#and so he goes back to the drawing board and is like i’ve done this before nbd

[g4ll0wd4nc3r]

made a joke character to romance astarion and i fell deeply in love with them

[sillystarwrites]

Artist’s Muse | MW Daisuke x Reader

A/N: first one shot gang, wish me luck because I am scared.

Summary: Daisuke hasn’t been heard from all day. Worried, reader goes to his quarters and finds out what he’s really up to.

Type: Anya’s intern reader, gender neutral, Fluff/platonic, idk man just read it blehhh

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It was quiet. Too quiet. Something was up. Ever since you woke up, and gotten to work in the medbay, something was missing.

Daisuke.

He always poked his head in the room at some point, cracking a joke or giving you and Anya some doodles from his work with Swansea, which you both put up on the board. (Yimpy was your favorite, by the way!) You’d been working for hours, organizing and helping Anya, occasionally going around the ship to help Swansea, since the engineer’s intern was holed up in his quarters. 

As of right now, you were just in Utility, taking a break from your intern duties with Anya.

“So…have you heard from Daisuke at all? I haven’t seen him all day.” You started conversation awkwardly, figuring Swansea might know.

“Nope, haven’t seen the kid either. I tried yanking him from his room, but he was working on something. Didn’t even let me in.” Swansea groused, grabbing a wrench from his toolbox as he tightened the bolts on the cryopods, “Can’t help but admit I am a bit worried, the kid doesn’t pull stunts like this often, or at all to be honest.”

“I mean, I could check on him. I’m technically his best friend, right?” you suggested.

“Y’know…I suppose that could work. My next bet was waiting it out, but I’ll send ya down there. Thanks, kid” he spoke, the gratefulness evident.

“Anytime, Mr. Swansea!” you grinned, your feet swiftly carrying you from the utility room, down the metal halls and to the crew’s quarters. You approached his door, “Daisuke” written in dark pink lettering, with doodles of hibiscus flowers around his name. You raised your hand, your fist rapping against the door softly.

“Daisuke, are you in there? Can I come in?” you asked carefully, worried. Something was wrong. It had to be.

“Don’t- don’t come in! I’m busy.” he responded meekly, a hint of nervousness in his voice, “Besides uh- I’m- whatever, just go away.”

“I’m not gonna go away until you either let me in or tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying Swansea and I, as well as everyone else, I’m sure.” you insisted, the concern eating you alive, “You know these doors don’t lock, the only thing stopping me from coming in is the fact you’re responding.”

“Come on, (y/n), it’s really better if you just go, I’ll be done in a bit!” he fought back.

“Daisuke, please, you’re scaring me. I haven’t heard from you all day. I can tell something’s up.” you could hear shuffling from in the room, pens and pencils clicking against the wood of his desk. Your hand gripped the metal knob, turning it slowly.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Daisuke ran up to the door, closing it before you could open it as papers rustled.

It was a few moments before it flung open, the wind slightly pushing your hair back as you were greeted with him brightly smiling self. Before you could even speak, Daisuke spoke over you.

“Here! I’ve been working like, all day on this, so I hope you like it!” He smiled, handing you the paper.

You looked down and…it was a drawing of you. You knew he was good at art but…this was on a different level.

“This is so good!” You gushed, careful not to crumple the paper with excitement, “Swansea’s gonna be absolutely pissed but y’know, it seems worth it, right?” you chuckled, hugging him, still tenderly handling the masterpiece.

“Oh wow, I didn’t expect you to get this excited, but thanks, (y/n). Thanks a lot.” he hugged back, relishing the feeling of you in his arms. 

“Still, you should probably go to Swansea before he chews you out for 12 hours.” you pulled back, smiling still, a fuzzy feeling on your cheeks, “I’ll put this in my room immediately, though, it means a lot!”

“Fine, fine, see ya (y/n)!” He waved, jogging off to Utility. May he rest in peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: sorry if this was short, I don’t write one shots that often, but lemme cook!1!1!1!1!1! 😋

[jewish-vents]

i’m a teacher and i had a kid draw a swastika in my classroom on like. the second day of school. so one of our admin came in to two of my classes the next day to talk about it. and she started by telling this story about how she had a hijabi student. and a boy in the class was “really curious about what her hair looked like.” and had the students guess what happened next (pulled the hijab off, gross and awful) and how that might have made the hijabi student feel. at this point i’m sitting at my desk like “it’s been five minutes are we going to talk about the swastika” and then she finally goes “yesterday someone drew a symbol that represents division. and hate. and those aren’t things we stand for” and a kid (of course) was like what was it? and this fucking woman turns to me and goes “are you comfortable sharing what it was?”

?????? i thought that’s why you were here?? i thought you were here to explain why swastikas are not okay, and we are seven minutes into your little presentation and you haven’t said the word swastika or even jewish. so i said it was a swastika and several of the kids didn’t know what that was. which was disturbing on its own as i teach middle school but i digress. i said no way in hell am i drawing one so my admin looks at me and is like “could you google a picture?”

can’t believe i did this but i didn’t know what else to do in the moment so i pulled up a google image search of swastikas and projected it on the board. at no point did the admin say “hey you can take that down now” it just sat up there until i got uncomfortable and sick to my stomach enough to close it myself. and then she came back the next period and did the WHOLE song and dance again (no jewish, no antisemitism, not even the word NAZI which is insane to me) and STILL told the opening story about the hijabi girl even with two hijabi girls sitting in the class this time who were clearly uncomfortable.

this was like three weeks ago and it’s been quietly bothering me for a while and i finally told my (nonjewish) work friends about it and they were all like “holy shit that’s so fucked that she asked you to do that” and i told my (jewish) partner and he went “she couldn’t have picked up a fucking marker??” and that was when it really hit me.

maybe she didn’t want to be in a situation where she drew a swastika on a jewish teachers whiteboard. ok. but she apparently didn’t consider the WORSE implications of asking that same jewish teacher to google an image of a swastika and project a google image search of a page FULL of swastikas on her board.

AND she never once checked in with me after that. she left the class without talking to me again and hasn’t said a word about it since. i remember i even asked her “do you want me to leave the room” beforehand because im thinking i don’t want to have to look at swastikas but she asked me to stay because “the impact is real and they need to see it” which. uh. i’ve been pushing this experience down for weeks bc at the end of the day it “wasn’t that bad” but like. holy shit. she really wanted to put my trauma on display for the students instead of just asking me to leave and explaining what a swastika is/showing them one. and it took her nearly ten minutes to get to the actual swastika!! i’m just. so done

.

[feyreswaterybowels]

⟡ Princess of Dreams ⟡

# 2 Lucien x Rhys!Sister

⟡ Part 1 ⟡ Part 2 ⟡ Part 3 ⟡

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Following the events of the Solstice ceremony.

Warnings/Tags: smut. implied past sexual assault. fluffy romance. feyre and Rhys’ sister being besties and wanting to destroy tamlin. possible grammatical errors.

Authors Note: All likes comments and reblogs are appreciated, welcome and encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for part 3! Bold italics are mental communication, regular italics are inner thoughts. (Mood Board)

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆ ݁⟡ ݁✩ ݁⟡ ݁⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☽ ݁⟡ ݁⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☽ ݁⟡ ݁⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☽ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

It’s hours later when the intensely bright sun had finally sunk back below the western horizon, giving me back my beautiful night sky.

There had been more countless hours of…well of not much really but it was still exhausting to be standing around all day surrounded by thousands of flowers and brightly colored streamers, watching Feyre and Tamlin greet and speak to everyone while Ianthe followed around trying to explain what happened.

The cauldron had blessed her chosen friend, she told anyone who would listen—how the sun had altered its very path to show how glad it was for her return. I would silently mock her every time she repeated those words.

There hadn’t been many interested in her tale, and the ones that were showed mild interest at best.

Feyre had stuck close to us for a majority of the time. I didn’t mind. I felt extremely protective over her. Not only as my High Lady but as my friend. I may not have access to my physical powers but I could still enter a mind in half a second and destroy someone if they dared harm her.

I’d enjoyed watching this new Feyre. How confident and sure she’d become. When the adoring fae wished to touch her hand, weep a bit over her, thank her for all she’d done she would have cringed away before. Now she openly accepted their thanks and gratitude. Thanking them and smiling as any High Lord would. Mostly genuine. Though for some, like courtiers and sentries, she put on a better show.

After six hours many retreat to freshen up.

“Tell my brother I love him.” I tell Feyre when she hugs me as she leaves. She promises to tell him for me.

Lucien and I stay, watching as lunch is cleared away and the band sets up. I would give anything to be spending this day with my family, but I was always grateful to have my mate at my side.

So when the band finally started playing and the fae around us took to the dance floor I dragged Lucien up. He hadn’t put up much of a fight—we loved dancing.

And dance we did for hours. I had even stolen Feyre away from Tamlin a few times much to his annoyance and my satisfaction.

We laughed together, spinning around the dance floor. It reminded me of myself and Mor—how we would get drunk on wine at Rita’s and dance the night away. I couldn’t wait to have nights like that with Feyre, too.

I spun her back into Tamlins arms as Lucien stole me away this time, practically begging me to come with him to eat and I realized why when I noticed Ianthe prowling around the tables.

Even she couldn’t put a damper on my mood right now. We fixed our plates and seated ourselves. More wine in our glasses as we sat tucked off away from the largest parts of the crowd—talking in hushed voices and feeding one another as if we hadn’t been mated for nearly two decades now.

Eventually I had shifted from my seat to stand behind Lucien, playing with his hair while we watched those on the dance floor become increasingly more drunk. I started braiding his hair, a taunt braid along either side of his head, curling behind his pointed ears.

“Your hair is getting so long,” I tell him, those auburn locks well past his shoulders now.

“I know,” He says, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been thinking of cutting it—”

I gasp, drawing his attention up to me. “You better not!”

The laugh that leaves his mouth goes straight to my core. He reaches up and pulls me to bend over him so he can kiss me.

“Is that an order, Princess?” He asks against my lips and I grin.

“More like I’ll kick your ass if you do it,” I tease, kissing him again.

As I’m pulling away to go back to braiding his hair I feel eyes on us. Violet meeting teal and I bare my teeth in a wicked smile. I slide my fingers through his hair, gently pulling to tilt his head back, keeping eye contact with her as I lean down to kiss him again… stroking my tongue over his. He gasps in my mouth, reaching up to caress my head with a strong hand.

Anger lights in those eyes across the way and I grin as Lucien’s lips move to my throat, my free hand sliding around and down his chest—slipping under his shirt to feel heated skin.

I moan as he sucks on my skin, digging my nails into his chest and tightening my hand in his hair.

“Fuck,” Lucien growls, standing quickly from the chair, towering over me. “Come here.”

Then I’m being dragged away. I look over my shoulder smirking at Ianthe who is red in the face looking like she’s about to have a tantrum. She takes a step forward as if about to follow Lucien and I only to be stopped by Feyre, though I couldn’t hear what was being said before we disappeared into the thick woods.

“You’re nothing but trouble,” Lucien taunts, pushing me against a tree and attacking my mouth.

“You love it,” I gasp against his lips, reaching between us to work his pants open, ignoring the way the tree bark digs into my wings.

“Turn around,” he orders, but before I can move he’s got me spun around and pressed against the tree. “Hands.” Is his next order.

I present my wrists to him behind my back and his large hand wraps around them, pinning them to my lower back.

“I’m gonna fuck you right here, Princess,” Lucien says, the sound of his buckle coming undone making me shiver. “I want you to be loud enough that she hears you.”

I moan at that. Knowing exactly who he’s talking about without saying her name. Though it’s unlikely she’ll actually hear me from this distance over the music but the thought that she might? And probably had many times is something I love. She wants him so bad—not that I blame her. But to remind her he was mine over and over, that she would never get to have him made me feral.

I’m pulled from those thoughts when the skirt of my dress is being lifted, that hand of fire trailing between my thighs, rubbing at my wetness before ripping the stocking and panties I wore beneath.

“Tell me, sweet girl, are you turned on because of me? Or because you know she knows exactly what we’re doing out here?” Lucien asks, fingers sliding through my wetness, rubbing in that perfect spot until I was weak in the knees. Only held up by his weight pushing me against the tree.

“I asked a question,” He grunts, pulling that heat away from my center.

“Both,” I gasp out in a moan, needing his hand back. “Fuck, both.”

“That’s a good girl,” He praises, hand sliding back between my thighs, rubbing at me, two fingers sliding inside.

“Oh, fuck, Lu,” I moaned. His fingers weren’t as thick or long as his cock but they felt so good filling me up, curling perfectly to find that spot that had me seeing stars.

“I’m gonna make you cum on my fingers first,” He leaned over me to breathe in my ear, careful of my wings, fingers pumping faster, “then on my cock. Then I’m gonna take you back to that party filled up. We’re going to tell everyone goodbye then I’m gonna take you home, tie you to the bed and have my godsdamn way with you.”

“Yes, please!” I cry out, clenching around his fingers, cumming entirely too easy just from the way he rubs that spot inside of me, just from the way his voice rasped against my ear.

His fingers slide from me but before I can protest I feel him press against me, pushing in, in, in until he’s fully sheathed inside of me. He pressed a kiss to the back of my neck, the back of my shoulders between my wings. I wished he had ripped the damn dress from my body so I could feel his lips against my skin.

“That could be arranged,” He purrs, reaching around to grasp my breast, not realizing I had sent that through the bond.

“Lu, please,” I begged, pushing back against him. He hisses in pleasure, nipping at my neck before straightening his spine, still holding my wrist as he pulls his hips back, thrusting all the way back in. “Yesss.”

Then he fucks me. Hard and rough.

Bent over against a tree in the middle of the forest. I let every sound imaginable fall from my lips exactly the way he ordered me to. Between the events of the day, the flirting, the unwanted looks from another and the wine I was falling over the edge easily for the second time.

He slows his thrusts, giving me only a moment to catch my breath before he’s pulling out and spinning me back around. My knees buckle and I fall to the ground directly in front of him.

“Look at my pretty girl, so fucked out she can’t even stand,” Lucien coos, grasping my chin gently to tilt my head up, sliding his thumb into my mouth. I suck on the digit, batting my eyelashes at him, watching that fire burn in his eyes.

He reaches down, grabbing me around the waist and hauls me up, lifting me easily into his arms, my dress bunching between us. My arms and legs wrap around him and I kiss him. I can’t help it.

It only takes some slight maneuvering before he’s back inside of me, my calves over his forearms as he’s thrust into me. It was always such a turn on the way he could hold me like this, so easily, as he took me.

The bond suddenly lights up with warmth and my mind goes blank as I come again.

“Fill me up. Please, cum in me, I want it.”

I can feel how close he is without him saying anything. The sounds he’s making, the feelings through the bond. I know exactly when he’s about to cum and I moan as he fills me up

“So good, that was so good, Luc.”

He moans, eyes meeting mine and I smile at him. Pushing a few strands of hair from his sweaty forehead.

He takes a few gasping breaths, holding me in his arms still, basking in the high of his orgasm. I wrap my wings around us as we stand there, providing us with some form of privacy should anyone stumble upon us.

“We should get back,” I tell him, kissing the tip of his pointed ear. Wanting nothing more than to just skip out on the goodbyes and just go back to the house.

“Just another minute,” he said breathy, one of his hands reaching to grasp my ass cheek. “Just wanna be inside of you.”

“Mm. We could just go say our goodbyes like this,” I offer, playing with the braid I put in his hair earlier. “Unfortunately that means quite a few males would see me with your cock—”

Lucien growls at that and I giggle when his eyes meet mine. “I would kill someone.”

I hum in response, kissing him.

“The thought of you killing someone simply for seeing my body shouldn’t be so sexy.”

His hearty laugh vibrates through my body—my favorite sound.

“Come on, Princess. Let’s get this over with so I can get you in my bed,” He says, slipping from my body and setting me getting on my feet, making sure I was steady before tucking himself away.

We take a few moments to collect ourselves, kissing softly between straightening the other clothes and fixing disheveled hair. Of course no one was stupid. They would scent the smell of sex on us but that didn’t mean we had to make it any more obvious.

By the time we got back the sun had been long gone from the sky, dozens of blazing fires lit the area now. I didn’t spot Ianthe anywhere but Feyre finds us within moments of us taking up a spot by the fire.

We had meant to say our goodbyes but Feyre offered me a glass of wine. Which led to another. And another. We danced with one another around the fire—Lucien taking turns spinning us around. I had no idea where Tamlin was and I honestly didn’t care.

It was when Feyre asked Lucien and I to escort her back to the manor. Being ever the gentleman he agreed. I was much more drunk than Feyre but Lucien offered an elbow to each of us, letting us hang on him as he led us back to the house.

We left Feyre at her bedroom, I giggled out a goodnight, grabbing her face and kissing her cheek. As we were turning away I tripped over my foot and giggled again.

“Luc, I’m drunk,” I said, as he grabbed my arm, wrapping it around his neck.

“Yeah, Princess, I know,” Lucien chuckled, leading me to our bedroom.

I felt so light and blissful, letting him undress me and clean me up. He pulled the pins from my hair and cleaned the makeup from my face sliding a nightgown onto my naked body.

He laid me back, pulling his comforter over my body, tucking me in tightly. “Get some sleep, sweet girl,” He smiles down at me, kissing my forehead.

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I woke up hours later to Lucien tossing and turning. Ever since the Mountain his sleep was more restless than not, dragging up traumas old and new.

My head pounded from all the wine I’d drunk but I watched his face, still peaceful despite the unease of his sleep. It was when a horrified grimace crossed his face that I took over. When I felt the bond run ice cold with fear, when I got a glimpse of that nightmare—one he’s had before, where it starts with Jesminda’s torture and right as she’s about to be executed she changes into me as Beron and Lucien’s brother’s force him to watch me be murdered.

I slip into his mind, caressing it gently, ending the dream easily before it gets to that horrid part. I crawl next to him, laying his head in my lap and carding my fingers through his hair, braiding and unbraiding pieces, scratching at his scalp gently.

Instead I show him Velaris, the life I want us to have there together, the life we always talked about.

Living in our home right on the river. Late night stroll under an endless diamond sky. A long and happy life with beautiful red headed, winged babies. All the adventures we could go on together when no longer stuck in the boundaries of the Spring Court. Having the bond declared in a ceremony, a proper wedding, going swimming in the Sidra, taking him to see Ramiel—there was so much I wanted to do with him.

We’ve had a good life together here in Spring. He had done everything to make it better for me once he realized who I was, that I was stuck here. Picnic dates by the pond, visits to farmers markets, naps under beautiful trees, drinking wine, horseback rides, festivals and gardening.

But we could have a better life. An amazing one instead of a good one and I wanted to spend it with him.

He shifts, arms wrapping around my legs, nuzzling against my thigh, pressing his lips to my tanned skin but he doesn’t wake. I lull him into a deeper sleep, thumbing away the crease between his eyebrows.

My head whips up at a sound across the hall, Feyres room. I listen carefully, hear her door open. Then there’s a gentle knock on our door. She must have had a nightmare too…maybe I should start checking in on her at night.

I gently untangle myself from Lucien’s embrace, pulling the bed sheet over his body before sliding from the bed. There’s a second knock just before I reach the door. I scanned her head to toe quick—sweaty and disheveled but not physically harmed.

“I heard you, are you okay?” I asked, stepping to the side to let her into the room, scanning the hall for any sign of trouble. There seemed to be nothing.

The room was lit mainly by the moon light and I watched her look around the room. The night gown she wore was above mid thigh but she turned around to look at me before I could question her motive.

“I had a dream about it,” she rasped thickly, “Under the Mountain. I couldn’t remember where I was.”

I nod my head in understanding. Lucien had similar dreams. I wanted to kill Amarantha all over again for what she had done. To Feyre. To Lucien. To my brother. To thousands and thousands of fae.

“What did you dream of tonight?” I asked, stepping closer to her.

“She had me spiked to the wall like Clare Beddor. And the Attor was—” She shuddered, running her hands over her face.

I walked closer to her, a frown on my face, wanting to provide her with some kind of comfort. There’s something in the house, a vibration, I feel it but before I can question it she’s thrown her arms around me. I don’t object as she buries her face against my neck, warm tears falling on my bare skin. I let out a small sigh, sliding an arm around her waist, the other caressing her head, stroking over her dark golden hair.

“I’m sorry, Feyre,” I breathed, kissing the crown of her head. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Her cries and tears eventually subside but I continued to hold her. Allowing her to take the comfort she needed from me. I pulled back slightly, caressed her face gently, wiping away the remaining tears. I looked at her, I knew she could see the concern in my eyes, but there was something else in hers, something not completely of the fear and sadness she was presenting.

“Why are you—”

“What’s going on?” Tamlin’s deep voice rumbles through the room. I turned my head slightly to look at him, he stood there face a mask of cold calm, the beginnings of claws glinting at his knuckles—looking as if he’d caught us in the middle of something naughty.

“I had a nightmare,” she explained, pulling, straightening her nightgown. I fought the urge to smile. “I-I didn’t want to wake the house.”

Tamlin knew I didn’t sleep in here most nights. Lucien either slept in my room or we slept separately, so in his eyes Feyre had to have been seeking out the comfort of Lucien after her nightmare.

He just stood there staring at us. Eyes glancing at Lucien before looking at me with narrowed eyes, a glare that I returned. His mouth tightened into a thin line and I nearly snarled at him—those claws still half drawn.

“I had a nightmare,” Feyre repeated sharply, walking forward to grip Tamlin’s arm, turning him but he looked back at me. I crossed my arms over my chest and smirked at him as she led him from the room closing the door.

“You little shit, your lucky Lucien wasn’t awake, Tamlin would’ve killed him,” I told her crawling back in bed with my mate.

“I wouldn’t let that happen. I needed to plant some kind of doubt in his mind. You seemed to do the trick though,” Feyre’s answer came five minutes later, laughter in her voice.

“You should have told me I would have kissed you right in front of him,” I teased back, sliding under the sheet, cuddling up to that warm body.

“Next time,” Is her response, a mental image of her winking and blowing me a kiss followed.

I laughed out loud.

“What’s going on?” Lucien asks, a slight frown on his face at being woken suddenly.

I grinned, kissing his chest.

“Nothing, my love. Go back to sleep,” I whispered, easily slipping into his mind to lull him back to sleep.

I grinned to myself.

“Burn it down, Feyre” I told her. “Burn it all down.”

Fuck Tamlin. And fuck the Spring Court.

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tag list: @sleepylunarwolf @stained-glass-eyes0708 @saltedcoffeescotch @cherry-cin @xmalfoyweasleyx @jesskidding3 @minaethrym @scorpioriesling @inloveallthetime @paleidiot

[lovelybarnes]

Ducks on Plaster- B. Barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader warnings: injuries, reader does not have artistic abilities, i haven’t written bucky in so long, i am so so sorry if this is awful about: request! (PF34) person a has a cast, and person b is doodling on it to cheer them up + (PK9) kissing scars, bruises, scratches, etc notes: projecting. i can indeed only draw ducks and they come out damn well

“Okay. You know I’m not a very good artist,” you say forewarningly, glancing up at him for emphasis, “so I do ask that you lower your expectations starting now.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at you, chin lifting to assess the damage, but you place your hand over your work; fat, wobbly lines peeking out from under your fingers like dark, plastically foreboding veins.

“I’m not done yet,” you protest.

“People usually warn how shaky the board is just before they tell you to walk the plank.”

You wrinkle your nose, going back to your drawing. Your lines are haloed with sharpie bleed, the tip of your marker dented with little plaster crumbs. You persevere, twirling it between your thumb and forefinger to make one wonky eye. “That’s not an expression I’ve heard before.”

“Doesn’t it get the point across, though?”

You contemplate it, trying to concentrate on ellipsing the circles. “I guess, yeah.”

“Because my analogies work.”

“Again, I guess,” you shrug. Carefully, because you’re overly focused on your loops.

“That’s what I told Sam. But he says they have to be relatable.” Bucky shakes his head and smacks his lips. “You don’t have to have searched for a needle in a haystack to know that it’s fuckin’ hard to find.”

You frown at your creation, lifting your sharpie off the plaster as if insulted and then dipping to the opposite end of the cast to draw a curvy flower with petals fat at their ends leading to a small source. The ink is fading and scratchy, but it’s objectively better than your first attempt at another edge, its start inky and confident, petals losing their roundness and symmetry until they gave away to a lousy lump trailing off.

Renewed, you finish your first masterpiece.

“That one looks good,” Bucky offers, referring to the flower. It’s groovy-style, practice showed. “No artist, my ass.”

“You’re not supposed to look yet,” you chide quietly, not looking up.

“It’s right in front of me,” he reasons, but he looks away and flops down onto the bed, lifting his head to observe the focus lining your features, the tip of your tongue peeking out at the corner of your lips.

“It’ll be worth it,” you insist passively.

“Sure.” Bucky knows this very well. Likewise, you know very well how impatient Bucky is. “But I want to see.”

You roll your eyes, a canine pinning your lip from curving into a smile. You pull back with satisfied drama, making a show of pushing the cap back on the marker. You twirl it between your fingers, missing the second twist and making it fly to your side. “Done.” You dip down and press a kiss right above your little cartoon. “You can look.”

Bucky sits up, leaning over his arm to get a good look. An eyebrow goes up, its sharpness rounded by the blue that meets your eyes. “It’s a duck.”

He’s correct. A huge beak erupts from a bowling pin, prickly stalks shooting out from the bottom. “It's a duck,” you repeat, a lot more enthused about it. Your index taps rapidly against it. “Isn’t it cute? It’s the only thing I can draw.” You trace the petaled headband it flaunts. “It has a flower hat,” you say excitedly, nose wrinkling with pride. You glance at it once more. “A flower hat. I didn’t have any colors, but I figure, it’s fun. You can fill it in when you’re bored.”

Bucky nods. “I like it.”

“Of course you like it,” you say axiomatically. “It’s a duck with a flower hat. Look, he’s so happy.”

Bucky complies, amused lines at the pinches of his eyes visible from your angle. There are no delighted wrinkles that indicate it, but somehow he can see you’re right. The duck is happy. “It’s great,” he says, chiseled with a happy authenticity unlike him. Somehow, you pull all sorts of things he doesn’t expect from him.

“I can do a variety of costumes,” you continue, your voice an echo of a saleswoman’s, but you’re tendered with dulcet excitement, the twitch of your pen at his cast proof of how gladly gratuitous your service is. “Bunny ears, complete with the cotton-ball-tail, maid, with the little cap and feather duster, I can even do you!”

“How about we do that another time?” he requests, sitting up to hold your shoulders. His eyes are twinkling when you meet them, mind hazy with the sparkly trail his fingers leave as they drop down to your waist. “‘Cus you’ve been down there for so long and I only took time off to have you…” He pulls you toward him, and you go like a rag doll over his chest, not expecting his strength, never expecting his strength no matter how many times he shows it to you. “A little closer.”

You’re delighted, nuzzling your face into his shoulder the moment you land on his chest. You’re careful to not touch his injured leg as he settles you beside him. Like instinct, your chin gravitates to the nearest part of him, tilting a little to kiss the underside of his jaw. A bite of purple catches your attention, a grape-sized oval already haloed green.

“You have a bruise under your chin,” you tell him after a moment, a gentle thumb raising to graze it. The contact should hurt no matter how tenderly you do it, but it doesn’t. Nothing hurts with you. “How’d that happen?”

“Who can keep track?”

“Well, I’d like to,” you muse. He feels your nail hovering just above his adam’s apple when you lean up and press your kiss to his injury. It blooms everything but pain. 

“Well, if that’s the way you’re doin’ it…”

You chuckle, another kiss laid at the corner of his lips. He’s sure you can taste the metal from a fresh cut, but if you do, you don’t mind, punctuating your point with another kiss now fully on his lips, your index turning his face toward you. He’s thrilled to oblige.

He refuses to let you pull away completely when you finally do, trailing after you to press another, softer kiss against you. It’s only to taste you one last time; as if he’d been too caught up in its nectar to prepare himself to say goodbye.

“Aren’t days off nice?” you beot.

“Can’t say no right now.”

You wrinkle your nose at him, bumping your nose against his cheekbone in retaliation. “Right now?”

He drags a thumb along a naked stretch of skin he finds under your sweater, grinning boyishly. “Especially right now,” he corrects.

You lean in closer, air pregnant with your implicit secrecy from the walls. He can feel your heart thrum from your proximity. “It was my duck, right?”

He can’t help but laugh, nodding earnestly into the crook of your neck. “I love you,” he tells you like he needs to. Totally unrelated but so sewn into everything that it’s a requirement to put into the world before he can do anything else. He nudges your nose with his, humoring you. ”Mhm. What else could it be?” 

You crack through your theatrics, face breaking into a smile as you kiss him, thumbing a light crescent moon right beneath his right eye. He can already feel it heal with your glittering touch.

[nylqnder]

bakeoff sparks fly au

✭ — summary: despite being back home for the holidays, sofia can't stop thinking about rutger

✭ — warnings: manic baking, overthinking

✭ — a/n: sofia is going through it

✭ — word count: 0.88k

This was the first time since the summer that all three Fantilli kids were back in Toronto, all sleeping under the same roof. Michigan was now on winter break and the 4 day holiday freeze was in effect in the NHL. It didn’t take long for the three siblings to fall back into their regular habits, playing board games whenever they got the chance, as well as heading to the ODR and playing unregulated games of hockey.

“Sof, you up?” Sofia heard Adam’s voice come through the door.

Despite being almost noon, Sofia was not up, using the break as a way to catch up on her sleep schedule. She groaned loudly, pulling her comforter over her head. She heard the door click open and her bedding ripped off her bed, exposing her body to the cold air.

“Adam!” She whined, grasping for her comforter.

“Luca and I are going shopping wanna come?” Adam asked, holding the bedding out of her grasp.

“Are you guys not done Christmas shopping yet?” Sofia asks

“I am, but Luca forgot a gift for Dad.” Adam tells her.

Sofia rolls her eyes. “No, I’m gonna stay in and wrap some presents.”

Adam drops her bedding, allowing Sofia to wrap herself in her blankets. “Text me if you need anything.” He says, leaving her room.

Sofia attempts to fall back to sleep but finds herself completely awake. She forced herself out of bed and headed downstairs to get breakfast.

It didn’t take long before the thought of him was back. The entire time Sofia had been home, memories of Rutger haunted her. Random reminders of him would come to mind, summoning the memories of her rejection. Her hands would begin to sweat, her heart beating at an unusual pace.

Every time she thought of him, she was reminded of the rejection. Because it wasn’t just a rejection. Rutger, at the same time, rejected Sofia and made her feel small. Like she was her brother's annoying little sister. Sofia hated how much he was occupying her mind.

When Luca and Adam come through the front door, they’re met with the strong smell of vanilla and loud music. Pulling off their shoes, they venture to the kitchen only to be met with chaos.

There are various ingredients scattered on the counters, with dishes stacked in the sink. In the middle of everything is Sofia, her pinstripe apron that was once a gift from Luca and Adam is covered in flour, her hair thrown up into a claw clip. Zach Bryan is blaring through her phone while she’s whipping something in a bowl.

“Sof!” Adam calls to her, finally drawing her attention as she hadn’t noticed they’d come home.

“Hey!” She grins.

Suddenly there’s a timer going off, sending Sofia to the oven. She puts on a pair of oven mitts, removing a tray of cookies from the oven.

The pair of brothers exchange a slightly worried look. They recognize this behaviour but it seems misplaced. Sofia has a habit of baking when she’s stressed or anxious. She baked during her high school exams and just before Adam was drafted. When she stress bakes, she goes HAM. She bakes four or five different things, from muffins to cookies, and often a type of bread.

However, to Luca and Adam, she had no reason to be stressed. She was done with exams and had gotten her marks back indicating a successful semester.

“Sof, what are you doing?” Luca asked.

“Baking!” Sofia smiles. “I’ve got shortbread cookies baking in the oven, some gingerbread cookies that I’m letting cool before frosting— ooh! You guys can help decorate if you want! And then the dough for cinnamon rolls is rising in the fridge.”

Sofia resumes her task of cutting out gingerbread men figures, singing aloud to ‘Revival’.

“What’s wrong with her?” Adam asks Luca, keeping his voice low so that Sofia wouldn’t hear.

“I’m not sure… she was fine yesterday.” Luca tells him.

The boys take off their coats, heading up to Adam’s room to wrap presents and figure out what’s wrong with Sofia.

“I have nothing, she was fine when we came home, she hasn’t baked or even cooked until today.” Luca told Adam.

Adam shook his head. Something was wrong with his sister. “What about at school? Did something happen?” He asked.

Luca thought back to Halloween. “Well…”

“Well, what? What happened?” Adam pried.

“It was just…at a Halloween party, this dude was harassing her but nothing happened. Rutger intervened and fucking almost fought the guy for her,” Luca explained. “But that was way back in October, it couldn’t still be bothering her.”

“Listen, dude, if she keeps this up after I’m gone, you need to talk to her.” Adam tells him.

“She won’t tell me, why don’t you ask her now?” Luca asked.

“C’mon, man. We both know which one of us she goes to when she’s upset.” Adam says.

Sure, Adam and Sofia were twins and often found solace in the other, however, Sofia always found that her older brother always knew what to say. Luca was the one she turned to whenever she needed advice or guidance. Adam was right, out of the two of them Luca was more likely to get any answers out of Sofia.

[oops-it-happened-again]

Le bruit du silence

Here's a 1k teaser for the next fic I'm working on.

❥ Read this on Ao3

Pairing: Aemond x OC

Setting: Modern!AU

3 tags: slow burn, Cyrano de Bergerac, misunderstandings

Words: 21k and counting

Rating: Explicit (but not yet)

Aera stood back and nodded to herself proudly.

“Looks good,” her aunt Jia said with a soft smile. “I hope you’ll have a lot of success with this.”

“It’s more for my own entertainment,” Aera replied quickly, feeling self-conscious about the silly experiment.

Since she’d finished her PhD, she’d been floating through life, waiting and wishing for some new and exciting research to set her soul on fire again.

The small treatise about dating and love letters through the ages had started as a joke between her and her best friend, but—to her surprise—the university had encouraged her to add a practical part to it and publish her findings.

Soon, the ludicrous idea of installing a huge bulletin board in her aunt’s coffee house had arisen.

In defiance of modern dating apps and consequent frivolous habits, she’d wanted to see whether the concept of a “Lonely Hearts Ad” would still find any takers in this day and age.

What had started as a vague gimmick to bolster her self-indulgent musings surprisingly grew into a popular local phenomenon; soon, Aera started spending most of her time in her aunt’s establishment to keep track of the ever-growing collection of messages and replies.

She’d not deemed it necessary or recommendable to let the patrons in on the fact that this was nought but a scientific experiment so she could study the consistencies in language and expression, so she felt like a creep whenever she snuck into the “love corner” as this part of the coffee house had been dubbed to take discreet pictures of any and all changes.

Months passed, and the paper grew to unexpected dimensions as more of her friends jumped on board to study the historical, sociological, and psychological implications of her genuine findings beyond the merely linguistic angle Aera pursued.

“Listen, I want to talk to you, “ Jia said one evening as she strolled over to where Aera was typing up that day’s development with a cup of lavender tea. “Your little stunt has done wonders for us, and I’ve enjoyed having you here. Do you have any plans for what comes next? For the board and you?”

“I expect I’ll be teaching, grading, and helping while I wait for the peer review. If all goes well, I might be invited to speak at conferences and on podcasts about the paper. As for the board, I don’t know.” Looking up, Aera blinked slowly to dispel the tingling of ocular fatigue.

“It’s been very popular, and I’d hoped you might consider leaving it up,” Jia pleaded, torn between pride and eagerness. “I’m so very proud of you!”

At the thought of letting her bulletin board, her baby, fly on its own and fulfil its true purpose without being secretly milked and supervised by her, Aera rolled her shoulders uncomfortably.

“It’s so…anachronistic, isn’t it?” she asked, still surprised by the immense draw this low-fi manner of meeting new people had had.

“It’s romantic,” Jia contradicted. “At the same time less impersonal and yet more mysterious than these blasted apps selling your info, it soothes some secret, deeply buried need in people’s souls, I think.”

“Very well then,” Aera agreed. “You can keep the board, and my help after classes as well if that’s what you want. I’m in.”

Aegon had repeatedly heard about the small coffee house from his friends and cronies, and—especially after one of his least suave mates had secured a date with a young lady through its unusual scheme—he found his mind wandering back to the incongruous set-up more often than he liked.

In truth, he was bored half to death by the daily chores and squabbles that left little room for whimsy and adventure.

“Maybe,” he mumbled to himself. “I should slip in and check it out.”

He, of course, had no need of such subterfuges. Handsome and confident, he could boast a long string of gorgeous lovers.

His brother, on the other hand, could only benefit from having his brains fucked out by some desperate, delusional creature.

It was a testament to the intricate and often counterintuitive way Aegon’s mind worked that he was convinced that so simple a thing as a successful date might alleviate his younger sibling’s bad temper and unbroken belligerence.

Unfortunately, Aegon wasn’t a poetic writer, and he struggled to find the right words to entice anyone into picking up his ad.

For two days, he gnawed on the end of his pencil pensively.

“Very rich man looking for company. Visually disfigured. Acquired taste,” he finally wrote on an irregular strip of thick paper.

Having cut away the part bearing the familial insignia, he realised that his crooked handiwork as well as the dispassionate tone might be less than conducive to success.

Also, he couldn’t very well leave his number or address without giving away the game, thus falsifying his fishing expedition's meagre results.

“Send message back here,” he added, the letters growing gnarlier and smaller progressively as he tried to squeeze them onto the scrap.

Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he donned an old baseball cap and typed the name of the coffee house into his phone.

If he didn’t dawdle, he could make it there and back before anyone noticed he’d disappeared.

Personally, Aegon found the whole idea ludicrous and fusty, but he was hopeful that he’d find a girl to go on a date with Aemond if she never saw or interacted with him beforehand.

He felt like a proper spy as he dashed through the gleaming doors and ran straight to the huge cork board, tugged away in an inconspicuous corner for privacy.

The number of colourful ads already hanging there heartened him, and he put up his own lacklustre message into an open corner.

On his way out, he met the knowing eyes of an elderly woman and blushed guiltily. “It’s not for me,” he wanted to cry defensively.

Instead, he merely nodded curtly and ran off as fast as he could.

If you liked this, please don't hesitate to let me know!

Thank you for reading & lots of love!

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2 - 51 An Experiment in Murder!

AAAAAAAA SEASON THREEEEEEE

LOOK

MAJOR RED!!!! ignore his hat Oh god I have been waiting so long to draw him

Red used to be an aerial bomber, until one day he was shot clean out of the sky. His wing was so crippled, he had to tear it off himself! Given a weak prosthetic claw to humiliate him, he is doomed never to fly again. And he wants REVENGE...

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Irratino is lying on the grass. He’s stiff as a board, staring into the gray sky, slowly freezing in the bitter cold. No, it’s still summer. But anyway.

IRRATINO: [in his head] What would Logico do… what would… Logico do… He would- he would solve murders until he found the answer. He would - yeah, he would solve a trail of murders that led to the answer he needed! IRRATINO: [jumps up] [out loud] I’M going to solve murders using DEDUCTIVE LOGIC! 

A bunch of randos walking by laugh very loudly at him. But Irratino knows he can do it. He practically solves all the murders anyway with his fortune-telling clues, right? And with that COMBINED with his new logic skills he is definitely magically going to gain, he’ll be unstoppable. It’s goat time!

The first thing Irratino has to do is find out where that blood came from. So he collects a bit of blood from his friends and foes, like the mentally stable person he is. And he brings them all to Dr. Crimson. 

She gives the DNA readings for all of them. But Irratino could only collect from so many people before there were legal issues, and the mystery sample doesn’t match any of them. But this will probably still help him on his mission. The goat lord is no longer hopeless. He is GOING to rescue Logico!

IRRATINO: I’M COMING, LOGICOOOO0000000000OO

The first place he goes to is the PRL. This is totally what Logico would do.

IRRATINO: GUYS, GUYS!! LOGICO IS MISSING!!! SEASHELL: Oh. Really? Then who’s going to solve this murder? IRRATINO: I’M going to solve the murder. ONYX: But Mr. President, doesn’t that usually contain… logic? IRRATINO: I’m covering for both of us this season. Don’t doubt my abilities!... So, what are you up to? COBALT: We are testing each other’s psychic abilities. IRRATINO: Awesome! [slaps himself] No. It’s murder time.

First, Irratino checks the laboratory. He looks VERY closely at everything, so he can see fingerprints and stuff. Then he thinks. Logico really NEVER uses fingerprint identification? That seems like it would be a LOGICAL thing to do...

COBALT: I smell something superior. Is that BLOOD you’re carrying in your purse? IRRATINO: HEY! It’s not a purse! This is a man’s bag!

Back outside, the Crystal Goddess is attempting to pick up Onyx with her mind, and failing.

ONYX: Okay, I think we’re done now. Thanks for lending me ‘Re-dead-able’ by ‘ghosts’, Dr. Seashell. It’s a fascinating read. SEASHELL: Isn’t it? I LOVE reading things by dead people. 

Mf is standing in a hole for no apparent reason.

IRRATINO: Why are you standing in a hole? SEASHELL: I’m doing aura readings. Want one? IRRATINO: Uh… SEASHELL: BOOP! Your aura is… okay, I guess.

Irratino is getting really frustrated. These investigations are so obnoxious! How does Logico deal with it every day? But he remembers who he’s doing this for. And just when he does, he gets a voicemail - FROM LOGICO!! He’s alive! 

LOGICO: Hey, Irratino. It’s me. Oh! You know that… but… Anyway, apparently I’ve been detained by the Free Drakonians. They want to negotiate some kind of prisoner exchange. Call me when you get this. Please. OH! I just read an article about the Psychic Research Laboratory, and they always put a person in a control group in an actual laboratory. I don’t know what that means, but it mentions your favorite place, so I thought you’d get a kick out of it. It’s almost like I’m giving you clues now! This is so silly! Um… call me when you get this.

Irratino tries to call right away. But the signal won’t reach. He's so relieved his little detective is okay. But he needs to find him!!

Irratino manages to solve his first solo murder. It was the ridiculous Crystal Goddess! 

GODDESS: NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! I AM NOT THE KILLER! BUT I DO HAVE TELEKINESIS. AND TO PROVE IT… I AM GOING TO KILL YOU WITH MY MIND!!!

She clutches her forehead and makes straining noises.

IRRATINO: …Dude!

He leaves. He has to get to Drakonia!

The end!

HOW DO I BOOP 😭 I am the only person on tumblr who can't boop help!!!

It sucks that Logico was kidnapped, but I do love Irratino and writing him trying to solve murders by himself is quite entertaining. Who would have thought I have an insane obsession with Irratino??

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[m4iya]

ᝰ.ᐟ✮⋆˙ Matchup #5 @cannibalsrider ˙⋆✮ᐟ.ᝰ

Hello! This is the lonesome, last matchup sitting in my inbox :3

This will probably be my last one for a while! I have another event coming soon..!

And so, after reading your submission, I’ve come to the decision to match you with Koushi Sugawara!

Let’s start with one of the first hobbies that you listed; drawing! In terms of drawing, you might use Suga as your reference. I’ve imagined a little story that goes like this:

As a first year in high school, you can find yourself easily overwhelmed by the jump from middle school. At times, you become distracted by things other than work in class and end up forgetting to take notes.

It was a warm autumn afternoon, and you were listening to your teacher talk about some complicated equation. It was the last period, students were tired, and you were beginning to lose focus completely. Flipping to a blank page, you click your mechanical pencil and begin drawing little stars across the page, thinking of what to doodle.

In the row in front of you to the left, sat a boy with grey hair. Suddenly, his elbow knocked a rubber off his desk, bouncing behind him. He shifted slightly out from his chair, bending over to grab it. His body slightly faced yours, and you caught a glimpse of a beauty spot under his eye. Soon after, you found yourself sketching your view of him from your desk. You couldn’t help but smooth out every stroke of his hair and define every crease and fold in his T-shirt.

Now, two years have passed, and you’ve become much closer to him than you imagined, frequently hanging out together. You’ll sketch him as he enjoys a slice of cake at a café, or when he rests his head on your lap after a picnic. You’ve even done the ‘paint each other’ trend that’s been floating around. He always teases you, saying “Theres so many other things you could be drawing, but you always choose to draw me!” You giggle, cheeks pink, unable to explain why.

I’d imagine you might make Pinterest boards of outfits and send them to him. He’d tell you what he thinks, and you’d try to make a piece from it using online references. If you can make it, you can save money on a whole outfit! (that is, if the material needed for it is in total, cheaper than the outfit, but I don’t design clothes so I wouldn’t know ^-^) You might even send him photos of clothes in the store that would remind you of him (sweaters, long cardigans, turtlenecks, y’know, that stuff). In return, he’d do the same, except in his case, he’d be out, grabbing something from the shopping centre when he finds one of those knitted/crocheted/handmade item stands. He’ll take a photo of matching keychains (bees, or strawberries or something like that) and send it to you. (I’m assuming) It’ll catch your eye, and you’ll say something along the lines of ‘How cute! Where did you find these??’ to which he won’t reply; an hour later, there’s a knock on your door, and a chirpy Suga presents the keychains, one for you and one for him.

And finally, in terms of gardening! I’m not sure if you plant fruits, veggies or flowers or everything! But I can imagine you gardening together with him. He’ll come over on a warm Summer morning, and the two of you would work on organising your flower bed together. He’d picked up some seeds from the store on the way there, and said that they reminded him of you, asking you to plant them. Though, the packet of seeds he had given you had its label torn off. You agreed, and the both of you spent the day tidying up your garden together. In the end, dirt seemed to cover you more than the seeds underground.

Skipping forward a while (I’m not sure how long these flowers take to sprout and grow..) your flowerbed was definitely flourishing. You had daisies, tulips, hydrangeas, zinnias, and.. sunflowers? Where did those come from?

Taking out your phone, you send a picture to Suga, asking him if the sunflowers were his doing.

‘Oh, they finally grew!’ he replies.

‘They’re really pretty’ you write back.

‘I thought you told me these flowers remind you of me; how does a sunflower do that?’

‘Well, it’s sort of because you’re so big and bright – kinda reminds me of a sunflower’

‘How am I bright? I’m not super loud or anything’

‘You don’t always have to be loud to touch someone’s heart!!’

[rosemaryreaper]

Where was Nick when Hancock evacuated the Diamond City ghouls to Goodneighbor?

Back in September, I started working on a fic that covered exactly that…then I tossed it aside because I thought it was bad. But now I actually want to finish it. It’s a short Nick POV fic that follows the three days before McDonough passes the Anti-Ghoul decree. Also featured are Ellie, Security Captain Lennie Sullivan, and a still human Hancock. Here’s a snippet from Chapter 2, which is the night before everything goes to hell.

* * * *

In the end, there was nothing to be done but wait. Ellie returned with more than enough documents to fit the bill, and after another round through the line, the guard let him through with minimal hostility. When he tried to subtly linger to keep an eye on things, Security threatened to shoot him for loitering, so there was no choice but to return to the office. Lennie never returned. Neither did many of the ghouls.

Convincing his old circuit board of a brain to focus on work after that morning was difficult, but it didn’t change the fact that he still had a half dozen interconnected missing persons cases on his desk. Sitting around doing nothing wasn’t going to help anyone, ghoul or missing girl, so the least they could do was be productive with the spare time. He got Ellie to bring out what she had dubbed “the conspiracy board”—a big map of the Commonwealth they had pinned to a corkboard—and the two of them spent the afternoon moving around colored pins and strings, trying to work out which route the traffickers were using to smuggle these girls around the state.

“Think Bunker Hill could be a stopover?” Ellie asked, tapping her fingernail on a red circle to the northeast.

“They’d have to go through Goodneighbor first,” Nick said.

“I don’t doubt it. Sounds like the sort of business Vic’s gang would get mixed up in. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s responsible for this whole horrible trade.”

“Still could be a third party. Or a bit of both. We won’t know till we learn more.” He paused. “But I wouldn’t be surprised either.” He added another pin to the board. “If they’re using Bunker Hill, then they aren’t the only party stashing that particular kind of cargo there overnight. I have a contact I can talk to, see if his guys have noticed any odd goings on.”

“Sounds promising,” Ellie said.

“Let’s hope so. This is one trail I absolutely do not want to leave to get cold.”

Arturo was the neighborhood tourist. Nick would have to catch him alone sometime soon; ask him to get a message through to Deacon and his crew. If anyone was an expert on smuggling people through the Commonwealth undetected, it was the Railroad.

The door screeched open, and a choked sob tumbled through its frame. Violet shuffled in, fully weeping within Riley’s embrace. To her, Riley said, “Here, sweetheart, let’s just sit down for a spell, okay?” To the rest of the room, she said, “I’m going to fucking kill someone.”

“Oh, Violet.” Ellie rushed to grab a blanket from the bedroom. “Here, have a seat, honey.” While Riley lowered Violet into the cushioned chair, Ellie wrapped the blanket around the poor ghoul.

Jax stumbled out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed and in their undershirt, which had rolled up to expose their bandages. “Vi? What happened?”

Riley’s brows shot up. “What the hell happened to you?”

“New exercise regime,” Jax said.

“Jesus Christ,” Riley said. “Somebody jumped you.”

“What?” Violet gasped through tears.

“It’s nothing, Vi,” Jax said. “What’s wrong?”

Violet let out another sob. “I’ve never been s-so humiliated.”

“Oh no,” Ellie said. “They didn’t accept any of your papers?”

“None! The boys and I tried everything. Yefim even tried to draw up something last minute, but they wouldn’t take any of it! Now I’m going to lose everything—my home, my job. I won’t survive outside the Wall, not for a night.” She bowed her head and cried.

Ellie yanked open the drawers of her desk, pulling out a whole stack of handkerchiefs and a mug, the latter of which she filled from the coffee thermos. She murmured to Violet, out of even Nick’s broad earshot, until she could convince her to hold the mug in her hands. Nick sent a silent thanks to fate that he had hired her. He had been about to say something a hell of a lot more blunt.

“Nonhumans,” Riley snarled. “Nonhumans! We’re not another species. We’re not animals. I have half a mind to march up to the Stands right now—kick down doors until I find every councilman responsible. They want to see feral? I’ll show them feral.”

Nick said, “You’ll get yourself shot.”

“I’ll get myself shot outside too. This way will be quicker.”

Jax said, “None of our lot are getting shot outside if I can help it. Not if they stick with me.”

“Oh, look, it’s the ghoul savior,” Riley deadpanned. “Right now, if I had to bet on who would win in a fight, you or a mole rat, I’d back the mole rat.”

“It’s not all hopeless, is it?” Ellie asked, rubbing Violet’s back. “Some ghouls still managed to vote. Riley, you did.”

Riley scowled. “I did, barely, because I’m fortunate. They gave us no warning, no time to get our papers in order—and a lot of ghouls didn’t. Screw all the drifters, I guess.”

Nick could sense Jax giving him a look out of the corner of his eye. One of the “I told you so” variety. Ellie was giving him a different kind of look. One that placed far too must trust in his nonexistent ability to overcome the odds. You can do something, Nicky. Right?

Nick could do something. He could turn his investigation towards the city, root out who was pulling the strings—who had organized the guards, who had influenced the Council, who had to benefit from all the chaos. It would take time, but he was nothing if not persistent. His joints hadn’t rusted to a halt yet.

But the ghouls didn’t have time. They had tonight. The proverbial nuke had already been launched. Catching the crook here wouldn’t save anyone until after there was no one left to be saved. So, Nick would do something all right: he would shield them from the blast best he could and help those who survived out of the debris. No more. No better.

“Jax is working on an escape route,” Nick said. “I’ve been scrounging up supplies. You need something—help organizing a caravan, a spare gun, anything—you say the word.”

The room calmed, but not in a comfortable way. The room calmed in the same way a snake calms when it is too cold to move. Violet had quieted. Jax looked determined; Riley grim. Ellie turned her face away.

Jax crossed over to Violet, offering her a hand up. “Come on, Vi. Why don’t we get you back to the Dugout? You look like you could use something stronger than coffee.”

Violet accepted, sniffling, and they slipped an arm around her shoulders. With a quiet murmur of thanks to Nick, she and Jax made their exit. Riley didn’t follow. She gazed down at the empty chair, then up at Nick with that grim expression. She stalked forward, and he froze, startled, as she threw her arms around him.

Most folks weren’t lining up to give the metal man hugs. It wasn’t the kind of relationship he had with Ellie, who was technically his employee, and it wasn’t something he would ever initiate with a client, no matter how distraught. He was hyper aware of his own strength as he lifted his arms, and they hung suspended for too long as he tried to recall the last time he had calibrated them. He briefly considered blacking out to run a quick diagnostic.

But the moment had already gone on too long, and something of the old Nick kicked in. He rested his hands on her back.

“Hey now, Doc, this isn’t like you,” he said with something like humor.

Riley chuckled, with something a little less like humor. “Just saying thank you, gumshoe—for everything. In case I don’t get the chance to.” She pulled away. “I could use a drink too. Might as well celebrate my last night, while it lasts. Feel free to join.” Then she made her exit.

Ellie was on the verge of a question again, but she still didn’t want to ask it, because she still wasn’t looking at him. He looked at the board with all its strings and pins. He looked at the empty chair, the abandoned blanket, the untouched coffee. He released a long breath, forever weaker than it should be. Then he donned his coat and his hat, and he offered his secretary his arm.

It got her attention. With a faint smile, she linked her elbow with his, resting her other hand on his forearm. And they made their exit too.

[the-nosy-neighbor]

Who is alive?

This all feels very much like the rumors that swirled around the Abbey Road album by the Beatles.  There was a whole lot of speculation that Paul McCartney was dead because he wasn’t wearing shoes in the picture, among other details.  

So, let’s look at the crackpot details:

Barnaby is dead. (theory)  details taken from r/welcomehomeneighbor or r/welcomehomearg (I will post the user details when/if I find them.)

In the first image, Wally is sitting on a rock.  The rock is blue, and appears to have a hand and arm.  The colors on the hand are similar to the drawing of Barnaby’s paw that we see.  The paw is open with the palm up, based on the art of the paw and the color of the pads.  It looks like Barnaby has a red slash across his wrist.  There is a tic tac toe board on what would either be his back or belly.  I haven’t gotten to the tic-tac-toe parts yet, but my assumption is that the colors of the tic-tac-toe marks tell us something as well.  Using that theory, this game would be between Frank and Julie.  The colors kind of blend, so it is hard to be certain here.  

Then, we have a drawing of Wally on the News page, which seems on the up and up.  It’s a news page, everyone loves Wally.  So we have a drawing of him sitting in an armchair, reading a paper.  The armchair has a detail that is very suspicious.  The patch on the chair has a polka dot pattern that is closely associated with Barnaby.  Could this be Barnaby’s skin?  When you look closer, you can see that Barnaby’s face is on the newspaper.  I have seen speculation that this is a missing persons type article or death announcement, but Barnaby could very well be included in some Welcome Home paper for about anything.

The clothespins in a secret video:  the Barnaby/Frank video.

There are a row of clothespins that look like people.  I’ve always thought those type of clothespins look like people.  It looks very much like they are made up of a head, trunk, and legs.  There is a row of pins, almost like a semicircle, around one pin (upside down), and a destroyed tomato.  (Barnaby gets tomatoes thrown at him.)  

In the video between Frank and Julie we have dialogue about bugs eating the vegetables and what should be done about it, but in this video, Frank and Wally are having some garden time together (with Wally’s view very low, as if he is laying on his belly while looking at the tomatoes) as Frank teaches Wally about how these blue flowers require a basic soil, and how pine straw shouldn’t be used for these flowers.  I think these are hydrangeas, as they appear pink, purple, or blue depending on the acidity of the soil.  (according to google, hydrangeas are unique in this way.  Blue equals higher acidity, pink equals lower.)  According to The Spruce, the idea that pine needs lower ph or acidify soil is a myth (I don’t know if that is relevant.)  

Frank and Barnaby have an unfriendly conversation here.  Granted, these characters are foils, with Frank being meticulous and fussy and Barnaby being super casual and joking all the time.  It appears that Barnaby’s only activity that gets discussed throughout the website so far is that he goes around telling people jokes, hanging out with Wally, and chasing Eddie around the neighborhood.  The chasing thing, at least, could be a reason for Frank to be put off by Barnaby, but it could just be the fact that they are so different.

Frank is so done with Barnaby from the beginning, (which I totally get because pun runs are pretty much the worst) and it quickly devolves into Frank being catty about the color of Barnaby’s fur, and he actually seems to kind of take offense.  Barnaby continues to punish us all with puns until Frank makes him leave, and says “I don’t understand why you like him, W…”

During the video clips so far, we have seen Barnaby interacting with different people.  He and Howdy get along because of the jokes, but I don’t trust either of them, especially given the way Howdy sells fake food to Sally (I will discuss at some point.)  Barnaby is pretty awful to Julie, telling her that her joke is terrible and she can’t tell jokes.  Barnaby chases down Eddie to get his packages, even though Eddie has apparently told him time and time again that he has to put it in the mailbox (I don’t know whose policy, maybe just Eddie’s?”  And in the final clip of the day, Barnaby is talking to home about everyone, being snarky and unkind, to the point that home seems to be disapproving.  

Back to some non-canon art.    

As an early representation, we only see five colors on the phone:  Wally, Barnaby, Julie, Frank and Poppy.  The covered entities could potentially be dead/gone/erased.  Home is not included as a neighbor, which continues.  Two options on the phone dial are blanked out, as well.  

It could be that color nuance is removed in the grainy footage, but it might mean something specific that those colors are there.  If the video goes back up, I will get the full order of colors.

The tomato in our video image have been demolished.  They are completely open and spread out on the ground.  The tomatoes behind the row of figures are whole and look healthy enough.  This could be pointing to the death/destruction of our upside down clothespin friend and the neighbors being the line of defense between certain destruction and safety. 

[babyblueocean]

I’ve started to replay MM so I’m going to drop my headcannons for the group. No spoilers if anyone still cares? Hope you enjoy, ILY <3

Saeran Choi (Unknown) General Headcannons

*Permanent eyebags part 2. No sleep for days and crashes. His days actually blur together.

*So he has terrible time awareness. His room has no windows and is always dark. Never really sees the sun.

*Man is hella pale. Paler than normal and more of a grey tone bc bad health habits.

*When he can’t figure something out he takes a cold shower and laments. All the drama.

*Skips meals and doesn’t hydrate at all. Drinks black coffee for full effect and drinks it by the pot.

*He gets sweets as a treat once he’s finished his work.

*At some point he realizes that his habits are actually holding him back bc he’d pass out for days and miss a fuck ton of work so he absolutely does a 180 and tries to become a self care king.

*He eats three meals, he hydrated, he’s moistened, and we’ll rested.

*He hates it. He hates the taste of water. Having a full skincare routine is a waste of time. Breakfast makes him sick.

*So he revised it. He sleeps for 6 hours consecutively from 6am to 12pm. Skipping meals after he wakes up for a few hours and having light meals like charcuterie boards.

* He loves vitamin water. Specifically the cooling lavender and dragon fruit. He still drinks at least 1 pot of coffee bc it feels weird without it.

*He keeps a coffee station in his office but for food he gets a kart delivered like room service every so often. Once he finished it goes back outside his room and someone takes care of it.

*His showers are still freezing cold but also he has a basic face wash and proper products to help him feel fresh and clean. His favorite scent is between citrus and mint.

*He has sweets more often in the form of little candies. He keeps a jar of peanut m&m’s and another jar of creamy delights.

*His office is lit up by rgb lights and his computer screens. It’s freezing cold and surprisingly clean.

*He takes out the trash regularly and has his favorite roomba that he named lily pad.

*He also gets up to stretch every two hours and move a little.

*He has a self of books on different topics like gardening, different languages, hacking, skin care and health habits.

*He also has three areas for work. One is a large set up with multiple computers and a proper chair and desk.

*But sometimes he needs a refresher so he has two laptops and will lounge at either his comfy couch with a table or his circle chair.

*He has his own floor in the building. He gets the tower part and is actually 2 floors. The main floor is his office and connects to the rest of the building where he gets his deliveries.

*The top floor is his personal room that no one has access to but him. However There’s no sign of personal stuff. It’s like a basic hotel room. Bed, dresser, closet and bathroom. It gets the job done for what he needs. The only sign that it’s lived in is his clothes.

*It does have a great view of the garden though.

*He likes to draw and is decent at it. It’s a small hobby he doesn’t indulge in often. Sometimes little doodles on a napkin or scrap paper.

*He doesn’t care for holidays and doesn’t have any of them memorized anyways because he’s still bad at keeping track of time.

*Religious trauma but who’s surprised? He is terrified of divine punishment. So he does what he is told by the leader.

*His favorite music genre is lofi. And it’s always playing in both his rooms through speakers he set up.

*Is apart of the lgbtq+. He is trans male, years on t, he’s had top and bottom surgery. He/him pronouns and Pansexual with non-binary/feminine preference.

*He has a tattoo over his top surgery scars, the creation of Adam (the two hands reaching towards each other)

[phlistopher]

Attack Of The Rabinutcions

I wrote a humor column in college for the Hofstra Chronicle under the pseudonym Silence Doless, a nod to Benjamin Franklin I didn't come up with.

I was very proud of this work at the time. It's all very Hofstra specific, and the mid 2000s. Against my better judgement, I've decided to republish the series here.

Some context for this is the sixth column: Hofstra put bright blue signs all over campus, Stuart Rabinowitz was the president of the university, and Axin and the NAB were then-new buildings with a 50s futuristic design.

Hello gentle readers. Have you ever had dream that felt so real, you thought you were awake? Suppose you just had two extremely vivid nightmares: one where a giant T-Rex is chasing you through your house, and the other where Hofstra put ugly blue signs in front of every building. You wake up and wander around campus, and suddenly you don’t know what to believe.

If you think about it, there are plenty of things at Hofstra that are so bizarre they seem like they’re straight out of some whacked out dream, and mind you, I’ve had some pretty strange dreams. Recently I had one where I was flying after a train full of poisonous jellyfish on a cutting board. Hofstra consistently operates on that same level of absurdity.

Think about all the Twilight Zone stuff that goes on here. You know how it goes. You get to class in the morning two minutes late, and already the classroom is full. Your professor is one of two kinds of people; either they completely ignore you, or they cough loudly, stamp their foot, and tells everyone but you that three lates equal an absence. Your professor goes on to talk about their overall satisfaction with the class, their overall satisfaction with the University, and maybe even their overall satisfaction their personal life.

Ultimately this lapse in attention will cost you on the test. You’ll be sitting there, pencil in hand, frantically thinking back on everything your professor said in a desperate attempt to remember something that will help on the brutal multiple choice question you’re faced with. Yet try as you might, you just can’t remember who your professor’s last lover was, and why they broke up.

In your next class you are unfortunate enough to get stuck sitting right next to That Kid. You all know who I’m talking about, and if you don’t, you are That Kid. He always has a completely unrelated comment about everything that utterly misses the point of the topic. For instance, if your professor asks what Plato’s allegory of the cave means, a typical That Kid response would be, “Well, maybe the people didn’t want to leave the cave because they hit their head on a stalactite. I mean, I was in a cave once, and I hit my head; maybe that happened to Plato.” If that wasn’t annoying enough, his voice sounds like he has a kazoo stuck up his nose, kind of like a cross between Rick Moranis and a foghorn. Plus the bastard always has a cold.

After what seems like three snot filled hours (But was really only two snot filled hours), you’re finally done with class. However it’s midterm season, so you head to the library to study. Unfortunately, the library has been replaced with the bridge of a 1950s rocket ship. Now, there are only two logical explanations for this. One, that there was a sale on old Star Trek sets and Rabinowitz couldn’t resist, or two, that not only do aliens exist, but they’re also Hofstra’s architects. Suspecting the latter, you quietly draw your laser gun. Senses tingling, you creep deeper into the bridge, clinging to the shadows. This stealthy infiltration is flawless, except that actually finding shadows to hide in on the bridge proves highly difficult. All of them seem to have been exterminated by the large florescent lights giving you a tan. Well, and alien tan.

So you decide to play it cool. Walking with a healthy Han Solo swagger, you approach the main desk and suavely ask the librarian for a book’s location. She smiles warmly, giving you clear and detailed instructions, mentioning that if you need any more help to feel free to ask. Realizing that she must be an alien, you quickly shoot her. Any human librarian employed at Hofstra would still be working on the concept that they were being spoken to.

After the shot, hostilities break out immediately. You run staggering from the bridge, hot laser beams streaking through the billowing smoke; you hadn’t bargained on so many Hofstra employees being aliens. You head for safety across the Unispan only to find that the student center has transformed into a xenophile launch pad! Also, for some reason there is a tarp covered station with big green surfboards tacked to it. Maybe the aliens have a sense of humor? Or maybe Hofstra finally got wise about global warming and the surfboards are their emergency Tsunami escape system. Whatever the case may be, you are now surrounded by pissed off aliens with lasers and spiky things. As your doom slowly closes around you, you think back on the good times. There is a searing hot pain, and you wake up.

It was all a dream: just a terrible, terrible dream. You eat breakfast, take a shower, and pick up the Chronicle: another ordinary day. You scan the front page, and your eyes go wide. Your hand shakes, your lip trembles. The headline reads, “President Rabinowitz A Big Alien And Proud Of It!”

“Noooo!” You scream into the sky as Axin and The NAB blast into space.

Is this how it ends? Do the credits roll on a sad note? Is this a story of one helpless person in a sea of horror, doubt, and aliens?

No, I say! The human race will not go quietly into the night, nay, we will fight back with everything we have! Extraterrestrials will not run this University!

That is why I hereby challenge President Stuart Rabinowitz to a duel of honor in the quad on Monday October 22nd at 1:00pm sharp. The rules will be simple: no lasers, no cheating, and no wimping out. If Rabinowitz wins, I will expose my identity to the world and I’ll allow him to call me a stink pants. However, if I win he will be forced to withdraw his alien forces immediately from Hofstra, or at the very least, remove that rampaging T-Rex that always makes me late for class. I think the terms are fair.

I’ll see you on the 22nd Rabinowitz, and may the best species win!

Want to ask me a question, tell me I suck, or warn me that Rabinowitz has a gun? Email your letters to Silence Doless (Duel This) to bronzehedwick@gmail.com

The columns are getting weirder, and leaning more heavily into my then obsession with fantasy versus reality. I was also very angry in college, and that shows here. I lightly edited this one to remove some unnecessary and I think problematic language that I now regret, and will probably do that from now on when applicable. That challenge really was printed in the paper.

[rainb0w-b0y]

I’ve been trying more strenuous writing exercises lately, and one of them is to challenge myself by adapting some of my favourite characters to screen. By this I mean to practice balancing my admiration for what has already been done with what I think would genuinely prove new and engaging. I decided to tackle my own Spider-Man screenplay with a focus on Peter’s ego as a public figure being retained even after his celebrity days (which led to Ben’s death, yadayadayada).

This exercise was admittedly inspired by Spider-Man: Lotus, HOWEVER it was really only because I remembered how much I love the character dynamics of the era the film took inspiration from. This is absolutely not something done out of bitterness or to prove I’m better than Gavin.

I mean, look at the guy’s history. I don’t really think there’s a need regardless.

Anyway, I thought I was breaking new ground, but upon rewatching Spider-Man (2002) realized that I was retreading a lot of familiar beats the Raimi films had already done. This bolstered my already profound appreciation for how great that trilogy is, but also sent me back to the drawing board.

So, I went back to revisit the last few issues of Stan Lee’s original run for a bit of inspiration. Upon rereading Amazing Spider-Man #96, published in 1971, I was struck by these panels and how simple yet interesting the sentiment is.

My idea here is a year 2 or 3 story where Peter already realizes that he can’t let the fame get to his head. He’s learned that. Where do we go from there? How do we tackle an egotistical Peter Parker story that isn’t an origin or something that uses the symbiote for a cop out? Well, the answer is quite simple. If he can’t bask in the glory of being Spider-Man, then he must still do it because he gets a thrill out of it. Spider-Man is New York’s unbeatable champion, and as things continue getting more dangerous, Peter wants to see how long he can keep that going. Does he believe himself to be genuinely good in the face of new dangers, or that his heroism still a facade for selfish—or self destructive—tendencies?

However this premise pans out for this practice, it just goes to show how influential and essential Stan Lee’s 100 issue tenure was to the character. He got a lot of iconic concepts and characters off the ground with his collaborators obviously, but every issue of his long run on Spider-Man still defines what people love about him today. By the end of the 100 issues, you just GET him. It’s a full character arc that transcends all of Lee’s other work, except maybe Fantastic Four. But a lot of that still goes to Kirby.

By the time Lee passed off scripting duties, Spider-Man was already a fully formed and iconic character, which can’t be said for many of his other creations. I just love this run dearly and think everyone who remotely likes Spider-Man, or even just Marvel in general needs to read it in their lifetime.

‘Nuff said.

[peoplcshope]

“A yes or no would have been good enough.” Said the ex-patroller as he kept his stoic expression, but the first question was something he could understand why she’d ask it. After all the perpetrator was the all-creating Zen-oh himself., and therein laid the problem: how was he going to get back what the god of creation had wiped out? “But you have a good question and I’ve been thinking about it myself. The Omni-king despite his name is not omnipotent..at least not in our own narrow scope.”

That’s when Trunks walks off towards the side, gets one of her whiteboards and a blue marker, and proceeds to draw a circle while coloring into it. “Now say this is the timeline I come from where everything happened from the past up until that point.” Then Trunks takes the erasure and wipes away the entire thing, however, as with everything that gets wiped away it wasn’t perfect as the shape, or remnant of what he just drew were still there in shades if one squints EXTRA hard and used their imagination.

“Then he just erases it all, leaving nothing there but an empty void that goes on to infinity, and it’s eerily silent. But that space alone was proof that something was there, people were there, dreams achieved, loved lost..it was all there. What’s more important it was not wiped from my memory, I still remember my mother, my mentor, General Purple, a soldier named Zine..I remember all of them which means means they might be gone but they’re not lost. Just like the image I’ve just removed from the board there’s something that’s still there..but of course it’s all a hypothesis. I’m betting if I found the Super dragon balls and call on the powers of Super Shenron he’d be able put the timeline back just a year prior so I can stop Black myself.” Trunks spoke out.

“I know what you’re thinking, ‘Didn’t the destroyer god and the angel make the very same arrangement for you?’ And I say yes he did, but that was not MY timeline because that Timeline already has a Trunks..and a Mai for some reason. My plan is essentially the same thing with MY timeline.” He spoke as he closes the marker and sets it down. “You’re also right..this goes against everything I’ve fought for..the time patrollers are not encouraged to do something like this..in fact by doing this I’ll become a time-pirate..but I don’t care. I’ve set my life aside too long only for fate to walk all over me. My people, my mother..I’m going to get them all back!”

Without even transforming it seemed that for a moment his own eyes flickers into a crimson hue but for a moment. “I have the means of travel, a ship I’ve built with the help of my mother and grandfather. I’ve also managed to create a radar that would lock onto the strange power radiating from a super dragon ball, to top it all off I know just the universe, timeline and planet to drop them whilst I’m looking for the others.” The next thing was speaking to the dragon in an ancient language but Trunks is NOT a Briefs for nothing and has done extensive research on the language and had gotten some ‘outside help’.

"Also darling..the term is 'sticking it to the man. Though in this case it'll be to the woman.'

With both arms folded behind her back, the tyrant in question scanned over a sequence of HOLOGRAPHIC projections overlayed with symbols and characters no longer in use outside of her, the slaves under her employment and the planets she ruled. Unseen all day by the only other person capable of pulling the woman from her work without becoming a splatter on the walls, Maiz was, unsurprisingly married to her work. The CLICK, CLACK of heels took her some paces to the right where callous, unmatching eyes switched over to a screen of two different planets, one with a red sky and jaundiced-colored clouds and the other with a colorful display of lights against the backdrop of a violet-tinted night. She raised an arm and put it to the screen, pinching her index and forefingers together only to then pull them apart to zoom in on the picture. "Hmm," she noted dryly. On one of those planets, a storm was fast approaching.

At the same time, footsteps brought another storm even closer. In the midst of Maiz opening her mouth to issue a command to the A.I. installed into her ship, she was called to action by the projection of her name. A small grunt was made, slightly annoyed at his timing, but not entirely surprised at it. Her hand remained over the image, hiding nothing. She half-turned, giving Trunks most of her attention (not all-- though, how would he know? Her face barely gave her away). An eyebrow raised at the declaration put forth.

. . .

Her face melted back into a neutral expression with an amused chuckle. "Oh my. What a bold choice." The determination in his eyes didn't go unrecognized. The part of the Saiyan brain which controlled her sadistic urges lit up. Her head turned towards her own work again and then back at him. She tapped the screen twice and it minimized, her plan of action concerning the first storm playing out within the back of her head. (She was capable of multitasking. Ah, the wonders of her Race).

"Now, correct me if I'm wrong but. . . " She leaned against her desk, crossing a leg in front of the other languidly, both hands on either side of her. "--last time we spoke, your 'Creator God' erased everything. Your planet. Your native point of time. Your entire 'multiverse'. How is it possible to undo all of that, if the perpetrator happens to be the highest power in existence. . .?" Absentmindedly, her foot rolled around as her tail formed a question mark, or rather as much a question mark it COULD. "Unless you're suggesting this Zen-Oh person either 1) didn't do it properly, therefore this erasure is imperfect or 2)," she smirked subtly, her violent urges rearing it's ugly head. "You're suggesting I create a situation in which I see if it's possible to wear a God's head as a new-- heheheh," she laughed, using a hand to gesture to her ample chest. She was TRULY suggesting she'd cut Zen-Oh's head in twain and turn him into a bra. This wasn't a joke to make Trunks laugh nor was it designed to lift his spirits, though if it did, she wouldn't be upset at it.

She was deathly serious.

She ceased with her foot and stood up straighter, a hand raised again with two fingers. "And then there's the nature of your job. I doubt that would hold over well." Joyfully, she wiggled her fingers at the prospect of Trunks being rebellious against someone other than HER for once. Surprisingly? It was entertaining, seeing it from the outside. This only once again confirmed the suspicions of him she harbored way in the beginning-- once upon a time when they used to hate each other to death: his determination made him a terrifying force of nature to not be trifled with.

". . . .so, with everything against you, how are we going to do this-- how do you Earthlings say, 'stick the Man to it'? Sticky man. . .? Stick it to the--oh, whatever. I assume you know which phrase I am referring to."

[soulofapatrick]

Tease Me - Pedro Pascal x Reader

Summary: Taken inspiration from the new video of Pedro dancing - requested: He gets sucked off by the reader before going back on set and forgets to close his belt buckle

Words: 1.3k

Warnings: Pure filth; all smut; oral (male receiving)

Y/N’s POV

“What are you doing baby girl?” Pedro asks as I grab his hand, pulling him into the closet on the set, as cliche as it is but I need him. He looks so good with his fake greying hair that Coco’s done for his role as Joel and just the way he’s standing with his hip cocked out to one side as he watched the set film another scenes he’s not in. He doesn’t complain and just follow me into the closet, groaning lightly when I push him back against the door after it’s closed, drawing him into a needy kiss. His large hands cup my cheek and grip my waist, pulling me flush against him and very on board with this heated make out session. 

He helps me shrug his jacket off his shoulders and it falls to the floor, my foot moving it to in front of him so I’d have some padding on my knees for what I want to do, my overly sweet boyfriend unaware of my plans. He’s just enjoying the feeling of us being able to be so close and alone after so long on set with barely any time alone for kisses. It’s been driving me up the wall, seeing him in all his DILF glory as Joel and being unable to touch him in fear of messing up his costume and I don’t know, something just snapped today. I had had enough of waiting and pining, wanting to feel his hands on me and feel him ravish me but for now… for now this will do. 

I’m breaking the kiss to move my lips to his neck, fingers unbuttoning his green checkered shirt to growl in frustration as he has a grey tee shirt under it, “Too many layers!” 

“Baby girl?” Pedro grabs my wrists, making me look at him and I’m whining, needing something of him now, “Oh fuck.” He moans, head falling back against the door, when I attack his neck with even more vigour than before, grazing my teeth before biting down on that soft spot, body thrumming with pleasure at the sound he elicited. I don’t care if Coco gets mad at me for leaving a bright hickey that she’ll have to cover up before they can film again. I need him to feel how strung out and teased I’ve been feeling all week, my hands sliding under the grey teeshirt and nails dragging down lightly before I knead at his soft belly. His eyes flying wide when I fall to my knees in front of him, that delicious tent in his jeans at eye level and my hands make quick work of his belt and jeans. Every action is desperate and his hand is tangling in my hair when I finally get his jeans and boxers around his knees. 

I make sure to look up at Pedro, meeting his honey eyes that are blown out, when I kitten lick the tip. I intend to make this as torturous as possible, drawing that sweet relief from him as slowly as I can so instead of swallowing down as much of his length as I could like I usually would I slide my tongue up the underside feeling him twitch above me. His hand in my hair tightens when I finally slide my lips over the head, sucking lightly and swirling my tongue, dipping it into the slit as I fight his hand trying to push me further, smacking it when I pull off, his agitated cry drawing a grin to my lips as I growl out, “You have been teasing me all week Pedrito.” 

He goes to protest but is let with his mouth hanging open, a strangled moan escaping when I do what he wants, swallowing down as much of his length as I can, throat constricting around him when he hits the back of my throat. My hands cover the rest, beginning to bob my head in tandem with every twist of my hand against his base, his moans music to my ears and his hand tightening in my hair. His eyes are glued to me as I swirl my tongue around his thick length, focusing on trying to breath around him and every part of me wants to get myself off right here, right now but that would give Pedro too much satisfaction. Instead, I meet his honey eyes again, hollowing my cheeks out the best I can, his free hand caressing them and holding my jaw, stopping my movements for a moment. His chest heaving and his thighs are shaking which means he’s close already. 

“Let me…” He sounds so wrecked when he tries to speak, his thumb running over my bottom lip as my jaw begins to ache around his thick length, “Fuck you look so pretty right now.”

He wants to hold this moment, he always does, right when he’s close he likes to hold my head still and just take in how wrecked I look with tears streaming down my cheeks and trying to breath around him despite how my throat constricts around the tip that is pressed almost against my gag reflex. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is and much as I’d like him to enjoy himself that much this is about making him feel as desperate and needy as possible, feeling what he’s been doing to me all week so without any warning I’m slamming his hips back against the door and dragging my lips up and down his length like my life depends on it, shoving his hand away and letting my nails leave almost painful half moon prints into his thighs.

Pedro tries to speak, my name falling from his plump lips as he tries to warn me but I just slack my jaw as much as I can, feeling his thick ropes hit the back of my throat, gagging me but I don’t stop, swallowing as much as I can. Some slides out around his twitching dick, that hand in my hair trying to pull me off from oversensitivity but I don’t budge, keeping him as deep as I can and flicking my eyes up to meet his again. He whines, eyes practically rolling into the back of his head as he begins to soften in the heat of my mouth and only when he begins wincing do I pull back, letting him slip past my lips with a wet pop. 

“Shit baby girl, fuck I love you.” He pants as I lick his seed off my chin while standing back up and helping him pull up his jeans and handing him his jacket, letting him draw me into a filthy kiss, my hair bunched in his hand and he’s tugging almost painfully but it just draws a sound from me, “I wanna make you feel good.” His free hand goes to the waistband of my jeans and I’m reluctantly shaking my head, grabbing his wrist, as we’ve been gone for an suspiciously long time and they’re going to come searching if we don’t head back. He understands because he does what I did earlier, biting at the soft skin of my neck and growling out, “Later I’m gonna make you scream my name so loud the neighbours will hear it.” 

With one final dirty kiss he’s opening the door and walking out, knowing we have to leave at separate times or it’ll be too obvious but he’s gone before I can let him know his belt is still undone. There is no way people are gonna think anything other than we had some fun together now but who fucking cares? He’s fucking hot and my boyfriend so I go to join everyone, the taste of him still on my tongue and the promise of tonight hanging in the air. 

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