#He’d try to pick up old hobbies—things he used to enjoy

[kairithemang0]

Owen wasn’t the only thing that gave Curt joy, but he was the one to give Curt the ability to feel joy at all

[kdogreads]

Imagine being Gibbs’ girl

He tries to keep his rough exterior, but he totally melts for you

He’ll definitely dance with you in the basement if you ask sweetly enough, and even if he pretends not to, he loves just swaying with you to some old country loves songs.

(This would definitely play through his radio)

Or kiss every one of you fingers if you come home from work and say they’re sore.

He will put you back in the car if you try to open your own door.

He’ll learn how to put your hair in a pony tail or a bun if you hurt your shoulder and can’t do it yourself. Plus he’ll keep brushing your hair for you, sitting snugly between his thighs and enjoying his warmth, long after you heal.

He sings to you if you wake up in the night reliving your darkest times in your dreams. He’ll wrap you up as tightly as he can in his strong arms, strong enough to remind you you’re safe with him, and whisper the words to any old song that pops into his head.

He loves to leave you little notes by the coffee pot or on your bedside table when he leaves before you do:

Have a good day, my love. See you tonight

- J

You agree not to marry early in the relationship

You’d both been around that block more than once, and it seemed like that fancy piece of paper just complicates things.

Of course, you’re exclusive to one another, but you just can’t bring yourselves to risk changing what you have by changing your last name. It seems so insignificant when you think of it that way.

Most of your neighbors and friends just assume you’re married, anyway. So when a letter arrives in the mail addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Gibbs, you aren’t surprised. It makes you smile to see it on paper, but nothing is going to change your minds on this.

His love language is 100% acts of service

He’ll unload the dishwasher, fold the laundry, bring you home fresh flowers for no reason at all, have dinner ready if he somehow makes it home before you do one day. He rarely lets you bring in any groceries or luggage. Even though he knows you are tough enough to literally take him down, he wouldn’t dare letting you carry something too heavy or inconvenient.

Any little thing he can do to brighten your day, he does.

In turn, the small acts you grant him, like taking his suit jackets to the dry cleaners, setting his shoes and thermos out for him before work, picking up a new book about boats, make him fall even more in love with you.

He makes you things

J will make you anything he thinks you might like. A wooden stand for your plants, a step stool when you mention that the bed is just a little bit high off the ground for you, shelves to proudly display your knick knacks, a sled for Christmas after you tell him you never had one as a child.

He’d even try his hand at a ukulele if you mention wanting to learn to play.

Of course he’s made boats named for Kelly and Shannon, but his newest project is adorned proudly with your name, sprawled across the hull in flowing letters.

His hobby turns into more than just that, it’s his way to show you how much he loves you, and you soak in everything he’ll give you.

He’ll use his jacket to shield you from the rain

Jethro is usually prepared for anything, but rain can sneak up on you. In that case, he’ll peel his jacket off and cover you as best as he can. Even if it means he’ll get soaked to the bone, he’ll make sure you’re covered a least a little bit more than he is.

He tones down his crazy driving for you

The first time you got in the car with him, you about passed out from an anxiety attack. You don’t want to be a backseat driver, so you just grin and bear it for a while, but he picks up on your discomfort pretty quickly.

He slows down, starts using his turn signal, and stops cutting people off, but every now and then, when it’s late and the roads are empty, he’ll take you for a high-speed cruise just to get your blood pumping.

He’s much touchier than you ever imagined

A strong hand on the small of your back, fingers ghosting over your exposed thigh, a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder when you’re uneasy, or just brushing against you to pass, even when there is plenty of room to spare.

Anything he can do to have his hands on you, he’ll do. You two are like a safety tether for each other, always there to make sure you don’t drift too far away.

As far as PDA goes, Jethro is pretty limited in what he’s willing to show the world, but he’ll always find a discreet way to connect himself to you. A brief brush of your pinkies, a quick kiss to your forehead, or a full-on embrace if you find a moment alone. Whatever it is, his touch still sets you on fire every time.

He is so gentle and fatherly to children

The two of you decided early on that you would avoid having kids. Given his past, you understand and agree to the arrangement. When you get together with your young nieces and nephews, though, Jethro turns into a total kid right along with them.

He’s quick to join in a game of cops and robbers, always quipping how it’s so much more fun being the bad guy, or plop down in the grass and find pictures in the clouds.

When someone takes a tumble or scrapes up their knee, though, he’s the first to scoop them up in his strong arms and hug the pain away. He’ll make them feel better with a story about when he hurt his knee, too, or how chicks dig scars (you always smack him playfully for that).

He makes a mean cup of coffee

You’d never thought of yourself as much of a coffee snob, but after tasting Jethro’s version, brewed slowly over the fire if time allows and mixed with the perfect amount of cream and sugar, you could never go back to any coffee shop again.

Same goes for his cooking. He doesn’t make much, but when he does, damn it is good.

“The secret ingredient is love,” he’ll joke to you, mocking your own phrase, and you’ll roll your eyes as the flavors envelop your tastebuds.

All in all, our man Jethro is basically the best partner you could ever ask for, and you love showing him how much you appreciate him.

Tagging some of my LJG lovers 💕

@instantnoooodles @daphne-bourne @museofbooks @ilovemark1951 it won’t let me tag you :( @yestwlightfan

[mrdixon]

A Rugged Muse | Chapter 1

pairing: eventual daryl dixon x f!reader

wc: 3.1k

warnings: swearing, violence, slight depiction of gore, vomiting

summary: reader has a shit day. basically the day of the outbreak.

A/N: FIRST CHAPTER WOOOO i am clearly not an art major…. im in the different arts. so apologies to you visual artists im going off from my lack of knowledge from my hobby lol. i really hope you guys enjoy this series because i am EXCITED to write it.

a rugged muse masterlist |regular masterlist

“Fuck,” you groaned, slamming your forehead onto the desk in front of you. A few heads turned to look at you in the library, you cursed under your breath and looked up again after a moment. Adjusting the glasses askew on your face before looking at the paper on the desk. The paper before you was worn with erased pencil marks, slightly wrinkled. Art block was the worst, you’d rather be ten feet under than stuck with art block.

You sighed, it’s been months since your last project and even that was a fail. It didn't help that you only worked at a fucking minimum wage job, maybe you should've listened to your parents and became a doctor or something. It wasn't like it was always like this, no… art school was a breeze. You had hosted real galleries where people came to see your art, and now look at you. Moping around in a library, desperately trying to find something to draw.

After tapping your pencil against the table which by the way, earned many dirty looks, you scooted closer to the table. Picking up your old sketchbook and frantically flipping through it to find…. so many god damn drawings of, him. Your god forsaken ex boyfriend, but he was gorgeous.

You met him ironically enough in art class, way back in high school. He was there by choice, you were not. Yet everything about him was just so captivating that you couldn't help but not switch out of the class, thank god you didn't. You enjoyed the class more than you expected, painting being one of your favourite forms of art, oils being your preferred medium. You painted and sketched every moment of the day, not putting down that brush for one second. Your ex boyfriend was your inspiration, every detail on that stupid face was engraved in your mind like a marble statue. His beautiful plump lips and the beauty marks that scattered over his face being two of your favourite features.

Art was everything to you, and so was he. He was all you drew, he made life seem prettier and happier. But then he dumped you for some random chick he met in a bar, that was six months ago.

Since then you've had no motivation and no inspiration for your projects. Flowers no longer had their charm, abstracts looked dumb to you again, oils looked muddy. Nothing worked.

You picked up your pencil and started at the paper again, pushing your glasses up before hesitantly sketching out lines. Your mind wandered back to him, you still couldn’t believe it. After years of being together he’d just leave like that? Those years of pure, innocent love where you’d make breakfast with him, take baths together, even paint each other for fun. Date nights that were full of giggles and messily painting on each others skin, his fingertips grazing over your eyelids and nose as he sculpted you out of clay. He threw that all away for a woman he’s known for one night.

Your pencil moved furiously against the paper, scarring it like he scarred you. When you looked back down at it you noticed it was him, those hostile eyes from that night staring right through you. Those words of heartbreak echoing through your mind, words that came from lips that used to kiss you every morning. You huffed angrily, no matter how much you hated him, he always came back. He was always in your mind, plaguing your thoughts like venom. Slamming your pencil down you stood up, ripping the paper furiously.

Now there were whispers, people looked at you weirdly. After remembering your place in the world, you picked up your things and packed up quickly, aching to get back home to your bed. While in your haste, you dropped something. You already were in an irritable mood so you took a deep breath before causing a scene over a dropped item, crouching down to pick up just to notice it was the painting knife he had gifted you months before you broke up. The words ”To the love of my life…” engraved on it. After shoving the painting knife back into your bag angrily you quickly got back on your feet and headed towards the door, not before throwing half your sketches into the bin. As if you couldn’t get any more frustrated, someone bumped into you which caused you to whip around. Though no words came out of your mouth as you took in the sight of the person.

They were sickly pale, sweating profusely and trembling. Their eyes were bloodshot, matching the… bite wound on their forearm? They shook looking at you, mumbling a meek apology and pushing their sleeve down over their arm before walking away. Weird. Anyway.

You turned back around, must be some weird prank or something. Whatever, you were extremely tired and needed to get back to your apartment asap. As you left the library the humid August air hit you like a truck, not helping your heated mood at all. Grumbling to yourself you tried not to let it affect you, instead pushing your hair behind your shoulders, what a convenient day to forget your hair tie. Nothing was going your way, it was like the world was against you. A scream broke your thoughts, it came from somewhere ahead of you. Great, someone probably got mugged and now you were next. Just another thing to keep you moody.

A woman turned the corner, running towards you. You braced yourself for the mugging but to your surprise, it never came. The woman’s face was drained, it was as if she saw a ghost. She didn’t stop running, she was terrified and stuff was falling out of her purse but she didn’t even bother to pick them up. You watched as she ran past you without batting as eye, what is going on today? Shrugging, you picked up the stuff she dropped, finders keepers. Gum, tissues, tampons, condoms, and… her wallet. You almost jumped in joy, you could really use the money right now.

Finally out of your mood you practically skipped down the street, looking through the wallet and counting the cash. $10… $28… $48… $130… $135— oh wait that’s a Canadian $5 what the fuck— $140. One hundred forty fucking dollars in cash, that woman must’ve been loaded to carry this much cash. Well, now you carried it.

Another scream broke your daze, but this time it was closer. You looked up and saw another terrified woman running towards you, this time knocking into you which caused you to crash onto the floor, the cash scattering across the pavement. Back in your mood.

“What the fuck is your problem!?” You yelled, watching the woman continue running and not even look back. Is there a goddamn marathon you didn’t know about or what? You fiercely picked up the scattered cash, shoving them into your bag immediately before crossing your arms and continuing your walk back to your apartment. Fixing your glasses you saw a man get tackled to the ground by another man a street in front of you, was this happening to everyone???

Much to your horror you watched as the man on top mauled into the other’s neck, tearing through the skin and splattering blood everywhere. You froze, feeling your blood run cold at the sight. You watched as the man kept eating away at the now, dead person. The man’s head turned slightly to grab at more of the bloodied flesh, you now noticing the cloudy eyes and gray skin. This man was already dead, so how was he…

You snapped out of it, turning the other way to avoid whatever was happening. This had to be a sick joke. Your heart was beating in your ears, weaving through the back lanes to find a different path to your home. Hair stood at the back of your neck as your senses were now alert, if whatever that was is real, you had to be way more careful. It was quiet in the alley, calm. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Stopping for a second to catch your breath and recollect your thoughts, bending over slightly and placing your hands on your knees.

“Jesus christ,” you muttered. You couldn’t get the visual out of your head, that man was murdered right in front of you. His eyes bulging out of his head when he couldn’t even scream for help, that… monster ripping his throat out and devouring him in broad daylight. You shook your head, running your fingers through your hair frantically as you tried to rid your brain of that image.

A low groaning filled your ears and before you could register it you were falling to the ground, a grunt escaping you as you quickly turned onto your back. One of those things were falling over you, your quick reflexes holding them up by their shoulders. You got a clear view of what they looked like, their eyes were clouded over, veins more visible under their pale skin, their lips and chin dribbling with blood. You grimaced, trying to scream but nothing came out, nothing but a flow of air. They were strong, jaw snapping closer and closer to you. If you didn’t do anything now you’d end up like that guy on that street. No fucking way you were going to die like that.

Struggling a little, you lifted your legs under them and kicked from their stomach. Throwing the thing off of you, grunting you scrambled to your feet. The thing quickly following, their leg twisted as they got up from the position you flung them in. Surely it would’ve hurt if it were you, but unlike you, they weren’t living. You opened your bag and shoved your hand in, cursing yourself in your head for shoving everything in there. You held out your other arm protectively while stepping backwards from the thing. The hand in your bag searched wildly for something to defend yourself with, something to kill with. Could you even kill them?

Your back hit the wall, panic filling your body as the thing got closer. Before it could get any closer you tucked your forearm under their chin to hold them back, a loud cry escaping you as you fought to hold them back. When you were starting to give up, the hand in your bag finally found something metal. Ripping it out you immediately swung at it with the item, sinking it into their head which was surprisingly easy. Adrenaline probably. The thing fell to the ground, dead again.

You let out a heavy sigh, sliding down the wall. You looked down at your hands, bloodied with what you could only hope wasn’t your own blood. You were shaking profusely, your breathing uneven. You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing as you pressed your knees to your chest, the heel of your palm placed on your forehead. You stayed like this for a moment, you don’t know how long. But once you were ready you let out one last shaky breath before opening your eyes again, and glancing down at the thing on the ground in front of you.

You almost laughed as you realized you used the painting knife to end the thing, but you didn’t. You silently reached over and pulled it out, swallowing as it made a gross squelch sound. Looking down at your painting knife which was now covered in its blood, you wiped it off on their shirt. Taking a closer look at the body and noticing a bite mark on their shoulder, much like the person in the library. Your lip quivered as you imagined what had happened to them, what might’ve happened to you if you stayed. There was a low pit in your stomach as you stood up, your mouth suddenly filling with saliva before hunching over and vomiting. Your eyes filled with tears just realizing how close to death you were, throwing up your lunch.

You coughed, wiping your mouth on your sleeve before shoving the painting knife back into your bag. You had to get home, now. Your feet moved quickly, not stopping for even a second. There were barely anyone on the streets and you wondered if your home was even safe. Stop, your feet stopped. Don’t think like that. With a heavy breath you took off again, walking even faster towards your apartment building. Please, please, please….

You jolted suddenly as your phone started ringing, you grabbed it but didn’t stop walking. Answering without even checking the caller ID.

“Hello?” You said almost too quietly, still shaken up from your encounter with the thing.

“(Y/N)?? (Y/N), are you okay!?” The anxious voice yelled, it was your older brother, Glenn. You almost cried in happiness, walking even faster now.

“Yes Glenn, yes I’m fine…” you mumbled into the phone, breathing a sigh of relief that your brother was alive. “What is going on?”

“God, I don’t know. All I know is people are dying and coming back to life and eating each other and dying and coming back to—”

“Yeah, yeah I get it!” you cut him off, “I almost—” you stopped, deciding not to tell him about your fight. He was anxious enough, he always was but you didn’t want to worry him even more.

“Almost what?? You didn’t get bit did you!?” He yelled which caused you to pull your phone away from your ear in discomfort.

“No I didn’t, stop yelling.” You replied irritated, you heard him sigh on the other end. Hearing distant voices in the background. “Where are you?”

“I was at work when I saw everything go down, I drove back to the pizza place immediately.” He said more calmer, “but we’re gonna move out soon.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion, “wait why? Isn’t it safe there? Why not wait for help?”

“You didn’t hear? I thought you were always on your phone,” you scoffed in annoyance at his probe. “They’re setting up camps, courtesy of the military I think.”

You chest filled with hope, you were going to be safe. “Oh thank god, okay wait I’m going back to my place to grab some things. Where is the camp?”

When Glenn responded his end was filled with feedback, static. “It’s gonna. Arou— Ta—”

“Glenn?? You’re… you’re cutting off.” You said nervously, nearing your apartment.

“A— Yo— I’m—” And the call failed.

Dread filled your body once again, now you really were going to cry. You shakily walked through the apartment building, keeping guard for potential things around. Opting for the stairs, you walked swiftly up them. Out of breath by the time you reached your room, fortunately there was nothing to stop you.

Once you got in you immediately dropped everything, locking the door and collapsing to the floor. Tears filled your eyes once more and you let some of them escape and trickle down your cheeks, you were scared. Scared of those things roaming around, they could kill, you’ve seen it. You removed your glasses momentarily to wipe your face. You shook your head you took a deep breath and stood up, you had to pack and leave immediately. You didn’t know where you were going but you had to leave, you had to find Glenn.

Putting your glasses back on, you crawled over and rummaged through your closet carelessly, trying to find a backpack that was big enough to carry all your necessities. Your apartment was already a mess so you didn’t bother being slow and careful right now, which might have been a bad idea as you snagged your finger on a stray box cutter.

“Shit,” you muttered while pulling your hand back, a cut dragged along your index finger. You rushed over to the sink, washing it quickly before throwing a bandage over the cut. While doing so you heard a police siren drive by, the sound dying off as it drove farther and farther away. You sighed before returning to the closet, grabbing a big enough backpack and shoving as much clothes you could get while also leaving room for extra things.

You stood up and looked around your small apartment, your bed looked so inviting. You were exhausted beyond help, your body aching with the need to rest. I shouldn’t. You thought and continued scrambling for items to take with you, the amount of scattered pages of sketches filled the space that was your floor. Your heart broke at the thought of leaving your things behind but you knew it’d be useless to take with you, but you couldn’t take nothing.

You grabbed a few pencils and brushes, along with a small paint palette and placed them carefully into your bag, an empty sketchbook joining them. While searching you opened your desk drawer, three daggers which you made in a welding class a couple years ago. They were sturdy and well sharp enough, thank god you were good at making things. You took them and put them into a sheath to prevent stabbing yourself. You grabbed a few more things like a lighter, some bandaids, and batteries. You frowned at the lack of supplies you had on hand, but you tried to convince yourself that you’d be taken care of at the camps.

You moved over to your small kitchen and grabbed a water bottle which you filled, also grabbing a couple snacks that would keep you full for a few days at best. You heard a few distant screams outside, some screams of pain which caused you to wince. The sudden thought of living in an apocalypse dawned over you, a feeling of dread rushing through you. You couldn’t shake the feeling off but you chose to ignore it. You did not want to go into a panic right now, you had to have a clear and positive mind if you wanted to live.

You pulled your bag over your shoulders and walked over to your mirror to take a look at yourself, grounding yourself for the world outside. You wanted so badly to sleep but you knew you had to get a move on if you wanted to get to a camp safely.

“I can do this..” you whispered under your breath, clutching at the handle of one of your daggers, turning to the door. You just had to get to a camp, but more importantly you had to find Glenn.

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more a/n: for the sake of having glenn as reader's older brother im having him be around 24-27 years old right now, reader being like 23 ish. and daryl will be like 32….??? i dunno im trying to make this as canon as possible BUT UGH IT IS SO $&£”*^%*£ so yeah there will be a little bit of an age gap between reader and daryl but i hope that wont be too much of a problem for you guys…. probably not. and do not quote me if i get settings or the timeline wrong like twd is confusing enough for me……….. again im also like rewatching and making sure to make everything as close to the show as possible, but theres also the possibility of me altering the timeline (muehehehe). anyways tysm for reading and stay tuned! ★

[levithestripper]

Wanna Bet?

summary: 

“Jesse’s hands meet your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your clothing. ‘That’s a lotta big talk there, baby. Want to put money where your mouth is?’ You smirk, putting on a show of pretending to think it over. ‘I’m game. I bet you’ll go to every single class and love it.’”

or, Jesse wants to take a woodworking class, and you propose a bet.

warnings: gender-neutral reader

length: 2.1k || read on ao3

notes: this has been sitting in my drafts for god knows how long, i hope you enjoy it!

Sharing his rented condo with you is everything Jesse could ask for and more. Having moved in a handful of months ago, the two of you were settling in nicely, making a good home for yourselves. With you around, Jesse regained something he lost when he began cooking with Mr. White: a sense of normalcy. Never having been in a committed, long-term relationship before you came along, this newfound feeling of stability in his chaotic life was a godsend. Gaining a new safe place allowed Jesse to discover new things about himself. He finds himself doing things he never used to enjoy, like watching sitcoms and cheesy made-for-television movies.

But if Jesse was forced to pick one thing he likes most about living with you, he’d pick watching you do the things you love. He doesn’t know what it is about watching you put together a puzzle or draw in your sketchbook; it just fills him with insane amounts of joy. It lit a fire under him, inspiring Jesse to rekindle the old hobbies of his childhood, specifically woodworking. The thought of returning to woodworking excited him yet filled him with anxiety at the same time. After a week of keeping his worries to himself, Jesse asks for your advice over dinner one night.

“Yo, so I was thinking—”

You snort, interrupting him, “No wonder I smelled smoke earlier.”

Jesse makes a face at you, rolling his eyes. “Oh, shut up. Anyways, as I was saying, I was thinking about taking up woodworking again.” He broke your gaze, looking down as he picked at the food on his plate. “What do you think?”

You hum with a mouthful of food, finishing your dinner. “I think that’s a great idea, love. You said you were good at it in high school, right?”

He nods, still picking at his food. “You think I’ll uh… you think I’ll still like it?”

“What? Of course, you’ll still like it! Why wouldn’t you?”

Jesse sighs, slowly finishing his dinner, stalling for time. He mumbles something unintelligible, regretting bringing it up. 

Being practically fluent in Jesse-ese, you sensed something was up, not like it was hard to notice. You knew there was no use in trying to pry whatever was wrong out of him, so you didn’t waste time trying. Instead, you take a different approach. “Jess, I can’t blame you for being worried. You’re stepping out of your comfort zone; that’s hard for anyone to do.” You reach across the breakfast bar and grab his hand, giving it a squeeze of reassurance. “If anyone can do it, it’s you; I believe in you.”

“Thank you, baby.” Jesse offers you a small but sweet smile, which you happily mirror. “You’re sure ‘bout this?”

You kiss each of his knuckles, making him chuckle like always. “One hundred percent sure. When am I ever wrong?”

He raises an eyebrow, teasing you. “You really wanna go there, sweetheart?” Jesse’s confidence returns quickly, his anxiety curbed by your words.

You get up from your chair and walk to his side of the counter, sitting on his lap, arms draped over his shoulders. “Mmm, I don’t know, maybe I do. After all, I am always right.”

Jesse’s hands meet your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your clothing. “That’s a lotta big talk there, baby. Want to put money where your mouth is?”

You smirk, putting on a show of pretending to think it over. “I’m game. I bet you’ll go to every single class and love it.” 

“And what do you want if you win?” he asks, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. His hands migrated from your hips to your back, sliding under your shirt.

The unexpected sensation of cold hands touching your skin made you shiver, only fueling the fire you had lit within Jesse. “When I win, you mean.” 

“Yeah, whatever, babe, just tell me what you want if you win,” he replies, a smug look on his face.

“When I win, I want you to make me something with the skills you learned from the classes.” Your fingers twist the short hair on the back of his neck into points. The tingly feeling ran up the base of Jesse’s skull, pulling a shiver from him; revenge for touching you with freezing hands.

Jesse grumbles at you in a half-hearted attempt to appear apathetic, but you see right through it with practiced ease. “If I win, which I will, you have to do whatever I say for twenty-four hours straight.”

“Deal, but your demands must be within reason.”

“Deal.” Jesse tugs you down for a kiss, sealing the bet with a smug grin.

———

Once he found a co-op offering free beginner’s lessons, Jesse signed up for two months of classes. Every Friday night after dinner, Jesse kissed you goodbye before leaving for the co-op, never hinting that you were winning the bet. And he hated it, hated how you were right—like always. Jesse had forgotten how rewarding it is to create things. It took nearly all his self-control to keep himself from living at the woodworking studio. He revels in every moment he gets to spend there, questioning why he ever quit in the first place. 

As weeks pass, your excitement grows as you wonder what Jesse could be working on. You’re hopeful he’ll bring a project home with him, but it never happens. Every Friday night, a routine forms between you, beginning with dinner in front of the television. As he’s getting ready to leave, Jesse kisses you on the forehead and says, “See you in a couple hours; love you.” 

Every week, you ask how it went, and Jesse replies eagerly, happily talking about what he learned. But when you inquire about what he was working on, all you get is a variation of, “Nah, it’s nothing special. Don’t wanna bore you by talking about it. It’s coming along nicely, though.” Jesse’s uncharacteristic defensiveness plants a seed of worry within you. You hope that his reasoning for brushing off your inquiries was that he was nervous to show you his work, nothing else.

———

Moonlight filtered in through the living room curtains, illuminating the room in a soft glow. You sat at the breakfast bar, working on something unimportant, the TV playing in the background. The front door opened, quickly drawing your attention away from your laptop. You stand to greet Jesse at the door, but he beats you to it, rushing over to the counter to give you a kiss. Fumbling with the TV remote, you turn it off, far more interested in your boyfriend. “How was your last day? Finish everything you were working on?” you ask, sitting back down. 

Jesse sat down across from you, nodding as he did. “Yeah. Place had a real great vibe to it, you know?” He gnaws on his bottom lip, eyes flitting between you and his lap. “Might sign up for a higher level class. Haven’t done this since high school; I forgot how much I enjoyed it.”

A loving smile spreads across your features. “I’m proud of you, baby. Wish I could’ve seen the pieces you made.” You don’t miss the subtle blush that dusts itself over Jesse’s face, the sight making your heart flutter. There’s a pause between you two, and you’re quick to fill the heavy silence. “You know I’d never make fun of you or your work, regardless of how good or bad it is, right?” You take his hand to reassure him, worried he didn’t bring anything home for fear of criticism. 

Giving your hand a squeeze, Jesse fixes his posture, leaning against the counter instead of slouching. “I’m sorry I’ve been so secretive about,” he motions with his free hand, “all this.” He scratches his head through the black and yellow beanie covering his hair. “I know you never would—” Jesse stammers, “—would be scared to show you anything.” You sigh with relief, Jesse’s words lifting a weight off your chest.

“Then why did you hide your enjoyment from me?” you ask, sadness laced throughout your words.

Your question pulls on Jesse’s heartstrings, only now realizing how his actions had affected you. He squeezes your hand again, kissing your knuckles apologetically. “Close your eyes, and I’ll explain?” he offers, pulling out the big guns: his patent pending puppy dog eyes.

You look him once over before complying, wondering what he has up his sleeve this time. Whatever Jesse was doing, he was quick about it as you were opening your eyes after what felt like mere seconds of having them closed. The first thing you see is your boyfriend nervously fidgeting with the drawstring of his hoodie and chewing on his bottom lip. The second thing you see is a small trinket box. It’s stained a deep, rich color and sanded to such perfection that you could almost see your reflection. You look at the box, then at Jesse, silently asking permission to touch it, which he gave. Gently opening the lid, you saw the inside was patterned with a different style of wood, something striped to contrast the solid color on the exterior. “Oh, Jesse,” you whisper with awe, “This is beautiful, a work of art.” Your fingers trace the edges as you take in his stunning craftsmanship. “Is this what you’ve been working on the whole time?”

Jesse nods, still playing with his hoodie’s drawstrings. “Took forever to get it just right. The inside is zebra wood; I had to wait a week for it to get restocked. Made one like this back in high school. Loved it more than anything; even my parents liked it. Everyone said I should gift it to my mom,” he pauses, needing a moment. “I almost did, too. But I traded it. Barely got twenty bucks of pot for it.” Jesse shook his head as if he were dismissing the bad memories from view. “But that’s not why I remade it.” 

Engrossed in his story, you do your best to reign over your emotions, rubbing your eyes free of tears. “Why did you remake it then?”

Jesse motions for you to turn the box upside down, which you do. “Your answer is on the bottom.”

Looking at the underside of the box, you find words—along with the year—carved into the woodwork.

Thank you for believing in me ♡ 

—J

Once he’s sure you’ve read it, Jesse continues talking. “Remade it so I could finally have the chance to gift it to someone I love.” He meets your gaze for the first time since he revealed your present. 

You got up from your chair without saying a word, rushing around the breakfast bar to pull your boyfriend into a near-bone-crushing hug. “What did I do to deserve someone as perfect as you?” you ask rhetorically, face buried in his neck. “I don’t even know where to begin; I love it so much.” Jesse wraps his arms around your midsection, hugging you impossibly tighter. He peppers soft kisses over your cheek and jawline, holding you close to his chest.

“I should be the one asking that, little bird. You have no clue how nervous I was, worried you wouldn’t like it or it wouldn’t turn out how I wanted it to,” Jesse sighed against your skin, and you could feel all that anxiety he spoke of leaving his body. “Not mad at me?”

You can’t help but giggle as you lift your head from his shoulder. “Not mad. Although, I’m not used to you being so lovey-dovey and mushy like this. Kinda like it, if I’m being honest.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jesse rolls his eyes with a smirk. No matter how badly he tried to hide his amusement, you could tell he liked it, too. He moves a hand to your cheek, pulling you in for a kiss. One kiss turned into two, three, four, all soft and full of stupid amounts of love. Jesse squeezes you tightly once more before releasing you. “Just wait; you’ll like what I make next even more.”

“Oh yeah? You sound pretty confident about that,” you smirk, tugging teasingly on the ends of his hoodie.

Jesse bit his lip, looking up at you with a glint in his eyes. “Oh yeah, you wanna put your money where your mouth is?” he snarks back, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck. He uses his newfound leverage to drag you back in for another kiss, only this one has the heat of a promise behind it the previous ones did not. 

A promise of a long, sleepless night for both of you.

[presidenthades]

I saw the earlier post about beauty and how the girls are a bit like and Im wondering what are their favorite hobbies or likes and dislikes. If you have the time can you also expand on the Targbros (I really like that name more than Targtowers or Green Princelings by the way)

Jace does a lot of typical court lady activities, like embroidery and socializing at garden parties, but it isn’t something she’s especially passionate about. What she really enjoys is reading, and she has a diverse taste from old historical texts to smutty romance novels. She also enjoys correspondence, i.e. being pen pals, and part of her genuinely finds fulfillment in participating in government. She likes going for walks and flying on Vermax, but otherwise she isn’t interested in physically exerting activities or anything deemed unladylike.

Luce’s big hobby is knitting, which she learned from the nursemaid Nelly. It’s a good activity for multitasking since she can chat with other people while doing it, and she thinks it has more utility than embroidery. (If her future husband wants to read aloud to her while she’s knitting, that’d be nice too 👀.) She also likes sums/math, because numbers are straightforward. Unlike Jace, she loves running around, climbing trees, exploring nature, etc. Luce dislikes activities that require her to sit in place and be quiet/focus on one thing.

Joff is a precious weirdo 🖤. I’m going to mention in Chapter 5 of Compromise that she has a Myrish near-eye (AKA microscope), and she likes to study things under it. That’s why she’s constantly collecting samples like moldy bread. And of course she’s very interested in sorcery, witchcraft, and the like, so she spends a good bit of time reading and experimenting with that. The magic experiments are unsuccessful more often than not. She also has an amateur interest in herbalism, medicine, and anatomy. She tends to shun activities that she thinks aren’t “useful,” so she knows how to sew but hates embroidery, for example.

Aegon, as we’ve seen in The Golds, is artsy when he’s allowed to be. Singing, playing the lute, drawing (with Jace as his muse obviously). If he’s discouraged or uninspired (like in the beginning of Lavender), he falls back on frat habits, like drinking and partying. Like Luce, he enjoys running around and exploring, but he tends to do it in a more urban setting. I guess detective work counts as a hobby? He’d probably be a decent actor if he wanted to try it out. And again, like Luce (I feel like these two have some hyperactivity going on), he dislikes being forced to quietly sit in one place.

Aemond! ‘Tis he who studies history and philosophy, ‘tis he who studies the blade, etc. Studying, training, and dragon riding are his canon activities, and he does them here too. He’s basically the medieval equivalent of someone who goes to work, goes to the gym, and goes to sleep. But he also picks up on the activities of people around him, e.g. exploring caves on the beach with Luce, following Aegon around the city. He disapproves of “wastrel” activities like drinking and whoring.

Daeron does typical prince and squire activities, like studying and training, but he’s more social than Aemond. When he’s older, he’ll probably be invited by lots of lords to go hunting, hawking, riding, etc. But of course his FAVORITE thing to do is whatever Joff tells him 😂. Because he spends so much time with Joff, he knows a lot more about witchy subjects than he would have picked up on his own. But so far I’ve made him a bit squeamish, like when he gets sick watching Daemon torture the Tyroshi, so he’s not especially fond of everything Joff does.

[headchefshcs]

Creek NSFW with female reader? The dirtiest, raunchiest ones you could possibly think of

Just a Lil Pet // Creek x Fem!Reader

NSFW undercut, Minors DNI, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns

Ty anon I love writing about this mf

You were a respectable smart women who didn’t take shit from anyone. You were always the leader type and you took pride in that and yourself. That is untill you met creek. Now you had seen and met Creek a few time before but this time was different. He seemed more interested in you, coming up to you more frequently asking about you and your hobbies, your goals, etc. You liked that he found your interest appealing and how he wanted to spend time with you. It wasn’t long until you started to realize how much you actually liked him. It wasn’t long after the two of you started dating when Creek started to put his plan into action.

He starts to slowly make more suggestive ideas and actions,such as when he begged you to get matching earrings with him, saying how cute it would look on you. While unsure of it you did end up getting matching ear piercings as him and you did admit they looked cute. He would constantly try to get you to do more and more risky and humiliating things, but each time you shut him down. You tried to keep some of your self worth, while you liked him you still wanted a life besides him. And he would respect that right?

You were lying face down with Creek fucking you from behind. For a while you two had been going back and forth about how pushy he’d been and how you loved him, but there was more to life than him.

“Oh come on luv, you keep saying that but you know it’s not true…” he teased as he thrusted in and out of your pussy. You whined softly in protest. “Ugh I’ve asked nicely Y/N, I really have… but I’m not really asking at this point anymore…” “wha-“

A wave of pleasure cut you off. He had hit your G spot, you instantly threw your head back, overwhelmed with pleasure. Seeing your reaction told Creek all he needed to know as he aimed for it again and again. Tears of pleasure filled your eyes. While he’s fucked you spot in the past it had never felt this good before. His rough thrust became more persistent and precise it became overwhelming quickly. It wasn’t long before your vision and mind starting to get fuzzy as you barriers your head into the bed.

You soon forgot about what you had said before, as Creeks cock engulfing both your pussy and mind’s space. You moaned at the constant pressure of him hitting you spot with each hit and and more of your mind and dignity left you you. “Aww how’s my lil pet doing? Is she okay…” Creek sneers, picking up the pace. “Thats it just let it all go…Don’t you wanna feel like this all the time. No thoughts, no worries? Don’t you just want to let go and be with me?” “Mmmm… y-yesss mmmmm…” you nod as your eyes roll in the back of your head. He chucked as he leaned down towards you. “You’re gonna be such a fun lil pet to train, soon you nothin but a lil breeding hole for me to use, you’ll be feeling like this everyday luv, doesn’t that sound good…” He hissed into your ear as he came, his cum filling you, the amount of pleasure overwhelmed you as you soon pasted out from the pleasure.

It’s been about a month since Creek first broke you and you’ve made significant progress. The old you was practically gone now, no more being independent and the leader you once were. Now here you were, nothing but a slave to cock, so desperate and needy for it all the time. Your brain had no more time for anything you once enjoy. You instead much preferred to be on all fours, nude, and next to your master, such as the position you are in now.

As you sat there with what little brain power you had left you thought of how you wish you had just surrendered sooner. Why try so hard to be independent when you could be completely braindead, with the only thoughts you had were to please your master. Within the month you also had become no more than a shell of your former self.

An adorable lewd face, tongue out, drooling at the mere thought of cock. Your pussy dripping, yours and creeks cum dripping out, with some sliding down your thigh. Your golden clit piercing constantly stimulating you, and your womb tattoo with the phrase “Creeks Breeding Hole” cleanly printed. Your ass littered with hand prints and slaps as well as a beautifully colored tramp stamp, the words “Property of Creek” with the surroundings decorated with vibes and flowers. Your tits out with love bites all around them, your nipple piercings all shiny as the small gold chain that connects them, dangling. Your pretty collar glistening in the sun, the pendant being a cock with Creeks name engraved in it.

Your matching leash is attached to the collar, with your master being at the other end of it, causally talking to someone about god knows what. You mindlessly played with your clit with every once in a while Creek would tug on the leash, causing you to put more pressure on your piercing. Each time you whined softly the feeling making you more and more overwhelmed with pleasure. After what seemed like and eternity to you, though it was most likely only a few minutes Creek says his farewells to whom he was talking to. Once they were out of sight he looked down at you.

“aww what a pathetic little slut, I ignore you for a few minutes and here you are a bitch in heat begging for your masters cock hmmm?” Creek lifts your leash, gesturing you to sit up. You instinctively obey lifting yourself into a squatting position. You lifting your arms up, placing them at either side of your breast, you open your mouth up craving and begging for him.

//I hope you enjoy! I kinda fumbled with the middle, I’m still work on writing full fics so apologies! But I had so much fun writing this!

[strawbubbysugar]

💔- June or Goodbye, ⚔️- Hello, 🌊- Hello, 🧶-any, 🌧️- Matt, ⚠️-Hello, 💛- Goodbye or June, 🦷- any, 🐸- Goodbye, 📓- ANY!!! :D

This is so many thank you so much!!!

💔 - Does forgiveness come easily or with difficulty to this oc? Can they forgive others? What about themselves?

Goodbye looks at things rationally. If he thinks it’s something that can be forgiven, he forgives himself easily. He also forgives himself a bit more easily in general than most people, since he believes most things he does are justified due to his whole. Situation. June on the other hand has a hard time forgiving himself. He’ll remember something he said that hurt someone’s feelings and it’ll keep him up at night.

⚔️ - How does this oc handle conflict?

One word. De-escalation. He’d been heavily programmed with that knowledge. But if that doesn’t work, and it’s a situation that he can’t talk down at all, he hides. Run and hide.

🌊 - Does this oc have a secret or repressed desire?

Hello really really REALLY wants to yell. He wants to say no to the white coats that take him to his adjustments. But he wants to do it his own way, not the way goodbye wants to.

🧶 - Do they do any arts, crafts, or creative hobbies?

June plays the guitar very well, as well as being a novice at several other ones (all the instruments from his old band for sure, as well as some random ones. As a list: guitar, drums, bass guitar, trumpet, kazoo, and he played the saxophone in highschool)

He also likes to doodle, his sneakers are covered in them!

🌨️ - If this oc had a day free from all their responsibilities, how would they spend it?

Sleeping. Deep dad sleep. This man was born to be a father. He’d grab a beer and fall asleep on the couch before drinking it while watching a nature documentary. (About the ocean)

⚠️ - If this oc came with a warning sign, what would it be?

CAUTION: ANIMATRONIC IS NOT YET HUG TESTED FOR THE PUBLIC. HUGS MAY BE TOO TIGHT.

💛 - Are they ‘good with children’, or more awkward?

June is very good with kids! He wanted to be a teacher when he was growing up and used to babysit neighborhood kids all the time. He gave up on that when Morgan told him an elementary school teacher couldn’t be colourblind (how would he teach them colours? Duh.)

Picking engineer was halfway between being something he enjoyed doing and being petty towards Morgan, since his handicap also applies at this job too

Goodbye likes children to an extent, but mostly when they’re not crying or running around. A sleeping or calm child? He enjoys their company. A kid running around and screaming while playing? No thanks.

🦷 - Would this oc ever bite someone?

Goodbye has been trying and wanting to bite SO badly. So bad. He’s clawed at their faceplate before just trying to open it. It almost felt like phantom pains.

🐸 - What’s this oc’s sense of humor like?

Most things he finds amusing would get very little reaction out of him, usually just a ‘hm.’ Or something similar. One surefire way to get him to absolutely piss his pants laughing though is when people react wildly when they’re startled. Someone holding up their fists only to immediately relax, someone gasping and hugging the wall, immediately clutching their pearls: gets him every time.

📓 - Do you associate any quotes or lyrics with this oc?

I associate the song “Dirty imbecile” with Hello! Specifically these lines!

[autisticblueteam]

Appears from the ether again, after months of only being present enough to fill my queue up, with some WIP snippets from the gen:LOCK re-write I mentioned before...

And also finally adressing these tags lmao, sorry @thesouppond I realise these are like 3 months old.

#FUCK IM JUST SEEING THIS NOW???#FUCK YEAH 2024 SEASON OF EVERYONE GETS TO REWRITE GENLOCK CAUSE FUCK S2#Ahem anyway hi genlock moot :)))#I love your writing btw! Ive read your existing GL fics theyre great!#at this point if someone can give me a GL fic i havent already met I will forever be indebted to you i am DYING for GL content

We're really out here trying our best to do better by GL than HBO did huh!! I've been loving Reloaded, it was so nice to see someone else pop up in the gL tag after it was comparatively dead for so long. I've been working on my re-write since just after s2 came out and it was lonely in there for a while there lmao.

So I'm glad you enjoyed the couple of fics I've already done! I'm re-using parts of one of them for the actual re-write since I'm going for the 'keep the basic bones of s2 but aim to fix the execution into something less shit/re-work the worst bits' and I didn't want to write that first nemesis fight over again from total scratch lmao...

I want to finish writing all of the re-write before I post it in full, but that does mean it's taking forever whoops.

I'm still not past the introduction of Sinclair as his portion is so involved and I keep getting distracted by other projects/hobbies, but I did finally get to a point where my take on Sinclair is actually fun to write! I'm keeping his boyfriend because I did at least like that Sinclair was made canonically queer and they're actually cute when I'm just doing my own thing.

So since I feel like posting some WIP bits, here's my favourite Chris/Sinclair stuff I've done so far.

“YEAH! Take that you fucked up tin can!” Sinclair winced. The shout was like an ice pick being driven into his skull, but it was also what finally drove him to lift his head. There ahead of him, wielding a large piece of debris in one hand, was a heavyset Asian man dressed in torn clothes and covered in grime. He reared back, and for a split second Sinclair thought that projectile was for him, until he heard an impact, and the last of the humming died. The man brushed off his hands, pride written on every feature, and in that moment he was the most beautiful thing Sinclair had ever seen. “Coast’s clear!” the stranger called behind him. There was movement, but Sinclair didn’t care to look, his attention caught by the man’s approach. “And we’ve got a live one.” Sinclair’s throat was so dry he broke down coughing twice, in the time it took the stranger to kneel in front of him. “I-I’m not Union. I-I know— with the uniform, and the—” Another violent burst of coughing cut him off. The stranger handed him a canteen and a crooked smile. “Yeah, no shit. You’ve got way too much emotion on your face to be even a defector,” he said, and if Sinclair wasn’t so busy chugging the offered water, he might have mustered a laugh. “That, plus, the lack of helmet, the collapsing, and the drone getting ready to turn you into a novelty cheese grater kinda gave it away.” “Christ, I could kiss you right now,” Sinclair blurted and then regretted in quick succession. Fuck. He’d been in near solitary too long, his filter had worn away to nothing and he was making a damn fool of himself in front of the first sane people he’d seen in weeks. Except the stranger just… laughed, good-naturedly. “Close, the name’s Chris, not Christ. And I’d say buy me dinner first, but it’s a bit hard out here.”

AND then a little later...

“What about the refugee railroads?” Chris lowered his beer bottle and wiped his mouth. “Too far.” “Vanguard safe crossings?” “Too far.” “The— fucking Canadian border?” Chris laughed, “Too far. Further than either of the other things. Jesus, dude. You sure you haven’t got a concussion?” “Mostly,” Sinclair said, rubbing his face with his intact hand. “I just— you’re going to die if you stay here. A drone only has to get lucky once.” “And if we go deeper in, we’ll only die faster,” Chris said with a simple shrug. “We already have to pack up and move every few weeks when the line moves. And every time, the Polity border gets a little bit further away. Believe me, man, I want nothing more than to get outta here, but it’s just not happening.” “What if I helped?” The offer fell out before he’d consciously decided to make it, but Sinclair stood by it. Even when Chris looked at him dubiously. “No offence, dude, but you’re just one guy. And two days ago you could barely stand.” “And now I’m fine,” Sinclair insisted. “I’m a soldier. I was decorated for valour after I got my squad out of a run-in with the Union that should’ve killed us all. I was the only one who could even still hold a gun. I swear, I could get you somewhere safe. Are you really telling me you’d rather keep sitting around waiting to die than take a risk?” Chris’s brow furrowed, and he didn’t answer immediately, taking another swig from his scratched up bottle of beer. Sinclair sighed. “Look. I need to get to a Vanguard base one way or another. I don’t want to leave you guys behind if I don’t have to. I owe you my life. And maybe dinner.” Chris almost choked on his drink. “Wow,” he laughed, clearing his throat, “you sure pick your moments, huh?” Sinclair shrugged. “Figure if you’re not actually into it I’ll just blame the concussion.” “That you don’t have.” “Exactly.” Chris rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Smooth. Smooth operator. Alright, alright, fine, we’ll talk to the others in the morning. It might be a tougher sell when they’re not the ones getting dinner with a hot soldier out of it, but hey, guess we’ll see.” “Are you looking past the just-got-done-being-tortured chic, here, or is that part of the charm?” “Are you kidding? There’s a whole genre focused on how hot soldier guys look after they’ve been through hell.” “Not sure that’s the intended takeaway of action movies.” “Well,” Chris shrugged, starting to pick at a can of food, “it was definitely my takeaway.” Sinclair laughed. Honest-to-god laughed, in a way he was surprised he was even capable of after the last few weeks. The normality of the moment was like a balm on all the aching parts of him, mental and physical alike. For a moment he could almost forget that the reason he looked like shit was because he’d just escaped the worst experience of his life. For a moment it felt like the fight was over.

Now I just have to actually get through the remainder of my Sinclair set-up and then I'll be only one chapter away from finishing the first half of the fic... so close and yet so far lmao.

[lvrdrm]

small victories — joel miller

warnings: none i don’t think, just joel being emotionally unavailable

a/n: wrote this running solely on fumes im gonna pass out after this, BUT FIRST JOEL MILLER FIC! there’s not much of a relationship here but i’m planning on building it as i go. hope you enjoy! love u. | 0.6k words

joel doesn’t talk to you much, but you know he cares. he’s gentle with you, patient, and protective. his hard exterior never seeming to crack beyond that, his walls were built up so high it was no use trying to break through them. so you didn’t, keeping to yourself as much as he kept to himself.

it was a silent agreement between you both, survive and have eachothers backs. it’s easy enough, he’s methodical and strong you’re smart and agile. your dynamic was easy and it worked, it had gotten you this far.

you just wish he would talk to you more. hes always around but it often gets lonely, only being talked to when absolutely needed. truth is, you can’t remember the last time you had a real conversation with joel other than concocting plans or quick exchanges.

you’d been partners for over a year now and you barely knew a single thing about him, other than him having a brother out there somewhere and a daughter he lost early on. but you wanted to know him, if he had any hobbies before the outbreak or what his favorite color is.

“y/n.” his stern voice knocked you out of your trance.

“hm? sorry, i was thinkin’,” you picked at your dirty fingernails, scraping the muck out from underneath them, “what’s up?”

he stared at you for a few beats, “hungry?”

you were starving but you knew there was only enough food for one of you, you also knew he’d go hungry if you said yes, “no, i’m alright thank you.”

“alright,” joel shoved the can of 20 year old baked beans back into his bag. “we’ll save it for tomorrow.”

“no joel, eat,” your hand made its way to his hand, placing it on top softly. “please.”

he stiffened under your touch, gently pulling his hand away from yours. he shook his head, “i’ll be alright.”

“what was your favorite food before y’know, all this.” it was a desperate attempt to keep him talking, to keep the conversation from ending.

his eyes stayed on the forest floor, he thought for a moment and then he shrugged, “don’t know.”

“c’mon there has to be something! mine was pecan pie.” even the thought of it made your stomach growl.

“i’ve never had it.”

you gasp slightly, “you’ve never had pecan pie? i’ll have to make it for you someday.” a soft smile makes its way onto your lips.

he nodded.

“why don’t you talk to me?” the words came out before you could stop them.

he looked at you for a moment, contemplating. “let’s start heading to bed, gotta be up early.” he sat up from the floor, dusting himself off and grabbing the sleeping bags from the back of bills truck.

you sighed quietly, “okay.”

he noticed the shift in your attitude but he pretended not to. instead he layed the sleeping bags down next to eachother.

“gonna be warm enough?”

you nodded softly, quietly settling into your sleeping bag. he followed suit, adjusting himself until he was on his side facing away from you. you chose to face him, your eyes being met with the back of his head. it took everything out of you not to run your fingers through his hair.

“pancakes.” his voice was quiet but loud enough for you to hear it.

“what?” you had heard him but you wanted to make sure you weren’t hearing things.

“pancakes, i really like pancakes.”

you smiled to yourself, it wasn’t much but it was the first time he had rly let you in on something like this. a small victory but a victory nonetheless. “good choice.”

[borrowedtimeandspace]

The Secret Flatmate

3. Impulsive

From this list of gt prompts.

AU: Unknown BAU

Note: Two prompts in one day??? Yep! ^^ this prompt and a few others have given me a bit of an excuse to actually post some things that have been floating around in my WIPs for a good while now. Enjoy some bonus pocketlock!

~~~

John Watson was a creature of habit. That was to the advantage of one Sherlock Holmes, who carefully watched the man from the safety of the walls.

221B Baker Street was an odd place for someone less than four inches tall to hang their hat– or long wool coat in Sherlock’s case– but Sherlock loved it. He’d been a drifter for quite some time, always shifting around London. One thing Sherlock had never been able to do was sit still.

Until he stumbled upon this humble flat in Central London. At first glance it didn’t seem like much; the most interesting thing about Mrs. Hudson the landlady who lived on the ground floor was that she was apparently married to a drug lord, and he wasn’t even in England anymore. Bored, he decided to explore the flat one floor up. From the second he saw it– with its kitschy wallpaper, rubbish carpet and mismatched armchairs– he was enamored. How he ached to be able to live in 221B Baker Street properly, like a human.

And then he remembered he was human. At least he used to be. He’d given up on wishing for his old life back ages ago. Things would never go back to the way they were.

He ended up settling for the next best thing. After a few weeks of absconding with food and supplies from Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock considered himself fully moved into 221B. It was empty, but someone would rent it out eventually, and then he could live off them.

Sure enough, John Watson moved in, and he was at least a little more interesting than the landlady. 

Sherlock had a hobby in childhood that became an instinct as an adult. Extraordinarily observant, he could pick apart even the most minute of details in a person-- their clothing, their posture, even their accessories-- and from them glean an understanding about their life. This was all the easier when observing human beings, whose relatively massive statures rendered all those details plain as day to Sherlock.

While peeking in on his first conversation with her, Sherlock observed that the man was ex-military, wounded abroad if his limp and tan were any indication. Just returned from either Afghanistan or Iraq (confirmed later to be the former) and clearly hadn’t found a job yet. There was no way he could afford rent in Central London on Army pension alone, so it stood to reason that he must be getting help. Perhaps a loan, or a bit of aid from a family member. Taking a wild guess on a hunch after a closer look at the human’s mobile phone, Sherlock thought John’s brother might have lent him a little. Judging by the other things Sherlock deduced about the brother’s failed marriage and drinking habit, it wasn’t the easiest thing for John to reach out to him.

John took the flat– Sherlock’s flat– right away, and the smaller man kept a watchful eye on the new human. It took John a while to find a steady job, solidifying a schedule for Sherlock to take advantage of. He fell into his own habits, patterns of going through his flatmate’s things to learn more about him. It didn’t take him more than a week to learn about John’s career as a doctor, his shoulder wound that got him discharged, and the psychosomatic limp and tremor that came out of that.

This was a man lost in his own world, his own thoughts and nightmares, especially in the comfort of his own home. A perfect human for someone trying to avoid detection.

Or so Sherlock thought.

A few months after the doctor moved in, Sherlock was raiding the cupboards for enough to last him the week. John had long since gone to work, so the flat was quiet and peaceful.

Sherlock took full advantage of Dr. Watson’s recent grocery run, snitching a little from each freshly opened box and package. It was almost boring, how easy pickings were that day. He decided to climb down to the counter, make the rounds of the kitchen before heading back to his hidden home.

No sooner had he emerged from the cupboard sliding smoothly down his hook and line, than the smell hit him. Dark curls whipped around as Sherlock followed the scent to the table in the middle of the room where a plate of homemade scones sat. Sherlock’s stomach clenched with longing; it was around lunchtime and, while the bits of cracker and cereal and dried fruit in his bag made for a successful haul, it had been ages since he’d had the chance at a proper scone.

He longed for the days when he could hold one in hand and carry it along his merry way as he ate.

As it was, no one was home and the plate was hardly touched. Sherlock reasoned that it’d be a shame to let them go to waste, landing efficiently on the counter and giving his line a pointed flick to disengage the paper clip he’d twisted into a hook. The second he caught it, he was on the move to dig it into the edge of the counter. From there, it was a short jog along the floor, a sharp toss of his hook, and a quick shimmy up the dark thread.

The smell was even stronger on the table surface. Sherlock usually exhibited a lot of self control when it came to what he ate, whether it be out of necessity due to a shortage of pickings or a voluntary fast to aid his brainwork. But for some reason, this scone was different. Maybe it was the sheer nostalgia of the treat or the rare opportunity for something fresh, but there was absolutely no hesitation in his step as he made a beeline for the plate. 

He had to give Mrs. Hudson credit: her scones were heavenly. The pastry crumbled easily enough and melted in his mouth, interspersed with the sweetness of the fruit that had been baked into the dough. For once, his ever-running mind stood still for a moment, drawing him back to childhood.

Shoving his older brother aside to snag two handfuls of scones before school in the morning.

Opening his eyes to regard the crumbs in his hands, Sherlock forced himself to push those memories away. That family was lost to him forever, and he would never get that life back.

Not while he was under four inches tall.

[in-my-feels-probably]

Hi, I'm resending my 1.7k celebration ask.

I chose option 2

✨to participate in this one, just give me a fandom, any information you want to share about yourself, whether you want the ship to be platonic or romantic, any characters you want me to avoid, and i’ll get back to you as soon as i can with a ship and a blurb!✨

The fandom: The Hunger Games and TBOSAS fandom. A romantic ship please.

____

Here's a little about myself. My personailty in a few words might be sarcastic, funny, kind and impaitent. My MBTI personality type is INTP. My apparence is I'm a dark blonde, greenish blue eyes, curvy and tall. I wear a lot of black turtle necks and dark academia style clothes in general or at least I try to, I sometimes wear dresses and skirts. I'm a hopeless romantic at heart. I like the music of Adele, Taylor Swift and ABBA, but am partial to some other 70s bands since that is a time period I realky like. I enjoy learning about history and literature, also a bit of baking every now and then. I like books, music and old/new movies and tv shows.

If you can exclude from shipping me with the female characters.

Thank you if you so choose to write this🩷

hi!

thank you for participating :)

i ship you with finnick!

i think finnick likes people he can banter with. he doesn’t mind people that are more soft spoken or not necessarily a people person, but he really clicks with someone when he finds someone who can match his level of humor and wit. peeta is one of the only people capable of meeting his level, and he’d really appreciate having another person he could comfortably communicate with without having to feel separate from them. but as much as he’d appreciate the sarcastic and funny side of you, he’d appreciate the softer and kinder side of you too. as the war progressed, he’d need someone comforting and domestic in his day to day life. being able to understand his mood and knowing which version of yourself he needed you to be in the moment would be so nice for him.

finnick is SUCH a flirt. but at the end of the day, he’s a sucker for love. he’d fully believe in treating a girl right and doing things the old fashioned way, never afraid to spoil you or be affectionate with you whether you were in public or in private. he’d constantly be doing little things that would remind you how much he loved and cared for you.

i don’t know what it is about him that’s making me think this, but i just know he’d love your aesthetic. it’s put together purposefully and with style, and he’d appreciate anyone with taste. after being involved in the capitol for so long, he’d learn to appreciate the finer things in life. and while he’d resent it, he’d also grow to respect and love some aspects of it, including music and fashion. it would be a mutually shared interest.

while he’s a good people person and is athletic and would have hobbies associated with that, he’d also love private ones. he may not seem like the type, but hes definitely a bookworm. something about other worlds and languages would fascinate him, and hed find just about any genre valuable in its own way. it wouldn’t take him much to get him going on some tangent about what his latest read or watch was. and hed find it so endearing when you’d get excited and do the same to him, telling him all about the latest thing you picked up.

—

as used to life in the capitol as he is, it wouldn’t be the perfect life for him. hed want domesticity and a life with you more than anything, valuing the simple things in life. when memories of the war or his games would haunt him, he’d wake up next to you, instantly feeling around next to him to make sure you were still with him. he’d feel instant relief when his arm brushed against yours, taking a few moments to himself to catch his breath. maybe he’d read or think about the things he loves to calm him down for a little while. eventually, he’d be rolling back over trying to fall asleep so he wouldn’t wake you up. but his shuffling would wake you anyways, and you’d quietly get out of bed after he passed out again.

he’d find you a few hours later in the kitchen, a mixing bowl on the counter. youd be hunched over the counter with a recipe in your hands, flour covering your apron. he couldn’t help but smile, coming to stand behind you.

“what are you doing, sweetheart?” he’d smile, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

you’d lean into him, letting him look over your shoulder to read the recipe. “making bread. peeta taught me how, but i can’t seem to remember the steps.”

finnick would snatch the paper from you, chuckling to himself as you rolled your eyes. he’d plop himself down onto the barstool, glancing over your ingredients to see how far you’d made it before he stepped in.

“i don’t think this is your calling, love,” he’d finally chuckle, pointing to a few discarded jars of spices. “aren’t those supposed to be in there?”

“they would’ve been if you hadn’t so rudely interrupted me,” you’d scold, but you both knew you were joking.

he’d smile, leaning back as he watched you work. eventually, he’d reach for the other apron and come to stand next to you, placing the recipe down on the table where you both could still read it.

“alright, what step are we on? looks like you desperately need my help.”

you’d playfully slap his arm, but your heart would warm as you’d hear him giggle and shuffle next to you before he slung an arm around your shoulders.

“seriously,” he’d grin, pointing to the paper. “what step are we on? less pouting, more baking, darling.”

—

thanks again for participating! sorry for the confusion with my inbox and having to wait for so long. i hope you enjoyed this :)

[seeinstarlight]

I have my first date with a new guy tomorrow and it’s looking very promising and hopeful. If this turns into a happy ending I want this story documented as much as possible in real time so I can look back and see what the Lord has done.

How the date came to be For the past 4 years a family from the church I grew up in has been hosting an annual Christmas Eve breakfast for a group of now young adults who grew up in that church together. 2022 was the first year I was invited to attend by Demetrius, and I was honored that he thought of me and extended the invite. At first I was reluctant to go, as I knew the guest list wasn’t exactly full of my favorite or close people, and I was worried that attending would drain me more than it would give me life. But I knew that I would like to have somewhere to be that morning, I’d enjoy preparing some food to take (a cinnamon roll casserole), and I wanted to meet Kim’s new boyfriend, Michael since I’d heard good things about him through Katie. All of this added up to deciding to go and bring my dad with me.

It was nice getting to mingle and have small catch-ups here and there with everyone. At one point I was talking with two of the dads about the woes of Christian dating. One of them asked me if I was dating at all, to which I responded, “I’m not actively seeking that out, but if the Lord wants to put someone in my path that meets my standards then I’m open to it.” HA.

As the group size was winding down I made it a point to have a one-on-one conversation with Michael, asking him questions about his background and what his life looked like at present. We talked about serving in youth ministry and traveling and growing up in church. I enjoyed my conversation with him and he seemed like a great guy. The only thing he said that I didn’t like was how he’d given up his free time and hobbies once he started dating Kimberly, claiming that it was “all worth it.” Not for me and sounds unhealthy but who am I.

Fast forward to the next week, I’m sitting at home on New Year’s Day and get a text from Kimberly.

My initial response to her was, “Tbh I’m kinda torn because I don’t know if I want to try dating right now?? But I’m always open to meeting new people! Can I think about it and get back to you in a few days?? Also can you tell me how old he is LOL. I love that her boyfriend, who only chatted with me for maybe 15 minutes, picked up on my personality and life context and thought of one of his friends. What a guy.

A week later after a blind date with a different guy (who was 10 years older than me and annoying to be around), I texted Kimberly and told her if Michael’s friend, Josh, was open to being set up then I was down to meet him! She tells me they’ll talk to him and half an hour later I get a text: “alright he’s interested. He probably won’t text tonight because it’s late but soon.”

The next afternoon I get my first text from Josh!

I love how straightforward and soon he was, and within an hour we had set a date at one of my favorite brunch places! He said he was looking forward to it and it made me realize how much I was too.

He texted me two days later to start the “getting to know more about you until our date” conversation that went on slowly but continuously for 4 days. It was good and hard because I didn’t know what to ask him about that I would’ve preferred to chat about in person with him! I suggested a phone call on the evening of day 3 and he said he’s “actually love to.” I love that he uses real, genuine expressions of interest!

Our first phone call lasted for two hours! When he first said hello + my name I knew this was going to be good. He has a kind and smooth voice that sounds thoughtful and real. He asked me great questions, kept the conversation going, and it was easygoing and felt like we’d been long lost friends. I feel like we’re cut from the same cloth, have good community and friendships, and that we are both living our lives intentionally for the Lord. I truly could not ask for anything better. He said he was really excited about meeting me on our date and I said the same. *melts*

I immediately called my friend and mentor Mrs. Donna after we hung up to tell her about it, how solid and great he sounded and how much my excitement had grown. I told her that it’s going to be the fight of my life to not get ahead of myself here and with him, especially with how great he sounded, and she also advised me not to fall too hard or too fast, and to just enjoy every moment. 

Man I’m going to try so hard. Man I hope this is it. Man it feels good to feel this way.

The next morning I wrote out a liturgy in my prayer journal titled “A Liturgy for Feeling Butterflies Around Someone” along with a few short prayers of my own.

[iomadachd]

Dean tends to smell of the following: Gunpowder and gun oil, both naturally and enhanced by the number of weapons he owns Murphy’s Oil Soap, which he uses as a guitar polish Sea salt from hard work and the nearby Atlantic ocean

Being raised by an ex-Marine, Dean is well versed in the phonetic alphabet as well as Morse code and hand signals.

After his old guitar was ruined by a leaky storage locker in 2014, Dean looked into replacing it with something newer and with a little more style. He settled on a Luna acoustic guitar that could also be plugged in if he ever got the urge to buy an amp. A black leather strap with a wing motif completed the set.

Even as an adult, there are times when Dean can’t handle eating a sandwich unless he’s cut the crusts off first. It’s childish, but it’s one of the rare holdouts from his actual childhood.

Dean is an excellent mimic. He has a good ear for accents and can pick them up within hours or days depending on the complexity. Scottish English Highland English BBC English Cockney Texan Southern American Boston New York Russian Belfast Irish English Cajun English French

Dean has a single stuffed animal that he owns. A plush sheep, fuzzy and soft. He doesn’t use it much, but it brings him a small amount of comfort when sleep is especially difficult. He’d be embarrassed if anyone knew, because he’s way too old to have one. Her name is Amara, although he’s never known anyone by that name.

Dean has a serious caretaker streak where he’s always trying to look after the people he cares about, in any way possible. He’s genuinely just short of a mother hen, but it’s how he shows he cares by keeping an eye on people he likes and loves.

A semi-secret hobby of his, but something he enjoys none the less. He finds it calming as hell and with the added bonus of things he can give friends and loved ones.

He definitely gives nicknames, either public or private and enjoys being called them as well sometimes. It’s a sign of affection if he has a nickname for you.

Well, favorite pre-made playlist is The Best of Led Zeppelin. If we’re talking playlists he's made and named himself, it’s probably ‘Lies I’ve Told Myself in the Cemetery at Midnight’

For Dean, it can be incredibly difficult to say those three little words. Even with family he can sometimes struggle to express how he feels. A whole life time of internalized sexism and trauma and impermanence combined with not necessarily feeling a loving attachment right off the bat means it can sometimes be a year or more before he’ll ever say he loves someone, even those he appears to be closest to. Minimum it’s usually a year to a year and a half.

His love language isn’t words, it tends to be Physical Touch and Acts of Service

Dean isn’t exactly an artist, but he does doodle with some frequency. He has a notebook full of doodles at his desk, and at home, and uses it to focus his brain while fielding phone calls or through meetings. He doesn’t doodle human figures at all, but has done some drawings of various supernatural beings in his journals as part of the recording process in addition to taking pictures with his phone. He is very precise when it comes to sigils and symbols though, and takes great care either laying them down on a large surface, or recording them on paper. Those he will fuss over for ages until they’re perfect.

Dean was a casualty of the Blip.

[jawllines]

OKAY FRIENDS!! LMK :-) IF YOU WANT YN THE HUMAN OR HARRY HERES THE PLOT A LIL

Harry’s reputation precedes him. 

Always – he isn’t sure how it started, but somewhere along the line, everyone started thinking he was scary. Was it when he was a kid? Harry had grown up in a cult for the first. . .was it 6 years of his life? In some odd settlement that his mother had been born in, but she took him and his sister and fled one night to her aunt's house three hours away from it. Harry doesn’t remember much of that time and his mum doesn’t like speaking about it, so. . .they just don’t. His sister remembers a little bit more, but she’d pretty much blocked out a good amount of it as well. 

Transferring to a new school had been hard, he remembered. He’d been shy, quiet, and didn’t really like to share his toys much. Once a classmate had taken his stuffed bear and when Harry stomped over to retrieve it, he’d accidentally shoved the girl down when he was taking it back. Or, more like she wasn’t letting go and Harry wasn’t either, but he’d been a little stronger so she lost her balance when he grabbed it. 

But, since she was a girl – since Harry was a little bigger than all the other kids around him – well, it looked worse than it was. 

That must have been it, he thinks, because everyone really avoided him after that. Then it only got worse when, somehow, some way, one of his classmates found out that he’d grown up in a cult – a friend of a friend’s dad told her mum (to this day, he still isn’t sure how they found out). 

And that continued through his entire time in primary school and stretched out into secondary school because somehow taking the bear back turned into him shoving her down and pulling her hair. Then that turned into him picking fights with kids all of the time. And that turned into “people going missing in the woods” when they hung out with him because he was indoctrinating them into his cult when they had actually just moved away. Perhaps in UNI, he thought, he could finally stray from the image that they’d painted of him. For a little while he was able to, albeit still terribly shy and without many skills after years of being an outcast, but he was still trying. At least until someone joined his BIO lab midway through the semester, on the same path toward the same degree as him. 

As luck would have it, it was the girl who’d stolen his bear all those years ago. 

So Harry was right back at the start; maybe he was able to keep a couple of friends, but not many, and everyone continued to imagine him as some scary person. By the time he graduated and started working, he’d given up a life of trying to make friends. Why should he if most of them would turn on him anyway, at the word of someone they’d never met before? 

It was sad, sure, but Harry had long since gotten used to the solitude. He found comfort in books that he liked, in television shows with more than three seasons that he could pour his time and attention into, and in movies that were long enough he could shut out any sullen thoughts. Harry found hobbies he could enjoy by himself, straying from the darker places his brain wanted to go. He crochets fuzzy, pink amigurumi cats, and knits bright purple hats decorated with stars. He decorated his flat with bright, happy things that made coming home to an empty place not feel as harsh on his heart.

He adopted a dog, one a couple of years old and standoff-ish that he knew would have a harder time getting chosen over the friendly puppies wagging their tails at everyone who passed them. That was nice, and though it took them a month or so, he and Lychee grew close. Lychee likes watching Harry’s shows with him on the sofa and sleeps at the foot of the bed at night. He’s a sweet, brown, furry little guy – Harry has no idea what breed he is, but he doesn’t think it matters much. He likes to go on walks, and he’s not very good with other dogs, and. . .he just feels like he understands Lychee pretty well. 

So, while he’s grateful for his sweet little pup, and even more grateful for the affection and cuddles. . .sometimes, Harry could admit that it would feel nice if it were a human. It was something he ignored, but Harry longed for it – yearned for the skin-to-skin, the warmth of another person beside him. Idle conversation, the sound of them sighing, the thud of their heart if his head laid against their chest. As pathetic as it is, if he closes his eyes and thinks hard enough, for long enough, he can almost pretend like someone is there with him. Feel the ghost of their breath against his nape, the weight of their arms around his waist, or maybe the feel of their back pressed to his torso, the tickle of their hair against his nose. 

For the most part, 90% of the time, Harry can pretend none of this affects him, but there’s still that 10% where it’s all he can think about. Needing someone, being close to people, having those interpersonal connections that every human requires. He has no idea how to go about it anymore though, having lost out on the critical developmental learning opportunities in his youth. 

So he just. . kind of accepts that he won’t get that. Some people aren’t meant for that kind of love, he supposes. 

For someone with poor social skills in that regard, what he’s doing right now doesn’t make a lot of sense.

Harry was taking the stairs at work today – he typically did, because the elevators took forever, and sometimes Harry convinced himself that people were uncomfortable in his presence, so he thought it’s best if he. . .tries not to impose his existence on them. So he takes the stairs, and while the heater doesn’t exactly reach this part of the building, the cold air isn’t awful. Autumn brought a chill that nipped right down to the bone, but Harry wore a thicker cardigan today, his navy one with the light wooden buttons, so he wasn’t shivering. 

But when he stepped into the stairwell today, Harry was met with a groan. 

Brows knitted, he paused, the only sound was the door slamming shut behind him, echoing against the rising walls. Harry wondered if he’d imagined it, until he heard it again, coming from below the first flight of stairs. Harry knew (from maybe a panic attack or two) that there was a space beneath the stairs where nothing stood, so it was a good spot to hide away if you needed a second. Someone was probably going through something. . it would be rude to interrupt. 

Still. . .Harry felt a twist in his gut that told him something might be wrong. And when he heard another sound, a soft whimper, he cleared his throat and took a step closer, “Um, excuse me?” There’s a sniffle, “Are you alright?” 

It’s silent for a second, no sounds of distress – Harry wondered if they were holding their breath or something to pretend that they weren’t there. He was about to apologize for intruding and book it up the stairs, but he hears movement, shuffling, and then a head peeks around the corner. Harry blinked a couple of times, his eyes adjusting to the low lighting. . .she seemed familiar, the person he was looking at. He thinks they work on the same floor, maybe? If he heard her voice, then he would know for sure. 

She looked. . .distressed. Her hair was mussed, and her eyes were wide, and the way she was biting down on her lip it looked like she might chew through it. Harry pauses, fear flushes through his bones, and a chill makes goosebumps rise at the nape of his neck. Harry is unsure what this reaction is – this knee-jerk, intense sympathetic response to run from danger. But why was she dangerous? She might. . .need help? 

“Ah, sorry,” she steps out from behind the stairs, and trips over herself walking closer to him, and oh – yeah, he definitely works with her – the lavender sweater she wore looked familiar, even,  “I’m just. . .kind of starving. Do you want to help me?” 

Harry is confused, “Oh?” He cleared his throat – when was the last time he spoke to someone for longer than a brief conversation, that wasn’t his mum or sister? He wasn’t so sure, actually – this whole thing felt foreign. Maybe that’s why he felt so weird. “I could. . .do you want me to get you something?” 

The girl had been walking toward him the whole time, and though Harry took a step back, she closed the distance almost instantly. Harry makes an affronted sound when her front presses to him, their chests together, the heat of her body is. . .not there. He’d expected her to be feverish, for how she looked, but she wasn’t. She’s ice cold. 

“Sorry,” she said again, and she’s so close he can smell her – like something sweet, and fruity. Vanilla and strawberries? Chocolate and citrus? Something good, something that. . .he’s having trouble focusing on when she’s this close. Harry didn’t think they’d ever once looked at each other for more than a second in passing before, and now she was right on top of him, “I hate to – to do this, I’m –” her breath was warm against his throat, though the tip of her nose was freezing. 

Harry should yank away. He should pull from her hands, the way she wraps them around his biceps and presses him against the wall to keep him still. Harry should dodge the way that her lips drag across his pulse, how her teeth graze along the drumming vein. Almost every part of his body was telling him to tear himself away, to run from whatever she was about to do, to save himself. 90% of him wants to listen to all his danger receptors blaring off like a foghorn in his buzzing brain. 

But 10% of him. . .10% of him melts into it. Being held like this, even by a stranger, is – god, he feels pathetic, but it’s nice. It’s really nice. 

Even when he feels two sharp pinpricks against his neck, he doesn’t budge but a soft grimace from the initial pain of it. Her lips fix around his throat, and in a bleary daze, he can tell that she’s drinking from him. His brain can’t even interpret what any of this meant, just that as soon as she bit, after the pain there came something glowy and warm that filled his insides. This feeling is something so completely novel to him, that he has no choice but to revel in it. Not that he could get out of her hold if he tried – her grip on him was impressive, something not human, and something that Harry had no choice but to accept for now. 

Harry is unsure how long she drinks from him. He just knew that he started feeling lightheaded, his mind swimming in circles when she finally pulled away. The sound of her swallowing makes him shiver, along with the warm puff of air that she breathes over what he could only imagine is a weeping, bleeding wound. “Fuck,” she murmured, seemingly to herself, and then she comes back into view of him, away from his throat. Her mouth is stained pink from his blood, but she seemed. . .well, she looked a lot better, “God, I’m stupid, sorry, sorry, could you – could you maybe keep this a secret?” 

He blinked at her, trying to tell his mouth to move but it didn’t want to. This seemed to bring more stress to her, as she cursed again, then guided him (and she must be pretty strong because Harry is nothing but additional weight to her – he’s not helping much at all) until he was underneath the stairs where she’d been hiding before. She leaned forward, pushed her ear against his chest, and listened for a little while, “Your heart sounds good, so I’m going to get you cranberry juice! Yeah, that should – that should help. I don’t think I took enough to do any damage.” 

“Tha’s good,” he slurred, and she winced, and cursed again. 

“Ah, shit! Shit, okay, yes, juice! I’ll get you some juice and then we’ll – I don’t know what we’ll do. I’ll get you some juice though.” She stepped back, and Harry bit down on a sad noise, forcing himself not to pout when her hands left him. He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall, “Wait here okay? I’ll be right back.” 

Harry doesn’t think he could move right now if he tried. This isn’t the worst feeling though; remnants of the warmth he’d been given before still glow through his body. Harry feels. . .good, despite losing some blood, and despite his understanding of the mortal world being skewed in the last five or so minutes. He could still feel the places she was holding tightly to him, the way her nose warmed against his skin the more she drank, and how nice it felt to have her ear pressed against his chest. 

He doesn’t care how pathetic it is. . .he savors it.

OKAY MY HALLOWEEN FIC IM GONNA START TODAY!! I WANNA MAKE IT LIKE THIS PATREON BLURB I WROTE (ILL POST IT) AND YOU CAN TELL ME IF YOU WANT HARRY TO BE THE HUMAN OR YN!!

[weenwrites]

Hello! i havent asked on tumblr for quite a while, so i apologize if this sounds a bit awkward. Im not sure if you do the whole gang/masterlist for fnf, but if you do, may i get the whole gang (separate) with an S/O who loves collecting rubber ducks for no reason at all? please and thank you :]

FNF Gang W/ An S/O Who Loves Collecting Rubber Ducks

Pairing - Romantic Category - Headcanons Trigger Warnings - None

Ween Says: “It didn't sound awkward at all! And also even though writing for the entire FNF gang goes over my character limit, I'll do it just this once.”

Bf would find your collection to be super neat! He'd also want to squish every single one, especially if they squeak. But if you'd prefer for him to keep his hands to himself, he'd totally respect that and instead ask about the collection. Is there a reason you started collecting them? How long have you been collecting them for? Which one's your favorite? Also he'd be able to relate over collecting things, I'd like to think that he also has a collection of his own that he maintains, perhaps a cool item collection. Just little bits and bobbles that he just so happens to like.

Gf, like Bf, would really want to take a look at every single one. She'd pick one up and look it over curiously, but before she'd finish looking it over another one would immediately catch her eye, so she'd drop it and move onto the next. But if you don't want her touching the rubber ducks she'll apologize and try to keep her hands to herself. I feel like afterward she'd want to collect rubber ducks as well, and maybe once she gets a small collection going, she'd show you all the rubber ducks she's collected.

If you have a rubber ducky that happens to squeak aloud, Pico would definitely try to startle you with it. He'd pick it up while you weren't looking and keep it with him (of course he'd give it back afterward,) while you show him your collection, and then when you least expect it he'd squeeze it just to startle you. But all in all, he finds your collection pretty neat. While he wouldn't be too interested in starting a collection himself, he wouldn't mind helping your collection grow.

Senpai finds it rather endearing that you’re keeping a collection of rubber ducks. And if anyone were to insult your collection he’d start calling them out. If he ever passed through a store and found a fancy rubber duck, he’d definitely buy it for you. Also, if you have a rubber duck that squeaks, you could get the unholiest scream out of him if you startled him. He’d never admit that you startled him though.

Depending on where you keep your collection, Lemon Demon/Monster might’ve stumbled over it before and nearly used one as a chew toy. Since he lives out in an old abandoned mansion, or just someplace away from society he isn’t well-acquainted with human trinkets and contrivances. Regardless, he finds your collection of rubber figures to be cute! He doesn’t like the ones that squeak though.

Whitty finds rubber ducks to be pretty cute! So he’d think your collection is pretty cool! I’d like to think that he might’ve found a couple in the trash once and kept them. I’d also like to think that if he accidentally stepped or squished one that squeaks, he’d be startled by the sudden high-pitched squeak it lets out, but after that he wouldn’t be startled again.

When you showed Ruv your collection, he just gave you a thumbs up, said “cool,” and that’s it. While you might be left with the idea that he doesn’t think much of it, you’re wrong. He’d help your collection grow by gifting you rubber duckies he stole from stores and whatnot. Also if you handed him a squeaky rubber ducky and allowed him to squeeze it as hard as he could, it’d definitely let out an extremely high-pitched squeak before suddenly popping.

Sarvente's happy that you have a hobby that you enjoy, and she'll happily listen to whatever you have to say about your collection, and ask you questions about it. If you have any squeaky rubber duckies you could definitely startle her by squeaking one when she least expects it.

Agoti would also try to startle you if one of your rubber ducks happen to squeak when squished. Overall, he'd find your collection to be pretty cool and if he happened to find one he'd like, you'd definitely be able to tell with how he picked it up and never set it back down until you asked him to put it back. If you let him keep it, he'd definitely cherish it in secret and keep it in his room.

Tabi doesn’t really think much of your collection, but he’s happy that it’s something that makes you happy. He’s a thoughtful person though, so if he were to ever come across another rubber duck he thought you might like, he’d get it for you. Also, if you tried to startle him with a rubber duck that squeaks, you wouldn’t spook him. He’d just look at you with a look on his face that spells out, “really?”

I'd like to imagine that Kapi would have a collection of something as well, so he'd be able to relate over collecting a random object for no reason apart from wanting to because it made you happy. He'd like to boop each and every one, or squeeze them if they squeaked. And if each one made a different sounding squeak than the last, he'd definitely try to play a tune using them.

Hex also enjoys collecting stuff! However he doesn’t have a collection of rubber duckies. He does find your collection to be pretty neat, and regardless of how big or small it may be, he’d be impressed at your dedication to maintaining (and perhaps expanding) your collection. He’s happy that collecting rubber duckies makes you happy! Later he might share some cool facts about rubber duckies that he found online. Like did you know that the yellow rubber duckies we know now were presumably made by a sculptor named Peter Ganine in the 1940s?

Garcello thinks that you’re collection’s pretty cool, and he does wonder why you collect rubber duckies... But if you have no reason, that’s cool too. Once or twice, he might’ve used one like a sock puppet to convince you to come to bed, or take a break from something you’ve been doing for the past few hours. Also the two of you may or may not have started a little game where you try to startle one or the other with a squeaking rubber duck.

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #30: Clean Break

Masterlist

content: angst / emotional whump, discussion of institutionalized captivity / keeping people as livestock, brief reference to parental homophobia

have another prequel piece! takes place when kane is 17 years old.

-

Bellamy had never been more anxious in his entire life.

Today was his eighteenth birthday. By all accounts, he should be enjoying himself.

Later tonight, after his party... he would be expected to run off to human territory, abduct some poor soul from the street, and turn them into a personal living food supply, as all nobles did when they came of age.

He would not be doing this. Instead, he would be harshly giving his family what-for, before leaving forever. He had already arranged accommodations. He had a speech prepared, an awfully dramatic piece about the evils of the nobility’s practices.

He couldn’t wait to see the look on Father’s face.

Bellamy would be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious about that as well, he certainly was. How could he not be nervous about leaving behind everything he’d ever known? But that was not the primary cause for his concern.

He still hadn’t told Kane.

Kane greeted him with a hug when he answered the door, standing on his tip-toes to bring himself closer to Bellamy’s height. “Happy birthday! You excited?”

“Thank you! Quite.” he lied, hugging him back. He was actually quite surprised: Kane usually spent Bellamy’s birthdays wallowing in jealousy, and Bellamy usually spent them trying to mitigate Kane’s gloomy mood.

There would not be much for Kane to be jealous of tonight.

Kane pulled back with a huge grin, picking up a large box beside him. “I got you something, obviously! Come on, race you.” He was gone in an instant, running past him up to Bellamy’s room.

Bellamy followed him up.

“Open it!” Kane directed. “But leave the card for the party. I just thought it would be better to give you the gift in private, because... well, you’ll see.”

Bellamy smiled, his worries momentarily forgotten. “Alright!” He grabbed a pair of nearby scissors- with his hobby, there was practically a pair on every surface in the room. He carefully cut away the wrapping to reveal-

A sewing machine, jet black with an intricate golden design etched into it. Bellamy did his work by hand, he’d never used one before. He knew what his family would say, already insisting his passion was “women’s work”.

“Oh, Kane, it’s beautiful.” Bellamy whispered.

“Great! You know I don’t know about these things. It’s the right... kind?”

Bellamy laughed, setting the enveloped card to the side. “Yes, it’s wonderful. Thank you, darling.”

“So, speaking of, I’ll ask the big question. What are you going to wear?” Kane asked, leaning against the wall. “I assume you’ve picked out something utterly extravagant for the occasion.” He imitated Bellamy’s manner of speech, his tone teasing.

“Of course I have.” He’d hardly been thinking about it, truth be told. It was not going to be the celebratory event it was designed to be. As much as he cared for fashion, he had more important things on his mind.

Bellamy checked his pocket-watch. There were mere hours left until the party. He had to tell Kane.

“Can I... tell you something?” he asked quietly.

"Must be serious if you're not talking like a pompous cod. What's up?" the corner of Kane's mouth quirked up in half a smile, the way that always made Bellamy's heart flutter.

Bellamy took a deep breath, then stopped. He couldn’t make the words leave his mouth.

“Come on, what? You have to tell me now that you’ve said something.” Kane stepped forward and prodded him on the arm encouragingly.

Bellamy twiddled his fingers together. “You’re well aware of... my views on keeping humans.”

Kane rolled his eyes. “Yes, you’ve only mentioned it about a thousand times. Better get over it quick, tonight’s the night. Is that what this is about? You’re still hung up on that?”

“Somewhat. I mean, yes, of course I am, but that’s only somewhat what this is about.” Bellamy was stumbling over his words again. He hated when that happened.

Kane gave him a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Bellamy, you’re going to be fine. You’re perfect, alright? All you need to do is follow your father’s instructions.”

Perfect. If only such a thing were true. Still, it eased his heart that Kane would say such a thing about him. Maybe Kane would take this well.

“Thank you. It’s not... that. I don’t... I don’t plan on following Father’s instructions.” He forced the words out. “I’m not taking a human.”

Kane raised an eyebrow. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“I am, dear.”

Kane groaned. “Bellamy, we’re not kids anymore, okay? You need to grow up. You can’t just not take a human.”

You’re not going to take one.

Bellamy could have said it, but he knew the words would only wound his dearest friend. Their situations were not comparable. He kept his comment to himself.

“I am growing up.” Bellamy said instead. “I’ve bought a house in secret. I’ve been preparing for this. I refuse to partake in this barbaric practice.”

“You’re leaving?” Kane asked incredulously.

“I am.” he repeated.

“That’s fucking stupid.” Kane retorted. “You realize that packaged blood comes from captive humans too, right? And they’re way less fortunate than ours. You take a human, it’ll have its own quarters and everything, not like the humans in blood farms.”

“You know how I feel about blood processing facilities.” He made a disgusted face at the mere thought. “At least the humans there are already captive, I’m not adding to it. And actually, I’ve heard tell that imports will begin of-”

“The ethical blood shit from across the ocean, I know, I know. You’ve told me a hundred times. It’s going to be completely stale by the time it gets here, you know. It’ll taste like crap.” Kane pointed out.

Bellamy scoffed. “I’d rather drink stale blood than participate in cruelty.”

“You’re actually serious. You’re leaving.” Kane’s mocking tone dropped.

“I’ve said that.” Bellamy couldn’t help his sharp tone. He loved Kane, but he could be so infuriating sometimes.

“Why? What, for the humans? They’re just humans. They’re literally livestock.” Kane argued.

“No! They’re people, Kane. They deserve-”

“Oh, give me a break. They’re not people.” Kane rolled his eyes again. “You can’t just throw your whole life away!”

“I can.” Bellamy said seriously. “And I’m going to. But I wanted to ask you... come with me. They treat you horribly. It doesn’t have to be this way. You could live a happy life. You don’t need their approval.”

Kane’s eyes widened. “Are you insane? I can’t leave!”

“You can. There’s a whole world out there, Kane.” Bellamy insisted.

“You realize that I won’t be able to see you if you do this?” Kane asked, his voiced saturated with urgency. “I won’t be able to be caught dead with you. You know how hard I’m trying to make a good impression. If you do this, you’ll be a bigger laughing-stock than me.”

“What?” Bellamy asked, his voice small.

He’d known Kane wouldn’t approve, and he’d known that Kane agreeing to come with him was a long shot. But he hadn’t anticipated this. He brought a hand up to his face when he felt something wet on his cheek, realizing he’d begun to cry.

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You know I can’t be doing anything my family would disapprove of. Do you know how many hoops I had to jump through to buy that thing in secret?” Kane asked, pointing to the sewing machine.

“That’s another thing. It’s not just the humans. I hate them, Kane. I hate the way they treat you. I don’t want to be party to this.” Bellamy reached desperately for his hand, but Kane yanked it away.

“Are you serious? You were handed everything I’ve ever wanted on a golden platter and you’re throwing it away like it’s nothing!” Kane shouted, tears forming in his eyes as well.

“I don’t want this!” Bellamy cried. “Please, Kane, I can’t do this without you! I’m scared.”

“Then don’t do it, obviously!” Kane snapped.

Bellamy shook his head. “They’re horrible. Your family, my family, every other dratted noble family. Why do you even want to stay? They live off hurting people. You, the humans, it’s all-”

“Are you comparing me to a HUMAN?” Kane screamed, his voice shrill. Bellamy had seen Kane this angry before several times, but never at him.

He’d messed it up. He was messing it all up.

He couldn’t leave everything else behind without Kane, he couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly stand Kane hating him.

“No, no! That’s not what I meant!” He was crying harder, now. “Just, just listen to me.”

“No, you don’t get it. You’re the fucking golden boy.” Kane spat. “You have no idea what it’s like! You can do anything you want. Sew clothes, run off to party with commoners on the weekends, be gay, be friends with me. Your parents will love you no matter what you do, not like mine. But no, that’s not good enough for you. You just have to do the one thing that pisses everyone off. You’re a prodigy! Do you have any idea how much I’d kill to be you?”

“My parents love me about at much as I love them. They only care about optics.” Bellamy said, his voice bitter. “But if you come with me... Kane, no one out there cares about persuasion. None of them even have their own humans. They wouldn’t judge you.”

“I don’t care what they think! I won’t let anything stop me. If you want to act like a lunatic, I can’t stop you. But don’t expect me to put my life on the line for it by associating with you after.”

Bellamy felt like his heart was being ripped to shreds. “I always went to bat for you when everyone said things about you. I thought... you’d do the same for me.”

“That’s different. I can’t control how I was born. You’re choosing this.” Kane argued.

In his frustration, Bellamy could say any number of things. He knew Kane better than anyone else did, all his many, many insecurities. He knew every word that could cut so deep that Kane would never stop thinking about it. Everything that would hurt Kane just as much as Kane was hurting him.

But he wouldn’t mean any of it.

“You’re a bad friend.” he said instead, his voice thick with tears.

“No, I’m not. We’d have to be friends for me to be a bad friend.” Kane glared at him before stomping out of the room. With a final glance back, he added, “Don’t open the card.”

“I- I’ll write you after I move in.” Bellamy could barely get the words out.

Kane stalled in the doorway. “You can always change your mind, you know.”

“So can you.” Bellamy pleaded.

Kane shook his head. “You know I can’t afford to do that.” He wiped the tears from his eyes, and in an instant, he was gone.

Bellamy collapsed onto his bed and sobbed. He wasn’t alone- he had other friends, ones unassociated with the nobility. They’d known about his plan for months. But Kane.. Kane was different. Bellamy never imagined he’d be doing this without him. It almost didn’t feel real.

He glanced over at the card Kane told him not to open, still sitting on the nightstand, Bellamy Verta scrawled on the envelope in Kane’s perfect cursive.

He opened it.

Dear Bellamy,

Happy birthday! I’m so happy for you. I know you get nervous a lot, even though you try not to show it. But if there’s anyone worthy of being a full-fledged Verta, it’s you. You have every reason to be just as confident on the inside as you are on the outside. You’re a great guy and a great friend. I don’t know what I’d ever do without you.

I was wondering if you would want to move in together after I come of age. Since we’re best friends and you won’t be taking a wife anytime soon (haha), I think it would be a good idea. You have the better part of a year to decide, but it’s okay if you don’t want to. I would understand. I just thought you might want to. Also you would be able to use the sewing machine without your parents looking at you weird.

Either way, I hope you have the best birthday ever!

Sincerely, Kane de Sang

It would have made his heart explode with joy if he’d read this even ten minutes ago.

Bellamy crumpled the paper up and threw it across the room. Immediately, he got up to retrieve it. He carefully smoothed out the wrinkles, folded it neatly, and slid it into his pocket.

Alone, he once again rehearsed what he would say to his family in a couple hours with shaking hands.

-

expect the next chapter tomorrow, where captive kane will reflect on his choices.

i usually don’t listen to music while writing but for this one i listened to ‘i don’t love you’ by mcr on repeat :’)

no drabbles posted between #29 and #30, but the two Kane & Jim crossovers were both updated!

SPK: Hope (Masterlist)

Celeste & Kane: Goodbye (Masterlist)

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