#but like... this is a really fucking long list. and my brain isn't working as well as it would need to for that.

[racke7]

Crafting systems in video-games

Having spent way too long last night leveling the crafter-classes in FF14, I started thinking about crafting systems in video-games.

Final Fantasy 14:

Crafting is separated into classes (Carpentry, Blacksmith, Armorer, Leatherworker, Goldsmith, Weaver, Culinarian, Alchemist, etc). And also with gathering (Mining, Botanist, Fishing).

Leveling all of these at once can let you do things like "crafting items that make you better at crafting", but the gains are both pretty minimal and clearly capped (you can't make an item better than "high-quality").

There are some ways to power-level crafting and gathering, and "make good gear" isn't really the method (it's quest-related).

Upon maxing out crafting, it's possible to use the crafted items as equipment for your combat-classes, but those will always be outclassed by the end-expansion "dungeon-currency equipment" that becomes available in the end-game.

Crafting however lets you get access to a LOT of fashion-items, can let you save money from buying potions/food, and lets you self-repair your armor for convenience. And... that's pretty much it.

Recipes range from "a single piece of material" to "you need 5+ different materials" and can be anything from gathering-class related to monster-drops. Some gathering-items can only be obtained at specific times, and a lot of things are gated-off by the story.

Divinity 2 Original Sin:

It's entirely possible to play through Divinity 2 and never really notice that the crafting-system exists. Crafting is based around "combine X and Y", with no other requirements.

Some items are powerful (invisibility potions, etc) others are convenient (arrows, scrolls, etc), and some are absolute junk (basically all "weapons").

The crafting system is hindered by the RNG and "finite resources" of the game, where certain things will not be available beyond a few plants that never regrow after being harvested, and monster-drops of monsters that also never respawn.

Crafting also lets you do some "enchantments" for any gear you might find (nails+boots for immunity to slipping, poison+weapon for added poison-damage, etc). But for the most part you're entirely reliant on "good loot drops" (or good RNG in a store).

Skyrim:

Crafting is separated into three classes (Smithing, Alchemy, and Enchanting), and they can influence each other (Alchemy can boost Smithing+Enchanting, and Enchanting can boost Smithing+Alchemy). There's also a non-leveling "crafting-class" (cooking).

There are glitches with these crafting-system, but we'll be ignoring those.

Smithing lets you create items and improve the stats on those items, Enchanting lets you put enchantments on those items (magic-resist, skill-boosts, magic-damage, etc), and Alchemy lets you make potions that will give you temporary buffs (magic-resist, skill-boosts, etc) and poisons that can be applied to your weapon (damage-over-time, paralysis, etc).

Leveling the crafting-classes will also raise your "main-level" and therefore also make the world stronger and scarier (because it levels with you).

Leveling the classes also allows for making a crafted item "infinitely stronger", in the sense that the game basically just uses your level to multiply the effects together, so there aren't any hard-caps for how big the numbers can get.

There is however a limit to how much "damage-blocking" an item can do (an armor-cap, and a cap for magic-resist) that isn't immediately obvious to the player (there are no hints in-game that it exists).

This means that the most basic-armor can be improved to the point where it's maxed-out, and the most basic-weapon can become capable of one-shotting the strongest bosses in the game. It's just going to take a lot of effort to get to that point.

Outside of mod-support, there are however certain items that will give you "unique enchantments" that can't be replicated. (This is a stupid decision.)

Minecraft:

Items can be crafted with the correct materials, but enchantments require levels as "payments" and will give you an RNG-based selection to choose from.

It's possible to bypass the RNG by getting "skillbooks" which can be acquired from villagers. But to get the "correct" villager is also an RNG-thing.

The entire game requires you to craft better gear yourself, as there isn't really a loot-system for anything other than materials. But an item of the same type with the same enchantment will always be the exact same, regardless of anything else.

Grand Fantasia (MMO):

Upon creating your character and choosing your class, you will chose a "sprite" that will accompany you. This sprite has certain skills (mining, foraging, crafting, etc).

The sprite will be able to gather materials, and then craft those materials into the specific crafting-skill that it has available to it.

This basically means that if you pick the "correct" sprite then you will have access to the "strongest weapon OR armor" for your class. The sprite will gather items by being sent on "missions", and will then be able to use those items to RNG-craft an item appropriate for their level.

As it's RNG, the weapon-creation might fail at any point in the process, and the higher-end weapons require the lower-tier version of their weapons to craft, so it can be extremely time-consuming to fix if the sprite fails.

The Disgaea-series:

In Disgaea, you can find/loot/buy items, and then use the Item World to improve those items to "ultimate power".

The Item World functions a bit differently between the different installments of the series, but the gist of it is that you can enter into the item and then fight monsters in there to improve the item.

This can be done to make an item powerful enough that it "caps" the stats of the character holding it. Potions and consumables can also be improved, but this is generally only true for healing-items (which you shouldn't need).

Bloodborne:

Items can be bought/found/looted, and weapons can be improved with the correct looted items (which are tiered and locked behind story-progression).

Weapons come with "slots" for certain gems, which can give more damage or give "magical damage" of a specific type. A weapon can only be improved to the cap, and will afterwards only "improve" by leveling your own character for the damage to scale higher.

Terraria:

Items can be crafted or looted, and can be "upgraded" into other items with the correct materials. These materials are tiered and locked behind game-progression.

Some items are RNG, others are guaranteed. Most materials require killing bosses to get.

[casuallyanidiot]

Omg your yandere coworker *chef's kiss*

I imagine he's just frustrated and angry because he can't believe he's fallen for a loser like reader. Like they are such a mess all the time. So soft and easy to tire. They look so out of place in this workplace environment.

But over time it starts to click that all he was to do is take them away and keep them at home. Reader shouldn't even be at work! Reader should be sitting pretty at home like the good little spouse he knows they are all that they are good for!

Man he'll have to come up with a plan to make that happen wouldn't he?

Thanks! He's awful! :)

I think the worst part about Yan coworker is that he believes he's actually a good person. Maybe if he just acknowledged how scummy he was, he wouldn't be half as bad.

He he's had enough of you stumbling all over yourself like an idiot. Yandere Coworker pulls you aside one day into a storage closet. He's trying so hard not to snap and fuck you stupid against some half empty shelves, so instead he settles for gripping your arms. Isn't he a gentleman? Anyways, he lays it out for you.

"You need to quit," He says simply. His voice is gruff and firm, and you blink in surprise. "What?" You stammer out. He's tall, intimidatingly so, and you tremble as he holds you. "No, no I'm not- I can't quit! This is my job! I know you don't really like me, but that's out of line," You hiss out and squirm away from him.

Yandere coworker realizes you really are very, very dumb. There's nothing in that stupid little head of yours, is there? You can't even tell how much he's looking out for you. You're crumbling under the weight of this job, and he can't stand seeing you so unhappy.

But he makes enough money for the two of you. He can handle this while you can't. In fact, the more he thinks about it, he can't figure out just what in the world you would be good at. He tries to picture you as successful at anything and comes up blank. Huh... You really are good for nothing. Except,,, you would probably do well if you didn't have to do anything at all.

Yandere coworker starts to think about how much prettier you would be if you got proper sleep. He likes the way you look in corporate attire (That is on the rare occasions where you don't look like a hot mess), but he bets you'd like to be in expensive and revealing loungewear even more. The only thing you would have to do is keep your house tidy, and keep yourself nice and presentable for whoever provided for you. Yeah, you'd be perfect for that. And guess what? He could give you that.

Yandere coworker knows that you're far too stubborn for your own good. He begins to actively sabotage your work. He inserts spelling errors into your reports, changes the numbers of any potential client before you have the chance to make a sale. He allows himself to be more officially promoted, and with the new power he has, he assigns you increasingly difficult tasks.

You try and report him for essentially bullying you, but the complaint is thrown out with little care. He's one of the best employees the company had ever seen, and you were just some bumbling broad who couldn't even spell their own name right on official documents.

Before long, you're fired. Yandere Coworker uses his position in the company and many connections he has to essentially black list you.

You can't get a decent job in your field anymore. Plus you begin to get behind on rent and bills. Your life is going to shit, yet you still refuse to take him up on his many offers. It's infuriating, and he just wants to put you in a place that he knows you'll be safe and happy in.

Yandere Coworker just thinks your too dumb to realize how kind he's being. He hopes that you're smart enough to recognize how nice the trunk of a luxury car is. After all, you're going to be there for a while until he can get you to his home where you'll never have to use that useless brain of yours again.

[raven-unkind]

⋆♱✮♱⋆ D is for dangerous (part 1)

Ni-ki Nishimura x fem!reader

wc. 2071

summary: after pairing up with a slytherin for a potion project, you somehow find yourself unable to tear away from him  

tw. fem!reader, reader is implied to be a gryffindor but I don't mention it alot, reader is kinda awkward & Ni-ki is a halfblood, enha mentioned and all implied to be Slytherins (ikik sorry). Harry and Malfoy are mentioned like 1 time, also voldy died so we dont worry about him :)

a/n. Hello! This is my first fic and english isnt my first language so pls be nice. Part 2 should be up pretty soon :) comment to be tagged or fill my taglist form! btw 10 galleons is like 73.5 usd.

part 2

Potions are fun, well usually it is. You see, Professor Slughorn has a way of making his classes fun and the hardest potions seem like lightwork as long as you have a functioning brain and some sense of what you’re doing. What isn't fun on the other hand are group projects. Sure pairing up with your friends is nice; you know them and you’re sure they'll do their work. But not with people you don't know. So when Slughorn announced at the end of class that the class would have to prepare amortentia in pairs of his choice, you were ready to beg your ancestors for a partner willing to do at least some of the work. But to your demise (and the whole class really) Slughorn announced the pairs would be from different houses in order to ‘improve inter house relationships’, sending a pointed look at Potter and Malfoy. A list was stuck to the board and that was that. 

Sighing as you pack your things, you make your way to the board where a couple of your classmates are crowinding up. You get on your tiptoes, trying to find your family name on the page. (l/n),  (l/n),  (l/n).... Ah it's there! And next to it… Nishimura. You press your lips together, turning your head to find the Slytherin. You're not quite sure how the boy even got in Slughorn advanced potion class but you still hope he’ll do his part. At least I could get him to freeze the Ashwinder eggs since it's a pain… As you try to spot him, you hear a loud “Who the fuck is (l/n)?” When you’re finally able to spot him, he’s sitting on a desk at the very back of the class, next to Sunghoon, somehow spotting his name a few meters away from the board. His eyes meet your unimpressed one, and he flashes you his signature smirk. You give him a once over, trying your best not to roll your eyes. He makes his way to you, stopping in front of you. 

“Looks like we’re partners huh?” He looks at you with a look you assume makes girls eat in the palm of his hand. Boys…. “I'm going to the library after class, let's meet up there to slip up the ingredient prep.” He surveys your face, nodding. You leave the classroom, hurrying up the stairs to your transfiguration class.

—————————————

“Ok we’re gonna need to ask Slughorn to give us some pearl dust, which we can only get from his personal collection, can you take care of that?” You glance up from your notebook to a seemingly uninterested Ni-ki. “Are you even listening?” He glances up “Yeah, you’re asking me to fetch the pearl dust.” Ok, maybe the project wouldn’t be so bad afterall… Well at least he does listen. Ni-ki straightened up, resting his elbow on the table, joining his hands together. “So tell me, how come I've never heard of you before?” You close your notebook, leaning back on your chair, unsure how to answer him. “We never talked before today.” He smirks “Actually- I dont think I’ve ever seen you talk to anyone before… Do you even have friends?” He asks almost tauntingly. You raise an eyebrow, unsure why he suddenly seemed so interested. “I do have friends…” you cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. He raised his hands in defeat “Hey can't blame me for being curious”. Shaking your head, you open your potion book. “Let’s just get this over with…”

Fortunately for you, Ni-ki, while being mostly clueless about potions, was willing to both help and learn, taking some task of the amortentia making process upon himself. The month quickly passed, and the potion turned out to be a success. Slughorn was pleasantly surprised by your grade, especially when you confirmed that Ni-ki did play an active role in the process, which brings you to your current predicament; Ni-ki and you, standing in front of Slughorn’s desk, waiting for the last of your classmates to leave. “Miss. (l/n), I’d like for you to tutor Mr. Nishimura for a few months.” Your eyes widen, taken aback by the professor’s request. “Uhm, professor… may I ask why me?” Slughorn smiles, gathering some documents on his desk, which you assume is for his next class. “I know you are a talented student, Miss.(l/n), and you and Mr. Nishimura seem to be quite the team. The potion’s quality was excellent and if what you told me about Mr. Nishimura's contribution to it is indeed true… you might be able to help him raise his grades.” He gestures towards Ni-ki, continuing “Mr. Nishimura here is a talented quidditch player and while I know he doesn't play in your house’s team, it would truly be a shame if he couldn't play the upcoming seasons because of his grades…” You glance at Ni-ki, who sends you a sheepish look. You nod, it’s not a bad idea… teaching the material to someone else is another way of studying. Yeah! What's the worst that could happen? “I… I'll do it.” Ni-ki’s eyes widen. “Really?! You will?” You nod, and Slughorn claps his hands together, beaming. “Excellent, truly admirable Miss. (l/n), it seems the two of you are the only ones who truly grasped the point of this project!” Happy with the outcome, the professor continues to praise himself. You and Ni-ki share a look, and decide it might be best to leave. The walk back to the Great Hall is quiet. As you take the stairs to get to transfiguration class he stops you. “Hey-... uh I just wanted to say thank you for accepting to tutor me even though we aren't in the same house…” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It's nice- I appreciated it.” He stuff his hand in his pocket, smiling and you think that there’s simply no way all Slytherins are bad. You shake your head “No problem, don't mention it… tThe whole Gryffindor and Slytherin should be sworn enemies thing… it's kind of dumb so I don't mind… but just because I'm tutoring you doesn't mean I'll cheer for you out there.” You say with a smile, attempting to dissipate the weird tension in the air. He seems surprised but he simply returns your smile and nods, leaving for his next class. 

—————————————

In the first few days you spend tutoring Ni-ki you learn a few things. First, all Slytherins aren't stuck ups who believe in blood purity rank, Ni-ki and his half-blood status proved that. Secondly, if there was one thing Ni-ki did know, it was quidditch. He started playing in second year as a chaser, and he was good, really good. And thirdly, he had a knack to make you feel at ease, going as far as making your tutoring lessons enjoyable. Well maybe a little too much…..

Leaning back on his chair, Ni-ki looks at you.“You know, you aren’t as serious as I originally thought.” You look up from his notebook, red pen in hand as you correct his potion report. “What do you mean?” He smiles as he speaks. “When I first saw you, I assumed you were some super serious and reserved nerd… And you kind of look like you’ve got a stick up your ass.” He adds, shrugging. You blink at him. “I do not???” “Oh trust me you do darling.” Your eyes widen at the sudden pet name and in order to protect both your sanity and divide his attention from the growing blush on your cheeks, you said the first thing that comes to your mind. “Well that's rich coming from the guy who looks like he’s gonna marry his first cousin.” Ni-ki burst out laughing, earning a disapproving look from Mrs. Pince – the librarian. You shush him, glaring. “Be quiet!! We’re gonna get kicked out because you’re too loud-!” Ni-ki lowers his voice, trying to keep his laugh to a minimum. “I'm sorry, it's just… I did NOT expect you to say that.” 

You look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Oh come on- I cannot be the first person to make fun of how obsessed some of y’all are with blood purity-” Ni-ki takes a deep breath, trying to calm down his laughter. “It was unexpected okay?” You start laughing silently, his laughter contagious. “Okay but will you?” You ask teasingly but also a little curious. “What?” “Marry your cousin.” Ni-ki looks absolutely bewildered that you would honestly ask him that question. “No???? Why the fuck would I do that?” You shrug. “Dunno. But honestly… I can't believe it's actually a thing- it just doesn't sit right with me to marry your cousin. Why not just marry another pure blood?” “Uhh, preserving culture? And like… the family structure or some shit.” You blink at the very much… weird explanation and sigh. “Why are you people like this??” Ni-ki pretends to be offended by the jab. “How dare you bring my family into this?!” You roll your eyes. “Because your family and weird pureblood values are literally the reason we’re having this ridiculous conversation.” He snickers. “Fair point.” You huff, shaking your head. “I swear, you don’t take anything seriously.” “That’s not true!” He argues, though the grin on his face says otherwise. You give him a deadpan look. “Ni-ki you’re the most unserious person I’ve ever met, you would laugh at a piece of toast falling.” He raises his voice, trying to defend himself, a smile tugging his lips. “I do NOT find humor in a piece of toast falling!” He pauses for a moment, his smiles widening further, picturing it. “Ok maybe I do, but that's beside the point-!” 

The b0th of you continue cracking j0kes until Mrs. Pince, after a particularly loud laugh from you, has to – quite literally – ask you to leave. Ni-ki bites back his laugh, sending an apologetic look at Mrs. Pince. “Of course, we were just leaving.” Packing your bags, leaving the library in a hurry, crackling on the way out.

“I can't believe it, we actually got kicked out of the library” Ni-ki’s eyes find yours, an incredulous look on his face, as if the idea of being kicked out of a library – for disturbing everyone by breaking the number one rule of a library – was inconceivable. You put a hand over your chest, struggling to breathe. “Wait, I literally can't breathe right now-” Ni-ki continues with a smile on his face. “We got kicked out of the library….” His face fall, realising what happened “WAIT WE ACTUALLY GOT KICKED OUT OF THE FUCKING LIBRARY!!” “OH MY LORD SHUT UP!” He covers his mouth, realizing how loud he just was. He turns to you whispering. “If they tell Slughorn I’m totally getting detention.” You shake your head, “It's fine we were just a bit loud, they won't give you detention for that… right?” Ni-ki passes a hand through his hair, looking around the hallway. “Who knows, maybe Dumbeldore will decide to give me detention AND make us pay for a library pass..” He lowers his voice, seeing some very confused Ravenclaws nearby, staring skeptically. 

You sign “Man I'm too broke for library pass….” Ni-ki chuckles pitifully, the idea of yet another detention dimming his laughter a little. “You can't afford the 10 galleons?? Me neither.” You turn your head towards him. “Charging us 10 galleons for a library pass is crazy” Ni-ki shrugs, acting as if 10 galleons is pocket change. “Well if it's the price to pay to enter the forbidden lands of the library...” He glanced at you, cracking a smile. You shake your head smiling, as you start walking “Shut up Nishimura.” You miss the lovesick look he gives you before catching up to you. “I mean, it was kinda your fault we got kicked out…” “ME??? I did nothing! YOU are the trouble maker mister!” Ni-ki crosses his arm, offended. “Why am I the one being pinned as a troublemaker?! YOU were the one that kept laughing!” “Because you kept saying out of pocket shit-!” He rolls his eyes playfully, giving you a slight shove. “Dang and you also hit women huh?” Ni-ki looks at you horrified, almost tripping on air. “I do NOT hit women. And even if I did, THAT wasn't even a hit! It was a shove, a light one at that.”

©RAVEN-UNKIND

reblog, comments and likes are appreciated!

[copperbadge]

Thank you so much for your post on ADHD and managing communication. It was really interesting see your thought process and an example of how you set up systems that work for you. I was wondering if you'd mind sharing a little about how you handle task management (the “make sure you do the tasks promptly” part). This is something I (also only diagnosed with ADHD as an adult) feel like I really struggle with, especially at work. Thanks!

I wish I had as...systematic an explanation for that as I do for other aspects of my work and life management, to be honest. For me the most important part is remembering that I even need to do the thing in the first place, so I always focus on systems that will help with that. While I do have trouble starting projects sometimes, I rarely have trouble finishing them, so that aspect is not the most significant part of the struggle for me and not something I've spent as much time on. Still, I do have some advice!

For me the problem, when it happens, is almost always with getting started. I have a few strategies for that. The very first is to remind myself that it's never going to take as long or be as hard as I think it is. That kind of reminder has to feel true and that truth really only comes with time -- you have to be taught over and over, through experience, that "the task isn't that awful". For this the best I can recommend is, every time you finish something, take a moment to stop and reflect how hard it was to get started, and how once you got started it was actually much easier than you thought it would be. If you can identify "being scared of starting" as being the hardest part, eventually you can come to believe that the fear is normal and can be ignored because it's also your brain lying to you.

Another thing I do very often is break tasks I don't want to do (or am struggling to start) into extremely granular portions. If I have to make a powerpoint presentation, and I'm struggling to know where to begin, I'll take it really small steps at a time. Like, my to-do list for the presentation might read:

Open Powerpoint

Fill out the title slide

Gather all research into a folder (do not open any of it)

Start reviewing your research one file at a time

Start sorting your research into appropriate groups based on subject matter or where in the presentation they'll go

Look at the way your research is grouped, just look for a while

Which part of the research would you tell someone to start with if they're new to the subject matter?

That's slide one.

Usually at that point I'm in the "flow" enough that I can stop looking at those granular steps, but it's also fucking astonishing how often just opening the program I need to do the thing in can drop me into the project so deep I'll surface hours later having nearly completed it.

So my first step for any task, once I know it's time to work on it, is just to open the program needed and gather all my resources in one place and give myself permission to ONLY do that. Those two things, which are easy in themselves (they usually don't need much thought) trigger that "this is what I'm doing now" state and even if I don't finish the project, I will at least make headway. This works in non-digital, non-work ways too -- if you're going to paint a wall, gather all your supplies first in one place and make sure you have everything you need. In the process of doing that you start to become more at ease with the idea of actually doing it, and even if you don't do it right that minute, now you're actually feeling prepared for when you do.

And honestly even knowing all that I still struggle sometimes. That's just the nature of the beast. Adderall helps a lot, and age has helped because I know what I'm capable of and it's often more than I believe at the start. But it's just always going to take more energy for me than for some people. Making sure I'm fed, rested, clean, and medicated helps a great deal, so I recommend looking after yourself when you DON'T have a project looming, but I also recommend giving yourself some grace when you do -- these things are just the challenges we face.

[vadersangel]

Temporary - Roman Godfrey x Reader - Oneshot

Synopsis: Everything is temporary, but some things are just too good to let go. Roman Godfrey slowly finds out he might not be as dominant as he thought, and chickens out when faced with the reality of his desires.

Disclaimer: Guys, I had to be warned TWICE by a mutual that I had misspelled very easy, common, simple, absolutely normal words. I'm still sick and fatigued, so bear with me. God's work has to be done, and there's no rest for the wicked. So here it is: my newest baby. My attempt to gift my fellow Roman girlies who believe our boy is a switch. I hope you enjoy it. I know I need to create a tag list, but my brain is mush nowadays. I promise to get to it soon. Love y'all. As per usual, special thanks for @peachesinto for the undying support. Love you, bestie.

Genre: smut smut smut, pure filth and more smut, switch Roman Godfrey, soft femdom reader.

Trigger Warnings: sex, foul language.

Word count: 2457

Boy, love isn’t easy, it's hard She said: Boy, love isn't easy, it's heartache Boy, see everyone leaves and your heart breaks (Lovin' you is heartache) But I still hold on Oh, I still hold on – Chase Atlantic

Having Roman Godfrey’s emerald green eyes on you feels simultaneously like having the first breath of cold fresh air on a winter morning and an asthma attack. The air fills your lungs so completely that there’s no room to accommodate it, and you try to exhale but it’s impossible, so you choke on it. You drown on it. On the note of drowning, being with him also reminded me of when I was a child and took swimming lessons. At one point, I learned how to empty my lungs and sink to the bottom of the pool to sit there. The pressure in my ears was intense, but it was so peaceful… It only lasted a few seconds, of course, before I had to swim to the surface again. Last time I counted, I managed to stay thirty seconds underwater, my personal record.

Just like sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool, being peacefully with Roman couldn’t last too long. Eventually, I would need to breathe. Or he would. Or both of us would. And I knew since day one that something would come up to disrupt our situationship. Most people would be too anxious, too demanding, having high hopes and dreams that would have pushed him to the opposite direction a lot sooner. Not me, though. Seven years of therapy had taught me better and I was proud to be very much in control of my emotions; I never expected from people any more than they were capable of giving me, and on the other hand, I never gave too much of myself either. To me, everyone aside from my family was more or less just passing through, a temporary fix before I went off to college and really started living my life. Just temporary, no matter how nice they were, how beautifully their green eyes glistened under the dim sunlight, or how well they fucked, they would all go away at some point. In a way, Roman and I were cut from the same cloth: he ran away whenever anyone got too close, and I never really had to run away because I never got too close to begin with.

Still, those full sinful lips of his, that always curled into an equally sinful smile when he came, felt just too deliciously plump to deny. And then again, those eyes were a tidal wave, dragging me, drowning me. 

When he showed me a side of him not many others had been allowed to see, I knew it was the beginning of the end. It started with the first time he asked me to be on top;

“Can you… Like… Ride me?” The uncertainty in his voice, the way his pupils dilated leaving only a small ring of green visible, made me shiver. He came harder that night than he had ever before, lying on my bed with swollen parted lips and his breathing coming out in ragged gasps. For weeks, it was all he dared to bring up.

Until one day when I was showing him a few sailor knots I had learned last summer from a cousin who joined the Marines. I showed him the Highwayman’s Hitch, then the Slip Knot and finally the Handcuff Knot. To show him the latter, I tied his wrists together and the look on his face was priceless. Then his eyebrows drew together in skepticism as he asked me why the hell did my cousin teach me that. I laughed in response, rolling my eyes at him. But that seemed to have rented a penthouse in his head because a couple of days later he asked me to show him that knot again. So I did. I tied his wrists together firmly. He didn’t have to voice what was going on in that wicked mind of his because his eyes spoke for themselves when he leaned back against the bed’s headboard with a defiant look in his eyes–the fucking little brat! He was already so hard when I slid down his pants, his tip leaking pre-cum and making me salivate. I ran my tongue along his shaft, then swirled it around his tip, tasting his fluid and finally sliding it into the small drippy slit of his cock. He whined, his head tilting back against the headboard, his eyes closing for a brief second before he stared blankly at the ceiling as if his soul had just left his body. In a way, it scared me and I was about to untie him when he spoke in a throaty voice,

“Don’t you dare stop!”

With those eyes, he silently asked me to tie him up countless times after that. It was always the same; he would get in my room when my parents were away, or asleep, casually lie on my bed for a few minutes, before reaching out for the drawer in my bedside table. He would start fumbling through my things, as if he owned everything, until he found the rope. And he would always ask me to try and teach him again how to do that knot. Invariably, it would end with him tied up and cumming all over himself, over me, over my sheets–making a mess of both of us and everything near us.

Roman was tied to a chair, his hands firmly bound behind his back, in our favorite sailor’s knot. He was not fully naked, though, just his arousal exposed to my greedy eyes while I eagerly pressed a vibrator against his tip. His head lolled back. The muscles in his abdomen flexed under his shirt. Again, his eyes glazed over and it never failed to startle me a little. But once again, his hips bucked against the vibrator and a soft moan rolled off his lips.

“You’re…” His voice trailed off mid-sentence, and he had to take in a sharp breath before being able to finish his trail of thought “You’re a psycho!” He chuckled, a gruff and needy sound that made me impossibly wetter in my already damp panties. I had ruined his second orgasm, and he let out an exasperated grunt, pulling at the rope that tied him to the chair. I watched him squirm, contort, and shut his eyes tightly. His cock twitching, throbbing desperately as a few drops of cum pathetically leaked from him staining his shirt. 

Then Roman looked up at me, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and arousal,

“Slap me…” It was a request, but it sounded an awful lot like a demand. I laughed at him.

“You gotta ask nicely.” I said, with the most wicked grin on my face.

His eyes rolled in annoyance, but when I pressed the vibe against the tip of his cock again, he caved,

“Please?” His voice sounded whiny, so cute I just had to kiss his forehead.

I should have known it would be too much for him.

After that, he ghosted me. Or rather yet, I was the ghost, because he walked past me in the school hallways as if I wasn’t even there. Chest so puffed, with his arm around Ashley Valentine’s neck. Being peacefully with Roman couldn’t last too long. Eventually, I would need to breathe. Or he would. Or both of us would. I should have known that relinquishing his natural power–something he believed he should have simply by breathing–even if he did so willingly, would make him retreat into himself once more.

I’m not gonna lie, I just wanted to curl up on the floor in a fetal position and disappear. Sink into the depths of the Earth to never be seen again. But, I was smart enough to know the drill; everything was temporary, everyone was a placeholder. Roman Godfrey would always do what Roman Godfrey does–only this time he wasn’t the only shark in the tank. He found his match. I was his co-op partner on hard mode.

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Later that same week, I had Henry up against a wall at Brooke Bluebell’s party and a very displeased Roman Godfrey staring at us with clenched teeth and fiery eyes. I swear I could feel his gaze burning on my skin when Henry delicately tangled his fingers in my hair while my thumb grazed his bottom lip. And Henry was so sweet. I could have loved him. In another lifetime, another reality, he could have been mine and I would have been happy. Not in a world where Roman Godfrey exists, though. In a world where Roman Godfrey existed everything more or less gravitated towards him. Like a blackhole, he pulled me in.

Henry’s breath caught in his throat while I kissed his neck softly, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses all over his sensitive skin. I felt his arousal pressing against my stomach through his jeans. When a low, guttural moan escaped his lips, all I could think about was Roman. Roman Godfrey and his plush lips. Roman Godfrey panting and squirming under me. Roman Godfrey and his large hands all over my body. I had to pull away from Henry because I knew it wasn’t fair to him. Thankfully, he didn’t notice that my current state of flusteredness wasn’t due to him, but to my sinful thoughts about another guy.

“Will you excuse me for a few minutes? Gonna grab another drink…” I said, smiling sweetly at him. His eyes beamed when he smiled back at me and he planted the most gentle kiss ever over my lips before unwrapping his arms from my waist and letting me go.

When I turned around, Roman was clearly fuming! His hand gripped his beer bottle so tightly that I thought it was going to break. He bit his bottom lip–not like he did when he was aroused, no–this was a very specific quirk of his, something he did when things were not going as he had initially planned. My eyes widened at the sight of his dilated pupils, and I felt like prey he wanted to sink his teeth into. It looked like he would rip me open if he could, with his bare hands. Right before I averted my gaze and walked past him, I saw his eyes spark devilishly. I knew he was up to no good when Roman strode toward sweet, innocent Henry, who had moved from the wall and was now talking to two of his friends. My heart clenched in my chest; I was about to walk back to Henry, to try and grab Roman’s arm and prevent him from putting in motion whatever sick idea that he had in mind, but it was too late. Roman's shoulder bumped into Henry on purpose, making him lose his balance a little.

Henry didn’t say a word, he just frowned at Roman in confusion–they had never had any trouble before. And it would have ended there because Roman was headed toward the exit of Brooke’s house, probably to grab a smoke, when one of Henry’s friends decided to be stupid,

“Freak!” The guy said sarcastically, making Roman stop in his tracks. The way he turned, deliberately slow, told me he had gotten exactly what he wanted.

“What did you just say?” Roman’s eyes squinted with a terrifying, psychotic rage.

“You heard me!”

Henry, who watched the whole scene dumbfounded tried to reach for his friend’s arm

“It’s ok, just leave it alone!” Henry tried, but his friend didn’t listen to him.

Roman’s smirk turned into a wide, predatory grin.

“Punch him.” Everyone–because now they had managed to call everyone’s attention at the party–gasped at Roman’s words.

“What?” The guy was flabbergasted at first.

“You heard me!”

The guy turned around and his fist landed straight on Henry’s face, making him fall on the ground completely stunned, and clearly in pain. With a bleeding nose and a satisfied look on his smug face, Roman turned around and left. He waltzed out of the mess he had made and I was still trying to understand how the hell he had managed to make Henry’s own friend punch him. I thought it had to be some sort of blackmailing! Henry’s friends rushed to help him, the one who had punched him kneeling down to help him up muttering apologies. 

Meanwhile my legs had a life of their own because I walked out of Brooke’s house following Roman.

“Roman!” I shouted.

He turned to face me, cleaning his nose with a handkerchief. He didn’t say a word, turned around again and headed toward his stupid cherry-red jaguar.

When he opened the door to get in, I placed my hand on the door slamming it shut. My jaw clenched as I waited for him to acknowledge my presence.

“What the fuck?” He turned to face me once more, his lips pressed in a thin line.

I walked a few steps away from him to try and gather my thoughts. Then I faced him, ready to give him a piece of my mind:

“Are you downright insane? Clinically psychotic?”

“They started the whole thing, what are you on about?” He shook his head in mock disbelief, feigning offense as if he had been the one scorned.

“You ask me to tie you up, do a bunch of things to you, treat me like I’m nothing, show up with Ashley fucking Valentine wrapped around you… And then when I decide to give you the smallest taste of your own medicine, you go ballistic? Fuck off, Roman! You got all flustered because you let your mommy issues show through and you can’t handle the truth about yourself! Fuck you!” My words came out in a rush, tumbling out, tripping over one another.

He laughed dryly with a snort, crossed the distance between us in two long strides, and cupped my face with his abnormally large hands, towering over me.

“I’m gonna show you mommy issues!” His voice came out low, in a warning, through clenched teeth that threatened to attack me. So close to my lips I could almost taste him. His expensive Chanel scent clouding my judgment even further—as if that was even possible!

“Then show me, Roman!” I said.

“It’s a shame…” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, “it’s a damn shame that you smell like that fucking loser. Now I have to cum all over you just to prove a point…”

I gulped. My eyes widening. But then I smirked at him,

“You say this now. Then we get back to mine and you beg me to tie you up.”

He shrugged.

“That’s why I’m taking you back to mine.”

Everything is temporary; people are just passing through. But we can do it just once more, drag it on a little longer, before the inevitability of separation hits us.

[fernslivers]

Teahouse Jealousy

"He was honest about his desires. That is a swordsman who knows the shape of his soul."

~

Things have been building for a while. Mizu is happy to avoid the topic, in favor of focusing on her mission. Finding yourself exasperated, you accept some help from an unexpected source.

~~

A/N: ITS DONE, FINALLY. Fucking 7600 WORDS of slow-burn mutual pining, bad communication, and jealousy. But hey, I did manage to fit in some spice at the end, hey?

Anyway, this is my first actual fic on here, so lmk what you guys think? Should I stick to lists? :,)

WARNING: this is REALLY LONG. I'm very sorry.

TW: jealousy, mentions of murder, mentions of sex work, SPICE

For this outing, Mizu insists on the boy disguise, your least favorite. You greatly prefer it when you can pretend to be her wife (of course), or even possible meat for the flesh market–because then she plays it up, a hand on your lower back, her voice dropped to an extra raspy register. But that last one is rare; you know the cost that playing that role seems to take on her, and you don't encourage it, despite the tingles it sends up your spine.

And you certainly don't complain about the freedom the boy disguise gives you for movement. But it does limit your ability to speak, as well as blocking your ability to get close to her side…you would never admit the reason you don't like it, but your reproachful expression says enough. She huffs out a sigh.

“Nobody brings a maiden to a brothel. You'll make us look odd,” she tells you, in the tone of voice that brooks no argument.

You wilt further the second she mentions a brothel, zoning out Ringo’s anxious questions; it was bad enough clenching your fists and staying silent while those two women ran their hands over her in Kyoto; now she's actually seeking such a place out? Your stomach squirms. Kyoto, and every moment of that visit, are burned into your brain. You share a trepidatious look with Ringo. You vow not to leave her side for even a second.

~~

Your explicit instructions were to “just look flustered and don't say anything”. That's not hard. You avoid eye contact with the working girls, and stare down at the table while you all wait for Kaji. The atmosphere of sexuality is stifling; it mingles strangely in your stomach with your feelings for Mizu, leaving you feeling on-edge, paranoid about being caught out. You could almost believe that these women, of anyone, will be able to smell the desire on you at a single glance. You've got Mizu’s fingerprints denting the very clay of your soul.

Madam Kaji, when she appears, does nothing to set those fears at rest. Her voice may be melodic, but you can feel her eyes scrape over you like a razor, as if they could peel back your skin and see underneath. You do your best to mimic Mizu's flat stare; after this long traveling together, you usually manage rather well. You've even managed to shoo off a few bothersome pests of your own in the past. This time, though, there's a hard edge to her smile that makes you wonder how much slipped through.

~

For all Ringo says about an apprentice should stay with his master, you somehow seem to lose sight of him in the walk from the corner where you were sitting to the hallway Madam Kaji pauses in. You remain by Mizu’s side. You don't feel any scorn towards Ringo for this. Nobody could say he isn't as loyal as they come, but desire is a powerful force.

Desire. Need. It's why Ringo disappears, and why you don't. He has his own desires to attend to, and you can respect that. But there's nothing in this brothel that you desire more than what you're already standing next to.

Madam Kaji motions to a small pocket of light at the base of one of the hallway panels. There’s a pause. When Mizu doesn't move to look through the peephole, Madam Kaji motions in your direction. “Perhaps the gentleman's apprentice would like to show him that desire is nothing to shy away from?”

You freeze like a cornered deer, meeting her taunting gaze with wide eyes. Her expression says it all; there's a test in this somewhere, a challenge.

Where the hell is Ringo. Trust him to be gone when there's something he would actually want to do. Nevermind on that whole no-scorn thing! You're going to kick him next time you see him.

Your pleading glance at Mizu produces no reaction; she doesn't even look your way. She's simply glaring at Madam Kaji. Challenges have never bothered her; if she doesn't want to do something, she just doesn't. Ugh. Someone needs to do something.

You look through the hole.

…Hm.

Honestly…it's not that bad.

Strange, certainly. The men in ropes, the writing, but you find yourself privately siding with Madam Kaji; it's nothing shameful. Just more of what you had observed while waiting in the main teahouse room. They're not bothering anybody. You consider that there have been worse atrocities you've seen in your travels with Mizu, all the way back to your first meeting.

You shrug up at Mizu. It’s nothing she'll be interested in, nor that she needs to see. She just looks even more impatient at the delay, fingers tapping on her crossed arms. The expression she shoots at Kaji is her classic get on with it glare.

Smirking, Madam Kaji motions to the final peephole. By now, you've lost your hesitation. If you feel anything, you're relieved that this is the last one. This shuffling around on your knees is not only making them sore, it's embarrassing to do with two people standing silently over you, eyeing each other warily.

You peer in.

At first glance, it seems to be just a man and a woman–nothing so strange as the other ones. The man is dressed in dark blue, his hair tied up in a knot like Mizu’s. But then the girl turns to the man, pushing his yukata off his shoulders; it's not a man, but another girl, bared to the touch of the first woman. They kiss, bodies molding together with no hesitation.

You tumble back abruptly, eyes wide, feeling your face flush so fast that the skin on your neck is prickling.

“What? What?” Momentarily distracted from glaring, Mizu looks startled by your reaction. When you shake your head in silence, worried that explaining would give your secret away, she glares suspiciously at Madam Kaji. She's clearly bristling at your apparent distress, assuming you've had a trick played on you. She reaches down to haul you to your feet with a rough tug to your arm, shoving herself half in front of you. “What did you show-...him?”

Kaji’s eyes narrow a fraction at Mizu’s brief stumble on your pronouns, and she smiles, sharp as a knife. With a little click, she slides the peephole shut. “Desire. A complicated thing,” she murmurs in that teasing, seductive tone. “We are not always ready to face it when it first finds us.”

She slides open another full panel, revealing a pleasantly decorated little room. A couple of the girls are in there, already, setting up a table with ink and paper. They look up and giggle when they see you both, their eyes lingering on your flushed cheeks. You can feel them darken again under the scrutiny, and drop your eyes to the mat until the girls leave. When you hear the panel slide shut, you look up to see Madam Kaji’s eyes on you. As soon as you make eye contact, her gaze slide away, to Mizu.

She doesn't look at you again until the moment of Mizu’s proposal.

You both can see the moment that the refusal in Kaji’s eyes wavers, but something else flickers in their depths when she glances between you, and you know what's coming. She wants to talk to Mizu alone.

With Mizu's husky name your desire still bouncing around in your head, obliterating your every other thought but how much you want her, Kaji's desire to exclude you makes you want to bite the woman like a territorial dog. You take a half-step closer to Mizu as Kaji suggests that she take a walk with the gentleman “one-on-one”.

“Perhaps the gentleman’s apprentice would like to enjoy some of the pleasures of my teahouse while…he waits?” She asks sweetly, her smile warm and her eyes hard as gemstones.

Mizu looks at you expectantly, seemingly unbothered by this; she'd probably agree to making you wait on the roof if it got her the information she wanted. You shake your head instead, giving her a look of incredulity in return. Obviously no. When is she going to start trusting you to stay at her side? What do you have to do to prove yourself?

“I haven't got any money,” you reply cleverly, keeping your voice as hushed as you can to disguise it, your eyes flicking up to meet blue orbs like a challenge. You can't really refuse, given that you're playing at master-and-apprentice, but you can make it hard. She can't keep shutting you out. Not this time; now you have an excuse. What prostitute will keep you busy for no money?

A brief light of pure, gremlin devilment comes into her eyes–it doesn't happen often that her rare sense of play is roused, but from what you've seen, that never means good things for the recipient. You should have known better; Mizu never tolerates being maneuvered into allowing something she doesn't want.

She holds the money bag out to you with a little shake to jangle it, and you deflate visibly.

For a moment, there's an unspoken moment of confusion and communication both ways; at first, Mizu holds the money bag out with an almost teasing smirk, clearly indicating let’s see how you manage this one. She doesn't see any danger in it. You can always just sit in the room alone. She's only interested in making a point; this is about negating your excuse.

But when you slump with such an obvious air of rejection, the playfulness drops from her gaze, replaced with a bemused concern. She'll be back in a handful of minutes, why is it such a big deal? This isn’t your fight, you don't need to be here to begin with, much less be stuck with her every moment of the day. So… why does she feel such a pang at your hurt face? You in turn see the momentary flash of confused guilt in her eyes, before she drops the money bag in your hands.

It startles you. You didn't expect that she would care.

Madam Kaji, watching all this and not missing a single beat, says nothing. She claps sharply. Two girls pop out of what seems to be nowhere, taking your hand with an air of false promise in their eyes.

“Ooh. you’re a pretty one,” one purrs, tilting her head with carefully practiced flirtation.

“We almost never see any young and pretty boys,” the other concurs. It’s like being slowly engulfed by the coils of a very nicely perfumed snake. At Madam Kaji’s nod, you’re tugged away, looking over your shoulder at Mizu with a distinct air of betrayal. You fully expect her to turn away, but she keeps staring as the girls lead you back into the room, her expression unreadable.

Even after the door slides shut, she doesn’t move, listening to the giggling emanating from inside, her hand clenching unconsciously on the hilt of her sword. It takes a prompt from Madam Kaji to get her moving again. Face snapping into its usual scowl, she turns and stalks away, leaving Kaji to try and match Mizu’s longer stride in the confines of her kimono.

~

“So, pretty apprentice, what can we do?” Asks the one in green, her dark eyes sparkling as they flick to the money bag still clutched in your hand. “How can we serve your pleasure?”

As attached to Mizu as you are, you’ve never been flirted with by a woman before, and you can’t help the blush. But even that isn’t enough to distract you from the melancholy of being left behind like a pet yet again. Waiting in the cold for hours on the bridge to Shindo Dojo, left in town with Ringo in Mihonoseki, watching her leave with Taigen down that narrow chasm… You shake your head, mouth twisting in tandem with your guts. What if Mizu never comes back? You know the trick she played on Ringo; you giggled about it at the time, you recall guiltily. But you can’t track like he can, even if you’re faster than him. And if she leaves you alone for something like this, what is she planning for the actual attack on Fowler? Maybe you really are just a burden she can't figure out how to shake…

“Why so sad?” The one in gold asks, her sympathy syrupy-sweet. She puts a hand on your arm, but you shift away.

“I'm sorry,” You say, distractedly. You aren't watching your tone as well as you should be. “I would rather be alone. Thank you.”

Silence. They don't move to leave, nor do they try to further convince you. You look up from your despair after a moment, becoming aware of their lack of response.

They're both staring. Studying you. Then they look at each other.

Before you can parse why, the gold-clad girl suddenly lunges forward, catching you by the chin and jerking your chin up, staring at your neck. Your smooth, Adam's-apple-less throat.

“Hey!” You yelp, knocking her hand away; she lets you go readily, already smiling with a distinctly cat-got-the-cream air.

“So that's it,” she says, smugly. “I suspected as much.”

“Is it…?” The other asks fascinatedly. Your eyes dart between them, confused, forboding building in your gut.

“Definitely,” says the first. They both turn to you, looking amused and intrigued.

“Playing dress-up, girl?” Asks Green, smiling archly.

Oh….oh no.

You go cold. “I…I don't know what you…”

“Re-lax. You think you're the first to put on men’s clothing in here? Didn't you see the little show we put on for you?” Gold waves a hand dismissively, talking out over top of you.

“It happens all the time. So, what does your man want? To pretend you're a boy? A new flavor to try? Or some training for you?” Green cuts in, raking her eyes over you. “Is he selling you?”

“He’s–…not–...my man,” you stumble. How to even explain that tangle? Clearly they believe Mizu's disguise, if not yours. You're not about to spill any of those beans, more than you need to. “And I would never stay here.” You pause, suddenly hearing yourself, and bow apologetically. An aching heart is no reason to be rude. “Not that I mean to degrade your work. I'm sorry.”

Both women look at each other, then start to laugh. Clearly they've heard worse.

“Then why do you look so sad?” Asks Gold once her laughter has passed, and this time she sounds almost genuinely interested. She pets your hair, gentle, like an older sibling. “Come on, girl, you can tell us.”

You should just tell them to go. But the room is quiet, and warm, and clean, after months of shacks and forest camping and inns full of leering men. And gods… you're so tired. To unburden yourself to someone would be such a relief. You haven't ever been able to talk about these confusing feelings; the only confidant that you have is Ringo, and you do not trust him with that kind of conversational grenade.

Discretion is the whole point of this place right? There are far worse secrets that they must keep.

Green leans against your shoulder, and this time it feels less sensual, and more like a friendly touch. You're surprised by how it loosens a knot in your chest that you hadn't recognized until now. When was the last time you were hugged?

You sigh. “It’s a long story…”

~

As it turns out, it's a long enough story to require two pots of tea–and then a relocation, as the girls drag you back to the dressing room to re-tell all the juicy details to the rest of the girls.

It's…therapeutic, to bare your heart to a group of open-minded, half-drunk women. They’re clearly connoisseurs of gossip, and they make extremely good listeners; gasping in all the right parts. You can't help but enjoy it a little, finally just venting it all out, lounging with the ever-shifting number of girls as sake replaces the tea. Girls come and go from the room as they head to various clients, but except for one they call “new girl”, who keeps her face turned away from you, they all come over to listen for a while.

(As you're surrounded by girls, slowly explaining the tangled story of your time with Mizu, Mizu returns from her walk with Kaji to find the room empty of you.

She pauses, surprised by her own disappointment. She can't admit it to herself, but she had expected you to have shaken off the girls and be waiting for her. You're always there when she comes back. Something burns in the pit of her stomach to find you gone; after the heavy deal she just made, she has need of the comfort you bring her–not that she'd admit that to herself, either. The images of you, somewhere in the brothel at this moment, half-dressed and flustered, makes her stomach flip. But then she imagines you under some faceless nude woman and her throat tightens. She sits down with a thump in front of the mirror and removes her glasses, studying her own face critically. It must be nice for you to be seeing pretty women for once, instead of her…)

“But why him?” One finally asks, wrinkling her nose, as you pause for breath. She's in a pink kimono–you think the others might have called her Ise. “You're a pretty girl, even in disguise. You could do better. He's hardly a looker.”

Your head snaps up, frowning in offense. The girls giggle at your suddenly icy glare, all warning Ise to duck, and Ise dramatically throws her hands up in front of her defensively. “Alright, alright, don't get your sword in a knot. I'm just saying…”

A couple girls nod in agreement. “Those eyes…” one murmurs. The white-haired girl in the corner turns to glare at her as a few others titter.

“Like a demon,” another says with a shudder.

Your fingers clench against your thighs, brow darkening. “I think they're beautiful.” Your voice is quiet, but hard as stone; the girls all fall silent, looking at each other uncertainly. There's a world of emotion in your heavy tone; a sincerity that they know, better than most, is rare and precious.

It’s Ise that smiles, slowly, with a dark, wicked gleam in her eye. “Do you want an answer?” She asks you bluntly, making you forget your anger in confusion.

“To whether he wants you,” she clarifies with a sigh.

You hesitate. Do you? If the answer is no… gods, that will hurt. And you know in your heart that you won't stop holding out hope, even then. You'll stay. You'll keep loving her. So does it matter?

But what if the answer is yes?

Slowly, wordlessly, you nod, stomach clenching. Ise smiles wider, and reaches for your topknot. “I know a method that never fails.”

~

Mizu looks up when you slide the panel open a crack, brow plunged in a deep scowl.

“I said I didn't–...Oh.”

You duck your head, wordlessly apologizing, even though you’re not even sure why. She only looks marginally less annoyed, watching you come in and sit down against the wall. Ringo is there, too, and he greets you brightly, looking rather pleased with himself. His kimono is slightly askew.

“Where have you been?” Her tone is sharp, her eyes sharper, as she takes in the tousled hair and haphazardly tied clothing on you. The girls had agonized over exactly how much to tousle you. That had honestly taken up the most time.

You shrug a little sulkily, keeping your eyes down. Part of you wants to abandon the idea, now that you've gotten snapped at–is it worth the risk of antagonizing her?--while part of you is still upset at getting left behind again. But the thought of Mizu picturing you doing… that…is making you blush yet again. Ise had explained what they were going to imply you did, which gave you a mind full of images that you know will probably haunt you worse than they haunt their intended target. What if Ise was messing with you? This is never going to work, you're already botching it by getting flustered.

In your mind, your avoidance is a dead giveaway that you're being shady…but to Mizu, the tousled appearance and shamefaced blush give exactly the impression Ise planned, and her fingers clench again, until the knuckles crack. Her lips tighten and thin, but she says nothing further, turning back to the mirror with a faint huff. Silence descends, but there’s a strange tension to the air that even Ringo notices. He glances between you two, gaining the worried expression that always makes you want to immediately reassure him.

“So, how much of my money did you spend?” Mizu abruptly spits at you, as though she's finally thought of an excuse to be angry. There's an unusual amount of venom behind her tone, harsh enough that Ringo’s eyes widen and he sits up a bit straighter, while you shrink in on yourself a bit. Wordlessly, still avoiding eye contact, you reach into your haori and pull out of the money pouch, tossing it to her.

She can tell as soon as she catches it that you haven't spent a single coin. “...Hm,” she says again, heat immediately bleeding out of her voice as her expression lightens. She surveys your disheveled appearance again, quirking an eyebrow.

“So why are you–” she starts, before there's another knock at the door. The panel slides open a crack as Mizu heaves a loud sigh of exasperation, her eyes rolling.

But before she can reiterate yet again to leave her alone, two girls’ heads poke in, and they aren't looking in her direction. They're whispering and giggling, completely unprofessionally, nudging each other, and staring at you.

“That's him,” one points.

“No! Is it really…?” The other gasps.

Both Mizu and Ringo turn to look at you, mirrored looks of confusion on their faces. Your expression is that of a dog facing down a speeding horse cart, unable to move, wide eyed. You regret agreeing to this; you want to sink into the tatami.

Their next whispers turn all three of you into statues.

“Ise says she finished three times…”

“Didn't even charge him…”

“He never even undressed–”

Ringo’s eyes and mouth all drop wide open, looking avidly between you and the door. Mizu is… frozen. Her face has taken on that blank expression that you've learned has all the safety of a rumbling mountainside. You don't dare shift an inch, but you can't help but stare at her. Your eyes slide from her stricken face to her hands; they're slowly curling into fists. Is it… working?

More giggling from the hallway, and something thumps the panel. It sounds like there are more girls gathering in the hallway. Another head pokes in, gets pushed back, and more sounds of muffled tussling leaks into the room. It sounds like most of the girls in the teahouse are having a little too much fun with this; they're probably thrilled to get to act out a little.

“Don’t shove–”

“Let me see! I want a turn–”

“... haven't had an orgasm like that in forever–”

“I can't wait to have a good scream–”

Oh gods above. Your face is crimson. You should have expected that they would go straight to vulgarity. Ringo chuckles with surprised and impressed delight, thumping you on the shoulder with one wrist like a comrade. This is so embarrassing.

One of the girls, braver than the rest, managing to wrestle the others back, calls out, “Mr. Samurai, can we borrow your apprentice?” This produces an absolute cascade of giggles and more heads poke into the door again.

“Yeah, me next!”

“Only after me!”

“You don't need him tonight, right, Mr. Samurai?”

“We promise not to break him–”

Mizu finally moves, moving towards the door with a speed that actually makes your heart clench with fear for the prostitutes. They all fall back, a chorus of shrieks and yelps echoing in the hallway as she almost seems to abruptly materialize in front of them.

“We're busy.”

Oh.

Her voice is so frozen with fury that it's a miracle she doesn't breathe out icy smoke. It’s a tone you've only heard a handful of times, always followed by blood spattering across snow. You can feel that familiar twisting ache of mingled fear and arousal in your core that you've grown to associate with Mizu at her most deadly. But this time it's complicated by a second layer of blending; uncertainty–is she just irritated by these twittering women?--and hope, delicate, frail, slowly blossoming.

Is she…jealous?

She slams the panel closed hard enough that there's an ominous wood crunching noise.

Silence falls. You watch Mizu, warily, as she stands at the door, her fingers still white-knuckling the edge of the panel.

“Wow, what did you do?” Ringo demands. You turn to look at him, startled. You were so focused on Mizu's reactions that you almost forgot he was a second witness. “How does that even work?”

“U-uh…I…” Oh gods, what do you say? You didn't actually do anything! Your idea of arousing is Mizu standing over you after a spar, the tip of her sheathed sword digging into your throat, an icy, smug satisfaction in her eyes. What do normal women find titillating?

“Come on, you gotta tell me. I wanna get with prostitutes for free, too!” Ringo gives you puppy eyes. “How'd you do it without them finding out… you know.” He gestures at your clothing. “Was it your hands? Is that the secret?” He asks, holding up his wrists and looking at them worriedly, as though hoping that that isn't the answer. “Wait–” he squints at you. “Where did you even learn to do anything like that anyway–”

“No more questions.” Comes the snarl from the door.

You glance away from Ringo to Mizu.

She's still got her back to the room. Her shoulders are drawing up in a hard hunch, free hand clenching tight again. The rumbling from the mountain is getting louder. You're not sure whether you should be exulting that she actually seems bothered, or be worried about the upcoming danger if she pops. She's not usually the type to explode, but when she does…

You both fall silent, watching as her shoulders heave in one deep, steadying sigh, before she finally turns around. Her face is composed, back to its usual resting glare, and you feel a bit let down. Maybe she just found it all annoying. All that, for no real answers…

Ringo stays quiet long enough for Mizu to return to her seated position by the mirror, but you can see him fidgeting. Before long, he leans over closer to you. His voice is hushed, trying to be discreet. For Ringo.

“So was it a tongue thing, or–”

THUNK. Mizu’s fist strikes the lap table hard, hard enough to upset the elegant centerpiece. You both jump and turn to look at her, freezing in place.

“If you want to know so badly, go ask them yourself.” Every syllable burns, blue eyes blazing.

Ringo, undeterred as ever, leaps to his feet. “I will!” He chirps, padding quickly over to the door. There, he pauses, bowing to Mizu. “Thank you for the permission, Master.”

Mizu watches him leave, her glare never wavering. After the door shuts, she snaps her gaze back to you. Your heart beats a little faster, as ever, feeling that little tingle that comes with getting her focused attention.

“You.” She jabs a finger at you; you flinch. “You. Don't. Leave this room again tonight. And nobody but Ringo comes in. Got it?”

Oh gods, she's jealous, she has to be, she's actually–

Now probably isn't the time to be cheeky and point out that she didn't put herself on that list. You nod. You've never been so happy to be glared at before. She wants me here. With her.

“Of course,” you say. “That's fine.”

Her glare softens at your voice.

You can see the way her eyes flick to your mouth as you form the words, and your heart flutters again. It's real, it must be, oh gods above– no way that this is happening, no way– You open your mouth again, unsure what else to say, but wanting to reassure her, to tell her that here is the only place you want to be. But before you can do that, there's a knock at the door again.

Mizu’s eyes blaze. She actually growls this time, turning towards the door with the feral speed of the truly enraged.

“I said we're busy,” she snarls, whipping the door panel open hard enough that it rattles the entire wall.

You see her freeze, as a soft, delicate voice rings through the room. “May I serve you?”

A pit suddenly opens in your stomach at the absolute stillness in Mizu’s posture. Even from behind you can tell she's staring at the girl’s face. The voice is so pure, so sweetly feminine that you can picture the kind of face it must belong to; a perfect doll, sparkling eyes, symmetrical features, neat teeth behind full, petal-soft lips. No blemishes, no scars, no days of sweat and greasy hair after too long on the road. Your heart twists; finally, finally Kaji has found someone perfect enough to take even Mizu’s breath away, and your chance with her is gone.

Is this how your little trick made her feel? This pain in your chest must be karma come knocking. The second you're away from this brothel, you’re coming clean; you can always say they just wanted to prank her. But you won't leave her believing it truly happened. No more of this back-and-forth of jealousy–if it ever was that on her end.

But then maybe she won't care by then. And I would deserve that. This pain is wrong, it was wrong to bait her because you were too cowardly to be honest about your feelings. She may have given you moments of jealousy before but they were never intentional. And now–

Mizu takes a step away, turning away from the girl towards you as she walks back to her previous seat. Her expression makes you pause on your internal journey of self-pity. It isn't lovestruck, or lustful. Not a flicker of a blush; she's all business. Her eyes seek yours out, a split-second look that you know all too well. The look that comes with a new, unexpected layer of trouble.

Your eyes flick towards the girl, now revealed as she steps into the room. She's as lovely as her voice would have suggested, tiny, exquisitely made up. But it's not your accurate prediction of her perfection that makes you freeze just as Mizu had. It's that you know her, from that bridge in Kyoto. As before, your every memory of that trip is seared in.

You don't dare try to catch Mizu’s eye again; this might be a problem, but for the moment, the girl clearly doesn't realize her hand has been revealed.

Just like that, the jealousy and pining take a backseat, as they so often have on this shared journey. Once again, you and Mizu are a united front, dealing with a new threat.

And through the chaos that quickly devolves around you, clarity comes to you. You didn't need to play this charade. All this time, all the worrying about who feels what, when that look Mizu shot you a moment ago says it all. In the moment where things got serious, upset with you or not, she trusted you to understand immediately. In the moment of trouble, she looked towards you.

–

When she comes back from her mysterious task, you're waiting in the hallway, too restless to stand Ringo’s chatter and Akemi’s sniping. Akemi had heard it all, of course, in the women’s dressing room, and she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to needle you, since she couldn't seem to needle Mizu effectively. You don't doubt she'll blurt the whole sorry tale out to Mizu at her first opportunity, and standing in the dark in the hall leaves you with little to do but fret about that.

It hasn't been as long as you would have expected, when she comes back.

You look up at the quiet footfall, and pause, heart clenching at the sight of her face in the shadowy hall. Mizu pauses, too, stopping a little distance away from you, as if afraid to get too close. She's carrying her hat under her arm, and her face looks…gods. You've seen her furious, cold, exhausted, conflicted, even amused.

This is something else, something worse than anything you've ever seen. She looks bereft, hollowed out, her eyes staring ahead as though looking at some horror no one else can see.

In that moment, you move without thought of rejection. Something in her face just calls to you, more deeply than words, drawing you together like magnets.

You push off the wall and step up to meet her.

“Mizu…?” You keep your voice as soft as you can. She doesn't raise her eyes. Instead, you can see the lids lower until they fall shut.

Slowly, you reach up to cup her face; you expect her to push your hand away, but you would have tried anyway. It’s your heart reaching out to touch hers in the only way you can, and it cannot be suppressed. In this moment, even though it's the closest you've ever been, you're not thinking about wanting her, only wanting to soothe her. Strange that your first moment of deeper intimacy should come from this clear pain, surrounded by the trappings of lust itself.

She doesn't fight you. When you bring your hands to the sides of her head, slowly pulling the glasses away, she lets you guide her face down to you, until her head is resting heavily against your shoulder. Her arms remain at her sides, hanging limp. When your hands cradle her head, her hair, she shudders violently for a second with a little choke, remembering the way she cradled another head, and then subsides.

You stand that way for a long time, in utter silence, utter stillness. The only movement is a very faint shivering that suffuses her frame. She's breathing slowly, with an exaggerated evenness as though deliberately forcing herself to do so. Your mind is racing; what on earth could have produced such a response?

Mizu… what did you do.

You already know you aren't going to ask, and make her relive it. Maybe someday, if she wants to unburden herself… but it doesn't matter now. It doesn't really matter at all; you know there's very little you wouldn't forgive her for. And you could see the regret in her eyes, that no matter what heinousness produced this, she feels no peace in the aftermath.

“It was a girl.” You can barely hear her.

“What?”

“I killed a girl tonight.”

Your heart constricts at her quiet voice. She says it tonelessly, unemotional, but you can feel her shoulders tensing under your hands. To her, this is the moment; you, seeing the monster that she is, pulling away, refusing further comfort.

“A girl?”

A faint shift of her head against your shoulder that might be a nod. A chill runs through you; she feels your shudder and braces for the shove, the exclamation of horror.

“Was it…necessary?” You ask slowly, instead, trying to understand. You've never known Mizu to kill an innocent before. There must have been a reason.

You can feel the way the question strikes her, unexpected. When was the last time anyone asked her about why she does what she does?

“...I don't know,” she says bleakly, her voice cracking.

Another long silence; the shoulders grow even more tense. She almost seems to stop breathing. You turn your face to her hair, silently, and feel her body go loose again. There's nothing you can say to fix this; only offer your steady presence.

“... Thank you.” This time the voice has a hoarse, shaky edge. You make a questioning noise, your fingers stilling. You hadn’t realized you'd been stroking her hair.

“For not…pulling away.” Her voice is growing quieter and quieter with each word; she turns her face harder into your shoulder, as though she can hide her vulnerability along with her face. “For not… thinking ill of me.”

“Never.” Your whisper is vehement, your fingers tightening against the back of her head.

“You should.”

You pause; the contrast of her gratitude and disapproval flummoxes you for a moment. You have no recourse but to be honest.

“I knew what this path would be when I chose to follow. I will not reject you for following your ember.”

You're shocked to hear a faint sniffle before she straightens, and even more shocked to feel wetness cooling on your shoulder. She hadn’t made a single sound of weeping; not a sob, not a hitch of breath. You saw no tear slide down her face.

Her expression is a different story; as stoic as ever but for those red-rimmed, haunted eyes. She’s still staring into the middle distance, unfocused. At the sight of her, your resolve snaps; you blurt it out. You can't fix this pain killing her inside now; you can only right the wrong you had done earlier.

“It didn't happen.”

“Mm…?” she looks at you, finally, but it's as if she is seeing someone else.

“The… the girls,” you stumble on your words for a moment. You want to be honest about what happened, but now doesn’t feel like the time to confess love, not when she's so wreathed in this empty sadness. You settle on, “I didn't do anything with them.”

She blinks, starts to focus a tiny bit. “Then they-…and you never…”

You shake your head.

She blinks, then blinks again. She doesn't look immediately relieved, at least not straightforwardly, but she looks strangely more alert. It's as if the weight on her shoulders was heavier, but it was a weight she was more willing to tolerate. Her brow pinches as she seems to think of something.

“I'm…sorry you had to look through those holes,” she says finally, staring down at your feet. Her voice is soft, barely above a breath. “You're… not meant to see all of this.”

“It wasn't so bad,” you reassure her. “I can handle it.”

She shakes her head impatiently.

“This isn't how you should be seeing…I'm…supposed to–…” She stops, looking confused by her own words. You stare at her in surprise. Supposed to what? Protect me? That would be a departure indeed from her constant insistence that you are here of your own free will, that she isn't responsible for you, that she isn't your protector… and so on.

You laugh a little, warmly. It's not funny, any of this, but there's a tiny bubble of something warm glowing in your chest, something that feels as though it's solidified between you, and the icy wall of uncertainty that plagues your every step has begun to trickle away.

“I can protect myself now, thanks to you,” you murmur, ducking your head a little to try to meet her gaze as she hangs her head. The next words are hard to say, but you want her to hear them. “And, truly…I don't think there's a better place in all of Japan than next to you.”

She looks up at you, eyebrows quirking up in surprise; it's the last sentiment she would expect to hear from anyone right now. The eye contact in this moment is lightning-sharp; a myriad of emotions run through her gaze, her face twitching through what looks like guilt, shame… and then a deeper, aching longing. The potency is as intense as every other emotion in her, and it arrests your very breathing.

You know. In that moment, you know; the trickle becomes a meltwater flood, soaking warmth through your ribcage. You’re pulled into the undertow of ocean eyes that glow in the cocooning darkness.

Her lips press together tightly as her eyes flick to your mouth as they did once, hours so. She looks suddenly lost; too emotionally overwhelmed by the events of the night to keep her walls up any longer. Distraction, validation, reassurance… human weaknesses she normally scoffs at. Tonight, her last rest before Fowler, before possible death, she'll let herself be human. She will seek comfort from someone that will touch her like she isn't a monster, confirm to herself that she can be capable of love, softness. That after her revenge, a happy life could be possible for her.

“I'm glad–...” her voice hitches as she leans closer to you, then sways back again, uncertainly. In the dark, her blush doesn't show, but the flustered expression is enough to make your heart suddenly race. “I'm glad that… you didn't. With them.”

You can't breathe. Your heart is in your throat; its rabbiting beat is making you shake so strongly with adrenaline that you have to force your teeth not to chatter. You've been waiting for so long, with never the slightest inkling of hope…

“...I am, too.” In the intimate darkness surrounding you, your whisper feels loud. Her gaze focuses in like a beam of burning light; your own expression says everything.

This time she steps closer again without flinching, and you feel like you might pass out. The hesitant look flickers across her again for a moment, before her brow suddenly furrows. You have a half second to recognize the familiar look of determination that precedes every risky move before there's a long fingered hand curling around your nape, and a pair of thin, sculpted lips on yours.

Oh.

It's as though every muscle in your body melts away in an instant. The second you lean into it with enthusiasm, you’re enveloped; her arms are like iron, clutching you tight. It's every bit as mind-numbing as you had fantasized; the taste of her lips is tea and copper, blood-hot as her tongue slips against yours. Mizu does nothing halfway. She kisses like she fights; overpowering, ruthless, clever and swift. Every twitch of reaction is caught and dragged free of you again and again as that famous adaptability is turned on you and achieving your pleasure. Her hands roam restlessly, mapping over the lines of your body, prompting a squeak when they suddenly squeeze tight, nails dimpling your flesh, before sliding on. You hope that every time her fingers sink in, there's a mark you'll see tomorrow, until she's littered every inch of your skin.

Your mingled breaths are loud in the silence of the hall. Your own hands are in her hair, slipping down her neck, reveling in the shift of the muscles in her shoulders; you can touch her now, you can touch her, she's kissing you, she wants you, gods above–

“Mizu…” You can't stop the soft whine, muffled by her lips; it thrills you to feel her shudder in response to it, her arms tightening around you with a hushed groan. The hand at the back of your neck grasps a hank of your hair like a handle, tugging your head to the side with accidental roughness. The pain sparks like flint against the heat building between your thighs, flaring it to a roar. Your little hiss is choked off by a gasp as she buries her face in your neck and inhales you, deep and greedy, indulging herself, before biting down hard on the soft skin below your ear.

Your grip on her shoulders tightens with a bitten-back cry, lust shooting through you like a grassfire. It runs molten between your thighs, softening your legs until your knees buckle–swift as an arrow, your world spins.

Your spine thumps into the support beam, her front molded to yours as she pins you against it; you can feel her heartbeat pattering against her bindings, the sharpness of her hipbones against your belly. Everything in your body pulses with one hard beat of desire; it thuds from your throat to your fingertips every time you hear that harsh inhale of her panting through her nose between kisses, the soft grunts of response to each slide of tongue and teeth. You don't notice your haori part until cool fingers slip along your ribcage. You flinch with a gasp, your back arching wanton and shameless into the touch. The husky chuckle at your ear makes your core throb so hard it hurts.

Your thighs tangle together without a care to your surroundings. “Ngh–” Another desperate, muffled groan vibrates against the side of your throat when you press your leg up between hers. Her hips spasm and buck, her groan fracturing into something soft and needy–“ah-...ahh”--breath puffing faster over your skin; there's a searing softness pressing against your thigh, already damp through the thick fabric of her pants. In response, the lean muscle of her own leg presses up between yours, hiking you higher against the wall until you’re spread across it, your own weight bearing you down against it with a cruel pressure to the very source of your ache. As you’re yanking her hair free with a high-pitched moan of her name–

The soft sssh-thnk of a door panel makes you both freeze.

“Master? Are you out here? I heard–...oh.”

Mizu slowly raises her head from your neck as you turn your head. Is this how you die? Of embarrassment?

Ringo’s eyes are like saucers; behind him, the faint sound of Akemi protesting spills out into the hallway as the three of you stare at each other in silence. “What? What is it? Ringo? Hey! Untie me! Let me see!”

Ringo opens his mouth, then closes it again. A wide, delighted grin slowly spreads over his face. Without another word, he slowly leans back into the room, shutting the panel behind him.

You both stare at the door for a minute. Akemi's complaints can still be heard from inside. Then you look at each other.

You giggle first, trying to stifle it, horrified at yourself as it bubbles free. “Sorry, s-sorry–” you hiss, more giggles escaping you, edged almost hysterical. It's not funny, at all, but you can't seem to stop.

Mizu watches you, perplexed at first, her mouth twitching as though she's not sure whether she should be laughing with you, or not. Finally she just sighs, too exhausted to give a damn, leaning her head on your shoulder again. This time you don't hesitate to wrap your arms around her, nuzzling into her hair as her own arms curl around you tightly.

It's not okay, nothing is okay, but, this… this is good.

Into the silence, a woman screams.

[the-teufort-nine]

My TF2 Fic Rec List [ Fanfics I've Read That You Should Too]

*cracks knuckles* right, let's get started! X Reader fics are not included bc I already did a list of them for an ask. Mind the tags and ratings, as always. I'll add to this as I collect more, but its decently long as is

Symbol Key:

** = Incomplete

~~ = Personal favourite

++ = Under 10k

SpeedingBullet:

~~Running Blind by TheTriggeredHappy

(( Scout's eyes are badly damaged in battle and for some reason, Medic's gun can't fix him. Until they figure out how to heal Scout, he needs someone to look after him and keep him safe.

Sniper is given the job.

[3rd person limited, Scout's POV, some character development done on a whim] ))

The SpeedingBullet fanfic. If you like Scout X Sniper, and you haven't read this one yet, I don't know what to tell you. You are severely missing out on not only a great romance story, but also fantastic team dynamics. Also has an available Podfic!

++From a Hospital Bed by SlightlyLessThanAnon

(( Jeremy wakes up in the hospital, his brain struggling the find coherent thoughts as the world churns around him, in and out of consciousness.

He finds the team may care about him a little more than he thought they did. ))

Short but sweet. More whole team fluff than strictly SpeedingBullet. Very cute.

~~Golden Brown, as well as its sister fic, Take Me Out by Ali_Ker (Alina_Kerrin)

(( After seeing his co-worker in a new light, Scout is faced with unknown feelings and a new, distracting perspective on things. ))

This lovely author can be found here under the handle @alikerao3

Grouped these two together because they are they same story, but told from the perspectives of Scout and Sniper respectively. Definitely a bit of a heavier read, especially for anyone who has dealt with Catholic guilt or internalized homophobia, but my God is it worth it. Don't just read one thinking it isn't worth it to read the other fic. Read both. Also, check out the song that inspired the title.

~~Going Through The Motions by AussieBookworm

(( Working under RED can be repetitive at times - but nothing like this. After a curse is fired his way, Scout is forced to live through the same day over and over and over again. It should be easy for someone as perfect as Scout to break the curse, right? As long as he doesn't have to confront the things he's been feeling towards Sniper it should be a piece of cake! ))

Possibly my absolute favourite TF2 fic right now. Scout gets character development out the ass, Demo has a prominent, important role, and there's a plot twist so good it had me tweaking out. TW for Suicide as a method used to get out of a time loop. Absolutely incredible, and it needs more love.

Gills and Gunpowder by popkeeki

(( Monsters are becoming increasingly rare. Between getting pushed to the periphery of society or being targeted by traffickers, life is hard when you are not (entirely) human. Like many others, Scout tries to keep his true form a secret. It has never really been a problem. That is, until a nosy teammate catches him mid-swim. ))

SpeedingBullet Mermaid AU!! Good luck finding a fic with this premise that also reaches this level of quality.

**~~Pet by Anonymous

(( Sniper's terrified of losing the one person he has in his life. It turns out there's a convenient solution to that: just make sure he has no way out, and the rest will follow.

Scout wakes up in a van he knows all too well, loopy and hungover, and Sniper's waiting for him.

*

Or: Learning to live with claustrophobia in small spaces Or: Making the best of assisted living Or: You can’t outrun a fucking bullet ))

Are you like me? Do you enjoy Scout whump and Yandere!/Possessive Sniper? SpyDad? Do you want more of it in your life? If the answer is yes, than Pet is for you! No NSFW, just pure, delicious kidnapping and one-sided love.

General Fanfic Recommendations:

++Something's Up With Respawn by Camelot_taurus, Old Works (HarveyDangerfield)

(( Respawn starts to glitch, and the Administrator sets Engineer to work fixing it.

It doesn't take long for him to find out exactly what's going ))

Super funny, weird little oneshot. Basically, Respawn starts glitching and producing fucked up, Paperjam Dipper-esque clones of the Mercs.

++Mask Off by MatryoshkaDoll413

(( Scout is sick. Really sick. 'If we can't get this fever under control it's the hospital or the morgue' sick, and Respawn can't help him this time. They'd already tried that. He's gotten so delirious he's fighting Medic every second he's awake, not really lucid enough to remember so much as his own name, much less that of any of the team. Medic is ready to put him under full sedation and try and work things out from there, but Spy has an idea. ))

Wholesome SpyDad fic. Spy actually acts like a dad for once, for his sick little bunny.

~~++Scout, Respond by MatryoshkaDoll413

(( Scout wakes up in a dark, unknown place, with rocks bearing down on him and a spotty recollection as to how he ended up there in the first place. The only thing that keeps him sane is the voice of his team in his ear, telling him to talk, to breath, and, more than anything, to stay awake. ))

Scout gets trapped beneath a collapsed building, and receives comfort from his team over his headset while they race to dig him out. Super cute, definitely a must read, and I've done so more than once.

pick it all up (and start again) by bugbee

(( The clues had always been there, he had just never wanted to see them. Maybe neither of them had, instead content to deny the truth before their eyes for the rest of their days because it was better than confronting the alternative. Except Scout had died, and Spy wasn’t able to keep on pretending for his last moments. A part of Jeremy was glad for it, despite the simmering rage and betrayal and hurt. So when he tried to look God in the eye and tell Him that Tom Jones was his father… He couldn’t. Not really.

(Scout discusses his parentage with God, and stays dead for a little while longer. Well. A lot longer. On the plus side, he gets to attend his own funeral reception.) ))

An alternate take on Scout's death from the comics. Very Scout centric, obviously, and ends happily.

~~A Little Bird Told Me… by the_soup_specter

(( Medic learns a secret— something personal, powerful, big enough to cause a rift in the team of mercenaries that could tear two of them apart. And for once in his life… he’s not sure how to proceed.

With no better ideas, Medic decides to ask his fellow mercenaries for advice. But as dueling viewpoints begin to pile up, will he be able to make a decision before the team is changed forever? ))

Medic learns Spy is Scout's dad, and spills the beans. Everything turns out ok, but man the aftermath initially ain't pretty.

~~seven times he has to explain (and one time he doesn’t have to) by conner_is_alive

(( the trans scout obsession has me in a vice

also if i don’t vent my trans sadness i will literally rip a government building down brick by brick lmao ))

The fic that made me a trans Scout believer. If you're on the fence about that headcanon, maybe give this fic a read.

**~~Kith And Kin by BOREDGrace23

(( Mick never thought much of the BLU team. They were just clones, after all. Designed to be their opponents in a meaningless war.

That's why when he woke up, his vision blurry, his brain blistering from a headache like he'd just woken up from a hangover, and several burning questions about what had happened, he thought it was strange that they hadn't killed him already.

//

Or, BLU are clones and RED are decidedly not. They’re then forced to work together when their teams disappear. ))

If you like Emesis Blue, or horror in general, go read Kith And Kin. And when you finish, go give @boredgrace23 some love for such an incredible fic.

**++Der Junge by UpInFlamesWriting

(( Everyone on the team knows that Scout & Medic do not get along. They're like Sniper & Spy, except less bloodthirsty about it. Medic scares Scout, & Scout doesn't give Medic a reason to like him. When the two of them start being more than friendly all of a sudden, the team starts to worry, especially when it becomes obvious that Medic & Scout are keeping secrets from them. Scout & Medic are not about to tell the rest of the team that they are a pair of transsexual men, especially when Medic agrees to help Scout in his transition. For all the weirdness that goes on in the base, the world is not kind to queer people, & they aim to keep the reason behind their friendship a secret, even if it kills them. ))

Trans Scout and Trans Medic solidarity fic. I need more of this.

Eight Mercenaries and A Toddler by ChaosandMayhem

(( When Respawn malfunctions and their annoying Scout is turned into something far more precocious, it'll take all of the RED team's wits and patience to look after him. At the same time, Engineer must find a way to turn Scout back into an adult before the BLUs-or anyone else-realizes what's happened. No pairings, just a bunch of exhausted trained killers and one hyperactive child. ))

An Ancient Text from 2012 and the only FF.Net fic on this list, EMaAT is a classic for me. Lot's of Spy backstory, if memory serves. Quotes from this live rent free in my mind.

PracticalEspionage:

++Under the Lake by Her_AngelEyes

(( Engineer goes fishing. Hilarity ensues. ))

Don't let the description fool you. This is a non-con/mind break fic. If you like darkfic stuff, than this is for you~

[raythekiller]

I love the masky nsfw alphabet It riled up my imagination.. soo can i request for a hoodie one?? Thank youu

🗒꒰⸝⸝₊ NSFW ALPHABET ❛ ✧

Featuring: Hoodie/Brian

# Notes: its that time of the year again where i make 1 post and disappear for the next seven months <3 also DAYUM new post format?? (also also theres a new toby drawing on the way stay tuned)

A - AFTERCARE

Surprisingly soft. Wants to hold you close and maybe take a shower together. Don't get things twisted though - it's so he can keep feeling your body against his instead of to comfort you. Call it possessiveness or an ego stroke, maybe.

B - BODY PART

Thighs man through and through. Thigh highs drive him up-the-wall insane. Will also just absentmindedly knead them if you're sitting next to him, especially if you're wearing shorts or a skirt/dress.

C - CUM

Oh he likes it messy. Just enjoys having his cum on you in general - backshots, face, dripping from you after he came inside, you name it.

D - DIRTY SECRET

None. He has no shame and is very open about what he likes.

E - EXPERIENCE

Not as much as you might expect, given his demeanour. Don't get me wrong, it's still a lot, but he makes it seem like he worked as a pornstar for a few years with sheer cockiness.

F - FAVORITE POSITION

If you ask him, he'll say "all of them". But if you put a gun to his head and tell him to choose, he'll settle for doggy. Just loves grabbing your hips and ass while he's pounding into you.

G - GOOFY

He doesn't exactly make jokes, but his teasing might be a bit funny at times. He doesn't mind making things more silly or lighthearted as long as you still cum at the end of it.

H - HAIR

Usually clean-shaven, but he might get a bit lazy with it occasionally. Always at least well trimmed though.

I - INTIMACY

Usually adapts to what you like best. If you just want to get your brains fucked out and keep romance out of it, he'll happily do it. If you like something more tender with lots of "I love you"s, he doesn't complain about it either.

J - JACK OFF

A lot. This guy has crazy stamina (we'll talk about that later), I'd say maybe five times per week or so.

K - KINK

A lot but mainly: CORRUPTION!! I've said it before and I'll say it again he wants to bring the worst out of you. If you're a virgin, he wants go be your first. If you're not, he wants to see just how wild things can get when he pushes you a little.

L - LOCATION

Literally anywhere. He is a fan of semi-public sex, though. In the woods, living room of the manor when (you think) there's no one else home, in a busted alleyway, you name it.

M - MOTIVATION

Oh it's very easy to turn him on. Here's a huge one though: when you take iniciative. He's used to being the one starting shit. When YOU do it, though? When you make it clear you want him to wreck you? Fucking hot.

N - NO

Very short but obvious list: anything to do with piss, shit or vomit. Other than that, I think he's pretty open. Not even averse to being submissive every now and then.

O - ORAL

HELL YEAH BABY! Giving, receiving, whatever, he doesn't care. His mouth isn't just good for talking shit — he knows how to use that tongue. When he's getting head, though? He looks so pretty — head thrown back, moaning and whimpering with a grin on his face. Might buck his hips into your mouth for giggles (and because you sound hot choking on him).

P - PACE

Again, he'll go for whatever gets you off. If you like it rough and fast, he's in. If you prefer slow and sensual, that's also hot.

Q - QUICKIE

Biggest quickie fan in the manor. He just can't help himself most of the time and he doesn't really try to, either. If his horny, you best bet he knows how to get you horny as well and things just go from there.

R - RISK

Loves experimenting and finding new ways to make you moan. Doesn't mind getting a bit freakier every now and then.

S - STAMINA

Jesus christ what are they feeding this man. Y'know when guys are like "I'm gonna fuck you all night long" and stop after two rounds max? This motherfucker is serious about it.

T - TOYS

I don't think he'd go out of his way to buy them, but if you already have them you best believe he's using it to his advantage. Big fan of vibrators.

U - UNFAIR

This guy is MEAN. He doesn't make you wait for too long before fucking you but just those few minutes feel like an eternity with the atrocities he's whispering in your ear.

V - VOLUME

LOUD. He moans, groans, whines, whimpers, you name it. Not ashamed to make some noise and LOVES if you're loud as well.

W - WILD CARD

Likes having his hair pulled— WHO SAID THAT???

X - X-RAY

7.4 inches, cut. Not too thick, just the right girth.

Y - YEARNING

Can't go like, a week without having sex or at least jacking off. Homeboy has a lot of steam he needs to let out.

Z - ZZZ

Only god knows how he doesn't pass out immediately after. Chances are you'll fall asleep before him.

[sanguineterrain]

could I request a fic with insomniac!reader and tim? i love your writing im excited to see how you make his character your own! <3

thanks for the request! first time writing tim... kinda nervous like I'm on a first date 🫣 hope you like! this one isn't as mushy gushy as my usual fics (jason) so yeah. also my knowledge of yj is purely through fic 🤙

tim drake x gn!reader. tw insomnia, tim being so awkward but maybe... there are feelings... who can say. tim's character is so interesting to me (probably because I identify with him the most lmao).

****

It's really, really nice of the team to let you stay over tonight. Like, really nice.

You haven't even done much. You're pretty much a nobody in the superhero world, not even a D-list hero. Certainly not anybody that should be hanging out with the likes of Wonder Girl and Superboy and, God, Tim freakin' Drake.

Kon was just overly generous in his cool, brash way, herding you into a spare room after last night's battle. After tonight, you'll politely break away from the team to give them some reprieve. It didn't escape your notice that they didn't hang out last night like they usually do.

You've been awake for an hour now, listening for sounds of life in the corridor. If you were home, you'd already be on the couch watching crappy TV. But you really don't want to run into anyone here.

Maybe you have some chamomile tea leftover from the last time you stayed over. You hadn't stayed the whole night, slipping away without interference as most of the team had gone to their own homes.

You get up, stretching and popping joints. It's always a little cold in the Tower, and it wakes you up as you walk to the kitchen first. You're as quiet as you can be in heating the water and finding the tea.

You take your mug and head to the den. As you enter, you freeze.

Tim turns his head from his place on the couch. The blue light from the TV makes him paler, and his eyes bluer. Sometimes, he looks so much like Bruce Wayne, it startles you.

"Oh," you say, unsure what else to say. Your brain is tired and fried. "I... was just looking for my watch."

That's definitely your dumbest lie. You don't have a watch. Tim sure as fuck knows that.

His eyes flick to your wrist, as if reminding you both how stupid your lie is, then to your mug. He mutes the TV.

You stay where you are. Tim stands, obviously shouldering his own bout of insomnia.

"It's... you can come in," he says, just as awkward as you.

That's comforting. Tim's usually so suave, the few times you've interacted. He's all Gotham Heights, his upbringing never quite sloughing off no matter how many times he's probably tried to blend in and not be so... private school.

"I was just going to bed," he says quickly.

"No, you weren't," you say. You don't mean for it to come out so shrewd. Tim looks a little startled.

"I mean, you don't need to go," you add. "I'll take this to my room. It's fine. Sorry."

"No, I've been here too long anyway. I should work on my case."

Here's the thing. It's not that Tim avoids you because in order to do that, you'd have to see him more than three times a year.

But there's a distance. You've tried not to take it personally, tried to chalk it up to the fact that you're introverted and Kon and Bart are Kon and Bart, and Cassie's too straightforward to beat around the bush, and you've somehow won her over, which is nice.

And Tim is just... cautious. Paranoid.

Those are understatements, and you can't imagine the psychological damage caused by being raised by Batman, but, well, you've seen the previous and current Robins, so you can hazard a guess.

Anyway, Tim kind of acts like an unsocialized cat with you. You once mentioned it to Kon, in nicer words, but he dismissed you, saying, "Whaddya mean? Rob likes you!" Which had assuaged nothing, but whatever.

"I won't be here long," you say, as a last-ditch effort to not make it feel like you're kicking Tim out of his own space. "I just, uh, couldn't sleep."

He watches you in that freaky Bat way, like he's trying to determine if you're a threat or not. Jesus.

"It's hard for me to sleep after a battle," you add, trying to show your belly. That's how it feels, being around Tim Drake. Like you always need to be vulnerable first. Like you're in a battle of wills you didn't know you entered.

He doesn't sit down, but he does say, "Me too."

You nod and drink your cooling tea. "There's more tea in the kitchen if you want. Chamomile."

"I'm... good. Thanks."

You edge over to the armchair diagonal to the couch and sit.

"You can work in here," you say. "Unless, uh, it's too distracting. I'll keep the TV muted."

His laptop is on the other side of the couch. Tim is still, only his eyes moving from you to the laptop.

"I don't wanna push you out," you say.

"It's really fine," he replies immediately.

It's so not fine. This isn't boding well for your insomnia. You're definitely going to be agonizing over this interaction all week.

"I won't bother you," you say.

"I didn't say you would."

Then what's the problem?

Slowly, Tim returns to the couch. You look away, so it doesn't seem like you're watching his every move (you are), nor is Tim clocking your every move (he is).

He settles on the couch and opens his laptop. You drink and try to figure out what's playing on TV. It looks to be a rerun of Columbo. You smile.

"You like Columbo?"

Tim looks spooked that you're still talking to him, but he answers. "Yeah."

"Me too."

You watch Columbo silently look for clues. Tim types, fingers flying over the keyboard. Then his fingers pause.

"I used to watch it with Dick," he says. "When I first became Robin."

You nod, giving him your full attention. "Yeah? He seems like the type."

"He does a pretty good impression of him. He likes detective shows."

"You don't?" you ask.

Tim shrugs. "They're fine. I guess I just hate how predictable they can be."

"Of course the boy genius would say that," you say, smirking.

Instantly, Tim's face turns to stone. He hums, looking back at his laptop. You blink. What happened?

"Sorry. That was a joke," you say.

"I know," Tim says, any trace of warmth gone.

You're startled by the shift. "I don't—I wasn't making fun of you. I mean, you are smart. Really smart."

Tim carefully looks at you. "...Thanks."

You nod clumsily. You should've just stayed in bed.

It's quiet for a long time. You're trying to muster up the confidence to escape to your room when Tim speaks again.

"People have said stuff like that to be facetious. I... reacted without reading your tone."

It's not an apology, but it's probably the closest thing you'll get.

"It's okay," you say.

Tim nods. His shoulders aren't so tense, though his posture is atrocious when he's off-duty.

He gets up and gives you the remote. You take it, smile small. Tim retreats.

"You can unmute it if you want. I don't mind."

So you do, and you and Tim spend the next hour half-watching Columbo and half-watching each other. Eventually, your tea finishes, and the episode ends, so you get up.

"I think I'll try and sleep," you say.

Tim nods. "Good luck."

You hum. "Thanks. Good luck with the case."

"Yeah. Thanks."

You wash the mug and leave it on the dish rack. Then you escape back to your room. You really do feel like you could sleep again. Maybe Columbo reruns are the magic ingredient to a good night's sleep.

[sprunkisunshinesuburbia]

Resident List pt II

“OWAKXC” Ozwalt Linden-Daze

Age: 29

Gender: Male, He/him

Height: 5’9 ft

Color: Lime Green

How he got here was… Well less favorable than the rest- A long fall from a cliff that he … Thank sun and Miss Vineria he made it. This fall left him wheel-chair bound and a bit spastic— Sort of yells when he doesn’t mean to.(It’s mostly brain and spinal damage I think… I’m no doctor but thats what I’ve heard from Dr. Princey…)

Um- Accident aside he usually hangs around Vineria and seems pretty smart, He helps her with paperwork (Mostly taxes- Honestly really appreciate how neatly he sorts them and writes things down.) I think he’s also pretty funny- Does self-deprecate a worrying bit, He’s really sensitive about how the accident affected him so please don’t point things out- (Basic sprunki respect and all!) He also tells me how the city was like which… Uh makes me not want to visit it! It sounds hectic and noisy- But he also says

“I may just be being a fucking weenie about it— I don’t know…”

I don’t think he is- He's really hard on himself sometimes...

Vineria Edith Bosch

Age: 27

Gender: Female She/They

Height: 6’3 ft

Color: Grass Green

She’s a very chill person and I like listening to her talk about her plants (She names all of them- She’s why I named my succulent!— It’s name is Planty… Because its a… plant.) She’s very knowledgeable about them too- And honestly from when she first arrived here I wasn’t expecting it (She seemed so scary back then— But maybe it was the biker jacket- Maybe it was because she didn’t have her wigs yet…Kind of intimidating-) It was kind of like she did a full flip mostly fashion-wise but she seems much happier now with her greenhouse!

She’s usually around Oz , Clukr and Garnold- (She arrived alongside the latter two) She also occasionally volunteers at the town clinic to help out whenever someone does get injured. I do warn that she is— Sometimes very high on sprunknip- Which does smell pretty strongly and she does act a bit… Looser on it. (She once offered to beat up people who were mean to me- I politely declined. I don’t think that would do any good but its nice to know someone cares! in… uh their own way!)

“brud” Bradley Bucketsworth

Age: 21

Gender: Male He/They

Height: 4’11

Color: Brown

A really sweet fella! Genuinely just happy to be here!! (He drew a cute little portrait of me I keep at my desk- Makes me smile!) He's really into fantasy novels and he's shown me his collection of them in his room at the clinic. (He says he wanted to take all of them from his old home but he couldn't fit them all in his bags-) I've also read some drafts he'd written himself, It was mostly fanfiction, But most of it seems to steer away from romance to more about characters he thinks didn't get enough time in the spotlight.. He does have to have someone around to make sure he doesn't accidently hurt himself ( I've been told he can't feel pain and he doesn't really have the reflex to pull back or flinch because of that..) Usually the people supervising him are clinic staff- Most of the time its Simon, Sometimes Vineria and like on the rarest occasions its Dr. Princey herself when the other two are busy. He also chooses not to speak,- Usually just communicates through writing and sign language but he isn't incapable of it (To him its a last resort.)

Simon Citrine-Poncirus

Age: 26

Gender: Any He/She/They

Height: 4'10

Color: Yellow

Moved in around the same time as his brother Oren- He's colored like a ray of sunshine and sure acts like it! He's super cheerful and practically bouncing off the walls when I see him! ( How does he do it? I need at least a nap and a cup of coffee to even think of going out- Let alone pull the insane acrobatics he does sometimes.) He works at the clinic as a dentist. (Though that only really comes in when we get our teeth checked or something happens to someone's teeth-) But he also helps out there as well (I think he's probably the only other person in town who's gone to medical school.) I also didn't really have to approach him he sort of bounded up to me and went

 "Hey hi Thermie!! Pinki's making chili tonight! Dooo You want some?"

And well!! I did say yes and it was very nice- Him, Pinki and Oren do love inviting people over for dinner. ( I did eat an embarassing amount of chili that night.) There's usually two options (With meat and no meat) at these dinners as far as I know since Simon's a vegetarian. (Its pretty common where he was from- Usually the meat products were saved for the island's guardian beast. Its not a topic I'm very familar with...) And also he does maybe feel a little bad about eating critters ( He thinks they're all too cute for him to eat.)

<< Part I Pinned Post Part III >>

[tgmsunmontue]

I never knew I was missing you 7/9

Jake is just trying to find a connection. Shame the guy he connects with the most is lying about his identity online; because he sure as hell isn't A-list Hollywood star Bradley Bradshaw.

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX

PART SEVEN

                He doesn’t know what he was expecting exactly, but later, after he’s made out with Bradley, gotten naked and let himself discover all the little imperfections that get airbrushed out of photos, has generously let Bradley give him a blowjob when he asked, then returned it. Things had sort of devolved into unspoken actions, Bradley shuffling him toward what Jake can only assume is his bedroom, now that he’s looking around. There’s a sofa and a TV and an ensuite and the entire room is pretty much the size of Jake’s entire base accommodation. It’s obscene.

                The bed is definitely better and he shifts, waits for Bradley to slide back into the bed, handing him a bottle of water which he didn’t even ask for but dutifully drinks half of anyway. Then Bradley is lying down, facing him, head rested on hand while his other hand absent-mindedly strokes Jake’s hand where he has it resting on the bed between them, his own pose mirroring Bradley’s.

                “How was your day yesterday anyway? You said you didn’t have any plans… Sounds like bliss to be honest.”

                Jake shakes his head, because with comments like that he’s pretty sure Bradley hates his job.

                “Yeah. It was good for the most part. Got a little weird in the middle, but I’m kind of getting used to that…”

                “Weird how?”

                “My CO turned up just before lunch and was just… weird. Weirder than usual.”

                Bradley has stiffened and Jake wonders what the fuck that’s about, reaches for his fingers and laces them together, brings their joined hands to his lips so he can press kisses to each of Bradley’s knuckles.

                “What did he do?” Bradley asks, and Jake frowns some more, because Bradley sounds… off. If Bradley has an issue with him having a commanding officer, then they’ve got issues before they’ve started. Oh shit. Maybe it’s the privacy thing. Well, he didn’t tell Maverick anything, and he can reassure Bradley of that.

                “Do? Nothing really. More what he said. Was asking me all sorts of questions. About alcohol, then drugs, and then whether I’d been to any parties…”

                “Was he now…” Bradley says, and for some reason he seems annoyed, or maybe even angry and Jake pulls back to look at him properly, because this sounds personal. But he’ll cover his bases anyway.

                “It’s okay, I didn’t tell him anything. I mean. There was nothing to tell him about most of that stuff anyway. But then he started talking about his godson, and wanting to set me up with him… so fucking random. I mean… I kind of told him I wasn’t available,” Jake admits, and he’s pretty sure that that’s an okay thing to admit to given their last few hours together and what Bradley said about wanting to try being with him. Whenever he’s wanted something Jake has got it, and he wants this to work. For as long as Bradley wants him.

                “He was vetting you.”

                Jake’s brain is off on a different path and he forces it to circle back.

                “What? Who was?”

                “Maverick. He was vetting you. I’m his godson. I’m going to fucking kill him…”

                Jake blinks.

                “What?”

                “He probably thought he was being funny. He’s married to Slider by the way. Ron Kerner that is. My head of security that you just met? He’s an ex-aviator. It’s where he and Mav met…”

                “Holy shit. That’s why you know all that shit about the Navy and planes…”

                “Yeah. My dad was Maverick’s RIO.”

                “Fuck… and here I was worried you wouldn’t… understand my lifestyle.”

                “Ha! More like you don’t understand mine…”

                “I… want to understand… but uh… what do you mean vetting me? Is he… Maverick…”

                “He’s my godfather. He’s uh… a little protective. He was making sure you’re not a drug addict, or secret alcoholic, or just going to blurt out who I am to the first person who came along…”

                “Huh. Well… I mean. That beats the alternative.”

                “What’s that?”

                “That he’s losing his marbles.”

                “You’re assuming he had any to begin with. You okay with… that?”

                “What?”

                “Maverick. My relationship to Maverick.”

                “Oh. Uh. You said you were going to kill him…”

                “Not seriously. Yell at him. Sulk about it and complain to Slider about him. Slider will just go and drink whiskey with Ice and commiserate…”

                “Ice?”

                “Iceman. Tom Kazansky.”

                “Oh fuck me…”

                He fully expects Bradley to make some quip about yes, I’d love to, but instead he’s just looking worried.

                “Too much?”

                “No! Shit. Maybe… it’s fine. Just… it’s a bit to get my head around. You’re fucking surrounded by flyboys huh?”

                “Well, hoping to add one more to the collection if he doesn’t run away scared…” Bradley says, letting his fingers walk up the flank of his thigh and Jake scoffs.

                “I’m not scared…”

                “Good…”

                He opens his mouth and snaps it shut, realizing he just got played and the fact that Bradley seems to know him so well already is both a little disturbing but also kind of reassuring. He leans forward for a kiss which Bradley meets with a grin, sliding his body against Jake’s and he’s gorgeous, better than any picture or movie he’s ever seen.

                “I’ve gotta ask… Do you even… like it?” Jake says, wondering if he’s overstepping. He doesn’t understand Bradley’s life, not really. Not yet. But he wants to. “I… you just… uh. Why do you do it if you don’t like it?”

                “Huh?”

                “Be in Hollywood? Why do it if you don’t like it?”

                “But I do like it…”

                “Uh. Okay. Sure.”

                “Oh. I love the acting. And the people for the most part are really fucking cool. But also I’m a bit of a whiner. Neil and Callie and Ron will all tell you. They’ll hear me whine constantly about you being deployed. Doesn’t mean I want to change anything…”

                “Ah. You just like… bitching about something huh?”

                “Yep. Got to have something to moan about. But if something really does bother me I do take steps to fix it. I didn’t like living so centrally in LA… plus Ron and Mav never said anything but I know they appreciated it when I moved here.”

                “Fuck. That’s why you live out here, away from Hollywood. So Ron and Maverick are closer to one another?”

                “Well, that, and people have to make a little more effort if they want to come and see me. Being here makes it a little more difficult. I’m not as available.”

                “Smart.”

                “You know it…”

…            …            …

                He can’t remember the last time he felt quite this joyful. It’s not just the sex, but Jake’s whole attitude toward him. He’s lavished Bradley with attention, however none of it has centered around his fame, or his looks. Well. That’s a lie, Jake seems to plenty appreciate the way he looks and his body plenty, but he’s insisted on finding every little scar and licking over it, hasn’t held back poking fun at little things. Doesn’t seem to think Bradley is worth any type of deferential treatment. Other than seeming a little in awe of the sheer size of the house has taken everything in stride. Right now he’s letting Bradley fix them sandwiches, something easy and portable which they can take to the movie room and watch something while curled up on the large sectional.

                “You know, I have two VIP tickets to ComicCon. I was going to ask if you wanted to go with me… Before.”

                “Before? Why just before? Why not now? I’d love to go with you.”

                “Uh… okay. Bradley, you know you’re like, one of the actual celebrities on, like, panels and shit right?”

                “I can still go with you. Just has to be incognito. Cosplay is great for that.”

                “Holy shit. Are you serious?”

                “Yeah. Of course. I’ve gone before in full disguise. It’s great.”

                “Oh my god, Fanboy is going to love you…”

                Bradley grins, because obviously Fanboy is another aviator, but he’s kind of hoping the one in front will love him first.

EIGHT

[calebslittlecrow]

Take Action (or: why we have methods) Alrighty, so, ever noticed how we've been raised with this idea that if you want something, you gotta work for it? No shortcuts, no freebies getting handed out after a certain age - just hustle and pure grind. And the bigger the goal, the more effort you need to put in. - Want to get a good job? You really need to get those good grades. - Want to get good grades? Say goodbye to your free time, hanging out with your friends will be a distant memory and you need to study as if your life depends on it. - Want to own a house? Well, lets hope you enjoy working ridiculous hours and saving every penny for years to come. Then, you step into the wonderful world of manifestation and shifting, and suddenly people tell you - “Oh, you don’t actually have to do anything! Just trust and let it happen.” And your brain? Immediate confusion. Error message. What did you say? Just do nothing? Huh?

After spending your whole life on the effort=results train, the idea of "just trusting" and "needing to do nothing" just feels wrong, in a way. You try to shift, try to just be in the feeling of your DR, and your brain starts short-circuiting all over the place: - Am I doing this right? - Should I be doing more? - Wait... am I doing TOO much??? Send help x.x And sometimes, depending on who you ask for help with that, you will get the classic "just stop overthinking it!". Ah, yes. Never thought about that. Just... let me hit that "no overthinking" switch in the corner real quick 🙃 Well, for some that advice can help of course, but for others it is easier said than done. A Helpful Trick To Reduce Overthinking: Give Your Brain A Task

Unlearning the mindset of needing to do something? Yeah, that can take forever to change. The second kicker? A lot of people don't even realize they have this mindset. It's just that deeply embedded in the way we think that it feels incredible natural. But guess what, my besto friendo? You don't necessarily need to unlearn this mindset. You just kinda... need to put your brain at ease. Instead of forcing yourself to be suddenly okay with "doing nothing and still expect results", you can show and tell your brain: "Hey, we took action! We did the thing! That means we will shift, because action=result!"

That's why shifting methods exists (outside of giving you the feeling of being in your DR). Not because you need them to shift (spoiler alert: ya don't), but because it helps tricking your brain into feeling like it has done its job. And when your brain believes that, it relaxes instead of overanalyzing everything. If you think about it - your brain just wants to check something off a list. It doesn't even really care what the fuck you do, as long as you can say afterwards "we did it, and we will get what we want". It Isn't about the method or what makes you shift, it's about confidence and convincing yourself that it is working, no matter what. At the end of the day, your thoughts and assumptions shape your reality. Your brain doesn't make you shift, but it's like the middleman to your subconscious, which does play a role in shaping your experience. If your brain is hardwired to believe that some kind of action is necessary, then give it that. Even if it's just the tiniest, most random thing out there. Do it, and then fucking own it. Be confident (or very stubborn) in trusting that it will happen. You did something, so something has to happen in reaction to that. That is how it works, right? And if your brain starts overthinking again, just remind it that you already did the task necessary and to kindly shut up <3

(Obligatory "this doesn't apply to everyone, if it resonates great, if it doesn't, also good" °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°)

[more-sonorous]

safer than you thought (vaguely javey)

recent discussions about trans canon era davey have put my fingers to the keys, so have this little hurt/comfort piece of what might potentially be a larger work

tw/ accidental outing (handled very well), and also davey's inner monologue isn't the kindest to himself

.....

Full sprinting across the Brooklyn bridge was not on David’s bucket list when he’d gotten dressed that morning, and he mentally cursed himself for that as his anxious feet stumbled along behind Racetrack. David felt like a horse that’d just learned how to gallop, bolting along behind a stallion in its prime. Racer was fast and graceful as he ran, one hand wrapped around David’s wrist in a vice grip that was almost bruising. Each footfall was more certain than the last and Racer's long legs were a blur of motion, his trousers (an old pair of Jack’s) hanging well above his ankles, patchwork socks still slightly on display. The scuffed heels of his boots were all David could focus on as he prayed for the strength to continue this sprint without stumbling, hearing the pounding footsteps of the menacing boys fast on their tail.

Soon David could feel his own blood pumping through his face, hot and heavy, incessantly noisy whooshing coursing through his ears. He didn’t know up from down or left from right as he devolved into helpless anxiety, letting Racer tug him along and praying they’d lost their pursuers at some point.

The moment they crossed the bridge into Manhattan territory, Race stopped dead in his tracks and David stumbled forward, hands on his knees. This was decidedly not good. His bindings were practically digging into his skin, the tightly wound bandages constricting his chest from properly expanding. Sweat beaded on his brow as he gasped feebly for air, clutching the fabric of his trousers in a wild panic.

“Yeah, fuck you!” Racer shouted incoherently, waving his fists despite the lingering pubescent cracks in his voice and the fact that they’d lost their pursuers a quarter of a mile ago. “Fuck alla you! When I tell Spot about this, she’s gonna kill your sorry asses! She’s gonna skin you and turn you into goddamn leather wallets! You better turn around and run! Go fuck yourselves!”

Maybe David would have laughed if he had the breath to do so, but the August sun was beating down hard on his back and the extreme heat in his face and ears wasn’t doing him any favors when it came to the breathing department. His clothes seemed to cling to him with sweat and every time he tried to breathe, he felt like he only got halfway before his lungs stopped expanding, trapped in the vice grip of his bandages. 

“That’ll fuckin’ teach them to try an’ mug me at my own sellin’ spot.” Race griped, sharply turning his head to spit at the bridge disdainfully. Relaxed and easy as if he hadn’t just ran a mile at full speed, he turned on his heel and sauntered over to David with a bark of a laugh. “Geez, Jacobs, I didn’t figure you was so shitty at runnin’. C’mon, pick yourself up ‘n we’ll go back to the lodgings and getcha a nice glass of lukewarm water.”

David really did want to pick himself up, but the trouble was that he couldn’t exactly breathe. Black spots were starting to dot his vision. Distantly, he knew that panicking wouldn’t do him any good, but he could easily recognize his own hyperventilation. Short, shallow breaths weren’t drawing any air in and suddenly his clothes were suffocating, and a very loud part of his brain was convincing him that he was going to die. Maybe he was, because he surely couldn’t round a corner and take his binder off in front of Race. Then all of the newsboys would find out he'd been lying to them and he’d lose all of his friends only months after making them, and he’d be lonely and strange and outcast all over again, and his life would be miserable all because he couldn’t catch his goddamn breath after running over the Brooklyn bridge. Now he was really and truly spiraling, clutching at his chest and gagging around his own useless gasping.

Immediately, his blonde companion’s demeanor changed. “Shit. Oh, shit. Shit, something’s wrong, huh? Davey, buddy, you okay?”

Race’s concerned expression swam into view as he crouched in front of David, cupping his sweaty face in both rough hands. Racetrack didn’t cringe away even as he felt the searing heat and saw how red David surely was. Instead he only looked even more concerned, his street-smart brain noticing the signs of asphyxiation with remarkable ease.

“Yeah, you need’ta sit.” He grumbled, and David was flickering in and out of sensibility as Race gripped him by the arm and tugged him into a slim alleyway between two buildings, somehow both forcible and gentle as he pushed David to sit. It was only getting worse. David’s mind was starting to swim and begging him to breathe, but a childish part of him was screaming with panic and sending hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Distantly, he knew that his bandages weren’t really that tight. All of this was mental, but he’d started panicking and now he couldn’t stop. The slight inconvenience of tight binding had transformed into a murder weapon in his delirious mind. He was going to die. He was going to suffocate right here in an alleyway and it was all because he’d tied his bandages too tight this morning. Seventeen years ending in such a stupid way made him cry harder, which expelled more of his dwindling air and sent all attempts at rational thought spiraling out of his brain.

Black spots grew darker and the image of Racetrack warbled like bathwater being kicked by an overeager child. “Let’s getcha out of this tie, yeah? Can’t be doin’ you any favors.”

David scarcely registered the lithe fingers tugging at the tie done loosely round his neck, and he was barely an inch away from unconsciousness as nimble hands undid the buttons of his waistcoat with remarkable speed. Maybe, if David had been alert, he would’ve seen the slight panic on his friend’s face as he pushed open David’s shirt. He could’ve seen the tremble in Racetrack’s fingers as he laid a hand over David’s rapidly rising and falling chest, wondering why his efforts weren’t doing any good. He could’ve seen terror building in big blue eyes as Race stripped David from his shirt and then his undershirt, and maybe he could’ve seen the gentle, sweet understanding flash across his friend’s face in a split second if he’d been looking— but he wasn’t. 

“Alright,“ Racetrack murmured, intelligent eyes flicking over the tightly wrapped bandages concealing his friend’s freckled chest. “Alright, Dave, ‘m not gonna look. But I gotta get these off, I think they’re makin’ it hard for you to breathe.”

He carefully looped his arms around David and undid the tight knots holding the binding of bandages together, eyes resolutely focused on the brick wall behind them. With two short, calculated movements, Race tugged the bandages off entirely and draped David’s discarded shirt over his chest. He then carefully turned his back to the other boy, making sure no curious passersby decided to peek into the alleyway.

It was wonderful to draw in a thick breath of the hot summer air. David’s chest swelled with the intake and a soft wheeze escaped his lips, oxygen finally filling his deprived lungs. He drank up gasps of the stuff as the spots began to fade and he finally spiraled back into consciousness, deep breaths evening out to a normal pace after about five minutes. He was too sapped of energy to do anything but sit there and let tears leak down his cheeks, because yes he was alive, but Racetrack knew and he was probably going to tell everyone. David let out a pathetic sniffle at the thought.

This caught Race’s attention and he turned around, concern etched into his face. “Aw, shit, Dave, don’t cry. Don’t cry, man. C’mon, put your shirt on and we’ll head back to lodgings so you can lay down somewhere comfortable.”

Man. David only hiccuped harder, reaching for his discarded bandage. He was in far too deep.

Immediately, Race snatched the bandage up and stuffed it in his pocket. “No way I’m letting you put this back on. We got at least a mile before we get back and I don’t want you suffocating again.”

“Race, please.” He begged, despising the weak vulnerability of his watery voice. This was a new low point– letting a boy two years younger than him tell him what to do. “Race, come on, I– I can’t go back without it on! Please– everyone’s gonna know! I can’t Racer, I–”

“No, Dave. I’m sorry, but it’s for the best. You’ll be okay. I promise.. Most of the guys are prolly out scrounging up dinner, anyways.” Grim and stern all at once, Race climbed to his feet with one catlike movement and stalked over to the end of the alleyway, standing with his back turned as if keeping guard. 

David sobbed. He sobbed as he tugged his undershirt on and sobbed harder as he buttoned his shirt and shrugged his waistcoat over his shoulders. Everyone was going to find out when they saw the swell of his chest beneath his shirt. They were all going to recoil in disgust. He could envision it already. Sure, there were girl newsies, but there were no girl newsies that pretended to be men and lied about their gender and name for months on end just because it made them feel sickeningly good. To think he’d actually started feeling comfortable and happy– of course that was ripped away from him. Too exhausted to be mortified, he was near the point of wailing when Race’s rough hands tugged him to his feet. David really longed for Jack’s gentle touches and then mentally slapped himself for that thought.

“Davey. Davey, c’mon. You’re gonna suffocate yourself again if you cry like that.” Race patted his cheek like he was trying to be gentle but didn’t quite know how. He only thought of Jack, who knew exactly how David liked to be touched without being told. He wanted to scream. David only noticed that Race was unbuttoning his own light blue flannel once the blonde was already shrugging it off, draping it around David’s shoulders. The extra drapery essentially covered his chest area, and nothing looked amiss with the additional layer distracting the eyes. Race slung an arm around his shoulder. “Let’s go, bud. I’m thirsty as hell. Y’know– Spot’s a great kisser but she sure as hell ain’t a great hostess. You know what I hafta do to get a cuppa water ‘round those parts? Actually, you don’t want to know. Spotty’s a sick bastard. ‘S why I love her. Though, people say I’m a sick bastard too, so I guess we’re a match made in hell. Wait, do Jews believe in hell?”

David barely managed to shake his head ‘no’, unable to understand why Race wasn’t addressing the elephant in the room. 

“Hah, weird. Where are evil people s’posed to go? Eternal Jewish jail? Shit, ain’t that a concept…” And he continued to yammer on, keeping David securely under his arm as they walked. Race didn’t seem to care that David wasn’t looking or really listening as they trudged through the ridiculously hot streets. David sweated his ass off and simultaneously tugged Race’s flannel down against his shoulders, despite the fact it was making him sweat harder. He probably stunk. It was the most miserable he’d been since Jack screwed everyone over at the rally. 

Somehow Race didn’t ask one question about David’s secret. He didn’t inquire about his old name or why he’d been lying. There wasn’t even a subtle accusation or anything. Instead they just walked and Race talked on and on about other things, his voice loud and commanding and normal in the summer heat. When they reached the lodging house, David wasn’t quite crying anymore, but he was confused and tired and a step beyond upset.

Rave shepherded him into the bunk room, where Les instantly barreled towards them. “Crutchie and I sold two hundred papes today! Can you believe it, David, can you—“

“Christ, what happened to you, Dave?” Crutchie asked with palpable concern, crossing the room in a few short strides. He pressed the back of his hand to David’s forehead and winced— David was sure his face was red as a rose with a sheen of sweat to match. “You’re gonna catch a heat death, Davey— what’s the deal, Race? Gotta look after other fellas when you take ‘em to Brooklyn— Les, can you go fix your brother a glass of water?”

“Sure.” Les frowned up at David, his eyebrows furrowed in the adorable way they always did when he had a particularly puzzling problem to solve. 

Crutchie led David over to one of the bunks and David collapsed onto his stomach, gratefully burying his face in whomever’s pillow this was. Crutchie gently patted his back before he straightened to stand tall. “On second thought, I’m gonna go wet a rag. Gotta cool you down somehow.”

His crutch plunked against the ground, quieter and quieter until David couldn’t hear him anymore. The mattress sank near his feet as Race sat, quiet for a moment. Then he awkwardly patted the back of David’s calf. “I ain’t a snitch. Don’t let that keep you up at night.” 

David didn’t have the energy to react, but relief crashed into him. What had he done to deserve people like Race in his life? The newsies made him feel more whole than he’d ever felt. Being with them made the ever-present pit in his chest seem to lesson. Something within him was happy and crooning around these brash, loud, sort of disgusting boys. He wanted to cry all over again but couldn’t manage any tears, so he just breathed deeply and gratefully. Racetrack wasn’t going to tell. His secret was safe. 

Their careful calm shattered as a flurry of footsteps entered the room, alongside an unmistakable voice, laced with passionate fury. “What the hell did you do to him?”

Racetrack stood to meet Jack, who barreled straight past him and dropped to a crouch at David’s bedside. Crutchie and Les trailed in behind Jack, each respectively carrying a bowl of water and a rag or a cup of cool water. David didn’t think he could handle the full force of Jack’s attention in his current state. He gulped down the water, focusing on the soothing temperature of the liquid. Race scoffed loudly. “I didn’t do shit. Some Brooklyn boys tried to mug us while we was heading home and I think the heat and the panic made Dave sick. You gotta calm down, Jack, I kept your boy safe.”

Your boy. David resisted a self-deprecating laugh. David wasn’t Jack’s anything. Maybe a very close friend, but he wasn’t Jack’s boy. Katherine was Jack’s girl. Katherine and Jack were each other’s in general. David had resigned himself to a life of awkward spectating, watching them love each other with nothing but a deep longing for Jack and pure need in his chest.

He thought about how much he wanted Jack very frequently. At first he’d assumed he was jealous. Maybe he wanted to be like Jack– gorgeous, confident, brazen, so obviously settled in his own skin. Then as time passed and they grew closer, David realized that no he wasn’t jealous. He didn’t want to be as harsh as the other boy and he didn’t need that charisma. They were different people. Different boys. David wanted to be with Jack. He wanted to kiss him and admire him openly and cling to him like Katherine did in private spaces. Jack, with his expressive brown eyes and his gorgeous smile. Jack, who deserved someone better than David. Someone like Katherine, who was gorgeous and intelligent and normal. David was broken and strange. Jack, stunning and wonderful as he was, would never return David’s affections— even in a hypothetical world where he knew who David was at home, behind closed doors, forced into skirts and called a name that didn’t really feel like his. Jack still wouldn’t want that person.

Still, David often found himself wondering… if he’d met Jack before he cut his hair and changed his clothes, would he have had a chance? 

Such thoughts made him feel ill. He wanted Jack to want him as he was, with his cropped curls and his comfortable clothes and as David, not as anyone else. Though, that was entirely impossible. He buried his face in the fabric beneath him as his stomach clenched in tight misery. 

“I can keep myself safe. I’m not some child that needs looking after.” He grumbled into the fabric of the pillow, earning a little laugh of agreement from Racer. 

“Yeah, I know, but that don’t mean I don’t worry about you.” Jack murmured, quiet and gentle as he threaded his fingers through David’s hair and tilted his head back. David didn’t often like meeting people’s eyes but he met Jack’s and his breath seemed to slip away. ”Mierda, Dave. Look at you… rough day, huh?”

Crutchie wordlessly handed Jack the ratty old washcloth, Les trailing anxiously behind him, but it honestly felt like David and Jack were the only people in the room. David, trapped helplessly in Jack’s orbit, drawn in by his beauty and his impossible charisma.

He let out a huff of a laugh. “You could say so.”

“Well, that’s what happens when I’m not around.” Jack crooned jokingly, but David could hear the subtle notes of guilt in his voice. Of course Jack was blaming himself– he’d been working at The World three days a week, which was the whole reason why David went to sell at the Sheepshead tracks with Racer in the first place. 

Normally when Jack was out, David and Les sold by themselves just fine. However, some days Crutchie and Les liked to combine their powers of ‘crippled orphan boy’ and ‘tiny orphan boy’ to sell massive amounts of papers. David would’ve preferred selling alone, but then Race extended an invitation, and people didn’t tend to invite David anywhere before he met the newsies, so he took the offer with little consideration of doing otherwise. He could tell, just by the furrow in Jack’s perfect brow, that Jack was blaming himself.

David wasn’t having any of that and reached out to carefully run his fingers through Jack’s hair, brave enough to cup his cheek. “It’s not your fault. I can see you thinking it’s your fault, Jack. Stop it. Okay? Nothing bad happened. Race was smart and he made the smart decision to run, and I’m just… well, I’m not as fit as you all, so I got winded and overheated. Everything’s alright. You can calm that protective head of yours.”

Delusional as he was, David could’ve sworn Jack angled his head further into the touch, and a guilty little smile tilted his full lips. “Read me like one of your books didn’t you?”

“Yeah, well…” David stared at the dripping washcloth in Jack’s hand, and the little puddle on the floor beneath it. “You’ll want me on my back, I suppose?”

“I’ll have you any way, Davey-mine.” Jack winked, and David felt like his whole head was resetting.

It just wasn’t fair. Jack had no right to flirt with him like that, like it was nothing, like it wasn’t ripping David apart piece by piece and forcing him to rethink how he wanted to put himself together. He wanted Jack so, so badly. It was almost ridiculous. 

Race and Crutchie cackled and David took Jack’s cap off his head to whack him with it as he rolled over, making sure Race’s shirt sat baggy over his chest. Jack only winked again and caught David’s hand in his own, threading their fingers together. “Jack Kelly, you are ridiculous.” 

“What are you laughing at?” Les whined, big brown eyes darting between all of the older boys. “Come on, guys, what does that mean? What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, Lessy.” He sighed deeply and motioned his little brother over just as Jack carefully dropped David’s hand. He threaded his tanned fingers through dark curls to push David’s hair away from his forehead, replacing it with the damp cloth. David hummed thankfully at the cool touch and let his eyes flutter shut, wrapping his free arm around Les.

“You’re sweaty. And red.” Les remarked, carefully re-adjusting Race’s shirt to cover a bit more of his older brother’s chest. David’s heart swelled. 

David cracked an eye open and glared at his sibling, who was smiling an innocent grin, freckled cheeks turning his eyes into crescent moons. “Thank you for telling me, Les-kah.” 

The younger boy positively beamed. “You’re welcome. Hey- are you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” David soothed, giving his little hand a squeeze. Les squeezed right back. “Just need to cool down, then we can go home. Ima will save us some dinner.”

“Okay.” Les glanced at the door. “So… I can go play marbles?”

He couldn’t stop his own laugh. “Yes, go play marbles.”

“Your brother’s in good hands.” Jack remarked simply, resting one of his warm hands on David’s shoulder. Normally David would absolutely melt at the touch, but all he felt was a spike of panic because Jack’s thumb was so close to something it shouldn’t be close to. David’s heart ran a mile a minute against his chest as Les pressed a kiss to his cheek and bolted off. Crutchie took his seat at the end of the bed as Jack dragged a thumb over the collar of the blue flannel draped over David. “Maybe we oughta get you out of these shirts–”

“No!”

“Wh– you’re gonna sweat to death. You got like, four layers on.” Jack argued, hand darting towards David’s buttons. David deftly slapped his hand away and Jack recoiled in shock, eyebrows shooting up because David never got rough with him like that. He was already feeling guilty. “Alright, I’m confused.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a modest man, I always say.” Race responded easily, patting David’s ankle. “If he don’t wanna get naked for you, Kelly, y’can’t make him. You got Katherine for that, remember?”

Crutchie grinned. “Yeah, you at least gotta end things nice and easy with her before you ask Davey to go nude for you.”

Jack’s cheeks seemed to darken beneath his tan and the great, charismatic strike leader floundered for a fleeting moment before he stepped back into his easy personality and rolled his eyes. “That ain’t what I mean and you know it. Dave–”

“I’ll be fine with my clothes on. Really, Jack.” He tried to make himself sound relaxed and easy, but he was a notoriously terrible liar and Jack almost definitely heard the nerves twinging his tone. Thankfully he didn’t press– just sighed and flipped the washcloth over. 

David tried to ignore his sudden guilt for keeping such a secret from these people. Part of him was curling up in shame, telling him that none of his friends knew who he was. But this was who he really was, wasn’t it? When he was selling papers, dressed in trousers with short hair, that was the most comfortable he’d ever felt. They knew the real him. They just… well, they didn’t know the version of him that society said he was supposed to be, and that was still something that caused David a wild amount of guilt.

Jack began carefully dabbing the rag over his cheeks and David felt his own eyes fluttering shut, one hand coming up to loosely wrap around Jack’s wrist. Race carefully patted David’s ankle and got to his feet, just as Crutchie spoke. “We’ll leave you two to it. Let us know if you need anything, Jack.”

“Sure, Crutch.” He murmured distractedly, and David could feel Jack’s eyes on him like a searing brand. He wanted to disappear into the fabric of the uncomfortably stiff bunk beneath him, and that discomfort didn’t go away until he felt Jack’s gaze fall away.

He’d probably have to tell Jack what Race found out eventually, though the idea of doing so made him sick to his stomach. Thankfully Jack wasn’t speaking or trying to start some pointless conversation. He just occasionally passed the rag over David’s cooling cheeks, maybe re-situating it over his forehead. After what felt like eternity but could’ve been only fifteen minutes, David felt himself starting to give in to his own exhaustion as the rag grew warmer and warmer. Jack removed it entirely to re-dip it in the water, and as David was finally falling asleep, he could’ve sworn he felt a pair of lips ghost against his forehead. Maybe. 

But that would be ridiculous. Jack wouldn’t. Or at least David assumed as much. 

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

💛💜💙❤️✨SOME TEDEPENDENT FICS ✨❤️💙💜💛

World on fire? Feeling exhausted? Want a distraction? Want to read some TedTrent fic for that distraction? Or do you just wanna read TedTrent fic because it's fun?

Boy Do I Have A List For You!

why did i do this? fun! why should you read it? fun! yippee!

First a list of some of my fics (I humbly offer up some of my personal favorites) and then a list of some of my favorite fics from other authors :)

some of gert's favorite gert fics: tedependent edition ! ✨✨✨ (in no particular order)

ink sunset - Rated: T; Chapters 3/4.

Letters, unsent and sent, between Trent Crimm and Ted Lasso over the years.

Notes: an older work, but a good one! An epistolary fic. Bittersweet, post-canon fix-it of sorts.

suffer the feathers for the song - Rated: E; completed.

It takes them a long while to get there, but they get there. The long way around.

For the prompt "first kiss/realization".

Notes: Queer love story, not-so-missed connections, and self-discovery. Love confessions, friendship, angst, mutual pining, and happy endings. Yippee!

zugzwang - Rated: T; completed.

Trent receives information he would rather not have, putting him in a position he'd rather not be in, and must decide what to do from there. There are no good moves to make.

Notes: Canon-compliant end of s2/pre s3 fic about Trent's state of mind during and after The Article.

lend you my lips - Rated: E; Chapters 4/???.

Trent confesses he's never actually given a blowjob before, and he'd feel stupid and self-conscious trying it with a hook-up or a date.

Ted, reasonable although tragically heterosexual, offers his assistance.

Or: Trent sucks Ted's cock several times, and Ted, being a gentleman, of course, returns the oral sex favor. Everything about this is fine and normal and neither of them are being weird about it.

Notes: One of my favorite ongoing WIPs. These fools get into a blowjob-based situationship; Ted is straight and Trent is totally fine about being in love with him, and both of those statements are so totally definitely true.

Ted Ruins Trent's Life (Sexually) (This Is a Good Thing) - Rated: E; completed (3/3).

A completely unnecessary addition to chapter seven of "Rupert Mannion Is Batman (He Isn't)", including:

A brief, more detailed Trent POV of Ted asking him to have platonic not-gay gay sex,

A brief Ted POV of the aftermath of said not-gay gay sex, and

A very much not brief Ted POV of all that very gay gay sex (yes, it's the same sex). ft. Trent POV of the aftermath.

Alternatively: Ted Lasso Has The Gayest Sex Of His Entire Life (So Far) and Still Doesn't Realize He's Maybe Not Straight For Like A Full Day

Notes: some of the best smut I've written, and it's a silly adjacent snippet to a deeply stupid (affectionate) crack fic I wrote a while ago. Figures.

unburied - Rated: M; completed.

A serial kidnapper who's escalated to murder takes a journalist who's figured out a little too much. Ted goes a little bit nuts getting him back.

Or: it's a jarring sight, a man like Trent Crimm being pulled from the dirt, flushed and frightened and in tears.

Note: we need more Trent Crimm whump.

off the record - Rated: E; completed.

Intrepid reporter Trent Crimm earns his scoop.

Notes: >:)

Notes: ok notes for real. A fun little roleplay fic getting into the vibes of "what if s1 Trent got his brains fucked out?" without actually getting into the ethics of it, because roleplay. Wahoo!

delayed reaction - Rated: T; completed (2/2).

Trent's always been prone to horrible, vague nightmares. The kind that fill you with deep, irrational terror, for little to no reason.

(Or: Five periods in Trent's life where he dealt with nightmares alone, and one where he didn't. Except it's far messier than that, really.)

Notes: I think this one's a bit messy, but I love the angst.

being right - Rated: T; completed.

Trent's opinion of Ted Lasso goes from utterly dismal, to slowly wearing down into something generally negative but with an edge of reluctantly impressed, to, abruptly, turning on a dime, something glowing.

Notes: Closer to canon; a look into Trent's thoughts on Ted early on.

I WANTED TO BE LOVED SO DESPERATELY / THAT MY FINGERS SHOOK WITH IT - Rated: T; completed (2/2).

Trent, and being sick, and being sick alone.

Notes: sick fic and hurt/comfort, sweetness and sadness, ultimately a fluffy ending that's more comfort than hurt

an odd sort of comfort - Rated: E; completed.

There's a fantasy Trent has that he tries not to touch. He fails.

Notes: Kind of weird, but lives in my brain. In which Trent kind of accidentally developed a virginity kink but specifically in the context of "what do you do when your first time really sucked but not bad enough to call it trauma you're pretty sure but you can't stop thinking about what it would have been like if it had been with someone who was nice to you????" Yes I have like three different WIP scribbles somewhere, no I have no idea if I'll ever finish them

some other tedependent fics recommended by gert!✨✨✨ (in no particular order)

slowly, gently, with love by confessionofaking - Rated: E; completed.

Ted and Trent’s first time as a couple wasn’t exactly the most romantic ordeal ever. Ted would like to rectify this the second time around. Or, Ted and Trent have sweet, sappy sex

read our constellations by ShowMeAHero - Rated: E; a series with several complete works.

And Trent’s not a mess! He’s not. He’s got his life entirely together. He chose to reveal his source and give up his position with The Independent. He chose to start chasing book authorship as his new branch of his career tree. He chose his flat, and his car, and his life, down to the brands of tea he buys and the sorts of people he spends time with and the sheet sets he puts on his and Beatrice’s beds. He’s an adult man, for Christ’s sake. Of course, he’s got his life together. Everything is under his control, and it’s all fine. It’s entirely, completely, fully fine. Taking one last steadying breath, Trent opens his eyes and looks over the line of seven tests on the counter: the first he took a few hours ago, and the six he just took since. Each and every last one of them says he’s pregnant. Some have plus signs, some have two lines, some simply have the word pregnant. All of them may as well come together to form a little sign reading, Congratulations, Trent! You did it! You’ve finally made a goddamn bloody mess out of everything! Just wait until you have to tell Ted! Trent’s stomach turns for more reasons than one.

Take My Whole Life Too by ItsClydeBitches - Rated: G; completed.

Ted Lasso was the kind of man who taught NSYNC choreography for a going away party and bent his players into impossible positions just to say “Hi, Boss!” in the morning. He’d organized fearsome bets over darts, baked heavenly biscuits on the regular, and had requested at least two boxes from Nate Shelley’s niece, one of which still sat on a shelf in his office, despite the betrayal. Ted was also a passionate believer in what he referred to as “rom-communism,” all the trappings included. In retrospect, Trent should have known he’d go all out for Valentine’s Day.

Independent by TheBasilRathbone - Rated: M; completed (5/5).

Trent Crimm might only recently be an independent journalist, but he's had no one to rely on but himself for far, far longer. And most days, it feels like he's barely keeping it together. So it only seems fitting that the conclusion to the worst period of his life is for the whole thing to go up in literal flames.  Luckily for Trent, help comes from a (not so) unexpected source.

you found one song that you like (and you just play it on repeat) by Anonymous - Rated: E; completed (2/2).

“Ted,” Trent tries again, after he’s taken a deep breath, “I honestly didn’t think it was a possibility, but I’m pregnant. It’s yours, obviously, and I plan on keeping the baby.” There. That’s honest, at least.

better than life by confessionofaking - Rated: E; completed (2/2).

Before he can realize what’s happening, Trent finds himself on top of Ted again, this time sitting on his chest. His hands are gripping Trent’s thighs, and he’s looking at him like a man starving and oh. So that’s what they’re doing. “Wait, fuck, are you sure? No one’s ever let me sit on their face before, what if I—,” Ted interrupts him, “Trent, please sit on my face right now or else I might go fuckin’ insane.”

to seek solace by ShowMeAHero - Rated: M; completed.

Ted turns, smiling, hand lifting in a wave, ready to greet Trent properly this time, rather than in his ridiculous character. And Trent is still sitting in the exact same spot, unmoving, staring straight ahead. Ted waves all the same, but Trent doesn’t wave back. It’s like he’s not even paying attention, like he’s somewhere else entirely. Maybe he’s lost in his own thoughts— but, whenever he’s thinking too hard, he’s usually chewing on his pen, or fiddling with his glasses, and running his hands through his hair, or something. He’s a fidgety thinker. Right now, though, he’s just sitting there, abruptly motionless, strangely absent. His notebook and pen are still in his hands, in the same position he’d fallen into when he first arrived; he hasn’t written anything else down. Ted evaluates him for a confused moment before calling, “Good morning, beautiful!” Trent still doesn’t move. or: trent has an unexpected trauma response while ted is joking around. confusion, communication, and comfort are not far behind.

Architecture With a Human Element by ItsClydeBitches - Rated: T; completed.

“There has to be something,” Trent muttered, furiously scrolling through his feed. Each suggestion he found was debunked by the next post, with many parents swearing up and down that certain techniques made the whole thing worse. Trent stopped on a video of a mother taking scissors to her daughter’s curls and bit down on an actual sob building in the back of his throat. It was right before Trent let it fly that his mobile rang. Coach Ted Lasso (from America). Trent couldn’t say what possessed him to answer with his throat thick and his eyes prickling, but his traitorous hand had already swiped while his mouth said, “I have to shave my head.” Or: 5 times Ted got to touch Trent's hair and one time he returned the favor.

looks like we made it by hippiecommune - Rated: T; Chapters 5/6.

Trent knew relegation was a mortifying prospect for any team, and Jamie Tartt’s winning goal can’t have felt like anything but salt in the wound. It was a very sad day for Richmond, and Trent would by no means relish reporting on it.  But there was really no excuse for Ted Lasso to have lost his mind over it. Or, Ted Lasso can't stop losing to Manchester City. It may or may not actually matter.

Just like bull riding by the libraryofdana - Rated: E; completed.

“I honestly don’t see how this will erase the embarrassment and humiliation of me blasting out in front of Rebecca that I had my sexual awaking by accidentally violating my teddy bear!” Trent snaps, flinching and shuddering at the memory of the awkward silence and condescending “Hey, been there.” from Keeley while all Trent could think about was the quickest way to quit his job, break off all contact, and live in a hut somewhere in a forest where there’s no way to reach him ever again. Maybe arrange for a hypnotist to rid him of the mortification of reliving the moment at Girl's Talk. Ted’s hands move over his sides, caressing his naked chest with warm, broad palms that rub up and down. “It’s called confrontational therapy,” he says as casually as if this offer, this idea, this damn fucking spur of Ted Lasso’s great mind, isn’t utterly ridiculous. or: Ted wants Trent to ride him in his teddy-form

The Lasso Effect by earlybloomingparentheses - Rated: E; completed.

Dating Ted Lasso is a wonderful thing. There are, however, certain downsides. For example, Trent no longer has control over when and where he smiles. He apparently cares about Roy Kent's opinion of him now. And he's been having the most ridiculous urge to tap dance. It's the Lasso Effect.

a man arrives on thursday by clementines_and_colorful_things - Rated: E; completed (4/4).

The capture of a friend prompts notorious outlaw Ted Lasso to take on the crooked leadership of Nelson Road, Kansas, with his motley crew of castoffs, cowboys, and criminals. When English-born historian Trent Crimm finds himself unwillingly swept into the fast-paced world of Lasso and his outlaws, he gradually begins to unravel the enigmatic Ted Lasso’s complicated ties to Nelson Road’s most prominent players. Tensions run high as Ted evades arrest and plots the downfall of those who have wronged him, and Trent worries that Ted will meet the same abrupt end that most outlaws do: with a length of rope and a rather short drop. — A Ted Lasso Wild West AU

[dreamyblanket]

Here is allllll the canon and non cannon thoughts I have about Caramel arrow put into a neat little post ^^

Also, thanky @speadrunner for prompting me this was high quality enrichment for me brain.

Allright!

To start we're only going on cannon stuff and there's actually alot to work with compared to the usual bg character im obsessed with! We have the main story and beast yeast. [last cookie standing too if you consider that cannon. I personally don't]

🔲 Canon 🔳

🤎She's very passionate.

We've seen how heated she gets when defending herself or just talking about other people she likes even if it gets her in trouble at times.

🤎 she's very loyal

Her loyalty to the dark cacao kingdom and dc himself is stated many times. I don't think I need to defend that ^^u but there's also her loyalty to her comrades! It's shown really well in the scene with the alter of the fallen where she takes time to light an incense for them before heading to the citadel.

🤎she works extremely hard

I would say she overworked herself but we've really only really seen her in stressful times tbh. [Other than in the cookie kingdom too]

Buuuutt! We also know that during her banishment she made her own arrows, gave her rations to the villages near by, traveled between them, was implied to be protecting them I'm pretty sure, oh! and was hunting for herself [and probably the villages] during her banishment which was around 4 weeks or so [based her saying "a moon has passed"] so she's no stranger to working hard! [Becoming first watcher also is a big achievement so add that to our list!]

🤎she's close to dc and knew dark choco

For her being close to dark cacao, it's implied in the first story but really comes out in beast yeast.

1] She can read his fighting style from the scene where they are lost in the fog

2] She quickly clocked that he was uneasy about something when his sword was acting up.

Not to mention the end scene where he held hers and crunchy chips hands [that was so sweet ;.;] he clearly cares about them just as much.

Now with being close to dark choco! They have dialoge in the kingdom where they talk about training together again and she says she knew him when he was a general in the citadel. So yea ^^

🤎oh! and obviously Boba is her favorite drink. It's literally in her ideal animation and often shown in official art of her.

Fun fact! Her name isn't actually Caramel arrow in other translations! It's brown sugar ^^ but I like Caramel arrow more tbh it fits her design better.

🔳less cannon but I have circumstantial evidence 🤓 🔲

🤎she uses work to avoid her emotions

I know the opening scene with her saying "no more tears" can absolutely be taken as "i have work to do, we can cry later" but the fact she starts listing all the stuff she has to do after helps my case.

She also tends to stay relatively calm in comparison to others during stressful times which can also be interpreted as her working hard to avoid her feelings.

🤎she's not someone who holds grudges often

Ok so, obviously affogato is a whole other story. I think you would also hold a grudge if that happend to you but she doesn't give any "on sight" energy to dark choco, infact she wanted to spend time with him again in their kingdom dialoge.

She hasn't really shown that much anger toward anyone other than affogato tbh.

🤎 her and crunchy chip have a sibling relationship

You can obviously say they just banter or "are friends" but as a person with siblings, those two are siblings.

🔲Head cannons 🔳

Cannon has left to go buy milk and wont be coming back ^^

🤎she likes to do wood carving ^^ on long nights it's something readily available to keep her busy

🤎she has alot of scars on her hands and legs just from exsploreing, fighting, and crunchy chip being a fucking menace.

🤎she's got a pretty stong stomach and started to eat deer crackers during her banishment I elaborate in the tags about this here ->[https://www.tumblr.com/dreamyblanket/778323584757137408/sorry-guys-wafer-on-the-brain-its-terminal-uu?source=share] [note, I dont recommend eating them yourself have a little nibble if your so inclined but you will probably give yourself a stomach ache if you do]

🤎she has a hard time accepting anything beyond familial love [yes, I am talking about this in relation to wafer]

🤎she's really good at hands on learning but as soon as a book is infront of her she checks out, please for the love of witches don't tell her to write anything other than a work report she will hate it.

🤎on that note! she's good at visual maths but not written math. Her skills are mostly practical. [Again, please don't giver her a math test she will cry.]

🤎has tried dog treats before, mostly because crunchy chip eats them [assume they all eat weird stuff ok?] She thought they were ok.

🤎has never left the dark cacao kingdom and has no desire to other than for work, it's her home she knows it inside and out.

🤎because she has deer crackers on her 24/7 the wild deer know her usual walking routes.

🤎doesn't like fizzy drinks or sour things.

🤎fucking loves sweet drinks, her order at Starbucks would make most people sick. [Whatever your thinking go sweeter.]

🤎also! big fan of cool rocks, one time she accidentally cracked a geode and picked up a book about rocks willingly for the first time in her life! She promptly put it down after learning about geodes but still impressive for her!

🤎her and affogato have never got along so during the time he was working his way into the advisory position she was his #1 opp

Yayyayayyyyy 🎊 🎊 🎊 you made it to the end!!

I hope this is readable, I went over it 3 times but if anything is weird please do tell me^^

Anywho, this is the end for now >:] I plan on updating this with her like, childhood and relationship with wafer soon but that's going to be a separate post because this is allready freakishly long and that's like 2x long ///^^u///

Uh, I like her a normal amount.

[xerith-42]

MCD Fighting Style breakdown

for @gonedreaminggg as a treat. I took your initial list, added a few ideas I came up with, had a breakdown, Bone apple teeth!

- Laurance: As seen in canon Laurance mainly uses a single large sword, though in his early appearances he uses a sword and a shield. I feel like Laurance has trained in multiple styles of combat to varying degrees. He's really good with a single sword of any size, and he can fight sword and shield. His dual wielding is lacking and he can tell every time he watches Dante fight. A lot of Laurance's movements are very basic forms of sword combat with slight variations and flare. Laurance is really light on his feet, so much so that when he really gets into a fight, it almost looks like he's gliding sometimes.

- Garroth: An absolute tank. Fuck what canon says here, Garroth has trained exclusively in fighting with a sword and shield. It is his bread and butter. His ass would not know what to do with a second sword, and nobody really tried to train him in anything else because he's so good at what he does. Garroth can and will always take the hits, he's a barbarian who manages to suppress the rage until he's forced to multiclass into paladin thanks to the relic. Always on the front lines, so good at throwing himself into danger, he wants to die a warriors death and go to Valhalla and both Aph and Laurance are like "Garroth please stop."

- Dante: Dual Wielding jack ass my beloved. Dual wielding isn't a super common style of combat just because it requires so much coordination and there's definitely a quantity over quality problem with guards in Ru'aun. Dante studies an unconventional style of fighting to stand out, and it works. He's super limber and flexible, at least when he's a teenager, and he's fast as fuck. Dante will absolutely be the one getting insane hit combos and doing like 8 attacks per round. He loves bragging about this so much, even though he has to slow down a little as he gets older and his body can't quite move the way it used to.

- Aphmau: Oh Aphmau... Can I call you Aph? You poor thing. In my brain Aph is partially trained by Garroth and Zenix in her early days, but she also just has some really good instincts from being Irene's reincarnation. She learns basic archery from Zenix, and a lot of basics in sword fighting from Garroth. She tends to prefer one lightweight weapon, though she does learn to get comfortable with larger weapons. She's shorter than a lot of her opponents so she likes having a lighter weapon that let's her move fast and go for the fucking knees. She does not fuck around in a fight, she will go straight for the kill. All the guards have some sort of honor/respect for their opponents. She doesn't. She will fucking kill you.

- Travis: Travis is the jack of all trades. You put a weapon in his hand and he knows how to use it. He's not particularly great with any one weapon, and he never has a preference. He was taught to always have his guard up and always be able to defend himself, so Travis is much more comfortable with being given a weapon and using it instead of having a preference. He carries a long sword with him everywhere he goes, but that's just in case he can't get his grubby little paws on something else. He also uses potions a lot more in battle than anyone else thinks to, so he's able to make up for any shortcomings in his fighting.

- Katelyn: Punch people at the perfect weak points of their body. Katelyn has done a lot of study into human anatomy and medicine, and she knows all the weak points of the body for taking someone out in a certain way. Want a quick knockout? There's a pressure point on the back of the neck she can hit while blindfolded. Want to make someone winded? Hit them in the solar plexus. Katelyn has honed her body for this style of fighting, she is ripped as fuck, and while she isn't the fastest fighter, mostly due to her still wearing armor, her strikes are powerful enough to make up for it.

- Lucinda: Evil!! She uses her witchcraft obviously, which I have a lot of thoughts about. I think it's basically being a prepared/component caster, so how well she does in a fight depends on what components she brings into it. But Lucinda literally has like three bags of holdings, she can always whip up something to kick your ass. And if she can't, her staff is definitely made out of some ancient tree and she'll just sweep people off their feet with it and then concuss them with the giant curved end of it. She prefers to take people down non-lethally if possible, especially because witchcraft is very susceptible to accidentally killing people, but if you hurt her friends, it's on sight,

- Zane: Despite his high position, Zane isn't particularly good with any large weapons. I always envision Zane to be somewhat lanky in his stature, and definitely the weakest out of his brothers. He doesn't want to be seen as a threat initially, and as shown in the series, he'd much prefer to find a non physically violent way to kill you. If he has to, he's always got knives hiding on his person, in his robe, in his belt, in his boots, man's always has a way to kill just in case.

- Nana: Magic in this universe is spontaneous casting, where most spells don't need active prep work, and fewer components. Like she needs her dolls as vessels and some magical energy that's naturally present in her body and she's good. I don't think Tu'la was always a safe place, and she likely learned to defend herself from a young age. But Nana isn't really good with conventional weapons like swords or bows, no, she knows how to dent your brain with a frying pan. She doesn't like being violent, but if you threaten her friends or family, she will absolutely demolish you with a cutting board.

- Vylad: The archer!! I like to think Vylad tried to spar with Garroth like once and hated it so much. He hates eye contact and getting close to people, so instead they learn how to be an absolute master of ranged combat. Vylad knows how to stab someone with a short sword in a desperate situation, but he'd much rather be perched on a tree above the battlefield and rain arrows from above. Vylad is also incredibly stealthy and faster than anyone else. So people see his perch and try to get there to take him down or have their own archers fire back, but he's already gone.

- Sasha: Sasha moves so gracefully, so fluidly, and almost enchantingly. For her fighting is a performance, she's gonna kill several people and she's gonna look good while doing it. Even when she was a trained guard she made herself stand out with an affinity for smaller curved blades that naturally assisted her fluid movements. She makes fights into an endurance test, cutting people up and whittling them down. But if she needs to kill, she knows how to do it in a single swipe and knows the weak points that guards are taught to protect, and the ones they aren't. She's such a menace :)