#(mentioned offhand but it still kinda counts)

[atlasthegreatest]

A Nigth to Remember / Sam Carpenter x Precott! Male Reader

Sam Carpenter finally stops being the caretaker and starts being taken care of by Y/n Prescott— the man who makes her feel more carefree and happy. Meanwhile, Tara feels a surge of jealousy for not being the center of her sister’s attention.

Word count:

A/n: Jealous Tara. Slight make-out scene. Fluff and more fluff. And a slight participation of “A Night Out” reader.

A/n: This was requested by an anon. Enjoy it!

Sam Carpenter sat in front of her mirror, smoothing down her hair and nervously checking her reflection for the hundredth time. Tonight was special. She hadn’t been on a real date in a while—especially not one planned by Y/n—Sidney Prescott’s oldest son— who had stolen her breath the moment they met. Tonight, she was stepping into something new, something exciting, and she couldn’t help but feel both giddy and anxious.

Just as she stood up to leave her room, Tara appeared at the door, arms crossed, an exaggerated frown on her face.

“Going somewhere, Miss Carpenter?” Tara teased, though there was an undeniable edge of envy in her voice.

Sam rolled her eyes, adjusting the strap of her dress. “Yes, Tara, I have a date.”

“Oh, I know,” Tara grumbled, her arms tightening around her body. “It’s just… why do you get to go out with him? You’ve been talking about him all week. It’s disgusting.”

A laugh escaped Sam as she grabbed her purse. “Tara, don’t be jealous. It’s just one date.”

Tara’s boyfriend, who had been lounging on the couch in the living room, overheard the conversation and chimed in. “Aww, Tara, are you jealous that your sister’s going out with someone else? You’ve got me,” he joked, a playful smirk on his face.

Tara shot him a look. “Shut up,” she muttered, but her boyfriend only laughed harder.

Sam gave them both a parting wave and made her way downstairs, where Y/n was waiting. He stood by his car, dressed in a sharp black suit, holding a bouquet that took Sam completely by surprise.

“Wow,” she said, feeling her heart race. “You really went all out.”

Y/n smiled that easy, confident smile of his. “Only the best for you, Sam.”

As the evening unfolded, it became clear that Y/n wasn’t holding back. They dined at one of the city’s finest restaurants, a candlelit table in the corner offering a cozy atmosphere as soft music played in the background. The conversation flowed effortlessly between them, laughter breaking out over shared stories and memories.

Y/n made sure Sam never had to lift a finger—he poured her wine, ordered for her, and even pulled out her chair like a true gentleman. By the time they finished dessert, Sam was feeling thoroughly spoiled and more relaxed than she had in a long time.

After dinner, Y/n took her on a moonlit walk by the river, the cool night air swirling around them. He bought her ice cream, even though they were both too full, just because Sam mentioned offhand how much she loved it.

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know,” Sam said as they sat on a bench overlooking the water. She was touched by how thoughtful he had been throughout the night.

Y/n shrugged, his smile soft. “I wanted to. You deserve to be treated like this.”

For a moment, Sam couldn’t find the words to respond. Instead, she leaned against him, letting the warmth of his presence chase away the chill of the night.

Meanwhile, back at home, Tara sat on the couch, her arms still crossed in a defensive posture. Her boyfriend sat next to her, still grinning.

“You know, you really are jealous,” he teased, nudging her lightly. “It’s kinda cute.”

“I am not jealous,” Tara shot back, though the blush rising in her cheeks betrayed her. “I just… It’s weird seeing Sam like that, okay? She’s my big sister. She’s supposed to be tough, not all… soft and dreamy-eyed.”

Her boyfriend chuckled, throwing an arm around her. “Maybe you’re just used to being the center of attention, huh?”

Tara’s eyes narrowed at him, but she couldn’t hold back a small smile. “Don’t push it.”

He squeezed her shoulder and pressed a playful kiss to her temple. “Come on, Tara, admit it—you miss her.”

Tara sighed, leaning back into the couch. “Okay, fine. Maybe a little. But still… it’s weird.”

“Relax, she’ll be back soon, and you can interrogate her all about her fancy date. I’m sure you’ll get all the details,” her boyfriend teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Tara rolled her eyes but secretly she couldn’t wait to hear everything. Maybe she was a little jealous, but more than anything, she wanted to know that Sam was happy—and by the looks of it, she was.

————————-

Later that night, when Sam returned home, her cheeks were still flushed from the evening’s excitement. As soon as she stepped inside, Tara was right there, practically jumping up from the couch.

“Well? How was it?” Tara demanded, her arms now unfolding as she gave her sister an expectant look.

Sam grinned, eyes twinkling. “It was… amazing.”

Tara crossed her arms again, her lips pressed into a pout. “Ugh, you’re unbearable.”

Sam laughed and reached out to ruffle Tara’s hair. “Oh, come on, don’t be like that.”

As Tara sulked, her boyfriend nudged her again, grinning. “Told you she’d love it.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

But even as she pretended to be annoyed, Sam could see the small smile pulling at the corners of Tara’s lips. Beneath the teasing and the jealousy, she knew Tara was happy for her.

And that made the night even more perfect.

Sam couldn’t help but laugh at Tara’s obvious attempt to hide her curiosity. Tara’s faux annoyance melted into genuine interest, and Sam could feel her sister’s attention locked on her. It was something Sam loved about her—no matter how much she acted jealous, Tara always cared deeply.

“Alright, fine, I’ll give you details,” Sam said, sitting down beside Tara. “But you have to promise not to make a big deal out of it.”

Tara’s eyes lit up as she scooted closer. “No promises, but spill!”

Sam recounted the evening—about how Y/n had taken her to a beautiful restaurant, how he had been attentive and charming the entire time, and how the night had ended with a walk by the river. Tara hung onto every word, occasionally interrupting with a “Wait, he did that?” or “You’re seriously telling me he got you ice cream after dinner?”

When Sam mentioned how Y/n pulled out her chair, Tara made a face. “Okay, now I’m really jealous. I have to fight for attention and here you are getting treated like a princess.”

Her boyfriend, who had been listening with amusement, chimed in again. “Come on, Tara, don’t act like I haven’t taken you out. Remember last week when we—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tara interrupted with a dismissive wave of her hand. “But he didn’t get me flowers and ice cream. That’s a whole other level.”

Sam shook her head, laughing at their banter. It was always like this—Tara’s teasing was a shield for the way she felt, but underneath it all was the warmth of sisterhood that they both cherished.

“So… what’s the deal with him?” Tara asked, her voice softening as she leaned in, genuinely curious now. “Is it serious?”

Sam felt a flutter in her stomach, unsure how to answer. She had felt a connection with Y/n, no doubt about that, but it was still so new. “I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “I think I like him, but… you know how things are. Life’s complicated.”

Tara frowned slightly. “Yeah, I get it. But Sam, you deserve to be happy. Don’t overthink it.”

Her boyfriend chimed in with a chuckle, “Says the queen of overthinking.”

Tara shot him a glare. “Don’t start.”

Sam smiled, feeling a sense of calm wash over her. It was nice to have Tara’s support, even when it came with a side of good-natured jealousy. She leaned back on the couch, letting the warmth of the room and the company of her loved ones wrap around her like a blanket.

But Tara wasn’t done yet.

“So, what about me? Do I get to meet him or what? I need to see if he passes the test.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “The test?”

“Duh! I have to make sure he’s good enough for you. And don’t think I’ll go easy on him just because he’s Sidney Prescott’s son.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

Her boyfriend leaned in, nudging Tara again. “You’re just mad because you wanted to be spoiled like that.”

Tara sighed dramatically, throwing her arms up. “Maybe! I want the fancy dinner and the ice cream, okay? Is that so wrong?”

Sam and Tara’s boyfriend both laughed, but Sam could see the sincerity in her sister’s eyes. Tara’s protectiveness wasn’t just about jealousy; it was about making sure Sam was taken care of. It was something that had always been mutual between them. Tara might tease, but Sam knew she’d be the first one in line to defend her.

“Fine,” Sam said with a playful sigh. “You can meet him. But you better behave.”

Tara grinned triumphantly. “Oh, I’ll behave. Just enough to scare him.”

Her boyfriend raised an eyebrow. “Scare him? You? Nah, I think he’ll be more worried about you stealing Sam’s spotlight.”

Tara smirked. “He should be. I’m a force to be reckoned with.”

Sam shook her head, chuckling. “I don’t know how he’s going to handle both of us.”

As the night wore on, the three of them continued to talk and joke, with Tara stealing glances at Sam as if she were trying to unravel the mystery of her sister’s new romance. Beneath the teasing and the banter, there was something deeper—a sense that Sam was finally opening a new chapter in her life, and Tara, despite her jealousy, was right there beside her, ready to cheer her on.

Before long, the living room quieted, and Tara’s boyfriend stretched his arms, stifling a yawn. “Alright, I think it’s time to call it a night. Besides, Sam’s got more dates to plan with Mr. Perfect.”

Tara groaned. “Ugh, don’t remind me. Now I’m going to have to hear about this all week.”

Sam grinned, leaning over to give her sister a quick hug. “You’ll live, Tara.”

Tara hugged her back, albeit begrudgingly. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t forget about me when you’re off being pampered by your prince charming.”

“I could never forget you,” Sam said softly, squeezing Tara’s shoulder.

Tara smiled, her jealousy melting into genuine affection. As Sam stood to head to bed, she heard Tara whisper to her boyfriend, “I hope he treats her right. She deserves it.”

And in that moment, Sam knew—no matter what happened with Y/n, no matter where her life took her—she would always have Tara by her side, teasing, protecting, and loving her in her unique way.

————————

Tara paced back and forth in the living room, her fingers drumming against her sides. Tonight was the night she was finally meeting Y/n Prescott, the guy who had completely swept Sam off her feet. And even though Sam had been gushing about how sweet and caring he was, Tara wasn’t sold yet.

Her boyfriend, lounging casually on the couch, watched her with amusement. “You’re gonna wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that.”

Tara shot him a glare. “I’m not pacing. I’m… preparing.”

He snorted. “Right. Preparing to grill this guy like he’s applying for a job.”

“Damn right,” Tara said, crossing her arms. “Nobody gets to just waltz in and date Sam without passing my test.”

Her boyfriend chuckled, clearly enjoying her protective big-sister act. “You do realize Sam’s a grown woman, right? She can handle herself.”

“I know that,” Tara said defensively. “But someone’s gotta make sure he’s not just all charm and no substance.”

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and Tara’s stomach flipped. She glanced at her boyfriend, who gave her a mischievous grin. “Moment of truth.”

Tara inhaled deeply and marched to the door, pulling it open to reveal Y/n standing there. He was tall— very tall, well-dressed, and handsome in a polished, put-together way. He held a bouquet of fresh flowers in one hand, and his other was casually interlocked with Sam’s. Tara’s eyes narrowed as she took in the sight—this was the guy who had Sam all googly-eyed?

Beside Y/n, Sam was practically glowing. Her smile was wide, her eyes sparkling as she stood next to him.

“Hey,” Sam said, a bit too cheerfully. “Y/n, this is my sister, Tara. And that,” she nodded toward the living room, “is her boyfriend.”

Y/n extended a hand to Tara first, his smile polite and calm. “It’s nice to meet you, Tara. Sam talks about you all the time.”

Tara squinted at him, sizing him up as she took his hand. “Yeah, I’ve heard about you, too. You’ve set some high expectations, you know.”

Y/n chuckled lightly. “I hope I can live up to them.”

Tara raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. Instead, she stepped aside, letting Y/n and Sam come in. Her boyfriend stood up, offering Y/n a nod and a casual handshake. “Nice to meet you, man. Good luck—you’ll need it,” he joked.

Y/n laughed, clearly understanding the lighthearted warning but not intimidated by it. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

As they moved into the living room, Tara watched carefully. Her eyes flicked between Sam and Y/n, looking for any sign that this guy wasn’t as perfect as Sam had been making him out to be. She couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that it was all too good to be true.

Sam settled onto the couch next to Y/n, and immediately, Y/n’s hand found hers again, lacing their fingers together. It was a small, almost unconscious gesture, but Tara noticed the way Sam’s face softened. Y/n didn’t say much, but the way he looked at Sam—the quiet adoration in his eyes—made Tara pause. There was no pretense, no show. He genuinely cared for her.

Still, Tara wasn’t going to let her guard down just yet.

“So, Y/n,” Tara started, leaning forward a bit, “what exactly are your intentions with my sister?”

Sam groaned, shooting Tara a glare. “Tara, seriously?”

But Y/n just smiled. “My intentions?” He glanced at Sam before turning his attention back to Tara, his expression sincere. “I like Sam—a lot. I care about her, and I just want to make her happy. That’s all.”

Tara’s eyes narrowed again, but she couldn’t find anything in his words to pick apart. He was too calm, too composed.

As the conversation flowed, Y/n continued to be attentive to Sam in the smallest, most genuine ways. He listened when she spoke, leaning in slightly as if hanging on every word. When Sam laughed, he’d smile softly, clearly enjoying just seeing her happy. And when Sam shifted on the couch, Y/n instinctively reached for her hand again, pulling it into his lap as though it was second nature.

At one point, when Sam mentioned being cold,Y/n didn’t hesitate—he took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders without a word. The simple, thoughtful gesture caught Tara off guard. Sam smiled, her cheeks tinged pink as she snuggled into the jacket, glancing at Y/n with that same dreamy look Tara had teased her about.

Tara’s boyfriend, watching the scene unfold, leaned toward her and whispered, “Come on, Tara, admit it. He’s a good guy.”

Tara huffed, not ready to give in just yet. “Maybe. I’m still watching.”

Her boyfriend chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

For the rest of the evening, Y/n continued to win over Tara’s boyfriend with easy conversation, discussing movies and music, while Sam remained comfortably tucked beside him, a soft smile on her face. And as much as Tara hated to admit it, she couldn’t find a single reason to dislike him. He wasn’t just some charming smooth-talker. He was thoughtful, caring, and—most annoyingly—genuine.

By the time Y/n stood to leave, Tara had begrudgingly decided that maybe—maybe—he wasn’t so bad.

“Well,” Tara said, crossing her arms as she walked them to the door, “you’re not terrible.”

Y/n chuckled, taking it as the highest form of praise. “I’ll take that.”

Sam rolled her eyes at Tara, but there was an underlying gratitude in her expression. Tara might not have said it outright, but Sam could tell that her little sister had warmed up to Y/n, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

As Y/n opened the door to step out, he turned back to Sam, his hand reaching for hers once again. He pulled her in for a gentle, affectionate kiss on the forehead, making Sam’s heart flutter visibly in front of them.

Tara watched the whole thing, feeling a strange mix of emotions. On one hand, she was used to being Sam’s protector, used to being the one to keep an eye out for her. But seeing someone else care for her so deeply—seeing Sam genuinely happy—was something she couldn’t ignore.

After Y/n and Sam said their goodbyes, Tara stood at the door, arms still crossed, watching them walk off into the night. Her boyfriend came up beside her, nudging her lightly.

“So,” he said with a smirk, “still jealous?”

Tara sighed dramatically but smiled. “Fine. He’s okay. But if he breaks her heart, I’m breaking his face.”

Her boyfriend laughed, wrapping an arm around her. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

As they stood there, Tara felt a sense of peace wash over her. Maybe, just maybe, Sam had finally found someone who would treat her the way she deserved. Tara still wasn’t going to make it easy for Y/n, but for the first time, she could relax a little. Her sister was in good hands.

Bonus chapter:

It had been a long day and Tara was in no mood for anything but lounging on the couch and watching something mind-numbing on TV. Her boyfriend was on his way with snacks, and she was looking forward to unwinding. She had just slipped into her sweats when she noticed something odd— Sam's door was closed.

Normally, that wouldn't be a big deal, but Sam had mentioned that she'd be out for most of the day. Plus, she hadn't heard the front door open, so when did Sam come home? And more importantly, why was the door closed? Suspicious, Tara moved down the hallway, her eyes narrowing as she approached.

Maybe Sam was just resting or getting ready for a night out with Y/n. But something felt off. Tara paused, her ear pressed against the door. She couldn't hear much, just muffled voices. A normal person might have left it alone, but Tara was anything but normal when it came to protect her sister. She knocked, lightly at first.

"Sam?" she called out, her voice curious but casual.

There as no immediate answer. Instead, she heard a quick shuffle, followed by hushed voices. Tara's suspicion greww, her patience wearing thin.

"Sam, what are you doing in there?"

Still no response. Okay, something was definitely up.

Without thinking, Tara pushed the door open. And what she saw next was not what she had been expecting.

There, in the dimly lit room, she found Sam and Y/n-- Sam pressed up against the wall, her arms wrapped around his neck, and Y/n leaning into her, his hands firmly on her waist. They were kissing, deeply, passionately, and entirely unaware of Tara's presence.

Tara froze, her eyes widening, her brain struggling to catch up to what she was seeing. She was used to seeing Sam as her tough, no-nonsense sister, but this-- this was a side of her she had never expected to witness. And Y/n? Well, he looked way too comfortable with his hands on her sister for her liking.

The shock turned quickly to panic, and Tara let out an awkward, horrified, "OH, MY GOD."

Both Sam and Y/n jerked apart like they had been electrocuted. Sam's face turned beet red, her hair messy from their, well, activities, and Y/n looked like a deer caught in headlights, his hands slowly releasing their grip on Sam as he tried to process what had just happened.

"Tara!" Sam yelped, her voice high-pitched with embarrassment. "W-what the hell?"

Tara's mouth opened and closed a few times, but no words came out. She was still standing there, her brain short-circuiting. She had seen her sister and Y/n holding hands and kissing before, but this—this was a whole other level. Her protective instincts flared up, even though she knew logically that Sam as an adult and perfectly capable of making her own choices.

Y/n, meanwhile, awkwardly stepped back, trying to straighten his shirt while offering Tara a sheepish smile. "Uh, hey, Tara."

"Hey, Tara?" she echoed, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Hey, Tara?! What the— what the hell are you two doing?"

Sam groaned, running a hand through her messy hair. "It's not what it looks like."

Tara's eyes widened. "Really? Because it looks like you were—" She gestured wildly between them. "—this close to doing stuff I really, really don't want to think about right now!"

Y/n scratched the back of his neck, looking genuinely mortified. "We weren't...I mean, it's not..."

Tara shot him a glare that could have melted steel. "You shut up. You don't get to speak right now."

Sam's face was still red, but her irritation with Tara was starting to bubble to the surface. "Okay, can you please stop acting like I'm a teenager sneaking around? I'm a grown woman, Tara. And don't talk like that to Y/n."

Tara shook her head, still in disbelief. " Grown woman or not, I didn't need to see that!" She then looked at Y/n with narrowed eyes. "And you—what, you think just because you're all nice and charming, you can just... just—"

Y/n held his hands up in surrender. "Tara, seriously, I didn't mean--"

"Didn't mean what? Make out with my sister against the wall like some... like some teenage boy who can't keep his hands to himself?"

Sam groaned again, this time more in frustration than embarrassment. "Tara, stop! You're being ridiculous. We were just... kissing. It's a normal thing that couples do."

"Normal?!" Tara's voice cracked as she pointed between them again. "That was not just kissing, Sam! That was... I don't even know what was, but I was not ready for it!"

Her boyfriend, having just walked through the front door, came down the hall and appeared behind her, his eyes widening as he took in the scene. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. What did I just walk into?"

Tara spun around, flustered and still trying to process everything. "I walked in on them—" she gestured wildly again toward Sam and Y/n, "—practically attacking each other."

Sam rolled her eyes. "Oh my God, Tara, it wasn't an attack."

Y/n, still looking like he wanted to disappear, shot Tara's boyfriend a pleading look. "This is...very awkward."

Tara's boyfriend snickered, shaking his head. "Man, you've got guts. Making out with Sam while Tara's home? You're braver than I thought."

Tara shot her boyfriend a glare, but he just grinned at her, completely unfazed. "What? I mean, he's got some nerve, I'll give him that."

Tara huffed and crossed her arms, turning her glare back to Y/n. "I can't believe this. I thought you were all nice and gentlemanly. Turns out you're just like the rest of them."

Sam's patience finally snapped. "Okay, enough. I don't need you playing the overprotective sister right now. I'm fine. Y/n's fine. We're both consenting adults. You don't need to freak out every time we're affectionate."

Tara blinked, her mouth opening to argue, but Sam's words stopped her, It wasn't that she didn't trust Y/n—it was just... weird. Seeing her big sister, her tough, guarded, independent sister, in such a vulnerable, intimate moment threw her off. She wasn't used to it, and it made her feel protective in a way that was probably unnecessary.

Tara sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I just... I wasn't ready for this, okay? You're my sister, and I'm still getting used to you having someone like— like him around."

Sam's face softened, her irritation fading. She stepped forward and placed a hand on Tara's arm. "I get it. I felt the same when you started going out with your boyfriend. But I'm happy, Tara. Y/n makes me happy."

Tara looked at Y/n, who was still standing awkwardly in the corner, his face a mixture of embarrassment and concern. Despite everything, she could see it in his eyes-- the care, the respect, and the genuine affection he had for Sam. It wasn't an act. He did love her.

Tara sighed again, her posture relaxing. "Fine. But next time, lock the door, for crying out loud."

Y/n chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Noted."

Sam smiled softly at Tara. "Thanks."

Tara grumbled, not entirely over the shock, but willing to back off-- for now. "Yeah, yeah. Just... be more careful. I don't need to be scarred for life."

“Noted.”

[la-principessa-nuova]

About Me

Name: Sabrina

Pronouns: she/her

Age: 28 ± 1

Gender: Nonbinary Woman

HRT: E/Spiro since 2024-05-28

Neurotype: AuDHD girlie

Romantic Orientation: Lesbian

Sexual Orientation: Lesbian

Geographic Orientation: 35° NE

Relationship Status: Yearning

Top Fandoms: Dropout (esp. Dimension 20) and Doctor Who

Creative Medium: All of them but badly

Occupation: Software Engineer

Call Me: Hot, not pretty. JK, call me both, and beautiful too. 😘

❤️🧡🤍🩷💜 🩷❤️🧡💛💙💚💜 🩵🩷🤍🩷🩵

Mutuals, feel free to DM me or submit asks about whatever. I guess everyone else can too, but no bigotry of any kind, and don’t be creepy.

Due to the constant ask spam, I assume any ask/DM/tag asking to donate or share a fundraiser is a scam and block you. See my additional notes below the fold for more details on that.

I have a loose system of tagging that I mostly stick to, and you can find a list of links to tags here.

Additional Notes

To clarify what I said about donations, I promise you that I really do want to help, but there are a couple reasons that I am unable to engage with this kind of stuff, largely due to my disabilities:

Based on past experience, I am not very good at distinguishing between real campaigns and scams without extensive research, which absolutely will take me hours if not days. While I appreciate blogs that ver campaigns that just shifts it from verifying the user asking me to verifying hoth’s blog who verified them and that they really were verified.

I am hypersensitive, and I get multiple spam asks every day with extremely sad stories asking for donations, most of which are probably scams, and I often come on here to cheer me up when I’m starting to feel hopeless, which has been a lot lately. When I started getting these I became noticeably more sad and hopeless and I had to make a rule for myself that I block them without reading it the second I detect that it’s a request for donations. I literally look up and go through the motions of blocking in my peripheral vision the same way my dog looks up to avoid instinctively eating the treat when I tell her “leave it”.

When I donate through an established charity, my employer matches 100% of my donation (up to a limit that I haven’t been able to afford to hit since back when I still lived with my parents), which makes a big difference in the amount of good I can do with the money I donate.

But I do sincerely apologize to anyone who legitimately needs help that I mistake for a scammer and block. The hypersensitivity part does mean that I also have filters set up to block requests for donations, but I do bypass the filters and view them when I’m feeling up to it (I actually do that with a lot of sensitive topics and I highly recommend it).

On a brighter note, I do have a few side blogs. I'm not secretive about them (and often accidentally post to or reply from the wrong one), but I won't link them from here. You've got to put in the work to find them.

I have a few side blogs that I don’t actively hide but also don’t link to. Mostly gimmick blogs and some RP blogs of characters I find it funny to reply as. A couple are more of like me with a different set of filters, but also kinda sorta playing a character? idk it’s hard to explain.

You might occasionally see me mention something offhand about calorie counting or losing weight. I have a medical condition that the only cure for it is losing weight and getting certain nutrients that help with it, so I have no choice but to do that stuff or it will get worse and become life-threatening. I try not to mention it a lot to not normalize diet culture, but it’s not a secret or anything.

But I promise that I have a really healthy mindset around it and mainly the calorie counting is to force me to think about what and how much I’m eating. My goals are really loose and moderate and even then i break them all the time whenever it gets in the way of living life too much.

Also if you feel compelled to give me money, you can do that on Ko-fi here.

TERFs and other transphobes, go fuck yourself.

[daisyful-gvf]

✿ little wing ✿

part 2

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

pairings: jake x reader

word count: 4.6k

notes: just to clarify, the jake in the moodboard ^ is the jake in this fic. and strap in bc i told y’all this one’s a slow burn (or as slow as i can manage)

warnings: marijuana use

playlist that is mentioned in this chapter

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

PART ONE if you have not read it yet

✿ ✿ ✿

“They called us for soundcheck like three minutes ago,” Paisley’s eyes are wide, and there’s an urgent arch in her brow, “Come on.”

Tearing your eyes away from Jake as he stands across the room, you grab your crinkled water bottle and head down the autograph-riddled hallway to the stage.

Still, as you adjust the tone knob on your Fender, you wonder about him…how soft his lips look…how his smile seems to set your chest on fire…

Oddly enough, it’s when he’s not around that you realize how bad this little crush has gotten—you think of him in the mundane moments, like your mind craves the pleasant glow of a daydream.

Ever since your first conversation with him, Jake enters your thoughts like he belongs there. His name echoes in your head constantly, like a song stuck on a loop. While it makes you feel silly and stupid like a teenager with a crush, it’s not entirely unwelcome.

“More guitar?” The tech shouts from the booth. You strum an open C and nod. Gradually, the guitar comes up in the amps.

“Mic check,” the tech cues.

You begin to sing, half-assedly, just to make noise into the mic. The levels bob until the tech nods once in finality.

“Drums,” they ask next, and as Paisley starts to tap away on the snare and hi-hat, you let yourself drift back into a daydream.

Laying on a velvet sofa, raking your fingers through the ochre ribbons of his hair as he sleeps. A candle glowing on the side table, a glass of red wine in your hand. You can trace the outline of his lips with your finger…

You have to stop. You don’t even know the guy.

Shaking your head and taking a breath, you turn the volume knob down on the Fender and pluck absentminded, entertaining your fingers and your mind with something else besides him.

✿ ✿ ✿

“You meant to tell me,” he pauses for dramatic effect, leaning up against your green room doorway, “You’re dressed like a hippie, you’re a rockstar, playing Hendrix, and you haven’t smoked weed?” he grins wickedly, “What the hell have you been doing?”

“I am not a rockstar,” you blush, hung up on his choice of words. He seems to steal your confidence, you notice.

“Did you see the arena of people? Are you not playing rock music to them?”

“He’s got a point, babe,” Paisley chimes in as she puts her boots on.

Jake points a finger gun at her, “See?”

“They’re here for you,” you insist, messing with a strand of your hair in the mirror. You put more tinted chapstick on, fussing nervously over nothing. It was always like this before you went on—a healthy anxiety.

“They’re there for good music. And they love your music,” he raps his fingers on the doorframe, “This isn’t the point—you haven’t smoked weed?”

You shake your head at his question as you wipe at your eyeshadow.

You’re not sure, at this point, how you landed on the subject. Paisley had said something about needing a joint before the show as a joke, Jake had wandered by the room to say hi and picked up on the conversation, and then an offhand comment from you had piqued his interest.

“Is this some kinda trick to get me to give you free weed?” he asks.

You look over at him and he’s grinning. You laugh.

“I could buy my own weed if I wanted, thank you very much,” you joke back.

“Well, I have some already. After the show, join me?” He asks, patting the tops of his thighs. He always looks so damn good in black jeans. He’s got on his jacket for the show already, a new fringe-lined one with gold accents.

You mull his request over for a moment, more nervous about the prospect of getting high with him than you are about actually getting high.

“We have another show tomorrow. What if it hurts my throat?”

“Oh my god,” he groans, “You’re in more desperate need than I thought.”

You’re slightly embarrassed you may have annoyed him and fall silent, opting to adjust the bell-sleeved shirt you have on.

“I’m kidding,” he grins, “You really do need to try it though. Just once.”

“I guess,” you say, trying to sound more casual than you feel, “Want me to come by the bus?”

“Yeah, or our green room.”

You nod and look over to Paisley, “Y’ready?” you smile.

“Hell yeah,” She beams. She jumps up from the couch and spins a drumstick in her hand.

“I’ll see ya later, then,” You smile at Jake.

He nods, “See ya later,” he smiles softly and spins on his heel, leaving for his own green room.

“So,” Paisley smacks her gum, “What the hell is going on there?” She shoves your shoulder playfully and grins wildly, “You hooking up with Jake Kiszka and not telling me?”

“God, no, what?” The question makes you blush furiously and you’re almost irritated at her for asking it so close to when you should be going on.

“Oh, please,” she grabs her water bottle and takes a sip, “That was almost painful to witness.”

You shake your head and wave a hand at her, “It’s nothing. He’s just nice.”

“Well, he’s not asking me to meet him after the show to smoke,” she drums a bit on the side table absentmindedly.

“I’m sure you could join,” you avoid her point, “You like weed. Wanna come?”

“No thanks, I don’t really wanna watch you two make out. Have fun, though, babe,” she smacks your ass on her way out the door and you follow, albeit with a scandalized look on your face.

Making your way down the short hall to the stage, you can hear the subtle roar of the crowd, and you focus on rehearsing the lyrics of the first song instead of her accusation.

✿ ✿ ✿

The guys exit the stage with the same enigmatic energy as usual, leaving the crowd cheering and the space full of a cosmic energy.

You leave your spot side stage and make your way over to their green room, having already changed into your casual clothes for the evening.

As you approach the room, the nerves that wash over you make you feel stupid.

It’s a harmless little crush, and you know nothing will become of it. He flirts with everyone; you’ve seen it even in the short time you’ve been touring. Three shows in, and every person you’ve witnessed him speak to seems smitten. He’s charming and confident. That’s all there is to it.

You take a deep breath, coming to your senses a bit. He is just a boy who plays guitar.

Josh pops out of the room first, curls wild and skin still sweaty.

“Oh, hey,” he flashes you a bright smile, “You can go in there if you need,” he waves at the green room as he skirts off.

You enter hesitantly, taking in the smell of incense and ginger tea.

Quickly, you realize the whole ‘this isn’t a big deal, he’s just a boy’ mindset isn’t really going to help.

Jake is shirtless, tying the front of a pair of black linen pants. Even though he’s practically shirtless all the time, it’s different. Almost intimate.

Then, you see Sam, who is tugging a hoodie over his head.

“Hey!” Jake beats you to the punch, greeting you with a wide smile, “How was the show?”

You swallow, trying not to look at his bare chest as he reapplies deodorant. Sam gives a wave and a soft smile and leaves the room.

“Our set or yours?” you say to Jake’s question.

“Either,” he grins, “Both.”

“Ours went well. Carol’s keys stopped working for a second but,” you shrug, “I played over it. Went just fine.”

“That’s good,” he grabs a dark red t-shirt that had laid over the stool in front of him and tugs it over his head.

“You all were very good as usual,” you can’t hide your demure smile.

“Yeah?” he grins and grabs his jacket, putting it on a hanger and in the case, “What’s your favorite part?”

You mull over the options and finally settle on one, “One of your solos, probably. Love a good solo.”

“Which one?” he grins, a little cocky. Admittedly, he should be. He fucking kills on guitar.

“Edge of Darkness,” you answer softly.

“Yes,” he hisses, “That’s my favorite, too.”

You laugh a bit awkwardly and watch as he gathers his things.

“Let’s go do this thing, doll,” he grins and heads towards the door, and like a love-smitten puppy, you follow behind.

It occurs to you somewhere between leaving the venue and getting into the hotel elevator with him that maybe you have misread the situation. The tension in the air is palpable as you wait for the elevator to get to the 10th floor.

Maybe, just maybe, the hot, world class guitarist who flirts with everyone does not have such innocent intentions; maybe he’s just trying to hook up. Paisley may have been onto something.

Maybe it was naive to think you could go back to his hotel room in an innocent fashion. You’re a pretty girl his age, and he’s a flirt.

You’re considering making an exit and heading to your own hotel for the evening when he steals you out of your thoughts with a soft,

“Hey.”

Your head snaps up to meet his gaze. You raise a brow.

“You look a little nervous,” he grins, “It’ll be safe with me, y’know.”

You must look lost, because he adds,

“Smoking.”

You nod, chewing on your lip.

He doesn’t mean it that way—the way that makes your heart thrum. It doesn’t matter, you feel your cheeks heat all the same.

“And you don’t have to,” he holds the elevator door open as you step out, “You can just sit with me if you want. Play some guitar.”

You shrug, a bit unsure of everything all at once, but too damn encapsulated by his presence to leave.

“We’ll see,” you offer gently, “You have soda in your mini fridge? I’d kill for a coke.”

He nods and smiles, opening the hotel room door for you. It smells like he showered right before the show, with a tinge of humidity and shampoo still hanging in the air.

“Yeah, doll,” he says, “I’ll grab ya one.”

“You sure you can smoke in here?” You grin, sitting on the edge of the bed, “Might get in trouble.”

“Ooh,” he smiles, “Sounds like fun.”

You laugh and roll your eyes as he hands you a coke. You mumble a thank you and try to make yourself relax. And then you realize, maybe weed would help.

“I hope it’s alright, being here. I don’t…” he licks his lips and cracks a sprite can open for himself, sitting on the edge of the opposite bed. He continues,

“I know you’re, like, a professional, and you’re opening for us. I’m not trying to, like…” he looks uncomfortable for the first time, glancing down at his shoes, “…take—take advantage—”

“It’s okay,” you don’t let him finish the thought, “I’m here on my own accord,” you grin, “Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

Ok, so maybe he wasn’t trying to make a move. You decide to try and table your nerves, to try and stop controlling or reading into the circumstance, and just try to go with it. It’s not like he’s stripped away your free will; you could leave at any time.

“Fair enough,” he smiles back. There’s a brief silence and then he pulls his phone out. “I don’t watch movies when I smoke, I just like music. That alright?”

You nod. You wouldn’t know what you prefer, and are just fine letting him lead.

The first song that plays from his phone is Hendrix, which makes you smile.

“You like that?” he grins at you as he stands to make his way to his suitcase.

“Mmhm,” you exhale, “Comforting.”

“Wait til you’re high,” he pulls a small tin out of his bag and saunters to the light switches, turning off the overhead light and leaving the two lamps to brighten the room. He finally walks over to sit on the couch at the other end of the suite, “It’ll sound even better.”

“Music?” you ask.

“Mhm,” he nods, opening the tin and pulling out a joint and a lighter, “You can hear everything better. It’s nice.”

You nod and watch him light up. If you didn’t have a crush on him before, you certainly would now.

He looks incredibly cool, and admittedly sexy, pursing his lips around the joint, his brow a little furrowed as he tokes on it. Finally, he takes a deep hit and leans back on the couch, closing his eyes as he holds it, and then releasing a puff of smoke into the air.

You take a long drink of your soda to try and hide your dumbstruck expression.

“Oh, shit,” he smiles, “Forgot to turn the vent on.”

“Like that’ll help,” you joke, standing to go flip the bathroom vent on. His toiletries are few, but lined neatly by the sink, and you find it endearing.

“Thanks, doll,” he calls from the couch.

When you come back into the room, he offers a soft smile, “Wanna join?”

Hesitantly, you nod. He’s kicked his shoes off, revealing short socks with polka-dot print. You find that endearing, too.

“C’mere,” he pats the other end of the sofa. It doesn’t look too comfy—a stiff sort of corporate fabric. But it’s inviting nonetheless with him sitting on it.

Taking a breath and another sip of your drink, you make your way over and sit beside him while he takes another hit. His phone balances on the couch arm, bleeding into the next song.

“This your playlist?” You ask with a grin. He pivots his body toward you a bit and nods, handing you the joint.

You feel suddenly inexperienced and unsure; you know in theory how to smoke, you’ve had a drunken cigarette here and there, but never this.

“Just breathe in a little bit, not too much,” he coaxes. He takes a sip of his soda, but his eyes stay on you. “It’s fine if you cough,” he grins, “don’t worry about it.”

You nod and summon all the courage you have, taking a hit off of it. The smoke is warm in your throat, and it takes a conscious effort to inhale it without choking.

You pass it back to him and he grins as you exhale. You immediately take a drink, hoping it’ll calm the fire in your chest, and it mostly works. A couple of short coughs rack you, but then it’s over.

He gives you a small nod and a reassuring grin as he exhales.

“We don’t wanna get you too high. That’s when it’s not fun,” he smiles, “You can probably take a few little hits and be alright.”

He passes the joint back to you and you hit it again, repeating the process.

“Nice,” he murmurs the praise as you hand it back to him. He ashes it on the lid of his empty soda and holds it with a poised hand, letting the smoke trail into the air.

Already, your head feels a bit woozy, but you think that may have something to do with how he looks.

His hair is messy and still drying from its sweat-drenched state after the show. He looks incredible in the maroon shirt and linen pants. Relaxed, but cool. And almost soft…

“Feel anything?” He grins.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you nod, “A little.”

“Good,” he pats your knee once and then stands, pacing to the other end of the room. He fetches the guitar case that you hadn’t noticed in the corner and plops it on the extra bed in the room.

“Gotta teach me Little Wing, remember?” He grins as he heads back to the couch with the worn acoustic.

“Might be a little hard on acoustic,” you smile.

“Nah,” he smiles wide, and you wonder if it has to do with the guitar. It’s an endearing thought, that just holding the instrument could make him happier.

“And might be hard to do if I’m high,” you giggle.

He laughs as he sits beside you, just a bit closer so he’s comfortable with the guitar on his lap.

“It’ll be alright, I tried it the other night. I know the song well, just haven’t really played it,” he looks to you with his white teeth bared in a grin, “Just need you to give me pointers.”

You consider protesting for a moment; pointing out that he’s much better at guitar than you. But you know he knows that already, so maybe you should just go along with it.

He hits “pause” on the music playing on his phone and begins to pluck at the guitar, and instantly you can’t stop the smile that takes over your expression. His playing is beautiful.

It’s certain, then, that he is only being kind asking for you to help him—he plays expertly, something that might even make Hendrix proud.

“Jake.”

it comes out in a sigh on accident; far more breathy and dreamy than you’d intended.

He looks to you, continuing to play, and quirks an eyebrow.

“You’re just—“ you wave a hand into the air, “You’re great.”

“Thanks,” he smiles, “It’s my job, ya know. I’d be kind of a sham if I sucked at it.”

You laugh, beginning to feel light and easy. You can’t recall why you would have been nervous, and everything feels very present.

“This is the part I’m hung up on—” he plays a little riff of the solo, “—I don’t feel like that’s…” he shakes his head and plays it again.

You laugh, “I had the same exact issue when I learned it.”

Sitting up, you grin and lean over him, so you can point at the fretboard. “Try an open B instead, and then, yeah—”

He plays it again with the adjustment, and you realize how close you are to him. You can feel his body heat.

“Do you hit here, or slide?” he murmurs, pointing at a string as he moves his left hand.

“Slide. And I know you always bend down,” you giggle, “But try up,”

He looks at you with a grin, “Observant little thing, you are, huh?”

The comment catches you off guard and you laugh and offer a shrug as an answer. You lean back and watch him try again, and just like that, it seems he has mastered it.

He winds down the song and looks at you.

“You wanna play?”

You shake your head and take a final sip of your drink before setting on the side table. “All you.”

He nods and plays something else, one you don’t recognize, but it’s pleasant all the same.

Then, he hits ‘play’ on his phone again, and the playlist resumes. He plucks along with the song far too well for it being his presumable first try.

“Pretty.” you say, surprising yourself. It is, though.

“Can’t take all the credit,” Jake grins and pats the guitar body, “She does a lot of the work.”

You giggle again and he looks to you and chuckles back, and you think you get it now—the appeal to being high.

Maybe you’re not in another dimension, but you definitely feel something. Things have slowed, and you can’t remember what you started giggling at, and you’re unsure why you feel like giggling again.

Jake seems to notice, and he offers a wide smirk. “How we doing?”

“Great,” you sigh, “Do you do smoke often?”

“Mmhm,” he sets the guitar down, propping it up in the corner, and nods, “Like, most days of the week.”

You nod, “I see why.”

“Wanna little more? Not too much, one more hit?”

It sounds nice, you can’t resist. You nod and pivot yourself on the couch, resting against the corner of it with one of your legs tucked up, your body tilted towards him.

He reaches to the side table and grabs the joint and lighter, lighting up and toking on it until the end burns orange-red.

“For you,” he passes it to you and exhales his own smoke.

You take another hit, a bit deeper, and with your body relaxed it seems easier to inhale.

He gets up again as you hold the joint and exhale.

“Want a drink?” He offers, grabbing himself a water from the fridge.

“Sure, water’s good,” you smile.

He brings back both bottles and takes a seat again beside you. After he hands your bottle to you, he rests his head against the back of the couch and takes a deep breath. When his eyes open to yours, the lids are a bit heavier.

“Hello,” he smiles.

“Hey,” you giggle.

“Listen to this,” he grins and reaches for his phone, turning the volume up.

You get it: the guitar melody pours and ribbons through the air around you, heavy and velvety. You can hear each intricacy, and it’s encapsulating.

“Damn,” you smile, “That is…”

He nods in agreement, “Music’s just better high.” He takes a deep breath “Everything’s better high, honestly. Food, music, movies, art, sex,” else shrugs, “What’s not to love.”

You laugh and try not to think too hard about his mention of sex. Instead, you watch him close his eyes again and take a deep breath.

He’s about three feet away on the couch, but you can clearly see the details on his face, now that you have time to slow down and look.

His eyelashes are dark, his skin is tan. And there’s subtle freckles dotting his cheek. Not a plethora, just a few here and there. But they’re charming.

You don’t notice that his eyes have opened.

“Whatcha looking at?” he grins.

“Oh…” you blink, clearing your mind, “Sorry.”

“No, I’m asking,” he smiles wider, “It’s alright. What caught your eye?”

“Your freckles,” you answer honestly.

He chuckles, “I barely have freckles, doll.”

Without thinking, you lean in and touch a few of them. He giggls again, and it makes you laugh. Despite the general easygoing feeling, you still say sorry, realizing it may have been a bit much.

“It’s okay,” he grins, “Weed makes me touchy, too,”

Your cheeks flush with embarassment—fuck, you should really get it together.

“Hey,” he seems to notice you’ve gone silent, “I’m probably, like, the least judgemental person ever. I really don’t mind.”

“Mm?” you hum, drawing your band back to yourself and taking a sip of your water.

“See?” He reaches over and touches a strand of hair by your face, “And no one died. It’s all good.” He laughs, which further relieves the tension. You giggle with him.

You bite your lip and relish the soft touch. The warmth in your cheeks is inevitable.

“Your hair is soft,” he mutters. The soft touch tickles at your scalp and makes you smile.

“This alright?” he nods towards his hand. You nod back.

“C’mere,” he pats his thigh, “Lay your head down, I’ll play with your hair.”

“Are you…” you start to question it, because this whole thing is bizarre, but the floaty, touch-driven mood you’re in interrupts the thought. You can’t be bothered to care if you should or shouldn’t. You want to, and that’s enough.

He smiles as you shift to lay on the couch, placing your head on his thigh near his knee.

The music plays through the speakers like honey over ice, cool and slow, and you feel so entirely at peace. His hands work languidly through your hair, splaying it out over his lap.

“I didn’t think you’d be like this,” you murmur, the words slurred.

“Hmm?” he prompts you to explain. When you look up at him, his eyelids are heavy. He looks cute and sleepy.

“So…gentle,” you giggle.

“Why’s that?” He laughs too. Everything seems funny for no reason.

“The way you play…it’s almost aggressive, and you’re very…you’re usually very confident. I just…”

You’re finding it hard to choose words that reflect what you mean. You opt for a shrug and let your eyes flutter shut as he runs his fingers over your scalp.

“I think you’d know of anyone that I’m not only aggressive when I play,” he answers.

You crack one eye open and look up at him, and somehow even from this angle, which should be unflattering, he looks beautiful.

“I think it’s dynamic,” he continues, “I think I’m quite reserved sometimes, especially on the acoustic.”

“Mm,” you nod, “That’s fair. I dunno,” you sigh, “You’re kind of cocky. I didn’t think you had a gentle side.”

It’s blunt, but it’s the truth, and the words come out before you can stop them.

He laughs, “You‘ve been watching me, huh?”

“I…” you’re blushing and you can’t hide it, “Yeah.”

“Hmm,” he’s humming again, “S’okay. I watch you, too.”

“Oh really?” you find yourself smiling, “And what do you see?”

He giggles. His fingers work softly through a tangle in your hair.

“You should ask me when I’m not high,” he grins, “I might be a bit more eloquent,”

“I think I’m alright with the layman’s answer, Shakespeare,” you laugh and look up at him, “Lay it on me.”

“Well—I just. I don’t know how to do it justice,” he sighs, “You’ve got this…aura…” he reaches his free hand out into the air and wiggles his fingers, “It’s something…I just find myself intrigued by it.”

You’re taken aback by the tenderness of his answer. You’d fully expected him to just say you were hot, or something. His subversion of your expectations is enticing, and now you want to unravel him even more.

“What color is it?” You grin.

“Hmm, doll?” he asks, looking down at you. His eyes are red, and his lips dark pink from nibbling them.

“My aura,” you giggle, “What color?”

“Oh,” he grins, “Hmm…orange. And a little yellow. Like a sunset,”

With that, you’re overcome with the urge to lean up and kiss him, out of nowhere like a sudden wind. You refrain, taking a breath.

“What color’s mine?” he grins down at you.

Your eyes flit over him, trying to find an answer. You hadn’t thought about it before, but as you stare at him, it seems obvious

“Cherry red,”

“Hmm,” He turns the thought over in his head.

“Like your guitar,” you point out.

“Ah,” he smiles, “Fair.”

You giggle again, and then he does too, and it devolves into nonsensical sort of laughter. Finally, it calms down, and you sit up, letting his hand fall from your hair and back into his lap. As dreamy as the evening has been, it has to come to an end at some point.

“Glad you tried it?” He asks, his voice a little raspier than previously.

“Mmhm,” you nod and reach for your water.

“There’s an extra bed,” he nods to the other mattress, “You’re welcome to stay if you need, if you don’t wanna go back to your hotel.

“Thank you,” you smile, “But I’d better go. I had a fun night.”

He nods and smiles, offering his hand to help you stand up. You wobble, more affected by the drug while standing.

“Easy, tiger,” he giggles as you steady yourself. Finally, he stands with you and takes a breath. “Lemme give you my number so you can text me when you get back safe.”

After a stuttering breath you agree, handing him your phone so he can type it in.

“I’ll see ya tomorrow, then? Or around?”

You nod, “Around.”

He reaches out, and you realize he’s offering a hug. It’s brief, so brief, but he’s so warm and he smells of weed and cologne and shampoo, and you wish you didn’t have to pull away.

“Alright, then,” he smiles, “Text me when you’re back safe. See ya ‘round.”

✿ ✿ ✿

taglist <3

@starshine-wagner @dannywagners-chesthair @writingcold @kels-gvf @aconfusedhippie @fearless-wanderer @greenrubbersoul @thehourbeforesunrise @madz-0217 @gretavanbitches @doodle417 @rhythm-of-space @milkgemini @st4rdust-ch0rds @thegardensgate @myownparadise96 @gretavanfleas @josh-iamyour-mama @spark-my-nature @saltydogkiszka @jordierama @sammiejane22 @jakekiszkastaurussuit @jake-kiszkas-smirk @babyhoneygvf @gabyvanfleet @gretavanslut @dannyandthekiszkas @freckled-wonderland @haley1623 @objectsinspvce @sammyfuckingkiszka @why-ami-on-here @kay-jordan @pr41sethemoon @watchingovergvf2

[land-of-holly]

Rings of Power Season 2 Episode 8 Liveblog

hmm I thought the title would be more...striking? it's a nothing title

whar weird tortures is durin gonna do to his dad?

now thats the kinda kissing i like to see

bla bla balrog

more yelling? more threats?

wait i thought he was almost dead. what they came down here just to let him dig more?

im sure if i knew anything about caves this would be very annoying

durin jr isnt fooled

surprise me i beg u

i don't buy that this is what breaks King Durin free of the ring. Doesn't feel earned

balrog looks cool ig

and now it goes away for another few k years?

have we seen eye iconography before? not surprised that evil throne guy would yoink it

blue wizard reveal??

wow this guy is quick to trash talk his allies

'pity will not defeat sauron' okay it sounds heavy handed TO ME but I didn't say I hated it

this whole plotline feels like it's building to a climax it didn't earn

like we're just getting to know evil wizard guy and he feels very generic villain

the stranger finally has good power control tho

so they're gonna execute all those faithful guys yah? or this is an engagement announcement?

So he's maneuvering them to move against sauron now? YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST MADE TWO MORE EPISODES

do like the white tree imagery

where...are they? restaurant or sm I guess

girl u are gonna have to pick a side too

ANARION MENTION Did anyone not already in the know remember he exisited?

such a pretty dress

narsil!

so do the orcs have an ordered objective besides sack the city?

DON'T GIVE HIM MORE RINGS GIRL WTF

annatar no

HE'S STILL DOING IT STILL WITH THE LIES

the torture!

celebrimbor you're such an elf

NOT THE SHORES OF THE MORNING CELEBRIMBOR THE SHORES YOU WANT ARE IN THE OTHER FUCKING DIRECTION

torture extending life preservation tech confirmed

put that spear down or so help me

banner we've done it fam

the lord of the rings... okay, I CANNOT not let them have this

sauron's "...oopsie i killed him" face is fuckin hilarious

hi glug!

love that sauron never answers to 'sauron' it's always 'i hAVe MaNy NaMeS"

if this is all we get of the bannerage i'll be content but i'm getting the impression this is only the beginning

idk if we've gotten a wide shot of pelargir before i like the huts among ruins look

my boy theo

he is asking for help with his grief! progress!

did u hug arondir like that b4 he left??

nah man that's estrid

her whole deal can't be a romantic red herring

girl you have known him for like a few days stop this like i'm happy for you two but

y'all they tell stories about kings who marry low men they end badly

kemen what the fuck are you doing here

wow kemen's face went on an entire world tour there when he saw isildur

omg he is so bad at this slimy courtier stuff

everyone say yay berek!

isildur tell him

NOT THE HORSE KEMEN ARE YOU TRYING TO INCREASE YOUR DISAPPROVAL RATING TO 100%

the deforestation!

galadriel i stg how do you keep getting kidnapped.

..adar what happened to you

i cannot believe y'all who were predicting elf adar were correct. i hate this but not in a 'this was a bad writing decision' way ya feel?

adar is no one in particular confirmed?

why is he giving he the ring? does he really intent to treat in good faith?

galadriel is that true about your kill count

forgiveness again

i want normal adar back. i don't care if it makes sense

how often  do orcs tend their injured normally?

betrayal!

oh heck

its him

i think adar always wanted to die this way one day

damn girl maybe if the foley guys didnt make ur sword so noisy you coulda snuck up on him

crown of morgoth makes a hell of an offhand weapon

they can't even give gilgalad non boring lines

ARONDIR

nonzero chance sauron would want to keep all the lore of eregion but probably considers the destruction of eregion worth it

did not expect sauron to be the one going over that edge

OH NO HIS ULTIMATE WEAPON his pretty pretty face

spooky i like it

shapeshifer fight!

'the door is still open' obvious setup but i'll give it to them it was thematically appropriate

...i guess the difference is the fight for the 9 he was destined to win

DURIN!

narvi at least!

there'a no ocean there girl if you don't survive that fall he's just gonna go get it

she didn't even make it to khazad dum

damn glug pays the price of treachery

celeborn come get ya girl

oh hey arondir

totally believeable the crown of morgoth would do that to a wound. still don't like it. seems contrived.

get it elrond

damn nori looks so sad that her friends got their homes smashed

Mr. Burrows was wise. Sometimes acceptance is the only way to move forward

so is nori going with the stoors or home?

uah uah ya got yer stick

props overall to tom being a recurring caracter this season

thank you for explaining it all for us stick guy

shut up about his name

now you're just flexing with the singing

i can't fault durin having an unknown brother after the anarion business

the lighting in rivendell is very pretty

they didn't even say where they were, I admire their restraint.

Definitely bit of a hammock season, but a very good one overall. I felt like this should have been episode 9 and they DESPERATELY needed an episode before to bring everything up to finale time.  The final confrontation with sauron should have been maybe 50% less swordfightey and more mindfuckey. Overall a decent ending though!

[theglitchywriterboi]

Vent post vent post vent post [cw // mention of like internalized fatphobia & suicidal idiations & all that kinda not fun stuff]. Probably gonna delete later

For one thing I'm ugly as hell, fat & not a nice face. Incredibly unfit [like winded checking the mail unfit]. I have no clothes like literally I have two pairs of pajama pants I can't wear outside cause again fat so my thighs are constantly rubbing together so there's massive holes in the worst places. I got no job [& I have been applying]. I'm impulsively selfish [I try not to be but it takes time to change & my living situation kinda sucks]. My rooms filthy [& I don't mean kinda really messy I mean actual genuinely filthy] I'm trying to clean it cause one it's just better for me but also I have exercise equipment but I can only use them if the rooms clean [due to the size of the equipment, if I could use it messy I would]

I'm trying to change but I don't feel like I can be myself where I am. Like I eat once a day but my family still makes offhanded comments about what I eat, my size, etc.

I just wish I could leave. Part of me really really really wants to die, but there's things I wanna do before I die but it'll take so. Long. To finish those things. Plus everything's so daunting.

It's funny cause I can imagine my work [art] someday being loved - not by like everyone I can't fathom being a household name. But a decent size fan base I can kinda picture [kinda because while the art I make is the only good thing I can do, compared to 99% of other things it's sub-par at best]. But one thing that seems like a crazy wild unrealistic fantasy is... Being genuinely happy. Having a spouse that loves me, kids, friends who genuinely enjoy my company. It feels like a pipedream. I feel like I'm destined to be alone somewhere, probably by my own hand, before 40 [& ik I'm still young - turned 22 last month]. It's not like there's currently proof otherwise, I can count on two hands how many times I've left the house since 2020. I got no IRL friends & the online friends I have are more like acquaintance, which is my own fault I'm shit at communicating. I see them as friends but ik if they were to be asked to name 10 friends I wouldn't show up [& on the off chance I did that'd probably only be in the case they only talked to 10 people or less, which I don't believe is true for any of them].

I don't think my family really likes me either - I don't blame them they say it themselves I'm selfish & whiny & annoying & an asshole. The only reason they'd be upset I died is cause the food benefits are in my name [they're on it too but the paperwork & shit is in my name so it'd cause complications plus they'd get cut since ya know I'd be dead]. They do care I mean they randomly get stuff sometimes & most people don't do that for people they don't like but still

I wish I was a person worth loving.

[Also disclaimer ik I talk about wanting to die/dying a lot but plz know I'm not about to kms dw, I have these feelings but I'm not gonna act on them - at least not any time soon***]

[universal-kitty]

~🏆~

Send a 🏆 in the inbox for an excuse to gush about any F/O

   Miss Kadam.... Darling Nisha! Would-be cowgirl of my heart, if she knew what a “cowgirl” was. May not know what a cowgirl is, but her smarts are still incredibly unparalleled....or maybe it’s the mad genius? The use of force that makes her so powerful and uncontested? (Until later.) All of the above!!!!!

   She’s the badass with an exception: me. Her family ruined a lot for her- specifically, a dog she raised from a puppy- and it’s basically my role as the “sweet bean on the hell-planet that is Pandora” to remind her why there’s still greatness in little things~!

   As she only becomes more dedicated to protecting my dumbass self from getting into too much trouble. Cute as I am- and as much as she’ll accept that from me (and little else)- and as endearing as my pure stupidity is, she’s not about to let Pandora take away something else she cares about. Not again. Not. Ever. Again.

   It works out, though. Between being babied by Hyperion (Nisha’s orders, though Jack’s never minded) and spoiled in Lynchwood, things have managed to get by very well. Kinda the benefit of having protective eyes everywhere. And also maybe getting my plush supply from an ego-fueled maniac up on a space station shaped like a letter.

   Just another day on Pandora and Elpis, really.

[blainesebastian]

normal

words: 3,036 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “Lunch date” Austin X reader go out to lunch but on the way back home the paparazzi get to out of hand. notes: as mentioned, i’ll be heading to disney for the next few days :) will post something when i’m back! still working on a handful of requests as well. thank you for reading!!  warnings: none tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, 

Being an actress for a handful of years, you know that pretty much everything you do will fall into the public eye at some point. It doesn’t matter what it is, even if it’s something as mundane as grocery shopping, someone is always up in your business. And that can be frustrating, sure, just wanting privacy, just wanting to feel ‘normal’ doing ‘normal’ things but…at the same time, you kinda have these check-ins with yourself that nothing you ever do anymore will be considered normal. It just won’t. You kinda signed up for this life, this chaos, this wanting to be in the center of people’s attention and under a microscope.

It's not always the easiest pill to swallow? But you do understand what it means to accept it.

You wonder sometimes if Austin has the right idea in distancing himself from certain things, social media mostly. While he has an Instagram, for example, he’s not on it very much. More for promotional material than anything else—being posted on other people’s stories or posts for the most part instead. You know that firsthand since it’s nearly impossible for you to keep him off your Instastory. Experiencing your life through posts and small videos has always been a thing for you and Austin gets roped into that, since he is very much a part of your life now.

And besides…sometimes you can’t help but get a small thrill that you can call him yours. Someone as attractive, successful and wonderful as Austin is. You definitely enjoy putting that out into the world, even though you make sure you’re not greedy with it. It’s not about rubbing people’s faces in it or somehow advertising your boyfriend.

But there’s a softness between you two, an intimacy, the way Austin is with you…you like sharing that. You feel downright lucky that he’s in your life.

Regardless, you’ve been thinking about the fact that Austin doesn’t interact nearly at all with fans through social media. In person when someone comes up to him or he’s at an event with fans, it’s like he exudes a bloom of warmth to anyone he speaks to, signs things for, takes the time to pose for selfies or listen to people’s stories. It’s something you can’t quite put into words no matter how many times you observe it or experience it.

You know that’s something he probably had to get used to with the explosion of Elvis, the fact that he couldn’t be as private as he maybe was before. In terms of your relationship? That doesn’t bother you. Most of the time you don’t mind the feeling of chaos, of the swarm of people asking questions or sometimes getting a bit too close, figuratively speaking. Austin however? He likes that distance, that barrier, that feeling of putting a wall up if he wanted to. Especially when it comes to your relationship.

It's not that he’s overly possessive or doesn’t think you can handle things yourself, but he thinks about that stuff, about making sure it doesn’t cross the line into ‘too much’. Sometimes you don’t know how to do that, to draw a line in the sand and make sure people don’t cross over it—whether it’s online or in person. Austin’s protective when he needs to be and that helps you feel grounded. A good reminder that while you, for the most part, like sharing parts of your life with fans, that it’s okay to create distance too.

It usually helps the most around paps, who sometimes do not understand the concept of personal space. Literally. Offhanded times they can be a bit overwhelming—you’ve had a camera shoved into your face more moments than you’d like to count. On good days? It doesn’t bother you. On bad days? Just one of those things you have to get used to.

It’s a lazy Sunday, your favorite type of day, for once you and Austin actually have time off together that’s not running to interviews, touching base with agents or just crossing paths as you work on different projects. You’re really trying not to bank on this whole normal thing but it’s been the easiest Sunday that you’ve had in a long time.

You both ended up waking up earlier than expected without alarms and laid in bed for a while, soaking one another in, molding under the covers, making plans and kissing in-between. It was decided that you were going to have brunch and then visit a farmer’s market near your apartment before heading back home and maybe baking something. The day was open, yours to change or shift or stay the same.

And because you automatically assume that you’re both going to get recognized when you leave the apartment, it’s unexpected and wonderful when it doesn’t happen. Then again, it’s kinda like waiting for the other shoe to drop, nearly holding your breath as you wait it out.

It’s almost astounding to you that you’ve made it through the whole brunch and not one person has come up to the table. Even the waitress had an air of obliviousness to her. Seems nearly too good to be true but you find yourself reveling in it as Austin pushes the diner door open for you both to walk through. His arm winds its way around your shoulders, drawing you close until you look up at him.

Once you do, he steals a soft kiss to your lips. It’s incredibly unfair how easily he makes your knees weak. A soft hum leaves your chest, taking in a breath of the crisp air—it’s a perfect Autumn day. Not too cold, the sun warm, completely comfortable for walking around. Your eyes trail over the soft cream-colored sweater Austin has on, the dirty blonde tone of his curls beautifully coifed as if the bedhead look is on purpose.

“Alright but you’re not actually sayin’ you’d forgo waffles,” Austin says slowly, shaking his head, “Like forever?”

A gentle laugh of amusement, “I’m saying if there was ever a time I had to pick? I would. Waffles always sound like a better idea but it’s possible to get butter in all the squares.”

Austin scoffs dramatically, “I have no idea who I’m datin’ right now.”

You grin, “Someone who clearly has breakfast priorities.”

Of course, that’s not even touching on the difference in your opinion when it comes to the hand-holding labels that go by the same names. Waffles for lacing fingers and pancakes for cupping hands palm to palm, almost as if you were wearing mittens. You’re definitely waffles on that debate.

You both pause at a crosswalk and Austin’s arm slips from your shoulders to around your waist. You turn a bit into him, hand playing with the fabric of his sweater along his chest, thoughts wandering to what they might have at the farmer’s market. When you look up at his face, you can tell he wants to say something but isn’t sure how to get the words across. A soft sigh leaves your lips, unfortunately you already know the question before he says anything.

“Did you call your mom back?”

You try not to bristle even though it’s nearly impossible not to. Austin’s coming from a good place with checking in, you know that, but it does nothing to alleviate the feelings of frustration and disappointment from wrapping around you like tendrils. There are so many factors at play here motivating your boyfriend, the fact that he attempts to soothe your arduous relationship with your mother because he’s lost his far too young, the fact that holidays are usually stressful and Thanksgiving is coming up, and because he cares about you—he doesn’t want you to make decisions you’ll regret.

Even though your mother is the one with the problem.

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say to her,” You mumble, crossing the street with him as the light turns, “She was pretty clear the last time we spoke that she wanted nothing to do with me.”

Austin winces a little in empathy before squeezing you around your waist, “You know she didn’t mean it like that.”

And then you stop walking, turning to look at him right before you reach the market because, “It doesn’t matter.” You know he’s trying to help but he’s got to see how much it bothers you, right?

You come from a mom-and-pop shop town and she owns a flower shop that's been a business in your family's name for so many generations. Of course when you were younger, your parents thought you might take it over, continue the family line in the small town in which you were born because that was the tradition. But you had bigger dreams, you wanted more than what was offered—one thing led to another, a domino effect of disappointment of you leaving town for college, for acting school, for Los Angeles and New York and big breaks. Your career has been surprisingly successful and it humbles you, you know how lucky you are. And while your dad is hesitantly supportive, your mother considers starring in movies frivolous and a waste of your talents.

Talents, apparently, that should be concentrated towards making flower bundles.

“It hurts just the same,” You say after a moment and Austin holds your gaze, nodding gently.

He reaches to cup your cheek, running his thumb along your jawline before wrapping his fingers around the back of your neck. You feel him tug you towards him and you take one step into his arms. Letting out a soft sigh, you allow your eyes to close for a few moments, his fingers brushing through your hair and over your shoulders. The fabric of his sweater is comforting against the skin of your cheek, nose pressing against his shoulder, breathing him in.

“I need you on my side with this,” Your voice is slightly muffled against him and he quickly shakes his head, drawing back a fraction to look down at you.

“I am on your side,” He assures, “Always—” And you believe him, “I didn’t mean to press.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth because you know he didn’t, that he’s coming from a good place, because he cares about you and doesn’t want any drama festering but…there’s no quick band-aid for that. And holidays? Sure, they’ll be a little tender but…that’s the new normal that you’re getting used to.

You feel like you can tackle it though with Austin by your side.

Pulling back a little, you lean up on your toes and press a kiss to his lips—short and sweet, which makes him smile. “What if I said I wanted a pumpkin at this farmer’s market? Would you say no?”

He laughs lightly, curling your hair around your ear, “I’d ask you if you were gonna be the one to carry it home but I already know the answer.”

You smile, shrugging your shoulders. “I’ll be carrying all the little baby ones I buy—you know, the mini orange ones? Maybe they’ll have white ones too! And gourds.”

There’s an eyeroll there but it’s affectionate, warm, “Whatever you want.”

Turning to walk towards the farmer’s market that’s lined up in tents along a park, there’s a moment where you hear a camera shutter but don’t quite put two and two together. It’s something you’re not completely used to yet, how fast it can happen, but you can feel rather than see Austin’s body tense up beside you.

One or two professional cameras at a distance wouldn’t be that big of a deal but you can already tell this is different. You’re not sure what it is about paparazzi sometimes and operating in packs but all of a sudden at the corner of the street you’re on there’s a swarm of six or seven cameras pointed in your direction. They’re at a distance, for now, but they kinda operate like magnets. They move when you do, nearly parallel.

“Austin can you look over here!”

You can tell Austin does his best not to look automatically annoyed—he’s not even wearing a ballcap or sunglasses as he sometimes does when you two go out. Those few extra layers of security. It’s sometimes difficult not to feel frustrated, this is the unknown part you kinda sign up for when you become a celebrity, thrust into the public eye. At the same time? There’s no reason not to be polite. These guys are very much trying to get into the middle of your day.

“Austin just a few minutes about your upcoming film?”

And those are actually worse, the paps with the video cameras, the ones trying to capture a few questions as if it’ll make or break a career when in actuality they just want to be able to sell it.

Austin puts his hand up, “Not right now guys—just tryin’ to have a day out with my girlfriend.”

You glance over across the street to a subway entrance and wonder if that might be a good escape for right now. Seems utterly ridiculous to be running away from paps, like some sort of messed up version of a movie that doesn’t have a lot to offer plot wise but…you could pop up on the other side of the market? Maybe create enough distance.

Your hand slips down to find Austin’s, gently squeezing his fingers. When he looks down at you, your eyes motion towards the subway without saying anything. He nods, about to turn their direction, when one of the paps starts talking to you—seemingly because Austin is giving them nothing to work with.

“What about you, Y/N, can we get a nice smile?”

And that bothers you more than anything else, how original, men telling you to smile. You attempt to keep comments to yourself, biting down on the inside of your cheek. Austin’s arm winds around your waist, his hand on your lower back to encourage you to step in front of him, his body acting almost like a shield as you both make a beeline for the subway entrance.

There’s a moment where you have to pause for a bus to pass before you can cross and one of the paps reaches out to grab at your arm, he’s not exactly gentle either, “Y/N let me ask one question while you’re here.”

Pulling your arm free, you’re about to tell this guy where he can shove his question but Austin is already there, knocking this guy’s camera right out of his hand. It doesn’t fall to the ground and break, the strap on the man’s arm saves it, but the feeling behind the motion is more than obvious,

“Don’t put your hands on her,” He snaps, “I don’t care what you want to ask me or whether you’re in my face or not but we’re not doin’ that.”

There’s a short breath that leaves his lips and you get how challenging it is—to have to deal with this on a day that was supposed to be shared with zero obligations and the reality that this is gonna happen. That paps especially will find a way to be in your business. His words are firm but his tone is slightly lighter when he speaks again,

“Sorry about your camera man but you gotta understand, right?” Austin says and the guy seems to nod but he’s definitely backed off more than before. He actually looks…apologetic? Some celebrities probably haven’t been so patient, “There’s no reason to grab at her.”

When the street is clear, both of you move quickly and luckily it doesn’t seem like the paps are going to follow. But just to make sure, disappearing into the subway and coming up on the other side should give you and Austin enough space that they won’t linger. Letting out a soft sigh, you pause at the bottom of the steps, before taking your phone out to enter the turnstile.

Grabbing Austin’s hand again, both of you move through the subway station, taking your time to wander towards the other side. Glancing up at him, you can see that there’s still a harsh line along his shoulders, annoyance still lingering on his mouth, settled in his blue eyes. Chewing on your lower lip, you let him have these moments to collect himself, walking up the steps when you reach them and exiting on the other side.

You glance over your shoulder, hesitating for a moment and almost hold your breath but it seems like it’s clear. Your Sunday is restored.

Looking up at your boyfriend, you reach for his hands and give them a gentle squeeze. Before you can say anything, Austin lets out a long breath through his nose, “Sorry—I know you can handle yourself but…” He trails off, shaking his head.

He really doesn’t have to explain, “I can,” You agree, “But I like when you stick up for me.” And you’re not just saying that, it means something to you to have him in your corner. Protective but never in a way that’s overbearing.

Humming softly, he reaches out to play with a strand of your hair near your cheek before he tucks it behind your ear. You feel your eyes close when he leans down to plant a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering on your skin for a few moments.

“Come on,” You motion towards the farmer’s market with a soft head tilt—you’re not gonna let any part of your day shift from an offhanded pap interaction. “You’re not gettin’ out of this pumpkin thing.”

Austin lets out a short breath, his eyes rolling towards the sky as you tug him forward towards the market, “Never even crossed my mind.”

Before you can get too far, he squeezes your hand and tugs you back against his chest, his arm wrapping around your waist. A soft laugh flutters from your chest, head resting against his shoulder as you look up at him. He dips his chin down to press another kiss to your cheek, affection warm and rolling off of him in waves.

Definitely not a bad Sunday.

[moririki]

⤷ MORE THAN YOU'D BARGAIN FOR

DENJI X READER -> 1.7K
when it comes to a fool blinded by love, it sure hurts to have the short end of the stick

REQUEST -> ✰
CONTAINS -> angst, friends with benefits‼️, happy ending bc i'm weak like that, denji not knowing how to process emotions, very loose college!au cos i'm lazy, makima being slightly antagonised because fuck her, mentions of sex but nothing super explicit i don't think
MORI'S THOUGHTS -> thinking about denji's hands. i want to learn how to animate manga panels now so i can do a csm edit. also the writing style got kinda boring im SORRY

HEARTBREAK WAS ALWAYS BOUND TO HAPPEN IN THESE SORT OF RELATIONSHIPS. anyone with a pair of eyes and ears could give a clear answer to the question "who does denji like?" and no matter how much you wanted that answer to change, it would never be you.

even when the blonde boy had been so insistent on his heart belonging to another, he still had urges. so under the influence of one too many bottles of alcohol, it was a fairly easy decision for both of you to fall into bed together. more than once. more than you'd care to admit.

being with denji was nice. he was funny, sweet at times and vulgar during the others, and you found yourself repeating a mantra of don't catch feelings for your friend during your time together. and truth be told, it was hard not to, even when you and denji had finished your business and the topic of conversation always seemed to make its way back to makima.

it left a bitter taste in your mouth when denji acted like nothing had happened between the pair of you in other settings. the bitterness turned sour when you realised that there was no reason for him to have to either, and you cursed yourself when you realised you had done the worst thing possible and gone and fallen for your friend who so clearly wouldn't like you back.

but there were times where you thought that you just might have a chance.

even though your cursed your heart for fluttering and rearing its head each time so willingly at denji's mercy, you couldn't help but take every offhand action of his as a ray of hope. with the way his hands engulfed yours to anchor himself as he thrusted into you, the way his lips left urgent kisses on your lips as you panted beneath him, the way he whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you cried out in ecstasy.

and even when you were lying next to each other in his bed, catching your breath. you would turn to look at his face sometimes, only to see him staring at you already with a look in his eyes that could only be described as wistful. but you were a fool to think that you could ever upseat makima in denji's eyes.

false hope could only get you so far.

with his breath tickling the back of your neck and his large hand rubbing patterns into your hip, this false hope really had gotten you somewhere. but all good things must come to an end. words that you dreaded to say weighed heavy on your tongue, but you dragged yourself along, lifting them just enough to feel them escape your lips before you could really stop them.

"denji, what are we?"

you felt the hand that rested on you go still, and the arm that was poised as a pillow for you went rigid. hell, the boy that was holding you so close to his chest had practically stopped breathing, and you felt your eyelids slide shut in a bitter defeat before you heard another word. it's not like you needed them to understand how he felt, anyway.

"we're friends, aren't we?" his tone was so controlled, so even and level and unlike the denji that you knew and, dare you say it, loved. it sent another shot tubneling straight through your heart, and you were glad that you were currently facing away from him. you wouldn't be able to handle seeing the look on his face as all of your tentative hopes were crushed under his heel. all you wanted to do was curl in on yourself and maybe try to cry away the numbness that was invading your body from the chest outward.

you raised a shaking hand to push denji's own off of you, and you felt the mattress underneath you creak as the boy shifted in confusion at your behaviour.

"y/n?"

your kept your back turned to him as you got out of his bed, pulling on your own clothed and scowling in frustration when you couldn't find your shirt anywhere. you were seconds away from letting the first droplets fall, and you did not want to let denji see.

you snagged some random material of a shirt off of the bedroom floor, yanking it over your head and turning to face denji with a face that you hoped wasn't too scrunched from holding back your tears.

"we're not just friends and you fucking know it."

you didn't have time to register his wounded facial expression or the pleading calls of your name that he cast towards your retreating figure, but you grabbed your shoes before leaving his dorm, shutting the door behind you a little too forcefully and storming off back to your own room.

you must look insane, padding along the halls with no shoes as angry tears streaked down your face and you tried your best not to audibly sob. by the time you had made it back to your room your eyes were streaming, and you flopped on your bed with little regard for anything else other than crying your eyes out.

truth be told, after that fateful night and the best cry of your life you felt much better. you knew where you stood, you had your feelings sorted out, and you knew that a little distance would really help you to finally move on from your friend.

now, if only denji would stop calling and texting you like nothing had happened.

you felt like you could scream when you saw a notification from him, asking if you wanted to study for the test that you had next week. you bit back the petty urge to ask him if he wanted to study with you as just friends, instead opting to turn your phone off and bury your face in your pillow once again.

matters of the heart take time, after all.

on denji's end, things weren't looking much better. he brushed off his confusion at your actions and words when you had left so abruptly the other day, only to find himself staring at his ceiling trying to decipher his feelings and what the hell you had meant.

he likes makima. and he has, for a while now. he could count on one hand the amount of times he had interacted with the girl who sat in front of him in the lecture hall, and every time had been met with this strange giddy feeling in his chest. though it was rare, he knew that feeling.

but the one he felt right now was so, so, different. when the door clicked shut behind you, it felt like a piece of him had up and left along with you. the very reason that he had accelerated things so far in your relationship was because of how right things felt with you. the slightest graze of your fingertips across his chest didn't light any fireworks in his mind, but it's like warmth perforated his skin and was injected straight into him from you.

truth be told, that feeling was the most addicting he had ever felt. and when he heard that air of finality right after the door shut behind you, it didn't take long for denji to realise just how cold everything felt without you.

but he still liked makima, right?

that giddy feeling in his chest he got from her was enough to fill the you-shaped hole, right?

you not talking to him wasn't what made his heart hurt, right?

he only realised just how wrong he had it when he talked to makima for the fourth time ever. she had turned in her seat, even smiling at him and asking for a pen, and all that came to mind was how much he missed your smile.

hell, he missed everything. the sound of your laugh, the smell of your hair. the way you fit against him and said his name. and that's when he realised this you-related feeling was.

longing.

there was a knock on your door. and another. you groaned, rolling over to check the time to see that it was three in the morning.

by the time you had cracked your door open you saw a flash of blond hair and a face all-too-familiar, you knew it was too late to slam your door shut. denji's face perked up, and you already knew that you were done for.

he lifted his hand, revealing a pretty albeit crumpled bouquet of flowers. you almost giggled to yourself, guessing that the mastermind of that romantic gesture was most likely denji's roommate aki. but it was appreciated, nonetheless.

"what do you want, denji?" you were painfully aware of just how much of a mess you looked right now- eyes still red around the rim from how many self-pitying tears you had shed over this entire situation.

denji's mouth and opened and closed, and you sighed against your barely open door which still had a chain on it.

"i'm not in the mood, denji."

"no, no, it's just that i wanted to say that i've finally figured out what we are." it appears tgat your friend finally found his voice. you looked him in the eye again, trying not to let the hope in your heart build itself too high. "we're way more than friends, y/n."

you felt any resistance crumble at those words, and the sheepish smile on your face grew.

"so, can i come in?" you smiled at denji, shutting your door to undo the latch before opening it again, wide enough to let him back in to your life. consider him a weakness of yours.

the first thing denji did when he crossed the threshold of your door was wrap his arms around you, dried tears and crumpled flowers and all, and bury his face in your hair. the only words he had to offer was a mumbled i miss you into your skin, and you felt your body melt against him like it had so many times before.

when you finally broke apart, you couldn't help but wonder.

"so, what are the flowers for denji?" the boy before you blushed, his eyes flitting off to the side. he raised a hand to the back of his neck, taking a breath to summon some courage.

"i was hoping... that i could take you out on a date. or be your boyfriend. something like that."

"what?" denji was still bright red, though his eyes were locked onto yours.

"you heard me." you smiled once again, taking a step forwards and effectively closing the distance between you two.

"i would love to."

take a look at the menu - ,, ⚖️ ·˚ ༘ ꒱

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (February 9/2021) - New Lands, Sapnap’s Visit

It wouldn’t be the Dream SMP without emotional whiplash, now would it?

As tensions between Puffy and Ponk have escalated, Karl takes Sapnap and George with him on a journey to a new land to live in, starting a brand new country to house his library. 

What was at first a fun time building the library quickly turned serious, as Sapnap decided that now was the time to pay Dream a visit.

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VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Tubbo

Jack Manifold

Ranboo

Captain Puffy

Foolish Gamers

Karl Jacobs

Sapnap

Badboyhalo

---

- Ponk is angry at Puffy’s arson from yesterday. He asks Niki for advice on what to do. She says she would burn a house down in revenge.

- He also speaks with Foolish.

- Ponk destroy’s Puffy’s mushroom house, leaving her homeless again.

- Ponk also gets a tour from Warden Sam of the prison. Not to visit, just to be shown the mechanics. 

- He tries to run up the guards’ spiral staircase but when Sam attacks him, he backs down. Sam is irritated at this.

- Ponk and Sam have an argument about tridents.

- Later, Sam tells Ponk that every friendship goes through fights occasionally, and he forgives Ponk. 

- Ponk continues on his Valentines’ Day plans.

- Ranboo accidentally kills Jjjjjjjjeffrey with sweeping edge. Mr. Krabs adds insult to injury.

- Tubbo does an abstract bit.

- Ranboo kills several more pets. He is not having a good day.

- Puffy finds out about the destruction. She’s upset.

- Realistically, she should get retaliation, but she doesn’t know if she should even bother.

- Foolish comes over to where her house used to be, and Puffy says she knows about Foolish’s involvement earlier. She thanks her son for trying to save her house.

Foolish says he was too late, but Puffy replies that it only mattered that he tried.

- Karl comes online with plans to move his library. Sapnap arrives as well and Karl tells him that he has nothing to his name on the server except the library. 

The llamas in Party Park have begun to unionize, and though cleaning up L’manhole would be the responsible thing to do, they are definitely not going to do that.

- George comes online as Karl dismantles the library.

- They start walking down the path to look for an area to build their new country.

Sapnap: “We lost our best friend recently. He’s in prison.”

Sapnap also notices that the Community House has been rebuilt, but...it’s not the same.

- George performs a special ceremony at Spawn.

- They set off, heading out past Spawn in that direction.

- Sapnap gets concerned that they’re heading out so far. He doesn’t want to get too far from the prison.

- They make it to the flower forest biome past Alyssa’s Barn.

- Karl decides on a nice little cliffside to build the library in. He sets down a rule for the other two: a flower that is picked up must be placed down again.

- Sapnap is the protector, as resident tough guy.

- Captain Puffy visits the Temple of Undying to admire Foolish’s building. Foolish helps cheer her up.

- Sapnap reveals that he’s brought Beckerson and Mars with him. They can be the country’s most prized possessions. The oldest pets on the server.

- They plant and grow the first red-spotted mushroom. Karl deems it sacred and unbreakable.

- They repurpose Alyssa’s Barn for mushroom growing.

- They shelter from the rain under the sacred mushroom.

- They start building. 

- Bad magics his way over to help with the building. Karl explains that the mushroom is sacred. Bad compares their country to a fungal growth.

- As they’re building, Karl tells Bad that in a perfect world, everyone on the SMP would join this country. There’s no duel citizenship. Everyone can join (barring Skeppy)

Bad is appreciative of the invitation.

- They continue building. Foolish arrives to assist!

- A pillager raid comes through and Sapnap kills them. As he does so, a white horse wanders by. Sapnap declares it their special horse. It can be their Horsecretary.

- The building continues!

- Dream joins VC and viewer wars break out between Sapnap and Foolish as Dream encourages everyone to try and get their viewer counts to be equal.

- Foolish heads back to his beautiful, stunning, gorgeous summer house to show on his stream.

- Sapnap gets a bright idea to go to the prison and visit Dream.

- Sam joins the call and Sapnap tells him he’s trying to get through the prison portal. 

- Sam asks if Sapnap actually wants to visit Dream, and Sapnap says yes...

-

--- SAPNAP’S PRISON VISIT --- 

-

- Sapnap tries to get into the prison and asks Awesam to let him visit Dream. 

- Awesam agrees. Sapnap isn’t sure if he was ready, or if this is the optimal time, but he ends up going through.

- Sam asks the questions.

This is Sapnap’s first time visiting.

His residence is in a new place that he and Karl are creating.

He believes Dream is deserving of being locked up. 

Sapnap: “We used to be best friends...”

Sam: “’Used to be?’”

Sapnap: “Yeah, I dunno...where we stand anymore, it’s kinda...yeah.”

Sam: “What does that mean?”

Sapnap: “Well, I dunno...I don’t know if he’s the same anymore. I don’t know if he’s the Dream -- my Dream anymore. My best friend.”

- Sapnap reviews the waivers

- They start making their way through the prison. Sapnap is nervous.

- Sapnap signs the other two waivers.

- They reach the lava wall.

Sam: “Good luck getting him to talk.”

Sapnap: “What do you mean? ...Is he not talkative”

Sam: “Something like that.”

- Dream’s cell walls are spotted in crying obsidian.

Sam: “And Sapnap?”

Sapnap: “Yeah?”

Sam: “I hope that you’re the one.”

- Sapnap enters the cell.

“...Hello? Dream? ....You okay?”

- Dream is silent, holding the clock. He hands Sapnap a book that says: “I am not talking.”

- His clock is now labelled “DO NOT BURN”

Dream: “you took so long.”

Sapnap: “You hurt a lot of people, but...you hurt specifically me...took me a little bit to decide to come and see you...”

Sapnap: “You’re better than this.”

- Dream looks at his clock, turning away from Sapnap.

Sapnap: “Once upon a time, we were best friends. If you’re gonna talk to anyone, you can talk to me.”

- Dream turns back to Sapnap, now holding the clock in his offhand while he writes in the book.

Dream: “im on strike”

- Sapnap asks what for, then if Dream is okay.

- Sapnap asks why the cell looks so run-down, with the crying obsidian dripping everywhere.

“it was a security measure.” [The crying obsidian]

“ill get out one day.”

- Sapnap insists that Dream has to stay locked up. 

Sapnap: “I love you man, but you gotta stay here...this is where you belong for now.”

- Dream hands him the book.

“i spend days i broke the lectern i was making a portal and he did this.”

- Sapnap says that he can’t try and escape. He misses Dream, Sapnap says that they can be friends, that he can come and visit, that George can come and visit, but he has to stay here. 

“Please don’t try and escape.”

- Dream runs over and throws the clock in the lava. Sapnap is worried that he’ll make Awesam mad and make things worse for himself.

“eventually.”

“eventually.”

“eventually.”

“eventually.”

- Sapnap repeatedly tells him no.

Sapnap: “If you try and break out early...you know, you only have one life left, okay? And...I don’t think it’s gonna be Tommy. It’s not gonna be Techno, Dream...If you break out of this prison, it’s gonna be me who takes your final life. And it’s not because I have any resentment towards you or anything --”

Dream moves towards the lava but stops.

“-- But it’s because this is where you need to be, Dream.”

Dream’s head turns towards Sapnap and he takes another step towards the lava.

“You have to stay here, okay? We can still be friends, I can come and visit you, but you need to stay here.”

Dream moves back to the back of the cell.

“can you pass a message”

“he stopped visiting”

- Sapnap asks who

“ranboo”

- Sapnap asks what message

“:)”

- Sapnap says he’ll pass along the message.

“thank you”

- Sapnap asks if, if he passes along the message, Dream will behave. If he’ll stop acting up and throwing his clocks away.

Dream finally speaks, though it’s barely a whisper.

"Yes.”

- Sapnap says he’ll visit Dream more, and asks if he wants George to visit as well. Dream hands him the book again.

“yes and tell the warden i need a new clock”

- Dream signs the book.

“thank you for visiting me” is the final message.

- Sapnap says he’s ready to leave. Sam tells him to stand in the water.

Sapnap and Dream stand in the water together and they die by the potion together.

- Sapnap tells Sam that he spoke, and that he said he’d be better. That he needs a new clock. Sam is exasperated.

- Sapnap asks how long it’s been since he spoke to someone else. Sam says it’s been quite a while.

- When’s the last time he saw someone?

- The last person to visit him was Ranboo.

- Sam asks if he told Sapnap anything else. Sapnap says no.

- Sam kills Sapnap with Warden’s Will, sending him to Spawn.

- Sapnap comes back to the prison. Sam lets him through the portal.

- Sam explains that he just thought it was strange that Dream would talk to Sapnap, and had to “make sure.” Sapnap says it’s fine and leaves the prison with his things.

- Ranboo joined the game.

- Sapnap whispers to Ranboo that he wants to talk. They meet at the Community House.

Sapnap tells him about the prison visit, saying that Dream doesn’t seem the same. He doesn’t even talk now. He tells Ranboo that he was told that Ranboo was the last person to visit. He asks if Ranboo remembers anything about his visit, anything off.

Ranboo, of course, doesn’t remember much.

- Sapnap gives Ranboo the message: 

:)

- Ranboo freezes and goes silent, then runs away into the Nether. Sapnap is confused.

- Just as Sapnap is ending stream, Ranboo sends a message in game chat written in Enderman.

Doomed are those who try to run, for it always catches up eventually :)

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

Bad also mentioned that he has an upcoming lore stream that he’s scheduling, though it involves a particular person whose schedule makes them difficult to get a hold of for it.

[dreamerhideout]

i love you so

summary: after recovering from a messy break-up with your high school sweetheart, you’d never expect to find happiness in someone who bumped into you on the subway. but that’s where jake sim comes in.

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, office!au

characters: jake x reader, mentions of ex-boyfriend!jay

warnings: partially proofread, but besides that, none

word count: 1946

a/n: this was supposed to be an entry for the “and then we met” @enhypenwriters writing event, but i think i lost the muse for this a bit too fast (plus, school swamped me again.) i literally wanted to base it off this song by the walters until it dawned on me that it was a heartbreak song :/ hence i made a few adjustments. i’m not quite sure if i’m fully satisfied with how this turned out, but i hope you still enjoy it~

more under the cut!

your heels clicked on the platform as you weaved your way through the crowd of people. it was a bustling monday morning, and waking up half an hour late was not how you expected to start your week. bingeing on this one political-drama show the night before began to feel like a regrettable choice, but there was no time to dwell on that when you see your train pulling up at the platform.

“oh damn, i’m so sorry.”

maybe it was because of how distracted you were from your surroundings that you hadn’t realized that someone bumped into you. as a result, you barely noticed that your coat had gotten stained from the coffee in their cup.

you gave them an apologetic smile, too rushed to get pissed. “no worries.” pausing for a second, you registered the culprit to be a man with a head of chocolate-brown hair and slightly frantic eyes before jogging towards the open subway cart door. once you got on the nearly-stuffed train, your eyes peered down towards your coat. sighing, you swiped at your coffee-stained coat with your finger; perhaps you’d be able to get it cleaned at the office later on if you weren’t getting your ear chewed off by your manager.

-

“we have a new employee joining us today.”

exiting the bathroom door with a slightly-scrubbed coat in hand, you heard your manager call out, then the chatter in the room subsiding. she was standing beside a man that you wouldn’t have vaguely remembered seeing before if it weren’t for the small smile he gave you.

“hi everyone, i’m jake sim. i’ll be working under the research department starting today. it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

you recognized that voice a little too well, then glancing at your dampened coat. who knew that the man you hastily bumped into this morning would be working at your office?

“jake will be occupying the desk next to (y/n)’s, and he’ll also be under my supervision as he’s still on trial for the next two weeks.” almost instantly, your manager turned towards you, who was still standing in front of the bathroom door.

“oh, yes,” you replied, eyes widening slightly. you went towards your cubicle and motioned to the empty desk beside you for jake to put his things, “over here.”

he walked over and placed a box filled with his belongings on top of the table, then unpacking. “well, i never thought i’d see you here,” he chuckled, “really sorry for what happened earlier, by the way.”

“eh, it’s no big deal.” you draped your coat over your chair for it to dry, “i managed to scrub off most of the stain, so it should be fine.”

“are you sure it isn’t ruined?” he turned to face you, slightly quirking an eyebrow.

you grinned in response, “positive."

jake had placed some stationery into a pencil holder before extending out a hand towards you. “i know i’ve introduced myself earlier.” he smiled rather awkwardly, “but for the sake of us being desk-mates, i’ll do it again. i’m jake.”

your hand met his for a quick shake, a knowing smile on your face. “(y/n). nice to meet you.”

-

if you were sure about one thing, it’d be that time flies by when you’re drowning in deadlines. the sun had already disappeared, yet you still sat hunched over your laptop, fingers typing away at a report due tomorrow assigned a few hours ago. you would have argued with your manager on the matter, but the glare she gave you as you were about to open your mouth was enough to make you shrink back into your seat.

out of habit, you grabbed your phone and unlocked it, expecting to see a message notification from jay, your boyfriend, who’d usually come to pick you up from work. when you didn’t receive one, however, it only dawned on you once again that you weren’t even with him anymore. he was the reason why your routine for the past few months had been working and binge-watching on repeat, with the occasional cry session if you were feeling really out of it. moving on after said breakup had been difficult, especially when it involved the very person who vowed to marry you on the day of your high school graduation.

“working overtime?”

you peered up from your head in your hands to see jake. he had pushed his chair back and was looking at you past the divider. it was way past office hours and you swore that you heard the last of your coworkers’ chatter out the door a few hours ago, but you must have been mistaken.

“yeah.” you gave him a grim smile, “some stupid report i was told to do today.”

“ouch,” he winced, closing his laptop. jake then studied your expression, picking up on how exhausted you looked. “tell you what.” he stood up and began slipping items into his backpack, “what if we went home together? maybe i could grab you something on the way back to make up for earlier.”

you looked up from your screen to see a cheeky smile on his lips. the offer did seem tempting, but you were ways away from actually completing the report. “oh that really isn’t necessary...” you threw him a small smile as you waved a hand rather dismissively, “i might be here for a long while, and i wouldn’t want to hold you back from going home.”

“i insist, (y/n).” jake zipped up his backpack after tossing in a file, “i wouldn’t mind waiting since i have nothing due tomorrow.” he then propped an elbow up on the divider, leaning on it as he carefully took note of the obvious strain on your eyes as well as how you had a slight pout on your lips when you were focused, “and besides... you kinda look like you could use some company.”

a small hum was heard from your mouth until you finally sighed in defeat; he definitely wasn’t wrong about company. “if you say so, then.” you stretched your arms, turning away from your screen, “maybe having you around will make me work faster?”

“how so?”

“you know how sometimes kids won’t work on their homework unless there’s an adult cowering over them like a hawk? yeah, that.” 

jake brought a hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh, which ended in him snorting instead. you could feel a smile creep up your lips.

-

the trip home was the most fun you’ve had in months. it didn’t occur to you that jake would be such an avid chatterbox, but you were sorely mistaken. he always had a conversation topic up his sleeve, whether it was about daily adult struggles to his childhood back in australia. you also noticed how he absolutely could not shut up about his beloved dog, layla; it’s a wonder how he had an entire album filled with hundreds of her pictures on his phone. slowly but surely, you also began juggling the conversation; it was as if you had reverted to your bright, happy self pre-breakup. talking with him really felt like reuniting with a long-lost friend, and it was only a matter of minutes until you had reached your apartment's front door.

jake had wanted to use your bathroom for a bit, but it ended with you suggesting for him to stay for dinner which consisted of microwaved pizza and sweet tea. you placed the pizza on the coffee table in front of the tv, then starting up the series you were bingeing on the other night.

“is that designated survivor?” jake sat on your sofa before grabbing a slice of pizza from the plate.

“mhm,” you replied, mouth stuffed. swallowing first, you then replied to him, “the synopsis made me curious.”

your remark was met with silence as you saw jake’s gazed fixed intently upon the screen. it wouldn’t have occurred to you that you’d be having a coworker (who was insanely attractive, nonetheless) over for dinner, but it didn’t bother you at all when jake made offhand comments about the characters and scenes of the series. it also occurred to you quite late that you hadn’t gotten napkins out for the both of you.

“hold on, lemme grab something.” you stood up and went towards your cabinets in search for napkins. jake’s attention broke from the screen to follow your figure before his gaze momentarily landed on a photo frame by the side of your sofa. it was a picture of you and your ex-boyfriend, with his arm wrapped around you as you both smiled brightly for the camera.

“i didn’t know you had a boyfriend?” the man teased as he saw you walk back towards him, napkins in hand. your expression dropped when you realized that throughout the time you’ve been trying to mend your broken heart, you had forgotten to put away that photo.

“we broke up.”

guilt flashed across jake’s face as he realized he had overstepped. “oh wow, i’m sorry... i shouldn’t have brought that up.”

“it’s fine. i guess i must’ve forgotten to put that away.” you smiled at him and placed the napkins on the table before flipping the frame down. taking a seat, you sighed as you tried to focus on the show playing in front of you; you could feel bits of dread wallow in the bottom of your stomach.

there was a moment of awkward pause as neither of you knew what to say. just as you were about to ask jake to leave since you could feel dread clawing at your insides, he suddenly spoke up, “you’re... really strong, though.”

turning to face him, you stared at him quizzically, “really?”

“yeah.” jake could feel your eyes on him, “i mean, if it weren’t for me finding out, i would’ve never guessed that you were going through that.” he grabbed another piece of pizza before meeting your gaze, “you’re a great person, (y/n). i think you should know that. and if you’d need someone to talk to about him... although i don’t really know the guy, i’m all ears.”

the way he gave you a soft smile at the end made your heart slightly flutter. maybe it was because there was this very charming man consoling you on your last breakup, but it was more on the fact that you knew someone had your back in your times of healing. “thanks, jake.” you smiled back, feeling your heart lighten. “i appreciate it. a lot.”

jake felt his heart flip at the sight of your smile. it wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen you smile the entire day; it was a different kind as he could see some weight visibly lifted from you. you were pretty cute when you smiled, the way your eyes crinkled at the sides when you did, and he wondered how he hadn’t realized that sooner.

“uh... jake?” you waved a hand in front of his face to break him away from his stare. he quickly snapped out of his reverie, ears tinting a shade of pink.

“oh, yeah, sorry about that...” he murmured nervously, scratching the back of his head, “guess i got a bit distracted there?”

“i noticed.” you giggled in response, turning your attention back towards the tv. you saw how he stared at you after you spoke, eyes lost in a dream-like trance, and you felt your heart go fuzzy.

perhaps you were still healing, and you might need a little more time before jumping into something new. but rest assured, you knew that jake would be waiting on the other side no matter what.

[kazuhaskaede]

✰ kazuha flower prompts

一 genshin impact, kaedehara kazuha 一 word count: 742 一 warnings: mention of sake 一 notes: i wrote this pre-inazuma update as a sacrifice for kazuha so if hes ooc... oops also this is a repost bc i think im shadowbanned

Rose: How is a typical date?

Kazuha’s the type to take his s/o on a relaxing, easy going date that just puts everyone at ease

While he does enjoy sake and would more than likely pull it out during the date, he’d save it til the end of the date to properly enjoy

Before the Vision decree in Inazuma, Kazuha would visit scenic but obscure places void of people that would crowd or cause far too much commotion

Mountainous areas with great big skies, gentle breezes and nothing too dangerous (but a little danger never hurt anyone)

Maybe by the seaside (considering how it’s everywhere) in the middle of the night, where the moon is high and the people are usually inside

Or perhaps, on the rare occasions of festivities, a cultural festival that spans across the entire nation

He doesn’t have much planned for a date, more easy going and “I’ll let the wind guide me” kind of guy

He’d have a basis - “Let’s go to the coast” or “let’s visit the city for a change” and let the rest of the day be lead by whatever events follow

“Actually, I overheard a conversation… the weather is about to start clearing up, let’s go visit the ocean?”

I can’t clearly see if he’d be touchy feely or more on the reserved side, but hand holding throughout the date or one hand on your arm is something I can definitely see happening

He’d have a gentle hold on you when walking anywhere, just to know you’re by his side and the comfort of your warmth is still nearby

Also to prevent any harm to come to you (naturally)

He’s the type to pick up snacks on the way too, so if you pass by a stall or a vendor just selling food, he’d pluck a mora or a few thousand out to get a handful of food

Listen, food :D

The date ends when the time is right to both parties - one is too tired, the atmosphere is just right, etc etc

But he’ll send you off with a parting gift of course - a gift, maybe a gentle kiss, a lingering hug that lasted much longer than it should’ve, or even just a moment of staring before he breaks into a smile

Tulip: What is their love language?

Quality time, hands down

He’s constantly at ease, and he’d be the type of lover to sit by idly while watching things pass by

He’d be content with his s/o just by his side, no words shared as they both just watch the sea pass by or the clouds move in the sky

He wouldn’t mind just laying together, staring up straight at the sky and eventually dozing off in peace

A partner that isn’t there that often wouldn’t bode well with him, causing an ephemeral love more than anything

If it was separation by unforeseen events, he’d do everything and anything in his power to reunite and spend the most time with his s/o as possible

He can be seen as clingy at times but it’s endearing

Not one for PDA, just constantly around his s/o or even gazing out with a lovesick look and if anyone asked, he’d just respond: “I miss my s/o”

Lily: What type of love language do they like?

Physical touch or Words of Affirmation

He is all for physical actions to show his love, it kinda comes with him naturally so if that was his s/o’s love language, it would work out perfectly

Words of Affirmation is even better too as he thinks his words out, each one holding a different weight that’s deeper and more trusting

While he doesn’t initiate PDA a lot, he doesn’t mind when his s/o does

He likes their warm touch, the way it reassures him that they’re still right by his side and not going anywhere

It’s a reassurance more than anything, a soothing one at that

Words of Affirmation, on the other hand, provide things for him to dwell on

He’ll reminiscence compliments you give him and even offhanded remarks that you don’t realize makes him fluttery on the inside

“My s/o called me beautiful today so I know it’s gonna be a good day”

“My s/o said that I had really good shampoo taste so I’m stopping by the store to get some”

“they called me cute… yes i’m blushing”

[ironmandeficiency]

dropped hints never picked up

pairing: wolffe / reader

word count: 2203

summary: wolffe’s been trying to catch your attention for a while now, but you’re more oblivious than he thought you’d be. this is the last time wolffe goes to boost for advice.

req: Wolffe x reader, #15 from the prompt list?

“Hi, I’ve been subtle at hinting that I want your attention all day and you haven’t noticed once and now I’m pissed.”

a/n: i had two ppl request this prompt for wolffe and it made it all the more important to perfect this piece. i changed a couple of words but the meaning is still the same so 🤷🏻‍♀️ no beta, just me on my bullshit

79’s was crowded as always, the music loud and the smell of booze permeating the air. it was comforting when paired with the company of the wolfpack, the battalion you worked under as a medic serving as both pleasant company and a deterrent for unwanted visitors. wolffe had a hand resting on your knee, the commander occasionally giving it a soft squeeze throughout the night.

three nights prior, wolffe found himself sitting on boost’s bunk, head in his hands. for weeks he’d been grappling with the emotions running rampant through his body like a raging blurrg. they were emotions he never wanted to feel, ones he’d been trying to repress to no avail.

boost, oddly enough, seemed to know exactly why wolffe was waiting on him before the commander had even opened his mouth. wolffe wanted to make a move and boost was going to be the one to help him. he advised wolffe on ways to be subtle but still show more affection than normal, things like extra physical contact and some offhand but sweet compliments to kinda nudge things along.

it made sense to him; you weren’t one for big showy signs of affection and he wasn’t a showy kind of guy. you had a way of knowing what he wanted to say when he wasn’t in the mood to speak, seeming to pick up on his moods with a familiarity he didn’t expect to share with someone outside of his brothers or even general buir. there were times where you both would complete each other’s sentences (it was disgustingly cute in the eyes of the rest of the ‘pack) and the blood would rush to your cheeks, wolffe immediately turning away to hide his own blush.

right now you were sandwiched between wolffe and boost, the former on the outside of the booth claimed upon arrival. drinks were passed around by comet who knew how you enjoyed your fruity cocktails with the twisty straws and umbrellas and did not fail in bringing one your way. you thanked him with a smile as you took a small sip, savoring the taste of your drink as well as wolffe’s hand on your knee.

he’d gotten quite a bit more affectionate lately and seemed to be touch starved, so you didn’t comment on the uptick in contact (you didn’t want him to think you weren’t okay with it because you were plenty okay with it) as you let yourself revel in his warmth.

“wolffe, do you wanna try?” you hold your drink towards him with a soft smile. he’d confided in you several days ago that he had a sweet tooth to rival a small child and comet did bring you one of the sweeter cocktails offered at the bar.

your hands brush lightly as he takes the drink from your outstretched hand. he briefly smells the concoction before taking a sip, and judging by the soft smile on his lips he liked the pineapple mango-rita. “not bad, cyare,” he gingerly hands you back your drink, hands once again making brief contact.

“if you like that one, i think you’d also like the nubian smile. it’s a favorite of mine.”

“i’ll have to try it some time.”

then warthog mentions wolffe’s name in whatever story he’s begun and the moment’s broken.

conversation flowed as freely as the bar’s beer tap. you sipped lightly at your single drink and listened more than you spoke. there were several stories shared that you hadn’t heard before, like how sinker got his name and the time boost tried to prank commander cody, that had you laughing uncontrollably and leaning closer to wolffe’s side. he responded in kind and soon moved his hand from your knee and wrapped it around your shoulder, subconsciously pulling you into him. it was more relaxing than you would like to admit.

wildfire had finished ratting out boost for sneaking bubble wrap into dozens of bedrolls when you went to sip your drink and got surprised when the pineapple wedge bonked you on the nose instead.

your face scrunched at the prickly skin of the fruit and wolffe thought it was the cutest face he’d ever seen. the offending fruit wedge was then plucked from the rim and glared at for a brief moment as if it could feel shame for its actions.

the plan was to eat it as punishment for its crimes but wolffe had other plans, playfully snatching it from you and taking a chunk out for himself. he was smug about it, eyes holding yours captive in a “what’re you gonna do about it?” look while his mouth twisted into a playful grin.

“hey, that was mine!”

“gotta be quicker than that, dear,” he replied as he took another bite before sliding it back onto its previous perch.

everyone else at the booth was about to vomit but it wouldn’t be from the booze.

————

you were glued to wolffe’s side the rest of the night at the bar and on the way back to the barracks. neither of you had enough to drink to completely explain the constant small smiles and excessive contact, but you didn’t care. wolffe was here and might as well have been holding you and you were living for it.

he had asked to walk you to your quarters with a gentle hand in yours, thumb smoothing across your knuckles tenderly. you were so absorbed in the skin to skin contact that you could only nod in consent.

the walk there was filled with small talk and nervous touches, both of you leaning into each other without realizing that’s what you were doing. before you knew it, you were in front of your door. neither of you acknowledged the arrival until wolffe grabbed your hand in both of his, tightening his hold briefly.

“sleep well, cyare. i’ll see you tomorrow.” his voice was soft and rumbly, attesting to the late hour and the evening spent drinking.

“see you in the morning, wolffe, goodnight.”

he lifted your hand still grasped in his toward him, placing a feather-light kiss to your palm. it was the gentlest thing you’ve ever seen him do and the fact it was with you sent warmth through your veins. his eyes were locked onto yours as he placed the kiss, keeping you in place.

you were desperate to give something, to reciprocate the tender way he touched you, but he was already leaving you in front of your now-open door for the night. when did your door open? and since when was wolffe so soft towards you?

————

the goodnight kiss wasn’t acknowledged aloud after that but you both thought about it constantly. you had no idea where it came from yet your entire being seemed to yearn for him to do it again when in his presence.

since then he became more open with his affection, even holding your hand in front of his brothers (that would tease a tiny bit before being shut down with a glare that dared them to question his happiness). you responded in kind, holding his hand right back and always finding a way to him after long nights when you were all sent to one planet or another. it was pure bliss and you weren’t going to question it.

but then, while planetside somewhere in the mid-rim, he seemed to not have anything to do besides trail you in your work.

the morning (very early morning) began like many of them had started to since the night at 79’s, you cradled by wolffe’s arms where he clung to you in your sleep as if to keep you from flying away. a fellow medic seemed timid to wake you once they noticed whose arms were keeping you down, the newer woman repeating flustered apologies for the interruption as if it weren’t your job to be woken up like this.

from that moment on through the rest of day, you didn’t spend more than a minute with wolffe at a time. not for his lack of trying.

he would appear seemingly out of nowhere every couple hours or so while you were bandaging one wound or cleaning another, words precise but tone gentle.

“hey cyare, the locals invited several of us for lunch to celebrate our arrival. wondered if you wanted to come with me.”

“you’ve been on your feet for hours, come have a seat for a minute.”

“sinker was playing a game with some of the kids, you shoulda seen his face when they beat him.”

turning the invitation down hurt more than it should have, but you had too many wounded and too few hands to help you with the workload. there was nothing in you that could justify going to a dinner prepared by the people you were here to serve.

a few hours later, he brought a plate back for you so you didn’t completely miss out on eating something that wasn’t rations. it took some convincing but he was able to sit you down and get you to take a moment for yourself to eat. while you ate, he gravitated around the medtent and offered his services where he could to alleviate the guilt he knew you felt for sitting. it was touching to see him talk to the various patients so gently, the children having not an ounce of worry about the giant, strong soldier.

with more effort than you thought it would take on your end (because part of you simply didn’t want to), the commander was shooed out of the tent so you could continue to work.

a couple hours later wolffe showed up again, telling you about a beautiful view one of the scouts found while on patrol that he wanted to show you. the flowers he described were vibrant in color and scent, decorating the landscape with hues previously unknown to many of his men. he wanted to show it to you, help you relax because you had indeed been on your feet nearly the entire day.

when you turned him down yet again, his eyebrows furrowed together and he looked upset. it was a reaction you were not expecting by any means. the other times you didn’t accept his invitations he simply tucked you under his arm briefly and pressed a kiss to your temple. this change in mood was unsettling.

“wolffe, what’s wrong? talk to me.” it worried you to see him distraught, the reason unknown. approaching him slowly, you rested a hand on his shoulder that he quickly moved away, choosing instead to grip it in his a bit tighter than usual.

he took a deep breath to steady himself before answering you, trying to dispel the anger and hurt to avoid making you feel guilty. it didn’t work as well as he wanted it to because his voice was gruff when he answered. “i just-“ he took another breath to steady himself. “gods, y/n, i’ve been subtly hinting that i want your attention all day and you haven’t noticed once and i’m pissed.”

that’s what he’d been trying to do? it made so much sense now! how did you miss it?

your other hand met his that still held you, smoothing over the skin on the top of his hand in consolation. “wolffe, i’m sorry. i just got so wrapped up in work today that everything else just passed right over my head.” you felt guilty. he was only trying to help you and spend time with you and there you were just turning him down!

“and that’s why i kept trying, cyare. you work so hard and while i admire it, i would much rather you spend time with me than the bacta patches.” the smile returned to his face at your ministrations but his eyebrows didn’t soften.

something was clearly confusing him but questioning him before he had his thoughts in order would do nothing to help. so you stood with him and continued to hold his hands as he thought, hoping that whatever he was thinking about wouldn’t hurt him when fully realized.

“do you… want to spend time with me?”

you were shocked. how did he not realize that every time you didn’t go with him today you lost a little pep in your step? each time he came in, your resolve weakened and if he had pushed just a tiny bit more to get you to come with him, you would have given in. you explain this to him with a soft smile.

“i’m sorry for pushing you away today, wolffe. i’d love to go with you.”

the smile that lit up wolffe’s face could have powered the entire planet of coruscant with its radiance. “i’d love to take you, cyare.” you let the commander guide you out of the medtent and towards the promised landscape, too wrapped up in each other to notice the sergeant and lieutenant watching them.

“about damn time! shit, why did it take so long?!”

“shut up, sinker! they were trying to take it slow, be subtle about it!”

“whose dumbass idea was that?”

a pause. “mine.”

“okay, it wasn’t that dumb.”

“thank you.”

“i’m kidding, it was extremely dumb.”

[bunkerbucky]

Got What He Wanted *Ransom Drysdale x Reader*

Summary: You’ve married young because you were in need of financial support. Six years later, you’re working under Harlan Thrombey as his research assistant. Jobs pays extremely well, so your marriage is stale. In fact, you both agree to allow the other to delve in new sexual partners. In walks his grandson, Ransom, who you have no qualms with... but he just hates what he can’t have and your husband has one rule: No sleeping with that sleaze Ransom. 

Pairings: Hugh Ransom Drysdale-Thrombey x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit [+18]

Warnings: Straight up filthy smut below. Plot, too. Porn WITH plot. Cuckolding, to a sever degree. I’m gonna say dub-con-ish, mostly because you don’t give permission to be filmed- but also Ransom doesn’t ask for permission... so technically not wrong??? but technically you don’t want to be filmed whilst getting fucked! Mentions of Ransom being bisexual, it’s an offhand comment. 

Word Count: Too fucking long, hope you enjoy lmao

Notes: Please, be over 18 to enjoy my works. Viewer discretion is advised. You consume the content you want, so don’t be mad at me when you read something that I blatantly warned you about. 

My first post. Please, leave feedback and maybe send some requests for me. Requests are open, SMUT only themed. - Lilith

“So, he just let’s you fuck other guys?” You roll your eyes because it’s the same conversation everyday, almost. 

“Within reason,” you look up from your desk and quirk an eyebrow at the man sitting in front of you. “It’s mutually beneficial for us both, plus sometimes he watches.” 

Now that captures his attention tenfold. Ransom Drysdale; the handsome, spoilt and egotistical, maniac that is your bosses grandson. People love to hate him because he just makes it so good and easy to. 

Except you. Sure, he says stuff without consequence and he’s just a tad on the asshole side, but you find his callousness kinda humouring. Since day one of you working for Harlan you’ve simply chuckled at his comments. 

That intrigued the man before you. 

“How?” You frowned at his question, “How is he able to just watch as another man fucks you? I find that crazy and this is me, I have no limits when it comes to fucking.” That is true. 

You’ve listened to the countless sex-capedes of Ransom Drysdale, he’s done things to men and women that... you didn’t think could be pleasurable.  

You shrug slightly, “I don’t know. He came in when a guy was mid fucking and, I guess, he just likes the humiliation.” His eyebrows furrow together, forehead creasing into a frown, “He doesn’t watch every time, but it’s just something that sometimes- if I find the right guy- he’s willing to sit in the corner and just... watch as another guy does he what he can’t do.” 

Ransom just nods once in silence, a frown still present on his face. You look back to your laptop, typing furiously on the keyboard as you sort through Harlan’s notes. 

Your search history would give the police a run for their money. Researching poisons and deaths for an author has made you far more knowledgeable on how to get away with a murder than you’d ever admit. 

“I couldn’t do it,” you glance up and Ransom has his elbow propped on the arm rest, resting his head in his hand as he looks at you. “I could never watch someone else fuck you.” 

You choked a laugh, “Good thing no one is asking you to.” 

He’s silent again and that makes you quickly glance back. There’s amusement in his eyes, never a good sign when it comes to Hugh. You lick your lips and look instantly back at your screen, fingers poised and ready to type but you can’t move. 

“But I wouldn’t mind showing your husband how it’s done,” it’s an offhand remark and you exhale through your nostrils, narrowing your eyes at him and he’s got that boyish smirk on. “I’m not one to shy away from voyerism- cause I wouldn’t want him in the room, no way. That’s too weird, but he can peak in like the freak he is.” 

To say you hadn’t thought about Ransom like that would be a bold ass lie. You have. Countless times actually. He’s handsome and muscular. His face is the definition of “a face I’d kill to sit on”, there’s no doubt about it. 

The urge to fuck him only grows with every sexual adventure he tells you about. What you’d give to be on the receiving end of him. 

But you can’t. It’s actually a rule. When this whole thing started you were a couple months into this job, Harlan had a party and invited you alone- naturally, you brought your husband. He hates this family. Specifically he hates Ransom. Because Ransom doesn’t hide the flirty and racy comments he makes, no he does not. 

Even with your husband beside you, he made comments that would make even the most promiscuous girl embarrassed.  

“Hate to break it to you,” you begin with a smile, “you’re not allowed.” 

Ransom recoils in shock, “Excuse me?” 

“I’m not allowed to fuck you, it’s the one rule my husband set when this all started.” 

The absolute horror written on his face is priceless. For a second his bottom lip juts out into a pout, reminding you of a sulking child on Christmas. But you feel his pain, when being told that the one person you only ever really wanted to fuck was off limits? You almost called off the whole open marriage. 

You didn’t have anyone in mind that your husband wasn’t allowed to fuck, so he’s out in the world fucking any young thing he wants- younger than you, you’re 25 and married him when you were freshly 18. 

“That’s bullshit,” he mutters and you shrug, “Why?”

“He doesn’t like you,” you cross your arms and lean them on your desk, “he thinks you’re an asshole and doesn’t want you fucking his wife,” he scoffs loudly and rolls his eyes. 

You smile and chuckle softly, “Don’t act so upset, Hugh, you can get anyone you want.” 

He just hums and leans back in the chair he’s in. You exhale softly, knowing he’s going to pout and be an asshole for the rest of the day. You shouldn’t have told him that, should have ended the conversation from the moment it started. 

***

Harsh knocking rapidly beat against your front door. You quickly tied a robe around yourself and walked down the stairs, the knocking never ceasing. 

You open the door slightly and frown at the tall figure before you, opening the door wider as you sigh, “Ransom?” He has his hands in his jean pockets, “what the fuck are you doing here? It’s 7′o’clock in the morning!” 

“I didn’t ask,” he rolls his eyes and walks into your house. “Nice place,” he comments as he looks around, already pulling off his coat and scarf. 

You shut the door and turn back to him, he’s leaning against the back of your sofa with his arms crossed and watching you. There’s something about him that you can’t put your finger on, but you know trouble is round the corner. 

You raise a questioning eyebrow, “What’s so important that couldn’t possibly wait till I was at work?” 

“I’m going to fuck you,” it’s a statement, he says it like it’s fact. 

Maybe it is. You huff a laugh and nod, “Sure,” is your sarcastic response and you wait for his real answer. It never comes. 

“I’m not going to let some cuckolding husband tell me I can’t fuck his wife,” his voice has an edge of bitterness and venom laces his words, as if he was truly hurt by being told ‘no. you can’t fuck my wife.’

You suck in a shaky breath when pushes off the sofa and walks towards you, it’s calculated and slow steps, giving you time to tell him to fuck off: As if you ever would tell him that. 

“What’d you say?” Now he’s phrasing it like a question, he’s standing so close to you that it’s hard to form a cohesive answer because his smell just envelops you; cedar-wood, smoky and a hint of mint, it’s intoxicating to your senses. “C’mon we haven’t got all fuckin’ day,” he growls lowly. 

You bite your bottom lip are you really about to fuck Ransom, especially after your husband told you not to. The one rule that was set in place. You nod once, “yes,” it’s a hushed whisper. 

Ransom grabs you by the hips and pulls you towards him, slanting his mouth over yours in a searing and bruising kiss. His hands grasp the soft fabric of your robe as yours wrap around his neck. He pulls and the robe comes open, his callused hands smoothing over your soft skin. 

He deepens the kiss, shoving his tongue into your mouth and gaining all of the dominance- that you happily give over to him. Ransom’s hands slide from your hips to your ass giving a hard squeeze that has you pulling away to move softly, he swats your butt an order to wrap your legs around his waist. 

You don’t make it easy to carry you to the bedroom, sucking and biting at his neck harshly. A growl rumbles from deep within his chest and before you know he’s tossing you onto the bed, trying to rip the robe from off your shoulders. He stares down at you like a hunter watching his prey, it has you keening for his attention and touch. 

Ransom doesn’t miss the way your thighs rub together trying alleviate the ache, you’re a mess and nothing has happened except rough groping and making out- it makes him smirk, how easily he is able to make you come undone. He doesn’t need to do anything just stare at you like he’s going to eat you; that’s definitely on the agenda. 

He wastes no time in ripping your panties off, using what little strength to tear the fabric from your body and pushing your thighs apart widely. He all but groans at the mess you’ve made to yourself, running his knuckles through the slick and smirking at the shudder that wrecks your body. He leans forward and licks a broad strip up your pussy, smirking when you moan loudly, hands automatically flying to his head. 

Whilst your head is thrown back as he assaults your pussy with his tongue and lips, his other hand fishies around his back jean pocket. His iPhone grasped in his hand, he swipes right on the lockscreen for the camera and clicks to rotate camera to face himself. A perfect shot of his heads between your thighs. 

He drops the phone onto the bed and sets to work on eating you out, an arm slung over your stomach to hold you down whilst his other works his fingers into your dripping entrance. Your hands clutch his hair tightly, babbled moans of ‘fuck’ and ‘Ransom’ leaving your lips. He pulls his mouth away as he enters a third finger into your entrance, watching as you suck his fingers inside yourself and groaning at the sound your pussy makes when he starts a rough pace. Your slick is practically dribbling down his wrist, his thumb swipes over your clit quickly. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet for me,” he chuckles lowly at your whines, “you gonna cum?” You nod and throw your head back when his fingers find that soft-spongy spot within you, “yeah, that’s it. Fuckin’ cum on my fingers, bet your husband couldn’t fuck your pussy like this with his own cock, isn’t that right?” 

Unbeknownst to you, Ransom had clicked record and was videoing with the camera faced down on the mattress. 

You came suddenly and quickly, a long and strained moan leaving you. Your thighs shaking with the aftershocks as Ransom kept finger fucking you through the orgasm. He pulls his fingers free and licks your slick off of each finger. Ransom looks down at you, arm thrown over your eyes as you try and capture some oxygen to your lungs. He slaps your still quivering pussy to get your attention, a surprised yelp leaving you as you look at him. 

“Well,” he huffs in annoyance and you frown, “it ain’t gonna suck itself.” He gestures to the bulge in his pants. 

He sits on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs apart as you stumble off of the bed. Bra straps fallen off your shoulders, your eyes are glazed over with lust and determination to make him feel good.  You unbuckle his belt and pull his zipper down fast, he stands up to toe off his shoes and socks, watching as you pull down his jeans and boxers. 

“Oh, god,” you mumble at the sheer size of him, long and thick. 

You wrap a hand around the base, Ransom pulls of his jumper and shirt and throws them to the floor. A hiss leaves his lips when he feels you kitten lick the head a few times, a gentle suckling motion next- you’re teasing him. 

“No, no,” he huffs and places a hand on the back of your head, “no teasing, slut.” With that he pushes your head down, groaning as you swallow down his length and slightly choke when he presses to the back of your throat. “That’s it, gag on it.” 

You begin to bob your head up and down his length, taking him as far back as you can. Your saliva dribbling down his hard cock allowing you to pump the rest of him, the filthy sounds you’re making around his cock, plus his loud groans fills the room. The hand on the back of your head starts to push you a little further down, making you take more than you can handle. 

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Ransom grunts, “you’ve been gagging for this, so put in a little more effort.” 

It seems your efforts aren’t enough, Ransom stands up and pulls you off of his cock and you breathe heavily. A string of saliva and pre-cum connecting your lips to his dick. He grabs ahold of your face, squishing your cheeks tightly. “I’m gonna fuck your throat and I won’t stop,” He winks for good measure before standing up straight, “open up.” 

You do as you’re told and you feel both of his hands on the back of your head, guiding you down his length till you can’t take no more yourself. But his hands push your head down, you breathe hard through your nose and try not to choke or gag around him. Finally, you’re nestled at the root of his cock. Mouth open widen and stuffed full of him. 

His hips pull back half-way and then slam back, the tip of his dick sliding down your throat and passed the point of which you’re comfortable with. He does this a few more times, hard and deep thrusts into your mouth. Tears start streaming down your face, saliva dripping out of the corners of your mouth; you’re a mess. 

Ransom holds the phone steady in one hand, a new video being recorded. Your mouth wrapped tightly around him and him fucking your throat. Your hands holding onto his thighs for support, the gagging and choking sounds you make are just beautiful. “That’s it, good girl. I knew you could handle it.” He stops recording and throws the phone back on the bed behind him, gripping your hair tightly and slamming into your mouth in tight thrusts. 

He pulls you off suddenly and watches as you cough, chest heaving and wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands, 

“Hands and knees. Now.” 

You stand on shaky legs and climb onto the bed, you face away from Ransom, your arms shaking with excitement and lust. You feel hot and sweaty, you’re gonna have to take a shower for work- if you can even make it to work. You feel Ransom’s hands on your ass, stroking the flesh before delivering a harsh smack that has you falling on your elbows.

A dark chuckle emits from him, you feel him spread your cheeks and then the head of his cock rubs against your entrance. You moan shamelessly as he pokes the tip in, a smirk on his face when you try and push back against him. You whine and look over your shoulder to him, he gives you a wink and a wicked smile before he presses in further. 

You drop your head as he continues to press into you, resting your forehead on your forearms as he bottoms out. His hips pressed snugly against your ass for a moment, he allows you to adjust for a second before he starts dragging his cock out. 

Then he sets a brutal pace. Fucking into you abandon. His deep and hard thrusts pushes you up the bed, you find purchase by wrapping your hands into the comforter and holding on for dear life. The noises that leave your mouth aren’t human, they’re moans and shrieks of what is possibly his name. 

Ransom holds the phone once again, other hand grabbing your hip tightly and sure to leave a bruise. The camera is aimed at where you’re joined, your pussy taking his cock so well and effortlessly. The sounds of skin hitting skin, his breathy groans into the cameras recording. He stops the recording and throws the phone to the side. 

Leaning his body over yours, his front pressed to your back as he continues to fuck into you. His mouth nibbling at your ear, “you gonna cum?” You nod frantically and a sob escapes you. “You can cum.” 

From hearing that and a deeply hard thrust you come, your whole body trembling and buzzing with the orgasm. Your eyes shut tightly and you moan his name so loudly. You’re thoroughly spent but Ransom continues to deeply fuck you into the mattress. His hand comes around to your front and wraps around your neck loosely, he’s pulling you up. Back pressed against his chest, hand wrapped tightly around your throat and cutting off air. 

His other hand trails down your body and starts to rub your clit harshly, you hiss from the overstimulation he’s creating to your body, Your body is being wound tighter and tighter, you’re gonna snap in two if he doesn’t stop this assault. 

“You’ve got another in you,” He rasps into your ear, “I know you do. So fuckin’ cum, go on. I can feel it,” he groans and kisses your tear stained cheek. 

Your knees buckle and you fall a little forward, Ransom lets go of your throat and you flop face first into the mattress with your ass in the air. Your body feels on fire with the orgasm taking over your body, chest heaving and stars clogging your sight. Ransom continues to fuck you, his thrusts getting sloppier as he feels you clench around him. 

He cums with a shout and smacks your asscheek twice. He pulls out of your aching pussy and looks, he huffs a laugh as his cum spills out a little and takes another photo. His finger pushes what spilled out and back into you, you hiss from the intrusion and sigh when he pulls his middle finger out completely. He lays down beside you, hardly a wreck like you. You’re on your stomach and panting for air. 

Ransom grabs your phone on the nightstand next to him, unlocking it with the code that just your birth year and scrolling in your contacts. He enters your husband number into the box and begins to send the photos and videos, not an ounce of guilt rattling through him. 

He’s got what he wanted. 

Ransom stands up and starts pulling on his clothes, back facing you as he redresses himself and smoothes out his hair. He gives you a glance as you roll over and smile at him, your fucked out expression has him chuckling. 

“Where you going?” 

“I’m not much of a cuddler,” he informs you and you pout, “you gotta get ready for work.” He reminds you as your phone starts to ring, it’s your husband and you contemplate letting it ring if it means you can convince Ransom to stay a little while. 

“How about breakfast then?” You sit up and smile. 

Ransom almost feels bad for you. Your phone starts to ring again and he wonders why he has this selfish need to ruin everyone’s lives around him, including your own. 

But then he remembers there’s million other you’s in the world and he feels less bad. 

“You should answer that,” He opens your bedroom door, “could be important.” he careless throws over his shoulder as he walks down your stairs; deleting all the photos and videos in the process. 

He hears you answer and it’s silent as he pulls on his coat and scarf. It’s not till he reaches your front door that he hears the all too familiar, “Ransom, why?” A smirk tilts his lips and he slams the door closed. Satisfied. 

Comment, heart & reblog? I really appreciate feedback and love reading comments. Let me know what you think. Also my inbox is open for requests; Bucky, Ransom & Steve are who I write for :) - Lilith xo

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

A Misplaced Imbalance of Fear

Ao3,   MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic Dukexiety, implied/minor Moceit (platonic or romantic)

From the power of my Art and my Shitposts comes This Fanfiction!!!

Warnings: Panic Attacks, Lots of Cursing, descriptions of gore (horror movies, it gets decently explicit so beware that), mild body horror (Remus is here and he Does Things Like That), Heavy Roman angst for a hot minute in the middle, making out (continuing my theme of remus-centric fics getting more ;3). They do some makeup and drink tea, baby. Mentions of picking one’s skin as an Anxious habit, and also ticking. Also stimming!!! nd sides 4 life bb. Also, a very brief alcohol mention (it’s soup).

Word Count: 6,553

God Fucking Fuck, Virgil was going to have a self-care day even if it killed him dead. Everybody else could do whatever overdramatic fuckery they wanted when they were topside, but he was all set down there in the Mindpalace, thank you very much.

Luckily, mercifully, thankfully, the rest of the sides all seemed keen to let Virgil have his space anyway. There wasn’t a thing stopping him from relaxing.

Well, except for himself, of course.

A thrum of condensed stress and fear tugged at Virgil’s abdomen, bubbling its way over his edges. It was equally his own and the others’, probably due to whatever conversation they were caught up in in the external world. He would not relent to the worry, nor was he summoned to help with the situation, but his body refused to stop shaking. Perched on the top of the couch, frantically clicking the buttons on a fidget cube, Virgil tried to watch the gore playing on the TV in a tired effort to calm his nerves.

Horror movies… helped. They were something for his brain to chew on for a while- their over-the-top and ridiculous plots, the obnoxious characters that almost always deserve what’s coming to them, the attention-attaining action- it was all a recipe for Distraction. But they weren’t working by that point, no matter how badly Virgil wanted them to.

And then- possibly because the universe loved to spite Virgil and Virgil specifically- a walking, talking headache flung himself into the common room about as elegantly as a wolfhound with rabies.

“Heyyyy,” Remus crowed as he sprawled himself out on the couch. Anxiety curled his legs closer under his body, unresponsive- he knew full well that any reaction would just be an invitation for trouble from the obnoxious trait. He’d remember what Logan taught them: don’t engage, just brush it all off.

Unfortunately, Remus seemed to be in a stubborn mood.

“Whatcha watching?” 

“Movie,” Virgil grumbled. 

“What movie?”

He eyed the side laying out on the couch below him, narrowing his gaze as threateningly as he could manage. He spat the words through gritted teeth and made it clear he was not having this today.

“It’s called Terrifier.”

Remus perked up at that, and oh God, if he was interested then he’d never go the fuck away.

“What’s it about?”

There wasn’t much Virgil could do but answer in as clipped a tone as he could; things hadn’t gotten too bad, too uncomfortable, yet. Maybe he could redirect Remus’ attention, if he was just boring and unresponsive enough?

“Just a cliche creepy clown flick. Not much to it.”

“Is it gory?” 

Virgil made a vaguely affirmative sound in his throat, gesturing to the screen. In truth, the movie’s impeccable special effects with gore was its main appeal, as the acting and plot was kinda atrocious. Violence was the exact reason he’d chosen to watch this. But he knew saying that wouldn’t help his chances of shaking off Intrusive Thoughts.

Remus looked ready to spout off something explicit, but he went dead quiet as his eyes fell on the scene on the television. Virgil was grateful for small mercies.

It was exactly the kind of thing that the creative trait would watch, after all; a woman getting sawed in half, lengthwise, starting from the- er, the wrong end. Under circumstances of a more typical anxious flare-up, the scene really could have been one of those ‘helpful distractions’. 

These were not normal circumstances.Yeah, this was one of those ‘too passive’ cases, but Virgil didn’t exactly have the energy for anything ‘active’. So, he stubbornly glared at the TV and pretended that his solution was working, because he had no idea what else to do. Perfect plan.

Preoccupied as he was with his internal issues, he very nearly managed to forget about Remus. Until-

“Holy fuck, this is gorgeous, you watch stuff like this?!” The Duke’s eyes were bright, but not with his usual hysteria. They were wide with genuine excitement, shiny and happy. It was- uncanny, that’s probably the word Virgil was looking for. He curled closer in on himself.

“Shouldn’t be that surprising, dude. ‘Scary’ is kind of my thing.”

“I can’t believe I haven’t seen this one,” the creative side was once again completely enamored by the television screen, “Don’t blood and guts and cool things like that freak you out? They always seem to do the trick when I try to mess with you!” 

“It’s different. The violence in movies, it- it calms me down, I guess. Cause it’s like, I don’t know, detached from reality?”

There was a pause that had Virgil hoping, naively, that Remus had grown bored at his spiel. But he wasn’t moving, he was just staring, gaze switching contemplatively from the screen to Virgil a few times over.

“It doesn’t look like that. If you were any more tense, all your tendons would be snapping like badly-tuned violin strings!” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Virgil pressed his back against the wall and shut his eyes tight. He could still hear- no, feel- Patton and Roman and Thomas arguing, snapping at each other back and forth as the situation escalated.

“Is this about whatever the others are doing? Why don’t you just stop listening to their shitty arguments?”

A harsh laugh escaped Virgil at that, dragging him back down to earth so he could blink his eyes open, glaring at the facet lying beneath him. 

“I can’t just stop, that’s not how I work. I need to keep an ear on them. Who knows what could happen if I didn’t?”

“Well, why don’t you just go talk to them?”

If he wasn’t already frustrated beyond belief, that would’ve fuckin’ done it for him.

“I don’t think I’d be much help. Not right now.”

“Why not?” Remus looked halfway between genuinely curious and mischievous, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view of Anxiety.

“Seriously? Things aren’t exactly, like- normal between all of us.”

“What is normal?” 

Virgil opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came through. As much as it sounded like an offhanded, edgy 13-year-old atheist kind of remark, it was a decent point. Virgil had thought that there was something of a status quo forming between himself and the ‘light sides’, but how long had that even lasted for? Especially compared to the rest of his life? Everything was changing all the time. Was there anything to rely on, or was it just Virgil’s own wishful thinking for what their lives could be? After all, even in ‘peaceful times’, there had been plenty of in-fighting and disagreements and horrible uncomfortable conversations and harsh words and-

“Oh, shut that brain up,” Remus’ sharp voice pulled Virgil from his thoughts, “I know what you meant ‘normal’. You meant the six months when you got to forget about us Scary Monsters, and, DUH! It was probably way simpler for all you diet-soda-no-sugar sluts back then, but that doesn’t mean it was better.”

“Yeah, you would think that things are better now, wouldn’t you?”

Remus fixed Virgil with an unsettling sort of grimace, making the other squirm. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so by any means. 

“I dunno, but what I do know is that things are getting better. They’ll be the best they could be, soon.”

Despite himself, Virgil laughed. It was a faltering, anxious sound, revealing the true fear behind the taunting gesture.

“Really? With everybody at each other’s throats all the time?”

“While that does sound fun,” Remus sat up fully, twisting around to look directly up at Virgil, “I mean after that. After we’re all accepted. It’s inevitable- Inevitable, Anxious Lil’ Barista,” Remus accompanied the referential nickname with a wink. 

Virgil stared at him like he was crazy (well- like- crazier than usual, he guessed?). Remus just threw his head back and laughed before spinning his neck one-hundred and eighty degrees to face the TV while he explained.

“Point is, it’s painfully obvious that everything will sort itself out. It has to, or else the only other option is that Thomas is gonna drive himself insane by trying to suppress parts of himself and end up clawing his own brain out. One of those two things!”

While colorfully phrased, the certainty with which Remus delivered his point had Virgil taken aback. There was no way that Remus could possibly know that, but- in a backwards way it was comforting, how sure he sounded. He didn’t lie, not ever.

Virgil had never thought that Remus would settle for anything less than going out of his way to make others’ lives a hell. But maybe that antagonism wasn’t what exactly motivated the trait’s actions. Maybe it was just an unintentional side effect, akin to what Logan had said when Remus first revealed himself.

The moment of reprieve was over as soon as it began.

“Fuck! He just cut off her tits and wore ‘em, huh?” 

Virgil looked up and, to be fair, that was exactly what had happened on screen. Like he said, this movie wasn’t exactly poetic cinema, but it certainly was something. 

He scooted along the top of the couch, moving just a few feet before dropping down to sit properly beside Remus.

“3/10 drag look at best, really,” Virgil muttered, mostly to himself. He jumped when Remus shrieked with laughter at it, looking absolutely delighted. 

“I didn’t know you made jokes like that, VeeVee!”

Virgil shrugged noncommittally, focusing on the screen and not the facet beside him. Remus’ giggling was loud and distracting, but it wasn’t… unpleasant, unlike his typical villain-cackle was. 

Once Remus had settled down (as much as somebody like him could, anyway), he, too, focused on watching. The quiet was uncomfortable, but it didn’t stretch on for long. There was always something in the movie that The Duke felt the need to comment upon extensively, elaborating and giving details on the gore. Virgil found himself listening to the rants silently, almost enjoying the disruption. It certainly gave his overactive mind something to play around with.

“-skin doesn’t slice as easy as that, trust me-”

Aaaand there it was. Virgil winced, trying very hard not to show that the words had struck a nerve. He liked horror, gore, all that, sure, but there were just some specific things- squicks, you could call them. Remus would obviously use that to his advantage, so the only option was to try very hard to zone out and not look like he was disturbed.

“But even then- Hey, why are you making that face?”

Mission failed.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Remus shifted closer- invasively closer, his gaze studying. 

“You were calming down earlier, what's with the scrunch-nose?”

Virgil stared at his hands, chipping away his black nail polish. Remus was nearly as good at reading lies as Janus, and twice as hard to get rid of.

“It's just- skin, slicing, that stuff just-” he ticked, head spasming sideways briefly at even the thought of that kind of pain.

“Oh,” Remus said plainly, not even a hint of malice or mischief in his tone as he leaned back into his own spot, “Why didn't you just say so? Well, that last exploding head kill is way more interesting anyway, did you see that?”

That was… it? No taunting, no tormenting, he just changed the topic, like that? 

Remus, continuing to be weirdly perceptive, scoffed as though he was reading Virgil’s mind.

“What? Just because I like screwing with you prudes sometimes doesn't mean I want to give you a panic attack. Where's the fun in that?”

Anxiety nodded mutely, bewildered. Remus seemed appeased by that and quickly resumed his running commentary.

And if Virgil eventually decided to take part in the discussion, well, it wasn’t a big deal anyway. Just some polite conversation about bodily mutilation.

 The television darkened as the screen was washed by credits, filling the space where the disfigured face of the main character had been mere moments prior, the result of a pretty predictable twist ending. Virgil stood, arching his back up in a stretch. His arms raised higher, one joint or another crackling at the motion. Fuck, he was sore. How long had he been sitting still?

Remus hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch. He tapped his claws along the remote, exiting to the homescreen and looking expectantly at Virgil.

“You don't wanna watch anything else?” He asked abruptly, drawing a confused glance from his companion, “This is fun- and they're still arguing up there, so it kinda makes sense to stay, it’s really the best solution if you-”

Virgil huffed a laugh at the rambling. It sounded like some shit he’d say, for crying out loud.

“Dude, chill, I was just gonna make some tea before putting on another movie,” the clear relief that ran across Remus' face- quickly replaced by a wide grin- wasn't anything shy of… sweet. Virgil was sure this day couldn't get any fucking weirder, if he was finding anything endearing about the walking talking dirty joke before him. “Uh, you want anything? Since you're gonna stick around, and all.”

Remus jumped up, following Virgil into the MindPalace’s small kitchen happily. In one smooth motion, he swung up onto the counter and slid down it, seating himself almost on top of the stove.

“No hot leaf soup for me, thanks, but I will take one of those mugs!”

Virgil raised a brow, staring the creative trait down before shrugging. He passed him one of the mugs, a generic and patternless one- so that the other sides probably wouldn't notice its absence. He busied himself by setting up the kettle, trying not to wince at the loud wet crunch that resulted when Remus took a bite of his snack.

“Hey,” Remus said around a mouthful of ceramic chunks, “I know just the movie we should watch next.”

Virgil shifted around the various tea boxes littering the cabinets, searching for something with a kick. He hazarded a glance to Remus, immediately regretting the decision when he saw the blood dribbling down his chin from the cuts marring his lips. Anxiety cringed, turning his head back and grabbing for the first brightly-colored box he saw. It took him a moment to respond.

“Okay… what is it?” 

“It's awful- I mean, really, the acting is unbearable and it’s fucking insane- but it's funny. You like making fun of stuff, right? It's like that, but there's still a ton of agonizing death, which is always a fun bonus.”

“What's it about?” Virgil was hesitantly intrigued, his gaze flicking up from the steadily heating kettle. He wasn't exactly keen on staring down the gory scene of Remus’ mouth, so he settled his focus on the trait’s eyeball brooch. 

“Uhn-uhn! No spoilers, this is one you have to see for yourself. It's funnier that way.”

Virgil made a noncommittal sound, tapping his nails against the counters.

“Nothing too bad happens- not that you can't handle, anyway. No slicing and not many jumpscares.”

He resisted the urge to snap 'how do you know what I can’t handle?' because Remus actively trying to reassure him was. Something. Something that he appreciated, maybe, a little.

“Okay, fine. I didn't have anything else in mind. A ‘So-Bad-It’s-Good’ thing sounds alright.”

The obnoxious gnawing of Remus destroying what was left of his cup suddenly ceased, replaced by a stunned silence. Virgil finally met his eyes (finding that the lacerations around Remus’ mouth were already healing themselves, as if they'd never existed).

“You’re taking my suggestion?”

Virgil cleared his throat, finding himself unable to break the intense eye-contact now that it had been established.

“It's not a big deal or anything, man. Just a movie.” 

Remus nodded enthusiastically, a grin splitting his face ear-to-ear. Very literally. The expression was so unnatural and cartoonish on a human(ish) face, that Virgil couldn't help but be startled into laughter. Remus looked even more delighted at that reaction, leaning forward over the stove. At that point, Virgil very much couldn't suppress the noises, snorts bubbling up from his throat against his will.

“You look-” another bout of chuckling, “-you look ridiculous, Remus.”

“Aw, thank you! I was going for manic, but I'll settle for that, too.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, hunching in on himself to get his breathing back to normal. 

With no warning, Remus lifted himself up onto his knees and craned his body around the vigilant trait, snatching the kettle from the stove and flipping the dial to ‘off’. Instinctively, Anxiety recoiled from the proximity. The tension fell away when he saw that the other was simply pouring the hot water into Virgil’s mug for him.

“Dude, it wasn't whistling yet?”

“I know; it was hissing like it was about to start. You're boring and don't like loud noises, especially when you’re all on edge like this, so,” he set the kettle back down, passing the warm mug to Virgil. 

Virgil stared at him, then at the drink in his hand, then back up at the Duke. He was, for what felt like the millionth time that day, unsure of how to react.

He… really hadn't thought that Remus would pick up on stuff like that. He should probably start getting used to that, maybe.

“I'm-” Virgil dragged his finger up and down the handle of his mug, “I'm not that on edge anymore, actually.”

The look that Remus sent him was indecipherable. 

“C’mon, I’ll queue up that flick I told you about.”

“Yeah,” Virgil let out a deep breath, one he hadn't even known he'd been holding, “Yeah, okay.”

 The floor was bubbling, popping, blistering with red fury. It was lava, sending bright flaming sparks in all directions. Thankfully for Remus and Virgil, sitting close together on the couch and viciously mocking cabin fever, the vicious rage was exclusive to one small circle near the staircase.

Virgil, who had been happily tearing apart the leading guy’s acting, cut himself off abruptly.

“Shit- wait- shit.”

Remus shook himself out of his raucous laughter, looking up in confusion. His eyes finally settled on the crimson patch of carpet, a look of realization crossing them. His voice turned much quieter than what fit him.

“Oh, fuck.”

It was like a volcanic eruption localized entirely within the living room, fire blazing in a tall column. From the emotional display, Roman rose up, face nearly as red as his method of transportation. 

There was that brief moment, right when a stressful situation appeared, of antithetical serenity. Virgil felt his muscles slacken in shock, his long-empty mug falling from his hands and landing on the carpet with a dull thud. A rush of calmness hollowed out his chest, lingering for just a few seconds before being replaced by panic. Tension returned to his limbs mere moments after that, like it was pulling him taut.

Roman wasn't even looking at them- in fact, he hadn't seemed to notice his brother or best friend at all. The fire fell back down, leaving a charred patch of carpet that would likely take a long time to repair itself. The passionate trait growled, a sound that bordered on a scream as he clawed his hands down his face. He stamped his boot sharply against the ground, igniting another small fire with the impact.

“Fuck!” He cried, ever oblivious to his audience. With a hasty wave, the flames flickered and disappeared. Roman glared down at the blackened spot where it had been, winding his arms tightly around himself. He took a few shaky breaths, but if anything he only looked worse off for it.

“Fuck,” this time spoken quieter, but with no less vitriol. An immaculately-manicured hand raised itself to cover his mouth, tightening around his face desperately as tears slipped from his eyes down his fingers. He turned on his heel and took the stairs two at a time.

In his wake, as the television had been paused, the only thing that Virgil could hear was buzzing in his skull.

What had happened? What was happening, currently?! Things had gone so wrong and it was all because of Virgil’s negligence- what bad things could have been prevented if he had just been there? Or- or even just listening in! When had he even stopped listening? He was supposed to protect them but he just gave up, just because he ‘couldn't handle it’, and now something was Wrong with Roman and he couldn't even focus on listening to them all now, not like this. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t hear or see anything at all.

A rough, calloused hand wrapped around his wrist. Virgil's shallow breath staggered even more at the feeling, the warbly noise of speech failing to meet his ears. His eyes were closed tight, he realized, stinging with emotion behind his eyelids.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Four seconds, four strikingly gentle presses against the vein of Virgil’s wrist. If it weren't for the slight edge of a claw, he could've confused the motion for one of Patton’s.

The four taps were followed by a brief pause, then a steady round of seven taps. Another pause, and then eight. As Virgil focused, as much as he could anyway, on the presses, the screaming of his mind very gradually abated. First, he pried his eyes open, staring down at the hand around his arm. Watching the tapping, feeling it, was grounding enough for his hearing to return in time. Virgil could hear Remus beside him, breathing deeply as a guide, and copying the exercise became that much easier. In for four, hold  for seven, out for eight. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

Remus didn't stop when Virgil did it properly one time over, when he was still shaking and teary. He didn't speak up even when the well behind Anxiety's eyes ran dry, after what had to be a dozen rounds of even breaths. It was only when Virgil finally, hesitantly slipped his wrist out of the other's grasp on his own terms that Remus made any sounds.

“Do you remember when you taught me to do makeup? Late teens, early twenties, around then?”

Talk about a topic shift. Virgil glanced up in confusion.

“I guess so? Wasn't that, like, the only time that we hung out and actually got along?” They’d never exactly been close, Virgil had made sure of that. It was, in retrospect, a regrettable decision on his part.

“Yeah. I was so bad at it, remember?”

“Hell yes, I remember,” Virgil felt a tiny smirk tug his lips at the memory, “You literally never sat still. You were and are the most impatient person I've ever met.”

“I’ve gotten a lot better, Vee.”

Virgil glanced at the bruise-like eyeshadow circling the Duke's eyes, but refrained from saying anything. Knowing him (kind of knowing him? Starting to know him better now? Whatever.) it was most definitely intentionally off-putting, and probably not a good way to judge his actual ability.

“But I’ve seen how you do it, when you really, really try; I think you're still better than me with it, ju-u-ust barely.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Virgil wasn't entirely sure where this was going, but he couldn't find the soft excitement in Remus’ eyes anything other than enticing. The creative side laughed, flapping his hand.

“It would be fun if you did it for me again! Just like old times, ey?”

Virgil stared at him, considering him carefully.

“You want me to do your makeup?” 

“Yes!” Remus leaned forward with his confirmation, but for once that didn't involve violating Virgil’s post-panic attack bubble, “It'll give you something to do with your hands other than peeling back all your skin, at the very least.”

Oh, right. Virgil not-so-subtly lifted his nails from his palms, wincing at the irritated red spots coloring his hands.

Truth be told, the idea wasn't… unappealing. It was an activity well between mindless and active, repetitive and artistic. Plus, he didn't exactly love being alone after attacks, and if anything Remus would be lively company. Company that he sort of, maybe, possibly was looking forward to spending the rest of the day with anyway, unfortunate events notwithstanding.

“Yeah, alright, if you're sure you want-”

“Great! Wait right there, bee-arh-bee,” before the words were even fully out of his mouth, Remus went limp and fell sideways off of the couch, falling right through the floor. 

In his absence, there was a void where his noise had been. Virgil stared at the paused movie scene, picking apart the little details of the frame just to have something to do. His mind drifted off to the state that Roman had been in when he entered. The sight of his friend so furious burned itself on the backs of Virgil’s eyelids. He knew that the anxiety wasn't all his own, either; he could feel it like waves from the other side of the MindPalace, the origin point clearly belonging to Roman.

He should check on him, shouldn't he? Or would that make it worse? Virgil certainly didn't feel like he was in any state to help. But then there was Patton to consider- something must have happened up there. Should he look for him, too?

There was a whoosh.

“I leave you alone for five seconds and you get right back to thinking!” Remus strode across the room, flopping right back onto the couch. Held in his arms was an enormous multi-pocketed bag, items clattering around within at every jostle their owner made.

“Overthinking is literally my whole job, man, this shouldn't surprise you,” Virgil shrugged, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt.

Remus simply rolled his eyes and dropped the makeup case onto Virgil's lap, sitting criss-cross parallel to him, their knees brushing slightly.

Virgil hesitated for a moment, scanning Remus' face, but all the other did was smile and blink (one eye at a time). 

Virgil zipped open the bag, rifling through and finding an overwhelming array of gaudy colors and odd products.

“Was there, like, a 'look' that you want to go for?”

Remus shrugged.

“Just go for it! I’m a blank canvas. The worse, the better.”

Virgil chuckled, picking out a few items to fit a theme he was coming up with and getting right to work.

Though it had been years since they’d last spent time together, it wasn’t awkward. In fact, it felt more comfortable than it had back then.

Remus managed to sit almost perfectly still, chattering the entire time that Virgil worked. Yet again his voice served as something like white-noise, wherein Anxiety only had to contribute whenever he chose. Remus only quieted when Virgil had to hold his face, tipping his head back to properly apply inky-black lipstick. And then, he remained silent for a moment, as they surveyed each other. 

Virgil had cleared his throat, warmth prickling at his ears, and the ceaseless rambling resumed after that.

In what felt like hours and no time at all, Virgil was finally satisfied with his work.

“Alright, you're all done,” he capped the bottle of mascara in his hand, rifling through Remus' bag for a mirror, “Wanna see?” 

Just as he felt the unmistakable cool surface of glass on his fingertips, Remus grabbed his wrist in both hands. 

“What-?”

“Not so fast! Now it's my turn,” he announced, his zealous eyes even more prominent on his face thanks to the thick wings of eyeliner around them. 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Virgil looked from the assortment of garish colors that he'd mostly stayed away from in the makeup case, and then back up at the Duke.

“Usually: yes. But I am dead serious right now, Vee.”

Remus looked pleading, legitimately pouting. 

Virgil huffed. The side had gone out of his way to help him, when he really didn't have to, so…

“You're not going to just use this as an excuse to draw all over my face, are you?”

“I mean, no promises that I'll be able to restrain myself, but! Gimme a chance anyway, I can make you even hotter than you already are! Plus, we'll match then.”

“... Fine. Just- nothing too crazy, alright?”

“Again, no promises.”

Virgil groaned, but he still passed the bag to Remus.

 “Holy shit...”

Remus leaned over the basin of the bathroom sink, drumming his hands on the counter excitedly. He was starry-eyed as he observed the dark, dramatic colors covering his face: metallic emerald-green eyeshadow, excessively long lashes, and winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut a bitch. His lips were black as void, but shimmered like glitter. Everything about the look was dangerous, confrontational, and grim. 

“This is more out there than I’d usually wear, but. Yeah, holy shit.”

Virgil's expression, despite his best efforts, was equally awed as he peered into the mirror. The color around his eyes was mismatched; a lime to moss green gradient over his purple eye, lavender to royal violet over his green one- both colors contrasted by smudged black eyeliner under his eye. His signature Racoon Look had been maintained in that aspect, but it was even more exaggerated. In addition to that, Remus had taken to drawing various little symbols along Virgil's cheekbones, including things like upside-down crosses. Finally, there was the fuchsia lip-gloss, stark against Virgil’s paler-than-normal foundation. 

“It’s okay, I guess,” Virgil breathed reverently. 

“I love it!” Remus crowed, clambering onto the counter just to get a better look at himself. Somehow, he'd already managed to smudge the hell out of his eyeshadow, but it kinda… worked for him, if Virgil was being honest.

“Vee, we have got to do this more often!”

Virgil looked from his reflection to Remus', startled in a way he didn't entirely understand. The intrusive facet met his gaze through the mirror, the smile sliding off his face when Virgil didn’t respond to him.

“Right, Raggedy-Anx? It doesn't have to be this, specifically, if you really don't want to. We could just watch movies together, that's fine. Or we could do anything at all! Right?”

Virgil was still silent, lost in his mind. Remus fell from a kneeling position to sitting with his legs hanging off the counter, turning his back to the mirror.

“Was this a one-time thing? That's alright, too, if you just needed help calming down. I'm not as good as the others, I know, but if they're ever too busy again, you'll think of me when you need help, at least. Right?”

Finally, Virgil snapped out of his daze when he heard the panicked edge to Remus’ voice, feeling his anxiety as Virgil noticed the wild look that had completely erased his giddiness. It was a look that Virgil had seen plenty of times before, when Remus had been ignored far too long and was right about to start ripping things to shreds for some scraps of attention. Only then did Virgil fully recognize what the expression actually meant; the deep, terrified need that swirled behind the look, unsure of how to ask for what it really wanted after so many denials of that very want. 

“Shit, sorry,” Virgil moved to stand in front of him, eye-level to Remus even though he was elevated by the counter, “Hey, it's alright, Re, everything's fine.”

Remus was still trying very determinedly to smile.

“I know! Hell, I’m not the anxious one, I'm the one that makes people anxious,” his laugh sounded like it came from a throat full of broken glass, “I just- I liked this, ya know?”

“I know,” Virgil leaned forward, coaxing Remus' arms away from where he'd wrapped them around himself, “I like this, too.”

Remus let Virgil hold onto him, surprised into something like obedience.

“You? What?”

“I like this,” it wasn't as though Virgil was expecting to hug Remus, but it seemed to have happened on its own as they moved. It was leagues nicer than he could have imagined, despite the smell. “I like you…-r company.”

“That's weird,” Remus' legs curled around Virgil’s waist. Virgil rested his hands on Remus’ hips. He listened as the creative trait's breathing evened out, vaguely aware that the situation was similar to the one just an hour or so before. Except, the roles had been reversed, of course.

“I missed you. I know I never told you, but I missed you.”

Virgil felt guilt, hot and molten, dripping down his throat. He couldn't lie; he hadn't missed Remus when he left. But now he did, in a roundabout sort of way. He missed what could have been, all of the possible understanding and friendship and likely more that he could have had for so long with Remus- all of which he'd let slip by for years. Due to just writing the artist off as disgusting, or unnecessary. 

And perhaps some of that misunderstanding was Remus' fault as well, but Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to hold it against him.

“You don't have to anymore. Miss me, I mean. I'm- fuck, I'm so sorry.”

“Me too,” Remus said, pulling back to settle Virgil with a happy-yet-tearfilled gaze.

“Aw, hey,” he tightened his grip at Remus' hips, smirking, “You're gonna fuck up all my hard work on that eyeliner, Re.”

Remus laughed, loud and shrieky and him, smiling unnaturally and brilliantly wide once again. Virgil's breath caught in his throat- not for the first time that day, he found himself trapped up in that wild, energetic face.

Before Virgil was entirely aware of what he was doing, he was leaning forward, pulling Remus in by the waist. When the cackling finally stopped short, so did he, both much too far and far too close to the Duke. 

He didn't have the chance to explain himself, or apologize, or anything, because soon enough understanding flashed in Remus' eyes.

“Oh, oh yes, oh hell fucking yes.” 

Remus didn’t wait a second longer before closing the distance and smashing his lips against Virgil’s. A startled sound bubbled up in his throat, dying quickly as he acclimated to what was happening. Just as he did, he was reciprocating the kiss. 

Their teeth clashed together uncomfortably, and Virgil was hyper-aware of the threat both his own and Remus’ fangs posed if they weren’t careful, making it far from the perfect first kiss. But he wouldn’t have wanted that anyway, nor would he have expected it. It was, somehow, better. 

Remus' hand dragged down Virgil's back, his fingers fitting onto the notches of the facet’s spine. Virgil shivered, pressing himself flush against the counter (and Remus) and digging his thumbs into the trait’s hips. The motion earned him a beautiful whine from the other as the kiss deepened, growing less awkward and more heated by the second.

Virgil was unaware of how much time was passing, but when they finally parted, both were short of breath and significantly disheveled. Remus had his back pressed up against the mirror, his hair even fuzzier than its usual state, expression dazed and face flushed. From what Virgil could make out in his own reflection, he wasn't much better off. 

Just as soon as they'd separated, Remus' hand was on his face, his thumb dragging just under Anxiety's lip.

“You fucked up your lipstick,” he teased.

“So did you,” Virgil answered with a smirk, leaning into the touch. 

“I guess we'll have to fix it later.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Remus wriggled himself out of his pinned position, twisting around Virgil. He managed to situate himself and drop down from the bathroom counter, his manner suggestive, “Because all I wanna do right now is finish watching Cabin Fever with my new goth boyfriend and makeout during the boring parts.”

“Boyfriend?” Virgil ignored the jolt of warmth he felt at that, determined to stay nonchalant as he (subtly (not subtly)) slipped his hand into Remus’.

“You disagree?” 

Virgil pretended to think it over, leading them to the door and taking his time to click it open. 

“Nah, I don’t disagree,” he said finally, “I think I like the sound of that, actuall- yyyy.”

Virgil stopped short in the open doorway, voice dragging out in his shock. Behind him, he could feel Remus trying to crane around him to see what was happening, but Virgil didn’t move to accommodate him. Well, more accurately, he felt like he couldn’t really move at all, too busy parsing out the scene in front of him.

In the corner of the sectional- sharing a cushion- Janus and Patton sat, the former holding aloft a glass of wine, the latter snacking on a muffin. They sat with their legs tangled together, and had seemed to be engrossed with each other before the interruption. Both had paused mid-conversation to gawk in Virgil's direction, twin deer-in-headlights expressions on their faces. 

“What-” Virgil began, bewildered.

“The fuck?” Remus finished, pushing his way out of the bathroom.

Janus struggled to sit up into a more dignified position and take the reigns of the conversation. It didn't take him long to overcome his surprise at the interruption, his surveying gaze sweeping over the other two Dark Sides contemplatively. The look made Virgil’s skin crawl. 

“You know, we- well, we could ask you two-” he gestured at their interlocked hands, “-just the same question, couldn't we?” 

For a moment, there was silence. Virgil looked from Patton to Janus. Janus looked from Virgil to Remus. Patton looked at the wall like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Remus looked at everyone and broke the silence.

“You didn't see us,” he announced, sidestepping his way to the staircase and dragging Virgil along with him, “And we didn't see you.” 

Janus squinted, tipped his head, and nodded conspiratorially. 

“Deal.”

With that little grant, Virgil and Remus darted up the stairs and into the sanctuary of the dimly lit hallway as quickly as they could. Luckily for them, Roman was probably either in a deep depression sleep or far into the imagination by now, and Logan Did Not Engage with Interpersonal Drama if he could help it. 

There was a second for appreciating the absurdity of the situation (and catching their breath), before either spoke to each other.

“I’ve got a huge flat screen,” Remus piped up at last, jerking his thumb in the direction of his room. 

“Any of us can conjure literally anything we want at any time, so I'm not sure what's impressive about that.”

Remus scowled, albeit playfully.

“Hush! Come watch someone slowly be consumed by a parasite with me!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and let Remus drag him off, his complaints accompanied by absolutely no efforts to avoid the situation. 

Things were weird, there was no denying that. Maybe they'd end up being that way for a while yet, and Virgil knew he had a lot of news to catch up on, but he found that thoughts like that were way back in his mind. Whatever happened, he reasoned, he would still have this comfort. The arms of someone he was finally coming to know wrapped tight around him, playing up his back, a mouth trailing kisses on his neck as he half-watched horror films. Yes, things would be difficult with the others, but it was secondary.

There was someone on his side now. Solidly, unarguably there for him. With him. And that made it all feel a little bit easier.

[catzgam3rz]

Ohhh that thing about respawning is so cool !! How do the sparkles fit into the respawning? I take it that its very rare for that kind of stuff to stay through the respawning (especially if its not glitter as previously thought) so what is it? Is it harmful? Or is it something that will be revealed later? 👀👀

Thank you! 

The sparkles are indeed very rare, no one on the server has really seen scars to this degree stay on a person and much less particles get attached to a person before

In world they are a sort of remnant of the glowstone Techno used for his festival fireworks (Which he actually did use in game to make the sparkle effect), though the pieces that fall OUT of Tubbo’s hair are much larger than the glowstone dust that would’ve gotten caught in bystanders clothing (or fur in Fundy’s case) 

Basically they got latched onto Tubbo when he died and during the respawn process something glitched/messed up and didn’t get rid of the particles like it was supposed to, likely missing it trying to repair the injuries he had already and just didn’t remove them before he woke up again.

As stated they do fade after a week or so (though I haven’t mentioned it before they do stay longer each time he respawns after getting hit by a firework) but they get triggered to appear after getting hit with another firework, glowstone in them or not (In reality this is purely because I like the aesthetic but for in world i’m gonna say it’s kind of like a trauma response when the body goes into respawn again? probably the respawn mechanics messing up and just re applying the ‘missing’ particles that were there last time he was hit. almost like how if you were to say lose an arm or something the respawn should know you normally have an arm replace that right? well it’s doing that but... glitter hair since last time he went through a respawn after a firework he definitely had glitter hair it thinks he’s lost it in dying as opposed to fading over time y’know?)

Also it’s not harmful to Tubbo at all really, for all the worrying it really more uncomfortable to cough up than anything (should be noted that the sparkles in his gut are not reset on a firework respawn only the hair ones) the sparkles from his gut eventually fade away after a month or two (give or take it would be after the finale since that’s when the comic I made mentioning them was made)

Fun fact! the coughing up glitter thing was based off something Tubbo actually said during the finale (I think it was then?) He was on call with Techno and big Q I believe and offhandedly mentioned he “Still had stars in his gut he’d been coughing up for weeks” (quoted from memory so probably worded very differently) Obviously this was a joke but if I do anything well it’s taking an offhanded mention of something and making it unnecessarily important :,)

Also! In world as previously mentioned no one has seen particles stick before but a good example of possible deaths in game that COULD lead to a “particle memory” are probably dying by dragon’s breath in an ender dragon battle (Would probably leave glowing burns that fade to regular burn marks) or death by a Wither (Would leave almost frostbite kinda markings that fade again to a normal kinda burn looking mark) 

Again the death would have to be ‘Noteable’ so an off hand Wither death wouldn’t really effect a person but say a character was put in a stressful situation where ONLY THEY have to fight the wither for some important reason and they do die it would likely have a scarring effect (So the finale withers don’t reaaally count)

Again, Paragraphs, I’m so sorry but I hope this makes sense? I’ve put a decent amount of thought into the reasonings in world for these so hopefully I conveyed them well enough ;w; (Even if the reasoning out of world is just me going “hey that’d be pretty sick lets do that”)

[writerofshit]

I know the usual interpretation in fahc is that Ryan shares his woes with the other gents, but I just really love the idea of Jeremy overhearing him on a voice call with Meg (either gaming together or while she's preparing for a hit) moaning about how the new guy in his crew is cute and funny and hotter than the arizona desert and she's just like "pics or it didn't happen. Also ask him out, if he says no you can fake your death and come work with me"

Oh my GOD yes, I am absolutely here for this idea.

I love love love their friendship so goddamn much, especially in the FAHC universe. Because she's not in the crew, never really even worked with them all that much, just happens to be good friends with them. She's roped Ryan into so many various shenanigans over the years, including: making him go on 6 am runs with her, having him help her plan Gav's birthday party one year, assisting her with a hit during NYFW (which is when the 'Ryan as an undercover model' thing began) and what they refer to as 'The Strip Club Incident'.

Meanwhile, she's become the one Ryan trusts most with anything personal. He's not going to break in the middle of a heist to ask anybody else whether they think he and Jeremy would make a cute couple. He also isn't going to ask if they think he's capable of settling down, or complain about how running affects his knees.

Meg has told him a thousand times that he can absolutely be part of a disgustingly domestic couple, he's made for it, really. She's set him up more times than he can count, never once with any success. Every other week she calls him up with "So I have a friend..."

"How many goddamn friends do you have Meg? And how many do I have to embarrass myself in front of before you stop?"

And then Jeremy joins the crew, and Ryan falls head over heels for him. Just falls so fucking hard it's unbelievable. He mentions it offhand to Meg one night, which he immediately regrets. He tries to play it off like "New guy in the crew, kinda cute, its whatever." But she zeroes in on it.

"The fact that you even admitted he's cute means you actually like him."

"No.... Come on, if that were true I wouldn't have said anything at all!" Which is bullshit, because he knows her well enough that had he avoided any opinion, she would have jumped to the obvious conclusion. He thought the tiny admission would make her assume he wasnt really interested. An attempt at reverse psychology that failed horribly, of course.

They argue back and forth for a bit before he hangs up on her, threatening to make her run alone if she ever brings it up again. Except shes Meg, he literally cant say no to her, and she cant let anything go.

She pesters him on and off for about a month before something happens. He's on the phone with her while she's on a drive to a hit somewhere, lamenting his ever growing crush on Jeremy. "He's hot and he's funny, Meg, this isn't fair."

"Oh my god, so are you, you self deprecating asshole." She says, with this exasperated sigh like they've had this conversation a million times. They have, but she doesnt have to point it out like that. "You're an absolute catch, Ryan, Jeremy would be lucky to have you."

"You and I have different views of me."

"Yeah, I'm right and you're an idiot. And hey, if it all goes to shit I could use a partner. You'd be driving right now and I'd be sleeping."

"Thanks so much. At least I have a fallback career as your chauffeur."

It's a fairly standard conversation, except for the fact that Ryan's in the garage and has her on speakerphone while he fiddles with his bike. It is admittedly, extremely cliche to accidentally discuss someone while the subject of your discussion is listening at the door. Cliche, but also par for the course of Ryan's luck.

"Are you guys talking about me?" Comes a voice from behind Ryan.

Ryan freezes, and Meg laughs through the phone. "Oh shit, Ry, is that who I think it is?"

"Are you- do you like me, Ryan?" Jeremy fully ignores the listening ears on the phone.

"I- Meg, I'm gonna need you to turn around and come help-"

"Sorry Ryan, I'm going through a tunnel!" She says, completely clearly. "But text me and let me know how it goes!"

"Liar, don't you fuckin-" and then she hangs up, and Ryan is left alone with Jeremy. Jeremy who is staring at him, looking mostly confused, and slightly entertained.

"Ryan?"

"Um. I can explain? How- how much did you hear?"

"Meg thinks I'd be lucky to have you and you have a fucked up perception of yourself."

"Oh. I- I have no explanation, actually." He supposes working with Meg wouldnt be too bad. He's not keen on getting stuck with every driving job that comes along though.

"She's right."

"That I'd make a good chauffeur?" Because jokes. Jokes are the way to get out of this.

"I would be lucky to have you. Just... Never thought you'd be interested in me." Jeremy says, and Ryan's brain short circuits.

He says something that he intends to be 'are you serious' but comes out sounding a lot more like his brain just keysmashed. But Jeremy only smiles at him, and Ryan falls a little more.

A week or so later when hes recapping the whole thing over text to Meg, Jeremy sleeping peacefully beside him, he leaves put the part about flubbing his confession. She still calls him out on it though.

'Bet you didnt even say you liked him, just bleh-ed at him until he got it.'

He regrets being friends with her sometimes.