#but from what i know there are ways to try to find shit

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

A symptom of this I often see is that a great many Americans also feel the need to highlight to the entire world around them when something they encounter is Other, or outside of their wheelhouse, and this applies even to the most mundane of things. I have two examples of this:

First, back in 2020, a lost walrus visited the Welsh town of Tenby for many weeks and menaced its lifeboats by sleeping on the slipway. I wrote a lengthy post about this, and included the fact that the good folks of West Wales named the walrus Wally, after the children's book franchise Where's Wally.

I was inundated with Americans reacting with everything from astonishment to derision that the character is not called Waldo outside of America. It was constant. Everything from "Wait you guys call him Wally??? Not Waldo???" all the way to "Are you guys fucking stupid his name is Waldo omg"

Which is very interesting, because Where's Wally is a British franchise. He was called 'Wally' first. His name was translated into over 30 other languages, including Charlie and Jonas, depending on region. Nonetheless, I did not get one single solitary note about the name from anyone else; it was exclusively Americans, unable to keep their amazement to themselves, unable to not highlight and point out that SOMETHING IS DIFFERENT FROM US.

Second, I once wrote a post in which I, a speaker of British English, used the word 'gaol' - the BE spelling of 'jail'. Again, I was flooded with comments, asks, messages, etc from Americans who simply could not fathom why I had done so. Four of them very literally sent me asks that asked why I had done it (I mean this literally - "Why did you spell jail like that?" was word for word one of the asks), so unable were they to work out on their own that spellings differ between dialects. I responded to one, saying that I was baffled by it, and suggesting that maybe the polite thing would be to google these sorts of things for yourself rather than requesting to have your hand held through the process of learning that other places have different words and spellings than you're used to. I said I did understand, but that this was something I myself fetched up against all the time with American media, and had since I was a child - but I simply used context clues to work out meaning, or google when I couldn't, because I get that American English is a different language.

And then two things happened: the first was that a non-trivial number of Americans lost their entire shit at the very suggestion that there was anything at all rude about this (again, I really don't know what answer they wanted to that beyond "Because that's how it's spelled in my language", information readily available with a single google search), and the second was that I was then inundated with non-Americans sharing stories of how they love writing fanfic but they had to start doing it in American English because when they used their own, they would get flooded with comments from Americans trying to 'correct' them, and it just wasn't worth the hassle.

And it's ultimately a 'dominant culture' sickness, I think. When everything is constantly catering to your understandings and cultural expectations, anything outside of it feels Other, and Must Be Commented Upon. I'm Welsh, and I find absolutely any mention of anything Welsh around most English people gets the same reaction; they absolutely have to comment on the Thing They Think Is Weird. Just last week I was discussing a fieldtrip for my students with an English colleague of mine, and I said I was taking them to the Bannau Brycheiniog. He didn't interrupt, to his credit; but he got the stupid grin that I knew meant he was going to comment. He waited until I finished asking for his risk assessment input, and then rather than answering, his first response was "The Bah Bah Bluh Bluh?"

If I'd said an Anglicised or English name, he'd have just continued the conversation. But he didn't recognise the name Bannau Brycheiniog. So We Must All Flag Up That It's Weird.

And that's dialled up to 11 for a great many Americans.

(Though not all, by a long shot. I do want to stress that. In both examples I've given, I had far more Americans who agreed with me than not. But it is a common behaviour, unfortunately.)

im american and i knew that like in kindergarten so i think some of you are just stupid sorry

[northopalshore]

Derivative astrology

Your spouse's reputation

For this method, we'll be looking at the 4th house of your natal chart, the 4th house ruler & planets in the 4th house to determine your future spouse's (public) reputation and quite possibly what they are known for. Although not a direct link, it can also give you hints about their possible career too. Does not translate to their actual Midheaven sign or placement, it's their energy.

Signs & degrees

Do not repost on other sites! Especially on TikTok man, I see you ʕ⁠´⁠ಠ⁠ᴥ⁠ಠ`⁠ʔ ฅ 🔊 🍽️ Northopalshores' Masterlist| union persona chart| paid readings

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ Common additional asks

In °0 👉🏻check for Aquarius

In retrograde 👉🏻 calmer or opposite version of non retrograde

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Aries (°1,°13,°25)

Your partner is known as quite the flirt. Not to say they are a Casanova, but something about them just oozes raw sexuality, confident and some how childish fun or innocence. They can be coy and act like they got their shit together (high nose and everything) but they're not trying to sell anyone that image permanently. They are known for their enthusiasm and energy often giving 100% of themselves into something even if it may appear measley to others. They are also protective and may get rather hot headed (have a brat streak) to them. They are a hard worker and people appreciate their strength and resilience.

🍡Possible careers: dancer, self employed, any job that requires movement or physical attraction/contact/agility & hard work or labour.

Taurus (°2,°14,°26)

Your partner is known for being a levelheaded individual with a friendly yet professional temperament. They have a warm and strong presence that eases the mind of everyone that they meet. They are always seen as presentable and expensive. People know them for their good taste and easygoing yet still strong and enduring personality. They have the ability to ease one's doubt with just their presence alone. They are seen as gracious and we'll mannered too, many will find your spouse relatable.

🍡Possible careers: Anything that has to do with children, beauty, fashion, partnerships, business person

Gemini (°3,°15,°27) | Mercury in or conjunct the 4th House

Your future spouse is know to be quite the comedian. They are someone people find incredibly entertaining and always the interesting character. It may be hard for people to peel their eyes or attention away from your spouse as they are naturally humours. They are known to be someone with a quick mind, and a knack for talking. Like, reaally talking. People could praise them for having a good voice or something about their voice just feels so good to hear or is prominent in some way. They could be the person with the funny accent, expressive speech pattern, good voice or chronic overthinker/oversharer. Witty, smart and also tend to critique themselves a lot. Either way, their voice & thoughts plays an important role in their reputation.

🍡Possible careers: Singers, musicians, teachers, writers, comedians, actors, whatever that requires talking, expressiveness, creativity and entertainment

Cancer (°4,°16,°28) | Moon in the or conjunct the 4th house

Your partner as a kind, reassuring presence. People often come to them for support or see them as an emotionally supportive and nurturing individual. They may feel like a mother in a way, even if they are a man. They are known for their empathy and compassion as well as their emotional intelligence. Your spouse gives off the energy of a caretaker and someone who is careful & considerate. Some may come off like a mom or a grandmother to others lol.

Ex: Barack Obama has natal IC in Taurus °28 Cancer. Michelle is known for her calm demeanor, and her authentic personality. She's disciplined, caring and emotionally intelligent. I should also mention he has Moon in the 4th house. She was well respected and loved as during the time she was first lady.

🍡Possible careers: Retail, home realtors, doctors, advisor, nurse, doctor, anything that requires authenticity and "soul"

Leo (°5,°17,°29) | Sun in or conjunct the 4th House

Your partner has a reputation of being loud & proud (and for some, abrasive). They are a strong character on their own and do not let anything change their way or perspective about anything. They are known to have a strong mentality, they are also known as a passionate fighter. Something about their looks is always talked about or noticed as well. They could be known to look a certain way.

🍡Possible careers: entertainer, actor, model, teacher, anything that requires them to be bold and bring attention to themselves

Virgo (°6,°18)

Your future partner is known to be quite the critique in both the good way & bad. They're known to be quite and have a lot on their mind. This usually is most evident when they start getting into "the zone" and people will know not to obstruct them during that time. You partner is know to be a generally good natured individual who may come off as rather dry at times even if they are a naturally friendly person. They are know to be smart (which means more towards intuition or introspection). Your partner has quite the reliable reputation being everyone's go-to person.

🍡Possible careers: doctor, teacher, nurse, secretary, someone that works at a church or any job that requires them to help others or methodical work

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Libra (°7,°19) | Venus in or conjunct the 4th House

Your partner is known to be an easygoing, likeable person with a strong sense of justice and morality. They're likely known as someone smart and persuasive too. Their looks, business, connections or relationships with other people tend to be the highlight of their reputation.

🍡Possible careers: Model, any job that requires them to deal with other people, socializing, interacting, debating or planning, group work, secretary etc

Scorpio (°8,°20) | Pluto conjunct or in the 4th House

Your partner is known as a shy, or rather repressive. They are known to be rather messy & reclusive as well. They are known to be strong and passionate and is able to endure a lot of things that come their way. They could seem rather emotionally driven, raw and powerful but they may or may not know how to control that energy. Some may be been as rather violent or have self destructive tendencies. In some cases, they may be described as "to exploit or be exploited". They could be known as scary too lol.

🍡Possible careers: anything that requires hard work, may have dangerous or controversial careers, something that requires a lot of strength or resilience from them, anything that requires them to oppose something

Sagittarius (°9,°21) | Jupiter in or conjunct the 4th House

Your spouse has a big personality, and someone that everyone tends to like due to how enthusiastic and friendly they are. They tend to have a comedic reputation, being someone chill yet still sharp and knowledgeable. They have the "funny man/woman" reputation. They are known to have a big or exotic, exaggerated energy about them.

Ex: Ryan Reynolds has his natal IC in Sagittarius °22 Capricorn. Blake is known to be a fun and humourous person (sort of embodying a similar energy as him in a way) though people tend to have mixed feelings about her due to her abrasive (exaggerated) nature. I don't think she was acting when she was in Gossip Girl lmao.

🍡Possible careers: anything that requires them to be the center of attention, something that requires them to think or give their opinion about often, could be a desirable job, anything related to storytelling as well like writers, actors or a lyricist

Capricorn (°10,°22) or Saturn in & conjunct IC

Your partner is known to be someone with a good head on their shoulder. Someone with a clear purpose or desire in life. People find them respectful and hardworking. They take on most of their duties seriously and may be hard on themselves as well. It's their hardwork and professionalism that people usually notice most (what they're known for).

In the °22nd degree specifically, people have very.. varied opinions of your spouse. On one hand people may really like them and find them powerful and influential yet on the other hand people can also find them to be self centered or obnoxious.

🍡Possible careers: anything surrounding business, anything that requires them to be a certain way or at more in control of themselves, a job that may be criticized or requires them to be responsible (I know it's vague asf but that's usually the case). Could also work for themselves.

Aquarius (°11,°23) or Uranus in & conjunct the IC

Your spouse is known as someone who is innovative and resourceful. They have a quick way about them, and usually they are known to think outside of the box. They may be known to be quite rebellious and brazen. May be known as quite the smarty pants too. Someone who does things their way. Their methods may be questionable, but they seem to be quite certain of it. Some with these placements may have a partner with a "trainwreck" reputation.

🍡Possible careers: the dreaded freelancer (lmao), anything in relation to the internet or technology, doing what they want, a career that requires them to express themselves as they want or are

Pisces (°12,°24)

Your spouse is known for being a kind, funny person with a mellow personality. They are also known for being a "bubbly" mutable person, that does not judge or ground themselves to a certain way or energy, they tend to have a youthful personality regardless of their age. They are emotional and sensitive but may appear rather irrational at times. They are known to be quite the sociable person as well even with strangers. Also, they have a bit of a "clumsy" reputation. Their creativity and sensitivity is what they're most known for.

🍡Possible careers: teachers, caretakers, actors, whatever that requires them to adapt themselves accordingly, dealing with children or music and creativity

Asteroids

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Mars in or conjunct the 4th house

( not an asteroid but I wanted to separate mars from the others)

Your partner may have a "hustler" grindset (mindset). They are likely known as a pathfinder too (doing things that others may not, taking more risks, doing things first). They are known to be a vitalizing presence that may act before thinking or strike when the iron is hot! They are an opportunistic person, and are seen as very passionate about whatever it is that they do (albeit annoying at times or one track minded).

Ex: Beyoncé has Cancer IC °18 Virgo with North Node & Mars in the 4th house. Jay-Z is a business man through and through. He is a way paver, and has his money on his mind.

Neptune in or conjunct the 4th House

(Again, not an asteroid but I wanted to separate it)

Your partner is known as someone very charming yet misleading. They are known to be a people person, or someone that everyone can get along with. People may idealise your partner as well for their talents, looks or personality.

Chiron in or conjunct the 4th House

Your partner is known to be a self sacrificing person. They may give more to others than themselves. They have a very healing presence and are known to be rather humble. Though for some it means that they are seen as someone incompetent or easy to brush off or disrespected.

🍡Possible careers: healers, doctors, advisors anything requiring patience, support and understanding

Groom (5129) or Briede (19029) in or conjunct the 4th house

Your future spouse may be known for being your partner, people usually link their reputation to you in some way. Could also be seen as someone dedicated. If you are masculine and are attracted to the feminine, then having Briede in the 4th can result in them being more prominently noticed in as a partner or in their career life compared to you & vice versa for Groom.

Ex: Michael Jackson has Groom in Cancer °0 in the 4th house. Both Lisa and Debbie were noted as his spouse and are still known for being so married to him. He is more the center of attention in the public eye when they are together is what I mean.

Ex ii: Ariana Grande has Briede in her 4th house. Even when she's with any of her parents, she is more popular or seen as the center of attention more than her partners.

Juno in or conjunct the 4th House

Your partner is known to be a very professional, yet zealous and vibrant. People find them to be very attractive (personality wise) as they look and act confident & desirable!

Starr (4150) in or conjunct the 4th House

Your spouse is known to be someone that people tend to idealise or admire. They are the "it" person, or someone that may seem like they have the upper hand in life & especially in their career or with their public life. They are just perceived as someone very charming & lucky.

Fama (408) in or conjunct the 4th House

Your spouse or partner can be quite popular, they tend to be the talk of the town or wherever that they go (for whatever reason). People could notice your partner most when you are together or they may boost your image in a way. It's not necessarily tied to traditional fame.

North Node in or conjunct the 4th House

Your partner is known to be quite the workaholic. They are someone with a clear purpose in mind, and are very focused on themselves & that aforementioned sense of purpose. They tend to be people who are respected for whatever they do as well.

Lilith in or conjunct the 4th House

Your spouse is known to be the unconventional type. They tend to stand out the most wherever they go or wherever they work due to their distinctive energy and personality, this can make them sort of a "star player", but at the same time can mean they attract a lot of competition or jealousy as well. People tend to look or stare at them a lot. Still, I think this placement can go both ways; either they are seen as an asshole or people are assholes to them (they make others insecure).

₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ . ₊ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑ ⊹ .₊๋‧₊ ˚ ⊹ ࣭ ⭑

Hope this helps ♡

@northopalshore

[dreaamdiary]

❛❛𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐏𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐘❜❜ ⋆⸜ 🍓₊ ⊹ c.s + m.s

IN WHICH… matts been grumpier than usual so you and chris come to the conclusion that he needs some pussy

chris x reader (established relationship), matt x reader

the tv flickered throughout the living room , glowing on you and chris’ half-lidded faces while your curled up into each other, giggles shared in waves and passing a joint back and forth. then came a slam from the front door, jumping you out of peace and chris nearly dropping the joint.

matt stormed in like a clap of thunder, his hood up, jaw locked and shoes thudding across the floor.

“yo–” chris called with a lazy voice, “welcome back sunshine.”

he couldn’t bother to spare a single glance at the couple, stoned on the couch, just mumbling words that hardly made it past his clenched teeth. matt disappeared down the hall before either of you could get a word out, slamming the door shut again.

you turn to chris with a raised brow, he’s returning the same look, “he’s been moodier than usual right?”

chris nods his head while letting out a long exhale, tapping the ash into your glass dish. “kids been locking himself in his room, snapping at everyone like a fuckin’ asshole”

you giggle before stealing the joint from his fingers, “stop, he’s probably just in desperate need of some pussy”

chris snaps his fingers and face lights up like he’s just discovered some ground breaking epiphany. “oh shit, you’re right we gotta get him laid— or at least his dick sucked, who’d fuck matt?”

‘i will!’ your brain instantly sparked at the thought, one you’ve had for a while actually. silence falls between the two as names and faces raced through chris’ head and trying to find the right words raced through yours

your fingers fidgeted in your lap, knee frantically bounced, and lips twisted. the idea hovered in your chest like fire, hoping it wasn’t too much, but words already inching up your throat. you tucked your legs under yourself and grasped his bicep, “i don’t mind helping– only if it’s okay with you baby.”

he took a while to respond, licking his lips and leaning into you. it didn’t shock him— not really. he knew his girlfriend and the way your mind worked when you cared too much. he didn’t feel jealousy, didn’t feel like he was giving you up, if anything he felt trust— some unspoken comfort knowing it would be two people he trusted with his life. and it wasn’t like you were hiding it from him, you were open and honest which can was rare in modern relationships, and really fucking hot, if he was being real.

“you really wanna do that for him?”

you nod your head, “mhm, i actually have a conspiracy that you guys have the same dick, like it’d probably feel the same.”

His mouth tugged into a lazy grin before a quiet chuckle slipped out, “you think he’d even know what to do with you?”

“maybe not, but it’d be fun watching him try”

“you’re something else, ya know that?” chris twisted in his seat and called out toward the hallway, “matt, get out here!”

there was a pause then there he was, reappeared a minute later, brows furrowed and confusion painted across his face. “what’d you want?”

“come chill with us,” you send him a warm smile, patting the couch cushion beside you and holding the joint up for him to see.

matt exhales hard through his nose, like the idea of socializing was exhausting. he doesn’t say anything— just rolls his eyes, trudging over to the couch and snatching the joint from your hands as if he’s doing everyone a favor. he drops onto the seat with a grunt, legs spread wide and arms crossed.

you shift on your knees from chris to matt, eye level with his side profile, sharp and cold, watching him somewhat relax.

“you know we care about you a lot, right?” you started with a soft and teasing edge, “and we’ve always been so close..”

you voice was smooth like honey in his ears but not sweet enough to break his facade. matt hums low, head slightly tilted, brows pinched, and taking a slow drag of smoke.

“right”

“right, so hear me out…we think you’ve been a little on edge the past couple weeks–”

chris budges in, “she means you’ve been a bitch”

“i didn’t say that but yeah.”

chris’ hand remained on your thigh, steady and reassuring. not possessive— just present. matt takes notice before dropping his shoulders, “shut the fuck up, y’all are insane.”

“listen matt, we feel like you just need to get your dick wet, and i’m here to help, if you’re okay with it.” your voice gets higher has his glare strengthens.

“chris you hearing this?” matt shifts in his seat, glancing between you and chris, unsure if he’s allowed to be curious or not.

chris is sunken into the couch, man spread, and tracing circles on your skin. “mhm, don’t overthink it, she’s being generous.”

there’s a quick pause, then a breath through his nose, considering it more than he’d like to admit, but eventually giving in, “yeah, okay.”

your motions were swift and with purpose, you work to get matt’s pants off— boxers bunched around his ankles, chris also removing your articles of clothing and getting straight to it. your nose connected with matt’s pelvis and ass, perched up, pussy coated in slick on display for chris.

you hallowed your cheeks as your tongue flattened along his shaft, feeling each and every vein pulse, his dick slowly sliding itself down your throat and lips wrapped around his base. matt’s gasps are chocked and overwhelmed, his body is tense and his arms are draped over the couch like he didn't know what to do with them.

"oh my g- fuuckk," he throws his head back and squeezes his glossy eyes shut, pulling deep groans from his throat.

your small whimpers vibrated throughout his whole body while chris absentmindedly rubbed tight circles on your sensitive clit, attention caught up in sparking up another blunt and the movie still playing on the tv. he finally looks over to see your curls messily scattered, in your eyes and getting caught in your mouth.

"don't be afraid to touch her matt, hold her hair, push her head down too, she likes that shit," he instructed before landing a harsh smack on your ass causing you to squirm on your knees and let out a breathy moan.

matt did as he said, gathering your hair, using his hand as a ponytail holder and bobbing your head up and down his throbbing cock. you were taking him so well, so deep– like you were made for this. both of your eyes rolling and sharp lewd noises echoed and bounced off the walls.

chris held you by the waist and inserted two thick fingers inside your drenched cunt, drawing out gasp from your lips and making your inner muscles flutter around his digits. your head falls back, removing matt's dick from your mouth with a pop, managing to stroke his length with the rhythm of chris' thrusts, yours and matt's moans blending together.

"your so sexy," matt pants out, looking up at you like you were some kinda goddess with a flushed face and dark eyes you stared back, getting lost in his pretty features. chris agreed, co-signing on the statement, "so fucking sexy, baby."

their praises worked to push you over the edge, rocking into his hand as he fucked his fingers hard and fast, his knuckles deep and relentless and matt groping at your breast rolling you hardened nipples at a teasing rate.

you gathered spit in your cheeks and let it trickles down on matt's tip– bright red and angry, much like you remember chris' to be, before kitty licking the pre cum from his slit and gently squeezing his balls.

"shhh-shit, oh fuck, im cu-mming."

he bucks his hips hard and a deep growl rips from his chest as his sticky cum covers your face, getting in your eyebrows, your eyelashes, covering your lips for you to lick clean.

your back arched and hands tightly clawed at matt's thighs, leaving little crescent indents from your nails. chris sent a few slaps directly to your clit, completely doing you in, arms collapsing and your head falling on matts chest as your creamy arousal coated chris' fingers.

their breathing eventually slowed, the only sound in the room being the soft tv long forgotten and hum of the ceiling fan. you leaned back on chris' chest, keeping your fingers laced with matt's and chris shifted to kiss your shoulder before reaching over you to dap up his brother while sucking you off his other hand.

he snorts a laugh, "y'good bro?"

matt returns with a lazy smile, eyes nearly shut, "hell yeah."

𓏲ִ ⋆₊⊹ masterlist ╱ taglist

[the-witty-pen-name]

Can I Cut In?

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: alcohol consumption; fluff

Based off request: Heyyy, would you write something fluff about Ghost? Maybe reader overhear ghost talking to soap about how he likes y/n but it's afraid of make a move.

A/N: Thank you for the idea! @drownedinverse

Requests are open!

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you also didn’t keep walking when you definitely should have. Walking past one of the briefing rooms, you heard Soap and Ghost talking. You were going to just stop in and say hello on your way to the mess hall. You froze just before the doorway when you heard your name.

“Would you just drop it?” Ghost says, and you can tell he sounds irritated. You wince, your anxiety getting the better of you- convinced maybe you did something to annoy him.

Ghost always seemed to avoid you. You assumed maybe he just didn't like you- which was fine, he was always respectful and he never let it interfere when the two of you needed to work together. You hoped when you joined the taskforce you’d become close with everyone, but you accepted that Ghost and you wouldn’t be friendly- you don’t have to be friends with your coworkers.

“I just don’t understand what your issue is,” Soap replies, and he sounds exhausted. You can hear the heavy steps of his boots as he’s pacing back and forth.

“God, there is no issue-” he tries to insist, but Soap must have given him a look or something because he doesn’t even finish the sentence as his voice falls in defeat. “I just get so fucking nervous.”

“Nervous?” You hear Soap chuckle. Your brow furrows in confusion- Ghost… nervous? Because of you?

“What if I ask (y/n) and it goes horribly? It could ruin everything… Shit, it would be such a mess, Soap.”

“It’s a date, not the end of the world.”

A date? Ghost wants to ask you out? There’s no way- he avoids you any opportunity he can. He tolerates you at best- you can’t even bring yourself to believe your ears.

“It’s not just a date- and you know that Soap.”

Dating you would be complicated. For weeks Ghost imagined how asking you out would go. He imagines every possible rejection- from polite, to rude, to you just laughing in his face. He thinks he can stomach rejection, it’ll hurt- it would devastate him, but he could move on. What he fears more is if you said yes. He’s played it out in his head way too much. He’s worried about what it would be like to open himself up, to become vulnerable- just for the inevitable downfall that he always manages to find himself in. He’s convinced himself that no matter what he’d just end up losing you so up until now he’s just shoved his feelings down as always. But as time passes, and the feelings he holds for you becomes stronger- it’s becoming unbearable.

“Fine, be miserable forever,” Soap says in defeat and you decide to walk away quickly before either of them realizes you’d been there.

You’re eating at one of the long tables in the mess hall when Simon takes a seat on the bench across from you. His words that you overheard are practically ringing in your ear as he looks at you. This isn’t like him. Usually he sits away from you, at the other end of the table. You feel that your face is hot under his intense stare. He looks so nervous, and you know it has to do with the conversation you overheard. You think maybe he knows you heard them, and he’s here to set the record straight- you misunderstood everything.

“So,” he begins, his eyes now focused on the table in front of him, unable to meet your eye. “The guys mentioned maybe hitting a pub off base on our day off.”

“Oh?” You ask, tilting your head. He nods, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, uh, I- Soap, uh, you know, he’s trying to get a headcount- wants to know if you’re going, you know- to the pub, obviously.”

“Oh, um, yeah- I’ll try to be there,” you say with a smile.

The whole team is shocked to see Simon walk through the doors of the bar. He never opts to go out on his days off. He usually always stays behind, left to be by himself on base. Soap already knows why he’s here and he can’t help but find the whole situation amusing. He’s never seen his friend like this before.

“Holy shit! Look who it is,” Roach exclaims, lifting up his pint in Ghost’s direction. Ghost nods, maneuvering through the crowd to get to where the team has taken over the corner booth. He tries his best to hide his disappointment when he sees you aren’t there. He feels so defeated, and he’s almost tempted to just turn around and head back to the barracks.

He slides in next to Soap anyways. He grabs one of the unclaimed glasses from the middle of the table and pours himself a beer from the pitcher from the middle of the table. If he was here, he might as well drink his sorrows away.

The music is loud and it’s crowded when you arrive. Anxious butterflies swarm in your stomach. This is the first time the team has met outside of work since you joined the force. You’re hoping tonight will give you a chance to bond with them, and in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that Ghost is there.

Ghost sees you before you see them, and honestly, you take his breath away. This is the first time he’s seen you out of uniform and god, you looked amazing. Everything about you just made his heart practically beat out of his chest. He’s usually so much better at keeping his emotions at bay. He’s never let himself feel like this before.

But it’s you.

When your eyes find them as you scan the room, you smile and Ghost thinks you might be the death of him. He knows you’re being waved over by Soap and you’re smiling at him, but he can’t help but hope that maybe you’ll smile like that because of him. You’ve completely ruined him, and he can’t see past anything else except you when you’re in his atmosphere.

“Hi everyone,” you smile, not even hesitating to slide in next to Ghost. You smell good too, he feels like he might go insane. Everyone on the force greets you with a smile and a boisterous hello, except Ghost, who sits there with gritted teeth like being next to you is so uncomfortable that he’d rather be anywhere else.

You realize you must’ve misunderstood what you heard earlier. There’s no way he’s interested when he just asks like this whenever he’s around you. You start to feel especially foolish, looking down at the outfit you picked out especially to get his attention.

Price passes you a beer and you thank him with a polite smile. You clear your throat, trying to cut through the awkward tension you feel sitting next to Ghost. You can’t even imagine how you let yourself get wrapped up in the idea that he might actually like you.

The group gets lost in conversation as some time passes and you’re eventually able to focus on the group and not on Ghost. The music is loud and people are starting to dance, recognizing the song that someone put on through the jukebox.

“Oh I love this song,” you say with a grin, turning to watch the people who’ve started dancing. It looked like everyone was having so much fun. You turn back around and finish your drink.

“Come on,” Soap says with a grin, offering you his hand. Your eyes widen, pleasantly surprised as he leads you over to the floor. He puts a hand on your waist and leads you as you both dance to the fast paced song.

Ghost knows it’s just a friendly gesture on Soap’s part but he’s fuming. His eyes are shooting daggers at Soap the entire time, jealousy bubbling up inside him when he has no right to feel this way.

At the end of the song, Soap spins you and it makes you laugh, and you need to hold his shoulders afterwards because it leaves you dizzy. You’re both laughing, out of breath from trying to keep up with everyone else, and Ghost can’t watch it anymore.

The song changes, something much slower and couples around you begin to sway. Ghost gets up and strides over to you and Soap before you both begin dancing.

“Can I cut in?” He asks, and Soap steps aside. He pats Ghost on the shoulder, a grin on his face- his plan working out exactly as he hoped. You rest your arms around Ghost’s broad shoulders, and his hands rest on the small of your back.

“I didn’t think you were a dancer,” you say after a few moments. Ghost chuckles.

“I’m not,” he answers.

“Oh,” you reply, and you both fall into silence again. There’s an unspoken tension and a nervousness that the two of you feel.

He’s so nervous. He can hardly steady his breathing, the feeling of you against him is overwhelming- it’s all he can think about. The moment with you is perfect and he’s so worried about saying anything wrong that ruins it. You’re just so pretty, and it makes it hard for him to think straight.

“Would you wanna go out sometime?” He asks suddenly, surprising himself but his sudden outburst.

“Like- like a date?” You ask, surprised. He gulps.

“Yeah, like a date.”

“I’d like that,” you say with a smile, and all of his nervousness melts away. “Can I, can I try something?” You ask, looking up at him. He nods. He doesn’t care what it is. He’d say yes to whatever you asked for.

You lean up and press your lips to his, hesitantly at first. All you feel is sparks, but you’re worried you overstepped when he doesn’t kiss you back at first. Embarrassed, you move to pull away but he pulls you closer, kissing you back finally.

Suddenly every book you’ve read, or movie you’ve seen with an amazing first kiss makes sense. Both of you are left breathless, smiling like fools and you hide your face in his chest when you hear the obnoxious cheering of your teammates.

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Remmick x reader, established relationship, NSFW(maybe some fluff?)

Imagine reader noticing that Remmick is frustrated when he returns home, perhaps a hunt wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped/imagined.

So reader decides to help him relax by making this night all about him. Settling him down and kneeling in front of him, no matter how much he wants to grab the reader (with some convincing) they make sure he’s taken care of first.

(Give this man head till he’s shooting blanks and whimpering fr) who said that- omg

Gender neutral pronouns and afab if that’s okay :)!

Have a great day/night!

Remmy||Remmick x GN!Reader with afab

Summary—after a frustrating hunt remmick comes home to be takes care of y/n.

Warnings— oral sex (male receiving) light teasing one singular use of y/n.

Low key one of my favorites I giggled when I saw you back in my inbox 🙂‍↕️

You know that look. That frustration set to Remmick’s jaw, the way his shoulders roll like he’s trying to shake off a weight he can’t put down. He walks in the door still sharp with tension, his eyes a little too red, his fangs just barely peeking from under his lip. You don’t need to ask what happened, you can feel it in your bones. The hunt didn’t go as planned.

You meet him halfway, your touch gentle on his chest. “Rem,” you murmur, “come sit.”

“I’m fine,” he lies, voice rough, hands twitching like he doesn’t trust himself to touch you just yet. “Just… wasn’t enough. Didn’t hit right.”

You guide him to the edge of the bed anyway, fingers curling into the collar of his jacket. “Let me help.”

He hesitates. You don’t.

You ease him down, kneeling between his legs, hands warm on his thighs. He tenses immediately, a low growl building in his throat. “Sweetheart…” It’s half warning, half plea. “Don’t start something I can’t finish. You know I’ll lose it—I’ll want—”

“Shh,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to the inside of his knee. “You don’t have to do anything. Let me take care of you tonight, Remmy.”

He exhales through clenched teeth, head falling back, hands gripping the sheets instead of your hair like you know he wants to. It takes coaxing. Whispered reassurances. Tender strokes along his thighs, careful kisses against his hip bones, slow enough to drive him mad.

When you finally free him, he’s already leaking, needy and flushed, and you swear his breath catches like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs. You start slowly, savoring the way he twitches under your touch, how his thighs tremble the longer you drag your tongue over him. You use your mouth like worship hands keeping his hips steady, even when they jerk up instinctively.

“Fuck—baby,” he groans, voice rasping low, almost broken. “That mouth… shit, you’re gonna kill me.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Rem,” you hum, lips brushing the head of his cock. “You’ll be fine.”

But he’s not fine. He’s wrecked. Moaning and panting, hands fisting the sheets so he doesn’t grab you and flip you over. You see it in the way his jaw tightens, his eyes glowing with restraint.

“Please,” he breathes, thighs trembling, “please, I’m close—”

You don’t let up. You suck him deeper, throat flexing around him until he chokes on a moan and spills with a cry, hips bucking despite himself. But you’re not done, not even close.

You coax him through it. Keep him in your mouth, soft licks and messy strokes, dragging it out until he’s shaking. Until he’s whimpering yes, whimpering and trying to pull away, too sensitive but still twitching in your hand.

“Fuck, fuck, Y/n I—can’t—please, no more,” he gasps, eyes glassy and unfocused.

You finally pull off, lips swollen and spit-slick, and press gentle kisses along his stomach while his chest heaves. His hand finds your hair at last, trembling fingers smoothing it back from your face like he’s grounding himself.

“You’re gonna kill me permanently one day,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

You grin against his skin. “Only if you’re lucky.”

Later, you crawl into his lap, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before cupping his cheek. He’s dazed, flushed, still panting a little as you kiss him slow and sweet.

He leans into you like a man starved soft now, pliant. Not from hunger or lust. Just love.

“You always know what I need,” he murmurs, arms wrapping tight around your waist.

You kiss his forehead. “That’s what I’m here for, Remmy.”

[lazy-ahh]

MM anon back again u know what I’m craving 😈

I HATE YOU (I LOVE YOU)

pairing mohawk! mark grayson x male reader

mark grayson is seventeen, stupidly powerful, and completely incapable of handling you—his childhood rival, his best friend, the person who drives him absolutely insane in every way possible. you fight, you shove each other into lockers, you steal the last fry off his tray every damn day. and yet, somehow, you're the only thing he can't seem to live without.

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

you’re annoying.

you’ve always been annoying, ever since second grade when you stole the last red crayon right out of his hands during art class. mark still remembers the way you smirked at him, all sharp edges and defiance, like you already knew he’d spend the next decade trying (and failing) to one-up you. you were loud, stubborn, and so infuriatingly good at everything—spelling bees, kickball, even that stupid multiplication table race mrs. lawson made you do. he hated how his stomach twisted when you won. (he hated even more how his stomach twisted when you lost, because seeing you pout felt wrong.)

through the years, nothing changed—except it did. middle school brought fistfights in the hallway over stupid shit like who got the last chocolate milk at lunch. high school turned those fights into wrestling matches in his bedroom, into shoving each other into lockers, into whispered insults that sounded a little too much like i missed you when one of you was sick for a day. you were always there, like some kind of fucked-up constant—his rival, his best friend, the person who knew him better than anyone else and still chose to stick around. you were the first one to call him out when he was being an idiot, the first one to throw a punch when someone else tried to mess with him. you were his, in every way except the one that mattered.

and now? now he’s screwed. because somewhere between the insults and the roughhousing, between the way you roll your eyes when he talks too much about comics and the way you always steal his fries but leave the rest of yours for him, he fell in love with you. hard. it’s in the way his chest tightens when you laugh, the way he memorized the exact shade of your eyes in sunlight, the way he can’t imagine his life without you in it—loud, stubborn, annoying you.

even now, you're still annoying.

that’s the first thing mark thinks when he sees you, sprawled out on his bed like you own the place, flipping through one of his comics with that stupid smirk on your face. your fingers tap against the page, impatient, like you’re waiting for him to say something—to bite back, to snap, to rise to the challenge like always.

and god, he wants to. he wants to shove you off the bed, call you an idiot, wrestle you onto the floor until you’re both breathless and laughing. but right now, he can’t. right now, he’s stuck staring at the way the sunlight cuts through the window and spills over your skin, turning you golden. at the way your lashes cast shadows on your cheeks when you blink. at the way your lips quirk up when you find a panel you like, like the artist drew it just for you.

(he wonders if the artist could ever capture the way he sees you—perfect, infuriating, his.)

he’s enamored.

he’s enamored with the way your fingers move—long and deft, drumming against tabletops, flipping pages of comics, gripping the edge of his desk when you lean over to mock his homework. he’s enamored with the way you chew your bottom lip when you’re concentrating, teeth worrying at the soft pink until it’s red and swollen, and he wants to be the one biting it instead. he’s enamored with that beauty mark just below your ear, the one he’s traced a thousand times in his head with his tongue, wondering if you’d shiver if he ever got the chance.

he’s enamored with your scars—the faint one on your eyebrow from wiping out on your bike in fifth grade, the jagged line on your knee from when you both tried (and failed) to jump the quarry fence, the fresh split on your knuckles from when you punched him in the mouth last week (he definitely deserved it). he wants to press his lips to every single one, map them like constellations, learn the stories they tell.

but more than anything, he’s enamored with your stupid laugh—the way it bursts out of you, loud and unapologetic, like you can’t contain it, like it’s too big for your body. it’s the kind of laugh that makes his ribs ache, that makes his stomach flip, that makes him want to shove you against a wall just to see if he can pull it out of you himself.

and god, he’s horny.

it’s pathetic, really, how badly he wants you. the way your muscles flex when you stretch, lean but defined, all coiled strength under smooth skin. the way your shirt rides up when you reach for something, giving him a glimpse of your stomach, the sharp v of your hips leading down to—fuck. the way your thighs strain against your pants when you sit, thick and powerful, and he knows how strong they are from all the times you’ve pinned him down, thighs squeezing his waist until he taps out.

he’s imagined it too many times—how you’d look under him, over him, how you’d sound when he finally gets his hands on you, when he finally makes you his. the thought of your hands on him, rough and demanding, makes his breath stutter. the thought of your mouth, all sharp words and sharper teeth, dragging down his neck, his chest, lower—

he’s so fucking gone for you it hurts.

"what’s up, asshole?" he says instead, tossing his bag onto the floor hard enough that it slides and knocks over a half-empty can of soda. it rolls lazily, spilling sticky orange onto his carpet, and mark already knows his mom’s gonna yell about it later. but right now? he doesn’t care. not when you’re looking at him like that—all smug amusement, like you’ve been waiting all day just to piss him off.

you glance up, grin sharp enough to cut glass. "oh, you know. just realizing your taste in comics is as bad as your haircut." you flip a page dramatically, wrinkling your nose at some over-the-top action panel. "seriously, who even likes this guy? he’s got, like, twelve muscles too many."

mark rolls his eyes so hard it almost hurts, but his chest is tight anyway. he wants to kiss you. he wants to tackle you. he wants to pin you down and bite that stupid smirk right off your face—

"earth to grayson." your foot connects with his shin, not hard enough to hurt, just hard enough to snap him out of it. "you gonna keep standing there like a creep or are we gonna do something? i’m bored."

"oh, you’re bored?" mark scoffs, but he’s already moving, lunging at you before you can react. his hands shove against your shoulders, sending you sprawling back onto the bed with a loud oof. "there. now you’re entertained."

you kick out instantly, catching him in the stomach—not enough to wind him, just enough to make him grunt—and then you’re both a tangle of limbs, wrestling like you’re twelve again, like nothing’s changed. your elbow digs into his ribs, his knee knocks against yours, and somewhere in the chaos, mark’s head thumps against the mattress hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

"you’re such a dick," he gasps, but he’s laughing, breathless, and so are you.

"takes one to know one," you shoot back, grinning down at him, all messy hair and flushed cheeks.

and mark thinks—god, i love you.

(he doesn’t say it. not yet. but the way your fingers curl into the front of his shirt, the way you’re both still laughing like idiots, the way the sunlight catches in your eyes—yeah. he will.)

1.2k words full of mohawk mark for MM anon! hope i satisfied your craving for this little gremlin heheh <33

[lc-birdie]

hello love, hope you're doing well <3

can I ask for angst #8, but that the one that collapses is Dr. Abott, maybe after a really difficult case...

Please and thank you <3 (sorry for my horrible english)

"caressing their face, unable to know what to say or do but whispering, 'Let me hold you through this all. It's okay to cry, my love..' and they completely shatter. "

TW: patient deaths, angst

A/N: I took a couple days off from writing bc exams and shit but i'm good and I hope you're well too!

It had been a night. Slow, almost painfully so. Followed by a wall of trauma. It was like being hit by a bus.

Perhaps that was too on the nose because that's what happened. An overworked driver fell asleep behind the wheel and took out a family's minivan. It was the worst case scenario and no one was going to forget it anytime soon.

Jack especially.

He saw an alternate you. An alternate relationship. Him. You. Two kids. The happy normal family that could have been.

Gone.

Proxy him killed on impact. Proxy kids up in surgery. Proxy you... he stayed overtime coding "you". Every stop was pulled. Round after round of CPR. Massive transfusion protocol. Everything.

As every minute ticked by sweat dripped down his temples. But that was the only thing keeping him grounded in addition to the aching in his muscles. Numbness seeping into his bones. Transported to a different world where back in the warzones of his past. Only the war he fights now is his own mind as all he can see is your face on the body laying in the stretcher before him. All he can see is the stillness. All he can feel is the nagging, unshakable reality that they aren't coming back. "You" aren't coming back.

Another loss. Another great love that he will never get to hold again. Kiss again. Stare into those eyes with life staring back at him.

Like her.

Widowed again.

Alone again.

Dissociation is the only comfort he can find after time of death is called. He can only buy his time until dayshift gets there; until he can break. He doesn't even remember hand-off. The drive home. The walk into the house straight to the shower. He doesn't feel again until he makes it to where he is know.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in his, yall's, home with you still deep asleep, the picture of tranquility. Then the world came crashing down. Finally the sense of calm done the dam of sanity and he broke. Curling into himself, sobs racked his body. Chest against his thighs. Eyes clenched shut as hard as he can. Hands fisted up next to his temples pushing in to feel something.

Images flash through his mind. The coffin. The suit. The cold skin. The stillness of an unbeating heart. A sick twisted slideshow of his past grief only taking new forms, morphed with images of you. Spiraling is the only resort, pain a slight reprieve as his pushes the butts of his hands into his eyes trying to scrub the images away.

A hand lands softly on his back. The stark contrast of it to his current position startles him. He lifts his head to find you looking at him sleep still evident in your features along with unfiltered understanding and tenderness. No words are spoken before you are wrapped up in his arms, held in a vice grip. He's scared that if he were to left go maybe that other reality would become his, that he would lose you for real.

One of your hands run gently up and down his back as the other finds its way into his still wet curls. Words can't seem to reach you, soothing and calming sayings feel like cheap cliches, useless platitudes that carry no weight. It'll be okay. There's no guarantee of that. You're okay. He's not, not with the weight of saving the world that he carries on his shoulders. Not with the weight of keeping you untouched by the world.

You pull back from him slightly only letting go to rest your hands on his cheeks, leaning your forehead against his. "Let me hold you through this all. I know you had a hard night. I can't imagine what it is you feel now but it's okay to cry, my love..," you say as you press a soft kiss to his lips, nuzzling your nose against his. "I'm here. I'm here."

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Angstrom Levy plays his hand. You fuck it up. [Invincible Variants x reader]

[Part one]  [Ao3] [5]

6 * Bad Dog [5.5k]

"Since all those lost years when I thought I was the monster,

It turns out I was really the prey

Masturbating and waiting for the raid,

And hating every little thing about you all the way!"

The Ruminant - Go Hang

        The acrid breeze makes his blue curtain of a mask flutter. "Give us our shit." You almost don't think it's Mark talking, his voice is so different, so stereotypically New York native.

        The man standing on solid air ignores him. Good eye sliding from one Mark to another. "You're down one."

        "We're down a lot more than that, numbnuts." Mohawk throws his arms out. Gesturing to the empty space where other Marks could have been, but weren't. 

        "To be expected. This reality is much more resilient than most." At that, the men surrounding him bristle.

        "You meant for us to die." Baldie accuses, crossed arms tensing with the need for violence. "You were never going to deliver."

        The man, Angstrom, though you don't quite know it yet, laughs. Holding a scarred finger out to point at you. "I have though, haven't I? More than half of you wished to see this one again."

        You are slack in the arms of your savior. Conscious but head spinning with the sudden change of atmosphere. It was a good thing none of them could see your face behind the mask, see that you were awake and biding your time. 

        But he knows you're awake. The one holding you, the warrior raised on Viltrum from birth. He feels your pulse pick up under his hands, hears the skip of your heart, the faint smell of fear induced sweat under your armor. The others aren't close enough to sense it, you hide your feelings well, play dead good as a possum, but he knows. And he tells nobody.

        "You've all had a turn, so I think my end has been delivered." He finishes.

        The one with a bare face looks at Angstrom, confused. "I have no idea who that is. Where's William?"

        "Yeah." Backs up the long masked one. "Like I'd even give a fuck about some... whatever." he waves his hand, uncaring to find a word for some insignificant bug.

        Despite the backlash, Angstrom smiles pleasantly. "I'm aware in your realities, you didn't know or care for (Y/n) (L/n). That is perfectly acceptable. Don't think I've forgotten about the deals we've all made. But to fulfill them, I'll need you to find this dimensions Mark Grayson and bring him to me."

        Eyes twitch. Lips curl.

        "No," Scars finally says. He looks to you in the arms of that straight-laced Viltrumites arms and barely contains a smirk. He's going to enjoy ripping you out of them. Tearing his arms off for touching you. "I've got what I want. I'm done with this place."

        "You are aware I could leave you here or somewhere worse, correct?" Angstrom doesn't sound the least bit concerned regarding the mounting tension. The cracking knuckles. The nasty grinning-snarls, thirsty for a little more blood. 

        "You won't." Lensless hums, "We'll kill ya before you get the chance."

         "Then we'd actually be stuck here forever, dumbass." Mohawk barks. "We'll just torture him instead, duh." 

        Angstrom rose a brow. "There's only one of her left in all existence, remember that before you threaten me."

        You are consumed by crackling green light that seems to statically stick to your armor. You are falling, then not, draped over Angstrom's arm like a coat. Still trying to play knocked out. "I have the perfect reality ready for her if any of you move." He says before you're settled. "Pit of man-eating octomen I've been starving for months, waiting right here." A ring of power encircles your body, not touching you but threatening with its presence. "Move and she's there."

        "I don't care, man." Long Mask says. 

        Angstrom ignores him. "Get me Mark Grayson."

        "You've got ten of him right here," Emperor says. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll drop it."

        Angstrom laughs, nastily. So hard he shakes you in his grip. "Am I dog now, Mister Grayson?"

        "You're no better than one," Emperor replies.

        "Look at you all- looking at me like you want me to die. After everything I've given you." Spit flies off Angstrom's lips, landing on your visor. "I met so many of you with snot dribbling out your noses over this thing," he jostles you in his grip as you grit your teeth, "this worthless animal who in so many dimensions joins your conquest. Just some regular human who adds absolutely nothing to nearly every timeline. I don't get the appeal, but I don't have to. Do as I say or she dies."

        You observe the Marks. Ready to pounce. To throw caution to the wind. Some are hesitant, actually using their brains but enough of are ready to fucking shred you think you might get eaten by whatever an octoman is.

        It leaves you with no other choice. It was just a bonus it'd get him to shut up. You were dead tired of hearing this guy's voice. Hearing any guy's voice.

        You let out a weak, groggy groan. Catch Angstrom's attention, which is all you need. Watch the grin spread across his busted face. "Look who's awak-"

        "Bite off your tongue." Blood comes out of your nose in such a rush it splattered against the inside of your helmet. Power ripped from you all at once, used on this guy you didn't know, but definitely didn't trust. 

        Drip, drop atop your helmet. Then came the rivers of blood down his chin. Weaving through his beard. Tongue stuck all the way out his mouth, teeth grinding down, down, down. Sawing, squelching. He blinks, tongue half removed from his mouth, when your hold snaps. A scream that was more a gargle, splatters more blood across your visitor. You're thrown, ass over heel.

        His words are thick with pain and a brand-new lisp as he says, "Bad dog!"

        The sickly green light surrounds you as a portal opens up behind your back, snapping shut before the closest version of your ex could reach you. The last thing you saw was him smiling with blood bubbling over his lips. 

        Your landing was surprisingly soft. Skidding to a slow stop on silky tan sand. Scrambling to your knees to see where the portal was. Gone. No green, just a cloudless, hazy sky. Sun fat in the sky. Beating down harsh on the black metal of your armor. Around you there is nothing but more sand and ruins of a society long forgotten. 

        You don't know what happened. Don't know how to process what happened. Calling out to the nothingness, "Bring me back!" To no reply or help at all.

        ***

        "You-!"

        Biting off your own tongue was something the deeply deranged and suicidal did. Despite that criteria, Angstrom Levy had never wanted to do such a thing, but there you'd been- making him do it. 

         He was in acute shock. Slow. Unable to dodge the hands grabbing him, the fists beating him, not with his tongue dangling half-cut out his mouth. Threats came pouring in quick as they were delivered. Ribs broken. Ligaments torn, good eye gone red with burst blood vessels. 

        It'd lasted thirty seconds, maybe less, but a voice cut through the violent haze. "We can't get her back if he's dead." Said the boy who killed his father and wore his cloak. God, if Freud were still around. 

        The words didn't calm them, but soothed the blows like a balm. Mohawk had him by the collar, choking him with it. "Open the portal, cocksucker."

        Angstrom rose a hand, the only one he had left after that Viltrumite loyalist chopped the other off. He let it open slow, teasingly so. Power roiling under his skin, revenge on the mind. They'd thought they'd had him down and out, but he was nowhere near dead. He never planned to keep them along for the full ride. The plan was always to betray them. This was much sooner, and much bloodier, than planned. So be it. 

        "There." He heaved. They turned, looking into the opening to a new world. A world so dry it'd evaporate the marrow out of your bones. 

        Phantom didn't speak. Just shot his black and blue body through. One down, nine to go. 

        "That world," he begins, tongue awkwardly flailing over the bottom of his mouth, blood spilling down his throat just to be hacked out, "-that world has major time dilation. She could be very far from the origin point by now. Miles. It'll take him too long to find her... I can't-" He let the portal waiver, looking unstable, "I can't hold it long."

        "You can and you will." The ex-prisoner grabbed him by the balls. Through Angstrom's pants but still. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. 

        If guilt tripping wouldn't work, he had no other choice. "Wait... I can.. I think I've found her." More portals zap open all around him. Nine in total. "Do you see?" They turn, just to watch the portals shoot closer, swallowing them all whole before snapping shut. Leaving them to fall in the sand and Angstrom alone to his devices. 

        ***

        You'd tried it all. Screaming. Looking for an exit. Digging. Trying to call someone, anyone on your phone that had not a bar. All while the sun beat at your back. You didn't give up, not really, just resigned to moving somewhere else. Powers, you knew, were stupid. Angstrom could find you again even if you'd left the dropoff.

        You walked. Migraine gnawing at your temples. Power stores drained out. Boots dragged in the sand, prints sifting away as soon as they were made. Moved from wreck to wreck for the tiniest slivers of shade. Baked inside your helmet until you popped it off, wiping at the drying blood with your gloves. When there was a breeze, it felt like a hairdryer, making your eyes water.

       Two hours, you'd walked to find nothing.

       The sun moved slow, the sky fading to a dull purple, but you knew the second it dipped below the dunes, you'd be dead without a fire. Deserts don't stay hot without sun. Planks were easy come by, old wood waiting to disintegrate into the sand. You rooted through the tool belt attached to the body armor. Tear gas, a high-powered taser, a flare, a knife, ammo for a gun you didn't have, and a to-go first aid kit. 

        You tried the taser on the wood. It made the old thing crumble in your hands. You tried again to the same result. Again and again as the sun crossed the sky and the heat began to ebb. 

        ***

        He flew through the desert, combing it in a gird. Square mile by square mile, searching. Growing more desperate by the second. Head filling with what if's. 

        It's faint, a mere vibration in his left ear. He banks hard. Following. Forcing his hearing to it's limit- catching grains shifting below his flight path. Then it comes again. Audible this time. Bzzt. Lil more to the left. Bzzzzt! Not long now. He starts to slow right as the sound pinged from below. BZZZT!

        "Fuck you, motherfucker." Came out from a line of beams fallen together to make a concrete tent.

        He landed gently, trying not to make a dust cloud and scare you away. Watching your back as you tried to light a plank ablaze with a taser. It crumbled in your hands. You scoff, kicking debris into a cloud that makes you violently cough. 

        You could turn and see him. Husky purple dusk not yet camouflaging his blue-black body suit. But you don't. Instead, you keep trying to tase the remaining sawdust into flames. It doesn't work. 

        He floats above the sand, slowly rolling into your view. 

        ***

        Chaos. Total, absolute, chaos.

        Nine of them in the middle of some desert planet, tenth fucked off God knows where. No Angstrom to take them out. No (Y/n) to soften the blow. The rage settled in like a beat behind their eyes, a thrum under their fingerpads. They wanted to choke each other for existing. 

        Their personal genie had betrayed them, left them for dead. 

        He wasn't the first to blast off into the desert. Searching for a way out, for you. He was, however, first to shoot into the sky for a birdseye view. The atmosphere thinned, going from an ugly yellow to the familiar dark of space. Above the sphere, he hovered, seeing only sand. Around the planet he went, hoping, then finding those hopes were something juvenile. 

        The search extended into space. For other planets. He noticed then, flying through the cold dark there were no stars or gas giants or distant worlds. Only the planet they landed on and the too-close sun. 

        As if Angstrom Levy had found the one reality in all of existence with one dead world. One big, sandy, uninhabitable world. The perfect place for them all to die. The search could be expanded later, with more of them looking, but he doubted even their Viltrumite bodies could reach any planets if he couldn't see them. 

        He was angry, but couldn't fault the guy. He was going to rip off Angstrom's balls after all. He'd find a way out of this, the same way he'd found a way out of that hell of a Viltrumite prison. Scarred beyond recognition. Coming home to find the love of his life dead and long buried. 

        Except that now you were down on that sandball, somewhere. Hopefully alive. So why was he angsting up in space? 

        ***

        The taser shot out, connecting thick prongs to his suit. Electricity traveled fast through the carbon fiber, penetrating to his skin. He didn't seize and drop. He took it like he was nothing but thin air, like you were imagining him in a wave of heat induced hysteria.

        The prongs retracted and he took that as cue to step down into your concrete hut. Coming closer, slow, hands up over his chest like he wasn't going to hurt you- as if you'd believe that.

        You hear it. Something moving so fast the air splits around you. 

        You don't know what you're going to do. Shout? Duck? Gasp? You don't get to decide because he's on you. Holding you hard against himself, feet inches off the ground, hand pressed firm over your mouth. Head tracking the sonic spec in the sky as it passed over. When the coast is clear, he sets you down and backs off. Not leaving your nothing of a camp, but any space willing given by these freaks was noticeable. 

        "Leave." Power doesn't even bother to tickle your throat. You had jackshit left. Wouldn’t have jackshit for days if your luck stayed bad. You'd only blown yourself out like this one time- that day at the beginning of the end of your life. You'd never used your power on someone else powered before. Barley used it period. Only on little, meaningless, petty things. Until you used it all at once to save his life. Then on him. Blowing out you out like a tire. Failing. 

        Now you were here. Staring at a fully masked version of him, unable to control him or your life again. 

        Yet you try, "Go." The taser finds its home in your belt, replaced by the tear gas canister held over your head. "Or I'll set this fucking bomb off if you get any closer." It's a lie so obvious you couldn’t put your chest behind it. "I'll kill us both, I swear to God."        

         He doesn’t move. Your helmet sits on the ground at your feet. You wonder how fast you could set the tear gas off and put the thing back on. If the GDA-enhanced tear gas would make you go blind.

        As you fingered the pin, he pulled something from his belt. A short, metal pin. He approaches the pile of wood you’d made. You back up, knowing he'd catch you if you ran. Knowing you didn't have energy for any more running. He cracks the metal against a shred of concrete. Sparks rained down on the dry material and then there was fire. Small but as he stepped back, blaze growing. 

        Technically, you knew what he was doing. Starting a fire so you wouldn’t freeze to death, the breeze as the sun went down already cool. But mentally? You had no idea what he wanted. You knew that he was one of the ones that asked for you, that knew some version of you and decided thousands dead was worth it. Even though he was the first to your side on multiple occasions, you couldn’t know what he wanted. If he wanted something in exchange.

        The sky had gone a deep gray. Cold settling in between the sand dunes like an old bone's ache. You could leave, but the growing fire was your one and only shot of living. Just a guess, but the taser thing wasn’t going to work. 

        "What do you want?" You asked, shuffling closer. Still gripping the tear gas hard, reared over your shoulder like a weapon. "Tell me or I'll set it off."

        "I'm not going to hurt you." Through that demon of a modulator, you catch a softness, Mark whispering a secret he hadn’t told anyone else. More genuine than you’d heard from any of these alternates. 

        "How do I know you're not lying?" But there is no reply, and you don’t think he is. He's done talking and you're done fighting. 

        He sits first. On the edge of an uneven slab, leaving plenty of room for you. You watch him carefully. Sure he's going to lunge, a lurking predator luring you into a false sense of safety. So you lean against the wall instead, watching him and the fire. 

        He does lunge eventually, ten minutes later. Dashing forth to stomp out the fire as another body streaks across the sky. Tense as you both watched it go by. Waiting until there’s nothing but the night. Then he was back on his knees, cracking the stick onto new planks.

        "What is that?" You're still standing. Arm lifting the canister overhead once again.

        He looks up from the fire at you. Black going brown in the light. Tentatively, tortuously, and against every nerve in your body, you sit. Slip the tear gas canister back into your belt. Hoping he'd talk if you seemed a little less hostile. 

       "Tell me where I am. Who the fuck was that?" 

      You’re not shocked when he says nothing, only annoyed by your acceptance of it. He can’t bring himself to ruin this moment with you, finally alone. Hearing your voice, even angry, was like an angel’s song for the damned. Your face like something out a dream. Any nervous tics, little movements, shifts in your weight, was studied and tucked away to categorize and compare to what he knew. 

        You at seventeen, nervous and shy and sweet. Could you have become this bitter thing had you lived? Surely not. He'd have made sure you were taken care of. Made you into a wife with nothing to fret over. He hates him. The Mark of your dimension. Wants to turn him inside out for letting whatever happened to you- happen.

        You watched him right back with no knowledge of what his gaze meant. None of the same interest, but watching for the same things, instincts of being prey. Wondering when the slowly stalking fox was going to pounce, if the gaze was a challenge. In the thickening night, he was starting to blend in. You could still see his outline and the dark lenses reflecting back your stare. You try to look past them but can't, can't read anything from the blank, dark slate. You look away, wanting a momentary reprieve, backing down from the challenge. Movement. Your gaze right back, tense all over. Hand on the taser holster.

       The mask is off. Chin up, he is bare. There is stubble dark on his jaw, skin paler than you recalled Mark ever being, his hair a shaggy mess that hung past his ears, eye bags deep, nearly purple. He was Mark, no surprise there, the surprise was the slate blue of his eyes. Just like his father's. 

        You pull the taser out, but not wanting to escalate further, voice almost a whisper after you’d grown used to the quiet. "What do you want?" He looks up at you under dark brows and long lashes. It reminds you so much of your Mark you want to strike him, but think better of it. "Answer me." 

        It comes out breathy, hardly audible. "I just-" Two syllables and his voice breaks. Cracks right down the middle. He shuts his mouth, hand going to his throat, thumb massaging. He swallows, tries again but all that comes out is a hoarse sigh. His brows knit in frustration. He’d talked more than he was used to in the past few days, and with the dry air and nerves, what was left of his vocal cords wasn’t going to cooperate. 

        You don’t know what’s wrong with him, but now you understand why he wore that modulator.

        The mask goes back on. He's given up trying to talk, trying to show his belly like he wasn't a threat. You suspect violence, harassment, almost get up anticipating it, but it doesn't come. You're about to settle down when the ground shudders just outside your camp. You don't get the chance to check what it was because it steps inside between the concrete pillars.

        "We've been working together to find a way out of this shithole and here you two've been, love shackin' it up." His mask flutters in front of his face as he talks. Sand stuck to his tracksuit where blood had wet it. "Jesus, yer lucky I found you. Those other dudes have been losing they's fuckin' minds."

        Phantom rises, dashing the small fire away. He'd know his alone time with you would be short. They'd find you both eventually, but he was glad to have had it. Even if you looked at him with such disdain. For so many years, that's all he wanted. His voice failing him was punishment for letting you die, for letting this version of you get stuck in an unending desert. He'd make it up to you. Find a voice to say what needed to be said.

        He steps towards the other. Long mask, long face, you don't quite know what to mentally call him yet- steps back. Making room for Phantom to exit the ruin. 

        "I'm not leaving." You tell the newcomer, though you grab the helmet. To throw at him? To cover your head from the cold now that the fire couldn't ward it off? 

        "You dunno if I've found a way out or not and yer just gonna act like that?" His laugh is humorless, "Glad we weren’t a thing in my world."

        Behind him, Phantom jerks his head, a 'come' gesture. Wind, not a breeze, cuts through the dunes and sends winter cold through the cracks in your armor. Settles under the fabric, making you shiver. 

        "Do you have a way out?" You demand.

        "Would'a left your ass behind if I did." He says, stepping further back. Annoyed but understanding you wouldn’t come within a certain distance; despite how fast he could liberate your head from your shoulders. "Come on," he lifts inches off the ground, "the longer you're gone the edgier those shitheads get. I can't take it anymore." 

        You really, really, really did not want to see any of them. You look back to your concrete shack. But. Survival is easier in groups, right? You know what else is easier in groups? Mass murder. The second you got your powers back, you were taking them out like you'd set out to do. Sure, you'd probably only kill one or two more of them but it'd be enough to kill Mark Grayson four times before you went to hell. Only then did eternity of torture sound bearable.

        You also couldn't make a fire, it was freezing, you had no food and you'd be starving soon, and you had nothing to drink but codeine, which was a bad idea. 

       Phantom waited for you on the ground. Tracksuit, ah there's that convenient nickname, hovered low in the sky waiting. "Let's go already." You can't fly and something tells you Tracksuit isn't willing to walk however many miles it is back to camp. 

        Phantom taps his masked cheek. At first you're disgusted, thinking he wants you to lay one on him but realize, he's telling you to put the helmet on. You'd seen those old stories of superhuman and regular-Joe-human romances going bad because their lover flew too fast and all the human's skin was flayed off. You didn't want to go to the others, but you really didn't want to go without skin.

        You put the helmet on and he moves towards you. Slower than the first time he scooped you up and took you to the sky. He definitely felt bad about dropping you. Elbows move under knees, strong hand supporting your back. Lifting off gently this time. Accelerating slowly enough for Tracksuit to scoff and shout, "Dude, move it!"

        You'd never been flying like this. Before, it was too quick to process, too much adrenaline. Now you were burnt out and empty enough to actually process the passing dunes. To feel your body relying on his for support. You would have liked it, really, if it wasn't one of the crazy Marks- which was pretty much all of them. Horrified at any time he'd drop you or dangle you by an ankle until you cried, "Uncle." He hadn't seemed the type, but he also ripped off Psychopomp's arms the second time you met him. He wasn't as forward as the others, which made him less predictable. 

        The whole flight you were scared shitless, because the second it was over, things were only going to get worse. The bright side was, things were always awful before they got better. Thinking about killing Mark calmed you down a fraction.        

        Even in the distance, you could see the camp. No mountains to hide its orange glow. The only thing of note for miles upon miles. 

        Tracksuit sighed with relief, "Thank God." He shot forward, gone, leaving you and Phantom to meander along. You'd noticed he'd significantly slowed. Sucking up all the remaining alone time with you he could get. Hovering hundreds of feet over a massive bonfire. Figures below, waiting with baited breath. 

        Phantom contemplates the success rate of leaving. Running with you. Surviving alone together. His black boots touch down on the sand. He sets you down, keeping a hand at your back as you wobble to your feet. Unaccustomed to flying. Human heart fluttering in your chest.

        You get no peace or relief. 

        Just Mohawk flying forward and almost knocking you over "Dickhead," he hissed before his fist sent Phantom careening into the desert night. Phantom catches himself, but stays further back, hidden in the dark. It was chilly but this planet was nothing compared to the vacuum of space. To what his life had been before seeing you again. The fire, here and there, were for you. Warmth and signal. He would keep watch from the shadows. 

        The perpetrator turns to you, sand stuck in his mohawk. "You good?"

        You don't meet his eye. Opting to stumble closer to the bonfire, trying to avoid eye contact with the Marks standing around.

        "I thought you'd need it," Omni-Wannabe says. 

        "Where are we?" You stare into it. Hoping they don't notice the answers aren't forced out of them. That they don't piece together the only reason you're not going batshit is because you're powerless.

        "A desert," Lensless kicks at the sand, "Duh."

        "What desert?" It's hard to keep the venom out of your voice. 

        Emperor stretches his legs over a rock. Leaning back in his low earthy chair, looking like he meant to be stranded. "You tell me. You're the one who got us trapped here."

        You don't bite the bait. You can't fight back, so opening your big mouth is the last thing you should do. But he's looking at you like he wants to chop you to pieces. You go for fawning but not too out of character. "Wasn't expecting anyone to end up here with me."

        Under the yellow fabric, his brow twitches. "After all the chasing and defending, you didn't expect backup?"

        "I didn't ask for backup." You say, "I have no idea what's going on. One second I'm working, the next this guy," your arm gestures to Mohawk who grins, "is beating the shit out of my boss."

        Emperor's muscles tighten. You'd said the wrong thing. Towed the line too willy-nilly. He says, "You really must be dumber in this world if you haven't figured it out yet. Don't speak to me until you do." And goes back to watching the fire.

        Crisis averted.

        Somebody thinks it's a good idea to rest their fat, meaty hand on your shoulder and say, "Are you okay?"

        When you turn it's the bald one. Wearing an expression you think is concern.

        You can't help moving away and snapping, "Get off." 

        "D'aww, somebody mad their geriatric handler didn't pick them up?" Scars is right behind you. Not close enough to touch, but too close for comfort. He could push you into the fire and you'd be roast dinner. "Not expecting to deal with the consequences of your actions, were you?"

        This time, for real, you hold your tongue. Stuck straight to the roof of your mouth. You are not fucking with this guy.

        He touches you the same place Baldie did. You're scared to shove him off. Baldie was a mistake, one that could've gotten you killed. Scars would be a mistake that would get you killed. 

        "Hey, look, she's afraid of me!" He announced like it was an honor. "That's a smart girl, but where's that fighting spirit? Come on, I wanna see you try n' hurt me again."

        You don't reply. Don't move. Don't breathe. 

        "Your heart just skipped a beat, there, Dregs. Don't tell me you're gonna avoid me by killing yourself again." His fingers tighten on your shoulder. Nearly bruising. "I won't let it happen again." He's masking his anger being here with nine of himself by playing with you. Relieving stress. 

        "You're wasting your energy antagonizing her." The grip lightens immediately, someone else to play with. Scars' violent attention turned toward the bare baby-faced version of himself. 

        "You telling me what to do?" Tension cracked off his split lip.        

        "No." The other says evenly, "But we're stuck in an alien desert. Now's not the time to pull some master-slave dynamic bullshit on some girl you don't even know. Be smart."

        Scars slipped around you, prowling toward the sat man. "And how do you suggest I 'be smart'." 

        He started counting off on his fingers, "Get more firewood if you don't want her to freeze to death. Search ruins for something that could get us out. Look for food. Rest, conserve energy, because we don't know how long we'll be stuck here. My guess is until we get ourselves out because there's no way Angstrom is coming back for us."

        "He will," Lensless says with unwarranted confidence. "He has to know we'll find him and kill 'im. It's dumber to let us be mad n' stuff."        

        Maskless shakes his head. "He chose this planet because he expects us to die. I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm not fighting you guys over some human I don't know. If you're smart, you'll do the same." He slides off the rock and lies himself sideways in the sand. Head propped on his elbow like a pillow. "At least shut up or go to sleep so you can kill echother quicker tomorrow."

        Scars took two steps toward him before an arm jutted out, stopping him. Omni-Mark stood between the two like a wall. "He's right. We should sleep while it's cool. Search more tomorrow."

        "Who said you're in charge?" Emperor snipped despite being deeply unhelpful.

        "I'm not trying to be," he said, "it's just a suggestion."

        One you take. Moving away to the other side of the blaze while their bickering went on and on. You sat on a rusted pipe. Maskless a few feet to your right, brow furrowed but eyes closed. The Viltrumite to your left, arms folded behind his back. Posture painfully straight. His eyes flick over to you, head not moving. 

        You don't see it, but he's content with the situation at hand- for now. He could take the others. Savvy enough to survive in the harshest conditions where the others surely weren't. He'd conquered harsher planets than this without help. Atop of all that, you were choosing to be by his side. That is enough for him, for the moment.

[possesseddesiress]

The Midnight Ritual (Part One)

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

The Midnight Ritual, part one (English Version)

Don't ask me how this all started, because even I don't know.

Jacob and I were friends since high school, approximately. He was almost my best friend, we used to do everything together, and we were very trusting of each other, something that causes me even more guilt about everything that ended up happening...

I had bought a magical contraption from an esoteric store, I didn't think it would work but as the days went by, the more curious I became to try it out.

And I thought Jacob was the best way to corroborate such a thing.

Jacob's body was big, strong, charismatic and nice. He used to go to the gym a lot, was popular in high school and very friendly.

I wasn't as popular, but I wasn't invisible either. I was well known although my physique was not very above average, somewhat average. Sometimes I went out with other guys but almost never got serious, I guess my insecurity influenced a lot when it came to dating.

That magic object was supposed to give me the trust of another person, as long as he agreed.

I talked to him, nervous that he would tell me I was ridiculous or foolish. But on the contrary, he gladly agreed. 《Whatever you need, buddy》 - and we began the ritual.

Apparently nothing happened, until the first full moon came after that.

I was sleeping when I felt a strange force pull me from my body, until I was thrown into what felt like nothingness, I panicked until I breathed again, opened my eyes in fear.

I sat up in bed, breathing heavily, and I sat there for a while, trying to calm down until I felt heavier. More... Thicker?

I looked down, finding huge pecs. Thick and juicy, it was hard for me not to gasp, instead I just kept groping myself like crazy. I squeezed my new muscles, flexed my arms not believing how big they were.

Everything was so new, so strange... I didn't even notice what room I was in. I lifted my shirt, revealing a formidable six-pack, flexed my biceps again, feeling the strength and power they seemed to emanate, and without being able to control it, the relief on my pants began to rise.

Eagerly I pulled my clothes down, wrapping my hand around my new shaft. I stroked it slowly, at first, but the more I began to move it, the more anxious I began to become. My toes tensed as I gasped loudly, I was sloppy with the movements, erratic. Just stamping my hand up and down.

I was absorbed in my thoughts, blinded by pleasure, clumsy and foolish, with a fuzzy smile. Then I looked ahead, noticing the pattern of the room? Why did it look familiar? I let out a confused grunt but kept moving my hand. It wasn't until I saw the ceiling that I realized where I was, though it was too late.

I let out a choked gasp, feeling my nectar dripping down the sheets with force, some of it even ending up on my face. I took a bit to put it in my mouth, smiling at the taste.

When the euphoria subsided, I realized what was happening. I noticed more of my body, observing the reliefs until I noticed a bracelet on my right arm. It was identical to one I had given Jacob some time ago, and he never took it off.

Shit, shit, shit.

I stood up suddenly, turned on the light to reveal my friend's room, then stood in front of the mirror, noticing that I was now inside his body. I flexed my arms in confusion, it was all so... strange, but it still felt good. I felt powerful, strong; I flexed my arms more, enjoying the sensation of my muscles widening, I even noticed a slight scent of sweat, so I raised my arm a little more to free my access to the armpit, and inhaled with pleasure.

- Mfhh... Jeez dude, you smell good - I let out a slight chuckle, sniffing again with need.

I think that's where it all went down. Since that was seven months ago, I discovered that Jacob wasn't aware of that whole effect, he was falling asleep somewhere in his unconscious, though everything he did in his body, seemed to have repercussions for his psyche. Staying recorded as a common and ordinary habit, it was strange and a little unhinged (because I could do nothing but watch), to see him sniffing and flexing his arms like the most common thing in the world.

And what about my body? It seemed to go into an automatic mode, my "mind" was not aware that I was inside Jacob, so it treated me like him. I wasn't even aware of the magic object, it was as if only I knew that after such a ritual, I could stay in my best friend's body for a few hours, initially, I could only access it during full moons. But all of a sudden, I started to be able to do it every weekend.

It wasn't even because I wanted it or asked for it (though I certainly wasn't complaining), but I would end up in Jacob's body once one or the other fell asleep.

It was uncomfortable, as I had no control over it. One day during class, I was in chemistry class when I felt that invisible force pull me out of my body to throw me into Jacob who just fell asleep in history class.

I always tried to respect Jacob's body, to leave no trace of my presence. No mark that could affect him, living as close as I could to his initial style. But it was hard to keep my composure in such a... tempting body.

For the first few months I managed it well, but as the months progressed, the mission fell apart. The clothes my friend used to wear to work out were quite modest, loose and baggy, although one day I just couldn't take it anymore.

I put on short shorts, which showed off my new legs and my new bulge, I liked the feel of the fabric, even how others seemed to look at me. Even that day I became more exaggerated with my movements, as if I wanted to highlight more my butt in each squat, or my biceps when lifting each weight. Gosh, my chest from just walking.

And there was another change for Jacob, his closet changed drastically, now he only wore fitted clothes, tight fitting compression shirts and tiny lycra shorts that highlighted his bulge and his fat buttocks.

I was almost ogling him every day, what was I doing?!

It was as if I was transforming my friend to my most primitive desires, I was afraid to erase all traces of him. But at the same time... How could I control myself? It was automatic, I couldn't do anything; in his body things felt different, they smelled different, they even treated me differently, and that was the other point that fucked the whole thing up even more.

I had ended up at a party that Jacob was invited to, he had taken a nap and in less than five minutes I was in the driver's seat.

I dressed up to attend, wearing nothing but a blue tank top, if Jacob was already an exhibitionist, it wouldn't affect much, would it?

From the first moment I walked into the party, the vibe felt... different.

How people greeted me, the discreet touches and squeezes as I moved through the crowd. I didn't even know where to go, I was so lost that when I least expected it, I was in the middle of the room with a bottle steeped in my mouth.

- Drink, drink, drink! - what seemed to be at least 60 people were shouting in unison with excitement, apparently Jacob's body had a good stamina or a deep throat because he seemed to finish at least half of the bottle in mere seconds.

Although I started to feel dizzy - and to make matters worse, more uninhibited - I moved with some difficulty around the house until I ended up in a somewhat far corner, having a drink.

- Hey, hi.

A guy came up to me, smiling and winking. Holy shit.

I had always been gay, I knew that and everyone who knew me, I know Jacob was straight, so I tried not to do anything gay on his body, mainly so I wouldn't change that trait about him.

- Hey, how are you?

I felt a strange tingle of security, I stood in front of him, casually flexed my arm, which seemed to charm him. I didn't know if I was slurring my words but the feeling was... Strange, I don't know how to describe it exactly but it felt different than all those times I tried to flirt with someone else. It felt... Good.

In less time than I expected, we ended up kissing intensely in one of the rooms of the party, with him anxiously trying to unhook my shirt, I knew it was all wrong. I had kissed a man on Jacob's body, I was about to have something that would only close this thing I had done by accident, but the more I tried to think, the more softly that boy kissed me on my neck.

- Easy, big guy... - he murmured feeling my muscles, enjoying the volume - let me take care of it.

And then Jacob started having homosexual tendencies.

- I just don't get it, man. I mean, I don't have anything against gays, it's just... Well, it's not something that's ever happened to me, you know? I experimented before, I tried things before but I didn't feel anything, now it's like out of nowhere... I feel that urge.

- Maybe it's because you're older now and you're still discovering yourself, don't you think? - I lied shamelessly.

- Yeah, yeah... I think so, man.

Jacob became quite the casanova with the guys, I didn't know if it was because of my acting at that party or if it was just my orientation mixed with his natural charisma, but there he was... Having as many guys at his feet as he wanted, it seemed there wasn't a trace left of his former interest in women.

And that made me jealous, while, I loved the attention I was getting from the guys and the great fact that I no longer had to modulate for that part being Jacob, at the same time... It was impossible for him to notice me on his own. He only saw me as his friend, almost a brother, he couldn't even see me with those eyes if he wanted to.

At that point I guess I lost all my reasoning... But wouldn't you have done the same?

To be continued.

----

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

---

[bullet-prooflove]

Nightmare Fuel: Frank Langdon x Reader

Tagging: @𝘢𝑛𝘢𝑛𝘰𝑛𝘺𝑚𝘰𝑢𝘴𝑎𝘧𝑓𝘢𝑖𝘳 @𝑐𝘭𝑢𝘣𝑠𝘰𝑓𝘵 @letsgobarbs for the #ADOCTORADAY event.

My prompts were: "You’re okay, I got you." and with the color black.

Warnings: Deals with the realities of SANE nurses but there's nothing in graphic detail.

Companion piece to:

Hypocrite - Frank struggles to make amends for a past wrongs.

Crash - Almost getting you fired wasn't the lowest point of Frank's addiction.

Rock Bottom - Frank hits rock bottom when he sees the devastation his addiction's caused.

Little Black Dress - Frank starts to spiral when he realises you're dating.

Every Damn Day - A drunk text leads to a confession.

Wet Dream (NSFW) - Frank sometimes dreams about the life you had together.

War Stories - A realisation about your coping habits leads you to Frank's door.

The Three Cs - Frank and you finally discuss your issues and pave away towards the future.

The Wall - A date at the climbing wall leads to a revelation from Frank.

Commitment - You create a fun way of showing Frank your commitment to the relationship.

All In (NSFW) - You and Frank take a big step forward.

Slut (NSFW) - Frank gets a little bratty after a bad day.

Working in the E.D can fuck you up.

You know that better than anyone. The shit you see as a SANE nurse, it’s beyond irreprehensible.

It’s the worst of human misery because underneath the bruised thighs and bloodstained panties, you know that that person is irreparably changed forever. The marks may fade, their injuries may heal but they will still carry the weight of what was done to them like a black spot seared into their soul.

You should be in fucking therapy you had told Frank the first time he took you out, you’re just to fucking stubborn to admit you need it.

The fall though, it’s coming.

All it takes is one bad night and tonight, it’s been off the charts in terms of nightmare fuel. He knows you won’t be sleeping when you get home.

He finds you out by the ambulance bay, sitting on the sidewalk, your back against the building as you smoke a cigarette. You have up a few years ago, he remembers the six months you spent manically chewing nicotine gum trying to kick the habit.

“I heard she died on the table.” He say quietly as he lowers himself down onto the concrete beside you. His scrubs rustle, brushing against yours as you suck in a lungful of smoke, holding it in for as long as possible before releasing it into the air in one long stream.

“Yea.” You say, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead. “He fucked her up really good. Kinda think that was the point from the injuries I documented.”

“Do they know-”

“Her ex.” You finish, taking another drag. “She moved on, he didn’t. It’s the same old story I hear day in, day out.”

“Fuck.” Frank says, his elbows coming to rest on his knees.

“The shitty thing, and I mean the really fucking soul destroying part of this story is that this isn’t even the first time I saw her. I had her in here two months ago for the  same thing.” You tell him, snubbing out the cigarette on the concrete with an vengefulness he feels deep down in his veins. “It’s relentless Frank, I just…”

It’s then the dam breaks.

He hears your breath catch. A punctuated sob that signals the inevitable collapse just before the walls come tumbling down and all of that emotion jettisons out of you like a geyser, spilling down your cheeks. You clasp your hand to your mouth trying to stifle it but Frank sees it, he sees every little single thing when it comes to you.

His arm settles around your shoulders like a weighted blanket, drawing you close into the shelter of his form. You tuck yourself in against him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, your tears staining his skin.

"You’re okay, I got you." He whispers against your hairline as you let out a shuddering breath. “Don’t worry Ivy, I got you.”

Love Frank? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[jenanigans1207]

I actually need to talk about how Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi take on characteristics of each other in times of crisis.

Cheng Xiaoshi comes back to find Lu Guang bleeding out and unconscious on the couch and Qiao Ling possessed. You would expect him to do something extreme, right? You’d expect him to tackle Qiao Ling or run to Lu Guang, putting himself in between Lu Guang and the danger. But he doesn’t. He stays put and he thinks and he plans. He takes on a level-headed approach to try and minimize the damage, to stop anything worse from happening.

Lu Guang, upon seeing Cheng Xiaoshi shot, completely forgets about logic. He lunges towards Qian Jin, who is not just holding a gun still, but actively pointing it with his finger over the trigger. He throws himself directly and recklessly into what could very quickly turn into a bad and dangerous situation without a moment’s thought. He beats the shit out of Qian Jin, too (everyone cheer) instead of taking any sort of logical route or attempting to de-escalate in any way.

When Cheng Xiaoshi thinks that Lu Guang is dead, he almost jumps back in time but doesn’t, because he respects Lu Guang’s rules and wishes. He acknowledges that doing so would break the rules and fundamentally alter the past, so he tries his best to grapple with his feelings and take a logical approach to handling his grief.

When Lu Guang sees Cheng Xiaoshi die, he does jump back into the past. He admittedly tries to be rational, trying not to change too much because he knows the consequences. But then we get him in Bridon arc purposefully creating waves and starting to nudge things off track because he can’t handle or cope with the idea of losing Cheng Xiaoshi again.

And I know they’re meant to be yin-and-yang, right? Personality, color scheme, everything about their dynamic. And this always strikes me because in each side of the yin-and-yang, there’s the small circle of the other half. And they have that, too, in their personalities. When the other is threatened and they are left to their base instincts and fears to react, they react like each other.

I could argue that they replicate the parts of each other that they admire in a crisis. That they have a sort of unconscious “what would Cheng Xiaoshi/Lu Guang do?” sort of moment in the split second before they react. I could argue that they aren’t completely right without each other, and that shows. Or just that they’re so ingrained in each other, even their basic instincts reflect this.

I just think it’s really interesting and important to acknowledge because neither one of them is a 2D character. They have their archetype but they aren’t pigeonholed into that alone. Lu Guang is actually quite caring and open about showing it, often the opposite of what we see in the quiet, reserved one. And Cheng Xiaoshi isn’t stupid and all forgiving and even recognizes the outcomes of his recklessness, something not typically seen in the brash and outgoing one. They are very multifaceted in their personalities and dynamics and it’s even more so in their personal dynamic because of how close they are and how much they’re able to be truly genuine together.

Anyway, this got more rambly than I meant for it to. I just think it’s important to acknowledge the impact they’ve had on each other and how it’s demonstrated 🫶🏻

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Rush Crush!

college frat boy!finnick odair x sorority!reader content warnings: none! summary: you bump into your rush crush. wc: 1.2k

masterlist.

You noticed him earlier in the week.

The sun beat down on the quad, the air was thick with the buzz of voices, music blaring from portable speakers, and the laughter of girls running to their next house. You tugged your tote bag higher on your shoulder, trying to scan the maze of booths and banners for your next sorority meet-up. You could feel the edges of a headache forming, too much noise, too many people, too much pressure to be bubbly and interesting and perfect.

You were so focused on the map on your phone that you didn’t notice the football spiraling through the air toward you, or the tall, broad figure chasing after it.

Thud.

You stumbled backward, the phone slipping from your hands. Strong arms caught you before you could completely fall, steadying you with an ease that made your heart skip.

“Oh, shit- you alright, sweetheart?” The voice was low, a little rough, but wrapped in warmth and something dangerously close to laughter.

You looked up, and immediately forgot how to speak.

The boy in front of you was gorgeous in a way that didn't feel entirely fair. Tousled bronze hair, green eyes that looked like they'd been dipped in sunlight, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth as he held you by the waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I- yeah- I’m sorry-” you stammered, pulling away quickly, feeling your face heat up.

He bent to grab your phone from the grass, brushing it off before handing it back with a grin that could only be described as devastating. His eyes flickered to your name tag pinned to your dress.

He said your name out loud, like he was testing how your name tasted. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

You opened your mouth, some weak protest ready on your tongue, but he beat you to it, leaning in slightly, conspiratorial.

“Tell you what,” he murmured. “If you survive this madhouse, come find me. I owe you a drink for the collision.”

Before you could figure out if he was serious, one of his friends, another fraternity boy, shouted for him to hurry up. He shot you one last grin, backing away toward his group.

“I’m Finnick, by the way,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t forget it.”

You watched him jog off, the football already tucked under one arm, as your heart thudded unhelpfully hard in your chest.

Finnick. You said the name silently, like it was a secret.

The sorority booth you were supposed to be heading to was just up ahead, but for a moment you just stood there, slightly dazed, wondering what the hell had just happened, and why you suddenly didn’t mind Rush Week so much after all.

And now you were here.

The music hit you first when you stepped onto the frat house porch, booming bass, the laughter of people filling the air, and the unmistakable sound of red solo cups clinking. It was chaos in the best way.

You made your way through the house, trying to find your footing in the sea of people, when suddenly, you caught sight of a familiar face.

Finnick.

He was leaning casually against a wall near the drink table, his eyes scanning the room. The second his gaze landed on you, you felt a jolt in your chest. His lips curved into that easy, magnetic smile you had already started to dream about, the one that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

You could feel your heartbeat a little faster, and before you knew it, Finnick had pushed off the wall and was making his way toward you, the crowd parting around him effortlessly. The closer he got, the more aware you became of every little detail, he way his shirt clung to his chest, the lazy confidence in his steps, the knowing glint in his eyes.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Finnick said, his voice low and warm, his smile just a little crooked. He paused in front of you, leaning against the drink table as if he hadn’t just stormed through a sea of people to get there.

You couldn’t help but feel a little breathless. “I…well, I didn’t think I would either,” you admitted, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “But, you know, it’s the end of Rush Week, and my sisters said I should come. It’s…fun.”

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze dropping to your hands, which were nervously fidgeting with your drink. “I can see that,” he said with a teasing glint. “You look a little like you’re in the middle of trying not to disappear into the floor.”

You giggled, the sound coming out more easily than you expected. “I’m not used to parties like this,” you said, shrugging a little. “It’s a little…overwhelming.”

Finnick’s smile softened, like he understood exactly what you meant. “Well, you’ve made it this far,” he said, his voice quieter, warmer. He leaned in just slightly, just enough to make your heart race again. “I’d say you’re doing great.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, but Finnick didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he was enjoying the effect he had on you. He stood up a little straighter, glancing around the party as if to see if anyone else was around.

“You know,” he said, his tone suddenly more playful, “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

You blinked, surprised. “Avoid you?”

He chuckled softly, stepping a little closer. “I’ve been seeing you around all week, and I gotta admit, I was hoping you’d come say hi.” His eyes twinkled, the mischievous glint there again. “But you were a little hard to find. Guess I’ll just have to come to you instead.”

You bit your lip, trying not to grin too widely at his boldness. “I was just, uh, trying to stay focused on Rush,” you said, your voice a little softer, a little more shy than you intended. “You know, trying to make a good impression.”

Finnick stepped a fraction closer, lowering his voice just enough so that it felt like a secret between the two of you. “You don’t need to try so hard with me,” he said, his gaze steady on yours, like he was really looking at you. “You already made a great impression.”

Your heart skipped a beat at that. There was something so disarming about the way he spoke to you, like he was genuinely interested, not just looking for a quick flirt.

Before you could respond, one of Finnick’s friends called from across the room, but Finnick didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. He glanced back over his shoulder, then back to you with that same easy, inviting smile.

“Well,” he said, stepping away just slightly, but still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. “You should stay here a little longer. I’ve got a feeling the night just got a lot more interesting.”

You smiled, your stomach fluttering. “Maybe,” you said, your voice a little quieter now, a little more sure of yourself. “We’ll see.”

Finnick’s smile lingered for a second longer before he winked and made his way toward his friends. But before he disappeared into the crowd, he turned back once more.

“Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

You watched him walk away, your heart still racing, trying to catch your breath.

This party, and Finnick Odair, were definitely going to be more than you had bargained for.

[swift-works]

Enchanted ✧.* Part Three

1 | 2 | masterlist

word count: 3k

summary: After inheriting your grandmother's house, you find a seemingly normal mirror in the attic. When night falls however, the mirror becomes a portal into your favorite fictional world and who better to greet you than your favorite character. Can you change his fate or see him to his doom?  

tags: isekai!reader, sfw, possible ooc? idk man it’s a fanfic

a/n: y'all are so amazing oh my god 🫶🏻. got me smiling at my phone and shit 🤭. might start a taglist for this, so if you want to be added let me know! also apologies for the delay, but i hope it was worth it

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Marco had a firm grip on your shoulder as he led you to your doom Whitebeard. The sky was still dark with only the moonlight shining down over you both. You could feel your heartbeat hammering as you both moved through the night. Your anxiety was practically eating you alive. You were about to meet an Emperor of the Sea and you weren't meeting under the best conditions.

You both finally stopped in front of a large door. Marco knocked loudly before entering the room with you in tow. The Whitebeard was sitting at a desk over by the wall. He was huge, you felt like a mere ant with his sheer height. You knew he was massive compared to a normal human, but it was still jarring to see in person. The sound of the door closing and a cough caused him to turn your way and he raised an eyebrow while looking you over.

“Marco? Who’s the brat?” 

The mentioned pushed you forward and crossed his arms as he leaned against the door. “Don’t know. A stowaway is my guess. Found them in Ace’s room with a handful of berries from his bag. They look harmless, but Ace was out cold on the floor when I walked in. They said they could explain so here we are.”

Whitebeard’s face hardened at the thought of harm coming to one of his sons. His gaze pierced through you. “Explain yourself or you’ll be sleeping with the sea kings.”

You felt like you were going to throw up, but it would do you no good here so you pushed your anxiety aside for the moment. “It’s kinda complicated but I promise you I didn’t do anything to Ace. We were messing around and he just fell asleep, I swear on my life. Just wait until he wakes up and he’ll back me up.”

The tension in the room was suffocating. They had no reason to believe you and if you told them where you were from, they’d probably toss you overboard anyways. You feared for your life if Ace didn’t wake soon. 

“That doesn’t answer the question as to why you were going through his stuff or how you got here, yoi.” 

You bit your lip as you thought of what to say. “As I said, it’s complicated. I’m not sure you’ll believe me if I tell you. And I admit that I was snooping, but I should’ve known better. My curiosity got the better of me, but it wasn’t my intention to steal. Honest.” 

Whitebeard’s gaze never left you as he spoke to Marco. “Go check on Ace and see if he’ll wake up to verify.” You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the hulking figure before you, so you assumed Marco nodded. The door shut behind him as he left the room. “Now, I want you to tell me how you got on my ship undetected. None of this ‘complicated’ crap.”

So you told him. Well, about the mirror, not the being from a different world. Finding it hidden away, befriending Ace and going through it, you told him everything. He studied your face as if looking for something. Whatever it was, he found it as he nodded. “Yes, I know all about that mirror.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Wait, you know about it?”

He let out a barking laugh. “It was on my ship was it not? I’ll admit though, it’s been a long time since it was last used.”

“Last used? Does that mean someone from my side came here?”

“It was a long time ago, but yes someone came through. In the end though, she made the choice to return to her home to her family.”

You were trying to wrap your head around it. You weren't the first? Then who was? 

“In fact, you look like her spitting image.” His words caused your thoughts to come to a halt. Your grandmother used to say that you reminded her of herself in her youth. There was no way he was talking about your sweet, old granny though, right?

“Wait. Whitebeard, sir, what exactly are you implying? That my grandmother came here and never told me?”

He let out a sigh. “We both agreed that it would be better for less people to know about the mirrors. It was too dangerous for people from her side to come here. So we hid them and I guess neither of us had the heart to get rid of it. Which is why it was so easy for you and Ace to stumble upon them.”

Everything he was saying made sense. You had never seen the mirror before you found it in the attic. Now that you thought about it, you could recall her wistful face, eyes longing for a place far from home when she thought you weren’t paying attention. You just thought it was for your absent parents, not a fictional pirate world.

This was a lot to take in. One thought occurred to you though. “You’re not gonna like tell me that you’re my grandpa are you? There’s only so much I can handle in a short amount of time.”

Whitebeard let out another chuckle and shook his head. “No, we were just good friends. I offered her a spot on my crew even. If she didn’t have people relying on her then I think she would have taken my offer. That’s why we were such good friends, we shared a love for family.”

You nodded along with what he was saying, that did sound like her. It would have been cool if you were actually related to Whitebeard though. Insane, but cool. Who would have thought that you’d be talking about your dead grandma with an emperor of the sea. 

“Do you also know about-”

You were interrupted by the door opening and a face full of freckles.

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The first thing Ace became aware of was a sharp stinging in his nose. He abruptly sat up and furiously rubbed at his nose, nearly colliding with Marco. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. One minute he was goofing with you and the next he was being woken up. Speaking of you, his gaze drifted to the mirror. You weren’t in it but it still reflected your bedroom.

“If you’re looking for your little friend, they're with Pops.” His attention was pulled over to the blond. 

“Wait, they’re here?! Can you take me to them?” Ace practically jumped to his feet. Marco stopped him before he could rush to you.

“Slow down hotshot, I need you to verify that they aren’t a threat.”

“A threat? Did they look like a threat? C’mon Marco they were unarmed and in pajamas. No, they aren’t a threat….except maybe to pillows.”

Marco huffed and threw up his hands in exasperation. “How was I supposed to know?! You were passed out and they were snooping through your stuff,” He gestured to the fallen bag with berries surrounding it. “And you should know in this world that appearances can be deceiving.”

Ace rolled his eyes and adjusted his hat. “You can tell me all about deceiving appearances or whatever later. Can you take me to see them now?”

Marco nodded and led the way to Pop’s room. The night sky was clear, stars twinkling around the full moon. There was a soft breeze that ruffled through Marco’s hair and pulled at Ace’s stampede strap from his hat. The deck was void of life, save for the people on watch. 

They made their way to Pop’s door where they could make out the faint conversation on the other side. Marco suddenly stopped in front of the door and smirked. “You know, Thatch is gonna be ecstatic when he finds out what you’ve been up to.”

Ace groaned and ran his hands down his face. “He’s gonna be so annoying and a pain in my ass.”

“Now you know how we feel.”

“Yeah-hey!”

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Bickering entered your ears as the duo walked in. Your conversation with Whitebeard would have to resume later. If there was a later for you here. Warm brown eyes met yours and Ace’s face lit up. “You really are here!”

Marco rolled his eyes as he shut the door behind them. “I wasn’t lying.”

Ace immediately came to your side. Concern flashed across his face. “You’re not in trouble right?” Then he turned to Whitebeard. “They didn’t do anything to me, it was just my narcolepsy. 

“Ace, I’m not in trouble. He knows about the thing.”

“He knows?!”

Marco butted in. “Wait, what did I miss? What thing?”

Whitebeard waved his hand and cleared his throat. “Alright Alright, no one is in trouble and I understand the situation now. Marco, I’ll discuss this with you and the other commanders in the morning. For now, let’s all get some rest.”

Marco sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to get any real answers tonight. On his way out, he reminded Ace of the meeting. If Ace missed the first half of another meeting because he slept in, Marco was gonna skin him alive.

Only the three of you remained. You still had a question though. “Wait, one more thing. Why was tonight the only time I could pass through? Any other time we tried it, nothing went through.”

Whitebeard brought his fist to his chin in thought. “I don’t know much, but for some reason, it only fully works during a full moon.”

The mysterious workings of the mirror would have to remain a mystery for now as you let out a loud yawn. You didn't mean to, but the events of the night were starting to catch up to you. You slapped your hands over your mouth and muttered a “Sorry.”

You got a chuckle from both of them. Whitebeard waved you both off. “We can discuss more at a later date. You two go get some rest.”

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As you both made your way to Ace’s room, you stopped to admire the night sky. It took Ace a moment to realise you weren't right behind him and he shot you a questioning look over his shoulder. “You okay?”

You nodded as you breathed in the scent of the ocean. “You know, this is the first time I've ever been on a ship. And I haven’t seen this many stars in a long time. Let me soak it in for a minute, who knows when I'll get another chance when I go back.”

Ace thought for a second. “You don’t have to go back.”

“I can’t just stay here, Ace. I have a life back home.”

He scoffed. “What life? You always complain about work and you have no friends, no offense.”

“Offense taken! I have friends….I just don’t see them often.”

“Whatever you say,” He raised his hands in defense. “I’m just saying you have a choice.”

Did you? Sure, it sounded appealing, but you weren’t made for this world. Sailing the seas with an Emperor? It was a death sentence for you. Not to mention what you knew of their fates. You were brought out of your thoughts by Ace’s hand on your shoulder.

“Just think about it, okay?”

You absentmindedly nodded. You couldn’t bring yourself to say no to him. A smile tugged at his lips and his hand drifted down to yours. Your cheeks darkened but you didn’t have time to ponder as he firmly gripped your hand and started dragging you. “Wha-Ace!’

“C’mon, we’re supposed to be getting rest. Weren't you yawning like five minutes ago? We can stargaze another night.”

“Stargaze?” You laughed. “You wish I’d stargaze with you. And that's if i come back”

“Blah blah blah can’t hear you.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

“Can I be your idiot?”

“Ace!”

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You never made it to your bed. Once you and Ace had gotten back to his room, you had realized what a mess you had made earlier. A bunch of random things were sprawled across the floor. After cleaning that up, your eyes could barely stay open. You had both collapsed on his bed and it was oh so comfortable. You knew that all you had to do was to cross a couple of feet to get to your bed, but it was like your body was made of lead. Surely you could just close your eyes for just a few minutes. You didn’t even realise that you fell asleep until the next morning.

The next thing you were aware of was sunlight streaming in. Oh no. You sat up in a rush, blanket falling from your figure. Wait, you don’t remember covering up last night. Ace must have draped it over you. Ace. He wasn’t in the room after a quick survey. Didn’t Marco say something about a meeting?

Panic was starting to creep in. Whitebeard had said that you could only pass through the mirror during a full moon and the next one wouldn’t be for a month. You were now officially stuck here. You were so getting fired when you got back. Sighing, you ran your hands through your hair. You could handle this.

Knocking caught your attention. It must have been Ace. Well you hoped it was Ace or this was going to be awkward. Should you respond? Before you could decide, the door opened just a bit

A wave of messy black hair peeked out from the door. Ace had his hand covering his eyes. “Are you decent?”

 You deadpanned. “No, I’m naked.”

“Even better….wait, are you actually?”

Laughing, you got up and made your way over to him and moved his hand from his face. “You really thought I’d be waiting for you naked? In your dreams, Portgas.”

He pouted. “Why do you have to be so mean to me? I could leave you to fend for yourself, you know.”

“You wouldn’t and you know it.”

“I guess you’re right,” He sighed dramatically. “On to a more important matter….Are you hungry?”

That’s how you found yourself in the mess hall. Curious glances were thrown your way. You’d be shocked too if a newcomer showed up while you were literally in the middle of the ocean. You tried to ignore the prying eyes as you followed behind Ace. Whatever was being served smelled delicious. Your stomach growled. 

Ace laughed. Then his stomach growled and he stopped. He cleared his throat. “You’re gonna love this food, Thatch is a god in the kitchen.”

A large pompadour popped into your vision. “Oh so now you’re singing my praises, you’re lucky if I gave you anything after you used the ‘O’ word.”

“You’re still mad about that? You can’t ignore the truth that you’re getting old-“

Ace was suddenly pulled into a headlock. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence or I’m giving you the scraps for a month.” Ace managed to make a thumbs up with his hand before he was released. The arm that was around his neck moved to his shoulders “Now, why don’t you introduce me to your friend.”

“Oh right,” he introduced you. “And this here is Thatch, fourth division commander and our cook. We don’t know what we’d do without him.”

Oh, this was Thatch. His death would become the catalyst to the horrors of the future. It was an odd feeling being around so many people who you knew would die for the sake of the main storyline. You managed to muster up a smile. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

“Only good things I hope, now why don’t we get you two something to eat.”

Breakfast with the Whitebeard Pirates was oddly domestic. They were like a giant, loud, family. Despite Ace’s wishes, Thatch decided that he was going to tell you embarrassing stories about Ace from the past year. Including the time he tried to use his devil fruit to bake cookies and he burned all of them, Thatch had made him eat the whole batch after. Every. Last. Crumb. Which had gotten Ace a lifetime ban from the kitchen.

As Thatch rambled on, you sat back and admired the scene in front of you. You had only ever had your grandmother for breakfasts like this.  After weeks of lonely meals, it was a nice feeling to have again. A figure on the other side of the mess hall caught your eye and a shiver ran down your spine.

Marshall D. Teach or as you better know him, Blackbeard.

He was just sitting there, having a conversation with his table mates. Nothing that looked out of the ordinary as he laughed obnoxiously. You knew however that it was just a facade. A hand suddenly waved in your face, bringing your focus back to your own table mates. Both Thatch and Ace had concerned looks on their faces, but Thatch was the one to speak up first. “You okay, kid? You totally zoned out on us.”

You shook your head and pushed your plate over to Ace. “I’m fine I uh….I’m just not hungry anymore.” 

Thatch shrugged it off. Ace, however, had followed your gaze over to Teach’s table. He knew Teach wasn’t the prettiest pirate, but he wasn’t a bad guy... well, as far as being a pirate went. So what had caused you to freeze up? He would have to ask you later.

You were feeling conflicted now. You had told yourself you wouldn’t interfere but it wasn’t that easy anymore. Now, you were in the story. If you got your calculations right, you might still be here when it happens. Could you really just stand on the sidelines and not do anything?

No you couldn’t. Maybe if you warned Whitebeard then Teach would never get the chance to kill Thatch for that devil fruit. Ace wouldn’t go on a manhunt that would result in defeat, imprisonment and death. The Whitebeard pirates would remain as one instead of losing their captain. Screw the storyline Sorry Luffy. Right now, these were real people and not characters on a screen or page.

One thing was for certain, you needed to talk to Whitebeard again.

└─────═━┈┈━═─────┘

last part | next part

a/n: please drop your favorite nicknames for ace in the comment. i'm having trouble picking one.

[moonlitsmile]

What he left behind

(happy ending ♡︎) original here

summary | Joel watching you get tortured by Abby, after letting him go and they leave, he goes to check on you. Only to find you still alive and breathing

a/n - here’s the alternate happy ending where you live guys (buts it still sad I’m SORRYYY) (also Tommy was unaware of abby and what happen just stay with me 💔)

They let him go like it means nothing now.

Joel drops to the wood floor the second their hands release him, his knees slamming into the ground. He barely feels it. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Abby tosses the blood-slick golf club aside. It lands beside your body with a sickening, hollow clunk.

Then she walks away. No more words. No triumph. Just silence.

The others follow her out the door, boots thudding over the dark wood floor of the lodge, fading like a bad dream.

And Joel is alone.

He stares at you, frozen.

You haven’t moved in minutes. You’d gone quiet after the last blow. Too quiet.

For a while, he doesn’t breathe.

Then, slowly, like it takes everything he has, he crawls toward you.

“Baby…” His voice is raw, almost unrecognizable.

His hands hover over your body, too scared to touch, afraid that if he does, you’ll shatter for good.

But then—

You twitch.

Barely. A shallow, choked breath escapes your lips. Blood clings to your teeth.

Joel freezes. “Oh my god—oh, god—you’re breathin’. You’re breathin’, baby—shit, stay with me, please—”

Suddenly he’s moving, hands pressing down to slow the bleeding where he can, brushing blood from your face with shaking fingers. “I got you. I got you, alright? Just keep your eyes on me.”

Your lashes flutter weakly. You’re there. Fading in and out, but alive.

“Don’t try to talk, just—just stay still.” He shrugs off his coat in seconds, bunching it under your head, tearing pieces of his shirt to stop the worst of the bleeding. His hands are slick with your blood, but he keeps going, muttering broken reassurances.

“I’m gonna get you outta here. You’re not gonna die on me, you hear? Not like this.”

His voice cracks again.

Tears streak down his face, hot against the cold air of the door open and cold breeze coming in. but he doesn’t notice. He’s completely focused on you.

You try to speak. Just a whisper. “Joel…”

“No, no—don’t talk. Save your strength.” His forehead presses against yours, breath shaking. “I’m gonna fix this. I swear, I’m gonna fix this.”

His hand finds yours, gripping tight.

And for the first time since they dragged you out into the snow… hope flickers in Joel’s chest.

Because you’re still here.

And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you that way.

Your breathing is shallow, every breath a struggle, rattling in your chest like it might give out at any second.

Joel’s hands won’t stop shaking.

He presses down on a gash along your ribs, trying to stem the bleeding with what’s left of his flannel. Blood soaks through in seconds. You let out a soft, broken cry, and his whole body flinches.

“I know baby, I know—I’m sorry—just hold on,” he whispers, over and over like a prayer, like if he says it enough, it’ll keep you here.

Tears mixed with blood dripping from your head clings to your lashes. Your lips are cracked and red. But you’re still breathing.

You’re still here.

And he can’t lose you too.

Not again.

His vision blurs, just for a second, and suddenly it’s not you beneath him anymore.

It’s Sarah.

Fourteen years old. Dying in his arms.

Her blood on his hands, just like now.

Her voice, her whimper:

Joel blinks hard. “No. No—no.”

This is not the same.

But it’s all he can think about, how you might die in his arms, someone he loves. Just like before.

But he won’t have that

He rips off what’s left of his shirt sleeve, tying it tightly around your thigh where another cut seeps red into the wood. His movements are frantic, uneven, but his mind is locked on one thing:

You are not dying here.

“I didn’t get to save her,” he murmurs under his breath, jaw clenched so tight it aches. “I held her… and she died anyway.”

He holds your face gently, his hands seeping with your blood now, turning your head to make you look at him.

“But you—I can still save you. I will. You hear me?”

You blink slowly. Barely there. But it’s enough. Enough to tear Joel in half and put him back together all at once.

He scans the treeline. He knows Jackson’s not far. If he can just get you back, just get someone, anyone, to help—

He slides his arms beneath you, carefully but quickly. You cry out again, weak and choked, but you don’t stop breathing.

“Shhh… I know, sweetheart, I know,” he whispers, holding you to his chest as he stands. His knees almost buckle, but he tightens his grip and locks his jaw.

“Just a little longer. We’re gettin’ outta here.”

Each step is agony, not for him, but for what he sees.

Blood trailing behind.

Your limp form cradled in his arms.

The memory of his daughter dying in his arms haunting every second.

But he keeps going.

Because this time, he’s not too late.

Not for you.

The snow comes down harder now.

The cold cuts straight through Joel’s skin, soaking him to the bone, but he doesn’t stop.

Your weight is heavy in his arms, not because he can’t carry you, but because every step feels like a second stolen from death. Your head rests against his chest, and he keeps checking, over and over, just to feel your breath against his neck.

“Almost there,” he mumbles. “Almost there, baby. Stay with me.”

His legs ache. His fingers are numb. His flannel is torn and soaked through, but you’re wrapped tight in his jacket, held close to his body, protected as best he can.

The gates of Jackson come into view like a miracle through the white blur.

Joel stumbles forward, lips cracked and blue. “Help!” he tries to shout, but it comes out hoarse. “Someone—please”

The guards on watchtower duty shout something down, voices muffled by the wind. He can’t hear them. Doesn’t care. He’s through the outer fence before they can open the gate, banging a fist on it with one hand while holding you tighter with the other.

The metal creaks open and he’s through, barely holding it together, falling to his knees just past the threshold.

People run toward him, Tommy’s among them, wide-eyed, shouting his name.

“Joel?! What the hell happened—what—what the fuck happened to her?”

“She’s hurt,” Joel cuts him off, eyes wild, voice cracking. “She’s hurt bad—I need a doctor, now.”

Tommy kneels beside him, trying to help lift you. Joel snaps, pulling you closer. “Don’t touch her—”

“She’s gonna be okay,” Tommy says quickly, hands raised. “We’ll get her help. I promise.”

Joel finally lets go, just enough for two others to take you gently from his arms and rush toward the clinic.

He staggers to his feet, about to follow, but the cold and exhaustion catch up with him all at once. His knees buckle, and he falls hard into the snow.

“Joel!” Tommy grabs him, pulling his arm around his shoulders. “Come on—we’re goin’ with her.”

“Don’t leave her alone,” Joel rasps. “Don’t let her be alone.”

“You’re comin’ too.”

They get him back on his feet, half-dragging, half-guiding him toward the clinic. Joel’s lips are still moving as they go, quietly, breathlessly, the same words over and over:

She’s gonna be okay. She’s gonna be okay. She’s gonna be okay…

-

The clinic doors burst open as they rush you inside.

Joel tries to follow, but someone, he doesn’t even know who, presses a hand to his chest. “You can’t come in. We need space to work.”

“She needs me—she needs me,” he snaps, trying to push past, but Tommy’s there, grabbing his arm.

“They’re gonna help her, Joel. That’s the best thing we can do right now.”

Joel watches as your limp form disappears down the hallway, swallowed by voices and the harsh fluorescent light. The doors swing shut behind you.

He stands there in the cold.

Staring.

Listening.

Every sound, every shout from the nurses, every beep from machines, every second of silence, drives another crack through his chest.

“C’mon,” Tommy says gently, voice quiet. “Let’s get you home. You’re freezing. You can come back after you clean up, get a little rest.”

Joel shakes his head. “No.”

“Just for a bit. She’s in good hands now.”

“No.” His voice is sharp, final. “I ain’t leavin’.”

Tommy’s silent for a second. “Alright,” he says eventually, softer. “But at least come sit inside. Get warm. You look like hell.”

Joel doesn’t move. He stares at the clinic doors, jaw tight.

“If I leave,” he says quietly, “and she dies while I’m gone…”

Tommy exhales, nodding. “Alright. I get it.”

But Joel’s eyes don’t leave the hallway. “And if she wakes up and I’m not there—she’s gonna think I left her. Like I gave up.”

He lowers himself slowly onto the bench outside the exam room, back stiff, blood dried on his hands and arms. His whole body trembles, but not from the cold anymore.

Tommy stands nearby, watching him with a worried look. “What if she doesn’t wake up, Joel?”

Joel swallows hard. “Then I make sure I’m the one she sees last.”

There’s silence between them. Only the wind outside and the muffled sounds from the medical room.

Then Joel speaks again, quieter.

“She ain’t safe. Not really. Not until that girl’s gone. If I go back to the house, and she follows me—she finishes what she started. She kills her.”

Tommy sits next to him. “We’ll post people outside. We’ll keep an eye on you both.”

Joel shakes his head. “I ain’t takin’ chances. Not again.”

He leans forward, hands clasped between his knees, knuckles stained red.

And he waits.

Even as the hours pass. Even as his bones ache and the blood on his skin dries and flakes away.

He waits.

Because he has to be there when you open your eyes.

Because this time… he still has the chance to keep someone alive.

-

It’s dark behind your eyes.

Heavy.

Pain pulses through your body in slow, echoing waves, not sharp anymore, but dull and deep, like your bones remember what was done.

You try to move.

Can’t.

There’s a weight in your chest. Your limbs feel like lead. Your throat is dry, lips cracked, every breath rasping against your ribs.

But then—

A voice. Low, familiar. Breaking.

“Hey…”

You fight through the fog. Your eyelids twitch. Open just a little.

Light.

And Joel.

He’s sitting beside you chair that was in the small room, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on your face like he hasn’t looked away in hours

You blink again, barely able to focus, but he’s already reaching for you.

“Hey, hey—there you are,” he breathes out, his voice rough and low. His hand trembles as it brushes your cheek, thumb sweeping gently over your skin. “You’re alright. You’re safe now.”

You want to speak, but nothing comes out. Not yet. Just a soft sound, barely a breath.

Joel leans in closer. His eyes are red-rimmed, haunted, but filled with something deeper, something desperate and fierce.

“You scared the hell outta me,” he murmurs. “I thought—” He cuts himself off, blinking hard. “But you didn’t. You fought. You held on.”

He swallows hard, looking down at your hand. He picks it up carefully, holding it in both of his like it’s the most fragile thing in the world.

“I couldn’t do nothin’,” he says, almost a whisper. “I had to watch them do that to you. I just… stood there.”

You try to squeeze his hand. Your fingers barely twitch, but it’s enough.

He notices.

And something cracks in him.

“I ain’t never felt that kind of fear in a while.”

His voice shakes now. “You’re all I got..”

He brings your hand to his lips, pressing it there, holding it like a lifeline.

“I’m gonna keep you safe now. I swear to you,” he says. “Ain’t nobody touchin’ you again. Not her. Not anyone. I’ll burn the whole goddamn world down before I let it happen.”

You shift slightly, wincing. Joel’s hand instantly comes to steady you.

“Shh—don’t push it. Just rest. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You meet his eyes, tired, broken, but burning with love.

And even through the pain, even through everything… you feel safe.

Because Joel is still here.

And he’s not letting go.

[the-stellaron-hunters]

you can read this as a standalone although I recommend reading this first

things you said prompt list

Aventurine

things you said that made me feel like shit

The sun is yet to rise when Aventurine finds himself by your doorstep.

You didn’t invite him over to your place today, and he’s not supposed to be knocking on your door. The only reason he is doing this is because he texted you yesterday that he just got back from a business trip and he extended an invitation to you, finding himself looking forward to your answer even though he knows you well enough that your response would be anything but a resounding no. And it stayed that way until just a few hours ago when he received a notification from you, only to find out you’re flaking out on him at the last minute: Sorry. I can’t do it after all, don’t come see me.

Well, this is a first.

Is this your way of giving him a taste of his own medicine? It’s not entirely out of the question; if anything, he’s more caught off guard at the fact that you haven’t done this much sooner. About time, he thinks to himself when he sees that his message asking you why, is something the matter? is marked as read. The rational, more reasonable part of his brain recognizes that you’re allowed to do that, it’s just a simple rejection for a singular outing, it’s not as if you’re going to do that all the time. It’s not that deep. But there’s the cynical, heavily guarded part of him that thinks you’re pushing him away, and he is about to do anything right now just to stop the distance between you from widening any further.

Aventurine knows how hypocritical he sounds. And he hates that he can at least acknowledge that, because he has done this more times to you than he would like to admit. You would check in on him, and on a typical day he waves it off and tells you that he is doing just fine. Lying about that isn’t a big deal to him. He’s been untruthful to you many times; he’s told you countless white lies and excuses and half-truths.

(He did tell you that he just got back from a business trip, but that part was also a complete lie. In reality, he cleared up his schedule out of the blue, which proved to be a difficult feat considering the ridiculous amount of adjustments he had to make for the next few Amber Eras. The hassle that came with shifting his schedule around reminded him why he never does it, even if he is at his wit’s end and the thought of going to the next meeting or making another phone call drives him up the wall. If all this effort was for no good reason, he’d say it’s more trouble than it’s worth, but after his last conversation with you, which also happened to be your first real conversation after months of radio silence on his end, the consequences he had to deal with from his rare impulsiveness is far from a nuisance.)

But he can’t bring himself to lie to you about every single little thing — it’s hard to lie to you on days where his mind is full and his heart is heavy, if it’s you of all people asking him if he’s alright, especially when your expression is open and the set of your gaze is sincere. In that case, he certainly won’t lie to you, but what ends up happening is that he gets too into his own head, and you don’t hear from him for a while until he feels that telling you I’m doing alright sounds like the truth.

But this time you’re the one who is putting the distance between the both of you. Now he is the one asking you how you’re doing and you’re the one who isn’t saying anything. If you’re anything like him, he should be familiar with how this plays out, and your words I can’t do it after all, don’t come see me should be easy for him to take, easy for him to dismiss.

The problem is his habits look horribly unfamiliar on you. He is trying to learn what your words mean until they feel less like a rejection, tries to see if he should keep going until you say something or if he should just pull away and wait for you to approach him, but maybe he hasn’t completely figured you out yet, so it stings.

And it hurts.

He feels pathetic knocking on your door like this, and now he’s left wondering how many times he made you feel this way. You make it seem so simple, having gone through this with him countless times, but he’s now learning the hard way that he cannot handle being left in the dark as easily as you do.

“Aventurine? What are you doing here?”

The door swings open and reveals the sight of you. You sounded so weak. Your hand is clutching your head and you’re leaning on the doorframe for dear life. You’re scowling. You can’t even maintain eye contact for a few seconds before your eyes are forced downwards.

His mind slowly catches up to the sight of you before him. “I came here to check on you because you weren’t responding to my texts. You were completely within reach, and I don’t have anything going on today, so I didn’t see any reason not to visit,” he responds. There’s a few beats of silence before he finally asks the obvious: “Are you perhaps feeling unwell?”

You only nod. He’s currently at a loss of what to do next. He doesn’t know what he was expecting to see after knocking on your door, but it wasn’t this, and he’s suddenly feeling foolish for jumping into conclusions. I misunderstood and I’m disturbing you and I’m sorry are stuck in his throat.

Completely oblivious to his inner turmoil, you open your door and you step aside the doorway to make room for him. “Well? If you want to get in then hurry the hell up before I slam the door on you.” Your tone is clipped. Your scowl is still in place. You seem to immediately realize the poor choice of words, though, because you quickly dial down the irritation. “I’m sorry. My migraine is killing me and everything is too bright for me. I just want to lay down and go back to sleep.” You pause thoughtfully. And then you look at him again and you seem genuinely apologetic, but it only lasts for a beat because you avert your eyes again. “I know we were supposed to be out today, but I didn’t think I was going to get a migraine at the very last minute. I think I forgot to tell you about it. Sorry about this. Anyway, come in if you want to, but lock the door if you’re heading out. It’s up to you.”

You don’t wait for his response before you retreat back into your space, leaving the door open for him. He could just wish you a speedy recovery and then excuse himself, but he’s already here by your door, and he was already intending to spend the day with you.

Aventurine remains still on your doorway as he watches you make a beeline to your couch, wrapping yourself under layers of blankets. You weren’t pushing him away on purpose. You’re not mad at him. You’re just sick. His racing thoughts quiet down to a murmur.

He follows you inside.

[onemashedbraincell]

🦴 - Is anyone in your system dating? If so, who is the strangest pair?

Yep! Only two as far as we’re aware, but they’re not exactly strange, especially since they were kind of in a situation ship in source.

💀 - Is there a particular source you have a lot of fictives from?

Oh, definitely. I stare at Slay the Princess in horror.

🪦 - Who has the strangest habits?

Well, we have one person, but I don’t think they’d like to share it so I’ll just go for the next weirdest one. Collecting insect corpses and random rocks.

⚰️ - Do you have any nonverbal headmates?

Yep! Involuntary and voluntarily!

🕷 - Who is the worst at masking?

The British one. Or the littles, but they mostly stay inside anyway so it’s not too big of a deal.

🕸 - How did your headmates get their names?

Depends on the alter, some find a name that feels right, some do extensive research to find something that matches them perfectly, some use a random name generator, some just come prepackaged.

☠️ - Do you have any headmates with colored hair,piercings, or tattoos?

Hm, off the top of my head, maybe two or three- but there’s probably more that I can’t think of.

🔪 - How consistent are you with logging switches?

Ooh, we’re really bad at this. We try our best, but when you can’t remember things and not all of your members are even aware you have simply plural, it gets a little tough.

🧿 - Is there anyone who spends most of their time in front complaining?

Uhh, yep. We have a few emotion holders who do that- also some persecutors, littles, it varies. Nobody in specific.

🎃 - Is there anything specific you do to help introjects feel more comfortable?

Allowing them to state clear boundaries, get things that are comforting to them that are from source, or allowing them to branch out if they prefer not to identify as their source! Whatever they need, for the most part.

👻 - How did you discover your plurality/systemhood?

We frankly do not remember very well, but one day they just. Appeared. We passed them off as imaginary friends. We were not imaginary friends.

🩸 - Is there anyone who absolutely hates their source?

No one who absolutely despises it, but there are definitely a few who don’t like to be associated with their source.

🦇 - Are there any songs that you associate with systemhood/plurality or your system as a whole?

Not really!

🐈‍⬛- Is there anyone who identifies as otherkin/therian?

Yep! We have a few guys in there, love those guys. They embrace themselves and don’t give a shit about what others think! They’re really great and sweet.

🔮 - How does your system determine who handles certain tasks/responsibilities?

it sort of plays out naturally- or higher ups decide, well, something like that. I’m not certain if there’s like anything specifically but generally they show up just knowing? Or they just end up settling into the role.

🧟‍♂️ - Who is the most outwardly intimating? Are they viewed the same way within the system?

Outwardly intimidating… probably nicole because of just how confident and blunt they are? they’re less intimidating insys but, yeah, still not the easiest to talk to.

🕯- Do your system's littles use "Baby Talk"?

It depends on the little. For the most part, no. Especially during text- any quirks are mainly voice-related when internally speaking, and those are unintentional and not too obvious.

⛓️ - Funniest quote out of context

“bros magical girl energy confuses me” - some guy in our head

⬛ - Is there anyone who has a unique/ non-traditional role?

Plenty, plenty. But you know, alters are unique to your experiences. But I suppose compared to the typical archetypes and such, definitely, yes.

🪳 - How do you visualize your headmates? (Drawing them,picrew,etc)

Typically through picrews, for Introjects fanart. Some guys want to draw, but it’s not typical.

System Ask Game #3

🦴 - Is anyone in your system dating? If so, who is the strangest pair?

💀 - Is there a particular source you have a lot of fictives from?

🪦 - Who has the strangest habits?

⚰️ - Do you have any nonverbal headmates?

🕷 - Who is the worst at masking?

🕸 - How did your headmates get their names?

☠️ - Do you have any headmates with colored hair,piercings, or tattoos?

🔪 - How consistent are you with logging switches?

🧿 - Is there anyone who spends most of their time in front complaining?

🎃 - Is there anything specific you do to help introjects feel more comfortable?

👻 - How did you discover your plurality/systemhood?

🩸 - Is there anyone who absolutely hates their source?

🦇 - Are there any songs that you associate with systemhood/plurality or your system as a whole?

🐈‍⬛- Is there anyone who identifies as otherkin/therian?

🔮 - How does your system determine who handles certain tasks/responsibilities?

🧟‍♂️ - Who is the most outwardly intimating? Are they viewed the same way within the system?

🕯- Do your system's littles use "Baby Talk"?

⛓️ - Funniest quote out of context

⬛ - Is there anyone who has a unique/ non-traditional role?

🪳 - How do you visualize your headmates? (Drawing them,picrew,etc)