#blemished credit

[literaryvein-reblogs]

words for when your characters ______

Agree

accede, acceptance, accord, acknowledgment, acquiescence, align, avowal, bear, cohere, compromise, consent, contract, draft, enlist, give in/give up, go along/go along with, grant, negotiate, unanimous, yield

Deny

abjure, abuse, affront, attack, backstab, bad-mouth, belie, blacken, blemish, confront, curse, darn, defamation, defile, demur, denigrate, detract, dig, disclaim, discountenance, disgrace, disown, disparagement, downplay, explode, flout, fulminate, gainsay, gird, invective, jeer, lament, lecture, malign, minimize, mouth, needle, oppose, protest, put down, put-down, rebuff, refute, remonstrate, renunciation, run down, satirize, scold, show up, sit-in, slander, smear, snap, snub, squeal, sully, swearing, taunt, tirade, turn, underestimate, vituperation, write off, yammer

Explain

account for, admit, apprise, cite, clarify, come clean, concede, confirm, corroborate, defense, demonstrate, dilate, elucidate, enlighten, evidence, expand, explicate, gloss, illustrate, itemize, let on, palliate, plea, prove, recite, simplify, speak out/speak up, spell out, translator, warrant

Fabricate

aspersion, belie, disprove, profane

Inform

acknowledge, address, advertise, allow, allusion, apprise, bare, betrayal, blab, breathe, briefing, broadcast, chronicle, clue, come out with, confession, convey, debunk, define, detail, dictate, divulge, expose, feature, furnish, give, gossip, hint, intimate, issue, lecture, newscaster, orate, out of the closet, pass, post, proclaim, promulgate, publication, publish, release, reveal, show up, speak, spill, squeal, talk, tip, uncover, unveil, weatherperson, whisper

Instruct

bar, educate, prescribe

Persuade

advance, argument, bend, budge, carry, coerce, convince, discourage, draw, drum up, elicit, entice, forward, goad, hammer away/hammer into, induce, influence, invite, lobby, motivate, negotiation, pitch, prevail upon/prevail on, prompt, reason, spur, sway, urge, win/win over

Promise

assurance, avow, commitment, ensure, go back/go back on, oath, portend, vouch, warrant, word

Suggest

advice, advocate, ask, come up with, connote, drum into, exhort, fish for, get at, guide, imply, insinuate, moralize, move, nomination, pontificate, preach, propose, recommend, urge

Praise

accent, acclamation, accredit, adulation, apotheosis, applause, benediction, bless, champion, citation, commend, compliment, congratulations, credit, dedicate, deify, elevate, endorse, eulogize, exalt, extol, flatter, flattery, glorify, homage, laud, lionize, obsequy, plaudits, puff, salute, thanks, tribute, worship

Warn

admonish, alert, caution, caveat, defy, enjoin, exhortation, foreboding, foretell, page, remind, warning

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"I bet on losing dogs"

ok this is like my first time actually writing anything EVER, and I don't know how to work tumblr or make this aesthetic so bare with me pls!! I keep seeing yandere batfam x neglected reader and I have had so many ideas so I'm giving this a shot! The reader is referred to with female pronouns but you can imagine it different if you want :) Reader is 2 years older than Damian and is 15 at the start of the story. Damian is 13. Dick is around 10 years older than reader, making him 25 right now. Jason is 8 years older than reader, making him 23. Tim is 2 years older than reader making him 17. Cass is 4 years older than reader and is 19. Stephanie is 3 years older than reader and is 18. Barbra is around 8 years older, making her 23! Bruce is around 35-40ish??? All just kinda guesses to make the plot and dynamics more clear, lmk if you have any questions!!

This is the prolouge and it kinda sucks so pls be nice. Hearts and comments are appreciated. If it's bad ignore it, english isn't my first language. Chapter one:, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4:

You couldn't understand it. You aren't a bad kid, so why were you treated like one? Why did your father treat you like the bane of his existence? Why did your older brothers see you as nothing more than dirt at the bottom of their shoes, a ghost in the manor, a blemish on their picture perfect family of misfits. You tried so so hard to fit in, to be part of the family. You wasted 11 YEARS of your life trying to get noticed, doing activities and hobbies you hated in the hopes of striking conversation with your "siblings". Batman, Bruce Wayne, your "father", ignored you no matter what. He ignored you like it was his job, from the day you came to the manor on your fourth birthday, your mother's death day, to today, your 15th birthday. You saved his life, his and all those other ungrateful losers who you used to call family. Yesterday, you put you life on the line for them, got bitten by that damn snake for them, and they ignored you and told you to walk it off while coddling the girl who suddenly appeared. Never again would you help them, nor would you brush off their mistreatment, not after this betrayal. Not after they took in another girl, a girl your age, the girl who took credit for your heroic act, the girl who bullied you for years at Gotham Prep, the girl who made your life living hell, and called HER family. They choose Tiffany Maverick to be their supposed savior, they would never believe you had the bravery to help them. They chose her to be Tiffany Wayne and scorned you.

You did nothing wrong, from the day you came to the manor you were perfect. Straight A's, no attitude, no complaints and no demands. All you did was try, try, try, and they never noticed.

Richard "The Dick" Grayson, as you and your friends call him, was the world's best big brother to everyone, except you of course! He was your first brother, he was the kid that Bruce Wayne actually wanted to take under his wing. You were 5 and he was 15, he was busy being Robin and then Nightwing. Alfred assured you that Dick adored you, you were his baby sister after all, he was just busy! In later years you realized he was only busy when it came to you. He made time for Damian no matter what, always attended Cassandra's ballet recitals, chatted with Tim and ruffled his hair, and he even dealt with Jason's snarky attitude and biting remarks. Yet, somehow when it came to you, he never had time. Always brushing you off with a shoulder pat and a "Maybe next time sweetheart!" and rolling his eyes when he thought you weren't looking. He's been making time for Tiffany or Tiffybear, as he loves to call her while pinching her cheeks and calling her his favorite little sister, "Don't tell Cass though!" he'll whisper to her. You don't even think he can remember your name. Or that once upon a time you were his "baby bird."

It makes you sick watching her take credit for everything, she's only been in the manor for 6 months and they've all given her more love than they have to you in the past 11 years. She took credit for all your awards, she told everyone she was top of your class, made them "homemade" cakes and muffins. It was all you. She stole everything.

Jason Todd, the red hood, was so mean to you. You used to admire him, looked up to him, and he took all your kind words and gestures for granted and spit them back in your face. Once upon a time, he was your favorite brother, you wanted to be as confident and unshakeable as him, it didn't matter how mean he was now because he was you brother and you loved him. The bond you had before his death was something you couldn't let go of, he was the only one who loved you. When he first came to the manor he was 12 and you came a couple months later. An adorable 4 year old who followed her favorite brother like a duckling. You were 7 when he died. You were 12 when he came back to haunt Bruce and Dick and Tim. You chased after him and tried to resurrect the bond you had for 3 long years. You gave up when you saw them. You couldn't believe your eyes when you saw him and Tiffany sneaking out the manor on a school night, you almost threw up when you saw him strap her on his motorcycle and leave for hours. They came back with shit-eating grins and cupcakes for everyone from a 24hr bakery, everyone except you. The bakery you asked him to take you to months ago. Tiffany saw the tears in your eyes and your clenched fists and she laughed.

Timothy Drake-Wayne, you first saw him after Jason died. Tim, in your 10 year old mind, was trying to steal your dad. Bruce ignored you even more after Jason's death and shut everyone out. Your bond with Tim was non-existent no matter how hard you tried. After you realized he wasn't trying to replace Jason, and saw how he was helping your father heal in ways you couldn't, you tried to bond with him. You attempted to play his video games and ignored his complete disintrest in you and anything that had to do with you in hopes he might come to appreciate you. You brought him coffee after long patrols, asked him about his day, asked to meet his friends, you picked up all his hobbies like hacking, cooking, reading even martial arts and yet he ignored you. You tried to find him in hallways at school, only to be treated like a stranger when you found him. He was embarrassed that you were his sister. You were chubby and awkward and didn't have many friends, he didn't want his cool kid friends to know you were his sister. For 5 long years you chased after him, for 5 years you chased a ghost, and somehow Tiffany captured his attention using one of the gadget-thingys you made in hopes to impress him. She walks the hallways of Gotham Prep with him, a perfect sibling duo, he even had her lunch moved so she could sit with him and his friends. He wasn't embarrassed of her. You watched them get closer in 6 months than you have in 5 years. And it hurt.

But perhaps what hurt most is her newfound bond with Damian. Your baby brother. You tried the hardest with Damian, almost as hard as you tried with Bruce, and yet he chose her while all you got was a sword to your neck and sneers of disgust thrown your way. Damian moved in when you were 12. You were elated, if you couldn't have good older siblings, at least you could be one! That plan went to hell when you realized Damian saw you as less than him. No matter how hard you tried, returned your love with disgust. You tried to show him around school like you wished Tim did for you and he called you " A waste of space and Wayne DNA" and said that there was no way you were of "Wayne" blood and that your "whore of a mother" had to have deceived his father, in front of your two friends and half the school. You could've handled his cruel words if he didn't begin attempting to duel you to become your father's heir. About a year ago, when you tried to hug him he threw you down the stairs and you broke your ankle, you stopped trying with him after that. He was so possessive over Bruce and now that somehow transferred to Tiffany too. You'd feel bad for her if she wasn't eating his obsession with her up.

Barbra, Cassandra, and Stephanie were the "It girls." All practically sisters, they hung out almost everyday and had sleepovers every Friday. They giggled about boys, hook-ups, missions and bonded over everything. You wanted be one of them, you tried so hard to be cool, to be pretty, and they could only see your flaws. You curled your hair and did your nails in hope you would blend with them, you even attempted to be Batgirl at one point. You were quickly denied after Stephanie pointed out that you didn't have the right 'physique' for it. Barbra quickly agreed and said you weren't cut out for it, Cassandra simply looked you up and down. Thats why it hurt extra when they welcomed Tiffany with open arms. Suddenly, she could be Batgirl. She talked to them about boys and bonded with them over girl things. She stole your sisters.

You figured out Tiffany was a spy almost as soon as she came into the manor. Her apperance and ability to act like it was her who saved the Bats from the Joker and his new radioactive snake was not a coincidence, neither was her becoming a vigilante only two weeks after coming into the manor, and neither was you catching her walking out the Batcave with arms full of Batman's weapons and plans. You couldn't believe your luck and pulled out your phone to take a picture, too bad you left the flash on. Tiffany quickly noticed you and tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding when Bruce came into the hallway. You beamed at the sight of him and began to explain what you saw Tiffany doing, only Tiffany was faster. She was quick to blame you for everything, and Batman, the world's greatest detective believed her. She said that you bullied her at school and you were so jealous of her joining the family that you went to steal plans and took pictures to frame her. It was a shitty lie and somehow everyone believed it. You still remember the cold indifference on Bruce's face, the sadness on Alfred's, the look of pure delight on Damian's, the shock on Dick's, the interest on Tim's and the disappointment and disgust on Jason's. Something shifted in you that night. You didn't feel an overwhelming amount of love and longing when you looked at your family, you felt anger. Pure unadultered rage, rage at Bruce for never loving you, rage at Dick for being a liar, rage at Jason for throwing away your bond and cool indifference and disgust at the rest of them.

Maybe that's why your abilities finally formed. Maybe thats why the place the snake bit you that fateful night began to glow as you cried in your bathtub, after being scolded all night and getting body slammed by Damian for trying to "taint his dear sister's image". You had powers now, the agility of a snake, you could eject venom out of your fingertips, you could walk on walls, now you could prove them all wrong.

okayyyy yall this was the prolouge. Again this is my 1st attempt at writing so be nice. If enough people like this I'll put out part one. Hope yall enjoyed and lmk what you want to happen next in the comments!!!!!!!!!

[dorenarox]

Don't make me throw up in your face.

[ghoulbrain]

The Cost of Flesh

18+ 4.9k the ghoul x f!reader. gif credit. dirty talk, vaginal fingering, clothed/naked, finger sucking, grinding on a cowboy boot, cooper's busted anatomy forces him to get creative, body worship, lightly established dynamic, surprisingly sentimental. a prompt from @tearueful that got wildly out of hand. thank you, friend! 🖤

When what starts off as a purely sexual arrangement with the Waste's most notorious bounty hunter–the ghoul–gradually grows into a living, breathing love, you're both forced to confront the inevitable humanity that comes with sharing your body with another.

There’s a living myth that walks the wastes, a figure known exclusively as the ghoul. He’s enigmatic, a force of nature that declares himself to the world with his every step. If you're unaware of sharing a room with him, it’s likely because he’s hunting you, in which case it’s not a matter of if he catches you, but when.

Naturally, it was the talk of the town when he made a regular haunt out of the saloon you worked in.

He watched you serve drinks all evening, his gaze a physical thing upon you. Normally you expected a degree of harassment from clientele, raiders and the like often rolling through, but it was as though everyone else sensed his attention on you as much as you did. You could tell from the tilted angle of the wide brim of his hat when he was listening to your conversations.

It was as eerie as it was intriguing. You couldn’t fathom a bounty on your head, so what did he want?

You would soon be ensnared by him, but not for a bounty. It was for pleasure. Your pleasure.

“Come upstairs with me,” He murmured in your ear, standing close behind you, a gloved knuckle rolling up your spine. “Y’ain’t gatta do nothin’. I won’t hurt’cha none. Just wanna hear a pretty bird sing.”

You shivered, caught unaware. You never even heard his approach, even though the din of the bar had quieted in the late evening.

“I’m not for sale,” you replied, testing the water. He was close enough that you felt him, but not so close you were pinned. You could move if you wanted to.

“I ain’t buyin’,” he gave back. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck. “But I’ll make it worth y’while.”

The gravel grit of his voice was nearly drowned out by the drumming of your own pulse in your ears. To this day, you don’t know what possessed you to agree, but you did. He took your hand in his, the leather of his glove soft with wear, and led you away from the bar. The next thing you knew, he was stripping you bare in one of the dark rooms above the bar.

The ceremony with which he undressed you had felt disconcertingly like meal prep. He tied your hands above your head, and your heart thundered with the understanding that there was nothing to stop him from devouring you alive where you lay sprawled out on the bed. 

By the time his gloved hands were dragging away your underwear, you felt dizzy with the heady mix of arousal and fear, an unquiet ache thrumming between your thighs. Your only meager assurance was that of all the legends you’d heard of the ghoul, seducing and eating barmaids wasn’t among them. 

And yet devour you he did. You were hooked from that very first wet, hot slide of his tongue against your clit. He spent hours with you that night, mapping your body with his tongue, your scars and blemishes serving as waypoints and constellations. He nipped and sucked until dark marks blossomed under his tongue, and he relished those spots more than any other.

He never took off more than his gloves, and he never let you touch him. He never fucked you. He brought you to climax with his mouth and his hands so many times you lost track of the number. All you could do was writhe and moan your pleasure. He didn’t stop until those moans turned to sobs, until you begged him to. After that, he cut your binds loose and left you a mess on the bed, aching and used. 

You laid there for a long time, thinking you would never see him again.

The ghoul returned not a week later. 

He wasn’t subtle about what he wanted from you, beckoning you from across the bar with a crook of two fingers. You felt your knees weaken with the memory of those same fingers in your mouth, your cunt, that hand pinning you by your throat to feel your cries against his palm. He stared at you from beneath the brim of his hat, cocked his head. You nodded, and his eyes flashed.

Hungry.

You didn’t learn his name until your third encounter. He whispered it in your ear.

“Now scream it for me, sweetheart.”

You did.

The two of you would meet several more times. He would stay a little longer after each session, and bit by bit, you would come to understand the man beyond the ghoul. He doesn’t talk about himself, and he doesn’t ask anything of your life in turn, but he reveals himself in pieces nonetheless. Beneath the ruthless pragmatism of his legendary persona, you find the manners of a shockingly tender gentleman lurking.

He’s always unhurried in disrobing you, devoted to the task at hand: taking you apart piece by piece. He treats each article of frayed clothing like a piece of paper that might tear if he pulls too hard. He makes the process of being undressed in and of itself feel like sex, every move intentionally sensual. 

For you, the experience ranges from thrilling to maddening depending on your mood that day. He never heeds you, always keen to take his time regardless of your impatience. He takes a particular kind of enjoyment in your body, the likes of which you’ve never known. You’re certain he knows it better than you do at this point, and yet he’s never laid himself bare to you. Never let you bring him the kind of pleasure he brings you.

He’s never kissed you.

“Please. I wanna touch you, too,” you tell breathlessly, knelt between his legs, naked as sin. His focus breaks, gaze snapping to yours. You lick your lips, relishing the rare feeling of catching him off guard. You slide your hands up his thighs, inching towards his groin. “Taste you. Make you twist. When’re you gonna let me, huh?”

He catches your wrists as quickly as a viper strikes, holding you still for a long, tense moment. You hold his gaze without any of the fear or reservation you’d felt that first day. 

Despite the warmth that’s grown between you in the time since that first night, you’re uncertain of what exactly the two of you are now. It would be romantic to think of this feeling in your chest as love. Certainly it is intimacy. Familiarity. What is love if not consistency? Perhaps it’s like masonry. Steel against stone, and the conscious choice to change something as immutable as solid rock.

For as long as he chooses to come back to you, to find his pleasure in you, is that not love? If it isn’t, it might just be the closest you’ve ever come to it.

Dumbstruck for a moment by the tenderness in your gaze, Cooper’s own drops to your hand, lifting it to his mouth. His grip is tight, but not painful. As he does with everything else, he takes his time answering.

“Won’t do much good, darlin’,” he says, folding your hands wrist over wrist. You perk up. He’s never given a proper explanation for why he seems to have no interest in your reciprocation. From his belt, he withdraws a length of rope and begins encircling your wrists. You allow it, the ritual a familiar one. “Plumbing’s long busted, but that don’t mean I don’t enjoy myself. Enjoy you.”

Like the final piece of a puzzle falling in place, understanding dawns. His initial use of you drops perfectly into context. It was like you were more an object to him than a person, a vessel for him to exact sensation upon. You understand now that that’s exactly what you were. Be it the radiation or the myriad of drugs he takes to keep the degeneration at bay, it’s likely just one more piece of him the Wasteland has stolen.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?” He asks, fastening the rope with a sharp tug that shoots a hot throb between your thighs. If he’s apprehensive about your answer, he hides it well. If they still made movies, he’d make for a fine actor.

You pause, giving the question the thought it deserves. “Not exactly. Maybe a bit,” you say, struggling to articulate the feeling. “Kind of relieved, though. I didn’t know if you couldn’t, or just didn’t want to,” you admit, leaning into it when he brings his palm to the side of your face. Your lips part automatically for the brush of his thumb along them. “I just want to do more.”

Cooper’s gaze softens, the line of his mouth twitching in what almost looks like a smile before it’s tampered by a profound sense of sadness. However, it disappears as quickly as the smile that nearly was. His expression smooths back out into controlled focus.

“So do more,” he says in that molasses drawl, thick and sweet. It could be your imagination, but his voice sounds warmer than it did a moment ago. “Put on a show for me.” He widens the spread of your legs with the press of his boot to your inner thigh. “I got plenty ‘a things for you t’ride.”

He lifts the worn leather to the wet heat gathering between your thighs and you shudder, lashes fluttering. His boot sinks back to the ground and you follow it, grinding down against the leather with a soft sigh of pleasure. He hooks his fingers through the tether around your wrists and draws you forward by it, his knee pressing between your breasts, your bound hands resting on his thigh.

“Don’t take much t’get you moanin’, do it, sweetie?” He baits, mouth curved in a crooked smile. You roll your hips with a soft keen, shaking your head. You were already tingling all over from the slow way he’d undressed you, and now that ache is growing rapidly into thrumming need. He whistles lowly. “All that noise for a li’l friction.”

He bucks his boot against your cunt, wringing a cry out of you. You screw your eyes shut, clutching at his pant leg while you roll your hips, embarrassed by how right he is. Everything he does is electrifying, and his honied voice in your ears helps turn the curve of his boot into the most exquisite touch you’ve ever known.

With his teeth, Cooper tugs off his glove and touches your cheek with warm, rough fingers. His bare thumb hooks your bottom lip, easing it open until you taste the salt of his skin pressing down on your tongue. “Or just didn’t want to…” He echoes through a frayed laugh, sounding equal parts amused and wistful at your words on his tongue. “Y’got no idea what I’d do to this sweet mouth if I could.” He presses his thumb deeper, watching with dark eyes as you start to suck. “What I’d give t’see how pretty you cry, chokin’ on my cock.”

He paints such a pretty picture that you long for it, too. Releasing his thumb with a breathy sound, you open your mouth. “More,” you say, your breaths shallow. “I want more.”

His own chest is heaving with each breath, his tongue caught between his teeth. He slips two fingers into your mouth, pushing them all the way to the knuckle. You both moan with it, pressure creeping slowly up your spine. He rocks his fingers in and out, and you start to match his pace, grinding against his boot as fast as his fingers fuck your mouth. 

Catching on, he kicks his pace up a notch, captivated by the pull of your lips, the shimmer of your saliva on his weathered skin. You can see it in his eyes, how he loses himself in your pleasure as if it’s his own, filling in the gaps with faded memories. He pushes in a third finger, teeth raking over his bottom lip. You push your tongue between them, over them, sucking and lapping as if it really is his cock in your mouth. 

“Fuck, darlin’,” he hisses, pulling sharply on your bindings. You make a noise around his fingers, so close to the peak of release that your lungs begin to seize, throat quieting. It’s pure agony when Cooper abruptly hauls you up onto your knees, halting your ascension. “C’mere,” he growls, all grit and throaty need. His fingers slip from your mouth and he manhandles you up into his lap, bringing you into a straddle over him, your bound wrists thrown over the back of his neck.

The same fingers he had halfway down your throat now move between your thighs, pressing into your slick, yielding body with two wet fingers in one deep push. You groan, the burning ache of it so good your eyes roll back. His free hand skirts up the length of your torso to the underside of your breast, kneading soft flesh with a rough hand. Then, so quick all you can do is gasp, he pushes the weight of it upward, meeting pearl-soft skin with lips, tongue and teeth.

All the while his fingers sink deeper, moving faster. He adds a third and you strain against your binds, arching your back, pressing your chest into his hungry mouth. He scissors his fingers, determined to make you feel every inch he fills you with.

“C-Cooper…” You keen, shivering for the hot slide of his tongue over your nipple, how he sucks it into his mouth.

Pulling off with a wet pop, he drags his tongue up the line between your breasts, greedy for the taste of you. “Shh, shh,” he hushes, already teasing a fourth finger. His breath is hot on your damp skin. “Just a little more, you can take it,” he says, pressing his thumb to your clit, rubbing circles to soothe the burn of being filled so suddenly.

“I can’t, I can’t,” you protest, nails biting into your own hands, eyes screwed shut.

“Y’already there, sugar,” he rumbles, each word rougher than the last. He’s right, you’re seated in the crook between his thumb and index finger, so full of him that your thighs are trembling from the strain of it. He rocks his hand slowly, fucking you deep, crooking his fingers until a sharp jolt of pleasure makes you shudder. “Doin’ good, takin’ everything I give you. That’s it. Go on, pretty bird. Sing me a song.”

Your eyes meet, both bleary and wild. You could lose yourself in the darkness of his gaze, and given his insatiable hunger, you know he would swallow you whole. You moan for him, sing his praise with the breathlessness of your voice, with the sway of your hips as you pick up his rhythm. He nods absently, watching you with such voracious wonder, you feel beyond yourself. Half human, half embodiment of pleasure. 

The meteoric rise back to the cusp of your climax feels like flying, your stomach tightening, the velvet walls of your cunt throbbing and squeezing his fingers so tightly, you feel their every slide.

You come hard on his fingers, crying out just before the height of your pleasure seizes you. Cooper watches every second of your release, his own lids flickering, though he never blinks. He slips his arm around your body and pulls you to him, naked skin pressed snug against leather and tattered fabric. You collapse into him, held up only by his grip and the tether binding your hands around his neck.

He holds you through the aftermath, savors every last wet quiver of your cunt around his fingers. His thrusts slow, but he doesn’t stop until–in a quaking breath–you beg him to. His fingers settle in deep, lingering a moment before he slides them free. The relief of escape from overstimulation is rivaled only by the awful emptiness that his fingers leave in you. You clench your shaking thighs on either side of him so that he might understand.

Stay.

Either he understands, or he simply isn’t through with you. His gloved hand slides up and down your back, thumb brushing the back of your neck on every upward swipe. Before long you hear a decidedly wet slurp, and you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him through euphoria addled eyes.

One by one, Cooper licks every one of his slick fingers clean, purring his approval. “Not even decades of radiation poisoning can erase the taste of good pussy,” he says, voice low and lazy. “And this, darlin'? Gourmet."

You smile, heat rushing up your chest to your cheeks. “I think you have an addiction,” you say, a slight slur to your words. You roll your fingers, which tingle faintly, the rope taking its toll on your circulation.

He clicks his tongue, hands settling on your hips. His hands are warm, and his touch erupts goosebumps up your spine. “Y’say that like it’s a problem. Gonna cut me off?”

“As your dealer, it’s in my best interest to encourage said addiction,” you say, cocking your head. Up close like this, focused only on each other’s eyes, it’s easy to forget he’s anything other than a man. His eyes are beautiful, the color of sand in that fleeting hour of sunset that turns the whole world gold. Not even the hole left from the decay of his nose takes away from the beauty of them. Truth be told, you find the whole of him entirely too handsome. “Besides, I find myself similarly afflicted.”

His lips split into a slow smile. “Y’somethin’ rare, darlin’. Fine company’s scarcer than clean water these days.”

Another wave of heat washes through you, but this time it concentrates in your chest, coiling around your heart and squeezing. “You’re just not used to talking to people who know how to read,” you say, trying and failing to swallow back the sentimentality swelling in your throat.

He chuckles. It’s a rare sound, one that does nothing for the growing affection suffocating your heart. “True, true.” He already admitted that the way you spoke is what caught his attention in the first place.

“Say…” You begin, hesitant. “You remember what I said to you when we first met? Down in the bar.”

Gently, Cooper lifts your arms from around his neck, setting your hands between your bodies. He blows out a breath and starts untying your hands. “I’m old, sweetness. Refresh my memory.” 

"I told you I wasn't for sale," you remind him, blood rushing back into your hands with the removal of the rope. You rub them together.

He makes a small noise of recollection, winding the rope around his hand. “Y’did.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” you say, watching him carefully.

His gaze flickers up to yours, searches your expression. He can tell you’re guarding it, and his own sobers in response. “Dare I ask the cost?”

"Love,” you blurt out, far more graceless than you’d been in your mind. His eyes widen a fraction, caught off guard. In any other moment you’d be smug about that, but now it’s precarious. Whatever nebulous sentiment exists between the two of you, you know it’s fragile. “Love. Yours, or just… mine. The cost is love.”

“Y’don’t love me, sweetheart,” he says, but the gentleness of his words does nothing to dissuade you. It only worsens the yearning in your heart.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you say, a frown tugging at your lips. 

He’s quiet for a moment, gauging you. “Y’don’t know me.”

“You let on more than you think you do,” you counter, hands braced on his chest. “I might not know everything about your life, but I know you.”

You know he read westerns and science fiction novels written by a man named Louis L’Amour, but confessed to liking his poetry best. You know the variations in his smiles. You know the sound he makes when he gets up from sleep, stiff-limbed and weary. You know him in intimacy. You know how he craves  peace and grace in the warmth of your body. If blinded and deafened, you would know his touch.

Whether he likes it or not, you know him the way souls know each other.

His eyes drift away as if he’s leery about you seeing anything more than you have. “What you’re lookin’ for, y’not gonna get it from me. I’m burnt out, darlin’. All dried up.”

“I’m not asking for more than you’ve given,” you say, trying not to let the terrible ache in your chest color your tone. You could scream at him for how wrong he is. How much left of him there is to love. “I’m telling you that I have more to give, and I want you to have it.”

“I wouldn’t even know what t’do with it anymore,” he says, gazing somewhere distant.

You wish he’d at least look at you as you bled your heart. “Nothing you haven’t already done, if that’s what you want.”

“Then why say anything at all?” He asks, an edge creeping into his tone. He does finally look at you, the lines of his expression as guarded as they were the first day you met him. “If y’didn’t want t’change things, why say anything?”

You stiffen to keep from shrinking away. You want this too badly to let him spook you now. 

“So that you know,” you say, choosing your words carefully. Each one feels sharp on your tongue, too honest. Too vulnerable. You’re giving him too much power with each one that falls. “I’m telling you so that you know I love you. I’m telling you because if I don’t, I might explode with it,” you say, fervency climbing in your voice, spurred on by the beginning sting of rejection. “I’m telling you for me. Is it easier to accept my love if it’s selfish?”

There it is again, that flicker across his face. Whatever he expected to hear, it wasn’t that. Slowly, Cooper removes his other glove, dropping it to the wayside. With that same hand, he brings his knuckles to your face, ghosts the heat of them down your cheek.

“Y’deserve better than half measures from a broken old man,” he says so quietly, you strain to hear each word. “Most of me’s always gonna be out in the sands, lookin’ for what’s lost. That’s no life for you.”

Taking his hand in yours, you hesitate a beat before you start to place gentle kisses on his every first knuckle. “Maybe. Maybe not,” you say between kisses, not meeting his eye yet. You’ve never been quite so openly affectionate. “But it’s like you said… Fine company is scarce,” you say, kissing each second knuckle next. “Don’t deny me the best I’ve ever known.”

His smile is reticent, tugged from the corner of his mouth as if by an invisible string. There’s something wistful in his expression. He watches you kiss the pads of his fingers next, the prints of them long worn away and replaced with thick calluses. His thumb is last. You give it a playful little nip, lest the softness of your lips scare him off.

Cooper slips his hand out of yours, the wistfulness of his gaze replaced with somber resignation. “M’sorry, darlin,” he murmurs, cupping either side of your face. 

Your stomach drops, the bitter stench of a goodbye settling into the air between you. You remind yourself that you knew this might happen. You repeat the thought again and again, as if being right will make it hurt less.

His thumbs stroke over your cheeks. “If I were a better man, a stronger man,” he says, gaze dipping to your lips. “I’d walk away for good.”

Your brows furrow. “Wh–”

He kisses you with such gentleness it breaks you apart. Your hands fly to his jacket, holding him to you. It’s as if the entire world spins on its axis, your stomach flipping wildly with it. It leaves you floating, tethered only by the grips you have on each other. What begins as a chaste press quickly heats up into a gnawing hunger, his tongue slipping into your mouth, your teeth scraping his bottom lip.

“Lucky for me that I ain’t even a good man,” he says, words peppered between kisses. 

The world spins again, but this time you really are moving through the air. You let out a yelp as Cooper flips you onto the bed, kissing a trail down your naked chest. You’ve felt his tongue and his teeth, but never the reverent press of his lips. As if you’ve only just given him permission to see you as something more than a tool for vicarious pleasure, he touches your body the way a superstitious man worships–full of intent and genuine belief.

“Cooper,” you sigh, smiling. “It’s my turn to touch you,” you remind him, tugging at the shoulder of his tattered jacket. The most he’s ever taken off is that jacket and his hat, but you want more.

He looks up at you from between your breasts, hesitating a beat. “You should know that it only gets uglier ‘neath the collar, sugar.”

“You’re not ugly,” you tell him. At his skeptical expression, you continue, “I’ve seen ugly. Heard it, felt it. You’re not ugly. Not to me.”

He quirks a hairless brow and lets out an incredulous little breath, adjusting himself onto his knees between your legs, swayed. “Y’might consider glasses,” he tells you, shrugging out of his coat. 

You hook your legs over his and use them as leverage to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his vest. “That might not end well for you,” you say coyly, popping each one loose. 

“I’m used to it,” he says, leaning down for another kiss. This, too, is reverence. He takes his time, savoring the feel of your lips against his, licking the taste of you from them like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever known. With his vest open, you work on his undershirt next, tugging them loose while sucking on his tongue.

Halfway down, he stills your hand with a firm grip on your wrist. “That’ll do,” he tells you, voice little more than a rasp. You bite back a protest and nod, understanding that this is likely more exposed than he’s been in a long, long time. You push back into the kiss and press your hand to his chest, sliding slowly down. 

The skin beneath is as gnarled as old tree bark, pitted in places and scarred in most. For as durable as ghouls are, Cooper’s skin has been shredded and torn and riddled with bullets enough times that parts of his body have taken hold of those memories forever, formed around them.

You treat them gently, tracing them with your fingertips. You feel unreasonably powerful when he shivers subtly beneath your touch. You press your hand flat to his heart to hold the beat of it in your palm. It’s slow, but each thud is strong. You break from him with a deep breath, dizzy from the way he makes your head spin with each kiss.

“Lie down,” you say breathlessly. You’re almost surprised when he does, unaccustomed to taking so much control. You cozy up against him, laying your head where your hand had been a moment ago, and close your eyes. His heartbeat sounds just as it felt. Steady, firm, slow. You imagine the radiation has scarred him inside and out, left his heart thick and misshapen as well. Alive nonetheless.

After a brief hesitation, Cooper’s arm slips around your waist. His thumb caresses your hip. “For what it’s worth,” he begins, his tone overly conversational, masking whatever true feeling lurks beneath. “I won’t hold you to none of it. Not if y’get sick of it.”

If you get sick of him, he means.

You tip your head back to look up at him. His gaze is affixed to the ceiling, but you can see apprehension in his distant expression. You drop your eyes, nuzzling your cheek against his chest. His hand cups the back of your head in response, stroking. You smile faintly, soaking in all these little affections. You wonder how long he’s been holding back from touching you like this, denying himself such simple intimacies in order to maintain a distance he didn’t feel, but deemed necessary.

“You’re wrong, Cooper.”

“‘Bout what?”

“You are a good man.”

He goes quiet at that. The two of you lie there a long while, his hands absently roaming your body like he’s committing you to memory. Your hands do the same, dipping under the hem of his shirt to explore further. He hooks his knuckle under your chin, tips your head back to kiss you languidly.

There’s a surreal domestic feel to the unhurriedness of it all, as if he won’t be gone to the winds come morning. You make a home of this moment in your mind, constructing four walls in which to imagine another life. The kind you’ve read about in tattered books and seen on fuzzy old screens.

All the while Cooper holds you, his lips never long from your skin.

You eventually find your way under the covers together, past the point of words. You drape yourself back down against him, your ear finding the chamber of his heart once more. You fall asleep listening to the beat of it, content for now to take each day you spend with him as they come.

[eolewyn1010]

Obviously, we also can't have it that the male lead be permanently disabled, so despite all the drama, he will make a full recovery from his spine injury and wind up walking, dancing, and fathering children no problem. Can't have the poor, deplorable, rich white aristocrats end up without a proper heir.

. . .

I can't seem to roll my eyes hard enough at this.

If there is one thing Julian Fellowes is lethally allergic to, it's changing the status quo.

Bates is NOT the valet to Lord Grantham? Can't have that; get him back. Mary does currently NOT have dudes pining for her? Write in some new ones! Edith, not miserable? Well, make her! Daisy, developing some confidence? If Mrs Patmore has let up on her verbal abuse, she instead can browbeat her into an engagement Daisy didn't want!

[sunderwight]

Been thinking about the implications of Jayce needing a sponsor/patron to get into the academy.

Jayce Talis:

-is from Piltover

-comes from a family of good standing and moderate wealth

-is a certifiable genius

-even outside of his hextech dream is an accomplished engineer

-has no criminal record or other blemishes on his background

-presumably passed every relevant aptitude test

-ticks all the superficial boxes (looks, health, charisma, etc)

And yet, this guy still requires the patronage of a wealthier house with a family member on the council in order to pursue his career in academia. Viktor manages to do without, but as we see there is a definite limit that Viktor has pretty much hit even by the start of S1, stalling in the role of Heimerdinger's assistant, a position of influence but one that is necessarily limited to whatever is approved of by Heimerdinger. Jayce is able to ascend higher only with the full force of his advantages behind him, and even then he's almost ruined by the first major blow to his reputation.

Also, despite hextech becoming widely used by the general public in several capacities by the time of S2, Ambessa can't find any other scientists among the Piltover elite who can figure it out. Some of that might be down to the smarter ones just not wanting to cooperate with a Noxian warlord, but we've seen the clever minds in Zaun figure out how to manipulate hextech with at least enough success to avoid obliterating themselves in the attempt (mostly), and with way less access to any of Jayce or Viktor's research on the subject than is presumably available to their academic peers in Piltover. You're telling me there's not a single would-be authoritarian self-serving prominent tech guy in the upper city who can also figure out hextech?

But the thing is, I can in fact believe that, because in order for Jayce to get hextech off the ground he needed not only House Kiramman's support but also Mel's, like he had to launch an entire political career alongside his actual scientific research, and he started nowhere near the bottom. Mel's probably right when she says that if she hadn't stepped in to support him (regardless of how badly the whole hextech thing actually turned out) then Jayce would have either ended up sabotaged or had his work stolen out from under him by someone with more political traction.

There's a strong implication in that, and in the apparent apprenticeship system of the academy, and in the stupidity of the head of the council prior to the explosion (guy whose name I can't remember, who Mel gave the child's toy to), that many "prominent geniuses" of Piltover are just stealing the ideas of students and assistants with less social mobility, stamping their names over the accomplishments of people in their employ and acting like they came up with all of it themselves. Heimerdinger's not the type to take credit for Viktor's achievements, but I'd bet that he's an exception to the rule. If Viktor had taken up with a different employer, he probably would have had to resign himself to only gaining ground in their name, to just making the progress he hoped to make without ever getting credit for his own innovations. Heck, that still kind of happens even in his employment with Heimerdinger and partnership with Jayce -- despite the two of them not actively diminishing Viktor's contributions at all, the council in general dismisses him as more of an assistant than 50% of the mind behind the hexgates. Jayce is Mister Progress, and no one even tries to put Viktor's face on a mug (not that he'd want it but that's beside the point).

So what does this say for the talented thinkers who don't luck into sponsorships with the most influential houses in the city or catch the eye of established council members? What about the geniuses and revolutionary thinkers who attended the academy while Heimerdinger wasn't looking for new assistants, whose apartments never blew up and caught the eye of ambitious young politicians or chill science bros? Like absolutely the fact that few of the bright young minds in Zaun have less than a snowball's chance in hell of following in Viktor's footsteps (especially after hostilities escalate) is atrocious, but things are so bad that most of the bright young minds in Piltover are probably stuck holding assistant and secretarial positions and working unpaid internships under guys from wealthier families who aren't half as capable, but whose names nonetheless go on all the papers, and whose house sigils get stamped on all the innovations.

And that's if they can even manage to get into the academy at all.

Like I can see why we didn't get more information on how Viktor went from being a poor cripple in the undercity to one of Heimderdinger's assistants, and why tptb were throwing around ideas of his parents basically just getting a uniform, sneaking him into the academy, and encouraging him to bluff his way through until he was enough of an established presence that no one questioned whether he actually got there legitimately or not. Because the only other thing I can think of is that he did get some kind of official scholarship or backer, but that it was the equivalent of a predatory student loans situation, where getting into the academy set him into debt so far that if hextech hadn't taken off, he would have probably spent the rest of his life paying it back.

Not a deal offered to many and not a deal most would take, though considering Viktor wasn't expecting to live very long unless he could find a miracle anyway, it probably seemed like a better option than just waiting for the pollution and chemical runoff in the undercity to finish killing him while he stayed at home.

Anyways. Yeah. Piltover's a shithole too, I think. That place has gotta be just lousy with Elon Musk types.

[jellyfishoreo1206]

Tending (Sebastian Solace x Reader)

Notes: I am enjoying this way too much, I have work to finish yet here I am making sure my children are fed.

Credit goes to @/cafekitsune for the borders!

Picking the harvest was probably one of your favorite things this season. The soft sounds of nature that surround the garden as the sun lays its gentle rays upon the earth while picking the fruits and veggies give your mind a wave of peace. 

It's absolutely lovely.

Lifting that straw hat upon your head, you swiped off the sweat and dirt that had built up during your time outside. There are still traces of summer well into September, despite the dawns and evenings filling with a slight chill. 

Jack Frost sure is taking his time, huh?

There's a sense of pride that fills your very being to the brim as you examine the juicy Brandywine and Roma tomatoes that fill the wicker basket in your hold—not a single blemish or bruise on them, all are perfect! And they seem to be a lot bigger this year than the previous.

A sign of luck, you like to think it. If this year's harvest is bountiful, then the year will be prosperous.

A saying a dear relative always repeated whenever you helped out in their garden.

With a huff, you will your legs to stand straight from your crouched position, several of your joints popping from being in such a crouched stature for so long, heading over to the shaded porch where Painter resided to trade the full wicker basket for an empty one. 

And maybe some water, too. Harvesting is time-consuming, and your throat is parched.

"Hey Paints," The basket made a heavy *THUD* causing some of the items on the table to make a small jump from the force, Painter's monitor and tablet being no exception, giving the AI a small startle.

"I'm painting here." With a hiss, their narrowed eyes fixed themselves onto your sweat-riddled frame. You merely gave an apologetic smile, snatching the basket you came for and backing off before the AI started insulting you in various languages. . .

Again.

~~~

Clip. Clip. Clip.

Large scaly fingers gently picked the green beans off the bustling bush they hung from with care to not accidentally crush them, the wicker basket set beside him steadily filling up with the surprisingly immense abundance of the green capsules. He could probably make some carbonda for dinner tonight. . .

It probably won't be on par with Mama's, pero quién sabe?

Hopefully there's enough potatoes ready. . .

A feeling of excitement fills him at the thought of making one of his favorite dishes that he ate with enjoyment growing up and sharing it with you, his favorite person.

He could already imagine your look of delight when you take your first bite of the soup, smiling wide with glee and eyes wide with surprise as you go for your second bite, little hums of delight escaping your lips as you savor the taste.

Readjusting the straw hat that was slowly falling off his head with one of his hands, and slightly pulling back on his esca—grabbing the basket with the second— Sebastian moves on to the next patch in need of harvesting once he deemed there was no more beans to pick anymore—slithering his way towards where the red-potatoes were growing, being mindful to not accidentally smush his tail on any of the plants.

A soft breeze passes by, gently swaying the plants and trees along with it. It also made Sebastian suddenly aware of the sweat clinging to his tank top and hair, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling of sweat and cloth sticking to his torso.

Though Sebastian is no longer human, he still maintains some of his most annoying human traits.

"Damn this summer heat."

~~~

Painter got a bit tired of the heat, as it was unfortunately messing with their hardware. Nothing too serious, but you wish for your friend to be comfortable, so you placed them back inside by a fan and a window.

Well, now would probably be a good time to get some water.

Swinging open the screen door with your hip, you walk back into the garden refreshed and with a new mission in mind, with two ice-cold glasses of water in hand as you survey your surroundings to find where your lover is in the garden.

It doesn't take much looking, as you spot him slithering towards the back porch with a full basket as he fusses about with his shirt, frustrated mutters slipping out every so often the closer he gets.

With a smile, you call out to him, relishing in the way his head snaps up to meet your gaze, a look of tenderness overtaking his face once he approaches.

"Mi Amor~" Once he was close enough, he used his two free hands to wrap themselves around your waist, settling the basket full of harvest down on the table next to you—nuzzling his face into your hair as he breaths your scent in, the tension that was once present in his shoulders now ebbing away.

You could practically hear the loud purring resonating within his chest the longer he held you, the low vibrations resonating throughout your whole body.

Ah, your little fishy kitty.

Unfortunately, you don't wish to spill the water, so you push him back a few inches with your elbow—though his hands now rest upon your hips, rubbing small circles as he fixes you with a coy smile.

"Hi baby," Standing on the tips of your toes, you press a kiss against his cheek, letting out an exaggerated 'Muah!' before pulling away, handing him his glass, "-thought you would've wanted something cool to drink."

"It's much appreciated, my dear." With a grateful squeeze of his hands, he brings the glass to his lips as he downs the water quickly, Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow; the glass emptied in seconds as he lets out a sound of delight, his tail thumping softly at the wooden floor boards of the porch.

Placing the empty glass on the table beside you, he flashes you with that handsome smile you loved oh so very much, his sharp teeth adding to the charm. Oh GOD DAMN. You could feel the beat of your heart fluttering rapidly within your chest as you looked into his eyes, full of love and adoration.

Those very same eyes looking at you.

Is it getting hot out here, or is that just you?

"Thank you, Starfish. If I stayed any longer out here I probably would've dried up!" He jokes, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grins, adding to his gorgeous features.

. . .The sudden urge to smother him in kisses is very strong.

Quickly snapping out of your starstrucked spell, you replied with a joking tone as well, "Oh, you poor thing~!" With a playful pinch to his cheek, you give a gentle tug and wiggle before letting go, not without Sebastian sticking his tongue out in playful distaste.

"I'll make sure to water you if that ever happens," Embracing him once again, you nuzzle yourself the best you can into the crook of his neck, breathing in his citrus yet woody musk, "-my Little Froggit."

A few beats of silence pass by, before the both of you laughed aloud at the absurdity of words that has tumbled from your mouth. His shoulders are shaking as he attempts to shush his laugher, hand flying to his mouth to further contain them from slipping out, but it was no use. What felt like hours when it was merely seconds, the sound of laughter finally winded down—the both of you left breathless, only a quiet chuckle here and there could be heard as the atmosphere calmed around the two of you.

The two of you merely stood on the porch as you settled into comfortable quiet as your surroundings filled it with natures tune.

Seconds passed, eventually turning into minutes, then rolling into hours.

The sun hung low in the sky, making it through the last bit of his long trek down as it climbed lower and lower along the welkin, shadows elongating as the colors in the sky changed, the tune of the forest now changing as the sun dipped lower against the horizon—shining his last rays of light upon the soil of the earth before being overtaken by the moon and the stars.

The moon may not have been full this night, but she still showered the land below with her soft light as the woods became alive. The trees echoed with the sounds of the nocturnal, from the hauntingly beautiful howls of the wolves to the playful yips of the foxes. From within the trees, you could see the faint light of the fireflies luminescence bodies within the dark.

With a tired huff, you leaned more of your weight into Sebastian, sleep gently ebbing away at your brain as your eyelids drooped lower and lower. How long were we out here for? You try to think of when the two of you went out into the garden, but it seems to fade away as your mind slowly turns sluggish; craving a long needed rest.

"Tired?" Sebastian voice seems to be a lot closer to your ear, a pleasant warmth filling your mind as if you ate the smoothest of ambrosia and the sweetest of honey, nudging you closer to the land of dreams.

"Mhm. . ."

"Let's get you to bed, yeah?" The sound of movement met your ears as the floor below you disappears, now cradled within his arms as he sneaks into the house.

"But we haven't ate yet. . . or showered" You mumbled a protest as a yawn interrupts your sentence mid-way, attempting to climb out of his arms, but to no avail as he merely held you closer to his chest.

"I'll wake you up to make sure you eat and shower. Okay?"

". . .Mkay."

"Good,"He opens the door to your shared room, "-now let's get you ready for bed." Sebastian places you on the large bed with care as he slithers over to the dresser, picking out a pair of sweats and one of your favorite sleeping shirts before coming back to the bed. With some trouble, he helps peels off your dirty clothes, then handing you the clean ones before tucking you in bed.

Everything is hazy, your eyes are barely open. Your body feels so heavy with exhaustion, muttering out a small 'love you', to your lover before sleep finally took over. Transporting you to the land of dreams.

"Sleep well, cariño." With a kiss to your head, Sebastian slips out the bedroom with caution, carefully closing the door shut once the last bit of his tail makes it through. He listens to any shuffling from your side of the door, and relaxes when he doesn't hear any, only your breathing.

Now, let's make carbonda, shall we?

Last Part, Next Part (?)

[veryinnovative]

@jegulus-microfic | january 2, prompt: fire | word count: 1.575 featuring older ceo regulus black and younger intern james potter

“A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries? What does that even fucking mean?!” James shouts into the receiver as he winds through the busy masses of bodies crossing the roads, the traffic light across blinking for him to hurry. “Can’t I pick up something for him from Burger King or something? You know, like a normal human being?” 

On the other end of the line, Barty snorts a derisive sound. “Yeah, you try feeding him cheap chain franchise slob and see how that plays out for you. The fucker thinks Versace is a low-class brand, James. He probably doesn’t even know what the inside of a Burger King looks like. Besides, that place is fire. They have good shit.”

Groaning, James picks up the speed and sets out for a sprint, having missed the bus to Howick and resorted to the most reliable way of transport—his two sets of healthy, always moderately trained legs. 

“Are you running? You better not be fucking running, Potter. You’re going to come back all sweaty and with creases in your cheap-ass button-up and then I’m going to be the one getting shit for not driving you and ruining the image of Regulus Black’s executive assistant—”

“Suck a dick, Barty,” James bites back after barely evading a car, its tires screeching at him in warning. He throws the driver an apologetic smile.

“I’m serious. You meal-prepped, Potter! Asked where the fucking office microwave is, are you out of your mind? Lunch is on company credit, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got an image to uphold now you’re working for Black Enterprises!”

“The cafeteria is too rich for my taste. Besides, I like meal-prepping. It’s calming.”

“Your fucking tuna stinks up the place.”

“Maybe that’s just your big bullshitting mouth.”

“Listen here, you piece of—”

“Oops, entering a tunnel, hear that?” James cups a hand over the receiver and makes a low, grating sound—mimicking the static rasp of a bad cellular connection. “See you!”

He tucks away the phone before entering Beauxbatons, the restaurant Barty had told him to go to because Regulus was craving his guilty snack, which, to James, sounded like an item right off a witch’s menu. Then again, he was a poor twenty-three-year-old who had just had a gap year fresh out of university, lived in a run-down apartment tucked in Southern London, and knew nothing of the expensive tastes a man like Regulus Black possessed. Thirty-something years old and not a single skin blemish. Must be all the fucking truffle and caviar and whatever Boiron guava puree he eats.

“Welcome,” one of the employees asks. Of course, all of the staff are also wearing pristine clothes and have perfectly sleeked-back hair.

“Hi,” James answers, now all too conscious of the developing sweat marks below his armpits and the dampness cooling on his back. “I’m, uh, here to pick up lunch? Sorry, I forgot my order so let me have a peek at my messages…”

The employee blinks like James has grown a second head. “Take-away? Sir, this is a dine-in restaurant.”

Good thing James has come prepared. He shuffles through the contents of his bag, phone in the other hand and tip of his tongue peeking out in full concentration. “Oh, that’s alright. I brought something to carry it with me. I also got some Tupperware if you don’t mind rinsing it beforehand.”

“No, sir, it’s not a matter of containers,” the employee starts, her lips pursed into a tight line. “We don’t do takeaways.”

James stops and frowns, bag half slung over his shoulder. “Isn’t this Beauxbatons?”

“It is.”

“My boss sometimes has people pick up his lunch here.”

“You must be mistaken… We do not lend any type of service like that.”

James sighs. Great. Amazing. Just what he needed. “Right. Do you mind if I make a call? I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake then.”

The employee, undoubtedly taking pity on him and his disorderly state that suggests he’s been running the past ten minutes, nods. “Of course.”

Heaving a sigh, James scrolls through his contact list and taps on ‘Regulus’, never mind that he has been firmly instructed to only call him during emergencies. But considering the sort of day he’s been having, he considers this one.

Regulus picks up after the third ring. “Potter?”

It’s been two weeks and he still won’t fucking call him by his name, going off on tangents about formal office conduct and etiquette. Potter this, Potter that, bridling when he’s called by his first name for a change in an environment that would kiss the soles of his feet if he’d ask. “Hi, I’m at the place you sent me the address of but they don’t do takeaways so I wanted to know what you want to eat. You cool with Wagamama?”

There’s a pregnant pause—all too telling of how Regulus is probably taking a deep breath and doing the thing where he either pinches the bridge of his nose or rubs his eyebrows. “Have you mentioned the takeaway is for me?”

“No, I haven’t.” What difference would it make, James wants to ask. But in a world where Regulus Black is pretty much revered, he is confident it would make a little difference at least.

“Do that, Potter.”

James rolls his eyes before returning his attention to the employee. “He wants you to know his name is Regulus, by the way.”

Her eyes widen. “Reg—Do you mean Mr. Black?”

James clicks his tongue. “That the one.” The employee doesn’t look convinced and James holds up his hand just above his chest. “About this tall? Curly black hair? Probably in one of today’s morning tabloids, not hard to miss. I could put him on speaker if you’d like?”

There’s the frantic wave of her hands, head shaking vigorously. “Oh! You should have told me from the start, Sir. Please, what would Mr. Black like to eat for lunch? I—I’m sorry. We are very exclusive in our service and are most honored Mr. Black has once again chosen our humble establishment—”

“Just,” James sighs, skimming over the menu laminated standing on an easel by the entrance, not possessing the energy to listen to someone go off on tangents about his boss again. Not like he does so internally at night, anyway. Absolutely not. “A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries.”

“Not fries, a salad—” Regulus reminds him over the phone, but James has decided that he will just about eat whatever James decides on.

“Potter—” Regulus tries again and James flat-out hushes him. To his surprise, Regulus actually shuts up.

The employee nods, over-excited. “Oh, of course, an excellent choice. How would Mr. Black like it to be cooked?”

James shrugs. “I don’t know, on a grill?”

There’s a faint garbled noise coming from Regulus that James will definitely tuck away in his memory.

But the employee is too thrilled to be serving someone as pompous as Regulus to notice the lack of culinary terminology James possesses. “Oh, I meant the cook of the meat!”

“The cook of the meat?” James repeats. “I don’t know, whoever is on shift? Regulus, who do you want to cook your burger?”

The employee makes a high-pitched sound at the same Regulus sighs in a very exaggerated, exhausted manner. “Just tell them medium rare.”

“Medium? What is this, a video game difficulty?”

“Medium rare!” the employee chirps, her smile wry. Strands of hair stick out of the previously perfectly pulled-back bun like the situation has created plenty of static to dishevel her updo. “One medium rare wagyu—”

“Don’t forget the fries,” James adds, unable to fight off the grin cleaving his face. This, he loves most—fucking with rich people. ‘Who do you want to cook your meat?’ he’s a genius for that one, an absolute innovative mastermind. Make him head of corporate next at this rate.

“You had to call me for this?” Regulus asks him as James watches the poor girl scurry off to the back, undoubtedly to ring in the order and gush about the perfect, rich, hot-looking Regulus Black on the phone by the restaurant’s hallway.

“It was an emergency. I get you the wrong order and you, I dunno, bite off my head like Miranda Priestly.”

“I don’t know a Miranda Priestly.”

“No? Shame. Would’ve loved her, a real feisty woman that one. She works in the fashion industry, though.”

“Potter.”

James tries not to bark out a laugh. He can’t help it, Regulus is just too easy. “Yeah, I’ll get you your overtly expensive A3-grade cut of meat that could pay for my weekly rent. Didn’t take you for the type of man to get burgers, by the way.”

“That’s why I’m asking employees of a lower tax bracket to pick them up for me.”

Okay, that’s kind of funny. Regulus Black can be fucking funny if he wants to, he just rarely chooses to. James barely masks his snort at it. “Got me there, boss.”

“Get a cab back to the office. And stop calling me boss.”

“My bad, Sir,” James drawls, knowing that Regulus reacts particularly well to this specific formality. 

A second of silence that stretches on for a little too long. James clears his throat, wondering if the line cut off. “Regu—”

“See you soon, Potter,” Regulus speaks, faster than usual, almost like he’s flustered, and with a strange pitch to his words before he hangs up.

[sad-darksoul]

Skin Care: GOJO

a/n: hope you like!!

(credit to the artist!)

gojo LOVES do to skincare with you. i mean he literally will throw a tantrum if you do it without him. the only time your able to do it without him is when he’s on a mission.

gojo doesn’t even need to have a skincare routine. his skin is flawless asf. no one flaw in sight.

he got into skincare bcuz of you. he always wondered why you always took so long to get out of the bathroom and cuddle him.

he thought maybe you had diarrhea. he finally decided to investigate, only to find you with a hello kitty headband and a panda sheet mask on ur face.

you and gojo held a staring contest for what felt like forever. “sweetheart, why do you have pandas face on your face?”

you giggled at him. “it’s not our panda satoru. it’s just a random panda” you show him all the sheet face mask you own. from hello kitty to cute animals to plain ones.

he stares at them with aww with those beautiful babe blue eyes you adore so much.

“do you want to do one with me hun?”

picking up a from sheet mask he squeals with excitement “YES” he has never agreed to something so fast.

from that day on, he wants to do everything you do.

“babe can i have some of that too?”

you look at your boyfriend. a pink headband with a bow holding his hair back. making him look even more hot than usual.

“toru baby you don’t need blemish toner! you don’t have blemishes!!”

gojo whines “i don’t care. just put some on me��

you give in. every time.

you didn’t mind using products gojo he didn’t need on him bcuz you love to see him happy. and he buys them for you when run out.

[kakao-lovey]

── .✦ The best subliminals of all time ++ my results

Hi Lovies! I've been a fan of subliminals since the moment I got access to the internet, and can confidently say I know my way around them. Note, though, that I did take IRL steps to achieve these results besides subs; however, I think I can give a huge chunk of the credit to them for the luck, discipline, and motivation I needed. So, in no particular order:

I Want It I Got It's A+ mindset subliminal

Not only are IWIGII's subs extremely powerful, they cover all bases. Mindset is a huge factor in achieving academic success, and it's something not often covered in your standard 'Good grades' subliminals. ۶ৎ My results (Last term):

~ A term average of 90% ~ Chemistry 98% overall, Biology 96% overall, Physics 85% overall ~ Maths went from 43% (Term 1) to 92% (Term 4) ~ Best overall (Whole year) in English and German first language ~ A bronze scroll for academics:

2. Baejin Cafe's emergency clear skin sub

Baejin cafe is my favourite subliminal maker of all time, and this isn't the last time you'll hear me praise their subs. They are intensely powerful, and really go down to every last detail. Here's a snippet out of the benefits: "your skin literally looks poreless, completely even skin tone (both face and body), permanently concealed skin, blemishes don’t even exist in your dictionary, one listen of this is equivalent to the best skincare routine applied for years; one word about your skin is FLAWLESS. your skin is absolutely clear forever; regardless of whatever you eat, the season or anything you do!! your skin is like you have the healthiest diet ever, healthiest water intake and the most perfect skincare routine, completely clear and clean skin throughout, your skin literally looks reflective cause it’s so clear ♡"

۶ৎ My results

(No filter used, images are two months apart) [Image ID: Two photos, one taken before listening to the subliminal of a face with inflammatory acne, the second taken after listening to the subliminal with clear skin] 3. Mii - Too much money.

A classic, but popular for a reason. Just one or two listens are almost guaranteed to get you your desired amount of money.

۶ৎ My results

~ Allowance bumped up from 100 NAD (5 USD) to 200 NAD (10 USD) per month ~ Received money for my academic awards, and as a gift for my birthday

[Image ID: A handful of Namibian dollar banknotes] ~1000 NAD (50 USD) (Sorry for poor image quality) 4. Baejin café - Success energy

This is an all-in-one, listen-to-it-while-you-sleep subliminal with heavily detailed affirmations for everything in your life to go perfectly. It can be used as a booster, to manifest a specific achievement/item/person, or to play in the background to sprinkle some cinnamon-sugar on your daily life. ۶ৎ My results ~ Found a kind, heavily overqualified doctor to prescribe me a medication I really needed ~ Got a job as a waiter for a ball, did it perfectly and got a letter of recommendation ~ Won all three of my division's squash games despite having played for only a few months ~ Manifested lots of small things, gifts, food, to find lost objects ~ Found out I am inheriting an insane amount of money when I turn 25 5. Baejin cafe - Mental health + healthy lifestyle

Whenever I feel depressed or overstimulated, I have a nap with this looped in the background, and I wake up feeling fresh and happy. ۶ৎ My results ~ All of my toxic ex-friends left me (Which may sound like a bad thing at first, but it really helped my mental health overall) ~ I recovered from around five months of hypomanic-depressive mood swings ~ I recovered from a very bad thing that has to do with food ~ I became actually happy with my life <3 That's all! Thanks for being here, and keep me updated if you decide to use any of these subs!

[violetmuses]

Requested! 💌

@amethyst-loves-bucky 🏷

Original Ask 📨

====

2024

“Good morning, Sunshine!” Wade Wilson offers his known smile every day.

“Good morning. How are you feeling? I know the shower’s been wonky.” You quickly frowned because maintenance didn't help often around here.

“Could be worse.” Wade shrugged, heading toward the kitchen as usual.

“What's this?” You found a sticky note on the fridge before sitting down at this table.

“Oh, nothing. Just some motivation.” Wade starts eating as you read the quick message:

KEEP GOING. 😃

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” You welcomed his gesture, but rushed out for work, almost late.

“See you later!” Wade bid farewell just as the front door closed.

His heart can't stop racing over your presence.

_____

Ordering takeout as you returned from work, movie night began and ended, yet an awkward moment pulled when credits rolled.

“Oh, sorry!” You almost fell asleep on Wade's shoulder at this point.

Right as you sit up, his pimples and scarring blemishes stand in full view.

“I…I really like you, Sunshine…” His sweet voice trembled with nerves.

“Me too.” You smiled, leaning inward to kiss him for the very first time.

[sandiavolo]

Ash Na'vi Spider AU Concepts (Pt. 1)

Warning: slight body horror, scars, healed injuries

a.k.a, a bit of a sneak preview at at what we'll be diving into very soon in the next chapter of my fanfic, As the Ash Cloud Passes Over, which is centered around Pandora's very own native human child being taken in by the Ash Na'vi at a young age🔥

THE CONSTANT WARRIOR (AND HIS SCARS)

(Drawing credit goes to @anka-partizanka-from-pandora 💙💙💙)

To commemorate the mystical ability of Anka's storytelling-through-art, I want to discuss a big upcoming topic for my story: Spider having scars whilst part of the Ash Na'vi.

To recap for some, ATACPO follows a world where a very young Spider was found and absorbed into the desolate clan of the Txepìva, the Ash Clan. Where the Tayrangi are masterful ikran riders, and the Aranahe are known for their skills in weaving, I thought to make it where the Ash Na'vi are proficient in the art of war.

At the first break of childhood, any normal Ash Na'vi trains beyond what their body allows. And even then, they will only train harder. B/c that last practice swing, or tiring spar between a clanmate could truly be the difference between life and death where they come from. With that, there will definitely be plenty of hardships along the way.

Case in point, every single person of the Txepìva carries a wound of sorts.

Whether it is the byproduct of a harsh training or a small dispute between your peers (children, teens), the ongoing war with their longtime enemy, the Metka'yina (adults), or even the mark of wounds that can foretell ones entire lifetime (more aged Na'vi), no other Na'vi Clan share as many scars as the Ash Na'vi do. But they are viewed as more. To them, scars are seen as one's abilty to fight, their abilty to struggle & protect, and testify to how they stood strong against a foe that likely went for their neck. To the Ash Na'vi, scars are more than abided, they are regarded as a testimony of inner strength.

Then comes in a young Spider, who is finally cherished for his blemished skin (even when it is tan instead of gray).

When he first drops by unannounced, Spider has unfortunately already accumulated his fair share of scars (as seen above), a key story to his growth into one of the Ash. By then, the human's self-esteem is already shot to pieces. He's used to the way those of the Omaticaya regarded his human skin with disgust. Now, he thinks he's gotten even uglier with his deformed skin. This scary Clan he's discovered, however, does not see it that way.

When the Ash Na'vi first behold the tiny human, they see a lost soul grieviously tortured by his upbringing (a once-bright spirit now a dwindling ember). They are then told his story (told with years of buried anguish and trauma) and hear how he suffered under the name of his long-dead father. How it prevented him from being one of The People. It's enough to break even the strongest of spirits entirely.

And yet, to see Spider with them now, means he not only lived through it all, but he survived. They see it as him managing to crawl out of the pit of despair he was thrown in. Like a true warrior, he fought against the shadows of his mind, and heart. To see one as young as well, have lived such a life, softens even the heart of the Ash Olo'eykte, Varang. And that just makes him a absolute shoe-in for a type of Clan that knows what its like to live through the dark side of Na'vi history.

When the Sully's first see them while on Awa'atlu though, they are blown away and aghast at the sheer sight of them. It hurts to see how their old friend has been through so much. It also puts Spider on edge, which then puts the entire clan on edge, b/c they absolutely despise it when Spider thinks he looks anything but magnificent and beautiful in his own skin.

This has been such an absolutely compelling aspect of the story to me, one I cannot wait to share. To not just write this AU, but to write it from the perspective of Spider, is absolutely baffling. But I hope you guys can enjoy what I have to offer. I'm alwasy open to any ideas/comments/thougts 💙 Ciao, y'all!

Disclaimer: The Txepìva Clan, as well as all individual Ash Na'vi, are of my own creation in this story. It is non-canon compliant to the events of Avatar: The Way of Water (2022). It is somewhat of a darker and unique twist to my fav character, Miles "Spider" Socorro, being part of his own Clan, as well as gaining a mother and siblings. Check it out on AO3!

[libraryofgage]

PJO Steddie Four

One | Two | Three

I am once again posting hfjkds

Anyway! Here's the next PJO AU! We get to see some interactions between Steve and some goddesses, some more hints at El's parent, and some Steddie at the end

Stick around to the very end for a meme!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

Five Weeks Before Meeting Eddie

Steve and the kids are spread out across a department store in Pennsylvania when he, Lucas, and Erica run into the most aesthetically pleasing woman any of them have ever seen. Her face is almost otherworldly, and Steve can't find any blemishes or imperfections in her dark skin. Her hair is a perfect afro, bouncy and decorated with little heart-shaped clips made of real gemstones, the kind of style Erica keeps trying for but always falls short of. She's wearing a short dress; it's orange, flows nicely around her knees, and is paired with white wedges.

The sight of her strikes all of them a little dumb, too distracted by appreciating her beauty to wonder why she seemed to show up out of nowhere. To their credit, Erica and Steve manage to avert their gazes when the woman's eyes glance over them. Lucas, however, continues to stare, his head tilted and his brows furrowed in thought before he lights up with recognition.

"Mom!" he exclaims, dropping the windbreaker in his hands. He smiles brightly as he rushes over, stopping just short of running into the woman. "What are you doing here?"

The woman, who Steve now realizes is Aphrodite, smiles at Lucas with a genuine warmth that relaxes him a little. "Hello, dear," she says, her voice clear and soothing as she cups Lucas's cheek and tilts his head up. "You're looking lively."

"I've been having a lot of fun," he tells her. Lucas then looks over his shoulder and waves Erica and Steve over. "This is Steve. He's been protecting us."

Erica rushes over ahead of Steve, not bothering to hold herself back from hugging Aphrodite's waist like Lucas. She buries her face in her mother's dress as the hug is returned. "I haven't seen you in years," Aphrodite says, pulling back enough to crouch in front of Erica and study her. "You've been growing so well."

"Do you like my hair?" Erica asks, showing a rare childish side as she gestures to her afro-puffs. "Steve helped!"

And this seems to be Steve's cue to introduce himself. When Aphrodite looks up and stands, he smiles politely and nods to her. "Hi, nice to meet you," he says, wondering if he's being too informal. The other goddesses he's met didn't seem to mind, though, and Aphrodite's smile reassures him.

"And you as well, Steve. Thank you for looking after my children all this time," she says, placing one hand on Erica's head and the other on Lucas's shoulder. "I've heard about you from the other goddesses and just had to see what the fuss was about."

"There's a fuss?" Steve asks. He's not sure it's such a good thing for the gods on Olympus to be talking about him. "All good, I hope."

"Good enough," Aphrodite says, her smile dimming slightly as she takes a deep breath. She looks down at Erica and Lucas. "Why don't you two go find something nice? It'll be a gift from me."

Lucas doesn't immediately understand what she means, but Erica does. She nods once and grabs Lucas's hand. "C'mon, I wanna look at the video games," she says, dragging him along.

Once they're out of earshot, Aphrodite looks at Steve. Her smile has become polite. "I truly am grateful that you've been taking care of them," she says, and Steve starts to get a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach, "but I must ask that you take them back to their father."

"What? Why?" Steve asks, frowning slightly.

Aphrodite sighs and crosses her arms loosely. "Several reasons, really," she says. "You attract monsters, Steve. I mean, you are his child. Lucas and Erica were safe at home, surrounded by human children and their human father. Not to mention, your...sister."

Steve tenses, his nerves on edge with just one word. "What about my sister?" he asks, narrowing his eyes slightly. There isn't much he can do against a goddess, but he isn't scared to fight one for any of the kids, especially his sister.

"Well, I'm sure she's a very nice girl," Aphrodite starts, her voice soft and placating, but it doesn't change the anger her words incite. "But that doesn't change the danger my children are in because of her."

Knowing where this was going does nothing to quell the anger that simmers in Steve at her words. "My sister is not a danger to anybody," he says. Then he considers the words and adds, "Well, she's only a danger to the people who threaten her and her loved ones, which includes your children."

Aphrodite sighs once more, her bottom lip jutting out just slightly in what Steve knows should be a sympathetic pout, but it just comes across as patronizing. "She cannot control her powers. One slip-up, and my children ar--"

"She doesn't slip up," Steve says, interrupting Aphrodite, "El, of all people, is the most aware of herself." He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself when he feels the anger crackling under his skin. Too much more and the sky will start to cloud over with thunder and lightning. "I get your concerns, but El isn't a danger."

He looks up at Aphrodite in time to see her frown, and even that expression is beautiful on her. "It doesn't matter how self-aware she is. Slipping is inevitable, and she will face my wrath if my children are hurt. That is a promise, Steve."

If Steve has learned anything from reading myths, it's that he shouldn't anger the gods, and he especially shouldn't anger the goddesses. But now El has been threatened. His sister, one of his kids, has been threatened. So, you know, he can probably be forgiven for what he says next.

"If you touch El or any of the other kids, I swear to the gods, I will make your fit over the golden apple look like a tadpole's temper tantrum," he says, his voice low as he glares at Aphrodite.

He watches as her shoulders rise, leaning back slightly, and her expression morphs into something mixed between angry and dumbfounded. "Did you just threaten me?" she asks.

Steve sees the question for what it is: a chance to take back his words and pretend they never happened. All things considered, it's generous and unexpected from a goddess. Steve doesn't actually care, though. "Yeah, I did. Those kids are under my care, even if they are little shits most of the time. I've fought for them and almost died for them multiple times. Anything that wants to hurt one of them has to go through me, whether that's monsters or gods. So, don't threaten them, because I'd hate to fight you in front of Lucas or Erica."

In the silence that follows, bland pop music plays over the department store's speakers, reminding Steve of where they are. He really just threatened Aphrodite in the middle of Macy's. Well, at least this will be a fun story to tell later.

"Well," Aphrodite finally says, sniffing once and looking down at Steve, "your arrogance is familiar." She lets that dig about Steve's godly parent rest between them for a few seconds. "Fine. I hope neither of us will ever have to act on our threats."

"Yeah. Me, too," Steve says, that anger starting to calm to a subtle buzz.

Aphrodite nods once. "The others were right about you. You are entertaining, and I can...respect your protectiveness regarding the children. I don't like you, though."

"I'll be honest, the feeling is mutual right now."

Their gazes hold for a few more seconds before Aphrodite nods once more in acknowledgment. Steve's anger fully settles then, disappearing until the next time his emotions start to stir. "I'm going to accompany Lucas and Erica for a while and get them some new clothes. I'll send them to you when we're done," she says, turning on her heel and walking in the direction that Erica pulled Lucas before Steve can respond.

He watches her leave, a frown tugging at his lips before he sighs. That meeting didn't go great, but it definitely could have been worse. Steve turns and goes to find El, needing to reassure himself that she's safe before he can completely relax.

----

Eddie gets to see Steve's favor with the goddesses in action on the second day of driving. The kids are starting to argue more than talk, and Eddie will admit that he needs to stretch his legs, so Steve agrees that it's time to stop and find a hotel.

"Can we get one with a pool?" Max asks, having to shout from the back row of seats to make sure Steve hears her.

Steve glances at her in the rearview mirror before sighing. "Yeah, I guess we can try," he says, quickly returning his gaze to the road before clearing his throat. The kids all quiet down, and the van is silent for the first time in hours. "Uh, Hestia, if you've got the time, I'd appreciate some guidance to a place we can stay for the night. The kids would like one with a pool, but just a place where we can sleep safely would be great."

Eddie has heard plenty of demigods pray before, but he thinks this is the most casually genuine one he's ever heard. When they drive past a few exit signs without any change, Eddie starts to suggest Steve try again with a more, well, reverential tone. But then the van's blinker suddenly switches on, and the kids cheer. Steve snorts at their reaction as he follows the blinker's direction and takes the next exit ramp off the highway.

"What the fuck," Eddie mutters, staring as the blinker continues to signal the turns Steve should take until they're pulling into a hotel parking lot.

The sign in front of the building announces it as "Hearth and Home" in cursive letters. The hotel itself is four stories tall and looks like a giant cottage. A few cars are in the parking lot, and Eddie can somehow tell this place is some kind of passion project for someone who doesn't have to worry about money.

After Steve pulls into a spot outside the hotel and shuts the car off, he turns in his seat and looks at the kids. "What are the rules?" he asks, his tone firm and leaving no room for jokes.

"Don't talk to strangers," El says.

"Don't talk at all while you're checking us in and out," Will adds.

"Stick together and stay in sight," Lucas says.

"Cough twice if we sense a monster nearby," Erica says.

"No fighting," Max says, already starting to shift closer to the doors.

"And if anyone asks," Dustin starts.

"We're traveling to meet family one state over," Mike finishes.

Steve nods once and opens his door. That seems to be the signal the kids were waiting for because they immediately scramble out of their seats. Eddie hops out and walks over to Steve, watching the kids climb out as he asks, "What's up with the rules?"

"Well, I'm a young guy traveling with seven kids. Most hotels are hesitant to give me rooms, and they'll straight up lie about being full if the kids are rowdy. We also need a system in place if one of them realizes a monster is around. And saying we're meeting family tells people that we're expected to appear somewhere by a certain time, which deters anybody from trying to, you know, kidnap one of the kids," Steve explains, glancing at Eddie as he shrugs.

Eddie has to stop himself from asking what led to Steve making some of these rules. Instead, he bites his tongue and follows the group inside, sticking to Steve's side as he walks up to the front desk and the kids huddle within sight a few feet away.

"Hi, do you have any vacancies for the night?" Steve asks, flashing a charming smile at the older woman working the desk.

She looks at Steve, then Eddie, and then the kids behind them. "How many rooms would you need?" she asks.

"If you happen to have any connected rooms, we'll take them. But if not, just two is fine."

The woman nods and checks her computer, hesitating for a few seconds before saying, "We don't have any connected rooms, but one of our Executive Suites is open. It has three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a large lounge area. It's made for large groups, so two of the bedrooms have bunkbeds in them. The price, however...."

Steve smiles at her reassuringly and pulls out his wallet. He plucks a black card from one of the pockets and presents it. "Don't worry about the cost," he says, "We'll take it."

At the sight of the sleek credit card, the woman lights up and smiles brightly at Steve. Eddie finds himself thinking that money really does talk. "Of course, sir," the woman says, a suddenly respectful tone coloring her words as she takes the card. "Could I see an ID as well, please?"

As Steve pulls out his license, he looks at Eddie and asks, "Could you take the kids to get the bags from the car? I should have the key cards by the time you get back." He places his license on the desk and hands his keys to Eddie.

Eddie finds himself nodding before he can really think about it, but how can he say no to Steve's brown eyes and the tiny dimples that appear when he smiles? So, he takes the keys and starts herding kids outside.

----

As it turns out, the hotel does, in fact, have a pool, and Steve can't help his grin when the kids cheer after they get to their rooms and he tells them. What follows is a flurry of kids changing into bathing suits, Steve lending Eddie a pair of swim trunks, and making sure everyone has towels and plenty of sunscreen slathered all over them.

The pool is surprisingly large, and there's plenty of space for the kids to swim around and expend some energy. Steve drops into one of the pool chairs and closes his eyes, the plastic warm on his back without burning his skin. He hears another chair get dragged closer before someone sits on it. When Steve opens an eye to look over, Eddie has settled next to him, watching the kids with a slight frown.

Steve follows his gaze, but he doesn't see anything out of the ordinary. The only thing that might catch someone's attention is El wearing her beanie in the pool, but even that could be explained as her forgetting to take it off.

"They don't have any scars," Eddie says after a moment.

Steve blinks and pushes himself up some, sitting straighter in the chair and looking at Eddie. His hair is pulled back into a messy bun, a few pieces escaping to frame his face. He's not obviously muscular like Steve, and he doesn't have an 8-pack, but Steve can still see the subtle muscles in his arms and legs. And the scars. Steve can see plenty of scars littered across Eddie's chest and stomach, his arms, and one particularly nasty one just above his knee.

In that way, Steve supposes, they are similar. "I wouldn't let them get hurt," Steve says quietly, shrugging when Eddie looks at him. He scoots forward some so Eddie can get a better look at his own scars. Despite the warm weather, he still can't help goosebumps traveling up his arms as Eddie stares at him.

"What's that one from?" Eddie asks, gesturing to a large slash that reaches from Steve's shoulder to his elbow.

Steve glances down and hums softly. "Stymphalian bird feather. They're made of steel. It attacked us after we picked up Mike and Dustin. Thankfully, there was only one bird, and I managed to dodge most of the time, but I got this one when I closed in to kill it," he explains.

Eddie stares at the scar, and Steve wonders what he's imagining. Does he want to know how vicious the fight must have been? It was one of Steve's messier fights. He didn't have any training, and he barely had experience. Really, Steve had nothing but his instincts and a desperation to keep the kids safe. "What about those?" Eddie asks, pulling Steve from his thoughts as he leans closer to point at what's clearly a bite mark on Steve's right side.

"The lion head of a Chimera," Steve says, glancing at Eddie before pointing at a scar wrapping around his throat. He shifts until he's sitting on the edge of his chair and tilts his head to give Eddie a better view. "The snake tail was choking me at the same time. I had to use lightning on that one since it had me trapped. We ran into it almost two months ago."

Eddie scoots to the edge of his chair, and their knees are almost close enough to touch. Something starts to buzz under Steve's skin. It's not anger. He knows what that feels like. It's something else this time, something that sizzles and lingers and tries to push against his skin to break free. Steve tries not to think about it.

"And this one?" Eddie asks, pointing to a scar that's splashed across Steve's left knee like a starburst.

"That one," Steve says, getting a grin despite himself, "happened because Dustin tried to help me fight a minotaur. He made this mini-bomb without me knowing and threw it into the fight. I managed to tuck and roll, but the explosion still brushed against me. This scar is from it, too." He turns his right leg out so Eddie can see a similar scar on the inside of his calf.

Steve looks up in time to see Eddie swallow, his throat rolling, and that electric feeling gets stronger. It centers on Steve's knees, the spot where they're closest to touching. But it travels like those toys with magnetic sand when Eddie leans closer and points to the scar in the middle of his chest. It grows the longer Eddie's hand hovers there, and Steve glances down just to make sure there aren't actually sparks buzzing across his skin.

"This one?" Eddie whispers, holding Steve's gaze.

Mouth suddenly dry, Steve clears his throat. "My first fight. The, uh, snake thing that took Will," he says. "Some of the scars on my back and stomach are from that one, too."

Eddie nods, and Steve can't place his expression for a few seconds. When he finally does, he realizes it's something like adoration. He's seen it before from all the kids at some point, usually after he's fought a monster to keep them safe. But Eddie is different. Eddie's adoration is just the surface emotion. Under it, Steve can glimpse something even more intense. He almost wants to drown in whatever it is, let it surround him until he can figure out how to describe it.

"You really are metal, Stevie," Eddie says, his voice soft as he smiles at Steve.

Steve has already acknowledged that Eddie is his type, and he definitely isn't imagining the tension between them right now. Without thinking, he leans forward, a similarly soft grin tugging at his lips. But whatever he wanted to say is literally shocked out of him.

The moment he's close enough for Eddie's hand to actually touch Steve's chest, that fizzing energy bursts through. It's not strong by any means, but it's demanding attention as it zaps across Steve's chest and Eddie's fingertip. Steve jerks back, rubbing at his chest and taking a deep breath to control the crackling over his ribs.

Eddie is frozen, staring at his still outstretched hand in shock. His eyes are wide, and Steve grimaces, wanting to take his hand and check for burns but scared of shocking Eddie more.

"Sorry," he mutters, looking away and coincidentally meeting El's gaze. She's sitting on the steps leading into the pool, legs pulled up to her chest with an amused smile on her face. When she realizes that Steve is slightly panicked, though, she blinks and tilts her head. Steve subtly shrugs one shoulder, and, thankfully, she gets the message.

"Steve!" she calls, waving her hand as though she doesn't already have his attention.

It's the save Steve is desperate for, and he practically jumps up from his chair. "I'm gonna go see what El needs," he says, glancing at Eddie only to find he's already looking up at Steve.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Eddie mumbles. Steve waits until Eddie nods to speed-walk (it's still a pool, after all, and he won't set a bad example by running) over to El, urging his heart and the crackling beneath his skin to calm down.

----

Tag List!

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd, @weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13, @a-little-unsteddie, @itsall-taken, @queenie-ofthe-void, @tinyplanet95, @littlebluejane, @hangoversandhandgrenades, @rabbitwhoeatsstars, @bisexualdisastersworld, @steddieinthesun,

@paintgonewrong, @sadcanadianwinter, @deehellcat, @blanketlicker, @angrydonutdestiny, @booksareportal, @fallingchemicaldiscos, @am-i-obssed-probably, @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@estrellami-1, @fandomcartographer, @steddie-as-they-go, @cris-wants-a-word, @potato-of-the-lord, @plasticcrotches, @enigmahaze

For those who stuck around, a meme:

[romaevelizz]

Loathe˖ ࣪⊹

TANAKA. R x Blk!femreader

sum: jealousy is one mean feeling, a feeling people hate especially when experiencing it towards one’s best friend.

warnings: cursing, angst, jealousy(I use you/your pronouns), self hate, hurt comfort, I make Kiyoko the bad guy srry chat), not proofread.

.˚₊‧ ── ⋆⋅♡ ⋅⋆ ── ‧₊˚.

She was your best friend, Kiyoko Shimizu. A person you’ve had by your side since a young age. A girl that had stuck by your side. It hurt, why was it so hard to watch her with him? She didn’t even want him, that what made it worse.

Watching him fawn over her and her beauty, her skin like soft porcelain no blemishes lingering on her face, her hair dark and soft not a single split end. How she would talk to people, her confidence and selfless admirable. She was the sweetest thing to exist in his eyes, it felt as if you had to keep up with her. The sickening feeling of wanting to be her.

You couldn’t be her, your skin dark and glowy, your hair thick, and lips full. To her you were gorgeous having features many wished to have, but to you it felt as if you were just looks past. By every guy to com into your life looking her way, not to bat an eye towards you again.

Thinking that maybe it was different this time. That maybe his eyes would stay on you. While they did, he still looked at her. Even while she pushed him away and rejected his advances, Tanaka still looked at her. Never did you think you’d be choked up about a stupid boy. That you start to envy your best friend, but you can only take so much. You could only take being looked past for so long, to be compared to her to be told that you’d fit in more if maybe just maybe you were born different. You yearned to be her, to be just as flawless as her.

But oh when he did look at you, maybe you didn’t give him enough credit. He just a boy, and that boys eyes would linger on you, him quietly admiring you. But you didn’t see that, blinded by your own jealousy. The differences in he eyes as he looked between you and her, his eyes almost studied you. To him you were so much more. More than you credited yourself for.

But once you started to feel a comfort of hope the hope that the way he looks at you differently meant something. That the way his eyes would never leave you as you talked to him, or even help him study him listening so politely. That when he called out your name, just yours when you walked through the gym doors. His smile wide as he told you something that happened during the day. How he’d always help you if you were doing something, asking to hold things for you. More and more he’d finally look at you, talk to you. His actions giving you hope. Then you saw the way she looked at you. Her eyes face not showing a single thing but her eyes. The spoke so many words, it’s not fair. She doesn’t get to look at you like that. Your heart dropped as she looked away from you pettily.

It’s not fair. How could she look at you like that. After living in her shadow for years. After having to keep up with her for 6 fucking years. Never once have you gotten in the way of her accomplishments. Her success, her wants. You watched as the guys you wanted leaned towards her, Turing their backs to you. She’s shown plenty of interest in guys but never followed through, guys you were interested in also. It felt as if she was out to get you, petting That if they couldn’t have her they finally look at you because you were right next to her. A constant second choice, that if they couldn’t have her they settled on you. Never did you ask her to step away from a stupid boy for yourself, because you cared for her. For years you lingered around her like the nauseating smell of her perfume. Standing so quietly in her shadow as the world worshipped her.

But now that Tanakas looking towards you, not forcing himself to know you. He never asked about her when with you. He didn’t use you to be with her. He just wanted you. And she hated it. She hated that she was now in your shadow. She didn’t even want him. Why did she care? It’s not fair, she got everything.

Now she stood in front of you, say that she maybe, just maybe had feelings for him. For Tanaka, after two fucking years of him begging for her attention for her to look at him but then he finally noticed you looking at him. A jeering look in her pretty dark eyes, as she told you. She knew, but she knew you cared more. That with those simple words you’d watch from afar as she played with him. Like some toy to leave behind once she was bored.

So you stood back, like a bystander. You watched her talk to him more, and you could feel his hesitation. His eyes filled of uncertainty, that when he’d respond dryly, his eyes would meet yours. Him making your stomach knot up, him simply push past her politely.

“I like your ribbon!” He smiled pointing at the pink bow that held up your silk pressed hair almost every day.

Hes always complimented the pink ribbon in your hair, it was an accessory you always had, told you it suited you.

She still tried, tried to get his attention yet. For once you had finally outshined her, she became more harsh towards you her complements becoming, equivocal. Every time Tanaka would complain her she would repeat it in a backhanded way going unnoticed by the people around you. Her eyes speaking louder than her words ever could.

“Why is he latching on to you?” she scoffed, the two of you eating lunch together.

What.. what did she just say.. “what do you mean..” you asked hesitantly.

She shrugged humming “Well considering how he was obsessed with me and I pushed back because I wasn’t sure of myself, and now he’s sticking to you.. shame.” Her fingers pulling on your bow.

Shame. She spoke her words hitting you in the way she wanted, labeling you as the second choice. Because that’s what you were.

You met her yes a blank stare on your face, “what?” She asked holding the untied ribbon in her hands, your hand grabbing it from her.

“I loathe you Kiy. How can you be so selfish.” You said, standing up from the stairs you sat on walking away.

It hurt, why should she do that. Say those things, ‘I Fucking Can’t with her’ you thought letting out and angered groan pulling in the ribbon in your hands. A harsh sob sitting at the vac of your throat waiting to be released. You nails digging into your fist as you covers your face, your body leaning against the wall behind you.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that she got what she wanted every time, the one thing you wanted and she had him wrapped around her pretty finger. Just to what? Drop him when she’s over it. How selfish do you have to be to do that to someone, to do that to your best friend. You’ve done nothing but speak so highly of her, covering her bad because you worshiped her just like everyone else. Yet she looked down on you, what a shame, a shame to have you as a friend right.

You didn’t notice a body standing in front of you. Soft sobs coming from your lips as you felt two hands hold your shoulders gently, looking up your eyes met his. His brows frowned as he looked at you.

“L/n.. what’s wrong? Who- who hurt you! I’ll go beat them up! Whoever-“

“Ryu..” you cried, your body falling into his his arms not hesitating to hold you, quickly shutting up. His embrace warm as he held you his head leaning against yours as you harshly sobbed.

“Who hurt you who’s making you hurt like this..” he spoke pulling back his hands cradling your tear stained face.

“It doesn’t matter..” you hiccuped, shaking your face. Him still asking you, he wanted to know who hurt you. Who made you cried like this, years of bottled up feelings finally spilling out. “Please I wanna help you, let me help you.” He begged, his face soft as he talked to you. Him bring you back close to him his hand holding you head gently against him.

“It’s not fair,” you cried, your body shaking in his embrace. “ she gets everything, and the one thing that I want she gets to..”

“Who? Y/n who is she?”

“Kiyoko.” You spoke another sob leaving your lips.

She made you feel this way. His face frowned “let’s get it back then.” He spoke.

He felt your head shake “it’s not that simple, I can’t just get him back.” You spoke looking up at him.

Him?

He took a deep breath “tell him tell him how you feel. Every single feeling.” He spoke his eyes not leaving yours.

“please tell me your not in love with her Ryu..”

His face turning into confusion, in love with her? With Kiyoko.. “please…” your lip trembling.

You wanted him. You thought he wanted her, you.. no. It broke his heart hearing your voice stutter your heart hurting at the thought that he was in love with Kiyoko. How stupid was he, no.. that not what he wanted you to think, he had always been looking at you. But you didn’t see it. Yes he was vocal with Kiyoko but with you it was different he spoke of you with such respect and desires, but he never knew how to talk to you, because you didn’t really talk to him. Finally getting closer to you he’s never be so “I love you.”

He whispered, “I love you, not her.” He spoke, tears welding up in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” He cried his hands holding the sides of your arms as he bowed in front of you.

“I love you. Not her. Please forgive me for making you think that, that was never my intention.” He spoke his body still leaned over.

Him soon falling to his knees “I’m sorry I made you hurt.” A choked sob came from you as he said that.

You wrapped your arms around his neck your body falling to your knees as you hugged him. Him pulling you close “it was never my intention to hurt you, I love you.”

“I love you to..”

“I love you Ryu.”

He pulled away his hands grabbing your face his thumbs whipping away the stray tears on your pretty face “never doubt my love for you, don’t doubt yourself because your worth so much. You deserve love, and I want to give you all my love and take your pain.”

“Know, that I’ve always been looking at you.”

[fairene]

# welcome .ᐟ 🍊

masterlist , taglist , tags

⤿ 💌 ⌗ my name is grace (she/her), feel free to address me by my first name!

───── #🥥 i am 19, an engineering student, and hope to have a career as a formula one engineer one day!

───── #🥥 i have two cats. they are my babies. if you want pics, just ask.

───── #🥥 using the #about me tag on my page can help direct you to more things about me, if you want haha

───── #🥥 my requests are currently open.

୧ ‧₊˚  formula one .ᐟ

fav drivers that i write for! —

LN / 04 🥭 OP / 81

CL / 16 🥭 SV / 05

many more haha

───── #🥥 i have been a formula 1 fan for a long time. this year (2024) i attended the monaco gp and saw charles first home win!!! so awesome. i hope to attend silverstone in 2026 ;)

───── #🥥 i write a plethora of topics. i have 0 triggers, and will consistently mark my posts with warnings. if i ever forget something, let me know. no one should ever be uncomfortable.

───── #🥥 my fics will always be x reader. i am most comfortable writing afab readers, as i do not hold experience for what is like otherwise. please respect this choice!

───── #🥥 i will always leave reader's looks up to interpretation. i avoid using words like "pinked" or "blemished" to encompass all body types, skin colors, and more. x readers are for everyone, not just a specific margin.

more to add to this soon, but for now it'll do. cheers!

credits to @penality for allowing me to utilize her format!

[yumeka-sxf]

Regarding scans and watermarks

Yesterday, a SxF clear file scan made by my friend @xxscarletxrosexx (who had allowed me to share the scan on my blog here) was reposted on Twitter with her watermark clearly removed. She wrote an insightful post about how, despite what many people think, it does take a good amount of work to obtain and scan rare collectibles like this. As someone who makes a lot of scans with watermarks, I want to offer my thoughts on the topic.

For those who have followed me since my blog started, you may have noticed that my watermarks have "evolved" over time. This was in response to, of course, my scans getting reposted without credit (my old watermarks were easy to crop/edit out). I know some people take issue with putting watermarks on official art because we technically didn't "create" it. But that doesn't mean time and effort wasn't put into making the scan. To me, it's similar to people who take photos of exclusive events or people who make gifs...while they didn't create the subjects of these things, they still created the presentation of it. For people who take and share exclusive photos, they spent time, effort, and money not just on going to that location and taking the photos, but posting them in a presentable way online for others to enjoy. For people who make gifs, it again takes a lot of time and effort to create, edit, and present the gifs in an attractive way on social media. In both these cases, while these people didn't draw, animate, design, etc, the subject of their photos or gifs, there was still self-imposed work and creative effort behind it, which I think deserves some recognition. It's the same with making scans...I didn't personally draw the images I scan (and I make this clear by including "scanned by..." in my watermarks) but I still made the presentation of it - the scan - which does take time and effort; I bought a Canon TS6300 scanner a while back particularly for this purpose, I often have to finagle with the books I scan to make sure they're properly flattened so the scans aren't blurry or crooked (have to redo them sometimes when this happens), and if little pieces of lint or other blemishes get in the scanner, I either have to scan them again or use photo editing software to fix them. And while I paid for all the books, posters, etc, I scan with my own money, sometimes just obtaining certain rare collectibles not only takes money, but a lot of dedication to obtain! The Twiyor chara fine graph I recently posted about is a perfect example of how much work can go into acquiring a rare item...and I have no obligation to scan the merch I get. I could just enjoy them on my own and only share quick, low-quality photos from my phone. But I like making scans because I know other people enjoy them 🙂 I also know that many people don't have the means or funds to get this kind of merch, so it's nice to let them have enjoyment from it second-hand through my scans! Sometimes I buy merch only or mostly for the purpose of making scans because I know that artwork isn't currently available in an official artbook or anywhere else.

Since I make so many scans, I just accept the fact that they will get reposted without any mention of me or my blog...which I don't mind that much since that's what the watermarks are for - they're to show people who see the scan where it came from, and if they choose to go to that site, they'll be able to find even more scans to enjoy! But if someone actually removes a watermark, it's like they so adamantly believe that the person who made the scan doesn't deserve any recognition for their time, effort, money, etc, put into it that they're going to spend their own time to remove any trace of that person from the scan...I mean, I can't say it's the most heinous act in the world, but it's disrespectful and just plain not nice. I try not to let it bother me, but it is hurtful to see someone else get recognition for something you put work into. But I just keep things in perspective and tell myself that at least I'm not an artist whose creations are getting posted all over the place without credit (I always cringe at all the uncredited fan art I see on Facebook groups and YouTube music compilations. It's so out of control 😔)

Anyway, I hope I've properly illustrated here that it does take a good amount of time and effort to make scans. I don't think I deserve as much recognition for it as an artist who actually draws the images they post, but I still think this kind of content sharing deserves some credit, even if it's just leaving a watermark intact.