#She could battle just fine if she wanted to

[nayaesworld]

My favorite Dork

Terry Richmond x Black!Fem reader

Part 2

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“Who that right there?” Your crossed eyes tried hard to focus on his extended finger as it pointed towards the tv screen. Head filled with little to no thoughts or answers that could save you from his incessant pounding into your pussy. If he could just ease up a little then maybe just maybe you could gargle out a answer, fuck it it it was the wrong one..you didn’t care.

Your eyes finally steadied enough for you to focus on the tall,pale, blonde animated character. A few names filtering through your pretty little head as he slowed his strokes enough for your toes to uncross and you became confident in your answer…perhaps too confident.

“Trevor..that’s Trevor” you breathe out quickly, hoping to impress him with your listening skills.

“Aww Peaches baby.. really wanted you to be right and prove me wrong. Guess you weren’t listening as well as I thought you were.” A faux pout came across his face and a mischievous glint in his eyes made your stomach flip.

“You know what happens to sluts that don’t listen…the ones that don’t retain information they were told to?” His heavy hand smacked your cheek just enough for your heavy eyes to widen. Your face heating up from the contact and your rising arousal.

Your shaking hands grip his arms as you shake underneath him, body preparing to release a violent gush of water onto him. You craved to be manhandled and flung about his spacious bed like a lifeless sex doll. To hell with anime…animation..animators. Fuck em all.

“Ouuu Peaches I felt that, give it to me. Because when you do we’re starting from the beginning..can’t have my baby out here not knowing her material, by the time I’m done with your sexy ass you’ll be speaking fluent Japanese.” Pillow soft thighs squeezed tight around his midsection and your pussy came like a geyser, pent up energy in the form of his favorite liquid.

“Bubby please.. I’m sorry I’ll be better just please..my pussy can’t take it.”

“You sure..looks like she can take it to me. Deep pussy swallowing up my dick just fine. My sweet peaches and her sweet pussy.” He pecked your forehead, quickly rubbing the back of your thighs.

“On your knees..I don’t want you to miss one second since you can’t seem to remember the names of characters I’ve been repeating for the last 40 minutes.”

Your sore limbs slowly but surely allowed your body to be molded into the newest position, your soft belly and breast resting on the cool sheets beneath you with your ass tooted up as high as he could get it. Playful slaps to your ass had you swallowing your spit. You wanted—needed that Sephora trip and your chances of winning looked slim.

“Ass so perfect and fat it belongs on an Anime..like look at this shit. I want this everyday..and everytime you deny me and act like you can’t take this dick, this pussy will pay the price for it.” A series of slaps to your pussy lips had you drooling, the slight sting coaxing forward more sticky liquid from you.

“Yesss bubby I wanna be better…just please fuck me now.” You sucked your thumb and sighed in content, eyes wet and waiting.

The opening title to Castlevania played loudly in the background as your cheeks bounced against his pelvis. He played with and gripped the flesh until you begged for more, then filled you to the hilt with his thick dick. The wet queefs battling against the volume of the tv as the animated characters battles against cruel priests and demons. In a way y’all were two of the same. You currently battled a hefty dick attached to a man with a sickening face card and a stroke that had you thinking sitting out for 9 months wasn’t too bad.

“Wanna try again Peaches…you want bubby to ease up on you hmm, take it easy on my princess?” He stroked the soft hairs at the nape of your neck almost putting you into a coma.

But you were going out like a bitch. And mama didn’t raise no punk, it was now or never. You had to get the next one right, a Sephora trip depended on it. And by the time he breathed out the next question to you like a freaky professor, you had the right answer plus a little more to throw him off his high horse. You made the mistake of calling the tall raven haired vampire fine and that earned you a pinch to your clit.

You fucked back onto him, shadows of your eager ass throwing playing out on the walls. He moaned and whimpered softly behind you, dick being squeezed and squished into your soaking pussy. You wanted a pretty, white creampie to decorate your pretty brown skin. You felt his hot breath on the back of your neck and his chest slick with perspiration as the effects of solid good pussy broke him down layer by layer.

You felt the sharp pain of his nails digging into your hips. The falter of his weakening strokes, the exasperated breaths…it all made you feel so empowered— so in charge. You could brag for days and shout out this victory from the fucking roof tops..who was scared of dick now?

“Just cum already…you know it’s a losing battle Bubby. Just succumb, you know you wanna paint this fat kitty…so just do it.” Hot warm spurts of cum littered your backside and trickled down to mingle with your own release. Satisfied sighs leaving both of your mouths and you were greedy to touch your lips to his again…to indulge in a kiss with your handsome faced loser.

Strong hands soothed your tense muscles and massaged your sore limbs back into their rightful place. A lone finger running along his abdomen, observing the purpling hickies you had sucked onto his skin over the course of the last hour and a half.

“Not gonna rub it in my face peaches…you got good sportsmanship all of a sudden?” His hands worked deeply into the balls of your feet, ocean eyes focusing on your pretty face.

“Mm would you prefer me to sweetface? You know I’d rather not do you dirty…I have something else in mind for you.” He threw you a suspicious glance and you simply lifted your pointer and middle fingers into a heart. He didn’t need to know about your extra terms and conditions to winning.

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$216 dollars, two hefty bags of skincare,makeup, and perfumes. You cheesed and wiggled in the passenger seat back to Terry's place, you had run through Sephora like a kid in a candy store. No aisle or product was left untouched by you, you picked up your everyday items and a whole lot of new ones. Crossing them off of your long list of TikTok recommendations to try.

Now you had Terry seated in a chair, makeup products sprawled out in front of you. He sat arms folded as he looked up at you expectantly. Convincing him to sit here and be a test dummy for your new products took a lot of begging and the promise of a new pair of gaming headphones—though you didn’t care for all the yelling and hollering he did on that damn game.

“So you actually don’t need to fill yours in because they're naturally thick and bushy…but a little brow gel could really clean up these caterpillars.” Your thumb rested against his temple as you brushed his brow hair into a near perfect arch, the brow gel being just strong enough to handle his coarse hairs.

He was eager as ever to hop into the mirror and see what magic you had worked, a small smile forming on his lips before he caught your eyes and let it drop. You rolled your eyes and quickly pushed him back into his seat, popping open a brand new case of eye shadow you would be perfect for the spring. He sighed and held his head still per your request and shut his eyes. You let the small makeup brush dance softly over his closed lids, careful not to press too hard on the small blue veins on his lid.

“See the blue eyeshadow brings out your eyes Bubby…my handsome bestie. Baddest nigga I know.” The two of you shared hearty laughs before he pulled you into his lap.

“You done treating me like a lab rat yet..I’m due for a nap.” You pecked his juicy lips before pulling one more product into your hands. He pulled his head out of your grasp at the first glance of the shiny new tube of lipgloss.

“That's the one you had on earlier when you came..I like the way it tasted.” You nodded and took that info into your head or the future.

Clean uniformed brows, blue eyeshadow, and glossy plump lips decorated his beautifully sculpted face. He let you get a few pictures in before him stood to his full height and threw a strong arm around your waist.

“I love you yeah girl..my gorgeous, sexy, smart Peaches. You’re the bestest friend a person could ask for..but I don’t want to be friends with you anymore.”

Your face frowned up quickly and you tried to pull out of his grip. What the fuck was he talking about honestly, he had you fucked up and you would knock sense into his ass, buff or not.

“Wait..wait let me finish hot head. I don’t want to be friends with you anymore because I’m more interested in being your man..if you’ll let me.”

Oh? And this definitely wasn’t where you thought he was taking this, but you liked it. Loved it in fact. Tall, handsome, incredibly smart and nerdy, intellectual… you could go on. He made you feel safe and heard, saved you from bullies when the two of you were just kids, built you up so no one could ever deny you again…and above all else he loved you.

“You want me..in that way?” Just a little reassurance..just to hear him say it once more..just to make sure he wasn’t pranking you like the boys did when you were a teen.

“I want you in every way you’ll let me have you. I’ve stood by for too long watching unfit men attempt to snub out your light..you deserve to shine and be soft. Let me do that for you y/n.” You threw your arms around his neck, hot tears streaming down your face. You deserved this, trusted this..wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.

“You’re lucky you’re cute and convincing. I want this with you, I trust you to keep your word and do right by me because you've always done so.”

“I’ll do more than keep my word. I’ll show you how a real man courts a woman..show you why there’s nobody better than you out there for me. I love you Peaches.”

“Love you more nerd.”

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@becauseimswagman1 @ranikyani @blyffe @23jammy @keehendrixx @ovohanna24 @venusincleo @grlsbstshot @yassbishimvintage @avoidthings @pocketsizedpanther @writingsbytee @simplyzeeka @zillasvilla @kimuzostar @playgurlxoxo @kumkaniudaku @megamindsecretlair @theereina @keyaho @hotgrlcece @henneseyhoe @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @uzumaki-rebellion @blackmoonchilee @tvchi @blackerthings @honeys-archives @luvrsluxe

[toriaanin]

The Skelton Crew

Once upon a time, there was a ship called the USS Lukola. She was a sleek vessel cruising a warm ocean - blue like a certain Irish lass's eyes - and filled with people like me who witnessed and believed in the love, light and energy shone by Nicola and Luke during (heck... even prior to) the Bridgerton season 3 world PR tour.

Unbeknownst to us passengers, the USS Lukola left charted waters and entered the Bermuda Triangle. BaBaBam (imagine ominous music here). Waves started crashing against the hull and over the deck. The ship's navigation equipment failed; the dials on the bridge panel spin spin spinning in counter clockwise, clockwise directions, like in the movies. Eeek! North, south, east, west? What direction was the ship headed?! Not to worry; the crew and passengers knew where they were going - breadcrumbs and morsels led the way, while heavy golden nuggets like the Claddagh ring & the This/That video 🤍 gave the ship ballast to withstand the storm... but they also knew that patience - and sea legs - were required to see them to their destination.

Naturally some passengers didn't have faith that the ship could reach it's destination so they jumped, relying on life vests for survival. In many cases, life boats were deployed (on more than one occasion) taking passengers to shore where they now look out over the water and wishing they'd remained aboard. Some even return. They're welcomed back of course.

And then there's the group that sent an SOS out to an old battleship. They wanted a tough ship. Not just because they imagined it could better withstand the waves, but because they'd shifted alliances and expected push-back from the USS Lukola. Problem! Their new alliance painted a rainbow flag on their hull. "That's okay", they told themselves. "We can't see it from the deck!" (Fingers in ears, eyes squeezed shut all while singing "lalala"). Rather then face reality and head to shore to join those passengers gazing longingly at the USS Lukola, they decided that sinking that darned happy-people ship was the ideal strategy to "win" the best ship prize. So they proceeded to employ battle tactics against the USS Lukola and, as it would happen, Lukola themselves. Most notably Luke.

So we came into Monday, battle worn following a weekend of presumed troll activity, redirection (because really, Ceasefire in Gaza is far more important to focus on! And also because one does not ignore N's patterns), and the fandom's descent onto the TT account of a sad, misguided young woman seeking social media attention and validation. Challenging for us, yes. Even more so for the Newton family.

Naturally, a few more life boats left the USS Lukola over the weekend too. Sigh. Sad to see them go.

And yet, the USS Lukola sails on!

I was telling a friend about how it feels like Lukolas are being winnowed like grain, the wind or a combine shaking our group to remove the chaff. She laughed and suggested a more appropriate ship reference: "What's remaining is the Skeleton Crew!". YES! That was exactly the right description for us!!!

Those of us who remain on the ship are the hearty diehards. We are the ones who belong to group chats, with friends to help support us during rough seas. Amongst our boney selves are the critical thinkers and analysts. We listen only to Nicola, Luke and their trusted allies. Then there are the creatives; those who develop scenarios based solely on the information provided by the critical thinkers and analysts. There are the bloggers here on Tumblr that relay information and theories, and then help us rib cages to hold on tight. I love that we're a fine collective of beautiful bones, supporting one another as we sail towards endgame. Love. We are The Skelton Crew!

Ahoy matey; there be treasure way!!

Proof of our ability to assess information, of our resilience as crew/passengers (not sure about you, but my chat groups are capital S supportive!), and our belief in Luke & Nicola's love came yesterday when that slag-rag DeuxMoi posted photos of Nicola & Jake buying carrots... and trolling the paparazzi. They spotted that photographer, devised a plan, laughed and totally goofed around for each photo!

Did we spiral? Maybe a little at first. Like I said, it was a difficult weekend and we didn't want more mayhem. Then we looked closer and started to laugh! Just like Nicola & Jake, we hammed it up in the ballroom, in the bar's lounge, and on the lido deck!

No, we don't want to have to weather another storm. But we will if we have to. We have each other and we're hardy souls! Well... skeletons! These bones were made for dancing! ☠☠☠

[obvi-the-best-soph]

we're all bound to break. (chapter 4)

alexia putellas masterlist: here requests: here

based on this request: surprisingly enough, another creation from my own mind.

word count: 1,253k

summary: a trip out for dinner reminds you of just how much support you have.

genre: comfort/fluff warnings: grief, struggling, feeling of hopelessness? possibly very bad spanish (sorry! i try lol).

chapter 1: here chapter 2: here chapter 3: here

The next few days felt like they were moving in slow motion. Each morning you woke up, the weight of everything that had happened seemed to settle deeper in your bones, but you still put on a brave face. For Alexia. For the team. For yourself, even though that felt like a losing battle at times.

You spent most of your time either on the pitch or in your apartment, the latter mostly spent avoiding your thoughts and feeling your grief settle into your body like an anchor that refused to let go. Alexia had made it clear that she was there for you, but there was something inside you that still couldn’t let her in completely. Not yet. Not when it still felt too raw.

On the surface, things seemed to be going back to normal. You went to training, you smiled when required, and you participated when you had to, but it was all like you were moving through a fog, distant and disconnected from everything around you. You could hear the chatter, the banter from the team, but it felt muffled, like you were underwater.

The media wasn’t helping, either. Every interview, every appearance, always came with that dreaded question about your parents. It was like they could sense the vulnerability in your eyes, the cracks that were barely visible but enough to leave you shaking after each public moment. You wanted to shout, to tell them to leave you alone, but you knew it wasn’t just about you anymore. You had to live with the spotlight, even if it made your heart ache.

That’s when the texts from your aunt began.

Each message felt like a small jab to your already bruised soul. She wanted to meet again. She said it was time to “discuss the future” and how you’d handle everything that was left behind. The mere thought of it made your skin crawl.

You hadn’t responded to her at all. You knew exactly what she wanted, what she was after - anything she could claim as her own. You weren’t going to let her take what little you had left.

The day after another brutal press conference, you found yourself sitting in the locker room with Alexia. Everyone else had left to grab food, but you stayed behind, sitting on the bench with your head in your hands, the exhaustion from holding everything together for the past few days finally catching up to you.

Alexia walked in quietly, and without saying a word, she sat beside you, her presence a steady force next to you. You didn’t look up at first, but you felt her eyes on you, the concern in them almost tangible.

“Chica,” she said softly, her voice laced with warmth and something else. Worry? Fear? You couldn’t be sure.

You finally looked at her, meeting her gaze with a half-hearted smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m fine, really.”

Alexia didn’t buy it, of course. She leaned in slightly, her face closer now, close enough for you to feel the soft warmth of her breath. “You don’t look fine, amor.”

You sighed, rubbing your face with both hands, trying to wipe away the frustration, the ache. “It’s just… everything. It feels like it's all crashing down on me, and I can’t get away from it. Not even for a second.”

Alexia nodded in understanding, her expression softening, her hand brushing lightly against your arm. “I know. I know it’s hard. But you’re not alone in this, Y/N. You don’t have to go through it by yourself.”

You met her gaze again, and for the first time in a while, you felt something like relief - like you could finally admit to yourself that you needed help. But then, just as quickly, the weight of your aunt’s messages flooded your mind, and you felt the tension return.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I don’t know if I can face her again. I don’t know how to make it all stop.”

Alexia’s hand found yours, her fingers wrapping around yours tightly, grounding you in the moment. “You don’t have to do it alone, I told you that. And we’ll face her together. You have your team, and you have me. Don’t forget that, okay?”

You blinked back the tears threatening to fall, fighting to keep the storm inside at bay. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Alexia - it was that you couldn’t bring yourself to fully let anyone in. Not yet. Not when everything still felt so fragile.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this,” you muttered, feeling the weight of those words more than you wanted to.

Alexia’s gaze softened, and for a moment, it was as if the whole world outside of the locker room had faded away. All that mattered was the two of you, sitting there in silence, the bond between you unspoken but clear.

“You are stronger than you think,” she said gently, squeezing your hand. “And when you feel like you’re not, I’ll be here. And the team will be here. We’ve got you, Y/N.”

You nodded, a lump in your throat as you squeezed her hand back. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have to do this alone. Maybe, this time, you could lean on someone who truly cared.

A couple of days later, Alexia insisted that you accompany her to dinner with a few of the others. You had been avoiding social situations, sticking mostly to your apartment or training, but Alexia was determined, and you couldn’t say no. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face the world again, but for her, you would try.

The restaurant was quiet, and as soon as you walked in, a few of the team members - Mapi, Lucy, Keira, and Ingrid - waved at you from their corner booth. You forced a smile and made your way over, the familiar faces a welcome distraction from the thoughts that had been swirling in your mind for days.

“¿Cómo estás?” Mapi asked, her tone gentle but probing. You could see the concern in her eyes, the way she was waiting for the truth.

You sighed, shifting in your seat as you avoided eye contact for a moment. “I’m managing. Just… trying to keep going.”

Keira smiled softly. “It’s okay if you’re not okay, you know. We get it. And we’ll be here, no matter what.”

Lucy chimed in, her accent thick as always. “Yeah, and if you ever need to talk - or if you want us to come smash a few things together - just say the word.”

That earned a small laugh from you, something that felt foreign and strange after all this time. But it felt good. Real. Like you didn’t have to carry the weight of your grief alone.

“Thanks, chicas,” you whispered, feeling the tears start to sting again. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you all.”

Alexia reached over and squeezed your hand under the table, offering a soft smile. “You’ll never have to find out, cariño. You’ve got us. Always.”

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to believe her.

The world outside was still chaotic. Your aunt still lingered like a shadow, waiting to make her move. But you didn’t have to face it all right now. Right now, you had the people who loved you by your side. And for now, that was enough.

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

MY MASTERPIECE

drew starkey x plus sized!fem!reader

(mood board does NOT depict readers’ appearance !!)

SUMMARY: after drew catches his girlfriend crying about the hate she’s receiving, he decides to show her exactly how much he loves her.

based on this ask !! i really hope you like it anon, and i had such a lovely time writing this :’) i just KNOW drew would worship a plus!sized baddie, so imo this is canon🤫

WARNINGS: slight angst to fluff then to smut (18+ mdni pls!!), body worshipping, oral (fem rec), fingering, orgasm denial, blasphemy (“oh god”), insecurities, social media hate, crying, cursing, fat-shaming (fuck you if you do this, and you’re not welcome on my page !!) i think this is all? (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

THIRD PERSON +

The dim light of the bedside lamp bathed the room in a soft glow. Y/N sat cross-legged on the bed, her laptop resting in front of her, illuminating her face in harsh contrast. Her throat felt tight as her eyes scanned the comments section on yet another gossip website.

"Why is he with her?"

"She's way out of his league."

"Drew could do so much better. She's not even that pretty."

"She doesn’t look right next to Drew AT ALL."

The words blurred as tears pooled in her eyes, one spilling over and sliding down her cheek. She sniffled, trying to hold it together, but it was a losing battle. Her hands trembled as she closed the laptop and set it aside, curling up into herself. The voices in her head, fueled by the hateful comments, were deafening.

She knew Drew loved her. He told her all the time, in the little ways and the big ones. But sometimes, the weight of the world's opinions was too much to bear. Tonight was one of those nights.

She was so caught up in her spiraling thoughts that she didn't hear the front door open or the sound of Drew's voice calling out.

"Babe? I'm home!" he said, his voice warm and familiar as it carried through the apartment.

Her stomach dropped. She quickly wiped at her cheeks, trying to compose herself. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her like this.

Drew stepped into the bedroom, his tall frame filling the doorway. He smiled softly, holding up a bag. "I brought takeout from your favorite place. I figured—" He stopped mid-sentence when he noticed her blotchy, tear-stained face and glossy eyes. His brow furrowed with concern as he dropped the bag on the dresser and closed the distance between them in two long strides.

"Angel, what's wrong?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and cupping her face in his hands. His thumbs gently wiped away the tears that continued to fall despite her efforts to stop them. "Talk to me, baby."

She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's nothing, Drew. I'm fine."

He frowned, not buying it for a second. "That's not nothing. Come on, tell me what's going on."

Her chest tightened as she met his worried gaze. She debated brushing it off, but the dam broke, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them. "It's just... all the comments, Drew. All the things people say about me. About us. They hate me because I'm not what they think you deserve."

Drew's eyes softened, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. She buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt.

"They're so cruel," she continued, her voice muffled against him. "And the worst part is... I start to believe them. Maybe they're right. Maybe I'm not good enough for you."

Drew pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt her chin up so she was looking at him. His cobalt eyes were intense, his expression a mix of heartbreak and determination.

"Stop," he said firmly, his voice low and steady. "Don't you dare let those people make you feel like you're not good enough. They don't know you. They don't know us."

She shook her head, the tears still falling. "But Drew, look at me. I'm not some slim, perfect model. I don't fit the image of the kind of woman people expect you to be with."

Drew let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair before turning back to her. "Y/N, do you know what I see when I look at you?"

She stayed silent, unsure how to respond.

"I see the woman who makes me laugh harder than anyone else ever has," he said, his voice soft but unwavering. "I see the woman who listens to me when I'm struggling, who supports me no matter what. I see the woman whose smile lights up my entire day."

His hands moved to her shoulders, his thumbs brushing against her skin in soothing circles. "I don't care what anyone else thinks. I love you for you. For your kindness, your intelligence, your strength. For the way you hum when you're cooking, even though you always say you can't sing. For the way you light up when you talk about the things you're passionate about. You're the most beautiful person I've ever known, inside and out."

Her breath hitched as she listened to his words, the sincerity in his voice breaking through the walls she'd built around herself.

"You're more than enough for me, Y/N," Drew continued, his voice thick with emotion. "You're everything I've ever wanted. And if people can't see that, then screw them. They don't matter."

She let out a shaky laugh, her tears finally starting to slow. "You really mean that?"

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "With all my heart."

She looked up at him, her own heart swelling with love and gratitude. "I don't deserve you, you know that?"

He smirked, his hands sliding down to her waist. "I think it's the other way around."

The tension in the room shifted as his fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns on her sides. His gaze darkened slightly, a spark of something more than affection flickering in his eyes.

"I need you to understand how much you mean to me," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. "Let me show you."

Her breath caught as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of love and devotion, of promises made and kept.

He deepened the kiss, his hands moving to cradle her face as if she were the most precious thing in the world. She melted into him, her own hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

When they finally pulled apart, both slightly breathless, Drew rested his forehead against hers.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked, a small smile playing on his lips. "Or maybe I really need to show you."

Drew's hand lingered on Y/N's cheek, his thumb gently brushing away the last of her tears. His eyes never left hers—dark, intense, full of something unspoken but heavy, like the weight of a confession he couldn't hold back any longer.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and rough, the kind of tone that made her stomach tighten and her breath hitch. She blinked up at him, her lips parting slightly as if to argue, but he didn't let her. Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin. "Don't say it. Don't say you don't see it. I'll show you."

His fingers trailed down her neck, feather-light, sending shivers rippling through her body. He shifted closer, his other hand finding her waist, pulling her into him until there was no space left between them. Her heart pounded as his gaze dropped to her lips, then lower, tracing the curve of her jaw, the dip of her collarbone, the swell of her chest. Everywhere he looked, she felt it—like fire licking at her skin.

"Drew..." Her voice trembled, barely above a whisper, but he silenced her with a kiss. Soft at first, almost questioning, as if he was giving her the chance to pull away. But when she didn't, when she kissed him back, something in him snapped. His hands moved with purpose, one cupping the back of her neck while the other slid down to grip her hip, holding her firmly against him.

He deepened the kiss, slow and deliberate, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her knees weak. She could feel the heat building between them, the way his body pressed into hers, hard and impatient. When he finally pulled away, she was breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to steady herself.

But Drew wasn't done.

His lips found her jaw next, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the sensitive column of her throat. She tilted her head back instinctively, giving him more access, a soft moan escaping her when his teeth grazed her skin.

"You taste so good," he groaned against her neck, his voice thick with desire. His hands moved to the hem of her shirt, fingers curling underneath the fabric as he paused, looking up at her with those piercing eyes. "Can I? Let me see you, baby. All of you."

She nodded, her cheeks heated up but her eyes locked on his, unwavering. In one swift motion, he tugged her shirt over her head, tossing it aside before his hands came to rest on her hips again. His gaze raked over her exposed skin, taking in every curve, every inch of her with a reverence that made her feel like she was something sacred.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice trembling. "Look at you... You're perfect." His hands slid up her sides, his touch firm yet gentle, like he was memorising her. "Every part of you... I want to worship it."

Her breath caught as he sank to his knees in front of her, his hands gripping her thighs as he pressed a kiss to her stomach. It was tender, almost reverent, but the look he gave her when he glanced up was anything but innocent. Heat burned in his eyes, dark and hungry, and it sent a thrill shooting through her.

"Drew..." His name fell from her lips like a prayer, her hands clawing at the sides of his face for anything to grip onto as he began to trail kisses lower, his lips brushing against the band of her pants. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, tugging them down slowly, his lips following the path they took until she was standing there in nothing but her bra and underwear.

His hands slid around to her ass, squeezing gently as he nuzzled against her stomach, pressing another kiss there. "So fucking gorgeous," he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. "I don't know how anyone could ever talk shit about you. You're a goddamn masterpiece."

She whimpered, her chest tightening as he continued his descent, kissing and nipping at her thighs, her hips, anywhere he could reach. His hands slid up her legs, pushing them apart as he settled between them, his face level with the apex of her thighs.

"Drew, please..." Her voice broke, her body trembling with anticipation as he looked up at her, his eyes locking onto hers. There was something raw and primal in his expression, something that made her stomach flip and her core ache with need.

"Tell me what you want," he said, his voice rough, husky, sending a jolt of electricity through her. "I'll give you anything. Everything."

She swallowed hard, her chest heaving as she struggled to form words. "I... I want you. All of you."

A slow smirk spread across his face, wicked and knowing, as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. "Then you've got me."

His mouth found her center, hot and insistent, and her knees nearly buckled as a loud moan tore from her throat. His tongue dragged along her slit, teasing, tasting, before delving deeper, burying itself in her folds with a groan that vibrated against her sensitive flesh.

"Oh my god..." Her head tipped back, her nails scraping against his scalp as he worked her over, his tongue flicking and circling her clit with expert precision. He alternated between long, languid strokes and quick, erratic flicks, driving her closer and closer to the edge with every movement.

"Drew, I—fuck, I'm—" Her words dissolved into incoherent gasps and whimpers as the pressure built, her hips rocking against his face as he devoured her. His hands gripped her thighs, keeping her steady as his tongue worked her relentlessly, each lick and suck bringing her closer to oblivion.

And then, just as she was about to tip over, he pulled away, leaving her teetering on the edge, desperate and aching. She cried out in frustration, her hands clutching at him as he stood, towering over her with a predatory grin.

"Not yet, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with arousal. He reached behind her, unhooking her bra and letting it fall to the floor. His hands immediately cupped her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, eliciting a sharp gasp from her. "I'm not done worshiping you."

He bent his head, capturing one nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting gently as his free hand drifted lower, slipping beneath the waistband of her underwear. She moaned loudly, her hips jerking forward as his fingers teased her entrance, circling but not quite entering.

"Drew, please..." Her voice was pleading, broken, her body writhing under his touch. He chuckled darkly, releasing her breast to kiss her deeply, his tongue plunging into her mouth as his fingers finally pushed inside her, stretching her deliciously.

"You're so wet for me," he growled against her lips, his fingers pumping in and out of her at a torturously slow pace. "Is this what you want? Hmm?" He added a third finger, curling them just right, and her entire body went taut, a strangled cry escaping her.

"Yes! Oh god, yes..." Her hands clawed at his shoulders, her hips rolling against his hand as he fucked her with his fingers, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. His thumb found her clit, rubbing tight circles that had her vision blurring, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps.

"Come for me, baby," he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly, sending a shiver down her spine. "Let me feel you."

And just like that, she shattered, her orgasm crashing over her in waves so intense she thought she might drown. Her cries echoed through the room as he held her through it, his fingers continuing to move inside her, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until she was boneless, trembling in his arms.

When he finally pulled his fingers free, she sagged against him, her legs barely able to support her weight. He caught her easily, his strong arms wrapping around her as he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

"See?" he murmured, his voice soft now, filled with affection. "Perfect."

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was such a sweet request, and i really hope it was exactly what you wanted anon !! i’m so sorry this is so late, but i’m trying to work through all my requests and i’m almost half way there :)

as a curvy gal myself, this was just so cathartic to write and i really hope others feel the same when reading this !! you’re all so so so gorgeous in your own ways and ily all sm <333

[pugh-bug]

Tease

Art Donaldson x reader

Part 1 of possibly 3

You’re Patrick’s unofficial girlfriend but Art Donaldson can only find it in him to care so much. You’re everything to him.

Warnings for this chapter: none

First fic of 2025, hope everyone’s January is going good. Let me know if you wanna be added to my Art tag list 🫶🏻

——————————————————————

Art’s life mission was to please you, it had been since you’d first met. It didn’t matter that you were Patrick’s on again off again ‘not really serious’ girlfriend and not his. It didn’t matter that you had plans to move away after graduation and would likely never return and it didn’t matter that he was supposed to be practising. With you near nothing else mattered.

“Why’d you stop?”

You cocked your head at your friend who didn’t look tired - in fact he’d barely broken a sweat - but wasn’t moving. Pat served again with a fresh ball, flashing you a ‘what’s with him?’ look which you shrugged at. Art caught the ball in his hand. “Just don’t feel like playing anymore.”

“Because I’m winning?” Pat grinned.

More than you know, Art thought in dismay. His best friend, his only true friend and yet he was harbouring feelings for you. Naively he’d assumed they’d disappear after a few dates with the many nice girls who asked him out between matches but nothing had worked. Not avoiding you entirely, not trying to see you in a bad light and certainly not sex. All he thought of when he made some girl cum was you: what you’d look like, how you’d taste and what your moans would sound like.

“Art? Help me carry this would you?”

He was tortured.

That Spring he trained almost daily with Patrick and a few other tennis friends winning half of his matches, always losing with you present. Once Spring turned to Summer the three of you were together everyday, you being in your gap year had free time, and everyone knew something was off. Even you knew after one particular game.

The sun was cooking the court and you found yourself surprised you could stand at all, let alone speak. It was Patrick’s turn to serve, he locked eyes with Art whose attention was on you and your unsteadiness.

Thwack

You watched with half lidded eyes as the pair battled it out for three sets. Your skin felt on fire, melting under the oppressive rays you couldn’t evade. Shade was out of reach. The water bottle in your hand felt cold for only moments before it heated in your sweaty palms. Patrick and Art were still playing but you only knew from the sounds. Your vision was blurring. Everything turned to static and the bench you were perching on no longer supported your body as it sank and sank and sank…

“Y/N!”

Were you underwater?

Who was speaking?

“Y/N wake up, it’s ArTh! Please wake up, can you stand - can you stand Y/N? Open your eyes. Please…”

Someone placed a bottle of ice water in your hand and something squishy, rounded off at the edges. You opened your eyes to see Patrick passing you fruit pastels whilst Art’s eyes checked you over for signs of life. The boy looked distraught, as if you hadn’t just fainted but instead had been hit by a truck or something more traumatic he didn’t want to imagine. Patrick frowned at his doubles partner, narrowing his eyes before rubbing your back and asking if you could stand. His voice was steady, he’d seen you faint before.

Once you’d downed some sprite and more sweets, you focused your eyes to see if they’d recovered. The buzzing, muffled sounds had ceased and Patrick and Art no longer looked miles away. You were okay. “Right,” Patrick exclaimed rather suddenly. “She’s fine, let’s just call that a draw.” Before you could interject Patrick pulled his friend to one side. What you then heard was whispered.

“Are you okay?”

They both shot you frantic glances you caught but pretended not to in the corner of your eye. Art looked at Patrick with glassy eyes, fearing the worst.

“Patrick I-“

“Can you control yourself?”

Art didn’t respond.

“Don’t get me wrong it’s entertaining and look…I get it but just chill out a bit.”

He flashed Art a charming smile and patted his shoulder. You didn’t have time to mull anything over much before the three of you were on your way out but one thing was clear: Art Donaldson was no friend.

——————————————————————

The following day you ran into Art whilst shopping, staring at the cheese aisle to calculate the best offer holding a lot of items. Too many. Your bare arms were coated in goosebumps from the intensity of the fridges’ air. He watched you and glanced round for a moment but saw no sign of Patrick.

“Y/N?”

You almost dropped the cheddar you were holding.

“Jesus Christ!”

Art had feather light footsteps, it was a gift for tennis and apparently also sneaking around. His eyes were wide at your reaction but he quickly adapted a facial expression that better suited talking to someone he adored. “Sorry.”

You exhaled deeply, returning your attention to the aisle of cheese. “We should get you a bell.” Art blushed at the immediate image of you adorning him with a collar and using it to pull his face towards yours.

“Art?”

He looked out of it - he was out of it.

“Should have gotten a trolley…” You mumbled, struggling to hold everything. At your words Art snapped into action, marching all the way to the entrance to fetch you the cleanest trolley available. He came back with an eager look on his face which you were growing fonder of every-time you saw it. “Thanks,” you smiled, a laugh playing on your lips.

Art stayed by your side, despite having only wanted a cereal bar, for your entire shop. He placed any item you looked at in the trolley for you and he pushed it tirelessly when it got heavy. Never patronising but always helpful. You tried your hardest not to take pleasure in his incessant helpfulness but failed. Especially when he paid.

“Art no, it’s my food I’m paying.”

Unconvinced, Art swiped his own card and bagged your groceries for you with the intensity of someone late for a wedding. Your lips parted at the sight, you were no longer breathing through your nose.

“Where are you parked?”

He followed you, bags in hand, to your humble Fiesta at the end of the lot. It wasn’t until he’d finished placing each one into your trunk that you offered him a lift home. “Or wherever you’re going.” Art was supposed to be going to a house warming party but he was already late.

“Yeah just going home, no plans today.”

His phone vibrated, flashing with messages of ‘where are you’s and question marks but he ignored each one to ask what your plans were. “Movie night. Patrick said maybe a Scream marathon.” Your eyes were fixated on the silent road in front of you whilst Art found himself wishing there’d be traffic. His mind played images of Pat sitting beside you, arm snaked around your waist and a sultry look in his eye. He tried not to picture the two of you clinging to each other, sharing popcorn and the occasional kiss that might turn into more. He tried and tried and tried.

Truthfully the three of you only ever spent time apart when Patrick was missing…certain aspects of his relationship with you. Everything else you did together, including movie marathons. Art spent the entire red light wondering if he was allowed to come now he’d ruthlessly cancelled his own plans.

“You into scary movies?” You asked, eyes shifting from the old lady at the crossing to the cyclist hurtling past. Every movie marathon the three of you had had covered every genre but horror, even on Halloween when Pat insisted you watch ‘The Meg’. It had ‘big shark’ as he had so eloquently put it.

“Not massively.”

Art didn’t want to tell you how easily scared he was, especially by the supernatural. It wasn’t that he believed in ghosts and demons as such but the idea of an otherworldly being that wouldn’t conform to physics terrified him. How could you defeat something not bound to logic? When his friends had made him watch ‘It’ he’d had to leave the theatre early. Clowns on top of his psychological fears had been too much to sit through.

“We weren’t gonna watch anything disturbing.”

Art watched you watching the road and smiled, suddenly feeling hopeful. “Like I said I have no plans.”

——————————————————————

1 hour into ‘It: Chapter 2’ you found yourself slumped against the cushions with Patrick’s shoulder digging into one arm and Art’s knee against yours. None of you had paying much attention, just talking and shovelling in popcorn at record speeds when Pat exclaimed “Fuck!”

He jumped off the sofa like a spooked cat and raced to his bedroom before returning with his keys. “I was supposed to cat sit for James I was meant to be there an hour ago. Shit!” Art raised an eyebrow, wondering when Patrick had last done anything for James that wasn’t beating him at tennis.

“Keys, wallet…”

As you watched your boyfriend grabbing tirelessly at every object in the room Art focused on how close the two of you now were without him.

“Bye!”

Door slam

“Jesus…” You breathed, trying to take in the chaos of what had just happened. “I hope they’re not too hungry when he gets there.” They Art thought, having no idea what animals James even owned. He chewed on the inside of his mouth as you took a swig of water. “I can’t imagine having cats at our age,” You played with a piece of hair that was hanging in the wrong place. “It’s like having an actual kid.”

“You don’t want kids?”

“Patrick doesn’t.”

Art took in your solemn expression for a moment, before leaning closer to you.

“And what do you want?”

Your throat felt blocked as you struggled to swallow a breath. How long had it been since you’d been asked that? Relationships were so difficult for you. Not only did you entangle yourself so disastrously with anyone who showed interest but you rarely separated your needs from theirs. You thought back to your parents questioning why on earth you were taking a gap year after always saying you knew exactly what career and degree you wanted. Patrick, it was always Patrick. His apartment, his University, his interests and his tennis dreams.

“I know it’s not really my place-“

“It isn’t.”

You’d said it without thinking and your voice, in an attempt to conceal the emotion, had sounded harsh. Cold. Art retreated into himself, turning the movie volume up to fill the room with something other than his regret.

He left as soon as it finished.

Patrick ended up cat sitting for three consecutive days that month, leaving you lost. It wasn’t that you missed his jokes, his kisses or even his company as much as you missed someone filling the silence. You hadn’t heard from Art since he’d left post credits. No texts or missed calls.

Like an unplugged appliance you dragged yourself uselessly from one shop to the other not buying anything. Aimless, directionless like you so often were. You cursed yourself for not having made more of your own friends, instead of absorbing Patrick’s to keep him happy. When it grew dark you swallowed your pride.

Hey are you busy?

Delivered 9:48pm

What’s wrong?

Delivered 9:52pm

You stared at Pat’s empty apartment, the unwashed dishes, the pile of recycling and the black screens playing nothing.

Bored

Delivered 9:53pm

The fridge groaned in tune with your stomach. There was nothing good in either.

Wanna come over?

Pizza?

Delivered 9:54pm

I’ll be there

Delivered 9:55pm

——————————————————————

Masterlist

Permanent Art taglist: @theynothem @amorisxx

[hyperbali]

2, 7, 10, 16 for Deja/Emmrich

Been so damn long since I actually posted any art that I knew I needed to do doodles for this ask meme!

This was the one with the Rook & Partner questions. I'm open to more for Deja and Emmrich or [bard] and Lucanis

2. When does the partner realize that they're in love with Rook?

Dejana tends to keep to herself most of the time - this was the case even with the Mourn Watch, which was part of why her background seemed to be made of such fantastical and mysterious rumors, since everyone just speculated. She has what most would call a resting bitch face. (Emmrich tries to just call it... stoicism.)

When the group starts the book club, though, they learn that Deja tends to emote... a lot.... when she reads. She'll laugh, or gasp, or groan, or cry - stories seem to tap into a part of her and break down that placid wall, even just for a little while.

And Emmrich really likes what he sees.

7. Are they a physically affectionate couple? Are they fine displaying those affections in public or do they prefer to be in private? If they're not, how do they prefer to show their love instead?

Emmrich was a little worried about possibly being too overbearing, especially when Deja seemed to get so shy whenever he so much as held her hand - and they have to dance around the subject a bit before she finally admits that even though she gets flustered, she does like it when he's affectionate with her. He's more than happy to oblige.

In other regards, she's... a little more daring.

10. Do they have any nicknames for each other? Who uses terms of endearment more?

Yes, and naturally it's poetic romantic Emmrich.

16. How did your Rook react to getting trapped in the Fade and separated from their partner?

Well, obviously it was bad. They'd just had that awful fight before they left for the battle, and she'd stopped him before he could properly apologize because she didn't want to get into it in front of the others, and then...

So yes, there's that, but being trapped in the Fade also brings her face-to-face with not only her own regrets, but those of the shade of Flemeth that's been holding on since she was a preteen. And one of those regrets was... trying to take hold of the mind of a young girl who'd wandered off into an ancient ruin by herself.

That girl's name wasn't Ingellvar, it was Amell. She wasn't abandoned and alone, she had family that loved her--

Don't go off on your own, Dejana!

Be careful with magic you don't understand, Dejana!

There are monsters out there in the gloom, Dejana...

Deja, where did you go?

Deja, what have you done?

[kirain]

Do I dare ask for Rook and Manfred mourning Emmrich's death together?

Well, that hurts.

Manfred perched on the windowsill, his skeletal form listless as the cool breeze whistled through the house. Outside, beneath the sprawling oak tree, Vae sat alone on a bench—a marble loveseat that Emmrich had commissioned for her long ago. The crisp air tugged at the hem of her shawl, and her head hung low, the odd strand of grey framing her face like echoes of time passed. She'd always loved autumn; her favourite season, but she didn't seem to notice the beauty surrounding her.

She hadn't for months.

Manfred's gemstone eyes reeled as they caught the glint of silver in her hair. Emmrich. The name whirled in his mind, a storm of longing and warmth. He missed him—his patience, his steady presence, his irreverent charm—but he knew Vae missed him more. They shared a type of love he hadn't yet experienced. Yet, he understood it.

With a reverent chirp, he dropped to the ground, his joints clacking faintly as he hurried into the house—the place where the three of them had lived, loved, and built something whole. It had been decades since the Veilguard disbanded, yet the evidence of their happiness lingered in every corner.

Vae and Emmrich, huddled together at the first snowfall, dancing in the lounge after a victorious battle, sharing stolen kisses under the moonlight—and through it all their friends had come to visit as often as they could, supplementing their joy. He wanted to see her like that again. He wanted to see her smile. Truly smile. Not the strained rictus she wore now, pretending she was fine for his sake.

He knew it wasn't real. It was painful.

As he moved through the parlour, his gaze drifted to the corner of the rug, its edges forever singed from his days as an apprentice.

"Go on, Manfred," Emmrich's voice cheered, vibrant as ever. "You're progressing marvellously. Let's try a small flame this time."

From the kitchen, Vae's familiar admonishment rang out. "Not in the house, Emmrich!"

"It'll be fine!" he insisted, leaning forward with an encouraging grin. "Let's show her how capable you've become, yes?"

Manfred remembered the surge of pride as he hissed playfully and conjured a spark. But the spark had grown—too fast, too wild. Flames caught the bottom of his coat, leaping to the edge of the rug.

"Concentrate, Manfred. Pull it back," Emmrich said, his calm tone masking his rising concern.

Manfred flailed in panic, the fire refusing his control.

"Oh, dear..."

Emmrich darted for a bucket of water, shouting reassurances, just as Vae rushed in, rattled by the sound. Her eyes widened at the sight of flames and chaos, but when the fire was finally doused and the two looked up at her, soaked and sheepish, she only laughed.

"It's a good thing Manfred doesn't have skin!" she teased.

Manfred sighed, his bony chest fluttering as if he could breathe. The memory faded, but its emotion lingered, urging him forward.

Soon, he padded into Emmrich's study, the air heavy with the scent of parchment and pleasant traces of cologne. Of all the rooms in the house, this one was unmistakably his—an embodiment Vae hadn't seen fit to empty. As he moved deeper, Manfred's bony fingers skimmed the spines of books and tomes that Emmrich had once cherished, but never finished.

He ran out of time.

When Manfred reached the desk, still buried under endless papers on necromancy and the complexities of reanimation, he opened a drawer and pulled out a small handheld mirror, which Emmrich kept hidden inside.

"A gentleman must always look his best," he used to say. "If you can't disarm your enemy with weapons, do so with poise." He would then place a hand on Manfred's shoulder. "And to those who aren't your enemy, it shows that you care."

Slowly, the solemn skeleton reached for a feathered quill, dipped it into the ink well, and, staring at his reflection, drew two lines under his absent nose. When he was finished, he tilted his head, admiring his work.

Perfect.

He headed for the door, but as he reached for the handle, he caught sight of Emmrich's lilac coat—another memento Vae clung to, even though he'd stopped wearing it long before he passed, his body too frail to bear it. It hung loosely on its hook, pale and tattered, yet alluring. Almost beckoning. With a nostalgic hum, Manfred slipped it on, the fabric swallowing his wiry frame, but it was enough.

Enough to feel the presence of his father.

-----

Vae hadn't moved, her fingers idly tracing the veins of a fallen leaf in her lap. The sharp scent of autumn filled her lungs, mingling with the ache in her heart. A tear rolled down her cheek, unbidden, as she whispered to the wind, "I promised I wouldn't mourn you like this... but I miss you so much, my love. I now understand what you were so afraid of."

A faint rustle made her glance up. Manfred emerged from the house, stumbling slightly as the coat trailed behind him, dragging across the grass. Vae blinked, her sorrow briefly forgotten as she took in the sight. Emmrich's refined mannerisms mimicked with uncanny precision, the hastily drawn moustache, the determined tilt of his skull—it was adorable.

"Manfred," she said, half-laughing despite herself. "What in the world are you doing?"

Without a word, he raised his hands, the oversized sleeves flopping comically. With a flick of his wrist, green sparkles erupted into the air, swirling around them like fireflies.

Vae's breath hitched, a fond but distant memory rekindled.

The Lighthouse. Emmrich's confession. The way the glow of his magic illuminated his face as he fumbled over his words, his cheeks burning. "If your attentions go beyond charming flattery... that would interest me, indeed."

Where it all started.

The lights danced around her, the same as they had that day. Bliss and despair warred within her, tears welling in her eyes even as a smile broke through. Slowly, she stood, her hand reaching out to touch the shimmering glow. And for a moment, she could have sworn she felt Emmrich reaching back.

Then, the lights faded.

Manfred stepped closer, taking her hand in his own and pressing it to his chest. His voice, usually a hollow rasp, came smooth and tender. "Emmrich is here."

Vae's lip quivered, her fingers trembling against his ribs. "I know," she wept, her voice breaking.

She wrapped her arms around him, the weight of her grief lifting as they held each other under the setting sun.

[kowbelll]

Mollified

Word count: 799

Note: The beginning of this is kind of sad, so I apologize, but I did my best to make the ending fluffy because that's what everyone decided on (in this poll). I can't tell if this sucks... I tried though, so oh well.

Feeling his body tremble from his soft sobs was devastating. Every tear that fell was another crack in her broken heart. She wished she knew what to do or say to make it all better for her sweet Stiles. 

It had been a long, grueling week, particularly for him. Between attending school, playing lacrosse, battling the supernatural, being a good, and supporting his girlfriend, he couldn’t find the time to process emotions, and resorted to shoving them downward instead. This was a horrible habit he knew he had, but Stiles didn’t try to break it because he didn’t know how to address it. There was always something more important he had to do. 

So, he was back where he was every few weeks, laying stomach-down on his girlfriend’s bed with his face buried into lap as he finally let himself feel. Exhaustion, frustration, disappointment, sadness, and hopelessness poured out of his soul, nearly drowning him.  

She did everything she could to soothe his tense muscles and labored breathing – combing her fingers through his already disheveled hair, rubbing his back and shoulder blades, and whispering the insufficient words of comfort that came to mind – but this was out of both of their control. Although, he did feel a sense of safety with his face pressed against her thighs, as if it was a shelter for his tears.  

All he could do was ride out the episode, a necessary evil to reset himself and empty that jar in the dark corner of his heart that was reserved for emotions he didn’t want or couldn’t be bothered with. Unfortunately, this ride was not on a clear path, but rather one with ups and downs, and bumps and twists. Some points were much more intense and painful, while others were softer and sadder. Time was unidentifiable.  

Eventually, his torment faded away and his usually light gradually began to fill him again. She gave him the time he needed to completely calm down and regain his strength, so Stiles stayed where he was while his breathing evened out and his heartbeat returned to a normal pace. He was grateful that her soft gestures continued on. It was truly astonishing that she never ceased, showing her patience and dedication to him with every movement.  

Suddenly, he lifted his head up to look into her eyes with his swollen red ones. “Do you want to go get some ice cream?” 

Of all things, she was not expecting this. She stared back at him with confusion, questioning his sanity yet again. “What? Right now?” she managed to say. 

“Yeah,” he responded simply, sniffling. 

“Um... I mean, yeah, we can, but are you ok?” She was clearly still concerned; who wouldn’t be after everything she just witnessed seconds ago? 

He sniffled again before speaking again. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Let’s go get some ice cream.” A little smile began growing on his lips, causing the same to happen to his girlfriend. 

“Alright, but Stiles-” 

“I’ll be absolutely perfect as soon as you let me buy us some ice cream, ok?” he insisted as he sat up right in front of her. 

“Wait, no, you can’t pay.” 

“And why’s that?”  

“Because I’m taking care of you tonight.” She scowled just slightly at his smirk. 

“No, you already did take care of me,” he persisted, leaning in kiss her lips gently. “It’s my turn now, and I want ice cream.” 

She was flustered, very flustered, but couldn’t say no to him, especially after his kiss. So, she reluctantly gave in. “Fine. But are you sure you’re ok? Do you need to talk about anything?” 

Stiles was already getting up and putting his hand out for her to take, helping her up. “Maybe on the way we can chat a little, but seriously, I’m good. All thanks to you.” 

Smiling, he pulled her closer by her waist. It wasn’t fair that he knew exactly how to make her melt. He had complete control over her in a hypnotizing way, and she loved it. She couldn’t explain it with words, but she was addicted to his, well, everything. 

After a lovely drive and a bit of chatting, Stiles bought them they’re favorite ice cream, as promised, and they enjoyed it between more kisses while sitting in the Jeep. As much as he loved treats, she was his favorite treat of all. 

“You’re delicious, you know that?” 

“Shut up, you weirdo.” 

“I can see you blushing. It might be dark outside, but I can still see it. Don’t be ashamed of how delicious you are.” 

“Stiles, I will throw your cone out of this window right now if you don’t shut the hell up.” 

“Ha! I’d like to see you try.” 

And just like that, Stiles was back to his normal, whacky self. 

[sodascribbles]

YEAR OF THE ECHIDNA - COMMUNICATION

@year-of-the-echidna

contains: knuckles being stubborn. allusions to injuries but nothing graphic. knuckles show references.

relationships: knuckles & wade. knuckles & tom & maddie

characters: knuckles, wade, tom, and maddie.

1 of 2

read on ao3 here!

. . .

"Hi, Tom!" Wade chirps, not nearly as nervous as he should be. If Maddie had answered the door, blood would have been shed. "I know, I know!" Wade takes a step back, hands raised, smile sheepish. "I don't want to come inside or anything. Maddie would kill me and then kill me again.

"I, um, just wanted to know how Knuckles was doing?"

"Still grounded," Tom hums. "Spends most of his time on the 'floor of shame.'"

"How's he healing up?" Wade's face pinches, somewhere between guilt and sympathy. "Bet he's still pretty sore."

"...What? Sore from— healing?!" Well, Wade was right. Maddie's gonna kill him and then kill him again. Tom scrubs a hand down his face. "Wade," he says. Is he angry? Is he just exhausted? He couldn't tell you.

"From the, um, fight with the Buyer guy?" The deputy physically sort of curls inward under the weight of the conversation. "That I assume he told you about? Because he was pretty badly hurt and Maddie's a vet? But that I'm now learning it doesn't look like he did?"

Tom breathes in slowly. He breathes out slowly. He leans back and hollers, "Knuckles!"

"Okay, babe," Tom says, before even a 'hello,' in a tone that has a pit in Maddie's stomach. "This is going to make you really mad. Are you busy?"

"No," she responds, hissing a breath. "What's wrong?"

"It's Knuckles—"

"Tell me he did not sneak out again."

"He didn't sneak out again. No, he's with me. We're on the way." Tom makes a little humming, considering sound. On their way to the clinic? "Wade was telling me about Reno."

"What happens in Reno stays in Reno," Knuckles grumbles.

"Yeah, yeah. Apparently he, uh— was hurt. Roughed up by some guy that wanted to use his power."

"I recovered!" Something thumps. Maddie imagines her son in the front seat with his arms thrown up, exasperated. "I was hardly wounded!"

"Knowing you," she cuts in, moving to set up a room for him, "'hardly wounded' could mean missing an arm."

"I have both arms."

She sighs. "I'm glad, baby. Tom, any idea how bad it is?"

Tom sucks on his teeth, wincing. "He was out cold for a couple minutes. Got thrown through a wall. Wade didn't know everything," he pauses, "or, uh, didn't tell me everything."

"Wade was battling his father."

Maddie has never been more exhausted in her life. Knuckles could be bleeding out in the attic and he wouldn't say a word. Why couldn't he ever just tell them anything? Why wouldn't he just trust them, for once?

She doesn't say anything for a long moment. "Okay," she mumbles into her hands. "Okay. Knuckles, can you tell me how bad it is? I wanna help, baby."

Knuckles huffs out a little sigh. "It is a four."

Oh. Oh, it's bad. Knuckles has never willingly reported anything higher than a two. Tails had once called something 'the most painful sting in the galaxy' and Knuckles had scoffed and called it a one-and-a-half. A four was unheard of.

She swallows thickly. "What happened?"

He is slow to respond, the sounds of the road filling the silence through her phone. He eventually mumbles, "I was drained of my power. I have since recovered, obviously, and my oaths are in no jeopardy!

"But I spent... a significant time unconscious." Almost in afterthought, he hums, "I believe I was thrown through a wall."

"You— you believe you were?" Maddie's gonna kill him. And kill Wade. And kill whoever hurt him.

"I don't exactly recall." Knuckles pauses. "I assure you, Healer Maddie, I am fine!"

She formulates a mental list. Unconsciousness and memory loss pointed toward a concussion. What did being drained of power entail? He said he had recovered, but had he? Did he create more power? What other injuries came from being thrown through a wall?

"Okay," Maddie says, holding her voice steady. "Okay, sweetie. I've got a room ready for you. There's almost nobody here, so you don't have to be worried about a crowd. I'm gonna hang up now, okay?"

"That is acceptable," Knuckles gruffly responds. She hangs up and rests her head on her table. It's gonna be a long day.

[serenaofthealps]

That one episode be like

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

One of my favorite things that happened during my last mage Hawke playthrough was during the final battle against Meredith. Everything's going well. We're kicking her ass, she's got just this much health left, we're so close... but then everyone gets stunned dizzy.

Hawke is stumbling around all confused, seeing stars. The rest of his companions are stunned. I'm annoyed because I just want to end this fight. Don't know how or who did it, probably Meredith, but the situation's dire.

Meredith's standing by herself at the center of the Gallows, shouting nonsense and smugly believing the Maker's going to come down and make her his new bride after she murdered a bunch of innocent people.

Truly, this is the part of the story where Varric says they all thought hope was lost, that in the end, Meredith would pull a fast one on us and claim victory...

Until the REAL hero of dragon age 2 comes storming at her. I don't know why Carver was the only one to not be affected, but he literally jumped out of no where and just started bashing Meredith with his sword while everyone else was too dizzy to do anything until she was dead and the cutscene played.

"Hawke defeated Meredith-" LIES, VARRIC. I know the truth! I was there! Hawke didn't do shit! Carver Hawke was the main character all along! He got shit done and Varric gave Hawke all the credit!

I bring this up because last night I finished my warrior Hawke run and when we got to the fight with Meredith, I kind of hoped the same thing would happen where Bethany dashed in all heroic and got the killing blow on Meredith.

She did not.

She got squished by a statue.

But it's fine, Bethany Hawke was the true main character in my heart.

[dandelion-wings]

just read a delightful OT3 story in another fandom involving hot baths and massages, and now I am directly yoinking a bunch of its beats so I can tell myself a bedtime story about Lisa and Kaeya bullying Jean into a hot bath and massages. 10/10, do recommend

[lewiscarrolatemybrain]

I HAVE DADANBEARD PROPOGANDA

The real lynchpin in all of it is Ace, and Dadan and Whitebeard's wildly different experiences with/approaches to parenthood.

Whitebeard obviously intended to build a family for himself right from the start, he was willing to adopt the kids who needed him and thus he did exactly that. He has found purpose and joy in fatherhood.

in contrast, Dadan very much did not intend to become a mother, least of all to fucking Gold Roger's son. She struggled to take care of Ace in the beginning, and by the time she might have started to hit her stride Ace had closed off, and neither of them were able to connect with the other in any real way until the fire. But Dadan loves the shit out of Ace and his brothers.

I think there's a lot of really interesting avenues to explore there regarding Dadan's experience in raising Ace, particularly through the lens of the trauma of motherhood, and I think Whitebeard could be a really big influence in the two of them finally working through the lingering issues they have and admitting that they do see each other as mother and son. I also think that Whitebeard would respect a woman who ran into a fire and swung an axe at a pirate to protect her boys, even though Dadan is very not cut out for the kind of battles the Whitebeards regularly get into. That's fine. Dadan doesn't want to be that kind of crazy fighter, and she doesn't pretend to be.

I can picture Dadan resolutely refusing to admit she finds Whitebeard funny and charming and Whitebeard absolutely taking it as a challenge. He makes a joke and she cracks a tiny little "Pfft--" and he fucking WHIPS his head around to stare at her but she's white-knuckling her own knees to keep her poker face in place she absolutely will not give him the satisfaction of seeing her laugh. Whitebeard could encourage Dadan to bond with her son and support her strength and tenacity and give her an outlet to occasionally explore and find joy in her feminity and I think he would just be a wonderful partner for her genuinely. It's a little harder to see the inverse only because Whitebeard leads such a fulfilled life by his own standards that it's hard to imagine he feels his lack of romantic partner is an issue really but I guess therein is where the beauty stems from, because he isn't looking for a mother for his children or even really a life partner, Dadan wouldn't want to fulfil those roles and he wouldn't want her to, instead his attraction to Dadan would be built off the simple selfishness of enjoying her company and thinking she's pretty and wanting to spend more time with her, purely for the sake of it. I think it would be a very cozy kind of love for Whitebeard, which is something he doesn't get as the father, the leader, the rock people lean on. With Dadan he gets to be just Edward Newgate.

Also all the Whitebeard Pirates react to Whitebeard putting the moves on Dadan like hey good for you pops you still got it but Ace sees this happen and scREECHES

One Piece Crack Ship War - Round 3 Side H

'Dad shipping' art by @wdthl-shipart

North Blue Polycule edit made by @fivedayslater

Propaganda under the cut.

Dad shipping:

1. It would be funny. 2. They're Ace's parents. 3. Dadan would totes badmouth Whitebeard and he'd be impressed.

Thats Ace’s mom and dad right there.

North Blue polycule: No one understands North Blue Boy Angst better than the other North Blue Boys with their own flavor of North Blue Boy Angst.

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

.

[saaltskies]

i went to bed right after finishing the epilogue but i am now awake and can put my silly little rant here

[waywardsalt]

now bc of that one post abt zelda getting fridged whenever that one guy directs a zelda game im thinking abt tetra just getting turned to stone in ph and like. what would it have been like if she were an actual character in ph. what would she have done how would this have changed the story