#filter the damned tag out if it bothers you

[patolemus]

love it when i can just block people i don’t like. i don’t even have to interact with them, i can just block them if they say uncalled shit

[avcdgrdn]

── .✦ [ FIC ]: can i really stay here? [ part two ]

[ a continuation of part one ]

mullet stanley pines x innkeeper reader

tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, sfw

word count: 1875

˙✧˖° ༘ ⋆｡˚

in any other circumstances, you wouldn’t even dare to imagine holding a man you had just met the same day.

but stan … was different.

when your eyes first locked with his from across the counter, you could tell that he was hurting, and badly. he was trying so hard to cover it up, and it worked for the most part — after all, up until now, nobody had cared about him enough to see through his facade.

but you saw straight through him. and not only that, you actually did something about it. you offered to care for his needs, at your own expense.

his father only ever saw him as an expense.

so, there you were, sitting at the bar, holding onto the maroon fabric of his jacket as he trembled like a leaf.

the scent of cigarette smoke and pine needles was strong in your nose as he buried his face into your shoulder. you could feel his stubble scratching against your skin.

there was a part of you that wanted to speak up and comfort him, but ultimately you decided against it. you didn’t quite know enough about him to be able to speak to his situation.

after a few minutes, stan seemed to be calming down. his breathing became even, although he was still clinging onto you tightly.

“i …”

his voice was cracked and raspy.

“i … screwed up. i don’t … know how i’m gonna fix it.”

your brow furrowed as you listened to him.

“y’know, stan … i don’t know what you’re going through. but can you do me one favor?”

“... yeah?”

“look at me.”

slowly, the brunet lifted his head, pulling himself back just enough to be able to look at you. his eyes were red and puffy, but his gaze was sincere.

you looked back at him, determined. “i’m gonna help you out.”

stan didn’t know how to react. he swallowed a lump in his throat, scanning your face as if to check whether you were lying to him or not.

“... you don’t … hafta do that. i brought it on myself—”

“i don’t care.”

his eyes widened.

“if i can keep somebody from a worse fate, then i’ll do it. let me give you a place to stay, even if it’s just for a little while.” you smiled warmly, squeezing his arm for emphasis. “you shouldn’t have to feel like your life means nothing.”

“… you’re an angel.”

those words made you blush. “i–i wouldn’t say that—”

uh-oh, he’s smirking now. chuckling lowly, he let go of you so that he could cross his arms over his chest.

“what, are you tryna tell me you’re not sent from heaven? think about it. you’re saving my biscuits here, toots.” there was serious gratitude in his tone, despite his teasing. at least he seemed to be in a better mood. “i think i’ll hafta call you that more often, yeah? angel.”

you laughed nervously, trying desperately to distract yourself from your red hot face. “really? h–how interesting …”

stan snickered again, gazing at you for a moment longer with fondness dancing in his brown eyes. then, glancing at the wall clock, he realized the time. “damn, it’s midnight. i should probably stop bothering you ‘nd get to bed, huh?”

“huh, it is late … i should sleep, too.”

“then it’s decided. i’ll see ya tomorrow.” he hummed, standing from his seat and stretching out his arms before cracking a soft smile and turning around to walk towards his room.

you were left to watch him leave, your eyes following his footsteps as he made his way back up the staircase.

approximately eight hours later, you awoke to the sunlight gently filtering through your bedside window, causing your eyelids to flutter open.

the events of last night came flooding back into your mind.

i guess i’ll be seeing a whole lot more of him …

sitting up in bed, you yawned, rubbing your face sleepily.

“mm … what time is it …”

the alarm clock on your nightstand read 8:02 am.

shoot, i overslept—oh, wait. it’s my day off.

that little fact was enough to put you in a good mood for the morning. humming happily to yourself, you began to get ready for the day, picking out a comfortable outfit and a few accessories.

descending two flights of stairs, you wandered into the lobby of your inn, greeting a few different patrons and employees with a cheerful wave. it was breakfast rush hour for the kitchen, and you could catch glimpses of your executive chef running to and fro behind the bar.

he seems pretty busy today. maybe i’ll grab a bite to eat somewhere? hmm, but the question is where …

just then, your train of thought was interrupted by the sound of someone calling out your name.

you whipped around to locate the voice’s source, and there was stan, walking towards you at a leisurely pace. a radiant grin broke out on your face.

“stan! hey, good morning! how’d you sleep?”

raising a brow, he chuckled at your energy. “well, good morning, sunshine. i slept like a baby, thanks t’ you.”

“ah, don’t mention it.” you smiled, placing your hands on your hips. “i’m just glad you could sleep.”

the two of you looked at each other for a second.

why did his stare make you feel butterflies in your chest?

probably unimportant ………… right? yeah.

clearing your throat, you averted your gaze before you started to blush again. “so, um … have you had anything to eat yet?”

“nah. i was just about to, though.” to be frank, he had totally forgotten that he had access to breakfast until you just mentioned it.

“sounds goo–”

you paused mid-sentence, remembering something.

“actually … i was planning on eating out for breakfast today. would you wanna join me? since the kitchen is bustling and all …”

oh, wow. did you really just ask him out to breakfast? it didn’t hit you until after you had said it out loud that it could be considered that way. oops. was that weird? were you weird? augh.

stan had half a mind to tease you senseless for how cute that was, but after thinking about it, he decided against it. he wouldn’t wanna ruin his chances at having breakfast with you.

“you kiddin’? i’d love that.” he nodded his head, flattered and amused. “not many people can say they’ve had breakfast with an angel, ya know.”

your ears turned red.

i walked right into that one. darn you and your smooth talking …

“oh, let’s just go already.” embarrassed, you grabbed his wrist, pulling him along towards the front door. stan laughed heartily, allowing himself to be led.

it wasn’t long before you arrived at one of your favorite diners in town, known for their homey atmosphere and good breakfast. walking into the building, you were met with the smell of eggs, bacon, and coffee. the two of you breathed it in simultaneously, sighing.

“reminds me of breakfast as a kid.” stanley mused, thinking of the days when he and ford would poke at each other’s food and giggle. you smiled, watching his expression.

“c’mon, this way.” you beckoned him over towards the table you usually sat at, and a familiar waitress walked over to you as you settled in.

“good morning, loyal patron~ i see you’ve brought a plus one today, yes?”

“uh—yes. don’t go jumping to conclusions, though …”

the waitress grinned innocently. “of course. now, what can i get for you two?”

stan wound up ordering pancakes with bacon and eggs, while you settled on some waffles and a mug of coffee. you could have sworn you saw that waitress giggling to her coworker about something as she went on her way, but you shook your head to yourself in an attempt to ignore it. instead, you directed your attention towards the man sitting across from you.

“so, i’m guessin’ you’re a regular here?” he tilted his head, leaning back against his seat. there was a smirk plastered onto his face that you couldn’t quite decipher.

“you would guess correctly.” you hummed, picking up the salt shaker on the table and fidgeting with it absentmindedly. “have you ever been?”

a rumbling sigh escaped his lips.

“nah … i’m not exactly from around here.”

your gaze was trained on him. so far, he’s kept a laid-back demeanor, not to mention that little smirk that drives you insane—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was way more depth to his character than he let on.

“yeah? where’re you from?”

“...”

there was a brief silence. his chocolate brown eyes, warmly lit by the sun, stared into your soul.

“i’m from new jersey.”

your eyebrows shot up. “from jersey? wow … you’re far from home, then.”

“it’s not home anymore.”

you opened your mouth to say something, but closed it again. stan was staring out the window, a frown creasing his face.

“i … sorry. sensitive topic?”

he turned back to you, a faint blush appearing on his face. “uh … well, yeah, i guess … it’s okay.”

“come again?”

“... it’s, uh—i–i’m okay, if it’s you.”

he was a darker shade of red now, scratching awkwardly at his stubble. he felt so … vulnerable. but somehow, he was okay with it.

at that moment, the waitress came back with plates of food. “order up!”

you watched as you were served, salivating as you saw golden waffles covered in butter and syrup smiling up at you. it didn’t take long for the both of you to start digging in.

“... wow.” after the first few bites, stan had stars in his eyes. “it tastes just like ma’s.”

“was your mom a good cook?”

he snorted. “well, she wasn’t exactly a michelin star chef, but she could make some damn good flapjacks. at least, i sure thought so.” putting another forkful of pancake into his mouth, he chewed thoughtfully. you simply propped your head on one hand, watching.

“i always told her she could sell ‘em for a fortune.”

his tone was soft with nostalgia.

“she just laughed. prob’ly cause i was five when i told her that.”

“they must’ve been really something, huh?”

“they were. all my life, i dreamt of selling somethin’ as good as that. i haven’t stopped trying, either.”

he scoffed.

“most of ‘em have been a bust.”

you hummed softly in understanding.

“you’re still trying, though. that’s worth more than any failed effort.”

he looked up from his plate. “... you think so?”

“sure i do.” lifting your mug, you took a sip of coffee. “perseverance is worth a lot.”

stan could barely handle your uplifting words. his heart was squeezing in his chest. covering his flustered face with one hand, he leaned against the table, grumbling.

“... an angel … God sent an angel.”

“what?”

“what? nothing.”

a few hours later, you were walking side by side back to the inn. stan couldn’t help but admire the way the fall breeze tousled your hair, and the gentle smile on his face was speaking his thoughts out loud.

he’d never known that somebody this beautiful could even exist.

maybe ...

maybe he hasn’t hit rock bottom quite yet.

end

[ part three ]

author's note:

thank you for all the love on this fic !!! :D

i gotta keep cooking.

if you have any fic or headcanon requests, hit up my askbox! <3

tag list: @icouldntthinkofanythingclever @seahorrorz @blustalker @hay-needle @phanmai1002

[foli-vora]

pretty boy

matt murdock x f!reader

A/N: This gif should be fucking illegal. There I was, just minding my own business at 12.30am thinking ‘hey I should probably get some sleep’ and then bam—suddenly I was obsessed with needing to suck this man’s dick. So here we are—enjoy.

This is a drabble of 500+ words and I can’t be bothered tagging so yeah.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY: oral sex (m), swallowing, the need to have this man weak and whiny at my fingertips… look, this is probably a mess but idgaf

-

He’s so fucking thick.

An ache is quick to build in your jaw, your mouth straining uncomfortably as his cock disappears beyond your lips. He hits the back of your throat and you inhale sharply to push just that little bit further, to take him deeper, to drive him closer to that sweet edge you’d been teasing him with.

You fight the discomfort eagerly, practically hanging onto every little whine and exhale that falls from his lips. He always sounds so fucking pretty, breathless from being lost in his pleasure and full of praise for every inch you take greedily.

He never knows where to put his hands, and you’d laugh if you didn’t have the solid length of him heavy and throbbing against your tongue.

His fingers trace your cheek, glide over where your lips part around the width of him, swipes through the saliva that gathers at the corner and spills down your chin. They curl around the back of your head, and you tremble from the strength you feel lingering behind his touch, the temptation to hold you steady and fuck up harshly into your mouth almost overcoming his patience.

One day you’d break him. One day. 

His hands move again, quickly coming to rest over yours where they’re spread out across the scarred expanse of his hips, holding him in place. He’s quick to intertwine his fingers with yours, seeking a physical tether to the world as he drowns in an endless void of ecstasy. 

A brief tang of salty precum oozes from the tip of his cock and sinks into your taste buds as you pull back enough to take a breath, and your tongue drags over the smooth head firmly before gently rubbing along the lower side where you feel his frenulum, massaging the spot over and over and over—

He jolts, toned stomach jumping at the sensation and you groan weakly around him, eyes fluttering as he bucks into your mouth. He’s close. You hear it in the way his lips form the plea of sweetheart, the way he helplessly cries out for his God and begs for that little push over the edge.

Please, sweetheart. Just a little more, j-just like that—God, please, yes—

He erupts on your tongue with a flood of thick heat and a delightfully filthy moan that has your weeping cunt clenching from the low obscene rumble of it, and you swear you’ll never get enough.

You swallow it all down eagerly, tongue rolling over the length of him until he finally starts to soften in your mouth and his thighs start to shake from overstimulation. You pull away and let him fall from your lips with a low pop before delivering a final kiss to his thigh and standing. You resume dressing, fingers numb from his tight hold and slow as they try to continue buttoning your shirt as the morning light filters through the window. 

He pants into the air of the bedroom, a blissed out, tired smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he swims in his post orgasm waves, “What was that for?”

“You’re just so damn pretty, Matthew.”

[innorogers]

Dusk

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: Wait, WHAT? After everything you’ve been through, you thought he wasn’t serious about you? Oh no, Steve had to make sure you understood how committed he was.

Warning: Angst but then Fluff? / Sad Steve / Angry Steve / Protective Steve / Past Revelations / Hurt & Comfort / Past Trauma / Happy Ending / Comfort Steve / This one is actually funny

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Clint Barton

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening

The compound is silent, bathed in the faint silver glow of moonlight filtering through the windows. Soft lights illuminate the hallways, leading the way. Steve’s steps echo through the room as he opens the training room door.

His insomnia hits again, harder and stronger than ever before. The adrenaline runs through his veins. His mind is restless. Burning. And this time, there was no bedtime story that could soothe the pain or anger he was going through. He doesn’t bother with gloves or wraps. He’s too pissed for that, too lost in his thoughts. All he wants to do is hit something.

His fists make contact with the heavy bag, sending it swinging in response. The sound of the impact echoes in the empty room, but it’s not enough. Not even close.

The image of you, standing alone against Frazer, fists clenched, blood dripping between your fingers, glass embedded in your palms. You were fighting back so hard against the control Hydra still held over you with those damn keywords. You were panting, agonizing, trying to survive. And the only thing he could do was watch.

He hits the bag harder, faster. The chains holding it creak from the force.

You were kneeling before a laughing Agent Frazer, desperately looking for the tranquilizer and pressing it into your neck before he could stop you. Before he could do anything. 

Your body going limp in his arms, your eyes closed, and your breath going soft for what felt like an eternity as you slipped away from him.

He growls through gritted teeth, his punches landing with brutal strength.

This… horrendous lab. Children—your siblings—taken. Sacrificed. Experimented on. Killed. Their golden threads snuffed out as you hoped you were helping them. Steve’s heart clenches painfully, his vision narrowing. The memory of your voice, the anguish in it when you told him how you’d watched each of them fade, haunts him. You were forced to be part of it. They lied to you—how could they.

His punches grow more erratic, fueled by the rising storm inside him. Sweat drips from his brow, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down. His knuckles split open, blood streaking the bag, but the pain barely registers. He isn’t stopping. Not until he can soothe these invisible scars in you.

Your soft voice, telling him how you watched helplessly as your siblings died around you. Your power shut down in self-defense, a last-ditch effort to survive the nightmare Hydra forced on you.

Steve clenches his jaw, his breaths coming in ragged gasps now. His fists slam against the bag like hammer strikes.

Each punch is harder, faster, more desperate. He can’t stop. He can’t fight the guilt, the rage, the sorrow. You had been through hell, and he hadn’t been there. He couldn’t protect you. He couldn’t save your siblings. He failed.

Your words, soft and kind despite everything. You caress his cheek, smiling in his arms, trying to comfort him.

"What happened to me isn’t a burden for you to carry, you know that, right?”

His rage peaks, spiraling out of control. He roars in frustration and punches the bag with all the strength he can muster. His fist collides with it, sending shockwaves through the air.

The bag explodes.

The canvas tears apart, sand spilling out in all directions like dust from a broken hourglass. The chains snap, and the bag slams into the floor, rolling limply as Steve stumbles back, chest heaving, fists bleeding.

He stares down at the mess he’s made, panting, his mind racing. But the anger doesn’t fade. It lingers, burning beneath his skin. Cause he knows…no matter how hard he hits, how much he punishes himself, it won’t change what happened to you.

It won’t change a fucking thing. 

Not the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most, nor the fact that he failed in the first attempt at eliminating Hydra, or the second. You only escaped because the fucking popsicle machine ran out of power. Tony and Natasha rescued you. He wasn’t there. He doesn’t even remember where the fuck he was.

He drops to his knees, fists still clenched, blood dripping onto the floor. His breathing slows, and the silence creeps back into the room.

Grateful. The word echoes in his mind, like a bitter reminder. You were so grateful, so kind. To be alive. To be here, seeing everything. You loved every breath you took, and you loved him, with every glitter of your own golden thread.

But Steve couldn’t be grateful. Not yet. Not a bit. Not with all the pain, all the suffering, you had endured. 

It’s so fucked up. It’s so wrong. It’s so terribly, terribly wrong. He couldn’t be grateful for something so broken. And he wasn’t going to be. He wasn’t stopping until he crushed the last being on this fucking earth that would hurt you like Agent Frazer. He wasn’t stopping until he’d made sure of that.

"Your girlfriend told me once that we should invent some kind of power-resistant punching bag, especially for you. At least to help with your sleeping issues when it's late, and you'd hang around the campus looking for bags to hit." A voice behind him. Tony leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

"Then one day, she told me that you slept well every night, so maybe you didn’t need them anymore." He chuckled. "I didn’t even know where to start to ask—like, why, when, how’d she know how Steve sleeps? But I didn’t, of course, because she blushed, and I just… didn’t want to tease her."

Steve didn’t turn back. He stayed quiet for a while. "She’s not my girlfriend. I haven’t asked."

"Oh, so… she’s your ‘I’ll make all the best gear for my baby so he won’t get hurt’ genius engineer, and you’re her ‘you touch my girl, and I’ll mash you with the new shield she just made for me' kind of relationship?”

Tony nodded. "And also, you both have this ‘I’d sacrifice myself for you’ vibe that makes you a great couple. I think it’s cute, actually."

Steve sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the couch. "Why are you here, Tony?"

"Maybe you won’t believe it, but I’m here for a friend." Tony sighed and sat next to him, keeping a safe distance, so as not to invade his space. "Just checked on her. Vital signs are fine. Injuries are starting to heal. She’s tough, and you don’t hear it, but… this is nothing compared to how we found her."

"You’re right." Steve frowned, looking down at his knuckles, the bleeding already stopped. "I don’t want to hear it."

They sat in silence for a while until Steve shook his head with a mixture of resignation and frustration.

"Why didn’t I know?"

Tony glanced over at Steve, sympathy softening his usual sharp edges.

“How would you? She never let anyone see the cracks. And that’s something we’ve been working on for the past few years. Hiding her. Blending her in. So no one would noticed, so she could be safe.”

Tony took a breath, weighing his words carefully.

“You’ve only met her due to an unexpected, and beautiful surprise. A sleepless night, I believe?” 

Tony smiled. He pauses for a moment.“She thinks that was a gift, you know? Some kind of universe retribution for all the years of suffering and torture...and…” He patted Steve’s shoulder. “I think that too.”

“If you weren’t with her... what would have happened today?” Tony softened his voice. “If you hadn’t ended Hydra… maybe we’d never have found her, and she would have died... alone, in the dark, frozen, and without knowing that she was meant to be cherished, cared for, or loved. And…”

He glared at Steve as his expression shifted. “And no one would ever know that she even existed. Her siblings gone, all the memories about her would be…nothing, she would have been a file number. Lost within thousands of archives.”

Steve felt his whole body tense as Tony’s words landed. The mere thought of it was like a blast of icy water rushing down his spine, numbing him. A world where you were nothing but a forgotten experiment, a nameless file in some dusty Hydra archives, erased from existence. It twisted something in his chest. 

The image of you dying cold and alone in some abandoned Hydra lab. No one to mourn you, no one to even know that you were gone. No trace left behind. It clawed at him, settling like a vice around his heart, tightening with every beat.

“Stop with this self-pity and self-destruction mode, Steve.” Reading his expression, Tony knew his words had an effect. “It’s in the past. She made it, she survived, and she’s happy. Put yourself together and stop bringing it up in the present.” 

He grunted as he stood up and looked at Captain America with seriousness. “We’ve got a lot of work to do. Someone out there is trying to get and hurt your girl, Cap. Are you going to let them?”

Steve looked at the silent floor and the exploded bags for a while, then nodded. “You’re damn right.” He held Tony’s hand to stand up.

“Yup, I always am.” Tony smirked at him. “Go and get some sleep because tomorrow…” He clicked his tongue. “We have a briefing meeting since Nat is going to spend the night interrogating this guys and probably... you know, just a little bit of tango. Then analysis with Hill—shit, I shouldn’t have accepted that—and we have only 1,278 security protocols to discuss if you and your ‘not-my-girlfriend’ are going public or whatever.”

“And…” Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “Clean up this fucking mess, Steve, this is a 12 million training room for gods’ sake.”

Steve chuckled reluctantly. “Fine.” As he started tidying up the debris, he muttered: “This thing today, this agent, was straight after her.”

Tony was already at the door when he turned back. “Clearly. But I’m not gonna discuss this with you now at…” He looked at his watch. “3:22. My brain’s checked out. Unless it’s another half-the-universe-disappearing disaster, we’ve got this under control.”

Steve nodded, the weight of Tony's words settling into him. But it was more than that—your words still echoed louder. The reminder of how you wanted to move forward, how much you needed new memories. He knew Tony was right, but you... you were the one who truly brought him back from the edge. He inhaled deep, and started to pick up the mess he made.

“This is the weirdest shit I’ve ever seen…” says a cross-armed Sam, standing in front of a glass wall, observing a room filled with white lab coat experts. Led by the only two people wearing regular shirts: Tony and Bruce.

“That’s because you’re not a regular on this side of the compound.” Natasha tilts her head towards the unified silence and the steady room full of geniuses. “This is just… a normal Tuesday.”

“They haven’t moved for 15 minutes!” Sam says with an incredulous look. “You can’t tell me this is normal. Look at Bruce, he’s not even blinking.”

Both Maria and Natasha chuckled before Commander Hill explained, “Their brains are working. They’re deciphering that code.” She gestured toward the screen displaying the tangled mess of numbers and symbols. “Until they crack it, they won’t move.”

“If you turn on the neuro-transmission scan right now...” Natasha grinned, “it’s like the Fourth of July in there.”

“So, what exactly are they doing?” Sam considered turning on the scan just to see what was happening inside their heads.

“The guy that attacked us yesterday had this retinal lens used as spyware; it was transmitting everything he saw. We cracked the code and followed it to the hub where it was connected and transmitting data,” Hill finished her coffee and said, “And of course, it’s encrypted. There’s the source code…” She gestures towards the huge screen filled with numbers and letters that reads as Asgardian to Sam.

“That’s… one code?” Sam is shocked. “How’d they look if there were ten?”

“Technically… that’s one piece of the code. Not the complete…” Natasha begins to explain, then gives up. “Never mind.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just… asked the dude?”

“I did. And… it got messy…” Black Widow answers as she pours some coffee and hands another mug to the Commander, which she accepts gratefully.

“You killed him?! Are we allowed to do that?” Sam’s eyes widen, not entirely in disaproval.

“No! Of course not!” Natasha thinks about it for a second, then replies, “No. We can’t do that.” Although Steve would’ve loved to. She pauses. “He got, um… it looks like his brain was programmed. After he woke up, he was entirely a different person. He didn’t remember anything. He was… is, actually, Charles Frazer. A normal MI6 agent who lives in London with a beautiful family and was sent here to respect the New Era Project. He doesn’t remember anything from yesterday.”

“What?” The Falcon is stunned. “Can they do that now? Program someone’s brain?!”

“We talk to a tree that calls a raccoon his father, so…” Hill comments without taking her eyes off the screens.

“And the raccoon shoots big guns.” Natasha adds, as if that’s a valid point. “Well… the thing is, we don’t know when this programming thing happened. Has he always been like this? A spy with sleeper cells that suddenly woke up? Is he really a normal agent who underwent modification just before coming here? We’re doing a lot of background checks, but this guy is… immaculate. Clean. Like this glass.”

“That’s… even more suspicious.” Sam frowns. “But Dr. Lancaster said he looked just like her brother, and… I’ve seen the files. He does look like Four. It can’t be a coincidence.”

“Probably his face was altered too. We just have to figure out when.”

“In any case, I don’t think the guy is normal.” Shaking his head, the Falcon isn’t buying it for a second. “No regular person takes a punch like that from Cap and wakes up. I thought the dude’s skull was broken.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Natasha starts typing on the screen. “I think Steve should be part of this conversation. Where is he? Making the windows foggy?”

“Unfortunately, no,” says Steve as he walks into the room, resignation in his voice, though his steps are steady and recovered. “She’s in R&D3 already. Back to work.”

He shakes his head. There was no way you’d go home and rest after being discharged, and honestly, he wasn’t comfortable leaving you alone. So, the best place for you (after promising for the 26th time you wouldn’t do any heavy work) was a lab full of people where you could put your mind elsewhere.

“As we all should.” Natasha raises an eyebrow at Steve. “No one here can afford to be a porcelain doll, y’know?” She’s not easy to break and far from being easily corrupted. She doesn’t say it, but her expression makes it clear.

“I know.” Steve nods with a serious expression. Yesterday, you had shown remarkable strength, remaining composed even when restlessness set in.

“Since we’re on the same page…” Commander Hill approaches the table and leans with a professional smile. She really doesn’t have time to waste. “We need to talk about the 1,278 security protocols that Stark wanted me to discuss with you.”

“Ugh,” Steve says with irritation. But then, this is your security they’re talking about, so he surrenders. “Fine.”

You didn’t know about the struggles Steve was going through as he listened to the extensive, detailed, laser-focused report Maria was giving him regarding ‘how many scans people had to pass just to approach you or your lab’ or ‘the perfect plan for your girlfriend to walk through the campus with you holding hands without being posted on social media’.

No, you were in another state of pink haze because the man you loved had said, “I love you.”

Ahh, the sky was blue, the clouds were like cotton candy (not that you’d know because you’d never tasted it before), your plants were growing strong, and yes, you had a terrible past. There was this guy who had leaked information to God knows who super dark organization, letting them know you were an ex-Hydra agent blended within the Avengers.

And by the way, that guy looked just like your dead brother and he tried to manipulate you through brainwashing. You had stitches in your knees and arms, and you shot yourself enough tranquilizer to kill a cow…but ha… who gives a shit, the most perfect, gorgeous man has said that he loves you. Like, priorities, right?

“Someone is in a good mood…” Your colleague slash friend Dr. Lin observed you and swirled around in the chair. “Alright, alright, so the mysterious date has become…a boyfriend?”

“Oh no, he is not…” You were caught off guard, and that made you think for a moment.

Wait…

What are the social protocols for calling Steve your boyfriend? Is that something people would assume after some steps of development in their relationship? Or was it a conclusion people would reach after certain premises: like intimacy, living in the same house, or having to face some dude who tried to brainwash you together?

Is it something that you or he would be entitled to call each other after those steps were fulfilled? And also, there’s this thing about… are you the only one? Yes, you live in a society that has historically been monogamous in most cultures. But things are different now. Polygamy is becoming more accepted. You wouldn’t like that, but of course, you couldn’t force him into that. Like, there are gorgeous women around him, that’s true…

“Honey…” Dr. Lin could see the ‘loading…’ sign on your forehead now that you were frozen in thought. “Is there something you wanna talk about?”

“I have some questions, Dr. Lin… no, Robert.” You put the computer in sleep mode and turned around. “Would the fact that he said ‘I love you’ make him my boyfriend?”

“Well… did he introduce you to his friends as his ‘girlfriend’?”

“Um… no.”

“Did you talk about it? Like, in which place are you standing? Or where are you heading?”

“Um…” You looked up as you remembered. “No. But we did talk about ‘making more beautiful memories’ together”.

“Oh shit.” Robert’s face shifted to ‘Gurrlllll…’ He carefully chose his words but wanted to be really clear: “And, uh… did he mention or hint that he wanted to be your boyfriend?”

“Mmm… no.” You shook your head. Not literally, at least.

“And you’re sure there’s no one else in his life?”

“Well. Yeah.” You made an obvious face. It’s not like he has the time; he is with you (or inside you) every night.

“I’m just saying…” Robert raised his hands. “There are a lot of dudes who’ll say anything to keep their bed warm.”

“Well… he is special.” You felt compelled to defend Steve. “He never lies.”

Robert almost choked. “Alright, darling… look, just make sure he’s not just banging you and planning to break your heart, okay? There are a lot of assholes out there, and trust me… you’re like a blank canvas for them, which makes you incredibly hot and attractive, but still… there are a lot of douchebags…”

“Mmm.” You were immersed in your thoughts again, analyzing what Dr. Lin had said, and as your “Loading…” sign appeared on your forehead, Robert just left you to it.

You had this way of getting so lost in your thoughts that the outside world faded away. You operated on autopilot, so you didn’t even realize how you’d gotten up at lunchtime and wandered into the common area where Steve was waiting. You didn’t notice the worried look on his face, nor the glance he exchanged with his teammates when you all sat down at the table, ready for lunch.

‘Ask her if she’s okay.’ Natasha’s eyes silently urged Steve.

‘Of course she’s not okay. After everything she’s been through.’ Steve replied with his glare.

‘Maybe she is just tired?’ Said Maria from the other corner. 

‘She does look sad…or confused.’ Observed Tony too.

‘Can you pass me the salt, please?’ Sam added to the silent conversation.

While the Avengers exchanged silent signals, you made up your mind to ask the questions that had been gnawing at you directly.

“What does it mean when people say that ‘you’re just banging me’?” You turned to Steve and asked.

Natasha spat her water out in Clint’s face, and Sam choked on a peanut.

"And I’m not against polygamy, but I think I’d be better in a monogamous relationship. If… we’re not just ‘banging.’" You nodded, speaking with honesty.

“I…” Steve tried to respond, but was interrupted by the hysterical laughter from Tony and Natasha as they rushed to save Sam from choking. (“Why would you have peanuts at lunchtime?!” Black Widow asked in a mix of laughter and disbelief.) Steve didn't know what to say, but a smile finally spread across his face as he looked at you in awe.

After the nightmare you’d all gone through yesterday, it felt like a lifetime since he’d actually smiled or felt any joy. Yet here you were, as you always are when he’s with you, with your clever, unexpected comebacks that washed away all his anger, anxiety, and rage. And your strange yet brilliant mind made him feel… so happy.

“Babe…” he chuckled, squeezing your hand and using a word he never imagined he’d use: “We’re not just banging…”

“We’re not?” You looked at him, a little confused, noticing his ears turning red. Lowering your voice, you added, “But that’s what we do every night… isn’t it?”

“OMG!” Clint stood up, covering his ears, trying not to burst out laughing. “Dr. Lancaster, may I kindly remind you this is a room full of people with extraordinary powers, including super-sensitive hearing… something we can’t exactly control?”

“Oh.” You blushed slightly, realizing how blunt you’d been, and leaned closer to Steve. “So ‘making love’ would be the right word?”

Steve chuckled as the rest of the team erupted in laughter. He squeezed your hand and smiled. “Yes, honey, that would be correct.” he said, amidst laughs and coughing.

Of course, you weren’t just banging. Steve had made up his mind to ensure you had no doubts about that. After the hilarious, "we'll talk about this for years" lunch, he gathered everything he needed to prove it to you and headed to the lab.

It was well past dinner when he arrived, and the place was empty, the only light coming from your desk. You knew he'd be late, so you waited for him to pick you up.

Leaning against the doorway, Steve watched you quietly for a moment, a soft smile forming on his face. You were completely absorbed in your work, brow furrowed in concentration. He didn’t want to interrupt, captivated by the focus you showed, his heart swelled as he took a few steps toward you.

"Hey… just… one minute…" You noticed his footsteps and quickened your typing. "I’ll wrap this up."

"There’s no rush at all." Steve sat in the chair beside you, smirking, though you didn’t notice, still immersed in your work.

"Just… borrow your hand, please?" he asked softly, knowing you were on autopilot. Without looking away from the screen, you automatically lifted your hand.

You felt something delicate wrap around your ring finger. Glancing up, you saw a slender golden thread circling it, secured by a tiny knot. Your eyes followed the thread as a delicate silver ring slid down, fitting perfectly. Startled, you looked up to see Steve raise his hand, revealing the other end of the thread tied around his own ring finger.

"What… what is this?" you asked softly, surprised.

"Well… I didn’t get the exact ‘sparkling glitter golden thread’ like you described, but… you get the idea." Steve smiled, standing up to kiss the back of your hand. "This is proof that I’m not just banging you, or…" He chuckled, "something that asks if I could bang you for the rest of our lives."

He paused, trying to remember Tony’s exact words.

"And it’s also a 'high-frequency, multi-sensorial ring capable of real-time biometric and geospatial transmission. Embedded with micro-electromechanical systems that continuously monitor and broadcast vital stats—heart rate variability, galvanic skin response, and core temperature—with GPS coordinates. Plus, a predictive analytics algorithm to interpret physiological fluctuations, allowing for real-time detection of anomalies in health and emotional state.'"

"Oh wow…" you breathed, genuinely shocked. "Did you memorize all that?"

Steve laughed and nodded. "Tony insisted you should know exactly what you were wearing."

"Awww, babe…" You couldn’t stop laughing. "This is the most romantic stalker device I've ever had."

He let out a hearty laugh and showed you his ring. "It’s connected to mine," he said, pulling you closer, his hands settling at your waist as he pressed his forehead against yours. "And I used a golden thread—the one that represents life—because you’re my life now."

"Steve…" You gently caressed his face, looking down at your hands, the rings connected by the golden thread. Really in shocked.

"And… you’re sure? Won’t people notice?"

"Trust me, I went through 1,278 protocols before deciding on this. Honestly, I made up my mind long before that. Hill said I could've spared her the torture of explaining all those, and she wanted to punch me right in the face afterward, but…" His voice softened. 

"I don’t want you living in shadows or secrets anymore. I’ll be with you, always, by your side. And…"

"And since whoever our enemy is already knows about me, they’ll think twice before coming after us, seeing that I’m with the Captain of the Avengers." You nodded.

"Yeah, that. But more importantly…" He kissed you softly after laughing. 

"Because I don’t know how to live without you. This ring… it’s just a way of showing how serious I am. How much I love you." 

He smiled suddenly, a memory flashing in his eyes. "Do you remember what you asked me the first day we met?"

"I think so…?" You hesitated, unsure which moment he was referring to. "We talked for like 10 hours that night."

"You asked me, when you added your number to my phone, 'What do you want me to be, for you?' And I answered…"

"‘My Everything,’" you whispered.

"That’s right." He sealed it with a kiss. 

"You are my everything."

You were quiet, and in awe. Just like the night you met him. For so long, you’d been searching, drifting in and out of the shadows, living in the remnants of broken fairy tales. But now, standing here with him, you realized those tales had never really been broken. They’d just been waiting — for this. 

You were no longer lost, no longer broken and sifting through the ashes of old stories. You’ve found this. Your own spectacular fairy tale, and the best part? It’s real. You had been given the right to love, to be loved, to finally be someone’s everything.

And for the first time, you truly believed it.

End

Continue to:

7: Hypnagogia |

8: Lull |

9: Vigil |

10: Eclipse |

Divider Credits: to the wonderful @cafekitsune

Andddd I'm sorry I'm posting so late today, but having two full time jobs is hitting really hard, will try to maintain regularity as I can. But its getting hard! Thanks for reading thus far and I hope you enjoyed the chapter, mayb posting a different story next friday ;) See you then!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim

Love.,

Moon.

[realcube]

WRATH & LUST . t.kei / y.tadashi

synopsis ✧ you hate tsukishima kei. you do everything in your power to make his life miserable but nothing works. now you have no choice but to fuck his best friend

cws/tags ✧ college au , enemies to enemies who screw, cursing, slut-shaming (both ways)

parts ✧ i. ii. iii. iv.

your friends call it 'inexplicable hatred', 'misdirected anger' and 'envy' but they couldn't be more wrong.

your feelings towards tsukishima kei were completely rational in your mind. he carried himself as though he was better than everyone and treated those around him like filth, yet he's still tolerated and his shitty attitude is even deemed charming by some self-loathing girls at your college.

it irritates you to no end how he behaves. too cocksure and too sassy; no dignified man should never act in such a manner, you believe. you could go on about other reasons you dislike him — his style atrocities and his punchable face, to name a couple — but you shan't.

you intended on going about your life, simply hating him from afar as you didn't see the need to stir up petty drama. but he made it impossible for you to do so.

one day he was sat behind you in a maths lecture. the seats are tiered so he is slightly higher up than you are. while making notes, his pen slips out of his hand and tumbles forward, landing somewhere under your desk.

you do the polite thing by making an attempt to search for it, but it is dark under the table you can't seem to find it.

a couple moments pass, and he remarks lowly, "are you just going to stare it?"

white hot rage courses through you at his comment. what ever happened to 'please'? to 'would you mind'? you were about to do him a favour by fetching his pencil and he still has the audacity to be snarky.

fuck that, he can pick up his own damn pen. you leave it alone and try to focus on the lecture.

you make it through the whole thing without him bothering you again, probably using a spare or borrowed pen. once the class has been dismissed, you gather your things and wait for the people in your row to start filtering out so you can leave, that is when you feel a gentle tap on the shoulder.

you turn around and lock eyes with a tan, freckled boy with mousy brown hair, he wears an awkward smile and point to your desk, "excuse me, my friend dropped his pencil and i think it landed under your desk. could you get it, please?"

his voice is meek and demeanour similar to that of a shy puppy, which is why it almost pained you to scoff at him and say, "tell your friend to stop being such a cunt, then maybe."

you rush out of the door, keen to get as far away from those two boys as you can. yet as you leave you hear the blonde's voice mutter in your wake, "what a moron."

after marinating on the situation during the retelling to your friend group, and a group vote, you came to the conclusion that perhaps your response to yamaguchi — you learned his name from one your friends — might have been a bit severe. but in your defence, you were peeved by the comment tsukishima had made prior.

it's as though manners and etiquette are totally lost on him.

ೃ⁀➷

two weeks passed since your last little altercation with tsukishima, and you were proud to say you haven't been involved in any conflict with him since then. mostly making snide remarks in passing or exchanging dirty looks in the hall.

however, that all changed when your professor was late to one of your classes. they expressed in the past that they prefer students to wait outside the lecture theatre when they aren't present, so naturally this caused many people to be clogging the hallways.

there was a long queue of people waiting to enter, you stood far away from the door, while tsukishima and yamaguchi happened to be standing opposite. you couldn't help but notice the outfit tsukishima had on: skinny light brown trousers with a black belt, and a pressed short-sleeve white shirt, that was a bit see-through.

you didn't know much about this guy but from his slightly toned figure, which was made apparent by his choice in clothes, you could tell he does some sort of sport. probably basketball, considering how tall he is, but maybe golf. he acts like a golf player.

lost in thought for too long, your finally yanked out of your own internal monologue by a familiar voice snapping, "what are you staring at?"

you blink, and before you even have time to process what he just accused you of, you blurt out, "has anyone told you that you're dressed like a slut today?"

yamaguchi must slap a hand over his mouth to suppress his burgeoning laughter. tsukishima's eyes narrow at his friend's offensive display, before they snap back to you and he argues, "really? me? i'm dressed appropriately. take a look at what you're wearing."

he motions to your outfit: jorts and a tank top. maybe not the most stylish choice but definitely not as whorish as his attire. "it might be more revealing but still not as slutty as you."

he rolls his eyes like what you said was contradictory, wearing smug smile. he wants you to believe what you said is nonsensical and 'proved his point' but all it does it anger you to no end.

not fond of his facial expressions, you retort, "don't pull stupid faces and play dumb. you're already dumb enough as is, so it isn't a very becoming look on you."

with furrowed brows, he opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, "and i can see your chest through your shirt. no one wants to see that!"

"you say that while your tits are out, have some self-respect."

"at least i have tits. you're wearing a short sleeve to show off the muscles you don't even have!"

yamaguchi is thoroughly entertained by this squabble, which is why it pains him to chime in, "uh, tsukki. the lecturer is here, let's go."

as much as he wanted to get the last word in, tsukishima glances between tadashi and the empty halls before he decides his education is actually kinda important and begins to make his way inside the theatre. it was good timing because he didn't have a witty response anyway.

your heart is beating rapidly, though you're unsure why. you gaze at the empty walls for a minute to collect yourself before heading into class as well. you totally won that fight, is what you tell yourself.

ೃ⁀➷

ever since the disagreement you had with tsukishima in hallways of the maths building, what was once comments and glares has escalated to threats and insults being made boldly in each other's face.

despite the fact you ate him up the first time, you've been on a losing streak since then. you feel as though nothing you say gets under his skin anymore.

you've tried belittling his face, his smarts, his personality, his mother but nothing seems to work. you even tried to ridicule his glasses but that didn't work either!

"hey, four eyes!"

"hey, five guys."

what the fuck? you weren't sure if that was a dig at your diet, your weight or your quantity of sexual partners but regardless, you could not let that slide.

verbal abuse wasn't working so naturally the next option was physical. you attempted to trip him in the halls but his legs were so long he stepped over you without even noticing. you attempted to pour milk over him but tadashi noticed and pulled him out of the way. you considered pushing his knees while he was standing in front of you but you realised that if he fell backwards his weight would crush you and you'd probably die.

all of that was so elementary and childish though; high school bullying at best. you need college level bullying. you thought about planting weed in his bag and calling the campus police on him but your friends said that was 'too far'. you thought about leaking his nudes but firstly you don't have them and secondly, he's already walking around college half naked anyway so he likely wouldn't be phased by it.

the hard thing about trying to torture a boy like tsukishima is you don't know enough about him to know what will truly drive him insane. you know he cares about his grades but sabotaging his test scores is beyond your means. he doesn't have any dignity so you can't humiliate him. even if you tried, his little gremlin of a best friend would probably catch onto you anyway.

that green haired boy was just as bad as his handler. always gawking at you to make sure you don't try anything; literally glued to tsukishima's ass at all times — it's so gross. and it gave you the most disgustingly perfect idea.

[candiedcoffeedrops]

Your Voice (Jude Jazza x Reader)

Jude Jazza x Fem!Reader (Jude's POV/Perspective)

SFW -- WC: 1765

Fluffy, sweet indulgent nonsense that I thought of whilst avoiding sleep at 3 in the morning about a week and change ago lol.

Alright, so this is my first reader insert in thirteen years! I have been working on this for the last few days in between work and whatnot and most of the time was like, 10% writing and 90% worrying if I was writing this bastard man that I have grown to love very rapidly correctly or not. I'm open to suggestions on how to improve, I just ask that it be kind/respectful, please. :)

Thanks a million to @judejazza for inspiring me to work on this! You're awesome and I hope you like this!

Also! No beta, we die like the dude in the prologue.

Today had been long and irritating.

You had tagged along with me and Ellis today, as usual. An early morning of routine business turned into a busy afternoon of hunting down people who had broken contracts and taking them to task. That quickly escalated, and you nearly got yourself hurt. Again.

We had just gotten back to Crown Castle a few hours ago and had gone about our business. It had been a couple of months since your initial one-month tenure had come and gone, and you had stupidly decided that you were going to stay.

I couldn’t understand why. Crown wasn’t a place for someone like you—soft, kind-hearted, and ridiculously naive. You belonged somewhere safe, somewhere untouched by the dark and violent world I—and all of us—were steeped in. Yet, here you were, stubborn as hell, refusing to leave. Maybe you thought you could change us, make us better. Foolish. But damned if it wasn’t… endearing. Tch. I must be getting soft.

As I walked through the halls of the castle, I noticed light peeking out from under your door. You were still awake? It was definitely past midnight at this point. Curious, I approached the door and knocked with the knuckle of my index finger.

“Oi, Princess! The fuck ya still up for?”

“Oh! Come in, Jude!”

I opened your door and stepped inside, pushing the door shut with my foot, my hands in my pockets.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your head cocked to the side curiously.

I raised an eyebrow and spoke, “I asked first.”

“I can’t sleep, so I thought I’d get a book from the library and try to read myself asleep but… then I got sucked into the story.” You admitted as light pink dusted your cheeks, returning your attention to your book. You were sitting on your bed, atop your covers, eyes scanning the pages of an open book in your hands. Your room was lit by the lamp on your desk near your typewriter, casting a dim warm glow over everything, including you. Your hair framed your face, and you were dressed in your nightclothes like you had started getting ready for bed but never actually went to sleep.

I strolled up to your bed and plucked the book from your hands.

“Hey! Give that back!” You swung your legs under you, trying to swipe the book from me. “Jude!”

Ah, that cute little face and the way you said my name when you were all frustrated would never get old.

“Why? Ya readin’ somethin’ ya shouldn’t?” I teased, holding the book just out of reach. I took a step back, skimming through the pages. “Is that why ya can’t sleep? Gettin’ all hot ‘n bothered?” My eyes scanned the words.

She stood beneath the crumbling archway of the cathedral, where the moonlight filtered through the cracks and bathed her in a silvery glow, her heart pounding with the weight of forbidden love.

I rolled my eyes. Tch. How boring. Just some romantic penny dreadful. Figures. You would be into this kind of shit. Star-crossed lovers and all that nonsense.

“Ya realize none of this is realistic, yeah?” I asked, waving the book dismissively. Your cheeks puffed into an adorable pout, and I chuckled.

“I don’t read it for the realism, Jude,” you replied, matter-of-factly. “I read it because it’s entertaining. Fun.”

“What’s so fun about somethin’ so obviously false?” I asked, flipping through a few more pages while you leaned over, trying to grab your book again. I held it out of reach. “Yer gonna get it back when I decide ya can have it back, got it?”

You sighed, crawling back into bed, sitting against the headboard. “That’s better.”

“Why are you playing keep away with my book?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Repayment for nearly gettin’ yer clumsy ass hurt again.”

You growled lightly. Adorable. “But I didn’t! You were there!”

I huffed, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, well, ya shouldn’t need me to save ya all the time. Learn to stay outta trouble.”

You gave me a defiant look, your chin lifting slightly. “I’m not helpless, Jude. I can take care of myself.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah? Then why were ya about to get skewered earlier?”

Your cheeks flushed, eyes widening. “I was just… distracted.”

“By what? Thinkin’ of garbage like this?” I asked, holding up the book and waving it lightly.

“It’s not garbage!” you shot back, your eyes blazing with a fire I rarely saw. “It’s a good story, and I like it.”

“Tch. It’s drivel, Princess.” I glanced at the open pages, scanning a few more lines with a sneer. “Moonlight, forbidden love... absolute nonsense.”

You crossed your arms, a stubborn set to your jaw. “If it’s so bad, then why don’t you prove it by reading some of it?”

I raised an eyebrow, a chuckle rumbling in my chest. “Ya want me to read this crap? To ya?”

“Yeah, I do.” You leaned forward, eyes gleaming with challenge. “I bet you can’t get through a single page without falling asleep.”

My tongue ran along my bottom teeth beneath my lip as I walked closer to you and leaned down, towering over you. “Is that a dare, Princess?” I looked at you, my smirk widening into a grin. “Alright, but don’t blame me when ya realize how bad it is.”

“Alright,” you said, settling back with a satisfied smile. “But you have to read it properly. Like you mean it.” You shifted, laying down on your side, facing me, your head cushioned perfectly by your pillow.

I snorted. “Fine. But if I read this and prove it’s trash, ya gotta stop readin’ this stuff.” I lightly tapped the spine of the book to your forehead. “It’ll rot yer little brain even more than it already is. Got it?”

Your eyes sparkled. “Deal.”

I sighed, sitting down unceremoniously into a chair that was by your bedside, my ankle crossed over my knee. “Alright, let’s see what has ya stayin’ up all night.” I cleared my throat, holding the book up to catch the dim light. “She stood beneath the crumbling archway of the cathedral…”

My mind drifted through the pages at first, words blurring together without much meaning. But then, something in the story caught my attention, and I found myself tuning in, focusing on the text. Gradually, I realized my voice had softened, losing its earlier sarcasm. It settled into a steady rhythm, low and even, as I read for a few more pages.

Every so often, I glanced up at you. Your expression, once filled with intense focus, began to relax. I watched as your eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open. You looked so determined to stay awake.

I trailed off mid-sentence and raised an eyebrow, my lips curling in another smile. “Oi. Sleepyhead. Still there?”

I got a mumbled affirmation in response, to which I chuckled through my nose and nodded. I set the book down before getting to my feet, careful that I didn’t make too much noise doing so. Well, at least you were about to finally get some much-needed shut-eye.

Before I could move away, you reached out and grasped my fingers with a gentle hold. My eyes widened as I looked between you and our hands.

“Wait. Don’t go yet.” Your eyes were trained on our hands, another faint blush spreading across your cheeks. “I want to hear more of the story.” Your voice was low and shy.

“Yeah?” I asked, tilting my head as I observed you, another smirk lifting my lips. “Can’t get enough garbage, can ya, Princess?”

“No, it’s not that.” Your blush deepened. “I just… I like the sound of your voice.”

Damn. Didn't see that coming. You’re clueless. Who the hell would say something like that? My voice—harsh, grating, like broken glass or nails on a chalkboard and that's what you wanted to hear? But of course, it’d be you, wouldn’t it? Blind to every possible warning, looking up at me with those big, pleading eyes. Damn you. And damn me for sticking around.

My hand was still in yours, your skin soft and warm against my calloused fingers. Your gaze lifted to mine, and you looked so… pitiful. Pleading.

I sighed. “Yer daft, ya know that?” I moved to sit back down, your hand still holding mine. Crossing my ankle back over my knee, I reopened your book, propping it up on my thigh. I glanced at you; some of your energy had returned, your eyes shining with that dumb happy look as you nuzzled into your pillow.

“Thank you, Jude.” Your voice was soft and sweet, making my heart lurch. I kept my face impassive.

“Yeah, yeah, be quiet ‘n listen.” My tone lacked most of its usual bite as I found the last page I had read.

My fingers were still in your grasp. Strange. I could’ve pulled away at any point, but I didn’t. Maybe you thought if you let go, I’d leave. While reading, I moved my hand, lacing my fingers around yours. I didn’t look up, focused on the page, but I heard a small gasp before you squeezed my hand slightly. Damn. Almost enough to make a man melt.

Without pausing, my thumb began rubbing yours absentmindedly. Your skin was soft, untouched by the harshness of this world. What a novel thing in a place like this.

It wasn’t long before I heard your gentle snoring. I chuckled softly, watching you for a moment. So peaceful. Dreaming without a care while a man you knew was dangerous held your hand and read you to sleep. You were insane.

I stood, marking the page I had stopped on, and set the book down on your nightstand. Reluctantly, I removed my hand from yours and shrugged off my coat, covering your sleeping form. You immediately melted into the warmth, your shoulders relaxing as a lock of hair fell across your cheek. My fingers hovered above you.

Do I dare?

Taking a breath, I gently moved the errant lock from your cheek without touching your face. You scrunched your nose, muttering softly before settling back into sleep. My hands found their way into my pockets as I gazed at you a moment longer.

“Sleep well, Princess,” I murmured under my breath. I crossed the room to turn your lamp off and then made my way to the door, pausing at the doorframe for one last look over my shoulder before exiting and closing the door quietly behind me.

This was fun! It was nice to slip into old shoes again and write something that I used to do so frequently. I may do more of these! Lemme know if you want to be tagged, should I decide to do more in the future!

Thank you, all! Have a great day!

[1800naveen]

Making that post because I don't give a fuck. I don't bother with hiding your user because fuck your privacy.

I checked your profile and you ship Feysand, that tells me everything I need to know about you. Now, let's look at this paragraph again! The whole thing!

"Starting with meeting with the governors of the palaces and getting them to agree never to serve, shelter, or entertain Keir or ANYONE from the court of nightmares." Did you get that? I hope so.

When Rhysand said anyone, he didn't only mean Keir and his soldiers, he meant anyone who was born from Hewn City. Women, men, children. Anyone who hails from Hewn City will not experience the same comfort as the citizens of Velaris.

The inner circle believes that everyone down there is evil and vile but that can't be true, can't it? If someone like Mor came from there and was a dreamer, that means there are more dreamers. There are innocent women and children who suffer in the court of nightmares but Rhysand and his inner circle leaves them to rot. Mor hasn't done anything for the women and she left centuries ago.

You want to know why I said they would like Jim Crow? It's because of shit like that. People were denied shelter, service, entertainment, get opportunities, etc. That's exactly what Rhysand said about anyone from Hewn City coming into Velaris. They had to deal with Rhysand coming down to Hewn City only to torment them so more in their miserable lives. That little stunt Feysand did in ACOMAF was straight up disgusting. Getting freaky in front of your people? Can you imagine the women seeing that? That Rhysand is acting like this with his lady? They also had to watch Rhysand break Keir's arm for calling Feyre a whore which is well deserved but Rhys doing that but not helping the women who had suffered at the hands of men for many years? Some high lord he is. Here's the racism part I was talking about:

"The Illyrians are pieces of shit," he said too quietly. I opened my mouth and shut it. Shadows gathered around his wings, trailing off him and onto the thick red rug. "They train and train as warriors, and yet when they don't come home, their families make us into villains for sending them to war?" "Their families have lost something irreplaceable," I said carefully. Azriel waved a scared hand, his cobalt Siphons glinting with the movement as his fingers cut through the air. "They're hypocrites." This is from A court of frost and starlight. Azriel is talking like that about the Illyrians even though HE IS A ILLYRIAN. That is internalized racism in my eyes. Because why would talk about your own people like that?

"Get your facts checked." I got my shit checked, I won't be making posts on this app if I DIDN'T have my facts. I have read the series, I wouldn't make posts like this if I didn't read it. Do yourself a favor and block me.

I hate Rhysand, Feysand (as a ship), the inner circle, and I love to talk shit about them. That shit that Rhysand did to Feyre UTM is one of the reasons I hate that bat bastard. "He had me dance until I was sick, and once I was done retching, told me to begin dancing again." ACOTAR, Chapter 39. He never gave her a true apology for what he did to her and that's fucking horrid. He had no reason to do that. That isn't protection, that's abusing a innocent woman. Don't act like he's a good guy when he did all of this to his "Feyre Darling".

Hating this series is awesome, give it a try. And you didn't reply to my comment, how come? I was hoping we would start a argument. I don't need people like YOU in my damn comments. Please do yourself a favor and block me now, save yourself the pain. Try filtering out the anti Rhysand and anti inner circle tags if you don't want to see shit like that. I saw a little post on your blog about seeing a post from a Rhysand and IC hater. I know it's about me, I be lurking at times.

I do hope you see this and I hope you give me a good ol' block!🙂 Either you block me or I block you. Any comment from a pro Rhysand or pro inner circle, I am not taking it seriously. I don't need bitches like YOU around and I'm sure you don't want a bitch like ME around.

READ THE FUCKING TAGS, YOU FUCKTARD. YOU AIN'T WELCOME HERE. WHY WOULD YOU MAKE YOURSELF SUFFER BY READING FROM ANTI FEYSAND OR ANTI IC PEOPLE? IF YOU'RE A FAN OF EITHER, YOU STAY AWAY FROM IT. I want you to know that I compared Rhysand and Feyre to Donald and Melania Trump, called him and the inner circle fascists, and compared him to Bill Cosby!🥰 Here's one, here's another, and the last one!

🎵Now when I came out, I told you it was just about Rhysand. Then you had to open your mouth with a motherfucking opinion. Well, this is how we gonna do this; Fuck Feysand (Feyre deserves better), fuck Rhysand, fuck the inner circle as a staff, family, and a motherfucking crew! And if you want to be down with this, then fuck you too!🎵

Be sure to read the tags this time, much love and take care! No but seriously, just block me. Make it better for yourself. I say this with genuine.

Made a post, just for you and your dumbass comment.

[sydsaint]

Silly glow stick man, I love you <3

Summary: The reader is Hikuleo's little sister, who's stuck around in New Japan to help out him and Riley. Riley and the reader flirt a bunch, but things don't get serious until Shane Haste starts running his mouth about her.

"Knock knock." You stand in the hallway in front of the G.O.D locker room door and announce yourself. "Am I free to come in?" You ask with the door cracked open slightly so the occupants can hear you.

"You're good, dollface!" You hear Riley shout from inside the locker room.

With confirmation from Riley, you open the door fully and slip inside. Riley is busy lacing up his boots, but you notice the blatant absence of your brother.

"Where's Hikuleo at?" You shut the locker room door and plop down in a chair next to Riley.

"Nice to see you too, sweetness." Riley chuckles and turns around to face you. "He lumbered off to catering for a quick bite to eat before our match." He explains.

You nod and notice Riley's signature light-up glasses sitting on the table next to you. You pluck them off the table and slip them onto your face.

"How do I look?" You ask Riley playfully and fish your phone out of your pocket to take some pictures of yourself.

"Like on rocking babe, gorgeous." Riley muses as he watches you take a few pictures with his glasses on. "Mind if I join?" He walks around the back of your chair and leans down over your shoulder with a grin.

You laugh and take a couple of pictures with Riley. You hand him back his glasses and turn your attention to your phone so you can post some of the photos.

Riley takes his glasses and sits down next to you so the two of you can chat while you wait for Hikuleo to return from catering. You are busy on your phone looking for a good filter for your pictures so Riley grabs his phone and decides to look at his socials for a bit.

It doesn't take Riley long while scrolling through Twitter to come across a post from Shane Haste, one of the men he and Hikuleo are challenging for their tag championships later tonight.

"Ugh, Haste is such a loser," Riley grumbles to himself as he reads the post from Shane regarding Haste hoping to see you tonight during the tag match.

"Shane Haste?" You look up from your phone. "Got that right." You agree with Riley's loser comment. "I ran into him yesterday at the hotel and he told me my ass looked good in the jeans I was wearing." You scoff to yourself.

Riley sets his phone down with a grimace and matches your scoff. "Damn, are you serious?" He asks you.

You nod and go back to looking for a good photo filter, blissfully unaware of the sour expression on Riley's face.

A few minutes later, Hikuleo comes back from catering and greets you and Riley.

"Hey! There she is." Hikuleo smiles at you as he comes through the door. "I was beginning to think that you weren't going to bother to show up." He jokes with you.

"Well with Tama and Tanga gone, someone has to be here to annoy you, right?" You laugh. "Plus, Riley would miss me too much. Right, Riley?" You tease him playfully.

Riley laughs with you and nods. "My poor heart would shatter into a million pieces if I didn't get to see my beloved YN at least once a week" He clutches at his heart jokingly.

Hikuleo rolls his eyes and everyone does some last-minute checks before it's time for Riley and Hikuleo's tag match.

The time comes for the match to start so you head out with the boys down to the ring. Riley gets up to his usual shenanigans once he's out in the ring and you laugh at his antics. You take up a spot in Riley and Hikuleo's corner and Riley comes bouncing over to you after messing around with the crowd a bit.

"Hold these for me, please, pretty lady." Riley stops in front of you and places his glasses on your head from his spot perched on the ring apron above you.

You secure his glasses on your head and settle into the corner of your team for the match. The TMDK theme starts blasting through the arena a few seconds later and you roll your eyes. You watch Shane and Mikey saunter down to the ring with their usual confident swagger.

Shane spots you hanging out in your brother's corner and can't help himself. He comes skipping up to you with a smug grin. "YN! Well, my day just got 100 times better." He winks at you. "Damn. How is it you are looking even hotter than when I saw you earlier today?" He asks you.

"Ugh. Get lost, Haste." You roll your eyes and turn away from him.

"Tsk, come on, YN." Haste pursues you.

You turn back around to tell Shane off but your brother comes to your rescue. You crack an amused smile as Hikuleo towers over Shane and mean-mugs his opponent until Shane is forced to back off.

"Thanks, Hikuleo." You turn around and thank your brother for his help.

Hikuleo nods and steps back up into the ring. The bell sounds and the match gets underway. Riley and Shane start the bout off and waste no time in getting at one another.

You hang back and stay out of the way for the most part. But toward the end of the match, Shane comes back around to bother you while Mikey is in the ring with Hikuleo and Riley is lying on the floor near the opposite side of the ring.

"Oh, YN!" Shane sing-songs as he comes around the corner.

"Do you know what 'no' means, Shane?" You scoff as he approaches you. "It's not going to happen, Haste. So get lost!" You scowl at him.

Shane is yet to be deterred by your blatant disdain for him. He keeps on coming toward you and you back away from him. Suddenly, Riley comes flying through the ropes from inside the ring and crashes right into Shane. The two men go flying into the barricade and you rush over to them to help Riley up.

"Thanks, fly-boy." You grab Riley's arm and haul him off the floor next to Shane.

"Happy to help, gorgeous." Riley winks at you playfully. "The only person allowed to shoot bad pick-up lines at you is me." He insists.

You laugh and Riley heads back into the ring to finish up the tag match. He works in tandem with Hikuleo and the pair manage to pull the win out from under TMDK. Hikuleo makes the winning pin and you jump for joy.

You snag the titles from their place over in the time-keepers area and rush back to the ring with them. You present one belt to your brother before turning to Riley and handing him the other.

"Congrats to the new tag champions!" You raise Hikuleo and Riley's hands in the air. "Hikuleo and El Phantasmo! G.O.D!"

The three of you celebrate in the ring for a few minutes before everyone heads backstage again. You are walking past Shane and Mikey when an idea pops into Riley's head. He grabs your arm out of the blue to stop you from moving past Shane and Mikey on the ramp.

"Hey! Shane!" Riley catches Haste's attention. "You see her?" He points to you. "YN is my girl, playboy! So screw off and quit bothering her!"

Shane scoffs, intent on ignoring Riley's claim. But before Haste can make a comment, Riley yanks you forward and into his chest. Your eyes go wide for a split second before Riley crashes his lips to yours in a heated kiss.

"My girl! Capiche?" Riley snakes an arm around your waist and glares at Shane.

"Man, whatever." Shane scoffs and storms off.

You turn to the side, still in Riley's arms, and confront him. "Your girl?" You question him with a quirked brow.

"What?" Riley cracks a grin. "Come on, YN. You know you love me." He teases you and leans forward to place a kiss on your cheek.

You giggle and nod. "Well, I guess dating the great, El Phantasmo, doesn't seem so bad." You give in and lean in for another kiss.

[rainofaugustsith]

So it seems like the Jedi Wars are heating up again, sigh. I have fandom sheriffs blocked instantly here. I am leaving reblogs on this open but I am warning in advance that you do not want to come at me on this post because the response will be an immediate block with no engagement. So you should really save yourself the trouble of typing it out. But I feel like some of the essential points are being missed. Namely:

Nobody has to like the Jedi.

Nobody has to approve of the Jedi.

Fans really are entitled to think the Jedi are terrible and their tactics are terrible.

All of this is about a work of fiction.

People, again, are entitled to have opinions about the media they consume.

None of that, in any way, affects people who are Jedi fans/apologists unless they actively choose to make it their problem.

Most of the time those of us who don't dig the Jedi are in our corner and don't give a damn what you're doing as long as you don't bother us.

It would be really nice if some those who liked the Jedi would remember those basic principles - but they have to Fandom Sheriff things and to loudly and aggressively let everyone else know They're Wrong. They come storming into posts, even when the OP has warned they do not want discourse, to try to engage and argue to tell people They're Wrong. They accuse people who Are Wrong!! with having sympathies for real-world fascism and Nazis, which is offensive on more levels than I can even articulate. They insist that if you don't share their opinion you must have issues with "Eastern Religion" (which is a pretty damn vague way to consider not only multiple streams of Buddhism but the many MANY other religions practiced in the "East" that have a very wide range of beliefs. As well as a big damned stretch considering it was all written by a Protestant white man from the USA. As well as the fact that we are again talking about a piece of fictional media and not a real world long established religion). Their way is apparently the only way one can possibly believe about a piece of fiction and they will aggressively butt into your conversations and posts to tell you.

All of which, at the end of the day, is a lot like evangelism/fundamentalism.

If you like the Jedi, there are ways to actively avoid those of us who do not agree with you. Filter tags. Block. Cultivate your fandom experience to surround yourself with people who have similar views. Associate with people who are mature enough to realize a mutual can disagree with their interpretation of a work of fiction without accusing them of being a Nazi. Hell, that's what we all do to avoid you whenever possible.

But grow the hell up and realize that not everyone will share your opinions on your favorites in fictional media, people with differences of opinion are entitled to them, and they are also entitled to their own fandom experience without you yipping at their heels and squeaking indignantly in their conversations.

[sopefulheart]

why you left

→ pair: yoongi x female oc

→ tags: yoongi x oc, original character, domestic, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort, coming of age, running away, college dropouts, depression, yoongi’s got a drinking problem, proposal, angst with a happy ending

→ warnings: no smut, mentions of substance abuse, toxic parents, implications of depression

→ word count: 4.4k

“Hey,” Yoongi says. “Are you on your way?”

A female voice filters through the phone. “I just left. I’ll be there in five minutes, okay?”

“And you’re all packed?”

His girlfriend sighs. “Yeah. We don’t have to go back to my house for any reason.”

“Good.” He rips off a hangnail. “Have your parents suspected anything yet?”

“Don’t think so, not that they even give a damn enough to notice my shit’s missing.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

Mei groans. “I’m sorry too. See you in a bit?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she says softly before hanging up.

He looks over at his suitcase on the floor next to his piano. He didn’t bother packing things from his room to remind him of the shitty life he lived before leaving this hellhole. The only things he needs are clothes, Mei, and his piano.

It’s obviously too big to fit in a suitcase anyway.

Doing it all without Mei seemed virtually impossible.

After all, she’s the love of his life.

They’d met two years ago at the end of their freshman year of college. Since then, Yoongi’s been anxious to move out of his parents’ house.

But his reason is way more complicated than restrictive rules and early curfews.

So is Mei’s.

But they have an understanding that this is what they want for their future, not their parents’.

A fresh start, a new environment, a new mindset.

A new life.

The doorknob jiggles a bit and Yoongi realizes it’s Mei unlocking it with the key he gave her. The door opens and she sets her things down on the table.

Mei comes up to him red-faced and sniffling. She gives him a peck and strokes his cheek gently.

It hurts him to see her hurting so bad.

“Hey baby, it’s gonna be okay.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I left them the note.”

Dear ma and pa,

I’m sorry but I can’t stay here anymore. I need to find myself and I can’t do that if I keep living here. Please understand I still love you both and I’ll be safe wherever I go.

Mei.

“I thought you said they didn’t know,” Yoongi replies. “They can’t know yet. It’ll be too easy for them to find us.”

“Relax, they probably won’t even see it until tomorrow morning.”

He picks up a few small things that he forgot to pack and shoves them in his pocket. “We should go. My mom is gonna be home any second.”

Without another word, Mei gathers her things.

Yoongi walks over to his piano, playing a few notes from the first song he ever learned. His father had sat down and taught him before he got too busy to spend time with Yoongi.

It’s a bittersweet moment when he thinks about it now.

Tears come to his eyes when he realizes that this will be the last time he ever touches this piano.

A hand rubs gentle circles on his back and comes around his waist. “I’m sorry.”

“We gotta go,” he says, his voice breaking.

“I promise I’ll get you another.”

Yoongi rolls his and Mei’s suitcases over to the front door. He goes to the fridge and grabs a beer can.

“Yoongi-“

He sighs. “I’m not driving, it’s fine.”

“Are you gonna pour that into something else? A water bottle? I don’t feel like getting pulled over.”

“As long as you’re driving and not drinking it’s fine, okay?”

She sighs.

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll hide it. Just let me do something, I just need to do something-“

“Okay,” Mei says quietly. “Alright.”

“C’mon.”

Yoongi leaves his key on the table and leads Mei out of the house before he puts the suitcases in the tray of her truck. They both silently get into the truck and Mei can’t help but look over at Yoongi as he pops open the beer can and sighs.

“You okay, babe?”

He takes a sip. “Just drive, alright?”

She nods and starts the truck, chewing on her bottom lip.

Mei knows that when he gets like this, he simply doesn’t want to talk about how badly he’s hurting, how badly this affects him.

But there are signs.

“You know the way, yeah?”

He nods and looks out the window at his parents’ house.

The place they’re going is a small cozy town that Yoongi noticed as a kid each time he would go on road trips with his parents. He’s passed through there so many times that he knows the route by heart at this point.

This is where he and Mei agreed they’d start a family.

And when they stop halfway through the trip for gas, Yoongi excuses himself to take a piss. Mei knows he’s really just about to go buy more beer with the little cash he already has.

As they watch the numbers flick by on the gas pump, Yoongi’s arm wraps around Mei and slips into her jeans’ back pocket. Her head rests on his shoulder as she thinks about how much worse his drinking has gotten, indicative of the amount of hurt he feels.

“We’re gonna get through this,” she whispers after she kisses the top of his head. “I promise.”

But Yoongi can’t help think about that fucking piano.

He looks down at her and when he opens his mouth to speak, she can smell the alcohol in his breath.

“Do you really want this?”

“‘Course I do,” she replies quickly.

“You didn’t even think about it, though.”

Mei pauses intentionally, taking that time to pay and grab her receipt. “Yes, I want this.”

He hums.

“Do you?”

His eyes widen in surprise that she’s even asking that. “Yes. Of course.”

Mei leans in and kisses him, the familiar and oddly comforting taste of beer lingers as she kisses soft and open-mouthed for a few seconds.

They get back in the truck and continue on the drive.

Warm orange, red, and yellow colors start to melt into each other across the sky as Yoongi looks over at Mei’s silhouette. His hand comes up on her thigh as she’s driving and her breath hitches for a split second before she calms again.

“What’re we gonna eat?”

He sighs. “M’not hungry.”

“Because of all the beer you’ve filled up on? Where’d you put the empty cans anyway?”

Yoongi removes his hand from her thigh and opens up the glove compartment. There lie the two cans that he drank from during the drive.

He shrugs. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

“Jesus. You’re fucking insane.”

“I love you,” Yoongi says, laughing heartily between words.

Mei sits up and leans forward when they get to a red light. Well, I’m starving. How much do we have?”

He flips through his wallet. “Like, twelve bucks.”

“Shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looks over at him for a second, concerned. “What? Why?”

“I shouldn’t have bought the beer when we stopped for gas,” he replies. “That was really stupid. I’m stupid.”

“Hey, relax. It’s okay.”

She thinks for a moment and starts to smile. “Here’s a thought. What if I just don’t eat tonight?”

“Mei…”

“No, babe, I’m joking. I swear.”

He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, remember what I said. You don’t have to keep apologizing, okay? We’ll figure something out when we get home.”

They finally arrive at the little cottage when the sun starts to disappear, but the light from it is still enough to make out objects and such.

Mei grabs Yoongi’s hand as they gaze up at the structure, at their new home.

He sighs. “Ready?”

“I’m ready,” she replies with notes of uncertainty in her voice. She lets out a shaky exhale as they walk toward the door.

It creaks open slowly and when they get inside, it takes them a moment to look around in awe that this is their place.

It’s not quite perfect, what with the leaky faucet and dust everywhere, but it’s also nothing they both can’t fix.

Mei goes into their bedroom and takes it all in, observing the sheer curtains near the window and the bed with the old mattress that’ll be replaced by the one she brought from her old bedroom.

Yoongi fidgets with the broken frame on the door and sighs. “I’m gonna have to get some tools to fix this.”

“But it’s perfect, isn’t it?”

He smiles and looks up at Mei from where he’s crouched down. “It’s perfect.”

She pulls him up from the floor and wraps her arms around his waist, pulling him into her body and leaning up to kiss him.

Yoongi licks into her mouth hungrily and moans softly, desperate to get his hands under his shirt onto her skin. Mei’s ready to devour him as soon as the touch from his fingers warms her skin.

She goes to back them onto the bed and suddenly stops as she remembers something.

“What?” He asks before he kisses again. “C’mon.”

“The mattress,” she whispers. “It’s in the truck.”

He pulls out of the kiss but their lips are still mere centimeters away. “Let’s run out and come back then.”

His breath on her lips does nothing but turn Mei on even more, but then she steps back to go outside and get the mattress. Yoongi follows her out the door and before they can even open the trunk, he’s got her against the truck and is devouring her once again.

“Yoongi-“ she gets out before he silences her with another intense kiss.

He smiles devilishly. “Unlock the door.”

Mei laughs in disbelief when she realizes what he’s trying to do. “Deadass?”

“Uh huh.”

She whips out the key and unlocks it. As fast as Yoongi spins her around and pulls the door open, he’s on top of her in the backseat.

It’s a bit of a squeeze, but then again, of course it is.

“Yoongi…”

He chuckles darkly with his mouth right near her ear. “We’ll be quick, just relax.”

⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚

Mei wakes to Yoongi shifting around in the bed beside her.

After they’d come back from the truck last night, they finally got rid of the old mattress and made the bed up with the new mattress and sheets.

Their bodies snuggling next to each other created the warmth that Yoongi had been searching for since they’d left earlier that afternoon.

Yoongi’s soft snores comfort her tremendously, since this is the first time in a few days that he’s slept. Every time she asked him if he’d slept well, he’d smile and say he did and that there was no need to worry.

The dark circles around his eyes said otherwise.

Her boyfriend sleeps with his hair mussed and in his face, his mouth drops open just a little. But he’s sleeping so peacefully that Mei never wants to wake him up.

He wakes up on his own.

“G’morning,” she whispers softly.

Yoongi stretches and tries to find his voice for a few moments. He smiles down at her and gives her a kiss before he even says anything.

His voice is thick with sleep. “Mm… hey.”

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “Really well.”

He then goes to say something else but hesitates. “The power isn’t on yet, right?”

Mei furrows her brows. “I don’t know, why?”

“Nothing, just- I just need a drink and there’s no cold beer if the fridge isn’t on.”

“Besides that, I don’t think we have anything.”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. I stole my stepdad’s whiskey just before we left.”

Ah.

“Don’t you want me to make breakfast first?”

Yoongi practically flings the sheet off of himself as he gets up, eager to find the cabinet he put the whiskey in.

“No, I’m not hungry.” He calls from the hallway.

Of course not.

He comes back in a couple of minutes, glass of whiskey in hand, and plops himself back down on the bed next to Mei.

She looks up at him. “Happy?”

“Very.”

“Well,” she replies, rubbing her eyes. “We need to go grocery shopping. We have absolutely nothing to eat and we didn’t have dinner last night either.”

“Right.” He stares outside the window as he sips from his glass. “My wallet’s in my jeans pocket.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I don’t feel like it,” he replies.

The blank stare Yoongi gives her says it all. Tells her he’s quite overwhelmed by the whole idea of the move and he doesn’t want to show it.

She sighs and her hand comes up to gently stroke his cheek. “Look, babe, I really think you should get out of here and do something. Locking yourself up in here will only make you feel worse.”

“I’m fine, really.”

Mei presses her lips to his forehead, then gets up to get ready. Yoongi blankly watches her dig for clothes in one of her suitcases, since she’s currently wearing one of the shirts he had on hand last night.

After she finishes dressing and doing her hair, she gives Yoongi a peck. “You sure you’re gonna be okay alone?”

He forces a smile. “I’ll be okay.”

Although not fully convinced, Mei still decides to go out because she knows they are both starving even if Yoongi doesn’t want to admit it.

The trip to the market is just a leisurely fifteen minute walk away. The cool air surprises Mei quite a bit, as she thought it’d be warmer so she went without a sweater.

Yoongi would smile wide if he were here, since cool weather is something he loves.

She shakes the thought from her head and focuses on her shopping. It’s a bit hard at first—hard to find good quality food that fits in the twenty to thirty dollar budget.

Mei finally finishes up and heads home with her full paper bags in hand. She’s painfully aware that Yoongi hasn’t communicated at all since she’s been out, even though it’s only been about forty-five minutes.

She finally gets back to the cottage and unlocks the door less than gracefully because of the bags in her hands.

“Babe? I’m back.”

No response.

She chews on her bottom lip as she sets the bags down on the kitchen counter. Mei approaches the bedroom door, which creaks open, and she finds Yoongi in bed.

The sheets are pulled over him and all that can be seen is his mussed hair. The room is a little bit dark from the curtains still being drawn and Yoongi faces away from the door.

“Hey,” she whispers, not knowing whether he’s gone back to sleep or not. “Babe.”

Yoongi groans.

She gets into the bed with him and lays a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it. “You awake?”

“Mmhm,” he replies.

Mei eyes the bedside table and there sits the empty whiskey glass and quarter-full bottle. Her gaze goes back to Yoongi quickly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Tired as shit.”

“Listen,” she starts. “I know you’re really overwhelmed by all of this and I get it, love, I really do.”

He hums.

“But you can’t let it consume you like this.” Mei lays down and snuggles up to him. “I’m overwhelmed too and I just really need you.”

He sighs and turns to face her, one tear has rolled halfway down his cheek. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I just want you to let me in,” she continues. “Please can you just let me know how you’re feeling? At least.”

“I dunno how.”

Finally she’s got him talking just a little.

“It’s okay,” Mei replies calmly. “Start with the basics.”

“I can’t- I just feel like I need to- like I’m gonna explode or something,” he finally gets out.

“Why’s that?”

“I feel like- fuck, I don’t know, there’s that burning thing in my throat and I really need to cry but I can’t.”

Mei wipes the tear from his cheek. “Yeah?”

“I can only cry a tear or two before I stop.”

“Don’t worry about that.”

Yoongi furrows his brows. “What?”

Mei strokes his cheek softly and whispers in his ear. “Don’t worry about how much you can actually cry. Just try to let it out and if you can’t, try again later.”

“Fuck.”

“I know it’s frustrating, baby. I really do think having something to eat will help tremendously.”

He nods. “I actually am kinda hungry.”

“Then I’ll make breakfast, okay?”

Mei leaves the room and goes to the kitchen to prepare to cook. It takes a few minutes for her to find all the utensils she needs and she rinses them with water and dish soap before she cooks, just in case.

She absentmindedly cracks eggs for herself and Yoongi as she thinks about ways to make him feel better. He comes into the kitchen more than a few minutes later, all groggy and rubbing his eyes with his fists.

“Hey, is it ready yet?”

Yoongi takes a seat at the kitchen counter and sneaks a peek behind Mei to see what she’s making.

“You’re just in time,” she says when she turns around.

Mei places a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast in front of Yoongi, then takes her plate when she goes to sit next to him.

“Oh my god,” Yoongi suddenly exclaims. “Tangerines!”

She had arranged slices on one side of his plate, knowing that he’s a huge fan of tangerines. It’d been a bit of an extra expense for her to go all out on buying breakfast items, but she wanted to do anything to make him feel better.

And she succeeded.

The smile on his face as soon as he sees tangerines can’t be compared to anything else.

Mei and Yoongi spend the rest of the day cleaning up inside the small place.

From fixing the broken frame on the door to decorating window sills with plants, they have a great time slipping kisses on each other’s necks whenever they pass by.

Sometimes Yoongi swipes his hand under Mei’s shirt and slides it across her lower back and he walks by and she freezes and it takes a second for her heart rate to go back down.

And when they’re cuddling on the couch later that night, Mei with eyes closed listening to Yoongi’s heart and Yoongi rubbing gentle circles on her arm, it’s peaceful and relaxing.

She opens her eyes and looks up at him, and he’s staring blankly at the ceiling lost in his own thoughts.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?”

He sighs, and it takes a moment for him to respond. “This. Us.”

“Us?” Mei furrows her brows. “What does that mean?”

Yoongi notices the confusion and panic in her face and immediately raises up. “I mean- not like that-“

She breathes a sigh of relief.

“I just meant that we finally did it, y’know? We finally moved out of our shitty homes and got our own place together.”

“Mmhm.”

She smiles and gives Yoongi a peck, which turns into a real kiss, which turns into her licking into his mouth hungrily and being horizontal on the couch.

“God,” she gasps, her hands slipping under his shirt and onto his abdomen. “Mm. I love you.”

“Mei-“

She starts a slow grind on his thigh and throws her head back, Yoongi’s shorts ride up as she does so. “Fuck. Yeah.”

Yoongi silently moans, shifting under her. “Mei please-“

Mei’s so involved that she barely even hears Yoongi’s sniffles and quiet sobs. She slows a little more just to figure out if she hears what she thinks she does.

And she does.

So she stops, looks at him with worry written all over her face. “Baby?”

Yoongi’s all red-faced, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Hey…” Mei gets off from straddling him immediately. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

“I-I just- I don’t know,” he stutters. “I just ruined it. I ruin everything- god, what’s wrong with me?”

“S’okay,” she whispers. “You didn’t ruin anything. Nothing’s wrong with you.”

“I’m- I’m not good enough for you, Mei.”

She tilts her head and strokes his cheeks gently, wiping away his tears. “Wait, what?”

“I-I’m not good enough for you. Like- it’s just- you’re so fucking pretty and so experienced and cute and I just-“

“You’re intimidated by me?”

He nods. “Sometimes.”

“There’s no reason to be intimidated by me.”

He sighs. “It’s not just that. I just feel kinda… small, I guess, every time we’re together and it sucks.”

“I’m sorry-“

“That’s not because of you,” he pushes back. “I mean you take charge most of the time but sometimes…”

“I get it.”

“That’s why I always try to take charge, y’know? Like, why I always like to lead.”

“Well,” she says, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers. “I want you to also know that being small can be a good thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean, I love being with you because I love that you’re so tiny and cute and you’re always blushing and shit.”

Yoongi turns a shade of red. “I do that?”

“Yes.” She giggles. “It’s cute, babe. You’re cute.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm. But I hear you and you can take the reins whenever you want. How’s that?”

He smiles. “Sounds good.”

⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚

The first month in their new home goes by quickly.

Mei found a job as a teacher at the local elementary school and Yoongi took up the cashier position at the bookstore in town.

(He’s able to read Murakami books when traffic is slow and regularly walks to the cafe next door to get himself an iced Americano whenever the hell he wants, so this job works.)

All in all, life is pretty good for the two.

Save for the drinking that had become a problem a couple months before Mei and Yoongi moved in.

So now Yoongi comes home from work, grabs a beer from the fridge (they can now afford something other than beer cans), and plops himself down on the couch to watch some shitty evening television.

Mei comes home at a decent hour, cooks dinner for the two, then they cuddle and kiss sleepily until they go to sleep while Yoongi has a second beer.

It’s their routine now.

“Mornin’ babe,” Yoongi half-whispers early one morning.

They kiss sleepily and Yoongi groans as he gets up to get ready for the day. Mei watches from the bed as he slips on his clothes and fixes his hair, which isn’t really fixed because it’s still falling in his face but Yoongi doesn’t care.

Mei also has to be up in no more than ten minutes or else she’ll be late, but she loves to watch Yoongi get ready first thing in the morning.

“Hey,” she croaks out. “Dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” he replies from the bathroom. “Why not?”

“I just meant like- are we gonna have the real date tonight? The one we planned ages ago?”

He pauses. “You finally wanna do that?”

“I think we’ve waited long enough, babe.”

Yoongi comes out of the bathroom and sits on the edge of the bed to put on his Converse. “Then yeah. I’d love to.”

“Good. I’ll see you tonight then.”

“I love you.” He pecks her and heads out.

The day goes on like normal, where Mei reviews phonics with her class and Yoongi argues with a customer about a book they have on order that isn’t in the bookstore yet.

So when they finally meet at home, let’s just say they’re refreshed to see each other so much that they’re all over each other.

But then, Yoongi is the one to get a grip and pull away so that they can start getting ready for their night out.

He and Mei walk to the fanciest restaurant in town, which happens to be a popular Vietnamese restaurant. Pho is actually what they decide to have after perusing the menu for twenty minutes, completely indecisive.

It’s simple, but for Mei and Yoongi after all they’ve been through, pho at a small restaurant in a small town at eight at night is like luxury.

It had been quite a rough month, with maintaining a tight budget being in their early twenties with no college degrees. But they’re glad to be together rubbing ankles under the table and laughing at the smallest jokes, just like the first date they ever went on a few years ago.

But for some reason, it’s still a surprise when Yoongi pulls out a ring he had pawned at the end of dinner.

“Holy shit,” Mei exclaims. “What-”

“Will you marry me?”

“I- Wh-where did you get that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yoongi says, beaming. “Will you marry me?”

The stone is smaller than a normal engagement band would be, but then again, a normal engagement band is probably five times the cost of this ring.

“You’ve gotta explain this to me first.”

He rolls his eyes and laughs. “Mei, please. You know you’re the love of my life and I really don’t know where the hell I’d be without you.”

She nods, hanging on every single word that comes out of his mouth.

“I knew from the moment we started planning our move that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. And I panicked at first, but now, I realize it’s a unique feeling. A good one.”

“God…”

He sighs nervously. “So please, Mei, will you marry me? I wanna spend the rest of our lives together.”

“Yes.” She smiles and tears well up in her eyes. “Of course I will.”

⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚⁎⁺˳✧༚

E p i l o g u e

“Mei- Mei, what the fuck is this?

Yoongi’s staring at the corner of the room where the couch used to be. Used to be.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?”

See, he had just come home from work and was about to plop himself down on the couch when he realized-

Well. There is no couch.

So now he’s on the phone with Mei freaking out and trying to figure out what the hell happened to their couch.

But then she comes through the door of the cottage grunting. “Can you please help me?”

“What?”

“Just come here.”

And when Yoongi rushes outside to see what’s going on, Mei is pushing a huge box through the door.

“What the-”

She throws her hands up. “This was supposed to be a surprise, but like, fuck it.”

The drawing on the box is of-

“A keyboard,” Yoongi gasps. “Holy shit, you got me a new keyboard?”

“I know I promised it’d be an actual piano a while back but-“

“God,” he says, his voice breaking. “This is seriously the best thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“I knew you’d love it.”

He kisses her intensely but gently and his arms come up around her waist and pull her into a hug. “Thank you, Mei, so much. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[hannagoldworthy]

So. This got photographed, because I finally blocked the IP address (bye Felicia) but I can’t stop laughing at how little this “anon” has bothered to disguise her writing style. Oh, this asker uses the word Kenobist like it’s a clever insult and writes like Sheev Palpatine having a quick fap over his own perceived superiority between meetings, just WhO cOulD iT bE?

(Golly gee whiz, Domina, that “block” didn’t last very long. I’d bet my left buttcheek you don’t know where the block button is, just as you don’t know how to work the tag or content filters.)

But thanks for confirming that you’ve never darkened the doorstep of any university with a decent engineering department, if any university at all. Nor have you ever spoken with an engineer, because if you had, you’d realize that a decent majority of engineers have Big Himbo Energy. The engineering fraternity house at my college looked like the house in Flubber before the dean made them take their little machines down. I briefly dated an engineering student with a 4.1 Honors GPA who bought a shitbox car and souped it up to drive in drag races on weekends; I broke up with him after the first date because he drove the car up to my parents’ house and showed it off to my entire family while it was literally smoking and leaking oil on their driveway. A meteorologist - basically a weather engineer - who worked with my father once ran out, bare-headed, into a storm of golfball-sized hail because, and I quote him verbatim, “HOT DAMN I WAS RIGHT, LEMME GET A SAMPLE!”

And…you’re saying that’s NOT Anakin Skywalker? “Modified the Twilight until it was practically unflyable for anyone but him” Anakin? “Ran face first into a lightning attack because he didn’t think his strategy through” Anakin? “Did not realize his wife was pregnant after regularly SpaceTiming her for months, lifting her up and twirling her, AND full-body hugging her” Anakin? “Had a prophetic dream where Padme was still having labor pains after giving birth to one baby and interpreted that to mean she was dying and not GIVING BIRTH TO THE OTHER TWIN” Anakin? THAT Anakin, from the high canon Lucas movies, which you have most definitely watched front to back?

You underestimate the power of your own blorbo, Domina. Anakin Skywalker can be both a mentally unstable himbo AND an engineering prodigy, and in fact, HE IS. And I would think that his number-one stan would be the first to point out that those two very different facets of his personality lend depth to his character. But, then again, I am talking to the idiot who drags Obi-Wan Kenobi into every conversation, even in other fandoms, and then accuses everyone ELSE of being obsessed, so I suppose I should not expect that very basic level of perception from you.

Oh, and also? Thanks for that extra boost of motivation! Now my plans to get my computer fixed have been moved up, because I intend to write even MORE Himbokin Skywalker, just to spite you! Mission Failed Successfully, HUZZAH!

[kisha-myers]

Fem!reader - Ghost x König x reader fanfiction titled 'My Anxious Mouse'

Disclaimer: I do NOT own call of duty nor its characters/operators - I only own the plot.

If you want to be on the tag list for this series PLEASE comment on either chapter 1 or chapter 4 and let me know!

TW: DEPICTIONS OF TRAFFICKING, BLOOD AND GORE, VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!

Chapter Six: Nightmare from Hell

Warmth, that's what you felt against your bare skin as you awoke. The sun beamed down on you, it's rays of light coaxing your skin to deepen in coloration slightly. You sat up slowly, head foggy as you tried to remember where you were - this wasn't the military base you'd passed out in. You were nestled under a swaying date palm tree, the sweltering heat curved slightly from the miniscule shade it provided you. There was no wind to aid in cooling you down, you noted, climbing to your feet and wincing at the biting burn of the sand against your skin. You never liked the feeling of it, the way the little granules settle themselves into every available orifice of your body - bothered you immensely. It reminded you of the time you had to help you mom make churros, the cinnamon sugar mixture coating your little fingers, grating against your skin causing it to redden slightly from irritation. You wished you had shoes, even socks, to protect your feet from not only the blistering heat the sand absorbed, but from its grating texture.

Your right hand fanned your face as your eyes scanned your surroundings, sweat already coating your skin, the small droplets slithering down your back causing your shirt to stick uncomfortably. A few scattered date palms stood tall over ruined houses, smoke still rising in the distance from a few of them. Rapid pops in the distance off to the right captured your attention, the resounding reverberating booms that followed shook the ground, making your already precarious knees even weaker. Iraq, your mind realized, you were left to your own devices in Iraq - a hostile territory for Americans, even more so for women such as yourself. Your eyes watered as you frantically searched your memory for anything that would explain why you were here of all places, hands shaking tremendously as you came up blank for an answer.

A joke you had hoped, but quickly that notion was washed away as shouts in arabic filtered into your consciousness. Hide, that little voice in your mind screamed at you, demanding you remove the dark colored sweater and abandon the offending material somewhere amongst the sand before the terrorists could see you. You fought with yourself for only a moment, coming to the conclusion that it would be smarter to remove the material but keep it with you as you knew the nights here in the desert dropped in temperature rather quickly. You could also use it as a shield for your eyes during sandstorm should that ever happen to you - you hoped it didn't, but you weren't stupid by any means.

You removed Königs sweater quickly, wadding it up into a ball and tucking it under your arm like a quarterback does with a football, and took off towards the first set of ruined homes located to your left. Running in sand, you realized, was about as easy as walking a straight line for the police whilst heavily intoxicated. Your feet burned viciously, it was as if you were scrambling through smoldering coals - they slipped more often then not, causing you to stumble with damn near every step. Your tears fell freely now, cascading down your flushed sun kissed skin with ease as panic nestled its wicked claws inside your chest. The shouting was getting louder, the cracking of rifles firing off shot after shot and sub machine guns popping off overwhelming your ears. Sweat dripped off your nose as you slipped again, your hands instinctively thrusting forwards to catch yourself as your knees buckled and crashed against the blazing sand. A sob ripped from your chest, the little voice inside your head roaring in agonized screams, demanding you get up and continue forwards - now was most certainly not the time to feel pity for yourself and these rather unfortunate circumstances. Your muscles tensed as you pushed yourself onto unsteady legs, eyes bleary from the never ending torrent of tears that practically drowned you. Your teeth bit mercilessly into your inner cheek, jaw clenching tightly to keep the sobs that wrecked through your chest silenced lest the enemy find you. Blood pooled in your mouth, making your stomach heave, rejecting the iron infused viscous liquid as soon as you choked it down. Your jaw popped audibly as you gagged, fighting to keep down the bile that coated the back of your throat.

Your feet thankfully carried you inside the ruined remnants of what looked to be a family home, eyes constantly swiveling in search for the ultimate hiding spot where you could remain undetected and protected. The roof was practically blown all the way off, ash and soot covering the floor as stone and pieces of debris sliced into the bottoms of your feet. The pain wasn't registered by your conscious, your brain fully in survival mode pushing your pain receptors to remain off until you were out of immediate danger. You stumbled through what you'd declare the living room, body buzzing on pure adrenaline as you searched the rubble for anything useful. You were an ignorant American for the most part, having been taught at a young age that middle easterners were savages, it was inaccurate now that you were older.

Bloodied footprints followed you wherever you went mixing in with the ash that covered the ground - in the far recess of your mind you knew you would have to tend to your wounds soon to keep away an infection, but that wasn't a priority at this moment. Just as your trembling hands were about to lift up a splintered beam, jumbled shouting reached your ears just outside of where you were currently. Your eyes widened in fear and trepidation, mind scrounging up the most ghastly of images to play out in your mind of victims you'd seen - all their faces however, replaced with yours instead. Your mind screamed once more, declaring that if you didn't leave now, they'd find you and most certainly would carve your flesh like a turkey on Thanksgiving day.

With deft fingers you tied the overly large sweater around your waist securely, tucking the ends into your shorts and grimacing at the uncomfortably coarser texture against your sensitive flesh. Once finished, you turned and ran with all your might towards the other end of the home, leaping over fallen walls and dodging low hanging pieces of the ceiling. You scrambled faster, scurrying like a rabbit, zigzagging your way about the destroyed home looking for a safe exit. Step after excruciating step you went, your chest heaving from the exertion, heart pounding so hard you were afraid it would simply give out. You were their prey, a small mouse being lured into a trap by the ferocious feline, ready to be feasted upon in the worst of ways. You'd never felt such intense fear before, if you had had a full bladder, you were sure you'd have urinated on yourself by now.

More shouting behind you kicked your body into overdrive, eyes locking onto a demolished glass surrounded window off in the room to your right. You couldn't hesitate, 'hesitation gets you killed', you father had drilled into you over and over again, 'observe, think, react - survive at all costs' his gravely voice reminded you. You did just that, running with everything you had and practically throwing yourself out of the window. Pain lacerated it's way through your right shoulder as you landed hard onto the shards of broken glass on the other side, an anguished yelp released itself from your lips as you forced yourself up. Blood glided down your arm, thick crimson drops bathing the beige silica sand with their vibrancy. You couldn't stay there, you were still being hunted - running was your only option left and you knew, just from Dantes letters alone that if there were scouts on foot, there would be snipers in the ridges watching everything.

Perhaps that was how they knew where you were, watching your every move and waiting to close in on you. You were a small female, ripe for the taking - perfect to clean up and sell to the highest bidder or simply be used and abused by the men that would ultimately capture you. Your fate, you surmised, was already sealed though your tiny voice inside refused to accept that. It coaxed you onward, taking control over your wayward limbs and pushing you onward. Shots rang out, and this time you didn't remain silent. A scream filed with so much terror ripped through your chest, stealing the breath within your lungs as you went. One after another tumbled consecutively, until a body slammed into you from behind.

You felt time slow down significantly, almost as if someone had changed the setting on the television to slow motion. You felt thick arms wrap around your waist, lifting you up and turning you so whomever was behind you could take the brunt of the impact against the sand. You felt rather than heard the grunt your attack released as they landed, your limbs flailing about as you struggled to free yourself from their grasp. Hands reached out to restrain you, a heavily accented though familiar voice shouting over your agonized screams, trying desperately to gather your attention.

It wasn't until cold water doused your raging inferno of panic that you finally came to, eyes shooting open as you flew forwards sputter and choking on the offending liquid. Your eyelids blinked rapidly, the blurriness slowly fading as you took in your surroundings. Johnny knelt beside you on the bed, his arms securely around your trembling form, eyes a swirling mess of worry and panic. König stood at the foot of the bed, his hands clenched tightly into fists by his sides as his muscles tensed visibly. Ghost stood just behind Johnny, an empty glass in his hand as he gave you a quick once over. Your chest heaved rapidly, your mind trying to calm the frantic erratic beating of your heart as you chanted 'I'm safe' just under your breath.

"Aye lass, y'alright now, I've gotcha. I'not goin' nowhere." Johnny's calmed Scottish brogue filtered into your right ear. You leaned into his warmth, unaware of how viciously you were shivering.

"J-just a b-bad d-dre-dre-am." You stuttered out with a sniffle, your hands desperately rubbing against the thin military issued blanket that lay crumbled in your lap, "I-i w-as th-the-re J-joh-johnny, i-i-i-in ir-raq." You cried, turning to look up at him, "I wa-was a-al-all alo-lone, and the-they fou-ound m-me." You sobbed, burrowing your face into his chest and wrapping your arms around his thick waist. Ghost and König shared a look, opting to go wait outside the door to allow you two to have some privacy.

The Scot rubbed soothing circles into your back, whispering comforting words into your ear until you were calm. His cologne, you noted, was different. Notes of pine and spearmint filling your nostrils as you inhaled deeply, undertones of the earth just after it rains and freshly cut spruce helped ease your discomfort.

You weren't okay by any means, but at least nestled within Johnny's arms you knew you were safe... and in a moment like this, that's all you could ask for.

Author's Note: I'm so sorry it's so short! It's late and I'm exhausted and wanted some angst - I promise to do better with tomorrow's chapter! I hope you'll comment your thoughts, constructive criticism is very much welcomed and appreciated!

Tag List:

@lianyanhongcheng

@treehuggingzealot

@kdkj122920

@grizzersmamma

@ofmenanduhhhwellmen

@lovefallingtopieces

@scaredknight

[voxofthevoid]

Hi! I've been a long time reader of your works and we have like 3 fandoms in common (jjk, yuri on ice, mcu) which is the Dream for an average fic reader like me. Thank you for putting all these out to see. I love the way you write, it really pulls me in no matter the genre. Your mind is amazing.

On to the questions:

1.I kind of want to start writing myself, do you any advice for a beginner?

2.On average, for how long are you into fandoms? How much time does it take for the brainrot to take root in your mind?

3.What kind of media do you usually enjoy?

I hope I didn't bother you. Please stay healthy and safe!

That's delightful on my end too! Love seeing cross-fandom readers. And thanks so much ❤️

1. The advice I have is mostly social and technical. In terms of the writing itself, all the reading you do is likely to give you an idea of what you want to write and how to go about it, and practice will refine the process.

Given the fandoms you've listed, you're likely already familiar with how rancid fandom spaces can get. This depends on your disposition, but being braced to deal with shitheads is important, whether that comes in the form of puriteens or entitled assholes without a brain-to-fingers filter. This is mostly a case of "do as I say, not as I do" because *gestures* you know what my online presence is like, but I'd recommend the following:

(a) Make an account just for writing that's entirely divorced from any and all IRL information or even previous fandom shenanigans. It reduces chances of people digging through your history and other such demented things.

(b) Block liberally and, failing that, be enough of a dick that people will think twice about picking a fight—the more accommodating you are, the more these fuckers will act like sharks scenting blood. There's a reason I stopped accepting tag requests, slapped CNTW on everything, and generally adopted a "my way or the highway" stance toward everything I post. The alternative isn't worth it. YMMV, of course.

(c) Write whatever you want however you want, and don't show an ounce of shame or guilt. Even if you feel it, don't show it. Fake it till you make it. Like above, it's safer than the alternative.

The technical advice is to get a copy of the Chicago Manual of Style; there's an online version, a paper version, and also good old pirating. It may look intimidating, but it's got a beautifully indexed list of damn near every grammar and punctuation element (and a lot of other stuff). I started using it for work, and while I'm way more lax with my own writing than I am with editing, the CMOS still did wonders for my general understanding of the technical side of creative writing.

2. It varies based on a bunch of factors, but my usual pattern is to spend several months just reading while the obsession grows stronger and stronger, to the point I start getting ideas. And we know what happens when I get ideas 🤣. I generally don't stay in a fandom for more than a year. But there are exceptions! I was in the MCU for some three years. I started writing for JJK less than a month after watching it (though this is mostly because I couldn't find much to read—not because fics were low in number but because I was and am extremely picky), and I'm rapidly approaching my 1.5-year mark.

3. A mix of things, but so far, fantasy is the most common theme across various media. I enjoy most subgenres of it too.

And absolutely no bother! I had fun answering, though I may have gone overboard with #1. I feel a little protective of new writers these days because I keep seeing so much vile shit happening online.

[000marie198]

Sickens me that people will just filter out specific tags and posts when we stop using trigger warnings for mentions and then just get confused why we're so upset like they didn't know a damn thing

Like actually fuck you and your mental health if you can't even be bothered to know what's been happening and are still stuck inside an opaque dome of ignorance and propaganda your imperialist nation has been keeping you in since forever

[greypetrel]

WIP (almost!) Wednesday

Tagged by @salsedinepicta, thank you so much! I have little this week that I can show, but I wrote something. I'm replaying Origins, have some grumpy Alyra needing to vent up some feelings.

Lest she plays matchmaker with another couple of idiots and people start thinking she actually has a heart. Puah.

Tagging: @ndostairlyrium @shivunin @pinayelf @dungeons-and-dragon-age @herearedragons and YOU!

Three is Company

She cared not if the forest was haunted.

She could haunt it herself, at this point.

They made it, past Redcliffe, the Circle of Magi and Redcliffe again, to the Brecilian forest, and found the clan. If Alyra had hoped for a quick detour and having to find an excuse to stay there longer than necessary, she was wrong.

Damn Duncan never told her, amidst the zillion of things he forgot to mention, that being a Grey Warden was apparently an invitation for everyone else and their grandma to ask for favours and impossible missions.

Sure, they’re dying horribly and pointlessly anyway, why not asking them to solve that impossible situation too, since they’re already here?

She didn’t like Zathrian, there was something sketchy about him, and she didn’t believe he stumbled upon immortality just like that, or that he needed a band of other people to solve the situation. He was a mage with decades and centuries of expertise, and he needed a young hunter and her band of foreigners to fend the werewolves off? And not only to buy time for the clan to escape, no.

To solve the problem to the root, which was something he couldn’t do.

Alyra smelled the trap, but she had little choice if she wanted their help. And she not only wanted the help, she needed it. If her dreams were true, she would have needed up to the last man.

Furthermore, if she agreed to look for the blasted ashes of a dead goddess for an arlessa so idiotic she failed to see how she could retain the title, she may as well help her own people.

Returning to the woods at least felt good. Like a balm on old wounds, that calmed the pain and relaxed the muscles.

She stepped forward, closing her eyes and breathing deep the early morning air, fresh and chilly from the night still, in spite of the Spring. Dew and grass under her bare feet felt heavenly, after months keeping her limbs closed in boots. She got used to them, but she cherished the chance of discarding them again, of the cleanliness of the underwood under her toes.

With all the tales of curses and nasty creatures, it looked like any other woods. Thicker in points, the trees were taller and gnarled, signalling that it was an old growth. But the birds sang the same way, there was the usual scurrying sounds of small animals sniffing her and taking cover, the sun filtered the same way through branches and leaves. If the weather kept up, she considered, finding Witherfang shouldn’t require them much time, at the very least.

For once, she wasn’t all that happy about it.

Because there, alone in hunted woods, daggers on her back, a small quiver hanging on her thigh and a hunting bow in her hand, she felt like herself for the first time since she set her foot in those damn ruins.

There, she was on her own. No responsibilities she never signed up for. No strange cults based on drinking zombie blood (“It’s not a cult.” They kept repeating her, but the more she knew the less she believed it, and she didn’t believe it much to begin with). No schedule, no impossible missions nobody could pull through. Not having to be palatable for humans while having to keep them alive. No Andraste and no ashes and no archdemons.

Just her, the woods and todays’ breakfast still to catch.

And if some werewolf came to bother her, all the better. It would have been her and the woods forever, as she had wanted from the start.

She could do a good job in haunting this forest.

But, for now that she still had a physical body to keep strong: breakfast.

Mahariel took a deep breath, fixing her grip on the bow and slipping an arrow out of the quiver. It’s been months since she had consistently practice it, but she still remember the basics. And she had time to scrape the rust off. She was there exactly for that purpose.

Scrape some rust off, collect her thoughts, feel like she’s back in control of her life, and vent out frustration about Morrigan. If she was gonna die, she wasn’t gonna die without taking advantage of attraction, and the witch understood her views in a way few before had done.

A pity that she either was very oblivious, or much, much more naïve than she let on. All the times Alyra had tried to make a move, made her interest clear, her golden eyes had darted to the side, she had stepped back and changed the topic, in a clear no. From the blushing on the witch’s cheeks, the elf knew it wasn’t a lost cause but…

… But, she wanted to shoot at something to vent out.

Between her and Alistair, she needed to get back on track.

She couldn’t allow the both of them to distract her any more.

And bring her to play matchmaker between two teens that thought that it was either marriage or nothing at all, and never knew of a good screw just outside camp. That hadn’t been her, that had been… Someone she was becoming and she was not, mollified by pent up frustration and wishful thinking.

Despicable.

She needed to shoot at something enough to get back on track, that was it.

That was what she would have done.

So, she stepped forward with more care, testing the ground with her toes and bending her knees, as silent as she could. Stepping close to bushes, feeling the direction of the wind and finding game that couldn’t smell her before she saw them.

It’s been months since she seriously went hunting again, and doing it on her own was weird, not something she was used to. The pang of guilt and missing she felt in those first week tho, was slowly receding. And she welcomed the change, as bitter as it was.

Tamlen was dead.

Tamlen was dead, because if he was not, her options were few and each of them jeopardized the mission in a different way.

And she didn’t get involved with the fucking Circle of Magi and lost this much time for nothing, at this point.

Breakfast.

She needed to think about breakfast.

[f1-birb]

and let the hate comments commence.

sometimes i really do question why i follow this sport.

like lando fucking up doesn't even bother me because it's a sport where they're pushing and driving on the edge and every millimeter and every hundredth of a second counts like shit happens

but idk having to read all the shit takes because people don't tag their hate (yes, even from people i follow because they're supposedly mclaren/lando fans) about what a shit teammate he is or he'll be whining for team orders or he chokes or he can't handle pressure or all the first/second driver bullshit (which isn't how mclaren operates. even in his struggles, when daniel had more pace due to his driving or strategy, he was given preferred strategies too).

like damn i could get it if piastri was on pole and lando was like p10 or some shit, but they got a front row lockout, amazing for the team, and half the comments are shitting on lando instead of celebrating that. or frankly even giving oscar any credit for his accomplishments. and oscar himself deserves more recognition than his accomplishments and good results being chalked up to a "let's harass lando" instead of "let's congratulate oscar". it gets old and tiring.

Idk maybe i just need to restart my socials and never check tags or comments and just heavily regulate who I follow to get enjoyment out of the sport again. like this result is amazing and ordinarily I would be enjoying it but it's turned into a monza '21 "how can we use this great team result to attack lando" type thing instead of celebrating frankly both drivers doing great even if lando did mess up his last lap

very little to add here

at the end of the day, every driver is allowed an off weekend, and for someone like Lando who, if you look back across the season:

has made very few mistakes

rarely has a bad qualifying (when the car's been able to perform, we don't talk about the start of the season)

always maximises the car on a Sunday

above all that, takes a huge amount of accountability for his fuck ups

if this is now what an off weekend looks like? I can't be that mad about it

(I never look at twitter, I don't look at the comments on insta, and I'm very fussy about who I follow or block and what tags I filter on here - that's my only advice I can actually offer)