#He's been spinning around in my head like a rotisserie chicken

[infernaltheblaze]

i think he's neat so i'm figuring out how to draw him and his dumb face (affectionate)

(Repost bc I put this in the wrong blog OOPS LMAO)

[dogrocks]

every now and then i think about an au where nightheart actually is an unreliable narrator in which he’s very boastful and and kind of a bully because deep down he’s very insecure and lives pretty vicariously through the legacy he’s named after. he’s the picture perfect apprentice and whenever he gets complimented he hits it with “well duh, i AM a descendant of firestar” and it’s often met with “….okay” like damn just take a compliment.

and eventually his “friends” stop hanging out with him because of how insufferable he’s become and he doesn’t understand why, like why aren’t his supporters with him anymore? have they forgotten who he is?? damn … :(

[blueyedgrass]

cNiki <3

[fayes-fics]

Friends & Family

Friends + Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Anthony has a very important question to ask, but the universe appears to be conspiring against him. Threequel. Set a year after the first fic in this series

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Public sexual acts, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, woman on top, back-to-back orgasm. Also, on a non-sexual front, all sorts of emotions and thwarted proposals.

Word Count: 5.4k

Authors Note: This is VERY, VERY belated request fill for the divine @colettebronte. She has had the patience of a saint as I have grappled with this request for many months. I hope this is worth the wait, but to be honest, after this delay, I'm not sure anything could be. Thank you to @sorryallonsy for betaing. Please enjoy <3

I

“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, what is this??” 

There is an undignified yelp, and a spatula drops to the floor with a loud splat. Apparently, he didn't hear you come in.

“Bloody hell! You scared the shit out of me… And what is the full-name business all about?” he exclaims, spinning around, holding his hands aloft as if in a hostage situation. The sight is made even funnier by the fact he is wearing one of your novelty aprons, complete with floppy bunny ears.

You have walked in from afternoon coffee with old friends to find your kitchen in absolute disarray. Pots, pats on every surface, opened containers, the contents of your spice cupboard all pulled out and haphazardly dotted around. There is a large pile of reusable shopping bags with half-open veggies in and what looks like a sourdough loaf cut open and likely going stale next to the complete wrong knife for the job at hand. There is almost no worktop surface that is left unused or covered in some sticky-looking residue from god knows what. 

“I said yes to you making dinner while I was out; I did not say you could conduct some kind of controlled explosion in my kitchen,” holding your hands up in exasperated resignation. 

Frankly, it’s a mystery why he offered to make dinner in the first place; you have never seen the man so much as boil an egg in all the years you have known him. And certainly not in the twelve months you have loved him. His idea of cooking is usually stopping at Whole Foods to pick up a hot rotisserie chicken.

He walks towards you with that adorable puppy dog expression, his perennial get-out-of-jail-free card. You pick a fleck of what you think is broccoli from his hair as he reaches you.

“Points for effort?” he pouts, a tiny smile toying with the corners of his mouth, seeking forgiveness. You let him pull you into his arms and kiss your cheek. “Do you still love me?” he teases, pulling back to shoot you that perfect-toothed charming grin.

“I’ll love you even more if you tidy all this up,” you counter, raising an eyebrow as he chuckles. “Although I’m intrigued. You have never once made dinner since we’ve been dating; why now?”

“Well, I wanted to do something special…” he says pointedly, pulling away to switch off the hob when there is a slight burning smell in the air.

“What’s so special about today?” You frown.

“Really?” He spins around to look at you, a slight pout as you wrack your brains. “What happened on this date one year ago?”

Ohhh…

You feel bad you had completely not realised it. Exactly one year ago to this day, you got together after many years of combative flirting. Heart melting in your ribcage as you suddenly realise this is him attempting to cook an anniversary dinner for you. 

“You secret romantic, you,” you murmur, contrition and affection burning inside as you can't help but seek his touch.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he jests as he pulls you into his arms again and kisses your temple. “I have a reputation to uphold….”

“Of course…” you giggle, resting your head on his shoulders as you sway together in the bombsite that was your kitchen. “And here was me thinking you would do something far more risqué…”

“Such as..?” he prompts, intrigued by where your thoughts have gone.

“Oh, I don't know….” you run your fingers into his lush hair, pressing into him. “Maybe take me back to that same penthouse your friend owns. Maybe make it to that overpriced sofa this time…” his eyes flash dark and dangerous, licking his lips, and you feel compelled to continue, “Maybe even that enormous bed. And the balcony….”

He groans gently as his mind no doubt fills with the same images as yours. “Fuckkkkkkk….” he rues, “I should have done that. I’m definitely no Gordon Ramsey….”

You laugh and run your hands up his biceps. “Maybe not. But I do have a suggestion…” you offer, dropping your voice a little smokier.

“Tell me…” Anthony rumbles, nudging your cheek until your lips brush, fingers digging into your flesh where he holds you.

“Let's work up an appetite and then order from our usual. Tidying up can wait…” you whisper, mouth ghosting over his, fingers opening the top button of his shirt and toying with the patch of chest hair.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

You squeal gently as he picks you up and strides towards your bedroom. The little navy velvet box burning a hole in his suit jacket pocket can wait for another day. Perhaps.

—

II

During a boring editorial meeting the following morning, your phone buzzes in your lap.

AB: Can you be at mine at 7pm tonight?

Y/N: Yes… but why?

AB: All will be revealed 😉 

AB: Come hungry for delicious protein 

Y/N: Filthy. I like it. 😉😛

AB: OMG NO! Not THAT. Bloody hell…

Y/N: Shame…

AB: Well, okay, maybe a bit of that. Afterwards. 😉

Y/N: *victory dance* 💃 

AB: I love you, you filthy animal 😛😘

—

You walk into Anthony’s kitchen at precisely 7pm that evening to find some very posh-looking man in a bowtie pouring some wine into the good glasses. The ones you are too scared to use. 

“What is all this?” Your curiosity piqued.

“Cooking was a disaster, so this is recompense,” Anthony greets you with a hug and a brief kiss on the lips. 

He looks handsome in his usual crisp shirt, undone just enough at the chest to be distracting, and custom-tailored trousers that cling to him just right. It takes some effort to tear your eyes away from him, but when you do, you now see a smorgasbord of cheese on his expansive, pristine white marble kitchen island, with fruit, crackers and all manner of chutneys.

“Oooh, lovely. Fancy cheese and wine night?” you guess.

“Indeed,” he replies warmly. “Baxter here is a world-renowned expert on such things. He will be taking us on a cheese world tour paired with the very best wines.”

“Sounds lovely. Thank you,” you nod to the man, then crowd into Anthony again. “The anniversary of our first proper date?” you guess, kissing his jaw, enjoying the slight rasp of stubble there.

“The lady is learning…” he ribs genially, taking your hand and pulling you along to take a seat on one of the stools.

Baxter speaks engagingly and knowledgeable, and admittedly, every cheese and wine pairing is exquisite. Just a bite from each, but after 10 countries, you are a little tipsy, leaning into Anthony and shooting him goofy smiles, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheekily grabbing his thigh where the fabric pulls taut right over his quad muscle so temptingly. You want to climb into his lap and wrap around him.

After an hour, the man politely takes his leave, mentioning he has left some more “adventurous” choices in sealed boxes in the fridge. 

“What does adventurous cheese mean?” you tipsily ponder after the man has left. “Do you think it's abseiled down a mountain?”

Anthony laughs accommodatingly at your goofiness, taking your hand and leading you outside onto the balcony. “I assume strong-flavoured maybe. But I’m quite sure it's all bravado,” he assures.

You lean on the railing, looking down upon the Thames below, all of London seeming reflected in its inky depths, a thousand lights twinkling in its choppy waves, like a sea of stars beneath you.

“I could never tire of this view,” you declare wistfully, a warmth behind your ribs as he crowds into your back, placing a light blanket around your shoulders.

“It is yours to enjoy for as long as it is mine,” he breathes into your hair, kissing your temple and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You sway together gently in the breeze, your hands over his, pushing back into his warm body.

“I love you,” you say quietly, turning to nuzzle his cheek.

“I love you too,” he responds immediately, “and I have for so long now; it feels wrong when you are not with me,” his tone ardent, gentle. “Wait here….” he whispers, a waver in his voice that makes you pause.

You wait patiently as he slips back inside, the breeze dancing through your hair as you inhale deeply and soak in the city. Although you are high above street level, the sounds are still there, like a background hum. It’s as energising as the country air at his rural ancestral home in Kent, just in a different way—so vibrant and teeming with life. 

Anthony seems to be gone for a while, so out of intrigue, you wander inside to the fridge, grab one of the containers Baxter left and take it back onto the balcony before he reappears. When you peel it open, you are taken aback by the smell. It's very pungent, even out in the open air. 

“There is an important question I wa…” Anthony freezes mid-sentence. “Dear god, what is that smell?” he exclaims, his face scrunching violently.

“Oh, I think it's the cheese Baxter left.” 

You swing the container around so it's right under his nose and watch him go white as a sheet and then double over to one side, dry heaving.

“That's disgusting!” He gags, quickly putting something small from his hand into his trouser pocket as he coughs roughly, almost bent double.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” you frown, bringing the container back to your own nose, closer than you had it before.

Then, a wave of nausea hits you, too. It smells of decay and bad feet and turns your stomach so violently that you have to grab the balcony railing to stop yourself from stumbling.

“Fuck that's terrible,” you stutter, trying hard to keep down the rich wines and cheeses you have already consumed.

“Throw it!” Anthony blurts, somewhat frantic.

“Where?” you panic, holding it away at arm's length, desperate to stay upwind of it.

“Off the fucking balcony! Fling it in the Thames! I can't even have that shit in my bins….” he yelps before another wretch doubles him over again.

Gripping the container, you fling the contents as hard as you can, watching the blob of cheese sail downwards in an arc for twelve storeys, hitting the river below with a distant but satisfying plop. You both stand there wheezing and gasping as you reseal the container immediately, fearful of any residual scent.

“Dear god, am I going to inadvertently ruin every one of these special evenings?” he grumbles under his breath, sounding more like a rhetorical question than anything.

You have no idea what he could mean, but you don’t have the capacity to ask - you have to run to the cloakroom as the mere olfactory flashback makes you nauseated.

When you reemerge ten minutes later, full of regret and needing toothpaste, you find him in his en suite bathroom in a similar fragile state. You both crawl into his bed feeling delicate, curling up foetal and holding hands across the expanse of the bed, him muttering apologies.

—

III

The following week, Anthony takes you back to the same restaurant where you had your second date, one year to the day later. Seeing the pattern in advance, you wear the beautiful little black dress he bought you recently. And you are pleased to make him temporarily tongue-tied when you slip off your coat to reveal it, whispering coquettishly in his ear that you are happy to skip dinner and return to his.

“Oh, we will,” he rumbles, a promissory note that lights a fire low in your belly.

After perusing the menu, you decide to order the same dish you had last time. You are certain everything is terrific, but you remember it being so delicious it had you making noises only Anthony usually can. Also, you are hoping for a complete repeat of the same night from a year ago. Memorably, it was the first time he managed to give you three orgasms in one night—you are very keen to repeat that. 

But rather strangely, Anthony’s energy seems slightly off, almost nervous. You can only assume it's apprehension that this night does not go as the previous two attempts at anniversary celebrations have. 

While you are sharing a delicious starter, a familiar face over the room at the bar catches your eye.

“Is that Benedict?” you frown, causing Anthony to twist in your booth and look.

“Probably,” he sighs.

You are nonplussed by his reaction, so you take it upon yourself to wave to him, to Anthony’s seeming chagrin.

When Benedict wanders over, you notice his shoulders are hunched, a shuffled gait. Not the usual mister sunshine he is.

“Hey Ben, everything okay?” you check as he pulls up nearby, hovering a little.

“I got dumped,” he exhales. “So I’m drowning my sorrows,” he explains, holding his whiskey tumbler aloft in a rueful toast.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you grimace, knowing he has been more unlucky in love than not, which seems a shame; he’s a sweet, good-looking man but often gets used, attracted to people who take advantage of his giving nature.

“Anyway, I don’t want to interrupt your dinner…” he placates modestly, glancing at his older brother, who seems to be brooding.

“Don't be silly, you can join us,” you beckon him into the booth.

“No, he can’t,” Anthony interjects.

You frown at him. “Why not? It’s just dinner,” you dispute.

“No, it’s not; it’s our anniversary,” Anthony argues before turning to Benedict. “Brother, I love you and all, but would you kindly fuck off?” Anthony grouses, gritting his teeth.

“Anthony!” You admonish. “Don’t be a dick!” You roll your eyes. “Ignore your grouchy brother, Ben; of course, you can join us,” you offer again, seeing the hesitancy but also the sadness tugging at the corner of his eyes that means you are worried about leaving him alone.

He acquiesces, and as he wanders across to the bar to grab his jacket and join you, you scowl at Anthony. “He’s just been dumped. You could be nicer,”

“I could… just not tonight,” he says, almost harangued.

You decide not to dwell on why he seems unduly hung up on this evening’s plans, being so particular, watching him seem to fiddle with an item in his jacket pocket, then look askance across the restaurant, defeated. 

“Anthony, are you okay?” You check quietly as Benedict walks back over.

“Yeah, I just….” He sighs and finally meets your eye squarely with a tinge of sadness. “I had other plans for us tonight. Not babysitting…”

At one point during the main course, Benedict excuses himself to the bathroom. Anthony has been mostly monosyllabic, almost sulking, and you feel guilty; perhaps he did indeed have other ideas for the evening.

You shuffle around to lean into him and grab his hand, placing it high on your thigh under the table, the message unmistakable.

“We can still have our plans for later…” you whisper hotly into his ear.

He seems to perk up immediately, his hand grasping your flesh in a way that catches your breath. “You always know what to say to make me feel better…” he murmurs, at once playful and reverent.

“Touch me…” you whisper, the need for him an instant, tart taste in your mouth.

“Here, in the restaurant? With my brother coming back to join us any moment?” His tone is incredulous but unmistakably aroused.

“Yes…” you hiss, pushing his hand up higher to the junction of your thighs where you burn molten for him always.

He growls when he realises you have made another style choice, this one scandalous—no underwear.

“I’ll do more than that, you wonderful minx,” he huffs, pulling your thigh over his lap under the tablecloth. He plunges two fingers into your aching pussy and presses his thumb over your clit. You gasp and grip the table hard, just as Benedict reappears.

It certainly does wonders for Anthony’s disposition, like he is a different man now. Chatting amiably to his brother as you subtly try not to look flustered, dripping silently into his palm as he holds still. 

“Whatever you did to put this one in a better mood, thank you,” Benedict jests at one point.

“I just had to give the old grouch a hug and his favourite toy to keep him entertained,” you joke back, him not realising exactly how true that is. Anthony’s fingers flex deep inside you at your cheeky riposte, and you can feel his smirk as you have to cough to hide your moan.

“Well, thank you,” Benedict smiles, “you bring things out in my brother I never thought I would see. So whatever magic trick you are pulling, keep doing it.”

Anthony’s fingers curl hard against your g spot, and you have to laugh loudly to not scream.

“She’s the very best brother,” Anthony replies, lips brushing your temple as he flicks his thumb teasingly over your clit. “I hope one day you find someone as special as she is,” he offers, his first sympathetic noise to his brother of the evening.

“I should be so lucky,” Benedict adds quietly, tone pensive, glancing at his phone as it lights up by his elbow.

Anthony withdraws from your pussy; you whimper mutely, feeling bereft but also relieved, not sure you can act any longer. You watch as he brings those fingers up to his mouth and sucks them decadently as Benedict is distracted by his phone.

“Thank you for dessert, my love,” he thrums into your ear, “and the show,” he adds cheekily, your clit and pussy clenching, denied, so very aroused.

“Take me home right now, Anthony!” Your order is through gritted teeth, quiet but brokering no argument. 

And he does.

—

IV

A tide of relief hits you as the door to his sleek penthouse clicks softly open; tossing aside your umbrella and slipping off your shoes in the fancy hallway. It's been a taxing work day; all you can think about is climbing into the shower, then curling up and watching something mindless until Anthony gets home.

“Y/n…” 

An enticing but distant call in that familiar voice.

“Anthony?” you respond, puzzled. “I thought you would be out late tonight?” you add, wandering forward, trying to find the source.

“Change of plan….” 

You cross the open-plan lounge area with its floor-to-ceiling view across the rooftops of London. It's been more than a year of dating, and still, you aren't entirely used to the sheer scale of his place compared to yours. It feels like it takes ages to get across just his living room.

“Where are you?” you frown, hands on hips. It sounds like he's likely in the bedroom.

“Follow the sound of my voice,” he entices, and yep, it's definitely from that direction.

However, when you wander in, the room is empty, the early evening sun blazing onto the soft, luxurious white duvet on his vast bed.

“Getting warmer,” he offers, quieter now, and you recognise his voice has an echo. He can only be in his en-suite bathroom.

You round the corner into that tastefully masculine room - all slate and birch - to be greeted by a sight that makes your lungs feel too tight.

There, in his sizeable sunken whirlpool tub, is one Anthony Bridgerton. Very naked and very wet. Standing so that the bubbling waterline hugs his hips—acres of toned torso, water droplets meandering down the washboard of his stomach and glistening in the thatch of hair across his chest. You bite your lips without even realising it, shifting your stance as you feel a ripple of excitement over your skin.

“Hello, Ms y/l/n,” he preens, knowing exactly how much the sight before you makes you tongue-tied and aroused.

“Hello…” you stutter back, eyes still feasting. “What is the CEO of Bridgerton Enterprises doing taking a bath at….” you glance down to check your watch, “... 5:25 pm on a Thursday?”

“It's a special occasion…” he smirks, wading towards the edge of the tub closest to you. “I thought a bath would be nice.” 

You can't seem to look away from the wake of waves cresting his Adonis belt as he does so. The sight of something delicious just below the surface is almost hypnotic. 

“My eyes are up here, you know,” he mocks gently, tongue literally in cheek, as you cut your gaze to his triumphant face.

“Wh… what special occasion?” you manage to stumble out.

“Surely you recall what happened on this night exactly twelve months ago?” 

When you look nonplussed - frankly, you can barely remember your own name right now - he mock sighs.

“I surprised you on my way back from the airport?” he prompts.

“Oh!” you suddenly cotton on, “it's been a year since we exchanged keys!”

He nods, and a fetching beam breaks out across his face. “Ahhh, the lady remembereth,” he winks.

“So this is how you’re celebrating?” your eyes again drag covetously down his body. 

“No, this is how WE are celebrating…” he corrects and gestures towards a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket at one corner of the tub, along with two long-stemmed flutes.

You can't help but match his grin now. “Well, I can’t find fault with that idea,” you admit, taking a step closer until you are at the edge of the tub surround.

“Hmm, I thought not,” he says silkily, closing the gap between you.

Grabbing the back of your neck with a firm hand, he draws you down into a deep, sensual kiss. His mouth claims yours. You shiver as warm water trickles down inside your top from the hand in your hair. He crowds into you, soaking your clothing with the press of his body as you kneel on the sunken tub surround.

“Oh no, this is all wet,” he feigns, tugging lightly at your sleeve, “you will just have to take it off.”

“Hmmm. I rather think that is your doing. How about you take it off?” you challenge, the banter between you never seeming to get old.

“Maybe I’ll just pull you into the water fully clothed?” he posits, raising an eyebrow.

You laugh and take a step back, revelling in his undivided attention as you strip for him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression hungry; the only sounds are his panted breath and the bubbles roiling in the tub. You are down to your underwear, a new matching lacy set, as if you knew, on some subconscious level, it was a special occasion, when he lunges forward and makes you squeal as he effortlessly picks you up and hauls you into the huge tub with him. The warm, effervescent water is a balm and tonic, making your skin tingle. 

“What is the point of celebrating anything if it’s not an excuse to get naked?” he offers silkily, cupping your jaw with both palms, his wet thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones, then his lips are back, plundering, seeking, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands roam your skin, arranging so you are straddling his lap, his cock a solid press against your inner thigh.

This is indeed how you always want to celebrate every milestone of your relationship—with wonderful, sensual intimacy. Anthony pulls back from the kiss, and you stare into his rich eyes, blissfully tracing the lines of his face with fingertips as he easily unhooks your bra and pulls it gently over the rounds of your shoulders. This close-up and soaked, his face is all sharp contours and smooth, lightly tanned skin.

“You are too handsome,” your internal monologue spilling out with a light mewl as his thumbs brush your nipples.

“I love you too,” he chuckles drolly to make a point. 

“Oh yes, that too,” you append with a playful pout. Then, a more sincere “I love you.”

“Wonderful to hear,” he rumbles into your ear as his hands slide underwater to tug down your underwear. 

He pulls you deeper into his lap, your thighs pushed wide around his slender hips. His rigid cock nudges your slit promisingly, and you wait with bated breath for his much-wanted invasion. But he pauses, and you feel the curl of his smile against your cheekbone.

“Champagne?” he teases, holding still.

“Now?!” you splutter. “How about you get inside me first?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” he answers, wry and laconic. 

Any witty riposte you may have dies on your lips as he surges into your body, knowing you need no warm-up, ready for him the minute you rounded the corner of the room. 

“Happy key day,” he murmurs as your eyes flutter closed and you moan loudly, him nudging that spot that makes you so addicted to him.

“Happy key day,” your response is a ragged exhale as you adjust to his deep invasion. 

Every time it still feels like the first, like it's just too good, and you just want to cling to him and be fucked into oblivion or fuck him into oblivion. A potent, heavy feeling inside that makes you crackle with energy and feel sated at the same time.

“Fuck me, Anthony,” you sigh into his wet hair, pushing closer into his embrace, voicing your exact desires.

“With pleasure.”

You squeak as his hands grasp tight around your waist and haul you up until just his tip is still inside you, then slams you back down, a curse falling from your lips as he does. His handling is slightly rough in a way that feels perfect, his teeth glancing your earlobe before he sucks it into his mouth and bites lightly.

Then it's a wondrous carnal dance, your joint noises echoing up the slate tiles as you fuck wantonly. Taking over at one point and gripping the edge of the oversized tub, you ride him for all your worth, chasing that feeling only he, his cock, has ever given you. So addictive ever since that very first night.

“I only ever want to fuck you, always…” the words tumbling from your lips unbidden, no filter between your thoughts and mouth as you spiral higher.

Even in the full throes of passion, his expression softens as you confess it. 

“Forever?” something vulnerable in his panted tone as you rise and fall upon him.

“Forever, Anthony Bridgerton,” you vow, sensing his need to hear it, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders, pressing all of your being into him, wanting your bodies to be forged together somehow.

His thumb slips between your legs, and you cry out as he snags your clit perfectly, eyes rolling, feeling like a live wire.

“I need to feel it; please give it to me,” he implores desperately, thumb flicking almost violently over your engorged pearl.

It doesn't take much more, and you are fracturing around him. Crying his name, fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his shoulders as you reach that high, unable to stop slamming upon him as you flutter, your whole body spasming in pleasure but unwilling to stop. Him roaring his approval as you squeeze his cock tight, rippling around him.

“Please don't come,” you plead to him, “I need more, Anthony, more,” a wrecked sob, wanting to orgasm again. He snarls, his teeth on your cheekbone, his grip tightening around your hips, staving off his orgasm as best he can.

You grab his face and babble nonsense, saying you need his cock forever, strung out on the edge, almost a mania in your being, needing everything he can give. He pants harshly into your open-mouthed, sloppy kisses as you keep riding wound so tight like a coiled spring, wanting to be speared open by him always.

“Marry me!” he cries as you both reach that peak together, an explosion in both of your beings, feeling him come inside you harsh and deep, moaning your name like a prayer.

You collapse upon him, the bubbles of the jetted tub tickle your skin as you heave breaths, wracked and sated to your very core. A high like you have never known.

“Did you just…. propose?” you stutter as your brain comes back online, his cock still buried inside you.

“Shit…” he laments. “That was NOT how it was supposed to go! I had it all planned out!” he decries, burying his face into your shoulder where you still sit upon him.

“Anthony….” there are no other words, shock tying your tongue. 

He pulls back and looks contrite. “Please allow me a do-over?” his face so beseeching.

Raw emotion and victory crest hard in your veins, and you can't help but banter with him - as you always have, as you always will, until death do you part now.

“No, Viscount Bridgerton,” you rag, holding his face, “No do-overs. You will just have to live with the fact you proposed to me as we came together….” 

His face is a jumble of warring emotions as you realise you have kept him on tenterhooks about your answer. 

“…And you will just have to accept that I said yes with you still inside me,” you add silkily.

A handsome grin claims his whole face, relief and devotion coursing through him. “We can’t tell anyone,” he whispers as you resurface from another kiss.

“Our little secret,” you smile back as he finally slips from your body.

—

“You know I might be the first-ever Viscountess with a garden flat in Zone 3,” you chuckle, sitting in matching fluffy robes on his balcony, the sky a riot of colour as the sun sets. 

A few minutes before, he had gotten down on one knee and produced a little velvet box. You squealed and said yes again, watching transfixed as he pushed a flawless, elegant three-carat diamond onto your finger.

Anthony frowns deeply. “Err, no. You are moving in here with me,” he asserts loftily.

“I’m not selling my place!” 

“You can rent it out!” he waves dismissively.

“Urgh, tenants. Hassle.” You roll your eyes.

“Okay, fine, then we can just use it to store all of my stuff you hate, alright?” he counters, catching your gaze with a fiery challenge. Your insides ablaze that your trademark flirtatious antagonism will always be there, even once you are married.

“Oh, Viscount Bridgerton, you have a deal…” you whisper coquettish and swing off of your lounger onto his, straddling him and sealing the pact with a kiss.

“I’m just so glad I could finally make it happen.” 

You flip around and settle between his legs, your spine on his chest, lacing your hands together over your robe. “What do you mean?”

He barks a laugh you feel echo into your back. “So this is not the first time I have tried to propose to you. Remember that disastrous cooking? Attempt 1. Cheese night when we almost died? Attempt 2. Benedict interruptus? Attempt 3.” He holds up a hand before you, counting each on his fingers. “I almost gave up.”

You laugh and realise with hindsight how he seemed off kilter on those occasions, a soft ache behind your ribs in empathy. “I’m so glad you didn’t. Give up, that is,” you murmur, running your fingers over his lovingly once he lowers his hand back to your belly.

“I jest; I would never give up trying to make you my wife,” he pledges solemnly into your hair, kissing the shell of your ear. “And I hope you will never give up on me, as terrible of a husband as I will likely be….” he demures.

“I can do that, old friend…” you tease, a callback to that first night you got together.

“Less of the old,” he chides, immediately picking up your invitation, an exact repeat of your words to each other that first night you got together, heart melting as you realise he remembers the conversation word for word, too.

“I've known you my whole life, Anthony,” you continue, that conversation etched into your brain, turning back over in his arms. “You can't lie to me…”

“I never will,” he goes offscript, and you exchange laden looks. Then, a dangerous smirk takes over his face as he leans closer. “But you can handcuff me to our bed anytime,” he adds, a nod to the joke you made that night.

“You wish, you lucky fuck,” you respond, aping his line. 

He grins widely and pulls back, handing you a champagne flute from the nearby lounger table.

“From old friends to new family…” he toasts, sincere and ardent, clinking his glass softly against yours.

“Friends and family…” you smile, your diamond ring afire in the setting sun, as you take a sip and pull him in for a blistering kiss.

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[mourningsbane]

Okay this blog and the story has been circulating slowly in my head for days now and I feel like tossing out a theory because I never theorize but here I am

So. Tanglefern’s greatest mistake. I believe that he may have poisoned Honeyspring in some way. If not a direct poisoning, he was at the very least aware of and partially involved in Honeyspring’s rapid death. But I also think he was not aware she was pregnant. I do not know if the kits were not quite right because they were too early in development, some kind of curse stuff, or because of the poison/illness. Either way, it seems Tanglefern wished them no ill will due to the intense despair he felt when the crude surgery (is it surgery if on a corpse?) failed. Another note; I’m not fully sure Tanglefern meant for/wanted them to die. ‘There’s nothing more I can do for you’. And it seems very heavily implied that Rootstar ordered the c-section, which is where the ‘no respect for the dead!’ Line comes in from Bearface. Along with this, I’m like 99% sure Honeyspring and Flaildrizzle were in a romantic relationship and were planning to raise those kits together. Honeyspring looked so soft in her dream, maybe they were trying to look less spooky as to not scare Flaildrizzle?

I do not believe Honeyspring is ‘evil’. She is scared and oh so alone, and is lashing out because of it. She just wants help, as I believe that is what the messed up mouse is huffing at Tanglefern, and potentially Sweetkit too. Tanglefern even wonders why StarClan won’t take them, implying that in life she never did anything evil enough to warrant going to kitty cat hell. At least, not that Tanglefern would know. And, seeing how their mere presence is warping the prey, I think she could have killed Sweetkit if she wanted, but they didn’t.

A very out-there theory is that Honeyspring may have been kept from StarClan because of the rage fuelling the end of her life (towards Tanglefern?). In my opinion, she seems aware that her death wasn’t natural. Their first headshot reference says ‘I will never forgive you’ which I believe is specifically aimed at whoever orchestrated or at least played a part in her death. Her second reference says kind with a question mark in brackets, which means they were at the very least kind in life. Not being able to communicate with anyone, those who see her being terrified, not being allowed into StarClan, they must all tear at their mind and likely their overall stability. I honestly don’t think she’s as malicious as we seem to be getting led to believe.

This may also be me grasping at straws but with the ‘there’s something underneath the ground’ and the description of her disease-reeking blood seeping into the dirt floor I wonder if that’s something. Definitely not I’m reaching but meh it’s fun.

Finally, I’m not fully sure that, whatever Tanglefern’s involvement was, he intended for them to die. ‘Distantly, some raw part of him, carbed open like the body before him, realized it was all for nothing’ now while it’s likely this is just in reference to the c-section, I feel this could also be the fact Honeyspring died and may not have been meant to. There was some kind of plan, I’m just not sure what it was’

Basically a summary I believe Tanglefern had an influence in Honeyspring’s sudden demise but was not aware of the kits, Bearface was NOT happy about the c-section, Flaildrizzle and Honeyspring were a couple and going to raise those kits, Honeyspring wasn’t evil in life but is now losing stability due to being so isolated, and Tanglefern may not have intended Honeyspring to die. I may be super off I am not good at theories and it is very late. But hey. All in good fun.

Anyways giving Honeyspring a big hug I love them and she is spinning around in my brain like a rotisserie chicken 24/7

also omg sorry this got so long i got lowkey rambly here but my brain is going whir because oh my god this is so cool-

Worry not, I do not mind receiving long post! I, too, tend to get rambly when talking about things, so I certainly don't blame you. Plus, I love reading theories! It gives me insight into what people think, and I don't want any lore elements to feel like they came out of nowhere! <3

As for your theories, you are very close! Tanglefern gave Honeyspring Mourningsbane instead of Clottingroot when treating the injury on her hind leg.

Honeyspring and Flaildrizzle were mates, and you're right that Honeyspring tried to look "softer". The time is soon, and Honeyspring didn't want to startle her. Honeyspring is weak and intangible at the moment, but not for long. And you're on the right track with her "disease-reeking blood seeping into the dirt floor"; her rotting body taints the very soil.

I agree that Honeyspring is not a villain in the stereotypical sense! She was very well-liked in life, and had a lot going for her! I would say that she's both a victim and a perpetrator.

[screamingcrows]

Pyrogenic Sprouts III

Notes: Let this be my first venture into writing Wuthering Waves, unedited and made without a single thought in my mind except Mortefi spinning like a rotisserie chicken. One more chapter to go Part one and two are somewhere on my blog. Keep this out of AI. Tags: Mortefi x reader, first meeting, fluff, hurt, mild blood, reader is not Rover, strangers to lovers Minors, blank and ageless blogs DNI

Afternoon teas with Mortefi had quickly become a staple of your routine, rendering you barely able to recall the dreary time where you simply closed shop and went to your tiny room to sleep. First you were frequenting various cafés, but a single comment from him, as far from sugar-coated as could be, and a subsequent challenge by you, had quickly meant meeting in the comfortable confines of his home.

You'd felt a little guilty at first, having come to know how he enjoyed his privacy, but after multiple attempts at reinstating the outings, Mortefi had outright refused to go back to that.

'The ambience here is far more comfortable, and you've yet to complain about the pastries I bake.'

And he was right. Though at first glance his home had the aura of one obsessed with functionality, all clean lines and pristine whites, little keepsakes were hidden away in corners if one were to look closely enough.

A single bent coin, three red marbles, a worn leather ball, candies not of his own making, and a few dried flowers. 'Payment' was what he'd referred to them as, reverently running his fingers along the seams of a well-loved doll.

Then there were the bouquets he still insisted on buying practically every day, a ridiculous amount of full vases making the little space smell like a field of flowers. It was amusing to have confirmation that they'd been for himself, though you'd refrained from more teasing than a knowing smirk the first time. It had been enough for his ears to match the crimson locks of hair. 

Loathe as you were to admit it but recalling his satisfied smile when you praised his cooking, the way your fingers would brush when you walked alongside each other, the comforting silence that sometimes ensued while the tea brewed, not to mention when he leaned forward in concentration giving you a generous glimpse of his chest-

Your thoughts scattered like loose petals caught in the wind as a loud crash followed by the slosh of water reached your ears. Ah, you'd knocked a bucket over. Luckily, it had been almost empty, a few lonely pecok flowers now on the ground, one having been trampled by your foot. Heat crept up your face as you sighed, lost in thought again.

That had become more frequent as well.

Mortefi's chuckle bounced around his laboratory, satisfaction filling his veins as he pushed back the chair, head tipping backwards as his eyes closed in relief.

Finally. Finally he'd managed.

Atop the desk sat a little sentinel, not wholly unlike the ones Xiangli utilized, except this one was perhaps far more complex. Mechanically at least. It didn't reach the same levels of intelligence or data processing capabilities, but that had been irrelevant for the purpose. With a gloved hand he'd never admit to the shakiness of, he reached to press the hidden switch located towards the bottom of its rounded body. 

The faint click mixed with his small intake of air, a moment of fear that threatened to morph to despair as nothing happened. Before his hand could reach for his pocket, the relative silence was broken by a soft humming.

Little wings unfolded from the side, the iridescent material glittering like stained glass under the harsh light of his lab. Though it had ended up taking far longer than hoped, he blamed the countless scrapped drafts clogging up his bin, moderations made almost daily the more he learned about your preferences, it had turned out quite sweet.

And functional. 

Mortefi reached for the small tissue sample taken from a hoartoise that had waited expectantly atop his desk, taking a deep breath before tossing it towards the sentinel. Immediately, the alarm went off, a rumbling sound that was immediately felt as much as heard, chosen to be as subtle as possible while getting the job done. Before the sample could fall to the steel surface, a flash of light erupted from the little sentinel, piercing a hole clean through and leaving the remnants to dissolve when they landed.

While unable to visually detect enemies - that would've been a nightmare to program reliably - its body had been covered in tiny sensors that detected vibrations in the air, enabling the differentiation between various creatures. 

Deadly to lesser threats and giving you ample time to flee from anything larger. He reached for the little thing, pleased with the softness of its ebony surface. Your preference for soft-looking creatures hadn't caught him unaware, it was as sweet as it was predictable. It was easy to visualize you curling up in his couch with a cat, perhaps two. Domestic and calm, you wouldn't have to worry about anything, and he would have someone to come home to, he just had to-

But that was the crux of the problem. He had to ask. Had to figure out what exactly the two of you were doing.

Used to navigating complicated settings, this particular stalemate bothered him in ways he hadn't thought possible. Usually straightforward with your words, wouldn't you have already suggested the transition from friends? Or were you still only acquaintances? His fingers had begun to tap against the little robot, dutifully turning it off and setting it aside for now, he'd give it to you later.

A shaky breath forced its way out of his lungs, unease long forgotten gnawing at his bones. You wouldn't simply move on and forget him once he handed it over. You hadn't asked for it in the first place, turned down any of his attempts at gifting you well, pretty much anything. And there'd been nothing in those pleasant eyes suggesting it was deception. He was being paranoid, that was all.

At first he didn't notice, too caught up in his own mind to register the faint buzz of his terminal. The second time felt a little more assertive, even if he logically knew there was no difference.

'I won't have time this afternoon. An old lady came by- requested a bouquet for tomorrow with irises. Have to get them today, sorry.' 'I'll see you tomorrow, right?'

Not even signed with your name, you'd probably already adorned the durable gloves he'd left for you to find a while back, remembering with a smile how your hands no longer looked painfully covered in little gashes, less hesitation in your movements as well. A simple 'Be careful.' was already sent your way, unrest creeping into his mind as time suddenly stopped mattering.

If he weren't meeting you, what was the point of leaving already?

His back straightened, a small grumble leaving his lips at how you'd managed to make his afternoon tradition dependent on an external variable. It simply wasn't a comforting ritual without company anymore. 

Clouds had gathered in the horizon, dark grey and threatening to open up with furious rain at any moment. His cup was still half full when it clattered to the ground, porcelain shattering into a thousand pieces beneath the blue hologram that flickered to life.

Something ran down the side of your face, both from your eyes and further up. You were clutching your legs. Sitting down most likely. Your chest was moving far too rapidly. 

Mortefi's ears were ringing, vision threatening to give out as he saw your lips move beyond a wobble. You were saying something, wiping your eyes before continuing. His hands shook as he slowly stood up, thankful for the durability of his lighter, the frantic clicking as he opened and closed it would've surely broken a lesser thing.

What were you saying? Oh he was missing it all-

Missing your final words.

He shook his head to clear those thoughts and saw your eyes widen when he reached for the flickering light, desperate to pull you into his embrace and away from whatever you were talking about, heart still pounding too loudly for any words to reach his mind. Not even the steady tick of his clock pierced the daze.

Your head snapped to the side, plush lips parting before you were scrambling to stand. Mortefi wished he hadn't caught what you said just before you left him alone in his living room, leaving him to stumble backwards, vision swimming as bile rose in his throat. The robot lay discarded in the entrance, and he was glad it wasn't in his field of vision, at least being spared its mockery. He'd been too late again.

'I'm sorry. I don't think I'll make it tomorrow-'

Final part (NSFW)

[oh-no-its-bird]

YOU!!!!!!

[Grabs you by the collar and shakes you]

Youuuuu...

I was scrolling around at way too late at night and saw one of your posts, and I love your posts, so I went to your blog, and bing bada boom, I see the Izuna in Wonderland post and I read through it. I enjoy the writing and the ideas and the art (how dare you be good at both writing and art (affectionate)) and I reach the end and that last drawing.

The one where Madara is like "oh yeah only the Senju could heal u so we have a peace treaty with them now-" That fucking drawing of Madara, has grabbed my by the balls and refused to let go, what the fuck.

He looks so fucking soft and sleepy but like in an unhealthy sick Victorian child way. He looks like he would tell me not to go to school tomorrow bc he likes me but I'd go anyway bc what he really means is like hey take a mental health day bc school is hell, he's just too sleep deprived to realize(care) how evil he sounds. He looks like he either has hair the texture of burnt straw or the fluffiest softest hair imaginable, no in between. He looks like he gives great hugs but could (and would and has) also use those hugs to suffocate someone to death. He looks like a sneeze could kill him and also he is the creator of every virus known to man.

It's the fucking soft yet untamed hair, the creasing and maybe slight puffiness around his eye, the slight coloring (redness I assume) to his nose, the sweat that might be nervousness, might be him having literally worried himself sick at his brother's side and now he has a fever.

I already liked the way you drew Madara, I like all your Madara drawings, but for some reason, this one broke something in me and I can't stop myself from wanting to write fanfiction while spinning this specific Madara around in my head like a rotisserie chicken. Idk if what I'm saying makes sense, it's late, I'm tired, I barely slept last night. I just want you to know that this Madara drawing now lives in my head rent free and if I ever get around to writing the various TobiMada fics in my head, this is how I will imagine him.

Also, love how draw Hashirama too. He looks like a Mii character that got ROM hacked to have a Battle Cats face. And also how grumpy and low effort Tobi looks in here too, his more detailed design is great too. Also I like how you draw Izuna- BASICALLY, I LOVE ALL YOUR CHARACTER DESIGNS, THIS ONE JUST BROKE ME FOR SOME REASON. I'M GONNA STOP WRITING NOW, I NEED TO SLEEP.

I'm fucking crying actually thank you??????? Nicest thing anyone's ever told me about my stuff, I'm gonna explode wtf

Also I can tell you haven't slept in a while so oh my god go do that

Pls take this quick Madara in thanks, I tried to do my best to draw him how I did in the Izuna in Wonderland comic but idk if I did him justice

I've been struggling to find a good way to draw him consistsntly, so I will internalize what u have told me and try to keep that sickly Victorian man energy going forward

[thefact0rygirl]

Biker Boba. I need it.

Nonnie your ask has been spinning around my head like a Costco rotisserie chicken and I offer you two thoughts 🤲

Boba volunteering with a biker organization that helps kids who experienced a crime. And that’s where he meets single parent!reader while volunteering and they hit it off. And it’s wholesome and sweet and precious.

Or or or

Singer!Reader a la Lana del Rey’s Coachella performance. Reader rides in to their performance with Biker!Boba (who didn’t realize how famous R actually was). He’s mesmerized by Reader’s performance and stays afterwards to offer them another, different ride ifykyk

[darling-phoebe]

best friends forever ! benny jeong and flynn alden ❥ fem! reader, nsfw oneshot,

18+ only!! minors i can't stop you from reading but don't interact with this post please. fem, afab reader, and given feminine terms of endearment. porn with a little plot. also contains: praise, dirty talk, f!receiving oral, m!receiving oral, spitroasting, dumbification, overstimulation, brief mention of choking with a leash but not actually depicted, dubcon if you squint. plus more i probably missed. this isn't tied to the main storyline but i couldn't help but release it now because it was spinning in my head like a rotisserie chicken.

─ [ . : ｡✿ ]

friendship was a funny thing. delicate and ever-changing. many of yours had ended abruptly, without explanation. some at least had the decency to claim some supposed wrongdoing of yours, like you not being reliable enough. even the ones you kept felt strained at best, with frequent excuses for evading plans. friendship was fragile. tricky.

and your friendship with flynn and benny was stranger than any other.

for months now, they'd been growing more touchy, more clingy. for months, they'd made every excuse to spend time with you. and you didn't mind, especially now that all your other friends were so absent.

but even this friendship was subject to change. but it was delicate in a much different way. all your normal dynamics and expectations were thrown out the window in a day.

all because of a pretty little skirt.

you weren't normally the type to wear anything revealing. oversized sweaters and baggy jeans were staples of your wardrobe, and even in summer you didn't tend to show off much.

but you wanted to try something different. wanted to expand your horizons. and, if you were being honest, you wanted a little romantic validation. nothing too extreme, a simple lingering glance was all you really needed. just something to prove your inexperience wasn't due to your looks.

which, of course it wasn't. you were such a rare beauty, angelic and gorgeous. rather, your inability to pick up a date was because of a certain pair of boys who eliminated anyone who showed a hint of interest.

and today, they had a lot to get rid of.

you walked out of your home on that wonderful fall day, slightly warm with a gentle breeze, wearing a baggy maroon sweater, tights and mary janes, and a little black mini skirt that had benny and flynn doing a double take.

you walked up to the car, hopped into the front passenger seat, and smiled cluelessly at your friends.

"god, i am so not ready for that chemistry quiz today," you groaned upon arrival.

normally, flynn would be teasing you for not paying enough attention during your study sessions. normally, benny would be assuring you that you'd do great.

today, however, they merely exchanged a meaningful glance, before starting to drive.

"i wouldn't worry too much," flynn said after a moment, tone casual. he turned around, not heading towards the school like normal.

you furrowed your brows. "you're going the wrong way," you pointed out, confused. "we don't have time to stop for breakfast today."

"we'll have breakfast later," benny promised, leaning forward from his spot in the backseat. it gave him a wonderful view of your pretty thighs.

"but what about school?"

flynn chuckled. "baby, school's not even on our radar right now." he was driving back to benny's place, you quickly realized.

they ushered you in. his parents were long gone to work, leaving the house empty.

leaving you helpless.

benny held your hand, leading you to his bed. flynn sat on your left, benny on your right.

"we're gonna miss the quiz," you all but whined, feeling tense and warm under their focused gazes.

they ignored your words. flynn's hand pressed into your thigh. benny leaned into you, peering down at you. "you look too pretty in that skirt," he mumbled.

and that's when your face went red.

flynn's hand alternated between tracing patterns with his fingertips and groping the ample flesh. "so gorgeous," he groaned into your other ear.

"g─guys," you stammered, feeling warm and flustered.

"let it happen, baby," flynn muttered. "let us make you feel good." he moved you into his lap, and you felt his excitement pressing into your ass.

then benny moved, and knelt down before you. his kind eyes zeroed in on the space between your legs. he planted kisses along the exposed skin of your thighs. flynn moved your skirt up, revealing those pretty white panties, with a small damp spot over your cunt. "please, darling?" benny asked, looking up at you. his plea heavy with a desperate lust.

you gave a hint of a nod, breath caught in your throat.

"words, sweet girl," flynn warned, grinding only once into your ass.

at the same time, benny placed an open-mouth kiss on your inner thigh. he sucked slowly on your soft flesh.

you couldn't help it. you let out a breathy moan. "y─yes, you can─ i need you to─ please."

"good girl," whispered flynn.

benny began marking up your pretty thighs, lowering your panties more and more. you were too lost in the overwhelming sensations to notice him slipping the panties into his pocket.

"feel good, baby?" flynn began kissing your neck, as benny dove his tongue into your damp, glistening pussy. he alternated between sucking on your clit and lapping up your wet cunt. "you're doing so good for us..." flynn mumbled in between open-mouth kisses on your neck. "good girl, let us take care of you... we'll give you everything..." his teeth sank into your neck, lightly enough not to hurt, but sure to leave a mark. "just stay still, baby... so pretty in that skirt, had to have you... couldn't wait any longer."

your legs spasmed as you lost yourself in the pleasure. but benny held you firmly in place. big, veiny hands wrapped around your calves holding your legs open. skirt flipped up, every part of you exposed.

"you... taste... heavenly..." benny panted. "god, i could eat you forever."

flynn's hand moved to work under your sweater, trailing up to cup your breasts over your bra. then he moved the garment down to fully feel you, twisting and teasing your nipples while he left hickeys all over your throat.

between the two of them getting you so worked up, you squirmed and moaned into an orgasm. your cum coated benny's face, but he didn't stop. he licked up every bit of it, groaning at the wonderful taste.

"too─ too much, please, i─!"

"relax, darling..." benny finally lifted his head, looking into your eyes, now heavy and dazed. you'd always been beautiful, but this new sight, this new version of you was even more breathtaking. "we're not done... we have so much more to do with you."

"we need you, baby," flynn added. "need to make you feel good, need to feel you..."

"you'll let us, won't you?" benny tilted his head, watching your flushed face.

"yes..." you all but whimpered.

"say 'please'?" flynn pushed. "c'mon sweet thing, just wanna hear you beg a little."

your wide-eyed, needy stare was almost as delicious as your plea. "please, benny... please flynn, need you─ need you both, i...!"

"that's our girl."

benny lifted you off flynn's lap, then laid you down. "lie still, darling," he whispered. he positioned you so your head was hanging off the bed, and your body was laid in the middle, legs spread. flynn hovered over your body, hands trailing up and down. benny knelt, and kissed you passionately. you gasped against his lips, as you felt flynn slide two fingers inside your wet cunt.

"wait, i─!"

"you're doing so good, baby," flynn whispered against your skin. he left his own hickeys on your thighs next to the ones left by benny. "so pretty like this, so perfect for us..." his fingers were driving you absolutely mad, and he wouldn't let up. you squrimed around uselessly. the boys had you trapped and helpless.

just like they always wanted.

benny started undoing his belt, and god that motion was way hotter than it needed to be.

as he took it off, he held it in his hands, and pictured it wrapped around the pretty throat like a leash. but that would have to wait. today, they would overwhelm you with pleasure. they couldn't afford to scare you away, though they had backup plans for that. they wanted you to be willing. they wanted you to love them like they loved you.

meanwhile, flynn was undressing too.

"you on the pill, baby?"

you nodded, too dazed for words. this time, they let it slide. far too excited for the next step to stall even a little.

benny ran his finger along your lips. "open wide, pretty girl." when you obliged, he began stroking his cock barely an inch away from your face.

at the same time, flynn was climbing over you, his cock pressed against your folds. he jerked his hips, letting you feel his impressive length tease you.

between both of them denying you, you couldn't stop jerking around. "please, please, i need─"

flynn chuckled. "anything for you," he said, and slowly pushed into you.

you let out a breathless moan, and benny used the opportunity to slide into your mouth.

they started out slow, both relishing the feeling of your warmth surrounding them. you felt so unbelievably good─ no, good didn't even begin to cover it. you were addictive is what you were, they wanted their cocks buried in you all the time. wanted you to stay with them, never leave this room, get filled with their cum all day every day, be theirs be theirs be theirs─

they couldn't help it; they began fucking you with more force, more fervor.

"you feel so good," benny groaned. "good girl, taking us so well."

"just like you're s'posed to," flynn continued. "these holes were made for us. you're ours now, baby, you belong to us."

each thrust was making you dizzy with pleasure. you couldn't see straight, tears running down your face, it felt so good. you couldn't think at all, just lost in the feeling.

"gonna make you feel good every day of your life, our precious girl."

"make you cum over and over, show you how good we take care of you."

"no one else can treat you this good, we'll do anything for you, gonna keep you happy and full of our cum."

they were getting bolder, more confident in what they could say with you in such a state. you were drooling, eyes foggy. you could barely register what they were saying, really only catching bits and pieces while the rest was filed away into your subconscious.

"gettin' close," flynn groaned.

"mm, me too..." benny said as he fucked your throat. you weren't gagging much, only a bit here and there, but it didn't deter him. as much as he tried to be gentle (more so than flynn was inclined to be) he couldn't help but get lost in the feeling of your throat around his cock. he couldn't help but pound into you, wanted to cum more than anything.

but they needed to make you cum again first.

so flynn began paying more than his previous causal attention to your clit, focusing in on setting that bundle of nerves alight while he failed your tight pussy.

and benny grabbed hold of your bouncing tits, groping them, kneading the ample flesh, playing with your nipples.

you came undone, moaning around benny's cock, going limp finally and feeling your brain truly shut off.

"that's right, sweet girl, you don't have to worry 'bout a thing... keep that head of yours empty." benny groaned, not relenting in his brutal pace in your throat.

"we'll take care of everything, don't need to think at all..." god, that really got flynn going. got them both going. "just our perfect little doll, let us use you all we want, let us make you feel good forever."

forever forever forever forever forever─

they both released at nearly the same time, filling up your mouth and pussy with their cum. while flynn stayed buried until every drop was released, benny pulled out just before the end to smear some on your angelic face.

and here they thought you couldn't get any prettier.

finally, they pulled out. benny kissed all over your face, while flynn pulled you close into a warm embrace. they whispered praises, worshipping you the way you deserved.

but it wasn't long before you felt their cocks stirring again.

"benny? flynn?" you muttered, barely coming back to yourself after having your world rocked.

"oh, sweet girl, you didn't think that was it, did you?"

you'd have to wear this skirt more often.

─ [ . : ｡✿ ]

❛ will you still love me if it turns out i'm insane? ❜

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Recall - Part 1

A LONG F*CKING DAY

A/N: Howdy, friends! I am SO excited to kick this one off. This story has been in the works for a little over a year, and after spinning it around in my head like a rotisserie chicken, I am VERY pleased to say that it is finally Yee Haw Time. I have posted four short (the longest one is under 3k words) “teasers” leading up to this series, and they should probably be read along with it to get the full effect. They can be found on the series masterlist. This one is definitely going to be a bumpy ride, but I hope if you choose to read along you will find it worth the twists and drops. It is set during the events of Kingsman: Golden Circle, and that’s the last thing I’ll say about that. 

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: language, violence, gunshot wound, mild smuts, lots of angst, Jack Daniels himself. 

Summary: When Jack is shot on a mission with two Kingsman Agents, he’s treated with Alpha-Gel and rushed immediately back to the lab at Statesman HQ - where you, Ginger’s lead research assistant, wait to assess and reverse the damage. For Ginger and Champ and the other Agents, things like this are all just part of the job. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated. 

It had been a long day. 

No, that’s putting it too damn lightly. You pressed your thumb to the pad near the handle of your front door. The reader scanned your print, a thin blue line of light moving across it to identify the loops and whorls as your unique set. Letting out a sigh as the device beeped, you keyed in the code and heard the lock click as it opened. Today was batshit insane. 

A welcome rush of cool air greeted you as you stepped inside, and you let your heavy eyelids fall shut as you exhaled. You were tired and stretched thin and still in shock from the day’s turn of events. But at least it’s not hot in here. You slipped the shoes from your feet, stepping first on the heel of your left and pulling it free of the ankle boots you wore. Repeating the action with your socked foot on your right heel, you kicked them aside. They tumbled to join the small collection of footwear near the front door of your apartment, the three-tiered rack full of sneakers and sandals and other styles you hardly ever wore. 

Sighing heavily, you hung your keys and ID tag on the peg next to the light switch and flicked it on. The empty room came fully into view then and you gasped. Locking on to the mirror on the far wall, you nearly mistook your own reflection for an intruder. The skin under your exhausted eyes was puffy and swollen, the bottom lids rimmed red from rubbing at them. Your hair was a mess, the bun you’d had it secured in now loose and hanging low at the nape of your neck. Several pieces stuck out all over from the habit you’d formed of scratching your scalp with the end of your pen when the answer to a problem you were trying to solve continued to evade you. Wrinkled, untucked, and worn for going on 36 hours, your clothing only added to your general unkempt appearance, the look of utter deflation that was written all over you. 

Fuck, I look...

Closing your eyes, you released a slow breath through your nose and swallowed the chunky block of emotion threatening to rise into your throat. No wonder Ginger said what she did. You looked like absolute shit, but you were the farthest thing from surprised about that fact given the events of the last day and a half and everything that had gone wrong. Oh, Jack. His face flashed behind your clamped lids then as though you needed the reminder of just how close of a call it had actually been, and you shuddered, glad that you still had a hand on the wall near the light switch to help steady yourself.

He almost… he could’ve…

You didn’t know how to finish that thought, though, because the truth was that technically he had died. There was no almost about it. Luckily, the younger of the two Kingsman Agents Jack had been out with was quick-thinking enough to locate and use Jack’s Alpha-Gel, despite not having received the training that Statesman Agents did on how to do so, and it had been applied rapidly enough to start reversing the damage immediately. But the fact of the matter was that he’d been shot. In the head. At point blank range. And even with the advanced healing technology available at Statesman, there were never any guarantees that an Agent would wake up. 

He will this time, though. And that’s all that matters. 

For now that had to be enough. You reminded yourself that he was out of the worst of it now - that he would live and that if all went well, he’d regain his memory and would be back to the man you knew in a shockingly short amount of time. Ginger had started running the Recall program - something she would only do if all of his vitals were stable - right before all but ordering you out of the lab and back to your apartment. 

“I… I can’t leave him alone like this, Ginger.” There was no need to pretend that your desire to stay by his side had anything to do with research this time. Your study on the effects of the nanites and the way they knit brain cells back together had already been completed and submitted to Champ for review. But more than that, Ginger knew how you felt about Jack. “I’ll just-“ Your eyes scanned the room and landed on one of the empty bays, the cranial device lifted away so that it was essentially just a bed. “I can sleep here and-“ 

“No.” She shook her head, her short hair swaying above the collar of her white coat, her decision firm. The expression she wore was gentle and sympathetic though, as she reached for your shoulders with both hands. “Gonna put my foot down on this one. You’re running on fumes, Maraschino. Between the extra hours you put in when Tequila went down and all of this?” She gestured vaguely at the lab. “You’ve done all you can tonight.” But- She sighed, lightly squeezing your upper arms before dropping her hands to her sides. “I’m sorry. But you need to get some real sleep. And some food and maybe a shower.” 

You nodded, your attention shifting from her eyes and falling behind her, where Jack lay motionless. The sight made your whole chest ache, made your breath shudder. It was bad enough knowing what had happened to him, what he’d suffered physically to put him there. But unlike the last time you observed him undergoing the Recall procedure, this time you knew what his trigger image was. This time you knew exactly what was waiting for him when he woke up - the soul shredding loss of his wife and the son he never got to meet. 

And you knew not because you had gained access to his file through higher clearance. You knew because Jack had told you. 

“He shouldn’t be alone.” Your voice - thin from exhaustion and tremulous with worry - was hardly audible when you spoke, and at first you weren’t sure if you had actually said the words aloud. 

“He won’t be.” Ginger shook her head again, the motion smaller and slower this time. “I’ll stay. I haven’t been here for two straight days like you have. Besides, I have some files from Merlin to go over. I can do that here and keep an eye on Whiskey.” 

It wasn’t a perfect solution, but as long as he wouldn’t be left alone in the cold, dark lab, nothing but his own worst memory to keep him company, you agreed. Not that you had any say in the matter. Ginger hardly ever pulled rank on you, but you knew she was only seconds away from doing it then if you made it necessary. Licking your lips, you swallowed and finally brought your eyes back up to meet hers. 

“If I’m not back, will you call me before you wake him up? I… I want to be there.” 

She gave you a nod and a soft smile. “Of course I will.” 

Glancing down, you turned your wrist to check your watch, where you had set a countdown for the time left on Jack’s program. You had to blink the bleariness from your eyes to read it, the green-blue numbers seeming to shake against the dark screen before they sharpened enough for you to make them out. 

6:38:23 REMAINING

You stared at the seconds, watching the digits change as you let out a breath, and then dropped your arm back to your side. Okay. Moving on autopilot, you bypassed the kitchen and headed straight for the bathroom. Though you hadn’t had a real meal in over twenty four hours, you had absolutely no appetite. I can grab a protein shake on my way back to the lab. It would be easier to stomach than something solid, or at least that’s what you told yourself. I just need a shower. And some sleep. 

At the very least, you knew one of those things was possible.

Avoiding the bathroom mirror so you wouldn’t make eye contact with yourself again, you reached for the faucet and turned the hot water on. Wisps of steam billowed out over the top of the glass enclosure, the air in the room warming as you stripped your clothes off and left them in a heap on the floor. Reaching behind your neck, you undid the clasp on your necklace - the only piece of jewelry you ever wore to work aside from your comm watch - and coiled it in the little white dish on the counter. The shink of the chain and then the plunk of the pearls strung along it as they hit the ceramic were sounds that normally started to set your body at ease, especially when mixed with the rhythmic rainfall of the water. It was routine, something you did every night as you wound down and readied yourself for rest. 

That night, though, you hardly heard them. 

Regardless, you moved on with your process, stepping into the shower and pulling the door shut behind you. For several minutes you simply stood under the spray, eyes closed as the water soaked your scalp and skin, running down your spine and dripping from the ends of your hair to roll over your shoulders and chest. The steam in the air made it slightly easier to breathe than it had been for the past few hours, and you took a few full, deep breaths, bringing your hands up to your head and pushing your palms back over your hair. Fuck. A sob fell from your lips and you didn’t try to keep another from following it. You needed to cry, to let everything out that you’d been holding in since the call came into HQ that there was an Agent down. As a Statesman medical research tech you couldn’t let emotions get in the way of your work, no matter how you felt about the man currently convalescing in Recall bay two. But off the clock you were beholden only to your heart and the way it clenched painfully with worry and fear. 

Oh, fuck, Jack, you have to be okay.  

The thing between the two of you wasn’t exactly new, but it had been becoming more and more serious over the past few months. What had started as harmless - if not a bit shameless - flirting had given way to a mutual interest and attraction that sparked a flame from the very first time he cupped your cheek with his large palm and kissed you. It had grown since then, the two of you sharing your bodies and giving each other small pieces of your stories at a time. 

It had grown enough for you to know that you loved him. But those words had yet to make it from your lips to his ear. In that moment, all you wanted was the chance to tell him, even if he wasn’t ready to hear it yet. 

Finishing your shower, you toweled off and brushed your teeth before dragging yourself out of the bathroom and into your bedroom. Changing into a set of sleep shorts and a loose tee, you finally climbed into your bed and peeled back the sheets to slip between them. The fabric was cool as it fell over your legs, and you let yourself sink into the mattress and pillows. 

But as you lay there in the dark, desperate for a few hours of respite from the emotions and adrenaline, all you could think of was the last time he was there between those sheets with you - and how maybe he was ready to hear those words. You rolled to your side and stared at the empty space beside you, letting your memory take you back to that night.

Eyes still closed, he blew out a breath as your fingers traveled into his hair. “Hot damn, darlin’, that feels incredible.” 

You couldn’t help the smirk that dragged its way across your lips at the change in his voice. Humming, you lowered yourself completely until your chest was pressed to his. “See what happens when you’re not rushing to put your boots back on, cowboy?” 

The boots in question still lay where he’d kicked them off, discarded on the other side of the room along with his jacket and the belt with the hefty silver buckle that you’d relieved him of hours earlier. From there, a trail of leather, denim, corduroy and suede, his clothing and yours, led to the bed where the two of you were tangled. It was longer than he had ever stayed with you, typically needing to rush off to a meeting whether virtual or in person. Once or twice he’d even had to leave quickly on a classified mission. Today though it seemed neither were calling him, and while you tried not to think anything of it, it was hard with the way he was reacting to such an innocent, casual touch. Swiping the tips of your fingers over his temples again, your smirk became a full on grin as you watched the muscles of his throat work down his swallow. 

It could be like this all the time, Jack. 

His large, rough hands slid over your skin, following the contour of your spine. “Seems I’m gonna need to find a better way to juggle my demanding schedule so that we can find ourselves in this particular situation with more frequency.” He took one hand from your body to lift your chin, the other settling at the small of your back, and found your eyes with his. “What’dyou think?” 

You felt your heart stop and laying that close you knew he felt it, too. Not fair. It was all you’d wanted for months now, ever since that one time had turned into many, many more. But you knew where he stood on taking things anywhere past sleeping together. “I fell in love once, darlin’, and I’m still deep down in it.” That’s what he’d told you when you’d first started this thing, and you knew better than to press him on it. You didn’t press yourself on it either, fooling yourself into believing that you wouldn’t love the way his boots looked on your bedroom floor. Or the way his scent clung to your sheets. 

But I do. 

Pushing that from your mind, you recovered and answered him. “I think it’s worth a shot, Whiskey.” 

He had asked you not to call him Jack in bed, and though at first you flinched each time you were forced to use his code name in lieu of his real one, you’d quickly gotten used to the condition. But this time when you did, you saw his eyes narrow, a look you thought was close to disappointment flashing in them before they widened and brightened again. What? Why did- You cut your own thoughts short then as your fingers found a small divot just beyond his hairline, slightly above his ear. Huh? What’s that? 

“Hey… D’you have a scar here?” You ran your fingers through his hair again, spreading the thick dark locks so you could get a closer look at what you’d found. Funny, I never felt that before… don’t think it’s in his chart, either. There was definitely a circular indentation there, though it looked old, completely healed over, and suddenly you were overcome with the notion that you were likely the only living person aside from Jack himself who knew it was there. 

He chuckled through a lazy smile. “You tell me, gorgeous. By now I’ve lost track of ‘em all.” Before you could ask him what he meant by that, he tightened his hold on you and flipped you over so that you were under him. The gasp that the quick reversal made you draw slipped out in a sigh as he settled his weight down on you. “You wanna see if you can find another one?” 

Yes. You wanted to know all that you could about him, because there was so much that he couldn’t share with you. You had worked within the Statesman organization for years before your path crossed his, so you understood the need for all of the closely guarded “company secrets”. As a senior Agent, Whiskey had access to information that would make most people’s heads spin and you knew that. 

Hell half of what I know would make people’s heads spin. 

The point was, you knew enough to know that what you didn’t know about his work- the details of his missions, the meetings- was for the best. It was safer that way, for you, for him, the other Agents, everyone. Your job was to assist Ginger in the lab, helping to ensure that Agents were always receiving the most cutting edge, top of the line treatments and care. Your clearance level was only as high as it needed to be, and you were fine with that. 

What you wanted to know about Jack had nothing to do with what made him a great Agent, and everything to do with the things you knew he could share with you but chose not to. 

I just want to… 

You knew about the woman he’d loved and lost, that she’d been carrying his child when she was taken from him. You knew that the cluster of three aster flowers tattooed over his left pectoral were in memory of the family they never got to be. Your heart shattered when he’d shared that part of his past with you, and ever since he had you could see it in his eyes; a deep sadness that swirled just beneath the surface. He never told you anything more about her, never gave you anything else about the incident and you respected him enough not to ask. You looked up at the man, his face hovering inches from your own, and threaded the fingers that were still buried in his hair around to the back of his head, flexing them to tighten your grasp. He groaned, like you knew he would, and his eyes darkened, erasing the sadness. 

I just want to make it easier for you, Jack. 

“No,” you finally answered him regarding a hunt for more scars on his body, even though you were fairly sure you’d just located another divot at the base of his skull with your pointer finger. “I can think of better ways to spend our time, J-“ 

Fuck. 

He cut you off then, kissing you before you could either finish his name or correct yourself. His hips dropped over yours as his tongue parted your lips, and the sound you made was one of complete shock at how intense his kiss was. You knew he had heard you almost slip. But instead of making him pull away like it had once or twice in the beginning, it seemed to spur him on. 

Interesting…Are you changing the rules on me, Daniels? 

Your thoughts were broken up as he brought his left hand to the side of your face, simultaneously tilting your head for a better angle and dragging the pad of his thumb over the rounded top of your cheek. His right hand traveled slowly up from your waist to your ribs. You responded to his touch by rolling your hips up into his while you pressed his bare back down on top of you. Still kissing him, you smiled against his lips at the tickle of his mustache near the corners of your mouth. Using that as his invitation, he slipped his tongue through your grin and licked a breathy moan out of you.

God, I could kiss him forever. 

He continued to kiss you for a few seconds longer, the movements of his lips slow and intentional, but Jack was the one to pull away first. He didn’t put any distance between your bodies, though, shifting only enough so that he could look at you - and at what he was doing. The hand that was on your ribs moved to where the chain of your necklace lay pooled against the center of your chest. Rolling one of the pearls between his rope-roughened fingers, he pulled away from your lips and gazed down at you with nothing but mischief in his eyes. 

“Wanna see somethin’.” He mumbled, maneuvering the small white orb in his grasp. “Hold still.” 

Pinching the pearl, he brought it over to your left breast, the chain uncoiling over your skin. Carefully, he set the gem on the peak of your nipple, pressing only enough to keep it in place with his pointer finger. “What are you-” Your question never made it out of your mouth though, and your eyes snapped down to your own chest to watch. 

Your breaths became more ragged as he dragged and rolled the pearl over your pebbled flesh, the delicate links in the chain brushing over the sensitive bud to make you suck in a gasp. He used the pearl to draw a series of circles both tight and close to your nipple as well as looser ones that extended out to the soft swell of your breast, and then let it go, the chain going slack against your body. “I’ve been thinkin’ about what that would look like for too long.” He brought his eyes up to yours again, that devilish curiosity still present in them. “Better than my wildest dreams.” 

You hummed. “Felt amazing, Whisk-” Throwing your head back suddenly, eyes shut, you sucked in a breath that instantly came back out in a moan as he brought his hand down between your bodies to slide two fingers into you. 

Oh, fuck.  

Curling his fingers, he leaned down and kissed you again. Hard. “Use my name.” But his growl was whisper soft against your lips as he unfurled his thick fingers inside of you, pushing deeper. “Please, darlin’. Wanna hear you say it.” 

You whimpered at the need in his voice as he said the word please, twisting his wrist so that his thumb could plead at your body, too. “Feels good, Jack.” You sighed, heat blooming simultaneously in your chest and lower belly at the moan he let out when he heard you say his name. 

You had been crying without realizing it, salty tracks running down your freshly cleaned cheeks to dampen your pillowcase. Eventually the tears stopped and you felt yourself finally give over to sleep, body feeling heavy and thick as you were pulled under. Stretching your hand out over the sheets beside you, you closed your eyes and let one final thought echo through your mind. 

I love you, Jack. 

–  –  –

The sound that woke you wasn’t the alarm that you had synchronized with the Recall program - it was a message alert. 

What? Did I miss the alarm? Is he-

Blinking rapidly as you inhaled deeply through your nose, you sat up and looked down at your comm watch. Your heart pounded and your head felt fuzzy and it took you more than a few blinks to focus your vision, eyes blurry after crying yourself to sleep. When you did, you saw that the countdown was still ticking away, and while it was close to done, you hadn’t missed anything. 

1:18:03 REMAINING 

Just below it on the display screen, though, another text box popped up just as your phone chimed on your nightstand, signaling a new message. 

GINGER ALE: MARASCHINO - GET BACK TO THE LAB ASAP - SOMETHING IS WRONG. 

No. You felt your throat tighten, trapping your heart inside of it as you read the words. No, no, no. Scrambling to free your legs from the sheets, you swung them down and over the side of the bed. No, Jack. You stood, your shaking hand flying out to turn on the light and blast your room with brightness that your eyes weren’t ready for. You were glad you hadn’t eaten anything when you got home, because the wave of nausea you felt then surely would have made you sick. 

No. He has to be alright. 

Licking your lips, you read Ginger’s message again, trying to calm your panic enough so that you could get yourself dressed and back to the lab as quickly as possible. What does it actually say? There were no codes used - Code White for when a reset didn’t take, Code Blue for when it did but only partially, Code Red for when an Agent was in critical distress. She didn’t… she didn’t use a code though, so… You took a steadying breath and let it out slowly. So it’s… whatever’s wrong, it’s not… 

He wasn’t dying. His reset hadn’t failed. If your countdown was correct - which it was - he wasn’t even awake yet. You allowed yourself to take what relief you could from those facts. But it was fleeting comfort when you realized what Ginger’s lack of code usage actually meant. Whatever the problem was, it was one that had never been encountered before. You would be completely in the dark. 

You reached for your phone, responding to Ginger’s message to say that you were getting dressed and would be back down to the lab as quickly as possible. Crossing the room in three brisk strides, you opened your closet and threw on the first pair of pants - a dark chocolate brown pair - and top - a light beige button up blouse - before heading for the bathroom. Fingers already gathering your hair at the nape of your neck as you moved, you used one hand to twist it into a bun, the other grabbing for the elastic on the counter that you’d taken out of your hair earlier, securing it again.

Arms coming down to your sides, you looked yourself over in the mirror. Good enough. You were about to turn away and make your way out to the front hall, but your eyes, wide and alert despite only getting about four hours of sleep, caught on the gold chain that was coiled in the dish next to the faucet. The memory that had played out before came back in flashes - the way the delicate piece of jewelry looked and felt in Jack’s hands, the way that since that night, whenever he saw you wearing it, he always made it a point to touch one of the pearls. Without even thinking about it, you grabbed the chain and clasped it around your neck, tucking the length of it beneath the lapels of your shirt. Alright. Time to go. 

As you leaned against the wall to shove your feet back into your boots and take your ID badge down from the peg, you blew out a breath. It had been a long fucking day. And it still wasn’t over. But all you cared about was the man laying in bay two, and getting back to him in time to help Ginger figure out what the fuck was wrong before the problem got worse. You could sleep later, when he was back on his feet and calling you darlin’ again. When he was healthy and safe and out of the woods. The panel next to your door beeped and the lock engaged with a click as you shut it behind yourself. 

I’m coming, Jack. Hold on, I’m coming. 

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Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please feel free to let me know or you can fill out the form on my masterlist.  

tags: @something-tofightfor @paracosmenthusiast @cannedsoupsucks @dihra-vesa @disgruntledspacedad @littlemisspascal @hellovanessax @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @swtaura @trickstersp8 @princessxkenobi @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80​ @writeforfandoms​  @theredwritingwitch​ @silverstarsandsuns​ @competentpotato​ @pedro-pedrito-pascalito​

[tokiko220]

It's been too long since I did one of those drawing memes i remember from my deviantart days soo I decide to do one by @naigotlost (sorryyyy if you don't want dA past dredged up but too late lolololol) especially since I'm apparently the reason she made it lol Here's the blank version!

Oh and by the way I already filled it out once if you wanna see that lol I'd like to think I'm more skilled now lolol

You can read about the characters under the cut!

SHOT - Ospa (Fallout New Vegas) - My Fallout NV courier, pretty obvious what moment of the story this one depicts lol After being shot she suffered brain damage and was never the same- remains a genius, she's just wierder than before.

BURNED - Mariah (Original)- This one is in the more conceptual stages, I was drawing scifi-ish nun designs and really liked one so I thought "what the hell". It's all (vaguely gestures) but she has a burn on her face that she got while pulling patients from their monastery during a huge fire. Through sheer determination and hysterical strenght she hauled out men twice her size, the other nuns never let her live it down.

NECK WOUND - Ctirad (Original)- One of my vampire hunters. I still can't quite get his design down but I do know that he gets turned into a vampire, much to his best friends/basically sister's dismay. It's a whole thing.

IMPALED - Michiko (Samurai of Hyuga) - My beloved being impaled by a spear in a hypothetical scenario in which she's protecting Masashi. I felt so strongly about it I wrote a whole oneshot- i'm still super normal about SOH, I just have less time to draw.

MISSING A LIMB - Jun Uesugi (Samurai of Hyuga) - Jun-y boy artist's interepretation of that scene in book 4 (if you know you know). I am once again super normal about it I only think about it most of the time.

VOMITTING BLOOD - Taro (Original) - Guy from my final school project VN concept thing, he's the main character of an isekai who's kind of a dick and gets vibe checked once he gets transported back to his world in which Apolena (a girl from the other world that he betrayed and got killed) wants some payback- cue a violent time loop.

DROWNING - Marianne (Crown of Ashes and Flames) - My MC from an interactif story by Cœur. Check it out it's good literally makes me cry every time. The characters make me absolutely insane and spin around in my head like rotisserie chickens.

INJURED EYE - Wolf (Original) - Character from another visual novel concept that I reallly want to finish I swear I tried but it's hard work and I'm a drawer not a writer, I hope one day I can actually bring him to life lol Anyway he's a cannibalistic yandere set in, as his name implies, a story loosely based on Red Riding Hood.

BANDAGED - Apolena (Original) - Taro's antagonist and the protagonist of my final school project, she's the elf noble who just wanted to read and embroider when she was forced by her father to join the Hero's adventure (it apparently builds character) but the Hero thinks she's mega lame so after she suffers bullying by the Hero's party he ends up letting some bandits take her which eventually leads to her death (but the Goddess that put the hero into this world is like shit sorry that was kinda my bad do you maybe wanna go be destitute in modern pseudo japan????) Not only was she betrayed and murdered she now works in customer service, which is arguably the worst thing that has ever happened to her.

god i feel like i haven't infodumped about my characters in a decade this is so freeing haha

[gyldowen-draws]

🎂 Happy Nameday Rhys! 🎈

Four years ago on October 23rd, 2020, while brainstorming with my wonderful friend @aster-and-sapphire, I finally took all the ideas for an OC that had been floating around my head and I gave him a name: Rhys Vanwenys. And thus my darling bastard boy was born!

Since then I've drawn 35+ pieces and written 13+ fics featuring my favorite emotionally repressed asshole (not counting the fathomless hours of my life I've spent spinning him around in my head like a rotisserie chicken).

A huge thank you to everyone who has sent asks about him, read his fics, or drawn him! I hope he's brought you some of the joy he's brought me 🥰

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Odd Squad UK -- "Miss Information" Episode Followup, Part 1

Not sure if I ever told anyone, but on the off chance someone is keeping up with the news...remember when Sinking Ship announced a media literacy program aimed at kids with Nicole Stamp (who plays Phyllis on Odd Squad) as the host? That may or may not have aired already because I didn't bother to check?

That's exactly what this episode reminds me of from the title alone. The only problem is that media literacy isn't really a STEM topic.

Either way, I'm not exactly setting my bar high for this one after the bombs that were the last two episodes. Here's hoping this batch can go out with a bang that sounds like "yay, party!" instead of "oh God, pure obliteration".

Below the break.

I'm sorry, I could only understand "tofu" in this sentence, but...did they seriously give my girl fucking euphemisms to utter? It sounds so PBS-Kids-core to me in a way I can't explain that it's almost sickening.

Least she doesn't do it all the time, hehe...heh...h- right? Right?

...Right?

Interestingly, this episode doesn't have a writing credit. Either the American version left it out, it's a mistake across the international board (or perhaps not), or this episode had the entire damn team diving in and it's too much for opening credits.

Having bad writers is one thing. Not crediting your writers is another. Hate on them I do, but I at least respect people taking jobs to earn a living regardless of experience.

"You two are my next contestants on The Exposition Price is Right!"

"Is she being serious?"

Yes! And if neither Orli nor Ozzie appear in this entire episode I'll be dead shocked.

"Not everything has to be about them" indeed.

Laptops have been around for decades, long before Odd Squad premiered.

They decide to make a Director use one in the year 2024, 10 years after I had the idea spinning in my head like a rotisserie chicken.

And no, they don't need a laptop with the big screen they have...but I figured, if Investigation agents have computers, Directors should have them too for their own personal use.

And this concludes my presentation of why they should've hired me.

Hey, we finally found Macklemore's buddy, Ryan Lewis! Covered in slime! Er, syrup!

So he hates the workplace but wants Captain O to do a favor for him...as a friend and not as a Director?

I mean setting aside the fact that he's an idiot for taking the words of criminals at face value, this isn't logic that will get you a "yes" answer.

VILLAIN NEWS AND IT'S JUST A PARODY OF BBC WORLD NEWS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Oh God...what bumfuck network would even allow this regularly-airing newscast for criminals and by criminals? Actual news networks interviewing people in prison are more sane!

As arbitrary as Family Feud's "we asked 100 people the following question and here are the answers we are given".

Normally, though, if this were actual news and not fake news, it'd include the name of the town and actual sta- oh. Oh wait this episode does have actual stats doesn't it. Mmmmm okay never mind that.

Your bar graph's also backwards, honey. Bar graphs have ascending axis numbers, not descending. By your logic then no people dislike Odd Squad and those who like it, a mere 20, would win by majority.

This could be pinned on bad editing, but I could also pin it on this woman being a fuck-all idiot, and that's funner so I'll do that instead.

Yeah...yeah, you leave. Remind us that with your political status, you can't do much against a branch of a worldwide pseudo-government organization.

POUT-FACE LEVELS OF DISAPPOINTMENT. POUT-FACE LEVELS!!!

"Build me a fully functional professional TV studio."

"Uh...yeah...about that...we don't need to do anything, do we, Ono-"

"You're sitting in one."

"...What."

"You're currently sitting in one."

"Again I'll repeat: what."

Technically this would be copyright infringement, but putting aside that...if these children don't take off their uniforms and get into civilian clothes, the logo for the newscast might as well be Odd-Squad-branded. It's like criminals doing the news in orange jumpsuits. That's how you know they're criminals. With people dressed professionally...maybe they have a record, maybe they don't. You don't know.

Oh, this man scatting to the tune of the newscast's opening theme...bless him. It's so pure.

Good way to start a newscast! Completely deadpan and with a deadpan anchorman next to you.

By contrast, Miss Information was at least more animated.

(Also, if Miss Information is running evil BBC World News...does that mean Odd Squad's running good BBC World News? What's the difference? Who competes against BBC World News?)

Orwell. Child. You are supposed to be deadpan and stoic. What are you doing.

Clearly the writers did not need to stoop much lower to encapsulate the stupidity of adults, because any smart person would not be fooled by such an obvious mistake.

But Britain is, like Canada and America, full of idiots.

This goofy man.

That's it. That's the comment.

"Thank you for watching. Odd Squad is officially back in business!"

Given how much of "Bad Lemonade" this is copying...no. On so many levels, no. We got 7 minutes.

THIS GUY GOT A WHOLE-ASS STRAWBERRY BERET.

ALSO HI WHO ARE YOU?????????

...Ohhhhhh. So this is Sir Rup.

Honestly, that's a clever punny name. I can't fault them for that.

But also, he's the little brother of someone who pushes fake news? That's...I mean those are wildly different niches. But y'know, one woke up and chose violence and the other one woke up and chose food.

HOLD UP HER OFFICE IS ON THE FIRST FLOOR???????????????

Ohhhh rest in pieces to the days when it was on the second floor.

(Oprah's office was on a lower floor as the Big O too, and same goes for Orpita as the Little O. But this just looks like she shacked up in a closet with a window leading to nowhere.)

Okay, but see, the newscast contains no interviews. That would help in this situation instead of throwing out arbitrary numbers and "oh, we asked people". Citation needed, source?, call it what you like.

It's not as gut-busting hilarious as Oswald's girly scream, but Onom's similarly girly yelp got a laugh out of me all the same.

Y'know, Mayor Mackelmore was an idiot, but at least he somewhat knew his shit.

This guy sees one unsourced bar graph from a criminal and takes it at face value AND OH MY GOD THIS IS SOME THINLY-VEILED JAB AT SOME COUNTRY'S GOVERNMENT ISN'T IT. NOT EVEN JUST THE GOVERNMENT BUT EVERYONE IN THE DAMN COUNTRY. YOU SONS OF BITCHES. HALFWAY IN AND I'M JUST REALIZING THAT.

Orwell, no wink can save you from your dead personality on TV.

This is literally fucking Fake News: The Odd Squad Episode, and that's already a better title than making it an antagonist title.

Pure motherfucking social commentary. And while this is Britain, it very much applies for the whole of America.

A branch of a worldwide pseudo-government organization cannot just pack up and leave town like they bought a new house. Hope this helps!

(On to Part 2!)

[derelictheretic]

OC TAG GAME

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @strangefae and @detectivelokis !! Ty 💕💕💕

Not quite sure whose done this since i've been. absent. so i'mma send tags out to @deputyash @bluemojave @adelaidedrubman @bl-beater @jollybone @clicheantagonist @florbelles @unholymilf @henbased @ishwaris @megraen @shellibisshe @trashcatsnark @v0idbuggy @wewillryesagain No pressure as always !!

Favourite OC

Currently I would say Lola is holding that spot, she's fun to draw and write for and I just spin her in my brain like a rotisserie chicken all day she brings me so much joy to think about. She's also my first transfem OC so she,,,,, is so special 2 me <3

My consistent faves of all time tho are my boy Damien (my half demon half vamp man), my girl Lucy (She is a unicorn shifter and I Adore she sooooo much) and ofc my creacher Dean uvu

Oldest OC

Damien!! He's from my first original story I ever made and I've had him for 7 to 8 years!! He rotates in my head forever even tho I barely talk about him 👉👈 His story has changed a few times but his design has stayed pretty consistent! He means the world to me and so does his story and one day I will bring it to life ashsjsjs

Newest OC

That would be Lola!!!! I'd been wanting another unhinged lady to play around with and felt like having a pink murder lady as well and thus Lola was born 🥺 She brings serotonin and I love playing around with her relationships with the other characters!

Meanest OC

Hmmm this is a tough one but it's probably Heather! Heather is actively mean on purpose and loves her passive aggression and tearing people down through her words. She smiles while pointing out all ur insecurities and faults and will laugh if u cry <3 bestest worstie wife ever <333

I have a few other mean OC's like Rilo (Demon lord) but he's on a much bigger scale of wanting to commit genocide against all supernatural creatures soooo he's just like evil less so just mean. Very smile in ur face while he obliterates ur very atoms kinda vibe,, hate him so <3

Softest OC

This is impossible I have too many softies,, But probably Lucy! She's a pacifist and just has the biggest heart, she's very empathetic and always wants to help people even if there is nothing she can do in a situation. She also is just very soft in nature like she has a gentle touch and soft voice and sweet eyes that will make u cry and tell her all ur problems while she holds u.

Most aloof/standoffish

I have a few of these too lol I'd say it's a tie between Michael, Silas (Eldritch horror slasher) or Pheonix (Marvel OC besties with Wade). Silas probably wins because he doesn't tolerate talking to humans in any circumstance and just seeing him tends to send people running. Silent, brooding, grumpy eldritch horror man my beloved.

Smartest OC

I have a sentient AI OC called HEXX and he has knowledge from all across the galaxy (being an AI for a spaceship he needs it lol) so I'd say that'd be him! Ask him anything and he has the answer, just don't ask him about love bc he will have his 1010th identity crisis and the ship will suffer it's 1010th failing and emergency landing :)

Dumbest (affectionate) OC

Hmmm i'm gonna say my baby boy Ky bc he's my literal himbo lmao He has zero thoughts in his pretty little head!! Only loving friends and having fun!!!! Golden retriever boy only know eat hot food and love everyone!!!!! No but he genuinely is so,, so stupid,,, the one thing he can somehow do on his own is cook, baking is off limits he will burn down the kitchen......

OC's I'd be friends with irl

I have a few I think it'd get along with so I'll narrow it down to three!

Piper; We would vibe in a makeshift tree house and play video games and I'd listen to her gush over women (Faith) for hours and she'd judge my horrid taste in men <3 She'd probably also beat me in poker and steal all my money.

Fredrick; my genderfluid god would take me to so many concerts and drag me across the country to get something they bought off of eBay and I would have a blast.

My lil tech nerd Keiden; he likes coding and games, I can kind of code and like games, it just makes sense. We'd play raft and Minecraft and make epic structures and talk about what we would do different with the game mechanics.

[godfrey-the-chaos-duck]

Why am I feeling very angsty and poetic lately

One specific theme has been spinning around in my head like a rotisserie chicken for the last four days and that theme is

Coming back and wondering what the hell happened while you were gone.

You left the room for five minutes.

You went on vacation for the weekend.

You missed a week of school/work because you were sick.

You came back after summer break and suddenly everyone's taller and for some reason people just hate each other for no reason.

You return to your childhood home after months or years and everything feels off.

Della Duck spent ten years on the Moon and when she got back, the family had grown without her.

Ford Pines spent thirty years travelling between dimensions and when he got back, his twin brother had faked his death, stolen his identity and turned his house into a tacky tourist trap.

Aziraphale, for all I know, could come back from Heaven to find a very different world to the one he left.

But yeah. Coming back and things aren't the same.

[angry-nightwing]

Just got back from watching Return of the King extended edition at the cinema and now the movie is spinning around in my head like a rotisserie chicken

First of all this movie is SO GOOD you guys. Like we all knew, but it's like i rediscovered it. This movie is SO GOOD someone should give it 11 Oscars thus making it the most Oscar winning movie ever tied w titanic

Secondly something really funny happened. Now that I'm a mom, i have a very potent motherly instinct that my daughter triggers in me, but as we were sitting in the cinema, everytime Frodo came on screen that instinct was ACTIVATED. Like I've always wanted to protect him but this was a whole new level

There's something about how quickly smeagol was lost to the ring. It is instantly, in a way no one else in the story has experienced. Something about how inevitable it is, how this was always how it was going to go, how he was always meant to fall to its power

The parallel of the scene where smeagol asks for the ring and kills his friend for it, and the one where Frodo asks for it back from Sam and he gives it willingly

Or the parallel of the scene where Deagol and Smeagol fight over the ring and the scene at the end, the culmination of the entire story, when Frodo and Gollum fight for it as well. How it was always meant to end like this, because this was how it started. How the ring has always gained power by sowing chaos and turning people against each other, how its biggest strength was inspiring obsession and how that very same power is what caused it's downfall.

I never thought about it before but i love how Merry and Pippin fit the respective colorschemes of the two kingdoms of men they end up serving. Merry looks like someone right out of Rohan, even the color of his clothes. Pippin w his darker hair and clothes fit right in w the Gondorians. It makes me wonder if this was taken into account when their wardrobes were designed in preproduction

The look Elrond has when he sends Arwen to Aragorn, and then again after they kiss and embrace. He is weeping for the loss of his daughter. He is so happy she found her happiness. He knows he's never going to see he again. I am crying

I love how you can see when he stands on the pier at the grey havens, Frodo is pale and still a bit sickly looking, but once he steps onto the boat, he instantly gains color back, he has rosy cheeks and a sunkissed face. Even just stepping onto that boat, he's begun his journey towards healing, and that's why he can give his friends such a genuine smile

I also love the inherent selflessness of the action. Frodo doesn't just leave for himself, he also leaves for Sam. After everything they've been through, Sam was never going to be able to stop worrying for Frodo. He would never be able to cast the responsibility aside, he'd spend every day needing to check up on him. "You cannot always be torn in two" Frodo says because he understands that Sam isnt able to fully commit to his family, to just be a father and husband, because he is also still Frodos servant, protector, best friend, gardener. By leaving, he is allowing Sam to let go. Sam comes home, heaves a sigh - of relief, of acceptance? - and says "well.. I'm back." And i truly believe that until that moment, Sam hadn't fully come back to the Shire yet