#that'd probably scare them too

[nanamisgirly]

your dilf doesn't need 'perfect'　ྀི　

“w-wait—” you were panting, legs wrapped around his hips where dilf!nanami straddled you on the countertop. you pull back just as his mouth dragged open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

you don't remember how exactly you ended up there, how things turned from soft touches over dinner to a heavy make out session—tongue sliding between your lips, big hands pressing you against his chest. 

it's been months of holding back for both of you—resuming your relation to slow touches, soft kisses, and ‘no pressure sweetheart’ every time things started getting heavy. since you weren't experienced and kind of…scared, dilf!nanami suggested waiting til you're ready. and you've been grateful for it, even when you returned home some night aching and soaked from just making out with him.

and maybe all the courage you gathered to tug him in by his tie tonight and kiss him like you were desperate for it, had drained from your veins the moment you felt one of his hand sliding up your thigh and the other slipping under your shirt—hot, rough, calloused.

“did i go too far?” he asked, one hand still under your shirt, fingers hovering just under the band of your bra, not moving an inch. “it's okay. you don't need to explain. we can stop, sweetheart.” his lips were swollen—covered with spit. his eyes glassy and you could feel the weight of his cock pressing against your shorts.

“no—! no… i want to,” you blurted out too quickly, voice overlapping his, desperate not to be misunderstood. but even as you said it, you couldn't bring yourself to look at him in the eyes, so you turn your head, letting your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you continue, 

“it's just…” you exhaled, shame blooming fast in your chest. “i'm not confident about. . y'know.” you gesture vaguely toward your boobs. “they look nice in a bra and—uh…you've probably seen better. i know they look big in a bra, but they don't, well…stay up. they're soft, and…” your voice tightens. “i just…i've read things. about guys saying they were disappointed. or didn't want to even see them during the act, unless they were covered—” you laugh nervously, voice cracking. “it's so embarrassing. i-i didn't want you to see them and think—think they're…ugly.”

the silence that followed felt unbearable.

it only makes your anxiety grow and you feel so dumb for talking about it, maybe you should just have stopped and that's it…because nanami didn't move an inch since your little monologue, his honey eyes still trying to catch your gaze. 

your stomach drops. you start to shift trying to get off the counter, anything to escape mortification. “look, i'm sorry,” you say, heart pounding, eyes glassy. “i-i shouldn't have brought it up, i—umh—it's ok. i just thought that'd be nice to tell you before hand and huh…fuck i ruined everything didn't i?”

that's when you feel his hands coming to your hips, pinning you in place on the countertop. you gasp as he presses his cock against your core harder than ever—twitching with need.

when you looked up, his eyes had darkened. his brows were furrowed, jaw tight, emotion bleeding into every sharp line of his face. “that,” he said flatly, “is the stupidest fucking thing i've ever heard.”

your breath hitched.

“i'm not a boy with a warped idea of what women are supposed to look like.” he leaned in, cupping your jaw to be sure your eyes stay locked onto his. “i'm a grown man. you think i'm painfully hard, grinding against you, shaking, because i'm waiting for something ‘perfect’? sweetheart, i'm here, aching because it's you. all of you that i want.”

his voice was low, frayed. barely holding together. “let me very clear, sweetheart, i'm going to lose my mind when i see them, i will drop to my knees and thank the gods for putting someone as sweet as you.”

your lips part, trying to breathe through the whirl of embarrassment and affection and…arousal.

“ken—”

“does this—” he rasped, grabbing your wrist and guiding your trembling fingers down to the thick, pulsing shape of his cock straining in his slacks, “feel like someone who's going to be disappointed?”

you whimpered, your smaller fingers squeezing his boner. 

“f-fuck…” he shuddered. “if you want to stop,” he breathed, forehead falling to your shoulder. “i'll stop. if you want to wait, we'll wait. another month. another year. i don't care. anything you want, for you to be comfortable.”

but his voice cracked at the end—like he was hanging by a thread. you felt it too, his body coiled tight, like a beast barely leashed.

“you're too nice, ken.” you say teary-eyed, half laughing, half melting.

“well, k-keep squeezing me like that and i'm afraid i won't be nice any longer.” he groaned, lip brushing your neck.

your thighs wrapped tighter around him. “you can take it off,”

his head snapped up. “you sure?” his gaze held yours as his fingers brushed the hem of your shirt again, and when you nodded, “arms up, sweets,” he said softly, and you obeyed.

when he tosses delicately your shirt to the side, skilled fingers quickly find your bra and unclip it, oh very so slowly.

when your bra hit the floor, everything held still. like the world paused long enough for nanami to lose his mind quietly. his eyes dragged up, heavy-lidded and wrecked. one big hand came up—trembling—cupping your breast with a war raging in his mind : should i worship or ruin them?

“sweets,” he breathed, thumbing over one of your nipple, “they're perfect. so fucking perfect i feel like i'm hallucinating.”

[returnofeternity]

Hi could you maybe do a Lottie Matthew’s x female reader pre crash just thoughts about Lottie dating a shy reader possibly having to teach them how to kiss and stuff like that ty !

i don't write precrash tl, sorry! i did postcrash but hopefully you still like it :-)

thinking about meeting her in switzerland and you guys end up dating.

· · 𐂂 · ·

you're both quiet but you're shy shy. you could barely get out a few words without stuttering the first few times you talked to her. she probably tried to give you tips on how to stop stuttering too but you kept doing it because of ur massive crush on her. she tries to get you to come out of your shell, prolly pushes you a little, but you appreciate it. and lottie who never suspects that it's her that's making you so shy because she doesn't think it's possible that someone likes her..

'dates' around the facility 😭 taking your guys' lunch to the rec room, and eating at a table, pretending it's a lavish dinner date. going outside and awkwardly holding hands for the first time, just talking about life and what you'd do if you weren't in here. walking back to your room together and she doesn't know if she should kiss ur cheek even tho you're about to walk in together lmfao. or it'd be cuter if you weren't roommates and she just happened to become attached to you after seeing you in the hall one day. which makes me think of being shy and not really liking that much pda, and lottie who tries to hold back on the affection when your roommate is there when she drops you off. just a lottt of her thumb gently rubbing your hand or arm while she tells you goodbye and that she'll meet you in the breakroom tomorrow for your secret date.

when your relationship starts to get more serious, you start to get more nervous and way more shy around her because you Know the kiss is coming. you haven't kissed anyone yet and you're scared you're gonna embarrass yourself. maybe a little controversial, but i feel like lottie hasn't been in a relationship or kissed anyone either... but for the sake of the thought, let's say she's experienced.

she kisses you first and is so worried when you don't reciprocate 😭 she starts asking if she did something wrong or if you didn't want it but you're too shy and flustered to speak which makes her even more anxious lmfao. thinking of lottie who follows your head when you lower your chin in embarrassment if that makes sense i just think that'd be so cute and such a lottie thing. she whispers and gets close because she knows you mumble when you get all shy like that, and she rubs your knee comfortingly and tries to get you to open up.

so relieved when you tell her you just don't know how to kiss instead of not liking it 😭 and so understanding. cutely asks if you would like to practice with her and gives you the biggest smile when you agree. facing each other and leaning in close, lottie nodding and mumbling for you to make the first move. she reassures you and tells you that you'll get used to it. feeling her smile into the kiss when you make a little noise in the back of your throat and getting embarrassed but she just cups your cheek and pulls you in closer.

she gets you SO flustered and you have to use the rest of your brain power to keep kissing her when she mumbles "you're doing so good" into your lips. she keeps giving you tips and squeezes your chin to remind you when you take too long to do it. she stops it just as it starts to get heated and tells you she'll teach you how to use tongue next time.

kissing her constantly after that. for practice of course :)! she makes sure to mention how good you're getting at it and most definitely teaches you where to put your hands as things get more and more serious and heated with her.

[allllium]

I really love your fics!!! They’re seriously just 10/10. Could you maybe do something with Jason Todd getting a crush on the new vigilante in town? Or him meeting his childhood best friend after being resurrected (possibly him saving them as Red Hood) and just SIMPING over how much they’ve changed since last time he saw them. Like, his mind just going “minemineminemine” and “Yes, I am now a married man”

Love your work!!! ❤️❤️

Miss You

~ Fluff, WC: 1,119

~ Jason meets you again

Jason had a best friend, before he died that is. Ever since he came back he's felt alone, no one being able to fill the hole left when he lost you. Lost you isn't the right word. He can go to you at any time, replace the friendship he craves to have again, but he won't. Call it pride, call it self-doubt, call it whatever you want but he'll never do anything to fix it. Not unless he has too.

You're walking along a strip of dark buildings. Not a smart choice but definitely the fastest to take after a long night shift. The only thing you want to do is fall into your bed and sleep a whole day away. Living in Gotham means you are no longer surprised or scared by the constant yelling and booming noises. Most of them are made by teenagers doing dumb things with their friends or random people deciding to fight in the streets. They don't last too long considering the millions of vigilanties that are always running around.

But tonight as you walk by multiple allies, on a dark street, near where you know multiple self declared "gangs" hang out, everything is silent. Somewhere else, anywhere else, that'd be a good thing. But right now it gives you the chills. Every step you take feels like it's being watched, no, like it's being analyzed. Like something or someone is trying to memorize every move you make. A gaze you somewhat recognize.

Jason doesn't mean to be a creep. He really doesn't. But he can't look away. After he died he never thought he'd see you again. Everyone told him you stopped showing up to dinners and didn't answer any of their calls. It was hard for him to think of never seeing you again, he didn't know a time in his life when he didn't know you. Now he finds himself sitting on a windowsill on the opposite side of the street, unable to look away from you. You've changed a lot since he last saw you, but somehow you still look exactly the same. Jason has never had a crush on you before. Of course he always wondered what being with you would be like, and he's thought a lot about how amazing it would be to kiss you, not to mention the hundreds of times you've had him blushing like a crazy person. But he's never had a crush. That'd be insane.

You continue walking around as if nothings bothering you. The last thing you want to worry about is someone watching you. It's probably nothing. On the other side of the street you can hear thumping every couple of feet. It doesn't take a genius to know the sound is coming from someone jumping from roof to roof. You look over just in time to see someone land on their feet. It's obviously one of the vigilanties, guessing by their size and stature.

Jason feels his heart almost stop when you look directly at him. He knows you don't know it's him, how could you after all this time and in the dark, but it makes him panic just a little bit. You'd think after everything he's had to deal with he wouldn't freak over such a small thing. It's not until he sees you raise your eyebrows expectantly that he starts making his way off the roof and towards you in the street. He can't believe how much you've changed, how amazing you look.

You watch intently as he comes closer. It only takes a moment before he's standing face to face with you.

"You better have a damn good reason for following me."

He doesn't answer.

"Hello? If you're going be a creep at least explain why."

All you can here is heavy breathing through his mask.

"Okay this is just weird." You begin to walk away but he grabs your arm to stop you. "Did you really just grab me?"

"I'm sorry." You don't recognize his voice but something is pulling at you. You let out an angry breath.

"Are you gonna explain yourself yet?"

"I wasn't trying to be a creep I promise." He starts to defend himself but trails off. "You walked by some bad people earlier and I wanted to make sure you got home safe."

"Mhm. What else?" You cross your arms over your chest, not believing he gave the whole explanation.

He pauses again. For a second you believe he won't answer. "You look good."

"I thought you weren't trying to be a creep, what the fuck?" You take a big step away from the man standing to your front.

"No no no no that's not what I meant." He tries to come closer to you but you take another step back.

"I don't care what you meant, that's weird man."

"Where do you live?"

"Okay I'm leaving now."

"No wait, again not how I meant for that to sound. I just mean I can give you a better explanation when we're not standing in the middle of the street." He rambles.

"Fine, but I expect no more excuses."

You reluctantly show him to way to your house. Now that you've been closer to him you recognize him as Red Hood, a newer vigilantie. He's a good guy, he wouldn't hurt you, right?"

"Here we are." You announce as you step up to unlock your door. Red Hood follows you a little too close.

"It's nice." He says quietly, almost as if he's unsure of his voice.

"Thanks. Now explain." The second the door is shut you demand to know more.

"I'm not really sure how to say this."

"Well you don't really have a choice do you?"

"No I guess not. I've never been able to say no to you." He makes a sound that almost seems like a laugh.

"Never? Do we know each other?"

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna need more than a single word."

Instead of saying anything he takes off his mask Suddenly every makes sense. Or as much as it can when you're dead best friend is standing in front of you.

"Jason." You smile.

"Hi. This isn't how I wanted to do this."

"No? How did you?" You take a step closer to him.

"Well to be honest I wasn't. I really didn't expect you to know I was there."

"You aren't very quiet." You turn away and take a seat on your couch.

"I should probably work on that." He sits next to you. You look amazing."

"Thank you Jay."

"Aren't you going to ask me anything?"

"I will later. Right now I just want to sit, I've missed you."

"I miss you too."

[oopsnewaccount]

Drunk Text/Raphael Pt. 2

Summary: The aftermath of drunk texting a racy pic to Raph is better than anticipated😘

Warnings: SEX

...

"Oh my Gooooooooood," You groaned, face down in your pillow.

April was rubbing your back, squinting from her headache. "Y/N, he got a sexy picture from a hot girl. I don't think he's upset."

"I'M upset! A drunk text is bad. A drunk nude?? That's so embarrassing!"

"Tell him I sent it," April suggested.

"I don't think that'd help," You whined. "It doesn't excuse the red, or the fact he got it and none of his brothers."

You kept staring at the picture. You looked amazing, you would have to enlist April in all of your nude photoshoots from now on. It didn't help, though. He could Google porn at any time, why would he be impressed with you?

April sighed. "I'm sorry you're feeling so embarrassed, but I promise you he has probably already jacked off to this like five times."

You let out another long groan.

...

You avoided the turtles for the next few days, leaving April to go on her own. You just couldn't handle looking Raph or any of his brothers he undoubtedly told in the eye at the moment. Raph never replied to your picture. You left your red set on the floor of your bedroom, too embarrassed to look at them.

A few days later after declining to join April on another visit to the lair you were home in bed watching TV on your laptop. You were in your pajamas, if you could call them that. An oversized shirt, a pair of boy short underwear, and your slippers. You were fresh from the shower, hair damp and smelling like whatever new bath products you just opened. You had your earbuds in, engrossed in what had to be your sixth episode of the day.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw movement by your window and froze. You stared out on your balcony, closing your laptop slowly. You almost jumped out of your skin when a large shadow suddenly appeared in front of your window before realizing it was Raphael.

He opened the sliding door and came in, shutting it tightly and closing the curtains behind him.

"Fuck, Raph." You tugged your earbuds out of your ears. "You scared the shit out of me."

Raph didn't answer. Instead, he approached you slowly, stopping at the foot of your bed and tossing something down.

You peered down at what he'd thrown, your heart sinking. Staring up at you was your own racy photo. You swallowed thickly.

"You gonna explain that?"

You took a shaky breath. "Look, Raph, I... I'm..."

You stared up at him pathetically, searching for words but coming up empty.

"And the you don't come around?" He growled.

You felt guilty. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do when I woke up I saw the picture and I panicked, I -"

"Who took it?"

"What?"

"Who took the photo? And who was it meant for?"

You looked up at him, confused. "April, and... I mean, it was meant for..."

You froze. Why did he care who it was meant for? You felt a glimmer of hope spark in your chest. Was he jealous?

You made a decision. You couldn't possibly embarrass yourself anymore than you had, why not shoot your shot at this point? You relaxed your body, scooting backwards to lean on the wall. You pulled your legs up, resting your elbows on your knees.

There it was!

Raph's eyes flitted down to your thighs as you had moved, maybe trying to catch a glimpse of what was between them.

He cleared his throat. "Well?"

"I sent it to you, didn't I?" You could heart your heartbeat in your ears. "I sent a text after it to you, didn't I? I wore red, didn't I?"

Raph was silent for a moment before speaking, his voice slightly softer. "Doesn't matter, you were drunk."

"I wasn't drunk when I put those on."

The silence felt thick, like moving or speaking might send ripples through the room.

"You wearing em now?"

Okay, it was now or never. Go big or go home.

You leaned forward, slowly pulling your sleep shirt up and over your head. You were naked from the waist up, now. Goosebumps spread across your exposed chest and your nipples hardened. Raph was completely still, except for a stirring in his shorts.

"I'm not wearing them. I wasn't expecting you to come by or maybe I would have."

"Not got the thong on under your shorts?"

You grinned. You leaned back, sliding slightly down the bed and lifting your hips. You slowly slid the shorts down. Kicking them off onto the floor. "Nope."

It was silent again. Raph was staring a hole through every inch of you he could see. Maybe it was the adrenaline, the growing shape in his shorts, or just Raphael himself, but you could feel yourself getting wet as he stared you down. You heard him inhale slowly, and you shivered when you heard a deep, guttural churring sound.

You couldn't wait anymore. Raph wasn't going to make the first move. You slowly stood up, walking across your bed. You stopped just infront of him, almost touching. You stayed on the bed so you could be eye to eye with him. He was almost scarily still. Such a massive, strong being in front of you. He could break you so easily, he was so still it felt like a predator waiting to pounce. It was weirdly hot. You reach out, touching the side of his face so lightly you weren't sure if he even felt it.

"I really like you," You mumbled.

"You sure?"

"I am. I wouldn't have sent that if I wasn't. I've been trying to get your attention for a really long time."

Raphael paused before speaking again. "Am I too late?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

Raph looked you up and down, slowly. "You texted me to come get you. Am I too late?"

"No."

There was another moment of stillness. You mightve thought he would've lunged for you and taken you right there (no complaints) but he surprised you. He leaned in, not to kiss you, but to nuzzle into your neck. His massive hands came up to grip your waist tightly, and he inhaled your scent. He slowly pulled away, long enough to look at your flushed face, and then he kissed you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and his grip on your hips tightened. You imagined kissing him a thousand times, wondering if it would be different from kissing a human, but it wasn't. It was warm and hot and you don't know how long you did it for but it wouldn't ever be enough.

When you finally pulled apart and you opened your eyes your heart skipped a beat. Raph looked downright animalistic. His eyes were narrowed in on you, pupils dilated so far that his bright irises looked like little glowing halos. He took you by surprise again, this time with his speed. Before you knew what happened he had picked you up and pressed you against the wall beside your bed. You tried to wrap your arms around his waist but he stopped you, growling lowly. He readjusted you, moving the bend of your knees to the crook of his elbows. The strength it took do hold you low enough that the tip of his cock was touching your entrance sent shivers down your spine.

"You ready?"

You couldn't speak if you tried, so you just nodded.

Raph started pushing in slowly, dropping you down onto him. You weren't sure when you'd ever reach the base because he was so big it felt like you just kept going. He was thick and long and you could feel it twitch deep inside, somewhere you were certain you'd never felt anything go before. When you finally did reach the base you realized you were holding your breath, and you let out a whine. Raph let out another deep churr, vibrating from his chest to yours. He began moving very slowly, his whole body tense as he struggled to maintain control. You let out a choked cry as he began rutting up into you, his arms keeping you pressed against the wall. You let your head thunk back against the wall, eyes closing for a moment as a warm pressure spread in your lowered belly.

You opened your eyes, gasping as Raph hit into you a bit harder than before, his eyes fixed on yours. He was grunting, barely holding back growls and groans and clearly trying to restrain himself. He clenched his jaw and began thrusting harder, his breath labored as he watched you start to lose it. He was stretching you out so far, thrusting so hard, and hitting so deep you couldn't physically hold off the orgasm that was coming quickly. Your nails dug into his arms and you let out a few strangled cries as you tried to hold on, not ready to cum yet but unable to stop. When it hit it hit so hard and fast you couldn't help the noise that left you. Your legs shook and you're pussy clenched, and the feeling must have sent Raphael over the edge as well. With a deep, rumbling growl he gave one last piercing thrust. You cried out as you felt him explode inside of you, and then felt his cum dripping out of you undoubtedly onto his legs and the floor. He kept you up for a moment, just leaning his head into the crook of your neck and catching his breath.

To your surprise, he didn't actually put you down. He maneuvered you into his arms more comfortably and brought you into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and gently set you on your feet inside of it. He gave you a soft smile and then stepped back to let you clean off.

You went to invite him in before laughing at yourself when you realized he'd never fit. On wobbly legs you showered off, staring in shock at the amount of cum leaking out of you, while Raph used a wash cloth to get himself as clean as he could.

When you stepped out of the shower, toweling off feeling sore and happy, you found Raph sitting on your bed holding a bottle of tequila. You also spotted your red lacy set beside him - he must've found them on the floor. He grinned at you, took a swig, and held the bottle towards you. You narrowed your eyes at him, taking the bottle and plopping down next to him.

"Whats this about?" You ask, taking a swig of liquor and wincing.

"Tryna get more pics."

[ckret2]

So I heard y'all are really eager to see Bill shipped with an old man. This is what you wanted, right??

(Sorry, it's still gonna be a while yet before we get to the old man y'all are looking for.)

Chapter 80 of that fic with human Bill as the Mystery Shack's increasingly casual prisoner: the government comes snooping around the shack again, scaring the crap out of everybody—including Bill, who's too nervous about getting arrested to realize he's being flirted with.

####

Bill woke late in the morning to the smell of dead fish and a subtle but insistent full-body itch. It was one of the most pleasant mornings he'd had since he died.

Sunburn, he thought. No surprise there. He dragged the false nails that had survived since the girls' sleepover across his shoulder and reveled in the way the pain was momentarily relieved and then flared back up twice as strong as before. Sunburns had always been one of his favorite human sensations, that constant pleasant background burn prickling across his skin and blazing higher any time he was touched; he hadn't realized just how much he'd been missing them while he was locked inside. He wasn't built to be out of the sunlight.

While most of him just vaguely itched, the bands of skin around his waist and upper thighs where he'd applied the anti-sunscreen were on fire. When he tossed aside his bedsheet to inspect, he was satisfied to see the difference the anti-sunscreen had made—the skin was only slightly darker and ruddier, but it was visibly leathery with tiny bumps. It was a good start. Still—they might have been more visible if the rest of him were less sunburned.

He pushed that thought from his mind. He'd sooner die again than admit that sunscreen might have been a good idea for any reason. If the lines weren't visible enough after the sunburn healed, next time he could strengthen the anti-sunscreen recipe and shoot for blisters, that might leave scars.

He dug his nails into one of the more deeply burned lines and was hit with a dizzying rush of euphoria as the burned skin screamed in pain. Oh, he could happily do that all morning. But first maybe he should get some breakfast.

He rolled off the sofa, landed on all fours on the floor, and grabbed Journal 4 from under the sofa—he'd left it there with the pages spread out so the watery fish brains he'd finger painted on each page didn't glue the book shut. He documented last night's "dream"—he'd haunted the halls like a ghost, collecting what tools he could access to start repairing the portal—then hid the journal behind the sofa in the window seat's cushion where it belonged. He still needed to find a better hiding place for it. Maybe after breakfast. 

There hadn't been a grocery run since he'd acquired his new fridge, so all he had upstairs were half a dozen condiments, a bag of tortilla chips, and enough cider to kill a horse. If he could get somebody to open the kitchen fridge, maybe he could steal the eggs, that was probably the single most nutrient-dense ingredient currently in the house; that'd keep him going between meals until grocery day...

Where were his clothes.

The t-shirt and bikini he'd worn to the beach yesterday were still flung across the sofa; but the box he'd stuffed all his other clothing in had vanished. He stared at the shelf it was supposed to be on. His hoodie. Who'd stolen his skin?

He scowled.

He folded his Pony Heist bedsheet lengthwise, folded it around his waist and rolled it down like a sarong, pulled on the t-shirt and his eyepatch, and stalked from his room.

The kids' bedroom door had been left open. No sign of Bill's clothes in there, but he found an important clue: Dipper's ever-present mountain of dirty clothing was gone. Laundry day. Soos must have mistaken Bill's box of perfectly clean clothes for dirty laundry and stolen the whole thing. Great.

While he was momentarily unsupervised in the kids' room, he flipped through Dipper's journal, annotated some of the recent pages with helpful info and added an embarrassing anecdote about Ford's research years (all in code, of course), and stole Mabel's glass pyramid and a pair of pink sunglasses that were shaped like the words "RAD DUDE" from her bedside table. He stashed the pyramid in his room on the window seat.

And then he headed downstairs, trying to mentally calculate the most impactful way to whine about his clothes having been stolen in order to make Soos feel as guilty as possible without making himself look pathetic.

"Hey Bill!" Mabel called from the living room. She held up a couple of headbands; she'd wrapped two pipe cleaners around each that stuck up like antennae. Foam stars were glued to the ends of one headband's pipe cleaners and pompom bees to the other. "I'm making deely boppers! Do you want one?"

"More than anything!" Bill claimed the one with bees and shoved it down over his tangled hair. Mabel was in here doing crafts, Dipper was watching crappy local TV—Bill couldn't get into the gift shop with them in here as witnesses. "Hey, here's something crazy: did you kids ever notice the stairs to the attic have 32 steps going up and 28 steps going down?"

Mabel and Dipper looked at each other; and then ran for the stairs. "No way!" "How's that possible?"

That would keep them occupied for a few minutes. Bill backed through the gift shop door.

Wendy looked up from her phone. "What up, dude."

"Hey, cool girl!" He spun around on his heel and trotted over to lean against her counter. "If anyone asks, you let me into the shop."

"Got it." She glanced at Bill's sarong. "Is this the return of Toga Guy?"

"Nope; laundry day."

"Oh, yeah. Washing machine's been going all morning," Wendy said. "Soos says Ford's been running around in a coat that smells like nasty lake water, so he stole it."

"And stole my box of perfectly clean clothes." Bill refused to entertain the possibility that this might be partially his own fault for making his room smell like dead fish. The smell would air out! "So I'm gonna humiliate him for it in front of his tour group."

Wendy laughed. "Don't do that, man. You know what he's like, sometimes he makes goofy mistakes." She gave him a quizzical look. "You keep your clothes in a box?"

Right, he'd been keeping Wendy teetering on the edge of thinking Bill was in an unsafe situation here. Was there any benefit to her knowing how inhumane his living conditions were? Not at the moment, when things were finally improving. "Shack's run out of guest rooms and I didn't need new clothes in the mindscape! We just shoved my clothes in a crate until we can get a spare dresser or something." Topic change! "Hey—I saw your brother beating up a fish at the lake yesterday."

"Oh yeah, you mean dinner? Marcus was so proud of his catch. He did the worst job deboning it, though. I almost got a surprise lip piercing." Wendy stuck out her tongue. "What about you guys? Soos says you fought Bigfoot or something?"

"They did. Ask the Stans for the details; while they were catching fish, I was catching rays," Bill said. "And I think I was more successful than them."

"Suntanning?" Wendy took in his blatantly sunburned appearance.

"Unless you're about to say 'oh wow, you look great!' say something different," Bill said. "Anyway, I'm a wilting houseplant! I have a sunlight deficit I'm trying to catch up on." He glanced wistfully toward the window in the door and the bright beautiful day outside. "If I didn't have to ask someone to let me in and out, I'd be out there right now."

He'd been angling for Wendy to graciously offer to help escort him outside. Instead, she said, "Oh, dude, we leave the door unlatched during the day. You can just walk through it backwards like you do from the living room."

"Wait—really?"

"Yeah, go ahead."

He gave her a skeptical look; but when he glanced through the door's window, he could see himself standing out on the porch just a few seconds in the future. All right, he wasn't complaining. "Then I'll see you later." He sauntered over and backed through the doorway.

It worked. He was outside. He stepped off the porch and spread his arms, soaking in the sunlight. Look at that—escape was really that easy the whole time. He could have just backed through a couple of doorways. A little frustrating that he was learning this after he'd found a complicated workaround that required climbing on the roof, but this would make his life easier in the future. He walked back into the doorway again.

It didn't budge. He kept trying to walk for a couple of seconds before his brain forced him to accept that there was, in fact, a door there, and it wasn't getting out of his way. Did the doorway trick only work in one direction?! How did that make sense! The doorway to the living room handled two-way traffic just fine!

"Hey!" He spun around and gave Wendy a death glare. She laughed silently. He knocked furiously. "Hey, I'll get you for this, see if I don't!" When Bill had his power back, maybe he'd make her into a gargoyle on the outside of the Fearamid while the rest of the town was nice and cozy in his throne. See how she liked being locked outside. Pyramids didn't even need gargoyles.

She just waved at him, oblivious to the danger she was courting.

He muttered, "Oh, Icy, if you weren't Raina's kid..." She was Raina's kid, though.

All right, fine, no big deal. He wasn't letting anyone think this bothered him. Eventually a tourist would come along and let him in. If the Pines caught him and got mad, he could tell them that Wendy had tricked him into getting stuck outside, and it wouldn't even be a lie. (Would they believe him, though? Mabel would. Ford definitely wouldn't. Bill thought he at least ought to earn points for nicely sitting on the porch like the obedient dog they wished he was...)

A dented beige car rolled into the parking lot; Bill perked up as three out-of-place-looking men in black suits stepped out. Well, look who was back. "Hey, nice car! Much subtler than the fedmobile you were driving yesterday."

Agent Powers almost stumbled mid-step when he noticed Bill. "Er—yes. I appreciate the recommendation."

Bill got to his feet and leaned with one hand on a post. "I see you at the beach, I see you at this tourist trap... I'm starting to think you're on vacation, agents!"

Solemnly, Powers said, "I can assure you we're not."

"Definitely not," Agent Trigger agreed.

Bill glanced past them. Agent Dale was grinning broadly and snapping photos of the Mystery Shack with a camera hanging around his neck. "Wow, this place is so much fun." He tilted his head back to get a picture of the totem pole.

Bill raised his brows.

Trigger said, "Those are investigation photos."

"Sure," Bill said.

"We're looking for the owner of the Mystery Shack," Powers said. "I don't suppose you've seen him, ma'am?"

"Not yet. I think 'Mr. Mystery' is giving a tour right now."

"I see. Thank you for your help, ma'am." He almost moved to head inside, then hesitated.

He'd been doing that a lot around Bill the last couple of days. "Something else I can help you with, agent?"

"Uh—" Powers cleared his throat and flushed faintly red high on his cheeks. "I—feel that I ought to inform you that you're... looking even more exquisite today." Trigger stared at Powers.

Bill—slouched; sunburned; barefoot; fingernails and toenails painted in four different sloppy styles; and wearing a child's bedsheet with cartoon ponies on it, a purple puma t-shirt so large the neck hole slipped down his shoulder, an eyepatch with hot pink "RAD DUDE" sunglasses on top (and faint tan lines showing where he'd been wearing his eyepatch on the other side yesterday), and bumblebee deely boppers—said, "Tell me something I don't already know!" He laughed. "Kidding—that's impossible."

Powers nodded sharply and turned away, wearing an odd look somewhere between disappointed and relieved. "Dale, you stay out here and take some readings."

Dale flashed Powers a thumbs-up and pulled out a tablet.

Powers opened the door; Bill quickly pushed off the post. "Hey! Aren't you gonna hold the door for me?" He had something that looked like a skirt on, he could exploit that social norm today.

"Er—" Powers stopped in his tracks. "Yes, of course, ma'am."

"Aren't you a gentleman!" Bill swept back inside.

Wendy laughed at his grand reentrance—but petered out as she noticed the overdressed new visitors. Bill split off from the agents to circle the shop and try to look like a normal tourist, but he mouthed toward Wendy, "Feds." Her eyes widened.

"Excuse me, miss," Powers said to Wendy. "We're looking for the proprietor. Do you know when he'll be available?"

"Uhh..." All knowledge she previously had of the shack's tour schedule fled her mind in the face of a legit government agent. She circled around the counter. "I'll... tell Soos you're here."

Powers frowned. "'Soos'?"

"Yeah, um—Jesús Ramirez? The owner?"

Trigger muttered to Powers, "I think that's the handyman."

Wendy said, "He took over the business last year."

"Apparently our intel is out of date," Powers said. "Very well. We'll wait here."

Wendy veered toward Bill on her way to the museum and hissed, "Take the register—"

"Hell no," Bill hissed back. He wasn't letting the government know he worked here if the shack was under investigation. "Where's Melody?"

"Out. She slept bad."

Hmm. Strange. "I'll distract the suits." He wanted to snoop, anyway. "Go."

Wendy gave him an exasperated look, but ducked into the museum.

Bill sidled up to the agents, who were inspecting the display of alien-in-a-tube keychains. Trigger picked one up and murmured, "Are they suspended in jello?"

"That has to be a health hazard."

"Good likeness of the real thing, though."

Bill stopped in his tracks. There weren't a lot of places in the US where a government agent could have a personal meet-and-greet with an alien corpse in a glass tank. They must have been assigned to one or two investigations in Hangar 618. Strange; he would have thought there was more than enough going on in Gravity Falls to keep their schedules filled.

He shook off his misgivings, leaned on a display cabinet near the agents, and said loudly, "So!" He tried not to grin too widely when both agents jumped. "Looks like it's just us until the next tour."

Powers' cheeks turned pink again. "It looks like it." He cleared his throat and tried to surreptitiously adjust his tie. "I... suppose I'm overdue to ask you your name?"

"Call me Goldie!" Before Powers had an opportunity to dig deeper into Bill's identity, he asked, "So what brings you by the shack, agents? I don't think you ever explained what you're investigating!"

"Yes, that would be because it's classified. That information is shared strictly on a need-to-know basis," Powers said. "But we're here to check on last week's gravitational anomalies and an odd power surge that was witnessed over the weekend." (Bill loved this chatterbox, funniest secret agent ever.)

"Oh wow. Sounds exciting," Bill said, voice just a little too flat to sound convincing but a little too forceful to sound like he didn't mean it. (Always keep 'em guessing.) "Any leads?" He doubted it.

"Not yet," Powers admitted. "We've tracked similar power surges in Gravity Falls for decades, and last year several occurred concurrently with other gravitational anomalies; but our investigation last year..." Powers exchanged a glance with Trigger. Trigger just grimaced in irritation. Powers finished, "didn't find anything conclusive. So." His voice took on an edge of frustration. "Here we are. Looking around town."

"Again," Trigger grumbled.

Bill was surprised they could even remember last summer's gravitational anomalies. He'd expected Ford had completely erased their memories of the case; but he hadn't seen exactly what term Ford had plugged into the memory gun. "D'ya expect to find anything conclusive this time? Or is this just a routine follow-up on an old case."

"More of a routine follow-up," Powers said.

"Standard procedure," Trigger added.

"Except," Powers said, "that two days ago, we also received an anonymous tip that a dangerous individual may be hiding in this very building—and that they pose an immense risk to national security."

Trigger said, "Possibly global security."

Bill learned what it felt like for a human's blood to run cold. "Huh," he said. "Interesting."

"Witnesses claim the power surge appeared to originate in this part of the woods. We think this individual might have been involved," Powers said. "But it's probably nothing you need to worry about, ma'am." (Bill must have looked more alarmed than he'd meant to.) "We receive tips like this all the time. I doubt we'll find anything interesting here. All the same—"

The gift shop door popped open and Agent Dale poked his head in. "Sirs!" He held up a beeping tablet. "I'm picking up a signal from one of our flash drives."

Powers and Trigger turned their full attention to Dale. "Which one?" Trigger asked.

"The one we lost last summer."

The agents exchanged a look.

Soos hurried through the curtain to the museum, Wendy following close behind. "Hey, dudes! Welcome to the Mystery Shack! What can I get for you, a tour? Souvenirs? Um, bribes...?"

Bill grimaced. As Wendy passed, he muttered to her, "He does not have the grace at this Stanley does."

Powers's eyes darted between Dale and Soos; and then settled on Soos. "Mr. Ramirez. I'd like to have a word with you about your business. Privately."

"O-of course! I hope you don't think we're up to anything or anything." Soos pulled aside the museum's curtain. "Just step this way. Through my magic portal to a world of wonder and whimsy!"

"If I have to," Powers said tiredly. "Trigger, Dale—you two follow that signal. I want that flash drive back."

"Yessir." They hurried out of the gift shop.

Before Powers followed Soos into the museum, he turned to Bill. "My apologies for disrupting your trip, ma'am, but I'm afraid the next tour may be... delayed." A look of panic flashed across Soos's face.

"I can come back tomorrow!" Bill waved off the apology. "Watching a small-town business owner get investigated by the feds is way more exciting! You oughta check his financial records, I bet there's all kinds of tax evasion going on here!" Soos's panic escalated to sheer terror.

To Bill's surprise, something akin to fear flashed across Powers's face as well. "You think we're—? That is—we're not that sort of federal..." He cleared his throat loudly, mumbled, "Very kind of you," and hastily retreated after Soos, cheeks red.

What the hell was that? Powers had been paying way too much attention to Bill the last couple of days. Was it possible he was playing dumb? Did he already know that Bill was the "dangerous individual" in the Mystery Shack? Was he just trying to figure out the best way to bring Bill down and drag him in—

"Man." Wendy laughed, keeping her voice low. "You really distracted him. What'd you do to the poor guy?"

Bill leaned on the counter by the cash register. "What?"

"He's head over heels for you." At Bill's blank look, Wendy said, "Wait, did you not notice?"

Bill opened his mouth. Nothing came out while he tried to reconcile Wendy's claim with the idea of his body ending up suspended in a glass tube in a secret military base. "What?"

"Did you see him?" Wendy asked. "He can't stop staring at you, every time you glance at him he gets redder, you said one nice thing to him and he completely fell apart..."

Bill mentally ran through the last two days. Ohhh. In retrospect, that did explain why Powers had offered to rub sunscreen on him. "I barely even noticed! I'm used to everyone treating me like that! At least four people fall in love with me daily," Bill said. "I turn heads and drop jaws everywhere I go. I've got a whole collection of lower jaws preserved in formaldehyde." Admittedly, not all of them had dropped naturally. A few had been coaxed.

"Most people just steal their partners' shirts, but alright. I can respect a good murder trophy collection."

"There's a fine line between a lady-killer and a serial killer," Bill said cheerfully, "and I'd know! But enough about my love life!" As much of a relief as it was to realize Powers wasn't plotting Bill's arrest, that didn't mean it couldn't change. "What did you guys do with the flash drive with the agents' secret mission?"

Wendy shrugged. "Dunno, I wasn't here."

And Bill hadn't been either. While the Stan twins had been recounting their tragic life history, Bill had been fully occupied at the Quadrangle of Qonfusion, repairing the damage Ford had done before the portal opened and trying to get his Henchmaniacs to chill out about those guys who'd died. (Seriously, none of the dead guys had even been among the Henchmaniacs' A-listers, who cared?) By the time he'd realized something interesting was happening, the agents' memories were already erased and they were heading out of town.

"Okay. Great." He backed into the living room. "If you see 'em again, slow them down."

####

Bill pounded on the guest room door and waited.

"Just a second!" Ford answered the door, his freshly laundered coat in one hand and a Bigfoot fur-covered lint roller in the other. "What is—? Bill." His expression immediately closed off. His gaze flicked up to Bill's bumblebee deely-boppers. "What are you wearing."

"High fashion, not important. What did you humans do with the flash drive you got from the eagles?"

"The what from the what?"

"Last year. Right after you got home. Government agents. Little black plastic stick full of knowledge."

"Oh, that. Fed it to the goat," Ford said. "Why."

"Because the agents put a tracking device in it, and they're tracking it right now."

Ford's brows shot up. He hurried to the guest room window; Bill peeked around him.

Agent Trigger and Agent Dale were wandering around outside, Trigger in the lead while Dale trailed behind him looking at a tablet screen and saying, "Warmer... warmer... colder... okay, now warmer again..."

"Damn." Ford rushed to the back door.

Bill grabbed him by the sweater before he could get outside. "Whoa there, cowboy. If they see you, do you have a story prepared for why the 'superior officer' who sent them packing last year is still here?"

Ford raised a finger. "I... do not." He rushed to the stairs. "Kids!"

"Grunkle Ford!" Dipper stumbled to the bottom of the stairs, sweating and breathing heavily. "Hey—" Mabel ran into him from behind, nearly knocking them both down. They grabbed the banister for support as they panted. Dipper tried again, "Hey... did you know... the number of steps on the stairs..."

"Yes yes, the half of the staircase hidden by the turn in the landing changes when you can't see it," Ford said. "Dipper, Mabel, we have an emergency. I need you to catch the goat! Now!"

####

Gompers gnawed placidly on a paper towel hanging out of the trash can. He detected the subtle bouquet of rotting bell peppers. And was that spilled orange juice? Truly delectable. He took another bite.

The back door burst open. Gompers turned to stare as Dipper and Mabel charged outside.

He bleated indignantly as they scooped him up between them. Dipper hissed, "Go, go, go!"

They hauled him inside and slammed the door.

Trigger and Dale circled around the corner of the shack. Dale said, "It should be right... huh. That's weird."

"What is it?"

"The signal from the flash drive just moved."

"Moved? Where?"

Dale walked in a small circle, trying to get the tablet to re-triangulate the flash drive's location. "Inside the shack."

Trigger frowned at the door.

####

"C'mon, Gompers," Mabel hissed, trying to drag him down the hallway with Dipper. "We've gotta get you somewhere the government guys can't see you through the window!"

Gompers bleated again. Dipper smacked a hand over his mouth.

All three froze as someone knocked on the door. Voice low, Dipper said, "We're not home. Nobody's home right now." Mabel nodded.

####

Bill lurked next to the living room door, listening to the conversation in the gift shop as Powers said, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Ramirez. Oh, and by the way—you wouldn't happen to have seen any top secret government flash drives around the place, would you?"

There was a long pause. "Why, no," Soos said carefully. "I have not."

"Then do you have an explanation for why my agents detected one in this vicinity... and it's moving?"

There was an even longer pause. "Perhaps it was... eaten. Without our knowledge," Soos said. "Mayhaps by some variety of creature."

"Hmm," Powers said. "Perhaps. Would you mind if we look around for it."

"Uhh... yes. I would mind," Soos said. "Please don't."

Powers sighed deeply. "Fine. We'll be back." The floorboards creaked as he walked toward the exit. "Trigger, Dale—let's move out."

The household didn't heave a collective sigh of relief until the gift shop door had shut.

####

(A lot of y'all have been waiting for the Bill Seduce A Government Agent plot for like a year and a half. We're finally here! Yay!

Back in April when I was starting to write this plot in earnest, I was trying to figure out a reason why the agents would turn their attention on the shack (and the Pines family) again that was more threatening than just "yeah there are more gravity anomalies, again. whatever." And @quartz-the-moth-cat solved it with one word: "Gompers." Genuinely that one suggestion pulled the whole plot together. So thank you again for that.

In the months since TBOB came out, a lotta folks have incorrectly assumed I've made changes to my plot due to TBOB or that eerily TBOB-compliant things I wrote before the book were actually written after. So I think I'm gonna start documenting what I'd already planned/written, because I'm petty and I don't want TBOB to get credit for my own ideas:

The entire Agent Powers plot arc was written before TBOB came out. Adding fish brains to J4 was a post-TBOB addition (since we now know that's how he controls books), as was the bit with the agents discussing aliens and the aside about Hanger 618. And the chatter about stealing people's lower jaws, because in the wake of TBOB I think I need Bill to crack more jokes about gore & body horror. Nothing else in this chapter was changed due to TBOB.

I'm looking forward to hearing y'all's comments!!)

[shanastoryteller]

Merry bday! A continuation of Enola Holmes marrying the viscount of Basilweather would be really cool 😀

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

She wrinkles her nose when Tewksbury passes over her cup of tea with two sugars, unstirred, and she knows.

She puts down the cup too quickly, blood pounding in her ears, and Tewksbury frowns, reaching for her hand. "Enola?"

"Got to go," she says, pushing herself to standing, almost just leaves him sitting there, hand outstretched, but he's her husband and she loves him, so she darts over to smack a kiss on his lips before she's running for the door.

"Enola!" he calls out again, but now he sounds less worried and more exasperated, which is better, which is good. There's nothing for him to worry about.

She wants her mother, who's banned from London and is causing political unrest in Southern France currently, or Edith, who's doing something clever and illegal in Scotland. She'd take Victoria, but Mycroft will be there, and he's the last person she wants to see right now. Sherlock, while beloved, is useless, but his boy is a doctor.

She drops in at 221B Baker Street, picking the lock like always, and is relieved that Sherlock is still asleep and decides not to have any opinions on the various bones scattered about the kitchen table. She assumes there's a reasonable explanation for them.

"Oh, Enola!" John grins and shoves some femurs to the side to make space at the table. "Here, join me, would you like some oatmeal? Are you looking for your brother? I can wake him-"

"I'm pregnant," she blurts out, then bites her bottom lip.

John blinks once, then twice, then says with a gentleness that had made her like him in the first place - because Sherlock wanted to be gentle, but was quite bad at it, so someone had to teach him - "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Wanted seems like not the correct word, although of course it is, because she and Tewksbury had been, not trying, but not-not trying, which probably amounted to the same thing, considering how often they - well.

"I can fix it," he says, voice low and serious, "if it's something that needs to be fixed."

Enola lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "No. No, it doesn't need to be fixed."

She loves that he offered. She loves John, more her brother than Mycroft will ever be, sometimes even more her brother than Sherlock is. If nothing else, her brothers had picked their partners well. Victoria and John are a delight.

John is the functional one between them, explosions and skeletons notwithstanding. John is the one that coaxed her brother into a proper relationship and John is the one that knew they were like parents to all the Irregulars and John isn't normal but he grew up normal.

"Are you worried something's wrong?" he asks. "I can look you over."

"No," she says, although, "I mean, yes, that'd be nice because Tewksbury will go spare, but no, I'm not worried anything's wrong."

He leans back in his chair, looking her over, and after almost ten years of dealing with her and Sherlock and even occasionally Mycroft he can read them almost as well as they can read everyone else.

"It's alright to be scared," he says finally. "Lots of women are when they find out, even when it's wanted, even when the baby's healthy."

"I'm not scared," she says, but for the first time her words feel like a lie. "I shouldn't be scared. What do I have to be scared of?"

She wishes her mother was here.

Will her children miss her like this too?

Sometimes she misses her mother even when she's right in front of her, and if nothing else, she's her mother's daughter.

John gets to his feet, stand in front of her, and opens his arms. She looks away even as she steps forward, like if she doesn't look at him when she does it then it doesn't count as weakness.

His arms close around her. He smells like chai and antiseptic and it's only years of association that make the combination comforting. "I can't wait to be an uncle."

He'll be an uncle. Sherlock will be an uncle. Even Mycroft, and Victoria will be delighted to be an aunt, and to raise her children with Enola's. Of course there's her mother-in-law, and Tewksbury's uncle, who have been angling for her to have a child from the day they married.

There's Tewksbury, who loves her, who isn't going to die on her or leave her if either of them have anything to say about it, who isn't going to leave her to raise their children the way her mother raised her.

Alone.

She's been saying she wasn't going to do this alone from the beginning, but standing here in Sherlock's kitchen, with John holding her steady, she really believes it.

[harunayuuka2060]

MC: *has become the new member of the Pop Music Club*

Kalim: Congratulations, MC!

Lilia: Fufu~ Should we hold a concert to celebrate?

Cater: That'd be a great idea, Lils! Bestie needs some exposure!

MC: Haha... I think I still need some practice...

Cater: Noo~! You're a good singer already!

MC: Um. Thanks?

Kalim: I'll go and ask the headmage for permission!

MC: Wait, Kalim— And he's gone.

Lilia: No need to be nervous. We're here to cheer for you.

MC: I'm not nervous, but...

Azul: I've taken the liberty in selling tickets for your concert.

Jade: And souvenirs as well.

MC: ...

MC: What the heck?

Floyd: Are you good singer, Shrimpy~?

MC: Um... You'll probably get bored of my voice after ten seconds.

Floyd: Eh~?

Jade: Don't listen to them, Floyd. They're just trying to dissuade you from watching.

Floyd: Huh? Shrimpy, why would you do that?

MC: Because you make me nervous everytime.

Azul: *chuckles* Anyway, if there's anything you need, feel free to ask me and I will give it to you.

MC: You're suspiciously generous today.

Azul: *smiles*

*The day of the concert*

Cater: *laughs* OMG!

Lilia: Everyone is here to watch you, MC. Fufu~.

Kalim: You must be excited, MC!

MC: I'm scared.

Cater: You'll be fine! *tapping their shoulder*

Vil: I've never heard Potato sing.

Riddle: Me too.

Malleus: Lilia told me they have a beautiful voice.

Vil: And do you really trust his assessment?

Leona: As long as it's decent, I don't really care.

Riddle: What are you holding, Idia-senpai?

Idia: Um. A glowstick.

Riddle: ...

Vil: Why do you have something like that?

Idia: Azul sold it to me.

Lilia: Ready?

MC: Can I still back out?

Lilia: *laughs* You can't! You're the star of this show!

Kalim: Just don't be nervous!

Cater: Yep! And enjoy the concert!

MC: ...

MC: *takes some deep breaths* Okay. I'm ready.

The housewardens: ...

Riddle: I—

Vil and Malleus: Shh!

Riddle: ...

Idia: This isn't bad...

Leona: *tries his hardest not to smile*

Azul: *smirking*

The rest of the students: *all feeling the same thing; like they're being confessed to*

*all slapping themselves on the face to keep themselves from blushing*

MC: *has to ignore that*

Ace: Yo! Why is your voice so good?!

Epel: It's a little bit cheesy, but like what Ace said, your voice is beautiful.

MC: Thanks, Epel. Ah, where's Deuce and Jack by the way?

Ace: No need to look for them. They're busy blushing.

[orange-sora]

Part 1

Since it a bit different from the topic of the original post, I wanted to address this separately. {It helps me keep track of stuff I post here.}

[Thank you! These tags are by @autisthottygoth]

I may be wrong since I read canon months ago, but somewhere in the extras, Luo Binghe mentioned that Shizun knows a bit too much about stuff. Shen Yuan tried to bullshit his way out of it saying he has read all the books in Qing Jing library, only to realise that straight A student Binghe has also read all the books. Basically, there's a hint in canon that Binghe is onto him.

So yeah, maybe in future, there would be some sort of reveal. The thing is, it most probably won't be initiated by Shen Yuan. Maybe Binghe will tour around his mindscape and find the system. Maybe he'll get his answers. Or maybe he'll come up with batshit conclusions. Who knows?

But I think Shen Yuan is unlikely to reveal things on his own. There are many reasons:

1. He has been conditioned by the System for years not to reveal System's existence.

2. He's unable to justify (to himself) his actions and the hurt that he's caused to LBH. To him, no explanation is good enough. If you've nothing helpful to say, don't say anything at all. [That's how Shen Jiu dealt with his issues too.]

That's why his idea of dealing with the aftermath of the Abyss was planned death for a clean start. He'd rather avoid LBH than be the person who betrayed him. After all, it's very hard to accept that you've hurt someone, esp someone you care and love deeply.

3. He liked playing the role of an elegant scholarly immortal. He's attached to that identity and prefers to maintain that status. It probably makes him feel cool and powerful. That's why, it's easy to discard "Shen Yuan".

SY died young. It's hard to accept yourself in your early 20s. Adolescence teaches people to be embarrassed of their interests and fear judgement. It takes years of unlearning shame to accept oneself. SY didn't have years to accept his truth before he died.

Labels like otaku/fujo etc are hurtful and demeaning. Not bec theres anything wrong with any kind of interests but because the words themselves are used for the purpose of belittling. It puts people into boxes of shame so they feel the need to hide themselves. SY probably found it easier to discard a society (and life) that'd put labels on him.

His shame is still internalised though even if no such judgements exist in SVSSS/PIDW world. No one is moral policing anyone for reading rpf erotica. No one is judging anyone for being gay.

If he admits to who he is, he's admitting to all the labels he carried from his other world too. That's not easy or fun. Better to play pretend a superior version of himself aka Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Yuan's way of dealing with LBH is to indulge him, reassure him, and prioritise him. Ever since he broke the OOC lock, that's what he has done. Even if he wasn't scared, he still would have loved LBH. That is him being himself.

With LBH, he has always been himself. LBH already knows all of his mannerisms, no matter how much he tries to hide behind the fan. SY finds his true self embarrassing or just hard to openly share with others. So being Shen Qingqiu gives him a chance to act like a wise, powerful, and admired mentor. It gives him the chance to be someone worthy of being loved by Luo Binghe. He probably thinks LBH loves him for these qualities. LBH, however, loves him in every form with all his inherent weirdness.

Maybe over time, LBH will feel secure enough in their relationship to ask questions. Maybe SY will have accepted himself and built the communication skills to answer them. Maybe with the passing of time, the hurt would have become manageable and it would be easier to talk about it.

For now though, he's taking his secrets to his grave.

[roddity]

dot and alex's reactions to seeing marble? I feel like they would have a nice relationship, especially dot and marble, because dot is open to giving the decepticons second chances, plus dot doesn't like OP that much either

if they were introduced, marble would be VERY wary, but once the ball starts rolling, they definitely become warm! dot, while super understanding, offers a lot of differing worldviews and human-transformer experiences that marble wouldn't have heard from breakdown. dot would also likely be the 'push' to help marble realise that the malto household is a safe space for her too despite her origins. like, she can see that marble is a kid that's scared and needs support - dot would reach out, and that'd probably change marble's life.

alex, i feel like? would be so much more goofy?? imagine that it's MARBLE that's in bumblebee's diary LMAO. he might be a little pushy, but they could connect over the bumblebee merch collection he has and their love of culture :) there's so much to learn from the both of them!

[raayllum]

I've thought about Terry and Rayla parallels before ("I think too much, get confused about the right thing to do" / "says I think too much about everything" / elves supporting their mages / Rayla leaving as love vs Terry refusing to leave as love / lovingly watching your partner sleep, etc etc). Even the way they can sometimes enable Callum and Claudia's actions.

This is more true, of course, in Terry's case than Rayla's, but in a similar vein that their bonds of love are unbreakable (look at Rayla and Runaan) and that it would take a LOT for Rayla to ever even consider maybe that Callum could make a Seriously Bad Decision (she got straight up told he had a heart full of darkness and went "you're the best/goodest person I know" + the idea of Callum being controlled by Aaravos in a bad way being unfathomable to her in S4).

However what I want to talk about today is their attitudes towards dark magic.

Part of why Terry loves Claudia, I think, is that he doesn't see anything 'wrong' with dark magic. He's seen her do "a lot of awful things, dark magic things" but dark magic to him is also useful and fine and has a tingly aftertaste. It's not a hangup for him with Viren or Claudia; all he see is that she has a Good Reason, and that's all he needs, because there's no moral wedge in the way to begin with.

That doesn't mean he has zero discomfort with dark magic ("You think if dark magic did this to someone, they might not do it") or Claudia's actions ("The way you treated that Moonshadow elf, it was just cruel" / "Please, Claudia, you don't have to do this, it's trapped, you won").

But even Sir Sparklepuff's murder gets couched under "had a good reason" because it did bring Viren back, which Terry happily joyously celebrated when it happened. With all that in mind, Terry has always reminded me of Ethari — you fell in love with someone who engages in "dark work, bloody work" (Lost Child) and you knew what it would involve, and love them regardless. That's not a choice or mindset that's easily broken, but it does lead to Terry's lack of assertiveness fucking him up in ways that Claudia's passivity can too ("Please Terry, tell me what to do" / "[to Aaravos] Tell me what to do").

Terry's lack of moral qualms with dark magic is clearest to me in 6x04 in some ways, because of this exchange with Claudia:

C: All I see is parts, for spells. T: But...? C: But it's so adorable!

His but being an 'okay but WHY is this a problem for you now?' not 'yeah Sounds Concerning (and like a red flag) jc'. Claudia says she's all messed up inside, but Terry (for whatever reason) can't fully conceptualize what she means. This also leads to him not truly understanding what it is and what it's doing to his partner (probably because he met her when she was already more than mid-spiral) because if Terry fully understood how it was hurting her...

Don't you think he'd tell her to stop?

Meanwhile, even though Rayla does have moral qualms with dark magic, she doesn't focus on any of them in her argument with Callum just an episode earlier. Instead, it's all about him and the risk it poses to him and his emotions.

But most importantly because it makes you more vulnerable to the thing you're most afraid of.

Not "well Aaravos could control you and that'd be bad for everyone else / the world" but that it scares him, it hurts him, it puts him in danger. Granted, she still switches to the greater good concern later both for mitigating the harm Callum might do ("If you ever have to choose between me or the greater good, do the right thing: make the sacrifice") and on her own end ("Yes. I promise [to kill you]" + "taught me to never break my promises") but that's not her primary concern, at least not in my head.

And it's precisely because of those reasons that Rayla tells him very overtly what to do, both in regards to sacrificing her and in regards to saving him:

Rayla has unbreakable bonds of love, too, nor are her moral qualms about dark magic why she's making this point. It's because her main drive has always been to protect Callum, not even necessarily to help him, and therefore his safety is at the top of her list, so if something hurts or puts him in danger, she's going to tell him to knock it off. (And that includes saving her, but anyway.) Their mutual assertiveness with one another is one of the reasons why Rayla and Callum work, and one of the reasons Terry and Claudia were going to crash and burn, because Callum is likewise Rayla's anchor, and Terry and Claudia didn't realize they needed to be each other's until it was too late

I risked losing the best thing I ever had: you.

[kairiscorner]

when drunk miggy <33

drunk miggy headcanons

this is how i imagine the stages of drunkenness for miggy play out: sober but a little dazed, quiet, cranky, sleepy and sad, giddy.

sober but dazed is pretty tame and self-explanatory, he's still partially there for the most part, but when you talk to him, all you get are, "huh?"s and "nu-uh"s as he keeps swigging his drink.

then when you get to the quiet drunk miggy stage, he can barely hear what you're saying, all he can hear are his thoughts, which are amplified by the lack of sobriety he's feeling right now. he points out such obvious stuff like, "wow, jess' hair is so frizzy", "damn, peter's got a weird laugh", "lego peter is really cute". he also reflects a bit on recent shit that's happened, like a lot of regrets he's had about missions and judgements he's made, a lot of thinking, "i regret doing that".

when he's had a lot more to drink, he becomes slightly dependent upon the liquor to keep his thoughts as the only things he hears throughout the night. the effect of the liquor where his hearing becomes fuzzy wears off and he starts to hear everything, causing for the cranky drunk miggy stage to begin. every little thing is so audibly loud and irritating that he wants to leave and scream at everyone if they make another sound. this is when he usually leaves the drinking fray and waddles back to his office, with lyla preparing everything he needs to recover from his drunk and hungover stupor in the morning.

but when he doesn't leave, he becomes more emotional and tired as he steps foot in the sleepy and sad stage. he experiences just a general fatigue and lethargy from everything that's happened as of late. he says sorry for everything, he clings on to the nearest person and will most likely sob all over them. you can push him away if he gets too overwhelming, but that'd make him sob harder. he's so scared of being rejected and alone that the only way to quell him is to let him mellow in his pent up sadness. he'd apologize for hurting/lashing out at you, be it that night or any other time he might've lost his cool, which is probably all the time tbh.

then the last stage is the giddy stage, where if you haven't lost your patience with him before, you might now because he gets all over you. he isn't in the right state of mind anymore, it's this subconsciously loving and touchy miggy that you bear witness to, get all clingy and points out everything he loves about you; everything from your face, to your body, to your personality, to your toughness. it's the deepest part of miggy that he keeps hidden away from everyone else, and it's this side of him that's the realest. he'd say sorry for everything still but do it while embracing you, kissing you all over, and just nuzzling the crook of your neck while giggling and snuggling against you. it's the sweet miggy he tries to keep under wraps that you find with you.

a/n: if you guys use these headcanons, please tag me and credit me babes! i'd love to see what you guys make out of him ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝) oh, and once my suit miggy fic is done, expect more drunk miggy content :> (or while i'm making it bc i'm so inconsistent TEEHEE)

tags !! @thecoolerdor @miguelswifey04

[slut4smokemoore09]

When You Know, You Know "Help!"

 Flashback – 1989

The house always smelled wrong.

Bleach. Piss. Burnt Hamburger Helper. Sour clothes that'd been sittin' too long in a moldy washer. Evangelize had stopped tryin' to light candles months ago. Her mama would smack her in the mouth for it—"wastin' shit that ain't for you." So now, the smell just lived there, like a demon that paid rent.

The night had started like all the rest: loud footsteps, the front door slamming so hard the porch light flickered, her mama high as hell.

Eyes bugged. Jaw clenchin' and twitchin'. Hands twitchier. Breath sharp, fast—like she was huntin' ghosts only she could see.

"I said—what the fuck did you say to Miss Tawny?!"

Evangelize stood frozen at the edge of the kitchen, twelve years old but already trained in survival. Her back pressed to the wall, bare feet stickin' to the linoleum.

Her voice was small. "I told her what happened. I told her he touched me, Mama..."

Her mama's neck snapped like a glitchin' robot. Her pupils were pin-needles. She stood still for half a second—then exploded.

"You lyin'. You LYIN' ASS lil fast-tail heffa—you tryna ruin me?! That man been comin' round here since before you was born!"

"I ain't lyin'," Evangelize said, voice shaking now. "I was scared—he touched me in my sleep, and I—"

CRACK.

She didn't see it comin'. Her mama's palm flew so fast it was a blur. The slap damn near turned her whole body. She hit the floor sideways. Her cheek flared with fire. Blood pooled from the corner of her mouth.

"Lyin' ass bitch!" her mama shrieked, wild-eyed. "Think you somebody now? You just like that drunk-ass daddy you got! Left me stuck with your big-head, smart-mouth ass!"

Evangelize tried to crawl, arms trembling beneath her. She didn't make it far.

Her mama snatched her hoodie from the back and dragged her across the floor like a ragdoll. Skin scraped. Knuckles burned.

"No—stop!" she screamed, voice shrill. "Mama please—I swear—I swear—"

Another slap. Then a full-on kick to the ribs. Something cracked. Something gave. Pain exploded down her side.

"You wanted him to look at you!" her mama bellowed. "Wearin' them lil tight-ass shorts around the house! Always walkin' round here like you grown—tryin' to get MEN to look at you!"

"Mama, no—!"

She threw her arm up over her face. Tried to block the next blow.

That's when her mama grabbed the metal tire iron from beside the broken couch.

Not no broomstick. Not this time.

She lifted it with both hands like she was tryna kill a rat.

The first swing cracked across Evangelize's shoulder, and she felt the bone pop. Her wrist—still up tryin' to block it—snapped under the pressure.

She screamed.

The second swing hit her lower back.

The third one landed straight across her ribs.

She didn't even scream for that one. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her lungs had locked. Her vision blurred.

"Mama..." she whimpered, barely able to breathe. "I'm sorry..."

Her mama didn't stop. The iron came down again.

And again.

Evangelize curled in on herself, but her body didn't respond the way it used to. Her legs felt like rubber. Her head felt like it was floatin' above the room. She didn't know if she was cryin' or bleedin' anymore—probably both.

She blacked out somewhere between the sixth and seventh hit.

Two Hours Later 

The house was quiet now.

Her mama had passed out in the back, crashin' from the high.

Evangelize lay on the floor beside her busted twin bed. Her shirt was torn up the side. Her face was nearly unrecognizable. One eye swollen shut. Dried blood on her chin, in her hair, under her nose.

She hadn't moved in over an hour.

Her ribs were broken—maybe three or four. Her left wrist bent at a sick angle. Her head throbbed like rocks were rolling around inside it. She didn't know where she was. Couldn't speak. Couldn't sit up.

Her body was cold.

Her skin was hot.

She was dyin'. And she knew it.

But she didn't cry anymore.

She just stared at the wall, half-conscious. Thinkin' maybe this was it. Maybe her mama finally did what she always threatened to.

Three Days Later

Sammie hadn't seen Evangelize since Monday.

She ain't showed up at school. Ain't answered the phone. Ain't sat on the cracked curb in front of Miss Delma's house like she always did after dinner. And Evangelize ain't never just disappear — not without tellin' him first.

That's what scared him the most.

He could feel it. In his stomach. Like a sick twistin' knot that ain't let go since the second day.

Now it was late Thursday night. Rain slicked the sidewalk. His Nikes soaked through soon as he stepped out the back door.

He had slipped his window open real slow, stuffin' a sweatshirt in the frame to keep it from creakin'. His daddy was in the den still hollerin' at the TV like it was gonna talk back. His mama upstairs watchin' TBN, prayin' loud enough to shake the walls. She always did that when she thought he was fallin' off his path.

He ain't even had a path.

Not really.

He was the pastor's son, sure. The "chosen one," they called him. But all he ever felt was trapped. Trapped in pews, behind rules, inside a name that never felt like his.

But tonight?

None of that mattered.

All that mattered was findin' her.

In front of Evangelize's house, the porch light was off.

Her front yard was full of garbage bags, cans knocked over, wrappers in puddles. The screen door hung crooked. The window to her room was closed, but the blinds were bent like somebody had been lookin' out—hard.

He walked up slow, heart poundin'. Knocked once.

Nothing.

Knocked again, harder this time.

Still nothin'.

His fingers curled around the doorframe, and he whispered her name.

"Evangelize... yo. It's me. Sammie."

No sound.

He looked around, then made a choice.

He climbed around the side of the house, using the old stack of bricks near the bathroom window like she showed him years ago when they first started sneaking out to the store for Now & Laters and quarter sodas.

He got the window open with a shove.

And when he dropped into her room—

His heart stopped.

She was on the floor beside her bed.

Barely there.

Her skin was a mess of purple, green, and yellow bruises. Her lips were dry and cracked, her face puffed like she'd been in a car wreck. Her hoodie was crusted with dried blood. One hand lay twisted underneath her. She wasn't even blinking. Her chest moved—just barely.

"Oh my God—Evie?!"

He dropped beside her, knees hitting the floor hard.

"Evangelize—" His voice cracked. "Yo, please—wake up. It's me. It's Sammie."

He touched her arm gently—she flinched.

She was still alive.

But barely.

Tears welled in his eyes. He didn't even try to stop them.

He'd never prayed in his life unless someone made him. He hated it—how performative it felt in church, like a script. Like his parents were auditioning for heaven.

But right now?

All he could do was press his hands together and lean his forehead down to her shoulder.

"God—look, I know we ain't cool," he whispered, voice shaking. "I don't even know if You really out there. But if You are... please... don't take her. Don't let her die in this fuckin' house. Please..."

He was crying now. Hard. So hard his breath hitched every second word.

"She ain't deserve this. She ain't do nothin' wrong. She told the truth. I know she did. And I ain't got nobody else—nobody—but her."

He choked. Wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie.

"Just... help me get her out. Please."

And then, he looked up.

Out the window.

Through the rain, he saw the dim porch light two blocks down.

A white house with the pink shutters. He knew it. Stack and Annie's spot. His older cousin. Married last year. Real grown. Real private. Nobody ever went over there uninvited—but right now?

He didn't give a damn.

Sammie held her in his arms the best way he could. Her head lolled back. Her breaths were shallow. She was light but limp—like carryin' a broken doll.

The tire iron wounds across her back were still open in some places.

He was crying so hard he couldn't see straight, sneakers splashing through puddles as he jogged the last half-block.

"Please... please stay with me, Evie..."

He reached the porch, breathless.

Banged on the door.

BAM BAM BAM.

No answer.

He banged again.

"Annie—! Stack! It's Sammie! OPEN UP—PLEASE—it's Evangelize—she's dyin'!"

The lights flicked on.

He saw the shadow move behind the curtain.

The door opened fast. Annie's face appeared—sleepy, confused, wrapped in a robe.

She gasped when she saw the girl in his arms.

"Oh my God—Sammie?! What—what happened—"

"I can't—I don't got time to explain," Sammie said, voice breaking. "She need help. She need a doctor. I ain't know where else to go."

Annie stepped back instantly.

"Come in. Lay her on the couch—Stack! CALL SOMEBODY! NOW!"

[nahoyasboyfriend]

Burning desire

warnings: professor and student, fem!reader, shameless smut, creampie bc why not, choking (it's James what did you expect), readers a love(lust)struck loser who likes her teacher.

Word count: 4.8k

A/N: first time writing something on that more the 2k. This isn't proofread, but I hope it's to your liking. This is kinda old so it might be bad. Hope you enjoy!

You arrived fairly early on the first day. It wasn't really intentional—you live only a few blocks away and paranoid that you have somehow overslept, rushed to get ready. Thankfully you aren't too early for the door to be locked, just enough for the classroom to be mostly empty of students. There were two other people in the room, pulling paper and pencils out their bags and not paying you any mind. You make yourself comfortable in your seat—not too close but not painfully far from where the instructor will be—and follow in their example.

With nothing left to do, you pull out your phone to mindlessly scroll until class starts. In the midst of liking some random post, your phone buzzes—the low battery notification pops on the screen. You would forget to charge your phone last night. Sighing, you reach into your bag to grab your charger, sifting through the content of your bag only to find it not in there; you must've left it at home. Just great. After your phone dies, you have no other choice but to either look blankly at your desk or watch the few people here.

You find your eyes flitting across the room to them; it's not like you don't watch people when you're bored anyway.

When you've had your fill of observing, the door opens—it looks like your teacher has finally arrived. You watch the man get himself ready for the upcoming lecture; he’s busy arranging some paperwork so you take the time to ogle him shamelessly. He looks young, maybe around his early thirties. His hair is slicked down to perfection and he has a little pencil mustache—He is, admittedly, rather handsome.

You hadn't expected that. You weren't quite sure what your expectation was—probably thought he'd be some fourty-year old depressed asshole whose wife doesn’t love him. Yeah…that'd be the type of person who looks like they’d teach a course like this one.

Suddenly, he glances up, probably to check how many people had come in. Still, it scares the living daylights out of you—you rip your gaze away from him. Opting to snatch up your phone and pretend you have more interesting things to look at besides your teacher, you feel your face warm up when you still feel his eyes on you. The sound of his chair scraping the floor pulls everyone's attention to the front; he saunters over to the board and jots down his name with Expo marker.

“My name is Mr. March,” he declares with a smile. Oh fuck, he has a nice voice.

You don't pay much attention to the rest of his introduction, but you still enjoy the timbre of his voice. Instead, you go back to admiring his looks in a totally-not-creepy way. He looks like money-personified; the black vest, the white button-up underneath, and the pair of black pants are all crisp and obviously made with premium material. He even walks with a grace that most lack,talking in a manner like he is more of a socialite than a mere college professor.

More students start to flow in and by the time Mr. March is through with going over his expectations for the semester, everyone is seated and ready for class to start.

In the row ahead of you, a group of girls were quietly debating amongst themselves if he was single or not. You would've laughed if you weren't curious yourself. You spent the remainder of class staring at him without listening to a word that left his pretty mouth (later on you beat yourself up for not taking notes). His voice was hypnotic, each word sinking you deeper into whatever trance you were in. He was refined… elegant. Every movement looked calculated.

Honestly, he could be one of those old Hollywood stars. Face perfectly sculpted to be plastered on billboards; a smile born for posters. Briefly, you wondered if you were to go searching that you'd find him in a classical film.

Then, he's looking at you and the world stops—it shouldn't be anything mind-blowing because there's really nothing special about it, but still, you find yourself immobilized. His voice is syrupy, smooth, and mind-numbing. He clears his throat and your cheeks burn. He looks expectant, like he's waiting for something. He definitely asked you a question. Scrambling through your racing thoughts, you just stare dumbly at him, waiting for him to repeat whatever he had asked. He doesn't.

“I, er, don't know,” you mumble sheepishly. He quirks an eyebrow at that, painfully unimpressed. He doesn't say anything for what feels like an eternity and his silence suffocates you. The only sounds in the class were a few chuckles from other students. You shift in your seat.

“You would've known if you had listened to me,” he lightly scolds. You nod, hoping that'll be enough to show that you get his point. He furrows his brows, and he looks like he's about to push it further. Luckily, he takes mercy on you and simply repeats the initial question.

A few more giggles, and the class is back to normal. You'd think being publicly berated would be enough for you to learn your lesson, but it isn't. Because soon enough, his words are going in one ear and out the other—the words meld together into a pleasant hum in the background.

Before you know it, class is over. You bite your lip as you hurry to pack your bags, the shame from earlier returning like a punch to the gut. You don't dare look in his direction, avoiding eye contact at all costs. You scurry out the door, and thank the lord he's your only class of the day.

You let out a long-awaited sigh as you burst through your front door, haphazardly throwing your bag in the corner—you can finally decompress. You study until you feel like your head is about to burst to keep your thoughts off of him and the rather embarrassing way your first day ended.

It's been a few weeks since you got chastised for being an absent-minded idiot, and despite the embarrassment you can't bring yourself to be mad at him. Instead of anger, or even mild annoyance, all you feel is attraction. You try to deny it, bottle it up and push it to the back of your mind. Innocent fascination is what you label it. His passè charm and unconventional way of speaking is why you can't get him out of your head. That's the real reason all your thoughts lead back to him. Why at night you get struck with downright obscene visuals of him. You don't touch yourself— At least not in reality.

The you— you’ve conjured up in your head does, she touches him too. She fondles him in places you'll never see—let alone touch in real life. He says things to her that you'll never hear. He gradually seeps into your dreams, when that happens you wake up with damp underwear, and humiliation that settles deep in the crevices of your gut. It makes seeing him so much worse, but something about him captivates you.

You find yourself sneaking glances when you're convinced he isn't looking– It's the only thing you can't seem to stop– so you indulge. The only rule: don't get caught. And that sounds pretty easy to adhere to. Just don't look too long.

Simple, right?

Naively, you were confident you could do it. It worked for a little while. But at some point, you got complacent. Assured yourself you wouldn't get caught because you were doing so well. Your eyes meet in slow motion, or that's how it felt to you. In the middle of personal study time, so you had no real excuse. Neither of you break eye contact for a few more seconds, and he has a plain, almost bored expression on his face.

Ducking your head down, you stare at your blank paper. You don't pretend to write anything. It's pointless now. You’d been caught red-handed. You simply sit there, wallowing in your shame. That's become your favorite pastime lately. Deciding enough time has passed, you peek up. He's gone back to whatever he was writing and you decide that now is the time to actually write on your paper.

Class ends and you're packing up. You don't rush today, taking your time collecting your things.

“a word, please.”

You swallow dryly, cemented in place. Hesitantly, you peer up at him. His eyes bore deep into your soul like two black voids sucking you in. Growing impatient, he adds: “Yes, you. I'd like to speak to you.”

You dwandle your way to him. He doesn't rush you, at least not verbally, but by the look on his face your torpor was getting under his skin. You pick up the pace. Finally, you reach his desk. “You, um, wanted to speak to me?”

“Mm,” He clasps his hands, sitting them on his desk. “I called you here to discuss your grades,” he says, “you're a clever girl, we're both aware of that. You could be doing so much better, but there's something distracting you, correct?”

For a brief moment thick, uncomfortable silence falls over the two of you. You rummage through your brain for explanations. How could you tell him that he's the distraction? That all your troubles were somehow connected to him.

“I, uh, haven't been keeping up with my studies lately,” you stammer, “My sleep schedule has been kinda messed up,” Because of you. “So, when I get that in order I should be good.”

He frowns, narrowing his eyes slightly; he doesn't look convinced. Standing up, he makes his way to you. He stops in front of you, looming over you like a shadow. He's of average height, but you still have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. You’re struck by the fragrance of his cologne— god, he smells amazing. He places a hand on your shoulder, you tense up almost immediately. His hand is so big. Shaking those thoughts away, you nervously await his next word.

“If you don't compose yourself, I fear I may have to take on a more… hands-on approach.” he tuts, giving your shoulder a nearly painful squeeze. You blink, dazed. You swallow once more, desperately trying to wet your throat. “I understand,” you utter, voice airy like you'd been running a marathon. You feel dizzy. His words buzzing in your head like tv static.

You honestly just want to get out of here, and wait out the heat that’s building between your thighs. Pleased with your response, he smiles at you. A lazy, feline grin, and you can see the slight indents of his dimples.

“Wonderful!” He replies, gleefully. His hand lets go of your shoulder. Your skin is still throbbing from the contact. “Well, then, you're dismissed.”

When you make it inside, you're panting, body covered in a thin sheen of sweat from speed walking all the way home. You let your bag drop onto the floor, unconcerned with where it lands. You sigh, exasperated. There's a pressure in your chest, or it could be described as a warmth. Or an ache. Or all those things at once. You weren't sure— nor do you really care. All you know is his words keep replaying in your head, muddling all your thoughts.

You practically run to your bed, exhausted from your own thoughts. Before you can attempt to stop it, he's invading your head for the umpteenth time. You groan. That warmth in your chest begins trickling down, pooling in the space between your legs. You can still feel his hand on your shoulder, the dull ache of the squeeze. Flipping onto your back, you stare vacantly at the ceiling. You could only deny yourself for so long. Placing your feet flat on the mattress, your hand slips past the band of your panties. A little relaxation couldn't hurt. Especially with how pent up you've been, It was well deserved.

You let out a breathless little whine when your fingers brush your swollen clit. God, you needed this. You run a finger through your folds, the slick sticks your skin. Using your wetness to ease the friction, you rub slow circles on your clit, and your eyes flutter shut. You could see him on the back of your eyelids. Your hips buck up pathetically into your own hand. You're leaking, cunt quivering around nothing.

You could still smell him. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, even now it lingered in your nose. Rich and velvety. Something that wealthy decadents would wear just to let you know you'd never be able to afford it. You push a finger in, various curses fall from your lips. His hands– my god, his hands. They're so big. So strong. You slip another finger in. The heel of your hand grinds against your clit, and the feeling sends chills down your spine.

You're a writhing, squirming mess on your bed. The squelching from your fingers thrusting into your dripping cunt has the tips of your ears burning, but you don't stop. You picture him, his fingers knuckle deep in your cunt, methodically fucking them in and out of you. You imagine him curling them inside of you, and you mimic the motion in real life, sending another rush of slick gushing out. You think about the sweet purr of his voice, urging you on— instructing you to cum, so you do. You come hard, mumbling his name like he's your new god.

The shower after is long and quiet, you spend a good portion letting the water run down your body to soothe your tense muscles. You don't play any music or hum anything. You’re barely thinking. Your only goal is to get in bed and pass out. And when you finish, that's exactly what you do. You snuggle into your covers and as soon as your head hits the pillow you're out.

Your eyelids slowly peel apart; heavy. Your entire body feels like a bag of rocks. You lie there, taking long, drawn-out blinks. There's a strange peacefulness in the air. None of the usual worry that fills your head, no noise besides your soft breaths, and the sweet song of the birds outside. You prop yourself up, reaching out to your bedside table to grab your phone. With a click your phone turns on, the sudden light blinds you. Blinking away the blurriness, your eyes begin to focus on the big white numbers: 11:25

You stumble out of the comfort of your bed. You have five minutes to get ready and head out the door. Running to your dresser, you pull out some clothes to wear. How you manage the sleep through your numerous alarms was beyond you, but nevertheless that didn't turn back time. You shuffle into your bra, throw the shirt over your head, and jump into a pair of pants. You're able to get the important parts of your morning routine done. Besides a few things like washing your face and properly brushing your hair. Giving yourself a once-over, you decide you don't look too bad. Just a little lazier than normal but casual enough. Sighing, you depart to class.

Standing in front of the door, you take a deep breath, straighten your back. You can already see his face, his mouth pressed into a hard line. A flicker of disappointment in his eyes. You knock on the door, and wait for it to open. When you hear a soft click, you push the door open, hurrying to your seat. When you sit down, you glance at him and he's already looking at you. Face devoid of any signs of what he's feeling. You pluck the needed supplies out of your bag, and he continues the lesson.

The class goes excruciatingly slow. Focusing seems near impossible, so you resort to scribbling down anything you deem important without actually listening to what he's saying. Which you can only hope doesn't bite you in the ass too much in the future. The class comes to a close, and before you can even think about leaving he's calling your name. You wince, forcing yourself to walk to his desk. He's definitely gonna tear a chunk out of you.

“Sir?” You mutter, ashamed.

“You were late,” he states, plain and simple. His words linger heavily in the air.

“I, um, slept in. I apologize, it was a mistake on my part.” You sputter, fidgeting with the strap of your bag. He lifted his head, eyes piercing into you. Your mouth squeezes shut.

“you slept in,” he echoes, empty. With a stern tone, he adds, “Excuses will not be tolerated, especially after I gave an explicit warning to get yourself together.”

You feel queasy, like your stomach rolling in on itself. You don't know what to say. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, rattles your ribcage, reverberating through your entire body. You don't know what to do that doesn't make you seem more of a fool than you already are. So you say the only thing that's worked for you so far.

“I know, sir. I am truly sorry.”

“Indeed you are,” he purrs as inches closer to you, fingertips dragging against his desk. His intense eye contact frightens you, makes you feel like he'd put a giant red target on you: open prey. A strange, uncomfortable heat flushing your body, feels akin to little fires starting from the tips of your fingers. He stops in front of you, closer than you would deem comfortable, but you couldn't move— something willing you to stay right where you are. A need.

You feel trapped, or rather, you're paralyzed. Even though there's nothing constraining you, and all you have to do is walk out the room. You can't move; his eyes immobilize you, demanding that you stay. Reluctantly, you obey. He settles a hand on your shoulder, “yet, you're not sorry enough to listen.” Before you can defend yourself, his hand slowly starts traveling up, gently wrapping around your neck. You notice, but oddly enough, you choose not to question it. “So, I must ask, what's distracting you? And there's no need for any falsities, my dear.”

You freeze, eyes wide. Dumb and glassy, fawn-like. “it’s- it's really not important, and I promise that I'll straighten out my behavior. It's been a rough week.” you murmur, the tips of your ears burning.

He frowns, hand flexing around your neck. You don't know if it was intentional, but it gets his point across all the same. “Like I said, there's no reason for further deception.”

Sucking in a deep breath and closing your eyes, you mentally agree he's right and getting it off your chest could probably do you some good. “It's you. You're my problem– or my distraction, in your words.”

He doesn't look fazed. In fact, he looks like he knew before you even opened your mouth. He looked like he could tell you every thought you had verbatim. After a moment of silence, he inquires, “how long?”

Innocuous, but still you shy away from him. Your mouth squeezes shut, and your head is about to turn to the side, but he's capturing your face in his hand— forcing you to look at him. His grip is firm, nails lightly digging into the fat of your cheeks.

“since the, um, first day” you murmur, skittish.

He gives a slight nod. He knew you were attracted to him, but he had ignored it. Flicking off your open desire as a fleeting crush. That, like the other girls, you'd move on. Unfortunately for the two of you, you never did. But day after day of seeing the desperation mixed with adoration swirling around in your big, bright doe eyes, even though he would never speak it aloud, stirred something in him. And now, you’re in front of him with your heart in your hands. that pathetic, helpless look on your pretty face. it set something off within him, a spark of heat he couldn't ignore.

“Is that so…” he responds, casually. Offhandedly, even. He’s pensive, looking at you with a blank face. He’s always withdrawn, always hard to read. You never can guess what's going on in that head of his, and that was something you admired. But right now, you wished you could crack open his skull and hear his thoughts for yourself.

The tension is tangible, turning the air thick. You wish he would do anything to rid you of this horrible ache in your chest. Shoo away the sinking pit in your stomach that grows the more his silence drags on.

“Do something,” you whisper. You don't know what to expect. You can't begin to predict what he'll do with your confession, but you figure he'll send you off with a broken heart and your tail tucked between your legs.

His face scrunched up, and then it straightened out. turning eerily calm with a strange sense of resolve. unceremoniously, his mouth crashes into yours. hungry and ravenous. For a second, you didn't reciprocate. you were stupefied by his forwardness. you had expected many things but not a kiss. After gaining your bearings, you carefully carefully began to kiss back, following the pace he had set. His teeth sink into your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. you whimper, and he lets out a low groan, lapping away the metallic liquid.

your heart hammered in the confines of your chest. you were high off the taste of him. a mixture of mint and nicotine. you wanted more, you wanted everything he was willing to dish out. your hands gripped at the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer. it was so surreal— his warmth, his scent, his lips on yours. it was something you couldn't let fall through your fingers. Then without pulling away, he’s spinning you around, backing you up until you're perched on the edge of his desk.

Your mind is misty. your vision blurs at the edges like a gossamer film is covering it. If it's from the lack of oxygen, or how incredibly unreal the situation is still impossible to ascertain. He pulls away to attach himself to your neck, leaving feverish open mouth kisses on your neck. You can feel him inhaling against your skin, breathing you in. Without warning, he digs his teeth into the thin skin between the junction of your neck and shoulder.

He laves his tongue over the indents left behind, and you take it as a silent apology. James squeezes your thigh, massaging it. You’re soft to the touch, pliant. Almost pillowy. His hand snakes down, down, down. Slipping into your pants, past the band of your panties. His fingers brush against your sensitive clit, and you spread your legs further to give him more room. You're leaking over the pads of his fingers, and he dips lower, collecting it. He smears your wetness on your aching bud in tight, deliberate circles. You let out soft pants, rolling your hips against him, desperate for more contact.

“More,” you whine. A small pout tugging at your plump lips.

“you want more, hm? Such a greedy little thing you are,” he croons, giving your clit a mean pinch. It yanks a squeal out of you. The melange of pain and pleasure confuses you, entices you. You give him a meek nod tugging your bottom lip between your teeth. He plunges two fingers in your needy cunt, and your back curves. He hums, pumping his fingers into you with a steady pace. He rolls your aching nub beneath his thumb. It's methodical, automatic. Downright robotic the way he splits you apart on his nimble fingers. He touches you like he's known you for an entire lifetime, strumming your chords like he knows exactly what to do to make you cry out.

His fingers are long, slender, and so, so pretty. And god does he know how to use them. With pinpoint precision, he's curling his fingers inside of you, pressing that spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling into your skull. You're gushing around him, and the squelch of it is obscene. It's embarrassing how you fall apart merely from his deft fingers. Nonsensical babbles fall from your mouth, too high off pleasure to make sense, but he doesn't seem to mind. Soon, a coil begins to tighten in your groin. A buzzing heat in your lower region. It's undeniable, inescapable.

“M gonna cum, don't stop– please, please, please.” You babble, your fingers gripping for purchase on his desk.

Frissions of pleasure shoot through your body like lightning. Your mouth falls agape, and you tilt your head back. The coil snaps, and you quickly begin to unravel around his fingers. He eases you through it, doesn't stop until you've stopped trembling, and then he's sliding you off the desk. He turns you around, and places a sizable hand on your back, bending you over the table. He hastily tugs your pants down, leaving them bunched up at your mid-thigh.

You feel the tip of his cock probe your entrance. Nervous, you press your warm face against the varnished wood, letting a wave of relief wash over you from its coldness. He doesn't give you time to prepare before he's bottoming out. The stretch burns, a dull incessant ache. You don't realize you're gritting your teeth until the feeling ebbs and shifts into velvety pleasure. To your surprise, his thrusts are a measured pace, rhythmic. Maybe he was taking mercy on you, but he quickly loses the pace for something rougher. Fast and hard, thrusts that jolt you forward, edge of the desk biting into your hips.

“is this what you wanted? to be bent over my desk like the needy little harlot you are.” you let out a high pitched whine at that, cunt fluttering around his cock. he was so crude, so incredibly mean, but he was right. he's so right that it's embarrassing.

you feel a vascular hand wrap around your neck, tugging you into an arch. “say it, tell me this is what you wanted,” he grunts, hips snapping hard against yours, it was downright painful.

“this is what I wanted,” you cry out, nodding your head. “good girl,” he utters, his tone ominously dark. it sent chills racing down your spine. his other hand wraps around your neck, and he begins to squeeze. at first, it's harmless, it's not tight enough to do damage, just applying pressure. it wasn't until he didn't stop squeezing that you started to panic. eyes going wide and glassy, your hands tried to peel his hands away to no avail. so you tried to scratch at them, in hopes that he'd finally pull away. but he didn't budge. your lungs were starting to burn, your thoughts getting increasingly fuzzy.

despite all of this, he didn't stop his ruthless thrusting. your cunt clamped down on his cock, squeezing him for all that he's worth. your vision starts to blur, everything begins melting together. your hands drop back down to the desk, and you can feel yourself going limp in his hold. you couldn't tell if you were simply going to pass out, or if you close your eyes you're going to die, but you didn't want to find out.

a dribble of drool slinks down your chin. your head is throbbing. there's a dull ringing in your ears, and it's becoming harder to keep yourself awake or alive. feeling your eyes closing on their own, you felt stinging tears rushing down your cheeks. then, you felt it, a sudden warmth in your lower region. that familiar ache in your womb. a few more harsh thrusts, and you were leaking all over his cock. he followed suit, thick ropes of cum fill you up soon after. thankfully, he let go. you thought he was going to kill you for a second.

gasping, you lurched forward, letting yourself rest on the desk. your head was spinning and your legs felt like jello. you didn't speak, just laid there. It takes you a minute to collect yourself. Especially after fearing for your life. You were pretty sure he was going to kill you. He pulls out of your wordlessly, slipping his cock back in his pants. Once you convince yourself that you're okay, you pull up your pants. The feeling of his cum gushing out of you is kinda gross but you can deal. You're going straight home anyway so you can wash it off when you get there.

He doesn't say anything until you're walking away, "I hope to see you again tomorrow. We still have much to improve after class."

The implications are enough to have you red-faced and very excited for the day to come. You don't know why you're still fooling around with him. Despite the fact that he may be dangerous. It entices you further like the dumb little girl you are. So, like an idiot, you give a coy smile over your shoulder, "yes, Mr. March. I'll be there."

[kitkatt0430]

Welp, I've been using external methods of auto-backing up my tumblr but it seems like it doesn't do static pages, only posts.

So I guess I'll have some manual backing up to do later

Still, it's better than nothing and I'm using the official tumblr backup process for my smaller blogs so hopefully that'll net the static pages and direct messages too. But. My main - starstruckpurpledragon - 'backed up' officially but was undownloadable; either it failed or it'd download a broken, unusable, 'empty' zip. So *shrugs* I'm sure I'm not the only one who is trying to back up everything at once. Wouldn't be shocked if the rest of the backups are borked too when I try to download their zips.

There are two diff ways I've been externally backing up my tumblr.

TumblThree - This one is relatively straight forward in that you can download it and start backing up immediately. It's not pretty, but it gets the job done. Does not get static pages or your direct message conversations, but your posts, gifs, jpegs, etc are all there. You can back up more than just your own blog(s) if you want to as well.

That said, it dumps all your posts into one of three text files which makes them hard to find. That's why I say it's 'not pretty'. It does have a lot of options in there that are useful for tweaking your download experience and it's not bad for if you're unfamiliar with command line solutions and don't have an interest in learning them. (Which is fair, command line can be annoying if you're not used to it.) There are options for converting the output into nicer html files for each post but I haven't tried them and I suspect they require command line anyway.

I got my blogs backed up using this method as of yesterday but wasn't thrilled with the output. Decided that hey, I'm a software engineer, command line doesn't scare me, I'll try this back up thing another way. Leading to today's successful adventures with:

TumblrUtils - This one does take more work to set up but once it's working it'll back up all your posts in pretty html files by default. It does take some additional doing for video/audio but so does TumblThree so I'll probably look into it more later.

First, you have to download and install python. I promise, the code snake isn't dangerous, it's an incredibly useful scripting language. If you have an interest in learning computer languages, it's not a bad one to know. Installing python should go pretty fast and when it's completed, you'll now be able to run python scripts from the command line/terminal.

Next, you'll want to actually download the TumblrUtils zip file and unzip that somewhere. I stuck mine on an external drive, but basically put it where you've got space and can access it easily.

You'll want to open up the tumblr_backup.py file with a text editor and find line 105, which should look like: ''' API_KEY = '' '''

So here's the hard part. Getting a key to stick in there. Go to the tumblr apps page to 'register' an application - which is the fancy way of saying request an API. Hit the register an application button and, oh joy. A form. With required fields. *sigh* All the url fields can be the same url. It just needs to be a valid one. Ostensibly something that interfaces with tumblr fairly nicely. I have an old wordpress blog, so I used it. The rest of the fields should be pretty self explanatory. Only fill in the required ones. It should be approved instantly if everything is filled in right.

And maybe I'll start figuring out wordpress integration if tumblr doesn't die this year, that'd be interesting. *shrug* I've got too many projects to start a new one now, but I like learning things for the sake of learning them sometimes. So it's on my maybe to do list now.

Anywho, all goes well, you should now have an 'OAuth Consumer Key' which is the API key you want. Copy that, put in between the empty single quotes in the python script, and hit save.

Command line time!

It's fairly simple to do. Open your command line (or terminal), navigate to where the script lives, and then run: ''' tumblr_backup.py <blog_name_here> '''

You can also include options before the blog name but after the script filename if you want to get fancy about things. But just let it sit there running until it backs the whole blog up. It can also handle multiple blogs at once if you want. Big blogs will take hours, small blogs will take a few minutes. Which is about on par with TumblThree too, tbh.

The final result is pretty. Individual html files for every post (backdated to the original post date) and anything you reblogged, theme information, a shiny index file organizing everything. It's really quite nice to dig through. Much like TumbleThree, it does not seem to grab direct message conversations or static pages (non-posts) but again it's better than nothing.

And you can back up other blogs too, so if there are fandom blogs you follow and don't want to lose or friends whose blogs you'd like to hang on to for your own re-reading purposes, that's doable with either of these backup options.

I've backed up basically everything all over again today using this method (my main is still backing up, slow going) and it does appear to take less memory than official backups do. So that's a plus.

Anyway, this was me tossing my hat into the 'how to back up your tumblr' ring. Hope it's useful. :D

[caroandcats]

one thing (of many many things) i'm scared of about eddie's return for the funeral is whether chris will be with him or not

because they're going to want to focus on athena/the team next episode so we probably won't get a scene with chris. so either chris comes back with eddie and we get a throwaway line about him being with pepa (if the show remembers she exists) or other family members in la

or, and that would be so fucked up, chris stays in el paso with his grandparents, after everything he and eddie went through (most of it that we didn't get to see l m a o) to finally live together again. and then that would mean either chris staying with them until the school ends (which we know he doesn't want) or eddie having to return to el paso to get him back to la (though considering everything i guess that'd happen off screen too...)

[gotham-daydreams]

Hi! I have a question :). Does Alfred try to keep the batfam away from neglected!reader after their kidnapping? You know, if reader gets overwhelmed by all the attention and breakings of boundaries, would Alfred try to do something to make them feel better?

It really depends! Which.. probably isn't the best thing to hear.

Really, Alfred would take advantage of the reader's vulnerability and use that to sneak in some time with them. Make himself look better and further keep the reader in the dark about his own obsession and insanity, still making himself seem to be the most sane person in the entire Batfam. Even if he is one of the worst ones, in my opinion, despite how he wouldn't directly hurt the reader.

Of course, he will 'save' the reader if he deems it necessary, and knows for sure that the situation is getting to them. If he feels as if the Batfam are taking it to far, then he'll try to cool them off, and probably scare them in some way that'd make them back off- if only for a little while.

I won't say that he'd try to hide the reader per se or anything, since his way of hiding them was keeping them to himself, and not really mentioning them to the Batfam until they ran away and (in his mind) essentially went no-contact for months. He's smart enough to know what kind of people are in the Batfam, and the new lengths they'll go to for the reader for one reason or another. He knows that if he tries to hide the reader away now, or keep them away from the family for long, that the Batfam will only get 'restless', and that's a whole problem that Gotham doesn't have to experience again (not that Alfred particularly cares for the city, he just doesn't want to have to deal with said 'restlessness'). Not to mention that Alfred does still care about the family, and now that the reader has "forced his hand", if he has to share, than he will.

Regardless- whereas Alfred won't try to necessarily keep the Batfam away fully, he will step in and try to make the reader feel better, should the family really push them. Both as a means to make himself look better, but also because he does genuinely care about the reader.

He'll do just about anything except let them go and the like. He'll even keep the Batfam 'busy' to give the reader some time to themself, which sort of counts? Even if it is only temporary. Since he does still care about the family, and, again, doesn't want them growing restless without the reader. Though he'll try his best. Especially when he knows if the family 'went too far'.

I hope this answered your question somewhat! I'll admit I'm running low on sleep, so I apologize if I misread or misunderstood something. If you'd like more clarification on anything, feel free to send in another ask if you'd like! :]