#I do have quite an urge to draw something along these lines…

[captainhysunstuff]

Light didn’t meet L’s successors while L was alive because it would have swiftly taken a turn into their version of the Radioapple “Hell’s Greatest Dad” song.

Or the funnier option. Soichiro and Ryuk going at it over custody of Light. (Soichiro’s the most likely character to shout “Take that, depression!”) 

Both ideas are brilliant~!!! 🤣 VERY drawn to the Soichiro vs. Ryuk pitch~!

Soichiro:

Looks like that you need some aid

From the head honcho of the NPA!

Here’s what the top brass have to say:

“Great work!” “Amazing!” “The pride of the force!”

Ryuk:

I’m your guy! You know I’m great!

I’m your pal! Your ultra cool roommate!

Remember when I killed that guy you hate~?

Guy’s victim:

He was a jerk! Thanks, Kira~!

Light:

Oh, you~. 😏

With the successors, would it be Mello and Near vying for L’s attention if he requested their help or something? That’d be pretty darn entertaining, too~. I could even picture Matt interrupting like Mimzy does (maybe he just beat a hard level in a game or managed to break through a firewall). 😆 Who would interrupt the Soichiro vs. Ryuk version? Misa? Sayu or Sachiko? Maybe Matsuda??? I feel any of them could work!

Excuse the enthusiasm, but seeing this at work gave me a real kick and I had something fun to think about the rest of the night. Thank you~.

[noirscript]

call avoidance.

Yandere Hotline: 3/?

featuring: implied drugging. implied tresspassing. lots of male masturbation. unsolicited phone sex (?). implied kidnapping. AFAB!Reader (yan calling reader mommy)

note: this is written while half-asleep. not edited. brain go brrr. i'll add the src some time.

Dealing with mad people can drive anyone insane. But if you're given a hefty sum to keep the insane ones company, you'll take. Life is tough, but you can choose your own hell.

"Got you some drink. Your favorite flavor," Heidi, your 'neighbor' in cubicle, said cheerfully as she placed the drink and sandwich on your spot.

"Well, who are we kidding." You shook your head before placing the plastic cup in your trash bin along with the tasty sandwich that came with it. "They're really persistent, you know?"

You smiled sheepishly as you arrange your cubicle to start a new day. Unlike your workmates, your place is quite neat and devoid of anything that would identify that spot as yours.

No personal images pinned on the corkboard. Not even a framed picture of whoever inspires you to get up and work hard without becoming insane yourself.

Upon accepting the job offer, you made sure to draw the most visible line to keep your personal life to yourself. You've heard some stories—some myths—about some agents disappearing without any trace overnight. Like they never existed in the first place.

"I hope they fuck off, you know?" You sighed before putting on your noise-cancelling headphones. "May we survive this shift," you grumbled as you wait for the first call with baited breath.

You have frequent customers. Most of them were pleasant to talk to. Let's just say that they're not exactly the dangerous type of callers. Those type clients were, most likely, drawn to the idea of being a 'yandere' as a fantasy. Sometimes, there's a hint of sexualization.

Almost every person on the floor are taking calls. Including you. However, your gut's been telling you to ignore the call. Maybe it's one of those unhinged callers who believes that you're theirs. Like they own you and all of your time.

You still have some available credits for call avoidance since you rarely used your credits. Surely, this one call will not affect your performance rating.

While waiting for the phone to stop ringing, you decided to clean up your work email. Being bombarded with useless newsletters about food and books on sale is the worse. Not only does it make your inbox crowded, it's also spammy.

You were fightung the urge to just select all and delete everything at once when you suddenly heard a notification. One after another.

One from your email, another one from your messaging app, and lastly—from the internal chatroom.

You opened the email with an attachment. It was a blank email but as soon as the preview for the attachment appeared, you almost gagged.

It was an image of a man's cock. There were translucent liquid splattered everywhere while the tip of his dick is on a cup—filled to the brim with iced coffee with foamy top. Your favorite.

Your hands were shaking as you exit the window of the website. You clicked the messaging app first. 'Perhaps it was just a promotional message from one of those companies.'

But no.

It was a message from a private number. You don't have any idea how they did it, but they kept sending you images. Most of them were blurry, but the ones with better quality almost made you vomit.

It was taken in a small room. At first, the room was dark, but eventually the image light up. His face was blurred, but you could clearly see what he was doing.

He was fucking your pillow. The one you've been using since you've moved in a better place with better security.

You were confused. And scared.

How could he easily enter your place? Your keys are with you and only the management has access to other duplicates.

"No way..." you whispered as you close the messaging app's window.

One bomb was dropped after another. And you knew something's off.

[NOTICE OF TERMINATION]

Due to multiple reports of call avoidance and drop calls, the management has decided to relieve you from your position as an agent effective immediately.

As we value your well-being, rest assured that you will be receiving your full payment for the next three months along with the other benefits that the company has sworn to provide you.

We sincerely appreciate your efforts for the last three years. We wish you all the best from this day forward.

You were devastated, yet relieved upon reading the letter. You've been wanting to receive this for months. It was the only way out of this place and this industry. You've also managed to save up a lot that you can start fresh somewhere. Far from this place.

Another phone call managed to bypass the automatic system of the place. You took a deep breath before accepting the call.

"Hello?"

"I can't... wait... haah..." the man on the line was clearly doing himself. By the eay he sounds, he's probably close. "We'll move to a big house... haah... hngg... a baby, a babyyy... nhnn... come home..."

Your eyes widened upon hearing your name. Not the screen name you gave them, but your legal full name.

"Let me... hngg... make you a mommy... d'you want that, huh?" You could a wet sloppy noises in the background. "Tiny baby... sucking on your tits... while I make a mess out of you?"

"Ap—"

"No need for... apologies..." he was breathing heavily. "I'll see you soon, okay?

"Heimdall."

He chuckled. "That's me, my princess... took you long enough to say my name."

"How did you get into my house?" you asked while gritting your teeth.

"Patience, my love. We could talk all about it once you're home. Should I get you something to eat? Chicken? Cake? Sandwich? Coffee?"

"I'm done with you."

You immediately pressed the end call button before gathering your things and left. Not even a farewell to your friends.

But there's something you should probably know.

Heidi can't wait to be an aunt and to be your sister-in-law!

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Nightmares

The start of my Astarion rabbithole begins here...

Summary: You can't sleep without Astarion. Even still, nightmares continue to haunt you but Astarion vows to do all he can to ease your pain.

“Yes darling?” Astarion asks the moment he feels your face collide with his back, lifting his gaze from his book. Your arms wrap around his waist, pressing his body against yours and Astarion will never tell you how much he loves that feeling. No matter what you bribe him with.

You incoherently mumble something in return, burying your face into the back of his shirt.

“I can’t quite make out what you just said, dearest. You’ll have to speak up a bit more,” he bites back a laugh at how you give an angry grumble in response and closes the book, gently prying you off him.

Turning around to face you, he presses a kiss to the top of your head before tilting your chin up so that he can press another kiss to your lips, his cold slender fingers gliding over your warm skin. The tip of his index finger traces along your jawline as he hungrily kisses you deeper, his other hand tangled in your hair.

You kiss him back with equal fervour, eyes closed. His fangs graze your bottom lip, drawing a hint of blood which he immediately licks up, letting out a soft moan at the sweetness that floods his tongue.

“You still have not told me what it is you desire, my sweet,” he nuzzles into your hair, arms wrapped tightly around you. His book lies on the ground long forgotten, all that he can think about is how nice you feel in his embrace, as though you were made for it.

“Cuddle,” you yawn, rubbing your eyes. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“You miss me that much, dearest?” He teases. “Come along then, you need your sleep.” He pretends as though your words haven’t set his ears on fire, that the sudden rush of warmth in his chest wasn’t caused by your proclamation of how much you wanted his presence and gently guides you back to your tent, barely remembering to pick his book up.

Once he’s tucked you into your bedroll, pushing hair out of your face before you start sneezing from the tickles, he removes his tunic and gets comfortable by your side. The moment he lies down, you snuggle up to him, burying your face in his chest. Your body curls up, fitting against his like a puzzle piece.

“Good night, Astarion,” you murmur drowsily.

“Good night, my sweet,” he runs his fingers through your hair, the motion lulling you to sleep like it always does. He relishes in the way your hair smoothly parts for his fingers, the softness of the strands brushing against his skin. Ever since he introduced his hair routine to you, your hair condition had been improving and he was pleased with how much you loved to show it off to him.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift off, lips parting slightly as your chest gently rises and falls with each breath. Astarion enjoys this part of your nightly cuddles the most, it reminds him of why he fights so hard each and every day. If he had to withstand the exhausting hikes, fights and idiocy of the rest of the party just to see the small smile of contentment on your face when you slept, he would do it for an eternity without hesitation. All that mattered to him was that you were happy, safe. Free.

He gently hums a tune he remembers you humming before, resisting the urge to kiss you over and over again, knowing that it would wake you up. His fingers dance along your back, tracing the scars that mar it. He’s long memorised each and every single one of them, whether it be from the passionate nightly activities or simply cuddling, just like tonight. Even though you find them disgusting, he finds them beautiful. They are signs of what has failed to kill you, of what you’ve pulled through. They told those who saw that that you were strong, that you were a survivor.

He finds himself tracing over the thin scar lines along your arm that wrap around like vines. You’ve never told them where you got them from, each time he tries to breach the topic you shy away, changing the subject with a laugh. He knows glimpses of your past from the nights the two of you have sat together under the moonlight, talking about whatever came to mind at the moment, but he never quite got the full picture. You purposely avoided talking about certain things and he never once probed further out of respect for your privacy, but moments like this make him wonder what someone as cheerful and bright as you had been through to become a completely different person when such topics were discussed.

Still, he won’t push you further than you’re comfortable with. You’ve never done it to him, even if it clearly frustrated you how little he was willing to divulge and he respected you for that. You would tell him about the scars on your arm when you were comfortable with it, he knew, and he could wait. He was a vampire spawn, he had the time to wait.

You shift in your sleep, eyebrows furrowed and fingernails digging into the bedroll beneath. A nightmare .

Astarion gently rubs your back, whispering sweet assurances into your ear and pressing his forehead against yours, hoping it will calm you down. The whimper that escapes your lips breaks his undead heart and he wishes he could enter dreams, just so that he could fight off whatever nightmare was plaguing you tonight.

“It’s alright, love. It’s just a nightmare,” he whispers, despising how powerless he is. “I’m always right here, right by your side.”

“Star,” you whimper, eyes cracking open. “Help. Hurts.”

He desperately presses more kisses to the top of your head, holding you tightly. “I’m right here, I’m right here.”

He repeats the three words over and over again like a mantra, cradling you as you cry into his chest, sobs wracking your body. His hand rests on the back of your head, his body curled around yours to shield you from the world.

“Let it all out. No one else is here,” he murmurs. You cry even harder at his words, gasping between each sob until you have no tears left to give. He ignores how your fingernails have dug into his shoulders so much that you’ve drawn blood, far more concerned about how you are feeling.

“I’m sorry,” the words feel thick in your throat. You wipe your eyes, looking up at him with such pain in your eyes and sniffle.

“Don’t be, love. We all need a little space to cry.” He presses his lips to your warm, tear-stained skin, willing all your pain away.

Wrapped in his comforting embrace, you slowly drift back to sleep with the feeling of his hand rubbing circles on your back. Once he’s sure you’ve properly fallen asleep, he lets himself slip into a meditative half-trance, but always keeps an ear out for you just in case. He won’t ever leave you to face your demons alone. You’d do the same for him anyways, he’s just repaying the favour, right?

You reach out towards him in your slumber, throwing an arm around him so that you can pull him closer. Your breath tickles his skin and something within his chest squeezes, taking his breath away.

I love you, his lips form the words but no sound comes out. Watching your now peacefully slumbering form, his undead heart comes back to life but words still fail him. For now, he’ll resign himself to practising the words so that when the moment comes, he will be able to say them, and know you will say them back.

[buckets-and-trees]

Chosen, Part 4: Semantics

Characters/Pairings: eventual Bucky x curvy Millennial Female!Reader, Natasha Romanoff, Yelena Belova Word Count: 3.4k Summary: The interviews are over. The tour has been completed. You've made your decision. You accepted the position and will sign the contract. You're about to learn what that truly means.

SERIES Content Warnings: SOFT!DARK STORY, cult themes, explicit smut, dubious consent and enthusiastic consent, veiled truths, gaslighting, sleeping drugs

CHAPTER Content Warnings: unknown use of organic sleep enhancers, manipulation, gaslighting, cult themes, entrapment, coercion

Notes: No notes, just tiny bits of information trickling in...

Previous: Consideration | Series List

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You wake up at the sound of a familiar knock, and Yelena bursts in as you blearily sit up, blinking your eyes open and stretching your limbs. 

She sweeps into the room, her blonde hair released from its earlier braid and bouncing with each energetic step. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" she chirps, her voice full of excitement. "We've got a big night ahead!" 

As your eyes adjust to the soft light, you notice she's not alone. Behind her, a staff member in crisp white uniform wheels in an ornate silver cart. 

"I thought you might be hungry after your nap," Yelena says, gesturing to the cart. "We've prepared a little pre-event snack for you." 

The staff member lifts the dome cover, revealing an elaborate charcuterie board that would make any food stylist weep with envy. The tantalizing aroma of various cheeses and cured meats wafts through the air, making your stomach rumble from the smell alone. It's a veritable work of art, with an array of cured meats arranged in delicate rosettes, an assortment of cheeses ranging from creamy bries to pungent blues, chunks of bread, crackers, and a rainbow of fresh and dried fruits from figs to strawberries, along with jams and some honey.

You chuckle. “Who in the world is going to eat all this?” you ask. 

Yelena laughs, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, I plan to make a good dent in this myself, but you can have what’s left."

She turns to the staff member, thanking them warmly before dismissing them with a nod. As the door closes behind them, Yelena claps her hands together. "Now, let's start getting you ready for the evening!"

With a bounce in her step, Yelena heads towards the bathroom. "I'm going to draw you a bath," she calls over her shoulder. "Trust me, you'll want to be thoroughly relaxed for tonight." 

Since you do feel the post-nap hunger, you snatch a few morsels from the charcuterie board as you hear the sound of rushing water begin to fill the tub. 

After satisfying the edge, you pluck off a couple of pieces of fruit and pad into the bathroom. Your breath catches once again at the sight. In the soft light, the emerald green marble and tile surfaces give off a radiant warmth. They’re accented with golden fixtures that gleam, their sleek lines contrasting beautifully with the organic swirls of the marble. The large soaking tub is already half full, and you can see wisps of steam rising from the water's surface. 

Yelena is bent over the tub, swirling her hand through the water. As you enter, she looks up with a grin. "I've added some special oils to the bath," she says. "They'll help you relax and prepare for the evening." 

The scent wafting from the tub is intoxicating - a blend of rose, jasmine, and something deeper and more exotic that you can't quite place. It makes your head swim pleasantly. 

"Go on, get in," Yelena urges, standing up and grabbing a fluffy white towel from a nearby rack. 

You hesitate for a moment, suddenly self-conscious. Yelena seems to sense your discomfort and gives you a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, I'm not staying. I just volunteered to get you in the bath and steal some of the divine charcuterie while Natasha was still trying to wrap up. She’ll be here soon." With that, she sets the fluffy towel next to the tub, and exits the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

“I’m taking all the brie with me,” she calls back through the door and you laugh. 

Alone now, you slowly undress, letting your clothes fall to the cool tile floor. The steam from the bath envelops you, carrying that intoxicating scent. You step into the tub, and as you slip into the water, you can't help but let out a contented sigh. The temperature is perfect, and the oils seem to caress your skin, instantly melting away any lingering tension from the day.

There’s a panel for controlling the light and music in the bathroom within easy reach. You put on one of the more mellow artists and hum in contentment, reclining against the back of the tub. You close your eyes, surrendering to the warmth and the gentle lapping of the water against your skin. The soft music blends with the steam, creating a cocoon of tranquility around you. The scent of the oils seems to deepen, weaving tendrils of relaxation through your mind and body.

As you float in this state of blissful semi-consciousness, your thoughts drift and swirl like the wisps of steam above the water. Images from the day flash behind your closed eyelids - the grand tour, the mysterious conversations, the moment you sealed your fate by accepting the position. But these thoughts don't bring anxiety or tension. Instead, they feel distant and dreamlike, as if you're watching scenes from someone else's life.

At some point you fall asleep again  because you’re jolted back awake when someone squeezes your hand. 

It’s Natasha, knelt beside the tub, and you contract immediately to hug your knees to your chest, heat flooding your face and your stomach, trying to scrap at some level of modesty in your naked state. The water has cooled slightly, but it's still comfortably warm. 

Natasha's expression is gentle, but laced with something you can’t quite put your finger on. "Don't worry," she says softly, "there's nothing to be embarrassed about. We're all just bodies, after all."

You nod, still feeling flustered but trying to relax. It’s easy for her to say something like that, but you’re fully aware of your flaws and what you think are your flaws. You do think she genuinely means it - that she holds no poor judgment of the way you look - and that does more to quell your insecurities than anything else. 

"I'm sorry I startled you," Natasha continues. She cups your cheek, and it’s so unexpected it disarms you for a moment. "I knocked, but you must have been deeply asleep."

But before you can think more of her hand on your face, she stands gracefully, reaching for the fluffy towel Yelena had left earlier. "It's time to get you ready for the evening," she says, holding the towel open for you. "We don't want to be late."

You hesitate for a moment, then take a deep breath and stand up, water cascading off your body. Natasha wraps the towel around you without any hesitation before turning and striding out of the room without another word. 

"I didn't mean to fall asleep in the tub," you mumble, feeling a bit embarrassed.

Natasha chuckles softly, pulling some papers out of her briefcase on the table - undoubtedly your employment contract. "It's quite alright. You had quite a long day, but those bath oils tend to have that effect.. How do you feel?"

You pause, taking stock of your body. Despite the initial shock of waking, you feel surprisingly refreshed and relaxed. "Good," you say. "Really good, actually."

“Excellent. Now let’s get you ready,” she says, gesturing to a vanity with a guilded mirror. She’s already moved the charcuterie board there next to it. “I’ll take care of your hair and make up while you read over the contract. I can answer any questions, and then you can sign.”

You wonder if you should search the closet for a robe, but Natasha is looking at you expectantly, so you tuck the towel more securely around your chest and hurry to take your seat in front of her. 

The next hour passes in a whirlwind of activity and conversation as you review the document while Natasha sets to work on you. Her fingers move deftly, with skill and precision whether concentrating on your face or your hair. 

The contract before you is extensive, expounding on your role, basic responsibilities, and the various benefits of working for the Winged Heritage Foundation. There is not as much detail as you would like in relation to these aspects of the contract, but you imagine it’s partly to do with not wanting sensitive details in a hard copy and partly because the nature of your working responsibilities may shift as you work personally with the founder and how he best sees you fulfilling the needs that may come up. 

As you read, Natasha answers your questions with patience and clarity.

"What exactly does 'confidentiality extends beyond standard business practices' mean?" you ask, pointing to a clause that catches your eye.

Natasha pauses in her work, meeting your gaze in the mirror. "It means that some of what you'll learn and experience here goes beyond what you might consider typical corporate secrets. We deal with sensitive information that could have far-reaching consequences if it fell into the wrong hands."

You nod slowly, processing this insight. The vagueness of her answer doesn't escape you, but you're beginning to understand and accept that ambiguity is part of the Foundation's nature.

However, there are sections that are covered in the sort of detail that you would expect. The salary and benefits are perfectly outlined, including the wardrobe allowance, dental and healthcare, and investment options. There are sections about the housing benefit, travel expectations, and even a clause about potential relocation if necessary.

"Relocation?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Natasha meets your eyes in the mirror again. "We have facilities in various locations around the world. While it's not common, there may be occasions where your presence is required elsewhere for extended periods if there are affairs Mr. Barnes needs to tend to."

You nod, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation at the prospect. The idea of travel is appealing, but the thought of being sent away to who knows where is less so. 

You continue reading, occasionally asking for clarification on certain points.

As you near the end of the contract, Natasha puts the finishing touches on your hair and makeup. "There," she says, stepping back to admire her work. "Take a look."

You turn to the mirror and your breath catches. The person staring back at you is both familiar and strangely new. The makeup specifically is subtle yet transformative, enhancing your features in a way that makes you look almost otherworldly.

"Whoa," you breathe, turning your head to see yourself from different angles.

Natasha smiles, clearly pleased with her handiwork. "Perfect," she praises, directly meeting your eyes in the reflection of the mirror, and you drop your gaze as your stomach flutters unexpectedly. 

“You ready to sign that thing?” she asks, and offers a pen over your shoulder. 

With a deep breath, you take the pen and begin signing your name on the various pages, initialing where necessary. Natasha watches you intently, her expression unreadable. 

As you finish signing the last page, she takes the contract from you and sets it aside. "Congratulations," she says with a smile. "You are now officially part of the Foundation." 

"Thank you," you say sincerely, turning to face Natasha. 

She nods, then reaches into her bag and pulls out a small black box. 

"To celebrate your signing, I have a little gift for you," she says, holding out the box. 

Curiosity piqued, you take the box and open it to find a sleek watch inside. "Wow," you say in awe, running your fingers over its smooth surface.

"It's tradition," Natasha explains. "All new members receive one as a symbol of our time together." 

Your eyes flick to see a watch on her wrist. You brush your finger over the crystal face, noting that aside from the standard dial that tells the time, it has a few other subdials for date, day of the week, and the moon cycle. You smile gratefully at her before putting on the watch on your wrist. It feels like an official initiation into this secretive world. 

“Thank you, again.”

Natasha shrugs one shoulder, but it’s more of a demure gesture than flippant. “It looks good on you.”

You glance at your wrist again, and smile. In the moment of quiet, you register the faint sounds of music, voices, and laughter drifting up from the grounds below, and you look up to notice that one of the windows has been cracked open. A small rush of anticipation surges through you, and you look back to Natasha. 

She’s setting another case on the vanity, and opens it to reveal an exquisite crown of iridescent blue flowers - and you remember seeing them earlier in the day as you toured the gardens. Luna’s Tears. 

“This is for you to wear tonight,” she says, tracing her fingers delicately over the blooms. 

It’s gorgeous, but you frown. “Is that - will everyone -”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Only for you during the ritual, as you are our tribute.”

Your laugh bubbles out, half sarcastic, half nervous. “What, like a sacrifice?”

“Yes and no,” she responds easily. “Technically a sacrifice is something of great personal value you give of yourself, whereas an offering is merely a gift. So I will be offering you up, but you will be sacrificing yourself.”

Your jaw drops. “Sorry, what?” you exclaim. 

And suddenly one word is resounding in your head.

Cult. Cult. Cult.

“During the full moon ritual tonight.”

Cult. Cult. Cult. 

“No.” You shake your head. “No.”

“At midnight, you will be presented as a tribute on the altar to our founder, James Buchanan Barnes. Sacrifice for you, offering from us.”

“I’m not interested in the semantics of your cult!” You stand and start backing away from the redhead, who seems completely unfazed by your reaction. 

“You’re not interested,” she agrees, “you’re fascinated.” 

Cult. Cult. Cult. Cult. Cult.

You shake your head, your chest tightening. She’s not wrong, but she’s not right. 

Cult. Cult.

Natasha takes a step toward you, cautious the way one approaches a spooked animal to soothe it. 

“But I’m not a virgin!” you protest.

You are acutely aware that you’re still only in a towel as she moves closer. 

“That’s archaic rhetoric, actually. We only need an offering who isn’t corrupt.” 

Cult. Cult. Cult.

“You can’t do this! And you can’t keep me here!”

“Technically that’s true, but I think you may want to review the terms and conditions of your contract before you make any rash decisions.”

And with that advice, she pauses her pursuit, and waves you back over to the vanity where you left the contract. 

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of whether it’s a trap, but you realize this is all a trap, and now you need to know what mistake you made in signing and rush back across the room, clutching the towel to keep it securely around you. You hastily flip to the final page with the terms and conditions and start at the top. 

It spells out that you’re an at-will employee, so you or the Foundation can terminate your employment with or without cause, at any point, with or without notice. 

“This will be a valuable lesson in the importance of being concerned with details and semantics. The item that will make you more amenable to fulfilling your contract is number eight - financial recoupment.”

You hold your breath, eyes darting down the page until you see the bold numeral eight and its subject - FINANCIAL RECOUPMENT. 

If the employee terminates this contract within the first twelve months or fails to adhere to the agreements herein, the employee will be responsible for reimbursing the Winged Heritage Foundation for all costs incurred for employment on their behalf, salary and healthcare costs excluded. 

You tentatively exhale. “Great, I’ll give back the watch, and you can let me go.”

The huff of Natasha’s laugh hits your bare shoulder, and you spin around. She had moved to stand directly being you in complete silence. You back up, bumping up against the edge of the vanity, clutching at the towel again. 

“The watch was a gift, so I won’t take offense, but let’s start with the private car service we arranged to bring you here this morning. Including the tip, it would be an uncomfortable stretch for you to shell out three hundred dollars for that cost, but that’s only the first drop in the deluge. We know your finances from top to bottom because we had our recruitment team working up a comprehensive background file on you for a full week. I’ll pull the specific report on the billable hours anyone who worked on your case spent. Add to that our business lunch on the terrace and the afternoon tea service. I’ll exclude the charcuterie board because that was just a thoughtful gesture after you accepted the position.”

Your eyes start to well with tears as the amounts pile up in a heap you know you can not afford. 

“Then, of course, we decorated and refurnished these living quarters for your immediate habitation, and the closet was fully outfitted with all wardrobe aspects, shoes, and accessories.”

Your mind reels as you try to process the staggering sum you'd be responsible for. The luxurious room, the designer clothes in the closet, even the bath oils and cosmetics- it all takes on a sinister new light. You feel sick as you realize how thoroughly they've ensnared you.

"How… how much?" you manage to choke out.

Natasha's lips curve into a small, satisfied smile. "Let's just say it's well into six figures. Far more than you could hope to repay anytime soon."

You slump against the vanity, your legs suddenly weak. The towel slips, but you barely notice. "This can't be happening," you whisper.

"Oh, but it is," Natasha says, her voice soft but firm. She puts a her hand on your shoulder, a gesture that would be comforting in other circumstances, but not now. 

"I understand this is overwhelming,” she pivots, her voice almost sympathetic. “But remember, you sought us out. You pursued this opportunity aggressively and enthusiastically. Four interviews and now, here you are."

You shake your head, desperately trying to clear it. "But I didn't know… I mean, I never agreed to…"

"Didn't you?" Natasha interrupts gently. "We've been quite open about our unconventional nature from the start. You were intrigued by the mystery, drawn to the power, prestige, and opportunity. I said you would be working directly with our founder. And now you're balking at the reality?"

Her words sting because there's truth in them. You had been fascinated, had pushed to be the most competitive and attractive candidate you could, wanting them to select you, despite the questions and uncertainty. 

"But I didn't know it was a cult," you protest, your voice cracking. "I didn't agree to be sacrificed."

Natasha sighs, her hand still on your shoulder. "We're not a cult, we're a select group with shared values and goals. And as I explained, you're not being sacrificed in the way you're imagining. This is an honor, a chance to be part of something greater."

You close your eyes, trying to steady your breathing. Natasha's hand remains on your shoulder, her thumb tracing small circles just below your collar bone. Despite everything, her touch is oddly comforting.

"This is a lot to process," she says softly. "But I meant what I said earlier - I have a good feeling about you. You're here for a reason."

You open your eyes and meet her gaze. There's a warmth there, an understanding that catches you off guard.

"What will happen to me?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Nothing you won't enjoy, I promise. The ritual is intense, yes, but it's also beautiful. Transformative. You'll be giving yourself over to something greater, becoming part of our us in the deepest sense."

You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. "What exactly will happen to me?" you press. 

Natasha's expression softens slightly. "You'll be presented to our founder, James Barnes. He'll decide if you're worthy to join our inner circle. If you are, you'll be initiated. If not..." she trails off, leaving the alternative unspoken.

You know you don’t have a choice, but you take in one, two deep breaths, before you answer. 

“Okay,” you agree, resigned to your fate.

“There’s the answer we all want,” she replies. 

NEXT PART: PREPARATION

Sorry for the delay of chapter! I'd left my laptop at work, so I didn't have access to posting the chapter.

Thoughts? Theories? Reactions to a pretty big revelation?

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[farity]

Let’s Pretend

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x you

Summary:  You suggest a pretend betrothal 

Warning:  Future Smut

.

“She is quite accomplished,” his mother was saying, listing every skill the young woman, currently pretending not to be aware of their conversation, was said to have. 

A servant took his empty dinner plate and Aemond noticed a small strip of paper left next to his wine cup.  He didn’t react, but looked around to see if anyone seemed to be expecting him to read it.  

There were visiting nobles, but other than the girl his mother clearly wanted him to speak to, he saw no one else that would pique his interest.  Pretending to be listening to his mother, he turned the little strip of paper over.

“West terrace, in grey.”

The handwriting was small and neat.  Feminine.  He crumpled the paper in his hand, felt for his dagger at his hip, and waited for a lull in the conversation to excuse himself.

“My prince?”

He turned to Ser Criston Cole, always alert for his family’s safety.  “Nothing to worry about, stay with the queen.”

He walked around the opposite side of the courtyard so he could survey the west terrace at his leisure and saw only one person sitting there.  She was writing something and not really paying attention but she was wearing a grey gown.  

* * * * * 

You saw the shadow falling over your notebook, then looked up into the face of prince Aemond Targaryen.  “Oh good, you made it.”

“Who are you and what do you want?”

You told him your name, ignoring the rudeness in his tone.  “I have an idea that may solve both our problems.”

His expression, a mixture of boredom and disdain, didn’t change, and he didn’t say anything in reply.

“I know the queen wishes for you to marry, yet you do not seem to be inclined to court anyone.  I want to be left in peace and quiet but after last month’s wedding, I am the last daughter left in my house, and soon they’ll trot me out like a prized mare at auction.”

When he still said nothing, you thought maybe this had been a bad idea.  But you’d started this conversation, and apparently you’d have to finish it.

“I suggest we form an attachment, only in pretense, of course.  Once it is known we are betrothed, the pressure will be off both our backs and we can continue our lives without the intrusion of others.”

He sat down facing you, looked from your face to the notebook where you’d been drawing.  “And why would I, a prince of the realm, in line to the throne, be betrothed to someone from a minor house, when we can gain much from a better alliance?”

You took a slow, deep breath, trying not to give into the urge to slap him.  “I am highly accomplished and learned, I excel at all the gentle arts - I embroider, weave, sing, dance, and play, I-”

“And draw,” he added, condescendingly.

You slammed your notebook shut.  “What I mean is, it is a perfect plan.  We live far apart, so it could be a long betrothal, and while I might be from a small house, we are an old lineage and have a very competent army..”

He leaned back, crossed his arms.  

Fine, if he didn’t want to go along, he didn’t have to.  “The prince wishes for his attentions to land on more exalted territory, I see.”

Aemond shrugged, not denying it.  “I am the son of the king.  Brother of the future king.”

You rolled your eyes.  “That is never going to protect you from being saddled with some obnoxious wife for the rest of your existence.”  There was nothing to it, then.  “But, I understand.  I only ask you keep this to yourself, as I have other names on my list and only two more days here to figure something out.”  You stood, gathering your pencils and eraser and took a step toward the staircase.

The prince’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

* * * * * 

He remembered her now.  He had met her before, the smallest of five children, one boy and four girls.  She was usually trying to catch up to her siblings and Aegon had pulled her hair once.  

Aemond knew well he was expected to marry, and to do so for the benefit of his house.  He would do his duty, of course, but none of the ladies at court, nor the visiting nobles, had made a good impression on him.  Not to mention half of them could barely manage to look at him and keep the fear and disgust from their expressions.

Her plan was a sound one, except for the part where sooner or later they would either have to marry, which would ruin the purpose of the whole thing, or end their betrothal, which would put them back at the beginning. 

But it would buy him time.  Time to maybe find a suitable wife.  Time for Aegon to find his way.  Not that he ever expected that to happen, but time might help.

He pictured her on his arm, standing next to him, underneath him in bed, and made an impulsive decision.

She looked down at the hand around her wrist and then back at him.  “Prince Aemond?”

“You will burn your list,” he said, the sudden thought of her on anyone else’s arm making his stomach twist.  “and I will make it known I am courting you.”

“How are you going to make it-”

He pulled her to him, grabbed the back of her head with his other hand and kissed her.  Her lips were soft and sweet, and she made a little sound of surprise that went straight to his cock.  He heard her book and other things falling to the floor, as well as the whispers of people witnessing the scene.  He was still holding on to her wrist but he felt her other hand touching his face, the side with the scar.  For a moment he panicked, wondering if this was where she’d realize her mistake and run away, and he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping in to taste her while he could.

Instead of running away she pressed herself against him, and Aemond realized he had to stop.  He grabbed her arms and ended the kiss and saw the confusion in her eyes when he pulled back.  “Take my arm and come with me.”

“My things,” she said absently.

“I’ll send a servant.”

* * * * * 

By the time you retired to your chambers, it was all over the keep.  People were looking at you, whispering, pretending to ignore you.  The queen kept giving you appraising looks while the princess Helaena waved at you and smiled.  

“My daughter, have you something to tell me?”

Your father’s voice startled you as you finished an earlier sketch.

“Father,” you said, “it appears I have caught the attention of Prince Aemond.”

“As long as that’s all you’ve caught.”

“What?”

“What?”

Your father shook his head.  “How long has this been going on?” he sat next to you, his expression kind as always.  “He should have spoken to me before he approached you.”

“I think rules are different for the Targaryens. father,” you hated lying to your father, but you weren’t going to be married off to some strange lord who might be an abuser or worse.  “I am sure he will speak to you soon.”

He kissed your forehead, then started heading out.  “But tell me this,” he said suddenly, turning around, “do you like him?”

Oh good gods.

“Father, I do not think one likes Aemond Targaryen.  One may respect and appreciate him, and you know me, I much admire learning.”  You smiled at him, hoping he was convinced.

“Uh-huh.”

“Good night, father.”

You waited until the door closed behind him to exhale.  Two days.  You just had to get through two days and then you would be back home.  You stared down at your notebook and scratched out the drawing you’d been working on.

* * * * * 

“The Queen wishes to see you.”

You knew this was coming but to be summoned to the queen’s presence was unnerving enough that you had to take a couple of deep breaths before walking in.

The queen sat behind a desk, her father standing to one side, Aemond to the other.  Your father stood across the desk, and he nodded at you as you came in.

You curtsied deeply to queen Alicent, then took the chair next to your father’s.  

“My son has shared with me the affection and admiration he has for you,” the queen began, “something he has, clearly, managed to keep completely secret.”

“Your father has agreed to the terms and the dowry he will provide on the day of the wedding, as well as the vow to provide military support if needed.”  Ser Otto Hightower looked at your father, and continued.  “Prince Aemond wanted to present you with a betrothal gift before you depart tomorrow, and you are expected to dine with us tonight.”

Oh.

Aemond walked up to you, opened a small box that revealed a pendant with a sapphire in the center.  “May I?”

You smiled up at him, “of course.  Thank you,” you turned, lifting your hair so he could place the delicate necklace on you.  You felt his fingertips brush against the back of your neck and barely managed to contain a shiver.  

“It is beautiful,” you added, looking down to admire the sparkling jewel.

Aemond took your hand and kissed it.  “It suits you.  Will you walk with me?”

You nodded, and left the room on his arm.

Once the door closed behind you you blew out a breath and let him lead you outside the main building. 

“Do you think they believed you?”

“I do not care,” he shrugged, “all that matters is that they accepted my request and made the necessary arrangements.  You are still leaving tomorrow?”

Did he want you gone already?

“Yes, of course.”

You noticed the looks from people you passed, deferential toward Aemond, and a mixture of pity and confusion toward you.  Frankly, you didn’t care.  Your plan had worked, you could enjoy a few months of freedom, and then you would figure out what to do.

Aemond guided you around a corner and past a series of statues.  “In a few weeks I will visit you.  It would be appropriate and we can talk more about how to proceed.”

“Dear brother.”

Aemond stopped and you turned at the sound of prince Aegon’s voice.  He was leaning against one of the parapets, half shielded by the side of the wall.

“You’ve been keeping this little morsel hidden.”  His eyes went from the top of your head to the bottom of your dress, lingering on your breasts.  “I can see why.”

“Your Highness,” you said politely, your fingers tightening on Aemond’s arm.  

“This is all very sudden, isn’t it?” Aegon added, then glanced at your belly.  “Do not tell me you are in a delicate state.”

Aemond stepped forward.  “Of course not.  If you will excuse us, brother.”

You could feel Aegon’s eyes on your ass as you walked past him, resisted the urge to turn around.  Aemond pulled you closer to him.  “Is that what people think?  That I am with child?” you asked as you turned a corner onto an empty hallway.

“Does it matter?”

You stopped, letting go of Aemond’s arm.  “Well, yes, but eventually people will know it is not true,” you mused, and caught him looking down at your stomach.  “What?”

“Nothing.”  He offered his arm again and you took it.  

“I will see you at dinner, then.”

Aemond looked down at you before stopping close to your chambers.  “Wear the pendant from now on.”

“I have some other jewelry that will be more suitable-”

He stopped and pulled sharply on your arm, making you turn around to face him.  “If I say wear the pendant, then you wear the pendant.  It is a gift from your betrothed and if we are to signify that you are mine then you must be mine in every way that can be perceived.  You will wear the pendant every day, back home and here, you will write to me every other day and you will speak of the love you have for me to every person you fucking meet.”

Your eyes widened as he pressed you against the stone wall.  “You wanted this and while I agreed, I will also make sure that you do things the way I want them done.  I have done my part to ensure the news was made public-”

“By kissing me,” you said curtly, and his eye went straight to your mouth.

“Yes,” he said, lowering his voice.  “It was quick and efficient, was it not?”  He leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing against your cheek.  “The work of but a few seconds and an hour later the whole keep knew.”

He was warm, impossibly warm, his body almost covering you completely, and he began nuzzling your neck.  “They will say they one-eyed prince has found happiness at last,” he murmured, and you closed your eyes.  “The prince without a dragon now has both the greatest dragon of all and a beautiful wife.”

When he raised his head, you looked up at him and it was the most natural thing in the world to let him kiss you.  

* * * * * 

He had to stop.  He kept telling himself just a few more seconds, but it kept getting more difficult to let go of her and in the end he had to shove away from her.  Her cheeks were pink and she was breathing hard and now that he knew how she tasted he wanted more.  

“Go change for dinner,” he said sharply, and turned to leave.

Aemond made his way to his chambers, throwing his weapons down with more force than necessary as he changed clothes.

She’d be gone tomorrow and he wouldn’t have to worry about her.

He sat by the hearth, realizing he didn’t want her to go.  He threw off his jacket, disgusted with himself.  He barely knew the girl, was this really going to be a problem?  She was the fourth daughter from a barely relevant house, she wasn’t particularly beautiful or tall or graceful or had any distinctive feature that put her above other ladies.  Once she was gone he wouldn’t think about her, wouldn’t recall the sweet taste of her lips or the scent of her skin.

He sat there for a few minutes before he realized he had been rubbing his fingertips over his lips for who knew how long, and wished it was already tomorrow.

* * * * * 

Dinner was eternal, you decided later as you let the maid help you with your dress.  Aemond had stared at you as you had walked in, and you had no idea if he was pleased with how you looked or thought you looked like a nightmare.  He didn’t say anything, either, which didn’t help.

Your father seemed to enjoy himself, which at least made the whole thing just slightly worth it.  

You’d go home tomorrow, which frankly, would be a respite from all the pretense and lies and all of it.  You’d write to Aemond as he’d requested, that would be easy enough, although what you were supposed to write you had no idea because you barely knew him but you would think of something.  He hadn’t said if he would write back, though.  

As you slipped under the covers, you thought back to the kiss he’d given you this afternoon and the harsh way he’d ended it.

* * * * * 

“We will be expecting you back for Aemond’s name day,” the queen said, “it will be good for you to become familiar with court life, being from such a faraway land as you are.”

She made it sound like you were from Essos, but you smiled and curtsied and then went up to Aemond, who was standing by the carriage with your father.

He extended his hand as your father walked into the carriage and you took it.  He kissed your cheek, a chaste kiss unlike the previous two you’d shared.  “When I get back to my mother’s side I want you to stop the carriage and run up to embrace me.”  He pulled back and helped you get inside next to your father, and then began walking back.

You waved at everyone and sat back, keeping an eye on Aemond.  The carriage started and once he was almost at his mother’s side, you hit the ceiling of the carriage.  “Stop!”

You race out of the carriage toward Aemond, who catches you as you throw yourself at him and wrap your arms around him.  You hear a sound of disapproval from the queen and ignore it completely, because Aemond’s mouth is on yours and he’s holding you tightly and now you really don’t want to leave.

But he pulls back and when he looks at you, he only nods, so you smile and turn around to get back in the carriage, and wonder if what you are feeling is going to get much worse.

* * * * * 

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[talesofesther]

serenity haze

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Summary: You notice the changes in Jenna in the lines that you draw; the sketches of her in your sketchbook have more lines to them, creases in her eyebrows, and shadows below her eyes. Your heart clenches painfully whenever you look at a finished piece you did of her.

Requested by anon

A/N: First time writing for her so don't crucify me pls. I still feel a tad bit weird writing about real people, but I see my Jenna as a character in a story, that's all. Hope you can enjoy this one, let me know your thoughts. Requests are always open, though be aware that I go where my inspiration takes me, and be mindful of my guidelines.

Masterlist

You were naturally observant, it was a habit that came with a hobby.

You liked to draw things, and to be able to draw them, you had to observe.

Because you're observant, you tend to notice patterns, details, and moments that might go unnoticed by most.

Lately, you found yourself drawing one thing in particular — or better, one person.

Jenna Ortega captivated you, anyone who met her would probably say the same. She is captivating after all. Yet you know your feelings are different, because you see a side of her that few people do.

You had been offered a role in the new Wednesday show, it was a smaller one, but a privilege nonetheless. And this role gave you the opportunity to meet Jenna.

After the first month of working together, it was already known on set that; where you went, Jenna wasn't too far behind.

You'd catch yourself searching for her in the crowds most days, her favorite coffee order in hand. She'd greet you with a warm smile that never failed and a hug that lasted a little too long. Jenna was sunshine if sunshine could be a person, she was the most genuine girl you knew; beautiful inside and out.

It was inevitable that she became your muse.

Unbeknownst to you — and maybe even to herself — Jenna felt drawn to you too. You were quietness, you were calmness, you were the steadiness she craved in her hectic life.

Jenna had no obligations with you, no expectations to meet; she could be herself, on good or bad days, and you'd still be there. She didn't know how much she needed something like that until she finally got it.

In some ways, it felt like you were her breath of fresh air whenever she needed one. Which seems to be happening quite often nowadays.

Whilst everyone was running around on set, cameras on every corner of the room, and people talking incessantly in their intercoms, Jenna was speaking with Tim about an upcoming scene in the show. She leaned back on what was one of the booths in the Weathervane cafe, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding along to his words.

He spoke about the dance, and Jenna confirmed she had almost all the choreography done already. Except she didn't.

What she had, were sleepless nights weighing down on her shoulders.

She tried to take a deep breath to calm her nerves, but it didn't do much. Her gaze skimmed over the room against her own volition, finding you sitting in a corner of the set — on the floor no less — sketchbook in hands.

Jenna felt the overwhelming urge to escape to your world.

Dark lines steadily appeared on the paper along with the drag of your pencil. You bit into your lower lip, a habit of concentration, and glanced up at Jenna; only to notice her eyes already on you.

The heat that came to your cheeks was instant and you gave her a sheepish smile. She caught you red-handed. Hopefully, she wouldn't bring it up.

Because, how could you resist? When Jenna is standing there against the sun, golden rays highlighting all her features for you; from the curve of her lips, to the tip of her nose, to the shape of her eyebrows. Flawless.

You couldn't resist taking out your book and drawing a quick sketch of her. Sometimes for you, watching people from afar was much better than seeing them up close, you could capture their essence fully, notice each little quirk or mannerism.

Take Jenna for example; her thumbs brush the fabric of her Nevermore uniform as she speaks with Tim, she's nodding eagerly to everything he says, not able to stay still on her feet. She's a little nervous, a little anxious. You could tell from the other side of the room.

It's no secret that filming this series is taking a toll on Jenna — your pencil traces the outline of her jaw on your sketchbook before you move to her eyes, and around them, you see yourself being forced to add just a tad more shadow; it's been happening for a while — you see her exhaustion in the lines that you draw.

The rough image of her stared back at you from your sketchbook, and part of you wanted to take her hand and go away for a day or two.

There's a sudden presence beside you that makes you flinch back to reality. Jenna sat down on the floor with you; she rests her head back against the wall, a lazy smile tugging at her lips.

She brought her knees closer to her chest, making herself look smaller than she already is. Turning to look at you, all she asked was; "what are you drawing?"

There's always a silent understanding between you both. You bumped her shoulder with yours, "that's confidential information."

And she actually pouts, lower lip jutted out and big doe eyes pleading at you; "even for me?"

"Especially for you," you mumbled, not sure if she heard or not.

Jenna doesn't inquire further, forever reciprocating the serenity you bring to her life. She slumped closer to you, allowing her head to fall on your shoulder, blindly trusting you to hold her weight if so needed.

You placed your sketchbook aside, focusing solemnly on her. Your cast and crew mates are still walking around, no one spares a glance at the two actresses who sit on the floor of Jericho's cafe; it feels like your own little bubble of peace for a precious minute.

"Were you and Tim discussing a new scene?" You asked eventually, gently leaning your head on top of hers.

Jenna hummed, "it's a dance that will happen at the school party, I'm creating Wednesday's choreography."

"That's exciting, do you have anything already?"

"Not really. I've got two weeks."

The turmoil of emotions was so evident in Jenna's tight voice that you almost pulled away so you could look her in the eyes and tell her… you're not sure what you'd say, but something to ease it.

Yet you held back, choosing instead to take her hand and whisper 'you got this' against her hair.

———

Things only got worse after your little moment.

Jenna has been on autopilot. You doubt she's sleeping, or resting at all. She's always the first one to arrive on set and the last one to leave.

The sketches of her in your sketchbook have more lines to them, creases in her eyebrows, and shadows below her eyes. Your heart clenches painfully whenever you look at a finished piece you did of her.

It was a Saturday night, you sat on the roof of your trailer, enjoying the starry sky above you, the cold breeze around you. With the flashlight of your cellphone on, you turned the pages of your sketchbook, reminiscing the drawings of last week; until a rather loud noise caught your attention.

You looked around you with a confused frown. The set's parking lot was empty, with only a few street lamps on, and no one in sight.

This could be a cliche horror movie scene. You could feel a chill running down your back; but then you caught sight of Jenna's trailer, the lights were on.

Checking your phone, you realized you had been sitting outside for longer than you thought. 1:37 AM.

Not giving yourself much room to chicken out, you hopped down from your trailer, stuffed your sketchbook in your pants pocket, and walked up to her door.

You hesitated, awkwardly hovering outside Jenna's trailer in the dead of night. Your stomach was twisting and turning unpleasantly. Coming from inside, you could hear the faint melody of 'Goo Goo Muck' playing.

Your worry got the best of you. Taking a deep breath, you raised your fist to the door, and knocked.

The music stopped abruptly, and you heard shuffling from inside her trailer. And then nothing, the silence stretched for a few good seconds, before her door finally swung open.

Jenna stood in front of you and got your heart shattering a little. She was a bit of a mess; hair up in a disheveled bun, only in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants yet you could see her forehead glistening with sweat, her lips quivered softly with each breath she took, and you could tell her eyes were red-rimmed if you looked closely.

"Hi Jenna," you started with a timid smile, "uh- I'm sorry to bother, it's just, I was out and I saw your lights on and just wanted to ask if everything's okay."

Jenna gulped down the lump in her throat, fidgeting with the sleeves of her hoodie; "yeah it's fine, I'm fine." She tried mimicking your smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Okay," you whispered sympathetically, seeing right through the lie.

"Um-" Jenna cleared her throat, but it sounded more like a soft sob. She avoided meeting your eyes then. "Would you- would you like to come in?"

It was a plea more than anything else. You didn't hesitate in saying yes.

You closed the door behind you and glanced around her trailer; she had her laptop on her bed, YouTube page opened to The Cramps' song; there was a stress ball rolling around on the floor, you figured that's where the loud noise from earlier came.

"I'm working on the dance," Jenna turned to you, threading her fingers through her fringe, restless.

"And how is it going?" You asked, though you had a feeling you knew the answer.

"I can't come up with anything," Jenna shrugged, chuckling humourlessly as her eyes welled up with tears.

Your heart was trying to escape your chest — Jenna's eyes were shining under the orange lights of the trailer, hands trembling as she tried to hold herself together — you took a step closer to her; "Jenna, I think you just need to let your mind rest for a while, have you-"

"I can't," she cut you off urgently, "the scene is one week away. One week. And I have nothing," tears started to roll down her cheeks, but you don't think she realized it.

Jenna started walking from one side to another of the small cramped space of her trailer, "I can't think of anything that would fit Wednesday, and we're shooting this scene next week. I told Tim I could handle it and yet I have nothing, what am I gonna tell him? That we're gonna have to postpone shooting because I can't come up with a fucking choreography?"

By the end of her rant, Jenna was panting heavily, borderline hyperventilating. Her tears came nonstop as sobs shook her body. She was hugging herself, chasing some type of comfort that wasn't there.

Your worry finally escaped you and you closed the distance between you both. You took her face in your hands, cupping her cheeks as your thumbs gingerly brushed away the wetness there; "Jen, look at me," you spoke softly, not missing the way her hands came to desperately grasp at your shirt, "breathe with me okay? Can you do that?"

A fresh batch of tears hit your thumbs and you felt your chest crack open; yet Jenna nodded, all reddish nose and glistening eyes.

You took a deep breath in, held it for a second, and then exhaled, watching closely for the way that she'd copy the motion. You did it a couple of times until her breathing was finally somewhat even.

"There you are," you mumbled, regarding her with a bittersweet smile when her eyes found yours, "you're okay," you promised, brushing away a few wisps of hair that clung to her skin.

A sob escaped Jenna's lips as soon as she heard the words, letting her forehead lean into yours in a silent request.

You gladly complied, raising your lips to place a kiss between her brows before guiding her head to rest on your shoulder. You embraced her body flush with yours, arms sliding around her back until you felt the curve of her spine. The thudding of her heart mingling with yours.

You could feel the gentle trembling of her body from time to time. It only made you hold her tighter.

Jenna had a death grip on you, your shirt bunched up on her fists as if you'd disappear if she let go. She buried her head on your shoulder, seeking a safe place, "I'm so tired," she spoke against you, words muffled.

"I know," you kissed her temple, "I know."

You're not sure if you held Jenna for five minutes or one hour, but you stood there for as long as she needed. And when she was ready to pull away, bright and puffy eyes timidly looking at you with nothing but gratitude, you didn't say anything; all you did was turn off her laptop and put it away for the night, dimming the lights on her trailer to give her body a much-needed break.

Then, you sat down beside her on her bed. There was a reasonable distance between you that she was quick to close, sitting shoulder to shoulder with you.

"Be honest with me now, have you been sleeping this past week, at all?" You raised a brow at her.

Jenna pursed her lips, in some ways resembling a child who'd been caught stealing from the cookie jar, "that obvious?" She asked, ducking her head to hide behind her fringe.

"Very," you smirked, "for me at least."

That got her looking up at you with tender curiosity, she was looking more like herself already.

With your heart in your mouth, you fished for your sketchbook in your pocket. You handed it to her without daring to breathe.

Jenna flipped through the pages as if they'd crumble between her fingers; carefully, reverently. You could hear the way her breath caught when she found herself between the sketches, once, twice, and then again and again. Different versions of her by your eyes; talking, thinking, walking, smiling, laughing, sometimes even scowling.

And Jenna has never seen herself look so beautiful, so enchanting. Is this how you see her?

Her vision got blurred again but she gulped it back this time, "it's so beautiful," was all she could whisper, smile tugging at her lips as her fingers traced one of the lines that formed her.

"You are," was your answer, in the same quiet tone, afraid to break the spell holding this moment.

Jenna's eyes turned up to you at last, big and vulnerable, almost completely black because of her pupils. She leaned in just a tad, your noses shy of brushing each other — gravity, magnetism, fate; whatever it might be, trying to push you together.

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip in a motion that she followed, "tomorrow, I'll help you with your dance," you took hold of her free hand, intertwining your fingers, "and it's gonna turn out amazing."

Jenna giggled, and you wanted to bottle up the sound and keep it forever.

"Tonight," you copied her smile, "we'll rest, okay?"

Bringing your hand up to her lips, Jenna planted a kiss on your knuckles, "okay."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keep me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Jenna’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @thenextdawn @alexkolax @aahdiieb @mindingmybidness12 @melthedwarf

[scribbling-dragon]

the very lonely giraffe

summary:

It’s stupid to begin to feel this kind of reluctance now. Stupid to feel the shaking of his hands, the trembling of his fingers as they line up along the string of his bow. Stupid, to begin to feel a swirl of regret deep in his gut, despite the layers of blood already lathering his hands – blood that he put on his own hands as he seized the lives of his friends in those very same hands. So maybe – maybe maybe maybe –that’s why he can’t resist the pull forwards. The urge to follow the bloody trail of who he and Pearl hunt over the grassy plains.

(ao3 link)

(3,750 words)

uh! yeah! that finale sure was something, and here's something that i decided to write after seeing this post by @stiffyck (hope you like it hdjsshjk <3)

(also hint hint nudge nudge reblogs are pretty funky <;3)

The grass swishes beneath his feet, the susurrus of his legs against the grass as he moves through it becoming familiar to his ears. He cuts through the tall grass easily, long legs eating up ground with each stride he makes. Legs that feel oddly shaky right now, trembling with each pulsing beat of his heart.

He can’t tell if it’s reluctance – some kind of fear that’s only just beginning to rear its head as his heart continues to thump louder and louder, beating in his ears as a mockery of war drums; something warning that every step brings him closer to the inevitability of winning, or dying trying.

It’s stupid to begin to feel this kind of reluctance now. Stupid to feel the shaking of his hands, the trembling of his fingers as they line up along the string of his bow. Stupid, to begin to feel a swirl of regret deep in his gut, despite the layers of blood already lathering his hands – blood that he put on his own hands as he seized the lives of his friends in those very same hands.

So maybe – maybe maybe maybe –that’s why he can’t resist the pull forwards. The urge to follow the bloody trail of who he and Pearl hunt over the grassy plains. He’s drawn forwards, pulled into the orbit of this roaring flame, like a moth that can’t quite resist the alluring light promising warmth and safety. But in this case, he is the moth and the flame is an assurance of violence.

He stumbles, drawing to an unsteady halt; slowing from a gallop to a gentle jog as Pearl pulls up beside him.

“Scar,” she huffs out, sounding far more strained than he expected her too. He looks over as she groans, doubling over and leaning against her knees. He’s worried, for a moment, that she’s been mortally wounded, somehow and he’s about to lose her to bleeding out, of all things. “Just- remember that your legs are longer than mine. Please.”

And oh. That makes so much more sense. He lets out a relieved breath that almost turns into a laugh, but he manages to staunch it at just a giggle. Of course she was struggling to keep up with him, he’s so much faster than her!

“I also have double the number of legs that you do,” he adds. He’s forced to lean over to the side, a little awkwardly, in order to close the distance between them. Being forced to shout up at him is probably not helping Pearl’s efforts to catch her breath. He still feels awkward, despite being forced to lean over like this the whole time in order to put himself a little more on their level – an awkwardness that he’s managed, so far, to blame most of his allyship (or lack of) issues on.

He still feels awkwardly far away from his friend – is friend even the right word for someone that could end up dying at his hands later? Is it the right word for someone that is his friend, but only outside of this game? Is it the right word for someone that is only friends with him right now because they are all the other has left? – widening the space between his legs in order to lower himself that tiny bit more.

He would consider sitting down at any other time, folding the four gangly legs beneath himself in order to better speak with Pearl. But that is not a weakness he’s looking to invite; standing up again would take far too long, leaving him vulnerable to a surprise attack before he manages to regain both his feet and his balance.

Gem and Scott are long gone by now, escaping like the slippery snakes that they are. Slithering away into the tall grass to lick their wounds and prepare their next attack.

“They're long gone,” he echoes his thoughts aloud, watching as Pearl straightens back up, apparently having managed to regain her breath. Or at least enough of it that she no longer feels the need to hunch over and just breathe. “We should regather ourselves, get whatever else we need.”

He turns around, hooves clopping against the baked earth, ready to do just that. Maybe slightly anxious to get moving, to do something. He only has a few supplies, but he’s sure that they can be spread between the two of them, albeit a little thinly…

“Scar,” he feels Pearl’s hand on his flank, the sensation almost making him jolt at its unfamiliarity. He manages to reign the reaction in and pauses his steps instead, thoughts halting too as he looks back down at her. Pearl’s hand rests lightly over one of the larger blotches on his side. The brown of the fur is too dark to actually be brown, closer to black than the typical markings you would find on a giraffe.

He makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat when she doesn’t continue, but doesn’t pull her hand away either. She seems lost in thought, eyes searching his face, as though in consideration. Then, as though she’s been shocked, her eyes dart away, fastening onto a patch of bare ground just in front of her feet. “Look,” she breathes out slowly, raising her head to meet his eyes as he hunches down again, worried at her uncharacteristic solemnity, “Scar. At the end of the day, when we’ve finished off Scott, when all is said and done, I want you to kill me.”

He rears back, mouth moving before his brain can catch up- can even begin to comprehend what it is that Pearl is suggesting to him. For him to do. Her hand, a warm presence on his side, falls away as he backs up, leaving him feeling cold all over. Like someone’s just dumped a bucket of ice over his head.

“I'm not gonna kill you Pearl!” His voice may come out a bit more panicky than he intended, but he doesn’t care much – can’t find it in himself to care when his brain is struggling to process what it is that Pearl is wanting him to do – the decision she’s making on his behalf. His legs feel shakier than before, and he’s momentarily worried they won’t support him at all. “I’ve wronged you too many times recently,” he follows up with, a little quieter than before. A little sadder.

“I- Scar,” Pearl emphasises his name, as though that’s meant to mean something to him. Like it’s going to sway him to agree with her. He shakes his head stubbornly, gritting his jaw and preparing himself to argue further. She must realise this, as she stares up at him a moment longer before sighing, shoulders drooping. “Whatever you say.”

“You can’t just say something like that to me,” he laughs, even though it feels strained, as though it might crack his chest apart from the sorrow behind it, barely contained within his ribcage. “My poor heart just can’t cope!” he sings, aware that he’s being over the top, that he’s overdoing it all. Pearl still cracks a grin, though.

Maybe she can sense what he’s doing with his words, with the way he gestures too widely and smiles even wider, steering her back towards the remnants of his base, to root through the half-exploded chests and hope that the items inside aren’t burnt to a crisp.

They don’t even make it past the Secret Keeper.

Pearl’s the one that stops him, throwing an arm out in front of him. He doesn’t notice it, only registering the blockade when his front legs bump up against her arm, halting and looking down at her. Maybe he should work on being more aware of his surroundings, maybe he should have been paying a little more attention in order to keep an eye out for the people actively hunting them down.

Gem’s eyes gleam as she stares over at them, stood on higher ground than Scott. His head is bowed before her. Gem’s lips move quickly, but they're too far away to hear what they're talking about. Gem doesn’t look at them for longer than a few seconds, but it’s enough to pin him in place, keep him rooted to the spot despite how easy it would be line up a shot and take Scott’s life right that moment.

There’s a flash of blue – a sword drawn, are they turning on each other? – and then the unmistakable sound of flesh being parted forcefully. He feels a little sick as he watches the sword poke out Scott’s back, a little to the left of his spine.

His jacket quickly soaks through with blood, darkening as it continues to pour. Scott, brave man, doesn’t make a single sound, simple collapses where he stands. It leaves Gem scrambling to pull him into her arms, dragging the sword back out of his chest.

He feels like he’s intruding on a quiet, private moment – both of them are, really.

Gem doesn’t look at them once. He feels his fingers twitch over the string of his both, an arrow balanced loosely against it. He could line it up, take Gem out while she grieves over her friend, her ally, the one she’s put to death herself.

He doesn’t, finger continuing to twitch as he goes back and forth between drawing his bow at all.

An explosion echoes overhead, reaching every corner of the server. As though there is anyone left beside the three of them, gathered in this small corner of the world. The explosion echoes far and wide, as though there are more people to hear it than just them.

“Oh,” Pearl says beside him, the sound of the explosion still ringing in his ears, the blood on Gem’s front not fading. “He…gave her the kill. Gave her that small reprieve.”

He feels his mouth go dry at the discovery, watching as Gem looks up at them, away from where Scott had lain previously, face splattered with gore that might belong to her enemies, but could also belong to her allies – to Scott. He can’t see her expression properly from this distance, as she disappears too quickly for him to try and see it any better.

He doesn’t look at Pearl, ignores the way he can feel her looking up at him, imploring him to take that kill too. To go into that final fight with his wounds stinging a little less, his energy slightly replenished.

His legs continue to shake, and he can’t lie to himself – he’s long past lying to himself, except about the little things, not big things like this – and say that the idea isn’t tempting. Cannot say the thought wouldn’t sway him slightly if he were anywhere else. If it were anyone other than a friend beside him; if it were an ally of convenience rather than someone he cares for.

Call him selfish, maybe, but he wants someone beside him in these last moments. Doesn’t want to be the one to cut down his one friend – one remaining friend, he had a few in the hours before this, only had friends as everything went to hell around them – when they could charge against Gem together. She’s scraped and beaten, the same as both of them despite the small boon Scott granted her. But there is two of them and only one of them. Two of them, when she is used to having two others at her back, ready to support her when she needs to fall back.

He steps forward, attempting to appear confident. He can only hope Pearl doesn’t notice his shaking, the way his legs tremble like leaves in a breeze and the discomforted swish of his tail.

He gives a small laugh, hoping that it might bolster his confidence. Make him feel a little less sick to his stomach. The feeling only worsens, bile rising in the back of his throat as he speaks, “Let’s go put her out of her misery, yeah? Maybe she wants to join her friends!”

Pearl makes a small noise, one that could either be an agreement or a hesitance. Scar ignores it, continuing to step forward, before he's lightly jogging, covering the distance quickly. He’s worried his legs will get tangled up amongst themselves, feeling as shaky and ungainly as a newborn calf.

He barely notices Pearl beside him, feeling so tall, so far away from the ground and the rest of the world that goes on around him. Oddly separate, even as Gem perks up, readying herself and her sword when they approach, when they corner her beside the Secret Keeper.

He draws his bow first, dancing out the way carefully as Gem goes for the legs first. Smart move, one he’d probably use in her place – take out his legs and he won’t be able to run anymore, won’t be able to go anywhere.

Pearl crashes against her with a scraping of steel and apologies, the two of them apologising for each clash of blades they have with each other. Apologising for every scrape of steel and every nick of skin. Pearl shoves Gem back, away from the tangling twist of limbs and swords, enough for Scar to line up his shot and take it.

Gem hisses, staggering back as the arrow pierces her shoulder, going straight to the bone.

She turns her eyes back to him, something furious flashing in the depths of her red eyes. Something born of desperation and fear, something that only rolls about once someone believes they are cornered. A frightened animal lashing out despite being on its last legs.

She may be going down, her eyes seem to promise, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t take at least one of them with her.

He has to properly leap back when Gem lunges at him, batting Pearl aside easily as she chases him. His hooves make deep grooves in the dirt as he attempts to escape the blow, taking it on his side rather than straight through him.

He still winces at the sting, kicking at her and shoving her further backwards. He can’t draw his sword – there’s no point in drawing that weapon when he won’t even be able to reach her. He shoots off another arrow, one easily dodged at such close range.

He startles as Pearl barrels into Gem with a shout, the two tumbling over the ground, more like a pair of wildcats fighting as they claw at each other. He watches Pearl rip through half of Gem’s face, fingers curled into claws.

It makes Gem cry out furiously, throwing her head upwards and goring Pearl across the face with her antlers. Pearl falls back, grasping at her face as something – Scar doesn’t even know what, stood on the sidelines like a fool – begins to bleed profusely.

Gem spins on him, and charges with a cry.

He doesn’t expect the arrow to be what does her in. Doesn’t expect her to die to his hands at all. He’d been stood there, aware that he was probably about to watch two of his friends rip each other apart in the name of a game.

He shoots it with shaking hands, a last-ditch effort to not die at this moment, at this crucial point in time. Still grasping for that final win, despite how firmly out of reach it really is.

It sinks into Gem’s chest with an awful, solid sounding thunk.

The sound alone makes him sick, tears already beginning to bead in his eyes, shaking his head as he backs up, raising his hands in defence. He doesn’t even notice the bow slipping from his fingers, doesn’t notice the way his hoof crushes it beneath him, grinds it into the ground.

Gem glances down, as though surprised at the arrow sticking out of her chest too, looking back up as the explosion sounds and she’s struck down. The lightning wipes her away, as though she was never there in the first place.

“Pearl!” he calls, turning in a circle as he looks for her. She’s nowhere nearby, explosion continuing to ring longer in his ears than it probably should – still echoing through the air around him, crackling with electricity.

Maybe she’s down in the ravine nearby, he tells himself. He leans over the edge exaggeratedly, looking for her. She’s not there, he knows that. She’s probably somewhere behind him, lining up a shot at the back of his head.

He’ll let her take it – she deserves it far more than he does. She’s done far more in this than he has, been far nicer to him than he really deserves.

He lowers himself to the ground properly when the shot fails to come, settling himself at the edge. He won’t be moving anywhere quickly now, and Pearl will know that. Will shoot him now, now that her arrows will find their target; there’s no risk of her missing and startling him anymore.

And yet, the arrow fails to come, still.

The air seems to sigh around him, breeze stirring the grass he sits in. It brushes over his face gently, like the cradling, careful touch of a loved one.

“Pearl, I'm coming for you!” He heaves himself to his feet, wobbling precariously on the edge of that ravine. And, oh, Gem cut him a little deeper than he realised, blood sluicing off his fur and down to the ground. It patters like a morbid rainfall over the grass there. He turns, a little unsteadily, and prays he doesn’t topple into the ravine like a fool. “Where’d you go?” he calls out again, “I'm gonna getcha!”

She’s dead, Scar, the heavens sigh. You’ve won.

The heavens seem to have a suspiciously Grian-like voice, echoing down at him as though the man is speaking a thousand times over, each repetition layering itself over the previous until it reaches the echoing crescendo that has him cringing slightly.

“What?” he laughs. “C’mon, don't mess with me like that!” No response comes, even when he looks around, waiting for Pearl to emerge from whatever hiding spot she’s found herself and to declare the final showdown between the two of them.

“Oh, c’mon,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else. Maybe it’s a last, desperate plea for Pearl to jump out at him. Maybe it’s a struggle to accept what’s being shoved in his face. Pearl doesn’t hesitate, not even over hard decisions. “How’d that happen, huh? How’d the guy with no friends win?”

The air kicks up around him a little, pushing him in the direction of the Secret Keeper.

“I don't even have my book anymore,” he calls out to no-one. The silence responds as silence often does: not at all. He sighs, and begins the short yet long trek towards the Secret Keeper. “How am I even meant to hand in a task without a book,” he grumbles.

He can feel the tears in the corners of his eyes, can feel the way they threaten to spill over as the silence presses in around him.

His hooves echo awkwardly against the stone as he walks up to the Secret Keeper, looming over him ominously. “Uh, hey there,” he greets, as though the stone might respond if he tries hard enough. “I don't actually have my book!” He laughs again, shaking with both residual adrenaline and the knowledge of what’s to come. He’s watched all the previous winners, bar one, be struck down by the powers that be. He’s sure his own death will be no different. “Never really thought I’d get this far,” he adds, a small, quiet afterthought.

He leans down, the distance between him and the button nigh insurmountable. It clicks beneath his fingers gently, bouncing back up as he pulls his hand away.

He takes a step back, watching as the Secret Keeper draws power towards itself, coalescing into a bright white symbol over the hooded face. He glances back as the tension builds, half expecting to see all his friends gathered there, watching with anticipation to see what rewards he’ll gain.

There’s nothing there.

Empty space where someone once stood. Empty air where laughter once echoed. He’d even rather a chant of fail fail fail to the silence, pressing in around him.

There’s a small thump, and he turns back around. A book lies at his feet, even further from him than the button. It looks tiny, that far below him. The leather-bound book stares up at him, insignificant in the face of the last few hours.

He picks it up anyway, blood smearing over its front cover.

Curiosity drives him to flick it open, blood staining the white paper a deep crimson, blooming across the pages. Like he’s pressed for too long with a quill and the ink has begun to bleed.

Win Secret Life

It stares back at him. Mocking in its simplicity.

“Thank you!” He responds, “I didn’t have a book to complete it with, did I? Well, I have one now!”

He presses the button, book in hand, feeling the weight evaporate alongside it. He turns his face upwards, ready and waiting for the lightning to strike him down too, to claim its last victim. He closes his eyes, not exactly willing to see his death plummeting towards him.

There’s a small thump as something small lands on the ground, just in front of his hooves.

No, he thinks, and looks back down anyway.

This, it seems, is what does his shaking legs in. they give beneath him, folding as he crumples like wet paper. The book continues to sit there, taunting in its smugness. It has no face to grin with, but Scar can feel the disgustingly pleased aura radiating off of it anyway.

“So this is my reward,” he tells the book. “Thanks, I guess.”

His words are empty, devoid of any humour of actual thankfulness. As dead as the server around him.

Only bloodstained grass and the dried blood clumping beneath his nails remains of his friends. And yet he stays, he remains.

The air remains still, not even that gentle touch returning to promise him everything will be alright. They would be empty words, empty promises, but he’d prefer them to this.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” he asks.

The Secret Keeper stares down at him, silent.

He’s not sure why he expected a response from it, really. It’s lifeless stone, as dead as the server around him.

[magicxc]

Stay With You

Pairings: Trevante Rhodes x Black Reader x Aldis Hodge

Word Count: 1652

Warnings: double penetration, hand job, cream pies

BBJ Masterlist

“Y’all when I said let's go camping, I was thinking something along the lines of smores, maybe even a cute lil bonfire,” I ranted. “But to be out here in natures ass crack, the possible meal of a grizzly bear is where I draw the line. 

“Y/N, we’re in a makeshift tent in the backyard, I doubt a grizzly is making it this far into the city,” Aldis sighed. 

“And if he does, we’ll hear him,” Trevante added. 

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

“This is practice Y/N, you stay complaining like this on the real campsite and a grizzly will be the least of your worries.”

“Aldi, is that a threat?” I gasped. 

“No, it’s a warning, so take heed.” 

“Ohhh Aldiii, you giving out warnings now?” Trevante mocked. 

Deadpanning Tre, I look over to Aldis to assess what the problem really is. 

“Aldi, you know I don’t do the whole nature thing, but I’m legitimately trying FOR YOU." 

“You ain’t gotta try if all you gone do is keep complaining,” he protested. 

“I AM -“

“Hey hey hey y’all enough,” Tre interrupted. “Let's put a pin in it before one of us says something we can’t take back. 

Always the peacemaker that one. Trevante is quite literally the definition of lover not a fighter, whereas Aldis on the other hand is my little hot head. We tend to clash from time to time, but we’re learning which buttons not to push. 

He’s been begging us to go camping for a minute now and I finally gave in last weekend, opting to do this only if I could work my way up there. Tre is no more keen to do it than I am, but pushed those feelings to the side for all the times Aldis has been so willing to try something for us. I guess it didn’t help that I’ve been bitching since we crawled inside here. 

Sighing, I apologized for my earlier whining and creeped over to his side of the tent to seal it with a kiss. He accepts it with a grumble, but the scowl on his face tells a different story. 

“Baby, I am so sorry for not coming in here with an open mind and if you let me, I’ll have us all making noises a grizzly wouldn’t dare interrupt.”

I get a small smile in return, but it’s not the heart melting one I’m used to seeing. 

“Please, forgive me and come morning I’ll fix your favorite breakfast.”

“There are no stoves in the woods,” Tre reminded. 

“Right, well I’ll do whatever it takes to survive in nature,” I promised. “No soap, no toothpaste, just a knife and my killer instincts.”

A chorus of woahs follows from both men, Aldis urging me to relax, emphasizing the idea that living in nature surrenders the use of modern technology not hygiene. 

“Yeah well I’ll stay clean ONLY if you forgive me,” I bargained. 

Chuckling, he leans in and pecks me on the lips, formally forgiving my prior tantrum. 

“Moving forward, I don’t wanna hear no lip and you’ll do exactly as I say,” he demanded.  

Wrapping my arms around his neck I lean in for another kiss, mumbling a yes sir. Deepening it, I feel Tre’s palm run across my ass, caressing its curves in the softest way. 

Aldis’ arms wrap around my waist, pulling me in closer as his lips run over mine, trailing down to my chin, my neck, and stopping just shy of my breast. 

“Now, tell me more about those non interrupting grizzly noises,” he says through light pecks. 

Shuffling off the floor Tre gets behind me, locking me in between them, sprinkling his fair share of kisses along my back in agreement with Aldis. 

Turning so that my body faces forward, I rest my arms on the shoulder of each man; leaning firstly into Tre and then into Aldi to swap a little bit of spit. 

“Well, for starters we’d need less clothes.“

“Like this shirt for instance,” Tre proposed as he tugged it off me. 

“And these pants,” Aldis added, unbuckling them. “They don’t really serve much purpose do they?”

Shaking my head no, I help them shed the rest of the clothes by ridding myself of the remaining undergarments. Now in my birthday suit, I watch as each man's clothing finds itself in a pile next to mine. 

Tongue slipping between teeth and over my lips, I can’t help the jolt of excitement that washes over me as I ready myself for both my men. Leaning over to Tre, I sink my teeth into his skin as I suck on his sweet spot, no doubt leaving a hickey - eager to mark him in the sexiest way. 

He breathes out soft, shy pants and I reach down to grab his semi hard dick as I stroke it back and forth. Dribbles of precum ooze from the tip and I drag my thumb forward to smear it against his length, allowing me to jerk him off a little more smoothly. 

Tilting over to my left, I lean into Aldis and dip my head into the firm arch of his shoulder blade, peppering his jaw in open mouth kisses; spots of saliva left behind after each one. 

He then grabs my left breast, his mouth swirling around the hardened nipple as my head tips back at the delicious sensation, quiet mewling tumbling past my lips. Tre follows suit with my other breast, tweaking and kneading before taking the nipple into his warm mouth. 

Hand gliding down Aldis’ lap, I stop at his girthy member, tracing over each thick vein while I softly run my hand over his nuts. Bringing my hand to my face, I spit in the palm and return it back to his length, this time stroking him with ease. 

Breathy moans follow, but it comes out muffled around my nipple and I take this chance to speed up in pace on both men, hoping to see their creamy finish. 

“Tell me how good this feels,” I whimpered. “Matter of fact, cum for me so I know it’s real.” 

Heated lips run along my skin, tongues leaving wet trails in their paths while hands get entangled with limbs and moans get engulfed into the noiseless night. My body feels hot with desire, eyelids fluttering closed, and mouth ajar, I couldn’t tell who was doing what but my movements never ceased; eager to bring my men over the edge. 

Their heavy breathing becomes more erratic, my cooing and encouragement having them spill onto me as my hands come to a slow stop and I lick each fist clean. 

Grabbing the back of my neck, Aldis pulls me in for a kiss, thumbs spreading my lips open to taste himself. Pulling away, I turn over to Tre and dive in for another round of tongue twisting, saliva trailing down our chins as we pull apart. 

“On all fours Y/N, you know wassup,” Aldi directed. 

“Yes sirrrr, Tre you on the bottom baby?” 

“I’m wherever you want me,” he winked. 

Lying down on his back, he helps position me on top of him, dick in hand as he watches me slowly slide down his length. A heavy gasp leaves us both at the heated feeling of being connected. After we adjust, he gives me a lazy smile, mouthing a quick I love you to which I eagerly return it.

“Ready for me angel?”

“Go for it Aldi.” 

“I’ll be your genie, Y/N, every fucking day if you let me,” he confides, smearing his cum between my ass. 

“Your every wish would be my command,” he continued, entering first with his finger. 

“You’re my beacon of light honey,” he insisted, adding in another digit. “In an otherwise bleak and cruel world.” 

“You both reassure me that all is not lost,” he chanted, driving his fingers into me, the pace deliciously unwavering. 

“Y’all have given me the joy to call you guys family,” he admitted, removing his fingers entirely. 

“But this ass? Oh this ass Y/N is what I can call home,” Aldis ended as he thrusted to the hilt. 

No matter how many times he’s entered my backdoor, I can never get used to his sheer size. He always knocks the wind out of me and I find myself planted face first into Tre’s chest, his hands cradling my jaws as I seep back into reality. Sweet nothings are whispered into my ear but it’s the driving force of their dicks that fully reels me into the present. 

“There she is,” Tre snickered. “I got you baby girl, don’t you worry.” 

I barely recognize the sounds coming from me, my words now indecipherable, cockdrunk and drooling as they tear me apart. Aldis wraps his hand around my throat, drawing me in to plaster my lips with sloppy kisses while Tre takes a hold of my waist to drive his dick further into me, my pussy stretched around his dick as his tongue explores the shape of my neck. 

My fingers are embedded into skin, whose I don’t know, but the crescent shaped marks will reveal it sooner or later. Tongue sliding against Aldis’ while Tre’s fingers dance every which way across my waist and thighs, I can’t help the howl that escapes me; grizzly bear be damned, my body feels worked over past its limits. 

The peak that I hit seems never ending, my soul paralyzed and heartbeat accelerating, while everything around me ceases to exist. I come down just in time enough to feel them splatter my walls simultaneously which elicits a minigasm of my own. 

Loud, labored panting is all that I hear. Rough, calloused hands is all that I feel. Navy blue sky littered with twinkling stars is the view that meets me and I must admit that camping isn’t so bad after all. 

[feyd-meowtha]

A wee snippet from the upcoming MOTA 90s House AU...

“So you’ll try to talk your way into a nightclub underage but you draw the line at drinking? Weirdest jailbait I ever met.” Bucky said, shaking his head in a way that was equally condescending and unbearably attractive.

Cool, experienced, old enough to be here - Bucky was everything that Gale was not and it made him so mad that he wanted to kiss him and never stop. He appreciated that this was not the normal reaction to someone pissing you off but he also understood that this was anything but a normal day and allowed the thought to stand.

“Stop calling me that,” Gale huffed, deciding that bratty was the way to go with this guy. That worked for him. The whole coquettish looking up through your lashes always sounded like bullshit anyway.

“I told you I'm eighteen and you can’t even be that much older. You’re what, like, 25 tops?”

Bucky just laughed and tapped his nose, which could have one of two meanings but Gale was pretty sure which one it was this time.

“A lady never tells,” said Bucky before turning his attention to the shot of tequila sitting untouched on the counter, a slice of lime balanced across the top and a packet of salt sticking to the bar mat next to it.

“Hand.” Bucky said. It wasn’t an instruction and it also wasn’t quite a request but Gale did as he was told, dropping his hand into Bucky’s broad palm. What happened next was something that Gale would be replaying in his head for the rest of his life.

Quick as a flash, Bucky’s tongue darted out of his mouth and he licked a long stripe along the back of Gale’s hand. Gale watched bug-eyed as he ripped the salt open with his teeth, pouring it onto Gale’s wet skin before chasing it with another lap of his tongue. After that he downed the shot and presumably sucked on the slice of lime. Gale honestly couldn’t be sure because his brain had left his head and was currently oozing out of his ears onto the sticky linoleum floor.

“Fuck, I love tequila,” Bucky said, shaking his head as he savoured the burn and relinquished control of Gale’s still wet and now salty hand. Gale resisted the urge to lick the remains of the salt off himself, taste the saliva that shone purple and blue under the disco lights. He fought the temptation, allowing his hand to fall onto the bar where it tingled hot and cold.

There was a loud snort from the other side of the bar as the blonde bartender ducked down behind the glass wash in an attempt to hide his giggles. Bucky spun to face him, looking pissed as Gale’s faculties finally returned to him.

“It ain’t the first time you’ve done that is it?” Gale said, eliciting another snort from the bartender.

“Fuck’s sake, Hambone,” Bucky said, gesturing with his hands, “just because you got no game don’t mean you gotta go and ruin it for the rest of us.”

Then he turned back to Gale.

“Would you believe me if I said it was?”

“No.” Gale said flatly, mind still on the drying spit on the back of his hand. He sipped at his coke. It was fizzy and sweet and it gave him something do do with his hands and his mouth, other than all the things that his overstimulated brain was suggesting.

“You caught me, nothin’ gets past you does it?” Bucky said with a grin, “None of em were as pretty as you though.”

______________________________________________

Coming soon to feyd_meowtha on ao3!

[starrysamu]

✦ you and nanami have been working side by side for three years now. when nanami brings his son to work with him one day, it changes the entire trajectory of your relationship in only 24 hours.

✦ nanami kento x f!reader

✦ word count: 1.9k

✦ warnings: none.

contents. | 3. | 4. | 5.

previously.

“he really likes exercise equipment, but he’s too small to use them, especially the elliptical that we have at home. i’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself. instead, we go to the park when we can so he can play. he likes spending time with his friends there. he likes it when i cook dinners for him, which is most nights. he hates vegetables, and i’ve heard it’s common for kids his age but it’s been really tough to get them in him. sometimes - ”

he stops abruptly and blinks at you. you blink back. 

“sometimes?” you urge quietly. your hands are folded on your lap and your chest is pressed against the edge of the table. 

he clears his throat. “ah, i lost my train of thought.” 

you smile, knowing full well there’s no way a man like him just “lost his train of thought.” 

you’ll give it time, though, because this time it’s different. this time, you’re willing to wait.

chapter 4

“another friday, another yuto, hm?” 

“another?” yuto yells disbelievingly. “there’s another yuto?” 

nanami shushes him. truly, it was just another day of figuring out how to phrase things to a small child.

“no, no, that’s not what i meant - i’d like to call a lifeline to help explain to yuto that he’s the only yuto for me, and i simply meant that - ”

“another friday, another nanny not available,” nanami mumbles monotonously. his voice - low and deep and rich like velvet - incites a completely inappropriate response from you. 

you frown, masking the tugging in your stomach with unamusement. “you’re the worst lifeline.” 

nanami turns to look at you point-blank, hands folding over his abdomen. 

your frown deepens when he doesn’t say anything. 

“what?” 

he draws in a deep sigh before turning back to yuto. “you know the drill. i’ll get you that mango custard today.” 

nanami probably broke his back trying to find someone to look after yuto. the sharpness of his eyes have softened, already weathered down from the morning. 

“mango custard?” you wiggle your eyebrows, leaning back to get a good look at yuto. “the dessert game keeps getting upped.” 

“i lo-ove mango,” yuto declares with his entire chest. “but i think dad likes it more. we also like strawberry. we like cake. cake is so good, like especially the cake with the little strawberry pieces in the middle of the slice -” 

“yuto, i think she knows what cake is.” 

nanami grunts as he leans over to pull yuto’s jacket around him, zipping it up to the very top. you grin at the sight: a sky blue marshmallow. 

“very flattering,” you gush. you feel like one of those aunties that’ll come up to him in 10 years and ask, ‘do you remember me?’ when there’s no way in hell he would remember you from such a young age. 

“look at all that extra padding. i think you’re ready for your first sports game.” this time, you wiggle your brows at nanami. 

yuto is not paying attention to you. yuto is actually quite upset that he’s got this suffocating jacket on him. he hangs his head back exasperatedly, letting out a long groan. 

“don’t make that face,” nanami murmurs. “it’s cold in the office today.” 

yuto starts to flop his arms and legs around like a fish. the chair wobbles, swiveling to the side pitifully. nanami reaches for the armrest to stop it from spinning and you watch, partly in awe with how the office chair practically consumes yuto whole. once he’s sure yuto’s giving up the resistance, nanami turns back to his computer. 

you try not to stare at nanami. you’ve always been drawn to his sharp features, but you think something else tugs at you now - pity, maybe? just thinking it fills you with dread. you hope it airs along the lines of longing, sympathy, even. 

he’s working with pinched eyebrows and the softest, most exasperated sighs - a large contrast from stoicism and silence. your chest tightens. 

you cross one leg over the other and swallow. “is there anything i can help you with today?” 

you can’t recall the last time you asked him that. you remember asking religiously during the first two quarters of working at the company, back when you were fresh-faced and impossibly ambitious - and back when he was simply polite and efficient enough to always say ‘no thank you.’ 

out of the corner of your eye, you catch yuto slouching defeatedly in his chair. 

would you have acted differently had you known? should you have tried harder to extend yourself? 

does this … does yuto change things? 

it shouldn’t. you don’t think it does, at least. 

you frown to yourself. you’re still contemplating it when he murmurs, “i think we just need to finish making the presentation for tomorrow.” 

your lips almost part. almost. 

“i might need some help with yuto,” he admits, eyes trained on the file on his computer. “he was a little … apprehensive about coming with me today.” 

this might be the longest response you’ve ever gotten to that question, much less to any of your other questions. 

“yeah, sure, anything,” you nod quickly, smiling at yuto. “really? who would’ve guessed he hates coming here? i thought this was the funnest place on the planet.” 

yuto scrunches his nose. “dad said funnest isn’t a word.” 

“he’s right, kiddo.” 

“then why’d you say it?” 

“for fun.” 

you lean over and drag his chair to sit in the middle of you and nanami. 

nanami looks at you before looking at yuto. when he looks at you once again, you tilt your head to the side. what? 

he shakes his head and turns back to his computer. 

it’s almost embarrassing how your back pops when you reach your hands up to the ceiling and wiggle your fingers. you sigh out in relief and slump forward. 

it’s friday. it’s friday. it’s friday, it’s friday, it’s friday. 

“do you have the excel sheet from the sukuna account?” 

you’re sensing a foreign invader. your eyes narrow. you’re like a white blood cell, and gojo satoru is a pathogen - a threat to your peace and serenity in the workplace. 

“ah, hello, dear, sweet gojo. the bane of my existence.” 

“how charming.” gojo grins. “happy to be of service.” 

“shut up,” a new voice says. “stop bothering her. i need to bother her. and him. both of them.” 

you smile tersely. “ah, hello, dear, sweet utahime. currently the other bane of my existence.” 

“i’m happy to take over the role from gojo,” she says curtly, passing a file to you. “i need you to look through this before i submit it for approval.” 

“must i?” you ask, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead and tilting back dramatically.  

while you’re busy brooding over extra work, gojo comes around to pick yuto up. 

yuto giggles when gojo holds him up like simba. he circles around in his spot, yuto still suspended in air. “everyone praise king yuto. king yuto, we thank you for gracing our presence today - ”

nanami doesn’t shift, doesn’t twitch, doesn’t budge a single muscle. he doesn’t watch gojo swing his child around, he doesn’t ask gojo to put him back down. 

full, unadulterated trust. 

doubt creeps in. you remind yourself you haven’t known him for that long, you suppose. what’s it going to take to get there, though?   

you watch quietly, gnawing on your lip. 

“stop bothering everyone,” utahime hisses, tugging on gojo’s collar. “hi, yuto,” she coos, taking him from gojo. “you’ve gotten so big. do you remember aunty utahime? i haven’t seen you in so long. how’s work going today?” 

yuto sighs dramatically. it’s obvious he doesn’t remember her, but he’s itching to complain. “work is so bo-oring. i think dad and i should go to the park every day instead.” 

gojo ruffles his hair. “sorry kid, this is what life’s all about. luckily, you got a rich dad and … ” he looks to you, “an entertaining friend over here, so you’re basically set for life.” 

“entertaining?” you parrot, scrunching your nose. it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. 

“derogatory,” gojo clarifies. 

“how sweet.”

utahime sets yuto back down in his seat. “anyways, just look over that when you can,” she says to you and nanami. 

“yeah, and the sukuna account,” gojo tacks on. “you guys are the best. just awesome. amazing people. great coworkers. keep up the great work.” 

you press your palms to your eyes and lean back in your seat. “i think i’m gonna have to go into overtime,” you groan, once gojo and utahime are out of earshot. 

“we can finish,” nanami mutters under his breath. “it’s fine, we’ll finish in time.” 

you’re not sure if he’s trying to convince you or himself. 

you’re fighting for your life. you’re fighting the urge to scream and rip your hair out and do literally anything and everything the main character in a romantic comedy would do when nothing is going their way. 

you glance out the window. the sun has been gone for several hours now. you’re left to fend for yourself in this dusty, dark office - which, you figure you might be able to see better if you just got up to turn the lights.

lights are for the weak. it’s time to rely on your hunter-gatherer instincts. 

(you doubt hunter-gatherers were as lazy as you are, but that’s another discussion). 

you sigh and lean back in your seat. 

“why’re you sitting in the dark?” 

the lights click on and you jump in your seat. 

your heart is racing a million miles when you rub your eyes to adjust. footsteps approach you. what do you do? what would the hunter-gatherers have done?

you open your eyes. nanami towers over you, yuto attached to his hip and a grocery bag in his free hand. 

“we thought you might still be here.” 

you don’t know if you should be nervous. did something happen? 

“what’re you guys doing here?” 

he looks at you a little sheepishly. “yuto’s idea.” 

oh dear. what’re you to do now? what’re you to do now that you've seen this side of him? what’re you - a woman of nature, one with the trees and the wilderness - to do with a man like this? 

he’s shot you straight in the heart with a bow and arrow. 

“we got you a mango custard,” yuto grins. “you have to try it. it’s so much better than the strawberry cake.” 

“also got you some noodles if you’re hungry.” 

as if on cue, your stomach growls. 

you are no longer one with the wilderness. if you really think about it, this is the  modern version of gathering. 

nanami sets the bag down on your desk with the slightest curve of his lips. he grunts as he sits in his seat, yuto clinging to his front like a koala. 

“eat,” he murmurs, reaching for your mouse. 

he leans forward and you feel the warmth in waves, rolling off of his stiff suit. you still in your spot when he casually hands yuto over to you. now you’ve got a whole child hanging off of your right arm and a bowl of noodles in your other hand, with nanami brushing over you everytime he moves to type something on your computer. 

your heart blooms, flowers uprooting from your arteries. you’ve been watered after a long, dry day.  

“eat the custard.” yuto is whispering in your ear, but every time he speaks, he gets louder. “eat the custard. eat the custard, eat the - ”

“yuto.” 

yuto brings his voice back to a whisper. “eat the custard.” 

you giggle, holding up the box. “i gotta have these noodles first, right?” 

“no you don’t,” yuto shrugs. it must be nice to be a three-year old, considering how easily he made that decision for you. he shifts so he’s sitting on your lap, digging through the grocery bag to find the custard. “i think you should have the custard first.” 

“let her eat.” 

you let your eyes rest on nanami for a moment. his brows are slightly furrowed, with the same pinch from this morning. it feels that just as much as he hates overtime for himself, he hates it for you too. 

it makes you feel warm. 

“thank you,” you whisper. 

if he hears you, he doesn’t say anything. he makes sure your computer is shut down by 8:00.

contents. | 3. | 4. | 5.

[rubykgrant]

Another re-draw with Grif and Simmons... but this one ticked me OFF while making it; it was so difficult re-doing the lines for a full-body picture, AND I kept drawing one the wrong layer, so I had to do it again and again (it's cool that MS Paint has layers now, but that also means the wrong-layer problem happens). I mostly wanted to do this again because I can see what I WANTED for the shapes in the original, but it isn't quite there... so I fixed things a bit, and added more colors/shading, plus some lazy "scenery". I also finally adjusted their outfits to the fancy designs I came up with. This is from my story in which Grif and Simmons finally go out on their first date... after technically being boyfriends for months (because they're stupid like that). They have a brief chance to enjoy themselves without some bonkers problem happening, so they go full sappy-romance (a nice meal together, a movie, dancing in a park while a live band plays music, and finally a walk on the beach at sunset. They deserve to be happy for once~)

Chapter for this scene below!

“So, where are we going?” Simmons asked, unsure of what to expect.

“It’s right over there…” Grif nodded in the direction he wanted them to go.

This was an interesting park; it had different areas, some flat and open grass for people who wanted to start a game where they kicked a ball around, some filled with flower beds surrounding fountains and benches, some almost like taking a walk in the woods under towering pine and oak trees.

Grif’s destination was down a little brick walkway, where there was a courtyard that overlooked a ledge, with hanging plants growing up metal garden arbors.

Simmons came right along, letting Grif lead the way. As they passed under the arch of leaves and flowers, Grif glanced at his boyfriend’s face, and was satisfied to see an expression of bright interest (he was hoping for this reaction, because this area of the park was like stepping into a scene from a fairytale… it was easier to let yourself get all sentimental and romantic when the person you were with appreciated it).

Together, they walked to the stone railing, and looked down. Far below them was a field with several small gazebos, and one large amphitheater. It was there that drew Simmons’ attention, because a group of musicians and performers had gathered. Grif’s attention was still on him… the way he looked in the soft evening light, the way the gentle breeze was sweeping his hair across his forehead, the way he was smiling like an excited kid. All kinds of fond feelings twisted in Grif’s chest… he was starting to enjoy having butterflies so often.

“How did you find this place?” Simmons asked.

“Well, while you were off having your family crisis, and I was dealing with being super extra depressed, um… Sarge actually started forcing me to go on walks with him in the morning,” now that WAS a little embarrassing, but Grif’s done trying to put up a front anymore. “And don’t start apologizing again, I’m not telling you this to guilt-trip you. Anyway, he was making me walk around outside with him, something about how I’d get bed-sores and start growing fungus if I just stayed in bed forever, and one time we found this little corner of the park. I started coming back here on my own in the evenings, because it’s kind of a cool spot. Back then I thought about how, like… if I got to hang out with you again, I’d want to show it to you… so yeah. Here we are,”

Simmons listened intently as Grif talked, and held back his urge to say how sorry he was… he still hated himself a little for the way things happened. This moment wasn’t about all that, though; this was about Grif wanting to share something with Simmons, and he was NOT going to ruin it with left-over shame. Instead, he gave Grif’s hand a gentle squeeze with his own organic one. All that stressful crap was over. He wasn’t going to let his family hurt him again. He wasn’t going to leave Grif like that again, either. They were finally together, they were on their first real date, and Grif was being so sweet…

All those feelings about regret fell away, and Simmons leaned against the railing, a helpless dreamy expression on his face as he smiled at Grif. He couldn’t do anything to stop it, so he didn’t even try. Grif smiled back, and seemed to understand that they were BOTH absolutely stupid for each other… they always had been, but now they could do something about it. Simmons tilted his head forward, and Grif met him halfway for a soft kiss.

“Thanks for bringing me here. This was a really great day, Grif…” Simmons said when they leaned apart.

“Oh, we’re not done just yet,” Grif told Simmons as he blinked his eyes open. “Wait a sec…”

It had finally gotten dark enough, here in the shadows of nearby tall buildings, for the lights to flicker on; several lamp posts began to glow around them, and down at the amphitheater, music started to play. It was an unknown tune, but something grand and soothing, slow without being like a lullaby.

“This is why I wanted to bring you here for a first date,” Grif elaborated, slowing stepping backwards from the railing and into the middle of the courtyard, bringing Simmons with him. “You never got to have an awkward date at a lame school dance. So, that’s what’s happening dude. We’re dancing!”

“Haha, oh my GOD! You- you really planned this?” Simmons stumbled as Grif yanked him closer, laughing the whole time.

“That’s right! I told you, I wanna be all your first-date-experiences, and that includes doing the slow-dance-shuffle,” Grif grinned.

“What, exactly, is the slow-dance-shuffle?”

“It’s the thing little middle-schoolers do when they don’t know how to dance yet, they just kinda hug and shuffle their feet, so they rock in a circle. Don’t worry, it’s easy…” Grif wrapped his arms around Simmons as the music swelled, growing louder. “And unlike middle-schoolers, we don’t have to worry about teachers and chaperones telling us to leave room for Jesus while we dance!”

Simmons almost fell down from laughing, leaning all his weight into Grif. A moment passed with them both giggling before they finally managed to compose themselves.

Now, Grif settled his hands on Simmons’ waist, warm and comforting. Simmons loved it whenever he felt Grif touch him… on his back, his arms, his chest… the times Grif affectionately holds his face… Simmons can’t believe he spent so many years NOT feeling Grif’s hands all over him. He can’t get enough.

Simmons slipped his own hands up to rest on Grif’s shoulders, and Grif pressed their bodies together. This wasn’t going to be a fancy waltz or anything complicated… just the slow-dance-shuffle. Unlike most REAL first-date dances, this was intimate and comfortable, close and cozy. It also wasn’t taking place in a school gym decorated with balloons and streamers; they were in their own little corner right here, flowers draped above them, pleasant lights illuminating the area, and beautiful music playing… it was utterly ROMANTIC, and Grif was very proud of himself for pulling it all together.

“You know, one of the schools I went to, they made us do dancing for PE,” Simmons said as they shuffled.

“Ha, so did mine. It was square-dancing for some reason,” Grif replied.

“Me too, but they also made us do ballroom dancing. Which looks stupid as hell in gym clothes,” Simmons grimaced at the memory.

“Oh shit, like actual proper ballroom dancing?” Grif winced as well. That sounded emotionally painful.

“Yep. It was so ridiculous, because we’d do it after running laps, so the kids were all sweaty, and nobody wanted to touch each other. Not exactly fun,”

“What about this? Right now?” Grif asked with a smile.

“Yeah… this is fun,” Simmons agreed.

“Good. I wanted today to be fun, but y’know, special too. That’s why I said we should dress-up a little nice, and why I wanted to do all the things we like together. We don’t get a lot of chances for special things to happen to us, so I decided I was going to MAKE this happen. We deserve to have a goddamn LOVELY TIME at least once in our lives, right?” Grif gave Simmons an extra little squeeze around his waist.

“I’m so lucky to have you with me…” Simmons sighed, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against Grif’s.

“Excuse you, I’m the lucky one,” Grif responded, nuzzling his face closer.

“Nuh-uh, I’M the lucky one!” Simmons argued.

“No, Me!”

“No, Me!”

They attempted to drown each other out by both shouting “ME ME ME ME ME!” before dissolving into laughter once again, which then slowly faded as they kissed. They hummed and continued to sway, moving slowly in a circle… dancing. Simmons was dancing with his boyfriend. They were boyfriends, and they were dancing. What an extraordinary thing. People did things like this every day, but that didn’t lessen the feeling that it was special. Perhaps it even confirmed it.

Eventually, they heard the music end and the crowd below applaud. They stopped dancing then, just hugging and holding each other for a while. A gust of wind made the flowers and leaves rustle pleasantly around them, and brought the sweet floral scent from other areas of the park in the air; some mixture of lilacs, honeysuckle, daffodils, roses, iris, pink ladies, wisteria, and more. This was, undeniably, a lovely time.

Without speaking out loud, the two seemed to decide to walk back to the car. Because of the tall trees and surrounding buildings from the city, the park was now a patchwork of dark shadows and warm light; the setting sun was still burning brightly in the sky, and wherever it's glow touched, the world turned to gold and deep shades of red. Where the light was blocked, everything became cooler colors, a combination of blues/greens/purples. As both men walked, in and out of the sun and shadows, it was almost like stepping through different seasons at different times of day (summer in the late afternoon, winter just before dawn).

[chelemlem]

about 500w of a random nothing prequel to this. (814 + r63 + implied infidelity)

The great thing about being young, dumb, and you know, Jenson winks, is that it's socially acceptable to excuse herself from all the schmoozing and shoulder-rubbing to sneak the odd ciggie with the servers. 

Back by the venue kitchens halfway into one of these things is where she finds Oscar: plonked on a wooden crate, phone in hand.

Maybe it's the peachy champagne from before, but Lando's limbs feel loose enough to pitch forward, perching her chin on Oscar's shoulder. Mm. Clean and cheap — some kind of citrus soap. 

"Whatcha hiding out here for?"

Oscar, to her credit, takes it in stride. 

"Not hiding. Just, uh. Quali's on."

Why bother? Obviously Verstappen's taking it. Oscar wrinkles her nose in an ehh gesture, screen angled so Lando can watch too. "Dunno, Red Bull are pretty shit around Marina Bay."

Are they, though? Then again, Oscar still backs Ricciardo out of some vague sense of patriotism, so maybe she's not the best judge of wheel.

"Bet you only fancy him 'cause he seems like he's hung," she says accusingly, and Oscar fucking. Creases in silent laughter. Huh, easy crowd. 

With her mouth open, Lando can see how the top line of her teeth dip low in the middle. A bunny rabbit. 

Ugh, fine. She has nothing better to do, and Oscar seems like a marginally more interesting time than the other models and heiresses inside. A proper little athlete. Might as well.

It turns out to be quite a long time, them sitting here. Like, two missed calls from her brother long. Nothing important. He's just in town on business and wants to do lunch. On the cusp of closing some deal that would make even Jense's eyes water.

"I have three sisters," Oscar offers. They have their backs to opposite walls, legs extended. Lando isn't really tipsy anymore, but she still kind of has this insane urge to close the gap, press her ankle along the exposed square of Oscar's instep. Are those Tommy? Fuck's sake.

"Mm. And you're the oldest?"

Oscar blinks. "Is it obvious?" 

"Bit, yeah."

Seems like a pain, honestly. There's a reason Lando's parents let her get away with everything — because they have Oliver to cushion the fall. Everyone agrees she'll probably land an MRS degree before an MBA. 

Oscar smiles, a tad wry. "Bet they're glad you're still making connections, though."

"Whad'you mean?" Lando says, shuttering. The back of her neck feels warm. Fucking—is she being slut-shamed right now?

Oscar shifts on the floor, looking for the first time: uncomfortable. "Isn't that why you're here?"

Uh. Lando is here because she'd wanted to date a MotoGP rider growing up and Jenson is the next-to-next best thing. Specifically here, in this greasy produce cellar with Webber's little girlfriend, though? Well.

"Fuck if I know, mate." 

Oscar snorts, her shoulders going lax. She starts to say something else when Lando uncrosses her legs, uncomfy from the sweat building behind her knees. The cream satin hitches up, baring a triangle of thigh that draws Oscar's gaze like a condemned moth to flame. Her mouth snaps shut.

Their eyes lock. Only for a second — but it's enough. 

Enough for Lando to pause and consider. And smile. 'Kay then.

Everything after that is a bit of a blur. 

[recentadultburnout]

Info for writer in Thai series fandom: Pet name & tone indicator sound

Some words to call your lover

Sweet and polite

คุณ-khun or เธอ-tur with ฉัน-chan, เรา-rao or ผม-phom(offically this one is for men, but it did get used by women) are words that can be used with people who are not your lovers but are considered to be quite sweet to call your lover that. I already mentioned it in Chapter 4. Chan and tur are very popular choices for song lyrics.

ที่รัก-thirak straight up call a person "someone you love". Rak is love, so if we want it literally, it would be beloved or something along those lines. I never saw anyone actually use it seriously before. Just a parody of something, or like I do, to tease a friend. Or, if we count, I think I've heard a mom call her child "mom's thirak" before. We could add สุด-sud in the front, sudthirak, make it mean "someone you love most."

แฟน-faen Boyfriend/girlfriend but non-binary. If used as a pronoun, then it usually comes with those Thai sounds khrap/ka at the end. You probably need to draw the word out for good measure too. Its sound is the same as how the word fan in "fan club" is pronounced in Thai, so there are a lot of fan club or faen khrap puns/jokes used with actor shipping situations.

คนดี-kondee Khon is a unit of human in Thai, and dee is good. เด็กดี-dekdee Dek is a child, and dee is the same as dee in Khondee. I feel like both Khondee and Dekdee have a bit of a patronizing feeling. But not always in a bad way, though. Is that a thing? Like, if you used those words with someone sincere, you probably felt the urge to take care of them at least a little bit. You probably feel like they are a precious, cute little thing. Something like that The fact that Im 100% sure parents used dekdee with their children might factor into it. As for Kondee, I'm about 90% sure.

Dek means kid, but we use it quite loosely, so twenty-somethings get called Dek all the time, and if it were by an elderly person, then the Dek in question might as well be a mother of two.

พ่อ แม่-por and mae As in father and mother. Usually, it starts when a couple becomes parents. A fur baby will do too for some.

Insulting words as a pet name

เด๋อ-der clumsy, foolish, silly, awkward, stupid, dull, dump_ Those things mix together, but like, in a soft version. Usually used with something add to the front, such as ไอ้-Ai, เด็ก-dek, or some Thai's sound for tone indicator(?) to the back, or both.

อ้วน-uuan fat, chubby—อ้วน can actually be a parent-given nickname too. I know some women around my mom's age range whose nickname is that. Personally, if it says it in a particular way, I find it really cute.

เหนียง-niang double chin

เถิก-terk go bald,the description of a hair line that starts to recede.

ลุง-lung Uncle (the one that is older than the father) aka old man. Usually used by a noticeable younger person. Not that they actually date someone older than their dad, or do they?👀

เด็กโง่-dekngo Stupid child, but like, an endearingly stupid, childish person.

ดื้อ-due _Not obeying, refuse to comply_ often used to describe a child. I saw ดื้อ  get translated to stubbon a lot, but personally, I find that not quite fitting (not that I have other words in mind). It might just be a me thing, though.

Probably a full-on PDA couple, act cute to each other 24/7

เล็ก-lek Small,tiny

ใหญ่-yai Big,giant

This two are a pair. Sometime it will have something added to it, ตัว-tua which means self/person/body, for exemple.

Animal + small or pi/nong/por(dad)/mae(mom) + animal Something like, cat, bear, pig, dog

Ex:Pi Muu(pig)/Nong Miao(cute alternative way to call cat)/Miao lek(small)/Por Mee(bear)

บี๋-bie Short from baby

Repeating a syllable of a nick name two times for a lovey-dovey pet name is also a thing.

ไอ้ต้าว-ai tao Tao is a meaningless sound that was derived from a word that was a prefix "เจ้า-Jao." It is used to express that the speaker thinks the person being mentioned is cute/childlike. They most likely appear with a strangely sweet voice. Sometimes used for friendly mocking of someone for being childlike.

Eng sub-cute dimples = Ai tao dimples

หนู-nhu Nhu is something that is used with children, but it also can be for a lover. Can be innocent or quite sinful depending on the context. (This one is already mentioned in Chapter 4 too)

เค้า Kao and ตัวเอง Tua-eng are a pair. Kao is for calling yourself, and Tuaeng is for calling your lover. What is of interest is that Kao typically refers to the third person, and Tuaeng refers to "oneself." It kind of gets perceived as something silly that people in love do. There are some words that are born from distorted "tuaeng" that you can use for a lover too, such as using only the first word "tua", shortening the "tua" sound to make it sound like 'ta-eng, or combining the two sounds to make it sound like "teng". The "Kao" might be replaced by other words such as Rao, and it might help lower the silliness, or not? Lately, I have seen some traders (usually women small business owners) call their customers Tuaeng to make them feel closer to them. Not Kao, tho. I have yet to see any shopkeeper use Kao for "I.".

Kind of a little roleplay, but not really?

ป๋า-pa Dad as in father or 💰Daddy💰 as in sugar daddy.

An overly respectful way to call someone or use a title that the receiver doesn't actually own is also something I see and think is pretty cute.

Legal prefix

เด็กหญิง-dek ying 

abbreviation - ด.ญ.

For those who were assigned female at birth under the age of 15

Translate to - none

เด็กชาย-dek chai

abbreviation - ด.ช.

For those who were assigned male at birth under the age of 15

Translate to - none

นาย-nai

abbreviation - none

For those who were assigned male at birth, from age 15 onward

Translate to - Mr.

นาง-nang

abbreviation - none

For those who were assigned female at birth and marriage (optional since 2008),

Translate to - Mrs.

นางสาว-nang sao

abbreviation - น.ส.

For those who were assigned female at birth, from age 15 onward

Translate to - Ms.

Some words/phrase that relevent to love life.

เพื่อนคู่คิด มิตรคู่ใจ-phuea khukhit mit khuchai This is a phrase that describes a marriage partner as a friend ( phuea = friend) who will help you think ( khit), a trusting ally (mit ), and your best friend who you can rely on. I find it to be very romantic.

คู่ชีวิต-khu chivit life partner

คนรู้ใจ-khon ru jai person who knows your heart

ศีลเสมอ-syn samoe (like the name of a character from Cutie Pie)

ศีล Syn = precept

เสมอ samoe = same,equal

"Syn samoe" is a figure of speech that is probably roughly equivalent to "birds of a feather flock together." It is a concept that in order for one to be able to associate with others with ease of mind, one needs to hold the same moral code and values. If a person only holds on to one of the precepts, not killing, they wouldn't be suited to be with someone who also does not steal, not only as a lover but also as a close friend or someone close in general. And also the reversal, which is that if you can be close with someone, then you must be on the same level as that person, good or bad.

คนคุย - khon kui Person (you) talking to If A is Khon Kui of B, then they are getting to know each other with romantic intentions, but nothing is serious yet.

กิ่งทองใบหยก - king thong bai yok - jade leaf gold branch A very suitable match, used for those who are about to get married.

ผีเน่าโลงผุ - phi nao long phu - rotten ghost, decayed coffin When a couple is a very suitable match, but it's because they both are bad

ทองแผ่นเดียวกัน - thong phaen diao kan - the same gold sheet To become one piece of gold is to be connected by marriage. Ex: These two families are going to become the same piece of gold soon = someone from each of their families is going to marry the other.

ข้าวใหม่ปลามัน - fresh rice, creamy(?) fish A word to call a newlywed couple. Anything new is good, so in a period of newlywed bliss, everything will be good in your eyes.

ถ่านไฟเก่า-old coal Old flame, ex-lover who still might get back together

โซ่ทอง-gold chain A child is parents' gold chain that will link parents' hearts together forever. Basiclly, it is a concept that by having a child, the couple will be more committed to each other. Kind of scary if you ask me.

จีบ-jeeb _woo, flirt, spark, spoon, court, bind around_ I saw this translate to flirting most of the time, but while flirting is not serious, จีบ can be.

หยอด-yort is to put or pour it little by little in a narrow place; in some contexts, it means to drop in sweet words when you talk to someone, aka flirt.

อ้อน-oon is to plead, to implore, to cajole, to wheedle, to whimper. 

กัดก้อนเกลือ-kat kon kluea-to bite on a cube of salt Is to be poor. usually mean when your financial situation is likely to be better than it is if not for your choice of partner.

ป๋า pa - เสี่ย sia - เด็ก dek pa/ dek sia When these words are used together, pa or sia is an (usually) older, wealthy (this one is a must) man, and dek, which translate directly to child or young, is a (usually) younger person who got financial benefit from being in this relationship. Pa or Sia is a sugar daddy, and Dek is a sugar baby, basically. 

คบ-kob Is mostly used to mean dating, but it can also mean "associate" or "friend with", and it has been used for a variety of ambiguous speaking scene in drama and novels.

ชง-chong-brew It's kind of like creating an opportunity for someone else to say a pick-up line. Say things in order to push your friend toward the one you think your friend will like (whether the assumption is correct or not). Say a pick-up line or flirt with someone for the other person. GMM actors do it to other shipping pairs all the time. I find it quite funny, lol.

เพื่อน=friend But it can also mean accompany if you say it in some way. You could say that you want someone to go somewhere with you as เพื่อน and that would mean that you want them to accompany you, not that they are your friend exclusively. You can say it to anyone. friend, family member, lover, co-worker, etc.

Here Ayan say that he thanks Akk for นอนเป็นแฟน instead of นอนเป็นเพื่อน. 

นอน=sleep 

เป็น=as ,are, be, become, have, constitute, be able to 

แฟน=lover 

เพื่อน=friend

นอนเป็นเพื่อน=to go to bed with someone and keep them company

เพื่อน can also mean co-worker, school mate, 

slice-of-thai.com, thai-tones.com, [Learn Thai] Five Tones in Thai (Pronunciation Practice) <--Some of the links for the Thai 5-tone explanation.

I think it would help in the next part (and with the Thai language in general) if you could remember what tone is what.

The mid one, number 1, had no mark, and the other is as you can see in that orange band.

อา, อ่า, อ้า, อ๊า, and อ๋า is probably going to be the same when spelled in English (unless we make something up, like, อา=ah, อ่า=aah) but in Thai, you can see that the mark on top of them is different.

There are also a bunch of things that are relevant, like the way each type of Thai alphabet has its own base(?) tone in itself, making tone marking affect them differently. Ex: low consonant + dead syllable + short sound = rising tone (5) Even though it is written with no mark tone and so looks like it should probably be a mid tone (1), but we are not here for an actual Thai lesson, so you just need to remember that different tone is a thing and different tone = different mening.

Sounds that we use to indicate the tone of the sentence

****This topic isn't really an official and well-organized thing, plus my knowledge and ability to explain are quite limited, so maybe don't see it as a fact but something subjective?

If I put a check mark in the example column, it means it makes sense to put the sound in that row in the blank. Well, at least to me, it makes sense.

A sentence that has some polite words in it doesn't mean that it is in fact polite or that the speaker is being polite and proper. So while Khrap and Ka are polite, people still can and have used them to end a sentence that is so impolite you will get customers yelling for your manager to fire you for saying it.

Some of those sounds can also be paired with other too. For example, Na(4) and Si(2) can be paired with Ka(4) and Khrap(4), as well as a few others, and include each other.

Index

[cryogenically-frozen]

Kiyotaka Week Prompt 6: Future

I decided instead of doing a drawing of him as an adult (I think he would become a teacher if you're curious), I would draw what I thought he was like just before the killing game started. So, basically, two years older than what we see in-game.

Yes I am aware we see him helping set up the school in the anime for lockdown and he looks exactly the same but I reject that reality and replace it with my own for the sake of this post and Kiyotaka week funsies.

Also, you can't tell me that they didn't change appearance at all in the two years they went to school at Hope's Peak.

I think Mondo would have told him something along the line of "you would look super cool with long hair" not thinking anything of it so he started growing it out. He was about to cut it short again because he wasn't sure if he likes it being longer and it had just gotten to that awful length where he can't tie it up but it also is constantly in his face.

When the school went into lockdown he decided to let it grow out until they could leave the school again. To help, Mondo gave him the headband he uses to keep the hair out of his face when he takes his make-up off.

His hair is also going lighter at the roots. His dad had told him he had gone grey at a very early age but Taka hadn't quite realised just how young his father had been talking about. He'd talk to him about it if he weren't locked in the school for the foreseeable future.

Mondo convinced him to try eyeliner. He says he isn't sure about it but still lets him do the eyeliner for him everyday. He's offered to teach him how to do it himself but, in a move suspiciously out of character, he decided he'd rather not learn and let Mondo do it.

He can't learn because he already knows. He watched very intently as Mondo did it whenever they had sleepovers.

Also, Leon pierced his ears. It was Taka's idea because he liked Leon's earrings but now he's doubting the decision. He's dreading his dad seeing because "I know he won't care but what if he does?!" If the killing game hadn't happened he would have grown to love his new studs but, for now, he's fighting the urge to pull them out and let them heal up because he doesn't want them to get them infected. Two years have not done anything for his overthinking.

[andisupreme]

On a different note than I've been on lately, HOO WEE BALDUR'S GATE!!! I am consumed utterly. I'll do art of my Tavs someday I swear but since it takes me forever to draw, obligatory (spoilery) ramble under the cut of who I've got so far.

First run was a lawful good dragonborn paladin who romanced Wyll and I think accidentally ended up in a throuple with Karlach at the end? Pretty sure it was intended to be a platonic ending but the way Wyll was so heartbroken and distressed over Karlach dying, absolutely begging her to come to Avernus "with people who love you, Karlach!"

Cue me in character snapping my head over to look at him like "oh worm? You feel that way about her? Do we like her vibe?? I mean I like her vibe do YOU like her vibe? Did we, husband and spouse, spot her from across the camp and like her vibe?" And the thought of this engaged couple dragging their bestie to Avernus so they can keep Zariel off her back, always living on the run with only each other for comfort? DAMN I've never felt the urge to write Main Character insert fanfiction until now but I get it.

Second run has been a tiefling cleric of Selune specifically made to romance Shadowheart and GOD that's been hilarious. The Selunite quips are 90% of the time entirely their own thing, divorced from the romance plotline, so you can talk to her and she's batting her eyelashes at you just as you walk past a Selune statue or something and there will be an exchange along the lines of Shadowheart: "Ugh." Myna, pulling a 180: "You watch your tongue, Sharran! That is the third time you have spoken ill of my god." Shadowheart, immediately matching this energy: "You and your Moon Witch, or should I say Moon Bitch." Myna: >:O -30 seconds later- Shadowheart: "I'm starting to smile more you know. I think that's your fault. ❤️" All I can think of is this is a cleric couple who roleplays religious conflict in the bedroom but it keeps getting a little too real and sex is paused because they start actually arguing about it.

And then I'm not quite done with Myna yet. About halfway through act 3 now. But yes I have started the obligatory Durge x Astarion run. Made my sad blorbo elf man, Nox. Being traumatized over a murderous entity mind-controlling him for years and having amnesia is kind of his whole backstory deal so I couldn't pass that up. Also he's gay and Astarion is literally right there so...

Yes after my first run I've been planning everything around the romances sue me.

[byanyan]

when they decided to use his arm as a blank canvas, he let them, finishing a book he’d finally sat down to read. no stranger to letting them draw on him, this time was no different, he made no attempts to stop them. eventually, once he finishes the last page, he finally looks down to see what they’ve been doodling…. and when he sees what they’ve come up with, his eyes light up. he’s liked everything they’ve done so far, but this… this is different.

a line of stars, all different sizes, that all absolutely loves. he stares fondly down at their design, admiring every little detail. and then, he looks up at them, excitement written all over his face. “ i really like this design, i think it’s my favorite thing you’ve drawn on me… ” there’s a pause, his gaze falling back onto his arm. “ i want you to tattoo me, maybe you can squeeze me into your work schedule. ”

ㅤthey're just vibing. music playing too loud in their ears, head bobbing along to the beat as they leave trails of ink on the skin of sol's arm, they're bouncing between markers with nibs of different sizes, but they're not putting that much effort in. they're trying, yeah, but it's more for fun than it is anything serious so, when they're nearly finished and sol's book closes over, his attention turning to their work, they're surprised when they glance up at his face and he meets their gaze, excited. a smile isn't unexpected; it's actually quite common to see when he looks at what they've drawn on him, something which always makes them feel all warm inside, but there's a light in his eyes this time that's a little... different. more enthusiastic than usual.

before his mouth can even open, byan is pulling their headphones off, dropping them to rest across the back of their neck as their other hand draws to a halt mid-stroke. sol speaks, and they simply blink at him, expressionless. they're stunned. eyes fall back down to the line of stars they've been drawing, almost as if to figure out what's so special about them, to make him that happy. to make him... want a tattoo? —a tattoo of this?

ㅤㅤ" wh— ...huh? "ㅤhow do words work, again?ㅤ" ...for real? "ㅤhe's... never expressed interest in getting a tattoo before. admired theirs, sure, which is something they've always loved, but he's never seemed interested in having any of his own and, while that's something that's never bothered them, they're afraid to let their hopes get too high. afraid that he might change his mind, that this might be a spur of the moment thought brought on by a doodle they've done on his arm that he happens to like more than the usuals.

ㅤㅤ" i mean, i can— "ㅤthey'd literally bring him in tomorrow after all their appointments are done and work an extra couple hours just to do it for him if he really wanted—ㅤ" but if you're actually that interested... like, i kinda based this one on mine... "ㅤturning the hand still holding their marker over, byan reveals the line of stars drawn in white ink which dot their inner wrist, a tattoo they've had since they were fourteen that he's surely seen thousands of times by now.ㅤ" but i could sketch out somethin' nicer for you, y'know? let you make some changes where you want 'em so it's yours instead'a just some shitty doodle'a mine. "

even thinking about it is exciting, though. their own eyes light up the more they speak, the more they think about it, about really getting to share their passion for tattoos with sol in such a permanent way... it's difficult to not get caught up in the excitement of it, even if it is just a concept for the time being.

ㅤㅤ" 'cause i'd totally do that, y'know. work ya into the schedule too, or bring ya in after hours, whatever works better for you with the shop— "ㅤthough they don't realize it, byan is beaming as they pop the cap back onto their pen, practically vibrating as they resist the urge to get up and run to grab one of their sketchbooks right this second.ㅤ" —but i'd wanna make sure it's somethin' you want, y'know? somethin' that's yours, somethin' you're not gonna regret. nothin's stoppin' us from startin' tonight though, if you're serious, 'cause, like, honestly? i'd fuckin' love to design a tattoo for you, i'd love that so fuckin' much. "