#flea hyperfixates

[fleeaaguutz]

yall i got a guitar and of courae a gay already knew how to find the d-

no but actually upon obtaining a guitar ive found:

- im so short i need the strap i got as short as it can go

-fingers ouchy

-ukulele war flashbacks

-i love and miss finger picking so much

-whats my age again by blink 182 is really fun to learn so far ouuughh

If u have tips feel free to dm me i have never touched a guitar before yesterday and its not as intimidating as i thought it would be to play i was always too scared to try because the instrument always belonged to someone else and i guess if its me fkn my own shit up im totally comfy w dat

[thedeadthree]

-`. 𝖚𝖗𝖑 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊 ❦

-ˋˏ .·:·. ⊱ indorilnerevarine ➵ THEDEADTHREE ⊰ .·:·. -ˋˏ

-`. baldur’s gate has my psyche and soul at the moment so in honor of that and the dearest (un)holy trinity i thought it would be cute to do a change as it’s been a bit!

-`. 𝖒𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖆𝖑𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘! ❦

[mako-ink]

Went to an art event at my college yesterday and an irl mutual of mine pointed to me and then their friend and went “oh yeah the only other dislyte player” or something like that and I felt like I got flashbanged sniped gut punched and just stared at my other friend for a moment. How embarrassing to say ur fav esper is Leon in PUBLIC……… I can’t be liking things irl they’ll fuckinf get me

[gummybugg]

The more I Write about [William] Blake (the poet) in my essay, the more my brain confuses it with Blair (my oc) and I get hung up for a moment like "Wow, imagine if Blair were a poet?"

And I get Sidetracked writing a scene about it in the tags...

[fipindustries]

yet another thing i really like about dungeon meshi:

a lot of ink has been spilled on this idea that "people dont have autism/ADHD the problem is actually capitalism". usually paired with the notion that in agrarian societies being neurodiverget was actually super useful and that neurodivergent people would have been content with menial tasks like sorting berries or watcing over cattle, instead of the modern fallen state in which we find ourselves where we have to go to 9 to 5 jobs and sit in boring offices all day or whatever.

i wont rehash all the reasons this is clearly nonesense, instead what i will do is point out how brilliant ryoko kui was, yet again, for finding the way of eating her cake and keeping it too. dungeon meshi is clearly this power fantasy consisting of "what if your hyperfixation was actually extremely useful and was the thing that allowed you to thrive in this niche field". so in this case laios autism actually works almost as a superpower for him.

but then every single detail we come to learn about his past shows us how incredibly maladapted he was to the life he was born in. he couldnt meet his parent's expectations or those of his town, he couldnt fit in the army as a soldier, living on his own at a caravan he was malnourished, dirty, dressed in tatters and covered in fleas. and even after he manages to establish himself as an adventurer he gets constantly taken advantage by other people.

a lot of the reason why he is thriving in the story is because he is a) in the very specific niche of circumstances where his peculiarities actually are incredibly useful, in a dungeon filled with monsters where he doesnt have to deal with other people and b) surrounded by people who are either just as weird as he is or care about him deeply (or are consumate professionals like chilchuck)

[paradlselost]

. ⋮ ULTRAVIOLENCE .ᐟ ֹ

doctor phosphorus x female reader

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ fun fact i’ve wanted to eat uranium for a long time so he is the worlds most perfect man to me . also sorry for not writing anything in so long , i’ve been busy and jumping from hyperfixation to hyperfixation for a while now as you can see by my unfinished mouthwashing fanfics . but i watched the show last night and he is my favorite and there’s almost nothing about him so i had to . enjoy !

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ monster ! reader , mentions of body dysmorphia and imposter syndrome / depersonalization , religious trauma + blasphemy ( cause i can’t help myself ) specifically in catholicism , catholic rituals , depictions of eating raw meat , depictions of wounds , hurt / comfort , depictions of cannibalism , described body horror . smut : fire / burning kink , dry humping , fingering , male moans ( yay ! ) .

3 . 1 k words ++ not beta read .

PART TWO OUT NOW : CINNAMON GIRL

Eyes flutter closed, allowing darkness to wash over you. Soft sounds of birds chirping fill the room around you, drowning out the constant humming of the chip in the back of your neck. You’re hyper aware of everything, the fabric of the blanket that covers you and the cold air that stings your nose as you breath in; chest rising and falling in rhythm.

You remember how reluctant the guards that watched over you were to allow you the sounds you so desperately needed to sleep, not believing your pleas to quiet your constantly racing mind. Nearly a week without rest made them understand rather quickly, when, despite the power dampener locked around your neck, talons began to grow out of your hands and your spine contorted with the growing of fleshy wings.

It seems you’ve been blessed, something has gone right for once in your life as you’re now able to change the sounds to whatever you wish instead of the constant rushing of waves. Secretly, you’re happy to have been put on this mission. Grateful, even, as much as you could be to a monster like Waller. Perhaps you could even forgive her for the electrocution you’d been put through.

Weasel kips at the foot of your bed, stuck to your side since the day you had snapped at him: barred your fangs and shoved him away from you. Something about the beast had been so pathetic that you ended up apologizing and giving a hesitant scratch to the back of his ears. He’s good company, loyal if not a bit of a flea concern, and he listens when you speak to him unlike many of the others in the special containment of Belle Reave.

Nina was kind, as well, perhaps a bit out of her element, though. You’d once tried to make small talk with GI but that ended as quickly as it had started with his sudden interrogation on if you were a Nazi. And god, you wouldn’t dare bring anything up to the others.

Crickets chirped through the headphones you had been allowed to wear, owls hooting and birds calling. A forest at night, a beautiful scene you were sure you wouldn’t be able to see freely again, but you do not indulge in those negative thoughts. You can already feel it looming over you, exhaustion and stress mingling to bring it out. The thing that stirrs inside you, monstrous and ugly. Its hungry, and you know better than to ignore that hunger lest the Weasel that kips at the foot of your bed be more than a scrap of fur.

So, you stirr. Sitting up in the bed you remove your headphones and push the blanket from your form quietly as to not disturb him. He’s almost cute when he sleeps, like a crusty old dog that resembles more of a tattered blanket than a pet. Regardless, you close the door quietly behind you and walk down the long winding hallways of the palace. Truthfully, you had never been anywhere quite as lavish, never had a king sized bed all to yourself or a private bathroom. Its almost too big, especially at night when the shadows dance up the walls and cast an ominous glare over just about everything.

You know better than to gaze at your shadow as you pass the large walls with royal family portraits. Unworthy, unrighteous, evil. The rosary marks still pierce your skin, forced to pray this thing away day and night till your palms and knees bled. You’ve grown resentful towards the being that shares your body. It makes demands of you, to feast, a single slip can give way and allow it to control you. Some kind of devil, the reason you’re here in the first place.

Your mouth had begun to hurt in your search for the kitchen, gums beginning to bleed and pool against the base of your tongue.. You’d have thought you’d be used to this by now, that your world wouldn’t continue to be turned upside down, that the Lord’s Prayer wouldn’t recite involuntarily in your mind as it all starts over again. You stumble over your own two feet, finding yourself silently wishing you had that power dampener around your neck once again. Your stomach rumbles more.

It feels like an eternity till you finally find the kitchen, thankful that all the servants had retired for the night so you can spit your mouthful of blood into the sink. Crimson stains the marble, dripping from your chin as you turn on the faucet to wash your mouth of the taste. Your fangs had grown in now, taking space in front of your canines and piercing uncomfortably against your bottom lip whenever you close your mouth. Hunger gnaws at your stomach as if beginning to consume the lining itself.

You throw open the fridge door with little care of the noise it makes as it slams into the counter beside it. Eyes scour for something, anything, till you land on a large, raw goose marinating for tomorrow nights feast. Shaky hands reach out to grab it, allowing the glass tray it sits in to fall to the ground and shatter. The shards prick at your bare feet, cutting and marring your skin with more blood, though you don’t seem to notice.

Fangs sink into the bird, soft flesh breaking at the intrusion. The taste is almost euphoric, never had you tasted a meat so rich and fatty; your body had gotten far too used to the awful prison food they served in containment. You rip out a large chunk; tendons harshly snapping from the body as you swallow nearly without chewing. Your eyes gloss over as you devour the bird, reaching in to grab at the sausage links that had also been waiting to be cooked the next day.

You hadn’t realized how much you had truly lost yourself till a harsh green glow halted your feast. Head whipping around to greet the skeletal face of Phosphorus, a hiss falling from your lips that still wrapped around a chunk of meat like a food insecure cat. He was your least favorite of all, acting as if he knew everything simply because he had been a doctor before his incident. Not like it mattered in Belle Reave, and certainly not in the monster sector they were kept in.

“Woah. Calm down, I’m not takin’ that from you.” A huff came from him, head tilted to the side as he watched you, almost intrigued with the way you acted. He simply stepped past you, walking over to the sink and simply staring down at the blood that had graced the basin. “This yours?”

The link fell from your mouth, rolling into the shards of glass and crimson as the fangs retracted back into your gums, eyes returning to normal. All you could do was stare at him, as if he had asked the most stupid question in the world. Smartest man in the room your ass.

“Who else’s would it be?”

“Don’t know, thats why I’m asking. Flag and I got into a fight earlier and I totally won, so I’m just wondering.”

“Oh.”

He leans back against the countertop, facing you now, the sleeves of his hoodie protecting him from burning through the granite. Part of him had always intrigued you, in a way, everyone but Weasel had a signature outfit; but him? A hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. It was almost comical how simple he was, though you supposed there wasnt much he could keep. A step towards him, wincing at the sudden realization of what you had done.

His gaze followed yours, looking down to the glass and blood that gushed from your feet and ankles. The light from the fridge and his green glow illuminated the space between you two, dancing off the shards on the floor. Your mouth was covered as well, sloppily wiped onto your cheeks as you had feasted. God, you looked a mess, but the pain distracted you from that fact. Biting your bottom lip to muffle a pathetic whimper of pain.

“Cmon don’t cry, what’s a little glass among friends?”

“I am not crying.”

If he had eyes to roll no doubt he would’ve. Stepping over to you and hooking an arm around your shoulder to help you stand without any warning. Your first instinct is to fight him off, to tell him no and shout at him, but you don’t. Instead, you lean into the touch and allow him to help you hobble up the stairs to, what you originally assume to be your room, but soon discover he’s guiding you into his, and then, into his bathroom.

Theres something almost intimate about the way he grabs your hips to help you onto the counter so he can patch you up. You hadn’t asked this from him, but it didn’t seem to matter much now as he filled a bucket with warm soapy water, dunking a rag in a few times and using the help of tweezers to pick the glass out of your skin. You do your best not to flinch, using the time to preoccupy yourself with washing off the blood from your face.

John 13. You detest the thought, Belle Reave had ripped every ounce of belief from your body, but the ceremonies and rituals of your youth had not quite left your mind, and the intimacy of the moment didn’t help. Silence filled the room, the only noises being the soft sounds of the wash cloth being dunked into the water and squeezed out. You’d seen it before, a relatives wedding, the washing of the feet ceremony. It’s meant to be intimate, to be between spouses, to show commitment and love just as Jesus had to his disciples. You feel far more like Judas, however, with the monster that festers inside you.

“So. What was that?” His voice snaps you from your thoughts, eyes fluttering down to look at him, hesitating at his question. You don’t have a good answer, not one that wraps everything up into a neat bow at the least. Just what you know, which isn’t much.

“It’s the reason I’m classified as a monster. Theres… something that lives inside me, a devil of sorts I was always told. It’s been there for as long as I can remember, its why I had to wear the collar back in confinement. It starts to creep out whenever I slip, get too comfortable or let my guard down.” You’re quiet, not wanting to break the softness of this encounter. “I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“You don’t have to apologize. We’re all freaks, its the whole point of this task force.”

“I guess. I’m still sorry.”

A huff comes from Phosphorus as he grabs a clean washcloth, dunking it in fresh water and reaching up to wipe off some of the blood that you had missed, that still marrs your mouth and flesh. He’s close, now, very much so. He smells of sulfur, though it does not cause you to recoil or scrunch your nose; its a scent you’ve grown accustomed to with the monster that shares your body. Can a skeleton be attractive? Is that possible?

You lean into the feeling of the warm washcloth against your cheek; having been so long since someone had touched you. Before you had been arrested you indulged in sin, lust, it had engulfed your body and it wasn’t a feeling you ever wanted to encounter again. How it could consume your entire being, give control over to someone other than yourself. It’s a fine line for you, but you feel the distantly familiar feeling of butterflies flutter in your stomach at the proximity of him.

You feel sick; like bile will creep up your throat any moment, but it doesn’t feel bad. Not with how he lets the cloth be a barrier between the two of you, between his hands that will burn your body at his touch. You’d welcome it, to let him cauterize your wounds and fix you. Your hands creep up to wrap around the back of his neck, protected by the hood of his sweater as you pull him closer. He’s warm, comfortable.

“I don’t like you apologizing, you look like a kicked puppy.”

“You’re smiling, though.”

“Can’t help it, I’m a skeleton, doll.”

His voice is a giveaway, though, possibly the most upbeat you had heard him despite the quiet and intimate nature of the room. You feel it, the radiating warmth from his other hand creeping down to your thigh, rubbing soft, soothing circles against the fabric that protects your skin from his touch. It would hurt, but a part of you almost welcomes it, wants to feel it.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, eyes focused on the hand that slowly crept higher from your thigh. He’s close, his heat rivaling that at your core. You miss the way his head tilts to the side at your demeanor, hands grasping and releasing the fabric of his hoodie over and over.

Phosphorus said nothing as he continued to wipe some of the blood from your mouth, lingering over your bottom lip while his other hand becomes preoccupied with cupping you over your pajama pants, skeletal fingers pressing in to give you some friction.

That nausea you had felt earlier returns tenfold, punishing yourself for feeling anything remotely good. The situation reminds you far too much of the last time, dipping too far into bliss. It seemed you had only blinked when the body of the lover you had found for the night was strewn across the room, spitting half eaten entrails out of your maw. He guides you to lean back against the mirror, your hand clasping over your mouth to muffle your sounds as he slips below the fabric of your nightwear.

You can feel it again, the hunger that rises to your chest. Your hands shake against your skin now, nailbeds aching with the growing of your talons. A whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. You are selfish, greedy. You’d rather relish in this than warn him, to have one moment that allows you to feel human, to feel wanted and loved.

A sudden burning feeling rips you from your thoughts, your hand had been removed from its post over your mouth and was held in his. Tears well in your eyes at the feeling, the searing pain that washed over your body and forces you to see white. It aches, branding you.

“Shit.” Is all that falls from his mouth, moving his hand away before you needily grasp it once more. Intertwining your fingers, keeping him there. The pain had forced the monster away, talons no longer threatening to protrude from your nailbeds and spine ceasing its contorting. You are lucky, graced with an opportunity to feel something beneath the endless pit in your stomach. To feel him.

“Don’t stop.” Your breathless words are more than enough to encourage his continuation, slotting himself between you legs and pressing the suddenly tight fabric of his sweatpants against you. A soft sigh falling from your lips, head tilted back, hair fluffing up on the mirror as he began to rock against you.

“I wont.” Slow, at first, as if testing the waters to gauge your reaction. Soft whines emitting from somewhere behind the skeletal teeth that were on display for you. Your hand scrunches up his hoodie, dragging his chest closer to you as he began to pick up the pace.

Needy and pathetic, his hips grinding rougher against your pajama pants, the tent in his pants catching on your covered clit; pulling a gasp from you as you arched your back. He focused his movements in that spot, up and then down to elicit soft whines and moans from you. Matching his neediness, having been touched starved for so long.

You’d grown up with depictions of heaven, imaginary white fluffy clouds somewhere high above the Earth. But here, right now, you’re more than convinced this is paradise. Rough fabrics rocking against each other, keeping you grounded on the countertop you sit on, the mirror behind you beginning to fog up with your heavy breathing. Your hands still intertwined, the harsh stinging drowned out at the near bliss you faced.

Hes sloppy now, nearing his finish far faster than you despite your state. Harsh whines fall from him as he grinds against you a few more times before panting and leaning against you. He’s winded for a moment, catching his breath, though the hand not holding yours travels back down to rub against your core.

Hes rough, guiding you to gush around nothing. You can feel your heartbeat below, drumming uncomfortably as you bury your face in the neck of his hoodie. His hand slips below your pajamas once more, continuing to tease your swollen clit and soaked folds as tears pricked at your eyes, squeezing his hand to single for him to stop.

Within a moment, he did. Ceasing the torment though not removing his hand from under your pants. Allowing your juices to pool against the cotton of your underwear before guiding his hand lower, placing his palm flat against your thigh and removing his other hand from yours. It stings, the cleansing fire emitting from him, your hand already burned as he brands your thigh with his handprint.

“Perhaps we should act like this didn’t happen… I’m sure it would make being on a team awkward.”

“I-... Yeah. Agreed. I should, um, head to bed.” Awkward you lift yourself from the counter and fix your pajama pants, slipping off the granite and setting against the cold tile floor. Your feet still hurt, though not nearly as bad as they had hurt before and surely nothing in comparison to the feeling of him against your skin.

He gives little more than a nod as you slink out the door, stumbling down the hall to find your own room and quickly running a hot bath. It would soothe you, make everything better, you deemed. Stripping to allow yourself to sink into the warmth as a sigh falls from your lips, eyes drawn to the handprint marked on your thigh.

You trace the outline with your finger, over and over almost obsessively and silently cursing him for his words. An asshole, you remembered, your least favorite in the little ragtag team. Though, with the way he had whimpered and moaned against you, you were halfway convinced you may be able to fuck the sarcasm and ill wit out of him.

[renthony]

My problem is that I developed a hyperfixation on historical diseases and their transmission when I was a kid, so I was basically primed to be the angriest cunt in the world about covid. I was always going to become furious and extra-insane.

The flu never went away, so you get your flu shot and cover your coughs and sneezes.

HIV/AIDS never went away, so you use protection with sex and always use clean needles for any kind of injections.

The bubonic plague, the granddaddy of plagues itself? Also never went away! You're supposed to be careful about any interactions with wildlife, and take flea outbreaks seriously.

Covid hasn't gone away, and it probably won't. So you know what you're supposed to fucking be doing? Limiting exposure, staying home from superspreaders, wearing your masks, getting your updated vaccines, and following the safety protocols from the People's CDC.

You damn sure aren't supposed to just throw up your hands, say, "fuck it, we'll all probably get it, so who cares?" and start licking rats, fucking without condoms, and running around without a face mask.

[crescenthistory]

This sounds kind of vague but regulus nd reader bonding over bugs… I think this strange little guy would appreciate a good bug. Doesn’t have to be specifically romantic either I just thought it was cute

i don't think i can write a fic on this, especially as i am not an avid bug-knower myself, but i'll share my thoughts and headcanons with you of course darling<33

regulus black bonding with you over bugs

regulus bug-lover, evan anatomy-fanatic, barty carcass-searcher and pandora bones-collector; in this essay i will-

dorcas thinks they’re a bit odd but love them as the freaks they are

no, but in all honesty i can picture this so vividly. regulus has such an obsessive personality, he is bound to have some niche and severe interests

if that is bugs and it is a shared one between you two – then that's just fantastic luck, yeah?

regulus is the type of person to not just liking something, it becomes his everything (that boy has never felt normal about anything ever)

finding someone who loves the same things he loves would slot them right beside that interest in his mind, thus making any infatuation that much stronger; he associates you with what you both love

i think his favourite bugs would be spiders, of course, but also termites and beetles

there is definitely a certain level of "this creature is so misunderstood and i relate to it" going on here

on that note, he is more inclined to hyperfixate on bugs like worms, cockroaches, fleas, bed bugs, etc. than the more accepted/cutsey bugs like bees and butterflies

though i don't really picture him disliking any bugs – he would rather spend his time focusing on the ones that resonate with him

regulus most certainly has a scientific approach to his interest

he reads and learns and then reads some more and learns some more; he wants to know all there is to know and be able to use jargon and refer to biology when discussing bugs

if you struggle with reading, he is more than happy (see: fucking elated) over being able to recap any relevant book to you and teach you what he just learned

if you enjoy it as well, he wants nothing more than to ditch your coursework for the night and read up on your own interests side by side<3

my regulus is a poet, and i imagine that he would use all his scientific knowledge of bugs to use them as more effective and accurate metaphors

i think his favourite bug to refer to in poetry is cicadas

he is usually very guarded with his poetry because he writes to process and work through his intense emotions, but your shared love for bugs would be a lower-barrier entry to sharing his writing with you

he would show you some poems that focus primarily on bugs, maybe even use the excuse that you can double check them for "accuracy", and over time he grows more confident in showing you more and more

sitting with regulus in a corner of the slytherin common room or the edge of the courtyard whenever you get some alone time, looking for and admiring the bugs that creep around there

taking note of what spots in the castle are the most abundant with insects and going there together

maybe he would even call you an insect-related pet name? my suggestions: mantis, hopper, buzz — maybe any french speakers know of some cute ones in french?!

regulus feeling seen and known by you on another level as you bond over insects – an interest of his that most of his friends and family members have shunned and gagged at, but that set your eyes alight with a spark similar to his own

daring to be himself more fully with you beyond his interest, because you showed him it is okay

realising he is in love with you when you're reunited after a summer apart and you show him that you have started a journal, documenting the unique and rare insects you stumbled upon over the holidays to show him

starting one of his own for you

proposing to you by asking you to help him look for a special insect in the earth outside your flat/house and when you go you see has dug the ring into the ground, diamond poking out

[pinksugarscrub]

Hi, pinkie!! This may be weird but happy birthday :D wishing you all the best things and wishes 🫶🏻

(Silly Hobie wishes you happy birthday as well)

(Look at him being silly)

Like The Movies

Hobie Brown x fem! reader (college au)

Hi my love! 🤍 Thank you so much for the well wishes. It isn't weird!! 😠 Who told you that?? As promised, "loser" Hobie to celebrate. (I love my silly little guy. I'm putting him in my pocket).

I just want to say, to everyone who asked what would happen if I didn't win ( @hyperfix-wip )- I guess we'll never know 🤷‍♀️

word count: 1,7k+

cw: dorks, the lot of them

~

The smell of butter soaked popcorn has been stuck to Hobie’s clothes for hours now. Along with a straining headache. Rubbing his temples he tries to focus on the ugly red carpet instead of the screen at the cash register.

Ten more minutes then he was home free. Excluding the quick stop he was going to make to the video game store across the mall. The missing piece for his game cube was finally in stock.

He was debating grabbing pizza from the food court too but with his roommate gone for the weekend what was the point? Hobie really wishes Ned well but he’s disappointed that he’ll be spending his time off without his best friend.

It’s times like these that he wishes he was closer to his family. Deciding and then being accepted to attend university here in New York is a mixed blessing.

He’s learning incredible things, meeting new people, and living on his own. On the other hand, he’s still new to the US and its customs.

It’s exhausting after a while and he can’t even be comforted by anything other than the things he brought with him from Camden.

A beep from his watch alerts him that his shift is over and Hobie doesn’t waste a second in clocking out and discarding the thing he calls a uniform. He’s still polite of course. Says his goodbyes and wishes everyone a happy holiday despite not celebrating Thanksgiving himself.

He must look tired because most shoppers steer clear of him. At the most he’ll receive two or three compliments on his outfit. Or maybe they’re just preoccupied with the sales and discounts going on in various stores.

He mutters an apology as he brushes past a group to step inside the brightly colored store with posters and ads for the newest game. Hobie has learned Christmas lights in November is normal. He cringes as he hears a popular pop song play through the speakers. It’s maybe the twentieth time today he’s listened to it.

“Hobie, hey! Give me a sec.” Ganke pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Gesturing to the box Hobie presumes holds his order. “I’ll ring you up as soon as I can.”

“Course, no rush.”

And Hobie means that sincerely. There’s more than four customers in line with a dozen more circling figures and t-shirts. He may be tired but he knows well enough how demanding customer service can be.

To add a little more reassurance to Ganke’s mind, Hobie points to a random section of games. “I wanted to take a look around anyway.”

Ganke nods with a grin that never seems to fall from his face.

Hobie would consider this store his second home. He is on a first name basis with Ganke and he was even invited out by the younger boy to a flea market. They both shared a love for retro and vintage. Hobie met a friend of his too, Miles. It was the most fun he’s had since his arrival in August.

A sigh leaves his lips as the section he had planned to browse is blocked by a group of teenagers and yes, he himself is a teenager but something about American air made people lose their common courtesy.

He spins, planning to give up and just wait by the counter when something smacks into his chest. Not hard but definitely strong enough that the person who walked into him is sent stumbling back.

An apology spills from his lips and he’s met with one himself. The air from his lungs leaves his chest as he comes face to face with a girl. He knows you.

He knows because he shares a music composition class with you. He remembers because he embarrassed himself in front of the class. Hobie’s only ever written baselines so orchestral music has been a struggle for him.

“Why are you sorry?” You laugh softly. Fixing the bag on your shoulder full of pins and charms. “I bumped into you.”

“Are you ok?” You ask and Hobie isn’t sure what to do next.

He’s mortified that the only interactions he’s had with you (which are far and few) are so embarrassing.

Hobie may or may not think you’re cute. It would be stupid of him not to notice you.

It’s not like he has a chance with such a pretty girl but he can at least not look like a fool in front of you every chance he gets.

“Uh yeah,” he falters, “I’m fine. Are you…ok?”

“Me?” You point to yourself in confusion.

“Yeah,” he repeats. “Did I nick you or something?”

“Oh.” You laugh again as you take in the patches and safety pins on his vest. “I think we’re good.”

When you stand on the tips of your toes Hobie understands what you mean and his ears grow hot with embarrassment.

Hobie is aware he’s tall enough to be a basketball player but compared to you he’s never realized quite how tall he is.

You smile and think about how cute his reaction is. Hobie isn’t shy, not by any means. You’ve seen him with his friends around campus. But you can understand how being out of your element can leave you walking on eggshells.

Classical music is the soul of your being. Movie scores to be more specific, not to mention game sources. You haven’t quite decided what route to take but for now you’re content with going back to the basics and writing Bach inspired pieces.

“Hey, I really liked your presentation. Did you get a good score?”

“I did, yeah.”

Hobie thinks you must be lying to avoid making him feel bad. The professor too because he earned almost full marks.

He doesn’t understand why when his piece was so…awful. Nothing like yours or Flash Thompson’s.

“That’s great! I liked the third movement. It reminded me of um…” You snapped your fingers. “Bowser’s theme. You know, from the first Mario game?”

Hobie doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t, but he laughs.

“What? I’m serious!” You grin as you reach for your phone. Insistent to make your point and be proven right.

“You can’t be.” Hobie almost guffaws. “It was a dumpster fire!”

“Was not!” You argue. Bringing your phone up to his ear after furiously typing.

Hobie looks at you in surprise. Stuck between your outstretched hand and your determined face. After a supportive nod from you and a smile he slowly leans down to listen.

You pause on certain points of the video. Rambling on about concepts the two of you have learned but obviously you know better.

The video takes exactly three minutes and fifty three seconds but you managed to lengthen the amount of time it would normally take to finish and soon enough he realizes you’re not just cute. You’re cute and you like games.

You weren’t trying to make him feel better you were making honest and valid points.

Now he feels like an ass for laughing so he’s quick to wave his white flag in surrender.

“Alright, alright. You win love. Has anyone ever told you you’re a bold little thing?”

“I have been called that on occasion, yes.”

Hobie hums. His lips tugging into a smile. “Don’t ever change.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you return his smile. “I won’t, promise.”

“What are you in here for if you don’t mind me asking? Aside from analyzing my music.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you answer. Feeling giddy. “There’s a poster I’ve been looking for and- tada.”

Hobie chuckles at the glee on your face as you hold up your prize.

“Is that right? Congratulations.”

“Thank you kind sir,” you giggle. “I was just heading over to pay when I bumped into you.”

“Guess it was a good thing I kept you occupied,” Hobie replies. “Line is gone now.”

You turn your head. Peeking over his shoulder to see the register is indeed free now.

“It appears so.” You tap his shoulder with the end of the rolled up poster. “Thank you again. You’ve done me a great honor sir.”

You relish in how much you’ve made Hobie laugh in the last few minutes you’ve talked. You’re disappointed this all has to end now.

Hobie snickers before bowing mockingly. “After you.”

You curtsey in return before walking over to Ganke. You’ve seen him a few times. Normally you come to the mall on weekends not weekdays but with the holidays coming up you had a few days off. Best to take advantage right?

Declining a bag you wait patiently for Ganke to finish the transaction but then he interrupts you from paying.

“Wait hold on, you have a birthday reward today.”

“Do I? Huh, I didn’t know the store had one.”

“Well, now your total comes down to less than ten dollars.”

“Sweet! Thank you.”

You step aside, thankful for Ganke’s chatty behavior because it give you an excuse to stay though Hobie’s own purchase. Both boys including you in their conversation about Hobie’s soon to be fully functioning game cube. Then you’re both walking out the door.

“So…” Hobie clicks his tongue. Anxious as the plastic bag he carries weighs down his hand. “Where are you off to now? Friends waiting at that nice restaurant?”

You shake your head, pointing to the direction of the movie theater. “Nope, there’s a screening for one of my favorite movies. It starts in about…ten minutes.”

Hobie’s eyebrows raise. “By yourself?”

“Mhm, was just killing some time.”

Hobie is at a loss for words. Spending your birthday alone sounds cruel. You deserve to have cake and gifts—the whole package. However it’s then that Hobie realizes he isn’t the only one who could be away from home.

“Mind if I come with you?” He blurts out.

Your eyes widen and in your stunned silence you feel the excitement build.

“Yes- I would love that!”

Gingerly clasping your hands together you happily tug him along. Explaining what movie you had bought a ticket for. Outwardly wondering if there were still seats available.

Hobie doesn’t feel dread walking back to the theater. He isn’t even upset when he smells popcorn again. With a soft smile he keeps his eyes on you. Only getting annoyed when his co-workers whistle behind his back and make exaggerated faces.

[celtigxr]

The Pink Dread (Master List) - - - - - ch. ix: Protector

Chapter Summary: Riddled with regret, Aemond searches for Valeana after what had happened in the library.

Word Count: 3843

Sneak Peak: “Nonsense,” He shook his head and extended his hand, “Take my hand, and you’ll be fine.” “But what if I fall–” “You won't,” He gave her a reassuring smile, and flexed his fingers to encourage her to take his hand. “I won’t let you fall, ever.” 

Warnings: Active anxiety attack due to ptsd.

T H E  G R E E N S 

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Aegon never held a strong friendship with his sister, Helaena. They had nothing in common and having a conversation with her felt like navigating a labyrinth. A labyrinth full of riddles that he needed to solve in order to pass through doorways. His love for Helaena only ever extended as much as a brother’s love for his sister could in normal families. He was equally as protective of her as he was annoyed by her. 

He would get annoyed at her hyperfixation of insects and other vermin. He would get annoyed when she moved at her own pace, or flat out didn’t listen when being commanded to do something by him or literally anyone else. He’d get annoyed when she didn’t look at him when he talked to her, or derailed the conversation to talk about something unimportant. Most of all it annoyed him how much his mother ran to her and coddled her whenever Helaena was slightly uncomfortable. However, when Helaena was uncomfortable, even by small things by the standards of everyone else, it was like the world was ending. 

That was when Aegon’s protectiveness would come through. Helaena’s fits would be explosive, sometimes destructive. It had gotten better as she got older, but that only meant that if something was happening, it was much worse than rearranged furniture, or a stain on her sleeve that she was convinced was an omen of death. From the day they were betrothed, Aegon was forced to spend more time with her (to establish some sort of romantic bond with her. Really, his mother asked for the impossible), and over time he recognized the warning signs and learned through trial and error how to calm her down. These fits had started to become fewer over the years, and eventually the possibility of them being married dwindled with his father’s growing health and dislike of the match. Despite all that time wasted, Aegon was still the first to be summoned to calm his sister when she needed it. 

That night, Aegon returned from Flea Bottom from a failed quest to find a new platinum blonde to conquer in his usual preferred whore houses. He was drunk, blue balled, and a bit frustrated when they only offered brunettes that he’s had dozens of times. By the time he reached Maegor’s Holdfast, he was tired beyond belief. He silently cursed his ancestors for making the castle incredibly inconvenient to navigate, particularly for drunkards such as himself. 

Aegon rounded the corner, just in time to see her stumbling and groaning in pain, hands grasping at her leg. He quickly sobered and went over to her, hands reaching out to grasp her shoulders. Her eyes were glazed over by thick tears and a fog that reminded him of his sister. 

Something happened, something terrible had happened. But a quick glance of her form showed him no physical wounds. She wasn’t bleeding, but her leg seemed to pain her a great deal. Valeana was a disheveled, and the thought that someone raped her had immediately crossed his mind. 

“I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!”

Aemond? Would his brother actually be capable of such a thing?

Fear and doubt flushed out the alcohol from his veins. He wouldn’t get straight answers from her, not when she is in this mind set. Brushing her tears from her face, Aegon concluded that a distressed Valeana Celtigar was almost as bad as a distressed Helaena. Perhaps it was divine intervention that he happened upon her in this state before anyone else. 

The apartments he shared with his siblings weren’t that far from there, so he guided her to his quarters. When the guards posted at the doors looked at him curiously, veiled with concern and assumptions on their minds, Aegon gave them a pointed look.

“It is not what it looks like. Something’s happened, but I do not want you to alert a Maester until I figure out what it is. Swear to me your silence?”

The knights bowed their heads, then replied in unison, “I swear it, my Prince.” 

With a stiff nod, Aegon helped Valeana enter the apartments and into his private solar. He would not be able to keep her there until dawn, he knew. If people saw her exiting in the morning, the gossip would be like wildfire and before he could even blink, they would be at the altar in front of a Septon, swearing their vows and exchanging cloaks. First, he needed to get her to calm down, then he would summon his sister.

They entered his bedchamber, and he nudged the door closed with his foot to give them privacy. Then, Aegon helped her onto the edge of his bed after he pried her arms from his neck. Her entire body was shaking; her trembling fingers grasped at her leg, as she gasped in pain. 

“Let me see,” he bent down, but when he tried to lift her robe and nightgown, she panicked and shrieked. Immediately Aegon lifted his hands and stepped back. 

Valeana folded into her body, her forehead nearly touching her knee, and both of her hands grasped at her calf as long groans emitted from deep in her chest. She was starting to gasp for breath, allerting Aegon immediately. Bending down to a knee, he grabbed her hands, forcing his fingers under her grip. 

“Valeana, look at me,” He craned his neck down to her knees to try to catch her eyes, “I need you to breathe.” With his free hand, he cupped her cheek and gently forced her to look up so he could anchor her stare to his. Her pupils were completely dilated, like how Helaena’s got when she had lost her grip on reality. Aegon’s grip on her cheek was firm as she tried to pull away from it. 

“Eh-eh, it’s just me, Egg. Just silly ol’ Aegon, remember? Darling, I need you to breathe, like this—” He took a deep inhale through his nose and exhaled through his lips. 

She blinked at him, which allowed a rogue tear fall over the apple of her cheek down to her dry lips. With shaky shoulders and a constricted throat, Valeana took in an uneven breath. When she exhaled it came out stuttering through pouted lips. 

“That’s it, that’s it, now again,” He inhaled the same time as she did, and then exhaled.

They stayed like that, breathing in and out for a few minutes until her body stopped shivering and her shoulders relaxed. Every few moments she would moan or groan from a wound that the prince still could not identify. Through the pain, he would gently encourage her with a soft, “That’s it, Val, keep going.” Eventually, Aegon felt his efforts working when the full weight of her head dropped in his hands, and the muscles in her limbs loosened.

He grinned, tapping his fingers gingerly on her cheeks, “There you go, Crab Cake. You know this isn’t what I had in mind when I imagined you in my bed. The breathing hard part, yes–” 

“Shut up, Egg,” her eyes fluttered closed, chest heaving heavily as she continued to level her breathing. 

He gave a soft laugh, “There’s my girl.” 

Valeana’s eyes gently opened, her mind still in a fog, but if she had to relate it to anything now, it was more like a dense humidity. The kind of humidity that makes every part of you exhausted. Her tongue ran over her dry bottom lip, “I’m sorry. It must be so late.” 

Aegon gave a shrug, “I should be thanking you. I’ve never felt more sober.” 

From a mixture of exhaustion and delirium, a chuckle shook her shoulders. She brought her hands to her face in an attempt to control her giggles. Aegon, still on his knees before her, remained silent, a small, kind smile upon his face as he watched her. He decided he quite liked her like that – laughing, that is. But then he was reminded of the distress she was in only ten minutes ago, and that smile fell. 

“Valeana,” his hand crept onto her right knee, palm facing up in an invitation for her to hold his hand. “What happened?” 

She stopped laughing to take in a sharp inhale, the butt of her palms reached up to press firmly in her eyes. When she finally pulled away, she blinked rapidly and looked down at his hand on her knee. Surprising herself, she dropped hers onto her thigh and allowed the tips of her fingers to curl around Aegon’s.

“He pushed me,” the words came out painfully. Her brows furrowed and her lips pursed, “In the library. I just-I just touched his arm and—” a stuttered sigh released through her lips. “It just felt–it just… everything all over again. I thought– fuck, I’m sorry, I cant–” Her hands were back on her face, fingers digging into her skin before combing through her hairline. 

“No, no, shh, it is fine,” Aegon took her wrists and pulled them away from her face. “It’s fine…. Are you hurt? Do you need a Maester? What about your leg…” He looked down at the one she was holding earlier. 

She shook her head vigorously, “No, no, please… don’t call the Maester. I don’t want my dad to know. He’ll make it worse, please, just… I’m just so tired.” 

“Are you sure? You looked like you were in a lot of pain.”

Valeana shook her head again, a little softer this time, “I’m fine, really – it does that sometimes… It feels like something is there, but there isn't.”

“What do you mean?”

There was a clear hesitation. Her eyes didn’t meet his curious gaze, but eventually her hands moved down to the length of her robe as she pulled up the fabric and then her nightgown underneath. Aegon watched intently in slow anticipation, until he realized what he was looking at. There was polished oak wood where her calf and foot should have been and a sophisticated and complex ball joint for an ankle. His eyes roamed higher, where he could see the wood cutting off at the knee, before continuing around her thigh where it was secured by various straps and buckles. 

This was beyond surprising for multiple reasons. He had no idea that she had lost her leg – he had clear memories of the Maesters at the time righting it properly, and putting her in a split. Clearly, it wasn’t enough. He didn’t know anything about infections or anatomy, but there had to be a reason for it to be amputated. The other surprising reason was that he had not seen this the other day when he was hiding under her dress. Then again, she was wearing very tall, thick red stockings. Now that he thought about it longer, he did see a strap around her thigh, but he had assumed it was a garter that was holding up her stocking.

Valeana put her skirts back down and wrapped her arms around her legs, “Sometimes I feel things there… But there is nothing, because there is nothing. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Aegon nodded stiffly, eyes still on her left leg, now hidden under the curtains of her robe. Finally he pulled his gaze away and returned it to her, “I’m going to get Helaena.” 

T H E  P A S T

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“We’re lost, Aemond!”

“We’re not lost, we’re just…” Aemond stopped walking as he craned his neck up to look at the leafy ceiling of the Godswood. “A little off track.” 

A simple picnic in the woods had gone amiss when Aemond insisted on going deeper into the thicket, away from the judging eyes of his brother and nephews. They were aware of his friendship with Valeana, but not the extent of how close they were. And while Aemond did not want to give up his companion, he did not want to give his brother more arrows for his quiver. 

Aemond also simply wanted a peaceful moment between him and his friend… quite frankly, his only friend if he thought too closely on it. No interruptions, no curious or amused stares by the kingsguard or other adults. Typically they remained around the fringes of the forest, near the Heart Tree, since Valeana wasn’t good with steep hills and long treks. But, he had a plan; there was a clearing near the bubbling brook that would only take them twenty minutes to get to. There was a large weeping mulberry tree that he wanted her to see. Valeana loved the berries, but he also thought a picnic underneath its protective canopy would be the perfect setting for… 

And he blushed at the thought. 

His first kiss…

Unfortunately, it did not go as planned, and he had no one else but himself to blame. Valeana sat on a rock, breathing heavy, face flushed and hair slightly wet from the sweat building up on her brow and upper lip. He could tell she was self conscious about it, the way she kept on dabbing a handkerchief on her face and looking away from him. Valeana was always hot, always sweating. He remembered she used to wear lighter colours, but her stepsister would scold her for having sweat stains under her pits. Then, Valeana started to wear darker colours, which did not help with the glare of the sun. 

Still, he always found her flushed appearance enduring. She looked like a porcelain doll with a red button nose, and peridot gems for eyes. 

They conversed, like they usually did. All the while Aemond tried to inch his way closer to her, but always found something in the way. A twig holding his tunic, or a rock prodding his backside. Val was blissfully unaware, too busy gazing up at the natural umbrella of the mulberry tree and the light that peaked through. 

Once he managed to worm his way to her side as subtly as possible, he found himself fidgeting with his hands nervously, barely listening to a thing she was saying. Something about how a specific berry looked like a mole on Floris’ back. Aemond turned to her just as she was munching on a particularly large one, with her tongue flicking out and licking up the juices that stained her lips. Subconsciously he mimicked the movement. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked when she noticed him zoning out. 

He chickened out. Once he realized he was staring, Aemond flushed and moved away from her.  

Now they were lost in the Godswood, and they were losing daylight. The bright blue sky was now becoming duller and grey as the clouds gathered for a possible light rain for the evening. 

“A little off track?” She repeated his words as she looked down at a steep hill they were expected to climb down. Valeana turned to him, face wholly unamused, “Aemond, my prince, my friend. We are practically in the Vale.”

Aemond couldn’t help but laugh, at both the overstatement and the look on her face. “We are still in the Red Keep, Val. We can walk in any direction, and eventually we will find a castle wall.” 

“And what will we do when we find the wall, Aem? Grow wings and fly over it? Will you launch me over it like a scorpion or katapult?” 

It was difficult to wipe the smile from his face, but he managed to suppress the chuckle. Instead, he started to scale down the hill, then waved for her to follow, “C’mon, if we go down here, it will save us time…” 

When he didn’t feel her presence next to him, he turned sharply to see her looking down the hill with a visible frown and worry in her eyes. 

“Aemond, that’s too steep, I’ll … I’ll go around. I’ll meet you there.”

“Nonsense,” He shook his head and extended his hand, “Take my hand, and you’ll be fine.”

“But what if I fall–”

“You won't,” He gave her a reassuring smile, and flexed his fingers to encourage her to take his hand. “I won’t let you fall, ever.” 

She looked at him skeptically, “Well, you can’t say ever–”

“Valeana!” 

With a huff, she took his hand, “Fine.” 

It took time, but the two managed to scale the steep hill with only a few close calls. When they made it to the bottom, Valeana heaved a long sigh of exhaustion and victory. 

“See? It was not so bad,” Aemond watched in mild amusement as she bent, hand on her knee – the other still in his – as she tried to catch her breath. 

She sent him a withering glare, “Oh, yes, string bean. Piece of pigeon pie.” Valeana straightened up, brushing the wrinkles of her dress – of all the good that’ll do – and looked about where they ended up. She could vaguely see the white spidery branches of the Heart Tree and its blood red leaves in the distance. 

“We’re almost there,” he confirmed her speculation, but there is still a great distance, even if they could see their destination from there.

“Uh huh,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Now we just need to survive an impending storm, and wolves and bears and hellhounds–”

“Hellhounds?” He snorted, “What do you think we keep in here, Valeana?”

“My imagination is wild,” She replied with a sigh. They started to walk onward, towards the direction of the weirwood tree. “It is especially vivid when I’m afraid.”

Aemond still had her hand in his. With her confession, he gave it a little squeeze, “I’ll protect you, Val. From whatever beasts that lurk around us.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, “And what of the beasts that lurk in my mind? Would you protect me from those as well, Aemond?”

His grip on her hand tightened, “Even those. Especially those.”

T H E  G R E E N S 

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Another regrettable, regrettable mistake. 

But Aemond doesn’t make mistakes. Not anymore. And yet there he was, staring at his hand like it was a foreign appendage; like it had moved on its own accord. 

When he entered the library, he was tightly wound up after the bath. It had the complete opposite desired effect, and he blamed his cock for that. He was no better than Aegon in that regard, allowing depraved fantasies to weaken his will of mind. He wagered the celibate Cole didn’t have any words of wisdom for him to keep his loins protected from his own sinful thoughts, did he? 

Aemond convinced himself that in the throes of lust, his mind simply grasped at the first faces that came to mind. Much like the dreams of his own mother and step sister he used to have – those, he was sure, meant absolutely nothing. And what happened in the bath was exactly the same. It meant nothing.

Aside from the comfort of his own bedchamber, or on the back of Vhagar amidst clouds and sky, the library was his place of peace. In the dead of night, no one was there, not even the overseeing Maester. However, when he entered and saw that his sanctuary had already been breached by none other than the object of his ire, Aemond bristled like an overstimulated cat.

He didn’t realize how tightly strung up he was until it became hindsight. 

The heat of her hand, even through the fabric of his tunic, felt like hot iron. His body reacted impulsively, instinctually, and out of survival, like she was an enemy approaching from behind. Aemond immediately realized his mistake when his hands felt soft skin, familiar to him like a forgotten memory. 

He froze, embarrassingly. Standing, staring at his hand as if it was not his, and before he finally registered what he had done, it was too late. 

“Valeana–”

Aemond barely saw her in his panicked tunnelled vision. He saw the flurry of her robes and nightgown fall over her knees as she got to her feet, and a glimpse of the furrow on her brow just before she turned away and fled the library. He found himself taking strides toward her, but he stopped midway. 

This is for the best, a voice of reason told him. It sounded a lot like Ser Criston. Was this his mind protecting his heart? If it was, then why did it feel like he had stabbed it himself? 

He turned back to the book of his ancestors propped on the pedestal, and then back to the door. Remaining here would be easy, and probably the smartest thing he could do. But then came a second voice, more nagging the first, and it came to him in the form of his mother. 

She is a lady in distress, Aemond. It is not safe.

He shut his eye and sighed heavily through his flared nose. If Alicent learned of what he had done, and then allowed Valeana to run out of the Library during the hour of the owl, she would whip him herself. 

In the end, and as always, his mother won his eternal struggles. With stiff strides, he left the comfort of the library and stepped into the corridor, only to find it void of life. Looking left and right, and then ahead of him, he could hear nor see a living soul. Hedging his bets, he decided to walk ahead, and after a few strides he saw something on the ground: a woman’s red slipper. 

Aemond bent to snatch it up and examine it. He didn’t get a good look at her feet when she had pushed herself off the ground, but he doubted many women would leave their footwear behind unless they were running away. At least he knew now that he was on the right track. 

His steps became a little faster, though as he continued on for another minute or two, he realized he was getting closer to the apartments. When he reached the grand door that led to the wing he shared with his siblings, he paused to face the two knights guarding it. 

“Have you seen the Celtigar girl in these halls?”

The two men exchanged a look, one Aemond immediately caught with suspicion. He gritted his jaw and took a step towards them, “Where is she?”

The knight bit his bottom lip before speaking, “We were told–”

Aemond pushed passed through them into the doors. The vestibule between each private quarters was grand, giving room for a dining table, and a lounge in the balcony that faced the small courtyard. Aegon’s quarters were on the far left, to which he confidently strode to, sweeping through his solar until he got to his brother’s bedchamber door. That is when he stopped himself. 

He could hear heavy breathing through the wood, coupled by soft moaning and groaning. Then he heard his damnable brother’s voice: 

“That’s it, Val, keep going.”

That was it.

That was when winter claimed Aemond’s heart, and turned his blood into rivers of ice.

Note: I know you're wondering.... "Celt... this looks like an Aegon x ofc in disguise." I promise you it isn't. I am a slow burn novella writer. SIT TIGHT, BESTIES, IT'S GONNA BE A BUMPY RIDE.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[johaerys-writes]

Talk dirty to me got me back into my disasters feels ILOVETHEMSOMUCH

Do the boys have any traditions they carry into adulthood? Baking or cooking something specific? Making something together around the holidays?

Aaaah that's such a sweet question!! They have a few traditions during the holidays, and one of them is Achilles knitting Pat an ugly Christmas sweater and gifting it to him close to the holidays haha. Every year, as he gets better at knitting it gets more elaborate and Patroclus absolutely loves it and wears it all the time (yes even at work 😅😅)

Achilles will also try, and usually fail, to bake something for Christmas, until Patroclus runs to the rescue and sort of saves the situation. They usually make their own melomakarona and kourampiedes (greek holiday cookies) for themselves but also to gift to family and friends (everyone goes INSANE for Pat's melomakarona with pistachio), and they also try out a different recipe each year, sweet or savoury. Laika also gets to have a special homemade treat every year, just for her 😋

Patroclus is not so much into holiday decorations but Achilles goes crazy every year because he just loves to deck out their tree and their little home, so Patroclus just follows along 😅 They find a lot of their Christmas ornaments and decorations at thrift stores and flea markets, and they also often make their own from clay, wood, yarn, paper etc, depending on which creative hobby they've hyperfixated on this year haha. Achilles is also obsessed with fairy lights, especially the twinkling kind, and has them in pretty much every corner of the house (including waterproof ones for the bathroom)

They don't have a specific tradition as to how they spend Christmas day; one year they might go to Phthia and spend it with Ajax or Peleus (or both), another year they might stay at home in Athens and invite all their friends over for dinner and have a ball lol. If Peleus isn't around for Christmas, he still takes them out to a fancy restaurant afterwards when he's back to catch up and give them their gifts; as for Thetis, Achilles has dinner or goes out with her and his aunts at some point during the holidays, but Patroclus doesn’t always follow. He and Thetis are civil with each other these days but I don't think they'd ever become best friends or anything.

Another thing that's sort of a holiday tradition is taking Laika (and eventually, the rest of their army of doggos lol) and driving to the mountains as a sort of day trip. They go hiking and let the dogs run around and play (if there's snow it's even better), and then they have some warm soup they've brought with them in thermos and sandwiches before heading back home. And then the rest of the day is spent washing muddy paws and fur 😅😅 That's something they usually do around New Year's, just a little getaway before school/work starts :)

Thank you so much for this ask!!! I LOVE THEM TOO 😭🙏

[cyber-corp]

2023: The year of all time

This felt like the first year post-COVID where things really kicked into high gear for me personally. My new year's resolution was that I would go out and have fun for once.

And had fun I did.

I did some voicework reading for a story podcast, I went to a bunch of amazing concerts (nothing beats seeing Weird Al for my birthday!), and I sorted out a bunch of RL stuff and put a neat little bow on it. Thank goodness.

But fuck all that sappy shit: Here's a small collection of things I really enjoyed this year!

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse: An excellent sequel to a seemingly unfollow-uppable first film. Takes everything from ITSV, and amps it up to twenty with a stunning visual style, a sonically fitting soundtrack, and a meta-commentary on the nature of Spider-Man's character and whether they really deserve all the tragedy thrown at them.

Aunty Donna's Coffee Cafe: The guys who made Pud did another show, this time with funding from the Australian Government! While stripped back in its setting, they continue to provide the same stupid bullshit that put me into laughing fits as they did with their Netflix show. Haven't they done well.

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off: I think when people heard about "An animated Scott Pilgrim show with the live-action cast and Edgar Wright producing", they did not expect "A proper dissection of Ramona Flowers' character and her motivations, as well as her own journey of forgiving the Evil Exes. Also lots of yaoi." Scott Pilgrim continues to dominate as the premier "guy learns not to be a shithead" franchise.

Red Hot Chili Peppers - Live in Accor Stadium: The Peppers prove their pertained power as performers by playing the purest psalms in their prospectus from the past 35 years (eugh, what a mouthful). Flea came out, did a 30-second handstand, waved and said hello to the moon and then got up some people littering in the crowd. Their life is more than just a read-through.

Caroline Polachek - Desire, I Want to Turn Into You: I had absolutely no clue who Caroline was before I listened to this album. I now realise that she might just be the person that pop needs right now. A soaring collection of songs destined to become classics down the line, like a greatest hits compilation that doesn't exist. We're all on Caroline's island, and we ain't leaving.

Bomb Rush Cyberfunk: I kept my eye on this game as it was developing, and it was absolutely worth it to see it come through in the end. Satisfying gameplay that requires you to learn how to combo to progress, an addicting artstyle inspired by Y2K, and the soundtrack. Holy fuck the soundtrack. I just can't get enuf.

Weird Al Yankovic - TUROTRSIIIVT: Man, what a title. Emu Phillips come out swinging with jokes I did not expect, and then Weird Al comes out aggressively swinging, with all the songs you don't know him for. He then did a polka melody of his parodies, did a ritual halfway through, and then ended the concert on a high note. Only the best from Strange Alfred.

Doctor Who 2023 Specials: That bastard David Tennant returning led me down the rabbit hole known as watching Doctor Who, and did it ever pay off more than these specials. A trans woman saves the day and the Doctor realises he's bi, black, and needs therapy. A magnificent close on a chapter of one of the greatest sci-fis ever, and a bright step into the future.

The Hyperfixation of the Year award goes to none other than

Homestuck, everyone's favourite webcomic! Everyone's.

And I think that's partly because I joined this website to begin with. I probably say this all the time, but leaving Reddit was probably the best decision I could have made at that time. As much as I reminisce, the communities I was in began to get a little stale. Same jokes, same shitposts, a different day. Tumblr in some strange way, is not that. It feels less like a big communal website and more like a collection of small towns spread across a large spot of land. Calm and village-like, you know?

So to all my mutuals, my followers, to the people that liked and reboggled my stinky posts, to all that offered mealworms and crickets in my askbox, thank you. "Gecko Boy" might just be a silly lil joke in the grand scheme of things, but it's a fun joke to play into.

Whatever comes next year, I know I've got the energy to keep going. Have a good 2024 everybody. <3

[glngrbred]

Screw "romans" My history hyperfixation is how "witches" were invented because the church knew that "they were evil" and the church hated how "boiling you water" and "cleaning your home" and "owning cats to eat rats and avoid fleas" and "herbal remedies for illness" and "cleaning your body" and "living alone as a woman" all made you "healthy" and they also hated how "women who weren't part of the church generally didnt perscribe to a standard catholic rule lifestyle, which meant they didn't tithe" but more importantly, it's like so gross that this woman is living alone like what is she doing all alone in that house? "Learning to read?" like, EWW GROSS, you didn't die young and now you are ugly and have warts? BURN THE WITCH!!!

[crumboat]

I just wanna remind yall that this is a fandom blog and I will hyperfixate over stupid shit

Yall r lucky I wasn't live blogging when I got obsessed with one specific kind of jumping spider (the flea jumping spider /naphrys pulex)

[notnotsan]

I am making my two biggest hyperfixations kiss, woe ghosts x pokemon be upon yee

After consulting with Reddit, here are my thoughts

1. Ursaluna (bear, moon)

2. Maushold (mouse family)

3. Skwovet (squirrel)

4. Joltik (electric, ghost flea)

5. Mamoswine (cavemen and mammoths)

6. Lunatone (moon, old)

Robins team is influenced by his love of nature and wildlife. Ursaluna is his ace, but he's had Lunatone the longest. Maushold is his newest addition, but he has been following them for several generations.

[mistydeyes]

Hey, I love your writing! Would it be possible to get a MWII pair up? :)

I’m 5‘2, fairly skinny and with blond hair at chin length and brown eyes. I may be short but my personality is definitely not, I’m pretty outgoing and a people person but also need time to recharge alone. I love reading and journaling and right now my hyperfixation is everything occult like Tarot or astrology. I’m a Pisces who loves to cook and be creative and I renovate my place all the time with little DIY projects. People tell me I’m pretty funny with my rather dry humour but I’m also a good listener. Not really interested in small talk I wanna know what makes people tick.

Really curious what you’re thoughts are gonna be! Keep up the great writing ❤️

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

a/n ahh thank you so much for requesting and your sweet comments! hope you enjoy :)

How you met: Civilian An objective from Laswell had led Soap and Ghost into the busy Saturday morning streets. What initially started as a simple "snatch and grab mission" had gone completely south. Now, both men were hurriedly navigating through an art and flea market to capture their target. "You got eyes on them, Lt?" Soap spoke through hurried breaths as he pushed civilians out of the way and tried to keep up. "He's going South," Ghost responded and Soap changed his trajectory. Unfortunately, the new change of direction led them to a denser area filled with small booth and artisans selling their craft items. Soap eventually caught up to the man and dived into him, crashing them both into a table. You put your hand to your mouth in shock as you. saw your merchandise spew across the floor. What made it worse was that this was your first time ever running a booth like this and months of work were gone. "Oh my god," is all you managed to say as the two men got up. Soap handcuffed the swearing assailant as Ghost finally caught up. "Sorry," the Scotsman whispered as he picked up a few items. You were still in shock and could feel a few tears begin to prick as you looked around at the destroyed area. Before Soap could apologize again, Ghost decided to put him to work. "I'll get him to Laswell, you help them clean and pay whatever we broke."

A peek into your relationship: "What are you doin?" your boyfriend, Johnny, asked as you leaned over your living room table and a stack of new tarot cards. This was your latest fixation and it hadn't taken you long to get a hang of it. "Just reading my future," you said as you examined the way the cards were facing and their meaning. He immediately sat down across from you with an excited smile on his face. "Read mine!" he exclaimed and you lightly laughed before shuffling the deck for him. "Alright so this is a 4 card spread for love and relationships," you said, watching him take a card and place them down. You started with the first card and noticed it was the hermit. "What does that mean?" he questioned and you flipped through the book before reading. "Your person is one who resembles 'The Hermit'' you began and he intently listened, "they are uniquely in touch with creative outlets and expression. They are gifted with such clarity as to not depend on others to achieve their vision and are able to express themselves in various ways." As you finished, you could hear him burst out in laughter. You joined in with the contagious chuckles until you asked what was going on. "I think these cards are just you trying to say you're the one for me," he flirted and you couldn't help but laugh harder in response. "Yeah try again, Mactavish, I'm pretty sure I hated you for a long time after we met."