#coin line╭┈─ [ prompts ]

[underworldsarcade]

TAG DUMP ; GENERAL.

[light-me-on-pyre]

https://www.fimfiction.net/story/352115/the-friendship-test

Link to the story I mentioned in the tags (there's also a reading linked in the story description)

trial 1 was brand yourself or brand the next pony person in line. Nonlethal (unless you lunge for whumper and get your friend zapped to death)

trial 2 was beat rainbow dash or stab the next person in line to the hilt with the dagger. (same person could get beaten repeatedly over multiple turns or you could stab someone once)

trial 3 was toxic laughing gas. Hold your breath!

trial 4 was choose one of your friends to drown.

trial 5 was choice or chance poison. (in the cider one of the whumpees sold for extra flavor)

We don't get to see trial 6 because trial 1 was supposed to be nonlethal (so she says) but damn does the winner get survivor's guilt :)

(I didn't know what whump was when I was in the brony fandom but I think I still figured out what whump was even if not by name lmao)

Hey, I know I've been MIA for SEVERAL YEARS now, but I am writing a fic and I CANNOT get through my next chapter so I'm caving and asking for help.

In this fic, I have a whumper who is into games. They're making the whumpee go through trials. The whumpee nailed the fist trial and they're not happy. The whumper is also in posession of whumpee's family (of which I want two to perish in this chapter and three to survive). I'm having trouble thinking about the second trial.

I would like something intellectual: that is, the whumpee would choose to control the outcome, but it would always be terrible (Sophie's choice sort of deal). At first I thought something akin to the chess in Harry Potter in which each of the charaters represents a piece and if the piece gets captured they die. But I feel like that would be 1) hard to narrate 2) hard for readers to follow and 3) it's literally a rip off.

But I'm having trouble thinking of other ways that might happen. Does anyone have any suggestions on where I can look for inspiration?

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐇𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄 . ( a collection of fantasy - based dialogue prompts . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

strangers don't last very long around here .

lay down your sword , and i'll lay down mine .

whatever you do , do not stray from the path .

try not to get yourself killed .

the magic here is old and wild .

quiet ... do not wake it .

i thought i'd find you here . get up .

the tavern in [ location ] is known for its ale and its rumors .

you are starting the path towards your destiny .

is there no end to this accursed forest ?

my sword is yours .

the path to redemption is paved with trials and tribulations .

this forest feels ... sick . as if a disease lies upon it .

you are nothing but damned bones , and a damned soul .

have you ever seen the world beyond [ location ] ?

in the face of overwhelming odds , we must stand united .

please don't let them know that i'm here .

i've heard tales of your exploits . impressive , if they're true .

there's a town three miles east from here .

we have such history , you and i .

go carefully ... there's a camp nearby .

you will not die here , i forbid it .

your reputation precedes you .

i would rather die on my feet than on my knees .

there is no destiny . no born heroes .

you've got a fire in your eyes . use it , but don't let it consume you .

the spirits of this forest are restless .

there's more that you aren't telling me .

you have something that belongs to me .

you shouldn't be here , it's not safe in these parts .

all we can trust are the blades in our hands .

do you believe in fate ? destiny , prophecies ...

i don't think i'll ever get used to having blood on my hands .

wait ! there's traps here . lots of them .

i would die before helping in such a task .

there's an inn just another mile north .

have your blade at the ready .

if you can't already tell , i don't require saving .

have you drank your fill already ?

this isn't just some lark to me .

i'm headed to [ location ] . i could use some company .

your bravery is admirable , but it will also be your undoing .

you're exhausted , [ name ] . we're stopping here .

i will hunt you until the day i die .

i wish you a safe journey home .

as long as i can be of no help , i'm going to hide .

raise your sword . this should be a fair fight .

you're brave to show your face here again .

in this world , you can trust two things ; your intuition and your sword .

i've seen the way you look at the horizon . you're searching for something .

[ administers a healing potion / spell ] is that any better ?

you have no idea of the catastrophe you've set in motion .

there's an ambush ahead , stay quiet .

i want to know your story ... beginning to end .

in the end , we're all just stories waiting to be told .

i've heard tales of a dragon living high up in the mountains . some say it's just a myth , others swear it's real .

the line between friend and foe is often blurred .

try to stay quiet . is the wound deep ?

do not provoke them .

monster ? who's the monster here ?

i forbid you from telling anyone what you've seen here .

are you scared of witches ?

that's a beautiful [ weapon ] . may i ?

you are a valuable ally and a fearsome adversary .

do not tell me you've grown soft over the years .

if our enemy has returned , we must know .

you're a tough one to read , but i can see the kindness in your eyes .

the key to survival is knowing when to fight and when to flee .

i never expected to run into you in [ location ] .

last we spoke , you owed me some coin .

do not fear me ... everybody else fears me .

there is no magic or medicine that can cure this .

you keep questionable company .

every choice has a consequence .

the fate of the world lies in your hands .

so you're the great [ name ] .

remorse will get you nowhere .

you must stay on the path . do not leave it . if you do , you'll never find it again .

i once dreamed of this place . it's real ?

some secrets are best left buried .

the bridge is heavily guarded . we need a plan .

i thought you were returning home .

i would not do this unless i had to .

i need my horse .

it's real . all of the stories , the legends ... and it's real .

don't lose your wit . i believe you'll have need for it yet .

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jamil Viper: A Web, Tangled

Aaand here we go with the Relaxing in Room line of birthday cards :v d ehebkwjw It’s so funny that they chuck pillows to attack??? (By the way, congrats to this Jamil card overloading and crashing the JP server 😂)

For this series of birthday ficlets, I’ll focus on writing each birthday boy preparing to walk to school with the reader (since the duo partner barely appears in the vignettes). Can be read platonically or romantically, whatever you prefer~

Rise and Shine!

You lingered by the doorway, your eyes glued on Jamil.

He was preoccupied with glimpsing himself in a mirror set on a table. Before him were various accessories from a jeweled box. (Judging from the gaudiness of the massive rubies on it, it must have been a gift from Kalim.)

Loose tresses the color of dark chocolate tumbled down his back. When Jamil ran a brush through them, the sun caught and his hair tempered, turning lustrous.

You’d seen him massage his scalp with oil-slicked hands before—and again, he diid it, followed by some sort of a cream. The routine left his head moisturized smelling faintly of jasmine. Jamil never compromised when it came to hair care.

You often had to remind yourself that he was not a princess, entrancing as he was. The sway of his hair, the snap of his steps. Each movement, close to a part in a mysterious dance.

Jamil produced his magical pen. The magestone laid in it was as clear as a cloudless day, and the color of blood that had been left out for a little too long.

Now came the spectacle, the very highlight of your entire morning.

Jamil raised the pen as if he was a conductor waving his baton. A hush fell over an imaginary audience, a collective of breaths held in anticipation. This is it, this is it.

He flicked his wrist, and the magic flowed.

A trail of scarlet light emanated whenever Jamil drew his wand. The accessories laid out on his desk floated up, compelled, in a neat line. A band with a feather dangling from it, narrow golden bangles, flat beads that clinked like coins.

His dark locks lifted, dividing themselves into even sections, then into even smaller ones. They carefully twisted over and under each other, weaving into tight braids. Accessories slid on, effortlessly fitting themselves at his direction.

His intricate hairstyle assembled quickly, as if arranging the pieces of a familiar puzzle.

The red sparkles faded into a fine shimmer and then into nothing at all. As the last traces of magic settled, you bursted into applause.

“Bravo, bravo! Great show as always,” you said appreciatively.

“… That wasn’t a performance,” Jamil corrected as he set his magical pen down.

“It might as well be! It takes some serious skill to pull that off every morning.” You gestured to him. “And so fast!“

“Anyone could accomplish it with enough time and practice.” His words choice was humble, but there was a hint of a smirk in his tone.

A rare moment of triumph for him.

“Not just anyone. I think you’ve got a natural talent for this kind of thing,” you grinned broadly, “like a spider!”

Jamil’s neutral expression splintered, leaving jagged edges exposed. His left eyes twitched, pupils pinpricks.

“Excuse me? In what way do I remind you of a vile bug?”

“Hey, don’t knock spiders! You guys have similar skills. The braids, the webs. You make’m well, all nice and strong. No strands out of place.���

“That doesn’t reassure me,” he groused, a hand on his hip. “I’d prefer if you didn’t compare me to them. It feels wrong.”

Jamil shivered. Not from the cold, but with repulsion.

You gave a laugh—soft against the rising morning sun. “Really? But you’re so alike in other ways too.”

His eyes narrowed into suspicious slivers. Mildly offended, perhaps.

“Elaborate,” he commanded.

“They’re hard working and important but under-appreciated,” you pointed out. “Without spiders, there would actually be a lot more bugs around. We should be more grateful to have spiders’ webs.”

There was a pause, deliberate. Then a gentle prompt.

“… Remind you of anyone?”

Jamil scoffed. It was as loud as a thunderclap in his suddenly cavernous bedroom.

“Maybe.”

Two syllables, clipped. An acknowledgment.

“Jamil-senpai…?”

He hurriedly looked away, staring at the wall for likely longer than what was deemed appropriate. Any more, whether in length or in intensity, and he might have burned a hole in it. His face, hotter than the Scalding Sands.

Your brows shot up. “… Ah. Could it be that you’re feeling embarrassed?”

“What? No, don’t be ridiculous. Something like this couldn’t possibly ruffle me.”

You craned your body, attempting to meet his gaze. But he wrenched away, denying that to you. “Then why aren’t you looking at me when you say that?”

“I need to get ready for class,” he replied dismissively. “So close the door and wait outside while I change out of my pajamas.”

“Now you’re just changing the subject!”

“Well, we’ll both be running late if we continue to dawdle,” Jamil warned—a tactful evasive maneuver.

His hands found their way onto your arms, steering you into the hallway. You turned back, mouth opening to protest, but Jamil had already sealed himself off.

Banging and calling out to him was no good. Kicking resulted in you gripping onto your poor foot and whimpering. You were left in a sorry state, back to the door as you rested on the floor.

On the other side, Jamil was surely having a little laugh. Cheeks still burning from the praise showered upon him, basking in the afterglow of it.

You sighed.

A spider makes its web to deceive flies into getting stuck in it. Jamil-senpai can be just as tricky.

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION #385032: Shape-shifting genitals, mouth-mashing skillsets, who taps out first in the bedroom and the 17 different types of meat this guy eats.

I TRIED TO MAKE THIS A BIG ONE. Thank you everybody for your patience!

The truth of the matter is that I need one dramatic light-source or I will perish. HOWEVER...

Yeah, they seem the type to leave it purposefully ajar for the thrill of it. As well as the excuse to bring hell down upon anyone caught trying to steal a peek.

YES, actually! I've had the concept for a comic or two that's precisely about interactions they've had while younger. Comics take a lot of work, and there's a LOT of things I want to do, but that is definitely in the plans.

Yes! Or rather, as a shapeshifter, I believe she doesn't bother with them 99% of the time, possibly never, even though she has the habitability to form them if she so wished. The Orin DU drow knew was always doll-like in appearance when nude, and he did not particularly mind it or fantasized about anything different.

I believe this is both a preference in Orin's part (and across many shapeshifters, if I recall correctly) as well as a strategic choice.

And thank you so much!

[MORE BELOW THE CUT]

I don't know, kissing isn't that hard LOL I think they're pretty even-leveled in technique but Astarion is the tonguier one.

ALL IN DUE TIME, MY FRIEND, ALL IN DUE TIME...

Maybe 😊 🤫though I'm not sure how useful his powers would be in that context.

That said, Indeed! The irony of this match isn't lost on anyone. I'm sure Astarion would have some thoughts about the convenience of it.

I know this is more of a jokey message, but I don't think Astarion would be cool with that sort of thing, and DU drow most definitely wouldn't ask 😂

Whatever works, as he would probably say!

Astarion got drunk through DU drow on occasion while he still fed on him, yes LOL I don't care if that makes sense or not, It's a hysterical concept and definitely factual in my canon. To be fair as well, DU drow is a huge man and has to drink a LOT to get properly wasted - so Astarion wouldn't have to consume a whole lot from him to get on a similar level!

Post a few particular post-campaign events, Astarion gets drunk through strangers' blood that were either piss-drunk already or have been fed alcohol forcibly by the pair.

He likes thick stews, braised pork, and meat-pies the most. Don't ask me when or why I've decided this but he likes octupi as a every-once-in-a-while treat - I think he mostly enjoys the experience of eating it more than the taste.

For drinks, he likes beer, red semi-dry wine, and mead the most. He also likes a GOOD whisky - none of the copper-coin garbage they serve at most Inns.

Hi! Incredible question. DU drow can go indefinitely but when he stops he knocks out in record speed. There usually comes a point where Astarion flops over and lets him do all the work.

You know how, shortly after you find out about it, if you tell Astarion that you're frightened of your origins you get that really heartfelt bit of dialogue about how yourself and him are so much alike, and how he feels similarly powerless before Cazador as you do toward your father? Well, I never got that, because DU drow was too busy squinting into the horizon and contemplating the logistics of his conception which prompts Astarion to, essentially, say something along the lines of "Okay, if all you want to do is discuss your dad's cum I'm out"

So, like that.

They didn't smash in the graveyard! I'm hoping to either write a short thing about it, draw something inspired by how the scene went down in my head, or, ideally, both!

That IS kind of a wild comparison but I'm guessing you know about my origins, LOL.

Not... Quite. I'm reluctant to say more because I would like for it to be a surprise that I bring you all through art (even if you can make a pretty accurate deduction based on what has been said so far) but suffice to say that this is the flipside to the Bhaalist DU drow AU.

I don't think I could find the time 😭😭😭 but that's a hysterical idea and I would gladly mash together a bunch of clips if someone else was willing to highlight them!

Hello and thank YOU for humoring me in my nerdy little forays!

I hadn't heard about Model/Actriz but I had a little sneak-peek and, indeed, this might just be right up my alley LOL

It's hard for me to remove these characters from their intended universe so I have a difficult time picturing what they would listen to if the options didn't all sound like string-y bardcore music. I'm sure there are more genres to speak of in DnD lore, I'm just ignorant of them!

That said I do have some thoughts about which of them even enjoy music at all.

REALLY enjoys music: DU drow, Jaheira, Misc, Karlach, Wyll.

Modestly enjoys music: Gale, Shadowheart, Minthara, Halsin.

Generally doesn't enjoy music: Astarion, Lae'zel.

No notes just canonical character information being shared

I forgot what this one was in reference to for a moment and I was so aghast.

I really, really hope you weren't hoping for me to give you work-out advice because both, if you were, you've come to the wrong man.

But if you're just wondering about lore here, I think it's a solid 50/50. I think he's predisposed to a really well-built physique because Daddy Bhaal said so AND he's incredibly active and incidentally does a lot of manual labor. If he's had a few too many sedentary days in a row (which is rare) he pretty much has to tire himself through at-home routines or he goes a little cuckoo-bananas as well.

And thank you for being interested in my little freak!

He's pretty thoroughly desensitized, and thinks far too little of Orcs and half-orcs to be intimidated by them, even when that lack of fear is downright stupid. He's not impervious to fear, however, despite how hard he tries to be - Myrkhul, Grym, the giant Steelwatch, the brain, and even Cazador AFTER he snatched Astarion away were all encounters that made his blood run cold to varying degrees. I think it takes an unfamiliar foe for his sweat to run a little cold.

(Ironically, Raphael had no such effect on him.)

[ravensliterature]

If you are taking more requests could you make more Magneto (Erik) x men 97 x reader with fluff?

A/N: Of course! Some Magneto (Erik) fluffy times coming right up!

pairing: Magneto (Erik) x Human!GN!Reader

warnings: NA

w/c: 784

Prompt: Magneto is having a nightmare, and the reader decides to provide their partner comfort.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was tossing, turning, sweat dripping down his brow as they furrowed in distress. Erik has many demons that he fought through his lifetime and you had done your best to help him fight each one. He had seen the worst humanity had to offer - Yet you gave him hope. Hope that humanity could be and do better. You were better than any human he had seen before.

You slept soundly next to him, until a cry erupted in the night. Your eyes fluttered open alert. A cry in the X-Mansion could be caused by any number of things. An enemy, intruder, protestors, Nightcrawler stubbing his toes again. You lifted yourself abruptly to a sitting position to see your paramore to your left gripping his chest with a silk sheet in hand. Erik’s breathing was heavy and his head shifted from side-to-side, clearly having a nightmare.

You placed a hand on his chest, gently calling out to him, “Erik…”

He continued to toss around causing you to say his name a little louder, waking him from slumber.

As Erik's eyes snapped open, they were wide with panic, still clouded by the remnants of his nightmare. The room around him seemed to flicker in and out of focus as he struggled to orient himself in the present moment. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breaths shallow and ragged, as if he were still trapped in the depths of whatever haunted his dreams.

You could see the tension etched into every line of his face, the strain of years of struggle and conflict manifesting in the furrow of his brow and the tightness of his jaw. The moonlight streaming through the window cast long shadows across the room, painting his features in a haunting chiaroscuro.

Without hesitation, you leaned closer, your hand still resting gently on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your palm. "Erik," you repeated softly, your voice a soothing melody cutting through the darkness. "It's okay, you're safe. You're here with me."

Slowly, as if emerging from the depths of a turbulent sea, Erik's breathing began to steady, the frantic rhythm gradually giving way to a more measured cadence. His eyes met yours, still clouded with remnants of fear but slowly clearing as he focused on your presence beside him.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I… I'm sorry."

You shook your head gently, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. "There's nothing to apologize for, Erik. Nightmares happen. You're not alone."

His gaze softened, a flicker of gratitude shining in his eyes as he reached out to grasp your hand, anchoring himself to the comforting reality of your touch. In that moment, amidst the chaos of his inner demons and the uncertainty of the world outside, there was solace in the simple act of connection, in the knowledge that you were there to weather the storm by his side.

As the tension slowly ebbed from Erik's body, he let out a long, shaky breath, his fingers intertwining with yours in a silent plea for reassurance. The echoes of his nightmare lingered like ghostly whispers in the air, but with each passing moment, they faded into the background, overshadowed by the warmth of your presence.

Gently, you brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, your touch light and comforting against his skin. "Do you want to talk about it?" you asked softly, your voice a tender invitation to share the burden of his fears.

Erik hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window where the moon hung like a silver coin in the night sky. Memories, both distant and recent, tugged at the edges of his consciousness, fragments of a past that refused to stay buried.

"It was… a memory," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "Of a time when I… failed. When I couldn't protect those I cared about."

You squeezed his hand gently, offering silent encouragement as he struggled to put words to the ghosts that haunted him. In the dim light of the room, the shadows seemed to dance around him, mirroring the turmoil of his thoughts.

"I know the feeling," you replied softly, your own memories of loss and pain echoing in the quiet space between you. "But you're not alone anymore, Erik. You have people who care about you, who stand by you no matter what."

For a moment, there was a fragile silence, as if the weight of the world hung suspended in the air. But then, slowly, Erik's features softened, the lines of tension smoothing away as he turned to face you fully, his eyes searching yours for some semblance of solace.

"You're right," he murmured, a faint glimmer of hope stirring in his gaze. "Thank you, Y/N. For being here."

Without a word, you leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, a silent promise of solidarity and support. In that moment, amidst the echoes of the past and the uncertainties of the future, there was only the simple truth of your connection, a beacon of light guiding them through the darkness.

[lilasamaaa]

Amor | Carlos Sainz x Reader

Genre | Smut, Fluff.

Word count | 3.8K

Warnings | Sexual content, alcohol consumption.

Summary | Carlos is about to enjoy a few days of rest in Lisbon between races when he crosses paths with a young woman with whom he will share a night. And, if fate allows it, perhaps a little more...

Author's note | Thanks for the lovely request @thefuckwasmyname ! Hope you like it!

In life, there are many things that Carlos Sainz enjoys. His job, obviously. Or his family, of which he's very proud to be extremely close. But sometimes, there's something he loves even more than all of that : escaping both of these things. And that's exactly what he had planned to do for the next five days, wandering the streets of the Portuguese capital.

His phone has been off since this morning, when he stepped onto the plane taking him from Madrid to Lisbon. Everyone had been informed, and his words were very clear. Unreachable. Don't text, don't call, he had told his family the day before departure. I need to take some time for myself. To recharge. I won't answer.

Carlos loves Lisbon. As he steps onto the geometric patterns of the Praça do Rossio, memories of childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood flood his mind. Memories of his father playfully chasing after him, of sharing ice creams with his sisters, of days at the beach searching for the most beautiful seashell to give to his mother. Yes, Lisbon is truly a place that is precious to him. A place he doesn't want to share. A place he wants to keep for himself.

His stays in Lisbon always start the same way, and he's set on respecting the tradition. Running a hand through his hair and adjusting his cap and sunglasses on his head, the Spaniard heads straight to Gelados Santini. The blazing sun of this early May afternoon isn't in his favor. It seems like all of Lisbon has crowded into the small shop, determined to combat the sweltering heat with a sweet treat. Engrossed in his phone, the twenty-minute wait passes without incident, and soon he's next in line. Right after the woman in front of him, who is now heading towards the counter.

"Bom dia," he hears a very lovely voice say. He's not surprised to hear something other than English. A lot of locals love the place. "Eu gostaria de..."

The woman pauses, seemingly searching for her words. There are quite a few choices, Carlos thinks. Her hesitation is understandable.

"Eu gostaria de um sorvete de limão em amor, por favor."

Oh, he thinks. This woman is definitely not Portuguese.

"Amor?" the young man behind the counter asks, eyeing up suspiciously.

"Sim, amor e limão. Em um potinho pequeno em vez de um cone, por favor."

The man scrutinizes the woman in front of him as if horns had just sprouted from her head. Even though Carlos had planned to remain rather discreet, the young woman's confusion prompts him to intervene.

"Ela quer de amora. Limão e amora," he says to the man behind the counter, stepping forward.

"Ah, amora," the vendor repeats, grabbing the ice cream scoop.

"Oh my god," the woman says in perfect English, turning to face him. "What did I ask for?"

"A lemon and love ice cream. Quite original," he responds, suppressing a laugh. The young woman blushes deeply, covering her mouth.

"This is the last time I try to speak Portuguese."

"You were doing great," Carlos says, still laughing. "The accent was perfect, at least. Could have fooled me."

The man behind the counter hands her the ice cream, and she gives him a bill in exchange for some coins. She thanks him and gives a little wave to Carlos, thanking him too, before leaving the shop. The Spaniard places his order in perfect Portuguese, and a few seconds later, he too is once again facing the boiling sun, ice cream in hand. The young woman is still there, leaning against the shop window, trying to enjoy the shade of the small awning at the storefront.

"Thanks again," she says, licking the side of cup where a drop threatens to escape.

"My pleasure," he responds, sitting down next to her in the shade. "But perhaps I shouldn't have intervened? If it's really love you wanted to order from that innocent man."

She laughs, with a radiant, luminous laughter.

"No, you did well to come to my rescue. I thought the poor guy was going to have a heart attack."

"If you had insisted, I'm not sure he would have refused the proposition of such a pretty girl," he responds with a smirk, his eyes fixed on his cone.

"You, Portuguese men," she says, smirking at him. "You've certainly earned your reputation as charmers."

"Well, that might be true, but I wouldn't know. I'm Spanish," he replies with a grin.

"Oops! Sorry," she replies. "It's not very far, after all," she adds.

"Yes, we're neighbors. That's why I come here so often," he explains.

"Oh!" she exclaims, her eyes suddenly sparkling with excitement. "So, you know the city well, then?"

"Like the back of my hand," Carlos replies, gazing into her eyes.

"Okay," she starts. "I've been here for four days. I'm leaving tomorrow. I feel like I've already done all the important stuff : Praça do Comércio, the cathedral, the castle, the convent," she begins to list, counting on her fingers. "Belém Tower, of course. Absolutely magnificent. Alfama, too... But I'm afraid I might have missed something. Is there anything else that's a must-see?"

Carlos takes a moment to think, bringing the ice cream to his lips.

"Well," he says after a few seconds. "Have you crossed the 25th of April Bridge?"

"The one that looks like the Golden Gate?" she asks as Carlos nods. "No, I've only seen it from afar. I didn't dare to walk across it," she admits.

"Yeah, it's better to avoid walking across it," the Spaniard agrees. "But if you want, I have a scooter. If you feel like crossing the bridge. No pressure, of course," he says, focusing back on his ice cream.

"You'd do that?" she asks, her eyes widening. "Oh, that would be so amazing. I mean, if you don't have anything else to do, of course."

Twenty minutes later, done with their ice creams and feeling a bit refreshed, Carlos starts his scooter in a small Portuguese alleyway, while the young woman, seated behind him, fastens her helmet.

"Hold tight," he says, starting the engine and venturing into the cobbled streets, making her yelp before grabbing onto his waist.

The journey to the bridge takes about fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes during which Carlos explains to her what's around them, from cathedrals to varieties of trees to famous murals. The rushing air and their helmets make conversation a bit difficult, so she leans into him, chin resting on his shoulder to hear better. When finally the bridge stands before them, she can't help but let out a "wow" of surprise and admiration. "It's so beautiful!" she shouts for Carlos to hear, and she feels the Spaniard laughing, his back trembling against her chest. In the distance, the statue of Christ stands with outstretched arms, as if waiting for them.

"Just like in Rio!" she says.

"You've been to Brazil?" Carlos asks, eyeing her up in one of the rearview mirror.

"Yeah," she says. "Have you?"

"Yes," Carlos replies. "For work."

The driver accelerates to overtake a car, and the wind cuts off their conversation. Behind him, her arms tighten around his waist, and he finds himself enjoying the sensation. A few minutes later, they've finally crossed the bridge, and they take the opportunity to stop at the statue and explore the surroundings. Lost in the streets of Almada, the two strangers get to know each other, exchanging life and travel anecdotes. The chemistry is so good that neither of them realizes how much time has passed until the sun sets on the horizon, in front of the terrace they're seated at.

"Wow, I can't believe it's already almost 8 p.m.," she suddenly says, looking at her phone.

"Did you have plans after this? Sorry, I've stolen you for quite some time," he asks apologetically.

"No, nothing planned. And I've quite liked being stolen, to be honest," she replies, looking at him over her spritz. "Thank you for being such a great guide."

Carlos looks lost in his thoughts for a moment, silent.

"Would..." he starts, hesitant. "Would it be weird if I invited you to dinner? My cousin lent me his apartment, there's a beautiful view of the city. I bought some groceries when I arrived this morning, I have wine, and..."

He's interrupted by a hand placed on his, and when he looks up, his eyes meet those, dark, of the young woman. He's never been extremely confident, but he's never felt as exposed as he does under her piercing gaze. It's... unsettling. Kinda sexy, too.

"I'd be really happy to. If you're not already tired of my company," she replies, laughing.

An hour later, she's sitting on the terrace of the Spaniard's cousin, overlooking the Tagus Bay, a glass of white wine in hand. The sun has set, but the air is still warm. Below, the noise of restaurant terraces adds to the evening's liveliness. Behind her, in the kitchen, the driver is busy slicing vegetables, cutting meat, draining pasta.

"Are you sure you don't need a hand, Carlos?" she asks, turning around. It's been a while since they exchanged names, back at the bar in Almada. She also learned that he was a driver. He didn't really say much more, so she interpreted... like a taxi, or something. They talked about her job, as a lecturer at the University of Oxford in England. Foreign civilizations, she'd explained with a smile, beaming with pride.

"No, I want you to enjoy the evening. I invited you to dinner after all, not to cook," he replies with a smile. She smiles in return, turning her attention back to the water. She could stay here forever. But already, her departure is approaching. The notification on her phone informing her that her flight takes off in a few hours is proof of that. A surprisingly disappointing proof. Almost painful. Painful? Ridiculous, she thinks, shaking her head to dispel the absurd idea.

"It's ready," the Spaniard announces suddenly, placing two steaming plates on the small table where she's seated.

"It smells incredibly good," she replies, closing her eyes and flaring her nostrils. "Do you cook a lot?"

"Not as much as I'd like," the man responds. "I'm often on the road for work. It's not easy to find the time and motivation to get into the kitchen."

"Yeah, I bet," she replies, raising her glass in his direction to toast. Their two glasses clink gently, and each takes a sip, settling into a comfortable silence.

"I'd like to cook more too, but when you get home at 9 p.m. from a day of long and tiring lectures... Food delivery works just fine," she confides, laughing.

The conversation goes on, each opening up to one another, asking questions, answering some. Neither of them says it, but each is surprised by how easily they open up, reveal themselves. It's almost unsettling, he thinks. To know someone for just a few hours and feel so comfortable. Truly unsettling, she thinks. Having dinner with a stranger and wanting to tell them your entire life story. The dinner continues, as does the wine, and slowly, the conversation drifts. Without either of them really noticing. Or caring enough to stop.

"What's a girl like you doing here all alone?" the Spaniard asks after a moment.

"Right back at you," she says. "What's a guy like you doing here alone?"

"What's a guy like me?" he asks, a playful smile on his lips.

"Come on now, you're just fishing for compliments. I don't care, I'll bite," she replies, smirking. "A charming guy. Very charming. Well-dressed, multilingual, good conversationalist, and who cooks amazingly well. A guy who knows how to please a woman," she adds.

"I do know how to please a woman," he says, tone low. "Thanks for noticing."

Realizing the innuendo, she blushes, drinking from her glass.

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"I know," he replies, smiling. "But thanks for the compliments. To answer your question, I often come to Lisbon when I need to be alone. To gather my thoughts," he responds.

"And yet, we've spent the day together. That's not what I call being alone. Did I ruin your plans then?" she says, eyeing him intensely.

"You haven't ruined anything. If anything, you've improved them."

"There he is," she replies, laughing. "The Portuguese man in you. The charmer!" she says, throwing the bottle cap in his direction. He catches it effortlessly in the air, laughing out loud.

"What about you, then? You haven't answered the question," Carlos says, serious again. "What's a splendid, refined, elegant woman of knowledge like you doing alone in Lisbon?"

The conversation pauses for a moment as she looks away from his eyes, gazing into the river in the distance.

"I don't know why I'm doing this," she begins, "but I'm going to tell you something I haven't told anyone yet. Not my family, not even my closest friends. In fact, I've only just admitted it to myself, but... I'm searching for meaning."

"Meaning?" he repeats, arching a brow.

"I love my job, I've worked hard to get here. Living in Oxford isn't so bad, if you forget about the rain. I'm well surrounded, I have friends, I get along great with my loved ones. But..." she continues, hesitantly. "I've been feeling lately like my life doesn't have any meaning. Like I'm moving forward without direction. Like something is missing."

"And what could this something be?" Carlos replies softly.

"I don't know. I'm here to find out," she says, meeting his eyes.

It must be the wine. Or the adrenaline from the day... But probably more the wine, which prompts Carlos to lean over the table and capture her lips. She's surprised, her whole body seeming to stiffen, and for a moment, Carlos regrets it. But a few seconds later, her tongue finds his, intensifying the kiss, her hand moving to the nape of his neck. Things escalate quickly. It only takes them a few minutes to abandon plates, glasses of wine, and clothing along the way and throw themselves onto the double bed in the apartment.

All day, she let him make the decisions. The one to leave the gelato shop. The one to cross the bridge. The one to eat dinner at his place. So Carlos is particularly surprised when she pushes him onto the bed, kissing him passionately before descending to his groin, and his already almost painful hard-on. Her hand barely brushes against his cock, her touch delicate, but already, his whole body is on fire. At her mercy.

"Wait," he says, sitting up on his elbows. "Are you sure? I can make you feel good."

"Let me thank you for this fantastic dinner," she says, watching him through her lashes, eyes dark.

Her hand wraps around him, and her expert movements begin, running her thumb over the tip, letting a trickle of saliva drip from her mouth to its tip.

"Fucking hell", he swears, falling back.

Her mouth finds him, and she plays with her tongue, hollowing her cheeks, taking him as far as she can until tears well up in the corners of his eyes. His moans intensify, assuring her that she's doing well, that he appreciates her efforts. Her little game lasts for a while, his hands lost in the mass of her hair, pulling at the roots, uttering profanities. Praising her. Then suddenly, he sits up, letting out a "wait" that makes her stop abruptly.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asks, wiping her mouth.

"No, you did... Everything right. Too right. I was going to, erm..."

"Oh!" she utters, stiffling a laugh.

"Now, let me take care of you," he says, flipping her over on the bed, his body on top of hers.

They kiss, something she's never done with other flings, other one-night stands. Something so deeply intimate, so dangerous. Their tongues meet, explore each other. He bites her lip and she lets out a moan so loud that she surprises even herself. This guy has way too much of an effect on me, she thinks, getting lost in his eyes. Hypnotizing eyes, he thinks, surrendering to them.

Pressing kisses along her neck, on her collarbones, and then on her breasts, his mouth finds one of her nipples, over which he slides his tongue, eliciting moans from her. Feeling her receptive, he tries something else, nibbling on it, pressing his warm mouth against it. For several minutes, he alternates from one nipple to the other, from one nipple to her mouth, from her mouth to the other nipple. His mouth, his teeth, are everywhere. Warm. Intoxicating. Suddenly, she clings to his shoulders, her mouth slightly open, and he can't help but scrutinize her, observe every movement, every expression on her face.

"Oh, god," she says, her head thrown back, a strand of hair in front of her eyes.

And she cums. It's probably the most beautiful, the most exciting thing he's ever seen in his life. His cock pulses, aching, and for a moment, he thinks he's going to empty himself there, on her stomach. Like a fucking teenager. But he has other plans, and he intends on making good use of them.

"Wow," she says, coming down from her orgasm. "I've never come from this before."

"Well, you did say that you wanted to find out things about yourself," he replies with a cocky grin.

She smiles, grabbing the back of his neck, pulling him towards her. He settles between her legs, his hand sliding between them, to her core. She's wet, her excitement glistening along her thighs. Onto the sheets. And who is he to judge, he, whose erection is almost painful, fueled by thoughts of slipping into her, making her his home for eternity.

In a kiss, he spreads her legs, positioning himself at her core, casting her a final confirming glance to which she responds by kissing him again, feverishly. He's inside her in one motion, and once again, he must focus to not explode within her walls.

"Fuck," he says, going as deep as possible. "Where were you all this time?"

"Oh, you know, at the ice cream shop. Asking for love," she replies, laughing.

He bites her shoulder, starting to move. Alternating between deliciously long moments where she moans, begging for more. And others where he ravages her, devouring her neck. Her lips. After some time, they're both panting, and he presses his forehead to her.

"I want you to ride me," he says, kissing her again. "I want to see you. All of you."

And she complies, swapping positions, sitting on his hard cock. Riding him without even thinking. Throwing her head back until her hair tickles his thighs. His hands find her breasts, holding them, kissing them.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "So good at riding me."

"Stop talking like this or I'm gonna cum," she says, whining.

"Would this be a bad thing?"

"I want this to last as long as possible," she says, pressing her nose to his.

He helps her, lifting her thighs to ease her movements, caressing her shoulders, her breasts, her hips. It lasts a moment, until she places both hands on his chest, her legs trembling.

"Let it go, hermosa," he says, holding her ass. "Cum for me, baby."

And she does, releasing a series of moans that make him bite his lip. He himself can't take it anymore, holding back his pleasure for some time. She feels it. The way his penis twitches. The squinting of his eyes. His short breath.

"Cum inside," she says, eyes still closed. "I want to feel you."

A few thrusts later, he empties himself deep inside her, with a grunt that could make her go for another round without thinking.

"La hostia," he breathes, panting. "¿Qué me has hecho, hermosa?"

"Was it that bad that you lost your English?" she asks, her head resting on his chest.

"You almost had me speaking French, that's to say," he laughs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

"Please, stay."

Several hours later, Carlos is snoring softly, and doesn't even hear the alarm clock of the young woman ringing. She grabs her phone, squinting against the brightness, checking the time. Four in the morning. Her flight is at 7, on the other side of the city. She has pre-ordered a taxi that should arrive within thirty minutes to take her back to her rental, so she can grab her suitcase before heading to the airport. She reluctantly slips out from under the warm covers, casting a glance at her lover, peacefully asleep. Should she wake him up? Say goodbye? She's always left her one-night stands without a word, without a glance. But him... she thinks. This was different. Maybe...

Spotting a notebook and a pen on the bedroom desk, she seizes them, scribbling a few words. Nothing seems good enough, yet she wants to try. She writes mindlessly, throwing in a thank you for everything, a best night of my life, a hope to see you again someday before leaving the note on her pillow. Twenty minutes later, she's gone, her perfume still lingering in the room.

Ten days later

"What's up with you?" Charles asks, eyeing him suspiciously.

"What?"

"You're not there. So, where are you?" his teammate asks again.

So, he tells him everything. His trip to Lisbon to clear his head. His meeting with her, the very first day. Their afternoon. Their night. The next morning, alone. Her note. And the thoughts haunting his mind ever since.

"Why didn't you write to her if she affects you so much?" Charles asks, perplexed.

"She didn't leave me her number," Carlos sighs, dejected. "Not even an address. Nothing."

"You said she was a professor? At Oxford?" Charles asks, invested, as Carlos nods, zipping up his firesuit. "Foreign civilizations, yeah?" Another nod from Carlos. "Have you searched for her email? It must be on the university website, right? For students who need to contact her?"

Carlos' face lights up in a second.

"You, fucking cabrón," he says, holding Charles by the shoulders. "How did I not think of that?"

A few minutes later, as he's about to put down his phone before heading for the qualifying session, Carlos writes the final words on the email destined to his beautiful stranger. Finding her email was surprisingly easy. Summarizing everything he wanted to say in a few lines was more challenging. Letting out a deep breath and pressing the send button, the Spaniard sets his phone down before joining his race car and slipping inside. Nervously on edge. Not about the upcoming session, no. Something else. Deliciously nerve-wracking.

As he speeds around the track, completing lap after lap, he misses the screen of his phone lighting up, announcing an email of which only the first line is visible.

"Hi stranger... I was beginning to think you'd never find me."

[actual-changeling]

Welcome back to Alex's unhinged meta corner, and today I have something surprisingly not kiss-related—though it is still about the final fifteen because hey, gotta keep the brand image.

I read this post by @goodoldfashionednightingale and began typing a small response. Then I made the mistake of drinking half a litre of coffee on an empty stomach right after taking my adhd meds and my brain began vibrating at the speed of light.

But oh, have I discovered parallels. This, my friends, is about the nightingale, where it comes from, what it means, and what the fuck happened in part 3 of 1941.

Ready? Let's go.

Now, as OP said in her post, s1e3 is important. In the script book, Neil himself says that these flashbacks are where the producers would tell him to cut scenes to save money. They suggested every single one—except for the one he ended up taking out, which was the bookshop opening scene set in 1800. The others are building blocks, you need them to see how their relationship progressed and what kind of important milestones they had.

(side note: author is very miffed that english does not have a separate subjunctive form like german which makes quoting lines way more confusing than it has to be)

The one I want to mention is neither 1941 nor 1967. No, what I want to talk about is 1601. This might be about to get a bit rambly but I will do my best to keep it tidy.

The focus of that flashback is on the Arrangement, yes, but it gives us a lot more information than that.

they both see Shakespeare's plays regularly, maybe even meet in the crowd

Crowley prefers the comedies

Aziraphale does not seem to have a preference, he enjoys the tragedies and presumably the comedies too

there is an oyster woman selling food -> reference to their meeting in Rome when Aziraphale tempted him to try some oysters

Aziraphale reflexively denies their relationship

Crowley might say he is not worried but circles Aziraphale the entire time, keeping watch

they both ask favours of each other and both agree to do them

What stands out to me in relation to what I am about to expand on is the line that Crowley delivers after Aziraphale's little 'buck up'—which Crowley finds adorable btw but that's a post for another time.

"Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety."

Why would he say that? What exactly is prompting this? WHY say that specific line?

At first I thought it might be to tempt Shakespeare because he does commit art theft by just copying that line down, BUT I think there is more to that. So much more, in fact. I am wiggling now because I am very excited about this and my adhd meds are kicking in anyway.

First things first: the line itself.

It appears in Shakespeare's play Antony and Cleopatra, a romantic tragedy, which was first performed in 1607 aka six years after this meeting. Enobarbus is talking about Cleopatra and describing why Antony won't leave her. Her.

Ccrowley uses his—again, who is he even talking about? Hamlet? Shakespeare? Random poetic quote?

No, I think this line is about Aziraphale and it's a code. Right after, the next line from Aziraphale is "What do you want?", meaning that this is their code phrase for 'I have a favour to ask of you'.

Age does not wither nor custom stale his infinite variety

Age will not affect his appearance nor will he ever become boring to Antony. Crowley, who later chooses the name Anthony for himself, tells Aziraphale, an immortal, that he will never age and that he will never grow bored of him.

It's flattery, pure and simple, and it's code at the same time. This establishes the important fact that they might use more of Shakespeare's work as code/already have a system in place (even though he steals Crowley's line for later).

They play their little morality game of back and forth, Aziraphale agrees, Crowley probably manipulates the coin toss, and THEN we find out that the oyster woman is called Juliet.

Why? What is the meaning of that? Why give her a name and that name in particular? Why bring the sexy oysters back into it?

Romeo and Juliet premiered in 1597, so it is safe to assume they have both seen it by 1601, but this is mostly for the audience, not for us-or is it?

Aziraphale gives Crowley puppy eyes until he agrees to make Hamlet popular, and while I don't think Juliet itself is a code word, although it's very interesting that the OYSTER woman is the one with that name (especially adding what we now know about Job), Romeo and Juliet might be.

Yes, the Nightingale song came out in 1940 but the bird has been around for much, much longer, and, as many probably know by now, also shows up in Romeo and Juliet.

This is where I am starting to vibrate at the speed of light because listen to me. Listen.

Crowley is Juliet. Anthony J. Crowley. Antony Juliet Crowley.

(side note: I'm not saying that Crowley chose it based on that—though I am not not saying that—but that it is a clue for us at the audience.)

Why do I think that? In the play, Romeo spends the night with Juliet and then goes to leave as the night begins to end. Juliet tries to stop him and tells him that the birds they are hearing aren't larks, which sing at dawn, but nightingales, which sing at night.

Who is the one always pushing for more? Crowley. He is the one trying to convince Aziraphale it's safe, they're safe to spend time together.

Romeo disagrees with Juliet and says 'I must be gone and live, or stay and die'.

Leave and stay alive, or stay and hell/heaven will punish us. It gets even better though.

We all know how Romeo and Juliet ends: Romeo thinks Juliet is dead, kills himself, Juliet finds him and then kills herself too.

Hey, do you know how Antony and Cleopatra ends?

Antony thinks Cleopatra is dead, kills himself and dies in her arms, then Cleopatra also kills herself—by snake poison; Romeo also died by poison.

The parallels are THERE. They are jumping down our throats! Two tragedies, two sides, several familiar names and phrases, same fear, same ending.

I think by now you can guess how this ties back to 1941.

We do not see how that night ends, but we know it ends. One of them wants to stretch it out, maybe even quotes Romeo and Juliet because look at the setting!

Candlelight, wonderful night they spend together, the threat of Crowley's early demise, and, to quote the play once more, this time Romeo: I have more care to stay than will to go.

Crowley thought it was his last night on earth and went with Aziraphale to his bookshop, to be with him, because he cares more about that than the fact that he will be dragged to hell come morning. Do you remember?

"Expect a legion to come for you first thing tomorrow" THAT is the threat. They have until dawn, just like Romeo and Juliet, which is why she is so desperate for the birds to be nightingales. Fortunately for them, Aziraphale saves the day, BUT there is NO SECURITY. They do not KNOW if a legion will still show up or not. If dawn is a deadline and they will need to fight.

Sure, they improved their chances, but who knows? Maybe they will come for him anyway, it's not like hell is all fair and square.

The best part: it gets even better.

Juliet eventually panics and tells him to go, and Romeo drops a line that huh, sounds oddly familiar, doesn't it?

'More light and light, more dark and dark our woes!'

Remind me, what does Aziraphale say again? Ah, yes. Perhaps there is something to be said for shades of grey.

There is more. Yes, even more. We know the whole rescue relies on a magic trick, a switch. Guess what Juliet yearns for while telling Romeo to go save himself?

Oh, now I would they had changed voices too. While they did not for Romeo and Juliet—they kiss and part—they did for our two. One fabulous switch and we're good.

(side note: Toads? Associated with hell. Larks? Associated with the dawn, yes, but also heaven since Romeo says 'Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat the vaulty heaven so high above our heads.')

So, this was a whole lot of information, let's see if I can summarize my thoughts.

I believe the nightingale is a code word that has existed even before 1941 and gained a lot of importance over the years. In 1941, the song is added to the meaning and whatever happened between the two that we have not seen yet, it fundamentally changed their relationship. Maybe they kissed, maybe one of them tried to convince the other to prolong the night but they parted on not-great terms.

The nightingale and the song become a symbol of hope, a goal to achieve, another uninterrupted night, maybe, or an uninterrupted life.

When they part in the final fifteen, it's morning. Crowley points at the sky and says "no nightingales", which at that point has several different layers to it.

No nightingales because their night is over, just like with Romeo and Juliet, and please, please allow me to add another detail, because I am frothing at the mouth over this. The scene I quoted, known as balcony scene, do you know what it is preceded by?

A ball.

Star-crossed lovers defying their sides, falling in love at a ball, getting a hurried, wonderful night together but torn apart by danger of punishment, the nightingale as a dream, as a wish for unhurried time together. Family rejection, torn apart by parents, willing to die for each other so they can reunite in death.

No nightingales. The ball, the romance, is over, their dancing is over, heaven is tearing them apart, and Aziraphale returns to heaven while they are both stuck in a pit of misunderstanding and miscommunication, all bound together by fear for each other.

The thing is, Crowley hates tragedies, he never liked the "gloomy ones", and he does not want them to end in one—luckily, this isn't the end. Yes, they kiss and part, but the play keeps going. We have an entire act 3 to fix what Romeo and Juliet couldn't, to ensure that this is a COMEDY, not a tragedy.

Both Antony & Cleopatra and Romeo & Juliet died out of fear, hurried into making bad decisions because they knew what would happen if their sides were to catch up with them.

Crowley and Aziraphale can reunite heaven and hell with love, not death. This is THEIR story and they are writing the ending. No more day and night, no more deadlines, no more hiding and sneaking about, no more fear of larks and sunshine.

Good Omens will end the way it began: In a garden with two no-longer-star-crossed lovers embracing the song of a lark as well as that of the nightingale.

I hope this made sense to everyone who was no present while my mind started to vibrate itself into a puddle because the thing is I can see Neil doing all of this completely on purpose.

Thoughts? Questions? Additions? Come and join me in my insanity and until next time I have a mental breakdown over this show (probably in like two hours).

[b1gtimerush]

first impressions matter a collection of meet cutes and meet uglys from yours truly. (add a “swap” to swap the sender/receiver in the prompt (or just do it manually).)

ankle, sender twists their ankle and stumbles forward, coincidentally falling into receiver's arms.

bark, a dog barks loudly, making sender jump and send their phone flying into receiver's face.

chips, sender and receiver both reach for the last bag of chips in the grocery store, their fingers touching by accident.

drink, sender chokes on their drink and ends up spitting it out all over receiver as they walk past.

emergency, in the middle of an awkward blind date, sender pretends to be receiver's friend and helps them get out of the date by faking an emergency.

french, sender pretends they can only speak french to get out of giving a stranger directions. receiver is a witness.

gift, sender is about to get scammed into overpaying for something before receiver steps in to help (and haggle).

hair, sender gets something they're wearing caught in receiver's hair and ends up yanking a chunk of it out when attempting to separate.

ice, sender is ice skating for the first time and skates uncontrollably in receiver's direction.

jail, sender and receiver are both thrown into the same holding cell at a police station.

kid, sender loses a child that they're caring for, only to end up finding them in receiver's company.

lock, sender crashes their ex's wedding, and receiver, a bridesmaid / groomsman, locks them both in the bathroom to prevent sender making a scene.

match, sender and receiver both end up being sat at the same table in a full restaurant.

nauseous, sender is drunk, and while receiver is attempting to help them, ends up throwing up all over receiver's shoes.

oops, sender is carrying a bag full of groceries that ends up breaking. receiver helps them pick their groceries back up.

plug, receiver walks into the bathroom to find sender stuffing tissues up their nose in an attempt to plug up a nosebleed.

quarter, sender doesn't have enough coins for the vending machine, so they stick their hand up the flap and gets their arm stuck just as receiver approaches.

rain, sender and receiver both get stuck under the same awning when seeking shelter from sudden rain.

shh, sender and receiver are both sitting beside each other at the movies. sender keeps whispering to themself every few minutes.

tooth, sender accidentally bites down too hard on their food, resulting in a tooth falling out and skittering across the floor to land at receiver's feet.

undone, the laces on sender's shoes ends up coming undone and they trip and fall, bringing receiver down with them and into the fountain beside them.

vacation, there's a problem with the booking of sender and receiver's hotel rooms and they end up having to share one. thankfully there are two beds.

woods, sender and receiver bump into each other in the woods. one of them is holding a shovel.

x-rated, in a bookstore, sender accidentally drops a few of the erotic books they were planning on purchasing on the floor, which receiver picks up.

yawn, sender, who is dressed down and has not yet slept, bumps into receiver, who is dressed up and just woken up, in line for coffee.

zap, sender calls out to receiver to ask for directions, but as it's late receiver mistakes sender for a creep and tases them.

[maryangelex]

Please, please, please.

I am requesting an Ex!husband John price/ Fem!reader, where they divorce and he’s absolutely devastated by it, grovels and upset that he lost the love of his life, and then years later by circumstances are in force proximity with each other and have to deal with communicating all their grievances and then bam heated smut and pent up frustrations at each other, and then get back together.

Thank you so much and I really appreciate you! But it’s also okay if you skip my request :)

a/n: anon how could i possibly leave this delectable prompt unanswered!!?!?!?! i have literally been saving this one for almost last because i need to use 110% of my prune brain its so amazing. one thing about me is...im a whore for ex-husband!price *clutches pearls* im sorry for making ya wait, i hope you love it!!!

this is gonna be a long one!

c/w: ex-husband!price, make-up sex, forced proximity, quickie, against a wall, p in v, creampie, john price yearns for his pretty wife

It hadn't been easy, no divorce is easy, really. Much less when it was something you didn't really want to do, but more so saw yourself as needing to do. The nights without John had gotten too lonely, his side of the bed had gotten too cold. You thought the times he was back would make up for the times he wasn't. When John came back from deployment it felt like a coin toss: sometimes it was your honeymoon all over again, but other times he was cold and distant.

You had two kids in tow; two kids that needed their father. You were a wife that needed her husband just as much. You don't blame him for not being there of course. After all, you owed it all to him; all you ever wanted he got for you, he provided you a house to raise your children in, to grow old in. He gave you nothing but unconditional love. That's what made everything harder when you decided you couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep hoping he'd come home to be his normal self every time just to be met with the shell of the man you fell in love with.

You knew it wasn't his fault, you knew his line of work. But having to be alone the majority of the year plus having to still be alone when he was around had gotten to you, it had become too much. And John knew this. When you told him through sobs and wails that you couldn't do this anymore, that you felt hopeless and alone and like this was the only remedy, he understood. He had packed his things and left without a fuss, leaving you the house and renting an apartment barely a drive away. He tried to make it as simple as possible, arranging to stay with the kids every weekend and more if you needed time for yourself. His silence and compliance to separate felt like more of a dagger in your chest than the reason to separate to begin with. You wished he had fought for you, that he had yelled at you and argued with you to stay and fix this.

Little did you know that when he found himself in the empty single-bedroom apartment he rented himself he did nothing but cry like a neglected child for hours until his eyes stung and couldn't physically push out any more tears. John Price was a man made of stone and yet he found himself clutching his chest as he sobbed for his wife nearly every night and every lonesome morning. He kicked himself for not fighting for you, as well. He blamed himself for having to come to this in the first place, for leaving you alone and not knowing how to cope well enough to be the very best of himself when he came back from grueling missions. For not being able to look you in the eyes after losing a man, for not being able to open up to you and cry like this in front of you when he needed to let it out of his chest, for not making love to you like a tending husband should at his wife's every whim.

He felt like the consequences of choosing his career had finally caught up to him, and losing you was his penance.

The two of you finalized your divorce quietly and without struggle, feeling like it only drove the knife deeper into your chest. You settled on the kids seeing John every other weekend and he'd be more than welcome back home to be present as their father. Because that was the thing about John: he may have not seen himself as a good man (not good enough for you, for sure) but you both knew he was the best father your kids (and you) could ever ask for.

It's been a year since your divorce; John had been living in his separate flat whilst you and the kids stayed home. He'd come every week, and take the kids every other weekend. Now your oldest's birthday was a few days away and who were you to deprive him of coming? After he had been doing such a good job at not crossing your boundaries, at being a loving father and giving you every bit of warmth and kindness and love that he gave you when you were still together...the more you listed these things the more your heart ached and you doubted yourself. The more you realized you still loved him.

On the day of your kid's birthday, he made sure to get there extra early to help you set up the place. He bought the necessary supplies, picked up the cake from the bakery, and set up the chairs and balloons. Hell, you barely lifted a finger. And of course, he was more than happy to do everything and anything for you with that cheek-pulling smile of his. As the party went on and the house filled with guests and wild kids running about, you scrambled around the house to make sure no one needed anything. That's when John intervened.

"Everythin' alright, hon? Been runnin' round the house like mad," his voice was sweet like honey as he entered the garage, where you were taking out can after can of soda from the spare fridge and into the cooler with ice you brought with you. You didn't turn to look at him as you sighed in exasperation, but you could feel John just a few steps behind you.

"Just making sure everyone's got something to drink...the sodas've run out in the cooler outside and--"

"Everyone's havin' a good time, love," John cut off your rambling with a light chuckle, the rumbling of his voice making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He interjected by taking the cooler from your hands "Let me get that for you," he said, lifting the heavy plastic for you. You sighed again and brought the back of your hand to rub your forehead. You finally looked up to meet his eyes, which were gazing at you with so much adoration it made your stomach twist.

"John..." you started, and he responded with a furrow of his brows and a silent question. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Like you still love me," you blurted, and the beat your heart skipped let you know you physically regretted saying that, instantly.

John's lips pressed into a thin line as he paused for a moment in silence.

"I do still love you," he confessed. You shook your head in disbelief and scoffed.

"John, please, it's our kid's birthday," you dismissed as you turned on your heel and made your way to the door except-

Right, you now remembered why it was a rule in your house this past year to not close the garage door: the lock was busted. You gripped the knob firmly and gave it one, two, three harsh tugs, hoping to somehow force the door open. You banged the door with your fist in frustration, hoping maybe someone heard it on the other side but all you heard was the music playing on the other side.

"Let me have a go," John said, placing the cooler down and tugging just as harshly, even slamming his shoulder against it to see if it would budge, but nothing. You and John were trapped in your garage. You let out a groan and a quiet curse as you pinched the bridge of your nose with a hand on your hip.

John placed a hand on your bicep. They were cold from the ice but the squeeze and rubbing of his thumb on your skin was filled with warmth.

"S'alright, take a breather, hon," he said tenderly, "they'll miss us soon enough to come lookin' in here."

You nodded as you stepped away from his touch. You never stopped John from still using terms of endearment for you, it never felt like a big deal. You were frustrated from the party, the perfectionist in you wanting nothing but to give your kids the best party, and now you were locked up in the garage. To make matters worse, you were locked up in here with your ex-husband who just said he still loves you.

"I meant what I said, love," his voice was barely a whisper but it still brought you out of your thoughts.

"John..." you warned.

"No, I mean it," his tone rose, firmer this time, "I still fuckin' love you, baby."

"Well, it's too late for that now, isn't it? You're gonna make an effort now, John, a year later?"

John was silent, pleading blue eyes gazing at you, the muscles in his jaw tensing.

"You didn't fight for us, John. You didn't fight for me." your finger pointed to your chest firmly as you looked back at him with tear-filled eyes.

"I know, baby, I know," his voice shook in his throat, "I should've fought for us... I should've been a better husband to you, better dad for the kids I-- I should've just been there."

You were quiet as you choked on a quiet sob, the tears escaping down your cheeks.

"I haven't stopped loving you for a second, my only regret in life is not having fought harder for you, having let go of you so easily - fuck," you watched the tears prick his eyes as he stepped closer to you. His palm came to cup your cheek and his thumb wiped away the tear staining your cheeks.

"I failed you. I just...please, baby, I just want one more chance to be a better man for you... I just want my girl back." His tone was soft as if he was reciting a prayer kneeling at a pew. His other hand came to the other side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear before it cupped your other cheek alike.

You sobbed and brought your hands up to his wrists, shaking your head lightly, knowing all you really wanted was to forgive him despite your denial.

His forehead pressed against you as he whispered once more, "Please, baby..."

"John..." you tried

The tip of his nose rubbed against yours, "Please," he repeated, "be my pretty wife again...be mine again, yeah?" His lips brushed against yours and his hands were firm on your cheeks. You sobbed one more time before his lips pressed against yours, slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle. And fuck, you melted as your lips met.

His lips against yours just felt so right; they were your husband's lips, after all. They were made for yours and yours were made for his, that's why you knew you were so perfect for each other. The way he kissed you made your chest break into a million pieces because you just missed him so much.

The hold on his wrists became limp and you didn't resist - you couldn't resist his kiss because you wanted it so desperately, you've wanted it for this entire past year.

Your mouth moved with his, lips clashing and caressing against each other, teeth clicking together with the force of your desperate kisses, your tongues hungrily pressing their way into each others' mouths. John's hand slid to the back of your head, fingers snaking into your hair and raking through your scalp. You hummed into his mouth at the feeling.

Your hands slid up his back, balling into fists over his shoulder blades and gripping the fabric of his shirt as if you'd lose him again if you didn't hold him firm enough. You held him impossibly close to you as he did the same, your bodies familiarly molded to each other.

You felt John step forward as he still kissed you, backing you up into the nearest wall and it made the heat in your core ignite like a bonfire. When you felt the cold wall against your body, you pried your mouth away from his to gasp a breath but it wasn't half a second later before he captured your lips again. His hands slid down the frame of your body, pawing at your chest and curves before eagerly bunching up the skirt of your dress around your hips. You scrambled to his belt, clumsily and hurriedly doing your best to unbuckle it and undo his pants.

He scoured under your dress to tug your underwear down your thighs with messy urgency. His lips sloppily and wetly trailed up and down your chest and neck before finding their way back to your mouth.

Your hand palmed his hardened length through his boxers and he groaned into your mouth. One of his hands took hold of yours and stuffed it in his boxers to stroke his aching cock as you both panted between kisses.

"All yours, darling," he groaned as he guided your hand stroking his cock, "forever fuckin' will be yours."

And you whined at his words, or maybe at the way his other hand snaked between your legs, fingers wetting themselves with the slick pooled between your folds before pressing into your hole. He pumped his fingers in and out, making you reminisce on how those thick digits have made you feel so good in the past.

You moaned his name like a prayer, pleading for him to fuck you because you needed him. You've needed him for a fucking year and couldn't wait a second longer.

John would give you anything and everything, he always has. So he wasted no time in removing his fingers from your pussy, coating his cock in the slick they collected, and using his other hand to hike your leg up around his waist.

You braced yourself against the wall and with your hands against his shoulders as he practically lifted you off your feet and insert his girthy, swollen cock inside of you. You moaned unabashedly at the way he split you open as he bottomed out.

"So perfect...my perfect wife," he breathed, "made just for me, baby." His fingers dug into the flesh of your thigh and you were sure it would bruise the same way your nails clawing through his shirt were sure to leave crescents on his skin.

John pumped his cock in and out of you slowly but firmly for a few strokes before picking up the pace. His rhythm was relentless as he fucked up into you, pistoning his hips and making your skin clap against each other.

You threw your head back as you whined and moaned at the feeling of the head of his cock bullying against your cervix. Thank god for the music outside.

John hiked up your other leg, wrapping both around his waist as he fucked you against the wall hard and needy. His eyes looked deep into your teary ones, not breaking away to not miss the gorgeous sight of his pretty wife getting fucked by him after so long. He moaned at just the look on your face, at the way your walls gripped him like a vice.

"Look at you... never lettin' go of somethin' so beautiful," he practically slurred, his rhythm becoming sloppy and desperate as he chased his high, and he knew you were close too.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and took his mouth into another starved kiss. Your hands tugged at the hair on the back of his head and you let him fuck you with the same longing and desire as the first time.

You chanted his name between breathy moans as you climbed up to your climax. John was a mumbling mess of endearments and sweet nothings as he kept thrusting hard and sloppy into your squelching pussy.

"I love you, John," you choked out through tears, not knowing if it was from the pleasure he was giving you or from the overwhelming emotion being with your husband again was making you feel.

"I fuckin' love you more, dove," he accentuated his words with thrusts until he felt your walls clamp around his length and watched as you wailed and sobbed out more moans, sending him into his own climax with just a few more pumps shortly after. You were sure you'd bear him a third child with the way his cum seeped out of you.

He rested his sweat-coated forehead against yours as you both panted. You were a flushed mess against the wall, limbs liquefied and throat raw. John slowly let you down with the utmost care in the world, gently holding you up on your feet like you were a delicate porcelain doll.

You held each other close as he peppered soft kisses on your face, the same way he'd always done after sex when you were married. John Price, always the gentleman.

You basked in the afterglow as you gazed at each other, love filling John's wide dark pupils. It was hard for you to hide the smile that tugged at your lips and it made John chuckle, thumb rubbing your cheek lovingly.

Then, you heard the rattling of the door and you quickly stood up straight and collected yourself up on your feet the best you could. Kyle, or Uncle Gaz as your kids coined him, and the other two men had burst through the lodged garage door.

"Oi, how long you two been locked here?" he questioned.

"Aye, we been callin' youse for half 'n hour," the Scott quipped behind him.

John scolded them for not acting quicker if they were so worried, and scowled at the way the younger two had shit-eating grins plastered on their faces. He dismissed them as he picked up the cooler, which was now more full of water than ice, and shot you a look.

You chided at his smirk with your bright red cheeks.

"This mean I can move back in?" he teased.

"We'll see, John" you fought back a smile.

[reginalusus]

Batman: Arkham Knight - All Two-Face Dialogue (Isolated)

Ok, so, there aren't any decent isolated voice clips of Harvey speaking in this game anywhere that I could find (I have searched). There are some on YouTube, but they are either extremely low quality, leave out certain dialogue, or they contain all the background noise that sometimes muffles details in Troy Baker's performance, notably in the batmobile segments.

For example, you can hear Harvey's breath hitch before he continues speaking to Bruce, as if to stop himself from crying, which you CAN'T hear in-game unless you somehow have the voice audio cranked all the way up! (Or *maybe* wearing headphones).

So, when you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Originally I was just going to keep this for my server but I decided to post here too. Enjoy some Harvey ASMR!

NOTE: There is still some background noise/articles/warps in the Two-Faced Bandit intercom dialogue because sometimes in order to prompt Harvey into talking, you have to attack his men, therefore causing extra noise over his dialogue, which is hard to isolate. The same issue is present in the cell dialogue, because in order to get all his dialogue, you must have all other Rogues in the cell with him, and Pyg doesn't shut the fuck up. Also with the fear toxin sequence - some lines are impossible to get perfectly because Harvey will shoot as he speaks. Lastly, the only line I know is missing from the DLC is when Harvey says: "Sorry, kid. This is a man's game," when Tim enters the throne atrium. That's because it's fucking impossible to get it without Harvey's men grunting over it, lmao. But it's not too important of a line.

Bonus thing under the cut (if the cut works, it may not, lmao).

Reference to A Serious House on Serious Earth that I didn't notice initially, on display within Harvey's mansion. Cool!

[psychrodraws]

thinkin abt Arven's frankly beautiful eyeliner 🖤

and like, that's definitely not stylization of eyelashes, when you compare it to the other characters or his own bottom lashes, that's clearly eyeliner.

(sure, Clavell and Salvatore also have the thick, dark parts above their eyes, but they don't swoop up into a sharp wing or go past the eyelid like Arven)

who taught him that? did he learn himself? what prompted him to learn?

it's also a very interesting design decision, I think. Like, Arven is never emasculated or masculated, really- he has long hair, wears makeup, has a flowery phone case and loves to cook, but his identity and gender is never mocked or questioned for that. And for a game targeted towards developing children, I think that's really awesome. :)

That's not to say headcannons twisting Arven's gender any which way are invalid- they're not, and if I was saying that I'd be a massive hypocrite- but having a character like Arven, just a guy who has multiple feminine traits that are never questioned or pushed against is just... really great. I hope that makes younger kids who play Scarlet and Violet, who might be made fun of or ridiculed for not always perfectly presenting as their assigned gender- whether or not they're actually trans- to be more comfortable just being themselves. :)

I also feel like there could be some analysis on Nemona being the other side of the coin- a tall, sporty girl with a ponytail who's loud and passionate abt what she loves. And of course, Penny is... well, literally transgender, like, literally transgender, like, literally fucking transgender come on if TTYDHD could give Vivian one line saying she's trans so too could ScarVio let Penny be trans.

I digress.

[onlyswan]

summary: in which you always get what you want and jungkook is dying to kiss you.

> idol!jungkook x reader / fluff!! a pinch of angst / word count: 5.5k

> content/warnings: jimin cameo!!, a photobooth, oc gets a little hot & bothered bcs jk is a menace lol (they both are <3), touches a biiit on toxic relationships but this is pure fluff and yearning :p (the ex oc mentions is the same as the one mentioned in the first meeting drabble)

> songs: bad - wave to earth / just like magic - ariana grande

> in which masterlist!

note: just a sweet and silly drabble of jungkook being hopelessly whipped for oc before they even became official *to intensify the seven mv brainrot* no i didn’t plan this 🥲 + hehe this was only a week before the first kiss :p reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !! <3

—

“you really came!”

you run towards jungkook with a wide smile that reaches your eyes. the bag hanging on your shoulder swings and strikes your hip due to your excitement, but you could care less about the clinking of coins when there’s a bright star leaning on a lamp post, smiling back at you.

you stand before him as he straightens himself up, puffs of a fleeting cloud appearing as you pant lightly. “dummy, it’s so late. i told you to go to bed. aren’t you tired?”

“exactly, it’s so late.” he emphasizes your words to scold you, concern dripping from the tone of his soft voice. “of course i had to come.”

he tips his head to the side, sparkling eyes drinking you in as if he didn’t just see you the other night.

“you’re so adorable today.”

“thanks. is it because of this?” you happily scrunch your nose at the compliment, tugging at the strings of the brown knitted ear warmers wrapped around your head.

it is near midnight. drowning in the warmth of his bed to flee the freezing season, jungkook should be comfortably resting at home. however, he just had to look for your name in his contact list despite being absolutely knackered… and somehow he ended up here, because if he has been trading his sleep for work all these years, then he can also trade it any day to spend his midnights with you.

an endeared grin spreads on his face, rosy cheeks numb from the cold. “hm, teddy bear.”

a gust of silence passes by as your inquiring eyes survey the white plastic bag hanging from his hand, the company logo stamped in the middle of it familiar since childhood.

“what’s that? are you sick?”

“me?” he points at himself in confusion, shaking his head. “i’m not, though?”

“then why do you have-”

“ahhh- ah!” his face lights up as he is reminded of the other reason he came to you. he slaps his forehead with a chuckle. “i almost forgot.”

jungkook, although still a little shy around you, tries his best to initiate eye-contact when either one of you speaks to avoid giving off the impression that his mind is someplace else when you’re together. however, the mission becomes difficult when you meet his gaze wide-eyed, and he is… breathless.

“you haven’t been feeling well so… uhm, i got you vitamins and more medicine, just incase. here.”

your heart feels like it’s been wrapped in a cozy blanket meant to thaw the winter that has overstayed its welcome, spreading warmth and giddy sparks all the way to the tips of your fingers. you’re relieved that you wore gloves today; he didn’t get electrified when you took the thoughtful gift from his cold hand.

“really? even vitamins?”

the original plan was only to take a peek, but a word written in bold and colorful letters prompts you to bring out the cough medicine for a better look.

oh, jungkook.

you quickly slide it back inside the bag, a laugh accidentally slipping from your mouth. you press your lips into a thin line to suppress the rest of them bubbling in your chest.

“yah, why are you suddenly laughing? did i buy the wrong one?” he questions, nervous about his suspicions being correct.

he follows up with a matter-of-fact tone.

“you said you only like syrup when you have a cough, because it’s soothing.”

“it’s so sweet that you remembered that but…” you giggle, eyes watering as your body quakes with the intensity of it. the image of the packaging flashes in your mind, and you sniffle. “this is for babies.”

“but syrup is really for kids? are they not?”

his doe eyes are shining not with condescension but genuine innocence, and it makes this a whole lot funnier for you.

“yeah, i mean…” you pause as a puzzling realization washes over you.

oh my god, does this mean that this entire time… he’s been thinking that you gulp down bottles of cherry-flavored cough syrup for two-year-old’s? and he didn’t question that? at all?

“i guess you’re right. but they also have one for adults. i was drinking that.”

“huh, that’s what they gave me. and i just assumed-” he gestures at the medicine you’re grasping in your hands before he freezes.

with the clear view of it, he finally discerns how silly of a mistake he has made.

“i must be out of my mind today!”

he breaks out into a fit of laughter, putting a hand over his aching belly.

it’s a sound that has been evoking an inexplicable joy in you since the first time you heard it; a sound that you often miss lately. you still need to remind yourself not to stare at him for too long, scared that he’d be able to read these thoughts from a simple look at your face.

“still, it’s pink. and i bet that tastes better?”

you nod your head in agreement, pulling out the medicine once more to study the directions of use. “with the dropper and everything, i bet it’s a better experience.”

“shit, it- it even has a dropper?”

“i told you! it’s for babies!”

“babies?! no, no. this isn’t it. this won’t do.” he furiously shakes his head as he waves his hand in disapproval, crossing the distance between you to seize your wrist. “let’s go- come with me. let’s go back to the pharmacy. i’ll exchange it for the right one.”

“nope.” you refuse his demands with a smirk, stubbornly breaking away from his grip. “i don’t want to. i’ll keep this.”

“____, come on!”

“but you already gave it to m- jungkook!” you squeal when he makes a move to steal the item from your hands.

out of reflex, you hide them from him behind yourself. and unsurprisingly, that doesn’t deter jungkook’s endless supply of friskiness. he chases you as he reaches for your back, and you carelessly stumble multiple steps backwards to escape him. whimpering at the unexpected impact, you finally reach a dead-end, trapped between a wall and the boy who’s been making your winter a little less blue. your forehead lands on his chest, defeated, and he keeps you steady with a secure hold of your arms.

a harmony of breathy giggles imbues the silence of the deserted sidewalk.

“what are you even going to do with it? you can’t drink it anyway!”

you lift up your head with a drawn-out whine.

you can’t give him an answer.

to be honest, you’re just as clueless as jungkook is.

“ehhh?” he mimics the sound you made with an amused expression painted on his face. you’re too damn adorable for your own good, and it’s doing very dangerous things to his heart. “will you? are you a baby?”

the rhetorical question is a bait that you choose to bite.

“not really, but i can be your baby.” you shrug, melting him with a coquettish smile.

“ah, i see… is that term of endearment your type? you want to be mine?”

his teasing grin puts his dimples on display, and you desperately want to run back into your apartment just to spend a full minute screaming into your pillow. you’re thoroughly convinced that you’ve never felt more attracted to a person than you are to jungkook. this is bad news. you don’t know to what lengths you’re willing to go so that he could stay in your life for as long as you want. it’s terrifying and exhilarating.

“just to set the record straight, you want me to be yours.”

“and if i do? then what…? are you confident you can handle me?”

every nerve connected to your heart is a wire most alive when you yearn to bare it for another.

“try me.”

his hazy eyes falls to your lips and he goes a little crazier than he was the other night. it’s infuriating that you manage to make them look so soft and so inviting despite the frigid air. it’s dizzying, how his face is only inches away from yours and as always, you smell so sweet, just right. he wonders if you taste the same.

jungkook is dying to kiss you.

the thought has been plaguing his mind, haunting his dreams both day and night. he keeps screaming at himself to just fucking do it, but as much as he is impulsive, he doesn’t want to be the guy who catches you off guard. he doesn’t want you confusing your feelings for him with adrenaline. he wants the moment to feel right. he wants you to see that he’s sincere, and he’s nothing like those bastards who took you for granted…

selfishly, he wants this to be something real, co-existing with the fear of pushing you into a tornado of chaos that is his life.

his heart is pounding violently, he’s afraid it might jump through his sweater. the right moment feels like it could be right now, and he knows you feel it too. he observes your breathing getting heavier, and one of your restless hands has freed itself to grab a fistful of his sleeve.

your lips slightly part, and he doesn’t know if it’s the anticipation, or you did it on purpose to rile him up. he figures his jimin-hyung is right; he would be a fool if he allowed you to slip out of his hands. but truth be told, he’s the one wrapped around your finger.

fuck, fuck, fuck. he is doomed.

a pin drops and he is doomed.

his ringtone rattles the silence and slices through the tension between you. disappointment flashes across your face, and you visibly flinch at its loudness. you’ve grown to despise the incessant noise of telephone calls since moving to your apartment, one of your pet peeves jungkook is yet to hear about. panicked and irritated, he scrambles to dish out the vibrating device from the depth of his pocket.

“it’s… it’s my manager. but it’s fine, i’ll handle it.” he informs you quietly as he rejects the call, opting to send a text explaining his whereabouts.

a pang of guilt shoots through your heart.

“you can go home, it’s okay… i can take care of myself.”

“mhm-hm.” he shakes his head, still busy typing away. then, out of nowhere, he looks at you to properly plead. “don’t send me home yet.”

your eyes flicker to watch a piece of ice fall on his shoulder, white contrasting the black fabric of his jacket. another one lands on your hand, and then your collarbone. the stinging coldness, another thing that makes you flinch tonight. you look up to face the snowfall fiercely coming down, and it seems that the heaven opened up the sky to scold two lovesick teenagers tangled in a modern-day dalliance.

goddamn it, you curse.

“are you kidding me?” you grunt in frustration, eyebrows sharpening your previously dazed eyes.

jungkook barely manages to tap the deliver button before you begin dragging him to the roofed entrance of your apartment building.

“stay here. i’ll just grab an umbrella real quick.”

“okay.”

once he confirms that you’re out of sight, he releases a loud sigh, exasperatedly kicking a non-existent ball on the cemented floor.

“fuck! fuck! why? why do i move so slow? ah- they can’t just kill the mood like that. why-” he squeezes his eyes shut, pinching his nose bridge and putting a hand over his hip, so upset he can’t even speak straight. “we almost… shit, this is driving me insane… she hates me. she must hate me right now. i’m done for.”

—

the aggressive slam of the front door rings throughout your apartment, and you’re about ninety-nine percent certain you disturbed the sleep of a neighbor or two.

“then what?” you grumble to yourself, followed by a desperate cry. “then kiss me! do i really have to do everything myself?”

after grabbing the biggest umbrella you own from the basket you have beside your coat rack, you head to the kitchen where you leave behind what jungkook bought you.

eventually, your overthinking leads you to a bitter conclusion.

“does he not want something more? is he playing with me?!”

and if it was any other person, you’d be fine with that but… your gaze lands on the bottles of vitamins and cough medicine, and you sigh to regulate the accelerated beating of your heart.

“but i think i can finally do this right.”

your voice comes out above a whisper, and the verbal declaration alone fuels the hope in you.

you’re confused whether it’s a sign of luck or childishness. maybe the compensation for being well-acquainted with loss, or good karma if you decide to push it some more… but you always get what you want. despite the blood, sweat, and tears; even during the instances that you do give up, the universe somehow finds a way to arrange matters in your favor.

except you don’t want to give up on this just yet, and you don’t intend to just stand around waiting for the universe work its slow burn magic.

because you look out your bedroom window, and jungkook is squatting on the floor with his head in his hands, looking distraught as if he just lost the lottery and he was only a digit off.

you might be unsure about your label, but he sure wanted to kiss you pinned up against that wall.

—

jungkook casually steals glances from you every now and then. you’ve been softly humming to christmas songs as the ice underneath your feet crunches with every step you take, influenced by the heavy snowfall despite the holidays being long gone.

when you came back, he thought you’d be giving him the cold shoulder, reminiscent of when you got pissed off at a hair stylist not even a week ago (that day, he learned that you’re grumpy when sick, grumpier when jealous). but instead, you lent him a white fuzzy scarf to keep him warm.

“where are we going?” he asks, unaware of your destination.

he’s just been following your lead for the past five minutes or so. he only knows that you’re going someplace that will satisfy your midnight cravings, as you mentioned over the phone earlier.

“i haven’t told you?” you wince. “just mcdonald’s. i’m craving their fries… hmmm, and chocolate sundae.”

“sundae? but you have a cough.”

“i’m all better now! that’s why i’m getting it!” you keen with excitement.

except jungkook is worried. at home and at work, he has many people fussing over him when he’s not feeling well. most of the time, you only have yourself to rely on. he doesn’t like thinking about your past boyfriends, but he hopes that they took care of you when you would get sick. as for the future, he hopes that he’s there.

he perks up when he sees the pharmacy store he’s been thoughtfully scanning both sides of the streets for, recognizing the lightbox signage. “let’s stop here. i’ll buy you your adult syrup.”

“jungkook,” you giggle airily, pulling at his jacket to motion him not to go near it. “i just told you that i’m not sick anymore.”

“it’s better to be prepared.” he reasons.

the snowfall has ceased. he transfers the umbrella to his other side, freeing his hand to hold yours and tug you along with him. he childishly pretends to not hear your protests.

he’s not showing it, but he must be embarrassed about earlier. you can’t help but to smile from ear to ear, watching his back as you’re left a few steps behind, the two of you tied together by his warm and protective grip of your hand.

“jungkook,”

your voice is calmer and quieter. he whips his head back, concerned eyes twinkling from the blaring headlights on the road.

“i’m thirsty.”

—

you’re blissfully unaware of jungkook falling in love with you from the opposite side of the table.

thoroughly engrossed with the movie-like scene outside the glass wall, you’re clutching an apple juice box in both hands, plastic straw stuck between your lips as you take baby sips. he probably sounds like a broken record, but there’s something different in the air tonight, and you’re twice as pretty in his eyes.

“i can sue you for that, you know?”

he drops his phone in shock. he chases it in pure panic as it clashes with the table before tumbling down to his lap. when he puts it down, the screen is already black, a desperate attempt of hiding the raw evidence of his offense. he smiles back at you sheepishly, cheeks and ears flushed after being caught red-handed.

“aren’t i cute? you already made it your lockscreen, haven’t you?” you tease, eyes flickering up to him as you begin stabbing at the chocolate sundae with the little plastic spoon to mix it.

“made what my lockscreen? no, i didn’t!” he strongly denies, holding up his phone to show it to you.

“plain black, really? what happened to gureumie?”

you send him a look of distaste.

“just makes me believe i’m really your lockscreen and you change it to something random before you come see me.” you say in a sing-song voice, shivering with delight after you lick your spoon clean of the sugary treat.

“don’t start. yours is your class schedule!” he retorts with a laugh, which goes up in volume when you slap his hand away for attempting to steal from your fries.

you scowl at him with a displeased pout, dipping a fry into the sundae before popping it in your mouth. “get away. i’m hungrier because you took so long.”

the effect of having your cravings satisfied is instantaneous. it was absolute hell, being sick, albeit it was only a cough accompanied by fatigue. it’s simply no fun being an adult and having no one enter your room every two hours to check up on you. for the first time in the past week, your brain is completely flooded with happy chemicals, and you feel like a little kid kicking their feet with glee.

“it’s not my fault! they had to do something to the ice cream machine… i-i think it stopped working.” jungkook stutters, stuffing his mouth full with a spoonful of his strawberry sundae.

of course, it’s the ice cream machine. it’s always the ice cream machine.

with a gasp, you weakly slam the empty juice box on the table. “wow, i almost didn’t get what i came here for.”

“but you did. ‘cause you’re with your lucky charm.” jungkook cheekily winks at you, and you long to kiss that stupid grin off his face.

—

“holy shit, he’s kneeling down now. kook, he’s begging- look-”

jungkook is convinced he has never seen your eyes this big. he looks at you dumbfoundedly, cheeks full as he chews a huge bite of his burger. you release a sigh, reaching over to turn his face to the side.

outside, just a few feet away at the opposite direction his body is facing, he discovers an angry tear-stained woman sitting on a bench and a man crying on his knees infront of her.

he swallows, tilting his head. huh, so this is what you were watching earlier when you didn’t notice him arrive with the food. funnily enough, this isn’t considered an unusual occurence in such a populated city.

“i knew it. he’s cheating, he’s definitely cheating.” you squint at the scene, shooting daggers in your mind. you rely on muscle memory as you continue to munch and dip your fries in the sundae without bothering to look anymore.

they were still arguing when you gave jungkook your undivided attention, but the shift in the atmosphere captured your interest again when your peripheral vision caught him on the ground.

“how do you know?”

“he panicked and snatched his phone away when she touched it. that’s why they started fighting.”

a sick feeling in your gut deflects your eyes away from the forlorn couple, the salt and the sugar in your food starting to taste bland on your tongue. on the other hand, it seems that it’s jungkook’s turn to be absorbed in them.

“oh, that makes sense.” he mutters under his breath, eyebrows furrowing as he frowns. “seriously, i’ll never understand cheaters. why… would you go out of your way to hurt a person who’s special to you?”

and because of that, his food are left to be unsupervised. with the hopes of resparking your appetite by stealing a taste of something you haven’t had in over a year, you scoop up a small bite of his strawberry sundae.

“that person isn’t special anymore, or maybe they never were in the first place.”

“but if you’re loved by that person, even if you don’t feel the same way anymore, shouldn’t they still be special to you in some ways?”

he returns to his previous position, and the passion written in his eyes like constellations makes you want to believe that maybe the world isn’t a lost cause. it’s a breath of fresh air — the new point of view clear as day infront of you. jungkook is your best friend, it dawns on you then and there.

a best friend who sends you pictures of the sky. a best friend who won’t let you roam the midnight streets with melancholy. a best friend you want to kiss and hold hands with.

“they should, but they’re horny assholes who don’t think about stuff like that.”

“ah, then what a shame.” he chuckles with a scornful shake of his head, finally going back to devouring his burger.

it’s silent for a few beats.

right now, you like the strawberry flavor more than the chocolate. it tastes better than you remember. it’s rekindling an old flame.

“are you that type of boyfriend? who gives out their password?” your voice is rife with interest as you casually steal another spoonful of jungkook’s dessert.

“of course, i don’t mind. i have nothing to hide. i just have the most random photos, and like a thousand voice memos… but… how do i say it?” he pauses to organize his thoughts, eyes pointing towards ceiling. “uhm, it can get uncomfortable, and hurtful… if they always thoroughly check everything. i don’t know…”

“no, i get that. my ex was doubtful of me all the time and it was tiring. giving reassurance is important, but so is having boundaries… never forget that, understand?”

you radiate with so much tenderness, he finds it so easy to listen to every word that you say. but since you already understand the importance of balancing those two things, can he just forget about it and admire your face?

“is that why you broke up with him?”

you pucker your lips in thought, playfully twirling the plastic spoon between your fingers.

“i guess so? he… he just sees me as a bad person. and i was starting to believe that i am.” you decide to put it lightly, scoffing when the mortifying memories of him floods your mind. “when i had that epiphany, i broke up with him right away. we just weren’t good for each other.”

jungkook utters your name, mellow and sweet, like a serenade.

you’re reminded that he sings for a living.

“hmm?”

“i don’t know what happened between you but… when i say you’re a good person, i’m really being sincere.”

during the fall, talking about your past relationship made your heart feel unbearably heavy.

but tonight, it’s winter. jungkook holds out his little spoon to feed you a bite of his strawberry sundae, and you accept it without thinking.

uh-oh.

you peer up to him shyly.

“and because you were so kind to me the first time we met, i don’t mind you being a thief.” he fondly strokes your hair, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your body vibrates with giggles. “aigoo, you eat so well. good job, ____.”

—

“where you are taking me? this isn’t the way home!”

jungkook has an arm around swung over your shoulder, gluing you to his side as you walk together. the last time you checked the time, it was 1:27am. the stores you brush past are already lights off, locked up, and the sidewalk is mostly dead and quiet.

“i really like taking photos, you know?” he grins, sounding thrilled, and you glance at him with suspicion in your eyes.

“i’m very much aware. and so?”

you yawn not long after, leaning some of your weight on him as tiredness seeps into your overused muscles. you’re awfully sleepy, and cold. you can hear your bed calling out your name from kilometers away.

“so we’ll take some together.”

from a distance, you immediately recognize the famous photobooth only several buildings away from the noisy night life of the long rows of bars and nightclubs.

you feel your knees go weaker.

oh, you’re in very serious trouble.

—

curse jeon jungkook.

curse him and his muscular thighs.

“sit here?” he pats his lap as an invitation, looking up to your motionless figure still standing infront of the closed curtain. “or do you want me to stand behind the chair?”

curse him and his intoxicating perfume and his arm wrapped around your waist.

“four photos and… we’ll print… two copies.” he thinks out loud, face so close to yours as he taps on the screen infront.

curse the stupid person who decided to only put one small stool in this small photobooth.

you won’t dare to make it obvious, but your heart is doing somersaults. you realize how arrogant you were for whining about him not kissing you yet, because here you are trying your hardest not to squirm as you’re sat across his lap.

unconsciously, you embrace the scarf he took off close to your chest.

it’s… been quite a long, torturous while of being deprived of physical touch. and you like jungkook. you like jungkook so much that despite hating cramped spaces, you flash the camera a sweet smile while playfully squishing his pouty face in your hand.

“oh, oh, that’s right!”

a yellow lightbulb appears above his head. he bounces his legs to capture your attention, his arms tightening around your waist to prevent you from falling off.

you cross your thighs to subtly squeeze them together, a poor attempt at putting out the fiery tingles spreading throughout your body. you swallow thickly. he needs to fucking sit still. your self-control is running thin.

“act angry at me and i’ll put it as the first picture, okay?”

“huh? why?”

“so i’ll always remember that you got annoyed at me for dragging you here.”

“and i’m still annoyed!” you slap his chest with a frown, glaring at him exactly as he imagined you would.

his mischievous grin stays when he faces the camera, winking and throwing up a peace sign as the flash goes off.

when the timer starts again, he rushes to reach for the floor, sticking his hand in the paper bag from the pharmacy.

“for the next one- stay still-”

you’re completely clueless. your vision remains fixed on him until he reveals a bunch of pink ribbon hairclips on his big palm.

“where did you get these?” you blink at him.

he only shushes you as he removes the earwarmers from your head, thoughtfully fixing your hair before carefully adorning it with the ribbons as fast as he can.

“the ice cream machine wasn’t broken, was it?”

“shhh, we’re running out of time.” he rebukes you to mask his bashfulness, teeth sinking in his bottom lip as he focuses on arranging the ribbons symetrically.

“are these mine?”

“yours.” he confirms absentmindedly. he backs up to inspect his work, but he only ends up thinking to himself is it right for someone to be this beautiful?

the time runs out before you can deem yourself ready. the camera captures jungkook trying to tame your baby hairs, and you, watching him with a faint smile of affection.

“what do we do now?”

he shrugs. “let’s do whatever we want.”

“wow, i can finally do what i want?” you reply sarcastically. “i thought you were prepared for this.”

“three seconds!”

since you’re already smiling in the other two photos, you figure that it’s your turn to pout in the last.

the number ‘1’ appears on the screen, and you feel him pull you closer than you’ve ever been.

curse jeon jungkook.

curse him and his hand on your neck and his soft lips pressed to your cheek.

—

“you’re sneaky.”

“you’re one to talk.” jungkook replies, and you roll your eyes.

he chuckles to himself as he scans his copy of the photostrip under the street lamp beside the photobooth. on the other hand, your back is resting against it, your arms crossed over your chest. you take a fleeting glance at him, secretly smiling to yourself because he looks so happy.

yours is tucked in between the pages of the book inside your bag.

later. you can look at it later when you’re a little more sane and the ghost of his lips stops lingering on your skin.

“i don’t just let myself get kissed for free. don’t you know that?” you heave a dramatic sigh, feigning annoyance. “but since you bought me new clips,”

you turn your cheek to stare at him, but you instantly break the eye contact when you see how he looks like an excited puppy when he’s amused by you.

“…i’ll let this pass.”

“i think i just found the motivation to make more money today.”

you crack up at his words. “shut up!”

god, you’re getting swayed by his antics. he has too much hidden underneath his sleeve. you need to up your game.

a breeze sweeps across the earth, and you sniffle as you stuff your hands in your pockets. it’s getting colder and your battery is draining rapidly as the clock ticks. you die a little inside when you think about the consequences of your late-night adventure. there has to be time for you to squeeze in a nap between school and work, right? right? unbeknownst to you, jungkook takes notice of your weary state. he crosses the distance between you to wrap the ear warmers around your head.

“tsk, you’re going to catch a cold.” he whispers, loosely tying the straps under your chin. he reaches for a ribbon, but then pauses to ask for permission. “do you want to take off these now, so you won’t fall asleep on them? these are kind of sharp.”

“stop taking such good care of me.” you say half-jokingly, starting to remove them on your own. “i might get used to it.”

this upsets jungkook, it seems.

his lips are in a permanent pout as he answers, eyebrows knitting together. “what’s wrong with that?”

you only shake your head with a vague smile.

—

JK :

4:11am

[sent four photos]

credit GCF if you post on insta

got it?

you’re welcome !!!

4:13am

hehe you must be sleeping now right?

you better be !

4:18am

the truth is i’m a bit shy to tell you this in person but ... thank you for being someone i can spend time with comfortably and for always making me smile. i really like you a lot .. i mean that sincerely too

sweet dreams ____ :)

—

“goodnight, jungkook.”

you stood on your toes to kiss his cheek, painstakingly chaste yet sinfully calculated. he was left all alone in the empty hallway of your apartment floor, too stunned to remember and return your scarf.

it is not the first time you did that, but his mind is reeling like crazy tonight — the corner of his lips is still stained with the graze of your lips.

a rhythmic knock snaps him out of the electrifying memory.

“jungkook-ah,” a freshly-awoken jimin raspily croaks out while he rubs his blurry eyes. “did you bring home anything?”

is this becoming a routine now? him visiting at an ungodly hour in the morning; jungkook sitting up without a word to retrieve the snacks from under his bed.

“thank you.”

he receives an appreciative pat on the back before jimin grabs one of the diamond-shaped biscuits you earnestly made a whole tray of, enough to go around for seven people. he nibbles on it as he flops down on the mattress, planning to sleep here some more until it’s time to prepare for work.

however, his drowsiness gets pushed to the back burner when the photostrip beside the maknae’s pillow attracts his attention.

“yo, jungkook! is this from tonight?”

“hyung! be quiet!” jungkook whisper-shouts.

“the staff didn’t mention a photobooth to me. is this a secret?” the late-night visitor whispers back to humor him.

the bed creaks as he chases the printed memories from jimin’s grasp, who seems to have gained enough energy to tease him, heartily giggling as he rolls away to the edge of the bed.

“yah, you’re so cute together?!”

jungkook’s bunny teeth pop out as he’s unable to resist a satisfied beam at the flattering remark. damn right, they do.

pulling out a pillow from behind him, he playfully hits jimin with the huge bundle of cotton. “hyung, finish eating and go back to sleep. we have that thing later, remember?”

“you’re hurting my feelings. what happened to telling your hyung about your crush?”

—

“wait a second- i’m still confused. you sprinted to the fashion boutique before ordering?” jimin flips over to lie down on his stomach, speech muffled by the biscuit between his lips.

“they close at midnight, so i had to run there first.” jungkook explains as he reseals the tupperware. weirdly, he only feels the ache in his body now that he’s talking about it. “they really like things like that.”

“you’ve told me. so how long do you plan on keeping that in here?”

his gaze lands on the paper bag labelled ‘CHANEL’ on the other side of the room, and he makes a pained expression, still agonizing over whether he should give it to you or not.

“but don’t you think it’s too much? maybe i should save it for their birthday.”

“be honest with me. do they even know you’re courting them?”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

—

[finniestoncrane]

Are smut Headcanons okay?? What r your HC about Arkham Harvey dent with an inexperienced reader ? Like its her first time but she's super shy.

Arkham!Two Face x Fem!Reader Headcanons oh my god yeah ok this is!! yippee!! thank you anon for this delicious fucking request 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: corruption kink, loss of virginity, rough sex, praise, posessive, marking kinda, obsessive

the minute he finds out that you're inexperienced (in any way really, not just if you're a virgin) he's honing in on you

there's something so appealng to him about being the main factor in someone's corruption

in passing on the torch of becoming someone new, someone a bit nastier, a bit freakier

it means he can mark you as his own, albeit in a less scarring way than he was

but he's determined to be your first, the one you think back on fondly (if he ever lets you go)

and he won't be shy about his intentions (or possible achievements) either

he needs to make sure that everyone knows who changed you into the very experienced little thing you are

he'll offer you his coin, letting you decide which of them is going to be the one who fucks you first

so hopefully it lands on your preference, or that you don't really have one

if it's two face then it's going to start off rough and not let up

it might hurt at first, but he'll make sure it's worth it in the end

you'll eventually get used to it, because this is not going to be over in any short amount of time

he'll be testing your limits, but ultimately ignoring them

it's a game to him, another name on the list of people he's ruined, another accomplishment

someone else who can't be with anyone else, who longs for him, who only thinks about him when they're alone and needy

whether you cum or not is hardly his interests, it's only about filling you and stretching you

and he's cumming inside of you regardless, so he stays with you even after he's finished brutally fucking you

if it's harvey, then he'll make sure to begin gently

your comfort is important to him, not only because he's more gentlemanly than big bad harv

but because it feels more in line with his own corruption, which is what excites him most

you're a good girl, a sweet and innocent girl

and you're about to have that ripped away from you

the minute you're finding your bearings with his pace, he starts ramping it up

reminding you that there really is a very thin line between harvey and harv these days

but at the very least, harvey makes sure to keep asking if you're ok

he's not going to intentionally hurt you, unless you beg him

and he'll praise you the whole time, telling you how good you are, how sweet you are, how well you're taking him

telling you that your his, "mine, mine, mine" as he reaches his climax, cumming whereever you want, your choice

[rooksunday]

fluffcember day fourteen: winter soup

It wasn't precisely unusual to find Fox in the galley of the Coruscant Guard headquarters, but until that moment, Stone hadn't realised Fox knew the function of anything apart from the caf machine. Yet there Fox stood, his curls and face still creased from sleep, bare-footed in his undersuit and glowering at a large pot as if it were late to turn in an incident report.

Stone sidled into the galley and helped himself to a mug of caf from the station by the door, where it had been arranged to prevent the commanders from bothering hardworking troopers while they were doing real work.

(That Fox had copied the phrasing word for word spoke loudly about his respect for the self-proclaimed Corrie head chef, Sergeant Chop. Chop had stalked into the galley on their first day on Coruscant and declared it hers, so everyone else should kindly kriff off and leave her to it. Recognising her claim, off they had all duly kriffed.)

Sipping his caf, Stone looked a question at Chop, who stood at the stove tending a giant pot of her own. Chop shook her head, indicating that she didn't know what Fox was doing, either. Presumably he'd been permitted to invade the sacred culinary space as it was early enough that Fox wouldn't get in anyone's way, since there were only him, Chop, and Stone in the room, and thus his nonsense could continue. Whatever said nonsense involved.

Well, that's why Stone was a commander. To brave asking such questions of his feral tooka superior officer.

And also because he lost the coin toss to Thire.

He walked over. "Fox—"

"Does this need more?" Fox thrust a spoon toward Stone's face. The spoon contained a steaming lumpy light brown liquid that smelled pleasantly herbaceous.

Stone looked blankly at Fox. "What?"

"More! Does it need?" Fox let out an exasperated noise and gently shook the spoon. "Taste it!"

"There was a seminar on eating unknown substances. You were there. You made Shiv host it."

"That was about drugs and glowing things—"

"And the talk prior to that about accepting gifts from strange men?" Stone asked.

"Strange beings," Fox corrected, then narrowed his eyes. "Hey! Just try the blasted soup, will you? I'll make it an order if I have to—"

Chop interrupted. "Not in my kitchen you won't! Uh, sir."

Gaze sliding sideways before returning to Stone, Fox amended, "I won't disrupt the harmony of Sergeant Chop's kitchen but I will make life difficult for you in numerous petty and untraceable ways if you don't try this soup, Commander Stone."

"Why, Commander Fox, do you kiss your tube with that mouth?"

"Stone—"

Stone sighed and reached out. He was always going to reach out, but it was important to provide the occasional example of insubordination to remind Fox how such things were done. Just for future reference.

"Give me the spoon before you hurt yourself."

Stone tried the soup. He handed back the spoon.

"Well?" Fox asked. The bags under his eyes were well over the weight allowance; he needed to sleep, not be attempting to cook.

He wouldn't hear such sensible advice, of course. Stone stuck to what Fox would hear, instead.

"Maybe some more pepper? Not too much." That sounded reasonable. "The soup is good, Fox. Sir. Might I enquire as to what prompted your sudden foray into the culinary arts?"

Fox grunted, his back to Stone, already grinding pepper into the pot. His shoulders were in a stiff line. He didn't look around as he spoke.

"Thorn came back from that escort trip yesterday. He said the planet had been deep in a snowy winter."

"Yes, I think I heard that from the others that went. Haven't seen Thorn yet, though."

"...He started sneezing."

Abruptly, absolutely everything made sense. Somewhere, Thire was laughing and didn't know why. From the corner of his eye, Stone saw Chop grin and duck her head, as understanding became clear to her, too. If Thorn was experiencing a discomfort that Fox thought it was in his power to fix, the galaxy could go hang, never mind rules about who could do what in the Corrie galley.

"The holonet says soup is good for colds," Fox muttered. His stirring had slowed. His shoulders had crept towards his ears.

Stone had been born to loyalty, but he'd chosen to give it to Fox. In the battlefield, in the stinking streets of Coruscant, and now in the kitchen. Smiling slightly, Stone clapped the other clone on the shoulder and pushed in close, giving the soup another consideration with his new perspective on the purpose of it.

"Put in some more pepper, you know Thorn likes things spicy, then let's get some of this into a container. If we catch Hound before he takes Grizzer out, he can bring fresh bread from the bakery on the corner. Thorn'll feel better in no time."

Fox mumbled something unintelligible, then asked, "You're sure?"

Like a wet tooka.

"If he doesn't, we'll go raid that Black Sun pharmacy two levels down. How about that?"

"Thorn does like shooting things." Fox added more pepper with a flourish, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "If he stops sneezing, I'll even let him bring Hammer."

That hadn't quite been what Stone intended by the offer—he'd more been thinking about the healing power of the pharmaceutical products—but Fox had brightened at the prospect, and Stone wouldn't puncture that brightness. He nodded instead.

"Bread, soup, and blasters. Who wouldn't feel better after that?" Stone asked.

Stone himself felt better already.

He was going to get Thire to write the incident report.

[jymwahuwu]

(This is about Aventurine + Ratio x You!! Note there will be polyamory here)

cw: dystopian au, forced breeding policy

"Insufficient credit. Please add a new balance."

On a sultry summer day, the burning air seems to condense around you. You quickly ran to the station and scanned it with your phone, and you got this result. You were stunned for a few seconds, frowned, and let the passengers in line behind you get on the spaceship first. what happened? Your wallet has been linked to the Universe Bank account, and the credit of the wallet will be automatically added. You stand aside and log in to your bank account, and a message that it has been frozen pops up. What the fuck. What happened-

You quickly scanned the account freeze prompts. "According to the law, you have exceeded the appropriate reproductive age for Beta citizens and have been punished by freezing your bank account. Please conceive within three months or you will be sent to a breeding facility." As if anxiety slapped you in the back of your head, knock Your mind is melted and cold. Damn it, they really mean it. What the fuck kind of planet is this.

Fifty years ago, the planet's fertility rate had been declining, prompting this government to introduce forced childbirth. In the past few years, you have been perfunctory with the government's Citizens' Fertility Bureau. They focus more on Omega and Alpha, after all. The poor Omega citizens are much earlier than Beta's breeding age. They enjoy paid vacation benefits throughout the estrus period, but that's just the surface. The benefits provided by labor laws have resulted in most companies being reluctant to recruit Omega…

As the passengers watch, you dig out a few vintage coins from the bag and plead with the driver to take them. ("Physical currency..." The driver sighed.) Finally passed, and after returning home, you browsed interstellar dating websites in despair.

"Beta female. 32 years old. Interested in cooking and reading. I hope to find a spouse who shares common topics with me."

"Omega male, 21 years old, hoping to find a humorous spouse (need to have a nest!)

Coordinates: a nest-like planet. If you are interested in knowing more details and getting to know me, contact me <3"

You held your chin with one hand, pouting unhappily, and pressed the big data pairing button, but there was only one result. Just when you were about to close the page, your eyes were caught by the introduced information.

“Alpha Male & Alpha Male

Career related: Education and business^^

We hope to meet a suitable spouse and have a baby^^”

Your eyes light up, you are looking for people like this! Ugh, but why are two people recruiting spouses at a time…Is this how relationships are on other planets…It would be great if they agree to a short-term marriage .

You pressed the contact button.

… Is anyone interested in this story?