#which is actually a really nice feeling to have

[cutiefulism]

cw — pussy eating, pet names, caleb is a german shepard, uhhh idk what this is. soft sex soon guys pls 😓😓 fluff here n another smut here!

puppydog!caleb who begssss for a taste :(

“c-c’mon, pips, honey, baby, please? jus’ one time, and then i’ll leave you alone, i swear.”

and he looks so pathetic there, too — big, violet eyes peering up at you from between your legs, tail thumping on the rug behind him, furry ears pinned flat against his dark brown hair.

you’ve always been a sucker for cute things. how could you say no to a face like that?

a sigh blows past your pretty lips, and you roll your eyes. “okay, okay, fine.”

and caleb beams, ears perking up and tail swishing. “thank you, sweetness. i’ll be so good, i promise.”

oh, but you should’ve known caleb was lying.

because, i mean, get real. did you seriously expect him to stop after one orgasm?

he hasn’t been between those plush thighs in weeks, hasn’t felt them practically crushing his skull and jumbling his thoughts. it’s criminal to deprive him like this — call it animal neglect.

two big hands keep your legs spread apart and that delicious pussy on display for him. it’s so beautiful — he’s never seen one better.

well, he’s never seen one at all, save for the occasional porn video, but that doesn’t really count, does it? and he spent more of that time imagining it was yours rather than the girl on screen.

he’s snatched from his thoughts when you tug on his hair, pulling his face closer to that sopping mess, even as you whine for him to stop.

“c-caleb, you said just — fuck! — o-one.”

. . did he?

whoops.

a throaty chuckle reverberates against your poor labia, sending vibrations right up to your puffy clit, and you choke on a moan. “i meant one session, pipsqueak.” slurp. “‘s not my fault if ya took it wrong.”

your nails dig into his scalp, like you’re punishing him, and caleb barely stifles a whimper, his cock giving a nice twitch and a spurt of pre cum to add to the already massive stain in his briefs.

“no, you didn’t! you— ngh . . liar.”

his grin only grows wider.

you can call him whatever you want. he’ll let you call him a liar for the rest of his damn life if it means you’ll keep letting him touch you like this.

after all, what’s a few harsh, empty protests from you when caleb really knows how you feel?

how your cunt clenches down around his tongue, which you swear has gotten longer since the start of his little predicament, how your thighs squeeze and tremble around his head, greedily holding him in place, the way your moans grow more wanton and feverish in pitch . .

he’s going to get you to cum again.

when does he not?

“give it t’me, honey, thaaat’s it,” he coos, and that praise goes right to your head (and your pussy!).

you really don’t know how caleb got so good at this. he says he hasn’t been with anyone else, and you believe him, but . .

oh, there is no way he can be this good at pussy eating and you two have only done so occasionally.

but who are you to complain? he’s always been skilled, practically a natural at everything. this shouldn’t (and isn’t) an exception.

“ohh, i’m gonna cum—” you keen, back curving into the most delicious arch, and caleb only picks up his pace, licking and sucking, devouring every centimeter of your pussy he can.

he’s a man-dog starved, and you are the only thing that can satisfy him.

his lips latch onto your clit, sucking and thick tongue swirling while his fingers release your thigh and gather up a lewd mixture of his spit and your essence so that he can plunge two inside far enough to curl right at that spongey spot.

and you fall.

swollen lips parted in a silent ‘O’, one hand fisting the sheets while the other yanks at his hair. your legs quiver at each side of his head, and your hips should be too tired to even move, but they’re bucking into his face, grinding up like you’re trying to suffocate him.

though, in caleb’s opinion, this isn’t a bad way to go out. one of the best ways, actually.

he only pulls his face back when he’s positively sure you’re done, and he licks his lips. tasty.

he shifts up, so that he can see that fucked-out expression, eyes glassy and face flushed. “you’re so pretty,” he murmurs, and a hand comes up to push your hair back so he can lavish your face in kisses and licks.

“my pretty, pretty girl.”

you let out a tiny whine that breaks off into a yawn, and caleb’s smile softens. “yer pretty, too,” you mumble.

he snorts. “you’re prettier.”

your brows draw together. “nuh-uh.”

“yuh-huh.”

“nuh-uh!”

a thick finger flicks your forehead. “go to bed, pipsqueak.”

pregnant sex w puppy!caleb soon perchance.. also i might start back doing gradients but idk 🪫 ts kinda hard

[some-stars]

a whole lot of people in the comments seem to think that there's an impermeable forcefield around their home, and will be very upset to learn just how much fecal bacteria there is on every surface in their living space at all times no matter what they do. sorry to be the one to break this to y'all but the barrier between "inside" and "outside" is more psychological than material!

obviously it's good to wash your hands more often than the average person probably does. i wash mine more frequently since 2020 than i did before--previously it was before cooking/eating and post-bathroom plus anytime something got on them; now it's also when coming home from anywhere medical or crowded high-touch settings like public transit or concerts or handling cash (interestingly this has had zero impact on how often i get sick, which was and remains "virtually never"). however, it is literally impossible to shame people into adopting a new behavior, because that's not how the human/ape brain works. you can shame someone out of doing something bad, but not into doing something good. sorry! you just can't! i know it feels so nice to yell and throw things but it accomplishes the opposite of what you want!

also, here is a sampling of tags on this post that are not thought patterns anyone should be encouraging, and if you find yourself thinking/feeling this way (when you aren't actually medically immunocompromised or living with someone who is, in which case these thoughts still aren't great for you emotionally but at least serve a real function) then you should be concerned:

#i feel so unclean if i don't do it immediately

#does no one else feel like u physically have germs on u when u touch stuff out in public#i come home from shopping and im like ewww eww eww my hands

#any time i leave the house it feels like theres an invisible layer of filth that covers me and gets worse the longer im out

#everything is dirty

#it's like I can feel how my hands are unclean when coming back from outside

#sanitize my hands everytime i'm outside because the world is FILTHY goddamn it

#like you really don’t feel nasty covered in all those outside germs??

further points:

"you all deserve to get covid and die/this is why covid is so bad” COVID is, quite famously, airborne! this reaction tells me that y'all are not logically assessing risks but instead are reacting to the vague horrifying concept of "the Bad Outside World is unbearably filthy and i must preserve my safe clean sanctum", which is not a great starting point for making public policy.

if someone washes their hands before eating, after using the bathroom, when showering, and any time they actually feel or look dirty, we're already at 8-10+ times a day. reacting with violent performative disgust to "i don't wash my hands whenever i return home from outside" as though it was "i never wash my hands ever" is another sign of where these reactions are coming from (not the thinking brain), because that is not what anyone actually voted for!

baffling to me how many people are assuming that everyone is taught as a child to wash their hands every time they come in from outside, because i wasn't and most people i know don't do that (or didn't pre-pandemic). as usual, Your Experiences Are Not Universal.

COVID trauma is very real and understandable, but this level of utter vitriol and loathing for people who don't feel viscerally contaminated when they step outside is just not reflective of reality, and it's certainly not useful for you or anyone else.

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[tonysbed]

You belong with me | MV1

Max Verstappen x bestfriend!reader

Summary: Max ruins any date you go onto, claiming it was either a coincidence or the guy was shit..

warnings: idiots to lovers, swearing, crying, bit of a misunderstanding (reader is an overthinker like all of us)

main masterlist

-

You don’t know when it started, but you do know that it’s starting to piss you off.

Because at this point, it’s not even subtle anymore.

Every single date you go on? Ruined.

Not in an obvious, throw-a-drink-in-your-face kind of way—no, that would be too easy. Instead, it’s always conveniently timed interruptions, coincidental run-ins, or your date suddenly deciding he’s not that into you after one too many glares from across the room.

And the common denominator?

Max fucking Verstappen.

Your best friend—who, apparently, has made it his life’s mission to sabotage every attempt you make at having a love life.

Tonight is no different.

You had a good feeling about this one. He was nice, funny, normal—a rare find in your world. Dinner had been going well, conversation flowing, and you had even allowed yourself to relax, to think that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

And then, of course—

“Oh, wow. Crazy running into you here.”

You swear to God, you almost stab him with your fork.

Max stands at the edge of your table, hands in his pockets, looking like he didn’t just walk into this restaurant with the sole intention of ruining your night.

Your date glances between the two of you, oblivious. “Oh, you guys know each other?”

You grit your teeth. “Unfortunately.”

Max grins. “She loves me, really.”

Your date laughs. Laughs. Like this is all just some funny coincidence.

You know better.

Max strikes up a conversation with him, effortlessly steering things in a direction that makes the guy start to feel out of place, like he doesn’t belong in your world. By the time the check arrives, he’s already making some excuse about an early morning, giving you an apologetic smile before heading out.

And just like that, another one bites the dust.

You stay seated, arms crossed, as Max slides into the now-vacant seat across from you. “You’re a menace.”

He steals a fry off your plate. “He was boring.”

You groan. “Oh my God. That’s not for you to decide, Max!”

He shrugs. “Just looking out for you.”

“No, you’re being a controlling asshole.”

His brows furrow slightly. “It’s not like that.”

You exhale sharply, pushing your plate away. “Then what is it like, Max? Because I can’t keep doing this. Every time I start to like someone, you show up and ruin it.”

He doesn’t say anything, which only makes the frustration boil over.

“Is it fun for you? Do you get some kind of thrill out of watching me end up alone?”

Max flinches, like you actually hit him. “Jesus, that’s not—” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” you snap.

His jaw clenches. His hands curl into fists on the table. His whole body is wound tight, like he’s holding something back.

And then—

“They’re not me.”

The words hang between you, heavy and unmovable.

You blink, heart stuttering. “What?”

Max exhales, looking almost… defeated. “They’re not me. And you deserve—” He stops, shaking his head. “You deserve someone who already knows all your little quirks. Someone who doesn’t need to ‘get to know you’ because he’s already been there through everything.”

You swallow, pulse hammering. “Max—”

“You deserve someone who gets that you overthink everything, who already knows exactly how to talk you down from it. Someone who doesn’t get tired of your rants about the smallest things, who actually likes listening to you talk, even when it’s about shit he doesn’t understand.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You deserve someone who would never fucking leave, no matter how much you push him away. Someone who—” He looks away, voice quieter. “Someone who already loves you.”

Your heart is pounding.

The weight of his words crashes over you all at once, knocking the breath from your lungs. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Max watches you, eyes guarded, like he’s bracing for impact.

And suddenly, it all clicks.

The ruined dates. The coincidences. The way he’s always there, standing between you and anyone who so much as tries to get close.

It was never about them.

It was always about you.

And, more importantly—

It was always about him.

Your throat tightens. “You… you never said anything.”

He huffs out a breath, shaking his head. “And what would I have said? That I’ve been in love with my best friend since before I even knew what the fuck that meant?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Max…”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Just forget it, okay? It’s fine. I just—”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you grab his face in your hands and kiss him.

Max stills for half a second, like he can’t quite believe it’s happening. Then—he melts into you, hands finding your waist, pulling you in like he’s been waiting for this forever.

And maybe he has.

And maybe, so have you.

When you finally pull away, he looks at you, eyes searching. “So… you’re not going to kill me?”

You let out a watery laugh. “Oh, I definitely am. Just—later.”

Max grins. “I can work with that.”

-

bsf!reader is the best 🧚

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Someone told me they weren't a fan of Silver because he's written too heroically good without any flaws. To be fair, you don't have to like Silver at all; to each their own, but I don't understand how someone can go through Book 7 and not see the blatant flaws the writers gave him.

If I had to pinpoint why his flaws aren't as well seen, it is likely because he's not intentional about any harm he causes at all. It's not as shown in Book 7, but he's like Kalim where he is known to be naive, oblivious, and blunt to an almost painful degree, lacking total social awareness in most situations. In Book 7, specifically, we see that he has total self-worth issues, where he feels like he needs to repay Lilia for raising him (he doesn't) and constantly apologizes for things outside of his control (like Malleus's overblot). Poor self-worth is still a character flaw, even if it doesn't necessarily have a negative effect on other characters, and it manifests itself in Silver in a different way than how Sebek's issues with his self-worth are shown. I know that they aren't the most obvious character flaws, like how other characters are seen as arrogant, petty, or quick to anger, but they're still flaws regardless.

It's probably harder for the writers to write flaws for a character whose main inspiration comes from a Disney prince and princess, who are often characterized as paragons of good morality (most princesses' main character flaws are naivety anyway). But just because he's more stereotypically good than the rest of the cast does not negate the flaws he does have. What are your thoughts? Off-topic, but I really enjoy reading your character analyses even if I don't agree with them sometimes; it helps me look at the story from a new perspective.

dhjwekskskn Very quickly, thank you for the feedback! That’s always my goal with analyses—not to necessarily change minds, but to hopefully expose others to + get them thinking about perspectives beyond their own.

This is the first time I’ve heard of someone claiming Silver doesn’t have flaws 🤔 I would sort of get it if this was pre-book 7, as Silver content is quite scarce before then. Mmm… even so, he has opportunities in various vignettes and event stories to show us areas where he’s lacking. For example, in Leona's Ceremonial Robes vignettes, Silver believes that Leona and Malleus are friends, despite Leona's very blatant hostility towards Malleus--which indicates denseness and a lack of social awareness. He's also unaware of how he presents himself to others, leading to peers thinking he's unapproachable (his Dorm Uniform vignettes) or to otherwise be stiff-faced (something Vil comments on in Fairy Gala: What If and in Silver's P.E. vignettes). Those can, however, be easy to miss, especially if you weren’t already on the lookout for him to begin with.

I think we readily overlook Silver’s flaws (even when they’re on display) because 1) he’s not as loud about it like Kalim is and 2) he’s a “good” guy in a cast of characters that usually act like assholes or take it a step further and come close to committing actual crimes. It’s hard for a normal nice guy to stand out against that crowd. Another part of it is, I think, how Silver's greatest shortcoming is easily conflated for something "good".

A consistent theme for Silver is feeling as though he is not enough. This can cause him to train intensely in order to rectify the situation. For example, in the aforementioned Dorm Uniform vignettes, Silver immediately seeks help learning how to appear more friendly to his classmates. Similarly, in Azul's Halloween Dress vignette, Silver assumes extensive training to help him be more intimidating so that he can get the other Diasomnia students to obey him. (As it turns out, they actually don't listen to him because Silver has a tendency to fall asleep mid-conversation.) He also drinks coffee, invests money in clocks, and does whatever he can to help himself stay alert, as he cites his inability to stay awake as a personal shortcoming rather than a health condition he has no control over. He’s frequently apologizing to others for falling asleep on them and even apologizing for others (like Sebek). In short, Silver is always pushing himself to "be better" (something typically regarded as positive), which is a LARGE contrast to the majority of his peers, who are resistant to change and slow to acknowledge their faults. The key thing to note here is that Silver is doing all of this out of a lack of self-worth. He believes he's not worthy, not good enough.

This all culminates in the events of book 7, in which we learn that Silver has deep-rooted insecurities about being "enough" for Lilia as well. As he tells Malleus in 7-28:

"17 years ago... Father found me as a baby deep in the forests of Briar Valley. Father is fae. I'm human. I'm not related to him by blood, and there's no other reason for him to be responsible for me. Yet he took me in. He raised me as if I were his own. He fed me, he trained me, he stayed with me all night whenever I was sick... Humans and fae are different in every way, from our constitutions, to how fast we grow—all of it. Barely anyone in Briar Valley knows how to care for a human. And Father lived alone there. I can only imagine how hard it must've been for him to raise a human baby with no one to turn to for help... I can never thank him enough. I was ready to spend the rest of my life repaying him... But I haven't given back a single thing... And now he's planning to pass on in a faraway land. Even if Father loses his magic and grows frail... Even if he forgets everything, I still want to be at his side, supporting him... I'm far from a fine son! I can't grant my father the one thing he wished for. He wanted me to send him off with a smile on my face..."

Silver is incredibly hard on himself, and even moreso once he learns the truth of his bloodline. Not only does he tell himself that he's undeserving of Lilia's love or even calling himself his son, but he also convinces himself that Malleus and Sebek would also despise him now + tells himself he deserves this:

"Father, don't... I... I don't deserve your love." (context: he's telling past!Lilia to not taking in his infant self)

"Stop that! Stop crying! You have no right to cry!" (context: Silver berates his infant self for sobbing when Lilia takes him in)

"What worth could a bunch of shriveled up old acorns have? Why would you lie like that...? *sob, sob*" (context: Silver learns that the acorn bracelet Lilia considers his "single most valuable possession" was a gift from child!Silver)

"It's pitch black everywhere... Maybe this place is what I deserve. I can just stay here, alone...forever... *sob* (context: Silver is astray in his own darkness)

"What must Sebek think of me now...? ...Does he hate me? I don't want to think about it... I don't want to think about anything."

"Father, did you know that this ring originally belonged to the Dawn Knight...? The Dawn Knight, enemy to you and all of Briarland... Vanquisher of Malleus's parents... And I'm... I'm his... *sob* *sob* *gulp*I... I... How will I ever face you and Malleus after this? *sob, sob*"

"Even though we aren't related by blood, I've always seen myself as your son. But...I can't call myself that in good conscience any longer." "You could never truly love someone related to the Silver Owls... Let alone the Dawn Knight's son! You could never... *sob, sob*"

"Was that voice another vision I conjured to comfort myself?" (context: Silver is greeted by a vision of Lilia praising him; he rejects that image, but accepts a hostile version of past!Lilia who sees him as the Dawn Knight and moves in to strike him down)

Silver is only pulled out of his swamp of darkness when Sebek reminds him that he is so strong only as a result of Lilia's love. Even after this point in time, we see Silver's penchant to be a little too self-sacrificing putting him in danger. He throws himself in harm's way to shield Lilia from a blow in the Eastern Fortress, does the same at Mallemom's lightning, and when confronting Malleus multiple times throughout book 7. (This isn't even limited only to protecting his father; Silver is shown to jump into action in other instances, like protecting Idia in GloMasq from what is basically a party popping handkerchief. Sebek doesn't do the same; his protective behaviors primarily relate to Diasomnia.) Silver is, quite literally, willing to lay his life on the line for others--and that, in part, comes from being a trained knight, of course. However, part of it could also coes from a place of thinking of others as having more worth than he does, or feeling as though he must "repay" the people important to him.

This is why it's sooo satisfying seeing Silver formally take on Lilia's surname at the end of book 7. This entire time, he has been struggling with his identity and self-worth. By finally becoming "Silver Vanrouge", he's affirming that his father does love him, and that he is worthy of having that love. Everyone there at the party is even there to bear witness to the completion of that character arc.

[nosyrobin]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑪 𝑫𝑰𝑪𝑲 𝑮𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑺𝑶𝑵 + 𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑮𝑹𝑨𝒀𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑿 𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑭𝑻𝑬𝑹!𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑫!𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹⋆. 𐙚 ˚

pt.1 || pt2

☆〜 okay, so mark is stressed the fuck out. Not only that you have no recorded of living anywhere in the world… or planets. You’re actually some kid that has a crazy power to shift anything you want! Oliver didn’t know how to feel about you until you changed something he didn’t like into what he desired. Oliver immediately told mark that you need to live with them.

Your powers resembles Eve’s powers to a maximum, with how you shift things like oh the food you didn’t like was there so you shifted it into a nice Burger King burger. Mark was shocked before Oliver grabbed something and asked you to change it. You had told the family about your history with your powers.

Debbie couldn’t help but comfort you, mark felt bad that your powers go haywire at times. Oliver looked at his older brother and suggested why not just let you train it off. So the plan proceeded. You had some random clothing rag infront of you before you changed it into the hero suit you had before you left Dick.

You were now nine, living your life in this reality. You’re a protege of atom eve! And boy is it amazing! Even though Oliver makes fun of your hero name, you make fun of him. Ending up if you two rough housing, of course mark or Debbie had to break it up quickly before Oliver accidentally uses his strength.

You were practically the youngest sibling in the family of the graysons, which means mark is more nervous about having his younger siblings that have powers. Oliver can handle himself, Mark can trust him. Oliver has started to adapted to the human nature, of course you show Oliver your favorite things to make.

He once made something for you off of a video he saw on television. He was happy to see you smile and hug him, holding you in the right amount of strength as well. Mark’s eyes soften when coming home from a mission to see you and Oliver snoozing while science dog played in the living room tv. Although, the graysons have thoughts in their head….

What if you get forced into another universe… what if it wasn’t something safe. That really freaked Oliver out to almost a breakdown. He loved his new sibling! He loved how your powers and how you two would play around. He can’t just let you go! He holds you tight, his purple arms wrapped around you as he frowns. “Don’t leave us…” he says lowly before falling asleep.

Everytime Eve called mark, mark gets scared that you probably were forced into another place with your powers. Only to learn that most calls were due to Eve being impressed at how quick you changed a normal house into a unicorn! Eve had the most fun with you.

She practically loves you! She sometimes go into the house to see you creating random stuff like glowing lollipops, or even such as gummy worms that actually wiggle like worms.

Was kinda terrifying to have a gummy worm crawl to her, but at least your creativity was your main source of your powers. Mark and Eve already had agreed for you to just learn your limits and offense. Because of how you couldn’t just fly, Oliver had to pick you up and fly around. Sure you didn’t mind at first, til it got embarrassing at your older brother practically making fun of you.

“How’s the wind sparky, is it coool?” He teases as you huff, “Shut up!” Mark had to stop your bickering as Oliver tested to try and drop you…. Yeah he wasn’t going to but mark was really scared he might.

And just like before you spent months here, loving your new family. Loving your new mom, new brothers, new mentor, new everything. It’s like you practically forgot about your last life with dick. There were definitely brotherly moments where you Eve started to talk about dating to you.

You couldn’t help but giggle nervously, Oliver didn’t get it at first. He understood mating, yes. But that’s cause he understood that adults do it for their causes. But when it came to you, he didn’t like it a bit! Mark teased Oliver for acting like a big brother when another kid tried to talk to you with loveydovey eyes. And he didn’t like that! You’re young! You’re pure! You’re his sibling!

Oliver grabbed your hand and dragged you from the kid who was now heart broken. “What was that for Oli!?” “I didn’t like how he looked at you..” Oliver pouts as mark couldn’t help but laugh at this, but that before Eve elbowed him and mentioned this may happen when you’re a teenager. And suddenly this bitch locked in and became part of the “protect y/n” team.

If you had gotten bullied, oh boy… Oliver may snap. Mark knows kids are assholes, sure. But he and Debbie will be the civil ones to just sit down and talk to the folks of the bully. While Oliver is seeking for blood. He doesn’t play about his family.

Then suddenly it happened. All over again. Again. Again.

You were making confetti from the air as Oliver clapped his hands impressed. He floated a few feet off the ground and collected some, you both created a game called “Catch the Confetti” where Oliver would catch how many he can get and you both get to decide the prize. In the shared room of you both, a sparkling portal opens up.

Your eyes widen as you stopped creating the confetti. Oliver gasp, stopping to land on the ground. And then the hungry portal began. It started to suck in everything you own into the portal.

You screamed feeling yourself getting sucked in, Oliver screamed for you, speeding over to grab your arms. “No! Stay! You have to!”

He grits his teeth as he feels the portal get angry. You sob as you look at Oliver, “I don’t want to go!” “I know! I won’t let it take you! We haven’t gone to Tokyo and try your favorite cafe! We haven’t had a big sleepover yet! We haven’t played catch yet with each other! We haven’t….” Oliver felt his eyes tear up, you hated to see him cry.

And he hated to see you cry.. but you knew what you had to do. “You have to let me go.” Oliver’s eyes widen. “What!? Are you nuts?!” You looked at Oliver, and you looked back into the patrol. “I’m sorry…” you let go of his hands. Oliver tried to get you back, but you were already sucked in… the patrol closes just as Oliver reached out. Everything felt like slow motion.

Oliver fell on his face, getting up as he screamed your name.

Mark bursted in, late…. Late… late.. late.

Oliver turned towards him with sadness in his eyes, “They’re.. gone.. mark…” Mark’s eyes widen as he held Oliver tight to him. He knew you and Oliver were close. But this.. was devastating.

And now they wondered.

The graysons were wondering where the child could be….

TO BE CONTINUED

[estfel]

This post really got me thinking about the last year for me.

Sums up how I feel right now about doing morning exercise for 20-30 minutes. The temporary hatred at the thing, hatred of myself, resentment, and rage I feel doing it, is less distressing than the endless hatred I feel not doing it that would follow me throughout the day.

Damn it.

Someone once said "you just need to find an exercise you enjoy". And then I felt like a failure because I DID NOT ENJOY ANY in the moment.

I think it's okay advice for some but it just made me feel like I was weird for hating dedicated exercise. It also didn't help when I was so low I was not motivated to do anything and would rather rot. "YOU JUST" is such a shitty line. Because you don't "just" it's a combination of efforts, and they are hard, and it sometimes really hurts to do the things in the moment that help things hurt less in the long run, and that's a sticky cycle to get stuck in. The many bits that make up self care can feel like a mountain when they all slip at the same time.

I think for me I put so much pressure to do it all at once and "just" get better. All or nothing. Then some good advice I got was quick wins and build it up slow. "YOU just need to..." doesnt exist for a lot of people.

For me, and it's not the same for everyone, the thing that helped was one thing at a time until that one thing gets easier. For me it's never "just do X" because there is never going to be a thing that just makes things better. I love the above posts for showing how hard it can be, and all the things that are good for you but are both infuriating, difficult but beautiful and enriching. Enraging and enlightening.

So last year, I started with breakfast. Never had breakfast really, and struggled to get out of bed because I never ate breakfast and felt like I had no reason. No motibation. I used to feel like I had to do breakfast, exercise, lunch, meditation, walks, work, socialise, clean and tidy and do it all at once. Gogogogogogo. And because I couldn't do all that at once I felt hopeless.

So I just did breakfast.

No worrying about exercise, or other routines. This week, I am just going to eat breakfast every day. Then that got easier. After two weeks, I added something new.

I added 15 minutes of cleaning to my headphones a day. Nothing longer. Didnt matter what I did just 15 minutes then stop. I ended up loving cleaning once I stopped trying to regiment it so hard, so this didn't pan out like I expected. Which was nice. But that doesn't mean some days I don't want to throw the window cleaner out the window.

Then with exercise I think for me it wasn't about enjoyment, it was about ease of access and the capacty for overthinking. I needed exercise that you have to do the least pre-prep for because you can just do it immediately without psyching yourself out. Just go right in and do it.

I love swimming but the act of having to drive there, spend the money, get changed in a weird space that doesn't feel 100% clean and do boring laps because our public pool doesn't really allow you to pretend to be a mermaid and throw shit to dive for and catch, was such a process my brain and body would be in a state of such high "Nuuugghhh" I would just not go then feel like a failure, and that demotivated me more.

The gym was the same. Too much prep, strangers in my space, loud weight drops etc.

But walking in the evening for just 15 minutes down the road I could do. Shoes. Leave house. Simple. Count all the red or blue things on the walk. Then after that got easier I added five minutes.

The once that became my new normal I added, sticking a video I can dance along to on YouTube requires me to wake up, pick up a remote and do it. I can do it in my pyjamas. Then I would get breakfast. It leaves less time for doom brain to talk me out of it.

And sometimes it's about NOT adding anymore. There's enough already. That actually, it's enough for now. Just be with that for a while. It's okay to say, "Ah, I can't do much more right now".

My achilles tendon ripped. Suddenly walking and dancing were not really options. I felt shit. I was in pain. It wasn't an option to "just go and do some yoga" because a downward dog would have snapped my tendon like a twig. So, new goal, breakfast, and physio stretches. I hated those stretches. I wanted to murder those stretches. But things change, and it's okay to say "what got easier, is now harder again" and change it up to fit your now, rather than your was.

I still hate it all a lot of the time. I beat myself up a lot. It's hard not to spiral and dive off the wagon.

But doing it does make a lot of the rest of the time better for me, I have found. Annoyingly.

I don't know what this post was really. I just felt like it resonated and wanted to ramble. I think it's nice to sometimes think about.

But yeah, I resent exercise and hate having to do it, but I'll do anyway.

fucking hate it when the stuff everybody says "actually works" does actually work.

hate exercising and realizing i've let go of a lot of anxiety and anger because i've overturned my fight-or-flight response.

hate eating right and eating enough and eating 3 times a day and realizing i'm less anxious and i have more energy

hate journaling in my stupid notebook with my stupid bic ballpoint and realizing that i've actually started healing about something once i'm able to externalize it

hate forgiving myself hate complimenting myself more often hate treating myself with kindness hate taking a gratitude inventory hate having patience hate talking to myself gently

hate turning my little face up to the sun and taking deep breaths and looking at nature and grounding myself and realizing that i feel less burdened and more hopeful, more actually-here, that i am able to see the good sides of myself more clearly, that i am able to see not only how far i have to grow - but also how much growth i have already done & how much of my life i truly fill with light and laughter and love

horrible horrible horrible. hate it but i'm gonna do it tho

[tovibeornottovibe]

Before Someone Misses You

Eris Vanserra x Healer!Fem!OC

As a result of his father's heavy-handed parenting style, Eris is mere moments away from death. He can't think straight; the faebane and the blood loss is making him delirious. With what little strength he has, he winnows to Cleo's backdoor and practically collapses into her arms. Unfortunately for him, his usual restraint is severely impeded and yeah, he's so fucking in love with her, even if he can't admit it to himself. [4k words]

warnings: implied/referenced torture, swearing, implied sexual situations, mentioned Beron Vanserra (yuck)

Prefer to read on Ao3?

“Eris, Eris, you need to breathe. Just look at me, okay?”

He’s trying. Really, really trying. His eyes don’t seem to want to stay open, his head feels full, heavy, and his saliva is thick in his mouth like molasses; he can’t swallow it. He can’t tell if he’s going to throw up or pass out. All he knows is that he’s bleeding on Cleo’s floor and leaving a gory trail behind him as she props him up and leads him to her sofa. And now he’s bleeding on her sofa too.

Shame. The cream-coloured cushions suited her living room so well.

Eris is vaguely aware that she’s positioning him so she can get access to all of the lacerations across his torso, and that her dog is sitting patiently beside him, out of the way but close enough, worrying after him. He winces when she grips his chin and moves his head, lets out a ragged, wet breath when he tries to shift.

“Don’t move,” she says. He figures she talks like this with the fae she treats on the daily. Very to the point, but with a touch of tenderness. Delirium has hit him so hard that he manages to convince himself that she might actually save said tenderness just for him. Well, it’s a nice thought to go out with if this does turn out to be his last day alive. Ah, and he still had so much more to do. 

“You need to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

Cleo has a soothing voice. It’s rich and has none of that sycophantic tartness that the females of his own court tout at every opportunity. When she berates him for not taking care of himself—namely, for not seeing a damn healer immediately, for the love of the fucking Mother—she might as well be singing a lullaby…

“Please, Eris.”

He hums what he thinks might be some kind of response and makes the effort to open his eyes. Sometime between him falling into her arms and him falling onto her sofa, she had removed his shirt and started cleaning his wounds. They’re mostly cuts from a knife, but it’s the faebane making him feel so fuzzy. He can feel how his magic putters out in his veins. Courtesy of his father. Something, something, researching the effects of high dosages. What little he had managed to regain in the hours between being dumped in his rooms and now had been used up winnowing to Cleo’s doorstep at daybreak. The Dawn Court is further away than he thought and it had felt like wading through mud.

Usually, her cleaning him up hurts. The alcohol she uses burns but it’s effective and the blinding sting helps keep him focused. This doesn’t even register. He can’t feel where she’s pressing the cotton to his skin. Can’t feel where she’s holding him down to keep him from thrashing. Doesn’t even know if he’s capable of thrashing.

The dark waves of her hair fall over her face and she uses her bloodied hands to brush it out of the way. She hasn’t had it cut for a while and the length suits her. It probably reaches her mid-back now.

“What did he give you?” she asks, that slight tenderness hidden beneath a roiling, constrained kind of anger which makes him equally pleased and sickened. If it were anyone else, them seeing him in this state would have been mortifying, worthy of threats and promises never to tell a soul, but it’s Cleo, so it’s fine.

Eris attempts to form the word faebane, but his lips won’t do what he tells them and his teeth are suspiciously static. Whatever he chokes out registers with her, and she leaves him for a moment, presumably to dig through the cupboard under the sink where she keeps miscellaneous substances like selenium solution. Keenly, he feels her absence. He closes his eyes.

This is a quaint, little middle-of-a-terrace house in a quiet part of Thesan’s city, mostly untouched by Amarantha. Small, but comfortable. A kitchen made for no more than three, a dining table with tasteful chairs, a clean living room, artfully furnished and perfect for her. Though he has never been upstairs, he imagines her bedroom is similarly decorated with classy, understated furniture. There’s a patch of a back garden where she grows herbs and her dog, Dartagnan, can bound about in the sunshine. Here, even he can see the benefit of seasons. He’d go as far to say it's idyllic. 

Perhaps she’ll construct a funeral pyre for him somewhere nearby. Dart will find sticks for her to add to the pile. The birds will sing while his body burns. It could be worse. He could be at home.

Nudging at his hand which hangs off the sofa limply—his muscles aren’t doing much for him at the current moment—has his head lolling to the side and his eyes fluttering back open again. Dart is sniffing at the blood on his forearm. He slowly pats him on the head, running his fingers through his fur, and even in his state, he can hear his tail start to swish against the floor.

Dart makes for a good distraction, and Eris stays awake until Cleo returns and kneels at his side. 

“Am I going to have to force this down your gullet?” she asks, though a response doesn’t come to mind. Anything she says right now feels like coming in from the cold and sitting in front of the hearth. “Fuck, okay, fine.”

She pulls his jaw and opens his mouth and he lets her. One of these days, she’ll cup his face and it won’t be to pour medicine down his throat. Even when she’s treating him, particularly if it’s his face that needs healing and she gets so close to him that he can feel her breath against his neck, he thinks about whether or not she’d let him seduce her. Eris knows she’d suit burgundy. He wonders if she knows how to dance. If not, he could teach her—ack!  

As soon as the foul-tasting antidote hits his tongue, he feels his magic begin to purge the faebane from his veins, burning it out of his system, and for the first time since yesterday afternoon, he can breathe properly. He lets out a sharp sigh which catches in his throat. He flexes his hands, bends his knees, the feeling coming back to them, and manages to sit himself up despite the stinging of his wounds. At that, Cleo’s relief becomes evident on her face and she sits back on her calves, looking up at him. Dart, visibly brightening from Eris’ movement, rests his chin on the sofa cushion and nudges his side again. He goes back to fussing him.

“If you had left it another hour, you would be dead. You understand that, right?”

For a moment, he pauses. His imminent death isn’t even top five on his list of things to worry about.

He flicks his attention to her, and her short-lived relief has been replaced by a quiet, seething kind of rage which somehow makes him feel guilty. It’s not something he’s used to and he decides that he fervently hates it. Cleo is so open with her emotions. She has no mask. No ulterior motive. She just is who she is. They would eat her alive in Autumn, but here, in Dawn, it’s normal not to exploit your neighbours’ weaknesses. You wouldn’t even gain anything but a sour reputation if you tried.

“It’s a good thing I came when I did then, isn’t it?” he says without any of his usual sneer. She would kick him out of her house. Has kicked him out, on more than one occasion, for being an asshole.

“Yes, very good,” she spits, pushing herself up, gathering the bloodied rags littered across the sofa. “You need to get inoculated if your father is going to keep poisoning you.”

He can’t do that and she knows it in the same way she knows not to heal his wounds, only to stop them bleeding or getting an infection, because his father likes to see the results of his handiwork. She’s smart enough to have worked that out without him needing to tell her. She’s smart enough to be able to do a lot of things and he wishes he could steal her away for himself, kids himself that he wants her only for her mind. If only he could convince her that she’s wasted here, but even he knows that she isn’t. Cleo does good work. Cleo helps people. Cleo is far too good a person to be in his consistent company.

“I doubt he’d use the same poison twice,” he says. Dart huffs at him as he swings his legs over the edge of the sofa, almost relishing the subsiding ache in his joints. He leans back against the cushions while she cleans her equipment with a flick of the wrist and sends him a glare. 

“One of these days, he’s going to kill you,” she says gently, like she was breaking some bad news he wasn’t already aware of. She perches in front of him on the coffee table and tilts her head, assessing the way he moved in case she needed to heal some unseen injury. Internal bleeding is a favourite of his father’s. “Or else you’re going to die on my sofa and trust me when I say that will be a difficult one to explain to the guards.”

“Shall I provide you with a note to let them know it isn’t your fault?” he drawls, but it’s tinged with something sincere. All of this frank discussion makes Eris uncomfortable. The idea that she might actually be upset if he died sits uneasily in his chest and makes his stomach flip. 

Dart hops up on the sofa, which he isn’t allowed to do, and rests his head in Eris’ lap. When Eris scratches behind his ears, his tail starts again. His smokehounds would eat him alive too. Or else protect him within an inch of each of their lives. Softie.

Cleo drags a hand through her hair, pulling at the tangles she finds. In turn, he shakes the thought that, even when she’s worried, annoyed, angry, she is incontestably beautiful. These are unhelpful things for him to spend his time on. He shouldn’t even be sitting here. He should have already winnowed back to the Autumn Court. Should be preparing to make a miraculous appearance at breakfast and scare his father into thinking that he can truly recover by himself. Should be attempting to reassure his mother that no, he really is fine, no need for concern. Alas, he’s here, lavishing her dog with attention and ignoring the fact that he likes the smell of her living room now that the coppery tang of blood has been cleared away with her magic. 

Eris Vanserra considers himself to be many things, but a fool isn’t one of them. Perhaps he should start reevaluating.

She winces when he shifts and it pains him. “You don’t need me to lecture you,” she says, “but for the love of the Mother, Eris—”

“—see a healer immediately. Yes. I know,” he finishes for her. 

With the haze of the faebane gone, his body recuperating however much blood he lost, he can look at her, really look at her. The tan of her skin seems a little deeper compared with the last time he was here. The definition in her muscles is just a bit more pronounced. She wears a frown which he wants to wipe off her face, and a matching set of a pale green vest and pair of shorts which reveals so much skin he reasons that she simply cannot be meaning to wear that in public. In Autumn, just the fit of her shorts around her waist would be indecent, let alone the cut of the vest. Truly, Dawn Court fashion confounds him.

“You’re in your pyjamas,” he says. He needs the normality of a conversation before he can steel himself to go home.

She raises a brow at him and he takes that as a victory. No more of that frown. “You’re shirtless.”

His state of undress suddenly becomes very, very apparent to him. It’s so pleasantly warm in here that it doesn’t make too much difference to him. It must be summer in the Solar Courts. “I take it my shirt is thoroughly ruined?”

She shrugs. “I’m told ‘tattered and bloodied’ is very in at the moment.Torture-chic.”

He huffs a laugh despite himself; Cleo has that kind of morbid, absurdist humour which appeals to him. It probably has something to do with the fact she deals with dying fae every day.

“Do you want another one or are you planning on scandalising your servants?”

“Firstly,” he says, emphasizing his point by putting up a finger, “they’re maids.” She rolls her eyes as if to say, like that makes any difference. “Secondly, I don’t think any of your shirts will fit.”

The corners of her lips tip up into a ghost of a smile. “Ah. Hang on.” She stands and Dart promptly does the same, meaning to follow her around like a lost puppy as usual. Eris, for just a second before he gets a hold of himself, misses the comfort. In his absence, his cuts start to throb. Cleo calls that the placebo effect and it is infuriating that he’s susceptible to it (“Everyone is, Eris. That’s why they did research on it. If it was only the case in insufferable, idiotic, half-dead—” “Okay, enough. No need to injure me further.” ). She stretches and he averts his eyes from where her vest rides up and shows her midriff. “I’ll be back in a mo’,” she says.

And she disappears upstairs, Dart padding after her. Unequivocally, he does not watch her go, busies himself with taking in the full-extent of what his father subjected him to. It’s not a pretty sight, and though Cleo cleaned him up as much as she could, he’s going to gain some more fairly unpleasant scars. By his guess, it’s going to take a week, maybe more, for these to heal. It was either him or Caelan, and he somewhat finds Caelan tolerable, so he took the knife for him. He had better remember that when the time comes, he thinks.

Though Cleo knows far, far too much to be safe, she doesn’t know anything about his plans to overthrow Beron, and she certainly doesn’t know it’s mere months away. With the coming Autumn equinox, he will crown himself High Lord. Dramatic intent never hurt. After that, he can visit her any time he likes. Maybe she could even come to him…

Cauldron, he’s fucked, isn’t he?

This is all for afterwards. He can’t think like this now. Not when his freedom is so close he can almost taste it and one wrong move will spell not just his death but those of everyone who is counting on him to depose his father. Every spy, every guard in his employ, every maid, cook, and gardener who warn him of his father’s whereabouts and look after his mother when he can’t. Every damned faerie in his damned Court who are sick of Beron’s rule. And Cleo. They’ll probably come for her too for daring to be kind to him all those years ago. 

So, failure isn’t an option.

Eris is broken from his reverie by a white shirt hitting him in the face. He might hate himself for noticing, but it smells like her: freesias and ginger. It is concerning that he has that piece of information tucked away in his brain somewhere. 

He pulls the shirt off his head and glares at her while Dart settles himself next to him. She shoots him the kind of smile that would make his heartbeat dangerously fast if he had the blood to spare. Just as he’s about to pull the shirt over his chest, he hesitates, because this is another male’s shirt. He swears if Cleo has some horribly charming and horrendously attractive partner/lover/whatever else in her life he is going to—

“Relax,” she says, drawing out the word. “It’s my brother’s. He left it here a couple of months ago.”

Damn her for reading him so well. 

Damn himself for being so obvious. And damn the Mother Herself for making him feel so happy about it. He’s the Heir to the Autumn Court and a general threat to anyone stupid enough to cross him—it’s a wonder no sentry of Thesan’s has picked up his presence in the Court—he cannot and will not carve out time in his day to feel content. 

Instead, he starts doing up the buttons and stands, maybe just a little too close to her to be friendly. The slight height advantage he has makes it so she has to look up at him. He enjoys the angle more than he cares to admit. 

“You shouldn’t go around telling members of other Courts when Thesan’s council members sleep on their sisters’ sofas,” he says, working out the roughness in his voice. 

“Why?” she laughs, then she gasps. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on kidnapping my brother and holding him for ransom.”

Eris leaves the top two buttons of the shirt undone. “I hadn’t been,” he says, “but now that you mention it…”

“He’s always wanted to see the Autumn Court, you know.”

“Yes, he’ll get a splendid view from a dungeon cell.”

“You had better give him the finest rags money can buy.”

“They’re all woven from the finest jute, I assure you. The rats who chew the holes have three square meals a day and the shackles are covered in the most exquisite rust that only severely cuts into the skin.”

“Excellent,” she says. “I’ll be sure to tell him you have a surprise for him next time I see him.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Frankly, Cleo’s brother is a prick, so, if she wanted him put in a dungeon, he would do it for her. Not that he’s offered. Yet.

She lets out a little chuckle and some kind of irresistible impulse wracks through him. 

They’re so close he can see the flecks of green in the blue of her eyes.

If he doesn’t leave soon he’s going to do something stupid like leaning down and kissing her. Then, if he got that far, he might do something even worse like slipping his hand under that fucking vest and finally, finally finding out what she feels like, tastes like, sounds like if… No. So what if he finds her attractive? So what if he hasn’t had a dalliance in years because he can’t stomach the thought of it? It won’t matter if his father kills him or scents her in his hair and goes to great lengths to find her and make him suffer for opening himself up, for being weak.

He tamps down every lingering, heated thought his brain bombards him with and tightens the defenses Cleo so easily pulls down every time he sees her.

“I should return before anyone notices I’m gone,” he says, but he doesn’t quite reach his desired level of harshness. In fact, he almost sounds disappointed.

It irks him that he can’t tell if Cleo feels the same. Instead of perhaps confessing her undying love for him, or calling him some profane name he’s never thought to imagine, she slips past him, straight to the backdoor which leads out to her garden, and gestures outside. “After all this time,” she says, “you’d think you’d know where the door is.” When she opens it, the songs of early-morning birds float through.

The walk feels too short, and he’s finding himself on the threshold of the house far too soon. 

Eris takes a deep breath, inhales the pleasant scent of mid-summer in the Dawn Court, of the flowers which border the back wall of her house and the wisteria tree which hangs over the brick separating the garden from the alleyway in cascading violet. 

He turns back. Slightly. Doesn’t fully turn his body. Their eyes meet.

“Thank you,” he says. Any other words die on his silver tongue. 

Cleo leans against the doorframe. For a moment, she flicks her gaze to the garden, then back to him. She swallows. “You know you don’t have to thank me, Eris,” she says softly, then she smiles again. “Just bring a good bottle of wine next time maybe?”

“You say that like I plan on these visits.”

She exhales a laugh and crosses her arms. “You know what I mean. Now, go, before someone misses you.”

Right. 

Mask on. He wears his ego like armour and his arrogance is sharp like the finest blade in his repertoire. Anyone who makes the mistake of being in his way, of impeding his progress, meets the business end of his endless influence, and no one will find the skeletons in his closet unless he wants them to. He takes what he wants and makes no apologies. He’s a Vanserra; blessed by the Mother with fire and the coppery hair to prove it; he’s born to scheme and lie and cheat his way to the top; he’s built for blood, to betray, betray, betray until he gets what he—

“Eris.”

 Cleo’s hand wraps around his arm before he can take a step. 

This is… they don’t do this. There’s rules for touching each other within the exclusive context of making sure he survives the night. On her sofa, there are no boundaries. Cleo does what she needs to and he lets her because he knows what’s good for him and she’s terrifying when she’s disobeyed. But, this, her hand, on his arm, stopping him, this is stepping over the line. The heat of her seeps through the shirt and it takes a lot of effort not to shiver from the contact.

“I meant what I said,” she continues, her touch lightening a fraction. “Be careful.” He opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. “Promise me you won’t get yourself killed.”

Oh.

Someday, not today, but sometime in the near future, she’s going to say something like that and he’s going to kiss her senseless. For now, he’s settling for her hand on his arm. 

So much for taking what he wants.

“Do you truly think I’m stupid enough to—?”

She narrows her eyes at him and he shuts his mouth. He shuts his eyes like the idea physically pains him.

“You really want me to promise, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs a long, heavy breath. Composes himself.

“I promise you,” he says, leaning toward her slightly, his voice low, “I won’t get myself killed. Happy?”

Whatever she searches for on his face, she seems to find. Satisfied, she lets go of him. The lack of pressure around his bicep feels wrong.

“Very,” she says. “Okay. Go.” A nod to the little wooden door that leads to the alleyway and out of the wards which surround the house. “And take pain tonics if it gets too much. I don’t care if they’re illegal in Autumn. That’s a shit law and you should repeal it.”

He plans to.

They don’t say goodbye. They never do. Some traditions will never change. There’s too much finality in the word, and they settle for no farewell at all, like the next time they see each other will simply be a continuation of the previous meeting. On-going. A constant in the background. 

With every step, he rebuilds his mask. By the time he’s home, it’ll feel normal again. Like second nature.

Even as he enters the alley, Eris doesn’t look back. Still, he knows she’s watching him go, and she won’t go back inside until she’s sure he’s winnowed away. 

a/n: am i potentially going to make this a series of one-shots? maybe

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

We're so bad together (I think I was made for you) (Dean Winchester x female reader)

After a hard day at work you are out in a bar, having a drink, when a handsome stranger by the name of Dean Winchester walks in. You both have a little secret though.

Read it on AO3

Rated E. 5.2k words. Role-playing. Dean cockblocking random dudes at bars. Dean being a massive flirt. Everyone's having a good time (except random bar guy).

Traveling for work has its perks – you get to see the country, make your own schedule and the anonymity of it can be nice.

The downside? Killing time in shitty motels and boring bars.

Sometimes you yearn for the comfort of a place you could come home to every night, a little nest, although you despise the word, all for yourself. Maybe one day.

Because another upside to life on the road? Handsome strangers.

Your day has been long and tiring and you just want a drink. The bar isn’t a dive bar, but a slightly hip place, with white wood and low, thrumming music in the background. The drinks carry ironic names and they only have craft beer. It’s not so bad, plus you get some olives at the bar instead of pretzels and peanuts, which is a nice change of pace.

You sit down at one of the stools at the bar and order a vodka soda. While you wait for your drink, you look around. Most small towns don’t have these sorts of places, but where you are now is just close enough to a bigger city that there’s probably enough young professionals to get good business.

You stretch your neck a little, making the thin chain necklace around your neck move, feeling some tension there. The barkeep brings you your drink, and you smile and thank him, take a sip and sigh.

A group of five walk up next to you at the bar. They’re all in office clothes, their suit jackets taken off, the women putting their hair into pony tails, trying to get comfortable, and you thank the heavens that you don’t have a dress code for your job. They’re chatting and joking, seem to know each other well.

You pick this up without paying very much attention to them. The work you do requires you to be aware of your surroundings all the time, and it’s a hard habit to drop. You sip your drink. There’s a TV over the bar, and the news are on, so you watch that for a while.

“You want another drink?”

You expect it to be the barkeep, but your drink is still half full so it’s a weird thing to ask. But when you turn, you see it’s not the barkeep, but one of the guys from the group that’s next to you at the bar. You look down at your glass.

“Thanks,” you say, a polite smile on your lips, “I’m good right now.”

“Oh,” he says, making a bit of a face. “I was actually just using that as a way to start talking to you.”

You look at him. He’s cute. Curly hair, a nice face. Not too bad looking in his pressed suit.

You smile again. “That’s sweet, but like I said, I still have a drink.”

He sits down on the chair next to you and you raise your eyebrows. You thought you were being pretty clear.

He lowers his voice, like he’s telling you a secret. “Look,” he says, moving his head to indicate the group he’s with. “Those are my friends and they’re real good people, but the thing is, I’ve been single for a while now and they get very excited about the idea of me finding someone.”

“O-kay,” you say, not sure what all of this has to do with you.

“And,” yuppie boy continues, “I may have made the mistake of pointing out that I think you’re extremely pretty and they told me not to came back to them without your number.”

It’s not bad as far as contrived ways to chat someone up go. It puts you and him on the same team, and really, you’re just helping him out, right? Poor guy, ostracized by his friends. You swallow your disdain for the situation.

“Wow,” you say, “Sounds like you’re in a tough spot.” He grins, a little too proud of himself and extends his hand. “I’m Colin.”

You don’t take his hand. “Colin,” you say, and now you’re the one leaning in, “I think you’re full of shit.”

He blanks at that for a second, and then laughs uproariously. “Damn,” he says when he’s stopped laughing, “you’re a wild one, aren’t you?” You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“Can I give you some feedback?” you ask. “Sure,” Colin says, still thinking that this is going well.

“You don’t have to make up a story about your friends and how you’ve been single for a long time,” you say to him. “If you see someone you think is hot at a bar, you can just say that.” Colin keeps grinning.

“You might say you didn’t like the story, but who’s sitting here with me, chatting?” he asks.

Tapping your fingers on the bar, you don’t point out that he simply sat down and you had no intention to talk to him.

“Well, like I said,” you continue, and start turning away from him, “I have a drink.”

“Come ooon,” he says, and his tone is a little petulant, “we were having fun.”

You’re about to turn back and tell Colin to get his ass away from you when the front door to your right opens. Your habit to know what’s going on around you makes you look and then you can’t stop looking.

He’s the best-looking man you’ve ever seen. His face is the perfect mix of stunningly handsome and heart-wrenchingly pretty. He has hair you just want to run your hands through, grip and see what noises he makes. He’s tall and broad-shouldered and he walks with a swagger that seems to make the air bend around him.

He’s breath-taking, in every sense of the word.

He walks in and looks around like he owns the place. His clothes make him stick out like a sore thumb in this place of business casual, but somehow, if that’s even possible, that makes him more attractive. He’s a full and perfect picture.

And, while he scans the place, his eyes land on you.

You distantly hear Colin with the shitty friends say something but you don’t listen to it. Because you are making eye contact with this man and then he is walking towards you. He does it without taking his eyes off you and you feel a shiver run down your spine. There’s something intense about him.

“Sorry, did you hear what I said?” You whip your head around and Colin is basically inside your ear. Jesus, personal space much?

“What?” you say.

“I was saying,” Colin repeats, “that they have this really cool mixer here on Wednesdays and if you’ve ever been to that, because my buddy Frank, he—”

“This seat taken?”

Both you and Colin fall silent as you turn the other way again. It’s the guy and his voice is deep and raspy and you feel it all the way down to your crotch.

“No,” you say, looking at him. His eyes are strikingly green, the greenest you’ve ever seen. There’s some stubble on his face and you wonder what it would feel like under your fingertips, against your skin.

“Uh, sorry man,” Colin says. Oh Colin. “We were actually just talking?”

Handsome guy doesn’t sit, instead he leans sideways against the bar, which brings him much closer to you.

“Lady doesn’t seem very interested,” he says, not letting his eyes leave you. A small grin forms on your lips

“Not a lady,” you say. A devilish smile plays on his face. “No?” You shake your head a little.

“Do you guys, like, know each other?” Colin asks behind you, and you can’t blame him, because the easiness with which you two talk is a little intense.

“Name’s Dean,” he says, extending his hand to you. You hesitate for a second, then shake it, say your name.

“Pretty,” Dean says, while his eyes drop down to your lips. Holy hell.

Suddenly you see an arm extend past you, and Colin starts: “My name is –" Dean looks away from your face for the first time, past you.

“I didn’t ask,” he interrupts. You almost feel bad for Colin, but then Dean looks back at your face and you forget there is anyone else in the bar.

“So,” he says. “You from around here?”

“No,” you say, “just here on business.” Dean nods. “Same with me. You stayin’ in town for long?”

“I wasn’t planning on,” you reply. “Unless something interesting comes up.”

Dean’s smile broadens at what might have been an accidental double entendre from you.

“Interesting, huh?” he asks, and his gaze drops down to your hands briefly, maybe checking for a ring? He won’t find it there.

Colin clears his throat, and asks: “So you don’t want that drink?”

You look away from Dean, which isn’t easy, and turn to him.

“Colin,” you say, “give it up, buddy.” He looks a little taken aback and you think he’s about to say something, but then he tucks tail and leaves. Good for him on knowing when he’s beat. And you and Dean have your peace at last.

As you turn back, Dean’s looking over your shoulder after Colin.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he says and you incline your head.

“True,” you say, “but you can blame him for not taking no for an answer.”

Dean nods, then turns to you again. “So, you not interested in any company or just his?” You lean forward a little. “Depends on what you’ve got to offer, Dean.”

He grins again, that boyish grin that makes him look like he should be on posters on the walls of male-attracted teens throughout the country.

“I have a room not far from here,” he says. “Maybe we could go there, see if we can’t make something, how did you say, interesting come up?”

What he’s saying is cheesy as hell and would probably do better in an 80’s porno, but somehow he makes it work. It’s like he knows how ridiculous it is, but he’s leaning into it so hard that it comes around to being sexy again.

You look him up and down again. He’s handsome as sin and although it’s been a long day and you were planning on having another drink and some dinner, you think you should just roll with it.

“Well, then, Dean,” you say, and bite your lip, making him look at your mouth. “Lead the way.”

You pay for your drink and Dean walks you out to his car, which is almost as sexy as he is. He opens the passenger door for you and just as you’re about to get in he grabs your arm and pulls you towards him.

His lips meet yours and then you have your arms wrapped around his neck and he’s pushing your back against the side of the car. He’s a good kisser and what he’s doing with his hands isn’t half bad either. They wander down to your ass and he squeezes it, pushing himself against you in the process.

“Shit,” he says, when you part to catch your breath, “I wish I could just do you right here.”

“Oh yeah?” you say, and use the opportunity to drag your tongue across his jaw, making him shudder. “Just bend me over the car and have your way with me?”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Wow, that’s, uhm,” he says, then seems to think for a second. “But yeah, something like that.”

You chuckle. You actually flustered him.

Dean’s hand goes back to the door. “Shall we?”

While he’s driving you watch him. You particularly like the little bump in his otherwise perfectly straight nose. A small imperfection that makes the whole picture even better.

“Enjoying the view?” Dean asks, and turns his head to you. You’re leaning back against the door, one leg angled up on the seat and his eyes go to your face but then run over you, before coming back to your face.

“Eyes on the road, cowboy,” you say, and he grins and turns back. That grin is seriously getting to you and you don’t know if you can contain yourself if you see it again.

Turns out it’s not what you should be worried about since his right hand snakes along the bench seat and finds its way to your thigh. His hands are as perfect as the rest of him, a little rough looking. You bite your lip. He must work really good with his hands. His touch on you is gentle though, and his fingers travel up and down your thigh, going a little higher each time.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” you ask, and then he does the grin again, goddamn it.

“Just getting the lay of the land,” he says, then adds: “We’re almost there, couple of minutes.”

“Then we should make the most of it,” you answer, and lean forward.

You sit up, close to Dean, and run one hand over his chest, then move your head to gently nibble at his ear. He sighs.

“You do this kinda thing a lot?” he asks, trying to act cool as you run one hand up his leg, coming close to his crotch. “Going home with strange men you meet in bars?”

You reply while your lips move down to his neck: “Only when they’re as handsome as you, which, I don’t think that’s ever happened, so no.” His chuckle vibrates against you.

“Good thing I am very susceptible to flattery,” he says. “So no husband or boyfriend who’ll coming looking to beat my face in tomorrow? You’re single?”

Instead of answering you nip at his neck, making him flinch. He’s about to say something else when your hand moves over his crotch and finds his cock. You bring your other hand there, slowly undoing his fly and it actually shuts him up for a second as you run your hand into his pants, squeezing him playfully.

“If I wasn’t single,” you say, and slowly begin stroking him, “would you want me to stop?”

He sounds like he tries to slow his breathing, as his eyes go back and forth between the dark road and your hand down his pants.

“I don’t, agh,” he says and is interrupted by a small moan leaving him as you keep touching him, “I don’t think I have that kind of willpower.” You grin, watching his face, his eyebrows knotting, his tongue going over his lips.

“I guess there’s no point in asking then, is there?” you say, picking up your speed.

“Yeah,” he says, and takes a sharp breath through his teeth. “Just hard to imagine someone this hot being s—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence because just then you lower your head, take his dick out of his pants and wrap your lips around it.

“Fuck,” he says instead, arm going to your back. His breathing is picking up and he is slowly rocking himself up, meeting you. You drag your tongue along him, your hand jerking off the part of him that’s not in your mouth.

“Jesus Christ, you’re good at this,” he grunts and his hand goes to your hair. The rocking is getting more intense and you start to feel him twitch in your mouth.

So you stop, pull your head up and sit back, your own breathing heavy.

“Why would you stop?” Dean complains immediately. His second hand goes back to the wheel, and he’s white-knuckling it.

You wipe your mouth, get some hair out of your face. “Please,” you say, tone unbelieving, “you think I’m gonna blow you and then I’ll just wait an hour to get mine?” He actually looks offended.

“An hour?” he says, voice sounding hurt. “I am a virile man.” You laugh.

“You’re also not twenty anymore,” you reply. Dean actually chuckles, despite his hurt feeling. “How do you know I’m not twenty?”

You scoff. “Lucky guess?” To his credit, he does chuckle at that.

“Besides,” he says, and his hand is back on your thigh, “there’s plenty of ways I can make you scream my name without my dick getting involved, believe me.” You do believe him.

It doesn’t matter though, because just then you pull into the parking lot of the motel. Dean pulls the car into a spot and turns to you.

“Ready to have your mind blown?” he asks. You feel a grin forming on your face. “Can’t wait.”

He’s on you before the door to the room has even fallen closed. He pulls you against him and kisses you deeply, his tongue pressing its way into your mouth quickly. His hands are exploring your body and then they go to your jeans.

“Do you still need these?” he asks, lips moving against your mouth. “Or can I tear them off you?” You laugh, one of your hands going to the back of his neck, petting him there.

“Can you tear them off without ripping them?” you ask. Dean clicks his tongue.

“I’ll try,” he says, “but with how badly I want you I can’t promise anything.”

He maneuvers you to the bed, unbuttoning your pants in the meantime. You drop down, lift your legs so he can take them off you fully, without ripping them.

He drops down and his mouth goes for your hip, sucking the skin there and your head falls back while a moan escapes you. His lips are soft and full, and then they’re moving on.

He must be telling the truth when he says he wants you badly because he doesn’t even take off your panties, just shoves them to the side and starts kissing you there. Your hand lands on the back of his head, stroking it, and with your other arm you’re leaning up on your elbow, so that you can watch him.

His tongue darts out and starts exploring your clit and you twitch against him, then he licks along your entrance and holy shit you want him badly too.

“Fuck,” he groans, “you’re delicious.” You moan his name and he goes back to your clit, flattens his tongue and starts pressing it against you in a steady rhythm.

“Mmh,” you sigh, “you done this before?” He grins, briefly taking his mouth off of you.

“Can’t talk, darlin’,” he answers, “busy making you come.”

You laugh but then the laugh turns into a moan, because not only is his mouth back on you but he’s also pushing two fingers into you. You arch your back when he quickly finds your g-spot and starts rubbing it.

“Jesus, fuck,” you pant, and lean your head back, pleasure too intense to keep it up. “That feels so amazing.”

Spurred on, Dean starts going faster and soon you have high-pitched moans leaving you. Your head snaps back up when you feel an orgasm approaching and your grip in Dean’s hair tightens.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” you barely manage to get out and then you’re coming, and you do scream his name, just like he said you would.

You’re panting and tensing and shaking and Dean’s mouth is off you because he is watching you, but his fingers rub you through the high, prolonging it.

Finally you collapse on the bed, chest heaving. You blink your eyes open and look down yourself at him. It’s fair to say that he looks very proud of himself. Deservedly so.

“Told you I was gonna blow your mind,” he says and you chuckle but it comes out broken. With a strength that is impressive to you you sit up again and pull him close by the shoulders. You wipe some of your wetness off his lips and then kiss him deeply.

“Clothes. Off. Now,” you mutter against him, because yes, part of your brain has definitely been blown out of your skull.

Dean complies, pulls his shirt off his shoulders and then his t-shirt, while you start unbuttoning your own top. Dean’s standing up and just kicking off his jeans when his eyes go down as your shirt falls open, probably to get an eyeful of your tits.

Which he does get, seeing as you opted to go braless today, but his eyes catch on something different: the long gold chain you have around your neck with the thin gold wedding band that’s currently lying between your breasts.

“So,” he says. He sits down next to you, body turned towards you and lets his fingers trail over your ribs and then he kisses you.

“What would your husband think if he knew you were here,” another kiss, this one on your jaw. “And he could watch you and hear you,” he says, lowering his head to reach your nipple and suck it harshly into his mouth, making you hiss. “Scream another man’s name while you come all over his face and mouth?” he continues after letting go. Then he moves to your other nipple, licks it and finally looks up at you. “Hmm? What would he think? You think he’d be into that?”

Your hand wanders down to where he is still covered by his underwear, finding his hardness and squeezing. Dean exhales sharply and you grin.

“I think he would love it,” you say and Dean grins and kisses you, more gentle this time.

“Sounds like a real pervert,” he mutters and you laugh.

Then you’re pulling on the waistband of his underwear and he raises his hips to let you pull it off him, let it fall to his feet. You start stroking him again, and he keeps kissing you, holding your face in his hands and running his fingers through your hair.

“Dean,” you sigh, and it snaps him back into action. He pulls you closer to him, and you too raise your ass so he can pull off your underwear. He pulls you against him then and sits you on his lap, with your back turned to him. You shiver when you feel his erection against your ass.

Dean kisses your shoulder and then you’re lifting yourself up. He pushes his tip against you, stroking you with it for a few seconds and then you’re slowly sinking down on him. He groans at the feeling. Both his hands are on your hips and you hold on to one of them while you lower yourself, until you are soon flush with him.

You remain still for a little bit and Dean resumes kissing your shoulder. You reach one hand behind you, running your fingers along his jaw. One of his hands runs along your front, between your breasts and over them, along your stomach and then down to your clit.

“Come on, baby,” he says. “Show me what you’ve been missing out on.”

He starts petting you, which makes you clench, which in turn makes Dean twitch inside of you, a perfect chain reaction that gets you to start riding him. Slowly at first but not for long. He feels too good, and you want to feel him too much. If you compare him to other lays you’ve found in small town bars he’s already coming out on top, so there’s no need for a lot of preamble.

He’s kneading your breast with the hand that’s not between your legs. He definitely seems to be liking the idea that you have a husband at home and you’re out here scratching your itch with a perfect stranger, because he says: “How long since you’ve been fucked like this, huh?”

It’s not something you’ve really ever been into, but you give it a shot.

“Too long,” you moan, further picking up the pace with which you ride him. “I was so desperate in that bar before you came in.” And then, squeezing him inside of you, which makes his forehead drop to your shoulder, and you can just imagine his face even though you can’t see it, eyes squeezed shut, jaw set, you say: “I saw you and I knew you could get the job done.”

It’s a little porn-y, but you skip the feeling awkward when Dean holds you close and moves you both. He slips out of you and then he’s laying you down on the bed. He gets over you and kisses you, and you grab the back of his head and pull him in.

“Wanna fuck you,” he pants as he grabs his cock and lines himself up. You arch your back up, the chain around your neck dropping over your shoulder.

“One ticket to Pound Town, please,” you say and Dean grins.

“My kind of woman,” he says, and then he’s pushing into you, filling you up. He starts driving into you, long deep strokes that set your core on fire.

“My husband definitely can’t do that,” you say while you run your hands over Dean’s chest. He grins.

“Good thing you found me,” he says, and as if to prove the point his hand wanders down between your bodies, finding your clit. As he starts rubbing you, your head drops back and you bite your lip, a little moan escaping you.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Dean says, his lips finding your neck, licking the skin there. The way he’s moving his hips is too perfect, a slight pivot upwards when he enters you that makes him bump into all the right places.

You feel another orgasm on the horizon just as Dean starts sucking a mark into your skin. It’s a dumb thing to do, really, because everyone will be able to see it and know what it is, but you don’t care because it feels like his lips were made for exactly this.

You run one hand into his hair, gripping it, while the other is around his shoulders, holding onto him because he is indeed taking you to Pound Town.

“Fuck, yes, you’re so good,” you pant and you expect another line about how you’re obviously not getting it at home but Dean must me closer to his own orgasm than you think, because he just sort of grunts, but then he lets go of your neck and instead brings his lips closer to your ear instead.

“Think I can make you scream my name again?” he says, his voice sounding shaky, but damn if his cockiness isn’t doing all the right things to you.

Your release is getting closer and closer so as an answer you start kissing him again, because you don’t trust your brain to come up with a witty retort. He returns the kiss and you suck on his tongue, but then you need to let go because your body is tensing up as you’re coming.

You scream something, something that could be Dean’s name but also an ancient Latin summoning spell, it’s not totally clear. However it sounds, Dean seems to like it, because he pumps into you a few more times before he’s breathing hard and saying: “I’m so close, baby.”

You bring your face up to his, leaning your forehead against his, while his thrusts shake you. This way you can look into his eyes, that perfect green that you could stare into forever, at least until he presses his face into the side of yours instead because he is coming.

He’s shaking above you, a long moan escaping him, as he keeps thrusting into you to ride it out. You clench around him, making sure to get as much of him as possible.

He stays over you, his mouth near your ear so you can hear and feel his heavy breathing, and you rub your hands over his back, before he pushes himself up.

He kisses you again, and then pulls himself out of you, and drops himself on his back next to you. You’re pretty sure your legs are shot with how hard he fucked you, but you weren’t planning on going anywhere anyway.

Out of the corner of your eyes you see Dean run his hands through his hair. You drop one hand on his chest, your knuckles gently stroking his skin.

“What was… that?” you say after a few seconds.

“That,” Dean says, taking your hand in his and bringing it up to his lips before laying it back on his chest. “That was an earth shattering orgasm, you should recognize these by now.” You chuckle.

“Thought it felt familiar,” you say. “But no, I mean that whole stranger in the bar, fucking me behind my husband’s back business.” You turn your head in his direction. “Didn’t know you were into that.”

Dean looks at you, a cheeky grin on his face. “Just thought I’d try it. I saw that douche chatting you up at the bar, thought it might be fun.” He’s petting your hand now, your wrist. You nod. “Fun it was.”

But then you frown. “You don’t imagine yourself as the husband in this, right?” Dean shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says, “I’m just the stud giving you the night of your life.” He shrugs, the free arm going behind his head. “Maybe we run away together, live in sin.”

“You’re a romantic deep at heart,” you chuckle. He squeezes your hand. “Don’t tell anyone.”

You take your hand back, but only to scoot up to Dean. He opens his arm, letting you lie your head on it, then brings it around you, pulling you close for a second while he kisses your temple, making you hum. When he lets go, his fingers graze the gold chain around your neck.

“You know you’re not gonna lose it, right?” he says quietly. You pull on the chain, hold the ring between your fingers.

“I did lose it, Dean,” you say. “When we had to dig up that grave in Missouri, remember?”

You’re asking him to remember but you don’t even want to remember yourself:

When you realized that the ring wasn’t on your finger any longer it had turned you into a blubbering mess, Dean searching for it while also trying to assure you that it wasn’t a big deal, that you could replace it. But you didn’t want to replace it.

He had found it of course, your hero, and when he pushed it onto your finger, for the second time you later noted, you had hugged him and kissed him, your tears making his face wet.

Now you pull the chain off your neck, open it, and let the ring slide into your palm. You put it on and then drop your hand back on Dean’s chest. He takes it again immediately, and you see a short glimmer of his own ring. He’s always wearing his. He says he’s never taking it off. You smile at the thought.

“What are you thinking?” Dean asks.

“Just that this is exactly what I was hoping for when you said we should have a date night for our anniversary.” Dean chuckles.

“I promise I thought we would have drinks and dinner first,” he replies. You turn your head and grin at him.

“If only there hadn’t been that handsome stranger at the bar,” you say.

Dean leans his head, kisses you on the nose. “Or that hot wife.” 

[multiheadcanons]

MERCS AND CHORES

scout: scout is on detail duty for the entire base. he gets the trim on the walls, ensures every trash can has a fresh bag, sweeps under dressers and cabinets, and dusts the knick knacks in all common areas. the things that take no time that he can accomplish quickly and move to the next thing. scout used to be a chronic micromanager of cleaning and cleaning duties that the team had to sit down and permanently divvy out chores so scout would stop complaining that he was doing all of the work and nobody else does anything. so now, if something isn’t done, the team knows exactly who to bitch at to complete their chore. in his defense and for what it’s worth, he was absolutely right. those men were greatly affected by the bystander effect of doing the dishes.

soldier: soldier is on dishes and bathroom duty of the offense wing. soldier was happy to take bathroom duty for the offensive class, and he’s the best fit for the job, truly. doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty, to the point that they ensured the offensive wing has the best cleaning products in the base. fast with the dishes. takes him about three hours to get them all washed, dried and put away. on top of which, soldier is never afraid to get on the others’ asses about cleaning their own dishes, or at least rinsing them and making his job easier. he can half his time if he gets some help.

pyro: pyro is on trash duty. they collect all the trash weekly from every single room, and someone will take them a couple hours out into the wasteland and they incinerate the garbage. saves the company from paying waste fees. it also means the mercs get to skim more off the top from the stipend. this is the only real chore anyone trusts pyro with, this and cleaning their own personal areas. and these things get accomplished every monday evening. they switch out who drives pyro out to the wasteland, and nobody comes back with any complaints about pyro as a passenger in the car.

demo: demo is on sweep duty for the base and bathroom duty for the defense wing. he enjoys his chores, it gives him something to do that isn't lazing around in bed waiting for battle. he always starts in the offense wing and ends in the support wing, since the support classes are hardly ever in their actual bedrooms for the area to see any traffic. it makes it a great place to hide out from having to help anyone else with their chores, but he'll only do that if he's feeling particularly lazy that day. if nobody beats him there, he'll join soldier on dish duty. prefers drying them off.

heavy: on top of being the secondary resident grocery shopper, heavy is on counter/cabinet/wall duty for the entire base. once a week, those base walls are hit with a 1:1 cleaner concoction. if he's really in a cleaning groove, he can finish his task in about two hours. otherwise, he takes his time with it. makes sure he gets every corner, does a marginal wipe of the trim so scout can follow behind him and get a more thorough clean. the first time he had to do the walls the amount of cobwebs genuinely disgusted him. he couldn't fathom everyone was actually living in this and didn't think anything about it. so he's learned to enjoy his little chore. it's been nice to walk through the base and just smell cleaner. makes him feel less like an animal.

engineer: engie will avoid doing chores like he's in a saw trap. so to permanently get out of doing any chore, once a week he does a full check up of any electrical/mechanical fixture in the base. he's changing lights, checking fuse boxes, tuning up and detailing the company cars, rewiring entire panels if it means that he doesn't have to pick up a broom or put a dish away. he is also one of the only teammates who will clean up behind himself, but with the chore chart now he can skirt that entirely. and he'll insist that he's helping around the base, and in a way he is! just not in a way that seems equal to everyone else. but when anyone complains, he hands them a wrench and tells them to go for it. they never do.

medic: the doctor spends more time than he likes to admit keeping the infirmary clean, between himself and the birds he's a mess and hardly able to keep up, but that didn't stop him from getting mop duty for the base. luckily, it’s his only chore, and between him and demo they can get the floors immaculate in about an hour, two if they’re really pussyfooting with it. before he was banned from the kitchen, he was also the resident organizer of space. he’s insane with it, his spatial awareness is immaculate. snipes will turn a blind eye to him in the kitchen if he’s organizing the pantries, as long as the doctor makes a meal big enough for two.

sniper: snipes is the main resident grocery shopper and that is his only job in the base. he spends such little time in the base that it didn’t really make sense to make him take on another task. since the doctor isn’t allowed in the kitchen, he’s since had to also put the groceries away, and he hates it. it’s exhausting enough to have to shop for the groceries. now he has to put them away too? he’ll get the doctor to do it. takes him about twenty minutes. he knows eventually soldier has to leave the kitchen, and spy won’t snitch. he and the doctor are buds.

spy: spy takes care of the kitchen, is on detail duty, bathroom duty for the support wing, and the general manager of chores. the only thing he won’t do is dishes. everything else he’s willing to do. spy is not afraid of some soap and water, and cleaning is almost meditative for him. it’s nice for the ten minutes the place will remain clean, then he remembers it’s an endless battle. sometimes he would rather not, but it’s always worth those ten minutes.

[sturnslutz]

longing

2k words, cursing, fluff mainly, the start of something new, it feels so right, to be here with you, ohhhhh!!!! (high school musical reference and if u didn't get it, pls educate urself bc matt and goldie both have a unknowing love for high school musical)

you hated being an outsider. sure, it was nice to get some quiet time to study, or to edit your pictures. but other times, it was just plain lonely.

photography has been your passion for who knows how long. you had begged your parents for a camera when you were younger, and you loved taking pictures. it was something you were good at, and you loved doing it.

when you learned that one of the triplets had joined the photography club as another member, you couldn't believe it. you were the first and only member of the club for most of high school, but nick joining made it even better.

you and nick quickly became friends, and he loved the fact that the both of you were so passionate about photography and that he has someone else that he could geek over taking pictures with.

it didn't take long for him to tell you almost everything about him. you had already known somewhat about him, because how couldn't you? his brothers were some of the most known people in the school.

matt and chris. star lacrosse players. the ones who first started the lacrosse team. once their team grew, which was oddly quick, you were quickly called to start taking pictures for the school website, the team instagram, the yearbook, etc.

that's how your crush on matt became. he was beautiful, and he moved with such ease. he was both goalie and defense and you took the most pictures of him, without even realizing it.

once nick and you became friends, he quickly caught on to your crush on his brother. it was blatantly obvious, anyway. whenever matt had passed by you and nick talking in the halls, sometimes sparing a small glance at you, nick saw how you traced matt's movements with your eyes.

nick wasn't against it at all either, more so trying to get the both of you together. more likely the whole school knew about matt and his messy past relationship with his ex, violet. she was the school "mean girl" as some call it. she just loved attacked the quieter kids, and that included you.

matt and her have been together and broken up more times than people can count, and some even have a bet on when they're getting back together. this time is currently the longest they've been broken up, and it's been about 4 weeks. it's clear that violet has been trying to get matt's attention again, but you've noticed he isn't really reciprocating it.

"she's like all over him again. he was telling me how he's getting so fucking annoyed and- fuck sorry this sandwich is too good." nick said as took a bite out of his turkey sandwich while talking. you two were currently at the local cafe, one that everyone goes to whenever they're free.

"don't choke on me now, i don't know the heimlich." you giggled softly before taking a small sip out of your iced coffee. "knowing that if i choke and possibly die, and the most you can do is just stare at me hurts my soul, goldie. cmon now." he exaggerates as he shakes his head, before taking another bite.

"but as i was saying, he's sick of her. he wants them to be officially done, and he's told her, but she just keeps ignoring him. you would be so much better for him, i'm telling you." you sigh, looking down at your cup, swishing it around softly.

"we don't even know each other like that, and i doubt he even knows who i am." nick scoffs, laughing. "he knows who you are, bitch. i talk about you all the fucking time with them, you guys just need to actually talk, he'll warm up to you soon enough."

you shrug softly, looking around at the people around you. "i don't know. you know i will freeze if i ever talk to him, to anyone really." he laughs, nodding. "trust me, i know. remember first day i walked into photo club and you looked at me like you saw a ghost? had me overthinkin' and thought i had shit on my face."

you were about to say something, but the cafe door opened, the bell on top ringing indicating someone entered. you and nick both turned to look curiously, and your heart dropped.

matt, chris, violet, and some other lacrosse players and some of violet's friends walk in, them all loud in conversation. nick turned around, eyes wide. "i did not know they were going to be here. fuck-" his words are interupted as chris yells his name loudly, getting some stares from others in the cafe.

"nick! we didn't know you would be here!" he says as he walks over, ruffling up nick's hair a bit, before looking up at you. his face twists a bit in confusion but stays silent. "um, you're... maddie? no- wait. sophia? fuck no. i'm sorry, what's your name?" he asks, genuinely a bit embarrassed that he didn't know your name, or even nickname.

"her name's goldie. and can you guys not walk over here? we were having a private conversation." nick says, answering for you. chris smiles a bit at you at the remembrance of your name, giving you a small nod before looking down at nick. "didn't mean to interrupt, my bad. matt's probably gonna say hi, then we'll leave you alone."

you look up once again, past chris, seeing matt walking over. violet trails behind him, seemingly talking to matt but he's just ignoring her. he meets your eye for a second as he's walking over, before breaking it and looking at chris and nick.

nick looks at you again, having an apologetic look in his eyes. your heart begins racing, and you can't miss the way heat rushes to your face, before desperately drinking your iced coffee, something cold to at least try to bring the heat down a bit.

"yo, what's up kid." matt mutters as he pats nick's back, slightly turning his head to see if violet is still behind him, and when she is, he rolls his eyes, gaining a small snicker out of chris.

matt looks over at you, with almost the same confused face chris had, but he talks. "you're goldie right? we have pre calc together." he says softly, examining you. your face is probably red as a beet right now, but you still manage to nod. "y-yeah. we do." he nods, looking over you once more, smiling softly before engaging in a bit of small talk with chris as violet remains glued behind him. "that drink looks good as fuck, goldie. what is that?" chris says abruptly, but softly not to spook you.

"um, it's the iced vanilla coffee with extra caramel." chris looks at matt, who's looking at you, nodding. "that sounds really good." matt says softly, running a hand through his hair before looking down at his phone for something.

nick looks at you with wide, happy eyes and smiles. you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear before looking back down into your drink, the ice seemingly becoming more interesting than everything else.

matt says something to nick before talking to you again. "me and chris are gonna go buy some shit then we'll leave. nice seeing you, goldie." he says, before walking away with chris. you nod, smiling up at him as your eyes follow after him. what you didn't notice was violet's glare at you as matt walked away, before she quickly followed after him.

nick lets out a quiet, high pitched squeal, grabbing your right hand tightly. "you talked to him! that's such a big step, gold. and he knew who you were, and recognized you. im freaking out for you." you giggle softly, nodding. "i know, im probably as red as a fucking cherry though."

he shrugs. "who even cares. not like they haven't blushed before. did you see violet's face when he was talking to you?" you shook your head. "she was looking at me? i didn't even notice." you say softly, smiling at your joke. nick laughs, "she's such a fucking attention seeker, always starting shit for no reason. i'll watch out for you, though. who knows what that wicked bitch could do."

your eyes drift back to matt, and watch him as the barista called his name. "matt, medium iced vanilla coffee with extra caramel!" that's the exact same thing you got. matt looks over a bit, feeling someone's stare on him. once he notices it's you, he smirks a bit, taking a sip of the drink and nodding, before turning back around to his friends.

"he got the same thing i got." you whisper so quietly, nick almost didn't hear you. "what?" he said, as your eyes look back over to him. "chris asked me what drink i got, and matt said it sounds really good, and he ordered the same thing. when he noticed i was looking, he smirked and nodded. that can't be a fucking coincidence, right?"

nick shakes his head no while smiling. "maybe he's longing for you too."

a little bit after that, matt and chris and their friends head out, nick and you leaving a short time after that. you were currently in bed, doing some homework while on facetime with nick. "i just had the craziest fucking idea, and you might hate me for it." nick says, after some silence between you two.

"i won't hate you, what is it?" you say, paying no real attention to him as your fingers continued typing virgoursly across the keyboard. "when i came home, matt and chris were talking about him and violet, and chris was saying how matt needs to date someone else, and matt said something along the lines of, "i mean i think i'm ready, i just don't know who it would be. every girl in the school is friends with violet." so guess who i thought of? you. you aren't friends with her!"

nick's words spike interest in your head, as you look over at him with a confused look. "okay.. and your point is?" nick set up his phone on his desk, smiling. "i want to give matt your number."

you stop typing completely, with your breath caught in your throat. "no, nick. absolutely no way." "cmon, goldie! just hear me out. i mention to him i have a friend he could be interested in, and i give him your number. but the twist is, i don't tell him who you are."

"how the fuck is that going to work? he's never gonna talk to some girl who he doesn't even know." nick tsks, shaking his head. "he has a secret he doesn't tell anyone, not anyone besides me and chris. he loves that slowburn, mystery shit. y'know the movies where it's like longing and sappy romance shit? he loves that. actually obsessed with it, even. so i don't have any doubt he'll actually be against the idea."

"nick, i don't know. is that not weird?" you say softly, fidgeting with your hair. "relax, it's not. and i'll even tell him that you know, and it's only him that doesn't. it'll give you both the opportunity to get to know each other, and you won't be as scared as much to talk to him. who knows, maybe it'll be love." he smirks as he moves his eyebrows, as you let out a little laugh.

"okay, fine. let's do it." nick cheers. "okay, when i go back downstairs, i'll ask to talk to him privately so it won't be weird in front of chris. knowing matt, he'll probably be just a teensy bit hesitant, but i'll get him to warm up to it. this is going to be great, goldie."

"yeah, let's hope so." after a bit more time, nick hangs up, letting you know that he's going downstairs to go talk to matt.

after about 20 minutes, your phone vibrates. you still, not making a move to check it yet, but when another text comes in, you can't help yourself.

***-***-**** | 23:43

"hey mystery girl"

"it's matt but u prob know that already"

divider creds: @sisterlucifergraphics

taglist 1: @muwapsturniolo @lovergirl4gracieabrams @m4ttg1rl @lypsiiii @tyummyz @sturniqlo @emely9274 @shadowthesim @mattsobvimyfav @sturnl0ve @wastelandzella @fallininlust @chrisslut04 @sophand4n4 @vainilladollie @slutforchrissturniolo2 @ncm9696 @snoopychris @ilovedanielcaesar @sofieeeeex @chr0mehrts @cockettechris @iloveduckssm @stvrnioloslvt @sturn777 @priscillaog @allylovescody @sturniolo101 @mattssslutbby @mattybsgroupie @mattysketchup @m11rx @slut4brunettes @trevorsgodmother @chrislova @slut4christopherr @sturns-mermaid @oopsiedaisydeer @conspiracy-ash @p1mpactivities @sweeetbabysblog @brooklyncameron @chrisgetsmewetter @h3arts4harry @jetaimevous @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @raesturns @sturnsrecord @matteatmeout @luvvs4chriss

[digitald0rk]

SPOILED ROTTEN.

pairing : mark grayson x gn!reader. [ established relationship ]

synopsis : in which you spoil your boyfriend mark with a well deserved warm bath and lots of love ♡ after he comes home tired from a mission, filled with doubts.

warnings : slight cursing. angsty? as in nolan continues to haunt him and his doubts, so mentions of blood. also gets kinda suggestive, mention of reader getting wet because im ovulating okay 0_o mark being babygirl as usual.

w.c : 2.1 k

a/n : TYSM FOR THE SUPPORT ON MY PREVIOUS POST OMG BSJHJMPS. ALSO THAT FINALE WAS SO GOOD! and i have a final in an hour LOCK INN. again, english is not my first language so apologies for mistakes in advance :D

knock.

knock.

a knock on your window? at this hour? well you know who that is, your beloved boyfriend, the one and only mark grayson or well invincible, invinciboy if you feel like being a little shit :]

as soon as you slide your window open he's on you immediately, almost knocking you down onto the ground as he clings onto you for dear life. his face in your neck and arms wrapped around you tightly almost as if he's afraid.

"baby?" you ask, concerned but slightly amused.

you're met with silence.

so you try again. "love?" a little less amused this time.

he doesn't say anything, breathing you in as he buries his head further into the crook of your neck, as if trying to fuse his body with yours.

then it hits you, ah the fight on the tv.

you can practically feel the tension radiating off of him, he's all tense. you know he's hurt, both physically and mentally. mostly mentally.

he was once again forced into a situation where he had to hurt someone again, badly. he had no other choice, it's not his fault.

"sweetheart, you know it's not your fault right?"

you hear him sigh, he nuzzles his head against your shoulder like a cat, the action making your heart flutter.

you can't help yourself but kiss his forehead, cupping his face gently like you're the viltrumite here, not him, like you'll break him if you're not careful enough, like he's the most precious thing in the whole world, screw that in the whole universe.

and to you he is indeed the most precious thing in the whole universe.

you look into his warm brown eyes which look so unsure, unsure of himself and it breaks your heart. your thumbs lightly stroke his cheekbones while you press sweet soothing kisses all over his pretty face, hoping to take away some of his pain.

your onslaught of kisses and affection does bring a soft smile on his face, he's holding back a giggle as you keep peppering kisses on his face, showing no mercy.

his eyes seem a little brighter now, which is progress!

playfully nuzzling your nose against his, his face still in your hands, you kiss the tip of his nose, laughing when his nose scrunches a little in reaction, god he's so adorable.

"i love you invincib-" you start cheekily.

"don't." he warns with a knowing look, a small smile still adorning his lips. he knows you too well.

"-boy" you're never gonna let that go, are you?

"oh fuck off" he lightly shoves at your shoulder, feigning offense before pulling you in for a kiss.

"love you too dumbass" the banter's back, he's already feeling so much better. how do you do it? he honestly doesn't know.

a few kisses and sweet words later, you're running him a bath. he can't say no to you, you both know this. plus he could really use a nice warm bath right now, he needs to relax his tense muscles.

you put in his favorite scented bathbombs and make sure the temperature is just right before telling him to get in.

he lets out a small bashful chuckle at your whistle when he strips out of his clothes, making a show of flexing his muscles somewhat cockily and almost ends up falling face first on the cold wet marble of your bathroom floor.

he's such a dork.

you can see the way his muscles relax under the hot water once he gets in, the way his face is all blissed out is actually really cute or maybe you're just crazy whipped for mark grayson, a bit of both maybe.

you sit on the edge of the tub, watching him almost doze off, he must be really tired.

gently carding your fingers through his hair, you can't help but admire him.

"my beautiful boy" you whisper, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

the little flustered giggle he lets out has become one of your favorite sounds ever since you've started dating him.

his pupils turn into hearts when you offer to wash his hair for him, you're so sweet, a literal angel.

he doesn't deserve you.

he's killed people.

he has blood on his hands.

he has a part of his father in him.

as you lather your favorite shampoo and work it through your boyfriend's hair, feeling giddy at the thought of his hair smelling like yours, you can't help but think he's being awfully quiet. it seems even the soothing sensation of you massaging his head oh so gently like that isn't enough to drown out the voices.

he's usually rambling about something, well it's either you or seance dog usually but still.

he's overthinking again, you're sure if you close your eyes and focus hard enough you could almost hear it.

"markus sebastian grayson." you say in a playfully serious tone, squishing his cheeks and leaning in a little to peck his now puckered lips because of you smushing his face with your hands, "stop thinking for a bit baby."

"what if i turn out like my father" he doesn't hold back, voice cracking a little.

"mark-"

"no, you don't understan- what if i end up like him? god what if i end up hurting you-"

a beat of silence passes before you speak.

"what if you don't? "

that gets him to stop, mouth agape, his gaze on you. he forgets what he was going to say and the way you're washing his hair, rinsing the shampoo out, your nails softly raking against his scalp just right, the way you put a protective hand against his forehead so none of the shampoo goes in his eyes, it does nothing to him to remember what he was going to say.

"you are not your father", you press a kiss to his forehead.

"just because you're his son doesn't make you him", then a kiss to his cheek.

"you are not undeserving of love because of something you're father did, not you", then your lips brush against the spot between his eyebrows, easing the tension between them.

"your father's action have nothing to do with you, my love", you press small kisses to his shoulder, his neck, his chest, over his beating heart.

you hear him suck a shaky breath in at the action, his shoulders slightly shaking, the unshed tears releasing without warning in the form of a small sniffle, it rips your heart in two :(

"because you are you, you are still mark grayson no matter what."

you are going to be the death of him.

your lips gently brush against his before pressing firmly against his soft lips, hoping to convey more with a tender kiss than your words ever will, knowing they don't do your feelings for him justice. your lips move in tandem with his, he pulls you close by the back of your neck, your hands resting on his chest and neither of you want to pull away from this moment.

his grip on you is desperate, the kiss feels searing on your lips, your heart is pounding against your chest, convinced it's gonna beat right out.

you refuse to let go of him, hands sliding slowly up and down his body, almost reverently.

it's intoxicating and dizzying, you feel like you're floating with the way he's kissing you, like an inch of space is going to kill him.

when you do manage to get your gears working, eyes opening up a little, you gently wipe his tears, pulling away only slightly to breathe because you don't want to die- actually, on second thought, that's not a terrible way to go out.

"no- please-" he begs, don't leave him please. he's chasing your lips and slipping his tongue in your mouth, he needs this.

he needs you.

soft moans are muffled between your mouths, his hands are everywhere, everything's too much yet not enough at the same time, his touch leaves a trail of fire behind that leaves you wanting more.

and of course, he ends up "accidentally" pulling you in the bathtub with him.

"mark!" you let out a small squeal, followed by a small laugh from him.

"sorry babe" oh he sounds real sorry alright.

your attention falls on the small, thin string of saliva, still connecting both of your mouths, your heavy lidded eyes lock with his, he's all flushed, lips swollen and shiny.

"that was hot" he sheepishly admits, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, all bashful like you aren't literally going crazy because of him. and now he's looking at you like you've hung the stars and the moon in the sky.

yeah, you're wet and not from the water i'll tell you that.

but that can wait, this night is all about pampering your beloved alien boy!

you see him open and close his mouth a couple times. words fail him, so instead, he grabs your hand and places a kiss to each of your knuckles one by one, a silent confession of the affection and love he holds for you that is downright overwhelming.

his eyes never leave yours, the whole thing feels raw and intensely intimate, no words are exchanged but rather they are felt, the unconditional acceptance from you and his immense gratitude, need no words.

"thank you" the sincerity in his voice is undeniable and so is the look of love in his eyes, that's reserved only for you.

you roll your eyes fondly when he playfully smears some of the bubbles from the bath onto your nose, typical mark behavior right there.

once he's all clean, both emotionally and physically for the night you help him out of the tub after getting yourself out first, trying and failing miserably not to stare at him. more like gawking but oh well that's his fault for looking like that okay.

he drys himself with the towel you gave him, wrapping it around his waist once he's done.

because of his earlier mischievousnes, you also had to change out of your wet pyjamas into new dry ones. his ass is not sorry about that, the annoying little smirk is proof.

the domesticity of it all however warms your heart, the way he's in nothing but a towel around his waist while you're in your pjs, brushing teeth together and giggling over dumb stuff, oh how you wish it could always be like this.

that little glint in his eyes is back again and you couldn't be more happy.

you even help him dry his hair with your trusty hairdryer, sitting him down on your bed as you work it skillfully through his soft hair which now smells like your shampoo, the blissful expression on his face is enough to make you melt right then and there. laughing when he shakes his head like a puppy, he's not beating the puppy boy allegations anytime soon. not that he minds as long as you're the one teasing him about it.

and he may or may not have a thing for you calling him that but you don't have to know that, well atleast yet.

he slips into a pair of sweatpants and boxers he left at your place awhile ago, picking you up easily and tackling you to your bed.

now it's his turn to return the affection, or well as sleepily as one can.

he kisses you like there's no tomorrow, like you're the only thing keeping him sane and alive, which wouldn't be too far from the truth.

good luck trying to tuck him in bed, he's so stubborn, "babe i'm not sleepy!" he says, he almost slept on your shoulder like a baby a minute ago. this fucker.

he's only doing this because he wants to spend more time with you, he still feels guilty, he knows he puts being a superhero over everything else, meaning he barely gets to send time with his beautiful partner.

however all those thoughts are out the window the second you trails kisses down his neck, his eyes flutter shut and he sighs, clearly pleased.

and when you do manage to tuck his ass in bed, a kiss to his forehead and countless "i love you's" are exchanged between you both, he rests his head on your chest and listens to your heartbeat, a firm reminder that you're here and all his to cherish.

he almost lets out a small moan when your nails gently scratch at his scalp and lightly at his nape, he loves when you play with his hair, nuzzling against your comfortable chest. he's in heaven.

soon enough he surrenders himself to sleep and to you, one last kiss right over where your heart is beating which belongs to him and him only, the action making your breath hitch and chest tighten with affection and before you know it, he's out like a light.

he's so grateful to have you. he knows he doesn't deserve you, eventhough you say otherwise but he'll be damned if he ever lets you go.

you're all his.

and he's all yours <3

and yes, he will drool all over your chest like a baby so good luck with that :3

© digitald0rk 2025. please do not steal my work! thank you for reading :] want more? click here ★

[barleyalive101]

Since arcane hype is over , I’m sorry but I genuinely couldn’t care less for isha. I didn’t get attached to her at all.

She popped out of nowhere, literally no backstory whatsoever, we don’t even why she was being followed in the first place. She was conveniently placed there by the plot . Something that didn’t happen in S1 , things happened in S1 for a reason.

She was a walking plot device with a personality of a bad NPC , your average kid character that’s somehow so great she changes the world , a cliché straight up. She was a Cliché.

A very cheap way to water jinx down and make her more stable then used to add more unnecessary trauma to jinx , and that line with the glasses and how isha helped her view the world differently and my first thought was why ? Why is isha so special? What made jinx view the world differently with isha? We’re just gonna say that line and that’s it , no showing or telling anything else.

You just got the responsibility of a life to take care of !, that should stress you out a bit ?!. She reminded her of powder but jinx had a very complicated relationship with powder , we just skip that and have jinx remember powder fondly and be okay , in S1 Vi calling jinx powder or associating her with powder sets her off, a single reminder of young Vi rattled jinx to the core.

Mind you the reminding her of powder part is kind of “ehhh” honestly, isha doesn’t really behave like powder, just that they’re both kids tho isha is much younger than act 1 powder the one jinx remembers.

“Isha didn’t expect anything from jinx that’s why” well I hope you know jinx is expected to take care of isha , isha was expecting and wanted jinx to take on her role of being a symbol.

By the power of love , jinx got cured from her mental instability. No hallucinations!. But it doesn’t really work that way since Silco loved jinx yet she still had hallucinations.

Isha would have felt like an actual character if anyone other than jinx interacted with her . Maybe if she hadn’t been only used to make jinx stable then depressed but an actual good character development for jinx other than “ she made me view the world clearly” like okay?.

Maybe She made jinx realise powder was a kid and there was nothing wrong with her , or had jinx realise that Vi just wanted to protect her and was right on not taking her everywhere, made her feel closer to Vi as she knows how it feels to have someone dependent on you, gave us some character study.

As much as I love the posts saying ”that jinx realised in that moment ( yk which one) that Vi just wanted to protect her” but the show doesn’t establish anything, that’s just speculation on our part. As long as something isn’t shown or told I have no reason to believe it’s true.

It would have been interesting if she was a hallucination made by jinx to cope, a very nice plot twist.

Isha’s role in the story can be easily done by Vi and Silco.

[littelovelunette]

How do you feel about Pitfigher Vi x Medic Reader? (may or may not have blue hair in locs)

I don't know so much about the blue hair it feels like you're trying to put CaitVi on me :')

Binding

Pitfighter!Vi x Medic!Reader

"You're an idiot," you snapped seeing Vi enter your chamber. You weren't officially a doctor, of course, who was in Zaun?

But you did your best to help the people with what you knew. And Vi was a regular to say the least. She always had one issue or another.

She was a pitfighter. You knew it.

But you didn't support it.

You sighed and opened the door further to let her come inside.

"Thanks for the greeting, doc," Vi sat down with a groan, you could see the blood dripping from her chest bindings, some her own and some others'.

Vi sat down with a groan.

"Just patch me up, I wanna go home."

"So, you can intoxicate yourself in more alcohol?" You asked, taking your medical kit out of the cabinet. Vi gave you a look.

"I'm just saying!"

You started working on her wounds, applying some ointment on the bruises and bandaging the cuts, "You have to stop being so reckless," you said, pressing on a particularly deep wound.

"Hey, that stings," Vi jerked a little.

"Well, don't go around getting them, maybe?" You rolled your eyes as you made the remark.

"You need new chest bindings," you said getting up.

"They're fine," Vi said glancing down at her blood soaked and grime covered chest bindings.

"That's disgusting and reeks of blood," you said with an exaggerated scrunch of your nose.

"Are you always this much reproachful with all your other patients?" Vi asked, crossing her arms.

You looked away, not answering her as you took out some bandages to help her do her chest bindings.

Vi seemed to be waiting for your answer though.

"Keep the silence up and I'd start thinking you're a little... Fond of me," Vi smirked.

"Shut it," you grumbled, reaching to undo her chest bindings. Yeah, you'd seen her naked. You didn't care about neither did she.

Vi assumed you've seen a lot of your patients naked before so it probably wasn't a big deal for you.

It was true, but you only wished your other patients had been so muscular, jocked up and hot as her. You tried to keep it professional with Vi however, no matter how hot you thought she was. She was absolutely fine, head to toe.

Your hands worked efficiently undoing the chest binding to let her breasts breathe. "You should take a shower," you said walking away to grab a clean towel for her.

Your fingers brushed against hers only slightly when you handed her the fuzzy white towel which she took with a grateful nod.

"Show me to the bathroom?" Vi got up, swinging the towel over her shoulder as she followed you out of the cheap infirmary, and to a strangely pretty yet minimalistic bathroom.

"I'll leave some clothes out here for you, okay?" You smiled softly.

"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks."

"Don't sweat it," you said.

"It's pretty nice actually, how do you even pay rent for all this and your apartment?" Vi asked, stepping in the shower room and examining the toiletries.

"Yeah, well, it's a breeze really when you're so focused and hell bent on fixing every little injury Zaunites sustain," you chuckled.

"Thank you for your service," Vi mock bowed.

You rolled your eyes, "Enjoy the shower," you closed the door behind yourself.

"Will do!" Vi called back.

As you walked down the hall, you could hear the sound of the shower running. You were happy Vi had this one place after her brutal breakup with Caitlyn. She could always count on you for staying over, getting patched up, a nice warm shower and a meal worth eating. You were happy to provide and never expected anything else in return.

As you put your medical supplies away, you heard soft footsteps and you knew it was Vi, she smelled fresher, you could say just by taking a look at her. Water dripped down her fiery reddish hair making you sigh with a shake of your head.

"No one taught you to dry your hair?" You walked upto her, grabbing the towel and using it to dry her hair, a little roughly than intended but Vi was used to it so she didn't exactly complain.

Vi liked being cared for.

"Tell me, birdie," Vi sat down, "Why do you care so much whether I live or die in this hellhole?"

"What do you mean?" You put the damp towel on your lap, not caring as it soaked your dress. You sat down beside her.

"Well, I haven't had a lot of people care for me in the past," she shrugged, "So it feels as if you want something from me now that someone does show they care."

You didn't say anything and looked at your lap, you hadn't really thought about it that way, ever since your little sister died from Sepsis at a young age, you'd been very isolated. And solidarity gave you a lot of time to think about the way Zaunite children suffered solely due to the political disputes. They didn't choose the land they were born on, same way they shouldn't have to suffer but why did they?

Your little sister's death had contributed to your current profession and you had buried that part of your past so deep down that now that Vi brought it up, it felt raw. Unhealed.

"I guess I didn't realise," you said, your voice a faint whisper, "I didn't realise along the way I didn't lose a lot like most others did. I only lost my sister and that made me lose a part of myself and I've been desperately seeking validation unknowingly by helping others."

You stopped speaking, Vi's blue-eyed gaze on you wasnt firm and wary like usual instead it was soft and mixed with understandable concern. Her hand rested on top of your, she knew all too well the pain of losing a younger sister. Although, Jinx wasn't dead yet, there was an unbelievable amount of madness circulating in her brain that now Vi blamed herself for.

"And I've been trying to piece myself together by doing what I do, and I'm unsure if it's a healthy coping mechanism," you looked up at Vi, "I don't want anyone to have to worry about seeking proper, affordable medical help ever again in Zaun."

Vi nodded, eyebrows curling up slightly as she pulled you closer in a side embrace.

"Even if that be a nine-year-old older sister just trying to save her dying younger one," you blinked and a few warm tears tricked down your cheeks.

"Oh, dear," Vi pulled you in for a hug.

You both remained in that position for quite a while and that mattered only in that time. Her hug was surprisingly warm and well practised. You could've gotten used to the feeling. But then Vi shifted, her hand placing on your back.

"I'm here for you now, okay?"

"Mhm," you shifted closer, "Thanks."

After a while when the tension in the air had subsided, you got up slowly and wiped your tears away. You were ready to help Vi do her chest bindings now, you had to be. Other patients would be coming in any second.

"Let's do those chest bindings, yeah?" You grabbed the fresh bandages and Vi nodded, taking the shirt she'd put on temporarily off, letting you help her.

A few days passed since you had your mini breakdown in front of Vi and to be fair, it only bonded the both of you over similar trauma. One of your busy days at the infirmary, when you were moving supply boxes you came across a card that was left at your place by Vi, it was small and scrappy and the words read 'Whenever you get to this, meet me at my place? 6 pm is fine.' You smiled mentally seeing the card and quickly pocketed it so you could aid to your patients.

Upon arrival at her doorstep, you were a little nervous. Vi had never really seen you out of your white apron, and this was a first time. You dressed up a little for Vi even, and did your hair. A girl can fantasize.

"Well, look who it is," Vi smiled, opening the door, "Looking gorgeous as always, doc."

"Oh, thanks for the flattery," you let Vi kiss your hand dramatically and lead you inside.

"What's with the note card? You couldn't tell me you wanted me to come over at yours in person?" You sat down on the couch.

"Nah, I prefer old school."

Her apartment seemed cleaner than the last time you'd helped her back there after you had patched her up. There were no more booze bottles laying all over the floor, and it didn't smell like someone died and was left to rot there.

It was actually humane.

Seeing Vi cleaned up moved something in you and you felt proud of her. She had managed to put the Caitlyn breakup behind herself and finally get a move. You were thrilled for her, you were so proud.

As you watched Vi taking a seat beside you, you could tell she knew exactly what was on your mind. Vi took a look of her own apartment and then looked back at you.

"Not gonna say you're proud of me? I know you're dying to say it," Vi raised a brow.

"And you're as cocky as ever," you giggled.

"Hey, that's just my charm!" Vi said in mock offense.

"Yes, I am proud of how you turned things around," you said with a genuine smile which Vi returned.

"I didn't just call you over to make you say that," Vi said, taking your hand in both of hers.

"These past few days have been pretty nice, with you always being at my aid and bandaging my bruised ass up, I've realised you're one of the few people who genuinely care and don't want advantage from me," Vi said, looking at her floor, the golden lights for the room flickering in reflection in her blue eyes, "It's hard to find people who're true to me, I guess, and you just happen to be one of them."

"Vi," you whispered, staring at her.

You knew what she would say, and you were bracing yourself for her to say it. You didn't know how you'd react, you just needed her to throw the words there.

"I am in love with you, doc."

Vi exhaled deeply, "It's been there for so long."

"Why didn't you say anything?" You asked, sitting straighter.

"Didn't wanna screw out friendship up," she mumbled, her grip on your hand loosening, "Do you... Feel the same way?"

The words rised in your throat but didn't really come out, your lips parted and then closed again. You were unable to say anything because of the happy tears building in your eyes. So instead of saying anything, you leaned in and kissed her.

At first, the kiss was soft and innocent before Vi grabbed your waist, pulling you closer against her own frame. With your body pressed flush against hers, the kiss turned into something else completely, her tongue dominated your mouth easily as if she'd been doing this for a living. Her hand on your waist was tight but not painfully tight, just enough to ground you to reality.

You both parted and you whispered, "I love you," and went back at it again.

Let's just say, that's how you both spent the evening.

[thewritetofreespeech]

Steak & Blowjob Day

Mark Grayson x gn!reader

plot: I'm a devote feminist, but this boy needs a break. [smutty nonsense]

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

Mark tipped his head with a loud moan as [Y/N] took all of him down their throat again. Thank God they were at their place tonight.

When [Y/N] asked him to come over for a date night earlier in the week, Mark was of course excited. They tried to see each other as much as they could, but with their schedules and threats to the universe not really keeping an accurate time piece, they’d had more cancels than successes recently. Tonight, Mark made sure everything was covered and that he could spend time alone with his partner.

He even showed up super early. Which he knew was lame but he was just so excited to see them. When they opened the door for him Mark immediately stepped in and wrapped them in his arms. Breathing the first sigh of relief he felt like taking in weeks along with the scent of their shampoo.

“Happy Steak & Blowjob Day.” They told him as they hugged. To which Mark pulled back with a laugh as he asked them ‘what?’, and they responded with an eye roll, “Rex told me about it.”

They both knew not to take everything Rex said at face value, but [Y/N] told him that, just for today, they’d stick with tradition.

Mark insisted that they didn’t have to do anything for him. He didn’t want them to feel pressured into giving him anything, unless they wanted to. But, [Y/N] insisted that they wanted to and, “you’ve been working so hard and had so much to deal with.” It was honestly just nice to be acknowledged for that. “Let me pamper you for a change.”

Which brought them to where they were now. Mark seated at the table, his shirt pulled up towards his pits with his belt and fly open, and [Y/N] on their knees in front of him. The suction around his cock felt amazing! They were pretty active now at this point in their relationship, but still every time [Y/N] sucked him off he saw stars. And he had seen actual stars now.

“Fuuuck baby…” Mark groaned as he reached out to touch their hair.

They moan and take him in faster. Bobbing their head up & down over his cock. “Oh fuck!” He wheezed. “I’m gonna--!” He tried to warn them but the change in friction caught him too late and he came in their mouth. Luckily [Y/N] didn’t seem to mind.

They pulled off his cock, still hard and wet, and looked up at him from the floor. “You want your steak rare or medium?”

“Uh…mid rare?” Mark was embarrassed to admit that his cock jumped a little when they asked that. He liked to consider himself a modern, evolved man but god that was hot.

[Y/N] smiled and kissed his knee before standing up and heading to the kitchen. Maybe they should listen to Rex more often, Mark thought briefly. No. No. That was probably a bad idea. This time was good though.

[saturneras]

Private Eyes II

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: It has been a couple of weeks and the job has worked you to the bone. You haven't finished your shift at the station once during daylight hours and the tasks keep piling up. The worst of it all? Joel Miller has made himself scarce and you only ever see him leaving the office exactly when you appear. One could assume he is trying to avoid you on purpose. Be as it may, after what happened in the archives, you are not letting him off the hook this easily. After all it is your brother's poker night and you know a certain chief of police who hasn't missed a game in weeks. Isn't it a wonderful night for a game?

Note: I am so happy you guys liked the first part and I hope this one makes you kick your feet.

Part I

When you sort the last report into the file and place them on the rookie's desk, you let out a big sigh. Finished. And it is not even eight o'clock. What a win. Almost everyone is already gone for the night and as you gather your jacket out of the little cubicle Lori assigned you on your first day, Daniel calls out from behind you.

"Still here?"

"Justice never sleeps,” you joke and pull on your jacket.

He grins, "I feel like this is something I should say."

His smile is handsome, attractive even. His uniform is very well fitted and you can tell that he probably works out regularly. Does seem like a guy who drinks an insane amount of protein shakes and doesn't do caffeine though.

You shrug and grab your bag. "You can use it, I won't tell."

Another laugh and you brush past him toward the door. If you’re quick you’ll catch them right when they’ve already had a drink or two. Alcohol makes for lose tongues and quick tempers, equaling lots of fun.

“You need a ride?” Daniel asks.

You shake your head. "I'm good, but thanks."

Before you turn around again, Daniel takes a step toward you. "It's no problem, really. I'm just finishing up myself."

"Actually," you reply. "I'm just on my way down to Mickey's."

His eyebrows lift up. "Oh no way, I was just heading over there myself."

That's probably a lie and you can tell by the way he so desperately wants to seem nonchalant, but you don't care and would rather take the 10 minute drive than walk for 30 in this heat.

"Oh, what a coincidence," you say and can't help the slight sarcastic undertone. You like Daniel, just as much as the next girl likes a nice guy. He has had you work on some reports he had to write and let you draft up a proposal to the city for some funding allocations last week that you actually put a lot of work into. But you can't shake the feeling that he seems like the kind of guy to take credit for other people's work.

"Yeah," he says and smiles easily. "Funny."

"I just need to change really quick, is that okay?"

Daniel nods, "Of course, take your time."

You quickly change into some jeans and a white tee in the women's changing rooms.

Out in the station's parking lot he opens the door for you. Daniel drives a BMW, which does seem like quite a fancy car for a police officer. "You like the car?" He asks.

You can't help but chuckle slightly at his eager tone. You don't really care for cars, but reply, "Sure."

Daniel starts the engine and you smoothly glide out of the parking lot and the buildings rush past you on the side of the street. You lean back into the seat a little and close your eyes for a second, letting the work day fall away.

"Have you been settling in nicely?" Daniel breaks the sweet silence between you two.

You turn your head to face him and say, "You do know that this is my hometown, right?"

He laughs as if you had made a joke. "Oh sure, sure, I just meant with the station and all."

"It's a lot of work," you reply honestly. "I just wish I could see some operations, some action, you know?"

"Right," Daniel replies. "The chief likes you in the back office, huh?"

"I don't think the chief likes me to do anything," you say a little too snappy.

Daniel grins. "He isn't the most accommodating person here, let's be real."

When you say nothing, he adds, "But not everybody is like that. I really appreciate all the stuff you've been helping me out with. Your report was really good, by the way. Maybe I can take you out on a ride that's not too dangerous some time."

"Sounds good," you say. "I'm glad I could help."

"It actually went pretty well, the city agreed to all the terms you suggested. You're really good at this."

You laugh. "Maybe they're just easily convinced."

Right when you pull up into the parking lot at Mickey's, Daniel says, "I bet you can be pretty irresistible, huh?"

You know how this goes and are not in the mood for a "I'm just a nice guy trying to be nice" kind of conversation and just ignore the comment. He pulls into a spot in front of the entrance and you can't make out your brother's truck anywhere. Maybe you've mixed up the days?

When you step into the bar, the first couple of notes of Two Dozen Roses fills the air and your ears immediately. You've always liked it here, even though as a teenager you never used to drink go. Mickey's seemed more like a bar for dads and older brother's who didn't like to talk or listen to anything other than country. And as a 19 year old all you want to do is talk and listen to anything but country. You can tell Daniel is somewhere behind you, rambling about something.

"I'll go get us a drink," Daniel says and puts one hand softly on your back faster than you can react and struts off to the bar.

You take a look around and see the usual crowd hanging around the bar and the little dance floor. But just as ocean calls to the shore, you can sense his eyes on you even before you spot him a couple of tables further in the back. He is sitting facing the entrance, like a good chief of police should, in between his brother Tommy and some guy you haven't seen before. You spot your brother with his back turned toward you, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"You should've thought of that before you invited him to join, Tommy," Casey says between laughs.

Joel Miller hasn't stopped looking at you this whole time you're standing in the middle of the room. His eyes are like honey stuck to a spoon, lazily clinging to every bit of you. The chief also has changed out of his usual white shirt and tie and is wearing a dark green flannel that stretches over his chest the moment he leans back into his chair, taking a sip of his drink. The ice cubes slide toward his mouth and the thought of the warmth of his lips melting the ice with each sip hits you like a curveball. For some reason, inexplicable to you, it makes your stomach tighten. Okay, that's a lie. You can admit, perfectly indifferent, of course that Joel Miller is .. not hard to look at. His dark eyes are still on you. Taunting. As if he's reading your mind, he raises his right eyebrow and you can't help but make your way over, as if he's got some gravitational pull forcing you to submit. Calling something inside of you that you hadn't realised was there.

"Well well well," Tommy says loudly. "Who do we have here? Isn't it the future attorney general?"

You can't help but smile at Tommy, who gets up immediately, moving around the table to engulf you in a tight hug. He is the friendliest man you've ever met and you're happy your brother chose someone so lovely to build a business with. Casey turns his head and grins.

"Off before midnight?" Casey asks mockingly. "What's gotten into you?"

"Midnight?" Tommy barks. "What have you been making her do, Joel?"

All eyes turn to him and he doesn't even flinch, just looks at his brother and says, "Nothing she can't handle."

Your eyes meet for a split second and then he glances at his brother again.

"This sounds like a case of employee exploitation, if you ask me," Tommy says.

"Nobody did," Joel replies gruffly and gets up from his seat.

"Hey," Tommy turns to me. "You want a drink?"

Just in time, Daniel materialises behind us, two bottles in his hands. "Hey, guys."

Casey turns toward the table again, mumbling something that did sound quite a lot like hell nah. It takes a second before Tommy's furrowed brows ease up and he smiles. "You brought the little Sheriff?"

"Who?" You ask, confused.

Tommy points to Daniel, whispering in my ear. "His dad is the Sheriff."

"Oh," you say. "I didn't know."

Tommy nods and takes the beer out of Daniel's hand. "Thanks bud, you play poker?"

Daniel looks as if he might protest but then remains silent and nods his head.

"You can join if you want," Tommy suggests and elicits a muffled groan by Casey and the other guy. "I think Joel has stripped us of enough money tonight."

"Yeah, sure," Daniel nods eagerly. "I just need to call my Dad to let him know I won't make it to dinner."

Joel huffs and grabs his glass from table. You take a step back and let Daniel slip into Tommy's seat, while Tommy mumbles something into his brothers ears and pats him on the back. Joel turns around and heads for the bar. You watch him go and then watch them play for a bit. You've played enough poker with your dad that you realise they're all trying hard not to make Daniel look like an idiot, who continuously makes every possible mistake.

"I'll be right back," you say to Casey and make your way to the bar, turning left toward the restrooms. Behind a cherry red door leads a narrow hallway. You open the heavy door and after having stepped inside for a couple of steps, collide with the broad chest dressed in a dark green flannel button down.

"Didn't I tell you to be more careful?" His voice is calm and has the tiniest bit of bite to it.

"I probably wasn't listening," you reply.

"Why did you bring your puppy?" He says.

"My what?" You say and then realise who he is talking about. "Oh, Daniel just gave me a ride from work."

"Since when do you dress for work like this?" Joel's eyes graze down your body in a calculated measure. You think you must imagine the way his eyes darken when they roam over your white shirt. And you can't help but cross your arms under his scrutiny, feeling like it's burning through you.

"You know there are changing rooms at the station and you would know what I had been wearing to work if you would ever bother to show up yourself."

Now it is his time to cross his arms defensively. "I've been busy."

"With what?" You press.

"With shit that is none of your concern," he replies roughly.

"So it is only my concern, when you need someone to do your shitty paperwork?"

"You wanted to see how the real world works," he says. "There you go."

"Daniel at least lets me do some actual work and not just digitalise files from the 70s," you say.

"I knew he did not fucking write that report," Joel mumbles more to himself than you. "He shouldn't have done that."

"I enjoyed writing it."

"I don't care if it made your little lawyer heart race," he says. "It was Riley's job and he didn't do it."

"It got done, didn't it?" You say.

"That's not the point," Joel says sharply. "He had a direct order and he disobeyed it. It's not your job to do his work. I assigned him that task to make him familiarise himself with the issues our station is facing."

You stay silent and Joel clears his throat.

"Never mind, he'll hear the end of this."

"I didn't realise I was disobeying your order," You say.

Joel furrows his brows. "You weren't."

"You sure?"

"Believe me," he replies. "If you were disobeying my orders, you would know."

His gaze is lowered down to you and you feel your body tensing.

You let your arms fall to your sides and slightly lean forward. "Remind me to never disobey your orders then."

"Following orders does not seem like your strong suit." His face remains impassive.

You grin slightly and focus on his face. It would only take one small step to close the distance between you two. Not even a second.

Once again his eyes have turned to molten chocolate and you can't help but watch their specks of gold catch the dim light. He looks like he hasn't shaved is beard in a couple of days and you wonder what his stubble feels like scraping against your neck. The sudden thought surprises you. How would it feel to be pressed against his front with his arm around you and his tongue on your neck? The sudden image of it runs on a loop inside of your head, when Joel interrupts, "Casey can't drive you home. He's been drinking."

The change of subject confuses you for a second, as if you both were watching the same movie but he switched the channel.

"I know," you say. "But I'm staying a bit later anyways."

"You need to call your daddy first, too?" Joel asks, raising his eyebrow. And you know he cannot not like this, enjoy this understanding between the two of you.

"Which one?" You retort and he isn't quick enough at hiding his surprise.

He grunts and leans the slightest bit toward you. "Why do I feel like a broken record when I tell you to watch your goddamn tone."

"Maybe you should ask nicely," you say.

"That is not something you should say to your boss, sweetheart" Joel says.

"As I am officially clocked out and due to you not carrying your badge or your gun it is safe for me to assume you are off duty. So technically, you're not acting as my boss right now, sir."

"Just because you can't see it, does not mean it isn't there," Joel says and you raise your eyebrows.

"A grower not a shower, huh?"

Joel's eyes narrow. "You need to watch it, Darlin'."

He turns his body, forcing you to do the same, so your back is pressed against the wall of the hallway. You're trying to concentrate on his words but his smell makes its way up your nose and seems to cloud your brain. He is so close that you can feel his hot breath on your skin, laced with a hint of whiskey. You thought it would be much easier to navigate this conversation but now it seems almost redundant and you slowly forget why you wanted to talk in the first place.

He raises his arm and places one hand next to your head. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a piece of work?"

Your chin raises slightly in defiance. "You're not the first one who has given me such a compliment."

Joel's jeans touch your bare legs and if he wanted to he could flush your bodies by the push of his hips. He is towering over you, his eyes looking like they're looking for something on your face, they haven't been able to find yet. And you feel like telling him you want him to never stop searching for it. You hear the first couple of notes of Chris Stapelton's "You Should Probably Leave" resound from the bar, as he lifts his other hand slowly as if not to startle you.

When his large hand has almost touched your hip, he says, "Let's see if I'll be the la-"

The door to the bar opens and Joel immediately yanks his hands away and puts two step between you.

Daniel appears in the doorway and his eyes widen in surprise. "Oh, there you are."

"Here I am," you say, trying to sound relaxed. Probably failing. What the fuck was that just now?

"I was just gonna say that your brother just headed out over to Tommy's house for more drinks and I need to go to my dad's house to pick some stuff up," he says.

It takes you a second to figure out that he is waiting for you to relieve him of the duty to give you a ride home.

"No worries, I'll just get an Uber," you say exactly at the same time Joel says, "I'll take her."

You turn around and glare at him. "That won't be necessary."

"Awesome," Daniel exclaims. "Thanks, Chief. See you tomorrow."

And with that he steps back into the bar, leaving you standing there with Joel.

"I can just get an Uber, it's no big deal."

"I'm taking you home and it's not a topic of discussion, so you can shut it," he says and starts walking toward the door. You follow his steps quickly.

"I am an adult, I can get home by myself," you protest.

"Do you even know how many women get kidnapped or assaulted by their driver?"

"This isn't New York, Miller," you say. "We are in Texas."

"What do you think I'm doing at my job?" Joel says and opens the bar entrance door for you to walk through. "Cutting ribbons and issuing speeding tickets?"

"Something like that," you say and stop in front of his truck.

"Why do you think we established our office hours for women?" He looks at you as if he's actually waiting for a response, but you know he isn't. "People are dangerous and it is my job to protect you."

"I don't need protection," you snap and add, "From you."

"You might not need it," Joel says, opening the passenger door. "But you sure as hell will get it. Now get in the truck."

You don't attempt to make a move and he shifts his weight.

"It might make it easier," Joel warns. "But I don't need a badge nor gun to make you get into this truck, Darlin'."

"I'd love to see you try," you press and almost see a grin appear on Joel's face.

"I ain't above throwing you over my shoulder."

"Is that supposed to make me feel scared?"

He stoically remains next to the passenger door and just watches you. "Just get in the goddamn car, will ya?" Once again is voice is pure cool ice and it impresses you how he can say something so decisively, leaving no room for disobedience.

You sigh and walk toward him, stepping onto the side step of his truck. Now you're at his eye level and without thinking, your head moves to the side, hovering directly in front of his. A strand of hair has fallen from his head into his eyes and you feel the urge to push it back. The urge to run your fingers through his hair hasn't faded ever since that moment in the archives. When his eyes lower themselves and cling to your lips, you can't help but release a soft breath. His jaw clenches almost imperceptibly, but he slowly steps out of the door and moves to the side for you to sit down.

You wait for him to shut the door but it doesn't happen. Instead you suddenly feel that familiar breath on the side of your neck, dancing down your neckline. Goosebumps give away your receptiveness to his warmth, but you can't turn your head, you can't risk to look.

Joel has one arm propped on the car, one is holding the door. His shirt is pulled across his chest, revealing a slither of his tanned skin. You inhale shakily, when he whispers only for you to hear.

"And I didn't even need to ask nicely," he says. "Such a good girl."

[flaetsbnort]

Yeah. That analysis was very pointed, but I'm siding with Emmy. And I say that as someone who pretty much only plays Brawl on Arena, so I'm the filthy casual

I think this is really about - well, I don't think there's other accepted term for it, other than Stop Having Fun Guys. People whose enjoyment of games comes from system mastery. That's not a bad thing! Most competitive games are made for and by them. It's only a problem when the Super Serious Victory Gamers run into the Goofy LOL gamers, who don't care about winning. (Which is why the term comes from Super Smash Bros., a game series made for and by Goofy Gamers that by sheer chance had mechanics that made it a darling for the Serious Gamers.)

And the issue with EDH/Commander is that it was created by Serious Gamers to play between Serious Games when they wanted to be goofy. Under that paradigm, mechanics like larger initial life totals and colour identity (and singleton, of course) to force goofier play among Serious Gamers; and if a Serious Gamer finds that their opponent managed to make Serious Plays anyway, their reaction will most likely be "lol, nice". But now, it's spread to general people who, had they never heard of commander, would likely be playing low-powered, goofy kitchen table games with lines of play similar to Commander even in a 60-card 20-life 4-copies card format. And even though Wizards is now openly designing for Commander, they've still have about twenty years' worthy of design for Serious Gamer that yucks the yam of Goofy Gamers.

I've already written two paragraphs so I should stop but ultimately this is similar to the "for God's sake play anything other than D&D" issue in which super-casual Commander players would be happier playing engine-building games with minimal interactions like Wingspan (or Res Arcana! Which has a very similar feel to Magic!), except that in this case it's difficult to argue that what they like isn't actually the ruleset of Magic. Magic is an incredibly deep game and anyone who knows the rules really well has likely been playing it for years, and wouldn't be able to magically transfer that understanding (and, more importantly, the joy that comes from employing that understanding) to a different game, and thus that point of attrition will always happen with the more casual gamers. Okay that's it bye

yknow i agree that a lot of (what appears to be, to me, an outside observer, i just play with my friends who are cool and don't have these problems) edh play culture can be obnoxious -- but i feel like when magic veterans with lots of 60 card experience try to address this they often miss crucial format differences that explain a lot of the taboos because they would rather feed their egos by calling edh players whiny casuals