#that spark isn’t necessarily love

[lunargrapejuice]

for your own good

diluc ragnvindr x afab!reader | 2.8k+ words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, reader is wearing a dress but no pronouns are mentioned, not necessarily brat!reader but you get a lil lippy hehe, dom!diluc, spanking as a form of punishment, oral, cum eating, praise kink, y'all are sickly in love as always, please let me know if i missed anything!

the sound of boot steps fill the near silent space of the parlor, heavy steps following much lighter ones through the large mahogany doors, up the stairs and across the second floor into the master bedroom. the maids and staff only emerge from the quiet corners they had slipped into after such a tense entrance when they hear the click of the bedroom door and resume their tasks, avoiding that corner of the manor.

diluc flips the lock behind him, scarlet eyes following your every step as you storm towards the  connecting master bathroom in an attempt to put more distance between you but your feet stop quickly at the challenging call of your name that tells you this conversation is not over, even if you run away from it.

it's the first thing that’s been said since you stormed off towards home and you had hoped that the walk back to the manor would cool you both off but you were still burning with frustration and in your wake the flying embers of your emotions caught on your beloved and fueled his own frustration, his worry.

because that’s really all that had started this, worry for your safety. you would argue that you had it completely under control and aren’t hurt in the slightest aside from maybe your feelings but right now you couldn’t articulate anything aside from the exasperated thoughts that you couldn’t stop from spilling past your lips when you whip around to face diluc who now stands near the edge of bed. 

his brows as drawn close, the soft pinkness of his lips in a thin line and there’s an undeniable lick of flame behind the dark pupils of his eyes that seems to deepen into a crimson fire at your words.

“don’t you think it’s a bit hypocritical of you to chastise me for putting myself in danger when you do it yourself on a nightly basis?!” you let out a strained laugh, like you can’t actually believe you’re having this conversation. you aren’t even hurt for barbatos sake. “this is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath but before he can add anything himself, you decide you are finished with this conversation, whether he likes it or not, and end it with a snappy, “perhaps it's you that should be getting a good lecture right now diluc.”

you’re acutely aware of the shift in atmosphere throughout the entire room, how quickly it goes from overly warm in the evening sun spilling through open curtains and the natural heat of diluc to a eerie neutral calmness that's almost painful to breath in but beneath it you can feel the lingering sparks waiting to burst again. though their unusual muted crackling in the silence between you makes you wonder what exactly they would set ablaze.

“this isn’t about me,” his voice is deep, firm and hot.

you hear the ember at your feet pop and send your own gust of air over them, letting them catch fire.

“please, it very clearly is. you’re the one -”

diluc says your name again, in a way you’ve never heard before, serious and penetrating and at the impact of it to your core, you think perhaps it’s you that’s on fire. “that’s enough.” 

you want to protest, say whatever's on your tongue and mind but there isn’t a single word that leaves your mouth when your lips part. your tongue feels heavy, your lungs barely able to breathe in air and when your lip begins to tremble, you take it between your teeth. 

“come here.”

like a statue, you stand motionless near the bathroom door. your heart races, your cunt clenching around nothing as you watch diluc peel off his gloves without breaking your locked gazes. he pulls at each finger tip, starting with his pinky, until the leather is loose enough to slip off easily and then does the same on the other hand. one glove placed neatly on top of the other, he sets them on the edge of the bed.

when you don’t move, don’t say anything or protest, he closes the distance between you, every heavy boot step making your heart skip a beat and when he’s standing in front of you, his broad shoulders and black coat with golden tassels blocking out the setting sun, all you can do is stare up at his beautiful features and fall into the inferno behind his eyes.

gently, as if you were made of thin glass that had yet to cool, he takes your face into his hands, his palms cradling your chin, calloused thumbs brushing along your cheeks. the mix of tender and intense, his heat and scent overtaking your every sense, makes you beyond dizzy.

“i know i am a stubborn man but my love,” he voice is strained and his expression morphs into something almost painful. he holds you a bit tighter and you stand on your toes to reach him. “i cannot express enough how important your safety, your wellbeing, is.” he takes in a deep breath. “you are everything and without you.. ” he doesn’t let himself say the words. he can’t. he won’t. instead he kisses you deeply, his lips soft and so full of love you feel your knees threatening to give way within an instant. 

and you swear they really might when diluc pulls away all too quickly and his hands leave your face. you want to cry at the loss of his touch but only a split moment passes before he has your hand in his and is guiding you towards the bed without needing to tug to have you follow.

you can hear your deep breathing in the palpable silence, the groan of the bed frame against the hardwood floors when diluc sits at the edge of your side of the bed, the delicate sway of your dress as you press your thighs together in the moment he stares up at you with an unreadable expression on his face before the quiet is broken by his captivating voice. 

“please understand how serious this is to me.”

dilucs hands are gentle as they pull you over to him and all you can do is follow their silent command that helps you rest over his thick thighs, your stomach pressed against the muscles there. your hands desperately cling to the sheets near your head that can’t seem to form one coherent thought other than you’re certain that you’ve made diluc mad and are about to be punished for it. how fucking badly you need the him. how shamefully turned on you are.

he uses the same softness as he lifts up your dress, letting the tips of his fingers graze along the supple skin of your thighs the higher he lifts it until your bum is exposed to the hot air of the room.

you can hear the way he sucks in breath seeing you aren’t wearing any panties under your dress, though this wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you decided to go without them this morning. it wouldn’t be enough to stop him.

“this is for your own good darling.” his thick voice, a mix of burning desire and commanding seriousness, makes your heart stop completely but you hardly have time to register it before a large hand comes down and smacks your ass with more strength than you were expecting, the sting sending shots of electricity through your entire body and sets your heart to a wicked drumming beat. 

you whimper at the mix of pain and pleasure, the emptiness of your pussy and are unable to stop the way your body trembles and arches. your face burns when you come down for the jolt it sent through you and though you can feel his eyes on you, you can’t meet his gaze.

the cool air on your skin when he removes his hands makes your body break out into goosebumps. 

“i need you.” another smack fills the air, makes your body jump and you try to swallow the filthy and pathetic noises threatening to escape past your lips. his palm soothes over your skin that tingles with the aftershock, warm and comforting. a mix of soft and marred skin caressing something precious, with the utmost care. “need you safe and sound in my arms. i can’t lose you.”

his voice trembles with emotion. you want to sooth him, kiss him, hold him close but you can’t move, can’t speak, can hardly breathe. the heat of his palms leaves your skin and can hear him bringing it down against your ass again.

“‘luc!” you cry out, chasing after his touch. your mind is so fuzzy, your body burning and melting in the heat coursing through your body that’s being fueled by the hand once again caressing you so lovingly over the pleasurable ache.

“do you understand love?” it���s not condescending or meant with any rudeness. there’s only love and worry for you, his very heart and soul, his light in darkness that he thought he was shackled to, that he could never be without again. please understand the gravity you hold on him. that he could not bear to lose you, no matter how small the risk. “i need you to tell me that you understand, that you will put your safety first. please.” 

you don’t know why you hesitate even when he’s pleading with you. maybe because you want more. more of his touch, more of his words and the fire that's slowly consuming you both. would your lungs even work?

smack!!

“ah!”

he says your name, his tone is dripping with grave urgency.  

“i - i understand ‘luc,” you say breathlessly, trying to swallow the traces of need and let him know you mean it honestly. “i’m sorry..”

the weight of his chest against your back, the rub of his hand over the still stinging hand print you can feel on your ass, is comforting, soothing and the feeling of his lips near your ear has you falling limp against his thighs and the bed.

diluc sighs, letting go of the tension that had built in his chest from the moment he saw you in danger and that turned into something else entirely when he was overtaken with the need to show you how important this is, how important you are, when you so easily brushed off your own safety. “all that matters is that you’re okay.”

“i am,” you assure him, bringing your hand up to his face and relishing in him leaning into your touch, the heat of his breath behind your ear. “i’ll always come back to you. always.”

“as will i, my love,” he promises and the words echo in your ears when you feel his hand move, long and scarred fingers gliding between your legs, barely needing one touch to be soaked in your essence. 

diluc groans at how wet you are, how easily your body bows to allow him to part your folds down the length of your slit and press against your swollen clit, skilled fingers rubbing in circles with the perfect pressure that has you moaning into the sheets.

you can feel how hard he is, how hard he’s been with his impressive length under your tummy and when he sinks two fingers into you so easily, thanks to how dripping and needy you are, his hips instinctively lift and buck to feel more of you. any part of you he could, just to feel more of you.

but diluc doesn’t focus or care about his own pleasure. not that it was unusual for him, your pleasure is always his own but right now, he only wishes to make you feel good after causing you pain, even if he thought it necessary and your body told him of how much you enjoyed it.

in his seemingly infinite strength, he moves you effortlessly into a comfortable position over the edge of bed, your legs dangling over the edge but your toes don’t meet the ground with how high up the bed is. diluc is sure to gather your dress and secure it around your hips so it doesn’t get ruined. you hear the thump on the hardwood as he takes a knee behind you and at the large hands that spread your folds for him to devour you, with both his hungry eyes and mouth, you bury your face in the pillow he’d moved for you to rest your head on.

pressing a thumb against your clit, you feel his nearly panting breath on the still warm skin he had spanked, the faint touch of his lips making you murmur his name is a sweet plea. the kiss he places there is considerate, soft, but the lower his lips travel, the more impure they become. 

at the first taste of you, you can feel more than hear diluc groaning in addicting pleasure, as if you were the sweetest, most divine thing he had ever touched or tasted. it was so much more to him, more than he could put into words, especially so when he is between your legs, savoring every heaven sent drop of you and the way his hot mouth made you wither and writhe.

the tip of his tongue replaces his fingers at your clit, rolling over the sensitive bud before taking it before his mouth and suckling with fervor. powerful hands sink into the flesh of your hips and pull you back into him, the tip of his nose nudging against your entrance, wild ringlets of vermillion hair tickling your thighs, a mix of saliva and slick coating the lower part of his face.

“oh diluc!” you cry out loudly at a partially hard suck. even into the pillow it seems loud in the room but you can’t hold it back with the white hot pleasure coursing through you at how he devours you like a man starved and who may never eat again.

with his cock twitching in his tight pants, sticky pre wetting his underwear, diluc pulls away from your clit and licks a thick stripe up to your entrance, beginning to fuck you on his tongue by pushing and pulling your hips while pulling away and meeting you half way just to delve that much deeper into you until you worry he hasn’t had a breath in so long.

when he does move away, the loss of his tongue leaves you unbelievably empty but when two thick fingers fill you only seconds later, curling into that perfect spot inside your velvety walls, you barely have a chance to protest or catch your breath. all you can do is repeat his name and arch your back so he can reach at a better angle.

you feel the press of wet lips against your bum, right over where he had spanked you, the unevenness of his breath matching the thrusting of his fingers into your little hole. “did so good for me love. so good. fuck.. i love you darling - i love you more than i know how to put into words.” 

he can feel you clenching around his fingers at the praise and confession of his feelings, so very close and it only makes his movements more precise, overwhelming and burning hot. he needs to feel you coming undone just as badly as you feel yourself breaking and the reminder of his hand meeting your skin when it still tingles under his kisses drives you over the edge with deep arch of your back and the sweet call of his name from your lips.

never wanting a bit of you to go unloved, not taken in by him, his mouth comes back to your cunt, drinking down every drop of you that leaks from the movement of his fingers and down to your clit and after ensuring you’ve rode out every second of your orgasm, he pulls them out of slowly, licking his fingers clean before standing and handling your dress, pulling it down from where it now pooled closer to your chest and middle back, first covering your bum and glistening cunt.

diluc takes such care to lift and cradle your limp body in his arms, fixing your dress in the front as he kisses the top of your head and takes a deep breath in hopes you’ll try to match it and catch your own that still has yet to settle. you do and as you let out a steaming breath, you sink into his embrace.

settling his back on the headboard, he keeps you pressed as close to him as possible, like he needs to hold you close, feel you breathing and warm and clinging to him. there's an unmistakable hardness pressing against your spent body but your beloved doesn’t pay any mind or attempt to do something about it. perfectly content holding you like this and placing kisses to the top of your head.

with the steady beat of his heart in your ears, you feel your own beating in sync the more you come down from your high and murmur into his chest. “i love you too ‘luc, so much.”

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

#diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #diluc ragnvindr smut #genshin impact smut #diluc smut #genshin smut #🌙moonlight.stories

[ham1lton]

QUESTION TIME?

pairings: (platonic) lewis hamilton x f1 driver!reader.

warnings: sexist comments. interviewers asking rude questions.

summary: being the only female driver on the grid means being the unofficial spokesperson for women in motorsports and you’re tired of it.

author’s note: a part of my newest series! i’m still actively looking for more scenarios and ideas regarding this universe! so if u have any thoughts or questions? let me know! i’d love to hear them <3

“do you worry that being more open and accessible to different drivers will lower the level of competition within formula one?”

the silence could be cut with a knife. everyone in the room looked at you expectantly, eyes wide as they waited for your answer. you took a sip of water as you collected your thoughts.

sometimes, when you were younger and karting, you’d wish that you had been born a boy. that might have been an unpopular opinion but you held it occasionally, although not for the reasons one might think. being a man would have meant that you would have been treated as just another driver rather than a novelty. no one else on the panel was expected to act like a mouthpiece for their entire gender.

taking a deep breath, you composed yourself before addressing the question. "i understand the concern about maintaining the high level of competition within formula one. however, i believe that diversity and inclusivity in motorsports can actually enhance the competition rather than detract from it."

you glanced around the room, meeting the expectant gazes of the reporters and fellow drivers. "by opening up opportunities to drivers from different backgrounds and experiences, we bring new perspectives and skills to the sport. this diversity can drive innovation and push the entire field to new heights."

pausing for a moment to gather your thoughts, you continued, "i don't necessarily think talent and competitiveness are determined by gender or any other factor. it's about skill, dedication, and passion for racing. embracing diversity not only reflects the world we live in but also strengthens formula one as a whole."

as you finished speaking, you could sense a shift in the atmosphere of the room. while your response might not have been what everyone expected, you knew it came from a place of honesty and conviction. and deep down, you hoped that your words would spark a broader conversation about the importance of inclusion in motorsports.

the room digests your response, slowly and steadily until another interviewer speaks up. "i get where you're coming from, but let's be real here. formula one is about pushing the limits, about being the best of the best. we can't afford to water down the competition just for the sake of diversity."

you respected his perspective, knowing that he always spoke his mind but god, if that wasn’t the worst way to word that. "i hear you," you replied, "but i don't see diversity as watering down the competition. if anything, it's about elevating it. different perspectives bring new challenges and force us to raise our own game. isn't that what racing is all about?"

he paused, considering your words. "i suppose you have a point," he conceded, nodding thoughtfully. "but we still need to ensure that the drivers who make it to formula one are truly the best, regardless of where they come from."

you nodded in agreement, acknowledging the importance of maintaining high standards in the sport. "absolutely," you agreed. "and i believe that by embracing diversity, we can do just that. it's not about lowering the bar; it's about expanding it to include drivers who might have otherwise been overlooked."

after a moment, lewis, who had been your unofficial mentor throughout the process of integrating into formula one, raises his hand. he had been listening to the whole exchange with a furrowed brow.

“i just want to echo what y/n has said,” he began. “diversity isn’t a threat, if anything it’s our greatest asset.”

he turned to address the room, his gaze steady. "we've seen time and time again how diversity helps drive innovation and pushes the sport forward. and it's not just about gender or race – it's about welcoming drivers from all walks of life and giving them the opportunity to shine."

lewis paused, letting his words sink in. "formula one should be a reflection of the world we live in – diverse, inclusive, and full of opportunity. and by embracing that diversity, we make the sport stronger, more competitive, and more exciting for fans around the globe."

you smile at that and grin at the interviewer.

“is that a good enough answer for you?” he nods and your remark sparks laughter in the room. after a moment, the interviewers target your peers and you take a deep breath. free at last.

when the interview concludes, you find yourself walking step by step with lewis, who smiles at you.

“you answered those questions well. i’m proud.”

“just followed the hamilton playbook.” you tease. “who knows? maybe i’ll be fighting you for that championship next.”

“i’d welcome the challenge.” lewis laughs, his eyes bright with amusement. “but seriously y/n, never underestimate the power of your voice and your presence in this sport. i always say that the goal is to leave the sport better than we found it, and you’re only in your second season and doing that. i have no doubt you’ll achieve great things.”

his voice is thick with sincerity and he places a warm hand on your shoulder before leaving. as he disappears, a young girl wearing your merch comes bounding up to you. she’s grinning wide with a missing tooth and when she speaks, her accent is thickly american with a strong lisp.

“y/n! hi!” she waves a massive poster in front of you. it has your name, your number and a message of support. “y/n you’re the coolest! will you sign my poster please?”

with a warm smile, you kneel down and grin at her.

“of course! i’d be honoured.” your assistant hands you a sharpie and you scrawl your signature in the corner of her poster. her parents taking a photo of the two of you and then with her parents permission, you sign her hat and her shirt. “thank you so much for all of your support. it means everything and more to me. keep cheering me on okay? i do this for all of you.”

“i will!” she beams. you laugh and pass your assistant her pen. “you’re my hero y/n! thank you!”

she bounces off and her parents wave while saying their thanks. your heart swelled up after that interaction, reminding you as to why you do this. why you deal with all those incessant annoying questions because it gives you the opportunity to help inspire the next generation of young racers.

as you stand there, you see a guy with a camera walking your way. your eyes widen as you make a sneaky escape. today has been filled with enough questions, you think as you hide out in gavin’s office.

#jayde’s works ☆ #maneater ꕤ #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 smau #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 texts #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #lewis hamilton x reader #lh44 x reader

[celestialtarot11]

Friendship Synastry 🌹🌴

Hi friends! Just thought I’d do this post because someone mentioned there weren’t a whole lot of synastry posts focusing on platonic connections, which I agree ☝️ So let’s change that! Enjoy! Please like, comment and reblog 💅🏻

1st house overlay 💗- So beautiful! I share this with someone who I’ve known for 10 years! We see each other in one another. Growing up we always pretended we were cousins 😭 and everyone believed us. We both hype each other up and the friendship is harmonious.

Venus in the 4th house ✨- A feeling of home like no other. That same friend and I got disconnected for 7 years and somehow we reconnected! This placement truly is beautiful and embodies finding each other again and again in friendship. Both parties feel comfortable making jokes and sharing intimate details with one another. Both feel seen on a deeper level.

9th house synastry ❤️- Cultural differences in friendship! Both learn from different cultures and share their experiences with one another. Both are teaching each other new things and love to engage in topics of philosophy! At some point both could live away from one another and have to travel to see one another. Short distance or long distance!

10th house stellium 🌟- Both inspire each other to be better versions of themselves. Mutual level of respect depending on what planets fall into the 10th house. Both see each other as people who can bounce ideas off one another without shame! If the planets are afflicted or malefic, the friendship can turn into competition to boost ego.

Scorpio stellium ☮️- Transformative connection. Both see each other at their worst and help each other out. If the planets are afflicted or malefic, the friendship can end with betrayal or end suddenly due to private information being let out. For example, something personal only the other person would know. If ifs aspected good, the friendship is a deep bond and feels familiar to both. Intuitive, and spiritually deep connection. Both dream of one another.

6th house sun 💆‍♀️- The planet person may ask a lot of help from the house person! Not necessarily a bad thing, but if this is aspected negatively it can be more of “pain in the ass” kind of feeling 😭 Especially if the friendship isn’t going well. But when aspected positively, the house person can teach a lot to the sun person and it’s a beautiful exchange of knowledge. Set boundaries ya’ll! 6th house synastry requires boundaries too. 6th house synastry can also suggest that friend popping up randomly to visit you!

Mars in the 6th house 🌹- The mars person empowers the house person to be better and take initiative in their life. Brings a lot of energy, joy, stamina, and life to the connection. Without the mars person the house person may feel bored, or disconnected in their life. It’s important the house person knows to balance their energies with action vs rest! The mars awakens the house person!

Moon in the 11th house 💅🏻- If the house person has chiron there I’ve noticed they sympathize a lot with the moon person. Both may face criticism in the friendship and jealousy, because both seem like a power duo. Growing up I experienced a lot of this with my friend we share this synastry, and people have found reasons to shame us! If there is no chiron, the moon person is often comforted by the house person. There is a deep connection and a sense of community present for both 🌹😊

Leo on the Descendant ✨- After reconnecting both people would’ve gone through a major glow up in their personal lives and physically! Both people could be in touch with their hearts and emotional truth. In some other connections I’ve seen people get in touch with their egos rather than their authenticity. The connection can lose spark!

Aquarius ascendant 🫂- Both felt and experienced the black sheep phenomenon growing up. They are able to connect on that and lift each other up. Close knit community! Especially if they knew each other for years. Both are unique individuals but mesh together so well because both embrace their authenticity and power in the connection. Both can view the connection as unique, irreplaceable, and unforgettable.

Leo stellium 🌟- Lots of hyping each other up, feel good feelings and love 💅🏻💗 Both are great at lifting each other up! When one person feels discouraged the other has their back and vice versa. If the connection is afflicted it can easily lead to competition, jealousy and control issues. If the connection is great both are literal teddy bears to one another and are protective 🌹

Their rising falling into your 5th house ❤️- The rising person brings a lot of fun, adventure and play into the connection! The house person sees the rising person as connected to their inner child, bold, vibrant and a leader. Also a protector in a lot of ways, emotionally and physically. They could feel very safe with the rising person. The rising person naturally causes the house person to open up and have fun ✨

Moon in the 5th house 🌹- Nurturing, intuitive and beautiful connection. Peaceful and chill. Telepathy is common between the two and this placement doesn’t necessarily dull the fun, rather through fun and laughter the two feel their bond growing deeper. The moon person offers a creative safe space for the house person to explore and open up.

Venus in the 12th house 🌟- In a healthy friendship, both are connected to the spirit realm and connected to each other spiritually, and acknowledge that. They allow their intuition to grow together and foster a deep sense of belonging. Both feel like they truly accept one another for who they are and the healing of wounds related to love begins. More so platonically, both feel they can open up to receive care ❤️ Mother wounds heal a lot in this connection.

Cancer Venus in the 5th house ☮️- The cancer person shares a lot of emotional wisdom to the house person, and both have fun like no other. Truly this represents the intertwining of two souls on a platonic level. The venus person is so encompassing of emotion, and brings a sense of community and comfort to the house person. The house person makes space and room for the wisdom the venus person holds, and together the two share a unique bond.

Aries rising falling into your 2nd house 💨- The aries person is seen as vivacious, bold, intelligent, and self assured. Sometimes may struggle with self worth and esteem, but with the house person Aries can learn a thing or two about self esteem. Vice versa, I feel that both people learn about self worth and confidence in the connection and both bring out the best in one another. The house person gives a sense of grounding to Aries rising, and Aries rising brings the heat and passion to the house person ❤️

Thats all I have friends! Thank you so much for stopping by and sharing your love with me ❤️☮️ Please like comment and reblog for support! Your feedback is always appreciated.

Paid Readings 💗

#astrology community #devi post #astrology #tarotcommunity #divination #tarot deck #tarot #witchcraft #tarot reading

[five-rivers]

Funeral

“I’m sorry,” said Danny, speaking to the headstone in lieu of anything else to talk to.  He certainly wasn’t going to speak to the empty and expectant grave a few feet away.  “I wanted to wait.  I want to wait.  It’s just–”  He cut himself off, curling his hands into fists.  “There are so many things I haven’t seen, haven’t done.  Jazz got married, you know?  She’s pregnant.  If I was– I could have–”

He fell silent and adjusted the collar of his overcoat, trying to keep the frigid Ghost Zone wind away from his currently human neck.  

“Sam and Tucker are thinking about getting married, now that we’ve all graduated,” he said softly.  “I would have liked to see that, too.  And have a career.  Travel.  I know you wanted to do that, too.  But–”  

He broke off as his voice pitched weirdly, too high, too loud.  Sparks jumped off his fists as his emotions rose.  He flickered in and out of sight and tangibility, and his skin started to–

With an effort, he wrenched himself back together.  

“I’m sorry,” he said again.  “This is why I have to go.  I’m too unstable, and it isn’t like you.  I’m not just a danger to myself.”

(A premonition: Disturbed soil, a hand reaching out, a solid body… but there was nothing there now.  The ground was troubled only by slowly growing grass.)

He turned away from Dani’s grave and walked back to the mortuary shrine.  

The wind kicked up again.  There was ice in it.  

A motto was carved above the threshold of the shrine.  It read, LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR OWN DEAD.  Appropriate.  No one fully living would be here tonight.  Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had all wanted to be, just like they had all wanted to be there for Dani, but there were rules about this kind of thing, old rules, and–

Ice feathered out from under his feet.  And it wouldn’t be safe for them.  

The mortuary shrine was cozy on the inside, not at all like a morgue, or an embalmer’s studio.  There were some similarities, overlaps in function, but the shrine was not organized with decaying fleshy bodies in mind.  The central altar, for example, was high off the ground, for ease of access by the celebrants, but it was soft, bed-like, for the sake of the one who’d lie there.  The other altars were filled with other things, like candles, foods, oils and wines, salt, cloth, books, and strange implements Danny couldn’t name.  All things needed for a burial.  

There was other furniture, too, and the associated accouterments.  Elegant ghost lanterns and a fireplace, burning with cold fire.  Lovely chairs and small tables carved from bright wood.  Plush footstools.  Tapestries and curtains, softening the stone walls.  

Three ghosts waited for him there, the proper number for a rite like this.  Frostbite, his horns only inches from the ceiling.  Pandora, who had taken a smaller form for the occasion.  Clockwork, who looked much the same as he always did, except that he wasn’t changing forms, instead wearing a guise of solid middle age.  

(Danny still had to look up at all of them.  He'd managed to catch up to Jazz, but he'd never reached his father's height.)

“You are ready,” said Clockwork.  

It wasn’t really a question, didn't necessarily call for a response, but Danny understood.  This was his last chance to back out without any more consequences than the ones he was currently experiencing.  

But those consequences were bad enough.  He shuddered as intangibility and invisibility rippled through him again, and he just barely kept a grip on his more destructive powers.  

“Yes,” said Danny.  He looked around the shrine, nervous.  He hadn't been here when Dani did this. He didn't know what came next.  Not in any detail.  “Should I change?”

“No,” said Pandora.  “Not unless you feel the need to.  The ritual will be a guide, as it was for your younger sister.”

“Then we shall begin,” said Clockwork.  

Danny nodded.  

Frostbite came forward fist, and leaned all the way down to kiss Danny’s forehead.  “You are dead, Great One, and we will remember you.”

He stepped back, and Pandora took his place.  “You are dead, little warrior, and we will send you on with honor.”  She pressed a kiss to his forehead as well.  

Then, Clockwork came up.  He looked down at Danny for longer than the other two.  “You are dead, Daniel, and the time comes for all the dead to be laid to rest.”

When Clockwork’s lips brushed against Danny’s forehead, he felt the first strands of the ritual wrap around him like silk.  Still thin and tenuous enough that he could break free, but not without damage to both the weaving and himself.  

Frostbite, meanwhile, had turned to one of the lesser altars.  There was a small teapot chilling there, above a braiser of cold fire.  Frostbite poured its contents into a large mug, then added three scoops of shimmery white powder, each from a different small pot, before stirring three times.  

He held the mug out to Danny.  “For your nerves.”

“Is this drugged?” asked Danny, taking the mug.  He kept his tone light.  Considering the parts of this Danny knew were going to happen, that was really the least of his worries.  

“Drugged and poisoned,” said Frostbite.  “We did research into the best way to ritually account for your continued life.  This is it.”

If Danny was younger, he’d ask if it was going to kill him.  He knew better, now, about how durable half-ghosts were.  Memories of long-ago history lessons, of trivia, of drugged drinks and gentle, honored deaths on cold mountains ghosted through Danny’s mind.  But those were children.  

He raised the mug to his lips and took a drink.  It tasted of chocolate, cream, and a bewildering array of spices and herbs, from capsaicin to vanilla to rosemary.  There was also a bitter undertaste, and Danny would have pulled away instinctively, but as soon as he’d started the reflexive motion, Frostbite put a friendly but firm hand on the back of his head, and another on the bottom of the mug, keeping it tilted back.  

(A premonition: Other hands hovered nearby, ready to assist if Danny resisted.  He could feel them.  One over his nose, another stroking his throat, taking advantage of the remaining reflexes of his human body.  But they weren’t there.  Not yet.)

The rites, now started, would not be so easily refused.  

Danny drank deeply, finding a strange sort of enjoyment in the extended physical contact.  He’d been avoiding touch ever since a nasty scare with his ice powers and Sam’s skin.  There had been close calls before that, too, with his newer, more esoteric powers, but until then…

Frostbite tilted Danny’s head all the way back, ensuring the last few drops of the drink fell past Danny’s lips, then pulled the mug away.  Danny licked his teeth and lips, and swallowed one more time.  He didn’t feel anything yet.  

“What next?” he asked, wincing at the edge of power behind the question.  He should probably just.  Not talk.  Especially not with drugs in his system.  

“After a death, the first step is to clean and prepare the body,” said Pandora.  

Of course.  Danny nodded.  The mortuary shrine… wobbled.  

Frostbite swept Danny up into his arms - which would have been more embarrassing if Frostbite wasn’t huge - and carried him to one of the lesser altars.  It was smooth-surfaced and the neighboring, even smaller altars had bars, bottles, jars, basins of water, and washcloths, all arranged to stand at precise angles from one another.  He was laid down on the altar, and Frostbite and Clockwork started to undress him.  

At first, Danny tried to help, peeling out of his overcoat and sweater quickly.  But then, his movements seemed to… blur.  His mind was still sharp, as far as he could tell, but his limbs were becoming clumsy, slow.  

It was Clockwork who untied his boots, and Frostbite who unbuttoned Danny’s shirt.  By the time they got to his underthings, it felt like there was a barrier between him and his body.  Not anything solid, he could still move, still react, but something muffling, slowing.  Frostbite laid him down so that he was flat on his back on the lesser altar.  Clockwork started going through Danny’s hand with a wet, lightly perfumed, comb.  Frostbite, meanwhile, took out a set of dentists tools and eased Danny’s jaw open with one claw.  

Across the room, at the main altar, Pandora laid layer after layer of cloth.  Some of them were patterned, others plain.  Some were thick with embroidery, others were gossamer thin.  Some were edged with beads or woven with gold, others looked tattered, as if they’d been previously used for something else, the scrupulously cleaned.  

Clockwork, done with Danny’s hair for the moment, moved on to his feet.  It was hard to describe the intimacy of being cleaned like this by someone else.  By someone he knew.  He wasn’t a patient, Clockwork wasn’t a nurse.  He wasn’t an infant, and Clockwork wasn’t his parent.  But this was an act of care and love, offered without judgment.  It was also embarrassingly efficient and thorough.  When a body was cleaned, prepared for internment, it wasn't just the normal surfaces that were cleaned, but areas generally considered private.  

As Clockwork moved upwards, the powers that churned along the surface of Danny’s skin quieted.  They did not go silent - they never did, these days - but they were no longer so maddeningly active.  

Finished with Danny's mouth (which now felt much more clean than it ever did after the dentist's) Frostbite moved on to his nails, clipping and cleaning them, smoothing rough edges and cuticles.  Danny tried to be helpful with this, to at least hold his hands in the right way, but the effects of the drugs were progressing.  His movements were slowing, growing smaller.  

He should be panicking.  The loss of control, at least, should bother him, given the constant vigilance his rapidly growing powerset required.  But, as a human, his emotions were still principally dependent on physical systems and chemical reactions.  His heartbeat was slow, and growing slower.  

They turned him over to work on his back, and Danny half-dozed, eyes barely open, as they diligently scrubbed him clean.  

Then, he was on his back again, anointed with oils and perfumes, smokes and incense wafted over him.  Something wet drew a line from his lips to his groin.  

Danny's heart twitched to a stop. 

Blue-white rings flared from his core in an instant, painfully arresting the moment of death, then swept out to Danny's extremities.  He flinched, twisting on the table, onto his side, suddenly able to move again.  Everything was too bright, too loud, too close, too present.  He covered his face with his arms.

The panic he’d missed earlier was in full force now, shining bright and pure and crystalline in the way only ghostly emotions could.  He was in danger.  He was dangerous.  He could feel his powers coiling, ready to strike, whether it be his will or against it.  He fought them, and paid the price, bones and skin going soft, their fine, detailed structures destabilizing, running like wax, like the flesh of a caterpillar in a cocoon.  

A hand scooped through his sticky, melting flesh and pressed a cool, hard, surface to his lips.  He drank.  It was the same thing Frostbite had given him before, but without the bitterness.  With every gulp, the ritual spun onwards, strands thickening, multiplying.  By the time he was finished drinking, his skin was sticky and damp, but solid again underneath that.  

“No poison this time?” he asked.

“Just because you cannot taste it does not mean it isn’t there,” said Frostbite.  “Do you know what separates a medicine from a poison?”

“Dosage?” hazarded Danny.  Jazz was an MD.  He’d picked up a few things.

All three of the older ghosts chuckled.  Frostbite went as far as to ruffle his hair.

“He does learn,” said Clockwork, unzipping Danny’s jumpsuit (it had grown with him) and gently pushing aside Danny’s hands when he moved to help.  

Whatever was in the second drink, if there was anything at all, it didn’t act nearly as quickly as the first.  He could feel so much more, his sense of touch unblunted.  It made the process of Frostbite, Clockwork, and Pandora undressing him all that much more, especially when they chided him (ever so gently) for trying to help them, for doing anything but lying there like a corpse.  

(Deja vu: Rituals as old as humanity, reaching back, reaching forward.  The preparation of the dead, laying them to rest.  The duty of the family, to clean and prepare, to stand watch, sit vigil, to March the wake, to mourn, to celebrate.  The dead did not move to help.  They did not move at all.)

They washed the spaces between his toes and fingers, his teeth, the backs of his eyelids, the insides of his ears, every nook and cranny they had cleaned when he was in human form was cleaned again.  The stickiness from his earlier destabilization was wiped away, replaced with a dry, fresh feeling.  Invisibility and intangibility stopped wisping across his skin, too tightly bound by the ritual to be used even by accident.  

The perfumes they used now were different, they tickled at his brain and core both, summoning feelings of nostalgia, regret, longing, grief, quiet, peace.  They traced symbols in them, in languages Danny didn’t know but could feel the meanings of, of linear past and spreading future, of the pinpoint present, of decay and rot, of the loosening of muscles, of the blurring of boundaries, of reconstruction, of change, of stability, of things remade, of things caught in time forever.  

Frostbite picked him up and brought him to the main altar.  It was soft, piled high with cloth.  They felt cool and silky on Danny’s bare skin and there was a pillow under his head.  Absently, he ran his palm back and forth across the top cloth.  Or, no, not quite the top one.  The main one he was touching was large, large enough to hang off the altar and pool on the ground, but there was a smaller strip of embroidered cloth, almost like a long belt or ribbon, at the height of his biceps.  

There was, he noted, another such ribbon under his ankles, and another under his knees.  He wondered what they were for.  

He didn’t have to wonder for long.  Clockwork picked up the long ends of the ribbon and wound it around his ankles in a complicated fashion.  The twists and turns showed off the intricacy of the abstract embroidery.  He finished it off with a knot that disappeared under the rest of the ribbon.  

The strings of the ritual gathered faster, wound thicker, tighter, with a physical anchor.  

Clockwork moved on to the ribbon at Danny’s ankles.  The weaving was slightly different, but had the same effect. 

He expected the one under his arms to go the same way.  But instead Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork gathered flowers from another altar.  They were all black and white, so it took Danny a moment to recognize them.  Lilies, roses, marigolds, carnations, asphodel, nettle, nightshade, poppies, lycoris.  Flowers for death, for funerals, for mourning.  

Clockwork wrapped Danny’s hands around the bouquet, and pressed the ring finger of his left hand against a rose thorn.  A drop of blood welled up.  Blood, not ectoplasm.  Danny stared, surprised.  But he didn’t get to stare long.  Clockwork produced another ribbon, and wrapped it around the flowers and Danny’s wrists.  

Then, he picked up the other ribbon under Danny and tied it around his upper arms and elbows before tucking the ends into the ribbon around Danny’s wrists.  

It all felt very secure.  

Under normal circumstances, Danny would have been able to escape such flimsy restraints in a hummingbird’s heartbeat.  But it wasn’t just the ribbons that held him.  He could still escape, yes, but it would take a great deal of effort.  

He twitched his shoulder, just to check that he could.  The motion was slow, heavy, and smaller than he expected.  

Pandora put a stilling hand on his shoulder and held a coin up in front of his face.  It was large and silver, inscribed with symbols from languages both long dead and never alive.  Danny wondered if they had made it just for this occasion.  

“A last chance,” said Pandora.

His last chance to back out, is what she meant.  To say something.  He could do it.  He could stop the ritual and suffer the consequences.  He could be a danger to everyone around him for the rest of his existence, however long or short that was.  

He gave Pandora the tiniest shake of his head.  She smiled and pressed the coin against his lips.  He opened his mouth, just enough to take the coin.  It fit comfortably on his tongue, in between his teeth but not jostling against them.  If it wasn’t custom made and sized, it might as well have been.  It tasted metallic and sweet, as if, given enough time, it would dissolve on his tongue. 

Pandora took out one more embroidered ribbon and wrapped it around his jaw and the top of his head, holding his mouth closed.  There was enough tension in the ribbon to press, but not enough for its edges to dig into tender flesh.  Taken together, the coin and ribbon made an effective gag.  

His wail was now bound just as effectively as his intangibility and invisibility, as effectively as his tongue and voice.  For the first time since the incompatibility between his powers and his body became clear, the stress of keeping his wail under control was lifted away.

(A possibility, unraveled: Danny standing at the center of a crater made with his own voice.  No, kneeling.  No, weeping, curled on the ground, head touching dirt and fractured concrete.  He knew those buildings, teetering on the edges of new cliffs.  He knew them.)

This was the right decision.  

The three older ghosts busied themselves at the other, smaller altars briefly, allowing Danny to collect himself and sink deeper into that sense of relaxation.  The wail wasn’t the only thing that had been taken off his shoulder.  All his other voice-based powers were similarly locked away, and he hadn’t even noticed losing his shapeshifting, but he couldn’t touch that, either.  

When Pandora stepped back into his field of view, she was holding a mask.  A death mask, more specifically, styled after Danny’s own face.  Frostbite, next to her, held a small, square cloth, like a handkerchief and a small bottle.  

Clockwork reached out and touched Danny’s face, briefly tracing each of his features.  His lips, his nose, his eyebrows.  He slid his fingers down, pressing Danny’s eyelids closed.  The motion was gentle, but held a strange sort of finality.  

Danny found that he could not open his eyes.  

Fabric, soft and smooth, whisper thin, covered his face and was adjusted, straightened.  Something fragrant dampened it from above, near his nose.  More perfume.  He inhaled.  Exhaled.  Stopped.  

Stopped.  

Stopped.

Before he could have any more thoughts about not being able to breathe, the death mask was pressed into place.  The weight of it pressed the thin shroud over his face snugly into his skin.  It made his other limitations - his eyes, his breath, his general immobility - more acceptable, somehow. 

Other talismans were placed on his skin or tucked into the ribbons.  Some, he could identify by touch.  The ticklish barbs of a feather.  The cold roundness of another, smaller coin.  The familiarity of his childhood stuffed bear.  Others, his powers identified for him.  The sparkling wonder of a lunar meteorite.  The shiver of a carved piece of ghost ice.  The thrumming power and glory of a vial of ectoplasm shed by a god Danny had fought and defeated.  He hadn’t known they’d kept that.  

But other things were too strange to identify by touch alone.  He could make guesses.  Maybe that was a flower petal, maybe this other thing was a coil of string, and while he was sure that last was paper, he couldn’t say what was on it.  

With every token placed, another one of his powers was called up and locked away, like bound by like.  His awareness of the stars winking out as the meteorite was placed was sad.  The powers he’d ‘earned’ from that god being placed firmly out of his reach, however, was only a relief.

He was verging on helplessness, now.  Helpless, but unburdened.  

Clockwork started to speak.  None of the words were recognizable, but Danny knew the feeling of a prayer.  This one was old.  Old old.  Old even by the standards of ancient ghosts.  They hummed briefly in his bones before settling in them like lead weights.  Or golden ones.  

The edges of the sheet he was lying on were lifted up and folded over him, then tucked under him.  Wound around him.  It was a winding sheet.  Of course.  Of course.  The next cloth, too, was pulled up and over him, the motion a little more brisk now that the tokens were held in place by the first sheet.  Then, the next.  Cerecloth and cerements.  

Danny twitched a little, at first, at certain unexpected touches, but when the third wrapping added  its comforting, soothing pressure he was reduced (or, perhaps, elevated) to a state of perfect limpness.  

They added more tokens between the third layer and the fourth, but Danny couldn’t even begin to guess what they were.  They were too muffled by layers of silk - those layers being both the literal layers of cloth and the figurative layers of the ritual.  

Clockwork’s prayers were getting harder to hear, but Danny felt like he could recognize some of them, now.  Snippets of Akkadian, Egyptian, Greek, Latin, a word or two off the Oracle Bones.  Prayers for the dead, for their revenge and their remembrance, for their reverence and their reward, for their repose and their return.  

He was wrapped again and again, until the pressure, the gentle rocking motion necessary to wrap him, and the nearly unintelligible rhythm of Clockwork’s prayers threatened to lull him to sleep.  

He could hear snatches of Esperanto, now, and English.  

“... rest, and rest in peace… until waking… to hope… blessing in memory…”

Some parts of it felt familiar.  Others were strange, so strange, but he was bound so securely, now, that he almost felt as if he was floating.  

“... iron and wood, we entrust this most precious… an embrace… the hallowed graves… deliver and defend…”

No, he was floating, sort of.  He’d been lifted up, sheets and all, and now he was being moved sideways.  Sideways, and now down, down, into a snug cavity.  Was he bordered by flowers?  Pillows?  Both?  He couldn’t tell.  

“... into silk… like dust by sunlight into gold… changed… after a long day, to sleep…”

A faint weight draped over him, a final sheet covering him.  He felt, with a strange sense that lay deeper than instinct, further down and closer to his heart and soul, that Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork had drawn closer, that they were kneeling beside his casket or coffin, heads bowed.  

“Now we lay thee down to sleep,” whispered Clockwork, words startlingly clear despite his voice being harder to hear than ever, “we pray thy grave thy soul to keep, until thou choose the form thou take, and the hour thou shall wake.”

“And should thou never wake,” whispered - someone.  It was getting harder to tell the muffled voices apart.  “We shall mourn for thy sake.”

Very slowly, the force pushing in and down on Danny increased, deliciously.  It was almost enough.  

(Danny didn’t know where that thought had come from.)

A loud thump shuddered through Danny.  Another.  They were nailing him in.  Another restraint.  Another limitation.  Another step towards the cumulation of the ritual.  Almost.  Almost.  

Thirteen nails sealed Danny into the coffin.  

(He had been snug before.  Now, he wasn’t sure he could have moved even if the ritual hadn’t removed the ability from him.)

(All his powers were bound.  There was no more sense of responsibility keeping him awake.  His body was cocooned in every way possible.  There was no more fear about destabilizing and melting.  None of his choices would change what would happen to him next.  Only a curiosity about what it would feel like to be buried kept him from succumbing to his soul-deep exhaustion then and there.)

Vaguely, ever-so-vaguely, Danny could feel his coffin lifted, moved.  He knew where he was going.  Out of the mortuary shrine, across the lawn, down the rows and rows of graves, and to one grave in particular.  He’d wanted to be buried next to family, and Dani was his only family available.  

They stopped.  He was lowered.  Down.  Down.  Stopped again.  

A chill stole over Danny, like the cool side of a pillow, but all over his body, as if it meant to draw out the last of the warmth of life from his ectoplasm.  Restful.  

The dirt came down in sifted shovelfuls, like rain on a roof, like distant thunder.  And– he did have more powers, either so subtle he didn’t notice them as such or as of yet undiscovered.  These were buried as thoroughly as the others.  

Up and up the dirt piled, until he could barely feel it as it came down.  Until all that was left was the weighty, solid thump of a headstone coming down.  

Then there was nothing.  Nothing but silence, stillness, silk… and sleep.

.

Danny woke with the comfortable confusion of someone who had gotten their blanket wrapped around them unevenly while they slept.  Slow, unhurried, well-rested, but just slightly less cozy than expected.  

He shifted, mumbling and rolling over.  No, that wasn’t any good.  He made a face.  There was something on his face.  He reached up to wipe it off, and the sheets wrapped around him tore like cobwebs.  

That roused him further.  This… he did not think this was his bed.  It was his, but not his bed.

He wiped something thin and crackly off his face and inhaled deeply.  Dust.  Salt.  Dust, salt, and something like decay, but sharper, fresher, cleaner.  

He breathed, remembering.  His mouth tasted like silver and sugar.  His hands quested outward, seeking, seeking, until he found the edges of the space he was in.  

This was his grave.  His coffin.  

It was bigger than he’d imagined.

His eyes opened to a darkness relieved only by his own faint glow.  The many sheets he had been wrapped in had been reduced to fragile scraps, except a very few that remained stubbornly wrapped around his shoulders.  His mask was a thin shell.  The flowers were desiccated, colorless strands and flakes.  The pillows were flat and torn, showing the wooden sides of the coffin in places.  The only token he could see and identify was the plush and pristine form of Neil Bearstrong.  He gathered the toy close, pressing him against his chest.  

He’d made it.  He was awake, aware, and apparently stable, when before he’d been bracing himself for death.  He breathed out, breathed in.  His breath caught in his throat, and he giggled.  

Did that mean Dani had made it, too?

He rolled onto his back and put a hand against the lid of the coffin.  It looked strange there.  Disproportionate.  But of course it did.  His body had just finished reformatting itself into a stable form.  Frostbite had told him that he’d probably look different, maybe even radically different.  Clockwork had even confirmed that medical opinion, from a temporal perspective.

Positives: his hand was a recognizably human hand.  He was awake.  

He didn’t dare turn human - if he even could - until he had Frostbite and the others look him over.  He wouldn’t be able to phase through the Ghost Zone’s soil.  Teleportation was inadvisable while he was this disoriented.  So were portals.  And most powers, really. 

He’d have to dig his way out.  

Bracing himself, making sure his limbs were free of restraint, he drew back his fist to punch the lid.  The dirt would come in fast, and he wasn’t sure how deep he was.  Six feet was traditional, of course, but it was also traditional for the dead to stay that way.  So.  

The lid flew upward under the force of his strike, all the dirt overhead bending away.  He grabbed the edges of the hole and pulled down, widening it enough for him to claw his way out without warping his body.  He… wasn’t quite ready for that, after the whole melting thing.  

He burrowed upward, feeling like something between a worm and a badger, batting away dirt, crawling, squirming, reaching upward.  Despite his best efforts, some of the winding sheets came with him, clinging, slowing his passage.  Still, his hand hit free air.  Grass tickled at his fingers.  He set his palm down on the ground, and pulled.  

The dirt did not want to let him go.  It pulled back, its embrace offering an eternal peace, but Danny was firm, eager to go, to see, to live.  He pushed himself up, and out, then lay, panting, on the ground.  

That had been… more tiring than expected, actually.  

Someone propped him up, large hands bringing him into a sitting position.  “Daniel,” said Clockwork.  A loose and oddly cut robe was wrapped around him.  

“Mm,” said Danny, his voice cracking.  

A cup was raised to his lips.  He drank greedily, the sweet, floral liquid soothing his dry throat.  

“Shall we get you cleaned up?” asked Pandora, another hand, laid on the center of his back.  

“Can you walk?” asked Frostbite.  “Or fly?”

“Yes,” said Danny, hoarsely.  He reached up to put his hand on Clockwork’s shoulder.  It took some to get it there.  It was further away than he’d thought.  

He was smaller than he had been.  Not entirely unexpected.  Returning to one’s appearance at death was, apparently, one of the more common ways for this to go.  But had he really been this small at fourteen?

They did not go to the mortuary shrine, but made their uncertain way to the other shrine in the graveyard: the revival shrine.  The structure was much the same inside and outside, but it had only one altar.  The rest of the space was reserved for a bath, bed, and mirrors.  

Pandora guided him to a chair in front of one of the mirrors.  Danny stared.  He wasn’t much to look at right now, but what he could see of his body… 

It hadn’t been a winding sheet dragging at him as he’d crawled through the dirt.  It had been wings.  He shrugged the loose robe off his shoulders to see them better.  They were patterned with white and black, star and moon shapes on a dark background. He had antennae.  Long, soft, feathery looking things curving up and back from his temples.  

Clockwork brought a damp cloth to his face and, slowly, began to clean away the dirt.  

“Surprised?” asked Clockwork.  

“Are you?” 

Clockwork chuckled.  

“Did Dani– Is Dani–?”

“She woke seventeen years ago,” said Clockwork.  “She is quite smug about technically being older than you in terms of lived experience.”

“She would be,” said Danny.  

He pulled away from Clockwork’s ministrations to get another look at the mirror.  He had about the same proportions he did when he was a teenager, and his hair was as white as it ever was in ghost form, but it sparkled, as if someone had dusted it with silver glitter.  His antennae matched the color pretty well, too.  Star-shaped freckles littered his cheeks, and when he tilted his head this way and that…  There was an effect like a hologram, depending on the light, of a dark or glimmering domino mask around his eyes.  

And, beneath that, his basic features, the structures of his bones…  They looked about the same as they had when he was young.  Except… softer, somehow.  More neutral.  The change, as subtle as it was, gave him a genderless mien.

(The idea of that trend continuing elsewhere on his body didn’t bother him nearly as much as he would have expected before this.)

He wondered what he would look like in human form.  But… later.  Later.  

For now, Pandora was running a tiny brush though the delicate hairs of his antennae, removing irritating bits of soil and grass.  

“In fact,” said Pandora, “I would wager that she will be smug about physically appearing older than you.”

“She looks older than me, too?” asked Danny.  “That’s hardly fair.”

“That is the way of things, I’m afraid.  She hadn’t truly died until she was buried.”  

“But she’s okay?”

“She’s doing very well, last I saw her,” said Frostbite.

“And Jazz?  Sam and Tucker?”

“All fine,” said Clockwork.  “They visit you frequently.”

Pandora did something complicated with telekinesis that pulled most of the dirt from Danny’s skin and left him feeling distinctly fluffed.  The fuzz along the bases and upper edges of his wings stood on end.  He shook himself all over, then plucked the washcloth from Clockwork’s hands so he could clean behind his ears and in-between his toes.  

“Clothes?” asked Clockwork.  

“Cut for wings?” challenged Danny.  

“Of course.”

#danny phantom #dannymay #dannymay 2024 #dannymay 2024 day 21: funeral

[ikeuluvr]

asking you to the school dance || enha hyung line

synopsis - how enhypen’s hyung line would ask you to the school dance

enhypen x reader / best friends to lovers / warnings - none! :) / wc ~200 per member

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　

heeseung is a very straightforward type of man. he’s not shy to share his feelings and wants with you because he knows how important communication is in your friendship. however, for the first time in his fourteen years of friendship with you, he’s struggling to tell you how he feels. “I’m in love with you,” he wants to scream until his lungs give out every time he sees you, but how do you naturally spring that onto a person? tired of not being able to call you his love, heeseung devises a plan to ask you to be his date to the school dance, and, in life. knowing that extravagance isn’t your cup of tea, he carries out his plan on your weekly gaming night so you won’t grow suspicious. he opens minecraft on his tv and tells you to look at the house he had built, only for there to be no house, but the words “can i be your date to the dance?” with a geeky smile he has you look farther to the right of the proposal where another one lay, “...and your boyfriend?”

big and extravagant public attention grabbers aren’t necessarily jay’s thing. he loves to make things intimate and special in his way without eyes always on him. when the winter formal was announced, jay knew he had to ask you to be his date before anyone else could. he invited you to his place for a cozy home-cooked meal made by jay himself. jay is usually a nonchalant type of guy, but he was nearly sweating through his shirt because of how nervous he was. with a little help from his mom, he got you to leave the kitchen while he plated both of your meals, carefully curating the word “FORMAL?” across the rim of your plate with sauce. jay placed the newly decorated plate in front of you after your return from a chat with his mom, a shaky gleam in his eyes waiting for your response. “jay, i’d love to be your date,” you smile at him, pulling him into a hug and leaving a kiss on his cheek that turns him redder than the tomatoes on your plate.

what really sparked your friendship with jake was your mutual love for music. as the two of you grew closer, you would send each other new music to listen to every day. whether it be a new artist, a song, an album, a playlist, or a performance, the two of you always find something that the other would enjoy. you could send a simple “i’m bored” text to jake and he’d have four performance videos, two albums, and three new artists for you to indulge in to cure your boredom. it was nothing out of the ordinary for you and jake to create playlists for each other either, so when he sends a new one titled “hey y/n…” it doesn’t even faze you until it's opened. “I was… Enchanted… To Meet You…” the songs read in order, “So… Let’s Be… The Life of the Party… at Prom?... Be My Date!” you cheesed ear to ear when you realized what jake had just asked you. “P.S. I Like You,” was the last song on the playlist, leaving a whole zoo in your stomach in excitement to tell jake you’ve always felt the same way.

sunghoon is the corniest dude you have ever met in your life. there’s never a day where he’s not spitting bad jokes your way or making the most sarcastic comments that make your eyes roll. he definitely thinks he’s the funniest person in the world. while deciphering through all of his options of how he wants to ask you to be his date to the school dance, he came to the consensus of something cute and simple: a sign. sunghoon loves those cheesy proposal signs that he sees on tiktok and pinterest that use witty play on words. he wanted to make his sign special and make it exclusive towards your friendship. the first time the two of you spent time alone together was after your friends ditched the two of you on a movie night, leaving you and sunghoon to go see the movie Minions. that night also happened to be the night that sunghoon realized he had feelings for you. sunghoon chose to make that night his inspiration for his sign, painting the phrase “y/n, you are one in a minion. be my date?” onto his posterboard. your heart melted at the sight of your best friend standing outside your front door, sign in hand… dressed as a minion. naturally, sunghoon had to go all out. overalls, yellow face paint, goggles, and all. to him, it was worth it to see you smile and laugh the way you did.

#enhypen #enhypen au #enhypen imagines #enhypen heeseung #enhypen jay #enhypen jake #enhypen sunghoon #heeseung imagines #jay imagines #jake imagines #sunghoon imagines #enhypen hyung line #enhypen x reader #heeseung x reader #jay x reader #jake x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen fluff #ikeuluvrcreations

[yersina]

thinking abt steve n eddie and steve just. being a gentleman? all the bells and whistles, checks all the boxes—holds the door open, flowers, etc—and like sure, some of that comes from his upbringing and his family and The Harrington Status and whatever, but it’s also super clear that steve’s just. like that. like he’s so. so painfully happy to sweep nancy off her feet at the beginning of their relationship.

and like, the thing is. nancy doesn’t like that. i mean sure, she can be as charmed by it as the next girl, but i don’t think she necessarily wants it. she wants more than to just be treated like a girl, she’s been chased by guys all her life, and i think where steve feels like he’s treating her special, nancy feels like she’s being put into a box that she’s not meant to be in. they just… don’t match up in that way.

but eddie. eddie, who’s been shunned all his life in different ways for different reasons. i think eddie wants that special treatment. eddie deserves to be treated with gentleness and love, god fucking damn it. and i don’t think he ever expected to get it—esp if this is the 80’s.

so i imagine that at the beginning of their relationship, when they’re still kinda feeling things out and figuring out what their dynamic is, steve tries really really hard to just. like. treat eddie like one of the guys?? to make it obvious that eddie isn’t just some girl to him? that he knows that eddie’s different, and not just bc he’s a guy, and steve’s not just abt to pretend to ignore that. but steve’s relationship skills start and end with high school girls, so sooner or later i imagine that his romantic gestures have to turn to candle-lit dinners and chocolate and roses at some point.

and he’s kinda expecting eddie to poke fun at it or make fun of ‘king steve’ for thinking that he could… could woo eddie with a fucking bouquet of tiger lilies (that he bought bc he passed a florist and the flowers reminded him of eddie, alright?) all bc some wannabe prom queen would’ve eaten that shit up w a spoon. and eddie wouldn’t, probably. it’s exactly smth eddie would’ve made fun of him for when they were both in school. which is to say: steve almost aborts the whole thing and tosses the flowers in the trash and—he has a lot of second thoughts, okay? but then eddie is already coming out of the wheeler’s house, dnd materials packed away in the bag over his shoulder, and he’s already spotted the flowers and well, it’s too late now.

which actually works out, bc eddie seems to… like the flowers? he doesn’t exactly swoon like a victorian maiden, but he does blush a bit and smile and knock his shoulder into steve’s before he claims shotgun, much to dustin’s dismay. and when steve’s over at eddie’s place a few days later, they’re in a glass of water (literal drinking glass, maybe a mug, bc eddie munson sure as hell doesn’t own any vases) and, yknow, kinda wilted but still hanging in there, adding a pop of color to the place from the center of eddie’s dining table.

and steve doesn’t exactly have a lightbulb moment at that point, it’s not quite enough to spark the realization, but it does open the floodgates for more ‘traditionally’ romantic gestures. at one point steve opens a car door for him and eddie’s so confused but by god he loves it.

y’all. i just want eddie to be cradled w care and affection like he deserves.

#sina rambles #stranger things #steddie #i am having so much stranger things brain rot rn #i have no idea what timeline or universe this takes place in #steve standing outside eddie’s window w a boombox.. eddie insulting steve’s music taste…. they’re in love </3

[the-west-meadow]

People Are Watching (Normal People pt 2)

Lukas Matsson x (fem)Reader, Roman Roy x (fem)Reader

word count: 3.4k (part 1 here)

NFSW: 18+ ONLY

It had been a long time since you’d gotten this dressed up. 

After a year of dating Roman, you had discovered that looks weren’t necessarily a priority. He liked having you on his arm, showing you off, but there was never any need to try too hard. Things were stable with Roman. He just didn’t want you to go anywhere. As long as you were within arm’s reach, he was content. 

So you didn’t put in much effort anymore. Not to say that you had let yourself go; but there were few occasions that called for getting dressed up these days.

That is, aside from the most important night in a long time: election eve. 

You glimpsed Roman coming into the room, collar upturned, adjusting his tie. He slowed when he saw you, eyes tracing your body.

“Almost ready,” you said.

He lingered behind you, examining your reflection in the mirror. There was a look of mingled confusion, sadness, and desire in his eyes.

“Huh,” he said.

“Too much?”

“No, no. I’m sure he’ll love it.”

You caught his eye in the mirror.

“Who?” you asked.

A crooked grin crossed Roman’s face.

“Come on. I know this isn’t for me.”

You felt a prickle of guilt. “Roman…”

“Do we need to do that thing where we say what we’re really thinking?”

“If you want. I know how you like to keep things annoyingly vague.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed, tie loose around his neck. 

“I mean, you guys really hit it off, yeah?” he said. “You and Lukas.”

“I guess. I’ve only met him twice.”

“Okay, well I’m telling you from an outside perspective that you guys had a spark. There was something.”

“You and me have something, too.”

“But it’s like the opposite of what we have.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s… you know. Sex…ual.”

You felt your cheeks beginning to flush.

“He’s just a flirt,” you said. “He’s probably like that with everyone.”

“No, Y/N. Not everyone.” 

His eyes shimmered sadly as he smiled.

“But he’s like that with you. And that’s a fact.”

“So what are you saying? What do you want me to do?”

“Look. I get that you have… needs. Needs that I can’t necessarily fulfill.”

He seemed to grow smaller as he spoke. You quickly stepped over to him, taking a seat beside him on the bed.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” you said firmly. “I’m with you because I really fucking like you, Roman. You're my favorite Roy.”

“No, I know.” His hand went compulsively to the back of his head, smoothing down his hair. “It’s just… I don’t want to keep you from something that might be good for you.”

“You think fucking Lukas is good for me?”

“Well… and hear me out— maybe it’s good for me, too.”

“This is sounding fucked up. But go on.”

“Like, it sort of takes the pressure off. If some other guy is giving you what you need... physically— barf— then we can just keep doing what we’re doing. And you’ll never leave me and everything will be fine. Right? Is that how relationships work?”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Not usually.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

“But this one can.”

You ruffled his hair as he grinned back at you. 

“Just don’t look so fucking sad,” you said. “You kill me with your sad eyes.”

“That’s the only reason you’re with me. Because of my sad eyes.”

“I know.”

“Lukas doesn’t have sad eyes,” Roman prodded. 

“We both know Lukas is kind of a dumbass. A dumbass who happens to also be a genius.”

“But he’s hot.”

“Shut up and let me get dressed.”

Lukas grew jumpy when he was in New York. The city didn’t make sense to him. What was the appeal? For the most part it just felt chaotic, and not in the best ways. What others loved about it he found uninteresting. There were better places to spend time.

But there was one thing in the city that he wanted. Something he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about since the summer. It was November now, cold by American standards. He had been in Sweden for most of that time, on his home turf, recharging, tuning everything out so he could hear his own thoughts. But as it turned out, his thoughts centered on one thing: you.

The day on Lake Como when Roman had brought you to him seemed like a whirlwind. You hadn’t been alone together for more than an hour, but he couldn’t get it out of his head. The exact slant of the light. Your bare feet on his floor. The way your eyes lingered on him. He played it back in his mind over and over, late at night when he couldn’t sleep. Almost as if he didn’t need the real thing anymore. And that was the danger with Lukas: the tendency to get lost in his own fantasies, content to exist in his own mind. 

But when he woke up from the fantasy he realized he wanted more. To see you again. To hear your voice. To spend hours with you in bed. Any bed. 

He thought you would come to Norway with Roman and the others. In fact, he had planned on it. But when you failed to show up, he grew unreasonably depressed. Roman didn’t say a word about what had happened, but occasionally a knowing smile would pass his lips, and Lukas would wonder how much he knew. Or how much he even cared. 

So rather than waste a trip to New York, he decided to confirm things for himself. 

“You know there’s such a thing as time zones, right?” came Siobhan’s voice through the phone. 

“Yeah, sorry. I don’t really pay attention. It’s just whatever’s convenient for me.”

“That’s like the story of your life.”

“Listen, who’s coming to the pre-election circle jerk?”

“Lots of people.”

“The sibs?”

“They’ll all be there. Especially Connor.”

“Any plus ones…?”

A long pause. He could hear Shiv smiling and he hated it.

“Who are you really asking about, Lukas?”

“Look, I had a conversation with Y/N a while back that we never really got to finish.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“That’s a pretty vague descriptor. Without seeing your face I don’t know what to make of that.”

“She’s been with my brother for a year.”

“We’re friends.”

“Oh, you’re friends? I wasn’t aware that you’d ever met.”

“Can you just tell me if she’ll be there or not?”

“Well, she RSVP’d. But you’re playing a really fucked up game, Lukas.”

“I didn’t realize you cared so much about your brothers’ feelings. Everything so far points to the contrary.”

“Fuck off. I’m going back to sleep. But you’re coming, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll respond to the invite if it so pleases you.”

“Good. Goodnight.”

“It’s morning.”

Shiv hung up. Lukas put down the phone and gazed out at the city of Stockholm outside his window. Now he had to brace himself for New York. 

He didn’t know what made him choose that shimmery gold bomber jacket, but it had exactly the right effect when he walked into the room. All eyes on Lukas. If you were there, you wouldn’t be able to miss him. Yet the first person to greet him wasn’t who he expected.

“What is this, foreign election interference?” said Roman, sidling up to him at the bar. 

“I thought you guys took care of that yourselves,” Lukas said, sipping his beer. 

“Good to see you, man. How’ve you been?”

“Better, I guess. You caught me at a weird time last summer.”

“Yeah, you seem chipper. Is that a hint of manic-depression I detect?”

Lukas just raised an eyebrow as Roman grinned.

“Trust me, I know all about it. But really, what’s got you in such a good mood?”

Lukas shrugged. “It’s good to be back.”

“Bullshit. You hate New York.”

“It’s the people who make it worthwhile.”

Roman gave a sly smile. Then he perked up and waved at someone over Lukas’s shoulder.

“Here we go.”

Lukas turned in time to see you brush past him, pausing at Roman’s side. As he caught your eye, the last time you had met came back in a rush. He could almost smell the breeze coming off of Lake Como. 

“Hi,” you said. 

“Hi.” Despite Roman’s presence, Lukas couldn’t take his eyes off of you. With that same sly grin, Roman slipped an arm around your waist.

“We were talking about you earlier,” Roman said.

“Really?” Lukas said.

“Uh-huh. Y/N was nervous about seeing you again.”

Lukas glanced your way, noting how your cheeks flushed immediately. 

“Fuck, Roman,” you said. 

“What? Who wouldn’t be? I mean, look how conventionally attractive he is. Even Shiv said so.”

You slipped out of Roman’s grasp, grabbing a glass of wine from the bar.

“See you around,” you murmured, edging through the crowd and out of sight.  

“Damn, dude,” Lukas said, watching you go. 

“It’s okay. It’s kind of our thing. She won’t say what she’s really thinking in public, so I do it for her.”

He glanced at his watch, then slung back the rest of his vodka tonic.

“I have some presidential ass to kiss. Have a good time, yeah?”

Lukas thought he saw a wink. Then Roman, too, was gone. He could immediately feel the eyes of others on him, ready to swoop in and network him to death. He grabbed another beer and stalked out of the room, conspicuously taller than everyone. 

He found himself in a sitting room with a low sectional sofa, different groups engaged in conversation. He spotted you on one end of the sofa, alone, sipping your wine and staring into space. No one had yet approached you. 

He casually slid into the seat next to you.

“Everything okay?” he said, setting down his beer.

“Yeah. Sorry about Roman.”

“Do you apologize for him a lot?”

“Not to everyone.”

Lukas stretched his arm out along the sofa behind you, angling his knee dangerously close to yours.

“So listen,” he said. “I want to say some things. But try not to react. Even my facial expressions have an effect on the market, okay?”

“I get it.”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the summer.”

“Is that right?”

“If it were up to me, I’d take you out of here right now. Back to my hotel room. I’ve got a really nice place downtown. I’d keep you there for a day or two then maybe we’d go back to Sweden and I could show you around.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“See all the eyes in this room? They’re watching me. My every move is public. And especially who I’m talking to. Not that I give a shit. But it’s you I’m worried about.”

“Why are you worried about me?”

“It’s public knowledge that you’re with Roman. If you’re seen leaving with me…”

You let out a sigh, sinking back into the sofa. Lukas’s fingers brushed your shoulder. He spoke in a low, breathy voice.

“I know it’s fucked. We should be able to do whatever the fuck we want, right?”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, either.” 

“Is it true what Roman said? You were nervous?” 

Your cheeks began to flush again and Lukas smiled.

“It’s okay. It’s kind of adorable, actually.”

His eyes glimmered as he looked at you.

“Careful,” you said. “People are watching, remember?”

“I’m keeping an eye on them,” he murmured. “I know how to take advantage of the brief moments when they look away.”

His hand slid down along the side of your thigh, brushing the skin at the hem of your dress.

“How do we do this?” you whispered. 

“I’ll leave first. You come after me.”

Just as his hand began to slide further up your thigh, Greg collapsed beside Lukas on the sofa. Lukas’s hand gracefully slid away, reaching for his beer.

"Lukas, dude,” Greg said. “I’ve been practicing my Swedish in anticipation of your arrival.”

“Cool, man. Why don’t you practice on her?”

With that he stood, feeling your eyes on his back. He turned to see you gazing at him as Greg talked incessantly into your ear. He winked at you, then disappeared into the other room.

You didn’t even tell Roman you were leaving. Five minutes after Lukas departed, you escaped from Greg and went into the bathroom. You stared at the text from Lukas— the address of his hotel. In another five you were out the door, hailing a taxi. 

You padded slowly down the empty hotel corridor, eyeing the room numbers as you went. Your heart was pounding already. Finally you came to the end of the hall, the presidential suite. You entered with the key that had been left for you at reception. 

All was dark. At first, you wondered if you had arrived before him. 

“Lukas?” you said softly. You rounded the corner into the master bedroom, city lights illuminating the bed. And there he was, propped on elbows, scrolling through his phone, waiting for you. His eyes flickered up in the glow from his screen. Then went dark. Just a silhouette on the bed as your eyes adjusted to the dim city light.

“Come here,” came his low voice. 

He sat up on the edge of the bed as you approached. You stood between his knees as he hooked a finger around yours and drew you closer. 

“That didn’t take you long at all,” he said.

“I’ve been waiting for this for months.”

He slid his hands up your thighs, picking up where he had left off at the party. A soft breath escaped you as you felt his warm palms beneath your dress.

“Does Roman know?”

“I don’t know what he knows.”

“We’re going to take our time this time around. Yeah?”

You could only let out a shaky breath as he hooked his fingers around your underwear and slid them down. Then his head disappeared beneath your dress. Your head went back, eyes closed, as you felt his tongue against you, warm and slow and eager.

It was as if no time at all had passed. He seemed to know your body innately, his big hands gripping your thighs, his soft groans vibrating through you.

“Fuck, Lukas…”

His head emerged and he stood, suddenly towering over you. 

“Turn around,” he breathed as he began to tug off his shirt. But you couldn’t do as he said, not with his body naked before you. You ran your hands up his abdomen, his chest, through the sparse blonde hair. He grinned breathlessly as he watched you, amused. Then he began to unbuckle his pants.

“Go on. I have something for you.”

He gently turned you around and you heard his pants fall to the ground. Then his hands were beneath your dress again, caressing you, up your thighs to your lower back. Smoothly running over your skin. Then you felt one hand withdraw as he pressed the tip of his cock against you. You gasped lightly and felt him guide you down, leaning over the bed, his throat pressed against your shoulder.

“Remember this?”

“Fuck, yes,” you said.

He teasingly ran his tip between your legs.

“You can’t wait much longer, hm?”

“Just fucking give it to me, Lukas.”

With that, he slipped partially inside of you, drawing a gasp. You could feel him grinning into your ear. 

“Like that?”

“Oh, god,” you whimpered. 

“I’ll give it to you. You’ve waited so long.”

He slowly pushed his entire length inside of you. You let out a loud moan.

"That's good. Let me hear you."

He took his time as he thrust slowly in and out of you, beneath the hem of your dress, his hands firm on your hips. 

“There you go,” he breathed. He skillfully slipped your dress over your head and dropped it to the floor, running his hands along your back. He planted kisses on your shoulders as he rhythmically pulsed in, out. 

“I fucking missed you,” he whispered.

"I missed you," you groaned.

He turned you around to face him. His face was flushed even in the darkness. Something glimmered in his eyes. He looked more serious than you had ever seen him. He kissed you, deeply, then slowly lowered you onto the bed and climbed on top of you. He hovered there, inches above your face, looking deep into your eyes.

“I could be good for you,” he said. “You could be good for me.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Really? Then how's it possible that I can make you feel this good?”

You laughed breathlessly, then sucked in your breath as he slid his fingers between your legs, moving in slow circles. You squirmed beneath him, feeling his eyes on you, watching your every movement. 

“You deserve someone to make you feel good,” he murmured. 

You pushed into his touch, head rolling back. Then you grabbed the back of his head, burying your hand in his hair.

“Fuck me,” you whispered.

Wasting no time, Lukas’s hand slipped away. He grasped his cock and pushed into you again, hungry this time, powerful and urgent. You bucked against him, crying out in the dark hotel room, no one to hear you but him. He groaned into your ear, suddenly without words. His fingers dug into your skin as he fucked, hard, taking back every second of lost time. Finally with a strangled cry you felt him shudder inside of you, muscles tensing all at once, then releasing. He shook slightly as he lowered himself down, pulling you to him. He cradled your head against his damp chest.

“I need you here,” he said, brushing back your hair. “Right here.”

You lightly kissed his neck, his chest. He angled your face up and planted a tender kiss on your lips. 

“But it’s not up to me, is it?” he said with a small grin. 

“I’m here now,” you said, curling against him. “That’s all.”

It was late, and Roman’s townhouse was dark when you got back. You carried your shoes through the house and to the bedroom. Roman was there on the bed, still fully clothed, the TV flickering over him. He watched you enter the room with a knowing smile.

“Hey,” he said in his light singsong voice. “How was your night?”

You slid onto the bed, barefoot. Roman sat up and crossed his legs, putting the TV on mute. 

“Do you really want to know?”

“You look good. Your hair is a mess. Looks like it went well.”

“Yeah. It went well.”

He stroked your forearm with one testing finger.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

You looked straight at him.

“Seriously?”

“Try me.”

Taking a deep breath, you began.

“Okay… well, you probably saw him leave. I waited a few minutes and went out after him. He texted me the address to his hotel, so I got a cab and went downtown.”

“How did you get in?”

“He left a key at reception.”

“Ooh. Classy. What next?”

You hesitated.

“Come on. You won’t get in trouble.”

“I let myself in, and it was dark. He was in the bedroom waiting for me.”

You heard Roman swallow, but kept going. 

“I went over to him, and he slid his hands up my dress. He really didn’t waste any time talking.”

“Did he say anything? Anything at all?”

“He asked if you knew I was there.”

Roman drew in his breath. He squirmed on the bed, leaning back against the pillows. 

“Uh-huh.”

You lie back on the foot of the bed, crossing your hands over your chest.

“He used his tongue first. He didn’t even undress me. Just lifted up my dress.”

You heard Roman slowly unbuckle his belt. A slight whimper as his hand slid down his pants. 

“And you were right about his dick. He’s huge. He teased me first. Wouldn't give me the whole thing. I think he knew how much it annoyed me.”

You could hear the soft grunts issuing from Roman. 

“Then he started getting sentimental. Said we’d be good for each other. I told him to shut up and put his cock back in me. Then he really and properly fucked me. He felt almost angry.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Hard. Very hard. But afterwards he was soft. He said he wanted me to stay. But I didn’t."

"No?"

"He knew I would come back to you.”

A small groan. Then a low “fuck.” Roman sat up, hunched over on the side of the bed, his hair askew. He stood up, adjusting himself as he headed to the bathroom. He leaned over you, face flushed, hair askew. He kissed your forehead softly, then grinned down at you. 

“When are you seeing him again?”

#may I present... some more freaky shit #succession #lukas matsson #lukas matsson x reader #lukas matsson/reader #roman roy #roman roy/reader #roman roy x reader

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

Congrays on 250 followers 🥳🥳 You deserve them lovely!! Could I request a Therapeutic Thursday, please? James Potter x shy reader.

Where reader misheard a conversation among the marauders talking about james's huge crush and she understands it's her friend Lily but no, it's about reader. So she runs away crying because her insecurities (for example she is so shy and she thinks james would never fancy her) somehow james finds reader crying and basically much comfort

Thank you 💚🤍

thank you so so much!! sorry i'm like a million years late on this / it's not my best work, but i broke my wrist during my writing celebration days, putting a bit of an end to it until i settled into my cast lol but didn't want to leave this unanswered, and hope you like it! 💚

for my 250 Followers Writing Event!

pairing: James Potter x reader

word count: 1.9k

tags: insecurities and just fluffiness, not proofread

You’re trotting carelessly down the stairs when you hear lowered voices coming up from a corner of the common room. You don’t necessarily mean to eavesdrop, but slowing down and not barging in is a bit of an instinct when you hear hushed tones. And staying… well, I’d like to see anyone not stay when they make their name out amidst the whispers. 

It’s Sirius’s voice you hear say, ‘They’re all looking forward to Hogsmeade tomorrow, Prongs. Y/L/N, McKinnon, Macdonald, Meadowes, and Evans.’ He seems to be making a point of listing each of your best friends. You find it odd until his explanation turns your curiosity to dread as he continues, ‘How’s she supposed to realize you fancy her if you only ever hang out with her in such a large group? The girl isn’t a legilimens, Potter.’

Oh, Godric. He fancies someone. James fancies someone. And it’s someone close to you. There’s no way… Maybe it could be… I mean is it really that unthinkable that it might be… Yes. Yes, it is unthinkable, your inner voice reminds you, immediately sobering any sparking expectations. It is unthinkable that it could be you, so why would you let yourself think it? 

You’ve fancied him forever, and he’s never done anything about it. Of course it’s not you. Marlene, maybe. With her ridiculous good looks and even more ridiculous confidence. Or Mary. Who wouldn’t love Mary? with her sweetness and thoughtfulness that know no equal. Dorcas perhaps. You imagine it’s easy to fall in love with someone so bright and funny. (It was easy with James after all, you can’t help but think.) Or… that only leaves Lily. You’re stomach drops at the thought as if from some sixth sense. It has to be Lily. She’s lovely, of course, but it’s more than that. She’s just so good at talking to him, has such chemistry with him. She’s never fazed by his… his… his James-ness. And he probably likes that. Probably likes someone who’s not putty in his hands… Like you are.

You struggle to swallow down the growing lump in your throat, to hold back the tears welling up in your eyes. You cover your mouth to not accidentally let out a sound and run back upstairs to your dorm. 

Most of the time you don’t mind having to share a room. Your dormmates are your best friends after all. But in select moments, like this one, you find yourself desperately wishing for privacy. Their care and comfort is part of why you love them, but you wish no one would see you now, crying over something so embarrassing. 

‘Y/N??’ Lily sees you immediately. ‘What’s wrong, lovely? Are you okay??’ She rushes to your side as you plop down sadly onto your bed. 

‘I’m fine,’ you try, fresh tears still streaming down your face.

‘You’re not,’ she says gently, putting her hand on your shoulder, holding you comfortingly. Mary is also in the room, keeping her distance to not overwhelm you, but lingering nearby, concernedly watching you. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing,’ you say, wiping your face. ‘It’s stupid.’

‘It’s not if it’s making you sad,’ Mary says. You give a weak grin and confide in them. 

‘I heard the boys talking.’ You look shyly from one to the other. ‘James fancies someone.’ A look of understanding dawns on both their faces. 

‘Who?’ Lily asks. You pause, uncertain what to say. 

‘I’m not sure actually.’ A sigh. ‘But the point is we all know it’s not me.’

‘Since when?’ Lily asks, her tone fiercer than it has been so far. ‘Don’t include me in that. I don’t know why you refuse to see how sweet he always is to you and how he looks at you differently than he does the rest of us.’ Mary nods in agreement.

‘Of course he’s sweet,’ you say, exasperated, ‘but he’s sweet to all his friends; it’s one of the things I love about him.’ You conveniently choose to ignore the other part of what she said, having denied it many times before — whether to keep them or yourself from thinking it, you weren’t so sure anymore.

You let things lie and go to bed still teary, hoping to get some sleep, even if sad sleep, before the Hogsmeade trip tomorrow. 

‘Hi, Y/N/N.’

‘Hi, James,’ you respond shyly as he comes up beside you on the walk to Hogsmeade. You smile at him, but remembering your puffy eyes from falling asleep crying, you turn away, self-conscious and embarrassed. 

‘You okay?’ 

‘Yeah, great,’ you respond to the floor. He just nods and keeps walking next to you in slightly awkward silence. 

You and all your friends begin exploring the town as you usually do, hitting up all your favorite shops. James, Sirius, and Remus spend way too long in Zonko’s per usual; you, Lily, and Mary at Scrivenshaft’s. You’re all finally at Honeydukes, stocking up on enough sweets to feed a village. James comes up to you, his smile sweeter than anything in the store. 

‘Let me get you something,’ he says bumping your shoulder with his, fiddling with the chocolate frog box you were holding. ‘I still owe you for last time you so generously gave me some of yours when Sirius had eaten all of mine,’ he chuckled. 

‘It’s okay,’ you say, surely blushing. ‘I was happy to.’

‘I know. But now I’m happy to get this for you.’ 

‘Okay,’ you whisper. ‘Thanks.’

‘Sure thing.’ He lingers next to you, and as he takes the little box from you, his thumb gives a couple quick caresses to the back of your hand. It’s so quick, you don’t even have time to react, but you’re giddy as you make your way to the till together. 

To end the day out, you end up at the Three Broomsticks. Most of the group is already here, except for Lily and Remus who had detoured to get some tea at Madam Puddifoot’s and would then catch up. You’re sitting next to James, and though you struggle with coming up with what to say from time to time and blush pretty much the whole time, your conversation is flowing, and you’re filled with that excited warmth only James elicits in you. 

You get up to go to the loo, and when you come back out, your heart sinks. Lily has taken your spot next to James, and they are leaning close to each other laughing easily. You’re not sure which feels worse: the jealousy toward your best friend or the longing toward your crush. You feel familiar tears welling up in your eyes and, dreading the idea of everyone seeing you cry, you try to sneak out the door. You’re trying so hard to avoid looking toward their table, you don’t see James notice you leaving. 

Your tears falling softly, your arms wrapped around yourself tightly, you walk up the street back toward the carriages. You friends will catch up, you figure. 

‘Y/N!’ you hear behind you. You don’t turn but wipe aggressively at your eyes. 

‘Y/N! Wait up!’ James continues. You don’t stop, but a few seconds later, you hear him jogging up behind you. ‘Hey, wait. Where are you going?’ His hand comes to your shoulder gently. ‘Woah, you okay?’ he startles at your tears. Great… this could not be more embarrassing. 

‘I’m fine,’ you say a bit shortly, trying not to cry worse in your frustration. ‘I just have a headache, so I thought I’d head back,’ you lie. 

‘Without telling us?’ He doesn’t sound accusatory; he sounds hurt. 

‘Sorry,’ you whisper, looking down. ‘I didn’t want to be a bother.’ 

‘You’re never a bother. We would’ve been worried about you, silly.’ You can tell he’s trying to sound lighthearted and appreciate his attempt at lessening the attention to your crying, but your cheeks burn anyhow. ‘Are you sure nothing else is wrong? You seemed okay just a little while ago.’ 

You’re not sure what to say, so you say nothing. A few moments go by, your gaze still fixed on the ground, your teeth nervously worrying at your bottom lip. James’s hand comes up to your chin, and he pushes your face up, looking into your eyes. His thumb gently wipes your tears from your cheeks. 

‘I hate seeing you sad,’ he whispers. 

You lean into his touch and after a moment softly whisper, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Hey, that’s not what I meant at all. Shit, I wanted to make you feel better, not worse. You shouldn’t be sorry for anything.’ He’s reeling a bit. 

‘No, I… I didn’t mean… shit, sorry… I mean! I’m not sorry! Oh, Godric.’ Your hand comes up to hide your face in embarrassment. His comes up and grabs yours, pulling it away from your face and holding it. He’s grinning, clearly amused at your adorable flusteredness. You take a deep breath and tell him, ‘ You’re not making me feel worse. You always make me feel better. Even if I’m already alright… you always make me feel better.’ You smile shyly but brightly.

‘You always make me feel better,’ he says, stepping closer to you, your hand still in his. ‘Actually, I… Well, I… I was hoping to spend time with you today.’ You don’t understand.

Brows furrowed, you respond, ‘You did.’

‘Right. But, well, I was hoping we could spend some time together just us.’ His other hand nervously adjusts his glasses then messes with his hair. 

‘Not with Lily?’ you ask before realizing what an awkward question it is. 

‘Lily?’

‘Yeah… I thought you, maybe…fancied her?’

‘I fancy you,’ he says quickly.

You stutter, ‘You do?’ He nods vehemently.

‘Of course I do.’

‘You sure?’ you ask in your shocked disbelief. He lets out a barking laugh at this. 

‘Yes, silly, I’m pretty sure. Have been for a while actually.’ He steps closer to you and squeezes your hand. ‘I just didn’t know how to tell you.’ His expression shifts from amused adoration to nervousness as he adds, ‘Do you… do you feel the same?’

‘Yes!’ you say too quickly, too loudly. You scrunch your eyes shut abashedly, and he giggles, giddy again, a crooked smile across his lovely face. ‘Yes,’ you repeat more softly. 

‘Brilliant,’ he responds, equally softly, maintaining an intimate air between you. ‘You want to take a walk together or something?’ You nod excitedly.

You start walking hand in hand, the silence filled with contentedness and anticipation. You’ve walked a couple of minutes when James asks, ‘How’s your headache?’

‘What?’

‘You said you had a headache. We can head back if you’re not feeling well.’

 ‘Oh. No, I don’t have a headache anymore.’ You chew your bottom lip.

‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to… but I think something else was bothering you, and I really do want to help if I can,’ he offers sweetly.

You stop and turn to face him. Looking between his eyes, you gather the courage after a moment to lean over and hug him. He hugs you back tightly. 

When you part, staying close, you confess, ‘I was sad because I saw you with Lily and I was sure you didn’t like me back.’

His eyes widen a bit, but then he smiles as he says, ‘Great.’

‘What?’

‘It is something I can help with then.’ You laugh for a second, but your laughter stops as you gasp in anticipation when he brings his face close to yours. ‘I think this’ll help,’ he whispers as his lips brush yours. And, as you kiss him back ardently, it certainly does.

#marauders fanfic #marauders #marauder x reader #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter fluff #lily evans #fluff #writing celebration #ria250

[exactlycleverpirate]

Wild Theories About Rafayel

Spoilers under the cut.

So, I've been contemplating how the various deceptions Rafayel has experienced occured and how that connects in his story over all. He or his story references being deceived at least 3 times: in Anecdote 3, in the Myth, and in Your Fragrance.

Anecdote 3:

"The young boy sits alone in the middle of the coral reef, softly humming “Siren's Ballad.” Waves lap the shores, staining it dark red. The color blends almost seamlessly with the bloody setting sun in the distance. Those who deceived him have long since sailed away on their massive ships, laughing all the while. “Siren's Ballad” isn't a song of revenge. It's an elegy sung for Lemuria.”

Myth:

Amund: “I believe in Your Quintessence. Her method of acquiring the heart wasn’t forgotten, was it? If that island sparked the beginning of our demise, then everything should end there. The Lemurians cannot be deceived again!”

MC: “The Lemurian tales I’ve read said the God of the Sea died long ago… I’m sorry, you must refer to it as a “slumber.” How can there still be a God of the Sea?” Rafayel: “Does Your Highness know why he perished? His heart was stolen by humans.”

Your Fragrance:

“It must be an allergic reaction. This isn’t perfume. How dare they use such underhanded methods to trap me…” “Who gave you the perfume?” “Are you trying to run away again?” “I’m not going anywhere. You’re gonna lock me up again… You’re with them, I just know it. Don’t think I’m unaware of what you’re about to do. (MC name), I won’t fall for it again. Not this time.”

They all seem to be connected to you somehow, but not enough so to make him hate you or lose trust in you, as he is still willing to be incredibly vulnerable with you (Ebb and Flow), give up his life for you (Myth chapter 8-9), deeply love you, and want to be with you for the rest of his life.

So my thoughts are that MC has been used as bait against Rafayel in at least 2 lives. There seem to be events that reoccur in their different reincarnations, such as Rafayel meeting MC when they are young/children and vowing to find MC again. He gives her the blue fish, the Emissary of the Ocean, in both current and Myth lives as well.

So going with this idea of reoccurring events, I think on their first life, which I believe was the Island of Songs life, there was likely a vow made as children. But then as adults, I think there were a group of humans (or perhaps just one in particular) who decided to use her as bait to trap the God of the Sea and plunder Lemuria's riches while he was weak. She is unaware of any of this. She is offered to him as a sacrifice (think Bride of Habaek (manhwa)), essentially becomes something like a temple maiden trapped on an island. What she doesn't know is that those who sent her there are using her as a honey trap.

And it works. She and Rafayel fall in love and bind themselves to each other. Now, I haven't decided yet whether I think the humans knew he would go so far as to give her his heart or whether they just got lucky there. But the end result is, Rafayel is trapped when he is weak, Lemuria is plundered, and I believe they then go into hiding in the deep, becoming the stuff of myth and legend.

MC, meanwhile, is seen as the betrayer by the Lemurians, though not necessarily Rafayel, not completely at least. They curse her and turn her into a Sea Witch (Fragrant Dream). But eventually Rafayel finds her and saves her at the cost of his own life.

Now fast-forward to current day Rafayel. He has once again made a vow with her when they were children. And I think he is deceived by the same person/people as before, be they gods, reincarnations or some other immortal. And I think now that they are behind Ever Corp, Onychinus and related organizations. (I also like the idea that Astra from Zayne's Myth is somehow a part of all this.) So, they use MC as a lure, to draw him away from Lemuria, since even as a child, he is their protector. They once again plunder Lemuria, this time nearly wiping it out.

Meanwhile, I think they know MC has a Sea God’s heart, and were experimenting on her to find a way to use it. Hence the Aether core and what not.

Sometime in the far future, they will use what they learn from it to remake Earth into Philos, with a fake core that keeps all humanity immortal, except those sacrificed to it. Eventually, MC's immortal heart is essentially connected to the core like a battery, to drain, die, recharge the core, then be reborn to do it again. Essentially making all human life on Philos leaches off of Rafayel's immortality, draining him as well and eventually condemning him to eternal slumber if he does not reclaim it from her.

What do you think? Wild and crazy? Has some merit? What are your own theories? Let me know in the comments or PM me!

#love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #love and deepspace xavier #xavier #zayne

[mylevisdontfitanymore]

FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION: VOODOO WEIGHT GAIN. Anything that happens to the voodoo doll, happens to the person it's moulded after. You stuff the doll with more fluff, and the person's belly grows. You dunk the doll in beer or a glass of wine, it soaks into the fabric and the person gets wasted. You rub at the doll's privates, and you hear startled moaning from the other room. I don't know, I just saw the idea on DeviantArt and I think that it has a lot of potential..

*Note: I, the author of this silly, kinky, little Tumblr fic, am white. And because of the past association between white people saying “voodoo” and cruelty towards people of color, I will not be using the term “voodoo doll.” I know nothing good or bad was necessarily meant by your ask, grey-faced anon user 😊, but I just don’t want to use that! So I’m going to say magic doll 🤷🏻‍♂️*

I FUCKING LOVE THIS IDEA.

JESUS CHRIST.

I AM SO FUCKING HERE FOR THIS.

Immediately, immediately, when you sent this to me I had a whole fucking AU in my head. This idea gives rich-man-Rogers and house-husband-boy-toy-Bucky…

Warning for unbeta'd stucky belly kink. Mostly rapid and magical weight gain, some vague dubious concent vibes but not really, etc.

I am picturing the full fantasy.

Steve is rich as fuck and is the CEO of his successful company. Whatever that is, it’s not important. What is important is that Steve is older than Bucky and is taller and bigger than him, too. Bucky is younger and twinkier. He’s sweet and needy *cough* slutty *cough*. Steve has needs too, though. Needs that are a special kind and can’t be met by just anyone, so rather than sorting through the whole fucking mess that is dating and sparking a new romance… he turns to hire someone who he can take his needs out on. A sex worker.

Steve hires a sex worker.

Specifically, Steve hires Bucky, striking up an exclusive contract with him. He wants Bucky to live with him, he wants Bucky to be ready for use at any time he needs him, and he wants Bucky to - within his limits - give into all of Steve’s dirtiest fantasies.

One of these fantasies is having a boy at home who is at his every beck and call, and who is totally, completely spoiled. Not bratty, but spoiled.

And Steve wants the evidence of Bucky’s spoiling to be on full display. He wants his houseboy - his toy - to be soft. Pale skin completely bare. Waxed, not shaved. Skin lotioned extensively. Soft. Clothed in the finest silk and lace and the like. Manners perfect. Not all skin and bones, not all bulky muscle, but fat and padded as if he’s never had to work a day in his life and is instead doughy and excessive. Always sitting on his comfortable, cushy backside.

Yeah… 🫦

Steve has specific tastes.

But Steve also has more than enough money to acquire said specific tastes. He has so much money, in fact, that he can afford to commission a small, hand-sewn, delicate doll from one of Natasha’s highest-recommended contacts. Said contact is secretive, illusive, and extensively expensive, but she agrees to Steve’s wants immediately, claiming she has just the thing and he doesn’t need to keep explaining, so… Steve has no complaints.

Steve has no complaints whatsoever, reclining in his desk chair with his belt and slacks undone, dick out, at his heavy wooden desk in his private office at work, the top floor, his solid wood door locked, with his personal secretary blocking all of his calls. On his otherwise spotless desk, there are two things: one is his laptop, and the other is a pile of fiber fill stuffing. In one hand he’s holding that little magic doll. Meanwhile, Steve’s other hand is poised to pack some of that stuffing into the doll’s body. But Steve isn’t looking at the doll, nor at the pile of awaiting stuffing, he’s looking at his laptop. The thing that is so interesting on his laptop is Bucky.

In perfect, crystal-clear quality the security camera feed from his penthouse is sprawled across the big screen. The penthouse he’s sharing with his contracted boy toy.

Bucky.

He’s been watching Bucky wander around, cleaning (Steve would prefer if he didn’t, he really does want Bucky helpless and spoiled, but he knows the younger man would go stir crazy if he didn’t have something to do, so he allows it), just waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And…

Now is good, right?

Yeah.

Now is good.

So, Steve pushes a big, thick wad of stuffing into the doll and watches, dick jerking, as Bucky’s silence is interrupted by a cacophony of noise - all at once, his boy toy’s sweatpants rip to shreds and his toy lets out a sound that’s half-whimper, half-moan. He’s totally startled by the sudden woomph of his ass tripling, maybe even quadrupling, in size. Bucky is so blatantly confused that he ends up stumbling forward, nearly falling over but catching himself barely. With the flurry of movement, his ass jiggles.

Oh, Lord, Steve groans.

Big and fat.

Perfectly fat.

Bucky’s ass is unreal. It was before, firm and round, but now it is impossibly unreal. There’s no texture of dimpling cellulite and no striped stretch marks over the delicious surface of Bucky’s suddenly exposed ass. It’s perfect. Untouched. Unmarred. Only fat.

Bucky looks, well, Steve has started gnawing on his lower lip without realizing it, drawing blood already, so, it’s easy to say that he looks edible. Such a big ass on the most perfect, good-est boy. And Bucky is such a good boy that when he recovers, whimpering, after a brief, pornographic moment of groping himself, squeezing handfuls of fat where it’s mounding up behind him and twisting sharply around to try and investigate what has happened to his body, he just… goes on.

He keeps cleaning.

Steve is floored.

Oh, this is going to be so, so much more fun than he thought.

Bucky keeps cleaning as if nothing happened.

The only difference is now, Bucky is trying to stifle his precious little whines and he keeps sucking in sharp breaths like he’s embarrassed to let it show that he likes his shiny, new thick ass despite, to his knowledge, being completely alone. Unobserved.

Steve makes a whine of his own, a bitten-off, growling whine, but a whine nevertheless, when Bucky pauses cleaning to arch his back like he’s testing out how it might feel to get fucked with such a fat ass - like having such a big, heavy ass makes him feel sexy and he can’t help it. Immediately, Steve wants to make it better. He wants to make it worse. 😈 He wants to stuff as much stuffing as he can fit into the little doll’s chest to pack Bucky’s tits full of soft, malleable fat. If his boy likes how it feels to have fat, thick curves in the “right” places, then he’s going to give it to him. And then he’s going to ruin it by adding fat to the “wrong” places, too. He’s going to fatten him up. He’s going to make him huge with no effort at all.

Maybe he shouldn’t just give Bucky a taste of what it’s like to be curvy and sexy in a traditionally feminine way, all ass and tits, maybe he should pack him full of stuffing right this second, and see what he does, see how he preens and arches his back and touches himself, see how he spends his day alone, unknowing that Steve is peeping in on him, watching him get off to excess. Despite the dangerous pull... Steve doesn’t. Steve has self-control. Sometimes.

So. He lets it drag on…

He lets Bucky enjoy his fat ass for close to an hour. He simply watches, drooling and passively jerking off, as Bucky waddles around the penthouse, his ass wobbling and jiggling as he walks. His footsteps are much heavier than normal under the weight of his monstrous ass.

Bucky has removed his ruined sweatpants, but he hasn’t taken off his shirt. It should look silly. It doesn’t. It’s sexy as hell. Steve’s going to make him tear his way out of that shirt, too. He’s going to watch it be ripped to shreds. 😮‍💨

With another wave of lust, Steve decides he’s done waiting and he launches into action. He stuffs the doll again, focusing on a new, irresistible part of Bucky’s body that he wants to make even more irresistible by swelling him.

And instantly, with the doll stuffed, Bucky balloons.

His thighs, this time, widen with another sudden whoomph of magic.

His now colossal thighs match his ass delightfully. Thick and perfect. Doughy blubber that has to weigh too much for Steve to lift, despite his extensive gym routine.

Bucky moans outright this time. He’s less confused, too. He just accepts it. This is him now. The perfect, moldable toy. Adaptive and dumb.

Perfect.

He takes to the new fat packed onto his frame like a fish takes to water. Although… he’s nowhere near as physically graceful as that metaphor, Steve is talking purely about how Bucky reacts emotionally to seeing himself swell like a mound of dough left in the oven to proof overnight. Expanding. Bucky can hardly seem to walk now. His lower half is so puffy, so swollen that he’s waddling. Swaggering. Wobbling. All that fat moves captivatingly, jiggling in slow, swollen waves like the ocean after an intense storm. And because Bucky can’t walk anymore, Bucky plops down onto the nearby sofa. So heavy and overgrown that Steve’s expensive, expensive couch lets out a loud creak. Bucky swears, sounding panicked, but not too panicked to get up again and not too panicked to not start touching himself again.

His hands first make contact with his fat ass, squeezing inches of padding between his thumb and fingers at the sides of his body where his ass spills out away his hip flexors.

Steve feels a little faint. He feels more faint when Bucky scoots his thighs apart, setting them wider with a heavy, bothered sigh - they’re not only so fat that he can’t walk, they’re so fat that it’s hard to move.

Christ.

Bucky and this little doll are the best things that Steve has ever paid for. He swears. Then, Bucky moans, drawing his attention back to him and away from his money, the needy, little big minx.

Steve wants to give Bucky everything.

Steve takes the biggest ball of stuffing this far and packs it into the doll’s belly until its seams creak.

The force of the sudden fat being added to Bucky’s poor frame is so intense, whoomph, that Bucky is thrown back against the sofa. His head is thrown back too, eyes rolling to the back of his head, neck arched attractively, mouth hanging open, sweat appearing on his skin all at once. His skin. Oh, God, Steve growls to himself, he’s so fucking delighted that he’s recording all of this footage because he’s going to spend the rest of his life sneaking away into whatever nearby bathroom or closest or bedroom or wherever he can to replay the way Bucky’s shirt bursts off him, getting off to it.

The sound of the seams ripping, popping, and fabric shredding mixing orgasmically with Bucky’s cry of pleasure. Filled more than he could’ve ever dreamed of. Made so impossibly round that he’s stuck to the creaking, overburdened couch.

His gut fills all of the space in front of him.

The surface is taut like a drum and as round as a globe. Totally unmarred. No stretch marks, no bruises, not even the flush of skin struggling to contain so much blubber. He looks incredible. Mouth-watering. Pale. Fat. He’s rising like dough. And there’s only one thing left to do…

Steve stuffs his tits too, watching the way Bucky squirms, the way he writhes on the expensive, luxury couch as if he’s orgasming on the spot. So filled that he can’t take it anymore. He can’t hold anything in. He can’t keep himself from screaming. He can’t stop himself from coming. A blimp. A fat, excessive blimp sitting on top of a monstrous, thick ass and immense thighs with a belly that stretches out past his fat knees, so big and round that it shoves equally over-fattened tits up to his face, leaving him choking on them. He is overripe. Moaning with abandon, lost in the throws of pleasure from being so thoroughly gorged.

Swollen.

Filled.

(Here's part two)

#ask #mylevisdontfitanymore #belly kink #text #weight gain #rapid weight gain #magic weight gain #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #chubby bucky #fat bucky

[810nd1]

How is Jungkook doing right now?

Date: 26.05.2024

And a small note from me. I asked him three times if I can post this reading. The fist time I got the 7 of pentacles. And I felt tingling in my throat, good man wants to talk. Second time I got the world and the 3 of cups. Third the empress and the 2 of cups. The cards that I’m looking at right now. But my heart chakra is still hurting as fuck. If you’re into spirituality you know that heart chakra is related to love and is blocked by fear. That man is so scared of being vulnerable, talking about his emotions and showing he’s not this perfect ai robot that I literally got chest pain although he hasn’t tried to push me away even once.

And it is complicated how he is feeling right now. On the surface he is doing well, he tries to look fine but inside he is hurting. He doesn’t feel at home, like he isn’t himself. His whole world is slowly crumbling. He is barely holding it together, thinks his in a hopeless situation. He’s loosing the light (?) his spark. He feels this isn’t the right path for him. I wouldn’t call it depression but more of a pessimistic approach to life right now. He can’t see the bright side of his military service, it’s a nightmare for him. Despair. But he doesn’t show it, because he doesn’t want to be seen as weak or incompetent. He puts his all out there to keep up with the expectations people has put on him. He is trying to shut down his emotions and push forward everyday without thinking too much. However there’s one thing that helps him a lot during this time. And it does include a lot of thinking, because he spends a lot of time in his head, dreaming about the future. He is dreaming about all the things he is going to do after he completes his military service. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t stopped working on his music and writes down song ideas in a notebook. Funny thing is he is pretending he is strong on the outside but deep down some strong emotions are powering up. Those emotions are related to doing something that he loves. And that’s what he is looking at the bottom of that cup. Love, that isn’t necessarily romantic. Love towards the things that you do and the fought that soon enough he will be able to go back to that. He can’t wait for that to happen. He has so many ideas of what his going to do first and the projects he is going to start. Jungkook just wants to go back to work.

#kpop tarot #bts tarot #jungkook tarot

[rickfucker]

(kinda emo) Nsfw Rick Headcanons (GN!)

i’ve gained lots of followers since my last post. hello! and welcome to the shitshow. this turned out extra emo! for whatever reason idk. i think it might just be because of how much i love rick this season. he’s a little softer. pls enjoy.

Sex is one of those things that he almost overdid when he was younger. He still loves it, don’t get me wrong, but he used it as an unhealthy coping mechanism in tandem with his drinking. It started losing its spark as he really got on in years.

This man is of the streets. He’s seen it all and he’s done it all.

Definitely a switch. His default is soft dominant. He will give endless praise, from how stunning your body is to how well you take him.

He gets tired, though. He’s spent his whole life fighting shadows of himself; trying to convince himself that he doesn’t need anyone. He wouldn’t ask you outright, necessarily, but if you decide to take the reigns from him for a night, he melts right into it. He wants someone to take care of him. Love him. Be gentle with him, just enough to make him forget about the cruelty of his own existence.

Sex with you is healing for him in that respect. He has done the hard and fast with everyone he’s ever met. You’re a fresh start, like he’s being given a second chance at doing things the right way.

He takes his time with you. To the point of your very obvious frustration. I’m talking hours of foreplay.

He’s the type to gently coerce you into saying exactly what you want in bed, usually in the filthiest way possible. Once again, extra points for the full-body blushing you’ll be doing. He eats that shit up.

He wants to hear you say what you want. That you want him, specifically. Consent is sexy!

Nicknames for days. Sweetheart, baby, hun, sugar, sweetcheeks, lmao. He loves just hearing you say his name, though.

He likes to fuck in weird places. Views it like a sort of challenge.

You would definitely have sex in every room in the house. Kitchen countertops, living room couch, the shower (obviously), laying you out on top of the dining room table (you insist on Clorox-ing afterward because he certainly isn’t going to do it).

He would never risk the possibility of you two being walked in on, though. He’s for sure into exhibitionism to an extent, but not with his family in mind. For your privacy as much as his own. Also his territorial nature. Nobody is viewing the goods but him.

He actually doesn’t want to have sex on his workspace. He’s got too much important shit that can’t risk, ahem, contamination.

If you get awkward of feel embarrassed while bumping uglies, he literally does not care. Everything you do is sexy to him, including all of the very human things about you.

(AFAB) I can’t tell if he’s a boob or a butt guy, but that’s ‘cause he’s a pussy guy. We all know this. He is King of giving head and he fucking loves it. 

(AMAB) Same goes here. King of Giving Head; He WILL give you that sloppy toppy.

Always makes his partner come first.

He can’t pick a favorite position, but he does love it when you ride him, especially dry humping. He likes it when the two of you end up so in the moment that there’s no time for taking off clothes.

Goes absolutely feral when you say you love him.

Sometimes cries a little after really intense sex, but not when you can see him. He’s got all these pent up emotions that just end up toppling over when he lets his guard down.

Pillow talk for a hundred years. He likes it when you start rambling about the future, toying with his hands while you talk softly. “Maybe we could move somewhere closer to the ocean. Or are you more of a cabin in the woods kind of guy?” You laugh at the idea of Rick lounging on the beach, which he takes mock offense to.

You make him think about things he never would have considered before. What reason would he have to ask himself the less important questions of life? Like what his favorite architectural style of home is. What would his perfect vacation look like? If he had to pick a new hobby to start, what would it be? It’s just nonsense, things he would never talk about in front of anyone else due to their irrelevant nature, but in the afterglow with you, he likes it. Maybe it makes him feel more normal; suburban; domestic. Maybe he just likes how dreamily you talk about those things, and the way you give him your full, rapt attention in the quiet sanctity of his tiny bedroom. Nothing else exists but you.

#rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez headcanons #rick and morty headcanons #rick sanchez fanfic #soft rick? in my blog??? it's more likely than you think #mesa writes

[quirkle2]

[zombie au] the written version of this post but like.way more harrowing (3.5k words)

It’s been a long time since Ritsu has seen the stars.

When he and his brother were little, stars were very important to them. An obsession from one brother meant it was an obsession by association for the other—Shigeo would listen to Ritsu ramble about types of stars and facts about comets for hours. He’d always be so patient about it, even if Ritsu stumbled over the big words.

Ritsu has always loved space, and the imagery that comes with it—his favorite planet has always been Neptune ever since he learned of the existence of its rings. He finds supernovas fascinating, nebulae even more so; the cycle of life for bodies so beyond his understanding had never failed to capture his attention and hold it until its last breath.

At six years old, his father had taken him and Shigeo on a camping trip. His brother had gotten carsick on the way there, their father’s card had been declined when trying to pay for gas, and Ritsu had nearly caused a crash the way he suddenly screamed about a spider in the seat with him. Looking back, he’s sure the journey had been about eighty percent stress for his father.

For Ritsu, it had rewired him.

It’d been the first time he’d ever seen so many stars in the sky. It’d been the first time he’d ever been outside the city to begin with, the first time he could look out over the horizon and not see the treeline replaced with geometric, manmade light. He’d been so enamored by it his neck hurt the next morning from straining to drink everything in.

His brother gave it all that subtle smile, that surface-level spark of appreciation, and then he’d gone to bother their father about s’mores—he’d left him there in front of their tent to gawk at the expanse, at the majesty. Their voices had been far away, and the stars had felt so close.

That same majesty had blanketed him when they’d escaped the city, after the start of the apocalypse, but despite his lifelong love for all things space, he hadn’t found it in himself to enjoy it. Before, it’d been light pollution to fog his obsession.

Now, it’s… well, it’s a lot of things.

The air is crisp in his lungs, and dry against his cold fingers. The plastic of the truck bed against his back creaks and wobbles when Tome shifts in her spot. The crickets are loud in the absence of conversation, but Ritsu appreciates the songs they play—he taps his collarbone with two fingers to the beat of their melody, never having been much of a music lover in the past, but slowly learning its importance.

He senses Tome lean and angles his head down to watch her loom over his brother, squished against his side. She observes him for a moment, studying, and then her eyes flick to Ritsu’s and she’s mouthing something to him in the quiet.

He catches something like sleep and it’s all he really needs to get the gist. Ritsu lifts his head from the bed of the truck, double-chinned, to peek at his brother’s face.

Cheek smooshed up to his hip, limply hugging his thigh, and probably drooling on his t-shirt. He eyes the edges of his silhouette in the dark, watches the rise and fall of his chest and notes how it’s slower, and steady.

For the past few days, everything about him has been… droopy. The lids, the nonsensical speech, the sloppy movements, the slurred cracks of saliva in his throat when Ritsu takes something out of his mouth. Before they’d found this truck, abandoned on a dirt backroad they’d been walking along for hours, Ritsu had seen the pure, glassy exhaustion in Shigeo’s eyes and prayed for a decent place to settle down.

The bed of a truck that has a bloodied backseat and bullet holes in the rear windshield isn’t necessarily a decent place, but it’s passable.

Shigeo’s eyes are closed, and when Ritsu shifts his leg, his brother does not rise. He breathes out a sigh that feels heavy on his soul, but the sound is made of relief and Tome sags too.

The tension pressing down on the truck bed releases, and Ritsu assumes it’s his imagination when they seem to lift an inch from the weight taken off the flat wheels. They’re left in a silence that, for once, feels empty in a calming way. There is little substance to it, little to complain about in the moment, and Ritsu can tell he’s not the only one basking in that shallowness.

“Thank God,” Tome mumbles into the dark. Neither of them are particularly afraid of waking him up—once he’s out, he’s out for a while and dead to the world during it. “It was starting to make me tired just looking at him.”

Ritsu cannot help but agree, but somewhere in his own long-lived exhaustion he forgets he’s supposed to respond and instead just stares while Tome adjusts. She wraps her knees with her arms and stilts them up to make an X, stares out over the truck siding and traces the edges of the cornfield around them.

The crickets fill his lack of reply with croaks and chirps, and Tome seems used to his odd stints of silence. It’s a bit of a lullaby, and Ritsu finds himself drooping too, yet he’s unable to close his eyes and give into it.

Instead, he stares with a fuzzy gaze at the stars directly in his line of sight, and realizes they’ve been there the whole time. Of course they have, he thinks, and it’s one of those obvious things that hits him much too late to even stifle it, and he’s left with a thrum in his mind that’s of a vaguely embarrassed timbre.

He sees the stars every night. It’s just been quite a long time since he’s seen them.

There is something about the quiet, modest glint to them that funnels all that nostalgia to the forefront. The smell of s’mores and campfire smoke, the dust on old library books and the ache in his muscles that came with carrying too many nonfiction copies in his little arms. The cold, factual tone of documentary narrators over the coolest computer animations Ritsu’s ever seen, no matter how low quality the textures were.

His mother leaning over his shoulder, kissing his scalp and humming out a laugh when he pointed at all the comets crudely drawn into his looseleaf. His father bringing home science books that’d get more and more complicated as Ritsu grew older, but he soaked them up and memorized each paragraph like it was his duty to recite them perfectly.

Shigeo, eyes seemingly sparkling whenever Ritsu even opened his mouth and so, so incredibly patient, nodding in those little excited bursts when he’d explained how stars were born. Giggling when Ritsu threw his arms out under their little blanket fort in his bedroom, reenacting those supernovas he loves so much and spilling the blankets on their heads.

Ritsu realizes that maybe it isn’t nostalgia, because it feels quite bitter on the tongue. It’s something close, but it’s too… aggrieved to be nostalgia.

“So what’s your take?” Tome speaks over the crickets, over the crisp air that makes her shiver as she scoots down the truck bed to lie on her back. One of her arms is pinned under Shigeo. She doesn’t bother to yank it out from under him.

“On…?” he mumbles lazily, exhaustion peeling at his patience. He fights the urge to close his eyes because if he does he knows he’ll pass out on her instantly and he needs her on his good side.

Tome’s hair pillows under her head in a spiraled, jumbled mess while she loosely copies his position. He just knows she’s going to complain about the knots in it for the sixtieth time tomorrow morning, and he starts mentally preparing for that.

“How the apocalypse started.” She tilts her head toward him while she talks, but her eyes stay glued to the stars. “Got any good theories?” 

Ritsu slowly slogs through the question, wishing he were asleep instead. Maybe he should just pass out. “Mh… I dunno,” he shrugs noncommittally. His legs ache, and he shuffles them around to press his calves against the rough plastic of the bed. “I don’t really think about that stuff.”

A partial lie; he occasionally feels ungodly amounts of hatred toward whoever started it—if a human being even started it at all—and occasionally wanders if it would be morally incorrect to shoot the fucker between the eyes if he ever meets them.

“Oh c’moooon,” Tome drawls, tilting her head as far back as it’ll go against the rivets underneath them and finally looking his way. There’s an odd weight to her gaze, like she’s looking for something in his face a little too closely, and he suddenly, inexplicably feels vulnerable.

Her free hand comes up to gesture just above her stomach, flippant. “You’ve gotta have something!”

He considers fabricating some ridiculous answer, but he finds he doesn’t have the energy to. That knowing glint in her eyes has him backstepping a little bit, and he scratches at his neck habitually and shrugs out a reply. “Not really.”

Ritsu moves the hand on his collarbone and flops it above his head, the zippers of his backpack sliding along his knuckles. He searches for the dangling pull to fidget with, and he senses Tome look away from him and back to the sky.

She then says, quietly in the air, “Well I think it’s aliens.”

Ritsu blinks slowly at the stars, lagging a little, and then the words catch up to him and he can’t stop himself from side-eyeing her hard.

“Aliens?” he echoes, a disbelieving lilt to his voice that borders on hilarity.

Tome nods matter-of-factly, comically genuine about it, and for a moment he doesn’t know whether he should openly be a dick and brick her dreams, let her down softly, or allow her to float.

There are a lot of things he could say to this, and he decides to settle for somewhere in the middle of all three. “You need to be medicated.”

It’s poured out over a tired grin and lazy, wandering eyes that trail the sky, soft and a little prudent. Tome grins back, like she was expecting that answer. It’s sharper than his fuzzy, weary edges.

“You need way more medication than me,” Tome teases, “I’m serious about it and it’s true.”

“Nevermind,” Ritsu breathes, lifting his head to pillow it under a hand, “I actually don’t think medicine can fix you.”

“Aliens are real.”

“Okay,” is calmly fed back, unperturbed but not convinced.

“Nobody ever takes me seriously after I say that,” Tome rolls onto her side, facing him, hair draping over the hand that’s propped against her head. Shigeo is jostled, but stays still and silent.

“Wonder why,” Ritsu deadpans.

“They’re scared of the truth!”

“Mmmmh. Sure.”

“They don’t wanna admit it.”

“They don’t.”

“And neither do you.”

“And neither do I.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Doing that—stop just agreeing with me.”

“Okay. You’re wrong.”

Tome tsks in a funny gauh sound, gesturing to the sky and shaking her head as if it’ll help her, and then, “Shigeo would believe me.”

Ritsu can feel her freeze up, even if they’re not touching. He can feel the way the air gets a degree colder and that weight comes back down to press against the truck bed and their chests. He breathes through it—he doesn’t think Tome even tries to.

She waits, breath baited, balancing on those eggshells she usually stomps on. She’s never been one to shy away from kicking him while he’s down, at least in the past. Those little pokes and jabs are something he simply had to get used to, if he wanted that much-needed help.

He thinks about the look she gave him earlier, the one that left him feeling centered in her claws while he stared at the stars and reminisced. He wonders what changed her demeanor. He wonders if his increasingly exhausted eyes lately have anything to do with it.

She’s waiting to see if she’s toeing a line, studying his face with sharp basil and calculating exactly how many eggshells she’s stepping on, listening to the crackles. Ritsu counts with her and finds it odd that he doesn’t already know the answer.

“No he wouldn’t,” he hears himself say, just to have something in the air between them that isn’t tension. He’s unsure if it’s true—it’s so silly he doesn’t even bother fact checking it. He’s too focused on the fact that Tome seems more attuned to what he’s feeling than he does. “You know nothing about him, you’re walking right into failure here.”

Something like relief flashes there in her irises, and the substance to the air dissipates a fraction. A brief moment of mischief and a close cousin of anger follows it, and then she swallows back the righteousness and smoothes out that sharp edge to her smile. “Okay, Mr. Genius. Maybe it’s time I ask The Question, then.”

Ritsu’s grin disappears, quickly at first, and then it floats down into a numb line and they’re suddenly in a much different kind of quiet. It’s still, almost suffocatingly so, but the crickets carry that old, childhood sense of safety with their song. The world loses that presently sharp, shiny finish and everything in existence suddenly feels matte against his atoms, flat and smooth and dry. Distant, and unreal.

She says it with a capital T and a capital Q, and despite how bold the statement is in the world of their little war between each other, she looks at him with an invitation to back down. It’s offered up like a challenge at first, but as she leaves the implications of it to marinate he can feel her confidence slipping. Her gaze is open and curious, but it’s poised for disappointment and acceptance of the fact.

If he searches, he can almost see the apologetic look hidden beneath it all, like she’s sorry she even asked him of such a thing.

The Question has gone unspoken, until now, but Tome continues once she feels she’s given him ample time to cut the cord on it all, and then she lets it out. “What was he like?” Quiet words, with such deafening reminders.

Ritsu stares, and he tries to think about how to summarize somebody he loves so much.

To Tome, he has been nothing but a kid who was bitten a long while ago. To her, he’s a husk, of a stranger, of a boy who’d often been a stranger even to people close to him. To this girl, Shigeo is one zombie in a crowd of billions, and the little sparks of personality in that dying flame of his core probably seem quite feeble and unimpressive.

To Ritsu, that all means everything.

“He was,” he stutters out, stilted and slow, as his racing mind jams every messy thought to the forefront, “quiet. He was really quiet, in everything he did, to most people. Sometimes you’d have to strain to hear him.”

He keeps his eyes on the edge of the truck bed, because if he doesn’t, he’d have to meet Tome’s gaze and he doesn’t think he’s capable of that anymore. “Really soft-spoken. Really gentle, but he could get intense when he wanted.”

In the silence, he’s very aware of his breathing, and the slow, steady bobbing of his own hand resting on his diaphragm. He works to keep it that way. “People ignored him a lot—said they barely registered his presence,” he says, with just a touch of sourness to his tone, “A lotta people would say most of him felt… ‘muted.’

“But I never understood that, cuz…” Because it was so wrong. “Cuz everything he did, he did it with all he had. And that was loud to me.

“He’d stay up all night in calls with our friend Teru, when he was upset. He’d bring home cookies for me if he knew I had a long day.” The twinge of a smile on his face is despairingly bittersweet. His breaths are steady. “All of the kids at school thought it was cool to hate your parents, but Shige looked sad when they said stuff like that and he came home and hugged them longer than usual.

“He’d cry if he accidentally stepped on a ladybug. He’d wave to frogs he saw on the sidewalk like they were his best friends,” he chuckles, and it brings a delicate little grin from Tome. It all feels very brittle. “He was the gentlest guy you could ever meet, and he loved everything.”

Ritsu swivels his head to look at the stars, and wonders why they’re staring at him so innocently. Wonders why it makes him want to cry. “Everything, even the stuff nobody else did,” he mumbles, voice small, “He picked bruised fruits from the store baskets cuz ‘nobody else will want them.’ He forgave his bullies instantly, even if they didn’t deserve it, even if Shige was still mad at them. He was too nice, sometimes. He let people walk all over him.”

He lets his teeth show a little, bares them in a shaky display. He remembers a day in class where Shigeo defended a kid from a couple brats, and then they all turned on him instead, including the kid he was defending. The next week Shigeo had helped that same boy pick up his books, and he’d been shoved to the tiled floor instead of thanked. Ritsu couldn’t decide whether to be mad about the cruelty, or mad about Shigeo’s selfless, stubborn character who didn’t seem to learn any lessons.

His throat feels sore. There is something sweltering and lumpy forming in the back of his mouth and he swallows it down. “He was really shy and talking to people was hard for him, but he stood up to people when others were being made fun of, even if his voice shook.”

A little Shigeo’s tiny words, trembling just like his hands. Feeling everything on Earth when they all said he couldn’t. Quietly, silently bearing it when the world kicked him down, and all he ever did back was be kind to it.

Ritsu learned from Shigeo’s mistakes, and he never defended any bullied kids, never tried to be kind for the simple act of being kind. Shigeo didn’t view them as mistakes at all. Maybe he’d been right about that.

“He was the only kid I’d ever known to be genuine about stuff. Compared to Shige, everybody else’s achievements seemed… shallow,” Ritsu bares his teeth again, at the world, at the stars, and they stare flatly back, “People told him to ‘get a clue,’ ‘get a personality,’ and I never understood why they did that, because Shige seemed like the smartest one there, to me. The richest in personality.

“Maybe not in an academic sense, but he already knew how to love things.” The hand on his chest bobs unsteadily. “He knew how to love life before he was taught how to walk. And above that, ya’know… what else matters?”

He’s too afraid to glance at Tome, because she is eerily silent and he doesn’t have the bravery to tear his gaze away from the sky. It hurts to look at that too, but he doesn’t know what else to stare at.

His breaths are steady. His breaths are steady, and the bottom of his vision is clear. He smiles again, bittersweet. The bottom of his vision is clear.

“You know what his favorite planet was?” he asks with a little voice, stifles a sniffle.

Tome takes a few beats to respond. “Mh… he seems like a Jupiter kinda guy.”

Ritsu shakes his head, and the smile he gives is not happy. “Planet Earth,” he croaks.

It sits for a beat, and in the air he can feel it, the common hesitance. “Yeah. When people first hear that, they usually go… ‘really? Earth?’” he chuckles wetly, moving his hands to copy their gestures, “Like… of all the cool, alien planets in our solar system, you chose Earth? The one we already know so much of, the one we’ve already studied inside and out? The one that feels so… mundane, to us?”

Ritsu’s favorite planet is Neptune, for its rings and its blue coat of paint. Shigeo’s was Earth, for its everything.

“But he loved the mundane. He showed love to the things people took for granted, to the uglier sides of them,” he breathes. It is not steady. His vision smears the stars into streaks. “He always did that.”

The crickets do nothing to cover his unsteady, long inhales, and the wetness of his cheeks and along his temples is cold against the air. Tome speaks after a few long, long beats, and her voice is quiet.

“... sounds like he’s got a heart of gold,” she whispers, and when Ritsu swivels his head to look at her, something like a supernova goes off in his own chest.

He cannot help but notice that she refers to Shigeo Kageyama in the present tense, and Ritsu does not.

#qkwrites #zombie au #ritsu kageyama #mp100 ritsu #shigeo kageyama #mp100 mob #mp100 shigeo #tome kurata #mp100 tome #hm! he's not okay is he. #sorry i can Never keep anything purely funny.i have to add angst or there's no point

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Reasons why I love Steve and Eddie together no 24858: 

They've had the opposite life experience when it comes to expectations. They both disliked the way people treated them, but they didn't fight it. What can you do, toss the hand of cards you were handed with no chance of getting a new one? Only when they meet each other do they realize that the other way, the freedom on the other side of the fence they dreamed about, is nothing ideal, it fucks you up, but in a different way.

No one ever expected anything of Eddie. He was a kid of a criminal, trailer trash, so whatever he did, grew his hair long and wild, dealt drugs or reportedly dabbled in Satanism, it wasn't entirely surprising. The world expected him to fail from the beginning and who was he to prove them wrong. No one ever believed he would make it not even big, but just normal, just have a standard, boring and honest life. And so Eddie always did what he wanted, not caring much for anyone's thoughts because he had no one to disappoint. Perhaps Wayne, but one person did very little against the whole world. Eddie had all all freedom and all the indifference and contempt.

On the other hand, there were always expectations tied to Steve. Ever since he was born, maybe even before, his father knew he simply had to be great. He was the only Harrington child, a tick in the list of life goals his father had planned, but he could never be his own person, not really. He was expected to excel at sports, to do well in school (not necessarily academically, but to be popular, a leader), to either study business or start in his father's company. Down the line, there would be a white picket fence, a girl with a blinding smile and one or two children, preferably sons. But when Steve didn't get to college and didn't start in his dad's company, this illusion crumbled. All his life had been directed by these expectations and now that it became obvious he'd never live up to them, it was like Steve never mattered, as it the only thing worth the world's attention and affection wasn't himself but the potential that people who never really knew him saw. Steve's life was shrouded in poorly hidden shame, because he was supposed to be more but just isn't.

When they meet each other for the first time, sparks fly, but not the good ones. There is jealousy and bitterness. Eddie looks at Steve and sees someone who has it all handed on a silver platter, who always had people in his corner while Eddie was struggling to even have others look at him. Steve looks at Eddie and sees someone free to be whatever he wants, no pre-planned life from his birth, no constant measuring up to an ideal that was created long before his birth. Eddie can be himself and people just let him and that makes Steve's stomach twist with a helpless feeling of injustice.

And then they get closer and they both see that the opposite to what they have is not all sunshine and rainbows. Steve sees how the town treats Eddie, hears the residents say "of course it was that Munson kid who caused all this, the apple doesn't fall down from the tree after all" and suddenly he's marching to the man who is staring at Steve with wide eyes and only when he feels Eddie's long fingers squeeze his shoulder and hears the muttered "don't bother, Steve, it's not worth it, they will believe it anyway" does he feel anger, hot and burning, because Eddie is smart, Eddie is resourceful and kind, but no one ever gave him the chance to prove it, while Steve just had to smile, flip his hair and they would believe the best things about him, even if they weren't true. Eddie sees the resignation with which Steve accepts that he's dumb, just the muscle of the group, nearly the oldest but never respected. He hears Steve jokingly refer to himself as a failure and when he asks what exactly did he fail at except not following his dad's life map, Steve stutters and cannot answer, because he is so, so convinced he is a fuck up that he can't see the tiny victories, how loved he is, how he is managing to keep so many people safe. 

With Eddie's help, Steve learns to relax. Eddie praises him for things that Steve never though would count as achievements because they were useless in the grand Harrington perspective, but Steve is learning there is more to life. Eddie tells him he did such a great job boosting Dustin's confidence before going to see Suzie, that he'd never be able to do something like that for the kid. When Steve calls him after a long work shift, yawning and muttering he still has to clean the kitchen before he goes to sleep, Eddie just asks him if the world is going to end if those stupid dishes wait for tomorrow and Steve has a revelation. He goes to sleep and cleans the kitchen the next day. He gets back into reading with Eddie, but there is no pressure, if he stumbles over words, Eddie is there with gentle words of encouragement and help instead of criticism, instead of saying that Steve is still not good enough. 

And Eddie feels for the first time that he wants to do better, and not just as a "fuck you" to Hawkins and all the people who judged him before getting to know him. Steve believes in Eddie completely, Steve looks at Eddie as if he actually sees him, not just the exaggerated persona he presents himself as, he sees him as a separate human being from his dad, his trailer home, all of it. Eddie finds himself really trying in school, going as far as to ask Nancy for tips on effective learning and having her tutor him, searching for jobs that would lead somewhere in the future, not fast, but step by step, even army crawling, and he doesn't give up when it doesn't work for the first time. Because it turns out that having a group of dedicated kids and a loving uncle definitely helps, but having Steve Harrigton comb fingers through his hair and ask, not jokingly at all, if Eddie wants him to punch the asshole who warned the shop owner against hiring a Munson, that's a completely new world for Eddie, one that finally doesn't root against him. 

There is no finish line, no sign saying YOU MADE IT, YOU BROKE FREE, but when Eddie celebrates a year in the same job, even earning a promotion, and Steve quips back at someone insinuating he's stupid by saying "I'm trying not to be, so how about you save the insults and actually explain it?", they start feeling that they will be alright. And they are.

#steddie #steddie drabble #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #strangerthings #stranger things drabble #strangerthingsdrabble #stranger things

[laineystein]

I am genuinely curious - what is your opinion on practicing streams of Judaism? (Orthodox vs conservative vs reform vs Reconstructionist). I’m aware there are Israelis have the opinion that diaspora Jews- especially Americans, are Jew(ish), and not necessarily Jewish, if that makes sense? I know there are asshats that get quite nasty towards Israelis and I find that to be disgusting.

Me personally, I always found that to be very hurtful. I’m American, grew up Reform. In the sanctuary part of the Temple, we had two flags positioned on each corner of the sanctuary in the front: one was American, one was Israeli. My Rabbi, my Cantor, and my Sunday school teachers raised us to believe Israelis are distant cousins. Different but similar ideas, customs etc, but all part of the same family. So when 10/07 happened I (like many diaspora Jewish people), were shaken to the core.

And no matter what my personal issues are about the process of the military operation, and Bibi and his govt, I wish and hope everyone stays as safe as they can be while trying to get the hostages out and destroy Hamas.

So I was just wondering what your thoughts are about the clashes between the different streams of practice. I always feel that now is not the time to argue about who is or isn’t more Jewish. We are all feeling the after effects of what Hamas did, and the anti semitism that it has sparked. Once we have peace, then people can debate and bicker if they wish (but I really hope less of us do that). ♥️

So I contemplated how (or if) I’d answer this because I really think Am Yisrael needs ahavas chinam right now and I don’t want to do anything to promote sinas chinam. But I think you can disagree with something and still respect it and show love for your fellow Jews who may practice differently than you do and I think that *is* Ahavas chinam.

So I’d just ask that just as I’m affording respect to others who are different that people respect my view points as well.

So here we go…

A Jew is a Jew is a Jew. Even antizionist Jews, those are still Jews. Even atheist Jews, those are still Jews. I do believe in matrilineal inheritance of Judaism but I’m not going to treat someone differently if their father is their only Jewish parent and they were raised Jewish. It is not my place to say who is Jewish and who is not; I can have my viewpoints but ultimately I am not a Rav.

I was raised orthodox. I didn’t meet a “reform” Jew until med school (which was the first time I ever went to school with goyim) — the denominations you’re referring to are mostly western constructs. There are a few reform shuls in Israel but they’re not as common as they are in America. I am going to be very honest with you and share that many reform practices make me incredibly uncomfortable. Do I think that people that practice them are any less Jewish? Absolutely not.

As someone who spent half of their life in the diaspora (albeit in very Jewish communities with little contact with goyim) I absolutely do not subscribe to any belief that diaspora Jews are any less Jewish. That’s abhorrent. I don’t personally know any Israelis that believe that but I’m sure they exist. All Jews, regardless of their location, are valid.

I will say that it is interesting to me to hear that your teachers referred to Israelis as “distant cousins” - all of am Yisrael is a single tribe. I would only ever refer to a fellow Jew as a brother or sister regardless of whether or not they lived in Israel or the diaspora. It seems there might be some anti-Israel bias in that teaching, which is unfortunate. And it’s amusing because your question insinuates that Orthodox Jews and Israelis are less accepting of reform Jews and diasporic Jews and that’s interesting to hear because my experience has always been the exact opposite.

But in Israel we have similar issues where our religious communities spar with our less observant communities. It was very apparent in our most recent elections and the protests that followed. I find myself existing in both communities and it can be challenging sometimes. Some of my secular friends do have negative attitudes toward more frum communities. Those same frum communities may look down on my more secular friends. Because I do and always have existed in both groups I see both sides. I think both of these black and white attitudes are a chillul hashem and will get us nowhere.

But bottom line, how a Jew lives their life and their relationship with Hashem is none of my business. You do you; Jew do Jew.

(This was kind of all over the place and there’s a lot of tangents I actually *didn’t* go down believe it or not so if you want some clarification, feel free to ask. Or you can DM me and I’m happy to chat about it that way too.)

#lainey things #ask things #Jew things #this was a doozy

[whiskeypascals]

Open Arms

(NOT MY GIF)

Request from anon!!

Warnings: Major character death, mention of Y/N panicking, Joel blaming himself, somewhat ooc Joel (he’s so insecure please get him a therapist jfc), not necessarily a warning but this can be seen as platonic or romantic!

Summary: It was 10 years after the outbreak, Y/N left his home town and found Joel, who was on a smuggling mission. After completing it, Joel decided that keeping Y/N around would be helpful in the long run to get to Tommy, who was in Wyoming as of the last time Joel had heard anything. On the way out west, Joel opens up more to Y/N bit by bit and they found love in a the wasteland that’s left of the planet. They get to Wyoming and Tommy isn’t there, no trace of him even. it sparks something in Joel and things take a complete turn and Joel ends up leaving and as soon as he goes, they get trapped by a group of fireflies and Joel really regrets what he says

On the day of the outbreak, Y/N had no choice but to stay where he was, but after ten years, he couldn’t stand to stay in this place anymore. The QZ was full of fascist FEDRA officers who would do anything to keep ‘order’. The streets would be patrolled all night long, there would be casual searches of apartments where they claimed they would look for criminals but all they would do was go in and take people away from their families and shoot at any sign of protest. There were many nights where Y/N was awoken by screaming from his neighbors but he couldn’t get up and fight for them.

He couldn’t fucking take it any longer.

So, he left. He snuck out of his building under the cover of night fall and made it out like he’d seen smugglers do so many times from the window.

It was nearing a year since Y/N left the QZ, he’d come and go from different groups of people and ended up alone and scared for what seemed like the millionth time.

That’s when he came.

Joel.

He was on a smuggling trip and was making his way to Michigan, and got caught in an ambush and found Y/N hiding.

“No don’t shoot!” Y/N exclaimed, throwing his hands up “I’m unarmed.” he said, keeping his hands where Joel could see.

“Please help me, I don’t know who those people are. Please.” He started to beg, “I escaped my QZ about a year ago.”

Joel looked around and put his finger up to his lips. Y/N stopped talking and Joel moved to hide in the same spot that Y/N was just minutes ago. Y/N crouched back down next to Joel and watched as a few trucks passed by.

“Name.” That wasn’t a question, it was a demand.

“Y/N.” Y/N whispered.

“Where did you come from.” Another stern demand.

“San Francisco QZ.”

Y/N didn’t know why he trusted Joel as much as he did in this moment, it was probably because he was in a life or death situation right now and he was his only chance of making it out alive.

“Listen, I’m goin’ to get us out but you have to listen to what I say, and then you’ll be on your way Y/N.”

Y/N nodded.

The two stood up and Joel pulled the gun off of his hip and held it out in front of him as he slowly treaded into the street, it was dark outside but he couldn’t pull out his light because it was an obvious death wish.

Joel heard shooting behind them. He turned around and shoved Y/N back behind him and cocked his gun. There was someone shooting at them from afar.

“Shit aim.” He said to himself before he himself started shooting.

“Stay behind me.”

Joel walked toward where the person was shooting from, luckily it was only one person and Joel one shotted them.

“God damn idiot.”

Joel turned back around and the two kept quiet as they walked out of danger.

“Thank you.” Is all that Y/N could say when they were far away from the town.

“Keep quiet, there might be some more of them out here.”

“I think you’re overthinking”

Joel turned around, “I’m thinking rationally, we have no idea what’s out here.”

Y/N sighed, “Yeah, sorry…” He thought for a second, “Hey I never got your name.”

“Why do you need to know, we’re splitting our ways, I’m goin’ to finish my job and you’re gonna keep surviving.”

The two did not split ways.

It was a week later and Joel had brought Y/N all the way to the city in Michigan where he was taking his cargo to, and in return he got another gun from the person he was selling to.

“Here, you must know how to use it if you’ve been out here for this long.” Joel handed the pistol to Y/N, who nodded in agreement.

“Where are we going from here?”

Joel said nothing.

“Joel?”

“I’ve got a brother out west, I was thinking that I could get there easier if I had you navigating the way.” It took him ages to finally reply to Y/N’s question.

“What if he’s not there?”

“He will be.”

The two men walked out of the abandoned building that Joel met his buyer in and Y/N spoke up.

“The distance is a good fifteen hundred miles so if you have a truck hidden somewhere like all that ammo, it would be best to find it.”

“We’ll make do.”

The first few days went by cruelly slow, back and forth bickering between Joel and Y/N and sleeping in the middle of the woods feet apart, but as the days went past, the two started to open up more to each other. It was easier said than done for Joel, but Y/N had no issues with sharing his most of his story.

It was day twelve of walking and Y/N had found themselves in the middle of nowhere, it wasn’t like Y/N hadn’t been going this way before, but that was a year ago, so to say the least they were lost.

“Joel, I hate to say this to you but we might need to find a map.”

“Y/N tell me where we can find a map, look where the hell we are.”

“I sort of remember this area, there should be a truck stop somewhere.”

Joel said nothing and just kept walking.

Five miles later there was indeed an old truck stop, worn away by time and taken over by wildlife.

“You swear it’s empty?” Joel said, looking for an entrance.

“Well, I can’t promise anything, so pay attention to everything.”

“Save that advice for yourself Y/N” Joel found a loose board covering up a broken glass door and the two went inside.

They were met with the smell of mold and decay, the only sounds that could be heard were their footsteps crunching on the debris on the floor.

“Let’s find the map and get out, ‘kay, I think I remember the layout of this place” Y/N said quietly.

Joel nodded, it felt good to Y/N for Joel to agree with him for once, even if what he said was common knowledge between the two.

‘Oh you have to be fucking kidding me.’ Joel thought to himself, looking around seeing two dead bodies of what looked like smugglers based solely on what they were wearing. Y/N’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped

“Fuck.” He mouthed

He pulled his gun out and Y/N did the same. They both held their weapons out and started walking, it got to a point in the building where the sunlight stopped leaking in and the both of them had to pull their flashlights out too.

That’s when Y/N heard the clicking.

He turned to Joel and put a finger over his mouth. Joel turned to look forward and took the smallest steps he possibly could to not make any noise and Y/N walked in the same manner.

They got to the back room where a clicker stood. Joel went to line up his shot, but before he even got his finger on the trigger, a gunshot from Y/N rang out. The clicker turned and screamed a guttural sound, Joel let out two quick shots from his gun and the clicker fell to the floor.

“We have to get out of here. Now.” He said bluntly, Y/N turned to run out of the truck stop and made it to the doorway they came in before realizing that Joel wasn’t behind him.

“Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.” Y/N started to panic.

“JOEL?” He yelled out.

“Y/N GO.” Joel yelled back, he sounded far away from where Y/N was standing, there were two gunshots and then the sound of heavy boots on tile floor, Y/N got out of the door and waited for Joel to make it and slammed the board against the door.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” is all Joel said between heavy breaths.

“What happened back there?” Y/N grabbed onto Joel’s arm, “Scared the fuck out of me man.”

“Those smugglers turned, they almost got me.”

“Thank god they didn’t, I don’t want to be out here alone again.”

“Thank you for waiting, I’m not 100% sure if they’re dead so we have to get going.”

“What about the map?”

“Fuck that map, we need to go, Y/N.”

The two kept walking West. It would take at least 6 more days for the two to even make it to Wyoming, let alone find where Tommy was.

Just as it started to turn to night, Joel and Y/N decided to stop for that night and set up camp in the woods so if anything was coming, they would be able to hear if a branch snapped or leaves rustled.

“Hey, Joel, can I ask you something?” Y/N asked, setting down the lamp that Joel brought.

Joel looked up from where he was laying out their sleeping bags.

“Do you have any other family out here besides Tommy?”

“M-mm.” Joel shook his head.

He really didn’t, he would have Sarah if he could have saved her that day, but things didn’t go the way he had planned to that night.

“D’you?” Joel asked, getting into his sleeping bag.

“No. My sister died the night of the outbreak, we’d planned to get to LA but it was so damn crowded in the streets, the runners got to her before we could run out of the town.”

Joel turned to see Y/N starting to tear up.

“Sorry, talking about her makes me so emotional, she was only 17. It almost felt like I was her dad, or at least in that moment.”

Y/N sniffed and laid down in his sleeping bag.

“I know how you feel,” Joel turned off the lamp and laid down too.

“You said you didn’t have family out here?”

“I lost my little girl when the outbreak started.”

“How old?”

“12.”

Joel turned away to face away from Y/N

“Fuck I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have asked if I knew it would upset you.”

Y/N sat up and looked over to Joel, he’d never seen the older man so vulnerable.

“Joel,” Y/N moved closer to him “I’m sorry. I know how you feel, I know that you feel like you need to protect me, and I need you to know that I’m gonna survive this and we’ll get out asses to Wyoming and find your brother.” He said putting his hands on Joel’s shoulder. He felt the man tremble slightly under his touch.

“You don’t need to apologize, Y/N.” Joel shrugged Y/N’s hand off his shoulder and turned to look at him, Y/N got up and kneeled by Joel’s side to hug him.

Joel didn’t know what to do at first honestly, it was the first time he had felt any empathy in 11 years. Just as Y/N was going to pull away and apologize, Joel swung his arm around his side and hugged him tightly.

“Okay, shit Joel, too tight.” Y/N struggled to say, Joel took his arms out from around Y/N and mumbled a small ‘sorry’.

“Tell me about her in the morning.” Y/N said, scooting back to his sleeping bag.

Joel nodded and reached to turn off the lantern behind the two of their heads.

Joel didn’t get much sleep that night, he kept waking up and falling back asleep to only repeat the process until morning. That was a common occurrence for him lately. When the sun came up, Joel started getting all of his things together to be prepared when Y/N woke up. It was only about a half an hour before he did wake up though.

When he woken up, he saw that all of Joel’s things had gone and he started to think that Joel left him like he had done with so many different groups of people.

“Morning.” Joel said from a few feet away, he was sitting on a tree trunk that had fallen down a long time ago.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief and got up from his spot. He noticed that Joel had packed all of their stuff up into their backpacks except his sleeping bag. He rolled it up quickly and fastened it so it wouldn’t come undone while they were walking.

“What was she like?” Y/N asked after a while.

“She was a lot like her mom, same eyes and smile y’know, things like that.”

Joel kept what he said about Sarah short and sweet and they moved on from there.

It felt weird to Joel to be this open with someone he met less than a month ago, but it somehow felt right to him at the same time.

The two kept walking, and walking, and walking some more for a full day and a full night. They reached a sign that read

“Welcome to Nebraska!” In massive letters, it was covered in graffiti and rust from all the time it was out there with no one to keep it pretty.

As day turned to night once again, Joel and Y/N found a place far from any life that would be out there, and called it a night.

Joel watched Y/N lay out his sleeping bag and turned to do the same, he thought for a second and decided to speak on his thoughts.

“Y/N, bring your sleeping bag closer.”

“Uh, okay,” He moved his stuff closer and sat down on top of it. “Is everything alright Joel?”

Joel nodded, “Yeah just thinkin’” He said quietly.

“So you wanted me to move closer to you because you’re thinking?” Y/N laughed a little.

“Yeah about you idiot.”

Y/N looked and Joel confused

“Why are you so nice to me?”

Y/N went to speak but Joel cut him off

“I’m mean and I’m bossy, I have no redeeming traits.”

Joel finished and Y/N sat there for a minute thinking of what to say.

The hardened man he had grown to know just spilled out to him and he honestly didn’t know what to do.

“Joel, you saved my life, you’ve kept me out of danger that would have killed me by now, yes you’re mean but that’s who you are.” he finally said breaking the silence that seemed hours long.

Joel hugged Y/N, just like they hugged when Joel told him about Sarah.

“Can we uh, sleep like this?” Y/N suggested, still hugging Joel tight, he was enjoying the human touch just as much as Joel was.

“It’s kinda complicated with two separate sleeping bags Y/N. How big is yours?”

Y/N tensed at those words and Joel noticed.

“Your fuckin’ sleeping bag Y/N.” Joel said flatly.

“Oh it’s big enough for both of us I think, we’d have to squeeze together but it would work.”

Joel let go of Y/N and scooted out of his own sleeping bag and Y/N got in and opened up the zipper to let Joel squeeze in next to him. It was kind of uncomfortable at first for both of them and they knew they would wake up with aching backs but they repositioned themselves and got comfortable.

That was one of the first nights Joel had slept fully through.

‘I’m fuckin’ losin’ it.’ He thought when he woke up with the heat off of Y/N’s body radiating onto his back and an arm around his waist.

He was again, the first to wake up and the moment he moved to try and get up, Y/N woke up.

“You feeling better Joel?”

Joel hummed in response, as much as he hated feeling vulnerable, he really liked having someone not tell him that he should fix himself.

“Good, let’s get going.”

The two packed up their stuff and trekked through rain and sun until they reached a sign that brought a smile to Joel’s face.

It was the first time that Y/N had seen Joel smile a genuine smile.

“Kay enough ogling the sign let’s go find Tommy.” Y/N smiled.

“Welcome to Wyoming.”

As Joel and Y/N walked further into the state, they were awestruck about how beautiful the landscape managed to stay,

“Joel listen,” Y/N whispered

“It’s just deer Y/N.”

“No those steps are too heavy.”

“Well, whatever it is I’m sure they don’t need us to help, there’s no screaming.”

Y/N nodded and they kept walking.

They had finally reached Casper, the last place Joel had heard from Tommy, the city was desolate, not a single form of life as far as the eye could see. Joel’s joy suddenly disappeared.

“Where is he?” Y/N asked quietly.

“I- He-.”

Joel screamed out Tommy’s name, he didn’t want to think that he wasn’t here anymore, he needed him back. Ten years was a long time without your brother.

“Joel we’ll find him don’t worry,” Y/N went to put his hand on Joel’s shoulder, put Joel pushed it away before it even made contact.

“You don’t know dangerous this place is for him, Y/N. He could be dead.” Joel started getting angry and Y/N backed away from him.

“Joel, I do know.” Y/N assured

“You only survived because I helped you, you were unarmed and you would have died, and do you think Tommy is armed?”

“Yes Joel, he was a firefly of course he would be armed.”

Joel sighed and stopped talking and Y/N scanned his face for any emotion.

“I need to go, I dug myself too deep and I need to go and you need to go back to San Francisco.”

“Joel, I can’t go back, they’ll kill me, and I know you’ve been smuggling for a long time but you were just as lost as I was when we needed to find a map, I can help you Joel.” Y/N begged.

“No, I’m going to look all around here and find my fucking brother.”

Joel walked away and Y/N just watched him,

“Joel, don’t fucking leave me here.” He started to get choked up.

Joel said nothing and kept walking.

Y/N accepted defeat and turned away so he wouldn’t have to watch Joel leave.

Just as Joel reached the door of the building they were in, he noticed a group of people walking towards it, he turned around and ran back to the room Y/N was in.

“I thought you were leaving, Joel.” Y/N said, he was sitting on the floor with back against the wall.

“There are people coming towards here, we need to hide. Right now.”

“What?”

“Right now, Y/N.”

Joel helped Y/N stand up and they found a smaller room off the room that they were already in and crouched down behind boxes.

They were in the same position they were the night they met. Joel was crouched in front of Y/N and pulling out his gun, and Y\N was behind Joel, he was armed this time, but it still felt the same to him.

“Joel, let me go out there I can protect myself.”

“No. You stay he-“

Before Joel could even finish his sentence, Y/N was getting up from behind him.

“Fuck. Y/N, get the fuck back behind me!” Joel whisper-shouted.

Y/N didn’t listen and he made his way back into the room they were in moments prior.

It was almost cliche how Y/N was struck down as soon as he walked into the open area. Joel heard the gunshot and booked it into the room.

“Holy shit.” is all he said when three firefly members stood in front of the door to leave.

“Joel?” Y/N asked weakly.

“Hey, stay with me Y/N don’t fucking do this, I’m sorry for what I said earlier please don’t fucking do this to me.” Joel started tearing up.

Four shots rung out through the building, Joel shot all three of the members, he missed one but almost instantly got them down with the fourth shot.

“Joel, who were those people?”

“I don’t know Y/N,” Joel looked down to see blood spilling onto the floor. “Fuck, c’mon we have to get you up.” Y/N winced as Joel tried to slide his arm under his waist.

“Joel stop.” Y/N said, pushing Joel’s arms off of him.

“Please, Y/N I- I’m sorry for saying you would have died back in Chicago.”

Joel just broke down at this point, he gripped onto the front of Y/N’s shirt and held him in his arms, just like he did that night in Nebraska it hit him, he realized that no matter how much he tried, people around him would keep getting hurt or killed, it happened to Sarah, God knows what happened to Tommy, and now it’s Y/N.

All Joel could think about was how he said that Y/N would have never survived and that’s why he got up when he had told him to stay behind him,

He wanted to prove to Joel that he could save himself.

And that’s what killed him. Words that came out of Joel’s mouth. Words that Joel said to him. Joel thinking that he was weak.

The man would never forgive himself, he would never let anyone close to him ever again in fear of the pattern repeating.

#joel miller #joel miller x male reader #pedro pascal #the last of us hbo #tlou #joel miller x reader #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #Spotify