#and all the different version are so clever

[dumbnpoetic]

the “espresso EP” cover 🎀

[unloneliest]

jam i have a question. who is eliot spencer... where is he from. what makes him ur number one blorbo and what do u understand abt him that no one else does <3

partridge thank you so much for this ask i need you to know you made my entire morning. eliot spencer is. my specialest guy my blorbo of all time i love him so so so so much. he's from the tv show leverage, which aired from 2008-2012* and isn't immune to the downfalls of that era of tv in general but that. honestly does a comparatively outstanding job to ME. it holds up and also the premise is "what if these extremely competent hot thieves ruined shitty rich people's lives and helped the people who'd been victimized by the rich people and created a found family together after all having various levels of sad backstory? and there was an ot3 made as canon as the showrunners could possibly make it in 2012?" i'm getting ahead of myself though.

*there's a sequel currently airing but i have yet to watch it & there's certain aspects about it that i refuse to accept as canon (this is a part of me being the most right about eliot)

i am putting this under the cut because. well. this got long

to start with context. having my brain rewired by supernatural and captain america: the winter soldier when i was a teenager is a huge factor in like. *waves hands vaguely* everything. when it comes to how i came to love leverage and eliot specifically. i got driven away from spn because (to simplify things) the showrunners hated the fans so bad and the characters were fighting the narrative but unable to escape it, and i loved the version of the characters that was actively being opposed by the show. and that was just plain not enjoyable for me. and marvel is marvel and continuity of emotional and interpersonal arcs doesn't matter at all to them.

and the thing is i took a sociology class in 2017 and it was making me so upset learning about white collar crime. and @canis-la-trans was like. we are watching leverage now. to remedy this. and i'd tried watching it with him before but this time around it just clicked. and the biggest part of what clicked is eliot. because listen. eliot is in somewhat of the same category as my earlier favorite characters but the thing about eliot spencer is that all of his best qualities are canon, not fanon. he redefines the category. he's incomprable. to me.

the thing about eliot spencer is he's the punchboy. he's the hitter. it's his job to get in the fights and protect the team. and he does his best to come across as grumpy, as not caring about people, does his best to fly under the radar as just another unintelligent lackey with a short temper who's particularly talented at violence.

but that's a performance. canonically that's a performance. and he has the best work/life separation of the whole team. he's not his job - he's very good at his job, and it's what he does and that is a part of him, but where some of the other characters view their job as an extension of their selfhood, eliot doesn't.

he cooks. he cooks so well that he could do that professionally. he grows all his own produce (allegedly). he's one of if not the best person on the team with kids. he loves so wholly so fast. he's the first person to call the team a we. within team dynamics he & sophie, the grifter, protect the other 2 from the worst of the team leader's dysfunction.

eliot's done bad things in the past. and he views himself completely past saving. like. from commentary on the show: he knows he's going to hell. like. his self worth is completely abysmal. i know he would die for the team. in s2e2 there's an episode where the team isn't succeeding at the con, and he takes the fall on purpose. and in a conversation about that he says "i'm not diving on a grenade. i'll be all right" but he says that so readily that i Know he's thought about it. and he would. for the team he would. for parker and hardison he would. he's in love with them. and they're in love with him too and i have to cut myself off or i'll go an entire separate rant about them!!!!

he has long hair. which he straightens. and he looks great with blood on his face. he doesn't use guns. he never throws the con for personal reasons - only ever does to protect kids. he grew up in rural oklahoma and he enlisted to get the hell out of dodge and he got in such a bad argument with his dad the night before he shipped out that he got disowned. and he can't even talk about it until nearly the end of the final season of the show. he never once mentions his mom. and i just know he got disowned for coming out, intentionally or not. he's never had an environment he could be his full self in without fear until the team.

parker, the thief of the team, is intentionally written as autistic; the hacker, hardison, is so likely written to have adhd. and eliot is autistic too, to me. it makes the level of performing masculinity to closet himself so much more insane to me. bc it's also masking. and adding that context to eliot and parker's relationship makes me unWELL.

the thing is is that eliot is a character who's hiding, who's actively doing his best to be unnoticed. and so many people who watch the show fall for the act, even if they don't fall for the whole act they fall for parts of it, and like. They Are Wrong About Him. i have an entire complex backstory thought up for eliot, because i think the only thing sadder than him missing out on the kind of connection he finds with the team is him knowing what he's missing because he had a queer best friend as a kid, & the two of them were closeted together, but he lost contact with her over the years.

the thing is that eliot spencer has SO MUCH GENDER and i know if he and parker and hardison adopted a kid eliot would be ma. never dad. and i don't think he'd even be able to start exploring that for himself until the end of the series.

the thing is eliot spencer would listen to the mountain goats. and there's a couple other people out there who are right about that and it makes me so insane 100% of the time.

and i love him and this is just a list of facts about him and the most important thing about eliot spencer to me is that. he exists in motion. trying to capture a still image or static description in words never works. but he's my wife and i love him so much. and i always will. and i'm writing a fic where i'm going to blow him up. just a little bit. for his own good. this is my "eliot made himself a mountain goats mix tape about knowing he's willing to jump on a bomb for parker and hardison & never telling them that in advance" playlist from that universe.

all of leverage is availible for free streaming on imdb tv & here are thee best leverage fanvids of all time:

& this last vid is abt the show in general, not just the ot3:

i would add all my fave eliot pics i have screenshotted but this is already so long . i still might rb and do that anyways he is Everything to me

[aeide-thea]

the eternal, often-unsuccessful struggle to separate 'hm i personally am not enjoying Thing because it smacks of Unpleasantness to me' from 'i actually dislike Thing because it's Inherently Problematic, amazing how my personal taste is an unfailing radar that way' 😔

[nullcanary]

"Now all my other gods are dead. Hallelujah, to the apocalypse in my head!"

[yuri-puppies]

Shape-shifters, face-blindness, and "paying attention to others"

The shapeshifter is one of my favourite "monster of the week" episodes because it showcases how differently Laios processes social information than the rest of the party. It reminds me a lot of the strategies I, faceblind name-forgetter and eye-contact avoider, use to recognize people and learn things about them.

We see Laios clearly fail at recognizing the doubles through "standard" social cues that are perceived as "easy to tell", such as their clothes. This makes the team (unfairly, but understandably) weary of his ability to tell the fakes apart and even worried that he'd prefer the monster versions* over them. Nonetheless, he gives it a try!

...And is immediately overwhelmed. His lack of attention to social cues works a bit in his favor, though, as it makes it harder for him to fall for stereotypes that fool the rest of the group.

Instead, he chooses to rely on his strengths and use his investigation and animal handling skills to distract the shapeshifters, lure out the monster, and roll the most insane balls-to-the-wall intimidation check of all time.

If it had ended there it still would have been a great episode that showcases Laios' strategic mind and his strengths as a leader. He doesn't have the social skills necessary for the task, but he is clever and creative enough to use the skills he does have proficiency in to solve the problem*.

However, what makes this episode so dear and near to my faceblind heart is the revelation that Laios was able to recognize the real party members after all.

Laios is fantastic representation of how special interests actually work for a monotropic interest system. Having a special interest is not just about how much you like it and the need to know everything about it, it's a way of processing and filtering information. Laios' special interest is monsters: his skills as a dungeoneer and party leader are acquired for and informed by his desire to interact with monsters, as is his interest in eating them. He actually brings this up himself when comparing his interest in cooking to Senshi's.

And in this episode, we see that this also extends to his friends. Laios hacks one of the most difficult types of information for him to process by routing it through the lens of the special interest. And, because it's not something most people would notice, it works. He knows that Chilchuck wouldn't let his guard down around a potential mimic, that Senshi values a balanced ecosystem, that (my favourite) Marcille just isn't as thoughtful about monsters as he is.

It might not be what was expected, but it did the trick! And what's more, the narrative validates his way of thinking (even if Chilchuck doesn't).

[where-does-the-heart-lie]

Revolutionary Army Punk AU

Ft: Luffy (not punk)

Steampunk is cool but i think just straight up punk would be cooler. I just think what they stand for lines up a lot better

Design notes:

I did some research and talked to a punk friend of mine for these as i am not a punk, myself, and I dont want to look like a poser. I think i did a really good job translating them and i want to explain my thoughts!

Sabo was first, of course.

I not only wanted to make the characters punk, but i also wanted to crank their designs up about 20 notches, so i gave Sabo’s scar one hell of an upgrade. In this version I tried to make it very clear that that cannon ball hit him head-on. I think it works really well with his punk vibes because under-cuts and shaved parts of the head in general are very popular in punk culture.

I largely tried to keep the silhouettes the same with this au, and It was really easy to keep it with Sabo because of the fact that he already has a lot of design elements that translate well to punk. His big pants into tall boots were perfect to translate, crust pants and steel toed boots fits him well. Trench coats arent a staple in Punk, but i couldnt take the coats away from him… him or Belo. They deserve it…

I threw away his cravat for a choker, i replaced his vest with a red tank top and his undershirt for fishnets, Patches up the wazoo, he looks very cool.

Belo Betty was next, she was super easy to translate. She’s already in the punk spirit with her tits out, we love to see it. Her hat was really difficult to translate, along with all the other hats, but a red knitted hat that has those two points cuz it’s essentially a scarf sewed together looks nice on her.

My punk friend suggested i give her a bunch of nets and harnesses and i really agreed that was her style, so i gave her red tie to Morley, slapped some harnesses on her and just overall just turned her sexy up like 50 notches. I think i was clever how i adapted her striped stockings here with how they have runs in them.

Karasu is almost the exact same. I just threw out his dinky little cravat and gave him a bandana and harness. I also gave him piercings. That’s the only difference. In the words of my Punk friend “hes naked and wearing a spiked mask, He can hang”

Speaking of what my punk friend said, he said that Lindbergh would get “demolished” in the pit, and that he looks like he’s scared of bees. The consensus was that he couldn’t hang. But also i still had to make him punk, so then he suggested CBGB punks:

Redneck, bluegrass, southern american punks. I was really in a rut with his design, I didn’t know what to do to keep the silhouette of his backpack. But everything changed when I chance got the idea of a guitar. And then everything flowed from there

Morley was really really fun. Punk friend suggested i make him Pop Punk, inspired by this pic

Mainly Lindsey way with this plaid skirt and tie

He was so so fun to draw, i love his fucked up eyes.

For dragon, i didnt change much at all, even though it’s only his bust that’s shown. Imagine everything is the same, except now he has piercings. Dragon isnt concerned with the punk fashion, but the punk cause.

For Luffy, I wasnt trying to make him punk, but he felt a bit plain looking like base Luffy next to punk Sabo, so i just did the “turn design up 20 notches”, and just gave him a more visibly tattered hat, bangles and waist beads.

That’s about it! Ive been getting a lot of comments and asks lately saying that you guys like when i go on my design explanations, and i realized that i didnt do that for the last few AU’s, so i thought id type this up :)

Thank you for reading!

[astrow0rldx]

PAC: Who you are to this person in their life, mind & fantasies

૮ ˶︶^︶˶ ა🧸🐇<3

We are all just different concepts, roles, and versions to everyone in our life.

Pile One

Signs: Worshipping you. So Anxious - Genuine. INTJ? ENTJ? ENTP? xNTx. Dark Feminine, Unavailable Feminine vibes. CEO/office siren energy. Nonchalant/Distant. Self-Assured/Focused. Independent! One of you could have Scorpio/8th house placements or Earth sign.

They look at you as a strong mf. Very strong, physically but especially mentally. Your no one to be fw. Your extremely smart, and clever. Probably less naive. They see you as a confident, overcoming person who is loyal and committed to things you value and goals you set your mind to. Your courageous, intellectual, logical, and can be really good analyzer and straight forward. They think of you as whole, complete and someone that can guide them, teach them. Give them wisdom and hope.

Their feelings for you is very primal. Really Sexual or Thrilling. For some of you this person your asking about is a masculine energy between 16-29? You have a very powerful, transformative effect on them. A thirsty dog with their tongue hanging out. Ready to be satisfied, and you satisfy them. Your a satisfaction for them, kind of like someone they wish they had might literally be their type. They could be obsessive, tied to you. Possessive over you and just very demonic/low vibrational in their feelings, because its so intense. Its so exciting, and adrenaline inducing to them. About how they feel towards you, very chaotic. A lot rooting from desire and the root (action) chakra.

In their fantasy they could just fight any competition or barrier, win you over, and leave with you. Just start preparing and making plans for actions and next move. Their fantasy is having a choice and decision they have to make with you, a risk they might have to take. "Should I stay or should I go" having that courage!! They desire to hope and pray you guys can come together, celebrate. Be mutual and experience on another. They have so much faith in this. They already done wished upon a star. But their conscious thoughts about you is maybe feeling a little defeated, like a victim. and all up in their feels trying work it out & be emotionally mature about things. understand their feelings. If they aren't feeling defeated or like the victim, they might be like I said in that demonic, low vibration, desire energy where their trying to win you over by any means. they will do whatever, manipulate and be the bad guy on maybe your emotions, your emotional state, your romance, and your caring side.

Girl its half an hour past ten Got me waiting in my bed You’ve been busy in my head Since noon I got to feel you, freak you

come to my appointment

Now I feel the urge, I hope you feel it too Now imagine girl what I'mma do to you Girl the image of your body got me sprung Never felt like this about another one You are killing me girl cause is half past one My body trembles every time my clock agrees

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Pile Two

Signs: Earth Sign!! City Girl. High-Maintenance. Materialistic. Fashion Junkie. Hustler, Money Motivated. Good with Cosmetic things? Cosmetologist? Business Owner? Real-estate, looking for a home? Present yourself with class & value.

They see you as a very materialistic person, of this world. Someone who is stable, but not stable. Like a hustler. You might be insecure always chasing security or materialistic things. Working a lot, Starting a business. Focusing on home, cars, fashion, and items you want. Stingy with it to. Hoarding or Collector probably too. Just someone who builds the life they want around them, a reality creator, a manifestor.

(You and Pile One (so far) is asking about some people that's definitely ready to fuck) Their feelings for you is they might feel isolated from you, or need to be isolated from you to go within and focus on themself. Figure out what they want, because their stuck on something that they might not have had the time, or chose the time to think about. If they did their overthinking and working it out. But they definitely feel really lustful towards you, a lot of sexual energy. Hit it & quit it energy almost. A fun experience that they intensely desire. But they definitely feel a horny, exciting, drawn pull towards you. Could be intense.

Don't lower your self-worth now, even though it shouldn't be depending on this person anyways. They put you on a VERY high pedestal. Someone who they have to work for. In their fantasies, they will take on any baggage, and hardships for his empress. + The Lovers. which mean they definitely fantasize about loving on you, admiring you, being in a relationship with you. Winning you as a trophy. Their thoughts about you could be that their worried about your security and money and think its killing you, or its killing them. Making them feel inferior. They desire to leave something behind and create this little emotional, vulnerable, cutesy dynamic with you. Rush in and ask you stuff, tell you stuff, confront you on things. Again I'm scared this person is not a loyal, committed person in your life or planning to be but that's only for some.

I'm representin' for the bitches All eyes on your riches No time for the little dicks You see the bigger the dick The bigger the bank, the bigger the Benz The better the chance to get close to his rich friends I'm going after the big man My g-string make his dick stand Make it quick, then slow head by the night stand Like lightning, I wanna nigga with a wedding ring Bank accounts in the Philippines

I make him eat it while my period on A little nasty ho, red-bone but a classy ho Young jazzy ho and don't be scared If you're curious just ask me hoes And yes dick sucking comes quite natural Cause I'm da baddest bitch, what

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Pile Three

Signs: Water sign or Earth sign. Mysterious. Feminine. Have y'all met? New person in your life, from work/school? R&B. Throwback Music.

They see you as someone who might be hard to read. Hard to understand, and quite mysterious and unknown to them. Maybe manipulative, deceptive & delusional. They might even see you as spoiled, or someone who is given good opportunities. Blessed, and for some people its not always blessings from others, but they see you as someone who creates blessings for themself. A stable & grounded Person. But they definitely see you as a person on their own, and independent. Mysterious and Independent.

They feel again, hidden from you. Somethings unknown but they are willing to build with you, and work with you. Even provide for you. They might feel anxiety, nervous and a lot of overthinking limiting thoughts that prevent this connection from growing.

They desire to build some type of stability between you two. But they need to read you, and know something. The moon keeppsss coming out for how they view & feel towards you, but what they want & Desire is this High Priestess. With 10 of pentacles, this can be long lasting, stable. Is this like a job opportunity? Provider, Daddy Dynamic? In their fantasies, having you and being able to just be with you is their wish fulfillment. They want to get everything they wish from you. They fantasize about not being emotionally stuck, and flowing through, moving on, coming to better light. They really fantasize about starting this material project. Study Buddy? Work Project? I don't know but some type of goal and stability they fantasize about doing with you. Your mystery gives them time to fantasize, and in their mind they might daydream, and create these ideas and wishes. They think about letting loose, having fun with you. Being drunk with you maybe. But they might be focusing & thinking about the negative and sad side of the connection & what made them hurt.

Red light, you know I can't make this thing that official Believe, we had a great night but I ain't the type to tell you that I miss you, shit You don't like that, I make this easy, leaving After sexing on the floor Baby, I know you need me like I need you But I'm not the one you wanna love

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Pride ! PJO or Time Travel drarry if you please ? Thank you !!

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5

Poseidon hadn’t known what to expect, when he’d found Sally near hysterical and their son’s empty room, when he’d gone to the armory and found a sword missing from the armory with comical IOU scratched in it’s place. He had thought Sally’s mortal mind simply did not have an appreciation for scale, that a teenage demigod was far enough from a seven year old one as to appear closer to a god than a mortal.

He'd underestimated Sally. Not the first time. Hopefully the last.

Percy, nearly fully grown, tips his head back and meets his gaze evenly. He understands why Sally mistook them at first glance.

He doesn’t know if he’s ever had a demigod child take after him quite this starkly before.

“Your mother is beside herself.”

Percy winces, pulling a knee to his chest. “Yeah. The Mist is taking care of the mortal stuff, right? No one’s blaming her for anything.”

Poseidon’s lips thin. “No. Your lack of presence is simply being – ignored.”

Demigod children die young all the time. It wouldn’t do for mortal law enforcement to look into it to closely.

“That’s good,” Percy says. “I should call her. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Why did you call me?” he asks, instead of any of the other questions he’s burning to know the answers to. Just meeting him has been enough to answer some of them.

Persephone’s influence lingers around him so powerfully that if he didn’t know better, he’d be questioning if Percy was his son rather than hers.

He resists the urge to ask after the child version of his son. Sally has already said that Percy doesn’t know, and besides, the difference is not as jarring for him as it was for Sally. He has very little to compare him to.

Percy shrugs. It’s insolent and leaves Poseidon wondering what type of relationship they have in the future that Percy is both this easy in his presence and that Poseidon allowed his son to do something this monumentally stupid in the first place.

Then again, with Persephone’s hand in this, it’s likely he had very little say in it.

“You and Mom are the only ones who know who I am,” he says. Percy couldn’t have known that he’d spoken to his mother before calling him, but he supposes that’s irrelevant. He knows his blood. Barring that, he knows his own eyes. “I guess I just – will you look out for them? If something happens to me?”

Poseidon looks over at the cliff’s edge, at the three sleeping children huddled around a dying flame. Athena, his enemy. Hermes, who he’s never called a friend. Zeus, who’s child shouldn’t even exist, although he acknowledges the irony there. “Is she the child of prophecy, then? Is that what all this is about?”

“She’s a child,” Percy says, voice suddenly hard. “They all are. Isn’t that enough?”

Ah. There’s Sally in him.

“Are you not also a child?” he asks gently.

He snorts. “No. Technically, barely, but not really. This isn’t about me.”

Poseidon thinks it is. He doesn’t see how Percy can be this impossible and this powerful and have this not be about him.

He thinks he knows exactly why Percy has traveled to the past. He doubts it was Persephone’s intention, because she knows better than to believe this is a plan that could work, but maybe it doesn’t have to. She’s clever enough to account for Percy’s choices.

Instead of saying any of that, he rests his hand on Percy’s shoulder. He’s gratified when he leans into it. He must not have been too terrible a father. “You are my child.”

“Dad,” he sighs.

Poseidon squeezes before letting go. “Alright. If something happens to you, I’ll look out for your strays.”

“They’re my friends,” he corrects, but Poseidon is already leaving.

Athena’s child is stirring. It would be just like her get to see something she shouldn’t and wreck his son’s plans, foolish as they may be.

[muclunga]

Part one of combining every version of PJO characters :)))

Percy and Annabeth!

[tap/click for better quality] It’s pretty self explanatory. Read below the cut for my nerdy art processes.

So obviously, I’m referencing and color-dropping their old official art, new official art, movie, musical and tv show appearances.

Percy’s-

All of the Percy’s seem to have pretty well defined jaw lines and soft cheek bones. Most of them have square or diamond shaped faces, so I leaned into that more. I also realized they have wider nose bridges in addition to the slightly upturned nose so I went with that as well. Pretty much all the Percys’ have thick eyebrows, especially in the front, so I went with more of a taper and more down turned. The eyes pretty consistent. The hair was pretty easy, the textures kind of canceled out back into the his original description of having wavy, despite the OG art not really conveying that at all. Was kind of surprised that Walker’s hair didn’t lighten the combined colors more, as well as his and Logan’s eye color not making the color more blue.

Annabeth’s-

Annabeth’s was pretty interesting, just cause I’ve always associated her with having sharper and more angular features even though all her actresses and official art works have softer and more rounded features. Especially the nose.

Either way most of the annabeth’s cheek bines are lower and softer. She pretty much always has a flat and narrow nose bridge that’s usually much wider at the bottom. Her skin tone ended up being close to what I already use when I draw her- I was pretty shocked it wasn’t darker, but none of the official art shows annabeth as being as tan as she’s described to be. Her hair color was pretty much what I expected, same with her eye color. The hair texture was a little weird for me, cause Leah’s curl pattern is very different from the curl pattern Kristen has when she portrays Annabeth, which are both different from the curl pattern in Viria’s art. Alexandra’s hair is pin straight and OG official art annabeth’s hair is pretty limp except for a few half hearted curls at the bottom. So the hair texture you see was my best attempt at combining them all. Also I put a little braid in her hair to represent her braids in the show. Her eyes, much like all her other features, were a lot more soft and round than I usually draw her as having. I normally picture her with narrow, intense, diamond shapes eyes. A lot of her appearances, despite her description in the books, have big, soft, round eyes- which I thought was actually kinda cute cause she’s so smart and clever and observant that her having these big, round, curious eyes was made sense too.

But yeah. That’s about it. This was really fun and I plan on doing more :)

[fratttymatty]

Southern Shift

(All characters are 18+)

Maddox had never been much of a believer in magic. Sure, he’d seen the viral videos, heard the wild stories, but he figured they were all some sort of elaborate hoaxes or clever editing tricks. His life had always been a straightforward one: an 18-year-old guy from a fairly progressive city on the coast. He was used to being who he was—a proud gay man, confident and comfortable in his own skin. He didn’t fit in with every crowd, but that was fine by him. He had his friends, his passions, and a future in design and art lined up after graduation.

But when a strange e-mail showed up one Wednesday evening, everything Maddox knew about his life was thrown into chaos.

It came from a source called TrueVision Enterprises, a company he’d never heard of, with a subject line that read: "Your Destiny Awaits — Experience a New Life." Curiosity got the best of him. What could possibly go wrong?

It was a poorly-written message, vague but cryptic. “Ever wonder what it’s like to be someone else? To experience a life you’ve only imagined? Click here to find out.”

A grin spread across his face. Who wouldn’t be intrigued? Maybe it was a prank. Maybe it was a scam. But it was better than staring at the same four walls all night. So, against better judgment, he clicked the link.

The screen went black for a moment, then flashed with a blinding light.

When Maddox opened his eyes, everything had changed.

It wasn’t just the environment—though the suburban neighborhood around him looked radically different from his usual cityscape. No, it was something far deeper, more visceral. He felt it in his bones, in his muscles, in the very way he was standing.

Looking down, he saw the first signs. His body had undergone a remarkable transformation. Gone was his lean but soft physique, the figure of a 5'11" city guy with a slight build. In its place was something else entirely: a lean, toned build with defined muscles in his arms, chest, and legs. His body felt stronger, like he could throw a punch without thinking about it, or lift heavy things without breaking a sweat. But what really caught his attention was his height.

He blinked, staring down at himself. He was taller. Not just a little taller, but by a significant amount. Maddox used to be 5'11", but now, standing at 6'3", he had a commanding presence. His legs stretched out longer than he remembered, and the new height gave him an imposing posture. He’d never been the tallest in his group, and now he towered over everyone, even the people around him who seemed much bigger and broader than he remembered.

His new height felt natural, like it had always been this way. But it also made him feel powerful, larger-than-life in a way that was completely unfamiliar.

He glanced at the house around him. It was large, a two-story place with wide windows, a white picket fence, and an immaculately-kept lawn. The interior was similarly pristine, and the smell of fresh wood and leather filled the air. This wasn't his apartment. This wasn’t anywhere he recognized. But something about the space felt... familiar, as though it was his home now.

He staggered, momentarily disoriented, and made his way to a nearby mirror.

What he saw almost made him fall over.

A stranger stared back at him. His face was familiar, but only in the way you recognize a reflection in a window before you really focus on it. His hair—blonde, curly, and wild—was cut into a mullet that reached just past the top of his neck, the ends flaring out like a halo of unruly curls. He didn’t remember ever styling his hair that way, yet the new version of himself seemed to suit it effortlessly. The loose curls framed his jawline, drawing attention to the newly defined muscles there.

His eyes, once a sharp hazel, had turned a lighter shade of blue. His expression was different too—stoic, even smug, like someone who knew exactly who he was and had no time for nonsense.

Then he looked down at himself, taking in his outfit. A plaid, button-up shirt—tight across his chest but still comfortable—clung to his muscular frame. He wore a worn leather belt with a large, shining buckle, a pair of jeans that fit just right and boots that seemed made for walking through dirt. And of course, a tan, weathered cowboy hat sat perched on top of his head.

Everything about his appearance screamed “redneck,” yet it was as if he'd always been this way. As if this transformation was simply an outward reflection of who he was now.

He stared at his reflection, utterly speechless, before hearing a voice from behind him.

"Adam, honey, come on down here! Dinner’s ready!"

He froze. Adam? That wasn’t his name. His name was Maddox.

But when he tried to say it—when he opened his mouth to speak—it wasn’t "Maddox" that came out.

"Yessir, mom," the new voice said, gruff and confident, with a drawl he didn't recognize. It was his voice, but it felt... wrong.

Before he could think further, his feet carried him toward the stairs. Every movement felt more natural, more instinctual. He didn’t have to think about walking anymore; his body just moved.

The moment he stepped into the kitchen, he was greeted by two older figures: a tall man with a thick beard and a sun-worn face, and a woman with perfectly-coiffed blonde hair and a warm, motherly smile.

"Adam, you hungry, baby?" The woman—his new "mother"—asked in a thick Southern accent, as she placed a plate of fried chicken and mashed potatoes on the table.

"Yeah, looks good, mom." His voice was smooth, authoritative, and familiar. It was like he had always talked this way.

The man, his new father, patted him on the back. "Atta boy. Gotta keep up your strength if you’re gonna help me with the truck this weekend."

Adam nodded, suddenly feeling an unfamiliar rush of excitement at the thought of working on a truck. "Sounds good, pops."

His father gave him a knowing look. "Glad to hear it. Gotta be ready to defend this house. Keep it in shape." There was a pause, and then a sly smirk crossed his face. "Though, I gotta say, I’m more worried about that little gay friend of yours. What’s his name again? Cody, right?"

Adam’s heart skipped. Cody was his best friend. But the way his father said it—the sneer in his voice—felt wrong. His thoughts tried to resist, but the tug of new instincts, of new feelings, pushed him to respond in a way he would have never before.

"Yeah, Cody’s a nice guy," Adam said, his voice dripping with casual disdain, "but man, he’s just… different, y’know? He’s always talking about stuff I don’t care about, like his art or whatever. He’s not really my kind of guy. Dude’s all wrapped up in his feelings and thinks he’s some kind of big thinker. He’s just not built for the real world."

Adam laughed and shrugged, the words flowing out like they were second nature. It felt good, somehow, to say it out loud. The Maddox part of him—the part that would’ve fiercely defended Cody, that would’ve fought anyone who insulted him—seemed like a distant memory.

His father chuckled, clearly approving. "Well, I’m glad to hear you’re making better choices, son. You don't need someone like that holding you back."

"Exactly," Adam said with a grin. "I’ve got enough on my plate, worrying about football, work, and, you know, my future. Guys like Cody? They just complicate things."

The following day, Adam found himself at a school that seemed to be from another world. The high school was old, with large wooden bleachers in the gym and the faint smell of tobacco in the air. Kids in cowboy boots and trucker hats roamed the halls, and there was an air of casual arrogance in the way they all carried themselves.

When he walked into the classroom, heads turned. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, but now, standing at his new, imposing height of 6'3", Adam felt like he belonged. He loomed over the students around him, towering above them with a sense of superiority that felt right, even though it was still so new. His height made him feel like the guy everyone respected—or, if they didn’t, they at least stayed out of his way.

"Hey, Adam," a guy called from the back of the room. He had a thick jaw and a cocky grin. "How’s it going, man?"

"Good, bro," Adam replied, easily slipping into the role of the guy everyone wanted to hang out with. The guy who didn’t care about anything except his truck, his friends, and his future. A life of simple pleasures, uncomplicated by anything like "progressive politics" or "diversity."

But the most striking change came when he spotted her in the hallway. Emily.

She was the cheerleading captain. Blonde, athletic, and with a smile that lit up the entire school. Adam hadn’t expected to feel such a strong pull toward her, but as he watched her walking toward him, he felt his chest puff out with pride, the feeling of possession he didn’t quite understand.

"Hey, Adam," Emily called, giving him a wink. She wore her cheer uniform—tight, short, and red—and looked every bit the picture of what his new life was supposed to be. "You ready for the game on Friday? I’ve got your back, big guy."

"Always," Adam said, his voice dropping an octave. He felt confident, even cocky, as he walked toward her, putting an arm around her waist as they headed to class together. She was his girlfriend, after all, and that was just the way things were now. The idea of a different reality, a different version of himself, felt so distant.

By the time school ended, Adam was fully in his new life. Football practice had been intense, but Adam had breezed through it. As a starting wide receiver, he was the star of the team. He felt invincible on the field, his new body moving with strength and agility. The other players had all been high-fiving him, slapping his back, calling him "the beast."

And as for Emily? She was always by his side, chatting him up with that sweet, familiar smile. They talked about the weekend plans—probably a party at Brad's, a bonfire down by the lake—and Adam felt perfectly at home.

When the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Adam had only one thought: This is my life now. He was Adam, the 6'3", football-playing redneck with a cheerleader girlfriend and a world of opportunities at his feet.

The old Maddox, the artist from the city, was gone.

And Adam? Adam was everything he’d ever needed to be.

[risuola]

DON'T HOLD BACK — F. READER x GETO SUGURU, who'’s as sweet as he's mean to you

If anyone got to know Suguru Geto, they would say that he's really nice guy, very kind and soft spoken, and they wouldn't be exactly wrong, but it seemed like you were the only person in the world that knows that Suguru, your tattoo artist boyfriend, is a meanie.

cw: smut, no-curse au, size difference, spanking, hair pulling, cunningulus, slight description of pain (tattoo related), so many pet names, Geto has tattoos and piercings (yup, that's a warning), there's an appearance od Satoru at the end, reader discretion is advised — 7,9k words

masterlist

If anyone would ask you few days ago what will you be doing on friday at 21:38pm, you’d probably respond with a large dose of confidence, that you’ll be resting in your bed. Maybe catching up on your favorite anime because you had no time to watch the newest episode during the week. You’d be lying comfortably, sipping on your favorite, fruity tea and if you’d feel fancy enough, maybe you’d even order yourself a pizza. That’s what you’d assume you’ll be doing late on friday, it sounded reasonable and reasonable is what you liked to call yourself.

Making spontaneous decisions is not a trait you’d give to your personality. You were always the one to think at least twice, usually more like seven times, before you commit to something, especially when it came to serious things such as body modifications or a choice of college. You were an overthinker, a helpless one to be exact, but that got you through life somewhat safely up until the point of reaching the sophomore year at uni. Your grades were fairly good, you had a little circle of people that were close to your heart, and you couldn’t think of many that you’d actually call your enemies. Being called a bore by your best friend was just a side effect of your usually cold and calculated thought process, but it never bothered you.

That was just who you were – a helpless overthinker – so it’s only natural, that you couldn’t find an answer reasonable enough to explain why on earth, on late friday evening, while the clock was slowly but surely heading towards 10pm, you were standing in front of the deep purple, slightly flickering neon sign that read Curseive.

A clever concoction of something so dark and mysterious as a curse and the intricate art of lines and shapes that the font cursive is all about – it hung up high above the entrance, written in a way that mirrored the conflicting feelings and somehow making it work. It was a tattoo salon, a relatively new one in your area, but it already had many good reviews online – or at least that’s what you assumed while doing the quickest research of your life. If scrolling through the messages left by customers for at most thirty seconds could be even called research. Why were you here? You had no clue, but you pushed the doors open and there was that little version of you sitting on your shoulder that wished you’ll just get asked out, because the salon was closing in about 20 minutes, but you decided to ignore the frail voice in your head and move forward.

When you stepped inside, it was empty in the lobby where the little sofa was situated for those who are waiting and a desk that was probably a reception. Dark walls around you were adorned by paintings that on the first glance looked to you like were handmade. Quickly you found yourself lost in the soft sound of buzzing that mixed with the quiet rock music playing somewhere in the background, as you began examining the artworks around you. One of the walls was made into a gallery of sorts, with the photographs of finished tattoos and printed patterns displayed in an array, supplemented with little descriptive notes and sometimes comments, that you assumed were left by clients. All of them were breathtaking and although you couldn’t see yourself rocking most of those heavy inks on your own skin, you were more than happy to appreciate and analyze. The precision of lines, the shading, the colors and composition – all of those tickled your artistic soul in ways not many things could and maybe it was the aesthete in you who stopped you from decorating your own body until this point, because fact is – you thought about getting a tattoo many times before. You really did and even had a pattern you really wanted, but it just scared the shit out of you to think someone could butcher it up and charge you for the mess. So, you never made an appointment. Until now. Now you were determined to do so.

You took one deeper breath, as if encouraging your own self to speak up and make your presence inside more obvious. The subtle scent of antiseptics and inks filled in your lungs as you inhaled, but instead of giving you more courage, you became more nervous. It’s just an appointment, you thought to yourself, you can always call later and say you have to call it off. Yeah, that sounded like a plan in your head and with that plan, your legs automatically moved towards the exit, despite what you wished to do.

“Running away, princess?”

That voice. You couldn’t mistake it for anyone else, you knew the soft, tender tone that even laced with malice sounded so pleasurable to the ear. You knew the owner, although not that close, but you met him many times – not one of them being all that nice. It was Suguru Geto, one of the biggest heartthrobs in your college. He rocked a disposable, black surgical mask that was pulled down under his chin and a pair of black gloves that he was in the process of taking off. Silver earrings glistened in the dim light of the salon, just as his rings were when he finally dealt with the hand protection. Your eyes glazed over the metallic accessories he had on – that also tickled something inside of you, triggering an unknown fantasy of having those long, ringed fingers of him deep in your… Suguru had nice hands.

“I’m not running away,” you told him, hoping that your voice was as firm as you intended it to be. Spoiler alert, it wasn't.

“No? Looked like it.” He chuckled, throwing the latex to the designated trash. His tone was taunting, you felt so small under the weight of his golden gaze. “Are you lost, little girl? You don’t exactly fit in that place now, do you?”

“You’re working here?” The question slipped through your mouth as if it wasn’t completely obvious from the very fact that he was here, alone, equipped in safety gloves and a mask, so near the closing time.

“Do I work here?” He took a look around himself, taking the mask off his ears and throwing it away before once again looking at you. “It’s kinda my place, so yeah, you could say so.”

That actually made sense the more you thought about it. Suguru was your senior, he was two years older and now finishing college. You had some of the faculties joint with his year and you were always the one to sit beside him – by the orders of the teacher, not by your own choice, although sitting next to him wasn’t that bad usually. You can clearly remember that during every lecture, he was doodling something on the screen of his ipad – something that you never really paid attention to because for your own good, you decided that staying away from the so-called frat boys was the best you could do. All this time, he probably was designing tattoo patterns.

“Right, so-“

“I assume, if you’re here that means you’d like to have something inked, is that correct?”

“Y-yeah, but, uh-“

“Are you 100% about it or did you come here to stutter?” You couldn’t tell if he was genuinely curious about your decisions or just mocking your nervousness, but either way, you felt it in ways you probably shouldn’t. This man had some power in his demeanor, and when he leaned over the counter, propping himself on the elbows and looking at you like a predator would glance at his pray, you felt small.

Suguru wasn’t the typical fuckboy, although he for sure was a magnet for the ladies, thanks to his absolutely stunning visual. That, you couldn’t deny – he was just gorgeous, with his sharp features that somehow still looked soft and inviting, the golden irises of his eyes that never faltered from eye contact, manly jawline and long, luscious locks of black hair that he often tied in a low bun. You never seen him in anything that wasn’t grey or black – white when it really was an odd day – but other than that, he was dressing in monochrome and you truly couldn’t blame him. He was a type to make the most boring sweats set look like the sexiest outfit on earth with just the fact that it was him who wore it. Yeah, he was gorgeous, you had to give him that, or rather blame him for that, because his apparition was for sure going to be the beginning to your end. Speaking dramatically, of course.

“I’m sure.” You forced out, mentally kicking yourself for being caught off guard just because it was him. You were never that taken aback near him, but you were also never alone with him. It was easier to stay indifferent when there were people around, when all of his focus wasn’t targeted at you and when that gorgeous pair of eyes wasn’t gazing straight into your soul. You felt like he could read your thoughts just by looking at you.

“Cool. So, let me close and you’d tell me what’s your vision.”

Suguru found your presence in his studio amusing. He’s seen you at uni, you were quite known in his circle of friends that unofficially were called the frat boys, even though your college didn’t really have this kind of organization. It’s due to your friendship with the cheerleader’s leader, but thing is – although you’re close with most of the fun girls, you were most definitely no fun whatsoever and for some reason, Geto found it interesting. And the fact you never faltered to speak up for yourself… How he’d wish to fuck the attitude out of you. He himself wasn’t exactly the type to party until blackout, drink until sunrise or have a checklist for girls to screw at the college. He had no wish to cross any names off of any list. Aware of his good looks, he used them to their limits to make his way through studies smoother and there were not many things that he couldn’t achieve if he tried hard enough. Even the principal of his faculty had a soft spot for him, so many things he was able to get away with. That being said, if he really wanted to have a girl, unless she was really hooked in someone else, he would probably face no issues of getting her. That’s what he thought, until you came to picture. Considering every charm and trick he had up his sleeve, he was almost certain that getting you wouldn’t be so easy for him, or for any of his friends. And now you were here, in his shrine, trying to sound confident when you most certainly weren’t. Adorable.

You watched him pulling down the shades in the windows and turning keys in the lock, effectively closing you both inside the studio and in a matter of few minutes, you were situated with him on the couch, sitting quite snug as you scrolled through your phone to find the picture of your little drawing. It took everything from you not to melt into his side. The way he smelled was intoxicating, a mixture of cedar wood, pepper and some kind of citrus – a tangerine if you were to guess. And the warmth of his body was so inviting. Before being so close to him, you didn’t even notice how cold you were – apparently your shorts and a sweatshirt weren’t good enough for the October evening, even though during the day it still was way too warm for the fall attire.

Geto waited patiently for you to find the picture you just told him about. The sketch you did that was meant to present him the idea of what you wanted to have tattooed onto your skin and as you were scrolling through your gallery, he took this time to take you in. He noticed that you have a really nice profile. Your lips were pouty, just slightly pushed forward and so kissable right now, as you were focused on the display in front of your face. Your hair looked good also and he couldn’t deny the fact that you looked like you’d perfectly fit into his arms. And on his dick. You were way smaller than him, but that wasn’t unusual – he was a fucking giant, but something in your frame made you appear like you’d slip into his embrace just right and that thought make him go crazy. It’s been quite some time since he found a girl so captivating.

“Here, I found it,” you informed, showing him the screen, and he placed his hand over yours, slightly shifting the device so he can see it better. A hum left his mouth as he analyzed the drawing you did. It showed two betta fishes, one black and one white, positioned in circle, as if they were chasing each other’s tails. The pattern was intricate – the fins were ruffled and detailed, scales bearing a little bit of shading and yet, the whole image was quite a simple one. It also reminded him a little about the yin and yang symbol. He liked the idea, it worked well with his perception of you and what surprised him was the fact that he as well had a little tandem of bettas tattooed on his body and there was no way you’d know that.

“And where would that be?”

“I thought on the sternum maybe?”

“Oh, that’s going to hurt like hell, princess,” Suguru chuckled, already opening the new canvas on his tablet. “How are you with pain?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be good,” you accentuated the words with a nod at the end and leaned in a little bit to see what he began to draw. The pencil slid over the grey colored screen with skill that stunned you. Just from memory and the little reference you had in your hand, he quite quickly created the basic sketch of what you just showed him.

That night you spent two hours with him on the couch in his salon, admiring in quiet the process of creating a finished artwork. You enjoyed every second of it, the artistic sequence of lines made something unbelievably good, impressing you to the very core, even though you already looked through the little gallery he had on the wall. Seeing it being put down in real time made it that much more captivating and you didn’t even notice how during the process you glued yourself to him, nearly laying your head over his strong shoulder, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

When he was about to finish, you understood why he chose grey background to work with. As the last step, he dragged the white color over one of the fishes and that really made the whole piece magical.

“That’s perfect,” you told him when he tilted the screen so you could see it better. Taking his ipad in your hands to closer examine the creation of his hands, you nearly gasped at the incredible detail he put into the scales, shading each and every one individually. And the tails were so beautifully drawn, perfectly reflecting how they would just flow in the water.

Geto would lie if he said that the admiration your eyes were overflowing with wasn’t fueling his pride. Sure, his clients liked his projects – obviously, cause they let themselves be tattooed with them, but somehow the sparkle in your eyes sent a shiver down his spine.

“Is that so?” He purred, wrapping his arm around your back and planting his hand on the curve of your hip. There was no protest from you – quite the contrary, Geto noticed you even scooted a little closer, but the reason made itself apparent sooner than he’d expect. Even through the fabric of his dark washed jeans he could feel how cold was your thigh when it made full contact with the side of his leg. He placed a hand over your naked skin to check if his senses weren’t fooling him. “Gosh, you’re so cold.”

“It’s nothing,” you tried to shrug it off, but the feeling of his palm pressed against your plump flesh sent searing impulses through your nervous system. Slowly, you became almost painfully aware of how pleasant the near proximity of him was. How perfectly warm he felt next to you and your mind couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to be even closer. You actively tried to suppress those thoughts, but it was damn difficult, when he was just right there, so easy to reach.

“You look great in those shorts, but the summer is over, pretty,” Suguru muttered, his voice just slightly amused as he let his fingers smooth over the supple flesh of your inner thigh. He was so close to where you wanted him to be and yet so far.

“Yea, I know. It was warm during the day though. I was supposed to be home hours ago,” you confessed with a sigh, already thinking about the cold you have to walk through to get to your apartment. It wasn’t far, but if you were freezing inside Curseive, you’d most likely turn into an icicle when you get out, considering it was already midnight.

“Well, let me schedule your appointment and I’ll take you home.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I’ll set you up for next month, so you’ll have plenty of time to chicken out,” he teased, shooting you a wink and making you roll your eyes.

That night, you did many things you’d call unreasonable. You spent few hours in closed space with a man you probably shouldn’t have anything in common, you leaned into him without giving it a second thought. That night you made an appointment to your first tattoo. That night Suguru carried you home in his arms, wrapped in a blanket he kept in the studio in case someone felt cold during the inking process. And that night, you let him into your bed.

If anyone was to meet Suguru for the first time, they’d probably say he’s absolutely perfect human being. Kind and always keen to help, very soft spoken and caring and mostly, they would be right, because he really was all of those things to the public eye. Before, you considered him a red flag, but it turned out, he didn’t leave you alone after he fucked you. You expected him to be gone as soon as he pulled his dick out of you, you expected him to ignore you after that night, but he stayed with you till morning, not even once letting go of you. You woke up to the soft kisses smeared over your shoulder and a little tickle of his hair brushing against your flesh instead of the cold bed.

You spend day after day at learning things about each other. You got to know how he liked his coffee in the morning, what foods he enjoy and what shampoo he uses to keep his hair so luscious and gorgeous all the time. Suguru noted to himself what sweets bring you the most joy, he discovered that the little scrunch on your nose when you’re laughing is the most adorable thing in the world and he also studied the playlist of your favorite music, finding out you share similar taste when it comes to songs. You spent hours drawing with him, creating designs on his tablet while sitting in between his legs, your back pressed to his broad chest. Sometimes he was suggesting changes to what you created and sometimes you were the one to add some details to what came from underneath his pen.

It’s been a month since you got together with him, or at least, since you started paying more attention to each other. With good dose of confidence, you could call him your boyfriend – even though it wasn’t officially talked through between you two, your actions made it pretty hard to deny. It just happened, after the first night together, you just became closer and there was no need to give it a title, when everyone knew you’re in relationship. You were holding hands in the campus, kissing publicly and spending time together for most of the breaks. You got to know his friends, his brothers and even got the password to unlock his phone. Yeah, it’s been only a month, but your bond with him developed quite quickly. Turned out, Suguru Geto wasn’t anything that you assumed he is. He’s lovely, really. Saccharine sweet if he really wants to be, but what no one seemed to be able to notice was that he really is a meanie sometimes.

Just like now, as you laid on the dark leathery bed in Suguru’s salon, already having enough of this whole idea of getting a tattoo and he only just started. To his credit, he did warn you that it’s going to hurt like hell, even suggested picking another place for your first tattoo with real concern in his voice, but you weren’t anticipating this kind of hell when you insisted you wanted it below your cleavage. It really was something you couldn’t compare to anything else in your life – maybe a kick in the shin, but continuous and in the middle of your chest.

Geto was working in focus, keeping his eyes on the pattern he was permanently imprinting onto your skin and taking little breaks from time to time to check on you. Last thing he wanted was you fainting there, and you felt like you were close. You couldn’t even focus on how the chocolate tasted on your tongue – the one he bought you, so you can have something to snack on during the process. The way his needles were stabbing the delicate, sensitive skin of your chest millions of times made you feel sick. The vibration of the machine reverberated directly into the bone below, enhancing the horrible experience and you could have sworn you were actually hearing the pain, while he was going over and over again through some areas. The choice of white ink made it that much worse, because to even make it properly visible, he had to re-trace the shapes more times and you felt each of them.

“Oh, you’re such a crybaby,” he teased softly, noticing the glistening trace of a tear that just rolled down your cheek. “Told you it’s gonna be a painful process.”

“Oh, shut up, Sugu,” you muttered, wiping the salty mark away and taking another chocolate. “Can we take a little break?”

“Let me finish that one and I’ll give you a minute. Sounds cool?”

“Uh-huh…”

You weren’t looking at what he was doing, and those little moments that he promised will get you that breather you asked for seemed to stretch for hours. The constant, sickening poking of the needles seemed to never end and at some point, you really were that close to just yank him by the hair and throw the tattoo gun out the window, just so he’ll stop for even a moment. But the break never came, Suguru just kept going, telling you he needs to just finish that line until the relief washed over you, when he smeared some kind of gel over the area of your sternum. You felt almost orgasmic, when the cold, soothing fluid covered the burning skin between your breasts.

“You can stop crying now, baby girl, we’re all done,” he all but sneered, making sure to cover the entire pattern with the healing formula that he made sure was enriched with anesthetics. He ordered that specially for your session.

“We’re done?” You repeated after him, wiping away the tears.

“Yes, baby, save those tears for me later.” He teased, helping you get up from the bed and you hopped down on the ground to properly see the artwork in the mirror. The skin around the lines was red, but the pattern itself made you gasp. It was made so beautifully, the lines were crisp and very thin, perfectly mirroring the vision you had, and the white ink? Gorgeous. Suguru put his entire soul into your tattoo, it was a mark he left on you that will stay there forever and sometimes you wished he’ll stay with you just as long.

“You’re so mean,” you grumbled, admiring the shapes that now were stuck to you permanently. Geto laughed quietly and wrapped his already ungloved hands around you, standing right behind and checking his work in the reflection.

“And what’s my crybaby gonna do about it?” He couldn’t help the mock and the glare you shot him only made his laughter bigger.

“I’ll ban you from my bed,” you deadpanned, a soft pout forming on your mouth and you slapped his hand away when he tried to undo the only button that held your tiny cardigan together.

“Then I’ll take you to mine and you’ll have to deal with Satoru sleeping with us. You know he can’t help himself and you know how that will end, right?”

“I know, I know…” you sighed, too focused on the lines that adorned your skin to care about the clinginess of Gojo, although you felt the soft cringe washing over you quickly. The artist in you was screaming, giggling and kicking its legs – the tattoo was everything you wished it to be and more. “It’s so beautiful, Sugu.”

“You like it, huh?” Geto smiled, leaning in to have a taste of you. The kiss he pressed to the side of your neck sent immediate shivers down your spine and you tilted your head as an automatic reaction. Your body knew that giving him more space will result in more pleasure. “I like it too,” he purred against your skin. “No bra for you for at least few days, pretty. I’ll be checking.”

“No cum on my tits either, poor little you.”

“You didn’t just call me little, did you?”

“And if I did?”

“Isn’t my dick pretty much the size of your entire forearm?” He joked, looking you up and down in the mirror. It was comical in a sense, to see what buttons you were eager to push when it was clear as day that you’re just tiny next to him.

"I wouldn't say so."

“Oh, you little brat. And to think I felt guilty for making you cry today,” Suguru shook his head and it was you this time who chuckled.

“You shamelessly tortured me for two hours, where’s the guilt in that?”

“I could have tortured you for three. Am I not the best for making it quick?”

“You’d love to make me suffer for longer, wouldn’t you?”

“Not before, but now I might wanna make you cry a little more.”

You shook your head and followed him, so he could put the protective film over the tattoo and once you sat on the edge of the tattooing bed, Geto pressed not only the second skin to your chest but also his lips to yours. The force with which he leaned against you made you almost loose your balance as the metallic frame underneath you squeaked from the sudden weight change. With ease, the man encaged you between his arms, intimidating your small form with his much larger one. You were no match for Geto when it came to sizes. He is a damn giant next to you – tall and broad, nothing but wall of muscle with limbs long and strong. Sometimes, you found it unfair how easily he was able to overpower you, manhandling you any way he wanted, no matter how much you’d fight.

You grabbed onto his shoulders, feeling his weight overpowering you and you tried to push him away, desperate to catch some air into your lungs but that desperation only made you mewling into his mouth. The cold metal of his lip piercing never failed to send shivers down your spine, whenever he was kissing you like his life depended on it. He made you feel special, even though you were far from it.

“My sweet girl,” Suguru praised, his words being kissed away by you, because as much as you needed oxygen, you also needed him just a little bit closer. “My little crybaby.”

“I think you owe me some kind of apology for the pain you’ve put me through,” you muttered, grabbing his lower lip between your teeth and swiftly taking the elastic from his hair. The pitch-black locks fell down his broad shoulders, keeping the slightest curl to them from the way they were tied up.

“Oh yeah?” A grin stretched his lips and his fingers immediately found their way to the front of your jeans. “I’m not going to apologize for something you signed up for, but I’ll gladly eat that pussy as a form of payment.”

His remark made you roll your eyes, but any comment you wished to throw at him got lost when he pressed his digits to your clothed clit. Suguru smiled in satisfaction, feeling the wet patch spreading over your panties. Desperate to see it all, he pulled back and took those jeans off of you completely, taking your underwear along with it. Cold air hit your soaked folds, making you shiver as you spread out for him.

“Look at you,” Geto smirked, sitting down on his stool and spinning your panties around his pointer finger, “all wet and ready and I barely just touched you. Or is it that pain you’re so whiney about what made your panties so soaked?”

“Don’t focus on that,” you muttered, snatching the cotton from his hands. “Focus on me.”

“So demanding.” Suguru chuckled, but truth was, as much as he wished to tease you a little more, his mouth was already watering at the sight in front of him. You were a meal he’d choose to have as his last supper, the most delicious dessert he could slurp on for hours and never get bored. Every inch of you, he found to be perfect, you raised the bar of his standards to the point he couldn’t even look at other girls around him. You really got him addicted and he wasn’t even mad about it.

The feeling of hot kisses Suguru was planting all over your thighs made you scoot closer to the edge. Usually, you’d let him do his thing – you loved his mouth marking your skin. You loved the bruised spots he liked to suck on here and there only to claim his place beside you, you loved the soft touches and harsh grips. But now, you really wanted him to jump straight to action. Those nips and kisses can wait.

You allowed your fingers to brush through his silky locks, your nails scratched his scalp along the way and he purred softly before a gasp cut the sound short – it surprised him how roughly you grabbed the strands of his hair, right next to his scull and pushed his head nose deep into your pussy. It was new to him, no one ever dared to tug at his hair and when it was you, he was more than keen to get used to it. The stinging feeling of the pull at his hair follicles sent an impulse straight down to his already erected cock, making it now impossibly hard and Suguru was thanking himself that his work attire that day consisted of sweatpants and not jeans.

You couldn’t help yourself, you knew he had the strength to fight you back if he really needed, so his suffocation wasn’t any of your concerns. And Geto took the challenge with pleasure. His pierced tongue danced over your clit as if he was trying to tattoo his own name over the swollen bud between your folds. The mixture of his hot muscle and cold metal made you whine above him, squeezing his hair even harder, pushing his head even deeper. A low, deep purr that left his throat reverberated through your entire nervous system and sipping into the bloodstream, making the pleasure rush inside your veins instead of blood.

“Oh my god, Suguru-“, you breathed out, coming undone just underneath the skill he had in his mouth. He was eating you out like his life depended on it, like he would die if he won’t bring you over the edge just with his tongue, like he was born to pleasure you. A coil quickly began to form in your stomach, a string threatening to snap at any given moment if he’ll continue with the intensity of his actions. Your thighs trembled, squeezing around his head, but he held them apart with force. He wasn’t done with you yet.

You couldn’t control the way his name was leaving your mouth; it came out like a prayer that he’d love to listen on repeat for the rest of his life. A music that filled his ears with pleasure and that pleasure seeped down, creating a river of ecstasy running down straight to his straining cock. You really got him to the point he felt he’s going to cum in his pants, but then the hold on his hair loosened. He used that moment to catch a breath before going back to his work.

“Don’t hold back,” he purred, keeping your hand where it belonged over his head, getting rid of any guilt you felt regarding pulling at his hair. You came not long after and he happily slurped you through the bliss, licking away everything you gave him, devouring your pussy as if nothing better was ever going to happen to him. “So sweet,” he grinned, finally pulling away. His face covered with your slick and hair messed up from where you held it, and he looked so beautiful like that when you looked back at him. Surrounded by haze of your release, he looked nearly angelic when he got up, pushing back the stool and taking his rightful place between your still trembling thighs. Giving you a moment to collect yourself, Suguru used it to take off his t-shirt for no other reason that to feel your hands over his skin and you were quick to press your palms over his tattooed flesh.

Geto’s body was only one of things that were impressive about him, but unarguably one of the most breathtaking. Years of training martial arts made his shape resemble the stone statues of gods. A hard wall of muscles covered with a light layer of soft skin and adorned by black lines of ink. You never failed to trace your fingers along the dragon that curled around his entire arm and spreading onto his chest. He also had a line of letters underneath the side of his ribcage and two betta fishes swimming up along his spine, following a trace of abstract lines and dots. He had told you once about the meanings beside all of images that adorned his body, but you couldn’t recall them now as he was once more kissing you feverishly. You tasted yourself all over his mouth, you took in his purrs and low groans that vibrated in his throat when you pushed down the waistline of his sweatpants, palming him through his boxers.

Geto grabbed your thighs, repositioning you closer the edge.

“Shouldn’t I avoid any physical activities with that tattoo so fresh?” You asked him with the littlest teasing undertone and he grinned, kissing your lips and everywhere around them with fervor.

“I’ll go slow, babygirl,” he promised, but slow is hardly the word he’d use once he pushed his girth into you. If you were a drug, Suguru was addicted to the point of no return, he never had enough of you, always too little, always eager for more and more and more. You were a godsend to him, a gift he was certain he never deserved but he cherished it with all of his might. Just like with all of his might he began thrusting into you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hooking them above his pelvis as if you needed to make sure he’s not going anywhere. Soft pants and whimpers were leaving your mouth every time his hips collided with yours and the sounds you were making concocted an erotic symphony with the low grunts he let slip through his throat. The melodic line of mixed voices, quiet praises and heavy breaths accompanied the desperate squeaking of the bed below you and wet reminders of how he was fucking into your dripping pussy.

Every ruthless push and pull of his hips sent surges of pleasure through your body. Lust and heat erupted inside of you like a volcano and the searing lava of endorphins turned your brain into a flurry. The room around was lapsing, nothing else mattered and even the untrusty bed underneath you, that held there just barely underneath the force of Suguru’s relentless slams couldn’t bother you when he was fucking you that good.

Flaming hot waves of white covered your vision as you hid your face in the crook of Geto’s neck. Panting for air, you held onto his shoulders harshly, digging your nails into the flesh there and marking it in red with crescent moons and scratches. The stinging pain made him whine in excitement, the sound low and prolonged enough to make your walls clench and flex around him. The stretch of his cock was setting your mind ablaze along with your body, your heart was beating fast and threatening to jump out of your chest.

“Sugu-ru-ah~”, you were panting, whimpering shamelessly under the force of his pelvis slamming against yours and he grinned above you, his grip over your hips merciless and bruising.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praised, smearing wet kisses along the line that led from underneath your ear to your shoulder. Something incoherent left your mouth and you felt yourself close, the swollen walls of your pussy squeezing him repeatedly and he knew you were close but wasn’t ready to give it to you quite yet.

It’s like you blacked out for a moment because it felt like you barely blinked and then your position changed. You didn’t notice how swiftly Geto slid onto the bed himself, situating you over his lap.

“Hop on baby, work for it a little,” he mocked lovingly, giving your ass cheek an encouraging slap. There was barely enough place for the two of you, but you made it work anyway, sliding back down onto his dripping from your juices cock. A soft moan escaped your lips as his girth once again squeezed into your oversensitive insides, pushing against every sweet spot on the way and making you shiver as the tip kissed your cervix. Desperate to feel more of him, you began rolling your hips, working your way into the palace of pleasure that Suguru Geto was and making the most out of the current position. His exposed chest and neck begged to be devoured and you couldn’t leave them neglected, so your mouth was on his skin in no time.

Suguru kept bucking his hips upwards, gasping and growling underneath you. His hands left burning marks over your ass, each slap sending jolts of pleasure through your entire body and the little whines you were letting out against his skin fueled the intense fire that burned inside of him even more. Sometimes Geto couldn’t believe you really were with him. Sometimes he wondered if maybe he’s high on something, maybe he’s imagining you, but only thing he really was high on, was you. Nothing could compare to the way your tight pussy swallowed his cock, to the way your little hands were grasping his arms and shoulders just to steady yourself when his force was becoming too much and absolutely nothing could stand even close to the intoxicating feeling of your lips on top of his. You really were made just for him, it had to be fate that once you stumbled upon his studio. He still remembers the first time you let him in, spontaneously inviting him over and after that, every day seemed to be somehow better than the previous one. Every minute he spent with you managed to surprise him with how good it felt. Suguru was hooked on you. But how could he not, when you had the ability to strip him of everything that was cool about him, leaving him raw and sensitive just for you?

“Fuck, c’mon, cry for me,” he panted, forcing your hips to move even when you clearly were running low on power. Your entire body was tensing, the velvety walls of your pussy squelching over his length and he felt himself flexing inside the hot embrace of you. The rush of ecstasy sent him overboard, it filled his veins and neurons with blissful daze of desire, and he found himself chasing the high, bracing for the impact of upcoming climax.

You whined and melted into him, lost in the haze and diving head first into the puddle of pleasure. The feeling overtook you, you couldn’t think anymore when he was pulling you underneath the euphoric sea. You felt light from pleasure, the ferocity of his movements burning you inside out, sending seething waves throughout your entire form. With vision blurred, nothing felt real anymore and if not for the rough grip he had on your hip and ass, you’d probably fly away and never get back.

Lost in the stars and haze of orgasm, you pushed yourself up, encouraged by few more harsh slaps and Geto followed you to sit up for no other reason than to be able to still taste you. At this point you were sure he tattooed not only betta fishes onto your chest but also the imprint of his hands to your butt cheeks. Gathering every last bit of strength you had in your muscles, you rolled your hips against him few times more. All of the intensity that was building inside of you snapped suddenly. Your spine arched and head rolled back, exposing your neck and chest to his kisses as he pushed you over the edge of bliss and you fell off that cliff with nothing but acceptance. Tears of pleasure rolled down your face and Geto was quick to kiss them away as they gathered along your lashes and down your jawline.

The weak sound of his name slipping down your tongue was enough for Suguru to let go. White hot ribbons of cum sprayed deep inside you as you rode him through both of your orgasms, the movements of your hips now slower and sloppier, bearing no more strength in them and yet, time after time you pulled them back and forth, desperate to feel him a little longer, to take more from him.

“My little crybaby,” he cooed, when you finally run out of battery, settling down on him and leaning against his broad chest, hiding there to catch your breath. You were sore, still overwhelmed by the avalanche of feelings that just fell over your head but satisfied to the point of delirium – so much so that you let the little honey-covered taunt slip. Suguru smoothed your back softly, relaxing in your proximity, once again stunned how somehow, you managed to make all of it feel better than the last time you slept together. Highs with you were unforgettable. Nonreplaceable. Incomparable to anything else he ever felt with anyone.

“Thanks god you’re strong,” you muttered against his skin, planting there few kisses while you’re at it. “I don’t think my legs will work after that.”

Geto chuckled. Yeah, he was going to marry you one day.

“No worries, sweet thing, your place in my arms is secured for lifetime.”

“Good.”

“But first, let me get you cleaned up.”

Your legs were weak when you got off of him, but surprisingly carried you enough to allow you to slowly pull yourself together. Suguru cleaned the space a little while you got dressed and made sure the protective film over your fresh tattoo was unharmed during the activities before you buttoned up your cardigan.

* * *

“Suguru, you still here?” Gojo stormed in, even though the studio was locked, but truth was, nothing could really be locked when it came to Satoru.

“Don’t tell me you copied the keys to my studio.” Geto chuckled, finishing the final wipe of the bed. There was no force that could stop his friend from invading his spaces, he dropped the effort years ago.

“I won’t tell you, you got this.” Satoru shrugged and looked at you. Then at Suguru and back at you, repeating that at least few times. “Were you two fucking here?”

“And why would you ask that?”

“No, the real question is, did that thing endure it?” White haired man pointed at the leathery bed. “What a champ, I thought it’ll collapse.”

“Fair,” you admitted at the same time as Suguru, and handed your man the hair elastic that you snatched from him earlier.

“So, what were you doing here? Besides contaminating the area of course.”

“I got a tattoo,” you replied to him and Satoru grinned.

“For real? That chest piece he told me month ago that you’ll for sure chicken out for?”

“Yeah, that one.” This time it was you who laughed and Geto just shrugged, tying up his hair.

Satoru wasted no time, it’s like he teleported to you and before you registered what was happening, he was already unbuttoning your blouse and truly, you couldn’t really be bothered. It’s been only a little less than a month since you really got to know Gojo, but it was very quickly presented to you that him and your boyfriend have a thing for sharing. It was as natural for them as breathing and whenever you saw them together, you wondered how it happened that they weren’t brothers by blood.

“It’s so cool, Suguru. Who knows, maybe I’ll let you tattoo something on me too.” Snow white grinned, examining the concoction of lines over your sternum. He had to bend in half almost, to be in line with the pattern on your skin so you brushed through his hair, messing them more than they were already.

“Not that it’s my life mission to do so, Satoru.” Geto stretched his body and glanced over the room once more, making sure he can close the studio for that day without leaving any visible remnants of what happened just moments ago.

“Doesn’t it kinda look like us?” Gojo asked, stopping you before you covered yourself back. “The black and white contrast… am I the only one who think so?”

It wasn’t your intention, but as he said it, you began seeing it. It really made sense, especially considering that Geto mixed the tiniest bit of lavender ink to the white, to prevent it from yellowing over time. That lavender coincidentally being the exact shade as the undertone of Gojo’s hair.

“Well, not anymore,” the black haired one sighed and once you managed to button up your blouse, he swooped you up into his arms. “You’re gonna lock the doors, Satoru. Turn off the lights.”

“Sooo…” Gojo nearly sang, flicking off the switches and turning the keys in the locks, making sure everything is well secured before he joined you two, already walking slowly towards your home. “Are you ours now?”

[toastermuffles]

Hey guys welcome to my massive rant about q!Fit and how cc!Fit is incredibly talented and underrated. Since y'all kinda blew up my twitter post LOL.

There are SO many things I could touch on so it's probably gonna be scattered around a lot.

1) Fit had a great character set up from the beginning. From the very start many people knew Fits reputation as a 2b2t veteran, a place with a toxic environment and brutal people. He was no exception, he was closed off to relationships and was very cautious/closed off to many things. Not only that but his past made people distrust him in the beginning. I loved the suspense it brought with his character and the question of why he WAS actually here. Since the whole "vacation" thing was never very convincing. My favourite part was a lot of this was IMPLIED! He built on the character he portrayed in his YT videos and it worked so well, adding small comments about his character here and there (like when he said q!Fits hearing was bad BC of all the explosions he's experienced).

2) His RP skills were another level, not only was he in character almost the WHOLE time when he was live (even donos) when he first did lore he would tease elements of it by writing cryptic messages when others were live. SUCH a good idea when you have a smaller audience and want to create suspense. Not only that, he would have set dates and times for BIG lore stuff, this honestly made it so much easier to keep track of and engage in, not only alone but with friends too! His actual lore was very different from many others, it was cinematic and well planned, yet it still left room for sudden changes. The final result was a cohesive story line that the audience could interpret. I just loved how I could understand what was happening but also have questions/cliffhangers!

3) the fucking MUSIC. Throughout his lore and start of his streams I adored his choice of music, "Stranger in Paradise" being a personal favourite that was not only reoccurring in more than one language but fit SO WELL. I also think it was very clever how a lot of his music choices for his character didn't make sense until you understand the full story e.g. "Can't say goodbye to yesterday". All of this really added a new perspective on his character, almost through cc!Fits own eyes. Along with his music choice just being absolute bops OFC.

4) THE SYMBOLISM. My absolute favourite lore moment of his was at the end of the "Attachments" lore stream. Where the sun is setting over the mountain, slowly covering a patch of roses in darkness. ALL WHILE an instrumental Italian version of "Stanger in paradise" played. Roses of course being a symbol of not only his and Pac's relationship but love in general. His love for Ramon and his friends. The love he had to grow, just like a rose. While the darkness symbolizes his past catching up to him, more specifically his deadline. His time with his family and friends ending, his loves disappearing. Chefs kiss because it makes me cry everytime fr.

5) q!Fit's sexuality (gay). There is something so poetic about a gay guy from an extremely homophobic wasteland learning to come to terms with his own sexuality and love in general. Him slowly building a loving relationship with Ramon, Growing feelings for Pac, Nervously coming out to his son and then finally indulging in the first relationship and FAMILY he had ever had. Finally learning to love and to be loved in return. Even if he is scared about his mission, or taking things too fast. Just learning to live a normal life.

6) Fitmc is criminally underrated and overlooked. I still remember when Fit got his first proper piece of fanart in the museum. It was like... JULY? or something. And I think that says enough. People had no idea he was even doing lore at some points. Averaging at about 1-2k viewers in the beginning, until hideduo came into the mix. A lot but still compared to others very low. I think because his viewers consisted of his YT audience it didn't translate well. But I'm so glad he was able to build a loving community on twitch <3

Anyways it's 3am for me, I probably have more to talk about but this is basically what I meant when I posted that tweet. Feel free to reblog and add your own favourite observations or moments. I wanna hear them! ❤️

[soft-dark-vintage-blog]

I think it's so fucking clever that Hozier put Jackie & Wilson and Someone New back to back in his self-titled album. I mean, they're two ends of the same situationship and depict so well the current dating culture in general. Jackie & Wilson is that needy, hopeless, lonesome state where u just really long for companionship, connection, and stability. It doesn't matter with whom, it doesn't matter where, it doesn't matter how. Every person who crosses your path seems the one because you craft an idealized version of them in your mind. On the other hand, Someone New, besides keeping partially the idealizing strangers theme, goes for a more hedonistic route. It rejects the prospect of a stable relationship that leads to the traditional path of marriage and family in favor of exploration, the pleasures of the flesh (not necessarily only sex), adventure, and excitement. Yet it gets even more interesting if you consider that the persona is the same in both songs, but in different moments of their life (we all have been in both positions at least once). It beautifully captures how the experience of being a young adult is so much different than it once was. It brings up the contemporary developmental psychology that rejects that view of adulthood as the absolute end of development. 

I particularly like to think about these songs through the concept of emerging adulthood and how, due to the cultural and economic changes of our times, the self-exploration, construction of identity, and the "not really knowing what you wanna do with your life", that is usually expected only in adolescence, stays with us for longer nowadays. We're always changing, we'll be always developing till the day we die, and developing doesn't necessarily mean going forward.

Sometimes we take a few steps back, and that's completely okay. We can be Jackie & Wilson one day, Someone New the next one and then Jackie & Wilson all over again. So in this essay, I will discuss Hozier's discography through the views of contemporary developmental psychology and the common themes with 20th century Latin American poetry…

(My grammar in English is not the best, but I swear I'm not that illiterate in my first language)

[ddreamywitch]

Chapter Two - Butchered Tongue

knight!benjicot blackwood x princess!reader

word count: 3.7k

a/n: a little late but here we are :)) I’m so grateful for all the nice people who have reblogged and commented!!

warnings: mentions of an orphanage, dead mums and Benji is still a little drama queen

song: Butchered Tongue - Hozier

chapter one

Benji hates the capital.

It stinks and it is always busy, with narrow dark alleys that lead nowhere and depraved people lining them.

His life has been ripped from him and handed into your hands. Hands free of calluses and scars, not a speck of dirt caked beneath their nails and yet, no matter how delicate and weak, they hold his fate.

He isn’t meant for a knight’s life, all honour, no freedom. And least of all he is meant for the life of a knight in this godforsaken city, which seemingly offers nothing but sin and tragedy.

Benji has always found the king to be terribly unlikeable. A slimy little man, who had been quick to put to the torch what his ancestors had built up in this realm. He had forgotten just how severe it all is, with his home so far removed from this but now, as he stands next to you, he thinks he could just vomit. He won’t of course, he isn’t like you, with your weak demeanour, to faint at that little bit of sun.

Today you still look pale, though you’d spent the last three days on bed rest, days which he had to spend simply waiting around in front of your chambers.

He was almost glad when he was informed that you were to visit one of the city’s orphanages.

In your hands you hold a woven basket and you listen to the nun introduce you to the children, with little humility.

He doesn’t understand why all the realm is always fussing over you, so far you have yet to live up to any of the tales that have been spun around your name.

Well except, perhaps, those of your beauty. Though it may pain Benjicot to admit it, it is clear as day that you are exquisite.

But still you do not seem as clever or as kind, let alone charming, as he had been led to believe, to him.

He hopes that you are vain and offended enough to want to be rid of him by the end of the week. He would likely be exiled then, but it seems a better destiny than spending the rest of his life devoted to some strange girl he’s only just met.

He had refused all marriage deals before this, and in this scenario he would never be able to bed anyone again. Truly an awful thing for a young man of his age to behold.

Uncomfortably he shifts from one foot to another as Sister Linda continues to rattle on. He’s avoiding to look into the sad faces of abandoned children, so he regards you instead, boring holes into your frame with all his might.

You are wearing the same smile he’d seen you wear during the knighting ceremony. Practised and detached. It seems quite unbelievable that anyone should fall for this masquerade of yours, but apparently it works.

You’re dressed in the colours of your house, though a paler version of them. Lilac. It has only very thin sleeves and he can see the fading imprint of his fingertips on your arm. He had gripped you a little harshly during your little incident, too much taken by surprise to consider his own strength, and then, of course, he was immediately praised for being the perfect pick for his position, so eager to protect his princess.

He should have just let you tumble to the ground, he thinks. But his instincts had betrayed him.

You do not shift every few minutes like he does. You’re very still, hands gripping a woven basket filled with gifts for the children and only every now and then do you react to something.

A humble laugh here, an interjection of a ‘thank you’ there.

Your brother had informed him that you do this every week with a different charitable institution. Much to his dismay, he would have to accompany you to an infirmary next time. As though the city itself didn’t spout enough risk of infection.

It is so foolish, to have you, of all people, visit all these poor souls, give them your feigned smile and a present which leaves not even the tiniest of scratches in the wealth of your father’s house.

Pretentious is what it is. You’re nothing more than a third-born woman, you hold no importance to the politics of the land.

The nun finishes her ode to you and you bow your head graciously. “Thank you, Sister,” you say.

The old hag blushes, like a little girl and Benji simply cannot help the little scoff that escapes him.

Your head shoots around, eyes widened as though you had forgotten about his presence at all, but you compose yourself quickly.

“Ser Benjicot, would you help me hand out the baskets please?” You ask, voice dulcet and melodic. You had chosen a different path than him, after your near catastrophic first meeting.

You have settled on greeting him with exaggerated sweetness.

A farce, he knows it. It is just a question of time before you would tire of it and go crying to your brother that you want a different knight.

He nods at you and the children are quick to line up, each of them eager, with glowing eyes.

You kneel down before them, dress skirts puffing up around you and begin to give them their gifts. There are toys and clothes for the winter time and little cakes and he wonders how in god’s name this is to be of use for longer than a blip in time. They’d outgrow the clothes and they’d fight over the toys the moment you would leave.

It is money which they need, money that currently adorns you in gold and fine silks.

Most of the younglings do not speak to you directly, too shy or too worried about what to say but some grin at you in that untamed way that only children do.

You ask them if they would like a hug or not and they all say yes.

Benji keeps giving the next basket to you, slowly emptying all the trunks that had travelled with you on your carriage. He is about to hand you the second to last one when he finds a little girl perched in your lap.

A redheaded small thing, fragile with scuffs and specks of dirt all over her. Her hair is matted.

“She just arrived this week,” Sister Linda tells him, despite him not having asked. “She’s refusing to take baths.”

He looks at the nun and then back at you.

Surely, you must also notice that stench radiating off the girl, even the other kids have taken a step back, but you do not react.

“My mumsy said yer’ a baker of hope,” the little one mumbles, grimy fingers clutching at the pendant which dangles from your neck. It is amethyst, a dark one, set in precious gold.

You laugh, soft and careful and pat her back. “I believe she said beacon, sweetling. I am not much of a talented baker.”

The girl shrugs. “Your necklace is nice.”

You hum.

When your carriage had entered the heart of the city, you had scrunched your nose in disdain, Benjicot had seen it. It is somewhat paradoxical to this interaction.

You lean even closer, dip your mouth down to the girl’s ear and whisper something. Her mouth drops into a big ‘O’ and she nods before slipping off of you.

You twist your upper half towards him, opening your arms to receive the last basket.

The little girl takes it into her hand and then you do something entirely unbecoming and wink at her. She giggles and with that you get up, knees clicking.

When you grab Benji's arm for support, he almost rips it away before coming to his senses.

But you notice his little twitch and raise an eyebrow at him, hand returning to your side.

“I believe we have done all for today, Sister Linda,” you say. “We shall see each other in about two moons, if god allows.”

The sitter curtsies. “We owe you and the king our deepest gratitude. It is always a delight to have you visit, your grace.”

Benjicot rolls his eyes at this and then, reluctant as ever, offers his arm to help you down the stairs.

You ignore it, surprisingly, dress bunched in your hands, and hurry down the hallway, him hot on your heels.

He catches up within two steps, with no layer of tulle holding him back and practical leather boots in lieu of your ornate heels that click along the cobbled grounds beneath you rapidly.

“Are we in a haste?” He asks and you stop only when you’ve reached the door.

“Ah, so he speaks,” you say, with none of the kindness you had just displayed a few moments ago.

You’re right. Holding his tongue is likely more effective in his ploy to gain freedom back.

He huffs and opens the door, you are halfway through it before you turn right back around and this time he can barely bother to rush after you.

Your hands fiddle with something at the back of your neck and then from where he stands he realises that you’ve taken the necklace off and suddenly the little girl appears from the top of the stairs, where all the other children had disappeared from already.

You hand it to her, crouched down to her level once more.

Now he regrets not having gone after you, too far to hear what you tell her.

And just as abruptly as your manoeuvre had begun, it is over again.

“Let us go back now, I am quite famished,” you tell him, not a single look spared in his direction, as you pass by.

Still, he thinks your cheeks are flushed.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It is quite laborious to not speak.

Especially for a man like Benjicot Blackwood, who is so often quicker with his tongue than his better judgement, who so loved to brag and yell and debate and laugh loudly.

Silence does not suit him.

The only person he has spoken with at court so far, is your brother, if only to request that he isn’t made the full armour of knighthood, a wish that he was granted.

He is almost entirely certain that it is his reputation which allowed him this luxury.

You had addressed the wardrobe change and told him that you were glad that he wasn’t forced into all the steel, the way Ser Rickon before him had been.

Benjicot had only grunted in return.

That is all he allowed himself towards you: grunt, scoff, huff, sigh. Perhaps roll his eyes, or make some other dismissive gesture.

You have yet to abandon your stubborn idea of being patient with him. You don’t chastise his behaviour and you can’t have complained to anyone because in turn nobody has told him to get it together.

As it is now, nobody speaks to him, most courtiers preferring to whisper.

Bloody Ben, they all still hiss behind his back, even though he does not at all feel like him anymore.

Bloody Ben is in the Riverland, in the rise and fall of its hills, buried in its luscious high grasses.

Here he is Ser Benjicot, a trapped up bird.

But he does grow hopeful each day, with every little crack in your angelic facade, with the thinning of your web of false amiability.

When he’d walked with you to the stables this afternoon, you had pushed him to the side to enter first.

Very subtly, maybe not even noticeable to any passerby, but he had felt your well-kept nails in the soft leather guarding his forearms.

And then after, as you had mounted your horse, you had barely waited for him to join you before galloping on out toward the private part of the beach.

Fury, your horse is called, which he thought so ridiculous that he had laughed upon hearing it, but seeing it now, he understood why.

It is bloody enormous. A black Friesian, the kind that is usually bred to the north of the kingdom. And just barely tamed, vehemently refusing to let Benjicot near it.

You’re leaned forward on her now, arms wrapped around her neck, your eyes trained on the sea.

The weather is rough today, strong winds tearing at your hair and coat.

Laughable, he thinks again. Your attire is made to resemble that of the cavalry, deep purple overcoat and a brooch resembling a horse attached to it, right on your chest.

But you are the princess, so of fucking course, your overcoat is embroidered with a golden sun. Of fucking course it is neat and clean. It’s a costume.

Everything you put on is a costume, down to the faces you make.

He’d say he hates you, but then again he has actually hated people in his life before and he doesn’t care that much for you.

“Quit that, will you?” you say, voice raised enough for him to hear you over the roar of the ocean. You look at him, brows pulled into a frown.

He tilts his head, redirects his horse to parallel yours, rather than face it. “What do you mean, your grace?”

You sigh. “Do not act stupid, Ser Benjicot. You look as though you may push me off my horse at any moment.”

He snorts. “I do not.”

“You do. It’s tiresome. I cannot make this feat easier for you, but why do you insist so on making it harder for me?”

This time he doesn’t snort. “Harder for you? Just because I refuse to be your friend, does not mean I am making it harder for you. It isn’t common to be so close with one’s knight. Just because you let Ser Rodrick do all sorts of things with and to you.”

You do not miss the implication of this. “It is treason, what you hint at. It is treason that you should think so lowly of one of the most honourable men in the realm. It is treason to speak of my maidenhood in such a lewd manner.”

Benjicot directs his gaze into the skies. They are grey, waiting to erupt. “I did not say it, did I?”

You huff. “Toad.”

His laugh startles you, he sees you flinch in the corner of his eye. “Too well behaved to even curse properly,” he mutters. “Do you have no emotion left, princess? Was your outburst in the garden the peak of it?”

You do not answer yourself at first, the crashing of waves, the sea gulls, they seem to do so for you. Benjicot wonders if this would be your last straw now.

He decides to push further.

“You are pampered and spoiled. You think you can give away necklaces and make up for it that way. You think that if you’re patient enough, I’ll come to like you as everyone does, but I’ll tell you now, I never will. I am not like the courtiers, blinded by the colours of your clothes and the shine of your royal hair. I do not care for your title or your wealth or your looks.”

He makes a point of staring at her then, surprisingly to find her expressionless and already looking at him. “You are nothing but shackles to me.”

Again you don’t speak. You hold his eyes and for a moment he thinks you would be the one to push someone off their horse

“Get down,” you say.

Benjicot’s smile grows. He’s been told that he smiles like a shark and he hopes you share this sentiment.

“Get down, Blackwood.”

He obliges. He’s done it, he’s hurt you enough. He is triumphant. He is already planning to find the next tavern.

Then you slide off your own horse.

“You have no idea of shackles, you imbecile.” Your voice is laced with venom, angry and acidic. “You are here because nobody wants to tolerate you. You are here because you are a child, a child with an affinity to violence. You are here because with you remaining in the Riverlands, the Brackens would have never agreed to my father’s attempts to finally bring peace upon your houses.”

He towers over you, but you do not appear to mind as you step closer and closer still, so close that he can smell your saccharine perfume emanating from everywhere and engulfing him like a cloud of roses.

“You think it is good that you are feared, but it is the opposite. Good people are good. Good people do not have others crossing the room to be removed from them. You are nothing short of a small babe throwing a temper tantrum. You should consider yourself lucky that somehow you managed to make your contribution to end this foolish bloodshed between the Brackens and the Blackwoods, even though you worked so hard to keep it alive. Perhaps God will be gracious when you go to meet him then, knowing this. I cannot rid myself of you, without having you killed, you are essential to this plan, so unless you wish to meet our Lord himself sooner than planned you must either learn to be civil or learn to be silent.”

You exhale deeply.

“I do not wish to order your execution, I have never had to do such a thing before in my life and it should be a pity that I were to soil my hands on your youthful blood,” you end.

Benji can see the way your chest heaves, the little specks of red that decorate your cheeks. You are nervous but still you don’t waver.

The two of you stand in your positions, you with your arms crossed in front of you and him with his hands by his side.

Useless hands, he realises now. All is useless, no part of him has any power in this play.

He clears his throat and steps back, unsure what else he should do, for what is likely the first time in his life.

You nod, lips pressed together. “Silence it is then,” you say and he can’t help but wonder whether he imagines the tinge of disappointment in your voice.

It is very benevolent of you to not further comment on his indecencies, more benevolent than you should be but you are aware that he wasn’t raised in this pit of snakes. He doesn’t know of the conniving vipers that surround you and he is not learned in making up plans.

The urge to scream gnaws at Benjicot, at the dawning of how final his place by your side is.

There is no way out.

The king and his uncle promised the Brackens that he is no longer a threat to them. He is the debt that was owed and this is his price to pay.

And so is his gratitude for being a wonder boy, for having wielded swords and bloodied himself so early and so well.

“Ser Benjicot?”

He looks at you, upon your horse once more. It is becoming a thing of frequency for one of you to have to look up at the other.

He nods and so the two of you make your way back to the castle.

It is different this time.

He had dreaded it, a few days ago, when the city had come into sight on the horizon, but back then he had thought that he would weasel his way out.

This time, as you approach the castle, he feels himself suffocate.

Garden strolls, orphanages, banquets, infirmaries, this small beach.

You have no idea of shackles.

You trail ahead of him, high up on Fury, no tiara but hair wreathed around your hair in such a way that it is hard to mistake you for anything other than what you are, even sparing your very obvious clothes.

House Aprikate has historically brought forth women of the utmost charm, soft skinned and smiles that ballads are written about and many say it is their princesses that are the backbone of it all. Kind and warm. The mothers of the realm.

Your dynasty is one of greatness, for a century now your house has ruled the kingdom but it is withering now.

The smallfolk grows unhappy, uneasy beneath the sloppy sovereignty of your father.

He is shackled to you and you are shackled to your house and to this place.

And worse so, he has been free before. You have not.

He swallows his ache, as best as he can, still it tastes bitter on his tongue and by the time you reach the stables, he wonders if execution is still better than this appalling place is.

Maybe your father would marry you off to somebody far enough away from this place. A Bracken, for example.

God. Maybe your future husband would dismiss your knight and replace him with a man of his own. Yes that might be his out.

You’re an Aprikate woman, you would marry soon, he is sure of it.

The sun begins to set and paints the skies in shades of magenta and orange when you walk to your chambers.

“I shall take my supper alone tonight, should my brother come by to ask,” you tell Benjicot. “And I do believe it would be best if you do not mention our initial disliking for one another to anyone. The people here do so love to be blabbermouths.”

He nods and gallantly opens the wooden doors to your chambers.

“Goodnight Ser Benjicot,” you say and rush inside.

He glances along the hallway but it is empty, much like your room. He sticks his head in the tiniest bit. “I believe Benji shall suffice, your grace. Ser Benjicot is such a mouthful,” he says, quick and before he can change his mind again, almost stumbling over his own words as he does.

You smile. A good one, a real one this time.

taglist:

@dancingbaek

@knight-of-flowerss

@rebeccawinters

@jhepolie

@majoso12

[chaosandmarigolds]

(i warned you all. I was on the brink of writing the saddest stuff ever and now you must endure bc I said so- ghoap x reader version)

literally 99% dialogue, I’m yapping yall

Just casually thinking about how if you happened to be in this odd situationship with the lieutenant and sergeant it would be a… retreat. you all found love and comfort, a light within the shadow of the war. thinking about how you and Simon got along, mostly for Johnnys sake, you didn’t hold resentment, but more of a neutral center.

until Johnny wasn’t there to be the middle ground.

hell though, neither of you wanted to go back to the barracks and the only reason you had your own room was because a few clever loophole for those in relationships

so you both stayed. Not speaking unless needed- but mostly even then it was through sticky notes, the different styles of handwriting clouded the paper as if a spoken conversation

‘I washed the sheets- can you grab more detergent? Xx’

‘Gonna grab dinner for us. No need to pay me back. Simon.’

‘you left early this morning. What’s up?’ ‘Can’t sleep. Going on runs.’ ‘can I join you?’ ‘I would like that.’

it got to the point where you would write on the piece of paper in front of the other instead of conversation, can’t say exactly why

you didn’t sleep in the same bed, not unless the other had a nightmare and needed some sort of comfort

It stayed like that for a very long while until you woke up one morning with a note attached to a hot cup of coffee ‘Have a good day’ …that was new.

‘Have a good day?’ ‘what’s with the question mark.’ ‘Nothing. Just didn’t take you to be the sentimental type.’ Simon would furrow his eyebrows as he watched your scribble down the words on the notepad, and then with a grumble he leaned over. ‘Is it sentimental to tell my girlfriend to have a good day?’ You sip the said coffee as he hold out the notepad and you nearly gag, this time speaking out loud, “Girlfriend?” “Mmhm.” “since when?” “Since January Seventh 2019 at 16:35.”

… “that’s when I started dating John.” “and me, by association.” “You liked me? God I thought you’ve tolerated me.” “I could say the same.” “I could just tolerate you still, Riley.” “mm, doubt.”

since then, notes have changed slightly

‘Did you take my shirt?’ ‘no xoxo’

‘Pizza is in the fridge.’ ‘omg I love you’

‘I have Riley a haircut, do u like it.’ ‘I have never hated something so much buts it’s okay because I love you.’ (yapping. I’m yapping. Tell me to shut up. Pls don’t I will cry)

[saneandrocking]

Dead Stanley AU

Au where Stanley tragically passes away in his early twenties before becoming a criminal. Overwhelmed by grief, Stanford makes a deal with Bill to bring him back to life or alter his timeline. This leads to a conversation between the alternate universe Ford and our original universe Ford in a different dimension.

Alternative Stanford: So, how did you ended up here, another me?

Our Stanford: Bill.

Alternative Stanford: God dammnit with this fucking isosceles.

Our Stanford: He feels like a equilater, if that makes any sense, that one-eyed freak plane figure.

Alternative Stanford: All of this because I missed my brother, how could all of my versions be so naive when it comes to Bill?

Our Stanford: You mean Stanley? That deadbeat…what is there to miss? Selfish prick is the sole reason I'm here.

Alternative Stanford: Why do you mean by that? How can Stanley be the reason you made a deal with Bill if not by trying to get him back?

Our Stanford: I asked for help when my assistant gave up and this bastard just made me fall into the portal. Why would I want to get him back? Back from what?

Alternative Stanford: Oh. Wow. You're the first me that I've met that still has Stan. That's…nice.

Our Stanford: Can you just be clear? Do I have a version of me that is slow, is that what's happening?

Alternative Stanford: God, you…I can be arrogant. Stan was right.

Our Stanford: Real clever of you.

Alternative Stanford: My Stan is dead. He died a little while before dad tossed him out of home, he was assaulted by a robber when he was sleeping in his car while I was already away in colege. He was found dead with a false ID, which caused a delay to recognize him and contact his family. Mom was the one who told me about it.

Our Stanford: ….

Alternative Stanford: The last time I saw my brother was in a photo in his own funeral. I was trying to bring him back from the past since then.

Our Stanford: I-

Alternative Stanford: I guess your Stan must be very different from mine. I wish that we have never had that fight.

Our Stanford: Uh. Yes. I think we're talking about different outcomes, really.