#the blurb i was given was “if you like being a child and hitting things in a video game then you will like this game”

[gallows-into-oblivion]

just finished playing Bastion. holy shit that game

[kit-williams]

So I read your piece about Honsu. That would be great. And you know, we joke and analyze about fetishes, kinks and sexual attraction in Astartes.

But! I think it's pretty weird that traitors didn't return sexual attraction to Space Marines…

Since the lack of sexual desire is due to the fact that the Emperor did not want a new species to appear. But traitors consider themselves above mortals, so why not return sexual desire to them? GW has lost so much potential.

Well, yes, it will be very funny to watch how traitors would cope with new emotions. Those who have had sex or know about it, will immediately figure it out.

But the rest… I imagine how they look at women like crazy maniacs, not knowing what to do or what to say. Given their psyche and testosterone, their heads will simply explode from emotions.

If before they simply killed and tortured mortals, they were irritated by weakness. Now they suddenly started to like it. Are you crying? Your tears will be wiped away and you will be told that you are beautiful. In the most horrible way.

Are you pregnant? Will you name the child after him? Have you given birth yet? Now breastfeed quickly, and the Astartes will watch.

And courtship?

The Night Lord will give you human hearts and cloaks of leather.

The Emperor's Children will read you their poetry and sing. But since this is Slaanesh, prepare for vulgarity.

Iron Warriors: romance is kidnapping you and locking you in a cage.

And yes. All. All Space Marines will make you watch them fight and kill. Because it is sexy.

And so begins the Space Marines' Human Husbandary. An extremely creepy and scary thing…. I'll write about it one day.

Listen Honsou was just speeding things up when he was making the Demonculaba; you can't look at that thing and be like "there's some psychosexual things to be unpacked here."

Did you know that there's roughly 350ish generations within the span of 10,000 years (I have a feeling if chaos wasn't fucking around there would be a new species... then again Bile made his New Humans and basically unleashed them into populations

But you are right the traitors will have to deal with it first and I can imagine that it hits them suddenly since its so new and Space Marines are experts in handling new sensations.

But it might also be a difference between falling to chaos and simply turning traitor which one might activate that feeling earlier while the other is more of an ability to indulge that curiosity. Either way I hope these satisfy I know for some of them I could write something longer... it's probably obvious what ones I could

(1) sorry it took so long to do these and 2) sorry I went fuckin ham as there are 6 blurbs here )

tw: dubious consent, noncon, bone breaking, abduction, every single one of these is a traitor/chaos marine so that general unpleasantness so please let me know if I need to tag something

The Plague Marine could not figure out why his eyes remained on the female thralls and cultists... he didn't trust himself not to hurt them anymore. He was thankful for his helmet being on most of the time as the intense look in his eyes surely made them all cower and fear till...she got too close and he couldn't stop. He at least stopped before he fully broke all her bones... Grandfather would help him... Grandfather knew what was afflicting him. As while she was this pathetic mewling and weeping thing in his grasp he wanted to crush her again.

She was desperately crawling away as of course she would get hurt and have to be left to die. Oh she didn't want to die in the torturous way they would think up for her. He knew she didn't want to die... all prey didn't want to die and yet they knew all up until that last moment of life. He could practically hear the wild heartbeat and the way her wide prey like eyes locked onto his form as she let out the most beautifully frightened scream as the fallen Raven Guard barrels toward her. But before his claws sink in he skids to a stop and he watches her bite her bottom lip till it bleeds to stop the shrieking. His black eyes are fixated on the tears rolling down her cheeks like raindrops... his mutated palm wiping away those tears with the wet skin feeling so soft to him. His warped voice croons softly, his voice a breathy whisper, "You're so beautiful." He grins as she just starts to scream again.

He didn't need a bed slave... he was beyond that as blood shed was all he needed but he took you for a moment of relief... frail and weak thing that was destined to die in a myriad of horrible ways. But he liked the feeling of you around him... he liked you being a pathetic sad thing. He liked the way you bled and cried... till you stopped bleeding one day and grew fat with his young... he didn't need you... and yet you feel so good around him... and whatever you leaked from your breast felt good upon his tongue.

Courtship? I think you mean them just doting upon you and giving you attention.

You were so alone at this point that it was hardly safe to simply exist... ever since you got that first heart and the entire perfectly skinned human cloak everyone started to avoid you and the hearts and leather didn't stop... you're going to die... you know it you're going to die and you think it as you're hiding and weeping when behind you comes a Night Lord. He coos to you petting your head as you feel so numb you take the comfort just praying to anyone bothering to listen to have him make it quick. "Mmm you're clinging to me so tightly... are you scared? Do you need someone to protect you?" You don't know why you nod as you just hope you die soon. "At least I know you've enjoyed my gifts," He croons watching you finally react with dread horror as he just grins down at you and yet you do not struggle to pull away. Its over for you and you just accept your fate....

He sings to you as you lay there a quivering mess... just a tryst he tells himself as his fingers move up your spine having claimed you as his prize from another brother. He had grown tired of the cacophonous noise that spewed from his now dead comrade and he was only now just indulging in the soft noises you made. The panting and whimpering as his song was soft and low with tantalizing lyrics interspersed. You looked prettier covered in blood... with that fight left in your eyes as you rage against the inevitable end and he at the end of his perfected blade would have given it to you had that battle brother not interrupted. You should have died in such perfected death but he supposed it had been far too long since he indulged himself. And instead of quivering from blood loss and pain you quivered from overstimulation and pleasure. He deserved a nice little treat for his centuries of perfection...

You looked so sad simply attached to the repugnant mortal how your pretty eyes were dimmed and glazed the smile on your face fake. But not to him. You only tried the half hearted attempts to seduce him as you were ordered. You looked so relieved when all he wanted to do was hold you... that breathy thank you. Oh he was certain you would thank him soon enough. You didn't bother to run as you hid in the room that you could never seem to escape... no one would bother to save a body slave much less one of your rank you were at most a warm body to be enjoyed. You had hidden yourself in the back of the closet amongst the gaudy and billowing fabric outfits... you had seen the Astartes check the room before leaving and you had hopped that he was gone. But what luck did someone like you have as he came back and you recognized that crooning voice, "What a good girl... staying right there." It was the Iron Warrior that simply held you instead of fucking you... you hugged your knees tighter as the chains in his hand looked heavy and all you could do was watch in horror as he got closer... and closer... and the little voice inside of you hoped he wouldn't hurt you.

Oh if you do write the human husbandry please tag me I dont think I've got it in me to do it justice.

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog @remembrancer-of-heresy

[sidekickblr]

Here's nearly 400 words of Indigo's backstory! It's not detailed, nor is it supposed to be, it's not the full thing just a little blurb. It's supposed to get across the general emotions an actual longer written bit of his backstory would get across.

The lab wasn't quiet, it hadn't been quiet since the recent gene splicing experiment was a success.

Just because it was a success didn't mean that it was a good thing.

Behind close doors, air pressure locks, the freak of nature hissed and scratched as it was picked up by a scientist with rough gloves and rougher hands.

Sure, it may have not been ethical. Splicing human DNA with a variety of avians to create this monster- but it was a breakthrough in science! Even if the result was this creature who only vaguely passed as humanoid, more taking the looks of birds of paradise and ancient archosaurs long past.

It's feathers were gray, and it's teeth where white as they dug into the scientist's skin- white teeth soon stained to red.

The being- only created around seven years ago and having been rigorously monitored since then, is tossed to the side, hitting the wall like an old doll tossed aside carelessly.

It was one thing to aggravate the beast, but to possibly damage this great experiment? That scientist will never do hands on work with it again.

A year later, a new scientist comes by. One who sneered at the lack of ethics but was overjoyed at the idea of working on such a scientific breakthrough.

Until they saw the creature.

Until they saw the child that everyone dubbed the experiment. The beast. The monster.

The child that's been tossed aside and hurt all under the guise of seeing just what genetic splicing could do for humanity.

Just to see what this kid could do for humanity.

That scientist works their way up. It takes two years, and then they're alone with it. With this being that they have grown close to over the years.

They smuggle the monster out at the risk of their ‘job’, not just that. The risk of their life, their mind.

Before this creature is given a home, the scientist gets down on a knee to look this being in the eye.

And to it him, they say, “Stay safe. For your sake, I hope I never see you again.”

And Indigo is left alone on the steps just as Ceru opens her apartment door.

[teecupangel]

You probably have a lot on your plate, but I've had this brain blurb for a while and I can't get them out of my head without typing it out 😅

Because Dangly Earrings are the best, imagine Desmond having a pair that jingles when he turns his head quickly, and ppl are like "oh that's a weakness I can //hear//" when sparring with him, but because he's That Guy he deliberately makes them chime when he moves

Ofc this means that he's going to have to be quick as a snake if he wants to win spars and or real fights when his opponent looks to the loudest sound and he attacks from behind, or at blind spots

How about we make it part of his training?

In stories where a character is learning how to steal, they usually have to steal from a mannequin with bells all around it (like that one scene from Criminal Minds).

So, how about, the dangly earrings were something his mother gave him for him to practice on his stealth and it looked something like this:

Perhaps, when he was young, his mother found him crying in his room after training because Bill had ‘scolded’ him for being unable to be as stealthy as he wanted Desmond to be and Desmond was trying, he truly was, but Bill’s expectation was simply too high.

So his mother gave him one of her earrings that makes a soft chiming sound whenever the chain hits the half-circle part of the earring. The idea was that she had been given the earrings when she was first starting and she thought it might help Desmond.

And Desmond keeps on wearing them because it reminded him of the warmth of his mother’s hands as she pierced his ears and the soft voice she used during that time.

So, in this scenario, the earrings do make a sound but Desmond has enough practice (and, really, it’s more of a habit nowadays) for him to simply move in a way that the earrings won’t make a sound.

When they do make a sound, it’s because Desmond deliberately makes sure it does.

In Bad Weather, it was because that was the normal thing to do.

When he was under Abstergo and, later on, with the Assassins, making the earrings chime was to preserve the idea that he wasn’t really that good. (and maybe hearing Lucy say “maybe once you’ve bleed enough of Ezio’s skills, you’ll be able to move without making any noise” makes him smile).

So when he started to do field missions… everyone is surprised when they could not hear Desmond’s earrings at all.

But William wasn’t.

Because he knew that Desmond perfected it back when he had been just a child.

Sidenote: I like the idea that Desmond only wears one earring. Idk why though XD

[rubylarkspur22]

Ship Swap AU (💕) Explanation

I know nobody asked for this, but I felt like explaining my AUs. At least the less common ones. Figured I'd give folks some better context than my little blurbs in the pinned post.

This is a long one, so I have a "Keep Reading" cut in case you are not interested and just wanna move along with your day without have all this post to scroll through. Trust me, it's long.

So! Let's start with the Kamado kids, Tanjirou and Nezuko. Quick TW for child abuse, human trafficking, implications of attempted SA, and death.

So Tanjirou and Nezuko are switched with Kanao and Zenitsu respectively. But things are a bit different than in canon.

Tanjurou and Kie still very much love and care for their children, and are still wonderful parents. What happened in this AU is that Tanjirou and Nezuko were kidnapped by bandits at a young age. Sometime between Takeo and Hanako's births. Tanjurou was out of the house on a market trip, and Kie ended up unconscious despite her rock-hard head and best efforts, only able to shield Takeo with her body.

After being kidnapped, the two siblings only really had each other as they were kept with traffickers who didn't treat them well at all. Tanjirou tried to take most of the hits so Nezuko wouldn't get hurt. He tried to protect her as best he could. But eventually, Nezuko was sold off to someone else, leaving Tanjirou alone with their kidnappers.

Tanjirou

Tanjirou, as you can likely guess, becomes the child that the Kochou sisters rescued and subsequently adopted.

After Nezuko was sold off, Tanjirou eventually broke, shutting down his once barely containable emotions and closing off his mind as a defense/coping mechanism. The scent of kindness and flowers, and butterflies and anger brought him back to himself in time to notice the two girls with butterfly in their hair.

The sisters, Kochou Kanae and Shinobu, took him in and adopted him as their little brother. Tanjirou was able to inform the sisters of his given name, despite the challenge of speaking after months of silence, and picked "Kanzaki" as a surname when presented with the various options by the Kochou sisters. This is based on the Taisho Era Secret that Kanao picked both her names the same way, and Aoi tried to urge her to pick her surnmae, Kanzaki, but Kanao instead picked Tsuyuri. *pats Aoi on the head* It's okay, I'll give you a little brother in this AU!

Of course, the sisters' decision to adopt their newest addition came with its challenges. Namely, the fact Tanjirou's previous environment had stunted him mentally to the point he couldn't make decisions or take action without being told exactly what to do. Kanae offered a coin as a solution, which worked to make things easier until they could undo some of the damage.

Tanjirou eventually discovered Breath Styles from his new sisters during their sparring fights. Though he had repressed his memories from before he was brought to the Butterfly Mansion, one that had remained somewhat intact was a figure dancing in the snow. Tanjirou picked up a practice sword, and discovered the ability to use this dance as a Breath Style. A visit to the Rengoku Estate later, and it was revealed that Sun Breathing had made its return to the Corps for the first time since the Sengoku Era. Tanjirou's use of Sun Breathing led some (*cough* Shinjurou, mostly *cough*) to believe he was actually descended from Yoriichi.

The next events will include a spoiler for a major canon divergence I made, and I don't wanna spoil it in this explanation post! If I get asked about it, I'll probably talk about it then.

Nezuko

Nezuko was sold to the Red Light District in Yoshiwara. The one bright side to her situation was that she was sold to Tokito House, the House who had the kind and sisterly Koinatsu. (Taisho Era Secret: Nezuko only spent one week at Kyogoku House with Warabihime, but it was enough to be thankful she hadn't been sold to the House of the cruel and terrifying woman.) Despite the small bright sides, however, Nezuko despised her new life. Not least of all because it separated her from her family and made her into little more than a piece of property to be passed around when she was old enough. At least, that's what was intended to happen to her.

When she was 12, Nezuko's life changed. A customer got too intimate for her rank as well as her liking, and she lashed out in fear and self-defense. She stabbed the customer in the throat with a hairpin. Of course, most girls who were old enough to take in customers knew the story from over a century ago. The story of the girl who attacked a customer, and got burned alive. And that was only for gouging out a single eyeball! Nezuko reasonably panicked, and ran for the hills. There, she ran into none other than the God of Festivals himself, Uzui Tengen, and his three wives.

(I was originally planning to have Nezuko meet Kuwajima, Zenitsu's mentor in canon, but I think her meeting Uzui would make much more sense considering Geography and the fact Kuwajima is 1. missing a whole leg, 2. retired, and 3. training Kaigaku. So she meets the flashy ninja man instead!)

Tengen, upon hearing the pre-teen's terror and distress, let his wives handle the situation and calm to girl down. Upon realizing the situation, the four decided to take Nezuko in and adopt her. Nezuko happily went with them, thankful for an escape from Yoshiwara and hopeful to get a chance to find the family she lost.

As she grew up with the Uzuis, Nezuko also took an interest in Demon Slaying. With enough pestering and Puppy Eyes, she was taken under Tengen's wing to learn Sound Breathing.

One thing they all learned quickly about Nezuko was that she is feral. Over 5 years of being forced to be a "proper young lady" 24/7, she's got some pent up Gremlin Energy to work out. Nezuko is required to have a) adult supervision at all times, and/or b) no access to anything that could cause a fire and/or explosion unless she's supposed to be causing fires and/or explosions.

Then here's my explanation for Kanao and Zenitsu(Sorry, I don't have pictures atm. I'm mostly focused on Tanjirou and Nezuko right now and I struggle with drawing Zenitsu's hair!):

Kanao ran away from her abusive parents before her canon mental break, and ran as far as she could before she collapsed. She was found by Zenitsu, who brought her to wherever he lived at the time and helped her recover from the long journey, malnourishment, and dehydration. The two got to know each other, and decided to stick together after a while. While Kanao didn't have a first name at the time, she did pick up the family name Zenitsu had of Agatsuma after deciding to become his sister.

(Since we don't know when her real birthday is, we can't say if Kanao's older or younger than Zenitsu. The difference would be a matter of months, as Zenitsu and Kanao are both 16 at the times of their debuts, with Zenitsu's birthday falling on September 3rd while Kanao's actual date of birth is unknown. So I shall just say sister, neither older nor younger.)

The two wandered between towns for a few years before coming to the town at the base of Mount Kumotori, where they were found by Saburou and Tanjurou. After explaining the situation, Saburou agreed to watch over them until they found a more permanent home. And then he ends up getting attached and adopts them himself!

Because of their new home being so close, Kanao and Zenitsu became close with the Kamado kids(Takeo and Hanako, adding on Shigeru and Rokuta when they're born. Tanjirou and Nezuko have been missing for a couple years.). Of course, the two were made aware of the missing eldest children, and made sure to not make themselves into potential replacements. However, they do still care for the younger kids, and help when they can. Helping with chores, babysitting the kids if Kie and Tanjurou have to leave the house, etc.

The two also make names for themselves thanks to their enhanced senses. Zenitsu is often asked to help find lost pets or help kids find their way back to their parents with his hearing, while Kanao is often requested to use her sharp sight to help find wild animals sneaking treats or make sure a building project is okay. And suffice it to say, the two are very good at their jobs.

When Tanjurou passes away from his illness, Kie steps up to take charge until Takeo's older, including taking over the charcoal deliveries. Both Kanao and Zenitsu step up to help, even if Takeo insists he can handle it himself.

This is what leads to the events that transpire during Muzan's "visit" to the Kamado home.

Zenitsu had chosen to help Takeo watch over the house and younger kids, while Kanao insisted on helping Kie take the latest batch of charcoal into town. Everything continues as it did in the canon episode 1, only with Kie going into town with Kanao as well. Yes, this is because I want Kie alive so Tanjirou and Nezuko have someone to come home to.

The two women come back to the aftermath of the massacre. It's one of the times Kanao wished she didn't have such a sharp sense of sight. While Zenitsu survived, none of Kie's children made it. Kanao offered her condolences, knowing that Kie had lost her entire family now. It was quick, though, as they had to get Zenitsu to a doctor. However, as we know, this is where a whole mess of events begins.

...

Et voila!

If there's any questions you have, don't hesitate to send me an ask!

[runnning-outof-time]

Will you please do “I could never get tired of you.” for Tommy from the fluff prompts?

Hi there, anon! Thanks so much for sending this in!! Sorry it took a little bit to get to. I hope you enjoy the story! 🥰❤️

Thank you for helping me celebrate hitting 2K followers! Want to read more blurbs from this celebration? Check out this post!

Something Keeping You Up?

Tommy Shelby

Warnings: none

(Y/N) decides to go into Tommy’s office late one night to find out for herself why he hasn’t joined her in bed yet.

She’d already put on her nightgown and had her hair pinned up out of her face, but (Y/N) wasn’t quite ready for bed yet. It’d been tough getting to sleep these last few nights, and she knew the exact reason why. Tommy wasn’t in bed with her.

She figured it was just the business he was dealing with on the first night. After the second night, she thought that maybe his meeting got pushed back a few days. Now, Tommy was going on his fifth night of staying in his office well past the time that his wife put their three year old to bed.

Sure, helping out with Charlie’s bedtime routine wasn’t an everyday thing that Tommy did, but partaking in her routine was something he did nightly. So now that he was absent, she felt like she was missing a part of herself.

Tonight, however, things were going to change. She’d become adament on that. So she made her way to the wing of the house that held his office and knocked gently on the door. His muffled response telling her to come in came short after, so she did just that.

“Having trouble sleeping?” Tommy asked her as he took his glasses off and sat them down on the pile of papers he’d been working through.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” (Y/N) answered him as she walked into the office.

“Something keeping you up?” he asked another question, his brows furrowed.

“Yes,” she didn’t even try to beat around the bush.

“What is it?” he sounded slightly worried now.

“You’re not in bed with me,” she gave her answer almost immediately after he was finished speaking. Tommy raised his eyebrows as he heard his wife’s complaint. She decided to elaborate more on her initial statement, “you always come to bed with me, but you’ve not come in once this entire week,” a slight pout formed on her face as she then asked a question in a hushed voice, “are you tired of spending time with me?”

(Y/N) was afraid to hear his answer. She knew that she was probably overreacting to the situation, and that he was probably just tied up with his work, but she couldn’t stop herself from wondering it. And once she was wondering it, she knew that she could either continue worrying about it and let it fester, or she could come right out and ask him about it.

Tommy was shocked by her sudden question, and the worries she expressed with it. “I could never get tired of you, love,” he told her, his voice unwavering as he spoke with sincerity.

“No?” she timidly checked to make sure, hating that she probably sounded like a small child as she said this.

“No,” he affirmed, shaking his head for extra effect, “I’ve been putting more time into checking over these acquisitions that the company has taken on. Ada’s given me some idea on them, but I can’t be too sure, so I wanted to look over it myself,” he explained the reason behind him being locked in his office until such a late hour. “I’m sorry that I’ve made it seem like I’d rather be spending time on this instead of with you,” he added at the end.

(Y/N) couldn’t help but smile as he spoke. Just him affirming the fact that she was overthinking this whole situation turned her night around. Tommy sat back in his chair then and pushed his thumbs against his eyelids as he let out a sigh.

“Tired?” (Y/N) hazarded a guess, hoping she was still able to read his non-verbal cues.

“Very,” he agreed with her, the strain in his voice emphasizing the fact.

“Why don’t you come to bed with me?” she then suggested, her one eyebrow quirked as she finished speaking.

He dropped his hands to his lap and looked over at his wife, making her think that he was thinking over his options for a few moments. “That doesn’t sound half bad,” he then told her, his decision making her smile.

“Perfect,” she said, giddiness apparent in her voice. The sound of it made him smile. “Come to bed with me, Tommy Shelby,” she said to him then, and that was all he needed to stand from his chair and take the hand she’d stretched out in his direction.

“Gladly, (Y/N) Shelby,” he responded with a grin as he allowed her to lead them to their master suite.

———

Tagged: @mgcllovdrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @golden-hoax @elenavampire21 @peaky-cillian @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @lovemissyhoneybee @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica

MASTERLIST

[venusandsaturnsrings]

ok but incel childe stalking u through ur webcam,,,, ur laptops always gonna be open cause u procrastinate a lot of ur work and end up sleeping with it open on some random word document (childe shakes his head, this is why u should just drop out and leave the pesky things like papers to him) and he gets full access to ur room through it.

he gets a full view of u sometimes jerking off the stress of school,,, he's had the recording of it saved and used as jack off material sometimes.

i feel like he'd bully u too by erasing some important documents u finished or need by a deadline and he'd watch u look for it and cry like the incel he is (sometimes hearing u sob has him reach out for his cock)

at one point, he'd put in his carefully crafted virus that would cause ur laptop to 'break' and none if the other techs could figure it out (and suggest a reformat of the entire laptop) which u obviously don't want to, u have important things in it! so someone suggested the best tech student in their class, which happens to be him.

every… single time… anyone sends me shit like this it makes me squirm and cry from joy. HES SO NASTY AND WOULD 100% DO THAT YOU HIT THE NAIL ON THE HEAD!! anon i want u so bad

what was originally supposed to be small thoughts turned blurb btc lol

his gaming set up, naturally, has several monitors and he always keeps one open and free to watch you!! he’d be a horrible future boyfriend and husband if he wasn’t looking after you so much D: it’s only right for him to start his duties early, no? half the time he’s sighing at your silly and dumb antics and half the time he’s cooing sweetly at the screen. you’re just too cute!! stupid but cute, he thinks.

and it’s only natural that he savours the more intimate moments most. the first time he saw you begin to touch yourself and whine he couldn’t even find himself able to move. he was rock solid in his pants but fuck he couldn’t miss a second of this even if it was to take his sweats and boxers off or begin to record. through the whole ordeal he barely even breathed. he just sat, watching, and waiting. the vulnerability of it all had him bucking soft and uselessly into the air at the same tempo your fingers set. ‘that should be me’ he thought. ‘that will be me’ he knows. it just has to be. the second time he’s smart enough to screen record the whole thing. he turns off every other application to make sure nothing could potentially compromise the video quality since he surely needed something to get him through the next while he waited for you to fall into his arms. it would be self torture if he allowed himself to refrain; not that he would, in any case. it’s become a nightly ritual of his to either watch you get off in real time or in those videos he’s compiled.

he’s got a huge thing for degradation and consequently dacryphilia as well. seeing you cry is one of his very favourite sights. at first, it was a simple slip of a finger that deleted one of your documents but watching as you uselessly whimpered and cried had him doing it on purpose from there on out. honestly, it gets to the point he jacks off more to you crying than the sight of you getting off. he wants to reassure you all while only making things worse. he wants to make you cry harder. he wants to make you cry knowing it’s for him. <33

he’s at the top of all his courses and whips through even the most difficult assignments without a problem so he ends up with a lot of free time. given his skills, developing malware that will lead you right to him is of utmost priority. obviously, he can’t make the solution easy so he creates his own mashup of C++ and Malbolge to make it virtually impossible for anyone but him to figure it out. he uses basic functions but in the most convoluted way possible (thank you Malbolge for being a nightmare coding system) so he’s certain none of the other students or professionals will solve the issue. naturally, after several of the smartest people you know look at it silently, you’re sent to childe. and he’s thrilled. finally. finally you’re within arms length. finally he can have you the way he wants.

he looks over your laptop briefly while sporting a lazy grin before handing over his address and phone number so he can ‘take a further look at it’ which, unbeknownst to you, is bullshit. he’ll invite you over, hook a couple things up, press a handful of buttons and bam. problem solved. you’re stunned because how the fuck did he do that? the reality is he did fix the ‘issue’ but he also imported everything onto his hard drive. you don’t need to know that though. his heart pounds at the way you cheer and smile at him as if this wasn’t a mess of his own creation. childes hands are sweaty and his glasses askew but you’re just so happy so he tries not to focus on that. he shifts to pull the pocket of his hoodie down, hands still shoved inside, so you don’t catch a glimpse of his raging hard on. you ask to pay him back. with a light blush he says ‘payment? hm… i’ll take a date in exchange. how’s that sound, princess?’ you say yes enthusiastically.

he has the most satisfying orgasm as soon as you leave, load busted all over the hand that touched the keys of your laptop <33

[archive-of-note]

Ezra / Reaper!Reader

Not really romance, just a blurb that was rattling in my head the past two days.

The arm removal scene, no real details given.

———

“You aren’t what I was expecting.”

You raise an eyebrow, “What were you expecting?”

He’s pale and sweaty, the infection of his arm is obviously killing him.

“At best? Nothing.”

You nod along, death being a complete absence of all things is a common interpretation.

“And at worst?”

He huffs a laugh, and it sounds like it hurts, “The visage of all those I’ve wronged, a final conscious reminder of my mistakes before I suffer in the sulfurous plane of the damned.”

“You speak a lot for someone fighting a moving, necrotising infection.”

He laughs again, “My mind is loud and crowded, I need to make space for my thoughts somehow.”

You chuckle a bit, taking stock of the tent that doesn’t appear to be his, or at least it didn’t start that way.

“Do you look the same to everyone?”

“Hmm?”

“The face you wear, is it the same for every soul you reap, or do you change your looks to fit the circumstance?”

You shrug, because you really don’t know.

“I look how you need me to.”

He huffs another laugh, this one humorless, “Of course, what better salve then temptation?”

You tilt your head in confusion.

He laughs again, “My life to be taken by a creature so breathtaking.”

It’s an odd descriptor, but not unheard of. You’ve been described as bewitching, attractive, a siren for the damned, the list goes on. Rarely has the sentiment been expressed directly to your face.

“You aren’t dead yet, I’m here just in case.”

He makes a confused noise, eyes closed and head tilted back.

“There’s still some wind in your sails, and Free Will means so few things are certain, you might die here, you might not, there is still time for decisions to be made.”

“What are the decisions of a dying man?”

There is a flicker coming this way, frantic and flaring, bursts that steal your attention before almost vanishing back into the brush.

“Who said the decisions were yours alone?”

The spirit fades, taking a turn that leads it away from this tent.

“Time is not one to rush, but indecision means it has a chance to pass you by.”

He looks to you, and you look to the short wave radio in the corner.

“They may kill me.”

“They may not.”

“Why do you wish to see me live?”

This always confuses you, the belief that you sit in wait for their lives to end, licking your chops and counting their breaths.

“All things die, I will visit every single one of you, not now, but eventually. Why rush our meeting?”

He looks at you, then to the radio, then back to you.

“Can,” he swallows, “can you stay?”

“I stay until I am no longer needed.”

That seems to be a satisfactory answer.

He gets the radio working, calling out to the toxic moon, and that flickering light returns.

The light is small, young.

And while you’ve seen everything sentient life has to offer in terms of cruelty, this child’s spirit is strobing, her will to live existing in fits and starts.

Her father’s spirit is still wandering, something compelled you to leave it, let him think he still has any effect on the world around him.

Enough of him feels guilty, so you allow his soul to wonder this verdant hell as it’s purgatory.

The confirmation that his arm needs to be removed scares him, the reality of it finally hitting home.

He shoots himself up and mumbles about a tingly sensation.

His hand clenches repeatedly as the sedative fills the limb.

You grab his hand, and he looks to you terrified, the sedative is old, paralyzing the limb just fine but the nerves still fire.

He talks through it, rambling about his life and his talents and the memories the hand will take with it.

It hits the ground with a pathetic thud.

You don’t need to be here anymore, she cut so far up above the wound that the infection is basically gone in it’s entirety, only minuscule traces remain in his system. Easily taken on by his immune system.

The now dead limb still holds your hand tight.

He looks at the empty space, flexing fingers that are no longer there, squeezing your hand and tapping out a restless nonsense rhythm.

“I need to go, Ezra.”

His breathing stutters as you say his name.

“You’ll live,” you press your lips into a line and tilt your head side to side, “well for now at least.”

A short laugh, almost manic, bursts from his throat.

You squeeze his now phantom hand.

“We’ll meet again, but hopefully not for a long time yet.”

He squeezes your hand in return.

With one last kind look, you vanish.

[stillness-in-green]

No, Re-Destro Is Not Destro’s Literal Son

and

Yes, I Will Die On This Hill

I have a number of small, persistent quibbles with some of the widespread misapprehensions I see included in BNHA fanfic, quoted as fact in meta posts, even cited on the wiki. Quirk cancellation restraints, what the 20% quirklessness data point means in practice, when Kurogiri comes into existence relative to the time of the Shimura Family Massacre, things like that. My biggest one, though, is as the title suggests: the idea that Yotsubashi Rikiya is Yotsubashi Chikara’s son.

I don’t entirely know where this confusion comes from. As far as I can tell, the early scanlations didn’t get it wrong—one rendered the line in Chapter 218 about Destro having a child he didn’t know about as being children, plural, but otherwise, they were all accurate enough. It seems people just assumed that the child mentioned in 218 must be Re-Destro, who was, after all, right there on the panel. Even though the scanlations never said it, even though the official translation never said it, even though ample evidence in the manga disproves it, the idea still got around that Rikiya is Chikara’s son.

I have and will maintain that this is obviously wrong if you stop to think about it for even a moment, but unfortunately, most people don’t. The error can be found on less well-tended parts of the fandom wiki[1]; it’s in tumblr meta posts about the villains; it’s in fanfic.

And now, god help me, it is on the official anime website, too.

“Stillness-in-green, maybe you should consider that you might just be wro—”

I will face BONES and walk backwards into hell.

But if you want, you can come with me, and I’ll explain on the way. Hit the jump.

Dialogue + Narration

There are two places where the relationship between Chikara and Rikiya is explicitly addressed—the lead-in to the dinner scene in Chapter 218 and the fight between Clone!Shigaraki and RD in Chapter 232. If you include the Ultra Analysis databook, the number goes up to four: once each in Re-Destro and Destro Classic’s character blurbs.

Let’s take a look at each of those places, shall we?

The relevant Japanese text here is in the first narration box: 子ども, kodomo.

Kodomo is not gendered. It literally just means child. The key kanji is 子, ko. Like most kanji, it has a lot of potential readings, and you can add other kanji to it to modify it. Add 息 and you get musuko, son. Pronounce 子 as shi instead of ko, and you get a term that is frequently, though not exclusively, used to refer to boys. Add 女 to that reading and you get joshi, woman/girl. 子 is in a lot of words, many of them gendered! Used for kodomo as Hori does here, though, it does nothing to indicate a gender one way or the other.

Also too, it does nothing to indicate that Rikiya is the child in question; it simply states that there was such a child, somewhere in the world. Now, the natural assumption for anyone who knows how the graphic novel medium works and who understands basic literary analysis would be that the significant character we just met is, in fact, the child in question—except that everything else we learn about Destro and the original Meta Liberation Army here makes it entirely impossible.

I’ll do a full breakdown on why that is in the next section. In the meantime, here’s the next reference:

Here, we’re looking at the phrase the Viz translation renders as, “His blood runs through these veins.” The literal Japanese there is, Desutoro no matsuei chi o tsugu mono! In a literal translation, chi o tsugu mono means, “one who inherits the blood,” or, more loosely, “blood successor.” It’s matsuei—末裔—that’s the key word here.

Japanese has several words to express the concept of “descendant.” Matsuei is one word; the data book uses shison. So what’s the difference? Well, I’ll talk about shison in a moment, but I had an inkling of it just from looking at the kanji in matsuei—“end” and “descendant” respectively, leaving me with an impression of something like a final descendant or the terminus of the bloodline. Further research confirmed it: shison can refer to any lineal blood tie, but matsuei refers to a bloodline’s final inheritor, the person at the end of a long line of many, or even countless, generations. It’s the difference between being able to point to a grandparent and the kind of painstaking genealogical research that lets you[2] point to a famous royal from eight hundred years ago—matsuei is a word that very much assumes the existence of those countless generations.

So not only does Rikiya’s line there not imply that he’s Chikara’s son, but his specific word choice also tells us that he cannot be Chikara’s son. That’s, uh. Pretty conclusive, I would say.

Lastly, though, there’s also the data book. This is, perhaps, the actual closest you’re going to get to a manga equivalent of those character blurbs on the anime website, at least until such time as Hori deigns to give the MLA types character profile pages. (I live ever in hope.)

There are two relevant bits of text, one in Re-Destro’s entry, and the other in Destro Classic’s. The first describes how Re-Destro organizes the MLA as Desutoro no chi o tsugu mono: the same phrase he uses for himself in the manga, minus the matsuei. @codenamesazanka (the one who told me about the databook references among other citations, bless) rendered it as “Destro’s blood successor”; I have also seen it given as “the successor of Destro’s bloodline.” Note again, the lack of reference to a father/son bond.

Chikara’s entry uses that other descendant word I mentioned before, 子孫, shison. Notice that the term uses that ko kanji from kodomo before? As it does in joshi, 子 here reads shi. The other kanji, 孫, means grandchild. Thus, literally, grandchild-child—or, in the vernacular, simply descendant.

And then we have the anime website.

So, for comparison’s sake, the anime website uses 息子—the same combination of kanji that I said earlier gives you musuko, son. Heck, it even uses 父, chichi, for Destro—father. It’s as explicit as it’s possible to be, and I just don’t know why or how the anime website could fuck that up so bad when absolutely nothing in the manga describes the two Yotsubashis that way, and, indeed, one specific word choice actually rules out the possibility.

So, that’s all the manga says directly. It’s not the only evidence there is, though. In fact, the next piece makes it even more clear how colossally and impossibly wrong a father/son connection for Destro and his modern successor is.

Timeline

The long and short of this section is, “Since Harima Oji was Sako Atsuhiro’s great-great-grandfather, there is no possible way that Destro—who pre-dated Harima—can be Re-Destro’s father.” If you read that sentence and nodded your complete understanding and agreement, feel free to skip ahead to the last section. If you’d like the full explanation it takes to reach that sentence’s conclusion, though, read on.

So, aside from the word matsuei, the timeline is the most telling piece of evidence to my eye. I address it secondly rather than firstly because it’s less direct than the explicit narration; it relies on drawing conclusions based on things we’ve been told elsewhere rather than on the immediately relevant text. Oh, Mr. Compress’s relationship to Harima is explicit enough, but on what am I basing my claim that Destro predates him?

Regarding that, there’s no explicit year relative to My Hero Academia’s current events given for when Destro and the original Meta Liberation Army were active; the same is true for Harima Oji’s escapades. However, we are given some broad-strokes information, relative not to current events, but rather to the history of heroism as a legal institution in Japan.

We know that there was a widespread, lengthy period of chaos following the rise of quirks—called meta-abilities in those early years. At some point, however, people began to search for a way for meta-humans to live in peace with non-metas. The compromise that was reached was the foundation of professional heroism in Japan—while the use of meta-abilities would be legal in private settings, it was only by becoming licensed by the state as “heroes” that people could use their quirks in public.[3]

The legislation curtailing the use of meta-abilities—and the appropriation of a dead woman’s language to popularize a law establishing exactly the opposite of what she used that language to call for—is what catalyzed the rise of the original MLA. Thus, we can position Destro as being alive and active around the same time that heroism as a legal institution was being formed. Since we further know that he committed suicide in prison, we can assume that his child was conceived at some point prior to his capture. Ergo, Destro’s child, were they alive today, would be as old as Japanese professional heroism itself.

Next, consider Harima Oji, the Peerless Thief, a criminal who targeted the riches of “sham heroes.” We’re specifically told that he was active in the days in which the current system was settling into place—e.g. he only became active once the Hero System was established enough to have produced corrupt heroes. We’re told he preached reformation—he wasn’t just some pre-existing criminal who saw a shiny new target in heroes; he had specific grievances which he wanted addressed by the system, and which the system was not addressing.

The earliest Harima could possibly be active, then, is concurrent with Destro—Harima fighting against the corrupt people who had found their way into the new heroic institution, and Destro fighting against using the institution of heroism to oppress non-heroes. What I think is more likely, though, is that Harima came after Destro—Harima needed to have had time to realize what kinds of fakes had been drawn to this shiny new career path, maybe even to spend some time trying to change things the legal way.

I don’t suspect they were separated by very long—I would imagine Destro was easily within Harima’s living memory, and might well have influenced why he chose the path of protest that he did—but I do think they were separate.

Moving forward, then, Mr. Compress is four generations distant from his famous ancestor. Thus, even if you assume that Harima is of the same generation as Chikara, that’s what you’re looking at for Chikara’s child: someone who, were they alive today, would be old enough to be the great-grandparent of a thirty-two-year-old man.

Re-Destro’s probably a few years older than Mr. C, sure,[4] but that man doesn’t have Ujiko’s slow-aging quirk. Unless you want to start pulling theories about cryogenic stasis the story for some reason never saw fit to mention out of thin air, Re-Destro is in no way old enough to fit the bill.

This is backed up by one other piece of the timeline as well, and one more place we can look at language:

The small child at the center of the image is Rikiya, so young that he’s in schoolboy shorts for a meeting otherwise so formal that he’s been made to wear a tie. He’s, what, six to nine here, tops? And the adults speaking to him say that they’ve been in hiding for generations—代々, daidai, the kanji for generation followed by a kanji that just means, “See that kanji written right before me? Yeah, just read that one again.”

The original MLA was active for only a handful of years, and, per Chapter 218, they didn’t dissolve until Destro was captured. Thus, we can assume they have been in hiding since then, but not before then. With that in mind, this is another line that renders a father/son relationship impossible.

Remember, Chikara already had a child in the world circa his capture. If Rikiya were Chikara’s son, then Destro’s capture and his army’s subsequent dissolution could not have happened any farther back than nine months plus however old Rikiya was in this exact moment of his youth. Rikiya, who we see here as a child of less than ten.

Ten years in hiding doesn’t make one generation; it damn sure doesn’t make multiple ones.

Now, you could make theories about cryogenic statis that would explain this ludicrous discrepancy, sure. You could also theorize about e.g. artificial insemination,[5] or time stop quirks, or any number of other possibilities in the vast panoply the HeroAca world offers. The point is, though, that you don’t need to. There was, in the manga, no discrepancy that needed to be explained. It is only fanon misinterpretation and a glaring disinterest in the series’ villains from official sources that have presented this issue.

I’m praying that it’s all just a misunderstanding on the part of whoever maintains the website, and that the anime itself will render the relevant bits of dialogue correctly. Given the extreme cuts and alterations that My Villain Academia has been subjected to thus far, though, I’m sure you can appreciate my being concerned.

…So that’s the meat of it. The idea that Rikiya is Chikara’s son is wrong simply on the basis of what’s said in the text, and it’s doubly wrong on the basis of the timeline. There is, though, one other thing I think points towards Re-Destro being exactly the descendant he says he is, not a son playing down the connection out of humility or something. This one is a lot more headcanon-y, though, so I saved it for last.

MLA Social Dynamics

It’s quite simple. We have, in the MLA, a group of people that venerates Destro’s bloodline to an obviously unhealthy degree, putting up portraits of him wherever they can get away with it, tagging his successor with a “Re-” as if to invoke reincarnation or miraculous return, entirely willing to throw their lives away for what they think was his cause, and others’ lives if those others say anything too scathing about the words Destro wrote, quite as if they treat Destro’s memoir as some sort of holy writ.

They venerate Destro that much, and you’re trying to tell me that they wouldn’t just call a spade a spade and acknowledge RD as the son of their great leader? Come on.

Since long before I turned up the matsuei factoid in researching this piece, since long before Mr. Compress gave us such a helpful generational comparison, I’ve held the opinion that, given a group that holds their leaders in such high esteem, with such particular regard for bloodline, the only reason Rikiya does just call himself a descendant, rather than citing the specific term for what he is, is that the specific term is distant enough that it actually does sound more impressive to just say “descendant,” rather than something like, “great-great-great-grandson.” That kind of thing just begs the question, “What took you guys so long?” or, “You and how many other people, buddy?”

Mr. Compress may have the panache to carry off a line like that, but Rikiya’s a different story. If he had something so amazing up his sleeve as, “I am the son of the great Destro,” I have to think he’d just say it proudly, not fall back on the impressionistic vaguery of something like chi o tsugu mono. Even if I had no other evidence to work with, I’d think the same—all the evidence you need is right there in the character writing of who Rikiya and the MLA are and how they talk about the man whose dreams Re-Destro was raised to carry.

A closing note: I will allow that Rikiya is being overdramatic when he uses matsuei and its connotation of countless generations. There are a few other things we can use to trace the history of heroism—Ujiko’s age, and the 18-years-or-less periods that One For All was held by its pre-All Might bearers—and running those numbers leads me to believe that it is, in fact, entirely possible to count the number of generations between Rikiya and Chikara, and the number, while higher than one, is probably not all that high. Certainly matsuei is being more dramatic about it than is entirely warranted, hence the poetic flourish of the official translation’s, “His blood runs through these veins!” The theatricality only makes me fonder of him, however.

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

FOOTNOTES

[1] It was changed and reverted on Re-Destro’s page at least twice before it finally stuck in January of this year. Chikara’s page took until July to be corrected, and it’s still wrong on various other subpages.

[2] Or your kids, if you have those. Only the last generation in the bloodline is the matsuei, but that’s a moving goalpost as long as the bloodline is still propagating.

[3] This summary of events combines what we know from both My Hero Academia proper and the Vigilantes spin-off, which I recommend to anyone who’s at all interested in finer-grained worldbuilding on Hero Society Japan than the main series makes time for.

[4] I personally headcanon him as 42.

[5] To which point I would refer back to the word kodomo, and note that that word choice indicates that Destro had a child in the world. Not a sperm sample kept in a freezer somewhere, waiting for the right would-be mother: an actual child. Some quick research on my part says that the farthest that term stretches is in using it to refer to yet-unborn children, fetuses still in the womb. Seeing as Japan doesn’t even allow inmates conjugal visits in real life, much less in a setting where villains are so dehumanized that Tartarus is an acceptable punishment for them, the line about Destro “having a child out in the world” takes us right back to a date of conception no later than Destro’s final night of freedom.

[reidscanehand]

timid tactility

Based on this anonymous request: 6 and 39 for the i love you prompt thing

Thank you for this request! xx 

Prompts: 

6. “Text me when you get home, okay? Actually, call me.”

39. “I honestly have no idea why it took me so long to kiss you.”

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUfem! Reader

Category: Mildly angsty fluff

TW: Mentions of violence by an unsub, including a child’s death (no specifics), sensory overload, and sensory issues described. 

Word Count: 1624

This is my first fulfilled request for my 2k Blurb Party; I really, really like how this turned out and I hope you enjoy it, too! xx 

This case had been so much rougher than any of them expected it to be. It had seemed so straightforward at first, and your attempts to not become beholden to the jaded perspective this job could give you on the world had given you hope that maybe, just maybe, a case would for the first time actually just be clearcut. No such luck. 

There was an unsub (as per usual) and, rather unfortunately for you and your team this time around, it was one with whom it is almost impossible to empathize. No bitter backstory that made you feel bad for him. Nope, just a genuine sociopath killing people because he wanted to cause chaos. He wanted power he didn’t have in his own life and sought to get it at the cost of (what ended up being) five lives. Five lives, including that of a child. 

Losing children is always awful, just the most unimaginable of horrors coming to life. And it’s hard on the whole team, you included, but, for some reason, they always seem to hit Spencer the hardest. It seemed more obvious that Hotch might be the most affected, or JJ, as they had kids of their own, and it wasn’t that it didn’t affect them intensely, because it did. But Spencer seemed to understand that the loss of a young life meant the loss of potential, the loss of a future, the loss of a life unlived far more than anyone else seemed to. In his own, silent, withdrawn way, Spencer seemed to allow the darkness of whatever the team had just faced to envelope him whole. And you simply could not let that happen. 

Spencer isn’t exactly...tactile. And you aren’t exactly touchy. But, you’re always willing and able to give hugs to those who need them when necessary, and you’ve made a habit of patting team members gently on the back while working on cases just to make them aware of your presence or reassure them that you’re there. 

The former reasoning was really for Spencer and Spencer only. You’ve made strides with him since the two of you first met, but he’s not exactly chomping at the bit to be hugged by you, or anyone for that matter. It started on a case last year in an exceptionally overcrowded police station. Officers, witnesses, and plenty of other people were milling about the station making the BAU’s involvement in the case even more difficult than usual. Spencer had been left to work on the geographical profile in the station and the sensory overload was clearly taking its toll. As you and Hotch returned from the medical examiner’s office, he’d gone off to speak to the sheriff and you’d been left to impart the information from the M.E.’s office to Spencer. As you’d crossed to talk to him, you’d noticed how furrowed his entire body seemed. How he’d pawed at his ears in an attempt to muffle the sound. He’d stared at the map on the board for far longer than he’d needed to, clearly struggling with the sheer volume of the environment. You’d quietly crossed to speak to him, but didn’t want to scare him. As gently as possible, you’d placed a hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing from side to side. He’d stuttered only for a moment before turning to see you. He hadn’t been upset that you’d touched him, but was delighted that you’d taken the time to warn him you were there. He was also (unbeknownst to you) rather delighted that it was you he got to talk to, you who had taken the initiative to touch him so cautiously and with such care. 

Since that day, the two of you have had a tentative, yet sweet, gentle language of touch between the two of you. It was hardly intimate, mostly involving one-armed side hugs after cases and in moments of happiness, as well as a few pats on the back for good work here and there. And then there were the rides home on the jet. Like the beginnings of tactility with Spencer, the beginnings of comfort started just as tenderly, if not moreso. After a particularly difficult case had taken its toll on you, Spencer waited, patiently and calmly from the other end of the jet until everyone else was asleep. He approached you quietly, rubbing your shoulder gently before taking the seat next to you. You’d attempted to smile, but the tears you’d kept at bay for the past hour or so began to fall. Ever so carefully, Spencer wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling your head to his chest. Sweetly rubbing circles into your back and running his fingers through the ends of your hair, allowing you to cry it out. While he’d offered some calming reassurances, it was the slight intimacy of touch that felt the most powerful. You knew it meant the most and your understanding of this gravity meant the world to Spencer. This comfort became commonplace, but never lost its significance. After difficult cases for one or both of you, you’d wait patiently for everyone to fall asleep, then move next to each other, wrap an arm around each other, providing relief and solace until the other fell asleep or calmed down. 

But this case was different. Not in that Spencer didn’t seek consolation from you, but in the dropping of any sense of privacy in this act. The moment he steps on the plane, he’s next to you, arms wrapped around you, head already in your shoulder. There’s a few raised eyebrows, a few widened eyes and shared glances, but the team seems to recognize the significance of Spencer’s mood, the tonal shift in the air as they find their seats on the jet without another word. It’s only when they fall asleep that Spencer allows himself to cry. You pull him closer still, whispering reassurances until he drifts off to sleep. At one point, you shift, attempting to give him space to sleep, and he clings to you, holding you tighter. 

It’s silent when the two of you exit the jet, walking slowly into the bullpen. He didn’t really pull away from you, though. His arms weren’t wrapped around you anymore, but he walked near you, allowing his hand to brush against yours. The debrief in the bullpen was short, Hotch saying little more than, “two days off, no exceptions, no paperwork”. 

You look to Spencer, eyes meeting his still slightly puffy, sleepy gaze. 

“Would you like a ride home?” you whisper, cautiously. 

“No, thank you,” Spencer replies just as quietly. “I’ll use the metro home to clear my head a bit. Thank you, though.” 

“No problem, Spencer,” you smile at him. “Just, um...text me when you get home safe, okay?” Unless you’re mistaken, which you aren’t, the ghost of a smile plays its way onto his mouth. “Actually,” you add, thinking better of your previous statement, “call me.” 

“Will do,” Spencer breathes, a genuine smile growing over his face. He shifts slightly, looking away from you for a moment before turning back around and giving you a hug. It’s so abrupt that you’re almost too stunned to reciprocate at first. He pulls away and stares down at you, blushing a bit. 

“I’ll see you in two days, I guess,” he manages to say. Spencer turns away for just a moment before turning back. “But I’ll call you when I get home.” 

It’s difficult to define the feeling that’s rising in your heart as he walks away. You nearly float home, the drive barely affecting you. You enter your apartment still on this cloud of confusion. Feelings you’ve never put a name to, feelings you’ve quashed with the delicacy of finding reluctant comfort, suddenly seem to require addressing. Your phone ringing pulls you out of your reverie, barely registering through your confusion. 

“Hello?”

“Can you come to the door?” Spencer asks through the phone, his voice trembling. 

“Door?” Barely aware of the motion, you cross to your door, looking through the peephole to see Spencer shaking like a leaf. You open the door and Spencer stares at you, licking his lips before hanging up the phone, and shoving it in his pocket. You do the same, your phone dropping to the floor. 

“I know- I know we usually take longer with stuff like this, but- but, um…” Spencer’s voice is so tremulous, you almost can’t hear it. “Can I...can I kiss you?” 

Your eyes haven’t left his face since you opened the door. The feelings in your chest are resting, sorting themselves out in the seriousness of Spencer’s gaze. 

“Yes,” you rasp, ever so quietly. His eyes soften slightly, but his shaking doesn’t cease. His hands come up, but they’re shaking so horribly he can’t seem to figure out what to do. Gently, you grasp his hands in your own, his trembling not quite stopping, but slowing a bit, his eyes dropping to your entwined hands.  

“I knew you’d be better at this,” he breathes, his words choking out around his nerves. 

“Not better,” you correct gently, “just...I just really want to kiss you.” 

With that statement the trembling stops, his eyes meet yours. He swallows and the same genuine smile from earlier plays its way onto his mouth before he closes the gap between the two of you, slotting his lips over yours. You let out a moan of contentment, only for Spencer to gently slide his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss, a fervor you return in equal measure. 

The months of cautious touches and trepidation fade into nothing as the space between you lessens. 

Breathlessly, Spencer pulls away, holding your face in his hands, “I know that I have some...issues with touching people,” he rasps. “But I honestly have no idea why it took me so long to kiss you.”

~~~

Feel free to request a blurb from this list and here is the link to my main master list! xx 

[beskarhearts]

re: you wanting one shot/blurb ideas: *chanting softly* domestic din, domestic din, domestic-

HOME (DIN DJARIN X READER)

Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB!reader

Word count: over 1.9K

Warnings: very brief allusion to sexy time (I think that is it but let me know)

Summary: Sometimes home was a person, not just a place.

Notes: Just so you know, I completely ignored events of season 2 because I just wanted these 2 to be happy and we all deserve domestic Din. I hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

_____________________________

Home had seemed like such a foreign concept to both you and Din for so long. You were aware of its existence but it may as well had been the Force with how confusing of a thought it was to you two. The galaxy was a hard and tough place, one that seemed like you had to fight to get through each day. Din certainly had been handed the short end of the stick as well, having gone through more struggles and travesties than you could count on one hand. In a world that was so brutal and could sometimes be so cruel, how the hell were you to find a home in the midst of it?

But then for some reason, the universe aligned and you had met Din on a fateful day that changed the rest of the course of your life. It took awhile because of the walls you both had up and the lack of trust you had in humanity, but eventually you came to realize something. Sometimes home was a person, not just a place.

So for years you were content with Din, even if that meant living in the Crest with Grogu and traveling from place to place. You had him by your side and that was enough for you - enough for the rest of your life. You wouldn’t mind hopping from planet to planet as long as at the end of the day you could slip into a cot with Din, no matter how tiny or uncomfortable it may had been. And Din the same. Sure the Crest had been a sort of home to him considering how long he had it but it had never felt quite as bright until you were in it. Never had Din felt so settled and content until he felt the warm brush of your fingers against his hair and felt the wave you seemed to mold into his touch, like you were becoming one person. That was also when Din realized home could be a person.

That still didn’t stop you two from hoping though. You couldn’t bare to say it during the day but at night, when you two whispered sweet nothings to each other, you would also make grand plans of a home. Talk about how one day you two would settle down on a sparsely populated planet somewhere with Grogu. Find a small little house and take care of each other for the rest of your days until you were old. Maybe have a couple kids to fill the empty rooms with noise and happiness. You would talk of having a kitchen where you could make meals and teach Din how to cook, both of you eating something other than ration packs or broth on a daily basis. Find a place with some land so Din could step outside without his helmet with no fear and breath in some fresh air, while the child you had both come to love roamed around the tall grass. Din would speak of a bed - a proper bed - where you both could spread out as wide as you wanted (even though you both knew each night would end with you in each other’s arms, trying to get as close as heavenly possible). A place that could properly be decorated for holidays and special occasions, maybe even a big tree for a Life Day.

But all of those had seemed like simple dreams best to be spoken of in the warm confines of each other’s arms. Because things like that didn’t happen for people like you two.

Until they somehow did. Until somehow everything fell in line and you realized it was no longer a dream, but close enough to touch and grasp if you really wanted it. And hell, you both wanted it so badly. So when Din landed the Crest on a planet with warm air and fresh grass and flowers, he knew you would love it. It was meant to just be another pit stop until Din found an abandoned little house in the middle of this field and suddenly he realized everything he wanted was right in front of him. He could let you and the child settle down. You and him could relax and finally make the family you had discussed. It was sitting there right in front of him, like all the beautiful magical intricacies of the galaxy came together to form this perfect little sanctuary for you both.

Din had been so excited to show you that he quite literally ran to you, dragging you and the child with him in the most chipper mood you had ever seen the man. You had playfully teased him for his childlike behavior until your eyes landed on the small house and your heart melted. The look you have Din was not one you needed to explain because he had the same exact one. No words were spoken, no confirmation of what he wanted that place to be for you. You both knew and all you had to do was grab Din’s hand and walk him into the home for him to instantly decide to retire from his life and spend the rest of his days with you on a planet whose name he could barely remember.

The place had not been in the greatest shape. It was old and had clearly been abandoned for long enough that the place fell into a little disarray. But you and Din had certainly faced much worse so you didn’t allow it to scare you away. Instead Din worked on building furniture and fixing holes in the wall, a big smile on his face the whole time because he was constantly being hit with the realization of ‘this is what normal people do’. You had painted the walls with flowers like you could see outside the windows, filling it with more color than Din had ever seen in his life. And once the home was finally finished, equip with a functioning kitchen and the largest bed you had laid your eyes on, you and Din got married.

You could of traveled into the closest town and maybe found someone to officiate it for you, but that felt so conventional and unnecessary. You didn’t need another person to declare your love for each other and make it official. You had only ever needed each other so you both had as traditional of a Mandalorian wedding as you could, a bit difficult due to it being only you two and the very dapper flower boy that had been Grogu (who had managed to eat all the flowers and not throw a single one). Din wore his armor and you wore a small white dress you had made from a set of curtains but you both swore it was the most beautiful the other one had ever looked.

Shortly after you had gotten married, Din had begun to not-so-subtly, in fact very obviously, started dropping hints about kids. There would be times you were sitting on the couch and Din would look around before saying something like, "This house is a little big for just the three of us, don't you think?" Just the other day, Din had gone into the closest town for some supplies and came back not only with food and stuff you needed, but with a plethora of baby clothes that he all claimed were for Grogu (even though they were all obviously way too small for him).

You knew what Din was doing because it was the clearest thing in the world and you were on board. But watching Din drop the most obvious hints and slowly become more flustered the longer you pretended to be oblivious was hilarious to you. But eventually a dam broke and Din just grabbed you and marched towards the bedroom, very loudly stating that it was time to make some babies ASAP to which you responded with a fit of giggles.

And that led you to where you were now. Stood in the middle of your kitchen in your home, looking out the window where you admired the way the sun illuminated the flowers and trees. A warm cup of caf was clutched between your hands, the wonderful scent filling your nostrils as you held it close to your mouth. The home was silent, the child still asleep in his room and you had left Din to sleep in the bed while you snuck out.

The moment you felt a strong pair of arms wrap around your waist and pull you into a broad expanse of warmth, you let out a small content hum. Din's head nuzzled into your neck, his ruffled hair tickling your chin. "Mornin', cyar'ika." Din grumbled, his voice still laced with a type of sleep-drunk tone you adored. His voice in the morning was always your favorite - it seemed to amplify the gruffness and deepness his voice he usually had.

"Morning." you whispered back, feeling your heart flutter when a light kiss was pressed into your neck before he pulled away, grabbing a mug a caf for himself.

You admired his figure, eyes raking up and down in pure adoration. His hair was ruffled and messy from sleep, going in every which way. His eyes were still a little droopy and his whole body still sagged a little. He was wearing a shirt you had given him months ago, one that you were certain he found ridiculously ugly yet he claimed was his favorite because you chose it for him specifically. "Why are you up so early?"

"Wanted to watch the sunrise." you responded, your smile growing as he padded back over to you and planted a kiss on your forehead.

"You look beautiful."

You snorted, giving him a small lopsided smile. "I haven't even brushed my hair yet or washed my face. I am still crusty."

Din smiled, looking down at you with the warm brown eyes you had learned to love. "Well your crust is very sexy."

You threw your head back in laughter that time, shaking your head as he joined in with a slight chuckle. "Din, you are a horrible liar."

"I'm not lying. I love the morning crust. It's cute." he responded back, no hint of sarcasm in his voice but a slight twinkle in his eye.

"Shut up." you huffed, rolling your eyes playfully.

"Y'know, it is actually so sexy that we should probably-"

Din was cut off when the sound of cries began to fill the house, the noise coming straight from Grogu's room. You chuckled when an exasperated expression grew on his face and he placed his cup in your hand. "What were you saying, handsome?"

Din rolled his eyes as your sarcastic remark but you could still see the small quirk on the corner of his lip. "I'll go get him."

"You sure?" you asked.

"Yeah." Din mumbled, heading towards the door to Grogu's room slowly. He turned back to you once last time before opening the door. "Cyar'ika?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

You softly smiled. "I love you too."

Din smiled before opening the door to Grogu's room, slipping inside. Within a couple minutes, the crying died down and was replaced with soft cooing that filled your heart with warmth, accompanied by the sound of Din's soft voice as he spoke to the child. You placed the cups of caf on the counter and then made your way towards the room, thinking how this is exactly what home was supposed to feel like.

[professorrw]

Hi! Okay so first of all I love your fics sm 🤧 and second, could i request a smut fic where reader is giving thor a massage or he's giving her one, and then things heat up ☻ and if you could add a bit of daddy kink in there, that would be awesome 🙈

Thank you so much 😭❤ I hope you like this 👀

marvel masterlist

Pairing: female reader x Thor

Warnings: smut, 18+, fluff, dad!Thor, daddy kink, pet names (baby girl, honey), rough sex, Thor with a man bun 😫

A/N: I've tried asking about this before with just a text post but no one ever answers 😅. When I reach 500 followers would you guys like to do a celebration where I let you send in prompts from prompt lists (I may even add a few of my own of songs, prompts, date ideas, and careers) and then let you send characters for Marvel and Stranger Things that I write for and do some drabbles, blurbs, headcanons, and oneshots? Let me know in the comments, with an ask, or in my messages! Requests open, taglist open, inbox open! Please like, comment, and reblog!

Parenting is no easy feat. It doesn’t matter if you’re a prince, or a king, or if you’ve conquered whole armies. Having a child and raising it is a job all on its own. But it’s something Thor loves. Being a father is something he didn’t know he wanted, but becoming one and taking care of something so pure, so precious, it just captivated him. You had a beautiful daughter together, Eydis. She was three, and full of energy.

Thor walked into your room, shifting his weight from foot to foot heavily, and fell back onto the monstrous bed. His head was right next to your crossed legs and you stroked the top of his hair until you were met by his man bun. The hairstyle was originally given to him by you. One day he was complaining about his hair getting in his face all the time so you did it up for him, and he had been attached ever since.

He heaved out a loud sigh before he turned over and snuggled his face against your leg.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I’m very worn out. Eydy insisted that I carry her everywhere she wanted to go.”

“... And you did?”

Thor was a sucker for his daughter. She was his little princess. Quite literally his little princess. Whatever she wanted she got. You were aware she was going to be spoiled, and you told Thor, but he said that he’ll tone it down when she’s older. You didn’t see that happening though.

“Of course. I carried her on my back and shoulders for almost four hours before she wanted to come back inside.”

A breath left your nose as you smiled and shook your head. “Do you need a massage?”

He flipped over, beaming at you. You took that as a yes and ushered him off your lap. The bed shifted and dipped from his weight being in front of you. You ran your hands down his athletic shirt, which was his go to when he wasn’t having an audience. Your thumbs kneaded at his shoulder and back muscles, giving them the much needed stress relief they needed. He closed his eyes, fully taken by the release of tension.

“Being- ah- a father is hard,” Thor said.

“You’re a great daddy though.”

“Honey…” he trailed off in a warning tone. You giggled, remembering that he asked you not to call him daddy during the day time. When you called him daddy, which you had first called him while you were pregnant, turned him on. He didn’t know why, it just did. And at night when he was tearing into you and that word came out of your mouth it would set him ablaze.

That day though, as your hands were already on him and he was already in bed with you, you just couldn’t resist. You leaned in closer, whispering into his ear, “Daddy…”

“Y/N,” he warned again. One more time and that would be it. You could turn back… but did you want to?

No.

“Daddy,” you whispered one more time. His jaw clenched and he turned around in the blink of an eye. You were completely pinned to the bed. His hands were holding your wrists at the side of your head and his cock was pressing against your thigh.

“You asked for this,” he spoke with lust blown eyes. Wetness grew and pooled in your underwear, all thanks to your husband. The pressure holding down your wrists disappeared, instead moving to your midsection. He untied your robe and flung it open, showcasing your matching bra and panties.

You bucked your hips up, making sure that your vagina was pressing against his crotch. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut for a second before they opened again with an intensity unparalleled by anything else.

He sat back on his knees, straddling your lap while you laid there. He didn’t speak, just reached behind you and unclasped your bra and then pulled down your panties. He saw the wetness and held them up, chuckling.

“Darling, you’re already soaking wet. All for your daddy,” he taunted. He threw his shirt off, because he would never miss a chance to show off his impeccable abs, and took his shorts and boxers off too, unsheathing his thick member. It stood tall against his abdomen, something he was extremely proud of.

Unable to wait a minute longer he plunged into you. A strangled moan burst out of your mouth but the pain eased and became pleasant after a few moments of stillness. He started to move, going fast right off the bat. Even though he was thrusting in and out of you at the speed of light he would be able to last a good amount of time. He usually spared you that amount of aching, but he had gone multiple rounds with you before. It was a loud night, filled with many orgasms, positions, and locations.

Thor was above you, fully above you, and ramming into your pussy with inhumane speed and vigor. He was only a little winded and out of breath. Only a teensy weensy bit. Not everything was so perfect though. His hair was falling out of his bun, framing his face in a blonde, messy curtain.

You weren’t going to last long. It was a given fact. The butterflies and thumping of your pussy were already there before he even started. You really weren’t going to last long when he hit your g-spot.

“Ahh Thor!” you moaned.

“Uh uh,” he scolded, “you have to call me daddy since you love to say it so much.”

“Daddy!” you moaned as he hit your g-spot again.

“That’s it baby girl.”

He kept on going, never stalling his ruthless pace. Your orgasm was on the tip of your tongue and you were moments away from reaching it. Thor could tell you were about to cum. You had sex countless times and the tell-tale signs were there. Your moans were louder, your hands were clenched, and your back was arched.

The white liquid squirted out, and was followed not long after by Thor’s deep groan and his own cum spilling inside you. He pulled out and used his abandoned shirt to wipe up the mess. You laid next to Thor with your hand on your forehead. He was lying on his side, smiling at you, just slightly out of breath. He was about to kiss your cheek when there was a knock on the door.

“Dad! Come play with me!” Eydis shouted.

Thor sighed but got up with a smile still on his face. “I’m coming!”

[stillebesat]

Be My Dad

Sanders Sides: Janus, Logan  A Vague AU Writing Prompt: @wildhorsewolf​ asked: Guess I'm a parent now with Janus being the dad and Logan being the kid Blurb: Janus has no interest in being a parental figure to a kid, but trying to convince the universe of that is another thing entirely.  Fic Type: Familial Soulmate!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Mentions of Scars  Taglist in Reblog.

To most souls, a food court was a necessary evil. Loud. Lots of people. But plenty of food options all together in one place. Perfect for those who liked a variety of choices or those who had picky eaters in tow.

It was a place to meet up with friends, family, or business associates. A place where one could sit back and observe society at work. To see people at their best...and most definitely at their worst. 

There was something soothing about the chaos that Janus enjoyed...as a spectator. He could never imagine being right in the middle of it.

Not unless he was doing what he was doing right now. Trying to hide in plain sight in the middle of a crowd.

After all. He was thirty now. Single. Childless.

Obviously a menace to society in a universe that seemed obsessed with everyone being part of a ‘family.’ 

A Universe that had decreed that all adults who remained childless by the age of thirty, would then be subjected to being bombarded with children in need of a proper parent figure to bond with in their lives.

He exhaled, absently brushing against the raised scar on his cheek, barely looking up as a child burst out wailing nearby.

He’d checked earlier. That particular wailer hadn’t had the golden sparks. It meant he was safe. 

For now.

He ran a hand through his hair, flipping another page in his notebook before he continued scrawling on the page. Maybe Virgil had actually been onto something when he said he was vanishing into the wilderness of Europe for the rest of his life. 

Sure, Janus had laughed six months ago when his best friend had turned thirty and begun complaining about all the kids coming out of the woodwork to ask him to be their Dad.

It’d seemed impossible at the time. To have children want to come up to Mr. Shadows Incarnate and expect Virgil to put them to bed and tell a bedtime story.

Now though, he understood why Vee had become more reluctant to leave his house as the year had worn on. Because the mini spawns really had come out of nowhere once his own thirtieth birthday hit. 

And it was awful. 

Wherever he went, it was inevitable that some child would approach him, shimmering golden sparks floating around them indicating that they were looking for a Parent Bond. 

It was also as inevitable that he would scare them away just as quickly. 

After all, his halfmoon scar and creepy yellow eyes had caused plenty of kids to scream and run with a single look years before his thirtieth birthday. 

No, at least Virgil had a bit of that shy emo charm that made him more approachable, even if the merest appearance of anyone under four feet had his best friend going pale as a corpse and ducking out before the kid could take more than two steps towards him.

Privately he was certain Virgil would find a kid perfect for him before the year was out, despite his best friend’s attempt to avoid the inevitable.

He knew Virge would make a good dad. Compassionate. Protective. His best friend had a dozen other traits that would benefit him when the right child flared with him. 

Unlike Janus.

Who could make a grown man cry with less than four words and a glower.  

No. He couldn’t imagine having any child coming to him in the middle of the night expecting comfort. 

He knew he was intimidating.

He knew he could be scary.

It wouldn’t be fair to subject a child to that on a daily basis.

Honestly, it felt like a slap to the face that no matter how much he achieved, how many degrees he got, or businesses he owned, or careers he pursued, or money he made…

The universe felt that one couldn’t be complete unless said person also had a screaming, slobbering, dirty child in tow.

Janus ran a hand through his hair, again brushing the crescent scar on his cheek as he looked up long enough to watch a cluster of mothers with their dozen and a half children in strollers rush by, seeking salvation at the nearest set of golden arches with at least four of the kids already screaming for their happy meal toy. 

Even if he did make a connection with any kid brave enough to approach him...Janus could never imagine trying to coerce a screaming brat into eating their chicken nuggets all by himself. Could never stand to walk around with food, slobber or worse, vomit stains on his best suits like a badge of honor. Could never be patient enough to listen to the long and rambling and pointless stories he’d heard multiple parents suffer through while observing them here in the food court.

No. There was no way Janus would allow the universe a say in how he ran these next five years of his life.

He had goals.

Life plans.

And he didn’t need some interfering Being with an obviously unhealthy parent complex ruining that.

The scrapping of a chair being pulled back broke through the gentle hum the noise the chaos of the food court had receded to, causing Janus to look up from his paper in time to see a boy, wearing a faded black long sleeved shirt with matching glasses and thankfully older than the screaming toddler throwing french fries six tables over, plop down in the seat across from him.

A child. With golden sparks shimmering in the air around him. 

Oh goodie.

Janus barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes. And here he’d thought that the fact that he’d caused a pair of twin girls, a baby, three boys, six preteens, and four other children under the age of five to scream in terror and/or burst into tears before the lunch rush had even started would have been enough for the universe to call it quits for the day on attempting a Parent Bond.

“I have a prospersition for you.” The boy said, making eye contact. Janus blinked, pen pausing mid stroke as he raised an eyebrow to the child. Prosper...prosper? Oh. “A prop-osition?” He asked, careful to pronounce the word correctly. 

The boy nodded once, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “Prop-osition” he repeated, saying it properly this time. “Will you listen to it? Please?” 

Oh, now there was a please? The kid hadn’t even said hello. Janus exhaled, running a hand through his hair, again fingering the raised scar on his cheek, eyes darting about without much hope for any sign of a frantic adult looking for their wayward offspring as he sat back, tapping his pen on the table. “I’m busy.”  

The boy’s eyes flashed. “No you’re not.”

Janus scoffed, gesturing to his papers. “I assure you that I a--”

“Are doing what you do every Friday. You’re not busy. You just sit here. All day. Reading. Writing.”  

Observant. Janus frowned, again glancing around for a guardian figure. He didn’t think children thought much beyond eating, sleeping, and playing with their peers. “That is considered being busy by most people, I don’t have time to tal--”  

The boy shifted to his knees, the golden sparks dancing around him as he carefully placed eight quarters on the table before pushing the pile over to him. “For your time.” He said, looking up to meet Jansus’s eyes once more.

Clever. Not quite the amount he usually took for a consultation, but he doubted a child could come up with that much cash. Still. It was the first time one of these golden sparked spawns of the devil decided to pay him instead of screaming bloody murder. 

Janus exhaled, laying down his pen, sitting up as he clasped his fingers together, resting his chin on them. “I’m listening.” Though he doubted anything good would come from this proposition. He could already predict the direction this would go.

The boy relaxed, though he stayed half kneeling on his chair. “I need you,” his mouth twisted slightly, grey eyes glittering. “to pretend to be my Father.” 

Father? Ha. Called it. “No.”

Golden sparks flared as the boy lifted his chin. “You didn’t even ask ‘Why.’”

He smirked, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach as he pushed the coins back. “I don’t need to.” It was obvious why the kid wanted to play pretend. After all, the sparks surrounding him were only visible to those like Janus. Single. Between the age of thirty and thirty-five. Childless. If the kid needed a fake dad...well this wasn’t his first rodeo with the concept. “You either need protection from some bullies, which--” He gestured to himself. “You think I look scary enough to intimidate them.” Though not scary enough to keep the kid from bugging him in the first place. “Or else you have lied to your friends about who your Dad is or what he does and so--”

“You’re wrong.”   

Janus cut off, tilting his head. “Am I?” He was certain he wasn’t. 

“You are.” The boy kept eye contact, grey blue eyes hard as stone. 

It would be an intimidating gaze once he grew older, Janus was sure. “Enlighten me.”

The boy pushed the coins back across the table. “The Aquarium is having a Father/Son day today. I want to go.” 

Not what he meant by enlighten, but he’d humor the kid. “So?”

The boy rolled his eyes, shifting to his knees so he could better rest his arms on the table. “I can’t exactly partisiis--partissee--par--” 

“Participate?”

He nodded. “I can’t exactly participate if I go by myself, dummy.”

Dummy? Who just helped the kid pronounce ‘participate?’ 

Janus shoved the quarters back to the boy before picking up his pen, tapping it against the table. He could see the kid’s problem though. It made sense why the aquarium wouldn’t want to let hordes of little demon spawn run around tapping on the glass, licking the floors, and breaking things unsupervised. “I’m not spending fifty dollars to play your Dad, kid, just so you can look at some fish.” 

A pet store would work just as well and wouldn’t cost a dime. If he was willing to go along with this.

Which he wasn’t.

He didn’t even like fish. Not since that stupid childhood fishing accident that had given him the lovely scar on his face in the first place.

No way would he willingly go along with some brat to a place filled to the brim with the creatures.

Despite how brilliant of a scheme it was. One Janus would have used himself though under different circumstances. 

Though he supposed, if he felt like admitting it, which he didn’t, but he still---it….hurt in a way, that the kid, even having the sparks, just wanted to use him to get in to see some boring fish instead of trying out a real Trial with him to see if they had any sort of parental bond. 

It was a stupid feeling. 

He should be used to being used. 

The boy adjusted his frames, barely blinking as he shoved the quarters back across the table, staring Janus down. “Adults get in for only ten dollars today. Kids get in free. If.” He emphasized the word. “Their Father brings them.” He shifted in his seat, pulling out a twenty and slid it across the table. “For your ticket.” He said simply, eyes flashing. “I’m only asking for your time. I don’t want to go on a Trial with you. I don’t need or want a Dad. I just need an adult with the time on his hands to pretend to be one and let me esplore the place for two measlely hours.”

Double ouch. At least some kids attempted to do an actual Trial Run with him to see if their sparks would Flare before being so blunt in telling him he wouldn’t be their Dad. 

Janus frowned, already shaking his head. “Kid, I don’t--” 

The boy pulled out another twenty, placing it on the table. “Two hours.” He said simply.  

“You don’t even know me--” Sure, he knew the boy knew he was in the Trial stage of life since the stupid floating sparks thing, even if he couldn’t see his own, went both ways. But that didn’t mean that he should just shove--

The boy placed a third twenty on the table. 

Janus exhaled, running a hand through his hair, again fingering his scar as he glared at the child. “You’re seriously bribing me? Where did you even get that much cash?” Hopefully it wasn’t stolen, but he’d applaud the boy for being so prolific in his thievery. 

“Not important.” The boy stated, pulling out a fourth twenty without breaking eye contact. 

Why was he being so persistent?! Any other child would have run away by now. 

“Why me?” He demanded, leaning forward, sneering in a way he knew made his eyes look even more creepy. “Why not bribe some other--”

The boy hesitated, a fifth twenty already in his fingers as his steely gazed wavered. “If I tell you why, will you go with me to the Aquarium?” 

That was hardly a fair exchange. The answer could be super simple and he’d be stuck with the kid for two hours. “I’m going to stick with my ‘I’m scary theory,’” Janus said instead, gesturing to his face. That was the usual reason kids gave in most circumstances. 

The boy frowned, lifting his chin. “I can be scary enough on my own without your help.” He said shoving the sleeve of his shirt up, revealing an angry red corded scar that wrapped around his arm from wrist to shoulder. “We match, kinda. Your scar looks similar. Makes it easier to pretend that you’re my Dad. That we were in the same accident.” He pushed the pile of money towards him. “And if anyone suspects you aren’t my birth father, then the sparks will show them that we’re on a Trial and that our scars mean we’re meant to be.” 

Meant to be. 

It took a lot of effort to not touch the crescent mark on his cheek. To ignore the fluttering in his chest at those words.

They’re just pretty little lies. 

Sure, there were ongoing theories that families all shared a similar trait that marked them. Whether that was having a mole on the same part of their stomach, sharing a taste in mustard, having an allergy to hay, hair having the same cowlick, or having similar looking scars--Janus kept his hands firmly on the table as he pulled his eyes back up to meet the kids. 

It was hearsay though. Nothing had ever been proven. Not when the sparks flaring between parent and child was a far more accurate indicator that they were meant to be a family. 

No, he highly doubted anyone would Flare with him during this five year tortrue period. Not even this kid despite the sparks dancing between them. 

Janus took a steadying breath. It was fine. He didn’t need a family. Not even a pretend one for two hours. He was better off alone now that Virgil had harred off to who knew where. “How long do I have to wait before you run out of twenties and give up?” He said, keeping his voice cool. “Because I’m not taking your bribe, kid, regardless of the amount. You’d be better off hiring a nanny or something.” 

Though he was curious just how much the boy thought it would take to convince him to go along with this farce. 

The kid made a face. “I don’t want to be coddled the entire time.” He snapped, the fifth twenty vanishing as he shoved his sleeve down. “All anyone ever does is treat me like I’m breakable since--” he gestured to his arm, the scars once more hidden. “And I’m sick of it. You look like you’d happily let me fall off a bridge if I wasn’t careful and I just...I just--” He shook his head. “I need to not be cared about for a bit.” 

Let him fall off a bridge? Ouch. Janus focused on relaxing his clenched hands, one finger at a time. “So you have a death wish? I’m not gonna be complacent to--”

The boy growled, slamming his hands on the table, steel grey eyes hardening even as they shimmered with unshed tears. “No. I just want to look at the fish.” He hissed. “I want to esplore. Learn. SEE. Without having a grown-up hovering over me like I’m freaking china. All you would have to do is stay near enough to keep any other metaling adults away. That’s all I want. For two hours. To be treated like a normal kid.” His hand clenched as he took a breath, bottom lip trembling. “I thought you of all people would understand that.” He whispered, eyes flickering to the scar and back.

It took a lot of effort to not touch his face. To maintain eye contact. 

Sure.

He understood. 

Janus had wasted years chasing that particular dream throughout high school and well into his first couple of years at college. 

It had all been for nothing. 

People judged the book by the cover. Few ever took the time to look deeper. 

And it sucked that Janus was being forced to reckon with the fact that if he didn’t go with this kid and pretend to be his Dad, he’d be like every other adult unwilling to give the boy a chance to be ‘normal.’  

…Great. Just. Great.  

He’d just been guilted into spending two hours looking at the fish. 

Janus broke eye contact, cursing under his breath as he shoved his papers into his book bag and stood, grabbing his jacket and hat off the chair. 

Maybe he should follow Virgil’s lead and disappear into the wilderness for the next four and a half years if the kids were going to start pulling this type of act on him. 

“You got a name, kid?” He asked, fishing out a single twenty from the stack before shoving the pile back at the boy. Enough for the ticket. That’s it. 

The boy caught his breath, eyes going wide. “You mean--”

How could eyes hard as steel one second go so soft like freshly fallen ash the next?

You know what. He didn’t want to know. If the kid knew how to do puppy dog eyes, then he knew how. That was that, but after today Janus would not be falling for them again.

“Name.” He repeated, impatiently gesturing for the boy to follow him as he tugged his hat down over his eyes. “Else I’ll make one up and I guarantee you will not like it.” 

The boy was by his side in a flash, golden sparks swirling. “Logan.” He said, adjusting his glasses with a small smile. “My name is Logan.”

[heavenunderthemoon]

Pinky Promise {Jennifer Jareau x daughter! reader}

Summary: JJ, coming from a small town with hardly any sexual education that wasn't abstinence- centric, found herself pregnant. You, her daughter, await her return from another case leading to an interesting conversation between the Jareau girls when she arrives home. 

Warnings: teenage pregnancy, extreme fluff

Author’s note: I have a lot of content ideas for this concept so should I just post a lot of blurbs? Idk let me know what y'all think. Also, I didn't put an age for the reader in here because I don't want to exclude anyone so if you are looking for one you won’t find it, anyways enjoy lovelies<3

Rainbow sock clad feet pattered against the house's carpeted floors, the small two bedroom home quiet in the early morning hours.

Typically, you didn't wake this early. You had far outgrown the age in which your internal clock matched that of the rising sun. Your mother attributed your abnormal sleep schedule to the amount of coffee you drank, though you simply pointed the finger right back at her. You learned your caffeine addiction from the best, after all.

No, you didn't normall wake up this early but this morning you had because today was Tuesday. Tuesday's typically help very little importance. You had school, of course, soccer practice afterward and then homework until it was time for bed (very riveting). But this Tuesday was different because it had been precisely five days that your mother had been gone and she had called last night to tell you that she would be home by the time you woke up.

Your first response had been that you would stay up, waiting for her until she arrived. Sometimes you could get away with that. If the jet landed around nine she didn't mind you pushing back your sleep schedule just for her. But, she was still your mother and she still had her limitations. It'll be too late, your mother had whispered into the line, afraid of waking her coworkers. You had protested, but the sleepy yawns had made you sigh defeatedly, telling her to be safe before giving in to your fatigue.

But, none of that mattered now, because as your hand pushed open the door to your mother's bedroom, you recognized the lump underneath the blankets strewn across the bed. You had taken up knitting over the past year- when your mother was gone Garcia was typically tasked with checking in or even staying the night at times and she had taught you the skill. A tuft of blonde hair peeked out from one side of the bed and you grinned tiredly, not hesitating to climb onto the queen sized mattress.

You remembered those days not too many years ago. The days before your mother had gotten her job at the BAU, still struggling as a single mother in school, supporting her child all by herself. The days that had you two sharing beds in a teeny-tiny apartment. You hadn't minded all too much and, though you probably wouldn't admit it aloud, you missed it sometimes, falling asleep in her arms.

As you clambered into the sheets your mother's eyes fluttered open, a lazy smile coming onto her features. She looked as she always did after coming home from cases- tired, drained, but happy to see you. She turned her body to face you, a deep breath being exhaled as she pulled you into her side, a soft kiss being placed onto your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feeling, humming in response.

"Hi, baby." Her words were jumbled, exhaustion seeping through her tone but she smiled all the same, keeping her forehead connected with yours while she caressed your cheek.

She recalled all those years ago, discovering she was pregnant in that small town of hers. The scandal of her teen pregnancy had been the talk of the town up until the moment she left, and then hardships bigger than gossip had come. Having you, alone with no support system, clutching the hand of the kind nurse at the hospital. The small apartments, intense couponing, food stamps, and learning to sew baby clothes to save costs. So many years of struggling and she wouldn't trade a second of it because it had given her you.

Her daughter. A sweet, and funny, and kind girl who was more like her best friend than her kid. The kind of girl she called at least twice a day when on a case, wanting to hear every single detail about her daughter's day and answered when you asked about hers.

"I missed you." You whispered back, voice raspy from sleep. "How was the case?" You asked even if you knew you wouldn't get all the details.

"Hard, but it's over." The blonde responded truthfully, relief taking over her features and her eyes suddenly lit up, as if just remembering something. "How did your essay go? Total hit? Book deals completely flooding our mailbox?" She teased, and you chuckled, shaking your head at her goofiness.

"A-plus." You boated before wiggling your eyebrows. "No book deals yet, but I'll keep my ear to the ground." You quipped back and she laughed, heaving a small sigh afterward.

Staring at you, only a small amount of light from her sun-shaped nightlight (she had a weird obsession with the sun that you liked to tease her for, buying her sun shaped everything - even a spoon that she always used to eat cereal with). It provided just enough light to see your eyes staring back at her, the eyes that she had created with that old boyfriend of hers in high school, the teenage boy skipping town as soon as she had told him the news. She recalled seeing those eyes when you were born, solidifying the love she had felt growing as each day had passed with you in her belly. The eyes that, as soon as they had opened, your mouth opening to let out that beautiful, ear splitting, heart wrenching wail that signified your entrance into the world, had made her fall in love so deeply she felt she was being crushed under the weight of it all.

Guilt ate at her, as it always did. Guilt for not being the perfect, PTA-mom. The mom who made home-made muffins for bake sales or drove you to school everyday. She wasn't negligent, not in the slightest. She knew that. But part of her always feared that you might resent her for the certain spots that she could never quite fill.

"Do you hate me? For not being here all the time?" Jennifer voiced her concerns quietly, and the mere tone of her words made you pause because she seldom took that tone with you. A tone that showed just how afraid she was of her daughter's resentment, a resentment that could easily be caused by how little she was home.

The question alone made you furrow your brows, not hesitating to answer. "What? No!" And you were sitting up because how could you possibly hate her? How could you hate your mother? Your mother who had kept you safe, done everything in her power to make sure you remained that way. The mother who, yes, missed a couple things over the years but always made sure she was there on your birthday and holidays and the really, really important things. You recalled her tradition every year, swinging open your door at the exact moment you were born, regardless of the early hour, and singing you awake. A tiny cupcake in her hand (store-bought because, as discussed, she was an awful cook), a flickering sparkle candle (was a candle really a candle without sparkles?). That look that she gave you under the dimness of that flame, the look that said that she would do anything, go anywhere, be anyone for you. The look that made you know you were safe, and that even if she told you to make a wish you wouldn't even need to make one because you had everything you could ask for.

Jennifer sat up, her hand going to her distressed daughter's back, watching the pure horror on her face.

"I don't hate you, why would I hate you-" You were distraught, voice an octave higher and she shushed you softly, apologizing at once.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry-"

You turned back to her, tilting your head. "Why would you even think that?"

Your eyes scanned her face for any clues while you awaited your answer. She might have been the profiler but you knew your mother. You knew that she absolutely could not go anywhere with mismatched socks. Or that she hated avocado (the texture freaked her out). You knew that, after growing up on a farm, she knew the ins and outs of farm life (she liked to call you a city girl when teasing you and you called her chicken Joe just to get even). You knew that after years of scrimping on luxurious things she still wouldn't allow herself to buy nice things for herself, only for you. And you knew that, being that she was a media liaison, communicating was one of her best traits. So, you listened carefully.

She sighed, scooting to put her back against the headboard, reaching out to pull on the string that would turn on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room, before motioning for you to join her. Her arm stayed out, allowing you to snuggle in, your head falling onto her shoulder before she answered.

"I'm your mom. I'm supposed to be here." she said, eyes trained on the blanket you had made for her last month. You were getting better, this one hadn't yet fallen apart, but it was still a subpar attempt, despite what Garcia had told you.

"You are here." You tried, but the blonde was shaking her head. She had changed from her work clothes, the aforementioned outfit lying abandoned on the floor, the only spot in a very clean room. Her hair that she almost always had down was thrown into a bun and a few pieces lay forgotten in the front, tickling your cheek when she shook her head.

"No, I'm not. I'm on a jet every week, thousands of miles away from my daughter, thinking about what she's doing and who she's with and I feel like I'm missing everything important. And I don't want you to hate me-"

"I could never hate you." You cut her off, and you moved once more, making sure she was looking into your eyes because as much as you knew her, you also knew that she would never really believe you, not about this, and the eye contact would help in the slightest. "You go away every week because those people need you. You go help the people who need you, just like you help me when I need you." She went to protest, but you continued. "And just because you aren't here, doesn't mean you're not here. You're like Patrick Swayze in Ghost, okay? It's like I can still feel your presence-"

Your teasing made her let out a sad chuckle, sighing softly. You smiled at the sound, grabbing her hand.

"I mean it, kid. We're in this for the long haul." You narrowed your eyes playfully, bringing up a pinky.

She smiled and, for just a moment, she could look at you and see the baby she had raised. The small, premature baby that had clutched onto her finger, as if telling her they would make it through the night. The toddler who had turned up her nose at peas, exclusively eating pureed carrots for three months straight. The five year old who had begged her to learn how to ride a bike and then immediately pleaded for her to not let go of the back. 'If you let go, I'll die, I'm sure of it.' You informed seriously. The eight year old reading books twice the normal reading level, or the ten year old adorned in a scarecrow costume, passed out on the couch from eating too much candy. The thirteen year old who had suddenly hit a growth spurt, all your jeans high-watered that she would replace because you would never outright ask for new jeans. And now the you in front of her. The cool, thoughtful, amazing kid that she would never quite understand how she had deserved you.

Bringing her pinky up to yours, interlocking it. "Okay. But, you know that if you ever do resent me- and I'm talking, Mother dearest level kind of resentment you have to tell me so that I can at least play my part."

You smiled, scooting back to your place in her arms. "That takes the fun away."

It was silent for another moment, only the crickets chirping in the backyard heard, before she was speaking once more. "You know, I'm supposed to be the one reassuring you. My old age is making me emotional."

You let your body slump against hers. "We can take turns. If I let you bear that weight alone you might break a hip."

She scoffed, nudging your body. 'Ha-ha, very funny. how about I take Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and you take Tuesdays and Thursdays?"

Your eyes fluttered shut, despite knowing that even with it being far too early for you both to be up there was no way you were going back to sleep. "What about Saturdays and Sundays?"

Jennifer closed her eyes as well, trying to engrain the feeling of your body in her arms while she still had the chance. Before you found cuddling with your mom weird, or before she had to go away on another case and fall asleep alone and in a hotel bed.

"We'll flip a coin for it."

"Fair enough."

[rhysismydaddy]

We’re Fighting (Nessian fluff)

Ik I said I was coming out with Malorian, but when do I ever do anything I say? Anyway, here’s some wrote-in-five-minutes, total fluff/humor for Nessian.

I’ve been releasing a lot of little blurbs recently, so a multi-chapter fic is coming next!

______________________________________________________________

Nesta was on her side, glaring at the wall, when she felt a very heavy, very familiar weight settle into the mattress behind her. The frigidity of her glare increased. 

“Why are you in my bed?” 

She heard that soft, sensuous chuckle she’d always loved a little too much. “Nesta baby, you’re a fucking nutcase. We live together.”

Rolling her eyes, she bit back, “We’re fighting. Sleep on the couch.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, little lady,” he laughed, somehow sensing what she’d done. “And we aren’t fighting. You are pissed off, and won’t tell me what I did. I’m innocent.”

That got her attention. 

“Innocent?” she yelled, whirling around and smacking his shoulder. “Innocent!”

Cassian smiled up at her, always happy to ruffle her feathers, and gripped his shoulder in mock pain. “Naughty, naughty.”

She ignored her body’s response to that and hit him again. He grinned. 

“Innocent as freaking Mary.”

“Sleep on the couch.”

Her boyfriend of over four years scoffed at that idea. “Absolutely not. You bought that thing, which means it’s meant for fucking midgets. I can hardly fit a single butt cheek on it.”

A smile tugged at her lips, but she snuffed it out. “That sounds like a you problem, Cassian.”

“Actually, it sounds like a you problem, because I’m not leaving.” He reinforced his decision by closing his eyes and letting out a loud, obnoxious snore.

Despite herself, she laughed a bit. “If you think that’s going to annoy me, you should really hear yourself when you’re actually asleep. It’s even worse. You sound like a dying moose.”

His golden eyes opened again, bright with humor. “I don’t snore.”

“Yes, you do. Every single night. But it won’t bother me tonight, because you’re going to the couch!”

“I don’t think I am.” 

She cursed him soundly, flopping back down to her pillow. He smiled, closing his eyes again, sure he’d won the argument. An idea formed, and she didn’t even caution herself before leaning over and squeezing his nostrils together tightly. 

His eyes flew open, and he flicked her wrist until she let go. “What are you doing?”

“If you stay in the bed, you’re not going to get an ounce of sleep,” she told him, dead serious. She’d stay up all night if she had to. 

He rolled his eyes, but instead of retorting, just looked at her, eyes drilling holes into her soul. “Why are you mad? Why is what I said at dinner such a big deal?”

Her anger and annoyance threatened to retreat at how soft his voice was. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Big enough for you to try and boot me out of the bed,” he commented.

Nesta rolled her eyes in deflection, turning on her back and looking up at the ceiling. It wasn’t a big deal. 

At least it shouldn’t have been. 

He hadn’t done anything different or unusual. Someone in their friend group had joked about how long they’d been together, and he’d given the company line they’d both said numerous times: “Least we’re not married.”

It was kind of a joke between them. 

When they’d first met six years ago, they’d both decided against getting married. Cassian thought it was pointless, and Nesta had seen firsthand what a bad marriage could do to someone’s spirit. 

Her sisters had even resigned themselves to never being bridesmaids. Everyone had accepted it. 

But for some reason, when he’d said it earlier that night, something in her chest had crumpled. Especially since it was true.

They’d been together for so long, she couldn’t imagine her life without him. But she still called him her boyfriend. Not her husband, not her partner. 

Boyfriend. 

Which, given what she’d learned earlier this week, made it sound like they were in fucking high school. 

“I’m waiting,” he reminded her, poking her in the arm. 

“Just go to sleep, Cas.”

He did no such thing. Propping himself up on an elbow, her boyfriend looked down at her with questioning eyes. He was always so understanding with her, even when she acted insane. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing; you were right. I’m so happy, I’m shooting daisies out of my ass. Goodnight.”

Cassian laughed a little, but didn’t give up the chase.

“Have you changed your mind about getting married?” he asked, way too good at reading her face and emotions. “You’re upset that we’re not married?”

His gaze on her was too much, so she pressed her eyes shut and blocked it out. Despite not being able to see him, she knew he was still right there, waiting. And that he’d continue to wait until she gave in. So she sighed and let the words she’d been holding in loose.

“I’m eight weeks pregnant,” she whispered, ears going into overdrive to pick up his response.

They were met with nothing but silence.

For once in his lifetime, Cassian was silent. 

She wanted to see him, wanted to know his every expression, but was too scared what it might be. 

Curiosity won out in the end, and she peeked her eyes open, only to be stunned by what she saw. 

Instead of nervousness or anger or dread, he was smiling from ear to ear, a look she’d never seen in his eyes. “You’re pregnant?”

Nesta nodded, confused. 

They’d talked about having kids, but they always agreed to wait a few years before even seriously discussing it. But he looked... he looked thrilled. 

Before she could ask, his head came towards hers, and he kissed her softly, then quickly ducked down to rest his head against her chest. She could feel his smile against her skin as his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight to him. 

Then his hands snuck down to her still-flat belly, and he murmured, “I’m going to be a dad.”

She nodded.

“We’re getting married.”

That was a change in topic.

“What?” 

He glanced up at her, eyes still full of so much joy it took her breath away. “You clearly don’t like the idea of being a mom with a boyfriend, so you can have a husband instead.”

The stupid organ in her chest swelled so quickly she thought she might pass out, but she still muttered, “Great. Now all I have to do is find one.”

“You’re so very funny,” he said back, flicking her nose.

His hands were still on her belly. “So you’re not mad?”

“Mad?” He looked at her like she was crazy. “First of all, it takes two to make a baby, so I could never be mad at you. Second, I’ve always wanted to be a dad. And to see you barefoot and pregnant, yelling at me over something stupid.”

She didn’t have time to respond to how true that was likely going to become before he scooted down the bed and began to press kisses all over her stomach and abdomen. 

“You’re giving me the greatest gift possible, Nesta,” he murmured in between kisses, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m so fucking excited.” 

“Me, too,” she whispered back, finally admitting it to herself. 

Because she was excited. He’d make a great dad, and she couldn’t wait to see the child they’d created. 

His cheek against her stomach, Cassian asked, “City hall tomorrow, or a big, fancy wedding with you in a tulle gown and me with my hair slicked back?” 

Nesta flicked the top of his head, even though she couldn’t stop smiling. “City hall tomorrow. It has to be in the afternoon, because I have a doctors appointment in the morning.”

“A baby-related doctors appointment?” he asked, coming back up to hover above her with a small smile on his lips. When she nodded, he said immediately, “I’m coming.”

She raised her eyebrows. 

“I’m coming to all of them.”

Something about that statement, and the fact that he was willing to marry her whenever and wherever she wanted, made another tear escape. He brushed it away with his thumb, looking a little concerned. 

“I love you, Cassian.”

The concern vanished, replaced by nothing short of admiration and love and happiness. “I love you, too. I’ve wanted to marry your stubborn ass since the day I met you. I’ve just been waiting for you to realize you wanted it, too.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, a huge smile on her face. He knew her better than she knew herself sometimes. 

He kissed her softly, both of them grinning like idiots. “Can I sleep in the bed, then?”

She nodded and laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and vowing to never let go.

______________________________________________________________

This made me so happy to write. I’m such a sucker for cheesy fluff. Thanks for reading. Drop prompts/asks in the box :)

@maastrash @sjm-things @bamchickawowow @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life

[lesbianjackies]

100 followers!!!

so i kind of already made a post about this but this is more explaining what i want to do

so there are four options: you can be shipped with a character, given some headcanons, i can write a short blurb for you with a prompt, or you can ask me a question.

characters:

harry potter

ron weasley

hermione granger

ginny weasley

neville longbottom

luna lovegood

fred weasley

george weasley

draco malfoy

cedric diggory

james potter

lily evans

sirius black

remus lupin

tom riddle

shipping guidelines:

please tell me the gender of the character, a little bit about yourself, your hogwarts house, and what you look for in a partner in an ask.

headcanon guidelines:

give me what you want the headcanons to be about, your pronouns, your hogwarts house, a bit of information about you, the characters you would like to be included, and your relationship with them.

blurb prompts and guidelines:

send me the number of the prompt and the category it is in, which character you would like it to be with, a bit about yourself, your pronouns, and your hogwarts house.

sibling prompts:

1. *after a big fight* “okay i don’t know if you’re still mad but there’s this really funny video - “ 2. *walks into room, stands there and says nothing for like ten seconds, and walks out, leaving the door open* 3. “i know i said i loved you but that was only cause i thought you were gonna die.” 4. “idiot is actually a term of endearment.” 5. “ah, fiddlesticks.” “hey, i know things are tense right now, but let’s watch the fucking language.” 6. “awkward sibling hug?” “awkward sibling hug.” 7. “please don’t tell mum/dad about this. i’ll give you five knuts-” 8. *at 3:00 am* “hey do you wanna get pancakes?” “it’s... 3:00 in the morning?” “denny’s never sleeps and neither do i.” 9. “you look just like your brother/sister!” “thanks, it’s always been my dream to look like a sack of rotting potatoes.” 10. “have you seen my *article of clothing*?” *wearing that exact thing* “...no.” 11. *actually getting along for once but get in trouble for being too loud* 12. “i ate the brownies in the fridge were those yours?” “yeah it’ll kick in soon.” “what’ll kick in? SERIOUSLY WHAT - “ 13. “stop it.” “i’m not touching you though.” “it’s still annoying - “ 14. *barely hits sibling* *sibling starts crying exaggeratedly to get parents attention* “wait no no no you’re fine it’s okay please don’t tell mum i’ll get you ice cream wait - “ 15. *blasts music at 3:00 am* “if i have to hear marina diamandis screaming about spoons chasing her one more time i will cut your fingers off - “ 16. constant “oh, you’re _____’s sibling.” 17. get along shirt 18. “i’m too short to reach it.” “need me to pick you up?” 19. “hello, child.” “...i’m seventeen now.” “still a child in my eyes, kiddo.” 20. “you’re not my mum/dad!” “yeah, but i’m your older sibling, and that’s basically the same thing.” 21. *trying to sneak into a movie using the trench coat thing* “this is not going to work.” “not if you don’t shut up!” 22. “i’m not a child anymore.” “well you’re still my baby sibling, so you are not going anywhere.” 23. “you like them!!!” “i do not!!!” 24. “i’m honestly really proud of [name].” “i heard that! are you going soft?” 25. *doing homework* “i have no idea how to do this.” “honestly, do you ever actually pay attention in class? it’s simple, let me show you.”

platonic prompts:

1. *singing karaoke* “you’re an awful singer.” “oh, please, like you could do it any better.” “watch me.” 2. “are you awake?” “i am now. thanks for that.” 3. *drawing each other* “whoa... that’s actually really good.” “and yours is rubbish.” “stick figure [name] is very offended by that statement.” 4. *teaching you how to play quidditch* “look!!! i threw the ball!!!” “the quaffle, and you missed the goalposts by like three feet.” 5. *at hogsmeade* “will you buy me this?” “get it yourself!” “early birthday present!” “your birthday isn’t for months!” 6. “i have come to babysit you.” “like you’re not the one who gets me into trouble.” 7. *watching a movie* “what is she holding?” “a cellphone.” “a what? muggles are so weird.” 8. “see? i told you my cookies were good.” “maybe, but the kitchen is a mess, so i’m taking off taste points anyway.” 9. “what do you have?” “...a kitten...” “where did you get it?” “she was in a box and her name is rue and i’m keeping her you have no say in the matter!” 10. “truth or dare?” “dare.” “i dare you to give me five galleons.” “no - “ “are you chicken?” “of course not here’s my money - “ 11. “will you look over my history of magic essay?” “i don’t have to, i already know that every word of it is wrong.” 12. *throws a pillow at their head* “you have chosen death.” 13. “look! a color changing ink bottle!” “we are here for school supplies and school supplies only. put it down.” “you’re no fun.” 14. “you’re doing this all wrong!” “no i’m not, look at the instructions.” “you idiot, they’re upside down!” 15. “why are you hiding from [name]???” “i stole their chocolate frogs and i’m genuinely terrified of their reaction when they find out.” 16. “where are we going?” “nowhere.” “then why are we in a car?” “because i like driving.” “that’s stupid.” “you’re stupid.” 17. *meeting for the first time* “you are such an idiot. i think you’re going to become my best friend.” 18. “i am NOT going to ask them out for you!” “but you’re my best friend!” “so???” “i’ll give you a galleon.” “fine.” 19. “you’re decorating the tree wrong!” “how do you decorate a tree wrong???” “you do it the way you’re doing it!” 20. “you eat like a pig.” “at least pigs are cute.” “more like a warthog then.” 21. “are we actually gonna talk?” “no shut up i’m trying to read.” 22. “okay but 18 is definitely the worst multiple of nine.” “i LIKE 18.“ “but it’s even!! even numbers are the worst.” “no ODD numbers are the worst they’re so pretentious.” “okay well even numbers are boring.” “you’re boring.” (that was an actual conversation i had with my friend) 23. “look, it’s gonna be okay. i know it’s hard right now, but you will get through this. i’m here for you.” 24. “you are ruining everything!” “all i did was get pink cups i don’t understand - “ 25. “watch watch the ball is gonna drop.” “muggles are so weird all this excitement over a ball dropping - “ “shut UP and WATCH.”

romantic fluff prompts:

1. *hits you in with knee while you’re in bed* “ow! you kneed me.” *half asleep* “yeah, i do need you.” 2. “you’ve been having nightmares? oh, baby, come on, you can sleep with me.” 3. “you are so unbelievably breathtaking right now.” 4. *with a stupid grin on their face* “i love it when you laugh.” 5. “aww, baby, it’s sweet that you tried to cook for me, but this is disgusting.” 6. “you like marina? oh yeah, i love her.” “really? what’s your favorite song by her?” “ummm... the one where... she sings...” 7. “are you tired?” “no, i wanna keep dancing with you.” 8. “if you try to tickle me one more time, i swear, you will not get another kiss for a week.” 9. “your voice is beautiful.” “you heard me???” “oh... yeah, sorry...” 10. “i don’t want to forget this moment.” 11. “the view is lovely.” *staring at you* “lovely indeed...” 12. “here’s a concept... me and you married.” 13. “happy birthday!” “my birthday isn’t for another month, babe.” 14. “here, take my sweater.” 15. “i’m fine, love, really.” “no, you’re not. i’m staying here to take care of you.” 16. “this is definitely going in the photo album.” 17. “it’s really nice here.” “be nicer if you took off your shirt.” “[NAME] - “ 18. “you’re such an idiot.” “but i’m your idiot.” 19. “wanna bet?” 20. “no, no you move your foot here - OW!” 21. “i brought you dinner.” 22. “will you watch a movie with me?” “no, muggles are weird.” “we can cuddle...” “okay, fine.” “yay!!!” 23. “i fall deeper in love with you every day.” 24. “you are really bad at this game.” “no i’m not! i’m just trying to let you win because i love you.” “sure.” 25. “i’ll carry you if you’re that tired.”

romantic angst prompts:

1. “this will be the last time you lie to me.” 2. “you know it’s not like that.” 3. “how could you think this wouldn’t hurt me?” 4. “you’re never going to be the same after this, are you?” 5. “i think it would’ve been better if we’d never met.” 6. “i can’t believe you would even think about leaving me like this.” 7. “you never loved me, did you?” 8. “it didn’t have to be like this, but now you’ve ruined everything.” 9. “i hope you’re happy.” 10. *crying* “if only you’d kept your mouth shut, then you’d still be here.” 11. “what did you want once this was all through? tell me!” 12. “now i have to deal with the consequences of your actions. thanks, it means a lot.” 13. “you could’ve-you could’ve stayed. you could’ve helped me fix things.” 14. “i knew you’d never change. you were too stubborn, too similar to me.” 15. “this isn’t going to be fixed. you’ve ruined this for good now.” 16. “i hope i’m not put in the same part of hell as you.” 17. “when are you going to hurt me again? today? tomorrow?” 18. “you’re back in my life and i want to die again.” 19. “you only ever brought me pain and i’m sick of it.” 20. “i hope you got what you wanted.” 21. “you made me miserable and i still loved you.” 22. “when you die, i’ll be the first to dance on your grave.” 23. “don’t underestimate me. i have more power than you could even comprehend.” 24. “we’re never going to have a happy ending. just remember that.” 25. “if you only knew what you’ve brought upon yourself.”

disclaimer: i did not come up with any of the angst prompts myself. i got them here.

question guidelines:

i will not answer any questions that require me to share any personal information about myself, so don’t even bother asking them. i also will not talk about politics, so don’t ask me something that relates to that either. anything else is welcome! thank you!