#even without sideburns

[fleurdemiel-145]

Gil-Galad with a braid. Look. How CUTE

Benjamin Walker knows.

He fluffin' KNOWS.

Credit : screenshots of Gil Galad are from a video made my Dandexllions on Instagram

[protagonist-art]

"Uh- I'm Arnold. Bennett. It's profoundly difficult to get your lifes works and studies accepted if your name isn't... yes, oh! Are you a fan of moths, sir?"

NEW RDR2 OC!! a reclusive, clumsy entomologist and bug collector; cooped up in his study of uniformed clutter

[widowshill]

VAMP ROGER AU QUESTION! how would he and barnabas interact together (if they ever interact)? :3 💜

tagging @tortoisesshells because she's my co-conspirator <3

excellent question! this family and their sharp-toothed men will be the death of ... well, several community members of Collinsport, i suppose.

to start — Barnabas gets out of the box slightly differently than in canon, which colors his relationship to Roger and the rest of the household. Roger kills Willie after his attempted assault on Carolyn and Vicki (who is, by that point, his wife); Willie's mysterious disappearance and Roger's suspected involvement makes Jason that much more panicked, desperate, and correspondingly aggressive. Liz goes searching for the lost family jewels in a last-ditch attempt to buy Jason off, and, inadvertently, lets their ancient family sin out of the tomb.

ergo she's made Barnabas' thrall instead of Willie, but this goes unnoticed for a while — even though her brother would, in theory, recognize the signs, and his suspicions are raised, but she's already acting so much unlike herself with Jason around that he doesn't suspect anyone else of doing her harm. yet.

at the start, he and Barnabas get along very well, even before they discover their shared affliction: they're both relatively sophisticated, well-traveled, intelligent people, and for all that Roger decries Liz's emphasis on the Collins name, he leans towards familial connections instinctively (Roger hasn't got much in the way of friends outside of the house even in canon, and he's even more isolated as a vampire).

after he finds out Barnabas is also a vampire, things get a little more complicated, but overall, they're still friendly. Roger doesn't have much sympathy for Barnabas' relentless self-pity and decrying his doomed fate to live as a monster, because Roger on the whole enjoys his vampirism and has made a decent un-life for himself out of it (thanks in no small part to Vicki). but having someone like him around is a comfort in ways he wouldn't have expected, he's no longer solitary or uniquely monstrous out of the Collins family, he has someone else around through the night, and someone who understands the sufferings of bloodthirst and being shut out of the sun.

furthermore, Roger's very much interested in his family history and stories of the past, the building of Collinwood, Jeremiah's ships – and Barnabas was there. there's potential for some very interesting conversations about the past, and the arc of the Collins family history to the present, not to mention literature, travel, fashion, politics and the rest. Roger's his cousin's mirror in modernity in many ways, and that's something potentially interesting to explore: the world changes around them, but Collinses do not.

as an aside, they both have a funny sort of relationship to Burke. Barnabas hates him for his resemblance to Jeremiah and envies his friendship with Vicki and thinks he's crude, and Roger ... well. it's complicated. it's closer to antagonism than not, and Burke has tried to kill him once in this au, and Roger resents his flirting with Vicki, but then there's everything else with their past. so I don't think Barnabas' treatment of him would sit particularly well with Roger, he'd take the attitude of hey, only I can be a dick to Burke >:(

the definite fracture point is Barnabas imprinting on Vicki. Roger's already jealous and possessive by nature, and it's amplified by the supernatural nature of his relationship to Vicki (being closer, bodily and mentally; being necessary to each other; being, quite literally, sustenance) so he's already a little on edge when Barnabas starts paying attention to her, giving her presents, and appreciating the scenery — Barnabas doesn't, exactly, tend to have much in the way of moral inclination to leaving women alone when they have prior engagements, but it's fair to point out the irony of everything Roger was doing with his bloodbag governess when he was still very much a married man.

anyway: Roger finds foreign bite marks on his wife's neck, and he's understandably immensely upset by this. partially out of territorial sentiment, but he also knows Vicki, and he knows that she wouldn't have invited another vampire willingly — which means that she was forced, or hypnotized, or attacked in secret, and there's only the one potential suspect. this is already enough to lose his good will, but he might have been willing to let Barnabas go with a "hands off," had this discovery not lead to finding out what he'd also been doing to Liz. the combination of the two is unforgivable, and it's Barnabas' error to have made an enemy who is very personally aware of all his vampiric weaknesses, and Burke's already carved a stake.

[bonecouch]

70 fucking dollars for what amounts to a long sleeve t shirt and they couldnt even remember to put the gold squigly things on the wrists?? thanks paramount, but i can make my own tos era star fleet uniform

[lehguru]

I loved your scenario about OP men reacting to you crying! It was so sweet!! If you’re taking requests and interested in this prompt, could you maybe do a scenario of them reacting to you taking a hit for them? I wanted to specifically ask for Law and Killer, but you can add whoever else you’d like to 😁

If not, then I hope you enjoy your day and keep up the good work! 💞✨

TAKING A HIT + LAW & KILLER

you taking a hit during a fight for them

info + tw: this is the type of drama i like muahahaha, also sorry for taking soooo long to get to this! i hope you enjoy it nonetheless; tw for murder, blood, violence — ko-fi – comms

trafalgar d. water law did not enjoy seeing you jump in front of the blade that was coming towards him. just as quickly as you got slashed, you found yourself inside the heart pirates' submarine. the soft sheets under you and the light shining directly above you made you realize, you were at the infirmary. the thought of cracking a joke about how penguin would hate to wash those sheets later immediately went away as your chest slowly pulsed with pain. you winced and law held you down on the bed.

"why the fuck did you do that?!" he yelled, the composure he always had long gone now. he started to tend to your wounds; you just stared at his expression, trying your best to focus on the way his eyebrows furrowed deeply and the muscle on his jaw clenched. you reached out and touched his cheekbone, your fingertips leaving blood prints on his skin. "we need to cut your sideburns." you blurted out, making him yell out your name in frustration.

you managed to stay awake as he worked on the slash on your chest. every time you tried to open your mouth to say something—you were definitely going to say something funny to make him at least smile—, law gave you a glare, his golden eyes flooded with worry and, at the same time, concentration. after he cut the last stitch, he turned his back to you and murmured, in the same tone he talks about this one guy from his past: "don't ever do that again, please. if i lose you, i lose everything."

there wasn't much that could worry killer, even more when it came to a fight. he would jump in, quickly get things done and leave, even if he ended up all bloodied because of it; it didn't mean these fights were always easy. one day, he ended up being almost overwhelmed by other pirates and, before he could react, the sound of a gun going off echoed through the battlefield.

he expected to feel anything, but there was nothing. with the corner of his eye, he noticed a well-known silhouette falling over. you, the most precious thing he ever had in his life, was now laying down on a growing pool of blood. with his mind hoing completely blank, all killer managed to do was run to you and yell his captain's name.

as he pressed his hands to stop the blood from pouring out, you could see his eyes under his mask—they were shaky, darting from your wound, to your face and back to your wound. "don't die on me. don't fucking die on me!" he murmured, almost angrily. "you're not supposed to go before me."

2024 © content belongs to lehguru, do not repost, translate or feed it into ai without permission

[miriellesandthegiantpeach]

Curls | Bucktommy

In the bathroom, Buck is grimacing in the mirror, swiping his hands back and forth over his freshly cut hair. His eyebrows are furrowed with indecision; was this a good idea? He hears the front door open.

“Evan? Where are you?” Tommy voices rings out.

“Up here,” Buck calls back, he closes the bathroom door most of the way before Tommy gets up there.

“Oh there you are, what are you doing?” Tommy tries to push open the door but Buck stops him.

“I got a haircut from the place Hen suggested. You’re not allowed to laugh, okay?” Buck’s voice is hesitant.

“I promise I won’t laugh, did they botch it?” Tommy replies with total sincerity. This time Tommy can open the door and step into the bathroom. He examines Buck’s hair, very relieved it actually isn’t botched or a buzzcut.

Tommy takes it in and can’t help the smile that spreads across his lips. His boyfriend looks damn fine; curls in full force and not reigned in like how Buck usually styles it. The hairdresser added a fade making his neck look a lot longer.

“What? It’s awful. Your silence is making me nervous,” Buck rambles out.

Reaching a hand up, Tommy carefully pinches a wild curl and is surprised how soft it is, not at all crunchy with gel. His hand slides down to touch the equally soft hair on the back of his head. He absolutely loves it. “It’s definitely not awful. I always love your curls, babe. I like seeing your natural hair be free for once, and it’s so soft too. You look really really hot actually. It’s trendy for sure, but not in a bad way.”

Buck is still frowning at the mirror and rubs his fingers on the side of his face. “She even shaved off my sideburns,” he pouts and Tommy laughs.

“They will grow back in no time.” He wraps his arms around Buck’s waist and rests his chin on Buck's shoulder, watching him still fuss with his hair. “You know, it does make you look undeniably not straight, if that’s what you were going for.”

”Not really my intention, but I mean I’m not, so I guess it works?” Buck huffs drops his hands. “I’m itching for my gel, I feel so naked without it.”

“Don’t you dare. It’s just new, it’ll grow on you.” Tommy smiles, catching Buck's eyes in the mirror.

“Hey, what about your natural curls, huh? I don't see you easing up on the hair products.” Buck turns his head to look at Tommy.

“Shhh we're not talking about me right now,” Tommy replies and slides a hand up to cup Buck's jaw and kiss his lips. “I'm sure there's something in the pilot handbook about hair regulations,” he mumbles against Buck's mouth then promptly leaves him in the bathroom.

When Buck walks into work the next day he’s greeted with a wolf whistle from Hen, “Damn, Buck! I knew my girl would make you look fresh! You’re looking damn fine.” And he can’t help but smile at the praise. He gets compliments and light teasing from the rest of the crew. Maybe he can live with it.

One of their calls is at the famous gay night club, The Abbey, in Santa Monica. One of the cages that the dancers was in fell with the dancer trapped inside of it. Buck and Eddie had to break out the saw to get the dancer out, luckily he walked away with minor injuries.

They attracted a small crowd of the other dancers- all in skimpy speedo like underwear. Most of them had their eyes on Buck, giving him flirty compliments and asking if he’s ever been there. At first Buck was confused why he was getting most of the attention from these objectively hot men, especially when Eddie and his stache was right there.

Oh right, the hair, he thinks. The ‘undeniably not straight’ hair style he is sporting right now. He couldn’t help feeling a small blush creep into his cheeks.

His attention gets pulled back to one of the dancers, “Are you single? I know it’s really forward of me, but I thought I’d shoot my shot.” At least he’s polite about blatantly hitting on him.

“Oh wow I’m really flattered but yeah, I am taken,” Buck says proudly. He takes out his phone and shows the dancer and his friends his phone lock screen - a selfie of him and Tommy from one of their recent dates. Buck is laughing and Tommy is smirking at the camera with an amused glint in his eyes.

“Oh my God! I know that guy! That’s Mr. August from the 2019 LAFD calendar! I’ll never forget that year,” one of the dancers muses.

“Lucky bastard,” another one says to Buck, which makes his smile grow wider.

Tommy’s phone pings with a picture from Chimney, which there is no doubt this was his idea. It’s of Buck in the middle of a row of speedo clad club dancers. He doesn’t have his jacket on, so it’s just the fire T-shirt with red and yellow suspenders and the turn out pants. He’s holding an ax resting on his shoulder with the cockiest look he could muster; a sexy smirk on his lips with his left eyebrow cocked. The dancers around him are all looking at him, hamming it up for the picture acting like he’s the hottest thing on earth. Tommy couldn’t agree more and immediately makes it his phone background.

Yeah, the hair is growing on Buck.

[seokminfilm]

kiwi | vernon chwe

🪄 pairing, vernon chwe x reader

🪄 warnings, short, lowercase intended, kind of stupid/incoherent, fluff, kissing, vernon calls reader 'babe', reader calls vernon 'dude' as a pet name, reader teases vernon, lyr's just trying to cope w the debut of buzzcut vernon okay don't judge.

🪄 summary, in which your boyfriend returns home with a buzzcut that looks eerily similar to a kiwi.

🪄 author, i'm still reeling over buzzcut vernon okay...i'm going through the five stages of grief & hoping that it grows on me 🙏 to help w my coping i'm gonna write this short little fic that i hope expresses my feelings about this new haircut in a somewhat coherent way. anyways, enjoy!

🪄 now playing, back on 74, jungle

🪄 word count, 704 | for @kstrucknet

"dude, you actually did it."

those are the first words to leave your mouth as you see your scarily quiet boyfriend enter your shared apartment. his hat is removed quickly, revealing his new hairstyle (or better yet, the lack of hair to style), and you swear you hear a gasp leave your mouth before you say the sentence.

vernon turns around blankly, taking his wireless earbuds from his ear as he stuffs them in his jeans pocket. his pretty brown eyes are widened, a telltale sign he didn't hear what you said before, as he replies with a very dry "huh?"

"your hair. it's....wait─can i even say 'your hair'?" you ask aloud, and vernon's lithe lips curve into a small smile, a chuckle leaving his lips as he shrugs.

"it's up to you, i guess." vernon's voice is deep as usual, but softer with you as he walks up to you. you touch his face first, fingertips sliding across his cheek as you stare at him. he looks the exact same, you know, but he's different now. the buzzcut really did change his face shape; his jawline was more pronounced now, and you could even see the curve of his ears.

"it's gonna be weird, seeing you without bangs to hide behind when you're listening to music," you whisper, and vernon laughs, shaking his head.

"it'll grow back fast, don't worry. i just wanted something new for a change, babe." vernon placates you, and you nod. "i know you did, vern. you don't have to explain to me why you did it." you concede, smiling softly as you wrap your arms around vernon's waist.

he's quiet as he lets you do your thing, and you sigh, breathing in the scent of his deodorant as you pull away. staring up at him again, you clear your throat, blushing.

"can i....touch it?" you ask, and vernon raises his thick eyebrows, confused as to what you mean as he pauses for a second. "touch what?" he asks bluntly, and you cough, gesturing to his hairstyle (you should really stop saying hairstyle).

"can i touch your head?" you ask again, and vernon laughs full out this time, nodding nevertheless as he tilts his head down a little, enabling you to reach it.

running your hands over his buzzed head, the small pricks of his lack of hair tickle your palm. it's weird, seeing it all cut down and shaved to this small prickly-like size. you move your fingers down to his temples, tracing his sideburns before your fingers tug at the tips of his ears.

"you remind me of a kiwi," you say as you pull your hand away, and vernon stands back up to his full height, tilting his head. "a kiwi?"

"yeah. you have kiwi fuzz for hair now." you smile, and vernon chuckles again, voice low as he nods. "kiwi fuzz. i like it."

"i mean, i do too. i'll love you no matter what, even if you are bald." you say teasingly, and vernon raises a sculpted eyebrow, lips parting as you can see the ghost of a smile dancing on his lips.

"i'm not bald, though." vernon says, and you shake your head, gesturing to his head as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"you don't have hair." you say, and vernon looks to the side, obviously confused as his eyebrows furrow. "but i do have hair. it's just...really short." he combats, and you sigh, shaking your head.

"vernon, you're literally bald. you can feel the breeze on your scalp. that's what baldness feels like." you shrug, fingertips tracing vernon's jaw as you smile. "it's okay though. like i said, i still love you, dude."

vernon doesn't combat your reservation, falling silent as he lets you do what you do. the smile on his face is visible now, and you can taste the original chapstick on his lips when you kiss him again. he hums into you (something he rarely ever does) when you nip at his lips, voice low and rumbling as he grins when you pull away.

"i'm just teasing, vernon." you say after a few seconds of comfortable quietness, and vernon shrugs, smiling even wider. "i know."

[hedwig221b]

Kinda a two part question? Do you have supernatural Stiles recs? (really craving mermaid stuff but all kinds is very loved) and have you thought of writing supernatural Stiles?

and anon asked:

Do you by chance have any creature Stiles or mermaid recommendations? Thank you so much for helping us find stories to read and for writing such wonderful stories!

First of all, thank you! Secondly, to the first anon: I do have a supernatural!Stiles fic, it's called Predators and it's one of my best fics 🖤 I do plan on writing oracle!Stiles, but otherwise, no. Maybe, in the future, I am open to the idea!

So, here are the recs (including merman!Stiles 🧜🏽‍♂️)

Predators (creature!Stiles)

He was born for this. Nature itself whispered into his ear where he should put his hands, how to twirl his tongue just right and when to bite. Stiles knew well enough that his saliva was currently working its magic on this unfortunate man, making him hungry, lustful, and insatiable. Soon, all his thoughts would be consumed by Stiles. And, just this once, Stiles would allow Derek to consume him.

Sui Tollech Gwanna Tach Omen by jackgyeoms (mer!Stiles)

Mermaid AU. Stiles was five when he first realised that not everybody grew a tail when they entered water.

No Oceans Left by zoemathemata (mer!Stiles)

Stiles has always been a merman. He just never knew how to tell anyone. He hasn’t shifted since his mom died.

It’s A-Boat Time! by Fae_vorite, isthatbloodonhisshirt (mer!Stiles)

He could hear the others talking outside, Scott and Isaac freaking out over something and Stiles snapping at them to shut up and help him get inside. “Dude, how the fuck can you expect me to stay calm right now! Seriously, that’s a fucking tail!” “We can talk about it later, just get me inside before someone fucking sees me! I don’t want to end up in a fucking aquarium!” “Christ, you’re heavy!” Isaac grunted. ���How much does this thing weigh?!” “Shut up and walk,” Stiles snapped.

The Shells at the bottom of the Sea (mer!Stiles)

The one where Stiles is a seal merman trying to fit in with the sharks.

Mermaider by nothing_left_sacred (mer!Stiles)

“So what you’re saying is; you’re a mermaid princess.” Erica concluded. “Yes, clearly. That is what I am saying. Thank you for putting it so concisely.” Stiles sassed, frowning at her. He wasn’t fucking Ariel; this was so far from being a Disney movie it wasn't even funny. Or the one where a perfectly normal Beach Vacation escalates way too quickly, because this is Stiles' life.

Somewhere to Start by Lissadiane (fae!Stiles)

Stiles has always known that he isn't quite human - the plant life that tends to sprout around him whenever he gets upset or excited gives it away. He's never really fit in among the regular people in Beacon Hills and is determined to wait it out, go to college, and find somewhere to belong. He's forced to abandon those plans, however, after he desperately agrees to enter into an arranged marriage to save his father's life. An arranged marriage with an angry, sometimes furry dude with trust issues. It's all very Beauty and the Beast, without the singing candlesticks.

The Last Chills of Winter by LeeHan (fae!Stiles)

“He didn’t magically charm me,” Derek shot back in his defense. “Oh, so he just regular charmed you?” Laura said with a smirk. “What? No,” Derek growled. “Was he hot?” “No! He just—“ He just had a laugh like a sun shower. Fuck.

Faith, Trust, And Pixie Dust by Val_Brown (fae!Stiles)

Since he was a baby he had kept it a secret. Something that he shared with his mom. But when something comes after him and attacks his pack, he has to share his secret with them. He knows they won't judge him, hello, they sprout claws, fangs and some wicked sideburns. But he changes to the size of a gerbil and has wings and pretty much farts pixies dust on everything. Using his new alliance with Peter, Stiles charges in, pixie dust flying to rescue his pack when they are captured by renegade hunters with a strange vendetta.

Bite the Moonlight & Bleed Gold by raisesomehale (creature!Stiles)

He waits until he and Allison are the only two left in the room. “This is a joke.” Allison says, “Have you ever known my grandpa to have a sense of humor?” “Really?” Derek’s eyebrows are halfway up his forehead, as he gestures to the word that has been printed under Creature Type on the paper. “‘A Merman’? They’re a myth. No one has ever seen one, let alone caught one.” Allison leans forward to skim through a few pages and draws out a photo that she sets back down on the paragraph he’d been reading. In it, a marble white ribcage crests the dark, prussian blue of a midnight ocean, the only part of the body visible besides a thrashing, predominantly red tail, curved jaggedly through the waves. “This image was lifted from Deucalion’s personal channels,” Allison tells him. “His people are keeping the discovery all hush hush, which means they managed the photo, but probably haven’t captured the thing itself yet.” She gives Derek a significant look, “Gerard wants us to get our hands on it first.”

a dying breed that still believes by paxlux (wingfic)

He thinks, Mom, we can do this, we’ll fly.

Hot Pocket Ratio by ShippersList (incubus!Stiles)

At the threat of the alpha pack, all Derek wants is to keep his pack safe and alive. As the last resort, he tries summoning a demon to help with fighting the alpha pack. He gets a bit more than he bargained for. Or, the story where the classic demon deal of "Will you pledge your firstborn to me?" takes some unexpected turns.

There’s A Beast In My Heart (He’ll Only Bow To You) by RayShippouUchiha (creature!Stiles)

“Stiles.” Derek fucking whimpers and if Stiles wasn’t already dying he’d kill himself for making Derek sound so hurt. Stiles just wants to protect him so much sometimes because no one else ever seems to realize that Derek is so goddamn fragile and Stiles hates them all a little bit for not being able to see that. Or In an effort to expel the Nogitsune Stiles is given the bite but it all goes horribly wrong.

A Most Unusual Hoard by churkey (dragon!Stiles)

Stiles turns into a dragon and no one can figure out what he's hoarding…

My Childhood Spat Back Out The Monster That You See by rightsidethru (demon!Stiles)

Appearances can be deceiving. Caught by hunters, Derek immediately dismisses his gangly, fellow prisoner as a pressing concern. After all, the amber-eyed teenager couldn't be more than one hundred and forty-seven pounds soaking wet. What type of threat could he possibly be? (The answer: a large one.)

9/10ths of the Law by tsukinofaerii (demon!Stiles)

Stiles discovers the hazards of growing up a real boy when, at heart, he's not a real boy at all.

You Were Never Meant to Know by Mooneye (demon!Stiles)

“Not a fan of exorcisms, Stiles?” the figure asked as though he were enquiring about the rain. “Not really. I could spew black bile if you’d like more authenticity,” Stiles answered. “Stiles, what’s going on?” Scott demanded, unease growing. Stiles is a demon, always has been, and never intended for anyone to know. Unfortunately, his secret is forcefully revealed and he has nowhere to hide.

Blodrød by Onlymystory (demon!Stiles)

A demon possessing Alpha werewolves leads a crazed pack to Beacon Hills. He's been stuck inside werewolf minds, when all he wants is a nice human meatsuit. Humans in packs are rare these days and the demon is practically salivating at the thought of possessing Stiles. It's strong, and the pack was taken off guard, unable to protect Stiles before the demon takes control. But like the demon says…humans in packs are rare.

Blackbird by skoosiepants (shapeshifter!Stiles)

Stiles groans and drops his face into his hands. “I’m seventeen, I can kind of use mountain ash and I can explode houses when I’m mad enough. How am I gonna win any kind of magic fight?” “We’ll work on it,” Deaton says, as infuriatingly calm as ever. “The important thing to remember, Stiles, is that when everything else is chaos, you’re the port in the storm.” Or- Laura Hale never died, and Stiles is magic.

Other fic recs: pack mom!Stiles | angsty fics | historical AU | baby/mpreg | outsider POV | possessive Derek | smut | hurt/comfort | Stiles gets kicked out of the pack | mafia | BAMF!Stiles | omegaverse | witch!Stiles | bad friend Scott | magical!Stiles | unrequited love | werewolf!Stiles | dark sterek | single parent!Stiles

[nerdlvr]

when they says something which ends up hurting you

did this in a different format so hopefully it's still okay - enjoy! ☺

❀༉‧₊˚. mark lee - tense silence

takes him a minute to even register what he said. seeing your face sadden he'll start to stutter, wanting to say something, but not knowing how to organize his thoughts. he'll just sit there for a minute scared that he'll say something wrong again. ends up muttering a short, "i'm sorry you know i'm not good with words, just give me a second okay" more awkward silence as he thinks, but he'll reach for your hand to give you reassurance as you wait. doesn't like to act without thinking, he needs time to gather his thoughts, please be patient.

❀༉‧₊˚. huang renjun - stubborn comments after

when he sees your eyes start to water he'll immediately try to excuse himself, "you know i didn't mean it that way" "can you just listen to me" "why are you jumping to conclusions," which obviously makes you feel worse. he'll pick at his nails and straighten his sideburns, not understanding that he's making you feel worse. eventually he'll gently grab your face to make you look at him, "okay please just, you know i hate to see you cry, let me explain, please." it's hard for him to admit he's wrong, but he knows he needs to apologize eventually, excuse his slight attitude, he's trying.

❀༉‧₊˚. lee jeno - immediate regret

as soon as the words come out of his mouth he knows he messed up. immediately grabs you and pulls you into his embrace. "wait, let me explain, that didn't come out right" you'd try to push him away, "jeno, let me go, i don't wanna hear it" but he'd just pull you closer dipping his head into your neck, "no, i'm sorry, please just listen to me" he'd force you to sit there with him hugging you listening to his explanations and apologies. best boyfriend to talk things out with, you don't need to explain whats wrong he always seems to know, pro at reading your body language.

❀༉‧₊˚. lee haechan - begs for forgiveness

feels actually so bad that he said anything that would hurt you, feels worse that you think he would ever try to intentionally hurt you. eyes start to water seeing your hurt expression, feels like kicking himself. however, he has a little sass in him, he's haechan of course, and tries to wait for you to say something first. when he notices that you in fact are not going to speak to him, he gets up and kneels in front of your sitting figure. puts his head on your lap and pouts, "baby please i'm sorry, you know i hate to see you like this" kisses as an apology, hands, legs, arms, face, every inch of you kissed as he praises you. his main priority is to comfort you before trying to smooth things over.

❀༉‧₊˚. na jaemin - has read the boyfriend manual

nobody can convince me that jaemin is not the prefect boyfriend. you are as shocked as he is when you hear those words come out of his mouth. immediately reaches for your hands and kisses them, "i don't know what came over me please i'm so sorry" you're just standing there looking at him wide eyed as he pulls you in for a hug, "please say something, what's on your mind, lets talk about this" gives you any space and time that you ask for, watches how your body reacts to his movements and his words to see what he should do next. is the most patient boyfriend in the world and is not afraid to open up and express why he said what he said and explain how he plans of fixing his mistakes. treats you like royalty all night and makes sure you're comfortable enough to open up to him.

❀༉‧₊˚. zhong chenle - will apologize for the next couple of days

chenle is a bit stubborn, will just sit there for a bit and chew on the inside cheek, he's more "actions speak louder than words." he'll get up and leave for a while, making you feel worse, but he'll come back with a chocolate bar you didn't even know you had. "eat this, it helps release serotonin or whatever" watches you as you silently take a bite, his heart literally hurts seeing you like this. you'd be the one to speak first but he cuts you off, cause he know he's the one that should be trying to say something and apologize. "i'm sorry, i know i act impulsively sometimes, let me make it up to you?" at the time you didn't know what he meant by that but as the week goes by and you start waking up to breakfast, receiving flowers at work, and having candy bars snuck into your bags with sappy notes, you know just how sorry chenle truly was.

❀༉‧₊˚. park jisung - nervous nervous nervous

he will like start to vibrate, don't know if it's all the regret in his body, or the need to say something, anything, to make his last comment go away. he will start to fidget and play with his fingers while trying to say something to you, "wait baby" "y/n" "are you upset" "is it what i said?" knows what he said hurt you but wants you to tell him so he can know exactly what went wrong. once you tell him he'll try to calm his nerves and apologize for what he said, would never intentionally say something to hurt you. takes him a second to grasp the situation since he likes for you to explain things clearly before he makes his next move, but he's a great listener so you don't mind, don't be afraid to rant.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

I dont know if you done this already, but what about you logan x fem reader fic, where reader is the little sister of Charles xavier or Eric, and they keep their relationship secret, but then everyone finds out and readers brother gets really protective of her and has a talk with logan trying to scare him off but it doesn't work

.⋆｡Worst Possible Decision｡⋆.

Logan x plus size reader

How could Logan be stupid enough to fall for the little sister of an overprotective metal controlling mutant? As it turns out, very easily.

Warnings: angst, gunshots, burns/fire, fluff, protective!erik, descriptions of pain, reader is german but there’s no further description than vague references WC: 2.7k

A/N: This went a little off of the request but I hope you still like it and I’m sorry for how long it took!

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

She was too much like her brother in a lot of ways, but at the same time, they couldn’t be more different. Where Erik could command any room he walked into, she blended, finding a home in the shadows where she could be hidden. He exuded confidence and a suave attitude that could charm anyone. She was meek, shy but with a power bubbling under the surface that felt like an even bigger threat than any her brother could come up with.

Erik shot first and asked questions later, Y/N wouldn’t ask, she would get all the answers she needed with a single look and then dispose of the trash without so much as a flick of her wrist. While Erik controlled metal, Y/N controlled pain.

Logan met the brother and sister duo long before the mutants were fractured. He noted how beautiful she was, even when he only glanced at her through his peripheral vision. She was curvy, with a belly and plump thighs. He told them to go fuck themselves.

The next time she saw him, she was alone. She seemed lopsided without her brother beside her, incomplete. Logan saw the way her hackles raised when Charles screamed at him to leave, calling him a liar. He saw how she flinched when Erik was mentioned. 

Wolverine knew what happened between them, the rift that hadn’t ever been healed, even after her death in the far future. He was stunned by her beauty then, finally seeing her in the flesh after so many years, alive and well. Logan pulled her to the side as soon as they were alone, embracing her. Y/N tried to push him off but when she felt his pain, the raw burning like his nerves were on fire, she wrapped her soft arms around him, easing him.

“Stay alive.” He told her. “Do whatever you have to, you have to live.” He pleaded before he was pulled back to the future but not without kissing her like it was the last time. He stole her breath away as he poured every ounce of love as he could into her lips. 

When Logan strolled into the Manor many years after that kiss, Y/N stayed away from him. He was so much younger, so much more whole. She could see now the pieces of him that would break away over the years and it hurt her. She knew what was going to happen to him, what had happened to him. But he cornered her eventually.

“You seem to already know who I am.” She shivered when she heard his voice call out to her from the infirmary door. 

“You made a very big impression on the school.” Her accent had long since disappeared, snuffed out by the need to be hidden, to be safe. She didn’t look at him, instead concentrating on cataloguing the new medical supplies that had been delivered the day before.

The mutant huffed, clearly not content with her answer. “You avoid me like the plague while everyone else is indifferent.” Her eyes flicked up to him briefly.

“Maybe I have decided that I already don’t like you. You did threaten to abandon a young mutant on the side of the road.” He scoffed at the mention of Rogue.

“She had it comin’.” He shrugged. “So what is it exactly that you do?” His large body lounged against the one hospital bed in the room. She couldn’t help but glance up at him. He was physically older, slight grey in his sideburns, more lines on his face but his eyes weren’t as sad, the deep brown swirling with emotions he was trying desperately to tamp down but hadn’t learned how yet. 

He was still incredibly handsome though. He walked with a confidence that came from youth, that blind faith in himself and his strength that made him cocky and untouchable. Y/N turned away. “I’m the school’s nurse, I thought that was pretty obvious, given I’m in the infirmary.”

Logan grunted, crossing his thick arms over his chest, holding a beer bottle between two of his fingers. “I was talkin about yer power, bub.” That made her smile, the corner of her lips turning up. She wouldn’t admit it out loud but she missed his attitude. 

“I control pain. It’s useful.” She shrugs off the question with a half answer. She picked up the last of the supplies on the infirmary bed, making a note on her clipboard before putting them away. 

She heard him huff and a silence settled over the room but it was not awkward or uncomfortable, it was just… silence. The beer in his bottle swished as he gulped down the last of the brew. The supply closet’s door swung shut with a creak and she chanced another look at the man.

She couldn’t ignore the way his muscles bulged so she forced herself to turn away. It would do her no good to get involved with him in any capacity, even if her heart screamed for him. Logan took the hint, leaving the infirmary with a grumble and a glance back at her.

It was impossible to completely avoid someone like Logan, even in a school as large as the academy. He seemed to appear in moments when her guard was down, lurking in the corner of her vision like a ghost. His blue eyes locked onto her whenever they would be in the same room, both undressing her and observing her with some morbid fascination.

But no matter how hard she tried, her lips still ached from that kiss all those years ago and her heart burned to know what would become of them in the future.

——————

“You seem awfully close with the professor.” The manor was silent, a much needed reprieve after the long day of classes in Logan’s case and lots of skinned knees in Y/N’s. An ancient record player crooned in the corner of the huge sitting room, bathing its two occupants in pleasant song which was quickly becoming more of a lullaby. The older mutant sat on one end of the couch with his companion lying across the rest, a thick book propped up on her chest and her sock-clad feet dangerously close to his lap.

She let the statement sink in for a moment as Logan took another sip from his glass of bourbon he had pilfered from Charles’s not-so-well hidden stash. “Are you asking me something or just talking out loud?” He rolled his eyes.

“What do you think darlin’?” He snapped but his usual condescending tone was replaced with a sarcastic tilt to his voice. Her lips quirked up and she shut her book, letting it rest on her sternum as she met his gaze.

“Yes, Charles and I are very close. I’m the same way with Hank and Alex, we’ve all been here since the beginning.” She knew her answer was one that was far more simple than he would’ve liked but she wouldn’t give him the full story unless he asked. 

Logan dropped his left hand from where it had been resting upon his chest onto his meaty thigh, the edge of his palm now just grazing the tip of her fuzzy socks. “Are you fucking him?” The question was so unexpected that Y/N choked on her own spit. She shot up as she coughed, tucking her legs beneath her. Too caught up in catching her breath, she missed the way his eyes dulled at the loss of her closeness.

“Scheiße.” The German naturally slipped from her lips and she thumped her chest with a closed fist. “God no! Having a telepath as a friend is bad enough, I could never imagine dating one.” He smirked, letting out a pleased chuff. 

“So…” He prompted. Y/N leaned back into the couch. They now sat side-by-side and Logan was able to study her profile as she eased the drink from his hand, finishing it off in one gulp.

Her face was solemn, haunted by something he couldn’t quite place, even in his many decades of life. She looked as if she were in mourning. “I traded one overprotective brother for another.” 

——————

Logan’s legs ached as he ran, the smoke from the fires that raged around him singed his senses. Flames licked up the sides of the manor as gunshots still echoed across the fields, even if the fighting had already stopped. They had come in the dead of night, guns and torches lighting their way. 

The school had always been a risk, especially being so close to town. But young mutants needed a place to go. It was inevitable that those who hated them would try to run them out, they all thought they had more time.

It was her voice that pulled Logan from his retreat. Laced with tears, she was comforting one of the older students as he nursed a severe burn to his arm. They were laid out in the grass which was still damp from the early morning dew. Y/N cupped his face with glowing hands and Logan could clearly see the pain that rippled through her.

More students gathered around them, each with an injury of their own, each begging for some kind of relief. Exhaustion painted her face as her body wound tight with agony. The ground shook as Logan dropped to his knees next to her. 

“Give me their pain.” She was withering away right before his eyes, driven only by a need to protect, to give the children comfort in the only way she knew how. She shook her head and instead moved to a girl who was no older than 13. A flesh wound cut across her leg, the edges of the wound burned with residual gunpowder. 

A sob escaped Y/N’s lips as she took the girl’s pain and Logan watched as the woman began to wither away. She was killing herself. 

“Give me their fucking pain.” He yanked her hands away from the girl and laid them on his broad chest. She thrashed in his hold in an attempt to pull away but he wouldn’t budge.

Her eyes met his and she froze. This was the moment that he had warned her about so many years before, a premonition that he would never remember. But to give her pain, her gift, to someone else, she couldn’t even fathom it. “Please.” He begged, squeezing her hands in his own. She was weakening, she doubted she could stop him even if she tried.

Logan felt like he was burning alive as gunshots ripped through his arms and legs. And yet he smiled at her and in that moment, something shifted between them. “That’s it doll face.” Heat rushed to her cheeks and it wasn’t because of the fire that still blazed behind them. 

——————

The sounds of power tools and hammers were almost constant nowadays as the mutants worked together to rebuild the crumbling school. Y/N strolled happily through the halls, the walls still blackened from the fire. The students were gone, taken home by their families or sent to safe houses around the country, leaving only a few teachers who wanted to lend a hand. 

“They’re working quite quickly.” Charles noted from his place where the greenhouse used to sit. A handful of people, including Logan, Hank, Alex and Rogue among others were steadily building a large room across the way- a brand new library.

Y/N chuckled as she handed him a cup of lemonade. “They have a goal to achieve. This school is important to all of us.” He grinned slyly at his long time friend. 

“I’m sure one of them has another motivation for working so hard.” His blue eyes flicked to the love bite that peaked from her collar. 

“Shut up.” She muttered with a kick to his wheelchair, Charles laughed under his breath as she walked away to the man responsible for her tender steps and slight limp. As much as Charles loved to tease, he loved even more that she was smiling again and the pain that always seemed to radiate from her mind was now a dull ache that was easily chased away by the touch of her lover. 

As soon as she was near enough, Logan abandoned his work, his full attention turned to her. Her laugh carried through the summer breeze like a bird song as he wrapped her up in his arms, lathering her face in kisses. The others rolled their eyes and continued their work as the couple embraced.

“I see my absence was not missed.” Erik’s cool tone froze Charles’s blood. 

Rage rolled off the mutant in waves as he glared at the man who was all over his precious sister. His knuckles turned pale and Charles could almost hear the way his muscles tensed. “Erik, what a surprise. I thought you were still on the run.” He looked up at his old friend though he almost didn’t recognise him. His eyes were so much older, his soul so much darker but yet, it was still him. 

Y/N had yet to notice her brother, too wrapped up in the arms of her lover but as she pressed another kiss to his cheek, Erik’s anger mounted. He knew what Logan was, knew exactly what pain he was capable of inflicting. “How long?” He growled.

“A couple months though I suspect that Logan had been pining for her since the moment he met her.” Perhaps it was optimistic of Charles to divulge details of their relationship to Erik, but he was a romantic at heart. “Logan saved her life, Erik.” 

Her laughter did nothing to ease the furrow in his brow but the way that Logan grabbed at her ample backside absolutely did something. 

“Logan?” Y/N asked curiously as the man in her arms suddenly froze and his eyes widened almost comically. “Are you ok?” She cupped his cheek and pain unlike anything she had ever imagined rocketed through her veins. Her bones felt like they were twisting in upon themselves, severing nerves and destroying her body from the inside out. She could feel Logan’s flesh move unnaturally as she pulled him closer to her.

“Logan!” Her hands pressed harder into his jaw in an attempt to steal the violent sensation from him but still, his chest echoed with his suffering.

“Erik enough!” Her head whipped around, as did the attentions of all the other mutants gathered around. The fury in his eyes was like nothing she had seen before, as if he was looking at a roach he had crushed under his boot. His knuckles paled with the force of his power. 

A howl of pain escaped Logan’s lips, finally breaking Y/N from her trance. “Release him or I’ll fucking break you.” She snarled and for just a moment, Erik faltered. 

His hold wavered briefly but it was enough for Charles to grab his wrist and completely break his focus. “This is beyond childish.” He scolded as Y/N pulled her partner behind her but her deadly glare remained firmly on her brother. Erik didn’t bother to respond, instead his shoulders dropped in surrender and Logan collapsed, the pain finally dissipating.

There was a flurry of movement as she fell to her knees and the others rushed to make sure they were alright. “She’s happy, she’s safe. Leave it alone.” But Erik ignored his friend. His Y/N was gone and perhaps she had been for years. This woman that threatened him when he hurt a boy, as he had done dozens of times in the past with no fight from her, was not the girl he grew up with.

She stood up straight all on her own. She didn’t need Erik to balance her nor Logan to push her up, perhaps that’s why her brother slipped out in the dead of night, leaving behind the one thing that kept him tethered to his humanity. Y/N would awaken the next morning in the protective hold of the man she loved and find a single coin, rusted with age and stained with dried blood on her nightstand. She knew that she would not hear from him again, Erik was dead, only Magneto remained.

The worst decision indeed.

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[giddlygoat]

laughter and shared smiles came so easily between them. from where ford lay on his side on the bed, he had the perfect view: a giggling fiddleford sprawled out lazily beside him, absentmindedly twirling a lock of beard with one pinky finger. it was downright adorable - almost like a snapshot from a bygone era - and ford treasured the sight. 

a kind of soberness suddenly washed over fiddleford, and his eyes became wide. “i jus’ remembered,” he said, barely, looking down. ford somewhat fixed his lax position on the bed in the hopes of expressing his undivided attention. 

fiddleford smiled sadly. “you’d pet my back when i laid facin’ you. it relaxed you.” 

ford felt his face get warm, as if he were the same awkward college kid and not 58 years too old for that. “…yes. it did.” he said dumbly. 

“what did i do when i needed to relax?” fiddleford asked, and his cadence was just too casual for a question like that. like it wasn’t all that important. ford felt something sour curl deep within him. 

“you’d… well, i… i’m not sure. you were always anxious about something.” ford wished more than anything that he had any skill at all in saying the right things at the right times. regretfully, all he could be in this moment was honest. “you fidgeted with your hair often. and mine,” he tacked on, suddenly remembering that detail of their nightly rituals. 

“i think it soothes you when you’re stressed. i see you stroke your beard a lot these days.” ford couldn’t help but smile at the endearing little habit. 

“can’t deny it,” fiddleford said, adjusting his head to get more comfortable in the pillows. then he reached out a slender arm, scratching softly in one of ford’s sideburns. the gesture brought that sour curling in ford’s gut back, but it also brought an overwhelming endearment. he stared at the content expression on fiddleford’s smiling face and greedily committed it to memory. 

“why’re you so down in th’ dumps today?” fiddleford asked, his smile not fading but a genuine concern evident in his eyes. 

“you mean more so than usual?” ford joked, meaning it earnestly.

fiddleford pulled himself up on his elbows, incidentally bringing their faces closer together. “i can… i can smell it all over y’ like the stench of death clingin’ to roadkill. nothin’ escapes me.” 

ford frowned. 

“well, ‘cept fer most o’ my memories, i suppose!” fiddleford giggled. ford frowned harder. 

after a beat of silence, fiddleford realized that ford really didn’t intend to respond. he sighed sadly, slowly leaning back against the headboard. “i know bein’ around me is hard fer you, stanferd. i may be ruined but i ain’t so clueless-” 

“no. no, you misunderstand.” ford corrected him immediately, looking quite fierce. “i feel empty without you,” he said clumsily, unable to properly parse his thoughts in time. 

“but ya also feel empty with me, dontcha?” fiddleford looked genuinely pleading for the first time in a while, and ford’s insides curdled at the vivid pain on his face. “i’m not- things’ll never be the way they oughta, and the both of us is just two sorry suckers, right?” 

“i’m sorry-“ 

“don’t.” fiddleford interrupted sternly, and ford worried that he would start shaking from the effort of holding his outstretched finger still. “don’t go apologizin’ again, or i’m gon’ta… i’ll jus’ tear my beard out.” all the conviction left him, and he stared defeatedly somewhere below ford’s eyes. 

“i’m-“ ford swallowed. “i won’t.” 

a long pause. ford internally scrambled for the right thing to say, eager to put fiddleford’s every worry to rest, but he just wasn’t equipped for that. he had no clue where to even start. what in the world was he supposed to be if not sorry? 

“do ya think y’ could be happy with me, th’ way things are?” fiddleford asked it quietly, his normally shrill voice sounding more weary than anything. 

ford’s chest tightened. if there were one thing in this world he could be absolutely sure of, it’s that he could never leave fiddleford’s side again. “yes. i’ve never been more certain of anything.” he said, emphasizing each word in the hopes of conveying his complete and utter seriousness. 

fiddleford sighed, still searching ford’s face. then he offered the smallest smile, the uncertainty slowly trickling away from his heart. “don’t run off.” he said, turning on his side to face ford. 

“i won’t,” ford promised. he reached over and laid a hand on fiddleford’s spiny back, stroking it soothingly. “i won’t.” 

[1800duckhotline]

then again this isnt surprising at all considering the men in media i like always either have full beards or scruffy facial hair

I think out of all of my guy ocs ive got like 2 that are clean shaven and dont have scruffy patchy facial hair...

[occamstfs]

Legacies Are Supposed To Change

Another fratification, This is one more of a prep to slob tf ! -Occam

My father was a member of Kappa Epsilon Gamma, and my grandfather before him was practically a founding member. I am going to be the third generation Astor to not only pledge but eventually become president. My family donates enough to the chapter to more than pave my way to the top. My only question now is, why are they making me pledge.

The current president, James, clearly didn’t care for me implying that I was getting in regardless, stopping just short of calling me out in front of the other pledges. That’s the only mistake he’s going to make though, when I’m in the frat I’ll completely clean house. That dunce will be lucky to even still be in the frat. I’m already old enough to be the president anyway, I’m sure my father will help the other alumni to agree.

Despite the president’s protests I have already secured a room in the house and I will say the room does seem to be exquisite. The only detail out of place is a pitcher of beer sitting on my desk. The head is still frothy so it must have been put there recently. Before I moved in my father warned me against partying too hard, we have a reputation to uphold after all, and I am not even a big drinker. 

The amber pitcher in front of me, ice cold without a piece of ice within, is more enticing than it ever should be though. The president must have done something to it. Absolutely. But, I  am awfully parched all of a sudden. I feel my mouth rapidly dry as I move closer to inspect the glass. A sip couldn’t hurt, it’s just beer after all. It’s probably that faux president admitting defeat already, no one can stand up to an Astor and prosper after all. 

I raise the pitcher to my mouth, struggling to raise it without spelling as it is heavier than I thought beer could be. The head spills over my face as I tilt the pitcher to drink. It runs down my cheeks and off my chin not that I could notice or care though. This beer is unlike anything I’ve tasted before. It's so, I need more right now. I force as much of it as I can down my throat before needing to take a break to breathe. The brief respite only gives me time to do something I thought unthinkable for a man of such poise as myself, I let out an impossibly loud burp.

I hear frat bros cheering outside my room in response “Yeah bro! Let’s go Tank!” I feel my face redden from the embarrassment of being heard doing something so profoundly basal. I scoff and roll my eyes as I notice how itchy my face suddenly is. It must be the beer starting to dry where I spilled it.

I go to wipe it off and notice it is far scratchier than it has any right to be. It burns even. I feel my face grow an even deeper shade of red as the beer must start to hit my system. I put the pitcher down and start to scratch my cheeks. I’ve never even had to shave before! Us Astor men don’t even grow peach fuzz! It  would be unbecoming to even try to grow a beard! I look in the mirror to assess whatever my situation and find an uncomfortable face staring back at me. That can’t be right. Thick brown hair is pushing out forming a chinstrap that must have taken months to grow! I lean in closer to inspect my face as another burp tries to force its way out of my throat.

Unwilling to embarrass myself once again I fight to keep it down. As I struggle against the gas in my esophagus I notice that my stomach is starting to bloat up. I see the thick brown hair in my beard start to seep up through my sideburns, staining my perfect blonde coifs into some dirty oafish brown. I gasp as my thin eyebrows rapidly burst into heavy caterpillars over my eyes which almost allows the burp to escape.

Clenching my jaw as I feel my stomach starts to press against my dress shirt. I audibly groan as I hear my bros outside start to cheer once more, something about me drinking the pitcher. They left it for me didn't they! What was I supposed to do! This burst of rage allows me to swallow the burp my neck thickening as it forces its way back down. I look down to see the button pop off of my suit jacket as my stomach starts to grumble. I feel woozy watching my torso start to barrel out, what happened to my lithe lacrosse build? My mind feels heavy as I inspect my growing body, I start to smell some vile body odor start to come from somewhere. One of these oafs absolutely needs to invest in cologne. I sniff around before my head finds itself in my own pit as I take a deep inhale and find the root of the stick. But that can’t be right?

My arms bloat out straining my dress shirt as I toss off my coat. I raise my arm behind my head to inspect my armpits further which creates a tear right on the seam, exposing my pit just in time for me to see my few blonde underarm hairs rapidly thicken to the same brown now covering my face. It’s almost funny? I can barely stop myself from laughing as I watch hair spread like a jungle in my pit, creating a haven for odor my body now apparently produces.

Is this because I burped? Is it some kind of sick joke? I’m struggling to find any reason for what is happening when I hear the zipper of my pants give out. Apparently my stomach isn't the only part of me bloating. I need to stop this. Maybe, maybe if I finish the beer without burping again I’ll go back to normal. That, that makes sense right?

I quickly grab the picture and do not notice how much thicker my hand is. Brown hairs sprouting on my hand and knuckles as my fingers grow hammy and lose the dexterity I have long honed. As I raise the glass to my face my stomach finally blows off the buttons as a thick treasure trail forms a peak halfway up my meaty torso. My body odor grows thicker in the air as I start to drink the rest of the glass. 

I feel my ass thicken as it forms a much weighter cushion in my seat, in the other side I feel as my balls rapidly grow to supply my body with the testosterone my body demands. My cock thickens but gets no longer as the beer dribbles down my face spilling all over my chest where curly dark hair spreads out from the center in a large diamond.

I finish the pitcher and shout to celebrate my conquest, “I did it fuckers! I passed the test,” as I shatter the pitcher on the floor of my bedroom, one of the pledges’ll clean that shit up anyway. 

I stand and rip the strained pants off my body as the shirt tears itself off of its own accord, no longer able to even try to hide my party bod. My bros burst into the room and start cheering “Tank, Tank, Tank!” Making me realize that duh, they’re talking about me. My bros have always called me that I burp again, now performativity as my body finishes changing. My eyes lose any pretentious sparkle they still held as they darken to a dull brown. My vocal chords grow visibly thicker, just showing from underneath the thick beard hanging off my face. A clear boner starts to grow in my shorts, not like my bros care.

I shake my package at them with my hand as I finish burping. Now that I’m in the frat I can show my bros that I’m not a fuckin’ prude like my dad and the other fuckin’ geezers. It’s gonna be a great year, now let’s go see which of these bitch pledges are Kappa material!

[distantdarlings]

INTERTWINED // t. nott

RATING: R / 1.9K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Reader Insert (No gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - You make the bold decision to approach Theo about your mutual feelings for each other. (Romance, Smut)

+ WARNINGS - Smut! Kissing without permission, descriptions of sex (not super graphic but still), language, dom!Theo

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

High - Stephen Sanchez

-

Theo stared at you with gentle, beckoning eyes. His tie was loosened quite a bit and the first two buttons of his shirt were pulled apart. His smooth skin called out to you. You swallowed thickly.

“Are you sure you want to?” he asks. You nod vigorously. It wasn’t doing anything with him that scared you, it was doing something in general. You had never done anything like this with someone before. If it was going to be with anyone, though…you wanted Theo.

This was a rather interesting situation and—if you were being honest, you didn’t think you’d lose your virginity this way. Asking your best friend shamelessly and, even better, him not immediately recoiling in disgust.

“If I do anything you don’t want, you have to tell me immediately,” he demands, his eyes wide and stern.

“Jeez, I’m starting to wonder if you even want me to anymore,” you joked nervously.

“Hey,” he spoke, stepping closer to you. Much closer. His lips find your ear. “I want nothing more than to make you mine in every way I can, but I can’t hurt you. I have to make this absolutely perfect for you.”

“You will be,” you reassured him.

“Well you don’t know that for certain,” he argued, “Plus the fact, I’ve only done anything once before and—wait, would that bother you?” He cut himself off. You made a face at him. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I want you, I really do.”

You hide a smile. You’d had feelings for Theo for a while now and you’d asked everyone you could think of. They all said that Theo liked you—a lot. Which was perfect for you.

“What is it? What are you thinking about?” He asks nervously, his eyes flicking wildly back and forth.

“Theo, calm down,” you chuckled gently. “Shouldn’t I be the one who’s nervous?”

“I’m sorry,” he winced. “I just want to make this—”

“Let me,” you cut him off, gently shushing him. You knew it had been bold of you to ask such a straight-forward question but you wanted him and he wanted you and you were tired of waiting for him to make a move. So you’d shown up to his room around ten o’clock and knocked politely on his door, praying his roommate wasn’t in.

Your hands slowly rise up to press easily against his cheeks, feeling the warm skin beneath. His sideburns tickled the tips of your finger. His eyes were widened and nervous, his breath short and rapid. You wanted him to relax.

“Breathe, Theo,” you whispered, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. “You’re my best friend, you’re not usually this nervous to be with me.”

“Yes but usually you’re not asking for me to sleep with you,” he replies quietly.

“Is it much different? I’m still me and you’re still you. I’ve seen you naked before,” you smile, trying to lighten his concerns.

“Not in this context,” he mumbled.

“If you don’t want to, that’s completely okay,” you whisper, “we can forget this conversation happened—”

“No!” he hissed. “I want to.”

“Are you sure? I can just—” He presses his lips abruptly to yours. You grunt in surprise before melting into the kiss. His hands come down to slowly slide around your hips, his thumbs brushing beneath your shirt, caressing the soft skin there. Chills appear down your arms.

He refuses to release you for a few minutes, at least, before you’re practically yanking yourself back to get a deep breath. The both of you pant heavily, your eyes finding his.

“Sorry,” he breathes. You shake your head in response.

You bump your nose with his playfully as your breaths intertwine, dancing around each other. He leans forward slightly, his lips brushing against yours. You shudder against his mouth. His tongue darts out and caresses your top lip slowly, tracing it from the inside curve up to the Cupid’s bow. You hold back a moan as you press your lips to his once more.

He turns the two of you towards his bed and walks you back until the backs of your knees hit the soft surface. You fall over it, your back colliding with his blankets. Your lips separate only for a moment while he climbs back up to you, dipping his head down to press open-mouthed kisses to your neck.

“Roll over,” you whisper, as he works on your jawline.

“Hmm?” He hums distractedly.

You roll your eyes and press your hands to his chest, pushing as hard as you could. As he slides over to the spot just beside yours, you pull yourself up onto him and settle just above his pelvis. He stares with wide eyes.

“I wanna do it,” you whisper to him. You copy him and begin by pressing your lips to his neck. His eyes flutter shut and a small breath comes from his lips. You smirk against his skin.

Your fingers come down to swiftly pull each button away from its hole in his uniform shirt. Once they’re fully unfastened, you take advantage of this new display of flesh and drag your nails gently down his chest and stomach. His lips part in a small groan. You smirk once again.

Your lips reconnect with his skin, only this time, they’re weaving their way around his built chest, becoming familiar with his taste.

With one hand, he tightens his grip in your hair. With the other, he reaches down and manages to undo his belt. Quite impressive.

“Would you like help?” You laugh. He shakes his head with a smug smile plastered on, pulling the belt swiftly out of his belt loops. He raises his hand back up to the back of your neck and pulls you down to his lips.

You pull away and help him slide his uniform pants down his legs. You giggle childishly as he kicks them off the edge of the bed. You follow his actions quickly behind him, with him teasingly sliding your pajama shorts off your hips and groaning when seeing your choice of undergarments.

You tighten your fingers around his curls as you sink down onto him. His breaths fall out in quiet, shuddered exhales. His fingernails dig into your back on either side of your spinal cord. The pale blue veins over his eyelids tremble like spiderwebs in rain. Your lips part at the feeling of him—all of him, taking up every space in your body.

“Baby . . . ,” he rasps. You gently shush him, pressing your hand to his cheek and your thumb to his lips. You push down, watching his swollen bottom lip part to reveal his teeth. A spot of red slips through to cover the pearly creatures. Your eyebrows furrow as you lean closer to see what could have caused the bleeding. There, on the curvature of his lip, lay a hole embedded into the surface. You press your lips to his once more, swallowing up his groan with his blood as a chaser. You fit your incisors perfectly to the wound and gently bite down. He exhales sharply. You taste metal.

“Please,” he breathes, a bead of sweat falling from a dark curl. As if in slow motion, it collides with his chin, cascading down the curve of it, kissing his neck gently. Your lips learn the meaning of jealousy as you follow the droplet with your eyes.

“Please, what?” You ask. You suppose it could have given off a bit of a teasing tone but you were genuinely curious. This is the first time you’ve ever done this. You could be doing something terribly wrong or hurting him. You weren’t sure. You leaned closer to him. You feel him shift inside you.

“Mm!” His eyes clenched tightly. He draws his bloody lip into his mouth. “Move, baby, please move.”

“I—“ your lips part to speak. Blood rushes to your cheeks and ears, filling them with warm shame. You didn’t know how to. To be quite honest, with all of the miniature fantasies about Theo you had, you never really thought they’d come into fruition. You thought you were a hormonal person thinking about a cute guy, like everyone else in the world. But it seems that when you were fantasizing you weren’t actually planning. Else you would have known what to do here.

“What is it?” he whispers, his eyes lidded and sultry. Concern floats in them. Arousal burns in your stomach.

“I don’t know—uh, I . . .,” you stutter clumsily. He nods gently, never breaking eye contact. His hand pulls softly away from your back to cup the side of your face. His thumb slowly strokes the curve of your cheekbone. He leans in as if to kiss you once more but his lips stop to hover against yours.

“I’m going to move your hips—if it hurts, I’ll stop. Okay?” he whispered. You nodded gently so your foreheads did not bump. His hand slides down your face and across your neck. His calloused fingertips scraped your throat, claiming it. You tilted your head back to allow him more access. His hands drop to your hips.

Fingers tightening around curves, cold metal touching burning skin, and hot pleasure stabbed at your brain. You could feel everything around you and nothing at all. He felt like nothing you’d ever felt before and like everything you were supposed to be feeling. This must be what everyone talks about when they discuss how great sex is. But maybe they’re experiencing something different from you after all, because this isn’t something that is just enjoyable that you could do whenever—this is something you never wanted to end. You never wanted to stop feeling his hips slam into your thighs, his hands gripping your sides, his hot breath flutter against your throat as his lips chanted nonsensical praise to your neck. You wanted—needed to feel this forever.

“Fuck, baby, I can’t—I—” he groaned, his eyebrows screwing together. His pace became jagged and his breaths got quicker. Dulcet tones skirted the edge of your jawline as he suppressed as much of his sounds as he could. You didn’t want that.

He pressed his open mouth to your neck, sending uncontrollable chills down your arms. Bits and pieces of words slipped out between each kiss, things like “made for me” and “feel so good” echoed against your throat. You couldn’t contain the sounds slipping between your lips. He was much better at hiding his sounds than you were. You were embarrassed. You didn’t want to be useless.

You opened your eyes and slowly pulled away from his embrace. His face came away from your neck and he found your eyes. He looked worried. You shook your head and slammed your hands into his chest as hard as you could. A soft grunt came from him as he fell back. He shifted inside of you as he did. The shock in his eyes died down to an amused glint. The corners of his lips turned up gently as you did your best to recreate what he had been doing to you without his hands. As soon as you began to move, his lips parted and his eyes fluttered shut. His head fell back down against the bed.

His swollen, cherried lips glistened with saliva from the kisses he’d scattered across your neck. The sounds he had been concealing became breathier and a little louder. His eyes were beginning to clench shut. You placed your hands on his chest. You did what you were supposed to and let him learn every secret your body kept hidden.

[ambafaerie]

Acts of Service/Gift Giving: Fiddleford vs. Bill

There aren’t a lot of similarities between Fiddleford McGucket and Bill Cipher besides starting a cult, having a tendency to avoid confronting personal issues head on (Fiddleford manages to develops past this habit - Bill does not), and sharing the same voice actor. But they do both seem to have a fondness for gift giving to endear themselves to people.

The difference lies behind their intent on the giving of these gifts, because whereas Fiddleford does them out of love and concern and to build a genuine connection, Bill often hands out gifts to mortals to make them grateful and look up to him and more liable to being manipulated by him. A prime example of the differences between Fiddleford and Bill’s gift giving is Ford.

Let’s start with Bill’s birthday present to Ford, dead rats that spell the latter's name, an unconventional and alien present which Ford had to explain to Bill why it is is not a proper gift.

Early into their relationship, Bill endeared himself to Ford and this was one of his tactics, offering him companionship and presents to alleviate Ford's loneliness to make him more liable to his manipulations by flattering the scientist with attention and gifts.

Now let’s go with Fiddleford. First, he brought Ford an Axolotl (who might be the actual Axolotl) because the salamander’s frills reminded him of his best friend’s sideburns. Second, there was the Christmas gifts - a snow globe replica of the shack and six fingered hand knitted gloves with patterns - which delighted Ford even though he doesn’t celebrate the holiday.

Like Bill, the gifts Fiddleford made took effort but unlike the triangle demon, Fiddleford gifts them to Ford not out of malicious intent but out of love and concern. He gave Ford Frilliam the Axolotl because he didn’t want him to be lonely when he is gone and worked endlessly to create the perfect six fingered gloves because he wanted to provide his best friend a needed accessory that Ford had trouble finding.

And now comes the best part, Bill’s scientific calculations and Fiddleford’s thesis. Bill completed six hours worth of calculations overnight to help Ford stay on track with the building of the portal, something which sent Ford over the moon. While Fiddleford catalogued Ford’s research for three days without a break into a thesis book Ford could publish to make him multimillionaire which made Ford feel betrayed rather than grateful.

Bill did those calculations to ensure Ford is on track to perfecting the building of the portal so he can he can enter his world and destroy it by hosting a party that never ends and deepen Ford’s admiration of him so he won’t question his true intentions. Fiddleford made the thesis because he didn’t want the world to be destroyed and to convince Ford to become a millionaire through others mean and get his life back on track rather than risk testing the portal. Bill did an act of service to manipulate Ford but Fiddleford did an act of service out of concern for Ford and the world.

Fiddleford gives gifts out of love because he loves the people he gives them to, but Bill only knows how to give gifts not because he loves the other person but because he wants them to worship him.

[aquarianshift]

Monkee Noses: A Quick & Dirty Guide

Analyzed, compare/contrasted, and rated by a certified nasophiliac.

Mike

A lot has been said of Mike's nose, and deservedly so. On an otherwise soft, even delicate face, it is his strongest feature (sideburns excepted). He doesn't have a heavy jaw or particularly strong chin, so the line of his nose balances his profile well, lending an air of masculine distinction. And it's not even that big.

...Okay, it's big. The bridge is quite tall—almost as high off his face as his forehead—and long. For those of us who (like me) got into the Monkees by way of the Beatles, you may have been expecting the schnoz of the group to have a Roman bump or at least some kind of down-slope. But Mike's nose is almost perfectly straight from brow to tip, level enough to balance a glass of water if he leaned back a bit.

Mike's nose is so long ("How long is it?") that it begins to crowd his mouth, which doesn't take up much real estate as it is. But he has a very symmetrical face, and his tall, narrow nose anchors his other features beautifully. It makes his eternally boyish face look older.

It's cute!

(Fun nasolinguistics fact: the French word for "nose" is nez.)

Micky

When the angels were handing out extra helpings of nose, Micky was in the hair line getting seconds. In terms of his profile's nose-to-chin ratio, he is essentially Mike's opposite. The bridge of his nose is mostly flat, and the body more wide and round than narrow and long. This is most evident in the way his nose widens when he smiles. A broad nose is perfectly suited to a face as smiley as Micky's, making his grin seem to stretch a mile from cheek to cheek. Though, like Mike's, his mouth and nose are fairly close together, Micky's ends so high on his face as to make him look perpetually youthful—and mischievous.

When compared side-by-side, we can see that Micky's nostrils are more left-right horizontal, while Mike's go straighter out, almost perpendicular to his face.

To clear up some Micksconceptions: Micky's nose may be small, but the prominence of his chin makes it look smaller than it really is. And most importantly, he does not have a PUG NOSE! A pug nose would have virtually no bridge and turn upwards such that his nostrils faced forward while looking at you straight on. (Though not for nothing: just as a bulldog is bred to latch onto a charging bull without letting go to breathe, Micky's pushed-in nose was made to give head without coming up for air.)

Davy

I naively went into this exercise thinking I would have nothing to say about Davy's nose. Neither long as Mike's nor short as Micky's, neither wickedly sharp nor softly rounded, Davy's nose is not his most distinctive feature. But upon closer study, it is as interesting and complicated as Davy himself. First, it is set rather high on his face, pulling on his upper lip a bit to complete that slightly pouty look. Second, his profile is not totally straight. He has the barest ridge of bone (not prominent enough to be called a bump), and the tip of his nose actually hooks down the tiniest bit. This down-curve is exacerbated by the severe arch of his nostrils. From beneath, we can see the opening is more pointed than smoothly curved, making him look like his nostrils are always flared.

These features in addition to Davy's deep laugh lines (another fun linguistics fact: those are called nasolabial folds) result in a very aristocratic nose. It lends all too easily to a sneer, which is unfortunate re: his height—he's probably never been able to look down it at anybody.

Next to Peter, whose nose points out and slightly up, we can see Davy's very slight down-turn. We can also practically see our reflection in that shine. A little more powder, please?

And speaking of Peter...

Peter

My thoughts on Peter's nose could fill a library, so I'll try to be brief. It has a high bridge with a gradual concave slope, but it's when we reach the tip that things really get interesting. Though the bridge is slender, the lower half of Peter's nose is slightly bulbed, giving him a sort of Snufkin/Little My look. The underside of his nose comes out from his face at a nearly perfect 90 degrees, but the slope of the bridge is so steep that it has the appearance of being daintily upturned. This is not to say his nose is unmasculine, or god forbid, delicate. In the shape of Peter's nose, there is a gentle masculinity, like the alternative spark of peacenik sensibility in the man himself. It is sensitive.

All the Monkees have expressive noses, but Peter uses his the most in his acting. As soon as you see the corners of his mouth start to droop in an Emmett Kelly frown or his upper lip curl in a snarl of confusion, his nose becomes the star of the expression.

When Peter crinkles his nose, as he is wont to do, it loses some of its slenderness. I would say that out of the four, Peter has the most awareness of his nose, and how to make it work for him rather than vice versa. It is as much a part of his look as his profound dimples, sandy mop, or smiling eyes.

Sex appeal: Do I have to start over?!

bonus:

Thanks if you've read this far! I may be an obsessive and a self-professed expert, but I am not the final authority. I welcome any other thoughts you might have. (Should I do one for the Beatles?)