan is doing well, part of him resents it, part of him feels validated for not standing up to their dad because Stan being kicked out helped Stan become famous in a way, part of him wishes he wasn't only seeing his brother on posters, so on, so forth) but he has one big problem:

Literally fucking everyone opens conversations with him with "Hey, you look like that one guy from the Extinguisher!" and even worse, no one ever believes him when he says that said actor is his twin brother. They tend to think he's lying as a joke or for attention.

So one day Stan receives a letter. It says "Stanley, please go back to the mustache. Everyone thinks I'm you otherwise. Yours, Ford. Ps. I told you that you should've joined the drama club."

Stan's damn well hacked off. Radio silence from his brother for a couple years at this point, and THIS is the first thing Ford has to say to him? The gall.

He keeps himself clean-shaven. He even starts wearing glasses like he's needed to for most of his life. Exactly the style of glasses Ford always wore, even.

Ford sends a second, even more terse letter.

Thus begins the most passive-aggressive communication between brothers possible, starting as letters and later turning into voicemails from Ford with legally dubious phone number-retrieving help from Fiddleford. Ford bitches about a recent choice Stan's made. Stan doubles-down and finds a new thing to piss him off with as well. Rinse and repeat.

In this universe, Ford goes to Gravity Falls not only because it's so full of anomalies, but because it's so backwater he hopes they won't know about Panley Stine at all.

[gazstations]

Fatum signatum, Canis esuriens

CHAPTER TWO - anima mea turbata

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

You try to outrun Johnny, but he latches on. He also finds out that being home doesn't particularly mean peace as the past is surrounding him.

♡ Chapter Warnings: Implied abusive childhood, family issues, Johnny still doesn't know how to take no for an answer

◇ Notes: I love writing dark!Johnny, so much. I love that he just has one slightly off-putting vibe that everyone hates.

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ PREV ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

YOU FLEW THE ROOST THE VERY NEXT DAY.

It perturbed Johnny, really. Brought out a shimmering heat in the thick of his bloodstream when you pretended he didn’t exist in your world anymore. He always existed in your body, down to the deep rotten core of you. He was a foundation. A structural column that molded you into who you were today.

That date you promised him seemed to have floated away from your brain. It made Johnny pinch his eyebrows together and subtly curl his lip into one of disdain. Had you only agreed to get him off your back? Oh, doe, that wasn't going to work with him.

He was a leech.

He'd just keep siphoning until you were nothing more than a husk. And he really didn't want to scare you. He wanted his sweet little doe docile and sweet. If he could have you on your terms, then he would prefer that. Even if he had to woo you first. Anything for you.

Church was as montonous and mudane as he remembered. He lingered in the very back row closer to the corner and pretended to be surprised when he saw familiar faces blink into existence.

Old Miss Hannigan was still frail and somehow zippy as she paraded down the center aisle with eager footsteps. She wore a dress straight out of the 1800s. Johnny could almost guarantee it still smelled of dust and cedar wood from sitting in the closet a long time.

Then there was Ziggy. Johnny used to volunteer during the Thursday street markets with him. They'd whip out a mean burger or corndog. By the end of the day, Johnny always smelled like barbecue. It was his least favorite day.

He was the first person Johnny lost contact with after he deployed for the first time. Replaced. By the scrawny, anxious youngest son of the Maguire family. What a fucking load of bullshit.

Johnny sunk further into the pew when he saw his parents. The little boy in him cowered in shame still, while the fully grown adult cursed those two people that brought him into this world. It was a plethora of reactions that Johnny didn’t do well with. Instinctively, he wanted to seek absolution from them. Now, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to hold his tongue.

He frowned. His slouched, guarded posture thankfully deterred lollygaggers from sitting anywhere near him. Though, lucky for him, the 4 back rows always remained unattended. it was easy to slip away into the shadows and observe.

Yet, the moment he saw your glowy form enter the church, his mind started working. He watched as you offered a hug to Ziggy's sister, who still lingered by the entrance. His eyes half-lidded as you dipped your fingers into the bowl of holy water and made your sign of the cross. You were a sweet little thing as you started to gravitate towards the front of the church.

You were at the other end of the pew, waiting to navigate around a clustered family. Your hands were folded politely in front of you as you let them finish their conversation. Always the patient doe. Aren't you, bon?

Johnny was sliding down the legnthy bench seat before he could stop himself. You hadn’t noticed him yet, probably not see the danger while you were under the eyes of God. Even though he had already found you again in this very location. He needed you to sharpen your environmental awareness.

“Doe…” he spoke, and he watched you go rigid. Your fright didn't please him as much today. Instead, it made him grimace.

“Johnny?” You hissed quietly when his large hand enclosed on your bicep. You continued smiling, though, so that people didn't start looking too much. “What are you doing here?”

“Told ye, doe. Ah'm a changed lad,” Johnny said cooly. “Dinnae look so surprised. Ye ken ah was comin' again.”

Your eyes analyzed him closely. He at least had the audacity to dress nice for church, and he noticed your eyes unconsciously check him out. It made him preen like a bloody peacock, and he sat up a bit straighter in your gaze.

“Sit with me,” Johnny offered, but it really wasn't up for debate. He was already pulling you into the pew while you were pulling back.

“I sit in the front, Johnny,” you said and he made a “tsk” sound.

“Ah ken. One day in the back isnae going tae kill ye,” Johnny insisted. “Ye can have the folks think yer doin' charity if it helps.”

He watched you blow air out in exasperation. You knew you couldn’t fight him. He would just cling on and leech from your warm blood more. He loved your sweetness. It was easy to get underneath and choke the life out.

“Joh-”

You slid into the pew with a sigh, and he immediately had his arm around your shoulders. He was not shy like you. He wanted to show you off as his girl all the time. He found it best when you were secured against his side.

You started to complain, and Johnny shushed you quickly. “Easy, doe. Dinnae fash. Ah ken ye get cold in here.”

You slouched, by default that meant into him. He chuckled lowly and maneuvered you back towards the end of the pew closest to the corner. He knew people naturally skipped over the back pews, so it would be safer if both of you were further away. He had to make his pretty little doe comfortable, after all.

“Reckon we can ‘ave our date tonight, aye?” Johnny spoke.

“I have plans tonight,” you dismissed, and Johnny frowned.

No, that wasn't good.

“Plans?” He hummed. He looked down at you, and you shielded your gaze. “Doin' what?”

Johnny's plan wasn't to isolate you. That created resentment, and he didn't want you to resent him. That wasn’t fun. He wanted you to crave his touch just as you used to when he had you pinned in the back of his shitty Ford. Your babbles were music to his ears.

Last time you turned sour, the whole tree wilted. He lost contact with you for 7 years. He wasn't going to do that again. Yet, he was an impatient man, and you were resisting his advances. What was he supposed to do? Grin and bear it? He was not a good man. He didn't wait. He took selfishly from the ripest bunch.

“Girl’s night.” You muttered after a moment.

“Aye. Cannae miss a night with the lasses,” Johnny replied. “Ye gonna drink?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged.

“Can ah give ye a ride then?” Johnny asked.

You turned your head, blinking. You must've believed you had at least one day to yourself. Surely, Johnny wouldn't impede on girl's night. Not technically. He wasn't going to tarnish your fun. But what kind of man would he be if he didn't help you get home safely?

He was just showing you how chivalrous he was. You wouldn't get hurt if he helped you.

“I was just going to Uber,” you said in dismissal.

Johnny shook his head. He turned sideways in the pew and made you look at him. His finger touched the bottom of your chin as he observed you for a moment.

“Jus' wannae make sure my doe is safe,” he replied softly. “Ye dinnae need tae waste money on some ride.”

In another lifetime, those words would be intended to flatter. To charm innocently and prompt a further relationship. For Johnny, they were dripping possession and revealing the not so innocent mindset he had towards you. He simply believed he had the right to you because he deemed it so.

“We may be out pretty late.” You tried to deter, and he just shrugged.

“Tha's fine. Ah stay up,” Johnny said. He wasn't going to let you extend those sweet legs of yours and scramble away. Not anymore.

Your eyebrows pinched together. “Okay, fine. You can give me a ride.”

He could practically taste the anxiety on you. He noticed the way your head turned slightly as if trying to spy a good Samaritan to help you. It was adorable, really. You were trying so hard to fool him, to throw him off your scent. But he had a lock jaw. Once the canines sunk in, not even a kick to the head could shake him off.

Johnny was pleased, to say the least. He leaned back into the pew and spread out his legs, his lip curling into a small smirk. “Good girl,” he murmured, and he watched your body tense up with sick satisfaction.

You really had made a mistake humoring the man who had seen you at your most exposed. Who knew just the right way to get that honeyed pleasure to flip in pitch and waver. He remembered the hitch in your breath, the way you babbled so sweetly.

Fuck. He had missed you.

He adjusted his hips with a soft sigh, and you finally looked over at him with an incredulous look. You knew why he was adjusting, and you were obviously revolted.

He leaned down to your ear, “Dinnae fash, doe. Ah willnae try anythin’ under God’s nose.”

You side-eyed him. You were doubtful, he could tell. You knew better than to fall tor his rancid lies, but that didn't mean he wouldn't try to trap you by his side. He was a liar, sure. He would bend you over this pew if he had to.

The only reason he didn't was because he wanted you to be compliant. While his core burned, aching for a satiation, he played the long game. He lost you already by being a mutt that was lost in the throes of its rutting. This time, he knew better.

There was nothing sweeter than a doe that slowly succumbed to the gnashing teeth on their own.

The opening song began, and Johnny suddenly felt like a little boy again. But he was a soldier. If he had to sit still for an hour next to you to prove something, he would.

He noted the way you didn’t move his hand when it naturally fell upon the fat of your thigh.

♡◇♡

Getting in discretely was the easy part. Getting out while the God truthers mingled in the front entrance and out in the front lawn proved to be a challenge. It had been years since Johnny had found himself in this orbit, yet he doubted anyone forgot his face.

He was the troublemaker. The teenager who turned his nose up at social etiquette and instead danced to his own tune. He was the one who found the chemical benefits of marijuana at fifteen and got the McLeary boys addicted. The one that acted out in class and spent more time in trouble than he ever did learning.

He was one that disappointed his family when he put pen to paper and recruited himself into the military.

He was the bane of most people’s existence because he was also deeply charming. Got along with most people, could sweet talk and pamper, and was always willing to help out. It was a contradiction most of the time. He knew and acknowledged that one small synapse in his head was misfiring, and he relished in it.

He was brought out of his humbled thoughts when a voice broke over the crowd.

“John MacTavish, wha’ are ye doin, ‘ere?”

Johnny stiffened, hand curling around the meat of your bicep as he turned only his upper body. The sense of accomplishment he had felt while being by your side faded into the chasm while a more dominating presence took hold. A helpless little boy and a retired SAS soldier fought against each other as his ice blue eyes narrowed and there was the smallest bob of his Adam's apple.

“Da…” He said tersely. He had not wished for this interaction today. Naively, he had hoped seeing his parents walking down that center aisle would be the only time.

“Ye got some nerve showing yer face after seven years,” his dad, William, seethed with barely subdued distaste.

“Aye. Ken ah'm like the devil rising in yer eyes,” Johnny quipped back. “Just accompanying my doe. Dinnae fash.”

William's eyes flickered over to you, judgment seeping from every clogged pore on his body. You shifted on your feet uncomfortably as you were affected by the growing tension. Everyone with ears knew of the fallout in the MacTavish family.

“Yer datin’?” William asked you.

You averted your gaze for a moment, and Johnny sensed the protest building on your sweet lips. He immediately frowned, pressing himself into you more. Just like a doting boyfriend would do.

“Tha’s none o’ yer business,” Johnny snapped. “Doe's business with me is ‘er secret.”

William grimaced. Johnny stood up straighter. He had taken down dozens of terrorists and the biggest pieces of shit one could imagine. He had long grown past the days of being the bug beneath his dad's shoes. He knew better now.

He was stronger. Not that scared little boy that begged God for a way out.

“Kick ‘im tae the curb,” William pleaded you. “Ye willnae be happy with ‘im, lass.”

“Thank you for the advice, William,” you said politely. Not one for starting conflict. Are you, Doe?

William seemed appeased by that remark, or he just simply didn't have the energy to ramble more about why John MacTavish was hell on earth to be around. His own father thought he was the scum of the earth. A rotten, no good fruit on a tree.

He would be right. Johnny had a habit of spreading that sickness.

“Guid talk. See ya never. Hopefully.” Johnny said, pinching your arm and guiding you down the steps of the church.

By now, people would know he was back in town. It was obnoxious. Though, he also relished in the fact he caused enough upheaval with his mere presence. People spouted a lot of shit about not caring about him, but they sure did talk about him a lot.

“Bloody bampot.” He muttered once the both of you were far enough.

“Johnny…” you started, but he was already dragging you towards his car.

“C'mon, doe. Ah'm famished.”

You were a subdued creature as he herded you into the passenger's seat. He batted your hands away when they tried to secure your seatbelt on their own. He wasn't in the mood for you acting all independent right now. He was hungry and deflated, even if he would rather die than admit the latter feeling.

His dad always had a way of sucking the life out of him. It's why he left as soon as the military gave him the green light. He didn't particularly enjoy the idea that he'd have to confront some aspect of his upbringing.

He wasn't that dopey eyed twenty year old that finally left for good when he got sent on his first tour, after two years of grinding in training. He wasn't some small little ant in a giant's world anymore. He survived a fucking bullet to the head, for christ's sake.

Johnny climbed into the driver's seat, letting out a soft sigh. The one thing that never changed was his need to eat. It was even better having you join him.

“Bet yer famished, too,” he spoke as he peeled out of the church parking lot. Bloody hell, he hated that place.

“Oh. I suppose. I don't need to go out, I'll just eat something at home,” you deflected. You were tense. It made an annoyance bubble in his core.

“Dinnae fash,” Johnny brushed it off. “Ah love treatin’ ye. Gotta get yer belly full ‘fore ye drink.”

You just slumped on your seat, likely knowing you couldn’t argue. You knew that about everything. You wouldn't be here if you had some form of self-preservation or even respect.

Perfect for him, yet bad for you.

He dropped his hand onto your upper thigh, squeezing it gently.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

@callsignpxnguin @sushi-enthusiast @niresenrab @tired-writer04 @shhitskinkytime @babybatreads @armycaratlover

If you would like to be added for future chapters, let me know!

[girlyassumes]

Success story #10: Getting a boyfriend who meets my standards (and beyond)

I've been needing to share this story because it baffles me and I could've never seen it coming. Fair warning, this is a long story, but it means a lot to me - it's been life-changing.

So, for a long time, I really liked my coworker, Bee, who I've talked about many times on my blog. However, I had a lot of resistance towards him. I struggled real badly to see a newer, better version of him, especially since we interact multiple times a week. I also still acted like I was single and would take notice to other cute guys at my job, affirming to myself - just for funsies - that they all liked me too ("All the guys at my work are in love with me!")

This was months and months on end of me making a poor attempt to manifest him as my boyfriend and roommate. I wanted him to do things like surprising me with flowers, cuddling with me on my couch, and texting/calling me all the time (keep these things in mind as I tell my story). I feel like I tried so many different techniques, like referring to him as my boyfriend in my mind, scripting, SATS - you name it, I probably tried it. I simply couldn't get myself to see him as mine. So, after getting fed up, I asked myself "why do I truly want him?" and "what is it that I want in my dream person anyhow?" I was mainly drawn to Bee for his cute looks and kindness. But, beyond that, I found him boring (honestly!) I had to sit and dive deeper into the qualities I want in someone (ie. being a romantic, being healthily obsessed with me)

I couldn't see it coming, but not much longer after making more lists and easing up on Bee, one of the other cute guys at my job - we'll call him Mickey - started inching his way towards me. Mickey started showing signs that he had romantic feelings for me, but I was oblivious, and it wasn't fully clicking in my mind that he had feelings for me. At one point, he gave me his number, using the excuse that he wanted to help me with painting my new place since it's something I'd been complaining about to him.

Well, after we started messaging each other outside of work, things had the most natural flow I could've ever imagined and I realized I had been developing feelings for him, too. We hung out by going on a walk one night, then, the following day, he surprised me with breakfast (my favorite meal of the day) and then later on that day, took me on a date. But, the best part? He brought flowers to my door, just like I had always wanted. And, get this: he didn't even know I'd been desperately wanting someone to surprise me with flowers.

Mickey also has the exact same personality as me, down to the littlest quirks and interests (EIYPO proven, right there). We cuddle on my couch all the time and he is the best texter I've ever met. He is also super romantic and healthily obsessed with me (like, tells me all the time how cute I am and how infatuated with me he is but said if I need space, let him know). He'll listen to everything I say and stop doing something if I don't like it (I kid you not, he's already keeping himself from smoking since I told him I can't stand the smell).

I don't have that same level of infatuation as he does, but my relationship with Mickey is so, so different than every other past relationship I've ever had. I never feel comfortable letting people sleep in the same bed as me and get sick of spending day after day with people (I'm a massive introvert). But, with Mickey, those have never been an issue and I care about him so much. I feel so drawn to him in a way that I can't even put into words.

I also never understood certain things in relationships, but he changed my mind so quickly. Let me go over some points:

For one thing, I never fully understood age gap couples and it's something I'd thought about a lot, especially since my sister and I talked about it recently and I follow a cute couple on Instagram who are 12-13 years apart from each other. I learned very quickly that doesn't matter (as long as it's not between a kid/teen and adult, and you're in similar/same states in your life). Mickey and I have a 14 year gap but it hardly ever feels that way, especially since we're at a very similar point in our lives (both living on our own, working the same job) and are so much alike. With all this being said, take note of what you're consuming online and what you're often talking about with others, because it can manifest itself into your life.

I also remember one of my exes actively talking about how he didn't believe in love at first sight, which I agreed with him doesn't exist. For years, I felt this way. But, I remember I started feeling differently when I thought back on my first interaction with Bee back before I met Mickey. However, Mickey really confirmed this for me when he started talking about when he first saw me. Mickey was 100% in love with me when he first saw me. No doubt in my mind about that. I was thinking about love at first sight - it manifested in my life.

My sister has told me about "when you know, you know," her situation with her boyfriend moving in with her almost right away, and how it's more comforting sleeping next to the person you're with. I didn't stand by any of that. I thought it was all weird and it didn't make sense to me. But, of course, Mickey completely changed my mind. There is this indescribable connection between us, I am so comfortable sleeping in the same bed as him (I actually sleep better when he's there), and he already has his own spare key to my house. Crazy, I know. All these doubts I had were blown out of the water.

So, you might be wondering, how did I manifest Mickey into my life who meets all of my standards and beyond? Well, for one thing, there was that stupid affirmation I told myself about other cute guys at my work loving me, too (this of course included Mickey). There was also so much subconsciously manifesting over time that led me to this point, between everything I was thinking about, things I was talking about with others, and all the content I was consuming, all related to romantic relationships. It's proof that you subconsciously manifest things all the time and years worth of things can manifest their way into your life without you even realizing, even silly little things, like how I thought it'd be cool if Bee had tattoos since I love Harry Styles with his tattoos - Mickey has a ton. There were definitely some underlying feelings for Mickey, too, I just chose to ignore them while I was trying to manifest Bee. But, undeniably, I loved talking to Mickey and being teased by him. I'd even look for his name on the daily work schedule just like I'd do with Bee.

But, here's the most interesting part that really made me understand that I subconsciously manifested this relationship. Mickey always talks about how he's felt drawn to me like a magnet from the very moment he met me. He said he doesn't know how to properly explain it, but he has always felt so drawn to me from the start and it just kept building ever since. He said it's infatuation/love like he's never had for anyone else in his life. He'd even pull the same exact move I would where he'd purposely go out of his way to walk by my department just to see me. That is very much all me; all my doing. I can't deny that. Me being with him is like me falling in love with a different version of myself, which in all honesty, makes sense since I've developed such a healthy relationship with myself this year.

TLDR: if there's an SP you've been trying to get and have had resistance towards, ask yourself why and also understand there might be someone else behind the scenes who's even better; someone who makes every single doubt of yours go away.

[anonmousegosqueak]

Y'all know we don't have any of the official CoD men heights, right?

I dunno who decided König was both a colonel (he's not) and 6'-fucking-10", but that model is the same height as everyone else. Yeah campaign cutscenes, but in game? There's two heights, man and woman. Now am I against this? Hell no! It just means I can do this- >:)

If CoD men were SHORTER than their CoD man S.O.

Includes: Nikolai x Price, Ghost x Soap, Gaz x Roach, and Alejandro x Rodolfo. No Red in this one, don't ask me why.

Price < Nikolai

If Price was shorter than Nikolai...

So this is the version I personally enjoy. Big, fat, hairy bear Price, getting out done in all of those categories. To his men? He's huge. To his man?? Fuck, he comes up to just below eye level. He's bratty about it as well, constantly bitching when Nik puts something too high up (he does it on purpose) and squirming away from his relentless forehead kisses. His breaking point though? When Nikolai pins him up against the wall, slotting his leg between Price's as so he can rest on something higher up while on his tippy toes. He melts like a stick of butter left out in the Texas heat. He can barely even form words in the pink mush he calls a brain when Nik picks him up, carrying him to the bedroom like he weighs nothing. Maybe being smaller isn't all that bad after all, aye John?

Nikolai < Price

If Nikolai was taller than Price...

Now- here is our first instance of taller ≠ bottom or submissive. I'd say their heights are swapped from the first one, Nik just being a few inches shorter than Price. He's still tall, no doubt about it, but he does have to crane his neck to look Price in the eyes. Does that stop him though? Absolutely not. He's putting on his tallest heels (drag Nik beloved) and towering over John. He's shoving the man into a seat and sitting in his lap. He's grinning as he watches John throw his head back in pleasure, not stopping for even a moment. On a more wholesome note- Nik has a fondness of headbutting Price like a cat. He'll bonk his face into Price's mouth, basically giving himself a forehead smooch. He'll tuck his head under Price's neck while they cuddle, not caring that Price can no longer see the TV. He's shorter, yes, but he's still very much in control.

Ghost < Soap (hear me out)

If Ghost was shorter than Soap...

LET ME HAVE THIS- Y'ALL HAVE NO IDEA. So one of my biggest pet-peevs with how people draw Soap is that they make him so... Twink-y. Do me a favor and pull up a picture of that man- he's built like a fucking square! His arms can barely even be contained by his shirt, he does that stupid little caveman walk he does when getting off the heli (aka the walk big tall people do, trust me on this one). He. Is. Big. So why can't he be bigger than Ghost? Not even bigger like wider, I'm talking bigger in all senses of the word. Ghost is honestly a little scared when meeting him for the first time... This huge-ass Scottish man with a dumbass hairstyle comes up to him and *touches* him? Not even Gaz was that brave when he first met him... Ghost isn't fully sure what to do with himself, often just freezing whenever Soap does anything with his hight. Forehead kiss? Blue screen. Reaches above him for something? He's standing there for the next few minutes, looking like an idiot. The only reason the fandom never has Soap taller is because poor Ghost would break on the spot.

Soap < Ghost

If Soap was shorter than Ghost...

What do you want me to say? It's the fandom opinion. He's a brat, he's adorable and kissable and Ghost slings him over his shoulder. The end.

Gaz < Roach

If Gaz was shorter than Roach...

So I think in this case, because of the lack of official info, I'm going to make it more "what if Roach was taller than Gaz". Gaz is an average height, Roach is this tall lanky dude who shoved himself into increasingly small spaces. And Gaz? Gaz is fucking crazy over it. He likes the familiar shadow, the feeling of someone leaning on him and resting their chin on his head, the warmth of getting squished up against a chest. I think he's the most normal about it though. Sure it's hot, yes he loves topping someone so tall, but day to day? He's more concerned about warning his love about short doorframes than anything... And if he's secretly glad about being under 6'? Well that's no one's business but his own.

Roach < Gaz

Small bug being held up like a creature. The end.

Alejandro < Rudy

If Alejandro was Shorter than Rodolfo...

This one honestly makes me a bit feral. Fennec can confirm, I'm *not* normal about dom! Rodolfo. Pair that with physically being larger than Alejandro...? He's not nice about it either, using his hight and size to his advantage all the time. And Alejandro? Well Alejandro is replacing his third pair of jeans this week after ruining them. Sometimes the colonel just needs to turn his brain off, let someone bigger than him take care of him. He trusts his Sargent Major, trusts him with the power he holds. Yeah they like to play around with the height difference but at the end of the day? Alejandro feels safe with the mountain of a man. A (not so) gentle giant who can take control and let Ale just get to relax for once.

Rodolfo < Alejandro

If Rodolfo was shorter than Alejandro...

Oop- we got another short dom! Literally the same dynamic as the last one, big spoon and all. Except *maybe* he makes Ale reach the top shelf, no shame about it either. So what if he can't reach? He has an obedient pet boyfriend to do it for him. Again with the comfort, except this time it's more symbolic than physical. Alejandro is still letting go and giving power to Rudy, he's still curling into his chest as the other man wraps his arms around his torso, except now it's an even clearer display of trust and comfort. Rudy gets to be the big boss, to comfort and care, even while dealing with a man who towers over him.