#while it’s rather relatable and helps me feel seen

[angelic-waffles]

Drawing Virgil to kick art block in the ass!

[seddair]

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[chloeangelic]

Belong to me, I: Chosen  

Line cook Joel x waitress reader

Line cook Joel AU masterlist

Summary: You desperately want a baby and hope that your grumpy coworker will help make your dream a reality.

Warnings:  Smut, yearning, mild angst, age gap (Joel is 40, reader in her late 20s), mild brat taming, creampie, breeding kink, size kink, description of glass related injury/blood, social smoking, dom Joel (not degrading), ovulation sex, unprotected PIV, mutual pining, rough sex, size kink, ass play.

A/N: Posted a day early cause of the overwhelming response on the masterlist🥺🤍 I'm turning this into an AU that I can post to at random and just kinda use as a creative free space like I did with this, so there will be more parts :))

Word count: 4.8k Rating: 18+

You had a dream one night. 

A dream that you were holding a child, your child, a little baby who came from you, whose home was your body for the overwhelming majority of her life. You held her in your arms, cradled her, ran the very tip of your finger over her little nose, stroked her soft cheek and looked into her eyes, seeing yourself in their reflection. 

You had dropped her off at your friend’s house to watch her while you went and visited your parents, but when you returned, you could not find her. You searched and searched, asked every person you came across if they had seen her, but nobody had. And when you woke up, you felt that same gut wrenching anxiety over your missing child that you felt in the dream. Like she was still out there, but you had no way of getting to her.  

And ever since then, you’ve felt a vacancy in your heart somehow, a pull towards something intangible, something you know you will love and cherish with your whole heart and take care with all the energy you can muster, as soon as it is in your hands. 

Yearning. 

A deep, almost excruciating yearning for a baby, the baby in that dream, a baby you will not have anytime soon if you are dependent on the presence of a husband or even a boyfriend to provide you with one. For as long as you can remember, you have wanted to be a mother, and it feels as though your opportunity is slipping through your fingers, even at your young age, as you watch friend after friend go off with their significant other and establish families, and you’re still single, not even looking for a special someone.

You want what they have, unbearably so, and have gotten to a point where you think you might crumble if you never get the chance to raise a child, but the idea of dating does not appeal to you, and you would rather just do it all yourself. 

One time your friend asked you, “If someone put a gun to your head and told you that you have to have a kid with someone right now, who would you choose?”. You didn’t have an answer at the time, but you do now. It’s been simmering in the back of your mind for a while; the answer to that question. You’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, about how it feels like the right time for you to have this baby you so desperately want. 

During the afternoons and evenings, you serve tables at a busy restaurant downtown. It’s not the world’s most interesting job, but you think you’re generally well liked at that establishment, you’re friends with everyone, and the shifts go by relatively quickly. 

You walk in through the large doors, waving to Maddy as she escorts a couple to their table, swinging past the bar stools, making your way to the back office to take off your jacket and slip into your heels, giving your hair a quick look over in the mirror before you walk into the kitchen.

And there he is - the answer to your friend’s question. Too tall for the countertops and always hunched over, too broad for the narrow hallways at the back of the house. Big, very big, so muscular, with shoulders and biceps so large you wonder if he spends all his free time working out. Grumpy, never in what one would call a 'good mood', convinced that approving or disapproving grunts count as full answers when someone asks him something. 

Joel, a scowling and silent mountain of a man. 

Sometimes you sneak out during his break just to chat him up behind the restaurant, even stealing smokes from your coworker to give him a reason to spend more time with you. His scent is intoxicating every time you sit there huddled next to him, especially when it’s cool out and you shove your entire body into the side of his arm and his thigh, his skin as hot as a furnace.

Even his sweat, at the end of the worst shift one can possibly imagine, smells good. He smells like cologne and fresh laundry and what you presume to be combo shampoo and body wash considering he doesn’t give much of a fuck about anything that isn’t his daughter and he’s not exactly what one would call vain.  

It seems, however, as if he gives a little bit of a fuck about you.

Sometimes it even feels like he looks out for you. 

And you wouldn’t have had this suspicion had it not been for the fact that you brutally cut your hand on a shard of glass a few months back when a vase tumbled and you stupidly tried to catch it. You looked at your bloody hand, heard the snap of Joel’s fingers and a few commands before you were suddenly in his truck on the way to the ER.

He sat there with you, pressing a wad of gauze to the cut until you were called in by the doctor, waited until you came out, then stopped at the pharmacy to get an excess of things you might need, and drove you home. He even stayed with you until you were fed and passed out watching a movie on your couch. 

After that day, you’ve felt like his eyes are always on you, his scowl seeming more concerned than menacing, his hands suddenly there to catch you every time you’re about to trip over yourself. Something about the feeling of being protected by him has made your heart and ovaries twist around themselves, making that yearning for a baby incredibly urgent.

You want his baby now, whether he’s present or not, and you’ve decided that you’re gonna ask him for a little favor when ovulation comes around and you feel slick and needy and desperate for his come. 

Which just so happens to be tonight. 

The restaurant seems to get busier the second you step into the dimly lit lounge, sending you back and forth between the kitchen and your tables more times than you can count, trying to think of how to formulate yourself, how not to scare him off. 

You eventually check the time and see that it’s close to Joel’s usual forced break time, and decide that you might as well take your own break now too, needing to speak to him as soon as possible. So you hear the clicks of your heels as you nearly run through the kitchen, grab the lighter from the office and push open the doors to see him already sitting there outside, his face tilted up so the sun hits his skin and bounces off the silver in his otherwise brown hair. 

“You mind?” you ask as you close the door, and he nods for you to sit down next to him, already reaching down to commit coworker theft. It always feels casual, calm, even relaxing in some way, to sit out here with him, but tonight you’re on the edge, knowing he’ll never speak to you again if your request falls flat. 

He puts the cigarette between his lips and looks at you while he waits for you to light it, but your hands tremble around the lighter as you try to hold it up. His eyes narrow for a moment, then his hands come up to hold around yours, making them disappear under his large palms, holding them steady and looking into your eyes until the flame catches and he pulls back. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, his accent slurring the words together slightly.

You have a speech ready, an explanation about this longtime want and need and yearning to become a mother, a rationale for why you’re ready, why you want to do this as a single woman in her late twenties, an excuse for why you don’t want to go to a clinic and find a donor who’s a Harvard graduate in his early thirties.

Why it is you want him, Joel, to be the one to give this to you, and how he doesn’t have to do anything, emotionally or physically or financially, when you finally get what you want. 

But your plan falls flat as you open your mouth, your gaze locked to his dark eyes. “I wanna have a baby” is all that comes out, breathy and longing and absolutely not casual like you planned. 

You watch as he flicks the ashes off the cigarette and takes a drag, looking at you with an unreadable expression, then exhaling away from you before he says, “Sweetheart.. The fuck does that gotta do with me?”. 

You roll your eyes at him, never threatened or intimidated or insulted by his tone. There is something you find oddly charming about his ability to be grumpy for hours on end and seemingly never cheer up, any pleasant surprise met with the raise of his eyebrows and a slow nod. “I wanna have a baby, now, I don’t wanna wait to meet some prince charming and get married and do all that shit.. I’m happy raising it by myself, I-”

“And?” he asks then, the creases around his eyes getting deeper as a look of confusion creeps up on his face, “Why exactly are you tellin’ me this and not your girlfriends?”. You take a moment to figure out how to damage control, how to reel the situation back in and not scare him off any more, while you watch the smoke rising from between his two fingers, one thick arm resting over his knee. 

“I want you to get me pregnant, Joel” you finally say, running your hand up his thigh, unable to cover the expanse of it with your fingers splayed out, and the feel of his muscle tensing under your hands makes you clench around yourself, warm wetness starting to seep out into your panties, “Please? I promise I won’t waste your time”. 

He’s frozen, looking at your innocent expression and the subtle slouch in your shoulders. It’s too fucking hard to resist you, your doe eyes and little pout, and there’s something in your tone that makes his shock die down quickly, getting replaced by a strange feeling of flattery. A feeling he’s not used to. Not to mention the disbelief he feels at the prospect of you wanting to get in bed with him.

He can surely find it in himself do this for you without getting attached, without worrying about this child day in and day out, or about you. He hopes he can, hopes that he's too old to worry now. He won’t bother you, he’ll stay out of your business unless you need something. It’s an act of kindness from him, really, and it’s about time he does something nice for someone other than Sarah, who’s been the only one on the receiving end of all his care and love for the past sixteen years. Besides, you're a nice girl, why wouldn't he want to do something for you? 

And more importantly, why on earth would he pass up the opportunity to fuck you? To have you under him, to see what’s hiding beneath those black pants stretched to their absolute limit by the thickness of your ass, to hear what you sound like when you come, to know what you taste like, to know how your lips feel on his, not just on his cheek when you thank him for putting food aside for you. 

You’re too pretty and too young for him, he knows that, he’s known that since the first time he felt that little flutter in his chest at the sound of you calling his name. Now all he can do is cook for you, leave it under tightly wrapped aluminum foil on the desk in the back office so it stays warm, knowing you’ll look for it there when you run away from your shift in search of something to eat, with a post it note on top, your name sharpied on it, waiting for you.

Just like he waits for you, waits for the moment he sees you every day and hears you say his name again. Hey Joel, the same as always, nothing special, but bubbly when everyone else seems intimidated by him.

He has a little crush on you, a massive one actually, one he hates to admit that he's had for a while now. Ever since you sat out on the stoop behind the restaurant with him for the first time and shared a cigarette you stole from Jermaine. The guy thinks he hides the pack well, but sometimes when Joel comes out to get some air and you’re the only other one who shared the idea, you fish it out from under the steps and slip one out, seldom enough to where he’s sure not to notice. 

You teased him for something that first time, and he can’t remember what. A year has gone by, but the sound of your giggle at his disapproval has rattled around in his mind every day since. You frequently tease him, wait for him to roll his eyes, then attempt to tickle him before he grabs your wrist and holds it tight until his break is over, and he pulls you up to your feet, with his other hand on your waist, letting you in the door first before he shuts it behind him.

One time, when he held your eyes for a little longer than normal, he considered asking you out, but thought better of it and closed his mouth as soon as it opened. He wonders why you're single, how it's possible for a man not to want to make you his, why-

“Fuck”, he jumps a little as he lets go of the cigarette and flicks his wrist frantically, trying to soothe the part of his fingers burnt by the ashes creeping down to his skin as he sat there speechless and not paying attention.

“Well?” you ask as if nothing happened, watching his muscles flex under his t-shirt, “What do you say?”.   

“Jesus” he whispers, a contemplative shake of his head as his eyes dart around. He should ask why you want him to do it, should suggest every other dumbass working in this place, should tell you no, that he’s too old for you and you’re too beautiful and full of life and too good for this place. But he can’t find it in himself to pass up this chance, and he knows he would fuck you right. He would be good to you. He wants to be good to you.   

“That’s all you want?” he asks dryly, then a long exhale, staring into your eyes, “You want me to fuck you?”. Ten years ago he might’ve been more subtle, but he's lived too much since then, and trying to find ways to sugarcoat what needs to be said feels like a waste of his time. The sound of his deep voice makes you shudder.

“I just need you to come inside me,” you purr, nervous as hell all of a sudden, wrapping your finger in his hair, ”And I’ve wanted you to fuck me for a long time, so.. You can do whatever you want to me”. He glances at your lips as you talk, shoulders shifting under his t-shirt and a swallow passing through his throat. “So you’ll do it?” you ask after a moment. 

He’s not passing up on this chance, already half hard at the mere idea of being inside you and counting how many goddamn seconds he has left on his shift. All he does is nod in response, his eyes going a little wide. “Thanks, Joel” you say then, as you stand up and brush off your pants, “I’ll send you my address, I need you over tonight, okay?”. You lean down to place a kiss on his cheek and disappear back inside. 

He stays sitting out there a few minutes longer than he’s supposed to, regretting not jerking off in the shower that morning, running his hand down his face and trying to figure out how he can make himself last longer than a minute. 

-

More than anything, it’s strange to see him like this, to see a new side of someone you’ve been around so much. It’s difficult to conceptualize the side of him that is private, intimate, personal. You've thought about him as just a man sometimes, not a coworker, and wondered what he might be like in situations like these. In bed. You wonder if you’ll see him differently after this, if it’ll be impossible to look him in the eyes at work when you’ve felt the size and shape of his cock, when you know what he sounds like when he comes, how he tastes, what he likes. 

“So, uh-” he says, as you sit on his lap with his feet planted on the floor at the edge of your bed, “What's the best way to do this?”. He corrects himself after a second, “How do you wanna do this?”. He has his hands around your waist, big and warm, and your arms are wrapped around his neck as you lightly tug at his curls.

“I didn't really think that far” you giggle, and he chuckles softly, likely picking up on your nerves.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asks then.

“Um, yeah, sure” is all you manage to say before you feel his hand around the back of your neck, holding the weight of your head as he kisses you like you've never been kissed before. The scratch of his mustache against your skin is oddly soothing, and his lips are soft, his tongue molten and slippery as it sweeps into your mouth. You exhale into him until your lungs are empty, becoming entirely pliant in his hold, one hand steadying your back as you try to keep from collapsing into his chest. 

A whimper escapes your throat, and he whispers, I got you, as he lays you down on the bed and rests his weight on his elbows, hovering over you and spreading your legs. His clothed cock pushes into you as he rolls his hips, forcing more of those little whimpers out and you can feel your pulse deep down where you buck your hips to grind on him. 

He undresses you carefully, not leaving a single item of clothing on, wanting to see your naked form. He rolls you onto your stomach and takes the opportunity to let his hands and lips and tongue explore every part of your backside, from your ankles to your ass to your shoulders, giving a little extra attention to your plush cheeks, that he pulls apart and then lands a swat to on one side, making you giggle as he soothes his hand over the mark, already starting to sting from his strength. 

You roll onto your back again and start to claw at his shirt. He reaches back to pull it off, revealing the muscular upper body you’ve wondered about for what seems like forever - years, now. A strange smile tugs at your lips as you look at him, at his arm flexing as he opens your knees to spread your legs, and he leans down to kiss you as he drags his knuckles up and down your center. 

He pushes two fingers into you and you moan, loudly, too loudly. He shushes you, kisses you again as you writhe under him and grind against his hand until he finds the right spot, the one that makes you arch your back and start begging him to fuck you. He slides his fingers out and looks down to see a thick, glossy string hanging between his two of his digits, raising an eyebrow in what you assume is awe. “Told you I needed you tonight” you purr.

He huffs a little in response, “I can tell”. 

He immediately finds your clit with the pads of his fingers, and rubs, slowly then fast, slowly then fast, as he unbuckles his belt with his other hand and shucks off his jeans, then his boxers, and lays on your side with his hard cock resting against your hip.

You start to squirm as he pushes his thick fingers inside you again, curls them a few times and slips them out, going back to massage your clit. “I know” he coos, “You want more, huh?”. All you can do is moan and nod, feeling your orgasm starting to pool at the bottom of your spine. 

“It's okay, just let me take my time with you”, he rubs you a little faster, firmer, as he watches your breathing get erratic, “Wanna fuck you right”. He wants to watch you come, has been fantasizing about it for such a long time, wants to see it and hear it and feel it. “I’m gonna give you my cock soon, okay?” he murmurs, “Don't want it to be painful for you, my girl, need you to come for me first”. And something about his words gives you the last push you need, making you come as you whimper his name over and over. 

He gets between your legs then, knocking his knee against yours to open you up, and leans over, taking his cock in his hand and nudging the leaking head into your opening. You can feel your thick, slippery wetness spill onto him, and you hear him grunt, fisting his length a few times with your slick and pushing in slowly, stretching you obscenely and filling you to the brim before he’s fully inside.

You shouldn’t be surprised at the overwhelming size of it, considering how he towers over you and is the only person you know who makes you feel tiny, but his cock rubs against every soft spot inside you and stimulates every nerve in your body, reaching a depth nobody has ever touched before.

He fucks you with deep strokes, reaching all the way to the end of you before he withdraws halfway and pushes back in, breathing hard and squeezing his hands around your hips so tightly you can feel the marks forming. You need him even deeper. “Harder, Joel, please, please“ you beg, “I’m so fucking wet and you feel so good, I- please, oh god, please”. Your voice is filled with desperation, and he wants to hear it every day for the rest of his life, the sound of you on your knees for him, wanting him and everything he can give you. 

“Relax.” he says sternly, shoving you into the mattress with a thrust and holding you there with his strong hands, trapping you under him and forcing you to stay still as his cock slides in and out smoothly.

“I can’t, just hurry up, please, fuck me faster, I need it” you nag then, whiny and annoying, snapping your fingers.

He pauses then, leans over to stare down into your eyes, “Do you want my come or not?”. 

“Ugh, yes”, you groan, letting out a few soft grunts as you try to shift around in his grasp and push down onto him harder somehow.

“Settle then”, his voice is stern again, commanding but patient, as if he has all the time in the world.

“Come on, Joel”, you stretch your back and try to escape his gaze, digging your nails into his shoulders and feeling your walls fluttering around him.

His hand wraps around your throat then, and his face is close to yours, that dark gaze unrelenting and demanding your attention. “Settle down” he says calmly, and holds you pinned right there until he feels your body relaxing, your slick dripping down his shaft and your nipples tickling his chest. 

He flips you over and pulls you up and onto your knees, arms stretched out over your head as he slides all the way into you and the pressure on your cervix makes you try to squirm away. A useless endeavor. His hands rove around your ass cheeks and you hear a quiet shit above you, followed by an equally low fuck me as he squeezes your flesh, pulls it apart, then spits onto your asshole. 

You feel him smear it into your skin with his thumb, whining at how he teases you, pushing his thumb into your tight hole slowly while he jacks himself with his other hand. You plead again, a long, drawn out please, Joel, then another oh god, please, a last more, more for good measure, and then he’s pushing the head of his cock into you, filling you with his thickness and finally inching his thumb into your ass. The intensity is overwhelming, and your eyes roll back as another orgasm nears. 

“Give me one more, baby, come on” he coos as he reaches around and rubs your clit.

You respond, barely coherent and not wanting him to stop, “I don't- I don’t think it'll determine if it takes or not.. How many times I c-come”.

He gives you a few strokes, overwhelming and hard and squelching with your arousal before he says, “I read in a fuckin’ article that it helps, or, I don’t know, something”.

You shift your eyes around a little, wanting to laugh, “You read an article saying that orgasms increase your likelihood of conceiving?”. 

“Just shut up and let me make you come, sweetheart,” he drawls, “Stop talkin’ so much”. His voice is low and husky as he rubs the back of your hip with one thumb and the other sinks deeper into your ass as you tighten around it.

“Why?” you ask, breathy and whiny, “All I need is your come, I- I’m not expecting-”.

He cuts you off quickly, whispering, “Jesus…”. 

“I’m not gonna have sex with you if you don't enjoy it, okay?” he says, “So just shut up and take my cock like a good girl, I know you can, I know you want it”. His hand snakes up to find your tit, squeezing it before rubbing your nipple with two of his fingers. 

“Besides, I know it makes you feel good, you can't hide it," he runs his palm down your back, smacks your ass firmly, then grabs it tight to stop the recoil, “You're about to soak my cock, I can tell.. Gettin’ all tense and shit”. He lifts your torso with his hand on your sternum, pulling you up and into him, shoving his face into your neck so you can listen to his growls while he fucks you.

Your orgasm hits you quite suddenly, and your head falls onto his shoulder as you pant. “How does it feel when I make you come? Huh, little bunny?”. You can’t answer, too blissed out and too fucked out to think, only mustering up a mumbled, uhhh. “Use your words now” he says, and flips you onto your back. 

He lines himself up and slams back in, folding your legs and pushing your thighs into your chest as he pounds you, “Come on, baby, tell me, how’s it feel to come all over my cock?”. You grab at the muscles of his arms, his shoulders and his chest, trying to get words out but only managing an incoherent mess of moans. So good, Joel, so good, you whimper. 

Then he wraps your legs around his waist and slips his arm under your back, and supports himself on his fist right beside your head, lifting you up to pound you harder, deeper, with more force as his thrusts gradually slow down and he breathes heavily, staring down at how your tits slide up and down your chest. “Say you want me to come inside you”, his voice is strained, and you can tell he’s holding back by the way his cock twitches. 

You take a deep breath, and coo, as softly as you can, “Want you to be my baby daddy, Joel”, and watch his face contort, his eyes closing and feel his arm tightening its grip around you. You moan a little, eyes rolling back at the intensity. “Come inside me, please,” you beg, “Wanna be full of you, want you to give me a baby, your baby”.

He groans at that, then pulls you up into his chest so closely you can feel the sweat dripping down from his hair and onto your skin, and his cock pulsating as he fills you with his come. You can tell it's a lot by how he throbs inside you incessantly, and moans, long and ragged, while he digs his face into the crook of your neck.

He lifts your hips up, staying buried inside you, and shoves a pillow under you as a mix of his come and your slick runs down between your asscheeks, onto the cover. He wraps his hand around your throat again and growls, into your ear, “You’re mine now, little thing, all mine”.

I have ditched my taglists, due to the majority of tags not working, and have created a notifications blog instead. Follow Angelic Notifs and turn your notifications on if you want my new fics served directly to you!

[jlheon]

୨୧ — led me to you (psh)

pairing. bf! park sunghoon x fem! reader genre. est. relationship + angst + fluff wc. 1200 notes. mentions death ( hoon's ex / reader’s friend are dead ) library.

🗯️ extra peng note. @junislqve sent me tiktok and i was gonna make it super sad but i decided to make it a happy end because i wish i had a bf like hoon!

synopsis. you’ve always wanted to ask sunghoon about his first love

as your one-year anniversary with park sunghoon approaches you can’t help the immense relief and guilt this event holds for you. 

maybe guilt isn’t the best word, but you feel content that he loves you enough to stay with you for all this time despite his past. 

two years before you, park sunghoon was dating a gorgeous girl. they had dated for four years.

you met park sunghoon at the cemetery.

not the most ideal meet-cute. 

no, you didn’t see him while you were visiting your childhood best friend, nor while he was visiting his late girlfriend. rather on the way out.

sunghoon was a gentleman. 

he had seen you crying on the sidewalk and handed you his handkerchief he always kept handy. you graciously accepted it and wiped your tears with it. 

“lose someone recently?” sunghoon breaks the silence. 

“yeah,” you sniffled. “my best friend.”

“i’m all ears if you need someone,” he offers. “it’s nicer to talk to someone who doesn’t know anything about it.”

“i’ll take you up on that,” you give him a small smile. “are you busy right now?” 

“i’m going wherever you are,” he chuckles.

you and sunghoon sat at a booth at your favorite dinner. he orders what your best friend used to order but you don’t comment on it. 

you tell him absolutely everything since he asked of course.

always asking him if you can keep going since he still was a stranger at the end of the say. he’s a good listener, a great one even, he nods and gives you his advice whenever you pause. 

and lastly, sunghoon doesn’t just say “i’m sorry for your loss” like everyone else.

that phrase has always frustrated you since what could they possibly be sorry for? it’s not like your grief is their fault. you don’t want to be constantly pitied. 

it’s refreshing, how he understands everything you say, probably because he relates since he just lost someone too you assume.

you ask sunghoon about who he was visiting at the cemetery and he tells you to not worry your pretty little head over it. 

numbers are exchanged and you quickly fall for park sunghoon hard. 

it becomes a weekly thing for you to meet up with him and hangout. whether it’s talking about your grief because he’s the only one who understands or just walking around town. you like sunghoon.

it takes him a while to reveal who he’s grieving the loss of but when he does your stomach drops and you are unable to form any words.

“i know i should have told you earlier,” sunghoon apologizes. “but you’re my escape.” 

you cry that night when sunghoon drops you home.

you feel horrible for crushing on a guy who lost just his long-term girlfriend. you feel horrible for getting so caught up in your crush that you’ve rarely been grieving your friend.

you know this is what she wants for you, to move on and feel happy again, but you can’t help but wish you’re miserable for as long as you are without her. 

sunghoon won’t let you think about it this way though. 

you told him about everything. you told him you liked him, that you’re sorry because you know he just got out of a relationship, and that you feel horrible for feeling happy for the first time since your friend's passing. 

he hugs you and tells you it’s all going to be okay. he tells you that it’s been two years since his late girlfriend passed and the day you met was because he was visiting her while he was in the area.

sunghoon asks you out on a real date.

since then you two have been going strong. but you can’t shake off the fact you’re his first girlfriend after she passed away.

maybe you’re too curious for your own good.

“hoon?” you ask, picking your head up from where it rested on his chest. 

“yeah baby?” sunghoon shifts his gaze from his phone down to you who is already staring at him.

“can i ask you something?” you start, sitting more upright in his lap. “you don’t have to answer if i’m crossing the line.”

“sure,” he shuts his phone off and puts it aside to give you his full attention. “go ahead, baby.” 

“what was she like?”

“who?” sunghoon quirks an eyebrow.

“your ex,” you whisper, scared you might strike a nerve and ruin the only good thing you had in your life.

“oh,” you feel him tense underneath you. “why?” 

“i feel like we always talk about me,” you pout. “i want to be a good girlfriend and be there for you too.”

“you’re already a good girlfriend,” he kisses your cheek. as good as her? is what you want to ask but bite your tongue.

“sorry for asking,” you frown, ready to return to lying in silence. 

“i can tell you if you really want to know,” sunghoon says with his eyes closed, opening to you nodding, and urging him to continue. 

“we dated for four years, but i knew her since childhood. she was my best friend before my girlfriend. even after getting together, she was still my best friend,” sunghoon’s lips broke out into a smile recalling his late girlfriend.

“she sounds amazing,” you lie, feeling sick at the sight of the stars in his eyes while he talks about his ex. 

“i think you two would get along well,” he chuckles. “she was the best, truly. she understood me well and was always patient with me. i was quite the shy teenage boy. i can’t believe she stuck with me for so long.” 

“you’re the perfect boyfriend, hoon,” you reassure him, resting your head against his shoulder as your eyes brim with tears. “do you miss her?”

“of course i miss her,” sunghoon answers, rubbing the small of your back. 

“sometimes i feel mean,” you sniffle. 

“how could you ever be mean?” he dips his head to catch a glimpse of your wet cheeks. 

“like i stole you from her,” your voice cracks as you avoid eye contact.

“why would you ever think that?” sunghoon raised a hand to your face to dry it. 

“well, you guys never technically broke up,” you reply. “i kinda just came into the picture. i feel selfish for it.” 

“you’re not selfish baby,” he holds you closer. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” your tears falling onto his white shirt, wetting the fabric. 

“i like to think she led me to you,” sunghoon explains, stroking your head. “like she knew you were going to be there that day.”

“you think so?” 

“i know so. she led me to the most perfect girl,” he plants a kiss on your forehead. “we both healed together, didn’t we?” 

you hum in response. tears still cascading down your face and onto your boyfriend's shirt. 

“i know we don’t talk about my feelings a lot,” sunghoon cups your face, making you look him in the eye. “but you saved my life. i don’t know if i would still be here if it wasn’t for you.”

“i love you, hoon” you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“i love you more.”

[patronsaintofelsewhere]

Thoughts on Angel Crowley & Healing from Trauma

(Minor Good Omens S2 Spoilers)

As someone who’s endured my own Trauma and dealt with the resulting PTSD, watching Crowley’s journey from a joyful, silly, and entirely innocent angel to a withdrawn, lonely, hyper-vigilant demon as a result of the Fall both shattered my heart and confronted me with the fact of myself, and I’d like to talk about it. 

When you* experience Trauma, you experience an existential disorientation and a profound sense of grief over the world you thought you knew–one where you were safe and nothing bad had ever happened to you. “Innocence died screaming,” and all that.

You're also therefore mourning the loss of who you were, and struggling to make sense of who you are now. Which is why this conversation is so gut-wrenching:

“I know you.” “You do not know me.” “I knew the angel you were.” “The angel you knew is not me.” 

This dialogue admittedly still makes my eyes swim. It’s reminiscent of the many conversations I’ve had with people close to me who knew me Before and After. Not only are you grieving the loss of your own innocence, so are those around you, and it feels like you’re wearing their loved one’s face like a mask.

And then underneath the grief, there’s a river of–what you’ll later discover is misplaced–guilt. They want you to be who you were. Fuck, you also want to be who you were -- to not have experienced what you did -- but you can’t.

And when they catch a glimpse of something that reminds them of Before-You -- because it's not like that you has just up and vanished, you've just changed -- they say things like, “I feel like I have you back!” Like the After-You is a consolation prize, something to be tolerated while they wait for the Before-You to return.

It’s not malicious. They love you. They want you to be happy. But it just serves as a reminder of your loss and suddenly you’re acutely aware of how alone you are with the Thing that hurt you.

After trauma, you’re lonely and you're afraid. But those emotions make you feel quite naked, because both of those things would require you to depend on other people to feel better and, at this point, the thought of doing that is far too scary, so to the world, you’re angry. Thus begins the cyclical self-fulfilling prophecy.

And that cycle goes a bit like this: People see the mistrust and the bitterness and the volatility (the shield that keeps people at an arm's length and helps you feel safe). They don't see the profound sustained fear underneath, the desperate need to feel seen and accepted. And so people pull away.

And that real or perceived abandonment feeds the monster that’s taken up permanent residence in your ribcage and screams at all hours that you’re not worthy of love, that you’re irreparably broken, and you’ll always be alone. And you pull away from the people that love you. And the cycle repeats. And you start to believe all of the bad things about yourself that the monster tells you.

Being confronted with a character who you adore and who you also relate to closely is bittersweet in that it’s both immensely painful, but also offers you an opportunity to interrupt that cycle, to explore a different -- perhaps more forgiving -- lens through which to view yourself. To practice self-compassion by proxy, if you will. After all, we tend to extend far greater empathy and forgiveness to others than we do to ourselves.

Angel Crowley, "who squeaked and squealed when he was happy; who flailed his arms around and made explosion noises with his mouth to explain nebulas; who preened when told his stars were pretty,” (joycrispy) reminded me a lot of “Angel T,” or rather myself before Trauma.

And Crowley's story is tragic. I was heartbroken and angry for him; I felt the depth of the betrayal he experienced at the hands of someone he loved who he'd believed loved him; I found myself wanting to protect him, to comfort him. Crowley did not deserve what happened to him.

And, over a decade later, I realized that I’d finally accepted that I’d been an innocent, just like Crowley had, and I didn't deserve what happened to me, either.

And -- if you find yourself relating to this post -- neither did you.

Once we can tell ourselves that and actually believe it, we can start to lower the shield. We can allow people closer, including ourselves. We can bring the parts of ourselves we may have hidden away back to the surface. We can soften again. We can truly start to heal.

Crowley, at his core, remains the same. He is still kind, deeply loving, playful, silly, and – against all odds – hopeful. But his trauma has changed him; his innocence is gone.

He struggles to trust others; fears abandonment; engages in unhealthy coping mechanisms; finds it easier to prioritize and tend to Aziraphale's needs and desires than his own; and has difficulty expressing his emotions.

But he also gained an abundance of empathy, a deep love for humanity, and a strong sense of justice.

We adore Crowley exactly as he is now; we don't wish for him to be who he was before the Fall. And neither does Aziraphale.

In kind, we won’t be who we were — nor should we try to be — but we can be something new, a different version of ourselves that is equally good, equally worthy, and equally deserving of love. 

After over a decade, I think my Trauma wound has mostly healed, as much as Trauma wounds can, anyway; it’s a dull ache rather than an acute pain. Yet Crowley's story assuaged that remaining hurt like a salve I hadn’t realized I needed.

So thank you to @neil-gaiman for giving us such a beautiful story, and to David Tennant, Michael Sheen, and the rest of the cast and crew who bring the characters we love to life on screen.

Good Omens truly is a gift. May it continue to inspire us to offer kindness and love to ourselves and one another. 🖤

* I am aware that I say “you” when I should use the singular first-person “I,” but I still struggle with this when talking about my own trauma. So I’m using “you” and you, reader, will deal with it x

[kinichval]

haiiii ;3 can i request kinich and a reader who’s like half siren? like in h20 where when they’re dry they have legs and mualani finds her injured and keeps her in the springs and one night when he goes to see her she’s singer and he like falls in love? i’m not the best with ideas but ignore if you don’t want to lol

hi !! ty for requesting :3 i love the idea so i gave it a shot. i'm not deep into the siren mythology so i switched the lore and tried my best writing this one < 3

"you can't just take in a random stranger in your house just because they're injured, mualani."

"but they were suffering and needed urgent help!"

"then, you should've taken them to the clinic. who knows how severe their injuries are or if they have good intentions."

the conversation of your savior and a stranger stirs you awake from your slumber, eyes fluttering open as your mind gradually processes that it is time to get up. well, maybe if your legs weren't a bit impaired then standing up would've been useful.

except you're not in the best shape as you found yourself tangled in washed-ashore seaweed causing you to trample over rocks and bruising your legs; this means that you can not transform back to your siren appearance (and vice versa if your tail was injured). thank archons, your ridiculous situation ended soon when a kindhearted mualani decided to tend your injuries.

you were honest with your true self with mualani, believing in your instincts that she is as kind as she shows herself to be. like you, she was one with the waters, a soul that's tied to the flow of the oceans and destined to live freely just as the waters liberty to just be.

in the silence of mualani's shelter where you rest and heal, there's the envy creeping up in your heart that you desperately want to repress. but no, it makes itself known for you are not like mualani.

mualani is a free-spirited surfer, an adventurer of the seas; while you were a siren shunned out by society, viewed as a menace and a threat to the land's safety. kill a siren on sight before they destroy your life is what the people would say.

but you do not have the heart to decline her kindness, rather you want to see her heart as a chance to be seen by humans in a different light. because if mualani can, then why can't they?

still, you uphold the value that your mother had instilled in you; there's no point in proving your kindness when they do not believe in your existence. so you remain hidden within the confines of mualani's home, waiting for your injury to subdue until you're able to become siren again.

"kinich, this is yn. yn, this is 'malipo' kinich." mualani introduced you to a trusted friend of hers with enthusiasm high enough to reach the heavens. simply, you give the dendro user a nod and a gentle smile, he returns the gesture with a civil nod of acknowledgement. kinich's reserved attitude is intimidating, given that mualani is the only human you had ever interacted with, you're confused how human relations work and whether the land culture is different from those who reside under the waters.

you trust that mualani hasn't let a word out about your identity, yet it doesn't assure you when you feel the man's skepticism clawing at your skin as if he's ready to capture you the moment he confirms your true nature.

or maybe you're just overthinking.

kinich never intended for his lingering stare to feel like a dagger pointed at your neck, on the contrary, he harbors the curiosity to learn about you. he often finds how his mind wanders off to mualani's newfound friend whenever the usually occupied space in his head is vacant. who is she? why is he so subconsciously adamant on knowing her? only he fails to grasp a clear picture of reason as to why the voices inside his head are telling him to seek at least a fragment of her soul.

"mualani, thank you for taking care of me."

as a parting token, you granted mualani to experience your siren form. the two of you are within the privacy of the springs that only a few ever come to visit under the moonlit night sky.

your heart sinks at the thought of returning back to the deep, uncertain if you shall ever come up to the surface once your clan learns about your predicament knowing that despite you were well taken care of, they will only emphasize the what-ifs and assert the dangers of a siren caught on land.

natlan's springs are peaceful. you requested to have time in the waters for yourself the next night; promising that when morning comes, you are off to return to the ocean where you belong. but right now, you are neither your ascribed identity or whom you want be, you are just part of the waters.

cold air hits your skin, you lightly splash the water with your luminescent tail and softly smile at the quietness. sometimes, the water doesn't have to be constantly flowing, staying still is alright.

in the midst of your solitude, you hum a tune that your mother used to lull you to sleep when you were a young siren. your voice mimics the gentleness of a mother's love, a cradling feeling of tenderness and comfort. slowly, it shifts to a song, your voice becoming louder and alluring.

and just like a serenade, your song had captivated a certain saurian hunter's attention, he stands on the opposite edge of the spring right across where you were situated in. your eyes still closed and immersed in your enchanting euphony.

"i believe i'm not under a spell, but allow me to compliment your melody. may i stay here and listen?"

kinich fixes his composure, hiding the nervousness inside his pocket. but oh, the moonlight acts like a spotlight on your figure, your true nature completely open for him to realize that you are not human at all.

but kinich isn't fazed, neither does he yield the urge to capture you in exchange for the prestige that comes with catching a siren alive.

"are you not afraid?"

instead, you were the one afraid, wrapping your arms around your torso as if it's any help in shield your true form from his green and amber eyes.

"i'm fascinated. you are a beauty."

at this point, kinich does not intend to supress his longing need for you. he's conscious and sober, implying that a siren's song is not all about luring prey into the waters.

sometimes, just like yn, a siren's song is an open book to her innermost thoughts and heartbeat's poems. it doesn't need to hold words for kinich to depict the sentiments carried into the wind as she sings; to be known, to be understood.

"may i stay with you for tonight?"

this time, you wish for the moon to stay in its place, for time to pause, and for kinich to stay in the springs with you.

[renthony]

Coming of Age at 30: Musings on A Wizard of Earthsea

by Ren Basel renbasel.com

Having nerdy parents meant I grew up surrounded by plenty of classic nerdy literature. Our home was filled with iconic science fiction and fantasy, and what we didn’t have, my parents gladly helped me find at the library. I never lacked passion or access to books, yet somehow I managed to skip right over the work of Ursula K. Le Guin.

How this oversight happened, I couldn’t tell you. I devoured every book about hidden worlds with wizard schools I could find—and there were many on the young adult market in the early 2000s. Though I read a decent chunk of them, somehow I never stumbled across the book that did it first: Le Guin’s 1968 classic, A Wizard of Earthsea. No, I didn’t find my way to Le Guin’s wizards until adulthood.

A Wizard of Earthsea introduces Ged, a boy with magical talent. Over the course of the novel, he attends magic school, grows into a young man, and earns his wizard’s staff. While at school, he is nearly killed when a botched summoning spell unleashes a mysterious and terrifying shadow entity. From there the novel follows Ged’s adventures as he seeks a way to defeat the shadow before it can kill him.

The novel is ultimately a coming-of-age narrative, and though I am an adult, it resonates. Ged’s journey with the shadow forces him to accept the darkest, most painful parts of himself, and it’s easy to relate that to my own struggles as I enter my thirties.

In a 1973 essay titled “Dreams Must Explain Themselves,” Le Guin wrote, “Coming of age is a process that took me many years; I finished it, so far as I ever will, at about age thirty-one; and so I feel rather deeply about it.” That quote convinces me I came to A Wizard of Earthsea exactly when I needed it most. In 2024 I am a disabled person in a so-called “post-COVID” world, still following strict safety measures as the rest of the world moves on. Every day I must exist in a world that fills me with fear and anger, and grief at what could have been before things fell apart. I have had to mourn the things—and people—I lost, and find new things to fill the void.

Entering my thirties has involved learning to love the self I have and react to the circumstances I’m in, rather than obsessing over a hypothetical version of myself that might exist if things were different. Just as Ged had to name and accept the shadow as a part of himself, I have had to face my own anger, grief, and regrets, and choose to accept them as part of me. Neither suppression nor avoidance of the shadow—of those difficult emotions; of that pain—can make it go away. It must be seen, and embraced, and processed.

While I’m sure Earthsea would have been relevant, and wonderful fun, to my younger self, I’m glad I came to it at thirty. The magic of a good story helps make confronting shadows a little less terrifying, and it’s true at any age.

_

Written on commission, using the prompt, “500 words about an Ursula K. Le Guin novel.”

Like this essay? Tip me on Ko-Fi, pledge to my Patreon, or commission an essay on the topic of your choice!

[fandomrose]

Sunday - Love Hypnosis

Sunday hypnotises you (consensually) to relax you.

No spoilers.

No description of reader or readers troubles so project what you are personally struggling with as you see fit.

No angst just fluff. I thought this concept would be cute. I've seen many a yandere Sunday hypnotises you, and that's great but consider - consent and fluff.

(This isn't a jab, I too enjoy a yandere fic from time to time but I also want to see fluff and I haven't seen this done in a fluffy way yet.)

I don't know why I'm mildly obsessed with this man but I am. (Cough Cough, I read maximum ride as a kid and now I automatically fall in love with winged characters. Cough Cough.) I need him to hypnotise me please and thank you.

(I have a few fics in the works that I need to finish but I'm struggling.)

As usual enjoy. Love ya 💙

"Darling?" Came the light and airy tone of your beloved. Though there was a hint of worry in his voice as he took in your face down, slumped form. "Are you alright?"

He could tell very well that you were not alright. But he would coax an answer out of you one way or another. Though the only answer he received was a groan.

"Darling." He sighs but chuckles at your obviously aggravated self. "Allow me to help you." 

Your body goes limp as you let him move you from a sofa to your shared bed. "My darling. Tell me what's gotten into you."

He chuckles as you groan out a single word relating to your issues. "Life."

"Oh, my darling. You'll let me soothe you for the night won't you?" He only felt it was right after the many nights you had soothed him. 

Patient, kind, understanding. Three words that when asked by others what you think about each other, you'd both say about each other. A pure give and take without a scoreboard, that's how you operated. You were both busy or stressed for one reason or another so that's how things had to be.

The simple love you shared was enough most days but sometimes things went wrong.

Sunday had performed hypnosis on you before so he knew it worked but he'd never engage unless you agreed. You knew the question he asked meant he wanted to soothe you via hypnosis, and with the state of your mind you would happily agree. 

"Please do." 

He wouldn't offer if he didn't have the energy you knew this, a rather large argument took care of that when he'd overworked himself then passed out after hypnotising you once and a medic had to be rushed in. Needless to say, you weren't happy with his carelessness. And seeing how upset you were he agreed to be more careful with his health.

You didn't want to think anymore so as you lay there looking up at him with your tired eyes and weary mind, he smiles. He caresses your face and hair before taking a deep breath and reciting that familiar chant.

"Oh triple faced soul, allow me to take hold of this one's mind and soothe them of all worries and burdens. The word Beloved will be the catalyst for control."

With that simple incantation your mind belonged to Sunday for a short while. Your mind felt fuzzy and slow but not unpleasantly, the way it would when you achieved complete relaxation. 

Like he had done before, he would take you through your nightly routine with this hypnosis.

"Beloved, follow me to to the bathroom." He helped you up while your body automatically followed his words and stood up. 

Walking was about the most complex task you could complete, he wasn't Xipe Themself, so his power only went so far. 

"Beloved, lift your arms." 

You do as told and he aids in stripping you, ready to be cleaned. 

"Beloved, sit on this stool and close your eyes." 

You again do as told his voice muffled through the layers of hypnosis, but soothing nonetheless. "I am going to wash your face first darling." He always narrates what he does before doing it as not to startle you.

You felt a cool, wet, cloth glide over your face and you can't help but sigh with satisfaction. You feel it gently caress your cheeks and softly rub your eyes tickle behind your ears. You hear the cloth being rinsed and wrung, the muffled sounds of the water soothing you further.

"I am going to wash your upper body now darling." And, as before, you feel the damp cloth glide over your neck and upper body, letting him move you has he sees fit. Soft humming coming from him lulls you deeper into his hypnosis. The cloth glides down and caresses your chest before moving to wash your back. You'd make sounds of relaxed satisfaction if you could but your exhausted body coupled with the hypnosis has made your brain devoid of any thought or control. Just how you want it. 

He moves back to the front of you with a new cloth. "Beloved, spread your legs, I need to clean you." 

Your body complies without hesitation and that's what he does, making sure to be extra gentle around this sensitive area. He is thorough but doesn't linger long this time, not wanting to spark anything in you this evening.

Standing to switch the cloth again, "I'm going to wash your legs and feet now darling." Still being as gentle as ever his hands and the cloth slowly makes their way down your legs massaging them as they go. A light massage is given to your feet as well before he finishes and pats you dry with a towel before he deems your body clean.

"Beloved, open your mouth wide." 

He orders next, your mind too fuzzy to think of what else could be doing. You hear more water then feel a hand on your chin. "I'm going to brush your teeth darling." Then light scrubbing of your teeth and tongue can be felt, he is thorough with this area too. Not wanting to be the reason you have cavities he takes his time. Not too long later he finishes with you. You can hear things being put away and muffled sounds of him walking around you, maybe inspecting you. Before he stops in front and, 

"Beloved, open your eyes and stand up. Its time to go to bed."

You're led back into the bedroom now that he is satisfied that you are clean. "Beloved, are you ready to sleep?" 

Compelled to answer, you do. "yes"

"Beloved, do you want to sleep with me?"

"Yes"

"Good, let's get to sleep then shall we." 

The sounds of fabric and draws is all you hear for a moment before he guides you into bed with him. 

"Beloved, lay down." 

When he's satisfied you are comfortable You feel his soft skin against yours, the wings on his head lightly brushing your face in reverence before he pulls them back. It isn't often he blesses you with his naked body, the vulnerability gets to him at times. 

Once you've laid down and he's pulled you close he asked one more question.

"Beloved, are you ready to be released from hypnosis?"

"Yes"

As the words leave your lips he begins the incantation to remove his influence on your mind. 

"Oh triple faced soul, this one has completed this ones tasks and can now be freed from the shackles of my control with no burden."

Everything goes still as your senses return slowly, reacclimating you to reality. A few minutes pass of him softly stroking your head and neck while you come back to him.

"Thank you Sunday" a soft whisper conveying how grateful you are before you promptly pass out the exhaustion and relaxation hitting you full force as you melt into the bed and his arms.

"Oh my beloved, I'd do anything to see you happy and relaxed like this more often. I am grateful for all you do for me so it's only natural. I love you, so much my beloved."

He whispers to your sleeping self, pressing small kisses to your forehead, cheeks and nose. Watching the small twitches at the contact makes his evening and he feels like he too can finally relax.

[squiddy-god]

thank u for the best neuvi fic ever 😭💕 if u ever have time would always appreciate more food, thank u for your service my most esteemed fellow neuvi enjoyer 💞🫡

(will probably still be screaming crying throwing up about this one in the mean time 😭)

Hehuewieewm kicking my feet reading that hehehehe im so glad that the neuvi fic didn't absolutely flop because it is really just written from a place of lust for this man because he is so fine, so here! Have some more neuvi 

♥︎Request open♥︎

Cw : fluff to smut, NSFW and SFW, soft neuvillette, gn reader, hints at fontaine’s quest, daycrafillia, more spit swapping (sue me) but not what you think, always implied chubby reader, brief mention of bottom/sub neuvi, oral (both reciving), 69, face sitting is a gender neutral sport, explicit aftercare (love it) 

Ok so as i stated this man's knowledge of relationships is, iffy at best

He knows about the basics, but the complexities of human relations escape him

That being said he's such a sweetheart, interaction may be something he struggles with but he is surprisingly emotionally aware and intune to what you are feeling

When he first finds himself falling for you, he almost doesn't notice, but once he does he is actually quite quick to come to the conclusion that he has developed a rather large “crush”on you

However it takes urging from others to make him do anything about it, he is content to be an observer 

At least before the fontaine quest, after witnessing furinas trial and experiencing the loss of focalors all over again he grown anxious, no longer content to simply forever be the impartial Iudex of fontaine 

He begins to court you slowly, as a gentleman would- and while its a bit old fashioned to call it courting rather than dating- its a sweet but delicate dance to neuvillette 

His draconic side plays a part here, instincts calling that he should gift you things, starting small with food and imported water

Then he begins to invite you to lunch or perhaps on his rare walks around fontiane

Gossip spreads fast and just about every citizen has not only heard about the Iudex’s fancy for you, but they are fawning over it 

After All the Iudex is incredibly popular with the people, and they are overjoyed to see him in such high spirits

The subtle smile that plays shyly against his lips as his pale violet eyes watch you with the tender affections of old lovers

It's really the small chivalric things that make it feel as though you have loved neuvillette for a hundred years, the way his slender gloved hands interlace with yours as he helps you down the stairs, the way he offers you his arm as you walk

To be loved is to be seen, and within the vast ocean of neuvillettes eyes you stand as a solitary bastion of his love. Your every toil no matter how meaningless is acknowledged as something with purpose, the way his eyes that are often hardened by long trials where they must scrutinies and analyze soften in a way that belongs to you alone

He cares for you greatly, to be loved by neuvillette is quiet, a peaceful love that feels timeless

to be loved is to be seen, to be cherished and wanted, to be loved by neuvliette is to know that even in the quiet sea of his love the tide will never wane, he will always see you, forever unbiased he sees you for who you are, and you know that you are see, that he will always cherish you, that you are wanted, that you are loved. 

He enjoys when you brush his hair, and he lets you put whatever style you desire 

Many may assume that he is a listener, afterall he appears very quiet and reserved, but much like another dragon he is a secret YAPPER 

Steeped in wisdom he loves listening to you talk, but there are several subjects he tends to ramble about, and his statements are quite wordy and verbose

Both before and during your relationship he is spotted at several fountains and popular wishing spots, tossing a coin of mora into the still water, silently participating in these little rituals just incase they aid him in winning your hand 

He often attends performances at the opera house, and he reserves a seat just for you next to his own usual seating, and while a private man, there is a small part of him that preens knowing that everyone sees how you are his, and he is yours

Smut time

Now i know i said most of my thoughts in the other one but come onnnnnnnn i still have more thoughts

I don't think i mentioned this but i think he definitely cries during sex, even a small amount of pleasure has this man's eyes watering

I think i did not focus enough on the gentle slow side of neuvillette, how he traces over your body and laveshes you with kisses, how he checks in, lower face dripping in fluids to ask if you'd like some water waiting for you to nod before he takes a swig of the cup he keeps next to the bed, crawling up to kiss you, the fluid benign pushed into your mouth mingling with your taste

Any access is licked away by Neuvillette before he returns to his favorite activity. 

Slow, letting himself relax and savor every touch, every sensation as if you where the finest sumarian water

In this more calm and relaxed state he whispers his thoughts, voice fleeting with the buzzing in your ears as grans out your praises

Your reassurance and comforting when he cries makes him a absolute puddle in yours arms, his head in your neck as he thrusts slowly into you, his moans reverberating on your skin until you feel the tell tale wetness of his tears, cupping his face to rest your foreheads against each other you reassure him, trying to comfort him

He's so conflicted, he loves your voice and sweet nothings but he wants to be honest and tell you that these are tears of pleasure. 

Ride this man he's mesmerized, pupils wide as saucers as he watches your face above him, feels your hands on his shoulders, your plush tummy squished in his hands 

Would low(read high) key be down for you to peg/top him, and hes a moaning mess when the tables are turned, voice wavering as he grips the sheets so hard he might just rip them

…dare I say 69? Yes the funny number, i feel like he would enjoy it immensely 

Face sitting regardless of your sex, he is trying to bleed you dry here 

He may not know that he's a total freak, but he does know that you are exhausted and spent by the end every time (he wouldn't have it any other way) so he takes great care in ensuring you are taken care of

Holds you close for a moment before sweeping you into his arms and drawing you a bath

Washes you clean of the fluids he much rather keep you covered in longer, and fetches you a regression glass of water- and whatever other drink you prefer

He even feeds you snacks as he slips into the bath and rubs your sore limbs, placing soft kisses to the crown of your head 

[harunayuuka2060]

Professor Vargas: No. Definitely not. I would rather build her a house than have her join a dorm full of guys.

Crowley: But... That would add up to our expenses-

Professor Trein: WHICH we could easily afford, headmage.

Professor Crewel: Yes. I agree.

Sam: Look at us already have taken a liking to our little imp!

Professor Vargas: Ha! Yes! The moment I saw her, I claimed her as my daughter!

Crowley: ...

Crowley: *clears throat* Very well. Uh... While we build a house for her and her son, she could stay in the little tent I lent her-

The professors: GIVE HER A ROOM.

Crowley: ...Okay.

Crowley: I suppose the Pop Music Club would not complain if we used their club room for this purpose.

Professor Crewel: Your house will take a month to complete, so you will need to stay in this classroom for the time being.

F!MC: Thank you, professor. And I apologize for causing so much trouble.

F!MC: If there's anything I can do to pay your kindness back, please do tell me.

Toddler Riddle: Yeah. I will help too.

Professor Crewel: There's no need. I will be assigning a housewarden to help you in setting up this room.

F!MC: Th-Thank you, professor!

Professor Crewel: Don't mention it. Have a nice day, pup. *then takes his leave*

F!MC: ...

F!MC: *lets out a sigh of relief* *then smiles at her son* Isn't this great, Riddle?

Toddler Riddle: *nods* Mama doesn't need to knock on people's doors anymore.

F!MC: *hugs him close* Yes. You're right.

Kalim and Lilia: Me! ME!

The other housewardens: ...

Professor Crewel: I am actually thinking of appointing Rosehearts for this job.

Lilia: Crewel, the room they're using is the Pop Music Club's.

Kalim: Yeah! And I want to be friends with her!

Idia: Well, Kalim could definitely buy some furniture.

Lilia: Yes! And I'll buy her son toys!

Professor Crewel: ...

Professor Crewel: Rosehearts, what do you think?

Riddle: I don't mind.

Azul: Are not you appointing him since the lady's son shares his name?

Professor Crewel: Yes. That's the reason.

Riddle: ...

Riddle: Thank you for accompanying me, Cater and Trey.

Trey: We want to meet the lady too.

Cater: I met her in person, and she is really nice. Though it felt like I was talking to someone older.

Trey: *chuckles* She's a mother. Of course, you would feel that way.

Riddle: Ah. We're here.

Riddle, Trey, and Cater: *noticed that the door was slightly open and decided to peek inside*

F!MC: *cuddling her son while reading him a recipe out of a cookbook*

Toddler Riddle: Mama? Do we have to follow everything in this?

F!MC: Hmm... I think we can change the shape of the eggs and carrots.

Toddler Riddle: I'll make them stars.

F!MC: Oh! That will be great, Riddle! Do you want to cook it yourself? Mama will make you mini-kitchen utensils!

Toddler Riddle: Yes, please.

Riddle, Trey, and Cater: ...

*The three decided to move steps back.*

Cater and Trey: *communicates through eye-contact*

Trey: 'Mini-kitchen utensils.'

Cater: 'Yes. And that's so adorable!'

*meanwhile*

Riddle: *his mother issues are trembling*

Riddle: Professor Crewel, I would certainly appreciate it if you would not assign me chores related to assisting the lady.

Professor Crewel: Why? Is there a problem?

Riddle: ...

Riddle: N-No...

Professor Crewel: I was hoping you would be friends with her because you are the same age and can serve as a role model for her to strive more in the future.

Professor Crewel: In any circumstance, I would delegate responsibility to another person. Do not worry.

Riddle: ...

*Back in Heartslabyul*

Trey: Riddle? What happened to you? Why did you run?

Riddle: I had a pressing task to complete.

Cater: Well, Trey? Have you seen how happy they were when we gave them the mini-kitchen utensils? 🥺

Cater: Ridz said thank you and called me "Uncle Cater".

Trey: *chuckles* Yeah. You almost squealed because of that.

Cater: By the way, Riddle? MC was looking forward to meeting you.

Riddle: Huh? Why?

Trey: She's interested to know what our Riddle is like. You know, someone her son can look up to?

Riddle: ...

Riddle: Maybe next time, Trey.

Riddle: Definitely...

Trey and Cater: ...

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

request: Hii im the anon who ask for the wips and i saw the blurbs you have. IM VERY MUCH HOOKED with the third ones where hoshina loves reader's smile🥹 relating to that maybe i would like to add(if you want, but feel free to do seperate if you want) soft moments with hoshina x reader who felt like she being the most pessimistic person regarding love(not anti but just felt like she doesn't deserve it) so she is on denial when hoshina make a move on her

notes: reader is usually rather energetic, talkative reader, hoshina thinks you are "beautiful" at some point, TYSM FOR THE REQ!! sorry it took so long omg

wc: 1300

Something was wrong— terribly wrong. There was no way someone would want you, let alone your vice-captain who could have anyone in the world. Not your vice-captain who did everything with such care and looked after everyone so preciously. And definitely never your vice-captain you were terribly in love with.

There must be some mistake. Or else he wouldn’t have just said what you thought he said.

“Pardon me?” you asked.

He looked a little flustered and you had never seen such an expression on him, confusing you further. “I love you,” he said again, softly. “I’d love to know if you’re in a relationship.”

The way he spoke so carefully added to how nervous it made you feel— it was so different from how he usually talked to you. Now, you were lost to say the least, because you couldn’t think of one reason why he would like you, let alone romantically. Under normal circumstances, you’d assume you were being played with or that this was a silly prank or dare, but you knew that Hoshina wasn’t one to do something so horrible. So what was happening?

“I am not…” you said, still confused, but the visible relief in his eyes made your heart tighten. Oh gosh, is he serious?

“I’m… thrilled,” he said, and he wished you goodnight and left. While you were terribly flustered to know he liked you back, there was a voice in your head that wouldn’t stop making you feel anxious. Something felt so odd to you— to be loved back. To be loved back by him. You enjoyed talking to people so you talked to him often, but never had you thought he'd think of you like that. Having a naturally talkative personality, it was true that both of you had fun talking to each other, but you had accepted that your love was unrequited ages ago. When would he have possibly fallen in love with you? The more you thought about it the more impossible it sounded. As thoughts of him circled your head, it’d be morning before you knew it.

It'd be hard for him to point out exactly when he fell in love with you, because he was in love before he knew it. Before he knew it, he'd catch himself following you with his eyes. He adored watching you work, because you made everything look exciting. Of course, he saw how you groaned at the paperwork you had to do, but he'd see how the little things would put a smile on your face.

He liked the work he did, he liked all of it quite frankly. From neutralizing kaiju all the way down to the research he had to do— rarely did he think something was a chore to do, but if you were around to laugh at something silly he found or mutter about the binders and binders of files that the 3rd division just doesn't have space for anymore, he'd start looking forward to these moments.

While he knew you were like this with everyone, he hoped that you were happiest with him. It would mean everything to him if you looked forward to doing seemingly mundane work with him too.

However, while he loved so much about you, there was one moment specifically that made him realize he wasn't moving on. His heart would be yours forever at this rate. You'd look so horribly tired after all this work, and yet, if someone needed help with anything at all, you'd still smile and ask them what's wrong. You'd find the energy and speak to them so kindly. You might not have the energy you usually had, but you'd be so happy to help. Even if they couldn't tell how exhausted you were, he could. He knew how much you did for everyone in the division, and he thought you were stunning when you did so. You were the most beautiful when you had that lovely smile on your face that seemed to light up his world.

He loved you so dearly.

You loved talking to people, so there always seemed to be something for you to talk about. A new finding you wanted to share or a terribly random thought that popped up in your head. While you naturally talked to most of the people in the division, you looked forward to talking to Hoshina the most. The way he'd always listen so intrigued at your dumbest thoughts and laugh at the smallest things you said meant more to you than one would probably think.

And if you shared your daily happenings with him, he'd share his with you too. To say you loved these moments would truly be an understatement. Nothing could possibly make you happier.

However, you knew he was like this with everyone. His laugh would always manage to keep the morale of the division up and he'd never miss potential problems in the condition of any of his officers. You knew he was a sweet person, but also the best one could ask for in a vice-captain. You weren't special— he was like this to everyone. You knew better than anyone else.

You couldn't imagine anyone falling for you, let alone the kindest person you'd ever meet in your life. Let alone the person you'd probably love for the rest of your life.

Yet, here you were, alone with him this afternoon working away through paperwork and it was quiet. Eerily quiet. He was the first to break the silence.

“I rather dislike the rain,” he said, looking out the window. “It’s been raining all day.”

You paused to look outside as well. “No, you’re right. I don���t mind the rain, but I hate how dark everything is.”

“Yeah,” he said. More silence.

“Sorry, I’m awkwardly nervous now,” he said, eyes fixed on his work. “I didn’t mean to make things… weird.”

You could tell he probably didn’t want you to, but you couldn’t help but look his way. Your eyes widened and your heart filled. You weren’t afraid to say much, but you were afraid to talk about this. However, you thought you’d be able to if you were talking to him.

“I just… can’t imagine that you’re… in love… with me,” you said, looking down at your paperwork. “Sounds too good to be true. I know... sounds unlike me, right?”

Immediately he looked up at you, shocked to say the least. You could tell he probably wanted to ask why, but he thought for a moment more.

“What… would I be able to do to show that I am?” he asked. “You’re the one I love… you always will be.”

Your eyes widened. “I just… don’t know why,” you said honestly. “Why me?”

“Because I love you,” he said. “I love a whole lot about you, but I love being with you. I enjoy spending time with you and watching you enjoy the life around you. Is that too simple?”

It took you a second to reply, but you felt a lot better. “No, not at all,” you said. “Because I feel exactly the same way.”

“You’re kidding”

“Absolutely not”

“I’m going to kill you if you’re lying,” he said.

That made you laugh. “You know I wouldn’t,” you said, and yes, he knew you wouldn’t.

“Hey, Hoshina,” you said, avoiding eye-contact. “If I get worried… will you tell me again?”

“I’d tell you until you get sick of my voice,” he said while getting up to kiss your forehead. “I love you so much.”

[totaly-obsessed]

Pitchside Parenthood

Jessie Fleming x reader request

-> Baby Fever -> allusions to smut? -> Short - I don't know what to think

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Watching Jessie play the game she loved would always be the highlight of your week, no matter how many times you had to trudge through the London rain. The passion she held for it was incredible and hard to relate to, as someone who did not harbor such intense love for a sport.

But your favorite part of matches would forever be when the players would go around the pitch and interact with fans - and of course, they did it today as well. By now used to this you waited patiently for your girlfriend at your seat, but then something caught your eye…

Jessie. With a kid. In the middle of the pitch. Waving up at you.

With a careful eye, you watched as your girlfriend played with the little boy, helping him up once he stumbled over his own feet, with a chuckle that you only knew too well.

Cool cool cool. You were totally normal. No need to panic.

—-

Once in the car, the Canadian noticed your quietness. Up until now, everything had been just as normal. You had greeted her outside of the changing rooms with a quick kiss and a squeeze of her hand.

But now there was no music on and your knees were pressed together, pointing away from her. 

“Are you okay baby?”

Her right hand was on the steering wheel, while her left reached out to your thigh, pulling them to her with a gentle but determined grip. A content sigh left her lips as she finally touched you again.

“Our babies would be so cute.”

“Oh, yeah?”

The shit-eating grin on her face was incredibly hard to miss even with a bitten lip in an attempt to hide it. Warm hands now wander up and down your thighs. 

“Mhmm.”

“What makes you say that?”

Jessie finally turned the car around the last corner, letting you see the sweet retreat of your home. 

“I dunno. Just thought of it.”

Of course, the footballer knew that it wasn’t the truth. After all, she had seen the slight change in your eyes, even from all the way down on the pitch.

“Well, I think they would be adorable. You’re their mom after all.”

The Canadian lived to see you blush, to her it was the funniest thing ever. You just looked so cute and bashful.

“Really?”

Your girlfriend helped you out of the car after pulling into your driveway. She could feel the slight shake of your clammy hands. 

Trying to unlock the front door was a lot harder when you had someone pressing up behind you, breath fanning over the neck where she placed kiss after kiss.

“Mhmm, I think you’d be a great mum.”

Finally, you had gotten that stupid door open and with Jessie still clinging onto you, you both fell into the hallway, where you were promptly facing the next wall.

“Let’s start making you a Mum then, huh?”

“Put a ring on me first, Fleming.”

“Nothing I’d rather do, my love.”

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: I thought I wasn't going to have strong opinions about the Laios-Shuro fight, but...

Laios was right about this! Yes, they had 2 physical fights first, but it's important to note that Laios was right about this!

.

^ -man who would literally kill to stay in this room and observe this private conversation.

.

Sir, your unfaltering little wide-eyed, amiable smile while seriously considering topics that are obviously un-smile-worth has charmed me utterly. I wish to study you like an climate-entomologist yearns for the butterfly that causes storms.

.

She seems fine.

.

If I start screencapping Laios's and Marcille's faces in this fight, I will never stop because literally every panel is devasting.

.

Kuro has done distinctly the most damage so far this fight, just stabbing and gnawing, and I think we should recognize and appreciate that fact.

.

I really miss the animation we got of Rin's lightning blast slicing narrowly past Laios.

I love how fast, if reluctantly, Laios accepts that if - not, that Falin is a true "monster", inhuman and hurting people relentlessly and unapologetically, and thus she needs to be killed before she kills them, like any other monster. I also love that Marcille doesn't accept this. Characters!

.

+1 to qualification to kingship! Kabru is one again surprised (you can tell by how he's not smiling) (though this might also be due to the significant injuries he just took).

I do have several emotions about how Falin immediately yanks away and kills Kabru, without touching Laios. That's her brother!!

.

I really like this little cluster because it says to me that Shuro still has very good "do what Marcille says when she abruptly shouts magic-related directions in combat" instincts. He's a mirror of the "You're already on the Christmas card, buddy" meme - more like, "You're still on the Christmas card." Just like Namari: no one really stops being fond of, and battle companions with, these weirdos.

.

I think the most painful part of this probably is that Marcille isn't certain. Maybe this IS her fault. At minimum, she knows she might have mixed the dragon's soul into Falin's, which enabled this even if it didn't create it. But she can't 100% rule out the possibility that it's more her fault than that - which is, of course, the absolute worst thing to say to all of these people looking at her violently askance for using dark magic.

.

yeahhhhhh "Lunatic Magician" REALLY lacks the oomph of "Mad Mage"

ANGRY LAIOS! It's such a rare expression on him, it's exciting to see.

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Yesss look at my man Chilchuck use available tools in his environment and save this little goober who thinks it's cool to resent adults.

I really like how they show the social consequences of dark magic. Much beyond Shuro's anger: the other mages are now shutting Marcille down, especially where resurrection magic is concerned. She's made herself untrusted by her peers, whether or not the magic she used on Falin is truly "evil."

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I really enjoy the, like, narratively obligatory, not actually real (well, maybe to Rin) "will they-won't they" between Kabru and Rin. In the story that this isn't, where Kabru is the protagonist with his quirky gang of found family who are helping him save the island and prevent another bloodbath like in his angsty backstory, she IS the One (Human) Female on the Team who is obviously his love interest - often the first to challenge him, battle mage rather than healer ie a Strong Female Character who nonetheless doesn't use unfeminine brute force, forced by happenstance to kiss...

Alas! Kabru is not the protagonist of this story, so Rin shall remain disappointed.

Also this montage of people healing and reuniting while in the background Laios and Shuro whale on each other remains SO funny. Flawless comedic timing.

.

Alright, hot take time: I feel like all the debate I've seen about the Shuro/Laios fight depict it as revealing the friendship basically shattered, and never real in the first place. Whereas I'm mostly warmed by how real it clearly was despite everything that just happened?

Shuro is operating on no food and less sleep, desperate to save the woman he idolizes without truly understanding her loves, who is now apparently a monster who nearly slaughtered his most loyal followers. In the past like 2 weeks, Laios has: watched his sister die to save his life (his little sister, whom he is supposed to protect), walked headfirst into a nigh-unwinnable fight to get her back, held her skull in his hands, got her back and held her in his arms, lost her again about 6 hours later in an even more unwinnable fight, which was proven even more unwinnable when the Mage twisted the dungeon itself against them, saw her again but as a murderous monster now (which might be due to the magic he agreed to use to resurrect her), swiftly and sternly resigned himself to fighting and potentially killing her (his little sister! whom he is supposed to protect!), had her recognize him (and no one else!) despite her monstrosity, watched her be killed (again!) in part thanks to him distracting her, except it didn't work and then she fled.

This is an immature, ignoring-immediate-needs (ie, food, healing) knock-down drag-out fight between two men at the absolute ends of their ropes, who, sure, have built-up resentments against each other and the world, and an inciting incident pushing them over the edge - but mostly neither of them can punch in the face the fact that they can't save Falin. So they punch each other instead.

I won't even address the prologue to the fight, where Laios tells him about the black magic and Shuro promptly tries to strangle him then levels a sword at him. Kabru already nailed that: Shuro was worried about Falin - that the magic had hurt her, that the social consequences would be worse. Laios knew this enough that he didn't fight back, then. But now?

The first shove is Shuro demanding, Don't you fucking DARE give me false hope.

I cannot emphasize enough how hard I would also slap someone for suggesting that I wasn't taking the death and monsterization of my younger sibling seriously.

Shuro knows it, too. He doesn't respond to this, he just punches, and Laios punches back. Shuro doesn't speak again until Laios knocks him all the way down, and

Shuro is at his absolute depth. The lowest point he (feels that he) can go. He cannot save Falin. He's shamed himself as a leader and heir by getting his people killed (they got better, but that's beside the point.) He's been beaten in hand-to-hand combat by this idiot northern peasant. He lets down his guard and pride enough to mutter this self-deprecation aloud...and the idiot northern peasant hears, compounding every shame - and it's infuriating especially because he doesn't even hear properly, just like he never hears properly - he's so frustrating in his friendly but oblivious constant irritation and THIS, Shuro can still be furious about, to avoid his grief/hopelessness/self-loathing/shame. This, he can still fight about!

So he does.

They're both wrong in this fight. They're both right. Laios was consistently inconsiderate; knowing this about himself - because it's not like by his early 20s he didn't know that he didn't Get people the way most people Get people - he should've made more of an effort, and picked up any of the hints Shuro was laying down. Shuro was too caught up in his own pride and out-of-place manners: when it was clear that Laios wasn't going to pick up on even the strongest "hint", he should've said something plainly instead of just letting his resentment build until he was effectively lying to Laios about, if not their entire friendship, certainly the shape of it.

But they were friends. They are friends. This isn't the posture or conversation of two guys who don't like each other.

It's two guys who are still, in fact, fucking exhausted, physically and emotionally - but they just got rid of a lot of extra, furious, helpless energy, so they're finally satisfied to just sit. Their posture is relaxed and casual; their conversation straightforward and companionable, if serious.

This is two guys who've sat like this many time at a campfire, in just these poses. Who've kept watch together late at night and stayed awake by talking.

Laios cares about Falin more than anyone in the world, and even after the words and blows they just exchanged, he's still willing to put Shuro's suit to her. Shuro didn't tell Falin he was interested in her until he proposed to her, but he's telling it all to Laios. Admittedly, this is because Laios is, Shuro assumes, the closest he'll ever get to being able to tell it all to Falin...but still. And he admits vulnerability, which he clearly wouldn't have done before, even to his most loyal and loved companions as they urged him to eat and sleep.

Yeah, they're buddies. If I had to describe it, I'd say: their relationship was built on unsteady, false foundations, but they built something sturdy on it anyway, and the sturdy thing survives even when the foundations shake and re-settle.

Lol at Shuro. "I'm going to report you to the local authorities for your crimes because it's the right thing to do. But if you survive, I'll totally use my power and influence to help you flee the country, and live peacefully on my estate beyond where an extradition treaty can reach you."

[drdemonprince]

Hey Devon. This is related to community-building ask, as I feel it kinda hit something in me, and that is my frustration with my local queer "main community", who is mostly made up of people who can work/hang together (people in visual and performative arts, LGBT NGOs, event organisers and so on). It's so closed off and so circlejerk-y that it's demoralising. I've been trying to fit in ever since I started being an adult, almost ten years ago, but I have never made any progress on getting to any of its members. I have made queer friends who are wonderful people, and as you said in the previous ask, that is enough and makes a community of our own already. Nevertheless, it is frustrating for all of us to go to a queer space/show/event just to see that the crowd there is made up of people who know each other and talk to each other and make big groups, while we're just sitting there. It brings us down to know that for queer political events like protests (which are ofc organised by them), we have no one left to fall back on except us. It makes it weird when only one of us is able to go protest, they'd rather not go because it feels so lonely to be sitting around all those people who just know each other, who have been passing by us for so many times over the years, and yet never take interest in even saying "hi" or whatever. It makes us think that they're fucking disingenuous and their "community building" is a load of crap. And I don't really want to feel like that about my people, but look at me, after almost ten years in my city, I fucking do.

Hi there, thanks for your message.

Let me just say that while I understand where the perception comes from, the queer people who put on shows, run nonprofits, and go out clubbing are not "The main lgbtq community" in your city. They're just a bunch of cliquish, careerist, young, privileged people who market themselves as such because they've been convinced that's what the "queer community" is and because doing so helps them get butts in seats at events.

I've seen theater kids, drag performers, DJs, comedians, party promoters, and other various people of the attention-seeking arts (said neutrally) do this all my fucking life. They stake a claim on building "feminist spaces" and "anti-racist" spaces, too, among other things, and use those higher values to sell tickets to their shit too. It's a way to make every tragedy that strikes oppressed people into an advertisement for their burlesques and shit. Don't let the self-important myopia get to you.

The real queer community? In any given city? Well, it's not any one thing. There is no singular "queer community". What people often refer to as the LGBTQ community or the queer community is a demographic, not an actual community. That demographic is marketed to, including by fellow queer people, but that does not a community make.

A community consists of people who know one another, and have enduring bonds, and who have shown up for one another mutually in multiple ways. A lot of these hot cool stylish young queer people are actually merely colleagues of one another. When there's a conflict, or a cancellation, or a venue that closes, they will be tossed to the wind like so many dandelion seeds. Compare that to you and your friends, who can and do remain in contact as the seasons of life change.

It is demoralizing to see so many people who talk a big game about community fail to show up to do activist work that is meaningful to you. I can't deny feeling the same way. For many years, I dated an actor who was very plugged into the local scene, and while his theater company had a reputation for being progressive, trans inclusive, even left-leaning, almost nobody in that collective did anything for the broader 'community' at all. They were all too busy being overworked five nights a week for like a $200 per week stipend, writing plays in which they repeated leftist platitudes but did relatively little.

I'm being a big overly cynical here -- the theater did just put on a big pro Palestinian fundraiser -- but the fact is that running a club, a theater, a local education org, or a regular drag show is a business, and in the end the business always comes first. Even when the members of that business might not want it to. They're often extremely exploited and underpaid, which is part of what makes them so hungry to market themselves and maintain their careers. I have sympathy for it. But meaningful social connections and local impact it does not make.

All of which is to say: please try to remember that these people presenting themselves as the symbols of the local "community" are just a bunch of artistic kids who are trying to make a living doing what they love. They're naive, exploited, a little self-absorbed yes, but they're ultimately not that important. they just deal in a very self-important line of work.

There are SO many queer people all around you who never go to those fucking clubs and shows and aren't even on instagram. The "main" queer community, demographically, is more like the nerdy 40 year old gay couple that lives down the street from you who goes out to the movies once or twice a month and holds board game nights with their friends. The "main" queer community is volunteering at the zoo, going camping with their fraternity brothers that they met 20 years ago, working at the car dealership, planting tomatoes at the local community garden, taking care of elders with dementia, organizing weekly running groups.

You can find people like this -- total normies -- who will care about causes greater than themselves and want to contribute to community building efforts. Many of those people are already doing a ton to make community. It's just less sexy and less self-consciously queer than like, the dance parties. It's also more diverse, accessible, and capable of meeting people where they are at.

It does sound like you would like to meet more activist friends / politically engaged friends, and for that I'd say try looking at pro-Palestinian (for example) events and spaces and seeing who turns up there, checking out a local food not bombs chapter, looking up local mutual aid groups or buy nothing groups, getting involved in hyper-local initiatives, and putting what feelers you can on local forums and personals boards (like Lex, local Facebook groups, local Meetup groups, etc). You probably wont find a perfect space, but you will find worthwhile people scattered everywhere you look!

[theelastword]

i saw a very interesting post recently from @fellthemarvelous about how Aziraphale is often treated the way female love interests are— likely because his hobbies and emotions are more traditionally feminine whereas crowley’s style and anger are more traditionally masculine despite the fact that neither of them are gendered. the thesis of the post was essentially that because crowley is the one who fell, fans have decided that aziraphale only exists to comfort and protect and bring peace to crowley rather than be his own person with his own emotions and ambitions. i’d never been able to put this into words, but it’s like this person stole what i was feeling right from my brain and i am so thankful to their eloquence.

but it did get me thinking about the end of season 2— specifically how many fans, even people who defend aziraphale for what he did, believe that the “only” way for his choices in the finale to be valid are if he did them for crowley’s safety/well-being. i’ve seen so many arguments along the lines of “oh, he has to go back so he can fix Heaven for Crowley and make him heal from falling” or “oh, he has to go back to Heaven because if he doesn’t, Metatron could go after crowley and he needs to keep him safe”. and while both of these very popular aziraphale-defenses are valid (this is not an attack on anyone’s opinion!) and i wouldn’t be surprised if they played into his reasoning for leaving, i can’t help but think of that lovely person’s female-love-interest argument.

i don’t actually think aziraphale leaving for heaven needs to be related to crowley at all. it can, of course— and likely does— but aziraphale has gone through just as much Heaven-induced trauma as crowley has, something that many fans (and even the characters themselves, sometimes) like to forget. aziraphale knows first-hand how abusive Heaven is to young angels and humans who they deem unworthy of being saved. and so to me, it is just as valid if it turns out aziraphale going back to Heaven wasn’t “for” crowley at all, but rather a way to protect these other generations from the abuse of Heaven that aziraphale has witnessed and been victim to. is it so hard or unacceptable to think that aziraphale could make a choice that doesn’t have to do with his love life? he is not obligated—nor is crowley!— to live entirely as though he’s making something up/repaying/protecting his love interest. that kind codependency is not something to idolize. i guess what i’m trying to say here is that there are other reasons to go back to Heaven having nothing to do with keeping crowley safe, and while that is a perfectly valid interpretation, i’m not personally a fan of the widespread belief that it’s the only interpretation that makes what aziraphale did “forgivable”.

EDIT/ADDITION: i ALSO think that this is why i’m so bothered by the argument that while Crowley being “selfish” and choosing his own path at the end of s2 is perfectly valid, aziraphale doing the exact same thing is not. i do not blame either one of them for making a different choice, but in my opinion far too many people believe that crowley had a right to his own autonomy and do what he thought was best for himself, whereas somehow it was Aziraphale’s job to choose the same thing in accordance to what was most healthy for CROWLEY and not for himself/his own ambitions as regards to Heaven. people think that crowley has an obligation to do what is best for crowley, but that aziraphale’s subsequent obligation is to also do what’s best for crowley. no one seems to particularly care what may be best for aziraphale. at the end of the day, if one of them can make a self-prioritizing choice, the other can, too. aziraphale is his own person, not a love interest!!!!

[planetpedri]

hey girly please can you do one with marc bernal where he’s super clingy after his injury and he just wants to be babied, tysm xxx

Generous heart — Marc bernal.

Pairing: Marc Bernal x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend had never been a clingy person, but it seems this injury had changed him more than you thought.

Word count: 560+

Disclaimer/s: Acl injury, pain, light angst to comfort. mostly fluff though !

A/N: When do the injuries end UGHHH. Come back soon diva

Marc’s parents had been allowing you to stay over for the night more and more. Ever since his injury, they had claimed he’d been more down than usual, but whenever you came around, suddenly his spirits were lifted and he felt.. well, the closest thing to normal someone could with the injuries he’d sustained.

While sitting up in his bed, Marc uncomfortably moved around. At some points he’d wince in pain, trying to disguise his discomfort by looking to the side. Each time you’d remind him that he needed to verbally tell you if something was hurting, rather than pretending it wasn’t there.

So, you’d convinced him to just lay down, which he did, but not without pulling you down with him. A soft laugh escaped your lips as he tugged on your arm.

“Lay down with me.” He huffs, looking up at you with a forced scowl.

“Chillax, i’m going to!” You grin, slowly inching yourself from a sitting position down to a lying one. The second you were flat against his bed, he pulled you closer, using his right arm to slip under your head.

Once he was satisfied with the position, your head resting on his shoulder, he bent his head down to place a kiss to the top of your head.

You smile at the gesture before unlocking your phone and opening TikTok, scrolling mindlessly through the videos as Marc watched with you.

Thats how most of your days and nights spent together went. He would have you cuddle with him and watch whatever you had on your phone. In fact, he’d prefer you nearly laying on top of him on your phone, than you giving him space and sitting beside him.

Marc was never this.. cuddly before. You weren’t complaining, though. Just to make that clear. You loved it, in fact. But, it was new, and each time you couldn’t help but smile the whole time. You liked this part of him, the one you hadn’t seen much until recently.

“Wait!” He suddenly says, making your eyes widen and shoot up to him, “I wasn’t done with that video, scroll up.”

Letting out a long breath, you huff. “Holy shit, you scared me!”

A guilty look passes across his face, “sorry..” He says sheepishly, “just scroll up, please?”

Nodding, you scroll back to the last video. “Let me know when I can continue.” You chuckle.

“Will do.” He hums, “hey, wait.”

Groaning, you pause the video. “Yes?” You meet his gaze once again and you’re met with a smug smirk. Great.

“A kiss would do.”

Oh this little…

Rolling your eyes, you tilt your head back to grant him access to your lips. He takes the chance, using his free hand to place his thumb and index finger on your chin, tilting your head up a little further. You don’t think you’d ever get used to his kisses, they were always so gentle and meaningful and perfect…

Sighing into the kiss, your eyes flutter shut. “Anything else you need? You big baby.” You murmur against his lips, feeling the smile that forms on his.

“I am a little hungry..” He pulls away, cocking his head to the side. “Takeout?”

“Or we could get off our asses and go make some real food.” You suggest, but exit TikTok to open google. “What do you want?”

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any future marc related posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @spidybaby !