#At this point I have WAY too many songs collected for them

[ameliapodcast]

The Amelia project season five where everything stays the same but every time Kozlowski mentions Arthur, Mia Fox blows History Hates Lovers on the speakers

I hear this and I raise you Young Meteors by the Vaccines. "People like us live forever, don't you wanna try?"

[sungiescheotluv]

mirror muscles ⭑.ᐟ na jaemin

pairing: na jaemin x gender neutral reader

word count: 2.7k

tags/warnings: fluff, established relationship, suggestive, gym talk(?)

summary: doing your new resolutions with jaemin has always worked in your favor, most goals ticked off your lists. however, when you mention going to gym, jaemin's enthusiasm reaches new heights.

notes: hiyaaaa! it feels like forever since i last posted (two days omg 🙄) but i do hope you pretty stars enjoy this very indulgent fic! as an aspiring gym girlie, i'd do anything for this kind of princess treatment (particularly from jaemin 😋) also, the title of this is based on the soft play song with the same name (emo jisung, lemme give u some music recs). ok, i think i'm done here. wishing u all the best, much loveeee! <3

Note to self: never, under any circumstances, tell Jaemin your New Year’s resolution. Because one peek at your ambitious list and Jaemin will pry you from your warm bed, at the ass crack of dawn (might you add) to go to the gym because ‘nothing beats a morning pump.’

If you weren’t stupidly in love with him, you would’ve dropped a dumbbell on his toe.

How you get to this point is a lot more wholesome. Since the start of your relationship, once snow trickles down for Christmas, you two sit at your dining table with your laptops opened on Pinterest and pin-point what goals you'd like to achieve the following year. This way, you’re not shouldering your ambitions alone, having each other every step of the year as you tick off box after box. So far, you’ve managed to complete most of your goals. Go traveling, learn a new language, cook more home-cooked meals, limit screen time (still working on that) and many more. Jaemin was also progressing well: dedicating more time in his photography, reducing his coffee intake, going to bed earlier and visiting his mother more. 

For this year’s moodboard, while collecting pictures of your next set of goals, fitness content shows up in your recommendations. People in pilates studios in their pastel pink gym-sets. The aesthetic draws you in, how content people feel moving their body besides getting their 10k steps a day in. More photos start showing up, people sculpting their pride in the gym, sharing personal stories of their fitness journey and how the gym has taught them so much about themselves. What they’re capable of, what they never thought they could do and what opportunities lie await now that they’re happier in themselves. It all seems promising, even more so when you reconsider how bright your best friend’s life’s become since making the choice. She’d rarely accompany you to a game of badminton and now she’s pioneering her own run-club, amassing a social media following the size of an army.

You’d have to ask her how to get started once she’s back from her influencer trip (maybe content creating is something you needed to hop on). Then again, peering over your laptop screen to Jaemin’s glowing face, you could simply ask him. He’s been consistently going to the gym for a while now, to the point where you fake-pleaded for SM to close their gym because your boyfriend's become too buff for you to function. He’s always been gorgeous, with a face that could charm a snake, but now that he’s carved like a Renaissance sculpture, you couldn’t form a coherent sentence around him. Of course, aesthetic reasons are what lured him into the space, but he relays it’s become a lot more than that for him.

“I want to be strong, not only to build my confidence but to also protect my loved ones,” he looks directly at you, a serious hue to his eyes. “It’s another form of self-love. Showing up for myself, proving I can do hard things, even when I don’t want to. That I can step out of my comfort zone, try new things and ultimately, live a longer life. Because at the end of the day, as much as I do this for me, I also do it so I can help you carry groceries. So that I can move furniture around when we move in together, be the one that my family calls if they need something physically demanding done,”

Fondness curves his lips, a flicker of timidity dart his eyes down to the desk before they flicker back up at you, astoundingly earnest as he says, “I’d also want to keep up with our kids. Carry them when they’re tired or run after them in a park. Those are my reasons.”

Something stutters in your chest. Then, leaps. Over the course of your three year relationship, it’s only natural that topics like this are mentioned, like marriage and children. Heck, you two shared a Pinterest board of decor ideas for the shared apartment you’d been on the lookout for. So, it shouldn't phase you but it does. How far into the future he sees with you. How he shares a bit of himself so effortlessly, in a way that lacks pressure and possesses good faith. Love and promise. All prominent themes throughout your relationship, one you thank your lucky stars for.

As a consequence, you flush. Folding like the early days of your relationships. “You’re getting bold these days. We haven’t even moved in together.”

“All in good time, angel,” he grins, looking a bit lovesick. “In any case, if this is something you wanna do, I’d be more than happy to help. Go to the gym with you so you don’t feel anxious, show you how to use the machines, get you workout clothes - whatever you want.”

You could marry this man.

You extend your arm across the wooden table, hand finding his as your fingers interlace, the same song and dance you’d hope you’d spend your life doing. “Thanks, baby.”

And now? Now, divorce weighs heavily on your mind.

In an effort to avoid the New Year’s crowd, Jaemin wakes you up early in the slum of days after Christmas where time doesn’t exist, cuddling into your half-sleeping figure with a gentle voice. Coaxes you to get up, slip on the new gym clothes you’d spent on his card (his treat, he said) and somehow, here you are, stinging eyes squinting under fluorescent lights with some EDM track playing faintly in the background.

“Oh, baby. Don’t look so down, you’re in good hands,” Jaemin coos, hand squishing your cheeks under your chin before pulling you into his chest, warm and comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

“Couldn’t this wait until,” you glance at your fitness tracker, your own treat to yourself. “Midday? No one needs to be here at 9 am.”

“Maybe, but it’s a good way to start your day. Or get it out of the way,” he chuckles, spinning you out his arms before he wiggles his eyebrows. “Plus, who doesn’t want to see my muscles first thing in the morning?”

He drives home his point by kissing his bicep, something that should make you cringe out your skin or disappear without a trace, but no. Perhaps you’re still sleepy, shielding a snicker with your hand because of how lame (said adoringly) he is.

“You said you’d usually start off with thirty minutes on the treadmill, right?” You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll go with you. I’ll run for fifteen and row until you're done. So you don’t constantly have me in your ear.”

You laugh, because as grumpy as you’d been on the way here, you could never grow tired of him. All his carefree and mischief nature, his sweet and generous manner - you couldn’t even if you tried. 

Few people populate the modern gym, near to none in the cardio section as Jaemin refreshes your memory on all the buttons before you begin. Beside you, he does sporadic sprints, no heavy breaths clouding his chatter with you. You, on the other hand, keep it relatively reserved for your first time, upping the speed when you want to challenge yourself, surprising yourself with the distance and time that flies by. Soon enough, Jaemin’s squeezing your hand and moving a few rows back where the rowing machines are, leaving you with your walking playlist.

Again, in a flash, time passes by, upbeat songs blaring in your headphones that make you dance through the next fifteen minutes, a simmer of sadness coming when you’ve reached time with a whole host of songs still in the queue.

“You can listen to them next time,” Jaemin winks before leading you into a dark, LED room dotted with mirrors and yoga mats. This is one of the rooms booked for classes, but for now, it’s your stretching area where you cycle through some stretches and Jaemin jokes about folding you like a pretzel. 

The one other person in the room - a woman in her thirties - coughs, before smirking your way, the heat of your embarrassment migrating to your cheeks as you swat at Jaemin. He simply laughs, stretching to reveal his happy trail and suddenly, you forget why you’re even mad. 

When you’re finished, he shows you different sections - an assortment of cable machines, the weights area and then to an area with more machines. There’s a few people occupying the machines, immersed in their own world with flushed cheeks and sweat seeping into their clothes. It fills you with relief, that no one’s focused on you and your sweating figure as if you had ‘gym newbie’ written across your forehead. Jaemin shows you some of the machines he uses, depending on what he wants to work out but for the most part, lets you decide what machines you’d want to use - if any.

“Why do I need to put on muscle? You putting me in a headlock is good enough.” You fake-complain, feeding off the gentle approach Jaemin’s taken in trying to convert you to a gym rat.

“And you say I’m the dirty one,” he tsks with a matching grin. “You don’t need to do anything. All I’m doing is showing you the options you have. The more things you try, the more likely you’ll find something you lik-”

“Is that the slut machine?”

Jaemin’s head jerks back, eyebrows pinching together in confusion. “What are you talking about?’

“This one,” you approach the machine closeby, pointing to the photo attached along with its actual name - hip adduction. “Isn’t this the one where people like, open their legs like crazy?”

Jaemin shakes his head, amusement in the smile he swipes with his hand. “Yes, it is. Wanna give it a go?”

“Hell yeah,” you climb into the machine in a rush, finding the experience more exciting than scary as Jaemin makes sure everything is in order. “This is gonna be hilarious.”

“I’m setting it to a low weight. If it’s too easy, we’ll move it upwards and try and find your range,” he comments, looking at you through his silver hair. “You ready?”

“Ready,” and you go, the weight moving like nothing, so much so that when it sets back to its original position, you’re more caught off guard by how far apart your legs are spread. “This is so raunchy, ohmygod.”

“Good thing it’s facing the wall,” Jaemin laughs at you shielding in between your legs. He ups the weight, the number looking a lot scarier than anticipated. “Let’s try this then. You should be able to rep 10 of these.”

You shuffle, a bit unconvinced. Taking a breath, you engage the machine, exerting more effort than before but managing to do one rep. Then two, then three all the way up to ten. Enough to challenge you, but not strain you.

Jaemin howls, pinching your cheek as he says, “Look at you go! That was great.”

“Thank you,” you huff, the tingle in your thighs somehow the source of the happiness in your chest. “That was really fun, actually.”

“Isn’t it?” Jaemin smiles, using some paper towel to wipe after the machine for you. “Usually people do about three sets of those. Reps depend on what you want to do - build endurance, muscle strength, all that. But that was really great, I’m so proud of you.”

And you feel proud of yourself too. Having tried something new, feeling unsure but leaning into the feeling. Letting yourself see how far you can extend yourself, pleasantly surprised with the distance. 

So, this was what Jaemin was on about.

You continue your morning like this, getting a personalised tutoring session in how certain machines works and what areas they work out. Jaemin runs through his leg day, since you two were on the hip adduction machine, enjoying more exercises like leg press and goblet squats. By the time you get to the hip thrust machine to try, someone’s occupying it. Jaemin suggests using the squat rack, the scary thing with a long barbell and weights attached to it. Sensing your apprehension, Jaemin lets you know he’s got you, coaching you through the exercise and any queries you may have about movement or positioning. Eventually, it’s your turn to lean against the incline bench and despite your fear, you work your way through 8 hip thrusts. You don’t nearly enjoy it as much as people online talk about it, which Jaemin says,

“That’s perfectly fine. There’s so many exercises that work the same areas. You’ll find one you prefer.” 

Finished for your session, Jaemin asks for you to hold tight while he does some deadlifts. It’s maddening watching him pick up such heavy weights, concentration knitting his eyebrows together with his exposed arms flexing under the tension. Wearing a sleeveless top for the gym in theory is great, but for your mental health? Bad, so bad. 

Because even if your body rings with exhaustion, the kind that’s refreshing and ensures a peaceful slumber, you’re about ready to jump his bone. 

Ill with lust, as you’d joke. 

Jaemin snickers, snapping his waist belt off with one hand, which shouldn’t be sexy but is. Your eyes then trail to the barbell, the memory of Jaemin’s set vivid in your mind.

“Did you wanna try it?” Jaemin asks, reading your mind. “We can start off with no weights. Just the barbell. There’s also different variations of a deadlift, let’s see which one you prefer.”

Out of the three, you pick the most conventional one to start with, teeth sinking into your bottom lip at what you’ve gotten yourself into. Particularly after Jaemin loads weights on each end when you've rehearsed with the barbell.

“Think of the barbell cutting your feet in half - not standing too close so that your shins are touching it and not too far away that you have to lean to grab it,” Jaemin coaches, your feet shuffling into the right position. “Nice. Let’s move onto the hinge movement,”

From behind you, his hands settle onto your hips, pulling them back with him. He pats them, a chuckle left in his wake as he steps to your side to demonstrate without overly being horny. 

Bastard.

“Like you just did, you’ve gotta hinge your hips backwards until you can’t hinge anymore. Then, you’ll move a little into your knees, like a squat almost so you can grab the barbell,” you follow along, the barbell cold against your hands as you blow a breath.

“Great. Keep your body tense, engage your core and glutes. No arch,” his hand hovers over the arch of your back, something teasing in his smile. “Show your chest, keep your head up straight and lift the barbell up. Remember to keep it close to your body before you lower it down with the same hinge movement and movement into your knees.”

You puff out another breath, the same fear you’ve conquered throughout the session whirring in your chest.

“Don’t worry, angel,” Jaemin smiles, moving behind you again with hovered hands around your figure. “I’ve got you. You’ve got you.” 

Again, his words dawn on you. All the power in your hands, a feeling your heart wants nothing more than to run towards as you lift up the barbell, strength personified as you wait at the top of your stance, smiling at the “Let’s fucking go, you’re doing it! You’re doing it, angel!” in your ear. You hinge backwards, the weight knocked down to the floor with no tension on your back as expected.

Once you’re upright again, Jaemin engulfs you in a backhug, lifting your figure off the floor and kissing your neck, drawing giggles out of you. Joy moves through your body like warm light at his excitement that exceeds your own, belief not setting in quite yet.

“I can’t believe you,” he coos, the mirror ahead of you capturing the embrace he holds you in, the elation in his eyes as he does nothing but adore you. Like he’s always done. “Actually, I can. You’ve got a laundry list of things you’re good at. Can you believe it?”

“Not originally,” you admit, the confession somewhat bittersweet. “But after this, I think I’d better have more faith in myself.”

Fondness finds itself in his lips again, a kiss against your cheek as he gently guides you out the way, lifting the barbell onto the rack with his gaze in the mirror directed to yours. 

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

And you fall into laughter, helping him slid off the weights before flexing in the mirror like you wanted, finding a different strength in yourself with Jaemin by your side.

[thedragonkween]

King Baldwin IV Headcanons! ♔🤍♕

A/N: So, here we are. I could not resist this mysterious and tormented king's charm. His silky voice makes me dream! These are some headcanons I've collected off the top of my head. The Reader is implied to be female and married to Baldwin IV. Please, do feel free to hit my inbox to ramble about our king because I'm literally dying of pining and yearning.

tags: female!reader x baldwin iv of jerusalem (from kingdom of heaven); reader is married to baldwin iv of jerusalem; fluff; slight angst towards the end

wc: 1150k

reccomended songs to listen to while reading: "Summertime Sadness" by Hildegard von Blingin; "Right Here" by Ashes Remain; "Blood, Sweat, Tears" by BTS (orchestral version)

"Many are the tales of the King Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and of his Queen. Despite the varying accounts of their deeds, each one of them agrees on one aspect: the King of Jerusalem loved his Queen dearly, and the world is richer for it".

Baldwin IV is mysterious, intense, valiant, noble and utterly devoted to you, his Queen. But what does this devotion look like?

Firstly, he would believe in you like no other and would always be ready to give you his best advice whenever the weight of your responsibility becomes too much. Foreign rulers would soon learn of your qualities - there would hardly be a piece of correspondence where the King of Jerusalem does not praise the intellect and insight of his dear wife. He would glance at you from time to time, while you both work at your desks sharing the burden of paperwork, silently thanking God for having sent him not only a beautiful, but reliable life companion as well.

He values your opinions greatly and has the utmost regard for your views on political, military and state matters. Disagreements happen, yet your overall values are aligned, which is why Baldwin understands your vision and where your point comes from. During the discussions regarding complex decisions, he would let you speak and explain, then he would offer his honest thoughts on the matter, should he see another, different way from yours. 

Playing chess is a favorite way of spending quality time together in your chambers, away from the chaos of the court. If you know how to play and are proficient at it, he would delight in the thrill of challenge, as he would finally have found a true equal. If you do not know how to play, he would teach you with patience, taking pride whenever you make an unexpected and astute move. He would be such a nerd while he explains the rules to you and would be delighted to see how your mind works when devising a plan.

"Congratulations, dove. You have a checkmate."

I can also see Baldwin taking you on long rides, if his health allows it. He would sweetly check the reins and saddle on your horse before mounting on his steed and leading you away to enjoy the cool early morning breeze, before the heat of Jerusalem becomes too sweltering. You would have a nice and secluded spot to enjoy and to pretend that you are a couple of young lovers without responsibilities and crowns weighing on your heads.

Your presence brings him safety and comfort, which is what would convince him to remove his mask when he is alone with you and the physicians. He would especially love to rest his head on your lap as you gently caress his curls while the physicians tend to his skin. It is a sacred moment. He does not know how he went so long without your presence during this delicate time. Speaking softly to each other, you would distract him from the pain with talk of your hometown, fairy tales from your culture, or even simply reflecting on a happening of that day. On these occasions, you learn how to best take care of him, watching the physician tend to his arm while you tend to the other, delicately dabbing the cloth over his wounded skin. Baldwin feels so protected and safe in your presence. He thinks you are God’s greatest gift to him.

Now, jealousy. Baldwin knows he boasts the honor of having an exquisite flower such as yourself to call his own. As do powerful men and courtiers from distant lands. Many covet your loveliness as one would a precious gem. Should one of these foolish people try to take you from him or even stare at you for too long to be considered proper, they would be met with a pure force to be reckoned with. Should a knight’s eye linger on you for too long, he would be quick to put him in place in his signature glacial, elegant way. Before long, everyone learns not to disrespect the Queen consort of Jerusalem.

“Perhaps you would have understood my point, had you not been so insolently ogling my wife”. He takes out his whip. “On your knees. You will pay for insulting the Queen”.

He would protect you with his life. He swore to protect Jerusalem and, as its Queen, that includes first of all you. Should a courtier doubt your devotion and mistake it for thirst for power, or should he learn of an orchestrated attempt on your life, he would waste no time in employing his best forces in your service to defend you.

His enemies and templars alike fear him, yet with you he is as gentle as the morning breeze that gently caresses Jerusalem. This powerful king who makes armies tremble and kingdoms shake is the same person who holds and kisses your hand (when in public, bringing your fingers to the lips of his mask), who silently admires your loveliness from afar and sighs to himself, who longs for your warmth after a tiring day. 

He would write you letters. Lots of them. And not always when he is away. Maybe he just liked the way the sun reflected in your eyes that morning. Or maybe when you helped a servant, he was moved by your kindness. Your every action inspires him, so much so that he has to let out his thoughts on paper. You have a pretty wooden box brimming with delicate papers penned by Baldwin in your honor. He is not only the King of Jerusalem, but also the king of pining, of yearning. Even when he has you near, he yearns for you.

I love to imagine him letting you accompany him to battle. He would love it too, in theory. You make him so strong, the both of you would be quite the sight, meeting your enemies head on, as one, donning your best armors. Yet, at the same time I cannot imagine him resting easy knowing that a loose arrow, a desperate soldier seeking glory for killing the Queen of Jerusalem, or fatigue and sickness could take you from him. It pains his heart to be parted from you, yet he cannot risk your safety. Instead, Baldwin would trust you with ruling the kingdom. He has absolute faith in your intelligence, willpower and cleverness, especially after all he has taught you about running the realm. He longs for you every second he’s away from Jerusalem, yet his heart is at peace knowing his kingdom is in the most capable hands.

When he feels that his time on this Earth is nearing his end, he calls for his most trusted advisors, including Balian and Tiberias. He would ask them, almost begging, to protect you always, at all costs, when he is no longer there to do so. Balian and Tiberias would exchange a quick glance to each other, vowing to respect their King’s wish until the very end.

“Protect her. Please.” “Always, my Lord”.

Poems, songs and stories would be written in honor of your love even centuries after your passing. Many tales would speak of Baldwin IV of Jerusalem and his Queen. Different pieces of art, such as paintings and ballads, would inspire people from all over the world to find a love as devoted and unshakable as yours. Until the very end.

All in all, to love Baldwin means knowing your time together is limited. As is the time of all creatures on Earth. He would beg you to go on after his passing, to live for him. He shall wait for you and protect you from above. Until the very end.

[aouiaa]

Loser!Ellie Hcs

Imagining Loser! Ellie who makes fart noises with her mouth when you bend down to pick up something, and makes fun of you for “farting.”

“Ewww, that one was nasty!”

A scoff leaves your mouth as you stand up, looking back to send a death stare her way to which makes her walk over to you, giggling.

“It’s okay, everyone farts.” she says with a cheeky grin.

An eye roll from you further causes Ellie to full on laugh and wrap her arms around your waist, pressing kisses to your neck.

She would be so silly with it too. Finding different ways to comment on you “farting.”

“That’s some narly tooting there, babe.”

“Woof, another left the cannon!” she says, pinching her nose while actually fanning the air to shooing away the smell as if it was real.

“A bomb just dropped, take cover!”

Imagining Loser! Ellie who invites you over to her house when you first started dating to review her concerningly large comic book collection.

“How many do you have?!” you exclaim, looking over the many boxes filled with comics.

“I had to do some things to acquire such items that I rather not corrupt your mind with.” she says in a rather poor attempt of sounding suspicious and menacing.

“God, you’re such a loser! you laugh, and watch as Ellie immediately drops the act and turns into a big giant tomato.

A little shy “no” leaves her lips to which makes you smile and lean over to kiss her, “It’s okay, you’re my loser.”

Imagining Loser! Ellie who also has a smaller collection of space related books than the rather getting out-of-hand comic collection.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who has the deadliest grip over the last chicken while sending a death stare your way when you do that one trend on her to see if she’d grab her phone instead.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s laughing to the point there’s tears in her eyes when she suggested the both of you paint each other. And when revealed, hers was very detailed and while yours…’was insteresting.’ Ellie’s words…

Imagining Loser! Ellie who makes fun of people who dress “cringe”, but also wears this.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who write love songs for you in her little journal of hers and even plays them on her guitar. You’ve even caught her once.

Upon walking into your home, you hear muffled talking or singing. Presuming it’s Ellie, you walk into the room to see her with gutiar in hand. Immediately when she sees you she stops what she’s doing and look up, her face turning red.

“Oh—shit, you’re home early…” she says, laughing nervously, settling her guitar aside and greeting you with a hug and kiss as usual.

A little laugh leaves your lips as you reciprocate the greeting and ask, “What were you doing?”

She pulls away from the embrace and looks down upon hearing the question. Playing with her pinky and ring finger, she responds, “Oh, ya’ know—just…playing.”

“Just playing? But I heard you singing.”

An audible gulp is heard from the nervous girl as she looks up at you, “I was writing a song.” she finally admits.

A wave of surprise washed over you, “Oh—wow. Can…I hear it?”

“Uhh, maybe later..”

You chuckle and nod, “Alright then, my little musician. You can work on!” you quip.

A nervous smile presents itself on Ellie’s lips, “Shut up.”

Loser! Ellie who does let you listen to the song, but is stuttering and messing up the whole time!—Poor girl, you make her nervous :(—To which earns her a kiss on the cheek and a “You got this, baby. Just relax” To which she actually does! She Some might say it was the kiss that did it.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who has a special spot in her journal filled with doodles of you.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who has multiple unfinished paintings of you that with time will be finished, just has to find time in her super busy schedule—that consists of sleeping and bothering you—to finish them.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who sleeps with stuffed animals.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who HAS to absolutely listen to music when doing anything, literally doesn’t matter it could be showering, dishes, getting ready, etc. There’s music playing.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s a big ‘Savage Starlight’ nerd and actually at some point sent in one of her best fanart to the official insta page, but never got a response. :(

But the girl can’t take failure as an option and is still hopeful saying, “They’ll open my message…eventually.” with a sad little huff.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s screaming from the bathroom when she actually gets a response back!

You knock frantically on the door to startled by the screaming and when she does finally open the door you’re met with her phone being shoved into your face, “Look, Look, Look!”

A slightly irritated sigh leaves your lips as you look at Ellies phone—which has mysterious residue stains on it—and see the instagram post.

Once reading the caption praising Ellie for her work, you look up from the phone and at her, “I thought you were getting killed, Ellie! God…”

“Aweeee, you care about me?” she says, putting her hands on her chest.

“No, I came to make sure they finished the job.” you reply with a cheeky grin.

“Oh wow…well in that case, gimme my phone and get out!” she frowns.

You roll my eyes playfully and chuckle, giving back her phone, “Make sure to flush.” you say, closing the door.

“That was one time!” you hear a muffled shout.

Imagining Loser! Ellie whose phone is filled with multiple pictures of you. Some of you, sleeping, doing chores around the house, cooking—and some with you seeming to be yelling at her in the photo for not helping, and terrible pictures of you that you beg her to delete, but she protests saying they’re “beautiful” to her.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who steals your chapstick since she always loses her’s within a few days of having it.

“Ellie?” you call out, searching in your nightstand for your chapstick.

“Yeah, babe?” you hear her voice become more clearly as she walks into the bedroom.

“Have you seen my chapstick? My lips are terribly dry…” you huff, unable to find it in your clutter.

“Uhh, no.”

*Imagine her in the background, sneakily swiping your chapstick back and forth on her lips as you annoyedly rummage through your stuff for it.* LMAOOO

Imagining Loser! Ellie who does feel bad and buys you a ten pack of chapstick, stealing one of course for herself.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who buys those princess or even soda chapstick ones.

(Okay i’ll stop talking about chapsticks…😭)

Imagining Loser! Ellie who seems to never drink water, but instead drinks like Arizona, Dr. Pepper, or Canada-dry, etc.

Imagining Loser! Ellie who’s rather disgusting when eating. Having dried up residue on the side of her mouth from dinner which was hours ago only to lick it off.

“Mmm, that burger was good.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Imagining Loser! Ellie who sometimes, but not all the time, thinks about how lucky she is/was to get—or “pull” as she says to her friends—someone like you.

Loser! Ellie who loves you for loving her despite her quirks!

How you can help Palestine, Why you shouldn’t support tlou/ buy the remastered, Educate yourself, #FREEPALESTINE.

a/n; Who wants Dina or Abby hcs? 🤭

Perm taglist: @elliesprettygirl, @dyk3ang3l, @ellies2fingers, @r3starttt, @slut4mascss, @k1ssesworld

Ellie Only fics: @herelieskrisy, @mikellie , @slaysksmska, @mina-281, @teawithnosugar, @kitkatkittycat111

[ynbabe]

Come Through ୨୧ George Russell x Rockstar! Reader

Is rockstar the right word? idk I just know bro is crazy bts, the white boy with Excel persona is fooling NO ONE Georgie boy. Also, Reader has vibes of the Weekend song, hence the fic name.

Lando thinks it's all a joke. He hadn't been crying, screaming and manifesting for the past three years only for his celebrity crush to be dating someone else, another driver that too.

"WHO-" He yells as he storms into Max's room, where most of the drivers had collected, they hadn't decided but they all just gravitated towards the blonde with sweet blue eyes who listened to the vent and gave the best hugs, "AFTER ALL WE WENT THROUGH- WHO IS DATING Y/N L/N?"

All eyes were on him, Max lying on his bed, Charles, Carlos and Daniel with him. Lance, Esteban and Pierre were on the sofa, playing FIFA on Max's PS5, George and Alex were sharing the smaller two-seater, Zhou and Yuki were passing a tennis ball to each other and Logan and Oscar were sleeping, cuddling close on the floor surrounded by pillows, but were now woken up by Landos yelling.

"Lando stop screaming," Charles yelled back.

"No," he simply replied and made his way to the bed where he jumped on top of Carlos and Daniel, the older of whom groaned and grumbled something about his back, but Lando didn't care, he pushed his phone in Max's face, blurring his face in Carlos's neck.

xoxof1

xoxof1 Y/n l/n an infamous British rockstar most famous for her multiple dating scandals and most recently an arrest is rumoured to date a F1 driver.

username MOTHER WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE 😭😭😭

username girl... knowing her it's like Lewis or someone

username fr like hasn't she 'dated' a dozen older guys not to mention her record with women username girl why are you hating like a man, she's iconic and we all know it

username just lost my wife to a vroom-vroom man no one talk to me

Max began laughing, looking up from the post to the distraught Lando currently getting his hair played with by Carlos.

"Mate, I don't think you're her type," he threw the phone back to the whining boy.

"Yeah? And how would you know? I look exactly like Edward!" He pointed to the bassist of the band you were a part of.

"Kelly loves her music..." he muttered, looking away much to the younger man's amusement.

"HAH!" He shrieked, "SHE'S NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND ANYMORE!!" He laughed to which Carlos pushed his head down, eliciting an 'oomph'.

"I've been told many times," Max muttered to himself and turned to Lando to hear the rest of his rant, though loud and fast, the boy was the best source of entertainment they had.

"Max, look at her band, she's so coooool," he groaned, passing the phone to him again.

Cupidd

Cupidd THANK YOU LA!! We'll be back with 'young, numb and brunette' after this short break!!

y/nl/n My old man said I had to be in Shangai this weekend 🫡 but trust- I will be back to piss y'all off with Eddie asap

edwrdnotcllen MY WIFE HAS LEFT ME FOR A TWINK HELP y/nl/n shut up Eddie your the twinkiest twink I know username I love that they have had multiple partners in the past yet still always call each other husband and wife username I pity her boyfriend 😭 imagine having to compete with a man who looks like Edward

username SHES GOING TO A RACE????

username nooooo pls my parents

username girl they have never dated, both y/n and Edward have had multiple partners and relationships with men and women in the past. Leave them alone, they're adults username FOUND Y/N'S BFS ALT GUYS!!!

"She's coming to China?" Max asked no one in particular but Lando took it as an invitation to freak out.

"Bro please, please, please let me win this one, I'll owe you forever, bro please," Lando tried his puppy eyes on Max but Max jumped out of bed calling his girlfriend, walking out the room trying his best to convince the older woman to not attend the race.

"I have so much work to do," Lando gasped and followed Max out the room.

The race was one to remember, with Max winning but George a close second and Lando barely a tenth away on the third.

He hadn't been able to find the girl anywhere but at least he got points for the team. He went to the McLaren team party and forgot about the other celebration taking place.

xoxof1

xoxof1 The unexpected couple have been revealed in a series of leaked pictures of the private f1 party after the driver George Russell had a podium finish for his Shangai race.

username Mr.Russell I was unaware of your rizz, forgive me sir.

username WHITE MAN DOES IT IN ONE DAY 😭😭😭

landonorris When i catch you george when I catch you

username LANDO??? username he's one of ussssss username bbg you get me 😮‍💨 in ways no man ever has

George woke up with the worst headache he ever had in his life, he was sure he'd never get over this hangover but then he saw y/n next to him, hair tussled wearing the white shirt he was wearing last night.

"Y/n, darling, wake up," he pressed a kiss on her shoulder.

"mmhm," the woman groaned, turning to the blonde next to her and kissing him, the taste of vodka still fresh in her mouth.

She melted into his touch as he deepened the kiss, " Mornin' G," she whispered to him, voice hoarse from the night before.

He smiled in return, placing one last kiss on the corner of her lips. She searched around for her phone, finding it fallen amongst their haphazardly discarded clothes and opened Instagram to thousands of notifications.

She was used to it by now, it was quite fun.

y/nl/n

y/nl/n If I speak... @/georgerussell

edwrdnotcllen @/yn/ln you are so welcome for not squealing as soon as I knew

y/nl/n girl you asked me if you could kiss him after??? edwrdnotcllen And I still am?? username WHAT-

username I just know Lando is fuming rn

username y'all need a third? a dog? a maid?

username it should be me instead of him!!!

username god I see what you've done for others 😭

"Darling, did you post-" George had just begun but his room was rudely broken into, running in he saw a hyper papaya-coloured blur followed by a very hungover Max Verstappen.

Lando gasped looking at the woman next to George, screeching at an inhuman pitch, "HOW'D THIS PIECE OF VANILLA FRAPPUCCINO WOO HER??!?!?" He pointed at Y/n, making the woman laugh.

George offended, scoffed at the boy, "Well if you must know, I met her at Nando's party-" he was cut off once again, this time by the Dutch man.

"That makes sense actually," he said and immediately grabbed Lando by the collar and dragged him out, "Sorry guys!" he yelled after himself.

"I like your friends," Y/n said smirking making the taller man blush and push the woman slightly, before collapsing back into bed, making a silent promise of never trying to out-drink the woman again.

[nonuniverse-tarot]

How Does Your Person View You?

This reading is the subjective point of view from your person. It might be or might not be true.

Pile 1. Pile 2. Pile 3.

Pile 1:

You're always on the move and not very emotional. You go and get what you want and aren't afraid to fight for it. You defend your point of view/ believes , but you don't go out of your way to start conflicts. If you're being attacked, then obviously you'll defend yourself.

They see you're up in your head a lot. Very dreamy, imaginative, full of ambition. A little stubborn at times, but with reason. To them, you're standing on stable ground and have valid reasons to be stubborn.

They see you as a knowledgeable person and that you have so many opportunities to succeed in whatever you put your energy in (however they view success).

They don't see you as an emotional person because you haven't really let them see that part of you. When things are getting too personal, you might change the topic and revert back to the composed you.

They admire you. They see you so high up and that you are capable of achieving anything and everything. For most of you, your person has seen you evolve into this 'new' you. They want to know you better, including your emotional side.

Songs: More Than A Friend - girli | Washing Machine Heart (Speed) - Mitski | Two - Sleeping At Last

Pile 2:

An old soul. You're not new in this world let alone, in this universe. They feel like you've gone through so much, but that you've learned from that and continued your path. You're not living in the past. You reflect a lot, but they see you applying what you have learned, into the present.

They think you're a bit lonely, even misunderstood, for some of you. You're so in tune with nature/universe/spirit - what that might look like for your person. You know what you're feeling, why you're feeling it, and what you'll do about it. They see you as a calm collected person.

There's this fear of getting close to you because they don't feel that they're at your level. They view you as knowledgeable in regards to spiritual topics and your person thinks they aren't so spiritual. They are open to it, but there's this irrational fear of you looking down on them for not knowing much.

Regardless of gender, they view you as a masculine person. You make decisions and act upon them. They're amazed by you and they think that you don't think very highly of them. You might have a bit of a resting bitch face without knowing.

Songs: She Likes A Boy - Nxdia | Miss You - Louis Tomlinson | Magia Blanca - Hermanos Carrion

Pile 3:

You limit yourself a lot but they also see you so free, flowing, and in tune with yourself, but for some reason, you limit yourself so much. Your person is frustrated. They don't know what they can do to help you realize this.

"Why do they stop themselves so much? Why do they hold themselves back so much? Why do they hide so much? Why aren't they showing their authentic self, their talents, their light to the world?"

From their point of view, there's nothing holding you back from doing anything. The Devil and 10 of Swords are in reverse - meaning you are free to do what you wish, but you think so low of yourself for a reason they don't understand or see, causing all those opportunities and freedom from happening.

It seems that you're open and trust your person, that's why they see all these amazing things about you. They have strong feelings towards you, but they feel that if they let you know, you'll reject them because of your poor self-esteem.

You think you're the worst being in the world, but they don't understand why you would think such a thing. They see you as the brightest light. The brightest of them all.

"Why are they looking for a devil that isn't there?"

Songs: I Really F**ked It Up - girli | Chance With You - mehiro | Drinking With Cupid - VOILÀ

~*~*~*~

I hope you liked the reading! Thank you for being here!

[ohdeerfully]

Hii! I really like your work :3

Can you do demon alastor and his goth human girlfriend comfort scenarios? :D

hii! i hope i did some justice, i dont know much about alternative subcultures (,: i tried something new, with some bulleted headcanons and a oneshot afterwards! thank you so much for the request! <3

How to Summon an Overlord

Alastor x Goth!Reader (fluff) TW: mentions of animal death/taxidermy

join my discord!

═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

Alastor definitely appreciated the goth aesthetic

He lived in Hell, yeah, but a lot of the style there was more punk or grunge. Not that he even knew what these words meant but he could visually tell the difference

Similarly, you adored his red color scheme. You thought it complimented your black extremely well

He wasn’t particular about the music, it wasn’t quite his taste, but he didn’t mind listening as long as it was with you. He could manage to enjoy what you enjoyed

You typically conjured him into your world two or three times a week. You weren’t a busy person, but he was a busy demon

You typically spent a while before seeing him getting into a full goth getup, perfecting your white foundation and sharp eyeliner for what felt like hours 

He would assure you that it wasn’t necessary, but wasn’t overbearing about it. He knew some people just liked to get dressy

He did kind of like knowing that you were so excited to see him and show yourself off to him though

The dates you shared with him were… untraditional, to say the least

He enjoyed taking you out deep into the forest to explore and find bones and such to add to your collection at home. You were brave alone, but before meeting him never dared going as far in as you two did. There was so much you had been missing out on

He would never tell you, but when you weren’t looking he would use some of his powers–which were much weaker in the human realm than in Hell–to quickly catch and kill a small rodent if you were having no luck. He knew you’d probably get upset with him about the morality of it

Even though you’re literally dating a demon

So like. What morality

“I was a hunter in my life,” He had said when you caught him standing over the corpse of a deer. “I know how to… track them. When they’re dying.”

You loved that sinister grin of his. You never knew what was really going on behind it, but you found that and his glowing red eyes so… attractive. Oddly enough

At-home concerts were a must. As stated earlier, he wasn’t a huge fan of your taste in music, but he would never admit it. He did his best to follow in your steps and you swung your arms and sang out to your song of choice

He forced you to dance along with him to some jazz, too, of course. He left you no option for that

Baking was probably the most normal thing you two did together

He didn’t like sweets at all, but he liked shaping the dough into little themed cookies

He also loved helping you dye your hair; so much so that the second your roots started showing signs of your natural hair color he was the first to point it out

He loved being able to sit behind you and run his fingers and work the dye into every strand of hair. He didn’t care if it stained his fingers

Gifts weren’t very common from him, but you could tell that when he did get you something, a lot of thought went into it

Recently he had given you a dainty black chain with the most beautiful, glimmering blood-red ruby dangling off of it

You always asked him about what Hell was like. You asked and asked and asked, so many questions. And he was happy to talk your ear off in return

Part of him wanted to convince you to choose a sinner’s path, to join in him Hell. Honestly, he had a feeling you would if he simply asked. You seemed genuinely devoted to him

But, at the same time, the other part of him did care about you in a way that didn’t want to see you stuck in that place. Even with him

That was something he’d think about later

You were always so upset when it was time to exorcise him back to Hell. Harsh words, but it was just technicality

You clung onto his fingers for longer than you needed to. You knew he’d be back in a few days, but you had begun to feel increasingly lonely in the time between his visits

He would give you an affirming squeeze on the shoulder, and rest his chin against the top of your head for a moment before you performed the ritual

He kept in contact with you through the haunted radio you met him through, of course, a daily meeting that had become routine

═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You loved antique shopping. 

Especially when you end up with your own little haunted radio.

Especially when that radio had the smoothest voice, with the most peculiar and out of date accent. It was charming. And, it knew your name.

You sighed as you stroked your fingers down your cat’s back, smiling softly as it arched into your touch. Your legs were crossed in front of you, sporting a comfortable and fuzzy skull-patterned pair of pajamas. Your eyes kept flicking expectantly to that old radio, and you were growing impatient. You hadn’t heard from the demon haunting it all day, and you were growing lonely.

It felt incredibly surreal and peculiar, feeling ghosted by a literal ghost. Or demon. Or monster. Or whatever it was.

You weren’t really a lonely person, preferring to stay inside–enjoying the comfort of your cat and a good song or show as you practiced tattoo flashes on the kit you bought yourself as a birthday present. But you had grown fond of that voice, as strange as it may seem. And you believed he had grown fond of you as well, what with the pet names he had begun referring to you as.

A crackle of that radio made you jump to your feet, which startled your cat. You quickly ducked down to apologize and rub behind his ears before scampering over to the coffee table and crossing your legs as you sat in front of it. You couldn’t help the smile that beamed across your face.

“Little bat,” The voice practically sang. You rested your head on your hands, careful to avoid a fresh piercing you had given yourself earlier in the day. “Sorry, I’ve been quite busy with my duties down here.”

You sighed, a childish grin playing across your face. “I was beginning to think you forgot about me. After all that work I did repairing you.”

“Darling, I would sooner redeem myself in heaven than forget about you.” Your brow quirked at his statement.

“Isn’t heaven like… all sun and happiness and grandeur.”

“You’d be surprised.”

You let the conversation end there. You couldn’t get over that voice of his. Maybe it was the combination of the accent and the filter of the radio over it, but you just knew this demon had to be a handsome one. Though, you had considered the idea of him being some sort of terrifying, eldritch horror. You could probably get behind it, honestly.

You purse your lips in thought, fantasizing about seeing the owner of the voice.

“Why haven’t you told me your name yet?” You asked him. A few seconds passed by.

“How incredibly rude of me!” He announced, and he sounded genuinely upset with himself. “I forgot my manners, I truly never expected this radio to be touched again. I’m Alastor, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” You laughed a bit, playing along with the formality. You reached forward and brushed a settlement of dust near the base of the mesh cover. 

“Hey,” You said slowly. You continued after he responded with a hum of curiosity. “I have a bunch’a books on like… summoning demons. And stuff. Do you know if…” You trailed, hoping that he was catching the idea.

He did catch on, and you heard an amused chuckle. 

“I’ve never thought about it,” Alastor admitted. “I’ve been too busy down here to really care about visiting the human world.” Even through the filter of static, you could tell his curiosity was piqued. And you were suddenly very, very excited.

“Stay here,” You jumped up without a second thought and scampered into your room. You had a cabinet full of small antiques and trinkets, from cute bunny figures to reptile skulls. You gingerly opened a lower drawer, careful not to knock anything over, and rummaged through an old storage of books you didn’t often touch.

While you were in your room, you quickly swiped on basic makeup. There was no way you had time to do a full face, you felt that you were risking it already even putting a little bit on. You teased your hair and threw on a simple outfit, layering some jewelry over it. If you were going to summon a whole-ass demon in your house, you wanted to at least look hot. Obviously.

You hurried out back into your living room. You felt a little nervous as you neared the radio, which had gone quiet. Usually, when Alastor was connected, there was a garble of frequency that announced his presence.

You skimmed your fingers across the mesh and, nearly instantly, he was back. You wondered if he felt any physical connection to the thing. You decided to ask him about it later. You gently picked up the radio and traveled into your basement.

It was the perfect ambience for this type of thing. A bit dreary, empty, cold… You really only used the basement for storage, so the air was thick with dust and stagnant oxygen.

“Okay. I got a couple books on different ways I could go about this. I should have all the candles and salt and stuff…” You flipped through the pages, muttering as you set out different books on methods of evocation that seemed interesting around you, your legs crossed comfortably.

He hadn’t said much since you mentioned summoning him to your realm. You began to wonder if this was a good idea. Were you jumping the gun? Was he actually as interested in you as you were in him? Did he want to see you?

You suppose he noticed the long pause in your mumbling, because he finally spoke. 

“Find anything, (Y/N)?” You smiled at his question. You took that as a good enough sign that he was interested.

“I found some… I just hope one of them works.” Alastor simply hummed in response.

You carefully drew a symbol on the concrete floor, hand dripping with white paint. Your arm was pressed against your chest to keep your stack of necklaces from dragging along the ground you kneeled down on. Your eyes flicked back and forth between your work and the book, trying to make it as perfect as possible.

Alastor hummed a little tune as you laid out the necessary candles. A few white ones dotted the formed circle, for “purification and spiritual protection” the book said. You figured it wouldn’t hurt, just in case Alastor did end up being some hideous monster. You crossed your fingers.

“Okay…” You said slowly, standing up to examine your work. You bent over to pick up the book you followed. You also carefully placed Alastor’s radio in the center of the symbol you drew. “Get ready.”

You read over the words a few times before trying out the chant. 

You must’ve done it just right, because as soon as the words began tumbling from your mouth, a wind manifested and twirled around the circle you had created. Amazingly, the candles remained lit.

The lace on your clothes billowed in the wind, and your hair blew into your eyes. You furrowed your brows in an attempt to stay focused and kept your eyes on the paragraph. You could see that radio slightly glowing out of your peripheral.

A flash of light concluded the chant, and your eyes squeezed shut at the unexpected shine. You had thrown your arm over your head, and carefully began to peek under your elbow as the wind settled.

The candles, save for the white ones, had all gone out and the room smelled heavily of the smoke that curled from the extinguished wicks. And, in the center of the circle, the radio was gone.

And a demon sat in its place.

He was sitting, arms catching himself on the ground and a puzzled look on his face. The transition between realms obviously wasn’t the smoothest ride, but he quickly gained composure and stood up, brushing off his clothes.

The first thing you noticed was how tall he was. How he loomed over you, even from a couple feet away. The next was those piercing, dangerous red eyes of his as he made eye contact with you. And then his lips curled up in a wide, yellow grin.

“A pleasure to finally meet you in person, little bat, quite a pleasure,” He said with a dramatic bow. You were too stunned to speak, simply looking up at him with your mouth agape.

You realized that radio filter over his voice wasn’t exclusive to the radio itself, because his voice cracked with it as he spoke to you. You swallowed your intimidation and stepped towards him. He wasn’t a disgusting tentacle monster, which was awesome. He was actually… incredibly handsome. Lucky you.

“It’s… so good to finally meet you, too,” you said. You reached a hand out towards him. His eyes followed your movement carefully, smile twitching and eyebrows narrowing as he considered your hand.

Your hand was stopped at the edge of the circle he had been summoned in. Some invisible barrier prevented you from getting any closer. You both looked down at your hand, and then back up at each other.

You laughed, breathlessly and nervously. After all that work, you couldn’t even get any closer to him.

“Those candles, (Y/N),” Alastor explained with a teasing grin. You looked down at the white candles that still had their flame. You cursed yourself briefly.

“I was, uh, a little nervous. That’d you’d be, like, you know…”

“A hideous, slimy monster?”

“Yeah.”

Alastor laughed down at you. “My dear…” His voice was suddenly incredibly menacing,  the scratching of his radio-like ambience becoming more aggressive. You felt a cold sweat run down your spine. As fast as the tone changed, though, it was normal again. His voice was light with humor once again. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about!”

You stooped down towards a candle to snuff it, but a quick rap from the demon’s cane halted you. You slowly craned your head up to look at him.

“You wouldn’t want to upset the delicate balance of a seance, my bat,” He said smoothly. “You can fix it next time. I should be going, I wasn’t expecting this… I have some things to do back in Hell.”

Next time, you thought, a tight feeling in your chest. You were incredibly excited at that idea, and it helped you not feel so bad about the short visit from Alastor. You nodded at him before turning around and fishing through the book for a banishment spell.

“I’ll… see you later then,” You said after finding the page. You pressed your hand against the invisible barrier again, to which he followed and pressed his own on the opposite side. You examined those long fingers of his. He smiled down at you. His expression was strange and unreadable.

“Until next time.”

[heartz4levi]

Hi, could you make a NSFW alphabet of Luka? I would really appreciate it, if you did it MLM, I would appreciate it even more!! :)

i fall to pieces when i'm with you !

☆ thinking abt luka + nsfw alphabet . .

☆ luka (alnst) ,, male reader . . switch!luka ,, switch!reader ,, this is a nsfw alphabet so uh. there are a LOT of warnings i could put here but like. there are too many so warning for lots and lots of filth! ,, but also some sweet stuff in certain sections.

a — aftercare :

when it comes to aftercare, luka can't bring himself to do much. he'll press a few kisses to your face, murmur on and on about how much he loves you and how much you mean to him. if he can get up, he'll grab something to clean the both of you up or lead you over to the bathroom.

b — body part :

luka's favourite body part of his are his hands. they're pale, his fingers are long and slender with a light purple hue adorning the tips. he prefers his hands over anything else because he can let them roam around every inch of your body, constantly reassuring him that you're there, you're real.

luka's favourite body part of yours are your lips. they always look so inviting, so kissable, no matter if they're chapped and bitten or glossy and soft. every kiss you give him makes his heart flutter like never before, and each word that slips past them means so much to him, you can't even imagine it.

c — cum :

luka's cum has a more watery consistency. the taste of it is just a bit bitter and it comes out in long, thin ropes.

it's not challenging to make him cum. he'll always let out high—pitched whines when doing so and his chest will heave lightly as cum begins to spurt out from his sensitive tip, coating his stomach a dewy white.

d — dirty secret :

there are a few scenarios luka has thought about that, if they became real, he would become a very controversial idol. one of them is recording the two of you while he takes you from behind, one hand tangled in your hair to keep your head angled upwards, not allowing you to muffle a single moan.

the other is wrapped around your waist, strocking your cock rapidly to pull more sounds of pleasure out of you — all so he can collect the audio sample of your moans, having kept quiet on purpose so your voice can be heard loud and clear in the background of his latest song.

e — experience :

having been created for the sole purpose of being an idol, luka hasn't focused much on anything other than improving his performance and singing skills his whole life, meaning he doesn't have any experience.

although his every move is carefully supervised, luka has gradually been given more freedom the older he got. therefore, he does know a handful of things about sex, what it is, how it's supposed to go. he knows it in theory, but not in practice.

f — favourite position :

luka likes any position that allows him to have a clear view of your face or allows him to hold you in his arms regardless of who is topping and who is bottoming. meaning missionary, cowgirl and spooning can be found in his lineup of favourite positions.

those positions also allow him to not put in so much effort to the point he overexerts himself, which is also a plus.

g — goofy :

luka isn't the type to crack jokes mid—nut, but he also isn't the type to be completely serious when the two of you are having sex.

he's more content than anything. seeking refuge in you, letting himself drown in the pleasure he feels from being inside of you or from having you inside of him if it's the other way around. you're a safe space for him, and he prefers to bask in you as a whole.

h — hair :

of course, luka's pubes are a light blond color. they're a little bit unruly, much like the hair on his head, but he doesn't have much hair down on his pelvis.

since he doesn't have much hair to begin with, luka doesn't need to shave or trim it. if you want him to, though, he will. he's comfortable when you're comfortable.

i — intimacy :

like mentioned before, luka prefers to savor every moment spent with you while having sex. point is, he is quite romantic.

he'll whisper sweet words to you the entire time, or if your cock is ramming into his hole so good that his mind is reduced to mush, he'll babble sweet words. it doesn't matter what you're trying out in that specific session, because luka will still openly express his love for you.

j — jack off :

being an idol with immense popularity, luka's schedule is always absolutely packed, meaning he doesn't have the time to jack off. not that he needs to, as he has gotten used to his strenuous routine to the point where he doesn't feel the need to take a moment for himself, pull his pants down and stroke his pretty cock.

now that you are an integral part of his life though, he prefers to get off using you rather than his hand. using you entails either your hands, mouth, cock or hole. depends on what luka is feeling up for and what he has enough energy for.

k — kink :

out of the couple of kinks he has, i believe luka is most into praise and worshipping, both giving and receiving.

the subject of praise has already been discussed, specifically how he is always reminding you of the fact that he adores you more than anything else in this world. if you return the action, praising him for how well he's taking your cock or worshipping his body before ruining him, luka will melt. he'll turn all pliant and then you can do whatever you want to him.

l — location :

considering several pairs of eyes are on luka every time he leaves the comfort of his home, luka's preferred location to have sex with you is anywhere within the house.

there is the classic, the bed, which is his go—to. the mattress is soft, the pillows even more so, allowing you both to be comfortable whilst going at it. luka also enjoys doing it in the bathtub from time to time.

m — motivation :

like previously mentioned, luka is a sucker for praise and worship. if you begin to shower him with it all of a sudden, no matter where the two of you are, he will immediately pop a boner.

luka is also very susceptible to teasing. he isn't against the notion of teasing you. quite the opposite — he thoroughly enjoys it! but if you tease him, he'll be like putty in your hands. a bunch of blood will shoot straight to his dick, and the desire to be inside of you overcomes him in but a flash of a second.

n — no :

luka's only no's are your no's. you're not into a certain thing? okay, he's not into it either.

luka trusts you with his life. if you want to try something a little bit more painful, a little bit more risky out, then he will agree. because he trusts you and you trust him just as much, so nothing should go wrong.

o — oral :

luka loves sucking dick. he'll suck you off for his own pleasure, not minding the way he's gagging on your cock as the tip of it hits the back of his throat with each bob of his head. he likes it, but he also likes receiving head.

receiving is just as nice. he enjoys leaning his head back and letting you make him feel good, not having to worry about a single thing.

when it comes to skill, it takes luka some time to develop any techniques. until then, he's sloppy and eager to please, which makes up plenty for his lack of knowledge on what he's doing.

p — pace :

luka enjoys any and all paces. he might not have the stamina to ram his cock into your hole at the paces he wishes he could, but when he does, you can compare him to an animal in heat — rutting up into you, gasping and moaning right in your ear.

he enjoys slow paces too. he can feel every spark of pleasure that runs through him when you're having slower, gentle sex and he considers it to be significantly more intimate than fast—paced, rough sex.

q — quickie :

luka would rather not partake in quickies. he doesn't enjoy being rushed, especially when it comes to pleasuring you or himself.

he would much rather wait until the two of you have enough time to take each other to a more secluded location and thoroughly enjoy toying with one another.

r — risk :

luka loves the adrenaline that runs through him whenever the thought of doing something that'd put his reputation at risk crosses his mind.

just envisioning taking you in a semi—public place where the two of you could get caught at any moment if your movements aren't subtle and your sounds aren't silent has his cheeks going red from bashfulness.

he would love to make those fantasies a reality, but unfortunately, luka's better judgment is telling him not to.

s — stamina :

there's no sugarcoating it — luka can't last much. he's sensitive and gets overstimulated super easily.

he would go at it with you all night long if he could, but luka has to tap out after maximum three rounds. if — with his permission — you continue to use him like a toy, luka will be a sobbing, limp mess. he'll be shooting blanks in no time, and if you're really having a field day with him, he will pass out.

t — toy :

luka doesn't have toys, but he isn't against buying some and trying them out.

if you have toys and approach him, bringing up the idea of implementing them into your sex life, luka will agree enthusiastically. whatever toys you have, luka is open to trying them out on both you and him — gags, blindfolds, vibrators, butt plugs, sounding rods, you name it he's into it.

u — unfair :

luka loves to tease you. while most of the words that escape luka are loving and sweet, a fair amount of them are also playful and even a little bit mean.

luka is actually really good at being mean, despite how lovey—dovey he is around you. such a front is a tactic he has developed to gain the upper hand against his opponents when on stage, but it also has its pros in bed. if you're into being degraded, humiliated and so on, you're in for a ride.

v — volume :

bottoming or topping, luka is loud. at the start or when the pleasure is minimal all that escapes him are small mewls and faint whimpers, but the more he gets into it, the louder he becomes.

he whines. so much. the closer he gets to cumming, the higher his moans get. if his orgasm gets stolen right out of his grasp, his breath will hitch abruptly and he'll go silent for a second before demanding more. if he's overstimulated, no kind of gag or substitute for it that exists on the face of this earth is enough to quiet him down.

w — wild card :

luka has heard about the notion of males squirting one time in the past. the thought comes flying back to him every once in a while, as well as the visual image of what it's like.

whenever his own subconscious reminds him of that phenomenon, luka wonders about what it'd be like to recreate that with you. he isn't sure how to, he has no idea if you'll believe him or even be willing to try it out, but he'd be lying if he were to say that he isn't turned on by the notion.

x — xray :

much like his skin, luka's cock is pale. it's pale, slender and so, so pretty. there's not much girth to it, but the length is enough to reach some of the deepest spots within you.

his tip is a light, rosy hue and it always drips so much pre during foreplay. his cock is sensitive enough as is, but his balls are even more sensitive. play with them and he will cum right on the spot.

y — yearning :

having spent most of his life fixated on surviving instead of focusing on his desire, luka doesn't have a very high sex drive.

when the two of you began to get more and more intimate, his sex drive did increase slightly, but his lifestyle and routine is still approximately the same, so his sex drive is still relatively low.

z — zzz :

after both of you are done and cleaned up, luka's lights are knocked out the second he is in your arms or you're in his.

he won't fall asleep until both of you are laying in bed, needs satiated and mind at ease. that is his personal preference, but he also sleeps best whenever you're right there with him.

[fairytales-and-folklore]

Champagne Problems

Teen Wolf » Sterek

Title: Champagne Problems

Author: fairytalesandfolklore

Fandom: Teen Wolf (Masterlist)

Relationship: Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski

AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)

Summary: Stiles has got champagne problems. No, really. He's had way too many mimosas. A game of tipsy truth or dare at a New Year's Eve pack party ends with Stiles accidentally blurting out that he's in love with Derek…right in front of the sourwolf himself.

"Alright, fine," Erica simpers. "I dare you to tell us who you've got a crush on." "Because we all know there's someone," Lydia insists, giving him a pointed look. "Someone you've clearly been pining after for years now," Danny agrees. "So just come clean, Stilinski. Tell us who it is." Stiles, who is absolutely smashed off his ass at this point in the game, rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars. "Nice try, assholes," he teases with a sing-song lilt and a self-satisfied smile. "But there's no way in hell I'm ever gonna tell you I'm in love with Derek, so you can just—" Somewhere in the distance, a champagne flute shatters, and suddenly, Derek is just there, looming in the distance, eyebrows arched so high they practically straddle his hairline.

Read On AO3 | Read On Tumblr:

Stiles has got champagne problems.

No, really. He's had way too many mimosas.

He'd like to blame Lydia for supplying the Dom Pérignon for tonight's festivities, but really, it's his own fault for thinking he had the stamina to keep up with the brunch quartet. Allison, at least, has the decency to look sympathetic, but Lydia, Isaac, and Danny haven't stopped laughing for a good ten minutes now, ebbing to a series of breath-catching sighs, only to start right back up again with a hastily stifled snort the second Stiles stumbles over his words, doubled over and clutching each other in an attempt to remain upright.

Which, under any normal circumstances, would be totally fine. It's just that drunk Stiles tends to be a bit of a talker. Okay, fine. More of a talker than usual. Like, the kind that has absolutely no reservations about spilling his deepest, darkest secrets to anyone who will listen; no filter, no shame. And Stiles? Yeah, he's determined to take this secret to the grave. 

And if, by some stroke of bad luck, he does manage to run his mouth tonight, well…he's had a good run. Twenty-two is a ripe old age to curl up and die from embarrassment, right? At least he can pride himself on the fact that he's made it six whole years without the pack of human lie detectors he calls his friends and family sniffing him out.

Or so he thinks.

What he doesn't know is that nearly everyone in the pack, including Scott's mom and Stiles's dad, has known for years now that Stiles and Derek have got it bad for each other, and that they're both too stubborn and stupid to do anything about it. Being the meddlesome lovable assholes that they are, they've finally decided that enough is enough, and that it's time to take matters into their own hands. 

Which is how Stiles ends up in a crowded corner of the living room, swept up in a game of tipsy Truth Or Dare.

It starts off innocently enough, spilling truths about kindergarten crushes and drunken college escapades, daring each other to take shots of awful combos like watermelon Smirnoff and Bailey's Irish cream. But then it starts to get weirdly specific, and Stiles can't help but feel like maybe the universe is conspiring against him, because—

"Stiles, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"Who are you going to kiss at midnight?" Allison asks, giggling when Scott leans in to press a kiss against her dimpled cheek.

"Uhhh, no one," Stiles frowns. "You know, since I'm pretty much the only one here not coupled up in disgustingly adorable romantic bliss."

He gestures between the two of them and mimes vomiting rainbows.

"Everyone except for Derek," Danny helpfully supplies.

Stiles swallows nervously. 

"Right, yeah. I, uh…forgot."

Like hell he did.

"Stiles…truth or dare?"

The smile Lydia gives him is downright predatory.

"Uhh…dare, I guess."

Stiles watches Lydia exchange conspiratorial glances with Allison and Danny, and narrows his eyes in suspicion.

"I dare you to kiss the last person you texted at midnight."

Which — of fucking course — just so happens to be Derek, of all people.

Which Lydia knows damn well, having stolen his phone for a group photo just moments before.

Stiles is beginning to sense a theme here…

"Yeah, okay," Stiles chokes out around a nervous chuckle, rolling his eyes. "I think I'll pass. I don't feel like going into the New Year with my throat ripped out, thanks."

He can't be certain, but he thinks he hears Lydia mumble something to the effect of god, you're both such oblivious idiots under her breath. And…yeah, Erica definitely just rolled her eyes. What the hell?

"Fine, I'll choose another one. I dare you to…" she taps one perfectly manicured finger against her chin thoughtfully. "…send a sexy selfie to the last person you texted."

Stiles gives her a pleading look, but Lydia just stares back at him expectantly, one threatening eyebrow arched.

With a resigned sigh, Stiles pulls out his phone, tilts the camera like it's 2003 and he's angling for the perfect myspace profile pic, and gives the camera a cheeky half-smile. He opens his text thread with Derek, smirking to himself as he reads over the last thing they'd written to one another just hours before — a heated debate over who made a better villain, Voldemort or Umbridge — and texts the photo to Derek with a hasty apology.

sorry, we're playing truth or dare, Lydia made me

Heart kicking up speed, he watches Derek glance down at his phone, chest puffing out as he takes in a sudden, sharp breath, before a smile that makes Stiles melt into a puddle spreads across his face.

Ugh. Curse Derek Hale for having a smile like actual fucking sunshine.

A few seconds later, Stiles's phone buzzes.

I don't mind. It's a good photo of you.

The blush that burns across his face could start a bonfire.

He doesn't realize it's his turn again until Erica is threatening to steal his phone and use it to send Derek one of the many unsolicited dick pics she's received over the years, complete with a winking emoji and a cheesy pick-up line. Stiles blanches, gaze snapping up from his phone screen to catch the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Whoah, calm down there, Satan," Stiles teases, slipping his phone back into his pocket, hands held up in surrender.

Erica smiles sweetly at him. He's never felt more terrified.

"Now that I have your attention…truth or dare, Stilinski."

"Truth," he says, which, judging by the positively wolfish grin that spreads across her face, is a mistake. 

She asks him if he's ever wanted to kiss anyone in the pack, which devolves into a game of Never Have I Ever, which somehow ends up turning into a round of Fuck, Marry, Kill during which Stiles accidentally chooses to both fuck and marry Derek.

(In his defense, his only other options were Gerard Argent and a Berserker, so…)

"Shit," he says, a fresh wave of heat swimming through his veins from the victory shot he'd just done for winning Never Have I Ever. He's pretty sure whoever manages to put the most fingers down first is supposed to be the one who drinks, but…well, who's counting?

"I just chose Derek twice, didn't I?" he asks sheepishly.

"Yes you did, sweetie," Erica giggles, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Yes you did."

Stiles chances a glance over at Derek, who's standing at the kitchen island with a champagne flute in his hand, deep in conversation with Boyd, Isaac, and Jackson, and breathes a sigh of relief.

"Alright, buddy, I've got one for you," Scott chimes in, slinging an arm around his shoulders and swaying a little on the spot. Looks like someone went a little hard on the wolfsbane-laced whiskey. "But you've gotta pick truth."

"O…kay," Stiles agrees reluctantly.

"Do you have a crush on anyone?" Scott poses with a knowing smile. And like, okay…Stiles is vaguely aware that Scott has probably suspected for quite some time now, but he didn't think his best friend would ever call him out on it.

Stiles brushes it off with a laugh and scoffs, "What are you, five? Who even says 'crush' anymore?"

"Uh…you do," Scott frowns. "Remember? Just last week, when you said you had a crush on that guy who plays Superman in that new show on The CW—"

"Yes, okay, fine," Stiles concedes, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Whatever, I'm switching to dare."

Scott gives him his patented puppy-dog pout.

"Alright, fine," Erica simpers. "I dare you to tell us who you've got a crush on."

"Because we all know there's someone," Lydia insists, giving him a pointed look.

"Someone you've clearly been pining after for years now," Danny agrees, somehow managing to look both fond and exasperated all at once. "So just come clean, Stilinski. Tell us who it is."

Stiles, who is absolutely smashed off his ass at this point in the game, rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars.

"Nice try, assholes," he teases with a sing-song lilt and a self-satisfied smile. "But there's no way in hell I'm ever gonna tell you I'm in love with Derek, so you can just—"

Somewhere in the distance, a champagne flute shatters, and suddenly, Derek is just there, looming in the distance, eyebrows arched so high they practically straddle his hairline.

It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up to his mouth, and then the realization of what he'd just said dawns on him. Stiles claps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide in comical horror as he sinks to the floor and covers his face in the palms of his hands. He suddenly feels a lot less warm and fuzzy, and about ten shades more sober.

Moments later, he feels a pair of strong arms lift him into a standing position. Hesitantly, he moves his hands away from his face and finds Derek standing right in front of him, wide eyes warm and bright, a tentative smile curling across his face. 

He's so pretty when he smiles, Stiles thinks stupidly. He hopes Derek will let him down gently.

"So uhh…how much of that did you hear?" Stiles asks, sheepish smile coming across as more of a grimace.

"All of it," Derek replies with a hint of amused fondness in his voice.

Stiles is vaguely aware of how quiet the room has gone, music and chatter fading to a gentle hum as his entire world zeroes in on the man standing in front of him. 

The rest of the pack looks on like they're watching a soap opera. He's not sure how, but he thinks he even sees Isaac produce a lawn chair and a bowl of popcorn, nudging it toward Scott and Boyd.

"Oh," Stiles says, sounding small, resigned. He winces, preparing for the inevitable rejection.

"Stiles," Derek says softly, and Stiles swears his name has never sounded so sweet. When he looks back up, Derek is staring at him with a positively radiant smile on his face, forest eyes sparkling in the glow of the fairy lights strung around the living room. He reaches a hand up to gently cup Stiles's face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the hollow of Stiles's cheekbones as he leans forward and kisses him. 

There's an eruption of cheers and catcalls all around them, Derek's smile a hard line against his lips as a rumble of laughter vibrates through Stiles's chest.

They spend the rest of the evening curled up on the couch, too wrapped up in each other to care that they've missed the New Year countdown.

[threepandas]

Bad End: My Faithful

Cling. Cling. Sacred bells and jewelry clatter, strike and move, in synch with song. No beat is wasted. No step, anything but sure. Muscles roll in the moonlight. He is beautiful. Enchanting. We gather. Each for different reasons. Each to worship something. As all of us, worship the divine.

The steps having meaning, I am told. They combine into a prayer. Swift and flowing, haunting as it is. His feet are so certain. His movements so graceful. It's no wonder the Gods love him so. His faith shines so purely. The high priest of Nox, beloved child of Night and Mind.

It's appalling, to me, that I should get to see this at all.

Like some cheap dancer on display, the King has demanded he perform, for the "sacred maiden" to witness. Ha. Sacred to WHOM? Certainly not us. The Lumos have been creeping like a sickness. Imbalancing the world, yet daring to proclaim themselves cures. And now? NOW? They have called upon their God to defy the natural order.

An otherworldly soul.

"Sacred", my ass.

She has bewitched the royal family, who already coddled the Lumos. Begun to collect powerful men like trinkets. And now? Now she wants to "learn about the Nox"? Ha! With out a shred of respect! It is because our High Priest is handsome. Because everyone knows that. I... I want to weep. Refuse too, during this sacred Rite.

They have made cheap, lustful spectacle, of one of our most holy rites. A sacred ritual dance. Meant to be perform only in the presence of the inner temple Grand Worshipers. Those who had cleansed themselves and been made pure.

Not... not those who would ogle him. Look upon him like a courtesan dancer.

What threat did they use? What disgraceful tactics? I stand amongst other Priests and Priestess', both in awe and sickened to my core. We have no right to be here. To see this. But... but we WILL. By Nox, none of us will leave.

I gathered as many as I could, when I heard. The purification baths ran from sun down to sun up. We had to borrow every tub we could find. More then a few of us skipping over a day's worth of meals, just to stay pure.

We bunked six or more to a room, traveled for days. But... but by Nox, I gathered them. Every Temple and worshiper I could find. And we are Pure. We are with him. Through us, I hope, Nox is with him, and... and that this ugly desecration of our ways, this foul spectacle, will not mar his soul.

I pray.

Watch, disgusted, as the so called Sacred Maiden "ooos and aaahs" like this is some festival event. Eating food as she blushes and ogles a holy man. The royal family around her, having the audacity to openly look bored. Only the youngest prince refuses food, wear properly dark colors. Treats this as the uncomfortable, twisted, but still holy event that it IS.

Perhaps all is not lost.

The Dance ends.

She has the audacity to CLAP.

The Lumos worshipers in the crowd begin to follow her lead, before noticing the appalled stares from our side. They awkwardly trail off. The youngest prince has closed his eyes in horror. You do NOT make NOISE after the Dance. You LISTEN, in a moment of silence, for the wisdom of Nox, as you consider your troubles.

Why don't you spit in our God's FACE next, you wretch!

You've done EVERYTHING ELSE.

Oblivious, she excitedly chatters, loudly, to her Royal lover. Points down to the High Priest in clear question and intent. No. NO. Absolutely NOT! I could not stop this travesty, but I would rather die at this point, then see it go further.

I step forward. Crossing the unspoken ritual line. My fellow Worshipers inhale sharply. What am I DOING? Have I gone insane? They must wonder. Perhaps I have. So be it. But from the corner of my eye, I see the Lumos harlot bouncing down from her viewing box, dragging along an indulgent royal. Entitled and presumptuous, they have taken ENOUGH.

My hand comes up to my night cloak. Ceremonial, yes, but beautifully indistinct. The wearer could be anyone. My strides lengthen. No more. By Nox, there will be no more.

His Holiness stands where the final step left him, head tilted back in prayer, eyes closed. Face somber in the face of this great insult. He has not bowed before such indignity, as what son of the Gods ever would? Before a mere King.

We, by all rights, should never meet. I am a simple, small time, temple keeper. A handful of Worshipers at best. But my faith can not, WILL NOT, let me stand idle. My presumption is unacceptable... but allowing His Holiness to be drooled over like meat? Be treated like a novelty and toy, to be trotted out for some Lumos woman's amusement? That is unthinkable.

I murmur apologies, even as I drape my cloak around his shoulders, raise the hood. Turn and guild him, gently but with insistence, back towards my fellow Worshipers. The Royals have noticed. Call for me to stop.

Not once do I break stride. They can call all they like. I will not.

The others have figured out my plan, simple as it is. Their loyalty is without question. Gently they drift forward, as though simply making room for each other. Parting to allow us into the crowd. Swallowing us instantly. A cloak is thrown over me by an older Priest, a spare, it seems. I nod. Keep walking.

His Holiness has lost his somberness, his touch of anger. The cold blade-like bite of rage. His arm slides around mine. Merely two Worshipers, out for a stroll. The curl of amusement at the edges of his lips. Behind us, Royal gaurds are roughly shoving people out of the way. The Nox are not making it easy.

Enough is enough.

Down the road, gaudy Lumos gaurds have cut off the path. Their precious little Maiden wants her amusement. If she seeks to meet a holy man? Then it does not matter that he is not for her to meet, that his faith has rules and traditions to adhere too. The spoiled child must have her toys. The burning light will consume as it pleases.

Ritualisticly painted fingers slid between mine. A cool hand, humming with power, gentle as it gripped my own. Startled, I looked down. His Holiness was holding my hand. His grip having casually slide down, even as he remained intertwined. He leaned, as we passed by an alley, nudging me into it. Swinging around me, on dancer's feet, to lightly brush the brickwork edge of the entrance with his other hand.

The one that was solid black, as a night without stars.

All light disappeared.

Behind us, I could hear the noise and fuss of the street. But only a few steps in? It disappeared. Everything hushing, like a heavy blanket upon the night. The stone beneath us... not cobbled. Not brickwork either. A Worshiper of the Light, I imagine, would be terrified. But I? I was in AWE.

It was the Night, concentrated. Shadows and darkness, yet I could see. Holy in its silence. It's quiet contemplation. There... there were colors, here, that I could not begin to name. A softness. Yet? A danger.

This was a place that would entice you. Call to you. Invite you to ponder and rest. Have no concern for the harsh light of day, the trouble of man. You could wander forever. Never to return. Sleep for centuries, uninterrupted. It was no wonder, that Nox did not grant this wonder to the common disciple. The strength His Holiness would need, not to go mad? To become lost? Was unimaginable.

I turned to him, certain the wonder must be painted on my face. My jaw on the floor. He seemed delighted by my reaction. A charmed look on his face. I had so many questions. Was uncertain I was even allowed to ask. Where would I even begin? Could I even begin?

"Ask," he allowed, voice soft and inviting. Tucking my arm close. Then moving to slide his arm around my body, no doubt to guide me. "I will-"

"YOU."

The word snapped and cracked through the air, like a great shattering. A command and accusation. It echoed in my bones, rattled in my soul, even as the silence if this place swallowed it's edges. I froze, midstep. Because... because that was impossible. That voice. It could not possibly be behind me.

Because....

His Holiness was standing right next to me.

"Unhand that child, you wretched thing!" Came the command from behind us. The cadence unmistakable, the sheer presence, impossible to match. I had attended enough sermons to know. "Did you think I would not find you?! Not see the chaos you cause in my name? I am not so blind!"

"....aren't you?"

That was not his Holiness voice.

Fear, like the branching death of a lightning strike, shoots through me. Horror and panic, crashing together in a suffocating dance, that commands me to move. Now. NOW! Move!!

I try to jerk away from the imposter next to me. Only to find that I can not. My body pressed against his side, like lovers on a stroll. When? When did he?! How did I not notice!? No. I DID notice. But thought nothing of it! Because His Holiness would never act untoward. Is a respectful and holy man. Oh Nox! But this is not-!

"Now look what you've done. You've upset her. How rude of you, Priest of Nox." Chides the imposter, even as my breath picks up. As I struggle harder, to no avail. No! No no NO! Help me! Somebody-! PLEASE!

His other arm comes up as he turns towards me, about to wrap around me like a cage. I feel tears begin to burn my eyes. Betrayal and fear, confusion and horror, what... what is HAPPENING!?

A shard a night, black and filled with stars, sings death and it shoots between us. Forcing the imposter to lean back. Away from me. The first is followed by a hail of more. Making him step back. One step. Two. Giving me just enough room to struggle free and stumble back.

"Keep your lustful eyes away from that child, Priest of Kháos! You have perverted, desecrated, enough! You will go no further."

Never had I so much as heard, much less seen, the High Priest in such a fury. And it WAS him. It could be no one else. He wore his robe, in full, prayer paint delicate across his face and hands. Starlight clung to his night black hair, danced in his eyes. He was a moon, a light, in this softly shadowed place. How... how could I have mistaken the imposter for him?

Desperately, I tried to run to his side. That pillar of strength, of faith, that would guide me through this nightmare. I barely got two steps. My cloak captured in an unshakable grip.

"Ah~ ah~ ah~, none of that, dear. We're not done." The imposter said, voice light and scolding. As though I was just being silly and difficult, not struggling desperately to escape. "And we were doing so well! Didn't you like me, dear? You were so thoughtful and charming. So cute! I've certainly come to like~ you~♡"

My terrified gaze met his Holiness', in both forever and an instant. There was fear for me there. Strength. Determination. The eyes of the man that had lead us all. With kindness and hope, faith and compassion. A brother and father and friend. I... I could see the exact moment... he decided.

He lunged forward, holy blade surging into being. Cutting through my cloak.

"GO!" He shouted. "RUN! Nox be with you!"

I run.

The silence is consumed behind me. Crashing and clanging. Whoosing and booms. The sounds of great, terrible battle between the powerful. All I can do... all I can hope to do? Is get to a safe distance. Survive this madness. Believe in his Holiness. He will win. He... he MUST win! He is the High Priest of Nox. A child beloved by the gods. He... he MUST win...

Right?

The shadows hide me, and for that I amgrateful, but they also hide all paths beneath my feet. The soft darkness is endless. Running, running, running. Long after it all falls to silence. Even as my lungs burn and my legs cramp. I... I don't know where I am. Can no longer hold back my tears.

What have I DONE?

I brought the loyal to the filthy alter of an imposter. A false idol. I have made apostates of the faithful, lead them astray! Nox, forgive me, I have betrayed my own family! Your people! I sob, curling into myself. I... I didn't mean too! I swear!

Alone, I pray in the dark.

Eventually though, my tears run dry, and all I can do... is wait.

I can not escape this place under my own power. No amount of running will find an exit. And sooner or later? Either there will be a victor... or both His Holiness and the Imposter will perish, and I will starve. Or perhaps be lost to this place? I do not know. All I can do, now, is... is face it with dignity. Wait. Pray.

.......alone.

Steps. Playful and almost dancing. Skipping and swirling erratically to a beat all their own. Discordant humming, three different song all at once, overlapping poorly. Dread seeps through my veins. I... I do not recognize the voice. Yet, I do. If it were to... to pretend to be...? Oh Nox.

"Darling~, there you are! My, my, you ran quite the distance! Didn't you?" The jingle of bells and discordant voices, shifting together as he speaks. I feel frozen. But that does not save me. The imposter merely meandering and dancing his way around, to loom directly above me. "Found~ you~, ha ha!"

As though it were a joke and not a horror. My vision filled with bright and garish colors. Bells and scarves. My cloak, like damning accusation, still draped around the liars shoulders. Eye level to a belt of many different sized bells and beads, I look up. A terrible smile lays in wait there, to greet me. Covetous and manic. Filled with rending teeth.

"You know the problem with assumptions, sweetness? It's the risk that you could be wrong! You go into a situation, think to yourself 'oh, I'm just gonna face off against a boring, lame little priest, like me!' when in REALITY? Your about to pick a fight with something so, SO much better."

"See," the imposter squats, as though about to reveal a secret, just between the two of us. "Cutey," A claw tipped had comming up to slide across my cheek before with a light pat, he decided to grip it. "Kháos? Oh He doesn't HAVE a high priest. No, no! Why waste the time? The effort! You gotta train those. And it's SO easy it lose um."

An exaggerated mockery of sorrow, before the grin returned.

"No, see, Kháos? HE has an AVATAR~! Isn't that fun? And you'll never guess, sweet, who that avatar is~. Go on. Guess." I was frozen. The level of power he was suggesting... oh Nox. No. Please, no. His Holiness was... "That's right! ME. Such a smart girl~! And you know what I've always wanted to do? Steal a pretty little priestess of my very own!"

"You and me? Well get along nicely, sweetheart. You're gonna covert great~♡"

There was no way out. The grip on my face threatened to bruise. All I could see was sharp, sharp teeth and a mad man's grin. Oh, Nox! Oh, NOX! Someone, anyone! Please! Even the Lumos at this point! I called out... but nothing answered.

"Worship at my alter. Just you and me, dear! I can't wait to burn the world down!"

"Now, close your eyes, give us a kiss, and let's pray, m'kay~♡?"

[tothosewhoyearnforit]

stress relief - itzy yeji

-word count: 3245 words (longest to date :D)

-the yeji fic from many weeks ago. i finally finished it. i have something special that's nearly done. (i promise this time. it was a collection of spare time over a few months)

-dom!yeji, aggresive blowjob, riding, doggystyle, sweaty sweaty sweaty, facial

The stale stench of the air conditioned office clung onto you as you entered the bar.

Being in the bar was the last place you’re supposed to be this month. After just receiving a promotion at your workplace, the workload placed on you gradually kept snowballing to a point of no return. But you couldn’t just give up. Well, first of all, you really needed this job. It paid well, now that you had the promotion. Furthermore, times are changing, there really isn’t very good job stability now and getting fired and being “free” was not to be an option. 

You should’ve been at home, working and completing the reports due next Monday and getting ready for the presentation on Wednesday. Then taking note of all the shipments and settling the deal with the customer from Italy. But eh, it was a Friday, one night wouldn’t hurt right ? 

Or so you thought.

Three quarters through your drink, at around what was probably 11pm, a show begins.

The lights were cut for a brief moment, before spotlights focused onto the pole in the middle of the room. And out comes 5 gorgeous vixen clad in jet black costumes. Then, the music cues. 

Guess who loves you, naya na.

It’s a really, really catchy song and it made the atmosphere super stiff, as if all five of the women were demanding attention and silence as they performed. 

Do I show you? Noya-no.

Okay, this is actually really good music. And good lord those women are gorgeous. 

Ajik time-i anya nan

Jom deo gakkai jom deo gakkai geureoda gapjagi ssak

The choreography too, jesus christ.

But in particular, one of the women is catching your eye. The way her luscious firey orange hair, jewelry embedded within, moves in perfect tandem with her body, which by the way, is absolutely killing it. Every single dance move, to the smallest body pop, is quite literally perfect. Flawless. She’s wearing a sleeveless top and it’s really turning you on. Her arms are so gracious, and you’d love to feel them all over your body. Her collarbones and neck, they’d look so much better with your lovemarks on them. And the little bit of breast peeking out from the top. It’s more than enough to get your heart racing, and you take another sip of your icy cold drink to properly brace yourself for whatever they have left in store.

Imma steal it mameul humcheo

You are gonna love me.

That’s absolutely incorrect. You’re more than loving them, you’re fucking captivated by them.

Gyeoljeongjeogil ttae ippareul deureonaeneun type 

And suddenly, the orangehead takes the stage. 

The lyrics become an absolute blur to your ears as all your mind is fixated on is the absolutely stunning woman. God, she fucking looks like a cat too. Those damn fucking eyes are so… succubus like. And after twirling her fingers in your direction, she suddenly does a slut drop, squatting while spreading her legs apart. Now your eyes are staring at her milky thighs that are on full display under the spotlight. A million things are running through your mind right now, and none of them was related to your work life in any sort of way.

You’ll never know.

Her left thigh moves,snapping you out of your momentary hypnosis and your eyes quickly dart back up and you see her staring at you, a smirk dashed across her face. 

The rest of the song plays on but your mind is now playing that same slut drop moment over and over again. Eventually, the song ends and all 5 of the women are panting, sweat starting to collect at their foreheads. They retreat behind the stage quickly and the rest of the club goes on like the performance of their lives didn’t just happen. 

.

.

Give or take 10 minutes, you are on the way back from a toilet trip. At your table, you are greeted with a very much welcome surprise. The same fiery haired girl is sitting in the seat opposite of yours, watching you make your way back to your seat. 

“Hey there oppa.” Her voice is a knife full of confidence, laced with venom. 

“H-hey. Nice performance out there.” You grab your drink again, needing a punch of ice to hide your nervousness. But it’s so hard to maintain composure, especially when your eyes are looking at everything but her own cat eyes. 

“I know. You clearly enjoyed it. Or rather, you enjoyed me.”

“Was I really that obvious?” That was definitely the alcohol talking. You would have said something like “Sorry” or “I didn’t mean to.”, but no, you were playing the fool, like an absolutely rizzless bastard.

“My group has 5 members, yet every time I moved position, your gaze was glued onto me.”

“Well, you are really, really hot.”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Bring the glass to your mouth again, shit. It’s fucking empty.

“So, what’s a young office worker doing in our bar?” She asks, elbows on the table, her head supported by her cupped hands as she leans in. 

“Well, to be fair, I walked in thinking it was a regular bar. I just needed a drink to take my mind off of work.”

“Are we not a regular bar? Anything special about this bar?” She asks, clearly trying to poke at you, like a cat playing with a ball of yarn.

You take another awkward sip of your drink, which was just melting ice at this point.

The conversation continues hazily and you guys chat for what must be hours until the distance between both your faces was probably the size of your drink.

“Can't imagine how stressed you must be.” Her right hand falls into your left, fingers tracing your forearm as she whispers. “Want to get out of here? I’ll get rid of all your stress for you…”

Ah, an offer you couldn't refuse. Now that’s some business I don't mind getting done right now.

“Say less… Um, I didn't catch your name?”

“Name’s Yeji. Don't worry oppa, you're gonna be moaning my name all night.”

And in a flash, you're both out of the club and in your car. You don't waste a single second. Foot on the pedal and you're on the streets of Seoul, zipping past the buildings of the city. 

Yeji, in the meantime, has other plans.

She takes your hand, and places it on her thigh. You can feel her gaze, waiting to see what your next move is. Were you gonna retract your hand and focus on getting home quick and safely? Or were you gonna start the study of Yeji’s body right then and there?

Obviously the latter.

Your hand roams around the silky smooth skin of hers. Pinky occasionally dipping into the gaps in her pants and rubbing against her inner thigh. You hear Yeji suck in a deep breath, the horniness evidently getting to her.

Fuck, fucking red light!

You seize the opportunity to look at Yeji, she’s now grinding against your exploring hand and you can't help but sneak a finger into her pussy. 

Green light. And your foot is back on the pedal. Finally, you reach the last turn into your apartment.

As soon as you get out of the car and into the elevator, Yeji pounces on you. Your hands catch onto her thighs for stability. Your lips crash against one another, her teeth biting your lower lips. 

Ding. Elevator door opens.

Door. Open. Bedroom. Bed.

No time to even register a logical sequence of actions. You toss her against your bed. Yeji is now a panting sweaty mess, but it doesn't matter. She looks even more gorgeous with the thin layer of sweat across her skin. Collarbones, arms and armpits glistening with sweat. You pin her hands above her head and nibble on her neck. Then, tongue out, you start collecting the sweat, from her armpit, across her chest and then from the middle of her neck to behind her ear, where you whisper, “You taste fucking amazing.”

“I know.”

You reach behind and pull down the zipper leading right to her tailbone, then help the foxy girl out of the one piece top. You pause for a moment to take in the sight before you. A smoking hot dancer is lying on your bed in nothing but a strapless bra and a thin black thong and some knee high boots. Yeji’s body is fucking picture perfect. Tight midriff, perky breasts, juicy thighs, not to mention her pretty face.

“Let me put on a show oppa. Just for you.”

She gets off the bed and you take her spot on the edge of the bed. Yeji turns around and takes off the bra, placing it on the ground next to her. Then, she bends over, putting her perky ass on display for you as she pulls off the lacy thong from her slender toned legs.

“You know, I should charge extra for this performance.”

You wouldn’t mind paying any amount to see this performance if you were being honest. 

“Boots on or off oppa ?”

“On.”

Yeji then smiles, tosses her thong onto your face, allowing you to grab a deep whiff of her sex. In front of you, Yeji is back in her slut drop position, but this time it’s even more erotic because she’s wearing nothing but the boots. Her pussy is on full display as she spreads her legs open, with just a little bit of hair going down the middle.

“Fuck, Yeji…” Your cock was throbbing within the confines of your pants with her tiny little strip show.

“Told you you’d be moaning my name.”

Yeji then straddles your lap, looks into your eyes while unbuttoning your shirt. 

“Let’s get all that stress out of your body, oppa. Think about nothing but me, okay?”

“You don’t even need to ask Yeji-ah.”

You pepper her neck with kisses as she peels your shirt off. She then lowers herself, hands grazing across your body, down to your pants which she pulls down. Finally free, Yeji purrs when she sees your length. 

“Wow, it's huge, oppa. Can’t wait for it to be deep inside my pussy.”

She gathers some spit on her hand and uses that same hand to stroke your cock, taking a cold fingertip across your sensitive tip each time she reaches your head. Each swipe across sent you nine realms ahead. It wasn’t clear if it was the alcohol or Yeji’s pure skill at this, but all you could hear was the loud hammering of your heartbeat. Or maybe that was the lewd sound of her saliva being spread over your length. Then, after spontaneously deciding that your cock was ready for the onslaught that was to come, Yeji pushes both your legs off the ground and onto her shoulders and lets the front portion of your cock rest in her mouth. Your balance is shifted. You’re now staring at the ceiling, stimulation after stimulation speeding down your nerves from your cock to your brain. You feel her mouth bobbing up and down on your length, her skillful tongue working its way across its veiny landscape. You try to will yourself to get up to watch the spectacle happening before your eyes but the pleasure drags you the fuck back down and all you can do in response is let out weary breaths and sinful moans while your toes curl and leg muscles spasm. 

And your cock isn’t even all the way through.

Yeji plunges her head down like a vulture diving into the carcass of a dead buffalo, and you feel that sharp nose of hers bump into your pelvis. The sudden action takes you by surprise and, from god knows where this submissiveness came from, you arch your back and let out a sound that you swear to never to make again. You feel saliva coating your nutsack now but when Yeji slowly removes her mouth from your cock, letting the cool wind graze your cock, all you want to do is beg Yeji to put your cock back inside her mouth. But that need not be done, because as you have a brief moment to register the influx of sensations, she hungrily goes back down onto you. Her prey. You would kill to see her eyes right now, staring straight into your own as she watches you submit to her. But then again, from the amount of noise you were making, it was pretty evident that she had you in the palm of her hand. It was just twice. Just twice that the whole length of your cock was engulfed by her mouth, but it drived you to the absolute edge and you felt like your first load was about to come.

“Fuck, Yeji. I- I- I’m gonna fucking…”

Maybe you shouldn’t have given her the verbal cue. Because just as you feel the gates of heaven about to open, she quickly withdraws. The feeling of the climax fading away throughout your crotch. You look at her with a face of discontent, displeasure and anger.

“Can’t have you busting so soon,” she says, chuckling to herself as she climbs over your vulnerable naked body after kicking off her boots, rubbing circles on her slickening pussy. “I'll let you cum deep down my throat some other time.” 

She climbs over you and hovers above your crotch. Grabbing your stimulated, twitching cock in one hand, she lines it up with the folds of her pussy and in one fell swoop, with no prior warning that she was going to go all the way down in one shot, she sits on your pelvis, practically impaling her pussy with your cock. 

“Anggh! Fuck!” A sharp, shrill moan of pleasure erupts from her mouth as her ass rests on your pelvis. Your hands wondrously find their way to her toned sweaty thighs, grazing the muscle on it in pure wonder and amazement. 

“You’re so fucking hot Yeji ah, and so freaking tight!” The fiery redhead doesn’t say a word, but she continues the ride. Hands on your pectoral muscles, Yeji displays her body isolation skills learned from dance. Her gaze fixes onto yours once again as she moves her hips up and down and you can only imagine what her ass looks like as it does this motion. But imagination always becomes reality when Yeji is around. The sexual chemistry between the two of you is just perfect, or maybe Yeji just knows what you so desperately want but is too shy to voice out. She turns around, her hands resting on your legs this time as she does the same vertical wave motion with her hips once again. Her beautiful butt is like a hypnotic pendulum, your eyes fixed on the gorgeous peach in front of you, it’s just irresistible to slap. And so you do. 

Slap! 

“Angh!” Crimson locks of hair get flung up into the air as Yeji throws her head back in response.

You bring a palm down on the flesh and watch how it ripples in response, a red handprint faintly appearing at the spot that was struck. Such a goddamn vixen. Is the only thought that runs through your mind, perhaps the only thought that has been running through your mind the entire night as soon as you laid your eyes on the foxy woman. Her pulsing butthole intrigues you as her hips work their magic, and you can’t help but take your index finger, and slowly slide it into her puckered hole. As your finger snakes its way in, her anal walls clamp down on it until your whole finger up till your knuckle has been engulfed. 

“Holy shit! Just like that oppa! Stuff both my holes up!” 

You withdraw your finger and this time, using both your index and middle finger, you embark on yet another tight fit into her anal cavity. Yeji’s hips start to slow down as she reaches the pinnacle of her stimulation. 

“Fuck-ah! Cumming!”

Her body convulses violently and you feel her muscles contract around your submerged fingers and your cock. You give her alluring buttcheeks another firm slap that echoes throughout the darkness of the night and watch as she slowly climbs off of you.

“You haven’t cum yet oppa…”, she whines, still in her lustful trance. “And my pussy is still yearning for a good pounding.” She wiggles her hindparts in front of you in a doggy position, spreading her pussy lips for you to see. You line yourself up behind her, give that gorgeous ass of hers another firm slap before sending your cock back into its rightful embrace. 

“Oh fuck…” Your cock’s reentering of Yeji’s tight pussy is like getting back into the swimming pool after being exposed to the cool air for too long. Warm. Wet. Refreshing. Her vaginal muscles are still so full of vigor despite having just came, almost as if they were desperately trying to wring you dry. Her scarlet nails dug into the bedsheets as you picked up a steady pace of thrusting your hips. From the back, you bunched up her fiery hair into a makeshift ponytail while your other hand rested nicely on her hip.

“That’s it! Fuck me harder! Use me as your fucking stress relief toy oppa!” That entire dialogue was more than a green light to you. Tightening your core to its limits, you picked up the pace, slamming your hips ever so desperately, with Yeji letting out a raspy moan with every smack that reverberated throughout the night. 

“Holy- Angh! FUCK! I’m gonna cum oppa! I’m gonna fucking cum!” Yeji cries out. Her pussy constricts around your cock for the second time of the night, this time an erotic geyser of squirt ensues, covering your thighs in her slick. Your own orgasm starts to surface. Pulling out of her pussy, you flip Yeji onto her back and climb over her. You point your cock at her and aggressively jerk yourself off to the finish line. 

“That's it. Cum for me. Cover me in your cum oppa. Paint your slut in-”

Yeji is interrupted by streaks and streaks of cum erupting from your cock in what must be your biggest orgasm to date, painting her sharp features, her chin, nose and eyes. The sweaty, panting mess sticks out her sharp tongue in an attempt to collect some food samples. 

“Oh, fuck… Yeji ah.” is all you manage to squeeze out as the last drops of your semen land on her face. 

“Gosh, you sure came a lot.” 

You collapse beside her, both of you sweaty messes. “What can I say? I had a lot of stress pent up inside me.”

Yeji gets up, and walks away from the bed. You still lay there, utterly spent, watching her hypnotizing body sway from left to right.

“Where are you going?”

“To the shower you dummy.”

A brief moment of silence follows as you are unsure of how to reply. Do you join her? Maybe she’s tired and doesn’t want round two.

But your thoughts get interrupted as she makes the choice for you.

“Oppa, are you not joining me?”

Suddenly, your body is full of vigor once more as you imagine the two of you soaped up together in the shower, feeling each other and exploring more of each other’s body. You excitedly hop off the bed and scurry to the shower. It was going to be a long, long night.

[aphroditeinthesea]

I love your work so much omg 😭 🙏🏻 you’re such a good writer 🫶🏻

I saw you were looking for requests 👀 and I was wondering if you’d be willingly to do Leo Valdez x f!reader where they are kinda rivals (yk they just bicker all the time) both working on the argo together or making weapons with a team in the forge. But then some guy joins their team and starts mansplaining the basic equipment. There’s just situation after situation where the reader will explain something to the guy and he won’t listen but then the second Leo says it he gets it. And at first Leo kinda notices but just thinks it’s because he’s in charge and stuff. At some point though he overhears the guy showing her how to do something (the wrong way) and he’s like “yo back off man, she knows what she’s doing”. Maybe he even protects her from open flames when the guy almost burns her handling the equipment wrong (something she’d told him a million times before)?? Maybe both happen idk?? The two just become close after that and he ends up confessing or something

Sorry about how much I wrote 😭 your request rules said you liked the requests to be specific and I wasn’t sure how in-depth to write… so if that’s too much you can totally take a bunch of it out lol (I work with power tools because I’m an arts major and I’ve had so many guys trying to explain basic power tools to me… so this has been on my mind for MONTHSSS)

“ i’m a feminist, obviously (but i wouldn’t really mind him saving me) ”

leo valdez x fem!reader 🔨

⚠️ o/c being creepy, mansplaining, almost getting set on fire

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

“That’s not,” Y/N stormed over to the boy. She grabbed the wrench out of his hands and began turning it, “righty tighty, lefty loosey.”

“What did you just say to me?” He scoffed.

“You were turning your wrench the wrong way, Valdez,” she replied, handing the tool back to him.

He grabbed it from her, crossing his arms, “for your information, that’s exactly how I wanted it.”

She rolled her eyes, “did you sleep, like at all?”

“A little.”

She huffed, “get some sleep, I’ll clean up.”

“No,” he defended, “I just need to finish this up-”

“If you try to use power tools why you're half asleep, you'll end up getting yourself killed,” she grabbed the wrench from him again, “and you know who’ll have to clean up your dead body? Me, and that’s gross.”

“You're too good to me.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckled, wiping his forehead, “okay, fine. I’m heading out.”

“Bye,” she waved him off.

“See you later, sweet cheeks.”

“Shut up!”

He closed the door of bunker nine behind him, leaving her alone. She sighed with relief, tightening a few loose screws.

She hummed to herself as she began cleaning the mess around her. She picked up some tools, placing them back on their shelves.

“Nice song.”

She jumped at the voice. She turned around to see a boy standing by the stairs. “What are you doing?”

“I’m Marcus,” he replied, walking closer to her, causing her to slowly back up, “son of Hermes.”

“Well, what are you doing here?”

He put a hand on the ship, “heard you're working on this Argo thing, figured I could give a few pointers.”

She grabbed a toolbox, quickly walking away, “we don't need any help, thanks though.”

“Come on,” he smiled, following her, “you can always use some help, the more the merrier, right?”

“Take it up with Leo,” she answered, avoiding eye contact with her. She rushed to collect her things and made an escape to the door.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“I’m fine,” she sighed, opening the door and walking out.

She almost forgot about the incident the next day when she walked into the bunker. She found Leo with an annoyed look on his face, digging through a toolbox.

“What’s up with you, Bernard?” She commented as she walked towards the son of Hephaestus. She knew it was a stupid name, but she did love how much he hated it. She also loved the fact that he didn't understand it (she started using it more after finding out he had never seen the Santa Clause movies).

He sighed, “Mr. Macho over there,” he nodded his head toward the boy from the night before playing with a blowtorch. “He convinced Chiron that he should be working on this, too.”

She scrunched her face, “he gives me the creeps.”

“You know him?”

“He came in here last night after you left,” she explained, “I think he has a thing for me or something.”

Leo’s face tensed, his fist clenching around the hammer he held, “you think?”

“Hope not.” She took a deep breath before walking past the tall boy to grab some extra wood.

“Hey,” he grinned at her, “miss me?”

She forced a smile, walking away from him, “you know it.” She cursed herself for trying so hard to be nice to the little fucker, but she really didnt feel like starting something right then.

The day went on with her desperately trying to ignore his comments towards her. She found herself staying by Leo’s side in hopes that Marcus would think they were dating. As much as the idea grossed her out, it was better than some weirdo thinking he had a chance with her.

“I’m gonna head out,” Marcus mentioned, wiping off his hands with a rag.

“Bye,” Leo spoke flatly. Y/N stayed silent but let out a breath of relief when the boy walked out.

Leo looked up at her, noticing her change in demeanor, “are you okay?”

“What?” She met his eyes, “yeah, yeah,” she nodded, “I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, “are you sure? Because I can figure out a way to get him out of here, if you want?”

She shook her head, “thanks, Leo. But, I’m fine, really.”

“Okay,” he breathed out before looking back to continue what he was doing.

She grabbed the blowtorch Marcus had formerly been using. She began using it (i don't know how they work i’m sorry), when Marcus walked back into the bunker, he immediately rushed over to her.

She rolled her eyes as he wrapped his hands around hers, “you're using it wrong.”

“I don't think I am.”

“No, you hold it like this-”

“She knows what she’s doing,” Leo called over.

Marcus just shook his head, “see when you do this,” soon the flames blew back towards them. Marcus threw the blowtorch down in the direction of Y/N in a panic. The flames spewed out and before Y/N could react, she felt herself pulled into a corner, tanned arms wrapped around her.

“What’s the matter with you?!” Leo yelled, his arms tightening.

“Look, it was her fault,” the son of Hermes motioned his hand towards the girl.

“Are you kidding? Since she’s been here, nobody’s almost died (italic). Then the second you walk in you almost turn her into toast!”

She nervously sighed. She slowly reached her hands up to hold onto his forearms, brushing her thumb against his skin.

“You shouldn't have a girl working on this in the first place, there's no way she knows anything about this!”

Leo took a deep breath before yelling once again, “get out!”

“What?” The boy scoffed.

“Get out!”

Her heart rate quickened. Despite all her fighting with him, she had never seen him this angry. She watched as Marcus shook his head before stomping out of the bunker.

Leo’s grip on her loosened, letting turn around to look at him, “are you okay?” He asked, briefly looking her up and down for any wounds.

She nodded, “I’m okay,” she looked up at his face, yet avoiding eye contact, “thank you.”

He softly smiled down at her, “yeah, well, that guy was an ass.”

She giggled, nodding in agreement.

“Don't worry, I’ll set him on fire next time I see him.”

She wrapped her arms around his torso, “thanks, really.”

“Of course,” he nestled his nose into her hair, “if anything happened to you, I think I would have actually killed him.”

“Good to know.”

[sincerelywhistler]

Freelancer!

More headcanons (ft. Gavin) under the cut!

^ and a Pinterest board bc I have a problem

- Hux calls them Skipper

- Matching heart hip tattoos w/ my Gav design & dyed the tips of their hair pink to match as well teehee

- Can get pretty nasty academic burnout and bouts of executive dysfunction

- Boba shop employee

- A dancer! Has a tiktok where they post choreo clips to and throwing it down to whatever songs are trending

- Big softy. So!! Cuddly!! World cold and harsh, Freelancer’s arms so warm and safe

- Gay awakening was Danny Phantom

- Chronic “lol” user while texting, and it gets on Damien’s nerves because nothing is even “lol” worthy about making dinner plans so STOP ENDING YOUR SENTENCES WITH LOL WHATS SO FUNNY BRO

- Filipino 🇵🇭

- Spicy foods = best foods. If their organs aren’t melting from the inside out then what’s the point??

- Pokémon sweat tbh

- Dr. Pepper addict

- Coffee hater, but they’ll drink it anyway if they’re desperate enough. They call it “dirty bean water” which both confuses and delights Gavin immensely

- Gave Gav a pair of cat ear headphones for the holidays, but they lowkey like how they look on him a lil too much so… that’s a pandora’s box situation for another day

- So many stupid and silly bumper stickers on their car (“Please don’t watch me park, I have performance anxiety”, “I break for roly-pollies”, etc.)

- Their favorite book genre is fanfiction on AO3

- Thus, shamelessly, they get some of their best ideas of how to rock Gavin’s world from smut fics

- Calls Gavin “playboy” when they’re being suggestive ;)

- Half of their paycheck would go to DoorDash if they got their way

- Has that natural aura where everyone can’t really help but crush on them a bit

- Lets Gavin change out their dexcom <3

- Has a collection of fun tape and/or transmitter stickers for said dexcom

- California born and raised

- If there is a DAMN rowing crew, they’re on it. Was quite exceptional on their high school team

- Can surprisingly be an efficient morning person (unless there’s a pretty incubus curled up at their side, then you’re playing by Cat Rules. Can’t move until the cat does first)

- Scared of heights, you’ll never find their ass on an airplane

vibe check Miles and take a peek at their pin board

[lrithill]

Undisclosed Desires

This is my very first fanfic / one-shot about our favourite clown.

I jump straight in, since I have been rooting for this freak for months, and inevitably, cultivating (oh…) so many twisted thoughts.

First of all I should introduce you a little about my idea of Art (at least in this post): This man has some serious sexual deviations, like cannibalism or necrophilia. Luckily for him, he has the most devoted girl ever (AKA you), and will make all his undisclosed desires come true. You live for his pleasure.

I recommend listening to the song "Undisclosed Desires" by Muse (one of my favourite rock bands), it kind of inspired me… but the majority of this aberration was born from my mind.

Warning: Smut, odd sexual practices.

Art is the sweetest guy around you, don't worry about him (or yes...)

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

As usual, Art shows up at your door at the strangest hours. That man can go three days without showing his pretty face around here, only to appear at 3 a.m., covered head to toe in blood, as if it were nothing.

It wouldn’t be the first time you wake up to go to work and find a trail of blood from the door to the kitchen, and from the kitchen back to the door again (maybe that bastard just came for a drink of water).

Art rings the doorbell musically. You rush to the door, only to find a human blood clot, once again. He greets you with an uncomfortable hug—more uncomfortable for you than for him, of course—but you can’t refuse it. It’s then that you notice Art gesturing towards his garbage bag. He points at it, then drums his fingers with a half-smile, brimming with intrigue. “A surprise?” you guessed.

You lock the door, trapping yourself with the madness that makes you feel sane.

Art and you head to the kitchen, where he rummages through his bag. As you watch, you can’t help but admire how adorable he can be. You see him pulling out rusty weapons, a doll, a rubber duck, a wig (it looks way too real to be just a wig), etc… Until he finally finds what he was looking for.

A decapitated head is masterfully revealed on your kitchen counter, like some sort of collectible item—nothing less.

Art unveils it with a showman’s gesture, his smile radiant and his eyes gleaming with excitement. Your face… well, at least it’s better than when he brought a mutilated scrotum, you suppose.

-Why did you bring this, my king?- you ask, unsure whether to be worried or to laugh at the satirical absurdity of the situation.

Art responds by pressing his hands to the sides of his face, gripping them tightly, making it clear that he finds the head pretty. He takes it to the table, moving your fruit bowl aside and placing the head in its place. He finishes with a “perfect” gesture (a chef’s kiss) and then looks at you with the most convinced expression possible.

-If being a killer doesn’t work out for you, I see a future in interior decorating,- you can’t help but laugh. -Although I know damn well there’s no better killer than you, my love- you whisper.

You plant a kiss on his lips, which Art proudly accepts. You love his mouth, his lips feel like touching the sky… “hell’s sky,” you think.

Feeling altruistic, you run your hands along his figure. You don’t care about the blood—you’ll shower later. You feel Art’s body reacting to your touch, gradually relaxing. You caress his back, his sides, his abdomen, his thighs… He responds by deepening the kiss, leaning into you, pushing his tongue into your mouth… your tongues dancing in a passionate kiss.

Your eyes are closed when he grabs your ass, right near your pussy. You can’t help but jolt and break the kiss, a strand of saliva still connecting your mouths obscenely—an omen of what’s to come.

It’s then that your gazes, synchronously, land on the head on the table. It feels as if you’re being watched. Its expression… with its eyes still open and mouth slightly agape… almost looks like a mockery.

Art moves to take it away, but that’s when you stop him. -I think we can put it to a more… “interesting use”- you suggest, a dark tone seasoning your words.

Art’s eyebrows raise—clearly, you’ve caught him off guard. His imagination runs wild, and he’s not sure if you’re really thinking the same thing.

-You didn’t just bring this for decoration… I know you want it- you tease him. -I want you to do it- you add, looking into his eyes, biting your lower lip.

In fact, Art really did bring the head to masturbate with it, but he didn’t want you to know—he’s a monster with shame, after all.

You position yourself behind Art, pressing your body against his, making sure he can feel your tits. You wrap your arms around him, trapping him between your body and the table where the head rests. You smile at the fact that his cock is at the perfect height.

You find the zipper beneath his clown collar and slowly pull it down. As his back is revealed, you place soft kisses along it. With each kiss, you see Art’s skin prickle, shivers running down his spine.

Once you’ve stripped him of his suit, you grab a platform you stole from your workl—a theft made specifically so he could fuck you standing up. This clown is fucking tall. You set it nearby for when you’re ready to step up.

His cock is semi-erect, so you begin stroking it slowly while continuing to kiss his back, licking him. Your other hand roams his lower belly, pressing gently.

Art can’t help but let out a sigh of pleasure. His head tilts back, mouth slightly open. He loves being touched by you.

His erection grows until it reaches its full size. You bring one hand to his balls and squeeze gently. You know Art loves this. His cock is leaking precum, which you use to stroke him while massaging his balls.

Art is in ecstasy—if he could moan, he would, and loud.

Now, you grab the decapitated head and bring it to Art, guiding his hands toward it, urging him to hold it. Art obeys and presses the tip of his cock against his poor victim’s lips. At the same time, he feels you step up onto the platform behind him.

You begin kissing his neck, right in that spot where you know he melts. You suck on it loudly—Art loves it. Your tongue works wonders on him, you nibble gently, trailing kisses up to his jawline.

Meanwhile, Art has already started fucking the mouth of the head. It feels too good—it’s still moist and warm. The throat wraps around his cock perfectly, constricting its pharynx and esophagus. This man is huge, no doubt about it.

-This woman really couldn’t have imagined she’d end up like this when she woke up this morning- you mock.

Art chuckles—he loves when you make bizarre comments. And it turns him on so much.

-You’re now probably thinking about how you killed her, you bastard- you say, grinning perversely.

And it was true—Art did get off on remembering some of his kills. Sometimes, he fantasized about killing someone while fucking them in some way, but those were just fantasies… what he did with the body afterward was another story.

Muffled grunts escape Art’s mouth as his thrusts become more erratic. Just the idea of fucking a decapitated head was driving him wild—and adding to that, your hands exploring his body, your nails tracing his skin, and your mouth worshiping him… His body was trembling with arousal, his muscles tightening, his eyes rolling back into his skull.

You make him look at you and kiss him deeply, your hands cradling his face—that face you love so much. His sharp cheekbones, chiseled jaw, deep abyssal eyes, sunken cheeks… he is literally a work of art.

You could tell Art was close—his face was the giveaway. When he furrows his brow and shuts his eyes, you know he’s about to come.

You get off the platform and kneel. You don’t do this often, but the situation demands it.

You bring your mouth to his ass and begin licking his hole—first in circles, then pushing your tongue inside. You are truly devoted to this man, and you want him to know it.

Art is drooling, his long, thick tongue hanging out, panting like a dog. You drive him crazy.

After giving attention to his hole, you move on to his balls. You know this is the last thing he needs to push him over the edge. You lick them expertly—you’ve done this many times, and you love it. Running your tongue between his balls, swirling around them, sucking on one, then the other, then both at once. You love having him in your mouth, in every way possible.

Art’s thrusts grow more frantic and erratic until, with a sudden movement, he buries his cock to the hilt and stays there. From the way his body trembles, his back arching, and his balls tightening, you know Art is having the orgasm of his life.

You rise from between his legs and watch him breathing heavily, his chest heaving violently. He gives a few last, slow thrusts into the head as he comes down from his high, savoring the sensation.

At last, he pulls away, his legs shaking—he looks like a ragdoll made of sand, utterly spent. With the last bit of strength he has left, he kisses you once more—soft, romantic kisses, as if saying “thank you”.

Breathless, spent, he looks at you with adoration.

-We should shower, my love- you suggest, taking his hand.

The truth is, you’re both an absolute mess—blood, sweat, saliva, cum…

The couple heads towards the bathroom, where things will likely heat up again—you’re both insatiable, after all.

-Next time, you could bring a dismembered pelvis, darling,- you joke, though you know there’s no need to give him ideas.

With that, the happy couple walks away, laughing—and tomorrow will be a great day at work for both of you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed this thing. I will bring more if you like.

I would appreciate coments also, may i do some of your suggestions if you ask me.

Thank you and sorry for grammatical mistakes.

[hatsukeii]

I think I'll be singing Velvet Ring on a microphone beaded with 'ex lovers' stickers and 'longing looks' beads. I've heard that Ushijima likes my music quite a bit~

too easy. the band you’ve joined is…

exes in my phone book / timeskip!ushijima wakatoshi x reader

genre(s): ex lovers to something?? something i guess?? pining, reminiscing, nostalgia fic tbh but ANGST ANGSTY ANGST WOO interpret the ending as you like because i kept it open for a reason

warning(s): slightly dysfunctional relationship dynamics kinda, lowkey suggestive at points, ushiwaka and reader were just young and stupid and in love but they couldn't seem to navigate it yknow, everything is also like somewhat/pretty ambiguous until the end but that's just how i like it

wc: ~1.7k

your first gig is… at a concert with your ex?!?!

setlist:

🎵velvet rings, big thief

🎵mayonaise, the smashing pumpkins

🎵black star, radiohead

There is a girl on a stage, who strums a pick through the strings of her acoustic guitar. A girl, whose lips hover just above the microphone that sits in a bracket, sighing into the cool metal for a final song. The people beside you have settled down, cheers and jumps reduced to swaying and mumbling.

You've been waiting for this song, haven't you?

The song strikes the ears first. The girl on stage, illuminated by a cone of light from above, sings of a night, thicker than a smoky fume. You mouth along to the lyrics, and your mind wanders to a place where your lungs are bloated, too full to carry anything more. A night beneath a buzzing streetlight, gravel that rolls and scrapes under the sweeping wind, ants that crawl onto the toecaps, under the soles, along the platforms of your unmoving shoes. A night of final breaths, and final words, and final sorrows. You're looking at the ground, your shadow muddied with the figure of another. You don't think he stares back at you. The ants keep crawling. They don't stop, even as you pivot away and leave your heart buried in the ground. The streetlight doesn't reach it again, but maybe it reaches his, still.

The faces around you hum along to a sequence, sway with the velvety strums of the girl's guitar, hold others tight against themselves. You stand alone amongst the crowd. You move when the rest of them will you to, only ever mouth to the lyrics, hold your hands close to your chest. You fear that your voice will give out if you try anything more.

"She's a beautiful performer, isn't she?"

The crowd does not shift their attention from the girl on the stage, so neither do you. She sings in gentle syllables of love, her heart pours out of her mouth. She longs for some fictitious persona, Ben, as her fingers play at the guitar like tugging the strings of a puppet. When you open your mouth, your heart is not there.

"She is. She really is." You respond to nothing but a sultry voice that finds its way into your ear canals.

The girl sings of a smoking gun, smoke that fizzles out from the barrel into night air, a bullet that falters at the end of its path to nothing in particular, a love that, for many nights before this, has begun to run dry. It's agonising, taunting, hopeful. It dies out in unanswered phone calls, drafted emails, text messages left unsent, collecting dust in a note-taking application. Words that ask a million questions.

Could we keep this going?

Is this really for the better?

Can't we try?

Why won't you just let me try?

"Why aren't you singing? It's the last song." The voice is anomalous amongst the crowd's united silence, his question stands out from those unsaid. He is too curious, yet for some selfish, twisted reason, you wish to indulge yourself. Wallow in sorrow. Take somebody else's beating heart to replace your own, that you buried beneath asphalt on a winter night of unasked questions turned two years of unspoken longing.

"For the same reason that you aren't, I'd assume." You silently hope he asks you for more.

The person huffs out a sigh, a short sigh that one lets out when they smile in defeat and surrender. He's close, his arm touching your own when he moves side to side with the crowd. His movement wills you to sway along. The girl on the stage sings of a gentle love, thick like a velvet ring. All encompassing, all powerful.

“Well, I once knew a person who loved this song.” He goes on. You stay silent, ears trained onto the words that paint golden silk and shimmering mist into the concert hall. A portrait of love that you have prayed to see once again, just out of grasp, but real enough to graze your fingers over. It sinks into your fingertips, takes you to a place where your hands could draw lines into tanned skin, hold onto a pair of strong arms, clasp together behind his broad shoulders. Beneath your feet, it travels to your ankles, wraps around your thighs, envelops you in a shroud of warmth. It comes in the form of his head laid in your lap after a long day, I love you mumbled into the flesh of your stomach in shaky sighs, calluses that roam every spot of skin on your body.

"Love really is a gentle thing, isn't it?" The lyrics are spoken out of your mouth naturally, like water running downstream in a creek. The person stays silent, you do the same. The girl's singing pierces through your ears to your throat, clawing at it as if to break it open and rescue something. He speaks before something can escape you.

"I haven't spoken to them since I left. Love is anything but gentle."

You wince, the girl's singing finally ripping through your windpipe. It doesn't stop there, to your surprise. It drills through to its final destination, and you grab the fabric of your shirt around your heart. You don't fully know the answer to your own question, but you believe in his despair. If love truly is gentle, it would have exited your chest when you screamed your throat hoarse for him to stay. It would have eased the pain, somehow. It would have sent your heart out to him even as he stood amongst giants, leagues greater than you. It would have sewn together your words, strung them into poems beautiful enough for him to say yes, I'll stay. I'll stay if you want, and I'll go if you want. Instead, you watch him on television every night, highlight reels, live volleyball matches. He left. You did not want him to.

"I haven't spoken to him since either. But I still think love is gentle. The painful kind."

The final chords of the song round off the set. The girl bows, and exits stage left. The crowd begins to loosen, yet the person's arm remains beside yours.

"Do you ever miss it?"

His number is still in your contacts. You struggle every night to hold off on pressing it. Your heart aches, and lights come on. You stare at an empty stage, and you envision yourself on it. Thousands of eyes watch you sing the song, yet you search the crowd for one pair only. You sing the words that you had once shown your love, a love that found you despite his duties, regardless of his glory, amidst his passion. You sing like you are begging for him to see you through the television, and turn around so the name Ushijima bares his face to you instead of his back. You cry out a story of a dying love, hanging onto frayed strings of memories and fear. The singing contorts into screaming at an empty crowd, as if your resolve could make Ushijima Wakatoshi find you again. You pretend to be his hands, hold yourself in your sleep. You hear his voice in your bed, on the streets, in front of you, behind you, beside you, even right here. You will never learn the lips of anyone else, not after his have taken you for himself. They feel like poison now, sinking into your veins from every part of your body that you inhibit. A poison that forces him into every corner of your life, and you are a fool enough to almost see him there.

"I want it gone, and I miss it all the same." You're crying now, and even your tears remind you of the love that taught you of its cruelty. You imagine a day when you wear another's ring on your finger, only to look up and see a blank face. There is no other.

"I think you should give him a call."

"I can't. I'd just hold him back."

"That's not true." His voice cracks, and his rebuttal is desperate, almost apologetic.

You turn to bid him farewell.

Ushijima is almost no different from how he was two years ago. But he's a little older now, a little taller too. His hair is the same olive green that used to run smooth between the webs of your hands. His voice is deep, rounder than it once was when he used to nip your earlobe and mutter professions of his love into your ear. You stare, but you don't know that he has been staring since halfway through the concert. You aren't seeing him through a television, he is no longer clad in a Schweiden Adlers jersey, his last name bears no weight here, in the space between the two of you. The days, and months, and years spent together come rushing into your head. A kiss on the forehead before separation, two pairs of feet running in wet sand that crumbles beneath their weight, sharing lunches in the silence of school rooftops, lips roaming every inch of each other on nights of longing. You, and Ushijima, and the pleads that lose their bodies when they fall back from your mouths and into your chests.

"Please, give me a call. Or a text. Or an email, I don't care. Just anything. I'm sorry."

"Goodbye, Ushijima."

You turn to leave, but you pull your phone out of your pocket to stare at his name in your contacts.

Ushijima watches your shrinking figure, all of his love trailing behind you, fading into smoke.

Your finger hovers above the red button that could end it all.

He can't seem to move, rooted into the ground of the now mostly empty concert hall. You are slipping away again, and he has learned from his mistake. He questions whether he's learned it a bit too late.

You turn off your phone, and shove it back into your pocket. He receives a text.

"I just want to take you home again."

author's note:

my sister gave me this idea a while ago and i just knew i had to make it so angsty sorry LOL she wanted a fluff ending but im the one with the document open so i can do what i WANT!! no i am actually very proud of this piece though and idk if this will get ANY exposure or interactions but just know that i really really loved writing this one

i also fear i lowkey forgot about longing looks and just went straight for longing…

also! song lyric references! if you catch them i'll give you a big fat kiss i love my music so much

anyways tags!!

@staraxiaa @catsoupki @chuuya-brainrot @hiraethwa @fiannee @bailey-reeds @4ngelfries @akaakeis @wyrcan @kuroppiii @zzwon

interested in joining a band? come on over to the build-a-band 900 !!

[weirdmageddon]

i got further inspired by these tags on my post-turned-essay, which you should read by the way:

#wish they had more time to get into Hank ik they wanted to #I think Hank was gonna be the end part of vbros no matter what. his story to me felt like that

so here is a playlist i made for it.

it’s supposed to encompass hank’s time in season 6, 7, and filling in for whatever season 8 was going to be, extrapolating from baboon heart.

it’s 3 hours and 4 mins long in order to make up for the loss of season 8 hank content. you just know doc and jackson wanted to do more with him so i bulked it a little, with these songs kind of standing in for hank’s psychological experiences in a narrative way. i’m at least quite happy with it.

headphones recommended 🎧

spotify:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3eClkHEM7JIZTy4iK3iGxe?si=lDwnwuEVSlyobZDEXMBIPw

youtube (alternative):

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCu5XwRLYS0AO_gB_cN6HFIisbotrCY8Z

the picks are very meaningful and deliberate. i pay attention to detail so it’s supposed to be listened to in order since it implies the story. plus i used songs that transition nicely for immersion.

hopefully you can also get some good imaginary mental cinema out of it to make up for season 8 being shrunk. (shouldn’t be too hard since i chose the songs that had something of his personality in them, his core emotions internally, and/or his state at that point in time)

some commentary:

animal collective radiates hank’s psychological core so well, the energy and instrumentation and spirit and lyrics too. this band has been in my life since i was 8 and it’s attached to memories of my own. sometimes avey tare’s voice has this character to it that just fits like a glove and the way he some phonemes roll off the tongue resembles hank’s voice a bit too, for example the long “er” vowel sounds. that’s why there’s so many songs from them on here, there was so much fitting material to draw from. i also thought it added coherence and created a central character/protagonist.

dan deacon’s America was such an obvious choice. adored this album since i first heard it back in 2015. there’s a pitchfork magazine interview with deacon that sits in the back of my mind. the actual album is in itself is partly inspired by him traveling cross-country across the US by train from seattle to new york alone, having gone off-the-grid during the 2006 holiday season to break away and reflect. in hank’s case of course it would be new york to colorado springs. the lyrics are perfect. it fits hank’s surroundings, both his outside environment in this scenario and his psychological environment.

like i said the songs are also fairly personally significant to me too. there many long-time favorites and artists that i’ve been supremely loyal to over the years. you’ve maybe seen some of them on other of my favorites playlists too but this is where they can really truly shine. i realized that hank and a few of these artists overlap in key typologies which explains why i feel like it fits him so well. but also i’ve been listening to them well before i knew hank as a character! (clearly says something about me in particular for being so drawn to hank as a character and the bands featured the most on this playlist who have been serving as my musical “home”, always a safe option no matter my mood for years and strongly stuck with me through those years.)

if you listen i’d love to hear what you think!

what i mean by overlapping typologies is that hank venture is ESE 7w6 794

and here’s what i’ve analyzed these artists as independently both from lyrics and interviews

animal collective: ESE 7w6 [identity relation]

dan deacon: ESE 6w7 or 7w6 [identity relation]

coil: IEI 5w4 [supervison relation]

durutti column (vini reilly): IEI 9 [supervison relation]

magazine (howard devoto): LII 5 [dual relation]

fun fact 1: on that album America, Dan Deacon got Simon Heyworth to engineer the sound it, who’s also mastered for King Crimson, Nick Cave, Brian Eno

fun fact 2: Doc Hammer owns John McGeoch’s actual guitar (Magazine)

fun fact 3: Howard Devoto and Pete Shelley are both LII like Doc and me