#I need a newer even more fucked up AU

[nocentis]

x

[fruitsofhell]

Anyone give a shit about my Kirby-Steven Universe AU I developed for 3 seconds last year?

Broader Plot Synopsis:

Midnight Agate (Meta Knight) was a young quartz assigned to watch over the colonization efforts on Popstar with a small brigade of Rubies (The Meta-Knights). While waiting for things to truly get started, she let her sentimentality get the best of her and got to know the natives rather than killing them as were her orders. Seeing as it was a backwater planet and mission no one was watching carefully, she thought things would be fine.

While she was playing at being a knight for King Dedede (King Dedede) an undercooked Rose Quartz (Kirby) popped out, and caused some Kirby style antics for them (KDL, Adv, RoMK plots). Agate attempted to be subtle about what Quartzby's existence meant - not wanting to let on to her king friend she was an alien sent to blow up the planet - but in her continued waffling she began to watch the quartz take a liking to the planet just as she had, and started doubting the entire thing.

Eventually, after defusing the silly rivalry between her and Dedede, she began to work on deactivating gem structures (all those Ancient Artifacts we know in canon) and halting the colonization process, but accidentally alerted homeworld authorities whom then proceeded to send Halcan Quartz (Galacta Knight) when it was obvious things were a mess.

That's about as far as I got with solid ideas, but I have more fun disjointed ones. Like Midnight Agate falling in line with Halcan Quartz for a while out of pure fear and obedient instinct before eventually confronting her with the help of Quartzby and her rubies. And from there Halcan Quartz's own sentimentality gets tapped into for a redemption arc.

And from THERE the equivalent to the Diamonds in the would be Zero - a white Diamond I would suppose. I also had lots of fun ideas expanding on Agate and Halcan Quartz's connections to their planets (especially the latter to Halcandra CAUSE I LOVE HALCANDRA).

I really like how both Kirby and SU use their science-fantasy themes to tell stories about enjoying the little things and how you can kinda redeem almost anyone by tapping into that universal humanity. Or atleast I've always read the text of SU into the subtext of Kirby just cause the latter informed my media tastes so much.

I'd def fuck with this AU again if I have another SU phase. But I'm literally just talking about this cause I'm overwhelmed by how much Kirby stuff I have ideas for and needed to fart SOMETHNIG out.

[theresascove]

guitar lessons

ellie williams x f!reader

ellie—your guitar instructor—shows you how to play guitar, and you show her your own personal talents in the practice room

tw: not proofread, SMUT, modern!au, guitar instructor!Ellie, top!reader, bottom!ellie, fingering (e!receiving), oral (e!receiving), loser!Ellie, sort of exhibition? (Sex in a practice room), hand over Ellie’s mouth to quiet her, overstim

wc ✎ 1.1k __ I wrote this to give more content to bottom!Ellie, I personally believe there’s WAY too little

You’ve been attending her lessons for some time now. You had scanned the QR code offered to you and put your information in. About a week later you got an email back and here you are now—a month and half in. The institute was about a fifteen minutes drive, the building being one smooshed between other smaller companies.

First applying for these lessons, you had no expectations—but each time you’ve opened that front door you have to shake off your nerves. The first time you came through this door and saw her, your instructor, you had to do a double take. She looked about your age, hair short and hanging around her shoulders. Her guitar was set beside her, one you recognize from a popular and reputable brand. She was on her phone, looking up at you when you signaled your arrival by opening the door. She shook your hand, introducing herself before taking the both of you back to the practice room in the back.

You barely knew chords then, only knowing the basic G and C major. She’s taught you a lot, and now you’ve begun to play a few songs, understand a few more chords, and you can even pluck a few songs. Sure you’ve learned a bit, but at the same time there were lessons where you didn’t pay any attention. It was the ones when she’d lean close, her fingers covering yours—showing you how to press tighter onto the guitar so it doesn’t buzz. She always had to show you a few times because the first time you never “got it.”

Now you grab the guitar from your car, moving into the building with the same old deep breath, preparing for whatever’s to be shown. She was in the back practice room, eyes raising to yours as you open the door.

“Hey,” she leans to set her phone down on the ground, “you practice at all this week?”

“Uh,” you laugh, sitting across from her.

“Shit yeah of course, you didn’t.”

You bring your guitar out of its case, setting it your lap, “I’ve had a lot going on, I promise I will this next week.”

She sets her pick in between her lips, humming and reaching behind her for her own guitar. As she pulls it out again, you watch each movement—eyes locked on her lips.

“I don’t believe you, but anyways.”

The lesson kicks off. She tries to pick off where you two left off, but it proves difficult with no practice. It started out with re-going over the song before she tried working on the parts you were messing up on.She’s showing a newer chord, one that has your own fingers struggling to grasp—slipping between the bars. She had moved her guitar beside her yet again, her eyes watching you try and get this and fail miserably each time.

“How’re you getting it?”

She rolls her eyes, “skill.”

With a huff she leans in again, closing the distance between you two. Her callused fingers brushing yours and pressing them, moving them where’s needed. Your pupils pretty much dilate, breathing turning sharp. She’s so close, you can count each freckle on her face and describe her eye color exactly.

“Did you grasp any of what I just said?”

Her voice’s so low, raspy—it drives you up the wall. Holy fuck you wanted to push her against the wall. Her voice, fingers, lips, eyes, body. Maybe you were too overly obvious about your attraction to her physically because she reacts. Her eyes widen just subtly, body stilling at the look coming upon your face. She looks a little taken aback, but she doesn’t move away.

You slide your fingers on top of hers, “can I kiss you?”

As she comes to nod, you’re sliding your guitar off your lap and pulling her in. A hand on her jaw, angling her to start the kiss off deep. You reconnect your lips again, not caring to try and really breathe because all you want to do is breathe her in. You’re desperate.

The angle is awkward, reaching—so you ease it on the both of you. She ends up pushed against the wall just as you’ve imagined so many times. Her hands grappling to hold onto the sponge-like walls, gasping between each kiss. Each sound escaping her drives your mind into a lust-hazed frame of mind.

“Is this okay,” you huff, “will you tell me if I go too far?”

“Yes.”

You pull at her sweats, kissing along her jaw as you drag them down and off somewhere. Right after you’re hiking her leg up, drawing it to rest on your hip to spread her further. Her eyes open to find yours and her focus is gone, she’s already under the effect of your touch. She shivers as you draw your hand down, breathing heavily when you reach her cunt.

“You’re intoxicating—shit.”

With a tug you pull her underwear to the side, rubbing before thrusting a finger in. She moans, head hitting the wall behind her—eyes still looking at you. There’s barely anytime set between when you first insert your first between moving to three. You have her moaning to a concerning volume. With your free hand you cover your mouth, feeling her hot breaths against it.

“Shh, can’t have others knowing.”

She’s whining behind your hand, hips jerking when you hit a spot that throws her over the edge. Everything is exactly how you’ve been imagining, quick flashes of how you’ve wanted to take her whenever she got close to you. She shakes when she reaches her high, covering your fingers.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, unsympathetically. She looks confused until she sees you lower yourself to your knees and kiss her inner thigh. She singsongs when you kiss her overstimulated clit. Your name falls from her lips as you do so, almost a hiss before she covers her own mouth to try and keep quiet. Just beside you are piano sounds and singing, most likely a kid learning his scales and warming up for his vocal lesson. Here you have Ellie in another kind of vocal lesson, voice coming out pitchy and whiny.

“I’m going to—again.”

You hum against her, grinning at her tone and licking her completely to see the reaction she has. Each thing she does really is intoxicating, it fills your own mind with nonsense—nothing but her. Her tattoo’d arm is gripping you, the other set upon her face. Her eyes are shut, squinted and trying to calm herself. The second after she comes again, you’re licking her clean—savoring each moment.

“You’re nasty,” she huffs.

You stand, meeting her in a passionate kiss, “maybe, but you enjoyed it.”

“Maybe.”

[starzblvd]

Me Espresso.ᐟ

Ellie thinks coffee tastes disgusting, but you taste delicious. Do u guys get my fire references in here, hope you babes enjoy 🍽️ Band!Ellie Bsf!ellie college!au

Hot summer nights while having your knees digging your weight into the carpet floor of your best friends small dorm room was starting to become weekly routine. Making band tees with cheap markers for her band that had its fair amount of supporters, somehow they’d sell out every time they performed. It was probably because there’d only be like 20 shirts that actually looked good enough to put out for sale.

Sitting next to you was Ellie with half of a bun she struggled to keep it together had some strands fall out and onto the back of her neck. You could smell the perfume on her, you convinced her to buy it that one time she’d agreed to come shopping with you. Wanting to be helpful you had to show her the right way to wear it, by spraying it on your wrist to then rubbing it into her collarbone, just to be helpful of course.

Holding up a finished shirt Ellie grins into the cocky face you’ve gotten to love the look of,

“Oh they’re gonna love this,”

��what your 300 Spotify listeners?”

“Ouch,” Ellie looks at you playing heartbroken to then throw the shirt right at your face. It was always banter like this, with the very few times the lines almost blurred to get somewhere further. Staying away gets harder when being with her was so natural.

“Just for that I’m so not coming to your concert tomorrow.”

“Hey hey hey I need my number one fan there, plus we’re getting ice cream after.”

You’d become a groupie to her, always front lining to every concert she was able to catch a venue in, which were basically all bars. When she’d look below to you under the neon lights playing guitar it felt like such a special moment only between you and Ellie. No crowd no other band mates, as if you knew what she was thinking of and that she wanted you too. Some of your plans started to circle around her now that she was being a bit more discovered.

”You aren’t going to talk to your fan girls?”

“Nah, I’d rather spend my time with you. You know?” Staring at each other awkwardly stopped being so awkward when they’d happen so much, it’s was perfectly normal.

And with opportunity you got to be with Ellie you already knew you’d take it. As little as you knew she was wrapped around with whatever you had been involved in too, stuck and feeding off your sweetness like a bee.

June.21.24

Just like every concert you shared your special moment, no one else can say they had Ellie’s direct attention during multiple songs. This time it was more of an outside stage with sand below you. Yellow hued string lights draped above the stage and more along the audience area. The heat was really getting to Ellie, making her glow from sweat. The black T-shirt she picked out only made her condition worse. The face framing bangs she cut herself were sticking to the side of her face.

She wasn’t even singing, but being under your watch scorched her hotter. To save herself from embarrassment she mainly looked down to her guitar playing notes, but she made a mistake looking at you when a lyric of a song she made with you in thought came up.

Tell me you never wanna lose me

Cuz I know when you call you call for me

She might’ve been a little out of it when helping writing the song, but it became too late when Dina saw the scrunched up paper and kept insisting on making it an official song for a newer album.

To you it was just another lyric that was written by anyone but Ellie. If only you knew how much she relates to your desperation to be with you in every way and any position she could. Whether your batting of eyelashes at her was intentional or not her finger slipped making an unplanned squeak slip through.

‘Fuck this is so bad she probably thinks I’m shit at playing now’

Lucky for Ellie it was the final song anyways and she could get far away from the crowd and you. Other people clapped upon their leave and when they finished their set list you knew exactly where to meet her.

”You ever going to do more than eye her when we’re up there?” Dina was putting away the instruments back to take home with help from Jessie.

“What are you even saying I don’t do that,” Ellie scoffs then sits down on a blue deflated bean bag that who knows how long it’s been in this back room.

“Oh you know what I’m talking about, your friend zone is taking longer than your time with Cat.” She crossed her arms waiting for another excuse to why she hasn’t done anything after a continued semi dating friendship since freshman year.

“She’s nothing like Cat that’s why, if I lose feelings for her after getting rejected that’s one thing but losing her completely because I fucked it up is different.” Her constant fear of never getting to be near you again because of some feelings she couldn’t stop screwed her over with overthinking everything.

In her journal it was the same thing, “She liked my shirt today, I don’t want to look weird and over wear it now, but not under wear it now. Unless she’d like to see it more often or maybe she likes my style in general she’d like me in anything?? Fucking hate this gay stuff and whys it so hard.”

One of the two large metal doors swings open with you appearing, with the smile you wore she had engraved into her mind with a hot rod of metal after sketching you a few more times she’d probably ever admit. Ellie got up and cut the short distance and accepted you into her arms trying to not look like a desperate looser that flushes over a simple hug. Her ears clammy hands didn’t make her look exactly so hot and relaxed though.

“You did amazing El’s,”

“You think so?” She lit up into a smile under your praise, no matter how many times you give it to her mind melts.

“Except for the part where she messed up on the bridge.” Ellie shot a quick mean look at Jessie, but he just turned a cold shoulder before turning away.

“At least I didn’t bump into Dina’s drums 10 times,”

While Ellie kept bickering back and forth with Jessie she still held onto you, this felt like an opening to try at doing something.

A kiss on the check seemed harmless and innocent enough to take back in the case Ellie thought it was totally disgusting. Raising your head up towards her cheek nearing the corners of her smile, pressing your lips to a pout Ellie brought her face back in your direction landing the small peck on her lips. Ellie locked in place while you pulled away, not that you wanted to, but felt too embarrassed to start a kiss you didn’t know how to finish.

“El’s ‘m so sorry, you just moved out of nowhere and-“

“No, yeah mistakes happen, it’s chill or whatever,”

Her shit faced expression wasn’t helping the full pink flush saturating deeper on her face. Ellie lowered her head to wipe the bottom of her nose trying to forget the way your lips felt, your lipgloss was still sweet on her and so was the taste of it on her tongue wiping her lips clean.

Now it was your turn to feel scared and conflicted. It was too silent in the room even with the chatter of everyone else doing their own things outside. Taking back the small kiss wasn’t so easy now that it was done and got taken up a notch further.

She dropped her arms from both of your sides, looking away from you because looking at you right now felt like looking directly into the sun.

“Ellie you should start up the car we’re done here,” Jessie throws the keys at her giving her a slight knowing look to let her go and collect herself back together.

She didn’t even say anything, walked away without a goodbye or convincing enough reassurance that would calm your nerves.

“I’m gonna go home too, see you guys.” You were left with only your actions to think about. Ellie’s response to an accidental kiss made her ran away in the other away how could’ve you imagined it going any of other way? Feeling guilt and shame were the only emotions you could feel, rethinking the crush you’ve denied yourself from paying attention to and that it should’ve stayed that way.

Instead of paying attention to the kiss Ellie let her actions drive themself, not wanting to think at all. Until she hit herself with the car door, why did I act so grossed out? Making different scenarios of how it could’ve played out a million times better she thrust the keys into the ignition.

She dug out her cracked old red iPhone from her butt pocket and threw it into the passenger side. It hit something else than the leather seat, one of the lipglosses you always carry around abandoned alone. Ellie reached for it and saw the shade label, Glassy Expresso.

It sounded like the taste in her mouth from earlier, a taste you stole from her too soon. Unscrewing the lid she contemplated just trying it on. My lips are dry anyways, she swiped the applicator across her lips twice to get an even coat and rubbed it in with her lips. Some of it slipped onto her tongue, again. If only the taste of you could come along with the gloss.

Lmk if you guys want a pt.2♡🍒

[theatre-mqn]

Okay, hear me out: CharmingHearts Time Loop AU.

Because Rise of Red has me in a fucking chokehold, and I am letting myself be strangled.

(This is a fic I'm in the process of writing - unfortunately it might take a bit since I don't have anyone to bounce ideas off of. the life of the only rise of red fan in the friendgroup :D)

The day of the coup begins as per normal.

It's September 1st. Red wakes up in her room.

She gets dressed and heads down to the courtyard, watching one of the newer card soldiers - a 6 of Spades - nearly trip over the carpet on the way there.

She attends court. The Jack of Diamonds nearly gets executed at her command - until Maddox shows up right on time and presents the Queen of Hearts with King Ben's Letter of Invitation. So they go to Auradon Prep, The Queen of Hearts gets her deck of cards past the guards at the entrance, Red watches Bridget and Ella get their "reunion" -- and meets Chloe for the first time in the process -- and then witnesses her mother stage a violent coup against Auradon, and gets coerced into sentencing Cinderella to death.

Now an innocent woman is going to die, everyone thinks that she's just like her mom, and that girl - Chloe Charming, her name was? - has her sword drawn, and is seemingly about to go on a suicide charge to try and attack the Queen of Hearts.

Red panics and activates the time machine she stole from Maddox.

Except this time, in this universe, the pocket watch doesn't quite have the effect that Maddox intended. In this universe, something goes wrong.

It's September 1st. Red wakes up in her room.

She watches the 6 of Spades trip over the carpet. She watches the Jack of Diamonds get dragged off to the dungeon - again.

She watches the invitation to Auradon arrive.

She watches her mother sneak the cards through the checkpoint, watches Bridget and Ella's tense conversation.

She meets Chloe, again.

This time, Red knows what's going to happen - what she needs to do. So during the ceremony, she steals her mother's deck of cards, attempting to prevent the coup from occurring. Except the Card Soldiers don't seem to care what hand the deck is in - they come when their Queen calls, ever loyal - ever fearful.

So the coup happens again, despite her efforts.

This time, she refuses to sentence Cinderella to death. So her mother, furious, has the guards lock her in what was initially intended to be her and Chloe's dorm room until she "decides what to do with her".

No matter. She messed up this time, but she knows better now. All she needs to do is --

.

The pocket watch doesn't work.

She clicks it - once, twice, three times. Nothing. No flash of light, no spiral back in time, nothing.

She's failed.

Red watches Cinderella's execution from her dorm - what would have been her dorm, if she hadn't failed, hadn't wasted the opportunity given to her, if she had just been a little bit stronger. She watches Chloe lunge at the Queen of Hearts - now the Queen of Auradon - with her sword drawn, only to be dragged off to God-Knows-Where.

She can't bring herself to think.

She just lies down on what would have been her bed, and before she knows it, she's asleep.

----

Red wakes up in her room.

It's September 1st.

It's still September 1st.

What the fuck?

----

It takes about two more resets before Red finally comes to terms with her situation - an embarrassingly long time, though if you think about it, it technically hasn't been very long at all.

On the 3rd loop, she tries to steal the cards from her mother before they set off for Auradon. That doesn't work - they just end up in her hands again, somehow.

On the 4th, 5th and 6th, she tries to warn the guards about the coup. Every single time, she gets laughed off - or worse, caught and punished.

On the 7th loop, she tries to warn Cinderella. Keyword, tries.

Her mother doesn't even let her get close enough to speak.

It's on the 8th loop that Red finds out she can't die - when she tries to physically stop her mother from unleashing her soldiers, and ends up sentenced to be beheaded for for treason alongside Cinderella.

She wakes up the morning of the 1st of September with a jagged scar looping around her throat.

On the 9th loop, she starts talking to Chloe.

It's hard, at first. Small talk, almost painful in it's awkwardness - the tension between their parents certainly doesn't help.

It's hard the second time too, and the third, and the fourth, and the fifth. She's not used to talking to someone who isn't subservient, isn't scared out of their wits of the terror her mother brings.

(She's not used to talking to someone who's genuinely nice to her.)

(She's not used to being genuinely nice to someone, either. Even despite the pang of guilt that Chloe's hurt expression puts through her chest every time she says something wrong, every time she fucks up.)

But day by day, reset by reset, Red starts to learn more.

She learns that Chloe's favourite colour is, unsurprisingly, blue. She learns that her Father's name is Christopher, and that she has an adoptive brother named Chad. She learns that she's planning on joining Auradon's Swords and Shields club.

She learns that one of her biggest dreams in life, above anything else, is to become a hero - a Knight.

(The brave, blue idiot. Of course it is. She's seen Chloe charge at her mother with naught but a sword and a roar of righteous fury at least 5 times now.)

(She's seen her get run through with a spear in retaliation for 3 of them.)

(She's seen her get beheaded for it once.)

The loops keep coming. Red keeps failing. But talking to Chloe makes it ever so slightly more bearable.

Even so, it does hurt sometimes, to know the Princess so well when she never, ever remembers Red in turn. To watch Chloe die or be imprisoned at her mother's hand again and again, to see the betrayal in her eyes - betrayal that turns to shock and horror in the fading corners of Red's vision after she grabs the nearest Card Soldier's spear and drives it through her own chest.

(What? It's a more efficient method than just going to sleep.)

The day repeats, over and over. Red keeps learning more and more about Princess Charming. She keeps trying to save her, over and over.

It doesn't work. It never does.

( "I'm going to fix this," she swears, on the 20th loop - while they sit together in a cell, awaiting their inevitable executions.

Chloe almost laughs at the notion - but something in the Princess of Wonderland's eyes makes her want to believe her.

When they get dragged out to the courtyard and forced onto the chopping block, when Red takes her hand in hers and offers her a cocky, confident grin, she almost does.)

Red keeps trying anyway.

Because any amount of deaths, any amount of executions, any amount of resets, is a fair price to pay to give Chloe a better outcome than this.

It's the very least she can do for her only friend.

[15-lizards]

ASOIAF modern AU class/wealth distinctions bc in the wise words of Mod Sam from the Inn at The Crossroads Discord: “i love modern aus where theyre like oh yeah the lannisters are filthy rich and here's the starks, piling into a minivan to go to public school. they would not fucking do that”

Lannisters: Private jets and COO/CEO/CFO positions at the family company and plain white tshirts that cost $5000. 1% of the 1%. They’re the Roys we already know this no need to elaborate.

Starks: they’re a rugged type of Minnesota/North Dakota/Wyoming wealth. Land rich. Own ranches and mining operations and oil drilling companies. Ppl think they’re normal bc they look like average farmers until they get a tour of their 300,000 acres and private mountain. Seem down to earth but grew up breeding ranch horses, don’t really understand what a car note is, and Nedcat paid for all the starklings college apartments. Also wear normal looking vests and ranching jeans and boots that cost absurd amounts

Tyrells: masters at the “quiet wealth” bullshit. Wayyyy older money compared to the Lannisters, and aren’t aggressive/scrappy like them bc of it. Literal aristocracy like lords or barons or some shit. Multiple residences, family tradition of politics, and loads of passive income. Maybe run a newspaper or two and own some global shipping companies bc of their merchant roots or whatever. Margaery was at one of those international debutante balls for the ubër-wealthy.

Tullys: Not as rich as the Tyrells or Lannisters but still nothing to scoff at. Not upper middle class but more like lower rungs of the upper class. Family tradition of sending all the kids to boarding school (that’s where Lysa got pregnant 🙂‍↕️) and they have some nice yachts and the like. Have one really nice permanent house on the river, a summer house upstate, and an apartment in the city. Normal enough to blend in with most people at their school. Also made their money thru shipping lanes.

Martells: Southern oil barons. Nymeria emigrated over and immediately discovered oil on her apparently shitty piece of land. Thousands of acres dedicated to drilling and cattle ranching. Awful for the environment but greenwash the fuck out of their business. Good at being a man of the ppl despite literally being in the one percent. Very publicly donate to progressive charities and causes to offset the backlash they get from pay the people who work for them slave wages. People stan them on Twitter because they’re hot and not like other billionaires.

Baratheons: slightly newer money but old enough to have no excuse to act the way they do. Loud annoying displays of wealth. Made their fortune mostly because they were good at being overly aggressive when it came to the stock market or sales or smthn idk what they do. Robert buys an egregious house in Florida where him and some other rich repulsive republicans do Labor Day weekend on their yachts with women they paid to be there. Absolutely terrible at saving their money (except Stannis and kinda Renly) and quite literally have to have their accounts frozen by their investment bankers. Actively going bankrupt.

Greyjoys: Not even rich anymore. Had a sizable shipping company at one point before they got poached bought out by the Lannisters. Also they engaged in too much tax fraud and embezzlement so now no one wants to touch them with a ten foot pole. Still live in their dilapidated cliffside house that’s literally ab to crumble into the sea. Theon got to live with the Starks bc once the Greyjoys got audited Ned felt bad.

Targaryens: REAL old money that stretches back like at least 500 years. Have had multiple income sources over the years and almost all of it is blood money of some kind and extracted through violence :) Giant ass portraits of their ancestors in their multiple residences, they all speak Valyrian at home, and they don’t even go to school it’s just private tutors. Obscene wealth that isn’t even fathomable to most people. Famously bred race horses and hunting dogs for a while until there was some familial infighting about ownership of the racetracks and stables and that collapsed. Got audited and investigated twenty years ago and Aerys just killed himself instead of going to jail.

[peachhcs]

i need some will and samy spicy time😵‍💫

HAHAHA i never get asks about this but i’m not complaining 😌

here’s a little blurb of a heated makeout session that alludes to sex at the end and slightly inspired off the fact that i think will likes to bite sometimes bc of the way he likes to bite his mouth guard during games

au masterlist

a small moan escaped samy’s lips, her boyfriend hovering above her as they made out in her bed. they’d just gotten back from a long day out in ann arbor with some friends. it started with just innocent cuddling until something else plagued their minds and will’s lips were on samy’s a second later. she ran her hands up his muscular arms, squeezing his biceps. the feeling made the blonde a bit dizzy with lust—thanking the new sharks conditioning for the newer muscles.

their lips smashed together once more, hips and chests forcefully colliding as the adrenaline rose and their breathing became heavier.

“hannah’s home you know,” samy mumbled when another moan escaped her lips, loving the feeling of will’s lips against her own and doing nothing to stop it despite her words.

“and when has that ever stopped us?” will raised his eyebrow. he could name all the times him and samy made out when someone was close by—frankly because they just didn’t care about getting caught.

“well, keep quiet either way. i get enough shit from her about this,” the brunette half giggled, half serious.

will dipped his lips further down until he stopped at samy’s neck. his familiar biting and sucking on her skin sent a small shiver down the girl’s spine while she pushed her hips into his.

a groan escaped the boy, “fuck.”

the friction of his jeans and samy’s hips rubbing against made his head cloud over with nothing but thoughts of samy and all the things he wanted to do.

“yeah, right there..shit, will,” samy mumbled, her grip becoming bruising on the blonde’s arms.

“you’re so fucking pretty. shit,” will dropped his lips even further towards her shoulder.

for a second he kissed the tender skin until something came over him where he had a strong urge to bite. not hard and not long, but he bit her shoulder. his quick action made samy jump slightly, quickly making will pull back.

“s-sorry..i didn’t mean to..” he stumbled over his words, caught on the way she was staring at him.

“no, no, do it again,” now her words caught him off guard.

“o-okay..” will dipped his head back down, sinking his teeth into the girl’s skin just below where he bit her the first time.

samy’s fingers threaded into his hair, pulling each time will bit at her skin—little moans leaving her lips too. the whole thing turned the hockey player on more than he’d like to admit—that ache in his pants becoming harder and harder to ignore (literally).

“fuck, s-samy.”

“you feel so good, baby,” she shifted her hips against his some more and will couldn’t take it anymore.

she hardly touched him and he was already ready to come undone. he lifted his lips back up to her lips, the skin on her shoulder indented with will’s teeth marks.

“you’re so fucking pretty like this. i want you so bad,” the boy managed between kisses, his cock fully erect in the tight material of his jeans.

“want you so bad, will. please,” samy was right there with him—desperately tugging his curls and turning them into a mess.

“i’m all yours, samy. all yours,” will assured, ducking his head back to her skin to leave more bite and hickey marks.

she managed to flip them over. samy straddled will’s hips, so close to where he wanted her the most. he gazed up at her in awe, hands dragging across the top of her thighs.

“say that for me again?” she sat proudly on top of him, priding herself in the way he couldn’t take his eyes off of her like some puppy.

“i’m yours. need you, bad,” will’s voice shook knowing he was in for one tonight.

samy smirked.

“good. you are mine. all mine.”

[artdcnaldson]

Ok so I’m coming around with the cheating fantasy (sorry im on the vanilla side) I gotta ask, how do you think the trio would snake back reader to their quad? The scenario is that at stanford reader had a relationship with the trio, broke up after a couple of years due to possessiveness, jealousy and borderline toxic behavior from all 4 of them. I can def see reader, after some years removed from them, a new boo and a ring on their finger, fall victim to Patrick first, him convincing reader to at least hear the trio out, the trio causing some chaos to readers engagement, all trying to get reader back to their fucked up little quad

GODDDDD I love the toxicity so badly fuck!!! I need more of this so fuck it. give me an au name we’re running this bad boy into the dirt if we have to

You run into Patrick at your second bar of your bachelorette bar crawl— with a short white dress and a little cheap tiara and veil and a sash that says Bride to Be in silver sparkles.

You choke down your shot when you notice him, eyes wide as you get fucking yanked into flashbacks of Patrick and Tashi and Art and all the shit you got into at Stanford. Good… and very bad.

You try to ignore him, but he’s not going to let that slide. He sidles up beside you at the bar, smiling wolfishly, like he wants to just eat you up.

He’s standing too close, leaning in so you can hear him over the loud music of the bar— his breath is warm and tickles your cheek as he tells you how good you look, that he’s missed you. His hand settles on your arm and he’s so warm.

“When’s the wedding?” He asks.

“25 days,” you reply. “At the botanical garden near his hometown.”

He thinks you sound a little dreamy about it, like it’s a fairytale. So he picks at it, needs to make it unravel. “Have you fucked?”

Your eyes go wide, you frown in annoyance, maybe a little bit of amusement, he thinks. “Patrick—“

He shrugs. “Well, I just remember how particular you were in college. Just want to make sure you’re marrying someone who knows how to take care of you.” Your mind unconsciously feeds you the memories in tiny flashes— how nice it had been to be their plaything, to be taken care of. Falling apart as Patrick’s cock bullied into you, or as Art buried him head between your thighs, or around Tashi’s fingers or strap.

Pillow princess. You had always been taken care of, at least sexually. They liked keeping their sweet girl satisfied in that way, even if the other areas could fall flat.

“Particular,” you echo. “You know most people have very fulfilling sex lives with just one partner.“

He grins, shrugs. “Well, you’re not most people.”

It pisses you off. And you’re losing the nice buzz you’d gotten from that first bar. You grab a stupid glowing shot off of a girl carrying a tray, throw it back with a huff.

“You don’t know anything about me, Patrick.” You meet his gaze, raise a brow.

“We dated for— what?— four years? I know plenty.” He pauses, leans closer. Impossibly closer. “I know how you act when you love someone, when you really love them in your fucked up way you do and not the bullshit romcom act you’re putting on for him. I know the kind of sounds you only take when you’re taking two cocks at once. Does your…” he trails off, looks at the stupid shirts your bridesmaids are wearing further down the bar. “Ben. Does Ben know that?”

You scoff, brush past him with hot annoyance in your belly. This is your fucking night— for fun and getting shitfaced with your friends before you get married and Ben doesn’t let you go out as much anymore. Before you have to carry his kids and lose yourself to a newer, boring version of yourself everyone would just call mom.

Whatever. Ben makes you happy. You don’t want to reach 30 and still be clinging to a toxic four way relationship from college. That would be clinical. You had been happy for three years away from them— you weren’t their girl anymore.

So why are you relieved when Patrick follows you into the alleyway between this bar and the one next door. When he pins your wrists above your head against the scratchy brick wall and tells you to stop him if you don’t want it.

“I don’t want it.” You say, weakly, while your lips instinctively seek out his. “I don’t… I don’t want it.”

“Don’t want what?” Don’t want this? Don’t want Ben? His lips brush against yours, teasingly, almost like it hadn’t even happened and you sigh.

“I just… I don’t—“ and you’re kissing him, messy and hungry and so fucking perfect. You’ve missed Patrick’s kisses— the intensity and need. Ben doesn’t kiss like that. Actually you can’t stand the way Ben kisses sometimes— like you’re already an old maid with no sexuality at all. Like he’s already planning the affair he’d have with his secretary in a few years.

Patrick’s hand slips between your thighs and you nearly sob with relief. He knows your body so well, he knows you so well. He makes you cum with no effort at all, gushing onto his fingers.

He tidies your sash, straightens your veil hairclip. He sucks his fingers between his lips, cleans them off. “Your bridesmaids are going to miss you,” Patrick says plainly. Testing you.

“Do you? Miss me, I mean. And I mean me, not… not that you miss fucking me.”

“We all miss you, baby. You know how crazy seeing your engagement photos made us? Fucking crushed us.” He kisses your forehead, so tenderly that your heart starts to stutter. You want to say something, but you don’t know what there really is to say. But Patrick gets it. He always does. “I hope Ben makes you really, really happy. You deserve better than just settling.”

You nod, but it’s all so confusing. Ben makes you happy, doesn’t he? You weren’t settling, were you? He was a good guy, a sweet guy, and you loved his family.

But was he the one person you wanted to spend your life with? Could one person really be all you needed?

You walked back into the party and got another drink from the bar, almost waiting for Patrick to come back in and whisk you away.

He never did.

[definitelynotshouting]

Hi I’m obsesseddddd with your hunger au and after reading the lore doc and the fic I have a couple questions if you don’t mind

Ok first off this isn’t really a question and more like a “huh wouldn’t that be fucked up” thought but uhhhh. So og grian was pretty much trapped in a box and constantly watched while the larva developed right. Did the watchers ever feed off him? Bc I imagine being trapped and just waiting to die wouldn’t be great for your emotional state. Or would they not since he is hosting the larva and that point so they can’t/wont feed on a host? Oh also you said that he made the deal to become a watcher while under duress. I imagine that duress could easily be heightened by some hungry watchers. And having your brain lightly fried would probably make you more susceptible to agreeing to a fucked up situation

And for my second question I was curious how aware the general populace/the hermits are of watchers?? Like are they a known thing and ppl just aren’t sure how they work or what. Because the rescue group had to puzzle out that grian was benefiting from their suffering in some way, but pearl seemed to have some idea of what grian was with the whole “eating our brains” bit so I’m curious what levels of knowledge they’re operating with here

Anyways thanks for reading my silly little thoughts on your amazing au!! It’s so fun I’m having such a good time with the horrible things happening

Im so glad you like the fic, anon!! :DD im always so touched when people tell me they enjoyed it enough to read the lore behind it-- gods ive gotta update that, there are a sizeable amount of newer asks i havent added to it yet, plus my beloved friend @/corvidaearts made a proper carrd for it on my birthday that i plan on replacing the google doc with!!! Just, uh, as soon as i add aforementioned posts dkcjsjdjfj

That would be super fucked up if they fed on him while he was trapped, OUGHHHH.... id say in canon probably not, because feeding off of one Player is really really dangerous for them, and Grian was now a host for their experiment to see if they could bring their population back up. If anything, nobody touched or interacted with him beyond the bare minimum it took to keep him safe from any potential respawns, and it was likely only the colony elders who even had direct access to him in the first place. THAT BEING SAID..... GODS THATS FUCKED UP I LOVE IT. And, well, i suppose one Watcher did feed on him.. which was Grian himself, as he emerged from his Player cocoon. Player!Grian's final moments of agony and terror were amplified to the max as his Watcher-self's very first meal, and that haunts Grian a lot late at night if he lets himself think about it

The duress he was placed under to become a host in the first place involved a significant amount of heightened emotional leverage though, thats for sure. One of these days i need to map out how exactly that went down, but i know that it involved an offer that was not actually an offer, several lies through omission, intimidation tactics that spanned the entirety of Evo in the first place, and using Grian's own fear-- both of them, and for his friends-- against him. Real fucked up situation all around 😔😔😔😔

General populace does not know much if anything about the Watchers!! The Watchers are, aside from this one colony, pretty much extinct; even before that, they relied quite a lot on camouflage and secrecy to keep their presence from being discovered, both by their prey and by the Seekers that hunted them.

Some very very old Players might know whispers of information-- rumors from the tail end of a game of telephone, as it were. And there are for sure a few individuals here and there who know of them due to personal experience (including the entire Evo crew, which was ofc a special case), but because Player information is not centralized in any capacity in this universe, the vast majority of Players have zero knowledge that Watchers even exist, let alone what they do and how they feed.

Pearl, with her previous knowledge and experience with Watchers and how they operated while involved with the Evo server, made some really good educated guesses about how Grian works and what's going on with him. And ofc everyone on Hermitcraft, plus all the lifers, knows that Grian at the very least can manipulate Player emotions to an extreme degree-- putting those context clues together, you can piece together quite a few connections. She doesn't have the full picture, but at this point in time she's basically figured out a good chunk of it. The rest will have to come from Grian himself >:]

[tiddygame]

Ghoap god type au part 3!

Ao3 /// part 1 /// part 2 /// part 3 /// part 4 /// part 5 /// part 6 /// part 7 /// part 8 /// part 9

Their first official meeting face to… well, almost face. Soap’s doing his best.

[Disclaimer: I have been fiddling with this for ages, and just like everything else i’ve written, i’m not quite happy with it but i’m done looking at it. sorry if it’s awful lmao. also it’s around 5 goddamn thousand words]

Another battle won, another victory to add to the general’s reputation, and another fight that left Ghost feeling empty.

Part of him hated that he had become a disciple for the god of death. It was hard not to notice the changes that started after he first left an offering for the god. The way he felt a little less alone, the way enemy arrows would occasionally miss their target, the way the aches of battle faded much sooner, the way the world seemed a bit brighter. The way it gave him hope.

Hope was a dangerous thing. It tricked him into thinking he was meant for more than just dying on the battlefield. Made him believe that he could have a happy ending.

In reality however, Ghost would live and die a prisoner, having forgotten the taste of freedom. The world was not bright. It was cruel. If there were any good in the world, the other side would have won. Would have slaughtered them like pigs.

Instead, they lived to fight another day. Once the wounded were stable, they moved on. Found a spot to camp on a riverbank. As always, Ghost ran off. Let himself indulge in the falsity of hope.

By now, everyone in the camp was used to his routine. The only one brave enough to confront him was the general and so long as he returned to be his rabid dog whenever he needed, he learned not to care.

So, he left. Continued his search for more temples that once housed devout believers of the god of death. He appreciated the distraction from the real world, a short respite found in half-mindless wandering through abandoned cities or overgrown forests.

Ghost still knew very little about the god. While he knew the story of why the god had been forgotten, he still knew next to nothing about who the god was. They didn’t seem too bad at least; Ghost was still alive and has yet to be punished to an eternity of suffering.

He knew if he tried asking the god, (if he received an answer at all) it would all be what he wanted to hear and not the truth. So, he searched.

Most temples were too dilapidated to glean any information, but the little he had gathered seemed to point in a mostly positive direction. But he still needed to know more. He didn’t even know the god’s name for fuck’s sake.

Wandering through the forest, he wasn’t too worried about getting lost. It wasn’t so dense that shadows swallowed it whole and he could always follow the river to find his way back out.

Over the months spent on this routine, he’d learned a lot about how to find the temples, especially in forests like this one. It was rather simple: find a trail of slightly younger trees and follow them.

The much bigger, much older trees would outline a path that had long been lost to time. While hundreds upon hundreds of years have passed since the god was praised, the evidence was still dug into the earth.

Sure enough, after an hour or two of following a line of newer trees, he found a temple. It was the most intact one he’d found yet, all four walls still up, even if they looked ready to cave in at any moment. The only structural integrity was likely from the amount of vines slithering in through the cracks, acting as rope to hold together a building that wanted nothing more than to collapse.

The inside was surprisingly well lit. The holes in the roof that had been filled with various plants let in a soft green light. In the middle, extending from the back wall was a pedestal atop which sat crumbled rocks. As he guessed, taking a closer look proved it to have once been a statue that had either fallen prey to the passage of time or the anger of the locals.

Turning his attention to the walls, on his right was another doorway that would have led to a balcony overlooking the surroundings. Now, however, it was a simple curtain of vines leading to a pile of rubble falling down the hill. On his left was a wall of vines that was so thick, he wasn’t even sure if the wall was still there. But just peeking out towards the bottom looked to be the bottom edge of something that had been carved into the rock.

Curiosity piqued, he walked over and tugged at the ivy. Most didn’t even budge, but he was able to move enough to see that it was likely a mural of some sort. He hoped it was, at least. He was desperate for any information on who or what he’s been helping.

Pulling at the vines only resulted in his hands becoming covered in ants that had been hiding and he had a vague thought about setting fire to it, but there’s no way it would catch and if by some miracle it did, it would likely cause a forest fire. No other option readily available, he sighed and drew his knife, beginning the long and arduous process of hacking through each individual branch.

There was no easy way to do it. They clung to the wall so tightly that to try and slash them would just scrape the edge of his knife on the stone and ruin the edge. The brambles on them made him very grateful for his gloves saving him from turning his fingers into mincemeat. He worked carefully, pulling far enough to get his knife under the stems and cutting through them one by one.

It took hours of meticulous removal and a smarter man would have stopped a long time ago. But Ghost was determined now, he started the process and he couldn’t leave until it was finished.

He didn’t pay too much attention to the actual mural as he worked his way through them, waiting until he could see the full thing. At some point, he had to stop to light a small torch. Darkness having begun to set in, he didn’t notice he had cleared most of it until he took a step back.

As he suspected, it was a mural of the god, depicting some of his godly deeds. The original carving was already rather simplistic and the aging didn't help in deciphering what story it was telling. He was worried that in brushing off the dirt, the carvings would come with it, so instead he brought his torch closer and tried to figure out what he was looking at.

It seemed to be a set of stories, all of which featured the god as kind, helping people who were suffering. The first carving was of an old man on his deathbed, the god putting his hand over his eyes. The next was of parents watching as the god kissed their newborn on the forehead. The third grabbed his attention.

It was a soldier with a knife in his chest, the god holding his hand.

Months ago, Ghost had been in that exact situation. Dying was certain, and yet instead of doing whatever it is the god of death does when someone is dying, the god saved him. Healed a fatal wound with a golden scar. (And put a flower behind his ear, but he often elected not to think about that when remembering the event.)

All of the carvings were different tellings of the same story. For months he had been asking the same question with no answer: Why was Ghost’s story different?

Ghost shook his head. As always when trying to think about the why of it all, he concluded to not think about it. To just push it aside and ignore it. Whatever snake was hiding in the grass waiting to strike was too hidden for Ghost to see. Until the day comes that he gets bit, he will forget about it.

Pulling himself away from the third image, he turned back to the statue. The mural didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know and hoped the collapsed statue would hold some answers.

Sure enough, it was still just as collapsed as before. There were marks in the rocks that proved it wasn’t the passage of time that felled it, but the anger of a mob.

Now looking at the pedestal with the torch, he saw the shadow of inscriptions on a plaque near the bottom. Kneeling down to get a better visual, he saw that it was four words written in an ancient language.

ᓭ𝙹ᔑ!¡, ˧𝙹⟍̅ 𝙹⎓ ⟍̅ᒷᔑℸ ̣⍑.

He remembered little of the translation, recognizing the third word was “of,” and after scraping through his memory, he was pretty sure the second word was “god.” Either that or fish. His memory is not that great.

____, GOD OF _____.

Well, it didn’t take a genius to deduce what the rest of it said. While he was iffy on the translations, he knew the phonetics well. Excited to possibly have the god's name in front of him, Ghost made a mistake.

Which, he would like to clarify, he knows that he’s an idiot. Stupid, dumb, anything and everything between. Obviously, common sense dictates that when you find strange writing anywhere, but especially in an ancient temple, you DO NOT READ IT OUT LOUD.

However, as previously stated, stupid dumb idiot and all that. In his defense, he wasn’t fully aware he was doing it. It had been a while since reading the dead language and the old carving made it hard to decipher the glyphs.

So, not thinking, he sounded them out. Out loud. Reading a random sentence in an abandoned temple of the god of death, who was abandoned after claims of being a monster. It was not Ghost’s proudest moment.

But, he did manage to read it, saying to an empty temple, “Sau— No… Soap, God of… Death?”

He didn’t know if he read it properly. When he had learned the script, it had been taught with handwritten letters. How they looked on a pen and paper was very different to how they looked carved into stone. He decided to risk delicately brushing away some of the dirt, following the indentation of the letters.

He was still trying to read the plaque when he became aware of someone behind him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he carefully maintained his position, not giving away that he had noticed the person. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he could see their shadow behind him and to the right.

Forcefully maintaining his casualness, he dropped his hand from the plaque and rested it on the ground as if he were just balancing himself. The other went to nonchalantly rest on the buttcap of his sword, holding it like it was happenstance for that to be the more comfortable position. He waited.

They did nothing. They did not move, didn’t take advantage of his weakness, he couldn’t even hear them breathing.

He had a sinking feeling that he already knew what was behind him. And if he was right, his sword would not save him.

Steeling himself, he stood and turned, drawing his sword. At first glance, they were not a soldier, thief, or mercenary. They drew no weapon and barely even reacted to his sudden advance.

It wasn’t human either. It… It “smiled” at him. Every fiber of Ghost’s being was telling him to run, run far away from this thing before it mauled him.

He stood still. No one can outrun Death.

His vision blurred but only when trying to look directly at the god. He was almost… translucent. When he risked a glance to the door, his image began to vibrate, like he didn’t need to hold himself together anymore.

Later, trying to recall any specific features would draw a blank. Eyes, hair, height — anything. He would question if the god had any physical form at all or if he just imagined it.

He needed to get out of there.

It seemed the god was examining him just as closely. Ghost tried to slowly back away, to inch closer to the door, but was stopped by the god circling him. Not having a secure exit made his skin crawl and he was sure to keep the being in his sights the entire time.

In the same way his eyes were warring over whether the god was there or not, he didn’t know how nervous he needed to be. The months spent offering whatever he had in exchange for company and help on the battlefield made him want to relax, to talk to him like he was an old friend.

The lifetime he spent being betrayed and getting used made him want to attack first. The back of his neck prickled at the reminder that he still owed the thing his life. He was not an old friend. He was a deity, the god of death, and would be able to kill him with ease. Ghost kept his sword level with the god despite being all too familiar with its futility.

The god, Soap, stopped his circling and stood in front of him, far too close for comfort. When Ghost backed away, he watched like he was observing a bug he found interesting.

The comparison was far more apt than Ghost wanted to think about.

“Your fellow soldiers call you Ghost, yes?”

It was the first time actually hearing the god speak and it was just as unsettling as he thought it would be. The voice reflected his flickering form, oddly deep and reverberating like it wasn’t meant for this plane.

Subconsciously, his sword slowly drifted down, no longer threatening an attack.

“…Yeah. How do you know that?” He didn’t bother trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.

“I’ve been watching.”

Ghost didn’t like this. Not at all. Everything in his bones was screaming at him to get the fuck out of there. He readjusted his grip on the sword but forgot to raise it. He needs to get out. Now.

The god laughed.

“Don’t give me that look. You’re the first follower I have had in an age. What else was I supposed to do?”

Part of what made his voice sound off finally hit Ghost.

“The god of death is Scottish?” The incredulous tone probably wasn’t doing his life expectancy any favors.

“Aye. And you’re British.”

The god turned and began inspecting the rest of the temple. Ghost didn’t feel the true weight of the god’s stare until it was gone, now taking in several deep breaths as the pressure went away.

“Thanks, I didn’t notice.”

“I thought we were pointing out the obvious.”

The god smiled at him like it was a simple joke. But the annoyance was there. Even if the god was laughing now, that doesn’t mean he would still find Ghost’s disrespect funny in a few minutes. He needs to watch himself and be careful.

“Why do you look all… weird and shit?” Good job, Ghost. Real good about being careful and making sure to overthink his wording. Fucking hell, his own idiocy is going to kill him.

The god pouted his lip. Looking at Ghost with deceptively sad eyes, he asked, “Aw, are you calling me ugly?”

The god returned to examining the ruined temple. Even though he wasn’t looking, Ghost shook his head and raised his hand in a pause gesture. Gods have wiped out entire villages over less. He forced his breathing to remain normal, having to manually count it so as to not panic. Before he could backtrack and likely dig himself in a deeper hole, the god spoke.

“I am still weak. This is the first time I’ve managed to hold onto a tangible form.” Tangible was certainly one way to put it. When he ran his fingers over the ledges on the wall, the dirt and debris didn’t move. Brushing his hands through the vines led to them swaying slightly as if there were a breeze.

Ghost reminded him, “I tried giving you food. You didn’t accept it.”

The god laughed, “I know. The starving man giving the god food.” Ghost wasn’t sure if his tone was meant to be insulting or annoyed.

“Yeah?”

Soap sent him a look he couldn’t decipher, explaining, “Gods don’t eat. Not the way you do. Keep your food.” He made pointed eye contact with Ghost and winked as he said, “I prefer flowers and trinkets anyways.” He turned his attention back to the ruined mural. His eyes were wrong.

Ghost fucking hates gods. What the fuck does that mean?

He pointed out, “If you’re weak, don’t you need everything?”

“I am not that weak. Saving you hurt.”

Ghost prickled further at the reminder, taking a step back. Gripping the handle of his sword tighter, he defensively stated, “I don’t need your help.”

The god scoffed and walked towards him. Ghost tried to back up but the god was faster. The divine being put his hand on his ribs, right where the golden scar sat. With a furrowed brow he angrily stated, “This says otherwise.”

Ghost instinctively jerked away from the touch. It was staticky and cold. Wrong. It was somehow worse than human touch. He was tense, looking to see the gods reaction.

This was worse than dealing with an impatient, angry god. Those were predictable. This one has yet to give him any indication of his limits. Ghost didn’t know what would be the tipping point and could only hope that when it hit, the god would be kind enough to kill him quickly.

To his surprise, the god looked sad. His flash of anger gone and now quieter, he continued, “I was barely in time to save you.” If Ghost didn’t know any better, he’d say the god actually gave a damn about him.

But Ghost did know better. He stared at the third image on the mural. He asked the question that had been plaguing him since waking up from a deadly sleep, “You’re the god of death. Why… Why would you have run out of time? Why save me?”

He sighed, “Healing an otherwise healthy person is easy. Resurrection? Not so much. I do not control death the way people seem to think I do,” the god paused and sadly looked to the broken statue, “…or did. I can help people on their path but not change their course.”

The god was slowly walking closer. Ghost didn’t have much more space to back up, almost cornering himself, he had to angle himself more towards the door, following the wall. It allowed the god to get closer, much closer than Ghost would’ve liked, but it also allowed him to have a realistic escape plan.

Not that he’d be able to run from any god for long. The hope of success was a fickle thing.

Unaware or uncaring of his internal plight, the god happily continued explaining, “You were still on the same path, just veering to the left. Bringing someone back is possible, but not always worth it.”

Not yet learning his lesson about letting sleeping dogs lie, he poked back, “What? ‘They come back different?’”

The god gave a slight nod, “Sometimes, if their soul has been rotted or corrupted. But I meant the cost. Saving you was easy to do with all that you had given. To bring someone back from the dead… Well, there are some fates crueler than death.”

Ghost's eyes hardened, “I’m aware.” The god looked all sad again but he continued before he could interrupt, “But why did you save me?”

The god paused for a moment before simply stating, “You’re kind.”

Ghost scoffed and incredulously repeated, “I’m kind.” He nodded. Ghost continued, “So, you betrayed your own kingdom, domain, whatever to make sure I didn’t die because ‘I’m kind.’”

Soap smiled and for the first time since trying to touch his scar, reached out to him. “Exactly. I like you. You are kinder than someone in your shoes should be. That’s why I saved you.”

His hand hovered next to Ghost’s left. He was waiting for something. The god was still smiling softly at him.

He wants me to close the distance.

He’d rather the god have just grabbed him. Why was he waiting? Why was a god waiting on a mortal? Gods do not ask. They take. Why was this one any different?

When he was a kid, he’d run around trying to pet any and every dog that would let him. He would approach them slowly, holding out his hand for them to sniff. Some would approach immediately, but most took some time. They were half feral and scared of people, hesitant to even approach him.

At that moment, Ghost felt like a scared feral dog. He felt doomed, like there was no way out alive. He didn’t know if the deity was offering safety and comfort, or a quicker and less painful end. Soap’s hand was still extended, still smiling softly.

When a god asks, if you do not give, they will take. And will take more than they would have if you had handed it over to begin with. It’s best to give in before the consequences become worse.

He moved his hand into the god’s hold. It grinned. He tried not to shake.

The god rubbed his thumb along his hand, fingers trailing after an older wound that was on its way to scarring. The touch became slightly more bearable as he grew more accustomed to the peculiarities of the sensation.

After a pause, Ghost shakily contested, “I am not kind. I have more blood on my hands than everyone in the military camp combined.”

Soap, unperturbed, continued messing with his hand, watching the way his fingers bent and twitched. Not looking up, “I said kind, not a pacifist.”

Ghost tried to speak up. The god interrupted. The touch graduated into practically feeling each individual muscle in his arm, like he was trying to remember how a human body is supposed to look.

“However, if you want a more tangible reason, I did, and somewhat still do, owe you.”

Ghost didn't buy it for a second. "What? A god owing a mortal?"

Soap made eye contact once more. Ghost didn’t realize how close he had gotten. The god looked more human, but more wispy as well. His eyes didn’t make Ghost want to turn away before he turned to flame, but he could also see more of the temple through him. Perhaps their meeting would not last much longer.

“I’m sure you are aware that gods can die. the only reason I was still alive was because people would pass the ruins of my temples and remember me.”

He shifted to Ghost’s right and reached for his other arm. Doing the same hovering hesitation, Ghost simply nodded in approval. The god turned his focus to his right hand now, letting go of the left. He did the same examination as before, feeling over his knuckles and trailing what veins he could see up his arm.

…When had Ghost sheathed his sword?

His left arm tingled. He had to tell himself that he did not miss the touch.

“But no one believed in me. I was waiting for another thousand years when I’d be forgotten and could finally die. You not only saved me, but you gave me hope as well.” He accentuated the word by squeezing his arm, or trying to at least. He seemed to be fading fast.

With something in his eyes more earnest than Ghost was used to seeing on even a mortal, the god said, “So yes, I still very much owe you.”

The earnestness was gone and in its place, a joking tone as he continued, “Though, if it’s you I am indebted to, I don’t think that’s too bad of a fate.”

Ghost asked, “So… I don’t owe you a debt?”

Soap looked genuinely confused, “Why would you owe me?” With the way he tilted his head, he almost looked like a confused puppy.

Ghost was at a loss, having no idea how to answer that. The idea that gods just wanted to fuck over everyone they could for their own amusement was so ingrained that to try and put it into words felt impossible.

When he didn’t answer, Soap spoke again, “I like you alive.” His hands moved, one going to feel the pulse point on his wrist and the other sitting over the left side of his chest, feeling his heart. Like he was making sure he was still alive.

The confused furrow did not leave Ghost’s brow at the explanation and he was sure Soap could feel the way his breathing and heart rate kicked up at the touch. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to lean into it and beg him to never let go or skin himself to be rid of the feeling.

“Besides,” Soap said, making eye contact once more. He grinned. It didn’t look human. “I’m not letting you go that easy.”

Ghost ripped himself away, finally in the doorway of the ruined temple. The orange light indicated that dawn was well on its way. He could not hear any birds chirping nor any leaves rustling. It was still smiling from the edge of the shadows.

The god spoke, “I hope we can meet like this again. I had fun.” With that, the divine being stepped forward into the light and fully faded at last.

Ghost took in several deep lungfuls of air. He stood frozen, watching as if waiting to make sure the god did not return. In truth, he was frozen. When it came to fight, flight, or freeze, he thought he had trained himself out of the latter two options.

But he stood there, terrified to move. He didn’t even shift his weight. It felt like to move was to acknowledge what had just happened, and to acknowledge it was to cement it as reality.

A childish part of him hoped he would wake up to find it was all a dream. Forcing himself to turn his back to the door, he ignored the way his back burned at being exposed and unprotected.

He absentmindedly made the long trek down the hill and to the river. He detached his scabbard and kneeled, splashing his face with water, the coolness of it shocking his system.

He turned to the left and vomited. He was shaking so much he almost collapsed. Locking his elbow, he was barely able to balance just to wipe his mouth.

He turned back to the water. Took in a deep breath and submerged his face. He stayed there, pushing the limit of how long he could stay under. His heart was racing, demanding air. He could feel it rattling against his lungs.

Just as the dizziness and weakness began to take hold, he ripped himself up. Taking long, heavy deep breaths, he looked up. Watched as the last of the stars faded into an orange and blue sky.

Stories and warnings from priests came crawling back to him. About what the presence of The Old Gods could do to a mortal. If he was shaking, vomiting, and scared stiff from seeing him while he was still weak…

Good gods, how powerful can this stupid motherfucker get?

He hasn’t felt so… so… so much in a long time. His brain was warring with itself over how he should feel about the interaction. Part of him felt hopeful, thinking that perhaps he might now have someone who actually cares about him and not what he can do for them. Part of him felt so hopeless that he didn’t see the point in getting up, in doing anything other than trying to die before he could cement his fate as a god’s new favorite human plaything.

He blinked and forced his mind to stop. The birds had returned, singing once more. He stood shakily, grabbing his sword and using it to help him up. It sank slightly in the mud.

Day officially broke. In the forest, shadows turned and ran to hide behind the trees. Animals were just starting to wake, some heading to the river to drink.

Ghost stepped into the water, following it downstream and letting the rush of water cover his tracks. The rapids threatened to sweep him away with every step, rocks underfoot falling prey to the force.

By mid morning, the river led him back to the camp.

The other soldiers stopped and stared upon noticing him but did not say a word. In fact, they fell completely silent seeing him wading through water that would drown a lesser man, muddy sheath in hand, soaked to the bone.

He stepped onto the shore, walking at the same slow speed he had in the water. The general, having noticed the sudden silence stepped out of his tent, demanding to know what the problem was. Seeing Ghost, he hesitated before demanding his attention.

Ghost was already on the path towards him. Face to face, the general hesitated, mouth moving but no words spilling forth. Ghost informed him that he was going to go to sleep. The general had yet to find his voice.

Ghost walked to his tent. Dropped his sword. Lied on his cot. He stared at the canvas above him, forgetting to remove his armor and gear.

When he got like this, feeling disconnected from not just his body but his soul as well, he tried to take stock of himself. Mentally document every ache and pain, how his clothes felt, even what the weather was like.

Instead he became aware of one sensation in particular, one clinging to both of his arms, his chest, and a small part of his lower ribs.

Everywhere the god had touched him felt electric.

How long has it been since someone touched me without hurting me?

He wondered why his skin still tingled. Why he missed the feeling.

[malamira]

random idea but spy au where inuyasha is the brash but competent field agent who gets assigned on retrieval missions. always monitoring his earpiece is kagome, one of the newer (but not any less brilliant) tech agents assigned to be his partner. not much is known about kagome's background but inuyasha's assured that she's good at what she does, so he doesn't mind. he's met her once, but doesn't intend on making friends anyway, so he doesn't go out of his way to see her again. if kagome does her job then he's not going to stick his nose where it doesn't belong.

kagome is chatty, though, so he knows some things. she has a younger brother. her father passed away when she was young. she has a cat, she lives in an apartment by herself. inuyasha doesn't offer any personal information, but she doesn't mind—she just likes to fill in the dead air during long waits when inuyasha's in the field and he has to wait an ungodly amount of time before something happens.

they work well together, more or less—up until one retrieval mission where kagome is uncooperative, leading him down dead ends and wrong turns. it was supposed to be a simple in and out task—break into the building, head one of the many office on one of the many floors, grab the folder labeled #00415, and go. so simple that his superior just left it as a note on his desk.

he didn't ask questions on what this was all for; he didn't think he needed to. he never even bothered bringing it up. but with kagome purposefully fucking up the mission—almost leading him into a pack of gaurds to get caught—he's starting to get pissed off, because what the fuck, you're wasting time, i need to get this damn document and i need to do it now. he snapped as such into his mic and kagome instantly quiets, and thanks to her silence he eventually manages to find his way into the damn office.

it doesn't take him long to find the document, and with his mouth in a scowl he speaks into his mic that fuck, fucking finally he has it, thanks for nothing kagome, now he just needs to make sure that this file is the one, so he opens the folder labelled #00415 and peeks and—

name: higurashi kagome identification number: #00415 report: unknown role in the murder of higurashi kikyo

his eyes widen.

he speaks into his mic and demands to know what's going on, but kagome isn't responding. when he gets back to the agency, she's gone, none's seen her in hours, and his superior demands to know why he's been mia. inuyasha snaps that he went on that stupid retrieval mission and found kagome's file. his superior looks at him as if he were crazy.

"what retrieval mission?" his boss says, confused.

"the one you left on my desk this morning!"

"i didn't leave any thing on your desk, inuyasha. what are you talking about?"

inuyasha's stomach drops.

kagome, he thinks with dread. i have to find kagome.

"sir," inuyasha starts. "i think kagome's in danger."

[blood-grove]

unnatural bleeding

Masterlist

merfolk au!

part 1 -> part 2

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

a/n: i hope this was alright 😭 not proofread fuck it we ball

Where were you?

You couldn't move,

Were you in holding again?.

You didn't attack anyone, At least no one you could remember.

You still felt bad for that other merfolk they shouldn't have gotten so close.

Your mouth dry as you licked your even dryer lips despite the strange humidity in the air your body felt numb your limbs slack as you tried to look around only to realized you were in darkness shifting as your body regained it's senses.

You eventually woke up your body enough your tail thrashing in its confined space till you realized.

You weren't even in water you were moist yeah damp at the very least, You could feel the rubbery texture starting to agitated old and new wounds. Newer wounds plastered in this weird cold material that you found out was resistant to the water helping your wounds stay closed.

You learned quick back then not to try and scrape it off ending up in the sick bay was near hellish those babying voices, all those hands on you, and those needles the tiny things frightening you after finding out that such a small dose of whatever they gave you could send you helplessly lethargic and eventually unconscious as they shipped you over to a new tank.

But this?

This was weird as the sounds of voices and whirring finally reached your torn ears.

"There starting to wake up c'mon!-"

"You sure the crane is gonna be able to handle all of well that?"

"Yes just fuckin' dump em'"

And then you were suddenly weightless as your vision flooded with light blinding you and not helping your coordination as you fell into the water.

You couldn't breath the hard shock of the temperature of the water and the brightness stunning you enough that you didn't even realized you were free from confinement the brightness of the sun still clearing up the black spots in your vision.

"Is it dead? It's not moving-"

"Fuck we need to go- C'mon!"

"But-"

You finally came to your senses enough has you stole a quick breath of air before diving back under blinking rapidly as you looked around this felt different.

The water lacked its smell of strong chemicals, and nearly vivid teal blue look.

Where the fuck where you?

-

Okay there was a big issue you'd been swimming for a while now.

And you hadn't run into any walls yet.

You found yourself flinching sometimes when you approached what you thought was the end of the tank but it kept going, You didn't think you were in a pool anymore.

You kept swimming resisting the urge to pick at your wounds you were confused beyond belief as you went around there was fish everywhere most avoiding you you would too as you swam around.

You've never seen fish at least not when they weren't floating around dead to the pool bottom.

Vibrant coral still flourishing.

This wasn't right.

A grumble in your throat as you surfaced for a moment blinking as you looked around quickly realizing there was no pool edge in sight.

No person in sight.

No chairs.

No bright lights.

No sounds other than the water it's self and bird up ahead.

Oh fuck.

Wait.

Oh fuck yes.

You dove back down the pervious shock and horror changed into releif.

You were fucking free, You sighed your body slightly relaxing as you swam looking around.

You didn't remember much of the ocean, Barely much memories as a child but the open vastness was familiar you swam around till something or more like someone caught your eye a smaller merfolk collecting seaweed.

You tilted your head should you approach them? Maybe just to see where the hell in the ocean you were.

Or maybe you could scare the shit out of some poor guy who just slashed you with his makeshift knife.

Okay maybe slowly stalking up to him like a predator wasn't the smartest idea, You knew larger merfolk hunted and regularly ate smaller or merfolk who were more prey-like than usual if that made any sense.

But stabbing you?

That felt personal, Now you were desperately chasing after this guy trying to apologize and beg him to stop swimming it was starting to piss you off.

From behind you could see him better or at lease see what his mer half was better.

Shark.

Oh.

Are you fucking kidding me?

You eventually catch up to him grabbing him not at all gently flipping him around as you exhaled grumbling you'd need to take a breath soon and all the biting and scratching he was now doing.

"Fucking stop- Look I'm not going to eat you will you just!-"

"Get the fuck off me you fuckin' asshole!-"

"Look please I just need-"

"Si!-"

And then you feel like you got hit by a boulder as the mer you had previously been shaking and trying for him to stop yelling was yanked from you.

It took you a second to realized you were being dragged down your teeth meeting your attacker flesh as you struggled with whoever this was they were heavier and larger than you which didn't help your predicament that you needed air and quick.

Scratches and bites exchanged as they pushed to drag you deeper now you could say with full intent they wanted to drown you, You finally bit down as hard as you could as you slammed your tail against there body finally getting them off as you swam to the surface catching a quick breath before diving down and finally seeing what you where up against.

A orca mer much larger than yourself barreling towards you.

You barely had time to react as you flipped slamming your tail fin into him head first before darting off as fast as you could taking quick gasps of air till you felt you were no longer in his sights.

You surfaced panting heavily the reality of your wounds set in and your adrenaline wore off finally making you realize how tired you were you kept on swimming trying to ignore your own blood dyeing the surrounding waters red.

The reality of it all made you realize there's no injections to save you this time, No bandages and creams to help keep your wounds clean.

You were helpless.

You didn't know why you didn't realize it early, Was it the taste of freedom that blinded you? You had no idea how to hunt, No idea how to properly fight, And no idea how to treat your own wounds.

You eventually forced your self to swim till you saw some semblance of land the weird horrible chemical smells that came from human settlements was familiar too you but you avoided it.

You doubted you'd be recaptured you were too old, Too ugly, Too beaten up to be a nice new attraction having lost your baby face and charm years ago.

You could barely keep yourself awake as you swam yourself to the near perk of rocks it felt too close to the docks but you need something to rest on it was cloudy enough to not risk a sunburn which was something you did not need today.

You just hoped a human wouldn't come along and gawk at you like they usually did sometimes even throw bits of food clearly not made for consumption like you were a stray dog.

You just need a few minutes to rest.

Maybe a hour.

[nardos-primetime]

first thing that pops up on my for you page from your blog:

i am so lost from where this guy came from. is this an au? also i am extremely jealous of their hair, i want it for no good reason. lmfao sorry for the weird question/ask.

He's from a newer au I haven't talked about yet! Don't feel weird for asking at all!

The whole au is like. Heavily inspired by Cyberpunk 2077 (a guilty pleasure of mine), it could technically be a crossover au, I guess? I dunno, but I'm lazy/like to do stuff for fun, so certain aspects are obviously going to be changed. I'm not totally settled on designs, but I think I'm gonna keep most of the design aspects from this drawing for the "finalized" concepts.

The main plot centers on Casey Jr being put under the care of the turtles by "Mother" soon after having a whole (unwilling) relic insert situation in his brain, leading to former star Lou Jitsu to be revived within his mind!

The issue is that all of the turtles aren't really. The best father figures. None of them even want anything akin to a child, and even if Casey is 19, these guys are Mercs. Outside of their own clubbing and shows they do gigs for cash, including dangerous ones, ESPECIALLY dangerous ones. Having this new guy is like, a total roadblock, especially because Casey still, somehow, despite Night City's clutches and the last group he was pressured into before this, has some morals about him. The only reason they didn't kill him and stage an accident is because Mother promised them financial compensation for caring for him.

So he's stuck with four new "dads" who mostly all hate him or find him annoying, and Lou is not any different, he also finds him naive but he dislikes the turtles as well because he's a jaded old fuck (major hypocrite, too).

While the turtles are baseline all mercenaries, they share some traits between each other instead of leaving it to a "one guy only" job in most cases.

Donnie has the most technical skill, falling mostly under Techie and Net/Edgerunner, he adores tech after all, he also has illegally dabbles in being a ripperdoc, primarily for his brothers.

Mikey is actually the fallback for general medical issues, including those involving backfiring implants. He's only better at this because he's dabbled in researching (and using) tons of remedies, mainly for pain. He's the guy who's helped Donnie when working on inserting implants in the others. He's even stayed awake during his own surgeries to help Donnie during his fuck ups and implants.

Leo, while not extreme netrunner levels, does hold some hacking knowledge, just what he needs to make things a little easier with anything but combat most of the time, as combat is what he enjoys the most within jobs. He also tends to be the one to make their deals with Mother.

Raph is mainly muscle. Not to say he's simple, it's just his main role and main focus, having grown much more protective over the years, often acting as a bodyguard for the others during their own shows (hence he has the least involvement with any of their music). He's the least of the bad influences for Casey, at least directly.

They used to have another member of the group a few years ago, a media. Or a media wannabe, at least.

They normally have some reference to her, even if small, hidden within their shows.

This is all, of course, not tapping into their mystics, which are a bit different in this au as well with how they work. Lets just say Mother allows them special permissions when it comes to mystic usage.

...at least those are some of the basic ideas I've been throwing around in my head for the story, lol. I like to throw ideas at the wall and see what sticks to me. The whole thing is technically a wip still but so are 90% of my aus tbh lmao, this onrs just a lot more wippy because it's mainly a "for fun" au and I also haven't been able to play cyberpunk for myself to brush up on things outside of research and sometimes a man is just... not up for that, especially lately with my attention span, I hope to brush up a little more again sometime soon and maybe even delve into some aspects from the og ttrpg perhaps, I'm not sure yet, though, haha.

Oops long post, huh? My bad </3

[starlordcumidk]

New Kind of Love

~prologue~

word count: 1.1k

notes: slight ooc, reader wears glasses, this is an AU of TASM!Peter where he is a fraternity brother. reader is portrayed as rude/stand-offish. please read this knowing that i am a newer author and the plot is based on a song. theres a playlist currently in the works for this that will be posted at the end of every chapter once it's created. thank you for supporting me and my work. hope you enjoy <33

warnings: mentions of spiders and brief mention of cannibalistic behaviors of spiders.

Thurs. May 9th, 2024

The air felt wet as you opened your window, looking at the ESU campus from the second floor of Siebert hall. Your dorm room was infested with your neighbors latest light up session, and you just needed the fresh air. 

The semester was so close to ending, and you were glad to be so close to going home. In truth, you wasted no time tonight, cleaning and packing your things even if you didn’t leave for three more days. You were just excited to go home again.

May had brought more greenery and activity back to New York, spring pulling out its prettiest florals and faunas. From your dorm window, you only got the sight of the court-yard, which had very little floral bushes and a tall sycamore in the middle. However, the view was perfect for people watching. 

There were multiple break-ups, gossip sessions, love-at-first-sight’s and study sessions you’d witnessed through the year. A small part of you hoped you’d be lucky enough to get a room like this again next year. 

As you looked at the shubbery and through humidity you noticed a guy standing in the grass patch that broke the brick flooring of the courtyard, gently touching the leaves of the tree that sat there. He was taller, had pretty brown hair and was wearing what seemed to be a university hoodie. 

The tree he was next to was notorious for harboring the spiders that loved to sneak their way into the dorms. The image of the little beasts made your stomach turn, thinking about being that close to one of those stupid things worsened it. But he reached out, grabbing one of them. 

The grimace in your face was apparent but you were intrigued now, the small fuzzy thing crawling all over his hand. Something in you wanted to get a closer look, your glasses slipping down your nose a bit as you lean out. He looked so… focused, almost as if he was studying the way it moved. For some reason, you couldn’t look away.

After a good ten or fifteen minutes of staring out, observing the weird spider-guy, your glasses lip enough that they fall off your nose. You gasp, reaching to try and grab them but there’s a small thump on the grass. With furrowed brows, he turns his head and looks right at you, then down towards the ground. Quickly you straighten your back and take a step away from the window, you were definitely caught.

“You good?” The voice is smooth and distant, seeping into your room from the courtyard. Fuck, you didn’t want to answer that. You didn’t want to talk to him at all. 

“Yep.” Is the best you could muster. 

“You uh… dropped something.” The voice was closer now. There was a beat before he spoke up again. “Do you want me to throw them up to you?” 

“No. That’s stupid?” Shit, that sounded too mean. “I mean- I’ll just come grab them.”

There was no reply, so you assumed he had left. With a slight reluctance, you carry yourself into the elevator, pressing the ground floor’s button and wishing you hadn’t been so captivated by his stupid hair or the way he held those stupid spiders. 

Before you could dwell on it too hard, the doors swung open and you were met with the biggest brown eyes you’ve ever seen on a person. It took a minute to register, but the doe-eyed person in front of you was definitely the same guy with the sycamore tree and spider. But this close, you could see small specks of blonde dusting the tips of his wavy hair. Upon further inspection, the hoodie he was wearing was of the biggest frat on campus, Phi Kappa Nu. 

“Hey! You dropped your glasses right?” He said it with a smile before reaching into his hoodie pocket and pulling out the familiar frame. “They broke a little but here. I was gonna try and bring them up for you.”

“You don’t know my dorm number.” It came out harsh but you meant it, grabbing the frame from his hand and looking them over. 

“Oh, I counted the windows.” A nonchalant shrug and his smile fading a bit follow his words before he takes a step back. 

“That’s totally not creepy.” Your brows were furrowed, glancing up at him for a second before back down at your frames. There was a lens missing and you felt your body recoil at the thought of having to find it in that tall ass grass. With a few steps, you pushed past him, the smell of warm honey and pine trees enveloping your nose. 

“Well, maybe. But you started it.” He said it gently, walking a few steps behind you. “I recall you watching me from your window.” 

You shoot a glare back at him before kneeling in the grass, your hand gently pushing different spots aside. “You say that but I wouldn’t have been if you weren’t playing with fucking arachnids.”

“I wasn’t playing with them.” Spider-guy shrugged with a small laugh. “I was just getting a closer look. You know, they have some pretty cool attributes, the ones here are brown recluses. They cannibalise eachother and have a really bad bite.”

There's no way to stop the eyeroll you do as you keep digging for the missing lens, sighing internally at the fact you were stupid enough to drop your only pair of glasses from almost 20 feet in the air. “Wow. Fascinating, thanks for that awful image, spider-guy.”

“I prefer Peter, but you’re welcome.” Peter says before leaning over your hunched body and pointing at a spot just left of where you’re looking. And there's the missing lens. 

“Okay, Peter, I have to go finish packing my dorm.” You swiftly grab the lens and look over the different pieces of your glasses, puzzling them back together in your mind. After a moment, you just start to walk back towards the elevator, not really wanting to look back at him. 

“Wait- hey, no thank you?” He called after you, but you just kept walking, not really wanting to talk to him anymore. “No introduction?” He said a little louder, hoping you’d hear him as you turned to go into the elevator.

You looked back once, seeing an amused expression at you. God you hated this, to you he was some frat boy and he was finding pleasure in your shortcomings. There was slight anger bubbling in your chest as you looked over at him before smashing the button to call the elevator. 

The doors opened and before stepping in, you gave him a purposefully pained smile. There was no need for introductions or thank you’s, from this moment on you were back to strangers. The summer was starting and you’d both forget eachother by fall anyways. So you click the button to go back to your dorm.  

[deadpresidents]

What do you make of some of the tumblr presidential fan accounts and their activities? Shitposting, fanart, bizarre headcanons, etc?

There are A LOT of those fan sites about the Presidents and the Presidency on Tumblr! I'm shocked at the sheer number of them that have been popping up over the past few years. I don't follow very many other Tumblrs, but they are frequently recommended to me on my dashboard and I often see my stuff being reblogged by them, so I do notice them and know what you are referencing. I usually don't follow them, but it's not because I'm some sort of history snob. I've just never followed all that many blogs here on Tumblr. Some of those Presidential fan sites on Tumblr can be weird and seem to have some goofy posts and reblogs that I just don't "get", but that's normally just due to the fact that I'm old and boring and socially incompetent. Even though I'm probably one of the OGs of Presidential history blogs on Tumblr because I started Dead Presidents in 2008 (!!!), my site has always been pretty normal, straightforward history for those 15+ years. For the first few years, I even tried to steer away from being too political because I worried it would interfere with the credibility of the history writing I was publishing on Tumblr. That all changed in 2015 when I couldn't stay on the sidelines as Trumpism started taking over. But my Tumblr has always been mostly conventional, and a lot of those Presidential fan sites are very much unconventional.

I think because of that the assumption would be that I'm annoyed or dismissive of the Presidential fan Tumblrs that you mentioned because of how unconventional they can be. However, that's not the case at all. I actually think it's really fucking cool that so many young people -- and most of those Presidential fandom Tumblrs belong to really young people -- are into history, especially Presidential history, so much that they've shaped their own little universe about it. There's some really creative stuff that I've seen when sites are recommended and pop up on my dashboard. I'm particularly impressed by the Presidential fan art that a lot of these kids are posting. They are having fun and they are finding unique ways to expand history literacy, which has always been one of my main goals for creating Dead Presidents in the first place, posting original writing, and answering questions over the years.

Again, some of the stuff goes completely over my head and I don't understand the memes because I'm old, but I still think it's really cool that people are finding their own path into the field of Presidential history -- a subject I've spent most of my life interested in and hopeful that I might be able to interest others in. And, despite what a lot of those fan sites might look like at first-glance or appear to be while quickly skimming through dashboard recommendations, a lot of these kids who are curating the sites genuinely know their shit! It's great and I'm excited by the idea that there are creators finding new ways to introduce these subjects and these endlessly fascinating stories to diverse new audiences.

At its core, history is always just a collection of connected stories about people, and with so many talented young folks finding and creating original ways of telling those stories I want to support and encourage those efforts. From what I can tell, there are a lot of these Presidential fan sites that follow me on Tumblr because I've been around forever and it's pretty easy to remember that I write about the Presidency because of my blog's name. This might make me sound even more ancient than I already am and nobody needs my validation to keep doing what they are already doing well and successfully, but I'm proud to see the work that those young people are doing to further their own interests in Presidential history and inspire history literacy through their own creativity. Those memes and fan art can animate and energize far different -- and newer -- audiences than my 3,000-word essays about Presidential history and that's so important. They are appealing to demographics that I can't reach as easily and in ways that I never would have thought of, and I'm always going to be an advocate for that (even if I never understand the memes!). And the most important part is that they are having fun exploring history and making history fun for new explorers.

[petalsthefish]

Okay okay I hear ya. I'm an OG, 30+ fan who agrees with you on Jily.

But the question I need to know is Wolfstar - virtually canon or a fan fever dream?

Please base this on your experiences as an OG fan and not in the hellscape that modern Wolfstar has become!

I’ve always liked wolfstar, I think it’s fun, but it’s not my be all end all! Also, a lot of the newer wolfstar seems to have changed the Remus and Sirius characters a ton, which is interesting to me because the characters were a good match without the gradual fanon interpretation in the last five years.

Anyways, based on what canon gives, I have my own opinion on all four marauders below:

James is Straight. He dates girls, loves girls, and marries Lily aka HIS SOULMATE. The man honestly took one look at Lily and said “I’m gonna be an idiot for the rest of my life just for her” and I support that jocks choices with every fiber of my being. That being said, I love reading modern AUs with bi James as long as he’s not with R3gul*s, Sn8pe, or other Slytherins who join the DE. I’d be defending Prongsfoot faster than I’d get with wolfstar tbh

Sirius is Asexual. He don’t give two flying fucks. I have one sentence in the entire series to go off of for this so no one get mad at me if you think I’m delulu for this one okay. I like my delulu land where Sirius is asexual even if everyone else in this fandom wants him with Remus or Marlene McKinnon. let me have more asexual Sirius in more fics!!! fellow asexual Sirius writers help me out with this plz!!!!

Remus is Straight. I mean, he doesn’t stand up to his school buds when they’re being dicks because he likes being included, he falls in love with a manic pixie dream girl despite her being younger than him by several years, he desperately needs therapy due to PTSD but doesn’t go, he turns into a wolf once a month but is honestly probably so hairy even when it’s not the full moon, he has a baby and immediately forgets child support is a thing because he wants to run off to war with his dead best friends kid…I mean… idk. Don’t get me wrong I love Remus Lupin, my stupid son, but he screams straight to me.

Peter is Gay. I definitely think closeted so he dated girls to keep up with the straight persona. I don’t think this is a widespread thing that people agree with; I just have a personal head canon that he is actually in love with James due to the way he’s described by the adults in canon HP and the way he is depicted in the flashbacks in canon HP. Plus it makes his betrayal more fueled by something other than being a big baby coward. And I mean he still is a big baby coward, but I’d like more emotional depth with my betrayal plots.