#along with their youth as they had to grow up too fast

[goatpaste]

everyonce in awhile i get so!!!!! thinkin about the parallels and sibling relationship between Lucy and Diego it straight up makes me weepy

then i remember that its not real and i just made it up in my head rewrite and it makes me bonkers

[eccentricallygothic]

Divorced Dad!Captain Syverson who experiences a real time brain short-circuit when he sees how well you get along with his kids during your first meeting with them… 

Warning(s): Breeding kink, size kink, old man!Sy, age gap, manhandling, groping, fluff, boob play, unprotected p-in-v, I added plot to it TT. MDNI.

. . . 

After the messy divorce that followed his turbulent marriage, Sy was not looking forward to any relations with the opposite sex, if possible. With his former profession a constant hurdle to his life as part of a unionized pair and marital bliss, what had started as a promising relationship had turned out to be one of those unfortunate marriages where children were sought as a last resort to perhaps save the remnants of the already rotten love between man and wife. Though being someone from a background that held family in the highest esteem and always having been fond of the idea of his own lot, Sy loved his children more than life itself and there was not a thing in the world he would trade for them. And that was the reason why he had preferred to opt for an early retirement so custody would not be an issue between him and his ex-wife who was more than eager to shed off everything affiliated with the name Syverson like an illness.

You, on the other hand, though not much experienced with the opposite sex were not too warm to the idea of children. Being a student in her last year of higher education and only so old as you were, your attitude hardly deserved to be subjected to scrutiny. That, and the fact that you hadn't really had many young ones around you while growing up as an only child, calling you a foreigner to the scene would not qualify as an exaggeration and hence it can be said that it is more indifference than contempt on your part. 

So naturally, when it happened, it was strictly unplanned. And very fateful. With a rather traumatized Sy in a sort of an emotional limbo who had more than enough reason to keep to himself, and a stressed with soon approaching future endeavors as well as disillusioned with the opposite sex you, the night you had bumped into each other outside the bar restrooms where Sy had been dragged to cheer up by his friends and you to loosen up by yours, the rather fast yet steady rate at which the two of you had woven into each other had been unexpected to say the least. 

But now, as Sy fires up the grill in his backyard to begin the little BBQ he has planned for today when you meet his children for the first time, the prided and much experienced grill expert nearly burns his hand because he is so busy inwardly fawning over how quickly his rugrats have warmed up to you. And you, Sy will swear on anything that you are just the most perfect woman— person alive. Everything is just right with you. Even on days when the world seems to press down on him, your mere presence is there to help his spirits back up and elate as well as support him in every sense.

Though he had been honest about his condition since the beginning, after his initial reluctance to get with you as you were so much younger and inexperienced compared to him, children weren't peculiarly a topic that came up between the two of you except occasions where Sy wanted to share a little victory or rant with you. So as you keep his toddler on one hip with a protective arm around her, your perfect body -Sy's words- clad in a bonny bright coloured sundress, and hold the hand of his 5 year old who excitedly shows you around the mini patio of the modern farmhouse, memories of his own mother scarce if any, your making conversation with the boy and giggling along to his lisp droning flutters Sy's heart in a way that he thought he had outgrown. 

It also excites him with a kind of boyish heat that the former military Captain had thought he had shed off with his adolescent youth.

And so he just has to have you by yielding to a similar impatience and desperation, the musical sound of your giggles faintly fluttering its melodies upon his flush and thumping ears as he gets to it.

“God, Sy!” The huff in your words fires him up even more and he cannot hold back any longer. “You’re such a brute!” His coarse and scarred paws heavily pull at your dress with a crazed desperation to help you find the restroom, as he had told one of the farm hands that he had left the children under. “Oof!” The whine you let out before instinctively craning your head to try and ease the way his thick beard tickles the tender skin of the curve of your neck makes him growl into your carotid pulse that he worships with his hot lips, the pressure of your pressing your face into his as well as the soft pants you let out, your chest bumping into his with each heave of your lungs, only lithifies his bulging erection even more. 

“Gon' fatten up your pretty lil’ pussy with my cum, baby” Sy's breaths scorch your clammy skin with their burning weight. His hands grope and expose you everywhere they can reach, and they can do so everywhere because of how much smaller hence ragdoll-like you are compared to him. “Wouldja like that, angel?” Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he boosts your thighs up his tall legs and around his waist, the fat and leaking tip of his cock grazing against your holes from how he is kissing you everywhere he can reach. “Me stuffing that cute tummy full of siblings for Tim and Bethy, huh?” You know he would never actually do something as serious so callously without a prior discussion so you breathlessly nod, pushing your oral muscles to gulp down the thick bile in your throat and tip your head against the wall to prepare yourself to withstand his intrusion of your pussy that thanks to his girth always feels like not only your first time with him but your very deflowering in general.

 “Yes” your mouth falls open as he reaches below the hold with which he has your whole body propped up. “Yes, please~” his balmy tip finds its destination in the tiny, drenched and quivering closed up band that leads to your reproductive cavern. “Please fimme with your babies, Sy~” when the stretch makes your tiny hole burn around his girth, your mouth lets loose all the obscene words of vulgar desire. 

“Yeah, baby?” Sy's fingers flex over your ass and caress their way up your side before coming down and repeating the action, his thumb stealing strokes of your nipples as he does. “Wanna make me a Daddy, yeah?” A hiss leaves your mouth and your back arches at the feeling of your walls sheathing him deep within themselves. His breathtaking urgency nearly puts a dent in your innards. “Want me to make you all round and heavy here?” Your pussy clenches around the hilt of his cock when he suddenly gropes your naval into a greedy handful.

“Yes, please, Sy!” Your whole form bounces up in the air when the man gives you a thrust so powerful that has you mewling and digging your nails in his shoulders. “Wanna make you a Daddy so bad, Sy!” His dick has always had a hypnotic effect on you, for the minute it's in the vicinity of any of your holes, you become a brain dead parrot for him. 

“Atta girl~” he cooes, tossing your body further up with a strong stab of his hips so he can clamp his teeth down on one of your boobs.

MASTERLIST

. . . 

I am MAD for this man. Like I am not even hot on kids. WHAT—

[serpentface]

The goddess Arweny, depicted in Setem-Whe ornamental style. She is usually described as a female elowey protruding from the jaws of a gigantic serpent, or as a small snake with a rat perpetually stuck in its throat.

She is considered to be one of many local spirits of the wilds across the vast forested region known as Nekhuatseth, and is venerated (and cursed) as the god of the hunt-interrupted. She is believed to lend strength and speed to hunted quarry, allowing them to escape predation against insurmountable odds. She is completely impartial, and will lend her mercy to an insect just as easily as she would to a person.

Hunters blame her when what seems to be a certain kill escapes, and pray to her when they find themselves hunted. In many places, it is believed that she will hide all prey if she is not appeased, and as such is left offerings of fruit and wine before any expedition. It is common in rural parts of Nekhuatseth to wear amulets depicting her likeness to ward off attacks from wild beasts.

A folktale from the Sykhilic cult (a Nekh and Setem-Whe religious order devoted to a lunar goddess, scattered in temples at the edges of wilderness areas) intends to teach youths about the dangers and impartiality of the wilds, and illustrates beliefs about Arweny's intervention in the cycle of hunter and hunted.

A young hunter walked alone through the wilds in the heat of the dry season. They were on their rite of passage, and as such were armed only with a knife and could feed only on what game and forage they found on their journey. They were three days in, tired and hungry and missing the comfort of the city more and more with every step.

The hunter stopped at the edge of a clearing to eat a few clumps of dry, tasteless grass. They chewed miserably and dreamed of the great feast that would be held upon their return, when they heard a sudden snap. The youth had only a moment to turn before a great beast seized them in its claws. A tyger had been stalking them, and now pinned them to the earth under one massive paw!

Thinking fast, the young hunter called upon one of the wild gods of these parts. 

“Arweny! Rat-Who-Chokes-The-Snake! Please, lend me your strength!”

And there was a great rustling in the bush, a sliding, slithering sound, and a cackle of frightful laughter. And the hunter felt every muscle in their body seize with a great strength, and they wrenched themself out of the stinking cat’s grasp.

The youth scampered up a tree and sat in its high boughs with their breast heaving. The cat paced below in helpless agitation, for the branches were far too lithe to support its great weight.

The great beast stalked away, and the hunter cried out their thanks to the lord of the triumphant prey and nursed their wounds.

The young hunter walked along deer trails all day, but there was no quarry to be seen, and the scents were weeks old and unpromising. With hunger now gnawing painfully at their gut, they came upon a great river. There were water lillies growing in the shallows with thick, tasty bulbs, and the air was alive with frogsong. The youth crept out into the muddy water, hoping to find something good to eat.

But a slight ripple on the water filled their gut with ice. Their instinct told them to be afraid, and in the fraction of a second, they whispered, “Arweny, lord of the hunt-interrupted, lend me your speed.”

And in that same moment, a colossal riverdrake sprang forth from the murk, faster than the hunter could have run. But their body was seized with a great quickness, and they leapt into the air, high above the drake’s head, and came down upon its jaws, forcing them shut with a snap!

As they sprang away from the beast, they heard a wet slithering sound, and that same cackle of triumph. They silently thanked the lord of the biting quarry, and ran far from the river and its dangers.

But now, the hunter was near starved. The small insects and dessicated grasses they had found along the way did little to abate their hunger. They needed to make a kill or they would surely starve.

And as if by divine will, they came across a river hog hopelessly tangled in a thorny mass of dead vines. It squealed and strained with all its might, but to no avail. The hog collapsed to its side and laid still, chest heaving and showing the terrified whites of its eyes. The hunter sighed in relief and drew their blade.

And suddenly, the hog trembled and burst away, ripping up and dragging all the vines along with it! The hunter was frozen in shock. How was this possible? The hog was as good as dead!

And as if to answer that question, they heard that same slithering, the sound of something heavy dragging its long body over the dry leafbed. And they heard that same cackle, a laugh of triumph, as the prey fled and the hunter starved.

[xo-cod]

dad simon fluff because i'm sad. rushed and ooc ‼️

might be confusing to read because i didn't name the baby, i tried 🥲

it was early morning, too early for his liking as simon yawned before he spread the butter across the toast delicately. slicing up some fruits alongside it. it had been seven whole months since you both welcomed your pride and joy, seven whole months of a world he didn't think was possible to ever receive in this life. how he adored you and how he cherished his baby so deeply to his heart, in some ways it makes up for all the pain he suffered in his past to be able to have his two greatest gifts beside him every day.

he finished plating up, walking back to the living room and there his infant stood, big brown eyes gazing at the tv with delight. her eyes were one of the first thing he noticed when she had been born, they were one of the features that she had taken identically like his. and they looked absolutely gorgeous on her.

he never thought his life would turn out this way, spending the majority of his youth and his adulthood in the taskforce. at some point he grew to accept that the life price had offered him was the only one he would ever receive, he got used to the idea that perhaps love wasn't something everyone got to experience in this world. but then you came along and you gave him the greatest gift he could've ever possibly recieved, turning his world on its axis for the better.

a foreign feeling to simon whose life had been dominated nothing but by violence and loss.

"c'mere munchkin, breakfast" the soldier in him calling it out like a command only his voice was gentle, fatherly, as he picked her up securely before delicately placing her in her high chair.

and much like his features, his baby seemed to take his attitude too.

she huffed and squirmed on the chair, her tiny face crumpled in a frown having been taken away from her dear cartoons and made to eat.

"is this little girl trying to be stubborn, eh?" simon narrowed his eyes but his face showed pure amusement, his face leaning down to kiss her temple softly. she immediately relaxed and babbled softly while he smiled, sitting on the chair next to her as he fed her the food.

simon was still learning everyday what it meant to be a father, he promised himself he'd never turn out to be the way his own dad was. he vowed never to do that to you or his child. never to become the way his father had been.

but he had barely finished giving her the breakfast before she gasped excitedly at the cartoon once more, baby babbles falling from her lips. he watched, resisting the urge to coo and chuckle at her state. and then he watched as she mimicked the tv, pretending to be dinosaur while she blew raspberries at him.

it had been her new thing now and simon felt pure joy tugging at his heart, wishing forever she'd stay this way so he could protect her from everything. how innocent and carefree she was here in this moment, how time was cruel because he could already feel it escape and slip through his fingers. pretty soon she'd be turning a year old and it felt like just yesterday he was bringing her and you back home from the hospital

"now what do little dinosaurs say?" simon entertained her playfully, helping her down while she stomped around in her onesie looking at him with pure mischief.

"you have to roar at me for it to work, yeah?" he playfully growled back as he nuzzled his face up against hers and he started to gently tickle her on her side. she collapsed into shrieks of laughter, only deepening the smile on his lips as he laughed along with her. he watched her small arms flail about, trying to make her voice sound like the effects on tv but failing miserably

and how his heart ached in his chest as a result from it. he hoped she would never lose this spark, this streak of mischief, being so full of life and love. she was already growing much too fast for his liking but he was so excited for who she'd be, she was his mini after all

he heard your soft gasp and then a gentle laugh, turning back to look at you with a look of fondness at your arrival. you'd never looked better to him, half asleep and still as beautiful as the day he had the pleasure of looking upon you for the first time

"did you hear that, lovie?" simon grinned, looking back at you before he kissed his baby's small cheek as he set her down on the floor once more. he gently faced her towards you, helping her walk across while you made your way to the couch

"show mama how you roar like a scary little dinosaur" simon encouraged with a playful tone, poking her side softly. you followed his gaze and looked down at the baby who was roaring just as she had been before she hiccuped and stumbled on the floor. her soft grumbles fell from her lips which prompted the both of you to chuckle gently at your baby. she looked close to having a tantrum but simon was well acquainted with all her little moods, distracting her quickly

"oh no, my poor little dinosaur. whatever will it do now?" he feigned sadness which caused the infant to burst into giggles, almost tripping over towards his big arms as he caught her and held her close to his chest. his own gentle laughter mixing in with hers and you could only watch with a tenderness in your heart, always hoping deep down in your heart your little family would always remain this happy.

[jaytalking]

Okay okay.

NAOOOO—

*inhaaalE*

So your Plasmius design.

*claps hands together multiple times*

Where do I even BEGIN to appreciate it OML I would fail at doing so-

Okay so.

Numero uno *cough*

The whole thing about him looking younger to embrace the vampire part. Yes. Yes I love that. That is now canon in my heart because it just WORKS. SO MUCH.

Because I feel like it could also tie into the fact that Vlad in the show is so obsessed with having lost everything and wanting all of it back, his youth included-

So he'd look younger as Plasmius EEEEEEEE

Also I LOVE how his eye shape changes as Plasmius and he looks more. Hostile and dangerous if you will—*explodes* eyes are the windows to one's soul I love eyes sm-

THE FANGS. THE FANGSSSSS—*taps the microphone* HE'S A VAMPIREEEE—

The way you turned the top of his cape into flames??? That is literally so so SO cool and amazing

Makes me wonder if he can maybe. Change the shape of it/make it appear and disappear whenever he wants?

Also his hands constantly looking like they have blood on them??? AND IT CAN SPREAD ONTO THE SURFACES HE TOUCHES??? TEN OUT OF TEN ISTG THAT IS JUST SOMETHING ELSEEEE/POS

Your young Vlad looks so huggable idk why

(Sorry kinda unrelated but I feel like younger Vlad was SUCH a timid person. And he'd get shy fast but he'd also be quite confident whenever he wanted.)

THE LOWER PART OF HIS HAIR BEING WHITE. I WILL—*holds head* "yes officer it's this design right here—"/silly

AND THE SCAR

Gosh my favorite part EVER

THEM GLOWING

OH MY DAYS THAT IS AWESOME

He looks like a fiery demon from the pits of hell I love it

I'm here for it

I'll put him in a freezer so he can cool down—/silly

I think we should give him pomegranate sorbet I think he'll like it

Cuz like

It's sour, but also has a sliiiight sweetness to it, and it has a bitterness in its core because of the pomegranate seeds. Idk I feel like that is just. So Vlad. Shfjfkvkvkv—/silly

Also very randomly: Vlad be like:

"Oh look, a sophisticated business man!"

"Oh, he’s a little bit messed up, actually..."

BUT YEAH I JUST ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR DESIGN FOR HIM I'LL HOLD HIM IN MY HANDS LIKE A LITTLE CREATURE/POS

Jophofhchvv thank you I never know how to respond to but know that we're screaming together!

Here's some fun facts about EctoScience Vlad:

-I really wanted to give him a dangerous vibe, ghosts can eat other ghosts to grow stronger extremely quickly in this AU and that's partly why he's as strong as he is, the other part being... halfas are just very powerful. Simply. Anyways everyone in the Zone knows and fears him; at the start of the series he's almost a boogeyman of sorts there until Danny starts beating him.

- Vlad didn't have a ghost form at first! His becoming a Halfa actually took a long time due to how it happened, and that's technically how it'll go for Danny too, he's just further along due to his own death being wayyy more violent than Vlad's. The progression into full ghost has slowed down a lot in Vlad's case, but for the reason I just mentioned, Danny's progression is fast.

- The "I hate you!" "You're like me!" Exchange is something I've had in mind since the start. In this AU specifically the circumstances of their "deaths" are extremely similar, but above all Danny fears turning fully into a ghost will make him lose his humanity and turn him evil due to, you know, actually listening to the "all ghosts are evil" bogus his parents believe. Vlad can sense that insecurity and in this AU he latches onto it like a vice to make Danny think him joining Vlad's side is inevitable in the end.

- Yes, he CAN make his cape disappear if it starts getting in his way in a fight, but I would also like to highlight his fire core making him very warm. Cats love him.

- His general behaviour as a ghost has been changed a little, he acts and fights fairly normally at first, but if the fight drags on for too long or his opponent runs away he's going FULL HORROR MOVIE VILLAIN. That first fight in the mansion was a lot longer and made Danny genuinely fear for his life. Let Vlad be MORE unhinged when he's pissed off I say.

[wordsarelife]

—𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖒𝖊: official soundtrack!

note: requests are open regarding anything to do with the don't blame universe (you can tell me anything: what you (didn't) like, questions you have, asks for drabbles/ short fics, characters opinions/ moments you'd like to see. feel free!!!)

best of tweets will follow in a few days, stay tuned!!!

debut album: neon nights -> real songs

blood//water (grandson)

daddy issues (the neighbourhood)

you get me so high (the neighbourhood)

fluroscent adolescence (arctic monkeys)

only angel (harry styles)

second album: soft death -> real songs

jackie and wilson (hozier)

about you (the 1975)

i wanna be yours (arctic monkeys)

she (harry styles)

obviously (mcfly)

too sweet (hozier)

end of beginning (joe keery)

made up songs:

neon nights

in the haze of neon nights,/ we were fearless in our flights,/ chasing dreams under starry skies,/ laughing 'til tears filled our eyes.

but time slipped away too fast,/ those moments we thought would last,/ now i'm left here all alone,/ where did our innocence go?

neon nights, where did you run?/ lost in the shadows of what we'd become,/ we were supposed to grow old together,/ but life had a different tether.

remember those careless hours,/ building castles from shattered flowers,/ promised you a better fate, now i've noticed it's too late

but time slipped away too fast,/ those moments we thought would last,/ now i'm left here all alone,/ where did our innocence go?

neon nights, where did you run?/ lost in the shadows of what we'd become,/ we were supposed to grow old together,/ but life had a different tether.

in crowded rooms, i search for your face,/ but it's just an empty space,/ echoes of laughter haunt my mind,/ leaving fragments of us behind.

neon nights, where did you run?/ lost in the shadows of what we'd become,/ we were supposed to grow old together,/ but life had a different tether.

neon lights fade into gray,/ silent reminders of yesterday,/ i miss you more than words can show,/ in these neon nights, where did you go?

lying to your face

she’s got those sailor moon eyes,/ never been the type of girl to take home to your mother./ she’s got those meteorite vibes,/ put it in park we can go get high on each other.

they don’t make ‘em like you anymore,/ they don’t make ‘em like you anymore.

lying to your face,/ but I’m falling from grace./ oh, can i get you high tonight?/ can i get you high tonight?/ lying to your face,/ in this twisted embrace./ oh, can i get you high tonight?/ can i get you high tonight?

we could hide from the truth,/ escape from the lies and the drama./ lost in our youth,/ your body is my panorama.

they don’t make ‘em like you anymore,/ they don’t make ‘em like you anymore.

lying to your face,/ but I’m falling from grace./ oh, can i get you high tonight?/ can i get you high tonight?/ lying to your face,/ in this twisted embrace./ oh, can i get you high tonight?/ can i get you high tonight?

oh, honey, you’re my secret sin,/ with every touch, i lose again.

lying to your face,/ but I’m falling from grace./ oh, can i get you high tonight?/ can i get you high tonight?/ lying to your face,/ in this twisted embrace./ oh, can i get you high tonight?/ can i get you high tonight?

cheap wine

we used to own the night,/ every whisper, every sigh,/ the way you looked at me,/ like we were meant to be,

now i see you in the crowd,/ his hand pulling you around,/ it's like a ghost of what we had,/ now he has you instead

i can't help but wonder why,/ we let our love just pass us by,/ now you’re living in a different time,/ but I’m stuck on replay in my mind.

now you’re dancing along,/ to his newest song,/ laughing like you did when you were mine,/ and it hits me, cause i can’t fix it,/ on the bottom of your lip,/ reminder how it is,/ but there’s still a drop of my cheap wine.

every time i hear your name,/ it’s like a flicker of the flame,/ i see your smile in my dreams,/ haunting me with what it means,

now you’re dancing along,/ to his newest song,/ laughing like you did when you were mine,/ and it hits me, cause i can’t fix it,/ on the bottom of your lip,/ reminder how it is,/ but there’s still a drop of my cheap wine.

every memory, every touch, / a love that once was, now it’s just too much,/ to see you move on, while i stay behind,/ clinging to the remnants of our time./ but i’ll raise a glass to what we had,/ and let it go, though it hurts so bad,/ in every tear, in every sigh, i’ll find a way to say goodbye.

now you’re dancing along,/ to his newest song,/ laughing like you did when you were mine,/ and it hits me, cause i can’t fix it,/ on the bottom of your lip,/ reminder how it is,/ but there’s still a drop of my cheap wine.

eight packs of cigarettes

in the glow of street lights,/ underneath the city's haze,/ you found me in the darkest nights,/ lost in a nicotine haze.

eight packs of cigarettes,/ burned through these lonely nights,/ trying to drown out regrets,/ but you're still in my head.

as the night moves past/ i'm the only one last/ tell me that you lied/ no, tell me that you're mine

eight packs of cigarettes,/ burned through these lonely nights,/ trying to drown out regrets,/ but you're still in my head.

in the haze of smoke and dreams,/ i'll keep searching for some reprieve,/ but until then, I'll keep the smoke,/ eight packs of cigarettes full of hope.

hot-headed

you walk in like a hurricane, eyes sharp like a blade,/ a tempest in your heart, every move is a raid,/ your words cut deep, leaving scars in their wake,/ a rebel without a cause, a risk i had to take.

hot-headed, you set the night on fire,/ a blaze of chaos and desire,/ hot-headed, you’re the thrill i crave,/ dancing on the edge of a tidal wave.

you're a wild card, a mystery wrapped in smoke,/ with a devilish grin, and a laugh that provokes,/ we clash like thunder, yet i can't stay away,/ caught in your storm, i'm lost in the fray.

hot-headed, you set the night on fire,/ a blaze of chaos and desire,/ hot-headed, you’re the thrill i crave,/ dancing on the edge of a tidal wave.

in the heat of our battles, we find our peace,/ in the eye of the storm, our hearts never cease,/ you're my sweet disaster, my beautiful curse,/ in this wild romance, we’ll always immerse.

hot-headed, you set the night on fire,/ a blaze of chaos and desire,/ hot-headed, you’re the thrill i crave,/ dancing on the edge of a tidal wave.

pixie dream girl

she's an average girl, with tangled up hair,/ her laughter's like nails on a chalkboard, it's more than i can bear./ she flutters around, like a clumsy old crow,/ leaving chaos behind her, wherever she goes.

she's a mess wrapped in chaos,/ a thorn in my side, no matter the cost./ she'll stumble and fall, then blame it on me,/ i'm tired of her games, can't you see?

but oh, as she dances and sings to her favorite song,/ in nothing but a long shirt, dancing all night long,/ she's enchanting, in her rhythmic twirl,/ oh, in her eyes, she's a pixie dream girl.

she's a pixie dream girl, with a crooked old smile,/ her clothes mismatched, it's just not my style./ she talks too loud, and she never shuts up,/ i'm counting the seconds 'til i've had enough.

she's a nuisance, a pest,/ always around, never giving me rest./ she'll chatter and ramble, driving me mad,/ i'm losing my patience, it's really too bad.

but oh, as she dances and sings to her favorite song, In nothing but a long shirt, dancing all night long, She's enchanting, in her rhythmic twirl, Oh, in her eyes, she's a pixie dream girl.

but oh, as she dances and sings to her favorite song,/ in nothing but a long shirt, dancing all night long,/ she's enchanting, in her rhythmic twirl,/ oh, in her eyes, she's a pixie dream girl.

but oh, as she dances and sings to her favorite song,/ in nothing but a long shirt, dancing all night long,/ she's enchanting, in her rhythmic twirl,/ oh, in her eyes, she's my pixie dream girl.

soft death (in your arms)

your touch, like fire, ignites my skin/ we’re caught in the heat, where it all begins/ velvet kisses, burning bright,/ in your arms, i come alive tonight.

electric pulses, bodies close,/ in your eyes, a passion grows,/ dangerous, but i want more,/ in your arms, i’m begging for.

soft death in your arms,/ wrapped in the thrill, feeling your charms,/ every heartbeat, wild and free,/ i surrender, let it be.

your lips, a drug, i need the taste,/ losing control, there's no time to waste,/ aching love, a sweet embrace,/ lost in rhythm, we find our pace.

electric pulses, bodies close,/ in your eyes, a passion grows,/ dangerous, but i want more,/ in your arms, i’m begging for.

soft death in your arms,/ wrapped in the thrill, feeling your charms,/ every heartbeat, wild and free,/ i surrender, let it be.

the moonlight dances on your face,/ every touch, a sweet embrace,/ in this moment, we are one,/ desire rising with the sun.

soft death in your arms,/ wrapped in the thrill, feeling your charms,/ every heartbeat, wild and free,/ i surrender, let it be.

the day before tomorrow

don't rush into the unknown,/ tomorrow's not yet shown,/ take a breath, slow it down,/ in this moment, we have found.

let go of what's to come,/ today's beat, let's hum,/ in the now, we're alive,/ let's embrace this tonight./ the day before tomorrow,/ let's dance in the glow,/ no need to rush or borrow,/ just feel the flow.

sunset paints the sky in gold,/ memories to cherish, to hold,/ stars whisper secrets of the night,/ in this dusk, let's ignite.

let go of what's to come,/ today's beat, let's hum,/ in the now, we're alive,/ let's embrace this tonight./ the day before tomorrow,/ let's dance in the glow,/ no need to rush or borrow,/ just feel the flow.

time's river runs so fast,/ but we'll make this moment last,/ no regrets, no great sorrow,/ just today, no tomorrow.

let go of what's to come,/ today's beat, let's hum,/ in the now, we're alive,/ let's embrace this tonight./ the day before tomorrow,/ let's dance in the glow,/ no need to rush or borrow,/ just feel the flow.

the sweetest night

in the quiet of the night,/ underneath the stars so bright,/ close your eyes, my precious one,/ the day is done, the night has come.

the sweetest night, my dear,/ i'll hold you close, i'm always near,/ dream of gentle winds that blow,/ as you drift where dreams do go.

moonlight paints your peaceful face,/ in the cradle of my embrace,/ whispers soft, like melodies,/ carry you to far-off seas.

the sweetest night, my dear,/ i'll hold you close, i'm always near,/ dream of gentle winds that blow,/ as you drift where dreams do go.

stars above will guide your way,/ until the dawn brings a new day,/ sleep in peace, my heart's delight,/ in this sweetest night, so calm, so bright.

the sweetest night, my dear,/ i'll hold you close, i'm always near,/ dream of gentle winds that blow,/ as you drift where dreams do go.

echoes of devotion

my love, like orpheus, i'd come,/ to tread through shadows, my body numb,/ but truth be told, in my hearts embrace,/ i fear i'd falter, lose the race.

for i'd turn back, just like him,/ my gaze would brake, our future grim,/ your fading form, in shadows deep,/ my love, too strong, my soul to keep.

like orpheus, with his lyre's song,/ i'd sing to you, all night long,/ but in that moment, with fate's cruel twist,/ i'd choose your eyes, and lose what's missed.

for i'd turn back just like him,/ the current stronger than we swim,/ i'd face the darkness, lose my way,/ for one more look, i'd gladly pay.

for you're the melody that guides my soul,/ through tempests wild and rivers cold,/ i'll brave the depths, defy the night,/ to hold your hand in morning light.

so here i stand, before your eyes,/ with trembling heart, and no disguise,/ to say, my love, in honesty,/ i'd turn for your like orpheus for eurydice.

A/N: what’s your favorite song/ line? my fav is definitely neon nights, because theo wrote it about leo :(

taglist: @7s3ven @madi-potter @shereadsandcries @getosbeloved @mischieftom @wolfstar-jpg @t00thfairy20 @chcrrysblog @aestramjackson @elina3011 @kr1nqu @hopeless-y @mitskiswift99 @fallingblackveils @ahead-fullofdreams @helendeath @schaebickel @chubbychasermattheotruther @punkprincess03 @subparslytherin @girlbooklover555 @sakanelli-afc @cobrakaisb @ellen3101 @simp-for-fantasy @the-sylver-dragon @ess-perspective @starsval

[muxshwriting]

slipping through my fingers

Obi-Wan Kenobi x platonic!padawan!reader

summary: obi wan has to let go of his padawan as you grows up and out of his protection and teachings || warnings: i cried writing this, mentions of death || word count: 605 || masterlist

Obi-Wan can't help but to feel guilty as he watches his padawan interact with the other Jedi knights. He can't shake the feeling that he's letting her go out into the world woefully unprepared. You've changed so much from the young girl he first met.

He supposes these are the fears all parents feel as their child grows up. Because that's what you are to him. He raised you since you were a child to the adult you are now. You were his child, in everything but blood.

He’s watched other masters let go of their padawans and move on with life. But he wonders how they can move on without glancing back at the person they’re leaving behind. Do they not feel guilty about taking new padawans? Or are they desensitised to the whole system? Maybe the first is always the hardest, maybe it’s the first that sticks with you, maybe the sudden ache in his heart will ease when you smile.

“Are you alright Master?”

He’s been lost in thought for a while, longer than usual. Obi-Wan simply nods, taking in the time he has with you know and fondly remembering everything you had done together. These moments will not happen again, nothing ever will. Life is made of fleeting moments you don’t truly appreciate until they’re over. But you must hold tightly to those moments and cherish them so they don’t go forgotten.

It’s a duty as a parent, or pseudo-parent, to come to a stop and let their children continue on their own. It’s scary. It’s terrifying actually, but all birds leave the nest, all seeds float away in the wind.

“Are you sure Master?”

Obi-Wan placed a hand on our shoulder, “You’ve grown up so fast.”

“Master-“ Words fail you. “I’ll never be too grown up for your teachings.”

“I’m very proud of you.”

You pull him into a hug, burying your face in his chest. “I can’t cry. Don’t make me cry.”

He chuckles, sounding slightly watery.

Becoming a Jedi Knight was very important to you. It had been what you were working toward for most of your life. Somewhere along the way, you realised that being a knight meant leaving the safety net you had relied on most of your life. Obi-Wan Kenobi was your safety net.

At one point, you would be away from him for the longest time, be the furthest away from him you had ever been and see him for the final time.

It was nice to be grown but there was something to be said for youth. There was no shame in not wanting to grow up but we all do it, we all move on. A new chapter begins because the previous one ended.

Time would separate you and your Master but he would always be your master. Eventually, death would call for him and you would be left without a source of advice and comfort. Death was such a small word for a big thing. But death is only the end if you assume the story is about you.

Your story would not end at your death, the same way Obi-Wan’s story did not end at his. His story did not end because of you, his padawan, his child. Your story would not end for the same reason. Everything Obi-Wan taught you, you taught to your padawan. The chain continues on and stretches back as long as time goes on.

You could trace teachings through time, from master to padawan, as padawan becomes master and teaches a new generation.

Every Jedi carries the legacy of a hundred others on their back.

Boy, oh, boy. I’m looking at future uni destinations right now and this song hits hard. I’m sobbing into my pillow at 1am after finishing writing this

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen

[mehbles]

Work life balance

Chapter 1: The Stretch of Life

Simon didn’t always live this way. Once upon a time, he had been a man of effortless charm and youthful energy, a rising star in the fast-paced world of car sales. Back then, he’d been lean, sharp, and impeccably dressed. His crisp suits hugged his form in all the right places, projecting the perfect image of confidence and control. Customers trusted Simon because he looked like the kind of man who had his life together.

But at 25, Simon’s life had taken a very different turn.

The once-svelte salesman now found himself confined to a largely sedentary existence, the fast pace of his early career giving way to long hours seated behind a desk, scrolling through spreadsheets, and sipping from a well-worn mug of coffee laced with too much cream and sugar. His evenings were no longer filled with post-work gym sessions or socializing with friends at the local pub. Instead, they revolved around his two great loves: beer and cake.

It had started innocently enough—a cold pint after work to unwind, a treat from the bakery to celebrate a good sale. But soon, Simon had come to rely on those indulgences to punctuate the monotony of his days. The occasional pint turned into a nightly six-pack. The celebratory slice of cake became a nightly ritual, and then sometimes breakfast, too. Simon’s fridge was now stocked with frosted treats, craft beers, and little else. He told himself it was temporary, a small comfort in a stressful job. But the scale didn’t lie.

Simon’s body had changed, subtly at first, then all at once. His once-trim stomach had swelled into a soft, rounded belly that hung over his waistband when he sat down. His love handles spilled out at his sides, pushing against the fabric of his once-tailored suits. It was his shirts that bore the brunt of his transformation. The buttons now strained to keep him contained, creating unsightly gaps at the front, especially around his navel. Simon found himself tugging at the fabric throughout the day, hoping to conceal the evidence of his overindulgence. It was a losing battle.

Every morning, Simon stared at himself in the mirror as he fastened his tie. His jawline, once sharp and defined, was now softened by a growing double chin. His cheeks were rounder, giving him a boyish, almost cherubic appearance that didn’t match the man he thought he still was. His thighs pressed against the seams of his trousers, and his belt dug into his waist, leaving red marks that lingered long after he’d taken it off. Still, Simon clung to his old wardrobe, unwilling to admit that he’d outgrown it.

At work, Simon’s coworkers had started to notice his transformation. No one said anything outright, of course, but there were subtle comments—jokes about office snacks, offhand remarks about “bulking up,” and knowing glances when he helped himself to a second (or third) donut in the breakroom. Simon laughed along, pretending not to care, but inside, he was deeply aware of every pound he’d gained.

The worst part, though, was how it affected his job. Selling cars required confidence, and Simon’s had taken a hit. He felt self-conscious meeting with clients, especially the sleek, athletic types who came in looking for luxury vehicles. He imagined them judging him, silently wondering how someone who couldn’t keep his own life in check could sell them a car. His sales numbers had started to slip, and his manager had begun dropping hints about “recommitting to the hustle.”

But the hustle was the last thing on Simon’s mind. He was too tired, too comfortable in his routine of indulgence. After a long day at work, all he wanted to do was sink into his couch with a pint of beer in one hand and a slice of chocolate cake in the other. He told himself he’d start fresh tomorrow—cut back on the beer, swap the cake for a salad, maybe even go for a jog. But tomorrow always seemed to bring another excuse.

One evening, Simon stood in front of his bathroom mirror after his nightly shower, his damp hair sticking to his forehead. The light overhead was harsh, illuminating every inch of his body. He stared at his reflection, taking in the changes that had crept up on him. His belly, round and heavy, jutted out in stark contrast to his spindly arms and legs. His chest, once firm and flat, now had a slight sag to it, the beginnings of what he’d heard cruelly referred to as “man boobs.” His love handles curved out from his sides, and his navel was now a deep crease in the center of his bulging stomach.

He poked at his belly experimentally, watching it jiggle slightly before settling back into place. He sighed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants that barely fit anymore and a t-shirt that clung to his midsection like a second skin. He felt a pang of shame, but it was quickly drowned out by the thought of the leftover cheesecake waiting for him in the fridge.

As Simon settled onto his couch, fork in hand, he told himself it wasn’t so bad. Sure, he’d put on a few pounds, but he was still young. He could turn things around whenever he wanted. For now, though, he was content to indulge, to let the softness of his body mirror the comfort of his life.

Chapter 2: A Split Decision

The day started like any other for Simon. He rolled out of bed, feeling the familiar tightness in his waist as he tugged on his trousers. They were snug—too snug—but Simon convinced himself they’d stretch out over the course of the day, like they always did. Still, fastening the button required a deep exhale and a firm tug. He slid into his blazer and glanced in the mirror. The fit wasn’t ideal, but he told himself it was fine. He’d be sitting at his desk most of the day anyway. No one would notice.

Or so he thought.

It wasn’t even lunchtime when Simon’s day took a turn. A client had come in, a wiry older man with an angular face and an easy grin. He wanted to see a car—one of the new models Simon had just added to the inventory—but it wasn’t parked in the showroom. It was in the back lot. Simon, ever the professional, plastered on a confident smile and assured the client it would only take a moment. Inside, though, he was dreading it. The lot wasn’t far, but it was cold outside, and Simon hated the idea of leaving the comfort of his desk.

As soon as Simon stepped out into the crisp January air, he felt the chill bite through his clothes. He tugged his blazer tighter around him, already regretting his decision to skip breakfast and replace it with coffee and cake. His belly grumbled in protest as he trudged toward the far end of the lot, where the car was supposedly parked. The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over rows of gleaming vehicles. Simon wiped at his brow. Was it that warm, or was it just him?

Halfway to the car, Simon realized he was out of breath. His chest rose and fell with an embarrassing intensity as he tried to mask his discomfort. His legs felt heavy, his thighs brushing against each other more noticeably than ever. His shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat, and his tie felt like a noose. He couldn’t stop tugging at it.

When he finally spotted the car, Simon felt a wave of relief. It was a sleek, black sedan, parked at the far end of the lot. “Perfect,” he muttered under his breath, picking up the pace. As he did, he felt it—a slight tearing sensation. It was faint, like the sound of paper being slowly ripped in two. He froze, a cold pit forming in his stomach.

No. It couldn’t be.

Simon glanced around, his face reddening as he reached behind himself to feel for the damage. His worst fears were confirmed when his fingers brushed over the unmistakable tear in his trousers. The seam along the back had split, exposing a sliver of his underwear to the chilly air. He stood there for a moment, paralyzed with a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. How had it come to this?

Desperate to keep his composure, Simon pressed forward, hoping the client wouldn’t notice. Each step only made the tear worse, the fabric pulling further apart as his thighs strained against the already overburdened material. By the time he reached the car, Simon’s shirt had come untucked, his face was slick with sweat, and his trousers were barely holding together.

“Here it is,” Simon said, his voice breathless. He gestured toward the sedan, trying to distract from his disheveled appearance. The client raised an eyebrow, clearly noticing Simon’s discomfort, but said nothing.

Simon fumbled with the keys, his hands clammy and unsteady. The car beeped as it unlocked, and he pulled open the driver’s door with an exaggerated flourish. “Take a look inside. Great legroom,” he said, forcing a laugh.

The client climbed into the car, giving Simon a chance to step back and assess the damage. He turned his back to one of the parked SUVs and discreetly tugged at his blazer, trying to cover the gaping hole in his trousers. His heart was pounding—not from exertion, but from sheer humiliation.

When the client finally emerged, Simon was ready to get this over with. “It’s perfect,” the man said, oblivious to Simon’s misery. “I’ll take it.”

Simon forced another smile, nodding as he guided the man back toward the showroom. Each step felt like a lifetime, the ripped seam flapping with every movement. By the time they reached the desk, Simon was ready to collapse.

As soon as the paperwork was signed, Simon all but ran to the staff bathroom. He locked the door behind him and leaned against the wall, letting out a long, shaky breath. His reflection in the mirror told the full story: his sweat-drenched shirt, his red face, the tear in his trousers that exposed far more than he’d like.

Chapter 3: The Weigh-In and Gym Sign-Up

Simon sat slumped on his couch that evening, still reeling from the humiliation of the day. He had managed to sneak out of the office with his torn trousers hidden under his blazer, but the embarrassment lingered. His belly pressed into his thighs as he hunched forward, a half-eaten slice of cheesecake on the coffee table in front of him. He stared at it, feeling a pang of guilt. Something had to change.

The next morning, Simon woke with a rare sense of determination. After dragging himself out of bed, he rifled through his closet, searching for something loose and comfortable. He pulled on an old hoodie and sweatpants that had been shoved to the back of a drawer, a relic from his fitter days. The waistband of the sweatpants dug into his belly slightly, but at least they fit. Today was the day. He was going to sign up for the gym.

The gym was only a few blocks from Simon’s apartment, but by the time he arrived, he was already winded. The walk had seemed longer than he remembered, and he was grateful for the blast of air conditioning as he stepped inside. The sleek, modern interior was a stark contrast to Simon’s sweaty, rumpled appearance. Rows of treadmills and weight machines gleamed under bright lights, and the faint hum of pop music filled the air.

A young, impossibly fit man behind the front desk greeted Simon with a cheerful smile. “Hey there! Looking to sign up?”

Simon hesitated, suddenly self-conscious. His oversized hoodie couldn’t fully disguise the curve of his belly or the way his sweatpants clung to his thighs. “Uh, yeah,” he mumbled, avoiding eye contact. “Thought I’d give it a shot.”

“Great!” The man’s enthusiasm was almost overwhelming. “We’ll start by getting your details and doing a quick fitness assessment. Follow me.”

Simon reluctantly followed him to a small office tucked in the corner of the gym. Inside, a digital scale and a body composition analyzer sat on the floor, waiting. “Step on the scale, and we’ll get your weight first,” the trainer said.

Simon hesitated, his palms suddenly clammy. He hadn’t weighed himself in months—maybe even a year. Steeling himself, he stepped onto the scale, feeling the cold metal under his feet. The machine beeped, and the numbers blinked before settling on the final result.

Simon stared at the screen. 256 pounds.

For a moment, he thought there must have been a mistake. He remembered being 185 pounds not that long ago—or at least, it felt like not that long ago. Now, his weight had soared far beyond what he’d imagined. He felt his cheeks flush as the trainer jotted down the number.

“Alright,” the trainer said, unfazed. “Next, we’ll take some basic measurements and talk about your fitness goals.”

Simon nodded stiffly, his mind still reeling. As the trainer wrapped a tape measure around his waist, chest, and thighs, Simon couldn’t help but notice how tight the tape felt around his belly. He wanted to disappear.

After the assessment, Simon was led back to the front desk, where he filled out his membership forms. “You’re all set,” the trainer said with a grin. “When do you want to start?”

Simon forced a smile. “Uh, tomorrow, I guess.” It was a lie. The idea of walking into the gym, surrounded by people who were fitter and stronger than he’d ever been, filled him with dread. But he couldn’t back out now.

As he left the gym, Simon felt a strange mix of emotions. He was embarrassed by how far he’d let himself go, but there was also a glimmer of hope. Signing up was a step in the right direction, even if it was a small one.

That evening, Simon stood in front of his bathroom mirror again, the memory of the scale’s display still fresh in his mind. He pinched at his belly, watching it jiggle slightly, and sighed. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he had to try.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

5k is so deserved! I constantly go back and reread your works and am always looking forward to what’s next ❤️❤️❤️

I’ve been having thoughts about a Hesh x femreader reunion request thats similar to your latest Keegan piece. Except reader was childhood friends with the Walker boys, but despite there being feelings between Hesh and reader they’re scared of confessing because of their friendship. they get separated when Odin happens, and both join the military and reunite during a joint Op with the Ghosts and readers team, and even after 10 years their feelings resurface and finally get together.

Can’t wait to see what you’ll write for all the requests!!

—To The Boy of My Childhood

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [Ten years came and went fast, but the memory of the Walker boys stayed. One more than the other. You never got to tell him you loved him.] ❞

You remembered his kindness, above all. His big, pure, heart. Hesh wasn’t just someone you grew to know and then threw out like a pair of old socks, no, he was too good for that—a mix of playful boyishness and the makes of a fine man. You wished you could have told him how much he meant to you before it all just fell apart. 

Growing up near the Walker boys was a treat and a curse, not for yourselves, but for the adults—no one got in the way of you three. Late nights in the backyard, laughter keeping everyone up into the small hours. The fights and the near-instantaneous make-ups. 

The older years of deep-rooted attraction to the green-eyed boy of your youth.

David Hesh Walker had been everything you had ever wanted, and even when the ground shook and the word split, you still couldn’t tell him how you felt. But fate had plans for the two of you—it was only a matter of time. 

Ten years, to be exact.

You jump down from the helo, your knees taking the brunt of the weight from your gear as your team follows. Fort Santa Monica was a bustling stronghold right on the door of Federation occupation—enemies stalking like animals beyond the wall for a glimpse of weakness. The men and women here were anything but.

“On me!” You call out behind you, and the resounding rush of booted feet follows as you all move out along the helicopter pad swiftly. The unit you were assigned was given a simple task—assist the commanding Captain here and his men with wall defense to reduce the amount of casualties. 

Over the ten years of war, you’d honed yourself into something akin to a walking weapon. Found deliriously surviving in the remnants of the USA, your rage and anger gave you the skills you needed to still be alive when the soldiers found you; brought you back to civilization. It hadn’t taken much for you to sign up after that, thinking Hesh and his brother were dead. 

Hesh. God, you had loved him so much that the feeling hadn’t dimmed in the slightest even now. Being so close to home once more made you feel…strange. 

“Lieutenant!” One of the soldiers comes up to greet you all, shouting above the whir of blades—he was an older man with a shaved head and a large beard. “Welcome to Santa Monica!”

“Good to be here!” You call, a rifle hanging heavy on your chest. “Where do you need us, Sir?”

“Fall in, I’m bringin’ you to Scarecrow!” So you follow, leaving the sandy beach of the port and heading into the dense streets. There were civilians in this Fort, you knew, just beyond the checkpoint of fences. You have to wonder how they felt about this—trapped in a rat cage with the water and the war clamping to them tightly. 

“Heard your unit was well-known.” You’d learned the man’s name was Thomas Merrick—a Captain here. You blink at him, head tilting. “Scarecrow was eager to get you here, can’t say why.” 

“I was told you needed support at the wall, Captain,” you explain, brows furrowing. “Were my superiors mistaken?”

Merrick's brown eyes stare at you as you walk beside him, your men all speaking to one another from behind. 

“No,” is all you’re told. 

This ‘Scarecrow’ was known as only that, and your lips thin at the comment leveled at you. Strange. 

Your other men are shown their barracks, and you send them off to get rid of their packs and belongings while you continue on with Merrick to the control room—eager to meet this Captain and get real answers. 

When you get there, the second you push open the door and Merrick takes his leave, you’re greeted by one of the old faces that you could recognize anywhere. 

You freeze just three feet into the room, locking eyes with this mythical ‘Scarecrow’ but it wasn’t some great war strategist, at least, not as you know him.

“Mr. Walker?” You pause, blinking in confusion. Elias Walker—Hesh and Logan’s dad. Your heart constricts in your chest. 

He looks at you, a small smile on his stern face as his arms crossed, nodding his head. 

“Thought I recognized that name in my request for transfers.” 

“Holy shit,” you breathe, a grin breaking out over your face for the first time in ages. Part of you wanted to race and hug him—bathe in the comfort that his rare soft looks would bring you when you were younger…but you weren’t that kid anymore. Being alive was enough, and with the things you’d seen, it meant far more than anything else. Elias seemed to share that sentiment, as he walked over and put a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it. 

“How did…how are…” Your head shakes quickly, memories flooding back along with the pain. But there, in your chest, a flicker of hope—something more blooming back to life. “Logan?” Your voice is tiny, pleading as you pause, gazing into Elias’s eyes. “...Hesh?”

“I already called ‘em back in. They’ll be here soon.” He gives you a proud nod. “I’m glad you’re still here, Sweetheart.” 

You laugh, smile wobbling. 

Alive. Hesh was alive. 

Every wall you’d built falls the second boyish laughter echoes out from the halls. You turn, hearing feet move down the floor, closer and closer as your body stills like a statue. 

Alive. 

When a shoulder pushes open the door, you stop breathing as a far older David enters the room, Logan, as always, not far behind. 

He’s mature now, with a beanie over his short brown hair and the presence of a grown man holding down responsibilities—he was smirking back and his brother, saying in a voice that haunts your dreams, “Think we should tell him what Riley found today, Logan?” 

The younger brother stops short, locks eyes with you, and his body goes as tight as a fishing line. 

Hesh’s brows furrow. “Logan?” He turns to you and those green eyes go confused for a moment, lips going thin. It’s a flash of recognition that re-ignites them—a flicker of something long past before they snap wide with fierce realization.

Blinking quickly, the man watches you, hands at his sides jerking forward by a millimeter as if to grab for you at even a single glance. No one speaks for a long, long time, and maybe you don’t want them to. Hesh and you are locked in a look of pure pain and elation—a dance of life and death. 

There aren’t any words for it beyond the sudden mad scramble for the other’s hold. 

You collide in a sharp breath and a hand to the back of your head—keeping you to him as you both grasp for purchase; for a glimpse of your childhood back.

“Jesus Christ,” Hesh breathes, anchoring you to him as his chest sputters. “Oh my fucking God.”

“Hesh,” you whimper through a sobbing laugh. “You son of a bitch, I should throttle you.”

He scoffs wetly into your ear, hands quivering and voice cracking. 

“Me? If I remember, Doll, you were the one to take that tumble down the hill—I…I tried to find you, y’know that? I swear, I didn’t want to leave but I—”

You pull back and slam your lips to his. 

It was far better than an ‘I love you’ when he melted and grappled you closer.

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

I’d love to request a fic with a female reader and a angsty/comfort storyline with the Bad Batch.

For a broad storyline I was thinking something by along the lines of a female reader joining the Bad Batch (per Hunter’s idea) and Crosshair and/or Echo not being very happy about it. However they eventually they come around to having another girl in the group.❤️

Winning Approval

Clone Force 99 x Platonic!Reader

Summary- You felt as if you were living a purpose-less life, so when Hunter asks you to join his crew, you say yes! Not everyone on the force is as happy though... Takes place during and after Season 1, Ep. 2.

A/N- Thank you so much for requesting! I appreciate it so much, but I think I'm done writing platonic xD. This was sooo hard for me to write. I love the challenge, but i'm not sure how great my platonic writing skills are!

Word Count- 1,454

Growing up, helping people seemed natural. You remember discovering this when your old friend Kaiya fell and scratched her knee. It was second nature to dress her wound and comfort her. You were nine at the time.

Your mother enrolled you in medical classes as much as she could, you learned how to set bones, stitch holes, and treat infections. Amongst many other skills.

The city you lived in was soon taken over by the empire, but you found a way out before it was too late. That's where you found yourself- living with Suu and her husband Cut. The two had taken you in when they found out your home had been destroyed.

It didn't hurt when you found out you and Suu's parents knew each other in their youth.

When you had stumbled onto Hunter- he and his crew had set off a trap you had set in the fields. Your gun raised at him was lowered by Cut, claiming he knew them.

Things blurred together since then, everything moved so fast. Having to relocate away from the empire again was not something you fashioned. You were tired of running, and expressed your concerns.

Hunter initially suggested dropping you off at the planet of your choice, (a repayment for taking care of one of Omegas wounds).

Crash landing on a moon wasn't on anyone's roster, but it happened nonetheless. It did, however, give yourself an opportunity to prove yourself to them.

You helped Tech repair a part of the hyper-drive, earning his favor.

You shared your rations with Wrecker, earning his approval.

You played and entertained with Omega, earning her and Hunters trust.

Last was Echo. You wanted him to like you, as you enjoyed everyone's company. They were so kind to you, and didn't pay any mind to flaws. They knew themselves that they were defective- what was one more defect?

Maybe you were in over your head, would they really accept you as a member of their squad? They just met you a week ago. For all they knew you were an Empire spy... You couldn't deny that you wanted to stay though. You felt like you belonged- finally.

When Echo still avoided you like the plague and the ship was ready to fly again, you felt like you had run out of time. You sulked around the ship for awhile, waiting for Hunter to ask where you wanted to be dropped off.

That was until you noticed- he hadn't asked you. It had been hours and he had said nothing about you leaving.

This made you crack, anxiety like ice through your veins.

"Hunter, I mean this in the least selfish way possible. But, why haven't you asked where I wanted to go yet? What planet?" You thought you messed up when his face fell. He looked dissapointed?

"Well, we were hoping you would want to stay. We were going to formally ask, but Wrecker and Omega are still making the poster." He rubbed the pack of his neck and chuckled a little bit. "Would you like to join us? If not, that's completely understandable. Just name the planet and we will be headed there." He stated, making sure you knew you had options.

"R-really? You guys want me to join you?" You wanted to smack your head at how cliche you sounded. Though, you didn't have time to think on it, as Hunter started talking again.

"We don't have an official medic. While Tech possesses all the knowledge needed, he doesn't have a, uh how do I put it? A steady hand when it comes to medical means." He reasoned.

"You are more than capable as we've seen, and between Wrecker and Omega we need a medic- bad." You smiled at this. You felt a purpose. Someone needed you! You would be able to help your squad and civilians you came across on any journey.

Before you could respond, Omega and Wrecker barreled through the mid-section of the ship. Omega held a small banner in her hand, and Wrecker a large sheet of paper. It was full of colorful pictures, drawn by the two.

Your heart warmed at the effort they put in, all to make you feel welcomed.

"How could I say no? You guys have been so perfect to me, and I want to help you guys as much as I can." You smiled up at Hunter, he patted you on the shoulder. His way of officially letting you on the squad.

After that day, things started to move more smoothly. Yeah, you had some bad run-ins, almost got captured a few times, and had many near-death experiences. But, you were with your family through it all. The only problem was Echo.

Maybe 'problem' wasn't too nice of a word. Echo never did anything wrong. He just, never seemed to like your company. You guessed he didn't have to like you, not everyone would. Because of this, you pushed back your guilty feelings surrounding him. That was until you over-heard a conversation between him and Hunter.

"Something feels off about her." Echo told Hunter. You couldn't see either of them, and didn't want to expose your position by moving.

"Yeah, and what's that?"

"I can't place it. I don't understand how everyone can just accept her, no questions asked." Echo sounded confused.

"She's shown us many times that she can handle herself. Plus, Omega needs another female on the ship.'' Hunter defended you, but still wanted to hear Echos concerns.

"She's not a clone. She doesn't think like us!" Ah, so that's why he's been so put-off by you. It was because you weren't a clone. You assumed he was so used to clones, that of course you were an odd piece in their clone family.

You slowly moved back to your sleeping cot. You sunk down slowly. It wasn't your fault, really. You can't control where or how you were born. Thoughts surrounded you. Was it that obvious? Were you that different from them?

As much as you wanted to pack your bags and not burden anyone else, you decided to talk to Echo first.

After landing on a planet to resupply, you asked to speak to Echo alone.

"Uh, sure." He replied, skeptical. You both exited the ship, though keeping close.

"Echo, I didn't really know how to bring this up. I figured I should just get straight to the point?" You asked, not wanting to waste his time.

He nodded, looking straight to you.

"I overheard you and Hunter talking last rotation..." You nervously picked at a nail. He still stared, not wavering.

"I can't help that i'm not a clone. I'm not sorry either, but I do want to know what I can do. To gain your trust." You dropped your hand, eager for his response.

He licked his lips, thinking. "I'm sorry you heard that..."

"Echo, I don't care. I just- I want to be a part of this family..." You mustered out. Now or never!

This surprised him, "What are you talking about. You already are!"

He seemed, mad? Was he really that disgusted by 'normal' humans?

"I can't help that i'm not a clone!" You regrettably yelled, throwing you arms up.

"That doesn't matter, everyone accepts you anyways!" His words were strained, like he didn't want anyone to know.

"Why don't you?" You whispered.

He sighed and took a step back. "When I first joined force 99, it wasn't as easy."

You couldn't imagine what he was referring to. You knew he was a regular clone before joining Hunter, but what did that have to do with anything?

After seeing your confused look, he continued. "I wasn't born a defective clone, I became one. It took a lot of time to understand how to use this. But you fit in so easily." He gestured to his mechanical arm.

"I had no idea you felt that way... I wasn't trying to mean anything-" He cut you off.

"I know, and really, we do need a medic. I was just being resentful, I'm sorry."

"I'm not trying to take anyone's place. The team wouldn't be the same without you. Besides, Omega adores you, and I think Hunter will do whatever it takes to keep her happy." You laughed, he luckily gave out a chuckle as well.

"Thanks. I think It'll just take some time to get used to the difference." He said, honestly.

"I get that, just let me know if there's anything I can do... Ya know, to speed things up?" You smiled up at him. It was then that you knew everything would be fine. That you really had found your family, and nothing could take you from them.

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! I am sorry if this isn't what you had in mind! Feel free to send in another request if you would like a more specific plot! Again, sorry that my platonic writing skills aren't that sharp! Tags- (lmk if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

[blarefordaglare]

Fan Joy July day 9

This one’s by @theegh0st

Link: https://www.tumblr.com/theegh0st/754145854541250560/shenanigans?source=share

OH MY GOODNESS those two would most def play cards together! I also love how you emphasize Wind slapping down his card, it’s a beautiful detail that really adds character! Overall the way that the characters poses are fluid is really pleasing to see, and gives personality! I hope you enjoy this fic! 

Also this game reminds me of the game “War” I would play when I was younger (split deck in half, whoever gets all cards wins, there’s more rules on google or smth) so that’s what they’re playing! Also they both cheat, except wind has mischievous cheating legend is more of a card counter type cheating, but obviously you can’t count cards in this game but statistics wise- 

___

“Please Legend!” The youthful, whiney tone of the sailor echoed softly against the damp leaves and the dark, grand, trees, “It’s more fun when you play! I promise I’ll go easy on you!” Wind tugged on the seasoned hero’s calloused hand, yet his feet remained put on the muddy ground. 

Legend inhaled sharply, trying desperately to keep his patience, which was quickly evaporating into the atmosphere, “That’s what I’m worried about,” he fidgeted with the hem of his tunic, the thread coming out and a light rip slowly growing into a hole-he would have to sew that later, “your ‘easy’ is just a glorified cheating.” 

Wind continued to pull, not letting go easily, “Fine! One game-please! It will be fair I promise!” He was borderline desperate at this point, anything to tame the storm of boredom within his mind, “Please! You can’t cheat at war! I promise I won’t switch the cards-you can shuffle!” 

At that point Legend wanted to run, he wanted to yank his arm away and sprint away from that boy as fast as possible, but he was already too far deep, and he could show off his shuffling skills, “…Fine. Ace is high, and no looking at your own cards either. We shuffle after one of us finishes our deck.” 

“Sounds good!” 

Legend split the deck evenly, making sure to include two aces on each side-sure that wasn’t mandatory, but it made things easier for him to keep track of the sailor. He knew he would cheat, after all he did cheat many times before (Legend would never admit it, but he does miss his full wallet.). After successfully splitting the remaining 48 cards, along with shuffling the two decks, the game was ready to commence.

The first round started off smoothly, as the adventurer expected. However, as the game continued, he couldn’t help but notice the grin on Wind’s smile becoming wider and wider, and his pile growing closer and closer to a full deck. 

It was only until Legend and Wind both drew aces at the same time. Currently, Legend knew he had three aces in his deck from previous winnings. He also knew that the three were on the top, so he would be guaranteed a win. It was cheating, he wasn’t supposed to look at his cards, but you can’t trust the adventurer when a game he doesn’t even enjoy gets too intense. Yet, as the two yelled ‘duel’ and slapped down their cards, he was left with the sailor somehow having a second ace. There were only supposed to be four aces in the entire deck, but with Wind having another one, it added up to five.

“Sailor?” Legend’s voice was stern yet inquisitive as he spoke.

“Yes?” 

He tried to keep a straight face, but he couldn’t help but burst out in laughter, “You’re-“ he took a moment to collect himself, “You’re cheating.” 

Wind gasped in mock surprise, “Am not!” The wavering in his voice exposed the feigned innocence, “I promised I wouldn’t!” 

Legend took the two aces from the sailor, then exposing his own three, “The numbers don’t lie, Wind.” With a look of pure mischief, he grabbed a large handful of dirt from the ground, “And you know what happens to cheaters?” 

“No!” Wind shrieked, trying to scramble away as the dark earth was rubbed into his pale blonde hair, “Stop! No! Help! My hair is being murdered!” 

“Then maybe next time don’t cheat.” the adventurer got up, admiring his revenge, “Now excuse me, but I have a tunic to mend.” 

[stupidlittlespirit]

What are your thoughts on Stanford's extra fingers in the non-sexual sense? I mean, in the DD&MD episode we see him expertly rolling that die between his fingers, so...

I think he can do a lot of hand-related tricks quite effortlessly.

Someone brought up Labyrinth in an ask not so long ago and I can see him very easily doing the crystal ball trick, almost absentmindedly. It's very in line with the dice thing so for some reason, I can just picture him rolling things about in his fingers like that as an unconscious habit. Almost a stim, maybe?

I think he'd be a really fast texter, should he ever use a mobile phone. (It's mentioned in the Journal that he doesn't really get them, but I think it's more a case that he doesn't like them. I have a line in the Spores sequel you'll see coming up that basically explains that he doesn't believe that anyone needs that much constant access to another person. It's unhealthy.)

Obviously it's mentioned on thisisnotawebsite that he played piano at a high level and I carry that hc with me in MTB and in my head lol. I think he plays piano a lot once he's older (I think he has a piano in his study in MTB) and he enjoys composing pieces that only someone with 6 fingers can play. I know those already exist but I can see him creating his own. I know he might not be the type to pursue the arts during his youth in some ways, but I think he grows an appreciation for the therapy they bring as he gets older. He's no Shakespeare but he knows his classical compositions. I have a playlist of all the pieces I think he plays in his own time, so I'm just a little bit invested in the idea LMAO a very normal amount!!

He can carry a lot of stuff at once. He's very dexterous.

I have this stupid idea that when he holds hands with someone, he uses his thumb to do the soothing motion back and forth over their knuckles, but he simultaneously uses his little finger to do the same along the side of their hand, too. Just because he can.

This is unrelated to anything at all but I used to ride horses professionally and the usage of fingers for rein control is really important. I can see him having had to make use of steeds on alien planets (even horses in general) and displaying excellent coordination and control.

Also, he's a lightning fast typer on a keyboard. Exceptional WPM.

[romanarose]

Oil Spill

Logan Howlett x Kurt Wagner

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Summary: It's not self-harm. Logan heals, it's totally different. Kurt doesn't see it that way.

Warnings: SHOWN SELF HARM! Toxic Logan moment warning. Kurt is trying his best. Implied feelings confession but not fully (not the time!) They love each other, your honor. Sensitive topics ahead, just be aware. I describe Logan self harming, so be very aware. Logan mentions being semi-suicidal, but he doesn't go much into his feelings.

divers by @cafekitsune

Logan knew how to get blood out of carpets, that wouldn’t be a problem. He should probably invest in a tarp at some point, but for now he settled on a folded up top sheet he never used. The school at 1000 of these laying around, mostly used to divide rooms between students sharing who weren’t getting along. And Scott. He was certain Scott made his made every day, including the top sheet.

Perfect Scott, everything goes his way. Leader of the X-Men, Charles’s golden boy, gets the girl… 

Why did he have carpet in his bathroom? Must be a leftover from some interior design fade. He’d have to talk to Chuck about getting tiles installed. He’d do it himself too, not a problem. Just something nice and easy to clean for days like this.

Logan knew he had no reason to be this unhappy. Life, comparatively, was better now than he could remember. He had a place to live, as much food as he wanted, friendship. Hell, he’d never admit it but he did like teaching, as much as one could like work.

Really, there was no reason to be doing this poorly. And yet, he could barely sleep. Yet, he had a pain in his chest that wouldn’t go away.

It wasn’t really self-harm, Logan justified to himself. He’d had to go through training on the idea of harming oneself as part of working with teenagers, standard teacher training. There were one or two students without healing factors that had scars around their wrists or inner arms, and Scott had said it was pretty common for mutant youth to hurt themselves in some way when their mutation began to manifest. Many had healing factors, more had just healed normally with time and superficial wounds, but some were left with lifelong scars.

That was CLEARLY different from what Logan was doing, what he had been doing for years. He wasn’t trying to kill himself, and his cuts healed about as fast as he could make them. He was just trying to get through the fucking day. Well, it’s not like he had much of choice.

Logan’s claw sliced open his inner arm, hitting an artery. For a few moments, blood went everywhere, hitting the walls. Great, more to clean up. At least those walls were stain resistant. Charles thought to have stain resistant paint on the walls for whatever weird mutant stuff could happen, but not take out this carpet? Strange guy. Another cut, just as the freshest one was sealing up. It was amazing, honestly, that he could look into his arm and see the cartilage, the flesh, the veins, even down to the bone and watch it heal up in real time.

However, the pain was unbelievable. He felt like he could feel every layer of his skin tearing, feeling where there shouldn't actually be any nerve endings, but maybe that was just his imagination. Logan sucked in a breath through his teeth, baring the pain as he let 3 slices across his arm, 3 more, then 3 more all in succession. He watched his flesh flay apart, groaning and growing in pain like a fucking baby as if it wasn’t already healing.

“Idiot” He mumbled to himself, but still whimpered as the healing finished. He couldn’t even take such a temporary pain, he was fucking useless, a piece of shit who needed to be punished for all the wrong he’s done but somehow landed himself a good life he didn’t deserve. He was so caught up in his mental self-hatred monologue and focusing on the painting as he dragged a single claw slowly up his arm. A superficial wound at best.

 Logan raised his fist again, ready to get it to the bone once more when he heard his friend. “Logan!” Kurt’s distinct accent cut past the middle of the living room where he stood and all the way to the bathroom Kurt could see directly into.

“Relax, Elf.” Logan spoke with calm resign, but his ears still warmed in embarrassment. No one was supposed to see him like this, especially not Kurt. Kurt was sacred; Kurt was special.

BAMF!

Kurt was knelt in front of where Logan sat on the closed toilet lid, three long fingers wrapped around his bloody arm. “Vat did you do?”

Once again, Logan reiterated his plea for him to relax. “See?” He held up his arm, showing it all around. No cuts. “All healed.”

“But- you’re bloody? V happened?” He was clearly struggling to process what he saw. Logan understood it was probably upsetting to see him covered in blood, but he had no reason to worry. He was fine.

Logan shrugged. “Noth’n. Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He tried to stand, but Kurt cought his arm again, still knelt below him. Not exactly the way Logan imagined Kurt on his knees, but he did file the image away for later. Those yellow eyes staring up at him could do him in alone.

“You vere hurting yourself, ja? We all had to take the same training, Logan, do not lie to me.”

And he could. Logan couldn’t bear to lie to his friend.

“Yeah, I was.” But he yanked his arm away as he stood, defensiveness putting up like a hedge around him, thornes on the roses talking to Kurt always brought. “But it ain’t fucking like that.”

Kurt stood, determination flashing gold in his eyes. “Then vat is it like, Logan? Because it looks to me like you are in pain.”

“I’m not in pain! It’s fucking healed!”

“Not your arm! Here!” He had the audacity to tap Logan’s head, then his heart. “Or here.” His voice softened. “You can talk to me. You know this.”

And he wanted to. Logan really fucking wanted to talk to Kurt  about how he felt. How the nightmares never stopped, how he carried desperate guilt in himself for all his failures, how he looked at Rogues hair and thought about how he couldn’t be enough, how much she  must have suffered, how he almost killed her. He wanted to tell Kurt he felt sick still, when he let himself feel what he felt for the younger man, how despite the world changing around him, Logan still felt this innate sense that he was wrong, deep down in his gut, wrong for desiring another man.

Instead, he played off his friend’s valid concerns with his signature blase callousness. He raised his arm. SKIKT! “Ain’t no big thing.”

“No!”

It wasn’t a bad cut, no arteries, no blood flying everywhere; he wanted to make sure nothing got on Kurt, that would traumatize the kid. Still, blood trickled down his arm, and Kurt looked horrified. Of course Logan felt bad, but he tried to push it away. He shouldn’t care what Kurt felt, he had no business chasing after Kurt’s feelings… he’d wreck the guy, destroy that perfect, hopfull, happy young man and turn him into some fucked up version of him. He didn’t want to do that to Kurt, and yet here he was, causing him pain.

Logan expected Kurt to leave, to not be able to take this level of insanity, to not know what to do with a blood covered bathroom and a smiling Logan. That’s why he did it, after all, to scare him away. But Kurt was not the type to run away easily, now was he? If he was, he wouldn’t be the closest thing Logan had to a best friend.

“Do you do this… a lot?” Two hands take his arms, holding him as if he was covering Logan’s flesh with his own. Blood that hadn’t dried yet sticks to his fingers that delicately protected him from his own hands.

“Sometimes.”

“Vhy?”

He shrugged. “Wish I knew.” his voice came out softer than he meant it to. “I can’t die yet, I guess.”

He catches a small whimper, a quiver of Kurt’s blue lip before he looks up at him. “And do you want to die, my friend?”

He had to think on that for a second. “I dunno… don’t really want to live forever.”

Kurt nods. “I- I suppose I cannot pretend to know that pain, the curse of near-immortality… is that vhat bothers you so badly you have to self harm, or is hurting yourself vhat you do instead of suicide?”

It was too much, the questions too invasive. More importantly, he didn’t have an answer, so he got defensive as he finally let his arms drop, Kurt’s warm hands separating from him in the process. He didn’t know forearms could feel this could.

“It’s not self-harm! I’m not an angsty teenage mutant! I heal, remember?”

Kurt’s face set into a soft glare. Fuck, even when frustrated, he was softer than this world, and him, deserved. “But you still hurt, ja? Just admit what you are doing. Just because the scars heal, doesn’t mean they didn’t hurt!” Logan got the feeling Kurt was simply being too nice to call him a dumbass in this moment. 

He acquiesced. “Yeah, fine, it hurts like a bitch, but so what? No permanent damage. We all have things that get us through the shit show.”

“Do you feel this world is a shitshow? Please, Logan, tell me what is hurting you so badly that this is what you resort to! Place your feelings on me, not yourself!” Logan knew he meant to talk to him, but the intrusive imagine of Logan ‘placing’ his feelings on Kurt, of making him hurt the way Logan was hurt made his stomach turn. Suddenly, he feels sick for putting Kurt through this, and begins shutting down.

“Everything is fine. Just takes the edge off.”

“I can help”

Logan wants to laugh at that. “Help? How would you help?”

“I- I could listen.” Kurt tries to reach for him, but Logan shys away.

“I don’t need a shrike, Kurt”

“I could hold you, I could-”

Logan does laugh this time, a hurtful, dry laugh. It was cruel, trying to push sweet kurt away but it was for his own good. He had to white-fang him out of his life. “You think I’m a baby? Do you think all I need is to be held, to be reassured. ‘Shhhh shhh Logan it’s okay’” he mocked Kurt’s accent, and watched the hurt flash across his eyes.

“You are trying to push me avay.”

How does he read him so easily? Logan can never get one past Kurt.

“YOU CAN’T HELP ME!”

“I can try! Let me try!”

“How? You gonna pat my back and say ‘It’s okay, God loves you’”

“I LOVE YOU, LOGAN!”

His words hang in the air, heavy as both men breathe them in. The weight of what he said settles into Logan’s bones, grounding him, burning down the walls around his heart.

Softer this time. “I love you. You are… you are my friend… you are so much more. You are-” He shakes his head. “This is not the time.” And it’s not, but Logan already knows what he means. He can feel that meaning deep inside him, feeling him in every vein he tore at.

“Me too.” Logan says quietly, before swallowing hard. “More. You’re more to me too.”

Finally, Kurt gave him a shy smile. “I vant to see you happy, Logan. It makes me sad to know you feel like this. I don’t mean to say this is about me, I just mean-”

“I know what you mean.” And he did. Kurt wanted him to know he was cared for.

“And the others, they would care too. We love you here, Logan. All of us. You make out lives better by being here.”

“I’m just… I’m tired. I’m tired physically, because I can’t fucking sleep, and I don’t need much sleep be fuck, a few smooth hours would be nice. But it’s like I’m tired… in my head, you know? Like this deep, primal exhaustion, like it’s festering in bones, swimming in the marrow and the veins and just ready to explode… It’s spewing like an oil spill, It’s black sludge is threatening to smother every last living part of me. I just… I feel sad.” He stated plainly. “And don’t ask me why, because I don’t really know.”

Kurt gave a little nod. “I understand. And it’s okay that you don’t know. I just… I just asked we try, ja? I vant to try and help. Vee can go at your pace, take it slow. Just please, Logan, you don’t have to suffer alone.”

Logan gave it a thought, and nodded. For Kurt, he’d give it a try.

 “Come.” He extended his hand. “I vant you to rest. I know, I know the healing but… I think sleep might be good, ja?”

“Yeah, elf. Might be nice.”

Kurt took Logan to his bed, laying him down and pulling the covers over him. He should feel embarrassed about being babied, he knew, but he didn’t really care… he knelt by Logan’s bedside, playing with his hair until he fell asleep.

He woke up some time later to Kurt climbing into the other side of the bed. “Entschuldigung. I did not mean to wake you.” He seemed far away, and Logan knew he was just trying to not be a creep.

“You can come closer, yuh know.”

Kurt happily scooted right next to him, his fur warm against his skin. “Go back to sleep.”

“Kinda hard when I got such good company.”

He felt Kurt chuckle against him.

In an hour, he’d wake up feeling much less groggy. Remy must be making gumbo; he could smell it, and that made Logan excited to get up which was rare. Kurt was beside him, snoring softly and when he glanced at the bathroom it was clean. A pang of guilt hit him at the thought of Kurt having to clean up his blood, but then he looked down at the cat-like young man sleeping so soundly beside him.

Kurt liked helping people. It made him happy. And if Logan was … was his more, whatever that was going to mean for them, he needed to be able to let Kurt help him. He would never put Kurt in that position again, forced to stand by as Logan hurt himself. He’d do better. For Kurt.

And… maybe he could do better for himself.

Thank you so so so much for reading!

SO that quote about the oil spill was actually taken from bruce Springsteen in his autobiography, born to run, describing what he said to his manager after the success of Nebraska. I HIGHLY suggest the book, deliver me from nowhere which is all about the making of Nebraska. "Its darker, getting darker. There’s been an event and my depression is spewing like an oil spill all over my carefully planned and controlled existence. It’s black sludge is threatening to smother every last living part of me."

Its a hard day to be american. If you are trans, please know this executive order does not negate your very real identity. i love you.

I love you all so so much! Im very new to the x men fandom but you have all be SO NICE and its a very queer friendly space so im having a great time <3

if you like this i dont have a whole lot of none x reader x-men, most is x reader but the prodigals is multi fandom marvel!

Im also always on the look out for a good series! main ships are poolverine, logurt, scogan, and kurt/remy, but will take any combo of those 5. Not really looking for one shots bc i can find thos eeasy but if you got one ill read it lol, im lookig for MASTERPIECE series, with angst hurt/comfort fluff and smut! Slow burn 100% okay and in-progress is absolutly okay, id love to support a new series.

anyway, byeeeeeee

@miraclesabound @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[mlmvoreconfessionals]

Could you write something with pokemon eating their trainers?

I would like to do that. As someone who is really into P.okemon vore, I have not done nearly enough with the actual P.okemon as preds.

Late at night, the L.ucario slips into his trainer's tent with a devious glint in his eyes and a slurp of his muzzle. They were well into their journey, and the F.ighting type had been biding his time for this moment. His trainer is fast asleep, the rest of the team in their P.okeballs, and he was left out to keep watch for the night. It was the perfect time to strike. In all honesty, he didn't dislike his trainer or anything of the sort. But the young man wasn't very good at his job. He made sloppy mistakes in battle, got his team unnecessarily injured, and overall was just barely scraping by. Lucario was sick of it. The whole team was, of course, but he's the only one willing to do anything about it. So, with their trainer sleeping, the L.ucario finally makes his move--he lifts the young man's feet up, opens his drooling maw wide, and shovels them in. He works slowly and carefully, trying to be quiet as he lets thick gulps slurp his trainer deeper. He's happy that the human likes to sleep in only his boxers since it allows the L.ucario to enjoy every inch of flesh his tongue can reach. His trainer shifts slightly and giggles in his sleep feeling the slick tongue running along his legs, but it doesn't stir him, and he continues to sink deeper down the jackal's gullet with each thick, wet gulp. His hands are put to his side and slurped up as the L.ucario reaches his waist, then his torso is sliding down. The yellow-furred gut is really starting to bulge out now as the human slips inside and it gurgles in anticipation for its midnight snack. Before long, the L.ucarion's maw is sealing shut over his trainer's head. He gives the sleeping face a final lick goodbye before sending it down with a gulp. The L.ucario's gut sloshes out in front of him, now with the distinct shape of a human curled up inside. The L.ucario lays back on his trainer's sleeping mat with a content sigh, rubbing both paws along his gurgling guts. He really did it; he packed his entire trainer away with ease! And he didn't even wake up! In fact, his trainer seems pretty happy like this, if the L.ucario's aura reading is accurate. The thought that his trainer, even subconsciously, is content with being food makes the jackal smile slightly. A soft belch escapes his muzzle and he closes his eyes to sleep. Come morning, his trainer will be little more than a few inches on his gut and he'll be a free 'mon. So will the rest of the team...though, the L.ucario side-eyes the nearby P.okeballs with a slight smirk and another slurp of his muzzle. He'll need breakfast in the morning...and it would be a shame to break up the team, right? The L.ucario could keep them all together, their auras joining his, the weight hanging off his middle. They wouldn't mind that fate...would they?

Having just turned eighteen, the young trainer was finally allowed to claim his first P.okemon and go on a journey like so many youth before him. He'd gotten his starter and ran off in excitement, barely taking time to heed the warning of the professor. "Don't overlevel your P.okemon too much or he might stop listening to you!" It was a warning plenty of trainers got--a reminder that what they're doing is dangerous and that these creatures will prove it if they think they're stronger than their trainer. But he didn't heed that warning, and before even making it to the first town, the trainer had let his C.harmander fight everything he could, wanting to grow strong fast and prove his strength. That hubris would put an end to his journey. After snacking on so many P.okemon, and even a trainer, the C.harmander had gotten big and chubby. And it was eyeing up its trainer slowly, slurping along its lips as its belly gurgled. It didn't need this kid to grow strong, right? No way...he'd be much better as some extra experience points! So the trainer, too excited to watch his P.okemon's shifting behavior, let out a cry as he's tackled from behind by the smaller lizard. The sudden attack and its weight knocks him over, and he soon find the C.harmander sitting on his chest, drooling and licking its lips. The wet slurps he got along his face made him laugh nervously--surely it's just his starter showing him some praise for being such a good trainer, right? But when that slick maw opened wide, showing the same dark gullet a few dozen P.okemon had already faced...the trainer was in too deep to go back. The C.harmander didn't listen to a word its trainer said as it engulfed his head and began to guzzle him down. Commands, threats, desperate pleas--they all fell on deaf ears as the starter effortlessly packs away his overzealous trainer. Having a meal over twice his size leaves the little lizard stranded on the side of the route, but he's perfectly content like this, a fiery belch escaping his grinning face. Other trainers would pass by, noticing the screaming bulge of a human stretching out that orange belly, and the dangerous look in the C.harmander's eyes just begging for those passersby to try and play hero...in the end, nobody stopped to help the trainer. They'd all heard the same warning, after all--it's not their fault if someone else didn't listen. As time goes on, the human-shaped bulge would steadily soften up and shrink down, the boiling guts of the overpowered starter effortlessly pumping its trainer away like any other piece of food. If things turn out well, the C.harmander will be picked up by a stronger and more experienced trainer that can tame it. If they don't...then newbie trainers will have to be careful of the greedy C.harizard that lurks on Route 1, waiting for its chance to have an easy snack. Whatever the outcome is doesn't matter, though. With a final wet belch and a few pats to his fatter gut, it's the end of the story for the trainer whose journey never truly began.

G.engar has had enough. His old trainer traded him away to a new one, letting him evolve in the process, all because this prick convinced his old trainer that he was too weak to handle the ghost. And sure, maybe he'd been a bit of a handful, but he liked his old trainer! This one? He's a ruthless authoritarian, commanding P.okemon like objects rather than living creatures. Anything that doesn't make the cut gets tossed away, either used in trades like the one that got G.engar stuck here, or worse yet, used as fodder to feed other P.okemon on the team. Either way, they're always made into 'examples' to keep the rest of the team in line. It's worked pretty well, too. This trainer's P.okemon are all completely subservient to him out of fear of what happens should they fail. But the G.engar isn't. He's still too fresh to the team, and unlike most of the rest, he's had enough time with his last trainer to know what a good one looks like. The rest of them were caught or bred or traded in at weaker levels, making it easy for them to be controlled. But the trainer got too cocky, too greedy, and G.engar plans to make him pay for that mistake. Turning another round of ruthless, agonizing training, G.engar makes his move with the trainer is berating someone else for failing to be perfect. His long tongue lashes out, slurping up over the trainer's back and coating it in thick slime. The man shudders and his entire body goes rigid. Just as the ghost hoped, paralysis set in fast, and the trainer falls onto his back. The ghost floats over him, grinning wide, red eyes shining deviously. He really likes the look of fear etched into the trainer's face, that realization that he's truly messed up. But the G.engar knows a better look for him. The ghost's mighty jaws open incredibly wide, his thick tongue snaking out again to wrap around the frozen trainer and hoist him into the air. With a maw like his, the human is just a nice mouthful for the G.engar, the ghost's teeth clacking shut behind the man and his purple cheeks bulging out. He slurps and gnaws on the human, snickering to himself as he hears the little cries and whimpers of his meal. Finally, he tips his head back, using one massive gulp to move the human from his maw and down to his gut, which sags low in the air as the weight quickly drops in. G.engar belches thickly and pats his gut a few times. Yeah...this human will look much better as nothing but ghost chub. The rest of the P.okemon seem surprised by how easily and quickly their nightmare trainer had been disposed of, but really, the G.engar didn't care much. He grabs his P.okeball and floats off. Time to find his old trainer--that kid was always fun to spook. Maybe belching up some human bones will be a fun way to reintroduce himself!

[wisp-of-chaos]

Meet the OC - Rerki

Oh boy here we go. The one and only. My probably oldest OC in the pit. My beloved sharkrat and problematic fave. There is so much to tell and unpack here ... you know the drill, OC lore under the cut for ease of scrolling!

... where to start, though. The best course of action would probably be at the very beginning.

Rerki was never meant to be likable or appealing to anyone. My very first thought upon creating her back in the day (in GW1 no less!) was like “… she thinks she’s helpful. Not because she’s a good person but because her logic is somewhere along the lines of Dead people don’t have any problems. Therefore if I kill someone, I help them with solving their problems, which in turn makes me helpful”

And thus, Rerki (aka Kairi Yiuan aka Ritari aka Ruannskr) was born and has been stuck in the folds of my brain for over 10 years now. She has grown a lot; changed appearances and names and even races and transcended fandoms but deep down she always stayed the same.

She kind of developed herself, to be honest; grew a will of her own and stubbornly refused to budge or bow to anything else than her own will. Whenever I tried to do something with (or to) her she didn’t like, I heard that snarky little scoff in my head like *Excuse you? No.” and had to agree that, yes, Rerki was right, and I had to change something instead of her.

Another core idea for her has always been her affliction with white, that each and every design and incarnation of her would be void of any colors and absolutely pale. Which, I think, springs from my very own belief that necromancy (and being tied and connected with the afterlife) is a highly draining ordeal and that life will sooner or later be seeping out of you. Which includes your hair, skin and eye color. For myself, white will forever symbolize death and necromancy far more fittingly than black, and since Rerki started out as a necromancer, that settled that.

Another integral part of Rerki is her necromancy, and I blame this one solely on Guild Wars for introducing me to this class/idea in my youth and absolutely captivating and fascinating me with it. Up to this day, I am utterly enthralled by necromancy and will always pick it as my playing a class in any game if possible.

So much for some overall facts about her, now to get into more specific detail …

Rerki has arguably more bad character traits than good, which was a decision I made on purpose, because as I said before: She was never meant to be liked by people. (Yet here we are, apparently).

Rerki thinks of other people as a bothersome annoyance far below her own intellect, and in most cases she’s right. Given that she’s an asura, she’s a born smart ass and loves to rub it into everyone’s face whenever possible. She is also very fond of “I told you so” moments and will relish them with a self-satisfied smirk and a pointed look.

She loves to learn and study but doesn’t have the greatest patience (read: almost none) and wouldn’t go out of her way to explain something to you. If you don’t get it, that’s on you and it’s not her job to teach you anything so you better look closely and figure it out on your own or get lost. Don’t make the mistake to nag and annoy her about it. You will regret it. For the rest of your life.

Rerki will listen to your stupid ideas. Once. And if you’re too dumb to see the signs of her growing annoyance, she will let you feel her fists with zero hesitation and the only one to blame is yourself.

She is rather standoffish and often comes across as rude and uncaring; tossing around harsh words and sharp truths without sugarcoating anything. The world is a chaotic, unpredictable place and you better grow up fast and develop a sturdy backbone or face the consequences.

Rerki prefers to stay on her own and conduct her experiments and studies but will take the lead if the situation demands it to get things done. Properly and swiftly with whatever means necessary.

Her morals are dark gray at best and she often gets into troubles with the law, but personally doesn’t see the issue in herself. In her eyes, it’s the law that’s wrong.

Rerki seems cold at first glance, but that doesn’t mean she has no heart. She has her very own little moments of vulnerability and tenderness, even when expressed in her very own raw, unique way. The only people allowed to see those moments however are her family and closest friends aka her merry band of unfortunate souls and misfits she collected over the years and which has become some sort of second family to her.

Despite her dismissive attitude, Rerki is very observant and will notice the smallest change in behavior patterns and unusual bearings. She may not always comment on it but will remember it. And possibly use it to her advantage, if pushed into the right situation.

Rerki doesn’t have many friends, but once someone has gained her trust and acceptance; she will do whatever she can to keep them safe and sane – even if that means kicking her friend’s own asses if they need it.

On the other hand, she tends to neglect herself a bit; forgetting to eat and sleep in favor of continuing with her studies and experiments. She also has a habit of throwing herself in harm’s way just to prove a point and is more than just a little bit reckless. (Which was far worse in her youth but as she grew up, she’s become calmer and more levelheaded. She still loves to headbutt idiots to shut them up, though)

Her usual treatment of idiots (or most people in general) is the silent stare of “Are you serious?”, followed by detaching her prosthetic arm and slapping some sense into them. And if that doesn’t help … well, let’s just say she knows how to scare people off. (And how to make them disappear. Permanently, if necessary)

Rerki has a habit of collecting and keeping little trinkets from her hardest battles and most vicious enemies – often in the form of severed and conserved limbs or organs or weapons.

She also has a severe fear hatred for white rabbits. No, she will not elaborate and if you keep pressing the matter, she will end you. For your own sake, never mention it again.

The only living members of her family are her bigger sister Errube and her cousin Dillyn; who work alongside her and the pact as co-commanders. (In the GW2 alteration of her and her story)

One of her most treasured possessions is a human skull she found as a child when she accidentally fell into a hole and ended up in a cursed ascalonian crypt. She claims is speaks to her and guided her out and back to her uncle and sister but nobody ever heard the skull so much as whistle in the wind.

And that … is that. That’s my beloved gremlin girl. She also exists in the BG3/DnD universe as a pale tiefling going by the name Ritari and I may create her siblings there as well. Perhaps. If I have the time and energy to do so. But for now, that is all I can think of at the moment.

Thank you for passing by and reading! And if you have any questions, don’t be shy and let me know, I do so love to talk about her~

And, as a little treat, have some visuals of her:

Firstly as her GW2-self

and secondly a wonderful little artpiece of her tiefling incarnation done by the wonderful @unaarista

[scurvyratt]

I watched Precious (2009) a couple months ago and was under the impression that it was a comedy due to all the jokes that I've seen about it, I was shocked to find out that it was actually a drama. It disgusts me how a film that is about the continuous rape and abuse of a 16 year old girl was turned into a huge joke simply because the girl in question is fat and black. If Precious were a skinny conventionally attractive white girl the response to the film would be wayyy different. (Mind you, people would still mock the movie because women's suffering will always be funny to the general public, but y'know)

I'm actually not a big movie watcher but I was sooo engrossed in the film and it was all I could think about for days. It totally blew me away and made me emotional which is not very typical of me lol. I re watched it today and loved it even more. Unfortunately I made the mistake of going on to letterboxd to read others reviews... Most were from MEN, WHITE MEN, who kinda misunderstood the movie imo?

Some of the complaints were that "the mom is horrible" like... yes? Another was that the film doesn't go in depth enough into the education system/other systems that caused Precious to end up in her situation. But like,, imo the movie was mainly about Precious' relationship with her mom, her discovering herself, and her journey to a new beginning. If you wanted to watch media about institutional corruption go watch the Wire or something lol.

Many people were confused by the fantasy/day dream sequences as well. I think that not only were those a form of escapism for Precious, but to also show how she's just a teenage girl. Precious has been taking care of both of her parents since she was a child. Her father forced her into the position of wife/partner. He forced her to become a mother twice. Her father then left and her role as her mothers care taker was exacerbated.

Many black girls (children) are called "fast", as in developing sexually "too fast", which is a harmful stereotype that is imposed on them simply for existing/developing/growing up. This is how Precious' mother, and society (she was kicked out of school for being pregnant), view Precious. Precious' mother knows that she was raped (and even rapes her herself), but doesn't care.

Since everyone views Precious as an adult, these day dreams serve as a reminder of the fact that she's just a 16 year old girl who fantasizes about being loved (by her mother, by the world, and a boyfriend). And it day dreaming is a common trope for teen girls which is why this all matters lol.

I think her youth and naivety is also shown when she has an outburst in class and yells at Ms. Rain. She says: "You don't know what it's like to be me! I've never had a boyfriend! My daddy said that he wants to marry me, but how could he do that? That's illegal!". The first thing Precious brings up is that she's never had a boyfriend, although she has a million other worse problems in her life that she could be complaining about. The only problem she has with her father wanting to marry her is that it would be illegal, and not the thousand other things that are wrong with that lol. But anyways, Precious is just a teenage girl at the end of the day and her biggest problem in life (or what she wishes was her biggest problem) is her desire for a boyfriend.

Other things that people disliked were the filming style/soundtrack. I have nothing to say about those really lol. If people didn't like those then... idk.

Anyways... other things about Precious that I adored/noticed:

Mo'Nique 100% deserved that Oscar, she was truly astounding. Especially in that final scene where she becomes so emotional, but for HERSELF💀. Also her wearing foundation that was way too light to the welfare office... (colorism is also part of this movie!)

Precious' first baby being named "Mongoloid", presumably because Precious' mom named her that and Precious went along with it. You can tell that Precious does not like that name though since she calles her "Mongo" instead. Mongo was also born under the worst circumstances; on the kitchen floor while Precious' mom was kicking and berating her. Precious' second pregnancy occurred while she was starting her journey (of self-discovery/independence, etc.). She has hopes and dreams for this baby and for herself. Her son was born in the hospital with her friends surrounding her, her mother nowhere to be seen. She names him Abdul Jamal, which in Arabic means "servant of beauty". Anyways I thought that was so cute :(

I loved her relationship with her classmates too. They were so supportive and fun lol

There's probably other things but I can't think of them rn lolz