#and consider it just a Weird Thing That Occasionally Happens

[pastafossa]

Me, to friend: don't you hate it when you have those days where your heart is just mad and it beats REALLY hard at random moments, even when you're just sitting there, like not FAST but really hard and it is VERY UNCOMFORTABLE for no reason? Friend: you know that's not normal right??? Me: you mean that doesn't happen to you? Friend: NO, IT DOES NOT. Me: ...please hold. *five minutes later* Me: so I talked to my mother and this might in fact be a highly hereditary genetic issue that both her and my grandma and my great grandma all had, who knew??? Anyway I need to see a doctor and I might need heart medication. Friend: YA THINK?

[realjem]

neeeeed to sleep but i am instead awake writing to myself about the implications of my ocs meeting their original concepts. augh

[caelum-in-the-avatarverse]

Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available. 

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community. 

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company? 

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists. 

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom 

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck�� :/ END ID]

-

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits. 

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people. 

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it. 

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

[pressureplus]

Sebastian Solace Kissing Headcannons

Warnings: N/A

◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟୨୧◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟

• No, he does not taste like fish, Yes I know you've giggled about that at least once so I may as well knock it out of the way

• Considering he's been confirmed to smoke and it's safe to say he eats from the vending machines pretty consistently, he usually tastes like cigarettes and chips

• Occasionally, he may taste like other snack foods, namely: Chocolate, Peanuts, Hard Candy, and those weird prepackaged vanilla cookies

• At first he didn't want to kiss you at all, even when you two got your confessions out

• His mouth is so inhuman and sharp, with rows of shark-like teeth... It made him really nervous about kissing you for a long time

• What if seeing it up close made you not like him very much anymore? What if it just doesn't feel right to you? He'd rather avoid making you uncomfortable like that

• There's only so much defensive sarcasm and passive aggression can do for you, and it isn't gonna fix heartbreak

• Makes fun of you for even wanting to kiss him, have you SEEN him??

• Will accuse you of having a thing for fish 💀

• You're going to have to kiss him first, he isn't gonna pop that safety bubble himself

• That first time, his whole body locks up, breath held for the long moment it takes for him to process what's actually happening

• He relaxes slowly into actually kissing back, that familiar wall coming down

• After this, he'll start initiating them

• At first it's these stiff little pecks on the cheek and corner of your mouth, but he quickly gets a taste for you

• When he starts kissing you directly, he gets hungry for it, starting to sneak them in any time he can find

• The kisses get longer and slower and easier for him, humming into every one of them so affectionately

• He's needed the touch for years, so naturally he's going to have his hands on you the whole time. Yes, all three of them.

• Likes to pick you up, means you can't get away when he goes to tease you about wanting to kiss such a scary thing like him

• Absolutely gives you little snake kisses, his tongue flicks out at you a lot when he's giving you smaller kisses

• That mean ass mouth doesn't get any nicer, but at least you get kisses for putting up with it

• He's going to nip and nibble at you too, overall getting really comfortable with the mouth affection

• He does this all the time, too, and most enjoys bothering you while you're trying to work by sneaking up and biting your neck

• Seriously tho, how is he so quiet?? He's huge???

• Oops, hickeys! He's too pleased with leaving marks not to ❤️

[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 2 𝓱ands , 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza keep your hands on me.

─── 𝓢ophia never considered herself the jealous type—until you got a haircut. overnight, it was like the whole world had started seeing you differently, comments about how fine you looked haunting her everywhere. no wonder she'd bossed you to have your hands on her at all times.

❝𝓷eed a little less talk, 𝓪nd a lot more touch.❞

౨ৎ 𝓹airing. sophia laforteza x katseye seventh member!yn ౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff, established relationship wc. 4417 a/n. good god i need to stop yapping ab details in fics i keep dragging them on on the other hand, this is my compensation for lowk neglecting u guys nd not bringing food to rhe tsble but i fear its school thats got me on a leash nd unless smn takes one for the team nd burns my school down thisll be happening more nd more often CS EXAMS ND ASSESSMENTS R COMING UP NF IMA BAWL CS WTFFFF EVERYTHING IS TOO FAST IM SO LOST FUCKKKKKKK may or may not have taken too long to get to the part where its actually inspired by 2 hands mbmb the use of 2 hands's lyrics was lowk cringy😟 NAWT PROOFREAD AT ALL🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️ enjoy homos❤️

❝𝓲 just want your two hands on me at all times, baby. 𝓲f you let go, better put 'em right back, fast.❞

JEALOUSY WAS NEVER SOPHIA’S THING—at least, that’s what she always told herself. she knew you—her girlfriend, loved her. knew with every fibre of her being that you would never do anything deliberate to hurt her, never purposely stoke the ugly fire that smoldered deep in her chest. 

so why was it that, right now, the green-eyed monster clawed its way up her throat, curled around her ribcage, and blurred her vision like a stain she couldn't scrub away?

you’d gotten a haircut a few days ago—something sharper, something that framed your face so effortlessly it was almost unfair. it was the kind of change that ensured the girl crush label stuck to you permanently, as if it hadn’t already. and somehow, impossibly, it made you look even better—dare sophia say hotter—than before.

and safe to say, sophia wasn’t the only one who noticed. unfortunately.

the moment you turned to management and asked if you’d need a wig to hide your fresh cut from the eyekons before going live—like the other members had to in the newest tiktoks they were dishing out—their response was quick, casual—no need, you were free to show it off. gain more attention and eyes on the group before the comeback.

and that was all you needed to hear.

without a second thought, you propped your phone up on the table in your shared room with manon and daniela, fingers adjusting the angle with practiced ease, lips curling into a giddy smile. 

anticipation thrummed in your chest, an excited buzz settling beneath your skin as you ran a hand through your freshly cut hair, contemplating whether to hide it beneath a cap before settling to just tugging on the strings of your hoodie, tucking your hair out of sight from the camera.

the viewer count came rushing in the second you’d tapped ‘start live’, and your curious eyes peered at the camera, squinting to see what they’d been commenting about before shaking your head, a small chuckle of amusement spilling past your lips. 

user56 bro u look like an egg tf user1 humpty dumpty who?? user9 i think she pulls it off idk bout yall user0 ion care she can still get it even tho she looks like an idiot user2 i like them a little weird user89 GIRL TURN IT AWFFF

“i look like an egg like this? oh wow, that’s interesting. thank you.” you deadpanned, amusement flickering in your eyes as you read the comment aloud. a soft laugh slipped past your lips, shaking your head before tilting it slightly, as if assessing your reflection on the screen.

you kept the playful banter going for a few more minutes, responding to teasing messages with quick-witted remarks, occasionally tugging at the edge of your hood in mock offense. finally, you sighed, dramatic and drawn out, before giving in with a knowing hum. 

your fingers found the drawstring of your hoodie, twirling it lazily around one fingertip before tugging it loose. slowly, almost teasingly, you pushed the hood back, revealing the slightly poofy and mussed strands of your fresh haircut, the soft layers settling into place after being trapped beneath the fabric.

the moment your hair was freed, your hands instinctively shot up, smoothing over the mess, fingertips gently carding through the strands in an attempt to tame them. a small mirthful chuckle escaped you, a mix of amusement and mild exasperation at the way the hood had left your hair slightly disheveled. 

but even then, you still looked effortlessly good. and judging by the flood of excited comments rolling in, and eyekons definitely agreed.

"we vibing with it, chat?" you murmured, tilting your head slightly as your fingers absentmindedly combed through your hair, trying to smooth down the strands that had been ruffled by your hoodie. 

your lips pressed into a thin line, dissatisfaction creeping in as you examined your reflection on the screen, the messiness making your fresh cut look a little less put-together than you had intended.

"shouldn’t have actually hidden it away from you guys," you admitted with a soft sigh, shaking your head. "or it wouldn’t have been this messy."

your hands worked quickly, gently pushing some strands into place, but after a moment of struggling, you huffed in mild frustration. deciding to leave it as it was, you leaned forward, reaching for your glasses resting on the table. with practiced ease, you slid them on, blinking a few times as your vision sharpened.

"my bad, guys," you said, lips twitching into a sheepish smile as you settled back into place. "couldn’t be assed to put on my contacts."

user90 raw raw ah ah ah or wtv it was lady gaga said user56 okay guys fess up who tf took my pants user4 iSWEAR my pants were just on user77 and the crowd is… undressing themselves⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️ user78 omg girl dont play w me like that i might js make u mine user43 and FUCK whoever’s dating u bruh u look too good ima nut get OUTTTTTT user68 thank GOD my phone’s waterproof‼️‼️‼️ user70 TIL THE NEIGHBOURS LEARN HER NAME���😭😭😭 user45 FLASH US

the chat exploded with reactions—some gushing over how good you looked, others teasing about your laziness, and more than a few keyboard smashes from people who were clearly losing their minds over the combination of the new haircut and glasses. 

you chuckled at the chaos, pushing your frames up the bridge of your nose before relaxing into the moment, letting the eyekons take it all in.

sophia who was watching just downstairs, however, wasn’t all that amused with the comments that flooded your live.

it was a jumpscare, truly. the moment sophia groggily unlocked her phone and opened tiktok, still blinking sleep from her eyes, she was met—ambushed, really—by an edit of your live from last night. the screen instantly flooded with clips of you, your freshly-cut hair falling effortlessly into place, set to the smooth, sultry beat of redbone by childish gambino.

typical, she thought dryly at the sound choice, but that didn’t stop the way her breath hitched slightly.

the light from her phone bathed her face in a bright glow, illuminating every tiny movement of her fingers as she instinctively scrolled down, her thumb hovering over the comment section before she could even think twice about it. she already knew what to expect, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

and sure enough, the comments were just as bad—if not worse—than the ones from last night. thirsting, keyboard smashes, people losing their goddamn minds over you. all of it blurred together in an overwhelming stream of admiration, and sophia could feel a familiar, unwelcome heat creeping up her neck.

because, god, of course everyone had to notice how good you looked. and of course, they wouldn’t shut up about it.

it didn’t help that the next few swipes on her for you page led to even more edits—clip after clip of your live from last night, set to sultry, slow-burning tracks that only seemed to emphasize just how good you looked. 

the way your freshly cut hair fell into place, the way your glasses slid down the bridge of your nose before you pushed them up absentmindedly, the way you’d smirked slightly at the camera without even meaning to—it was all there, replaying in high definition, edited to perfection, and worst of all, everywhere. god.

sophia groaned, flopping onto her back as she mindlessly scrolled, but she wasn’t about to just watch and let it slide. no, she was documenting this. saving receipts.

in less than an hour, she had added over fifty different edits of you into a private folder under your name, her fingers moving almost on autopilot. every new clip she found—save. another slow zoom-in on your face—save. a dramatic transition to the beat drop—definitely save.

by the time she was done, she was sure she had absolutely flooded the eyekons’ notifications, her name popping up repeatedly as she went on her little jealousy-infused saving spree.

but she didn’t care. not even a little.

because in her mind, this wasn’t just a collection—it was a statement. a quiet, possessive claim, a subtle way of reminding the eyekons exactly who you belonged to. every save, every tap of her screen, was her way of saying: watch all you want, but just know—she’s mine. and wait—no, no, no. jealousy is bad. an ugly feeling she shouldn’t be feeling. 

but the moment you’d walked into her shared room with yoonchae all mussed from sleep and seeking her out first thing in the morning, sliding into bed next to her, body molding onto hers and—to hell with it.

she’d decided to go live the next day out of pure boredom and cause chaos (unbidden flirting).

clad in an oversized black hoodie—one she had definitely swiped from your closet without asking—sophia lounged comfortably in front of the camera, the fabric swallowing her frame in a way that made it clear it was never hers to begin with. 

the sleeves fell just past her wrists, slightly bunched at her hands as she lazily adjusted the hem. paired with it was a black baseball cap, probably one of the few articles of clothing she actually owned, its curved brim casting a subtle shadow over her sharp features.

her free hand drifted to the waistband of the grey sweatpants she was wearing—another piece that was, without a doubt, stolen from your closet. with a quick tug, she adjusted the way they rested on her hips, ensuring they fit just right before letting her hand drop.

user44 GOOD GODDDDD user88 that hoodie looks rlyyyy familiar ms laforteza user51 SOPHIA LIVE OH GOD BLESS😭😭😭😭😭😭 user50 can u be my girlfriend for three seconds user41 BROOOOO I NEED U SO BAD SHUT UPPPP user32 how have u been sophia???

her lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as she glanced at the screen, watching the comments flood in—messages filled with excitement, teasing remarks about her outfit, and, of course, plenty of people calling her out for very obviously wearing your clothes again. she simply raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as she leaned in slightly, skimming through the chaotic flood of words.

but she didn’t deny it. not once.

it wasn’t until halfway through the live that the shift in the comment section became impossible to ignore. at first, it had been the usual chaos—people gushing over her, teasing her about the hoodie, and thirsting over every little movement she made. but then, as if on cue, the flood of questions about you started rolling in.

user55 hey queen so whats the deal w y/n?? is she single perchance😌😌😌 user63 is y/n there w u??? user80 is y/n single?? asking for a friend nd research purposes🌚🌚 user66 blink twice if y/n is in the room

mixed in with those were the more audacious ones—the teasing, flirty messages that made sophia’s jaw clench ever so slightly.

user90 how does one marry y/n?? help a girl out pls user82 can i marry y/n??

“no, you can’t marry y/n.” she’d replied, her fingers, which had been lazily toying with the hem of her hoodie, stilled. she blinked at the screen once. twice.

narrowing her eyes, she hooked her fingers under her chin, tilting her head slightly as she peered at the comment section with squinted, unmistakably disapproving eyes. her lips pressed into a firm line, and for a moment, she just stared, letting the weight of her silence settle over the chat.

and if the eyekons watching had any sense at all, they’d know exactly what that look meant.

“what’s that about me?”

sophia’s eyes snapped up from the screen of the live the moment she caught movement from the doorway, her sharp, narrowed gaze instantly softening at the sight of you.

there you stood, bathed in the dim glow of the room, your expression puzzled as you tilted your head slightly, brows knitting together in mild confusion. dressed in baggy clothes—an oversized hoodie that hung loosely over your frame and sweatpants that pooled slightly at your ankles—you looked effortlessly comfortable, the kind of effortlessness that made sophia’s chest tighten just a little. 

your prescription glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, a clear sign that it was far too late in the night for you to bother with contacts. in one hand, you loosely gripped a bottle of water, your other hand absentmindedly brushing at your sleeve as your bare feet padded quietly against the floor, carrying you toward her without hesitation.

completely unaware.

unaware of the absolute chaos happening in her live chat. unaware of the thirsting, the borderline feral comments flooding in, the way the eyekons were already losing their minds over the mere mention of your name. and most of all, unaware of the way sophia was staring at you—conflicted.

because in that moment, she wasn’t sure what she wanted more—to selfishly keep you out of the frame, away from their prying eyes, or to let them see you, let them understand exactly why she looked at you the way she did.

but before she could make a decision, you made it for her.

with an easy step forward, you popped into the frame, completely oblivious to the digital uproar you had just caused, a sweet, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you greeted the screen. 

"hi, eyekons," you murmured, voice thick with sleep, raspy in a way that sent an immediate shiver down sophia’s spine. "how’re we doin’ tonight? good?"

your words were slow, unhurried, tinged with the warmth of drowsiness as you blinked at the screen, adjusting your glasses with a lazy push of your knuckle against the frame. your lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as you nodded, as if genuinely pleased by the flood of chaotic responses rolling in.

user77 girl i cant do ts rn im ovulating bad user66 standing ovulation or wtv the saying is user62 heyyyy so lunch by billie eilish?? user79 MY DREAM RIDE😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻 user39 WHATT HEJVUKFMFK WHAT THEUCKVLVMK user50 CLEAN UP ON AISLE MY PANTS😭😭😭😭😭😭 user99 cldnt even edge to ts i exploded IMMEDIATELY😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 user34 the crowd would applaud but their hands are busy😭😭😭 user14 i swear my pants were JUST on

"i’m glad," you hummed, voice dipping even lower, softer—dangerous.

sophia didn’t stand a chance.

the moment the sound of your voice filled the room, she could feel the heat crawling up her neck, warm and betraying. without thinking, she subtly turned her face away from the camera, pretending to adjust her hoodie as she desperately tried to will away the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

but of course, you noticed.

your gaze flickered toward her, amusement dancing in your sleep-heavy eyes, and a quiet chuckle slipped past your lips—gentle, teasing.

"what’s with you?" you asked, voice lilting, but sophia refused to look at you, choosing instead to stare pointedly at her phone as if it could somehow save her from this situation.

it absolutely could not.

“nothing,” she tried to fib through her teeth. her face was half-hidden from the camera, but you knew her well enough to picture the exact shade of pink dusting her cheeks, the way she’d press her lips together in a tight line to keep from giving herself away. “don’t worry about it.”

a slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips, though you chose not to push any further—for now. instead, you shook your head in amusement, eyes twinkling as you took in the rare sight of sophia, who was normally so composed, absolutely crumbling before your eyes.

"someone’s suddenly a little camera shy," you mused, voice dipping into something teasing, playful.

sophia let out a quiet huff, still turned away, fingers absentmindedly tugging at the hem of the hoodie she’d stolen from you, as if focusing on that would somehow help her regain her composure.

and for a few minutes, she did just that—taking slow, measured breaths, schooling her features back into something neutral, forcing the heat in her cheeks to die down. when she finally popped back into frame, her expression was much steadier, though the faintest traces of pink still lingered on her skin.

thankfully, the purple lighting she’d chosen for the live worked in her favour, casting a soft glow that helped mask the last remnants of her flustered state. she busied herself with scrolling through the chat, acting as though nothing had happened, her posture relaxed, exuding an air of practiced nonchalance.

or, at least, she tried to.

because just as she started to settle back into her usual rhythm, her brows twitched—barely, but enough—as her ears picked up on something that immediately set her back on edge.

"oh, baby, you’re too sweet," you purred, your voice dripping with playful flirtation as you read a particularly bold comment from an eyekon. "but if you keep talking to me like that, i might just have to take you out on a date."

user51 MY TURN user23 A TEAR ROLLED DOWN MY LEG user89 OHMGYGOD IVOLUNTER ASTRIBYTE user62 RAWRAWRARAWRARWRAW user94 THISMADE BOTH OF MY LIPS SMILE user42 raw i meant AWWWWWW user82 this so made my hole weak I MEANT MY WHOLE WEEK user42 i am not cinderella but ik it fits user51 born to cowgirl, forced to fangirl💔💔💔💔💔 user41 i have nothing appropriate to say HER VOICE UGHHHHH user17 i finally got the water bed everyone wanted in 2016 user88 good now OIL UP user33 YOU GUYS ARE ABSOLUTE ANIMALS IN HERE WTF ENOUGH GUYS ENOUGH YOU HORNDOGS user21 all ten fingers.

sophia froze.

her grip on her the drawstring of your hoodie tightened slightly, her jaw ticking as she forced her gaze to remain on the screen, pretending to be invested in the chat. 

but anyone who knew her—especially you—could see the barely concealed flicker of irritation in her expression, the slight way her nostrils flared, the way her fingers twitched as if she were this close to reaching out and physically covering your mouth to put an end to whatever nonsense you were spewing.

she knew you were just playing around. she knew it.

but that didn’t stop the possessive heat from curling low in her stomach, nor did it stop the subtle shift in her posture—back straightening, shoulders rolling back, as if preparing to stake her claim without saying a word.

user1 guys im kinda scared of sophia user79 SHES LOOMING HELPPP user52 guard dog who user93 damn sophia my b for even looking at yn user84 im gna sleep now okay?? dont choke me in my sleep pls user77 I WAS JS PLAYING W YN PLS DONT KILL ME user91 holy shit i js got shivers down my spine

sophia hadn’t meant to react so quickly, so instinctively, but the second another flirtatious comment slipped past your lips, she couldn’t hold back anymore. before she even registered what she was doing, her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your arm in a vice grip—possessive, unwavering.

your amusement only grew at the sudden contact, lips parting slightly as you turned away from the chat, gaze landing on sophia. her expression was downright murderous, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with a sharp intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

without a word, she yanked your arm toward her, grip tightening as if to silently remind you who you belonged to. both of her hands locked around your forearm now, as if afraid you’d slip away if she loosened her hold even slightly.

and then—thud.

in her urgency, her knee jerked forward, slamming against the table. the impact sent her phone tumbling forward, landing screen-down with a soft clack, the camera immediately blacking out. the live was still running, but now all the eyekons could hear was the sharp rustle of movement, the sound of fabric shifting, a muffled noise—

because in the very next second, sophia had tugged you forward, pulling you straight between her thighs with a force that left you momentarily stunned. and before you could even process what was happening, her hands were on you—one threading into your hair, fingers tangling at the base of your skull, the other firmly cupping the back of your neck, anchoring you in place.

and then she kissed you.

no hesitation, no teasing buildup—just pure, unfiltered need.

it was all-consuming, the way she melted against you, the way her lips moved with a desperation that sent your mind reeling. 

she kissed you like you were her oxygen, like she had been starving for you this entire time—which she has been to be fair, and now that she had you, she refused to let you go. her fingers tightened in your hair, tugging slightly, as if to draw you in even closer—though there was hardly any space left between you.

but just as you were getting lost in the heat of it—just as you felt yourself melting into her touch—she suddenly pulled away, her hands shifting to your shoulders.

and then, without warning, she pushed you back.

you barely had a second to react before your back hit the couch once again, a soft groan escaping you as sophia moved fast, swinging a leg over your waist and straddling you with ease, her knees pressing into the cushions on either side of your hips.

you blinked up at her, breathless, dazed, lips still tingling from the kiss. but she didn’t give you a moment to recover. the rest of the world faded, the chat, the live, the teasing—nothing else mattered except this. except her. just like how she’d intended. and she leaned back in for more.

user77 HELLO??? WHAT IS GOING ON user51 GET ME OUT OF THE BASWMENY user11 BTCHCICHFUHFIE WTAFFDTFYE WHAT IS GOIUNG ON HELLO user78 I HEARD THAT user12 smn pick me up im scared user82 bon appetite to sophia ig user94 AT LWAST END THE LIVE????? user73 am i interrupting sumn user93 freak ON user44 media training went out the window im crying theyre not even tryna hide it HELPPP user25 probably making out in my cellular phone i pay for every month??? diabolical work i feel targeted.

sophia had no idea how she’d ended up here—pressed into the middle of a drunken, swaying crowd, the bass thrumming so hard it rattled her ribs, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and the kind of recklessness that came with too many shots and too little self-control.

this was not what you had promised.

"it'll be chill," you’d said, smiling so sweetly at her earlier, brushing your fingers through her hair as you reassured her that it was just a casual going-away party for your friend—nothing too wild. 

but now? some random guy had the audacity to press up against her, subtly—or not so subtly—trying to grind against her like she wouldn’t notice. like she’d let him.

with an irritated grunt, she shoved him off, barely sparing him a glare before weaving through the crowd, jaw clenched. she barely knew your friend, didn’t care to, really. she wouldn’t even be out of bed right now if it were up to her, more than happy to be curled up under the covers with you, watching mamma mia back to back before switching to your personal favorites—until the two of you inevitably dozed off.

but no.

you just had to have plans. just had to drag her to some bullshit party for a friend jetting off to europe to “find the woman of her life.”

sophia cursed under her breath, her usually calm composure cracking as frustration simmered beneath her skin. her hands itched—aching to grab ahold of you, to pull you against her and make sure every single person here knew you weren’t up for grabs.

the flashing, colorful lights of the room made everything simultaneously too bright and too dim, disorienting her as she searched. the pulse of the music did nothing to drown out the growing sense of urgency clawing up her spine.

she should’ve never let you out of her sight—oh, there you are.

sophia could feel it creeping in—the sharp, insidious burn of jealousy sinking its claws into her chest, wrapping tight around her ribs like a vice for the second time that week.

surrounded by a cluster of women, all too eager to lean in, to bat their lashes, to laugh a little too loudly at something you’d said—something that, knowing you, probably wasn’t even that funny. yet there they were, hanging onto every word, eyes lingering a little too long, bodies angled a little too close.

her jaw clenched.

her vision blurred at the edges, tinted green with something she refused to name, but it propelled her forward before she could think twice, her feet carrying her straight to you, drawn in like gravity itself had shifted. 

she slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, a mask of indifference settling over her features like second nature—calm, cool, unreadable. but beneath the surface? she was nothing but raw chaos.

without a word, her fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt, tugging you back, away from them, to her. her hands moved instinctively, slipping over yours, guiding them down, redirecting—staking claim.

she flattened your palms against her waist, holding them there, her body pressing into yours like she needed you closer. always.

“want your two hands on me at all times, baby.” sophia's voice was a low murmur, silk-smooth and deliberate as she tilted her head back, lips just barely grazing your cheek before trailing toward your ear, a slow, teasing whisper meant for you—but performed for the lingering eyes around you.

“and if you let go, better put ‘em right back fast.” her grip on your hands tightened, guiding them to press firmer against her waist, as if daring you to even think about moving them away. her fingers curled around yours, possessive, a silent command to stay put. her heart pounded, a steady rhythm against your skin. 

"want your two hands on me.” like my life needs saving, she’d have dared utter if she wasn’t too lost in the way your breath hitched, fingers twitching against hers.

and maybe it did.

she leaned in closer, lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear, her breath warm and slow, sending shivers down your spine. “let ‘em all know.”

her hand ghosted back, fingers featherlight as they traced along your jaw before tilting your chin up just enough to meet her gaze, dark and unreadable.

“can you do it like that?”

masterlist.

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

[petew21-blog]

Siblings rivalry

Lyle was nervously grasping the wheel, side eyeing the man next to him while driving: „Could you, please, put some shirt on?”

“Why? Is it distracting you? It’s just a body, Lyle, and you’re not a faggot. Shouldn’t bother you. Am I right?” the shirtless man sitting on the passenger’s seat responded with a smirk and subtle disdain in his voice.

“Of course I’m not… It’s because of the sweat. The car is borrowed and I don’t want to clean it.” Lyle quickly responded and tried to change the subject

“The car is an old piece of shit. We’ll be lucky if we even make it to the beach in time.”

The engine started making weird noises and the car slowed down. “See, told you.”

Lyle stormed out of the car and screamed:”Can you shut the fuck up already?! I can’t take this anymore. I want my girlfriend back.”

“I didn’t choose this either. And I still am your girlfriend!”

Maybe I should explain a bit.

My girlfriend Nicole has a twin brother, Nicholas. Their family is one of the most weirdest ones you’ll ever meet in your entire life. And I had the pleasure, or maybe misfortune, to find out the hard way. They got their hands on some magical shrooms or something. Some made you see the future, some gave you a really great time and there were also ones that swapped your body. Trippy right? Yeah… Naturally the parents used it for orgies and other experimenting.

But occasionally they used it as a method of punishment. Nicole told me that she had to be her mum for two weeks last summer, just because she lied about her school results. I didn’t believe the whole swap thing until the parents found out that Nicholas and Nicole didn’t share the same morals about feminism and male value. Nicole was obviously a feminist, but she was belittling her brother. On the other hand, her brother didn’t even stop to consider how different a life is for a woman. The whole family had an argument about this and the parents decided to swap Nicole and Nicholas for the ENTIRE summer before university. Yep, insane.

Nicole responded to her body quite well to be honest. She was in a male body before, but never in her brother’s. Them being twins might have helped a bit. I have to say that Nicholas is an attractive male. He has a great physique, handsome face and generally is a great guy. We often joke together about women, watch football or play videogames together. But having my girlfriend in his body? Way different.

I caught her staring at herself many times. She seemed completely unphased, maybe even excited to be in male body now. Which can’t be said for me. Sex was obviously a no go. I didn’t even want to touch her without feeling like a fag. But I knew something bad was about to happen sooner or later. Maybe this would be a test for our relationship. Maybe it will uncover that I am a superficial asshole and that I love her only for her body.

She keeps staring at me sometimes and tried to even seduce me, but I just can’t like this. Not while she is in Nicholas’s body.

Which brings us back to the present, currently on the coast far from the beach party where we were supposed to be hours ago. Unfortunately I had to borrow my grandparent’s car and it just broke down. Nicole smiled after being right again and seeing me snap.

She had her shirt off and leaned against the hood of the car. “So what now Sherlock?”

Lyle: „I don’t know. We’re in the middle of nowhere. And the cur is busted.”

Nicole: ”Jesus, Lyle. Be a man and call Jake. He can at least come get us.”

Lyle nervously nodded and took out the phone. He went behind the car and waited for someone to answer. Meanwhile Nicole moved from the front and went to the back of the car, adjusting herself for Lyle.

Lyle finished the call and before he looked up he said: „They’re all drunk already, so Daniel is going to wait a bit before he’s sober and will come get us.”

Nicole: „Good. More time for us to have fun” Lyle looked up and saw Nicole in her shorts, slowly lowering them.

Lyle quickly turned around. “Jesus fuck, what are you doing? What if someone sees you?”

Nicole:”Who? You mean the nearest guy miles away from us? Yeah, right. I wanna get Nicholas a good tan for the summer. We agreed to treat each other’s body properly.”

Lyle knew Nicole had different intentions, but he wouldn’t succumb to her. He isn’t gay for fuck’s sake.

Nicole took the folding chair they had in their trunk and positioned herself in front of the car, enjoying the sun.

Nicole: „When was the last time that the two of us had some proper free time to just stop? Did we ever? Feels like the first time. Maybe we should use it properly.”

Lyle: „What are you suggesting?”

Nicole: „I think we should fuck. You haven’t touched me in weeks.”

Lyle: „Because you are a man now!!! And your brother, Jesus fuck.”

Nicole:”Cut the crap, Lyle. Do. You. Love. Me?”

Lyle:”… I… of course I love you.”

Nicole: „Do you love me for me, or my body?”

Lyle: „I… I love YOU.”

Nicole: „So come and prove it.” Her daring voice made Lyle feel uneasy. But he felt as if something was pulling him towards Nicole, towards Nicholas.

Nicole got up, uncovering her hairy manhood. This was the first time that Lyle looked at it. It wasn’t hard, but even now it was still pretty impressive. Nicole headed to the car, going past Lyle and whispering in his ear: „I haven’t sucked your dick in weeks. I need to have your dick as much as you want me.”

Lyle looked as Nicole laid down on the car seats, waiting for Lyle to make his move. Her dick was getting hard and getting bigger. Maybe even bigger than his own. Lyle couldn’t keep his eyes off of that thing.

Nicole spoke up: „Lyle, I need you. I need your dick!”

Lyle’s dick was hard as well. He felt himself throwing his clothes off as if he was just a passenger. He thought about Nicole giving him that great blow job of hers once again. He could see in his memory, his dick disappearing in her mouth.

He got close to Nicole, lowering himself on top of her, HIM. And was ready to push his dick closer to her, but he was so horny, that he didn’t even realize that he was now the one holding HER dick in his hands. Jerking it furiously. Lick it from top to base. Swallowing it fully. He didn’t even realize he didn’t have much trouble swallowing her cum. Even after SHE pushed HER dick in his ass, he didn’t find it that weird.

They laid on top of each other, breathing out loud, enjoying each other’s company, making out. Nicole gave Lyle a sign that she need to go out and piss. Lyle stayed in the car, still struck for what just happened. Nicole’s phone vibrated. Lyle thought that maybe someone was ready to pick them up, but instead it was Nicole’s friend Stacy texting her. The text said: „Hey, Stacy. Thanks again for swapping with me. I really needed to be fucked and not as a man, haha. Hope you’re enjoying it. Luv U”

Lyle:”What. The. Fuck?!”

[void-my-warranty]

Ghost Cleans You Up (18+)

Pairing: Simon Riley/Fem Reader/Johnny MacTavish Content warnings: Intimate touching, PIV sex Word Count: 4k

Service Dog Johnny Part 12 (full part list here)

So, you don’t actually get a week of sex.

What actually ends up happening is you’re woken up in the middle of the night by Johnny moving his arm out from under your neck, and Simon hurrying to get dressed and grab his go bag.

You can hear their low voices on the other side of the door, while you pull on some pajamas because apparently you fell asleep naked. The two men are speaking in that clipped, concise way that lets you know they’ve already shifted to work mode.

Except… surely Johnny’s not going. He’s still hobbling around.

Sure enough, Johnny’s still shirtless when you join them to see off your boyfriend. Damn, you didn’t even get a week with him. Why can’t the world behave, and let you have him for just one week?

“Can’t tell you where,” Simon conveys while he gulps down some pills. “Don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Alright.” You try to keep the disappointment out of your voice for his sake. This is just a thing that happens sometimes. Maybe he’ll get a longer stretch of home time after this.

Your boyfriend hooks his arm around your back while you hug him, his other hand gripped onto his duffel. “Fuck me,” he mumbles into your hair, voice rough with not enough sleep. “I already miss you.”

Your chest clenches in an answering sort of pang, but there isn’t time to do more than see him out the door and watch his car vanish down the darkened street.

And then it’s quiet. Unusually quiet, considering Johnny’s still there.

You know what he’s thinking, even before you turn to look. He’s thinking it should be him leaving as well. He’s thinking that maybe his shoulder isn’t too bad, and if he hadn’t hurt his ankle, perhaps Simon wouldn’t be going alone right now.

It takes a few seconds for Johnny’s eyes to wander from the door Simon just walked out of, to your face.

“It’s not fun,” you admit, taking a step forward to squeeze his hand. “But this is how it feels.”

Maybe it’ll feel worse when Johnny heals up, and it’s both of them leaving.

“I’ll be getting going,” Johnny tells you with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You don’t have to.”

“Nah, I do.”

Suddenly feeling out of place, you fold your arms over your braless chest to cover yourself while he gets ready to leave, and you prepare yourself to be alone.

It’s not the worst deployment, but it’s definitely not the best. You get to text each other, and the occasional video call, so that’s nice. It’s weird catching Simon up on your mundane day-to-day when he’s out there doing who knows what insane stuff, but he always listens, and asks you about it, even though he’s wearing the mask.

He’s gone so long that Johnny heals up enough to join him, and you’re glad for that. You hate the idea of Johnny being stuck on base doing paperwork or whatever they have him doing, and going back home to an empty place every night. It feels a little less lonely somehow, knowing they’re together.

And then on a random Wednesday morning, you get the text from your boyfriend that you’ve been fantasizing about for weeks:

Simon: Taking off from Spain heading home

That’s all you need. You hurry to get as much work done as possible, get your coworker to fill in for your can’t-miss appointments for the rest of the week, and then you let your boss know that you won’t be in the office again until Monday.

When you get home that night, you take an everything shower. You paint your toenails and do your hair extra pretty, shave and lotion and basically make yourself as edible as you can be, because your baby’s coming home.

The deadbolt clicks open around midnight, and it instantly jolts you awake. You yank yourself upright so fast that you almost fall off the couch, and still half asleep, you squint at the blob that is your boyfriend’s exhausted body shuffling through the door. Automatically you glance over his shoulder as if you’ll see Johnny there with him, but of course you don’t, because he’d tell you if he was bringing company, and oh my god, Simon’s home.

Suddenly you’re on your feet, sliding a little in your socks as you rush to meet him. He’s just finished flopping his bag onto the floor when your arms wrap around the most familiar, safe body you know, and then you’re home. He’s real, and solid, and you can feel the rapid pounding of his heart as it’s pressed tight to your cheek.

His movements are so sluggish, it’s like they drained him of all his energy over there. Unusually heavy on your head, his hand smoothes over your hair and then rests on your shoulder, as if he can’t spare the energy it takes to lift it again.

“Bed,” you command, pulling away to let him walk.

“Shower,” he mumbles, “and a cuppa.”

“Snack,” you counter, “and some water. I’ll get it ready while you clean up.”

His answering grunt is an agreement - he really doesn’t need more caffeine - so you part ways to get his needs taken care of as efficiently as possible.

In bed later, your boyfriend starts falling asleep halfway through chewing. You have to shake his shoulder to get him to swallow down the rest of the choking hazard, and then bully him into taking a few drinks of water. The pillow is still damp from his hair when you grab his phone to turn off any alarms, and then turn out the light.

You crawl into your fresh, clean sheets, and tuck yourself back into the curve of Simon’s body. This is the only time he can sleep with physical contact, when he’s so fatigued that he can barely roll over. You’re not sure that he’s actually awake when his hand slides to your chest and stays there, curled into a loose fist between your breasts and sort of pressing you into him as if you were a pillow.

Your baby’s home.

You wake up gradually, feeling extra safe, but not yet comprehending why. There’s a little light coming in through your closed blinds, so it must be morning, and you’re safe. You’re safe because there’s a muscled chest behind you, slowly lifting and falling with relaxed breathing, and Simon’s clean scent surrounds you in the sheets.

He must have slept like this against you all night. How unusual. Your eyes slide closed again, not actually intending to fall back to sleep, but having no real reason to fight against it. Your consciousness fades so gently that you barely register that any time has passed when you wake up again some time later.

Simon’s hand is on your stomach, his fingers slowly caressing the skin that’s bare from your shirt riding up in your sleep. You make a drowsy, happy noise, glad that he��s awake. Now it’s worth it to wake up. Now you get to have him all to yourself.

“You smell fucking good,” he says into your hair. His voice isn’t thick with sleep, so you guess he’s been awake for at least a little while.

You’re not quite conscious enough to switch from the sensory world to the logical one, so you just lay there limp and happy, and your skin feeds you a wash of warm honey at the feeling of his hand. Unthinkingly, you arch your back a little to give him more room to stroke his fingers down your belly. The movement makes your ass press to his hips, and you feel something decidedly hard back there.

“Sorry,” you mutter, returning your ass to where it was before.

Except his hand takes hold of your hip, and draws it back against him. He breathes your name into your hair, and you almost wonder if you’re dreaming, as his hips roll a little against your ass. You groggily close your eyes again to enjoy it, to submerge yourself in this nice dream where your boyfriend grinds himself against your body and asks if he can fuck you.

Wait.

Your eyes spring open and your mind focuses with sudden clarity. That is what he said. Simon just said, ‘“Can I fuck you?”’

You must be taking too long to reply, because he explains in a hushed voice, “My head’s quiet, and you feel so fucking good, I just… want to try.”

“Yeah,” you croak, still a little stunned. “Yeah, yes, of course you can, baby.”

You feel his hand come around, the roughness of his palm dragging against your skin while he pushes your shirt up above your breasts. Your nipple catches on his fingers as he lowers his hand back down your body, and all of a sudden your brain comprehends exactly what’s happening. It’s not just words any more, it’s a reality.

Holy shit.

You quickly reach down to shove your shorts and underwear off, and you can feel him adjusting his own clothes behind you, and then you feel his bare cock against your bare ass. You have just enough presence of mind to smother your gasp, as his hand comes around and envelops your breast, and he buries his face in your neck.

“I won’t be able to touch you first,” he admits, and you can feel the motion of his hard swallow from the way his throat has contact with your shoulder.

“There’s lube in the top drawer thing,” you answer back, heart galloping.

“Stay there.”

The warmth of his hand fades from your skin when he rolls away and reaches off the side of the bed. You keep your head on the pillow just like he asked, and listen to the nightstand drawer slide open somewhere behind you, and then the click of a plastic cap. A large, familiar hand comes from behind, finding the space between your legs, parting your folds and smoothing cold lube onto your pussy.

You’re grateful for the stark reality of that sensation. This isn’t a dream, this is real, and everything is happening so fast, you can’t even manufacture any anxiety about it. Although, maybe that’s the point. For him, at least.

You hear the cap again, and then the slick sound of him putting some lube on himself. You want to watch. God, you want to twist your head around and see him, you want to be face to face for this, but you need to do what’s best for him. You have to just lay here on your side with your knees drawn up a little, and trust that he knows what he needs.

All of a sudden you feel him against you again, his knuckles shifting behind your thighs while he lines himself up. You arch your hips back a little, lift your knee to help him find your pussy, and then you let out an appreciative noise when something warm and thick begins to ease itself inside you.

He’s bigger than Johnny. Bigger than anyone you’ve had before, you’re pretty sure. He seems to realize this, seems to know that he’ll need to give it to you slow, even though he’s practically panting behind you with the effort it takes to keep it controlled.

“That’s good, baby,” you murmur, not sure what he needs to hear from you. “That feels good.”

He’s inside enough now that he no longer needs his hand to guide him. You’re getting wrapped up in his arms again, one coming under your head to give you a bicep to rest on, and the other finding your breast again, in a clumsy way that makes you think he’s concentrating very hard on something else. He holds your tit like he’ll fall from a height if he lets it go, and with a firm roll of his hips, you feel him push all the way inside.

The storm of sensation momentarily locks up your lungs — the slightly painful stretch, the tight hug he’s got you in, the gorgeous, ragged gasp he does when he finally experiences what it’s like to be inside you. His whole body goes tight with engaged muscle while he pulls out a few inches, and then you get filled up again, harder this time.

You barely even comprehend how big he is, with how big this event feels in your heart. Your body doesn’t register this moment as sexual, as you lay there and make yourself available to him. Your eyes are turning wet and your throat is burning, but you keep it to yourself. You keep your breathing even and your body relaxed, and your pussy gets what it’s wanted for what feels like forever.

Simon groans, going motionless deep inside you. “I’m— fuck— m’gonna cum.“

“Cum, baby. It’s okay, just cum.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder, and in the space of a thrust and a half, that’s exactly what happens.

You’ve never heard him experience pleasure before. Never even seen his cock like this, and now it’s jumping and throbbing inside you while he makes desperate sounds through his teeth.

He did it.

Your tears start silently spilling out, over your nose, down your cheek, onto his arm. It’s not until you feel his shoulders shake that you dare to turn your head and look at him. Propping himself up on an elbow above you, he pulls his trembling hand off your body to cover his eyes, emotion wracking through him in a silent sob before his cum even has a chance to start leaking out.

“Baby, that was so good,” you whisper-croak, swiping at your own eyes. You don’t know what to tell him. You’re so caught up in the tornado of your own feelings, all you can do is stay there and witness his vulnerability while you cry.

“Bloody hell.” He scrubs at his eyes, screws them tightly closed and pushes a thumb and fingers into his eye sockets like it’ll plug up the flow. He’s trembling behind you now, lost to whatever cocktail of chemicals his body is giving him.

You twist your upper body around just enough to reach for his wrist, ignoring the flinch he does to run your thumb across it while you whisper that you love him.

Simon coughs and snorts that way men do when they’re embarrassed of having feelings, and then shakily lowers his hand down to guide himself out of your body.

Uncaring of the mess, you turn to face him. “Cuddle?”

He firmly shakes his head, wiping at his eyes some more, and making some deep noises that you guess are him internally crying.

So it’s bittersweet, seeing the aftermath of his success. You know it’s got to pain him, losing the control on his body and mind that he holds to such a standard in every other aspect of his life. He could have gone for years more, keeping a tight handle on things, dismissing the trauma and projecting that insecurity onto everyone else in unhealthy ways.

But he didn’t. He’s here, unable to even tolerate your touch just yet, with his lungs spasming and his eyes leaking in a way his father would find unforgivable. A grown man, coming to terms with his reality and letting others see his failings, people who love him. People he can depend on, not because of blood relation, but because he’s worked tirelessly to build and earn that deep kind of trust.

You stay there silently through it, and the storm passes. He’s able to open his eyes again, and though he can’t quite look at your face yet, he takes your hand and brings it to his mouth. You rest on your respective pillows with a few inches between your bodies, and he runs your hand against his mouth. Your fingertips, your knuckles, your wrist, he closes his eyes again and works to calm his breathing, dragging his lips against your skin and kissing the middle of your palm.

The self soothing turns slower as his breathing evens out, and by the time he opens his eyes again, you’ve finished wetting your pillow with a few more happy tears.

“Alright, you?” he asks, the phrase and the steady tone of his voice so familiar that it almost makes you cry again.

You smile at him. “I’m great.”

“Good.”

He kisses your fingers and exhales deeply against them. “Fancy a shower?”

“Yeah.” Sharing a shower sounds heavenly right now.

“Don’t leave, alright?” Simon’s eyes finally lock onto yours, as if it’s imperative that you understand. “If you have to use the toilet, I’ll… turn around or something, but don’t leave.”

“Okay, baby.”

You gingerly sit up and do your best to keep the cum dripping down your thigh instead of onto the bed. God, that’s Simon’s cum. That’s the best cum in the world right there.

Naked, he follows you into the bathroom and then busies himself getting the shower going while you pee and do a quick clean up of your leg. Soon you’re shivering a little in the corner of the shower, your heart growing lighter and lighter while you come to terms with the enormity of what happened, how the space of just a few minutes changed everything.

All those little experiments, those hesitant half steps, and it was enough to build a diving board to jump. You almost can’t believe it still, keep going over the memory in your head, more and more relieved that it really, finally happened.

Simon must be ready for touch again, because he pulls you to him in the shower. He lifts you up his body and slides your legs around his hips, and turns so your back and shoulders get first dibs to the hot water.

It’s heaven. You bury your face in his neck and make a happy sound, firmly planted in the moment. You have to remember this, you have to make this day as clear and vivid in your mind as you can. You raise your head to get a look at those beautiful brown eyes, and to your delight he leans forward to kiss you.

You kiss in the shower like that for a long time. Long enough that your pussy starts to get tingly and you’re very aware of your breasts brushing against his chest hair. God, you just fucked. You just fucked Simon.

“Can I wash you?” he asks, sliding his hand under the sheet of wet hair on your neck, and then stroking his thumb against your skin there.

“Mhmm.” Is he wanting to wash your hair or something? That’s awfully romantic.

He lowers you down to the floor, keeping you steady on the slippery surface until he’s sure you’ve got your legs under you.

“Which one?” He asks, fingering your various soap bottles in indecision.

“For my hair?”

“For… between your legs.”

Oh. Oh.

“Um. That one.”

He grabs the one you point to, setting it on a convenient ledge and then positioning you under the water again, facing the shower head this time. There’s not a moment where you don’t have contact with him, your shoulder against his bicep, your back pressed to his chest, his hand smoothing down your stomach.

Your pussy instantly heats when his fingers find it. You widen your stance a little to help him out, and his hand is steady as it follows the path of water down your body, and his fingers slide between your folds.

“I’m not… doing something,” he says, when you make a little noise. “I just want to clean you.”

“Okay, yeah.” You swallow, watching the top of his hand move between your thighs.

He stops to reach for the soap, squeezing a little bit into his hand, and then angling the shower head down so it won’t immediately wash everything away.

Okay, just relax. It’s not sexual, it’s just some… thing he wants to do. Just let your head rest back on his pec, and breathe.

“Hold onto my arm,” he instructs, as he bends one of your legs forward and lifts it into the air by the back of your knee.

Shit. Okay. You reach down and steady yourself on his forearm just as he begins to run his hand between your legs again, slow and gentle.

Oh. That’s nice.

Fuck, that’s really nice.

His hand looks so good between your legs, that wide palm and strong fingers that could probably break you in a heartbeat if he wanted to. But instead he’s here, dipping his head to kiss your cheek while he runs his soapy fingers over every fold you have, cleaning up the mess he left there as if it’s his job to do it.

He does it far longer than necessary, but you don’t think it’s because he’s trying to turn you on. It does turn you on, but you think it’s more to acclimate him to the contact. A non-sexual kind of way to normalize his hand on your pussy in his own mind. It’s sweet, even if it gets you a little wet and achy.

Simon reaches up to adjust the shower head again, and puts the same amount of care and attention towards gently rinsing you off. He fucked you for less time than he’s devoting to this. You wonder if he’ll do it again, if you ever have sex after this. If this is a one time thing, or might become some kind of cute ritual he does.

God. An after-sex ritual with your boyfriend. Who you may or may not have regular sex with at some point. This is insane.

“Is… that alright?”

You blink yourself out of your happy haze when he lowers your foot back to the floor. “Oh, yeah, that’s the best shower it’s ever got, for sure. Thank you.”

You start to turn and face him, but he stops you and clears his throat. “Give me just a moment.”

Oh shit. He’s hard.

If you thought your relationship dynamic before was difficult, it’s nothing like this. This is the absolute torture, standing here with a warm pussy and not begging him to fuck you again.

Fuck it.

“Do you… want to do it again?” you offer hesitantly.

“I don’t think so. Er… maybe… I’ll text Johnny.”

“Not for sex,” you insist. “Just if you want to see him.”

There’s a prolonged silence after that, as you stare down at the water circling the drain.

“Was it—“ he starts nervously. “I know it wasn’t… good… but was it—“

“It was good,” you quickly tell him, blinking at the blank shower wall.

“D’you not want to get off?”

You do want to get off. You glance down at your pussy, which has recently been visited by his cock and his fingers, so it’s quite awake and aware at this point. “I guess I feel like it’s not that important, compared to what you did just now.”

A beat of silence, then, “It’s important to me.”

“It wouldn’t bother you if I fuck Johnny today?” you ask in a small voice. You can’t imagine that would feel good, seeing someone else get you off in a way he didn’t.

“Darling, you need to let me worry about my own head.”

So that’s what you do. You finish up your shower with Simon, and brush your teeth, and put on your cutest underwear for getting fucked later.

You don’t see him texting anyone, but you do hear a knock on the door a little while later, while you’re in the kitchen making breakfast. Your boyfriend sets down his tea to answer it, and it takes a minute or two before you can turn off the stove and step away, wandering over to the entryway to greet Johnny. You’re actually quite happy to see him, and a little relieved that Simon didn’t listen to you.

You round the corner of the hall, only to see the door still wide open, and your boyfriend with his head bent down, resting on Johnny’s shoulder. Johnny has an arm wrapped around Simon’s head and another around his shoulders, fisting his shirt and holding him tight.

“That wasn’t a small thing,” Johnny’s whispering, cheek to cheek with his friend. “That wasn’t a small thing, mate.”

Art by peachjellypackets

Next Part

Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop

Chronological Read-Through Path

[quarterlifekitty]

This is super random but I thought of this today and I wanted your opinion! You know how when women sometimes go to shake a man’s hand occasionally some men will grip the Womans hand too hard and purposefully hurt her as like some weird power trip (and they know women are shamed by society to not confront them about things like that so they know they’ll get away with it) and because no one else can tell that it happened. Okay well I was taught that when that happens to say “ow!!🥺” and like gently cradle my hand/lightly shake it out while generally giving off the energy of this “🥺” emoji. It alerts people around around you and turns it back on the ass who did it. Anyway I can’t help but think of how the COD men would react to some ass trying to pull that stunt and their girl doing that (general) reaction. Like they’re suddenly alerted to her being hurt?? Their sweet girl!! purposefully hurt??By some ass of a “man”? And one who tried to get away with it??

Anyway, feel free to ignore this!! Just wanted to share my thought🤍

I’m in love with the idea of siccing a man on someone. And being kind of an evil bitch about it. Call me a master female manipulator, but it’s very easy to make me cry. That’s it. I don’t use it for anything, I’m just a pussy.

Anyways. Love this for Price specifically because I think he’s a little bit of a traditionalist at heart, to be honest. Like if you were to ask him what he really thinks, he doesn’t believe in hitting women no matter the circumstances (makes him cringe on the field when he has to). Like, it doesn’t matter how many men he’s seen you bend and break. If you’re a woman, he thinks you should be treated gently. That people shouldn’t be saying crude things around you.

So when you’re meeting someone for the first time and he hears that little ow! as you pull your hand away like you got burned, pouting and big eyed. You’re not looking at John, of course not, it’s all just a coincidence that he’s within earshot. The way he whips around and nearly stomps over.

“Just what do you think you’re doing? Y’think it’s funny to bruise a lady’s hand when you’re introducing yourself, hm?”

And he doesn’t really give a fuck about what’s considered abuse of power when it comes to you. Whatever punishment is in his power to bestow, he’s resorting to that. And as soon as he’s seen to that, he’ll turn to coo over you and cradle your hand and kiss it better. This man has supersonic hearing when it comes to the slightest discomfort caused to you. “Didn’t hurt you too bad, did he, darl’?”

[gremlingottoosilly]

I've been scrolling on your blog for 1h I can't get enough, anyway Konig x shy baker reader he met her when a friend of his dragged him into her bakery and reader is afraid of his long staring gaze across the room like he want to kill and eat her but he's just head over heels for her.. 🩷

You just look so...perfect. Innocent, sweet, soft, just like the pastries you're making. Konig isn't the one to eat sweets, he usually considers it childish and strongly believes that sugar makes him more active - which is false, but he goes off - but he gives one look at your soft hands that are busy with decorating some elaborate little cupcake, and he is ready to buy the whole shop. Horangi was the one to drag him here, talking something about having the best puff pastries and little treats in the whole town - but Konig is almost sure he was actually talking about having the best baker. He stares at the way you spread vanilla cream over a cake, and he wants to lick the excess cream from your hands. He looks at the way your chest sways under your silly branded apron, at your tender hands carefully holding the spoon, how you bite the inside of your cheek while concentrating on decorations...and Jesus fucking Christ, this man is down bad. Like, bad bad. Horrendous. Enough to get a custom order of a cake each week just so he would have a reason to stop by your bakery between deployments. You really thought he wanted to burn the whole place down at first - he is just staring at you for whole 5 minutes, usually even longer, before you finally have enough and he is ordering. It's always such a weird array of orders - all salty pastries you have and an occasional cupcake because he is afraid you might think he hates your sweets and baked treats while he is simply trying to flirt. This guy literally spend hundreds every day just because he can't master the confidence to ask you out. It's a good thing that your number so happen to accidentally fall into one of the boxes, right? (you don't have to know that he already spends hours in your apartment, watching you sleep. sweet, precious baker ladies don't need to know about this)

[what-the-floofin]

So how do baby taurs work for the equitaurs and cervitaurs in your stuff?

Oh that's a good one actually - lots to talk about! Too much for one post, but gotta start somewhere. Enjoy some messy micro scribbles peppered throughout. They were originally very very tiny so, pardon blurriness.

I've got my Taurs running overall pretty similar to equine cycles and gestations - meaning they are what you call 'long-day triggered' by the spring and summer seasons.

(Though they do cycle throughout the year, just at slower rates and less consistently over cooler seasons)

This goes for the cervitaurs too - rather than using the shorter gestation of their deer alikes - as they and their foals are a bit bigger and more complex to deal with. Which also goes to suggest that twins/multiples are not a frequent occurrence for cervitaurs in comparison to actual deer, and inherently poses as much danger as it does for equines instead. Possible, but high risk and incredibly demanding.

So, you're looking at an 11 month gestation on average, and typically starting in a mid-spring to late-summer window. Which places most taurs at being born early-spring to mid-summer. It's most uncommon to be winter born, but not weird tbh.

Foals are super awkward, there's no getting around that, and in the first year they have a ridiculous growth rate when compared to other sentient creatures of similar lifespans.

These things are weeds - the difference from one day old to three months old is phenomenal alone. They are, however, cooked a little further along than what you'd be comparing to for a newborn human. They're able to support themselves enough to avoid outright injury (think like a 3-4 month old baby), but gaining actual control of all those limbs takes a bit more time. The equine half however would be a touch undercooked for a horse. Just physically, in size. No worries about comparative internal developments, that's all good and ready to go.

So they're typically gonna spend shy of their first month feeding and sleeping, practicing rolling up, sitting and limb coordination to build strength for self-standing. If mama has places to be, that baby is getting carried.

I also absolutely subscribe to the idea of arms being naturally held close to torso prior to having balance and coordination. It would support them a lot! Then it becomes a self-soothing gesture seen in the anxious, and an instinctive positional response when badly startled. Tuck in!

By three months you can expect them to be racing on their little stilt legs - albeit still with the occasional wobble and spill. And wowee did that happen fast when you think about it.

While the zoomies are a lot, they're balanced out by the fact that so much oncoming growth means foals crash nap very frequently. These buggers sleep a lot. It's go hard and sleep hard on endless rotation. Play, snack, nap, rinse and repeat.

This accelerated growth races away throughout their first year, and then drops right back into something a bit more reasonable - at least when you're considering it from the human perspective!

Yet in comparison to how they first started out, it's practically snail paced.

I'm meaning, you look at the size of a 3 month old horse foal, and that's the closest comparison to a 2 year old taur foal in body. Every 'horse foal month' thereafter starts guiding the next 'taur foal year' visual until you hit that yearling horse look for a taur when they're 10-11 years old. Then by that point, they've reached most of their full leg length, and the next 10 years is focused on finishing the bulking out of their frame.

(click to enlarge I hope) - Featuring my lass Thalo here haha

By rule of thumb I just have both equid and humanoid aspects grow in relative balance to each other, lanky stages and all. From the human perspective, the humanoid half grows crazy fast at first and then becomes comparatively similar. From the horse perspective, the equine half is crazy slow and always is. It would also give credit to having a higher physical durability than their animal counterparts. More time was spent growing!

It's worth noting that a lot of perceived 'weirdness' only comes from trying to compare them purely 1 to 1 with either horse, deer or human kids. Taurs are their own thing though! And nature's most consistent attitude is to Find What Works and Do it. No matter how wack, if it works it's used.

So, a rapid starting growth tapered into a much slower rate once they're stabilised and running was just the path that worked best for this Taur survival. Keep it simple!

There's always more to cover, but this is chunky enough for now. Whew!

[authortelevision]

george, the hockey player: chapter one ₊˚⊹♡

words: 2,747 ✦ .ᐟ

♯┆ george clarke slow burn, university au, hockey george

you start university in bristol as a film student and meet a hockey player who will change your life completely

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The train ride to Bristol had been a mix of nervous excitement and mild existential dread. The city, with its hilly streets and graffiti-covered underpasses, felt like a place where something big could happen. But right now, all that mattered was getting through move-in day without looking like a complete disaster.

You haul your suitcase up the stairs of your new flat, already regretting bringing so many decorations. The shared kitchen is a mess of half-opened suitcases, stacked IKEA crockery, and the awkward small talk of strangers who will, apparently, be your new best friends.

A girl with pink-streaked hair and round glasses glances up from where she’s struggling to assemble a drying rack. “Oh, thank God. Someone else who looks just as lost as I feel.”

You laugh, setting your bags down. “Completely lost. Do you need help with that?”

“Please. It’s like IKEA’s playing a cruel joke on me.” She grins. “I’m Lily, by the way. I do history, unfortunately.”

You introduce yourself just as the front door swings open and two more people walk in, dragging boxes. One of them, a guy with messy brown hair, lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is it. Our prison for the next year.”

“I hope not.” says a voice from behind him.

The four of you quickly exchange introductions, and you learn that the negative voice is Matt who is studying Economics, and the other is Sam, taking Biology. Within ten minutes, you’re all gathered in the kitchen, swapping stories about where you’re from and who packed the weirdest thing (Matt wins with his five-kilo bag of protein powder). It’s surprisingly easy, the awkwardness fading fast.

Then, Lily claps her hands together. “Okay, so Freshers’ Fair is happening today. We need to go.”

Sam frowns. “That’s the one where all the societies try to recruit you, right?”

“Exactly. It’s essential. Free stuff, maybe a few weird clubs, and we can all pretend we’re super well-rounded people.”

You weren’t sure if you had the energy after lugging all your stuff around, but the idea of seeing what Bristol Uni had to offer was tempting. Plus, it beat sitting in your empty room.

“Alright,” you say, standing up. “Let’s go get bombarded by enthusiastic second-years.”

————

The Student Union building is packed, a sea of students weaving between booths with banners ranging from “Join the Debate Society” to “Quidditch Team Tryouts This Weekend!” Every few steps, someone shoves a flyer into your hands, promising everything from cheap cocktails to life-changing friendships.

Lily gets dragged away almost immediately by a group advertising a Feminist Reading Club. Sam disappears in the direction of the Rugby stall, while Matt, despite his initial complaints, is deep in conversation with a Chess Society rep.

That leaves you wandering alone for a bit, taking it all in. The Hockey Society booth catches your eye, but only cause there’s a crowd gathered around it, and a bunch of sporty-looking guys are chatting with possible members. You consider stopping, but hockey isn’t really your thing.

Instead, you find yourself drawn to a quieter stall tucked between the Art Society and the Drama Club. A banner reads “Photography Society – Capture the Moment”, and a student with a camera slung around their neck waves at you.

“Hey! You interested in photography?”

“I mean… kinda?” You glance at the sign-up sheet. “I do film, so I guess I already mess around with cameras.”

The student grins. “That’s basically half of it. We do sports photography, exhibitions, and the occasional trip. No pressure, though.”

It sounds like exactly the kind of thing to make friends you need. Before you can overthink it, you pick up a pen and sign your name.

By the time you regroup with your flatmates, your bag is full of leaflets and your group decides to escape the chaos and grab something to eat. The campus cafés are packed, so you settle for the Student Union bar, where the tables are sticky, the nachos are cheap, and the music is just a little too loud for a casual conversation.

Matt dumps his bag of free society merch onto the table with a dramatic sigh. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

He pulls out a ridiculous amount of random freebies like stress balls, lanyards, a frisbee, and even a reusable coffee cup with Bristol Uni Quidditch Team printed on the side. Sam snorts. “Did you even sign up for Quidditch?”

“No, but they were giving out free stuff, and I’m not an idiot.”

Lily rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. She turns to you, seeing your tote bag. “So, what made you go for Photography Society?”

You take a sip of your drink, considering. “I think I just wanted something creative that wasn’t coursework, you know? Something fun, no pressure.”

She nods. “Good call. I was considering the Creative Writing Society, but then I overheard a guy saying they only discuss ‘serious literary work,’ and I feel like I’d get kicked out for writing fanfiction.”

“That sounds insufferable,” you say with a laugh.

“What about you, Sam?” Matt asks. “You looked way too invested in that rugby stall for someone who claimed they definitely weren’t joining a sports team.

Sam shrugs, looking vaguely guilty. “Okay, maybe I’ll go to tryouts. I haven’t played since school, but it might be fun.”

“You just want an excuse to go to the sports socials,” Lily teases.

He smirks. “And what if I do?”

The conversation drifts into plans for the rest of Freshers’ Week—pub crawls, club nights, and the dreaded 9am introductory lectures no one is ready for. It’s strange how quickly everything is falling into place, like the awkwardness of earlier has already faded into something more natural.

Eventually, you all decide to head back to the flat, the evening air crisp as you make your way across campus. Bristol feels alive at night, students spilling out of bars, the hum of conversation echoing down cobbled streets. The streetlights cast long shadows, and for a brief moment, you pause to take it all in.

Lily nudges you. “You alright?”

You nod, smiling. “Yeah. I think I am.”

————

The next morning, you wake to the sound of footsteps in the hallway and the faint clatter of someone making something in the kitchen. For a few seconds, you forget where you are, then the unfamiliar ceiling and the plain white walls bring you back to reality. Your new life at university has officially begun.

After forcing yourself out of bed, you shuffle into the kitchen, where Lily is perched on the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. She’s wearing an oversized hoodie, her pink-streaked hair all over the place. “Morning,” she says between bites.

“Morning,” you mumble, grabbing a mug and searching for the kettle.

Matt wanders in next, still in his pajamas. He blinks at you both. “We should’ve made a pact never to speak before noon.”

Lily laughs. “Good luck with that. We’ve all got a welcome meeting at ten, I’m not sure where yours is but mine is in the Oliver building.”

Right. The dreaded introductory stuff. You groan internally but force yourself to stay optimistic. First years always say it’s useless, but there could always be something important about the university you wouldn’t know about.

After breakfast, you grab your bag and head out with Lily, who insists on walking with you even though the history department is in a completely different building. “Moral support,” she says dramatically as you weave through the crowds of students trying to find their way around.

The film department is tucked inside a modern glass building that looks sleek and intimidating. Inside, the lecture hall is already filling up, the hum of conversation blending with the sound of chairs scraping against the floor. You slide into a seat near the middle and pull out your laptop, trying not to look as awkward as you feel.

A few minutes later, a girl with short curly hair and a nose ring drops into the seat next to you. “Hey, do you mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all.”

“I’m Ava,” she says, setting her laptop down. “Film Studies?”

You nod. “Yeah, first year.”

“Same! What kind of films are you into?”

That kicks off an easy conversation, by the time the lecturer finally arrives and starts their speech about “the power of storytelling in visual media,” you and Ava have already bonded over your mutual love of indie films and your shared distaste for pretentious film bros who only talk about Pulp Fiction.

The lecture itself is mostly introductions—professors explaining what to expect, a few awkward icebreakers with the people sitting nearby, and a long-winded speech about academic integrity. By the time it’s over, your brain is buzzing, and you’re more than ready to escape.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Ava asks as you head out of the building.

“Definitely.”

The two of you make your way to the campus café, where you spot Sam and Matt sitting by the window, deep in conversation. When they see you, Sam waves you over.

“How was your lecture?” Matt asks as you slide into the seat across from him.

“Long.” You take a sip of your coffee. “What about you?”

“Boring. I already regret choosing Economics.”

Ava laughs. “Wow, you’re all so motivated.”

“Oh! This is Ava, by the way, we both do film studies.”

As the conversation continues, it starts to hit you, this is your new life. New friends, new routines, new experiences waiting just around the corner.

————

By the time the sun sets, the nerves of the first day have been replaced with something else entirely: anticipation, excitement, and the lingering feeling from the vodka shots you definitely shouldn’t have taken so quickly.

Your flat has changed into pre-drinks. The tiny kitchen table is covered in half-empty bottles, discarded mixers, and the remnants of an intense game of Ring of Fire. Someone’s put on a ridiculous throwback playlist, and now everyone is shouting the words to Mr. Brightside like it’s a national anthem.

You’re sat on the counter, legs swinging, cradling a drink you don’t need but don’t want to put down. “Okay,” you announce to no one in particular, “I think I might be a tiny bit drunk.”

Lily cackles from where she’s trying to apply eyeliner on a very uncooperative Matt. “No shit. You’ve been swaying for, like, ten minutes.”

You blink, realizing that the floor does seem to be moving slightly. “That’s just because I’m—” You wave your hand in the air, trying to find a reason. “—graceful.”

Sam laughs, throwing an arm around you dramatically. “You’re gone.”

But the night is young, and there’s only one destination in mind—Lola Lo’s. Everyone has been hyping it up since you arrived, promising neon lights, questionable cocktails, and the kind of night you’ll only half remember.

After one final shot (a terrible idea in hindsight), you all spill onto the street, voices loud and laughter echoing down the road. The walk to the club is only fifteen minutes, but your brain seems to have abandoned all sense of coordination.

Somewhere along the way, you trip over nothing and stumble into Lily. “Okay,” she says, catching you, “I think we need a pause.”

You find yourself plopping down onto the curb, the cold pavement grounding you slightly. Sam sits next to you, amused. “You know they’re not gonna let you in like this, right?”

You groan, resting your head on his shoulder dramatically. “I know.”

Matt crouches in front of you, squinting like a concerned doctor. “Alright, what’s the game plan? We can’t have you getting turned away at the door.”

Lily laughs. “We could walk in first and pretend we don’t know them.”

You gasp, offended. “Betrayal.”

Ava, who has been quiet up until now, holds up a bottle of water she somehow smuggled out of the flat. “Here, drink this. Try to look less… like this.” She gestures vaguely at you, which is fair.

You take a sip then make a face. “This isn’t gonna work in time.”

Matt nudges your shoulder. “Alright, let’s problem-solve. How do we make you look sober?”

“Serious face,” you declare, straightening up and attempting your most responsible expression. It lasts about three seconds before Sam bursts out laughing.

Lily wipes away fake tears. “Oh yeah, that’s gonna fool the bouncers.”

You groan, dramatically falling back onto the pavement. “Okay, new plan. I’ll just live here now. The curb is my home.”

Ava rolls her eyes but helps you up anyway. “Nope. We’re getting in that club. You’re gonna drink water, act normal, and stop being a liability.”

You let them half-drag, half-walk you down the street, still giggling. Maybe you won’t get into the club. Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow with no recollection of this conversation.

Somehow—somehow—you make it past the bouncers.

Lily had given you a very serious pep talk before you reached the front of the queue: “No swaying. No giggling. And for God’s sake, don’t say anything stupid.” You had nodded along, doing your absolute best to channel the energy of someone who had only had one sensible drink and definitely wasn’t clinging to Sam for balance.

Miraculously, the bouncers barely look at you before waving you inside, and suddenly, you’re in.

Lola Lo’s is everything people hyped it up to be, neon lights glow under bamboo decor, the music vibrates in your chest, and the air smells like a mix of fruity cocktails, sweat, and regret. Your flatmates disappear into the crowd, leaving you standing in the middle of the dance floor, still slightly overwhelmed.

But there’s one thing you do know, you need another drink.

Stumbling your way to the bar, you lean against the counter, blinking up at the bartender like focusing really hard will make you seem more sober. “Can I get a—” You pause. What did you want? A cocktail? A vodka and coke? You squint at the menu, as if the words will rearrange themselves into the perfect choice.

Eventually, you just blurt out, “A rum and coke, please,” and slap some cash onto the bar, feeling very responsible.

The bartender hands you your drink, and you turn around. Too fast.

Because the next thing you know, your arm collides with someone, and suddenly, your entire very full drink sloshes forward, spilling straight onto them.

“Oh shit—”

The guy flinches, looking down at his now-soaked shirt. “Oh, for fu—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply before looking up at you.

And that’s when you see him properly.

Tall, messy brown hair, sharp features softened by the kind of face that probably gets away with way too much just by smiling. But right now, he’s not smiling, he’s staring at you, stunned, as cold rum and coke drips down his front.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, hands flying to your mouth. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, no, it’s not fine!” You grab a handful of napkins from the bar and start patting at his chest, which is definitely not helping, because now you’re basically rubbing the mess into his already ruined shirt. “I didn’t mean to—oh my God, I’m such an idiot—”

He lets out a breathy laugh, finally grabbing your wrist gently to stop your attempts at fixing the situation. “Hey—hey, it’s fine. Seriously.”

You look up at him, wide-eyed, and suddenly, your brain catches up with what’s happening. You just spilled an entire drink on a very attractive guy and are now borderline manhandling him in a drunken panic.

This is not how the night was supposed to go.

“I’ll buy you a new drink,” you blurt out.

He smirks. “What, for me or for you?”

You open your mouth, then shut it. That was a fair question.

Before you can respond, Lily appears out of nowhere, looking between the two of you with sharp amusement. “What the hell did I miss?”

The guy chuckles, shaking his head. “Your friend just redecorated my shirt.”

Lily glances at you, then at the napkins still clutched in your hand. Then she grins. “Oh, this is fantastic.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Kill me now.”

But when you peek up, the guy is still looking at you, not annoyed, not pissed off, but amused. Like this is the most entertaining thing that’s happened to him all night.

“I’m George” he says, still smiling.

George. You’ll keep that in mind.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁౨ৎ. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

author notes:

hello everyone !! sorry i’ve been gone for so long !! i’ve been very busy with uni life and have kind of abandoned this account !! but i’m back and i’ve decided to bring my uni life into this new slow burn i have !!

I KNOW THAT GEORGE DIDNT GO TO BRISTOL BUT I DIDNT KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT HIS UNI TO WRITE ABOUT THAT ONE !!

much love x

[hearttoofull]

hushed promises with no hints of falsity.

˚ʚ🧁wanderer x reader

˚ʚ synopsis wanderer notices you’ve been acting a bit weird, to put it lightly, and decides to take matters into his own hands.

˚ʚ warning centered around bulimia / eating disorders, pls read at ur own discretion!

An untouched bento box sits in your lap, if you don’t count the few curious nibbles. (In your defense, it was impeccably packed.) Across the table you’re situated at sits Wanderer, who you think you have a good relationship with, despite the abundance of hurdles you’ve had to overcome along the way. Instead of joining you to eat, he opts for green tea in a delicate little cup with dainty pink flowers. You got it for him as a joke for his birthday last year, not actually expecting him to seriously use it.

Minutes continue to go by and you haven’t said a word besides a few mumbles when he asked you a question if the meal was to your liking, considering he’d made it himself.

“Why aren’t you eating on the table? If you drop anything you’ll make a mess, y’know” he muses while idly stirring his tea, keeping his head propped up with his palm. His words make you flit your gaze away from the bento and into his eyes.

Eat on the table? Seriously? And make it even more obvious that the thought had crossed my mind despite the promises I’d made to myself to not do so? Yeah right… is what you want to say, but you find the words itching at your throat, begging to be released. “I dunno, I just…”, the sentence dying at the tip of your tongue, “don’t feel like it”, sounding more like a question instead of a statement.

Wanderer stands up abruptly, the sound of the chair scooting against karmaphala floors louder than usual, given the uncharacteristic quietness of the room. He walks up behind you to gently grip your shoulders, his thumbs beginning to casually rub circles as if he were giving you a massage. “Have you been eating well these days?”, he murmurs while his fingers ghost over your thinning collarbones.

What? “Duh…”, your tone sounding off as you attempted to recollect yourself from his previous words. If any other person had asked you that, there’s no doubt you would’ve stood up right then and there, maybe launching that stupid bento at them in their stupid face.

He pauses his movements on your tense shoulders. “Liar.”

It was meant to sound more like a playful remark, but it comes off as cold as the food in your lap.

What? Is happening.

You turn back in your chair to stare at him with utter disbelief evident in your eyes and a face reddening with embarrassment. At this point, with the rate at how warm your face is getting, you don’t even try to defend yourself. It’s clear that he sees right through you. “You seriously think I wouldn’t notice your little habits?”, his words carrying a softer edge than to what you were used to, making you feel a bit queasy in your seat.

Wanderer walks back over to his previous spot in short strides to bring a chair next to you, not daring to break his eye contact with you in the process.

“I’ve… noticed that you…”, he begins slowly, “don’t like to eat the food I make for you sometimes.” You can tell his words have been carefully cherry-picked in fear that he’ll screw up and hurt you. “You can tell me anything. Anything that happens between us stays between us, remember?”

“I don’t… I-“ Oh god.

You’re terrified of the sudden confrontation. Any time you’d get into petty arguments with each other, you never wanted to admit you were in the wrong. The next day, you’d both act like nothing happened. But how could you just ignore things like that? It’ll remain in your head for the rest of the day, the guilt gnawing at you and leaving you with occasional pains in your chest when you’d think about it too much.

“Come here.” Pulling you from your reverie, he gently embraces you by your waist. It was so sudden, you could’ve sworn the action was a bit needy, with the way he keeps his hands grounded against your back and allows you to bury your head into the crook of his neck. In public settings when your thoughts got to you too much, you’d excuse yourself to the restroom with the sole purpose of crying it out or attempting to purge in the toilets, most of the time it was both. It’s honestly surreal to finally come to the point of realization that there’s no need in hiding it anymore, like it’s a huge secret or something.

“I don’t— know what to do with— myself anymore”, your words are interrupted by violent hiccups akin to a child’s sobs and sniffles, hands covering the pathetic state of your face.

He wishes he can do more to help you, truly, but in all honesty, his knowledge on specific human behaviors are minimal. Sure he knew the gist of your situation, but every time he thought of a possible solution, there was a feeling of doubt lingering in the depths of his mind. He doesn’t want to worsen your condition. He doesn’t want to hurt you. So for now, all he can do is provide you with open arms and whispered words of reassurance against your hair.

“Look at me” he commands gently, urging you to take your hands off and away from your face. It takes a few tries to do so. Once you do, albeit reluctant, he takes your face in his hands to cup your cheeks warmed by tears and embarrassment. “Listen. If you don’t want to tell me anything, that’s okay,” his gaze softer than what you’ve ever seen. “I want you to know that I’ve got you, okay?” You nod hesitantly in understandance, waiting to hear those words from literally anyone.

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

After calming down and tucking your pent-up emotions back into the recesses of your heart, all you want is to take a nap, or sleep forever perhaps. Not die, just peacefully rest for eternity. Speaking of, you went to sleep almost immediately after your little breakdown. Or maybe you passed out from an overdose of sadness. The memories following the climax of that afternoon are foggy with gaps. Or maybe you just choose to ignore them. All you can remember with clarity is falling asleep while Wanderer continued to whisper hushed phrases into the shells of your ears, tucking you in a little, maybe, too. You wouldn’t dare to forget that.

˚ʚ a/n hi tumblr… i think i spent like triple the amount of time designing the layout for this compared to the amount of time i took to write this. this feels pretty rushed but hey i think i did good for my first fic,,, i really wanna learn how to convey my feelings so i didn’t quite elaborate here as much as i as want to. the ending was meant to feel like reader is writing in a diary sort of? i hope that anyone who relates to this finds solace in it ♡ anyway peace out i have to do my homework now

[kupidachillea]

Hello, I really like your yandere Olympians with a reader. You can make a yandere Poseidon with a reader separately, if it’s not difficult for you, of course Sorry if there are mistakes here, I’m just making mistakes with the translator😅 I just recently found out about Tumbl and you are the first one I write to and ask for something.

Poseidon x Reader (Hcs or imagines)

Author note: Eeeee Poseidon requests! I actually had some fun with this. Also thank you for requesting.

TW (Trigger Warning): Mentions of kidnapping, light stalking, mainly fluff.

CW (Content warning): I had this imagine set in the modern day because I wanted to explore more of how the gods would handle modern day lovers. Again- this isn’t accurate to the actual lore but some pieces are taken from it and inspired some of the things I put in here.

🌊- You had just moved to the seaside, wanting to get away from the busy city and just relax for a while.

🔱- You had found a nice home to purchase by the beach and took full advantage of it, collecting shells and sea glass, playing in the water and just sitting and enjoying the Greek sun.

🌊- Though, at times you can’t help but feel watched, however you can never tell where it’s coming from. At first you thought you were being paranoid since there were some people that occasionally came to the beach too but over time, the longer you lived by the water you felt eyes on you.

🔱- Turns out you weren’t being paranoid. A certain sea god was watching you, ever since you moved in. You had caught his eye..

🌊- He just couldn’t take his eyes off of you, it’s been quite some time since he’s had a mortal lover..it’s been a bit difficult as times have changed. You can’t simply kidnap someone without it being noticed.

🔱- “How bothersome..” He would think to himself. He was seriously considering snatching you up every time you came to the beach, after all- who wouldn’t want to spend the night with the god of the sea? So he thought you wouldn’t mind…

🌊- However, something held him back. He wanted to do things differently, believe it or not. He looked back on his memories and most times he acted rashly he ended up almost always chasing his ‘lovers’…he didn’t want to repeat history..maybe he should try human courtship for once.

🔱- And so- with that thought in mind he assumed a human form and decided to meet you on the beach.

🌊- Today was one such day, you were relaxing as usual, sorting out some shells before you felt the presence of another being looming over you. You looked up and your brows rose as you caught glimpse of the handsome man before you.

🔱- A smile tugged on Poseidon’s lips..he could already tell that his human form impressed you, however he can sense your suspicion. He pushed back a few strands of his long dark hair and greeted you.

🌊- Introducing himself by a different name to hid his identity and you answered back, greeting him and telling him about yourself.

🔱- At first you had a weird feeling about this strange man but you ended up brushing it off. Mentally telling yourself that you were just being paranoid.

🌊- Eventually you warm up to the stranger as days go by. You both kept meeting at the beach and somehow he always knew when you were there. You decided to jokingly bring that up in your next conversation with him.

🔱- “Hey, you know it’s kinda odd, right? How you know exactly when and where I’m going to be on the beach.” You chuckled softly as sat on the sand next to the dark haired man. Poseidon in human disguise hummed in acknowledgment.

🌊- “Oh is it?” He would ask in response. If only you knew that he was somewhat stalking you..waiting and watching for when you’d be out here. He was honestly getting very antsy waiting so long to have you but he somehow managed to mentally will himself to be more patient.

🔱- You nodded before continuing. “Yeah..you wouldn’t happen to be stalking me, would you?” You would laugh. Clearly joking about the entire thing though Poseidon just cocked a brow at you and smirked which in turn made your smile drop and your brows furrow.

🌊- “Wait..I was joking..I’m not serious..” You said quickly, hoping he’d take the hint and admit to not stalking you but of course that’s not how things went.

🔱- “I know you were joking, dear…but I have to be honest..I have been ‘stalking’ you..only a little.” Poseidon admitted and you pressed your lips into a thin line. Should you excuse yourself and leave? Or just stay put..you don’t know why but you felt oddly compelled to stay seated for a moment longer and hear him out. “Why..?”

🌊- “Why?” Poseidon replied back, his brows raising curiously before he smiled. “Why not? You interest me, little mortal. After you appeared on my beach I just had to have a closer look.” After he said that you felt your confusion only grow. ‘Little mortal’?… ‘His beach’?. Something wasn’t adding up.

🔱- “Wait- who are you…?” You finally spoke and it was as if you were seeing who he truly was for the first time. Because you were. You watched as his smirk formed into a grin and his appearance shifted. Causing you to backpedal away on instinct.

🌊- Now with his human form dropped he could finally be at ease. Poseidon let out a deep sigh. “Oh how I was waiting for this moment, for me to reveal my true self to you..I am Poseidon..god of the sea.” He would utter, his gaze falling back to you as he knelt down and took your hand. “Come now..don’t be afraid of me, dear one…” he cooed.

🔱- You weren’t sure what was happening anymore. You would’ve laughed at him and assumed he was joking if it weren’t for the fact he was kneeling in front of you after a short transformation. You took a deep breath before answering.

🌊- “Okay..um..Poseidon..what do you want with me?” You would ask as his thumb gently glided over your knuckles. A soothing gesture on his part, probably trying to get you to relax. The lord of the sea smiled softly.

🔱- “What I want with you? Isn’t it obvious? I want you to be my partner..my lover.” He would say, his voice as calm and as comforting as the soft sounds of the sea.

🌊- You looked at him in slight surprise and disbelief. Lover? You weren’t too sure how to take this. On one hand it was sweet and you were curious to see where this relationship would go- but on the other hand you were still skeptical of the god. Poseidon noticed your hesitancy and smiled a little as he moved his hands to caress your cheek. “We can go slow if you want…I’ve been patient and waited this long..so I think I can handle it if we take things one step at a time..” The sea god uttered with a slight sigh.

🔱-You relaxed at his words and nodded a bit. You supposed you could give this relationship a shot. Who knows, maybe having a deity as a boyfriend won’t be so bad. “I-…Okay..I accept your offer Poseidon.”

🌊- He would grin as the words left your mouth. This was perfect- exactly what he wanted. He was about to speak but you cut him off. “But! But- we go slow, like you promised. No rushing into anything serious at the moment…please?” You would spoke softly, your browns furrowed as you waited to hear the sea god’s response.

🔱- Poseidon would chuckle and nod. “Of course, my dear..We go slow.” He answered before placing a small kiss on the back of your hand. Finally he had you’re in his grasp, it was just a matter of time before he’d have you completely falling for him..and he intended to make that happen. You were his darling mortal after all..

Author note: Oof- this took way too long for me to do. I apologise for that. A lot of things were happening in November and I’m still sick lol. But on another note- I might do a part 2 to this if someone asks but all in all thank you for the request, Anon. I’m still working to finish the others too.

[meanbossart]

Are you ever worried about being such a popular artist in the bg3 fandom? Is it ever intimidating knowing how many people are aware of your online presence? Sorry for the weird question lol I’m just curious what your experience has been like being such a prominent artist in such a big community! 😮‍💨

I am either dumb or delusional, but I still feel like extremely small-potatoes when compared to what others consider to be "popular artists" 😅. Not that the attention hasn't been overwhelming - I had to work through the guilt of not being able to respond to every message anymore, for one - but the anxiety I did experience (which I obviously did not broadcast at the time it was happening) was also exacerbated by me quitting smoking at the same time. Now that the worst of my withdrawal symptoms have passed I feel much better equipped to process this (and regardless of how I compare to others, it is definitely something that requires processing! The human brain wasn't built for social media, lol.)

Occasionally something will happen that will make me pause and reflect on the type of reach that I have, and of course there is no overstating how impactful patreon has been on my life and ability to create art, but the way I interact online has kind of remained the same otherwise. And yes, I worry about being on the internet, but my worries are the same now as they were 3, 4, 5 years ago.

Of course, it's worth mentioning that I enjoy the benefits of two things: a) having had some internet presence as an artist prior to this, hence experience with a smaller-scale version of what things are like now and b) being an inherently private person who treats everything online with a degree of distance and a lot of suspicion!

[cece693]

Olá, você está aberto a pedidos? Se sim, posso solicitar uma história de Ethan Landry (Scream VI) com um leitor masculino.

Poderia ter algo com Ethan Landry obcecado pelo leitor tipo Joe de you aí o leitor descobre e o Ethan sequestra ele igual o Joe faz com back

You Belong To Me (Ethan Landry x M! Reader)

Thanks for the request. As I've stated before, I haven't watched any of the new Scream movies, so some of the information might not be accurate. I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Ethan is obsessed with you. So when you manage to discover he's the masked killer, Ethan sees no other choice than to kidnap you.

You didn't consider Ethan Landry a friend. More like an acquaintance. He wasn’t the kind of guy to stand out in a crowd—shy, awkward, the kind of person who stayed at the edge of conversations, almost too easy to overlook. You’d barely exchanged a word with him beyond the occasional nod in class. To you, he was just another face in the sea of college students.

But to Ethan, you were everything.

It started as a creeping suspicion that something wasn’t right. The killings had started months ago—violent, gruesome, and seemingly random. Students whispered about the Ghostface killer, the terror gripping the campus. Some people thought the attacks were personal, while others believed it was all just chaos without purpose.

You didn’t give it much thought at first. That was until weird things started happening around you. Little things, things that felt off. Your stuff went missing—a hoodie here, a notebook there. You’d see someone out of the corner of your eye, just a shadow, but every time you turned around, no one was there. You’d get the feeling that someone was watching, even when you were alone.

And then you found the messages.

A dozen missed calls from an unknown number, voicemails that were just the sound of breathing. Texts that said strange things: “You’re so handsome when you think no one’s watching.” Another: “They don’t deserve you, but I do.” It made your skin crawl. You thought it was some kind of prank—until the bodies started piling up.

People you knew. A guy from your dorm. A girl you’d once gone on a date with. And it hit you—every person who’d been killed had some connection to you. Not close connections, but they were enough to put you on edge. Someone was targeting people around you. Someone was getting closer.

You started paying attention to the people in your life, trying to figure out who could be behind it. That’s when you noticed Ethan—awkward, clumsy Ethan—showing up a little too often. Sitting just a little too close in class. Staring just a little too long from across the cafeteria.

One night, unable to shake the gnawing feeling in your gut, you decided to follow him.

You never expected it to be so easy. Ethan had no idea you were tailing him, walking a few steps behind as he slipped into the old theater building. You ducked behind pillars and crept through hallways, your heart racing. Why would Ethan be here this late?

Then you saw him. Ethan, standing in the center of the empty backstage area, staring down at the iconic white mask in his hands—Ghostface. Your stomach dropped.

Ethan exhaled slowly, like holding the mask was some kind of religious experience. His fingers traced the edges reverently, like it was a piece of art he adored. “It was you…” you whispered, your voice barely audible. But it was loud enough.

Ethan’s head snapped toward you, his eyes widening in shock. For a moment, the mask slipped from his fingers, clattering to the floor. “Y/N…” he whispered your name like a prayer. His surprise melted into something far more dangerous—excitement. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

You turned to run, but you didn’t get far. Ethan was fast—faster than you ever thought possible. He tackled you from behind, his arms wrapping around you in a vice grip. You hit the ground hard, the air forced from your lungs. “Shhh,” Ethan whispered in your ear, pressing you down. "Don't fight. You don’t understand. This is a good thing. It’s what’s meant to be.”

You struggled, clawing at the floor, but Ethan was relentless. He pressed something cold and sharp against your throat—a knife.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Y/N.” he whispered, his breath hot on your neck. “I don’t want to hurt you. I love you.” Those words froze you in place, every muscle in your body locking up. This wasn’t love. This was madness. Feeling blood trailing down the left side of your face, you felt Ethan's hand going to your head before darkness consumed you.

When you woke, your wrists were bound with rope, and the rough bite of duct tape was pressed over your mouth. The dim light above buzzed faintly, casting shadows across the basement. It reeked of dust, old wood, and something metallic—blood.

Ethan sat across from you on an old couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he was waiting for you to wake up. When your eyes met his, his face split into a smile—a wide, boyish grin, as if the two of you were old friends and stood up. “You’re awake!” he said brightly. “I was getting worried. You hit your head pretty hard.”

You tried to scream against the tape, thrashing against the ropes. “You're scared,” he said, almost as if he were hurt by it. He crouched down beside you, his eyes searching your face. “But you don’t have to be. I’d never hurt you, Y/N.” He reached out to touch your cheek, and you flinched, your skin recoiling from the feel of his hand. “Everything I’ve done…I did for us,” he whispered, his voice carrying a note of desperation. “Can’t you see that?”

You glared at him, fury rising despite the terror that coursed through you. The tape over your mouth prevented you from speaking, but your eyes screamed the truth—This isn’t love.

He seemed to sense your defiance because the calm in his expression cracked, and for a moment, you saw the darkness beneath the mask of his boyish charm. “You don’t believe me,” he said, almost accusingly, his eyes narrowing as if you were the one who had wronged him.

“You don’t understand,” Ethan hissed, beginning to pace. “Nobody understands.” His voice grew sharper, each word edged with frustration. “You’ve been surrounded by people who don’t even see you—people who don’t deserve you.” He stopped and smiled at you. “But I do. I see you, Y/N. I know who you really are.”

You shook your head, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill. You had to get through to him—had to find a way to reason with him, no matter how deranged he was. You made a muffled sound behind the tape, pleading with your eyes for him to remove it.

Ethan hesitated, his gaze flickering over your face. He approached cautiously, like someone might approach a wounded animal. “You’re not going to scream, are you?” he asked, tilting his head. When you didn’t move, he reached for the tape and slowly peeled it off, the adhesive burning as it pulled away from your skin.

You drew in a shuddering breath. “This isn’t love, Ethan,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It’s obsession.”

He flinched as if you had struck him. “No…” His voice wavered, but the intensity in his eyes remained. “It’s not an obsession. I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you. You were different.” He spoke as though he was trying to convince himself as much as you. “I had to protect you. I had to make sure no one got in the way.”

“And what about all those people you killed?” you asked, your voice rising with desperation. “Were they just in the way?”

His expression hardened, his jaw clenching. “They weren’t important.” His tone was cold now, detached, as though he were speaking about objects instead of people. “Not like you.” He moved closer, his hand gripping your shoulder with an alarming intensity. “You’re special, Y/N. Don’t you see?”

“No, Ethan!” you snapped, your voice shaking. “I’m not special, and this isn’t some romantic story. You’re sick. You need help.”

The words seemed to hit him like a physical blow. His grip on your shoulder tightened painfully before he yanked his hand away, his face twisting with a mix of anger and hurt.

Ethan's eyes darted toward the clock, and his frown deepened, as if he was weighing his options or calculating something in his head. His gaze shifted back to you, and for a moment, there was an almost regretful look in his eyes—like he wished things could be different, as if he genuinely believed this was all for the best.

“Maybe you don’t understand now,” he said quietly, his voice softening into something that almost sounded like pity. “But you will…you’ll see.” He took a step closer, his hand reaching up to brush your hair out of your face. “I have some things I need to take care of,” he continued, his tone unsettlingly calm. “But I promise, I’ll be back soon.”

Before you could say another word, he grabbed the roll of duct tape from the table and ripped off a piece, pressing it back over your mouth, smoothing it down with the same gentle care as if he were tucking you in for bed. His gaze lingered on yours, dark eyes gleaming with devotion. Then, without warning, he tilted his head and leaned in—his lips brushing against the tape covering your mouth in a lingering kiss. It was soft and disturbingly intimate, like a lover’s farewell.

“There,” he whispered against the tape, his lips still inches from yours. “Perfect.” He pulled back slowly, savoring the moment as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I’ll be back soon, Y/N," Ethan promised, a twisted kind of love in his voice. "I’ll make sure no one comes between us ever again."

[lets-try-some-writing]

A fun concept,what if certain autobots/decepticons could open their faces like the animatronics in FNAF,I can see smokescreen pulling a foxy on The decepticons

Oooh I am here for this.

Transformation seams are present in every Cybertronian. Most of the time, their numbers and locations are limited, both depending on frame type and alt-mode. But occasionally, there are those who break the mold and have an excess. It's not necessarily a bad thing, often being compared to human hyperflexability when explained to the kids. But the excess seams do tend to have a few unintended side effects, such as the ability to move plating that would otherwise be stuck around the frame like a sticker to be peeled off and reapplied.

There are generally three different cases of excess seams coming into play outside of flexibility, usually in cosmetic fashions. First would be the ability to remove plating and get new armor entirely without pain. Around 5% of Cybertronians end up with this condition in some way or form and it is generally considered helpful since it allows for deeper cleaning of the protoform and temporary cosmetic changes without need for pain. The second case would be feral augmentation syndrome. Bots such as Orion Pax, those who grew up around animals or connected deeply with them and possessed the CNA for excess seams, have this condition. All it does it make their limbs more animalistic. Their jaws can open wider due to their facial protoform being highly segmented to allow for further stretch. Additionally, they are able to run on all fours perfectly comfortably due to being able to shift their plating around.

The last case, however, is the most terrifying. It is generally called proto-masking syndrome, and is only found in a starting 1% of those who come out with excess seams. Severity varies, the most minor cases leaving bots with the ability to contort their faces and mess with the metal. Severe cases allow bots to remove or transform their faces away without pain or issue. This is the one most find frightening.

Smokescreen happens to fall within this severe category of those afflicted with proto-masking syndrome. He doesn't know that he is weird and assumes almost everyone can do what he does, but simply fails to act out in large part due to politeness. As such, he doesn't transform his face away often, if at all. But when agitated, or trying to prove a point, he does instinctually transform his facial plating, and the very first time he did it for a Decepticon, horror stories formed instantly.

The bots have said exactly nothing about it to Smokescreen since it's not an issue and generally, it isn't nearly as unsettling as some of the things they've seen. But the Vehicons? They regard Smokescreen as the spark eater. The Autobots pet hunter. They try to keep clear of him as much as possible, especially when he transforms his face away. When that happens, they all assume he's going to eat them and bolt for safety.

Smokescreen is of the belief that he's just that good of a warrior. No one has seen fit to correct him yet. The kids haven't witnessed it yet and so have made no commentary. Bulkhead dreads the day they eventually see Smokey without his face. That will be a LONG conversation.