#a little part of him is still pissed!!!!!

[atlas-of-andromeda]

Because I can, I'm answering all of them.

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

Alot of things, obviously, but if I had to pick, I'd say:

Being straight up bullied for expressing interest in things growing up by my brother

Being largely a social outcast for most of my life

And video games

show us a picture of your handwriting?

Yes, I know it looks like shit.

For any curious, it's the lyrics to Does The Swallow Dream Of Flying by Cosmo Sheldrake that I wrote at school a few days ago because it was stuck in my head but I was in math so I couldn't listen to it.

3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

Wolfwalkers

The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Heathers (1989)

what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

Piss

(It's a long story)

what made you start your blog?

P.M. Seymour

what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

Best? The anonymity of it.

Worse? The anonymity of it.

what scares you the most and why?

People hating me. I couldn't tell you why even if I wanted to.

any recurring dreams?

Sometimes I have this dream where I'm in a massive... sinkhole? I guess? That's covered entirely in moss, grass, trees, and miscellaneous foliage. There's also a waterfall somewhere in it. Everytime I have the dream it's dark, little light making it to where I am from the surface. I'm stood on this little cliff edge on the side of the hole, and everytime I look over the edge, and fall. And the dream ends there. I've had it at seemingly random intervals throughout the past... maybe nine-ish years?

There's also this dream I consistently have once, every four years. Where I'm awake in my bedroom at like... maybe 04:00 or something. And it's the early winter, snow just dusting the ground. I leave my room and the washroom door is open, light on, but all other lights are off. I walk over to the entranceway, and I can hear my mother screaming from the basement. I proceed to leave through the backdoor. I walk out into the front yard and my brother is there, and the lights on my family's car are on.

It gets a little fuzzy from then on, but I know that at some point I go back inside and there's a spoon - like the utensil - is important is some capacity. And at some point the dream suddenly switches into another, unrelated dream; where I'm laying on my back, on the floor of a massive almost warehouse-like building, completely empty, and except of the white and grey metal normally in warehouses, this building is made out of wooden planks. There's a giant fan on the roof blowing straight down on me. Balloons are involved at some point.

So... feel free to psychoanalyze me if you so wish!

tell a story about your childhood

One time my family and I were out visiting my grandfather, and there was a large lake near where he lived, so we went swimming. Now, I was like, five or six when this happened; I was very small (still am, but less so). And my older brother (by like four years) was walking out into the lake, and I was following him, because I did that sometimes when I was younger. And because he was (and still is) a lot bigger than me, he went out just fine. But because I was so small, the water picked me up and flipped me over, and I started drowning. My parents came to the rescue (my brother ignored me (dick)).

would you say you’re an emotional person?

I've gotten better in the last year or two, but yes.

what do you consider to be romance?

Couldn't tell you if I tried.

what’s some good advice you want to share?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

what are you doing right now?

Typing shit on Tumblr.

what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

Come out.

what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

A house.

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

I'd make myself braver and less of of a push-over

name 3 things that make you happy

Music, drawing, walking in nature

do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

Nope. Not even kinda.

favourite thing about the day?

Being on the bus to and from school. I'm not at school or my house and I get to talk with my friend.

favourite things about the night?

Nobody bothers you. You are left alone for hours on end. It's the only time you get peace.

are you a spiritual person?

Nope.

say 3 things about someone you love

You're always making such shit comments about LGBT+ and minority people, and I can't say anything in retort. You make it easy to forget what a shit person you are, and I'm happy until you make one of those comments again. You're the only person who seems to care about me, even if I know that that if I were to be honest with you that'd change in a second.

say 3 things about someone you hate

You can't shut up for five seconds and give me peace and quiet. You've ruined my life in so many ways for so long. I can't wait for you to be gone.

what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

Going on for this long.

fave season and why?

Autumn. Cold, but not frostbite cold. limited amounts of bugs. Pretty colours. :)

fave colour and why?

Red. No reason, just like it.

any nicknames?

Pumpkin - my father.

do you collect anything?

Yeah! Rocks and breadclips! (Random. I know)

what do you do when you’re sad?

Depends. If I'm in public, suck it up until in private. In private, cry and read fanfiction.

what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier?

Music.

are you messy or organized?

Pretty organized.

how many tabs do you have open right now?

...17...

any hobbies?

Drawing, writing, dancing, singing, playing guitar, playing harmonica.

any pet peeves?

People with no volume control.

do you trust easily?

Not really.

are you an open book or do you have walls up?

As many walls as possible.

share a secret

No. :)

fave song at the moment?

Vulture Culture by Fangclub

youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

Rendog. Idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

any bad habits?

Biting my nails.

questions I think would be fun to be asked

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

show us a picture of your handwriting?

3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored of?

what’s an inside joke you have with your family or friends?

what made you start your blog?

what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

what scares you the most and why?

any reacquiring dreams?

tell a story about your childhood

would you say you’re an emotional person?

what do you consider to be romance?

what’s some good advice you want to share?

what are you doing right now?

what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been to scared to do?

what do you think of when you hear the word “home”?

if you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

name 3 things that make you happy

do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

favourite thing about the day?

favourite things about the night?

are you a spiritual person?

say 3 things about someone you love

say 3 things about someone you hate

what’s one thing you’re proud of yourself for?

fave season and why?

fave colour and why?

any nicknames?

do you collect anything?

what do you do when you’re sad?

what’s one thing that never fails to make you happy/happier?

are you messy or organised?

how many tabs do you have open right now?

any hobbies?

any pet peeves?

do you trust easily?

are you an open book or do you have walls up?

share a secret

fave song at the moment?

youtuber you’ve been obsessed with and why?

any bad habits?

(this post was stolen from @teenage-mutant-ninja-freak, since it couldn't be reblogged anymore)

[wonderjanga]

Fear

Most magicians are scared of the Champion of Magic. Don’t get them wrong, he’s a giant ball of sunshine and rainbows, but at the same time his mere… aura can cause Homo Magi to tremble just by being around him. As a result, most people have to force themselves to remember that this guy is a human golden retriever.

But you can probably guess, even if they force themselves to remember, it can still be scary. Especially for children.

Mother Witch: “Sweetie, meet the Champion of Magic.” *pulling her daughter along*

Daughter Witch: *trembling*

Marvel: “It’s wonderful to meet you-”

Daughter Witch: *shrieks and literally teleports away*

*silence*

Marvel: *starts sulking*

Mother Witch: *feels bad* “Champion, it’s okay! She didn’t mean anything by it! Honest! She’s just a little… shy, that’s all.”

Marvel: “I appreciate you lying to try and make me feel better, but I still feel bad.”

So yeah, that’s how bad it is. And this is just the times when he’s happy and chilling. We don’t even wanna talk about the times he gets mad, which are thankfully rare but still terrify magic users.

Magicians: *arguing about something stupid*

Marvel: *steps into the room, smiling but pissed the fuck off*

Magicians: *immediately shut up and part like the Red Sea*

Marvel: *walks to one of the magicians at a podium*

Podium Magician: *immediately scurries off*

Marvel: *watches them go, and moves to stand at the podium before clearing his throat* “I am extremely disappointed in all of you.”

Magicians: *feel their hearts drop into their asses*

What followed was the most disappointment-filled and surprisingly condescending speech/scolding of an entire room of magicians. It almost felt like they were being scolded by a parent but even then, they’d never been this regretful because this guy could literally take away their magic with the snap of his fingers.

Meanwhile, Billy gets so upset that everyone’s afraid of him regardless whether or not he’s even talking to them.

Billy: :(

Eventually, he figured out that he was just oozing magic so he just started reining it in and that helped a lot.

Billy: :)

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Mydei wouldn't be pissed about the blowjob itself-no, the problem would be who taught you how to do it so well. Because if you're that good the first time with him, then it sure as hell wasn't your first time at all. He'd pull you back, fingers tightening around your jaw, eyes dark with something between suspicion and possession. "Who the fuck taught you that?" His voice is low, almost dangerous, because the thought of someone else's hands, someone else's mouth showing you how to take him like that? It makes his blood boil.

"You don't just wake up knowing how to do that," he mutters, voice edged with something possessive, something dangerous. His other hand moves to your chin, tilting your face up toward him, forcing you to hold his gaze. "So, tell me—who the fuck showed you?"

His breathing is heavy, but it's not from pleasure anymore. It's from the thought of someone else having had you like this, someone else hearing those little sounds you make, someone else feeling the way your tongue moves, how perfect you take him.

He hates it. And you can tell by the way his fingers slide down to your throat, pressing just enough to make your pulse stutter beneath his touch. "You think I'Il iust let that slide?"

Mydei tilts his head, watching your reaction closely. "Nah. You've got some explaining to do, sweetheart."

Your lips part, but you don't answer—not with words, anyway. Instead, you lower your head again, tongue tracing along the underside of his length before taking him back into your mouth, slow and deliberate. You feel the way his body tenses, hear the sharp inhale he takes, but you don't stop. You don't acknowledge his question, don't give him the satisfaction of a response.

Mydei's grip in your hair tightens, a frustrated growl vibrating in his chest. "Oh, so that's how it is?" he murmurs, voice rough. He tilts his head down, watching you, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You think you can just ignore me?" You take him deeper, pushing past your limits just to feel the way his muscles twitch under your touch, to hear the way his breath hitches. His fingers curl against your scalp, like he's torn between yanking you off and letting you keep going.

He exhales sharply, his jaw clenching. "You're real fuckin' bold, you know that?" His voice is strained now, edged with something dangerously close to surrender. "Ignoring me while your mouth is—shit—wrapped around me like that?" He moaned.

His hand cups the back of your head, not forcing, not guiding-just holding. A silent warning. A silent plea. His frustration is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but you can feel it melting into something else. Something raw. "You're gonna regret that when I'm done with you," he breathes, but his threat is empty, weak against the way his body betrays him. Against the way you're ruining him, piece by piece, without saying a single word.

His head tilts back, a low, wrecked groan spilling from his lips as his fingers tighten in your hair. His breath stutters, chest rising and falling unevenly, and then another sound escapes him-half curse, half moan, raw and desperate. "Fuck—" His hips jerk just slightly, betraying his restraint, and for a moment, all that frustration, all that possessiveness, melts into pure, unfiltered pleasure. His moans come softer now, breathy and helpless, like he's trying to hold them back but failing miserably, his grip on control slipping with every slow, deliberate movement of your mouth. "Sooo good" he groans, his voice strained and breathless, "you're gonna be the death of me."

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[imsryyimlate]

he falls first: lonely is a man without love

— side story of slip

❥ pairing: zoro x f!straw hat pirate

❥ nsfw

❥ summary: zoro struggles with his feelings about you after another sex to destress night.

— @lamentationsofalonelypotato for romance bingo

you were a distraction - someone to help zoro forget about the world, if only for a little while. just a fuck buddy.

at least, that’s what he told himself.

but as he lay there the morning after, staring down at you curled up against his chest, he wasn’t so sure anymore. his arm rested naturally under your neck, his hand draped over your shoulder. your breathing was steady, nothing like the ragged gasps and moans from the night before.

zoro shifted slightly, his gaze lingering on you longer than he wanted to admit. his mind was restless.

are you really just that?

before he could chase the thought any further, you stirred against him, your voice still heavy with sleep.

“you okay?”

“it’s morning, dumbass,” he muttered.

your eyes fluttered open slightly before widening in realization. “my plants!” you groaned, attempting to sit up.

zoro let out an exasperated sigh and caught your forearm before you could escape the bed. “hey, they’re not gonna die on you.” with a firm but gentle pull, he rolled you onto your back and hovered over you, pinning you beneath him.

your lips parted as he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. “zoro…” you whispered, but he silenced you with a slow, deliberate kiss.

one hand braced against the mattress, supporting his weight, while the other trailed along your jaw, down your body. his rough fingers found their way between your legs, his thumb circling your clit as a finger slipped inside you.

you exhaled a shaky moan against his lips. “mmm, still stressed?”

“yes,” he muttered, sliding another finger in.

your head fell back against the pillow as he worked you open, the sensation making your body arch toward his touch. his grip shifted, capturing your wrists and pinning them above your head as he replaced his fingers with the head of his cock, teasing you by dragging it along your entrance.

zoro moved to his knees, pushing into you slowly, feeling you clench around him the deeper he went. a low groan rumbled in his throat as he rolled his hips, grinding against you to add friction. letting go of your wrists, his hands traveled down your body - one steadying your leg while the other caressed the length of the opposite thigh.

his lips followed the path of his hands, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh. you gasped, gripping the sheets beneath you.

he didn’t let up. his pace turned ruthless, pounding into you while his fingers dug into your skin. the sting of his bite mixed with the pleasure, sending waves of sensation through your body.

“you piss me off,” he muttered against your thigh, his voice rough with frustration.

your breath hitched. “don’t mean to,” you murmured, though you didn’t bother asking why.

of course, you didn’t mean to. you don’t know how i feel.

zoro shifted his grip, one hand anchoring himself on your breast, his thumb brushing against your nipple before pinching it between his fingers.

“you’re a distraction,” he grumbled, his thrusts never faltering. “and that stresses me out.”

a teasing smile ghosted your lips. “oh?”

zoro stilled. his sharp gaze met yours, dark and unreadable.

your smirk only deepened.

and just like that, his frustration reignited.

[suzukiblu]

okay I SLIGHTLY dragged my ass writing/getting this up, it's been kind of A Day(tm), BUT: first day of the first February weekly WIP behind the cut; "the puzzle trap sex-room". content warnings: past grooming, past sexual abuse, past statutory rape, past dubious consent, CURRENT unhealthy coping mechanisms, immediate fallout of sex pollen/death trap-induced sexual coercion, and a POV character who does not understand what the problem with any of that is, he's FINE, Jesus, lay off already and let him live his life. So uh, you know, just Kon's . . . entire pre-YJ dating history, pretty much? Pretty much that, yeah. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Is the possibility of having given Robin an STI the only reason you can think of to be concerned about the events of the night?” Batman asks, perfectly neutral like another fucking trap–like he thinks Superboy’s the stupidest thing alive and gonna fucking fall for that again–and Superboy actually almost does disassemble this whole stupid cave. Or at least that huge-ass computer Batman’s got taking up half a wall over there or maybe some of those fancy Batsuits and all their utility belts full of souped-up gear, anyway. 

He’s real fuckin’ tempted to disassemble the Batmobile. 

Besides, if anyone gave–gave anyone a fucking STI, it was obviously the fucking prick who lied about not having fucking condoms on him. 

“I saved your fucking sidekick’s fucking life, asshole,” Superboy bites off roughly, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists. The muscles that try to tense under Superman’s grip can’t–not as much as normal, anyway. Superman’s grip is just–it’s not something Superboy can do anything about, and that is pissing him the fuck off right now. “You could at least pretend to be, I dunno, fuckin’ grateful instead of just being a dick about my goddamn personal life.” 

“You haven’t described your personal life,” Batman says in that same bullshit neutral tone. “Or your dating history, or anything similar. You’ve described predatory adult women taking advantage of their age and experience to manipulate and take advantage of you.” 

“Let the fuck go of me or I’m gonna fucking make somebody sorry about it,” Superboy says to Superman, his voice flatter than the goddamn floor. Like–very literally flatter, since some of the floor’s clearly kinda just hacked out of the rock. 

He is actually about to go fucking nuclear on this bullshit non-conversation where no one’s fucking listening to him. 

Getting fucking lectured is not, in fact, any kind of a conversation. 

And he’s not–like, what the fuck is this bullshit, where they’re pretending like they’re asking him things and all they’re actually doing is making fucking assumptions and twisting everything he does say and not even fucking listening to him! 

“Kid, we just–” Superman starts in that bullshit voice like he’s trying to sound concerned instead of ever fucking listening to him or, you know, letting him the fuck go, and well–Superboy fucking warned him, didn’t he. 

So he grabs every single piece of the Batmobile down to the absolute last, and then he rips it all apart all at once and drops it. 

Though once he’s done that, he just to rip apart a whole lot more. 

The Batmobile collapses every which way and all its parts and pieces hit the floor in a massive cacophony of clattering and crashing and Robin jerks in alarm, whipping his head towards the pieces of it as they scatter across the floor. Superman startles a little too, and Superboy’s still not done being fucking pissed, actually, so he just–he still wants to rip apart this whole fucking cave and everything in it and just–just rip it apart, just–just–

“Let me go, you fucking prick,” he hisses up at Superman. “You have literally never cared before and I don’t give a fuck about your opinion about who I’m fucking anyway!” 

“Superboy,” Robin interjects carefully as he glances back towards them–fucking carefully, like he thinks Superboy’s somebody who needs handled carefully, who can’t handle his own shit, the patronizing piece of–“You did describe crimes. Legally, like . . . at least a couple of those situations are crimes.” 

Of course that’s what the asshole decides to fucking speak up about, Superboy thinks as a spike of fury stabs into his gut. 

[tovibeornottovibe]

Deny! Deny! Deny! - Part II

Azriel x Priestess!Fem!OC

Thea receives a visitor in her office in the library. Azriel has something for her, and catches a break. They keep each other company for a little while. [3.9k words]

warnings: dirty thoughts, sexual fantasy, Thea being a horny mf, very, very implied sexual assault (one insinuation of it and absolutely no descriptors)

Part I

Prefer to read on Ao3?

Training that morning has made Thea sore. Her arms ache and she’s having trouble keeping her legs crossed while she sits on the floor and spreads out every letter Eris has ever sent her in front of her in a semi-circle. She’d use her desk but it’s covered in other books and papers and she doesn’t have the patience to move them. Besides, she works better on the floor. Something about physical grounding. The hard, dark wood of her little office sequestered on the top floor of the library digs into her thighs.

There’s nothing in these letters that Thea hasn’t already logged and told Rhys about. Still, familiarising herself with the way that he writes and what he responds well to is integral for when he replies to the request she sent him yesterday. If he accepts, and he will, he has to, then she’ll suddenly be playing with the Heir to the Autumn Court in real life. On paper, he’s a game. Like a fictional character she can imagine scenarios about and not deal with the consequences if she says something he doesn’t like. Now, the fate of her Court might rest on her getting it right and not pissing him off. Daunting doesn’t really cover it.

Azriel said nothing to her about it at training. Thea’s not sure if they’ve told Cassian and Nesta that Eris will be living in their house for a few days. She’d think that they might be in less of a good mood if they had; Cassian especially. Though he seems a gentle soul, if a little brutal with his exercises, she gets the feeling from Azriel that he’ll be in for a beating when they’re informed of the plan. If the thought of Azriel going at it in the ring with someone who can actually match him stroke for stroke weren’t so appealing, she might have felt bad about being the cause of it. Fortunately, she can save herself the guilt, and indulge.

Later. 

The quiet, strumming music from her symphonia keeps her mind ticking on something other than how Azriel’s throat bobs when he drinks.

Or how he grins and flexes when he takes off his shirt to spar with her.

Or how good it’ll feel when he tenses his fuckable thigh beneath her.

Hm.

She’s had sex since coming to Velaris. Not a lot, but enough so that the thought of it doesn’t make her freeze up like it used to. It wasn’t always good, but she always picked partners who could make her finish, so it stacks up well against the usual experience of casual sex that she’s heard people talk about when she’s people-watching in the cafés along the Sidra. They probably don’t expect anyone will hear them; they give extremely intimate details of their lives and Thea files their experiences away on her list of dos and don’ts. 

Stranger who sells sea urchins to the dockworkers in the mornings can’t get off unless she’s thinking about her ex. Other stranger with the twiggy hair will come every time someone licks the underside of his prick. Barista with red eyes thinks it’s hot when customers exchange sordid anecdotes of what they get up to in bed and think that he can’t hear them. Co-worker keeps looking at Thea’s tongue when she drinks her coffee and licks the rim of the mug to catch the droplets that fall down the side. 

Thea does it slowly on purpose.

Sex with Azriel is pure fantasy and she knows it. She doesn’t know his preferences and will never ask him. What she thinks about when she lets her hand slip under her waistband is based on her own imagination and what she can attribute to him after analysing the little things he says and does around her. The fact that he does the same is a bonus, and makes it so when she comes on her fingers and Az—! is what passes through her lips she doesn’t feel like she’ll be making him uncomfortable. It’s also somewhat satisfying to be the subject of his pleasure. She’s never seen Azriel hard, but she thinks it would probably be the second most memorable moment of her life so far. 

Her attraction to him, and vice-versa, has no conclusion but disappearance. Someday, she’ll be able to look at her friend and not wonder whether or not he’ll let her get on top of him or how he’ll shudder when she gets him to climax just by touching his wings. Their meetings in the training ring in the middle of the night will go from strangely charged to actual exercise. She’ll be able to read filth and not consider if Azriel will do that with her. Repeatedly. While he keeps her groaning muffled with his hand because his family are in the other room.

And someday, he’ll look at her when they finish sparring and not seem like he wants to bite her.

A flush creeps up her neck at the thought.

Catching the words Eris Vanserra signed at the bottom of the letters in front of her cools the heat coiling at the bottom of her stomach almost instantly. Thinking about the way Mor stormed out of the meeting yesterday kills it completely. 

She’s not sure Mor will ever forgive her. It’s funny because she and Mor aren’t friends. They don’t talk aside from when there’s an issue to take note of or a change going on in the library. And yet, Thea owes Mor everything for the life she leads now, even if Mor insists that she doesn’t need any sort of thanks, and this is betrayal. But if she’s right and this plant does what she thinks it will, then it’s a necessary betrayal. Thea can live with that. Especially as both Rhys and Az understand the reasons for it and don’t think she’s weak for setting a boundary. 

Leaving the library, training so hard in the mornings that her muscles get stiff, having sex with strangers now she’s strong enough to provide her own retribution if something goes wrong, these are things she can do. Meeting Eris Vanserra outside of Velaris, in somewhere like the Hewn City or in another Court, fills her with so much dread that she starts to feel queasy. She makes herself tea and sips it carefully, back on the floor, to calm her nerves.

There’s a possibility that Eris comes to the House of Wind, doesn’t appreciate the things she needs to do to understand this plant, and simply kills her. For some reason, the prospect of imminent death doesn’t scare her. Maybe it’s the tea. Or maybe it’s because Azriel would avenge her. He’d probably stop it before anything happened, actually. His shadows would detect Eris’ intentions and inform him that he needs to slit his throat to protect her. Thea doesn’t know if that’s how they work and intends to ask Az about it next time they can’t sleep.

She studies how Eris leaves his Os open and what that says about his personality for a good five minutes before there’s rapping at her door. 

Two short, sharp, decisive knocks. It’s not a style common with the priestesses, but it could just be one of the junior acolytes here to ask her a question or attempt to gain her favour with biscuits. What they think her favour will gain them, Thea doesn’t understand. Hierarchy isn’t something she concerns herself with, and it’s probably why she’s going to stay under the radar of the likes of Merril forever. Not a complaint. And the biscuits are always appreciated.

“Come in!” she calls, frowning at the way Eris crosses his double Ts in a single line. Determination, she thinks. Or stubbornness.  

Whoever it is at her door shuts it behind them and stands utterly still while she continues to stare down how Eris writes her name because it changes slightly every time. She pushes her reading glasses back up when they slip down the bridge of her nose.

“You do know you look insane, don’t you?”

She looks up to see Azriel peering down at her, tilting his head slightly with a kind of boyish half-smile on his lips, and blinks. That’s… not who she was expecting.

Since this morning, he’s changed out of his training leathers and into an expensive-looking black shirt and pair of trousers. The whirls of his tattoos that sometimes she thinks about licking the sweat off of are just barely visible, peeking over where the neckline of his shirt sits now that he’s undone the top two buttons. He’s rolled up his sleeves so the full extent of the burn scars on his arms are on full display, and Thea thinks that the Summer sun must really feel stifling to him or he’d be trying to hide them like he usually does. She shamelessly, but quickly, memorises the corded muscle of his forearms in this context. His shadows smoke lazily at his shoulders, a few dropping through the curls of his hair.

Clutching one of Eris’ letters, she gestures in front of her with it and asks, “What’s insane about this?”

He pauses for a moment, looking between her and the floor and the piles of paper on her desk and waits, tucking his wings in a bit more now she’s taken notice of him. In turn, she raises her eyebrows at him. 

“A grown female, sat cross-legged on the floor, squinting at paper with a perfect semi-circle of other papers out in front of her, drinking tea on the hottest day of the year so far?” he says matter-of-factly. 

Thea goes back to squinting at her paper. “Not seeing anything strange about that.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then—

“...No,” he agrees, “that’s perfectly normal. I do it all the time, actually.”

She hums, seeing that often Eris dots his Is with a downward slash instead of a point or a horizontal one. She isn’t sure what that could mean. “Floor’s comfier than a desk, Az,” she says. “You should try it sometime.”

“I’ll consider it,” he says.

Something clinks when it lands right in front of her, barely skimming the letter in her hand and bumping her shins where they’re crossed. 

“Don’t spend it all at once.”

Letter discarded at her side, Thea picks up the coin purse and fondles the bottom of it. “There are more than twenty marks in here,” she says, reminded of how Azriel gulped and smiled when she caught him under the chin with the tip of her blade this morning. Double or nothing pays off, it seems. She should make bets with him more.

“Your disarm was flawless too,” he says with a shrug, moving to assess the books on her desk corner. He picks up the one on the top: a paperback with a dark cover, frayed edges and tabs marking passages she likes to return to. It’s much thicker than a brick, but Azriel has no problem wrapping his hand around the spine. He flips it over and reads the blurb. “I think you might rival Nesta for the amount of nasty smut you read.”

“My tastes are better curated than Nesta’s.” 

Though she would never judge Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn for what they read, with Azriel, she has no compunction about complaining about it. Frankly, she thinks they deserve better fiction than what they waste their time with. The plot holes alone irk her, but sometimes she can work past them if the quality of the writing is good enough. Sellyn Drake, in her (correct) opinion, is awful on both accounts. She can’t say that to them. She knows them, but they aren’t so well-acquainted that she can recommend things to them, and Nesta scares her.

Azriel starts flicking to the pages with tabs on them and Thea has to force the screaming tendons in her thighs to move so she can get up and snatch the book out of his hands, ducking past his wing and jabbing him in the side so he doesn’t hold it above her head and out of reach. He barely flinches, just looks at her, a little bemused, and his shadows skitter behind him rather than get in her personal space. 

Despite her height, he’s still taller, and even though she’s built the muscles in her shoulders, he’ll always be much, much broader. Not as broad as Cassian, though. Azriel has a slimmer physique. Thea knows it’s probably not common for her to think about his tapered waist so often.

They’re very close and he doesn’t step back to accommodate her. He’s practically trapping her between the desk and his body.

She supposes she trapped herself, really. 

The heat coming off him is heady in the coolness of her office. Illyrians are clearly built for the cold. She wonders if the snow even thaws in the Steppes in Summer.

“Are you here for any other reason than to expose my reading habits?” she asks, folding her arms and leaning against the desk, putting the idea of distance between them. 

“I gave you what I owed you, didn’t I?” 

She rolls her eyes at him and he huffs a laugh. Thea’s never heard him laugh any harder than a chuckle, but she’s determined to make him crack one day. That, she thinks, would be the most memorable moment of her life so far. “Don’t be a pedant,” she says. There’s humour in her tone.

He looks at her like he might consider continuing to be petty, but then the lightness in his features dulls and he grows serious. “I have a present for you,” he says. 

From the low of his back, underneath the wing that he shifts so he can reach, he produces a bundle of something wrapped in black cloth. He manoeuvers it carefully and offers it to her. It’s heavier than she thought it would be, and, following his example, she cautiously grips what feels like a handle while she takes the fabric off it slowly, fold by fold.

“Oh.”

Gleaming, razor-sharp, silver steel glints in the low faelight. The ornate, carved hilt fits perfectly in her hand—like it was made for her. Along the blade, runes of a language she doesn’t quite recognise have been meticulously etched. She flips it in her grip like Azriel taught her to, and the heft of it seems exquisitely balanced, as though the dagger responds to how she moves it through the air by itself.

Eyes wide, she looks up at him to see him swallow thickly, watching her reaction. “For when Eris gets too close,” he says neutrally.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

What seems like relief washes over his face as he settles his wings against his back and looks away, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fade. “I figured it was time you had a weapon of your own,” he says, adding with a wry smile, “instead of pining after mine.”

She scoffs, though it’s a little shaky for her liking, and wraps the dagger back up before setting it down on the last free space left on her desk. “I do not pine for Truth-Teller,” she says, but it’s too forceful and definitely sounds like a lie. Of course, it is a lie. She’s incredibly envious of the fact that Azriel gets to carry around such a marvel of smithing work on his hip like it’s nothing. Now, she thinks, she might be able to do the same with her own dagger.

“Okay,” he concedes, “you long for Truth-Teller.”

Thea smacks him in the arm and shakes her head, not bothering to argue the point. It’s an unwinnable debate, and Azriel is relentless at the best of times. She slips past him and returns to where she was sitting on the floor. One look at her tea and she knows it’s gone cold. The letters in front of her suddenly seem much less important than the Illyrian shuffling on his feet.

“I’m serious, Azriel,” she says, increasingly aware of the fact she has nowhere for him to sit that will fit his wings and she’s starting to feel bad about it. Truthfully, she’s never considered it before because Azriel never stays in her office for longer than a few minutes, and he doesn’t come on a regular basis. Just if there’s something she needs to know, or if Rhys asks him to pass on a message. She didn’t even recognise his knock. “My floor is comfortable. See?” She stretches her legs out in front of her to prove her point. Her calves burn just from that.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, and Thea casts her gaze down so he can decide with some modicum of privacy. Then, she hears him lower himself almost silently against the wall nearest the door, and the fabric of his trousers rustles as he stretches his legs out so his feet are flat against the side of her desk. He relaxes his wings and she’s glad she brushed up the bits earlier so they don’t irritate them while the membranes curl against the ground. 

“Do you sit on the floor often?” he asks, resting his head on the wall behind him and closing his eyes like he’s got a headache. She knows tonics don’t work for him, but she almost wants to offer anyway. 

No point, she thinks, he’ll deny it regardless.

“Sometimes a change of position is necessary,” she says, turning her attention to the most recent letter Eris sent her. It’ll let Azriel sit without feeling like she’s assessing him. “Helps keep the mind fresh, you know?”

He hums in agreement and they fall silent. A couple of minutes pass with them comfortably keeping each other company while she reads and rereads and he enjoys the quiet. Thea thinks he might even be asleep, and that pleases her more than she could possibly have guessed.

When he next speaks, his voice is soft and low. He doesn’t look at her, just keeps his head pressed back against the wood. “It’s cooler down here,” he says. 

May the Mother bless him, he really is struggling in the heat. It occurs to her that she could tell him to wear something other than black, but Azriel is over five-hundred and is capable of dressing himself appropriately. If he was going to wear another colour, he would be doing it already, and he looks like he could do without her ribbing him for it right now. “The room,” she says, “is water cooled.”

“Summer Court?” he asks.

She nods, though he won’t be able to see it. “It’s a good way of releasing a bit of power without exerting myself.”

He takes that information in by eyeing her across the room.

“Explain how it works to me.”

“...Really?”

“You explain things so well,” he says.

So she does. Walks him through how she manipulates the air circulation to keep the water cool and flowing through the little pipes she installed in the walls one Summer decades ago. Tells him about the time one of the pipes burst and water leaked into the tea room below. It rotted one of the counters and she still hasn’t admitted to Clotho that it was her fault, which makes him chuckle under his breath. She says that, actually, being on the floor is the best in Summer because hot air rises and that’s why all the houses in her home Court have their bedrooms on the ground floor. 

“You know,” she tells him, “you might stay cooler if you stretched out your wings.” He gives her an odd look, so she continues, “You’d create more surface area and there would be better heat dissipation.”

That boyish smile is back, but his eyes are more sincere than teasing like they were earlier. “You just want to see my wings,” he says. Goes back to his presumably headache soothing position.

She shrugs. “They’re pretty wings. And I am right. It would keep you cooler.”

Thea catches the faint blush on his cheeks that she’s certain isn’t just from the heat. A second later, his fully flared wings are taking up three-quarters of the length of her office wall, and she hears a faint pop of air as they reach their full breadth. Her lips part as she watches the spectacle. They are a thing woven from the spool of divine silk, she’s convinced of it. What she wouldn’t give to know if they feel like leather or velvet…

“You’re staring,” he says, but his eyes are closed.

Thea shuts her mouth before she starts to drool. “You can’t even see me,” she grumbles, grabbing a pencil off her desk and writing some nonsense on the letter in her hand so it feels like she’s being productive.

“My wings are very sensitive. They can feel when someone looks at them.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” 

He’s not, and he knows that she doesn’t think he is, so he smiles and asks her if all the homes in the Summer Court have internal cooling or if she’s just clever. Idly, pretending that it’s just so she can refamiliarise herself with the concepts and not because she wants to impress him, she blabs on about the different ways they do it in Summer. He doesn’t seem to mind, and listens to her with a relaxed look on his face.

A good thing can only last for so long.

Eventually, he peels himself off her floor and they bid each other goodbye. She promises him that she’ll disarm him again next time they have training. He smirks and says, “I’ll have to stop going easy on you.” Though she gasps like she’s scandalised, she knows he isn’t going at full pelt when they spar. He would, simply, wipe the floor with her. One of these days, she’ll ask him to show her what that’s like. 

When he leaves, Thea’s happy to see that the slight hunch in his shoulders has loosened almost completely. He shuts the door gently. She absolutely watches him go.

Out of curiosity, she opens up the coin purse and spills the contents of it to see how much more he’d given her. Thirty gold marks. She laughs to herself and decides she’ll spend the twenty she actually won on a half-decent meal for herself, and the other ten on something stupid for him from The Rainbow. It’s his money anyway.

She gathers all of Eris’ letters—she really hasn’t been reading them since Az appeared—ties them back in a bundle and sticks them in one of the drawers in her desk that isn’t full of crap. She does the same with the dagger, even if it feels like sacrilege to squirrel it away, so that Clotho won’t confiscate it if she comes to see her. How Azriel managed to get it past her, Thea doesn’t know. It’s a secret between him and his shadows presumably.

Today, she decides, she will continue to shirk tidying in favour of finding a quiet corner of the library and cracking open the new crime novel she’s reading. Maybe then Azriel will believe that she doesn’t just read erotica.

Eris responds to her request to meet him in Velaris that afternoon.

taglist for you lovelies:

@dhcghbdscj @quantumquillz @batboyslutt @honk4emoboyz @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @anainkandpaper @casiiopea2

a/n: i really hope that worked, i have never tagged anyone before, also my b for tagging someone who didn't ask to be earlier, forgive me please?

[just-wrting]

Think I Like You

Title: Think I Like You

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Half Mink!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Master List

Summary: You try to figure out why Zoro won’t take you seriously even if the answer isn’t what you expect.

A/N: I’m not dead! I’m just all over the place with a lot of stuff. I sleep a lot which I can’t tell if it’s a sleep issue or a depression issue, but I’m always tired. I still work full time but also do school part time now. Plus I’ve still got a boyfriend! But he wanted to end this weekend on 1062 which means Zoro brainrot for me.

You stretch and roll over, burying your face into your pillow. Ever since you changed where you nap, you've started sleeping so much better. Something about being more comfortable or something like that. The actual reason doesn't really matter. You're just happy you're sleeping better.

"You owe me for this."

"I don't owe you shit. Not my fault you nap in my spot." You reach up and pat his cheek. "What do I need to do for you to be quiet?"

"I already told you, you owe me."

You open your eyes just a little. "What could I possibly owe you? I don't like to drink, I don't keep money, not to mention I can't even tell if you're the type of man to be swayed by physical charms. What could I possibly offer you, Roronoa?"

"For starters, you can start referring to me by my name like everyone else does." He looks pissed. "You should fight me."

"You didn't take me seriously last time, Moss Head. Why would I bother trying again?"

He pulls on your ear. "I said like everyone else, not like how that idiot says my name."

You ignore him and bury your nose in his stomach. Dinner has been started, and if you don't ignore it you'll end up going to the kitchen early. It's less that Sanji minds seeing you, it's more of the fact that you struggle to suppress the urge to knock shit off the counter and dip your fingers in the sauces. Such is the life of someone like you.

You let yourself doze a little. You can still hear what's going on, but just like every common house cat, you ignore it. What you can't ignore is the gentle scratching behind your ears. As far as you remember, no one has done this since you were a kid. You don't hate the feeling, but you start to feel flustered over it. Ever since you left home, you've made sure affection comes at your own terms so you haven't had this in years.

There's no point in asking him to stop. You're clearly fond enough of him to nap on him, what's the big deal about getting ear scratches? Besides, he's the type to get embarrassed and loud if you point out you're awake. That's not something you feel like dealing with right now. You're too touch starved to complain.

Despite the comfortable conditions, you don't actually fall asleep. You spend the next forty-ish minutes pretending to sleep, waiting for dinner to be done. The time passes by relatively quickly, though you're sore afterwards. You couldn't bring yourself to even twitch, worried that he'd stop.

The dinner call goes off, and you pretend to wake up. You have no clue why you're acting, but it was too late to stop twenty minutes ago. Standing up, you stretch halfheartedly. At first, he doesn't say anything. It's only once he catches up to you that he starts asking questions.

"What's the deal with the noise you make?"

Raising an eyebrow, you look at him. "I don't snore, so I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm not stupid, I can tell you aren't snoring. The other noise, the one that's relaxing. I can usually feel it when you're laying directly on me."

"What do you mean? The other noise?" You pause to think it over before it clicks. "We aren't talking about that."

You know what he's referring to. It's not like it's something you can control, but it's still embarrassing. Of all people to be you around, it's been Zoro. No one on the crew has judged you for being what you are, it's just embarrassing to be a mix. Your mother's human, and your dad's a mink. You look decently human, just with a few quirks.

"What do you mean, we aren't talking about it? We're talking about it right now."

Your face starts to heat up. "I mean I don't want to tell you."

His eyes narrow in suspicion. "Why not? Is it supposed to be embarrassing or something?"

"If I say yes, will you drop it?"

"Yeah, sure."

His face instantly relaxes. If you could smack him, you would. The last time you tried, it hurt. So you put your hand on his shoulder and give him a push. The only thing it does is cause his other shoulder to hit the doorframe, but you use it to march past him.

You take your seat, leaning back against the armrest of the booth seat. Kicking your feet up on the space next to you, you watch the crew carefully. Everyone is smiling and in a good mood, so you don't have anything to worry about. You don't ever admit it, but you care about them even if it's difficult to show.

Zoro picks up your legs and lays them in his lap. Since it doesn't seem to bother him, you're tempted to just sit normally. You have no idea what's going on in that head of his, and you doubt he does either. However, you actually do enjoy touching him, so you'll stay like this for now.

There's more commotion as Sanji brings out the plates. The one you're most interested in is a large tuna fillet that gets set in the middle of the table. You can't stop staring at it, the tender flesh a beautiful golden color. It's hard to tell if it smells better than it looks or looks better than it smells. Sanji has never failed to impress you with his dishes, so you can't wait to sink your teeth in.

Before you can even start to load your plate, Sanji sets a small plate in front it you. It contains a disk of packed rice, some avocado slices, and chunks of fish. You're assuming it's more of the tuna. Whatever it is, it was made specifically for you.

You don't mind the special dishes. You'll try almost everything, and unlike Luffy, you'll eat it slow enough to give a review. Everything tastes good so you don't get the point, but it probably makes Sanji feel better to have honest reviews and not just someone who loves food fawning over his cooking. Though if you're not careful, you worry that he'll start having write an essay about it.

"And for you, a special tune tartare! If you like it, I'll make it again for everyone some time."

You nod. "Yeah, I'll let you know. I always do. Not that you've ever made a bad dish."

You can't stop the tip of your tail from flicking back and forth in mild annoyance. By the time you get halfway through the tartare, all of the fillet is gone. It's not like it's the biggest deal, you just wish you could've had some of that too. It's not fair that since you got a special tuna dish, that you don't get the other one.

"If you tell me what that noise was, I'll share," Zoro teases while pointing at you with a bite of tuna. "I bet you can't resist answering now."

"I'm a cat. I was making a normal noise that cats make. Consider it a compliment."

You lean forward and take the bite of tuna. It's flakey and melts on your tongue with a slightly sticky glaze that has hints of honey and garlic. You lick your lips savoring the balance of flavors. None of them are overwhelming, but it's hard to gauge in just one bite what you think about it.

"You can't just," Zoro stutters. "You can't just take the food off of my chopsticks. Get your own!"

You grab his wrist and lick the glaze off of the chopsticks. It feels like there's another flavor there that you can't quite tell what it is. It's some sort of herby flavor, that while you enjoy, you can't pin down.

"Here!" Zoro doesn't look at you as he shoves his plate towards you. "Just take it since I don't want your germs."

You want to tease him, but you'll leave him alone. It's better to leave it in front of other people since Robin's insinuations are becoming too much. For now you'll just eat the food. Later, you'll tease him.

—-

"You're still not taking me seriously, Roronoa. Why did you want to fight if you won't take me seriously?"

You lunge, hand reaching for his throat. He blocks it with his arm, causing your claws to dig into his skin. Using his arm as leverage, you pull yourself closer to him, swinging your sword at his side. His parry is effortless, and he looks bored. It's so aggravating that he won't take you seriously in a simple sparring match. Perhaps he'd take you more seriously if you actually tried to kill him.

You disengage before leaping over him. This time, you swing your sword at his neck as he turn around. It's once more blocked, and he smirks. You're just barely faster than him as he takes a halfhearted swing at your sword arm with his other arm. You catch the flat of the blade with your knuckles, steeling your arm against the shock wave of the blow.

Kicking your leg out in front of you, you aim for his knees, intending to bring him down. Despite the grip on his sword, he catches your ankle in his hand and pulls your leg to the side. You let your body pivot with the movement, twisting until your leg is behind you. You yank your foot forward as hard as you can, pulling him into your back.

He's quick to let your ankle go and grab your shoulder to steady himself. In a fluid motion, you swing your arm and grab your dagger. You flick it in your fingers and thrust towards his ribs. His hand trails down your arm to your wrist and pins it behind your back. He gives it a squeeze trying to get you to drop the dagger.

"Are you actually trying to kill him?" Nami tells from the side. "Are you stupid?"

You roll your eyes, sweeping your leg behind you and hooking Zoro's. Despite your efforts, you can't get him off balance, only causing him to take a step back. By now you're getting pissed off. You aren't a bad swordsman, it's just that this jerk is ridiculously smart in battle. This is probably the only time he'll use his brain all day.

You jerk your head back, hitting his jaw. The sound of the impact makes you regret it, knowing you'll feel like shit later. You manage to free yourself as he loosens his grip, and you elbow him as you twist back around. The only reason you're still going is because he won't take it seriously. It's like he finds it funny that he's able to fend you off so easily.

You rush towards him, tossing your weapons to the ground. Digging your claws into his shoulders, you use your momentum to knock him over. It only works because he's too busy rubbing his jaw to notice you in time. The two of you tumble to the deck, and you lean in as close as you can.

"Why won't you take me seriously? Is this just a game?"

Faster than you can blink, he's able to flip and pin you under him. He's even more smug than the last time you sparred, and you can't tell if you want to smack him or if you should kiss him. Not that you could smack him, he's got your hands above your head. While kissing him would let you win, you're not willing to fight that dirty in a friendly match.

"You're a brute, Zoro. You can't just manhandle the other crewmates just because you feel like it." Sanji pulls him off you. "If you were in the mood to fight I would've taken the offer."

You tune out their fight as Chopper checks your head and shoulder. You're a bit sore now, but you'll be fine in a few hours. Nothing keeps you down for long, even if it's usually just you going against the doctor's orders. The only thing actually bothering you is the fact that for a moment you thought he was going to answer your question. Though the fact you thought about kissing him is also an issue.

It's not difficult to figure out why you thought that way. Your parents made sure that you knew to find someone strong enough to protect you in case of something happening, even if you knew how to take care of yourself. That, and he's easy on the eyes. Even if he's an idiot half of the time, that doesn't matter. Your parents never said to find a smart man, just a strong one. Everything else was your choice.

Chopper hands you a damp towel, and you use to clean under your claws. Tiny spots of blood rest under them, probably from when you grabbed Zoro. If the pinprick wounds bothered him, he doesn't show it. He's too busy trying to shove Sanji off the boat. As long as you stay dry, it doesn't matter if they end up overboard. They can both swim.

After a few minutes, Nami separates them. You watch her glare at the men before you stalk off to take another nap. The sun is just starting to dip below the water, so finding a nice patch of sun to lick your figurative wounds isn't possible. You'll have to settle for sulking in some weird spot. Perhaps it's time to torment the fish in the tank once more.

Lounging on the sofa is probably the second best place to nap. The sound of the tank constantly humming while you watch the fish swim in tempting circles puts you at ease. You stretch out fully, let your arm and tail hang off the edge. The tip of your tails twitches slightly as you trace the movement of a particularly large bass. That should be tomorrow's lunch, perhaps in a stew. Even though it hasn't been long since you had food, your mouth starts to water at the idea of seafood stew.

"He really doesn't take you seriously, does he?"

You recognize Robin before she even speaks. Her stride is longer than Nami's with her steps being lighter than everyone else's. Not to mention she smells floral. It's never overpowering, but it allows you to pick her out from the crew.

"I guess not. Maybe I should've gone for his other eye."

She laughs, sitting down next to you. You aren't opposed to the company, especially if it's Robin. There something about her that puts you at ease.

"I don't think he'd like that," she muses. "What did he say to you?"

You scoff. "He didn't say anything. Bet he's too proud to take me seriously, like the jerk he is."

Robin smiles knowingly. "I'm sure he has his reasons. Maybe you should talk to him, just the two of you. I'm sure he'd tell you when no one else is around."

You frown. "What is he? A shy school boy? There's only one reason for not taking me seriously in a fight, and it would be him not thinking I'm even worth it. No point in having him tell me that in private, he can just keep it to himself."

She reaches out her hand, gently brushing your hair from your eyes. "Then what do you think about him?"

"I think he's an idiot who swapped out his brain for more muscles."

"Let me rephrase that. What feelings do you have about him?" There's a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "At least figure that out."

You shift so you can place your head in her lap. "I guess he's fine most of the time. I don't know why I enjoy his company, I just do. He's never really pushed me on anything, just sort of letting me do my own thing. Not to mention he's comfortable. As much as I hate admitting it, I suppose I like being around him."

She continues to brush your hair with her fingers silently. It's one of those tactics of hers. She'll stay quiet until you keep talking.

"What do you want me to say? He's nice enough to me, I can respect him as vice-captain, and he's decent looking. Everything else I think about him is my little secret." You're starting to get irritated talking about him. "Actually, I think I'll go talk to him now. I'll drag that answer out of him if I have to."

Robin looks at you with worry as you sit up. "Perhaps this is just a misunderstanding. What are you going to do if his answer isn't what you expect?"

"I'll deal with it when it happens," you say with a shrug. "It's not like it'll be anything surprising."

You take your time wandering around the ship. It's not hard to tell where he is, you'd rather put it off for a little bit longer. This weird feeling in your chest has been bothering you a lot lately. It can't be ignored anymore, but that doesn't mean you're one hundred percent ready to admit it.

Thankfully, he's exactly where you knew he was. You won't tell him that you enjoy finding him when he's working out. Something about him being shirtless is nice. Not that he usually bothers with wearing a shirt, so you can usually just stare whenever you want. Maybe he just likes the attention, and you'll gladly give it to him.

As soon as he leans back on the bench, you sit on his lap and stretch out over his torso. You rest your chin on your hand, pressing your palm on his chest. Watching as he sets the barbell back on the stand, you wait for him to start talking. It would be fine with you if he kept working out, but he seems opposed to the idea.

"Is bothering me amusing to you?"

You tilt your head slightly. "You're not cute when you're mad, so no. I was just hoping we could talk."

"You don't have to sit on me to talk."

"That's just personal preference. Besides, you tend to avoid talking about certain things and this keeps you from leaving." you say with a Cheshire grin. "I enjoy your touch, so this is ideal for me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Zoro looks away from you. “You keep saying weird stuff.”

You don’t even blink as you respond, “I enjoy your touch. That’s what that means. I’ll even be nice and tell you the answer to your question from earlier. As a cat, I sometimes purr when I feel comfortable and content. Though some cats purr when scared.”

“So you’re scared of me? Is that what that means?”

“No. The only thing particularly scary about you is the fact that you’re an idiot.” Your ears twitch. “But since I answered your questions, you can answer mine. Why don’t you fight me seriously?”

He looks at you for just a moment, before looking at the ceiling. It’s like he’s embarrassed by the answer and is hoping you’ll forget about it. However, you’ve already made up your mind about what you want. You’re just waiting to see what he’ll do.

“I-,” Zoro cuts himself off to hide behind his hand. “I could hurt you really bad. That would be bad.”

Your tail swishes on the ground in mild irritation. “So you think I’m incapable of defending myself. That would explain the times you’ve interrupted my fights.”

“It’s not that!” He sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist to make sure you don’t tumble to the ground. “I don’t want you to get hurt if I’m around. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.”

You’re nose to nose with him now. Even at this distance, he can’t seem to make eye contact. You can smell the liquor from dinner on his breath. It would be so easy to close the gap and kiss him, but for some reason the thought makes you nervous. You’re usually close to him, so why is this time different?

“Why should you keep me safe?” you mumble. “Do you save me out of obligation for the crew? If so, aren’t there better people on the crew to swoop in and save?”

“Does it matter why?” The way that his lips almost touch yours as he speaks makes you flustered.

You close your eyes. “Yes. I don’t want to get my hopes up if you think of me as nothing more than a burden of a crew-mate. Just be honest with me for once, Zoro.”

You don’t regret the soft begging tone as you say his name. You regret not saying his name in that almost pathetic tone sooner. The way that he kisses you makes your head spin. Even though he’s holding you close, you have to wrap your arms around his neck to make yourself feel more steady.

Zoro kisses you like he’s been wanting to for months. His hold on your waist makes it impossible to move, and the way that his hand grips yours hair makes you moan. You can barely breathe as his tongue explores your mouth, your grip on reality slipping as his fingers dig into thigh.

Even when he pulls away to let you breathe, you find yourself lost in the way he touches you. Sloppy kisses trail down your jaw and neck, coming to an end with his teeth on your collarbone. The way that his fingernails scrape gently against your scalp as he tugs lightly on your hair causes you to expose more of your chest to him as you lean into his palm.

You’ve never felt like this before. Hot, heavy, and breathless all while being lightheaded. You wouldn’t have it in you to resist him if he wanted more. In fact, the pathetic words of begging him to ravish you weigh heavy on your tongue. Yet he just continues to press kisses along every inch of skin exposed to him, ignoring how hard you’re panting as little moans escape you. He’s oblivious to everything but the act of kissing you.

Zoro only pauses after you tug his hair harshly. You didn’t mean to, you couldn’t help the reaction to him biting down on the side of your neck. You couldn’t even help the strangled groan that leaves you as he leaves a mark. For some reason, your body is shaking like you have some sort of withdrawal.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough and low.

You kiss him again, desperate to get as close as you can. Desperation courses through your body as you realize just how badly you’ve waited for this. You’ve spent months being almost attached to him so it makes sense, you just can’t figure out how you missed it. The long nights spent curled up in his lap, face buried in his neck has left you craving him so much.

You whine as he pulls away, unwilling to let this stop. It doesn’t even matter anymore how prideful you’ve been up until this. It’s so obvious how much you want him. Nothing could hide it anymore.

“Zoro.” You don’t even open your eyes. “Please.”

He gives your thigh a tight squeeze as you whimper. You can tell that what little restraint he has is fading with each whine of his name. Yet he’s able to pause and hold you close, breathing heavily into your ear. Eventually, he covers your mouth with his hand, stifling your words.

“Not like this,” Zoro says, his tone meaning he’s serious. “If you really want it, I want to make it special.”

“S-special?” You don’t know what that means. When was the last time someone told you that you were special? “How?”

“Just better than in the exercise room on the Sunny. You deserve to be treated better than that.”

You nod, and he lets his grip loosen. Despite the fact that nothing much happened, you feel drained. Maybe it’s because you really enjoy naps, but the exhaustion is hitting you hard. You don’t hide it, letting yourself go limp as Zoro picks you up.

“You can sleep in my bunk tonight. Not that it matters if I say you can as you usually show up anyway.”

You caress him jaw before giving his cheek a kiss. “Thank you, Zoro.”

The flush on his cheeks goes unnoticed by all beside you. Not that it matters, you don’t want to hide your feelings for him any longer. If he agrees to it, you’ll parade your feelings for the world to see.

[misedejem]

I did this on bsky earlier and remembered I had it saved in my drafts on here too!

More detail below 👀

She didn’t know Loghrif well, but Gaia was Kass’ senior at the Akadaemia, so they knew each other in passing for centuries. She was friendly with Hythlodaeus, so she was friendly with Azem by association.

Mitron was much the same as Loghrif, someone she was cordially acquainted with from school who she didn’t really see much outside of a formal setting. Azem did, however, secretly side with Mitron in the great ‘when is the fish no longer a fish and actually just taking the piss’ debate.

Azem, Emet-Selch, and Hythlodaeus were married, soulmates, absolutely inseparable. For Azem, it was platonic, for the others, romantic. They were friends from the day they met as children, and even after the Sundering, they cannot part until they return to the Star together.

Azem clashed with Pashtarot a lot, as a notorious rule-breaker, but there was no genuine ill-will. They just found each other frustrating to work with.

Fandaniel was her friend for years, from their time working in Elpis together before either of them joined the Convocation. Azem started to distance herself a bit after she quit her job to travel, and even more her father returned to the Star, but they remained friends until the very end. Hermes was never really certain exactly how he felt towards her.

I don’t think Azem and Altima ever interacted. Even in meetings.

She and Halmarut didn’t talk much, but they did have a close mutual friend in Azem’s sister-in-law, so sometimes they would end up in a social situation together. Having nothing in common, any conversation never made it past the small-talk stage.

Nabriales was her friendly rival, they just liked to fight and compete constantly. The arena from P11 is the Convocation Chamber in its reconfigured state that Azem designed for their matches.

Azem wasn’t certain on where she stood with Igeyohrm. She was Lahabrea’s family, but also Elidibus’ close friend, so she was never sure which direction Igeyohrm veered towards with her.

Deudalaphon was another old friend from before she joined the Convocation, and her old boss - Azem’s original role being part of the Words of Deudalaphon. Her concept specialities fell under their expertise, so they worked together even after Azem took up the mantle of the traveller.

Azem owed Emmerololth her life a hundred times over (due to her tendency to injure herself on duty) so she tried her best to maintain a friendly bond between them out of respect and gratitude.

Lahabrea and Azem vehemently detested each other. They did not agree with how the other operated at all, and neither felt the other should have a seat on the Convocation. In part, it stemmed from the unfortunate relationship that Lahabrea had with Azem’s father, Apollo, when he had been younger. When Azem heard what had happened with Erichthonios, Elidibus had to keep them from trying to kill each other.

Elidibus was like her little brother, she cared for him dearly and had since he was toddling. He looked up to her the way she looked up to Venat - to the point where she was concerned it would interfere with his duties if he took on the role of Emissary.

Venat was a personal hero from the day they met, and over time became her mentor and confidant. Even though Azem felt as though her predecessor could be difficult at times, and she didn’t understand many of her actions especially towards the end, she still loved her all the same.

a convocation relationships chart for all your azem needs ☀️

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: All That Matters

Part 2

You didn’t mean to start pulling away.

It wasn’t something you planned, not some grand act of defiance. It just… happened.

At first, it was small things—taking longer to answer his texts, letting calls go to voicemail, handing the phone off to the kids instead of chatting with him yourself. He was always busy anyway, always surrounded by people, cameras, flashing lights, and—most notably—women.

Women who were everything you weren’t.

Confident. Flirtatious. Perfectly at ease in his world.

You weren’t jealous. Not exactly. You trusted Marshall. But watching him on TV, in interviews, at award shows, seeing the way those women leaned into him, touched his arm, laughed a little too hard at his jokes—

It made you feel small. Insignificant. Like you were just… there. His wife. The mother of his kids. Someone waiting in the background while he lived this big life.

So you stopped trying so hard to be part of it.

And at first, he didn’t notice.

---

It had been a long few weeks. Marshall had been flying back and forth between LA and Detroit for promo, barely home for more than a day at a time. The kids missed him. You missed him. But instead of letting that ache pull you toward him, you let it push you further away.

You ignored his last two FaceTime calls.

Then, earlier tonight, when he called to check in, you handed the phone to one your daughters and walked out of the room.

Apparently, that was the final straw.

Because when Marshall finally got home that night, he came in pissed.

“The hell is goin’ on with you?”

You barely looked up from the laundry you were folding. “Hey, nice to see you too.”

“I’m serious,” he snapped, stalking toward you. “You been dodgin’ my calls, barely talkin’ to me. What the fuck did I do?”

That made you laugh—sharp, bitter. “What did you do? Nothing, Marshall. You’re just you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You swallowed, setting the laundry down. You could feel the tears pressing against your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “It means I don’t even know where I fit in your life anymore.”

That made him freeze.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I watch you on TV, at events, surrounded by all these women, living this huge life—and I just… I feel like I’m nothing but your wife. Like I’m just here to take care of the kids and hold down the house while you’re off being Eminem.”

His face softened, but his voice was still sharp. “You think that’s all you are to me?”

You swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I am to you anymore.”

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then, before you could react, Marshall was on you.

Not in anger, not in frustration—but in desperation. His hands cupped your face, forcing you to look at him, his forehead pressing against yours.

“You’re everything,” he breathed. “You hear me? Everything.”

You blinked rapidly, fighting the tears. “Then why do I feel like I don’t matter?”

His breath hitched, like the words physically hurt him. “You do. More than anything. More than all of that shit put together.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, finally letting the tears fall. “I just… I feel like I lost myself.”

He pulled you into his chest, holding you so tight it almost hurt. “Then let me help you find yourself again.”

And in that moment, you knew—

No matter how big his world got, no matter how many flashing lights and adoring fans surrounded him—

He would always come back to you.

[lemchi]

This is technically the first thing I made this year (explanation below), but I sculpted a little Piss Boy!!!

I’ve been waiting until today to post this, as this is a (extremely late) Christmas gift for my friend. We were going to do a gift exchange but we still had to finish ours and also we barely had time to hang out before this.

Really sad to part ways with him because it turned out really good but I know he will be in good hands :)

[trashcakery]

This was after the hug, Fadel’s tears, the slow dance, the I have fallen for you, the kiss. Fadel had made up his mind. He would take what he could get—Style’s smell, the shape of his mouth, the taste of his skin—one last time. He knew it was over, could feel it seething between his lungs, the anger a quiet whir in the back of his head. He looked into Style’s eyes for a moment after they broke apart, and he thought of collapsing the facade, of grabbing his shoulders and shaking a confession out of those beautiful, lying lips. But Style simply looked back, smiling, unwavering, clueless. Did you really think I would not find out?

They were to spend the night in Fadel’s room. Style was tired. He went quiet at times in the night—a part of him Fadel was sure no one else knew. It was as if he gave out his spark in constant bouts, letting little to himself in the final hours of the day. The loudest people can be the loneliest, Fadel thought, fleetingly.

“Fadel,” Style whispered. He was sitting on the foot of Fadel’s bed, the smile, though tired, reaching his eyes. His hair was wet. He had just showered, and was in grey sweats and a black band tshirt that Fadel swore wasn’t cropped a few weeks back. Style raised both arms up, asking for a hug, asking Fadel to finally kill the space between them. “Why are you so far?”

Fadel didn’t say anything. He watched Style; the droplets lining his neck, one by one, pooling in the milky collarbones; those wild pretty brows that were surprisingly relaxed, not challenging him like they always did. He looked so good, so harmless. Fadel wanted to jump out of his own fucking skin. He walked, measured, towards him. Style’s shoulders perked up, a light in his face. He wrapped his arms around Fadel’s neck when Fadel bowed to let him, and they held each other’s eyes. Fadel stayed there. Say it. Say something. His mind was a jumble. Why won’t you say anything? But Style sat there, expectant. Fadel tightened his brows and quickly, like reflex, grabbed Style’s jaw. Maybe he’d scare a confession out of him, he thought. Maybe that’ll get him to explain himself, to swear to Fadel that Bison was wrong and that he didn’t betray him, that he wasn’t lying when he said he loved and wanted him. Fadel’s fingers left white prints where they pushed the skin. But Style stayed as he was, trusting. Fadel searched his face, searched for a silver of a clue, but found none. It pissed him off. Why was Style’s guard down? Why was he so fucking calm? Why wasn’t he afraid, still smiling, still ready to give his body, down to the bone, to Fadel? Fadel dug his nails into the skin, knuckles white, and Style titled his head ever so slightly to kiss the part of Fadel’s hand he could reach. “I miss you,” he said. “I was so worried that your shop was closed. I thought I was going insane.”

Fadel was quite still. He didn’t understand this. He didn’t know how to react. He was angry. He wanted him. He wanted him so much. He wanted to say goodbye. He didn’t want to kill him. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want this to end.

“Why?” He said, a choked breath.

It was Style’s turn to frown. He looked confused. “What?”

Fadel snapped out of it. Immediately. His fingers relaxed around Style’s jaw. He took a breath, grounded himself. “Nothing.” An exhale. “Come here.”

The kiss was slow, deep. Fadel couldn’t close his eyes. He kissed him, watched when he could. It felt wrong, but he needed to do this, one final time.

Style slipped out of his own shirt. It came off beautifully, his hair crowned with a shimmer. He looked up in quiet excitement at Fadel, who was standing now, taking his own shirt and pants off.

Style pushed himself to lie on the bed then wrapped his arms around Fadel’s back as Fadel climbed over him. They looked at each other. It was never like this between them. Fadel was suddenly aware of it all. Of the sounds their bodies were making against his sheets. Of the difference between them, in size and mannerism, the pace of their breaths, how Style’s gentle thrill was getting the better of him, how Fadel’s limbs were stiffening up in response, his trust in Style completely shattered.

Style raised his head up and kissed him again. Fadel tasted peppermint, fruit candy and sweetness. He wanted this. He wanted lifetimes of this.

“Fadel,” Style whispered against his mouth and stroked the back of his neck. “Did you think about me while you were gone—“

Fadel slipped his tongue in to shut him up. He didn’t want to admit the answer. I did. Every night.

They kissed, again, and again, shed off the rest of their clothes. It was different this time, the silence a creature in its own right. Fadel kissed Style’s body carefully. He left no part untouched. Style’s breaths came in quiet moans as he held onto Fadel tightly, always following his gaze, always trying to show him it felt good. And it did. It felt so fucking good, like fire, like martyrdom. But Fadel avoided Style’s eyes when he was inside, his face turned as he moved, slowly, carefully, awkwardly. His heart hurt. It shouldn’t be like this. It was never like this. He kissed Style’s neck when it became unbearable. And Style kissed him back, wherever he could, his jaw, his chin, his cheek, holding on tighter with each motion. Why? Fadel’s tears burned.

“Fadel,” Style closed his eyes and whispered as his head fell back. He bit hard onto his lips. Fadel went deeper, and watched, detached. “Fadel.”

[typicalopposite]

🥟 dumplings please! 🛎️

Well this got long and angsty… BUT it will have a part two in another person’s ask (hint: it’s Hannah’s) later 🙂‍↕️😉

This is a bad idea… that is probably going to result in an equally bad, impulsive idea. Buck takes a deep breath and walks into the bar anyway. 

“Thank God!” Chimney must have been watching the door for him to walk in because he spots Buck instantly and hurries over to him. “You gotta do something,” he continues, grabbing Buck’s arm and tugging him through the crowd, towards the front. 

“I don’t understand why it has to be me…” Buck mumbles; not that he wants it to be anyone else. It’s just that a few days ago everyone was actively trying to stop Buck from contacting Tommy, now they are asking him to confront Tommy in person. 

“Because you’re the only one who might be able to actually get through to him…” Chimney replies, and stops in front of their booth. “Okay I got him.” The rest of his team collectively sigh in relief. Buck sighs in annoyance to their relief. They had invited him to come along, but he knew Tommy and the 217 frequented the bar too— oftentimes he would abandon his own team to come sit with Buck and the 118 when they’d arrive— he wasn’t taking the chance. So much for that well thought out plan.

“So… what exactly am I supposed to do here?” Buck asks, he looks around but doesn’t even see a trace of Tommy anywhere in the bar. 

“He’s up next,” Chimney says, looking horrified. “Buck his reputation will never recover from this, you have to stop him.” 

“Stop him from wh—” 

Buck gets interrupted by a loud speaker screech and when he looks towards the sound he finally sees Tommy. He is standing beside the karaoke machine, swaying and teetering nearly over before catching his balance. He looks so lost— so sad, and it makes Buck’s heart ache. 

But he’s sad too, and— and Tommy is the reason he is sad. So when Tommy’s head finally lifts up and looks towards the 118’s booth, and he spots Buck staring back; Buck doesn’t react. When a shocked look crosses Tommy’s face but then gives way for a soft smile; he gives a little wave… and Buck doesn’t react to that either. 

“What are you waiting for!?” Chimney hisses, pushing Buck towards the front of the bar. “Go say something.”

“No… if— if I was ever going to try to talk to him—” Buck argues. “—I’m not doing it while he’s drunk.” 

“Buck! That’s the best time to do it!” 

“That makes no sense!?”

Hen sighs. “With Tommy… it actually does. He becomes an open book when he’s drunk.”

Buck rolls his eyes, unwilling to hear them out when they wouldn’t hear him out about how much he missed Tommy, how desperate he was to hear from him.

At the stage Tommy clears his throat. “H- Hey… it— it’s me… again.”

“Again?” Buck repeats, confused. 

“This is his fifth time up there,” Chimney explains, abandoning his efforts to get Buck to the stage and plopping down beside Hen. Around them a couple other tables can be heard whispering and snickering while pointing up towards the stage. Buck managed to ignore how it pisses him off to see them make fun of Tommy. 

“So f- for ma’nxt— next song…” Tommy says, swaying around from the motion of turning his head down to the computer to pick a song. “I… I’m g’nna sss— ssss— s- sing directly to my d- my du— my dumpling.” He looks back at Buck and winks— tries to wink, anyway. It was more of a slow frog blink. More laughter erupts through the bar, but if Tommy notices… it doesn’t sway him at all from finding a song anyway. 

“Oh my god,” Chimney groans, and drops his head down onto his arms. “He’s still saying ‘dumpling’!” 

“Wh- what do you mean, still?” 

“Every song he has chosen has used the word darling in it,” Hen explains. “By the third song— and his fifth whiskey— he just… switched the word and started saying dumpling instead.”

Hello Darlin’ appears on the screen behind him. “Hello Dumplin’,” is what comes out of his mouth. 

Buck stands there, somewhere between entranced in the lyrics (minus the persistent use of the word dumpling instead of darling) and embarrassed on Tommy’s behalf; the whole bar minus one table is openly laughing at him now— and yet he finishes the song. 

“And if you could ever find it in your heart… to forgive me. Come b- *hicup* back dumplin’; I’ll be waitin’ for you…” he says, stumbles and falls backwards. 

In the audience there is no concern at all, very little applause, and a whole lot of laughter. Buck’s feet finally break free from where he had purposefully planted them to the floor, and he rushes up to the stage. Tommy is rubbing at his shoulder where it hit a chair on his way down. He looks up when Buck grabs his arm and his eyes shine— probably due to the fact they are practically floating in alcohol. He smiles, and reaches for Buck’s face, missing a couple times before finally caressing his cheek. “You came back to me, d- dumplin’…” he says… and Buck doesn’t have the heart to say it’s only because he was duped into showing up. 

“Come on,” Buck sighs, and helps him to his feet. “I’ll take you home.” 

He tosses Chimney the keys to Tommy’s truck as they pass, then walks Tommy out to his jeep. Tommy slumps against the door once it's shut, smiling up at Buck through the window; and Buck doesn’t react. He can’t react. Not now… not like this. 

“I’m sorry,” Tommy says after half a car ride in complete silence. Buck is about to tell him it’s fine; that he doesn’t mind giving him a ride. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Evan.” Buck’s throat tightens and he manages a grunt in response. “You— you were everything I ever wanted… and— and I let you go. I wish I hadn’t…” 

So do I… Buck wants to say. He grips the wheel and continues to drive. 

Tommy starts to hum. Then eventually he starts to sing. “You came into my life, little savior… I catch butterflies when you enter… it’s crazy what love can do… Now you got me singing my truth…” Buck sighs, and keeps his eyes on the road. “You bring me Calm in the chaos… When all the odds are against us… You’ll have all my love… I need you to know now…

Oh, my darling, am I falling? I can’t find the words to use… First my heart aches… then my voice breaks… so I had to write it down for you. 

Oh my… d- darling… What you started, feels like I got it all to lose. First the ground shakes, years of mistakes… You’ve given me another life, so I’ll live it for you…”

Tommy goes quiet and Buck doesn’t react. 

[dragoncoven]

Dumb Transformers One Headcanons That I Thought Of Instead Of Being A Normal Person

Warnings: Language. Talks of death and murder, but nothing worse than what has already happened in the movie. Sentinel "Prime" deserves his own Trigger Warning.

This one is mainly for if they ever go to Earth/can be applied to other versions of Transformers: the one vehicle that no transformer can take after as an alt form is the Tesla Cybertruck. That vehicle is so much of a mechanical failure that it's physically impossible for any of them to even scan it. If anyone tried to transform into one, they would get contorted into a metal cube- like the ones that Wall-e makes- and it would take several medics to undo the damage. That's how bad it is and IRL I'm convinced that the so-called "truck" is made of garbage cans and fancy duck tape. They're better for being used as flying projectiles to hit Decepticons with. The owners can just get a new one.

Like the Bumblebee movie, TF One Bee would get his name from a human he befriends during a visit to Earth. The friend would still call him Badassatron every now and then when in a joking mood.

Pompeii by Bastille, especially the MMXXIII version, would make Optimus Prime cry like a baby.

I've been thinking and reading theories on why Bee was sent to Sublevel 50 since I first saw the movie. From the simple "probably pissed off Darkwing" to "accidentally uncovered something related to Sentinel Prime's treachery", but guys what if it's both? Like Bee loading the "trash" crates onto the trains like we see in the movie, but somehow bumps into Darkwing and a bunch of energon spills out from the crate. He is taken in and reported to Sentinel, who tells Darkwing to yeet Bee down the trash chute. The Blue Bastard joyfully agrees to do so since Bee has pissed him off multiple times on other jobs. He even plays a cruel joke by telling the optimistic bot that he's got a new job for him. The whole energon debacle was forgotten over time by Bee until he goes to the surface and uncovers the truth.

Speaking of Darkwing, he runs away from both Autobots and Decepticons fearing punishment from both leaders (Optimus would put him in jail for abuse to minors and aiding and abetting Sentinel like in the headcanon above, Megatron would just give him the old Kit-Kat treatment) and would end up being spotted by the Quintessons. He's the first Cybertronian they have seen since Sentinel promised them more energon so they kidnap and question him about why they haven't received any shipment since then. They kill him after Optimus sends them that message at the end of the film saying that they won't be receiving any more energon and leave his scrapped body on Iacon's doorstep as their war declaration. Sorry that was a little dark, but I just hate the dude. Not as much as I hate Sentinel, but it's pretty close.

Speaking of Blue Bastards, Sentinel's wings are add-on upgrades that were mainly for cosmetic purposes and that's why they seemed to come off so easily when D-16 was fighting him and they both crashed to the ground.

D-16 would have mained King Dedede in Smash Bros. Dont ask me why. I just like the way "dee" sounds.

Referring to the second Bee headcanon, Sentinel did tell Darkwing verbatim to "yeet B-127 to Sublevel 50 or something, I don't care just make sure he doesn't leave". I hate them so much I hope they both die in agonizing ways (Thank you Megs for taking out the trash).

Sometimes, in order to convince D-16 to get involved in his shenanigans, Orion Pax would bring out the puppy-dog eyes and Dee is helpless against it. He does manage to build up an immunity against it and that's why Orion didn't use it to convince him to participate in the race.

Optimus would later regret that part of his life because Bee uses his own puppy-dog eyes to convince him to give him extra missions or a cookie or something.

Elita trained Badassatron in fighting and also helps him realize when someone is being mean or taking advantage of him, that boi is naive even after the movie.

Anyone caught, tried, and convicted of knowingly helping Sentinel Prime with his evil acts (so Airachnid and those golden drones if they were sentient) during his reign is sentenced to 2 eons (or whatever is considered a very long time for transformers) of jail time with community service, stuff like building new housing quarters for the newly cogged former miners and tearing down whatever Sentinel statues weren't blasted off by Megatron and the High Guard and cleaning up after the ones that did. Optimus Prime may be trying to be peaceful and forgiving but he ain't a wuss.

Those who managed to slip through the cracks of the Iacon's new Justice system still become social pariahs and even if they join the Autobots in the coming wars, no one ever fully forgives them.

Because depending on how Cybertronians are born, I find it hard to believe that Sentinel managed to be there to take every t-cog out of every bot before they onlined. He probably paid off some nurses or something to do his dirty work for him.

Elita destresses after every day by doing something completely unrelated to kicking ass and taking names- writing crack fanfic of the Primes. She keeps it private and publishes under a pen name- especially when her former-worst-employee-in-the-world becomes a Prime. No one can ever know.

Bee finds out when using her computer because she forgot to close the Cybertronian equivalent to Microsoft Word. Everyone in Iacon knows who writes the funniest Prima×Megatronus fics by the end of the day.

Orion is a semi-constant reader, but once recognized a scene from one of her stories because he and D pulled that exact same stunt once and Solus reacts the same exact way that Elita did to them. As Optimus Prime, he now knows why he got deja vu.

No one makes fun of Elita for it, but she gets hounded by fans of her writing so much that she threatens to knock out the next person who brings it up to her in person. Despite this she keeps her Cybertronian A03 account alive and even still makes posts. Though she borrows less from her private life now.

She also absolutely refuses to write anything about Optimus Prime because that's her friend.

Bee learns better control of his knife hands over time and cooks with them now. Wait. Do Transformers even cook meals like us humans do? They have energon cubes in all sizes but that's the only thing we've seen them eat so far. Do they try anything with the plants and animals that they find on the surface? Cyber-deer venison, anyone?

I'm gonna cut my ramblings off now. Maybe there'll be a next time. Idk.

[isacksteban]

Eventually — Lawhan Mixed Media AU

Twitch Streamer AU — 1.7k words — @ellearts — masterlist

Jack’s stream had been going for about an hour — the viewers unable to see the state of Jack's grown out buzz cut — and as usual, it was pure calmness. He was wandering around his Animal Crossing island, fixing up little details, chatting with his viewers, and occasionally getting distracted by his villagers.

“This guy— Oh my god, chat, this guy right here,” Jack said, stopping in front of one of his villagers’ houses. “This is the one I was talking about.” The camera panned to a grumpy-looking eagle with a red face and furrowed brows sporting an obviously unimpressed expression. “Chat, you guys can't tell me tell me this doesn’t look exactly like Liam.”

His chat instantly erupted:

“NOOOO NOT LIAM LMAO.”

“WHY DOES THIS ACTUALLY LOOK LIKE HIM???”

"nah ob u wrong asl for that 😭😭"

“You’re so dead when he sees this...”

Jack chuckled, shaking his head as if anyone could see him. “I mean, come on! He’s got the same constant ‘I’m done with you’ expression, the attitude, the whole ‘cool but secretly super cute’ thing going on. It’s uncanny.”

He barely had time to read chat’s reactions before his phone started buzzing. His stomach dropped when he saw the caller ID.

“Oh, no,” he muttered, eyes going wide. “Uh. Hang on, chat.” He muted his mic and answered, keeping his voice casual. “Hey, Li.”

“You cunt,” Liam’s voice came through the speaker, half-scolding, half-laughing. “Are you serious? That’s who you think I look like?”

Jack bit his lip, trying not to smile. “I mean… a little?”

“A little?” Liam scoffed. “Mate, she looks angry all the time. Do I look angry all the time?”

Jack snorted. “LiLi, please be honest with yourself.”

Liam groaned dramatically. “Unbelievable. I thought we had something special.”

Jack was grinning now, his nerves fading as he leaned back in his chair. “We do! That’s why I picked a cool villager. She’s my favourite. Plus, she's tough and kind of intimidating but secretly nice. Like you.”

Liam went quiet for a second, and Jack wondered if he’d pushed his luck. But then Liam sighed, his voice softer when he spoke again.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he muttered, then, after a short pause, added, “It’s okay. I love you anyway.”

Jack’s breath hitched. His grip tightened around his phone as his heart pounded in his chest. He could feel his entire face heating up, and he was suddenly very aware that chat was still waiting.

“I— uh—” He swallowed hard, scrambling for words. “I gotta get back to stream.”

Liam chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Go tell your chat I’m not actually that grumpy.”

“No promises,” Jack muttered, hanging up before Liam could say anything else.

He muted and quicky unmuted his mic, realizing that he hadn't actually gone on mute in the first place and immediately, chat was going insane.

“DID HE JUST SAY ‘I LOVE YOU’????”

“OB AND KIWI??? HELLO????”

“HE LOVES YOU ANYWAY??? BOYFRIENDS CONFIRMED.”

"WHY ARE YOU GUYS IGNORING OB CALLING HIM LILI IM CRYING."

Jack groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I— chat, we’re not talking about that.”

Which, of course, only made them talk about it more. And if Jack spent the rest of the stream avoiding the subject completely, well… no one could blame him.

The moment Jack ended the stream, he didn’t even bother shutting everything down properly. His hands were shaking as he grabbed his phone — he really needed to get back on his anxiety meds — scrolling through his recent messages until he found Liam’s name. He hesitated for half a second before hitting the call button, pressing the phone to his ear as his heart pounded.

Liam picked up almost immediately. “Took you long enough.”

Jack let out a shaky laugh. “I— Liam, what the hell was that?”

“What was what?” Liam replied innocently, though Jack could hear the smirk in his voice. “Me scolding you for comparing me to a permanently pissed-off eagle? Or the part where I told you I love you?”

Jack inhaled sharply. His entire body felt warm, and his brain was scrambling to keep up. “Yeah. Uhm, That part. I mean like I guess friends tell eachother they love them like— like me and Lance do that it's just... you... you've never—”

There was a pause before Liam spoke again, quieter this time. “Did it freak you out?”

Jack shook his head quickly, even though Liam couldn’t see him. Of course Liam couldn't see him, he never had. “No. Just… surprised me.”

Liam hummed on the other end of the line, the sound low and thoughtful. “Yeah? Surprised you how?”

Jack exhaled slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. He didn’t know how to explain it — how his heart had practically jumped out of his chest when Liam had said that so casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like Jack wasn’t going to be replaying it in his head for the next month.

“I dunno,” Jack admitted, gripping the edge of his desk. “I just… I guess I didn’t think you were the type to say that.”

“To say what? That I love you?” Liam asked, and Jack swore he could hear the smirk in his voice.

Jack groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Li.”

“What?” Liam laughed, the teasing lilt in his tone making Jack’s stomach flip. “It’s a perfectly normal thing to say. You just said you and Lance do it.”

“Yeah, but—” Jack hesitated, trying to find the words. “It’s different with you.”

The silence that followed made Jack wish he could shove the words back into his mouth. His face burned, and his heartbeat felt deafening in his ears.

Liam was the first to break it. “Different how?”

Jack swallowed hard. “I... Nevermind, I don’t know.”

That wasn’t true. He did know. It was the way Liam’s voice always lingered in his mind, the way he caught himself checking his phone more often just to see if Liam had messaged. It was how, on the nights they stayed up too late talking about nothing and everything, Jack found himself wishing he could actually see him, feel him, be with him — just once.

But none of that was something he could say out loud.

Liam didn’t push. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said after a moment, his voice light but softer than before. “Or I’ll just assume you’re flustered.”

Jack scoffed. “I’m not flustered.”

“Sure, mate,” Liam said, clearly amused. “Anyway, you never answered my question.”

Jack frowned. “What question?”

“Did it freak you out?”

Jack hesitated for half a second before answering. “No.”

“Good,” Liam said simply.

That was it. No teasing remark, no attempt to pry. Just good. Jack let the word settle in his chest, warm and steady.

Liam yawned on the other end, and Jack could hear the faint rustling of blankets. “I should let you go,” Liam mumbled. “You’ve had enough of me for one night.”

Jack rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Doubt that’s possible.”

There was a pause, then a soft chuckle. “Yeah?”

Jack bit the inside of his cheek, suddenly feeling way too exposed. “Shut up.”

Liam laughed, and Jack could hear the exhaustion in it. “Alright, alright. Night, Outback.”

“Night, Liam,” Jack murmured, listening for the soft click as Liam hung up.

Jack sat there for a long moment, staring at his screen, his fingers twitching like they wanted to call Liam back. Instead, he leaned forward, rubbing his hands over his face.

Different how?

Jack still didn’t have an answer. Or maybe he did, and he just wasn’t ready to admit it.

outbacksprout

liked by theflyingdutchman, kkofficial, and 22,148 others

outbacksprout i was born to be australian

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maplemarauder ob u are australian??

outbacksprout exactly :3

maplemarauder ur so stupid

kkofficial is your house a semi-circle??

outbacksprout dont ask questuons..

user kiss liked by kkofficial

kkofficial✅️

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kkofficial when in auckland...

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user be naked??

landologs where yo clothes at...

kkofficial 😈

landologs blocked.

outbacksprout skincare!! >-< liked by hannahstjohn

kkofficial it burned...

outbacksprout oh its not supposed to do that.. :(

Jack hadn’t meant to spiral.

It started innocently enough — just scrolling through Instagram while lying on his couch, aimlessly checking notifications. He wasn’t even paying full attention until he saw it:

hannahstjohn liked your comment.

Jack blinked at the name, his stomach twisting with a weird sense of familiarity. He vaguely recognized it — he was sure he’d seen it pop up in Liam’s likes before — but he’d never really thought about it, hundreds of people liked all of Liam's posts. She was different.

Curiosity got the best of him. He tapped on her profile, expecting — what? He wasn’t sure.

Her page was public. That made it worse.

The first few pictures were harmless — polished selfies, beach sunsets, aesthetic coffee shots. But the more Jack scrolled, the more uneasy he felt.

Because there he was. Liam.

In photo after photo, standing beside her with his arm slung casually around her shoulders, both of them grinning like they had the world figured out. As if they were eachother's world.

Jack’s stomach dropped.

One picture in particular made his fingers freeze. A sunlit, golden-hour shot of Liam kissing her cheek, her smile wide and radiant. The caption?

“Home.”

Jack’s chest felt tight. He didn’t even realize he’d stopped breathing until he exhaled, forcing himself to keep scrolling, to find something — anything — that told him he was overreacting. He had to be, he hadn't even met Liam in person so he had to have been being overdramatic.

Maybe they were old photos. Maybe they weren’t even dating. Maybe Liam had just never thought to bring her up.

But then there was another post, barely a month old — a blurry mirror selfie of them tangled up together on a couch, Liam half-asleep against her shoulder.

Jack’s mouth went dry.

His phone suddenly felt too heavy in his hands, like it was pressing down on his chest. He locked the screen and tossed it onto the couch beside him, staring at the ceiling.

He wasn’t stupid. Liam had never said anything about being into guys. He had no reason to. Jack had never even asked.

But still. He thought about the late-night calls, the teasing, the easy way Liam said I love you anyway like it meant nothing.

And now, all Jack could think was: Of course it meant nothing.

His chest ached in a way he didn’t quite know how to name. In a way it hadn't ached in years and he hoped it never did again.

[billiethrills]

she watched him, the smirk on her lips steady, but there was a sharpness to it now, a glint in her eye that hadn’t been there before. she tilted her head, exhaling a quiet laugh as she glanced at the screen, at the little notification that proved just how deep camilo played the game. "you really are shameless, huh?" her voice was silk and smoke, smooth and slow as she reached out, fingers grazing the edge of his burner phone before she plucked it from his grasp. she turned it over in her palm, nails tapping lightly against the plastic, her grin curling like a cat who had just caught something far more interesting than she expected. "hustling a man over his dead abuelita? that’s low, even for you." she took a step back, not enough to retreat, but just enough to let the weight of her words settle. her free hand smoothed over her hip, brushing against the thick wad of bills still tucked into the strap of her barely-there outfit. she had played the long game tonight, kept them wanting, kept them spending — made them believe she was giving them something real. but camilo? camilo had made them believe he was their savior. and that was the part that really fucking pissed her off. "guess i gotta give you credit," she mused, lifting the phone, pretending to inspect it like she was weighing it against the money she had pulled in. "you didn’t just win. you made sure i couldn’t argue it." her gaze flicked back to him, locking onto his, and for a moment, just a brief one, her smirk softened — just a touch, just enough to show that, yeah, she could appreciate the play. but then, just as quickly, it was gone. she tossed the phone back to him, the movement effortless, like it had never really mattered in the first place. "fine. you win tonight," she conceded, stepping forward again, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of vanilla and whiskey clinging to her skin. "but next time? don’t think for a second i’m gonna let you pull that shit again." she reached up, tapped two fingers against his jaw, the touch light, teasing, before she leaned in just enough for her breath to ghost against his ear. "enjoy the victory, baby. it’s the last one you’re getting."

She walked in an the air in the room changed into a completely different atmosphere, and it wasn't just Camilo he had that effect on apparently. There was a hint of envy in his gaze as he watched her walk to her locker, for he strived for such influence on others one day, even if it was only for a temporary role he played. Such confidence was inherent, not easy to be learned. Nevertheless, he would try. It wasn't desire that had him practically stare her down as she undressed. No, he was examining her body language, every move she made, each twitch of muscle in her expression, analyzing her for the future. Curiosity and ambition overcame him for a moment, though anticipation for the results of their game caught up to them soon enough, winning the race in the end, even with a late start.

He turned to her once she spoke, as if he was being drawn in by her voice, and it was because, well... he was. "I know baby, I make it seem so easy." It took guts to do what he did. Exactly like what she did. He held her gaze as she approached, head tilting back from his seat to do so. He enjoyed being in that position perhaps a little too much, but eventually he got up to eye level with her. "Oh yeah?" He reached into his pocket as he spoke. "Guess I'm just shy a couple hundred in cash, huh? Oh, well... your clients are very loyal. Y'know Pete, the bald guy with the glasses? Horrible, what happened to his abuelita. Good thing I knew Harry, he could totally help him out. And guess what?" He pulled a burner phone out, unlocking it before he turned it around with a little notification on the screen about Pete, of all people, sending him double his rent money. "All out of the good of his heart!"

[literaturezombie]

u know what I adore the Ed arc in episode 7 like. he's right he doesn't know who he is and they haven't fully stopped seeing each other as the idealized versions they've built up in their heads and they're both impulsive and moving too fast but I am also so certain. and maybe I'm projecting onto him again but so certain Ed didn't think the only option was for him to leave and go be a fisherman or whatever but a tiny little part of him just wanted to get to be the one to leave Stede this time and make him feel just a little bit how he felt. girls can have a little bit of revenge by making the people they love suffer the way they made them suffer as a treat!!