#they're showing pity for something they think you're missing out on

[cowboyfromh3ll]

gonna keep the shy reader hcs party going and kindly request how arthur, john, and charles (and any other characters you might have added) would tease her once they’ve been together for a little while. who likes flustering her the most and who would get away with it the longest before she realizes he’s doing it on purpose 👀 as for the smutty part, what’s their favorite ways to rile her up before taking pity and giving her what she wants (i imagine some would be nicer than others lol)

Shy!Reader HC Ft. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Charles Smith (Smut)

Y'all love your shy reader hcs

Warnings: smut

Arthur Morgan

I feel like Arthur wouldn't be too big of a tease but when he is, they're very non consequential things

You fell off your horse? You were hunting together and missed the shot by a lot? You hurt yourself trying to do something daring on a job? He'd be like omg come over here lemme fix it for you baby

His goal is never to make you feel less than or somehow incompetent with his teasing

But oh you got syrup all over your face and hands? You buttoned your shirt incorrectly? You snort when you laugh? He's gonna keep going until you're blushing and giggling at him to stop

Even if there's nothing wrong with your outfit he'll go over to you and find SOMETHING to fix

Will spend an unnecessary amount of time fixing your collar or scarf

It'd probably be pretty easy to tell what he's trying to do, not very slick

Would compliment you to try and make you blush but he just ends up making himself blush

If you're insecure over something he'll make sure to compliment that aspect of you over and over again

Flirts with the idea of marriage and kids one day and that'll have you SWOONING

Sometimes he'll rub your belly when you talk about it and it'll make you CRUMBLE

NSFW

Oh he's gonna be such a big tease, and he'll do it perfectly

Does it in a way that can be passed off as accidentally and goes unnoticed by anyone else but you

Rubs his crotch on you while making his way past behind you

Subtly brushes your thigh or ass with his hand

Kisses up your neck until you're all hot and bothered and pulls away before saying he's gotta do something

If y'all are sitting around a table in a group setting he'll have you on his lap so you can feel him harden. Keeps playing poker like nothing

If you're sitting next to him he'll place his hand on your inner thigh but never moving it close enough to where you want it

His favorite way to rile you up is to touch you all over during make outs then never going past that

Takes pity on you when he sees you get genuinely frustrated, thinks it's hilarious though

Charles Smith

He's so subtle with it that you wouldn't even catch it until a few seconds later

You gotta think about it before you truly get it

You could complain about how hot it is and he'll recommend you take off your clothes

Oh you say your backs hurting? Charles recommended course of action is visiting him at his tent tonight so he can fix it wink wink

You'll actually show up and he'll actually be surprised you haven't gotten it yet

Will give you a massage nonetheless

Would take you a while to pick up on it and that's the beauty of it to Charles

Would do things without the intention of making you blush but if he notices something does he'll keep at it

You like it when he plays with your hair? Then he'll braid it and put flowers in it and rave about how beautiful it is

Hands you flowers and tells you it reminded him of you

Makes you little trinkets and objects and says the most flowery things about how he tried to make it a fraction of how beautiful you are

NSFW

Like his aforementioned forms of teasing, he'll do just that

In fact, in times where you do catch on, he'll pretend like he never meant it that way and you're the one who's trying to get something going

Will give you THAT LOOK when you're together in public and you BOTH know you won't be able to do anything for hours

During make outs he'll rub your inner thighs or ass or sides but never touching you where you need it.

His hands are very light, his touches never heavy handed

He'd give in real easy to you. Just pout or give him puppy eyes and he'll give in

Even being bold enough to tell him what you want will have him in a trance

He's a giver so he can never deny you for too long for his own satisfaction

John Marston

Oh my God his teasing definitely goes too far

I don't mean that in a cute way I mean he probably ends up hurting your feelings because he does not know when to stop

Sucks at flirting

Your shy nature just makes it more awkward

But once you get used to his failed attempts at being coquettish you'll be able to recognize when he's trying to flirt

Is probably super obvious when he's trying and when he's successful he'll actually make you blush

His successful attempts are probably unintentional. Says something he won't think will land but is surprised when it works

Excuses himself for a moment and celebrates a few feet away before turning like normal

He has like a time to cool down on successful flirting. Only successful once every three days or something like that

Tries to compliment you but it comes out awkwardly and stiff

If you say something back slightly flirty he's gonna blank and not know how to continue from there

As soon as he approaches you and says "uhh.. hey" you already know what he's trying to do

Opposite of Arthur so he WILL tease you for falling off your horse

Awkwardly hugs you and pats your shoulder if you cry while apologizing profusely

NSFW

Can't rile you up for too long without exciting himself

Keeps his arm on your lower back and dips his fingers inside your waist band

Type to pull on your overalls (if you wear em) and lets them snap back into you

Will come up behind you and rub his stubble into your neck before whispering filthy things into your ear

Likes it when you put up a little playful resistence

If y'all are sitting down somewhere together he'll put his hand on your ankle before running it up under your skirt

Ends up giving in mostly because HE can't take it anymore and is too excited

[kominigiru]

im gonna start dumping my one-shots here from now on just bc. also posted on ao3!

satoru's guide to wedding day blunders

contains: female reader, fluff, crack, gojo being a menace, reader and toge are siblings, shoko and nanami being so done with satoru's shenanigans part 1 - part 2 (both in ao3)

Gojo Satoru is late to his own wedding.

You stand at the altar, fingers clenched around your bouquet, doing everything you can to keep from grinding your teeth. Shoko, standing to your right as your maid of honor, is shooting you sympathetic looks, while Nanami on the left looks like he's one deep sigh away from physically dragging Satoru here himself.

Your family sits in the front row, their faces showing various degrees of irritation, disappointment, and—worst of all—pity. They're whispering among themselves, making no effort to hide the glances they cast toward you, or the fact that they're annoyed on your behalf.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the noise. When you open them again, your mother is already halfway up the aisle, moving toward you with a determined look in her eyes.

"Sweetheart," she says, barely acknowledging Shoko and Nanami. "It's been over an hour. I think it's time to accept that maybe this wedding… isn't happening."

You stiffen, fingers going numb around your bouquet. Cancel?

Nanami sighs heavily, crossing his arms. "She has a point. Gojo's behavior today is completely unacceptable. It reflects poorly on him, and worse, on you. We can reschedule."

Shoko snorts in agreement. "Yeah, even I'm tired of waiting, and I'm not the one at the altar. Typical Satoru."

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't speak often—as your Cursed Speech makes casual conversation risky—but the urge to say something now presses hard against your chest. Before you can figure out how to respond, you feel a tug on your gown.

You glance down to see your younger brother, Toge, standing at your side, his tiny arms wrapping around your waist in a comforting hug.

"Aniki's late," Toge mutters, his voice barely audible.

The way he says it tugs at your heartstrings. Even your usually patient brother is starting to lose hope.

Suddenly, with perfect, almost theatrical timing, the heavy church doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a deafening thud. You don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

"Sorry I'm late!" Satoru's voice rings out, loud and unapologetic, echoing through the silent church.

You finally turn, and there he is, Gojo Satoru, standing in the doorway like he's just walked in from some casual errand and not his own wedding. His hair is tousled, his sunglasses perched on top of his head, and he's grinning like this is all some kind of joke.

Satoru saunters down the aisle, waving casually at the guests. "Miss me?"

Your family collectively groans, and you can feel Nanami's simmering rage without even looking at him. Shoko rolls her eyes dramatically, muttering something about "classic Gojo" under her breath. You, however, stay rooted in place, fingers tightening their grip on your bouquet.

Satoru reaches the altar, looking perfectly at ease, as though he hasn't just kept an entire wedding party waiting for over an hour. He slides up next to you, his grin widening when he sees the expression on your face.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says softly, leaning in just enough for only you to hear. "Sorry about that. Had to deal with a curse situation. You know how it is. Life of a sorcerer and all that."

You stare at him, your mouth a tight line.

You've gotten used to Satoru's antics over the years, but even for him, this is too much. Still, speaking directly, even to scold him, could have unintended consequences thanks to your cursed technique, so instead, you breathe deeply through your nose and give him a pointed glare.

"Ah… right," Satoru says, catching on. "You’re upset. Understandable."

Nanami, who's been silent up until now, finally speaks up, his voice thick with irritation. "You're lucky we haven't already canceled the ceremony."

Shoko nods. "An hour late, Satoru? Even for you, that's ridiculous."

Satoru throws up his hands in mock defense. "Okay, okay, I know! But hey, at least I showed up, right? That's what matters."

You can feel the tension radiating from the entire room, but before you can think of how to express your feelings in a way that doesn��t result in your cursed speech accidentally knocking everyone unconscious, you feel a tug at your dress again.

You glance down, and Toge is looking up at you with wide, concerned eyes. "Tuna mayo," he says softly, which is his way of saying, Are you okay?

You crouch down slightly, giving Toge a reassuring smile and patting his head. It's a small moment, but it helps ground you. You straighten up, turning back to Satoru, who's watching the interaction with a sheepish grin.

"Look," he starts, "I know I messed up. Big time. But hey," he adds, flashing a grin, "You know you love me anyway, right?"

You stare at him for a long moment, taking in his disheveled appearance, his unshakable confidence, and his infuriating grin. Despite everything, despite the frustration, the embarrassment, and the whispers from your family, you can’t help but feel the corners of your mouth twitch upward.

Maybe it’s because this is so typically Satoru—unpredictable, chaotic, and yet, somehow, charming in his own way.

You take a deep breath and raise your hand to his chest, pressing two fingers lightly against him. It's a gesture you often use when you can't speak, one that means I forgive you, but don't do it again.

Satoru's grin softens, and he takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "I promise," he says, and for once, there's no teasing in his tone. "I won't mess up again. Well, not today, at least."

Nanami clears his throat. "We'll see about that."

Shoko shrugs. "Honestly, I'm just impressed you got here at all."

Toge, ever the voice of simplicity, tugs on Satoru's sleeve and mutters, "Okaka."

Satoru gasps dramatically. "Betrayed by a child! I thought we were family, Toge!"

Toge just crosses his arms, unimpressed, as you all share a quiet laugh at Satoru's expense.

Satoru turns back to you, his grin back in full force. "So, what do you say we make this official, huh?"

You glance at the altar, the officiant who's been waiting patiently, and then back at Satoru. Slowly, you nod.

Satoru's face lights up, and with a flourish, he turns to the officiant. "Alright! Let's get married before anything else decides to go wrong!"

As the ceremony finally begins, you can't help but feel a mix of exasperation and fondness swelling in your chest. Life with Satoru will never be predictable, but as you look at him now, standing beside you, you know one thing for certain: it will always be interesting.

And in his own chaotic way, you know that Satoru loves you—enough to show up late to your wedding but still make you smile in the end.

You squeeze his hand once more and and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead and whisper, "I love you, too."

—

Later that night, after the wedding reception winds down and everyone heads home, you and Satoru return to your shared house. You're still wearing your wedding dress, and he's got his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, looking as carefree as ever. He's been trying to sweet-talk you the whole way back, as if he hadn’t shown up an hour late to your own wedding.

"Come on, sweetheart, it wasn't that bad." He grins, nudging you with his elbow. "Everyone had a good laugh, right?"

You give him a sidelong glance, your silence speaking volumes.

"Okay, okay, maybe I pushed it a little. But hey, I made it in the end, didn't I? That's what counts!" He flashes his signature smile, the one that usually gets him out of trouble.

You pause at the front door, turning to look at him. For a moment, he thinks he's won you over. You're smiling, after all. But then, without a word, you toss him a single pillow.

Satoru catches it with a confused look. "Uh…what's this?"

You gesture to the pillow and point to the roof.

His smile falters. "Wait, wait, wait, hold on. You're not serious, right?" His laugh is nervous now. "You forgave me at the altar! We're good! We're married now!"

You shrug and head inside, but before he can follow, you turn around, blocking the doorway with your body. His eyes widen in panic.

"Come on! I can't sleep on the roof on our wedding night! People will talk! Nanami will find out and he will never let me live it down!"

Your only response is a raised eyebrow, and you slowly, deliberately, start to close the door.

Satoru jams his foot in the door with a dramatic gasp. "But I thought you loved me!"

You don't need cursed speech for this one. You give him a sweet, innocent smile—the kind of smile that would normally melt him on the spot. But tonight, it just spells doom for him. He knows that smile. It's the smile that means, "I do love you, but you're not getting away with this."

He groans. "Seriously? After all the curses I've fought, this is how I go down?" He leans his head dramatically against the doorframe, clutching his pillow like a lifeline. "Sleeping on the roof like a stray cat? Come on, babe, be reasonable!"

You sigh, your patience wearing thin. He's still whining.

With a subtle tap into your cursed technique, you say the words that you've been holding back all night. "Sleep on the roof tonight."

The power of your cursed speech echoes through the air, and Satoru visibly flinches. His body moves on its own, turning toward the roof like a puppet on strings.

"W-wait! No! I take it back! I take it back! You don't have to use that—"

But it's too late. His legs betray him, carrying him toward the roof with a dramatic flair, like he's being pulled by some invisible force. You watch as he scrambles helplessly, pillow tucked under one arm as he clambers up to his new "bed" for the night.

From the roof, you hear him groan, his voice tinged with betrayal. "But I'm your husband now! Doesn't that mean anything?!"

You close the door, letting out a small chuckle. Behind it, you hear him muttering to himself in frustration.

"Of all the things to use your cursed speech for..." he grumbles. "Could've just told me you were mad! But noooo, had to make me sleep outside on the night of my own wedding!"

You hear some shuffling from the roof, and then: "At least give me a blanket! It's cold up here!"

You open a window just wide enough to toss him a thin, scratchy blanket, watching it float up to where he's perched.

"Thanks," he mutters sarcastically. "This’ll totally keep me warm."

There's silence for a few moments before his voice drifts down again.

"I'm sorryyyyy!" he yells, his voice carrying through the night air. "I'll never be late again, I swear! I'll be early to everything! Our anniversaries, your birthday, breakfast—you name it! I'll never mess up again!"

You shake your head, smirking to yourself, knowing full well that's a promise he'll break within the month. But for tonight, the roof will teach him a lesson.

From the roof, you hear a long, pitiful sigh. "I thought married life would be more… cozy. Not like… this."

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of grumbling, he goes quiet, probably giving in to the reality of his situation. The stars twinkle overhead, and for a moment, all is peaceful.

Until—

"I bet Nanami's gonna find out and give me that look tomorrow." His voice suddenly perks up again, this time with a hint of dread. "You know the one. The 'I told you so' look. Ugh, I hate that look…"

You roll your eyes, closing the window fully this time, knowing that his whining will eventually tire him out. But still, you can't help but smile.

You know he'll be back to his usual antics by tomorrow, but for now, he can enjoy the roof.

As you settle into bed, you can faintly hear Satoru one last time from outside.

"You'll miss me eventually! No one can resist my charm!"

You smile into your pillow. Not tonight, Satoru. Not tonight.

[luveline]

hiii, can i have a blurb with emily, it can be literally about anything, i miss her and you write her impeccably ✨🥺

thank you ♡

Emily frowns at her computer screen. She's been having a hard time using the new system, and she can't stop batting at the feathered bangs that kiss her eyebrows, an agitated tic. 

She really doesn't like admitting that she can't do things. 

You rifle through your desk drawer. A few weeks ago you'd stopped for throat soothers on the way to work and found a packet of strawberry flavoured mentos at the gas station. I love the strawberry flavour, Emily'd said once, but I don't like any of the other ones. It feels like too much of a waste to buy the bag. 

You bought them. Chickened out on giving them to her. They're still sealed. 

"Hey," you say quietly, careful not to draw the attention of her deskmates. If Spencer or Derek were to witness this, they'd both laugh at you. Everyone knows how you feel except Emily, because isn't that always the way? "Emily?" 

She immediately turns her attention and concern to you, her eyes so dark and pretty it makes you feel sick. "Hey," she says, her voice dulcet, near melodic, "you okay?" 

"I got you these." 

You pass her the box of mentos without fuss. 

Her lips part in shock before melding to a smile that brags the pearl of her teeth. "Oh my god. Where did you find these?" Her gaze flickers between you and her newfound treasure. "How did you–" 

"I remembered, um, when we went to Austin, you," —you look down at her hands— "said you liked only the strawberry ones. So when I saw them I hoped you'd like them."

"Have you ever tried them?"

You rub at the inside of your wrist. "No." 

Emily's chair rattles as she stands, and mentos hit the sides of the box as she breaks the seal with her finger and tips a few into her palm. They're a light pink and smell strongly of strawberry, though there's a subtle coolness to them. 

"Here," she says. "I think you'll like them." 

You take it because she could offer you little tiny rocks and you'd eat them. You'd smile at her with cracked teeth. Emily doesn't realise how much power she has over you (remarkably) nor the effect of her closeness. You press the mento between your lips and she does the same, beaming this beatific, heart-racing smile at you as strawberry pops over your tongue. 

"They're good, right?" she asks, nearly smug. 

You nod quickly. You're not a reliable narrator and you'd say yes no matter what, but something about looking at her makes them sweet. 

"The– the new computer system, it's buggy, right?" you ask. When she looks at you dumbfounded, you correct, "Non responsive. Doesn't wanna listen." 

"Right?" She looks so relieved that it knocks you off kilter. 

"I think I figured out how to get my emails to stay in one place," you say, aiming for casual, barely making the mark. 

"Could you show me how to do that?" 

You sit in her desk chair at her computer and fix her emails to the desktop. The system isn't buggy, but you want her to feel capable. She is capable. Strawberry mentos over your shoulder, her hand resting on the back of her chair, fingertips brushing your back and silky dark hair skimming your shoulder, she's perfect. 

Spencer meets your eye from over the desktop monitors. He, of similar disposition, seems to be commending you on your demeanour with widened eyes and a small nod. 

Derek, on the other hand, taunts. "Is it hot in here?" he asks, fanning himself with his t-shirt. 

Emily leans over your shoulder to grab a case file from her desk, tossing it onto Derek's. "You can fan yourself with that once you've peer reviewed it for me." 

Spencer shakes his head in pity. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Emily asks you, looking down. "Are you hot too? You look flustered." 

"I'm feeling it," Spencer says. 

"Huh. I must be cold blooded," she says under her breath, the exhale tickling your neck. "Weird." 

[plantsjustwannahavefun]

I keep seeing so many people here getting angry that this season is "vilifying Ed", and it's depressingly fascinating to see how others can watch the same show and somehow see something completely different. Is it simply the lack of media literacy? Is it the inability to appreciate and enjoy complex, nuanced, morally grey characters without willfully blocking out anything even slightly unpalatable about them to the point where the character they think they love isn't really that character anymore?

Because, uh... Season 1 already "vilified" Ed plenty. Except "vilify" is the wrong word, of course. It wasn't in any way malicious or mean-spirited, quite the contrary, it was often played as comedic (until the end of episode 10 when it was anything but) - Ed was always meant to be a sympathetic character, he's a protagonist after all, and the show's portrayal of him is very compassionate. It merely refused to sugarcoat or shy away from his darker side. He's literally history's most famous pirate, you don't become one by being nice and treating everyone gently. He ambushed and strangled his own father to death when he was like 9 years old (100% deserved and justifiable ofc, but it still bears saying it out loud like this just to comprehend how unhinged this actually was). He loves torturing and maiming people for fun, and sometimes even animals (that scene with forcing a turtle to fight a crab). He didn't give a fuck about his crew members dying to satisfy his whim to meet Stede. He entirely failed in his role as a captain in ep 4. He effectively played a double agent with Izzy and Stede for a while before changing his mind. He attempted to murder Lucius. And while you could try to argue his punishment of Izzy was at least to some degree deserved, not only cutting Izzy's toe off but forcing him to eat went beyond punishment, it was sadistic torture.

So, yeah, please just read all that and take it in. And then remember once again that Ed is also a traumatised, lonely, depressed, sensitive, creative, curious, deeply passionate person yearning for true love and for something different in life... just like Stede. He loves music and can play the piano. He wrote a very vulnerable song and sand his heart out. He likes his tea with seven sugars. He enjoys fashion and dressing up. He has such a limitless sense of wonder for the world. He went on a trek with Stede just to make him happy, even though he hated nature and was in a shit mood that day. He wants to host a talent show. He wants to become free. He's clever and funny and fascinating. I love Ed.

Yes, it's possible to reconcile those two sides of him and accept both sides as the "real" Ed. You have to reconcile the two sides if you want to enjoy him as a character, because if you don't, you're going to either detest him to the core (which would make enjoying the show practically impossible since he's sort of a main character...), or you'll only be able to enjoy a diminished, crippled, cardboard cutout version of his character, which would be such a pity and a massive disservice to the creators of this show who worked hard to create interesting, multidimensional characters.

Not to mention you'd be missing one of the core messages of the show - the idea that people still deserve love and can be loved even if they're imperfect, or not necessarily good people. Because love is a human condition. It's not a sole dominion of "good" people. "Bad" people can fall in love too - even if, just like them, that love isn't exactly "nice" or "pure", and neither are the relationships that stem from it. They can be messy and exasperating. But "bad" people can also grow and change because of it. That's what OFMD is ultimately about - growth and change, learning to accept yourself but also become better. That can't happen if the character is already 100% perfect the way they are.Ed is far from that. So is Izzy. They can both become better, and they both still deserve compassion and understanding, because that's the environment people need to become better.

So, if you're mad that at the start of S2 the crew are sympathetic to Izzy's suffering and want to help him instead of kicking him when he's down, and what Ed did to him is being acknowledged as cruel and wrong... congratulations, you have completely missed what OFMD is all about.

[wayfayrr]

The Menace Anon is back but with a Self Aware ask because I got an idea as I tried to mod my Switch. How about that Zelda is aware in the Game? There is already Zelda's Ballade a Mod for BotW so Zelda replaced Link/ Wild. So what about Zelda being the one who is aware and works together with her Link as in Age of Calamity it's possible to play as Zelda. And now there are two Zeldas and maybe one Link/Calamity as he is probably aware of Reader with all the DLCs and if Reader is anything like me they get 100%. I did that to BotW and am working on it in TotK. Zelda would be extremely clingy especially Flora, BotW Zelda, as she lost everyone who is important to her. Maybe she gets Wild to help her. Fauna and Calamity have Terrako and this little thing shoots through the screen with his laser. TAKE COVER READER!

this is gonna be a funny thing to answer as someone who isn't the fondest of zelda in botw/totk (she had the potential to be really good I just don't vibe with how she was written lmao - so many missed opportunities)

but that also has the potential of introducing the fact of what if you didn't like the characters story when they were aware - because that would be awful for her wouldn't it?

she loves you more than anything but because of the way her story was written you don't like her? Even going as far as to apologise to link about what he got put through in the story? so she's stuck hearing you give him your pity as she's trying her HARDEST to get you to see her in another light, while link is either looking on smugly at your blatant favouritism or staring on blankly as he is simply a puppet of the game who isn't even alive either one being a good spark to why she'd be more willing to work with the aoc pair.

I think they'd have more potential to work together in aoc as compared to either botw/totk (also time to give cal some time in the spotlight like you mentioned) seeing as he has the most "history" with zelda, whereas wild/tears have no incentive to (they're the only playable character so what does she have on them?)

Zelda from her actions alone at the opening also seems to be more reckless in her safety than link, so her hopping into another game earlier than when she'd have a good grasp on how to do it without many issues seems in character for her. hence, now there's two different zeldas in your aoc file? That shouldn't be something that happens right? you've watched the cutscene many times and she never appeared with the other botw characters - so why is she here now? But the other members seem to acknowledge her so maybe you're just misremembering? They'll make sure to keep a note of anyone who might try to convince you otherwise as well.

when the three of them finally do get out - and probably after apologising for scorching a wall or something, then they have the perfect place to start winning you over properly <3 trying to prove to you that they're more than simply the character that Nintendo wrote them as, that you should give them a chance to show you how much they care for you!!!

just, just don't choose link over them, else you may not see much of him anymore - as while they can work together, they aren't exactly willing to work with a threat, but as long as you treat them equally there's no issue right?

[dinogoofymutated]

    “We are a couple, yes? I was under the impression you wanted to take things slowly.” He smiles. You think back to every time he walked you to your room, or helped you in the kitchen, or brought you gifts, and wonder if you really had been missing all the signs to the point where you were clueless about your own romantic relationship with him.” -That one fic where Y/N ogles at farmboy Piotr (ALSO WDYM SUNDRESS)

     “You know, I get that we’re on two different sides of things- but you know that the school’s doors are always open to those who need it, right?” You ask, late one night after he had crawled into bed by your side. You were facing him, hand curling on the pillow an inch away from his face, fighting the urge to brush his bangs away from his forehead. Immediately, he has a negative reaction to it. He scowls, recoiling away from you as he glares. You know it should hurt worse than it does, but all you can see is the hurt he's feeling right now.” - Enemies to lovers Pietro

And that one where Morph turns into Warren in a bar, I LOVE those parts

HECK YEAH OKAY SO

1. Piotr legit just thought they were dating the entire time. I know that technically he's a little more blunt and would ask/bring up dating before deciding they're a couple, but for this fic I really wanted to do that one trope so I wrote it in like he just assumed they were together and didn't have a label yet. He knows how nervous and flighty she can be around him and although she hasn't said anything, it's pretty clear to him that she likes him a lot. So he just assumed they they were a couple and she just needed some time to relax around him before they got to the smoochy stuff!!

As for the sundress, it's written In the actual hc parts in like one scentance and then later at the ending but it was originally supposed to be more prominent in the fic!! I just ran out of steam lol. In the original outline, I was gonna have him pull her into his lap while she's struggling for her words (the "I am listening" part) and be distracting her by running his hands up her thighs. It was so cute but I thought that it would be too forward for him to do seeing as he's waited the whole time to be in her comfort level.

2. THE PIETRO FIC GOD I LOVE THAT ONE SO MUCH ITS MY PRIDE AN JOY. My brainchild I'll never have the energy to make into a full fic!! The behind the scenes for this is that Pietro has been getting way in over his head with shit, and every time he returns to reader's room they get closer and closer. Atp he's kinda ignoring the romantic tension because he's just after some comfort. His crawling into her bed to just sleep or cuddle or feel safe is a regular thing by then, and it's starting to make them really worried about Pietro because it's obvious he only goes to her when he's upset (which he is frequently. Totally not over petty things. Definitely not bc he needs an excuse to see her.)

I love writing cherik parallels in their relationship because there's something so tragic about desperately trying to reach someone and let them know that you'd fistfight their demons bare-handed to help them heal, and yet it's those same demons that keep them away from you and make them think you're just there to pity them.

3. THE MORPH FIC ASDGSHAJAJAJ to be honest the behind the scenes for that one was just because I wanted to show how morph projects/Handles their insecurities!! They're trying to "test the waters" and try to find out what the reader's type is because maybe if he becomes more like that type he won't risk the reader leaving (which obs we wouldn't)

(Also I love warren so cameo)

[amiserableseriesofevents]

breaking down mid-hug because they just needed this so much please 🥹🫶🏻

Months later, here I finally am 😅

Thank you Ali for this ask, I hope you'll like this little thing 🥰🥰

Such stuff-verse, post fic, set during the months following the last chapter

The phone rings. One, two, three, four, five rings.

A click. Voicemail.

Sigh.

“Hi dad, it's me. How are you? Mum told me you're ok but I'm, ah, just checking in. So, the show went well! Very well actually, you can read all of it in the paper if you want, they're saying great things about us. About me, specifically! So, yeah, maybe this has been the right time! Pity you missed it, uh? I'll let you know the next dates, maybe you'll catch it. Well, call me when you get the message. Goodbye dad, see ya.”

—

Four rings, voicemail.

“Hi dad, it's me. I had a ticket saved up for you on Friday but they told me no one showed up to collect it. I knew it was a long shot but I really hoped you could finish working a little sooner that night to see the show. I know it's something you don't really like but I think you should give it a chance. It would mean the world to me. I have to go now, talk to you soon. Goodbye.”

—

Straight to voicemail.

“Hey dad! Ellie just told me you went visiting her at Uni last week. I live just two hours away from her now, and on the road back to Wisconsin. I guess you didn't know if I was at home though, with all the touring and stuff; next time I'll tell Ellie to let you know if I'm around so you can come say hi, ok? Love you, talk soon!”

—

“Hi dad, it's John. Long time no see, uh? I don't know if mum told ya but we've just finished touring with the show and I'm going to say hi to Ellie at Uni. I was thinking maybe I could come visit you and mum for a day or two? There's a few things I'd like to talk to you about, if that's ok with you. Call back when you get the message, will you? Ok, bye.”

—

Gale's doing the closing round at the Abbotts when John arrives, sneaking in through the exiting crowd. He finds him waiting in the lobby, his face strangely devoid of feeling, eyes vacant as if he's thinking hard about something; Gale smiles when he sees him, the weight of the few days spent apart lifting from his shoulders. “Hey, stranger,” he calls with a fond smile, half expecting John to run up to him and crush him in a hug, or squeeze his cheeks and kiss him; he does neither of these things though, he just snaps his attention to him and offers a tight smile.

“Hey Buck. Need a hand with something?”

Perplexed but trying not to show it too much, Gale leans in to peck his boyfriend on the lips. “Nah, I've already done everything. I was just about to close up and meet the others at the pub, would you like that?”

A night out with friends and a beer always lifts up John's morale, even if he's tired; this time though, he grimaces a little at the offer. “I was just thinking maybe we could stay here for a while? You know, just like old times; I've really missed you, and this place, I'll admit it.”

There's definitely something really wrong, but before alarm bells can start going off inside his brain Gale nods, reaching out tentatively to move an unruly comb away from John's forehead and exhaling softly in relief when he leans into the touch. “Yeah, sure. I've been missing you too,” he says trying to steal something more than a tense smile from John. “Let me just close the front door and then I'm all yours.”

They go sit on the couch in the dressing rooms, all the lights in the building out except a small one in the corner; John looks awfully pale in its dull halo, with shadows under his eyes and that same, void expression that scares Gale a little. He racks his brain trying to figure out what's wrong: John went to visit his sister at Uni, and him and Ellie have a good relationship as far as Gale knows.

He sits next to John on the couch, puts a hand on his knee as gently as he can — I'm here if you need me, please tell me what's wrong, he means. Communication isn't their strongest suit, sure, but he hopes John will understand anyway.

“I saw my dad while I was there,” John says after a while, still staring ahead and not looking at Gale. His hand on John's knee twitches slightly in surprise but that's all the reaction he allows himself, waiting for John to go on.

“I've been trying to reach him for months, since The Tempest opened but he would never pick up, only send me straight to voicemail without ever calling back. This time he did, he called back and took me out for dinner; I was so excited about it, I though my mum had finally talked him through and he wanted to know more about the show, or the next one, whatever,” John continues. His brow is twitching like it often does when he's angry but his voice is still and cold as ice, scarily so. Gale hums softly, to let him know he's listening.

“But that wasn't it. The dinner was just an excuse to tell me that he'd been pulling some strings and he'd found me a job, a proper job, in one of his pals' companies. He said since I'm not a kid anymore I have to stop with these stupid ideas and find something that actually allows me to earn some money and be a normal, independent adult. I tried to explain to him that things are going well now, that we've been making money with the company, I even mentioned how we've invested in the Abbotts but he just- he just wouldn't listen. He didn't care. He said it's stupid and that I'll never become one of the greats because I'm not good enough for that, and stage actors don't make as much as movie actors anyway so it's been the wrong choice from the beginning. And when I told him I wouldn't accept his offer he told me to stop calling him every time I have a show, whining and begging him to come, because he'll never set foot in a theatre to watch me making a fool of myself.”

John's breath is coming harsher and faster now and Gale can't do anything but squeeze the hand on his knee, his insides boiling with rage towards John's father; how dare he make John feel like this, like nothing?

Gale knows the full extent of the effort John puts in his craft, how much he studies, how hard he works for it. He knows all the sacrifices he's made in the past year and what he achieved, how brave he's been even if he was terrified of failing, how happy he is now that everything paid off, how good he is. And his father dared make him feel like all that he's done means nothing?

He wonders how it's possible for a man like this, so mean and close minded, to have brought into the world someone like John — John who is kind, John who loves with all his heart, John who believed in Gale's dream even when he didn't have it in himself to do so.

“Oh darlin',” he says when it becomes clear that the story's over, that John has no more words to spare for it. “I am so sorry he told you all that. You know it isn't true, right?”

John still doesn't answer.

“John, darlin', he doesn't deserve to have you feeling like this. He doesn't want to come see you? Screw him, his loss. There's no seat here or in all the theaters in the world for someone who doesn't support you, it's not worth it,” Gale continues. It's easy for him to say, he's given up on his family years ago, suffered at the hands of his father's hatred many times and he likes to think he's mostly over it. But he still remembers the first times, the fear of having made a mistake leaving them behind, the sadness he felt every time he couldn't call them to celebrate a good grade or to seek comfort during rough times; it breaks his heart to know that now John will have to feel this way too, even if he still has his mom and sisters, because he believed his father could change his mind.

John exhales, shakily. “I just didn't think he could be this mean,” he says. Gale takes it as his cue to snake his arms around John and hug him as tight as he can, rubbing a comforting palm up and down his back

John holds him back, ever tighter, and buries his head in the curve of Gale's neck; it's something he always does when he's upset and can't face the outside world, Gale's smell and his soft skin a source of comfort better than any other. It's grounding, usually, but this time the scent of home is the thing that breaks the dam and he starts crying, softly at first and then louder, hands gripping at Gale like at a lifeline. Anger, frustration, and disappointment shake him, the sting of tears itself irritating because it's not fair that he has to feel like this because of something he loves so much, it's not fair.

Gale keeps holding him, murmuring kisses and sweet words in his wild curls, uncaring that John's tears are soaking his t-shirt. When the crying subsides he gently lifts John's face to take a proper look at him, then wipes the tears away from his cheeks.

“'M sorry,” John croaks out. Gale leans in to kiss the salty traces off his skin, red and irritated and hot.

“There's no need to,” he speaks, softly. “You can cry if you need to, I'm here for you. Even if your father will refuse to, we're not gonna stop believing in you. I'm not gonna stop encouraging you to do theatre, and I'll always be there by your side. Ok? I love you.”

John's eyes swell up again at his words, and he goes back hiding himself in the comfort of Gale's embrace; there's no safer place for him to be, Gale has made sure of that. He'll use his love to shield him, however possible, from the pain and the grief of mourning someone who's still very much alive.

For tonight, he'll hold him there however long John needs. Even until the end of the world, if that's what it takes.

[esamastation]

Shizuroth, part twenty-seven

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six

-

Sephiroth can't stand up. It's kind of embarrassing. Actually, forget that - it's really embarrassing! Even when sitting down he feels all wobbly and unsteady!

After the hyperfocus mode passed, it all just sorta crashed down on him.

He's barely managed to wrangle his fluctuating Qi back under control, but the wild surges, stops and starts and the awful flare-ups before have left him feeling like jello in human form. He's gone through what feels like an earthquake, a volcanic eruption, but from the inside - and then he strained to keep at all in! Twisted himself into a pretzel in order to teach, spraining his everything in the progress! Now his veins are freshly scorched, his flesh feels tenderised, and he can feel his bones. It is incredibly unsettling to be so aware of your bones!

For such a minor Qi-deviation it's really too much. Who told Sephiroth to have this much Qi - and also this many muscles! He's strained all of them!

And now he can't stand up. Well, not without swaying and stumbling and probably falling over himself like an idiot, anyway. Which makes it the same thing. His cute disciples - that is, the other SOLDIER members are still watching him. After what he put them through in his delirium, he can't show such an embarrassing face as to get up only to fall flat on his face!

He can hear them now, murmuring quietly amongst themselves in the hall outside.

"... Like, breathing, I think? And I think you're not supposed to think about anything…"

"How can you not think about anything?"

"... Been quiet for a while. No word from the director either…"

"... Think there's still chocolate bars left in the vending machine?"

Ooh, chocolate. Sephiroth could kill for a chocolate bar right now. He really should've thought about that before! Semi-modern world with inexplicably a lot of the same stuff as Earth has - he really should've realised that might include modern style sweets! And, damn, he's missed chocolate so much, back in PIDW. He should get chocolate, as a treat. He deserves it!

But he can't get up. Plus, he destroyed the place! How can he show his face outside after he destroyed the whole room? It's not like he can explain himself - this world doesn't even know what Qi-deviation is! On the outside it seemed just like he went crazy! Which might be in character for Sephiroth, but - still!

So here he is, a third hour in running, cultivating and meditating with no better way to solve this issue. Soon, something would happen to force his hand, or this would go on forever, and eventually he'd die. There's no other recourse.

At least he'd mostly managed to repair the damage done to his meridians. His poor dantians, flooded with chaotic Qi just when he got them to open up, took a hit - but hey, at least there's no golden core there to damage!

Yeah, that just… makes him sadder, really.

Sephiroth draws a slow breath and teases another snag in his system to loosen up - smoothing another scarred vein until it relaxes. He should go back to physical cultivation, it worked so beautifully for Sephiroth's system - but alas… he can't stand up.

Ah, he's really doomed.

"Heads up - elevator."

"Oh, shit, it's Hewley."

"Here we go…"

Sephiroth peeks one eye open, but the SOLDIERs by the door have gone quiet, and the ones further down the hall are too far away for him to hear - especially since it sounds like they're whispering out there. Probably explaining the situation to Angeal.

Ahhh! It's a pity he didn't bust a wall open in his deviated craze - he could've used it to escape! He might be about fifty floors above the ground level, but Sephiroth is supposed to know how to fly, right?! He could make it! He might even grow some wings along the way! It's been known to happen! Somewhere!

Angeal appears by the doorway, taking a moment to soak in all the destruction, and Sephiroth does his best not to look like he wants to curl up and die in shame. That resolution gets harder as Angeal walks over to crouch down in front of him.

Oh no, his face. I'm not angry, just disappointed much?! 

"Sephiroth," Angeal says gently. "Are you alright?"

Oh, come on, Angeal-bro! The disciples other SOLDIERs are right there! What is he supposed to say, huh?

Sephiroth exhales slowly and tries to think what Sephiroth should say in this situation. He destroyed the training room, busted up all the cameras and everything. Destruction of company property! There's probably going to be consequences for that, huh?

"What's the…?" Sephiroth starts and then winces at his voice. His throat is so dry it stings. Ouch.

Angeal relaxes a little. "They want you outta here, asap. There's a transport waiting. I'm supposed to deliver you to it."

… huh? That's, um. He has no idea! Is he being kicked out? He's Sephiroth - isn't he, like, the poster boy for Shinra's military might and stuff?

Angeal, clearly seeing his confusion, elaborates. "You're reassigned to Wutai, effective immediately."

… Oh. Great. "And if I don't feel like going anywhere?"

Angeal sighs. "I don't know. Nothing good. It's not like I can really force you to do anything, Sephiroth, but I'd prefer it if you came willingly."

Hah, jokes on your, bro, Sephiroth can't actually do shit right now!

… But he can't really stay here. And hell, being sent to a war front at least saves him from having to face any of this just yet! Maybe never. It's a corporate dystopia, and he's the poster boy - maybe Shinra will do him a favour and sweep this all under the rug! They did with Nibelheim.

And Wutai is the closest thing to home…

"... Alright," Sephiroth says. "But you're probably going to have to drag me."

"What? No, Sephiroth, you can just walk, it's alright -"

"Angeal, I -" just had a Qi-deviation and my system feels all outta whack, but that's not a thing and he's Sephiroth - can't admit weakness! "Just - give me a hand."

Angeal blinks and then goes, "Oh!" as Sephiroth visibly wavers, trying to get up. "Oh, a delayed reaction? Right, here -"

Sephiroth really has to be dragged up, like some drunk guy. And even then his knees almost give up! So embarrassing! His cute disciples the other SOLDIERs are watching!

Oh, urg, the nausea…

"If I throw up on you, it's nothing personal," Sephiroth groans, closing his eyes, both to fight back the vertigo and so that he doesn't have to see the other SOLDIERs reaction. No one is laughing at him, at least.

And then Angeal laughs at him. Rude! The man sounds relieved, though, as he grabs him firmly by the elbow, propping him up. "I promise I won't hold it against you."

Sephiroth sighs, humiliated. "Thanks," he mutters and then, plaintively asks, "Do they have chocolate in Wutai?"

"Chocolate?"

"I could really go for a chocolate bar right now."

"Oh, I bet," Angeal says, sounding a little amused now. "I don't know about Wutai, but I'm sure we can get you some chocolate somewhere," he promises. "Are you ready to go?"

No. "Yeah, let's go."

-

Is it even SY if he doesn't need to be carried once in a while?

[johnwickb1tsch]

Imagine Donaka Mark became obsessed by a girl, starting to stalk her sending her flowers and gifts and decide to kidnap her because she has to be his, forever.

Ooooo Nonnie!!! I do love me some Donaka Mark! I started this for you over a month ago, im sorry! 🙃 Ok, imagine you accompanied your boss on a business trip to Hong Kong. You're a dynamite assistant, you got your shit on point!👆 Donaka is impressed with you, and he tries to poach you to come work for him. Because this man wants you CLOSE! You think he's fine as fuck but there is something intense about this man. It kinda scares you (bc u a smart cookie) so YOU SAY NOOOO! Respectfully of course, but NO ONE tells Donaka Mark NO!

You go home, and you're a little regretful, truth be told. You wonder if you missed out on a big adventure, working in a foreign country for a powerhouse of a man like Donaka. But the survivalist part of your brain absolutely knows you made the right choice. When expensive flowers start showing up at your desk, you're pretty sure who they're from, and you're not sure this is a good thing.

He asks you to have dinner with him (he's flying to the States JUST TO SEE YOU??) but again you say no thank you. You don't know it but you are digging your own grave. When the flowers start showing up IN YOUR APARTMENT you get totally freaked out!

You're smart enough to understand going to the police won't really help you. And your boss is deep in business with Mark. You don't really know what the fuck to do. Quit your well-paying job you've worked so hard for? Move? Try to disappear? Fuck that.

As you're leaving your apartment to get on the subway the back window of an Escalade parked in front rolls down. "Need a ride?"

You are pissed. Stalking up to the vehicle, you glare at the man inside. "I don't appreciate your games, Mr. Mark."

"Pity. They've only just begun." He pays you a wicked look that equally thrills and terrifies you.

You just walk away, knowing insults will only make it worse. Of course he's there, when you arrive at work. You have to take notes through an important meeting with your boss and him, then go out to lunch. When you feel his big foot caress your calf you kick out, not even spilling your water in your hand. He just seems to love it, smirking at you from across the table.

Probably because you accidentally kick your boss instead.

You apologize profusely, claiming you had a leg spasm (oops!) and while Donaka smirks at you, you excuse yourself to go to the restroom.

By the end of the day, you are fired.

Feeling sorry for yourself, you go home and decide to run a bath. You fall asleep in the bubbly hot water. You dream that someone is lightly touching your face. When you wake up you're a human prune. You wrap yourself in a towel, and you wipe a circle in the steam-blurred mirror--to see a huge man in a black full face mask behind you.

You try to scream, but a leather-gloved hand closes over your mouth. You don't know it yet, but it's the beginning of the rest of your life...

[self-loving-vampire]

That medium post is highlighting just how fucked people get when they treat gender norms like a Serious Thing you must abide by. Like, what?

1- "A weak thing really wanting to be strong is pathetic" is the kind of thing that is like... who is even saying that?

The virtue of wanting to become stronger (be it for altruistic reasons or even just to master your art) no matter how pitiful your starting position is seems to be something that repeatedly comes up in fiction.

It's not just shonen training arcs to help you overcome someone who outclasses you in every way but also things the RPG journey of starting out at level 1 barely knowing your left from your right and becoming strong enough to kill god at the end.

In fact, this is what makes games like Gothic and Dark Souls so appealing. You start out so weak that everything obliterates you in one or two hits and you're pretty much just another doomed soul in a horrible situation, but if you persevere you can overcome anything.

Maybe stop thinking of strength or weakness as something inherent to gender rather than something you need to cultivate through training and experience? Sure there's geniuses like me who get a huge experience multiplier but that's not gendered either.

2- Boys 100% do cry. They often get beat up for it because they're not supposed to cry, but they still do it regardless of how things are "supposed" to be. Because humans are humans and extremely few people naturally fit the platonic ideal of what their gender is supposed to be at all times. Crying is not exclusively a "girl" thing, and it has nothing to do with weakness, bravery, or intelligence.

See, the thing is that the people who actually get good at video games are usually people who enjoy playing video games and do it on their own rather than just when they pick up something they have never done before in an effort to get validation while being anxious the whole time because they arbitrarily decided that video games are "boy things".

You're not just missing out on the confidence buff but also jumping into a mid-game area before finishing the tutorial. What did you think was going to happen?

"Fantasy story where a woman is doing cool stuff" is like... not even abnormal if you ever engage with anything outside the absolute most mainstream of media. Maybe it won't feel so shameful if you realize it has been done extremely well countless times before.

Also gendering romance seems like a mistake as well. Like, from the exact same story as the above image:

Yeah, it turns out stories can have both romance and women doing cool things and mature, non-sexist men will not necessarily hate either of those aspects.

I'm one of those people who got physical abuse to transition to mainly just threats by fighting back, and you know what that was actually like?

I never was even remotely as strong as big as my father was. I'm 170 cm and grew up malnourished (about 100-110 lbs before I left). I eventually also developed a major disability. Meanwhile he was huge and has literally killed people before. Most of those teens who fought back against their abusive dads? They probably were still physically weaker than said dads too.

But none of that matters, because you don't need to actually win, you just need to show your will to fight. You need to make it clear that there's going to be serious costs if they are violent towards you, and even children who haven't gone through puberty at all are capable of doing that if they give zero fucks.

Even an unarmed 10-year-old who was truly willing to do so is capable of causing lasting harm to an adult. I don't blame anyone for not trying something like that themselves since most people don't want to harm their parents and are averse to pain, but it's definitely dumb to make it into a gender thing that is just impossible without a specific type of puberty.

Also I should note that in a lot of cases this doesn't make the abuse stop entirely. It didn't in my case.

This is literally just applying that one comic to yourself.

Hope you're sitting down for the next bit:

Playing cool video games is the modern day equivalent of fighting war??? How does that even occur to you? Video games are literally entertainment. More like reading books or playing sports than killing people for real.

Also like, war still exists? That's kind of a big thing that is going on right now. War exists and people are fighting it. If this person grew up in the US then their country has been at war in some capacity for the vast majority of its existence. The modern day equivalent of war is war, and war is not actually cool or respectable like gaming is.

Putting up a bright billboard that reads "You know you don't have to be like that just because of your gender, right?"

Like, who cares if the other women you know personally only improve their skills for the sake of dress-up and horses? Do you not have things you want to do? I don't know what to say other than that this reads like NPC behavior.

Tip: You can be a man if you want, but also that probably won't give you instant competence or respect like you think it will. You're still going to have to Get Good at whatever it is you want to do.

So the kind of person who tries to fake an interest in "boy things" in a completely half-assed and insecure way actually exists and has terminal gender essentialist brain. I see.

I do think that's kind of shameful not just for the essentialist garbage but also in the sense that it reads like someone who is too invested in trying to insincerely impress others at the cost of their own individuality and pursuits.

If you're going to be taking right-wing types seriously then maybe you should at least notice that they also don't seem to respect tradwife types at all. They want to own them, sure, but they don't respect them. Attraction is not respect. Those people just don't respect women by default for reasons that are patently bullshit.

This is, from multiple angles, a personal problem. Some of us actually do like video games rather than using them as a way to get respect.

In fact, I'd hate it if people made a big deal out of the fact that I'm a woman who likes video games. That is and should be just a normal, unremarkable thing.

You know, maybe that whole thing where you see yourself as an eternal, inherent weakling not just physically but technically is unhealthy and holding you back from even considering that you could ever be good at anything besides child-rearing and clothes.

Good thing that she rarely feels like this anymore as an adult who is (according to the comments) no longer in a religious cult but this is like... putting my sexist father's thoughts in a self-loathing woman, basically?

[angelinthefire]

So my latest idea for deancas in the winchesters tv show (a tv show that I have not watched [... yet???]) is roughly something like this:

ok, Dean and Jack and Bobby get back to Heaven, and Dean goes into the Roadhouse this time. It's a little party. You can tell that Dean is still melancholy. And then he sees Cas again. Cas is kind of nervous. But Dean just melts when he sees him, and also manages to look somehow sadder. And he hugs him tight for a long time. And Cas relaxes too. But they're still in the Roadhouse surrounded by people, so they don't talk, and Dean gets pulled back into the celebrations.

But later, it's night, and Dean steps out back of the Roadhouse, into the field. Cas is there, looking up at the sky, hands in his pockets. Dean comes and stands next to him.

Their conversation starts out much the same way as in Full of Grace, with Dean being like:

"I missed you."

"I missed you too. Though I was hoping you'd take longer to get here."

Dean scoffs and shakes his head. "I tried, y'know. To be the guy you gave that speech to."

Cas turns to face him fully. "You are that guy."

"Cas..." Dean's gaze seaches Cas' face as he searches for what to say.

Then:

Dean focuses and asks softly, "What do you want?"

"Dean?"

"Tell me. You said the one thing you want is something you can't have. So tell me."

Cas fumbles for the right words for a beat, just the thought of what he wants alone starting to make him emotional. Finally he says with a sad smile, "To have a life with you."

And the irony is not lost on Dean. He takes a breath that's thick with tears, clearly thinking about might-have-beens. His gaze drops from Cas' eyes to his mouth, and he says with a soft desperation, "Then let's get out of here. Let's live."

Cas balks. "I can't."

"Since when do you care about rules?"

Cas just looks at him imploringly.

But Dean is already getting worked up at the idea. "Come on, what's one more time? It'll be just 30, 40 years, that's nothing." He grips Cas's arm. "But we can... you can have anything." His eyes are bright with a hungry kind of hope. "I want... I wanna give you anything."

And Cas is clearly getting reeled in. He's staring at Dean like he wants to kiss him.

"He doesn't mean it, you know."

Cas and Dean turn towards the new voice.

"Jack?" Cas says.

"He's telling you what you want to hear, so you'll do what he wants," Jack says with a kindness tipping towards pity.

"What the hell?" Dean says.

Jack turns to him, matter of factly, "Am I wrong?"

"Of course you're fucking wrong. The hell is wrong with you?"

Jack shakes his head sadly. "What's wrong with you? You have heaven, Dean." He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. "There is something wrong with you, isn't there?" he says like he's seeing it for the first time.

Dean hardens. "Then kick me outta heaven. Go on!"

"... where's Jack?" says Cas, who hasn't stopped staring at Jack the whole time.

Jack turns to him, confused.

So Cas repeats himself, firmly but slowly, "Where is Jack?"

A horrified look comes over Dean's face.

Not-Jack smiles. "He's with me. Don't worry, he's safe." It's not reassuring.

And anyways, the upshot of the following dialogue would be that Chuck didn't win. Chuck has to live out his miserable existence on earth. But God did win. Because Chuck was just a guy that God was possessing. But the way God possesses someone, they start to lose sense of themselves, and parts of their personality start to find expression in God. Chuck was petty and squirrely. Jack will be a different kind of God. But the whole thing is unsettling and chilling.

I'm not sure how I would have things escalate, but they do. Of course Cas wants God to leave Jack alone, maybe he even offers himself as a vessel but God refuses. Idk, more stuff is said, it ends with God giving them a clear and definite threat about not screwing shit up anymore.

Then he disappears.

Dean and Cas are both striken. They talk. "What do we do?" - "What can we do?" etc. etc. I haven't thought about this part in depth, but some sort of plan is made.

Dean caps off the conversation with "We've got work to do"

They head towards the impala. Then,

"Dean?"

Dean turns towards Cas.

"Did you mean it?"

Dean doesn't answer at first.

"It's okay if you didn't," Cas says. And he's sincere. He's got bigger things to be upset about now, after all. "I'd understand."

Dean gets a hard look. He moves towards Cas, grabs him by the lapels, and pulls him close, and when they're close enough to kiss, Dean says,

"We're gonna kill god. And then I'm gonna show you how much I meant it."

End scene. And then I guess Dean and Cas just pop up in the background of the main plot here and there as they chase god through the multi-verse

[amethystunarmed]

I Need a Shovel to Love Him

Word Count: 4,226 A03 Link Richie calls Peter after the events of the opening night of Workin' Girls.

~~~

Holy fucking shit.

Peter is about to lose his virginity to Stephanie Lauter. 

They are on the couch in Peter's brother's apartment. Ted is gone for the evening, went to Ruth’s musical at the Starlight, but he had thrown a condom at Peter with a wink before he left. Peter was equal parts mortified and grateful.

By pure luck, Peter and Steph had managed to avoid getting tickets the same night Ted was going, giving them an opportunity to finally go all the way. They are making out on the couch, Steph straddling him while he gazes up at her in awe. Neither of them are wearing their shirts (Peter has come a long way from the first time he saw Steph in her bra and got so flustered he had to stop. He's just lucky she thought it was both hilarious and adorable). Her skin is hot against his, and when she trails her fingers down his spine, it gives him chills. Steph has finally taken pity on Peter, and moved to take her bra off herself, when the phone rings.

Pete sits up to grab it and Steph groans, flopping forward so her head rests on his chest. 

"Are you serious Spankoffski? You're answering your fucking phone right now?"

"I figure if it's my brother telling us he's on his way back because he finally realized the show isn't about sex workers, we'd want to know."

"... You get a pass just this once." She slides off his lap and Peter immediately misses her weight.

Peter fumbles for his phone and is surprised by the name that pops up.

The Power of God and Anime. Richie. 

Peter frowns down at his phone. Richie would rather die than make a phone call. For all Ruth loved talking to telemarketers, Richie about broke out in hives every time he had to make a call. (Between his phobia and Ruth's penchant for making the delivery boy uncomfortable, Peter had been making calls to Pizza Hut for them for years.) Richie wouldn't call. Not unless...

Peter hits the button and brings the phone to his ear, even as Stephanie groans behind him. He slides his legs off the couch and stands as he talks.

"Hey Richie, what's up? Aren't you at the show?"

Sobbing. Richie is sobbing. Peter's stomach sinks. "Richie? Richie, what's happening?"

"Pete?" Steph asks, suddenly concerned. Peter holds a finger up to her.

Richie hiccups. His voice is shaky, so much that Pete can barely understand him. 

"He- he- He went crazy, he killed them-" 

Peter feels like he's had ice water dumped over him.

"Who? Who killed who, Richie?" Peter gets up and grabs his shirt from where he'd thrown it earlier.

"Everyone, he- he-"

"Where are you?"

"The Theater."

Oh thank God.

"Richie, my brother is there, go find Ted, okay?" Ted was a fucking asshole but he would (probably) look out for Ruth and Richie, if only so Pete didn't tear him a new one. "He'll get you and Ruth out of there okay?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," Richie says, sniffling, voice hitching. "Ruth and Ted are dead, Peter."

Peter drops his phone. 

He doesn't remember what happens next. He blinks and they're in the back of Mayor Lauter’s limo. Steph is holding Peter's now cracked phone to her ear. Miss Tessburger is prattling on about something but Pete can't understand her. Her words sound like a broken garbage disposal, continually revving but never getting any clearer.

He blinks again and Steph is kneeling in front of him. She sways as they take a sharp turn. She should be wearing a seatbelt, he thinks, inanely.

"Pete, you're scaring me."

Peter doesn't know why. He hasn't even done anything. 

He blinks and they're at the theater. Steph's hand is firm in his, the only thing that keeps him from drifting away. He trails behind her, letting her guide him to the sirens and the flashing lights. Until he sees-

Richie.

Peter loses time again. Suddenly he is sprinting, and Richie is too and Peter slams into him and they fall to the ground and Peter has his fingernails clawed tightly into Richie's vest so nothing can pry Richie away from him and-

He is sitting in the back of the ambulance. A scratchy orange blanket is wrapped around his shoulders. Richie is next to him. He has Peter's hand in a death grip, squeezing so tight Peter is beginning to lose feeling in his fingers.

An EMT is shining a light in his penlight in Peter’s eyes. It fucking hurts. Peter blinks aggressively at him.

“His pupils dilate, I don’t see any sign of concussion. As far as I can tell, Peter here is just suffering from a pretty extreme shock.”

He gives Peter a pitying little smile. Peter wants to knock his teeth out.

“But he’s not responding.” Stephanie is standing off the shoulder of the EMT. She has her arms crossed over her chest, her chin cocked out. It’s the same stance she’d had when she’d stood down Max Jagerman after they first started dating. It means she’s scared. “You can see it, he did it in the car too. Why the fuck can’t he hear us?”

The EMT hesitates a moment, then speaks slowly, like an adult on Sesame Street.

“Sometimes, when someone goes through something terrible, their brain will... take them away for a little. It’s a defense mechanism.”

Peter has already heard enough of this. 

“You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here.”

“Oh, thank god.” The tension melts out of Steph as she throws herself at Peter’s free side. Her arms wrap around his shoulder and she tucks her head into his neck, like she is trying to get as close to him as possible. “You’re okay. Jesus Pete, never scare me like that again.”

"Pete?" Steph and Peter pull away from each other to look at a Black man in a checkered shirt. He nervously fiddles with a button on the cuff of his sleeve. Peter hadn’t initially noticed him, but he’s pretty sure the man had been standing there for a while. He seemed vaguely familiar, but Peter couldn’t place him. "You're Peter Spankoffski, right?"

Steph pushes over the ambulance, and stands in between him and Peter and Richie. "Listen, if you want a statement, go talk to some other smarmy asshole looking to get famous off this. Try Linda Monroe, she has an affinity for vultures." She is so fucking cool, so brave. Peter thinks he may be in love with her.

Oh my god he's in love with her.

He's in love with Stephanie Lauter.

He wants to tell Ruth, even though she'll ask a million uncomfortable questions. 

He wants to tell Ted, even though he'd give some awful advice about not being tied down.

Peter squeezes Richie’s hand.

"No, no," the man says. "I'm one of Ted's co-workers? Bill. Do you remember me?” The name slots into place. Peter remembers him in the backgrounds of office party pictures Ted had shown him and from when Ted brought Peter to a “Bring Your Kid to Work Day” even before he moved in with Ted full time. He has a recollection of Bill smiling at him from where he had hidden behind Ted, telling him, Richie, and Alice Woodward to all play nice together. Peter gives him a faint nod, which puts Bill somewhat at ease.

“Look at you, all grown up. So tall!” He is studying Peter with a sad sort of softness, cataloging all the changes from that little kid he’d met years ago. Peter wants to find the nearest bridge he can jump off of to avoid this conversation. “I wouldn’t have recognized you if Ted hadn’t had a picture on his desk." 

Peter wonders if he spontaneously developed a latex allergy, it feels like his throat is swelling shut. “He... He has a picture of me on his desk?” 

"Yes, he does.” Peter waits for him to elaborate, but Bill just offers him an awkward little half smile. Which, what the fuck? Did he just come over to here to remind Peter he was going to have to go to his brother’s fucking office and clean out his desk?

“Bill, I don’t want to be rude, but... why are you here?”

“Oh.” Bill furrows his brow at that, like he isn’t actually sure. “We came here together. Ted and I."

Peter squints at him. "Like a date?" He knew Ted had been sleeping around the office (knew too much about it, because his brother was kind of a slut), but he'd been pretty sure he'd been hung up on someone named Charlotte.

"No!" Bill denies, "He- I had an extra ticket, and I- he was the only one who wanted to come." Bill suddenly looked nauseous. "H- he was the only one who wanted to come tonight, and to spend time with me, and the whole night I just-"

"So you're the reason my brother is dead." The whole group snaps their heads to stare at him, even the EMT. He doesn’t know why they all look so surprised. It seems like a pretty logical deduction to make.

Steph wraps her arm around Peter’s shoulder, but she stays standing. He feels small tucked against her side. It feels nice.

Richie gives his hand a squeeze and runs his finger along the side of Peter’s hand. It feels nice too.

Bill sucks in a breath, like somebody stabbed him. Which is fucking hilarious, given the circumstances. He looks at Peter like Peter did something to hurt him. It does not feel nice.

“What? Don’t have anything to say about it? You just said it, you were the reason he was here.” The EMT winces, and Peter glares at him. He wisely decides to fuck off to the front of the ambulance.

“Peter, that’s not- I’m didn’t-” Bill fumbles over himself. Peter isn’t sure what he fucking expected.

“I think you should go.”

“Right, right, but I just wanted to say, if you need anything, you can-” He fumbles with his back pocket and pulls out a wallet, nearly dropping it on the ground. Ted always says that Bill never knows when to drop a subject, and so far, Peter isn’t seeing anything to disapprove this fact. 

“Here,” Bill says, as he holds a white card out to Peter. “My number’s on there, you can give me a call-"

And Peter just wants him to shut the fuck up.

"I said fucking GO!"

Bill jumps and drops his business card. Peter feels bad, but he's too fucking tired to apologize. He slumps against Steph's shoulder. Her breathing feels like a gravitational pull, and he doesn't think he could escape it if he tried.

Bill scurries off, and Peter is grateful. “Fuck,” he groans, hiding his face in the crown of Stephanie’s head. She smells like sweat and that fruity shampoo her dad won’t stop buying for her. “Ted was right, he’s a fucking busybody.” It tears through his chest, even saying his brother’s name. He thinks the only thing that could hurt worse would have been not saying it.

It grows quiet. At least, as quiet as the site of a disaster can be. If he listens carefully, he can hear Chief Sweetly crying about one of the actors or Officer Bailey debating with Grace Chasity over who gets to keep his gun. (He's pretty sure Grace is winning.) The noises of the parking lot combine into a low background, police interrogations and muffled sobbing weaving into a dull drone. The police have turned their sirens off, but the lights still flicker red and blue and white. Peter closes his eyes, and the solid colors flicker across the black of his eyelids. The repetition is soothing, smoothing over the anxious hum that has been blaring a klaxon in the back of his brain. Between the warm pillar of Steph in front of him and Richie’s solid weight across his back, Peter finds his eyes drifting shut.

Richie’s shoulders hitching, however, gets him wide awake in an instant. Peter sits up, away from Steph, and pulls Richie closer to him, so he is angled toward Peter. Silent tears flood Richie’s cheeks. His mouth is screwed up in a crooked line.

“What happened?” Peter asks, frantically looking Richie over. He seemed fine when they arrived, but Peter had just been happy he was breathing, he could have missed something important-

"It's my fault Ruth is dead," Richie weeps.

"What?"

"I killed her, Peter. I killed Ruth." Tears stream down Richie's cheeks.

"I thought you said-"

"I told her to audition! She wasn't going too, she said she wouldn't get in. I'm the one... I'm the reason."

Oh fuck.

"Richie..."

Richie just sobs and latches onto his shoulder. Peter can feel time slipping again and he digs his nails into his palm to stay present.

"Richie, it's not your fault."

"I'm the reason she was here."

The sick feeling in Peter's gut twists deeper. That isn't what he... Fuck. What does he say? What does he say?

Steph sees his hesitation and gets a wild look in her eyes. Her hand flutters to the back of Peter’s neck. Her fingernails graze the skin in a repetitive line, like she is trying to beckon him back. He wonders if she thinks he lost time again. If so, she doesn’t say. She focuses all her attention on Richie. "It's not your fault, okay? You blame the murderer, you blame the theater for hiring this whackjob, you blame God for all I care, but you don't blame yourself for that shit, okay? That's how you drive yourself crazy, and Ruth wouldn't want that, you torturing yourself for believing in her. Okay?" She reaches across Peter and takes Richie's free hand. "Promise me."

"Promise you?"

"You won't blame yourself. Promise me."

"I'll... I'll try.”Steph opens her mouth, most likely to argue, but she is interrupted. From the side of the ambulance, the EMT clears his throat, far too loudly, and rounds the corner.

Steph glares at him, but only says, "We'll work on it.” Richie nods, and  Peter is positive he is counting on her forgetting about it. 

With the EMT back, their closeness starts to itch. Peter can feel him searching them, trying to figure out just what they mean to each other. Peter is pretty sure a vivisection would feel less intrusive.

The three of them untangle from one other. Steph habitually tucks her hair behind her ears, straightening to perfect posture. Even at the scene of a disaster, she maintains her image. Not that Peter blames her. He is sure Dan and Donna will have all sorts of footage from tonight all over the news tomorrow. As a local celebrity, Stephanie will probably get a featured segment. The thought makes him feel nauseous. "Everything seems to be in order!" The EMT says brightly. "I don't think you two need to go to the hospital. Do you three have someone who can take you home?"

"My uncle is coming to get me," Peter lets him know. He looks toward Stephanie and Peter. “He can probably get the two of you too!”

Stephanie's frown deepens. It has been such a common expression for her tonight, Peter feels bad. He has etched so much grief into her face. "But Peter-"

"I'm fine, Steph."

"No you're fucking not. You keep fucking... Leaving."

"I've been here the whole time."

"But you haven't. The lights are on but nobody is home. It's... It's fucking terrifying, Pete."

Oh.

Pete turns to Richie, who nods. His palm is slick with sweat against Peter's. He looks freaked out, even considering everything that has happened tonight, which Peter again feels bad about. He is letting everyone down today. Still... There is one person he can't fail. He can't.

Peter looks up at the EMT.

“Where is my brother?” 

Richie swallows nervously. Peter feels his Adam's apple bob against his shoulder. "Pete...” He says slowly, like Peter just asked if he could move to Clivesdale. “He's d-"

"I fucking got that." He doesn't need a reminder. "Where... Where did they take him. After."

The EMT presses his lips together. “You should let your parents handle that, sweetie-”

“Then it’ll never get done. Where is he?”

“Everyone who was... who had passed before we arrived was taken to the hospital morgue.” 

“Huh.” Images of Ted, pale and expressionless on a silver slab flash through his head. So many nurses were going to see Ted naked. He would have been ecstatic. 

Then Peter is laughing. He is laughing so hard he can’t breathe. Stephanie and Richie are saying something, and they sound almost frantic and someone is shaking his shoulder but it’s so fucking funny Peter can’t stop. Tears stream down his cheeks as he cackles. And at some point his laughs have turned to sobs. They shake his whole body, and he thinks he might be screaming. He falls into Richie, and Richie is sobbing too. He wraps his arms around Peter, and hugs him tight to his chest. Peter can feel wet spots on Richie’s shirt where he is soaking him with tears and snot, but Richie only holds him tighter.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Pete,” he murmurs over and over into Peter’s hair. A warm weight drapes over Pete’s back, and  Stephanie reaches up to pet through Peter’s hair. 

“Let it out baby, let it out.” Her voice is wet.

Peter isn’t sure how long they sit there, crying. Long enough, that Peter runs out of tears, and he just sniffles through shaky breaths, feeling like a wrung out dish towel.

“What am I going to do?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Where... Where am I going to stay?” His parents were out of the question. Peter wouldn’t go back, even if they wouldn’t just slam the door in his face. Without Ted to pay rent on the apartment... “I’m homeless. Fuck.”

“You can stay with me!” Stephanie assures him. 

“Your dad is going to be okay with that?” 

“Are you kidding? He’ll love it. Taking you in right before the election? He’ll look like a hero.” She scoffs. “He’ll probably claim it was his idea.”

A car pulls into the parking lot, a beat up red Toyota probably older than Peter is himself. The bumper is more rust than metal. At the wheel is the mean barista from Beanie's. She is wearing an expression that Peter has never seen on her before, blatant concern weighing her face. Out of the car, comes Richie’s uncle Paul. He is still in his suit, like he was relaxing at home in a starched shirt and tie. Considering everything he knows about Paul, that probably was the case.

“Richie!” He yells, louder than Peter imagined he could be, “Richie!” His head frantically turns back and forth as he scans the crowds.

“Over here!” Richie yells, standing and waving his and Peter’s conjoined hands. He has backed up, so the lines of their legs are still pressed together.

Paul’s entire body decompresses when he sees Richie, like he is sighing with his entire body. He staggers against the hood of the car, briefly studying himself with his hands, before pushing past it. He cuts the corner too fast, slams his thigh into the headlight, but he doesn't even seem to notice the impact. He speedwalks over to the back of the ambulance, running up to his nephew to take Richie's face into his hands. “Richie,” he gasps, like holding him is the first breath of oxygen he has gotten all night. Something about it makes Peter's already sore eyes sting, and he has to swallow a lump in his throat.

Richie looks up at Paul with a brittle smile. “Hi Uncle Paul. Thank you for coming.” He says it like Paul has picked him up early from a sleepover. Paul doesn't even answer. He just opens his mouth and then closes it, once, twice, then a third time. Then he pulls Richie forward, unflinchingly, into his chest. His shoulders shake.

“Jeez, Uncle Paul!” Richie shrieks, “You're crushing me.” He doesn't fight the hold though, merely wraps his free arm around Paul and squeezes. The hand still holding Peter’s trembles.

The mean barista jogs up to them, finally catching up from where Paul had run off without her. Peter remembers Richie mentioning she and Paul were dating, but Peter hadn't realized they were “Drive me to get my nephew from the scene of a mass murder” serious. Good for Paul.

"Hey kid. How are you holding up?"

Richie sniffs. "Sorry, Emma. I know you were excited to have dinner with Tom and Tim."

"Kid, you don't have to apologize for... For any of it. I'm just glad you're okay." She places her hand on Paul's shoulder. “Babe, you're going to suffocate him.”

“Right, right,” Paul says, distantly. He lets Richie lean away, hands slowly falling, like he is ready to reach out and grab him again at any moment. He glances over, paling at the sight of Peter and Stephanie. He clears his throat as he processes their presence. “Hello Peter. Stephanie.” He says Stephanie's name slowly, like midway through saying it, he realized he wasn’t actually sure he was right. 

She graciously doesn't mention it. “Hey, Mr. Matthews.” Paul frowns, like he always has the few times she's joined them for a study session, but for once doesn't argue. Instead, he turns to Peter.

“Richie mentioned that Ted... Is... Is he, um-”

Peter doesn't have the patience for this. “Ted's dead, yeah.”

Paul gets that same stricken look Bill had, and maybe Peter should be nicer, but to be honest, he just wants people to stop looking at him. Even the fucking barista, who Peter is 99% sure has spit in his hot chocolate, is looking at him like he's a walking tragedy and Peter can hardly stand the writhing weight of their pity.

“Okay... Okay, okay,” Paul repeats, slowly, taking a deep breath. "I'm... I'm sorry for your loss. Ted and I weren't close but... I know he really, really loved you."

It's so impersonal, so distant. It’s a stranger’s eulogy.

It's exactly what Peter expects from Paul. Their mismatched relationship used to be something Peter, Ruth, and Richie laughed at Ted recalling his "best friend Paul" while Paul clearly only tolerated Ted, at best. Ruth had once called it a "tragic, one-sided bromance" and Peter had laughed so hard, milk shot out his nose. But Ruth isn't here. And Ted isn't here. And Paul doesn't like Peter's brother. And Peter can't help but say it.

"Ted called you his best friend." From the way Paul's eyes widen, this is news to him.

"Oh. I... I didn't know he, um, felt that way. I kind of thought he didn't like me."

"Being mean is how Ted shows affection. He learned it from our parents."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Pete," Steph exhales, like the words pain her. She nuzzles closer to his shoulder.

"Speaking of parents,” Paul says, in that frantic way he does when he is trying to change the subject, “are they coming to pick you up?"

"Fuck, I hope not." Peter says, before he can stop himself. He groans. Fuck his filter tonight, apparently he’ll just say anything. Stephanie, Paul, and Emma are looking at him with barely masked concern.

“Peter can stay over, right?” Richie asks, nervously. He still hasn't let go of Peter. Peter can't imagine asking him too.

“Of course,” Paul says and nods toward Peter. Then he looks at Stephanie. “Are you... Are you coming as well?”

“I...” Steph looks between them. “I’m not-” It is the most at-a-loss Pete has ever seen her. “I wouldn’t want to... You guys were... Ruth and I, we weren’t... We only hung out a few times, and... I shouldn’t.” It’s Richie who reaches out and grabs her hand.

“Please, come with us. For Pete, and... for me?” Somehow, tears begin to drip down Richie’s face. (Peter is distantly impressed. He thinks that if he cried anymore, he would crumble into dust.) “You’re our friend, Steph. You are Ruth’s friend too.” He chuckles, and chokes on it. “She was so excited to have a friend who was a girl, you had no idea.”

Steph sniffles a bit. “She was my first girl friend too. At least, the first one who was actually nice to me.”

“Steph...” Paul says. Peter didn’t realize it at first, but his eyes are red. “Even if you think you weren’t as close-” Paul’s voice cracks, “-as you should have been, you get to be sad too, okay?”

“Paul...” Emma says, a twinge of genuine grief in her tone, but Peter can’t bring himself to care about whatever the fuck they are talking about, because Steph is looking between him and Richie like she is waiting for them to say something. Words are fucking impossible but to be honest, Peter doesn’t want to talk anyways. He holds his arms out and Stephanie falls into them. And Peter was wrong, because as Steph silently cries into his shoulder and Richie worms his ways into the hug, shoulders heaving, Peter finds he has more tears left to shed after all.

[bugflies00]

do i have a presentation due at 8am that i have barely started even though its midnight? yes. however i was thinking again about the category 5 ctommy event last night and all the things i talked or saw people post about and it got me thinking

i was especially thinking about how ctommy is too often, in fan interpretations, forced into the role of the perfect, quiet, palatable victim — which, i mean, we've all made various posts on the subject, i don't need to get into the how again — but i was trying to think about why.

because on one hand, a good part of it, its true, circles back to what society has deemed the "acceptable" victim, which many of us have internalised and unknowingly refer back to, hence why many automatically try to sand ctommy down to be more "pitiful" (not saying people do this intentionally btw . we all have biases like that and they show up in different ways . i just like Talking about this stuff this is Not a callout or god forbid telling people to harass fic writers they disagree with. Ok.)

but i also think, in ctommy's case, a lot of it can come from. projection? well this might be the case with many other characters obviously but im focusing on ctommy here because like. i think he's a character who's very relatable for so many people, who are also loud and not subtle or discreet and who feel annoying most of the time, and a lot of whom are kids and teenagers. and something that's always struck me when reading comments etc about him is theres this sentiment of- when this fictional character is annoying it's seen as loveable and endearing, so why isn't it the case for me, as a person, in real life? a lot of those fans have also been hurt or perhaps even abused and found a way to relate through ctommy's own abuse

and so i think sometimes this tendency to "sand ctommy down" is less out of a desire to actually reduce his character but rather because, through him, they want their hurt and pain to be recognised. and as we all know, when ctommy is quiet, that is so unusual that in fics, it often immediately strikes a reaction of "oh, what happened to you, who hurt you". it's the idea that him being annoying and loud is missed, but people only realise that when he's gone quiet. so the more "quiet" and "docile" he is shown as, the more striking that reaction from other characters will be, and the more support he receives. im not in any way saying this is something you should apply to real people or anything, im saying that this is a trend not just in ctommy fics but in general media — if you're someone who is loud and brash, it's often portrayed like the only way people will acknowledge that you have feelings at all is if you lose that "spark", and suddenly people miss you being annoying.

and suddenly, it makes a lot of sense why so many fic authors write ctommy as so oddly ooc and quiet and pliable and docile — because they've been taught that's what a victim should be, but they're not like that! and you can live vicariously through a fictional character who's able to undergo a much more drastic outward transformation than you and be showered in love for it, and theres a desire for that to happen to them in real life, to have their hurt actually acknowledged. is this word vomit does anyone understand what im trying to say here

[luveline]

hii!! how are u??

i was wondering if you could write something with one of the marauders/ steve in which the r is wearing pimple patches and they mistake it for stichers so they roll with it and but a pack of stichers for r, who is all like “🌝 what”. idk if this is too confusing, sorry!! tysm <33

thank you so much! this idea was so cute and sweet 🥺 james x fem!reader

James is already unloading the plastic carrier bag of shopping when you reach him.

Sirius likes to joke that you and James are both like eager puppies when you see one another. James figures he isn't half wrong, and he couldn't care less, receiving your unbridled affection eagerly. Your arms are quick to hug his elbow, your lips dropping a smattering of dainty kisses up and down the outside of his bicep. 

"Hullo," you murmur, "I missed you." 

He preens at your touch. "I missed you too, trouble." 

You reach out to right a tipped bag of mixed veggies and your hand skirts close to the bag, where James has left your stickers. He doesn't care if you have spots, honestly, but he's noticed that you stopped putting your stickers on top of them, and wondered if maybe you'd run out, so he'd picked up a new box while shopping. 

"I have a small gift for you," he says. 

"What is it?" 

"I'm about to show you," he says with a laugh. He fishes the stickers from the bag, and leans his head on top of yours as he passes them over. "They only had shiny ones."

You accept them with a slow closing hand. 

James holds his breath. "Wrong ones?" 

"No, I mean, yes? James, what are they for?" 

"Your face? You stopped putting them on, so I thought you'd run out. You know, you were putting them on your spots."

"Oh." You take a deep breath brimming with fond pity. "Jamie, thank you, but the ones I put on my face aren't stickers." 

"Uh…"

You tap his shoulder. He turns to face you head, pleased when you tuck a curl behind his ear delicately. Your smile is transformative though small, a sorry, sweet sort of thing that makes him want to lean down and kiss it up into a grin. 

"The ones for my face are called 'Dots for Spots'," you say gently. "They're like little blister plasters, I got them from the chemist. I'm sorry, I thought you knew." 

He's embarrassed, sure, but that makes so much more sense. "Oh! Sweetheart, I thought you were– I think I've made a twat of myself." 

"No," —you rub your hand down the side of his neck— "you haven't, of course you haven't, that's so sweet that you were thinking of me." 

"Aren't I always?" 

You snort. James isn't the type to lie in self pity, and instead cracks the seam on the plasters to pull out one of the sheets of metallic stars he remembers from his school days. You lift your chin, and he sticks a gold star over the small suggestion of a recurring spot, the one that gives you the most trouble. You look very cute, and you're very grateful, but he buys the real ones off the Internet that night for you anyways. 

[roonotrue]

Cult of the Lamb: Redemption Chapter #1

(((TW: Mildly graphicly written suicidal thoughts and ideations - DON'T READ IF THIS MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE)))

Pain - Narinder

Narinder didn't realize how much it would... Hurt.

To be free.

His arms hurt, his body hurt, and his head hurt.

As a god, he had never felt pain like this, which was the first of many signs that he was no longer divine.

And that terrified him. His arms hurt so badly he couldn't move them, and for a moment it felt like the ghosts of his chains still held him in place. His head ached from the light of the sun stabbing through the window of his home, into his light-sensitive eyes.

He can't move. His whole body feels like lead against the soft bed below him. Blankets weigh even heavier on top of him, adding to the feeling of being restrained. He wants to thrash around and escape from under them, but his limbs cramp up with every attempt he makes to move them.

And the jolt of fear that surges through him at that realization makes him want to scream out in agony and terror.

But centuries of captivity have taught him the uselessness of struggling. Have taught him patience. So he clamps his jaw shut and keeps his eyes sealed closed. Trying to listen.

He only just joined his usurpers cult as a follower yesterday, the adrenaline from their fight hadn't even left his system and suddenly the damn Lamb was showing him to his own private grand shelter, set up farther away from the other followers for 'safety purposes.' Whether the Lamb meant for him or the rest of the cult he still isn't sure.

He didn't know how to respond, he was tired. So very tired. He had never felt tired before, but this mortal body... He secured the shelter as soon as the Lamb was gone. Barricading the entrance, and windows, sealing himself inside before allowing himself to collapse into the bed and rest.

Now he's not sure how much time has passed, just that it is daylight, and that the adrenaline of everything that's happened has now left this newly mortal body of his in shambles.

Freedom. He had wanted it so bad, and now he has it, but it's nothing like he had hoped.

He is angry and miserable, he wants to scream and cry, and he wants to go back in time and wring that lamb's neck when he has the chance instead of handing over the crown to the filthy traitor. He feels like a fool, powerless, and afraid.

Trapped by something even worse than the chains his siblings had used on him. Pain.

Speaking of the Red Crown's new wearer, as if summoned like a bat out of hell, a banging on the dresser Narinder had shoved in front of the curtain door to prevent any other pathetic followers from wandering in, or worse the said lamb.

"Narinder! It's breakfast! Well- lunch, you missed breakfast, I tried to have Noon bring you some food, but they said you did... Well, this." Narinder can only assume they're referring to the barricade.

"Leave me be, wretched traitor, I have better things to do than mingle with your pathetic following over subpar mortal slop." His voice almost cracks when he tries to shift his weight to lay on his back mid-sentence.

Thus he remains on his side facing away from the entrance, his back to the sound of the lamb's voice. Something that causes a trickling of unease to build in his mind, which he tries his best to ignore for now.

"No-can-do! At least, not right now, you need to eat! You're mostly mortal now, and even if age can't kill you, starving sure can!" There's a nervous laughter in their voice as they continue to stand outside.

The Lamb could easily get through the barricade, with his fucking powers that they stole. So why they aren't just barging in with no respect for their former god and master's privacy or personal space, he has no clue.

"Starving? How pitiful do you think I am? 'Mostly mortal' or not, I will survive without food for a day. Now leave me alone." He's not sure that even if he wanted to, he could claw his way out to get food. Or that his violently churning stomach could hold it down.

His whole body feels like it's slowly spinning from the splinting pain of his head and he's certain that if his stomach wasn't empty he'd have puked by now.

"Okay, listen, I get that after everything that's happened, you want to be alone, and I'll leave you alone! After you eat something, because, sure, a day won't kill you, but when was the last time you ate during your godlyhood? I'm willing to bet never, at least not during your time chained up, and that can't have translated well to your new form." Nothing has translated well to this new damn form, and it makes him snap.

"What part of leave me alone don't you understand!? I'm not eating even if you shove it down my throat!- Ack!" He hisses and tries to, in a burst of anger-fueled energy, shove himself around onto his back.

Instead, the effort sends a cascade of cramping through his back and down his arms.

His body spasms and curls in on itself and he grits his teeth trying to stop the whimpering from escaping his lips. He sounds pathetic. He is pathetic. Fates save him from the humiliation of the lamb having heard his pain at least...

"What was that about!? Are you okay in there!?" 

It's like the universe hates him.

That's the only real reasoning he can come up with. Fate, the universe, and everything in between literally hate him. And for what? Wanting to be more than what everyone told him he was?

He calls bullshit. Fate is bullshit, and the universe is bullshit, and everything in between is bullshit.

He wants to bury his head under his pillow and stay there until time itself brings this whole world crashing to an end.

"Narinder? Do you need help? If you don't answer I'm coming in!" Once more the Lamb is banging on the dresser-made door.

"I'm fine! Go away! Don't make me tell you again!" The threat comes out strangled and weak.

Still, there is a long moment of silence. For a moment he lets himself hope that the usurper has done as he's asked, and left, but with no footsteps away to confirm this, he knows they are still out there. Perhaps carefully debating their next sentence.

"... I know I'm the last person you want to see, let alone accept help from, and trust me when I say right now the feeling is mutual, but Narinder... If you are in pain... Or you're sick and that's why you're not eating, please, just tell me... I'm only trying to help." Help?

Help?

"I think I'd rather lie down and let you kill me before I let you help me." The words are barely a hissed whisper, but he knows they hear him.

There's a sharp inhale and a frustrated groan. Along with footsteps pacing back and forth before they suddenly stop and respond again.

"Fine! But news flash One Who Waits! This is going to be a hard adjustment for you! And if you want to go through it alone and make it all the harder, then fine! Be alone! Stay in your shelter all day, every day, and starve! See if I care!" They shout at the door.

Sounding angry, and fed up.

"That's what I'm planning on doing!" It wasn't, but with the pain making it hard to move, it is now.

"Fine!" And he can hear them storming off, hooved feet kicking at the ground at random intervals as they do.

...

It's true. He'd rather suffer here alone than accept that traitors help.

You betrayed them first.

He saved their life! His pathetic Bishop kin would have executed them if he hadn't given them a new lease on life.

And all he asked was for a cult in his name, for them to free him from his chains, and return the crown to him.

And kneel and accept being sacrificed to you.

All of this... This pain, this headache, the dampness in the corners of his eyes that he's trying so hard to not let spread down his cheeks... It's all their fault.

They should have at least killed him. Why couldn't they at least finish the damn job? That pathetic, traitorous, coward. Keeping him alive just to suffer.

Surely they've done this on purpose? This was some twisted way to prolong his agony as if being imprisoned for thousands of years by his own family wasn't enough torture.

Damn them. Damn them and every last one of their dead kin.

He would rather starve. Starve to death and at least go on his own terms. Hell if he had the physical strength and a sharp enough tool he'd turn it on his wrist right now. The Lamb probably won't even come by to check on him for a long while after that spat.

So at least they would have a small respite before the cursed creature maybe resurrected them.

But no, his whole disgusting body was failing him. He would have to die the slow way.

In a sick way, he's curious about it. What does hunger feel like? Heket complained of it often, even while she was eating she would be complaining about needing another meal prepared. The Goddess of Famine knew hunger like no other.

But the concept was foreign to Narinder. He ate sometimes when he was a god. The feeling was strange. Things tasted good, like fish, but they served no other purpose than to satisfy his tastebuds.

His stomach never longed for anything. Never ached in hunger pangs, never churned with nausea from eating something bad...

His mortal body... It will wither without food. His stomach will concave as he loses weight, and he'll become weaker, sicker, and lethargic. His skin will stretch over his ribs and bones making him look like a skeleton with fur... A horrific sight, befitting of the former and rightful God of Death.

A true testament to his fall from power, into a form as tragic as this, that decays at the mere lack of sustenance for a few days.

Or more. How long will it take? He wonders.

For his organs to start failing. His heart will go first, and the rest will quickly follow, having strained for so long to keep him alive... What will be the last thing he sees? Probably darkness. The light is too bright in the daytime for him to bear keeping his eyes open.

That's okay. He's never been afraid of the dark.

Kallamar was. He was scared of a lot of things though. Including him.

Heket wasn't. Nor Leshy. The two slept like logs at night, while Narinder would wander awake with Shamura- being nocturnal beings by nature.

Sometimes...

Sometimes when they were both still little, and Kallamar had a bad day and was scared to go to bed, Narinder would sneak into his room, and distract him. Annoy him really, but deep down, he thinks his older brother appreciated it. Not being alone.

It only lasted a few years though, just before the squid reached his teen years and became completely insufferable.

...

What would they all think of him now? Preparing himself to rot from starvation... Would they think him weak for accepting such a defeat? For giving in to this mortal body's suffering and allowing himself to perish in such a pitiful way...

Would they want him to live? No. No, they wouldn't...

They'd enjoy this... Seeing him turn to skin and bone. Watching him suffer in too much pain to even move, much like when he was chained.

It isn't until the light starts to fade and he can open his eyes finally that he realizes he failed.

And now the entire spot where his head rests on his pillow is wet with tears.

In the darkness, he can only really see what's in front of him. His head refuses to lift itself up or move without pain.

He is staring right at a window, the red curtains are closed, and it's blocked off with a turned sideways dark wooden table, but moonlight peaks in from the sides and top.

There is a side table. With a vase of Camellias in the corner. Just like the one Baal used to wear on his robes.

...

In the end, they all died for nothing, didn't they? The lambs, the Bishops, Aym, and Baal...

Everything he was trying to do... All of his elaborate plans...

They've all amounted to nothing.

It's then that another knock, soft and gentle rings through the room.

"Narinder? I want to... Apologize. I lost my temper earlier. It's just... Difficult to be nice to you. I mean, you... You know what? It doesn't matter right now. I've decided, that if you don't want to accept my help, I can't force you to. But, I still don't want you to starve, and I don't think you want to either so... I'll just leave some food out here for you. I don't really know what you like, but it's a fish bowl... Will that do?" The Lamb.

Narinder is thirsty he realizes, because when he goes to speak his mouth is dry, and he has to choke the words out.

"Fine... It's fine..." He calls, and he can hear them hesitating.

"Can I ask again if you're okay?"

"No." He responds much more firmly this time, his voice still gravelly.

"Right... Well, I'll bring breakfast tomorrow."

And they're gone. Footsteps softly fade away like a ghost in the night floating off to find a new victim to haunt.

...

Why couldn't they have just killed him?

~~~

The pain is still there when he wakes up again, and his mouth is disgustingly dry. It is early morning, and the light is not yet intolerable though, and he will take that victory for what little it is.

It smells like it rained last night.

Something about that makes him feel better.

Despite the oily feeling of his filthy fur, matted with blood and dirt. Despite his body still cramping with the phantom chains tightening around them like a serpent choking the life out of its prey.

Despite everything the smell of fresh, chilly damp air... Refreshes him.

He feels lighter. Cleaner. Content.

He takes a deep breath and for a moment... Everything is... Okay.

He opens his mouth, trying to breathe in the humidity of the air, hoping it will help with the soreness in his throat.

"I thought you hated the rain?"

"I don't hate the rain, I hate getting wet. My fur gets all heavy and takes forever to dry, and if I use a towel, it makes it all poofy, and the others tease me."

"I see."

"But I like watching the rain. And the smell of rain... It smells... Like the sky's cleaning the earth. Making everything as good as new again."

And then... Everything comes rushing back to him.

Like an anvil falling onto his chest, and it's hard to breathe as he chokes on a loud, surprised sob. Tears invade his eyes, flowing down his face onto the pillow.

Nothing is okay. That peace he felt... Just a cruel trick of his mind, making him forget.

A momentary respite before the world came crashing back down on him. He can never be content again. Never be okay or at peace.

He is angry. Frustrated. Grieving. Confused about what he's grieving. Their deaths? Their souls are trapped eternally in a hellish limbo, re-living their deaths so that they can feel the same pain he had felt for thousands of years... That's what he'd wanted.

For them to suffer.

And yet still his chest hurts and his lungs are heaving, and his cries are so loud he has to turn his face into the pillow to muffle them. Why does this anguish for his family that turned against him haunt him now?

It must be this body. This pathetic mortal body with its hyper-sensitive emotions, and non-existent pain tolerance. It's done nothing but weigh him down, dragging him below the waves.

Drowning him in sensations, feelings, and emotions he doesn't understand. Suffocating him in pain, and grief that he can see no end to. This form betrays him at every turn and it's not even been 42 hours.

At least he thinks it hasn't been.

Most of his first day is a haze, he remembers sleeping through the pain for the most part. Then arguing with the Lamb through the barricade. Then sleeping again.

After of course, contemplating his inevitable starvation. And after speaking to the lamb again...

"Can I ask again if you're okay?"

They're going to bring him breakfast soon. He doesn't know if they'll come inside and set it down or just leave it on the ground outside for him.

Would he even be able to go get it?

It's now that he starts to realize some of the pain has subsided. Everything is still cramping, and his head still throbbing, but with the smell of the rain and the growling of his stomach...

He's able to turn onto his back and only has to stop for a minute to grit his teeth and breathe for a moment. The fur around his eyes and cheeks is still wet with tears, and his chest is still heavy. He tries to focus on the smell of rain, but it does little to ease his thoughts.

All it does is remind him of simpler times.

Before the pain, and the headache, and the nausea, and the humiliation of defeat still burning through his veins.

It's getting brighter in the room, and he's able to take a deep stuttered breath as his eyes close to block out the painful light of morning. He should get the sniffling under control before the lamb gets here.

The last thing he needs is for that malicious sheep to know he's been crying- because Narinder knows that the damned creature is too old to still be considered a lamb. Has been since before the bishops ever went to execute them, but he knows his siblings never cared for technicalities.

Hell at some point they probably even started enjoying committing mass genocide of all sheep to prevent his freedom. Rams, ewes, and lambs, none were spared. All precautions taken to keep him locked away... They must have hated him so much to turn so ruthless. To become feared monsters, rather than beloved gods.

All to keep him caged.

By the time the sun has risen and the room is painfully bright, like clockwork, the lamb is knocking on the 'door' of the shelter.

"Narinder? Are you awake? I still don't know exactly what you like to eat, so I brought you a mixed meal. I see you didn't eat the fish, so I'll throw that out I guess..." They call, and he struggles not to groan.

He had kind of wanted that fish. He liked fish and it's been a long... Long time since he's had the chance to eat any. But what the hell was he supposed to do? He couldn't fucking move.

And he was still standing strong on not asking for help from his usurper.

He could move a bit more today though. He could at least try and sit up and eat... Then again, he doubts he'll be able to move the dresser out of the way to grab the food.

He could ask the lamb to bring it inside as a plan B. That doesn't count as helping him. Right? But does he want the lamb to see him in this state?

Absolutely not.

So he's back to plan A. Starve.

Sounds good enough for him. Or at least it does until his stomach decided to growl obnoxiously loud.

"See! I knew you were hungry! Please, just come take the damn bowl, I don't want to leave it on the ground, the bugs or birds might get it! Or Theeno. He steals food a lot. I'm working on that." So they are going to make another fight out of this.

"I'll come and get it when I'm ready! And if your damn follower tries to nab it then he can expect my claws across his face!" He hisses, and the Lamb lets out an exaggerated sigh.

"You're getting on my nerves, Narinder, can I at least just come in and set it down?" Hm. An opening for plan B... He still doesn't want the Lamb to see him...

He's buried mostly in blankets and pillows, so if he tosses his aching body back towards the window, he doubts the Lamb would truly get a good look at him...

And then your back will be exposed, clear as day for a second knife to find purchase.

He tries to shake away the insecurity, and it's not hard when his stomach growls once more. What's the worst the sheep could do? Kill him? It's what he wants anyway.

Is it?

He just barely holds in a painful groan as he turns back onto his side, curling even further into himself as he does.

"Fine. But I'm not getting up, move the dresser yourself." He calls, only mildly breathless, as he tries to steady his breathing again.

"Great! I was kinda gonna come in anyway if you didn't respond." Oh, if he could move...

He might take his chances trying to wring their neck.

Instead, he clenches his teeth to keep the anger from seething out and keeps his ears tuned into the sound of the dresser being easily shoved aside, the sound of wood grating against wood.

"Okie-Doki, I'll just put this right here. That okay?" He can feel their black beady eyes on him, with their burning red pupils.

"Whatever, it's fine. Make sure you put that dresser back on your way out." He grumbles, flinching only slightly when hears the lamb step closer to him.

At the clear sight of said flinch they stop moving.

"Of course. Anything else you need? Are you okay? I was thinking about building a few upgrades onto your shelter since you clearly don't plan on leaving, and I can see having to use the bathroom becoming a problem in the near future. And bathing."

Right. Of course, this body is going to need to use the bathroom. And even when he was a little godling, he needed to bathe regularly. He hasn't had a bath since before he was imprisoned.

Poor Aym and Baal. standing beside a god that reeked of blood and death for all that time. He had grown jaded to the stench of death, but he was still aware that it must not be pleasant.

"Do whatever you want, so long as you don't disturb me." It would make it more convenient for his solitude, and prevent him from having to bite the bullet and ask for help to be carried to the outhouses- because he was not going to shit himself anytime soon.

God or not, he had to keep some of his dignity intact.

"Right, no disturbing your wallowing, got it. I'll set to those renovations ASAP, I'll even do them myself so none of the followers accidentally annoy you and get killed." He snorts at that. Almost laughs.

"Wise decision."

And like that, his dresser is being pulled back into place, with what sounds like little to no effort.

...

His stomach growls again.

Now to get this body to sit up and eat...

... This is going to take a while.

[mdhwrites]

Honestly It's quite disrespectful and insulting, how Dana cared more about her beef with Disney than making a good show for the fans who supported her, some even financially. I've had it with her extreme fans raging to people when she's criticized for her obvious lack of care on S3 (the story in general), spamming and blaming on Disney and the shortening. Now that's revealed it wasn't Disney's fault for "ruining S3" since there was no S3 to begin with, that just puts more salt on the wound.

And lying about having plans for S3, what was that about? Stirring more hate on Disney? I find that pitiful and pathetic. If fans are gonna get mad at her from this revelation they have the right to do so. Toh should've stayed in the drafts or be written as a freelanche comic

Edit: I do think this person is too harsh on Dana as a person. I'm curious even what they mean by financial support from her fans (her charity livestreams? Unless she does those more often for personal gain but those people would likely donate anyways as just fans of the show) but as I go into below, I do agree that her unprofessionalism is a real problem and that with the fandom she somewhat helped rile up, it makes it frustrating to learn that a lot of this was on vapor. Not lies, but just... Not nearly as much solid foundation as we were led to believe. There is a lot to be said about how Dana, from my understanding, has been one of the most available leads on a show... Period? At bare minimum, for modern cartoons. Like others will talk but Dana was extremely candid. In fact, it feels like she probably learned some lessons from it because the blaming Disney stuff actually went DOWN as the show progressed. Like at least now it's "I wish I could have done more things," rather than, I dunno, just straight up trying to say they're why episodes you're not proud/ of aren't as well regarded didn't turn out.

Which she did.

With S1A.

Before SEASON TWO was out.

Like... You just shit talked literally half of the content that is out for your show and threw your publisher under the process. Why do I think that might not have been received well?

And when I was biggest in the fandom, around the time the news of the shortening happened, you heard a LOT of different explanations from Dana, like it was one executive who made the call or how TOH wasn't a 'part of Disney's brand' or the like. When the Florida stuff came out with Disney, she pretty explicitly called Disney out for it (which is fine and I approve) but then went on to insinuate that it was hard for her to believe that the show had been cancelled for any reason besides representation, a move I DON'T approve of and makes ZERO sense with how they got to do so much more gay shit in S2B and even add new elements like confirming Masha was they/them or confirming Luz being Bi on screen in Thanks to Them. It's not a great look for a director, especially during the times these statements were coming out.

Being unprofessional admittedly doesn't make her a bad person but like... Yeah, I get upset thinking about the contradictions here too. That even in the same post Hoot that she has to admit that the shortening pushed them creatively and they had no real plans, she's still talking like she had plans. Like there was something to be missed when... No. Not for the STORY. Just your bucket of ideas for a perpetual series.

It leans into the idea that saying you were going to do X means you would have done it perfectly. That Dana doesn't understand that the only perfect work is the one never done. She's fine with being remembered for what wasn't there if it means being remembered better. As a creator myself who struggles with putting things to the page... I don't know. It hurts to some extent.

Which just a small update: I've been having real trouble focusing the past couple days. My head is not on well right now. It's why these are being a bit more emotional and late night rather than my normal posts in the morning because that's just how I've felt like doing it. Hope you're all taking care of yourselves and see you next tale.

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I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

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