#etc etc my tags that ive forgotten

[lotrmusical]

My high school did a yearly poetry recitation contest (Poetry Out Loud), so Oh Boy do I know some poems. My favorites are Ozymandias and "the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love," by Kara Jackson. Also in 8th grade we had a Poe unit and had a class contest to make the best music video of the Raven, so I still know a good chunk of that.

i hadn't heard of the kara jackson one! just read through it and enjoyed it, particularly these lines > 'grandma returns to her love like a hymn, marks it with a color. // when the world ends will it suck the earth of all its love? /will i go taking somebody’s hand, / my skin becoming their skin?'

[keicordelle]

Idolish7 sexuality headcanons because my head is full of cotton balls and anime boys today

Iori is quietly gay. Mostly closeted but not really trying to hide it, he just doesn't really want to talk about it. Secretly crushing on Riku, but has convinced himself it's just teenage infatuation. (A conviction that helps in no way whenever Riku does something cute or asks him for help)

Yamato is straight but open-minded. Get him drunk enough and he's ready to kiss whoever's at hand. Would be willing to swing the other way for the right person, but so far isn't really interested in anyone at all.

Mitsuki, my ace star! My boy has got no interest in sex whatsoever. He makes a great wingman though, always happy to tag along and talk up his friends. Iori comes to him for advice sometimes, and he always has the best responses to give him. Not aro tho, he wants to find someone(s) to settle down with someday who'll have just as much love to give him as he does them.

Tamaki : this boy is gay and doesn't even know what the closet is. Has never had any compunction about it, no worries, no revelation or coming out, he just is who he is. It's no big deal to him, and he's super perplexed as to why it matters to some.

Sogo spent the first 20 years of his so far in the closet that he's still not comfortable with himself. Only comes out as gay after he joins Idolish7 where he's surrounded by supportive friends. Is slowly starting to accept himself -- Tamaki is a hugely helpful influence with that.

Nagi is the most queer-friendly straight man in existence. An honorary queer. Very much a ladies man but frequently jokes(?) about how it's a shame that he deprives an entire half of the population of his charm. Very staunch trans ally and will hit on trans women just as readily as cis

Riku... I don't think even he knows what's going on inside his head. Had a gay awakening during puberty and straight up forgot about it. An oblivious gay, much to Iori's eternal despair. (Actually Iori's probably fine with it because it means Riku's less likely to notice his crush)

Gaku is bi but fem-leaning. But he's so head over heels for Tsumugi that it hardly even matters. He's Tsumugi-sexual now. Was never really into casual relationships anyway, and really rather hates that people think he's that type.

Tenn has known he's gay since he was very young and is really kind of resentful every time he's required to play up the sexy straight boy act. He's polite to the women he's paired up with of course, but he definitely bitches about it behind closed doors.

Ryu, aroace king. Please free him from the role of sexyman he just wants to go fishing and chill with his friends. He's running out of ways to politely turn people down. Gaku and Tenn come to his rescue whenever they're around, it's practically a routine now.

Momo came to terms with being gay some time ago now. Was a bit conflicted about it in high school, but being gay as an idol is a lot easier then being gay as a soccer player, especially with his partner up on stage with him.

Yuki is the most extremely pansexual man on the face of the planet. Attracted to anyone and everyone, but the attraction feels different from one gender to another. Has had way more casual relationships with women, but both people he's fallen in love with have been men. Maybe fem-leaning sexually and masc-leaning romantically. Or maybe it's just coincidence.

Haruka is a baby gay and still a little awkward about it. Still experimenting, and may or may not land on the gay label. Looks up to Minami for guidance and advice. Could stand to learn a thing or two from Tamaki, but whether or not he will...

Toma is a bisexual disaster. Everyone is pretty and he doesn't really know what to do about that. Thankfully he's got more important things to worry about so he just doesn't really think about it more than he has to.

Minami is cool, calm, collected, and fairly openly gay. Is perfectly content to take on the interest of their male fans. Knows what he wants and is entirely willing to go after it.

Torao : aggressively straight. Maybe a little homophobic about it. Definitely makes Haruka a little nervous. Minami just doesn't care. Will probably lighten up eventually, but things are a bit tense at first.

[valodia]

Chris lofi studio literally lives his life everyday not knowing how he forever changed my life for the better when he made kenshi. I wish i could explain how much this game means to me in a way that matters

[munch-mumbles]

ive been a little upset about it all night so i need to write out all the things that happened at work today and are bugging me so i can TRY to get it out of my head and actually RELAX bc i just keep pacing in circles around it instead of just accepting it and moving on

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: I slept for like ten hours and it was fucking wild.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You watch the long needle slide out from under your skin. You don’t feel it much. That man, Lloyd, loops the tube around the IV bag stand. You sit in the bed still, disoriented and dull. You can feel the tension buzzing off of him, as if he’s holding himself back. That scares you more than anything he’s done. 

Before you can say or do anything, your stomach growls. The tumble is painful as your insides squeeze violently. He looks at you and takes your hand, tugging you towards the edge as he snickers. 

“Hungry, jellybean?” He teases, “come on. I’ll make you a nice omelet.” He pulls until you shimmy across the bed. You turn your legs out and can’t help but use his strength to stand. He’s patient as he easily hauls you up. “You okay, babykins? I could carry you. Like before.” 

“N-no,” you try to wiggle your hand free but his grip is unbreakable. He squeezes and you quit your resistance. 

“You might be a bit groggy, that’s normal. The smoke, the meds--” 

“Meds?” 

“Well, I slipped a bit extra in the bag,” he shrugs as he glances over at the IV, “just so you could sleep.” 

You look at him, your horror burning from your eyes. He grins proudly and swings your arm, turning to lead you to the door. You take short steps, muscles stiff and achy, shoulders wracked from sleeping on your back. You look down at yourself and shudder; at least you’re still wearing your own clothes. 

“I’ve been doing cooking classes. I can do a florentine that will blow your tits off,” he boasts as he angles you through the door. 

The hall is airy and echoey. The house must be huge. You get that sense easily. You don’t need to go around and count the rooms. He takes you down the long hallway and you stop at the top of a set of stairs. They bend in the middle but more corning, there’s a large space between each. They’re polished to a shine and look slippery as the morning reflects off of them. 

“Just a step at a time,” he goads as you latch onto the railing.  

You put a foot down and grip both him and the railing. Another tide of wooziness comes over you. It could be what he gave you or your days of restriction, but it’s too much. The world is too much. 

“That’s it, baby,” he coos as you take a second step down.  

This is strange. It reminds you of a movie you watched as a kid with a maze and twisting and turning walkways and a taunting villain. You’ve awoken in his trap and you see no escape in sight. 

You slip on the third and let out a squeak as you feel yourself falling. He’s quick to catch you, scooping you up easily even in the narrow space. He lifts you and continues down swiftly, bringing you onto flat ground. You murmur and rub your head as you feel his heartbeat against your arm. 

You feel a tickle in your hair and hear him take a deep breath. Is he smelling you? You repress a shiver at the thought as your eyes struggle to focus on the shapes all around you.  

He carries you into another room, a kitchen, as spacious and sleek as any other part of the strange house. A white marble counter lines two walls and wraps around into full C, marking off the cooking space. On the other side, there’s glass table in an abstract, asymmetric shape with metal frame chairs around it. The whole place is out of one of those design magazines. All impractical at the expense of aesthetic. 

He sits you in one of the chairs, it’s just a rigid as you expect. He stays bent, holding you by the shoulders until your hold yourself up. He drags his hands down your arms as he reluctantly pulls away. You flutter your lashes and rub your eye sockets, trying to block out your reality. 

“My sleepy bean,” he beams and plants a kiss on the top of your head. “So how about it? Eggs florentine? Or are you in the mood for something a bit sweeter? I’ve perfected my crepes.” 

You grumble and drop your hands slowly, crossing your arms as a chill rolls through you. You feel it pricking in your chest and across your skin. You’re not wearing a bra and your tee shirt is thin. You keep your arms locked. 

You listen to him moving around. You don’t know what to do. You’re too weak to do anything. Even if you could get on the other side of the walls, you have no idea where you are. Where help could be. 

You rock as your fear bubbles up. Why is he doing this? Why does he think you want him? Why you? Of all people. You mind your business, you keep your head down, eyes to yourself... you don’t deserve this. 

You glance over at him as he starts to hum. Your lip quivers as you watch his shoulders blades stretch the fabric of his shirt. He’s a bit ridiculous in a full set of satin pajamas, the dark black speckled with a subtle grey leopard print. He’s too much. 

You turn your head straight and let it hang. You resign yourself to helplessness. You have to be logical about this. You can’t spark his suspicion to soon. You have to wait for a window and then... figure that out, you guess. You don’t like uncertainty. You have a routine and you keep to it. That’s what keeps you safe. Or so you thought. 

“...wise men say, only fools rush in...” he sings softly and you wince. The lyrics of the Elvis ballad make your skin crawl. He’s actually deranged. You don’t know him, you're strangers. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I know tree nuts are a no go,” he chimes as he whisks, turning to you with a broad smile.  

You blink at him. How does he know that? 

“Don’t think you’ll be needing any but I also got penicillin on the no go list and the latex thing... there’s alternatives,” he chuckles and you furrow your brow. “How’s that ticker doing? You been taking lots of iron?” 

Your body hollows out. How much does he know about you? How? You can guess he’s snooped around your medical records. Obviously, he’s a man with criminalistic leanings. Is this even his house? Has he taken you to a fortress he commandeered by force? Is there some terrified family bound in the basement? Is there a basement? 

He continues to futz around the kitchen as you curl your shoulders down and chew on your lips. Speaking of your heart, it’s beating again, racing, almost painfully. You’re a mouse trapped in the corner by the feline with his bristly whiskers. 

Your eyes wander over to the large windows and you stare out at the curated landscape. The property is beautiful and lush. You imagine a whole team maintains the perfectly trimmed hedges and colourful blooms. The stone mosaic pathway and the leafy archway over a bench. It’s like a dream, more so, a twisted nightmare painted in hues of fantasy. 

A plate clinks down before you and a sweet aroma brings you back inside. You face forward as Lloyd steps back on his heel, watching you with anticipation. You look at him then the plate. He pulls out a chair and plops himself down, planting his elbow as he cups his chin and watches. 

“Let me know what you think,” he insists. 

You take a breath and unlock your arms. Slowly, you drag them apart and take the thick butter knife and long fork. The cutlery feels too big for your small hands. You lean forward as the drizzle of dark syrup across the rolled crepe lures you in. Your stomach roars noisily and he giggles. 

“Aw, you must be starving,” he muses, “please eat, baby, I don’t want you to ever go hungry again.” 

You exhale through a ripple of disgust. You cut into the thin crepe and into the filling. Slice off the end of the roll and scoop it up with the filling. You carefully open your mouth around the fork and take a bite. Your eyes flit up to meet Lloyd’s as his gaze sticks on you. There are flames in his blue irises. 

You pull your mouth off the fork in embarrassment as he hums. He’s a weird, weird man. All of this is weird. Surreal. 

You look down at the butter knife and contemplate the gold cutlery. It’s heavy, it would hurt if you used the handle to give him a conk, but the blade is too dull to do much. It can slice through a crepe but wouldn’t do much on meat and bone. You don’t think you could do it, either. The thought of hurting others is just unnatural. 

“Is it good? Tried my own combination,” he explains happily, “dark chocolate syrup, not too much sugar, some softened cream cheese in the middle with black cherry jam.” 

You swallow and look around for something to wipe your lips. Short of a napkin, you lick your lip and clamp them together. He shifts in his chair, an act that makes you feel uncomfortable. 

“Good,” you croak. 

“Oh, wait,” he stands suddenly, “your coffee. Oopsie.” 

He struts away and your stomach mulches the single bite greedily. As much as you want to be stubborn, you’re so hungry. And it’s delicious. It’s better than your usual flavourless fare. You could gobble it all down in a second but you won’t. You carefully cut out another bite as he returns with a tall mug.  

He puts the cup down by your plate. You gulp down a forkful and set down the cutlery. You consider the mug before you take it, the white porcelain marked with the golden outline of a rose above the letter ‘Mrs.’. He has another in his hands, black but with a bowtie above ‘Mr.’. What the hell? 

“Colombian dark roast. A little less caffeine so your heart won’t mind so much,” he says. 

You nod and take the cup. The thought of coffee is enough to override your agitation. You take a sip and hold back a sigh. It’s good. You hate all of this but it’s all so good. You put the cup back and return your attention to the crepes. You pause and glance up at him. He doesn’t have a plate, just his cup. 

“Oh, jellybean, you’re so sweet,” he smirks, “I gotta keep my protein up. I’ll have some eggs and a shake soon. Right now, you just worry about you.” 

You dip your chin down and focus on eating. Small bites. You don’t want to seem too greedy. You don’t want him to see how much you need this. Does he know everything? Of course, he was watching but did he know the days you spent feeling as if your stomach was eating itself? 

He pushes his hair back, trying to tidy the long strands as he watches you, “we’ll get washed up after breakfast. Then you can get settled in and relax. I’ll take care of everything else, alright? You just need to get all dolled up when the time comes,” he explains as he drags his fingertip around the tabletop, “not that you need to do very much.” 

You just chew. What can you say or do? This man is straight up crazy. Not only are you his prisoner, he’s been stalking you. It doesn’t matter when it started, look where it’s ended. No, this can’t be the end. 

“What’s...” you speak before you can think. You shake your head and smother your question with another bite. 

“What? Go on, sugar lips, ask me anything? You wanna know my favourite colour? My favourite song?” His cheeks tint pink as he plays with a button on his pajamas. 

You clear your throat and put down the fork and knife, “what’s going on... later?” 

He tilts his head curiously. 

“The... dress and... doll up?” You repeat his words flatly. 

“That’s a surprise,” he trills as if it should be obvious. “Don’t wanna spoil it, do we?” 

“I guess,” you sit back and fold your hands in your lap. 

“You don’t gotta think about anything, sweet cheeks. You leave the thinking to me. I’m gonna take care of you,” he avows as his hand stretches across the front of his satin shirt. “You just gotta be you.” 

You feel his gaze bearing down on you. You peek up to find his eyes slipping down and you feel them centre on your tee shirt, your nipples poking against the cotton. You hunch your shoulders and cross your arms again. 

“How’s the coffee, jelly bean? You like it?” He tears his attention from your chest. 

“Good, thank you,” you murmur. 

“Ugh, I love hearing your voice,” he puts his coffee down and reaches between his legs. You blanch as he drags his chair closer as he lifts himself. He puts his hand on your knee, stroking with his thumb, “will you call me ‘honey’?” 

You stare at him. Your cheek draw tight and your lips flatten. You want to shake off his touch and scream but that foggy glaze in his eyes deters you. This man is wild. 

“Okay, er,” you gulp tightly and cough, “honey.” 

He hums into a sigh and his hand slips higher on your leg before trail back down, “oh,” he shakes his shoulders, “that tingles. Do it again.” 

You fight not to let your true emotion blaze through. You hug yourself tighter and bite down before you can muster the word, “honey.” 

“Oh, baby, that’s nice,” he winks and sits back, eyes grazing up and down your body, “you cold? You’re all twisted up like a pretzel.” 

You nod. It's an excuse you’ll gladly take. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner, jellybean?” He stands suddenly and you notice the way he tugs on the waistband of his pants. You turn your head, blurring your vision so everything around you is vague. 

He rushes off and you wait. You don’t know what else to do. You’re still too weak to make a move. Whatever he gave you is potent. Or maybe, you’re just too scared to do more than shrink and surrender. 

He returns with a fluffy purple robe in his hands. He comes around the back of your chair and you lean forward to let him drape it around you. He curls his hands over your shoulders and bends over you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“You need more coffee, baby cakes?” He asks as he kneads your shoulders. 

“Still working on it,” you pull away from him and grab the cup, “thank you...” you let the words dangle in the silence, tension piquing, “honey.” 

He sighs and draws away with a tickle up your neck, “mmm, isn’t this wonderful?” 

[corviiids]

ive never watched h2o just add water but im australian so close enough and i desperately want to know more about death note h2o au. how does light becoming a mermaid make him able to kill people does he just like start grabbing people and drowning them. does L keep coming up with convoluted ways to reveal that light is a mermaid (i would like to know if someone attempts to push him into a pool at some point because i think thats how h2o mermaids work like you. just add water™ and they turn into a mermaid right)

(this ask is referring to my tags on this post)

#i just looked in my notes and found a death note au of that australian mermaid show h2o just add water#in this au light becomes a mermaid and immediately uses his mermaid powers to fucking kill people#and also hes australian#and becuase he's australian hes not called kira#his murders were first noticed on nobby beach (queensland) (australia)#so hes called the ghost of nobby beach#or nobbo for short#because hes australian#does anyone want or need australian mermaid murder death note au called nobbo? why did i write this#when will i finish it

thank you for your interest and everyone else who has shown interest in death nobbo. this is a post about death nobbo, my death note h2o just add water au which takes place in queensland australia

they are Australian and live on the gold coast and light is a uni student who becomes a mermaid. because he is a normal person he realises this is his opportunity to kill people. he also has a pretty, shiny tail.

L is a detective whose attention is drawn to this weird string of drownings in Queensland, Australia. he comes down to investigate.

to answer your actual question:

light drowns people by waiting for them to go surfing or swimming or whatever and then flipping their boards etc and dragging them at top speed into a rip. he holds them down or tangles them up so they can't stick their arms up for lifeguards

L thinks it's sus that all these experienced beachgoers are making mistakes like this and that nobody's managed to call a lifeguard in time. a couple of lifeguards have reported seeing a bit of a commotion where victims are drowning, but get out there too late, and it seems like all of them are physically not able to hold their arms up

here are the rest of my notes in the planning doc and some excerpts:

L doesn't enrol in UQ (is light more of a QUT bitch) but does just like, show up? maybe he gives a talk? i think light is studying law because i want to be self fucking indulgent. so maybe L (via screen) gives a lecture for criminal justice students and starts asking people what they think about the nobbo murders. someone's like so you think it's definitely murder and not just people drowning? L is like you're a beach city. drownings aren't uncommon, but this many drownings from people who are all familiar with the ocean terrain and beach safety makes it very unlikely.

(translator's note: UQ is university of queensland, QUT is queensland university of technology)

He picks light out from the audience because he's already profiled him and they have a discussion

later on L shows up physically at the cafe where light works and asks if he'd like to go swimming. while light is working on how to get out of that one, L goes, oh no, I've forgotten my beach wear. let's go play tennis instead.

lights like internal monologue there's a surf shop next door. light yagami would probably just offer to lend L a rashie or say they can go next door to pick one up. if I take this out, will he thinks I'm suspicious? does he think I'm nobbo? but I can't go swimming or he'll realise the truth.

(translator's note: 'rashie' is aussie slang for 'rash guard' or 'rash shirt' and it's swimwear that is a shirt)

while light is freaking out, L is like, actually there's a mini golf place near mermaid beach I really want to try, so let's go swimming another time. light's like well okay

so they go have a gay game of mini golf. l asks light how mermaid beach got its name and if he thinks mermaids are real. they discuss nobbo.

why did i name him nobbo

misa is light's coworker btw. at some point she also becomes a mermaid and light has to stop her rom exposing them both because she is not very careful

light entered the pool alone so got all three powers - hydrokinesis, cryohydrokinesis and thermocryokinesis

and here's. fuckin, whatever

also the only important line in this au

[candiid-caniine]

Hey! Long time no see, i know i said id send you a fantasy i thought you'd like but now ive forgotten almost all of it, oop!

Life happened, and uh, i saw that you mentioned your libido being a bit low, which definitely is my case too (im recovering from depression, now that im okay id love to get my FULL libido back, or at least a good percentage of it) do you have any tips on that?

Also any recs of blogs writing in the same vibe as you? (same-ish kinks would be nice but im specifically looking for queer inclusive stuff!) it makes me 10x hornier than the regular video/photo porn!

Hope you're well, you pathetic little thing!

���

hi friend!! ugh i feel you. sorry i haven't got any advice on regaining ur libido...we just let mine wax and wane as it will, though denial has been a big help in keeping it steady!

i've heard good things abt ginseng and some other herbs. obvs use at your own risk, mind that some herbal treatments can cross-interact with certain medications, remember that pre-packaged supplement pills are often unregulated and may contain toxins, and be aware that some herbal remedies work better on pw certain anatomy than others, and finally that many herbal remedies considered to increase libido are largely untested on trans folx!

finally, sorry it's taken so long to answer this ask...i'm autistic and have been cataloguing lol. i present to you a list of other blog recs under the cut, organized by general vibe! i've tried to primarily include blogs that do their own posts rather than those who primarily reblog :)

note that my headings may provide some context as to what to expect, but you read at your own risk and each blog will typically have its own trigger warnings addressed in the header/pinned. additionally, i've not tagged some of the ppl below because they prefer that "Men DNI" blogs not interact, and idk if "no cis men" qualifies ahah!

all blogs below are queer- and/or trans-inclusive, if not exclusive! there is no detrans/misgendering, at least I don't think - i don't tend to follow those blogs.

hard kinks (blood, knives, etc; includes primarily-cnc blogs):

@puppy-mommy , who also does general t4t kink content, but does state untagged hard kinks!

@visciousest is someone whose blog i scroll when i'm in a Certain Mood ahah,, i won't elaborate

@hell-hound-bites: just. fuck. would drool on his knife blade.

@snuff-fag: its username should give you fair warning as to how wild its content tends to get, so please browse responsibly.

@condor-bait is taking a break right now, and all my love is with him as he takes care of himself. he made me feel so valid and so fuckable as a young trans person learning to love myself in a new way, and i've always been too shy to tell him how much his content meant to me one-on-one (yes, despite its often-extreme themes!), and he deserves as much time as he needs to heal!

@unwillingfvckpuppy for mostly cnc and medical kinks! if you like his style, but not so much their harder content, he also has a more-tame main blog--i just mainly follow/scroll this one!

@vampvictim: top-tier cnc/intox stuff, plus some great knife/bloodplay :)

@cryptidtid is wonderful and holy shit i follow a lot of hard kink blogs lol. incredible

@cnc-pet: i have been following her for a long ass fucking time lol. they post a lot of really good cnc and stories, but you'll also find a lot of aftercare tips and advice on her blog! i really admire blogs who try to balance horny content with best practices

@dollobotomy

general kinky content:

@excessively-queer . just plain old good shit :) there's a good amt of edging and degradation.

@clouded-king was honestly one of my earlier introductions to the queer/t4t kink community on here and how fucking euphoric it can be :) he posts some hard kinks, but generally it's a balance of a lot of different kinks so read his pinned at your leisure!

@ / cottontailx : just good kinky nsft posts :)

@ / digitalpenetration: often specifically t4t which i love!!

@femmelovefemme can step on me :)

@bigothteddies: could not build this section w/o mentioning him :) they had a big influence on my fantasies for a long time!

@hazelj-xoxo: bigtime want her to cuck me. have followed her across multiple blog deletions lol

@transpidered is forever an icon!

@subspaceemo

@writefinch for great stories and text posts

edging and denial, specifically:

@6irlpet is 1 of my go-to hands-down-pants scroll sessions :)

@droolkink is my inspiration!

@flustersluts does exactly what the name implies lol. a good helping of other kink content too :)

@puppycvnt is a 10/10!

@barkwoofbarkwoofbark: we r denial friends imo!!

@strawbrrysub

@blyssful-abyss

@urhighnessbitch is a big fav <3

non-detrans genderplay:

@butchviolence does amazing butch supremacy stuff and i,,, fucking hell. even just seeing their username puts me in a Particular state of mind ahah. they also post hard kinks so be aware as you proceed!

@mtfdomme: i literally just reblogged from her today lol. tbh i want to be their little stupid pupthing. it's not all transfem supremacy undertones/overtones, but that's what i mainly follow her for, plus just general t4t goodness! also, their general personality? and the way she shuts down people who disrespect their boundaries? huge inspiration for me!

@cuntboydestroyer: take me to the animal shelter and neuter me. good lord.

@the-kind-of-dame is the main inspiration for my recent genderplay post lol

@terfbreaking-tgirl (be warned of dykebreaking if that's an issue for you)

@barbarian-lesbian is my other inspiration for the recent genderplay post

@superiorineveryway

weird asf (/complimentary; my favorite type of shit. robots, ND-focused posts, etc):

@specksizedgoddess has introduced me to things i didn't know, like...existed, and that's saying a lot as one of my special interests is kink! never knew how down bad i was to be a tiny buggirl, nor how much i wanted to be someone's stupid little robot... BIG tw tho: there is snuff and gore content here, so proceed with caution if you don't wanna see that!

@sapphling fucked me up real good with some bird!sub bondage posts awhile back lol

@nobelisha: found them through their ghost cnc post so that's why they're in this category ahah! they don't have a pinned so proceed w awareness :)

@devout-cleric: hierophilia/religion kink, and i'm something of an acolyte of hers :) if you've read this far down you may as well know i'm her Little Lamb anon lol

piss/omo:

@latenightomo

@pissheartmybeloved - their URL makes me crack up every time, plus good content!

@hold-it-a-little-longer - good scenarios/imagines!

@ohmyrashi - (i think) my original intro to omo!

monsterfucking/terato:

@septimus-moonlight was my first real introduction to trans-positive terato and i've never settled for half-fun cis-oriented terato ever since :) mind tags!

@eggedbellies as well!

@bredpun doesn't appear to be active lately but still good for a scroll!

@steamandcream

@of-mutts-and-men

[bright-and-burning]

✨✨positivity chain! tag some of your favorite creators (artists, gif makers, writers, etc) and say what you love about them. Share with as many people as you’d like✨✨

oh man. doing this off the top of my head is so much pressure... any friends left off this list it is wildly unintentional and i am so sorry <3 this is gonna be super landoscar & co heavy. u kno how it is.

writers... well can i say everyone? truly. off the top of my head... @freeuselandonorris for the ability to get me interested in (or at least reading) Anything, @monacotrophywife for the funniest craziest concepts that spin out into deliciousness every single time, @vroombeams for the guaranteed gut punch no matter the length, im going to run out of unique ways to compliment my friends' porn i cant lie. @ocontraire who wrote THEEEE comfort fic of all time 2 me (little renaissance my fucking beloved),

@glasscushion and @strawberry-daiquiris who BOTH span the gamut of making my brain turn into sludge and also making me tear up abt being in love w ur best friend at christmas (what an odd venn diagram overlap), @foggieststars whose burning up fic i have (according to ao3 history) read 23 times (and who matches my freak like no other), @wanderingblindly for the sheer variety, @miamimaiden for the incredible aus,

@piastriachios for the bonkers-inducing markoscar, @chelemlem (dynamics that make u crazy fr). ok im cutting myself off. wait actually for some not-as-landoscar-centric writers i love: @leclercenjoyer (technically. Yet.), @userkritaaay (manifested jack's seat w the french-australian diplomacy project fic series and i am only half joking), @wormeo-and-juliette (funny and hot fic. queen of ensembles and large casts),

@landoisokay (whew. WHEWWWW. norrussell legend but also in general fic that leaves me dumbstruck), @wewentcarracing (lance expert and also prose expert), @alxalb (porn and awkward feelings alike that have had me face plant into my bed to recover). many many more that i am sure i am forgetting, i feel like im giving an oscars speech and theyre trying to play me off

artists!!

@dumbf1sketches (who i could not for the life of me remember the url of. tumblr should know who @.brid is), @udonli (drew me in w '''poorly''' drawn piastri on stats notes and now has me hooked for life, something so incredibly apt 2 me abt oscar drawn on grid paper), @roosterhouse (COMICS OF ALL TIME. theeee narrative artist to me like im beyond obsessed), @unknownaster (very warm art of my fave guys!!), @kichona-s (the lemon landoscar lives RENT FREEEEE the little x faces omg. cutest little guys on the planet).

for the more graphics-y artists, you cannot go wrong w @argentinagp (gifs also!!!!) and @alpinelogy <3 coolest posters on the internet honestly.

gif makers:

@insideparcferme (excellent compilation-y gifposts), @cuthechicane (always capturing moments i miss on broadcasts), @blueballsracing (variety act!), @oscarcito (always ready to provide oscar in 4k), more that i am for sure forgetting but these r people whose urls i remember seeing next to gifs in the last day!!

renaissance people:

@piastrisms gifs and fic both god tier!!! magical realism and tenderhorny pwp (occasionally w plot!) what more could u want from a writer. and @mecachrome THE triple threat of all time... art that feels like summer, gifs that feel like a cool + refreshing drink, fic that feels like the perfect sweet treat!!

i am so so sorry to whoever i have forgotten (or if ive forgotten you also make x but i only have you under y, my memory is full of holes), i am so lucky to know so many cool people but that makes it so much harder to list everyone off!!!!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

BANSHEE BLUETHROAT (III)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IV ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 9.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, talks of death & violence, blood, guns, mass death, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your mind was a loop of indecisiveness. A circle of revolving moments that carried over to the next. At the center was your only saving grace—the routine. And, so, by eight AM for the last four days you had gone back to the café with Gaz trailing silently behind.

He’d learned on the second day you weren't going to speak beyond harsh insults, and you had only smirked and walked on with a sense of victory. You may not have been able to stab him or poison him, but this was a game best played slyly. 

Breaking him first was the prize.

But today it was different. You’d finished a project for one of your more interactive courses in college. Nothing extravagant, but something that would give you a good enough grade to pass and would satisfy your jerk of a professor. All of this involved going to campus to turn it in, seeing as it was quite the sizable binder that had to be given physically over unless you wanted to flunk out. 

Going into the city.

Backpack full, Gaz hands back over your gate key with his forefinger and thumb, which you snatch and shove into the back pocket of your jeans. You hated to admit it, but the man's silence was a blessing. Not having to hear his voice was just another illusion you could place over your eyes to say Kyle wasn’t here in the first place. Besides the Sergeant’s morning and night routine of walking the mansion in check of oddities, you’d all but forgotten he was there once he’d stopped trying to talk to you. 

You begrudgingly supposed that he had been right in saying he’d be out of your hair most of the time.

The penknife still stayed in your jacket pocket. Next to the coin on the right side with which you fiddle with currently, rolling the thin metal over and under fingers with practiced dexterity. Not only had you gone out of your way to avoid interactions with the Sergeant, but you’d also been avoiding anything to do with your father and his charges pertaining to Kate Laswell’s deal. 

Not once had you gone into your old man’s office, and you had little plans to. 

I owe Laswell nothing, you stand in the café as Hector hands over only one cup of coffee today, the man sending violent glances to the awkward form of Gaz in the doorway. Certainly not my own right to privacy. 

“Not staying?” Hector asks, and you toss down more crushed bills on the counter with a hum. 

“Gotta go into campus.” Kyle shifts from his position, brown eyes snapping to the back of your neck with a confused blink. “Project.”

“Ah, see that’s why I never bothered—won’t find me doing all that shit.” You huff, looking around at the sparse customers and rolling your shoulders. Dread was perhaps the only word you could use to describe the feeling in your chest. Apprehension. Fear.

Moving your hand farther in the air, you motion a goodbye with the drink, “See you tomorrow, Hec. Keep the place standing until I make it back.” 

“You know it!” Striding away, your form slips out the open door—courtesy of the Sergeant—and the sudden pressure in the back of your consciousness increases. 

“Campus, Ma’am?” 

“Problem?” His tone was a dead giveaway of what he thought of the trip. You send a glance to his taller form, watching the dog tags on his chest bounce above the open lip of his black bomber jacket. The morning was spreading its misty grip over the streets.

You threaten to spark the lingering electricity between the two of you from previous clashes over the few days.

“Negative.” Kyle clears his throat, arms swinging. “No problem.”

“Thought so.” Your eyes shift as you take a swig of caffeine, swallowing and licking your lips to taste the liquid. Forcing down a shiver, you add with a frown and stiff neck, “Don’t slow me down.”

Your body takes a right at the next street, looking into store windows and giving strangers a wide berth as you shimmy around them. Kyle stays ever present at your side, never letting your steadily increasing pace make him lose sight of you for more than a moment of bobbing heads. 

A mostly fake scoff meets air. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’d probably skin me.” 

Not bothering to respond, your vision slashes to the cars on the street, taking the time to watch the slick metal as the sun streaks over it. A white Sedan is slowly coasting past you, and the moving shadows on the inside make your hackles rise for no apparent reason. Shuffling bodies and phantom smiles; multiple, but no more than four. 

Kyle’s form cuts your view off in a quick step. 

Head snapping up, you snarl out a comment to move. Gaz looks down at you, and your vision slashes to his stubble to avoid a clashing of eyes.

“Can’t have you walking near the road,” he says, and you continue on with clenched hands. “Safety measure. I also should know how you expect to get to your University, yeah?” 

“You mean without driving?” Your body knows the route to your destination. Sparse days throughout the month when it became inevitable that you would have to go to class and the limited ways you could get there. Sighing, you lick your lips and bring your drink to your mouth.

“Well,” You can hear the teasing nature in Kyle’s tone, “I can always call in a pickup.”

“Keep dreaming, Garrick.” Over the past four days, you’d hear the Brit in the large foyer of the mansion sending reports to Laswell—whether by word of mouth or by spying him typing away on a laptop as you slunk around. 

You didn’t know why he did it there of all places, but when he looked up at you going to the kitchen, you had a good idea. His eyes were always watching. Assessing. Even now as you look over at him, Gaz’s gaze was flying over the multiple heads of the crowd; hand held close to the concealed carry. And he was still trying to speak to you—it was infuriating.

Can’t he just do his job and leave me alone? Christ.

“I wouldn’t call this a good idea.” Rolling eyes make lids pull back as you shake your head. 

Kyle glances down at you, stirring in his gut as he tries to guide you farther into the safety of the sidewalk. But your feet are like iron, and his disapproval worsens. There were too many people out—too many unknowns. So bloody stubborn.

“Do you expect me to just give up my life because of some so-called threat?” You huff, finishing off your coffee and tossing the empty cup away in a passing garbage can, hearing the thunk as it hits the bottom of the bin. “I actually have plans to graduate, y’know.” 

“Can’t you email your professors?” He asks, frowning, “Kate’ll make sure you’re believed at the very least. I’d think keeping your blood in your body was more important than a grade.”

“You been to college?” You look twice before crossing the street, jogging across. It wasn’t like you cared, but a point needed to be proven, and, of course, you already knew the answer. The Sergeant had enlisted at eighteen—it had said so in his file.

Gaz blinks in surprise, staring at the side of your face for a brief moment. “Thought about joining University, but the Army sucked me in before I figured out what I wanted to go into. Been there ever since.”

You stop outside of the train station, feet stalling so abruptly that the Brit grunts in the back of his throat. Twisting on fast heels you raise a brow and narrow your stare on the broad build of Kyle’s chest, watching the fabric move as his hands twitch at his sides. 

“Imagine knowing what you were going to do for your entire life,” voice serious, you extend a brief moment of realness to get the Sergeant off your back for the foreseeable future. “And then imagine someone saying to just email your professor about a project that’ll take up a good forty percent of your grade. Idiot.” Your branch shrinks and dies. “You sound so stupid you’re making me lose brain cells just by speaking to you.” 

“Well…I never said it would have to be a short email.” Groaning loudly, your jaw grinds into itself; body snapping away to the large red-brick building with a pointed roof. “Two paragraphs, at least, yeah?” Kyle stifles a laugh, watching you walk away with a sense of victory. His lips peel back as his heart jumps.

You were incredibly fun to mess with when you got frustrated. 

“Do shut up.” The roaring engine of a car behind you only makes it slightly above the sound of your ears steaming.

“Copy and check, Ma’am. Won’t even know I’m here.”

“If only.” Grumbling, you push open the large front door and shuffle over the tile floor, neck burrowing deeper into the bunched fabric of the hoodie around your neck, hand trailing to your back pocket to pull out your school ID. 

You hold it out to the woman at the front desk and say you need a ticket for the next outbound train as Kyle stands like a sentry behind you, arms going to cross languidly. The woman glances at you and then at the Sergeant; with a grimace of disgust, you see when her eyebrows go slightly upwards in badly concealed interest. 

She has wide eyes and you don’t even have to look to notice them.

You’ve got to be joking. 

“O-Of course,” the red sheen on her cheeks greets you as the attention is quickly re-routed back. A clearing of a throat and the fidgeting of hands as they grab papers and rip tabs.

Gaz doesn’t seem to notice or care about the blatant attraction from the woman, and he turns slightly on his heel to look back outside through the front windows. His orbs brush the exterior of a white Sedan as you grab your ticket, tossing bills on the counter. Dark brows pull close before the machine disappears from view. 

“Hm.” 

“Is that all?” The lady asks, and when you nod the smile you’d been staring at goes from forced to genuine in a blink. 

“How can I help you today, Sir? Isn’t the weather lovely this morning?” You deadpan at the ticket in your hand and force down a scoff. 

This is torture. 

“Christ.” Sticking the small piece of paper into your pocket, you begin walking away on slow feet to the waiting station next to the tracks. 

Kyle blinks forward, taking in the sight of the worker and automatically smiling politely. He nods, hat over his head moving. 

“Oh, apologies, Miss—I’m with her.” 

“No, he’s not.” Your bland voice echoes, “Feel free to call the police. Tell them I’m being stalked.” 

Gaz lets loose a cautious laugh, side-eying you sharply, “She’s joking. Does that all the time,” brown optics tickle your neck with a hard stare, “even when it’s a jab below the belt.”

You shrug, not glancing back with a grumble, “Show you a jab below the belt, Brit.” To be honest you could have made a scene, yelled, screamed—but what would that achieve? 

Maybe I would get to see him arrested, at least. A temptation leaves you raising a brow in genuine thought; a small smirk contagious.

“...Okay?” The lady slowly utters, and you have no doubt her face is the epitome of confusion. You feel her watching you before you shove open the side door to the platform. “So you want a ticket too? For the same train?”

“Affirmative.” Kyle's voice cuts out as you force your way outside, passing a few others in the process to take the farthest bench available. 

Gaz frowns at the closed barrier, fingers twitching at his sides with the scents of Creosote and metal firm in his nose. Reaching for his wallet, he hands over a nicely pressed twenty and starts to wonder if this job will get any easier. 

Now that’s funny.

“Keep the change,” He says in an absent tone. To be fair though, it seemed like the last few days you’d slowly gotten used to his face being the first you saw in the morning…even if a sneer on your lips followed soon after. 

“Here you are, Sir.” Kyle quickly grabs the paper ticket and swiftly exits the side door, not catching the attempt from the lady behind him, “I-I was wondering if—”

The fresh air is crisp, and it’s not long before your familiar form is found at the very far back; seated with your back pressed against the wall behind you. Arms crossed and head tilted to the sky. Brown eyes lock onto feet that bounce nervously like a string was attached to them. 

A slow sigh builds in his chest as he walks over, taking check of other individuals who would be sitting in the same area. 

All of this would be so much simpler if she could just listen to me. Know that I only want the best. Leaving the familiarity of town and heading straight into the center of the city was about as bad of an idea as you could come up with. 

“Try telling her that,” Kyle whispers under his breath, “Like speaking to a bloody brick wall.” But when you talked about University, it was like you shoved every sense of purpose you had into it—Gaz had seen you walk down to grab food from his position in the foyer of the mansion on the third day; spare laptop with you and typing on a singular hand. 

Making lunch and barely taking your eyes off the screen when the man had peaked around the corner. It was like nothing else mattered. Like…obsession, nearly. It was obvious that your studies meant a great deal to you, and Kyle wasn’t surprised by that at all. 

But this was still just a plain stupid idea. And yet, his job was to keep you safe, not police your every move. He could adapt. He could deal with it. 

He’d gone through far worse.

The Sergeant’s jaw clenches as he saunters nearer, taking a standing position next to your bench and studying along the tracks before his arms cross. 

You glance to your side with a half-lidded eye, gazing at the strong build of the Brit’s neck and peaking along the various healed scars and scratches. Along his darker complexion, you spied the tiny ones over his left cheek especially—two straight, parallel, lines reminiscent of those you’d get if you got scratched by nails. 

Blinking, you turn your head away and squash the curiosity in your lungs. You hadn’t noticed those before, but stuck in this trap of insults and heated looks, you had no quick tongue to ask. 

Thankfully, the scream of metal wheels on tracks stops your untamed comments from trying to escape. Fighting in private was one thing, but in public was another. 

Keep your manners, my Dear, your mother had instilled in you, our family name is steeped in history. When in public, keep personal grievances, personal. Never make a scene. 

It was always about image with her. Maybe that was why you were always closer to your father. 

“C’mon,” you stiffly speak, pushing off the bench as the great pile of machinery comes to a halt and the horn sounds off. Your ears ring. 

Quickly walking up to the train, you grab the rail and hoist yourself up, slipping into one of the carriages before it could get filled up. Gaz follows obediently; hands loose. 

He walks with you until you’re at the very back, seeing you slip into a booth, and decides it would be better to not make you angrier than you already are. Gaz takes the seat across the aisle and slides into it silently before looking at the watch on his wrist and settling in as you place your hands on your table. 

It wasn’t long before the gears started rotating again, sending the train forward with a screech of old metal. And still, there is a suffocating silence. At first, you enjoyed it—not speaking to Kyle—but now it was breaking your mind to just have him look at you the way he did. With a false sense of duty and blatant authority; like you were only a charge and nothing more. The peaking over corners at home to check in on you before disappearing just as quickly made you writhe with anger. You weren't a damn live wire.

Your room was a refuge back at the estate, but with the clatter of Gaz walking about it felt more like a glass box. Infuriating was the first emotion to come to mind.

Studying him now, you even wonder if anything you do will make a difference to him. Sure, you can push him around and insult him, but Gaz was a soldier. SAS. That didn’t make your grudge any less of the boulder that it was, yet the implications were also there that you refuse to look into. 

Your father was a good man. 

Numbly sliding over the way that the Brit’s nose tenses in concentration as he looks at his watch, you shuffle out of your backpack and place it beside you. One of his long fingers goes to lightly caress the dark leather strap, polishing out natural wear that doesn’t disappear. 

Tilting your head as the floor moves below you, you don’t notice his face has already turned your way. Blinking.

“You look confused,” Gaz turns his body to face you more and your hands quickly delve into your pockets as your lids widen. Skin immediately feels hot, and you hate the feeling wildly. “Care to share, then? I’m guessing it’s a long ride, have time for it.”

Intrigue wins over the disgust you feel talking aloud. You attempt to look as uninterested as possible.

“Why take care of it,” you nod to the watch and his wrist raises slightly from the table so you could get a better look. Kyle’s lips twitch, and he thinks for a moment that he may have just figured out a way to get you to speak without starting fights. Spike her curiosity. “It’ll break eventually. All the illegal stuff you get up to, at least.” 

Your fingers play with your hidden coin. 

The Brit nods once. “‘Course, I’ve no doubt about that.” Amusement enters his tone, “Things already older than me by a long shot. But, hey, all the good stuff is illegal.”

The comment about the object’s age really got your attention. Your head slightly perks up, body rotating somewhat so your shoulders tip forward. Kyle thinks it’s the first time you’ve actually gotten close to looking into his eyes—your sparkling gaze stopping along the slope of his nose bridge. 

His pulse pauses.

Darting back down, your vision looks at the make of the watch, internal database of knowledge finding the gold detail and backing that had once been white now a dull yellow. Gaz sighs under his breath. 

At least thirty years old based on the fading and the leather alone, you think. 

“It was my father's.” Your brain short circuits. Kyle huffs, not noticing your sudden shift. “A good deal into its golden years, eh? But I’ll wear it until it breaks off.” A shug later and he’s blinking at your body as it numbly turns forward. “Sort of a luck thing, I suppose—If you believe in that sort of thing. And, hell, haven’t gotten my head blown off yet so I’d say it’s working.” 

An easy chuckle enters the carriage.

“When’s my mother going to get here?” Your voice was cold once more.  

“Erm,” Kyle’s foot twitches, lungs ceasing to move for a second. Deep confusion lines his face. What had he said? “I’d…have to get into contact with Laswell. Dates can be tricky to nail down in this kind of situation. Easier to react when you get the news upfront.”

A feeling squeezes his heart. You were so damn hard to read; it was like treading a red thread over a lava pool.

The hand in your pocket moves to your backpack, peeling back the side pouch and grabbing your phone. Staring at your reflection for a brief moment of tired eyes and the sheen of nervousness at going to class, you quickly hold it up without looking at the man across the aisle. 

Outside the carriage, the sun beams in; making golden light shine over your cheeks like Midas himself was touching your skin and leaving behind strokes of godhood. 

“Her number.” The train jerks and you have to slam your free hand to the table to help steady you, grimacing, before tossing the device carelessly in the Sergeant’s general direction. 

Kyle catches it easily and looks at the black screen with wide eyes, blinking back up at you. “That’s incredibly against policy, Ma’am. Not to mention just plain illegal for me.” 

“Does it look like I care? And I thought you just said everything good was illegal?” 

“I can’t give you her number.” Gaz puts his foot down, shaking his head. “It would put more people in danger if you lost it. Sorry, Love, but you’ll have to wait for Laswell’s intel like the rest of us.” Annoyance sparks in your heart, lips pulling back. Kyle stands and walks over, placing your phone on the table heavily. Like a door closing firmly shut as the lock clicks in place. 

On this, you supposed, he won’t be swayed.

“I’ll be tellin’ you when I get the news myself, I give my word.”

Your word means nothing. So eager to protect a bunch of killers. You say no more—mind too preoccupied with the walk you’d have to take through campus to get to where you needed to go and with how spent you felt. A few days ago you’d have gotten into his face and screamed at him; you still wanted to, but just didn’t have the energy right now. 

After getting back home, maybe.

The rest of the ride you are acutely aware of the man sitting parallel to you, feeling the glances his brown eyes would slide your way and the shifting of his legs. It seemed he could never stay still—always having to move at least a single part of his body to keep momentum. A held-back spring waiting to be released in any direction. Kyle would remain utterly focused on the other inhabitants of the carriage, placing the tidbits of information he learned about you far back into his mind. 

Loyal to your family. Curious. Stubborn, but only when you knew you could win.

Every piece of the puzzle that you gave over was more obscure than the last, creating a scene of black and gray and telling him to pick out the sections that didn’t belong. 

The Sergeant’s eyes slid over the two men near the front of the seating area, heads tilted down and donning caps similar to his own just without the embroidered British flag. His body stills. 

They were dressed casually, nothing standing out or drawing attention to them; but they leaned in to speak, whispering lowly. Gaz’s spine straightens, alarms going off in the back of his skull. Heart stoic, the Sergeant slips his hand behind his back and takes out his pistol.

Setting the object in his hidden lap with a firm grip, his finger stays pointedly off the trigger with a large amount of discipline. It wasn’t a promise to use it, just a suggestion. 

Leaning back, the cushions of the seat he was in conformed to the muscles of his lithe back as a bed of soft earth would, but there was no satisfaction to be brought from it. Eyes slid to you from the side of his lid, and the still-visible clench of your jaw said much. 

He resigns not to tell you his concerns.

Looking back to the pair near the front, Gaz asks softly, “How long until we get to the location?”

The men shift far ahead and his muscles tense, seeing them mumbling to themselves once more, nose shoved in. Under the table, his fingers twitch over the safety of that smooth metal, lips slightly parted and tiny scars pulling tight. Kyle’s gut weighs heavy.

You huff, stuffing your phone back into your backpack with clenched hands. The both of you had been on the train for only thirty minutes.

“Hour.” 

Under his breath, Gaz holds back an aggressive sigh, “Lovely.” He doesn’t really process what you say, but he wants to look occupied.

“You wanna take it up with the train, be my guest.” Slouching, your hands fold over the table, placing your forehead directory on the junction and letting your lashes flutter over your cheeks. Angling your neck, you mutter, “I’m sure if you stand in front of it, it’ll really get your point across.”

“Ever realize your jokes only loop around to my death?” Kyle’s eyes don’t stray from the twin figures, who now place their hands on the seats to get ready to stand. The Sergeant gets a flash of green eyes from the one facing him. His thighs tighten; feet splaying with readiness. “Anything original comin’ soon, Love? Gettin’ a bit predictable. ”

“They’re not jokes…but I could always start insulting your intelligence—I know how that’ll piss you off.”

“Well, it’d get us on another level of resentment for sure.”

“Well, that’s all you had to say.” One step out into the aisle from the strangers and the flick of a gun’s safety makes your ear twitch from your cocoon. 

Your body stills to a near-death-like form. Marble carved and glued to the woodgrain below your form as the train leans to the side to take a turn. Blood immediately begins to thum with the drums of a long-lost band, violins in your head sliding their horse-hair bows to create the sounds of a dying tornado siren. 

“Hey!” Your father yells, voice fracturing; arms twisting and feet splaying. The hammer of the revolver is clicked back and your pulse mirrors. “Hey, no, no, no. That’s not—She…She has nothing to do with this!”

It’s as if your bones are made of stone, and your neck of iron, because everything is slow as you raise your head and look to the side; eyes so wide you feel they might break. Glass and insect wings. Air doesn’t come as easily as you’d like it to.

The two men are standing now, and Gaz blinks nonchalantly. Acting as though he was simply gazing around the carriage without a clue. There was no fear in him—no apprehension—just a sense of duty and readiness. Adrenaline was coursing, but it only served as a tool to sharpen his reaction time; the aware gleam of his amber optics. 

He’d say he had become a little addicted to it, this feeling. Soap had called him an adrenaline junkie on several occasions, but the Scot didn’t have the right to say anything in Kyle’s opinion. Mate was a fucking demolitions expert.

A phone rings and dark ears twitch as one of the suspicious pair reaches inside his pants pocket. Gaz tilts the X12 to face forward, a long finger caressing the barrel and the slide catch as the digit slowly descends down to the trigger. His other hand tenses on the table. 

You would be the first target, and the bunching of a hand inside blue jeans causes a steadying inhalation of oxygen to be sucked down. They’d have to get through him first. 

And Kyle Garrick knew he was a quicker draw than a hired gun.

The stranger peels his limb out of the fabric, the stretch of skin, the rubbing of cloth. A flash of silver metal. The Sergeant steels himself, leaning forward. 

“Hey!” A phone is placed to a ready ear, “Yeah, man, I’m with Jace right now—where the hell are you? We’ve been in the back carriage this whole time lookin’ for ya…”

Gaz’s shoulders lessen, and the middle-aged men shuffle out of the dividing door with a comment about a baseball game. Eyebrows slowly get rid of their furrow with a steady sigh. 

The Brit’s free hand goes to itch at his neck, scratching away the coursing blood under the epidermis. A hum reverberates in his throat. 

Christ, Mate. We shouldn’t be out of the house.

“How long did you say again, Ma’am? I was…” Terrified eyes are locked on the gun under the table. 

There’s imaginary blood on your face, leaking down over your eyes and dripping off your chin, melting off your face; wax-like. Fear shows in the whites of your orbs as your hands shake inside your jacket. Everything has blacked out beside the figure of the Sergeant and the pistol stuck in his grip. 

You had known the gun was there—had seen it—but the clicking of the safety…

The hammer of the revolver is clicked back and your pulse mirrors.

“I–I swear! I promise, let my little girl go and I won’t—!”

Slack-jawed, you look over the crater that was left of his face numbly; lips and teeth ripped apart and a caved-in skull. His hair was strewn about, and without a cohesive thought, your fingers itched to smooth it down. 

You want your mother. You want your room. You want another damn coffee.

Skin clammy, the penknife in your bloodless grasp threatens to flip open, a stone thumb only letting off faint tickles as to where your grip was even at. Without meaning to, your pressure falls on the small bit of metal that acts as an opening mechanism. 

Flesh gives way to unyielding velocity, yet you don’t even feel it. All that matters is the pistol. The man. The amber eyes.

Why can’t those eyes ever leave your head?

“Ma’am?” The pistol is shifted out of view quickly without another hurried word, the object going behind Gaz’s back with a gaze concernedly stuck to your face. 

Shit.

Kyle clears his throat, legs moving to bring him closer to you while glancing over your glazed-over expression. His heart burst with hesitation. 

“I…” The Brit trails, hand raising up just to go to his hat and rearrange it after a twitch of fingers. What did he do to fix this? Better yet, could he?

But his mind told him if you were reduced to a mute and frozen state just by his person holding a valuable weapon to his station, you wouldn’t survive a full week. Was that why you were locking yourself in your room? It was to avoid him, obviously. A way to cut out any amicable relations. Were you…not afraid of the situation because you were too occupied being afraid of him?

A spike hits his chest.

Although it was a difficult course of action—the man couldn’t fault you. At least, not entirely. The only thing that made him mad was the fact that you couldn’t see how horrible your father really was, the necessity of not the outcome of that fateful day but the words said during it. Memories or not. But…was there a chance you didn’t know…? No, you had to. There was no way that…

Fuck, there was just too much going on.

Kyle utters your name lowly, trying to call back your focus as his face tightens, “...Hey, you alright over there?” He sees you swallow shallowly, eyes snapping back to the tabletop, and a clipped flinch from your right hand. The Brit mistakes it for his own doing and crinkles his eyes, awkwardly putting his hands on his knees. “Easy through it—it’s all in order. Gun’s gone, Love, won’t be coming back out.” I hope. 

But you say nothing, and perhaps that’s worse than you insulting him. Skin goes thin.

You always look scared; even if you don’t realize it, you carry a large amount of fear in your eyes at all times. Kyle knew it was his fault—One-Four-One's fault—but he’d never had to face it quite like this. Head-on. The downside of the job he took because he believed he’d be protecting people from harm, not always inflicting it at every corner. 

But the gloves came off a long time ago, and as he twists back into his seat with a respectful nod and concentrated eyes, Gaz asks himself if corruption of the mind is worse than corruption of the soul. 

At the very least your soul is completely hidden from others.

He was going to have to ask you what your father really meant to you—if only to stop the constant guilt in his chest when you wouldn’t look into his eyes and defended the man so violently. What had he meant to you? How could he have impacted you so much? Did…you even know what he had done, and, if you did, would it change your mind? 

Was it his pace to tell you?

When Gaz fell asleep at night on moth-eaten sheets he heard crying from halfway across the house. Screams of night terrors that the Sergeant knew well because he was plagued with the same, though the only thing he awoke with was vile sweat and a gasp. You never mentioned them, just like you never mentioned the bags under your eyes or blatant caffeine addiction. The inability to see the truth.

The PTSD. The anxiety. The paranoia.

You were a ticking time bomb. With a clenching of his jaw, the Brit realized keeping you safe from outside forces was going to be easier than protecting you from yourself. A trigger he could pull; a knife he could send deep into a throat…but he can’t stop you from doing anything to jeopardize your own health. 

He couldn't stop you from hating him without letting you speak in your own time. But the worry was that you’d only speak right before you were dead.

—

The University of Chicago is a prestigious place. Large courtyards of humongous trees remind you of the hanging gardens of Babylon if only more subdued in splendor; the sun hitting the red roofs of medieval-like buildings. Steeples that reach to heaven and touch their sharp spires to clouds. 

You walk on the paved sidewalk unperturbed, ignoring the glances and whispers from other students as you cut directly through the center of campus.

Kyle’s eyes are wide, making a noise under his breath as his vision slides past the scores of students studying outside, fixing his cap. 

“Feels against the law for me to even be here.” He mumbles under his breath, “Bloody looks about as old as Vicars' Close.” 

You frown at the mention of the oldest street in England, but just speed up and stuff down the comment about dates in your throat. You don’t want to talk to him. 

Just hand in the project and leave. 

Since the train ride you’d felt as though your voice won't come back to you—and the pain in your hand was beginning to throb. Your penknife as well as the entire inside of your right pocket was covered in blood; precious coin included. Even now you twirled the tiny metal disc as viscous liquid pooled into the fabric, making your hand slick and shaky. The blade had slashed right through the skin.

“Vicars’s Close is over six-hundred years old, Garrick,” you can’t stop the comment from slipping as you take a right and ascend the steps to a large open pair of double doors. Kyle blinks, startled you’d heard him. “This has only been around a little earlier than eighteen-ninety.”

Keep her talking about things she likes.

“You know about Vicars’ Close?” He asks, tilting his head down to you as the large vaulted ceiling almost makes him whistle in shock. “How’s that?”

You side-eye his shoulder and slip past others in the stone and wood-beamed hallway. Stinging pain erupts when someone brushes your right shoulder, traveling down like needles. Gritting your teeth, you grind out, “How do you know about it?” 

“Took a trip as a kid—my Mum likes all that stuff.” Kyle smiles, pearly whites showing off as your stare is drawn to it. The canines are like little fangs; sharp looking. You blink at them mutely before shaking your head. “Fact, I’d say she proper would have enjoyed aiming for a History degree.” He pauses, nodding his head, “‘Fore she decided to become a florist, that is.”

“Hm,” turning back, your lids narrow in pain. 

You should tell Gaz about the cut—the man specialized in first aid—but bleeding out was a better option in your opinion. He’d only take away the penknife anyway. Wouldn’t let you keep it with how you’d been acting. Plus, asking for his help made you want to hurl.

“Well?” Taking a corner, your brows furrow at the Brit’s prompt. Jaw tightening in a slow loss of patience.

“What, Gaz?” 

“How do you know about it? You study a lot of English history here? More pegged you for focusing on Natural, least from what I’d heard.”

You pass through a doorway that leads into a large auditorium.

“Garrick, I’m not going to waste my breath on the likes of you and—” Your name is called loudly, interrupting you before you can finish your sentence. The intention of slinking to the professor's desk and getting the hell out of there quickly freezes like ice. 

It can never be simple. Especially not in this specific class.

I thought he didn’t start for another five minutes?

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Face vanishing of any emotion, dread leaks into your stuttering chest. “Can I finally mark you down for what…the sixth time you’ve attended my lectures,” a pause, “and who’s this? A new addition? How quaint.”

“Mr. Ramsey.” The snickers of seated women and men leave your shoulders bunching, but you continue onward, taking off your backpack with one hand and placing it into an empty front-row seat. 

You don’t bother looking at the young professor as you grab the zipper and peel it down the sides. The prick didn’t deserve your attention. 

It’s the last year, just get through it.

Kyle watches, confused. The smaller man was dressed in a nice suit, tailored by the looks of it as focused brown eyes study the stitching. Now that he really looked around, everyone here was clothed in expensive attire. Taking a quick glance at you, the difference is immediately spotted. 

Hunched over, run to the end of her rope, compared to bright and jeering faces. A professor with a smirk and a raised chin that immediately sets Kyle off. 

His lips pull to a deep frown, shoulders pulling back, already eager to leave.

“Kyle Garrick.” But his feet don’t move to greet the man as you quickly shuffle through papers and folders with a burning face. If anything, Gaz moves closer to you instead; instincts taking over. “A friend.”

Get it over with, you think, fingers brushing the large project binder that you snag. You don’t have the energy to correct the Sergeant on his statement. Just hand him it and go.

Mr. Ramsey huffs, “You sure about that, Son?” 

Gaz blanks. After a moment his head tilts and eyelids crease.

“...Say again, Sir?” You’re forcing the binder out of your backpack and closing the zipper at the speed of light, swinging it back over your shoulder before making it to the front desk. The sentence is slow.

A scoff echoes over giggles as if it was obvious. You drop the binder to the tabletop and bee-line to the doors. 

“Let it go, Kyle” you hiss to the Brit as you slip past, only for an incredulous pair of eyes to gawk at you. “This isn’t your business.”

Let it go? He doesn’t know why that statement makes him angry, but it does.

The professor's voice is pompous, bouncing off the full auditorium and hitting the Brit’s ears. Dark eyes crease in disgust at a laugh, grimacing. “She’s a recluse, Son. The entire city knows it.” A questioning tone, “Are you new here?” 

The insult is in bad taste. Very bad. An utter stillness overcomes the room, seeping into Gaz’s bones. His lungs inflate.

“Mate, I think you better bugger off, yeah?” His comment is out before there’s time to think it over, but that doesn’t spark regret—nothing of the sort. “Seems like this class is a load of bollocks as long as you’re teaching it, yeah? How’d you manage to get a job acting like that?” What in the bloody hell is this prick on? A Brown gaze flares with amber fire, teeth tight in honesty. “Have a little respect, eh.”

Where was this sudden chivalry coming from? The need to back you up? Was it the guilt, or just a common practice that his mother had instilled in him since boyhood? 

Never stand for someone being insulted while you’re there Kyle, yeah? No one deserves that. Not even a tiny bit. Make a scene if you have to, but be the bigger person.

Air heats to life and you halt in the doorway. Eyes widen in shock, face loose. 

Had the man that had put a gun to your head just… 

You turn back in an instant, hearing the uproar from the professor and the silenced shock from the students. This wasn’t a place where you spoke back to the teachers. Grabbing the sleeve of Gaz’s jacket, you drag him out. The black-haired man goes willingly, glaring up a storm of dark brows and peeled lips. You both disappear behind the wall.

Heart racing, you stare heavily at the floor, speeding down the hallway; releasing the man stiffly. The only thanks you would give him was getting him out of the room before it imploded. 

“You’re an idiot,” you say at last, getting back out into the courtyard with a shake of your head. But you hated the slight jump in your lungs when Kyle had snapped back in the auditorium; voice flying like a dagger. A bloodied hand twitches. “I should have left you there.”

Gaz breaks his neck to narrow down at you, mouth open and still annoyed, “Parden?”

“You heard me!” Stomping over the sidewalk, you dig your nails into the slash in your palm, eliciting a hiss from your teeth. 

“Yes, Ma’am, I did,” he grunts, glairing, “It’d be damn hard not to. What I’m asking is why?” 

“You had no right.” People watch from study groups, large eyes taking in the sight of your fast-paced stride and the exasperated expression of the man beside you as he rubs a hand over his stubble and scratches, hands coming up to enunciate words.

“No right to stand up to a prick?! What in the hell are you on about, Bird?” 

“Let me fight my own battles, I don’t need your help!” The parking lot gets closer, two fuming forms stalking past the grand statue out front, a man of oxidized copper surrounded by trees along the circumference of a paved road. “Certainly not with Ramsey.”

Kyle brushes off the comment, letting the fresh air go over his face and bring his emotions back into focus. He sends sharp glances down at you with muted irritation. But he knows better than to engage in a full-blown argument in public. 

Doesn’t stop the heat on his neck, though. 

“Christ, and what’s his deal, then, yeah? Fucker acts like he’s the greatest person to exist and I only spent five minutes with ‘em.” You dig your non-injured hand into your nose bridge, pressing with the nails until you’ve regained some semblance of calmness. 

But even if you want to be pissed at Gaz, the thought remains that he was the one who just stood up for you. Your father taught you to honor debts, even when you disliked the person.

You’re only as good as your word. Whether you liked it or not, Kyle deserved honesty, at least right now. And only for as long as you deemed it. 

“One of Father’s old classmate’s sons. They had bad blood. Carried over apparently.” Licking your lips, you sigh harshly. Kyle mirrors, but the professor's comments are still heavy in his brain.

“That’s bullshit. Doesn’t give him the right to bloody insult people.” Frowning, you look over to the clenched jaw and twitching nose, seeing his hands at his side clenched like yours were but for entirely different reasons. 

Brows slowly slide to make lines on your face. What was his problem?

“You’re awfully worked up—trust me, ‘recluse’ isn’t the worst thing out there. Ease out of it, Garrick.”

“You’re used to that?” Stepping onto the asphalt, you make your way with the man back to the train station. Kyle’s muscles rove in shock. How could he take your silence as anything else than an admission? What the hell had gone on these last three years? Something comes more into focus, a picture beginning to form. What had Ramsey meant when he said the whole city knew you were a recluse? Every answered question only leads to more, and Gaz breathes in, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”  

“Let’s just get to the train station, Sergeant.” Rolling your eyes, you peel out slightly ahead of him with a mumble. “I need a nap.” A pause. “And you need to stop watching me like I’m about to explode.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you, Ma’am.” Kyle brushes off the agitation, beginning to catch up with a smirk and a raised lip. “‘Specially if it meant I’d be out of a job because of it.”

“Tempting.”

“Sod off.” A twitch of a cheek is all that happens, but the sinking in your gut stomps any other display of amusement. 

Stop that. 

The walk down the street is quiet besides the chatter of other people, and you take the time to regain your senses. A steady inhalation of air later as you grind teeth at the pain that now extends up your afflicted arm, a slash of white slips past your view. Blinking, you don’t think much of it, the other hand going to grip your right limb in a throb of blood and massage it. 

A heavy grip is placed on your back. 

“Hey!” You snap, trying to fight away from Gaz’s unyielding press. He’s shoving you farther down the street, and as you look up at him you find the sudden seriousness has left his scars pulled tight over his cheek. You blink, intrigued but still disgruntled. “Mind explaining, Garrick?”

“Keep your head down.” Kyle hurries you along, taking off the cap from his head and shoving it atop yours with a press of his palm, jerking down the brim. You hiss, batting away his hands with a sharp smack of skin. “They haven’t seen us yet.” 

“Who hasn’t—?!” Turning your gaze to the side, Gaz’s fingertips are warm as they press deeply through the fabric of your jacket and sweatshirt, strength bleeding out of them.

You blink out over the crowd, and like a wave going back to the ocean, you find it. 

To anyone, it would have seemed like just a plain white Sedan parked a little while down the street—there were thousands on the road every day; tens of thousands—but there were marks that couldn’t belong to any other vehicle than the same car you had seen this morning. A scratch along the back of the trunk; a dirty plate. Moving shadows in the interior. 

A hand on the back of your neck swiftly turns your head back forwards, and you can’t find it in yourself to tell Kyle to buzz off. 

Gaz’s jaw is tight, looking over his shoulder every other second to make sure no one was exiting the vehicle to follow after. His free hand goes to his earpiece. Like a switch had been flipped, this person was now the perfect example of professionalism.

“Bravo 2-6 to Actual,” the Sergeant moves you faster, clipping his shoulder off of someone else’s. A curse sounds off moments later. “Be advised, VIP is being targeted by a white Sedan. Plate number BA32997, Illinois. Been on us since 0800 this morning. Could be longer.”

Brown eyes glance down, seeing your tight lips and snapping vision. He frowns. 

“Get in front of me, Love.” You confusedly look up, flinching when you nearly look into Gaz’s gaze before you stop at his ear. Kyle licks his teeth and shoves you forward, walking right behind you so his larger form can keep you hidden.

His earpiece fizzles as he feels a hard look on the back of his neck. Shit. He pulls closer to you, nearly pressing his chest to your back. You fight off an order to move as your mouth goes dry. The long fingers feel like lightning as they press into your shoulder.

“Bravo 2-6 this is a go from Actual. What’s your status?” The commander of this mission was still officially Laswell, but seeing as she couldn’t be on the line at all times, there was a secondary officer-in-charge that could take point. Gaz forgot to ask, but he believed the man was called Kit.

Kyle continues on, fast feet hitting the ground as he lists off the name of the street and directs you into a more densely populated sidewalk. You both make your way into a dense park. Black metal fences and large trees. 

The sound of raised voices and the slamming of car doors make Gaz curse. 

“Actual,” looking behind him, the Sergeant runs up beside you and presses you onward as your heart pounds wildly. Eyes like fire blazing a trail over the open space of the park and the multiple other people present as your legs pump. “Cutting through the park. I need Evac here ASAP. I’m counting at least four trailing.”

What was going on? Things like this don’t happen in public, do they? You imagined a knife in the dark—a sniper scope. Not full mayhem! There were innocent people around. Your brows furrow painfully; blood flooding. But did hired killers care about a body count?

Your eyes widen, “Kyle, what the fu—!”

“Get down!” Pressure on the back of your neck forces you to duck, a whizz of air slicing past your head. Your feet stumble before a shoulder is corralling you to the immediate side, your mouth opening in a sharp gasp. “Contact, Actual, contact!” 

There’s a pistol in Gaz’s hands before you can really understand what’s going on. Screams in the air that cut off as another begins seconds later like clockwork and the automatic fire of an assault weapon. Manhandled behind a trash can, you clamber into a huddled position with bent knees and scrambling feet as the Sergeant's shadow sits over you, body shielding your own. Sharp pings of bullets hitting metal make your hairs stand on end, flinching and shaking with every one.

At sectioned intervals, Kyle would lean out from the cover as your hands go to cover your ears, fingertips digging into the material of Gaz’s hat and clenching your eyes shut. Blood transfers over from your cut to the fabric in streaks of crimson. 

The pulling of a trigger, the recoil, that loud boom.

“No, no, no,” you mumble as the Sergeant continues to yell into his earpiece. Hypersensitivity sheds you down to your last atom. “‘If it’s not pointed at you, it can’t hurt you…If it’s not pointed at you, it can’t hurt you…If it’s not—’” 

Your name is firmly screamed, British accent snapping you back to leave you looking into eyes of amber in a daze. Dark. Flecks of gold and green like a meadow. Sepia. The ones that haunt your nightmares as the blood speckles your face and the walls close in. “We need to make a move to denser cover! Make for the trees when I give the order, copy? We’ll push through into the city.”

Kyle’s hand is shaking your shoulder, and his lips move quickly. You can barely make words out above the panic. 

Eyes. His eyes.

Dark and expressive brows draw the familiar sight to a junction of horror and memory. Why can’t you look away? His heat is merging into yours, the other hand brandishing that same pistol as more bullets ping off the bin where your back is shoved into uncomfortably. Gaz smells like gunpowder, and it leaves you wanting to scrub your skin until it bleeds as your hand does; take a cheese grater and level the flesh down to the bone.

You’re looking him in the eyes. Him. 

And they look exactly the same as they did three years ago.

Before you can flail out or shove him away from you, bolt with vile tears and vomit under your tongue, shadows from over his shoulder capture you like the flies that dance over your vision. Be it adrenaline or shock, you recognize three more hired guns before they can even raise their own weapons. A planned ambush. 

Did…they know you were going to be here? How?

They’re running, shoving through a fleeing crowd. Until they decide to just start clearing the way. Bodies drop in droves, pools of blood like rivers. So much death. Your words break.

“Gaz!” His head whips around, but there’s little he can do. Too many civilians are in the way. There’s no clean shot. Like a Barn Swallow picking off insects.

“Fuck!” The word is drawn out near the middle, growled under his breath. Looking back and forth, the Sergeant leans out from the cover of your sub-par shelter and immediately moves back as a twin pair of bullets zip past. 

He looks enraged. At himself. At you. At the bodies. 

But this wasn’t the time for that.

He could shoot, yes, but the primary objective was to get you to cover first. In the meantime, he’d use himself as a shield and lay cover fire. He’d known that leaving the mansion was a bad idea. He’d tried to tell you…all of this death…

“We move in three!” Kyle yells, pulling your shaking body close and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Keep behind me!” Footsteps get closer, deep-voiced orders hitting his ears.

Where the fuck are the police?! 

Your form is ravaged with racing blood—veins gushing into one another. Sweat drips down your nose and all you smell is poison.

“One.” Gaz brings up the pistol. He’d drag you if he had to.

You stare at the corpses on the ground, eyes of all colors jeering at you with mocking laughs as Gaz’s clothes press into yours, strong form unyielding as iron. Warm. Some bodies were still twitching; leading you to wonder whether they were still alive or just going through death spasms. It felt like your heart was being ripped apart to even have to question that.

“Two.” A man comes around the side of the bin, and like a breeze on the wind, Kyle moves, shoving you back mercilessly to the ground as a bullet hits right where your head would have been. You gasp out a scream.

In line of view, the Sergeant grabs the barrel of the enemy rifle and jerks it to the side, rapid-fire leaving a line of dust exploding from the concrete as metal bounces off. Grunting, the end of Kyle’s pistol is set right to the man’s chest. Two quick rounds later, a body is dropping with a spray of crimson into Garrick’s face. 

He made it look easy. Like it was nothing. But it was always like nothing to him, wasn’t it?

“Move!” He snaps his stained head down to you, and you stare back as the world rages all around; quivering. Brown eyes. Amber. Meadow. Kyle motions, points with desperation to the trees when you shake like a wet cat. “Now!”

You take off as gunfire and screams make your ears ring, but you don’t know if you’re running from the attackers or from him. Not once do you look back.

TAGS:

@fatunn, @mh073099, @littlegaypng, @untitled69555, @babybooday, @caffeine-anxiety-and-randomfacts, @underrated-youngster, @jupiterredolent, @idocarealot, @karnellius, @latteisaqueen, @petrat97, @jade-jax, @roosterr, @escapefromrealitysm, @renaich, @kysa32, @human-turtle, @aurora-basin, @terumisworld, @violet-phantoms, @xxfeelmylovexx, @neelehksttr, @nezukos-number1fan, @20forty9, @mdjenjen, @marrianena, @angeldaisyy, @alhaizen, @homicidal-slvt, @emerald-valkyrie, @raissadoesthingslmao​, @misfne, @hollyhopesworld​, @wasteland-babe​, @330bpm-whiplash​, @anna-banana27​, @justherebecausesafarisucks, @sunnynomoar​, @doggydale​, @thecrispypotatochip, @74478328​, @blueoorchid​, @das-conk-creet-baybee​, @dragonfruit1985, @chestnutsandcurls​, @vamqyr3​, @lavalleon​, @nebula67​, @urfavsunkissedleo​

[ephemyrals]

「 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 」

# 𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐲𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐬 .     ━━          a private writing blog featuring muses from multiple fandoms including genshin , hsr   &.    bsd as written by mona  (       25+ years  ,   she / her     )    .    please check the rules before interaction , you can find them below the read more  .    heavy    &.    dark themes will be present on this blog  ,     follow at your own discretion  .

❛❛  𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐱 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠  .    stories tell about love  ;    about its mythical properties  ,    the way it changes people  .    connections are what makes time on earth worthwhile  ,    is what they say    ━━      more than bustling chatter carries in the background  ,    gazes lingering from afar  .    more than a brush one another  ,    a gentle caress   (       ephemeral     )    ,    fading alike dust in boreal breeze  .    maybe  .  .  .    it is more  .    but why come to care  ,    𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲  ,    right from underneath the tips of your finger  ?        ❜❜ 

[  ❀  ]     closely intertwined with : @gemkun , @starspurn , @seraphynm , @scrtilegii / @furiaei

𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

i . i am highly selective  ,     mutuals only  .    i might not always follow back  ,    for whatever the reason may be  .    basic roleplay etiquettes apply  .    please do not involve my in ( dash ) drama  ,    writing is a hobby for me    &.    i am just here to have fun  .    my activity is sporadic  ,    sometimes replies might take longer depending on how busy life is  .    you can nudge me if you think i have forgotten or when you are thrilled to continue our thread quickly  .    this helps me with direction  ,    please be kind about it  .    i do not reply to my threads in order received  ;    i generally reply faster for characters i have muse for    &.    to my mains  .

ii .    i do not often post starter calls  ,    since i prefer plotted threads  .    feel free to shoot me a message  ,    either on tumblr ims or discord  .   you can also turn a meme reply into a thread if you wish to    (        it is even encouraged        )    ,     please do so in a new post    &.    do not forget to tag me  .

iii .    reblog memes  ,    art    &.   poetry from their source  ,    unless i have tagged you in it  .    don’t reblog threads you are not involved with  .    it helps me keep track of what i have got coming in  .

iv .    i love writing ships  ,    which includes any sort  :    romantic  ,    familial  ,    enemies etc  .    of course it is chemistry - based  ,    but feel free to just barge into my ims    &.    say you want to ship    (        within appropriate age range        )    . pro - shippers dni .

icon border and banner from lavenderph

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

aventurine , robin , tingyun / fugue , stelle , kafka (hsr)

vanitas (vnc)

lavi bookman jr. (dgm)

cheng xiaoshi (lc)

shalom , hamel , rahu (ptn)

blogroll : @fiyres (khr) , @autymns (bsd) , @elisyans (jjk) , @sciamachys (genshin)

[ot3]

Hi! Do you have a post that has all your LB tags listed? I sometimes only see them if you're in the middle of watching but if I want to go back and look it's hard to keep track. (Ex. Oplb, houselb etc)

Happy mew year, keep being awesome!

i did not because to be honest i just don't keep track of them. i think the only other two things ive done tagged liveblogs of to any extent were riverdale and my hxh rewatch. if there's anything else i've already forgotten it. i stuck links to all those on a page though so here you go! happy new years to you as well

[get-punked]

ive been working on a patch jacket for a bit over six months now and have been trying hard to get more into punk subculture but being a) a minor b) unable to go to local shows or anything and c) having tumblr as basically my only social media makes it tricky lol. interested in folk punk & crust punk as well as just punk shit in general, i guess im just asking for any tips/recommendations/etc if you have any? ty!! your blog is very neat btw

hello hello! I used to be in a very similar situation as a teenager, lived rurally and had 0 access to gigs, which certainly makes getting into the subculture harder than it needs to be!

"tips, recs, etc" is pretty broad, so here's some of my favorite punk resources in general:

I reccomend starting with Bandcamp and looking for punk bands in your wider area/province/state. This is a way you can familiarize yourself with the nearby scenes and support the artists without having access to gigs/venues.

You can watch the entirety of The Decline of Western Civilization III here. This is a documentary about the LA gutter punk scene in the 90s.

I really like this article which goes over some of the history of crust pants, and features images and documentation of several very old pairs.

A Band called Death is another great documentary, this one about a black proto-punk band who were heavily influential and often forgotten.

itch.io has downloadable zines! you can find books tagged 'zine' here, and books tagged 'zine' & 'punk' here!

this is one of my favorite crust, folk, and general punk playlists. it's on YouTube, so download Firefox browser and get an adblocker (this can be done on mobile too) for better listening experience.

[saintetheldreda]

guys its so nearly november 5th and my heart might be exploding love is real for just one day of the year and ive cleared all my work and my schedule to make the god damn most of it im going to buy cake from my local bakery and read love poems and im making a playlist of every good love song i know so i can spend the day listening to ONLY love songs and im gonna binge some supernatural (i still havent finished it hehe) and go out to a field and stare up at the sky to pine and yearn and idk if im going on tumblr tomorrow so if anyone on the supernatural tag sees this tomorrow i hope you have the best november 5th i love you and if no one sees it i love you anyway and like sorry to be unhinged on main but i have had the shittiest year and i need this so bad and i think that fans should all celebrate november 5th cause if we let that day be remembered as a day of mourning or forgotten then we let the haphazard writing win in turning the great love story into a tragedy and i cant do that honestly we are reclaiming november 5th november 5th will be cute and we are going to make it cute and you can call my relationship to destiel denial but i call it defiance (it is definitely denial i am just delulu) (but i love it) (command me to be well etc) I LOVE YOU

[chrisalysms]

# 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐦𝐬 .    ━━          a private writing blog featuring rover from wuthering waves as written by  𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐚  (       25+ years  ,   she / her     )    .    please check the rules before interaction , you can find them below the read more  .    heavy    &.    dark themes will be present on this blog  ,    follow at your own discretion  .

chrysalism ( n . ) the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm  ,    𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟 , alike an argument upstairs    ━━          a quietened string of words raveled  ,    however so  :    the release of built-up tension is understood in perspicuity  .

𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

i . i am highly selective  ,     mutuals only  .    i might not always follow back  ,    for whatever the reason may be  .    basic roleplay etiquettes apply  .    please do not involve my in ( dash ) drama  ,    writing is a hobby for me    &.    i am just here to have fun  .    my activity is sporadic  ,    sometimes replies might take longer depending on how busy life is  .    you can nudge me if you think i have forgotten or when you are thrilled to continue our thread quickly  .    this helps me with direction  ,    please be kind about it  .    i do not reply to my threads in order received  .

ii .    i do not often post starter calls  ,    since i prefer plotted threads  .    feel free to shoot me a message  ,    either on tumblr ims or discord  .   you can also turn a meme reply into a thread if you wish to    (        it is even encouraged        )    ,     please do so in a new post    &.    do not forget to tag me  .

iii .    reblog memes  ,    art    &.   poetry from their source  ,    unless i have tagged you in it  .    don’t reblog threads you are not involved with  .    it helps me keep track of what i have got coming in  .

iv .    i love writing ships  ,    which includes any sort  :    romantic  ,    familial  ,    enemies etc  .    of course it is chemistry - based  ,    but feel free to just barge into my ims    &.    say you want to ship    (        within appropriate age range        )    .  pro - shippers dni .

[halofcrged]

RULES.

            going to try and keep this pretty simple & straightforward.

I.  You must be 18+ to interact with me. I am 42 years old.

            There will be not safe for work content on this blog of the sexual and potentially of the graphic violence nature.  I do tag everything that might be triggering and am happy to tag whatever you ask me to so long as I remember!

                            I ask that you tag any visuals containing spiders with spider tw* spiders tw* arachnophobia tw* etc etc and yes, I know it’s a weird one but anything about the taste of soap or eating soap is a trigger so just tag it with soap tw* or penny don’t look* as I have that blacklisted too.  I don’t have any triggering fcs or what not.

II. This blog is multi-ship, multi-verse, crossover & au friendly.  

          Every ship is in its’ own verse unless previously discussed with all parties.  Every thread or set of threads takes place in its own universe unless previously discussed with all parties.

III.  I write anything from one-liners to novellas, it really just depends on life, my headspace, how much sleep I’ve been getting, how much else I have going on in real life, etc.

IV. My activity is NOT consistent.  I am infamous for blog hopping.  I have literally replied to some starters / replies two years+ after they were originally written.  I am not fast.  If I am fast, it’s by some small miracle and perfect storm of brain, muse and free time.  It will not last.

V.  I have kids, cats and dogs; I am in college, I have a household to take care of and I have many physical and mental handicaps that can affect my ability to function and write, including but not limited to rheumatoid arthritis, osteoarthritis, spinal stenosis, ganglion cysts, torn meniscus, migraines, hypothyroidism, PMDD, nerve damage, herniated disc, ADHD, depression, anxiety, C-PTSD and severe insomnia.  

                          Roleplay is something I do for fun.  

                                  If it isn’t fun, I don’t do it.  

                                         If it’s stressing me out, I’ll avoid it.  

VI. I do graphic commissions.  

          I run @tuppencetrinkets where I post the millions of screencaps and 200x100 icons that I make.  The resources are free but donations are always appreciated as I pay about $40 in hosting / program fees a month.   My commissions are always pay what you can.  I hate setting prices because I want everyone to have pretties if they want them and I don’t know what anyone can afford at any given time.  I do everything from base icons to edited icons, backgrounds, headers, dividers, promos, videos, you name it.  I try to be quick with turnaround but again – sometimes I just can’t be.

VII.  I am fine with plotting things out in advance or winging it.  I really don’t care, whatever you are more comfortable with is fine with me.

               I like all kinds of plots.  I like fluffy things, slice of life, broships, frenemies, enemies, familial, found family, long arcing, one shot throwaway, dark and twisted, you name it plots.  I will not write n*ncon or anything nsfw themed /even hinted at with minor characters and I won’t write any explicit child death etc. but most everything else is fair game.

VIII.  You can throw a million memes at me any time you want to.

IX.  You can throw any and all starters at me any time you want to.

                I’m not necessarily mutual exclusive but I don’t guarantee I’ll respond to memes or starters from non-mutual blogs.

X. I use icons, headers, promos etc. that I make myself 99% of the time.  Please do not use any of my edited graphics.  All base icons I use are free and available on my resource blog.  

XI. I use small text and my icons are 200x100 with empty space to make them 540x130 so that they don’t stretch out on mobile.  I prefer not heavily edited replies in terms of font variance and colors but really don’t care that much.

XII.  I’ve probably forgotten relevant things but, who knows.

XIII.  No drama.  Period.  I’m not interested.  

XIV.  I’m here for fun.  I’m really pretty easy going.  If you have any questions feel free to toss them into my inbox!

[pebpebpebble]

🍭pinned post🍭

about me:

hi im peb!! or pebble!! im a thing that likes to draw and also scamper about like a lil gremlin (my pronouns are she/they, btw)

im also a minor. so dont be weird please. and thank you. (just dont be weird to anyone in general)

ive started taking art seriously ever since june 2020! ibis paint x is my program of choice (for accessibility my art tag is "#peb art")

i dont post frequently, i really apologize for that. art and pretty much doing anything in general is incredibly taxing for my mental health, i hope that changes soon lol

interests:

i really like kirby (thats like my whole thing) but you may also see me talk about some of my other interests:

-pokemon mystery dungeon

-everhood

-the mario & luigi games

-daniel mullins games (bitbuddy. inscryption, the hex, bitbuddy. pony island, bitbuddy. etc your FREE bitbuddy! your FREE bitbu)

-pikmin (mostly 3 deluxe. i really need to play the other games)

-adventure time

-slugs (like in real life) and also any other silly creatures i find fascinating

kirby interests and stuff and whatever and:

this one warrants its own section i feel like!!

-ive liked kirby since i was a little homunculi, with games like super star ultra, squeak squad and mass attack, but it never really clicked with me until i played kirby triple deluxe waaay way later around 3 years ago. ive never recovered. help.

-my favorite game is. i dont really know honestly. its mostly between kirby triple deluxe and kirby and the forgotten land

-my fav characters are ado (not to be confused with adeleine), taranza, and kirby

other fuckin bullshit:

you may also occasionally see me make oc stuff!! but its mostly kirby slop that youll have to bear with in this blog

im a relatively small account so reblogs and other tumblr jargon are appreciated!! i also really like asks!!

end of pinned! say hi to him

(i'll also update this pinned post as time goes on)