#you probably weren't wanting something so long

[plethorawrites]

How the Batboys would react to finding out and dealing with you self harming/having severe depression.

TW: Mentions of cuts, blood, suicidal thoughts, incorrect use of pills, sort of implied eating disorders.

Please don't read if this could upset you in any way.

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Bruce:

The first time he notices is also the first time you spend the night. The lights were dark and you were both a bit buzzed after downing several glasses of champagne to endure a boring event he invited you to as an excuse to see you. Of course he was more concerned with kissing the inside of your thighs than noticing the little healed scars on them.

He notices them the next morning though, when the sun is streaming through the window and you get up to find your clothes while assuming he's asleep. He wasn't. He saw the marks. The scars. He refrained from saying a word about them, waiting weeks for you to open up about them on your own terms. He could see they were healed so he wasn't terribly worried at that moment.

When you finally told him, you said you'd been clean for months. He had no reason to suspect you would start again.

But you did.

He didn't know the exact day, or the specific reason, all he knew is that you stopped wearing shorts to bed and stopped letting him leave the lights on to see you when you were intimate. You stopped smiling as often, too.

Of course, being a detective, he can tell when you start getting lethargic, not from work or stress but simply life itself. He hears when your words have less meaning, and your expressions are false. He makes it his mission to not let you fall into the spiral any more than you already have.

You might not want to tell him you're hurting yourself but he'd be damned if he didn't do whatever he could to make you stop. That started by holding you tighter at night so you couldn't sneak off to the bathroom to cut, he'd ask you to visit him at work, insist on every meal being at a restaurant so you didn't even have time to try to hurt yourself. And of course, he helps with the tasks you start struggling with, but pretends he doesn't notice.

He just says "Can I practice braiding your hair so I can help Cassandra?" and use it as a chance to make sure you don't start letting your hair tangle.

He even makes the braid a bit crooked even though he can French braid perfectly, just to sell it. He'll wash it, too, claiming it's: "A good excuse to spend time together." after a long day.

He just wants to make sure it's not getting greasy. He can see the guilt on your face when you sit in the tub, staring at the wall. You wanted to tell him to stop, that you could wash your own hair. But you probably couldn't. It felt like too much work and you just wanted to sink underneath the water of the tub for a few minutes of peace. He kept you upright though, kissing the back of your shoulder, the side of your neck, your cheek, making you hum.

You weren't able to feel much, emotionally speaking, but you could feel gratitude and love.

When he notices you skipping meals because you can't drag yourself to the kitchen or bother to cook, he will. He'll make anything, even if you change your mind about what sounds good and make him cook six different dishes before eventually accepting one of them. He doesn't care. He just wants you to eat. The second you show the slightest bit of interest in something, anything, it's yours. You make a comment about the beach sounding nice, the next thing you know he's taken the day off work and is driving you there with the top of a convertible down.

You say you kind of miss one of your old hobbies— be it painting or crochet, it doesn't matter what, the next day the nicest stuff for you to get back into it arrives. Fresh paints, massive canvases or imported yarn and crystal hooks. He watches, intently when you start to focus on something you like again, the heavy ache in his heart subsiding when he gets to show enthusiasm about your project when it's done.

You start holding him again at night, your face buried in his chest instead of sleeping facing the wall. One night you slide into bed wearing shorts and he can see your scars, red ones among the old faded pale ones from when you first met.

He knows they'll heal too in time. Just like you have.

---

Dick: He doesn't realize there's anything wrong several months into dating you until he catches you taking some pills when he was walking back into the room and later searched up the name, figuring out they're antidepressants.

He can't believe he didn't see it sooner and hates that you were always putting on a fake smile with him. He wants you to talk about it, but understands that it's hard for you too and your every attempt to open up to him ends with you in tears or walking out in frustration because the words won't form.

He suggests (very strongly) that you see a therapist and after some gentle coaxing, you agree. He sits in the car the entire time waiting for you and when you come out, numb for a few minutes as you sit there in silence before sobbing uncontrollably for the 20 minutes in the parking lot. He gets you whatever you want after— ice cream, cheesecake, brownies. Whatever you're craving.

He takes you every week, sometimes multiple times a week. He never complains and he's ALWAYS there. He'll wake up early, even if he barely slept. He'll skip family lunch, he'll rush out of a bank robbery just shouting for his brothers to handle it without him. It doesn't matter what, he'll be there.

He's taken to heavy positive affirmations, as well. He puts sticky notes up in the bathroom with smiley faces for whenever you brush your teeth or put on moisturizer. There are little hearts and words of encouragement on the front of the fridge and inside of it too for when you manage to crave a snack. Hopefully something healthy like fruit, but even if it's junk food, it's better than an empty stomach.

Every morning he wakes you up and tells you you're beautiful and he's grateful to have you.

He likes to remind you not to push yourself as well. "If you just manage to wash your hair, you'll have done something" and "If that's too hard, I'll help you make the bed." But also..."If you don't do anything at all today, you still survived. That alone is difficult, but you're doing it."

Every night he lays it on even thicker because he knows it gets harder at night. "I'm so proud of you for making it through another day." And... "I know it sucks right now but I promise I'll help you get through this." And... "Just take it one day at a time."

When you get homework from your therapist— to do 3 hard tasks over one week, make a list of every negative and positive thought to see them out loud and deduce why you have them, physical exercise—he does it with you. No matter how foolish or seemingly simple it is.

Your therapist told you to do something you struggle with? Done. He'll stand behind you while you do the dishes and help you dry.

You need to get something from a store that's dozens of miles away? Road trip. He'll buy the snacks and take turns driving so you don't het stressed out burn out.

You're told to get some physical exercise? He'll be your partner for whatever kind you want to do. Jogging in the park, keeping a slower pace than usual for you, practicing on rings while you climb the stairmaster—he falls, because he's distracted by your ass. But that's besides the point.

When you start to show signs of feeling better, that therapy is working, he's elated. And after several months and things are better, much better, you tell him whenever you're feeling off. Whenever that nagging feeling comes back over you. You guys work through it then and there to keep it from getting bad again.

Though sometimes, when he's leaving for work, you'll pout and say you feel sad just to get him to stay. You both know it's not a depressed feeling. You just don't want him to leave and he'll indulge you. "Oh, well, if that's the case, I'll just have to stay in bed with you until you feel better."

---

Jason: He's busy. Always. But that didn't mean he was oblivious. Yet, that's exactly how he felt when he realized you'd been abusing your medicine. He knew after the first few dates that you were on medication for chronic depression and he was more than understanding about it. Millions of people suffered from it, himself occasionally included.

But when he's laying in bed and catches you sneaking into the bathroom to take three more pills than you're supposed to, he's caught off guard. Then you slide down to the floor, sitting crisscrossed, making small cuts on your thighs, wincing in pain the entire time. It takes every ounce of self control not to jump out of bed and rip the blade from your hand. He contemplates it, he really does. But that would just make things worse. So he waits.

It keeps him up all night, though he pretends to sleep. And in the morning, you're back out of bed, taking more and sliding back in bed, pretending to wake up just like him.

He blames himself entirely.

He thinks he should have been better, done more, noticed something that made it better. It was his job to support you and protect you and he had failed and that killed him in ways that seemed unimaginable.

After an incredibly difficult conversation where he confesses to knowing you've been filling scripts you don't need and taking more than necessary, you're both an emotional mess. But he assures you he's not leaving or angry, just scared for you. He wants to help but needs you to let him.

He absolutely dedicates himself to keeping you away from anything even remotely dangerous.

The knives in the kitchen? Gone.

Even the butter knives are plastic now.

The razors in the bathroom? Thrown out in a trashcan outside so you couldn't find them.

Even the little blade in the pencil sharpener is taken out.

He won't let you have your pill bottles either, at least not at first. He makes sure you take them everyday, morning and night, then after several weeks starts to let you handle them by yourself.

He still sneaks out of bed to count them and make sure you weren't taking more than prescribed. He insists on being the one to wrap your arms, cleaning them to make sure they don't get infected. And wiping your legs as well. He has to remind himself not to squeeze them too hard, the way he wants to.

While holding you at night he makes sure not to hurt them, even though he wants to hold you much tighter to comfort himself as reassurance you're alright. He listens, late at night when you're whispering to avoid crying. When you explain the feeling it gave you. He knows it.

Once they heal and he can hold you tighter, not as afraid of hurting you by squeezing your thighs the way he likes to. He starts kissing them each night, making sure you know they're not embarrassing or shameful.

He's got scars on most of his body; you were the one to teach them to appreciate them. If he could return the favor, he would. A thousand times over.

He tells you the same things you told him. "You made it through."

---

Tim: When you tell Tim, and by tell I mean confess after he figured it out on his own, you're surprised to find that he doesn't have much of a reaction immediately. He stays quiet, hums a little, nods along. He never interrupts but you see his eyes glazing over a bit, the way they do when the gears start turning in his head. He knew, of course, that you had depression.

He knew you hurt yourself, not in the traditional way of cutting or attempting suicide, but in much subtler ways, like forcing yourself to finish a meal even though you're full and your stomach hurts, taking boiling hot showers that leave your skin red and raw practically painful to even touch from how dry it is, making yourself stay up late and function on the fewest hours of sleep possible.

You purposely made life harder for yourself and for the most part, didn't even realize it. He did, though. What he didn't realize was the amount of medicine you'd tried, to the point you felt none of them worked, the amount of therapists and psychiatrists you had seen, the level of depression you had truly sunk to before. It hurt him to realize once you started opening up. He wanted to make that pain go away. So, he researched. Constantly.

He wants to know every single thing that can cause depression, the statistics of self harm leading to suicide, the effectiveness of different treatments or facilities. He knows every antidepressant, their side effects, their manufacturers, and dosages. He suggests inpatient care for you, but absolutely refuses to send you to someplace like Arkham.

Instead, he finds the best of the best, way out of the city, where the entire staff passed his background check, the facility was up to date on every code possible, and the rules seemed relaxed enough to let you feel like yourself while also making sure you're safe. He's allowed to visit and does so as soon as possible, even manages to get extra hours in the night. You have the best of care there, too, he knows because he can see it on your face every time he's there.

The food is wonderful, the private room you have is nice (even if you miss his warmth at night), the activities they make you do remind you of the hobbies you used to love before they became unbearable. Even therapy sessions, always private because Tim knew you wouldn't want to speak about it in a group, are rather helpful.

When you get out after a few weeks, he's right there, waiting, like always. And he's got the biggest smile because he can see immediately the light back in your eyes that he missed so much. He keeps up with some of the tactics you learned or hobbies you started while there, gladly sitting on the floor with you while you do paper mache.

He always makes sure you know you're not weak for needing help and if you ever feel like you need to go back, even just for a week, or weekend, he'll be there for you. Just like always.

---

(Aged up. I imagine you both in LOA)

Damian: It didn't take a genius to know you were a miserable person. Most people in the league of assassins were. He rather liked your level of misery, usually. It was cynical, with a touch of wit and dark humor that always made him feel seen.

It wasn't until he caught sight of a few scars on your calf that he didn't recognize that he started to realize you were more miserable than he had originally thought. You tried to play it off, claiming you got hurt in a sparring match. But that was a lot and he knew it. Because A) you never lost. And B) the cut was at an angle a sword wouldn't be able to reach unless you were the one holding it.

You clearly didn't want to talk about it, so he wouldn't make you. He was always taught that emotions were weak and even though he didn't fully believe it as he used to, he still isn't big on a lot of sentimentality. Which is fine, because you aren't either.

He still keeps a quiet, very close eye on you. Maybe you noticed, maybe you didn't. He wasn't sure. He didn't care either way. He was worried and with your recent behavior, he felt he had every right to be. You started putting in less effort during training, if you even showed up at all. He'd find you on the balcony at night, leaning your head against the railing and staring at the gardens with a blank expression.

Even the things he knew you loved— your favorite foods, the music you liked to listen to on a record player while you got ready for bed. It stopped appealing to you. The meticulous way you'd fix your hair before bed every single night abruptly stopped, too. You simply fell asleep with it as is and woke up with it tangled. You still held him at night, but it felt less like an embrace for the both of you and more like you were clinging to him like a life line.

He pays extra close attention and anytime he isn't allowed to be by your side, he makes sure someone else is. It's hard to keep you away from sharp objects, given nearly everything around them was a weapon, but he tries to get you to vent your rage by cutting training dummies and not yourself.

He also takes you to the quieter, more secluded wing, into an empty room with pillows on the floor. He makes you sit with him and meditate, which he knows is hard at first, boring and you don't have the most energy, but he holds your hand, his fingers pressed to your pulse to make sure you're listening when he tells you to take a deep breath in and think— not of what you're grateful for, like some might suggest. No. Instead of asking you what you want to live for, he asks you what you can't die without. The grudges you're holding, the projects you haven't finished, the people who are just waiting to see you fail. He won't let you let them win.

And it works. That passion and drive slowly comes back with his help and support at your side, doing your hair for you at night and making sure someone brought you a meal three times a day even if he wasn't around to make sure you ate. Your need to be the best and spite anyone who thinks you aren't returns after a while.

One night he finds you training alone, sweat dripping from your brow, your scars both won in battle and self inflicted on display. Instead of interrupting, he simply watches, admiring your form which had improved since you started picking up your sword more often. He loved watching you find your spirit again.

[luvluu]

Hello I hope you're having a good day I have a request for Chishiya, we visit him in the hospital after the whole Shibuya incident

Lillies… Shuntaro Chishiya

A/N: this is my first request and I’m so excited but scared omfg😭 so I hope you liked this because I rlly did! I feel like it has a lot of backstory but I hope you like it idk(I’m nervous ok?)

Please leave more request because they make me so happy idk why(love you all sm😭💕)

————

Shuntaro Chishiya x reader

Fluff❤️‍🩹

TW: insults.

WORDS: 900

REQUESTED: YES/NO

————

It had been months since you had a meal with your friends. You and Chishiya had been very busy lately agreeing on all the details of your wedding, which was to be held in December. Ever since you were very little, you had always dreamed of getting married at Christmas, with a white dress/suit to match the color of the surrounding snow.

Chishiya, on the other hand, had never had much interest in getting married, nor had he had much interest in love. His dreams were not related to having another person, but that changed when he met you. He knew how excited you were about getting married and although he had never thought about it, seeing himself together with you for the rest of your lives was something he didn't want to pass up.

It was during the spring festival. You and Chishiya went to a park, to a part a little out of the way of practically everyone. The pink petals were falling on your heads and you were looking around in delight, Chishiya knew that you always had a soft spot for that festival, you loved to see the city turn pink.

You were standing next to him, talking about how beautiful you found the scene when Chishiya knelt down in front of you and took a small box out of his pocket.

“Would you grant me the honor of spending the rest of my life with you?”

You were a tearful mess, not even bothering to try on the ring as you bent down and hugged him tighter than ever.

You were talking to one of your friends when a call came in. At first you didn't answer, it was probably the wedding ambassador asking for the seventh time in a week what kind of flowers you were going to want; but after persistence, you decided to answer.

“Are you the fiancée of Mr. Shuntaro Chishiya?” Someone asked behind the phone, you frowned quizzically.

“Yes, yes, it's me” you affirmed, moving a little away from your friends to speak more calmly.

“I'm calling from Tokyo hospital, your fiancé has been urgently admitted due to a meteorite that has affected the entire Shibuya neighborhood.”

No, it wasn't possible. You guys didn't even live near that neighborhood, what was Chishiya doing there, was he okay? Your mind clouded with negative thoughts. You weren't ready to lose the love of your life, no one was, but you... you just couldn't, not so few days before your wedding.

Without even saying anything to your group of friends, you got in your car and drove as fast as you could. The streets were in chaos. The road was full of cars, all on their way to the hospital while you could see smoke coming out of the Shibuya neighborhood.

It took you almost an hour to get to the hospital, an hour in which all you could think about was whether Chishiya was well. You were afraid that it was too late and that when you arrived you would be given the news that he had not held on long enough and had already died, but you refused to believe it.

You rushed into the hospital, more desperate than ever, and asked at the front desk about the room. Not bothering to wait for the elevator, you walked up seven floors and carefully opened the door.

Chishiya was in a shared room. There was a black-haired boy with half of his face covered lying on the bed next to Chishiya's. Your fiancé seemed relatively calm. He had that usual calm expression, as if he hadn't been on the verge of death.

“Shuntaro” you whispered with relief to see him safe and sound. “Shuntaro” you said now in a louder tone. Both men turned to look at you. You circled around another boy's bed until you reached Chishiya's and knelt beside the bed, hugging him tightly and shedding tears on his chest. “You scared me to death.” You felt his arms wrap around you and stroke your hair.

“You're overreacting...” he laughed lightly, you looked up to meet his eyes.

“Shut the fuck up...” you said, hugging him again. You clung to him as if he was the only thing that mattered to you. "What were you doing there? You asked in a broken voice, looking into his eyes, which were duller than normal.

“I think I want Lilies at our wedding...” he said, intertwining his hand with yours.

“You're an idiot.” You said and he wiped away your tears with his free hand. He moved to the side and you lay with him on the small hospital gurney.

Chishiya didn't remember why, but holding you in his arms again comforted him, as if he had been wanting to do it for months. He didn't remember, but if he won every game in Borderland he did it so he could go home to his fiancée.

“Chishi…” you whispered, feeling his hand stroking your hair.

“What?” He asked in a soft tone, keeping you as if you were made of glass.

“I love you.” He kissed you in the head as he heard your words.

“Love you more”

You couldn’t imagine a life without Chishiya, but he had to spend two months without even knowing if he would ever see you again. You would die without Chishiya, but he survived only because of you.

[maythedreadwolftakeyou]

i'll be honest i haven't done as much Illario Pondering up to this point as some others. but i am Rotating Him now so gonna do my thinking out loud on my already too long post just because...

obviously Illario and Lucanis responded to their childhoods in very different ways/grew up into very different people but i think if you want to trace Illario's Issues back down to this level you can see how that would turn him into who we see in the game/stories too.

while Lucanis ends up as a loner with "no one else" (that he Counts anyway), Illario seems to have way more connections when we meet him as an adult--he flirts with anyone, he's into nightlife, he hooks up with random people at parties, the other Crows will mention him like he's a known presence in their lives--yet none of them know what he's Really up to. So his relationships outside Lucanis & Caterina do seem to exist in plenty, but they also seem to be very shallow. Unless he has some offscreen never mentioned confidant, no one seems to know what he's up to, with either Lucanis's or Caterina's "deaths", or his alliance with the Venatori/Gods. he's kept that part secret while keeping up all these other social connections. in theory maybe he got some of the other off-screen talons on his side who knew the whole story but we don't have any evidence for that either way I think (though I don't remember all the codex details so I could be wrong).

[sidebar: yes, Zara, i know. apparently they were deep enough in whatever they had going on to have love-y pet names but like... clearly not enough that Illario wasn't willing to kill her to cover his own tracks; and personally i have my doubts that the relationship was without any ulterior motives on Zara's part either. even if they did care for each other on some level they were or weren't willing to admit (since that's entirely within our realm of interpretation now) it clearly took lesser priority than their other goals)]

SO. Illario's a conniving man (intentionally!) who isn't sharing everything he knows with his "allies" probably on either side, but at the same time... he is still a very emotional man. i don't think the whole "use people and drop them" thing is his actual desire as much as how he's gotten used to operating in the world. while Lucanis seems to have self-isolated as a way to protect both himself & those around him, I think you can interpret Illario as instead learning that he can achieve the same result by instead having a large amount of very shallow relationships. By spreading around his desire for connection he creates a situation where Caterina can't possibly remove them all from his life, but has the plausible deniability of not being actively close to anyone so he doesn't risk punishment falling on himself either.

and i don't necessarily think his approach was a WORSE one compared to Lucanis', at first. in many ways something's better than nothing and Illario seems to have a better understanding of himself & his emotions (not saying he always does or it's a GOOD understanding, but "better than Lucanis" is not a very high bar), plus way more experience in general at just. social anything. because now that they're adults, ILLARIO is the one who has managed to stand up to Caterina, and change the direction of his own life, even if he did pick the most ruthless path to it. Unlike Lucanis (in The Wigmaker Job & first parts of Veilguard) he DOES show great deal of autonomy, understanding that his tiny family is the thing holding him back from what he really wants. But he also has no one else jumping over to help him, no one left he can manipulate, and so he reaches past the crows to the Venatori/Gods as the next step.

so the true downside to this is in fact based in reputation more than anything else. because he's spent years seemingly playing with the emotions of everyone else while never really giving them a way in, as a coping mechanism... he's already burned those potential bridges in a way Lucanis hasn't. people aren't willing to extend extra graces to him the same way. possibly it even contributed to why Caterina liked him less as a successor, since he was less controllable by her personal rules/whims. i dont really have a thesis statement here like before since i haven't been mulling it over as long but i think it's a fun way to interpret their dynamic.

man... in Veilguard it really is so so clear how much Lucanis yearns for connection, how much he laments having barely anyone who is a tangible long-term presence in his life. Illario and Caterina are IT until he meets Rook, he tells them.

but he grew up in the Dellamorte estate. A huge, huge manor that would not just have servants, but STAFF. payrolls full of people who clean and cook and keep the place running. And we know he had some amount of free reign around the place. He explored in the tunnels and basements and found the secret entrance/exit while playing alone. He learned how to make churros and cook other food from the kitchen staff. Someone taught him to knit. So... where are those people? Where's the kindly cook who became a second mother, or the maids who watched him play? He would know their names and remember them, if they were around long enough. And it's NOT just some rich boy privilege that makes him forget they're there, because we know he sees the working class as people who with real lives. In The Wigmaker Job, he knows elves in the alienage, who think well enough of him to let him use their secret routes around the city. He risks the whole mission and breaks rules to let one single serving maid go--they're not invisible or somehow lesser to him. He was raised as a Crow, he's been trained since he was a boy to be observant--he'd listen for the names and details about the lives of servants who were around him all the time as a child. And he is also kind and gentle, so he would reach back if they offered him any kind of affection

Which means their absence in his life is intentional. Caterina must have had the staff rotated often enough that he couldn't learn who they were, and discouraged anyone from talking to or connecting with the Dellamorte boys--she probably thought she was keeping them safe. Keeping them from having people who might matter and therefore could be used against all of them--not to mention it's way easier to slip a poisoned treat to a trusting child, or convince them to follow you out of the estate to an undisclosed location. Her paranoia after losing all her children and other grandkids warped into isolating the Dellamorte boys utterly from any kind of connection and affection outside of herself, and then she withheld it anyway, because she was afraid of getting hurt again too (<- not an excuse, still abuse). And she is NOT a kind woman, who would look over a transgression--servants disobeying her orders about staying away from her grandsons would mean losing their job at best and probably physical punishment along with it. Or maybe you just never saw that coworker who dared say something kind to a crying child again.

It's so sad. And makes it so much more meaningful that there WERE occasional times he got away with it anyway. I wonder how much those cooks risked when teaching him how a kitchen runs, and to make his favorite dessert. If they had some excuse for it, or were all sent away once Caterina found out. Of course he'd stop trying to make friends with any children of the staff his age, if any time he did, the whole family got moved to work at a summer villa in the country instead. If the people who cleaned his rooms were different every month. He'd notice that anyone who he tried to get close to just ended up out of his life entirely, and so eventually Caterina wouldn't need to keep isolating him intentionally as he grew. Lucanis learned. He started doing it himself.

[ameliaenya404]

𝓡𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓭

It was a slower day. One where you and Caleb happend to share a day off of work.

You had woken up feeling compelled to spend the day with him, now that you had him back you never wanted to lose him again.

You wanted to make up for lost time and he was more than happy to oblige. And of course, you couldn't complain when he cooked whatever you asked for whenever he came over.

Dinner was over but Caleb wasn't quite ready to leave, and you weren't ready to let him leave either.

Not yet at least.

You lay in bed with him over the covers like you used to as kids, your legs crossed over his as you both stared up at the cream-white ceiling. The silence was nice, you had missed him so much that the fact he was even lying next to you was enough.

But ever since he'd come back, since you'd been reunited, something felt off. He was your Caleb. He looked like your Caleb. Talked like it too...most of the time.

But there were flights of time when he seemed off like his mind wasn't quite all together. It made you weary, anxious, and concerned.

He seemed normal now though as you lay side by side and that was enough for you.

"So, colonel, should we go out tomorrow?" You ask, testing out his new career title on your tongue.

It felt weird, to so many he was a stern colonel, but in this room. In the hold of the four bedroom walls. He was Caleb.

Your Caleb.

"Where do ya want to go? Skyhaven, or do you want to stay down here in Linkon?" His voice was calming, but the bed's comfortableness and the feeling of Caleb next to you weren't helping your already sleepy state.

"Linkon," you yawn before continuing, "We could go see the light show or the movies, there's an arcade too. When's the last time we played at a claw machine together?"

"Too long," Caleb chuckled.

You probably hadn't had a proper outing since before he went off to be a fighter pilot in the Deepspace Aviation Administration and you decided to become a Hunter.

"Yeah, too long." You say softly, a tinge of regret from the constant relazation of all the lost time you need to make up for.

"Hey, I know that tone. What's wrong pipsqueak?" Caleb turns to lay on his side facing you, propping himself up on his elbow.

You glance at him and sigh, turning on your side as well to fully face him.

"I just missed you."

"I missed you too," Caleb smiles before turning on his back again to look up at the ceiling and you could've sworn you heard him mumble at the end "More than you'll ever know".

[roanofarcc]

PRACTICE LESSONS

pairing: jackie taylor x fem!reader

summary: while getting ready for your first high school party, jackie suggests you practice for the inevitable game of spin the bottle. 

warnings: pre-crash! jackie, shy/borderline awkward!reader. classic tale of closeted girls being girls. seemingly one-sided crush. fluff! suggestive but nothing explicit. practice kissing & make out sesh. 

word count. 1.5k || masterlist (requests open!)

The sweet smell of flowery perfume was the only thing keeping you from full-blown panicking. The night crept near, marked by the setting sun painting the sky in a fiery scene. The digital clock on Jackie Taylor’s bedside ticked away each minute in daunting red numbers, reminding you of what was supposed to be an exciting new endeavor. 

You weren’t sure why you were so nervous for your first high school party.  Most people, like your best friend Jackie, were thrilled to be invited to such a milestone. You were too, somewhat, but you were more nervous than anything. 

As you watched Jackie finish getting ready, you tried to ground yourself in the smell of the perfume she had spritzed on you a couple of minutes prior. It was the same perfume she always wore, a signature scent that filled up the girls' locker room after practice and clung to your bedsheet when she spent the night. 

Jackie smacked her lips as she finished applying her lip gloss and turned her head over her shoulder to peer at you. She had fished out a dress from the depths of her closet that she’d been saving for a special occasion. It was short, fanning over only half of her thigh and exposing her toned legs from soccer conditioning. The dress had long sleeves but showed off her collarbones, flashing her heart-shaped necklace. She had tied half her hair up, dusted her eyelids with shimmery shadow, and glossed her pursed lips. 

The sight of her always brought a skip to your heart, but tonight it was enough to bring heat to your cheeks too. 

“You’re quiet,” she said, tilting her head to the side. 

You let out a breath, picking at a loose thread on your shorts. “Just nervous about tonight.” 

Jackie stood up from her vanity with a soft smile, moving to stand in front of you with her hands outstretched. You swallowed the creeping nervousness in your throat and grasped her soft hands, allowing her to pull you to your feet. 

Jackie had always been a touchy friend. Her fingers often found themselves twirling the ends of your hair when she wanted you to focus on her, rubbing the crease between your brows when she wanted you to be less stressed, or fixing any imperfections in your clothing that she spotted. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the contact, even if you made your hands clammy and face warm. It was just how Jackie was with you. 

She smoothed out the invisible wrinkles of your shirt against your shoulders. “Don’t be. We’ll have the whole team there to fall back off.” 

Your fellow Yellowjackets were also attending the party, making the stakes feel slightly less intense. Freshmen usually weren't invited to big parties; the upperclassmen were scared they’d get alcohol poisoning and ruin the night or snitch. But those on sports teams, who were tight with the upperclassmen on their team, were the expectation. You didn’t want to screw it up for yourself or your teammates. 

“What do they even do at parties? Do you think it's like the movies?” you asked. 

Jackie shrugged. “Probably. Lots of drinking, maybe we’ll play spin the bottle or something.” She didn’t know either, but she seemed much more confident than you were. 

Her words only brought on another wave of panic. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. Jackie still had her hands on your shoulders, giving them a shake. “What is it?” 

“Spin the bottle?” you said. “That sounds like my nightmare.” 

A light laugh fell from Jackie’s lips, causing you to peel your eyes open. “It’s not so bad. We played at Josh’s birthday party in seventh grade. Sure, you may get stuck with someone with bad breath or who kisses with their teeth, but it’s quick.” 

“I’m not worried about who I’m kissing,” you sighed, eyes drifting behind Jackie due to your own embarrassment. 

“Oh,” Jackie said. “You’re worried about kissing, huh?” 

You knew it wasn’t a big deal that you had yet to have your first kiss, but knowing Jackie had made you feel slightly lesser. Was your first kiss going to be some boy from your high school while everyone else watched? Would he know it was your first kiss? Would everyone be able to tell? Would they laugh at you if it was bad? 

Panic must’ve been evident across your face because Jackie shook your shoulders again and forced your attention back onto her. She gazed at you with her big eyes and lopsided smile before spinning you around. Letting go of your shoulders, Jackie moved to sit on the edge of her bed and patted the space beside her and you abided. 

Once you were seated, she pulled her legs up on the bed and turned her body to face you fully. Jackie was usually close to you, she liked to speak close, sleep close, and walk close to you. It wasn’t usual, but it always caused your breath to hitch in your throat when you could see each dark-painted eyelash and freckle on her nose. 

“Is it because you’ve never kissed anyone before?” You groaned in response, and she giggled, the blush on her cheeks glowing in the warm light of her bedroom. “It’s not a big deal!” 

You frowned, brows creased. “You’re only saying that because you’ve already had your first kiss.” 

Jackie scooted even closer, her knees knocking your thigh. She reached up and poked the crease in between your brows. “You’re gonna get wrinkles if you keep doing that,” she said. “And that’s not true. It’s seriously not a big deal. Most people haven’t had their first kiss yet.” 

“I don’t really want it to happen during a game of spin the bottle.” You didn’t want a crowd of people watching you fumble around with the stench of alcohol in the air. You didn’t care so much about it being special or magical, you simply wanted it to be yours and the person you were sharing it with alone. 

Jackie got that glimmer in her big eyes when she had an idea, something mischievous that you’d end up agreeing to just because it was her. “What if you had your first kiss before the party? Would that make you less nervous?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Oh yeah. Let’s just go out and grab someone off the street and ask them for a smooch.” 

“Not with a stranger, dummy,” she said before dropping her voice a little lower. “You should practice with someone you know.” 

It took you only a moment to understand what Jackie was proposing, but once you did, you were almost certain your heart was going to give out from how quickly it beat.

 Jackie. Kissing. You. Impossible. 

Jackie who braided your hair with her manicured nails while she talked about her latest crush from the baseball team. Jackie who you stole glances at while you changed beside each other in the locker room. Jackie who always fell asleep with her head on your shoulder. Jackie who you wrote about in your diary since you had first laid eyes on her and she flashed you a bright smile. 

“It’s not that scary,” Jackie said, breaking you from your panic. She brushed her hair over her shoulder and tilted her head just slightly, flickering her gaze between your eyes and your lips. “Ready?” 

Your throat was dry as you licked your lips, nodding ever so slightly. She leaned in slowly, almost antagonizing-ly slow. When her glossy lips touched yours, you forced your eyes shut and did your best to kiss her back despite your lack of knowing. Her hands found your waist, warm fingers touching the gap between the bottom of your shirt and the top of your shorts. 

Jackie tasted like strawberries and starlight. Your body felt tingly, nerves ignited as she deepened the kiss with a content hum. Your hands found themselves on the top of her thighs, where her dress had ridden up just a little. Jackie was impossibly close as she kissed you, the heat of her body like a scene right out of your dreams. 

It wasn’t until a burn flared in your lungs, needing air, that you two pulled apart. Her lip gloss was half rubbed off, making your lips sticky. 

You were too scared to move or utter a word, worried you’d wake up and it all would have been a figment of your imagination. 

Jackie broke that worry by simply brushing her thumb under your bottom lip, clearing away some rouge gloss, and smirking. “See? Not so scary.” Like nothing, she slipped off the bed and glanced at the clock on her bedside. “They’ll be here to pick us up in ten. Are you all ready?” 

You cleared your throat and pulled your shirt back down, covering the skin that was set on fire from Jackie’s touch. “Y-Yeah,” you replied. 

Jackie slipped on her shoes and clasped a watch around her wrist before she approached you lingering near her closed bedroom door. You were dizzy, heart racing and flustered. She intertwined her fingers with yours as a car honked from the driveway, dragging you out to the party where your second kiss may have awaited. 

[red-takami]

HII NORTH ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) do you know a lot about manifestation/how to practice it? if so what has ur experience been with it? i have a follow up question but i dont want to sound like im interrogating you 😭 ill probably ask it after this question/in the comments of this question

Honestly I'm not good at it all that much 😭 besides shifting and actively experiencing a change, I almost never try any other methods of it because of how weird/complicated I make it on accident while trying.

In my personal experience, manifesting is like boomerang, you throw out your intention and you receive it back physically. It's sort of unpredictable, like sometimes you experience results immediately, or not for a long time. Sometimes it's not exactly what you envisioned, or maybe it's EXACTLY what you envisioned - but it's not what you needed in that instance yk?

I don't do it a lot, because unfortunately I get demotivated extremely easily. If I don't see results immediately then the doubts make it almost impossible to keep faith in my own intentions. Which is why whenever I shift, I make sure to have whatever I desire in mind so that way I don't need to go through all of this trouble for it.

When I was a younger kid, I would listen to subliminal messaging RELIGIOUSLY. Like every single day for at least a few hours at a time. I did this for probably around 3 years, starting when I first found out about subliminals and not stopping until I experienced something that had kinda made me realize the gravity of doing so like I did.

Nothing bad, at least not this first experience anyway. I remember back then, I was obsessed with werewolves specifically from twilight. It crossed my mind every single day so of course I was willing to jump into anything that could promise my own experience in such a life as a twilight werewolf 😭. I looked and explored all over the internet for different subliminals made by different sources and different affirmations, and no results at all. Eventually though, I just found I grew extremely patient with the results I was waiting for, I found that I genuinely just enjoyed the couple 3 or 4 main subliminals I had found enough to listen to them without the anticipation in my belly making it hard to be in the moment. Of course, back then I didn't realize this, nor did I realize what happened because of this newfound relaxation until one morning I woke up and the teeth in my mouth had all changed shape entirely. I looked in the mirror getting ready for school and vividly remember just standing there with my mouth open and frozen in my spot. My teeth were absolutely a different shape before this morning. I had fallen asleep that night to a subliminal and coincidentally, one of the affirmations were fangs and sharp k9's. This took the relaxation and turned it into slight intimidation. Made me realize that whatever I was doing, was working somehow. It was intimidating.

Second experience, years later in 2020 I had picked up subliminals once again after a year or two break from it, and instead of wolf subliminals - it was shifting subliminals. I won't name the account because honestly I can't remember but they're extremely problematic. I'm not the only bad experience with this account and their subliminals. I had fallen into the same routine, falling asleep to the subliminals daily, everything was fine enough at first that I didn't realize anything was wrong. Just chalked it up to my brain being an asshole.

Over time, and continuing to listen to those affirmations religiously, I started to experience some scary shit back to back, more than normal. Nightmares that weren't lucid but felt more vivid than reality, where the contents were nothing but darkness and pure malicious invasion of my mind and dream state. It was disgusting. I stopped after I realized what the reasoning for these things was, and eventually even heard the same exact stories from other shifters who used that accounts subliminals.

I don't use subliminals at all anymore, but only because I know I don't need them. However, if I did, I now know for a fact that this shit is serious, manifestation is real and you need to take caution with what you're trying to make your reality. This was my second time being shown this, and now my main form of manifesting is just shifting, so I'm sorry if that's not helpful. Feel free to ask anything else!!!

[shadowww-bunny]

「Wasted」 (Dean Winchester/fem!reader)

❥ You're drowning out your feelings with alcohol again, as if it's supposed to make a difference.

❥ unspoken feelings, hurt/comfort

-------------------------------------⟡---------------------------------------

You watch as the door closes behind Dean, leaving you alone in a dim motel room. Again. A familiar aching feeling in your chest grips you when you look into an empty hallway.

It wasn't part of your life plan to fall in love with an arrogant guy in a leather jacket, but here you are, sitting and thinking about him while he's probably having fun with girls in a bar. It was a level of pain you weren't used to. Will he ever treat you the same way he treats other girls? Will he ever look at you with the same admiration and adoration that you look at him?

Eventually, your hand reaches for the fridge by itself when you take out a bottle of whiskey. As if it would automatically solve all your problems. As if that would change anything. You pour yourself a glass and lose track of time.

Dean returns to the motel after midnight with his usual smirk on his lips and humming a tune. He tries to walk quietly so as not to disturb you in case you are already in bed, but when he saw you in the kitchen, surprise and slight concern flashed in his emerald eyes.

You sat hunched over with your head on the table. Your hair hid your face, and your fingers twitched nervously even in your sleep. You looked so small and vulnerable, nothing like the cheerful and witty version Dean was used to seeing.

He came closer and his gaze fell on the bottle of whiskey. Everything was clear now. In any other situation, Dean would have teased you, but right now he wasn't up to it. You've never been drunk out of your mind.

"Baby…?" Dean's hand gently rested on your back, stroking and trying to wake you up. Noticing that you moved and raised your head, rubbing your eyes, a faint smile appeared on the hunter's lips. "Rough night, huh?"

Dean's voice brought you back to reality. Dean was here and looked at you with such tenderness in his eyes that it seemed to you that you were still asleep. And you didn't want to wake up.

There were so many things you wanted to say, but a lump formed in your throat, and you just looked at Dean, as if hoping that it would be enough for him to understand. Your gaze was unfocused, and there was a mix of emotions in your eyes. Guilt, fatigue, chagrin, and something deeper that made Dean`s heart ache.

"Oh,sweetheart, do you have any idea how much your head will hurt in the morning? You could have waited for me before you wanted a drink." He tried to make a joke, but the worry in his words gave him away.

The hunter sighed and pulled you by the arm, trying to get you to your feet. He decided it was better to put you to bed before you passed out at this table, or worse, decided to continue emptying the bottle.

You stood up, without any resistance and the desire to resist. However, you were too drunk, and almost immediately you would have swayed and almost fallen if it hadn't been for Dean, who caught you in time, picking you up.

"That's it, I'm here, I got you." The hunter grinned. "It seems like it's really time for someone to go to bed."

He hugged you so tightly and at the same time gently that you wanted to melt in his arms. Alcohol has already clouded your mind and your thoughts have drifted far away. The remnants of restraint and self-control flew out the window when Dean was so close and all the feelings that you had been suppressing for so long poured out. You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to his shirt like a lifeline, as if his arms were the only thing keeping you from breaking down.

"Shhh…I got you, baby." Hunter whispered, and caught himself thinking about how adorable you look when you snuggle up to him like a touch-starved kitten.

He went into the bedroom, still holding you in his arms and was about to put you down in bed when he felt your grip on his sleeve. Your eyes were already closed, you were almost asleep, but the words involuntarily escaped your lips.

"I love you." Your hand slowly slipped off Dean's arm, and fatigue took over, plunging you into sleep.

You didn't see how Dean's eyes widened, how his heart skipped a beat, and his lips parted. For a moment, the hunter froze, trying to comprehend what you said. He had the urge to write it off as drunken nonsense, but your voice and look seemed so sincere.

The hunter hesitated, not knowing how to react to your confession, which made him feel a strange warmth in his chest. You were still his best friend, right..? Despite logic and common sense, Dean bent down and lightly touched your forehead with his lips.

"Love you too, baby."

He knew he probably shouldn't have done it, and you couldn't hear him anyway, but for some reason he felt the need to say it.

Dean covered you with a blanket and hurriedly left the room before his mind started wandering after your last words.

[twst-drabbles]

A choice!

I love the pet au Silver/caretaker cuteness, what does it look like in sanctuary au?

Or

How do the Dia Boys act around silver in the sanctuary au after all the drama?

Diasomnia 5

Summary: You witness a few precious moments between the now grown familiars and Silver.

(Originally was going to choose just Silver but ideas come in and eventually this Silver focused piece ended up becoming like this. Sooo here you go!!)

Lilia, lately, has been touching Silver's face. Hold it just to squish his cheeks like he was still a cherubic child, poking and pinching the wrinkles that formed between his brows over the years, and just patting it whenever his hands could reach, clean or not.

"You grew older," you heard him say only once, during a moment you know you weren't meant to intrude upon, "you have more wrinkles than me now."

It was almost impossible to take him seriously when Lilia's in that small bat form of his, but his words weighed all that same, even if you weren't the the recipient of them.

"I'm not that old," there was humor in Silver's tone in comparison to Lilia's rather quiet self, "I still have many years left to spend."

You're very sure that Lilia knows you've heard, otherwise why would he start squeezing your own face whenever the two of you would pass by each other.

Sebek was of a different variety, as he always is. For one, you couldn't have missed his interactions with Silver even if you tried. He could be quiet, but whenever Sebek experiences anything emotionally complicated, he'd clam up, then explode. It's a continuous pattern, even when he's training with Silver.

Such a moment happened when Sebek managed to knock Silver's practice sword out of his hands. You were setting water on the tree stump near them when Sebek clenched his jaw and furrowed his brow. By this point, he'd usually be glowing, gloating, or correcting any perceived wrongs he spotted. Fast learner, that Sebek.

…but no, instead, Sebek's face turned sour, frustrated.

"…your grip weakened," Sebek managed to push past his clenched jaw, "how long as it been like this?"

Silver looked to you, as if you had any say in this. You just nodded, just in case.

"For a while, now, actually," Silver stretched out his hands, and you looked away from the ring finger that refuses to rise all the way with the rest of them. "I was… impatient, for a time. So much so that I tore something in my hand, and it hasn't been the same since. I can still train with you, though. It doesn't bring me pain. Though, I suppose I'm not as fluid as I was before."

When you heard Sebek take a deep breath in, you knew to cover your ears and simply walk away. All you heard was "Humans like you should take better care--!" before you went to the kitchen. You'll make a little snack for you, Silver and Sebek to munch on. Sebek will grumble about not letting him help you make them, but he'll inhale them all the same.

And Malleus was… well you can't quite say he's being himself. You can't say that about any of the others either. Malleus has always had an odd grasp of time, mind wandering off for hours at a time as he wanders about.

He and Silver are similar in that way, you've noticed, hours slipping right through their fingers even though they never mean to, especially when they don't want to.

"Your spells have gotten worse," Malleus said suddenly, just as you were about to drift off into a nap, "They're more frequent, and last longer now. I can't begin to imagine how much this must frighten you."

Silver's awake now, it seems. You can hear him shuffling on the grass behind you. You didn't get up. You kept your eyes closed and let Malleus's shade you from the sun.

"…I don't fear it as much as I used to. If anything, I worry about all the time I've lost. It's worrying, and frustrating." Silver gave a breathy laugh, keeping quiet probably because he thought you were still sleeping. "I wouldn't worry about me. It doesn't look like it, but I am getting better. It's only been two hours, compared to the previous six."

Mm-hmm. He's improved so much that you two have been talking about him moving back home. Of course, you'll always keep his bedroom clean anytime he wants to come over again. You like his company.

"Is that so?" You heard an extra weight settle around you. You took a peek and saw a long, black-scaled dragon tail loosely circling around both you and Silver. "Then, I should endeavor to help, both you and myself, if only not to waste the time I have left."

…it's fine to let yourself sleep just a little bit, right? Just a small nap, and afterwards you'll get up and take a walk around.

[zorilleerrant]

I feel like omegaverse gives us a unique opportunity to explain why Alfred got custody of Bruce, especially if they weren't particularly close beforehand (also potentially an interesting dynamic). Because if he's an omega, but he either never had kids or got cut off from his kids, he could instantly bond with a newly orphaned child. If they're bonded already, it would be incredibly traumatic for anyone to try to take Bruce away!

I think the idea of an omega instantly bonding with orphaned pups would make a lot of sense, because then they would feed and shelter them in the wild. Maybe alphas are more likely to form this kind of bond with older kids (teens) because they need protection more than they need nurturing. Maybe bonded pairs would do this more easily, but Alfred was closest - or maybe a nascent bond forms just by people being in close enough proximity to each other (or pups specifically) and it was more natural for Alfred.

This is probably a known phenomenon, but rare in the modern world. History and mythology is probably full of it (especially Romulus and Remus, whew!) but, aside from lots of soap opera arcs, most people don't encounter it. Still, society might be very concerned about omegas being pre-school and elementary school teachers, but likewise concerned about alphas being middle school and high school teachers. Maybe betas would be the most sought after teachers all throughout! Or maybe betas instinctively bond with kids just going through puberty, because they need more guidance through it than any other age, and so they aren't allowed to teach middle school in case it causes issues.

This could be especially interesting with Bruce's serial adoption, because orphaning a kid breaks the bond, but neglect might erode it slowly over a long period. Maybe the bonds are weak. Maybe, despite strong emotional connections on both sides, the kids and parents just don't spend enough time together to strengthen the bond. Maybe the kid only has one kind of bond, not all three.

I think omega!Alfred could also have been Bruce's wetnurse (especially if you want to queer Martha and Thomas), which might form a latent bond, or else just make him care more. In that case, you'd probably lean more into the nanny thing, making him explicitly a nanny rather than a butler. But I think if you want to explore his permissive attitude towards Batman, the common omega attitude of trying to spoil the pups might do something!

Question, have you found many fics where Alfred is anything but a Beta and if there are not a lot (which I suspect) does this not feel like a missed opportunity?

I’ve seen a few where he was a weak(er) alpha, leaning more towards beta but still alpha enough to be given Bruce’s custody etc. I’ve also seen a few where he pretends to be an alpha or a more alpha alpha for the same reason. I think I’ve only seen one fic ever where he was an omega and it was a passing mention.

It’s an interesting question. I think he’s firmly beta for most people because of his caretaking role in canon. He’s not the strongest personality in the room but everyone listens to him. That fits a lot of typical beta characteristics. You’d really have to make an argument for other dynamics, but it’s not impossible in my book.

[wheucto]

finally decided to start watching s2e17 of ii

[gay-jesus-probably]

Also speaking of my Fallen London OC's pls look at these picrews I made of the disaster lesbian polycule, because I'm very pleased with how they turned out

From left to right, Professor Izora Gay, unsure how she got involved in the drama but in too deep to quit now, Josephine Knight, creating 90% of the drama with her refusal to chill the fuck out, and Nova Porter, very much aware of the drama but an expert at pretending to be oblivious to it. Don't worry about the candle she's holding, I'm sure it doesn't imply anything ominous about her character arc.

Not pictured: Ezra Hart, the very creatively named protagonist for Heart's Desire, who finds the disaster polycule morbidly fascinating, but you couldn't fucking pay him to get involved. My man is way too aroace for this, he did not survive polio to put up with people's relationship drama. Who needs romance when you have a Victorian Yugioh tournament?

[macksting]

Stop ideologically grilling each other every time you meet another leftist goddamit

Like, obviously don't sit at the table with the Nazis, but if one is required to commit to a Take on every subject, some of those opinions will be absolute dogshit. It's not so much that it's okay to have dogshit opinions, as that it's inevitable you'll have at least a couple of them, and we're not gonna learn from each other's experiences if we are constantly trying to make sure everyone around us thinks the same things about the Winter War. That is not a hypothetical example. I don't think either party had any relation to Finland or Russia whatsoever, but one of the sticking points that cost me friends when they met each other was whether the war was "silly" or "an atrocity." It can be both.

[ID: Three images, screenshots from Legend Of The Galactic Heroes. Yang Wenli sits writing an opinion piece at a table at his home on Heinessen. It reads, "The reasons for 90% of all wars are chillingly moronic in hindsight. In the remaining 10%, the reasons are even moreso, and clearly evident to those involved." /end ID]

Yes there were other problems in that conversation, but that this was one of the complaints is a point worth belaboring a little. Expecting everybody to agree with you and be right on everything when you barely know each other is practically solipsistic. How much of a goddamn individualist do you have to be to be sure that your opinions are so goddamn good that you can't have a civil conversation with other leftists? Admittedly everybody involved in this conversation is super traumatized. But that does seem like reason to walk away for a few fucking minutes.

Or keep it up. Just be glad, I guess, when the fuckin' neo-nazis jump you, that your friends were perfectly correct in their opinions that they dared share with you, and that you died in perfect solidarity against the real enemy. We have a right to be angry. Angry as fuck. We have a right to expect better of each other. When we have personal experience or history involved in a matter, that should be given extra credence, and some things are unsafe. I won't put up with antisemitism around me, for example. There's some really obvious and easy lines out there. I also won't put up with my white friends grilling my Jewish friends to make sure they have the right opinions about Israel, and I am sick and tired of fucking cosplay anarchists and communists who do no fucking work but are willing to murder each other over Barcelona. And if someone comes at me saying "bisexual lesbians" are a disastrously dangerous notion that hurts lesbians everywhere, and you press me as to why I do not want that discourse in my server, I am gonna eventually have to tell you that opinion is TERFy, and you need to calm the fuck down if I do, because sometimes our opinions are dogshit. That is not a hypothetical.

I am so fucking tired.

[ID: Bubblegum Crisis gif. Nene's suit's engine pops open and vents hot air as it shuts down, and the air swims with heat distortions. /end ID]

[the-acid-pear]

A good chunk of my dream today was spent on a bus traveling with my dad where after a very long while of being annoyed by an old woman an old classmate whose face and voice i remember but his name i don't encouraged me to tell her, and tell her i did. At first i started speaking formally but by the end I snapped and i was straight up screaming about how she's annoying and i hate to see her face every time i get on this goddamn bus and it was time someone told her these things. There wasn't a reaction from anyone because i was waking up tho so the dream fell apart before my own eyes.

[celestial-kestrel]

It's that time of year again where Mari Lwyd starts to be talked about and shared around and an INCREDIBLY misleading post gets shared a lot. As someone who grew up with Mari Lwyd I wanted to clear some things up.

Also hello, if you are unaware who Mari Lwyd is. This is about the Welsh tradition of the horse skull who visits houses during the Christmas to New Years period in Wales asking for alcohol.

First off and probably the most important one:

Mari Lwyd is not a cryptid!

I can not emphasise this enough. She. Is. Not. A. Cryptid. There is no story or mystery about a ghost or zombie horse roaming the Welsh valleys. She's not even supposed to be a ghost or a zombie. It's just a horse skull on a stick with a guy under a sheet. She's a hobbyhorse and a folk character used to tell Welsh stories and keep songs alive. When people spread the misinformation that she's a cryptid, it's the equivalent of saying Kermit the Frog is a cryptid.

She is actually only one character in a wider cast of characters who go door to door or, in more modern times, pub to pub. The cast of characters can change town to town and village to village but there are some common ones I see time and time again. The Leader, the Merryman, The Jester and The Lady are just some I see regularly. Punch and Judy used to be more popular a few years ago but I haven't seen them in a while as their tradition has mostly fallen out of popularity. In most cases, almost the whole cast will be played by men. Even the characters are considered and referred to as female. Though this again depends and varies by which group is partaking in the Mari Lwyd tradition.

This point also goes onto my second point,

Mari Lwyd does not rap.

I think this comes from a very common misunderstanding of what rap is vs spoken word. Rap is a very specific style of music originating from the African American communities of the USA and has it's own structure and motifs unique to it. It's a lot more complex than people give it credit for as a style of music and just flippantly assign anything similar to it as being rap. If someone is talking fast or reciting poetry, it is not rap. Or anything that is an exchange of words between two people is not a rap battle. Mari Lwyd does not do rap, actually something that gets left out of these posts is the fact Mari Lwyd does not even speak. It's actually the Leader, who does all the speaking and song based banter between the house/pub owner for entry. Mari Lwyd just clicks her mouth, bites people and bobs her head around.

I think Mari Lwyd is a really beautiful and unique part of Welsh culture. She's not actually as wildly celebrated as a lot of the posts make her out to be. Actually, I think most Welsh people themselves learn about Mari Lwyd through the internet as well. Her popularity is increasing thanks to the drive of local groups wanting to keep the traditions alive and a renewed desire to document Welsh traditions before they're gone. Which is why it's such a shame that she's turned into something she's not to earn horror points on the internet. I think this is why it bothers me so much to see the misunderstandings of the culture and the folk tradition. Mari Lwyd's origin is very hot debated as well as how long it's been going on for. But I think it's thanks to a lot of traditions like this that the Welsh language and our stories weren't lost forever. Welsh culture is recovering as is the language. But it's still in a very fragile place. I think it's why it's important to document and correct information when it's spread.

Anyway, if you want to see the tradition in action, here's a lovely video from the Cwmafan RFC going to one of the pubs for charity. It includes the song exchange with the pub owner for entry and the whole pub singing and joining in once Mari Lwyd and the rest are inside.

As well with another video from St Fagan's showcasing the more traditional and door to door form with the larger cast.

[nishiyako]

After A Long Day (NSFW)

Paring : Kenji Sato x Reader

Tags : Doggy style, Vaginal penetration, Make outs, praise , after care, Fluffy ending, Reader has some type of long hair, established Relationship, Kenji has some sort of complex.

Summary : After a long day of work, Kenji comes home to his lovely girlfriend with a surprise, merch she got of his jersey. Seeing his name and player number on you does wonders to his already inflated ego.

Kenji Sato was everywhere, his face and name of hundreds of billboards and products, it dose something to someone's ego.

He loved the support from fans, the attention from media but most importantly, he loved coming home from a long day of interviews, events, and partiess to you.

Simple and lovable you.

He parked his bike outside before entering his mansion, placing his helmet and keys on the dinner table before seeing you sitting in the living room on your phone while the TV was running.

He made his way over to you, your eyes looked up from your phone screen to see him suddenlt infront of you, you can't lie that you got a little startled but you were more happy he was back before it got too late,

He bends down and plants a soft kiss on your forehead, tucking a stray strand of hair away from your face in the process. He sits beside you as he unzips his biker jacket, "whatcha' watching?" He asks, wondering what's got you so focused this late at night, throwing his jacket to the end of the couch promising himself he'll clean it up later, throwing his arm around your shoulder, pulling himself closer.

"It's a tie between the TV and my phone if I'm being honest" you giggled placing your phone down, you met his loving gaze, placing your hand on his chest, softly kissing his cheek "how was your day sweetheart?" You asked softly, almost as a way of apologizing on you being so voided.

"Good, busy as always." He said like he was waiting for that question all day, meeting your hand on his chest, moving it, holding it while it rests on his lap "Well, it was mostly interviews and shooting for promotions for the team, after that we had a few drinks."

You listened intently as he got into the details of his day, complaining mostly. Giving your thoughts and opinions whenever he asked.

"That's about it. What did you do the whole day?" He asked after wrapping up his day, "Nothing really, just watched TV and cleaned up here a bit, " you said plainly before you stood up from the couch.

"Something I ordered came in the mail though," you said with a smile on your face. "Yeah? What is it?" He asked, as your smile peaked his intrest.

You took his hand, pulling him over to the bedroom, perverted thoughts alredy entering his mind, thinking you probably ordered some slutty liengre and wanted to show him.

You sat him down on the bed as you escaped into the bathroom, asking him to wait for a moment as you closed the door.

As soon as that door shuts he alredy started imagining what you're gonna walk out wearing, probably wearing something tight and strapy, an idiotic smile alredy appearing on his lips from picturing you in something that small.

But he remembered you weren't the type to get something like that, maybe a new dress? Something light for summer. His past thoughts still lingering no matter how cute the dress would be, imagining just lifting it over your hips and fucking you dumb.

His hands covered his red tinted face from just imagening it, sexual frustration just from you keeping him in suspense, "Ken? You ready?" Your voice through the door snapping him back to reality "Huh? Yeah, yeah." He said, a slight stutter from his voice.

You creecked the door open, as he took a deep breath, he opened his eyes.

You wore an oversized jearsy with his team's name on it, it looked simple enough, He thought it was cute, swing you show support for his team, practicly his second family.

Until you turned around, moving your hair to the side and there he saw it, a big 7 and his last name on your back.

You couldn't miss it either, it was right there, black bold lettering on the thin white fabric. You walked closer to him as his eyes were fixated on the way it hugged your body and how your thighs were peaking of out of the fabric just bearly.

Straddling his lap as he still couldn't find the strength to move a muscle, until he did.

His shaky hand going under the jersey, rubbing your bare hip, as you kissed him, your hands running through his hair as his hands creeped up your thigh looking for some panties to pull down, truely a perfect way to end his day he thought.

A giggle exits your mouth as he pulled away from the kiss, a puzzled look on his face before he felt you push him down on the bed snapping him back to attention suddenly, your mouth alredy leaving marks on his neck eagerly, seeming like the both of you werent even on the same wavelength.

"You arnt gonna find something down there, I'm not wearing anything" you whisper nonchalantly before continuing to attack his neck with kisses and love bites.

Basically hinting the fact that you're weren't wearing panties.

"You planned this didn't you" he breathed out

Is eyebrows widen in suprise, he takes a mintue sinking it it before accepting his fate before he layed back with stupid smirk, enjoying the free hickies while he undid his jeans.

In a few minutes you found yourself under him, the jersey just slightly above your midriff, his eyes widened. Holy shit, you really weren't wearing anything under that.

His signiture grin on his face as he pulled down his jeans just above his thighs, he swore he saw hearts in your eyes when you felt him press against you.

He had a feeling you've been pent up for a while, he was just too busy to do anything about it, until now ofcourse.

You felt him pick you up and made you lay on your stomach, pulling your hips right against him, feeling him throb in-between your legs, so close yet so far from where you realy wanted it, you felt his hand grip onto the flesh of your hips.

He leaned down, closing the distance between you two, his chest right against your back and his lips millimeters away from your ear "Feel that? All for you babe." He said in a husky tone, right against your ear, a grin on his lips after hearing a whine come out of your mouth hearing those words.

Your body jolted, feeling something familiar prod inside you, His mouth still right against your ear, not changing a single thing. you heard his breath hitch everytime he gets deeper.

Your body shivered from the feeling, you've missed this. You've both missed this.

He held your hands over your head, pressing them against the bed sheets as he gently bucked his hips, moving carefully feeling how tight you were around him yet taking him so well.

He was taking it in, fucking his perfect girlfriend, having her perfect voice loud enough to echo around the house, thanking his perfect self he got a place far from anyone else.

He got to have you, all to himself, after a long work day, wearing a jersey with his name on it.

With his name on it.

He let's go of your hands remembering something, one of them holding you by your hips, rutting in and out of you while the other one tucks your hair to the side of your shoulder, revealing the back design of his last name and player number on your back.

Shit, he felt so egotistical and narcissistic but this was better than any kind of liengre or sundress you could ever buy.

Looked like a scene from a wet dream he could've had.

You felt him pick up the pace, started moving aimlessly yet his tip kept rubbing the perfect spongey spot inside you. Your voice started raising, getting louder than it always was, not like you could say anything from your fucked out state.

His muscles started to tense, getting lost into he feeling of being inside you, spitting out praise.

"You're doing great baby," or "you look so fucking good for me." He'd coo, with just saying how much he loves you, and parts of you like how your hair was a mess, how perfect it looked when his cock would disappear inside you, or just worshiping your ass.

And most importantly that desperate arch on your back, only making it easier for him to hit that sweet spot over and over again.

The room being filled with the sound of moans, skin slapping against skin and the creaking of the bedframe. Laser focused on the overwhelming feeling of your walls around him, fluids dripping down your thigh, staining the bed sheets.

"Fuckk, Kenji, Kenji!" you cried out, making him stutter in his thrusts, hearing his name escape your lips a few times.

Hundreds, thousands, even millions of fans have cried out his name but nothing was quite like that one.

He kept going, this time with quicker, more feverish thrusts making you start to babbel words, "Whyd you stop?" He teased "cmon, who do you belong to?" He said, a sinister laugh following his remark.

"You" you breathed out still being thrusted in and out to, "names baby, I'm gonna need names." He said in a faux pity tone, you didn't even have to turn around to know he had the biggest, dumbest smile on his face right now.

You melted in his grip, you moaned his name again with more passion, feeding that ego of his. Knowing only he was the one making you feel like this, the leg trembling, spot hitting, eye watering kind of sex.

With his player number and last name on your back, he was thinking of finnishing inside and starting a family alredy, making you really his.

But that would be a bit too much to baby trap you, he knew you weren't going anywhere.

Seeing his last name on your back just drove him crazy, sining in the thought that one place, one day, that's gonna be yours too.

He wakes up from his baby fever trance to your voice "Fuck, Kenji... I'm so fucking close" you curse out, your hand meeting his, his other one continually making you bounce against him.

His spare hand layers over yours, holding it against the bedsheets, as he closes the distance once more, his lips right against hers, "Go on, you've earned it." He says before buying his face into the crook of your neck.

At that moment, you started seeing stars

He feels your walls tightening around him and you moan out his name for the final time. Seeing your body tense up and legs shake for him was something he would never forget the feeling of, knowing how good he made you feel never gets old.

His thrusts slow down as you come down from your high. He pulls out stroking his shaft a few times to the view of your fucked out body, using the white opaque liquid as lube, spilling his warm seed onto your curves, some hitting the new jersey by accident.

"Shit, you might want to wash it now." He laughed, you were too tired to make a comment on him alredy cumming on your new jersey.

Minutes pass, maybe around an hour. You see your loving boyfriend bring you your favorite tea "still sore?" He asked, "just a bit.." you reply back.

Now in a new pair of clothes and him snuggling up to you in bed, turning on the TV and putting on both your favorite series.

Truley, the perfect way to end both your days.

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A/N : Haven't posted in a hot minute, I know. Sorry to my followers, I know this is something new, but I swear the bnha fics r coming, there somewhere in my files 😭

A/N : Those who've read in in the first 13 hours actually pointed out there was a typo, so thank you for that <3. I'll try to spell check more diligently since I mostly only write late at night <33

[atrwriting]

thinking about logan only being soft with you.

when you first met him, you didn't think there was a soft bone in that man's body. all broken glass and rough edges, forced to tip-toe around trauma that you couldn't see and he wouldn't talk about. he was like that with everyone, though - and that's what you tried to tell yourself when it bothered you when he didn't return a hello, a smile, a wave...

until he did.

it was at night, after a long day. the rest of the crew that day was asleep and had been for hours. you sat in the kitchen - staring at nothing, and thinking about nothing - with a glass of whisky in hand. you weren't supposed to have it, especially not where the students could access it - but after a day like today? you figured it could slide.

logan had ventured in not too long after, much to your surprise. you didn't know he had trouble sleeping, even though you probably should've. you don't have rage like that without chasing ghosts everyday. he ignored your presence (no surprise there), and went straight for the fridge.

he usually ignores greetings, but would he ignore whisky?

"want something stronger?" you asked with his back turned to you.

he stayed still and silent for a moment, then cocked the side of his head over your shoulder.

when he brought over his own glass, you filled it with three fingers worth. you didn't want to bother him with small talk, especially after he had pounded his glass and you refilled it. he wasn't in much of a mood to talk, and you weren't in much of a mood for him to glare at you if you asked the wrong question. the silence wasn't the slightest bit comfortable, but you both had too many ghosts behind your eyes it seemed t see what the other had to share.

when you finished your glass, you slid the bottle towards him. "i'm heading to bed. finish it, if you want - or lock it up when you're done."

he only nodded in response, the day's exhaustion weighing heavy in his eyes.

after you had retreated back to your room, a few minutes or so had passed before you heard a knocking at your door. you were wearing your pajamas - shorts and a tiny sweatshirt - but at this hour? you were only worried if a student was hurt or needed help.

to your relief - and dismay - logan appeared when you opened the door.

"returning this," logan grunted, handing you the bottle.

"thanks," you spoke.

he stood there for a few moments after he nodded, silent, and you weren't sure why. maybe it was the whisky, maybe it was the lack of sleep... you weren't sure. in your case, it was both - and both were the reasons you asked, "do you... want to come in?"

he kept his brow lowered, but his gaze flicked up to meet yours. you barely interacted with him... you didn't know what he was thinking, and you figured he couldn't tell what you were thinking.

"it's hard sleeping alone," you admitted, holding his gaze.

his jaw tightened as he slowly nodded, understanding greeting his features. he followed you into your room, shutting the door behind you. he stripped himself down to his boxers and white tank top, and you tried not to stare. he was so damn handsome, but you couldn't make this weird. you just couldn't. sometimes talking didn't do anything, especially not when two broken people just want to be held.

when you both slipped beneath the sheets, your back turned to him, you pulled the sheets over the both of you. he settled in behind you, wrapping a strong arm around your midsection, tugging you up and against his strong chest. your ass rested on his thick thighs, and all you could feel was heat. not the heat that a space heater, blanket, or shower provided - but real heat. the kind that cured loneliness when you're not sure who you're missing. the kind that doesn't make the bed feel so big and empty when you have to get through the next day. the kind that makes you forget about every single fucking ghost you struggled to forget and remember at the same time...

and when he tucked his head into the crook of your neck, the feeling of his soft breaths sent shivers up and down every nerve ending. it was okay. everything was okay. you could feel it - it was tangible, and nothing and no one could take that away from you. bumps rose on every inch of your skin, but you welcomed the foreign feeling. your heart was blooming with adrenaline and excitement, but the exhaustion and the comfort was stronger. for the first time in what felt like forever - there was peace, and you almost couldn't believe it came in the form of the least peaceful man you had ever had the pleasure and displeasure of becoming acquainted with.

you rested your arm on top of his as you scooted back into him, letting your eyes drift closed. "goodnight, logan."

he pulled you closer. "goodnight, darlin'."

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"goodnight moon" lolololololool -L xoxox