#bridges point 24

[boatporn]

What a perfect lil sloop.

[majorasnightmare]

as a tragic doomed siblings enjoyer what are your headcannons about dirge/orin's relationship pre-betrayal? care to elaborate on what was going on with them based on what we know? when do u think the resentment from orin rly started peculating?

this is an EXCELLENT excuse to have somethin i can quickly refer to for autosarcophagy thank you 💜💜💜

so a LOT of it is speculation and headcanons with most of our canon sources being close to the end of their pre game interactions with each other. We know Orin resented Durge for taking what she felt was her spot, we know Durge demeaned her ritual murders and scoffed at the idea of fighting her for the role of Chosen, we know Sarevok essentially led Orin on by acting like she was ever anything more than a sacrifice, and we know that the cult of Bhaal isn't entirely pleased with the change in leadership. It's a fairly straightforward tale of resentment and betrayal and an unworthy upstart claiming what shouldn't be theirs out of jealousy, but I like to throw wrenches in the works and add fun complicating emotions in like genuine admiration and sibling affection

a core aspect to Dirge is that, much like real world wolves, he is deeply family oriented. upon arriving at the temple of Bhaal, he has killed his only family, and only has Sceleritas as company, who at this point is more cagey than comforting for him. hes lonely, and scared, and vulnerable, and is coming off a profoundly miserable experience roughing it in Baldur's Gate. the temple delivers on the one form of connection Dirge craves more than anything: not only is there family, there are siblings.

Dirge technically has four siblings waiting for him at the temple. Haflidi, who at this point would be either an older teenager or a young adult, an angry spiteful vindictive barbarian goliath. Ornaryn, a drow vengeance paladin, who IS invested in trying to make sure the Temple's newest additions aren't horrifically traumatized (and near immediately removed from influence and forced to travel to the other side of the continent). Zherimon, the eldest, a tiefling paladin serving as the current head of the cult (begrudgingly). And Orin. Not only is Orin close to his age, she's also the only one who's as happy to see him as he is to see her. His other siblings are all emotionally unavailable for one reason or another, but Orin is here and Orin is excited and now he finally doesn't have to be alone anymore. He latches onto her very quickly, and throughout his entire time with the cult, she's the only one he was ever close to.

Orin is canonically the youngest in the cult to ever achieve the rank of Unholy Assassin, which, given that shes close to Dirge's age, would mean she achieved that lofty goal BEFORE him, and I like to think this is another example of Orin's latent natural talents and skills that eventually contribute to her feeling ignored and overshadowed. Because for at least half of their lives together, it would've been the other way around. Dirge and his prodigy sister, who had already served as Bhaal's mouthpiece once before in the ritualistic killing of her mother. Ironically its a relationship they were both happy with. Dirge arrives at the temple emotionally distraught, but now Orin finally has a playmate her own age, AND hes going to join the temple, same as her! Finally someone she can practice murder with that isn't grandpa Sarevok!

Dirge is a crybaby as a kid, and hes quiet and deferential. This is a new place, with lots of new people (and he's never been fond of new people), and he still feels sick about his parents, but he hits it off with Orin immediately. Orin has a strong mischief streak, emboldened by her shapeshifting, and she ADORES having someone to teach and be superior to. Dirge in turn is happy to have someone who delights in teaching him, because a lot of whats going on is confusing and unintuitive and upsetting. Orin softens his early years of indoctrination into something that could even be construed as pleasant. She excels and pulls ahead, and she bullies her brother for being a crybaby, but she still reaches out behind her to help pull him back up. Orin very much takes on the role of "big sister" even though its a negligble distinction given their circumstances. She teaches him how to delight in torture, makes the doctrine of nihilism make sense, emphasizes that the two of them are special and chosen and important, that they dont have to care what other people think, because theyre stupid and wrong anyways. She diminishes the pain he feels from killing his parents by affirming what SHES been taught, that it was a good and holy and rightous thing and he deserved to be rewarded for it, just like she was (though maybe not the SAME reward because SHES going to lead the temple one day!). Sarevok and Zherimon have already decided on grooming Dirge for the role instead, knowing EXACTLY the difference between them, but both Dirge and Orin are children, whats more important is making sure Dirge is properly indoctrinated, and Orin is very useful for that.

Theyre thick as thieves for most of their childhoods, Dirge perfectly content to trail behind Orin wherever she goes, and to follow her progress right on her heels. Orin definitely has the most energy of the two, and she delights in playing leader, deciding exactly what games the two of them will be playing and where, while Dirge pads along behind her. She gets into the habit of shapeshifting into him for one of her favorite games, that being "find ways to bully and harass the other initiates in the barracks and avoid trouble by making sure no one can tell who's who". As Orins changeling nature is well known, you can never really tell if your looking at Dirge or looking at Orin, who will tell you whichever is more confusing at the moment. As changelings and dopplegangers have empathetic abilities, this also means that Orin is extremely keyed in to Dirge's emotional state. She typically uses this to lightly bully him, but also typically follows that up with attempts at genuine comfort, because a good leader has subordinates happy to follow them, and makes sure theyre taken care of well enough to serve. Theyre siblings, and theyre best friends, and theyre little hellions, and Orin knows every crack and crevice in the temple and where exactly there are spots too small for the grownups to follow them that the two of them can still crawl through. The cult is slowly but inevitably carving away their empathy for the world outside, bringing them into a miserable ideology of death dealing and slaughter, and isolating them from anyone who could ever break them free, but right now they are small and close and she is showing Dirge exactly where to stab in a rats belly to make all the guts come out, and when he scrunches his tiny face in disgust she'll call him all sorts of names, but take his tiny hand in her own and hold the knife together nonetheless

Dirge doesnt resent Orin when she makes rank before him. He doesnt resent Orin when she excels, when she grasps the knifework faster, memorizes the doctrine quicker. He doesnt resent her when she gets assignments first, or when they work together and she takes the lead. Thats the goal hes chasing, after all. To be as good as his sister. To eventually pull ahead. To play chase like they always do. But when he DOES pull ahead, when the lead he has grows but never shrinks, its equal parts pride and confusion. Proud to finally surpass her, confusion that he KEEPS surpassing her. Shes slower to catch up, angrier about it. It isnt resentment, not yet, just frustration. Theres something hes stumbled into that she hasnt gotten yet. More reasons to train together, after all, put their heads together and work it out. But when the cult finally passes down the mantle of leadership, it doesnt pass into Orin's hands, youngest Assassin, pre chosen vessel of Bhaal. For reasons neither of them understand, it goes to Dirge instead. Purest bhaalspawn, severed hand of their God let loose, the one true prophet of armageddon. It doesnt make sense, but hes trained so hard and come so far, he wont dissapoint their Father now. its a bitter pill orin doesnt swallow easily. its there the resentment starts

The gap wont ever close now, not really. Dirge is too neurotic, too anxious and obsessed. He leaves no breathing room for anyone to pick up the slack, because he leaves none, will not ever give the slightest hints of being unworthy. Its suffocating. Diminished, demeaned, forgotten, Orin falls to the wayside, swallowed within an ever lengthening shadow, and he never turns to her, never reaches back. Pushing himself to the breaking point, and then far past it, and now HIS word is law, is doctrine, when it should have been HER, she who spoke with Bhaal's voice when all he has is fleeting visions. The resentment grows, made all the more acrid by the sweet memories of yesteryear. Its like everything shes worked for means nothing, and now he wont even cast a glance her way. Seeing him less and less, and then never as himself, always acting as Leader, Prophet, Idol, everything the cult needed and more, and now when habit rears up and she takes his face to talk to him, he scowls at what he sees. Like the bastard ever had a leg to stand on, she knows what he is, pathetic weak crybaby bloodkin trailing in her wake, acting big and strong now that hes special. Now that hes chosen. Like he knows something she doesnt. Like he could ever know something she doesnt. Grandfather calls him proud, arrogant, and theres no other explanation for the cold she feels from him, inside his skin, its cold arrogant bastard pride for finally besting her at the only game that mattered.

It falls apart slowly over the years. Sarevok, and then Zherimon, instilled in Dirge the need for perfection, to serve as Bhaal's will on earth, and the need for it burrowed deep into Dirge's psyche and consumed everything else around it. He loves his sister. He misses her. But this life is hell and Bhaal's expectations for his chosen spawn are cruel and exacting. All Orin needs to do is what shes always been good at, thats enough. He'll take on everything else so she isnt choked or constrained, so she has room to flourish. He's pulling further and further away from her and it hurts but theres nothing to be done for it, because its Father's will (HIS father, not that he could ever stand to tell Orin, and take from her yet something else, another pillar she stands lofty upon). Shes more than a sacrifice, thats obvious by the way she holds a blade, and Dirge refuses to waste her potential in a single sacrifice to Bhaal, when together they could bring so much more glory to Him at each others sides. He won't take the duel. If she wants for them to kill each other, she must promise a death so glorious as to make this single murder worth more than all the slaughter they could achieve together. The idea is laughable. Somewhere in the back of his mind behind a door that wont stay locked is a treasured sentimental sin, two tiny bodies pressed together in a crevice only barely big enough for them both, outside a man about to be flogged for his failure calls out a name neither of them respond to, and all else is quiet save for the hushed giggles swallowed by the stone. No, she isn't worthy. She isn't worthy by far.

Its a mix of Dirge taking on as much responsibility as he can while leading the cult to give Orin more freedom, and Orin having next to nothing to do with all that extra time and lack of duties beyond ruminating on the discrepancy between them. It feels like she isnt trusted or considered good enough anymore, when she clearly remembers the opposite, and the more he pulls away the more she hates him for it. The resentment is tempered by religious duty and childhood memories, but even though Dirge makes attempts to try and bridge the gap, the circumstances are that there really isnt anything he can do. I like to headcanon that Dirge helped Orin make her skin suit, because he has a noted habit of taxidermy and human leatherworking, as a way to try to reach out to her, but the inertia has built up too much to stop whats going to happen. It was doomed to fall apart at the start, driven by forces neither of them could have even hoped to work against.

The love was always there, but it just made it hurt.

[pernillecfcw]

Happy Blues 💙💙

[leguin]

it does feel close to palm springs level of unlikely to be like yes. this 23 year old whose face i’ve never seen and who i’ve never talked to for longer than 10 minutes at a time is unbelievably fascinating and attractive to me and i think [redacted at length] but. the vibes.

[doolallymagpie]

shit, just remembered a very important BTAU detail I’ve gotta address somehow:

Clarissa and Julie were a moderately famous and successful Solaris Gladiator duo

Clarissa, particularly, was (still is, technically) Bobbie’s #1 celebrity crush

They’re on the same crew

this is…interesting.

[witherby]

The Littlest Wayne

Or, the one where Bruce brings home a baby, and your adorable little face wins the heart of your new, big brothers.

Platonic!Reader and Batfam

"Bruce."

"Don't freak out."

"Bruce."

"You're freaking out. I can see it in your eyes, but don't do it."

"This is a problem. This is an actual addiction and you need help."

"You're overreacting. I need everyone to take a deep breath, in and out, and not freak out."

Dick crossed his arms and glared at his father, narrowed eyes shifting up and down in an extremely pointed manner. Tim and Jason were wearing similar expressions, looking either at Bruce himself or the bundle in his arms.

Damian walked across the room and peered down at the bundle, expressionless.

"Father, come on."

Bruce carefully brushed the edge of the blanket away from your face. You scrunched your tiny nose, disturbed, then settled back down without issue. The billionaire had found you abandoned outside the garage doors of the Gotham Fire Station, left there by some overwhelmed mother no doubt. Unfortunately, that particular station was closed on the weekends, because of course this damned city couldn't staff a fire station 24/7, and if he hadn't found you on patrol, you would have frozen to death on the ground.

"They were in danger!" Bruce insisted firmly, but kept his voice soft so as not to frighten you. "Look — they don't have black hair or blue eyes. You can tell I didn't do it on purpose."

"Why not take the baby to the GCPD, then? Or a hospital?" Jason piped up, unamused. "B, cut the bullshit. You can't keep 'em."

"I brought them here first to ensure they didn't need any immediate medical attention."

"Which is something a hospital could do," Tim said.

"An overcrowded and understaffed hospital, that doesn't have the time to spare to give them direct and undivided attention?" Bruce argued. "The med ward in the Cave is just as efficient as an emergency room, if not more so."

"And the fact that you aren't down there with the baby — the baby you are not keeping," Dick chimed in, holding out his arms for you, "means that they're perfectly fine and can be transported safely somewhere else."

"They're sleeping right now," Bruce said, completely deadpan, and made no move to relinquish his hold over you. "We can't put them in a noisy car and upset them. We can drop the baby off in the morning."

"He's getting dangerously attached," Dick hissed to his brothers. "We need the big guns."

"I'll alert Pennyworth," Damian declared, already ducking out of the room. Bruce scowled, aware the battle was quickly turning against his favor. But he could play dirty, too.

He dropped his shoulders and the furrow of his brow turned slightly down, weary and forlorn. He stopped looking at his boys and instead studied all your tiny features, tracing a finger down the bridge of your nose, gently across your lashes, and over your plump little cheeks. You were absolutely adorable. He was already thinking of names for you in his mind.

"You know, I never got to raise any of you from infancy," he stated, not in any pointed manner, just as objective fact. Just quietly enough that they could think Bruce hadn't meant to say it out loud. "Not that I would've wanted to steal that experience from your birth parents. I would never. But...I don't even know what Damian looked like when he was this small."

Dick's eye twitched. The glare was still in place, but his frown was less severe. One down.

"I'm sorry, boys," he sighed, acting as though he were giving in. "The Mission has taken up so much of my time, it's hard not to wonder what I would have been like as a normal father. Just the formative things, like... like changing diapers, and doing Tummy Time, and helping you guys learn to walk."

Tim's eyes grew distant, likely thinking of his own parents and the loneliness he felt growing up in Drake Manor all by himself. He was no doubt recalling how much he wished his mom or dad had been around, to play or to talk to or just to physically be there with him, instead of off traveling the world and leaving him behind to fend for himself.

Two down.

But Jason, despite all that had happened over the years, despite the strain on his relationship with Bruce, had always been the most emotional of his children. He would not be hard to win over.

"This would be a mistake," Bruce stated, looking his second oldest right in the eyes. "They'd be happier somewhere else, somewhere normal. Maybe...maybe one of you could hold them and I can go start the car? I can feel myself starting to get attached, and that's not fair to you, boys. I didn't mean to stress you all out. I wasn't thinking."

Jason huffed, lowering his feet from where they'd been propped up on the coffee table, and stood from the couch to come take you from Bruce. His arms carefully held you to his broad chest, your weight settling against him pleasantly.

He made the mistake of watching you scrunch your face and whine softly, itty bitty hands poking out from your blanket and gripping onto his shirt sleeve with all the strength your small body could muster.

Jason's expression dropped immediately, and he practically melted as he tucked you closer.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Damian and Alfred walked into the living room to find Bruce, Jason, Dick, and Tim all cooing and fawning over you, and the war was lost.

Welcome home, Littlest Wayne.

[aaksuitac]

[04:24 am] “what are we?”

wc: 2.3k

a/n: [fluff viktor brainrot thanks to @dilemmars. t dije q me vengaría baby, así q zas, un payback por tus podcasts jdjfjjsd. hope u like cause its ur fault]

he’s humming something you don’t quite understand, a distant tune that sounds familiar —probably you’ve heard him sing it before—, and even if you don’t recognize the melody aside from that, you can’t help but appreciate it.

his hands fidget with whatever he can reach as he sighs once more, as if he was stealing breaths from the world, heavy, almost as lidded as his eyelids. his hair falls on his eyes and in between his slender fingers while he curls the untamed strands, and you fall into an endless pit of staring at him as he scribbles, grunts, sighs, and finally pinches the bridge of his nose.

“statistically speaking, i’m starting to feel like the chances of me getting this right are adversatively proportional to the chances of you accidentally swallowing a fly.”

and you just blink, once, then twice.

he stares at you, gives you a pointed look. he can’t really say if you understood that you were just staring at him with your mouth parted, but you squint at him, snickering.

“what,” his low voice fails to ask, unbothered, knowing that you’ll answer regardless.

and you do, answering. “you haven’t even uttered a word in a while. i was just surprised that you could still talk, is all,” you grin cheekily, playing with a screw on the table as you turn left and right on the chair you’re sitting on.

viktor looks at you, and he can’t help but crack a smile. point for you.

“what you laughing for, mhh, mister science?”

“isn’t it enough to bother me from the moment i get inside the lab in the morning that you need to do it at night too?” he pretends seriousness, side-eyeing you teasingly.

“fair enough. i will consider your offer, man of fleeting memory, and take it upon myself to bother you longer.”

his mean stare wouldn’t even make a kitten mewl, but you take you hand to your heart, pretending to be wounded.

“don’t look at me like that! you’ll hurt my feewings,” you pouted, much to his amusement.

“fleeting memory?” he scoffs, accent rolling off his tongue. “when’s the last time you lost a hairtie, mmh?” he mocks.

“unfair!” you can’t help but giggle as you pretend to hide your hair from his view. point for him. “besides. i take better care of my hair than you do of yours.” you pouted smuggly. “mine looks prettier.”

“what?” he finally asks, letting out a chuckle this time as his eyes land on you for the first time in the good part of an hour.

you play with your hair to style it, and funnily pose, hands on your cheeks as you lay your elbows on the table.

“what, don’t I look pretty?” you smiled, letting out a cheeky giggle.

yes. he doesn’t say it, but his eyes haven’t dodged back to his papers just yet. it’s another point for you. so very pretty.

he doesn’t dare. he knows it. his mind, or at least the small portion of his mind that still ties him with the occasional reminder that he’s human, looks at you and wants you in a way that he’s never wanted before.

so viktor resolves in looking at you. maybe only for a moment, maybe only on those fragments of time when he’s tired enough that he looks at the stars and at the moon, yearning to reach them, only to think he’ll miss the moonlight, finally blinking to the realization that he had been staring into your eyes for too long.

his eyes are dull as he stares at you, and your expression of worry at the fact makes his heart skip a beat. “viktor?” you mumble, softly, sleepily, warily. he can’t stop staring at you, and while he supposes success and defeat can look the same in a mirror —therefore, he doesn’t really blame your confusion—, he finds no words to explain which one he’s feeling as you move your chair towards him by a push against the floor, solely accompanied by the sound of the little wheels rolling to him.

he grabs his walking stick and turns it around, pretending to poke at your chair, as if to teasingly shove it away. if you realize that he settles the walking stick just in the correct place so that your stool can’t move back, he doesn’t know. viktor just stares at the floor, to pretend that maybe the way your eyes turn tender when his reflection shines on them has nothing to do with what you’re about to say.

tsk, tsk. clueless viktor.

he’s expecting it, yes, but even with that on mind, he can’t phathom how your course of action chooses laughing as you fidget with the loose button on his vest, the second one from the top down. viktor purposely forces himself to stable his breathing, worry seeping into him, thinking that maybe you could feel his heartbeat grow faster beneath the layers of clothing.

and he feels like the remnants of a cheap ring that stain a finger blue, when comparing himself as he stands —sits— close and next to you. maybe its because you usually wear rings, and he can feel the ghost of them as your hand trails up and absentmindedly fixes his collar.

he can almost see it. your mind working, the pieces falling into place, the—

“either my eyes are deceiving me or yours have been on my lips for a rather long time.”

and he can just. blink. as if that could break how mesmerized he feels, how his heart swells up and covers his throat, how inexplicably he feels when you’re with him, near and alone. the need to know more. the need to use every trinket and screw to map out your body for him to explore, and to map out the wonders of your mind for the world to admire and maybe then find out the reason of his inability to look away.

he was so focused before. used to be.

he is. now, at you. of you. on you.

you.

another point for you. he isn’t keeping count, but something tells him he’s losing.

and as his gaze falls back to your lips in between a battle against your eyes, lost in which to stare and sink into their devotion, he hesitates again.

he thinks its funny. so funny, viktor holds back the dry chuckle that threatens to go past his lips. how to cherish you in a way that matters. how to love, the scientist wonders. is there a way that would allow him to unveil and unravel himself to you? could there be some kind of language, able to express the depth of his insides, that you, too, could understand?

what is love, anyways? is he in love with you because his coffee tastes better when it matches the dark of your pupils? because when he takes the mug from your hand and his fingers brush against yours, it seems warmer? because he notices how the dark shade in your eyes seems to mix with that of your irises, and the way the black eats the colour when you stare at him? because he claims to hate company while he studies alone, but one chair remains empty as he works, waiting for who it was meant for? because when he fails and surrenders himself to the fall, throws his walking stick against the wall, he yearns for your embrace and how your hair smells in the evenings?

is that love? and if it is, could you understand it?

if it is love, and he could say it, would such a short word convey its meaning, or was he speculating just a couple of paragraphs ago? was he assuming the meaning of what love entails?

even so. if he said it, would you repeat it? would you claim you love him because he loves you, claim to love him too? would you instead claim to love him despite everything, even the uncertainty of love itself?

…does he accept it himself?

he’s overwhelmed by the sheer amount of voices in his head. there’s too much chatter. too many questions he can’t answer, too many commas, too many question marks. too much, too much, too many.

so he silences them. makes the voices dim to a deep silence. and when his lips find themselves suddenly against yours, he finds out the true, effervescent meaning of quietness.

his hand fails to pull you closer because of the damn walking stick that gets in the way. or maybe its the chairs you’re both on that clash against each other. maybe its matter itself. for a while, its the first time viktor doesn’t want to know.

in a bold statement, he couldn’t give a fuck.

he’s kissing you.

and it should be bad because of all the unanswered questions. he’s skipping procedure. he’s gone from the fuck around to finding out and he doesn’t know where he is at this point.

what he does know, is that your hand pulls him by his necktie, and he’s gone. science? yours only. the science that he’d study all of the nights he may have left. the science behind what makes you. the science behind how your hand craddles his face while stroking his cheekbones. the science behind how you’re the closest you’ve ever been to him and somehow still not close enough. the science behind the reason why when you pull away makes his heart beat so loudly, as if it had forgotten how to a second ago.

your forehead rests against his. he shouldn’t have done that. he just… did it. maybe that was bad. was it? could it be? he had been waiting for so long too. he never thought he would…

“viktor, what are we?”

and he’s dead. he knows what the question implies, but he doesn’t want to answer. he could follow you like a lost puppy through piltover and zaun and hell knows where else. if he wasn’t dead now he would die right there and now without a second thought, because the feeling that overcame him was that love was suddenly a sentence or two away.

he knows he doesn’t dare. it’s one of the only thing he knows, one of the things he’s sure of.

but somehow, he moves. he stands up, takes the walking stick, and attempts to walk out the feeling that bounces inside him.

the walking stick always makes a noise when he walks, one with dificulties to interpret in terms of onomatopeia. not quite a thud, not deep enough to reach that quality. not a clack, for it is not entirely made of metal. still, as if it was a mix of both, he keeps walking.

viktor is nervous. thud-clack. he’s not moving far from his chair, nor is he going somewhere else. thud-clack. he still keeps pacing. thud-clack. maybe the answer is somewhere in the room. thud-clack. maybe he can reply.

thud-clack, thud-clack, thud-clack.

only does he then realize that he hasn’t answered your question. and a non-answer statement might as well be a rejection.

no. no, no, no. fuck.

he’s sitting again, but you stand up. your hair follows, long. moving and brushing against the skin of your shoulders in a way that he can’t help but claim it to be endearing.

you’re walking. you don’t make any kind of extra sound when you walk. your heels reverberate against the floor like any other, yet also they mark the beat of his heart.

he can’t reach for you. you walk too fast.

you stop when you feel the walking stick on your side. the part made for him to lean on as he walks hooks you, and you stand, not facing him.

he doesn’t use the walking stick as he stands. no, he keeps it hooked to your core, scared that you might leave. you could, he wouldn’t blame you. but he can’t allow it.

he holds it in the air as he takes one step. another step. you’re turning, surprised to see him standing, and you gasp when he lets himself fall on you.

your touch surrounds him. yes. that’s the closeness he needed. he drops the walking stick, his hands slithering on your body, pressing you against him, for no reason at all yet because it is all needs.

“what can we be?” he whispers. he takes the science approach. the viktor approach.

he isn’t too clueless after all.

he raises enough to look at your darkened, sleepy eyes. he wants to drown in them.

“if i wanted to kiss you everytime you hand me coffee, wanted you to sit on the same chair as ne and hug me from behind as I work, wanted you.” he swallows dry. “then, what can we be?”

he doesn’t want to say the words, and its petty.

it’s the 31st when the clock strickes five am and your hands travel through his hair to kiss him again. to unbalance him enough that he falls back on his chair and you follow him, sitting on his lap.

and as he kisses you, his hands worshipping the skin he can touch, the warmth he can feel through layers of clothing, he feels like maybe there’s a life worth living, so he can’t ask.

he’s heard boys and girls when he was young talk about it. “he didn’t want to celebrate our month-versary,” a girl cried as he played with his little boat, watching from afar as she was comforted by her friend.

it’s the 31st. and he can’t really ask the question now, because if he says it, how could you celebrate each month?

he moves the chair and holds you in his arms as your back falls against the table before him. maybe he can kiss you until next month. until the clock strikes and it’s the 1st.

he smiles as he kisses you, feeling you pull his necktie off. he thinks it’s the best idea he’s had in a while. and a true scientist always tries out their hypothesis.

~k.k. (☆) have fun!

aaksuitac, november 2024 ©

[hana-no-seiiki]

THE BETTER DAMIAN

“Beloved…”

Damian stared at you and then your new pet.

“Hm?”

You looked at him innocently. Eyes wide in anticipation of his following words.

“I enjoy your competitive spirit. I truly do.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

How did you even get this thing? He had been keeping track of all your heists recently but never heard of you going to the zoo or anything.

Sometimes he wishes he agreed on Tim’s offer of 24/7 surveillance. Damn it. If only that didn’t mean his older brother got to see you in your bed/bathroom too.

“Get to the point, Wayne.”

“Maybe a panther is a bit too much?”

“You’re just jealous cause I’m spending more time with the better Damian.”

“That’s besides the point.”

“So you are jelly!”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

[holybibly]

Lately, I can't help but think that Mingi and San are the epitome of the Doberman type of boyfriends.

And here are the unholy thoughts of the day: Your dorm closes for the summer, and you are literally left in the middle of the street with endless stacks of romance novels and fluffy blankets. Luckily, Yunho and Yeosang's friends have kindly agreed to take you in until the academic term starts. What neither Yunho nor Yeosang have warned you about is that your new roommates will be two luxurious Dobermans guys. They look like they've stepped straight out of the pages of those twisted romance novels you've been so obsessed with.

Utterly shameless, vulgar, and sexy as hell, they are horrible perverts who love to make you blush and squirm with their words and actions. They frighten you, but what frightens you even more are the fantasies you have about them. But who can blame you when you're literally surrounded by walking porn 24/7 and they have a soft spot for pretty girls with cute pigtails that they can wrap around their wrists while they fuck them into oblivion?

You trusted Yunho and Yeosang; you were friends since childhood, and of course both boys wanted the best for you, so how the hell did you end up in the same apartment with San and Mingi, literally squeezed between their big, hot bodies with no escape plan?

You didn't expect your university to sneakily out all the students out into the street this year and close the halls for the summer. But thanks to your friends, you managed to avoid sleeping under the bridge, although now you think that living under the bridge would not be as bad as living with Mingi and San.

When Yunho told you that one of his model friends was willing to let you stay in his apartment for the summer, you were incredibly happy, and how lucky that one of Yeosang's best friends was also staying there. But for some reason, neither of them bothered to warn you that San and Mingi were the typical dark Doberman boys from twisted romance novels, with cheeky, shameless behaviour and domineering manners.

Not that they were that bad; no, both boys were pretty nice, if you don't count the times they deliberately embarrassed you or made you squirm from their not-so-innocent touches.

The very first night you met them, you learnt a few things: one, neither of them were wearing underwear, which you felt very clearly when Mingi pressed his hips against your ass while helping you put your things on the top shelf of the cupboard; two, they had absolutely no idea what decency and modesty meant, asking you if you were a virgin and what your favourite sex position was; and three, San was tactile, very tactile. So tactile that within ten minutes of meeting you, he was all over you, playing with your hair, running his fingers up your thigh much higher than was appropriate, and he even spanked your ass, which shocked you.

But with each passing day, they seemed to get bolder and more relaxed in your presence as the level of depravity only increased. Shared breakfasts were pure torture, as neither of them bothered to get dressed after a shower, and they walked around the house with only tiny towels hanging so dangerously low on their hips that you could practically see their dicks.

The vulgar comments and actions made you uneasy, and the sounds—God, they were immoral enough to watch porn at full volume in the middle of the common room. You also caught them masturbating a few times, and San even had the nerve to invite you to join in, while Mingi invited you to sit and enjoy the show.

This would have continued if the boys hadn't persuaded you to join them for a drink one night. A relatively innocent night ended with San and Mingi folding you in half, ripping off your panties in a rough manner, and exposing your plump, wet pussy to their hungry gazes. And to be honest, you didn't put up much of a fight. The sexual tension between you had reached a breaking point, and it was bound to happen sooner or later. 

Oh, and you learnt a few more things about them that night: One, cock piercings are a great way to get extra stimulation of your cunt; two, Minig does eat pussy like a champ, and he has quite a long tongue; three, Sun really knows how to fuck you until you squirt; and four, they were absolutely right when they said spit roasting is a great way to unwind.

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 (𝑳𝑼𝑴𝑰𝑬𝑹𝑬) ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 day 14 (15… x_x)

tags : pwp (with plot), (it’s uhh kind of more on the plot side ish… i think? maybe? hfskj), praise, established but developing relationship, mild angst, hurt/comfort (ish), jealousy, possessiveness, slight spoilers for the lumiere myth, references to “midnight whispers”, kissing and making out, sliiight dry humping, wall sex, vaginal sex, desperate sex so it’s kind of rough ish, creampie, tl;dr both of you just can’t get enough of each other, use of pet names “angel” and “my star”, lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 3.7k

an : okay so i’m late queueing this but. COUNTDOWN TO XAVIER’S BIRTHDAY - ONE DAY TO GO !!! :D for my beloved darling boy here’s 1 out of 3 total fics prepared for him this month <333 (which may be off-schedule, BUT…) this was fun to write, so i hope you have just as much fun reading! sdkjfhsdk at this point i think i’ve barely ever written xavier fics without plot/feelings… loving this man will just do that to you i guess…

taglist : @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @darlingdummycassandra @spotted-salamander @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @rafayelsgf @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @love-and-deepstrays @keioxo @theanbitchless (SIGN UP HERE)

AO3 / KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

There’s a lot more to Xavier’s jealousy than you realize, and you’re adamant on setting it right.

This was how it was to be in love with you.

The sweet smell of roses, a walk under the cherry tree.... The calm breeze of morning and soft, fresh linen sheets. Sunlight peeking in through the window, pages of a book. Of words that could mean more to him than he could ever think to describe.

Xavier could call on all the possible analogies he could think of, pull from all the poems and stories that he'd read. And yet none could compare to you. It was in the same way that the stars were second to none—so too, then, were you.

You had always called him your star. But to him, the opposite was just as true.

And perhaps that was why this was so difficult.

The stars were different.

Sometimes changing in position, sometimes visible, sometimes not... From where the both of you stood, they were tiny specks of light in the vast domain of the sky—illuminating the night as much as they could, but part of a different world altogether. Unreachable. Untouchable. So bright, so radiant, that the single, slightest touch could burn him down to nothing.

They belonged to the skies; better admired from afar. It was torture to fall in love with something that, to anyone, felt utterly, unspeakably unattainable—

But that was how it was to be in love with you.

And it was a curse as much as a blessing.

"So then Tara mentioned this new place that opened up recently, and she swears by its service! She said we should totally go out and celebrate!" Your eyes gleamed with excitement as you spoke, taking in a spoonful of your ice cream to bring up to your lips. "So this does mean I have a little last-minute rendezvous later tonight... I'd have invited you, too, but—you know. Girl's night?"

His gaze remained transfixed.

The pace at which you both walked was matched, and relatively relaxed—yet he'd barely touched his ice cream. Instead, blue eyes focused on you as you spoke, tracing the movement of your lips and that sparkle in your eyes that he could never ever tire of.

"Okay," he murmured.

When you looked up at him, he glanced away, bringing a hand back to rub sheepishly at the bridge of his nose.

"...Really, really? Just okay? You usually, I dunno, ask me more about the people I'm with, or something..."

He shook his head, and there it was—the little smile on your face didn't go unnoticed. He knew you were trying not to tease, and your actions were so well-known by him that he'd memorized them all for himself. It was endearing to see you like this, knowing you probably knew his habits just as well as he did yours. And at the same time, he knew that you were right.

"Well, I mean... It's just Tara and the others," he said slowly. "You've... been spending a lot of your time with your hunter friends lately. I know who they are."

"I know who they are. You've a way with words, huh?" With a roll of your eyes, you took another bite of ice cream, before nudging him slightly with your elbow. "I've been trying to get to know more of the hunters in the Association lately. There's a lot of them, you know? I'm really glad that everyone's been so nice."

This time, he didn't say anything. Only a quiet hum, the soft crunch of autumn leaves on the concrete a sound that proved comforting to both of you.

The truth was, he was trying not to be so childish about it.

Something stirred in his chest when you spoke, that familiar discomfort that came with a feeling he knew to be jealousy.

It wasn’t a nice feeling.

But it was also easy to lose a star.

It was easy to lose you when, sometimes, he didn’t feel as if he had the right, really, to own you.

Because who was he to control your feelings?

There was no guarantee that, in this lifetime, you wouldn’t just up and leave.

And the more time you spent with others, the more he realized how true that could be.

There was no certainty that this was end game.

“Xavier?”

He heard your voice call out softly to him, and he looked down—

God. You were so cute.

Your head tilted to the side with a little air of concern, and he couldn’t help but smile. The moment a gentle breeze blew, he leaned down for a cheeky kiss on your forehead.

“X-Xavier—?!”

The incredulous expression on your face was one he wished he could preserve in his mind for eternity. He was sure that if that were possible, he really would.

“It’s nothing,” he assured. And he, himself, wanted to believe that to be true. “I like walking with you. It’s nice like this.”

It’s nice like this.

I hope it stays like this.

I hope that this time, we can just… stay together…

—

Oops.

That was the first thought in your head as you shot up from bed, eyes bleary with sleep.

Your phone was in your hand, and you stared aghast.

Package delivered.

You thought you’d been delusional when you could have sworn you heard nothing of a doorbell, until you looked at the address. And that was not your apartment number. That was Xavier’s.

You’d forgotten to change it—again.

Haphazardly throwing on a sweater and putting on your shoes, you raced out your door. The fact that you had yet to receive a text from him about it, nor have it delivered to you, likely meant one of two things: either he hadn’t received it and it was waiting outside his door, or he’d discovered what was in it.

His door absolutely did not have a package waiting outside it.

“Xavier? Xavier!” a little bit out of breath from the sheer shock of such a morning, you called out for him and hurriedly knocked on his door.

“Good morning,” came a voice from inside.

He wasn’t opening the door.

“Xavier…?”

“Is this about your package?”

“...Yes! Yes, it is! I forgot to change the address—”

“I have it.”

“Th-that’s great! Could you, maybe, open the door…”

A shuffling could be heard, and when the door did open, your jaw immediately dropped at the sighed before you.

He had opened it.

“Did you really order this? Were you planning to come here again and ask me to wear it?”

Xavier was frowning, his arms crossed in front of him—he wasn’t at all happy, that much you could tell. But you almost couldn’t focus on that. Not with the black tassel ear cuff hanging on his right ear, not with the suit he was currently wearing. And, those black gloves, the metal cuffs, the gold embellishments, the crimson dye, the blood-red collar… and everything.

It was a stark difference to how you usually saw him.

Xavier almost never wore black… But this looked phenomenal on him.

In retrospect, you supposed that there was nothing he could ever truly look bad in. But this? This was a whole other level of eye candy. There was absolutely no keeping that giddy smile from spreading across your face, even as you brought your hand up to cover your mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that…”

The way his brows furrowed was near downright adorable, the corners of his mouth turning down into a little pout. You could have squealed.

Almost.

Instead, your hands reached out in a look of wonder as you slid your touch down the side of his arm, feeling the well-made fabric of the suit. It was just a cosplay, and yet, it nonetheless seemed so well-made, mearly comparable to the original…

“You opened the package? It’s mine, you know,” you murmured, and with a huff, he stepped aside to allow you into his apartment. You weren’t mad that he opened it, really—and the fact that he put it on? While you could tell he wasn’t happy about it, he was already being nice enough to indulge you with all this again.

“Is it really your package? You could have delivered it here on purpose. I saw Lumiere on the label. These are clothes in my size.”

For a moment the two of you stared at each other in silence, and you could very well remember how this played out the last time you were in this situation.

“Well,” you started, if only to fill the air around you that had grown a little tense. “I didn’t expect it to arrive this soon… We were talking about it last night. You know, with the girls? A few days ago at the office, apparently Nero was all busy because a new line of Lumiere merch came out—a whole alternate costume! We talked about it all night and I had to order a set, too, I just thought I wouldn’t get it for another week—”

You were cut off in a swift movement.

With wide eyes, you found yourself pressed up against the wall, Xavier’s hands on either side of your head. The warmth of his presence so near you had you holding your breath, almost as if the air around you had turned from tense to suffocating. There was something about it that simply rendered you unable to breathe. It was easy to get all dizzy with him so close to you.

But when you looked at him, what you were met with was... not anger.

There wasn’t a trace of it on his features.

Instead, you were surprised to see a hint of something else.

His lips pressed into a thin line. Displeased, yes—but his gaze, while kept on yours, was desperate. Eyebrows knitted together, eyes narrowed ever so slightly with the prospect of almost begging you for something that you couldn’t quite place... Something you felt as if you should.

“Xavier?” you murmured. Your hand raised, slowly, carefully, up to cup his face.

This was different from the last time you’d played around with Lumiere’s costumes. He wasn't just sulking over it.

“...But is that really who you want to be calling?” His voice was quiet. Too quiet. This was an emotion you couldn’t quite read, nor was it one that was familiar to you.

“Xavier? What’s going—”

“It’s always like this.”

Your mouth shut, and you frowned, trying desperately to understand the tone in his voice.

“It’s still always Lumiere, right?” he let out a slow breath. “Why do you care so much about Lumiere? You’d talk about him to your friends, too. You’d spend an entire night without me for him.”

“What? That’s not—I told you, we just wanted to—”

“But I’m right here.”

The calm, even tone with which he’d been speaking slipped in that moment. A crack in his voice—though barely audible right in the moment—wouldn’t have gone unnoticed by you.

Something was wrong.

He was rarely ever like this with you—this wasn’t even an argument, it was just… It was something.

His right hand, previously placed by your ear, shifted to take your hand from his cheek. Taking the other at the same time, he pinned both hands back against the wall, preventing you from moving. The lace of your fingers together had you hyper aware of the leather texture of his gloves, and your breath hitched. 

He leaned in.

“I’m right here.”

A repeat of his words.

Yet he almost sounded as if he could break.

“I know you are,” you started, speaking carefully.

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

This time you spoke firmly, meeting his gaze full-on with a certain sense of conviction that you were not going to let him try to doubt. “Please... what brought this on, Xavier?”

For a while, there was no answer.

His chest rose and fell, deep, calming breaths for himself almost as if trying to compose himself in front of you. You didn't like that. He did it so often; hiding things from you for your sake, putting on a braver face for you if only to keep you from worrying any more than you needed to.

But you needed to.

You wanted to.

Was that not what a relationship entailed? To worry about each other?

You could tell that this meant more to him than simple, petty jealousy—and you were determined to find out what that was.

“Don’t do that,” you mumbled. You frowned slightly, as if to make your point. “Don’t act in front of me. Don't put up a front. You’re upset, right? Something’s wrong. Xav… Are you still jealous? Is that what this is?”

“...I’m not.”

“But you are. Don’t do that.”

Like before, his eyes averted, but you didn’t miss the way he had to grit his teeth just to make sure he would keep a straight face.

“Xavier.”

You tugged at your wrists.

“Xavier.”

His eyes closed. While his grip on your hands loosened slightly, he didn’t let up—his forehead pressed against yours, and for the first time, you realized how shaky he felt. 

His breath was warm. His hands were warm. You could barely notice the cold of the wall pressed against your back, the rest of his living room fading away into the background as if all that existed was you, and him, and this little corner you had to yourselves.

As if it were all that mattered.

In a way, it was.

He was all that ever mattered.

“I don’t want it to change,” he whispered. His voice was small; smaller than you had ever heard it before. “I don’t want us to change.”

“Huh? But we’re not changing…”

“No, we’re not. I hope we don’t. It’s enough like this, just to be with you…”

Something about his words stirred at the pit of your stomach.

I hope we don't.

Perhaps that was it. Perhaps you'd been spending too much time without him, and perhaps he just wanted to feel... a little more wanted by you.

“Xavier…”

This time your hand slipped away from his hold, and it was back on his face, cupping his cheek. You watched him lean into it—a soft sigh of resignation, nuzzling into the palm of your hand like he wanted nothing more than your touch.

You swallowed thickly.

“Xavier, it’s not that I’m so fond of Lumiere…” you spoke softly. “I’m fond of you.”

His eyes opened, a slow blink of mild confusion.

“Lumiere is you. Is he not? He’s handsome, and gentle… just like you are.”

When his expression didn’t let up, you continued.

“Xavier, you saved me. I’ve always thought that Lumiere was amazing… But, now, knowing that he’s you—doesn’t that mean I get to love both you and him at the same time?” Your thumb rolled over his skin, and you leaned up slightly, teasing for a kiss. “I loved you first. So I like him because he’s you.”

The tips of your noses touched, and his lips brushed against yours. Your eyes locked this time, and he was all that you could see. All that you would ever see. Close. Impossibly close. Within reach… this time, because this was the Xavier that had come to love you. And that was all that mattered to you.

Maybe you felt a little sense of pride knowing this star was all yours. And maybe that was what he needed to feel, too.

“I… don’t like him,” he murmured. “I don’t want to be him… I just… want to be me. With you. Like this.”

"And you are you."

"But I'm not Lumiere. Lumiere is part of the past. I want… I… I'm here."

Ah.

Somehow, you understood.

Your gaze softened, and you let out a slow, quiet sigh. "Oh, Xavier…" you mumbled. “I like you no matter who you choose to be, Xavier. Ah—”

You smiled, and then shook your head. “Sorry," you corrected. "That’s wrong. I mean… I love you, no matter who you choose to be.”

You saw his eyes light up at that, breath hitching. Those blue, blue eyes—bluer than blue, the most beautiful shade of it that you’ve ever seen.

That was it.

That was what he needed to hear.

His lips trembled slightly, and then all you could feel were them.

He crashed against you, pinning you back against the wall just as he had done earlier, and you could feel everything. His knee between your legs, inching upwards, pressing you back with every ounce of his being as if the single, final thread of self-control had snapped.

“My star… my angel…” 

He gasped between kisses, barely muttering out words before he would drag his lips plush against yours in a way that made you want. A way that made you need.

You moaned against him, his body melting, molding into yours.

My star.

Xavier was so unfair.

Even the nicknames you would reserve for him could be turned right back to you, snaking his way into your heart that he had, that he owned, because you had given it—everything—all to him.

And you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Not when the heat of his presence wrapped enveloped you in a hazy mist of love and desire, the pull of his touch so strong that you couldn’t ever think of leaving. His fingers curled into yours, his grip straining. Bodies pressed together, the outline of his bulge grinding between your legs—his hips rutted into you with not much thought behind his movements, and your desperate pants fell into each and every kiss as if you simply couldn’t get enough. 

You couldn’t get enough.

Your mind could only fill with thoughts of him, because he’d taken that for himself as much as everything else.

“X-Xavie—mmphf—”

It didn’t take long.

Clothes discarded in barely a moment before he was hoisting you up on his waist and fucking you, your back hitting the wall with every upward thrust of his hips.

“X-Xavier!” you cried. Your eyes rolled back as he dipped his head into your neck, muffling his moans into your skin. “Xavier… Xavier… So good for me… so, so good, nnh—haa—”

Every praise uttered from your lips caused his thrusts to jerk, a whine falling from his lips.

He liked it.

“Mmh… Mh—yes— j-just like that! Ngh, you fuck me so, so well—ha-ah!”

You clawed at his back as the tip of his cock edged against your sweet spot, and you could tell with the way he choked out a laugh into your skin that you were in for it. His hips continued to snap against yours until you could barely register any coherent thought in your head. He would plunge in and out of your wet, leaking cunt with reckless abandon—you almost couldn't breathe.

“Xavier! Hnng—so good! Good boy, good—ngh—! Th-there! Please!”

You were long gone.

He could only hold you up with his sheer strength—you felt weak as you cried out endless strings of praise, obscene sounds of sex filling the room in an instant.

“My star…” He leaned back to hold you properly against the wall, grunting and panting. With his hair stuck to his forehead, droplets of sweat sliding down his skin, your eyes glazed over. “My star. My star. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine…”

With a mewl, your legs tightened around his waist, and he kissed you. Tongue, and teeth, and messy. Just as needy as earlier. Just as desperate as earlier. Your hands continued to claw at his back, fervent movements of his lips against yours in a foggy frenzy of pure want.

“Mine,” he gasped, pulling away just enough to speak. “My angel, my star—my pretty—pretty angel—my—good girl—”

His kisses, his thrusts, were punctuated with every word, driving you absolutely insane.

“Ngh—ah! Xavi—vie—Xavier—!”

You could barely get any more praise out as he easily turned the tables on you, lulling you into a headspace where all you could say was his name. His name, that, gladly, he would easily relinquish to you. A name that was yours as much as his. A name that you could call, this time, with the comfort of him being with you.

“Angel…” he groaned. “Feel'so good… Taking me so well…”

“G-gonna cum! Xavie—Xav—haa—!”

“Good girl… Good girl, good—girl—good—ngh—girl…!”

That was it.

One last thrust had you spasming around him, practically collapsing into his arms as he held you up, keeping you between the wall and his body as his own trembled with a release triggered by your own.

“So much… so much…” you buried your face into his neck, and he rubbed soft, soothing circles into your back. Hot, white ropes of cum filled your insides, enough to leak out of you, trailing down your legs.

The two of you stayed still for a moment, catching your breaths. There was comfort, in being held tightly in his embrace. And it wasn’t until a while later that either of you spoke.

“...The Lumiere plushie…” he breathed, quietly. “Do we have to keep it?”

You lifted your head, shooting him an incredulous look. “You’re still upset over it?!” Out of the corner of your eyes, you could see the dark-themed Lumiere plushie resting neatly atop of the coffee table, and you let out a huff. “Xavier, really, I promise you that I—”

You stopped.

He let out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling in what you noted was not quite amusement, but… happiness, nonetheless.

You huffed slightly, but it felt lighter knowing that he was happy.

That was all you ever wanted, after all.

His forehead pressed back against yours, and he spoke again.

“Do you mean it?” he murmured. “What you said earlier. That you love me… No matter what?”

You smiled.

“Of course I do, silly. Isn’t that what you say to me all the time, too? What’s to make you think that I can’t say it back to you?” you gave him a playful swat, rolling your eyes. “I agree with you, you know… I like it like this. I like being with you. I want it to stay this way, too. Because all I've ever wanted was to be with you. You, whoever you feel like being. Whether it's Lumiere, or the Xavier in front of me now. That's... what it's like to love a star. Right?"

Something flashed in his eyes, then, before he nuzzled against you in that way he so often did with you.

“...Mm. So this is what it’s like to love you."

He was whispering, and he seemed to be speaking more to himself.

But, he smiled: 

“Ah, no… This is what it’s like to love you more.”

an : lumiere really is the best!!! 🥰✨

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

A funny prompt: Gaz’ No-Good, Terrible, Very Bad day. In which in the span of 24 hours he walks in on NikPrice, GhostSoap, then AleRudy bumping uglies because those pairs of idiots keep having sex in weird places and Gaz keeps having to bare witness.

How you wanna play it is up to you, but I love the way you write Gaz and I wanted to lean more into the comedic side of sexy times rather than the hot n heavy stuff this once.

Mikey, I love you for this prompt. I actually wrote it all out and then Tumblr shat itself. Serves me right for writing in the app on my phone, eh? I hope this redo is as good. Two of my favourite things: humour and sex.

Gaz has a really bad day.

cw: sexual content.

Really, Gaz should have called it a day when he had decided to have a Rich Tea with his breakfast brew and the fucker had broken off in it because he had gone zero point one second over the optimum dunking threshold. Bad omen. Yeah, pack it all up lads, turn in.

If someone were to ask him precisely when his day had gone to shit, he would definitely say it was then, because if he had to recall the next part he was pretty sure he'd require several sessions of therapy.

It was unusual for the store cupboard to be locked, which was his first warning that something was amiss. But airpods in and his mind on the afternoon's planned exercise with Bravo Company, he didn't think much of it. There were only five people on base with a key, so it was easier to leave the door unlocked. When it came time for inventory at the end of the week, Price was disturbingly effective at nailing anyone with sticky fingers so no one bothered pushing their luck.

As DJ Snake turned down for what and the beat dropped, Gaz tugged his lanyard out of his shirt and jammed the key in the lock. Shouldering the door open, he slapped a hand over the light switch and looked up at the same time, only to be faced with Lieutenant Riley's lily-white arse pounding between two hairy legs directly opposite. "What the fuck?"

Gaz practically slapped himself in the face in his haste to snatch the airpods from his ears and cover his eyes with his palm. He heard rather than saw Tav slide down the wall he'd been pinned to, and the resulting yelp as he hit the concrete floor.

"Did ya ma no' teach ye tae knock?" Tav squawked.

"You're in the store cupboard, Tav! The fucking store cupboard!"

"We locked the door..."

"He has private fucking quarters, which is... literally what they could be used for, fuck my life!"

Ghost cleared his throat and Gaz chanced a look through the slats of his fingers. He regretted it almost immediately when he glimpsed the lieutenant's monster hog, which was somehow three times the size hard as it was soft, according to the sparse glimpses Gaz had snatched in the shower. Professional curiosity, you know. Ghost was completely unfazed, standing there with it all just hanging out. "Uh, sir, if you could..."

"What'd'ye want, Garrick?" Tav growled, pulling his hoodie over his lap to hide whatever gaping devastation the lieutenant had inflicted.

"Camelbak skin. Top shelf on the left."

Gaz heard a box grind over the metal shelf and the split of plastic sellotape. When the rustling stopped, he looked through his fingers again and saw Ghost holding the skin out for him to take. He hadn't even pulled his boxers up, his hard dick still on full display. Gaz sidled over, keeping his face turned away, and took the offered plastic parcel. "Cheers," he murmured awkwardly.

"Welcome," Ghost rumbled back, and if Gaz didn't know him better, he'd say the bastard was laughing at him. Seconds later, he hightailed it out of there as quickly as he could, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping the image of all that pale skin thrusting away between Tav's hairy stalks wasn't going to haunt his fucking nightmares. Luckily, he had a fitness course to coordinate that afternoon, which would help take his mind off of it.

No such fucking luck, as it transpired.

As Bravo Company were taking a breather after making good time over the course, Gaz snuck off into the woodland for a quick slash before they moved on to first aid training. As he rounded an old oak tree, he caught the sound of hushed voices over the usual bird song and rustle of leaves. Little fuckers had snuck off for a smoke and thought he wouldn't notice.

He did up his fly, put on a stern face and readied his most blood-curdling shout as he stomped in their direction. The 'oi, ya little cunts' sat on the tip of his tongue as he burst through the bushes, only for it to dissolve into a high-pitched little 'ah!' when he came face to face with Rudy, slack-jawed and sweaty.

Colonel Vargas was two knuckles deep in him, Rudy's cock drooling over his superior's wrist, hips twitching. That was all Gaz managed to see before he swung himself round and covered his eyes for good measure. The low voice he had heard must have been some truly filthy Spanish, because Rudy looked about ready to blow.

"Hola, sergeant," Alejandro said calmly. "¿Qué tal? I thought you were not due in the woodlands until tomorrow."

"Uh, yeah, orienteering is... tomorrow, sorry, colonel, I thought you were trainees, I, uh..." Gaz glanced over his shoulder and saw that Alejandro had moved his body to shield Rudy from view. He whispered something softly in Spanish in his lover's ear, because Rudy was hurriedly yanking up his trousers, his belt rattling, looking panicked.

"It is I who must apologise, amigo. I cannot control myself with Rudy, and with all this nature around us, I let my heart lead my head," Alejandro said. "I would be... grateful if this indiscretion did not get to the captain."

"Uh, sure, mate, yeah. Mum's the word... I'm gonna... go this way. As you were, or... not." Gaz hotfooted it back through the bushes, his face on fire, and was relieved to find some troopers slacking off because he had someone to beast. Seriously, this day could fucking do one. It couldn't get any worse.

Famous. Last. Fucking. Words.

First aid training concluded in time for dinner and Gaz sent the troopers to mess. He didn't go himself because he wasn't sure he could look Tav or Ghost in the eye just yet. Instead, he headed to his bunk and snacked on some Pringles as he finished off a report on the week's progress for Price. And yeah, he left out the sheer volume of unnecessary cock he had seen that day.

Last thing on the day's list was to submit the report and he could turn in, hoping that tomorrow had less cock and arse on the agenda for him. He rapped twice on the captain's door and let himself in, missing the sudden scuffle of movement as the hinges creaked. "Hey, sir, got the summary ahead of sched-u-oh, Nik."

Nik was sitting in Price's chair bolt upright, his hands in his lap beneath the desk, shoulders squared. "Gaz, my brother," Nik greeted, but his voice sounded a little... tight. "Kak dyela?"

"Where's... the..." Gaz studied Nik a bit more carefully and began noting a few more oddities. His skin was flushed, eyes blown wide, usually slick hair all ruffled out of place, and he was shifting minutely in his chair, but keeping his feet very, very fucking still. "He's..." Gaz pinched the bridge of his nose, "he's under the desk, isn't he?" Because of course he fucking was.

Nik flashed a mischievous smirk.

Gaz sighed. "Jesus fucking Christ..."

Nik bit his lower lip and then opened his mouth to say something, but Price got there first, his voice low, rough and husky from his hiding place beneath his own desk. Probably from where he had just been gobbing off Nik's--no, no, for Gaz's own sanity he just couldn't finish that thought.

"Leave the report on the desk," Price growled.

"Yup, right, it's on the desk," Gaz replied, getting as close as he could to be able to chuck it on the keyboard without risking seeing Nik's cock next to his captain's face. "Have a, uh... a good..."

"Garrick," Price snapped.

"Right, yeah, going. Going."

Nik waved at him as he left but Gaz could do nothing more than cringe his way back into the corridor. Three for three. Fan-fucking-tastic.

There was no way he was getting any sleep after that. Gaz headed for the mess and a cup of tea. Maybe if he managed to dunk the biscuit properly, the day would stop fucking with him.

He was completely engaged in a thousand yard stare when Tav slid onto the bench opposite. Gaz gave him the side eye. "Surprised you can sit down."

Tav smirked. "Aye, s'taken some practice."

"Nope, no, no more. It's gonna take years of therapy, decades, to get over seeing that man's arse between your legs."

"Dunno what yer whinin' about, ah've got bruises from where the fecker dropped me."

Gaz snorted. "Good."

"Look, ah... ah came tae apologise. It weren't decent, an', uh..."

"Mate," Gaz sighed, slapping his hands on the table as he sat up. "The shit I've seen today, Ghost's pale arse ain't even the half of it." He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. "Do you fuck in there a lot?"

"Oh aye, and other places."

"Oh god..."

Gaz's eyes narrowed as Tav turned in his seat and extended a leg. That was an exit manoeuvre. Tav rolled his lips into his mouth, smirked, and then landed the killer blow. "Pretty sure we've done it in yer bunk."

"You cun--oi, c'mere you rat Scottish bastard!"

Tav fled cackling and Gaz followed with full intent to put a few more boot-shaped bruises on his arse. Perfect end to his no-good, terrible, very bad day.

[russo-woso]

Comment || Arsenal x reader

Request | Masterlist

Warning mention of bullying, mental health problems, mention of suicide

Summary You accidentally reveal why you don’t interact with your team

A/N this is a sadddd and angsty one so buckle in

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Y/N, you’re coming to the restaurant with us, right?” Katie asked, seeing you try to scurry out of the room without anyone noticing.

Unfortunately for you, Katie saw you and was curious whether she’d see you at the restaurant that night.

To celebrate the end of the year and Christmas, the team had organised a meal out at a local restaurant, nothing much but enough to satisfy the whole team.

You hesitated a bit, you also unaware of your own answer.

You see, you hadn’t always had the best experiences with a team.

Your previous teammates had made a few comments here and there about you.

She doesn’t deserve to get minutes

Why did the club even sign her

Shittiest player I’ve ever seen

Drop her back down to the Sunday league

At first, they were just small remarks that happened every so often, but then it turned to 24/7.

In the changing rooms, over text, on the pitch. Everywhere, anytime.

They were bullying you.

And even when you brought it upon the manager, he just shrugged, ‘that’s banter for you’ he had told you whilst laughing.

Maybe you were just being sensitive. Maybe you were taking it the wrong way. Maybe this was how a team was supposed to play.

From that moment onwards, you thought it was normal.

You didn’t complain about it anymore, just bottling up your emotions so they didn’t have to see it.

It wasn’t until a very poorly played game that you realised just how damaged they’d made you.

You had played the final four minutes of the game.

When you ran onto the pitch, your team was already losing 4-0.

And although you’d impacted the game massively and had prevented two goals in them four minutes, you were entirely blamed for the loss.

You had dreaded walking into the changing rooms after, all your teammates angry at their performances but somehow blaming it on you made it a lot better.

One of your teammates had squared up to your shaking body, their finger pointing at you.

Your breath became uneven as you closed your eyes in dread.

“You were shit today! You were the reason we lost! You were a let down today. You made us lose! Do us all a favour, Y/L/N and fuck off. We don’t need you on our team! You just fuck up our play and make us fucking lose! Nobody likes you, Y/N. You’re a shit player!” She screamed, the rest of the girls agreeing. She finished shouting at you, but was not finished without pushing you to the floor.

You put on a strong face, standing up and grabbing your stuff before walking out.

You walked for miles in the rain, no car, your phone dead, just you and your thoughts.

You don’t remember much from that night, you’d passed out on some bridge for most of it.

But you remembered one thing.

You remember laying on the bridge, your body fighting for consciousness and thinking would it be so bad if you were to never wake up?

Would anyone actually miss you?

You had your mum left but she mainly focused on your older brother more - he’s a lawyer and had kids - no more explanation needed.

You were so close to completely giving up, so close to letting ending everything.

You used all your strength, pulling yourself up and taking yourself over to the edge of the bridge.

The river underneath was violent, the water crashing against its beds with purpose.

You started counting down in your head, dunking it with your heartbeat.

3… 2…

“Dear! What are you doing?” A voice exclaimed from behind you.

You turned with watery eyes to see a woman, 65 maybe?

You looked in her eyes, a solace look in them.

“Please… look at me. I’m a complete stranger to you. You don’t know me, I don’t know you. But what I do know about you, is you have so much to live for that maybe you don’t realise you have. Take a look around. What do you see?” She began, taking a few steps towards you.

“Bushes, the river, trees.” You listed, taking deep breaths steady your breathing.

“Trees. Look how they’re blowing in the wind. They’ve got no control over themselves. They’re being pushed around and they can’t do anything, but one thing that they are doing, is having a tiny bit of strength to keep them standing. A storm may have big impacts but at the end of the day, they go away. What you’re going through now is just a storm, I promise. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Go travel, go to London, go somewhere you’ve never been before. You’re just stuck in a storm, a bad one, but at the end of everyone is sunshine.”

You listened to her words, taking into account what she was saying.

Slowly but surely, you stepped back from the edge, collapsing into the womens arms.

You’ll never forget that night.

The woman, you didn’t even find out her name, but you knew she was your guardian angel that night.

And although you didn’t completely believe her words, she was right.

You were in the middle of a passing storm.

Not only two days later, you were sat in your managers office being told you were going to another club.

You were given a list of clubs that were interested but one stood out massively, a London club.

You were doing what the woman told you to do, you were going to London.

Which leads you back to the conversation with Katie, your Arsenal teammate.

“Umm… I’ll have to see how tired I am.” You lied, making up a random excuse.

“You said that last time, Y/N.” Alessia pointed out, a playful smile on her face, a completely innocent one which meant no harm.

“And the time before that.” Kyra then added, gently knocking her shoulder into yours.

“Please come, Y/N. I barely know you, it’ll give us time to get to know you.” Steph explained

You hesitated between yes and no.

“Okay. I’ll be there.” You finally said after a few moments.

Everyone cheered, telling you what time to be there and how excited they were that you’d said yes to going.

Maybe these girls aren’t as bad.

—

You were one of the first ones to arrive at the restaurant, not wanting to be late.

Katie and Caitlin were already there and called you over.

One by one, the team filled the table, a buzz filling the air as everyone chatted to each other.

You sat quietly at the end of the table, having nothing really to say.

“What’re you doing for Christmas, Y/N?” Alessia asked, obviously realising no one was talking to you.

“Nothing much. I’ll probably get a few snacks in and watch some…” you began but soon slowed down your words as you set eyes on someone from across the room.

There, sat your guardian angel, your lifesaver.

“Y/N?” Alessia asked, confused but followed your eyeline to see the woman. “Are you okay?”

“I haven’t seen her in months.” You mumbled to yourself but Alessia also heard.

“Who is she?”

“She saved my life.” You responded, not knowing it would lead to you revealing your secret.

“Oh my god…” Alessia whispered, realising it was a big moment for you seeing her again. “Is she a doctor? Were you ill?”

“No.” You shook your head, your eyes not leaving the woman. “My old team, they used to make comments about me. It started with a few - what I thought were harmless - comments but they continued coming. Over message, in the changing rooms, on the pitch. They made me feel like I didn’t belong there - that I didn’t belong on earth. After the match against PSG—” you began

“—The one where you played a few minutes?” Alessia questioned, you nodding in response. “You played incredible that match. You completely turned the game around.”

“Yeah, I thought that too. But after the match in the changing rooms, I got blamed for the loss. My old teammate pushed me to the floor and the rest of them laughed at me. I ended up walking into the rain and walked for miles. I collapsed on this bridge at some point and I decided to go towards the edge. I was counting down in my head. My heart wasn’t racing, I think it was the calmest I’d felt in years. It was what all my teammates wanted so I was going to do them all a favour. I was going to… I was on seven when I heard a voice behind me. It was her. She saved me.” You explained, looking back to Alessia but seeing 25 sets of eyes on you.

Most of the girls had tears in their eyes, your story hitting them hard.

“That’s why it took so long for to come out with you. It wasn’t any of you personally and I’m sorry if it felt like that but I don’t think I can ever trust teammates again.”

“Y/N, don’t say sorry.” Leah’s breathed out, leaning over the table to take your hand in hers. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

“I know it might take some time to realise but not all teams are like them. If you can, can you please trust us. We want to show you what being in a true team feels like.” Kim told you, rubbing your back comfortingly.

“I’d like that, thank you.”

“We’re here for you, Y/N. Here at Arsenal, we’re not just a club, we’re a family. Whether you like it or not. Some of us - Kyra - can be annoying sometimes but at the end of the day, we’re a family, and that’s the most important part. We’d like nothing more than to be your family from now on.” Lia added, sending you a smile.

“A family, huh? I think I’d like that.” You said, a smile appearing on your face.

“Enough of that now. That’s your past, it’s time to think about the future. And I’m not having you all alone on Christmas so you’re coming with me to my family on Christmas.” Alessia stated confidently, not giving you any choice.

“Alessia, I can’t, it’s your—”

“Ah, no — remember we’re family.” Alessia told you, hitting your shoulder with hers.

“Family.” You whispered quietly, smiling to yourself.

You took another look over to the woman.

She was still talking away to the man she was with but managed to catch your eye.

She sent a wink and a smile over to you.

You took your eyes off her for seconds and when you looked again, she was gone.

You never knew her name, and you didn’t know who she was, but you couldn’t be more grateful.

Not only had she saved your life that night, but she had also brought you a family.

[xiaq]

In the last year we’ve been in our house, we’ve had an issue with one of our neighbors. He owns the house, but he rents it out all year on Airbnb.

His house/garage shares a back pedestrian alley with ours. Now, he keeps his trash bins at the street 24/7 since he’s not there to take them out on trash day, which means that for the first few months we owned our home, his guests were filling up our bins, the only bins in the pedestrian alley, with trash/recycling (even though they’re right outside our door, not his). They would run out of space and overflow every week and we’d have nowhere to put our trash. We messaged the owner multiple times and he did nothing. So we moved our trash and recycling out to the street as well, which is a hassle, but better than dealing with a bunch of party-trash on a weekly basis.

We left our compost bin, since we step out the back door to empty our kitchen compost container into it almost daily and don’t want to walk all the way around to the street. This bin is bright and very clearly labeled both for our home and for compost.

His Airbnb guests did not care. For the past few months, at least every other week, I am pulling trash (often not bagged) from our compost bin. I’ve added giant signs, I’ve tried putting bungee cords on it so they have to slow down and read the signs. They ignore these measures.

Thursday, after having to completely clean out the bin of rotting party trash (again) so we can use it for compost, we sent a message to the owner (again) that was ignored (again).

Instead of dealing with the trash myself this time, I left if piled outside his back door.

This morning, not only is the trash still piled outside the door 3 days later, his new guests, who checked in Friday, have added an additional bag.

B is still trying to message him and be diplomatic.

I’m ready to burn some bridges.

My first thought is to bring all the trash to the front porch, so someone will be forced to deal with it if they want to get in or out of the home.

My second thought is to tell the city he’s operating an illegal Airbnb. In the city proper, due to the housing crisis, you can only get a rental license if the home is your primary residence and you live there for the majority of the year. He verifiably does not.

Now, I’m not typically a snitch but A this guy has been given multiple (multiple)opportunities to address his guests’ poor behavior and elected not to. B, he’s knowingly contributing to the rise in housing costs which is a dick move in itself.

Frankly I’m not above doing both, at this point.

Thoughts?

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Queen - The Show Must Go On 1991

Innuendo is the fourteenth studio album by the British rockband Queen, released on 4 February 1991. It was the band's last album to be released in lead singer Freddie Mercury's lifetime. It reached the number 1 spot on the UK album charts for two weeks, and also peaked at number 1 in Italy, the Netherlands, Germany, and Switzerland, staying at the top for three weeks, four weeks, six weeks, and eight weeks, respectively. It was the first Queen album to go Gold in the US upon its release since The Works in 1984.

The album was recorded between March 1989 and November 1990. In the spring of 1987, Mercury had been diagnosed with AIDS, although he kept his illness a secret from the public and denied numerous media reports that he was seriously ill. The band and producers were aiming for a November or December release date in order to catch the crucial Christmas market, but Mercury's declining health meant that the release of the album did not take place until February. Nine months after the album was released, Mercury died of AIDS-derived bronchopneumonia.

"The Show Must Go On" was written by Brian May, based on a chord sequence he had been working on. May decided to use the sequence, and both he and Mercury decided the theme of the lyrics and wrote the first verse together. From then on May finished the lyrics, completed the vocal melody and wrote the bridge, inspired by Pachelbel's Canon. The song chronicles the effort of Mercury continuing to perform despite approaching the end of his life. When the band recorded the song in 1990, Mercury's condition had deteriorated to the point that May had concerns as to whether he was physically capable of singing it. May recalls; "I said, 'Fred, I don't know if this is going to be possible to sing.' And he went, 'I'll fucking do it, darling' — vodka down — and went in and killed it, completely lacerated that vocal".

The song was initially not released as a single as part of promotion for the Innuendo album, but was released in October 1991 as the band launched their Greatest Hits II album. The video for the song featured a compilation of clips from all their videos since 1982. Due to Mercury's critical health at the time of its production, a fresh appearance by the band in a video was not possible.

"The Show Must Go On" was released as a single in the UK on 14 October 1991, just six weeks before Mercury died. Following his death on 24 November 1991, the song re-entered the British charts and spent as many weeks in the top 75 (five) as it did upon its original release, initially reaching a peak of 16. In 1992, the song was released as a double A-side with "Bohemian Rhapsody" in the US and reached number 2 in the US.

It was first played live on 20 April 1992, during The Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert, performed by the three remaining members of Queen, with Elton John singing lead vocals and Black Sabbath guitarist Tony Iommi playing rhythm guitar. A different live version featuring Elton John on vocals later appeared on Queen's Greatest Hits III album.

Since its release, the song has appeared on television and film, including Moulin Rouge!.

"The Show Must Go On" received a total of 85,2% yes votes! Previous Queen polls: #29 "Mustapha"

[fabled-fiction]

Maybe a Hobie Brown x Mabel-Pines-Type!Reader? Older obviously, with just like, her personality and fashion sense? A Chaotic Sunshine meets Chaotic Rebel type thing.

If not interested, just ignore. But I look forward to whatever you write!

Starstruck (Hobie Brown x Fem!Sunshine!Reader)

Summary: You’re Jess Drew’s gal in the chair (in training), and when you have to make a quick trip the spider society you happen to catch a certain punk’s eye.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: MINOR SPIDERMAN ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE SPOILERS, use of (Y/N)

A/N: I hope this meets your expectations!! I had alot of fun writing this!

EARTH-1618

KINGS, NEW YORK CITY

Your desk was more glitter than wood at this point.

It was hard to tell where the stickers stopped and where the wood of your desk started.

Especially now, as you squeezed glue on top of whatever artpiece you were currently working on. An array of different paint tubes and what looked like glitter bombs were spread about your work area, dangerously close to what looked like very expensive monitors and pcs. Though it was kind of hard to tell based on all the string worms and star stickers pasted on any surface that wasn’t a screen.

The project, which could only be identified as an oversized button pin upon closer inspection, was coming together nicely. Atleast in your eyes.

It read “BEST SPIDER” with a cute doddle of a spider surrounded by loads of blue, yellow, and red glitter. Currently you were putting your finishing touches on it by attaching color coordinated ribbons to the bottom ruffles.

The craftsmanship alone of it was indeed impressive, you just needed to look past the blinding reflectiveness of it.

It was for your mentor, Spiderwoman.

Who had taken you under her wing for the past two years, “training” you to be the best. Well, best in the sense of “gal in the chair”. At first it didn't make a whole lot of sense to you, but neither did the world you were thrown into. She apparently saw something in you from all the way across the multiverse.

The rest was history.

“(Y-)..(Y/N)...(Y/N)!”

The glue bottle currently in your hands spun in the air, a chaotically beautiful cascade of glue spewing in the air and (thankfully) somehow none of it landed on you. Slowly turning your head, you gave a small wave as you saw said mentor on the screen staring down at you.

“Jess! Hey…did you..did you try calling my watch?”

“What do you think?”

Spinning your chair across the room, you snatched your multiversal watch and flicked the screen on.

You did in fact have about five missed calls from her. You could feel her iced stare from across the room, hell from across dimensions.

“But it was getting in the way of my creative liberties!”

“I don’t care! As the second half of a spider person you need to be available 24/7! Your future spider will need to be able to rely on you.”

Slipping the watch onto your wrist, you shot yourself back over to your desk and smiled widely at her. She knew that whatever scolding she gave you would only have about a few moments effect. Sure the message would stick but she always had that nagging feeling in the back of her mind of how long it truly stuck.

“Well, You have me on the horn now! What's up? Who do I need to aid with my technological wonders? My sleuthing skills? I'm ready to Sherlock it up!”

After a few more long blank faced seconds, Jess reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“We actually need you here. Our resident Spider who usually deals with all of our technological deals is having some connectivity issues.”

Your heart stopped for a moment, but only for a moment before you were shooting out of your seat and whooping. Jumping around your room, you threw your fist in the air before a sudden realization dawned upon you mid air.

It was almost comical how you seemed to pause mid jump.

“Oh my god…I have to change. I can't show up to Spider Society looking like this!”

“(Y/N) there's no time! Grab your bag and get here now.”

Standing in shock, you huffed as you watched your computer screen clip off.

She was crazy if she thought you weren’t at least gonna put on some body glitter.

-

“Jess said to meet her here…do you think she got lost?”

Hobie shrugged, shoving his hands into his vest pockets. His fingers found themselves fiddling with whatever computer chip or part he had nabbed as he leaned against what could be considered a front desk.

“You know ‘er best. She usually punctual?”

Gwen looked up from her watch with an exasperated look. That told Hobie all he needed to know as he leaned his head back with a sigh.

“Listen! I've never met her in person! She’s one of Jess’s other trainees! I just know she's not a spider, and that despite having worked with Jess for two plus years she's never stepped foot in Spider Society!”

“She’s a chair?”

Pinching her nose, Gwen nodded. “Yea. A pretty good one too. She is a bit…eccentric though. And loud…I think she blew my eardrum out one time. I had tinnitus for like a week...”

“So she’s got some vocals on ‘er aye?”

“Thats all you picked up on? C’mon Hobie help me look for anyone who looks lost we’re supposed to chaperon h-”

Usually the portals that opened here were the usual semi-chaotic reality altering ones. But for some reason the one that just opened in front of them was nothing of the sort. No..this one opened with a loud tear; Everything and everyone in the vicinity was enveloped in a neon pink hue.

It was hard to tell who came stumbling out of the portal, as Hobie feared that if he moved his hand he would temporarily blind himself. But as the portal closed, and everything returned to its normal color palette, he finally dared to move his hand.

Maybe he shouldn’t have moved his hand.

Cause he was only met with a very different, blinding sight.

You had just fully stood from what he could only assume was a clumsy entrance. You wore what could only be described as almost every color of the rainbow but someone you pulled it off. There was absolutely no way you could move silently, as you were adorned in a plethora of kandi bracelets, pastel chains and pins. Your hair was adorned in a multitude of clips that matched the ones on your bag. 

Was your smile an accessory too? Hobie was sure it was, cause it was blinding him just as much as the body glitter that was spread over your legs and arms were.

His hand slowly reached up to clutch the chest of his jacket, in hopes that it would remind his heart to beat.

It wasn’t until Gwen had elbowed him in the side (hard enough to bruise might he add) that he remembered to breathe.

“Don’t stare, it's rude.”

He didn’t want to look away.

“Hi! Im Gwen…Stacy! We’ve talked a few times over coms?”

You smiled even wider as you grabbed Gwen’s hand and shook it rather violently (or enthusiastically it could have been confused for either). When she removed her hands from your drip it was left brighter than before for only a moment.

“Hi! Its nice to finally put a non-masked face to the name! Im (Y/N). And you are?”

Your sneakers squeaked as you took a sharp turn to face Hobie fully.

“Im Hobie Brown. Quiet the entrance you made.”

He holds his hand out, and is relieved when you shake it for just as long as you did Gwen’s. He watches as it glowed then returned to its normal saturation.

“Yeaaaa. Apparently my Earth is like WAY brighter than most. I would’ve brought sunglasses if I had known that would happen. Anyways…can you show me to the computer lab..hub…wherever this Spider-Byte normally operates?”

Gwen had taken it upon herself to lead the charge, and include a quick run over tour of whatever facility you all happened to pass on the way to the lab. 

Everything was so bright, but what amazed you more were the amount of Spider people that were just casually walking about. Either they were coming back from patrol, returning from break or coming for the first time.

You were sure your neck was gonna hurt or have a permanent crook in it from how much you were whipping your head around and turning to take everything in. You weren’t sure when the next time you would be here would be, so you wanted to take it all in.

“And here is where all the computer magic happens! You uh…know what you’ve gotta do from here right?” Gwen awkwardly raised her hands as if to present the lab.

“Yup! Im TECHNICALLY supposed to monitor your guys software and stuff and blah blah blah but I actually connected with Layla on the way here-who is super sweet by the way-and Im actually just gonna fix Spider-Byte’s connectivity issues here so she can get back to it. Y’know since she’s more knowledgeable with everything here. I would probably just mess something up.”

Despite the fact that you spoke about a mile a minute, and it was obvious Gwen was struggling to keep up, Hobie hung onto every word.

You moved like you had been here before despite this being your first time even stepping foot on the premises. You just moved with this sense of self confidence that had the aura of the room commanded by your presence alone. If you hadn’t told them your Earth just naturally saturated Hobie would have just assumed your essence was just too potent that it leaked off you and onto whatever you touched.

You were leagues above him when it came to the coolness factor.

Watching as you moved around the consoles via spinny chair (when did that get there?), each screen popped up and immediately began to run code. Hobie liked to pride himself on being a tech wiz, but this was levels beyond what he knew how to do. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from you.

But as he watched your hands, he noticed…were you TAKING code off the computers too?

Oh, that just brought a smile to his face.

As Gwen wandered over to the other side of the console to watch the miles of code run across the screen, Hobie took the opportunity to have a moment with you on the opposite side of the room.

Right when you went to shoot across him (and might he add it was almost like you had spider like reflexes with how you moved around on this thing), his hand went to grab the back of your chair.

Pulling the chair back, he watched as you rubber banded back into the seat and stood straight up. He leaned over your shoulder to look at the screen in front of you both. His hand reached over to tap a few keys and pull up the results onto just this screen.

Ignoring how his spider senses were shooting down his spine at an all time high with how close he was to you, he looked at you with a smirk.

“Did you just ‘alf inch some of our code?”

“Im sorry?”

Leaning in closer, he pulled the thumb drive out of only this terminal and held it up. Your cheeks turned a dark red in realization to being caught, and you crossed your arm as you started at him.

“You know wha’ I said”

Turning quickly, you pulled ANOTHER flash drive out from your pocket and stuck it into the port. The downloading resumed, and much to Hobie’s surprise you stood and snatched the thumb drive from him.

“First of all, I am part of the ‘’our’’ and second of all…it's none of your business.”

Suddenly multiple of the screens, well practically all of the screens in the room flashed green. With a pat of his shoulder, you rolled over to every computer and pulled out each flashdrive. Hobie counted…12!

He covered his mouth, trying to keep his cool disposition as he watched you quickly shove each one in your bag. You little grifter you…he would definitely have to find out what Earth you were from…

With the push of a button, you turned to them with a smile as you placed your hands on your hips.

“Alrighty! My work here is done…wait..,”

Turning around, you pressed the enter key on the computer behind you only to whip right back around smile as all the screens returned to normal.

You had been here all but twenty minutes and you managed to do solve all of their problems and then some.

“Now Im done! Gwen, you have my contact coordinate. Call me if you need me at all.”

Your eyes raked over Hobie, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest as he watched you carefully. The hair on your arms stood when he had leaned over you earlier. You could tell from his punk aesthetic and impressive hair that he was definitely anarchy incarnate…

He intrigued you. You were sure the data files you had picked up from the archives would barely answer every question you had about him.

You would have to push off your paper mache project for tonight…

“It was nice meeting you Hobie! Hope we can meet again sometime. Im like, basically free all the time…Later!”

Signing off with a peace sign, your neon portal opened again and closed in an instant as you fell into it.

“See what I mean, eccentric.”

“I thought she was pretty cool.”

Walking over to where you just stood, Hobie ran his fingers over where you had last touched hoping to catch some of the light leftover.

It was then he noticed you had left behind one of your thumb drives. It was definitely yours, a bright neon yellow covered in white glitter that fell off as he picked it up. His other hand came down to pick up the tag on the string connected to it.

‘Oops! Guess I left behind this VERY important thumb drive. Mind returning it to me? I like really need it for super duper important chair stuff…Earth 1618, Kings, New York City things y'know.

– (Y/N)’

[eleu22]

just some random task force 141 headcanons

tw: drugs, dead baby jokes?

gaz

- has been approached by model scouts on nights out with the 141 and is so gassed by it but pretends not to be

- got holding onto his tactical vest straps from price because he thought it looked cool

- popular as fuck in school

- side eye king (canon)

- used to do ket when he was younger and is now paranoid price will find out somehow and be disappointed in him

- highlights during briefings and soap calls him a neek

- deleted tiktok because he got addicted to those ingrown hair removal videos

- borderline illegible handwriting

- type to laugh when hes really mad (its lowkey scary)

- has once described himself as a “thought daughter”

- paces when hes stressed

- terrys chocolate orange enjoyer

- tried to grow out a beard but it was weird and kind of patchy

soap

- will be looking at a nice view and will always say how a huge explosion would make it look so much cooler

- does that thing where he tells you to straighten your legs and then kicks the back of your knee

- cannot stay still in his sleep and has once woken up with half is body off the bed horizontally

- has a comic book collection and if you touch it he will kick you out

- goes to life drawing classes sometimes in his free time

- all of his exam papers had doodles on them

- the type of guy to draw a penis in ur notebook

- all of his socks have holes in them but refuses to buy new ones, some are literally the concept of a sock at this point

- smells his armpits unabashedly to see if he smells or not

- will ask to tell you a secret and burp in your ear

- when someone drops like a plate or a cup is the type to scream “wheey!!” and clap and he did that at a pub once and got them kicked out

- will make a fart noise and loudly blame it on you (especially in packed elevators)

-booger flicker

ghost

- makes zero noise when sneezing but still acts it out and he looks like hes bugging

- nose bridge pincher

- doesn’t clip off his fingernails he literally just bites them off and spits it into the bin

- type to say “well done.” sarcastically

- casual dead baby joke enjoyer

“how many babies does it take to paint a wall?”

“depends on how hard you throw them.”

(silence)

- really enjoys solitaire mobile is on level 177

- he once made a recruit run laps for microwaving tea

- off duty he has terrible posture

- chapped lips 24/7

- favourite takeout is chinese food and always get the vegetable spring rolls - he will buy takeout in bulk and then live off of leftovers instead of actually buying groceries

- has 3 forks one knife and one spoon

- has literally no sense of rhythm what so ever , cannot dance to save his life

- loves making social situations awkward in purpose but would never admit that so he just comes off as slightly off putting a lot of the time

price

- sneezes and coughs ridiculously loudly

- weirdly territorial about his hat (i find it so funny he has a waterproof version of it)

- has a weird mole on his back he refuses to get checked out - his reasoning is if he dies via mole it was natural selection

- has extensive knowledge on art history and hates conceptual art (has a tate membership card)

- licks his finger before turning a page

- casual moomin enjoyer

- cuts his cuticles - likes his maintenance has a beard grooming kit

- says he doesnt watch tiktoks but he watches tiktok dog video complications in youtube and they have the most npc ass audios

- is on the “cigar society” on facebook and gives reviews for them

- does the head tilt of disappointment (if its thrown at gaz he literally will not get over it for days)

- slaps his knee when laughing really hard

- also nose bridge pincher

- is the type of make those hiking comments to people who walk by

- really enjoyed the lego batman movie

- unabashedly itches himself

- takes fish oil supplements

- always puts his hand up to say thank you when cars stop for him

- flirts with baristas

- had a brief midlife crisis where he wanted to become a mystery novelist (still has the drafts hidden somewhere but you couldn’t waterboard that information out of him)

thank you