#RIP the fandom winds take me where they will

[todayisawthewhxlewxrld]

!"are we still friends?" kiss w/ inumaki!

prompt// heartbeat getting faster with every passing second, their hands on your waist, one coming up to your jaw, whispering your name softly, before just going for it. coming absolutely undone as your hand reaches to tug on their hair (prompt from @jasminesfury)

pairing// toge inumaki x gn!reader

word count// 1.8k

contents// jujutsu high is a college, inumaki communicates through sticky notes, inumaki uses his cursed technique to get what he wants, ooc inumaki ?

notes// these kissing prompts r too good not to use sorry not sorry! also yes him using his cursed technique was inspired by that one anon... also any information i say about a character's likes? or like favorite food, i get from jjk fandom wiki dont come for me if its not right ok baiiii <3

You and Inumaki are best friends— or were. Right now, he’s not quite sure where the two of you stand considering how you’ve been acting towards him lately. He and, quite frankly, anyone with eyes could see how uninterested you were acting toward him. You avoided his touch, kept conversations short, avoided eye contact, hell, you tried to avoid him all together—you were ignoring him. It wasn’t like you were doing it on purpose, though! …Okay, you definitely were, but you also definitely had a good reason to. The whole reason this started was because of last week.

You and Inumaki are best friends; you’d obviously take any chance you could to hang out with him, and you thought that was the only reason why—because he’s your best friend—but that day you quickly learned that was not the case. You and Inumaki sat under a tree in a random park. When the weather was nice and your schedules aligned, the two of you would often have picnics together. On these picnics, you two had this unspoken agreement of bringing each other food; he’d bring you what you liked or what he thought you’d like, and you’d do the same for him. You watch him intently as he places all the food he got for you near you, and you smile when he’s finished and is staring at you patiently, waiting for you to do the same.

You ignore his gaze and what he wants, instead tilting your head at him and asking, “What’s your favorite food?”

Inumaki’s face drops, and a pout replaces his previous faint smile as he pulls out a sticky note pad and scribbles, “Are you joking?”

You commit to the bit. “No, I’m serious! What’s your favorite food?”

You watch him fervently rip that note off to write on another one, “Wait, you seriously don’t know?”

The way he’s staring at you makes you relent. “Just humor me for a second Inumaki?” you plead with a soft smile, reassuring him that it’ll be worth it.

He stares at you curiously before nodding and writing, “Tuna mayo onigiri.”

You hum with a nod. “Right, thought so,” you say. “Guess what I have!”

Inumaki’s eyes light up as he excitedly taps his finger against the words he just wrote. His reaction doesn’t take you by surprise; you’ve seen him react like this plenty of times before. It’s what you love about him—how excited and happy he gets about things and isn’t afraid to show it—but something is different. The sun is shining on his face perfectly; it gleams off his eyes, and the way the wind slowly blows past and the trees and flowers behind him sway softly with his hair has you completely mesmerized. So mesmerized, in fact, that Inumaki had to practically shove the notepad in your face for you to even realize you were staring.

You shake your head as if shaking yourself out of your trance, silently acknowledging to yourself that it was odd, but you digress. “Sorry! But yes, I do have that for you!”

He drops the notepad and holds out his hand expectingly, and you giggle as you place the onigiri in his hand. He bows his head slightly at you to say thank you before he digs in, and you smile warmly at him.

“I’ve been trying to get it for you the past few picnics, but they were always out,” you say, frowning. “But today I went early, and they actually had some!”

He acknowledges you with a glance, and your heart skips a beat just from the brief moment that your eyes meet. You try to ignore it, though. You try to ignore how you can’t keep your eyes off him, the butterflies in your stomach, and how warm you feel. Maybe you’re getting sick? Yeah, that must be it. You don’t know how long you got distracted by simply admiring him, but by the time you came back to reality, he was done with his food and writing something on his sticky notes.

He holds up the notepad, asking, “Are you okay?”

You scoff slightly. “Of course I’m okay.”

He frowns at you before scribbling, “You haven’t touched any of your food.”

You look down at the food before returning your gaze to him and awkwardly smiling. “Ah yeah, just not all that hungry, Inumaki...”

You watch him study your face quickly before writing, "Are you sick?” He doesn't give you time to reply before placing the back of his hand on your forehead, and if you weren't already flustered before, you most definitely are now. You're too shocked by his actions to say anything, but it doesn’t matter when he's already scribbling a new sentence. “You feel warm.”

“I'm sure it's nothing, Inumaki,” you try to reassure.

He hands you a sticky note that says, “We should get you back to your dorm and stop for medicine on the way,” before beginning to pack up the left-over food.

You roll your eyes and place your hand over his to stop him, and the way he looks up at you has your brain going blank, so much so that he has to shoot you a questionable look in order for you to realize what you were doing.

You quickly remove your hand from his and clear your throat. “It’s fine, I promise. I probably just have to sleep it off, okay?”

Inumaki doesn't bother writing anything down and instead just stares at you blankly.

“If I'm still ‘sick’ by tomorrow, we can go get medicine, okay?”

He nods, ultimately accepting that answer, but he wishes he didn't because tomorrow never came. You didn't die, obviously, but you might as well have. You started ignoring him the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and... you get the point.

Inumaki has no idea what he did; he tried to ‘talk’ to you the best he could. He’d leave you sticky notes, and you would hardly acknowledge them or him. Did he do something wrong? He knows most people found him intimidating at first because of his cursed technique and were hesitant around him, but you never were, so why are you acting like it now? Maybe he came off too strongly; maybe you got suffocated being his only friend—well, not his only friend, but his closest friend; maybe you just had enough. Inumaki told himself he was just going to let whatever happens happen, but he couldn’t. So he said he'd find you after class and corner you if he really had to; you’re already ignoring him; what's the worst that could happen after that? But he couldn’t wait till after class tomorrow; he couldn't sleep; he just laid in bed anxiously, which is why he now finds himself standing at your door. He doesn’t think twice about knocking; he wants—no, he needs—to know why you're ignoring him.

You're surprised to see him there, and his twisted-up face makes your heart drop. You're not sure if he's worried, angry, or both.

“Inumaki, hey.” You’re afraid to look at him for too long, fearful that he’ll look back and figure out your feelings for him, so you leave the door open and start walking away. “Come in.”

He does so, shutting the door behind him. You’re a few feet away from him, so he tries to close the distance between you two, only for you to take the same number of steps back. Inumaki frowns and pulls out his sticky notes.

“Are we still friends?”

No, because you’d rather be more—if it isn't obvious by now, the entire reason you’ve been ignoring him is because you've finally realized how deeply in love with him you are.

You avoid his gaze and zero in on your floor instead, nervously laughing. “Of course, Inumaki, why wouldn't we be?”

You hear him scribble something down before the sticky pad shows up in your field of vision. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

You push his hand out of your vision. "No, I haven't.”

You hear more scribbling before one of his hands grabs your chin and lifts your head up to face him. Your eyes fluttered at the action, and you hope to god he didn't notice. He shakes the notepad in his other hand to draw your attention to it. “Yes, you have.”

You can't lie to him when it's like he's staring straight into your soul. “Okay, fine, maybe.”

Though you wish you did when his face drops and he slowly lets go of your jaw to write, “Why?”

You take a step back, and he takes one forward. “It doesn’t matter.”

He frowns and shakes his notepad slightly as if to emphasize his point, “Yes, it does.”

“It doesn't because I'm gonna stop ignoring you, okay?”

“But why were you ignoring me?” he scribbles frantically.

You sigh. “Just drop it, Inumaki, please?”

He shakes his head.

“Inumaki, just forget about it, and we can go back to normal, okay?”

He narrows his eyes at you and writes, “Just tell me! I won't get mad; I just want to know why.”

“Inumaki, seriously drop it,” you say as you turn to walk away, but you don't get far before you hear a clatter of Inumaki’s things hitting the floor, and he grabs your wrist, pulling you into him. He has your wrist to his chest, and your other hand is instinctively pressing against him, while his other hand is on your waist. You grow flustered by how you two are body-to-body, with no space to be found between the two of you, and you look at him wide-eyed, both of your breathing becoming heavier with each passing second. You're about to push yourself off of him or tell him to let go of you, but any thought of doing something vanishes the minute you see him start to open his mouth.

“Tell me,” he says softly yet firmly.

You can't even attempt to fight against his command as the words "I like you" pour out of your mouth against your will.

The minute the words leave your mouth, you go wide-eyed in shock from your confession, and from how he used his technique on you, he’s equally as wide-eyed. You try to yank your wrist free from his hold, but he has an iron grip on you no matter how hard you struggle.

You begin to murmur nervously, your voice trembling with embarrassment, "Inumaki-"

But your sentence is quickly cut short when he leans in. He hesitates for a moment before just going for it and kissing you. You don't kiss back at first in shock, but once you grasp what's going on, you quickly melt into the kiss, practically turning into liquid with the way your legs try to give out on you. You quickly tangle your free hand in his hair; he releases his grip on your wrist and places that hand on your waist as well, while you cradle his face with your newly freed hand. You two stand there kissing and holding each other for what seems like forever before he finally pulls away, both of you nearly panting.

“So, uh, does this mean we’re not friends or-“

© LITTLEXBIMBO

[fioreofthemarch]

yearnings

[✨ this was written for zelink week 2023 organised by @zelinkcommunity and is a companion piece to 'repast' and 'kin'] Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Pairing: Link/Zelda Words: 1140

Despite all that time has taken from her, the Light Dragon can still recall names.

The skies in which she swims belong to Hyrule, and her sister dragons that she shares them with are Naydra, Farosh and Dinraal. Yet the Light Dragon no longer has a name, and her heart cries out in search of one — though she does not know why.

Each day at sunset, her sisters join her above the clouds. Sister, they say, come with us, to where the land meets the sky and where the mortal beings dwell. Each day, for many years, the Light Dragon cannot accept. She awaits another, one who will awaken on the Great Sky Island that she dutifully guards. This purpose, though its details are lost, burns within her.

When the swordsman finally awakens, the Light Dragon senses him immediately. She watches with muted curiosity as he begins to explore her island in the sky. Why had he come to this place? Were all the mortal beings so small? Soon she finds him on the ancient circular landing behind the island’s temple, and watches as the sword in his hand disappears in golden light. She is drawn to him then, called by a voice within: the swordsman must have a sword. Perhaps on the surface, where her sisters call to her, he will find another. Determined, the Light Dragon splits the clouds guarding the island from the world below. The swordsman does not wait; he leaps, surface bound. The Light Dragon follows.

The vast lands below swallow the swordsman whole. There are deep valleys that cut the earth and mountains that pierce the skies. There are churning rivers and yawning bays. There are open plains, marshy swamps, and rolling deserts. He must be out there, somewhere, and across all four corners of Hyrule the Light Dragon searches.

In winding canyons flooded with water, she meets her sister Farosh. Have you seen a swordsman? she asks. Farosh answers: None with valour and courage enough to impress me, sister.

Among rocky crags and cooled lava, in the shadow of a great volcano she meets her sister Dinraal. Have you seen a swordsman? she asks. Dinraal answers: Hyrule has seen many, sister, for blood flows here as easily as water flows to the sea.

Between gentle mountains, as snow feathers down, she meets her sister Naydra. Have you seen a swordsman? she asks. Naydra answers: Yes, he flies as we do, sister. I am sure he will visit you soon.

But he does not. The sorrow the Light Dragon feels at this is powerful and achingly fresh. Against her will, tears well in her eyes. She begs them not to fall; each time they do, they take more of her with them. She tries to hold on, and hold fast, but the tears fall anyway. The Light Dragon forgets why she was crying.

It is not long after this that he finds her. And it was as Naydra said; the swordsman could fly like the dragons, capturing the winds to soar through the sky. He lands softly on her back, his footsteps tickling, almost pleasant. Then he is holding onto her mane, holding very tight; is he worried he might fall? Then she can hear weeping. She hopes he is not unwell.

After some time, the swordsman speaks: “Is that really you, Zelda?”

She does not understand nor does she answer the question.

“Gods… you have the Master Sword. You’ve really had it all this time…”

Then he is moving, light feet padding about her mane. “Sorry, old girl, I’ve gotta take it from you.”

She is just thinking that she likes the gentle weight of him when a blinding pain rips through her head and down the length of her body. She lurches skyward, roaring, but the pain doesn’t stop, and it’s like something is tugging very hard on her head. It is not nice! Whatever it is should let go! It is her fur there! It keeps her warm! Let go! Let go!

The sky suddenly flashes white, and next she knows she is enveloped in clouds of shimmering gold. Calm washes through her and she relaxes, allowing herself to float. The swordsman is still there, murmuring: Hylia help me, I’m sorry. I didn’t know that’d hurt— Are you okay?

Yes, it is all going to be okay. She closes her eyes and recalls the final piece of her memories that had not yet slipped away; she has the sword, which she guarded much as she guarded her island in the sky. How this came to be, and why, is lost to her. But it is no matter. Her purpose is fulfilled. She is at peace.

After this, the swordsman visits her often. He brings her apples cooked in butter, which she eats even though she can’t really taste them, doing so because it seems to make him happy. Then he brings her flowers, threading them into her mane, which she likes for the soft pull of his fingers through her hair. Sometimes he comes to talk, telling stories of the surface, using words she doesn’t understand but enjoys for the sound of his voice. Sometimes he just comes to sit, clinging to her mane, always clinging.

Then, the last time he comes, she is sitting with him on top of the temple on the Great Sky Island, dozing. Her sisters have teased her for this. Sister beloved, what need does a dragon have for sleep? The swordsman sleeps, she has told them, and often sleeps for entire days. It seemed a pleasant activity to try, and she has found it helps her to enjoy the feeling of the sun on her back.

On this final day, she awakens to find the swordsman brushing her mane, running his hands through the strands.

“I have to go soon, Zelda,” he says. “I’ve stalled for a long time. I need to finish what you started.”

He has an apple in his hand, which she obligingly eats. “If I don’t come back, old girl, you know I love you, right? If there’s even a tiny bit of Zelda in there, I want her to know…”

Zelda. She yearns to understand this word. Is that a name? If it was, could it be hers? She does not know how to tell the swordsman this — that she can be his Zelda, if he wants. Instead she pushes her snout into his hand, nuzzling against him.

In response he wraps his arms around her, holding tight. At his back is a noble sword, in a scabbard of blue and gold. Then he lets go, runs a gentle hand across her fur one last time, and departs.

The Light Dragon Zelda returns to the sky, unmoved. He has left her before, and always returns.

Content to wait, she flies away free.

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This.... (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Fandom: Outer Range, Rhett Abbott, f!reader Summary: You and Rhett have a unique friendship. Every time you go out with a group, you end up getting drunk, dancing, and making out with him only to then wind up going home with other people. But what happens when Rhett asks you to dance before either of you has had a drink.... Word Count: 3744 TW: Fluff, Kissing, Love Confession, Drinking, Mentions of drunk making out, Mentions of drunk dancing, Language Notes: For @ohtobeleah's Galentine's Day Special based on "You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This" by Toby Keith (RIP 😔💗)

Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was busier than usual even for a Saturday night. You had forgotten there was some big sports thing that weekend the next town over so the overabundance of unfamiliar faces blending into the sea of regulars was a bit of a shock when you first arrived with your friends but—miraculously—the six of you managed to stake your claim on a table not too far from where you usually sat. 

However, you had struggled to squeeze through the crowd and since everyone else was already sitting when you finally caught up, it was unanimously decided you should fight your way back up to the bar to get the first round of drinks. You put up a brief mock protest before surrendering to the peer pressure, but secretly, you didn’t mind. It gave you a chance to scope out the space and see if any of the out-of-towners caught your eye. Your town wasn’t small per se, but even in a medium-sized pond, there were only so many fish. So when there was a chance at some fresh blood, why not take advantage?

What seemed like an eternity later, you pushed your way back to your friends and practically threw the beers onto the table before collapsing into the booth. While you had enjoyed watching all the new potential hookups around you, you had also been relentlessly jostled, had beer spilled on your boots, and had three separate guys grab your ass before claiming it was an “accident” due to the crowd. And all just to get a crappy $7 beer. Ridiculous.

As you took your first drink, you finally realized only five people were sitting around the table instead of six. Nudging Parker who was sitting next to you, you leaned over and shouted above the music, “Where’d Rhett go?”

She shrugged dismissively, her attention locked on some douchy-looking frat bro eye-fucking her from a few tables away. “I don’t know. He said something about going to help you with the drinks or something.”

“Well, I never saw him.”

“He’s a big boy. He’ll find his way back. Or not.” She pointed at the frat bro, signaling the end of her interest in your questions. “What do you think about him?”

Without glancing back over, you deadpanned, “I think if you let him even touch you, you should get tested in the morning.”

She rolled her eyes at you before sitting up straighter as she bit her lip and coyly waved at the frat bro, clearly dismissing you. 

You caught Alec’s eye over the top of Parker’s head and you both tried to suppress a chuckle. Parker infamously made the worst choices when it came to men and she only dug her claws in deeper when any of you tried to talk her out of them, so it was better to just let her do whatever she was going to do and help her deal with the consequences afterward.

Relaxing back in your seat, you took another long drink from your beer. It was now almost half empty and just the thought of wading back through the crowd for another one made you internally groan. Though you could probably convince Alec to go since you got the first round but that would involv–

Your internal conversation was cut off as you spotted Rhett pushing his way through the crowd towards the table. Sitting up, you smiled at him. “Oh, there you are. I thought you might have gotten trampled by the mob of people or something. Your beer’s getting war–”

“Come dance with me.”

You were taken aback as he thrust out his hand to help you up from the table. 

It was a given at this point that by the end of the night, you and Rhett would end up hammered, uninhibited, and viciously making out in the middle of the dance floor. It’s what happened every time you went to the bar: You’d both drink, you’d both dance together, you’d both get all hot and bothered, and you’d both find someone else to take you home for the night. It was a strange system but it worked. Parker once joked that you were each other’s fluffers, just getting things ready for your real targets for the night. And while you would prefer to phrase it somewhat more tastefully, she wasn’t exactly wrong. Plus, you had found that a lot of guys (and girls in Rhett’s case) loved watching you making out with someone else, rubbing your body all over theirs, just for you to go home with them instead. It seemed as if the two of you weren’t the only ones getting fluffed in this situation.

However, neither you nor Rhett ever stepped foot on the dance floor until you’d finished at least three or four beers. He was fairly shy and reserved when sober and you both were very self-conscious of your dancing before getting at least slightly buzzed. Yet you were currently only halfway through beer number one and his first beer still sat unopened on the table next to you. Rhett might have pre-gamed on his own before you, Tara, and Spencer picked him up, but he seemed completely sober so you couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. 

“I–but we–I mean…”

Rhett smiled as he leaned in close to be heard over the music. “It’s just a dance, sweetheart. It ain’t anythin’ we don’t do every week.”

“Bu-but what about our drinks?”

“I’m sure Parker—” he took one glance at your friend sitting next to you still making “do-me” eyes at the frat boy and corrected his statement “—Tara wouldn’t mind keepin’ an eye on ‘em.”

“You two go,” Tara said, smiling from where she was sitting with Spencer’s arm draped across her shoulders. “Your drinks will still be here when you get back.”

“Well…maybe,” Spencer muttered just loud enough to be heard over the music as he eyed Rhett’s untouched beer.

Tara elbowed her boyfriend with a scowl before turning back to you and gesturing for you to go. Still confused about the change in your routine, you took Rhett’s hand and let him help you to your feet. As he led you towards the dance floor, you turned your head just in time to see Tara and Spencer laughing and shaking their heads as they watched the two of you leave. Then Spencer reached for Rhett’s beer but Tara slapped his hand away. 

You knew your friends didn’t understand this weird arrangement you and Rhett had fallen into—hell, it barely made sense to you. They were all convinced as they watched you week after week that the two of you were falling in love. They never believed you’re just friends having a little drunken fun.

Not that you hadn’t ever considered Rhett as a potential love connection. The first night you met him, that was where you thought things were headed. He had finally had enough of his toxic home life back in Wyoming and was looking for a fresh start somewhere new. So when a contact from his time bull-riding who lived in town offered him a job, he jumped at the opportunity. 

You met him a few days later in this very bar when you saw him sitting all alone in the back corner. Of course, you noticed his classic-cowboy good looks, but what really caught your eye was how nervous and shy he seemed, his eyes mostly trained on the beer in front of him except when they occasionally shifted around the bar uncertainly. It wasn’t as if he were scared of someone seeing him or that he was on the run from something. No. He looked like a kid on his first day of school who wasn’t sure of where to sit at lunch.

So, you had gone and sat down at his table with two beers and a friendly smile. It took quite a bit of patience and coaxing, but Rhett eventually began to open up to you. Then, just as you were going to make the move to his side of the booth, your friends found you and asked for an introduction. By the end of the night, Rhett had slipped naturally into the gang and it felt weird pursuing him in any romantic way after that. After all, you could see how much he needed a support system in this new town and you didn’t want to take that from him for a one-night fling. 

Which was why when you found yourselves sloppily making out in the middle of the dance floor a few weeks later and he just brushed it off like it was nothing, you didn’t push it or question it. And when it happened again, and again, and again, it just felt like a routine or a tradition and you never looked deeper into it.

But now Rhett had suddenly changed things up and you still had no idea why.

Once you reached the dance floor, Rhett pulled you in close and the two of you began to dance. There were so many people around you that you couldn’t move more than a few inches in any direction, but since you usually just rubbed against each other while making out, it shouldn’t have been an issue. However, without the usual buzz from the drinks, you were way too in your head about every move you made. Your usual fluid, natural movements felt stiff and robotic, and all you could think about was where Rhett’s hands were or what part of him was pressed against you at any given time. It was a disaster.

The song ended and a soft, melodic tune began to play. Slow songs were pretty rare but they were always the perfect opportunity for another drink, and boy did you need one. You turned to brave the crowd around the bar once more, however, Rhett’s fingers slipped into yours and he spun you back into his arms.

A half grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he saw your surprised face and he asked, “You rushin’ off already? We just got out here.” 

“In case I’m the only one who has noticed, I’m not really feeling this right now. And besides, we don’t do slow dances.”

“Tonight we do.” He must have seen the hesitation still on your face because he squeezed your hand. “Come on. You can tough it out for one song, then they’ll play somethin’ fast we can move to and you’ll get into the flow of it. Otherwise, you’ll just be waitin’ in that line for the rest of the night.”

Even pressed against him and over the softer melody of the slow music, the deep timbre of his voice was still difficult to hear but you knew he was right. By the time you made it through the crowd of people to reach the bar for another drink, many upbeat songs would have passed and there was a good chance you’d be ticked off by your waiting experience just like the first time. Instead, you could just stick it out here with Rhett and you’d be back to your usual dancing in mere minutes. And he was probably right. Given a few more songs, you’d probably figure out this sober dancing thing and actually enjoy yourself. So, somewhat reluctantly, you nodded to signal you’d stay.

Apparently, many of the people around you had the same thought you originally did because the crowds around you began to thin out giving you and Rhett a little more room to maneuver. The two of you were swaying together slowly and you have to admit it’s a nice change from your usual high-energy grinding. 

Then as the music began to swell, he surprised you by spinning you out and when you twirled back into him, Rhett placed his hand on the center of your back and pulled you tight until you were pressed firmly against his chest. You looked up–unsure of what he was doing–just as his other hand brushed across your cheek to settle on the nape of your neck. One of the colored lights flashed across his face, illuminating the intensity deep within his eyes as he stared at you, and you felt your heart skip a beat as time seemed to freeze around you. 

But that was silly. This was Rhett. You shouldn’t feel this fluttering in your chest or tingling where his skin brushed yours. He was your good friend, someone you had made out with every week and barely gave it a second thought. So why was there this different feel about him tonight? Why couldn't you take your eyes off his lips, why was your head spinning, and why were your knees growing weak? And why didn’t you want it to stop?

Then, using the hand on the back of your neck to tilt your head, Rhett’s lips were suddenly on yours.

Electricity shot right through you as every nerve in your body seemed to light up at once. It felt like you had just jammed a fork into an electrical socket but in the best of ways. This was unlike any kiss you had ever shared with Rhett—with anyone—before. Usually, your kisses with Rhett were drunken, and sloppy, and uncoordinated. But this…Rhett was as sober as you ever see him, and every curl of his lips, every swipe of his tongue, it all felt so fluid, almost choreographed. As if he had planned for this moment for ages. 

Your eyes drifted closed as you let yourself sink deeper into his embrace. You could no longer tell if you were standing still or spinning around and around and around as a dizzying fog enveloped your mind. For a few seconds, you didn’t even know where you were at. All that existed was you and Rhett and the kiss. 

But then you shifted, the top of your head bumping into the brim of his hat almost knocking it off, and the spell was broken. Rhett pulled away, fixing his hat, and leaving you clinging to him for support as the world came rushing back to you. The slow song was still playing and crowds of people around you still occasionally bumped into you as they danced, And yet, from the moment Rhett’s lips touched yours, everything had changed.

But had he felt it too?

With your face still just a few inches away from his, you chuckled softly. “You know, you really shouldn’t kiss me like this.”

“An’ why’s that?” 

“You might give a girl the wrong impression. Make her start thinking lots of crazy things.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just gave you that same intense stare he had just before the kiss and you felt your heart begin to speed up once more. Then, in a voice you could only just make out over the music, he asked, “What if that’s the point? What if I’m tired of waitin’ for her to figure out how I feel?”

All the air was sucked out of your lungs as his revelation drove into your chest like a fist. “Rhett…”

“No…No…” Before you could process what he was saying, he shook his head and stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides as he released his hold on you. “’m sorry. I shouldn’t—I’m doin’ this all wrong. But I couldn’t take another week of you wrapped in my arms, your lips on mine, just to then watch you go home with someone else. I just…I just wanted you to know. ‘m sorry.”

He started to hurry off the dance floor but this time it was your turn to grab his arm to stop him from leaving. His eyes flickered up to yours and you saw that all the confidence and certainty that had been there before had been extinguished, leaving only fear behind. You knew it was the same fear you were feeling right now: fear of this changing everything; fear of this ruining your friendship; fear of what came next. 

Sliding your hand into his and linking your fingers, you muttered, “Come here” before leading him off the dance floor and back towards the rear of the building. There was a separate concert area back there that they only opened for shows so you knew it was one of the few places in the bar that would give you some semblance of privacy.

Once there, you ducked into the empty space and shut the door. You could still feel the vibrations from the music and hear the dull thumping, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been before. In here, at least you and Rhett wouldn’t need to shout to be heard. 

Now that you were alone, neither one of you seemed to know what to say or how to start. You both shifted slightly as you glanced at each other. Finally, Rhett rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Listen, can we just forget any of that happened? I don’t want things to be weird between us and ‘m sorry if—”

“No, I’m sorry,” you said, cutting him off. “I was just a little surprised by that kiss and what I said didn’t come out right. But what I should have said, what I meant to say—” you stepped forward until you were brushing up against him, placing your hands on his chest. “—was ‘you shouldn’t kiss me like this…unless you mean it like that’.”

Rhett’s long eyelashes fluttered several times in quick succession and you saw his Adam’s apple bob wildly out of the corner of your eye. Licking his lips, he hesitated for another moment then asked, “And if I do? If I–If I mean it like that?”

Leaning forward, you whispered, “If you do, then, baby, kiss me again.”

The moment that his lips touched yours, the world once again fell away. If anything, now that you were returning his kiss with the same tenderness and enthusiasm, it was even more intoxicating than the kiss on the dance floor and you never wanted it to end.

Both of Rhett’s large, calloused hands slid up to cup your face, his thumb softly rubbing back and forth across your cheekbone. He used this leverage to drive you back a few steps and you soon felt your back bump against the wall. He pressed closer, sandwiching you between the cold, rough concrete and his warm, firm body. Another spark of electricity shot through you and you wondered if he felt it too as you felt the growing bulge in his pants jerk against your hip. 

Through the haze of the kiss, you briefly considered how far you should let this go. A small part of you wanted to undo his belt right this second and drop to your knees before him, or to slide down your jeans and let him pound into you against this wall. After all, the two of you were still alone and no one would see you. However, the bigger part of you knew no matter how amazing you felt at this moment, this was all very new and you shouldn’t rush things. You and Rhett still needed to figure out what this meant for the two of you moving forward, and adding sex right now would just make things even more complicated.

Rhett must have come to the same conclusion because he shifted his hips so they were no longer pressed against you. Then he reluctantly pulled his lips off of yours. His hands slid off your face onto the wall behind you, one braced on either side of your head as both of you stared at one another panting as you tried to catch your breath. All you could do was look at Rhett’s lips and imagine them pressed against yours once more. And from how he stared at you, a hunger pulsing in his blue eyes, you felt he was thinking the same thing. 

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” you whispered.

“I wanted to since that first night we met. When I saw how kind, and funny, and incredible you were, I was smitten. But then the rest of the gang showed up and for the first time in a long time, I felt accepted. I was afraid makin’ a move on you would ruin all a that and I figured havin’ you as a friend was better than not havin’ you in my life at all. For a while, I settled for our dances and kisses, but I finally realized I didn’t want to be just your friend anymore. So, I took a chance.”

“I’m glad you did because I felt the same way.”

Rhett grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You leaned forward and pressed a kiss into his cheek. “Thank you for being the brave one.”

Rhett’s cheeks grew red in the dim light but he nodded as he let his hands fall from the wall behind you. Standing up straight, he glanced over his shoulder. “Um, I guess we should probably get back before we get in trouble for bein’ back here.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tara’s sent Spencer out to find us yet.” You pushed off the wall, but as Rhett started to open the door, you stopped him. “Rhett…what happens now? Where do we go from here?”

He thought for a moment before a sly grin spread across his face. Walking up to you, he plucked his cowboy hat off his head and placed it on top of yours, pulling the brim down low over your brow.

Since the night you met him, you had never seen Rhett let a single person wear his hat, let alone touch it. So for him to give it to you, even temporarily…

You squeezed his hand tightly as you gazed into his eyes, loving what you saw reflected there. “How do I look?”

“Damn, sweetheart, looks like it was made for you,” Rhett’s voice was thicker than normal as he stared at you. “I shouldda given it to you the night we met, as soon as you sat down at my table with that smile and a beer.”

Now it was your turn to feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. Glancing shyly at the floor, you asked, “I love it, but I’m not really sure how this answers my question about us?”

“What do you know about Cowboy Law?”

Thanks to @ohtobeleah for letting me include the honorary Dagger in her event 😂 I've wanted to write this for a while and it was the perfect motivation to do so

Tag list: @lorecraft, @heart-0n-fire, @nerdysuperchick, @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @callsign-phoenix, @lt-natrace, @superskittles, @wkndwlff, @rhettabbotts, @ryebecca, @sio-ina-bottle, @lewmagoo, @basiccortez, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy,  @fantasticcopeaglepasta, @blue-aconite, @ohtobeleah

[akumastrife]

might drown in these tides between us // AFTG (Selkie/Pirate AU)

Rating: Mature (canon typical violence, drinking and drug use, smut in later chapters, mentions of past abuse.) Fandom: AFTG/The Foxhole Court Pairings: MattNeil and Andreil (background: MattDan, Rennison, Allison/Seth, maybe I'll throw kevin in there idk the devil's been speaking to me.) pirates love sharing booty ok this ship's open relationships are vast Word Count: CHAPTER 1 (out of????) 3.7k {Read full chapter on AO3 and subscribe for future chapters!} Summary: Neil's spent too long running and hiding, too long lying and pretending, to ruin it all with a stupid bout of carelessness. He should run, but with one foot on land and the other in the sea and his skin pulling too tight wherever he goes, he's running out of options as his past gets closer to catching up to him. Or: The Selkie!Neil AU that got away from me. Written for the @aftg-paranormal event =3

“Crossbow!” Dan roars over the ringing canon fire.

“Not for long,” Allison throws back. She lunges over a sliding box and scoops up a rifle out of Renee’s hands. “Seth!” She shouldn’t’ve wasted the breath. He’s already sprinting across the deck and skidding between her and the railing.

She swings the barrel of the rifle onto his shoulder to steady and—between one breath and the next—they’re both deathly still on the rolling deck; Allison sighting her target high up in the other ship’s rigging.

Neil’s not sure his ears will ever stop ringing from the boom of cannons, the shouting, the clang of metal, the splintering of wood. But in that moment as he ducks behind the mast, he can somehow hear the exact moment Allison inhales slow and smooth, the catch as Seth doesn’t breathe at all, and fletching singing through air as an arrow skims scant centimeters from Allison’s cheek.

He watches the drop of blood fall to the deck, soaking in. 

She fires and the man tumbles down, scream stolen on the wind.

Seth cheers as Nicky whoops, hurling something at him. Neil doesn’t get a good look at what—Seth swings a cricket bat and sends it sailing across the space between their ships.

Another man falls.

It’s over fast after that, with a furiously waving white shirt and several of the crew swinging over onto the enemy deck.

Neil stays where he is, heart thumping fast but not from exertion. The boarding crew will handle what to take, who to spare. He’s content not to have a hand in it, distancing himself from the violence as much as he can. Instead focusing on keeping his head down and bringing Abby and Aaron bandages where needed, clumsily catching the hammer Andrew tosses at him to start temporary patching. He grimaces at the jarring of his thumb, but says nothing.

The work is becoming familiar, and there’s a certain surety in having a set role. Knowing what’s expected of him even if he hasn’t yet got a handle on all of it. He’s learning. Fast enough, if Kevin is only snapping at him that they’ll dump him on the nearest island, instead of actually doing it. They’ve passed two already this week, and Kevin has yet to make good on any threats.

He deftly coils up rope, and ties down a crate that’s come loose.

He climbs the rigging with a thick needle in his mouth to stitch up a rip in a sail. Almost-smiles at Nicky across the way, hanging down by his knees to catch a bulky spool of the waxed thread they use for repairs. Nicky smiles enough for both of them, laughing brightly at something Dan’s said, leveraging himself up to join him in his work.

Neil’s not forgiven him. Might not for a while yet. But he can accept the spool and cut off a length with the knife strapped to his chest before handing it back.

It’s all necessary, but tedious at the same time. A little less so with the chatter and cheers and ribbing floating around him. He’s happy enough letting it happen without him, sinking into the folds.

Familiarity is certain death. Familiarity breeds complacency—will make him docile as a calf to slaughter.

He clenches his hand against the trembling, forces a cough through the tight squeeze in his chest. Shakes his mother’s voice from his head.

Shakes Nicky’s eyes from him as he wipes his hand on his breeches, surprised at the smear of blood. He sticks his pricked finger into his mouth, ignoring the sting and the taste of grime, salt, and gunpowder ground into his skin.

That, too, is becoming familiar enough to not be worth his notice.

He’s not sure if it’s crashing waves or seabirds screaming in his ears.

{Read the rest of the first chapter on AO3 and subscribe for future chapters!}

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This.... (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Fandom: Outer Range, Rhett Abbott, f!reader Summary: You and Rhett have a unique friendship. Every time you go out with a group, you end up getting drunk, dancing, and making out with him only to then wind up going home with other people. But what happens when Rhett asks you to dance before either of you has had a drink.... Word Count: 3744 TW: Fluff, Kissing, Love Confession, Drinking, Mentions of drunk making out, Mentions of drunk dancing, Language Notes: For @ohtobeleah's Galentine's Day Special based on "You Shouldn't Kiss Me Like This" by Toby Keith (RIP 😔💗)

Despite the relatively early hour, the bar was busier than usual even for a Saturday night. You had forgotten there was some big sports thing that weekend the next town over so the overabundance of unfamiliar faces blending into the sea of regulars was a bit of a shock when you first arrived with your friends but—miraculously—the six of you managed to stake your claim on a table not too far from where you usually sat. 

However, you had struggled to squeeze through the crowd and since everyone else was already sitting when you finally caught up, it was unanimously decided you should fight your way back up to the bar to get the first round of drinks. You put up a brief mock protest before surrendering to the peer pressure, but secretly, you didn’t mind. It gave you a chance to scope out the space and see if any of the out-of-towners caught your eye. Your town wasn’t small per se, but even in a medium-sized pond, there were only so many fish. So when there was a chance at some fresh blood, why not take advantage?

What seemed like an eternity later, you pushed your way back to your friends and practically threw the beers onto the table before collapsing into the booth. While you had enjoyed watching all the new potential hookups around you, you had also been relentlessly jostled, had beer spilled on your boots, and had three separate guys grab your ass before claiming it was an “accident” due to the crowd. And all just to get a crappy $7 beer. Ridiculous.

As you took your first drink, you finally realized only five people were sitting around the table instead of six. Nudging Parker who was sitting next to you, you leaned over and shouted above the music, “Where’d Rhett go?”

She shrugged dismissively, her attention locked on some douchy-looking frat bro eye-fucking her from a few tables away. “I don’t know. He said something about going to help you with the drinks or something.”

“Well, I never saw him.”

“He’s a big boy. He’ll find his way back. Or not.” She pointed at the frat bro, signaling the end of her interest in your questions. “What do you think about him?”

Without glancing back over, you deadpanned, “I think if you let him even touch you, you should get tested in the morning.”

She rolled her eyes at you before sitting up straighter as she bit her lip and coyly waved at the frat bro, clearly dismissing you. 

You caught Alec’s eye over the top of Parker’s head and you both tried to suppress a chuckle. Parker infamously made the worst choices when it came to men and she only dug her claws in deeper when any of you tried to talk her out of them, so it was better to just let her do whatever she was going to do and help her deal with the consequences afterward.

Relaxing back in your seat, you took another long drink from your beer. It was now almost half empty and just the thought of wading back through the crowd for another one made you internally groan. Though you could probably convince Alec to go since you got the first round but that would involv–

Your internal conversation was cut off as you spotted Rhett pushing his way through the crowd towards the table. Sitting up, you smiled at him. “Oh, there you are. I thought you might have gotten trampled by the mob of people or something. Your beer’s getting war–”

“Come dance with me.”

You were taken aback as he thrust out his hand to help you up from the table. 

It was a given at this point that by the end of the night, you and Rhett would end up hammered, uninhibited, and viciously making out in the middle of the dance floor. It’s what happened every time you went to the bar: You’d both drink, you’d both dance together, you’d both get all hot and bothered, and you’d both find someone else to take you home for the night. It was a strange system but it worked. Parker once joked that you were each other’s fluffers, just getting things ready for your real targets for the night. And while you would prefer to phrase it somewhat more tastefully, she wasn’t exactly wrong. Plus, you had found that a lot of guys (and girls in Rhett’s case) loved watching you making out with someone else, rubbing your body all over theirs, just for you to go home with them instead. It seemed as if the two of you weren’t the only ones getting fluffed in this situation.

However, neither you nor Rhett ever stepped foot on the dance floor until you’d finished at least three or four beers. He was fairly shy and reserved when sober and you both were very self-conscious of your dancing before getting at least slightly buzzed. Yet you were currently only halfway through beer number one and his first beer still sat unopened on the table next to you. Rhett might have pre-gamed on his own before you, Tara, and Spencer picked him up, but he seemed completely sober so you couldn’t imagine what he was thinking. 

“I–but we–I mean…”

Rhett smiled as he leaned in close to be heard over the music. “It’s just a dance, sweetheart. It ain’t anythin’ we don’t do every week.”

“Bu-but what about our drinks?”

“I’m sure Parker—” he took one glance at your friend sitting next to you still making “do-me” eyes at the frat boy and corrected his statement “—Tara wouldn’t mind keepin’ an eye on ‘em.”

“You two go,” Tara said, smiling from where she was sitting with Spencer’s arm draped across her shoulders. “Your drinks will still be here when you get back.”

“Well…maybe,” Spencer muttered just loud enough to be heard over the music as he eyed Rhett’s untouched beer.

Tara elbowed her boyfriend with a scowl before turning back to you and gesturing for you to go. Still confused about the change in your routine, you took Rhett’s hand and let him help you to your feet. As he led you towards the dance floor, you turned your head just in time to see Tara and Spencer laughing and shaking their heads as they watched the two of you leave. Then Spencer reached for Rhett’s beer but Tara slapped his hand away. 

You knew your friends didn’t understand this weird arrangement you and Rhett had fallen into—hell, it barely made sense to you. They were all convinced as they watched you week after week that the two of you were falling in love. They never believed you’re just friends having a little drunken fun.

Not that you hadn’t ever considered Rhett as a potential love connection. The first night you met him, that was where you thought things were headed. He had finally had enough of his toxic home life back in Wyoming and was looking for a fresh start somewhere new. So when a contact from his time bull-riding who lived in town offered him a job, he jumped at the opportunity. 

You met him a few days later in this very bar when you saw him sitting all alone in the back corner. Of course, you noticed his classic-cowboy good looks, but what really caught your eye was how nervous and shy he seemed, his eyes mostly trained on the beer in front of him except when they occasionally shifted around the bar uncertainly. It wasn’t as if he were scared of someone seeing him or that he was on the run from something. No. He looked like a kid on his first day of school who wasn’t sure of where to sit at lunch.

So, you had gone and sat down at his table with two beers and a friendly smile. It took quite a bit of patience and coaxing, but Rhett eventually began to open up to you. Then, just as you were going to make the move to his side of the booth, your friends found you and asked for an introduction. By the end of the night, Rhett had slipped naturally into the gang and it felt weird pursuing him in any romantic way after that. After all, you could see how much he needed a support system in this new town and you didn’t want to take that from him for a one-night fling. 

Which was why when you found yourselves sloppily making out in the middle of the dance floor a few weeks later and he just brushed it off like it was nothing, you didn’t push it or question it. And when it happened again, and again, and again, it just felt like a routine or a tradition and you never looked deeper into it.

But now Rhett had suddenly changed things up and you still had no idea why.

Once you reached the dance floor, Rhett pulled you in close and the two of you began to dance. There were so many people around you that you couldn’t move more than a few inches in any direction, but since you usually just rubbed against each other while making out, it shouldn’t have been an issue. However, without the usual buzz from the drinks, you were way too in your head about every move you made. Your usual fluid, natural movements felt stiff and robotic, and all you could think about was where Rhett’s hands were or what part of him was pressed against you at any given time. It was a disaster.

The song ended and a soft, melodic tune began to play. Slow songs were pretty rare but they were always the perfect opportunity for another drink, and boy did you need one. You turned to brave the crowd around the bar once more, however, Rhett’s fingers slipped into yours and he spun you back into his arms.

A half grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he saw your surprised face and he asked, “You rushin’ off already? We just got out here.” 

“In case I’m the only one who has noticed, I’m not really feeling this right now. And besides, we don’t do slow dances.”

“Tonight we do.” He must have seen the hesitation still on your face because he squeezed your hand. “Come on. You can tough it out for one song, then they’ll play somethin’ fast we can move to and you’ll get into the flow of it. Otherwise, you’ll just be waitin’ in that line for the rest of the night.”

Even pressed against him and over the softer melody of the slow music, the deep timbre of his voice was still difficult to hear but you knew he was right. By the time you made it through the crowd of people to reach the bar for another drink, many upbeat songs would have passed and there was a good chance you’d be ticked off by your waiting experience just like the first time. Instead, you could just stick it out here with Rhett and you’d be back to your usual dancing in mere minutes. And he was probably right. Given a few more songs, you’d probably figure out this sober dancing thing and actually enjoy yourself. So, somewhat reluctantly, you nodded to signal you’d stay.

Apparently, many of the people around you had the same thought you originally did because the crowds around you began to thin out giving you and Rhett a little more room to maneuver. The two of you were swaying together slowly and you have to admit it’s a nice change from your usual high-energy grinding. 

Then as the music began to swell, he surprised you by spinning you out and when you twirled back into him, Rhett placed his hand on the center of your back and pulled you tight until you were pressed firmly against his chest. You looked up–unsure of what he was doing–just as his other hand brushed across your cheek to settle on the nape of your neck. One of the colored lights flashed across his face, illuminating the intensity deep within his eyes as he stared at you, and you felt your heart skip a beat as time seemed to freeze around you. 

But that was silly. This was Rhett. You shouldn’t feel this fluttering in your chest or tingling where his skin brushed yours. He was your good friend, someone you had made out with every week and barely gave it a second thought. So why was there this different feel about him tonight? Why couldn't you take your eyes off his lips, why was your head spinning, and why were your knees growing weak? And why didn’t you want it to stop?

Then, using the hand on the back of your neck to tilt your head, Rhett’s lips were suddenly on yours.

Electricity shot right through you as every nerve in your body seemed to light up at once. It felt like you had just jammed a fork into an electrical socket but in the best of ways. This was unlike any kiss you had ever shared with Rhett—with anyone—before. Usually, your kisses with Rhett were drunken, and sloppy, and uncoordinated. But this…Rhett was as sober as you ever see him, and every curl of his lips, every swipe of his tongue, it all felt so fluid, almost choreographed. As if he had planned for this moment for ages. 

Your eyes drifted closed as you let yourself sink deeper into his embrace. You could no longer tell if you were standing still or spinning around and around and around as a dizzying fog enveloped your mind. For a few seconds, you didn’t even know where you were at. All that existed was you and Rhett and the kiss. 

But then you shifted, the top of your head bumping into the brim of his hat almost knocking it off, and the spell was broken. Rhett pulled away, fixing his hat, and leaving you clinging to him for support as the world came rushing back to you. The slow song was still playing and crowds of people around you still occasionally bumped into you as they danced, And yet, from the moment Rhett’s lips touched yours, everything had changed.

But had he felt it too?

With your face still just a few inches away from his, you chuckled softly. “You know, you really shouldn’t kiss me like this.”

“An’ why’s that?” 

“You might give a girl the wrong impression. Make her start thinking lots of crazy things.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just gave you that same intense stare he had just before the kiss and you felt your heart begin to speed up once more. Then, in a voice you could only just make out over the music, he asked, “What if that’s the point? What if I’m tired of waitin’ for her to figure out how I feel?”

All the air was sucked out of your lungs as his revelation drove into your chest like a fist. “Rhett…”

“No…No…” Before you could process what he was saying, he shook his head and stepped back, letting his hands fall to his sides as he released his hold on you. “’m sorry. I shouldn’t—I’m doin’ this all wrong. But I couldn’t take another week of you wrapped in my arms, your lips on mine, just to then watch you go home with someone else. I just…I just wanted you to know. ‘m sorry.”

He started to hurry off the dance floor but this time it was your turn to grab his arm to stop him from leaving. His eyes flickered up to yours and you saw that all the confidence and certainty that had been there before had been extinguished, leaving only fear behind. You knew it was the same fear you were feeling right now: fear of this changing everything; fear of this ruining your friendship; fear of what came next. 

Sliding your hand into his and linking your fingers, you muttered, “Come here” before leading him off the dance floor and back towards the rear of the building. There was a separate concert area back there that they only opened for shows so you knew it was one of the few places in the bar that would give you some semblance of privacy.

Once there, you ducked into the empty space and shut the door. You could still feel the vibrations from the music and hear the dull thumping, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been before. In here, at least you and Rhett wouldn’t need to shout to be heard. 

Now that you were alone, neither one of you seemed to know what to say or how to start. You both shifted slightly as you glanced at each other. Finally, Rhett rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Listen, can we just forget any of that happened? I don’t want things to be weird between us and ‘m sorry if—”

“No, I’m sorry,” you said, cutting him off. “I was just a little surprised by that kiss and what I said didn’t come out right. But what I should have said, what I meant to say—” you stepped forward until you were brushing up against him, placing your hands on his chest. “—was ‘you shouldn’t kiss me like this…unless you mean it like that’.”

Rhett’s long eyelashes fluttered several times in quick succession and you saw his Adam’s apple bob wildly out of the corner of your eye. Licking his lips, he hesitated for another moment then asked, “And if I do? If I–If I mean it like that?”

Leaning forward, you whispered, “If you do, then, baby, kiss me again.”

The moment that his lips touched yours, the world once again fell away. If anything, now that you were returning his kiss with the same tenderness and enthusiasm, it was even more intoxicating than the kiss on the dance floor and you never wanted it to end.

Both of Rhett’s large, calloused hands slid up to cup your face, his thumb softly rubbing back and forth across your cheekbone. He used this leverage to drive you back a few steps and you soon felt your back bump against the wall. He pressed closer, sandwiching you between the cold, rough concrete and his warm, firm body. Another spark of electricity shot through you and you wondered if he felt it too as you felt the growing bulge in his pants jerk against your hip. 

Through the haze of the kiss, you briefly considered how far you should let this go. A small part of you wanted to undo his belt right this second and drop to your knees before him, or to slide down your jeans and let him pound into you against this wall. After all, the two of you were still alone and no one would see you. However, the bigger part of you knew no matter how amazing you felt at this moment, this was all very new and you shouldn’t rush things. You and Rhett still needed to figure out what this meant for the two of you moving forward, and adding sex right now would just make things even more complicated.

Rhett must have come to the same conclusion because he shifted his hips so they were no longer pressed against you. Then he reluctantly pulled his lips off of yours. His hands slid off your face onto the wall behind you, one braced on either side of your head as both of you stared at one another panting as you tried to catch your breath. All you could do was look at Rhett’s lips and imagine them pressed against yours once more. And from how he stared at you, a hunger pulsing in his blue eyes, you felt he was thinking the same thing. 

“Why didn’t you do that sooner?” you whispered.

“I wanted to since that first night we met. When I saw how kind, and funny, and incredible you were, I was smitten. But then the rest of the gang showed up and for the first time in a long time, I felt accepted. I was afraid makin’ a move on you would ruin all a that and I figured havin’ you as a friend was better than not havin’ you in my life at all. For a while, I settled for our dances and kisses, but I finally realized I didn’t want to be just your friend anymore. So, I took a chance.”

“I’m glad you did because I felt the same way.”

Rhett grinned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You leaned forward and pressed a kiss into his cheek. “Thank you for being the brave one.”

Rhett’s cheeks grew red in the dim light but he nodded as he let his hands fall from the wall behind you. Standing up straight, he glanced over his shoulder. “Um, I guess we should probably get back before we get in trouble for bein’ back here.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if Tara’s sent Spencer out to find us yet.” You pushed off the wall, but as Rhett started to open the door, you stopped him. “Rhett…what happens now? Where do we go from here?”

He thought for a moment before a sly grin spread across his face. Walking up to you, he plucked his cowboy hat off his head and placed it on top of yours, pulling the brim down low over your brow.

Since the night you met him, you had never seen Rhett let a single person wear his hat, let alone touch it. So for him to give it to you, even temporarily…

You squeezed his hand tightly as you gazed into his eyes, loving what you saw reflected there. “How do I look?”

“Damn, sweetheart, looks like it was made for you,” Rhett’s voice was thicker than normal as he stared at you. “I shouldda given it to you the night we met, as soon as you sat down at my table with that smile and a beer.”

Now it was your turn to feel the blood rushing to your cheeks. Glancing shyly at the floor, you asked, “I love it, but I’m not really sure how this answers my question about us?”

“What do you know about Cowboy Law?”

Taglist: @luckyladycreator2, @nik2blog, @dumb-fawkin-bitch

[suzy-queued]

Weekly Tag Wednesday!

Thanks for the tags, @sgtmickeyslaughter @mybrainismelted @doshiart @michellemisfit @stocious @jrooc

Name and AO3 handle: Deena • Suzy_Queue

Current location: In my office in a hoodie and ripped jeans, listening to The Front Bottoms.

Favorite picrew (don't have one? you can skip this or do this one)? The left one matches how I see myself. The right is pretty accurate to how I really look. (sorry, I don't have the URLs of the actual picrews)

What's one thing you want in a picrew? I can never find good eyes. Give me more half-closed and squinty eyes. Not all of us have gorgeous anime eyes!

Favorite thing you’ve created (or seen created) for the fandom? Oooh, that's like picking favorite children. But when I saw this question, what popped into my head were these chapter images from Out of Nowhere.

Why is it your favorite? I love how conceptual they are. Illustration is best when it elevates the meaning of a story and shows ideas that can't be put into words. I feel like I was firing on all cylinders with this story and the art. They give me that "warm tea" feeling that @jrooc described.

Did it come easily or was it hard to create? So tough. And always done under a time crunch. I'd sit down the same day a chapter was meant to be posted, and I'd get that panicky feeling of not having art. "Breathe. Do something simple." [Brain proceeds to invent the most complicated visual metaphor]

Last ao3 fic you commented on? what do you know? by em_harlsnow

Biggest WIP heartache you’ve ever experienced? I don't see it as heartache so much, because I empathize with people who just need a break. But I'd really love to read the end of: Love is a Ballfield by and_i_take_it they will take me away by smallmickey To the Ends of the Earth by yeah_all_of_it Where The Wind Blows Straight Through by blue_newman

Favorite trope or headcanon you like included in a fanfic? I love fake dating so much. It is so cheesy, but I eat it up every time.

Least favorite? I'm least into canon-compliant fics, where the text narrates what we already saw on screen. I respect the value and craft, but I gravitate toward AUs and canon-divergent stories.

Secret or surprising kink or trope? I don't have many secrets. But if you see a fic and are like, "ew, who would read this, much less write it?!" then I probably got a kick out of it.

Describe how you feel after you’ve created something new? My most excited time comes when I'm about 3/4 done with something, when I've finally completed enough to see that I'll be able to reach the finish line. That's when I pat myself on the back and feel all the pride that goes along with bringing some new thing into the world. By the time the art/fic is complete, I'm fully invested in the next piece and move straight into it.

Top hype man you have that always helps you get across the finish line: Always @mzshko. She is the one holding my creative hand when I think that no one is going to like any of my ideas.

It's been a bad day, you turn to the fandom and you _____? Comment on other people's stuff. Nothing lightens my mood more than lifting up my friends.

I'll tag ... @creepkinginc @deedala @depressedstressedlemonzest @blue-disco-lights @lingy910y

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Into It [werewolf!Frankie x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

My Frankie Morales masterlist

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x you (cishet f!reader)

Warnings: Frankie is a werewolf (but not really), corn maze, jump scares, Benny is a clown in more ways than one (and a bit of an arse tbh), public sex, unprotected piv sex, Frankie has a knot on his dick and believe you me it goes inside you, you like it rough, dirty talk, a bit of praise (him to her), creampie, implied cum eating and cunnilingus.

Summary: You are lost in a corn maze where ghosts and ghouls roam, and you are being chased by a werewolf named Frankie...

Words: 3,489

The moon hangs low and when a few clouds obscure it, your eyes strain to see the path before you. The wind sweeps through the corn stalks, and the hushed rustling of the leaves makes the small hairs at the back of your neck stand. It's so quiet, apart from that faint sound, but you know that you're not alone, you've seen the glowing eyes and dark shapes, heard the quick footsteps disappear around a corner.

Getting into this corn maze was a bad idea, you knew it from the start. What harm would it do, you had thought. All the harm, you now realize. You could die here. You could get jumped, you could...

Your breath gets stuck in your throat when a caped figure appears before you and stares at you through the dark, before dismissing you and slipping away in another direction. Your red cape isn't warm enough, and you suddenly feel chilled to the bone. You want to go home, away from all this danger, get warm and comfortable and not lost in a goddamn corn maze, like you are now. Screams behind you put you on edge, and two witches run past, cackling like maniacs. Witches are nothing to be afraid of: you know there are worse things in here. You follow the witches, but by the time you turn the same corner, they're already gone. More screaming is heard in the distance, chilling screams of fear. You walk faster, almost start jogging, turning a corner and finding it a dead end. A howl close by sends chills down your spine.

Huge, clawed paws land on your waist, a low growl reverberates into your core. You yelp as you get pulled against the wide frame of a werewolf.

"Roarr, I'm going to eat you!"

You break into relieved laughter. "Dammit Frankie!"

Turning around, you see the werewolf with its latex sneer take off its head, revealing a cheekily smiling Frankie with tousled hair underneath.

"Did I scare you?"

"No, but those plastic claws are going to rip my dress!"

He wraps one arm around you, the dark grey fur of his wolf costume warming you immediately.

"Oh, this dress is going to be ripped tonight..."

Unabashedly, he gazes into your cleavage as his paw slides down to your ass. You roll your eyes.

"Slutty Little Red Riding Hood, how tacky isn't that?"

"Terrible tacky," Frankie replies in a way that tells you in no uncertain terms that he is incredibly happy with your mini dress with plunging neckline and short, ruffled skirt. The bodice, laced tightly to push your tits up even more, and thigh high stockings crown your outfit, and Frankie couldn't be happier.

"It's a good thing I'm in this lumpy costume," he murmurs against your cheek. "I'm so hard right now, if anyone saw, they'd think I was a perv."

"You are a perv," you tease him, "but you're my perv."

"Excuse me, Miss Hood," he rumbles, now nipping at your earlobe. "I seem to remember that the conversation about our plans for tonight went in a way that actually points you out as the perv."

You just scoff, then turn your head to allow him access to your neck. He scatters little kisses and love bites all over your skin, pausing only to grunt and curse when you find his stiff shaft and rub it through the tight front of his jeans.

"Little girl," he hisses, "Let's go find grandma's house."

"You don't want me to suck your big bad cock right here...?" you suggest leerily, and Frankie exhales in a hushed Fuck.

"We'll be seen."

"We could find a dark corner."

"Jesus..." His paw caresses the roundness of your buttock, coming to a rest just where you ass meets your thighs, pushing you into him.

"We don't have to - " you start, sensing his hesitation. Frankie may be a beast in bed, but that's in the comfort and privacy of your own home. Laughing and screaming in the distance underscores how public this place is.

"Let's do it," he rules, and you both turn around to try and find a secluded enough spot.

A wild-eyed Pennywise jumps out right in front of you, screeching in a way that shouldn't be humanly possible. You scream, startled and scared at the sudden attack, your blood going ice cold for a moment, panic rising when the clown grabs your arm.

"Knock it the fuck off, Benjamin!"

Frankie shoves the clown away, and it starts to laugh.

"Oh my God, your face!"

You're still shaking, but fear is slowly being replaced by rage.

"Benny, you asshole! You know I hate jump scares and clowns!"

"That's why it worked so well!"

"Not cool," Frankie growls, pulling you into him as if to protect you. "Let's go, baby."

"I'm sorry!" Benny shouts after you when you walk away. Your legs are a little wobbly, but Frankie's warm, secure presence makes you feel better.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I just got startled," you reassure him. "It's fine."

"I'll have a talk with him tomorrow. He's too drunk right now."

"You really don't need to, let's just forget about it."

A few monsters and ghouls run past, but now it all feels like adults in costumes to you. A shudder runs through you, and Frankie stops to kiss your head.

"You wanna just get out of this maze, have a mug of hot cider, and then leave?" he suggests. Truth be told, that's an attractive suggestion. You don't feel like blowing him in public anymore.

"That sounds perfect."

Frankie, with his military training, seems to have a mental map of the maze, because he leads you with confidence out of the maze like he's walked it a hundred times before. Just as you exit, you pass by Santi who looks like an East European nobleman, his fake vampire teeth grazing the neck of a young brunette dressed as a slutty Harry Potter character.

The cider warms you up and calms your nerves, and by the time you've finished your mug, you're feeling up for erotic adventures again.

"Can we leave?" you ask Frankie as soon as the mug is empty.

"Home?"

"To our spot."

"Oh. You still wanna - "

"I do."

His velvety gaze rests heavily on your skin when he leads you to his truck.

"Our spot" is outside of town. Off the highway, along a smaller country road, then off on a narrow dirt road with grass growing between the tire tracks. There are fields all around, and smack in the middle of them is a small hill with a huge, old oak. A distant cousin of Frankie’s owns the surrounding fields, and they don't mind you using the land. You and Frankie often come here in the summer when the oak provides shelter from the sun. You've been here in the fall, too, stargazing from the bed of Frankie's truck.

And now you're here to fulfill a fantasy.

Frankie has prepared the truck with blankets and pillows, and even a small string of fairy lights. He's still in his werewolf costume, the paws and head are off, but his torso is still covered by fake fur and a half-torn plaid. As he rolls out the bedding, you walk to the oak to find the carving he put in its bark the first time you came here. You find it immediately, having seen it countless times before. Your initials inside a heart, simple and sappy. You trace the letters with your index finger, and you hear a low growl behind you, so you turn around.

Werewolf Frankie is standing by the truck, eyes fixed on you. Your heart skips a beat when he crouches a little and starts towards you.

"No," you whisper, moving around the trunk of the tree, trying to keep it between the two of you. Frankie, however, is quicker on his feet, and with just a few long leaps, he reaches you and has you caged against the tree.

"Smells good," he grunts, catching your wrists and trapping them against the bark above your head. "Pretty and sweet..."

He nuzzles your neck, the latex nose cold on your skin in the October night air.

"Please," you breathe, and his large paw runs down your leg and settles over your sex. You buck against him, making him chuckle.

"Needy, pretty thing..." His voice, muffled by the mask, has dropped one octave and is delightfully raspy.

He pushes up against you, letting you feel his hardening cock. Your arousal bleeds into your panties and the chilly air immediately chills the wet fabric, but your insides are on fire. You whimper, struggling while also rolling your hips against his, seeking that stiff outline of his cock in his pants.

"You want that, don't you?"

The sound you produce is pitiful and Frankie's low chuckle turns you on even more.

"You'll have it."

He drags you with him to the truck, maneuvering you roughly, yet not without care, to a bent over position.

"Spread your legs."

The cool night air feels even colder on the wet insides of your thighs, and a shiver runs through you when Frankie grinds his erection against your clothed core. The plastic claws aren't sharp, but they still make you hiss when he draws them down your thighs. His denim-clad leg touches your bare one when he kneels between your spread legs, and then his growling wolf face pushes against your pussy. He draws in your scent in loud sniffs, and you moan at how the teeth-baring mouth of the mask feels against you. Shamelessly, you push back, wishing the mask came with a live tongue as well.

Frankie sinks the claws into the flesh of your thighs and rumbles low as he rubs the mask against you. The friction is delectable, and you keen loudly, your lower lip trapped between your teeth, hands fisting into the blanket in front of you. You start to push back, move your hips like when you're riding his face, and that's what you're doing now, too: you're riding his face, the wolf face that he put on for you when you suggested that you'd go to the Halloween event as Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf, and that he'd ravage you in the back of his truck later. He was game: Frankie was always game for whatever you suggested, even if he was against the more violent expressions of your suggested roleplay, like hunting you down and fucking you on the ground while you screamed for help. Truth be told, after the stunt Benny pulled in the corn maze, this is exactly the right amount of excitement you need. And this mask, with its wrinkled nose and bared teeth, is doing wonders for you pussy, but it's not going to be able to make you cum. For that, you need more direct stimulation.

"Frankie," you keen, "I need more, please, I can't stand it!"

Frankie stops, goddamn him, he stops. You moan out a protest and Frankie snarls at you. He shoves up your skirt, grabs your panties, and tears them off you. The fabric rips and he shoves you forward.

"Get up."

You crawl onto the bed of the truck, shivering with your ass bare in the evening air. The suspension dips momentarily when Frankie gets up behind you, pawing your ass and tracing a claw between the cheeks down to your dripping core. You push back a little, swallowing when you hear him chuckle.

"So eager... so wet... You need a big, stiff dick to fill you up, don't you?"

"Yes," you manage to answer, head light with anticipation. "I need it, please give it to me."

The belt buckle rattles, then the fly zips open. He lets out a low rumble of relief and take a moment to get himself ready. You know what he's doing: he's putting on the sleeve, that latex thing you ordered online and almost shyly presented to him. The werewolf sleeve with a knot at the root, so insignificant when you measure and tried to imagine it before ordering, so huge when you saw it in person and realized that it was supposed to go inside you. Frankie had been skeptical - he was big enough on his own - but he was also curious, and he loved the fire he saw in you when you suggested that he'd fuck you like an animal. That you wanted to try to take the knot.

You're practically drooling now, knowing that you'll get it soon.

Frankie's paw in between your shoulder blades, and he pushes your chest down onto the bedding. His cock drags between your swollen lips, bumping into your clit before the head slips in, teasing you with the promise - or threat - of how well he could fill you, but doesn't just yet. You exhale in a whine, and Frankie replies with a similar, albeit lower moan, before sliding in, all the way up to the knot.

"Fuck," you keen into the blanket that your face is resting against, "fuck, that's good, that feels so good..."

He pulls out slowly and slams into you anew, drawing a shout from you. He then repositions himself, comes off his knees and onto his feet with bent knees into bulldog, and starts to batter you with his stiff cock. Hands on your upper back, he's pressing you down into the blankets, and you bite into the fabric to keep from getting too loud as he thrusts hard into you, again and again. The truck bed creaks and rocks, your bodies make the music of lewd, wet slapping as he assaults your pussy, and you grip the blanket until your knuckles are white.

"So wet and tight," Frankie pants above you, his furry werewolf torso plastered over your back as he rails you mercilessly. "So desperate for my fat cock, you wanted it so badly, didn't you?"

"Yes!" you cry out, each thrust into your core stealing away a little bit of your breath and brain. Your chin feels cold, and you realize that you're drooling, but you don't care if you look like a cock-hungry slut because that's what you are and you're loving it.

The knot keeps jamming against your slick opening, but Frankie doesn't seem willing to try to cram it in just yet. Your legs are shaking and giving way underneath you, and you almost slide down onto your stomach, but Frankie pulls you back up.

"Stay on your knees!" he snarls. "Don't you dare lie down!"

You gasp something to let him know you're listening, you're compliant, you'll do anything he tells you to. The plastic claws scratch your thigh, and you brace yourself on the soft warm blankets underneath you to stay on your hands and knees.

"Good girl..."

He moves in you just right, he knows what you want and need, and he's giving it to you.

"I'm a good girl," you keen, and his big paw strokes your back. Your pussy clenches, slick and heat pooling as your body sets into a higher gear.

"You are such a good girl," he confirms, breathless voice muffled behind the mask. "So good for me, taking my big cock like this..."

The praise zaps out your brain, and you start to push back on his thrusts.

"Harder, fuck me harder, I wanna cum!"

He knows just what you do, and when you're wailing out your orgasm, arms and legs shaking, he pushes you down on your stomach, ass still up.

"The knot, the knot, gimme the knot!"

The pressure is nothing like you expected: sharp and agonizing as the knot slowly presses into you. You only realize that you're holding your breath when you hear Frankie murmur "Breathe, sweetness, just breathe, you can do it" behind you, and you exhale with a shrieked Oh my God!

"It'stoo much," Frankie frets, pulling out, but you push back.

"Nonono, do it, I need it, do it, please please please!"

Once again, the mass inches into you, and this time you meet it halfway, jamming your ass against Frankie's hips, swallowing the knot and once again losing your breath at how full you are, full to the point of tearing, a string of Oh my God oh my God oh my God fuck fuck fuck spilling from you as you fist the blankets to hard that your knuckles go white.

Through the searing burn, you start to feel the adrenaline. Fuck, that's big, but you got it. You have it all in you, you're doing it, oh my God that's tight but you got it, even if it burns, you got it, and you start to relax and Frankie moans somewhere near your ear, and you flex your walls around him and he moans again, deliciously.

"Fuck me," you beg, "Frankie, fuck me now, with the knot, fuck me and fill me up, I need you to cum inside me, take me, just fuck me!"

He covers you, the polyester fur warm and itchy as he takes you with slow, almost lazy yet deep rolls of his hips, the knot pushing easier into you now, arms with furry, clawed paws around your shoulders and neck, and when he pushes in one last time to empty himself in your core, your eyes roll back and you sob with relief that it's over.

And still, you never want it to be over.

Frankie is still buried in you, has you buried under him, shielding you from the increasing coolness of the October night. It's not until he carefully inches out of you that you realize just how cold it is, and your whine is a protest both against that, against him pulling out, and an expression of your soreness. Frankie immediately throws a blanket over you, then takes off the werewolf head.

"Goddammit, this thing's cooking me alive!"

You open your eyes and try to focus, finding the werewolf snarling right beside you. A pleasurable shiver runs through you, and then you feel the burning heat of Frankie's breath on your neck.

"Are you okay?"

You can only hum, dazed as you still are. Frankie shoves the werewolf head out of the way and lies down next to you, his face just inches away from yours.

"Talk to me, baby."

"Can't," you mumble throatily, and he chuckles.

"Okay."

In the light of the stars and fairy string lights, you see that his face is red and dripping with sweat, his disheveled curls wet and plastered onto his head. His breathing is still labored, and the puffs of air are hot against you.

It's so fucking sexy.

Your pussy is still throbbing, slick and sloppy as his cum oozes out and stains your thighs. You've never felt so filthy, and you're loving it.

Finally, you draw a deep breath and open your eyes to Frankie's attentive gaze.

"I'm good," you tell him, and are immediately rewarded with a smile.

"You liked it, then?"

"Liked it?" you scoff huskily. "Fuck, Frankie... it's the best sex we ever had."

"Not better than that time we..."

"Okay, not better than that," you smile wryly, knowing what occasion he's referring to. "But top three, definitely."

"Really?"

"Frankie... I know you weren't into it from the start but I'm so grateful you decided to give it a try."

You scoot closer and kiss him softly.

"It means so much that you wanted to give this to me."

"I want to make you happy," he whispers against your lips. "And I did like it. You were so fucking hot, baby. When you took the knot, you were... feral. I've never seen you like that."

His hand slides in under the blanket, finding a plump breast straining out of the bodice.

"The costume works for me, too."

His hand travels up your chest, neck, and stops by your cheek, his big thumb dragging over your lips.

"And your lipstick is all smeared out. It's really fucking hot."

You chuckle, flushed from his praise. Frankie kisses you again before letting his lips wander down your cheek and jawline.

"Now that we've done what you're into... can we do the thing that I'm into?"

You bite down on your lower lip, but the giggle still finds its way out.

"Which is?"

Frankie continues to kiss his way down the exposed parts of your body, moving blankets and himself until he's settled between your legs. He collects his spend from around your cunt before pushing it back in with two fingers, lips latching onto your clit.

Your back arches and you see stars, literally, along with the lights strung up on the back of the cabin. The discarded werewolf head grins at you from a corner, and you smile back before your eyes fall shut and you give yourself to pleasure once more.

[roo-bastmoon]

Homage vs. Copying

So I'm not feeling super great these days, but I still dip into Jikook spaces for a quick hit of lovely serotonin and to check up on my friends. Alas, I see some folks raging in the tags that JK is stealing Jimin's original concepts because he's too stupid or lazy to come up with his own... I'm not having flashbacks to BTS' plagiarism scandal, I'm not. I have thoughts--and lots of photo examples--about this topic, under the cut. Let's get into it--and keep it civil, too.

First off--let's just establish that folks have the right to use the Jikook tag to both celebrate and critique Jikook and the fandom around Jikook. People get to write about what they want on their blogs. They get to rant, so long as no one is using hate speech and slurs. (The minute I see that shit, I quietly report.)

Clearly, folks who are angry at Jungkook (or Jimin) come into the Jikook tag because they want attention from Jikookers, and the best use of my time and energy is to self-police and block them. That way I am not infringing on their right to scream into the wind all they like, but I also don't have to hear the noise.

Second off, unless JK called any of us up and said: "Hey, guess what? After 10 years of evidence to the contrary, suddenly I'm incapable of original thought, so I just take advantage of Jiminie-hyung, whom I keep calling out and hyping up and praising and asking to spend time with and traveling with and whose style I also match in my personal life!" maaaaybe we give the benefit of the doubt, and at least entertain the possibility that Jungkook is expressing visual alignment with Jimin because he can't just openly claim him in other ways?

Like, I'm not saying that IS what's going on, because Jungkook doesn't call me up and tell me his thoughts, either. It's fine; I'm not mad. He doesn't even text Jin back. I am just saying we should maybe sit with the idea for a bit and really marinate on what that might mean for a queer couple.

(Or we could just take in things without pronouncing any opinions yet--ya know, until we get more data around Jungkook's choices and how Jimin feels about it.)

It's fine not to assume the similarities are romantic gestures; but it's also fine not to assume the worst--that JK is siphoning off Jimin like a leech. Jungkook was consulted by the Seven stylist and he got to be creative director for his Vogue shoot; he also had some say in his music videos and performance stages. He is making choices deliberately, and it makes no sense to me that he would choose to openly copy a bandmate out of laziness. He has a professional reputation to consider.

Rather, I think this is one of the few places where he has artistic license to tether a thread between him and Jimin. I think he's paying homage.

(Side note: In film and photography, an homage is an imitation of another work. At first glance, it may seem like an homage is a rip-off or a lesser copy, but it actually pays tribute to and honors the source work. Homage is a great way to use other filmmakers' styles and content to crystallize your unique voice as a filmmaker.)

So that's my currently theory about what's going on.

Yet, honestly? None of us really know WHY there's so much similarity in their looks these days. The similarities are now stacking up so much as to be undeniable, though.

Personally, I'm leaning to this being a celebration of the fact that Jikook have always shared similar tastes; it's one of the many ways they click. Jikook know that. The stylists know that. So yeah, when JK gets a chance to observe and emulate (and expound upon) Jimin's style, he does. Because Jimin is one of the coolest people in the world to him. So he shows this in his own creative work and in his own personal wardrobe.

Here's why I hold that opinion at the moment:

Could this all be the stylists choosing to recycle looks or throw bread crumbs to Jikookers? I guess.

Could this be Jungkook just borrowing from Jimin as a shortcut? I'm not sharing his brainwaves, so I can't tell you there's zero possibility.

But what seems more likely is that of all the artists in the world, Jimin is the one Jungkook has always kept his eyes on. Out of love and respect, not malice and opportunism.

Like with the 1108 and 13 numbers that THEY keep inserting into their own communications, these similarities in style is also an emerging pattern.

If you feel protective of Jimin, I understand why you'd be wary of so much similarity. But consider what we know of both Jimin and Jungkook over the past 10 years...

While neither of these human beings are perfect (and they will continue to make mistakes), they clearly love each other. And you don't steal from the people you love. But you do honor how amazing they are whenever you get the chance.

So maybe let's just hear JK out on this?

Okay, that's all the energy I have for this topic. I got deadlines and health tests to power through over the next few weeks. If you comment with your own ideas, that's cool--but please keep it respectful of Jikook and each other. I don't want to banhammer anyone but I will.

Love, Roo

PS Even if I'm not around much, you can be sure I'll buy and stream 3D, and I encourage you guys to give it a chance too! <3

[hanalyrata]

I know your soul is not tainted, even though you've been told so (Chapter 1/?) - Swiss/Dewdrop

Fandom: Ghost Pairing: Swiss x Dewdrop Rating: Gen? Kinda?

Chapters: 1/?

Warnings: Waterboarding, torture, memory loss.

Summary: Swiss has made his affections for Dewdrop too obvious. The ministry disapproves, and Sister Imperator has a solution.

[AO3 Link]

The Ministry felt quiet. Too quiet, a deep, unsettling silence as Swiss found himself being dragged through the damp lower chambers of the crumbling cathedral. The grip of the nameless ghouls were rough against his arms as they hauled him through winding corridors. His mind raced, trying to piece together what he could have possibly done to warrant the summoning, but the answer was clear. He knew. Dewdrop. He'd been reckless, the multi-ghoul knew that. The lingering glances, quiet exchanges between shows, an igniting spark between them that even the fans had begun to notice. And Sister Imperator saw everything. And this was why he was here. Forced through an old, battered wooden door, into the candlelight as he struggled, "Let me go!" Swiss growled, pulling at his arms, jerking at the ghouls that held him in an attempt to free himself. His breath came in short, sharp bursts, his heart pounding with adrenaline as he was unceremoniously tossed onto the cold, stone floor. Swiss sat up instantly, flinching as the door slammed shut behind him.

The scent of mildew clung to the air, almost suffocating. But what really made Swiss' breath stop was the basin of water in the center of the room. His pulse quickened and every muscle in his body tensed, screaming for him to get up, to fight his way through the ghouls now stood, blocking his exit. This wasn't going to be a severe scolding, some cold rebuke from Sister. This was something far worse. From the shadows, Sister Imperator stepped, her icy gaze locking onto Swiss with a terrifying intensity that he seldom saw. Her lips were curved into a thin, cruel smile as she approached him, her heels clicking softly against the stone. "Swiss," she spoke, her voice flowing like silk over a steel blade as her hand brushed Swiss' shoulder, "You've been careless." Swiss felt his jaw clench, refusing to break his gaze as he followed her circling, "Human, you mean." "Feelings get in the way of our business, our message," Sister continued, ignoring his words, "It muddies the waters, causes complications," her hand shot out, grasping a handful of Swiss' hair as she yanked his face to meet hers, "And I don't tolerate complications," She leaned closer, her nose almost brushing the multi-ghoul's own, "Especially when it comes to him." Swiss swallowed hard, his throat suddenly feeling dry, "Dew has nothing to do with this." Sister released her hold on Swiss hair, stepping away from him with a sigh, "On the contrary, he has everything to do with this." She turned, sitting down on an old, ornate chair opposite where Swiss was kneeling, "You've made it very clear where your affections lie." She snapped her fingers and the ghouls were back on him in an instant, dragging him closer to the basin. Swiss resisted, shaking his head, "You can't do this," he pulled harder, but their grip tightened with every attempt, "You can't punish me for feeling something. You--" "Be thankful I am taking it out on you and not him," Sister hissed, her calm demeanour failing, revealing the venom beneath her words, "The little fire ghoul has value to me. You, Swiss, are expendable. I could break him just as, if not more easily, but I won't," She leaned back in her chair, a satisfied smirk across her lips, "Because I'm giving you this gift of punishment instead." As Swiss opened his mouth to protest, he felt a clawed hand close around the back of his head, forcing him down. The sensation was immediate, overwhelming as the icy water surged through his nose, his mouth as he opened it to scream, filling his lungs as panic ripped through him. He kicked, flailed, tried to wrench free, but the ghouls held him fast, cold and unyielding. His heart thundered in his chest as every fiber of his being focused on the desperate need for air. He heard Sister Imperator's voice pierce through the chaos, "You're weak, Swiss. Your feelings making you vulnerable. And I will be sure this never happens again." Swiss couldn't focus, his body screaming for oxygen, the pressure building as he struggled. The water kept coming, suffocating him and he felt the edges of his vision beginning to darken. Eventually, mercifully, or so he thought, the ghouls pulled him up. He gasped, coughing violently as the air rushed back into his lungs. His vision burned, his mind spinning. But Sister was relentless.

And the water came again.

And again. ------------------------------------

Time had passed before Swiss found himself slumped against the walls of the ministry. He couldn't remember, had no idea of how he had gotten there. His body felt heavy, limp and every breath came laboured and ragged. His thoughts were fractured, his chest heaving as he coughed, the sensation of drowning still flooding his mind. "Swiss!" he heard a startled voice, he recognised it… didn't he? Dewdrop had rounded a corner, finding Swiss broken, barely conscious as he struggled to pull himself up. A wave of panic crashed through him as he slid to the multi-ghoul's side. His hands immediately came up to Swiss' face, cradling him gently, checking for injuries, finding none to be visible, "Swiss? Look at me…"

Swiss’s eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused. For a moment, he didn’t recognize the face in front of him—only a looming figure in the dark, someone grabbing at him, someone holding him down. Fear surged through him, the terror of drowning still fresh in his mind. “Get away!” Swiss yelled, lashing out blindly, his fist connecting with Dew’s jaw. The blow wasn’t hard, but it was enough to send Dew reeling back in shock. "Swiss, it's me!" Dewdrop gasped around the pain radiating up through his face, trying to reach out to calm the ghoul, but Swiss was already scrambling back to his feet, disoriented and panicked.

He didn't get far as his legs gave out beneath him, too exhausted, and he collapsed back onto the ground, coughing violently as remnants of water and bile escaped his throat.

Dewdrop was on him in an instant, grasping at Swiss' arms, trying to hold him steady, "You need to calm down, Swiss. You're hurt. Just…just stop, please, I'm here." Swiss struggled weakly for a moment longer, but his strength was gone. His limbs felt heavy, his mind drowning in confusion. Eventually, he sagged against Dew’s arms, too exhausted to keep fighting. Dewdrop let out a breath that he didn't realise that he had been holding before hoisting Swiss up to his feet. He slung his arm over his shoulder, supporting his weight as he began to guide him slowly through the winding halls, back to the safety of Swiss' room. Swiss leaned against him heavily, slipping between veils of consciousness, his breathing shallow as the adrenaline from his punishment slowly faded. By the time they has reached the multi-ghoul's room, Dewdrop was almost carrying him. He laid Swiss down gently on the bed, pushing soaked strands of hair from his forehead. For a moment he watched, his heart tightening in his chest at his friend, his lover, so shattered, so vulnerable. "Swiss," Dew whispered softly, "It's okay, I'm here," He pulled Swiss' hand into his own, "You're safe now." He waited for a response, for a glimmer of recognition, but Swiss remained still, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. Minutes passed in tense silence. Then, Swiss stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked slowly, his gaze unfocused. “Dew?” he asked, his voice small, his body trembling. A wave of relief flooded through Dewdrop as he shuffled closer on the edge of the bed, "Yeah, it's me. I've got you." Swiss blinked again, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looked at Dewdrop—really looked at him this time. “I don’t… I don’t know who you are.” The words fell from Swiss’s lips like a knife to Dew’s heart, leaving him frozen in place. Swiss stared at him blankly, his eyes wide with confusion and fear, as if he were looking at a stranger. The person Dewdrop loved had been ripped away, leaving behind only a broken shell. And in that moment, as Swiss’s words echoed in the silent room, Dew realized that the worst was yet to come.

To be continued…

[rebelliousstories]

Connect With My Body

Kiss Me You Animal

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Zylia “The Freak” Shelley

Fandom: Fallout

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Mentions of Violence

Word Count: 2,009

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

Previous Chapter//Next Chapter

Kiss Me You Animal Masterlist: Here

Summary: Raiders, fiends, other ghouls, other humans; there is no shortage of people who would look to do harm to someone as rare as Zylia or as common and grotesque as Cooper. Does not mean that either one should be used to this sort of treatment.

In the morning,he was true to his word. By the time Zylia had awoken, Cooper was gone. The only thing left of him were his tracks that the wind and sand were taking care of disposing. There was something about that ghoul that she had stumbled upon that intrigued her. He was not like any other ghouls that she had met that were the epitome of decay and decadence.

Stretching her body up, the woman looked around and noticed that the fire was still smoldering, and light was just barely peaking in from the windows. Gathering her effects and heading towards the door, Zylia could not help but recall the conversation she had last night with the man.

“I don’t think you got any family anymore, vampie…”

“You were born in twenty fifty-two. Over two hundred years ago. Back before the bombs dropped.”

It did not make any sense to her. How was she well over two- hundred years old? How was she still alive? Why was she still alive? There were so many unanswered questions running around her brain. As she stepped outside, Zylia noticed that Cooper’s tracks went off to the right. Deciding that she was still going to try and find out information about her past, she continued straight ahead to whatever the next town was that she could find a bounty or a piece of her past.

Meanwhile, Cooper was not in a totally dissimilar situation. He had so many questions for the girl that he had spent the night with in the house. She was a sweet little thing; that he would never admit to. But she was determined, and that had to count for something. Not many people, if anyone could take a bounty from him which just added to his interest in the girl.

He decided not to linger that morning, and left just before day break. Stealth was not always his strongest suit, but it could serve him occasionally. Cooper tried to not let his gaze linger on Zylia while she slept, but it proved more difficult done than said. There was just something about her that intrigued him.

Maybe it was her mysterious, vault filled past that fascinated him. Or maybe it was the mutant that she had been turned into. Cooper was genuinely interested in learning about someone or something for the first time in lifetimes. He fought against himself as he walked away from her and into the desert. No matter how much he wanted to turn back around and help her, Howard knew that the second he cared for anything other than himself, it would be ripped away in a violent manner only the Wasteland could do.

The Ghoul spent that whole morning walking, and trying to keep his thoughts from asking questions about Zylia, before he made it to the next town. Filly, right there in big bold letters, greeted him as he made his way inside. People moved out of his way the second that they could. Fear and respect commanded people give him a wide berth. With spurs clinking, he made his way downtown to where he could find a bounty.

Even after all these years, the hustle and bustle of a city never appealed to Cooper. His dream was always to live peacefully in the countryside with some animals and his wife on his arm. But that went down the drain thanks to Vault-Tech. Maybe he was also to blame for not fighting hard enough to save his marriage and give Janey a stable home, but that was neither here nor there. Now, he was a changed man. Cooper never saw this new version of himself settling down and raising chickens, but maybe one day he would not need to go into town so much.

Cooper was well aware of the fact that ghouls were not welcomed in most “polite” society nowadays. But did that stop him? No. He continued on as if nothing was different from him to the next guy. Besides, Howard had beyond proved himself the best bounty hunter this side of the Wasteland. Which meant that if someone needed a job done fast, and done well, they would find a way to track The Ghoul down.

Making his way into the medics shop, his pouch was relieved of its caps in exchange for his box of chems being weighed down. He left without another word and continued to survey his surroundings. There were some food stalls, repair places, wears and effects; everything that someone might need to survive. But not him. He had all he needed to make it for a little while longer. So he left.

Howard began to leave the downtown area and back into the woods that surrounded it when a noise caught his ears. Or rather, several noises caught his ears. He would have left, but right as he was going to, a familiar groan sounded out. If he just turned his head, he might able to see- yep. It was just who he thought. Zylia was caught between a pack of at least six big, burly men. She seemed to be doing just fine for a while as Cooper leaned against the tree next to him.

She was swinging her blade around, and making sure that these people knew who they were messing with. Slicing and cutting her way through the crowd, Zylia refused to let up on the men that surrounded her. Stabbing one through his brain, he fell lifeless on the ground, but that is when two more men popped up from behind a tree. They grabbed the woman and took her blade away, before they each took turns beating on her. Deciding that he had enough of watching the show, Cooper picked up his gun, aimed, and fired in the blink of an eye.

Everyone stopped as another guy went down, this time with a bullet wound in between his eyes. Even Zylia turned to see who had fired the shot, and felt a bit of relief as The Ghoul greeted her gaze. He was lazily checking the rest of his chambered rounds and taking a few steps forward.

“Now, maybe it’s because I’m from a different time and haven’t been brought up the way you youngin’s have. But I don’t think that’s anyway to treat a lady.” Cooper drawled, raising his eyes above the brim of his hat.

“Get lost, ghoul. This one’s ours.” One of them called out, while his buddies agreed with him. Sighing deep, The Ghoul fired off another round, and another before everyone kicked into high gear.

A few of the men came running straight for him, and he fired off shot after shot. The rest stayed with the woman who was not fighting to her hearts content. She was attempting to disengage their grip on her and let her fall to the ground. Once she had managed that, the next order of business was to get her knife back. Taking it off of the belt of one of the men that held her, Zylia stabbed it in his thigh before slicing it across the back of his ankles.

The man fell to the ground in anguish, and was silenced by her knife slitting his throat. Moving on, she kept attacking everyone that dared come near her. She did not even realize that they had taken care of everyone, and was dangerously close to killing the ma that placed his hand on her shoulder. But Cooper’s eyes stared back at her. His kind blue eyes that were widened in shock at her blade being against his neck again.

“Whoa there, vampie. Just me.” He spoke as if trying to calm a wounded animal. In some ways, he was. Zylia finally registered that every one else was dead, before she let out a shaking breath. Falling to the ground, her head was saved from a rock by the man before her. She began to crawl to her bags with shaking hands, and blurry vision.

It was imperative that she get blood in her now. And all she could think about was getting it. But her desperation turned to despair when she saw the beg leaking. Ripping it open, Zylia saw that at some point, either by them intentionally or in the struggle, someone had burst her blood bags. All of that was now gone. All of her hard work to make sure that she was stocked up was ruined.

Zylia began to pound at the ground as tears of frustration rolled down her face. She kept whimpering and muttering to herself as she tried to fight the brain fog that clouded her rational thinking. Cooper, noticing the woman begin to devolve and the liquid that spilled from her hands, made his way over and placed a hand on her back.

“Vampie? Hey, sweetheart, look at me.” He rolled her over onto her back, and found that she had not even registered him pulling her away from the bag.

“How soon do you need it?” Cooper asked gently.

“Now. There’s nowhere fresh nearby. This town doesn’t have anything.” She whimpered with slurred words. Her hands grasped around something invisible, but what it was, Cooper did not know. Looking around, he knew that there was not going to be any fresh blood for miles, and he would hate for her to feast on the men they killed. Besides, he was not entirely sure that she could feed herself at the moment.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Cooper dropped his effects gently on the ground. Taking off his duster, and rolling up his sleeve, he procured her knife from where it lay to make a little cut in the scarred skin. It would not be the best choice, but it was better than her dying. As he placed his wrist against her mother’s, his body and brain finally caught up with each other. What was he doing? He had just met this girl a day ago and here he was concerned that she would not be alive to see another sunset.

There was no pain as she latched into his arm. All the nerves died with the bombs, so now dull pressure was the only indication that she was biting down on him. Cooper watched her throat swallow down mouthfuls of blood before she finally pulled away. Her body began to shake and writhe against the ground, which concerned the man as he tried to find a way to stop it. But right as he was going to try and get her up, she dropped down lifeless on the ground.

He had killed her. The fact that Cooper did not think that the radiation and mutagens in his blood would not affect her was stupid on his part. He bowed his head, and sighed as he mourned the life that he had not meant to take that day. Just then, a groan slipped from her lips, which caused Howard to lift his head. She coughed and began to sit up, and to be pushed back down by the man that was watching over her with concern.

“Ghoul? What are you doin’ here?” Her words slurred, but he could still make out what she wanted to say.

“Waitin’ on you, Dracula.” He chuckled as he brushed her colorless hair from her face. Eventually, she seemed alright enough for Cooper to sit her up, and lean her against a rock nearby. When he did, Zylia caught his arm that began to retract from her.

“Did you… give me your blood?” Her question was filled with the utmost confusion. Howard pulled his arm from her grasp, and rolled his sleeve down to cover the mark that was already beginning to heal itself.

“Couldn’t have you dying before gettin’ your revenge, now could we?” The simple redirection filled Zylia with appreciation for the man before her. She offered him a smile, to which he gave right back, as they both sat on the dirt floor of the forest around them.

[howhow326]

What if I reworked the Miraculous Powers Part 2: Zodiac Boogaloo

(Part one here)

Unlike the Yinyang/Wu Xing miraculous, the big problem woth the Zodiac miraculous is that some of them are waaay overtuned while the rest are situational. So my solution is to make all of them situational! The Pig miraculous has an amazing power, fight me. Because most of these miraculous fit the idea I have for them, Ill only focus on the ones that need a change.

Mouse miraculous of Multiplication

Multitude: Stays exactly the same, I love this superpower!

Ox miraculous of Determination

Resistance: I previously changed the Ladybug miraculous so it can counter every other miraculous, which makes this miraculous kind of redundant... but I can't think of a better power, so I guess it stays?

Tiger miraculous of Elation

Clout: The user roars with exhilarating energy, forcing the target(s) of their choosing to focus on them. (Who's bright idea was it to make this thing a Black Cat knock off? At least the Goat miraculous is used differently than the Ladybug, but the Tiger and Cat have the same job of destroying stuff!) (So Juleka's whole character arc is that she wants to come out of her shell and she wanst her dad to see her so, maybe invisibility isn't a good power for her miraculous fandom:/ Anyway, the new power is just a video game taunt, forcing enemies to hyperfocus on Juleka. You can even give her some rockstar style roars to tie that into her identity)

Rabbit miraculous of Evolution

Rabbit Hole: The user rewinds their pocket watch a set number of times to travel back in time for 5 minutes. During the 5 minutes, the user can change events in the past which is guaranteed to change events in the present. The user can also choose to go back to their time period during the 5 minutes, and if they don't they will become stuck in the past because this power cannot travel to the future outside of resetting itself during it's 5 minutes. (That paragraph up there is the only way I knew to nerf this dang thing because I couldn't think of a new rabbit based power that dosen't step on another miraculous toes. WTF. Where do I even begin. Why is the shows Rabbit miraculous so incredibly different from every other power??? Why does it get its own Doctor Who room? Why does it not have a time limit and NO I do not accept that nonsense, timey whimy answer! Just why time travel in general???? I just, oof. Anyway, the rabbit miraculous is now used the same way Marinette used it during the season 4 finale, we need to do one thing in the past to save the future and then we go back to our time. Doing anything else is going to cause a paradox)

Dragon miraculous of Perfection(the name needs to be changed but I can't think of one that relates to the weather powers)

Wind/Water/Lightning Dragon: Sigh, ok this miraculous is what I mean when I say overturned. You can change into an element, you can control an element, and you can do it 3 times in a row??? No, the Dragon miraculous power let's you control one of three elements and then it goes on cool down. No using 3 powers in a row unless you're mature.

Snake miraculous of Intuition

Future Vision: it's literally a rip off of Garnet's power from SU. The user winds up their snake bracelet to play out different future scenarios in their head. These scenarios are life like to the user, but are not actually happening. (I like the idea that this miraculous seems like it's a psychic power when it's actually time travel, but time travel is waaay overpowered for a zodiac miraculous. Clairvoyance it is then)

Horse miraculous of Transportation

Voyage: The power gets you to your destination because it's a horse, get it? It's super lame, but I'll take it (at least this miraculous requires intelligence to use effectively, which matches its holder's personality. More than I can say for some other miraculous) (wait a minute this is the Miraculous of Migration now, wtf)

Goat miraculous of Passion Imagination

Genesis: Miraculous of Passion, dafaq??? Anyway, the power is still a discount of the Ladybug miraculous but it gets to stay for having a different function than the Ladybug power (I win button vs imagination power)

Monkey miraculous of Derision

Uproar: The power is a little op, but because of the changes I made to the Ladybug and Cat it shouldn't be too bad. (I like how this miraculous title foreshadowed that Kim is like low key a jerk.)

Rooster miraculous of Pretension

Sublimation: The user makes an impossible claim about one of the abilities they already possess, and the power makes that claim true for 5 minutes. (it was so easy to not make this thing broken, but the writer just had to use it as a lazy reason for why Hawkmoth can turn invisible! My reworked power works the way we all thought it did before season 5, it only effects physical abilities you already had. Kicking a ball into a goal is something you can already do, but with the rooster you can never miss a goal. This rework is still pretty powerful as far as zodiac miraculous go, but its no where near as bad as before)

Dog miraculous of Adoration

Fetch: Stays the same, it's not overtuned and it makes thematic sense for a dog hero.

Pig miraculous of Jubilation

Gift: Stays the same. F everyone who says its a bad power, its one of the best!

[kharmii]

Bear with me. I've got to piss about something again and do a long post ripping on left wing culture in fandom. Ever since my adorable guy Geten got his event in Ultra Impact, I've been seeing tweets all over Twitter along this line:

(Just look at this chibified version of Geten. OMNOMNOM....)

Anyway, people keep posting tweets like, "I forgot about Geten! Wasn't he the guy with the INCESTUOUS and RACIST family!?"

I get it. I can see why people would think his family was incestuous. Perhaps they practiced Habsburg level inbreeding? I tend to believe this 'village headman' theory from Japanese culture, (since My Hero Academia is a Japanese franchise and not Austrian, but whatever.....) but it's too bad we don't get lots and lots (and lots and lots) more Geten content to prove or disprove any horrible takes. Maybe they'll flesh him out during the prison scene with Mr. Compress if they make it into future episodes?

Anyway, I'm lol-ing at the 'RACIST' accusations. I guaran-damn-tee those are all coming from college aged white girls who have had the guilt beaten into them from 'white girl boot camp' in our culture. Seriously, Geten's family was prejudiced against heteromorphs. -Like who wouldn't be though? Tell me the truth.....if you lived in the world of My Hero Academia, would you want to marry a guy with a St. Bernard head or a woman with huge damn walrus tusks? Maybe a heteromorph that looked like a normal woman with cat ears would be appealing, but would you be into the cat faced police officer? Maybe Hawks is pretty hot with his red wings on a normal guy body, but would he be as popular with an actual hawk face with a huge ass pointed beak?

Then again, I encountered that clique of a/b/o werewolf enthusiasts thirsty for dog-ass in Submas, and they'd totally get with someone with a full-on animal head if they lived in the world of My Hero Academia. The Himuras might have been a bunch of skeevers who sold their relatives into marriage, but at least they told Rei she could do better than a farting neckbeardy warthog or guy with a Windex bottle spray nozzle for a head, and so she ended up with normal looking hottie pro hero Endeavor.

I could see woke leftist corporations in the MHA world putting up billboards full of hot blondes with guys with coffee cup heads. What?! You don't think a guy with a coffee cup head is attractive, you BIGOT!!1! What if coffee cup head guy has a good personality?

Also, admit that people are prejudiced against heteromorphs irl, like they recently did the episode focusing on Spinner and the Octopus arm guy, but they never place in the popularity contests. The weirder characters don't make good fan service. I diagnose all the heteromorph characters with a bad case of 'gets no bitches', comorbidity 'lack of hoes'. Anyway, the point of this rant is to say that people shouldn't inject their smarmy chicken-shit left-wing values in a fantasy world where people walk around with washing machine bodies and seal heads. The Himuras were FINE with rejecting certain types of people. The problem came when they went too far with it to the point they scattered to the winds.

Anyway, I'll admit I'm wrong if I ever see these hot bitches in the tags:

[papaver-decervicatus]

“Under No Circumstances…”

How Farah ended up just beneath Gromsko and Soap on the “Under No Circumstances Allowed to Use a Rocket Launcher” list. 1.5K words, rated Teen, Gromsko POV.

CW: Medical Procedures, The Lord of the Flies (awful I know).

A/N. This is just a quick silly Drabble between the three because Gromsko does not get enough love in the fandom! Thanks to everyone who enjoys the headcanon pages I put out, your enthusiasm has really inspired me!

The nearest table is littered with palpable annoyances, from gauges in the fake wood where one Simon Riley stabbed hunting knives in frustration (which, in his defense, it would be rather frustrating to wake up to pissed in tac-boots, offender still at large,) to pen-marks scribbling in games of tic-tac-toe between Reyes and Chuy (which culminate in a perfect 5 win, to 5 draws, to 5 win ratio,) and even a perfectly Kleo shaped bite mark (she was overdue on her shots and that never goes over well,) out of the bottom left corner. The sound of tweezers hitting a small glass vial consistently rings out, along with the gentle splutter of matter dropping into alcohol.

On Farah’s abdomen, there is a 3-inch gash, approximately 1.25 centimeters deep. It was made by a shrapnel blast that cut through her gear, pieces of cloth and metal remain to be picked out. Her head is nestled in the area just beneath Soap’s crotch on the table. Gaz sits cross-legged beneath the table that she and Soap recline on. Her hair cascades downwards into Gaz’s soft and patient hands, idly doing then undoing her trailing braid. Soap prattles endlessly while holding her shoulders down.

“And then, the fucking eejits go huntin’ it. Goes to show, Brits and their violence…” He sneers and Gaz huffs.

“They are like. Thirteen, mate. The book’s a satire for Chrissake!” Gaz responds. Farah winces when he pulls on her hair a little too hard, and he apologizes with a hushed ‘Oh, sorry.’

“They worship a pig's head on a stick the way you worship your damn Queen, Garrick. No fucking satire to me.”

Gromsko continues his work, picking debris out of the wound, as the two men continue to bicker animatedly about their latest disagreement (and since when did Soap care about British literature, or The Lord of the Flies?)

“How much longer?” Farah wheezes underneath the disagreement above her.

Gromsko takes one last look through his surgical loops. The wound appears to have nothing foreign left in it. He hums in satisfaction at his work.

“Not much, Kochanie.” Gromsko soothes in the sort of quiet voice he summons on instinct when working with Farah. Something in the furrow of her brow always tells him she would appreciate a quiet sort of kindness, that is, when she even allows herself to be helped. She seems thankful when she throws her head back into Soap’s crotch and his rant is cut short by a winded noise. Gaz falls over laughing at the realization she’s just headbutted him in his… particulars. Gromsko takes the opportunity of her momentary levity to catch her unawares with the first stitch.

It’s been approximately 38 minutes since a dazed Farah was rushed into his makeshift office with a frazzled Soap. In between explanations of a misfired explosive, frantic apologies to the woman hanging off his shoulder, and labored insistences that she receives stitches, Gromsko barely gave the two time to blink before he had sprung out of his cot and had started laying out his supplies. Within 4 minutes, the wound was assessed. Within 3 minutes of the assessment, Soap had dragged a still groggy Gaz to Farah’s side saying something about Alex’s preference that he be there should she get hurt. Gromsko paid it very little mind as he typically did. Anything to make a patient more comfortable.

The wound was far from life-threatening in any sense of the word. It was, however, in a position where standard stitches would likely get ripped from friction with tac-gear. A medium-level challenge, but certainly no challenge at all to a medic like Gromsko.

“You are doing well, Farah.” He says. She turns her head in frustration at the lingering pain as he goes in for the third and what will likely be 17 total stitches. “Do not fall asleep on me, kotku,” he smiles when her face scrunches in disgust. “Concussion protocol.” She sighs.

“There is nothing kitten about this situation, medic.” Farrah spits, Soap keeps his hands on her shoulders to prevent her from bucking upwards to claw at Gromsko, now rethreading a suture needle.

“There is, this scratch, it is a kitten’s scratch. It will heal easily.”

The encouragement seems to lighten her mood. When Gromsko tunes back into Gaz and Soap’s conversation, he elects to immediately zone back out when Soap tries to swat at the man beneath him for implying he couldn’t read.

She yells something at the two, and while Gromsko does not know any Arabic, he figures he knows what it means when the two immediately stop their horseplay and go back to bickering, albeit at a much quieter level.

With the distraction of Gaz and Soap, Farah’s stitches go by much quicker than she seems to have suspected. Gromsko makes use of one of his medic tricks (the one his old commander taught him about squeezing the flesh 4 inches to the left of the wound to calm the patient) and much like a kitten, Farah does indeed soothe.

Her whole face brightens when Gromsko finishes the last stitch and goes to toss out his sterile gloves.

“Ya done, doc?” Soap asks, hopeful as ever.

“Hmph,” he nods his head. Gaz scrambles off the floor and examines the stitches on Farah’s abdomen. He lets out a quick whistle in appreciation.

“All that in under an hour? You’re a magic man, Gromsko.” He gives a curt nod which Gromsko returns. Gromsko goes to the metal folding chair that was holding part of his supplies and tenderly picks up Farah’s shirt (which Soap had folded perfectly while awaiting medical instruction,) and hands it to her. She smiles and shrugs it on.

“I am sure I don’t need to inform you of heading instructions, do I?” He asks, his sarcasm unusually quiet. Farah just gives a dry laugh.

“I’ve been through worse.” She claims, chest full of pride. She’s always one of the worse to corral into medical attention, he’s learned from his months with SpecGru. She wears battle scars like medals and hates to admit to anyone, even a medic, that she may need any special treatment. He’s just happy she let him get to the wound at all.

“But-“ her face visably sours as he continues. “Concussion protocol, no sleep for the next 6 hours.”

She sends an irritated look to Soap and Gaz who both put their hands up in defeat, likely aware of what happened the last time someone didn’t listen to the man’s medical demands. (If Ghost wasn’t pulling his stitches out all the time, maybe, just maybe, those tac boots of his wouldn’t have gotten the treatment that they did… not that Gromsko knows anything about it, of course.)

“I have sentry in 4 hours,” Gaz offers weakly, genuine sadness in his voice that whether or not he wants to, he will be unable to care for his friend through the duration of her mandatory awake period.

“Fine. Sleep. And if Alex is back by then, tell him I ordered you to leave.” Farah says, voice firmly intoned back into its comfortable commanding sound. Gaz gives a faux salute and leaves with the haste of a man who’s forgotten what a bed looks like for months checking into a hotel room. Soap looks at Farah expectantly.

“You too-“ She starts.

“Nope.” He finishes.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean ‘no.’ I’m not leaving yer side until you can rest. Not gonna happen.” He shrugs nonchalantly. Ever the faithful soldier, no man or recently-concussed-woman left behind.

Farah looks at Gromsko, apparently expecting him to save her from being babysat. He laughs louder than he has all night. He feels the tension of the situation melt away as he returns to his usual volume.

“Don’t look at me like that, kotku,” she mocks throwing up at the pet name, “I would order him to as well. You do not have a good track record of listening to doctors orders.” She pouts much like a child denied a night home alone with her friends when her parents are away. It reminds Gromsko of an argument his older sister got into with his mother when he was 13. Farah smiles the same way as that sister, she shows the same amount of teeth, he noticed. “Alex is not here. Soap will do.”

Farah looks entirely displeased by this assessment and brings a hand to thumb at the bottom of her now French braided hair. “We’ve finished all of our assignments before we went out. What is there to do?”

Gromsko looks to the armory outside.

Gromsko looks to Soap. Soap looks to Gromsko.

Soap looks in the direction of an unattended car he is more than capable of hot wiring.

Gromsko looks to the direction that the abandoned training maze that Price put a demolition order for.

Gromsko and Soap look to Farah.

“Doncha worry Bonnie,” Soap smiles the way fire meets Gasoline. Gromsko is already putting his fire-resistant jacket onto her shoulders and ushering Farah out the door. “We got just the thing.”

-

When two days later Alex returns from his own assignment and asks why there is now a large picture of Farah, Gromsko, and Soap outside the armory with the inscription “UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES ARE ROCKET LAUNCHERS ALLOWED TO THESE THREE.” Gromsko just laughs in his face.

“Anything for a patients comfort.” He supplies as though it makes perfect sense. Alex’s frown displays his confusion, but Gromsko is not one to give away the secrets of another.

When he got scolded by an irate Price the day before, Gromsko just remembered Farah’s smile with fire reflecting in her eyes 6 hours previous when he and Soap were put on toilet scrubbing duty.

He remembers that smile now, as Alex stares him down while he walks away.

Worth it.

[mintichoco]

CREDIBLE | twtptflob

"ARE YOU AWARE THAT I CAN KILL YOU WITHOUT SO MUCH AS MOVING AN INCH?" | "SO COULD A CHICKEN WITH ENOUGH MOTIVATION, YOU'RE NOT SPECIAL"

TITLE TRACK. psycho - red velvet

FANDOM. the way to protect the female lead's older brother

CHARACTER. oc-insert, visuals of aria valentine

PRONOUNS. she/her

SUMMARY. a gen-z kid gets dropped in the world of twtptflob. . .right infront of lante agriche

FORMAT. headcanons, scenarios

INSPIRATION. this post by @rouecentric

NEXT CHAPTER. [1, you are here] • [2]

Nash was an iPad kid in every sense of the word. Her mother could not bother to care beyond sending monthly checks to the manor (more like luxurious jail) where the caretakers pocketed half the sum and the rest went to pamper her.

She could't be mad, there were plenty people out in the real world who'd kill for that kind of money. She spent her days tinkering on school projects, binge-watching historical k-dramas and being a general menace to the working staff.

Now imagine her surprise when she went to bed at three in the morning after haphazardly throwing together an art project featuring 'Kakashi the grey hare' and woke up on cold hard marble, instead of her fluffy mattress.

"What the heck?" She shuffled to a sitting stance, rubbing her sore neck.

The brushing of black skirts and the scruff of boots tethered her attention to the floor.

There were maids, a few dozens of them. Nash had her own nannies, sure, but nobody in the twenty-first century wore these silks unless as costumes, that too the very short version and for funzies on Tiktok or the bedroom.

"Woah-", a grin danced on her face. "Is this some sort of cult? Before the intro, I'll make this clear, I don't wanna be a part of this scooby-doo squad. Now, where am I?"

Silence, silence. Silence everywhere. Then, a fine looking specimen of testosterone-producer stepped up from the crowd, gripping a sword-A SWORD?!-in his hand.

"What business do you have with Agriche? How did you manage to get past the barrier guards? Start talking before I make sure you never will."

Well, zamn, who hurt you?

"Yeah, I was hoping you'd the know the answer to that?" She was thoroughly confused. "And since you don't, we can all just forget this ever happened and go our own seperate ways, okay? Okay, bye!"

A brilliant beyond brilliant idea popped up in her head. Taking out her phone, she tried searching for a signal. Hey, her mother may not pick up but she will dispatch atleast one guard to check on her.

"What is that?" The emo grandpa snapped his fingers. The phone was snatched away in an instant.

Nash reached for the object, only to be shoved away. "Hey, that's mine! Give it back!"

"Master, it seems to be some unknown technology, far beyond research-work mentioned in the archives", the woman replied and handed it over to the man in the lavish tux with a. . .bow?

What the frick is happening?!

The man chuckled and Nash felt a chill go down her spine. "A spy? Tell me, which lowlife has started copying my tactics, hm? Though, it is for the greater good, I suppose. The kids outside of this territory are pathetic, they pose no worthy challenge for my soldiers."

Which grown ass man sends people to fight kids?!

With furrowed brows, legs and arms crisscrossed, Nash drew a long breath. "Look dude, I don't know who you are or where I am but I don't mean to cause any trouble. . .yet. But if you don't return my phone, we're gonna have a problem here."

He quirked a brow and a tide of murmurs erupted from the audience. With a subtle clang his weapon was unseathed, the sharp blade pointed straight towards her neck.

Holy mother the of sweet Je-

"Are you aware that I can kill you without so much as moving an inch?"

Her breath hitched and she felt the hiccups coming. "So could a - hic - a chicken with enough motivation. You're not special-"

"Father, you called?"

A whispery voice carried by the wind stopped the man dead in his tracks from possibly ripping Nash a new one.

"Roxana", he rasped, clicking his tongue. "I don't appreciate tardiness. In any case, I'd like you to familiarize yourself with the latest brand of spies that are sent after us. Do they think of us as idiots!”

With that attitude, you’d make a fine Karen, sir. Wait. . .did he just say ’Roxana’?

Nash swiveled on her heel faster than light, coming face to face with said exotic beauty, shimmering rubies for eyes, adorned in a fashionable gown that almost made up for it’s weight.

"Y-You're Roxana Agriche?!"

At her starstruck exclaimation, the lady pursed her lips and only nodded curtly in acknowledgement.

Suddenly, Nash was clutching her head. She felt dizzy, she was definitely going to hurl.

Bye-bye fancy carpet, so long. . .

"Forking fudgecake!" The first row of maids probably jumped at the sheer decibel of her shout. "Did I get hit by truck-kun? No, that's not possible. How will a truck get in my house?! Murder, then? Not unlikely. . .although who would assassinate sweet ol’ me? Let’s see. . .”

"As you witness”, the newly recognized Lante Agriche waved the sword dangerously close to her face. Nash skiddadled to Roxana’s side. "This one doesn't know how to behave.”

Nash tilted her head to gander at the second heir’s face. She was lost in thought, her face overcome with a forlorn expression.

Roxana stroked her chin and then nodded. "You wish for me to oversee the interrogation?”

Lante grinned like a madman, thankfully storing away the blade. "As expected, you are a natural.” Nash had to do a double take to make sure his face fell in the matter of milliseconds. "Do not disappoint me.”

A sharp pain appeared in her scalp when her obnoxiously long pink hair was grasped and she was pushed back against the wall.

Yup, no wonder all the female leads hate this.

Lante did his best impression of a ravenous beast from the Black Forest, snarling and sneering. ”I will figure out where your loyalties lie and set an example through you. Am I understood?"

As astonishing as it is to be held like this by a 2D character, it ducking hurts, biAtch!

"Y-yes, sir!" As if-

He released her but it felt the same, as if her head was on fire. "Take her away.”

Roxana did not spare a moment to escort Nash to her room. They arrived in two minutes max and the blonde dismissed her tendants for the evening.

With a cotton swab and a bottle of suspiciously glowy liquid, she started dabbling the scratch that had formed on Nash's face, right under her eye from being thrown against the stone column.

She was quiet for most of the time while Nash observed Roxana's face. The teen truly was a looker, one worthy of people stopping in their tracks to stare at.

Light hair framed her face like a halo while piercing red eyes that tore through one's soul akin to the devil himself.

"Earlier, you mentioned a truck, yes?"

Nash blinked dumbly. "Uh-huh."

Roxana looked her directly in the eye. "Are your perhaps from. . .This is going to sound ridiculous but are you from Earth? Like, the actual modern world?"

The pinkette chewed on her botton lip. "Er. . .maybe?"

Roxana dropped her head and if Nash wasn't mistaken, she sighed out of relief. "How did you end up here?"

The younger girl threw her hands up. It felt weird talking to a fictional character who went into a fictional-fictional world.

Wait, that makes no sense.

"I don't know, lady! One minute I'm falling asleep reading manhwa on my computer and the next thing I know kaboom Lante-the-asshole Agriche is in front of me!"

"What's a manwha? Did you not read the novel-", Roxana paused mid-way, narrowing her gaze. "You are much too young to read those kinds of books."

Nash coughed awkwardly. "Well, I didn't exactly read it. It doesn't even exist in my world."

"Meaning? And you say your world as if we're from seperate ones."

Nash clapped her hands, slouching against the cushions on Roxana's bed. "Bingo." The girl stared at her, perplexed. "You know about the miltiverse theory, right? Y'know, spider-man and stuff like that?"

The blonde nodded.

"If I were to guess, we are both from two different realities. It's like a layer formation. The 'Flower of Hell' takes place in one, then you enter from another and change the course of the world and then I enter from a different reality like a cherry on top."

Roxana remained still, the subtle widening of her eyes being evidence of understanding. "I see. In any case, we need a place to fit you in. As far as I've looked, there is no escape. Other than death, but that is uncharted territory."

Nash made a face. You speak of death like it's the next door neighbor. Then she remembered. But for her, it probably isn't the worst thing to happen.

She cleared her throat, shrugging as nonchalantly as possible. "Any chance I can take a shower? I kinda sorta really stink."

The ghost of a smile passed over Roxana's face. "I will ask for a bath to be prepared." Her gaze traveled down, "And a tailor to take your measurements. Can't have my charge looking so haggard."

Nash looked down, her face burning red. She was still in her Hello Kitty jammies. "Hey!"

Roxana stood up, packing away the medical kit. "I will be back later. Your dinner will be sent here; eat after freshening up. And try to keep a low profile. The less people are aware of your existence, the better. Fa - Lante will likely dish out my orders for you at dinner."

She made to leave but turned around again.

"What?"

"I did not catch your name."

"Nash", the pinkette replied with a too-shrill voice, trying to rub the exhaustion out of her eyes.

Roxana was amused. "Full name?"

"Ugh. . .Nashira Parker, at your service, m'Lady."

As soon as the door clicked shut, Nash threw herself on the heavenly bed, feeling her body sink into the spread of softness.

'What a day. Welp- this is my life now, I guess.'

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

📓

hi you are literally my favorite fanfic author and I love your writing and characterizations so much!!

Hiii thank you, you are too kind!! I’m so glad you like my works!!

(Also if y’all have preferences as to fandom with this ask game let me know. If you’re not on anon I usually try to figure out what fandom you’re following me from so that way you aren’t getting a response about a fandom you’re not a part of but if you have a request from a fandom I’ve written for before I’ll do my best to pick an unwritten fic from that fandom. Absent direction we’ll go with Jujutsu Kaisen for this one since I’m hyper fixated on that right now)

Fic where Fushiguro is unleashed into junpeis school like an invasive super predator.

Yuuji accidentally sees Junpei’s cigarette burns from the bullying while he’s hanging out at his house. And he’s instantly like Come To Jujutsu High This Is No Longer A Murder Investigation It Is Now A Recruitment You Are My Boy Now And Forever Ijichi This Is Junpei Hes Getting In The Car Too Junpei You Are Getting In The Car Too and he gently kidnaps junpei away to the school. He's so damn nice about the kidnapping that everyone cooperates with it. He's just that lovely of a guy.

Nanami: I’m sorry did you not only tell our prime suspect about the investigation but also bring him with you to the school

Yuuji: you don’t have all the facts

Nanami: which are?

Yuuji: I love him

The thing is that Yuuji sweeping him up to the school with him butterfly effects it so that way they discover sukunas finger before his mom is killed by a curse. This also means that Mahitos in the wind and they’re still trying to lure him out. Gojo and Nanami think that Junpei as bait will work, but Yuuji refuses to let him go back to a school where he’s getting hurt alone That’s His Boy Now.

At this point Gojo decides that he can instigate the funniest deep cover mission of his career and says that fushiguro is PERFECT for this job.

He will not explain why.

Yuuji, bouncing with excitement: what do I say to him I haven’t seen him since I got my heart ripped out and died in front of him

Junpei: wait what

Yuuji: I’m so excited

Junpei: go back to the heart thing can we go back to the heart thing

Fushiguro is pulled for a deep cover mission and gets the fun, confetti filled surprise that it’s with his dead best friend.

There’s a lot of shouting.

He refuses to do anything until Kugisaki is brought in too and told yuuji is alive, are you fucking kidding.

There is more shouting.

Now all three of them are going undercover in Junpeis school as a protection detail, ostensibly against mahito but really, it’s because of the bullies. Yuuji has Marked Them For Death. That’s His Boy Forever And Always. He’s only known Junpei for a day but if Anything Happens To Junpei He Will Kill Everyone In This Room And Then Himself.

and so the Junpei Protection Squad is born.

THEIR PLAN IS THUS:

They don’t care about their records. This is a deep cover mission. They go to fucking wizard school. They’re taking junpei in the divorce. There are no consequences for their actions. They can and will cut loose over his safety.

If anyone so much as looks at him weird Yuuji and Kugisaki will descend on them like vengeful gods and kick their fucking ass.

Meanwhile fushiguro will remove junpei, who they’re so happy is here junpei we’re all SO HAPPY you’re in the squad now, from the situation and summon a dog for him for love and happiness. Junpei Fushiguro can summon dogs at will they know it’s the sickest fucking power ever it’s so cool.

That’s it that’s the plan there are no further details to the plan.

The thing is while Fushiguro is the angry emo child of them all, he’s also weirdly the politest of them all? Like, if they’re taking down a purse snatcher, yuuji and Kugisaki are the ones wrestling them to the ground while fushiguro is politely returning the bag. They dont think he has it in him for delinquency. he's just a polite dude even if he's an angry one. he's very organized. he reads nonfiction for fun. he's not a delinquent. He will be in charge of leaving the scene with Junpei so he doesn’t have to become a Delinquent like them.

Fushiguro, who has figured out that gojo pulled him for this mission because he was the most notorious delinquent for thirty miles in middle school: *sweating*

THE ISSUE IS THUS:

Kugisaki and Yuuji are bad at this

They are completely inexperienced in delinquency and it shows

Dear fucking god the incompetence

What do you MEAN you threw down the gauntlet to some bullies and then let junpei go to the bathroom ALONE

Oh god he has to do everything around here doesn’t he

Junpeis trying his best. He actually feels really weird about this all. On one hand he has friends and is going to wizard school after this? On the other hes the embodiment of an angry schnauzer and doesn’t vibe with being a princess in a tower. But also he’s cornered by like five guys twice his size and doesn’t have a huge amount of options to defend himself. This is when the Squad arrives.

The thing is that one of the bullies cornering him presently was a bully in Fushiguro's middle school, for all of ten minutes, because Fushiguro kicked the ass of every bully in the area and forcibly installed his own regime of peace like an angry sea urchin. The reaction of seeing Fushiguro here, with him well within punching distance, while he's fucking with someone who is apparently a personal friend of Fushiguro Megumi is around the kind of reaction that someone would have during the Resurrection when 72 hours previous they were the guy holding the hammer and nails. he apologizes profusely, cries hard enough to pass out, and has to call his mom to come pick him up. He immediately drops out of that school and is never heard from again.

It makes an impression.

Yuuji: :o

Kugisaki: :o

Fushgiuro: *sweating* we're late for math

This basically is enough on its own to signal a struggle for dominance within the school's bully hierarchy that fushiguro doesn't actually want to be a part of. The sister he never once mentioned before this moment is going to be sad at him if she finds out he did this again. he's trying not to do this again. his sister will be SAD.

But also his delinquent instincts run deep and he succumbs before lunch is over. Fuck it he's returning to his delinquency days and taking over the school. Kugisaki stop filming this.

And Yuuji and Kugisaki would help but somehow it was decided by the rumor mill that they + junpei were Fushguro's mob wives (Yuuji Climbed On Top Of Him and pressed his forehead directly to fushiguro's and said "fushiguro fushiguro what are they talking about what did you DO to them" and everyone decided that he had to be a mob wife to not get his ass kicked for this and Junpei and Kugisaki were picked up by the rumor mill due to proximity) and this is quite frankly the funniest fucking thing that's ever happened to them. actually you know what? YES. they are his mob wives. they are each other's mob wives too. They're living a slice of life student anime bliss while fushiguro is getting in fights behind the school three times a day minimum. they love being mob wives. there's so much power and so little effort and endless potential to tease fushiguro with. they're taking videos for future blackmail.

Of course Mahito eventually has an entire attack, but he puts his filthy bitch hands on fushiguro and sukuna immediately rocks his shit so hard that the curse is simply Blitzed in a matter of seconds.

and then Sukuna has to cover up the fact that he's willing to protect fushiguro so he pretends that this is just a capricious whim because Mahito was annoying and has to save everyone to cover it up. He can be helpful sometimes. Ohhh look at him he's soooo helpful you know what just shut the fuck up and be grateful. he hates all of you.

Kugisaki: so are we going to talk about it

Fushiguro: under no circumstances no

kugisaki: okay but that was WEIRD right

Fushiguro, hasn't been this distressed since the last time he had to deal with sukuna: stop talking about it

Junpei, who no one told about sukuna, has had a long day: sorry who was that. why did he rip off his shirt.

[pappydaddy]

my little girl (j.h.)

a/n: this is really short, i am so sorry. hopefully it's good, i was desensitizing myself to the song again (a yearly occurrence bc i bawl like a baby when i hear it). also, i aged the reader up to be an older teen starting university. i felt like it would make a better plotline, but the reader has a canonically late-year birthday (december) so she is seventeen. hope you don't mind lovely!

ps, i am trying a new format. we'll see if i like it...

fandom: stranger things | pairing: jim hopper x fem!teen!daughter!reader (father/daughter)

requested by the lovely @sunnysidesadie (hope you enjoy it💛!)

synopsis: visiting her old cabin when she misses her dad is normal for y/n. what isn't is her supposedly dead dad suddenly showing up. | based on this song by tim mcgraw (i grew up on country music, don't judge me) that always makes me cry so... | au where vecna stuff happens at another time

taglist: @rottenstyx | @boxofsilentwords | @badass-yn | @lexi-2004 | @i-always-come-back-xoxo | @rootbeerfaygo | *line through you user means i could not tag you lovelies!

warnings: grief mentioned | (believed to be) dead father | emotional? | not being able to trust things

navigation | masterlist | taglist sign-up

- not my gif -

Standing in the ruins of her father’s cabin, Y/N’s chest ached. She often came here, ever since that day last summer. It looked the exact same as it did that night - a shell of a once lively house. Even if this wasn’t the home he raised her in, it was the cabin they made a home in such a short period of time. The Mind Flayer had ruined it, only the walls left standing. Everything else smashed and broken, even possession. 

  The sting of tears made Y/N’s eyes feel like they were burning out of her head. The Mind Flayer took her home, but the Russians took her father. In their greed to become the most feared country, they ripped the one thing Y/N loved the most from her. The one thing that she had in her life that was constant was gone. Sure, Jim Hopper was battling his demons, drinking, a bit aggressive in his parenting tactics, and a horrible communicator, but he was her father. He loved her with every fibre of his being. 

  Swallowing thickly, she spied a broken picture frame sticking out of the ruins, most likely from the wind pushing it around overtime. Slowly walking towards it, Y/N felt the old floor shifting under her. Soon, it wasn’t going to be safe to stand here. She feared that day. The bit of cabin was the only thing she had left of her father. He had sold their home when they had to protect El. Their prized possessions and keepsakes were either damaged or pillaged by teens who stumbled upon the empty cabin before they could finish off the Mind Flayer. 

  Bending down, she grabbed the picture, wiping off the dirt. It was her father and her. She was six, in a horribly itchy red and green dress. It was her elementary school Christmas Recital. She had on bright tights and a pair of shiny black shoes. Her grandmother had helped him dress her that time. Usually, for this recital, he would have put her in a green dress with her pink ballet tights. After that year, he had stuck to the same colour palette. Smiling down fondly at the picture, she couldn’t help but let a tear slip. “I miss you. So much,” She whispered, eyes squeezed closed. “I think you’d be proud of me, Dad,” She swallowed the hard ball that was forming in her throat, trying to ignore how her heart felt like it was being ripped in half. “I’m taking on this whole world. Just like you always told me to.” 

  Y/N stood there, looking in her full length mirror. It was her first day of senior year, it had to be perfect. Her shaking hands brushed over her outfit for the sixth time in that minute. Humming, she shuffled to the side, inspecting the outfit she had picked out last night for any flaw, turning up with nothing. However, she couldn’t find anything great about the outfit either. Light blue coloured mom jeans (brand new so fitting perfectly), converse, and a dark green mock neck sweater. There was nothing bad but nothing particularly amazing about the outfit. “Y/N, hurry up and eat your breakfast before you run out the door saying you’re too busy to eat.” Her dad told her, his voice nearing her partially open door. 

  “Coming.” She told him, but she didn’t move from her spot in front of the mirror. In the reflection, she saw her door being pushed open and her father appeared, clad in his brown uniform, his had noticeably missing. 

  “Y/N, I told you already, your outfit looks fine. I want you to eat before you leave,” He reminded her. Despite his gruff and aggressive appearance, her father’s words were spoken with a sense of softness. She sighed, slumping her shoulders as she turned away from the mirror. His brown eyes watched her. He was dense with the whole girl dad thing. It wasn’t easy trying to understand them, but he tried. Which is why he stepped into the room further, pushing the door closed behind him. “What’s going on? It’s gotta be more than worrying about your outfit.” 

  He sat on her bed seconds before she joined him. “I don’t know. My life is changing, should I really be wearing the same clothes I wear every first day?” 

  “What are you talking about,” He questioned, brows furrowed as he looked at her outfit. “Those pants and the shirt are all new. You’ve never worn them before.” She laughed at this, which wasn’t his intention, but he couldn’t help but smile and feel his heart melting. 

  “Not the clothes, but the style. I’m graduating, my life is completely flipped upside down after this year, but here I am dressing the exact same way and doing my hair the exact same way, going to the exact same school to hang out with the exact same people,” She muttered, feeling stupid about her worries. “I don’t know,” She shrugged. “It’s scary and I don’t think I am ready for it.” She confessed, her eyes finally looking up at her. The same exact eyes looked back at her. Everybody said that she had her father’s eyes. 

  Her father sighed in understanding, smiling sadly down at her. “If anyone isn’t ready for you to graduate, it’s me. I mean, one second I am dropping you off at kindergarten then all of a sudden, you’re sixteen getting ready for your senior year,” He informed her, nudging her shoulder with his arm, making her laugh. She hated being so much younger than her classmates, but she was starting senior year as a sixteen year old, turning seventeen in December. He had to fight the sadness filling him, knowing his daughter is growing up, because she needed him to be her rock. She needed him to be her cheerleader. “Never in my mind did I ever think you weren’t ready. You are going to take on this whole wide world, chasing your dreams,” He suddenly turned serious. “And I will be here, cheering you on because you’re always going to be my little girl. And just know, as long as you know the road that takes you home again, I will be here for you.” 

  “Just the road? That’s the only way you’ll be there for me?” She asked. Hopper looked at her, ready to get mad that she took it like he wasn’t going to be there for her, but that crooked little smile played on her lips - the same crooked little smile she wore when she was a kid whenever she did anything she wasn’t supposed to. Instantly, his anger and his naturally icy heart was melting, just like it always did and just like it always will. 

  “Real smart, you little ass,” He laughed, making her join in on the laughter. “Now, I still want you to eat, but I would rather you not drive like a maniac trying to get to school in time so I will put a few more snacks on the counter for you to stuff in your bag on your way out. I’ll add some change to it so you can get a drink at lunch,” He informed her as he stood up, walking out the door. “Have a great day, Pumpkin. I love you. So much.” He told her, he couldn’t put how much he loved her into words - he wasn’t good at emotions and sappy stuff, but he was confident she was sure how much he loved her, even if she didn’t realise he loved her more than anything. 

  “I love you more.” She said back and he was instantly reminded of everytime she said that exact thing to him in the past. From the time she could speak to that moment. For a second, he wanted her to be that toothless seven year old cuddling her teddy bear as he tucked her in again. 

  “I hope you would be proud of me,” She added in as her eyes slowly blinked open. “I am kinda taking on the world by myself at the moment-” 

  “And I’m sure you’re taking the world by storm despite that.” A voice scared her, making her whirl around, the picture frame clutched to her chest as her heart tried to run out of her chest. There he stood. Shaved head, bruises, and a crooked smile - the same one she wore when she got in trouble. 

  “Dad?” She breathed out, eyes wide. Was it a ghost? Was it her mind playing horrible tricks? What a cruel joke the universe was playing on her if the man standing before her in clothes that were obviously not his was all her imagination. Tentatively, she stepped towards him as he stood on the ground, through the damaged front door that was nearly off its hinges completely.

  The man (or product of her grief) nodded. “It’s me, Pumpkin. For real.” He reassured her. He knew she was reluctant, not wanting to get her hopes up. The reality of the Upside Down has put them through hell and back. It was hard to trust anything the universe gave them. Win the lottery? Are they sure it wasn’t just a cruel trick the Upside Down conceived to put them through more hell? Supposedly dead father standing before you? Was Y/N sure it wasn’t secretly some sort of shape shifting creature set to destroy El? 

  She walked a few more steps, finally reaching the door frame. Hopper stayed in one spot, but now Y/N could see the people gathered off to the side, giving the father and daughter space. Joyce and Murray stood in the treeline, giving Y/N nods of reassurance. “Dad!” She broke into a smile, her heart delighted. She was too overcome with happiness to even think about questioning how he was standing there if he was dead. 

  The photo slipped from her grasp as she ran from the doorway, all the way down the rickety old steps. Arms out, she nearly tackled her father, hot tears streaming down her face as she actually felt the warmth of his embrace wrapping around her. He was real. He was here. His heart was beating. She could feel it hitting his chest. She could hear it as she pressed her ear against his chest, nearly squeezing the life out of him, “So you know the road that leads you home after all, even without me here, huh?” Hopper asked, the tearful chuckle rolling through his large form. 

  Pulling her head from his chest, her arms still attached to him like a little girl who is scared. She kind of was a little girl scared that her father would disappear if she let him go. “Huh?”

  “You’re here. You came here all the way from West Lafayette. You knew the way home when you needed me. You did exactly what I told you that morning,” He took in her confused expression. “Joyce told me you chose Purdue. Smart girl, they did offer you a full-ride. Wish I could have been there to see your first day.” 

  “I wish you could have been there too, Dad.” She admitted, squeezing him in a hug again. 

  “Part of me doesn’t want to let you go back. Sometimes I wish I could just have a pause button so you would stop growing up. I would have paused it until I escaped the Russian base.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as tears started to fall from his eyes. Y/N was too overwhelmed to actually process that little bit of information, hoping to remember to ask him about it later. Joyce and Murray shared a look. This was a side of Hopper nobody saw. He was vulnerable. He was speaking in ways they didn’t think possible. 

  “No matter what happens, Dad,” Y/N pulled away from the hug slightly. “I’m always going to be your little girl. Me believing you were dead while you were really just a prisoner in a forgein country for so many months isn’t going to change that.” She joked, laughing through the tears rolling down her cheeks, the bright smile Hopper loved so much on her face.

  “You’ll always be my little girl,” He repeated, pressing his lips together. “Pigtails and all in my mind.” He smiled as she rolled her eyes playfully at this, pushing his shoulder before embracing him yet again, still scared that he’ll disappear again.