#I don’t remember any of the other’s names atm BUT

[oyaoyaoyaa]

Genuinely don’t understand how there is No Content for any of the Shandia

[ghoulphile]

wish you'd make me cry | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 2.3k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; rough, dom!cooper, frottage, sitting missionary, dirty talk, degradation kink, pet names, teasing, dacryphilia, bareback, drug/chem use (jet), shotgunning, high sex ➥ summary | "You’re such a needy fucking brat." :3c ➥ notes | drabble (that's no longer a drabble lol) request for @tearueful, thank you bby!! this one really got away from me... i had to stop myself from writing lol. un-beta'd atm. masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

Setting up camp for the night in an abandoned warehouse, you and Cooper wait out a radstorm that blows in off the horizon. Because while he loves sitting outside with a smoke, soaking in the rads until he’s buzzing with frenetic energy, you don’t feel like hunting down RadAway tomorrow.

It’s quiet apart from the distant sound of super mutants and ferals roaming the city, the sporadic roar of thunder, and rain tinging off the sheet metal roof. There’s still hours left until daylight, and it doesn’t seem like the volatile weather will break soon.

Unfortunately, you’ve read all the Grognak comics you could get your grubby hands on three times over, and there’s not much else to pass the time besides scuff your boot along the concrete floor, and pluck at a stray thread hanging off your tattered sleeping bag.

Meanwhile, Cooper lounges on his side, unbothered. His hand - bare for once - props up his head, the unscarred skin of a commandeered digit stark against angry rad burns and ropey scars. Between the knuckles of his other hand, he rolls a vial of chem over and over in a mesmerizing flick of deft fingers.

A lantern sputters between you as the old battery struggles to keep it lit. Its jaundiced glow banishes the thick darkness; a fuzzy halo of light that elongates shadows and deepens the cuts of his face.

You kiss your teeth, and say, “Hey, you got any more Jet?”

Lazy eyes slide towards you. A hairless brow quirks. “And if I did,” he asks, the vial pausing between his fingers, “why you wanna know?”

“Dunno, I’m bored… wanna get high?”

“Well, shit,” he whistles, bares his teeth. A low, crackling laugh rumbles from his chest. “Why the fuck didn’t you ask sooner.”

You shrug and crack a knuckle.

To be honest, the idea hadn’t occurred to you at first. Now that it has, anticipation curls low in your belly. Not only has it been a long, long time since you last got high (the sensation a hazy, half-remembered dream of fuzzy warmth and whirling thoughts), you know Cooper always carries a top-notch stash.

The little chem fiend, you think fondly.

“So,” you prompt. “Wanna get high together or what?”

“Sure as shit, darlin’. Let’s party.”

He settles against the pockmarked wall beside you with a soft grunt, the grit of concrete digging into his back. Thigh to thigh, his body is a rad warm line of heat. A bloom of suffocating heat in the otherwise biting chill of a wasteland night. Gunpowder and smoke tickle your nose when he leans over to rifle through his bag, leather creaking.

Muted, mellow; everything fades into a silent companionship as you pass the red inhaler between you. With every puff, whorls of smoke curl from your mouths until a murky gray cloud hovers in the air; defining the edges of your crafted universe.

The acrid vapor of chem burns its way through your lungs and into your bloodstream. A bitter taste coats your fattened tongue, lips tingling as your palm smothers little coughs. A flood of static rushes down your nerve endings, sends your head spinning.

As your vision blurs, the tension leeches from rounded shoulders with a bone weary sigh. And with every slow clicking blink, colors spark to life in a distorted kaleidoscope. Head lolling to the side, you watch through heavy eyes as Cooper rattles the inhaler and takes a shallow hit.

When he exhales, little tendrils of smoke caress the plains of his cheek. Dance along the hollow nasal ridge. “Almost out.” He grunts, your fingers brushing when he passes the cartridge back. “Go on, now. Finish it.”

The kind gesture (for him) touches you.

Then a faraway thought flutters.

Snags - settles into a nebulous desire.

And before you can second guess yourself, a rumble of thunder shakes the building. Wipes away the last of your common sense, and reservations. After all, why not? He was nice enough to share. You can too.

To his credit, Cooper doesn’t startle when you slink into his lap - not that you expect him to, even without being chem-addled. He tracks your movements from beneath a heavy brow bone, the dark Nuka Cola of his eyes glittering like shattered glass in the wane light.

“Heh, this that kinda party then, darlin’?” he asks once you settle, your thighs draped over his hips and your ass flush with his crotch. “‘Cuz you’ll be wanting ta extricate yourself if it ain’t.”

—Before I do it for you.

Humming, you dip forward until your breasts brush over the wide expanse of his chest. Interest flickers to life behind your navel; cinders cracking and popping along your spine. While you’d never considered Cooper a sexual availability beforehand (what with his never-ending search for family), the laden weight of his gaze as it pauses on your chin before dropping lower sings through your blood.

Kickstarts your heart into a galloping stutter that thuds against your ribcage as longing hooks behind your navel, tugs sudden and sharp. The world spins.

Maybe, you think, peering at him from beneath the fan of your lashes. Maybe…

“Pervert,” you murmur, biting down on a small smile.

The knife-sharp smirk falls from his lips faster than a comedown from Psycho when your fingertips ghost over the curve of his jaw, turning his head towards you. Like this, you share breath, the scant space between you thrumming with energy.

So close you can see flecks of gold in the amber whiskey of his eyes.

Your forehead brushes over his; the rough drag of gnarled skin sending a shiver through your limbs. “Let’s share the last hit. S’only fair.”

Pausing, he considers you for several long moments.

His gaze bounces from yours to the playful curve of your mouth and back. A small eternity passes like this. And then - when you’re about to crawl away to lick your wounded pride - the most imperceptible of nods grants his assent.

There’s a hiss of aerosol, a lung burning inhale, and then you’re exhaling into the open gash of his mouth.

Wisps of smoke dance off your tongue onto his, the bow of your lips glancing off the swell of his top lip as you squirm closer. You feed him chem in a slow, steady stream until all the air has left you.

He groans - a wounded, low-throated sound.

Your eyes flutter open to find him already staring, his iris a thin ring around the Blackhole of his wide blown pupils. Hooded, hungry: a caged predator. You lick your lips, and in doing so, flick your tongue over his.

Your stomach swoops, “I --”

“You’re such a needy fuckin’ brat, y’know that, sweetheart?”

Whether it was an apology or some other retort stuck to the back of your teeth like hard candy, you’ll never know because in the next moment a rough hand knocks the Jet out of your hand. The inhaler cracks against the concrete with a plastic smack before skidding off into the darkness.

A burning palm curls around your wrist, calloused fingers digging into your fluttering pulse point. “Hey — hngg!”

He yanks you close, and you taste the violence in his kiss.

Harsh lips map out the softness of yours as teeth pinch and roll until your mouth is a swollen mess of tender flesh and smeared spit. Keeping up with the frenzied scrape of his tongue and the deep pulls of his kisses is like trying to weather a hurricane or fight off a Yao Guai with a single bullet.

“W-Wait,” you gasp, fingers twined through the lapels of his duster. “I don’t --”

“Shut up,” Cooper growls, worrying the swell of your bottom lip until a bead of blood bubbles to the surface. He sucks it away with a stifled moan, his hips kicking up against the plush of your ass.

“Shut the fuck up right now. You know what you was doing - trying ta act innocent when you’ve been gaggin’ for it.”

Flustered, you pull back, “No, that’s not true!”

It’s hard to keep your balance with chem pumping through your veins, and you sway to the side. The only thing keeping you upright is the bruising grip Cooper has on your wrist. “I haven’t been — you’re wr-rong.”

He spits out a mean spirited chuckle. “If that’s what you need ta tell yourself, sweetheart.” A critical eye drags down the pathetic sight you make, crumbled as you are in his lap. “But I know the truth. I felt you looking - pantin’ after me like a bitch in heat.”

“...”

Panic grips you by the throat, your pulse thundering against the thumb he strokes along the curve of your shoulder. You should’ve known better.

Of course, he’d notice.

He was The Ghoul after all - best bounty hunter from this coast to the next. It was his job to perceive everything around him, sus out friend from foe.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

What else can you say?

He brought you along (for whatever reason, fuck if you know why), and you’ve caused nothing but trouble every step of the way. It’s a wasteland miracle he hasn’t kicked your ass and left you bleeding in the dirt by now.

I have to fix this. Whatever it takes.

“I ain’t wanting you sorry.”

Gulping, you will away the sting of tears, and say, “Please, don’t kick me out.”

“Y’know, sometimes I think it’s a miracle you survived this long at all.”

“You don’t have to be so rude about it…” 

“Listen good and well, sugar,” he says with a roll of his eyes, that tender hand brushing over your neck turning into a collar as he drags you close. His lips whisper over yours with every word. “I didn’t go through all of this bullshit just ta get rid of you. Now--”

Hips rut up into you, dragging the firm line of his growing erection along the soft globes of your ass. “Stop teasin’ and make yourself useful,” he says. “Or you will be sorry.”

Everything after that flicks in and out of focus like a zoetrope: the burning clasp of hands, the slick glide of hungry mouths, the frantic rock of your hips as you both chase after dry friction with a desperation that borders on madness.

Your hands don’t know where to settle, fluttering from the nape of his neck to the breadth of his shoulders to the rippling muscle of his stomach as he rocks into you. Bites at any exposed skin that he can until his teeth leave marks you’ll carry for days.

All the while the hard edges of his body crash into your softness like waves against an eroding shore. Liquid fire blazes in your belly like a raging wildfire, scorching you from the inside out until you’re dumb and dripping.

The chem snaking through your body enhances the littlest of sensations until you feel like one giant exposed nerve. Slick drenched and sweaty, you moan weakly and rest your forehead against his cheek.

“Please,” you slur, thighs trembling where they squeeze at his live-wire hips. “S��not enough - need more. Wanna cum. Please, please, please. Make me cum.”

Cooper bites out a curse, his fingers biting into the fat of your ass. “Yeah, s’that right, sweetheart - d’you think you deserve it for bein’ such a lil brat?”

“Yes, yes, please, I’ll do anything. Just - hhahh, fuck!”

The fabric of your panties clings to your folds, and your pants chafe.

Your clit throbs with every thud of your heartbeat, every firm grind of his cock and low husk of his voice. Want him seated so deep inside you choke - your poor pussy struggling to take his cock as he rides you so hard you cry.

“Anything?” he asks with a breathless chuckle.

The devilish gleam of his eyes rattles your bones, shivers of electric anticipation fizzing through your veins like Quantum.

“Well, shit. Don’t come cryin’ ta me when you regret it. Now, take off those fucking pants and ride my cock like a good girl.”

And when he bullies his way inside, those thick ridges dragging along gummy walls, you almost swallow your tongue. He’s so big - the biggest you’ve ever had.

Every inch is a struggle, a victory. He’s not patient, he’s not kind. You don’t want it any other way, spread so wide your pussy flutters pathetically, trying to push him out.

Then the fat head grazes past the rough patch of your g-spot, sliding home to kiss your cervix. Your knees lock around his ribs, your head tossing back as a high-pitched whine punches its way out of your throat.

“A-Ah! I can’t — oh shit — you’re so,” you babble. “Too much!”

An ache spears deep, roots behind your navel.

“Heh, you asked for it, sweetheart. Look at me.” A scarred thumb wicks away a tear as you peel your eyes open with a sniffle. “That’s it. Shit, you look s’pretty when you cry.”

He licks his skin clean, uses his wet thumb to reach between you and roll the pad over your abused clit. You jump, sliding up on his shaft only for gravity to drag you back down with a solid smack of skin, your limbs jello soft.

The motion slams him deeper and slick drips from you in a sticky gush to soak his balls. You cry out, reedy thin.

Cooper grunts, warns, “You keep doing that and we’re not stoppin’ til you’re dripping cum.”

Though the thick haze of chem and syrupy sweet pleasure, you cobble together a grin and lick your way into his mouth. Tangle your tongues and suck as your hips arch into his. “Please, ruin me,” you breathe.

A possessive greed glints at you from the depths of his hangman eyes.

“Don’t go sayin’ I didn’t warn you, sweetheart,” he promises.

[python333]

hi! i’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but if you aren’t feel free to ignore this!

anyways, i was thinking what would it be like if you were back on base and did something nice for everyone and made their fave coffee/tea while you’re all relaxing after a long mission? like how would the 141 react and what would you make for them?

that’s all but i hope you have a great day and i absolutely love your writings!! they seriously are so detailed and amazing, you do a beautiful job w each one💌

unwind — python333

— — — —

synopsis the 141 + you are back from a super long mission and u make them their fave coffee/tea!!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader.

word count 3.6k

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

warnings 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign], gaz being a little shit.

note thank you so much for the req!! i am taking them right now, but apologies if i post them 2+ days after i get them, my writers block is slowly creeping back into my mind and im fighting it off the best i can! also, thank you for the compliments :3 ilysm youre too nice!! i saw ur reblog of bedbound too and i was so sjdfksdfks!! hope u have a good day too and hope you enjoy this fic, it's all fluff and way too in depth descriptions of making tea/coffee!!

As soon as the electric kettle clicks, signaling to you that the water inside of it has been boiled, you unplug it and pour the water into a mug you’d pulled from the cabinets. It still surprised you that there were any mugs left, with how many people kept stealing to put on their desk to hold pencils—by people, you mean Soap, and only Soap—but you weren’t complaining. 

You set the kettle back down once the mug is filled up just an inch below the brim and grab the tea bag you’d grabbed earlier, wrapping the string around the handle of the mug a few times before putting the bag itself into the water. Almost immediately, you see small tendrils of dark brown flow out from the drowned tea bag into the originally clear water. 

As that happens, you walk the small few steps over to the small fridge from the kettle and open it, grabbing the small carton of cream and closing the fridge shut. You walk back over to the mug and unscrew the cap of the carton, pouring some cream into the mug, adding a half inch of height to the liquid already in the mug before screwing the cap back on and setting the carton down.

You don’t bother to grab a spoon and mix anything yet, instead reaching over to the small terracotta container beside the coffee machine that contained sugar, and taking off the lid. 

You think for a moment if you should grab a spoon for this, but ultimately decide against it, instead just tipping the container over the mug and letting what you hope is two teaspoons of sugar spill over into the mug.

Afterwards, you put the lid back on the container holding the sugar and set it back next to the coffee machine, and grab the cream to put back into the fridge. 

Once the cream’s been put back, you open the drawers in the counter and grab a small spoon, one that’s just tall enough that it won’t be fully submerged in the tea, and put it into the mug.

You close the drawer and give the tea a few stirs before picking up the mug, being careful of the scalding heat and holding it solely by its handle. You carefully walk out of the snack bar extension of the kitchen and head towards Price’s office. 

After a year or two of working with him, you’ve learned a lot about his tea preferences—he likes Yorkshire tea, the original one, not the gold. He only likes cream and sugar in his coffee, just to make it smoother and make it a bit sweeter, but doesn’t like it too sweet.

You vaguely remember him telling you he’d never had honey or any other sweeteners besides a bit of sugar in his tea, and remember more vividly you thinking, God, that’s such an old person thing to say, but not saying it out loud. 

Once you’ve reached his office, you knock a few times and Price’s tired voice calls out, “Come in!” 

You open the door, careful to keep the mug from spilling in your hands, and walk in, closing the door behind you. Price looks up from his computer, presumably writing a report on the mission you’d all just come back from an hour or two ago, and offers a small smile when he sees you. He’s about to say something before he catches sight of the mug in your hands. 

“Did you…” He doesn’t finish his question, but you know what he was about to ask, and you nod in response. 

“If it’s too sugary let me know,” You tell him, setting the mug down a safe distance away from his computer, “I can remake it.” 

“I won’t make you remake it,” Price looks at you, almost offended, “You didn’t have to make me anything in the first place, but thank you, I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem,” You hum, walking away, saying over your shoulder, “Hope you like it.” 

You open the door without another word and walk out, closing it behind you, heading right back to the snack bar. Now for Soap. 

Soap typically preferred coffee to tea, despite tea’s popularity in Scotland. He’d told you that he really couldn’t taste the difference between different coffee blends, but upon hearing that there was a Scottish blend, he declared he’d only drink that one, because of course he did. 

He pretended he could tell if the coffee he was drinking was of that Scottish blend, but you knew he couldn’t. How did you know? You’d only ever given him Scottish roast once. Every other time since then, it’s been French roast. 

He’s never really used a coffee machine for himself, going to cafes or coffee shops most of the time for coffee, keeping his usual coffee order written in his notes app because he couldn’t remember it for the life of him.

He’d sometimes modify his order if certain coffee shops didn’t do certain things that he usually got, but his order stays mostly the same every time he gets coffee. Medium (or grande, if he’s at Starbucks) latte with a double shot of espresso. 

Typically, he’d get some shortbread too, but you didn’t really have any in the base, so he’d have to do without it today. 

Once you enter the snack bar, you grab another mug from the cabinets above the counter and place it under the coffee machine. You open the cabinets right by the ones that contained the mugs and grab a bag of ground French roast, pulling it out and putting it on the counter. 

You open it up and find that there’s conveniently already a small cup in there to scoop the coffee grounds up, and use your free hand to grab a new coffee filter from the same cabinets you got the coffee grounds from, swiftly putting it into the machine. 

You use your other hand to scoop up some coffee grounds and put them into the filter, closing the top of the coffee machine afterwards and turning on the machine. You’re grateful there’s more options listed on the small digital screen that lights up on the machine than just plain black coffee, not really in the mood to try and steam milk right now.

You tap on the ‘latte’ option and watch as the screen changes and hear the coffee machine start to whir. 

As it does that, you put away the coffee grounds and open up the cabinets that contained mugs once again, pulling out a small espresso glass and setting it onto the counter.

You wait patiently for the coffee to brew, and once you hear the small beep sound from the machine that signals that it’s done, you pull away the steaming hot coffee and set it down right next to the coffee machine. 

You quickly put the espresso glass under the machine and start it up again, this time tapping the ‘espresso shot’ option—surprised that’s even an option, honestly—and hearing the familiar whirring noise start up again. It doesn’t take nearly as long as brewing the latte did, the small beep coming much sooner than it did just a minute or two earlier, and you pull away the small espresso glass from the machine almost immediately after you hear it. 

You pause for a moment, looking at how much the latte part had filled up the mug, and look around for a moment before opening up the same drawer that contains the eating utensils and grabbing a straw, putting the straw in the still hot latte—is that a good idea? No. Did you do it anyway because you physically can’t think before you act? Absolutely—and taking a long sip of it.

You pull the straw out once the liquid in the mug is at a good inch below the brim and then pour in the espresso shot, setting the glass down after you do so.

You look around for a second for a trash bin and find one just a few steps away from you, quickly throwing out the straw you’d used and then walking back over to the empty espresso glass, picking it up and setting it down by the sink. God forbid we get a dishwasher in here or something, You think absentmindedly as you pick up the mug and carefully walk out of the snack bar with it, Would it hurt to at least get some dish soap in here or something? 

You make it out of the snack bar without burning your fingers and start the much longer walk to Soap’s sleeping quarters. You’d caught him walking out of his office in that direction earlier, so you can only assume that he’d gone there. 

Once you make it there, you knock on the door a few times and wait for Soap to call out to you and allow you to come in before twisting the door knob and opening the door. He’s laying on his back on his bed, thumb paused on his phone screen as he looks over at you as you enter. He notices the coffee and sits up a bit, grunting as he does. 

He wasn’t really as talkative after long missions like the one you’d all been on earlier—usually it took him a day or two to be more social and back to himself, so you didn’t take much offense to him not greeting you as loudly as he usually did. 

He nods at the coffee, “Is that for me?” 

“Mhm,” You hum, handing him the mug, “Be careful, it’s hot.” 

“Got it,” Soap carefully takes the mug into his hands, and softly blows on it before looking at you again and grinning at you, “Weel, thank ye for this. Ye really didnae hae tae.” 

“Price actually said the same thing,” You muse, almost to yourself, before speaking a little louder, “No problem.”

“Oh did he?” Soap asks, raising an eyebrow, before his expression shifts and he feigns confusion, “Wait, how come he got a drink afore me?”

“Because his office was closer to the snack bar,” You explain, crossing your arms. 

“… Nae, it’s definitely ‘cause ye hate me,” Soap disagrees, shaking his head in mock disappointment, “And tae think I thought we were friends.” 

“It is no— you know what?” You begin to argue, before sighing and rolling your eyes, “I do hate you, and we were never friends, you ungrateful piece of shit.” 

Soap laughs, quieter than he usually does but it’s still a genuine laugh. He looks down at the coffee again and back at you, before saying, “Thank ye. Again.” 

“No problem,” You replied, walking back towards the door and opening it, walking out of Soap’s sleeping quarters and closing the door behind you. Now for Ghost. 

Ghost typically liked tea more than coffee, but you think that’s just the British in him talking. Realistically, you could give him either or, and he’d say a polite ‘thank you’ and move on.

From years of being apart of the 141, any preferences or additives he liked to put in his tea or coffee slowly dissipated and instead he just drank either one plain. Which should make the tasks you’ve forced yourself to do today easier, but knowing you, you just couldn’t take the easy route with this. 

You remember a conversation with him that happened several months ago where you had been talking about your own tea and coffee preferences. Ghost had commented that he didn’t often put any additives in his own hot drinks anymore, but back before he’d joined the military, he liked to drink keemun tea occasionally with nutmeg in it. 

Keemun tea—which was fucking expensive by the way, costing around sixteen pounds for twenty tea bags in every store you could find them in—wasn’t too hard to find, so the next time you went on leave after that conversation, you’d bought a box of bags of keemun tea leaves and some ground nutmeg. 

You didn’t let Ghost know about it, and kind of forgot about it just a week after you bought it, but now the memory of you buying it and storing it in the snack bar behind a few other boxes of tea bags has resurfaced and it’s the only thing you think is appropriate to give Ghost at a time like this. 

You get back to the snack bar and almost robotically you pull a mug out from the cabinets above the counter and set it down on said counter, deciding to grab another one just so that you wouldn’t have to do it later, and setting that one down right next to the other. You open the cabinet beside that and move some of the boxes out of the way to find the keemun tea box in the very back, right where you last left it. 

You snatch it out of the cabinet and open it, pulling out a small packet and opening it up to pull out the tea bag inside. You go ahead and put the tea bag inside of the mug and put the tea box back in the cabinet, closing the small cabinet door afterwards.

You then grab the electric kettle that’s right by the sink and pop open the lid, putting it under the faucet and turning said faucet on, waiting until the water fills a quarter of the kettle. Once it does, you turn off the faucet and put the kettle down right by the outlet on the wall. 

You put the lid down and wait for it to click into place before you plug the kettle into the outlet and press the small button below the handle to turn it on, and listen as it starts to make a small whirring noise. You don’t waste too much time just standing there, waiting for the water to finish boiling, instead putting the other mug you’d pulled out from the cabinets under the coffee machine and turning it on. 

You tap on the ‘decaf flat white’ option and watch the digital screen change and another whirring sound starts up, now coming from the coffee machine.

You were starting to make Gaz’s while making Ghost’s drink because Gaz often made the mistake of drinking his coffee before it was cool enough to not burn his tongue, so if you made it earlier, it’d have more time to cool, and Gaz wouldn’t have to wait as long before drinking it, therefore solving the whole ‘burning-his-tongue-because-he’s-impatient’ problem he has. 

Gaz liked simple flat whites, and sure, he liked tea too, but nothing could top a good flat white for him. He’d get them anywhere and everywhere he can, and you honestly admire his dedication to getting a flat white everywhere he goes. 

The coffee machine finished up quickly, a small beep sounding from the machine as it stopped its whirring and a few more drops of coffee made it into the mug before it completely stopped. You pull the mug out from under the machine and set it aside for now, just waiting for the water to finish boiling in the kettle. 

Once the kettle clicks and the whirring from that machine stops, you unplug it and pour some water into the empty mug you’d picked out for Ghost, waiting until it’s filled up about a half inch below the brim of the mug before taking the kettle away from the mug and pouring the rest of the unused water into the sink. 

You set the kettle down beside the coffee machine where it belongs and check the drawer below the one that held the eating utensils, looking through some of the spices and drink additives in it before finally finding the ground nutmeg you needed. 

You unscrew the cap and tilt the small spice jar over the mug, letting some of the powder spill into the mug before tilting it back and screwing the cap back on. You put it back in its spot and close that drawer, now opening the drawer above it and grabbing a small spoon, closing that one after you’ve grabbed the spoon and putting the spoon into the mug to mix the spices in it around a bit. 

You leave Gaz’s mug on the counter, hoping that nobody steals it while you’re away, and instead pick up the mug meant for Ghost, carefully walking out of the snack bar with it. 

Ghost’s office is fairly far away, but you still manage to get there without burning your fingers or anything on the mug. You knock on the door a few times and wait for Ghost to call out permission for you to come in before you open the door and walk in. 

Ghost immediately looks over at you and spots the mug in your hand, but ignores it for now, instead opting to ask, “Did you need something, [c/n]?” 

“Not really,” You shrugged the best you could while holding scalding hot tea, “Just needed to give you this.” 

You set the mug down on Ghost’s desk before he can say another word, and watch as he eyes the mug with curiosity and confusion. 

“What’s this?” He asks, carefully picking up the mug, holding the top up to his nose to smell it. Before you can answer his question, you see his eyes widen and he questions a little louder, “Is this… keemun? With nutmeg?” 

“You can tell just from the smell?” You ask, mildly impressed, watching as Ghost’s gaze turns into one more in awe of the mug. 

“Yes, I can,” He mumbles, smelling the brim of the mug again, before looking over at you, “How did you know I liked keemun with nutmeg in it?” 

“You told me about it, like, a few months ago. Six months ago, maybe? I dunno.” 

“How do you remember a conversation from six months ago?”

“It was an important conversation, I guess?” You shrug, crossing your arms. 

You watch in silence as Ghost eyes the tea and you take that as your sign to leave, walking towards the door, stopping right in front of it to twist the knob to open it before you’re interrupted by Ghost. 

“Wait—” You turn your head and look at him over your shoulder, and immediately upon seeing his face, you think, oh my God is he tearing up? “Thank you, [c/n]. I really appreciate it.” 

You offer a small smile and reply, “Yeah, no problem. Enjoy your tea.” 

You open the door without another word and close it behind you, taking a deep breath before continuing down the hall back to the snack bar. 

You’re relieved when you get there and see the mug, still steaming a bit, still on the counter. You quickly walk over to it and pick it up, walking right back out the door with it and heading straight for Gaz’s sleeping quarters. You remember him being so tired from the mission—you don’t know whether to hope he’s asleep and getting some rest, or to hope that he’s awake so you can properly hand him his coffee. 

Once you make it to his sleeping quarters, you knock on the door, and there’s no response for a few moments, making you think he might actually be asleep, but then you hear Gaz’s drowsy voice call out, “You can come in!” 

You open the door and see him rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up on his bed, looking over at you. His lips twitch up into a small smile once he sees you and he lets his hand drop into his lap. 

“Hey, [c/n].” He looks over at the mug you’ve brought with you, before raising an eyebrow, “You brought something for me?” 

“Very bold of you to assume it’s for you,” You close the door behind you and walk closer to him, “But yes, it is.” 

Gaz perks up a bit at that and happily takes the mug off of your hands once you hand it to him, and his smile grows significantly bigger once he sees you’ve brought him a flat white. 

“It’s decaf, don’t worry,” You say, as if reading his mind, “I figured you’d still want some sleep after drinking it.” 

“Always so considerate,” Gaz sighs teasingly, raising the mug to his lips like you’d thought he would. Thankfully, his tongue doesn’t burn this time after he sips the coffee, and you let out a small sigh of relief at the fact. 

“You know me,” You respond dryly, crossing your arms as you watch Gaz take a few more sips of the coffee. 

“Thank you for this, by the way,” Gaz thanks you, taking another sip of the coffee before stating, “I hope you know you’re my favorite now.” 

“Your favorite what?” 

“Just my favorite, in general,” Gaz hums, “This is the best flat white I’ve ever drunk. Ten out of ten.” 

“Thanks,” You thank him flatly, “It was made with love and a coffee machine I learned how to use yesterday.” 

“I can just taste the love in it.” 

“Not the coffee machine?”

“Well, it’s a bit concerning if someone can taste the coffee machine in their coffee, innit?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you before taking another sip of his coffee. 

“Not if it’s the one I used.” 

“Whatever you say,” Gaz mutters, taking yet another sip of his coffee, making you huff out a small laugh. 

“You enjoy your coffee,” You say before walking back over to the door, closing the door behind you as you walk out and letting out a tired breath, starting to head back to your own sleeping quarters.

[velvet4510]

Ok so I came across an Erik Lehnsherr hater who shall not be named (I don’t even remember their username anyway and frankly I don’t want to if this is how they think) who claimed that:

Erik was an emotionally abusive predator to Charles, intentionally drawing Charles closer to him and targeting his insecurities so he could break him in First Class.

Erik intentionally drove Charles and Raven apart so that he’d always have one of them under his thumb and purposely planted the seeds that the fallout was all Charles’ fault and emotionally manipulated Raven into hating Charles so that they wouldn’t be able to stand united against him.

Erik was overall no better than Shaw in how he handled the human vs. mutant situation - but also on an individual level; the example given was that he tried to shoot Raven in front of Charles, just as Shaw shot his mother in front of him.

the overall message of the prequels is “don’t try to help a traumatized person that you happen upon in the ocean because that person will destroy your life,” a message apparently sealed by the Paris proposal finale in which Erik “waits until Charles is physically and emotionally isolated from everyone else in his life to swoop in and play savior and take him away to his remote home to keep calling all the shots.” (I’m paraphrasing here, but that’s the gist of what they said.)

Firstly, my friends, I am tired. I am sick, fighting off a bad cold. I am up to my neck in schoolwork. I don’t have the energy atm to write the kind of rebuttal to this claim that I want to make. And the fact that I’ve no idea how to create my own gifsets certainly doesn’t help.

Secondly, we all know that Cherik do not have a perfect or even healthy relationship. I really don’t think any of us are under such an illusion; we all regularly express our frustration with many of their moments. But I do think that there are more than a few flaws in this user’s claims that can be articulately opposed.

So I summon my fellow Cheriks. Do whatever you want. Be as academic or rageful as you like. But address these claims in some way, please??? Help me dive into the nuance, pick it to pieces! Once I’m well again, I’ll make my own post to add to the discussion.

Also spread the word; tag others you know so they can chime in.

(I personally would love it if anyone with the gifset skills that I don’t have could make some kind of master set of every time, every moment big or little where Erik is kind to Charles or soft with Charles or just shows/indicates that he genuinely loves him. Just to really put a bruise in that “abuser” accusation.)

Even if the original accuser never reads any of this, I think it’s worth it to put the discord out there for the rest of the fandom. Usually I don’t wish to give haters the time of day, but these claims were just too extreme and too juicy for me to shrug them off.

So please, however way you want to do it, let’s not let these claims go unanswered.

@wishchip106 @star-lights-up @swordsandsadness @cherikdogfood @uniquecellest @sinspirefly @caramelc0rgi

[eliotquillon]

What do you think about the relationship between the ducklings with cuddy & wilson

taking ducklings to just mean the original gang, here. anyway. oh my god i actually have another use for the flowchart i made for my friend group’s niche powerpoint night (wherein i attempted to speedrun an explanation of house, duh):

as you can see on my handy dandy diagram, there’s a pretty big divide between the fellows and the ‘adults’ (specifically wilson and cuddy). i think it was @all-pacas who pointed out the one-way system between the adults and the fellows, wherein the adults are allowed to peer down but rarely engage with the fellows’ drama directly, so i won’t rehash that because her explanation is great and also i’m running on not a lot of sleep atm (it is deadline season). so let’s move onto the individuals.

i’ve talked about cameron’s relationship with wilson before: not really friends, but definitely more than just distant colleagues (which is essentially what wilson is to chase; they get basically zero scenes together until after cameron leaves lol). so i’ll skim over that because that post was pretty long and there’s no way i’ll rephrase it better over here (i’ll drop a link in the replies if i have time). moving on…cuddy and cameron is interesting, because they butt heads not that infrequently in s2 and 3; i’m thinking specifically of cuddy’s general eyeroll reaction to articlegate here, and also cameron’s massive wave of irritation at cuddy trying to intervene during camchase fwb era, but there are definitely way more examples i’m just not remembering specifics about. i think, on the whole, this is mostly because a) cameron and cuddy have pretty dominant, not entirely dissimilar personalities that clash when put together closely, and b) cameron in general really chafes at being judged/told what to do by anyone who isn’t house. absolutely hilarious to me that cameron gets invited to her baby naming ceremony but tbh the pettiness drops off pretty sharply after s3 so maybe they do make water cooler small talk in the background. for everyone’s dignity i will not properly acknowledge the weird ‘does cameron still have feelings for house uwu’ thing cuddy tries to investigate during saviors, because if i think about that episode too long i start twitching and i think it smells fear, but like. that is also a thing, for like five whole seconds. although to be clear if cameron parallels any of house’s other love interests it is stacy (in the grand camchase reenactment of house/stacy). anyway i do appreciate that cuddy is one of the few people who cameron drops the mask with and isn’t actively trying to win over. but also you know what i’m like. i want everyone to be friends and frolic in a field together and i do think cameron and cuddy’s friction is a leeetle bit suspicious (misogyny) when they’re the only main female characters for the first three seasons. but i digress.

onto chase: as previously discussed, he and wilson do Not Talk until cameron leaves. i’m pretty sure they don’t have a solo scene at all until private lives but please don’t quote me on that. and this…makes sense to me. wilson and chase are very different—not in a ‘ooo fight about it’ way but just in a ‘they’d have nothing to really talk about or bond over besides house’ way, yknow? wilson is hyperinvested in his patients. chase really doesn’t gaf outside of notable exceptions (usually children or nuns). and unlike with cameron, chase doesn’t spend anywhere near enough time with wilson for proximity to create any kind of fondness. i’m sure it’s cordial, and i am fond of the idea of them working together with cameron to Gaslight House at the start of s4, but that’s about it. as for cuddy and chase: pretty much the same? i mean chase doesn’t really have a problem with shrugging and going ‘lol not my problem’ to cuddy whenever she tries to rope him and cameron back in to deal with house in s4 and s5, but that’s not personal to cuddy, it’s more about his #boundaries era with house. and chase is like…infamously a kissass. cuddy does specifically say to house in human error that chase is a good doctor (she’s really the one harassing him to un-fire chase), and she clearly liked him enough to give him a position in the surgery department after he left diagnostics, so clearly he has made a decent impression on her…but that’s not really about chase as a person. i think cuddy likes him, and chase is kind of ambivalent about her, but like. even if she were not dean of medicine i can’t really see them hanging out. yknow?

saved the best for last: FOREMAN. i love that we see foreman calling out wilson’s bullshit in the pilot. one of my favourite gags in lines in the sand is foreman’s half hearted wave of acknowledgement when wilson walks in and sees them all ddxing in his office. it’s so cheeky. obviously it must kill house to have to answer to foreman in s8 but yknow what i bet it killed WILSON just as much. ultimate passive aggression vs straight up aggression-off. i think they both die inside at the knowledge that, by s5 at least, they’re the ones best equipped to deal with house’s nonsense but equally i think wilson is secretly thrilled that foreman stands up to house all the time. they’re so frenemies coded. and as for foreman and CUDDY…they crack me up sometimes. i love love their powerplay with each other at the start of s4. i love seeing cuddy relish in dangling promotion over him and then yanking it away in s2. in another life this could’ve been such a great forbidden ship dynamic. as the kids say, she is just always clocking his tea. i so wish she could’ve given foreman the telling off of his life about his misadventures with the huntington’s trial. foreman is just so allergic to Not Having conflict it tickles me!

[female-hysterics]

Stormkobra-5 asked:

sets food down carefully* Fuck or die scenario, you say?!?!

Okay, picture THIS!!!

You and Steven have been been crushing on each other for MONTHS, okay??? And neither of you have made a move yet because you’re both Shy As Fuck™️ or smth, and you end up trapped in some ancient Greek tomb on a mission— my nerd brain is thinking of stories where stuff like this actually happened in some myths I can’t remember which ones atm but— after decoding the inscriptions on the temple that state the victims must either consummate OR get crushed by a ceiling of spikes that descends if they don’t within like an hour or two or smth 🙂🙂🙂 Indiana Jones style traps I guess XD

IDK I haven’t thought of any actual scenarios tbh just the PORN—

Alternatively, I offer you Steven trying an aphrodisiac and he turns into a total dom, and I’ll leave your imagination to run wild 😈😈😈

Oh jeez... 🥵 I honestly don't know which one I like better.....🥴

Dom Steven has my heart SO

Steven taking the aphrodisiac innocently, not realizing what it is, and by the time you do realize what it is he is gone. His eyes are both soft with adoration and burning with pure lust while his hands effortlessly strip you of your panties and yank your shirt and bra down enough to free your breasts.

"I just have to feel you, love. Let me just come inside your tight little cunt, take the edge off, yeah?, and then I'll fuck your throat like a good girl," he all but growls in your ear while bending you over his desk, sending a small tower of his books toppling over, and your head is spinning at his words and you are positively dripping for him.

He does exactly that, fucking you deep and hard until you are seeing stars until he spills inside you with a hurt sound deep in his chest, and then you are on your knees with his hands fisted in your hair and his cock buried in your throat while you drool and choke and moan his name. Steven seems to twist you in every position possible, even some that leave you flushing in embarrassment, but he is ravenous for you. His touch desperate, words filthy as he grunts them into your flesh, and you can't help but notice how hot his skin is. How his hands tremble against you, how his eyes are glazed, and this heart is fluttering like a hummingbird in his chest. You are worried for him, but with each orgasm he drags from you your brain become more and more fried.

Everything eventually becomes a blur at one point and you are lost in a sea of heat and euphoria. When you come back to reality you are a sticky naked mess, body limp and laying sideways on the destroyed bed with Steven curled up behind you, and you dimly realize that he was still holding himself inside you. His breathing was even, skin cooled down to a more reasonable temperature, and his heartbeat is a strong steady beat.

"Was a bit rough, wasn't I?" He suddenly whispered against your shoulder and your throat is raw as you try to croak out a response.

You feel him twitch inside you and then he slowly starts to roll his hips in slow sensual waves that make your eyes roll back in your head. His hand moves up from where it was resting on your breast and curls around your throat gently, tilting your head back until you could pant against his open mouth, and you didn't even have the energy to grasp at his arms as his hips continued to snap against you deep and slow. He groaned against your lips.

"A little longer, love. Let me fill you just a little longer."

[jeonstellate]

caught up in a dichotomy

you ask junhui for a divorce.

๑彡 wen junhui x gender neutral!reader

๑彡 best friend!au, royal!au, arranged marriage!au, unrequited love!au — angst, little fluff(?)

๑彡 paragraph format — 1.4K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 re-read the webtoon that heavily inspired this seungcheol fic && whaddya know, it inspired another fic :')

๑彡 title’s from fly by midnight’s as long as it leads to me. the song has nothing to do with the plot, it’s just one of my favorite songs atm. heh.

This is supposed to be a quick and collected conversation. A small talk over dinner of sorts. And yet, it has transformed into this — a heated mess.

"I no longer love you." The words, small as they are, burn your throat as they pass through. Your throat constricts halfway, but you insist to finish what you started.

You met Wen Junhui back when you both were still children and still clung onto your respective guardians. Your first meeting had been nothing but meek exchanges of "hello"’s paired with promptly hiding behind the adult figures you came with. You thought nothing of him besides identifying him as your godmother’s son.

Your second meeting had been everything. For a reason you could no longer remember, you injured yourself days prior, which restricted you from participating in physical play with the other children in attendance. Junhui appeared next to you before you could lament at the fact, hand extended to offer you a flower ring.

"Do you not like it?" He inquired when you seemingly reacted too slow for his liking. His arm remained stretched out even when his head soon tilted in confusion. "That’s strange. Mama said pretty people like flowers."

You didn’t understand why he was giving it to you, but you accepted the flower ring with a timid "thank you" nonetheless. You and Junhui bonded over crafting jewelries out of his mother’s jungle geraniums that day. You thought everything of him since.

The marriage that ties Jun to you isn’t built on the same foundation as the others that came before. Rather, it’s built on convenience . . . and unreciprocated love.

"‘Love’?" Junhui echoes in an unexplainable hybrid of a disbelieved scoff and a stunned disgust. His neutral facial expression barely borders cold, but it hardly matters — especially when his voice is enough to convey his feelings. "You want a divorce for such an insignificant reason?"

Despite what the current scene paints, you and Junhui are best friends ever since your second meeting all those years ago. When his succession loomed over the horizon, you became the obvious choice to stand beside him. At that time, it was a win for both sides: Jun secures his position with your family’s notable support, you get to spend the rest of your life with the person who owns your heart. At that time, it seemed like the best choice.

And it was— is. You and Jun are great partners. You work well together, bringing forth an unprecedented period of prosperity with majority of public opinion in your favor.

As any other partners, there are some things you two don’t see eye-to-eye with. It just happens that yours is about this.

"I love you, too, [first name]," Jun replied a moment after the silence that followed your slipped confession settled. It was barely a few months after your first wedding anniversary then. "Just not in the way you want me to."

You had known he doesn’t feel the same way for some time now. However, it’s your first time hearing how little he values your affections.

Insignificant. As if it didn’t dictate how you spent your childhood and how serious you took your studies. As if it didn’t motivate you to be the best partner for him; to essentially dedicate your own life to him. As if it didn’t found everything you built together.

Insignificant. As if your feelings mean nothing to him.

"We’re not an ordinary couple." Junhui’s voice, devoid now of any unpleasant undertone, brings you out of your head. "We’re leaders of an empire. We—"

"—House Helledrite will continue supporting the crown." You interrupt without fear. Experience has taught you you’re the only one who can do so without repercussions awaiting, and such a privilege seems appropriate to use at the moment. "You don’t need me—"

You don’t expect him to reciprocate your affections in the same magnitude. You don’t wish for him to — much less need him to. After all, he was your best friend first. You want what’s best for him; what makes him happy. And if it means him choosing someone else to entrust his heart over you? Then so be it.

You just want freedom from this torment now, having endured it for six more years after your first wedding anniversary. It’s about time you seek a different source of happiness for yourself.

"—No!" Junhui’s objection bounces off the dining hall’s ornate walls. It makes you freeze momentarily. He has never raised his voice at you until this very moment. "You can ask anything of me, but I will not agree to a divorce."

That is when you finally completely understood how people find him intimidating. His glared eyes are steel and burning with ice. His jaw is set with firm resolve. His body is still, but postured in such a way that discourages any arguments to his words. He is not the childhood friend you grew to love right now, but the feared emperor of Falthorne.

Frankly, you don’t understand why he’s so against the idea. Your arrangement had been clearly just to secure his position on the throne, and the crown has since sat the stablest on his head amongst his royal ancestors. He has nothing to fear with your proposal. Your divorce will certainly not impact his hold on the throne. And, yet, . . .

You’re wholeheartedly convinced you’re just seeing things but, for a moment there, you could’ve sworn a glint of desperation in his eyes. It can’t actually be there, of course, because you know Jun doesn’t love you. He has made that perfectly clear over the years.

Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks. Your suppressed tiredness from all these years washes over you in a tidal wave. Why can’t he just let you go?

"And cut!" The director calls from his chair before a tear actually escapes. "Great job everyone! Let’s prepare for the next scene!"

You look up the ceiling to force your tears to retract. You’re paid for your tears, figuratively speaking, and it’s best to not waste them. Besides, if you let one escape even accidentally, you know someone—

"You alright?" Speak of the devil and he shall appear, indeed. It’s a bit impressive how he’s already by your side in a flash, when he’s literally on the other end of the long table on the opposite side of the room just a moment ago.

You suppose that’s one of the things that sets him apart from your character’s Jun. While the latter doesn’t even take a second to consider his spouse, your Junhui’s warm eyes are always on you. He worries for you in a magnitude on par with yours for him and your affections are reciprocated in the same way.

"Jun sucks," you opt to bash his character instead of giving a direct reply.

Junhui brings a thumb over to the corner of your left eye, careful not to smudge your makeup as he helps you dry your eyes. "He’s not that bad."

"Easy for you to say," you counter with a slight glare. "You know what he’s thinking. I don’t, because he doesn’t talk to his spouse."

He lets you fume. His years of experience as your best friend has trained him that you often just need to vent to feel better. All he needs to do is lend an ear. And, once everything has been released from your system, a succinct comment is best. As a mere token of proof that he actually listened to whatever came out of your mouth.

"For what it’s worth, I think you should at least give him the benefit of the doubt."

You look at him from the couch inside his trailer, where you made yourself comfortable as soon as you walked in before him. "Why?" You squint your eyes, obviously suspicious. "What does your script say?"

Junhui is quick to respond, "I’m not spoiling it."

"Wen Junhui," you extend the last syllable of his name in a whine. "Tell me."

He chuckles at your antics, "You’ll find out soon enough."

You don’t like that answer, which you made evident by throwing a pillow at him. He catches it with no problem, much to your dismay. "I’m telling Mama you’re being mean to me."

That’s another thing that sets you and Junhui apart from your characters. While you four had very similar beginnings, a ring on your finger didn’t ruin your dynamic. It did change it to an extent, but it’s all for the better.

"Be my guest," he shrugs with feigned nonchalance. His eyes sparkle with barely concealed amusement and adoration. "You’re already her favorite child, anyway."

[bookworm4scarfsss]

Fifth doctor x reader

(Imagine D/6.0)

Pov: Second person

Characters: Fifth doctor x unnamed reader. Tegan Jovanka mentioned. Thirteenth doctor mentioned.

Summary: reader travels with the 13th doctor but has been sent back to the 5th.

Word count: 616

Authors note: this’ll have a part 2 if there’s a good response. I really appreciate engagement atm.

Warnings: neck injury, bad language (f**k), let me know if I missed one.

It all started in the TARDIS. Your TARDIS. Well, not your TARDIS but the doctors. Your doctor. 13, as you’ve come to know her. You found out about regeneration and the time lords when something called the flux began and the doctor discovered that regenerations, whole lives, had been taken from her memory. You were shown these men on a screen. And they were the doctor too. Young and old. Fair and dark. You even met another woman who said she was the doctor too, from a whole other set of regenerations.

And then everything moved so fast. You were separated from the doctor, your doctor, time again and time again and felt like you were fighting the universe itself to stay with her.

Anyway, you were in the TARDIS… And there was a weeping angel at the controls. The doctor shouted: “Don’t blink!”, but it was pointless. The lights were flashing and fading as the Tardis thew you all around in protest to the grinning creature at the console.

If cruel fate existed, this was the moment it chose. There was another violent lurch that threw you forward as the lights cut out completely. You had hit a control panel hard and felt the most unbelievable fear as you felt this cold hand on the back of your neck. It couldn’t have been for more than a second, but the feeling was so horribly wrong that the moment seemed to stretch on. It had a force to it, and felt nothing like human; it’s hard, stone-cold fingers digging into the top of your spine with unyielding strength.

The next thing you knew was… nothing really. Stange faces in a strange place. White walls covered in circles. You weren’t paying attention really, not when you were trying to think about what could’ve happened. Angels send you back… but you were in the Tardis. That’s not possible, surely. Time travel within a time machine. Via weeping angel. That’s madness. It’s silly.

“Are you feeling any better? We’ve put you in Teagan’s room until your able to tell us what’s happened. I’m the doctor. I told you as much before, but you had a bit of a dizzy turn; I don’t expect you to remember.” The doctor? Theres a blonde Englishman wearing a vegetable talking to you nervously. Is he nervous?  Maybe he’s just like that.

“Oh, fuck.” Your throat just about fell into your stomach when you recognised the man as... as one of the doctors’ incarnations. 5? His picture looked older somehow.

“I beg your pardon!” the man reproached with a face of shock and horror. It almost made you smile. Your doctor always did that. ‘language’ shed always remind you, no matter how dire the situation. ‘My TARDIS’, my rules, she’s said with her northern accent whenever you’d protest.

When you don’t respond, he sighs, grumpier now.

“Your clothes look 21s century so I don’t suppose I should be surprised…

But in my TARDIS, I expect better. Clear?” He peps up sternly. He has a kind, sweet voice. It’s strange. He sighs once more at your silence.

“Never mind. Do you think you could tell me your name?”

“Doctor?”

“No, I think you’ll find that’s my name. And, seeing as it is, could I have a look at your neck? It looks badly bruised.” He leans over you with a concerned look. He does seem like the doctor in an abstract sort of way, but you can’t quite get used to him being a him.

“Oddest thing”, he mummers in thought. “You’ve had quite a bash.”

He’s looking down at you with suspicion. Can you tell him anything? What about the doctor. your doctor.

part 2 below.

https://www.tumblr.com/bookworm4scarfsss/781903175502512128/fifth-doctor-x-reader?source=share

[rainy-days-and-nights]

GET TO KNOW UR MUTUALS!!!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

tagged by @just-prime

lets seeeee

What’s the origin of your blog title?: I like rainy days and rainy…nights….JLADNJNCADJACD not much thought into it, but my last username SeaKeeper was “supposedly” my name meaning which I liked tons fr fr but that name is no longer…JADNKJACDBKJSBHKDHBK

OTP(s)+ shipnames(s): here are some of them!!!!

Pendleshend – Henry and Murphy from silent hill games fr fr my one and only the one that fuels my soul and the character I auto tattoed in my skin lol, they have my life…..

Dreamling- Dream of the endless and Hob Gadling from The Sandman

Red x Green (originalshipping) – Reguri tooooo from Pokémon fr fr one of the few ships I have from uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu long ago fr fr

Vergil x Lady – from DMC, I found them cuteeeeeee nadjbasdkbfhkvbhdhbadckb

Superbat- Cos cos cos the original the supers auuaguwgauwauwaguawugaw

CurlyJim or JimCurly- Moutwashing has taken my soul into its hands and hasn’t let me go……

Bayonetta x Jean-BAYONETTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I love them and I wish to be with them too lol akjsckhdhbkdcbhkcadbhkcadbjca

Reed900- They…and since I could finally play DBH im happy to still have as ship fr fr

Taibani- From Tiger and Bunny….them…..forever and ever….

DanteLeon- cos why not fr fr

If I remember other one I will add it ajdjkankjbddc

Favourite colour: I LOVE GREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN GREEEEN FOREVERRRRR

Song stuck in your head: Devils never cry from the DMC 3 ost

Weirdest habit/trait: Sometimes…one has the need to scream…literally…But my family is already used to it so no problem 💪🏽

Hobbies: I like to draw, and paint, and sing (?) Recently I have been trying to go back to sewing and embroidery so probs imma add those too soon 💪🏽

If you work, what’s your profession? I CURRENTLY DON’T WORK AAUUGHHAUUGHHAUUGHH NOOOOO AJAJJAJA

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? I wanna be a daycare pokemon trainer…. Auughhauughhauughh baby pokemons….

Something you’re good at: catching bugs at my house could be(?) or maybe eating chilli dog cos I can eat a lot of it im the best of the best at eating chilli dog

Something you hate: The price of soluble coffee, that thang is expensive

Something you collect: MARBLESSSSS AIDNADNCJNCAJBCA ia hve three vases and counting 💪🏽

Something you forget: I forgot

What’s your love language: Giving …thingsss(?) idk much about love languages

Favourite movie/show: Suspira both movie, Possession, Solaris, watching baitybaits vods and videos

Favourite food: Chilli dog is my jam, I always ask for it on my bday

Favourite animal: atm the awuawua, The Hyrax, foxes, baby seals, cats, dogs, frogs, possums, baby possums, vaporeon

What were you like as a child: A bit more open, more or less, more naïve, more than the normal amount of naivety, I used to make friends more easily.

Favourite subject at school: Biology

Least favourite subject: Math, Physics, and anything related to numbers fr fr

What’s your best character trait? idk

What’s your worst character trait? I find hard to trust people and keeping friendships too

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?: Probably made myself to study more things I liked back when I was younger, I could be something else ight now fr fr, like studying Japanese or something

iimmaaaa tags.... (but feel free to ignore frrr frr) @valeriianz @ilulustra @izzy2210 @baronvonriktenstein @celestialvexation @fkwmtzyy @carp302

[kinardsevan]

I was totally genuine because I would love your stuff on 911 proper! They're dropping the ball with everything atm, which is so damn frustrating, considering the setup they gave themselves this spring.

Much love! 🤗

Glad for the clarification! ❤️❤️

I can totally understand your feelings. Mine aren’t far off. I waffle back and forth basically by the hour over whether this is all a tee-up and there’s real intention behind it, or whether they truly did give up the best thing that they’ve had in years.

One of my biggest struggles on it all and how it doesn’t make sense, is the active effort to include Tommy/Lou in the social media posts and ABCs use of him in ads as well. I understand that the networks opinion isn’t the end-all, be-all. But I just can’t coalesce all that’s been fed to us to this point, both from a story standpoint, and from the use of Lou/Tommy in the grander scheme at large. It doesn’t make any sense in the narrative, regardless of the ideals that some people have about him being a plot point or “entry level relationship”. One of the quotes I think back on is when Oliver said he wanted to see these two go through the struggles do in their first year of a relationship. That quote alone was one of the things (along with the intentional use of “Evan”) that said to me “people want this to be a short story, but these factors point to Tommy being around long-term”. It goes to the issue that Tommy does not see Evan as “Buck”, when we have already extrapolated that Buck is a mask. We’ve known that since season 3 when he told Bobby that putting on his uniform makes him feel like he can do anything, and “Buck” was a name he took on FOR work. It’s a dignification that creates separation for him from others. By relation, Evan can be as stripped bare and honest as he wants. This is why the use of his first name has always been important. Maddie can see him stripped down and bare, metaphorically speaking, because she knows his trauma. She’s his sister so she gets Evan rights. Eddie used his first name once with the will. In the same context as being stripped down, this was important because he wasn’t communicating with Buck from the standpoint of coworkers, but as a close friend telling him that he had made a decision about the safety and care of his child, should something happen to him. I can’t remember if we’ve ever seen Bobby use his first name, but this has always felt less important because of the father/son narrative.

We’ve seen Chimney throw around “Evan” in weird contexts, but I don’t think it’s a bad thing, so much as they have a unique relationship due to being coworkers, friends, and brothers simultaneously. I think that’s why anytime we hear him say “Evan”, it’s a bit of a play on fucking with him.

So when we cycle back to Tommy, who had only EVER called him Evan, using the name Buck is him forcing himself to create a separation. We also as a fanbase hear that and go “no, that’s wrong, it doesn’t sound right”.

At the end of the day, I cannot reason a fact to build all of this into a narrative (and I do mean ALL of it), include Lou in social media posts, have him be involved in interviews about the show… all to set it on fire 13 episodes after he returns. You’d have to have a damn good reason for doing so, like an actor wanting to leave or being so problematic that they need them gone. Now, a certain group would like for us to believe this, but we don’t have any actual proof of ANY of this narrative. That all said, we have to revert back to what we know and what we’ve been told. Which is confusing.

So. I’ve rambled again. And repeated myself in some contexts 😂 but I think I made my point? (If not I’ll obviously come up with more shit later 😂😂)

[beezonia]

wanted to ramble about the trix for a bit since I haven’t shared anything to do with my rewrite atm

——-

The Trix aren’t biological siblings, they have extremely close bonds with each other though

It helps amplify their magic since the three of them are part of their own coven (coven of albasté - Albasté is the little village in Domino the ancestral witches came from)

So if one is weak or has lost their strength, then the others become slightly weaker since their magic is connected

——-

Icy - 18 (when we first meet the trix in the rewrite they are in their second year at cloud tower) she’s also a December baby

Full Name - Irida Chione Staltican

Witch of Winter (a walking snowstorm basically)

Dyamond in my rewrite is technically a small planet near Zenith hence why it’s always so cold and blizzard like there

She is the only surviving member of the royal family (much like bloom, foils anyone? But unfortunately much like musa she suffers the fate of not being able to see them again)

She can be pretty standoffish, a bit of a bitch and Icy will probably seem like an asshole to those who aren’t close to her or just don’t know her

There’s a reason for this (she’s cursed to not form emotional attachments because of her role as head witch of the coven she’s only bonded with her sisters)

but to her sisters she’s fiercely protective, always teasing then in her usual Icy way

Icy is loyal to a fault even if she shows it by barking orders and scolding her sisters

But she’s fighting for them so they can get their happy ending, so that their dreams of becoming the most powerful witches the magic dimension has ever seen come true

Biggest Lesbian on earth (sorry not sorry tritanus)

—-

Darcy - 19

(Darcy is a February baby she’s the eldest but the role of head witch went to Icy because the ancestral witches saw more potential in her then the other two)

Full name - Darcy Eris Belinaro 

Witch of illusions (Lady of Darkness is a moniker she goes by on Solaria)

Yeah she’s technically a Selenite, born in the small town of Nox. Darcy showed immense strength and potential at the young age of 12 when her magic of illusion was awakened

And so her Mother, Lillith taught Darcy every she needed to know, prepping her for when she’d fulfil her destiny as the ancestral witch’s successor

Darcy is a natural liar, a well known manipulator too.

Literally has most of the witches at cloud tower under her thumb because either she’s manipulating them or they’re afraid of her

Oh yeah she’s aroace btw (it’s an important part of her story when she discovers a lot more about herself when she returns to Nox)

She is fun to be around once you get to know her, a literal mother hen towards her sisters

——

Stormy - 18 (Stormy my lovely October baby)

Full name - Seraphine “Stormy” Opheric

Witch of storms

Born in the small coastal town of Tiderius, north of the Andros capital city Azul

Stormy was always a wild child, she never cared about consequences, never cared about punishment

until her older brother (Draco) got arrested for a crime he didn’t commit

Stormy became obsessed with each planets law and rules wanting justice for her brother and a way to find loopholes in every little rule they could come up with

(She got so angry one day looking at how unfair some governments were that she caused her towns power to go out for a good day or two)

Stormy is an absolute blast to be around, sure she can be pushy and convince you to do bad things that could potentially get you in prison for life

But she’s party animal at heart, she drinks and gets so rowdy that Darcy swears she’s started half of the fights that have broken out in cloud tower

Stormy denies the accusation each and every time (she gets so drunk she can’t really remember)

Just be careful around her, you don’t wanna become her drinking buddy or her lapdog

———

That’s the main overview of the trix, I’ll gladly answer any questions you have about them!

[amusementofaprincess]

Ok! My thoughts on characters of The Magnus Protocol after listening to the 1st 20 episodes in less than a day:

1) Lena. I don’t trust the British government. I don’t trust most governments. But in this case I really don’t trust them

2) I like Celia. I’d love to know why she apparently sleepwalks for miles and I think she should chance a better childcare backup plan than “call Georgie when I wake up”. Plus her flirting with Sam is cute.

In my head her wardrobe varies wildly depending how close it is to laundry day.

3) Sam. Sam seems like a very intelligent,kind, sweet person who is either going get killed by an entity (external?) or go completely insane

In my head he wears a lot of sweater vests

4) I don’t know how I feel about Alice. Her personality is very… chronically online and I find that a bit grating. She also doesn’t see to completely be over Sam. She definitely cares about her friends and coworkers- trying to check up on Teddy, checking in with Collin, try to keep Sam and Celia from something that could get them killed.

She reminds me a lot of Tim.

In my head she wears a lot of galaxy prints

5) Gwen I think looks perpetually annoyed. She obviously is intelligent and curious with NO sense of dangers - that is a bad combination. She needs to be more careful around Externals. “Can he READ?” Is probably one of my favorite reactions to an entity.

In my Gwen always looks perfectly put together. Even if she’s just wearing jeans and a comfy top

6) Mr Bonzo. Again I say WTF. I assume, if the fears here follow Smirks 13, he is associated with the Flesh based on his description.

I don’t think about what he’s wearing. I don’t think about him at all if I can avoid it

7) Lady Mowbray. Rich. Probably associated with THE HUNT.

I bet she dresses like she’s about to hop on a horse at any moment 

8) Georgie! I love Georgie. I know she’s not the same Georgie but I don’t care. She is good friend to Celia, takes good care of Jack. I hope she has a cat. I feel like any reality Georgie needs a cat.

In my head Georgie was at Celia’s in something comfy. Maybe even sweatpants

9) the voices - Chester and Norris - not surprised they are voices in the computer. Also when they talked about the “jmj” error I just keep thinking it stands for Jon/Martin/Jonah since they were near each other in Ep 200 and we don’t know where they went. Jonah’s body might have gotten all swept up in it.

Augustus -at first I thought Jurgen Lightner was back but I checked the credits and he isn’t voiced by Jonathan Sims’ dad (I can’t remember his name atm) but he sounded so similar. So I am intrigued by Augustus

All in all I am very happy with the first 20 eps of season 1 and can’t wait for the next 10!

[femalemonsterhunter]

I'm very sorry for the fact that I feel so inactive rn on every social app/site like Insta and DA themselves regarding posting to something like my finished drawings for several reasons 😭💀💀, or somehow I forgot to even post this finished drawing I made in two or three weeks ago.

Also, here's my art style/AU version but (probably or not) the first attempt of CatDog from the eponymous Nickelodeon cartoon show, however, I somewhat deliberately just separated them as instead of trying to draw them as originally conjoined twins, which I can't do for such good reasons. And plus, I even thoughtfully headcanoned their full name, if it's that simple.

Yeah, I more or less remember when I liked this cartoon show SO much when I first saw it on TV with Ukrainian in my school age (and ofc, as I recall, there was also a one Russian language for the voice of Cat), and then ofc in my adolescence, but still in a school age ‘till 2017, somewhere in 2015 to 2016 (if I don’t even know than I remember) as I used to use on big bro’s old laptop as in every way re-watched every episode of CatDog and even drew barely a lot like in my Star Heart Heart (basically known as “Girl and Friends” since was cringy ass old but former name of my Crossover AU project ‘till 2018 or 2019 its name was literally changed to ”Star Heart” atm, apparently) version and others, and ofc I had a constant but weird crush on Cliff, cuz I have no idea how to explain it, but he is still for me a toughy awesome and totally badass dog guy on the list of favorite villains 🙈. And regardless of the fact that he still bullying Cat for all sorts of unclear reasons.

Anyway, any of you guys have also seen this cartoon show before since your childhood or something?

And still, I hope you enjoy my version of CatDog so honestly.

Art and idea names and more for the main CatDog characters are belongs to me (C)

Cat and Dog from the CatDog are belongs to Peter Hannan and his eponymous production/Nickelodeon Animation Studio/Serom Animation/Rough Daft Korea (C)

[wowlookwhosspirallingagain]

i dunno if like- this is the right move but i was wondering if you had any ideas on how to go abt getting a bpd diagnosis? i meet all the criteria but im also under 18 atm. ive done insane amounts of research and i know these arent just teenage mood swings and this isnt normal. i have that feeling of knowing something really bad happened when i was little but i cant quite reach it, i cant even remember my childhood. i even have the stupid hallucinations, the shadow people, bugs crawling, hearing my name being called. i know somethings *wrong* and i feel so messed up and like i cant do anything but hurt others and push them away. Sorry im rambling youre welcome to just dismiss this ask but if you dont thanks for reading <3

- Scared Anon

hi!! i’m so glad you reached out to me, i always try to help people when i can so here’s a bit of my story:

i don’t know how it works in your country but in mine you cannot get diagnosed with bpd (or any personality disorder) if you’re under 18 BUT you can get diagnosed with a personality which is developing forwards borderline (i think this is the closest translation to the original name) and this is exactly what i got diagnosed with when i was 16. it does basically.. nothing? didn’t really help with anything. however i found a good therapist and she’s been really helpful, she’s mixing schema therapy with dbt and cbt so it works for me as a fellow bpder. from what you described you definitely do fit the criteria so what you need to do is schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist and tell them the exact thing you wrote here:) they’re here to help you! i really hope you get the support you need. please feel free to text me anytime you need<3

[nalyra-dreaming]

I think it’s important to stay realistic in regards to DM and what they show might be doing with them atm. I never actually thought we’d get some type of resolution or even a confirmation re: them having been romantically involved in the past, or them starting some kind of affair in the present for that matter. BUT I do hate to see some people calling DM fans deluded and all sorts of names simply because they either 1. Love the books and the chapter and have waited for years to see it adapted or 2. Simply don’t like Loumand (valid) and prefer to see Armand with someone who actually understands and cherishes ALL of him. These aggressive haters are usually the ones with the weirdly aggressive Loumand agenda that perpetuates the narrative of Louis being an eternal, perfect, helpless victim. DM shippers have existed on the internet long before most of these people were even born lmao it’s so ridiculous.

Yeah well, I do think this season has made it very clear that Louis is not just a helpless victim (and Jacob made that clear as well). (Though he is of course a victim to Armand‘s influence.)

But apart from that… yes it‘s important to stay realistic. There’s only so much they can squeeze into the remaining 3 hours.

And, personally - and that goes for all ships/scenes/whatever - I‘d rather see it done well than fast. Or cheap.

Remember the software development rules :)

If it’s fast and good it’s not cheap.

If it’s fast and cheap it’s not good.

If it‘s good and cheap… it’s not fast.

I want this show to be outstanding, to keep this level of quality.

Which means no hurrying through relationships or events - and no cheap shortcuts.

I. personally, don’t want it any other way.

[persesphonestears]

Another tattoo

(Gif not mine :>)

A/N: So I have to make this a more than one part series because I wrote like way too much and I’m gonna die if I don’t post this already. Also so sorry it’s only Ghost in this post, but promise the second part will have the others!! I actually had so much fun writing this like omfg, I don’t have any piercings or tats for myself thanks to money problems atm but like actually I don’t know where I was going with that- uh anyway enjoy! I’m very tired. (looking at the amount now seems rlly small so sorry :/) ALSO I FUCKIN HATE THE NAME TOO LEAVE ME ALONE.

CW: He/they pronouns used for reader(? I might have ended up just using they/them), Reader has tattoos and piercings, I DONT THINK I USED Y/N LES GOO, I call ghost Simon when he isn't at work, Probably incorrect tattoo health procedures, Reader may be a little bland when first meeting Ghost(?), small mentions of gods(?)

Word count: 1342

Simon was finally let off for a break, given it’s only because Price knew he wasn’t keeping himself healthy or sleeping, so being the ‘dad’ boss he is, Simon was forced to take time off. While Simon wasn’t even close to being happy about having to not stay at base and having to make himself food and all the other human necessities, he’d been wanting a new tattoo for some time now. While maybe some of the privates would simply tattoo each other with pen ink, he’d rather die on the field than die from an infection from a more than likely shitty tattoo.

Walking through the somewhat dodgy looking part of his hometown, looking for a seemingly decent tattoo shop. While walking his eye was caught by the small little tattoo shop that looked clean and not all that dodgy. A small bell as the door opened rang as Simon stepped through, looking around at the walls he was impressed with the artwork that was displayed. He could hear faint 2000s rock music in the background of the shop, standing awkwardly waiting to see if anyone was actually here.

Turning around to walk out, he heard a small crash and a string of curses that followed.

Simon stopped and turned to see a short tattooed and pierced person walking out from the back of the shop. “Hi, sorry I was uh..” their talking trailed off as he looked down to see a fresh and unfinished tattoo on their leg. Unknown to Simon, the person in front of him was just very very happy that they weren’t able to be seen from the back, preferring not to be caught staring at the huge 6’4 man in their shop. 

“Uh anyway, I’m guessing you don’t have an appointment cause I don’t have any till later tonight, but I take walk in’s, both for tats and piercings'' They rambled off as they walked around to the front desk checking through their computer, Simon watched them, surprised by the feeling of fluttering in his stomach. Pushing it away he cleared his throat “Uh yeah walk in, are you able to tat up my other forearm?” he was wearing a t-shirt under his hoodie, happy he wasn’t going to be taking his shirt off. “Mhm sure, I just need to ask a few questions and then get you to sign some consent forms, that cool?” He asked walking back around and sitting on one of the couch chairs at the front, taking a seat after them, Simon sat and agreed to the others' request.

“Cool, alright so first is which arm you want it on obviously and if you have any tattoos on your forearm already?” Simon answered with short and gruff answers “My right arm and no, my left is already tattooed(I think I can’t remember which arm of his is tatted).” “Right cool okay so I’m not gonna bother asking if you're of age because it's pretty obvious because holy shit you are probably the biggest and hottest man I’ve ever seen, but just read through these quick and sign ‘em” Thanking whatever gods there were for people not being able to read minds. Handing the forms to Simon he grabbed them and the pen from your hands, giving a quick read through signing where he had to. Putting them back on the desk, you grabbed them right back and skimmed through them, “Okay Simon, well what do you want?”.

—tiny time skip–

After setting everything up and placing the stencil of the sketch that you drew up (That Simon wouldn’t admit but absolutely adored) onto the gruff military man that was sitting in your chair. “Okay, you ready?” A simple nod was what you received in response. Instead of pushing you continued to go ahead and start his tattoo, not once deciding to ask about some of the many scars that graced his arms. Them seemingly adding onto your attraction for the stranger in your shop as he sat still and silent. Becoming; as you do when tattooing, engrossed in the soft buzzing, the hushed music of your playlist and the ink going into skin at your hand.

“How many do you ‘got?” The gruff voice from above me spoke as I continued to stab his skin. “Tats or piercings?” Responding with another question as I kept my focus on the shading, trying to not let the fact that this absolute 10/10 was asking you about yourself. Sure it was most likely to just make conversation but you could dream. “Both?” The voice behind the black surgical mask didn’t sound overly confident but even when peeking up at the man he was still only looking forward. “I stopped counting how many tats I got a while ago. As for my piercings uh..” cutting myself off to count in my head. “I’d say about 9, not counting my ears.” Feeling a cold gaze turn towards me I stiffen slightly. 

“You only have 6 on your face.” (I chose to give reader a vertical labret, septum, both sides of the nose(like so you could use a chain), bridge, eyebrow :D) His voice replies, stifling my laugh “yeah I know I just don’t normally let people see my chest or just randomly show my stomach.” Giggling, I look up to see his ears turning a slight pink. “R-right sorry.” Trying not to laugh at a client, we continued to talk for a bit more before I suggested to put a movie on more to make it less uncomfortable for me with the awkward conversation. After picking a movie, he seemed to relax just a tad more, getting myself comfortable. I continued to finish up the art piece I was adding to someone's skin.

—another time skip because Ghost would get something edgy and big and I can’t keep writing silly awkwardness—

By the time you had finished and made sure to add some disinfectant and soothing cream to the skin before wrapping it up. You pat his shoulder smiling softly “you’re all done big guy”. Rising from the seat, he walked somehow (even though this man is huge) silently towards the front desk. Scanning his card and giving him the papers that explained how to look after his tattoo. “Thank you. You’re uhm. Very handsome- or uh pretty? I don’t know, can I just get your number?” Stumbling over his words brought a smile to your face. “Sure, I’d uh I’d actually really like it if you took my number” you ramble as you grab some scrap paper, quickly writing your personal number you hand it to him.

Seeing his eyes scrunch slightly, let you know he was smiling at you, and god almighty if the fact that this huge, scary, masked, stoic, man giving you a smile, that you couldn’t even see, wouldn’t make you swoon. Giving you a quick nod he walked out, the small bell above your door ringing in your ears as you watched him leave. 

Giggling to yourself as you stupidly fist pumped the air and twirled around happily, not registering the sound of the bell being rung, indicating the opening of a door. What you did register was the once again gruff voice, clearing their throat as you turned back to look at the man who just left back in your shop. “Forgot ma’ cap.” Swiftly grabbing his hat back with what you could only assume was the smuggest look ever he turned back around. This time leaving you with a curt “Bye now, doll”

Leaving you red faced, in the middle of your own shop. Snapping out of it you groaned loudly before retreating to the floor, hidden by the desk. Cursing yourself for your stupid victory jig you did before even making sure that he wouldn’t come back for a bit. A buzz in your pocket distracted you from your internal dread, pulling out your phone and opening it to see a message from an unknown number. “That lil’ dance was very cute btw”.

A/N: *twerks cutely* ANYWAY