#which is so so terrible because you two NEVER fight

[watchmegetobsessed]

THE HAPPIEST

A/N: happy birthday to our favorite boo!🎉

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

SUMMARY: It's Harry's birthday, he is surrounded by his friends, but all he wants is to talk things out with Y/N.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

The room is full of people Harry loves and that is actually all he wished for his 31st birthday. Even though he’s been on a long.stretched break in the past year, it’s still tough to gather all his favorite people in one room, since life didn’t stop for everyone else while he was getting his well-deserved rest after such a hectic period in his life. 

With a drink in his hand he is standing by the bar of the private room of a popular cocktail place his friends recommended for the occasion. It’s spacious enough to fit over thirty people, there are plenty of seats, a private bar so they don’t have to leave the hidden bubble and even a small dance floor was fitted in one corner with a karaoke machine as well. Just the perfect spot for an amazing night. 

Taking a sip from his drink he glances over the rim of his glass and runs his gaze over the room, probably for the fiftieth time in the past hour or so. No matter how many times he tells himself to just relax and forget about it, he simply can’t. 

Though he seems happy and carefree, the people around him have no idea just how frustrating the last few days of thirty were. All because of her.

Y/N was an old friend of Harry’s, they’ve known each other from the times he was still touring with the band. Their bond formed quickly and strongly and Harry could never deny he always felt a little more than just friendship for her, but the time just never felt right. Relationships, work, moving, it felt like everything around them was urging them to stay as they were, right until a few months ago. 

Y/N was visiting Harry in London, both of them eager to spend some quality time together, but one late night talking with a bottle of wine finally blurred the line between them. A more than friendly dynamic started between them and to Harry, nothing has ever felt as right as being with Y/N.

But her last relationship ended quite terribly and she was cautious, which Harry understood and more than happily accepted. They moved slowly, though Harry could feel himself fall harder and harder with every passing day while she stayed just as prudent as in the beginning and he felt like they were out of sync. 

Then a few days ago he couldn’t hold it in any longer and brought it up. All he wanted was just a discussion and to find common ground, to figure out where they are heading, but it somehow turned into a fight. Harry was adamant, wanting to make them official and take the leap while she argued with him to just stay as they are, to which Harry questioned her what they truly were, but she couldn’t answer. 

It ended quite nastily and she just left. Later that night Harry tried to call her, but she only texted him asking for some time to think. Now it’s been two days and the no contact is slowly killing him on the inside, but he is trying his best to respect her will and just hope for the best. He’s been anticipating her arrival all evening, though part of him is not sure she’ll show up at this point. In that case that will be a rather clear message for him about where they are heading. 

Down the drain, he thinks to himself and ignores the ache in his chest at the thought of losing her, because he wouldn’t be losing his lover but a close friend as well, so that would be a double heartbreak for his birthday with a bow on top. 

“Birthday boy! You have to be the first one singing!” someone shouts at Harry and a moment later he can feel himself being dragged towards the karaoke machine. With a chuckle he lets himself get busied, hoping he would stop staring at the entrance. 

A handful of songs later Harry is behind the mic again, attempting to sing a Chappell Roan song he only heard maybe twice before, but someone else chose it for him. He is focusing on the words, laughing along with his friends when he falls out of rhythm because he can’t read the screen fast enough. 

One hand holding the mic, the other one has his drink, he is sloshing it around as he is urging his audience to join the singing. His eyes flicker up from the screen for just one split second, but his stomach immediately drops when they land on a face he’s been looking for all evening. 

Y/N is standing in the back, watching him with a soft smile that has his gut in a clench right away. 

She came.

He forgets about the lyrics, making his friends laugh which snaps him out of his shock and he returns to his performance, but now every time he looks up from the screen he is only looking at her. 

When the song is over they want to keep him for another, but he successfully slips away, but he also loses sight of her in just a minute. As discreetly as possible, he is trying to spot her in the room as he heads to the bar, but she is nowhere to be found. 

Was he just hallucinating? Where could she go so fast? 

He can barely swallow his disappointment as the bartender hands him his new drink, but before he could fall deeper into his self pity, there’s a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turns around and the warmth is instantly back in his chest.

“Happy birthday.” Y/N smiles at him shyly, as if she is not sure what to do or say. 

“Thank you,” Harry breathes, the urge to wrap his arms around her is strong, but he orders himself to stay put and not cross any boundaries. Besides, public affection was part of their argument, since Y/N didn’t want people to get the wrong idea if they saw them physically close. “I uh… I’m glad you’re here.”

Her eyes soften. 

“Me too,” she replies, barely audible. 

“Do you… want to talk? There’s a small terrace at the back, we could–”

“Maybe later. Is that okay?” 

“Yeah.” Harry nods, hiding his disappointment. He would rather settle the weird tension between them, but he doesn’t want to push her too much. 

“Harry, hey!” someone emerges from the side, popping their little bubble. He swallows his irritation and politely greets the new guests, his jaw clenches when he sees Y/N slipping away from beside him. 

At least she is here, he reminds himself. They will talk this out, he just has to be patient. 

For the next hour or so he keeps an eye on Y/N no matter how far they are from each other in the room, wanting to make sure she’s still there. With several mutual friends, Y/N quickly finds familiar faces and blends in pretty easily and though it appears she is not too bothered by their current situation, Harry often catches her looking at him as well. Every time their eyes meet he gives her a soft smile and she always returns. 

At one point Harry is finally left alone at the bar as he waits for his next drink, gaze glued to Y/N from across the room, of course. This time, she is looking back at him just as intently and he can tell her mind is racing about something he wishes to know. He is just about to make a move and get closer to her, hoping to talk to her, but she beats him. 

Surprisingly, she excuses herself from the group she’s been talking to, crossing the room heading straight towards him. His heart is hammering against his ribs, because it feels like something major is about to happen, but right when she is about to reach him a small group steps to him, engaging him in their conversation, ruining her chance of going through with whatever she had in mind. Harry panics, not wanting her to leave, so before she could escape he reaches out, gently takes her hand and pulls her into the little circle.

The touch of her skin against his palm feels heavenly and makes him want more, but he forces himself to let go. His hand falls back to his side, his skin buzzing from such a small touch and he tries to focus on the conversation because otherwise he would be staring at Y/N. 

But to his surprise, a few seconds later her hand slips back into his palm, fingers lacing together with his and she moves closer to him until she is pressed up against his arm. Harry can’t mask his astonishment as he finally looks at her, but his hand closes around hers without a second thought. They look at each other, talking without words, but they are both clear about the message.

Harry can’t hold his growing smile back, which makes her chuckle as well before she hides her face in his shoulder. A moment later Harry lets go of her hand but only so he can circle his arms around her waist and pull her in front of him, holding her tight in his embrace as they join the conversation again, the others didn’t even notice a single thing of what just went down. Y/N happily leans her back against his front, hands covering his on her stomach as their body heat becomes one. 

“Now it’s a happy birthday,” Harry whispers into her ear so only she can hear his words. She smiles, turns her head and gently kisses his lips before he adds: “The happiest.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[alilobsessive]

The Terrible Crow

All your life you desired recognition from your father, well you got it! But not from your bio dad, things only grow worse from there. For the Bats, not for you.

All your life you have longed for one thing, you’re Father’s recognition. At first it was simple things, like getting good grades, school awards. Anything for him to tell you how good of a job you’re doing. When he brought in Dick that changed, the escalation was quick. If he could be Robin, if he could fight with your Father why couldn’t you? Eventually after years of begging he agreed, then not even a week later he took in Jason and he became the new Robin. Your Father told you it was because he was older then you, already making it safer for him to go then you. When you brought up the fact that you’re the same age as Dick when he started, your father countered that Dick already had years more training with his parents than you.

After that you reluctantly didn’t argue, scared of seeming like nothing more than a spoiled kid. Jason in you began training together, although the two of you grew a bond it never felt right. Everyone called you close and although you liked him a part of you was resentful. You’re Father was always tougher on your training then Dick or Jason, always finding a flaw no matter how long you practice. In a way it helped you perfect your skills to the last detail. But he never told you “good job” not like Dick or Jason, it was always moving right on to the next thing. After Jason’s death the training got worse, he was somehow harder and stricter than before. You went to bed sore with aching bones and bruises from training, if you went to bed at all that is. Sometimes your sleep schedule was what was being trained, he would make you stay up for days at I time, rarely doing anything more than a nap. He told you this was similar to the training he went through, that it would make you stronger.

You never got the chance to prove it though, not even a half a year since Jason died a new boy was brought in. Tim’s the same age as you, highly intelligent and good at stealth but completely untrained. “SO WHY IS HE ROBIN!” You screeched at the man you call Father, Tim stands there glaring at you. He has a red mark on his cheek from where you slapped him when you were told he would be Robin. You were instantly yelled at and reprimanded by your Father for this, which started this argument in the first place. “I HAVE TRAINED FOR MOST OF MY LIFE FOR THIS, I HAVE DONE ALMOST EVERYTHING YOU WANTED ME TO! I FOLLOWED YOUR ORDERS I DEDICATED MY LIFE TO THIS” You scream at him, tears filling your eyes and falling down your cheeks. He just stares at you, expression blank and unchanging “what made you think I’d ever make you Robin?” Is all he says. Freezing you just stare at him crushed. “You’re dismissed” you feel like he spits it out, he doesn’t but it feels like he does “don’t ever train here again, nor even think about being a vigilante” you’ve never felt so much rage and sorrow before. You turn around to leave pushing Tim to the ground as you do “you’re grounded!” He calls out. Without even looking back you flip him off “fuck you Bruce!”.

After that things were never the same, you never wanted to try at anything anymore. What was the point in constantly studying if it meant nothing? So you did whatever you wanted, there were barely any consequences. Bruce didn’t give a shit about you, he never truly did. Alfred always sided with Bruce, sure he called him out when he was in the wrong, but that rarely changed anything with you. Dick was as absent in your life as ever. Finally you and Tim’s relationship was shit, it would never recover, at least you didn’t care if it did or not.

Eventually though you stumbled across a niche that peaked your interest. It started small, quick one minute videos about animal biology you finished the nearly 10 year old channel's entire library of content in 2 days. Then it evolved into animal psychology and finally to humans, what made them tick. It was fascinating every last detail interested you, from the mating habits of raccoons to the study that showed most humans could pick out snakes in extremely pixelated and blurry images. Even the more questionable experiments that would never pass today, like the wire and cloth mothers, and the monster study. Things that would have been difficult to prove or research if it wasn’t for the unethicalness of it all. Hell, even the bullshit study with gorillas learning sign language was interesting, even if the whole thing was completely pointless and awfully mismanaged. It was just so interesting to learn about.

Then you stumbled across it, a familiar name, Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow. All his published studies were almost 2 decades old, but that didn’t stop how interesting they were. Both as a glimpse into the mind of a madman who long had his license revoked and as a study in how the mind understood fear in general. Sure you were made to memorize his habits, his usual schemes, hell you even helped reverse engineer and make a cure for several of his fear toxin strands. But you never learned about his studies, never learned about the person behind the mask. But now you wanted to, desperately, of course you couldn’t just go to Arkham. Bruce would learn about it and who knows what he would do once he learns of your little…. curiosity.

No, you didn’t want that, so you lied in wait for the perfect time. But while you did so you studied, falling back into old habits. Day and night you obsessively researched human psychology, several studies both bullshit and true. You memorized everything, dates, names, places, what effects they had, any changes or new revelations in the study, what they were studying and in some cases what they ended up actually studying. You even ended up dabbing deeper into chemistry. All of this to impress someone, but you enjoyed learning these things. All of this was fun, unlike dealing with Bruce.

Then finally the day came, Scarecrow broke out of Arkham. Using the skills Bruce ground into your brain you found him. It was pretty easy, you're shocked he didn’t find Scarecrow sooner. Of course you ended up captured, tied to a chair in one of his labs. Oh also a gun pointed at your head, neat! “What are you doing here?” Scarecrow says suspiciously, a wide grin forms on your face as you happily say “I want you to teach me!” The man just looked at you strangely. Then he laughed, “this isn’t a very funny joke kid” the man sneered at you. “But I’m not! I’ve read your work Mr. Crane! It’s absolutely fascinating! I want to learn more, especially about your newer unpublished stuff!” He just stares at you, “really?” He asks, pointing the gun down. Although he doesn’t look like he believes you, “then prove it” before you can even react the gun is back at your head and he shoots.

The bullet barely misses but you don’t move, don’t even flinch, you just smile. You know how manic you look, but you don’t care. Scarecrow just stares at you surprised, he completely lowered the gun and put it away. “Well..” he mumbles, “I guess I can give you a test” that made you feel nothing but pure glee.

The costume you were put in started out simple, a almost completely black suit with blue gloves and a mask vaguely resembling a plague doctor. You thought you looked like a rip off emperor's coven member but that’s not that important. As Crow as his apprentice you were first given grunt work, helping and leading his henchman in getting supplies for whatever project he was working on. That was when you weren’t doing homework, taking notes, organizing documents. The Bat’s were completely unaware of what you were doing, sure they knew you had something after school. The one time they asked you told them you got an internship. They didn’t even bother to verify if that was true or not. Alfred was the only one who even slightly cared and even then he was just proud that you finally found a calling away from the vigilante life. Boy was he only slightly correct.

Things started ramping up after you defeated Tim, Robin in combat. The pure smug joy you felt at that moment is indescribable. The rejected Robin, who's rusty, proving that they're stronger, faster, smarter, better than the current? You were so excited you almost went into hysterics, and the fear on his face as you brutally kicked his ass? Priceless! They didn’t even realize it was you, but Scarecrow did, he recognized how similar your fighting style are instantly. At first you were worried, scared even about what he’d do now that he knew. Truthfully he was suspicious at first, but once you told him your story, how you were rejected from being Robin in favor of the second and third. How cruel they were to you before and after, even said you would tell him the secret identities of the bat’s and everyone you know is affiliated with them. Both publicly and privately, although he rejected your offer he saw your desperation. How much you want, no needed to stay, to keep this. Scarecrow accepted your loyalty and at that moment you truly became Crow.

To commemorate this occasion you got an outfit change. It became more padded, the mask looking more like a helmet then anything, and boots that increase your height by several inches. You were also made to train in a different combat style with both the added height and change of vision it was a necessity. But also to help cover your tracks as Crow from the Bat’s. So you grow, you changed, you trained and trained and they never noticed. Not when you came back injured from work, with new bruises and scars. Not when you came home with gifts, or when you brought your assignments back with you. They were completely ignorant as Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, he became your family, your father.

Eventually though Bruce got suspicious, he never figured out who you were, not until much later. But he realized you're doing something shady, the man never put in the effort to figure out what exactly. So he sent you off to a college far from the city, of course he let you pick the field you wanted. It wasn’t too hard to figure out what to do, psychology was already your passion after all and you were being trained by the best. The only issue was Crow, how to excuse there absence. So faking an extreme injury a week before you left easily fixed that. Afterwards you packed up and went to school, a school you would never return from, not to the manor at least.

There you continued your studies, your training in all forms and your contacts with Scarecrow. The only real difficult thing was not getting caught in your less ethical studies. You spent from the age of 18 to 24 studying as much as possible in your field getting both a bachelor’s and master’s. The plan was to go for a PHD too, but sadly things were interrupted and you quickly returned home. Your dad, Scarecrow was extremely injured during a fight and was in the hospital. Someone needed to step up, that person was you.

This time your outfit changed once more, it made you look even bigger and bulkier then you were. A cloak with a feathered collar, iron gloves with clawed ends, the faceless bird helmet looking even more imposing. Everything in your power to make you look as menacing as possible, large and imposing, a night to rival the knight. As you were making your return known you discovered something interesting, a new Robin, a baby brother. Dispute your issue with your family something about this was exciting. You felt so happy and you didn’t know why, but the fact he’s a Robin? Well, the kid needed to be taught a very important lesson before he learned it the hard way.

It wasn’t hard leading him to Wayne tower by himself. Kid had the skills but no discipline, reckless and willing to do anything to prove himself worthy. You can relate, which is way it has to be you who dose this. You approach the 10 year old boy from the shadows “you came alone hatchling?” You say in a soft voice. He jumps away and wipes his head around to face you eyes wide, he pulls out his sword and points it at you. “How-“ “a magician never reveals there secrets” you say playfully “now put the sword down baby bird” he doesn’t just glares at you. He then lunges forward aiming for your throat, but it wasn’t hard to grab the blade and rip it from his hand. He stares at you wide eyed as you throw it to the other side of the building, he quickly reorganize himself and throw a punch. But you dodge it, each kick and punch he sent was easily avoided.

As he moved to kick your head you grabbed his leg, and pulled him away. “You know” you begin walking to the edge tone not changing, “in nature Crows and Robins have an interest relationship. Crows are an omnivorous creature, they don’t just eat seeds and nuts like some people will have you believe. They’ve even been reported to peck out the eyes and tongues of lambs. Robins are no exception,” you hold him over the edge and watch as his eyes widen. He squirms and yells, “Crows will actually protect the nests of Robins, for a fee of course.” Batman should appear any minute now. “There young, they take and feast on the eggs and hatchlings. They basically farm them, it’s fascinating really. Crows are one of the smartest birds, about as intelligent as a 7 year old human. We’re watching the first signs of the evolution of a society!” You say almost giddy, “little mafias! It’s adorable and fascinating!” “We’re are you going with this” you just stare down at him, your mask making it nothing more then a dark void. You can practically feel his presence close to you, “it’s simple really! I’ve never been payed my dues! And you’re just a hatchling that doesn’t know better” and you drop him.

Batman catches him of course, but by the time he does and gets back up the tower you’re already long gone.

——————

Sorry if it takes a while for me to post things! I haven’t been feeling great both physically and mentally lately.

[drgnflyteabox]

☄︎₊˚˖ fusion vs. fission [1]

series masterlist | simon riley x fem!reader part two -> cosmic dance

> summary: simon learns something crucial. or, simon wants a better life for you. he's willing to do anything to get there. > tags/warnings: murder / violence / death, illness, unplanned pregnancy, poor working conditions, mining, feelings of hopelessness / numbness, hurt/comfort, softdark!simon, scifi, inspired by Alien Romulus, made up science, ambiguous shady deals

Down in the dark and the deep, the air is muggy and teeming with floating particles of dust. They stick to Simon from the damp that builds on his skin, fighting to get through his respirator with each breath.

He’d cut a man for it, watched him leak slowly into a dark offshoot of the mine. Saw the whites of his eyes shine in the lamplight for a brief, terrified moment before going dull.

Nobody had said anything about the missing man. Not the first day, nor the next.

Eventually, it passed like a ship in the sky.

The respirators were luxuries. Simon had watched his own father’s lungs go black from the work, watched him grow small and weak.

Ultimately, it was the sickness that got him. Wasn’t the endless fantasies of violence Simon had replayed in his head since childhood of revenge. 

Just a slow, bleak sickness.

He refuses to let that take him, not while you’re waiting for him to come back.

He leaves the mine, now, crammed into the shaft with his fellow workers in labour. Some have respirators, like him.

Most do not.

The mine shaft creaks, stutters, then dings at the top.

Headlamp, pick, chisel, they all go in a canvas bag, which he straps to his back. Heavy, but not terrible. He only feels it because he’s been worse for wear lately, feeling the effects of hard labour more and more as the years go by.

Still, Simon is better off than some. They walk painfully slowly in and out of their work bunkies, living close to the mines so that they might still work – might still produce labour.

Sick, is what it is. Inhuman.

He can’t bring himself to care, not really, not if he’s being honest. To acknowledge anything but you is to acknowledge how hopeless it all is.

He knows it's bad.

Must be, the way he only feels alive when he opens the door to your shitty little trailer and finally, finally breathes .

You’re asleep, though you must've tried to stay up for him, sweet as you are, and passed out waiting on the couch.

His steps are as quiet as can be as he steps through the threshold of the door, closing it behind him with a rickety sound.

Then he stops. Stares. You’re curled, knees tucked, an old blanket covering you from the shoulders.

Your cheek is pressed to your hand, neck bent, breaths deep.

He thinks you’re beautiful. Knows that you aren’t used to being called that, not when he’d first met you and not now.

But still, he tells you. Loves to watch you scrunch your nose at him and tell him you’re beautiful too, Si .

Part of it is the ultimate rejection of softness, the inability to accept good things in a world demanding that you stay numb to it lest you be burned by getting comfortable.

You complain often about that – about how he’s letting you get comfortable . Lazy, you call it, since he’s stopped letting you go to work.

I worked before I met you, Si , you always say. Doesn’t matter, he’s got you waiting safely at home now.

Bored, maybe, but not lazy. 

Simon has always tried to bring back books or precious commodities from the trade markets like yarn. Things to do. Knows you like to use your hands.

Anything but the mines. He’ll never let you work there again.

Your breath changes when he sits beside you, his weight dipping the worn couch cushion and dragging you just a little closer.

“Told ya not to wait up for me,” he grumbles as your eyes flutter open. Sleepy little cat.

“Wanted to,” you murmur back, though your words jumble and slur a little, half-awake and already leaning towards him like you’re being pulled gravitationally.

“Mm, my sweet girl,” he cups the back of your head, kissing your hair, smelling you.

You’re one of the very few people who smell clean to him. Neutral. Like laundry soap, mostly, and maybe a little bit like the hot bread they serve at breakfast.

A lot of it is just you, though. He likes your natural scent.

Your nose finds his collar, like usual, and you smell him back. He knows he likely smells of soot, of sweat and the minerals they mine on this planet.

You never care. You like how he smells, too, enough to tell him all the time. 

It’s bliss, for a moment. Contentment. He closes his eyes and forgets the haggard faces of his fellow labourers.

Forgets the inequality of it all. Forgets the ads that he walks by that promise a trip on a fancy ship to a better planet if he just worked hard enough.

They’re the only clean thing on the streets, the only things that get wiped and shined on the regular.

He shakes his head, forgets the suffering of the world, and especially of this godforsaken planet.

Then you tense.

He’s attuned to you, can tell when the atmosphere changes. 

When there’s something wrong.

His hands find your face, cradling you, thumbs at your cheeks, “what is it?” he says, brows drawn.

“I have something to tell you,” you say, and his world narrows to a pinpoint.

Simon, sit… we have something to tell you, his mother tells him, before he learns Tommy’s hooked on something bad and he’s barely hanging on.

We’ve got something to tell you, the peace officers broach without a lick of humanity when he learns his family has been killed – a mine explosion had collapsed their trailer into a sinkhole.

So his breath changes. His shoulders tense. He trusts you completely, wholly, in every way, but he’s launched into the void of space by your words and braces for impact.

Only you begin to cry. Hot, globulous tears fall down your cheeks, falling onto his wrists.

They burn worse than hot coal. Hurt worse.

“Sh, you’re alright now,” he soothes. His thumbs brush away as many tears as he can catch, “come on, don’t cry. Tell me what's wrong.”

“I don’t know how this happened,” you hiccough, trying to move your head away from him. He doesn’t let you, holding you in place and letting the stuttering of your breathing resolve itself.

“How what happened, honey?”

“Simon,” – not Si. He braces – “I’m pregnant.”

It starts to rain halfway there. The rain here is different from other planet systems – it makes the air thick with a viscous humidity, coloured with a strange glowing blue.

If he’s to believe the quackjob down the street from him, it’s apparently because this planet is rife with bioluminescent phytoplankton.

I thought plankton were from the water, silly, Tommy says in his memory. I just seen it. He’s four, then, and mostly immune to the suffering he will soon know. 

Simon had been reading to him from a shitty copy of Science for Kids! One leftover from old earth.

This is a special kind, the quackjob had told him. If I could just get a book about it, I could tell you the name … but it’s like phytoplankton!

Simon shakes his head. His mind hasn’t wandered like that in ages.

It’ll be alright, honey, he’d held you there, on the couch, mind miles away. I’ll take care of you, don’t I always? 

He tries to, at least. Has made a hundred promises about your safety, your happiness. Ones he shouldn’t have made, in hindsight, but he’s made them and he intends to fulfil them.

The bar is sparsely populated, likely due to the thick fog of rain.

Price is always there, though. 

It’d be a real sign of impending doom if he weren’t.

There, in the back. Beside him, another man Simon doesn’t know.

What he does know is that Price doesn’t work the mines. Doesn’t have to. The peace officers leave him be, too, because he’s known for making them disappear should they cause any trouble.

“Price,” Simon says gruffly. He’s not putting it on because he doesn’t have to. Naturally big and imposing, he gets the message across.

“Take a seat,” Price says.

He doesn’t make the mistake of thinking he and Price are friendly, but he does know that Price has a sprout of respect for him – it’s up to him to make it grow. To prove himself.

This is the only way for him to take care of you, now.

A deal is made.

The man’s name is Nik, and he’s a pilot. Rare thing on this planet, rarer still that he’s open to business from a man like Simon.

He wants out, and Nik has the means.

Price is included because he needs an extra man on a job, and the history between them lends for a tremulous kind of trust.

A pact built on the fact that each of them are not normal men, not normal workers. They’ve tasted violence, used it, and aren’t afraid to take their gloves off to get a job done.

When he learns of what the mine operator has done to you, he doesn’t immediately act. No, he waits. 

Simon is used to the shadows, to hiding. Used to patience.

He watched his father die, after all, didn’t act even after all that man did to him. Saw him turn to nothing before his eyes.

So he waits for the operator. Finds out his schedule.

You’d been left in the mine for hours. A support had fallen, trapping you and three others behind it. Oxygen grew sparse. No food, no light.

The operator could’ve had a recovery team there within minutes of hearing the news.

Too expensive, he’d said, and sent common miners to dig at the rubble for hours.

That, he could not forgive. Not after seeing your face, tear tracks cutting through the soot, lungs crackling for days afterwards.

Your growing fear of the dark, and of small spaces. Of being enclosed.

No, Simon could not forgive that.

That’s where Price finds him; with blood soaked into his sleeves, knuckles busted, face covered with a mask.

“Looks like you did my job for me.”

Everything comes together, brick by brick, line by line. He agrees to worse things than killing a man for his respirator, but he does it thinking of you and feels nothing for it but satisfaction and peace.

“You sure about this?” Price asks, sipping his drink. Expensive anywhere, a downright luxury here. Speaks to not only his power but his mobility.

Nobody gets off the planet, let alone does it regularly. Nobody but Price – and Nik, Simon thinks.

“I’m sure,” Simon says succinctly. He is, and has never been surer about anything else. There are no boundaries he won’t break for you, nothing he won’t agree to get you out of this hellhole.

Everything’s being expedited now, thanks to the little life growing inside you.

He can’t afford to waste any more time.

You’re still asleep where he left you when he gets back. On the bed this time, covered in a mound of knit blankets.

Your brow is furrowed, even asleep, body curled protectively.

Fuck, that makes his heart squeeze in his chest. Fear, uncertainty, inadequacy. Everything runs through him at one like a herd of wild horses, trampling the earth in their wake.

He crawls in with you, in front of you, staring at your sleeping face. You’re so beautiful, he thinks again.

His knuckles find your cheek, gently touching, eyes dipping down to the curve of your body beneath the blankets.

“S’gonna be alright, sweet girl,” he murmurs, “I’ve got it covered.”

[sugarverse]

𝙗𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 𝙝𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨!

[ bnha headcanons ]

ft. izuku, tenya, & katsuki !

✩ I. midoriya

From the music echoing from the bathroom, he knew you weren't in the best mood. He'll slide his shoes off, creeping into the room to see you fighting to take your braids down. He offers to help, watching the tears in your eyes fall down your cheeks. You already were having a terrible week and now it felt like your fingers were gonna go numb. 

You literally just wanted to wash your hair and feel clean. But you also wanted it done and out of the way. It was hard to explain the frustration, but to Izuku, you didn't have to. It was his job to take whatever the weight may be off of your shoulders.

It took awhile, but he got the hang of taking them down after a time or two. There were times where your arms got so tired that you fell asleep while he was unbraiding them. He helps you wash it over the sink, asking what to use and watching your hair spring/curl right up.

He never got the hang of actual braiding, fingers too fat to cross it the right way. But he does learn that greasing your scalp feels really good. Feeling you melt into his touch as you sat between his legs in the living room. 

He could wash your hair and massage your scalp for hours. He loved seeing you relaxed. You did so much for him to feel calm when he's had a long day. He always tried to return the favor in ways that showed you he loved you and genuinely paid attention to things that pleased you. It was hard when both of your jobs got in the way so he wanted to do things that really mattered.

He tries to watch when you do your hair to see what product does what, never letting it get too low. When you're out of something? He buys the right brand for you. You also put him onto some hair products to help his hair become softer and smell really good which he was very appreciative of. 

The first time he sees your bonnet? Buying you all different colors. and occasionally wearing one when you'd do ‘spa day’ but wtvr. He just wanted to be helpful ! Even if you didn't need one for every set of pajamas you own. 

He wanted to get all the shit you wanted/needed. More often than not though, he comes home to your hair done and he just marvels at you. He also calls whoever you're going to and pays in advance. If you insist on paying certain bills, this was the least he could do.

★ i. tenya

Once he notices your hair changing length and color, he's going to look up some youtube videos. Not that he's uneducated! He was educated enough to not ask you about it. It would be rude, especially upon first meeting. 

The one time he asked what your hairstyle was called, You told him you had cornrows in. You knew he hadn’t been talking about your braids wrapped into two buns. He was looking for a more technical answer as he does with everything, so you gave it.

From that day, he studied things like ‘Why cornrows are called cornrows’. The boy had a lot of questions and didn't want to bombard you more than everyone else was. However, he thought it was absolutely gorgeous. 

If you mentioned something about wanting your natural hair longer? He already found a growth oil that should work for your hair texture. Wanna dye it? He knows the best brand and best conditioner to make sure your hair doesn't break off or feel too harsh. 

When you two had started dating and he found out how expensive hair was to get done, let alone buy? It's no longer in your hands to pay for it. Money to get your hair braided by whoever you wanted, wherever in Japan you wanted. He loved seeing you come back to him, smiling and showing your new hair off before asking him to take pictures. 

Gifts start being more centered towards you than what he just assumed you'd like (lip tint, lashes, nails) because he found so many other useful things. That super expensive shampoo you use in bulk, a new bonnet, silk laced hoodies and beanies. Small things he went out of his way to look up before you had the chance to ask. 

Of course, he still gave you the money when you would mention a time or two when you were out of something, but mostly he pays for your hair every month or so.

One day you came home with a star braided onto the side of your scalp and quickly turning to show him. “Look, Look!” He never looked more in love, seeing you smile like that. “It's amazing, How long did it take?” He asks, taking your bags from you so you could sit and rant on the couch about your appointment. 

⛦ k. bakugou

Not the most patient man by ANY means, but he does try to take time to learn your hair routine to help. He’s determined to learn how to braid your hair, no matter how frustrating it might be. He was good at.. Well, mostly everything. So it stumped him that he couldn’t learn how to do something so seemingly simple right away. 

His first few tries are hilariously messy. Uneven, bumpy, and hair coming out the sides of whatever he thought a braid was. He doesn’t let you help his stubborn ass until he finally gives up about 10 minutes later. He watched your hands work fast as hell to braid downward in awe.

He ends up taping three pieces of string to the table and trying to braid it for hours, wanting to impress you the next time he could braid your hair.. but you walked in on him when you were trying to ask for help with something and he was BRIGHT red. “The hell you doin’ bursting into my room!?” 

Of course, this was when the two of you first got together and were getting comfortable around one another. When he finally tries again with this intense concentration on his face that makes you crack up, He’s so excited he almost screams in victory. He stared back at you through the vanity, smirking and putting his hands on his hips in satisfaction.

He loves the pops of color you have in your hair. Whether it be braids, beads, or wigs, he’s always asking “Where’s the orange? Where’s the green?” It’s not like you went out of your way to avoid the colors, it’s just that you didn’t have many clothes to match. 

On one of your dates, you show up with bright orange and army green bows in your hair. You bought a pair of camo pants to go with the black shirt you wore, opening your front door to see him absolutely melt. He stutters for the first time in awhile, telling you how stunning you looked representing him and his colors. 

He goes out of the way to buy you clothes and different accessories to match. If your hair color is slightly off than most of your clothes, he’ll buy you new ones.

He was super confused at all your product though. “Why do you need oil in your hair?” The blonde will scrunch his nose, “Doesn’t that shit make your hair greasy?” The look you gave him was enough for him to sit on the bed and grumble until you were done. 

You explained you wanted to prevent feeling dry and itchy, especially in the winter months. You rub in the oil, glancing over at him as you spoke. He slowly got up, watching you rub oil into your freshly parted hair, helping you finish in the back of your scalp. He watched the way you leaned into it, smiling to himself.

From then on his questions weren’t as abrasive, but he still asked you because he wanted to hear it from you. He could easily look it up, but you explained it in a way he graped immediately. Detangler spray, heat protector spray, all of it sounded very easily explained but he couldn’t understand exactly why you needed that stuff. 

“Ya can’t just brush it out?” He’ll ask, watching the comb get stuck in your natural hair after asking such a question. He helps you apply whatever you need, helping you flat iron the kitchen of your hair very carefully.

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Thinking about: Nanny K.MG

💭Who: Kim Mingyu (Seventeen) x female reader 💭What: Friends to lovers. Fluff. Suggestive (18+). Live in nanny Mingyu. Single parent reader. 💭Word count: 2.4k 💭Warnings: Reader chose to be a single mother and medically conceived. Reader is Mingyu’s boss so I guess you could say power imbalance but it’s also very much not - that’ll make sense when you read. Alcohol consumption - they don’t get drunk. Suggestive scenes at the end. 💭Summary: “You expect to go home and hear about your son’s day from his nanny as the little boy sleeps soundly upstairs, just like normal. You certainly don’t expect to wind up in Mingyu’s bed with a dramatic change to your dynamic, but you really aren’t going to complain about that.”

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

Masterlist

A/N- This is in the same universe as Thinking about: Nursery teacher L.JH, and the Juni mentioned in this is the same Juni as in that story! In February, I will be releasing a prequel to the Jihoon story, which will have our dear nanny Gyu and little Danil as characters! I’m very excited and hope you will enjoy that one too when it’s available!

Getting home late isn’t unusual for you; with your company in the process of expanding you haven’t had a lot of option but to stay late almost every single day for the past handful of weeks, unfortunately.

Which means that by the time you’re home, your darling son is already tucked up deep asleep in bed, looking so cosy and cute that you want nothing more than to crawl up next to him, pull him into your loving embrace and fall asleep. But you can’t, you don’t want to risk waking him when you know he always fights sleep so much in hopes of seeing you.

Of course, you feel like a terrible mother these days due to rarely seeing Danil during weekdays, what with you having to leave for work while he’s still getting ready for school and returning hours after his nanny has managed to soothe him to sleep. You hope that within the next few weeks, you can return to normal times to join the two for dinner and take over from Mingyu afterwards, allowing him to clock off and do whatever he wants for the rest of the night.

Not that you think the giant hearted nanny would do anything out of the usual even given the rest of the night off. At this point, you think Mingyu would spend his days off with Danil every weekend all the same if not for his friends dragging him off to make sure he remembers that he is a real person outside of his job.

You’ve tried to shoo Mingyu away yourself many weekends and convince him to call up his friends or go on a date, just something other than always being around to dote on your family of two. Yet the tall man always looks at you with round eyes shining sadly and without even needing to say a word, he bends your arm, and you give in, invite him to whatever activity you’ve planned for you and your son. Though at this point, you always make sure to factor in Mingyu when planning, knowing that he’ll likely puppy eyes his way right back to your son’s side.

And honestly, you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Seeing Mingyu with your son always settles you in a way you’ve never experienced. You’ve never seen Danil with a male figure in his life other than Mingyu. There’s never been a father around because you decided to do this solo, and you haven’t once regretted that decision to be a single mother from the moment of planned conception.

But there’s something special about seeing Danil hang off of Mingyu’s every word, or the gentle way Mingyu helps the boy with his homework and teaches Danil how to be a good human, and it makes you feel like maybe there is one person who you wouldn’t mind being the father of your child, and perhaps even more in the future.

Yet Mingyu is someone you’ve been paying to live in your house and look after your son since Danil could walk. In fact, you had been paying Mingyu before then as a babysitter, not a live in nanny, and the man had been there for Danil’s first steps and had looked as proud and emotional as you felt seeing your little boy unsteadily put one foot in front of the other without assistance of either of your hands.

As much as you wish you could pluck up the courage and ask Mingyu on a date, at the very least, you’re his boss and you can’t risk it. If things went wrong, Mingyu might leave and that wouldn’t just break your heart but Danil’s too. So, for the sake of your son, you keep your feelings to yourself.

“Hey,” Mingyu’s soft whisper makes you jolt slightly where you’re leaning against the doorframe of Danil’s bedroom to watch your son sleep.

You should’ve known that Mingyu would appear, he always does when you get home, but only after you’ve had the chance to peer in on your son and whisper your love into the air in hopes that it will reach Danil’s subconscious and bless him with nothing but sweet dreams. Tonight though, you had been too deep in your own mind with thoughts of the tall man to hear him near.

“Hi,” you reply just as quietly as you peer over at him.

“Come on, I’ve got exciting news, and a bottle of your favourite open,” he tempts you, not just with his cheekily grinned words but the outstretched arm and fingers wiggling invitingly at you.

There’s no hesitation, no thought as you put your hand in his and let him lead you downstairs and to the living room where, as promised, there’s a bottle of your favourite wine open on the coffee table and two glasses with the drink already poured within.

You both settle in the dimly lit room, only the sounds of whatever movie Mingyu had left running playing lowly in the background. He doesn’t even look at it, instead turns on the sofa so that he’s got one leg tucked under him and his shoulder against the backrest so that he can look at you as you gratefully swallow down your first mouthful of wine.

“Tough day?” He comments, smiling amusedly as you consume the contents of your glass before he’s even taken his first sip.

“No more than usual, just wish I could be home with you two more,” you reply forlornly as you watch Mingyu top up your glass.

“Two?” He repeats quietly and carefully puts the bottle down on the table.

“Mm. You and Danil.”

“But I’m just-”

“Mingyu, if you say you’re just his nanny, you’re not allowed to spend this weekend with us.”

Immediately, Mingyu looks at you with his sad puppy eyes and slightly protruded bottom lip. “But that’s my favourite part of the week, spending time with you two doing fun stuff.”

“Mine too, but you don’t get paid on weekends, Mingyu, which means you’re not his nanny during those trips.”

“Then why do you let me stay if you don’t think of me as the nanny?” He frowns confusedly. “If you don’t want me there to help and do everything I usually do, why do you let me stay and include me?”

“Because you’re one of us,” you answer honestly. “Our family.”

“What?” His expression melts as somehow, his eyes turn even bigger. “You consider me family?”

“What else would I consider you? You’ve been around since Dan was a baby; you’ve done probably more child care than I have at this point, even when you don’t have to. We love having you here and although I feel bad when you choose to spend weekends with us instead of joining your friends or going to find yourself a girlfriend and start your own family, I’m glad you stay.”

“I don’t want another family,” he admits and puts his slightly trembling hand over yours where they both remain around your glass propped on your folded legs. You look down at his touch and remove one hand from the glass to allow him to hold it. “I only want this one.”

“Mingyu…” you swallow thickly as your heart races with what this could imply, if he is saying family in the way you wish for, or in a broader sense. Maybe he means he wants to be Uncle Mingyu, not the father of your son, which you would accept, of course you’d accept Mingyu wanting to be Uncle Mingyu, but hearing Danil calling him daddy in the same breath as you mama, that would be something wonderful, you think.

“I know I’m overstepping, I’m just the guy you pay to watch your son, and honestly I’d do that for free if this wasn’t my only source of income, but you see…the thing is that I…I’ve fallen in love with you both and I would really, like really love to be a family with you,” he confesses.

For a second longer, you stare unblinkingly at his hand before you register that you haven’t just fantasised his words like you have many times before. Mingyu really did just confess to being in love with you and that he wants to be a family, which sounds like he wants to take on the exact role you’ve been yearning for him to for years now.

“J-just to clarify what you mean,” you say as you slowly look up at him and find his anxious gaze locked on you. “By family are you saying you want to be Uncle Mingyu or…daddy?”

“Uhm…the second one…if-if you would allow me to be.”

“I need to get a new nanny,” you mutter dumbly and watch as Mingyu’s features fall.

“Oh.” He looks away and turns, removing his hold from you as he swallows down the contents of his glass faster than he ever drinks any wine. “Right, I’ll uhm, pack my stuff and be gone by tomorrow evening so the new nanny can have my room.”

“Gyu,” you breathe out and shuffle closer to gently cup his farthest cheek and turn him to look at you. There are tears gathering on his lashes. “Oh, baby, I didn’t mean it like that,” you assure softly and brush your thumb across his cheek as a tear falls and drips down across his skin.

“N-no?” You shake your head and give a little, reassuring smile. “Then h-how?”

“I can’t really keep paying you to be Danil’s nanny when you’re his daddy.”

Mingyu’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes dart over your expression rapidly for a handful of seconds before settling back on your eyes. “You mean it?” He whispers.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“For Danil to have a dad?”

“For you to be his dad.”

“Oh,” he breathes out. “I love you, I-I don’t know if you love me too or-or just want me to be his dad and I’ll accept that, whatever I need to so I can be that for him, but I just need you to kno-know. I love you and I have for…” he lets out a breath. “It feels like I’ve always loved you, even before I knew you. It’s just…”

“Natural,” you finish, and he nods in confirmation.

“Yeah, it feels natural to love you, like it’s all I was made for; to love you and Danil.”

“Do you have more love?”

“Huh?”

“Well…Danil has been asking to have a little brother; it might take us a few tries to get the right gender, but I don’t mind repeat attempts if it’s with you.”

The tears in Mingyu’s eyes return with a vengeance and start to spill over, trickling down to meet your thumb still smoothing over his cheek. “Y-you want to have babies with me?”

“I do.”

“And that?” You make a confused sound. “Will you say I do in another circumstance with me one day?”

“Are you asking if I’ll marry you one day?” You wonder in surprise. He just nods and then you surge in to kiss him, utterly overwhelmed with emotion and unable to even attempt to verbally answer right now.

Mingyu whimpers slightly at the sudden, passionate kiss but then he’s blindly taking your glass from your hand to place onto the coffee table with his own so that he can pull you onto his lap and wrap his arms around you, all without breaking the kiss.

You kiss for long enough that your lips are bruised and tingling, chests heaving as your lungs search for air by the time you break apart and look at one another with matching hooded eyes.

“I love you, so fucking much,” you inform when you have your breath back enough to speak, running your fingers through his hair to try and tame the mess you’ve already made of it. “I want it all with you, Mingyu; marriage, babies, everything.”

“Fuck,” he pulls you in to another intense kiss with one hand threaded into your hair at the back of your head and his other arm around your waist to pull you even closer and press you down against him where you can feel how aroused he is, and it only makes your body burn brighter. “I’ll be the best daddy, I promise.”

“To me or the kids?” You joke and watch as his eyes darken before his lips spread into a seductive smirk that makes you wish you’re already in your bedroom. Or maybe his; it’s further away from Danil’s, therefore, much more suited for your current urges.

“Tonight, yours,” he answers and leans in to nip at your bottom lip teasingly. “Sound good, baby? Wanna go upstairs and show daddy how much of a good girl you can be?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Later, you lay in Mingyu’s bed naked, where he excitedly tells you that Danil has been invited to his first ever birthday party this coming Sunday, a picnic for a little girl named Juni that you’re both invited to as well, and you’ll repeat your love into one another’s skin in between discussing where to go from here.

Mingyu can’t technically be Danil’s nanny anymore, even if you agree to not tell anyone about the change quite yet as you want to ease into it, so Mingyu will be more like a stay at home dad and although he has savings and you both don’t want you to give him an allowance because it’ll feel too much like paying him to look after his own son, you agree that for now, you’ll keep paying him until things are settled and he can look for a job if he wants to have his own income.

There’s a lot more that needs to be discussed too; how to tell Danil, when to tell Danil, if Mingyu will move into your bedroom so you’re both closer to your son or you’ll move into Mingyu’s so there’s less chance of Danil hearing your private, late night activities, or if you’ll just swap between for the best of both worlds, plus a whole list of practicalities and legalities about the change of status, but for now, you decide to just enjoy what’s fallen into your lap.

Mostly because it’s your new boyfriend’s mischievous grin before he presses your thighs apart to get his head in between them for the nth time, and there’s really not a chance in hell that you’ll ever stop the man from loving you in every way he sees fit when this seems to be his favourite method.

As soon as Mingyu is done and you’ve got your strength back, you’ll return the favour and show the man how grateful you are that he’s agreed to take up the title of Daddy, but for now, you lay back with your fingers in his hair and enjoy the ride.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess

Special tag: @ourdawnishotterthanourday

[theexaltedbride]

Chronicles of Darkness is a total reboot. There are similarities between the two settings though so this is a bit of a TLDR, and honestly I really like Werewolf the Forsaken way more than Apocalypse. The Uratha feel much more heroic and less eugenics focused than the Garou. But in this one the Uratha (the werewolves) are descendants of two ancestral Spirits. Father Wolf, and Mother Luna. They inherit all of their powers from their ancient ancestors. Father Wolf was once guardian of the gauntlet between the world of the living and the world of spirits. He kept the two separate/made sure no spirit or human stayed too long on the other side, as they could have ill effects. He hunted great and terrible monsters known as the Idigam (eldritch horrors akin to the Wyrm and other horrors like that, to the point some of the descendants of the Idigam still fear wolves because of it, such as the Rat spirits who keep trying to eat away at the borders of reality and let in more horrors) and Father Wolf won the love of Mother Luna who bore him multiple children known as the First Born.

Mother Luna was known as 'Warden Moon' and a shapeshifter, and she actually imprisoned many of these Idigams to keep them from bothering the mortal world.

Eventually Father Wolf grew sick and weak, unable to hunt as he used to and his own children wished to usurp him. All of them knew about it, and only a few went through with it (though some hedged their bets and chose to stay silent). In a terrible fight they killed Father wolf and sought to take his place.

Mother Luna was not happy, in her sadness she cursed the wolves with weaknesses to Silver, and some Uratha (the ones who knew about the plan to kill Father Wolf but did nothing) rejected Luna and accused her of being behind it and outright rejected taking up Father Wolf's old duties. The would call themselves "The Pure" and would become werewolf supremacists believing that eth world would be better with spirits running wild, infecting reality, and letting them roam free to pull an Impergium on humans.

The other wolves "the Forsaken", accepted that they had done wrong. And tried to prove themselves to Mother Luna by taking up Father Wolf's old duties of keeping balance between the mortal realm and the spirit world, for they themselves were born of spirits and would become tied to humanity (though we can only assume this is from Firstborn mating with humans, but it never explicitly says how werewolves became part human, unless we imagine Mother Luna looked human when she was with Father Wolf). Many spirits hated the Forsaken from keeping balance, and forcing them to remain to their duties, but Mother Luna saw that they did, and actually chose to forgive them. She removed some of the weakness the Forsaken had to silver, and bestowed on them Silver Tattoos and Auspice powers to make them stronger and better able to fulfill Father Wolf's duties. Now many eons later, the Forsaken still keep up this duty, surrounded on all sides by hostile spirits and the cruel predations of 'The Pure', who want to do plenty of horrible things to humanity, the Forsaken, and even Luna. The later supplements even make it canon that some Idigam have broken free of Luna's prison, and it is up to the Forsaken to stop them. But despite always being outnumbered, the Forsaken haven't lost yet and they still keep the balance.

The Wolf Must Hunt, and so they shall.

(As I said this is a TLDR and I'm leaving out a lot of details, but I honestly love Werewolf the Forsaken much more than Apocalypse, even went so far as to actually get most of the books. Highly reccomend starting with the 2nd Edition and then finding supplements/sourcebooks which interest you. Thanks to the modularity of CofD, you can really play around with the setting and change things up. I recently just completed a game where a trio of Werewolves befriended a runaway Changeling and they formed an alliance which saw them allying with other local changelings to kill Huntsmen (Fae bounty hunters) and work with more Forsaken packs to chase all of the vampires out of the city and turn it into a safe zone for Forsaken and Changelings. Surprisingly a lot of Werewolf and Changeling lore fit together in odd places).

If you were interested in checking out a playthrough, I'd also highly recommend "The Bitches of Brewery Park" by DorkTales. its very well done and shows a lot of the aspects of Forsaken.

(Image is not mine. Taken from the Werewolf The Forsaken book "Signs of the Moon". )

I don't know what it is about this image but it manages to be so wonderfully bittersweet within a dark setting. Werewolf dad watching out for his kids and making sure they are okay. Still trying to be a part of his family's life even while fulfilling the duties of the Uratha.

It might be inconsequential to most people, but it's one of the things in Chronicles of Darkness that keeps coming to mind and is one of the glimmers of light that show the setting is worth fighting for.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

“If Chloe caused Marinette’s trauma, then why they’ve United to humiliate Kagami in “Animaestro”?

To be fair, I’ve read a post which was written a long time ago where one user said that Marinette uniting with Chloe to do the same things to Kagami that Chloe was doing to Marinette for years was Out Of Character for her. And this was before the first draft of infamous “Derision” was ever written…

Two things can be true at once. You can criticize Animaestro in the context canon has put it in while also agreeing that it and Derision don't fit the narrative and basically have to be discarded to make any sense of canon. I take both of these stances and will happily explain them.

If Derision was "always the plan," then Animaestro's writing choices make the writers look extra terrible as it means that they had no issues making their lead put another person through the same kind of traumatizing humiliation that she'd gone through herself. Even worse, Marinette inflicts that trauma by willing joining up with the instigator of her own trauma, never once stopping to wonder if this is too far. She's too obsessed with her crush to care about another person's suffering. It's perfectly reasonable to look at these two moments and come away hating her. It's even reasonable to just hate her after Animaestro. That wasn't a good look.

Even if Derision wasn't always the plan, the writers still wrote it after writing Animaestro, not caring how that choice would effect people's view of Marinette's actions. It's not reasonable to expect your audience to disregard one episode in favor of another. People aren't being unfair for taking these two episodes at face value.

If you want to tell a good story, you have to own what you've already written and allow that to limit what ideas work for your story no matter how good they are in a vacuum. Animaestro and Derision are just generally a bad episodes, but they should never coexist unless Marinette is supposed to be seen as a bad person OR Marinette is getting a complex arc around overcoming her trauma and Adrien obsession. It is perfectly fair to ask why we're not getting either of those since the writers chose to make all of this mess canon.

However, I also agree that Marinette's actions in Animaestro are just generally not suited to her character. The show did a terrible job of writing Marinette and Kagami's cat fight over Adrien. Because every conflict had to be established and resolved in 20-minutes or less, Marinette was constantly coming up with random petty, unflattering, and downright insane takes on Kagami. It made Marinette come across like a total mean girl in several season three episodes which sucks when you consider the way the conflict was played in season two. Episodes like Frozer allowed Marinette to have a good balance of jealously and being a good person making her feel realistic, but not a petty mean girl.

In Frozer, Marinette sent Adrigami on a date to the ice rink and went along to help Adrien even though her girl friends told her to back out:

Alya: This is gonna be your worst mess up in history. You have got to get yourself out of this right now. Ideas girls! Quick! Alix: Tell him you'd already promised to hang with your GFs. Rose: Maybe you got lost on the way over? Juleka: Maybe you're gonna go to a concert? Mylène: You had to finish an essay on Periwinkle's migration. Marinette: Actually, girls... I don't think I want to cancel. All Girls: Huh? Marinette: Adrien really needs me and if he wants my advice then why not? After all, it's not an issue and I'm definitely not jealous because... Rose: Because you two love each other. Marinette: Because there's nothing between us. (looks down sadly) Alya: What do you mean nothing between you? Mylène: There's everything between you, actually. Marinette: I always jumble my words around him. So how could I even manage going out on a date? I think we're actually just meant to be friends. Whenever I talk to him as a friend, I hardly stammer at all. That's a sign right there. Right?

And when they were at the rink, Marinette gave Adrien actual good advice:

Adrien: I don't know what to do about Kagami. Should I offer to hold her hand? Marinette: You have to let her fall. Adrien: Huh? Marinette: No, what I actually meant was that you cannot let her fall in any way. I mean, do whatever you can so that she doesn't fall.

If you have to include a petty fight over a boy, this a decent way to do it. Show Marinette struggling, but ultimately doing the right thing. Acknowledge the temptation to sabotage the date, but let her be a good person in the end. Don't go the Animaestro route which makes Marinette come across as both awful and delusional:

Marinette: I'm not too sure about this. Chloé: Fine! Keep on not being sure about it and tomorrow, Adrien and Kagami will be on a plane headed for Japan! Marinette: Adrien? Japan? There's no way! Chloé: You think? They're already going to the movies together, their parents are signing papers together. (camera zooms in on Mrs. Tsurugi in the background, stamping a document with her signature) Marinette: (imagines Adrien and Kagami on a plane and dancing with kimonos on) We can't let her do that!

The fact that Marinette agrees to sabotage Kagami could be overlooked if she stopped herself before actually doing anything. We all have bad moments. But she doesn't stop. She spends a good chunk of the episode working with Chloé and there is no defense for that. Marinette is absolutely in the wrong here.

We can acknowledge that while also acknowledging that Marinette's actions also don't make any sense in the same timeline as Frozer which happened a full season before Animaestro. In both episodes, Adrien is on a date with Kagami. Why is Marinette willing to be the better person in one situation and not the other? What changed? Why was she better on an actual date than she was on what is arguably a friend-date where Adrien is just being Kagami's escort? Why was Marinette able to push aside her friends telling her to bail on date one - reasonable advice - while being totally susceptible to Chloé's insane advice that they should sabotage date two?

There is no in-universe answer and that's why I'm willing to agree that this episode just generally shouldn't exist. It adds nothing to the story and is a poor choice when you look at where this plot started and where it ends. We go from supportive Marinette in Frozer to sabotaging Marinette in Animaestro to supportive Marinette in Hearhunter, which has Marinette once again supporting Adrigami on a date:

André: Which flavors for these two? [Kagami and Adrien] Orange and peppermint, a perfect pairing that's always a success; nothing can turn it into a mess. And for you two [Adrien and Marinette] blackberry and peppermint, an explosive mix that's a fact but often times it's the opposites that attract. Orange and blackberry, quite unusual it's true not the most obvious but it works for you two. So what will it be? Kagami: You pick. I don't really get what he's saying anyway. Adrien: Yeah, you pick, Marinette. We trust you. Marinette: Can't you find a blend for the three of us? André: I can, but too many flavors mixed together may throw off the delicate balance. Marinette: I don't know. Blackberry and peppermint doesn't seem like a great pair. And what if the mint finds the blackberry lame and wants to be with the orange instead? And it's true that orange and peppermint are awesome together and well orange and blackberry just doesn't seem like they go together. (looks at Kagami and Adrien together, walks up to André) Look I think your first idea was the best. The orange and peppermint ice cream for.. for my friends here. André (concerned) Are you sure Marinette? (she nods, Adrien approaches cart) Marinette (walks away and speaks to Kagami) I'm gonna head back to the palace. I told my parents I'd bring them back those cocktail umbrellas.

And, yes, Marinette does mess up the date by getting Kagami to help in the day's akuma fight, but that's way more in line with her Frozer behavior than her Animaestro behavior because it's not petty jealousy. Marinette didn't come up with a way to mess up the date. She was going to let it happen until the akuma attack, which had already messed up the date anyway. That's a far more complex and nuanced way to play the conflict. It's not the actions of a mean girl. Where did Animaestro-Marinette go?

The only way to make Animaestro fit in a functional character arc is to have to come at the start. You don't put an episode like this or Ikari Gozen after Frozer. That's just bad writing. I'd even argue that Animaestro is a bad fit in general because you don't need to take Marinette that far to give her a solid arc around "sisters before misters."

While Ikari Gozen has its own issues, it has Marinette being more avoidant than mean, which is about as far as I'd take her. There is no reason to make her sink to Chloé's level. It just makes Marinette look bad for no good reason, especially when Chloé is right there, able to take the villain role on her own! It's glaringly obvious that this episode only plays the way it does because of the stupid "Marinette must always do something wrong" rule and not because of some greater story reason. Without that rule, Animaestro could have been a perfectly fine episode where Chloé acted on her own, leading Marinette to realize how bad it is to let jealousy drive your actions, which would have been a wonderful lesson!

The "Marinette's character has to be warped so she's always in the wrong" rule is why I can get pretty defensive of Marinette. It's not that I think her actions are okay, they're often 100% not, they're just also clearly writing issues and not intentional character beats. I'd feel very different if Marinette's worst moments were ongoing flaws or part of a character arc, but they're not. They're generally one-off moments that could be removed from the story and no one would notice. Marinette doesn't even learn anything in Animaestro!!! She never apologizes for what she did or anything like that. The best we get is:

Marinette: I promise I'll never take Chloé's advice again!

Which is not the right lesson here!!! Everything about this episode is so frustrating! Marinette should be able learn lessons without having to be the one to mess up, damn it!

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Michael Livschitz

"Israel was attacked on #October7th in the most brutally barbaric way in modern history.

Hamas, which had terrorized the civilian population of Israel for decades, drowned the holy land in blood in its quest to destroy the Jewish people.

Hamas knew no pity, and its insane acts still shudder anyone who recalls that terrible day.

For most Israelis who have lost family members, relatives, and friends, this nightmare does not end.

Why should Israel have to justify itself to the world community, to the leaders of major powers, and account for its every move while it is fighting a just war for its existence against the most ruthless and implacable enemy?

Israel took extraordinary measures to ensure the safety of the people of Gaza, most of whom supported the events of October 7 and continue to support Hamas.

Has any other nation cared so much about the population of their enemy?

Calls for a unilateral ceasefire are ridiculous because Hamas is not required to do so.

No one is calling on Hamas to release the Israeli hostages and lay down their arms.

No one is addressing the fact that Hamas uses its people as human shields and welcomes more casualties to put pressure on the sympathetic masses.

The mainstream media quotes Hamas statements and presents the figures and data it provides as immutable facts.

Marches with slogans “from the river to the sea,” in which lost people who have suddenly found meaning in life participate, justify Hamas’s methods as ��just resistance,” completely unaware that if they had been at the NOVA festival on that terrible day, the terrorists would not hesitate to do the same to them as to all the innocent souls who celebrated the festival of life there.

Many are clamoring for a “free Palestine.”

If we abstract from the fact that such a state never existed, Gaza has been completely on its own since 2005.

What do you think they did with the several billion dollars a year in donations and aid?

Those resources were not used to build a prosperous society or to develop the economy but to dig hundreds of kilometers of multi-level tunnels, buy missiles, explosives, machine guns, and ammunition of all kinds, and train terrorists ready to kill without blinking an eye.

The freedom they were given was used to prepare for war.

They were building the future they dreamed of.

Should Israel then make excuses for having to defend itself and for wanting to bring the war that Hamas started to its logical conclusion and release the hostages?

Why should Israel stop and leave in power a ruthless terrorist organization that values death over life and has never sought peace and for whom the needs of its people do not matter?

Has anyone else lived under endless rocket attacks, continued to work, taken their children to daycare, and yet built a prosperous state, as every resident of Israel does?

More than two million Arabs have Israeli citizenship and the same rights as all Israelis and live with Jews, Christians, and other religions in peace and harmony.

What prevented the people of Gaza from choosing the same path? Absolutely nothing.

It was their choice that led to what happened.

War is a last resort, and it is not the Olympics.

Israel did not start this war and yet it has taken unprecedented measures to minimize enemy civilian casualties and has paid a very high price for its humanitarianism.

However, that is not enough for the world.

Israel has every right to defend itself, has every right to release the hostages, has every right to defeat the enemy and liberate Gaza from Hamas.

No state in Israel’s place would stop one step away from eliminating a mortal threat.

So why should Israel?

The Palestinians had their chance to prove their ability to govern themselves after Israel withdrew from Gaza in 2005, but they rejected a peaceful resolution and never abandoned the goal of one day destroying Israel and seizing all the land “from the river to the sea.”

They spent decades preparing before launching their attack on October 7, 2023, ultimately shattering any lingering illusions about a two-state solution. In the foreseeable future, this solution is off the table.

Moreover, they have learned nothing from the war Hamas ignited with their unprecedented support.

They have no regrets and no intention of changing course.''

[turtlecleric]

Imagine.

You've been friends with Rise Leo for so long, that you can't seem to remember a time when he wasn't there teasing you with his signature smirk.

It was always jokes with him. Puns. One liners. Horrible cringe pick-up lines. You name it, he'd say it.

Word play was the game and boy did he know how to play. The dumber they were, the harder you laughed.

You always seemed to be laughing around him. It felt…nice. Just to be silly, let the weight of your world roll off your shoulders just for one moment.

You guessed why that's why it was so easy for you to fall into a habit of teasing him back. Y'all both just needed a reason to laugh.

But…you weren't laughing now.

There, he stood in front of you, with that signature smirk on his lips, telling you that he had feelings for you.

That he ALWAYS had feelings for you; he just never had the words for it until now.

You tilted your head at that, your brow narrowing in confusion as you began to rub a hand nervously over your arm.

So you did what you always did. What he would always do when it came to uncomfortable feelings.

You brushed it off with a laugh, missing the way Leo’s hands flexed at the sound.

You looked up at Leo with a shaky smirk, mirroring his own face, your eyebrow quirked teasingly.

“This is a joke right? I'm missing the punchline here. You've never cared about serious feelings like this before, so why start now?”

Leo’s eyes widened slightly, his stomach sinking as he watched you shake your head with that disbelieving and exasperated smile that he had come to love so much.

His hands slowly curled into white-knuckled fists as he watched you literally laugh away his confession.

You thought… you thought this was a joke. That he wouldn't take these real feelings seriously.

Leo’s gaze narrowed as his attention sharpened into focus on you.

Very well then.

Leo would show you just how serious he could be.

Imagine.

All of those jokes, all of that teasing, that ADHD intellect, that strategy, that charisma and charm directed solely on you.

Imagine.

Every comment, every look, interaction and touch becoming calculated, purpose driven and direct.

Focused. On. You.

Imagine.

Leo wanting to show you what serious intention looks like.

Because it was NEVER a joke when it concerned you.

~Ninja

[soft-serve-soymilk]

Cannot sleep :/

[sonicthedestiel]

I RAN OUT OF ROOM IN THE TAGS FCKN HELL

[satorhime]

୨୧ㅤִㅤׄ COUGH SYRUP ― GOJO SATORU.

satoru is a bit of an idiot who will do anything to get you to speak to him after an argument.

𓈒 ݁ ₊ content ﾉ fem reader, clingy satoru, established relationship, mild argument, fluff, not proofread, randomly started missing my boy :( <3

satoru can’t function when you’re upset with him. 

he knows he should be an adult about it — he is an adult, after all. he should give you space, let you simmer down. most people do not do things such as send one hundred and fifty text messages (he counted each of ‘em; you left him on read one hundred and fifty two times. who does that?) to your phone while you’re in the middle of grocery shopping and they most definitely do not take a sick day because their significant other is mad at them. 

 but then again, satoru isn’t like most people. 

which is why he’s currently sprawled out on the sofa in the middle of the day, wrapped in your favorite throw blanket — one that still smells faintly of your perfume. tissues litter the coffee table and floor around him, an unconvincing movie set of misery. call him manipulative, but it’s the only thing he’s got left in the tank since, for the last seventy-two hours, you haven’t spoken more than five words in a sentence to him. 

you’re his main source of enrichment, his brain stimulated by your sweet kisses and good loving so when you take that away, you’re stripping away his heart and soul. he’s got nothing left. he might as well die.  

in satoru’s brain, he figures that surely, if he’s coughing up a lung, you’ll feel bad for him and start talking to him again. in sickness and in health, right? 

by the time you walk through the front door after making a quick run to the supermarket for groceries, he’s in full performance mode, clutching his stomach with a groan. 

the sound is so realistic that you feel a sudden stab of worry, wondering if he’s injured. rushing into the living room, you find all six foot three of your boyfriend balled up on the sofa, looking like walking death. 

or trying to, anyway. 

“satoru?” you ask, eyebrows arching as you set your grocery bags down on the floor, taking out your phone and glancing at the time on the lockscreen. “why are you home? it’s eleven am.” 

“baby,” he groans pitfully, looking up at you. his glacier blue eyes are red rimmed and shimmering suspiciously — like he squeezed them shut repeatedly until he got the desired effect. satoru sniffles for good measure, huddling into the blanket. “i’m sick,” he announces, his lower lip wobbling, dragging out the last syllable like it physically hurts him to say it. 

“sick? you seemed fine when i left this morning,” you say, taking a step forward. you reach out a hand, pushing back his wintery locks to check for a fever. his skin feels normal, cool to touch even. your eyes narrow. you’re dubious — satoru never gets sick, yet it is his favorite act whenever he’s in the doghouse and wants attention. that, and he’s a terrible actor. you purse your lips, irritated. this is what he does instead of just apologizing? 

“i wasn’t fine emotionally,” satoru whines back. “i’m heartbroken here. it’s debilitating my health rapidly.” 

your expression doesn’t budge and satoru’s pout deepens when he realizes you’re not buying it. he clutches the blanket tighter around his big body, exaggerating a shiver for good measure. “you’re my life force, angel. my happiness. my —”

“stop it,” you interrupt and hold up a hand, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. you’re mad at him — you are. “but let me get this straight. you called out of work because i wasn’t talking to you?” 

“it was a medical emergency. do you have any idea what it’s like to go hours without hearing you voice?! without seeing you smile at me? you wouldn’t even let me use your body wash last night so we could share the same scent. i barely survived the night. any longer and i’d be a goner,” he sighs dramatically, then remembers he’s supposed to be on his last leg and hacks, phlegm rattling in his throat. 

“you’re obsessed,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to hold firm. but your damned heart has selective memory and it is making an appearance again, rapidly forgetting why you’re still mad at him. oh, you had a right to be upset over what he did, but it seems insignificant now when he’s in front of you, groveling like a servant at a throne. 

“angel, come on,” he presses, sitting up on the sofa and reaching for your hand, hurt flashing bright across his eyes when you step out of range. if you let him pull you down on that sofa with him, he’ll sweet talk his way into you forgiving him without consequences. he’ll do that anyway, but you won’t make it easy for him. “i’ll do anything to make it right.” 

“don’t angel me. you can’t just manipulate me into forgiving you with your big pretty eyes,” you wag your finger at him. “i bet you don’t even know what you did.” 

“i know, but it’s working, ain’t it?” he grins, shamelessly dropping the congested tone in his voice. “and i know what i did,” he scoffs. “you’re mad at me about that thing.” 

yes, that thing.

two nights ago, your body pillow — your very expensive, weighted body pillow which happened to have a giant render of your boyfriend on it, went missing. you’d commissioned it to have something to cuddle with on those nights when satoru is away on business and you miss him in your shared bed an unhealthy amount. you’d become a little too attached to it, though, while satoru wanted nothing more than to burn it. 

“he has a name,” you hiss, swatting satoru’s knee as you struggle not to laugh. “don’t call mr. comf-toru-ble a thing! he’s sensitive.” 

“see?” satoru says, scrubbing a hand over his handsome face before gesturing around wildly. “you even named it.” 

you give him a sharp look. “he cost me an entire paycheck— an entire paycheck that three days ago, you gave to the garbage collectors because i was cuddling him instead of you!” 

“i was feeling neglected!” he defends, voice pitching higher in his affront, placing a hand on his chest. “you spent the whole night with it. meanwhile, i— your husband— was right there, cold and alone. i can’t let me steal my wife.”

“we’re not married, satoru,” you remind him, then pout. “unlike my husband, the pillow doesn’t hog the covers, snore, or throw out things that i really like.” 

“it’s not hogging the covers, it’s redistribution of them for my comfort,” he grins playfully, but upon seeing your serious expression, he concedes, sobering up. in truth, he knows he messed up and went too far. it was childish to throw out something that you bought because of his frequent bouts of absence. maybe if he was around more, you wouldn’t need to cuddle with body pillows that look like him. “look, baby. i’m sorry. it was a moment of weakness. it’s not everyday i gotta be in competition with myself, but i’ll make it up to you! i even ordered you another one.” 

“a moment of jealousy, you mean,” you counter, but there’s no real bite behind your tone now.

“hey, you gotta see it from my perspective though. it’s kind of crazy seeing you cuddle with a pillow that looks like me when the real thing is right here,” satoru gestures down the long line of his body, though it looks more comical than inviting when he’s wrapped like a overstuffed burrito in your throw blanket.

“mm,” you nod, “well, maybe if the ‘real thing’ is a good boy, i’ll cuddle him more often.” 

“deal,” he answers immediately and when his muscular arms shoot out from behind the blanket and reach for you this time, you let him. his arms circle around your waist, pulling you into his lap. it was just a few days of silent treatment, but satoru wastes no time tucking his face against the dip of your neck, breathing in your sweet scent like you’re something precious and rare he lost ages ago and is just discovering again after eons. 

he’s squishing you, he knows it, but god he hates it when you’re mad at him — and you, in return, hate being at odds with him too. you both make too much sense to each other to be apart, and there’s upset in the balance of the world when the two of you are in an argument. 

“worst seventy-two hours of my life,” satoru blows out a breath of relief, the air tickling the hair at the nape of your neck, drawing a shiver down your spine. “never do that to me again, angel. you hear?” 

“don’t throw out my customized satoru merch again and i won’t, baby,” you coo, smiling. 

“you’ll still choose me over the other guy though, right?” 

“we’ll see, ‘toru, we’ll see,” you answer playfully, yelping when he darts in to nip at your ear in retaliation.

getting comfortable in satoru’s lap, you lean in to put the both of you out of your miseries and forgive him with a kiss when you get a whiff of menthol and childhood memories wafting from his chest.

 “are you wearing vaporub?”

[nereidprinc3ss]

candied pecans

in which uni!reader has to wake up early for a final, and spencer reid is determined to let you get as much rest as possible

fluff (18+ for mildly suggestive remarks) wc <800 warnings/tags: Spencer being a sweetheart, basically sex jokes, he makes you breakfast, gnreader a/n: I MISSED THEM BADDDD!!! this is v v short and based on a dream I had where he brought me breakfast so I could sleep in and I asked him to stay in bed while I was gone LOL

Your alarm goes off and your brow furrows like even in sleep, you’d been bracing for it. Every dream had been sterile—and worse—or potentially better—you’d dreamed about your study material.

Quickly as it started, the robotic blaring ceases. You almost slip back into sleep, but fight tooth and nail for consciousness, propping up on an elbow and rubbing your eyes in the dark grey of the early morning. Already there’s a warm hand on your chest, exerting what is more a suggestion of pressure rather than any actual force. Spencer’s voice is grainy. 

“Hey. Go back to sleep.”

“I have a final,” you slur. 

“In two hours. You can get at least another half hour of sleep.��

“But then I can’t—”

“I know, you can’t use that time to scroll on your phone. I’m terrible for even suggesting it. You were up late, honey. Come back and sleep longer and you’ll do better on your final.”

You’re already falling down. The bed is so warm, and your lids are so heavy. 

“Okay,” you mumble, eyes shut before you even hit the pillow. 

You wake up to fingers in your hair. He’s always so unbelievably gentle with you. Just as effective as an alarm clock—far more pleasant. 

“Good morning,” he says, and there’s no sleep in his voice like there was the last time you woke up. You curl into him where he sits on the side of the mattress and he cups your cheek with a warm hand. 

“Time?”

“Don’t get mad at me.”

That really wakes you up.  

“What did you do?”

“I let you sleep for a half hour!” he defends. Your brow furrows and you rub an eye, squinting up at him. That sheepish look on his face is concerning. “… Twice.”

“It’s seven?” You half yell, rocketing upward. He laughs and catches you against his chest. In your half-awake state, you can’t defend yourself, so you end up with your head cradled to his chest. But you’re not as happy about it as you’d normally be. 

“All I did was cut into your phone time, which we came to a consensus on, and your breakfast time. So I made you breakfast.”

You turn your head so you can look up at him from against his chest. 

“… Oh. You did?”

“Yes,” he says simply, picking up the plate you’d missed on the bedside table and presenting it to you. 

Two pieces of toast, each with butter and a different kind of jam because he knows you can never pick. Apple slices. Eggs, exactly the way you like them. Candied pecans, which are supposed to be for salads, and which you sneak handfuls of anyway. 

“Oh,” you murmur again. 

“There’s green tea in the mug, too. Caffeinated, obviously.”

You sit up straighter and take the plate into your lap over the blanket, nibbling on a slice of toast before kissing him. 

“Thank you,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder and studying the frosty day beyond the window, deciding how to dress for the weather as you chew. 

He slips his hand under your shirt to rub circles on your back. 

“Of course. I was actually excited to make you breakfast. How often is it that you’re running out the door and I don’t have anywhere to be?”

“How often is it that you get so badly injured Hotch makes you stay home?”

Too often, is the punchline. 

“He’s being anal,” Spencer scoffs, mood suddenly a wink soured. “A sprained ankle is hardly an injury.”

“Mm,” you hum around another bite of toast. “I’d say a fractured bone is pretty injurious.”

“He’s on your payroll, and you want me home. It’s a plot.”

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t pay him. He’s just scared of me.”

“It is pretty suspicious I got the week off just as we’re heading into your winter break.”

“Mhm. I’m gonna keep you here,” you say earnestly, snapping off half an apple slice with your teeth and offering the rest to him. “And make you watch movies and have sex all week.”

He crunches on the fruit and laughs. 

“Ambitious. I’m pretty sure it’s more likely that we watch movies and sleep all week.”

You look up at him with big eyes. 

“That’s still fun.”

“Oh, that’s exactly my idea of fun,” he says, and while those who don’t know Spencer quite as well as you do would perhaps mistake it for sarcasm, you know better. You settle back on his shoulder. 

“I think you should stay in bed, ’cause I’ll be home by 10:00. And then I’ll get here and you’ll already be all warm and cozy so we can cuddle all day.”

“Or we could have sex,” he says hopefully. 

You throw a pecan at him. 

[luvlystarr]

·········♡········· Prompt: The moment the 141 guys realized they're in love with you. Content: Fluff! (This was all rushed so don't expect it to be the best lol) ························

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick - In all honesty, Kyle has probably been interested since the day you two met. But when he decided to bring you along to his cousin’s birthday party, that's when it fully clicked in his mind. At first he just thought it would be a good idea to get you introduced to his family, you were his close friend after all. It just so happened that his nieces and nephews were there and as soon as they met you they were instantly hooked. Kyle never knew you were so good with kids and just people in general. His nieces and nephews kept playing with you, while his other relatives genuinely enjoyed chatting with you. The exact moment he realized he loves you was when one of his nieces asked you, “Do you like Uncle Kyle?” To which you responded, “Yeah, he’s a very special person to me. I like him a lot.” Of course you had to say those words with that warm, kind smile of yours, it got Kyle melting on the spot. Unbeknownst to you, he heard every single word and has been absolutely lovestruck since then.

John 'Soap' MacTavish - It was quite an odd moment. The moment he knew was when you two were up late at night watching every single Harry Potter movie out there. At some point, about halfway through the third movie, you just started rambling about the characters and story of the whole franchise, even covering little details about the books. Johnny didn’t even know why or how his mind began to think that way, but he just found it so attractive. Even to this day he doesn’t understand why you geeking out about the Harry Potter franchise was so captivating. Maybe it was the way you looked so focused, or how the tv was illuminating your features perfectly, probably your angelic voice too. Either way, he can’t stop thinking about you and he uses every chance he gets to get you talking about any of your interests.   

John Price - He would probably never admit this but the moment he knew he’s in love was when the two of you were fighting. Both of you had a tiny disagreement on something but it ended up growing into a heated argument. For almost half an hour straight, you two just kept going back and forth, gradually raising each other’s voice and becoming more irritated. By the end it got so bad that you slammed your hands on the table and got snappy at John, yelling strings of insults at him. He should be just as angry, but no. In that moment he could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat. How could he get mad if you looked so cute with your pouty lips, furrowed eyebrows and crossed arms? He mistakenly let out a small chuckle at your attempt to be intimidating but he was met with a slap on his face. At that moment he knew that the only reasonable explanation why he felt that way was because he was head over heels.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley - You were the first person he actually got close with. Sure, he has Johnny and he's an amazing friend, but the bond he had with you was unlike any other. The two of you found solace in one another and always had each other's back. The night he knew it was true love was when you drove all the way to his house after a terrible day. You were sobbing endlessly as you rambled on and on about how crappy your boss is as he intently listened, even rubbing your back while handing you a cup of tea. After comforting you, he insisted that you stay for the night. He let you wear one of his hoodies and even let you sleep in his bed. You were hesitant at first but quickly gave in with how insisting he is. He remembered watching you sleep peacefully, all huddled up beneath the blanket. He had to admit, you looked adorable wearing his hoodie with that calm look on your face. That's when it dawned on him just how much he loves you. ········································································

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧ Fantasies in the dark - I

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader ✦ Summary: In which Arthur catches a glimpse of your intimacy, the vision driving him into madness until he finally decides to give in to his urges. ✦ Warnings: SMUT 18+, MDNI! Masturbation, nudity, voyeurism (reader not aware he's staring), self-depreciation, and lots of shame from this poor man. Arthur's pov. ✦ Words: 2,7k Arthur's pic is mine, others are from Pinterest. And as always, as English isn't my first language, prepare for some possible misspellings. Read on AO3

Part I - Part II

Lately, Arthur had a problem. An incessant, disturbing, haunting problem.

He couldn’t sleep at night.

This could have been related to the gang’s precarious situation, being hunted down by the Pinkertons and surrounded by enemy gangs, O’Driscolls and Lemoyne raiders everywhere. Or even because of some older wounds, the loss of Eliza and Isaac amongst others, reminded almost every day by the complicated family portrait John painted with Abigail and Jack. Or the hurtful thought of the life he never had with Mary that was always following him since he had seen her again near Valentine. Life doomed from the start by his inherent violence and the mountain of corpses he was responsible for.

Arthur had plenty of reasons not to sleep at night. But this wasn’t because of any of that.

He couldn’t sleep because of you. 

Not that it was your fault. In fact, you didn’t even know about any of that and Lord have mercy, he was praying that you’ll never find out; because he would never be able to look at you in the eyes then.

A few weeks ago, the gang had settled at Clemen’s Point. A rather pretty spot just near the lake, and not so far from town. But it wasn’t exactly the place that was causing him trouble. It was the unexpected view he was having from his tent.

For some unknown, mystical reasons, Miss Grimshaw while deciding the camp’s ajancement had decided to place your tent right next to his. Not so big of a problem at first sight, right?

Except that you were a night owl combined with the suffocating warmth of the place. Making you get to bed naked.

Oh, Arthur knew you do, because every night, every single one, you let a candle lit to read, or write, or God knows what before sleeping. The light casts your shadow against the tent’s canvas. The shadow of your very much nude body.

The first night Arthur had noticed, he had come back exhausted from a job in the middle of the night and laid on his cot without even taking the time to remove his boots or hat. A very usual and typical slice of his life, which lately felt more and more like a terribly used one. As if all these slices were repeating again and again. An accumulation of jobs and missions and robberies and fights; deceiving, lying, stealing, killing. Over and over again, going round and round. At night, he was reduced to a slumbered mind in a spent body, that was definitely becoming old and rusty. Already half asleep, mud and twigs surrounding his tired limbs, his thoughts all tangled up like a ball of wool, he had turned his head to his left, reaching from instinct for his pack of cigarettes on the little table next to his bed. Another slice of bad habits from a bad life.

That’s how his eyes had met with this quite erotic shape displayed on your tent.

Said eyes had grown so big that it had fully woken him up all of a sudden, as quickly as if someone had dumped a bucket of iced water on his shocked face. After half of a second of pure stabbing surprise and incomprehension with his hand hanged in the air, his breath stuck in his throat as if really being punched in the gut, he instantly turned his eyes back to the ceiling of his own tent. Cheeks burning red, heart pounding, as if someone had caught him in the act of doing a terribly shameful thing. Exactly as if he had really seen you naked.

He had feverishly grabbed the cigarette pack without looking at it, gaze refusing to turn again, these two blue diamonds locked on the ceiling of his tent, and had messily pulled one out of it, his shaky fingers fumbling, almost spilling everything on the ground.

He must have looked so damn ridiculous.

The smoke helped him to calm down, its soothing and comforting feeling spreading and burning through his lungs. He had fallen asleep, turned to the other side facing the wagon, trying not to think too much about the peek of your intimacy he had witnessed, telling himself it probably was going to be an isolated incident. 

But of course, of course the Lord had to torment him even in the rare moments of peace he could have enjoyed.

Turns out this was apparently a habit of yours. 

To be honest, he probably deserved to be tormented. But this was years from what he had in mind when it came to the Lord's punishment for his life of crimes.

And Arthur, even though a hardened man in many ways, able to lock lips during torture, kill men with bare hands, and stay emotionally strong in any kind of situation, was still only, after all, a man. A man with needs.

Filthy, disgusting needs.

He had tried to resist. Had tried not to let his eyes slip in your direction like that first night. Sometimes he would allow himself a quick glance, just to check if you were wearing any clothes for once, like a normal person. And maybe the night after would be different? Every evening spent at camp, his pupils would end up brushing the sinful silhouette in just a soft, slight sight, as if not to scare you, as if not to feel too bad about it.

But it was getting harder and harder not to stare. The easy lies about just checking on you or looking at anything else in the same area as your tent to have the chance of winning a glimpse of you would soon not be enough.

Just the mere fact that he knew you were completely bare, only a few meters away from him, singly the thin and superficial fabric of the tent between the both of you, was getting him hard and sweaty, and making his blood boil as a virgin teenage boy would. He could almost physically feel it, like a burning presence in his back when he was sleeping head against the wagon's wall.

The Human mind may be well designed for a lot of things; it forgets an event too hard to carry or can trick you into thinking you're not experiencing any physical pain in extreme situations. But Arthur had learned that it was extremely poorly made when it came to ignoring something. The more he was trying to not think about his unholy urges, the more he ended up being plagued with them. As sure as the seasons always turned in circles, you would come back to his effusive psyche.

And Oh, he was ashamed. Ashamed and revolted by himself. This was absolutely not in his habits, all the contrary. Yes, he was an old miserable bastard who had killed and plundered. But for God's sake, he had never acted obscene towards a lady before.

But the shame wasn't enough for him to stop. On the nights when the guilt was at its lowest —when the tediousness of his days was nibbling at his patience, he had let his eyes wander to your sinful figure, telling himself that maybe if he did, he could just go on with his night and finally rest. Just a quick taste, not too long.

But it only made things worse. It made him dream of you. 

Dream of you stripped, his imagination taking the lead of what the tent’s fabric was preventing him from seeing. Dream of you moaning, taking him so tightly, welcoming him in your warm body and into your arms. Dream of the feeling of your skin under his fingertips, of the sight of your naked body squirming with pleasure. He would now often wake up frustrated and angry, if he had succeeded in sleeping at all, his member hard and throbbing on its own, his heart beating powerfully in his chest as if it had been real. His pants and blanket had even been damped one or two times. 

What was he, a fifteen-year-old boy again? He was so angry and mortified by the physical obsession his body was having with you that he was constantly in a foul and fiery mood;  bitter with everyone, his tension leaking into every movement and every word he spoke. He started missing targets when shooting, getting even more reckless and hot-headed during jobs, jobs often ending up missed or taken care of negligently, yelling at people when they weren’t fast enough, or clever enough, or silent enough, breaking things, breaking rules. The lack of sleep was making his deadly efficiency fade away, replaced by sloppy and messy gestures, stopping enemies from falling dead at his feet like his lethal skills always did, castrating the only thing that was left of his masculinity.

And yet, he couldn’t stop watching you from afar during the time he was at camp, telling himself he knew, or at least had an idea, of what you looked like without these clothes on; feeling a twisted sensation of pride imagining he was the only one who did. On top of that, your sweet personality and beautiful face weren’t helping him at all with his addiction. Filthy old bastard, stop it- he had to mentally slap himself to prevent staring at you for too long, especially staring at your chest that this goddamn dress you had chosen to wear wasn’t covering at all; or your ass these goddamn pants were fitting way too well.

Tonight, Arthur is avoiding going to bed too early. He knows he would just lay in it waiting for you anyway. Instead, he goes for a walk along Flat Iron Lake’s shores, bringing his journal with him. Two entire pages are already dedicated to your shadow. He had no idea a picture exclusively made of black and white flats on a sheet could have such a powerful erotic effect. Or maybe he is a complete degenerate —which, he is sure, is more and more true.

He has to be honest with himself, he could just go to a hotel, or out of camp for a few days to sleep under the stars, and the matter would be settled.

But he doesn’t want to. Because deep down inside, his urges are winning, making him feel like the most foolish and weakest man alive. He enjoys watching you. He enjoys seeing those forbidden plumped curves cast on this canvas. He feels like you're not leaving him any mercy, pitiless, his days dictated by the wait for his taboo rendez-vous, his nights by your sensual apparitions in his dreams.

He is trapped, you have completely tamed him, and irony of it all, have absolutely no idea you are making him feel like this.

This woman is drivin' me insane.

After a few hours on the cold shore's sand, his fingers only capable of creating quick little sketches and scribbles, his feet lead him back to camp. What a surprise. He finds most of the gang's members already asleep, apart from the ones on guard duty and some late campfire enjoyers talking about life, about love, grief, the future, the past. He briefly nods at them without a word and walks to his private space. He already knows what’s waiting for him there, your tent looking like it’s still illuminated, his thoughts and body avid for it.

No, don’t be a fool, Morgan.

He sits down on his cot. Mumbles to himself orders and curses to try and stay reasonable. Takes off his hat, runs a hand through his hair, sticky with sweat and dirt from his busy day, as all the other ones, as always. Scratches his beard and his ears with a sniff, tells himself he needs to take a swim into that lake. That he’s as dirty on the inside as he’s on the outside. Pulls down his suspenders before stretching his shoulders, a pained groan escaping him. A cigarette joins his lips, a match lights it, and he breathes in slowly. He tries to calm down, focusing once again on this homey feeling it brings him. 

But his brows furrows. His lips tighten. He knows he won’t be able to hold on much longer. He needs to sleep properly. Even being the all-mighty Titan he is, he still needs a good night of sleep from time to time to keep the engine of his body turning, and you have kept it from him for days.

He lies to himself promising this is only for his health.

That this is the only way for him to stay focused during the day; the only way to rest properly and be at his best again tomorrow.

That this will be the only time he’ll do that.

His only moment of weakness. 

The still-lit cigarette and his good conscience fall to the ground as he lies on his cot, settled on his left side, his right hand already roaming on his lower belly. 

His eyes drop on the scene he had fantasized about for what seems like years to him at this point.

Lord have mercy…

Your shadow looks so perfect. He takes his sweet time to notice every detail of it, enjoying to the maximum his sinful behavior, now that he had succumbed to it. How you’re laying on your back, reading your book with your legs crossed. The curvaceous shape of your body looks divine to his insatiable gaze. Your hair messily tangled around your head. The silhouette of your chin and throat making him hungrier than any feast he could have attended. Your belly, rising and falling with your chest and breasts, gives the shadow an organic appearance. Your delicate legs, from the base of your thighs to your calves, to your feet, your toes mindlessly curling as you get lost in your story. And of course, the blurry outline of what was between them…

Damn it.

His hand quickly reaches his belt, unbuckles it,  fiddles with his pants, opens them carelessly in an urgent grip. He spits in his palm, lashes out at himself when the desire of it being your wetness instead crosses his mind, and slips it between the buttons of his union suit. It finally wraps around his desperate shaft, gorged with blood, and he wonders if he already had been this hard before.

The moment he feels the pressure of his own fingers around it, he can’t help but sigh deeply through his nose, and has to physically block the groan he was about to let out.

Make no noise, moron.

He bites his lips to stop any other immoral sound from crossing through his mouth. Last thing he needs right now is to get caught. He slowly rubs one languorous time from up to down, then up again, his fingers brushing his swollen head right where he needs to. He instantly knows he won’t last. He had dreamed about this, about you, both during days and nights. His eyes are locked on your tantalizing silhouette, this deiform delicious flesh. Goddess of the night, Queen of his desires.

His hand rubs once again and his muscles tighten. He starts to stroke in a rhythmic pace, his moves are efficient, messy, careless. He masturbates the same way he takes care of himself —quickly, roughly, as if matching his disgust towards his own self. The exact opposite of what he would do to you if he could. This is pure physical relief.

Yes, God, yes…

Your name turns in his mind between blasphemous curses as he pleasures himself, stroking faster and faster, delightful warm sensations spreading through him. Finally. The burning is no longer in his back or mind; it's right there around his erection, flames licking all around it.

He wants to be able to join you there, so badly. He wants to discover the tone of your bare skin in those places you never show to anyone. He wants to whisper sweet things in your ear and you to sigh back, your voice high and softly shaking from pleasure. He wants the lewd intimacy, the shared tension and the electric, exciting touch of two foreign skins discovering each other for the first time. He wants to see your hardening nipples he can only have a glimpse of through the fabric. 

He wants to have you, to take you, consume you, all to himself. He wants you to think about him the same way he is now, wants you to come while thinking of him, only him, your mouth to moan, whimper, scream even, all thanks to him. 

He wants your hand instead of his, around his cock right now, pressing harder, moving faster.

Yes, yes, jus’ a bit more darlin’… -

A movement from you, a real one, makes his pace slow down and his heart stops, afraid you might have by some sort of divine knowledge understood what was happening. But you’re just shifting in your bed, positioning yourself on your belly with your book open against your pillow, and Arthur’s balls spasm; he now has the most perfect view of your ass, its gorgeous, decadent round and plumped contour making his member twitch in his fist.

Ahh, shit… So god damn perfect… 

Pearls of sweat leak from his forehead to his neck. His ears shut close to the outside world, his surroundings completely disappearing. Now, there’s only you and your perfect back beautifully arched ending with your perfect bottom and him, and no one else’s on Earth. His breath is jerky, his entire face completely crimson, his fingers pumping so hard and fast he’s basically fucking his hand —your hand, with those wet and unmistakable noises filling the air.

His breath speeds up as Arthur feels his deliverance coming, blood rushing in his veins. He sees himself behind you grabbing fistfuls of your cheeks, he sees his erection diving deep between them. And it's the last straw. His brows are crunched in an exquisite expression of pure sexual delight, jaws so tensed he’s about to break his teeth, your pleasure-filled voice screaming his name in his head, dragging every sensation out of him. His orgasm hit him with the strength and speed of a thunderstorm, lightning bolts of satisfaction striking every fiber of his body.

 Yes! Yesss  —Damnit! 

He comes hard with a low and throaty growl he forgot to —or couldn't repress, silently repeating your name again and again, his lower lip almost cut open from how hard he had bit himself, an enormous vein on his forehead where sweat covers his skin. His thick, hot cum spills messily in an indecently large amount, the aftermath of having held himself back for so long, leaking on his pants and fingers and staining his cot; a dash of white contrasting with the darkness of what he just did.

He’s praying to the Lord and the Devil, any mystical forces known to man, that nobody had heard his final relief sound, especially not you. It was louder than what he would like to admit.

Shit, so damn good…

Using his black bandana, he roughly cleans himself then tosses it somewhere on the floor, his cock finally softening as he shoves it back under his clothes, balls empty. And it feels good. So good a wave of shame and guilt crashes onto him once more. What a pig he was for jerking off while ogling you. What an old bastard he was to mingle you and his filth. But at the same time, he feels like his muscles are thanking him, his restless flesh satisfied, even though he almost hurt himself with how fast he had stroked, lost in his haze.

His bittersweet and contradictory feelings accompanied him as he took a last glance at your tent before drifting off to sleep, his breathing still a bit raspy as if he had run for hours. You had closed your book and taken the candle between your hands to blow on it, the little flame flickering before fading. And then, darkness.

The curtains falling on the stage at the end of this private decadent act.

Eyelids heavy, Arthur knows he will finally sleep tonight.

But he also knows this isn’t the end of his torments at all; the conflicting thoughts paint his mind just as the sun pierces through the dark ebony clouds of a thunderstorm, creating those abruptly dazing shapes and color, pitch black laced with blinding light.

Never in this life or the Other he will forget the form of your naked body, no matter how wicked he feels. Because when it comes to you and only you, Arthur Morgan is, indeed, a very weak man.

Part II

tagging : @a-court-of-valkyries and @zae-heeyyy

[unicornpopcorn14]

Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt during the Lovecraft fight has always been so interesting to me...

Because it's the kind of worry you'd never expect from a character as gruff as Chuuya, who had displayed nothing but hostility towards Dazai so far. Usually, characters that are labelled as "angry" or "anger issues" (which Chuuya is much more complex than that but you get my point) act more as a tsundere type of way when the one they "don't care about" gets hurt. And show their care in very, very subtle ways (ex. their eyes widen, their mouth parts and closes again, etc) before putting up their front once more.

Chuuya, however, is open, and vocal about it. His worry is clear not only to us, but to Dazai himself, the one he shouldn't be displaying the concern to (as per the cliche). Shouldn't it be some sort of secret that Chuuya does care? Isn't that what skk's dynamic has been shaping up to be until now?

I'm telling you- the way my mind blanked when Chuuya just casually.... showed concern not once, but twice, was a sight to see.

Besides, the context makes it much more confusing, because Dazai isn't some rookie, and Chuuya knows that more than anybody. He was the youngest executive in Port Mafia's history, of course he can handle a hit or two. Of course he'd seen him handle a hit or two, sometimes without batting an eye.

Heck, Chuuya himself was hurling Dazai like a ragdoll in their reunion, which was their last meeting. And you could argue that he was going easy on him, but Dazai has mostly withstood the same damage (as far as I could see), and Chuuya was as bitter as ever.

So that kind of contradicts both what we knew of Chuuya so far, and how their dynamic was shaped to be. I mean, that just makes Chuuya a hypocrite, yeah? What makes him care now, all of a sudden? What makes him care at all?

Well, to me, this backasswards reaction implies one (or more) of the following:

- Dazai rarely got physically hurt during their partnership and thus this is an unexpected thing for him to see (during a mission).

- The four years of separation made Chuuya unsure of how much Dazai can withstand physically now. Also the fact that he isn't in the mafia anymore, aka fighting enemy organizations on the weekly, would naturally make Dazai lose his touch in a way, what prompts Chuuya's reaction.

- Dazai getting taken off guard took him off guard which led to panic. Especially since the situation was (momentarily) out of their depth. Seriously wtf even was Lovecraft?

- During the dungeon scene Dazai was an enemy, while in the Lovecraft fight he was as an ally. The difference might be significant to Chuuya.

- This has always been Chuuya's reaction to Dazai getting hurt regardless of the situation.

- "Only I can hurt him like that" ahh logic

- Asagiri was still experimenting with their dynamic and thus there are some inconsistencies.

This scenario didn't play out again (after their reunion) for me to exactly determine which one is more plausible, but it is 100% canon for Chuuya to shamelessly show his concern and run to Dazai to check on him before properly dealing with their opponent, which I find to be such an appealing layer to their dynamic, and a good spin on the type of character he gets stereotyped as.

Bonus: Dazai also becomes a softy when Chuuya's hurt, especially post corruption. Dead Apple alone displays that multiple times.

All in all, Skk are doing a terrible job at maintaining their 'hostile' and 'antagonistic' relationship post their reunion. Freaks.