#Found these in my drafts lol damn these are old

[trinketfairy]

Assorted scooter outing pictures

[hannieehaee]

OUTTA MY MIND (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: getting a brand new job as a senior idol's manager was scary enough on its own, but it became even worse when said idol was jeon jungkook, idol of all idols. what made it even worse? when jungkook began taking a special liking to you, damning any conflict of interest his crush on you may have had.

content: idol!au, staff!reader x idol!jungkook, jungkook is shameless about his crush on reader, but it's fine bc reader likes him back!!, reader acts hard to get bc her job is too important though boo, afab reader, banter, jk is a flirt, reader is a little bit shy, a lot of rlly wrong info about working in the industry, smut, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 924 (teaser); 7.7k (full fic)

release date: may 31st

or you can check it out on my ko-fi or patreon today by subscribing to either one!

a/n: ive had this in the drafts for a while but kept forgetting to finish it lol anyways i hope u guys enjoy it once it comes out<3 (also not 100% proofread oops..)

masterlist | kofi/patreon

support me through a one time tip<3

Whenever you'd tell someone you worked within the entertainment industry, – the music industry, to be precise – people always showed a little extra interest in your words, probably assuming you to be involved in the flashier aspects of it. The statement on it's own sounded exciting, enigmatic even. This would only then be followed by disappointed upon finding out your specific profession of choice, deeming it less exciting than most.

You were a manager. No, you were not an active member of the entertainment industry itself, but you were one of the many pillars necessary for the talent to create the entertainment people would always seek.

Being as young as you were, it had been hard to get to where you were so quickly. Networking had been your best friend all throughout your career, eventually landing you in your current role – one that would only open even more doors for you.

It had only been a week since you had received a call from your friend – an old friend from an internship who just so happened to be a former Hybe video producer – letting you know of a recent opening as one of the many managers at the company. Having been between gigs at the time, you jumped at the chance without a second thought. Hybe? The biggest entertainment company in Korea? You didn't need any details before agreeing.

It was a few days later in which you found out the details. The opportunity had been even more life-altering than you'd thought.

Originally, you had believed you'd end up becoming manager to one of the many brand new rookie groups in the growing company. With so many surging youth in the industry, it made sense to you that you'd be assigned such a role, not having had any prior experience within Hybe itself.

Except that wasn't the case. Having previously worked and interned at a few other South Korean entertainment companies through the years, it seemed like Hybe deemed you experienced enough to assign you the role of becoming a senior artist's manager.

Jeon Jungkook.

Senior artist had been an understatement. Those had been the words written in your contract, explaining your role in excruciating detail, yet failing to mention that your client would be Korea's most popular singer.

You couldn't lie, you were insanely intimidated by your new role. Despite being proudly skilled at your job, becoming the manager of an idol who had been in the game for longer than you'd even been out of college was a bit scary. Jungkook had gone from the absolute bottom to the top, he had most likely lived through it all by now – what kind of expertise could you offer someone who had already seen it all?

Being manager of an idol differed slightly from managing any other person. Idol companies usually handled the schedulings, bookings, and the legalities of their artists. As a manager, you somewhat took the role of a bodyguard. You were meant to show up everywhere Jungkook went and become his spokesperson – vying for him as if your life depended on it.

And now it was too late to back out – not that you actually wanted to. All paperwork had been signed, you had your own personal Hybe badge and all the benefits that came along with working at the company. Any feelings of intimidation or fear for the role would have to be put aside as you walked into the Hybe building to meet with your new client; the boy you'd have to stick by 24/7 from now on.

You weren't sure what you were expecting upon meeting him. It wasn't like there would be any special introduction, or even as if you were his sole manager; no, he actually had a few others who would occasionally aid him in the absence of his main manager, which was now you. Today was a workday for him, meaning that he likely already had a few people in supportive roles as he did whatever it was that Jeon Jungkook did while working.

Walking into the huge building, after getting lost a few times, you made your way to the seventh floor, which, as you'd been informed, had various rooms designated for photoshoots. That's where you'd find Jungkook for the first time, presumably having one of the many shoots scheduled for this week.

Having possession of his schedule made you realize how busy idol life was. Despite having no public schedules all this week, he had a packed itinerary, filled with either shoots or signings or producing sessions. You hadn't even met him yet, but you were already assured that he was overly hardworking – and you had maybe also stalked him online this past week.

It was very unlikely you'd even speak to him, seeing how busy he was. Your duty, after all, was just to be one of the many members of his team, taking care of any logistics as you went around with him, but not taking away from his time by socializing with him.

Upon entering the room, he was the first thing you noticed. Ignoring every other person working the room, your eyes focused specifically on him. It was hard not to, since he was quite literally standing under the spotlight, modeling for a camera. But it was more than that. He had an aura that filled up the room. Putting aside every stylist and photographer in the room, every staff member and intern, he was truly the epitome of main character.

Fuck. Was this going to cause trouble?

....

you can check it out today on my ko-fi or patreon by subscribing to either one!

[tojiscumdumpster]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။ toji fushiguro x his favorite customer (revision)

✧ summary toji has a little soft spot for his favorite customer that he can't get enough of.

✧ content warnings reader is a black woman who uses she/her pronouns. chubby!reader and inexperienced!reader. rich girl in her midtwenties, very needy! usage of profanity, standing missionary, oral - m!receiving, doggy style, mixture of praise and degradation kink, breeding kink, unprotected, creampie and squirting, terms of endearment ─ pretty girl, princess, baby, baby girl, etc. softdom!toji with rough, passionate, and filthy intercourse. told in first POV ─ toji's. i got reader calling toji TJ, and i think that’s so cute pls.

✧ author's note happy birthday to my baby daddy toji fushiguro! we've been going strong now for years. just a little something something to celebrate him. this fic has been in the drafts since December. talk about black people time, old sksk. also, if you already seen the original of this fic on tumblr, it's mine lol. this is just a revision, so don't go around saying i copied someone! my writing has changed so i wanted to redo this and add some adjustments. i hope y'all enjoy. support me by reblogging, liking, and commenting your thoughts. ♡ AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS AND/OR MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT.

 

 When it comes to women I fuck, I treat them the same because at the end of the day, they pay me good money to stuff their pussy with cock. 

 Don’t really care if they're married either. I usually get the old, desperate broads that aren’t getting any attention from their husbands at home, so it’s my job to make them feel good for the night. 

 I don’t do favorites. 

 I damn sure don’t give discounts. 

 And I definitely don’t get attached. But the moment I met Y/N that all changed. 

 My favorite customer. 

 Never did I expect a younger woman to pay me to get fucked, especially when she looks that good. 

 I’m almost positive she has a line filled with fuckers that’s desperately wanting to know what this tight, wet pussy feels like, yet here I am, living their fantasy. 

 I fucked Y/N once. 

 Then, twice. 

 Then, again.

 And again.

 And again…

 If I didn’t know any better, I’m fucking obsessed with her. Can’t even say it’s just for the money she’s paying me. Probably the best pussy I ever had.

 No. 

 It is. 

 So fucking warm, and she takes dick well, too. I usually give only an hour or two to my customers, but for Y/N? I reserved the whole night to relish her pussy. 

 The perfect fuck to end my day. 

 Those soft, sweet-sounding moans that slipped through her full brown and pink lips, having my previous cum shot staining them had me running wild. 

 But it seems like I’m not the only one who’s sex drunk. 

 Cock is all on Y/N’s mind right now. Whimpering and crying how big I am and thanking me for giving her dick. Tears pricks those chestnut-colored hues and I’m in fucking awe. She’s so damn pretty. 

 “You know how gorgeous you look taking cock like this? Being a good fucking slut for me, princess?” I ask, being met with a nod and her moaning in response. 

 Y/N’s pussy talks to me. Wet noises spreading throughout the room while I have my arms hooked under the fold of her knees, fucking her recklessly to push past any intrusion. 

 She’s jumping with me every thrust I make, causing her tits to bounce obnoxiously. I take one of her nipples into my mouth and suck on them like it’s my last dying breath, hearing that sweet whimper. 

 I belong in Y/N’s pussy, and she belongs to me, too, the way she’s gripping my cock and milking me. All of her cream and wetness drips between us and down my balls, and it feels fucking amazing. Every time I experience her velvet walls, I find myself becoming more animalistic, hungry and territorial over someone who should only be seen as a client. 

 But fuck, something in me says I would go batshit crazy if I ever found out she had other motherfuckers experiencing this. 

 Knowing how she looks when sweat coats her beautiful brown skin. How it feels to stretch her out and make her adjust to you. Just thinking about it makes me pound into her deeper and more aggressively. 

 “Toji, baby, yes. This feels so good,” she purrs. “Like that. Keep fucking me like that.”

 I hum. “Yeah? This is what you wanted, right? Paid me to please this good pussy?”

 By all means, Y/N isn’t a virgin, but she told me she doesn’t have much experience and I can tell by how tight she is. 

 Our sounds of pleasure resonate in the air, and I call her my good girl, praising how perfect her pussy is, to be met with her squeezing me and watery brown eyes. 

 “Toji… Toji… Yes. God, yes.”

 “Keep using your words, pretty girl. Tell me how much you love my dick in your pussy,” I ordered softly.

 “I love it so much. It’s so big, baby,” she tells me, slurring her words because of her lips still being on mine. “You’re going to make me cum.”

 I clicked my tongue, shaking my head. “Not yet. Come taste yourself.”

 Without hesitation, Y/N slides down to her knees and starts sucking my dick. I hiss at her swallowing me and the warmth of her mouth. She doesn’t take her time when sucking me off, immediately circling her head and throating me. 

 “Hot fucking mouth made to suck dick, huh, pretty girl?” I firmly grabbed her chin so she could look at me. “Eyes up, sweetheart. Open up your throat for me like a good girl.” 

 Y/N hollows her cheeks and bobs her head fervently on my dick, tightening her lips around me. 

 She sucks dick so fucking good, better than any other woman I’ve been with. And I just know I’m bound to bust quickly if she keeps doing this shit. 

 My hand finds the back of Y/N’s head to grip and I buck my hips deeper into her mouth, ensuring I hit the back of her throat everytime. I’m a fucking mad man when I begin fucking the gorgeous face, especially when she’s looking up at me with those big brown eyes. 

 A spoiled brat, prim and shy, who’s spending daddy’s money to get fucked and folded by an old bastard like me. Think I fucking developed a kink for this type because of Y/N.

 I pumped into her mouth more aggressively until she began choking and gagging on my cock. Drool and precum coating her mouth in the process. 

 Any type of control Y/N tries to take, I push past it because I want to use that pretty little mouth of hers how I want. She needs to get her money’s worth when fucking with me. 

 “Going to fuck my cum deep down that throat of yours, and you’re going to swallow it. Got that?” She nods and I softly tap the side of her face. “That’s it. Keep those lips tight around me.” 

 “Toji, pl—please,” she slurs, causing me to chuckle. 

 “Hm, look at you. Trying so hard to talk to me while sucking my dick. It’s cute.” I slow down my quick thrusts, but replace them with more fervent ones, pushing me and her head down until my cock outlines her throat. 

 My balls grow heavy and obnoxiously slaps Y/N’s chin, a clear indication I’m about to fucking cum. 

 Grunting, whining, gasping like a little bitch for air because head like this has a fucker like me sounding like a broken mess. 

 Blood rushes to my groin and I start getting sloppy, feeling my muscles tightening and ache burning between my thighs. I’m close, so fucking close to filling her mouth with my release, then I can finish fucking that fat pussy. 

 Everything about this damn woman is perfect. Her pussy. How she sucks cock. That fucking chubby and curvy body of hers. A pretty face with loaded cash.

 Yeah, she’s definitely mine after tonight. And I’m talking about anything lovey dovey. Meaning if I catch her being a slut like this to anyone else, I’d kill that fucker. 

 No hesitation. I-

 “Y/N, fuck!” I grunt while cumming in her mouth. This load is fucking heavy, but she’s trying her best to swallow every drop. 

 I groan at the sight of Y/N touching her tits and palming her pussy, knowing how much she’s turned on, too. It’s like the vibrations of her moans pulls more cum out my fucking dick.

 A mess I made on her face, but the joyful lust I see in her eyes tells me she doesn’t give a damn. 

 Good, because I’m not finished with her. 

 “All fours on the bed. Now,” I demanded. “Still gotta fill up your pussy.”

 Perfection is what I think when I see Y/N from behind, arched back, ass in the air and pussy dripping, ready for me to fuck. 

 I force an arch in her back and plunge my cock in her tight little pussy with one deep stroke. Y/N gasps in the air and I take the opportunity to pull her up by the throat and start pounding her cunt. 

 Why the fuck is she so goddamn wet? She takes cock well, bud shit, I abruptly slip out each and every thrust. 

 “Keep me inside that pussy, baby girl. Stop fucking letting go,” I gritted in her ear. She reaches behind her to hold my dick and push back into me with a tighter grip. “Hm, just like that. So fucking good to me, aren’t you?”

 “I need more dick, TJ. Fuck me harder, baby. I can take you,” she moans. 

 Begging for cock she’s already paying for… Shit, I get a kick out of how pathetically sexy she sounds. 

 I repeatedly slammed into her wet cunt, thrust after thrust, pussy creaming even further than before. If it’s one thing I can listen to for the rest of my life, it’s how Y/N sounds when she’s being fucked. 

 My name drips perfectly from her lips.

 Our skin smacking fills the air in the room along my hand striking her ass until I guarantee it’ll bruise in the morning. 

 “Look at this fat ass moving when I pound into this pussy. Fucking beautiful,” I growled.

 “Toji, please. I… I don’t care how much… I’ll pay more. Just keep fucking me like this.”

 I chuckle. “Atta girl.”

 I see why motherfuckers catch feelings when fucking pussy. I almost feel tempted to tell Y/N that I love her while fucking her. She has pussy that’ll make a fucker crazy… Possessive… Jealous.

 I applied more pressure to Y/N’s throat and pulled her against my chest. “You know who this pussy belongs to. Right, princess?”

 “God, yes, Toji. You… it belongs to you.” Her voice comes off as a faint cry and I know she’s on the verge of cumming. Especially with how her pussy is pulsating around me. 

 “Mhm, that’s right. Dreamed of my fucking dick pounding this tight little cunt, now I have you mindfucked. Huh?” I pinch her nipples with my free hand and increase my thrusts. “You’re about to come for me. Aren’t you, Y/N? I know you are. I can feel it. You should see the mess your slutty pussy is making between us.”

 “Fuck, I didn’t mean to, baby. It’s just… you feel good. So fucking good,” she whimpers, bouncing her ass back into me to meet with my thrusts. 

 “Maybe I should have you clean it with your mouth. Hm?”

 I release Y/N’s throat to shove her face into the bed and deepen her arch more than before. My single hand returns to her hips to grip, pulling her round ass back on my cock to kiss her center. 

 Can’t get over how wet—how tight and warm this fucking pussy is. The harder I fuck her, the louder her pussy gets and I grunt, curse underneath my breath at hearing the sound of her muffled moans. 

 I don’t give a fuck if one of us catches feelings after this. Actually, I want her to. I want Y/N to be dick hungry only for me. 

 I want her pussy to smell like I’m the only fucker that’s been running through her. I’m even fucking tempted to breed this pussy just so she’s mine.

 Why the fuck would I want to have sex with any other women after knowing what Y/N feels like? 

 “You take cock like a fucking pro. Look at you gripping me. Look at how this pussy is mine.”

 She spreads her ass cheeks to feel every inch of my dick. “Fuck me, Toji. Harder. Fuck me harder, I’m about to cum.”

 “Shit, me too, sweetheart. Such a perfect fuck toy. Going to fill you all the way up,” I rasped. “Fuck me back. Keep taking this dick.”

 My thrusts are sloppy. I throw my head back and swear into the air and moan her name. My balls grow heavier and heavier until I fucking but and empty my cum inside her pussy. 

 And she’s right there with me, crying my name and thanking me for giving her toe-curling orgasm. 

 Fucking enjoy hearing my pretty girl thank me for giving her cock. She just looks so damn pretty when she cums, too. 

 Dark brown skin sweating. The sight of her ruined makeup with mascara running down her cheeks. Moans sounding like a broken record. 

 Yeah, she’s a perfect fuck. 

 My favorite customer. 

© 2024 tojiscumdumpster Do NOT copy, translate, plagiarize, repost (sharing links is okay) anywhere. I only upload on tumblr and you will find some of my work in ao3.

[naturesapphic]

Biker Bils

Biker!billie eilish x fem!reader

Warnings: fluff :)

“Hey mamas! Come outside with me for a second. I wanna show you something.” Billie said to you as you came barreling in the front door, a helmet by her side. You quickly followed her outside to see a nice shiny black motorcycle right in front of you. You let out a loud gasp that made Billie chuckle “you like babygirl? I just got it since my old one was too old.” She explained to you and you nodded.

“I love it bils! It’s amazing.” You say walking over to it, admiring its features as Billie stands behind you. “Wanna go for a ride with me?” Billie says with a smirk. You narrow your eyes at her and huffed. “You know I don’t like when i go on rides with you! You always go so damn fast!” You explain to her. She chuckled and placed her hands on your hips. “Don’t worry baby I’ll go slow just for you.” She whispers near your ear that makes your body shiver. You let out a shaky huff and you nodded. “Okay fine…but i swear Billie if you start to drive fast im gonna kick your fine ass.” You Warned her and she let out her little giggle.

“Okay okay I promise. Now let’s go! I wanna show you a cool new spot i found.” She says handing you her helmet and helping you on the bike before getting on herself. She started it up and off the two of you went. The wind was blowing in y’all’s faces, hair flying everywhere. The sun was slowly setting, giving off beautiful colors as it descends to let the moon take its place. Y’all drove for about thirty minutes until she took a different path and y’all were on a road with no houses or any other buildings. Just the grass and the trees.

It was truly remarkable. You leaned your head on Billie’s back as you took in your surroundings as she slowed the bike down to show you her spot she found. “Isn’t it gorgeous?” You say as you take it all in. “Not as gorgeous as you are sweetheart.” Billie replies back and you blush hard at her words, softly biting her shoulder, causing her to let out a breathy laugh. Y’all continued driving until it was dark and that was when y’all started heading home. You didn’t know how but you felt someone gently shake you. Opening your eyes, you found out you accidentally fell asleep on your girlfriend’s back.

“Shit sorry bils…” you say as you let out a stretch and a yawn. “No problem baby. Let’s get you to bed.” She says as she turns off the motorcycle and takes your helmet off. She picks you up bridal style and the two of you head inside the house. She carries you up the stairs and into the bedroom. “Let’s freshen up before we sleep.” She says as she carries you to the bathroom. Billie places you down on your feet as she takes off her sweaty clothes and puts on some deodorant as you did the same. After y’all freshened up, the two of you went into bed and held each other. “Thanks for not going fast and for taking me on the ride. It was very fun and relaxing.” You thanked her and she gave you a smile in return. “No problem baby. If you want, we can go riding tomorrow?” She volunteered and you quickly nodded your head yes making her laugh. “Then it’s settled. Let’s get some rest now mamas. I love you.” She whispers against your cheek as she pulls your body to her front so y’all are facing each other. “I love you more bils.”

A/n: didn’t know how to end this but i told one of my friends about what if “biker Billie” so i had this in the drafts for a bit bc I didn’t know what to write. But I started something a little bit ago and now it’s midnight, my mind is crazy and I can’t sleep so I decided to finish it and so here it is lol idk what this is but I hope y’all enjoy. Remember to stay hydrated and to rest. I love y’all :)

[luci4theminorannoyance]

Hihi! I’m in an angsty mood, so if it’s no bother would you mind writing falsely suspected traitor!reader (gn) with Gaz, ghost, soap, velikan, roach, Keegan and Krueger (I’m sorry, I don’t know your character limit, it’s completely up to you how many and which of them you want to write for!!) but they only find out reader is innocent after they already tortured reader?

Reader does forgive them but is very much traumatised, believing it’s something they did in order to bring suspicion to themselves, so reader starts to act differently. More meek and withdrawn, always keeping their head down and voice quiet, flinches and has low self esteem, …etc

Of course no pressure to write this at all!! And I’m sorry if any of the phrasing is weird, English is not my first language 😅

Hope you have a great day/evening!

a/n: I’m pretty sure I have a request just like this in my inbox and drafts somewhere lol (my drafts from old old requests are still gathering dust I’m so so so sorry to the people who requested btw)

Gaz:

-heart shattered with the most painful look on his face when he found out you didn’t lie to him. That you were innocent.. that when he was doing everything to pull info out of you and treating you like scum, that your answers of ‘I’m not lying!’ And pleas were all.. real

-went to you the second he could, shivering in self hatred especially when he saw the wounds he had caused on your body

-once you finally got back to good terms, he could see all the damage he did and it hurt him so much. He wanted YOU back, the loud, funny, unworried you… he didn’t know what to do

soap:

-held you so close for so long as soon as he figured out you didn’t lie to him. Or the team.

-tried everything and I mean EVERYTHING to try to get you back to how you were before it all

-every time you flinch or whisper, he can feel his guilt stabbing him though the heart, he can just imagine how you must feel.. and to think he could have helped.

-If he wasn’t so close to the rest of the team, he probably would have yelled at all of 141 for even assuming you were the traitor

ghost:

-feels so utterly guilty, like a wound was given to himself rather then you

-hates the fact he genuinely thought you would ever do that to him

-tried to distance himself from you now that you were back… he was just so guilty

-what if he hurt you again? What if you were still mad? What if you hated him now? He just couldn’t face it.

-when he found out you forgave him, an invisible weight was lifted off of him. But as he saw you be so quiet, he could feel his hands sake and his body almost collapse. He did this. He hurt his lover. He could never trust himself with you like he used to again.

-was oh so careful with you since then.. but could never shake the guilt

velikan:

-he HATED you when he thought you were a traitor. He had deleted every photo. Burnt every gift. Broke any shared thought. So finding out he had lost all of that hurt him so much he sat and cried for days, begging and pleading to anything that time could rewind and that he could have his memories and gifts back

-he tried so hard to make new ones with you to, he basically followed you like a lost puppy. But he knew even though you forgave him, he was damned to feel guilt every time you weren’t your same old self

-he missed his memories of you in photos and pages of his journals, he missed your bright smile and loud confidence, he missed all the things you changed from trauma he didn’t stop

-he hated himself for hating you when you were so innocent

keegan:

-he felt rage, rage at his teammates, rage at the captain who reported you for suspicious activity, and most of all, rage at himself for not protecting you like he always promised you he would

-couldn’t stand seeing you flinch, couldn’t stand not being able to reassure you that it would be okay and that he would protect you if it ever happened again

-because he knew his words of protection didn’t mean anything now. He had failed to protect you and even participated in harming you for something as simple as a claim…

kreuger:

-he thought that as soon as he started to fix things, you yourself would get fixed. But he was so wrong

-tried anything he could think of to make you feel safe to be yourself again, and whenever it didn’t work he’d secretly shed a tear

-it was like seeing his lovers ghost.. you weren’t you anymore, and it shattered him so much that he couldn’t fix it

-he could fix his guns, he could clean up your wounds, he could tell you that it was okay to be yourself again, he could fix the broken mirrors in his room, but he couldn’t fix you. He couldn’t get you back the way he remembered you, and he knew no matter how many years of therapy kortac paid for, it still wouldn’t fix you perfectly…

[chattemagique]

yandere! AllMight headcannons + chapter 1 (?)

tw: self-harm, kidnapping, use of curse word (fuck), stalking, obsessive behavior, mentions of daddy issues, indirect mentons of suicide, reader has mental issues fem!bodied reader, mentions of sex

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

PROCEED WITH CARE

- Basically his associations with his first crush and you influenced his main delusions. Also that you wanted to become a superhero, which is so altruistic, just as she was and he was. You were totally made for him. And even in this difficult situation he was there as your savior to guide you towards the right path.

-yan! All might doesn't see you as a villain

-rather as lost young woman or rather babygirl (im sorry for the old ass joke, this actually stayed in my drafts for almost a year)

-delusional yes -his roles in reader's life borders between someone similar to a father figure and a lover, leaning more towards the lover side -would play a therapist with you -could give you the whole world if only you stayed with him and listened to him, stop committing crime and maybe found yourself some hobby or activity that you like

-he would try to be your therapist, would do a little research on mental health and self-harm as he's busy with work/or ask the therapists that worked in the same company as him

Just imagine sitting in his lap while crying in his chest. His hand slowly caressing your back while whispering sweet, comforting words in your ear that it's going to be alright, that he's going to help you get through this.

-ngl I feel like (y/n) would be the first one to initiate sex despite All might being delusional he wouldn't force himself onto you he's just not built this way (kidnapping doesn't count tho ) besides he did that to save you from prison

-It'd be after some time, when he's tried talking to you, feed you with your favorite food and many other interesting, cute desserts that he'd usually bring Midoriya, walking with you in the garden (in the house that he'd brought you in) out of desperation you just kinda started to open up to him, bc there was nowhere else to go.

-he's actually completely fine with you disappearing and not appearing in public anymore, if you don't wanna be a hero

-if you do, then he will "wipe out" any information about this robbing case which has your name, using his connections or/and suggest you to change your name 

***

There used to be a time, when you wanted to become a hero. Not anymore tho. You're even started to doubt whether this wish was yours and not somebody else's.. Were you yourself or just wearing a mask, pretending to be a good person, when in reality just a hypocrite.

The bank's visitors and employees all had their faces planted on the floor while your partner in crime used his quirk to emit temporarily paralyzing smoke to watch them.  You took money from safe deposit boxes.  Someone's money lol.

You didn't expect that he would be here. You were hoping that some average hero would arrive here, when you had already stolen some amount and slipped away together with your partner in crime.

"I AM HERE"

-Shit

Having barely fastened your bag, you headed to the back exit, which led into narrow alleys.  Hearing how your partner was arrested, deciding that all the attention would be on him, you ran as far as possible, weaving through the streets.  Finally seeing the descent into the subway. Since it was night, there was no one in particular and you headed as far as possible.

"Damn, I thought, that I might have to use you, " you caressed the gun through your jacket. It had two bullets, in case if this ain't going to end well and you wouldn't want to suffer in prison. It was that bad and hopeless.

The thing is he still remembers you from the first time he met you 2 years ago, when you were leaving your job at night. He saved you from the robber with a gun.

You reminded him of his first crush, your face, your body, your hair, smell, voice, your beauty, everything. And your potential that he saw in you, when you still wanted to become a superhero.

From that time he watches you all the time.. At first he thought that it wasn't normal, but he just couldn't help himself to keep watching you. Especially when he saw the scars on your wrist.

So the days went on and on and you totally forgot about this accident and couldn't even imagine that someone like nr.1 hero was stalking you.

Obviously, he was very disappointed when he found out about your robbing plans. And he never really liked your villain friend. How could somebody like you even be friends with him?! But that was also a part of your charm, since you tried not to judge people by their cover. So why were you then so judgemental about yourself?

A sudden looming figure was approaching you from the other side of the tunnel. You tried to change the directions, but it was following you. You're at a dead end now. Either you're going to the police, either to them now. Well, you decided to test your chances and meet them.

"okay" you thought, "imma just act as if I'm lost and looking for a way out towards the forest."

You saw some tall middle aged man and decided to just walk past him, as if you're looking for another exit.

"y/n"

You stopped.

"You're on a wrong path."

"Sorry?" you were confused. Who the fuck was he?

You turned your head. Your eyes met.

No. There's no way it's him.

He transformed into his full form and the tunnel room seemed so small in a second.

You didn't realize how you released the bag from your hand and were going to try to run through walls. Your quirk wasn't that advanced, but you could walk through walls. Only it was already too late as you approached the closest wall and felt your heavy eyelids closing.

You woke up in bedroom. Similar to the one you had at your home. You even thought that It was the one and that this whole non-sense from yesterday was just a dream. But it wasn't. Soon you noticed the difference from your usual room.

Your left leg felt heavier than usual. There was a black anklet that you couldn't remove. The room lacked some decor and also the drawers and wardrobe had other clothes you've never had. After inspecting the room, you decided to see what else could be hidden here. There was a big, dark brown woody closet with mirror. You opened it. Suddenly you noticed that the back of the closet was covered with pictures of you. Pictures of you being outside and inside of your room through window.. Scary shit. What the actual fuck.

You just remembered that it was All Might who you've met yesterday in the tunnel. The shocking memory made you fall back and hit the side of the bed.

"Ouch!"

Suddenly the door knob started moving and he walked in.

"(y/n), are you okay?"

You were probably delusional. You were surely delusional. This situation wasn't even serious. It couldn't. You were sleeping. Sleeping for sure.

If only.

"W-what do y-you want from m-me?" your voice was trembling.

"I want you to feel and become better.. with me." Nr.1 said surely.

[tswwwit]

Lol omg at your last ask because imagine dippers under some truth spell and ends up spilling a bunch of secrets that Bill already knew and had stashed to use for later

This is no longer 'last ask' relevant because I had this partially written in my drafts for like a million years - but a Truth spell on Dipper would be very interesting!

So I took this prompt and didn't really answer it except in some ways.

Here's a thing!

“You never bring me any souvenirs.” Bill complains. In an all-too-whiny tone, and an all-too-close lean into Dipper's personal space.

Plus, it's a blatant lie. One Dipper shouldn't respond to. 

He does anyway. “I literally brought you harpy feathers last week.” 

“Doesn’t count! That was for a ritual you wanted to pull off!” Bill sounds miffed, though he also plants a palm on Dipper’s head and starts ruffling hair. “Now where's the emerald from last March? Or like, the headdress from that cult with all the rabbit bones? The good stuff."

Dipper grunts. He focuses on navigating back out of the cave, turning the clay tablet over in his hands.

Figures Bill would remember all the times he did get something. His memory is excellent. And he’s greedy, because a new toy every time is a big ask. 

What does Bill expect, anyway. Not every situation Dipper gets into has something to bring back. What could he even offer? An ear taken off every monster he has to fight?

Wait, no. Bill would love that.

Dipper makes a face. “You've just proved that it's not ‘never’. With examples." 

"Sure, but when’s the last time it was cool?” 

Dipper sighs. No point in arguing. Bill could go on forever about how 'unfair' it is that he doesn't get trophies from every trip, or trinkets from conquered lands, or, again, ears from every enemy. When he’s decided to complain, no reasonable argument will shake him out of it.

“Too bad, then. You’re only getting some gifts.” Dipper shakes his head rapidly to dislodge Bill’s hand from his hair. "It’s hardly the worst thing that’s ever happened to you."

“Hey! I could argue that it’s related! In fact -”

Dipper tunes out the rest of Bill’s ramble, rolling his eyes. Listening with half an ear to Bill's ongoing tirade about being a poorly kept man, and unappreciated in his time. 

Despite how much he already has, Bill always wants more. Somehow he sniffed out Dipper’s latest excursion, showing up right at the end and looking for ‘loot’.

Which Dipper, by all rights, should prevent. 

 Anything magical falling into Bill's hands can cause chaos, no matter how innocuous it seems. The flower incident alone is reason not to hand Bill anything, ever, and the fact that Dipper still does sometimes should be appreciated, damn it.

Bill's complaining on and on, but whatever. Eventually he'll get bored.

 In the meantime, Dipper turns the clay tablet around again with a frown. He found something interesting, at least.

Whatever this is, it’s definitely not a language he recognizes. The script is strange, scrawled in different directions. For all he knows he’s holding it upside down. He hopes Bill doesn’t notice until he’s figured out - 

"Whatcha got there?" Just as expected - and right on time. 

Dipper feels the tablet yanked out of his grasp, unfazed. He doesn't break his stride.

"I found it in the lair, after... you know." Charred bones, explosions - Dipper wishes he could use, like water, or something, but mastery over even one element is powerful as is. "Anyway, that monster was collecting a lot of weird magic stuff, and this was the only interesting thing it had." He shrugs. Then, because Bill will like it, adds, "So... to the victor go the spoils?"

“Now that’s the spirit!” Bill gives him a grin, holding the tablet up to squint at it. Thankfully not turning it around. One point for Dipper, on not looking incompetent.

Still, if anyone can read it…

“What language is this?” Dipper not-so-subtly leans over, trying to peek around Bill’s arm.

"Old Draconic," Bill says, without missing a beat. Humming to himself as he apparently reads the text. Perking up a bit, smile widening. "Oh, hey! Iambic pentameter."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing, sapling. I just wish when people did the whole 'ancient poetry curse' thing, they'd get a little more creative. You never see hexameter! Or tetrameter! Not even a tasteful use of spondee.” Bill sticks his tongue out.  "Come to think of it - I don’t think anyone’s done a prose epic that made the reader wanna tear their eyes out since Joyce."

Sometimes with Bill, you have to read between the lines. The long, irrelevant babbling lines.

"Just tell me if I need to get Ford or not." Dipper says, flat. He rubs at the bridge of his nose. 

Among all the other stuff, Bill said ‘curse’. Never, ever a good sign.

Though the monster he just took down wasn’t a dragon, and that wasn’t really a ‘horde’ so much as something resembling the contents of the Mystery Shack, there’s absolutely no good thing about a curse. If Dipper somehow triggered it - 

Great. As if hanging around Bill alone didn’t invite enough bad fortune, he’s picking up parts of his own stupid curiosity.

"Nah, don’t bother with the loser uncle!" Bill waves his concern away, amused. “This is just purple prose! Buncha  ‘oooh, bad things’ll happen if you mess with my stuff.’ Totally boilerplate spellcraft with some flowery wording.” 

With a shrug, Bill dismisses the whole thing. Which includes chucking the tablet over his shoulder, but Dipper manages to snag it before it falls and shatters into a million pieces.

“Typical dragon horde enchantment. All bluster, no burning.” Bill keeps walking without a care in the world. “They’re full of hot air!”

“So I’m not cursed,” Dipper prompts, catching up to him. “Aside from you, I mean.”

“Flatterer,” Bill says, slightly warmer. He continues, shrugging. “No reason you would be! No dragons in the area, and the warning sign there’s too old. By my guess, the original horde was raided centuries ago! Just another piece of random crap that got dragged into that junkyard." And he ruffles Dipper’s hair again, in the second-most annoying way. "You’re stuck with me, though.”

Dipper ducks and twists, thus freeing himself from the minor torment. “I think I can live with that.”

One would think that chatting with a demon - one as cryptic and ominous and aggravating as Bill - would only cause irritation, at best. 

It still does, of course. But when it comes to Dipper, Bill… sometimes lays things out straight. On occasion. Especially when he’s instructing, doubly when it comes to magic. Like he’s trying to pour all the facts he can into Dipper’s brain, overfilling the cup.

If his goal is to overload this one mortal mind, though, he'll have to work a lot harder. 

Dipper gets out his notebook, while Bill looks away, and pretends he didn’t see it. Yet another poorly-veiled lesson, with Bill obviously trying to plant seeds re: actually casting curses. Tough luck managing that. His subtle lean towards chaos might escape the unwary, but to Dipper? Bill’s way too transparent.

The fact is, that Dipper absorbs things fast. Even Bill will admit it, sometimes without being prompted. 

That Includes stuff Bill doesn't even know he's teaching.

Bill’s also rambling on about historical curses, and how often these things backfire, or misfire. It’d almost sound like a series of unconnected, gossipy anecdotes, if it weren’t for the extra technical details. 

And Dipper’s not falling for it. As far as he's concerned, his first curse was his last one.

But then…

Even if he’s not going to use the knowledge, there's no reason not to learn it. Knowledge about making curses can also be used to break them, after all. Taking all the facts Bill smacked a ‘For Evil Purposes Only’ sticker on and using them to shatter an evil plan would be very satisfying.

They’re nearly out of the cave at this point, so Dipper figures it’s fine to let his guard down a bit. The monster's dead, all the traps were cleared out on the way in - everything should be fine.

He clicks his pen a couple times, and asks Bill to repeat that last thing, about the life drain. It gets a snort of amusement, but Bill’s more than happy to elaborate at length. Dipper struggles to keep up with Bill’s rapid-fire speech; he's trying to make this intentionally difficult, damn it.

Bill leads on with careless gestures and an uninterrupted stride. Getting ahead of Dipper by several meters, but Dipper’s got to note down what he says before he has to do something awful, like ask Bill to repeat himself.

Dipper is, in fact, so busy trying to write in shorthand, and walk, and not hit a stalactite with his face, all at the same time, that he sort of loses track of where he is.

And okay, maybe he trips over a rock slightly, and nearly faceplants, bonking against the sudden curve of a wall with a swear.

Dipper takes a step back, rubbing at his forehead. Annoying, but, whatever. There were a few traps around, but he pretty much cleared out the cave on the way in, so it’s probably - oh, hell.

Not fine, he dropped the stupid tablet.

Great. The only really interesting object, shattered into half a dozen pieces. So much from saving it from Bill; Dipper himself fumbled the bag.

He backs up to evaluate the damage -

The stone sinks under his foot, and something goes ‘click’.

With a start, Dipper raises a shield without thinking, arm jerking up as he wills his magic into the gesture. It's solid enough for something done on reflex, but an impact hits hard on his side, with sudden, stinging pain. 

And a pretty hard impact, at that. He didn’t get it solid enough, damn it, wasn’t expecting something physical -  

Dipper wheezes out a breath, slumping to the ground and clutching his stomach. 

Alright. So. He got most of the traps. 

He sits down, and lets his head thump back against the stone, teeth bared in a grimace. Stupid. Should have been paying attention. 

The commotion makes Bill turn his head, blinking at Dipper sitting on the ground. 

Then -  because he’s an asshole - he starts laughing. 

“I know I’m fascinating, sapling, but really?” He tuts, setting fists on his hips. “Not sure if I should be flattered that you’re obsessed with me, or disappointed that you’re dumb enough to walk right into a wall.”

Dipper sucks in a breath, gingerly touching his side. Doesn’t seem like - he glances down. Sure, it stings, and his shirt’s torn, a long, shallow cut on his stomach, just near the old scar. But that’s about it. Over to his side, an arrow rolls against the ground, stone head clicking against the ground.

Over by the cave mouth, Bill’s cackling. God, he’s a jerk sometimes. 

But he must not have seen the trap set off, too wrapped up in his own stupid bullshit, or he’d be less of one. Dipper knows that for a fact. Though he’d really, really prefer he’d never had that experience. 

“C’mon, kid. If you’re not even more brain damaged from your bump, let’s ditch this joint.” Bill jerks his head over his shoulder. 

Dipper hugs himself around the torso, grimacing. Not bothering to respond. His heart is still pounding, or he’d have a retort ready. Adrenaline’s helped him out in a lot of situations, but not with talking. He’ll get up when he’s ready.

“What, you smash your skull open or something?” Bill raises one arch eyebrow. 

Though Dipper knows why Bill’s like this, it’s still deeply annoying. He shakes his head in lieu of a reply. In a second, he’ll be calm enough to tell Bill exactly what he thinks of his incredibly poor bedside - and cave-side - manner. 

“Figures. Can’t leave you alone for five minutes without your guts spilling everywhere.” Bill clicks his tongue, folding his arms and stepping forward. “What’s the damage?”

“It hurts.” Dipper says, through gritted teeth. Then pauses. Wait, he meant to say - He shakes his head rapidly, only for more words to force themselves out, unbidden. “I got cut again.”

Again, not what he intended. Dipper lowers his chin, teeth clenched. What the hell, he shouldn’t have said that. Bill’s mocking aside, maybe he did hit his head a little too hard. Once Bill gets the mockery out of his system, he’s going to be a total pest about it, too.

With a huff, Dipper slumps. Settling in for a sulk, waiting for the next jab - But there’s no insult forthcoming. Or argument. 

In fact, Bill’s gone totally silent. Which is super weird. 

Dipper looks up at the cave entrance, expecting a comment or a question, or at least a huge grin. He tenses up, hunching over.

And meets a frozen, unsmiling face. 

Bill dropped his arms, they hang limp by his sides. His expression’s gone blank.

The next moment, he’s right in front of Dipper, kneeling and tugging at his arms with alarming urgency. 

“Alright, lemme see.” Bill’s face is very close. Though he’s trying to pull his arms away, Dipper resists out of sheer surprise. Bill growls, eye darting around until it lands on the arrow. “Oh for - Really can’t leave you alone for five minutes. Move.” 

Another pull, less hard this time. Like he’s trying to ease Dipper’s arms away.

“Wh- Hey!” Dipper plants a foot against Bill’s chest, but that hardly stops anything. He raises his arms. Holding them up, in fact, like he’s at gunpoint. Where’d this come from. “Don’t get upset, I’m fine.”

“Ha! Good one, sapling. Who’s upset, exactly?” Bill says, teeth bared, and in a deeply upset way. He tugs Dipper’s shirt, up, fingers tracing the cut before pressing into his stomach. “I’m just wondering if I need a replacement mortal this soon into your miserable existence. No big deal!”

Okay, this is too much. 

Dipper struggles up, despite Bill trying to shove him down again. Bracing himself on the cave wall, and glaring. “Calm down already.”

“I’m perfectly calm.” Bill says, through gritted teeth. At best he looks miffed, but he’s at least stopped trying to make Dipper lie down in the recovery position or whatever. With a glare, he tugs up Dipper’s shirt, prodding at the shallow cut. “What the hell, kid. I thought you said it hurt!”

“Ow.” Dipper’s stomach jumps at another poke. He smacks Bill’s hand away. “It does, alright? Quit poking.”

Bill doesn’t seem impressed. His fingers trail over the larger, older scar on Dipper’s left side, then glares at Dipper’s stomach like it’s insulted him. A beat, then - “You don’t usually complain.”

“I-” Okay, true. Dipper glares anyway. “Shut up.” 

He doesn’t complain because it’s the only option. For all that Bill whines and teases and taunts Dipper, all the time, about being some ‘fragile mortal meatsack’, already rotting before his eyes, he really doesn’t like it when it’s brought forcefully to his attention. 

God, he shouldn't have said anything. Ninety-five percent of the time, there isn’t any harm to mention. But when Dipper does ends up showing he is kind of… mortal, and it’s small, he just. Doesn’t bring it up. For all that they bicker all the time, he doesn’t like to make Bill upset.

Bill grunts, mouth turned down at the corners. He stands up quickly, folding his arms. His lip curls up in a sneer. “If you wanted attention, kid, there are way better ways to-”

Oh, fuck that. Dipper flips him off, and starts storming off. 

God, this is stupid. Whenever Dipper ever breaks a bone or something, he gets teased about being so weak and vulnerable. Which he is, but neither of them like the reminder. 

These days, it also comes with some weirdly maybe-sincere ‘kiss it better’ thing that Dipper then has to disinfect. A lot of hovering, and rambling commentary. Sometimes creative descriptions of how much worse it could have been, and Dipper never needed those, at any time. Bill gets oddly fixated on such random little moments, and it’s just -

Dipper doesn’t like it, is all. Bill gets the way he gets, it’s a lot, and it’s easier just to avoid it. If he were a different guy - a human guy, or even mostly-human monster- Dipper might try to talk to him about it.

But Bill’s a demon. Not normal, barely sane even on his best days, and worse, he’s Bill, so. That conversation would go precisely nowhere.

Behind him, he hears said demon approaching, fast. Stupid jerk. He should be as tall as his real form. That’d be fair. More accurate, too, and then Dipper could properly stomp off without Bill catching up so easily.

Already the bastard is by Dipper’s side. A tall, irritating presence. Hovering close without grabbing on, which adds to said irritation. 

Dipper leans away, but Bill catches him around the waist and drags him in.

“Don’t get so grumpy, sapling, you’re fine! A little nick in the outer layer rarely killed anyone since they invented antibiotics.” Though he pinches Dipper’s cheek, he yanks his head away with a grunt. Bill sighs. “Everything’s a-okay here! Looks like I don't have to find a replacement just yet.”

Bill’s an idiot. Dipper scoffs, though an unpleasant feeling crawls in his gut. “Oh yeah? Who would you replace me with?”

“Eh, not like I got anyone specific in mind.” Bill waves that off, nonchalant. “But I have options! Lots of options.” He bumps a hip against Dipper. “Keep that in mind before you go charging off into obvious traps.”

This goddamn liar. Dipper  elbows him in the side, because the asshole deserves it. 

Not that Dipper’s worried, or anything. From what little he’s heard of Bill’s exes in the demonic rumor mill - Bill’s been, as they say, less than successful. Already Dipper’s outstripped his longest by years.. Bill can lie day in and day out about his options, put on a brave face - but they both know he’s not going to find this again. Not easily. 

“Good luck finding another husband, asshole.” Dipper says with appropriate derision. It’s annoying that Bill even brought it up. There’s a good riposte in there, somewhere - but while his brain is coming up with an insult, his mouth runs on automatic. “But I was really worried that you would last week. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all day until you sent a dick pic. It was weirdly comforting.”

Bill turns toward him with genuine surprise. He even blinks a few times, no retort emerging, and Dipper looks back at him with equal surprise. 

Until his mind catches up with what he just said. 

Dipper digs his heels in the ground, slamming to a halt. Clapping both hands to his mouth, eyes wide.

Beside him Bill nearly trips at the sudden stop, flailing for balance with a swear.

Shit, shit shit. Dipper really didn’t mean to say that. He knows Bill’s not looking around, that he’s not interested. Cynically, that he couldn’t manage it if he was. Last week was just a one-off anxiety, like all the others Dipper’s brain comes up with when it gets too much free time. Totally irrational, and really hard to stop fixating on.

Bill keeps staring. Not angry, just confused, for long enough that Dipper wants to shrink into the ground and melt into nothingness. 

Then he asks, “What the hell, Pine Tree?” 

“I don’t know! I don’t know why I thought that. I don’t know why I said that.” Dipper cringes into himself, grimacing and ducking his head. He runs a hand over his slightly sweaty face. “I didn't even want you to know I got hurt.” 

At that, Bill snorts. “Oh, please. I’d have seen that first time I got your shirt off. You can’t keep secrets from me!” 

Dipper folds his arms, internally seething - and his stupid mouth moves to say,  “I’ve done it before.” 

This time, the silence is tense.

Dipper wipes his sweating forehead again, not daring to meet Bill’s eye. God he shouldn't have -

Before he can think, he blurts out, “I think something’s wrong.” 

“Probably!” Bill agrees, with a smile just a little too sharp. He takes Dipper’s face in both hands, eye narrowed. “Hold still a sec.”

As Bill’s eye flickers blue, and the magic between them surges -  Dipper squirms a bit, but. Well. If anything’s wrong with him - magically, anyway - Bill’s the best one to diagnose it..

Bill tilts his head to one side, then the other. After a moment, his mouth twists up into something unpleasant, eye glowing slightly brighter for an instant.

Then he sighs, and lets Dipper go. His expression is neutral, except for the slightest downturn of his mouth. His lips part like he’s about to speak, then twist up into a grimace.

Uh oh.

Whatever Bill saw, he didn’t like it.

“What?” Dipper pats his head, then his chest. If there was something weird, magically about him, he - wouldn’t be able to tell, actually. He’s too close to get a good look. Oh god, what if he did hit his head too hard, and something in his brain is bleeding, or worse. “Wait. Am I dying?”

“Worse! You’re telling the truth.” Bill claps his hands together. Though he’s smiling again, it’s brittle and annoyed. “Don’t suppose you know any curse breakers that aren’t your great-uncle?”

“Not really,” Dipper admits. Bill's words catch up to him, and he bites his lip. Then, because the situation deserves it, “Fuck.”

Protection curse. The tablet.

Damn it.

A part of a horde, from a long time ago. Messed with. It should have been something less awful. Like warts, or sprouting plants from his skin, or a big fireball. Pretty much anything else would be less awful.

Truth curses are rare, they’re difficult as hell - but judging by the words spilling out of Dipper, he’s caught a pretty strong variant.

Of all the curses that could hit him. Why this one.

Hell, maybe it’s intended to be the worst curse possible for the ‘thief’. That would explain how targeted this feels. 

And knowing Dipper’s luck, that part was explained on, like, the back of the tablet.

“Welp! Good thing I’m not short on contacts, kid.” Bill grapes his shoulder, shaking him a bit, before he trails an arm over Dipper’s shoulders. “Who wants some fumbling idiot uncle to fix this kinda spell, anyway?”

Dipper would! If it was feasible. He makes a brief attempt at shrugging Bill’s arm up before letting his shoulders slump.

The idea of Ford hearing about this is….

Dipper sucks in a breath through his teeth.

Ford really would have a way around this. He'd certainly have the best intentions, Dipper’s certain. He'd...

Also not have the best sense of boundaries.

Though he'd be doing it for the right reasons, he'd ask the wrong questions. Out of concern, and arguably valid worry; he's never fully believed that Bill can't influence him. Despite how many times Dipper’s tried to explain it to him, Ford just can’t wrap his mind around certain truths.

With this curse, though. Between poor social sense, the Pines curiosity, and what Dipper might blurt out, while compelled to answer - 

On this, Dipper agrees with Bill. They’ll have to find something else to break this.

In the meantime, he’ll manage, like he has all the other times his life has sucked. Hardly the worst case scenario. If Bill had been cursed - someone who lies like he breathes -  Who knows? Give it a few days, and he might just explode from all the backed up bullshit.

“Wait.” A horrible thought strikes. Dipper reels on his husband, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“What, me? I’m a perfectly moral human man,” Bill says, resting a hand on his chest, lifting his chin with pride. “A boring sentient mammal who’s never found curses entertaining.” 

Yep, Bill’s fine. As always, it’s Dipper who gets the short end of the stick. 

He breathes in slowly, and lets it out. 

Yeah. Still sucks. He’ll deal. Cursed, but not dead. In danger, but not the worst - and his husband’s being annoying, which means he’s perfectly fine. There’s a solution too - it’s just going to be a huge, annoying process getting to it. 

“So,” Bill says, slowly. Drawing the word out in a long string, while he finger-walks his arm up around Dipper’s shoulder.

Uh oh.

Speaking of annoying…

“Watch it,” Dipper hunches his shoulders, not daring to look his idiot husband in the eye. “You’re this close to sleeping on the couch for a month.” Not a big enough threat, Bill’s still thinking- “Or for a year.”

“Oh, sure,” Bill says, in a distracted tone. His fingers pause on their walk, one ‘leg’ poised on Dipper’s clavicle. They hold the position for a long moment, tapping out a little marching step - and seconds later, his palm slaps down on Dipper’s shoulder. “So, Pine Tree! How do you feel about this ‘Bill Cipher’ guy?”

Though Dipper resists, and he really tries to, the words slip out past his teeth, his lips form the sounds -

“I love you.” God. Damnit. He clenches his fists, as Bill’s sheer smugness radiates from him like heat. “And I’m thinking about shoving you off a cliff right now.”

When Bill paused, Dipper thought he might have fended this off. Wishful thinking, really, Bill’s almost impossible to stop. Dipper used what leverage he had, but all he’s managed to avoid are the worst, most invasive questions.

When it comes to Bill, that’s pretty close to a win.

Not that it’s going to feel like one.

Bill has, in fact, been encouraged. Now that he’s heard something he likes, he leans in like a weird creep. Dipper can practically hear the leer in his voice. “And on a scale of one to ten, how handsome am I?

“Ten point five,” Dipper needs to loosen his jaw or he might break a filling. Being pumped for information is bad enough without pumping up Bill’s already ridiculous ego. “You bastard.” 

Bill’s chest puffs out, there’s a strut in his stride. The grin is so wide now Dipper’s pretty sure it should hurt- and if he dares to pucker up, he’s not getting lips on his awful face.  “And am I the most clever and sexually amazing guy in the universe or what?

This time, Dipper snorts. 

“Definitely not.” He ignores the sharp, indignant sound next to him, tilting his head in thought. “For one, there’s succubi and incubi, so. Sexually, you’re not even on top amongst demons.” He glances over at the offended ‘o’ of Bill’s mouth. “And I know you’re not the most clever, because I win our debates nearly half the time. Maybe you’re up there, but not the most. And that’s just the surface level stuff.”

Dipper doesn’t have a complete cosmological view of the multiverse, but he has learned a lot. Mostly stuff he picked up from his husband, and demonic gossip. It’s absolutely enough to go on a long, long ramble about how Bill most likely doesn’t rank number one in anything. If Dipper avoids the topics where he actually is.

He’s barely fifteen seconds in before Bill starts scowling, with a grumpy hunch to his shoulders - But screw him. 

Dipper starts smiling, just a bit. Then, to be a dick, he adds, 

“The ten and a half is just me, anyway. To the average human, you’re maybe an eight..” Dipper continues, over another spluttered protest. Again, true; not everyone likes the slightly inhuman maniac cyclops look. “Six with your personality.” 

Bill groans. “Ugh, you pedant.” He squeezes Dipper’s shoulder, jostling him slightly. “C’mon, you know what I meant! What’s the real - “

“Don’t ask questions if you can’t handle the answers,” Dipper warns, jabbing Bill in the chest. So far it hasn’t been too much, but it could be. Time to draw a line. “I will suck so much fun out of this for you.” 

Bill Cipher, unintentional teacher once more. Now Dipper knows the curse isn’t about perfect truth. When he can deliberately misinterpret a question’s intent, and can go on tangents  - that means he has loopholes. There might even be more, if he tries.

And if they can’t get this settled soon, he’ll need every one of those he can find.

“Clever brat.” Bill’s frowning, but he can’t disguise the amusement in his voice. His eyebrows wiggle, his arm hauling him close -  "Go ahead, then. Anything else you wanna share?"

"I know two and half ways to kill you, Bill Cipher." Dipper gets right up in his face. He won’t let Bill push this any further. "Don't tempt me to use them."

Being face to face like this, Dipper watches Bill’s eye go wide - ha, didn’t expect that, did he. With that threat, he’ll - 

Start cackling. And weirdly, turn a little pink. Dipper feels all the momentum he had whoosh out of him like sad balloon animal. 

“Boy, you are a saucy one!” Bill whistles, low. He places his hands demurely on his cheeks, fluttering his eye at Dipper with amusement. “Oh, yeah. Talk deadly to me.”

By this time, Dipper figures he should be used to stumbling into demonic flirtation. Only it turns out it’s basically fractal in nature, and he keeps running into new and newer edge cases.

“Fun as this is - we gotta get you cleared up, and no time like the present!” Bill’s calmed down enough to scoop an arm around his waist, leading Dipper onward. “Can’t have you babbling everything to everyone, y’know?”

“What, you don’t want me telling you everything?” Total bullshit. Dipper elbows him in the side. “I thought you wanted to get in my head.”

“Hey! I didn’t ask for our game to be set on ‘beginner’ mode. That’s boring.” Bill flicks his fingers - but he’s got his ‘evading questions’ look on. “You’re lucky I’m so- oof.”

Another elbow, harder this time. Bill grunts, but capitulates. Rubbing at his eye briefly, he sighs.

“So! How many of my secrets would you say you know, Pine Tree?” Bill tightens his grip on Dipper’s waist, tugging him closer. “And I’m talking about the ones that I wouldn’t enjoy getting out in the world.”

“More than I can count.” Dipper says without thinking. Then, with thinking -  “Oh.”

Dipper hadn’t considered how much Bill’s taught him, before this exact moment. How much he’s learned. Even unintentionally. Especially unintentionally. 

Crap, even his threat before was kind of - 

Shit. There’s definitely, absolutely, no way can they go to Ford about this. Total recipe for disaster.

“See? We both got liabilities in play here.” Bill moves easily as Dipper picks up the pace. If anything he’s amused, and not feeling nearly as urgent. Another reason he’s an idiot. “All we gotta do is get you patched up quick, and no more loose lips sinking ships! Easy-peasy.”

“It better be,” Dipper mutters. Nothing ever goes right for him. And by extension, them.

“Trust me, kid! I got this handled!” Bill snaps his fingers - and smacks Dipper’s butt with a wink. “I know some guys!”

[florallylly]

something along the lines of princess protection program of 2010s dcom fame. steve harrington prince of a small italian-adjacent principality forced to flee the country when a military coup takes place.

blah blah he's placed with the buckley family in hawkins, indiana. what i Think would be funny is if all of this is going on and the upside down is still happening.

like steve is obviously not disclosing his identity to anyone except for robin and the buckleys. and like this would cause a lot of shifts in the canon timeline but in my Head . just off the cuff no draft no braincell just gut instinct.

thinking of a steve harrington who relies on tropey examples of what he thinks american "commoner" school is like. he comes off kind of ditzy and a bit out of touch, but he's also hot and charming so he's pretty much a hit.

maybe steve and robin having a really bad first meeting and in retaliation robin comes up with some convoluted story about steve being her out of control drug addicted cousin who got kicked out of private school and sent to hawkins as punishment. or like some type of story along those lines but unfortunately it just makes steve more compelling.

eventually eventually they become the platonic soulmates that they were always destined to be and robin moves to the little italian principality and is finally able to regularly flex her italian skills

ALSO buckley family characterization something found family and the buckley adoption of steve harrington like... well yes....

BUT back to the upside down happening.

like i kind of want steve to arrive earlier, but i think narratively it would make most sense for steve to be the new kid in 1983. he lives with robin, but they're not really on the best terms because steve just so naturally fit in with the jocks and popular kids from the get go. and like. he's a spoiled kid who honestly robin is projecting onto because her dad is away fixing STEVE'S country like... it's a little his fault.

the timeline goes on as usual except like? idk how the barb and nancy party would work out while living with the buckleys, but perhaps it would have been held at tommy or carol's in this world.

i think it would be Hilarious if robin didn't find out about the upside down until season 3 like she did canonically, but in my heart i know that if steve came home all fucked up like he was after literally Any of the Seasons (???), she would not have been able to sit still. like regardless of the level of dislike that's someone she's been living with and Kind of Enjoys being around (reluctantly). so robin would be in the know sooner or perpetually pissed bc steve is remarkably persistent in keeping his mouth shut

maybe could cause more conflict in s3 with the russians and possibly knowing his identity but ALSO possibility for some type of robin buckley slayage a la her father like.... if that sentence made sense to anyone then it made sense to someone

but i think i think the funny thing is nobody else knowing steve's backstory or situation, just kind of assuming that robin's initial bitter story about steve being a reformed drug addict was the truth. Lol and weird dynamics with eddie munson bc uh oh... is this gonna affect sobriety or like his comfort or smth .... moment...

but mr buckley coming home and finding steve and being like :P hey you can go home now :P and steve breaking down crying like he never thought he'd be able to see the halls he grew up running down again. or see the ocean from his childhood bedroom again. or talk to the same neighbors he's talked to since he was five years old.

and everyone sans robin being like wow didn't know like. fuckin chicago was that meaningful to u ... damn... were u a fugitive or smth bc u had a car and a license.

the prince reveal would have me clawing at the walls gnawing my leg off i think ... eyes rolling to the back of my head i have no way to truly verbalize this

[phyrestartr]

Your Godly Path Leads Back To Him | Miguel O'hara x Male!Reader

#NSFW, Male Reader, Western/Cowboys, Miguel O'hara is a sheriff, complicated emotions, reunion trope, mentions of abuse, mentions of drinking, mentions of past trauma, angst, hurt/comfort, religious themes, men working through their shit, sad old men being sad, one-shot(?)

Notes: Dude this is so long lol I'm EXHAUSTED after powering through this, but it had to be done!! Had this one in the drafts for a while after listening to Preacher's Daughter by Ethel Cain and SHEESH. I wanted to write about some cowboys okay that's all tysm

--Your Godly Path Leads Back To Him--

"I love ya, pretty boy," you murmured into the soft dip of his cheek, leaving behind the scorch of your lips: an invisible scar, one that'd ruin his perfect smile next time the sun rose. 

Miguel's gaze traced lines into you to make you bleed. Across the expanse of bite-tainted shoulders, grazing the vital veins and tendons of your neck, up to the thoughtfully chiseled features God hand-picked for you, His favourite, the man he poured silvered moonlight onto, filling in your crystalline eyes that very moment Miguel finally caught them gazing his way after you dared to maim him. 

The thin, scratchy blanket shifted, and let prickly hay nip at Miguel's bare skin when you held the side of his face with a warm, calloused hand. You burned away his nerves, eased away anything that could distract him from you, from that moment. 

What was Miguel supposed to say? 

"Hey," you whispered. Your fingers grazed against his forehead as you brushed dark locks away from blurred eyes and creased brows. "Come on now, don't make that face. My love such a bad thing?" 

Miguel laughed, like the sun braving a rainy day. "Maybe, with a track record like yours." A deflection. A cheap, easy thing Miguel tried to fit behind. But you knew him too damn well. 

"Pretty boy and a funny guy, huh?" You hummed and picked yourself off your side, slotting back into the spot you'd carved between Miguel's legs, flush up to his hips–the place you'd been all night. Goosebumps on tawny skin rose to meet your phantom touches. Not even the warmth of the summer night's breeze could help him. 

"Glad not even your daddy could beat the life out of you." Your words licked across his neck before your lips seared those in, too. 

"Well, I--I, uh…" Clay brown eyes fluttered shut when you touched him. "I really–" He tried again. Miguel's head dug back into the hay, gifting a speckle of splintering hay crackles to the ambience of mooning crickets. The littlest sighs, the gentlest of moans, so spent and eager, slipped from between his tired, wanting lips, bolstering the symphony of the night. 

Your lips found his again. Your tongue tasted him, finding the familiar smoke of fine whiskey and the sweet icing of flaked pastries. One of your hands threaded into his hair and held the back of his neck, keeping him close, stopping him from seeing the swirling haze in your own eyes. 

"It's alright, honey," you whispered against his cheek before you pushed into him, "you ain't gotta say it back." His hands flew to your back, clawing into your skin and pulling your body flush against his. Miguel's stuttered gasps found a home in the warmth of your shoulder, and you etched quiet moans over the mark you'd already left. Such a greedy, evil man you were. 

And that’s why you couldn’t love him.

But you did, and you kept telling him while you held him, even though it made your heart ache, even though it made your heart break. Because it was so horribly, painfully, undeniably true–you loved him. You loved the bastard son of the sheriff. You loved the man who was to be wed to a beautiful woman with wide hips and the gift of giving him the family he always dreamed of for himself.

And you? You were trouble. A dog on the road, scrounging for scraps, looking for any woman or sorry soul to take you in for the night–and then you found yourself neither, and didn't know how to walk away from what you’d found. 

But trouble was always gonna find you, whether it be your man’s father or his wife’s, the corrupt deputies and counties paid to find you, the do-gooder bounty hunters looking for their payday.  You'd be damned if you let trouble find him: Miguel O'hara, a cocky prick, a ladies man, a man who gave you love and patience when you needed it most. 

This was the last night you were gonna love him.

–

Ten hours later, you were gone. 

– 

Ten years later, you were back.

– 

The market was busy. Customers and vendors alike bustled through cramped cobbled streets, but Miguel heard one voice clear as day like lightning striking through the darkest storm.

"You lookin' for your momma, sweetheart?" 

Then, he heard his Gabi. 

His boots thumped against the ground hard on his dash towards his little one. Folks in the crowd hurried out of his way or got pushed past until Miguel spied his baby girl talking to a fellow crouched down to her level. It was you, wearing that same damn hat, toting that same damn bag over your shoulder, wearing those same damn boots, all in the town where you'd met. 

"Papá's gone," Gabi sniffed, clutching onto the fabric of her dress with trembling little hands. "I-I dunno where he went!" 

"Hey, hey, you're okay, baby. We'll find him." You pat her head and smoothed some of the flyaways that escaped her braids. "We'll find that old sheriff and–" 

"Well, you found him," Miguel cut in, sauntering in on the conversation with his thumbs hooked into the worn leather of his belt. He did his best to gaze at you with a stranger's stare, but he was already losing the game he decided to play. 

Especially when your eyes flicked to him, looking less than surprised and more than happy to see him, if that crooked smile was anything to go off of. 

Gabriella threw herself at Miguel and buried her little face into his shirt, staining the worn cotton with drops of tears. Miguel pat her head before kneeling down and holding her hands in his. 

"You alright, mija?" He cooed, concern softening his voice and taking the fight out of him. Gabi nodded dramatically and Miguel wiped her eyes. "You can't run off like that, kid, you had me scared half to death." 

"I-I know, ‘m sorry.” And she really did look it, but Miguel knew her wanderlusting, bored little self would get lost in the crowds again, thinking she’d always make it back to her daddy. It could never happen to me was a jinx thought too many times. Everything could happen to them. Anything. Just like you leaving. 

Right. The sheriff’s eyes glanced up to find yours again, but he found an empty space instead. Gone. Again. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised by that. 

–

But when night fell, he had an inkling of where to find you. 

Miguel found Lyla’s bar, that place where men drank ill of the divine’s blood, where you would drink yourself, the cannibal you were. 

Upon first glance around the room, through the cheers of his title and welcoming smiles, he didn’t find you. But Lyla nodded at the backdoor, and Miguel had his answer. 

He grabbed a drink on the way out, maybe to settle his nerves or to drown you with, he wasn’t sure. The song of a guitar called to him the second he cracked that back door open. Like a fisherman drawn to the siren’s voice, he followed it earnestly, the hand holding his bottle tightening while earthen brown eyes searched for you–

And there you were, sat on a log bench, thick cigar hanging from your lips, drink at your side, plucking away at tired strings for a crowd of ghosts around a dark phantom fire. Worshippers, no doubt. Specters of lovers passed, maybe. 

Moonlight draped across your shoulders like the thick blankets of snow weighing on the surrounding cedars. They, too, listened to the hymn, bowing how they could to show their fealty to you. But you didn’t mind it, not acting how godly things were said to act, instead welcoming them as real brothers and sisters and others, all equal on the same ground. Miguel didn’t know how you could still not have a care in the world when the world cared so much for you. 

Miguel’s boots crunched in the snow, and you turned your gaze to him. Now that he had the time to spare, he took in the lines and wear on your fine face, the age added under mischievous eyes and the new, silvered scars glowing against your complexion. Older, and handsomer. How was it possible? How was that fair? 

Then that horrible smile appeared, the one he’d felt sear into his skin all those years ago. He felt it now, burning on his neck, on his lips, and somehow he knew you felt it, too. Under a moonlit night, in the old barn of his daddy’s estate, you’d taught him your gospel from sunset to sunrise, showed him how mercy felt, how a kind god’s hand could heal. Those lips whispered to him things prophets wish they knew, things they’d give everything to hear first before any other man–but no, it was just for Miguel. 

You stood and walked to him, guitar in-hand, and Miguel lost all sense of mind. 

– 

He slammed you up against his front door once the damn thing closed and blocked out the cold, leaving you victim to his gnashing teeth and clawing hands. His knee found its place snug up against your crotch as he devoured your voice with a scorned kiss, filled with the clash of fangs and demanding bites. You moaned into him, too weak to deny him his wants, or to deny yourself. 

"Your daughter–" you gasped once his mouth left yours. You muffled a moan into his shoulder as he ground his knee against your crotch harder. "Miguel–" 

"She's with Peter for the night," he breathed into your neck inbetween hot, open-mouthed kisses left on your scarred skin. "Figured something'd be happenin' tonight." 

"Hmm." You smiled into the leather of his jacket and left a soft kiss there before leaning back to spy his handsome face. "Glad we can pick up where we left off, Sheriff." 

"Hardly." His hand found your neck, and you offered your throat, your blood, for communion. For union. "You've got some fucking gall showing up around here again, let me tell you. Gotta say I have questions about where you've been, why you left, why you're back now." The pressure around your throat tightened and you coughed just the slightest bit to prove your mortality. Miguel's eyes, deep and dark like wine, drank you in now that he had you where he wanted you. 

"You think you got some answers for me, trouble?" The sheriff asked. 

You grinned. Not even that damn cuff around your throat could scare you off, truth be told. 

"I just might." 

Miguel's lips followed the path of your whisper back to your sinful mouth once again, and he kissed you. You clung to him, a god yearning to taste the sweetness that humanity had cultivated, and let him take the reins–the human would know humanity best, after all. 

His knee left the spot between your legs, but his hips closed the gap in its stead and ground hard against you. Sparks ignited from between your bodies, and you moaned. Miguel's soft, breathy sigh melted into your voice as his lips lingered against your very own. It felt too much like the past. 

"Shh, Christ–don't you know how to shut up?" Miguel asked with the wickedest grin stretched across those fine features of his, like he wasn't the bastard at the root of your noise. 

"Oh, you're really asking for an ass-kicking, shit head," you scoffed, but couldn't help the laugh that sank into his cheek. "Want me to make no noise, huh? Make you think you're doing a shit job getting me off?" Miguel's hand tightened around your length, then. Maybe he liked being a lil degraded. 

"Câllate. I know I'm doing a good job." His face twisted into a pouty frown. "Now hurry up and touch me, too." Miguel's face couldn't get more red with the demand. 

But you grinned and complied. Tucked away in the barn where all dark deeds were done, you pulled loose his belt and unzipped those old jeans before palming him up and showing him what it meant to worship.

Miguel moaned and leaned into your touch, pushing you deeper into the thick wooden support beam keeping everything standing. Your first hands worked each other to find Eden while the second hands wandered and touched, trying to find where they were supposed to land next on their quest into the great unknown. The bible had been so, so wrong, so now what was their guide? 

Each other, the answer would be. 

Oil-slicked fingers pistoned into your tight hole with frenzied purpose, stretching you open and wide for all Miguel had waiting on offer. Your fingernails caught into every hitch and grain of the wooden dining table beneath you, somewhere you'd find no purchase but decided you didn't deserve any; this was, after all, divine punishment, was it not? 

Though it was unceremonious the way he yanked those fingers out and slammed his cock in, filling you to the brim in one fatal flourish, tearing a choked gasp from your smoke-addled throat. Your forehead dug into the wood as your hips jolted back to find more of him. Miguel's hands, broad and calloused, held fast to your hips and stroked the taught muscle there, the stretched skin over bone, with his thumbs. He smoothed your skin and soothed any aches you felt in the aftermath of man's brutality. 

Just when you thought to snap at him to move, he rocked his hips against yours slowly, pulsing into you with shallow, merciful thrusts. But even just that was enough to snatch the air out of your lungs.

Miguel blanketed your body with his own, bending over you and breathing softly against the shell of your ear as his weight pinned you to the table. You had to admit the man was giving you whiplash with every flip of your punishment. 

"Go a little harder, baby," you whispered sweetly, nearing on begging as you pushed your hips back against his. 

Miguel's rhythm stuttered. His hands tightened around your waist, blunt nails digging into soft sides as the teeth by your ear snicked together with the hiss of a breath, of words unspoken. 

"You want harder?" Miguel mumbled. He buried his face into your neck and inhaled deep, filling his lungs with that scent you brought with you when you escaped whatever holy shrine man had imprisoned you in. 

"Fine." His chest left your back as he stood up straight. You felt the shift in the room before he slammed into you over and over again like you owed him this. 

And you did. You'd left. You'd run away after showing your heart to him. You could've left without a word. You should've. But where else would you find someone to drag you down to Earth the way he did? 

His hand slipped under your neck then and tightened fiercely as he used you, and your mind snapped back to the present, to how this communion threatened to rot into sacrifice. You didn't seek the unholy. You didn't want faith like this. 

"Stop," you rasped. Your hands clawed at the noose around your neck when words didn't work. Turns out it scared you just a bit more than you thought."Miguel." 

"I thought you wanted it hard," his voice growled into your ear, too distant from that charisma and snark you knew and fell for. He was cold. Angry. Not saying what he wanted to say. 

"I–" but you coughed and saw the abyss for a second when you thought your neck might give, and instincts stepped in for you. 

You managed to shove Miguel off, so hard in fact he crashed back into the counter where dishes sat drying in a rack. They clattered to the dismal tune of your dying heart while you caught your breath and tried to steady your legs underneath yourself as you stared hard at the man who'd never hurt you. 

You'd had your fair share of flirty women and shameful men, whether it was a job to make a quick buck, a ploy to rob them in  the night, or an attempt at finding something real. 

The women were always kindly, confessing of the snakes in the garden out front and the woes they felt in the house in the times their husbands lurked. Always so intimate, always so willing to open their hearts and their bodies to you. You'd give them the same respect in kind, murmuring about a boy you still loved, hinting at the skeletons laid hidden in a hundred different pieces in your closet. Two wanting beings seeking a kind One's touch. 

But the men made you less than human. Filled to the brim with callous denial and self-loathing, blaming you for what they'd done and what they'd do. You hated them for what they'd do to you. You hated them for proving man was beyond saving. You hated them because they were just like the one that came before you.

And maybe you hated them for reminding you what your mortal man could do to you, too.

But Miguel looked shell-shocked. A little too human, a little too unlike those others with the way his wide eyes scanned you over as his own chest heaved and his own two hands struggled with what to do. He almost took a step forward, but took it back. 

Miguel's voice broke through, real soft and quiet. "(Name), I–"

"Don't," you snapped, hating the way your voice shook. You wondered if you'd ever yelled at your daddy this way. 

"You don't get to–no, not you. You don’t get to do that to me. Anyone but you." Because he was your prophet. Someone you could hide with and share the darkest of the dark with in safety, away from the rest of the hated world. What would you be if you lost him, too? 

You didn't know what you expected, maybe to be kicked out or yelled at again if history repeated itself, but Miguel braving those steps towards you and holding you close was nothing short of a needed surprise. You were both something of a mess, pants all awry and brows creased with sweat and emotion, but with the mess came comfort. And to you, comfort smelled like licorice, sun, and leather. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. And your heart swelled; men didn't say that to you. No one ever said that to you.

Your arms, tentative and maybe a little afraid, found their way around his waist, and you pulled him in closer. Miguel's shoulders relaxed with every soothing sweep of your palm against his back, and you let his weight fall into you a little bit more. Because as much as he was your happy place, you were his, too. 

Miguel laughed bitterly before he said, "I guess I'm more like my father than I wanna admit." 

Wife beater.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes. "You know that ain't true." His eyes looked away from you then, and you caught his cheek with your hand to stop the rest of his head from following. "It's been a long time. There's…quite a bit left unsaid." 

Miguel huffed something of a laugh as he leaned into your touch. "Huh, that was almost poetic. You been reading up since you were gone?" 

"Might've stolen a few pretty books from some fanciful folks here 'n there." You smiled. 

"Yeah? Guess it was worth it, if you're talking like that now." 

"Wasn't worth leavin' you." 

Earthen eyes found you again, looking wide and innocent like those fauns you saw on your travels. You liked that look on him, the look of a pretty boy being awed by a roadbound hooligan. You thought maybe you could get him to blush, too.

Your other hand found the empty side of his face and cupped it, mirroring the other, before you leaned in and closed your eyes. This time, cinders sparked against your lips when they met, proving that man, indeed, created flame without heavenly guidance. That burgeoning blaze bloomed and blossomed when you kissed Miguel O'hara to remind him of the words you spoke that night ten years ago: 

I love ya, pretty boy. You ain't gotta say it back. 

Because the fire in you had enough heat to keep two warm at night.

"I never should've left you," you murmured against his lips. "I thought–I figured it'd be for the best, but–" your voice died in your throat when Miguel's lips caught your chatty mouth and dove into another hot kiss. You sighed, happy to abandon that solemn train of thought in favour of slipping your arms around his neck and enjoying him like you were 21 all over again. 

"I know," Miguel mumbled when he parted and let you breathe. "You wouldn't leave for nothin', selfless bastard." He smiled a little. "But I'm still cross with you." 

Your hands moved to curl into his worn shirt as you nodded. "I know."

"And we're gonna sort everything out." 

"Good." 

"But right now," he started before catching your chin between his fingers and tilting your head up the slightest bit, "I think I'd like another shot at fucking you silly, mi amor." 

Your stomach dipped into sticky, gooey desire. Mi amor. The words radiated through every nerve and cell of your design.

You nodded. "Go right ahead." 

This time, Miguel swept you up into his arms and carried you up the stairs like a bride on her wedding day while you laughed and dotted him with kisses all over. He all but threw you onto the bed before you both tore each other's clothes away in a fit of love and lust, too eager to see one another at your most vulnerable. 

Miguel's broad hands smoothed down your chest and thighs as he settled between them, and the look in his half-lidded eyes had your stomach coiling with impatience. But he took his time, dipping his fingers into the lines and creases of scars and muscle, pressing against each errant beauty mark he found hidden on your warm skin. But, thankfully, his impatience won out, and he rushed to pick up where you’d both left off.

You were glad to hold onto him this time as he filled you again. Your hands grabbed at his shoulders and clawed at his back as he kissed your neck and rolled against you slowly, gradually convincing your tight heat to relax and let him back in. And Miguel was quite the persuasive one, rocking his hips in a delicious tempo of short, shallow half-notes, whispering fluttering words of praise when he charted forgotten ground. A worthy worshiper, truly.

Your hips jolted when his pressed to yours. "Shit," you rasped into his shoulder when he bottomed out, but only after teasing your soft spot for a few agonizing minutes. 

Miguel chuckled lightly. He licked a long stripe up your neck before biting into your flesh and earning himself a hearty moan. You bit him back, if only to be a brat; gods could do whatever they wanted.

"You feel good?" He asked, like he didn't already know the answer.

You nodded against him before you allowed him to pull you back to get a look at your brows twisted together, at the love-drunk blush smeared across your face, at the half-lidded heaviness of dilated eyes. He kissed you like that once, twice, and then his forehead pressed against yours when he showed you what he was really meant for. 

Long forgotten were the seconds spent downstairs on the dining table. Now is all that remained: the heat rippling through your thighs, the fire in your core, lava in your veins that moved when he did, spreading an impossible bliss through every inch of your being. 

"Honey," you gasped between the soft pants and choked moans. Your fingers threaded through his hair and held his neck as Miguel fucked the air out of your lungs and spoiled himself with your rare little noises. 

Miguel smirked. "Oh? Already?" He lifted his forehead from yours to kiss and mark your neck the way you so selfishly did in the past. "Don't, ah, tell me you're losing your touch." 

"Shut–shut up," you grumbled. "Still got an annoying fucking mouth for such a–oh." 

Miguel's hips angled slightly differently in that second, brushing up against a spot that had you seeing stars and your body tightening up and demanding more. A shaky, loud moan slipped past Miguel's defenses, too, and he made damn sure to focus his attention on that spot. 

"Fuck, you feel good, viejo," Miguel moaned over the creaking of the bed. 

“Hah. You’re welcome,” you cooed, ego stretched and lazing, and then you gasped louder as Miguel cranked it up a notch and slammed against your sweet spot with more fervor than before. You bit his shoulder again in defiance. 

Miguel laughed, breathless and shaky as his control slipped and he delved into your body with primal instinct. Your thighs tightened around his waist, eager to feel that grand finale you’d been craving since you laid your eyes on him.

“Miggs?” 

“Mh?”

“Kiss me.” 

And he obliged, igniting the trail of gunpowder from the tip of your tongue and letting it burn all the way to the dynamite bundled up tight in your stomach. You exploded, burning bright with too many colours as your back arched and your arms seized your lover tightly. Beautiful nonsense left your mouth and filled the air with the mess of bed creaks and Miguel’s voice rose and rose before stopping altogether as he spilled his warmth inside your molten centre. 

He kissed you lazily. Little, shaky moans rattled against your teeth as Miguel rocked against you through the aftershocks and pulled every last drop of pleasure from himself. It made you smug; his wife, dead or alive, clearly didn’t fuck him the way you could. 

It took some time to come down, but when you both did, he was settled up against you, his back against your chest as you leaned against the headrest and played with his hair. One of your hands was confiscated so the sheriff may look over the silvered scars and healing wounds–a few of the many trophies you’d earned on your travels. 

“So?” Miguel murmured. 

“Hm?”

“Why’d you leave?”

You took a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. Too many thoughts plagued your mind, too many reasons, too many excuses all piling up on each other like bodies in a war. But you had to find that truth and show it to him. It’s what he expected. It’s what you actually owed him. 

“Well, your old man wanted me dead.” Miguel tensed against you for a moment, and you were quick to calm him with the scratch of your nails against his scalp. He melted into you, and you smiled. “You know how Delgato loves to talk. Never shuts the fuck up, actually. Was a good thing this time, though, otherwise I’d be killed three times over.” 

Miguel huffed a soft laugh. “Guess so. But why you?”

“Because I wanted you. I guess I had you, too, and that wasn’t the plan, right? You had to marry Dana.” You sighed softly and shook your head. “If she weren’t so wicked fine, I’d be more bent out of shape about it.” 

You sensed Miguel roll his eyes. “Santa Muerte. Do you ever think with your head instead of your cock?” 

“Seems like a waste of time,” you jabbed back with a cheeky grin. You leaned in and kissed his shoulder while he grumbled and mumbled to himself. 

“So that’s it? You left because that low-life wanted you dead?” 

“Hold on, hold on. Let me keep talkin’.” You adjusted your arms around him before you continued. “My daddy was a crook, a real good one, too. Momma wasn’t much better. Guess you could call her a murderer, but she was a smart one. She brought back the magic that was Aqua Tofana back in the 60s. Poisoned him. Killed him." Your fingers traced around errant freckles splashing across the nape of his neck as you thought back. "Tyler Stone found out about it." 

Miguel cursed under his breath. He leaned more of his weight back into your chest. Your arms tightened around him, too. 

"Came after that old woman who threw the blame on me, and then they came after me." A bitter smile drained your light. "Traveled all over the place, ran even more. 'N then…somehow ended up falling for the bastard son of the man I was running from." You sighed and nuzzled against Miguel's shoulder. "The cruel irony of it all, hey?" 

"You don't have to run anymore," Miguel said, voice oozing with the power of a sheriff. He turned in your hold, and sat facing you with his strong hands holding your shoulder and your cheek. "You're done running." 

You huffed a breath through your nose before you hung your head the slightest bit. "Says who?" 

"Says me.” Both hands held your face now, bringing your attention back to Miguel’s divinely cut features as he tried to speak some sense into you. “The man you said you loved. The bastard son of the man you were runnin' from." His thumbs rubbed soothing paths along your cheekbones. “You know you’re done runnin’, too. Why else would you come back here?” 

And maybe there was some truth to those words. Why did you come back here? Were you tired of the road? Tired of the gun fights, the robbing, the lying? Is that why you trekked your horse down these familiar roads without even realizing it until you saw that old church stretching above the rising sun? Or maybe you were following threads of your fate, wandering to the tune of your South-flying heart when your chest finally got too cold after ten years without light. 

Yeah, maybe you were done running. 

Your nose brushed his when you leaned into him. “You want me to stay, pretty boy?” 

“I’ll make you stay. Sheriff’s promise. Besides,” Miguel murmured. His forehead pressed to yours and his eyes fell closed before the next whisper changed everything: “Te amo.” 

Your eyes watered, so you let them fall closed, too. The barest of laughs broke through your quivering breaths. It was relief that flooded you, and those two little words were the ark that raised you up out of your misery and confusion of the world. You felt like you could breathe. Like you meant something for once. Like maybe the hymns and verses might have been based on truth. 

“Well,” you started, leaning into the summer touch wiping away your autumn tears, “why didn’t you say so sooner?” 

“I should’ve. I really should’ve.” Miguel laughed something warm and loud when you yanked him in for a hug and peppered him with salty kisses all over his face. “H-Hey, hey, you didn’t give me an answer!” 

“Forgot the question, Sheriff,” you mumbled as you squeezed him. “Ask again?” 

Miguel scoffed fondly before kissing your earlobe and murmuring into your ear. “You feel like kickin’ up your feet and giving up on running, trouble?” 

You grinned to yourself and returned the kiss.

“I do.”

[snowyroads]

Hello, I'm about to go on a yapping session about my feelings on different football rpf ships because i'm up and can't sleep! :) grab your popcorn and get ready. I also just want to do this cuz i feel like i haven't given y'all an insight on what goes on in my brain.🧍🏻‍♀️(i started this last night when i was half asleep lol)

joemarr- THIIISSS ONE! okay, clearly this is one of my favorites. (if you couldn't tell from my mass postings about them or amount of fics i have) i feel like a lot of ppl have different opinions on their dynamic and somehow I agree with every single one. i think every since LSU days, Ja'marr has worked on Joe getting out of shell. not to call Joe introverted (because we all know that man could get it) I just think at the beginning with him being new to the team and not knowing where he fitted in, Ja'marr was the one there for him and take him under his wing essentially. THEN, I think Joe did the same thing for Ja'marr when he got drafted to the Bengals. because dude literally told his coach to choose Ja'marr. (some fan behavior right there) and when ppl were starting to doubt Ja'marr's abilities as a WR, Joe was immediately there to back his man up. I also think that little pinky thing they do IS ABSOLUTELY CRAZY. cuz wdym!??? i think i could write a whole essay just about that stupid handshake of theirs. it's something about seeing two grown ass men, join their pinkies together as a sign of 'friendship' and then going on their merry way afterwards like they just didn't interlock their souls together? OH. ALSO, the fact that they don't even call what they have a friendship, they both say relationship when referring to each other. cuz that's totally what normal bros do, yk? GIVE ME A BREAK. WE KNOW WHAT YALL ARE. the clothes buying? the teasing each other? Joe wearing JA’MARR’S JERSEY!? ok im not even done with everything i have to say about them but we'll leave it there for now.

Stefon/Josh- they actually make me want to scream. when i actually first found out about football rpf, they were the first ship i read about and i fell IN LOVE. but i found out about them too late and only got to enjoy two years of them together before the divorce. HAHAHA. (it's actually not even remotely funny) One of the best moments i think i saw between the two of them was when Josh was giving a pre-game speech one time and Stefon was so hyped, he jumped up and helmet bumped Josh's chest. wanna guess what happened next? at the next pre-game speech, Josh put his hand on Stefon's helmet to 'calm' him and stop him from making any unnecessary head bumps. Another moment that was crazy to me was the amount of just touching the two of them would do. like they always had to be connected in some way! AND the hugs after that lions game, the one where Josh literally looked like he couldn't breathe until he got his arms around Stef? WTF. THEY MAKE ME SIIICK. how you go from saying you wanna grow old with someone to giving him a half hug after a game? HUH? i just have to tell myself that they actually text everyday and that the side eye was just for dramatic publicity. Stefon will always be my #1 DIVA! <3.

koc/jj- okay, this one is still kinda new for me BUT it aint hard to tell what's going on with these two. for one, KEVIN IS SO FINE. IDCCC. shit i don't blame you Justin. AND JUSTIN IS JUST SOOO. UGH. he's the definition of babygirl. which is crazy cuz i never thought i would see a WR and go "babygirl?" BUT W JJ I DID. and then i just think Kevin can't help himself when he's around Justin. Always all up on him and in each other's personal space. like damn we get it. we all wanna fuck that old man. and we all think jj deserves to be treated like the princess he is! which makes them perfect for each other. It also just automatically has that tension to it because they are a coach and player relationship, so it gives "we can't get caught" ANYWAYS, ik there is so much more with them too but that's all i can think about right now.

Mike/Tua- ALRIGHT, they don't get the recognition they deserve! and i think that's because they don't have a lot of moments between them but when they do, it's big and they go viral. like the head kiss we got after Tua’s concussion (which i actually hope he thinks about his life before a career in football) and they have that same coach/player dynamic like koc and jj. also, i think Mike McDaniel is too hot for his own good. mhm. especially when he wears those glasses. OMG. anyway, im getting ahead of myself. Tua is literally the sweetest human being ever too and i remember watching hard knocks last season and their relationship and chemistry is just…WOW. (which is also why i can’t wait till this year’s with the Bengals comes out) idk how to explain it.

Brock/Fred- once again, they are both fine AF. ITS INSANE. also, size difference goes crazy. ANYWAYS. (there’s not a lot on them either so this is more just what i feel about them) Brock being Mr. Irrelevant and being the last pick in the draft, going from sitting on the bench as a 3rd string QB to STARTING is so personal to me. and he was scared as hell having to start so randomly in the season but Fred was there to pick him up when he was down and give him all the confidence he needs! Fred being a vet and teaching Brock how to be confident in himself and his abilities to be the best QB for their team. AND THEN, Brock takes them to not just one but two superbowls!? (ik they didn’t win but still it counts for something) i also just find Brock/Fred to be the definition of golden retriever and black cat energy. Brock’s the golden retriever ofc (have yall seen that clip of him saying “hi mom!” to the camera?? OMFG) Then Fred is the black cat because he’s always so nonchalant to me. like when the camera pans to him on the sideline, dudes got a straight face as they’re winning like 34-10 (ik that hasn’t rly happened this season but we move on) BUT YEAH, yall see the vision right??

okay if you’ve made it this far tysm!! <3 these football men make me crazy. i hope yall enjoyed my yapping session and feel free to ask or share anything!! <33

[layraket]

I saw your post saying asks for the creatures gang au were open so

1) what type of creature is everyone? (I've seen a few post, but I don't think I know what EVERYONE is)

2) what is everyone's favorite food?

3) do they do snuggles? If so, who is most likely to curl up together?

4) of those with fur, who's is the softest?

KJDSK SORRY IF I START RAMBLING I JUST WOKE UP AND THE HEADCANONS ARE HEADCANONING

1) I tried to make them all something that is related to their adventure AND will make sense in their quests, so we have:

Wind - Seagull

Four - Mouse

Hyrule - Fairy

Wild - Fox

Legend - Rabbit

Sky - Loftwing

Twilight - Wolf (well it would be more a mix between a german shepherd and a wolf if we go with the technicalls)

Warriors - Lion

Time - Wolf

Twilight is able to turn hylian, the same with Hyrule! the only diference is that Twilight uses the aid of the light spirits, while Hyrule is able to do this for himself

im still deciding if make this also something that Four can do, but i'll see when i finish playing minish cap lol

As an extra theres also Ravio who is a bunny and Malon who is a German Shepherd!

if i remember correctly i also added Spirit somewhere, who is a draft horse

2)

Wind: There's this old lady in Outset island that took care of him and Aryll when their parents never came back, she makes the best fish soup! she always give them some

Four: Loves the pastries in Castle Town! Always goes to visit the minish there to have a chat and taste all the sweet bread

Hyrule: Anything tooth-rooting sweet! but fruits like strawberries are his personal favorites, in his era there's not much of them to taste (thats why Wild's Hyrule is one of his favs behind Legend's)

Wild: This damn fox eats anything that can enter his mouth. But! He loves a lot fish, he visits frequently Zora's domain and Sidon always gives him some, the same in Lurelin Village after the locals got used to his presence

Legend: Apples, also red poppies are one of his personal favorites, Ravio always find some when they explore around the forest

Sky: This bird loves fish a lot, and since he got to taste the trouts in the surface they became his favorites

Twilight: Yeto's soup, he got to taste it while hylian, and hes glad that he did that, he didnt thought that the soup could get better with wolf hair. A second place is definetly baked cucco

Warriors: See this giant cat? he's completly in love with Hyrule's food since he got to taste it, his personal favorite being the beef of Castle Town

Time: since a puppy he has been feed with a simpler diet, mostly tiny roedors and some fruit, but since he got to stay in the ranch his fav is fried cucco eggs, Malon has to talk with the cuccos cuz they dont let him near to take the eggs tho

3) Absolutely. Twilight is very protective with the ones he consider pack, so he express his love with a lot of physical touch. He always tries to stay close to Time, and keeps company Wild as he is almost like a pup in his eyes. He tried with Legend, that rabbit's bite is strong

Wild, Legend and Hyrule cuddle together a lot, sometimes Four joins them

Sky mother hen's everyone, he's the biggest in the chain and even Time or Wars cant escape his big wings covering them completly. The only one who isn't found of him is Wind

Wind stays very close to Warriors, always on his back and sleeps covered by his scarf and mane, Four also joins them sometimes, being the smallest one makes him very pocket sized for everyone

4)

have you seen Wars?

i mean yeah Twilight looks very fluffy, Legend too

but this is a big kitty who we are talking abt

i rest my case

[phoebe-delia]

When This Is Over

YALL I FOUND THIS WIP IN THE DRAFTS OF MY SIDEBLOG FROM *LITERALLY* A YEAR AGO!!! Honest to god, NO idea if I've posted this already; I looked at my blog and at my tagged fics at @drarrymicrofic (wrote this for the now-old prompt: wedding btw) and I didn't see it so I'm going with it. I added an ending after "pretty damn impressive," and I made minor edits to the stuff I wrote before lol. Also this is an AU.

I don't care which china patterns we use; I'm sure you'll choose something delicate and ridiculously expensive and you'll insist on keeping it forever despite the fact that you'll also never let us use it again, let alone allow anyone else to touch it except for you. But it'll make you smile, and that's enough of a reason for me.

I'm going to wear dress robes, which you'll no doubt pick out for me. I don't know or have much of a preference as to what you'll wear, but I know you'll look gorgeous because when I see you wearing that outfit for the first time it'll be when you're walking down the aisle to meet me, and it'll be the best thing I've ever seen.

All I really care about for the planning, other than inviting all our friends and family, is serving good food and dancing to good music. I want us both to know every single song that the DJ plays, and can we please for the love of Merlin ask whoever we hire not to adlib or make commentary during the songs? It's so annoying when they do that. I want to listen to the song, not some stranger stopping the music to scream "WHAT" and "PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR" intermittently into the microphone. And if I hear one—and I mean ONE—strangely upbeat or techno remix of a gorgeous ballad, I'm firing the DJ and plugging in my phone and playing music myself. I was scarred from the guy at Dean and Seamus's wedding who played a remix of "My Heart Will Go On." Scarred, I tell you, which is saying a lot for someone who is literally scarred in several places, and would probably be a prime test subject for a team of psychologists.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, the wedding. As for rings, we're going to pick them out together. There's a jewelry shop in Diagon—well, there was before; I hope it'll still be there when this is all over. But if it's gone we can go somewhere else.

It's weird; everyone's talking about how we need to "make sacrifices" if we're going to defeat Him. But I don't think anyone understands that more than you and me. You sacrificed everything to show up to the Order headquarters, alone and asking for help, for forgiveness. And me—well. I haven't had much of a choice in what I've sacrificed. You did, though, and that's pretty damn impressive.

When this is over, I don't want to make a single compromise that impacts the grand scheme of my life. I want to be greedy; I want to be selfish. I want to grab happiness by the balls and never let it slip through my fingers.

I want to travel the world together. To lie on a beach until my skin grows flushed; hike up a mountain and feel my lungs burn. I want to feel my shirt stick to my skin from how much I'm sweating while we dance in a packed club, in a city where we don't speak the language; you'll move in close and grind your arse against me, throwing your head back against my shoulder to demand, through hot panted breaths, to take you home. I will, immediately, because of all the things I want for the rest of my life, you're at the top of the list.

I don't care where we are, or what we're doing, when this is all over. As long as I'm with you.

[zepskies]

Hey Lovely! For the ask game, I'm requesting #4, #7, and #24.

Thanks!! ❤️

Well hello there, friend! 🥰

Oh my, good questions...

Hahaa oh lord. I mean, how much time do you have? 🤣 I have entire files worth of ideas from different fandoms that I've even gone so far as to outline, but have never gotten around to writing.

I think the first ones that come to my head are two series ideas in the Smallville fandom:

Hanging By a Moment - Clark Kent x OC

Summary: The path of Clark Kent’s life changed drastically after he turned sixteen. It was choice, it was happenstance, it was destiny—all in one. He didn’t know it yet, but it was always going to be her.

(Yes, title is based on the song by Lifehouse. 😂)

Keep Holding On - Jason Teague x OC

Summary: Try as Jason might, he just couldn’t compare to Clark Kent. Not in Lana’s eyes at least. Elena is the casualty of war, caught in between.

Both sound very melodramatic now that I read the summaries next to one another. 😂 The main reason why I haven't written these, I guess, is because I feel like the Smallville fandom has mostly died out. Tumblr especially doesn't really support OCs as much as reader inserts, and these stories both needed to be OCs to give me the freedom to create as much backstory and character as I wanted to.

Oh a DEEP CUT you say? 🤣 Oh God, I've been writing since I was about 10 or 11 years old (and let me tell you, it was heinous).

I think my very first fanfic was for an anime called Rurouni Kenshin. It was an AU set in present time. It was that cliché thing where the heroine is sitting at a bar and is getting hit on, but she doesn't give the guy the time of day until her boyfriend (the main male lead of the show) shows up.

That character was known for being a spitfire, so she was good at putting people in their place lol. Her boyfriend is the more mild-mannered of the two, but still very protective, so I guess that's where the idea came from in my kid brain. I've long ago deleted that story off FF.net because it was so damn bad.

My first SPN fanfic, however, can be found here on Ao3. It's also pretty rough because I wrote it back in high school when I was first watching the show, first on FF.net, then transferred it over later to Ao3.

Another interesting question... 🤔

It can take me a bit to get myself into that creative headspace, but when I'm working on a one-shot, I tend to power through the draft until I finish it in a day, maybe two if it's long (5,000+ words let's say).

If we're talking about a series, I try to knock out at least a chapter at a time in one writing session, which could take me a couple hours or several more, depending on length and how detailed my outline is, if I need to do additional research, etc.

If I really have a good flow going, sometimes I can knock out 2-3 chapters in a day. I'll have a solid 1-3 hour writing session towards the beginning of the day, take a break for a few hours, run some errands, go on a walk, have a meal, and come back to it later. I tend to do the bulk of my writing in the afternoon and throughout the night.

Thanks again for asking these questions, lovely!! 😘💜 Always happy to answer.

[conkreetmonkey]

Hey, sorry for the doomposting the other night. I usually save that stuff to drafts instead of posting it, just writing it out makes me feel better.

I'm not irreprably fucked, I just need to take a leap and make a change in my life instead of stagnating. I'm kind of torn on what to do, but I have a few ideas. I might go to college for business administration, or try moving to some other province where life is cheaper, like BC, Alberta or Newfie.

I often think about taking a loan and trying to found an ethical affordable housing thing like a co-op or trailer park, but it's just not the time to buy in this market, and the only way I could afford a down payment would be a year-long stint in the plastic plant, as I have no collateral rn. That's more of a long-term goal than something I can do before upping my education; don't want to put the cart before the horse.

I also need to get my G2 drivers liscence before February, which is when my G1 expires. That's probably a feasible goal. After that, I can save up for a used car, and maybe get a job delivering pizzas, Ubering, or doing some delivery app. I've always wanted to fix up an old camper van and go on some adventure with it.

idk, I go through cycles of doom and hope. It's just how I am. I imagine I'll continue to do so until I finally nut up and get some therapy. You know what, I'll look into therapy today.

I'll try to avoid posting my doom shit publicly in the future. I'm sorry if I wrecked anyone's mood. I should just get a damn diary, lol.

[ectogeranium]

Hello MagiQuest community, I am here finally with a happier, more historical post!

While going through a photo album, I found a picture of little me from 2003, playing in the water fountain in front of MagiQuest!

"But Ecto", you may say, "MagiQuest didn't open in Myrtle Beach until 2005!" And you would be right! Upon further observation of this grainy kodak, I noticed this sign above the outdoor ticket booth that reads "Butterfly--"

And I found this odd. Of course, being literally almost 2 years old, I didn't remember what the hell was there before MagiQuest ever opened. So after a very quick google search of "broadway at the beach butterfly".... Turns out, it was a Butterfly Pavilion!

damn, what dreamy architecture! Here's a side-by-side of both businesses when they inhabited the same building!

The building was built by Gateway Construction, and developed by Mozingo + Wallace in 2001, and with not much to go on, the Butterfly Pavilion closed sometime in 2005, with the first iteration of MagiQuest taking over in the summer of that year. (I found yelp reviews from 2006 asking if the Pavilion was open, and one reply said that it had "closed last summer")

Pictured above is the floor plan of the Butterfly Pavilion, and below are some pictures of the interior!

This explains why the ceiling of MagiQuest always had that weird grid pattern to it; It was originally a glass ceiling!

(I definitely think some of the half-walls in MagiQuest were these white ones repainted to be medieval-looking stone lol)

(^^^ The flooring (pictured left) is the same as the floor in the dungeon)

Anyways, that’s all I have for now. This has been in my drafts for a hot minute, I only now got around to adding photos lmao.

[flownwrong]

ask game yay

Happy Wincest Wednesday! (or Sunday in this case) I have a few questions for people to answer. Feel free to answer them all or just one (or none at all) even if you’re not tagged!

what song describes samdean the most?

man. i used to have a painstakingly crafted playlist with like narrative and all but it's been rendered obsolete in the couple years since by the change in both my taste and my perception of them. if i had to choose one right now, i'd go with you and i in unison by la dispute, because la dispute are 1) good poetry 2) good at longing and devotion 3) this particular song is about grief but not loss of love so it feels like a post-finale song (i encourage you to listen or read the full lyrics)

I will sing sweetly, hope that the notes change but

I do not need it to happen. I’m not resigned to it. And

If they never do I’ll sing your name in every line

Just like I did throughout this, just like I’ve always done

In every gun, the empty church, and every tortured son

In all those giving up, in all those giving in

Until I die I will sing our names in unison

my other go-to artists for them would be mount eerie and, ig, townes

if spn was set in europe, what country would the Winchesters be from? What language/languages would they speak (+ what car would they drive if not the impala, kinda)

haha okay i don't have any strong headcanons but i can tell you about a specific russian au we had going with friends and even meant to ttrpg the setting a little but it never worked out

dean was driving an old volga gaz-21 third series (which might have connotations that do not need exploring at this juncture but i'm actually very bad at both cars and soviet history lol) which would be pretty damn cool if lovingly maintained all the way from 60s to 2005 and of course dean would call it "lastochka" (a common endearment for beloved cars) only i have no idea how possible it would be for hypothetical john to get one in the first place

and he wouldn't really have grown up on bootlegs of western music so much as the likes of Kino and maybe even Grazhdanskaya Oborona which was weird af but also massively beloved across different classes subcultures and backgrounds so

talking monsters of the week, i'd love to see their ass kicked by a rusalka (mermaid but creepier) or even a domovoy for comedy (those are generally helpful but mischievous) and get into all kinds of trouble with an array of superstitions while helping the babushkas who give the superstitions power by relying so strongly on them, especially in little villages...

is there a project you’re working on currently? Do you have a line or sketch from it to share?

maybe? i hope to rework one of my longer wips into a short but finished (god please) fic but don't hold your breath

what’s the first fanfic for supernatural you’ve written? Did you publish it? Or if you don't write: what's the first fanfic you remember reading?

yeah, i've published it. was for first-time fest, where you picked an episode and did a first-time. coincidentally, i was going through my drafts and found a 2+ years old reblog of it i never posted, so since i didn't even reblog it for timezones then, have a link now (if you read it and like it feel free to reblog this blast from the past haha)

is there another codependent/enmeshed duo from a different fandom you enjoy? Are there parallels to Sam and Dean?

jesus. dunno, i don't think so? they have quite a unique combo of wholesome/dark/devoted

what type of wincest dynamic do you currently enjoy most? (sexual, platonic, dark, fluffy, early seasons, etc.)

the same one i've always enjoyed most — late seasons kind of bittersweet but securely established relationship vibe (in spirit of self-promotion, do check out my ao3 for more of the same haha!)

tagging whoever wants to be tagged etc etc. @prince-of-elsinore tysm for tagging me—it was fun!