#The current situation was NOTHING like it was then

[tan1shere]

My Winner

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: This is how we cope ladies and no gentlemen. Enjoy my loves <3

Summary: after the grammys, Billie finds a way to forget. But you find it hard. Knowing that nothings truly ok. (You'll see.)

Warnings: angst, but heavy on the comfort I promise <3 reader has anxiety so mentions of that

Tags: @trulyy-yourzz @eilishslut @chrissv4mp @n0vabug @dollyvuu @dollarbils @sweetcherriexs

^comment if you want to be added^

Masterlist

What an anxiety filled night. It was nearing the end. The grammys. You know, the big event that always either turns someone's life around or ruins it. You had been anxious all day, surprisingly Billie wasn't. She was so excited to just be there. Happy to be with you especially. But you knew as soon as you took your seats she was masking how anxious she was.

The red carpet was full of stars, full of heaps of people you didn't know either. There was always something about your anxiety, and ever since you had the hunch that your anxiety could always tell you if somethings up, you've been listening to that hunch heavily. Billie also knew of this, but you tried keeping extra quiet currently. If she knew you were anxious that'd set her into a complete state of worry. Knowing you seem to get this way when something is up later on. You couldn't let her get anxious about the night. You hold her hand, walking along as photographers took your photos.

You were next to Finneas and Claudia also, Finn spotting your anxiousness in seconds. You really thought you were hiding it better. He pokes your arm as an interviewer talks to Billie. "Hey whats up?" You look up at him. "What do you mean?" His brow raises. "I've known you for how many years now? Don't bullshit me what's up?" His hand rubs your arm, you grab it softly removing it. "I-" You sigh. "Ok, I'm really anxious for today, I have this odd feeling. I don't want her to see me like this though. She's enjoying herself and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Y/n." - "Please don't say anything." He's now the one to sigh. "Fine, but if she notices something is up, tell her. You know she always worries about you." You nod. "I know I know, just want her happy." He gives you a soft smile, kissing the top of your head. It was nice, he was always so brotherly towards you, you always wanted an older brother. "Like I told her, if we don't win anything it'll be ok." He pipes up. You were about to say, everything about the fact she deserves this though, she has a great right to earn this achievement. But you stay quiet, knowing he is right. You just want what's best for her. Knowing she's always so gracious.

She walks back over to you guys. "Hey, it's almost time to go, you ready?" You nod at her, giving her a smile. As she leads you out with such excitement, you look back at Finneas. He gives you a reassuring nod. Settling some nerves within you. Your mind talks as you get there, finding your seat and such. Telling yourself that this will all be ok. If it doesn't turn out good, you can be there for her. Give her encouragement, telling her she did amazing regardless- "Hello, earth to Y/n." She says standing infront of you. You snap out of your trance. "Hm?" She giggles at you. "Silly cutie." The name eases everything within you, looking into her eyes.

"I said here are our seats." She beams. You sit down, watching everyone else do so. "You excited to perform baby?" You smile sweetly at her. She smiles back. "Hell yeah. I mean a little bit nervous but this is honestly second nature to me now. I'm pumped." You could see how genuinely happy she was. It sooths everything you had previously been worried about.

But not for long, when they were up there singing your chest feels heavy, ignoring it like usual, even not in this situation you enjoy your girlfriends performance. But it doesn't go unnoticed by Claudia. "Babe, you alright?" You turn to her. Her comforting tone makes you let go for a moment. "Im still worried, I don't even know why I said in my mind whatever happens it'll be ok." She places her hand on your shoulder. "I think you're more worried about this than her." You lower your head. "I know." Sighing, but Claudia gets you to look at her. "And that's fine I hope you know, you care so much about her. It's really sweet." You felt teary. "I just want her growing more, this place can be a bit.. stingy." She laughs.

"Yep, don't we all know it." She goes to wipe one tear, but you stop her. "It's best if I get then out now so I won't- just in case of anything." The two if you share a laugh, it felt nice. Considering you usually talk to Billie about your anxiety. But that was off limits right now. You pay attention to her again, feeling calmer after your talk with Claud. Vibing to the music, less stressed. But now the roles were reversed. As the categories she was nominated for go on she seemingly is off, not as bubbly as before. But she puts up a front. "That's ok there's heaps more." You reassure her. She turns to you and smiles, wrapping an arm around you. "I'm so glad you're here." Your eyes flutter shut. "Glad I could be here baby." Her grip on you tightens a bit. And it makes you worried.

Nonetheless you push that down, you wanted to be strong for her. Be there for her. You rub her back going to sit back up as more people come to perform.

Billie was off taking some photos, you spotted her loosening up again, enjoying herself. You just thank whatever. Happy she's not as worried. You though, your anxiety was starting to come back. Little did you know it was all for a different reason. Because as soon as that last nomination comes round you didn't feel as worried, your anxiety was still present but it was for something you couldn't put your finger on. The last one was called and as they spoke, you immediately look at Billie, not hearing her name. Feeling devastated but ready to comfort. Your hand lands on her shoulder.

Noticing her eyes glaze over. You weren't expecting that to be quite honest. I mean sure upset, but it catches you off guard. You gently kiss her cheek. "You're amazing. You're my winner." And it's like she flips some sort of switch, smiling at you. But not saying a word. Odd. She claps like the rest, standing up, randomly seeming different from her state a few seconds ago. You saw it though, you knew she wasn't ok. The flip so fast, it couldn't possibly be all alright. The night ends and you all leave, getting in her car in silence. It was worrying you more. You go to speak but she does before you. "Let's go to Paris."

Your head turns towards her faster than anything. "Billie- what?" You were struck with confusion. "Let's go, get away. I know you've been talking about wanting to go for months, years even. Let's do it." You were at a loss of words. "Baby, you have tour this month, not to mention it's going to take us half a day to fly over there." She shrugs. "Yeah, but tours not until the 18th we have plenty of time." You had zero clue on what to say. "Billie-" You say concerned. She knew you were going to say something so she speaks. "Come onnn let's be spontaneous. Let's get out of here. We can go home and pack or I can just buy you whatever when we are there."

To say the least you were overwhelmed. Turning your head, looking infront of you as she drives. You tossed with the decision. Maybe it would be cool to get away. You suspected she didn't want to talk about anything tonight, so you'd leave it for a few days. "What do you say huh?" She seemed too pumped, it made your worries linger. "Yeah, sure. Let's do it." - "Yes! That's what I like to hear."

You had packed things that you'd need. But it wasn't distracting you from the events of tonight. Not like it is seeming to do with Billie. "Have you told Finn or Maggie and such yet?" She shakes her head. "Nope, it'll be fineee." That set your stomach on edge. No it wouldn't, you always kept in contact. "Better yet as soon as we get there lets put our phones on flight mode!" She goes to grab your zipped up suitcase. You let out a sigh. "Letsgooo." She says, heading for the door. "Baby." You then say, and she freezes. "Leave something?" She looks at you avoiding everything that leads to tonight. Talking, comforting. Crying.

Maybe she needed this, needed to forget, you keep to your word of doing so in a few days. "Nope, just wanted to say I love you." You smile. She comes over to kiss you. "I, love. You. Right to Paris we go!" This could potentially be fun now the moments sinked in, and you had been wanting to go for quite some time. You follow her out the door heading onto your travels.

Sitting and waiting for the flight, in a silence. Again. But it truthfully didn't last long, almost as if she didn't want to be left with her thoughts. "Ok, let's turn our phones off." You were a bit hesitant. But maybe that'll also make the trip more fun. Just with one another, enjoying the moment. You grab your phone going to do so, noticing she had posted a photo on her story of the airport. You decide to keep quiet, thinking on if this whole thing really was a good idea. You hand her your phone. "It's off." She smiles. "So is mine." You tap your your foot, moving your knee feeling that anxiety coming back. Oh. This is what your body was telling you earlier...

This.

It was 20 minutes away. You had taken a nap, had some food. Billie? None of that, they brought food around but she insisted on you having it. Making your heart tighten. Feeling so wrong still. Nor had she been asleep for all of those nearly 15 hours, staying up all day and night. It wasn't good. "Hey look at the sunshine." She points out the window. You turn your head, seeing it. Then everything floats past you. "Wow." You say amazed. You had always dreamed of coming here. It's just now set in that it's a reality. "That's, the Eiffel Tower!" You beam with excitement. "Sure is." It was beautiful. All the buildings. You smile contently.

When you land and get out, you're greeted by people with their beautiful accents. "bonjour!" Someone greets. You smile, having had practiced a tiny bit of French. "Salut!" They smile at you. "Wait you can speak French?" You nod. "Just a little. Told you this was my dream." You both smile at one another. "You're going to love our hotel room then! Looking right at the Eiffel Tower." You open your mouth. "A- wha- are you serious?" She nods, smiling more. "Oh my god!" And her plan was slowly working, not for too much longer when you figure it out though.

You arrive at the hotel, settling in. "This is breathtaking." You go out on the balcony. "Is this even real I feel like I'm in a movie." She comes out with you. "Very real my love." Then it strikes you on why she's doing this- But her mind was quicker than your own. "You see the tower there?" She points, making your mind distract as you look. "Got us a table at the restaurant there." You're shocked. "What?! How?" She smirks. "I have my ways." You laugh at her. "Say, why dont we go shopping just in time for tonight?" You nod, going to go for a pee.

She sighs a little. "Back on track." Her eyes wander off to the scenery, taking it all in.

Shopping was heaps of fun, all the pretty clothes, all the beautiful sights. But almost all of these were too expensive. "Maybe we could just-" Billie grabs the handful you were about to put back, putting it near the till. "Why don't you get those shoes you liked!" You stood there for a moment. "Billie.. Those are so much I-" "Nonsense, go go!" It took you a second to snap you out of, well honestly. None of this felt real. Then that heaviness returns to your chest. When you go to protest she had already paid for it. Shoes and all. "Baby I-" Her finger waves in your face.

The reality truly hit you. She was distracting you, she was avoiding everything. She goes to pick up the shoes heading out. You trot after her. "Can we-" "Oou let's go find a cute Cafe!" Your brows lift upwards, sewing together. Your worries were starting to fly right back. But she takes your hand as you go off to do whatever.

This was far from normal. You were getting ready, doing your makeup but you can't shake the feeling of the past 24+ hours. You felt like your mind was going to explode. You had to talk to her, you couldn't wait another day. You walk out of the bathroom, dress on and everything noticing she was dressed up to. You had nearly forgotten the topic that you wanted to discuss. "Uhm, babe?" You say, she turns around, jaw dropping. "Woah." You swallow. "Are you ready? You sure look it oh my god." You walk over to her. "Can we talk for a second?" She knew exactly what was about to come. "We don't want to be late, I made the reservation for 7." She goes to leave but you grab her arm.

"Baby-" She sighs. "I'm getting a bit peckish, are you?" She was avoiding it like the plague. You wait a moment. "Yeah, sure." She smiles, kissing your cheek. "Sweet!" And so it went on, you get to the beautiful and iconic tower, mesmerized. "Oh wow it's beautiful." She grabs your hand. "Not as beautiful as you." You stare lovingly in her eyes, such a romantic city, a forgetful one too apparently. Because just like that you were focusing on it more, finding yourself getting hungry.

The night goes on, it was peaceful. But your mind was not. There was a voice in the back telling you to just say something, but the other is battling it, saying you should enjoy this moment and the fact it doesn't happen very often. The food was delicious the view was unbelievable. Just for tonight.

It's now two days later. You cursed yourself at the fact you haven't tried talking about it. But that ends today, she needs to just let it out. You know it's hurting her deep down. The way she's handling it wasn't healthy. You were currently out getting a massage, 'her treat' which is basically been the moto this whole trip. You didn't want to waste it or seem ungrateful. But you had snatched your phone from her bag, you had to see if anyone texted. And surprise surprise they had. Maggie blowing up your calls. Finneas texting you non stop. Fuck. You regret it getting this far. You wanted to tell them but not until you talked to her first. Your finger moves to tiktok, watching all that was going down.

People saying that we've gone missing and that no ones heard from us. "Jesus." You whisper. "You alright my love?" The sweet French lady asks. How the hell did anyone even know so quick. "You're very tense." - "Yeah just- just some stuff going on right now. Sorry." She chuckles. "No need to apologize my dear. That's why you're here, to relax and be calm." You take in a deep breath, feeling her massage you further. You wish Billie was here with you, but she had been off for a run when you had woken up, seeing the little note and directions to come here. Then your eyes flutter shut and you soon fell into a peaceful slumber. One you hadn't had the night before. Due to all the tossing and turning.

Billie wasn't facing you but you knew she wasn't asleep. Fuck sake. You just can't not talk about this anymore. "Thank you, for the lovely massage." She nods gently. "Look after yourself mon amour." You give her a smile. "Merci." You reply politely. You head back, opening the hotel room to see her sitting there. "Oh you're back! How was it?" You plop your bag down. "Good but can we-" "On my run I saw this cute little wine tasting Vinyard ad, we can get a taxi and head out to it tonight! We could also stay-" You breathe slightly. "Billie-" "Or maybe that'd be too much we could stay there for the rest I know they can do-" "BILLIE!" You finally snap.

Silence.

Dead, fucking silence.

You stare at one another, and you go to speak. "Talk to me please." She averts your gaze. "I dunno what you want me to talk about." Your eyes look up, hating this weird behavior. "Billie you're frightening me. You've never done such a thing before." - "May want to elaborate." You just wanted her to let you in. "Stop shutting me out then and maybe I will!" More silence. "Please, I'm begging you lets just tal-" "I don't want to talk." She gets up but your body moves in her way. "No, you are. I'm done trying to forget, you need to let whatever this is out and this time you will not distract me." She had no. Emotion on her face. "Baby please." Your eyes were teary. "Let me help. Please." You start to sob quietly.

That's all you wanted to do, ever since that night. And there it is, her own sobs cascading down her cheeks. You nod. Proud to see it. She goes to you, hugging you, putting her head in your neck. You kiss her head over and over, trying to calm your heart down. "Its ok, I'm here. I promise." You hold her tight. "Let it in, it'll feel better afterwards." She sobs uncontrollably, having had it built up for days. "I'm so fucking sorry." You shake your head, getting her to look at you. "Don't, you didn't do anythin-" "I did, I went all fucking weird, took you here to forget, just move on. And that look on your face before fuck I'm so s-" This time you cut her off. Putting your hand over her mouth.

"Can I say something?" She nods. You go to wipe her tears. "Theres no need to apologize. If anything I'm sorry for not just doing this sooner, I thought you needed time then you'd come round. But I couldn't anymore. You were hurting and that was hurting me. I couldn't bear it any longer." She swallows. "Since I didn't get to say it then. I'll say it now. I am so fucking proud of you. You don't need some silly shiny award that honestly means nothing in the long run. You are amazing regardless." She hugs you tight. "I don't want to loose you." Your brows furrow. Confused. Then you realize why she's done all of this. She could've resulted to drinking but it was this cold outburst instead.

She was afraid she'd loose you over some silly award. You get her to look at you. "Is this why you took me here? To the place I always wanted to go buying me all this stuff?" She nods sheepishly. "Baby.." Your head shakes. "When did we meet." Now she was confused. "2015 ofcourse." You nod. "When did you first get recognized?" ... "2017 ish.." You hold her face. "I've loved you, as a friend, a partner way before any of this even happened. If that's what you're worried about, think again. Because you could loose all those trophys and I'd still be here. You matter more to me." You smile softly. "You're the only trophy I need." She says. You kiss her sweetly. "Soo, are you calling me a whore?" Her face panics making you giggle. "I'm teasing you baby." Her eyes roll.

"You're a doofus." "I'm your doofus and you're stuck with me." She smiles. "I can certainly live with that."

Everything felt clear. You two did stay in Paris for a few more days, this time with no worry in the world. Truly enjoying yourselves. That is after she texted her family back.

You sat out on the balcony, drinking your whine and her some bubbly water. The night air, cool but refreshing. "You know." She began. "There was a category I was nominated for that they didn't mention." You turn your head, utterly confused. "Having the best girlfriend." Your smile creeps on your face.

"And I fucking won."

:,) ugh cuteness.

[diushek]

The Omega Shen Yuan who reached his 35s single and without future views of a couple, accepting that promise he made with his (not) best friend Shang Qinghua that if they reach 35 years old single, and are still friends, they will have a baby together.

Shang Qinghua is an Alpha, and okay, he's not too good a match for Shen Yuan, but from the years he's known him, he thinks he can be a good father. And although they could spend money on assisted fertilization, it's a tedious process so, err, they do it traditionally.

They wait for Shen Yuan to come into heat, Shen Yuan goes off his birth control weeks in advance, things happen. The less said about it the better. It's for the greater good or something. Shen Yuan only hopes that one heat will be enough, because genuinely repeating it is not in his most enthusiastic plans (although he appreciates the company and comfort of his best friend).

And about two weeks later, Shen Yuan meets Luo Binghe.

Luo Binghe is absolutely great, of course. He works in a small restaurant and his dishes are delicious. Shen Yuan and he become fast friends; Shen Yuan has a delicate palate, Luo Binghe's cooking is exquisite, and his company is pleasant. He's funny in a dark sort of way, strong, beautiful as a young model, with a strange amount of hobbies like martial arts, collecting jewelry that he doesn't wear... Luo Binghe is wealthy but doesn't spend on nonsense, which makes Shen Yuan theorizes that he was not always someone well-positioned in society. He finds himself going to his restaurant almost every day even though he could order delivery just for Luo Binghe's company.

And Luo Binghe starts flirting with him.

It's... At first, it's strange. Shen Yuan doesn't want to believe it. Shang Qinghua URGES him to open his eyes because FUCK THAT PRETTY BOY IS FLIRTING WITH YOU. Shen Yuan tries to flirt awkwardly, according to himself it doesn't go well, but Luo Binghe seems to fall quickly. They go on a date that ends with a sweet first kiss.

So, they're on their third date going to a movie theater, when Shen Yuan smells popcorn and nausea hits him so suddenly that he barely makes it to the bathroom.

As he finishes disposing of his lunch in the wc, with teary eyes and Luo Binghe rubbing his back, he suddenly thinks: it's been almost two months already. Oh fuck.

The date is cancelled, Luo Binghe accompanies him to his apartment and they say goodbye. Luo Binghe promises to come back as soon as Shen Yuan calls him, giving him privacy with a worried expression. Shen Yuan just stammers having eaten something bad and lets Luo Binghe leave with his heart in his mouth.

He then calls Shang Qinghua at least thirty times and places orders at a pharmacy for five different pregnancy tests. The tests arrive before Shang Qinghua. When Shang Qinghua arrives, upset and worried but with a fresh scent of an omega that Shen Yuan does not know, all five tests come positive.

... They have no idea what they're going to do with it.

Two months ago, they literally... weren't dating. They had nothing but an agreement to start a family if the opportunity came. So as not to lose the experience for the sake of time. Because they both wanted. Now, Shen Yuan thinks he might really be falling in love with Luo Binghe... And Shang Qinghua literally just dumped an omega in his bed!! What the hell are they going to do now!?

Shen Yuan wants that baby. No matter what, he wants this family. So, they decide: they will go on a double date with their current partners, and explain the situation to them. They can agree whether to leave or stay.

... Shen Yuan doesn't expect Luo Binghe and Mobei Jun to meet each other. He also doesn't expect the omega Mobei Jun to be the tallest man he's ever seen. He doesn't expect them both to look a little upset, but to decide to support their partners in that. The road to fatherhood. God, they must be so screwed.

They make a good deal: for the baby's first years they will practically share a house, Shen Yuan can afford to rent or buy something bigger. So, the baby will grow up with his parents together to help and educate them. From the third, fourth year, they will be able to move and will share equal custody, and both of them will be able to see the baby at any time, it's not like they were divorced with a legal agreement or something. Not a bad plan.

Shen Yuan wants to consider himself mature about this. He's going to be a father, he's having a baby, he has to take control of the matter.

Now, he has no idea how he is going to position Luo Binghe (and Mobei Jun) in his life, because it seems that Luo Binghe is planning to stay so much that he is already planning the decoration of the baby's room... with Mobei Jun who insists that the color blue is unisex if you don't give a fuck.

Ah. Well, he has a pack, of sorts. His baby, him, his boyfriend, his baby's father, his baby's father's boyfriend. All families come in different shapes and sizes, don't they?

[shego1142]

I think it’s important to add to this a discussion I was having with my friends about how those in power are currently operating.

Regarding the sort of hypocrisy you see among the elitist politicians who propose bills like this.

When bills like this are proposed we need to stop using the term “hypocritical” as some sort of gotcha.

Everyone is hypocritical from time to time, it’s a part of human nature, we all contain multitudes and facets of ourselves, of wanting and being.

That’s not the winning argument against these sorts of situations, and will just prove to alienate those out there who do feel bad about having minor hypocritical views from time to time

But these rich fascists do not feel bad for being hypocritical.

They know that their views are hypocritical.

That’s the whole point.

They are openly, blatantly hypocritical.

Because they think they’re better than others.

These rich assholes are the sorts of people who do millions of dollars worth of drugs one day and then lobby for even the most banal and non harmful drugs to be criminalised and looked at as a moral failing the next day.

Not because they feel some sort of obligation or “remorse” or whatever

Not because they’re worried or they had a change of heart or

Any other aspect of “accidental hypocrisy” that a typical person might feel

But because they’re actively promoting “greedy hypocrisy”

They want to ban it for us, and promote it for them.

These people are frequently known to be sexual offenders in one way or another, and they have been proven to be hyper sexual (not usually a bad thing but in their case often is) and to have consumed porn at a rate most people can’t match

Yet they want to ban porn

It has nothing to do with porn being morally wrong, it has nothing to do with them being progressive in any way.

Porn is pleasurable for 90% of those who engage with it, and yes I’m including most of the actors and crew. Most people who make/star in/watch porn are having a fun good time, getting paid a fair wage, working with their friends, enjoying their body, etc

The rich want to distance themselves from poor people

The rich m want to take the fun and joy and pleasure away from poor people.

This is hypocrisy based on wealth.

It’s feudalism.

And I think we need to be very loud about that.

They don’t want it to be illegal for everyone, they just want it to be illegal for us.

They want to defund the arts, while still enjoying art, they want to criminalise learning while still wanting their children to be educated, they want to raise grocery prices and restrict access to ebt and tell us all to eat cereal for dinner, while they sit at home and dine on fresh vegetables and meats and lobster and caviar.

Not because they truly think these things shouldn’t be done.

But because they truly think these things shouldn’t be done by us.

Their attempts to control the narrative and make moral arguments are just their way of saying:

“Only the wealthy deserve to be happy and entertained and fed. The rest of you should be working in factories and mills to make us richer.”

No war but class war

"porn brain" is a far right conspiracy theory, misogyny in porn is a result of structural societal misogyny and not the cause of it, the way to help sex workers is decriminalization and worker's rights, banning sexual expression is fascist. i will not be taking questions at the time.

[saint-luigi-of-fiji]

People on tumblr: stop finding luigi sexy, stop writing fanfic about luigi, stop posting videos and photos from luigi's life, stop discussing healthcare injustice because luigi's not guilty of the uhc assassination so it's not relevant, stop posting info about luigi without proper news sources even though the news is currently blocking out all info on him and all news sources are aggressively biased against him so nothing can be sourced, also stop making luigi your whole personality, also stop buying merchandise with luigi on it, stop posting graffiti supporting luigi because graffiti is wrong guysssss

also people on tumblr: why is no one talking about luigi : (

because you dumbasses being a fucking piss ant at all times about anything to do with luigi????? have you tried shutting the fuck up, spray painting a mural of luigi in your local town square, showing up to a protest yourself, and decorating your online profile with both serious and unserious luigi content in an attempt to keep that flowing or are you going to keep acting like a chatgpt bot programmed to dissuade any and all conversation about this man because of incrementally worse and worse takes about how to morally police the situation? I will draw luigi with his dick out, ON YOUR FOREHEAD

[persicipen]

SUNDAY. HONKAI STAR RAIL. AU ﾉ fem reader ﾉ words 0.5k ✘ pianist sunday and dancer reader au. fingering in front of a mirror. brief mention that reader wears a pink leotard. quick thirst that speaks to at least two (2) of my friends but i hope others will like it as well <3 ✘ ADULT CONTENT ﾉ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Deft fingers that usually run seamlessly across the piano keys now play the melody of your body — each tap and press between your legs (trembling from countless rehearsals) elicits either a breathy moan, a whimper or a stifled gasp. And Sunday’s goal is to make you sing of pleasure into his jawline; which, he has to add, is so lovely that you had to rest the back of your head against his shoulder, as if robbed of energy to keep your neck straight.

Whereas your eyes would remain glued to your mirrored self during the practice, now you cannot bring yourself to observe the reflection that shows everything the unfiltered way it happens — that obscenely explicit flicker of lights and shadow where his knuckles move underneath the pink fabric that should stay close to your mons. But it doesn’t, not anymore, and as much as you love these tights for their seamless texture while dancing, they prove to be the worst piece of clothing in situations like your current predicament.

The only place where you can hide is the crook of his neck. The fluffy hair tickles you on the tip of your nose, but it doesn’t stop your hips from clinging to his non-verbal praise.

From time to time, separated by mere seconds, his palm pauses, sliding all the way to cup your pussy. You whine when a single finger presses into you, dragging up and down between your folds without entering inside and neither focusing on your clit. A shameless grind follows, the one you regret almost immediately after. The friction it brings with itself leaves an undying fever on your face.

Sunday rests his cheek against your own, relishing in all the little swings of your body; it’s another dance of sorts, a special performance reserved for his eyes alone. His free arm wraps around you to secure you closer so that nothing but heat and sweat lingers between you both. One glance at the mirror later, you’re forced to bat your lashes and look at his reflection — with your hand firmly wrapping around his wrist, not sure whether it’s trying to hold him still or pull on the bodysuit yourself to give him better access.

“Ah, I love that you always meet my expectations,” he whispers, smearing his lips along your cheekbone, and finally plunging deeper inside the tightness that swallows him to the last bony knuckle, causing you to jolt on your tiptoes.

While speaking, he doesn’t neglect your neediness; before his palm moves in circles, that single digit curls up within you, pressing right on the sensitive spot. Your body betrays you, buckling forward so much that it prompts him to hug you tighter by the ribs. He holds you upright until the spasm passes, and you remember how to breathe again.

“You should keep your eyes on your stance, though.”

A quick inhale and he massages your pussy some more, enough for your muscles to contract and force you to grip the wooden ballet barre. With each graceful circle of his hand, the silky material ruffles along the delicate skin.

Even without adding anything more, Sunday desires for your knees to go weak; hopefully, faster than his own shyness that creeps up his back from watching you squirm and heave from the reverse world of the glass wall.

Not even his unrelenting dedication and precision allow him to pretend he’s not leaking pre in his pants already…

[sirhamburrger]

worth it - m. kaiser x f!reader in which you decide to give it another shot with with each other.

tags/cw: exes to lovers, crack (see original req ask) || wc: 1k-ish (i have gone insane)

courtesy of kai’s cat café! - 150 followers event café menu || order progress asks closed.

michael kaiser is convinced his life is 100% a joke. there’s no other explanation for why he’s currently sitting in a dimly lit, overpriced restaurant, waiting for a blind date that his best friend, ness, had insisted he go on.

it'll be fun, ness had said. you haven't dated since her, so just give it a shot.

michael doesn’t do blind dates, doesn’t do serious relationships, and he certainly doesn’t do surprises - which is precisely why he’d refused ness’s ridiculous proposition at first. but between his friend’s relentless nagging and his own begrudging admission that his love life had the excitement of a damp sock, he had caved eventually.

and now, as he swirls the wine in his glass like some kind of brooding movie villain, he wonders if this is the universe’s idea of a cruel prank.

because the person who just walked through the restaurant doors - the person he's meant to be on a blind date with - is none other than you.

michael nearly chokes on his drink at the first glimpse he gets of you. you don’t see him at first, distracted as you scan the restaurant, looking for whoever your own meddling friend had set you up with. when your eyes land on him, your entire body stiffens, and he watches as you cycle through the five stages of grief in record time.

he knows exactly what you're thinking, because he’s thinking the exact same -

out of all the people in the world, why you?

your relationship had ended on less-than-great terms. there had been yelling, multiple dramatic exits and even more dramatic re-entrances, and at one point, if he recalls correctly, a very unnecessary but satisfyingly cinematic slow clap. it had been over a year since the breakup, and though time was supposed to heal all wounds, he wasn’t sure if it applied to two people as ridiculously petty as the both of you.

you take a deep breath and approach the table, walking like someone being led to their inevitable doom. “this is a joke, right?” you say, pulling out the chair with a familiar enthusiasm - the enthusiasm with which one might do the dishes, maybe.

michael leans back in his chair, trying to appear nonchalant even though he’s nothing but. you look good, infuriatingly so.

“trust me, if i were trying to pull a prank, it’d be something a lot more elaborate than this.”

you sigh, shoulders slumping. “so, what? our friends thought it would be hilarious to set us up?”

“looks that way.”

silence stretches between you, heavy with the weight of tense, withering stares and poor life choices, and michael, for all his arrogance, finds himself at a rare loss for words. he should say something clever, maybe. something that would put him back in control of this bizarre situation. instead, he blurts out, “you look... less mad than i expected.”

you blink. “i just got here. give it a minute.”

a beat of silence. then, against all odds, you both snort at the same time.

somehow, you make it through the meal without either of you throwing your drinks in the other’s face. the conversation starts awkward, progresses to dangerous levels of sarcastic, and before long, you’re both swapping old inside jokes, complete with exaggerated impressions of each other. by the time dessert arrives, you’re laughing so hard you nearly snort crème brûlée out of your nose.

reality seems to hit the two of you, then, turning the sweetness of the custard bitter on your tongues.

you poke at your half-eaten dessert with your fork, your voice quieter when you finally speak again.

“do you ever wonder if we could’ve done things differently?”

he pauses, fork halfway to his mouth. he should brush it off, throw out some cocky remark. but instead, he casts his pride aside, sets his fork down and meets your gaze.

“yeah,” he admits. “i do.”

you nod as if you expected that answer. “at least we know our friends are absolutely useless.”

he scoffs. “truly the worst.”

the check arrives, and the night reaches its fated conclusion. you both step outside, the cool air nipping at your skin. for a moment, neither of you move, standing there like two characters in a sitcom finale that never got renewed.

finally, you exhale, pulling your coat tighter. “well. goodbye, kaiser.”

something in his chest tightens at the way you say it. he forces a smirk, shoving his hands into his pockets. “see you around, liebling.”

you roll your eyes at the old pet name but don’t comment. instead, you turn and walk away, down the block. the night seems to swallow you up in seconds.

he watches you go, exhaling. he should turn around and walk the other way. should go home, pretend this night never happened.

but then, just as you reach the corner, you stop.

you hesitate.

and then, as if it takes every ounce of courage you have, you turn back around.

“kaiser.”

he’s already moving before you say anything else, crossing the distance between you with the same reckless abandon he’s always had. you open your mouth, maybe to say something witty, maybe to say nothing at all, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

because before he can overthink it, before either of you can change your minds, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you.

it’s not perfect. it’s a little clumsy, and more a little desperate. but when you kiss him back, fingers tangling in the fabric of his jacket, he swears it might be the best decision he’s made in a long, long time. and when you finally pull away, breathless and a little stunned, you stare at him like you can’t quite believe what just happened.

michael grins, cocky and familiar and maybe just a little hopeful.

“so,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “think our friends would find it hilarious if we gave this another shot?”

you laugh, shaking your head. “they’d be insufferable.”

he hums, tilting his head. “worth it, though?”

you pretend to consider it, but you both already know the answer.

“yeah,” you whisper, smiling giddily. “worth it.”

bllk masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger 2025

[xechu]

The Downfall

cw: 18+ mdni, please read my blog rules before interacting, angst, swearing, Sukuna kinda toxic here

wc: 1K

summary: the argument that leads to your break-up(?) with Sukuna

a/n: part of this au. I think I need to come up with a name for this au now. This happens before the events of 'Warm on a Cold Night'. Thank you for reading. x

Banner credit @cafekitsune

You currently found yourself in a confrontation with your boyfriend. This particular argument was triggered by the events of a few nights ago when you received a call from the hospital at 2:30 AM. The blood drained from your face as dread consumed you; deep down, you had anticipated receiving a call like this eventually, given Sukuna's reckless lifestyle and tendencies. You hate to admit it, but you would have been a fool not to expect him to land in some kind of trouble. Though this was the first—and you desperately hoped to be the last—time you had to pick him up from a hospital, the underlying context of your arguments had always been the same, and this was no exception.

Sukuna's choices and the company he kept had always been the root of your arguments throughout your four-year relationship. When he was on his own, he was manageable—proud, and stubborn, yes, but manageable. However, when he associated himself with the likes of his old college classmates—Shiu, Toji, and Yorozu—it was like an explosion waiting to happen.

You despised how they reveled in his reckless behavior, always spurring on his worst instincts. The ungodly trio (yes, that’s what you secretly called them) reminded you of high school big shots trying desperately to relive their glory days. Of course, Sukuna was the only one of the group who was actually making something of himself, and it broke your heart watching his hard work crumble because of these so-called friends.

When you got the call about the ER visit, something within you finally snapped. It all started when Sukuna mentioned going to the bar with "some friends." It didn't take long into your relationship for you to catch on, whenever he opted not to mention specific names it meant that he was his going to see his college mates, which he knew you had reservations about. You clenched your jaw, anxiety already beginning to swirl within you, but you still managed to force a smile and say, “Alright, Ryo. I hope you have fun, and please, stay safe.”

The altercation unfolded when a man tried to hit on Yorozu. After several attempts to shrug him off, the man finally decided to leave, but Toji and Shiu wanted to take things a notch further, and to take the matter outside. Sukuna initially tried to break up the fight, but the man, adrenaline-fueled and panicked as he perceived himself to be ganged up by three large men, pulled a knife. And of course, it was your boyfriend who ended up injured, while Shiu and Toji—who instigated the whole debacle—was completely unscathed.

“I’m worried for you, Ryo—can’t you understand that?” You struggled to hold back the emotions bubbling inside you.

“I don’t need you to be worried for me, Y/N. You’re making something out of nothing again,” he said, frustration clear in his voice.

“How can you even call them your friends? They could have gotten you killed! And for what? Just because they wanted to feel good about themselves?”

“But I’m fine, aren’t I?” He lifted up his shirt, and gestured to the bandaged wound on his abdomen. As if that was supposed to make everything suddenly alright.

“If you were fine, I wouldn’t have gotten a call that you were in the ER being treated for a stab wound!” You were in utter disbelief at how he could be so nonchalant about it.

“It’s just a minor wound that needed some stitches, that’s it. They made it sound worse than it really was.”

“This is not minor," your brows creased, "I don’t want to get a call one day saying they found your body in a ditch or something! Please, if you cared about me, you’d stop getting yourself into these situations.”

“Why are you always bringing up these what-if scenarios?” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration amping up by the second. “It’s always like this with you. I love you, I really do, but you struggle with internalizing things, and then you make it my problem!”

“What are you trying to say?” You tried to remain calm, though there was an undertone of warning, telling him that he ought to choose his next words carefully—

“That you’re being a pain in the ass!” he snapped. “My life has always been like this, and I’ve been able to get by just fine! You knew who I was before you got together with me. Now it’s suddenly not good enough for you anymore? You just can’t accept it?”

“It’s not like that! You know it's not!" Devastation lacing your voice at the accusation.

“Then I don’t know what the fuck you want from me! You’re always worried or anxious about something when you have no reason to be. I told you I'm fine, you know I can handle myself.”

“I’m only like this because I care about you! Can’t you see they’re tearing you down? Everything you’ve fought for—what good is it if you keep going down this path? If only you could put in an ounce of the respect you have for your work into your personal life, I wouldn’t be so worried all the time!”

“Don’t twist this into my issue! You’re not doing any of this for me; you’re doing it because you can’t get over your own fucking head.”

“Ryo, you don’t mean that...” A pang of hurt struck you. Though he saw the flash of hurt in your eyes, he was too caught up in the heat of the moment to acknowledge it.

“I can't put up with this right now,” he spat, his voice cold. “Don’t come find me.” He grabbed his car keys and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the front door behind him.

You sank into the couch and broke down, uncontrollable sobs wracking your body as your hands covered your face. It seemed that time and time again, he had chosen them over you. Chosen his own way of life over what you had built together. Were you not part of his life? Did you not deserve even a sliver consolation and reassurance? You didn’t know how much more you could take, and this felt like the last straw.

a/n #2: Kind of been in a rut lately with my writing, my creative motor went on vacation. Unfortunately, I don't make the rules - it goes when it goes.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Banner © @cafekitsune

[nameless-jamie]

MY OUR HOUSE

Glimpse Into the Future - Jamie Tartt x fem!PA reader

Masterlist

A/N: AHHHH! First one of this series! Let's gooo. Please read the PA x Jamie Tartt series first, so you'll get it! I hope you love it, hardcore fluff!

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

Yup, they finally did it. Jamie Tartt and Y/N, his trusty assistant have been together for over a year now. They’ve been through the awkward stages—the miscommunications, the unresolved tension, the late-night talks about feelings they hadn’t yet fully admitted. But they were solid now. The days of pretending they were just an assistant and her prickish football player boss are over. As a couple, they’d found their rhythm and pulse together. How, you ask? Well, that happened a year ago and it's a totally different story. Now they are the happy couple, that everyone predicted they would be. And though they didn’t have it all figured out all the time—Who did?—there was a certainty now. A warmth in knowing that they were on this wild ride together. No matter what.

Currently, they have one problem, though. Jamie and Y/N were tired. Tired of commuting between Jamie's huge bachelor mansion and Y/N's small flat. So, today, they were taking a massive step. After weeks of debating where to live, they were finally choosing a place to call their own.

And it all started like this: Y/N stood in the middle of Jamie’s house, looking around with a mixture of disbelief and a lack of affection. She could see the effort Jamie had put into this space, making it the perfect bachelor pad—though she wouldn’t call his million-dollar mansion "homey," it was very much his—but there was something about it that felt cold, empty even. A place that might look good in a magazine but never felt lived in.

"Honey, I love you, but your place is a fucking nightmare," she said, her voice a little softer than usual. It wasn’t criticism—just an honest statement. She loved him more than anything, but the house… not so much.

Jamie, dramatically clutching his chest like she’d just insulted the very foundation of his existence, gasped. “Babe, you take that back. My place is well nice!” His grin was infectious, but it didn’t quite convince her.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, an exhale slipping from her lips as she glanced around. "Jamie, it looks like a footballer’s bachelor pad exploded and no one cleaned it up."

Jamie scoffed. "It’s modern. S’called style."

Y/N crossed her arms, her lips forming a playful but pointed frown. “It’s sterile, and way too big for one person. How do you even live here?” She gave the room another glance. “It’s like a showroom for nothing.”

“Modern,” Jamie repeated, more to himself than to her, before shrugging with a little smile. “And, it’s... practical.”

Y/N chuckled, her shoulders softening. “Yeah, for someone who’s single and ready to mingle.”

That made Jamie smirk...the perverted kind. "Nah, I'm taken...still ready to mingle, though...If you're up for it." He said with wiggling brows.

"Nope, not until we fix this commuting situation or this Playboy mansion..."

Jamie grinned. "S’pose I should get someone to move in, then."

Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Well yes maybe. D'you have someone in mind, yet?”

They both paused the air between them thick with the unspoken. Moving in or not? She knew he wasn’t wrong; they’d spent months now navigating their relationship—learning each other’s quirks, arguing and laughing, and eventually learning how to move forward from it all. They've known each other long before that, even lived together for like a week (scratch that, that was a nightmare). But this? This was a bigger step.

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Jamie, we’ve been dating for a year," she continued, her voice a little quieter now, but firm. “We spend almost every night together, but neither of us wants to live in the other’s place. What does that tell you?”

Jamie blinked. "That you should stop bein’ stubborn and move in with me?"

Y/N groaned. "Jamie!"

"What?!"

Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes. "It means we should get a place together. Something that actually feels like ours. Not just a place that’s convenient. Not just your empty bachelor pad."

Jamie’s grin faltered slightly, just for a second, as if he was still trying to figure out how to reconcile her vision with his own. And then, slowly, a warmth spread across his face. She wants to go all in, he thought. It wasn’t just the cheeky grin she knew so well of him; it was something more vulnerable, something real.

“Yeah,” he murmured softly, his voice taking on a quieter, more sincere tone, his heart full. “Yeah, we should. I would love that, baby.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered, surprised at how deeply those words resonated. This wasn’t about the perfect space, the perfect decor, or the perfect house—it was about the two of them finally deciding to make a space for themselves. Something that belonged to both of them, something that could hold their life and their future together.

The house-hunting process was… a disaster at first.

Jamie hated anything that didn’t have state-of-the-art amenities.

“Babe, the shower pressure is shite,” Jamie had groaned when they toured a particularly swanky house, clearly unimpressed with the plumbing.

Y/N wanted a place that felt warm, lived in, and a home that would make them feel grounded. Jamie? He had other priorities.

Y/N hadn’t even blinked while looking through another very steril, very fancy home. “Jamie, this house has zero personality.”

Jamie had flashed her a sheepish grin, clearly not understanding what she meant. “It’s got everything, baby.”

She shook her head, exasperated. “It’s a showroom, not a home. Where’s the character?”

They had almost given up.

And then, as if by fate, they stumbled across a house just outside the city. A little larger than what Y/N had imagined, but perfect in every other way. The second they walked in, there was an overwhelming feeling of comfort. The high ceilings, the natural light that poured in through every window, the spacious kitchen that was begging to be used—it felt like the kind of place where their lives could unfold, messy but beautiful.

They stood in the living room, not speaking for a few seconds, just taking in the space.

It was perfect.

Big, but not ridiculous. Warm, and welcoming. It even has a freakin' garden.

“Sooo,” Y/N finally said, voice soft and a little teary-eyed. “This one, yeah?”

Jamie wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer as he looked around, letting out a long breath. Finally, their home. “Yeah. I think so. That's the one.”

And for the first time, Y/N realized they weren't just talking about the house. They were talking about the future they were building together.

Jamie’s voice broke the silence, low and teasing as his fingers traced patterns over her waist. “Loads of space,” he murmured, looking around at the open floor plan. “For all your books. For all our shoes. For me trophies.”

Y/N laughed, but it wasn’t just the usual teasing. There was something more in her heart, something deeper. She was happy. She shot him a knowing glance. “You mean your one trophy?”

Jamie gasped in mock disbelief, hand dramatically placed over his chest. “Babe. Unbelievable.”

Y/N grinned. "Anything else?"

Jamie grinned devilishly, eyes glinting. “Loads of space for babies.”

Y/N paused. Her heart skipped, but she kept her voice steady, not letting her emotions fully spill out just yet. “Jamie…”

“Oi, I’m just sayin’,” he teased, stepping closer, his hand brushing her side. “Reckon we could have a whole little team, yeah? Tartt FC.”

Y/N smiled softly, the weight of his words settling over her like a promise. "Let’s move in first before you start planning a whole squad, alright?"

Jamie smiled back, but there was something so warm in his eyes that Y/N couldn’t help but feel everything fall into place.

“Deal.”

The first night in their new house was chaos.

Jamie had insisted on carrying Y/N over the threshold in some grand romantic gesture, but it was more of a comedy show than a scene from a fairytale. He’d almost dropped her because he misjudged the step, and they both ended up laughing, tangled up in each other in the doorway.

“Babe, you’re movin’ too much!” Jamie said, panicked, as they teetered dangerously on the edge of disaster.

“Jamie, put me down before we both die!” Y/N gasped, laughing through the ridiculousness of it all.

But eventually, they made it inside, safe and sound, only to find that the unpacking wasn’t much less chaotic. Jamie was distracted by his attempt to get the TV working, while Y/N took on the bulk of the unpacking.

“Jamie, love of my life, what are you doing there?” Y/N called over to him, already knowing the answer, but indulging him anyway.

“Setting up Sky Sports,” Jamie muttered, eyes glued to the TV. “Priorities, babe.”

Y/N couldn’t help herself. “Your priorities should be helping me unpack so we can actually sleep in a bed tonight.”

Jamie shrugged, looking at her from over his shoulder. “We could just sleep on the couch. Wouldn’t be the first time we did it on a couch.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Jamie Tartt, if you think we’re spending our first night in our new house on the couch, you’ve lost your mind.”

Jamie grinned mischievously. “Wouldn’t be the worst idea. S’not like we’d be sleeping much anyway.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was affection behind the sarcasm. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamie teased, stepping toward her and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “You love it. Babe, we gotta break in the new bed, yeah?”

Y/N sighed dramatically, but her voice was laced with nothing but affection. “Unbelievable.”

Jamie laughed softly, leaning in to kiss the top of her head, a gentle smile resting on his lips.

By the time they finally got everything done, bed built, things unpacked, it was late as hell.

They collapsed into bed—their bed, in their house—and just lay there, soaking it all in.

Jamie turned his head, watching Y/N’s beautiful face in the dim light.

"We did it, baby," he murmured.

Y/N smiled, reaching over to lace her fingers with his. "Yeah. We did."

Jamie squeezed her hand. "We’re gonna have a good life here, I promise. I love you so much."

"I love you more, honey." Y/N hummed, then turned her head. "You still thinking about your very own Tartt FC, huh?"

Jamie smirked. "'Course I am."

Y/N rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "You really want a bunch of little Baby Tartts running around?"

Jamie smirked. "Babe, who wouldn’t want that?"

Y/N snorted. "The world isn’t ready."

Jamie laughed, tugging her down so she was flush against his chest. "Reckon we should start practicin’ then, yeah?"

Y/N laughed, swatting his arm. "Go to sleep, Jamie."

Jamie kissed the top of her head, grinning against her hair.

"Yeah, alright. But tomorrow," he murmured, "we’ll start scouting for the team."

Yes, Y/N knew exactly what he meant by that...

[lifewithdavefarts]

DaveFarts - Episode 33 “Rear Cushion” [Episode List]

Dave has to hold back the loudness of his huge farts as he gets an important phone call from work while blasting Tim’s face.

POV: Tim

The cab dropped me a few blocks from my place: finally, a couple of more minutes and I could relax at home. This was a long day. Nothing ground-breaking or anything, as I simply had to meet a client downtown. It went well, no need to go into boring details, but I’m glad I know how to pilot drones and film stuff with them. Believe it or not, working as an editor for Greg’s porn films, of all things, gave me lots of experience. I’m not planning to become a film-maker, but I do like how this stuff works. Plus, and perhaps most importantly, it pays the bills, which is good.

Bills that I’m currently sharing with my bro and roommate Dave anyway. I wonder if he’s home: today he called in sick from work because he had to do some stuff with Dana -something related to them planning to move in together. From what he told me, it’s been a tough month, and often he ended up working overtime, so he really needed this one day to get some stuff done with his girlfriend.

It was evening, around 7:00 PM, the cold breeze scratching my face, with my eyes being spared thanks to my round glasses. I could spot our house: the lights were on. I do hope he is home, or else he’s gonna pay *those* bills by himself this time. 

Indeed, I passed by Dave’s car parked on the driveway, still warm, meaning that my friend probably got home mere minutes before me. I quickly put a halt to my detective work and opened the door, stepping into our living room / kitchen, being greeted by the warmth of our apartment, other than a firm “Yo!” from my roommate.

Dave walked past me and towards the couch, holding a sandwich, greeting me by making noises with his mouth as he took a big bite of his snack. 

“You didn’t even make me say ‘Honey, I’m home.”

I watched Dave lying down on the long couch, reaching for the laptop on the small table in front of it, as he put it on his chest, comically close to his face. Impressive how fast that sandwich got eaten up -he is a big eater after all, despite the tall, slim appearance.

“Because that’s my line.” he replied, his fingers tapping the buttons on the keyboard.

I hung my coat by the door and went into the kitchen to fetch a beer.

“I thought you called in sick.” I asked, as I opened the fridge, disappointed by the lack of alcohol.

“I did.” he said, the stern tone catching me off guard. “Such bullshit!”

He wasn’t mad at me obviously, probably some work-related issue, as it usually happens lately. 

I solved my own very important issue with the fridge instead by settling for a soda, because my body may be a temple, but most temples are old and crumbling so I’m just very committed to the role.

As I walked towards the couch, Dave (eyes glued on the screen) automatically moved his legs just a bit to make room for me. Another sign that he came back a few minutes ago was that he was still wearing, well, casual clothes, precisely a yellow hoodie and a pair of bright blue jeans (and grey socks -he left his sneakers by the door). Since I’m a kinky asshole, I did notice that he was accidentally showing off his sort-of-sagging denim ass towards me, but I easily ignored that by focusing on the soda and the TV. 

Even though he wasn’t angry at me, I didn’t want to annoy him by asking more questions about the job, especially considering the furious tapping I was hearing, so I simply, and silently, took a sip of my not-beer.

“It’s because of Fisher by the way.” Dave said, his face hidden behind the laptop.

“Again?!” I replied. “You did tell me he was making a mess like… 2 days ago.”

“And guess who’s trying to fix the mess he made at 7:30 PM.”

Another episode of my bro working overtime, ladies and gentleman.

Dave also rarely works from home, so I don’t usually get to see how he acts in those situations. The rare times it happened I noticed he switches to a serious man of few words. He still is chill and all, just rightfully focused on whatever task he’s working on.

Whatever happened made him really angry however, as I heard the keyboard almost beg for mercy under all that furious tapping. That’s Dave: when he gets really mad, he actually goes silent. One of those men, yes.

I just remained there, chilling and watching the TV, enjoying my soda, though a beer would have been better in case this wasn’t clear. Occasionally, my friend would occasionally mumble some insults towards the screen or, better yet, to this Fisher guy, a man he complained about to us in the last few days, something that he almost never does. Dave is very easy-going as you know, and very very patient (exhibit A: me), but push the right buttons and he will get mad at you.

“Sorry about all the tapping.” he suddenly said, after like 10 minutes of silence, still focused on the screen. “I can go upstairs if that’s bothering you.” 

“It’s fine bro.” I replied. “I’ve already seen this movie anyway.”

“Yeah the news are wild these days.”

I found it funny how Dave tried to hold a casual conversation despite being so clearly distracted by whatever was happening at work (I don’t blame him). And speaking of which, I certainly didn’t want to distract him myself, so I didn’t reply.

“I mean it’s not like you’re not used to me making weird noises on this couch anyway.”

There he is, the teasing bastard.

I turned to him and I could see him narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows, the laptop screen hiding a cheesy smirk. So focused on his job, but will always take the chance to tease and make fun of me.

Which I will always be thankful for.

“…maybe I should go upstairs.” I said, in a deadpan tone.

Without halting all the typing and his focus on the screen, Dave’s casual, immediate answer made the couch shake: a huge fart, one of his usual, Dave-certified displays of flatulence, almost stock-sounding rips. A quick 4-seconds thunder, unusually (relatively) short for my friend’s standards, but loud and proud like it’s perfectly in-brand for him. 

The blast was followed by Dave snoffing from behind the laptop, very aware that his kinky roomate both loves and hates all this teasing.

“Weren’t you going upstairs?” he asked, trying not to laugh, as if nothing happened.

I mouthed a “fuck you” which he obviously couldn’t see. I stared at his denim now instead, the sagging making the ass look even bigger and more imposing in that position and from this angle. My dirty mind liked the view and how casual the pose was, farting like I wasn’t even there. And speaking of casual, you know it, Dave is as usual ridiculously chill with my kink and I’ll never thank him enough for this whole thing going on between us.

“Here’s what I think of Fisher.”

Dave then said, before ripping another huge rip, doing the classic leg-lift move in the process. He didn’t even look at me, still hiding behind the laptop, just farting as if I wasn’t sitting dangerously close to the source, like I said. Another “short” rip, as long as the previous one, and just as loud, if not more.

My friend’s farts are usually as loud as they are long, but I was definitely enjoying this barrage of quick blasts. Then again, when it comes to Dave’s farts, the term “short” is like describing a nuclear explosion as “kind of noisy”.

Naturally, the scent of those quickies reached my nose and engulfed the entire room. My bro’s farts are always big but not as stinky as one may expect. Don’t get me wrong, your nostrils will burn, but they’re not as hard on the nose as they sound… most of the times. 

One thing that was hard, however, was my cock, unsurprisingly reacting to my friend’s talent.

“Alright, done.” Dave said, stretching his right arm to clumsily put the laptop on the small table in front of the couch. “I hope Fisher gets hit by an asteroid tonight.” 

I silently toasted to his understandable wish and took another sip of my soda. My bro was now lying on the couch, legs up, without anything hiding his smirk, the smirk that proved how him showing off his denim sagging ass in my direction was not a coincidence this time. I tried to ignore that, but it was getting very difficult, especially considering that, knowing his skills, the blasts were far from being over.

I kept myself distracted by doing literally anything else than staring, such as putting the empty soda can on the floor by the couch.

“So, you’re done working?” I managed to ask.

He cackled in response to that. 

“Sort of. Got one last job to do.” he said, a cheesy grin drawn on his face.

“What do you m- oh… of course.”

I understood mid-sentence what he meant. The fact that he leaned towards me to reach for my head and pull it down and close to his denim ass being a big clue. I didn’t even try to resist, and I let his hand push my face in front of his butt, Dave’s legs spreading a bit more to once again make room for me -my entire head, in this case. The scent from his previous farts was strong and the ass was warm; the seams and textures of his jeans were always a pleasure to look at, the rough surface tickling the tip of my nose. 

As usual, when Dave gets gassy, my face ends up planted straight into the source of his farts, even though I didn’t ask for it. I don’t know if he did that on purpose, but I was positioned in a way that while most of my view was obscured by his overwhelming ass, I could still see part of my friend’s face, staring down at me, with a smirk. I love when it happens: experiencing one of Dave’s farts so up close and personal while still managing to see that damn smirk (or his other facial expressions) only makes the whole experience even hotter for me.

And hotter it became, not just figuratively, as Dave’s ass soon greeted with another huge blast. Was it stronger than the previous two or did my face being glued to his denim-clad anus made it feel like it was? Either way, it was huge and loud, a standard “Dave rip”, and getting those in my face is something I’ll never get used to. It definitely was longer than the previous farts, about 7 seconds, which only made the smell worse in the process. My bro wasn’t even holding my head anymore, but I didn’t want to move, nor he was surprised that I didn’t.

After he was finished he adjusted his position, so he could see my face better and make fun of me being a kinky mess as usual, while I was completely dazed by his talent.

“Remember when you apologized for the tapping?” I joked.

I made my friend laugh, which I guess is the only way I can somehow return the incredible kinky favor.

“Good times.” he joked back.

My head was still facing his ass, but admittedly it was getting awkward. Dave probably noticed that I was moving away and promptly used his left leg to trap me.

“I’m not gonna apologize for this, bro.” he said, clearly brewing another big one. “…Ready?”

And ready I was, bracing myself for the impact, but the noise I heard was not what I was expecting.

“Fuck!” I heard Dave say, reacting to that same noise.

I saw his right arm reaching for his smartphone, next to the laptop he put there moments ago.

“Fisher?! Really?!” he commented, as he saw the name of the person calling.

I remained there, now things getting awkward for real.

Again I tried to move away, and again my bro made sure I couldn’t.

“Hold on, I gotta take this one.” he said, with the silliest smirk you can imagine. “In the meantime, you can take this one instead.”

A huge rip suddenly blasted my face, just as Dave answered with a surprisingly calm and professional “Hello?”. The fart lasted like 3 seconds but it was probably the baddest one so far, in terms of sound and stench.

“Nooo Fisher, not bothering me at all.” 

I saw and heard Dave resisting the urge to tell this guy to fuck off, and he confirmed that he was lying but winking at me as he continued his ass-licking: after all, Fisher was actually one of his superiors. Not judging however, I’d do the same, and truth to be told, with my face being engulfed in Dave’s gas, you could say that I am doing the same right now, sort of.

As my friend seemed particularly into that phone call, I tried to move one more time, but Dave promptly used his left foot to step on my head and hold me there. Now my nostrils were being tortured not just by Dave’s gas, but also his smelly sock soiling my hair.

So, as long as I’m staying down there, with Dave’s foot firmly holding me still, I simply stared at that wall of denim in front of me; despite the anus being silent, the stench was still kind of unbearable. I know I just said that my bro’s rips do not stink as much as one may think, but when you fart this much and this often, of course one is gonna reach their breaking point, even a kinky guy like me.

“Mh… okay. I see. What did Johnson said?”

I laughed. Dave having this super serious work call while literally holding his farts in was actually hilarious. I managed to look at his face and he was like I wasn’t even there, a calm, assertive man just doing his job. He did look at me for a moment though, trying not to laugh, and winked at me again, fully aware of how ridiculous the whole thing was.

“Sure Fisher, by Tuesday we’ll be ready.”

As Dave said that, I noticed his facial expression changing. He was pushing one out… but since I wasn’t getting blown away, I guess he was pushing this one out in a way that he could somehow control how loud it was gonna be. After all, my bro is the fart master: he knows how to roar, but he also knows how to whisper, proving an incredible talent when it comes to literally controlling his farts’ loudness, length and pitch. 

And those weren’t even on command!

As Dave’s foot kept me in place, the fart that came out was as big as the others, but in a different way. My friend was probably worried (more amused than worried, actually) that Fisher could actually hear his infamous loud farts through the phone, which is not very professional admittedly… and for some reason he also wanted to torture me with his gas. So, the fart master decided to somehow “dilute” his fart into a sort of quieter, rumbly, bubbly long rip.

I could tell this rip was enormous, in spite of all those nerfs. It sounded like a muffled rip with many interruptions, like fire-crackers going off, without getting too loud however. Dave kept the conversation going, speaking about documents, files, coding and all that, his facial expression revealing how carefully he was pushing this one out, while still focusing on the call, without missing a beat. The whole scene was hot and amusing for both of us (well, just the second one for my bro).

This masterful rip was going to be long, even longer than Dave’s usual farts, which are already impressive. I didn’t know if I could edge any longer, as my boner twitched every time this peculiar long fart got surprisingly louder than expected.

10 seconds passed, the stench burning my nostrils and eyes, the fart still “cracking” through Dave’s warm denim and reaching my defenceless nose. I know my bro is good at this, but takes some incredible skills to control your farts like this, natural farts I mean. And such skills only made me harder.

“Yes Fisher, I ToTaLlY AgReE…” 

Dave raised his voice just a bit, anticipating his ass doing the same: a clumsy way to hide the sound of his giant fart from Fisher’s ears. As skilled as my friend is, trying to “dilute” such a huge rip this much and for this long was getting difficult even for a talented man like him. This “accident” only made him silently laugh however.

“Sure Fisher, whatever you say.”

Professionals have standards, you know the drill. And Dave being this professional from both ends was a sight to behold (and, well, sniff I guess). I forgot about my friend’s foot combing my hair and just lied there enjoying the noisy spectacle, the “fireworks” still going strong. Pre-cum erupted from my boner, I couldn’t take it anymore. This gassy bastard makes me cum without even touching me, it’s insane how hot he can get.

Worst (best?) of all, he’s completely aware of it.

After a whopping 56 seconds, the ass seemingly stopped emitting those fire-cracker noises. Despite the relative silence, my bro still made sure I didn’t move, which is something I didn’t even want to question at this point.

“Alright… no no it’s all good. See you tomorrow morning.”

A bit more paying lip service and finally… he hung up.

“Idiot.” he hissed, as he threw the phone on the small table.

I still remained there, my head under Dave’s foot and in the presence of his sagging ass, without questioning whether this was getting too weird or awkward.

“Are… are you finished?” I carefully asked.

“Yeah.” my friend said, with a smirk. 

I guess blasting me does put him in a good mood.

We’re both weird, no doubts about it.

“And that means I’m done holding back. Get ready.” he then added, threatening me with a good time.

If all of that was Dave “holding back”, then yeah, my bro’s skills are just as insane as they sound.

Without even giving me time to come up with a witty comeback, Dave finally raised his foot… only to have his hand take its place, pulling my face up and firmly planting it in his sagging denim ass. It felt warm and kind of sweaty, the jeans soaked into that stench caused by the almost 1-minute-long “fire-cracker” fart. 

How is it possible to be this gassy? A few seconds after my nose touched his ass, my friend started blasting my face again. Yet another loud fart, long and proud, probably what was left of the insane gas bubble from moments earlier, ‘cause that really sounded like his ass was tying up loose ends. As the fart kept going, Dave firmly, but gently, held my face into his ass, with the rip basically being shoved down my throat.

Finally, after 12 more seconds, this final thunder faded out, as Dave’s grip on my head loosened. My friend then (just as gently) pushed me away with his legs on my side of the couch; I was completely startled by all of that, one of the most insane fart sessions I ever had with my bro.

“Are you finished… now?” I asked again.

“ahah You’re lucky my shift is over.” he replied.

He then stood up and walked towards the kitchen, easily towering over me still sitting down on the couch. As if the gas-trail he was leaving behind wasn’t enough, he ripped another loud quickie as his ass passed near my face. I leaped back, not expecting, believe it or not, to fall for such an old trick.

“I thought you were done!”

In response, I heard my friend laugh from the kitchen. 

“Yeah, told you I’ve been working overtime lately!”

I took a deep breath, the air around me still heavily polluted by the power of my roommate’s ass, and carefully massaged the damp tent I pitched between my legs. I was gonna take care of that in the bathroom upstairs in a minute; I only wanted a bit more time to process those particularly strong rips… and if I should start paying Dave since face-farting is, apparently, his real job.

End of Episode 33

[dcdreamblog]

Hey there. I recently moved to Gotham for job related reasons. Thought I had a pretty good handle on the whole hero and villain thing down here, the Bats and their various enemies are the only ones anyone seems to talk about anyways.

So imagine my surprise when one day I'm driving back home and something that I can only describe as some kind of yellow and red demon lands right on top of my car hood before getting back up and leaping into the sky. look up and see what I think were some other ugly monsters or something firing down some magic stuff at em.

Got back home as quick as I could after that, asked a few guys I know at work what the hell it was about but they got nothing, but one of em pointed me to your blog. So Historian, you happen to know anything about yellow and red demons in Gotham?

First off you should probably contact your insurance about the car. Unlike the jokes made by people who don't live in superhero cities, or the fearmongering of idiots, insurance DOES cover "acts of superhero" especially if you live in Gotham. If they give you a hard time, reach out to the Thomas and Martha Wayne Foundation. Bruce Wayne LOVES thumbing his nose at oligarchs in these sorts of situations. As for the demon you saw, you are VERY lucky you only got a glancing blow from whatever the hell Etrigan got wrapped up in this week.

(A CCTV image showing Etrigan bursting forth from a burning warehouse)

Now you'll have to forgive me I only took a few occult related classes in college for my degree and my knowledge of the Arthurian Period is limited to how it intersects with my specialties but the basic rundown is this. Etrigan is a demon. Like from Hell (or some version of the Christian vision of same, how you feel like dealing with this information is down to your personal theology). He's on the higher rank of mid class demon from what I know, not any kind of ruler, lord or arch but a caste of warriors known as "Rhymers" (due to their distinct habit of every statement they utter having to be rhymed). (All of the information below has been run past my occult colleagues, I have those now, to make sure I am not summoning anything or offending anyone who would want to turn my intestines into snakes) Etrigan was something of a Monkey King figure, born as first son to the Arch-Demon Belial and the Serpent Queen Ran Va Daath he was too powerful to control even for Hell's bureaucracy and so he was placed under the control of the mortal wizard Merlin (who is his younger brother, long story, go read a grimoire). It was during the Fall of Camelot that Etrigan was bonded to the dishonored knight Jason Blood, I actually already did a dive on that some weeks back. Blood and Etrigan have been stuck together for the following millennia, Etrigan's instincts as a born engine of destruction kept in check by Jason Blood's honorable character meaning that most often the Demon has been set against creatures of his own domain in defense of mankind. Blood currently works as an Occultist in Gotham though he's very much a jet setter and can be spotted just about anywhere in the world there's mystery afoot. The advice I would give is DO NOT seek out any more information about this in person. If ANYTHING was left on your car (blood, fangs, scales, scraps of cloth) that you KNOW come from Etrigan or the other demon or can't otherwise identify. I have been tasked with giving you some instructions by my said occult colleagues. 1. Gather up as much of the mass of the object as you can.

2. Burn it, if you are religious, pray while you burn it. In fact, praying during every step of this disposal process couldn't hurt.

3. Gather up the ashes, wrap them in a burlap sack tied off with a leather cord (yes the material is important).

4. Place (DO NOT THROW) the bag beneath the current of cold, running water.

5. Wait for any bubbles or any motion within the bag to stop, anything that's drowning in there is not your responsibility.

6. Gently release the bag and do not take your eyes off it until it either hits the bottom or vanishes from sight.

7. Scoop up the water in a metal container with your RIGHT hand

8. Douse the spot you picked up the material from with the water. Do not touch, sit on or otherwise interact with the spot until the water has naturally dried.

9. If at ANY POINT these processes do not go as planned. If you notice signs of your car or home being rearranged without your knowledge. Or otherwise sense anything amiss, contact a licensed occultist from www.Shadowpact.org and follow any further instructions TO. THE. LETTER

10. Make a mental note that you do NOT fuck around with magic. Magic is NOT a joke or a scam. And the people who deal with magic are VERY well educated in how not to get themselves killed. YOU ARE NOT.

[lchufflepuffcorn]

Hi! I’ve been loving your Dragon!Hybrid headcanons!

I was wondering if I please could request headcanons on how each Dragon!Hybrid would react if their partner got injured? I don’t mind the gender specified!

Thank you!

Hiya Anon!

I'm glad you like it. I hope this headcanon will entertain as much as the rest. It was very interesting to write how everyone would react differently, as each has different challenges.

If you ever want to request something again, you can identify yourself as the 😵‍💫 emoji!

Injuries

Masterlist

Dragon!Hybrid Masterlist

Aegon:

“What’s happened?” 

Aegon was out of breath and walking briskly to you. There seems to be a mild panic in his voice; it's a bit higher than usual. You don’t know how he learned you’d gotten yourself into the care of the maester, but he’s here now… 

You shake your head as the maester explains how the cut on your forehead was superficial; he ‘tsk,’ rolling his eyes and dismissing the man before he can finish his sentence. 

Whilst his help is quick to leave the room, the maester takes his time leaving, and recommends a thousand things for you to do before finally closing the door behind him, leaving you alone with Aegon. 

The scale adorning his neck now extends to his jaw, his eyes more lizard-y than human. He asks again. “What’s.  happened?” This time, panic left its place to anger. It’s your turn to roll your eyes. 

“Nothing, truly.” 

Was your annoyance justified? Yes. Was it wise to use a tone on Aegon at the current time? Probably not. You watched as a stream of smoke left his mouth, eyes shining and talons sharpening at the tip of his fingers. “Issa prumia…” It sounded both like a threat and a caress. Somehow, that made you shiver; you didn’t know what kind of emotion that reaction came from.

It was not often that Aegon’s temper escaped him; the sight of blood must truly have disturbed him for him to let Sunfyre take control of the situation. You sighed a little, both to control the shake in your limbs and to regain (even just a little bit) some patience, which you were lacking awfully. 

“I peeled an apple with a blunt knife.” You let out, softly. The heat of embarrassment flamed through your veins as the words got past your lips. 

When all Aegon (Sunfyre?) did was raise an eyebrow, not adding anything, you sighed again. Must you truly embarrass yourself further? 

He just stayed silent, eyes locked on you, sometimes going to the bandage on your forehead. Shoulders sinking, you capitulated.

“I guess I made to hard a movement whilst peeling the fruit, and I cut myself with the knife.” You explained further, eyes stubbornly kept over Aegon’s head, on the wall. 

Aegon huffed, voice rougher than usual. “You guess?” He chided. 

“It wasn’t my intention.” You bite back before taking a breath. All of this wasn’t worth a dragon’s anger. “I won’t do it ag—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Aegon was climbing over your knees, opening your arms from the hug you had self-imposed on your body to tuck himself beneath your chin. A soft, acute purring escaping him. 

“So you're fine. I’ll have someone cut your fruit from now on. Hold me now. I’ve missed you.” He orders.

Brat. 

Aemond: 

You, hurt? Good joke. No, but seriously, it won’t ever happen because he’ll bust that person’s face before they can even think about hurting you. He’ll destroy the walls, the stairs, and eradicate the bees for you. 

And if (when) he can’t, he’ll panic. 

“What are you doing?” Comes the snarling question from your lover, the previously locked door nearly taken out of its joints as he opened it. You look up from your kneeling position on the ground. 

“Cutting through the wood.” You answer truthfully, showing him the knife you were using before he’d rudely taken away said door. The world was fuzzy on the edge of your sight, and you wanted fresh air; that wasn't too much to ask, was it? 

“May I ask why?” Aemond’s tone is not less venomous than when he first spoke, but you’ve dealt with him before. Honesty is your best way out of his wrath. 

“I was bored, and I’m feeling a lot better.” 

Aemond grunts, not convinced by your words (maybe because of the paleness you exhibited or the numerous escape maneuvers you’d pulled throughout the week.) He helped you to stand, even going as far as to pat the dirt out of your clothes before leading you back again to the plush chair near the fire (drats!). 

“A fever and a cold don’t just go away within three days, Qelos.” He chided you coldly, puffing out the cushion of the chair before helping you sit down. 

“Maybe it was a small fever? A baby cold?” you tried to convince him again. Humour was your best ally in conditions such as this. It was lies. A cold? Please. The only cold you’ve caught was by being exposed to a botched poisoning (a bad fish) and were forced to ludicrous experiments by the maester to make your illness go quicker (sleeping three nights in a hammock for fresh air in winter.)

Rewarding your tries to humour, however, Aemond’s face lost its edge; a small smile curved his lips, if only for a moment. 

“I promise to make up for your lack of entertainment, Qelos. Shall I call for music and refreshments?” He teased, covering your legs with a blanket, and kneeling next to you. His good eye had lost the coldness it usually shined with. 

Baela: 

Poor baby, you’re hurt? Don’t worry; Baela will take care of you. She’s not one to panic, or, at least, to let it show too much. 

“How does it feel?” She’d ask, for the thousandth time (or so it seemed) in the last hour, looking at the bump on your forehead. 

She was holding a small bag of ice over it and knew as much as you did that your condition had not changed since you’d ungracefully fallen flat on your face and came back up on your feet with a disoriented spring to your movements. Yet you answered all the same. 

“It’s cold, but it seems like my heart has gone back to my chest, as my brain isn’t beating as hard now.”

She hummed softly as the only answer, running her finger through your hair. Baela let her gaze run over your face, lost in her own mind now. You were making it seem as if you hadn’t seen her scramble out of her dragon form when you fell from your seat on her back, and she didn’t comment on the unseemly manner in which you’d fallen. Both parties were happy that way. (Ego : bruised, forehead : bumped, knees scraped, but on equal ground.)

Daemon: 

To Daemon, it depends. Did it draw blood? Did you do this to yourself? If you didn’t bleed, walk it off. If someone did this to you?? Blood or not, there’s gonna be hell to pay! 

It wasn’t a big deal. Seriously. Some drunk lord was talking smack and waving his knife around, a bit too close to your face. It might have been covert threats; you weren’t really listening. You’d gotten cut. Next thing you know, Daemon is cradling your face in his hands, examining the cut under all it’s angles (it literally just has one!!!), a scowl very present on his face. 

You try to whisper comforting words to him. “It’s okay; I’m okay. It’s not deep.” But it seems to only anger him more. A deep, cavernous sound echos in the chamber, shaking you to your core, and making the usually warm atmosphere (colder by the sudden shift of Daemon’s mood) freezing now. 

The lord was scrambling, apologies spurting out of his mouth faster than he could breathe; the man was already half up when Daemon spoke. His gaze was still locked on the bleeding cut on your cheek. 

“Making such a pretty thing bleed. Tis a distasteful hobby.” He said, growled, at the man. The lord only agreed, probably hoping that it would help his cause. 

“It’s nothing.” You tried to soothe your lover again, but Daemon’s gaze snapped to your eyes, his hands once gently cradling your face now becoming more tense, squishing your cheeks a tad to silence you. Not your battle to fight anymore. 

Caraxes’ fire burnt in his eyes. 

Helaena: 

She’ll soothe you to the best of her abilities, but she’s not a maester and thus is no good at healing, except to press something over the blood. That she knows. She might be a bit panicked due to her lack of knowledge. 

“I’m fine, my lady.” You laugh quietly, moving your head away from Helaena’s grip. 

She was holding her carefully embroidered project to your bloody nose. “How can you be? You’re bleeding!” She told you in a small, huffy voice that she kept for the sleeping children near yourselves. 

“This tends to happen when someone opens a door on your nose.” You teased softly, taking her hands in yours to steady her movements. 

“I didn’t know you were behind it!” She claims (again) exasperation dripping into her tone, eyes wide. You chuckled, letting one of her hands go to push back a strand of her hair from her face. 

“I never said you were to blame, my lady.” You kissed the hand remaining in your, a smirk plastered on your lips, the taste of iron prominent on your tongue. 

“Come, let’s get you properly cleaned up; you’ve bled all over your clothes.”

Jacaerys: 

As Jace rarely spends time away from you (or has you alone), you don’t often get hurt by accident. Or, if someone hurts you with the intention to do it, that’s another story, and Jace will search for retribution (wait— that’s probably more Vermax, but who knows…) 

Head held low, sitting like a child being sermoned as Jace paces around your shared chambers quietly. The maester had only just left, and you had dreaded that situation in which you were now trusted. Objectively, due to the wings that were nervously (angrily) fluttering behind Jace at every step, you knew that he was probably having a heated conversation with Vermax. 

Your injury was not bad, per se. It wasn’t good either, and your arm would be in a sling for months to come, but you hadn’t been in any mortal danger. Sure, young Joffrey and little Aegon were playing roughly, but it wasn’t that dramatic!

“Jace…” You spoke softly, deciding to address the elephant in the room quicker so the tension would melt. 

“You could’ve hurt yourself worst. How could you think it was a good idea to let the toss you around?” He spat, his eyes burning with a worried fire inside of them. His tone was strained—not entirely Jace, but not wholly Vermax either. 

“It’s healthy for young boys to play fighting!” You defended calmly, raising from your seat to approach your lover, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“I should like you to remain whole instead.” He scoffed, wrapping his arms around your middle to bring you closer to his chest. He presses a kiss to your forehead, minding not to place your broken arm in way of more hurt. His body is warmer than usual; the wave of emotions is probably the cause for it. 

“I promise to you that I’ll be more careful and mindful,” you added when Jace’s brows furrowed, “of my non-dragon self.” 

A churtle escaped the man’s throat, and his arms tightened around you. “Don’t joke around; I’m mad at you.” He huffed, making you smile. 

Laenor:

Laenor is more diplomatic than most. He finds that some injuries are good for the built of characters, and so he is not too alarmed when you come back with scraped knees and such. He will spend some time tending to you and comforting you, too. But in no way, shape, or form will it be something that gives him anxiety. 

“Are you hurt?” Laenor called down the mat of the (rather large) fishing boat he’d brought you for a small trip as another angry wave crashed on the bow and over the deck. Staggering, you held on to whatever was nearer (and stable enough to help you keep your footing). 

“No!” Somehow, your voice went over the sound of the angry sea and angrier skies to meet Laenor’s ears, and with a solanel nod, he dropped to the deck. 

“Good.”

 

Rhaenyra: 

Another one who’ll be very zen about the whole ordeal. People get hurt; it’s life. People get attacked; it’s also life. Oh, what’s that? They got fired? They found them dead?? How sad.

“What is it, Beloved?” She called out to you, her nose buried in an important report. She heard the door of the room open and close, the usual smell of your bathing oils giving you up to her sense of smell. 

“There’s a new kitchen boy.” 

Your answer was short, to the point, accusatory, even, but it didn’t seem to matter to Rhaenyra, as she simply gazed up at you for a second, diving back down into her report afterward. 

She took a deep breath, placing the paper down and taking another one, looking utterly unbothered. The golden, shimmering scales on her forearms mired against the walls, lit up by the candles on her desk, but it didn’t bring the smile it usually did. Instead, you crossed your arms against your chest, awaiting an answer. 

“Rotation within the staff happens, my heart; it’s hardly something I can control.” 

You scoffed a little. “So, it’s not about yesterday’s incident, then?” Rhaenyra looked back at you, eyebrow raised, either quizzically or mockingly; you couldn’t decipher which. 

“Whatever do you mean?”

Your eyes narrowed, and you walked closer to her desk, leaning against it to close the distance between both of you further. “The spilled tea? Your threats have been heard loud and clear. Was it not your doing?” You accused her in a cold tone that an untrained ear could mistake for calmness. Rhaenyra only smiled. 

“I know not what you speak of, darling.” 

Taglist: @lady-dragon-rider

[madhatterbri]

Professional Tension | T.T.

Summary: After breaking up with Tama for cheating on you, the two of you end up working for the same company. Lingering feelings for the other get in the way one night in a club.

Tama Tonga Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Taglist: @miss-kuki-nz @magicalbuttertarts

It had been months since the breakup. Months since that night, you last laid eyes on him with someone who wasn't you in his bed. There was a look of shock and horror on his face when he saw your early arrival back in the house that the two of you shared. Years of memories of the past and hopes of a future together dashed before your very eyes. The harsh words that spilled out of your mouths as the details of his betrayal came out. None of that mattered now. Any hope to forget the man who was once your everything was dashed the moment you two locked eyes in catering as new employees of WWE.

You forced yourself to focus on work. Lingering emotions and the thoughts of what if there was no breakup wasn't going to cost you something that you worked so hard for. Except it wasn't that easy.

His presence lingered even when he was in another part of a building. The familiar scent of his cologne made you long for the Tama you thought you knew. His laugh still tugged at the corners of your lips. No matter how hard you tried to ignore him it wasn't possible. An invite to join for an outing after Smackdown made things even harder.

The VIP portion was loud. The music blared throughout the speakers in the club. Wrestlers yelled over the music to try and talk to one another. Bottles and glasses were passed around to try and get the other to try their favorite drink. You made sure to stay with your friends and away from Tama. A couple of times the two of you locked eyes and quickly looked away. The usual professional demeanor that you liked to portray was thrown out the window.

A brief glance at your phone made you realize it was time to cut the party short. You had an early wake-up to catch a flight home in the morning. You said your goodbyes and left to get your coat from the hook by the door. The hairs on your neck raised as you felt a pair of eyes watching you. A familiar feeling that made your cheeks flush, your stomach flop, and annoyingly enough your heart flutter. You scolded yourself for the temporary weakness. Too much was riding on this. Your feelings could not get in the way of this.

The moment you put on your coat and turned around, you knew you were in trouble. The man who broke your heart into pieces, the man who shared so much history with you, the man who you could see yourself throw all this away for was standing right in front of you. His dark brown eyes stared into yours as if trying to read your mind. Trying to read your feelings on the situation that you two are currently in.

He spoke your name. His voice was soft and light. The air was thick. You were sure that the oxygen was sucked out of the room. The heat from his body pulled you closer to him like a magnet. "I feel it too. I never stopped wanting you."

You opened your mouth yet nothing came out. This couldn't be happening. Not with the majority of your coworkers only a mere few feet away from the two of you. He stepped closer, something that you had previously deemed wasn't possible. "Tama, we can't."

"I can't walk away from you. Every time I try something inside of me still think there is something there worth fighting for," he paused to collect his thoughts. "I don't want to keep playing these games with you if you tell me right here and right now that there is nothing left to fight over then I will walk away."

Your mind was telling you to run, but your heart skipped a beat in your chest. The very man who sent you on a downward spiral thinks that there is a chance for redemption. The idea would have made you laugh at the mere thought. Not now, not when the man is standing in the flesh telling you that he thinks there is something worth fighting for.

"Tama, I-" you started yet stopped the moment his thumb rubbed your cheek gently. The rest of his hand cupped your chin. The very thing he used to do when you had a bad day. The small act of comfort that would immediately brighten your day. You were so confused, and in your confusion, you did the unthinkable. Your lips brushed against his.

When you pulled away, you shook your head in disbelief. All the months of building up walls against him fell after one night of drinking.

"I have to go. Don't follow me," you ordered. He stepped back with his hands up in defeat. You muttered a thank you and paced towards the door. Your once foggy mind became sharper the further you pulled yourself away from him. Your fingers touched yourups as you walked out the door.

[deoidesign]

Just some thoughts about recent WEBTOON discourse from an originals creator. I recognize my inherent bias in this situation.

But please recognize that saying "fuck you" to a company means supporting the workers, not making them out to be unfortunate suckers... "would have/could have/should have's" don't get people out of situations.

"I never would have signed with them" is an incredibly tone-deaf thing to say. "this is why you shouldn't put all your eggs in one basket" is true, but it doesn't help people who are contractually obligated into exclusivity.

Most of us are making merch, running patreons, trying to get book deals, etc... and most of us aren't able to stop working and still pay our bills. we're trying. we'd all love to, but we can't.

If you really want things to be better, maybe try not putting down the people who are in the bad situation? it ends up feeling like people using our pain and mistreatment as an outlet to advertise themselves...

Our company is getting worse and worse by the year and we're risking a lot to talk about it! Please listen! The only power we have is complaining about things, and it's risky every time!

[bizarrelittlemew]

i was hoping to make a post like this under happier circumstances, but here goes.

as some of you know, everything with the cancellation and renewal campaign has happened right on top of the worst part of my mom's cancer treatment (plus the show was cancelled on my actual birthday 💀). i won't go into details, but it's been tough. lots of ups and downs, mostly downs, luckily ending (for now) on as much of an up as circumstances allow. the whole thing has been weirdly tied to the cancellation for me, kind of amplifying every feeling. the grief got mixed up, and there was so much of it - mourning the loss of the kind of future i thought i'd have with my mother and the time we might not get, mourning the end of a show that means so much to me and is such a big part of my life. different types of grief, sure, and of different magnitudes, but in one big ugly swirl. i sort of had a breakdown right at the start of february, and it was because of news about my mom, but it morphed into my brain telling me everything i'd ever written was shit and wanting to delete it all. stuff like that, spilling over.

anyway. i was holding off on writing this post to see if the show got picked up by someone else. but i still want to say it. because what also spilled over was the support and community from this fandom, and being in this space (despite the rough times and high emotions) helped me through it, because of all of you here. whether we talk regularly, or you left a comforting reply or simply a like on one of my posts about having a hard time (i tried to keep them few), or wrote a nice comment on a fic, or said something funny or nice or insightful in the tags of a gifset, or was active here (or on twt) in any way, talking/sharing/creating stuff about the show - THANK YOU.

you all helped me through all the ups and downs, and i am so grateful. thank you for being here, listening, distracting, helping me feel some joy despite the horrors. i love you and i love this incredible show and all it has brought and will continue to bring and inspire, and although it should go without saying, i'm not going anywhere. just do me a favor and give yourself a big ol' hug from me, and know that you made a difference for some random guy on the internet (but in reality for many more, and for this fandom as a whole, just by being here and being you) 💕

[wickmitz]

I decided to start talking about Wick and Rocky's relationship because I like their dynamics too, I like seeing Wick scared of Rocky and Rocky being aggressive with him, which is unusual because Rocky is rarely aggressive with anyone, but of course Wick is an exception to rule

Also my mini opinion about their possible relationship, I think that if Rocky didn't have to fight for his place, then he and Wick could become friends, or at least tolerate each other a little, I also see some superficial similarities, their gentlemanly and romantic natures, and their common love for explosions (remembering the quarrymen chapter), but this is my assumption, I think that I don't understand the characters' personalities well, so I can be wrong in this assumption, something like that. So, what do you think about their relationship?

for starters, i cannot thank you enough for this ask! as i’ve said previously, i have many thoughts on these two, so it’s nice to finally be able to share some of them. although given the extent to which i think about them, i apologize in advance if this is sloppy and sort of everywhere … while i’ll try to structure things the best i can, i cannot promise i’ll succeed! but hopefully this is an enjoyable reply nonetheless.

one of my favorite things about rocky and wick’s relationship is absolutely how aggressive rocky is towards the aristocrat ; he is prone to glares and cruel jokes and borderline hissing whenever the man is within his line of sight, or can be brought to a wailing-fit over the mere mention of his name from miss m’s mouth. there is a childishness to it, but a very prominent threat as well in spite of rocky’s usual incompetence. so he goes out of his way to posture around wick, readily lying and adorning himself with the gangster drapes he so badly wants to wear, in the hopes that it intimidates … will even badmouth wick’s family and make fun of his name and rock related obsession to mitzi, and so on so forth! yet all of this is very reminiscent of schoolyard bullying rather than anything too severe, though we as the audience understand rather quickly that rocky would bash wick’s head in with a tire iron if he could. ( translation : if it wouldn’t earn the tears or hate of a certain beloved mitzi may ) and it’s all very intense despite the absence of actual violence! and i understand why many fans see this as unusual for rocky and believe that it’s only wick who makes him act so aggressively, but i’d argue it isn’t really wick at all that prompts such scary reactions from him … and that rocky is a deeply angry character who’s a.) been boiling quietly for a long, long time and b.) has turned wick into a punching bag of sorts for this inner world of resentment and hurt. basically, when he’s judging the well-to-do or poking fun, his eyes don’t look at wick and actually acknowledge him as sedgewick sable ; instead this is a being, something vague and metaphorical, who threatens to upseat rocky’s permanence in the lackadaisy and steal away his savior, and he’s had a hand in the violinist’s misfortune for a long time.

obviously, rocky doesn’t think wick robbed him of his family twice over and made him homeless, but he is channeling the fear and anguish of those events into his loathing for wick, if that makes sense? it’s easier that way -- to finally have an outlet for everything bleeding inside of you, to be able to bite and claw at something without feeling conflicted or having to take personal accountability for your own mistakes … which is something that i think rocky does struggle with to a degree. he is sort of a finger pointer! his pain has to be worth something, it has to be for someone else ; spending years homeless and losing his last bit of family was for freckle, and the scrambling of his literal brain was for mitzi, and that means he can’t ever be angry with them! well, except that he is, somewhat, but he buries it deep down instead of feeling it. with freckle there is a sense of strain between them -- an air of ‘you owe me’ from rocky to freckle as he uses freckle to appease miss m, and he constantly pokes fun at his cousin too. it’s lighter than his jabs at wick, but there’s a constant pestering, a reminder of how good freckle has it : how he’s got the mom and the house and the job and the girl most notably. i don’t think rocky is intending to come across as mean, and to his credit he hardly does! but it’s rather clear to me that some part of him, some hidden and deeply hurt part, is rather indignant about taking the fall for freckle all those years ago. which he can’t understand, because how could he? he made that choice, he decided to take accountability for something he didn’t do because he loves freckle and knows it’d be so easy to believe this family tragedy was roark’s fault ; the devilish child he was, all troublesome and too broken to properly fit anywhere. so there is a disconnect born here, where rocky can’t comprehend that he’d be angry at freckle, so instead these not so great feelings are placed elsewhere and silently boil over time. and with mitzi … i don’t think he’s angry at her per se, but there is a frustrated and desperate chorus of : why him and why not me, when i’m the one out here dying for you? which is certainly unpleasant. of course, rather than allowing those feelings to be more aimed at miss m, whom he feels unloved by, he ( again! ) represses these emotions and allows them to fester into his greatest fears and fantastical complexes. i think there is a lot of other miscellaneous anger he could have towards others too … perhaps some part of him is sore upon seeing ivy’s normal lifestyle, watching her go to university and knowing that’s been taken from him. or an ache felt when hearing stories from zib and the band and how they used to travel successfully, living as nomads, and rocky is all too reminded of his similar lifestyle and how he couldn’t make it work as effortlessly. people with immense trauma are more prone to irrational anger and jealousy, to viewing everything around them as unfair and believing it’s even more unjust that so many people get to live comfortably while they’ve suffered. a situation that gets more messy when you’re someone like rocky, a man who’s willingly made choices that have harmed himself and wants to continue on with his smiling, bumbling fool of an act. he does not want to be angry, does not want to see it within himself, i think, which leads to an accidental increase of it.

all of this is to reiterate that wick is a scapegoat for rocky and nothing more. it’s why he’s rather hypocritical whenever it concerns the man. for example, it was stated by tracy that he looks down upon wick for his excessive presence at the bar, yet he appears to enjoy hanging out with zib -- who drinks just as often! he makes fun of how all wick ever talks about is rocks, when he himself is prone to poetry rambles that people find irritating or boring, and etc etc. this is also just a human nature thing, to critique someone you heavily dislike and even going as far as to belittle things you love or do in your own day to day because you just hate them that bad! but given rocky’s willingness to befriend anyone, it more so reeks of a dehumanization element. wick is every obstacle in his way, every divine force that threatens to send him packing again, so he is equal parts unnerved by wick’s presence and angry about it. it is mostly a fear response we are seeing, an emotion that’s morphed into long held resentment and anger. so his actions are extremely defensive, with him trying to push wick far away and keep him and mitzi separate, like some sort of animal attempting to ward off a threat that’s come too close to their home. despite the loaded animosity there, this hate has hardly reached its peak … but it shall only grow more intense as things continue onward i’m afraid, since as it stands ( in the comic at least ) rocky is at an all time low … and is ten times more desperate. i’d honestly say wick has become so warped in his mind’s eye that he can only strive towards ‘winning’ over the other man, because that’s all he can see anymore. i think mitzi implying that wick willingly helped her out, the intense head injury, and rocky’s fragile emotional state is exactly what pushes him towards premeditated murder in look-see. i don’t know how people perceive that arc, but to me it’s very clear that rocky actively sought to see the deaths of wes and fish that night. going as far as to lament that he’d be, “very disappointed if ( he ) dreamed them,” and purposefully luring the marigold duo away to have freckle pick them off. while you could argue that this was a smart move, in a gangster sort of sense, there’s still no denying that rocky is oddly chipper about the whole thing and is now seeking death out ; whereas before his methods of vengeance were just, well, ruining people’s livelihood but ultimately leaving them alive. this isn’t to discredit the fact that rocky is going through something! he is in a very muddled and dark place, mentally and physically, but even tracy has said that the head injury hasn’t changed rocky’s personality -- it’s only brought things to the surface.

source : q&a with tracy .

which, yeah! makes sense! head trauma can cause a person to become a wreck emotionally ( think mood swings, irritability, etc ) but it doesn’t completely morph someone either. personality changes may occur, but it’s not like you’re being rewritten entirely, you know? and given tracy’s old statement, it’s clear that ‘personality changes’ aren’t a side effect he’s suffering from. something that adds to my beginning statement, which is that rocky is a deeply angry and troubled person, more so than fans give him any credit for.

however, to touch upon your mini opinion about these two, i actually wholeheartedly agree that rocky and wick could become friends if circumstances were different. they do in fact have many superficial similarities, but one of the more prominent things they deeply share is never really belonging in the groups they frequent. this is more overt with rocky’s character, yet wick faces it too in subtle ways. the well-to-do crowd, seen through the investors, find the gentleman to be lacking in about every place imaginable ; to them he is an obsessive freak who cares too deeply for meager rocks, something they constantly mock him for, while he’s also being noticeably set apart from the rest of them … he seems younger than the investors, more excitable, passionate, and a little less experienced, and doesn’t seem to care for money or reputation as much as them either. there is a constant rubbing between him and them, where what he enjoys is seen as wrong, such as his love for the lackadaisy and his choice in paramor, a grieving widow with extremely dangerous ties. we also know that wick doesn’t have many friends at all, with the only two he has being lacy and church ( church is listed as such on his character profile, in a sort of tongue-in-cheek way ), both of whom work for or with him. they are obliged to hang around, and while they care in varying ways, they are prone to judging him just as much. honestly, it’s not shocking that wick seeks refuge at his chosen speakeasy! but even there he is rather distant from everyone else. he doesn’t speak to zib ever in the comics, nor seems all too close with viktor, ivy, or horatio … it is merely mitzi he is close to, even if he knows of the other people who work there. and, once again, wick very obviously doesn’t fit in. he is not gangster material, could never be an atlas may replacement, much less someone who could get his paws dirty in such an active way. so he has his feet in two different worlds and doesn’t know how to fit into either of them, or which one he actually wants to fit into more. i think in many ways rocky could relate -- these are two very lonely people who wish to belong somewhere and be accepted by some group or another but go about it in all the wrong ways. wick, who is too hesitant to fully commit to what he wants and is worse off for it, and then rocky, who obsessively throws himself against what he wants until he breaks every bone in his body. they also have explosives to bond over, lol, and other miscellaneous things like their taste in women i suppose … but this potential bond adds to the tragedy of lackadaisy, where we see two people who on every level should get along but we’re burdened with the knowledge that it’s an impossibility anyway, because there’s no removing the circumstance of which they’re in.

though i like to believe that despite wick’s fear of rocky, he maintains a kindness towards him regardless. i think his worries about rocky are rather surface level … he doesn’t know the boy at all, really, and thus can’t make heads or tails of him, hence him believing the lie in balderdash. so when i’m feeling particularly self indulgent, i like imagining a world where they’re forced together and sort of ‘stuck’ together ; to which rocky finally breaks and exposes his wounds to wick, in every sense of the word, and wick finally gets him. the aggression, the possessiveness of mitzi … it is all fear and desperation and a profound sadness, things he’d sympathize with. if rocky was able to explain that he loathes wick because if he saves the lackadaisy then mitzi won’t need him anymore and that it’s not fair that wick gets to so easily fix things when rocky would give his soul for his home, for her, and how wick could render every sacrifice he’s already made for naught by smoothing things over with some greenbacks and he can’t lose this, he just can’t --! … which, well, wick is too kind of a man to be able to do anything except feel awful, even though it’s not his fault at all. here we have two people who could coexist! and they should, since rocky logically can’t do every speakeasy job ( band member, rumrunner, mitzi’s shadow, also the guy who gets the money for the hooch ) by himself, just like how wick can’t save the lackadaisy with only his cash and limited booze stash. it’d be a joint cooperation, a collaboration between them, both equally important in the grand scheme of crime’s every turning wheel … but rocky’s rage and fear won’t let him see that, and likely never will. still, in scenarios where everything ends up alright for the lackadaisy and the people involved in it ( which is not how canon will go, by the way ), i fancy wick and rocky getting better within their relationship. rocky will always be prickly and quick to upset around the other man sadly, but perhaps he could see wick in a softer kind of light. or at least understand vaguely enough that he isn’t out to get rocky, so to speak. and then maybe wick learns that pancakes soothe rocky’s ire and poorly makes them anytime he wishes to talk to the man, and other fun things like that! but you should have more confidence in your character analysis skills, because you were spot on ( at least in my eyes ) about them potentially getting along if things were different. it’s certainly a fun aspect to play around with, and is important to note when discussing their relationship so you can fully understand just how warped rocky’s perspective on things are. and how unstable and traumatized he is too, of course </3 sidenote, but i also hope that throughout everything i’ve said here, or anything i’ve said before on my blog, that my love for rocky and my own sympathy for him comes across well enough. while he’s deeply flawed and i have no qualms discussing said flaws in depth, i also don’t think of him as some insane freak who’s evil at his core or anything like that. honestly, i adore analyzing him so much as a character because of how far down his issues go! he’s very well written, i’ll say, as is wick and many of the other characters, but i digress.

once more, thank you for the ask! i’ll end this here because i fear if i don’t i’ll start going in circles, since their relationship is so vast and very important for rocky in a character sense. hopefully i shed some more light on it though! i love these two to bits and pieces and i wouldn’t be half as invested in lackadaisy if their dynamic wasn’t so monumental -- at least to me.

[thedreadvampy]

sometimes I forget that my experience has been. um. not 'your experiences are not universal' vibes but more like 'your experiences are EXTREMELY atypical'