#It’s so hard to find words when you are actively exploding

[mushroominaforest]

Hii get hugged!

Thank you for the hug!!!! Sobbing you guys are all so nice to me I don’t know what to say this art is adorable!! The goober!!!! 🌸🌈🌻💕🌺💜🥰✨🌈💖 peace and love on planet earth

[tojisun]

sugar, spice, everything on ice (hockey au)

hockey player simon riley x f!reader’s relationship, through the eyes of the fans // sort of smau

i was listening to 5sos’ slsp while writing this so!!! sorry i went bonkers 😔 i just love this au sm

simon riley is obsessed with his girl, and it is maddeningly endearing.

of course he’s in love with you, everyone could see even from a continent away, but there is something clingy, possessive, in the way simon hovers around you. like you’d disappear right before his eyes if he wasn’t pressed close; if his tattooed arm wasn’t looped around your waist or his thick fingers were not twined with yours.

it is new, unheard of, even riley’s loyal fans says so, but it’s just so—

nice.

(the word is inadequate, they know, but there’s nothing close that could describe how heart-fluttering his devotion to you is.)

riley has always been a private person, sharing only sparse details of his life. one can even easily locate his earliest instagram post because there’s just about twenty uploads in his account since its creation—from 2017, and it’s a broken hockey stick. even that throw-away picture continues to amass likes as new fans come scouring whatever of him they can find.

his latest post was during last season’s finals’ celebrations—a series of pictures of the boys carrying the stanley cup. the first few pictures were all professionally taken, but the rest splinters into blurred shots of mactavish and garrick, particularly, drinking from the cup from inside of the locker room.

it said: thank you all.

curt, direct, but not any less meaningful.

cut to this year, mid-regular season (january), and after five months of drought, the simon riley posted a picture. and it wasn’t just any picture, but it was a hard launch of his new partner.

it was a selfie, taken by you, the camera angled just slightly. your back was pressed to his chest, and his chin was hooked to your shoulder, and, cheek-to-cheek, the two of you grin up at the camera. the background was distinctly new york, central park, so it must have been taken after the specgru’s game against the rangers (0-4 for the specgru).

for the caption, he wrote: she’s never been here before.

in an instant, all of the speculations were confirmed—the most eligible bachelor of the franchise is, finally, in an official relationship.

news articles popped up after that, speculations bloating at the shocking news. some people have even said that they’re sure they’ve seen you prior to the announcement—weren’t you that one fan simon riley was flirting with while he was on ice, mid-game?

(you were.

you were even one of the people that was tagged in johnny’s story before it got preemptively taken down; and the same person seen with the other WAGs, sprinkles of your silhouette seen on pictures like the ones that are taken on the days when the franchise flies them for game nights or the countless ones during the unveiling of the season’s WAGs jackets.

you have been a part of their circle even before the world knew who you were and, somehow, that was comforting; how simon riley had not thrown you to the wolves��or vultures, as mactavish snarled when they’ve hounded him about his fiancee’s abrupt end of her season in the FIVB, like her health wasn’t the priority over her career—and instead made sure you were surrounded by people who knew how to survive amidst the scrutiny.)

and, just like that, the dam called simon-riley’s-secret-album-of-you broke.

what had been a sporadic activity in his account exploded into series of posts, one update every week. it was a whirlwind of excitement because no one from the hockey world has ever seen this much of simon riley’s life.

he was always unapproachable, distant, like there’s always a wall between him and the rest of the world. like in exchange of being called the living legend, the guiding star, simon riley gets to shirk away from the public whenever he chooses. and who can fault him for that? riley’s career has always been heavily documented—people knew him even before he was drafted into the league, they had betted on his rookie year, and then had put him in a lonely pedestal. so of course he is fiercely protective of his privacy.

only a select few get to truly know him, only a select few have stories of simon that isn’t about the ice or hockey or his in-the-works legacy. only a select few see him beyond his crown, and now he’s giving a piece of his true self to the world because of you.

because you are worth showing off.

because life with you is worth celebrating.

.

riley41

[it’s a candid image of you standing on the balcony, wearing a too-big of a shirt that is getting ruffled by the wind and pyjama pants, and leaning over the railing as you stare at the scenery. you’re all silhouette because your body is devoured by the orange rays of the sunrise, its tendrils spilling into the wooden floors of the hotel room.]

liked by jmactavish.91, reyenzo14, and others

riley41 ibiza

.

riley41

[it’s a series. the first image is of the two of you on his motorcycle, the picture taken from simon’s bike’s camera. you’re both wearing tinted helmets and leather gears, the background a blur of colours which indicates that this was taken mid-ride. you’re gripping him tightly and your body is almost fully-covered by his bulk, leaving only the top half of your helmet to be seen peering from his shoulders.

the second image is of the beach. it’s dusk, and the sky is an explosion of pinks and purples and blues.

the third image is a selfie with your visors up. you’re looking at the camera with a shy smile, your eyes squinted because of how bright it still is, while simon only has his eyes on you.]

liked by pricejhn2, alexkeller_, and others

riley41 vroom

.

riley41

[it’s a mirror selfie of the two of you, with simon taking the photo. the background is notably his house. your back is facing the mirror, your head tilted to rest on his shoulder, while his arm is curled around your waist. you’re wearing this season’s WAG jacket—it’s black and green, their colours. the pose now makes sense because you’re showing off the back of the jacket that spells out RILEY 41 in white. simon’s wearing their away-jersey.]

liked by kylegarrick, konig_76, and others

riley41 game six let’s go

.

riley41

[it’s a video; the angle shows that it is taken by someone else. you and simon are hugging, and are swaying lightly as the two of you dance to the faint sound of music booming from somewhere behind the camera. simon’s mouthing the lyrics to your ear, his cheeks flushed like he’s buzzed from drinking, while you giggle and softly rub your palm at his back.]

liked by jmactavish.91, kylegarrick, and others

riley41 my favourite person

.

.

yourname

[it’s a candid picture you’ve taken of simon sleeping while he uses your lap as pillow. the angle captures the way your fingers are playing with his hair and scratching his scalp gently. the picture is a little blurry because there’s not enough light to properly focus the lens.]

liked by riley41, jjoanne.spam, and others

yourname im the happiest when im with him

[flowerandblood]

Duty and desire (Oneshot)

[ canon • Aemond x niece • wife female ]

[ warnings: incest obviously, sex content, smut, angst, praise kink activated, lactation kink, fluff ]

[ description: An incident between her husband and their sons causes her uncle to completely break down. She decides to show him how deep her feelings are towards him and to comfort him. A heartbroken, vulnerable, infatuated Aemond in need of simple tenderness. ]

Author’s note: The events of this oneshot are part of the canon of The Fall from the Heavens series and feature the same characters. I couldn't sleep and that's how I mentally coped with what I saw in the second episode of the second season. You're welcome, lol. If you still didn't watch it, wait with reading it (if you don't like any kind of spoilers). It can be read as a standalone story.

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

He had returned to their chamber earlier, tense and visibly frustrated despite the fact that he usually spent that part of the day sparring with their sons, training them in the wielding of the sword.

She smiled at him from above her book, watching as he involuntarily looked into the cradle where Visenya slept peacefully.

The birth of their first daughter was joyous news for the entire kingdom, including them.

"So early?" She asked, spreading out comfortably in her chair, curious about this change of plans. Her uncle only pursed his lips at her words, walking over to the table where she sat and reached for a cup, into which he poured himself a little wine.

He remained silent.

A bad sign.

"What's happened?" She asked immediately, seeing that hundreds of thoughts were currently running through his mind, which if they did not find an outlet would eventually explode in the form of his fury.

He took a few deep sips from his goblet without looking at her, setting it down with a loud clink of steel on the table.

"Viserys and Aegon have suggested that Ser Robert should be the one to train them today. They apparently want to become archers." He said with a sneer and anger that startled her. She swallowed hard, closing the book, understanding full well that his words were only the tip of what he was really thinking about.

"In your presence they always feel they have to prove themselves. They're afraid of being ridiculed in front of you. Maybe it's…"

"At their age I dreamt of my father doing for me what I do for them. This is our time together." He growled, looking out of the corner of his eye into the area where she sat, but not directly at her, immersed in his thoughts, memories and regrets.

"I know." She whispered and her words, something about the way she said them made his lip tremble, made him lower his head in shame and cover his face with his hand, drawing in air loudly.

"They are terrified at the sight of me. Both of them. They don't love me, they just fear me. Their own father." He mouthed, his quivering voice betraying that although he tried to control himself, something about the thought had broken him.

She stood up from her seat, shaking her head, coming up to him quickly, wanting to touch his arm with her hand, but he moved away and turned his head, not wanting her to see what was happening to him.

"If you could hear with what pride and admiration they speak of you when you are not there. They so desperately want to please you." She muttered in pain, feeling a squeeze in her heart at the thought that he might have believed he was a bad father, when they both knew how hard he tried.

"To please me? My sons, they live to please me? And if they don't then what will happen to them? Hm?" He asked and fell silent, looking at her at last, his eye red with grief and despair, his face simultaneously red and pale with emotion, his lips parted in a heavy breath.

He covered his eyes with his hand as he burst into silent sobs, as if he had not stifled the thought for a day or a month, but for years, ever since their first son had been born.

She looked at him in disbelief, stunned, at the same time hurt and saddened by his words, by the thought of how he judged and perceived himself.

"Looking into my eyes do you see anything other than love?" She asked, renewing her attempt, taking a step towards him, and this time he didn't pushed her away, looking at her uncertainly.

"– it's something else –" He whispered.

"– how can it be? – do you think I would love a man who is a bad father to my children? –" She asked further, and he swallowed hard, trying to calm his breathing, his cheeks red from tears.

"– stop it –" He said and turned away, wiping his face, walking to the other side of the room, embarrassed and ashamed of his weakness.

"– sit down on the bed, husband – I want to explain a few things to you –" She finally said.

He sighed heavily and did as she asked, making room beside himself, looking down at his hands, heartbroken. She, however, walked up to him and did not sit next to him, but on his lap, surprising him by taking his warm, red face in her hands, stroking his moist skin with her thumbs.

For a moment she simply looked at him, all helpless and vulnerable, feeling the heat in her chest.

"– you're defending our family – you're the rock that protects us – you have to show strength – be determined – and that's hard when you're king and father at the same time – the burden of the crown is great and you know it – you're trying to prepare them for it –" She whispered, with each successive word placing kisses on his red face: on his forehead, his temple, his eyebrows, his eyelid, his cheekbone, his lips, his jaw.

She felt his hands involuntarily rise to her waist, stroking her through the material of her gown.

"– so why don't they understand this? – why do they push me away? –" He muttered, focusing his gaze on her full, plump lips, his manhood hidden in his breeches pulsed softly in a natural reaction to her closeness.

"– because they are still children – children who need their father to love them no matter what – a father who will sometimes let them go their own way –" She said softly, in a gentle, light motion untying the black ribbon at the back of his head, making the front strands of his silver hair fall over his shoulders.

"– I just want to spend time with them like a father with his sons – I want them to need me –" He whispered, and she nodded, letting his broad hand move her hip closer, making her body press against his.

"– I know, my husband – my sweet, sweet husband –" She whispered and heard him draw in the air loudly, surprised, his erection pulsed hard between her thighs.

She licked her lips, wondering if he was aroused by what he was hearing.

"– my husband is so good to me –" She gasped softly, letting their lips join in hot, sticky, lazy kisses, making wonderful heat surge through her body. "– my sweet friend – my sweet boy –"

She shuddered as his fingers tightened on the material of her gown, his throat leaving a sound she had never heard before.

He moaned.

Not the way he usually did, low and deep, when it was on the verge of panting, but high, the way she did when he gave her sweet pleasure.

Their fingers tightened on their bodies, letting their mouths find each other in greedy, violent, deep kisses – his cock between her thighs swelled all over and pulsed, hot, betraying that he was now completely ready to possess her.

"– I love you – please –" He muttered, forcibly ripping her gown off her shoulders, exposing her naked breasts, all swollen with milk. Something like a sigh of delight and relief left his throat as he sank his face into her sternum, his thumbs stroking and teasing her nipples hard from the cold.

She moaned as she tilted her head back, untying the material of his breeches, feeling the wonderful, pleasurable wetness between her thighs, proving that she was ready to receive him deep inside her.

"– my sweet husband deserve to be soothed – doesn't he? – to feel his beloved wife – how warm she is – how wet she is –" She whispered, cupping his swollen, quivering erection in her palm, feeling how incredibly hard it was, its tip thick and smooth, dripping with his moisture.

"– yes –" He mumbled in shame, directing one of her breasts to his face, holding it in his hand, finding her nipple with his mouth, beginning to suck it loudly along with her milk as she guided the head of his cock against her pulsing slit.

"– ah – my husband is so hard for me – makes me feel so fucking good – so, so big –" She cooed, sinking slowly onto his manhood only to lift herself on it with a loud click of her wetness, opening her thirsty, fleshy cunt again and again on his long, throbbing erection.

"– f-fuck –" He exhaled, embarrassed, imposing a fast, aggressive pace on her at once, clearly aroused by what she was saying and how she was behaving, needing her affection, her acceptance, her closeness, everything he couldn't ask of anyone else outside the door of their chamber.

"– it's all yours, my dearest – I can ride you all night – you'll fill me with your seed as many times as I need, won't you? –" She gasped, and he groaned loudly into the skin of her breasts, clamping his hot hands on her hips, pounding into her like there was no tomorrow, panting and quivering along with her.

She wasn't sure she had ever experienced a similar orgasm, so overpowering, hot, soothing, delightful.

"– f-fuck – f-fuck, Aemond, yes –" She whimpered, throwing her head back as she felt his body convulse, his warm seed filling her womb wit his low moans of pleasure.

He released her nipple from his mouth, panting heavily, snuggling his cheek into her chest, letting her arms embrace him in a tight grip, her lips placing tender, hot kisses on his hair.

"– forgive me – I'm ashamed – I –"

"– you are my husband – let me give you relief when you need it –" She whispered, combing her fingers through his long hair.

"– but – it was –"

"– a husband can show tenderness and understanding to his wife, but a wife to her husband cannot? –" She asked in pain, and he swallowed hard, letting out a loud, shuddering breath.

"– it won't happen again –" He muttered, needing, apparently, for her to tell that lie so he could stop thinking about how weak he was, how he needed it, how pleasant it was.

That he would beg in his mind for more.

More of her tenderness.

More of her praise.

More of her love.

"– as you wish –"

[zerosbubble]

Hello I have an idea for Tim x rookie reader.

They get a call that seems pretty normal and when they arrive Kid gets shot.

They end up in hospital ICU where Tim is sat next to kid saying how everything is his fault ect.

When Kid wakes up and hears Tim saying how it’s his fault she reminds him that is isn’t.

Thank you ☺️ x

Rookie down.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.

Summary: No amount of training could’ve prepared you for the moment you got caught up in an active shootout—and for Tim, no amount of stoicism could rid of the guilt.

a/n: I find it adorable how we’re just referring to reader as kid now. 😭💕

The call had come in like any other—routine, nothing out of the ordinary. A disturbance at a small corner store. Dispatch barely sounded concerned.

Tim had driven, you in the passenger seat, legs bouncing absently as you sipped at the coffee you barely had time to grab that morning. The other units were still a few minutes out, but this was just supposed to be a check-in. A quick look, a clear scene, and back to patrol.

You should’ve known better.

The second you both stepped out of the shop, everything exploded. Shots. A full-blown active shootout between two rival groups, and you and Tim had walked straight into the crossfire.

Instinct kicked in. Take cover. Return fire. Call it in.

You barely made it behind the shop before searing pain bloomed in your side, so sudden and white-hot that it stole your breath. You staggered, barely registering that you were going down until your knees hit the pavement hard.

Some part of you dimly registered Tim’s voice—loud, commanding—but the sound of gunfire muffled everything else.

You pressed a hand against the wound, and your fingers came back slick with blood.

Not good.

Your breath shuddered. You had been trained for this, prepared for it, but the sheer force of reality hitting you was different than a controlled scenario.

The pain wasn’t controlled. The fear wasn’t controlled. And despite every instinct screaming at you to hold it together, your vision blurred with unshed tears as your breath came in short, ragged gasps.

“Hey! Kid—stay with me.”

Tim was there, dropping down beside you, one hand pressing firm against the wound to slow the bleeding. His other hand gripped the radio, calling for an immediate medic response, voice sharp, commanding—desperate.

You blinked up at him, your body trembling violently from the shock. You tried to regulate your breathing, to not let him see the fear that had crept into your bones, but it was damn near impossible.

“I—” Your voice caught, breath hitching. Your lips parted, trying again, but all that came out was a shaky exhale.

“Hey. Look at me, kid.”

You did, barely able to keep focus on his face, but you tried. He was pressing harder now, trying to stop the bleeding, and it hurt. God, it hurt.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Tim said, voice steady. “You hear me? You’re gonna be fine.”

You nodded, a quick, jerky movement, but you weren’t sure if you believed it.

“I need you to stay awake, alright?” His grip tightened just slightly, the rare, vulnerable edge in his voice cutting through the panic clawing at your chest. “Just keep breathing, okay? Just like that. Slow it down.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to do as he said, but the pain was starting to get unbearable. Your head swam.

“I—” You sucked in a shaky breath. “Sir, I don’t—I’m scared.” You muttered between breaths.

Tim shook his head, shifting to cradle the back of your head, steadying you as you started to sway. “Nope. No, none of that shit. You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna get you to a hospital, and you’re gonna be okay.”

He was holding it together, but just barely. You could see it in his eyes, in the way his jaw clenched, the tension in his grip as if he were forcing your body to stay with him.

He wasn’t letting himself break, not yet, but you could feel the desperation beneath his words. Tim was talking like he needed to hear the words more than you did. He was trying to convince himself, just as much as he was trying to convince you.

You wanted to say something, anything to make it easier, but you didn’t get the chance.

“Kid? Damn it, keep awake!”

Everything blurred into sirens and movement and then—

“Don’t do this shit to me! Please.”

Nothing.

The ICU was quiet. Too quiet.

Tim sat beside your bed, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees. He hadn’t moved much since they’d let him in, since they’d assured him you were stable, that you’d made it through surgery.

It didn’t matter.

This was his fault.

He should’ve clocked the situation faster.

Should’ve called in backup first. Should’ve done something different, something better, because now you were here, unconscious and hooked up to machines, your face too pale against the stark white hospital sheets.

It felt wrong to be in a room this quiet with you in it, like he couldn’t adjust to the absence of hearing you chew unnecessarily loud on a bag of chips that you made him pay for—or when you’d ramble on to him about something he could care less about.

He exhaled, running a hand over his face, fingers digging into his temples. “Damn it, kid.”

He wasn’t even sure if he was talking to himself or to you. It didn’t matter. Either way, the weight of it pressed down on him like a vice.

The soft beeping of the monitor filled the absence of the voice he knew.

Then, slowly, the sound of movement. A shift in the bed. A quiet, pained inhale.

Tim’s head snapped up instantly. “Kid?”

Your eyes were barely open, hazy with sleep and medication, but you were awake.

Tim sat forward, relief hitting him all at once. “Hey. You with me?”

You blinked sluggishly, gaze struggling to focus, but eventually landed on him. “…Sir?”

His throat tightened. “Yeah. I’m here.”

You took another slow breath, still visibly groggy, but the confusion was settling. Then, after a pause, your brows furrowed slightly. “…Why do you look like that?”

Tim scoffed, a quiet, breathless sound, but his expression was still tight. “Like what?”

“Like—” You swallowed, shifting slightly, wincing at the movement. “Like you ate the chocolate bar I hid in the shop.” You mumbled, managing to let out a weak and quiet laugh.

But when Tim didn’t laugh, or even roll his eyes at your half-assed joke and just stared with that same guilty look on his face, your gaze softened.

“Like me getting shot was your fault.”

Tim said nothing.

You exhaled, voice softer now, but still firm. “It’s not.”

Tim’s jaw clenched, gaze flickering away. The stubbornness in his eyes lacing itself with his guilt, “I should’ve—I should’ve secured the perimeter before we stepped out,”

“Sir,” you huffed in disagreement.

“No, kid. If I had done that, you wouldn’t have been fucking dying in my arms.” He muttered through clenched teeth.

You pushed on, despite the exhaustion settling deep in your bones. “This was never on you.” You mumbled, “Yea, I got shot. But I would’ve ended up actually dead if I didn’t have a T.O who took down half of them, and then called for backup and R.A.”

His shoulders tensed. Then, after a long moment, he let out a breath.

“…Get some rest, kid.”

You watched him for another second, then, finally, nodded, letting your eyes drift closed.

The tension in Tim’s chest didn’t ease. Not fully. But as he sat back, watching your breathing even out, some small part of him finally let go of the guilt just enough to breathe.

[wonwoonlight]

when he finds out you're sick through the internet

A/N: idol!au. OC is also a celebrity though I don't explicitly say what. tiny teensy angst bc cheol is a worried Boyfriend💔 1.5k words! another random word vomits bc that's the only way i know how to write now lol idk why but everytime i write this kinda fic it's always seungcheol looooooooooooooool. not proofread, but enjoy!

[part 2]

Seungcheol doesn't really get angry.

For the three years you've known him in which you've dated him for two, you've only seen him actually get angry a total number of three times. None of them was directed at you, and all of them are for reasons that you would've exploded upon way before he did.

Seungcheol is patient and rational.

Seungcheol is normally patient and rational.

But he's never normal when it comes to you. And even though the patient bit still stands, nothing about his feelings towards you is ever rational. He's a little too emotional, a little too rash, and a little too worrisome when it comes to your wellbeing.

So when he's relaxing in the practice room during a break with his members, for once not on his phone because he's charging it somewhere on one of the tables, and he hears Seungkwan gasps a little upon his phone, he thinks there's another scandal blowing up upon the industry. But when the younger guy's blown out eyes meet him, colors drained from his face, Seungcheol hates that he knew it could mean one thing: something happened to you.

He shoots up almost immediately, not registering any words that come out of Seungkwan's mouth. His hands shake a little when he unlocks his phone, and his heart drops when he reads the official post from your company's twitter account that states your current condition, that you might need to pause your activities for the time being due to health reasons, apologizes for the worries, and asks for the fans' understanding.

He wants to get angry.

At who, he’s not sure.

At your company, for pushing you even though they know your schedule is practically inhumane? At your manager, for not making sure that you have decent rest in between schedules? At you, because he’s been telling you to fucking stop running towards whatever goal you have in mind but you insist that you know your limit and you’ll know when to stop?

Apparently, no you fucking don’t because else this wouldn’t have happened.

The rest of the members look at him in worry, and Jeonghan silently walks to their manager and the other staff to let them know about the situation at hand, that Seungcheol would probably not be in his best state to continue practice at the moment. The leader would probably insist that they continue anyway, but they’ve practiced for almost five hours already anyway and they could spare an hour or two for the leader when it’s clear that he’s worried beyond measure.

Seungcheol bites his lip as he tries to call you, his concern skyrocketing by the seconds the longer the beeping sound goes, no sign of you picking it up. He tries one more time, but you still don’t answer and he’s about to hurl his phone at the wall when your manager calls him instead, tells him that he sees his name flashing on your phone, informs your whereabouts, and that he should just drop by your place in a few hours if he wants to see you because right now you’re still sleeping in the car and he’s taking you home.

He finds it hard to say anything, a lump growing in his throat until he manages to swallow it down and ask how you’re doing right now.

“She’s… exhausted.” Your manager says quietly. “I know it’s my job to take care of her but… you know her. She didn’t tell me that she’s been having a hard time sleeping at night the past few weeks and it finally took a toll on her.”

It’s hard to suppress his anger, his breath heavier than usual though it’s not too noticeable unless they know Seungcheol. He wants to scream at your manager, but he knows it won’t do anyone any good and it’s really not the time nor the place for that. So he mutters a quiet ‘thank you’ before he hangs up, his members looking at him with a mix of worry and understanding when he looks up at them.

“Go.” Soonyoung says. “We’ve practiced enough today. Take care of your girlfriend and tell us later.”

Seungcheol nods and sprints out of the room, beyond thankful that his members always have his back.

Seungcheol is glaring at you when you wake up, though the way his thumb is still softly caressing your head and the worry in his eyes clearly tell you that his anger is nowhere near his distress. 

You offer him a weak smile, unable to defend yourself because you know what his eyes are scolding you for.

“Sorry?” You whisper and immediately cringe at how dry your throat feels.

He doesn’t say anything as he helps you sit down and hands you your favorite mug. Taking in the moment, you frown at how weak you feel, though you really only have yourself to blame because you genuinely thought you’re okay and you can take it.

You know it’s on you for taking as many schedules as possible, practically everything that your company offers you even when your manager says he doesn’t think it’s physically possible for you to do all that in such a short span.

Thinking about it now, you realize that your manager and the rest of your team also gets the short end of the stick through your decision. Him, your make up team, and your stylists would all need to be with you and your ambition forgets to consider their wellbeing even when you wrongly claim you would be able to handle it.

Guilt starts to eat you inside out, and it grows even larger as you see Seungcheol in front of you–didn’t he say he had practice today?–his face screams distressed and his shoulders tense since God knows when.

“Hey, talk to me.” He says softly when he notices you’ve been spacing out and you’re nibbling on your lip like you would when you’re anxious, taking away your mug before enveloping your hands with his.

You tear up almost immediately, and he moves to sit on the edge of your bed to usher you into his chest, patiently listens to your nonsense as you try to talk through your tears. He gets the gist of it: sorry–manager–company–wellbeing–my team–didn’t think it through–made you worry–overestimated myself–sorry–and the list goes on. He exhales as he hugs you tighter, both understanding and upset at the turns of events.

Being in the same industry, he gets what you’re trying to do, understands that you feel the need to keep on running while you’re able to, relates that you’re doing everything for yourself and your fans. But still, it’s hard not to be upset to know you’re pushing yourself too hard when he’s been telling you there’s no need to run as fast as you are without resting; that you’ll only hurt yourself one way or another and he hates that the one time he needs to be right, it’s this.

You end up laying down against his chest on your bed, hiccups and sniffles filling your bedroom along with a random song he’s humming against your head. You pull away to properly look at him, the first time you’re doing it since you woke up earlier, and his hum stops in question.

“Thank you.” You manage to whisper, your fingers grasping the front of his shirt without even realizing. “For being here when I woke up.”

He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand why you’re thanking him, simply leans down to plant a long, chaste kiss against your forehead before he pulls up your blanket so it’ll cover you properly.

“Just… don’t surprise me like that again, okay?” His breath is warm against your face, pleasantly so, and you nod as you promise him that you’ll take better care of yourself moving forward. 

“Are you staying the night?”

“Yes, I’ll return to the dorm the day after tomorrow. They’ve given me a day off.” You cringe at his words, though thankful that he’s been in the industry long enough to attain that kind of privilege. But still, you feel bad that you’re obstructing his practice and his members just because you’re foolish enough to– “Hey. Stop. I know what you’re thinking. No need to feel bad. I’m actually glad I get to rest with you.”

“But–”

“No buts. The kids can do without me for a day.” He playfully bumps his forehead against yours, his lips hover above yours merely centimeters apart.  He doesn’t meet your lips, though he kisses their corner sweetly and wraps you back into his embrace to the point where there’s no space between you two. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Good night, Cheol.”

“Night, baby.”

“See you in my dream?”

“I’ll see you anywhere you want me to be.”

He hugs you tighter, and you try your best to return the gesture despite the awkward position of your arms. It’s uncomfortable and you’re sure your arms will be sore the next morning.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not when you succumb to sleep and find Seungcheol smiling at you on the other side of your dream, as real as he can be.

cont.

[libellule-ao3]

Rosa Incarcerem

A bewitched rose, an unbearable closeness… and only one way out.

Credit: Thank you to @raraaf6 for accepting me as a client 🙏& for so kindly agreeing to wait almost a month before publishing this GORGEOUS artwork.😍😍😍😍💖✨️ (I was afraid they would be overwhelmed with work for Valentine's Day, so I planned ahead😅)

OS | M | Ominis Gaunt X OFC | Evinis | 1 780 words

Tags: Forced proximity | Sexual Tension | Ominis needs help | Valentine’s Day chaos | Trapped together trope | Not explicit but definitely suggestive😉

Hogwarts is buzzing with the romantic excitement of Valentine’s Day, but Ominis is hoping for an uneventful day. That is without counting Evelyne, whom he is escorting to the kitchens for her detention, his wand pointed in front of them.  

Professor Sharp caught her pointing out the worrying colour change in the potion he was making. 

“It’s not cheating, but an active contribution to the principle of fairness,” she mumbled in that strange combination of shyness and honesty that is so characteristic of her.  

Of course, Sharp doesn’t appreciate the repartee: in his opinion, Ominis, blind or not, has to fend for himself. And although he values his own autonomy – much more than any teacher – he regrets that his friend, usually so discreet and reserved, is being punished for a few unwelcome words.  

Ominis has known for a long time that she has a tendency to show her fangs when she feels cornered. But since last Christmas, she has been showing it all the time. And what’s worse, she refuses to admit it.  

As they reach the stairs leading to the kitchens, a female voice behind them calls out, honeyed and overconfident.  

“Ominis!”

He turns around. Evelyne, unwilling to be noticed by the newcomer, melts into his shadow. She too recognised this tone, this false lightness that could only belong to Callista Malfoy.  

Since last summer, the witch has been showering him with perfumed, honeyed, and calculated invitations. His own parents covet the large dowry she will offer her future husband, and she herself sees him as a good match — honourable, manipulable, and much less dangerous than his brother. Ominis has no doubt she would be prepared to snare him in a scandal to force him to marry her. As a result, he avoids her, like dragon pox.  

“I have tried so hard to be pleasant to you, Ominis, and yet... you continue to avoid me.”

He remains silent. She gives a falsely resigned sigh.  

“Perhaps this little gift will convince you of my sincerity?”

He instinctively reaches for the flower she presents to him. A shiver runs up his spine. Fleeting. Unusual. An imperceptible magical vibration, like a warning.  

“Don’t touch that flower!” 

His friend’s cry splits the air at the same time as she strikes the rose with the back of her hand. But it was too late.  

The magic explodes. A tendril of thorns and bewitched flowers wraps around them, clinging voraciously to their clothes. For a moment, she gasps for air. In the blink of an eye, he finds himself thrown against the young woman, his body crushed against hers, his arms reflexively closing around her.  

A strange silence falls. The time for a breath.  

Then —  

A click of the tongue.  

“Oh.”

One word dropped in a bored, almost jaded breath. Ominis can’t see Malfoy, but the pulsing of his wand traces the outline of her motionless figure. He knows she is fuming. She wanted to trap him... but not with Evelyne, apparently.  

The tension in the air twists, becoming heavier. Callista Malfoy inhales slowly.  

“What bad luck...”

The intonation is too controlled, almost amused.  

“I wonder what Marvolo would think of that.”

She lets the threat hang between them, then turns on her heels, her feigned indifference almost erasing her presence. Ominis hears the rustle of her robe, the measured rhythm of her heels on the stone, then nothing.  He exhales a sigh.  

“Are you all right?”

She's there, pressed against him. Her body against his, every line printed against him.  

And her smell, Merlin...  

A shiver goes through him. The warmth of her body, the scandalous yielding of her curves... He feels himself blush.  

She raises her head. Her breath brushes his throat, and beneath her palms, his heart beats wildly.  

“I'm sorry...” she breathes, her voice trembling with a mixture of guilt and emotion. “I... I wanted to spare you this, but it went too fast...”

He clenches his jaw, consumed by the fire spreading through him.  

“It’s a Rosa Incarcerem.”

The evidence slaps him in the face. These bewitched roses are very popular this year. Almost undetectable, they enchant anyone who touches them together, forcing them to kiss to break the enchantment that binds them together.  

He lets out a hiss of frustration.  

“Well done. Really.”

He would have preferred anyone else. Even Malfoy, despite her shenanigans. At least she wouldn’t have affected him like that, and he would have remained indifferent. 

With Evelyne, the trap is far more vicious.  

He tries to free himself, by force, then with a counter-spell, but the plant vice strengthens its grip.  

“Wait... is that Gaunt?!” exclaims a student nearby.  

An excited murmur runs through the corridor, a cruel reminder that they are making a spectacle of themselves in a busy place.  

Ominis’s fingers clench his wand, and he whispers an incantation. The magic flows over him like an icy wave, covering him in a veil of invisibility. He barely notices his classmate’s slight start, her breathing suspended for a fraction of a second before she understands his intentions.  

The surrounding murmurs intensify, but at least no one can see them any longer. No one’s about to break that spell anytime soon!  

Their bodies are trapped, welded together by an implacable force that strangles him to the same degree that it inflames him. 

He feels everything. The outrageous softness of her chest crushed against his, the searing heat of her belly against his, and below that... a torment he would give anything to ignore.

His breath catches when Evelyne tries to pull away, pushing his chest away.

A fatal mistake.

Her movement fans a insidious fire deep in his core. Rigid from the crown of his head to the tips of his toes, he endures the wave of pleasure coursing through him.

Ominis is tense.

Shamefully tense.

“By Merlin’s beard, Evelyne... stop moving,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

“I’m not doing it on purpose!” she croaks, in a high-pitched voice that leaves no doubt she grasps his state of arousal.

Let’s hope she doesn’t make a comment that would add to his mortification, like last time!

She is shaking now, tensing up in a desperate effort not to move, not to let that vice of flowers and thorns press her further against him. But it’s no use.

The spell weighs relentlessly down on them. And he... He has never known such humiliation.

His own body betrays him obscenely, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Damn this uncontrollable desire!

This time, he can’t pretend it’s a casual masculine greeting at dawn, a physiological reaction that has no context whatsoever.

Now he has to admit that it’s because of her. Because he is incapable of ignoring the caress of her erratic breathing, the scent of "geranium rosat" enveloping him, the firmness of her breasts pressed against his chest, her fingers clutching his robe, and her damn hips that kiss his so perfectly.

For Merlin’s love, let him be anaesthetised or stunned!

“You, the plant expert... Say you can do something about this.”

“If it were just the intrinsic magic of the rose, I probably could. But here... it’s an artificial curse, woven with too many protections for me to break it.”

Alas, that’s what he thought... Those who created this knew what they were doing.

“Ominis, er, I... I don’t know if you have ever kissed anyone, but if it’s your first kiss, I want you to know that I’m sorry for ruining it.”

He closes his eyes, as if that will ease the tension pulsing inside him. His throat tightens. He feels the weight of the confession before it even passes his lips.

“It’s not my first kiss.”

The silence fills with silent questions.

“Anne...”

His voice is hoarse, almost strangled. He doesn’t enjoy talking about this. His free hand clenches despite himself on Evelyne’s hip, like an unconscious anchor.

“She asked me when... when hope of recovery abandoned her.”

He doesn’t need to say any more. At the time, Sebastian’s sister wanted to find out what she might never know. And he was the only one she could ask.

“Even if it wasn't ideal... at least it made sense,” says Evelyne. “No one should have their first kiss stolen by such an absurd enchantment.”

From Ominis Gaunt’s point of view, no one should have their second one stolen that way either. And yet, he is beginning to seriously consider it. It’s better than this awkward embrace where the slightest movement puts him through the wringer.

Evelyne seems to come to a similar conclusion as she starts a movement.

“So, let’s try not to make a big deal out of it and just do it... Alright?”

Then her fingers slide down his torso to the nape of his neck. A light touch at first, almost innocent, before she fully buries her fingers in his hair at the base of his skull.

She wants to guide him, but doesn’t dare.

A searing heat pulses under this caress and descends directly into his crotch, electrifying every nerve in its path.

He tenses even more under the contact. Evelyne must feel it, because she suspends her movements for a second before abruptly withdrawing her hand, as if she has been burned.

Ominis holds his breath. Every nerve, every inch of his skin, is crying out for that all-too-brief touch. The absence consumes him almost as much as the closeness.

Every second stretches out a silent torment, a space suspended between desire and the forbidden.

At last, Evelyne tiptoes up cautiously, as if dreading the moment as much as she desires it.

Her breath, uneven and shallow, grazes his face, a sigh escaping against his mouth, and he fights the raw impulse to close the unbearable distance before the kiss falls.

First a gentle touch. Then the soft pressure of her hesitant lips.

The blood boils in his veins. His heart races. His fingers instinctively find their bearings on her curves. A need. To hold her despite himself. For a second, Ominis thinks about giving in to the temptation to go deeper. To demand. To claim.

But he doesn't have the right and, in any case, Evelyne is already moving away.

The curse bursts out in a magical blast, freeing them as suddenly as it had chained them.

She stammers out a confused apology, almost stumbles backwards.

“I, er... I’m going to be late for my detention, er, sorry,”

Then she disappears faster than a snake into the tall grass. Ominis opens his mouth. No words come out. Emptiness replaces her warmth.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

He exhales slowly, forcing his body to let go.

His trembling fingers brush his lips, where the echo of the kiss lingers, where Evelyne had pressed herself too deliciously against him, igniting a violent, unrelenting shiver.

A cruel truths hit him: he's doomed.

A/N: This OS takes place after chapter 5 of "Lullaby for Cursed Seeds". Although it can be read as standalone, it will be incorporated into chapter 6 with a few slight modifications. Thank you for reading. 💖

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

IN PART 7 OF THE SERIES (TITLED “THE BREAKING POINT”], IT shows Sergeant Bill Guarnere and Edward “Babe” Heffron in a foxhole, wondering if I was about to take a step off the deep end.

“You’ve seen him,” Heffron says. “He’s all wound up like a spring.”

“He’s fine,” Guarnere says. “It wasn’t getting shot [in Holland] that got him, it was being in that hospital. I been there—okay? It ain’t pretty. Besides, once he was up and moving around, he was his old self again. I’m telling ya, Buck Compton’s fine.”

In real life, the events surrounding this time of the war are perfectly clear in my mind. This is what I remember:

One day in early January the anticipation we had been feeling for so long was shattered. Very suddenly, broad daylight, really bad shelling started coming in—big, heavy stuff. Ka-Boom! Ka-Boom! Ka-Boom! Ka-Boom! Landing on us was the most shocking display of firepower I had ever seen. It was absolutely merciless. I yelled to the guys—Incoming! Find cover!—something like that. Shrapnel flew and shredded every which way. Bursts of dirt and snow exploded all over. You could feel the ground bounce. You could taste gunpowder in your mouth. It was all very close. Thirlkeld was only a few feet from me. What he was doing aboveground for so long, I never knew, but he didn’t make it—we had been in the woods for so long you got used to the lulls. The shelling blasted away tree branches; huge limbs fell with thuds all around us. I could hear someone yelling, “I’m hit! I’m hit!” For some time, all was complete chaos.

The shelling stopped almost as suddenly as it began.

I think I was the first out of my foxhole, because I remember being the first to scream at what I saw. “Medic!” I hollered for all I was worth. “Medic!” Nobody seemed to be within shouting distance. I have a hard time explaining today how narrowed the focus is of anybody in my position. A platoon leader is down pretty low on the officer scale. Most of the time, no matter where we were, I was unaware of the bigger picture. My focus was a ditch or a road—just the fifty-yard stretch of land around me.

When I got up to survey what had happened, I couldn’t believe how my fifty yards had been ravaged. It looked like slaughter alley— huge trees blown down, ground ripped up, a whole bunch of guys lying all over the place, some motionless, some gasping, unintelligible words coming out of their mouths. It’s a terrible thing to see your guys like that. Death was everywhere. These were the first heavy losses we’d taken at Bastogne.

In the series it shows me coming out of my foxhole to survey the damage. I scream for a medic, then drop my helmet and just stand motionless. In the next scene there’s a fury of activity around me while I’m sitting on a fallen tree with my head in my hands. Then it shows me lying on a cot in a field hospital. I’m in the fetal position in tears with Malarkey next to me, trying to read me a letter from back home to cheer me up.

I appreciate the series for doing that (even though all but one of those scenes were fictionalized) because it shows the progression of a soldier who suffered from combat stress reaction, commonly known as shell shock. Truly, there were men in World War II—in any war— who are so affected by the horror of their experiences that they break under pressure. But although I was affected by the horrors of Bastogne, I do not believe I was clinically shell shocked, as the series portrays me. In real life, while I was hollering for the medic, trying to figure out what to do, I remember two distinct thoughts:

How are we going to help the wounded guys? We were so alone out there. Company headquarters, battalion headquarters—they were all far away.

My second thought was: Maybe this is the time the Germans are really going to get us all. They’ve been softening us up. Now, this is it. With all these guys wounded, what the hell are we going to do to fight back?

Truly, it was an impossible sight to take in—to know what to do, to know how to help. I had seen men die before. I had seen men get wounded before. But this was different. This was unprecedented gore.

More than a dozen of our guys lay bleeding in the snow. Guarnere and Toye, probably the two toughest guys in the unit, had both taken it bad. Toye had gotten hit first. I guess Guarnere had crawled out of his foxhole after him, trying to drag him to safety. In the process, Guarnere had taken one as well. Both were missing legs. Our medic, Eugene Roe, got to Toye first and tied a bandage around what was left. He gave him a large hit of morphine, then went to Guarnere to do the same. Toye had only recently returned to our unit from an aid station where he got his arm patched up. He and Bill were good friends of mine. Deep red smears were all over the ground.

Dick Winters wrote in his book (not critically of me) that I suffered a serious mental trauma after the shelling and simply “walked off the line.” He was at battalion headquarters at the time and not present in the area of my platoon, so his information came secondhand. I mean no criticism of him by clarifying the facts.

In truth, I did not “walk” off the line.

I ran.

~ Buck Compton

[whimsicalwritingsandmore]

Valentine's Series #4: Warm Hugs | yeosang x reader

Pairing: kang yeosang x reader

Genre: fluff, romance

Summary: Yeosang is shy, but he will make sure you get hugs from him and him only.

Word Count: 390 words

Yeosang hadn’t always been a people person nor was he much of a hugger. Until he met you.

It all started because of Wooyoung's sneaky habit to rile him up — every time you arrived at the dorms or at the studio, Wooyoung would be the first to approach you and demand his hug of the day from his girl best friend. Then, he would joke around and cause harmless mischief with you and apologise for his antics by giving you another hug. His personal reasoning for this was to see how long it would take for Yeosang to explode. 

To say the least, Yeosang always had a hardened and unamused expression when this happened. So much so, he began to fling Wooyoung out of the way in an “accidental” manner so that he was the first one to receive a hug.

Then he would have you on the other far end of him away from Wooyoung. He kept you close by with little friendly gestures such as rubbing shoulders side by side as a sign of acknowledgement, and little tender touches and also the occasional playful shove.

And when no one was looking (except Wooyoung maybe), he would shower you with a warm and meaningful hug sporadically in the most loving and affectionate way he knew - either as a backhug or he’d pull you in by the waist and gently sway the both of you for a second.

Yeosang is very shy but he can also be protective, and protecting you from Wooyoung was a critical mission he undertook very seriously.

Don't get him wrong, he trusted the two of you, it's just that he believes his hugs are the best and Wooyoung can find someone else to hug if he needs one.

On Valentine's evening after a day of activities he planned for the two of you, while walking back to your apartment, you told him how cute you found him being jealous.

He was quite smug about it, but responded lovingly.

"It's because I love you."

As you registered what he just said, the unexpected confession made you burst into a fit of giggles, biting your lip and blushing so hard from embarrassment. 

Yeosang smirked, satisfied with your response and wrapped you in a warm side hug before pulling you with him side by side towards your home.

[tallulah477]

Private Show

Kinktober Day 8: Voyeurism

Pairing: Lo’ak x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: AgedUp!Lo’ak, Voyeurism, Perv!Lo’ak, Lo’ak gets caught being a Peeping Tom, Masterbation, Obsessive behavior, Reader unknowingly gives Lo’ak a strip tease/dance and a show

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Lo’ak likes to watch you through your window at night and he gets a little too naughty.

Part Two >>>

Translations:

Tawtute - Human

Tewgn - Loincloth

You’re so fucking pretty.

The most beautiful girl Lo’ak has ever seen. 

He can’t help the way he acts around you. Can’t help the way his eyes follow your every step as you walk through the village, helping his grandmother crush herbs or doing inventory for the scientists back at the lab. Can’t help the way his heart pounds at the sound of your voice or the way he stutters anytime you try to talk to him, even if it's just flashing him a bright smile or a friendly greeting. 

His body feels like it's on fire just from your mere presence, like he’ll shatter into a thousand little pieces if you ever actually touched him. He wants you to touch him. Wants to explode under your touch. Wants to feel your hands everywhere - your tiny hands stroking down his arms, caressing his muscles, and sliding over his bare chest. Wants to feel them go lower, sliding over his stomach, and lower . . . oh, Eywa, he would give anything to feel your tiny, adorable hands go lower. 

But he never gets the chance to talk to you. Okay, that’s not entirely true. He’s had a few opportunities to talk to you, but the nervousness gets the better of him every time, and with just one smile from your perfect lips, his throat closes up and his heart pounds so hard he thinks he might be having a heart attack.

But he can’t leave you alone. He needs to see you, be near you.

So at night, when his entire family has gone to sleep, he sneaks out and heads to the human outpost to watch you through your window. He knows it’s wrong, knows it's an invasion of your privacy. He doesn’t mean to be a creep, but . . . it’s not like he’s actively choosing to spy on you. He can’t help it. He thinks he would die without being able to see you, to be in your presence, whether you know he’s there or not. It’s a need, not a want. So can you really blame him for something he can’t control?

That’s what he likes to tell himself anyway.

He’s come to learn that after the eclipse is your favorite time. It’s when you can really let your hair down, both literally and figuratively. Each day is filled with people for the both of you. People to ask questions, people that need your attention - a never ending sea everywhere you look no matter if you're at the village or the lab. Time is constantly moving, from one task, to the next, to the next.

But in the quiet of the night, after everyone’s retired to their rooms, you find your peace and space to just be. All alone, able to do what you want, when you want, without having to worry about anyone watching you.

Except Lo’ak that is, but you don’t need to know that.

So, he crouches by your window, large hand steady on the frame as he leans in close. He doesn’t have to worry about you seeing him. Its pitch dark outside and the bright fluorescent light from your room makes a glare along the glass, so even if you did look out your window, all you would see is your reflection. 

And what a gorgeous reflection it is. 

You're naked from the waist up, round breasts, so much larger and more supple than any Na’vi woman’s, rising slightly as your arms reach above your head in a stretch. Your hands fall to the top of your head, caressing your hair and sliding down the column of your neck, over your collarbones and between the valley of your breasts. 

Lo’ak’s breathing deepens, stomach tightening as your hips start to sway. He can just make out the faint sound of music coming from inside your room, something slow and sensual, and he watches as your hips match the beat, hypnotized. 

He loves you like this - at peace and confident and completely feeling yourself. You move with such grace, and there’s no rhyme or reason to your movements. You’re just feeling the music, letting it guide you, move through you, and you let your body tell you what to do. How to step, how to sway, how to twist - and Lo’ak can’t help but dial into your energy, wanting to be closer, wishing he could hear the music better, wishing he could be there in front of you, holding you close and swaying with you.

His mouth goes dry as your hands drop to your shorts. You undo the button and zip, hooking your thumbs into the waistband. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. You’ve unknowingly given him plenty of private shows, but it doesn’t stop his heart from pounding or keep his cock from instantly getting hard. 

You don’t stop your dancing as your shorts and panties fall to the ground. You giggle as you twirl out of them, stepping out from the discarded heap and running your fingers through your hair as you dance towards your bed, newly revealed ass jiggling with each movement. He’s disappointed he can’t hear your giggle through the window, but his own lips curl into a small smile at the sight of yours.

You collapse on your bed, flipping over onto your back and stretching out on the sheets like a cat. You stay like that for a few moments, hands lazily petting the soft sheets, and Lo’ak waits with bated breath for your next move - and he prays to Eywa that you're about to do what he thinks you're about to do.

As if answering his prayers, your hands return to your body. Your eyes close, long lashes brushing against your cheeks as your fingertips caress your tummy. They brush against your skin, traveling lower and lower, until they're just inches away from your core. Lo’ak stuffles in his spot, grip on the window frame tightening in anticipation as your fingers get closer to where he longs to see them touch. 

Your fingers pull away briefly as you pop your middle finger in your mouth. Lo’ak groans quietly, palming himself to get some relief from his painful hard on, as he watches you suck on your finger. He can only imagine how it would feel to have your pretty lips wrapped around his own. It would be so wet and warm inside, so hot as you sucked on him, tongue dragging against the underside as you made it wet for him. His fingers are significantly longer than yours. They would surely reach the back of your throat if he got it all the way into the knuckle, and his face burns hot at the thought.

When you pull it out of your mouth, it glistens in the light, wet and practically dripping. It’s only then that your thighs spread, revealing the sight of all of Lo’ak’s fantasies. Your head tilts back as your wet finger slips inside your folds and brushes against your clit. You circle it gently, spreading your thighs more to give yourself better access, before your fingers slide down the pretty pink slit and dips inside your waiting hole. He pants at the sight, images of your dripping entrance stretching around his thick cock playing in his mind as you push your fingers deeper. You’d be so tight, little tawtute body struggling to accommodate his size. But it would fit. It would have to - you were made for him, he just knows it. Your mouth opens in a silent moan, and Lo’ak knows it’s not really silent, that you probably just let out the world’s most beautiful sound, but he can’t hear it - and that’s just so damn unfair. 

But he can have this. This moment, just you and him. And he palms his throbbing erection again, feeling the wet spot forming on the front of the material, before moving to undo the string of his tewng. He struggles with the knot, hands shaking with desire and he hates that he has to look away from you for even a second just to get the damn thing off, before finally getting the strap undone and letting it fall to the ground.

He spits into his palm and wraps his hand around his cock. When he looks back at you, he’s just able to hold off a loud groan. You have your head thrown back against the mattress, hair splayed out on the sheets and your lashes flutter against your cheeks as your fingers work faster inside of you. He can see how your pretty pussy shines between your thighs, so wet and pink, and he wants nothing else than to bury his head between them.

He strokes his cock, nice and slow, teasing himself as the image builds in his head. He’d be so good for you. Your devoted servant dedicated to giving you the best head you’ve ever received in your life. You’d taste so good down there, like the sweetest fruit, like a healing nectar gifted to him directly by Eywa. 

And he would devour you. 

He wants to lick up your tiny cunt with his big tongue, again and again, until you're panting with need and clutching his braids in your hands. Wants to lavish your clit with so much attention that you’re overwhelmed with pleasure, the same way you overwhelm him every single day you continue to exist in his presence. He wants to hold your thighs open as you try to squirm away from his relentless tongue, pleading with him to show you mercy (“Please, Lo’ak! Oh Eywa! S’too much. C-Can’t cum anymore,”). He wants you gasping and moaning for him, wants your thighs to wrap around his head as you cum, so tight that he feels like he might suffocate. Even then he wouldn’t stop. What a way to go - the Great Mother would be blessing him to grant him such a beautiful death.

His grip on his cock tightens as he strokes faster, the length rock hard and hot in his grip. His wrist twists at the top and sends a harsh shiver down his spine and more precum leaks out from the tip. “F-fuck,”

Your pussy would grip him like a vice when he would finally slide inside you. He can see how your walls already clamp down on your own fingers and his stomach tightens at the thought of them clamping down on him instead. His fingers, his cock - both already so much larger than your own or anything you’ve ever felt. Your gorgeous cunt would swallow him whole. And the sounds, the sounds it would make as he thrust into you, would ring in his ears forever. The lewd, horrible, amazing sounds your soaked pussy would make as it squelches and pulses around him. The sounds it's probably making right now as you thrust your fingers faster, palm dragging against your clit with each movement.

He knows you're cumming the second your face starts to twitch and he gets as close as he can to the window to see you better, his face practically touching the glass. Your face scrunches up, mouth falling open as your back arches, and the sight is so perfect and he’s so close. So, so close as he tugs at his cock frantically, wanting to cum too, wanting to cum with you. Together. 

And he’s there, he’s gonna cum and . . .

Snap!

He whirls around at the sound of a branch snapping in the distance makes him jump. 

His shoulder accidentally hits the window frame in his shock and he crouches low, hoping the darkness will cover his position from whoever is close. At the edge of the forest, two Avatar drivers are just coming back from an outing. They’re later than usual - the People are not the only ones who use eclipse as a curfew, but it's not unusual for a few to stay out longer than anticipated. They’re joking with each other, laughing and shoving each other as they make their way towards the Avatar holding area and, thankfully, they never even look Lo’ak’s way. 

When they’re out of sight and Lo’ak can’t hear them anymore, he stands back up, relieved to have not been caught, and turns back to look through the window. 

In an instant, his heart stops. Your light is off, the room flooded with darkness, and now instead of the beautiful and protective reflection you would see if you looked out the window - now, you can see out. And you are - staring directly at Lo’ak, shocked eyes meeting his wide amber ones as he stares back at you in horror. 

Your lips mouth his name, the question written clearly on your face, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He runs.

Part Two >>>

**Special thanks to @pandoraslxna for the prompt!

[caitchercatlady]

Sleeping Over at Ramshackle w/Jade & Floyd

*I'm so sorry that I posted this so late. I've been dealing with some life stuff these past few weeks, and that's given me a hard time with writing this story. I hope you guys enjoy it now that I've managed to post it in time.

Image credit @mostroloungeofficial

The last time Jade and Floyd came to Ramshackle, they nearly trashed the place for Azul’s new venture. Now that the dorm is safe in your possession, it's much more relaxing without the tweels messing up everything. They're practically banned from staying for more than two minutes (although that within itself is generous of you).

One Friday, you encounter Azul and the tweels in the hallway. Azul asks for a huge favor from you. He explains that he’s making some renovations for the Monstro Lounge over the weekend, and the Leech brothers would greatly appreciate it if they can stay over at Ramshackle until the renovations are complete. You point out that the Lounge and the dorms are entirely unrelated, so why do the tweels need to stay with you?

Azul pulls you aside and tells you a story about the last time he let Floyd and Jade Leech be in charge of Monsto Lounge work. “It cost more than the budget, and I want to keep my profits in the black. Do you catch my drift, Prefect?” Between the two of you, Azul is indeed the business professional. He sees your scrunching face of hesitation when Azul offers up a deal you couldn’t refuse. “If you do this favor for me, I assure you that every and any mess that comes from those two shall be cleaned and reimbursed.”

“How can I know that you’ll keep that promise?” you ask.

“Oh, (Y/N), you break my heart. You still don’t trust me?”

You give him the death glance.

Azul snaps up a contract in mid air and lets you read every detail to make sure that he wasn’t going to pull the rug under you later.

The evening falls onto Night Raven, and as you finish preparing two guest rooms (unsure if even the boys wanna share a room), you get the expected knock at the door. You don’t expect anything normal to come from these twins, and you’re scared to find out what they’re up to.

Jade thanks you for opening your dorm to them in their time of need. Floyd also thanks you, but as chill as he is, Floyd is the first to make himself comfortable by going into your kitchen to see what you got to eat. This puts Grim into protective mode over his tuna cans (not that Floyd wants canned tuna anyway). This doesn’t become a bigger problem as Jade reminds Floyd to be respectful while they are guests.

“You have to ask permission before you go scavenging like a catfish in someone’s fridge,” Jade explains without an inch of scolding in his tone.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, Shrimpy. May I scavenge through your fridge?” replies the other brother.

You clarify that you actually have ordered some delivery for dinner, so the tweels can indulge in whatever is on the kitchen counter.

“See, Floyd? When you are patient, you get rewarded,” says Jade with an all-too-pleasant grin.

The tweels thank you as they treat themselves to your offerings. You help Grim crack open a tuna can as they eat, and you can see that Floyd is still moody.

“Aye, Jade. You know what would perk up this dower, old place?”

Jade taps his chin. “Perhaps a bit of music? What do you think, (Y/N)? Would you mind some music?”

You guess that music wouldn’t be a problem, but you soon remember that you don’t know what music the Leech twins have in mind. However, it’s too late to go back on your word because the moment Floyd activates his smartphone, the biggest blast of orchestral jazz explodes from the speaker.

Grim nearly falls off the kitchen counter. You grasp your heart, telling yourself not to have a heart attack in the center of Ramshackle dorm since you and Grim know that the floors aren’t going to rescue you as you fall. The twins are dancing with each other in the living room as if it’s the happiest of times. Maybe that’s a good thing as they have no ill will against Azul. Floyd’s mood is improved by the proof of his loud scat singing. Not even Kalim parties this much at Ramshackle.

“(Y/N), don’t be such a wallflower,” Floyd coxes. “Dance the stiff away!”

Jade stretches his arm, takes you by the hand, and pulls you into the small yet blaring celebration of…Seven knows what.

Grim goes running up the stairs, shouting, “If you need me, I’m gonna protect my ears!” along the way.

Despite your mind spinning, letting yourself loose isn’t such a terrible thing after all. In fact, sharing your dance time with both casually dressed tweels increases the fun. All three of you don’t even make it upstairs for the rest of the night.

[cerastes]

I was thinking about the "FUNNIEST VTUBER CLIP -> Sex" post (that OP deleted and that I hope it wasn't due to harassment) and I think a sizeable amount of people that dislike Vtubers don't actually dislike Vtubers, they dislike Vtuber fans.

Now, quick preface: I used to watch Vtubers, I don't anymore, but I don't dislike them or shit on them, I just moved onto other things, plus I don't like certain aspects of it as a culture on the corporate side. One of the biggest things I dislike, though, are the fans. I sincerely have never before wanted to not be perceived as something as much as I have with being a fan of Vtubers, not because Vtubers are cringe, but because being associated with Vtuber fans would legit lead to an ego death for me.

I obviously mean the ones that are the most infamous with that statement, if it wasn't obvious enough: The ones that seem to try and grasp at every chance to aggrandize, or, say, idolize Vtubers. You know the ones I'm talking about, the people that say "wow, normies fucking suck, they see Markiplier making weird noises and lose their shit, I don't get it" and 5 minutes later are laughing their lungs out at Amelia Watson making weird noises, the ones that'll see the Vtubers do something in a game and claims she's a Goddess Of The Game, The Best Player Alive At It, the ones that'll endlessly circulate clips of the Vtubers "using their real voice by accident" or "FUNNIEST VTUBER CLIP" (she said something sexual or burped) or "[Vtuber] is a FREAK?" (she said 'feet' or 'vore' or otherwise mentioned any other widespread milquetoast fetish), the ones that'll absolutely die on the hill of going to bat for the Vtuber or Vtuber corp they like (especially Hololive, Hololive shills are lab-grown weirdos with burnt out brains that you'd think are constantly in MK Ultra activation mode except just to defend Hololive at any cost and by any means).

This isn't every Vtuber fan, obviously, but this is what is known as the Vtuber Fan. This is what a lot of people think of when they think of "Vtuber Fans". And seriously, I find it hard to blame the talent -- in the majority of cases, because there's plenty of Vtubers that really lean on the so called "GFE", or "Girlfriend Experience", or "Really Fucking Vile Parasocial Shit", these ones can legit go explode and I support not giving them a platform -- because, see, streams are hours long endeavors for most streamers, and Vtubers definitely are expected to stream at least some good amount of hours per session. The majority of cases, these Vtubers are just making some jokes or commentary that may make reference to sex or involve more raunchy topics, which is completely normal for the average streamer, even non-Vtubers, but then Clippers (or Clip Channels), as they are known, clip only those parts, so for outsiders, Catgirl McTuber is known exclusively for making references to feet, piss, and saying the word sex a couple of times per clip, when the reality of the matter is, Catgirl McTuber only brings those up maybe twice or thrice every couple of streams. There are definitely Vtubers that leverage this, mind you, the whole "ehehehe if I say nipple and feet and imply being into this one obscure fetish, I'll get a shitload of views on my clips, which translates to new followers" so, almost as if on schedule like old Moistcritikal videos, suddenly they will unleash "uhhh yeah chat that health potion I just drank, it's so red and colorful, it looks delicious... Delicious like feet! Like a giantess' feet!" followed by a silence where chat goes "HUH?????" and they know that's going to be their clip, but again, that's not all of them, and some are really misrepresented. In a way, it's largely Clippers' fault that Vtubing in general is so often seen almost necessarily as this Thing For Perverts: Yeah, those clips get traction, from both enjoyers and detractors, and with those delicious views rolling in that aggressively, of course they'll replicate the formula more and more.

This, in turn, feeds into the usual view of the Vtuber Fan: It's easy for anyone not interested, not even hateful of the culture/craft, just uninterested, to view it as "Oh, vtubers? Those super perverts that only ultrafreaks like? Hmm yeah not really, no, I don't watch any of them".

And, again, the need, the compulsion, to aggrandize: "WOAH Pink Vtuber just dropped a new song! It's THE BEST!" maybe it's not bad, really, but it's definitely mid at best, and seeing people really push it as this breakthrough of music so aggressively because they jack it to the Vtuber's model, well, it doesn't sit well with Actual Music Fans of the genre. "WOW Dog Vtuber is FERAL!" she's literally doing much of what Markiplier-type streamers did and do, but she's got a cute anime model and is Female, so fans will go rabid, and other people will eventually find this behavior annoying out of principle.

See, these things I mentioned... Do they warrant hatred? Not really. A streamer can release a track and it can be mid and that's fine. A streamer can make noises and say "unhinged" things and that's fine. Streaming is about doing something you enjoy as much as it is entertaining a crowd, in my opinion. Going about it the way you want to go about it is always the right answer. But then you have these incredibly aggressively parasocially invested fans that make the visible, perceptible bulk of what a Vtuber Fan is, and that's when public opinion, well, it goes to shit, because it's not longer just "a streamer with an anime rig just chilling and doing their thing", it becomes "a streamer with an anime rig doing anything at all and this army of people with usernames like lolifeet9000 proudly proclaiming they are, in fact, the funniest feralest greatest internet supersensation alive, even though all she said was 'armpit' this one time in a 7 hour stream".

Mind you, there's plenty of legitimate gripes to have with Vtubing -- to name a few, the obvious clip fishing is annoying and especially the parasocial angle being intentionally leveraged sits VERY badly with me -- but these things are not universal, not all Vtubers are doing these bad things. I think Vtubers get a lot of unwarranted hate because they have the worst most annoying fans possible, and I would rather people make the distinction more often, if they hate Vtubers or Vtuber Fans (tm), because I think it's not fair to the streamers and I think you hate the Fans, actually, for very good reasons.

[faeiri-tft]

PLEASE do the toontown online rant i want it so badly

this post kinda got away from me, and by "got away from me" i mean this 3000 word toontown rant is Part One. there will be a Part Two to this later in which i actually talk about the fanservers i wanted to talk about. anyway let's go

toontown online (tto) was a children's mostly-turn-based subscription MMO released in 2003. after a few years of obviously being on life support, disney gave a one-month notice that tto (and several other games) would be closing on september 19th, 2013. on the same day the game closed, the fan-run server toontown rewritten (ttr) was announced (with multiple other fanservers/fangames/reimaginings being established since), and is a few months away from outliving the original game

see, one thing about tto that allowed fanservers to crop up so quickly and easily was that it had, um, interesting choices. very interesting choices. like, "kids could use a code injector to turn their backyards into giant mashed-together nightmarescapes"-level choices

(loose video description: a rabbit toon running around a chaotic mismash of rooms, obstacles, and npcs that Should Not Be There. audio caption: Evanescence's "Bring Me To Life".)

but ok let's talk about the actual game first.

toontown online (tto)

the game starts with you creating your player character - you can pick from eventually-9 species, a couple body types, and 2 dozen preset colors. the gender code is a spaghetti nightmare but you won't learn this until the fanservers come about so don't worry about it. you're then taken to the Toontorial, which explains maybe 20% of the game's mechanics before setting you loose into the main game

the toontorial also gives you the basic "plot", such as it is: Toontown is suddenly* under attack by a bunch of boring businessrobots called the Cogs. their goal is to turn toontown into a dreary gray featureless corporate hell; their business activities are so boring that they're physically painful to be around. luckily, they can't take a joke, so the toons have figured out how to defeat them: by playing pranks on them until they laugh so hard they Explode

*originally, the game installer had a little animation giving a backstory for the Cogs' creation. this was never referenced in game, removed pretty quickly, and i think even the devs kinda forgot it existed

that's...pretty much the whole story! in that context, your toon progresses through all of toontown, helping some mostly-pretty-interchangeable shopkeepers, reclaiming buildings from the cogs, eating ice cream, etc. occasionally, the cogs would Come Up With New Tricks (read: major content update) and the toons would Find A Way To Fight Back (read: same major content update). that was the closest thing to Plot, unless you count "the devs scheduled a bunch of invasions of high-tier cogs right before the game's closure". but...i doubt most the kids really expected a Plot. mickey mouse was there

the gameplay:

the Free Account

there were two...pretty different approaches to playing toontown online. when the game launched, there was a 3-day free trial to the entire game, after which you got kicked entirely until you subscribed. at some point, this was changed so that the first area, Toontown Central (TTC), was Always Free - you could do all of that area's quests/"taskline" and limited activities, indefinitely, and in theory this would make you beg your parents for the rest of the game

i have no idea if this actually got more subscriptions or not. from what i can tell it just spawned more warrior cats

(source)

there were. a Lot of warrior cats. there were some other social activities, too, such as Fashion Shows (with your limited range of clothes) and Begging Subscribed Players To Summon Cog Buildings To TTC and Getting Chat Banned. ...however, as one of the subscription kids i didn't really interact with this side of the game, so i'm not the best person to talk about it

2. the Paid Account

mmm look at those crisp clear graphics. hell yes

a subscription account gave you access to this whole map, along with all these areas' tasklines. to progress through the game, you must complete a variety of "ToonTasks" for the Toon Resistance (it's called that. their catchphrase is "Toons of the World, Unite!". you were giving disney money for this). these reward you by increasing your max health (your "Laff Points"), slowly unlocking more combat options, and sending you to different, higher-difficulty areas of toontown

some of these tasks were...longer than others. generally, though, they all boiled down to: "just go fight some cogs"

combat:

(source)

toontown battles are turn-based: the players use their attacks ("gags") first, and then any surviving cogs attack you with, usually, office equipment and puns thereof (unless the cog is e.g. a Loan Shark, in which case they can just fucking bite you). if you defeat a cog, it explodes; if the cog defeats you, you "go sad" and are sent back to the safety of the playground, lose your gag inventory, and can't leave until you heal.

early on, most your battles are 1v1, but later on almost everything is a multiplayer 4-ish-v-4.

an...interesting feature here in the game's early days was that you could only Type Your Own Words to someone who shared their "friend code" with you IRL. otherwise, you had to use this thing:

(source)

you had a set list of phrases you could string together, which generally covered most the things you wanted to say. but it could get frustrating when you wanted to have a real conversation with your toontown friends! so...as the source above mentions, people obviously found ways around the system. turns out that if you let players move objects around their houses, they will use that to Draw Letters and pass their friend code along regardless

eventually - before the warrior cats, of course - disney presumably realized this system was pretty goofy (🥁) , so the game got a real chat, albeit one that functioned on a very strict whitelist. my favorite is that it didn't let you type numbers, however you could just say won too tree for hive etc. like. disney i really don't know what to tell you. anyway

(isn't he charming)

cogs come in levels 1-12, with levels displayed above their heads, and as you'd expect their damage output and HP increase with their level. however, the game doesn't...actually show you cog HP? instead they have a little colored light on their chest that fades from green to red until they explode. you see numbers on all the damage you do, and you see your own HP/laff, but never the cogs'. also lategame cogs are Too Tall For You To See Their Level once they line up for battle (which isn't actually that bad but it's funny). there's a formula for HP per level, but it's never mentioned in-game. i guess someone can teach it to you but then you have to watch them type "a level tin cog has won tree too health" and is that really worth it

(as you can tell i just…don't get this. "my kid is practicing arithmetic with toontown!" - marketing angle expressly denied by god. the stealth edutainment was right there)

anyway! in theory, you have seven base combat options ("gag tracks"), which combine in a variety of ways:

toon-up, which restores your teammates' health;

trap, which does guaranteed high damage but only if someone uses lure;

lure, which stuns the cogs for a few turns and is the only way to make trap work

sound, which does low damage to every cog;

throw, which does medium-high-ish damage to one cog; multiple throws combined give percentage combo damage, and hitting a lured cog will also add percentage "knockback damage";

squirt, which is exactly like throw but less damage;

and drop, which does high damage but cannot hit lured cogs, and has low accuracy unless you hit the cog with something else first

each gag track has 6 levels, which you unlock by using that gag track a bunch. you can't carry as many of the high levels with you - i mean, putting one piano in your backpack makes perfect sense, but two is just silly, right

a few years into the game's lifespan, level 7s were added - these were huge AOE that you could regain with every 500 track EXP. there was also something called "organic gags" to promote the please-log-in-every-day gardening system

every player starts with throw and squirt, and throughout the game you slowly unlock four more gag tracks. your choices are permanent: once you have your six tracks, you're locked out of the seventh forever.

in theory, all of this opens up a huge variety of combat options!

in practice, the battle strategy looks something like this:

use sound

as mentioned, almost all of lategame will be 4v4 battles, which means sound will almost always outdamage everything on earth. you don't even need four foghorns (the highest normal sound gag) to break 200 AOE damage, and the highest health a cog EVER has is 200*. and two of the boss battles can reward you with gag restocks and heals that you can use mid-battle with no consequences (other than having to grind for those rewards a bunch). and failing THAT, you can just...ration your foghorns and take 2 turns to clear a set of cogs, interspersed with healing.

(*okay there was something called "v2.0 cogs" but they were...strange, and we just used sound anyway)

sure, once level 7s were added you could use those occasionally. and you could fall back on lure+throw if you didn't want to use your sound restocks. but even then, for most of tto's existence there was something called the "knockback bug" which. well. just look at it

(link for transcript. it's tvtropes sorry)

if you are a target-audience eight-year-old this translates to "lure + throw will only do enough damage if the cogs Feel like it." like it's really just insult to injury at this point. this was the result of One misplaced variable and was not fixed until the game closed

in the tto era, if you didn't have sound, you were kinda doomed to be kicked out of every fight forever

(bonus fun fact: there were Four entire battle themes and they were 40-second midi loops. let me out)

the bosses:

each of the four cog departments has a Boss Cog. to face off against them, you have to assemble a cog disguise and collect enough merits/stock options/whatever to be allowed into the boss's office.

(pictured: your convincing disguise)

when you enter, your disguise pops off due to Reasons, and you have to fight through...a bunch of waves of normal cogs. it's basically a really long normal battle. once the minions are dealt with, you have to, inexplicably, do a live-action battle against the boss themself:

(loose video description: four toons defeating the CFO by using magnet cranes to hit him in the face with safes for 32 seconds.)

the live-action rounds aren't supposed to go this quickly, but it's still...kinda strange? certain reoccurring game areas require Parkour, but there are no battles like this outside of the Four bosses. the CFO's room is the only place you see these cranes and they have A Lot Going On. the other 3 bosses have their own unique weird mechanics. before the first boss was added we neither had nor needed the ability to Jump. it's just weird

once you've defeated the boss, you're given a reward of varying usefulness (the best/most unbalanced reward type is Unites, which are a free heal or gag restock you can do inside or outside of battle. essentially lategame toons can simply choose not to die. riv2u etc.)

and, um. then you get some more merits/stock options/whatever and do it again. and again. and again. and again. and agai

the grind:

so the thing is that tto was a subscription mmo. every addition to the game had to be measured, above all, in terms of "how can we best get kids to beg their parents to give us money." this especially shows in the suit grind:

(source/source)

you have to defeat each boss 78 times in order to get all their laff points - and as you proceed, you have to defeat an increasing amount of cogs to even be allowed into the boss (although once you max you get in for free).

by far the easiest way is to run through the designated HQ facilities - basically, cog fights interspersed with some platforming or minigames. you only collect your merits/whatever at the Very End of the facility. the only way to increase what a facility gives you is if your last battle ends during an "invasion" - a timed period where One Specific Cog replaces all street cogs, usually summoned with boss rewards.

the sellbot HQ grind isn't so bad. bossbot HQ - the endest-game HQ - frequently requires you to do an hour-long facility and on six separate occasions you have to do seven of them. if the invasion ends before your final battle, you have to sit around until someone summons another. if you lose your internet connection because it's 2008, or if your parents make you come to dinner, or if hacking or the game's general bugginess cause a server reset because you're probably in the busiest district for the invasion bonus, you have spent that Entire Hour On Nothing. the CEO (bossbot cog boss) probably also takes an hour because you and your fellow players are 10

this shit, combined with laff points locked behind gardening (time-gated), racing and golfing (multiplayer minigames with absurd requirements), and fishing (RNG-based with some fish being absurdly rare. i watched my mom fish for one every day for a month), meant that maxing a toon took Years, if you managed it ever.

it wasn't, um. it wasn't good

ok so what else is wrong with this game:

i had "aged out of the game" (lol) by the early '10s, so i'm not the best person to do a writeup of the hacking/scripting situation of those days. that said, what i'm going to do is give you a few examples, and i want you to just...look at them

(source)

(source). early '10s youtube was funny i'm trying to decide if i miss it

(source). fun thing to note here is that other players had collision, so a swarm of t-posing toons could just barricade the gag shop if they wanted to

(video description: toon who has Replaced His Head Model With An Anime Logo throwing thousands of jellybeans at everyone) (cw mild flashing just in case? and also the feather headband accessory)

i should note that the Bring Me To Life vid i started with was client-side, meaning only the player could see their technicolor hellscape. this guy's face was server-side. i do Not Think you should be able to do that

(video description: a player demonstrating use of a bot to get into the nutty river district, followed by other players using it to go to different game areas)

the above video was posted on august 17th, 2013. if you don't want to watch an Unregistered Hypercam 3 recording at about 5 frames per second, what's going on here is:

the player goes to a specific location and says a specific speedchat phrase.

a bot toon teleports to their location and provides some prompts on how to use it

the player tells the bot, via speedchat, to teleport to the (currently closed from the outside) busiest district so the player can follow

these "taxi toons" were server-sided, persisted across server resets, were made by a future fanserver dev, had younger kids referring to them as a "glitch" as if this were something that could Accidentally Happen, and stayed functional until the game closed

like...a lot of the "hacking" was just baby's first script download. this one - afaict also created by the laughing man head guy - is like...the fact that after years of no substantial game updates, someone effectively programmed their own "QOL feature" (note: not actually good for the poor mid-00s server being turned into a clown car) into a silly disney MMO and it just fucking sat there for a year is just. it's just.

i don't know what this is. this is not Playing The Game Toontown Online. this is nothing. this is everything. there are comments from 2013 on some of these videos saying stuff like "hackers killed toontown", but your game cannot have this happen if it is not already dying

and, like...it was. i'm not sure how many moderators there were by this point, but at the very end of tto, the number of active devs was One. the original devteam recently brought this up at the 20th anniversary celebration: devs just...slowly started getting pulled from the game, one at a time. there were a few updates after bossbot HQ - Field Offices, which i've basically never heard anything good about in their tto form ever; the Silly Meter, a yearly event...thing whose main function was to add unskippable dancing-inanimate-object cutscenes to your street battles; Parties, which...yknow parties were okay actually. i accept parties. but they weren't exactly a Major Game Update like the ones that had come before. in 2011 we gained the ability to Wear Hats. in 2012 the test server got some actual QOL updates that never made it to the main game; the final test server update was some maintenance in february, and then nothing for 18 months. disney was not providing enough resources to address the scripting because disney was not providing enough resources to address toontown. imagine being the last dev standing on an MMO that was older than some of its players, was losing its business model to mobile gaming, and spent most of its life falling apart at the seams. just imagine it, for a second

it couldn't have kept going, not like this.

on august 20, 2013, the closing announcement came: we had a month left of toontown online. the test server shut immediately; subscription refunds went out, and the game became actually F2P for the month; the part of the announcement that went like "we're shifting our focus to other games!" made a bunch of twelve-year-olds hate club penguin as if club penguin wouldn't also close in a few years; all the holiday events went off at once; and...

there wasn't a "thanks for playing!" popup. everyone online just got kicked, all at once. it was finally over

hey wait.

[prollywolly]

Come Home Soon [S. Gojo]

summary: being away on missions is always hard for satoru. on one particular night, close to his return date, he can't seem to fix the problem he has and decides to call you for some help.

warnings: 18+ only, MDNI! smut, mutual masturbation, phone sex, mentions of satoru wanting to smell the sheets you soaked, fem!reader, fingering

word count: 2.1k

a/n: hihihi! my first smut piece, i'm so so excited! it's been a while since i've written smut, but writing this made me remember how much i really enjoy it! let me know how much you guys like this and if you have any requests please feel free to send them in! this gojo brainrot is really winning the battle right now...

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

you always understood satoru’s work as a special grade sorcerer. it wasn’t a surprise that he was valuable and needed to be everywhere at once. when he was single, it was so much easier, he wouldn’t lie. but he wouldn’t trade having you by his side for anything in the world.

having you waiting for him at home was always a reassuring thought that sat in the back of his mind.

but it was the nights like these.

the nights where he was fisting his cock with such ferocity because you weren’t here to help him. you were too busy at home waiting for him while he was halfway across japan yearning for you to touch him like you always did. 

the sex that you and satoru had was filthy. 

the two of you were always trying something different. new positions, new kinks, your sex lives were very much active and growing. which is why his thumb was hovering over the video call option on his phone. 

his cock was aching. he had been pumping himself for what felt like hours and couldn’t seem to focus enough on something to get him going. it was unheard of to him. everything about you drove him crazy, so why was it so difficult to find something to help him sleep tonight? 

he bit his bottom lip harshly, praying to every god above him that you were still awake. when the call started to connect, his body relaxed and he watched as the ceiling of your guys' bedroom widened on his phone screen.

“toru?” your voice was a bit hoarse, groggy with sleep. “what’s the matter baby?”

satoru felt his cock throb at the sound of your voice. his angry tip was dripping with precum, a soft huff escaping him. he licked his slightly chapped lips, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as he tried to gather his thoughts.

“miss you baby,” 

“i miss you t-”

“i… i need your help baby,”

satoru flipped the camera around to show you his painfully hard dick. you felt your mouth water instantly at the sight of him. his dick was glistening under the dim light of his hotel room, it was obvious that he had tried to lube himself up and take care of himself. you couldn’t help but notice how much precum was dribbling down the sides of his cock. he was going to fucking explode.

“poor baby…” you cooed softly, the sound of you shifting your position in bed ringing through the speakers of his phone.

“what do you need me to do, hm? tell me what you need.”

satoru groaned and his hand loosely grabbed his dick. he pumped himself achingly slow, using his thumb to spread his precum all over himself. he felt a harsh lump in the back of his throat that was hard to swallow. he needed you. but he knew he couldn’t have exactly what he wanted.

“let me see that pretty face, baby. stop pointing your camera at the ceiling,”

the second you set up your camera, he audibly groaned.

you came into view with nothing but a white tank top and his favorite pair of panties. a white lacy thong with pretty pink flowers sewn into the lace all over. his mouth watered and he could smell your arousal through the fucking phone. satoru’s eyes shut momentarily as he grounded himself. your nipples were hard and perky, looking at him through the phone and begging to be touched.

“fuck baby, did you know i was gonna call?” his hand kept his same pace as before as he spoke to you.

“wore my favorite pair of panties like a little slut just waiting for me to call you?”

shivers danced down your spine at his words. it’s really all you needed to get going yourself. your freshly manicured nails that he had just paid for earlier today came up to the bottom of the tank top, you lifted the shirt just enough to let your tits drop out of your shirt. satoru moaned as they bounced slightly, his eyes widened as you began to pinch and play with your nipples.

the soft moan you let out was like music to his ears. 

satoru picked up the pace of his hand and let out another guttural groan.

“fuck baby, massage ‘em for me, yeah? show me how i do it,” 

you let out another soft moan as you roughly massaged at your mounds of skin. satoru droned out a long string of curses as he watched you toy with yourself. he could’ve cum right then and there, but he had been working at it for way too long on his own. he was going to take his time and savor this load he was going to bust, he deserved to cum nice and hard for you.

your french tips slid down to the hem of your thong, your middle finger reaching down to rub the wet patch that was forming in the fabric. with a shaky sigh, you pushed hard onto your clit as you massaged your pussy, clenching on pure air as you imagined satoru’s fingers dipping into you.

“just like that baby, fuck.” satoru exhaled harshly. “let me see that pretty pussy,”

and who were you to deny him? you lifted your ass up and slid your panties down your legs with trembling hands, spreading your legs open wide to give satoru the perfect view of his favorite place. the moan satoru let out at the sight of your dripping cunt was pornographic. he could taste your pussy on his tongue, he wanted nothing more than to eat you out like a starved man.

in a way, that’s exactly what he was.

he’d been away on his trip for almost a month now, hardly having time to himself like this. it’s been the longest he’s gone without fucking you, let alone ravishing your sopping folds. 

“oh my god, you’re fucking soaked-”

you dipped your fingers down once more, spreading your wetness across your pussy like you were fingerpainting on a canvas. your soft sounds mixed in with the wet squelch of your pussy nearly made satoru’s cock spurt ropes of cum onto the fucking ceiling.

“t-toru~” you whined softly. 

“miss you so much…” you mumbled quietly. “need your fingers, ‘nd your cock.”

satoru inhaled deeply, not sure how much more he could take of being away from you. and with the way you were begging for him, he almost wanted to piss this mission away and get home to you as fast as he could. he feels like he’s hallucinating. he could feel your slick all over his dick, each ridge and gummy crevisce of your pussy clenching around him like a drug. your cunt was dangerous, always sucking his cock right back inside with each thrust he pulled out of you. 

“g-god, you’re so fucking nasty baby,” he growled under his breath. “so fucking wet for me and i’m not even there to touch you…”

another mewl squeezed itself from your lips as you slid a finger into your weeping hole. you pumped your finger at the same gingerly pace as satoru did, your free hand continuing to massage your boob. the both of you were complete messes, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as you fed off of the noises the other was making. 

“add another finger baby, you know you can take more than one,” satoru winced, watching as you added a second finger and it slipped into you with ease.

“fuuuuuuck,”

satoru was salivating, his lips parted enough to let a bit of drool pool at his lips. you looked so sexy, so vulnerable and bare as you fucked yourself on camera. it fed into his ego that you were just as desperate as he was. fucking your fingers into yourself trying to chase the same feeling that his cock gave you when he was drilling into you.

the both of you knew that nothing was going to be better than actual sex, but this phone sex was definitely doing its job as a quick fix.

as satoru picked up his pace, you followed suit and let out a satisfied groan in response.

“shiiiiiit toru,” satoru smirked at the sound of your weeping whines. “wish you were fucking me inst-ead-”

satoru could see it in his head so vividly when he closed his eyes.

the way your tits jerked all over the place as he hammered his cock into you relentlessly. his long fingers would grip the supple skin of your hips like if his life depended on it, fingertips painting blue and purple bruises permanently. you always looked so gorgeous when you took his cock. you would wince the second he sheathed himself inside you, the pain mixing with pleasure instantly the second that he started to move. 

the faces you made only pushed him further into his bliss. the way those pretty little doe eyes would look up at him like he put the stars in the night sky. they’d shut tightly whenever he hit your sweet spot, the sound of your screams for him to keep going always following shortly after.

“ungh- f-fuck. a little faster now, i’m s-so close-”

like the good girl you were, you kept up with his pace and humped your hand frantically, chasing the waves of pleasure that coursed through your body.

the sight of you was so obscene. your arousal pooled beneath you, soaking into your sheets. the more that you fucked your fingers into your cunt, your slick would shoot out of your cunt like you had been stuffed full. there was nowhere else for it to go, the loud splat of your palm making contact with your cunt creating more of a mess with the force you were using.

“Fuck baby, you better fucking cum with me when i say so, do you hear me?” satoru snarled through clenched teeth.

he hissed as he fucked his hand harshly, lightly squeezing his hand to create the same effect that your vixen of a cunt would whenever it clenched tightly around him.

“o-oh, toruuuuuu~” you whined loudly. “gonna- gonna-”

satoru wasn’t in any better of a condition than you were right now. babbling incoherent curses as he goaded you to wait until he was ready to cum with you. it took every fiber of your being to wait for satoru, but once he granted you permission with a tight jaw, you released all over your fingers with a head-splitting whine, riding out your high by carefully listening to the sounds of satoru shooting ropes of cum all over his toned stomach and legs.

FUCK.

satoru’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, black spots clouding his vision as he tried hard to focus his eyes on something random in his hotel room. your legs fell limp, your pussy still in perfect view for him as you threw your head back onto the pillows of your shared bed.

with a shaky sigh, satoru flipped his phone camera to reveal his face. he chuckled softly as his eyes feasted over the sight of your swollen pussy. the white sheen of your cum painted your folds and shimmered under the dim lights of the room. after a few moments, you slowly sat up and grabbed your phone from the spot you perched it on.

“how’s my girl, hm?”

you let out a small scoff and rubbed your still-tired eyes. with a soft giggle you flipped the camera to show your boyfriend the wet mess you had made all over the bed sheets. satoru gasped in disbelief and let out a proud chortle.

“i gotta put the sheets to wash now. is it gross and disgusting if i just sleep on your side and wait until tomorrow morning? i don’t wanna get up to put this shit in the washer,”

satoru smiled and shook his head.

“leave that shit for when i get back baby, i’ll be home in a couple days and i wanna get home and shove my face in it. let it marinate for a bit until i make it home, yeah?”

you let out a high-pitched squeal at his comment and shook your head in disgust. as the both of you giggled to one another, you stood up on shaking legs and started to pull the sheets off the mattress.

“you’re such a perv! i’m putting this shit to wash,”

[webicon]

SCP rant because I have to get everything off my chest

This post includes swear words and slight nsfw! It's a bit long, and this was sitting in my drafts for some time and I just want to post it, I might get so much hate tho. Note: I use the word "admin" when talking about the overall staff, including the actual adminds

the way official SCP's are managed is fucking dogshit, it is said that SCP is for mature audiances which is 18+ but its not managed as if its 18+

the site is EXTREMELY HARD to navigate through, is there a "how to navigate through the site" page? I don't know I COULDN'T FIND IT, so my knowledge of scp DEPENDS on content farms which only makes videos about the same scp's(so my knowledge of SCP is near none existent and I've been in this fandom SINCE SCP CB CAME OUT). I didn't know the SCP had no canon until I saw it off site, but the thing is that SCP not having any canon is a big part of the what little canon we have, so why not make it more clear? Also, just because there's no canon doesn't mean you can't write the scp's heavily detailed for the sake of others adding up to the stories in their own way, the reason almost every single SCP is so vague is the reason that people don't care for the fandom, its as if every single SCP is a concept and not finished characters, people don't find anything to relate to so they don't care, honestly I'm really dedicated to SCP, SCP is the ONLY fandom that I have EVER joined and even I hate it so much, like, I only have one favourite scp and its 035, why? because 035 has bipolar or something, idk, who the fuck even is scp 035? I hate the fact that I can't have more favourites, Oh also, if there's no canon then WHY do people go around saying "THIS SCP CHANNEL SHARED MISINFO ABOUT THIS SCP!!!" maybe its just THEIR canon?(Not trying to defend them by any means though, I completely agree that the race, gender, ethnicity etc of a chara being washed away and becoming generic is disgusting and problematic, that's exactly the point I'm trying to make, there should be SOME canon that everyone in the fandom can agree upon, AU's can still exist even if there are canons anyway)

If your SCP article gets downvoted enough it can get REMOVED, and the scp wiki is basically 4chan, of course they're going to downvote it for the stupidest reason EVER, they're treating those artworks written with love and care from people as if its trash that doesn't even need to be there, but oh, oh the the dildo that when shoved up your ass makes you explode? beautiful, perfect(NOTE: Please don't tell the admins and the writers that their shitty sex jokes aren't funny and that they aren't good, it mwakes twhem sad :/ [and like I said, scp isn't written and treated as if its a mature 18+ thing so kids are extremely susceptable to seeing these, who's fault is that? Hmmm...beats me!] )

The SCP fandom has a lot of drama, why? because the admins encourage it, they're shitty people, all of them, they're EXTREMELY immature little shits with thick skulls, they refuse to come out about problems despite all of them being fully functioning adults and refuse to take action about things, they're always complaining about the fandom not growing and can't take a second to listen to even one of the things the fandom that MAKE UP 100% OF SCP says, so if we want something to change we better pray an admin agrees with our morals and acknowledge us, also they actively go around saying "SCP IS FOR ADULTS ONLY!!!" but like I said before, scp's are extremely vague and kids find them easy to understand so they OBVIOUSLY interract, and at this point we ALL know that 70% of the fandom are kids, it's an undeniable fact, so why are those people complaining instead of taking action, are they, like, not interracting with the fandom in the slightest? For that the admins seem extremely predatory, c'mon, is every admin actually jack bright's author under different users...? At one point the age limit for the wiki was younger than 18 even though scp contained themes of heavy horror and explicit gore for ever(take this with a grain of salt, bc I don't remember).

Don't even get me STARTED on SCP channels, The Rubber and SCP explained are OBVIOUSLY made for kids no matter what the channel owners say and yet SCP explained makes nsfw thumbnails and uses kid friendly language in the same videos and so does The Rubber, and NOBODY is telling them to stop.

I just don't get it, am I wrong on this? Is there an actual reason for all of this that I just don't know?

Also who the fuck is making these people admins anyway? like, SO many scp admins were exposed and...just...how? how are they being selected? do the admins not get background checked prior to selection? I understand one or two going under the radar but THIS many????! Like, scp is a huge thing and the admins are extremely well known within the fandom and thus they're really powerfull in the community (witch, like I said, is made of 70% kids while all of the admins are adults) and if they're going to be contributing to something this big then why aren't they being selected with caution?! Not to mention I can see the the pattern even through my blind glaze balls, why are they all sexual assaulters or have porn addictions? why? why the fuck?

If I wasn't an SCP fan for 84% of my life I would've left or never would've joined the fandom in the first place, but sadly I'm too attached now (also no force in the universe can stop me from posting self ship art of me and 035)

Also, this isn't a big issue but I wish SCP wasn't strictly CC but rather we could make our works and release them under whatever licence we wanted, since yk, we're the ones who made them and deserve the rights over them? I don't know if there's a reason to SCP being strictly CC tho, so correct me if I'm wrong

[sukoshininja]

Blood Gamble

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

"It's not mine."

That's what Lance had said, because it couldn't be. He would know. Wouldn't he?

But judging by the look on Keith's face, he was clearly missing something.

"We need to put pressure on that," Keith said slowly in that carefully enunciated voice, the one he used when he was trying to hide his alarm.

Again, it wasn't his. But he knew better than to interfere when Keith was like this, teetering on the edge of panic. Better to let him see for himself. 

Lance allowed Keith to remove his left rerebrace, which, to Keith's credit, was slick with blood. Keith wrinkled his nose and bit the tip of his glove, pulling it off his hand.

"See? Not mine."

 "Nothing on this planet bleeds red, Lance," Keith reminded him as he forcefully pressed the rubber glove into Lance's tricep. 

Oh yeah.

But if that was true, then why didn't--

Oh. Oh. Okay. Now it hurt. The pain was so sharp it felt cold, spreading ice to his nerves in his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally. Bad idea.

 Keith tapped his helmet, activating his comm, "Red team withdrawing. We need to get Lance to a healing pod. Stat."

"Do you need an extraction?" Allura asked, concerned. 

"No, but he's losing a lot of blood."

"How much blood are we talking?" Hunk asked as Lance's vision started to get fuzzy around the edges

"Tourniquet level," Keith replied as he pulled his hairband out with one hand, the other still holding pressure to the wound. 

His heart was beating so fast that Lance half expected it to explode. He tried to focus on taking big slow breaths, but he found himself gasping for air when it seemed like he couldn't get the air in fast enough. Oh no, he was hyperventilating. That couldn't be good. 

"Hold this," Keith instructed as he folded the band in half and wrapped it around Lance's arm, pulling the elastic tight.

The pressure on his brachial artery was not a welcome sensation, he realized as he felt his hyperactive pulse push against the elastic band. Nausea rolled in his stomach.

Keith snapped his fingers in front of Lance's nose. Lance tried to focus on the eyes looking back at him with intensity. "I'm gonna need you to keep pressure on this, as much as you can."

Lance nodded, the pain making him feel so weak he was numb, like his extremities were slowly disappearing. It wouldn't be long before he was weightless. 

Keith hoisted him in a fire's carry before bolting for Red.

Lance was barely aware as his cheek lay against the cockpit floor. It was cool. And he was the coldest he had ever been. 

Fog pressed up against him, clouding his awareness. 

-nce

What was that?

-ance!

The sound dipped in and out, gently, like a lullaby. 

Lance! What's your blood type?

And everything was quiet. 

*   *   *

There was a pressure in his head. A pounding. Wait. That's what sounds were. Those were sounds. Funny. He couldn't understand them. Not yet. It was like they were all meshing together in one big blob that echoed through his head like a gong.

It was dark too. Oh. His eyes were closed. He should open them. Nope. Too hard. He could wait. Something was off, and he wasn't terribly eager to find out what. 

When Lance came to, he was on his knees.

He slowly opened his eyes. The light burned. He squeezed them shut again.

"How are you feeling, Lance?" a booming voice asked and Lance flinched. 

"I--" words felt weird in his mouth. And was that supposed to be his voice all frail and scratchy? "I'm alive, I-I think."

"You had us for a while there," the voice continued. Lance recognized it as Shiro. 

"Can't keep me down!" Lance replied weakly. Sensations were gradually beginning to return. None of them were pleasant. 

He tried opening his eyes again. Still too bright. 

"You saw that, right?" Pidge asked, alarmed. 

Shiro made a corrective noise. "Let's focus on getting him stable before getting side-tracked. Lance, can you stand?" 

Lance tried, but it was like his muscles couldn't be bothered. "I don’t think so."

"It's okay. I'm going to carry you, alright?"

Lance nodded. As Shiro lifted him, he attempted to open his eyes once again, but this time only by a hair. It was still too bright, but it was bearable, and he could roughly make out the figures around him. They were in the medical bay. He must have just exited the pod. 

"Should I wake him?" Pidge asked, gesturing at a makeshift cot.

"Let's wait until Lance gets settled," Shiro advised. He gently carried Lance, bridal style, to his room. 

Pidge pulled back the sheets and Shiro gently placed him down on the mattress. They fussed at him, arranging his limbs, fluffing pillows and tucking him in. Shiro adjusted the weird cape thing that draped from Lance's shoulders. It reminded him of that thing barbers snapped around your neck when getting a haircut. 

 "What's this?" 

It did not escape him how they both stiffened. 

"We’re gonna wait until you are a little more sober," Shiro said carefully. "You'll get to see it soon, after you heal a little more."

That bad?

"Chicks dig scars," Lance made it sound as flippant as he could. 

Shiro regarded him with a calm mask. "Do you need anything? Water, more pain killers?"

"Can you turn the lights down? They really hurt."

Shiro adjusted the dimmer until the lights faded to a soft glow.

Everything came into sharp focus as he was able to open his eyes fully. His vision was still a little off, though.

Pidge was looking at him intently, almost as if she was studying him.

"How long was I out?"

"Long enough to have us all worried," Shiro answered. "I'll let the others know you're awake. I'm sure they'll want to see you, but it's okay if you're not up for company just yet."

"I can say hi," Lance offered.

Shiro nodded and stepped out of the room, the door sliding shut behind him. 

Pidge was still squinting at him. He was not about to apologize for the low light. She looked pale, like all the color had gone out of her. 

"Why do you look...less?" 

"You're standing in the presence of a universal donor, you greedy bastard," she announced proudly, striking a hero pose.

That couldn't be right. She was much too small. She definitely didn't hit the weight limit to safely donate. "I thought you had to wait at least another year to give blood?"

"If I waited, you'd be dead."

Oh.

"You're welcome."

"I don't know how to thank you," Lance said quietly. He owed her his life, that was a debt he would never be able to repay.

"Don't. Anyone would have done the same."

The door slid open and Keith strode in, out of breath and hair a mess.

"How was your nap?" Pidge asked. 

"I brought the pain drugs. Is he sleeping? Why is it so dar--" Keith made eye contact with Lance and froze. 

"Shit," he whispered.

"Keith!" Shiro called from down the hall, he appeared in the doorway a moment later. "I told you to wait."

But Keith wasn't paying attention. His eyes locked on Lance, lower lip trembling. Suddenly he turned on his heel and all but ran out of the room. 

"SHIT!" Lance could hear him scream into the hall.

Not exactly the reunion he expected. 

Shiro heaved a tired sigh, "I'll be back."

*  *  *

It had been days, and Lance was getting antsy. 

"Is it really that bad?" he asked Allura when she brought him breakfast one morning. 

"Is what bad?" 

"My face."

There was a reason all the mirrors were covered, that Shiro had tried to stop Keith from barging in, that when the others come to see him they wore curated expressions.

"Still got your looks, if that's what you're concerned about," Allura laughed, mussing his hair affectionately.

Lance tried to lean into and enjoy the rare casual touch Allura graced him with. But the feeling that they were hiding something from him wouldn’t leave him alone. 

"Keith took one glance and bolted," Lance challenged. He hadn't been back either. That bothered him more than he cared to admit. 

She smiled softly. "I believe he feels at fault for what happened to you."

Lance's memory was pretty hazy at best, but he seemed to remember Keith saving him. "What are you not telling me?" 

Allura hummed thoughtfully. 

"I'm going to find Shiro." She raised a hand at Lance's protests. "He can explain it better than I can. I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you earthlings work. He wanted to be the one to tell you anyways."

"You're scaring me."

“It’s been a very scary time for all of us,” she agreed as she slipped out the door.

When Shiro walked in a few moments later his mouth was set at a grim angle. "Hey, champ. How are you feeling?"

Lance shrugged. "Arm hurts. I'm stuck in this room because you won't let me out of bed. And everybody is hiding something from me."

That came out a lot harsher than he had meant it. But he was frustrated. 

Shiro nodded somberly as he took a seat on the bed, facing him. "We should have had this talk earlier, I'm sorry. We wanted to give you a chance to get your strength back a little first. I understand your frustration, but I still stand by that decision."

Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder. "I think you know this, but we came so close to losing you. There was a stretch where we didn't think you would make it. "

"Hunk said Pidge nearly killed herself to save me."

"She gave more than she should have,” Shiro confirmed. “However, you needed more than she had to give. When it became clear she would bleed herself dry for you, we had to make a choice. Losing both of you was not an option."

Hunk had conveniently left out that bit. 

"But neither was losing either of you. So, as your senior officer, I made a decision. A decision that should have been yours. But in the moment I was so scared of losing you that I didn't care. I am sorry I took away your choice. But understand that I do not regret my actions. The important thing is that you're still here, the rest is details."

Shiro looked down at his mechanical hand. Flexing his metallic palm open and closed a couple times. He reached behind Lance to undo his cape. As it fell off his shoulders, Lance braced himself for what he expected to be a nasty scar.

Only there was no scar.

Because there was no arm.

“There was no saving it,” Shiro whispered after a moment. “I’m so sorry.”

Lance could feel his heart rate quicken as his breaths became shallower. He lost his arm. They cut off his arm! How was he supposed to shoot?How was he supposed to pilot his lion? He couldn’t be a paladin anymore. He couldn’t even return to his life before, not with one arm.

“When you’re further along in the healing process, we’ll get you outfitted with a prosthetic,” Shiro continued. “Coran claims my Galra tech is too clunky and that Altean tech is much better suited for prosthetics.”

Oh yeah. Shiro had lost his arm as well. He seemed to be doing just fine. Alien technology for the win. When he dreamed of following in Shiro’s footsteps, this isn’t quite what he imagined.

He forced a smile that he didn’t feel. “We’re twins.”

“Now back to that choice I made.”

Lance felt his stomach drop. There was more?

"As I said, Pidge alone couldn’t save you. But she wasn't the only one aboard with an O negative blood type. But given that Keith’s not all human we didn’t know how your body would tolerate this blood. But when it became clear that you need more, what choice did I have? Watch you die? Or pump you full of alien blood and watch that possibly kill you faster? Or possibly live? At least you had a chance. So I gave the order. I didn’t even ask him.”

Was that why Keith couldn’t stand him? Because he stole his blood?

Shiro sucked in a big breath before slowly letting it go. “It saved your life, but there were…side effects.”

“Side effects?”

Shiro handed him a pocket mirror.

He caught a flash of yellow, glowing, pupil-less eyes from a familiar face.

“He turned me into a quiznacking Galra!”

Next Part -> my whumptober masterlist

[mymegrokosmos]

When his biggest insecurity in the relationship is that he knows he comes off a bit cold and can be hard to be vulnerable with or be affectionate in public and he worries that you'll eventually get tired of having to pull those heart to heart conversations out of him like getting water from a stone and find someone easier to be with. Someone who can be there more often and who doesn't need their own space and isn't so high maintenance. Someone who can offer you all the comfort and reassurance you deserve without struggling to put their feelings into words. Someone who won't be awkward or take time to warm up to physical affection and who shows you off and lets you know how proud he is to have you on his arm. Until you sit down and tell him that you love that you're the one person besides his best friends that he speaks to about everying.

Yes, maybe it took him a long time to say the words I love you and he still feels more comfortable showing than telling you how important you are to him but you still know. You still have late night talks with his head on your chest or while his cheek is pressed against your back while he holds you close against his chest and you both chat about everything and nothing. Catching up while he's half asleep and nuzzling his nose against the exposed skin on your shoulder while you ask a million questions and he just holds you when it's your turn to ramble about how life's been and what's going through your brain lately. You love him even on the nights when he keeps to one side of the bed, nothing more than a goodnight and the brush of his fingers against yours before he rolls over to sleep unencumbered by your octopus limbs shared between you. Even on the nights he stumbles into your bedroom late with his eyes already half closed and barely makes it under the covers before passing out cold still half dressed. Especially then.

You love his solo reading time where he listens to you hum as you work, each doing your own activities within the same vicinity. Quiet evenings in with his head on your lap and your fingers buried in his hair when he feels secure enough to stop carrying the weight of all his members on his shoulders and holds your hand, pressing soft kisses against the back of your palm. The way neither of you needs words as you watch a drama together or catch up on the latest episode of a new project to support your friends in their acting careers, just relaxing in each other's presence. How secure you feel even as he teases you later because you know he takes note of how your hand squeezes his when something sad happens or the way your fingers drift from his scalp to rest against the side of his neck when you're so absorbed in the main couple being cute that you want to share that moment and those emotions with him. The way he laughs warms your heart even as he mocks the tears you shed over your favourite fictional characters so easily when you're alone because as he speaks his thumbs brush them from your cheeks and his lips chase the tearstains away when he's finished.

He might make you pout and blush and whine with his comments but he also holds you close and rubs your back as you bury your face in the crook of his neck and tell him that feelings are there to be felt and what good is experiencing them if you never let them out? They're too big to just hold trapped in your chest until something explodes. He just tucks your hair behind your ear and smiles fondly, pressing a kiss to your temple and letting his thumb rub soft circles on the skin of your hip. He doesn't often say anything back but you get his reponse in snippets of songs he's working on weeks later when you drop into the studio to remind him to eat or to pick him up for a date he's five more minutes late to putting finishing touches on his latest masterpiece about you.

You don’t need words to read the way his eyes soften around you or how his hand clasps around yours the minute you reach for him. He may not be the one to initiate but he never pulls away or asks you to stop. In fact, usually he melts into your praise or your soft touch and leans into your kisses. Sticks his cheek out or taps his lips asking for more. The way he loves you might be subtle but that doesn't make it invisible. You don’t need easier or louder or apologies, you just need him to know that you see the small ways he accomodates and compromises for you and that being considered every time he walks up to start a new day together is more than enough for you.