#Full Threaded Rod

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

👋 👋Looking for the 1m threaded rods from factory?

[ervotica]

hot rod — a.donaldson & p.zweig

pairings; art donaldson x fem!reader, patrick zweig x fem!reader, art donaldson x patrick zweig

summary; patrick comes to visit you and art at college. he finds college life is a lot more adventurous than once anticipated

warnings; mdni, 18+ only, SMUT, threesome, overstim, oral (m receiving), sub leaning!reader and art, more dom leaning!patrick, established throuple, polyamory

a/n; i’m not so sure how i feel about this tbh. i love the dynamic though so i pushed through even when it got away from me a little🥲 there will be another drabble for older!art and his pretty girl soon!!

you and art fuck until you’re brain dead and passed out from exhaustion. always have. neither of you possess an off switch, and when patrick’s not there to rein the pair of you in, things get a little… messy.

his cum is dried in your hair, the sticky substance smeared across your cheek, his knuckles still wet with slick.

patrick walks in, full belly laughs and peels you from art’s sweat soaked form, gives your cheek a pinch when you stir and whine.

he doesn’t clean you up because he likes to leave you naked whenever he has the opportunity — which is more often than not. seriously, you two need close supervision.

he just carries you with him to that shitty little armchair in art’s dorm, the room still stinking of sex and the humid summer air clinging to your skin; art shines with perspiration where he’s face down on the bed.

pat makes do with the lack of room, hooking a bare leg over the backs of your thighs until you’re squeezed snugly against his torso, face smushed to his chest. you’re snoring, and it makes patrick smile, slumping down in his chair to rest his lips against your cheekbone.

you wake slowly, eyes sticky and crusted over with exhaustion. your face is almost nestled beneath patrick’s armpit where you’ve been writhing in slumber and you grumble at the scent of sweat, layered with cheap aftershave. his hard-on presses to the center of your stomach and you can feel everything— the curve it makes now it’s hard and weeping, the feel of the spongy head, the vein that runs through the middle.

“you smell, pat,” you grumble, reaching up blindly to snatch the cigarette from between his teeth and take a long pull from the stick.

“yeah, well you’re not so hot yourself, babe. the whole room reeks.” he reaches down to tug on a loose strand of hair at the crown of your head. “there’s cum in your hair.”

“not my fault.” you stretch upward like a cat, curling into patrick’s chest. “where’s art gone?”

“still sleeping, baby.” he lights another cigarette, sacrificing the first one to you - still resting between your lips - and the clicking of the lighter draws your head upward to gaze through heavy lashes at him.

“come to bed,” you murmur, kissing his knuckles. your free hand coasts a long line across his jaw and you dig your thumb beneath his ear, giggling when he scrunches his features and relents, and pushes you to stand with a swat to your naked backside.

art curls into you instinctively when you roll onto the mattress, your hand threading through the curls atop his head. you scrub sweeping circles across his bare back and he hums a pleased sound, smearing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. patrick splays himself over the pair of you, all long limbs that sit askew to cover as much of your naked frames as possible.

art squints through the yellow light that illuminates the room, bright and artificial on his sensitive eyes. your movements against him don’t halt, a slow, rhythmic, loving sweep of your hands that he’s come to look forward to in moments like this. his jaw tilts upward as he mouths at your neck like a starved man, like you haven’t just gone five rounds and collapsed from overstimulation.

“you two need supervision,” patrick snorts. you quirk a bemused brow. “i’m serious, look at what you’ve done to each other! you look like you’ve been mauled.”

“jealous, much?” art mumbles sleepily, the sound muffled through your skin. you’re laughing and it splits your expression in two, eyes crinkled with amusement as the strawberry blonde boy snipes at patrick.

“should’a come to college with us, pretty boy,” you giggle. “could’a had this twenty four seven.” you dip your head until your brow presses to art’s. “poor pat, with no one to stick his dick in. how will he ever cope?”

“you could help me out, sweets,” he deadpans, the nickname saccharine and sour on his tongue all at once. art watches you through heavy lids. you huff, biting playfully at art’s lip before you tilt your head to face patrick,

“okay,” you chirrup. art’s quick to sit up, separating from your warmth in favour of nuzzling against patrick. patrick tips his chin down, slanting his lips against the blonde boy’s.

meanwhile, you’re working his cock through his shorts, palming the muscle until it chubs up beneath your hand, drooling a wet patch through the fabric. patrick groans, hips rolling up into your touch when you hook your fingers beneath his waistband and tug his cock free.

he moans into art’s mouth and your mouth goes dry at the sight. you’ve always loved to watch them like this, the way they get lost in each other, the way they start fervently pushing into one another’s space until patrick inevitably makes the first move and sticks his tongue down art’s throat.

patrick turns to putty beneath art’s roaming touch, huge paws that squeeze and grope and push at every inch of skin they come into contact with, not stopping even as you press your face to the seam of patrick’s balls, inhaling the sweat-soaked musk that creeps up your nostrils.

art’s hand snakes downward, flicking over pert nipples and ridges of muscle before he’s flicking a thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. patrick’s back bows into an arch as you lave your tongue over his sack, humming into the sensitive skin, full and heavy and begging for release. his hips rock upward into you as you seal your lips over him, eyes heavy with lust as art comes down to meet your mouth over his mushroom head.

it’s filthy and messy, downright pornographic as art licks over patrick’s cock, tongue pressing flat against the corner of your mouth and letting his spit pool there. you’re moaning - unable to help yourself - pressing your face forward to slant your lips over art’s fully. it’s all spit and drool as you lick into art’s mouth, the heady taste of the brunette boy still on your tongue, and then patrick’s bracing a hand against each of your heads and easing his cock through the seam where your spit slick mouths mesh.

you gasp and your damp lashes flutter, heavy with tears, and art’s tugging you frantically by your waist, pressing your bare chest to his own as patrick throws his head back and groans, shallow thrusts deepening. his breath stutters out in short, sharp bursts, chest heaving when your face slides down, down, down, all the way to the base of him until your pretty plump lips are wrapped around his sack.

you suck it into your mouth just as art takes patrick down his throat, the head of his cock bulging through the hollow of art’s throat as spit stretches and bows from the corners of his lips and lands in globs across your face.

you’re too drunk on the pleasure to care, the vibrations of your little sounds shooting right through patrick until you feel his balls tighten; he groans, long and loud, pushing closer to the pair of you as his cock pulses rhythmically and he releases down art’s throat.

you push your way through until your mouth is on art’s again, tongue licking into his mouth to taste patrick, wanting to be marked, claimed by both of them. his lips part, nose pressing to your cheek, and then he’s lifting you into his lap, his cock an angry red and pressed to the seam of your thigh.

patrick groans. there’s no fucking way he’s hard again.

“no more, you horndogs!”

[innocent-artery]

Kinktober 5th: Goldmine

aka hair pulling with Rodrick Heffley

2k words

Summary: Rod learns something new.

Pairing: Rodrick Heffley x reader

For the sake of avoiding spoilers, extensive warnings will not be given. This story includes sexually explicit material, reader discretion advised.

While reading, I recommend listening to the altar is my hips, a spotify playlist by me!

~

"Y'think I should get a leather jacket?"

Your shoulders shook under the weight of Rodrick's arm as you chuckled. "Why, you get an idea for a costume?"

"Absolutely. Even got the name for it." You could see the familiar smirk he wore even as your eyes remained on the screen. Smoke billowed in your peripheral, the smell of his near-finished cigarette long since clung to your clothes.

"It'd be a cute couples costume too," he continued, "you could be Tina Gray."

You turned to look at him. "Oh could I now?"

"Yup." He grinned as he put his cigarette out. "You've got the bedroom personality for it too."

You swung a pillow at his face, but Rodrick easily caught it and tossed it behind him. You huffed in false annoyance, falling back into your spot curled up under his arm.

His hand fell absentmindedly to your hair, gently twirling strands around his finger. The sensation makes your eyelids heavy, getting sleepy as he continued to soothe you.

Until you felt a sharp tug. Your eyes flew open, and you audibly gasped. Your entire body froze, and you curse yourself when Rodrick turns his head. A soft "oh?" leaves his lips, which are curled up into a curious smile. It had only been playful tug, but that was before he knew you'd react like that.

"That's not how you do it," you breathe, ghost of a grin teasing your lips.

"Yeah?" His voice was a condescending lilt. "How d'you do it?"

Instead of speaking, you take hold of his wrist, pushing it towards the back of your head. His fingers thread into your roots and he takes a fistful, tugging slowly. Your eyes flutter shut and your lips part in a deep sigh.

Before your eyes close, you catch a glimpse of your boyfriend's reaction. His eyes are wide and full of amusement, and he's smirking incredulously. His brows raise, and you can see the gears turning in his brain.

"That's interesting," Rodrick mumbled, almost more to himself. "I wonder..."

He climbs up over you, legs caging in on either side of your hips. His foot kicks the TV remote onto the floor but Elm Street is long forgotten. His hold on your hair returns, the tingling in your scalp pulling a weak noise from your throat.

"Now, what would happen..." Rodrick's thought trails off as his fingers ghost over your throat, touch only featherlight until the pads of his fingers find your pulse points and press. Your breathing is shaky and your vision begins to blur, but your hands still fly to his shoulders. You might have even been a little embarrassed at how your hooded eyes began to cross if not for the fact that it just felt so good.

"Aw, y'like that?" Rodrick lilts, his face pulling closer to yours. Heat creeps up your neck.

"Y-yeah," you attempt to nod, but you aren't given much room for movement.

"I like that too, baby." He murmurs against your mouth before he kisses you slowly, tasting of nicotine and gum. They were gentle, teasing kisses, but quickly gave way to a more desperate rhythm as his tongue glided over your lower lip. He hummed a deep note when you let him in, when you whimpered as he started sucking on your tongue.

You let out a disappointed noise when Rodrick lets go of you, rolling back to sit but it's forgotten when he pats his thigh. You quickly oblige, skin heated and brain frazzled.

As soon as you're sat on his leg, the friction to your clit has you gasping into his mouth. Almost involuntarily, your hips began to roll against him, so slowly but enough to make your head swim and heat boil in your gut.

"Oh, sweetness," Rodrick murmurs in between kisses, "so needy already? I've barely done anything."

He knows he doesn't need to do much. Just a few words- or a tug of the hair- and you'd be turned into a pile of mush. He knows you too well, and he loves having that effect over you.

Even though he's teasing you, you can't be bothered to care, muttering an mhm and rutting your hips faster. Your hands fall from his shoulders to his chest, then trail to his thigh to ground yourself.

"Atta girl, keep goin'." Rodrick murmurs in your ear, licking a stripe down the shell of it, planting soft kisses wherever his lips wandered. "'M right here baby, that's it, yeah, good girl."

Rodrick's encouragement was sweet honey to your ear, and a sickening contrast to the hand that hand re-found purchase at your scalp, tilting your head back so that he could teethe at your neck, soft plucks of skin turning into bruising. Deft hands made work of your top, leaving your chest bare.

Your rutting became increasingly frustrated; your thighs burned and you weren't getting any closer to your high.

"Rod... need..." your words were mumbled and breathless, and your brain was too cloudy to be fully coherent anyway.

"Hm? Couldn't hear you, bunny, say that one more time?"

"Need more," you cried, hands pushing into Rodrick's hair when his tongue laved over your nipple.

"More what, baby?" He lilted, cupping and pinching your other tit lovingly. He groaned when your fingers clutched his hair tighter.

"Need you, Rod please..." you sighed, tugging at his wrist.

Rodrick chuckled. "Baby, I don't think I can do that. Might hurt you if I don't get you nice and prepped, yeah? How about we start with fingers?"

"Anything, please," you babbled, nestling your head into the crook of his shoulder.

"Alright, alright, I got ya. Let's get these off, hm?" He tugged at the belt loop of your pants. They were off in record time, along with your underwear, leaving your entire body bared to him. You felt naked, more than just literally.

Once you were situated on his lap again you tried pulling on the hem of his shirt. "Off," you mumbled. Happily he complied, and you took the opportunity to lean forward and plant loving kisses to his neck, his collarbone.

You didn't realize when you'd risen up off your behind that it gave Rodrick the space to slip a hand between your legs, pulling a squeak out of you, muffled against his jaw.

"Aw, so messy baby. A little hair pulling did all this?"

You knew that it was a few other things, but you were so far gone you gave him a whiny 'yeah' anyway. Rodrick's fingers massaged your entrance, gathering slick and smothering it around your clit, making obscene noises- probably on purpose.

"So fuckin' wet, sweet, y'hear that?" Rodrick presses kisses to your pulse point, up to your jaw, then kisses you deep. Swallowing your moans into his mouth as the kiss turns messy.

"Please, Rod..." you're breathless and your pleas are barely coherent, but Rodrick knows exactly what you're asking for. You keel when you feel a finger glide into you, curling up towards your stomach.

"Yeah, good fuckin' girl." Rodrick's grin widens at your reaction when a second finger joins the first. "Always so eager, hm? That's my girl."

"Yeah, 'm your girl," you pant, hips canting to meet his hand.

"That's right," he coos, thumb tracing wide circles over your clit. "So proud of you, my girl."

"Rod," you whine, "need you."

"Hm?" He hums between nips to your collarbone. "You have me."

You shake your head vigorously. "Need you inside."

This gets Rodrick's attention. His fingers slow, while his free hand moves from your hair to his pants. He makes quick work of his pants, pulling his half-hard cock out from his boxers. You watch as he takes his fingers, soaked from your cunt, and wrap them around himself, stroking slowly. His head falls back against the couch, lips hanging open and you feel the sudden urge to bite them.

Before you get the chance, however, Rodrick is pulling you forward, lining himself up to take you. Slowly, so slowly, he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, smearing your slick around. You jerk when his head catches on your clit, sending electricity shooting up your spine.

"Rod..." you whine against his neck, "please."

"Please what?" You want to slap him for the knowing glint in his eye, but that was for another day.

"Please fuck me."

And who was he to deny you? Guiding your hip, Rodrick eased you down on him, guiding you but letting you set your own pace. The stretch set your loins on fire, but it was heaven.

Your head kicked back, and you let your voice have a mind of its own as you sunk down on him. Long and pornographic, and Rodrick matched it. You felt him throb inside of you.

"Fuck, sound so pretty." Rodrick started rolling his hips into you, and you cried out at the sensation. "Yeah, that's it. Moan like a fuckin' whore for me, c'mon."

And who were you to deny him? You had the house to yourself, and the name alone sent your brain into overdrive. He filled you up so nicely, and the drag of his cock inside of you made your skin tingle with delight.

"Rod, yeah, oh- just like that, ohmygod-" your voice was caught in your throat when Rodrick, with the usual knowing twinkle in his eye, takes a fistful of hair and tugs you forward into a sloppy kiss.

All of the sensations- that Rodrick was giving you- were sending you closer and closer to tumbling headfirst off of that ledge. The sting in your scalp, his tongue sliding against yours, the sounds of wet slaps and your combined moans. The smell of cigarettes and the heat of his skin under your fingers. The head of his cock piledriving into your cervix again and again and again.

"Rod I- oh god, I'm gonna- oh, so close- Rod please," you pant into his mouth, fingers raking down his chest and leaving faint red lines in their wake.

"I gotcha," he grunts, hand snaking between your bodies to press circles over your clit. You can hear it in his voice that he's holding back. You don't want him to. "That's it, baby, come for me. Make a mess on my cock, c'mon."

That extra pleasure is all it takes to have you diving headfirst into a mind-numbing orgasm. Your eyes screw shut, and all you can feel is Rodrick. Shaky hands rest on his shoulders, holding on for dear life as hot pleasure courses through you.

You're acutely aware of the hot spurts hitting your cervix, and the fluids seeping out of you, but your body is still tingling all over. Your voice has long since become scratchy, but that doesn't stop you from whimpering and crying as he coaxes you through it.

"Good girl, did so good for me, yeah?" His grip on your hair is no longer a grip, but gentle, soothing strokes, almost as if to apologize.

You hummed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder as you breathe. The smell of sex had permeated the air around you, and you were suddenly very aware of how sweaty you'd become.

"Think we need a shower, baby, c'mon." Rodrick nudged your head.

You wanted to, you felt sticky, but your body was on fire, this time with a less-than-pleasurable ache. Begrudgingly, you lifted yourself off of his now soft dick, hobbling down to reach for your clothes and then to the nearest bathroom.

The shower was peaceful, and the water was soothing on your muscles. You both worked in a comfortable silence.

"Well, I was right." Rodrick finally said.

"About what, the hair pulling?"

"Nope."

You turned around to face him, head tilted in confusion. His mouth was curled upwards and his eyes were lifted in a smile.

"You do have the bedroom personality of Tina Gray."

.

[scealaiscoite]

.☽༊˚ a hundred assorted prompts

¹⁾ raspberry lip gloss

²⁾ pajama bottoms

³⁾ a silver lighter

⁴⁾ fresh honey

⁵⁾ flushed cheeks

⁶⁾ a fogged-up mirror

⁷⁾ the imprint of a belt buckle on skin

⁸⁾ helium balloons

⁹⁾ a broken cocktail glass

¹⁰⁾ old playing cards

¹¹⁾ chipped green nail polish

¹²⁾ a brown leather wallet

¹³⁾ bullet holes in a wooden wall

¹⁴⁾ seashells lined up along the curve of a spine

¹⁵⁾ beaded curtains

¹⁶⁾ pomegranate seeds

¹⁷⁾ a carabiner heavy with keys

¹⁸⁾ fresh-cut orchids in a pottery vase

¹⁹⁾ vending machine cigarettes

²⁰⁾ an out of date map

²¹⁾ a creaky wooden gate

²²⁾ a minifridge stocked with budweiser and paracetamol

²³⁾ snapdragons growing between pavement slabs

²⁴⁾ smudged yellow eyeshadow

²⁵⁾ slept-in braids

²⁶⁾ library books that’ll never be returned

²⁷⁾ a pink-tiled shower

²⁸⁾ a honeybee on a linen shirtsleeve

²⁹⁾ burnt popcorn

³⁰⁾ watching an eclipse from bed

³¹⁾ a black lace bralette

³²⁾ a tattered patchwork quilt

³³⁾ blue raspberry bubblegum

³⁴⁾ a rusted fishing rod and a dried-up lake

³⁶⁾ the taste of whiskey on someone else’s lips

³⁷⁾ rose-scented candles burned down to the wick

³⁸⁾ crescent-shaped coffee stains on a wooden tabletop 

³⁹⁾ odd socks 

⁴⁰⁾ a loose thread on a jumper sleeve

⁴¹⁾ warm sheets on cold skin

⁴²⁾ amber-tinged perfume

⁴³⁾ gold jewelry 

⁴⁴⁾  a calloused palm against a soft cheek 

⁴⁵⁾ a busted headlight

⁴⁶⁾ sunrise from a jail cell

⁴⁷⁾ hand tattoos that weave around fingers

⁴⁸⁾ coconut shampoo

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night

⁵⁰⁾ ladybugs crawling across a headstone

⁵¹⁾ grass stains on blue jeans

⁵²⁾ a loaded saddlebag

⁵³⁾ a dusty wine cellar

⁵⁴⁾ a bikini top draped over a bedpost

⁵⁵⁾ snow in july

⁵⁶⁾ dirt-red mountaintops

⁵⁷⁾ goosebumps in a heatwave

⁵⁸⁾ an empty dinnertable

⁵⁹⁾ a fresh manicure and bruised knuckles

⁶⁰⁾ zombie movies

⁶¹⁾ bitten lips

⁶²⁾ dark eyes full of tears

⁶³⁾ a soft cast in summertime

⁶⁴⁾ stale coffee in paper cups

⁶⁵⁾ frozen peaches on a black eye

⁶⁶⁾ acrid smoke

⁶⁷⁾ bound hands

⁶⁸⁾ animal tracks

⁶⁹⁾ unwound vhs tapes

⁷⁰⁾ cartoon plasters

⁷¹⁾ lipstick marks on shirt collars

⁷²⁾ silver bangles

⁷³⁾ sharing a coat in a downpour

⁷⁴⁾ fields with grass at waist-height

⁷⁵⁾ daisy chains up to your forearm

⁷⁶⁾ rolled-up shirtsleeves

⁷⁷⁾ the smell of bleach in a dark room

⁷⁸⁾ a shared sleeping bag

⁷⁹⁾ a new haircut

⁸⁰⁾ swimsuit tanlines

⁸¹⁾ perfume clinging to a pillow

⁸²⁾ lollipops dangling between lips

⁸³⁾ a badly-timed grin

⁸⁴⁾ old books

⁸⁵⁾ tongues stained from slushies

⁸⁶⁾ waking up in a hailstorm

⁸⁷⁾ dying sunflowers

⁸⁸⁾ colourful sunglasses

⁸⁹⁾ the last pew

⁹⁰⁾ tall, rattling windows in a storm

⁹¹⁾ six missed calls

⁹²⁾ sticks of incense burned down to the last

⁹³⁾ bunk beds

⁹⁴⁾ matching sets

⁹⁵⁾ ruined mascara

⁹⁶⁾ a boxing ring

⁹⁷⁾ stained glass windows

⁹⁸⁾ fairy forts

⁹⁹⁾ a cluttered bedside table

¹⁰⁰⁾ a hangover in the evening

[jane-the-good]

CALEB: tender moments pt. 2

WORD COUNT: 1.8K

SUMMARY: kindergarten teacher AU! It’s a lovely day with just a hint of stress, but that’s how life is. Caleb is always there to lend a hand and make everything easier ◡̈ but what if you’re on your own when a wanderer attacks???

TAGS: Caleb x MC, fluff

AN: I like how in game there are lots of tender moments ◡̈ I think I might keep more going! maybe more AUs if you have requests ♡

WARNINGS: fighting, disaster at an elementary school (no death), weenie bit of yandere Caleb

AO3

The morning is a hush, a breath held between night and day. A sliver of time untouched, where the world lingers along the line of dreaming and waking. The air is thick with quiet, the kind that softly streams through windows, weightless and warm. Light drapes itself in long, golden threads, stretching across the floor, as if hesitant to disturb the stillness. For a moment, everything is suspended, unrushed, unbroken, waiting.

You wake to the comforting scent of breakfast, the softness of Caleb’s presence moving through the kitchen. He’s always up before you, his body already warm from his morning workout, his hair still damp from the shower. He doesn’t say much at first, just gives you a smirk when he catches you watching him.

"Morning," you mumble, still groggy as you step toward him, stealing the toast off his plate before sinking into your chair.

His thoughtful care is everywhere, the way he makes sure your plate is full, the way he watches, making sure you eat, making sure you’re cared for. It’s in the way he puts lotion on your hands for you and in the way he reminds you, "You call me if anything happens, okay?" His voice firm, but laced with something deeper.

You promise you will.

Your classroom is warm, sunlight spilling through the windows as your students work through their assignments, their soft murmurs filling the air. You love this, the way their minds spark to life, the way they look to you for guidance, for understanding. It’s what you were meant to do.

It starts with a distant rumble. The sound is low, like thunder trapped beneath the ground. Then, the entire building shivering. A sickening lurch, followed by a deafening roar. The lights flicker. The security alarms blare.

Panic tightens around the school in an anxious fist.

Through the window, you only see its shadow. A Wanderer. A thing born from deepspace, all wrong angles and shifting mass. It’s hulking darkness warping the light. Its eyes burn, sickly and bright.

The world erupts. An explosion tears through the hallway, shockwaves slamming into the room. You’re airborne before you register the force, spine colliding with the far wall. The floor rumbles. Screams fracture the air. Debris falls in jagged sheets.

Through the ringing in your ears, you barely register your own voice, telling your students to stay low, to move toward the emergency exit.

But something blocks the way. Its smell hits you before it’s in sight. The Wanderer is close, too close.

You can’t even think. You just act.

With shaking hands, you grab a metal rod from the wreckage, your body moving on instinct. If you can distract it, if you can buy enough time for the hunter unit to arrive, maybe your students will have a chance.

The last thing you remember is the sharp, searing pain as the creature’s energy pulse knocks you to the ground.

The security feeds go dark.

One second, he’s watching you. The next, the screen is static.

His heart stops.

The reports come in, Attack at the school. Heavy damage. Casualties unknown.

He’s on his way out before he can hear anything worse.

Emergency crews swarm the wreckage, voices barking orders over the wail of sirens. The building is half-collapsed, broken steel and shattered glass jutting from the ruins. Smoke rises in thick, choking plumes, staining the early morning sky. His pulse pounds in his ears as he shoves past responders, ignoring shouted warnings. His eyes scan the chaos, searching, and so incredibly desperate.

In the distance, he hears a frantic child’s voice talking to the emergency crew. 
“My teacher is still in there! You have to find her!”

The world tilts. Sound warps and muffles like he was shoved underwater. Someone is still talking, but he can’t process the words. Can’t breathe past the freezing fist closing around his ribs.

He doesn’t wait for the rescue team. He doesn’t trust them to find you fast enough. Not when every second could be the difference between life and, No. He refuses to think it.

Smoke constricts his lungs, dust coats his skin, but none of it matters. Not when you’re still in there. Somewhere beneath this wreckage of a school.

His voice is raw from calling for you, so desperately. He claws through debris, shoving aside broken desks, shattered glass, anything that stands between him and you. His fingers are bleeding, his body screaming, but he won’t stop. Not until-

There. A glimpse of fabric. A hand, too still.

Panic slams into him as he drops to his knees, pulling away chunks of rubble until he reaches you. His hands shake as he presses two fingers to your neck. The longest second of his life. Then, a pulse. Weak but there.

“Hey, I got you,” he breathes, barely able to hear himself over the pounding in his ears. “Stay with me.”

The world is hazy when you wake.

Your head aches, a dull, pulsing pain, but it’s the warmth that you notice first. Caleb, his body pressed close, his breathing quicker than you can remember. His hand is grasping yours, refusing to let you go.

The ground beneath you is rough, uneven. Ash clings to your skin, the air thick with the scent of burnt metal and dust. The ruins of the explosion stretch around you in silhouettes, even the ceiling is caked with dirt.

Your body protests as you try to move, every limb heavy with exhaustion. The shift is small, barely more than a breath, but it’s enough.

Caleb stirs. His grip tightens around you, his arms wrapped protectively as if shielding you from a danger that has already passed. His head snaps up, eyes wild, frantic, like he’s been waiting on the edge of a nightmare.

“She’s alive,” he rasps into the phone, his voice rough with relief. “But she’s hurt. We need evac now.”

You blink sluggishly, your vision swimming, but the warmth of him, solid, grounding, keeps you tethered. His hand still in yours, squeezing gently, reassuring.

“No, she’s conscious, but barely,” he continues, jaw clenched, his voice tight with contained urgency. “I don’t care how, just get here.”

You try to speak, but the words catch in your throat, dry and raw. There’s no telling how much debris you inhaled. He must sense it, because his attention snaps to you instantly, his free hand brushing over your hair, careful, reverent.

“Hey,” he murmurs, softer now, the phone still pressed to his ear. “Stay with me, okay? Help’s coming.”

His thumb strokes lightly over your knuckles. Even through the chaos, even with his voice sharp and commanding as he barks coordinates into the receiver, his touch remains gentle.

“I’ve got you.”

You want to tell him you’re okay. That you’re still here. But all you can do is squeeze his hand back, faint but certain.

His other hand brushes over your hair, careful, reverent, avoiding the bruises and cuts along your temple. There’s something fragile in the way he touches you, like he’s afraid you might break.

"How do you feel?"

You blink, the world still tilting around you, a dull ache thrumming behind your temples. "Like-I got- hit by a spaceship."

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, he huffs out a breathless, almost-laugh, but it’s shaky, frayed at the edges. His fingers tighten slightly around yours, like he’s reassuring himself that you’re still here. That you’re still in this existence with him.

"You almost did."

Memories flood back in fragments, the attack, the students, the Wanderer. You try to sit up, but his hands are there instantly, holding you steady.

“Slow down,” he stutters. “Don’t push yourself.”

“My students, ”

“They’re safe,” he assures you quickly. “You kept them safe.”

You exhale, relief washing over you. But Caleb… he’s still tense. The weight of what he didn’t catch is still heavy on his heart.

"You should quit."

Your eyes snap to his. “Caleb, ”

“You almost died.” His voice is quiet but firm, the words heavy between you. “I swore I’d keep you safe, and I, ” He stops, jaw tightening, his hand curling into a fist at his sides. There’s something so exposing in his expression, something he’s barely holding back. “I don’t want to lose you.”

The words hang between you, fragile and heavy all at once. You reach for his fisted hand, your fingers brushing against his, warm despite the cold bite of the night air.

“I love teaching, Caleb.” Your voice is steady, but there’s a plea woven into it, a truth you need him to understand. “It’s not just a job. It’s who I am meant to be.”

His gaze flickers along the fleeting shadow falling on his face. A shallow breath escapes his lips as his shoulders sag. He watches, helpless, every moment you're out of his reach—able to care for you from a distance, but unable to protect you the way he wants. It's something you love, but it’s a choice he can't bear to see you make.

And maybe that’s what terrifies him most. The thought that he could hate you, if something happened, because it was your choice. But that’s absurd, isn’t it? Because he could never hate you. Not really. Not ever.

"Fine," he mutters. "But what about when we have kids?"

You freeze.

“Kids?” You stare at him, caught completely off guard. “Plural? And soon?”

His lips twitch. "I'm just thinking, "

"You are not just thinking,” you cut in, eyeing him suspiciously. "You mean it."

There’s a beat of silence. Then, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Okay, maybe I do."

Your head is still spinning, from both the injury and this conversation, but you can’t help the small, incredulous laugh that escapes.

“Caleb,” you say, voice softer now, “we’re not there yet.”

He studies you for a long moment, then nods, resigned. "I know." Then, his hand tightens around yours. "But if this is what you love, if this is what you have to do... I’ll do everything I can to keep you doing it."

The weight of his words settles into the depths of your worries. You feel it in the way his fingers tighten around yours, desperate, like you are something fragile, something slipping through the cracks of a broken world. Something he cannot afford to lose.

“That’s all I need,” you murmur, the words small but certain, steady in a way the ground beneath you isn’t.

Around you, the world stirs. The rumble of stone being torn from stone. Voices calling through the dust. The distant wail of sirens, growing closer. The city stitching itself back together, blind to the places where you have come undone.

But here, in this breath, in this narrow space between ruin and rescue, between before and after, there is only Caleb. His arms around you. His breath against your temple. The quiet, steady beat of his heart, as if willing yours to do the same.

[kabr0ztrousers]

I really like your transformation work

would you do a doll transformation one?

maybe you encounter a kind fae but accidentally insult them, so you offer to remedy it with your body and you get turned into a doll

or an orc finds an abandoned toy and decides to try and fix it up idk i really like terato

Kabr0z Writes episode 52: Doll

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: transformation; dubcon; noncon; immobilisation; loss of agency; PIV sex; doll transformation

A/N: there's one problem with fucking a doll: dolls are rigid and generally speaking, quite smooth in the nether regions... Although, rubber solves most problems.

###################################

Your teacup clattered to the ground. The forest around you, so previously verdant and full of life, was dead and dark, the illusion fading, showing you the real. The toymaker stood up from his seat, still holding his teacup in a many-fingered hand.

"Don't you know it's rude to point?"

You don't remember pointing at him, or anyone really, all you could do was back away from the oncoming Fae, trying your best to apologise. "I am sorry, I hadn't realised, I'm sure there's some way for me to make it up to you?"

The toymaker smiled, showing far too many teeth. "I'm sure there is... Hold still, my doll"

You stopped backing away. That's when you realised your mistake. You'd told it to call you Tess. You'd just answered to a name that isn't the one you'd made safe for yourself.

You tried to run. Your feet wouldn't move. Your body stood, statue-like as the toymaker approached and started running his fingers over your skin.

Where he touched felt cold, you could only move your eyes to look. You couldn't see your flesh transmuting to painted cedar, your bones to threaded metal rods. You could feel your joints stiffening, turning to hinges and ball joints which he delicately squirted a little oil into before testing the smooth movement.

The wood spread across you, replacing flesh, changing bone. It reached your heart. A keyhole formed in the middle of your back, a clockwork motor replacing where your heart was. You could feel the mainspring, loose and idle. Lethargy flooded you. You couldn't move at all as your eyes became glass and your brain turned to straw. Your thoughts clouded. The fear left you, the memory of who you used to be becoming more distant. The toymaker stood in front of you, looking over his work as you stood in your dress, arms held slightly away from your body. It stepped around you, grasping the key in your back and giving it a few brisk turns.

The governor in your chest started up, balance spring setting a perfect rhythm, the faint ticking echoing into your head, clearing your thoughts. Your limbs loosened, life filling them.

You ran. The toymaker laughed as you went, until he was out of sight. Behind a tree, you took stock. Wooden, now. You'll probably want to avoid naked flames in future. Your hands slid across your body. Touching your glass eyes didn't hurt, which was a plus, all your joints worked, but you could feel the mainspring in your chest getting weaker as it lost tension.

You stretched to reach it, reaching around your back, sticking out your wooden chest as you did. You fell to your knees, fingers scrambling to turn the key as it ticked down moments.

The spring ran out. The governor stopped and so did you.

Your arms stopped in place, joints stiffening. Your thoughts stopped too, calming to a stupid placidity. You saw the toymaker coming towards you, felt his hand fix your hair, heard his footsteps as he walked away, continuing down the path.

Time didn't have meaning any more. You knelt on the ground, your petticoat was getting dirty, but you couldn't move.

A figure approached. A big lumbering man carrying a club. His green skin covered by by furs. The orc saw you, walking over. He grabbed you in one hand, lifting you by an arm. He looked into your eyes. Without clockwork power, you couldn't speak.

The orc pushed a hand up your skirts. You felt his hand brush against your rubber cunt, slipping a thick finger between the moulded lips and into the hole. Despite being wood, metal and rubber, you felt yourself producing fluid. His hand came away wet, a thin film of your pussy juice on his finger.

He ripped off your skirts, exposing your finely carved thighs, shining white wood exposed to the outside. Your body hung limp from his hands as he pushed his cock into you.

He thrust into you, holding you at his waist as he did, using your body as your head lolled and your limbs hung limp. You could feel yourself stretching around him, feeling so close, but unable to move, to even make a peep.

His pumping got harder, fucking you harder. You felt him twitching and throbbing in you before pumping out a load of his cum, grinding his hips into yours, forcing himself as deep as he could.

Pleasure flooded your mind, the world reducing to hazy shapes as the orc filled you. The euphoria only deepening as he slung your body over his shoulder, your leaking cunt dripping his cum onto the ground behind him as he carried you off. You were made to be owned.

After all, the purpose of a doll is to be played with

######################################

Thanks for the request, anon! Hopefully it's everything you wanted

If you have a request, please send a DM or an ask, and I'll see what I can make out of it! There's a bit of a wait, bit it's still projected to be less than a month (though I can't promise how long that'll last)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest & @steddie-spooktober.

My Own Version of You

CCF Prompt: Pride & Spooktober Prompt: Frankenstein Friday | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: M | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | CW: Mild Gore, Body Parts, Consent/Ethics (it is a take on Frankenstein) | Tags: Monster AU, Mad Scientist Eddie, His Henchmen, Reanimation, Steve Was Dead and Now This?, Crack Taken Seriously, Spooky Season Fun

Eddie leaves another morgue, another monastery, his bag full of perfect body parts growing fuller every stop. He's going to do this. He can do it. He knows it. 

Eddie hands his spoils off to his assistant.

"Carry this, Igor," Eddie says, slinging the heavy bag over his hunchback.

"Gareth," Igor says, and Eddie sighs.

"Igor Gareth," Eddie says. Yes, yes, always with the full name, but Eddie's not really paying attention to him. He never is. Eddie's too blinded by his own brilliance. Only his own thoughts matter. Not whatever Igor thinks. If he can think. 

This is going to be an innovation unlike any other ever known to mankind. And it has come from his own outstanding brain. Some may call him a freak for even trying, but they'd be wrong.

Because he's a genius, mastering this. 

Well, to be honest, he's never done anything like it before. But he's still certain he's more than capable. He knows his brilliant mind has been stifled by the lack of advancement of technology. That's the only reason he's had an inability to bring things to fruition.

Well, he'll just have to force the world to get up to speed with his brain. He's been working on his contraption for years. Eddie's Ladder. The staff of the castle, working to meet his every whim.

Jefferson and The Freak. Igor Gareth. He's gathered a band of henchmen, and they're there to follow his orders, to bend to his every whim.

If they'll only follow his instructions, precisely and perfectly, Eddie can bring someone to life. Someone that feels as he feels.

They've had so many dry runs that haven't met Eddie's standards. Dead animals, brought back feral. A heart kept beating for weeks. And they've produced at least a dozen inarticulate, snarling monsters that Jefferson, Freak and Igor Gareth have had to put down and bury on the grounds. It's quite unfortunate that their failings have snuffed out Eddie's dreams before they've become a reality.

He's certain he can create a full-fledged reanimated human. Not just an electrified corpse.

Eddie pets the hair of the head he's chosen as his, hopefully, final subject. He's handsome, this one. A rich kid that died of dysentery. Or something. Eddie doesn't know, or particularly care. But Eddie was careful this time. He didn't just grab any old corpse from the boneyard as he'd done before. No, he selected the best parts from all over the countryside. Because this time, it'll be perfect. 

Eddie will be perfect.

He threads the large needle, and slides it through the skin, carefully stitching together his creation, his monster, his masterpiece. 

He looks perfect. This one, a man.

"Igor, the cap," Eddie demands, holding out his hand.

"Gareth," is the response, and Eddie rolls his eyes, snatching the metal contraption.

"Igor Gareth, yes," Eddie replies. Jesus Christ. Eddie doesn't understand why this kid always needs to be referred to by his full name.

Eddie attaches the electrodes, the cap, and stands back, ready to pull the lever that will control all the electricity that he's certain will be able to jumpstart his, hopefully final, creation to life.

Freak has installed a lightning rod on the tower, and now Eddie must wait for the storm to roll in, reach a crescendo, and then he'll get to finish his life's work this time.

The storm is finally blowing in, and Igor Gareth is stationed in the tower, waiting near the bell. He's to be the final alarm. The go ahead.

Then, it's finally happening. 

Eddie hears the thunder. The rain. The lightning cracking across the sky. 

And then the bell rings out, the loud clanging from the tower his notification to pull, and Eddie yanks down the lever, sending the current through the wires, creating the arc, the spark, to jumpstart his creation, his invention, his monster.

The body jolts, and shakes, and shimmies against its leather restraints. Bucking wildly as Eddie watches, eyes wide, enthralled. 

Finally his eyes open. Golden flecks over brown, and Eddie wonders if he's all there. If he's been able to finally bring back actual consciousness, or if this one's just another in a long line of reanimated corpses destined to exist in a zombie-like state until they're dealt with.

Eddie snaps his fingers in front of its face, and its eyes dart towards Eddie's hand, then Eddie's face. An improvement from the last one at least, for sure.

"What the fuck?! Ow!" his creation yells, and Eddie claps his hands in delight. He's done it. He's really done it. It's alive! It's a real man. 

Of course, he had no doubt he could do it.

His henchmen gather, and look at the naked, strapped down man, who seems very rudely ungrateful. 

"What shall I name him?" Eddie ponders aloud, stroking his chin.

"I'm Steve," his creation says.

"What does he look like to you, Igor?" Eddie asks.

"Gareth," he answers.

"I'm not naming it after you, Igor Gareth," Eddie answers, and Igor raises his hands to his head, pulling at his curls. He's an odd boy. 

"Hmm, other thoughts? Jefferson? Freak?" Eddie asks.

"Jeff," Jefferson says.

"Goodie," Freak replies.

And Eddie shakes his head. It's like these fools only know one word each.

"Perhaps Wayne. I always adored my uncle," Eddie says.

"I'm Steve. You're not naming me anything else, you asshole," his creation snaps, and Eddie just laughs.

"You're a bossy one," Eddie declares with delight, then concedes, "Fine. Steve."

"Great. Now untie me."

Eddie really doesn't want to do that until he can run more tests. Make sure he hasn't made something homicidal. That has happened a time or two. Maybe three.

Four, tops.

"Well, Steve, let's just put a pin in that," Eddie says, and Steve clearly doesn't like that, as he lunges, rattling the restraints. He's a strong one. This one is not feeble of body, or mind.

Or cock, from the looks of it. 

Eddie could work with this, as long as he can tame this pissy creature he's formed with his own two ultra-talented hands. 

"If I release you, are you gonna run?"

"From the mad scientist that's chained me up? Um, yes," Steve snaps, and Eddie laughs. He picked a good brain this time. Feisty.

"Then, I guess you'll stay tied up," Eddie insists, and if looks could kill, Eddie'd be dead. Luckily they cannot, and Steve can't move.

Too bad for him.

Eddie keeps watch for days, feeding him, taking care of him. Talking to him. Getting to know him. Trying to convince him to stay. To be Eddie's. His companion. His second. His lover.

Finally, after days, Steve agrees.

So, Eddie undoes the buckles, one at a time, the straps falling loose, and once the last one around Steve's ankle comes loose, he does just as he'd promised days ago. He runs. 

And Eddie watches in disbelief.

His henchmen will capture him.

They don't. He was too fast, too athletic, for those nincompoops, and now he's gone. 

Eddie rages. He cannot believe his own masterpiece would be so ungrateful. He was dead. And now he's not, because of Eddie. 

What an asshole he made.

He'll just have to try again. Tomorrow. 

When he leaves the castle, his body part collection bag slung over his shoulder, he sees Steve sitting against the gate.

He's relieved. He doesn't want another, he wants Steve. 

"You're still here."

"Where else was I gonna go? I'm naked."

Eddie laughs, he likes this creation. He likes Steve.

"Where're you going?" Steve asks.

"Nowhere," Eddie says, tossing the bag aside, sitting down next to Steve. He shrugs off his cloak, handing it over. "Here. Now you're not naked. You can leave, if you want."

Steve looks at him. Then says, "I think I might stay."

Eddie smiles. He made a masterpiece, the perfect man. 

The perfect Steve.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries, check out @corrodedcoffinfest to read takes on all the Seven Deadly Sins, or to offer up your own!

For more Spooktober, pop on over to @steddie-spooktober to follow along with the fun!

Notes: The title and inspo come from the Bob Dylan song of the same name, My Own Version of You.

Eddie's Ladder is a play on Jacob's Ladder. If you've seen old horror/sci-fi flicks, you know what this is. It's that arc of electricity we've all seen a billions times on screen. It wouldn't reanimate anyone, but it sure looks like it could.

The Poor Corroded Coffin boys. Eddie didn't know any of their names, lol.

[butmakeitgayblog]

Medusa and The Blind Woman

Act I

~~~~~~◇~~~~~~~~~◇~~~~~~~~~◇~~~~~~

She crashes in on an easterly wave. 

One that threatens the bare spindles of a long dead port. The wind bites at stilts gnarled by sea salt and the negligence of time, threads of frayed twine whipping in retaliating lashes against the onslaught versus sturdy grecian wood. 

Lexa watches from on high, eyes on mastheads and white sails in the distance when she takes a moment to admire her only non-hissing companion, the sea. She stands an eagle in her nest of serpentine thorns, as the speck of a sailor draws near from the horizon, boat marching on the back of winds that carry it onward. The ocean howls of intruders long before they arrive, the swishing churn of embattled rip tides announcing the threat among rustled gusts and spits of algae foam. 

It's all become so painfully predictable. 

Lexa sighs at the sight of them marching on toward her fortress. 

A sinking weight floods her stomach, weary resignation presses heavy against her throat.

The grip of her spade reminds hers they mean nothing to her morning, to her unforgiving schedule that must be kept. What with the chill slipping through the cracks of a waning afternoon sun setting on the intruder's horizon. 

She doesn't bother to watch their approach further, instead keeping her thoughts to steady hands that churn earth and crumble stone, driving her blade against charcoal and turning it to soot. She checks her moorings to the west and fells a few fresh saplings for kindling. Nuisances in that particular corner of her nest of thorns, ones she's been waging a losing battle with for ages.

Her thoughts scatter like the seed and silt that pour through the calloused cracks of her fingers, wondering—

A sharp whine fills the air below, followed by a screech and crash of splintering wood. A thunderous boom echoes along the rockside loud enough to shake the very gravel under her feet followed by a full chested bellow.

"Gods damn it all!"

Lexa straightens from her work at the cry of anger, loud enough to have her dropping her tools where she stands. Loud enough to send a shiver across her scalp that hisses and spits its welcome in return. 

She slips past brambles and thickets of overgrowth. Moves between boulders and shrugging aside the hang of vine, winding her way to the edge of her oasis. The sweet scent of honeysuckle mixes with sea water as she moves close to the rocky ledge of the cliff shore. 

Careful to stay hidden, tucked neatly in the shadows, she lifts a few leaves on the tips of her finger to see her would be… captors…

Or. Captor.

The waters are littered with floating bits of dock and warped wood, now useless and broken into a thousand tiny shards that bob their way back out into the wild. 

In its place is a boat. 

A rather pathetic boat, Lexa notes at the feel of a nose nudging her cheek. A vessel of one lonely single seat, barely a rod for a mast, with two matching oars on each side. The sight of its paltry build makes her frown, her lips slackening in shock as she looks past the debris of the wreckage to the fleeing white sails receding into the burgeoning twilight distance. 

Another screeched caw from a circling bird above makes Lexa jump, ignoring the snap and hiss in her ear at the same time the air fills with a strained, "Oh shut up!"

Well.

This is certainly not what she had expected. 

Because…

She's blonde. 

Her apparent assassin is blonde. 

And a woman.  

Altogether a decidedly less muscular figure than Lexa had become accustomed to seeing her would-be heroes in the making that washed up on her shores. Not the type bearing rippling muscles, or the thuggish brawn born of beating one's own chest.

In fact, this assassin is downright dainty.  

~~~~~~◇~~~~~~~~~◇~~~~~~~~~◇~~~~~~

Read on AO3

[creations-by-chaosfay]

A foundation paper pieced wallhanging with autumnal blocks depicting two leaves, corn, pumpkin, and an apple.

Made using scraps leftover from previous projects, this measures 15x57 inches. Machine quilted with white thread, and a hanging sleeve on the back. The hanging sleeve is great for a rod to hang this from, but it also lays flat. You can hang this on a wall, door, or lay flat on whatever surface you put it on.

Machine wash cold and tumble dry low or hang dry to give this a long life. Keep out of direct sunlight to prevent the colors from bleaching.

If you cannot afford to pay the full price upfront, I accept 50% to reserve this for you, and monthky payments thereafter. When the final payment is received, I'll ship this off to you.

[aaatsuuu]

Deidara has definitely drawn all of the Akatsuki members at least once.

Tags: self explanatory, Deidara being an art and anatomy nerd lol

He definitely has a sketchbook, no question. I feel like he's drawn each Akatsuki member at least once, not necessarily because he likes them, but it's more just an artistic challenge for him. He would totally either do small portrait sketches or a full-body sketch just because. Most of the time, he'd do it when bored, or if he just wants an "out of memory" challenge. Here's how many times I think he'd draw a member/how he drew them:

Sasori: At least 3 times. At least. I feel like he definitely likes the anatomy of his puppets, but he would never truly admit it as he'd be like, "Hmph! My art is much more beautiful!" Or something, LOL. He's definitely and probably only drawn full-body, just a layout of Sasori's anatomy.

Kakuzu: Like twice. He would probably be curious about his tentacles and how they run through his body and his 5 hearts. One would probably be a portrait of Kakuzu's face, primarily focused on the stitches of his mouth and how his thread comes out of it. Another would be a full-body, showcasing his tentacle-like threads coming out of his stitches as well.

Hidan: Once. Nothing really too interesting about him beyond his skeletal markings. I feel like it'd just be a portrait of his face when he has the Jashin markings on him. (I seriously don't know what to call them besides that😭 you know, the state his skin gets after he licks blood smh)

Itachi: Once and reluctantly. He only drew a rough sketch of his face just to test his memory and practice. He ended up stabbing and ripping the paper with his pencil smh.

Pain: Honestly... I'm not sure. It's definitely more than once, though. I'm not sure if he'd draw all six paths, but he definitely drew the Deva path (Yahiko). I think it would be a full-body drawing, just focused on his chakra rods.

Konan: More than twice. I feel like he thinks her paper wings could be artistic, so he probably drew a full-body initially. For the second time, I dunno why, but I feel like he'd gift a small portrait sketch to her just cus. Idk, it's a hunch lol

Kisame: Twice, portrait only. Deidara is probably interested in his shark-like features or something like that.

Zetsu: More than thrice. Mostly because of the two halves/bodies, and also because he's fascinated by his plant structure. Always full-body, beside one sketch of his face with both halves present.

Tobi: Once, and it's a shitty doodle portrait, LOL. Tobi definitely harassed him to do it. "Ohhh, come on, please, senpaiii!?~ Make me look good, okay?~" Tobi would say as he's like pretending to curl his hair with his finger. LMAO.

[fixdex-fastening-technology]

how to choose? 📌black oxide threaded rod have stronger anti-rust ability...

[baldy-wan-kenobi]

It's so easy to fall down the rabbit hole, they say. To get so comfortable with chipping chrome that you feel more at home in metal than meat.

You told yourself you were different- that you wouldn't get sucked in like the rest, that you could succeed with only the bare minimum, the personal link and the basic neural controller they chipped you with in high school.

Then something happened at the factory.

You were tired, dead on your feet after a 16 hour shift, and it only took a single moment of innatention for a malfunctioning belt to grab a stray thread on your gloves- they'd been fraying for ages now, but you couldn't afford new ones.

In the end, they say you'll live, but your record as nearly full 'ganic is broken, shattered by a shiny new prosthesis in place of your right arm. But, it's not all bad. Once you get used to it, it's actually pretty handy, stronger, steadier, and more precise than your hand of flesh, and after all, it's only one hand, right?

They fired you from your job at the factory. Cited poor performance, claimed the accident had nothing to do with it, but you know it's bullshit. It always is. Luckily, you weren't out of work too long. A guy you went to high school with says he could use you, says you won't have to do anything, just stand there with your new metal arm and an empty pistol and look tough. You believe him, after all, people have always been a little wary around you.

After a few more of those jobs, you've got more money than you've ever seen in your life. You're not rich, by any means, but for the first time in your short life, you don't have to choose between rent and food this week.

Eventually, one of the jobs goes sour. You don't even really remember how it happened, just that in-between one second and the next, people pulled out guns and started screaming, and for a split second, you truly believe that you will not see tomorrow.

In the end, nothing comes of it, just tensions running high and idiots with more iron than they can handle. But you can't stop the scene from running through your mind, can't stop thinking about how you almost didn't wake up. So, with shame in your heart, you find yourself at one of the underground clinics- the kind that sells chrome to those in the business of making others hurt.

At first? It was just some subdermal armor, an insurance policy in case things went nasty again. Then, after a botched job that leads to actual bullets flying, you get razor-sharp retractable polymer claws in your fingertips, so you'll never be unprotected again. Yet as you're strapped into the chair to lose a second arm, this time entirely by choice? You realize something. Every time you buy another piece of chrome, every time you sign away a little more meat and gain a little bit of metal, it gets a bit easier.

And worst of all? You can't find it in yourself to be afraid of that.

You feel confident, you feel powerful. Now, with your matching set of hot-rod red cyberarms, you're getting jobs as actual muscle now, working the door at clubs, working security for... less than reputable clients around town, and you're rolling in more scratch than you really know what to do with. So, when you bruise a collarbone lifting an armored car during a job, it only seems natural to chip shoulder replacements. After all, your arms were more than strong enough. It was the meat that was the problem. The meat has always been the problem.

You've been doing this for two years now, and tonight? You're ready for your first big score. A truck, loaded with enough money to set you up for the rest of your life (or maybe buy that FBC kit you've been catching yourself eyeing in the clinic's catalogue and two months of immunoblockers.) Over the past year, You've become more metal than meat, circulatory system abandoned for superior pumps, lungs forsaken for more efficient blood oxygenators, and limbs replaced and upgraded 10 times over, all in the pursuit of more.

You told yourself you were different- that you wouldn't get sucked in like the rest.

You were wrong.

[lifeofpriya]

hi! this is my first time requesting on your page! i was wondering if u could write about first looks with jack on their wedding day. i'll leave the rest to you xx

hi!!!! okay, so i might have ran with this fic, but in all honesty, i don't regret it one bit 🤭🫶🏼

Always and Forever

wc: 5.09k

"He's very anxious to see you, you know," says Ben, Jack's older brother, with a gentle smile. He adjusts your veil, ensuring each intricate lace pattern aligns perfectly with your hairline. The soft material whispers against your skin, a comforting reminder of the love and tradition that has led you to this moment.

You nod, trying to swallow the butterflies performing acrobatics in your stomach. Your heart feels like it's trying to escape the confines of your chest, beating a staccato rhythm against your ribcage. The room, a serene blend of creams and golds, is a stark contrast to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. Your eyes flit to the full-length mirror, taking in the elegant silhouette of your dress, the way it hugs your curves and cascades to the floor. You've always loved the way it sparkles when it catches the light, like a starry night captured in fabric.

"Come on, let's get the first look started before the poor lad throws up from nerves," Ben says, his attempt at humor barely masking his own excitement. You smile, taking a deep breath to compose yourself as he opens the door. The hallway is lined with bouquets of ivory roses and delicate lilies, their sweet scent filling the air. Your gaze follows the aisle to the end, where a soft light filters through the grand archway leading to the garden.

Jack's dressed in a tailored navy-blue suit, his back to you, his shoulders slightly tense as he waits. The garden is a canvas of lush greens and blooming flowers, the sun casting a warm glow that kisses your skin as you make your way towards him. You can almost feel the anticipation in the air, a palpable force that seems to be holding its breath alongside you.

"Take your time," Ben whispers, giving you a reassuring nudge. "He's all yours."

You step into the light, feeling it warm your skin as the coolness of the shadows recedes. Your eyes lock onto the back of Jack's head, his golden hair reflecting the sun's kisses. His broad shoulders are tense, his back straight as a rod as he stares at the horizon, probably willing the moment to come. You can see his chest rise and fall with every shaky breath he takes.

The cobblestone path beneath your feet is a silent guide, leading you closer to the man you're about to marry. Each step feels like a lifetime, the anticipation building with every inch you cover. The garden whispers around you, a symphony of leaves and petals, all eager to witness the culmination of your love.

Jack's form is a beacon of stillness amidst the gentle sway of the foliage. His shoulders, broad and strong, seem to hold the weight of the world, yet there's a vulnerability to his stance that makes your heart ache with tenderness. As you draw nearer, you notice the way his fingers flex against his thigh, his grip tightening and loosening in a silent testament to his nerves.

You're close now, so close you can almost feel the warmth radiating from his body. The silence stretches between you, a delicate thread that ties your hearts together in this moment. You lift your hand to touch his shoulder, the fabric of his suit cool and smooth beneath your fingertips.

He jolts at your touch, spinning around to face you. His greenish hazel eyes widen with astonishment, his pupils dilating as they drink in the sight of you. The smile that spreads across his face is like the sun breaking through clouds, a blend of joy, love, and relief that makes you feel like the most cherished person in the universe.

"Wow," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. His gaze travels over every inch of you, from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes, as if he's trying to memorize every detail. You feel a flush creep up your neck, warming your cheeks like the soft kiss of a summer breeze.

"You look… incredible," Jack finally manages to say, his words hitching on the edge of a sob. You can see the effort he's putting into keeping his composure, but the way his eyes shine with unshed tears tells you everything you need to know.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Thank you," you reply, your voice a soft caress that seems to resonate within the quiet sanctity of the moment.

Jack's eyes never leave yours as he takes a tentative step forward, his hand reaching out to brush away the single tear that has escaped and is now tracing a path down your cheek. His touch is feather-light, yet it sends a jolt through your entire being, a silent promise of forever.

"You're more beautiful than I ever imagined," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the symphony of the garden.

Your heart skips a beat as his hand cups your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that feels like a secret shared between only the two of you. His eyes, those pools of emerald and amber, are filled with a love so profound it's almost tangible. In that moment, you realize that no photograph, no description could ever capture the essence of what you're feeling.

"Jack, you look…" You start to say, but the words catch in your throat. How can you put into words the way his eyes light up, the way his presence seems to fill the entire garden, the way your soul sings when he's near?

He chuckles, the sound as warm as a cup of tea on a rainy afternoon. "Thanks," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. "But you're the one who's stealing the show."

The moment is perfect, encapsulated in the soft rustle of the leaves and the distant chirp of a bird. You can feel the weight of the world falling away, leaving only the two of you and the promise of forever. Your hand reaches up to cover his, pressing it gently to your cheek, savoring the warmth of his skin.

"Jack, I…" You start, but the words catch in your throat again. How do you express the tumultuous sea of emotions churning inside you? How do you put into words the depth of your love, the joy of this moment?

Jack's hand moves to yours, gently taking it into his. His skin is warm, a reassuring presence that grounds you in this whirlwind of feelings. He brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles with a softness that sends a shiver down your spine. His eyes never leave yours, holding you in a silent conversation filled with more meaning than any words could convey.

"You know," he says, his voice a low rumble that resonates through you, "I've been thinking about this moment for so long, I didn't think it could possibly be real."

You nod, understanding all too well. The reality of this day has been a dream you've both held onto, a vision that has carried you through the darkest of times. "I know," you reply, your voice a soft whisper that the breeze seems to catch and carry away. "But here we are."

Jack's eyes crinkle at the corners, his smile deepening as he takes in the sight of you, dressed in the gown that reflects the essence of your soul. The fabric whispers as you move closer, the delicate beadwork glinting in the sunlight. You feel like a fairy-tale come to life, standing before the man who has captured your heart.

"I've been thinking," he says, his thumb still tracing the line of your jaw, "about the vows we're going to say."

Your heart skips another beat. Vows, the promises you'll make to each other, the foundation of your life together. You've spent countless hours crafting them, pouring your soul into every word. But now, as you stand before Jack, you realize that words might not be enough.

Jack's grip on your hand tightens, his eyes searching yours, as if he's reading the story of your life in the depths of your pupils. "I want to promise you something," he says, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "I want to promise you that I'll always be here, that I'll support you, challenge you, and love you, no matter what the world throws our way."

You nod, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. You've dreamed of this, of someone who truly sees you, understands you, and loves you for who you are. The wind picks up, playing with the hem of your dress, reminding you that life is unpredictable, much like the journey that brought you both to this moment.

Jack's gaze softens, a silent question in his eyes. You take a deep breath, ready to share the promise you've held close to your heart. "Jack, I want to promise you that I'll be the calm in your storm, the laughter in your quiet moments, and the hand that holds yours through every adventure and challenge that lies ahead."

Jack's smile widens, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He brings your hand to his chest, pressing it against the rapid beat of his heart. "And I'll be your sunrise, your quiet moments, and your forever home," he murmurs, the words vibrating against your skin.

You lean in, feeling the warmth of his breath against your cheek, your hearts beating in sync with the promise you've just made. "Jack, I love you so much," you whisper, the words a gentle caress that echoes through the garden.

Jack's eyes shine even brighter, if that's possible. "I love you," he says, his voice a mix of awe and adoration. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you, and you melt into his embrace, feeling the strength of his love envelop you like the warmth of the sun. The fabric of your dress whispers against his suit, a secret shared only between the two of you.

"Thank you," he murmurs into your hair, "for choosing me to be the one to share this with."

You pull back to look into his eyes, the greenish hazels that hold your entire universe. "Jack, there was never a doubt."

He smiles, the kind that lights up his entire face and makes your knees wobble. "But I've always felt like the luckiest person alive to have you."

You laugh, the sound like a bell in the stillness of the garden. "Jack, you're too much." But you know it's true. Your relationship has been a whirlwind of love and support, ever since that fateful day when you met at Wimbledon, your eyes locking across the crowded players' lounge.

Jack's arms tighten around you, his embrace a sanctuary in the chaos of the world. "I just want you to know," he says, his voice low and earnest, "that I'll never stop choosing you."

You lean into his warmth, feeling the comfort of his words wrap around you like a blanket on a cold night. The garden seems to hold its breath, waiting for your response. "And I'll never stop choosing you," you murmur, feeling the truth of your words resonate through every part of you.

Jack's eyes searched yours, a silent conversation passing between you that needs no words. His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, sending a shiver down your spine. The moment feels like an eternity, a single heartbeat stretching into forever.

"I know we still have the ceremony," you begin, your voice a whisper that seems to hold the weight of the world, "but in my heart, I feel like we're already married."

Jack's smile softens, his eyes searching yours. "And what does that feel like?"

You take a moment to ponder, the weight of his question resonating through your soul. "It feels like the moment the sun breaks through the clouds after a storm, like the first sip of water when you're parched."

Jack nods, his eyes shimmering with understanding. "It's like finding the perfect shot in a match," he says, "the one that makes everything else fall into place."

You smile, recognizing the tennis analogy. It's one of the many things you adore about him, how he brings his passion for the sport into every aspect of your lives together. "Exactly," you reply, "like finding that perfect serve, that perfect moment when everything aligns and you just know."

Jack nods, his eyes still holding yours, the unspoken promise hanging in the air. "Yeah," he says, "like when you hit that ace and you know it's all yours."

You laugh, the sound as light as the flutter of a butterfly's wings. "Exactly. It's like finding that perfect match point, that moment when you know you've got it."

Jack's grin widens, his eyes sparkling. "And you're my match point," he says, leaning in to kiss you. The kiss is soft and sweet, a promise of all the moments yet to come, all the love you'll share, all the life you'll build together.

The garden seems to sigh in contentment, as if it knows the secret you've just shared. You pull back slightly, your hands resting on Jack's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your fingertips.

"I can't believe we're here," you murmur, the reality of the moment still sinking in.

Jack's eyes twinkle. "I know. It feels like a dream."

The air around you seems to thicken, the anticipation of the impending vows a tangible force. You both know that the words you're about to speak are more than just tradition; they're the foundation of a partnership that's been years in the making, a declaration of love that's been woven into every shared smile, every whispered secret, every quiet moment of understanding.

"I guess we should get going," you murmur, breaking the spell. "They'll be waiting for us."

Jack nods, his gaze still locked on yours, as if he's afraid to look away, afraid that this moment might shatter like a dropped champagne flute. "Yeah, we should." But he doesn't move, his hand still cradling your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

You look into his eyes, feeling the warmth of his love wrapping around you like a warm blanket on a chilly London evening. "Jack," you murmur, "are you ready for this?"

Jack's smile is a gentle nod of reassurance. "More than ready," he whispers back, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in a comforting rhythm. "I'll see you at the altar."

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "I'll be the one walking down the aisle," you say, your voice filled with a mix of excitement and nerves.

Jack nods, his smile never leaving his face. "And I'll be the one waiting for you, forever and always."

You take a deep breath, feeling a rush of emotion so intense it's as if you're about to step onto the most important tennis court of your life, except this time, you're not fighting for a trophy, you're fighting for a lifetime of love and happiness. Ben clears his throat gently, reminding you of the world outside this garden sanctuary. With one final lingering look, you break the spell, and Jack releases you from his embrace.

The cobblestone path feels firm beneath your feet as you walk back down the aisle, the bouquet of ivory roses and lilies in your hand a testament to the purity and beauty of your union. The garden seems to come alive with whispers of excitement, the flowers leaning in as if eager to share your secrets.

"You're glowing," Ben says as you pass him, his eyes filled with pride.

You can't help but blush. The realization that in a few moments you'll be standing in front of your friends, your family, and the person you love most in the world is both thrilling and terrifying. The garden path leads you back to the bridal suite, where the rest of your wedding party waits. The air is electric with excitement and nerves, a potent cocktail that makes you feel both alive and ready to burst.

Your best friend gasps when you enter. "Oh my goodness, you look stunning!" she exclaims, her eyes brimming with happy tears. She rushes over to hug you, her arms enveloping you in a warm embrace that feels like a mother's love.

The bridal party, a collection of your closest friends and confidants, shower you with compliments, their faces a canvas of smiles and admiration. They fuss over the bouquet, straightening your veil, and offering you sips of water. You're grateful for the distraction, the familiarity of their care helping to soothe your nerves.

Jack's mother, Nicky, stands at the edge of the room, her eyes misty with joy. She's been your rock, your confidante, and the one who introduced you to the world of British tennis. She's seen the bond between you and her son grow from friendship to love, and now she's about to watch you both make a lifelong commitment. She steps forward, holding out her hand to you.

"Ready, darling?" she asks, her voice a gentle reminder of the love and support that has brought you to this moment.

You nod, your heart racing as you take a deep breath. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Nicky squeezes your hand reassuringly. "You two are going to be so happy together," she says, her eyes glistening with happiness. "Now, let's get you to the altar before Jack has a heart attack waiting for you."

The bridal party laughs, the tension in the room easing as you all walk down the hallway, the sound of your heels clicking against the marble floor. Each step feels like it's drawing you closer to a new chapter in your life, a chapter that starts with a promise spoken in front of those who matter most.

As you reach the end of the hall, the music swells, a sweet melody that fills your heart with a mix of excitement and nerves. The double doors to the garden open, revealing the aisle lined with guests dressed in their finest attire, their faces a blur of anticipation. You take a deep breath, feeling your heart thump against your ribcage like a drum announcing your arrival.

You start to walk, the sound of your heels a steady beat against the stone path. Your gaze is fixed on Jack, who stands at the altar, looking every inch the dashing groom. His eyes meet yours, and you feel a jolt of electricity that seems to pull you closer to him, as if you're magnetized.

The garden is a sea of faces, a kaleidoscope of smiles and happy tears. Each step feels like you're floating, the fabric of your dress billowing around you like a cloud. The sun plays peekaboo with the clouds, casting dappled light across the greenery, as if nature itself is celebrating your union.

As you draw closer to the altar, Jack's gaze never leaves yours. The intensity in his eyes is a beacon, a promise of a lifetime of love and companionship. You feel a warmth in your chest, a swell of emotion that seems to fill you up and spill over the edges. Your heart is racing, but you're not afraid. You're ready.

The officiant, a kind-faced woman with a gentle smile, begins to speak the opening words of the ceremony. Your eyes never leave Jack's as she weaves a tale of love that's as timeless as the seasons. Each word feels like a warm embrace, wrapping you both in a cocoon of comfort and belonging.

You notice the way the light catches the edges of his suit, casting a soft glow around him. The navy fabric seems to ripple like the surface of a lake, reflecting the happiness that shines from within. The garden is a canvas painted with love, each guest a stroke of color that completes the picture.

As you stand before him, Jack's hand reaches for yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your palm. The warmth of his touch sends a current of electricity through your body, a silent promise of forever.

The words of the ceremony blend into the symphony of the garden, each vow a note that resonates in the air around you. You repeat them, feeling the weight of their meaning in your bones, a vow not just to Jack but to the life you're about to embark on together.

Jack's eyes never leave yours, a silent conversation that speaks louder than any words could. You can see the love in them, the promise of a future filled with laughter, tears, and shared triumphs. His grip on your hand is firm but gentle, a reminder that no matter what the world throws at you, he'll be there to face it with you.

You couldn't help but giggle softly as you watched Paul, one of Jack's best friends and fellow tennis players, discreetly hand Jack a handkerchief to dab at his eyes. The sight of this stoic sportsman, who had faced down the toughest opponents on the court, brought to tears by the sight of you was more than you could handle. It was a testament to the depth of Jack's feelings, and it made your heart swell with affection.

"Sorry," Jack shyly laughs, taking the handkerchief from Paul. He wipes his eyes and looks back at you, his smile brighter than the sun that's now fully emerged from behind the clouds, casting a golden hue over everything.

The vows you've both written are a blend of humor and sincerity, a testament to the bond you've built together. You speak them with a tremor in your voice, feeling the gravity of each word. The warmth of Jack's hand in yours feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Jack's vows are a declaration of his love for the quirky parts of you that others might not understand. He promises to be your rock, your confidant, and your dance partner in the storms of life. His voice is steady, but you can see the emotion playing in the muscles of his jaw, the way his eyes never leave yours.

"I promise to love you," he says, "even when you almost fall down the stairs wearing socks, even when you snore louder than a bear, and even when you accidentally serve me a burnt breakfast."

You laugh through your own tears, feeling a warmth in your chest that rivals the sun on your skin. "And I promise to love you," you reply, "when you miss your shot because you're too busy winking at me in the stands, when you forget our anniversary because of a big match, and when you refuse to ask for directions because you're convinced you know the way."

The crowd laughs, the joy in the air as palpable as the scent of the roses that line the aisle. The vows are more than just words; they're a map of the journey you're about to embark on, a testament to the love that has brought you to this moment.

The officiant asks if you have anything to add. You glance at Jack, his eyes still shining with the promise of a future filled with love and adventure. You take a deep breath and lean in, whispering a secret vow that's just for the two of you.

"And I promise," you say, your voice steady and sure, "to always be your number one fan, to cheer you on from the sidelines, and to be the reason you play your best game."

Jack laughs, a sound that's as familiar and comforting as your favorite song. "I'm already playing my best game because of you," he whispers back.

The air seems to shimmer around you as you exchange rings, the simple bands of Welsh gold a symbol of the unbreakable bond you're forging. The warm metal feels like a promise against your finger, a constant reminder of the love that brought you to this moment.

Jack's hand shakes slightly as he slides the ring onto your finger, his eyes never leaving yours. You feel the same tremble in your own hand as you do the same for him, the moment forever etched into your memory.

The crowd falls silent as the final vow is spoken. The sun seems to hold its breath, waiting for the culmination of this beautiful ceremony. And then, with a final word, it's done. You're married. The word feels as natural as breathing, as if you've been waiting your whole life to hear it.

Jack's eyes are shining with happiness as he leans in for the kiss, and the garden erupts in applause and cheers. The sound is like music to your ears, a symphony of love and joy that fills the air. The kiss is soft, tender, and filled with the promise of a lifetime together. It's as if the world outside the garden walls has ceased to exist, and there's only the two of you, lost in the warmth of each other's embrace.

When you pull back, the reality of the moment sets in, and you feel a sense of peace wash over you. You're married, bound by love and commitment, ready to face whatever life throws at you.

"I love you," you murmur, feeling the warmth of his breath on your skin, "more than any words can express."

Jack's smile widens, his eyes never leaving yours. "I love you," he whispers back, his voice a gentle caress that sends shivers down your spine. "More than I ever knew was possible."

The crowd's applause swells around you, a warm embrace that seems to hold you both tighter than the arms of your new husband. As the cheers die down, Jack takes your hand and leads you back down the aisle, now a newlywed couple. The feeling is surreal, as if you're floating on a cloud of love and happiness.

The reception is a whirlwind of congratulations and well-wishers, their faces a blur of smiles and happy tears. The scent of the garden's blooms mingles with the aroma of a feast fit for royalty. You're ushered to a beautifully decorated table, surrounded by an array of mouthwatering dishes that seem to have been plucked from the pages of a gourmet magazine.

Jack pulls out your chair, his eyes never leaving yours as you take your seat. The intimate gesture sends a thrill down your spine, and you feel like you're the only two people in the world.

The reception unfolds like a perfectly choreographed dance, the conversations a symphony of laughter and love. You both mingle, sharing stories of your whirlwind romance, the way Jack swept you off your feet with his charm and tenacity, and how you supported him through his rigorous training regimen and nail-biting tournaments. His friends and family share tales of his determination on the court, his fiery spirit, and the way he's softened since meeting you.

At one point, you find yourself in a quiet corner with Jack, his hand resting gently on the small of your back. "Do you remember our first date?" he asks, his voice low and intimate.

You nod, a soft smile playing on your lips. "How could I forget?" It was at a quaint little Italian restaurant, tucked away in a side street of London. You had been nervous, not knowing what to expect from the famous tennis player you had been admiring from afar. But Jack had put you at ease with his charming wit and genuine interest in your life. The meal had been simple but exquisite, the conversation flowing as naturally as the sparkling water.

"It was like the perfect set," Jack says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You were my ace."

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin. "And you were my grand slam." The memory of that night brings a blush to your cheeks, the way your connection had been instant and undeniable, like the perfect serve that sails over the net and lands precisely where you'd aimed.

As the evening wears on, the conversations become more intimate, the laughter more heartfelt. You find yourselves stealing glances across the room, your hearts beating in a secret rhythm that only the two of you can hear.

The first dance is a slow, romantic number, chosen by Jack specifically for this moment. He holds you close, your bodies moving in perfect harmony, the fabric of your dress whispering against his suit. The world outside the dance floor fades away, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in the music's embrace.

"I never knew love could feel like this," Jack murmurs into your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

"Neither did I," you reply, your voice barely a whisper, lost in the melody of the music that surrounds you both. The dance floor is a blur of twirling couples, but all you can see is Jack, your hand in his, your hearts beating as one.

As the music transitions to something more upbeat, the energy in the room shifts, and before you know it, you're both swept up in a dance of joy and celebration. The laughter and conversations swirl around you like a tornado of happiness, lifting you higher and higher. You feel like you're floating, as if gravity no longer applies to you on this magical day.

Jack's hand slides around your waist, pulling you closer. "You know," he says, his voice barely audible over the din of the party, "I always knew you were the one for me."

You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his breath on your cheek. "What gave it away?"

Jack chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. "It was the way you looked at me," he says. "The way you made me feel like I could conquer the world just by being near you."

You tip your head back, the stars in your eyes mirroring the ones above. "And for me, it was your kindness," you admit. "The way you treated me like an equal, not just someone to be won over."

Jack's smile broadens, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. "Always and forever," he whispers, his words a warm embrace that sinks into your very soul.

"Always and forever," you murmur, your eyes sparkling with happiness. The dance floor is alive with the sound of laughter and music, the rhythm of love's sweet symphony. Each step feels like you're floating on air, Jack's arms the only thing anchoring you to reality.

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - lots, just LOTS

I thought I would be pretty lean reporting for Oct 2023 but then (for reasons relayed here) the weeklies got saved by a drunk avenging hacker in a hotel room.

Oct 2023 Wk 1

Except I still can't watch IFYLITA, because I use my other computer for it.

Gotta say though, watching tese mostly all in one day (for travel reasons) is beyond even my BL superpowers. I did my best tho.

Ongoing Series - Thai

Dangerous Romance (Fri YT) ep 8 of 12 - Sailom, sweetie, Kang is never sleeping alone again. It wasn't really translated, but Kang's way of speaking in that opening stinger was VERY cutsie. Also the gay sheets have made another appearance. I do have to say that "rich kid problems" is not my favorite story arc, but I still think this is a great Thai BL.

Naughty Babe (Sat YT) ep 6 of 8 - I love that they are finally talking to each other but Yi’s whole personality is shifting. Honestly, this pair is great at kissing and casual touches, but the friendships are the best thing about this franchise. Also Mr Chenne remains my fav character. But where did Diao's baby superhero team come from? And why? This show is very confusing... It’s also not very good.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) You Are My Soulmate ep 7 - This was the one of the series I was looking forward to the most, because silly, pretty, and v BL. It is, in fact all those things and nothing more. So I'm enjoying it, of course.

Absolute Zero (Thai Weds iQIYI) ep 2 of 12 - I like it, but it feels like it's gonna be so sad. I'm having Promise and Dew the movie flashbacks. Plus 12 eps seems too long for this narrative thread. I am worried.

Venus in the Sky (Tues iQIYI) 6 of 10 eps - This show is so slow it's hardly worth the bandwidth, but we attained "baby is a floppy drunk" and thus a finger bite frustration scene, which was nice.

Only Friends (Sat YT) ep 9 of 10 (not a BL but I'm watching it anyway) - Ray is so mean to Sand. The not-a-thing with Sand & Nick was cute. I’ve had several experiences like that. All my queer friendship groups tend to be incestuous, but sometimes they're just too much of a sibling and trying to sleep with them is the most unsexy thing in the universe. To be fair, I’ve also been in Ton’s position (this ep). Jojo sure makes queer shizz. But also, Ton must have a magic rod with everyone wanting a repeat. (I'm so glad they put Neo in this role, no one else at GMMTV could play him as complex or sympathetic.)

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

You Are Mine (Taiwan Fri Viki) eps 5 of 10 - now officially known by me as "I'm too sunshine for this seme" where our boss is being hella obvious but our cinnamon roll is just too ooey-gooey to notice. Al.though, baby boy, he takes you home, sleeps on top of you, feeds you cookies (IN HIS BED) and keeps you in his space? Surely even this sunshine is catching a few rays of truth?

Gaga's *unintelligible gay murmuring* is my favorite caption EVER.

Also the name of my new ASMR YT channel.

Bon Appetit (Korea Weds iQIYI) 3-4 of 8 - ah gay panic, also what is Korea's obsession with 7 year separations? Is it only true love if you wait 7 years? Dohoon is SUCH a flirt, it's kinda great! Also, since it's Korea, we got us a bit of a love triangle with 2 hyung romances, so I (of course) am torn. Either way Dohoon is going down. I do love how much time we are spending with the food in this drama, finally one that lives up to its name. On an entirely different note, Korean camping is the most bizare thing to me. It's SO damn civilized. There will be NO DIRT. They pack blow torches. And full dinner sets. Every time I see it in a drama, I'm amused.

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 7 of 8 - OMG these 2 are so in love with each other, and so ridiculous about it. They're tiny idiots but I love them.

If It’s With You AKA Even If I Fall In Love With You AKA Kimi to nara Koi wo Shite Mite mo’ (Japan Gaga) ep 1 of 5 - from MBS a live action adaptation of Kubota Maru’s manga ‘君となら恋をしてみても. Amane has stopped loving people due to trauma until he meets Ryuji. At first Amane just wants to play with Ryuji but… feelings.

I like the odd Japanese mature-childishness in this one. Plus a broken sunshine who is out in a kind of aggresive way and an instinctive caring seme. What's not to love? Well, it's Japan I'm sure it will surprise me one way or another.

Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 3 of ? - the cray cray step brother quazi incest is a bit much for me. Why does VBL just suddenly get so unhinged like this?

Kiseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Tues Viki & iQIYI) ep 9 of 13(?) - resumes next week

It's Airing But...

I Feel You Linger in the Air (Fri grey) ep 8 of 12 - I will try to watch 8-12 and do a series review when I get back in November but... not sure I will be able to. Fingers crossed.

Love in Translation (Sat iQIYI) ep 8fin - I will complete and drop a review in Nov.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - 4th installment in this series (1st series, 1 special, 1 movie prior) about a lawyer who lives with his boyfriend, a hairdresser, and cooks for him. I find thie series more fun to binge, som I'm waiting until it completes its run.

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan Tues Netflix-Japan & ????) - in classic JBL fashion, I Cannot Reach You could not be reached. 

Can I Buy Your Love From A Vending Machine? AKA Sono Koi, Jihanki de Kaemasu ka? (Japan cinema release in-country only) - This one is a movie from Japan so in customary fashion who tf knows when (or if) it will get international distribution. Salaryman Ayumu Koiwai just can't tear his eyes away from the strong, muscular man as he checks on the stocks of the vending machine in his office.

In case you missed it?

Crazy Handsome Rich (Sun Gaga) Apparently ended its run I DNFed this at ep 3. So no review from me.

My Beautiful Man: Eternal AKA Utsukushii Kare Eternal (Japan movie Viki & Gaga) - Play it again Sam, only I'm kinda tired of this song. I was v dramatic tho. And it's always nice to be reminded JBL can kiss when it puts its mind to it. 8/10

Next Week Looks Like This

Upcoming October BL

10/31 SHADOW (Thai VIU ????) - this is a horror BL featuring ghosts and other paranormal elements in a high school setting. I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all, but if it must be done in BL let Japan do it). It features Singto (who did paranormal BL He's Coming to Me) opposite Fluke N (who's done a couple horror's before). Also Fiat. Dan suffers from sleep paralysis, and in his dreams he sees a shadow that suffocates him. It gets worse when he transfers schools.

10/? Bump Up Project AKA Bump Up Business (Korea ????) - BL staring OnlyOneOf that released(??) as a movie in July but is now being recut and reissued as a series. Stars NineMill and from Idol Romance bulled as a love story between a trainee who is about to debut and a celebrity from the same agency (based on a webtoon). OnlyOneOf have been auditioning for this since Libido IMHO. You can watch me chronicle their BL MV work in this post. Idol Romance will do sad but can do good kisses (Wish You, Nobleman Ryu, Once Again, Kissable Lips, Poongduck 304, Tasty Florida, Tinted With You) but I don't think we will get any in this. After that OmegaX Shoulder bullshizz buisness I am very wary of this show.

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

I've seen this Chinese drama like... no wait... okay it's like EVERY Chinese drama ever.

(both Mr Cinderella 2)

I only got to watch this scene and the bath, but bot were pretty darn good! I Feel You Linger in the Air

There's only one bed but they slept together on the floor anyway. One of BL's oddest tropes.

I do love a finger bite. (both Venus in the Sky)

Good advice

(Naughty Babe)

(Last week) 

[dani-does-stuff]

Hermitcraft species headcanons. It's also really obvious which hermits I watch

Grian- watcher/parrot avatar: has watcher powers but only uses them in an emergency, has big parrot wings, bird legs, and feet. He does perch on other hermits, his favorites being Mumbo, scar, gem, impulse, and Skizz (so Magic Mountain minus Joel because he will go limp on purpose). He also sometimes will randomly swoop in, land on a hermit, and take off hard to knock them off balance, his favorite victims being Scar, Joel, and Doc. He has tried to knock Mumbo off but can never get him to fall over for some reason.

Skizz-angle of justice/laughter: has a full angel form. Some of his scars are actually closed eyes. Any sword he welds gets fire aspect until he puts it down. His normal form has a pair of wings and a halo, if he gets overly emotional(stressed, angry, happy, etc) he will gain two more sets of wings, and the halo will become tilted and another one will appear overlapping in front of his eyes(he can still see clear as day) this is not his true form, the only one who has seen his true form is impulse.

Impulsesv-demon: demon of ambition, semi-fireproof but not much. Has a full demon form. Much like Skizz, he has the form he presents most of the time, and when he feels strong emotions, his looks become more demonic. For his every day, he has two small horns on his forehead that go from his normal skin tone to an ashy black and a forked tail that has the same effect. His wings are like bat wings and have small yellow talens on the ends. For his more demonic look, his horns get bigger, his eyes will start to glow, his teeth will become too big to fit in his mouth, and when his tail strikes the ground, it creates sparks. Also, like Skizz, this is not his true form, and Skizz is the only one to have seen it.

Gem-shapeshifter: the main form is a humanoid with deer antlers, usually with flowers and vines woven in.

Scar-vex: made a deal with the vex and became one. His normal form is a human, but if he gets angry, which is rare, his skin turns blue. He can also summon vex wings and can turn into 1-3 small vexes, can only walk through walls and fly when he is in either vex form.

Mumbo-vampier bat/part watcher: can shift to and from bat form but rarely does it mostly because he forgets he can. Gained the watcher part after eating grians soul back in season 8.

Joel- meat-eating pixie hybrid: has sharp teeth for tearing into meat and can shift from his human size to pixie size.

Tango- blaze: fully fireproof, arms are disconnected, but that is usually hidden with his shirt/hoodie, has blaze rods floating around his head and will sometimes use them if he needs one and will give them to other hermits if they ask.

Pearl- moth: has moth wings and antennas. Every once in a while a hermit will find them staring at a light and have to drag them away

Etho- arctic fox: can freely shift from human to fox form and will use this power exclusively to prank people. In human form, he has fox ears and a tail.

False- eagle avatar: has eagle wings,

Ren- dog: on a full moon, he will turn into a full dog, but like a Minecraft dog (zed makes sure to stay inside during full moons because of this), he can also shift into a dog outside of the full moon with the bonus of still being in control. He is allergic to things dogs can't eat, like chocolate, but they just give him a stomach ache, so he sometimes just eats the stuff anyway. In his human form, he has dog ears and a very fluffy tail. If a hermit throws a stick or something around, no matter what state he is in, he will chase it.

Cleo- zombie: sometimes they have to sew their limbs back on, and for whatever reason they can't do it, they will get Joe to do it; other hermits are allowed, but Joe does the best Joe and has fun, colorful thread.

Beef- long-horned cow/bull: has long bull horns that make it annoying to go through doors sometimes.

Xsuma/evil X- void walker: although he technically can breathe the air in the overworld, it is a lot harder, so he wears the suit to help him breathe with the added bonus of having it temper regularly because the end is a lot colder than the overworld.

Hypno- wasp: wasp :)

Cub- vex: was born a vex. They had the same vex features as Scar with the same mechanics.

Doc- creeper/goat/cyborg: doc started as just a normal creeper hybrid, but then he had his arm ripped off, so he made himself a new one with some perks, of course. Then he lost his eye, so he replaced that, and then he just kept going. He now has goat horns, a robotic spine, and butterfly wings, along with countless other modifications. Now, it's not the changes that Doc made to himself that freak the hermits out; most of the hermits think it's really cool, but the fact that no one can figure out how the hell he did it. Replacing an arm by yourself is one thing but a spine. A SPINE DOC. It wasn't even necessary he just did it.

Joe-???: nobody knows what Joe is; everyone just knows he is not human. The most common theory is that he is a ghost, but due to the nature of Joe Hill, nobody is sure. It certainly doesn't help that he keeps saying he is from a place called Nashville, Tennessee, and the hermits can't figure out if it's a server name or a dimension or whatever; most of them have just given up on trying to understand Joe Hills and just accept whatever he is.

Xb- guardian: elder guardian hybrid, has retractable gills and a tail.

Keralis- ethereal being: whatever he is it is not human for one and two, has been here long before the universe formed

Zedaph- sheep: normal sheep hybrid, can be nametag _jeb, but the person who does this will end up with various zany redstone contraptions that may or may not be lethal

Wels- falcon: has falcon wings

Jevin- slime: blue slime

Bdubs- mossy glare: he's solar-powered.

[artingabout]

Boromir's bracers from The Fellowship of the Ring

Behind the scenes:

This was my first venture into real leatherworking so there are a lot of basics included in the materials list, but now that I have them, I won't run out for a while :)

My materials:

2mm thick scrap leather

a full basic leatherworking tool kit including metal thimble, skiving knife, edge-trimmers, diamond punches and burnishing tools

leather needles

waxed thread

swivel knife for cutting the pattern in

rubber mallet

cutting boards

leather dye and scrap cloth for applying it

sewing pony

contact adhesive

four buckles

nickel studs

I'd made the bracers before, 10 years ago, for a costume party but had made them out of craft foam because lack of time/space/money for leather-working.

Since I had some time to kill over the holidays, I decided it was time to give things a go. First stage was redrawing my original pattern then cutting the leather to shape/size:

Next up was marking out the patterns onto the main body of the leather. Lessons have been learned. I foolishly decided to freehand it. It still looks nice, but now I know how I could have done it better.

Once both sets of patterns were down, I tooled the leather with the swivel knife. Learned very quickly that I should have got a slightly thicker leather to make the pattern stand out more, but for a first attempt, very happy.

Punched the main stitching holes and then did the staining to get the red-brown colouring. Took a couple of layers and several attempts to get to the right and consistent shade.

Once the dye dried overnight, burnished the edges of the smaller piece to make them smooth and shiny, then attached the two sections together with contact adhesive and started the stitching (ow my fingies)

The trickiest part of the whole thing was adding the buckles and trying to work out the best length for both of them, taking into account that the bracers are meant to be worn on top of several layers, including a quilted arm-guard.

Thankfully, I found a lovely batch of buckles that also had the pin on a separate rod from the rod that the buckle loop went around, which simplified putting it all together. I've done buckles before, but never with material this thick.

Once the straps were on, fastened with stud and stitching, it was just a matter of giving the entire thing a polish with beeswax to give it a smooth sheen all over and then adding the silver details. I did attempt foil, but it ended badly, so I switched to silver paint instead.

My Boromir-by-installments is coming together, little by little :)